#this is beyond fanfic

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"THE FIRST DATE"

EXTRA CONTENT - "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 7k+ → a/n: the very long awaited first date. this was requested by several people. wahoo! also, fair warning for second-hand embarrassment. i think eddie munson is the only person who drag me dancing around a bowling alley and i wouldn't smite them on the spot.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

EDDIE: What about a fancy dinner date?

YOU: boring.

YOU: and too traditional. when were you even born, Munson? the 60s???

EDDIE: Ha. Ha. I don’t see you making any worthwhile suggestions, sweetheart. 

YOU: i don’t have to make any suggestions, old man. YOU’RE supposed to be wooing ME 

God forbid anyone walked in on you at this moment. 

You were like a high schooler, lying on your stomach with your feet kicking up into the air as you stared at the screen, happily bantering with Eddie over text. All the butterflies, all the blissful jitters, all that dopamine rush that comes with school girl crushes – every single cliche was present and was in full force as you discussed the details of your first date with him. You used to scoff (albeit with hidden longing) at all the romance movies that you truly believed had overplayed all the giddiness, but now you got it. It was disgusting, the way he had you wrapped around his finger so easily, the way he had turned you into a heart-eyed shell of the woman you once were in the matter of a week. 

EDDIE: So you have a thing for older men is what you’re telling me.

YOU: i NEVER said that.

EDDIE: Didn’t have to, sweetheart. I can read between the lines. 

Over the last week, since the two of you had won the bet and you had won over with insistence on him properly asking you out, Eddie had been tossing around date ideas as he tried to plan this very first occasion. The only time you had even seen him was when your entire group met up, the latest outing having been for brunch on Saturday under the guise celebrating the one week anniversary of you and Eddie surviving twenty four hours together without killing each other. 

Didn’t stop him from calling and texting you. And it clearly hadn’t deterred him from losing his mind over doing right by you with this entire first date ordeal. 

YOU: i don’t even have the energy to explain to you how many times you have proven to not do that in the past. 

EDDIE: I’ve read between the lines in the past! 

YOU: you most certainly have NOT

EDDIE: I was able to read when you wanted to kiss me that night. That’s reading between the lines.

And so the giddiness rears its head, full fledged as heat swarms your body and your cheeks ache from your smile. 

YOU: i hate you 

EDDIE: No, you don’t

YOU: i do. i really do. 

EDDIE: You’re such a shit liar

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock on your dorm’s door, annoying and persistent as it taps out some random rhythm that must be a song of some sort. But whatever song it is, you can’t recognize it as you stand, walking over to answer. 

“Did you forget your key aga-” you begin, assuming it was just your roommate. You’re shocked to see Robin and Steve standing there, “What are you guys doing here?” 

“We had a study date, in case you had forgotten and not seen our hundreds of texts,” Steve huffs, quickly crossing his arms. 

You hadn’t seen their texts. Most of your screen time had been a bit preoccupied with a certain metalhead. 

“Oh, shit,” your face falls as you open the door wider, side-stepping and motioning for them to come in. 

“Yeah,” Steve snarks as he comes right in, Robin hot on his trails and seeming in a far more pleasant mood as the boy mocks you, “Oh, shit.” 

Robin stops beside you as Steve helps himself to a seat in your desk chair, “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he has to get A’s on all his mid-terms to keep his 3.0.” 

“I am not cranky-”

“You are!” 

“Am not!” 

“You so are,” Robin continues to egg him on, choosing your bed as her resting place. 

Your phone bounces a bit from the way she throws herself down on the sorry excuse for a mattress, and you recall how you had yet to reply to Eddie. Fuck.

“When did we even make these plans?” you ask, genuinely confused as you shut the door. You already miss the peace and quiet of being alone, free to preen at your phone and giggle to your heart’s content at the world’s worst flirt over text.

“Saturday,” Steve groans, throwing his head back. 

“It was after brunch,” Robin clarifies, lifting herself up from how she was lounging amongst your blankets, “I mean, you seemed a bit distracted when you agreed, but… We did text you about it.” 

You had been distracted. Eddie had managed to quietly ask the waitress to include your tab with his so he could pay for it without your knowledge, and you’d spent the entire time torn between being upset with the boy and absolutely fawning. It was a bit pathetic, looking back at it – the fact that those were the only two options your mind had presented you with. You’d scorned him over the phone later that night, and he had only laughed. You swear you can still hear it now, having heard it several times since – a low chuckle that rattled into the caverns of your chest, that bounced amongst vines of affection and willed open blooms of adoration just a little bit wider. 

Part of you was still waiting for the wilting. For the other shoe to drop, for all of what had been exposed and had been planted to vanish from your grasps. That first Monday morning, you’d even woken up worried it had all been a dream. 

“I’ve been busy,” you lamely try to excuse your radio silence. 

“Busier than normal?” Steve’s brows quirk up, leaning back in your chair that emits a squeak of protest, “Or have you just been busy with new friends?” 

Your lips twist and your nose twitches in confusion, “New friends? What the Hell are you going on about, Harrington?” 

Robin fully sits up now, watching with piqued interest.

“Eddie,” Steve gets straight to the point, his previous sour mood finally melting slightly, “You can’t honestly tell me that nothing changed after that night.” 

It was something neither of you had really discussed. Steve had seen you two, knew that a lot had truly changed based off of the way you’d tossed him right into the middle of the mess there at the end, but you and Eddie had never said anything about being together. Not to your friends, and not even to each other. 

“Just because I don’t want to tear his head off his shoulders anymore doesn’t mean we’re spending every waking moment together,” you force your best scowl, as if that wasn’t exactly what you had yearned for all week. 

Eventually, it had to wear off. That’s what you told yourself – at some point the initial rose tones would fade less vibrant, and Eddie’s intense occupation of your mind would lessen with the hues. 

“I can’t believe it, but I am siding with Stevie on this one,” Robin finally contributes, “I mean, you guys won’t even tell us what happened that night.” 

“Nothing exciting,” you’re quick to lie, “Just… I don’t know. Boring stuff. Getting on each other’s nerves, sitting around on his couch,” that gets a bitter scoff from Steve that almost makes you freeze up. Damn Eddie for teasing him with the truth about the couch, “Nothing worth making a big deal over. Like I said, we just learned to… to… tolerate each other.”

Tolerate was an interesting way to put spending hours on the phone together each night, sometimes falling asleep while still on the line. 

Steve still looks as though he’s recalling all of Eddie’s annoying taunts from that night while Robin only grins salaciously. 

“Tolerate each other?” she mimics you, leaning forward and pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress beside her knees, “Babe, have you two even said a single mean thing to each other since that night? I think he even smiled at you on Saturday. You’re practically married with two and a half kids already.”

He had smiled at you – multiple times. And each one had struck the most delicate of daggers right into your chest, lighting you aflame under his attempted clandestine attention. Every time those big, brown eyes had met yours from across the table, the ache you’d started to hold for him had only doubled in size. By the end of that morning, when the day had technically started to bleed out into the afternoon, you were nothing more than a vessel of pining for the boy that you hadn’t even gotten the chance to brush against amongst your friends. 

“Whatever,” you murmur as you reach out to snatch up your phone, “I never even understood the whole half kid thing. Like, how the fuck do you have two and a half kids?” 

“I’m sure Eddie would be more than happy to show you,” Steve teases despite his still half-traumatized look.

You’re quick to reach out a hand to whack the back of his head, “Shut up. Are we gonna keep sitting here while you two try to pry something that doesn’t exist out of me, or are we going to go study?” 

Steve’s grumpy mood returns as he rubs the back of his head, him and Robin standing in sync to exit the room.

But before the three of you exit the dorm, you check your phone one last time, having to bite down on that girlish grin when you see two new text message notifications. 

EDDIE: It’s official. I’m a genius. 

EDDIE: Say, are you free tomorrow night? 

—

Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. A shift at your job, one too many hours spent sitting through lectures, ensuring a night of studying with Steve and Robin — all petty distractions, roadblocks on your path to the most highly anticipated first date of your life. Eddie wouldn’t even entertain you with details, only telling you to dress fairly comfortably and to put on your best game face.

And you did. To some extent, you really did.

But you’d finished getting ready hours in advance, something you blamed on nerves, and having that much time to kill with such nerves was dangerous.

Simple makeup turned a bit more extravagant, you had tried on nearly every outfit in your possession, you’d even eyed your hair curler on more than one occasion.

Comfortable. What the Hell was that even supposed to mean?

Your only solution had been to text the man of the hour himself, something to busy your thumbs instead of twiddling them or involving them in taking your date night look several steps over just comfortable.

YOU: okay, so. can you define ‘dressing comfortably’?

EDDIE: According to Google, “dressing in a way that makes you feel at ease in your body” :)

YOU: fuck off. you know that’s not what i meant.

Still no clues. He wasn’t caving so easily to your pestering. You should have known better, considering he’d been professionally dodging any questions or inquiries you had regarding the date for the last twenty four hours.

EDDIE: Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.

That certainly didn’t help. Not even in the slightest. 

You don’t even reply to his text, already back to pacing your dorm before you finally cave to an impulsive decision you’d been grappling with for hours now. 

There was a newish, sporty skirt in the bottom of your drawers. It was comfortable, it had built-in shorts, and it looked damn good on you. The hem fell right around mid-thigh and always flared in an overly satisfying fashion when you’d spin while wearing it. The material of the pleats was nearly impossible to wrinkle. It wasn’t overly soft against your palms as you still nervously smoothed it down once you’d shimmied it on, but you still repeated the motion in hopes of soothing some of your nerves.

You’re sure it’s the wrong option until Eddie sees you in it.

He texts when he’s on his way and you find yourself bounding outside to wait for him far too early to be reasonable. He hadn’t even arrived until after your back had nearly become one with the brick exterior of the dorm building's front wall, leaning into the scratch of the clay on your shoulder blade a welcome distraction until you heard the roar of a motorcycle engine. 

You nearly grow dizzy from the sudden rush of nerves.

This is really happening. You’re about to go on a date with Eddie, the first time of what you hope will be many to come. 

“Took you long enough, Munson,” you snark loud enough for him to hear as he clicks the Yamaha’s kickstand into place right by the vibrant red curb. There’s a sign not even a full foot away from where he’s standing that clearly spells out NO PARKING. 

Oh.

Oh.

If you hadn’t already been riddled with nerves, your knees would have gone weak at the sight of him. 

Since when is that dressing casual and comfortable? 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” he shoots right back as he lifts the helmet off his head, and something inside of you clenched tightly at the sight with no plans to unwind any time soon.

Dark wash jeans plaster his legs, heavy combat boots smacking against the pavement as he walks to meet you halfway. The black shirt he’s donning isn’t extravagant, but something in the way that t-shirt material stretches across his chest has you burning from the inside out. He’s even gone so far as to tuck the shirt into the jeans, his black leather belt on show as he hugs the helmet below his bicep. And his normal leather jacket — you don’t believe you’ve ever seen it look better, ever seen it fit his shoulders so snugly. He’s dressed to perfectly match the all black bike, the image of a bad boy straight out of every cheesy movie you’d ever seen. 

The only thing that breaks the illusion is the boyish grin pulling the arrival of his dimples along with it as he watches you push off the wall. His eyes are sparkling as you approach him, a constellation of hope and new beginnings twinkling right before you. 

He’s not sorry that you waited on him. Not in the slightest. Especially when those starry eyes travel over your appearance.

You have to force yourself to tsk, because otherwise you might end up just another pile of ash for the poor landscapers to sweep up, “Haven't you heard it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?” 

You stop in your steps just far enough to catch the way his eyes take you in. Drinking slowly. Following the trace of the just fancy enough tank top that you’d chosen to balance the skirt. Lingering on the plush of your inner thighs, barely peeking out the bottom of your chosen outfit for the night.

You almost start to feel self conscious until he lets out a little sigh, nearly a whimper as his eyes trail back up to find yours.

“I’m sure I have,” he chokes out, composure momentarily vanished as you distract him so easily, “But aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

“I could say the same about you.” 

You’re like a shark. If you stop swimming in the upstream flirtations, you’ll drown instantaneously in his big brown eyes.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you swear you see a hint of a blush across the highs of his cheek bones and sides of his neck as he holds out the helmet for you, “At least with me, it will.” 

“Even the top secret location of this date?” you ask as you take the helmet, considering putting up a fight. You still hated him not wearing one for your expense, and you weren’t exactly eager for any sort of helmet hair, “Do I have to wear-“

He knows the end of your sentence before you even finish, “Yes. No exceptions; you have to wear it every time you ride.”

“Every time?” 

“It’s for safety.” 

“Isn’t it sort of unsafe for you to go without one?” 

“You’re wearing the helmet,” he sighs, nose twitching with indignation as he holds staunchly onto the position, “And to answer your other question, no. I guess flattery will get you almost everywhere, but it’s a surprise.” 

You fiddle with the chin straps, looking down as you feel his gaze burning the top of your head from this angle, “Fine. But we really should just get me my own helmet. You need to wear one, too. And…” you look back up, pausing before you properly put on the piece of safety equipment, “It’s a little oversized. You know, considering it was meant to fit your big head first.” 

He narrows his eyes, still lit up with a sort of playfulness you haven’t grown accustomed to being on the receiving end of. 

You like him quite a bit more than you bargained for. A lot more than five hundred dollars, or twenty four hours, ever would have summarized. 

“We can go helmet shopping another day.” 

We. Not just him, not just you. But you and him. A unit. A couple.

“It’s a date,” you whisper just before you slide on the helmet. You completely miss the wildfire that the ghost of a blush has finally become. You completely miss the way that your talk of you two together, you two as a couple with a future, affects him just as his has an effect on you. 

Helmet hair is worth it, you decide, once you’ve saddled onto the bike behind him and he revs up the engine once more. You’re not as shy as you had been on that fateful night the week before, quick to wrap your arms around his middle and let your chest press hard against his back. The leather crinkles against the contact, the heat of him radiating, and you think you could spend forever like that. 

You’re almost upset that you can’t smell his cologne through the helmet. That once terrible scent of boy. 

Every curve and every slow stop is another excuse to cling to him tighter, every red light a reason for him to turn his head and catch a glimpse of you with a small grin that never once falters. You swear at one of the lights, when he revs his engine in a particularly rowdy fashion right as the light turns green and takes off particularly fast, you can hear his laughter over the loud wind mingling with the roaring engine. You know you can feel it, vibrating in his chest right along with your own that gets lost in the chaos of the unusually busy Tuesday night street. 

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the older building, you catch sight of the neon sign out front and find yourself laughing again. 

“Bowling?” you question, yanking the helmet off less than gracefully as he stands off the bike you’d just swung yourself off of, “You’re taking me bowling?” 

He takes the helmet from you, suddenly looking a bit shy as he averts his gaze, “Not just any bowling. It’s… It’s the coolest bowling alley you will ever go on a first date at.” 

“You say that to every girl you bring here?” 

You’re just teasing him, trying to poke fun rather than succumb to all the fluttering that bruises your inner chest and stomach. But then he has to ruin your fun, strike a match and set you aflame so adroitly.  

“Only the prettiest ones.” 

You should continue the banter, challenge him on just who else fell into that category, but you can’t. It’s in that glimmer of his eyes and the indent of his dimples, the way he looks at you as he slowly rises and somehow softens his gaze all while keeping a threat of a bite beneath the tone. His eyes tell you that you are, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s referring to. That in this moment, you begin and you end his world, and not even the commotion of traffic or nip in the air that creeps up as the summer sun sets can deter his attention being set solely on you.

But his tone suggests something far more dangerous. He says it like you’re a prey, an unattainable catch that he’ll be chasing for the entire night. A wicked growl to that voice you’ve been falling asleep to over the phone far more than you care to admit in just a short week. 

He says it like he’s going to ruin you. As if he hasn’t already injected himself into your veins, as if he isn’t the gasoline drowning and raging the burn within you. 

But he keeps up the gentleman persona in the short walk up to the door of the establishment. Holds out his hand for yours to fit perfectly into, guides you to the inner sidewalk as cars fly past and the only thing between you and them is him. 

 The hunt is on from the moment he opens that door for you. 

“Ever the gentleman,” you muse, voice hardly above a whisper as you brush past him and finally catch that smell of boy. 

You think you’d drown in his cologne now if he gave you the chance. Bury your face in his chest, wrap your arms around him and press any inch of your own bare skin to his. 

“Always,” it would have been a weak response if he’d only said it and nodded his head, but he takes it a step further. Right as you pass him, entering the brisk AC, his hand ghosts over the expanse of your lower back. Fingertips nimbly brushing right above the band of that skirt, grazing your tank top just hard enough for you to feel it and shiver. 

It doesn’t stop there. The back and forth, the chase, the hunt.

The way he makes sure your knuckles brush his as he hands you your shoes, even more brushes of his palm flat against your lower back repetitively, the way he insists on a heavier ball that makes his arms strain and muscles display. Over the chatter from the bowling alley’s fairly nice bar and the music trickling out of the overhead speakers, you’re sure that your heartbeat has joined the ranks of audible noises to echo the nice haunt. You’re positive he can hear every thump, can pinpoint the exact moments that poor aching muscle inside your chest begins to race. 

You go for a smaller weighted ball. You don’t think you could handle anything heavier with your current case of weak knees.

“Only an eight pounder?” Eddie tuts at you as you approach your designated lane again, “Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.” 

No, I can’t. Your fault, really.

“I have weak arms,” you try to defend yourself as you rotate the red ball in your hands. 

His favorite color. It hadn’t been intentional, but the swirling shades of stark scarlet and deep maroons is a nice touch. 

“Poor baby,” he teases, leaning into you as you deposit the ball right behind his own ball on the track where it already rests.

A twelve pounder. A smoky quartz design, black base swirling with misty white and gold accents. Far prettier than yours by a landslide. 

And fitting for the pretty boy you’re faced with when you turn to watch him shedding his leather jacket onto the bench a few steps away. 

“Not all of us are some big, strong macho man,” you scowl insincerely, moving to sit beside him and follow his lead in switching out shoes, “I’m betting now that by halfway through the game, you’ll be caving and begging to use my ball, Munson.” 

You’re looking down as you casually say it, one shoe already half off and unaware of just how close he had gotten until his hand reaches over. Not even a second later, he has your chin pinched between his fingers, gentle as it guides you and forces you to look at him, “Careful. Bets seem to be awfully dangerous when it comes to the two of us.” 

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. 

The graze of those fingers against your jaw leaves a trail of ash, burning that lingers and thrums beneath your skin, heart officially skipping beats rather than merely speeding up. You’re coming to realize that when it comes to keeping up with Eddie Munson in his element, in all his charm and flirtatious banter, you’re a bit hopeless.

He has you trapped under his thumb — metaphorically and literally.

“Are you always this flirtatious with all your dates?” you spit out against your better judgment.

Why do I keep bringing up his previous flames? Do I really care? Do I really want to put myself through the torture of hearing about all of the girls, or guys, he’s wooed before me? 

The same glittering eyes, the same hidden smirk from earlier. “Only the prettiest ones.” 

“You keep saying that,” you mumble, chin pressing into his fingertips against their hold, “Just how many pretty dates have you had?” 

The pride softens in an instant. His gaze is less sharp, grin less predatory as he raises his eyebrows. 

“Does it really matter?” 

You can’t help it. Your mind races ahead of you before you can stop it; you’re plagued in an instant with images of how many dates, how many other people he had indulged in over the year you two had wasted hating each other. You try to recall overhearing him describe any of those dates, try to remember if Nancy ever mentioned Eddie passing up one of the hangouts for a romantic endeavor.

You come up empty handed, but it doesn’t stop the overthinking. 

“I guess not,” you feebly answer, unable to tear your eyes from him. 

I guess not is really code for it matters so much more than I care to admit. An impossible riddle you can’t even expect him to pick up on. 

His hand falls from your chin and finds home on your bare knee, warm palm swallowing it up. He gives it a squeeze, and you wonder for a moment if maybe he can read your secretive language. Maybe he’s seeing right through your overconfident front, maybe he has felt every racing of your pulse. 

Maybe, he’s as nervous as you are.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t think you can bear another moment of this new intimacy. It had been easier when the two of you were on a ticking clock, confined to his apartment and parameters of a bet that never really mattered. Vulnerability had less of an edge when you could yearn and pine to see it flourish in the real world — but now, here it was, twisting away within you both a week later and pricking away as the stakes at hand come to light. 

“Are you ready for me to absolutely demolish your ass at this game?” you joke.

“Demolish me? That’s some big talk for someone using an eight pound ball, babe.”

“It’s not about how much you’re packing, pretty boy,” you scoff, “Just that you know how to use it.” 

He smiles slowly, but the quick squeeze of his hand tells you the vulnerability is here to stay. He feels that cutting edge too, and he’s not shying away. 

He leans right into it, just as he does your personal space, “Bring it on.” 

—

“You’re cheating!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! Who the fuck gets three strikes in a row?” 

Eddie strolls back towards you, self-satisfied smirk curling his lips and his hips swaying with arrogance as you continue to pout at his sudden show of sportsmanship, “I believe the answer is me, sweetheart. Wanna see me make it four?” 

“I hope you just jinxed yourself,” you scowl as you hop up off the couch and Eddie swaggers right past you, hardly affected by the palm you smack into the center of his chest for good measure, “I hope you roll nothing but gutter balls the rest of the game, you prick.” 

“Like you have been?” 

“Burn in Hell.” 

Eddie’s cackle echoes through the fairly busy alley. It wasn’t overwhelming, the lanes of either side of yours staying empty, the only other groups several ways down. So far, the date has been good. Even if Eddie was wiping the floor with your severe lack of skill. 

Both of you had opted for Cokes rather than alcohol, Eddie had ordered some sort of platter with onion rings and mozzarella sticks that the two of you had easily been devouring between turns. Playful banter had been kept up easier than breathing, barking words without bite being snapped back and forth loud enough for the entire establishment to hear the two of you being exceptionally childish. 

At some point, your nerves had melted. And you didn’t even need a lick of alcohol in your system for it to happen. 

“Try to aim for the pins this time,” Eddie continues to taunt you from where he’s spread out on the brown faux leather bench you’d been taking turns warming the seat of. 

Your fingers slide into the holes of your ball with ease, courtesy of the grease from all your snacking, “Try shutting the fuck up.” 

More of his laughter sounds off, and you nearly trip on your walk up to the markings on the linoleum wood flooring. It’s a nice sound; a beautiful response to words that could easily read identical to how the two of you used to fight. But these aren’t fighting words, they’re words passed between two… two… friends? 

Is that how you should continue to classify this? Were you and Eddie really still just friends? 

The sound of your ball stuttering in hops across the beginnings of the lane replaces his laughter 

No. Easy question – there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the two of you were definitely not friends. Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken. And for the remainder of this date, you could live with that. 

Eddie sucks in an audible breath, letting the air whistle between his teeth as your ball veers at the last second and misses the pins entirely. Again. 

“Th-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, spinning on your heel and holding up a warning finger. It’s harder to hold in your own grin when Eddie’s already smiling into his fist, leaning his elbows onto his thighs as his big eyes peer at you, clearly amused, “Don’t say a word.” 

His knuckles dig further into his mouth.

“I meant to do that.” 

His eyebrows shoot up, still not speaking.

“It takes real talent to avoid pins like that.” 

He leans over a bit further, and you swear you hear him emit a snort from behind that damn fist. 

You open your mouth to continue with the bit when the clattering of your ball returning to the ball rack comes from behind you. Eddie only shrugs cheekily as he finally drops his fist to grab for a mozzarella stick, his smile contained but those damn dimples still flashing you brilliantly. 

Without taking your eyes off him, you hold up a warning finger for emphasis once more, trying to bite down any signs of your own amusement as you take a few steps back in the direction of the rack and repeat yourself, “I meant to do that.” 

“Sure you did,” he muses before taking a bite of the mozzarella stick smothered in marinara sauce. 

“I did.”

“I believe you.” 

“I-”

It seems the Universe is in the business of interrupting you two. As if it seems all that hope and potential flourishing in the space between you two and decides that simply won’t do. As if it’s too much. 

Maybe it is. But maybe, just maybe, you’re enjoying too much. 

Suddenly, before you can even finish your sentence or grab for your ball, the lights of the alley have dimmed. A few spotlights over the alleys themselves light up, erratically waving patches of light over the shining floor as the music that had been playing overhead cuts out to be replaced with some poor employee’s voice. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen-” you and Eddie share a confused glance, “-The time is officially ten o’clock, meaning nineties night has officially begun! Have fun, and enjoy yourselves as we throw you back to the decade of Nirvana and Beanie Babies for the rest of the night with these straight jams.” 

Your face scrunches up in a comical cringe before the buzzing static of the speaker can even cut out and the beginning lines of Say My Name by Destiny’s Child begins to play. 

You aren’t entirely sure of how it happens. Maybe it’s all the playfulness in there, in all that electric teasing at the tip of Eddie’s tongue and all that hopelessness bubbling up in your chest as it dawns on you of the fact you were finally on a proper date with Eddie. Maybe it’s simply a good night for you to continue to make a fool of yourself, and Eddie sees it as a chance he’ll always be right there with you, prepared to make a scene as he follows your lead. 

He stands up to approach you where you’re still rooted beside the rack, matching your own grin that blooms genuinely at the sound of the song. 

It was one of your favorite’s. A small fact about yourself you don’t think you’ve ever told Eddie – that you can remember. 

It’s small, at first. Just mouthing along to the first verse as he moves towards you, recognizing that excitement lighting up in you, shimmying his shoulders ever so slightly. He looks like an idiot – he’s absolutely your idiot. 

“Did you know it was nineties night?” you mumble as he gets closer, shaking your head slightly.

“Stevie might have mentioned something about you enjoying nineties nostalgia,” he drawls, still taking sure steps towards you. 

“Did you ask him for advice for our first date, Eddie?” 

“No,” he scoffs quickly, finally close enough to grab you gently by your hips. He’s nowhere near manhandling you, but it’s still reminding you of the game, of the hunt, at play. You’re his prey and he’s officially making his move. Carelessly, nonchalantly. “He mentioned it ages ago. When they were trying to convince me you weren’t all bad.” 

Your smile widens, “Was this around the time I threw a glass at your head, by chance?” 

“Maybe.” 

The dulcet instrumental of the song continues on overhead, beginning to pick up in beat, making you nod your head along as Eddie finally starts to tug you closer. 

You’re in public, and you both should know better than to make absolute fools of yourselves, but it doesn’t seem to matter when all you can really see is him. 

Your friends had also spent ages trying to convince you that Eddie wasn’t all bad, but you’d always known that much. You’d seen glimpses of the good in him from that very first night. When he’d made you feel welcome, when he’d given you a life-preserver to cling to when you’d felt most out of your element. You knew that Eddie Munson was one of those people who had a hardwired habit of trying to make people feel welcome.

Even in a room full of people, when you’d be non-stop embarrassing yourself endlessly. 

All his jests had been further proof, but when he sees your rock on your heels as you enjoy the music, he takes it a step further. He grabs one of your hands with his free one, keeping a hold of your waist, encouraging all your giddiness over the song. Every single person in the establishment could be staring at the two of you – you didn’t care. 

When he starts dramatically mouth along to the chorus of the song, swinging you around slightly, it takes very little provocation for you to join in with him. 

You both could’ve taken a step further, and properly sang along in the most obnoxious voices possible, but you don’t. There’s still the slightest blanket of security there as Eddie keeps the antics mostly silent, reserving his dramatic reenactments of vocal runs for your eyes only. Even yanking your hand up close to his mouth, as though it was a microphone, as he swings you around again. You quickly become a giggling disarray, hardly able to keep up your own footing, eyes squinting with joy and what must be the messiest and ugliest smile possible showing off all your teeth. The type of smile and laughter you’d normally try to hide on instinct. The kind of smile you cover up. 

But you can’t, because Eddie is keeping his sturdy grip on your hands with his own, and he’s drinking in every second of your joy. He’s vibrant as he watches the way he’s entertaining you. Shamelessly staring, making his antics falter. 

“Baby, say my name,” he purposefully sings along dramatically, quietly but terribly off-key.

You can’t help but let out a snort, “Eddie, you’re an idiot.” 

He ignores you, and continues to give you your own private concert, switching rapidly between singing the main song and the backup vocals, which only makes your stomach further ache with laughter. 

This is what you’d been yearning for the last year. This silly side of him, an absolute fool who couldn’t care less about the stares of others. 

The seductive side of him was enticing. The honest version of him nice. But this side of him? Carefree, rowdy, indiscreet? It may be your favorite yet. 

Only the sound of a nearby teen couple mocking you two break the moment, just as you’ve begun to jokingly whisper-sing back into Eddie’s pretend microphone made of your joined fists. They make what must be vomiting noises, and you catch the tail end of one of them jokingly poking a finger towards their outstretched tongue as you finally sigh deeply. 

You should probably feel embarrassed. Later on, when you find yourself in bed later tonight and attempt to find some rest, you’ll probably ruminate and burn yourself alive with all the embarrassment. But not right now; not with your boy still in front of you, smiling just as desperately wide as you were. 

His dimples would probably consume him if you let him go on any longer. 

“Eddie,” you choke out through residual laughter, tugging your hands free as the song starts to fade out. You make no move to remove yourself from him, though. Your arms find home around his shoulders, hands splayed just below the nape of his neck, “People are staring.” 

“Good,” he snipes back, finally dropping the act but not the glee, “Probably entranced by how pretty you look right now.” 

“Pretty? I probably look like a loser. They’re probably already engraving a trophy for world’s ugliest smile-”

“Oh, don’t do that,” his forehead falls against yours, rolling his eyes, “Shut up and take the compliment. I love your smile.” 

There’s something unspoken there. He loves your smile, yes, but he’s also been denied of it for a very long year. It’s the first step of making it up to you, making up for lost time. 

Making a fool out of himself, just to see that goddamn smile. 

With your arms around his neck, his forehead pressed against yours and the tip of his nose bumping yours, the game of bowling is all but forgotten. Even the teens, still side-eyeing the two of you, can be pushed aside in your mind. 

All your insecurities of the night that have crept in the shadows become insignificant. You don’t care how many dates Eddie has been on before you, you don’t care that you’ve clearly become a prey caught in his web. You don’t even care about the way you’re losing. 

It’s the perfect first date. When one of his hands wander, playing with the hem of your skirt, knuckles and rings brushing against bare skin, it’s perfect. 

“Hey,” you whisper, “I’ve got a question.” 

“I have an answer.” 

“You sound very sure there, big guy.” 

“I am sure,” he pulls his face away just a bit, but his gentle touch against your thigh lings. The other hand stays warm against your lower back, keeping you pressed up against him, “What’s up, sweetheart?” 

Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken.

Hearing him say it out-loud will still be nice, though. 

“Does this mean we’re official?” you breathe out, trying to cling to all your bravery and not let it slip away, “Like – God, I sound like a high schooler right now – does this mean we’re… you know…”

“Dating?” he’s grinning, unable to hide his giddiness. 

“Yeah. Dating.” 

The hand tracing circles on your exposed outer thigh rises up to your cheek, brushing along it as he tucks a bit of your hair back. You swear you see it shaking out of the corner of your eye. 

“I sure would like to be,” it was shaking. You know it surely, because his voice is as well. Vulnerable and honest, just how you like him, “We don’t have to tell the others, we can take it slow, but-”

“But we’re dating.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement – an affirmation. You and Eddie Munson, the man you swore you hated just over a week ago, were dating. 

He only nods, and you consider the way that his dimples might just swallow you whole instead of him. 

Not enemies, not friends – lovers. It has quite the nice ring to it. 

“Well, in that case,” you finally pull away, dropping your arms slowly and letting your fingers catch on the chain of the necklace he currently wears. A red guitar pick, something you’ll surely learn the story behind soon enough. “Better go and roll that fourth strike, boyfriend.” 

His head rolls back, and a joking groan falls from his lips as his neck stretches and nearly distracts you momentarily, “Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re making fun of me, you little shit.” 

Another laugh falls from your lips as you step around him, quirking an eyebrow. Perfect first date, indeed. 

“Get used to it, Munson.”

“I plan to, Sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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#ghost's stories #beyond the hours #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #their love language is just being mean to each other i'll be honest #i've been nervous about posting extra content about them for a while but save the leaves #i might revamp the masterlist #also side note but i also think reader's outfit would totally get a scolding solely because that is not safe attire for riding on a bike #eddie should have shoved her into his jacket and scowled about it but he's just easily distracted by how pretty he finds her

[whirlybirbs]

BEYOND THE VOID — !

1. THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

( MASTERPOST   |   AO3  |    SPOTIFY ) summary: torn from time yet again, it's thursday. six months pass. while you grapple with a newfound uncanny ability to premeditate, loki grapples with the fact he's slipping back into his old self without you. enter brad wolfe. now playing:  a whole lots gonna change by weyes blood word count: 3.3k pairing: loki / f!reader, established in from the void, with love tags: enemies to friends to lovers, soulmates, we-are-in-love-in-the-future but how did that even happen, angst & comfort, redemption arc, lots of time travel, loki season 2 (2020) spoilers a/n: finally, they return in "beyond the void". i can't thank everyone enough for the unending enthusiasm for this little project of mine. it's fitting to have the first chapter release with an eclipse. this is for all of you :) the beautiful gif for this chapter is from this set by @tomshiddles.

"Okay."

"Okay."

There's a long stretch of silence between Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster. 

In the liminal stretch of the apartment building's hall, there's little sound except the loud drone of some horribly, desperately sad song beyond the door of Unit 1131. The two women share a long look with one another, and then Darcy gestures urgently to the door.

"Go ahead," she nudges her colleague. 

"What?" Jane asks in a harsh whisper, "No, you knock." 

"You were the one that said we needed to do an intervention—" Darcy argues back in an equally low tone.

"Oh, so now this is on me?" Jane fires back, "She's our friend—"

"Our friend who has been babbling nonsense about things that have not happened and has been seriously obsessing with that Low-key dude—" Darcy rushes out, bringing her face closer to Jane's, "I don't even know what we're walking into here!"

Jane inhales. She pinches her brow. With a long rub of her face, she exhales. Then, she knocks.

She gives Darcy a 'happy?' look before stepping back and crossing her arms.

Almost immediately, the music stops. There's the sound of a shuffle. A meow. And then, the door opens only wide enough that one exhausted eye can peak through the chained gap.

"Heeeeeeeeeey, girl!" Darcy chides, waggling her hands in the air, "Surprise!"

On the other side of the door, your heart clenches. 

It feels a little bit like a cruel joke, y'know?

All that wishing, begging, clawing to go home and — well... you are. You're home. You've been home. For six months, you've been home in New York City. You're back in that little studio apartment, with Sigurd, with your research, with your doctorate. 

ALL I WANT  TO DO IS  GO HOME.

You try your best to give both Darcy and Jane a smile, but it comes out mangled and exhausted and not quite right. You've been crying. Sort of par for the course these days.

"Oh, uh... Hi guys."

Sigurd meows.

"You got a sec?" Jane asks, raising a folder in her hands, "We, uh... Erik gave us some new anomaly data to look over and we figured... you're the one for the job! Y'know? It's... kinda... your thing... have you been crying?"

Your eyes dart between them both. You wet your lips.

"No. Nooo, no. It's..." your mouth hangs open as you search for a reason, "...Allergies."

There's a beat of embarrassing silence, and then Darcy moves fast as lightning. She wriggles her arm through the gap and unlocks the chain — almost as if this is definitely something she's mastered before — before pushing her way through the doorway of your apartment. Jane follows close behind, and Sigard squawks as he scurries away from underfoot. 

The infiltration is almost immediately regretted because... woah. 

Like, big woah.

Darcy has seen crazy. Like, she has an Uncle on her Dad's side who is totally in on the whole "they're coming for our thoughts" thing and does not leave the house without at least six layers of Great Value tinfoil stuffed under his baseball cap. She knows crazy. She works for Erik Selvig. 

But this?

This is, like, soooooo above her pay grade. 

Jane's jaw is slack. The folder is immediately forgotten on the kitchen island in favor of the wall-to-wall documentation of... whatever the hell this was. 

LOKI MISSING? in the center of it all, with string and equations and runes and news articles and tabloid pages. There's an alarming amount of photos of the God in question pinned up beside ramblings on... Time? And... Quantum mechanics...? 

There's another loooooong stretch of silence. And then, Darcy and Jane both turn slowly to look at you pressed against the door.

You swallow.

Your face is set in horror.

"It's not what it looks like—"

"Uh, dude, it totally is what it looks like—" Darcy starts, stepping closer to the board and pointing a black, manicured finger at a paparazzi photo of Loki being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower, "What's with all the Loki paraphernalia?! Need I post a lil' throwback Thursday to when he tried to kill us all?"

IT'S THURSDAY AGAIN.

You wince. "You wouldn't understand—"

Then, it happens.

The same thing you've experienced dozens upon dozens of times these last six months happens again: A rush of chatter in your mind, a cacophony of whispers that claw at your thoughts and flood them with has-beens and will-be's. A million things all at once, a little bit of everything from all of time, and then— one thread. One thread that stands out against them all. 

"Jane, don't."

Across the room, Jane's fingers pause on the contact number for that pretty S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they've met once or twice now — the one who is managing the Asgardian anomaly cases. With Loki missing, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been desperate to track him down. If this is a lead... If you know where he is...

Jane's face freezes.

Her brows knit.

Your face is split in panic. "I know you think calling Agent Hill is the right thing to do, but—"

"...How did you know I was...?" Jane's voice falls off, her eyes searching your face.

Your voice splinters as you step forward. "If you call Agent Hill, she is going to section our entire division within the week. Thor will be exiled from Earth on conspiracy four days later. We will sit in a cell for five years until they decide we have nothing to do with Loki's disappearance from Asgard."

Darcy's eyes bounce between you and Jane.

"Why are you saying all that like you know it's going to happen?" Jane asks slowly, putting her phone down and closing the gap between you. "Doc, what's going on?"

Your eyes flicker with fear. 

And then exhaustion. The walls you've built to keep this away from the others crumble with one worried look from Darcy, and you crumple against the kitchen counter. 

Your voice is far away.

"It all started that Thursday."

You thought it would be better now that someone knows. 

Truth be told it might be more trouble than it's worth if not to soothe the burden of secrecy — because Darcy keeps treating you like a Magic 8 Ball that, when shaken, is going to spit out readings on the future. 

It isn't that easy. I mean, if it was, you would have definitely done everything in your power to avoid the commute traffic this morning. 

You don't know why it happens. Or how. You have a theory it has something to do with Alioth, but... without any sort of control, there's no way of knowing. All you know is that in those moments, you're presented with a weave of potential sequences. And in those moments, you can choose to act. Or not. 

So far, acting seems to be the best course of action. 

But, yea, no. No fortune-cookie-level stuff. No crystal ball, no tarot cards. Just... weird time-whispers. And a migraine that seems to never go away. And dreams. Really vivid dreams. Dreams that happen? And dreams that don't.

If it was a horoscope sort of thing, maybe you wouldn't have missed your morning bus after waiting in line at that coffee shop three blocks down. They always make your coffee a little too bitter, but the girl behind the counter is an NYU grad student you recognized from a mechanical engineering lecture you sat in on three months ago. You've got a soft spot for her. She's always nice to that guy in the baseball cap who seems unhoused. 

You hope it all works out for her in the end. 

But, Christ this coffee is bitter. 

You buzz into Stark Labs at 9:37 am, and you're setting your stuff down at R&D by 9:43 am. 

Bruce Banner looks up briefly from his work to slide you a welcoming smile. You return it gently as you settle down on your stool and reacclimate yourself to last week's work. 

Mondays, man.

Tony is, as always, later than anyone else. His entrance is followed by the usual boisterous chatter meant as a morale booster. More often than not it's a genius-level comedy routine built on absolutely torturing Dr. Banner. You opt, more often than not, to refuse to enable the bad behavior. 

Any laughter is buried deep into these readings from the Tesseract. 

And so this has been home for the last four months. 

Avengers Tower. R&D. Erik Selvig's Research Team. Theoretical Physics and Quantum Mechanics. Day in, day out.

No TVA, no TemPads, no Sylvie, no Mobius, no Capybaras. 

...No Loki.

But, plenty of whispers. 

It rocks you out of your focus, iced latte halfway to your lips as you're rooted in this little pocket of voices and threads and whisps of time. There's a thousand, then a hundred, then one. 

Your voice is soft.

"Bruce, try the equation again."

From across the room, Tony's voice dies down and Bruce's eyes rise to meet yours. He points to himself, with a questioning raise of the brows.

You nod, then continue to take a sip of your coffee.

And so Bruce does. Wordlessly. And, after a minute, he looks up with a grin.

"So it was right."

"Woulda never known if Iron Dick over here didn't shut up for one second."

Tony's grin is bigger than Bruce's as he meanders over to your lab table and throws an arm around your shoulder. He squeezes you gently. You avoid his eye contact — and in doing so, you miss the momentary grace of concern. 

(Tony has known you for a few months now. He knows you adequately enough to gauge that your triple-shot espresso should have been a sextuple. The bags beneath your eyes are dark. There's an edge there. Something jumpy. You're exhausted.)

"Now, that was mean."

"You're torturing him," you fire back lightly, non-the-wiser to his scrutiny. 

"It's called exposure therapy—" Tony croons, leaning back and thumbing through some of the notes on your desk. You allow it. 

Good. Still sharp. Still better than anyone else at what you do. 

"Exposure to workplace terrorism?" You rib back with one cocked brow, "No offense, Bruce, but I like you better not green. Okay, Tony?"

"None taken!" Dr. Banner calls lightly from across the room. He's working on the second part of that equation now. 

"Sure, sure, alright, Doc," Tony heads your words, raising both hands and stepping back, "I guess someone hates fun."

"Absolutely," you say blankly, chewing your straw; you point at him, "No laughter."

"None," Tony waggles a finger.

"Not a peep," you remark causally as you spin in your stool and snag your pen from the drawer behind you. 

"Any news on the other green guy we hate?" Bruce asks slowly, eyes bouncing between you and Stark. 

Your blood goes a little cold. Just like always. It's hard not to react — especially when that other green guy is all you think about day and night.

WHEN YOU LOSE HIM YOU WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET HIM BACK. 

You wordlessly shake your head. You shrug. Bruce turns to Stark. Tony is hunched over his bench. His words are a bit muffled by the soldering project he's turned his attention to. 

"None. According to Thor he just up and poofed. He was in the middle of atoning before the Buckingham of Asgard and... just warped on out."

So you've heard.

"Hill has been working every lead she can but... the Asgardians are a little touchy-feely on the whole 'earthlings in the domain of the Gods' thing."

"Understandable," you mutter absently.

Tony sits up. "Only time will tell."

...Indeed.

Home.

Unit 1131. 

Lonely.

It wasn't before all this... It was full to the brim with contentment. It was comfort, it was bliss. It was indulgent mornings slept beneath the covers and bright music in the kitchen. Cheap wine from the liquor shop on the corner and homemade meals. It was "I finally made it". 

Now, it's none of that.

Because he's out there — and you know that you don't belong here anymore.

You drop your bag by the door. 

Your boots follow in a trail. 

Sigurd mews expectantly, and you scoop him wordlessly into your arms as you weave through the chaos of papers and books. Your carpet is hidden beneath a layer of obsession masquerading as research.

But, there's one thing that pulls you back in each time.

It's that photo. 

The one Darcy had pointed at earlier.

Loki is being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower. He's looking back at something, and his expression is broken.

It's you.

You know he's pleading with Thor at that moment through a muzzle, desperate to call your name. He's looking at you, being whisked away by S.H.I.E.L.D. as they clear the area, and your voice is silenced by grief. 

You wish you had called out to him then — told him you'd find him again. 

Regret is a hell of a thing.

Grief, too. 

How do you mourn something you never really had? Not here, not in this timeline. 

So you stand there, in the dim lights of your apartment, staring at the photo. And you cry. Just like every night, for the last six months.

In your desk, that magical little daisy made of grass waits.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

That's the mission.

Mobius M. Mobius thinks it's funny — back then, man if only he would have known that lil' hunch of his was right. Maybe a part of him did. And... Now? Things are different. I mean, everything is different. The TVA is different. 

Loki is different.

They say to be loved is to be changed an' all that. 

The first thing out of Loki's mouth was your name when Mobius finally saw him again — and then a word vomit of panic, induced by the death of He Who Remains and... time-slippage as OB called it. Lotsa moving parts. Lots to keep track of. But, ultimately, they're in a better spot than they were yesterday. 

1.) Loki is no longer falling through the metaphorical cracks in time. 

2.) Mobius did not get toasted alive when standing before The Loom.

3.) He never, ever, ever has to do that again.

And now!

They're in London. 

1977, huh. Zaniac. 

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

...Unless you find him first.

Loki isn't exactly thrilled. 

No, Loki knows better than to get his hopes up. Sylvie isn't here. He already told Mobius that. It's too safe. It's a damned movie premiere. There are no radiation burns, no falling stars, and no rampant gunfire. It's too quiet. 

It's a movie premiere and you're out there, somewhere, alone. You're... you're lost. He can't protect you here. He can't protect anything. You... You're all he has and you're gone. 

And he's here, wasting his damn time. 

Brad Wolfe is about to waste more of his time. 

Loki's gaze is sharp. His strides are long, and as they approach the fray, the God stands amongst the tallest of guests. He cuts a mean profile. It's times like these that Mobius remembers he is a God.

(It's times like these that Mobius can also see the ever-increasing edge in his partner-in-time. It's a little... worrisome. But understandable. I mean, rip a God's soulmate from his hands and see what happens, right?)

"So, he's an actor now?" Loki comments off-handedly, his irritation grating his heartstrings in a way that reminds him of who he was before all this. He hates it. But, he's angry. He will get you back. Without you...

Without you, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Or he's undercover."

As they weave, Loki's brows knot in distrust. "Looks pretty real to me."

It smells like cigarettes and perfume, and the flashbulbs bite sharply into Loki's peripherals. The raven-haired trickster winces, tucking his hands into his slacks. 

On the red carpet, X-5 moves from interview to interview. Occasionally his laughter rises above the clamor. Each time, Loki's nostrils flare and he rolls his eyes. 

It's when he reaches the end of the line that Mobius moves in. 

"Will there be a Zaniac Two?" 

The look on Brad's face says enough for Mobius to know there's more going on here than just an undercover bit. Brad's laugh, as equally pained as his smile, just cements the fact. 

"Mobius! Woah!" A clap on the shoulder, a big hug. "I used to work with this guy!"

Still a show. Still a weasel trying to survive on his little slice of time. 

"We're going to need to catch up," he begins, backing up slowly, "You know, why don't we chat after the show?"

"How about now, maybe?" Mobius counters just as Brad turns on his heel and comes face to face with Loki. 

The God sneers.

"Woah. Okay, ha, whole gangs here!" he chirps, "Isn't that... great? Wow. I mean, you look — you look great, Loki."

"Why thank you, Brad."

Brad's eyes are manic, and he's searching the crowd quickly — no doubt looking for an exit. Then, they catch something. When Brad claps his hands together and pats them on both Loki and Mobius' shoulders, the two TVA agents pause.

"Everything alright?" Loki asks, head tilting in faux concern.

"Everything is great, actually, because when I was here," he begins, words quick and anxious as he tries to weave some sort of story, "I met a mutual friend!"

"Sylvie?" Mobius asks tightly.

"No, no, uh, better—"

Loki's jaw tightens. Enough of this. "We have some mutual friends back at the TVA who would like a word, as well—"

"Doc!" calls Brad after finally finding her in the sea of people, turning on his heel and calling out over his shoulder, "I got people I need you to meet!"

And just like that, it's like Loki's whole world splits wide open again.

In the fray of photographers and journalists, in the fray of drinks and the haze of smoke, there's you. You're smiling at Brad, positively beaming. You're bright as a star and Gods, there's no one in the room when you step forward with a laugh.

Your dress is green. Your hair is different.

There's a beauty mark on your left cheek. His version of you has a scar that lies there. A mistimed gift from Sylvie before their period on Lamentis. 

"Doc, these are some of my friends from work," Brad points, his hand falling along your waist in a way that makes Loki's blood boil; the ex-TVA Hunter leans close to your cheek, "They're the real deal."

You laugh into your drink, then extend your hand to Mobius. He's trying his best to hide his growing dread. "It's a pleasure."

Mobius takes it and shakes it gently. "And how do you have the pleasure of knowing our starlet, Brad?"

Damn it. He's losing Loki in real time here.

"Doc here did all the practical effects on set for Zaniac," Brad's eyes connect with Loki's — but the God is focused on only you... Her. Until Wolfe digs in with a low murmur meant to do just what it does, "She's a real wiz with her hands."

The God's face snaps. He will kill Brad, he decides. But, then this other-you moves to offer her hand and he can't help but melt. 

His fingers are trembling when he touches her skin. 

"Have we met before?" comes the soft lilt of her voice — this Variant's eyes are brown. They search Loki's face for a shred of recognition but all that's there between the two of them is raw attraction. A law of time and space unhindered by meddling hands. No matter where, no matter when, you will find one another.

Loki's mouth is dry. Your lipstick shade is a dark rogue. He thinks about that kiss back in the Void. He's stuck there, with your hand in his, when Brad bolts.

Her face contorts in confusion. She pulls away. But, Loki lingers. 

He has to... He...

He needs you back. 

Now. 

#beyond the void #from the void with love #loki x reader #loki x doc #loki x y/n #loki reader insert #loki/reader #loki/you #loki imagine #marvel imagine #marvel reader insert #loki season 2 fic #marvel fanfic

[sakuramoti0903]

crossover(Ducktales×Frieren)

#fanart #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #dt17 fanart #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #huey dewey and louie #webby vanderquack #huey dewey louie and webby #scrooge mcduck #sousou no frieren #frieren: beyond journey's end #crossover #fanfic

[the-scooby-gang]

Miguel: Every Spiderman follows the cannon. There are no deviations. There are no exceptions.

Spidergang with no dead uncles, their friend Gwen is fine, Sheriff Bronson didn't die saving a kid, etc. because four super powered teens and one super dog can cover a lot of bases and help each other better than one dude helping New York alone with only Daredevil and Deadpool sometimes: Yall hear sumn?

#scooby gang #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #scooby doo #shaggy rogers #daphne blake #fred jones #across the spiderverse #spiderman #peter parker #miles morales #miles is going to meet the gang in beyond the spiderverse and have so many emotions about it #Miles: so you guys are telling me that team work was the solution all along? #Fred: yeah pretty much dude #Miles: Cool cool cool nice to know *rocks Miguel's shit even harder* #The gangs mere existence would murder Miguel on the spot #all he believed in? shattered. vaporized. Daughter died for nothing #also IM NOT DEAD!!!! #I found a job guys! #so my time has been a little limited for fanart or fanfics #but now i have some time so BACK TO THE SCOOBY TIME #also would you guys believe i started this comic in JUNE and only had time to finish it NOW?!?!? crazy times

[what-shitfuckery-is-this-ew]

I swear the plot of across the spiderverse is just:

Miguel: Canon compliance is the only option

Miles: this is an AU, and if i'm not canon divergent I don't know what I am

Miguel: Bitch imma kill you

#astv #spider man astv #astv spoilers #spiderman astv #my post #1k #across the spider verse #spiderverse #atsv #into the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman #spider man #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #spidey #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara #spider verse #miles morales #miles molares #beyond the spiderverse #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfics #spiderman into the verse #itsv #the movie was talking about fanfiction and was in fact very meta

[dogd0m-charlie]

hey btw why were so many people (mostly girls) in like middle or even elementary school constantly socially assigning people a "top" or a "bottom" based solely on how they acted around others and how shy they were??

no alexis i am not a "soft cute little smol bean subby boy" or whatever, I'm just traumatized and undiagnosed autistic and also we're both 11 years old and I'm trying to pay attention to our teacher doing a lesson right now. your parents should've never given you unrestricted internet access. delete wattpad.

#autistic #autistic experiences #autism #sexualizing autism #actually autistic #trans nsft #ftm t4t #t4t mlm #mlm nsft #transmasc mlm #ftm mlm #mlm ftm #trans mlm #yaoi #yaoi bl #yaoi manga #fanfic #fanfiction #internet access beyond youtube should not be given to anyone under 15 anymore i stand by that #top and bottom #dom/sub #bd/sm kink #ptsd #complex ptsd #ftm #trans masc #trans man #transmasc

[muchosbesitos]

beyond love

pairing: miguel o’hara x lawyer fem reader

contents: reader’s emotionally unavailable lol, matthew murdock’s a warning on his own too, implied cheating (not from reader and miguel), smut in future parts 🥸

synopsis: you’d moved to nueva york after finishing up with law school, getting a job at nelson and murdock. one day, one of alchemax’s employees comes in needing your legal expertise. tension arises with one of the witnesses.

author’s note: ended up changing the name bc i’m super indecisive but sorry this took me so long to get out 😓 i hope y’all enjoy though :) i did take some inspo from tasm for this one

word count: 6.8k

"You're hired."

That was certainly not what you were expecting to hear. You were barely getting out your resume from your briefcase, having gone over the list of internships you'd done throughout law school. you blinked quickly, almost as if you were trying to assure yourself it wasn't just a figment of your imagination.

"Thank you, I promise you won't be disappointed," you finally ended up mustering out upon regaining your composure. You stood up, shaking the man's hand. He'd introduced himself as 'Foggy' before leading you to your office space to get acquainted. "Feel free to do whatever you want to the space, just don't make any holes in the walls," he told you before leaving the space.

You'd spent all day going from firm to firm, going through your extensive list of internships during law school to end up getting rejected towards the end. You'd gotten used to the forced smile that one of the partners gave you, whispering a half-assed 'I'm sorry' or 'we'll call you soon' with a pat on the back. Not that you actually expected a call back by any means.

You'd missed the subway to go back home, your heels not doing you in any justice when it came to trying to catch it. And just as your luck would have it, the next one wouldn't be coming for another hour. You ended up walking down the streets dejectedly, your briefcase barely hovering above ground with every step that you took.

Stepping into Nelson and Murdock was a last resort, if anything, just another rejection you were expecting to get added to the list. t

The space didn't seem all that extravagant, but at least it had somewhat decent reviews when you searched it up. "Hi, welcome to Nelson and Murdock!" You were immediately greeted by the blonde receptionist at the front desk, the name tag in front of her reading 'Karen.'

You quickly learned why you got hired so easily. The firm was essentially running off good luck and pure positivity. The debt accumulated by the light bill, rent, and phone service surpassed that of what the four of you combined earned per month. The cases that you took outside of the one regarding Wilson Fisk and his subsidiaries were solely pro bono.

Though you supposed a decent plus from it was that you were never hungry. The collection of baked goods quickly grew in your apartment, each a little token of appreciation from your clients. Items from banana bread, muffins, and chocolate chips cookies had accumulated in your kitchen counter. Your clients' faces lit up at the prospect of a reduced sentence or winning their case, immediately showering you in thanks.

Maybe it wasn't so bad.

Another pro from the job was that you had somewhat of a social life now. You went from buying dinners for one to enjoy while watching Netflix on a Friday night to going out with your coworkers.

Your social life before stepping foot into Nelson and Murdock was practically nonexistent. The only reason you'd ever bothered to talk to anyone during law school was to have some form of a study group, purely for your own self interest. As much as any of the other students there. You hadn't bothered to keep in contact with any of the other alumni after graduation.

Josie’s had become your spot to get a drink with the trio after work, usually on Friday night to have time to recover from your hangovers. The stickiness of the floors and the overwhelmingly bad taste of the drinks was overridden by the company that you were with. Conversation with Foggy and Karen was easy enough to engage in, jokes flowing between you three throughout the night. Matt was more reserved than the two of them, though he indulged you in a game of pool sometimes.

"All I'm saying is that I would have less stress in my life if I would've become a butcher. Nothing to worry about except for selling sausages and meat," Foggy remarked after the four of you started to talk about the developments in the Fisk case. The man was much more methodical and complicated than you anticipated, one step ahead every single time.

"Every time you retell that story, my interest in it just gets peaked more and more," Matt muttered from the side, taking a sip from his drink.

"Really?"

"Absolutely not."

You took a sip from your own drink, watching the exchange between the two of them with an amused smile on your face. You hadn't even noticed that the conversation had shifted until you had two pairs of eyes facing in your direction. “Sorry, can you repeat that?"

"Did you ever think about becoming anything else other than a lawyer? Like I dunno, a butcher?"

You took a couple seconds to think about the question, setting your glass down on the table. You'd entertained the idea of dropping out during your time in law school, maybe pursing something along the lines of starting your own business. Though, it was nothing more than a fleeting thought. Nothing really excited you more than practicing law.

"I did think about it, but not to be a butcher. Something in business, maybe."

Foggy moved on to ask the question to Karen, even going as to question if she would consider a career as a butcher one day. She'd ended up saying yes, for the sake of indulging Foggy in a fantasy where stress wasn't a key part of everybody's life. While the two were talking, you couldn't but notice that Matt was staring into you, almost as if he could see you better than you ever could.

The end of the night approached you quicker than you'd expected, the once socially awkward woman now complaining that the night was ending so early. (it was 1 am) Matt stayed later than the two of them, the two of you sharing drinks and playing a couple rounds of pool before you eventually gave up. "Seriously, how are you so good at that?"

He'd managed to get most of the balls into the holes while the only one you'd managed to get in was due to his assistance. "Just listening to how the balls ricochet, I guess," he shrugged off the win like it was nothing, leaning against the table as he downed the rest of his drink down. The two of you leaned against the pool table in silence, finishing up the rest of your drinks before you headed out for the night.

"Can I walk you home?" You heard from behind you, Matt making his way out of the door. He tapped his cane against the floor, making his way over to you. You nodded, your eyes widening slightly upon realizing your mistake. Matt didn't seem too offended by it, letting out a small chuckle as he held onto your arm. "You just nodded, huh?" He ended up asking, the two of you walking down the street.

"Yeah, sorry about that," you responded, enjoying the silence of the night for once. The streets of Nueva York had seemed to calm down with the two vigilantes in the streets, Daredevil and Spider-Man. While their actions weren’t exactly legal, you'd heard of the police divulging details with one of the two to get help with an investigation. Overall, thefts and petty robberies had gone down dramatically.

You and Matt walked to your apartment in silence, though it wasn't uncomfortable by any means. You always found Matt to have somewhat of a relaxing presence, from the way that his words poured out like melting honey to the way he calmly carried himself around. You did notice however, that despite him grabbing onto your arm, it seemed like he was leading you more than you were guiding him.

"Thank you," you spoke up once the two of you approached your apartment, stepping away from Matt. You walked up the stairs, digging through your pockets to find your keys. It always did seem that the moments where you needed them the most, they seemed to just vanish. Eventually, you'd managed to dig them out after practically stripping your pockets from its belongings.

Before you had the chance to step inside, matt cleared his throat to capture your attention. "Would you like to go out with me? I know this great place," he asked, your movements on the door knob coming to a halt. You'd heard of how much Matt got around, from the trip he took to Los Angeles that ended him up with Jen Walters to the nurse that he ended up seducing. You didn't mean to overhear, it's just that the walls at the firm were relatively thin.

"I'm sorry, I just don't think I should in the position that we're in. With you being my boss and all," you responded after a couple seconds, listening to the faint sigh that Matt let out.

"If it makes for a convincing argument, I promise that I won't let our situation affect what we have going on at work. Those are two completely different things and I'm capable of treating them as such."

Well, yes, you knew that he was capable of hooking up with a co-worker and pretending like it never happened the next day.

But.. you weren't so sure about yourself.

"Just take a couple days to think about it and get back to me, okay?" He ended up speaking up after a couple seconds of your silence, departing your apartment.

Your thoughts kept going back to the offer every single time you had a spare second to yourself. And even with that, the answer wasn't making itself any clearer. You had a duty to yourself to make the best out of your law degree and you liked this job too much to give it up for a cheap thrill. But yet, you still couldn't help but wonder about what it would actually be like to go out with him.

After what seemed to be a week of deliberation, you agreed to go on a date with Matt. A test run, of sorts. Nothing that would end up horribly if it didn't work out well. And well, you had to admit that the place he picked out did have some pretty good food. Conversation with him was a bit awkward, given that the two of you hadn't had a reason to talk to each other outside of work but you found it somewhat fun getting to know him.

"Wait so you learned Spanish in college?" You followed up after he shared his experiences in Columbia, how the whole Murdock and Nelson firm came into fruition.

"I did, it wasn't that hard to learn. It serves me now since some of the people in the community speak mainly Spanish. Often overlooked in the legal system so I try to facilitate that."

"So, could you say something in Spanish now?"

"You know, I kinda tend to hate that question since all the Spanish vocabulary from my head just disappears. Give me a couple seconds to think about something."

You were about to tell Matt to forget it after he divulged into thought for a couple seconds, a bit guilty for putting him on the spot like that. Before you had the chance to speak, he broke the silence first.

"You have a face como un burro."

Your eyes widened slightly upon hearing his pronunciation, the accent coming out relatively well given the situation. He'd even managed to roll his r's when he spoke.

"Uh.. do you mind explaining what that last part means?"

"You have the face of an angel."

You knew that he couldn't see your face, but somehow that made the compliment all that much better. The fact that he thought you were pretty just by the way you acted and the way you talked was enough to get you flustered. Though, a small doubt planted inside your head that maybe it wasn't the true meaning of the phrase. You'd have to look it up at a later time if you remembered.

The date continued smoothly, and eventually, the one date turned into multiple dates. Well, whenever the two of you had the time. It was one of the easier parts of dating a fellow lawyer, that he understood the conflicting work schedules imposed upon you. And while conversations with him began to flow easier the more that you got to him and you grew to enjoy his company with each passing date, you still couldn't help but feel as if something was off.

Your relationship with Matt was.. complicated to say the least. The countless dates that he took you to didn't seem to matter when it came to commitment. He called you his girlfriend in private, whispering sweet nothings and calling you names such as 'darling' and 'love' yet the two of you didn't do much apart from eat together and have sex. He acted like a coworker in public, keeping you at an arm's distance. Never once acknowledging you as something other than your last name.

And yet, every time that you wanted to leave the situation you were in, he managed to pull you right back in his grasp with that stupid smile of his. Whispering empty promises as he slid inside you, promises that would long be forgotten by the time morning rolled around. Promises that kept you sticking around until you doubted him again, repeating the cycle once more.

"Hi," a timid voice from behind you broke you out of your thoughts, making you immediately turn around to face them. You'd gotten distracted thinking about your relationship status with Matt again. The thought of leaving started to implant itself in your head. He'd been making excuses for missing dates, leaving you to try to rationalize his absences. The first thing that you noticed about the man was that he was covered head to toe in bandages, obviously in your office for a personal injury case.

"Hi, sorry about that. Welcome to Nelson and Murdock, can I get you something to drink?" You snapped back into it, making a beeline for the coffee machine. "Just a glass of water, please," the man spoke up, his tone making it seem like it was an inconvenience.

You handed the cup of water over to him with a small smile, hoping to help him get more at ease with the situation. You beckoned him to sit down, taking your notepad out of your desk to begin writing down the details that he would share. The more that you listened to the man's story, Max, the more that your bewilderment grew. Electric eels? No wonder the man was covered up the way he was.

"So you fell into a tub of electric eels while you were working overtime?" You asked after he finished speaking, wanting to make sure you'd gotten the details right. You set down your pen, leaning a bit forward on the desk. "Yes, that's exactly what happened. I’m seeking out your services because I got fired right after the incident and I want to regain my position at the company."

Ah, they'd fired him to avoid a personal injury case. Which was exactly what you were going to convince Max to file.

"You know that you can get some type of compensation for what happened? Given that you got injured in a work space. I can help you get your job back but I believe that you're deserving of much more than that and I can be the one to help you throughout that path."

After a bit of convincing from your part, you'd managed to get Max to agree to the conditions that you were setting in place. You'd managed to get the paperwork rolling to get the lawsuit filed before he left, leaving you only to go to Alchemax and try to get some testimonies. You did a bit of research on the subject, distracting yourself from the thought that Matt hadn't bothered to step foot in his office all day. not even a call to let you know he hadn't died or something.

You weren't sure what you were expecting upon meeting the CEO of Alchemax, Miguel O'Hara. The photo that he had up on the website was a portrait of him with an unamused expression on his face, his brows furrowed as if he were willing for the camera to click faster. The very same expression that he was currently giving you right now. "Hi, I'm the attorney for Max's case. I was wondering if i could get your testimony."

The only sign of acknowledgment that you got from him was a grunt before he turned over to look at Max, his expression softening a bit. An expression that you would've missed had you not been conditioned to look out for every minor detail. "Can I talk to you really quick?" Miguel asked, unwilling to acknowledge that you were still in the room before he walked into a conference room behind him with Max.

You leaned your ear to the door, trying your best to listen in on the conversation. It had been a harder task than you'd expected, a couple employees shooting you dirty looks upon seeing you against the door. You could make out a couple sentences in between their hushed whispers, your brows knitting immediately as you heard the exchange.

“I'm saying is that I don't think she's a good fit for this lawsuit. She looks inexperienced. You know I could get my lawyer for you if you wanted, Max."

"You know I respect your opinion and all, Miguel, I really do. But isn't your lawyer mostly just based on family law?"

"Well yes, but I'm sure he has some lawyer at his firm designated towards personal injury lawsuits."

You stepped away from the door, dusting off your clothes as you let out a scoff to yourself. How dare he. How dare he make those comments without even bothering to have a full conversation with you? The most he'd given you was a glimpse, if you could even count the three seconds he looked in your direction as that. The two men in question departed the room and the first you noticed was the scowl that adorned miguel's features.

"How long have you been practicing personal injury cases exactly?" Niguel's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, like he was the one you needed to convince rather than Max. While your experience as a lawyer was mostly based around criminal law, you weren't about to divulge that information with Miguel. Not when he already doubted your abilities.

"I practice mostly in criminal law now, but I have some experience with those types of cases after completing a internship during law school," you responded, trying to maintain some semblance of your composure. You could tell that max greatly valued the opinion of his superior, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by. You had to impress him if you wanted to impress Max.

Miguel's eyes slightly narrowed at the statement but he decided not to question you further, having asked what law school you went to prior to that. "I'll see you later when you take my testimony?" He asked, to which you nodded. He departed the space, leaving you alone with Max. You guided him inside the conference room that he'd been with Miguel a couple seconds back, deciding to host your questioning inside.

You'd gotten the gist of what the lawsuit was concerning from Max when he first came in, but you wanted to make sure you had every detail on paper. From what time he'd clocked in to what time he'd clocked out, what he'd worn to work, small details that would normally be overlooked at first glance. You turned on the small recorder that you brought along, setting in the middle of the table so it would pick up every word spoken.

"So you came in at 5 am and left at 8 pm?"

"I did, yes."

"Were those overtime hours voluntary or were they placed upon you?"

"The boss of the division told me I had to stay behind to work on it when I was getting ready to leave. I was planning on going out and buying myself a birthday cake that day."

You couldn't help but feel a bit of sympathy for Max, your brows furrowing as you wrote down what he was telling you. You shut the recorder off, having collected most of the information that you were looking for. "For what it's worth, happy late birthday Max," you spoke up once you were finished writing, a surprised look on his face as the words registered. Almost as if it was the first time that someone had ever said those words to him.

"Thank you, no one really bothered to remember," he responded, sounding less timid than when he'd first stepped foot into your 'office.' While at first you were simply viewing him as a client, a means to build your expertise, you couldn't help but feel upset the more you talked to him. He'd come into your office, simply looking to get back into the job that had done him wrong. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy, overlooked by everyone in his life.

"Alright. I'll make sure to keep you updated on any developments in the case and when a court date has been established. The company's mostly likely gonna want to settle so it's up to you if you want to accept the compensation that they offer. My advice would be not to, at least not on the first offer," you spoke up, standing up after you were finished. You handed your card over to Max, helping him out of the building.

It was only after Max had left that you made your way up the stairs, looking for Miguel's office. You browsed through the different rooms, his being the furthest one in the hall. The biggest one. Of course. You knocked on the door, waiting for some type of answer. You looked through the window, noticing that all the lights had mostly been dimmed down. You weren't expecting anyone to actually open the door, collecting your stuff to attempt to come back at a later time.

"Can I help you with something?" You heard before you had the chance to get too far, Miguel standing in front of the door. you saw the look of exhaustion on his features, the darkness around him almost emphasizing it. "I was wondering if i could get your statement now but I can come back at a later time if you want."

Miguel didn't say anything, walking back into the room once you'd finished speaking. He had left the door open, though. You took that as a silent invitation, stepping inside the space and closing the door behind you. The sunlight peeking in through the windows helped illuminate your way over to the desk he was sitting at. "I'll take care of a phone call and I'll be back to answer whatever questions you have, attorney."

The statement that Miguel had given you was strangely detailed, every detail regarding the scene memorized. you couldn't help but notice he seemed to mutter out every sentence he spoke, barely making an attempt to open his mouth. The only times he'd spoken clearly were when he had his back to you and even then, he seemed to speak with a bit of a lisp.

"So I'm not saying you have to alter this right away, but you're gonna have to speak up louder in court if you want them to hear you." you spoke up after he finished answering one of your questions, making sure to approach the subject with caution. You didn't know if he would be sensitive towards it.

Even through the darkness of the room, you couldn't miss the glare that he gave you even if you tried. Yup, clearly sensitive. "I can't speak any louder if I tried. I'll try to keep it in mind though," he made more of an effort to make himself sound louder, though not by much. But at least he was willing to take your advice into consideration. You made a mental note to talk to the judge about adjusting his microphone volume.

"¡Papi!" A small girl approached miguel, her arms reaching up to where he was sitting. Miguel was the most vulnerable that you've ever seen him, his angry resolve melting into pure butter at the sight of the little girl standing in front of him. "Hola mija, how was school?" He asked, the two of them getting into a conversation about how her recent math quiz had gone. It was nice seeing the two of them interact, the way he followed up to every statement that she made.

"You don't mind if my daughter stays here during the interview, right?" Miguel asked, clearing his throat as he looked up at you. And just as soon as his resolve melted, it came back. "No, I don't mind since she's not testifying," you responded, watching as Miguel reached into one of his cabinets upon hearing your response. He took out a board game, Operation. he handed it over to the girl, her eyes almost seeming to shine in the darkness enveloping the three of you.

"Gracias papá," Gabriella told him upon receiving the game, skipping over to a lab table to play by herself. You jumped back into the questions after making sure that Miguel was ready, his demeanor seeming less hostile as compared to earlier. He responded to your questions with much more precision, adding in as many details as possible. You could tell just by the way he was fidgeting around that he was anxious to be home with his kid. You wrapped up the process pretty quickly, making swift movements to clear the desk from your belongings.

"Miss Lawyer Lady? Do you wanna play with me? It's just.. my mom doesn't really play games with me anymore," Gabriella spoke up before you had the chance to leave. You walked over to the table she was sitting at, putting your briefcase down. "Gabriella, I'm sure 'Miss Lawyer Lady' has things she needs to do. I'll play with you," Miguel told her, making the little girl turn to look at you with puppy eyes.

And you did have things to get done.

You had to review the evidence you'd collected today. Go through the different voice recordings to make your own recollection of events. Go through countless hours of security footage.

And yet, you found yourself agreeing to play a game of Operation with her. You convinced yourself that you were staying solely because those puppy eyes made you weak. You'd been planning on taking it easy on her but the thing is, she was much more talented than you at the game. While you were making the game buzz time after time again, she took out the items with ease.

"Makes sense why you decided to be a lawyer instead of a surgeon," Gabriella teased you after you messed up on the heart. You reluctantly handed the tweezers over to her, letting out a small chuckle as she struggled with the same section. "Think she might've killed your patient by now, Gabi," you hadn't heard Miguel come by and suddenly, he was standing next to you. "Fine, then you try it big guy," you challenged, handing him the tweezers when it was your turn again.

You almost wished you hadn't bothered to tease him. Despite the size of his hands, he was able to maneuver the tweezers in a way that guaranteed the piece wouldn't touch the board at all. All you could do was swallow your words when you looked over at the stupid smirk directed your way. But at least the scowl was better than the scowl he seemed to have reserved towards you.

“Hey, what does ‘cara de burro mean?’” You asked after a couple seconds, the sentence making itself back into your head. You’d meant to search up the meaning of it months ago but you seemed to forget every time you actually got close to a computer. “donkey face,” Gabriella answered, keeping her attention on the board in the middle of the table. You looked over at miguel for some kind of a reaffirmation, being met with a nod.

Oh, that shocking bastard.

You looked down at your phone upon hearing a buzz, your face immediately forming into a frown once you read the contents of the text. Another cancelled date. Three times these past two weeks alone. you looked up to see Gabriella looking curiously at you, waiting for you to divulge who and what the text was about.

"Just some guy I'm seeing. Cancelled our date again."

"Why don't you dump him already if he's done it more than twice?"

Because you still held out some hope that maybe, by some miracle above, he'd start to put in the effort that you needed so desperately. "It's more complicated than that, he's good when he wants to be," you weren't sure why exactly you felt the need to rationalize Matt’s actions to a eight year old but here you were.

"Just seems like he doesn't know what he has. You're very pretty, Ms. Lawyer Lady. Even though you suck at Operation, you're still pretty smart."

You couldn't help but smile at her words, going back to messing up your round of Operation. Hearing her say that was almost reassuring in a way, that maybe you did deserve more than what Matthew had been giving towards you. You could've sworn you felt Miguel's eyes almost boring into you for a couple seconds, though he had his attention on Gabriella when you turned to look at him.

The three of you spent about an hour playing Operation before Gabriella had to get ready for her soccer practice, leaving you wandering the streets of Nueva York. While Matt had cancelled on your date with him, you figured that maybe it wouldn't hurt to take the date over to him. You stopped by his favorite spot to get noodles from, getting a dinner for two before heading over to his apartment.

The sight in front of you made you regret even spending one more penny on what he wanted.

What awaited you in Matt’s apartment was a sight that you weren't expecting. He was sprawled out on the couch, bruises and cuts adorning his body like a second skin while a black haired woman worked on rubbing some alcohol into the deep marks. Wearing one of his button down shirts. With nothing underneath.

"What are you doing here?" Matt’s voice broke you out of your frozen state of shock, your grip on the takeout bag tightening so you wouldn't drop it. "I came here because I thought that we could share a dinner but clearly I was mistaken," you couldn't hide the bitterness out of your voice as you spoke. You were trying not to yell, knowing how sensitive he already was towards everyday sounds.

"It's not what it loo-"

"No. I don't care what you think this looks like. Because what it looks like to me is that you've been disregarding my texts and my calls to be out with this woman. That you've been cancelling out on our dates but you have no problem making time for her."

Matt and the woman remained quiet, almost as if they both knew that they wouldn't be able to come back with a rebuttal to that. "I can't believe I took time to beg you for a relationship," you finally muttered as you made your way out the door. You stopped by the steps, almost as if you were waiting for the woman and Matt to follow. For matt to beg you to come back to his apartment while the woman left in shame.

Unfortunately, you only stood there like a fool for two minutes. the door remained closed, their hushed whispers bleeding out through the walls. You made your way down the stairs, maintaining the last bit of your pride as you headed back home. The only thing you had to console yourself with was the noodles in your hand, though they were cold by the time you'd gotten home. You'd ended up eating your dinner alone, playing one of the videos of Gabriella playing soccer that Miguel so generously sent over.

Matthew hadn't been lying when he said that he was able to act like nothing happened between the two of you. The next day he was back to handing you case files and asking what you wanted for lunch like the event didn't happen. And normally, you'd appreciate the gesture. But now, all you could feel was infuriated. How much time you begged him to give a relationship with you a chance only to end up crying into your pillow the next day. And now, he acted like it was a glitch.

Like you were nothing more than another average employee.

You were able to act as nothing more than an average employee after taking a couple days to let yourself mourn the loss of your relationship. The evidence that you collected towards Alchemax was overwhelming, almost assuring you a 100% chance of winning the case. You'd made sure to talk to the judge about adjusting the microphone settings and turning off some of the lights to make things comfortable for your witnesses. Well, one specifically.

You could tell that Miguel appreciated those little details, his shoulders becoming less tense when he set foot onto the stand. He made an attempt to try to speak louder into the microphone, even if he was still trying to cover up his teeth. You appreciated the effort that he put into it, making sure to let him know that he'd done a good job. "Just focus on winning the case," he muttered after you were done, but you could've sworn you saw a hint of a smile on his way out.

Or maybe you were just delusional and you were looking for little signs that weren't there.

The countless hours of overtime that you spent reviewing past cases regarding this section of the law, working out drafts of the prosecution that you wanted to present, had come to fruition in the work. Max received a hefty amount upon the jury's decision, the verdict stating that the company was fully responsible in the damages that were caused to him. In turn, the company also took him back and made sure to sign on an agreement where they swore to make their work area more secure.

Overall, a win-win scenario.

"Congratulations. I suppose you're not completely incompetent," Miguel remarked upon seeing you walk in the restaurant, his arms folded across his chest. You planned on taking that as a compliment being that it was the only semblance of praise that he'd given you so far. "That might be the nicest thing you've said to me all day," you remarked, making your way to the table where Max was waiting for the two of you.

He invited the two of you out to drinks after news of the verdict got out, seeming like he needed ideas on how to spend the money he'd gotten. To which you graciously accepted.

"Thank you. For the time that you put into my case, I know how busy you lawyers tend to get," Max told you after greeting you, his gratitude towards you evident. No matter how many times you'd get praised by your clients, you'd never quite be able to get used to the way they spoke to you. They spoke to you like you were a hero, expressing their thanks time after time again.

Max and Miguel got into a conversation about one of the experiments that they were working on, the two of them including you into the conversation whenever you had a question to ask. You appreciated that the two of them tried to include you despite your limited knowledge in the science field. "No, the variable needs to be in a 90 degree room to be able to thrive properly. Otherwise, we just have to go out and scrap the experiment," Max explained to one of your questions, expressing how crucial that aspect was.

While it wasn't exactly riveting to hear the two of them explain the differences of DNA and RNA, you still found yourself having a pleasant time by the end of the night. "Sorry guys, I have to get going. But thank you for coming out tonight and for winning my case," Max dismissed himself around 8:30, giving the two of you a handshake before departing the restaurant. Despite the fact Max had offered the drinks, you and Miguel still chipped in for your individual drinks.

"Y'know, I tried to act cordial around you and treat you as respectful as possible, but you still don't like me. I’m curious as to why," the alcohol in your system loosening up your tongue, the words escaping from your mouth before you even got the chance to think about them twice. Your eyes widened as you looked over at Miguel, expecting him to just leave the money on the table and leave.

Rather, he seemed somewhat amused by the situation. Well, as amused as you'd ever see him be. "I don't like you because you're one of the most unpredictable women i've met. You just make me nervous. And frankly, it’s attractive in a way," he finally spoke up after a while, taking his own drink in hand. You blinked slowly, hoping that with a couple more seconds, you'd be able to register what he'd just said to you.

He continued to speak after your silence, taking advantage of the situation. "Sorry if I'm overstepping any boundaries here, but I feel as though there's some tension between us. I was wondering if you wanted to explore that."

Always the geek, even when he was trying to lure you into his bedroom.

"I'm not exactly looking for anything serious right now."

Your battered heart wouldn't be able to take being treated the same way Matt did to you again. Not even one more single time. You were determined to avoid getting put in that situation even if it meant you were missing out on opportunities.

"I'm aware. But I’m not looking for anything serious either, just something for the night."

Out of all the things that came out of his mouth tonight, that certainly wasn't what you were expecting.

Well, now or ever.

But.. you also couldn't deny it to yourself that you felt some of that tension that he'd been mentioning. Even if the two of you could barely be in a room together most of the time, he was still infuriatingly attractive. especially in the stupid button down he'd chosen to wear, his arms practically bulging out the sleeves when he rolled them up to his elbows. The pants he had on didn't help the situation either, the material accentuating his thighs and his slutty waist.

You wouldn't have figured as much. you would've imagined him seeking out a serious relationship, someone that would be able to properly take on the mantle of being Gabriella’s stepmom. But, in a weird way, you supposed that it also made sense. He and Gabriella both had their own sets of issues after his wife left the two of them behind, both of them wanting that sort of connection without actually putting themselves at risk of getting hurt.

You looked down at your phone when you felt it vibrate, seeing Matt’s name pop up on the screen. as much as you wanted to disregard his call, you figured that it probably wouldn't be the best thing to do. He was still your boss after all. This could be a call related to something about the Fisk case.

"Hey, what's up?" You tried to mask your reluctance as you spoke, though Matt almost seemed to notice it every time that it happened.

He didn't seem to care this time, jumping straight into the case of this phone call.

"I'm calling to see if you want to come over, darling. I mean, breakup sex has to be up on the list for top experiences."

You couldn't help the groan that escaped from your lips upon hearing the request, almost laughing at the audacity that he presented. Though, you figured he would've called an asylum had you started laughing now. He's still your boss. He's still your boss. He's still your boss.

"No, I'm not interesting in hooking up with you. I didn't think I had to tell you but I don't want you calling this number unless you have something related to our job. Goodnight."

You didn't give Matt a chance to respond, putting your phone away in your purse. You were busy mulling over Miguel's words, gulping down the last of your drink. You tried to think of any negatives that sleeping with him would have, but you eventually came up with nothing. You wouldn't have any obligation to see him if this all went south and the two of you agreed beforehand that this was something casual.

So, there was really only one thing for you to do now.

"Sure, let's go back to your place."

tags 🫶🏼: @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @lazyjellyfish300 @pxtched @nympholove @ifiwasaguybrickedup @yournextbimbogf @nixinluv02 @lizaistewdelulu @monarchberrysblog @loser-alert @spiderpapi2099 @sloverr

#muchosbesitos #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara smut #⚖️beyond love⚖️ #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara fanfic #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel x y/n #miguel ohara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #self insert #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #across the spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara fanfiction

[hobiebrownismygod]

Miles-42/Prowler Miles x GN!Reader

based off this post

@tainted-liquor hopefully this is okay 🥺

TW: Fluff, Kind of Short, No Plot, Mention of Ganke

____________________________________________________________

"You're so frustrating"

You looked up to see your boyfriend, Miles G. Morales, looking down at you with his hands on his hips. He was scowling, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Whats your problem?" You huffed, giving him an annoyed look before waving him off and looking back down at the book you were reading.

He leaned down and tilted your chin up to force you to look at him, cupping your face in between his hands in the process. He squinted slightly as he looked directly into your eyes, eyebrows still furrowed. "Why the hell do you have to be so cute?"

You blinked out of confusion. His eyes were darting in between yours as he stared, deep in thought. "You good?" you asked, lip twitching as you tried not to laugh at how he was acting. What a dork.

"I'll be good once you answer my question."

He was dead serious. You snorted at this and pushed his hands off your face. "Stop playing"

"I'm not messing around!" he said, expression softening slightly. He sat down next to you, pulling you toward him as he pressed his face into your neck, effectively pushing your book out of your hands. "Hey-" you started to protest, but were interrupted by his voice.

"Stop tryna play hard to get" his voice was muffled as he spoke into your skin, arms wrapping around your waist. "its pissing me off"

You chuckled softly at this, resting your head against his, a slight smile spreading across your face. "I was reading that, dork"

"Read later. I'm here right now"

"You're always here"

"So?"

You rolled your eyes. Clingy ass mf-

He looked at you, tilting your chin up so he could look you in the eyes again. You raised an eyebrow at him, biting back a laugh at his expression. He still looked mad.

"Who gave you the right?"

"What right?"

"The right to look so damn pretty all the time?"

"Has Ganke been reading you pick-up lines or something?" You asked with a snort, pressing your forehead against his.

He shrugged, closing his eyes at your movement, keeping his arms wrapped around you. "Where's this even coming from?" you whispered.

"Ion know. You just do stuff to me I guess."

____________________________________________________________

A/N: This was pretty short but the prompt was also pretty short, so I think I did okay!! If there's anything that stands out to you or anything you think I should change, pls let me know!! <3

I genuinely have no idea how to write this guy 😭

He seems so average I'm sorry, like he'd act like most guys there's nothing defining about him that we know about because he had like 5 or 6 lines in the movie so I don't know how to write him in a way thats still accurate to his character and I don't wanna headcanon with some random personality cuz it would feel off to me yk.

#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #miles morales #beyond the spiderverse #spiderman #prowler miles x reader #prowler miles #miles morales prowler #earth 42 prowler #atsv prowler #prowler x reader #prowler morales #prowler miles fanfic #prowler miles morales #prowler miles x you #earth 42 miles #miles g morales #miles 42 #42 miles morales #miles x reader #miles morales x reader #spiderverse #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales #miles gonzalo morales #miles g x reader #earth 42

[twstgarden]

❀ ❝ 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗶 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻 ��𝗼𝘃𝗲? ❞

━ malleus draconia x gn! reader (reader can be yuu or an oc/twstsona) ━ thoughts of the possibility of falling in love with your nightly visitor continue to disturb you even during the times you were supposed to focus on your quality time together.

no spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia’s arc!

do not steal or translate without my permission.

buy me a coffee here and ko-fi here if you want to support me, commissions are open

“modern architectures seemed to have adapted new designs for their gargoyles. why, i even came across one that resembles a human face. it is quite intriguing, really. i have grown accustomed to seeing gargoyles that usually take the form of different creatures of the night, so seeing that human-like gargoyle sparked some interest in me that i wish to show it to you,” rambled malleus before he frowned, “however, my so-called phone could no longer capture images. it breaks easily, it’s unfortunate.”

you sat as you replied with a soft hum, your chin resting on your hand as you looked up at him with a rather longing and lovestruck gaze. you were paying attention to his ramblings, truly, you were! it just so happened that you were looking at him with an infatuated gaze.

hearing only a hum from you, malleus turned his head to look at his companion. with a raised brow, he spoke, “hm? are you alright?”

his question snapped you out of your thoughts. a soft blush dusted over your cheeks as you felt embarrassed of having been caught staring, “oh, sorry. um… so, did you capture it with… maybe a regular camera?”

once more, there was a frown on his lips, “no, but i will make sure i get to capture its uniqueness and aesthetic the next time i come across that gargoyle.”

it was somewhere around midnight when you decided to accompany malleus in the backyard of the ramshackle dorm, and you spent the past 30 minutes listening to him talk about his findings during his strolls for his gargoyle research club activity.

you loved listening to him speak. his voice was deep and resonant, yet so dulcet and soothing. you would never get tired of listening to him all day. when he speaks with clear passion and excitement laced in his tone, he resembles a young kid who had just gotten some candy – so endearing and oh so innocent, but you had to remind yourself that this was no ordinary man. this was the crown prince of a nation, a man respected by many and feared by many more.

still, who gives a damn about titles when you can enjoy his presence for as long as you want? as long as the moon stays up in the sky and the sun has not risen, you can guarantee his presence in your dormitory.

were you falling in love?

what nonsense. of course not! who could afford to fall in love at a time like this? what you needed to focus on was your return to your world, not fall in love with a prince who may soon be betrothed to someone else.

oh, but that smile…

malleus smiled as he caught you staring once more, lost in your gaze. with a teasing chuckle, he spoke playfully, “am i so captivating that you can’t seem to tear your eyes away?”

what a beautiful smile.

that question alone made you look away immediately. was it too obvious? surely, he was only teasing you, but it was as if he hinted that he knew you might be falling for him. you laughed a little and replied, “i was spacing out! i wasn’t staring or anything…”

“spacing out, hm? does something trouble your mind?” asked malleus. the playful air seemed to have dissipated, replaced with an air of concern and care as soon as you told him you were spacing out.

“not at all,” you replied with a smile, “i was only imagining what that gargoyle with a human face would look like.”

are you falling in love?

again, with such questions! having the desire to spend more time with the man and looking forward to your nightly meetings does not equate to falling in love. you merely wanted his companionship. he was the only one visiting you late at night, keeping you entertained and listening to your troubles. he was more of a friend than anyone else in night raven college – ace and deuce are a category of their own.

there was never a single night he’d bail on you. not a single night had he let you be alone. it had become a tradition at this point for him to always be standing by your window once the clock struck 12. he never arrived empty-handed; there was always a thoughtful gift in tow or an engaging tale of adventures of the people he knew – mostly lilia’s adventures. other times, it would be a treasure trove of fascinating facts on random yet intriguing subjects. with him, each nightly meeting was an enchanting experience, always concluding with the bestowal of a meaningful gift, the creation of lasting memories, or the gain of fresh knowledge.

a knowledgeable and kind-hearted friend.

that’s how you’d always describe him. that’s what you’d always tell yourself. he was nothing more than a knowledgeable, kind-hearted friend. why must your admiration of his character equate to romantic feelings? even friends can find one person cool and not wish to have romantic relationships with them.

oh, but you love holding his hand…

it was another night in night raven college, another night spent with your midnight visitor. he was discussing certain gemstones that he had in his collection – his hoard, a term better suited for his kind. the discussion seemed normal at first glance until he looked at your left hand and held his right hand out for you to hold after taking off his glove.

“may i?”

curiosity washed over your senses as you tilted your head but placed your left hand on top of his anyway. his gentle caress on your knuckles sent shivers down your spine, his hands felt so smooth and oh so gentle, yet you knew of the underlying strength that was concealed within his lovely hands.  the same hand that finds ease in cracking a coconut open gently held your own – as if he was afraid of accidentally hurting you.

as his thumb tenderly brushed against your bare ring finger, he spoke, “a beautiful golden ring would best adorn your hand, perhaps one embedded with your birthstone, don’t you think?”

this was merely a casual conversation between friends – a topic of discussion relating to gemstones turned into rings. this is normal, is it not? you hummed in reply as he continued to hold your hand, “a golden ring embedded with my birthstone? that sounds lovely.” a soft laugh then left your lips, “i could not afford to buy one, however.”

hoping he would comprehend your attempt at making a poor joke, you looked at him with a smile. he let out a soft chuckle, leading you to believe he was amused by your jest until his response completely caught you off-guard.

“why buy one when i can have one custom-made for you?”

your smile dropped as your expression turned into shock.

“pardon?”

that night was memorable, and certainly had its surprising elements compared to your other nightly meetings. you thought he was joking about getting a custom-made ring for you, but he had given so many hints and statements that he was completely serious – he even took your ring size. you did not stop him. perhaps it was just another one of his many, many gifts that he had bestowed upon you.

your vague knowledge of fae tradition made you recall a hint of a connection between faes and the art of gift-giving – that exchanging of gifts was an intrinsic part of their nature. you were entirely unaware of the customs and traditions surrounding gifts in briar valley, but surely, gift-giving is a way to show how much one appreciates an important acquaintance, is it not?

after that meeting, you started to realise the growing number of attempts on him holding your hand – whether you’re walking side by side or sitting together on the bench – he would always attempt to interlock his hand with yours in a way that seems respectful. his hand would gently brush against your own while he was talking, giving a hint that he wishes to hold your hand but would rather have your consent first.

you did not hesitate. you smiled and continued listening to his words as you interlocked your fingers together, gently squeezing his hand as he had not worn his gloves like usual. there was a brief moment of his eyes lighting up and his smile growing wider once he felt your hand on his, but then reverted to his usual expression as he continued to share stories with you.

your nightly meetings had extended to daylight hours. you were no longer confined in the moon’s appearance in the sky to determine how long you’d spend your time with him. you did not mind being seen by everyone else in the academy hanging out with the hotshot dormitory leader of diasomnia – who cares about them?

as long as malleus continued to spend his time with you, you’d spend your time with him. your blooming connection had soon become known to everyone else, and those from his dormitory were more than happy to finally see their dorm leader making friends. well, lilia was the proudest, but sebek still has his suspicions.

it has been a long while now since you have established a connection with the lonely crown prince. his companionship was all you could find on all the times you yearned for someone to hang out with. things were going smoothly, and your relationship with malleus kept blossoming every day.

have you fallen in love?

that question now haunted you once more.

have you fallen in love?

you shook your head as you sighed, trying to think of something else as you sat on diasomnia’s comfortable couch. their lounge was spacious – able to fit more than 20 students at the same time, but you’d rather not stay in the lounge if it gets crowded. the leather couches of their lounge were certainly of high quality as once you took a seat, you felt yourself sinking into the soft depths of the sofa.

malleus was sipping on his tea while the other three kept conversing about their recent school activities. upon hearing your sigh, malleus glanced at you and placed his teacup down, “are you feeling tired?” you shook your head in response, “no, no… not at all…”

have you fallen in love?

perhaps you did. your eyes stayed on malleus for a while as you thought of all the reasons you were drawn to him. malleus had a regal and powerful aura, everyone knew that, but there was also a hint of innocence and loneliness behind that powerful mask of his. you were one of the few people who have witnessed the real side of malleus draconia, while everyone else only knew him as a powerful fae prince.

malleus had the most beautiful set of green eyes – striking and sharp, yet so ethereal and comforting. his eyes showed all the feelings his facial expressions could not, and when it twinkles at the sight or mention of things, he is particularly fond of, you feel a sense of peace within you – as if you felt happy seeing him happy.

for so long have you denied your thoughts and dismissed them as merely friendly observations. you thought he was beautiful, and it should be normal to find someone beautiful, no? you think vil is a beautiful man, but that does not mean you are in love with him, so what makes malleus any different?

but that’s the thing.

malleus draconia’s allure was a level of their own.

his beauty was not like vil’s elegant charm or neige’s endearing appeal. malleus embodies a beauty of ethereal quality – to you, he is a man of enchanting grace and elegance, shrouded in mystery and often veiled in reserve.

have you fallen in love?

after pondering on your inner thoughts, you can proudly answer this question with confidence.

yes, you were.

© twstgarden 2024 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

#just a little something to indulge in my feelings for mal #like even this fic does not perfectly describe how i feel about him #my feelings transcend beyond words that makes it difficult for me to describe them even if i were to write a book about him #okay that was the malleus simp in me but hey #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland x reader #twst wonderland #twst x you #malleus x yuu #twst diasomnia #malleus x mc #malleus x y/n #malleus twst #twst malleus #twst malleus x reader #twst fanfic #lilia vanrouge #silver twst #sebek zigvolt #ace trappola #deuce spade

[bloodybreakupscene]

-> 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 ! !

miles morales [ 1610 ! ] x reader

◗ 　basically miles has a crush on someone he sees around school

◗ 　thsi is inspired by @/moonpiies fic but it's #REVERSED!! her fic was so cute i was kicking my feet and giggling while reading it but with that aside miles is so real for changing his whole walking schedule to see a cutie patootie :3

miles yearned for the past time between fifth and sixth period. for no particular reason of course….is what he tries to think but in reality it's just to see you. now you don't share any classes together. maybe the same lunch period? but only on thursdays. the walk from his fifth period to his sixth is only about a couple minutes, one if he's feeling a bit more athletic than usual.

'okay.. just got to take a left from here..' he thinks as he walks downstairs. as he's doing this, you glance at him, only because you swear you've seen him during passing time last period, but whatever you walk off towards your classroom failing to recognize miles' silent victory. you made eye contact with him! for two more seconds than last time!

he arrives at class a minute before the late bell rings. he can't help but feel giddy as he thinks about the next route he can take to meet with you again.

anyone with a heartbeat can see from a mile away that he has the hugest crush on you. hearts basically popping from his eye sockets whenever you two cross paths in the hallway. he sees you usually walking with a friend laughing at something they said or rolling your eyes because– again— of something they said. embarrassingly enough, he imagines it's him making you laugh or smile.

the bell rings once more and miles and his friend, ganke, walk out of the classroom to go to their shared final period.

"wait, let's take the long way." miles says, already leading the both of them to the longer hallway.

"oh my god miles do you even have a class with them?" ganke comments, frankly quite annoyed that they might be tardy.

"no, but… we follow each other on instagram!" he replies.

"whatever man. do what you want." ganke rolls his eyes, continuing to follow miles.

you scroll on your phone, changing the song you were walking to and see miles again. you only know his name and that you seem to find each other after every passing period. you hoped it didn't look like you were stalking him, but nevertheless you walked into your class.

#fanfic #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse #miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #miles morales 1610 #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #atsv x reader #atsv #itsv x you #itsv x reader #itsv #atsv miles #itsv miles

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"NIGHT TIME RELIGION"

EXTRA CONTENT- "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 2.3k+ → a/n: just a simple, sweet glimpse into what our favorite idiots' nighttime routine is like. probably got a little too poetic with it, as always <3

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

“You fell asleep again.” 

It’s not a question, just a mere observation. Eddie doesn’t even put any emphasis on the key word there, that it had happened again, as he glances up on you sprawled out on his couch. 

“Nuh uh,” you childishly rebuke, ironically squeezing your eyes shut tighter as you let your cheek nuzzle deeper into the page of the textbook you’d been taking notes on, “I’m… I’m wide awake.” 

Every word painfully slurs with your next, voice mostly muffled. If he hadn’t been so close to you from where he was sitting on the floor, he probably wouldn’t have been able to make out what you’d just murmured. 

It only makes him laugh softly as he focuses back on whatever piece of equipment he’d brought into the apartment that belongs to his bike, “Sure you are, sweetheart.” 

The coffee table is spread with hand towels and paper towels alike as Eddie fiddles with the hunk of metal. You hadn’t even prodded him about what it was he was fiddling with; you were too busy, knee deep in your studies as you’d made yourself comfortable in his living room. 

It was a normal routine now – something cozy, something domestic. Instead of being holed up in your dorm these days, you found yourself occupying apartment 2C far more frequently than you’d ever admit to anyone else. Half the time, the two of you didn’t even have plans. It wasn’t about elaborate date nights or purposeful hangouts anymore; these days, the two of you simply enjoyed one another’s presence. It was enough to just know he was there with you, in the same room, as the two of you were occupied with your own individual tasks. Sometimes, he would be reading a book as you wrote your essays. Sometimes, he’d steal your laptop to shop for new bike parts and accessories online as you caught up on your favorite TV shows. There had been plenty of phone calls with Nancy in which Eddie had let you simply rest your head in his lap, hands mindlessly carding through the scalp of your hair as he tried to offer assistance to his best friend’s daily troubles and rambles. 

It was nice, and it was normal, and it was something the rest of the world would have to pry from your cold, dead hands. 

The apartment could have easily become something akin to a prison after the bet, but it hadn’t. Instead, somehow and someway, you and Eddie had turned it into a proper sanctuary.

You no longer spent lectures daydreaming about returning to your dorm; your mind much preferred longing to return to Eddie’s room, to picture falling face down in his bed, where the pillow on the right side had begun to smell of your shampoo rather than his cologne. 

“It’s getting late,” he sighs when he hears you go silent again. He’s not annoyed by any means. If he had it his way, he’d probably curl up on the couch with you for the rest of the night, content to fall asleep to the view of your face smoothing out in peaceful rest. But he knows if he leaves you be, you’ll wake up with an aching back and an attitude that makes even Harrington cower. He puts down his project for the night, wiping his hands on a damp paper towel before he reaches blindly behind himself to give you a few taps on your rear, “C’mon, we need to get ready for bed.” 

You swat his hand away, and it only makes him grin, “It’s not that late. Plus, I’m comfy.” 

“It’s half past eleven, baby.” 

And oh, do you shoot straight up at that. 

Your eyes are finally wide open as you look at him wildly, face struck with confusion, “Excuse me?” 

“I said, it’s half past ele-”

“When the Hell did it get so late?” you fumble with yourself as he slowly gets up, making a show out of stretching all his limbs. You don’t even grow distracted when his arms reach well over his head and tug up his shirt, exposing that sliver of stomach that would normally entice you, “I swear to God, it wasn’t even ten like…. Ten minutes ago.” 

“Ten waking minutes ago, maybe,” he teases, holding a hand out for you, “Time flies when you’re napping instead of studying.” 

It’s hard for him to not smile so softly down at you right now, even as he watches the defeat take hold. Your entire outfit is compiled of his clothes, yet another t-shirt you’d snagged from him along with a pair of sweatpants that he can’t even remember the last time he’d worn them. Your hair is messy, falling out of the convenient style you’d fashioned in it hours before when you’d declared you needed to focus. Your shoulders sag, the corners of your mouth inch downward, and all he really cares about right now is getting you in bed so he can wrap himself up around you. 

Your eyes dart between his outstretched hand and your textbook, still open on a page that you’d embarrassingly drooled on, “I know we joked about celebrating when I aced my finals, but can we still get milkshakes when I absolutely flunk them?” 

The way you manage to melt his heart is impeccable. He doesn’t even have it in him to be snarky, or to make another menacing jokes, “Of course we can.”

That seems to make your decision. You finally reach out and take his hand, clearly trying to be dramatic as you pull on him with the entirety of your weight, almost as though your end goal was for him to actually end up beside you on the couch rather than to be standing beside him. 

If your goal is the former, you fail miserably. He doesn’t budge beneath your drag, only leaning forward to grab your other hand and properly haul you off the couch. 

“Oof,” you huff out as you collide with his chest from the force, letting your face smash into him and making no move to pull back, “Can’t you just carry me to bed? Is that an option?” 

He almost says yes. Almost. 

“We won’t even make it down the hall,” he chuckles, taking slow steps back, guiding you right along with him, “I may or may not have also dozed off at some point. Jury’s still out on that one.” 

“Is it?” 

You’re hardly lifting your feet, shuffling your way along, letting him walk you deceiving to the bathroom rather than the bedroom. He has no idea if you’ll be capable of doing your full skincare routine, but at the very least, he has to get you to brush your teeth. If he didn’t, he’d never hear the end of it. 

“It is indeed,” he finally stops walking backwards, deciding it might become more dangerous rather than just dragging you along, “Probably won’t get a ruling until morning, so we might as well brush our teeth now, doll.” 

He’s trying to sweeten the deal. Coaxing you with adoring pet names to keep you in motion. 

“Ugh, effort,” you crunch your nose as you say it, and it’s clearly more for show than anything now. You’re fully conscious, capable of getting yourself to the bathroom sink where both your toothbrushes now sit side-by-side in a glass cup, but you don’t let go of his hand just yet. 

His palm is warm, and right now, all you really wanna do is curl up in that heat. 

Eventually, though, you let go. The two of you stand in the mirror as you go through the motions of wetting your toothbrushes, applying the toothpaste – all the boring, mundane actions that are more habit than conscious choices. But interspersed in the habits you’ve gathered over your years of life are new ones, minimal but vital after the amount of time spent together. Proof of the way this nighttime routine had become something of a religion between the two of you, something to be offered and to be shared rather than simply going through the motions. 

The way Eddie carefully rolls the end of the toothpaste tube before passing it to you, simply so it’s easier for you to get your share of it. The way you leave the water running after you’ve wet your own brush just so Eddie can also do so. All the sneaky glances caught in the mirror as the corners of your mouths foam up. Every ridiculous face, every nimble bump of your hip to his, the way he sticks out his very white tongue at you before he spits out into the basin – new things that have all become the normal, but still settle warmth in your chest.

Things that water a garden of vinery and blooms that no longer only belong within the confine of your bones, but his as well. 

A shared garden of memories and comfort. Growing, flourishing, nurturing one another. 

You lean down to spit right before him, and when you take a second too long, he tugs on a strand of your hair, trying to move you. And even as tired as you are, you find it within yourself to be a little shit as he so lovingly mumbles out around his toothbrush, lingering until he’s bumping you with his hip with purpose. 

Passing the floss back and forth (or more like you shoving the floss into his hands before he can try to argue against it), using the same paper cup to sip mouthwash out of – something so bland that you used to do it alone, now something to enjoy with him. 

You kind of love it. You kind of love him. 

“Should I wash my face?” you question, leaning in closer to the mirror and poking at your cheeks, checking your skin for any blemishes you can find. 

Eddie only moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and making the entire ordeal far more difficult as his chin rests on your shoulder, “Not if you don’t feel like it. Besides, it’s gonna make your nose cold, and then you’re gonna press it all over my damn neck and-” 

You cut him off with a joking glare, reaching up to flick at his nose, but he’s quick to pull his face out of your reach. Smiling widely, showing off those fresh and minty pearly whites. 

“If my cold nose bothers you that much, I could just stay on my side of the bed tonight,” you scowl, even though you were already taking his advice and calling it a night, twisting out of his hold to flick the lightswitch and exit the bathroom. 

He’s still stronger as he keeps his arms in place, only twisting himself around to face the door frame right with you, whining in your ear, “No.” 

He drags out the ‘o’, his voice slowly growing more quiet the longer he draws out the vowel. At some point, it’s less than Eddie has ended the protest, and more that he’s just run out of breath. 

His arms only leave your waist for the two of you to get dressed in proper pajamas. Well, what you both consider proper pajamas. 

You, left in only his shirt and underwear, and Eddie simply in his boxers. 

There’s no more sarcastic comments or lazy banter, although you certainly expect it. You’re almost holding your breath for it, right up until Eddie’s lifting his comforter and eagerly motioning for you to climb into bed first. Not one smartass remark about ladies first that could easily backfire on him as you shoved him into the bed before you. 

No, he waits until the two of you are lying on your sides, facing one another, not quite touching when his face breaks into a radiant smile. 

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him, overly suspicious of his random burst of happiness. 

“You call it your side of the bed.” 

At first, you don’t get it, “What?” 

“You called it your side of the bed,” he repeats with the utmost emphasis, finally throwing his hand out in search of your own, pulling it up to eye-level so he can toy slowly with each of your knuckles. 

“Is it not?” you’re whispering like two children at a sleepover, your feet finally drifting to toe at his calves. If they’re too cold for his liking, you don’t know. He doesn’t flinch or complain, only spreads his legs ever so slightly so there’s a space left for you to fill as you intertwine limbs. 

“It is,” he confirms, nodding a little, finally slotting his fingers between your own, “Just nice to hear you say it out loud.” 

And suddenly, you get it.

It’s your side of the bed. It’s your toothbrush resting beside his. Your textbooks and laptops are still on his couch, you have a sticky note with a reminder for yourself to buy more milk  put up on the fridge, there’s now a space for your shoes at the front door right beside his daily boots – slowly but surely, you’ve whittled out spaces for yourself here, with him. 

Even when you’re not here in this apartment with him, your presence remains. Someone could walk in, and they still see traces of you. You exist here, constantly, right along with Eddie. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back, finally scooching closer. He immediately shifts so that you can cuddle into his side, your head resting against his chest and your ear pressed to listen to his thrumming heartbeat. A perfectly carved out space for you even here, between this sheets, against his skin, “It’s nice to say out loud.” 

Not a routine, but a religion. Something to worship in the quiet hours between the sound of quiet snores and a noisy coffee maker you already have plans to replace as a Christmas gift to Eddie. An apartment turned altar, with offerings from both of you, to all that has and could become. 

You whisper your final prayer, just as you do every night, even when you think Eddie might already be fast asleep, “G’night, Eddie. I love you.” 

He’s not already asleep. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

#ghost is bad at endings for one shots can you tell #ghost's stories #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #beyond the hours #not edited and you can tell but we persevere

[whirlybirbs]

              —   BEYOND THE VOID    !

                             AO3     |     SPOTIFY     |     PINTEREST

a masterpost for the series by yours truly. it's thursday again. second part to the from the void, with love series. canon divergent, set during loki season 2 (2023). 

READ ME !  / in-progress

1.    the beginning of the end 2. (COMING SOON !)

SCROLL ME !

1. part 1: from the void, with love 2. prologue: the sacred timeline 3.   the variant timeline files 4.   the tag 5.   the god & the scientist 6.   fan art

#beyond the void #from the void with love #loki x reader #loki/reader #loki reader insert #loki x doc #loki x y/n #loki imagine #marvel reader insert #marvel fanfic #loki x you #loki season 2

[wanderingblindly]

Someone in Seattle (Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri, 11.6k words, oneshot)

“Could I, like… would you be my model for it? Maybe?” “That’s what the coffee was for then?” “No, that was, uh.” He can feel his face heating up, skin undeniably turning a deeper shade of red under Lando’s gaze – mirthful and a little something else. “That was different.” “Gonna say what?” “No.”

READ HERE!

Started this ages ago when I was sick, finally got around to forcing it to completion. To quote myself in discord: I'm going to pry this fic from my cold dead hands.

Answering the age old question: Fellas, is it gay to fall in love with your muse?

#seattle my beloved you and your forests that i love so dearly #there are so many references in here that have been chopped up and remolded beyond the point of recognizability but i still love them #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic #landoscar #Someone in Seattle

[kiarastromboli]

𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧:

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐱 𝐲/𝐧

⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱

⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘: Masturbation, smoker!reader.

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Matt's life is going to be completely upheaved by an encounter he will have one day at work, leading him to discover a new feeling: obsession.

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: I'm glad to come back with this new series that I had in mind for a while. I hope you'll enjoy it. The first chapter is from Matt's point of view, but it's possible that in the days to come, the point of view will shift to that of the reader. Anyway, I'll inform you beforehand. Feel free to ask me in the comments if you want to be part of the taglist. Enjoy reading!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞 𝟑

⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏:

My life has always been a damn bottomless pit without interest. I grew up in a normal family, in a normal town surrounded by normal people; there was nothing special about me.

I've always had this feeling of discomfort, like something was missing from my life.

In high school, I tried to fill that void with sports like any other teenager, but nothing worked.

I was fortunate to be a triplet, so I started life with people to love and who loved me in return.

Naturally, people think that having siblings erases the loneliness of life, but it's false. I had my brothers, but I still felt that emptiness and loneliness.

As I grew older, I realized that I would never fill this void, that I was destined to have an uninteresting life and become Mr. Average.

I moved to New York, where I found a job in a bookstore, which seemed more than logical given my passion for books.

I lived five minutes away from my brother Chris, and Nick, my other brother, continued his studies in Boston.

My weeks repeated and resembled each other.

I worked on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. On Wednesday, I spent the day with Chris; most of the time, we just went out to eat and stroll. As for Sunday, I dedicated it to my motorcycle rides and various hobbies.

By various hobbies, I mean fleeting activities that I forced myself to practice to keep me from losing my mind from living the same days on repeat.

But all of that was before her.

When I saw her for the first time, I felt like I was waking up after an endless sleep.

It was a Thursday evening, we were about to close, I just had to put away the last books we had received, and I could finally close the shop and go home.

That was until I heard the sound of the little bells at the entrance jingling as the door opened.

I sighed when I heard the door open, thinking, 'Another bookworm waiting until the last moment to come get their fill of books.'

I went back to the counter to wait for the person who was there to bring me their book so I could quickly scan it and finally go home.

I honestly expected a student with glasses or some nonsense like that, so I was surprised to see this brown-haired girl a few meters away from me, browsing the shelves to find what she wanted.

I'm not the type to linger on pretty girls, but she had something extra.

She was wearing this navy blue sweater three sizes too big for her, which forced her to roll up her sleeves, and you could see the collar of her white shirt peeking out underneath.

With that, she wore a small brown pleated skirt that matched the bow she had in her hair.

An outfit that said a lot and so little at the same time.

I'm the type to analyze people on a daily basis; it's my thing when you work in a bookstore like this one in New York, you get bored very quickly.

I had a little game with myself where I enjoyed deciphering the people who entered this shop, first by their way of dressing, then by their mannerisms, and finally, I drew a conclusion based on the book they bought.

However, I was stuck on her way of dressing; I couldn't really figure it out. Her outfit was simple and casual, sure, but there was this complexity with her accessories that made me wonder if she did it on purpose or if she just randomly picked out clothes.

I mean, who pairs such a large sweater with such a small skirt? Maybe it's her boyfriend's sweater?

When I thought that, I felt anger rising within me, but why? I don't even know her; what does it matter to me whether she has a boyfriend or not?

I shook my head to try to think of something else and continued to observe her.

She had been wandering around the store for five minutes, stopping at each aisle without ever grabbing a book. Does she even read, or did she just come here thinking she'd find a fun book to read for once?

Even her behavior was indecipherable; the more I looked at her, the more intrigued I became.

She finally stopped at the romance section, where she picked up a book before walking towards me with a big smile.

Strangely, I felt a certain stress when her eyes landed on me; I hadn't realized how harmonious her face was.

"Good evening," she said warmly, placing the book in front of me.

"Good evening," I replied nervously.

"I hope I'm not bothering you by coming at this hour. I'm new in town, and I thought you closed later," she said politely.

"No worries; I didn't have anything planned after anyway," I replied without looking at her; I was far too intimidated for that.

I scanned her book, and of course, that's when the cash register decided not to work properly, leaving us face to face in an awkward silence while I tried to open the register.

She seemed amused, judging by the little chuckle she let out, and when I looked up at her, she simply said, "Sorry," timidly, unable to suppress the little smile on her lips.

I finally managed to unlock the cash register, then gave her the change and reached for a small bag to put her purchase in.

That's when I saw the book she had chosen.

"Pride and Prejudice, good choice," I said without thinking too much.

"I know, I've read it already," she said, chuckling, and I looked up at her to watch her.

"It's a gift," she added.

"For your boyfriend?" I said again without thinking, and this time I quickly added, "Sorry, that was very intrusive of me."

She looked at me with a smile before saying, "For a friend, I don't have a boyfriend."

"Good to know," I replied, handing her the book.

She took the bag with her book inside and turned to start walking towards the exit, and I was dying to catch up with her to continue talking, but I stood there frozen like an idiot.

She walked through the door, and I sighed.

My heart started beating normally again, and I felt a sense of longing in her absence.

My life, which until now had been flat and uninteresting, was unknowingly taking a whole new turn.

I finished tidying up the bookstore, trying to distract myself, but she continued to haunt my thoughts.

I kept asking myself hundreds and thousands of questions.

Will I see her again? What did she think of me? What's her name? What does she do for a living?

Fuck, what had she done to me? I thought as I pushed the door of the store to leave and locked it behind me.

Unintentionally, the key to my apartment detached from the keychain around my waist, and I hadn't noticed until a familiar voice informed me.

"Hey, you dropped this!" the girl from the bookstore said, catching my attention and tapping my shoulder.

I turned around and felt my heart race again when I found myself face to face with her; if she keeps this up, she'll give me a heart attack.

"Thanks," I said, taking my keys from her hand.

Unintentionally, my eyes roamed over her body, analyzing her.

I noticed the butt of a cigarette she held in her other hand, probably the reason she was still around.

"No problem," she said, smiling.

"Can I ask your name, if it's not too forward?" I asked, curious.

"Y/n," she said, extending her hand after finishing her cigarette and tossing it to the ground to crush it with her foot.

"I'm—" I started to say before she cut me off.

"Matt, yeah, I know," she said quickly, and I looked at her confused.

She knows my name?

"Oh, um, it was on your apron earlier, I promise I'm not a weirdo," she said, chuckling, and I chuckled too.

She seems observant too, interesting.

"You don't really seem like a weirdo, if that reassures you," I said, smiling.

"And you don't seem like a guy who reads romance novels; I guess we can all be surprising, maybe you should watch out," she said, shrugging with a smirk.

"Pride and Prejudice is a classic; I work in a bookstore, I have to know my classics," I replied.

"Fair enough," she said, smiling.

A moment of silence ensued, leaving us there in the middle of the street, staring into each other's eyes.

"Are you just passing through here?" I asked, to break the unbearable silence.

"Hm?" she simply hummed, confused.

"You said you were new here earlier," I clarified.

"Oh, um, no, let's just say I'm in the process of settling in," she said, nodding.

"Great, I hope to see you around here then," I said, smiling.

"There's a chance that could happen; this bookstore seems nice, and who knows, maybe I'll need a friend who knows their stuff to advise me," she said, smiling back.

"You already consider me your friend? Wasn't it you who said I should watch out?" I teased her.

"Oh, because you thought I was talking about you? No way, I was talking about my friend who works at the same bookstore as you!" she said, trying to justify herself.

"Oh, really? I probably know that friend then," I said with a smirk.

"Okay, you got me; I'm a big liar," she said, raising her hands, and I laughed.

"I already suspected that," I said, chuckling.

We stayed silent once again, staring into each other's eyes before she spoke again.

"Well, I have to go if I want to have a chance to catch a taxi before it's too late," she said, playing with the ends of her hair.

"I can drop you off if you live nearby," I offered.

"Whether by car or taxi, the journey is still long in the streets of New York, and I don't want to bother you with an extra 20-minute ride," she said timidly.

"I guess it's a good thing I have a motorcycle then," I said, pointing to my bike parked a few steps away.

"I don't know... um," she said, shaking her head hesitantly.

"If you don't trust me and prefer to go by taxi, I totally understand, I won't hold it against you," I said reassuringly.

"You know what? Fuck this; a little danger never hurt anyone, and anyways, if you try to kidnap me, know that I did boxing in middle school, so I won't go down without a fight," she said, pointing her finger at me, and I laughed.

"Alright, Mike Tyson, let me just grab my spare helmet from the bookstore," I said, chuckling before doing just that.

When I returned, I handed her the helmet, which she put on.

She got on behind me after indicating where she lived, and we hit the road directly.

We weaved through traffic, and I could feel her little arms tighten around my waist with each acceleration.

I couldn't help but slightly harden beneath my jeans because of the proximity between us; I could feel her chest pressing against my back.

This girl had something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I looked at her.

She smelled like vanilla and cigarettes.

She was destabilizing, and I felt like I was losing my balance with every word she uttered.

Once we arrived at her destination, I stopped my motorcycle in front of her apartment complex.

It was large and luxurious.

I wondered if she was a daddy's girl to live here, or if she simply had a good job. In either case, this girl clearly wasn't short on money.

"Thanks for the ride," she said, smiling, after taking off her helmet to hand it back to me.

"It was my pleasure," I said, removing my helmet and staying on the bike while she got off.

"That was really nice; I'm glad I made a new friend," she said, quickly fixing her hair.

"So, we're friends?" I said, smiling.

"Of course," she replied, smiling back.

"Great," I said timidly, and a new silence fell.

"Um, I'm going to head in; it's getting late. Good night, Matt," she said this time in a much softer voice.

Why the sudden change in tone?

"Good night, Y/n," I replied, and she turned to walk towards her apartment complex.

I couldn't help but watch her as she went inside. I should have immediately started my bike and left, but I was stuck in place.

She paused in front of her stairs for a moment before suddenly turning around and running back towards me.

I watched her return, a little confused, and when she reached me, she simply said, "Hi."

"Hi," I replied, a bit confused but smiling.

"Is it weird if I suggest we see each other again? It's a friendly offer, of course; you just seem really interesting, and I felt silly leaving like that without suggesting we meet again," she said quickly, and I chuckled at her tone.

"Of course. I finish early on Saturdays; just drop by the bookstore, and we'll go for another motorcycle ride if you want," I said, smiling.

"Sounds great!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"Well, goodbye for real this time," she said, chuckling.

"Bye," I replied, watching her leave before putting my helmet back on and heading home on my motorcycle.

On the journey back, I had only one thing on my mind: her.

Arriving home, I was surprised to find that my erection hadn't subsided.

How could this girl make me so hard without even touching me?

I felt bad for getting hard like this over a girl who seemed as innocent as her. What was wrong with me that I'd do something like this?

I sighed and slumped onto my couch.

I took off my pants and slid my hand under my boxers to touch the bulge there.

I started to stroke myself, unable to stop myself from thinking about her at that moment.

Her sparkling eyes, her long brown hair, her full lips that I was dying to kiss...

Why was she affecting me like this?

Her curves vaguely hidden by her oversized sweater, her legs, and especially her thighs that looked nice and soft.

"Oh my god," I muttered in a low voice, speeding up my movements and throwing my head back.

Her laughter and her voice, yes, her soft and slightly husky voice, almost like she was sick.

I edged dangerously close to the edge, and that's when I remembered her change in tone when she said, "Um, I'm going to head in; it's getting late. Good night, Matt," almost as if she was inviting me to follow her home and do all the things I was dying to do to her.

Maybe she was just as eager as I was. For my hands on her body, my lips on hers, and my name coming out of her mouth.

I thought about what she would look like sitting on me without her clothes, screaming my name, and it pushed me over the edge.

"Y/n," I moaned before climaxing.

I can't deny it any longer, this girl is clearly becoming my obsession.

⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱

Taglist: @mayhem-72 @tillies33ssss @junnniiieee07 @bernardenjoyer @whicked-hazlatwhore @nicksmainbitch

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo edit #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #smut #beyond reason

[teabutmakeitazure]

Casper has this thing where he masks his lovestruck gazes with a comically raised brow. At first, he was indulging himself shamelessly, wistfully staring at you from wherever he's settled with a gaze softer than cotton candy and a blush slowly creeping up on his cheeks. He made sure you would not, under any circumstance, catch him in the act, yet he horribly messed up while you were on a phone call with your friend.

Hands animatedly emphasising your words to no one in particular, the phone remained pressed to your ear between your head and shoulder as you paced around your bedroom. Casper secretly sat himself on the little dining table in the kitchen (the one he hauled up the stairs in one go just to prove a point), face resting in his palm as he watches you vivaciously explain workplace politics to your friend in the distance. He could care less about the drama going on at work, for he is fixated on you.

Casper feels a smile tugging on his lips, and that's when he realises he's blushing. from your grin to your occasional giggle and the way you're pacing as you talk, he can't help but feel so... so... in love. he was right. You really are a woman after his heart, but now you hold it in your grasp and he does not want you to return it.

He stays like that for a while, and though he wishes to move closer, to perhaps even grab you from behind and kiss you, he remains where he is, watching you with the most lovestruck gaze in fear of being endlessly teased by you. However, he freezes out of embarrassment when you turn on your heel without warning and lock eyes with him. Shit. This time, the blush on his face deepens out of awkwardness and the smile on your face widens because you caught him in the act. No, he will never admit to you that he loves to watch you as you go by your day and do mundane tasks. he simply never will.

Since then, he's made a point to always have a more relaxed posture. Arms crossed over his chest, anything but a smile on his face, and an eyebrow comically raised in question. This is the replacement he has found for the usual face he makes while watching you. He hopes you ignore the way his eyes still lovingly look at you.

#he's so babygirl i swear #i keep thinking about the chat where we go 'no one is touching me' and he says 'no one is touching you yet' #like sir????? what do you mean??????? #i know the devs prolly read the fanfics for this since they see and share so much of the fanart so i hope they know they have us in a- #-chokehold for this man #cant wait for the beyond the bet dlc #a date with death x reader #casper x reader #casper x mc

[klaustozier]

brute ; miguel o'hara

SUMMARY: miguel is trying to work and you are not allowing him to concentrate.

warnings: miguel o'hara x fem!reader, MDI, miguel has sharp teeth as well as claws, remember that :); he will use his "web" to tie you up (I described how I thought it would be); oral (in both, but when you do it's rougher); slaps and spanking; degradation kink; mention of body hair (chest <3); nipple play; he is older (hihi); miguel swears in spanish (because i'm a whore); bigcock!miguel; there are no traumas here, miguel is not suffering from a loss, there is just fucking horny angry miguel here; no condom; light spit kink; no spoiler; and I described the way I think it would be easier to take his uniform off, I think the zipper is on the back, but it's not as sexy :3; begging; anal; gag

word count: 1.6k

english is not my first language, so i'm sorry for any mistakes

i'm sorry for not deliverying the aib fics, but i'm kinda swamped and obsessed with spider-verse, so i wanted to make something different :)

hope you enjoy it!

"You're getting on my nerves", said the older man.

You smiled innocently and rubbed your face against his knee, "Am I?"

Miguel was trying to work, he knew he shouldn't have brought you to the headquarters. You had promised you would behave and you had even kept your promise for half an hour. You soon got tired of just watching him tinker with all that technology and analyzing realities, it was boring just watching. So, like a good bored person, you tried to entertain yourself however you could. Your form of entertainment didn't match much with what Miguel planned for the day, he wanted to focus on work, but he soon noticed that you were ducking under his desk and started to bite his thigh still covered by the elastic cloth of his uniform.

It was no use asking you to stop, you continued as if he had no authority.

"I brought you to keep me company and not get in the way", Miguel said irritably, his handsome jaw locking.

"I just want to be close to you", you whispered, biting his thigh again.

"I hate you."

You smiled and rested your chin on his knee, "It doesn't look like it", and laughing softly, you felt the volume he displayed in his pants.

He took a deep breath, pulled his mask off with one hand and tossed it onto the table, his free hand grabbing your hair, pulling your face close to his, "You're testing me and you're not going to like where this is going. So stop."

"Am I really not going to like it, Miguel?", you asked, smiling wickedly.

"You won't", he agreed.

The elder clenched his free fist and pointed it downwards, immediately you reached your hands behind your back, feeling the warm red rope holding your wrists in place.

"Does it hurting?"

"No, sir."

He smiled showing his sharp fangs, "You're gonna wish you weren't such a dirty slut", he slapped you across the face and ran his thumb across your bottom lip.

"Please, Miguel…", you smiled, "Just take those gloves off, por dios."

He smiled, his sharp teeth shining in the reddish light of the office, "Puta madre…", Miguel took off the gloves of his beautiful uniform and slapped you once more in the face, receiving kisses on the palm of his hand, as if you were asking for forgiveness for hurting his hand with your face.

His hands were so beautiful, full of veins on the back and with long, sharp claws ready to destroy whatever he wanted.

If the uniform wasn't so perfect for Miguel, if it wasn't tailored to his body, maybe you could control himself, but you could see his thighs, the outline of his cock and ass, there was nothing that could distract you more.

The brunette's thumb slid across your tongue and saliva fell from his lips, earning a soft moan, seeing you roll your eyes before being kissed. His sharp teeth scraped gently against your bottom lip. His tongue rubbed against yours, your hands locked behind your body, the bright thread holding them together.

Miguel pulled the small zipper down the center of his uniform revealing his strong, broad chest. The short black hair spread across the skin, delicately cared for. The zipper continued down until it was under his cock, which was hard, pressed against the cloth glued to his body, resting to the left, pulsing gently.

"Do you want it?", asked the brunette, pulling his cock from his clothes, so thick and beautiful, the veins pulsing in the soft skin, the red tip begging for attention. You nodded desperately, "Then beg."

"Mr. O'Hara, please, I need to choke on your cock, fuck my mouth, please… I'm such a good girl…"

"Ah", he stopped you, holding up his finger, the long nail glistening, "We're not going to lie."

You chuckled and lifted yourself up towards his face, licking his lower lip, "I know how to be good, I just don't like doing it that much."

Miguel laughed softly and gave you a soft peck, "Stick your tongue out."

Promptly, you complied. Miguel took his cock and gently spanked your tongue with the tip, the soft wet sounds making you purr. Without any delicacy, the oldest held you by the hair and sank his cock into your mouth, forcing your head until your nose was pressed against his belly.

You moaned low feeling his cock once again widening your throat. Miguel sighed and groaned low, starting to move your head away from you, his hips rolling in opposite movements, thrusting into your mouth. Initially the movements were smooth, but soon they began to accelerate.

"Ay, carajo", he whispered, his low voice making you moan.

Your eyes watered, no matter how many times he fucked your mouth, your body always reacted that way. Your hands tried to force against the red webs on your wrists, your legs squeezing together to ease the throbbing on your pussy. He held your jaw just so he could watch his cock slide through your tongue.

Miguel positioned his leg between your legs, laughing evilly when you started to rub against him.

Pulling you by the hair, the brunette forced you to look at him, your mouth completely drooling and red, your eyes lowered, breathing hard, "Aren't you ashamed of being such a desperate slut? How ridiculous. You get dumb as fuck just because of a cock in your mouth..."

"Forgive me for being like this, sir, I can't control myself… what do I have to do for you to forgive me?"

Miguel smiled and said nothing, just kissed you desperately. His tongue once again dominating yours, his sharp teeth biting down on your bottom lip, controlling himself not to draw blood. His lips devouring yours.

"Lay it face down on my table."

Immediately you obeyed him. The brunette pulled your pants down and grabbed your legs, pulling them apart. His hands squeezed your ass tightly, his thumbs moving the lips of the delicate pussy apart, sighing, seeing how wet you already were.

"Ay, coño… all wet… fucking slut", he growled, giving a hard smack on your ass, making you moan.

You moaned slyly, your legs shaking, your face crushing papers that were on the table, feeling the wet tongue slide through your pussy, until it reached your clitoris. His hands rested on your delicate ass, squeezing, his claws pressing against the skin.

"Miguel", you whimpered.

"Slut", he chuckled, going back to his work.

His lips and tongue had fun with your pussy. Your hands ached trying to hold themselves in place, your legs shook, moaning.

"Miguel", you whispered, "can I cum?"

He grinned, slapping you hard on the ass, "No."

"Miguel… please… don't do that to me…"

"Shut up", he whispered.

The bright red web circled your face, gagging your mouth, not allowing you to continue to beg or cry. But that didn't stop you from muttering.

"Carajo, you don't shut up", he laughed at the whimper you gave, laying his body over yours, "If I get you full of cum, you stay quiet?"

You nodded, getting a slap on the ass. A soft moan escaped your lips as the tip of his cock rubbed through the wet pussy, gliding effortlessly.

"Fucking pussy."

A strangled moan caught in your throat, your mouth still gagged, as his cock sinking into you all at once, going deep.

His hands held you squeezing the flesh of your ass, using it support to help with the movements. As he thrust into you, he forced your body to do the opposite, just going deeper and deeper.

The sound of skin hitting skin filled the room. His moans low and rough, yours were muffled by the gag.

Your body started to shake on the table, you were about to cuj, but Miguel pulled out of you. He growled low seeing his cock all wet from all your pleasure.

"Open for me", he ordered, releasing your wrists.

You didn't have time to feel pain, your hands were routed by his rough hands to your ass, holding yourself open for him as he smeared saliva on your cock.

O'Hara positioned the tip of his cock in the tight entrance and began to force its way in. Big, strong body leaning over yours, crushing you against the table.

The gag was also undone so that the brunette could kiss you. His movements were less rough than before, but they were still accurate and made you whimper softly.

"You're going to be full of cum, princess", he whispered, his lips pressed against yours, his sharp teeth scraping on your lower lip on purpose.

"Miguel… please… I swear I'll be quiet, but let me cum… please… I beg you…"

"Of course, princess", he kissed you once more, his lips close to yours as he said, "Masturbate yourself for me."

And that's what you did, one of your hands went straight between your legs and you started masturbating frantically, desperate for relief. The other remained in place, leaving it open so he could continue to enjoy himself.

One of his strong hands tightened around your waist, keeping you in place and the other gripped your hair, kissing you desperately.

It didn't take long for you to cum even more after feeling his cum fill you. You panted heavily as he smirked and kissed you again.

"Now are you going to stop teasing like a whore?", asked Miguel getting out of you.

"Yes, sir, I will stop."

"Promise?"

"No."

He chuckled, giving you, and yet, another slap on the ass, "Now come on, let's get you straightened up and get you something to eat."

And Miguel pulled you by the waist, adjusting your clothes and his so he could take care of you a little before he could go back to work.

...

well, i hope you liked it <3

please reblog and leave a like if you enjoyed it! and leave a comment with your thoughts, i would love to know!

maybe if there is a lot of comments i can comeback with a hobie story <3

see ya next time.

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