#yep it spies on you

[glimpsesofeuterpe]

if you live in countries alike mine, you'll have to google to do steps every time before trying to download apps like clippaint, stream and co

they kinda did their best to push a simple user toward going full pirate mode, aand keep coming up with v interesting updates on that every now and then

[fangsandfeels]

Playing Veilguard and making it everyone's problem

I am going to rant, and I will rant a lot, and there will be spoilers, so if you're not afraid of them and the game criticism, buckle up.

Elves and their gods

I am absolutely fucking livid about how Veilguard handles the Dalish and elves in general. The events of Trespasser made it clear that the elves started flocking over to Solas, including the elves working for the Inquisition:

After the events at the Winter Palace, elves left the Inquisition under mysterious circumstances, as did elven servants across Thedas. None could say where they went, but those who believed the Inquisitor's story about Fen'Harel wondered just how large the Dread Wolf's forces were... and what the ancient elven rebel had planned.

Solas had multiple spies working for him during Trespasser, and If I remember correctly, there was even a note, left by one of the elves - they were anticipating the great change and the return of the elven glory. Anyways, the established fact is that: elves learned that the stories about their gods were true and one of them now was going to restore the world as it used to be. At least, this is how they interpreted it (maybe, this is the version Solas didn't debunk) and so they started following him.

You might think, the Inquisitor and their allies are going to have a huge problem with breaking it to elves that their chosen leader isn't going to make things better and that their gods don't love them. Especially, if the Inquisitor is a human or anyone who isn't an elf. You'd imagine any attempts will end in failure because of course elves aren't going to listen to outsiders trying to explain their own culture and gods to them. You'd imagine that their trauma caused by centuries of oppression and discrimination will make it impossible for the Inquisitor and anyone else to make them see the truth.

You'd assume anyone who tries to find and stop Solas will be sabotaged every step of the way, feeling themselves horrible for having to clash with people desperate for a chance of a life without injustice - even if it means burning the rest of the world down.

You'd imagine that they will only change their mind if/when they see the harm done by Solas' actions and get to witness their gods true intentions by themselves - which would lead to a massive crisis of faith and schisms happening between elven tribes and groups.

You'd imagine will get all this incredible drama in the Veilguard, with elves initially resisting the group's attempts to stop Solas, then trying to pull themselves together after the revelation. You'd assume there will be zealous groups doubting Solas (because the Dreadwolf is a liar and a deceiver) and intending to use him to actually free the elven gods. You'd think this is how actually some of them get out.

But, NOPE. Not only Solas ends up working alone, with none of his followers throwing themselves at Rook and the party to buy him time, but also all elves now hate Solas because...Varric said so?

You meet a group of Veil Jumpers (elves devoted to exploring their ancient culture and history, learning more about their gods and reclaiming their heritage) and their leader instantly calls Solas an asshole. Based on WHAT?

I get it, Varric had met them before and told them that Solas was Fen'Harel...

(needless to say if you expect players to find and read other media in order to make sense of the events in the game, you are doing something wrong)

...but why were they so fucking calm about it, instantly eating up the "yep, he's bad" version? Even if the Dread Wolf is vilified in the Dalish mythology, wouldn't they be curious about what that means? Wouldn't they have gotten tempted or excited by the implication that other gods exist too? They weren't told the full story - why the fuck did they instantly accept the "Solas is an asshole" narrative? Especially when Solas comes with a promise of a world for the elves like it was meant to be?

WHY?

The Veilguard has no response for that. I guess, Dalish never cared about their history and traditions, and city elves were dandy about Alienages and oppression, so they easily believed some randos over a literal god promising a new, better world.

I don't even play Dalish, but I love their plotline and arcs - and I was bracing myself for some downright painful choices and conflicts during the next Dragon Age. But it felt like the writers couldn't be bothered with developing such a nuanced narrative, so they just waved it all down with "Nah, elves are chill now and they never really cared about their gods in the first place".

[neerons]

Some of Silvio Ricci’s best quotes

"A heart? I'm a merchant, why would I need one?"

"Looks like there IS another thing that’s just as certain as death and taxes, and that’s people gettin’ stupid at a party." (—Silvio talking about most of the princes)

"…It was a slip of the tongue, okay? ‘Cause your sassy ass was actually cute for once!"

"Do ya know what we call guys like that? We call 'em perverts and stalkers and creepy assholes." (—Silvio to Gilbert)

"(…) you’re usually sassy as hell, but all of a sudden you actually looked kinda cute and charming."

"Okay, look… …It was a joke. Just a joke, okay? And I took it too far."

"…I can��t protect you. I haven’t got the strength to protect you from those assholes. Get it?" (—Silvio to Valerio)

"I mean… ain’t it obvious that I’m always thinkin’ about you, too? You take up so much damn room in my head I can barely cram the other stuff in!"

"Yep. Lucky you, huh? I ain’t interested in marrying any other woman, so I’m gonna give you the throne, too."

"…I don’t want ya to see me looking pathetic."

"As if the spies ain’t bad enough. You’ve got a lot of shitty hobbies." (—Silvio to Gilbert)

"A wicked woman, huh? You’re way too charming and cute for that, damn you."

"If people love you, it makes ‘em more likely to listen to what you have to say, even if the deal brings ‘em to a disadvantage. But I ain’t got that. I’ve never been any good at flattering people. I’m not like Valerio. No one’s ever been weird enough to wanna help me no matter what the cost to them. …The truth is, I always knew there were things that can’t be bought with money. (…) When I was young, I never had anyone. My brothers both knew how to be friendly and cute, so people’d dote on ‘em. But I could never manage it.

"If you don’t get plenty of water into you, you’re never gonna get better. Oh, and someone gave me some fruit. If ya think you can eat it, I guess I can peel it for—" (—Silvio taking care of a sick Emma)

"...They're touching." (—Silvio telling Emma he can feel her breasts against his arm)

"(…) go back to sleep! Rest until sundown! And don’t forget to keep your blanket on!" (—Silvio to a sick Emma)

"I’m pretty fond of that sexy voice of yours, you know. So stop trying to stifle it."

"Eat. (...) I'll shove it into your mouth. (...) You plannin' to starve to death, then?" (—Silvio to Rio)

"You really do have way too much goddamn charm."

"Hey, you look a lot bigger than I remember. You been working out? (…) Good for you. But make one move on my woman and I’ll throw you to the sharks, you hear me?" (—Silvio to Dario)

"(…) I didn’t want it gettin’ scratched up and stuff. I take it with me on some trips as a good luck charm, but other than that, I keep it here all the time. …Ugh, look what ya made me ‘fess up to." (—Silvio talking about a bracelet Emma gave him)

"If it was me, I'd slam my fist straight into your smarmy face. You massacred their people. Why should they let an asshole like you anywhere near the damn service?" (—Silvio talking about the Rhodolitians to Gilbert)

"(…) because it wasn’t just my achievement, I gave my brother an earring made from the gold that was mined there." (—Silvio talking about Valerio)

"Dammit, I know it’d be quicker to just ask her, but I want this to be a surprise." (—Silvio’s thoughts about which fabric to use to make a new dress for Emma)

"Emma has real beautiful skin, y’know. Blue looks amazin’ on her. And she loves the ocean. I’m sure she’ll like the wave pattern on the fabric here. But also… More than anything, she’s real sweet and gentle. And this fabric’ll bring that out perfectly. She gets embarrassed easy, see, and always turns bright red. It’s… Honestly, it’s real cute. I think this shade of red would made her look even cuter when she blushes. And look here. See how it glitters when the light hits it just right? If she wears this, then when we dance—huh?" (—Silvio talking about Emma to rabbit Emma)

"It ain't your style to be visiting me at this hour. Did you fail to find yourself a woman?" (—Silvio to Nokto)

"You’re beautiful, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and you have a good personality when ya ain’t bein’ a cheeky brat."

"I don’t even wanna think about the guy I used to be before I met you. That’s how much I’m head over heels." (—Silvio’s thoughts)

"No matter how long I travel the seas, I’m never gonna find anything more beautiful than you."

"Ahh dammit, I love you, I love you!" (—Silvio's thoughts about Emma)

"Just let me give you one kiss! (...) No, I want it now!"

"Are we talkin' about the same guy? The guy with an eye-patch that looks like he rules hell, but in a happy way?" (—Silvio talking about Gilbert)

"I can't believe that I feel this great when my body is sick. No one had ever taken care of me like this before." (—Silvio's thoughts about Emma)

"Aaaaargh! Damn you! When ya say crap like that, I just wanna hold you so bad!"

"Maybe I have been too overprotective. She'll be fine on her own. She doesn't need me to shield her every step of the way. (...) I didn't stop to consider how she would feel and just did whatever I wanted. I need to fix this bad habit of mine." (—Silvio's thoughts)

"You could never love anyone, even though everyone loved you. That's just who you were. ...You were always so damn unfair." (—Silvio's thoughts about Valerio)

"How long is she going to keep blue-balling me for?!" (—Silvio's thoughts)

"The more I have you around, half of me wants to pamper you, and half of me wants to tease you to tears."

"Wrong. She just paid for her own crimes. How is that Valerio's fault?" (—Silvio talking about his mother to Emidio)

"...Ah, there's the cheeky bastard I know. Much better." (—Silvio to Valerio)

"Everybody loves you, they always have! But no one's ever loved me. Not even once. So how the hell am I supposed to know what to do about it?" (—Silvio to Valerio)

"I ain't ever said I didn't want you there! (...) It was tough on me because I DID like you bein' there! 'Cuz it actually felt pretty good bein' with you..."

"Ever since the night I'd seen beneath my mother's mask, I'd started asking myself what I could do to protect Valerio and his mother. But the weapon I was after wasn't a sword—it was money, money I could use to buy people to wield that sword. (...) I'd put that money to good use, and I'd bought plenty of people in the royal court. I'd used fake names so neither the king nor my mother would realize it was me, and I'd hired bodyguards to secretly watch over Valerio and his mother. There was nothing I could do to ever make up for all the bullying I'd done, but I found plenty of ways to protect him." (—Silvio's thoughts)

"Damn. That was close. I'd almost blurted out something ridiculous about her being more beautiful than the ocean, but I managed to swallow the words at the last second." (—Silvio's thoughts)

"Stop doin' that! Not in front of everyone! (...) You're gonna make me grin like a stupid idiot in front of all these people!" (—Silvio reacting to Emma holding him)

"The dress she wore today was supposed to be simple and understated, but on her it was anything but. With it, Emma looked as bright and beautiful as a rose in full bloom. I could have watched her forever." (—Silvio's thoughts about Emma)

"You're beautiful, you know that?" (—Silvio's thoughts)

"You never gave a damn about me growing up. All your attention was always on the mutt. Don't pretend to be a father to me now." (—Silvio's thoughts about his father)

"I love ya too, okay?! A whole damn lot! With all my heart!"

"Talk shit, get hit, ya little twerp!" (—Silvio to Valerio)

"Even when he was a kid, Valerio's always been fascinated by my seafaring stories. It was pretty much the only thing he was interested in talkin' to me about. His eyes would sparkle every time I told him about one of my journeys, so I figured I could at least bring him along for one that was less dangerous." (—Silvio's thoughts)

"I want him to be free and happy like that more. All his smiles are all weird and fake now. It creeps me out." (—Silvio's thoughts about Valerio)

"Havin' matching ones means we can show that we went on that journey together. And every time I look at my own earrin', I know that the joy I saw from ya that day was real." (—Silvio's thoughts about his and Valerio's matching earrings)

"Ugh, I hate you. I really do. It ain't gonna change the fact that you're my little brother, though. No matter how many times ya get on my nerves, I still gotta step up as your big brother." (—Silvio's thoughts about Valerio)

"For all the shit I say... I have to admit, I don't exactly hate spendin' time with Valerio at all." (—Silvio's thoughts)

[amourane]

sweeter than candy

pairing: baker!james potter x baker!reader

genre: fluff

w/c: 1.2k

summary: six years ago you left the small town you were trapped in and you would have never thought that the cute boy next door would be the one running the bakery your family once owned.

warnings: none

a/n: CUTE!

Since the very beginning of time you’ve always loved baking. Baking was your one true joy, your one true love. Ever since you could remember it was always you in the kitchen. The first thing you held was a spatula, the first thing you said was cake. There was something so amazing and fascinating about being able to whip up baked goods. You simply loved the satisfaction it gave you whenever the delicious treat was finished. Whether it be a cake or a pastry. You grew up surrounded by sweet treats and the scent of freshly baked goods in the air. 

Both your parents co-owned a bakery and it was their pride and joy. You were often behind the counter helping to whip things up and it couldn’t have made you happier. The customers always commented on how one day you would be running the bakery, stepping into the shoes of your parents.

As you grew older you started to look at baking in a more professional way. You wanted what your parents had and you were going to achieve it. You went to culinary school, became an apprentice for bakers all around the world. Yet now it all seems to have failed as you find yourself back in the small little town you grew up in, living with your parents. 

You were dragged away from your job to help your mother move into her new house. Ever since your father died, she had sold the bakery and it was just you and her. Being the great daughter you were you decided to assist her with whatever she needed but it seemed in vain considering how your mum was adamant she could do things on her own, a trait you inherited. 

So now you were left to wonder about the small town and how it had grown while you were away. Most things had stayed the same and by most things you meant that the same old, dusty shops that had been there years prior. It was the same town you left six years ago. The nostalgia hit you like a tidal wave and suddenly you were experiencing memories you had thought you had forgotten. 

You hadn’t been back in so long and now, being back, it was overwhelming. The only new thing was the bakery that had once been your parents was now taken over by a new owner. It had been renamed and completely remodelled. It now bore light pastel blue walls and a bright red door that only seemed to draw you in. Curiously, you made your way towards the new bakery. Your mother hadn’t mentioned any of this to you and you were curious as to why. 

As soon as you opened the door the smell of baked bread and frosted cupcakes hit you. The interior was the same as when your parents had owned it. The same beige chairs and wooden tables. The same cream walls that had beautiful flowers painted onto them. The outside had changed but not the inside. You spied the spectacular crafted pastries. The tarts that looked unreal and the cakes that were frosted perfectly. There were name cards indicating what was in each item and you saw how they were handwritten, a chicken like scrawl but still legible - you recognised that from somewhere. A deep voice cut through your thoughts. 

“Hi, how can I help you?” 

Your eyes darted up to meet with a familiar face. 

James Potter. 

You’d recognise him anywhere but he looked so different. Was this the same James Potter that would squeak and run to hide whenever he saw you approaching? James’ cheeks went bright red once he registered it was you. Yep, it definitely was. 

You bit back a smile at the reaction. James was the boy next door and he never failed to make your day brighter when you were younger. The two of you knew each other but you weren’t ever close as friends. You’d always wanted to get to know him but he’d run away or find an excuse to not talk to you. Your friends had always said it was because of the raging crush he had on you - which was true. 

“Hi James.” You waved your hand and gave him a beaming smile. “Finally decided to visit and decided to pop in, you’ve got a nice place here.” You never remembered James being into baking and yet here he was. “When’d you get into baking?”

“Um, a while ago, I can’t exactly remember. After your mum sold the bakery it was just an empty shop until I bought it. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “It’s just something small I run, nothing like you of course.”

You were pretty sure everyone in town knew about how you had upped and left to the big city to pursue your dreams. They obviously knew that you had made it since your mum was one for gossip. There were a lot of things different in the city than in the town you grew up in and honestly the first few months you cried yourself to sleep but now you were happy - not really though. You thought you would have at least opened your own bakery by now but you’re still working in a tacky restaurant. Your dreams had halted. 

James cleared his throat and gestured to the array of treats that were laid out. “So what would you like?” 

Carefully, you eyed each one. They all looked so delicious. It was so hard to pick. You read each label with care and saw how much detail was provided. You could tell how much love was poured into it and for some odd reason it made your heart swell. You’ve always been indecisive so choosing something to have was hard. 

“Just give me your favourite, whatever you like I’m sure I will.” You smiled at him and rummaged through your bag to take out your card. You didn't notice the way James’ cheeks lit up fire truck red again and how he was staring at you like you were the light of his life.

James caught himself staring and quickly muttered okay and made sure to grab his favourite strawberries and cream tart for you. He charged your card and packaged your order. He could feel your eyes as they watched his every movement and he couldn't help but burn bright pink. He’d had a crush on you since the first moment he had laid eyes on you and right now, seeing you after so many years, it made his heart speed up with joy. He’d never tell you but he had started baking because of you. He missed you so much when you had gone away. 

You took your order gratefully, thank James one last time before heading out and back home. You peeked into the box to see a beautifully baked tart and it made your mouth water. The smell wafted to your nose and the sweetness comforted you. When you had tasted it it was even better. The flavours exploded in your mouth and you savoured the sugary taste that was left on your tongue. Everything about it made you happy. There was some unknown love that had been dedicated towards this and it made your stomach and taste buds so ecstatic. This was definitely more delicious than anything you had tasted before. 

You were definitely going back.

[tgmsunmontue]

You look like a bad idea... 7/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - based on this idea here. Bradley is not a naval aviator. Canon deaths (it starts at Ice's funeral). Addiction and alcoholism (and recovery) mentions.

PART ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX

PART SEVEN

                He looks at the Top Gun class photo, spies Maverick easily, although he looks so fucking young. Maybe he’s always just been a little bit baby-faced? Then there’s Kazansky and… holy shit. A guy that has Bradshaw as his last name and looks like the spitting image of Bradley Bradshaw. What the fuck? Did Admiral Kazansky marry Bradley’s mom? Where the hell is his actual dad? Could be brothers he supposes. There’s definitely a story there so he does a little digging and it just becomes more convoluted and confusing. Bradley’s father used to fly with Maverick.

                Maverick was flying when his dad died.

                However Maverick wasn’t found to have done anything wrong, and their argument had felt a lot more personal than… well. Killing a parent. Fuck. What a villain origin story. But Bradley is clearly part of the Kazansky family and he has no idea if he’s simply been raised by Admiral Kazansky and his wife or… what. Eh. He decides it can wait for another day. Can ask Trace if his curiosity decides to get the better of him. It’s not like his mind or body has time to think about much else other than the mission ahead of him. He’s dreaming of the fucking course, has every twist and turn so firmly etched into his brain he suspects he could fly it blind. Huh. He might try that in the simulator tomorrow.

                It’s late. Not middle of the night late, but it’s after twenty-one hundred and they have an early start tomorrow. Every day is an early start, either hours in the air or in the sims. He’s just about to call it a night when he hears the persistent knocking at his door and he leaves it for a minute or two, hoping that whoever it is goes away. He hasn’t been called to clear a visitor, so it has to be another of the Dagger squadron, and they should all be getting ready to go the fuck to sleep right now.

                “What?” he demands, pulling the door open.

                Standing there is Bradley fucking Bradshaw and he almost slams the door shut.

                “How did you…” Jake starts, and the realizes that’s a stupid question. This is the maybe son of an Admiral and also a cousin of one of his squadron so there are multiple ways Bradley could legitimately be here on base. He narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly wishing he was maybe wearing something other than loose sleep pants and singlet. Bradley is wearing slacks and long-sleeved button down shirt, looking every bit as respectable as he had at the funeral, different from the ripped jeans and Hawaiian shirt he’d changed into… after.

                “Evening.”

                “Evening. How do you know where I was staying?”

                “Would you believe I just walked down the row and just knocked on every door?”

                “Did Trace tell you?” Jake asks, ignores the way Bradley is smiling at him, flirty.

                “No. Said you had asked her not to.”

                Jake shrugs, not bothering with denying it.

                “So… you stalking me?”

                “Not intentionally. I picked Natasha up earlier. You were out the front. You’re two houses down from her. Not exactly rocket science.”

                “And you just dropped her home…” Jake states, connecting the very obvious dots.

                “Yep.”

                They stand there in silence, looking at each other and Jake is warring internally with himself, his brain screaming bad idea bad idea bad idea in the same voice as Bitchin’ Betty. The other part of him, his cock mainly, is definitely filling up, his memory offering up image after image of their last close encounter.

                “You gonna ask me in?”

                “Why should I do that?” Jake asks.

                “Because I think you’d rather fuck me in private than on your front step…”

                He doesn’t mean to, but he’s stepping back and letting the door open wider and it clearly looks like an invitation. He doesn’t mean it as one, he doesn’t think he does. Either way Bradley is stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

                “Think you can fuck me hard enough so I black out?”

                Jake thinks he might black out. Jesus this guy just goes for the throat. Jake’s not complaining exactly, but he’s not used to guys being this direct.

                “Uh…”

                “Too much?”

                “No. No. Just… surprised.”

                “Why? I told you to call me. Just figured you were either playing hard to get or…”

                “Or…? I’m not hard to get.”

                “Oh, I know you’re not. You gonna answer my question?”

                “Um. What… remind me what is was again?”

                “I wanted to know…” Bradley starts, and he’s lowering himself to his knees. “If you can fuck me…” he says, palming the loose fabric of his pants over Jake’s cock. “So hard…” he cups Jake’s balls, strokes his definitely over half-way to hard cock through his pants. “I black out…”

                “Jesus Christ…”

                “You up to the task? Or should I go looking elsewhere?”

                Jake doesn’t want to ask where else he might look, suspects he already knows the answer. He’s not stupid, realizes Bradley is maybe using him to get back at Maverick somehow. He’s been used for worst things. This uses him but also gets him laid well and proper with a guy who knows how to treat his partner right, so he doesn’t have any complaints.

                “I can… yeah. Fuck. Okay. Bed. Come on.”

                Bradley looks smug, his hands on Jake’s hip anchoring him as he raises back to his feet. Sways forward and presses himself against Jake’s front.

                “Lead the way… we can resume this in the bedroom.”

[randomprose]

tetsurou is not the type to take pretty pictures. you know, the ones that take forever to adjust and set the tone, the lighting, the whatever the fuck it needs to look like it was shot by a professional photographer with an expensive professional camera and not by a broke college student with a shitty camera phone.

tetsurou just takes regular pictures. for posting on his socials or snapchat. or for blackmail purposes. also selfies with cute filters.

on the otherhand, kei—well. kei doesn't take pictures. at least not of himself. but he is the type to take pretty pictures—aesthetic pictures—and he doesn't even need to be a professional photographer with an expensive camera.

kei takes pictures with his android (a fairly old model even) and it just comes out looking nice. somehow he just has the eyes for these things. it's why, sans the fact that he's an upcoming volleyball player being talked about in the leagues, he has a fairly huge following on instagram and LINE.

they're mostly sceneries, nature, or cityscapes, wide panoramic shots of Miyagi or Tokyo or wherever he is. pictures of things he likes and sometimes people he likes, which is a rarity and he would vehemently deny. he'd say it's just because he's forced to spend time with them, but karasuno is featured fairly often, and sometimes he takes photos of people from the volleyball circuit too, people he's come to call acquaintances and maybe even friends.

and of tetsurou.

tetsurou is featured every five posts or so. they're always, without fail, nice shots. pretty even when he's making the most hideous of faces. it's no wonder he gets most of—if not all—of his profile pictures from him. kei always manages to capture him at his best.

"kuroo-san, take the goddamn picture already so we can go."

"okay, fine! look away so it looks candid."

"oh, for god's sake."

kei never takes pictures of himself so tetsurou takes it upon himself to do so, much to kei's chagrin. he scowls and snaps at tetsurou to quit it, but lets him take the picture anyway.

tetsurou always takes multiple shots of kei. he says it's because the first few takes are not good enough, but the truth is, much like kei's picture-taking skills, he's really, really, really goddamn photogenic. it's ridiculous and super unfair really. tetsurou is torn between irritation and awe, but mostly the latter.

"are you quite done?"

"yep. totally. got the perfect shot of your pretty self and everything."

"fantastic," kei deadpans and doesn't deign to respond to the teasing, although tetsurou spies his ears going red. "can we please move along now? i'm fucking freezing."

tetsurou actually got the perfect picture five shots ago, but kei doesn't need to know that.

[jjkamochoso]

Hi again :3 more noritoshi stuff,,, it's his birthday soon! Maybe reader takes him out on a date to celebrate ^_^

Yessss omg I’m loving writing these birthday fics because I’m the biggest lover of birthday celebrations so this is a total treat for me!! And as everyone knows Noritoshi is my number one so let’s celebrate him as much as we can🥳🎉 thank you for your request, I appreciate it so so much!!! Also I kinda ran away with this so I hope it still meets your expectations lol🫣❤️

The Best Birthday Boy

Fluff

Noritoshi Kamo x gn!reader

Warnings: none

When you asked Noritoshi what he wanted to do for his birthday this year, he told you he had never given that June day much thought and every year he treats it as any other day, going through the same routine and not doing anything special. You definitely weren’t letting that happen this year so you immediately went into planning mode, deciding how to make this day filled with memories he’d cherish for a long time. Now you were standing outside his door, balloons and flowers taking up all the use of your hands while you tried your best to knock on the frame with your foot. He either heard your knocking or your struggle outside but either way, he was there in an instant, opening the door to reveal you and your gifts.

“Happy birthday!” you greeted. Noritoshi looked taken aback as he let you inside.

“Is this all for me?” he asked, taking the bouquet from you so you weren’t juggling as many things.

“Of course, silly,” you replied, tying the huge group of balloons to his bedpost, “and this is just a taste of the fun to come. Are you ready for your big day of surprises?”

“Trust me, this is more than enough,” he told you, sincerity shining from his gray eyes as he wrapped you in a big hug. “You by my side is the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”

“Sounds like you’re getting sentimental in your old age.”

Noritoshi playfully scoffed as he pulled away from you to fill a vase with water for the flowers you brought him. “It’s my birthday, you have to be nice to me.”

“I am!” you whined. “Besides, I could’ve greeted you today with birthday punches instead of gifts. One for each year.”

“People seriously do that?” His voice was filled with concern as you laughed and shook your head.

“Yep. Apparently it’s very popular. But,” you ruffled his hair a bit, “I’d never lay anything but a loving touch on my precious Nori.”

He ducked out of your assaulting reach as you fell into another bout of giggles and he rolled his eyes.

“Alright, where are you kidnapping me to first?”

“Can’t tell ya.” You winked. “But I can say we’ll be outside and then walking around other places so dress casually and wear comfy shoes.”

“Got it.”

He left to get dressed and you looked around his place thoughtfully. Everything was always in such neat order and you were awestruck by the high level of organization and cleanliness he never failed to commit to. You noticed that there weren’t many personal items present as he opted to keep the decoration to a minimum, but your heart did a flip in your chest when you spied a picture frame showcasing you and him together. It was a selfie you had taken on one of your dates and while you were smiling at the camera, Noritoshi was resting his softest loving gaze on you. It was a picture you both treasured and you were honored that he felt strongly enough about you to keep your relationship so brazenly on display. You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard him enter the room again and your breath hitched in your throat when you saw how handsome he looked. He was sporting dark linen pants and a white t shirt that accentuated his muscles perfectly. He opted for white sneakers and topped the whole outfit off with a black fanny pack slung over his shoulder. He looked breathtakingly attractive in this sporty outfit and you were quick to let him know.

“Woah. You always look hot but this look really suits you.”

Noritoshi couldn’t help but blush at your words. “Are you trying to embarrass me into oblivion on purpose?”

“What? No,” you said, pouting a bit before placing a kiss on his cheek, “but it’s my duty as your partner to remind you how alluring you are.”

You started peppering more kisses on his cheek before moving to his nose, chin, other cheek, then placed one on his lips.

“There,” you mumbled, “instead of birthday punches, you get birthday kisses.”

“Much more agreeable,” said Noritoshi, locking your lips together once more. When you pulled apart for air, you jumped out of his grasp as fast as possible.

“Okay! You’ve bewitched me enough today, sir, it’s now time for the birthday celebration to begin! No more smooching or we’ll never leave.”

“Fine by me,” he shrugged and you shot him a look. “I mean, uh, let’s get going.”

“That’s what I thought,” a triumphant tone coating your voice. You took Noritoshi by the hand and led him into a Kyoto neighborhood that was about 20 minutes away.

“This is an interesting route you’re taking me,” Noritoshi hummed as you walked along the empty streets.

“I’m glad it’s quiet today. I think the universe is on our side.”

You continued walking until you finally arrived at your destination.

“A cafe? Coffee sounds perfect right now,” said an excited Noritoshi, opening the door for you. You walked in and had a quick conversation with the woman at the counter, keeping Noritoshi out of earshot. When you joined his side again, he narrowed his eyes at you.

“What did you plan for me here?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fun, I promise. Just be patient.”

“I’m going to say I trust you but I’m not sure how accurate that is right now.”

“You’ll get your coffee in a few moments, no need to get feisty.”

“You’re a pain, you know that?”

“But I’m your pain.”

You gave him a wink and the woman called you two over to a secluded table in the back. Laid out in front of you were 10 small sized cups, each filled with a different coffee flavor.

“It’s a tasting selection,” you explained to Noritoshi, thanking the woman as she left, “these are all rare, specialty coffee flavors you can’t get anywhere else in the city. I talked to the owner and she’s allowed us to try each one and whichever we like the best, we can get a full cup of and a bag to roast at home.”

His eyes sparkled with gratitude. “Y/n, that’s… this is amazing. You’re amazing. Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” You gave his hand a quick squeeze before he pulled the chair out for you and you took a seat, him doing the same across from you. You had a great time sampling all the variations while chatting aimlessly with your happy boyfriend. You were relieved that he was very much enjoying himself, liking the challenge of identifying all the flavor notes in every cup. When they were all empty, you told the owner which ones you two liked the best and she gave you each a full to-go cup and bags of the beans. You thanked her profusely once more as you took your leave, sipping on the delicious drink.

“That was truly one of the coolest things I’ve ever experienced,” said Noritoshi, holding your hand as you walked to your next destination.

“I’m really glad you liked it. I was nervous that it would be too boring or something.”

“What? No way. Coffee can never be boring. It’s my favorite thing ever. Behind you, of course.”

“Nice save,” you replied jokingly. As you traversed the city sidewalks, it seemed all the birds and animals were out for their own strolls, too. You and Noritoshi had a fantastic time watching them scurry along on the mild summer day. There was one squirrel who seemingly led you to the park where the next birthday surprise was.

“Here we are!” you announced. A picnic blanket was splayed out under a big shady tree and on it was a huge array of snack foods, games, and art supplies. Noritoshi stared in wonder and delight as he took in this new portion of the celebration, unsure of what to say.

“I know, it’s a lot, but you deserve it all.”

“How did you…?” His sentence trailed off, finding it difficult to come to terms with the kindness you’d showed him.

“Miwa,” you confessed. “She set this all up while we were at the cafe.”

“Woah,” he breathed out, sitting down on the blanket. “I really don’t know… this is beyond words, y/n. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It’s your day to be doted on because I’m celebrating you and how happy you’ve made me all this time. I wanted to return the favor and make you feel as special as you make me feel every day.”

You leaned over and grabbed the paint brushes and some games. “Alright birthday boy, what’s first? Painting plein air or party games?”

Noritoshi chose to paint first and you set up the canvases and paint while he snacked on the food you prepared. The afternoon went by in a flash as you created artful pieces and played games to your heart’s content. You even took some time just to lay on the blanket and watch the clouds roll by as Noritoshi held you to his chest, not wanting to let go of the person he loved so very much. As the sun started to go down, you decided to pack everything up and head back to your room for one more surprise. You made Noritoshi wait outside as you put away the picnic supplies and prepared the rest of the celebration.

“Okay, I’m going to cover your eyes so you don’t peek,” you said, placing your hands on his face.

“An old man like me can’t be trusted to not spoil a surprise?” he teased.

“I won’t hesitate to cover your mouth, too. Don’t test me.”

You slowly walked him into your room, being careful to not let him trip.

“Ready? Three, two, one.”

Your hands fell from his skin and he couldn’t help but gasp a little at the sight he walked into. Your whole room was decked out in birthday decorations, streamers and balloons covering almost every inch of space. A stack of presents wrapped in brightly colored paper was residing in a corner and a round cake with candles was placed on one of your tables.

“Happy birthday, my love.”

Noritoshi couldn’t form a coherent thought, glancing between you and the festive room a few times before settling on bringing you into a long, deep kiss to show his appreciation when words failed him. Even though you’ve kissed him a fair amount of times during your relationship, you never lost the butterfly feeling in your stomach every time he pulled you in and met your lips with his own. You didn’t want to pull away but you also didn’t want the cake to start melting so you reluctantly shimmied from his gentle grasp and grabbed a lighter, setting the candles ablaze.

“Make a wish,” you whispered, your face warming from the affectionate stare of your lover. He blew out the candles in one swift exhale and you got to work slicing up pieces of the cake. You handed him a big slice on a paper birthday plate, then began savoring the delectable dessert.

“This is so delicious,” Noritoshi complimented. “It’s almost as sweet as you are.”

“Oh stop,” you chided, wiping a small bit of frosting on his nose. “You have a little something on your face.”

“I wonder how that got there,” he replied sarcastically. You giggled and grabbed a napkin, cleaning him up. When your plates were empty, you cleared them and brought over his gifts.

“Y/n, I can’t take much more of this whole birthday thing, I feel too guilty. You’ve done so much already, I certainly didn’t need presents as well.”

“Aww, that’s too bad I lost the receipts and can’t return any of them,” you shrugged. Noritoshi just shook his head while chuckling a bit and began opening his gifts. You had gotten him a fancy coffee machine that could make almost any type of drink his heart desired, a gift card to the local sporting goods store for archery supplies, and a shiny yet understated silver chain bracelet.

“I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me today,” Noritoshi said as you clasped the bracelet onto his wrist. “I still don’t think I’m worthy of all this spoiling but I’m thankful for you showing me how much you care.”

“You’re the love of my life, Noritoshi. You being born is a worthy cause for celebration in my book. I don’t know where I would’ve been without you in my life and I’m appreciative that I’ll never have to know what that’s like.”

The black haired man took your hand in his as he ushered you to the couch, eager to cuddle you in the quiet calm of your room, away from any prying eyes or gossipy mouths. More of these tender moments with you were what he wished for earlier and it seemed to have already begun coming true. You both eventually fell asleep, content in the comfort of each other’s arms, stomachs and hearts full. If you thought today was filled to the brim with fun, Noritoshi couldn’t wait to show you how he’ll celebrate your birthday next.

[a-lost-crow]

Writing every "Meet the Team" script based on my memory. Enjoy

Meet the Heavy

*Intro plays*

*Heavy drops weapon/Sasha*

"I am heavy weapons guy. And this. This is my weapon... Twelve seconds. Many people think they can outsmart me. Many :(. But no one can outsmart bullet."

*Proceeds to kill mercs in the battlefield. *Outro plays*

Meet the Sniper

*Scene shows camper driving off to the distance* *Sniper hits bobble head*

"Boom, headshot."

*Intro plays*

"Sniping's a good job mate. Becuase at the end of the day, as long as there's two people on the planet, someone's gonna want someone dead. What? I'm not a crazed gunman, I'm an assassin! What the difference be is that one is a job and the other is mental sickness! I'm gonna be honest, my parents do not care."

*Sniper climbs up the ladder*

"I think his mates saw me."

*Gun shots*

"Yep! Feelings? You know who else who has feelings? Bludgeons who (hit) their wives with a gold trophy! Professionals have standards. Be polite! Be efficient! And kill every person you meet!" *gunshots*

*Outro plays*

"P-Put mom on the phone."

Meet the Engineer

*Intro plays*

"What's life?" *Gunshots ensues* "And best hope, not pointed at you."

*Camera widens to show sentry guns killing opponent*

*Outro plays*

Meet the Scout

*It starts with Scout running and not getting killed by a train* *Intro plays* *Scout walks to the front of it*

"I uh, I don't know how to say this. Do you know who I am?"

*Scout pokes BLU Heavy*

"What's up?"

"Do you have any idea who I am?"

*I just know Scout hits the BLU Heavy*

"I'm a force of nature" *more hitting* *Looks at his small ass biceps* "Aw yeah."

"Grass grows, birds fly, and brother, I hurt people!"

*More fighting*

"WOO"

*Outro plays*

*Video ends with Scout eating a sandwich on top of a BLU Heavy*

Meet the Demoman

*Intro plays*

"What is a good demoman?"

*I just know he throws bombs here*

"[Demoman proceeds to dox the Lochness Monster's address, hence why there's a censor]"

*Sticky bomb bit*

*I just know scottish music is playing here*

"They'll have to glue you back together, IN HELL!"

*Outro plays*

Meet The Soldier

*Pyro*

"Sun Tzu"

*Outro plays*

"Zoo farm"

(I love you Soldier I'm sorry)

Meet The Spy

"Intruder alert! The red spy's in the base!"

"The red spy's in the base?"

*Blu soldier picks up a shot gun and goes down the stairs*

"Need a little help here!"

"INCOMIIIIING" "AAAAAAAH" *Door crashes. Intelligence is still safe*

"Aw hey it's still here!"

"Gentlemen?/What's up sluts?"

*Intro plays*

"I see the brief case is safe?"

"Yeah it is!"

"Then tell me, did you happen to kill the red spy along the way?" *Unsure faces*

"Then we still have a problem." "And a body!"

"I killed plenty of spies. The dime a dozen d*ldo sucking c*ck suckers, like you- ow!" *BLU Scout drops knife and BLU Spy hands it back to him*

"If you happen to kill a red spy, there's nothing, nothing like him in this building."

"What are you? President of his fan club?"

"No. That would be your MOTHER." *Spy shows the Red Spy effing Blu Scout's mom* *Blu Scout is shocked*

"Or p**nography of you mom won't be the worst thing that has happened today. The spy has breached out defenses." *Some shit happens here*

"He could be one of us!" "He could be you! He could be me! He could even be-"

*GUNSHOTS*

"What? It's obvious he's the red spy!" "Any second now! See? Red! No that's blood."

"We still have problem."

"Right behind you."

*Screams and stabs that synchronize to the outro.*

*Spy picks up blu mom's photos*

"Ma petit chou fleur."

Meet the Medic

"Medic."

*Intro plays*

"That's how I lost my medical license. Archimedes! It's filthy there! Birds."

"Kill me."

"Later."

"Ribs grow back." "No they don't"

"Let's practice medicine."

*Medic exits infirmary like a god*

"HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS WILL WORK!"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

"I AM BULLET PROOF."

*Outro plays*

*Scene shows everyone waiting in the waiting hall*

*Scout comes out of the infirmary*

"You won't BELIEVE, how much this hurts!"

*Bird noises*

"ARCHIMEDES?!

Meet the Pyro

"I fear nothing. But that thing. It scares me."

"Is she here right now?"

[COPYRIGHT OF "DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC" PLAYS AS PYRO KILLS EVERY BLU WHILE THINKING THEY'RE IN PYRO LAND]

*Outro plays*

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

BAU team X Child reader

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! This is a special oneshot because I love Halloween also this is finished and posted a little later than Halloween because I haven't had time to write it.

Summary: 5 year old Y/N loves Halloween and gets the team to dress up with them.

Third person pov...

Little Y/N L/N loved Halloween, every year they dress up as something else this year they plan to be an FBI agent like their family the BAU.

The child was so excited Halloween was around the corner. The five year old had been counting down the days until candy, costumes, and all the thrills and chills of this special day.

Currently thr 5 year old was getting ready in their room, they had a badge, sunglasses, fake gun and was wearing a suit like Hotch does, he was their hero.

Once the child was ready their Mum dropped them off and they walked into the building and walked in, when they got through the reception desk and up to the floor with the BAU on.

The child git out of the elevator and walks into the Bullpen where the team were, as they walk in they see Spencer, Derek, Emily and JJ all chatting at Spencers desk, they hadn't noticed the 5 year old walk in just yet.

Smirking the kid hides behind the desk opposite Spencers and spies on the 4 adults trying and failing to hide their laughter.

JJ stopped talking when she heard a childish giggle, she then motions towards the desk opposite Spencers holding her hand over her mouth to stop laughing.

The rest look and see a tiny bit of H/C hair, Morgan then Smirks and quietly leaves the group and makes his way behind the Reids desk and creeps up behind the child.

When he's behind then he looks up around at the rest of the team who are all trying to hide their smiles but failing, the man then grabs the child and throws them over his shoulder making them squeal.

"You little! Trying to sneak up on us" laughed Derek as he mercifully tickled the 5 year old, their laughter was so loud that the other Agents stopped to look at what the common was.

Even Hotch and Rossi came out if their offices, but begin smiling at the sight of Y/N L/N thrown over Derek's shoulder laughter their head off as the man tickled them.

Tears of laughter ran down the 5 year old face as Derek finally stopped hid attack and set the kid down on the ground, still laughing Y/N tries to get their breath back.

The child glares at Derek who jsut smiles and ruffled the kids hair, this made Y/N huff and try and fix it themselves. Then JJ approached the kid.

"Hey N/N, did you need something?" She asks the kid, Y/N became nervous and fiddled with their fake gun. "I was wondering if you wanted to go trick or treating with me?" They asked almost shouting it.

This made the team surprised but all smiled at the child. "Of course we would love too!" Yelled Emily, grabbing the child and swinging them into her arms, everyone else had identical smiles even Hotch.

From Emily's arms Y/N was grinning. "Yayyy" they exclaimed enthusiastically, once they were put down again Y/N patted their jacket down.

Soen then spoke up, he had been analysing what the kid was dressed as but couldn't tell he had an idea but had to confirm.

"Y/N, are you an FBI agent?" He asks, the child turns to him and grins nodding their head. "Yep I am can you guess who?" They ask, the team them begin thinking at who they could be.

From the suit to the red tie to the incredibly familiar face the kid was making it was easy to guess who. "Its Bossman right!?" Exclaims Penelope waving her hand around excitedly.

Y/N grins. "Correct! I'm Hotch, Wheels up!" They say doing a pretty good impression of said man making Hotch smile they did look like him.

The team laughed a spot on impression. "You guys have to dress up as well!" Exclaimed the kid, 6 hours later the team and child are standing outside in costumes going trick or treating.

Y/N was so ecstatic when they saw everyone in their chosen costumes;

Penelope is a Fairy and looks all mystical and pretty, she had glitter everywhere from her skin to her outfit, she also had wings on the back and had amazing make up on.

Derek dressed like a strong man from a circus, he had a foam bar bell with him and was wearing shorts and a tank

Spencer was dressed like Sherlock Holmes of course with the deer hunter hat and pipe.

Emily was a Vampire with fangs and fake blood everywhere to Y/N she looked awesome.

JJ was a Zombie, ripped clothes and green skin, Penelope helped both woman do their make up.

Rossi got forced to dress up as well, he was a Skeleton he has let Penelope paint half a Skeleton on his face and had Skeleton hands.

Hotch was the hardest to dress up but he gave in when Y/N gave him their 'puppy eyes' he dressed as a Pirate using his hat from highschool.

Y/N was smiling so happy that they all dressed up like their asked. Soon they were dragged all around town, trick-or-treating with an energy that was only matched by their excitement. Everyone had a spook-tacular time, enjoying all the candy, but more importantly, spending quality time with Y/N.

Y/N was more than happy to play the role as an FBI agent and chasing after 'unsubs' which were the team, Rossi made sure to get lots of pictures for them all to have as memories from the night.

At the end of the night, everyone was tired, but happy. Y/N thanked them all for making their Halloween even more special, reminding them of the power of dressing up and having fun.

The team love the kid and could never say no to them, they each have a copy on a group photo they askes a parent to take of them, all smiling and posing like their characters for it.

Y/N couldn't wait for next year's Halloween.

The end!

Hope you liked this oneshot so sorry for the grammar and Spelling mistakesand for not updating as much I'm pretty busy with classes but I will try and squeeze a couple in everything week or so.

Request are open

Word count: 1115

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - chapter five

you know you never stood a chance series

five: steal from yourselves

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

qz!Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 2.2k

Summary: You and Joel fight while taking Ellie to Lincoln.

Warnings: dub-con due to power imbalance, free use, sex as payment, vaginal sex, oral sex (m&f receiving), cum play, Joel is mean/bad with feelings, this is not canon compliant, no use of y/n, degradation, canon-typical violence and danger, mention of Tess, description of injury

also on ao3

He’s worse than a field of landmines.

You never know where you stand with him. One moment, he’s eating you out on the floor of a convenience store, his jacket under your hips to keep away the broken glass.

The next, he’s bitching about your eternal uselessness.

You get it. Sort of. The only purpose you ever served him was a set of warm, wet holes. Never mind the fact that he used to fuss over you. So now, out here, what good are you?

It’s that kind of thinking that makes you keep your mouth shut when you twist your ankle.

He’s there in a heartbeat when you fall, pulling you back up with one arm. You brush the leaves off your clothes and mumble your thanks.

“Dunno how you made it this long,” he grumbles. It’s a harken back to when you were sat at his kitchen table, broken wrist cradled in his gentle hands. It’s sickening, actually, to hear the venom in his voice this time around.

So you press on, ignoring the way your body is screaming in protest. Alarms blare, but you ignore them, keeping pace with Joel so he can’t find another thing to hate you for.

But Joel is Joel, and so when you stop for the night, he spies the swelling.

“Stubborn brat,” he says. “Coulda said something.”

“Oh yeah? What good would that have done?”

“How am I supposed to take care of ya if you don’t tell me when you’re hurt?”

You don’t look at him. You know it won’t last. He’s angrier more than he’s not these days, at least with you.

“What if we had to run? What if I counted on you to do something, and you got us all killed?”

Yep, there it is. You pull yourself up, sneering at him when your ankle protests. “I’ll save you the fucking trouble.” You grab your bag, and even though you know it’s stupid, you walk away.

You don’t make it far. The swelling has made it so much harder to walk, so you get around the curve of the street, about five houses down from the one Joel cleared, and slump on the porch. It has solid half walls, thankfully, so you’re concealed, and you don’t hear any noise or see any lights inside.

“That was fuckin’ rude,” Ellie says.

Joel’s head snaps to her from where he was still watching the road, the inky darkness of the moonless night having swallowed you up.

“Shut up,” he grunts.

“You’re just gonna let her go off and get fungified?”

“Ain’t my business what she does.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “I’m just sayin’, it’s kind of fucked up.” But she settles down in her sleeping bag, too tired from the long trek to keep arguing.

You had just gotten home from work, still in your regular clothes, when Joel and Tess burst in. He was angry; she was loud.

They’d been bickering about some kind of pills, some kind of trade. You didn’t pay attention; they’d been very clear it was none of your business. Instead, you made a second cup of coffee with extra milk for Tess.

They were still arguing when you went to your room and shut the door. Your hands couldn't seem to unbutton your shirt, fumbling with each, until you gave up after the third and flopped on the bed. Fuck it. You were tired. And as much as you liked Tess, you were pretty sure this meant you weren’t getting fucked, and you felt a little petulant about it.

The door slammed. Your bedroom door flew open moments later. There was something in his eyes that scared you just a little bit. It also made you wet, so there was that.

“Why’re you still dressed?” he asked, already moving to rectify the situation.

“Dunno, didn’t seem like you were in a rush,” you said.

He had you peeled out of your shirt and pants and laid out flat on the bed in record time. He loomed over you, one hand grasping at your waist and the other wrapping around your neck as he bent to capture a nipple between his teeth.

You took a deep, shaking breath, a little dizzy from the barrage of sensations. He bit and licked your breasts, your neck, your chin. You moaned and squirmed under him until he squeezed your throat a little tighter, nipping at your ear.

He pulled away abruptly. “Need your mouth,” he said, tugging at you with the hand on your throat.

You scrambled up onto all fours and held your mouth wide while he stroked his cock a few times in front of your face. When his hand was out of the way, you replaced it with your lips, wasting no time in burying him deep in your throat.

You gagged, but held on, gut telling you he’d be more appreciative of your enthusiasm than anything else that day. You choked yourself on him, tears streaming down your face, but you were right. He rewarded you with a gentle hand cradling your head.

“Fuck, that’s it, good girl. Look at you, takin’ my whole cock.”

You moaned around him, warmth from his praise seeping down your limbs. It made it easier, somehow, for the head of his cock to batter your throat. He fucked up into you, grunting while you struggled to keep breathing.

When he pulled out, he didn’t bother to give you orders. He just shoved you back on the bed and parted your legs with his thighs. Grinning, he rubbed the head over your clit to watch the way you writhed for him.

“You want it, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you groaned, trying to spread your legs wider, be more accommodating. “Please, Joel.” You looked up at him with tears weighing down your lashes, lips turned in a pout.

He was too impatient to string you along, so he just smirked and pushed into your waiting cunt. You cried out from the stretch. Sometimes, it still burned and stung, like the first time, when he didn’t work you open first. Not that you could have waited that night..

There was something in the air you couldn’t quite identify. He fucked you open with vigor, but he was quieter than usual. He mumbled the occasional “good girl” when your moans betrayed a little pain, and his thrusts were smoother, deeper, like he was trying to hide something in your body for no one else to find.

He’d kill them if they tried.

He took you apart over and over, his thumb on your clit demanding your obedience. You gave him everything you had to give, sobbing when it became too much. He kissed the tears from your face.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, though it was not as cruel as he usually got. It was almost tender. He made up for it by returning a hand to your throat to coax another orgasm from your wrung-out body, biting at your breasts until you clamped down on him. He pulled out and covered your tits in his thick, milky cum.

He stayed over you, caging you in with his body. You were exhausted, eyes fluttering shut as you gasped for air. He took two fingers and smeared the cum all over your breasts, tweaking your nipples with slick-coated pads. When he was satisfied with his artwork, he stuck the fingers in your mouth.

You cleaned them off, humming softly at the buzz between your ears. He got up and tucked his cock away, looking down at you.

You forced your eyes open to see him. His forehead was creased, and his lips tugged down at the corners.

“Leave that there,” he said when he finally looked away, leaving the room without another word.

You lay panting on your bed, shivering a little as the cum dries on your breasts. He always cleaned you up after. Always.

You dozed off a little, startling awake when he entered a while later. You weren't sure how long it had been, but the sun had almost set. In the orange glow across your bedspread, he dumped an armful of… well, something. You couldn’t quite tell.

“Put these in your bag,” he said, rifling around in your closet and tossing the backpack at you. Clothes followed it, one of his long-sleeve shirts and a pair of sweats that unfolded in the air, smacking you in the face.

Your brain hadn’t caught up with him, still in the pleasant hallows of your dream, but your body knew what to do. When all else failed, it obeyed Joel Miller. You were dressed and standing before you were fully acclimated.

“Why?” you finally said, shoving handfuls of what turns out to be protein bars and batteries, bandages and clothing, and a flashlight into your backpack.

“Ya can’t stay here anymore,” he said, and you froze, a wounded sound slipping out.

“No,” he shook his head, “I mean when I’m gone.”

“Lead with that, asshole,” you grumbled. “But wait, then what—”

“You’re gonna have to come with me,” he said. He handed you a rolled-up sleeping bag, which you attached to the bottom of your backpack with the never-before-used straps.

“But why?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” He didn’t want to tell you what one of Robert’s men had said, how he had known that you were naive and alone in Joel’s apartment twice a month.

The man was dead, but if he knew, then you probably weren’t safe there anymore.

“How am I going to be safer out there? That’s where you go, right, outside the walls?” You’d never asked before. Better not to know.

He grunted, which, based on the tone and volume, was Joel for “yes.”

“I haven’t been outside in fifteen years.” You didn’t need to tell him how little you knew, even then.

“You’ll be safer because you’ll be with me.”

You were scared. You couldn’t hide it; you knew he could see it carved into your face. It didn’t make sense; he wasn't some superhuman; he was not repellant to Infected or the horrors beyond. But you were soothed by the thought nonetheless.

You had the bag slung over your shoulder and were toeing on your boots when he stopped filling his bag from the kitchen and came back out to look at you.

“Look,” he sighed and shook his head. “You don’t have to. I won’t drag ya by your hair or anything. I just can’t protect you if you stay.”

“I’ll go wherever you tell me, Joel.” You didn’t mean to say it; your stupid, anxious mouth ran twice as fast as your idiot brain. But you found that you meant it.

“Don’t come cryin’ to me if you regret that.”

Well, you regret it now, but you’d die before crying to him about it, you think. You’re still buried in your sleeping bag on the porch, sun just barely cresting the horizon. You’re slumped down, saved from the damp, plastic carpet by the mostly intact cocoon. The porch is uneven, tilting to the right with decades of shifting foundation coming to haunt its shoddy construction.

It’s quiet. Birds chirp from somewhere as the dim light filters between the dilapidated carbon copy houses. You haven’t slept at all—too afraid.

A voice rumbles in the distance. Undeniably human, possibly male. For one second, your heart jumps, thinking maybe it’s Joel, and you won’t have to try to drag your ass back to him and grovel or find your way home.

And then you remember the reality of the situation. Chances are good that they moved on, and chances are even stronger that you’re not alone in this little subdivision. You don’t have time to wait and see what direction they’re coming from, let alone what they look like. You scuttle to the other side of the porch and jump from the top of the rail over the chainlink fence. You land hard on your side, trying to avoid actually breaking your ankle. It knocks the wind out of you, and there’s sure to be a bruise tomorrow, but you’re able to stand up and creep around into the yard.

There’s a back porch, raised high, with broken trellises along the bottom. At the far end is a garage, the sliding door hanging at an angle, and the regular door missing. Around the corner is an overgrown, dead garden, a doghouse, and the rusty frame of a trampoline.

They’re all shit options for shelter. But you’re not sure you could clear the fence from the ground without rattling it. You can hear boots scraping on the road, low murmurs spilling in their wake. Whoever it is clearly doesn’t want to attract clickers, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t looking for trouble.

You don’t have time to clear any of the hiding places. The garage and the porch are the highest risk for lurking Infected, but you don’t think you can fit quickly into the doghouse. You hear the sound of feet on the creaky front porch and dive for the garage, tucking yourself in around the corner from the regular door.

There are no Infected. There is a corpse, but it’s long gone to rot, skeletal and sickening, in a beach chair in the corner. The skull is shattered and jagged, and a revolver is on the ground. You sneak over and grab it. There are two bullets loaded and no more in sight. Hands wrapped around the grip, you press yourself back against the wall where you shouldn’t be able to be spotted from the house.

And you wait.

next chapter

*title from "Jars" by Chevelle

[traintrainingmontage]

hi, te!!! congrats on the 150- can’t believe it isn’t more 😆 you are epic and it is always lovely to read all of your stuff !!!!!!

as prompts are open, i (completely unpredictably, nobody could’ve expected this!) would like to request,,,, a james and oliver friend? enemy? acquaintance? whatever you decide!!! interaction!! preferably where they are both being dense because i love that about them <3

massive congrats once more on the 150 :)

KONNO!! Thank youuuuu~~ That's so sweet of you to say! James and Oliver, hm? Ok! Let's see what these two sillies get up to...

(Have a prompt for me? Details here!)

It was a lovely day on the island of Sodor, and in James' opinion, it would have been far lovelier if he was, say, pulling some coaches or enjoying the washdown. Instead, he was at Kirk Ronan, of all places, tasked with helping organize their meager little dockyard, which was currently overwhelmed with cargo. James couldn't help but let out a groan, already dreading such utterly unglamorous work. He knew full well by this point in time that Useful engines did as they were instructed (and that complaining was completely pointless), but knowing such a thing and mustering up the energy to do tasks like this were distinctly different things.

Not wanting to dwell on the sea of work awaiting him, James instead turned his attention to the yard manager, who was currently explaining the situation. "Look, there was no helping it," the manager rumbled, sounding just as displeased as James felt. "There was an issue with the delivery ship, and it had to dock here instead of at Brendam. We just need all of this sorted and taken away by the end of the day. Good news, though; Sir Topham's sending another engine to come help you out."

"Well, you heard him, James," his driver sighed, giving the engine a quick pat. "Someone'll come by soon to help. In the meantime, let's just do what we can, alright?"

"Fine," James snapped. "Let's get it over with. The sooner I'm done, the sooner I can do anything else."

Within an hour or so, James had managed to wrangle about a quarter of the yard into shape before the sound of a whistle caught his attention. Peep peep! It was a vaguely familiar whistle, one that he remembered hearing but couldn't quite recall whose it was. It wasn't until he saw the engine himself that it clicked into place. "Oliver?" James questioned, mouth agape. "YOU'RE the one Sir Topham sent to help me organize this?"

"Yep," Oliver replied, giving James a... it wasn't quite a friendly smile, but it did appear as though the olive tank engine was fairly fired up about their assigned task. "It's been slow on our branchline today, so Sir Topham asked me to come help as soon as I'd finished pulling my last train."

That made sense; it was no wonder that Oliver had taken so long if he'd had to come halfway across the island. Still, James couldn't quite say he was entirely pleased with the fact that he'd be working with Oliver, of all engines. He'd held nothing but admiration for him when he'd arrived, but now... he wasn't quite sure how to describe it, but something about Oliver rubbed him the wrong way.

"Right, well. Get to work, then," the red engine directed, a sneer in his voice. "I've already done a good quarter of the work, so you'd best make up for lost time."

The smile on Oliver's face fell at James' words, but his eyes were fiery. "Will do."

And with those words, as if a flag had been dropped, the two engines set to work.

James began pushing at trucks and organizing goods, maintaining a good pace but also keeping an eye on Oliver. The red engine had to admit that Oliver was doing a pretty good job; he was setting about his work with a single-minded determination, and every so often, James thought he saw Oliver sneaking a glance his way as well.

Suddenly, James spied Oliver heading for a particular line of cars. "H-HEY! That's MINE!" the red engine called, mouth set in a grimace as he stared angrily at Oliver.

The tank engine, however, had the gall to scoff at him in response, continuing on his merry way. "Sorry, James, but I got here first. It's MINE."

"Cinders and ashes!" James grimaced, angrily shunting another line and ignoring the protests from the hapless trucks.

And so it went, a back-and-forth tug of war between the two. Oliver may have been behind, but he wasn't kidding about catching up. "Hah, the manager will tell Sir Topham that I contributed the most!" Oliver cheered, causing James to gnash his teeth and continue his shunting with renewed determination.

"As if! Sir Topham's going to praise me!"

Such shouts rang out across the yard as the two worked, and by the time the sun was starting to set, the yard had not only been organized, but various trains of cargo had been delivered to their destinations. At last, the manager came out to see them. "You two did what I asked," he remarked, "but James, you were too hard on the trucks! With all that banging around, it's amazing you didn't cause an accident! And Oliver, you were moving about much too quickly and taking turns too tightly! Both of you ought to be more careful!"

"Yes, sir," the two engines murmured, eyes downcast.

"Still... you both did well and put in a good day's work. I appreciate it."

With that, the manager took his leave. All that remained were a rather tired Oliver and James, left to simply stare at each other as their crews stepped away for a break.

"You... haah... I didn't think you'd work that hard," Oliver panted, his gaze no less intense despite the breathlessness of his words. "I thought you hated working with goods."

"Tch, I can't say I was expecting it from you either," James retorted, equally as winded. "I thought you hated trucks, given your reputation."

"It's not that," Oliver defended, brows knitting together into a scowl. "It just took ONE incident, and that's all they'll ever know me for. It's why I was trying to be careful with them, but it meant I had to make up time in-between. At least... I thought that was what I should do."

The green engine seemed to slump at the thought of his scolding. "But whether it's passengers or goods, I just like variety in my work. Don't care what it is; it's nice to do different stuff once in a while. But what about you?"

"Well, I'm certainly not fond of working with goods," James admitted with a sigh, "but I'm not against it like I used to be. I just need to do what I need to do, and prove that I'm a really Useful engine."

At the last part of that statement, Oliver went quiet, his expression becoming oddly thoughtful. "I know what you mean," he finally replied, his words strangely hesitant. "I was pretty full of myself when I first came to Sodor. Everyone had so many nice things to say about me, and it was just so different from back on the GWR. Back then, I was a nobody. I didn't have anything going for me, anything that could help me stand out. But here... I mattered. And, well... it's easy for that sort of thing to go to your smokebox."

James listened on, enraptured. What Oliver was describing were feelings he knew well. Very well, in fact. "I understand," he began. "To tell you the truth, I had an accident on my very first day. My builder sold me to Sir Topham for cheap. I wasn't wanted, so I wanted to do my very best and prove myself. I thought that if I talked myself up, they'd think I was a good engine and they wouldn't... well. Send me to scrap."

A full-body shudder ripped its way through Oliver, and James' eyes widened. "Ah! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have--"

"...It's fine," Oliver grunted through clenched teeth, and James watched as the engine opposite him took several deep breaths, trying to relax. "It's fine. But it seems like you get that feeling too, huh? Always trying to live up to those titles of splendid or sagacious, and always feeling like we haven't quite gotten there."

"..."

Hearing it said out loud caused James to tremble, his eyes slipping shut for a moment as he considered his words. When his gaze met Oliver's again, he found the green engine staring at him with an odd expression of empathy and understanding, not a trace of pity to be found. Somehow, James' firebox felt a little warmer at the sight, and a watery smile found its way onto his face.

"...Yes. I do. But we still did well today, didn't we?"

Oliver's expression turned into one of surprise, and James took the opportunity to continue. "I used to handle my failures a lot worse, but Edward told me something once. He said that there's no such thing as a perfect engine. You should always strive to do well, but if something goes wrong, then you do your best to fix it and move on. You just have to do your best day by day, and as long as you don't completely mess up, you'll have a chance at being splendid again tomorrow.

So... let's both try to be sagacious and splendid tomorrow, yeah?"

The tank engine blinked, then slowly allowed himself to smile, a quiet half-thing that was far more genuine than the smile he'd shown James earlier today. "You're right. We weren't perfect, but we did well, and we'll have the chance to do even better tomorrow. Thank you, James. Perhaps I should be calling you sagacious."

"M-me?" James sputtered, suddenly somewhat embarrassed. "Well, I don't know about that. But... I am glad that I could help."

Soon enough, the two engines' crews came back, pleasantly surprised to see Oliver and James talking and laughing like good friends do, an odd yet somehow fitting new friendship having been formed between them.

[phyrestartr]

Simple Things [3] - Miguel O'hara x Male!Reader

# Mild NSFW, fluff, comfort, flirting, light angst, male!reader, dad!reader, spider!reader, implied depression, mentions of trauma, mentions of past relationships, mentions of manipulation, old men just doing their best, miguel is a sweetheart and a nerd, multi-part drabble collection

[ 1 ] Smoke Break | [ 2 ] We Change Like the Seasons | [ 3 ] Meet the Kids

Notes: Covid is still kicking my ass but I wanted to finish this part off so I can make the reader and Miguel fuck in the next part wahoo \o/

-- Meet The Kids --

A girl walked into the lab. Miguel thought maybe Gwen or another spider had come to ask something of him or to steal one of the cookies from his desk console (wouldn't be the first time), but the lazy scuff of shoes on polished floors sounded too clumsy to be one of his agents. She wasn't wearing a suit either, Miguel realized after sparing a glance over his shoulder; she did, however, sport a day pass on a small wrist. 

"And you are?" Miguel asked before turning back to his screens. He wasn't really in the mood for conversation while he tracked the next anomaly, but he couldn't say he wanted some random kid to be touching his stuff in his lab. 

"I dunno. Who're you?" Ugh. 

The clattering of something hitting the floor made Miguel's eye twitch. He took a breath. "I'm the guy running the show here." He closed screens with gruesome scenes of destruction, hiding them from the prying eyes of the innocent in the room with him. "And I'm the one who's about to call your guardian." 

She scoffed. "My guardian?" 

"Whichever spider dragged you into HQ and let you off your leash with a day pass." Miguel spied her out of the corner of his eye, but didn't have the decency to face her. "Lyla. Scan her." 

"You got it, buddy." 

"Woah, wait–!" The girl gasped as a warm orange light washed over her, flickering across her entirety before vanishing. "Dude." Despite the attitude, her voice trembled faintly. Miguel almost felt bad. But she touched his stuff. Not his fault. 

Lyla whistled and adjusted her sunnies as she leaned into a tiny screen of her own. "Oooh, you're gonna love this, Miguel–" 

"Miguel?" The girl repeated. "Like…the guy Dad talks about?" 

A clairvoyant feeling overwhelmed the spider, probably the same way spidey senses hit the normal spider-people around him. Somehow, he knew who she was, who her dad was before Lyla even said it. 

"Yep, that's (Name)'s kiddo," Lyla chirped. 

Miguel looked at the girl. He really looked at her this time, feeling some sort of stupid with how much she looked like you; her hair was fluffy and unkempt in the same shade yours was, the shape of her nose was like a smaller, cuter version of yours, too. Then there were her eyes. That same hazy hue of uncut gems, a colour of protective dullness that hid something brilliant and effervescent from the outside world. 

"(Name)'s kid," Miguel repeated. Your name felt comfortable on his tongue these days. "Kid, I–what're you doing here? Where's your dad, huh?" 

The girl, very clearly looking around the room to try and spot the elusive Lyla, shrugged. "I 'unno." 

Colour Miguel unimpressed. "Oh, you don't know. Good. Great." He tutted before running a hand through his hair. "Lyla, call the kid's dad–" 

"He's sleeping!" She blurted. "You can't just, like, wake him up; Dad never gets to sleep." Her arms crossed tightly over her chest as her cheeks puffed. "And my name's Isabella, y'know." 

Miguel's dark brow raised in question. "Isabella." Said with a Latin accent. Interesting. Miguel's chest felt tighter. "If your dad's asleep then he probably left you with someone." He looked at her expectantly. 

Isa shrugged again and scuffed her worn soles against the floor. "Mr.Parker didn't notice. He's watching Natalie and Nico and May 'n whatever. So. Yeah." 

Mr.Parker? Oh. "Hm. He babysit you a lot?" God, Miguel should stop asking questions, but curiosity and that damn attention deficit had him by the throat. He turned around and folded his arms over one another, too, before leaning back against the stage console to speak with Isabella properly. 

"Ugh, why are old people so–so freaking annoying? I'm not a baby, I don't need anyone to watch me." Ah. Of course. 

"Oh, wow, ah-huh, yeah. Sure. I'm sure your dad agrees." Her amateur glare wrought a smirk out of him. Would he have argued with Gabi like this? 

Miguel cleared his throat and turned back to the console, reaching for another cookie absent-mindedly. "Look, you can stay here until your father comes to get you, but you have to stop touching things. Got it?" But Isa only grumbled and scuffed her feet again. "Isabella." 

"Uuugh. Fiiine." The girl plopped down into an old rolling chair. Miguel tried not to twitch. He would not snap at a child for breaking his chair, he would not do that. Absolutely not. 

Not even one minute of silence passed before the kid rolled closer to the centre stage Miguel stood at. "Sooo you're, like, my dad's boss or something?" 

"Guess that's the easiest way to put it." Miguel peered at the girl from the corner of his eye. 

"Okay, but what's the hardest way to put it?" Isabella wiggled and sat backwards on the chair, hugging the backrest as she scooted around the lab. "Are yooou…friends?"

Miguel shrugged. "I'd say so." 

"Hmmmm. Are you more than friends?" 

His eye twitched again. "Do you interrogate every adult like this?" 

Isabella huffed. "Uh, he made you cookies. It's sooo not weird to ask if you're, like, a thing." 

"A thing." 

"Like boyfriends–" 

"Santa Muerte, I know what you mean, kid." 

"Okay." Silence fell for all of ten seconds. "I'm just saying–" 

Miguel groaned. "Can you stop talking for five minutes–" 

"--you'd be waaay cooler to have for a step dad than all the people Dad's been dating." 

"Yeah, well, I'm hard to beat." Oh, wow, did he just say that about himself? Christ. Miguel took a deep breath and tried to relax his shoulders with all his might. "That came out wrong. I–look, you need to just–he's dating?" Miguel cringed. It's not that he was interested in you like that, just…he was nosy, that's all. But he was incredibly aware of how that must have sounded to an equally nosy tween. 

Isabella perked up. "Uh, yeah. But everyone he dates ends up being suuuper crazy and weird. Like, it's reaaally bad." 

He shouldn't pry. He really shouldn't. "...Bad how?" Ay, Miguel. 

"Like, they're always super clingy or don't like kids or something. And, like, Nico and Nat had moms who had dads who super hated dad, so they gave him money to make him go away." Isabella nodded matter of factly. "That's what Dad said. He's super sure he's cursed or something. Granny was a bruja y'know." 

Miguel shouldn't be listening to this. He shouldn't be prying into your life through the conduit of a chatty kid. Asking you would be the better option, but this way was so much easier. It felt like he could finally get a grasp of what you'd been through, and maybe catch a glimpse of who you were behind the scenes. 

"Then what about your mom?" Miguel asked, crossing his arms and flicking his gaze back to the monitors. "That didn't happen with her?" 

An offended gasp burst from the young lady. "No! My mom was so not like that. She was Dad's girl!" 

"No kidding." Miguel hummed. He wasn't about to ask what happened to her. Spiderman never had an easy romance, never had an easy life. 

"Yeah! They fought in the war together, and her name's–" 

"Isabella." Your voice cut through the air like winter rain. Miguel almost got chills, and Isa squeaked before hopping off her chair and scrambling on the stage to hide behind Miguel. 

"Oh, look at that. Someone's in trouble," Miguel mumbled, mean smirk quirking the corner of his mouth. 

Isa glared up at Miguel. "Jerk."

"Isabella, quit bothering the boss," You groaned tiredly. Miguel's ears perked as the coo of a little one fluttered through the air. He turned and found you holding the littlest baby in one arm, and a toddler in the other, both incredibly K.Oed.

"M'not bothering him!" She protested. "I'm just hanging out!" 

"Cut the crap, you're probably complaining about school or about my love life or how I wouldn't get you a new phone or some shit." Miguel had to fight back a laugh. He'd never heard you so exasperated nor animated before. "And why the hell did you run off, huh? You had Pete freaking the fuck out." 

"I got bored! I just wanted to go look around!" Isabella pleaded with a puppy-level whine.

"Isa, this place, it's–it's not meant for people without powers. You could get hurt, alright?" You adjusted your grip on the two little ones in your arms. "And the lab is a whole 'nother story, Christ–" 

"It's fine, (Name)," Miguel cut in, turning to you. "She was fine." 

But the worry lines creasing your forehead didn't smooth quite as much as he wanted. "'Ppreciate it, Boss. But, I…" you trailed off, sighing softly. "Yeah. Just. Thanks. I'll, ah, get her out of your hair. Bet you've got work to do." 

Mija, let's go is what Miguel swore he heard come out of your mouth before Isa pouted and ran after you.

Mija. That word brought a world of hurt and comfort to his chest–the coincidence of Spanish on your tongue felt too…perfect, like you'd learned it just to shove it in his face. But Miguel knew better. 

Isabella. 

Mija. 

Your girl, Isa's mother, must have taught you. He liked that, for some reason. The idea of learning something new for a partner. What would you teach him if you were– 

Woah, woah, stop, Miguel. Stop. His ears turned hot. He worried at his bottom lip with fidgety hands before shaking his head free from such dangerous thoughts. 

Focus, he chanted to himself, you've got work to do. 

--

You decided you were sick that day. No, you weren’t really, but the headache chipping away at your skull suggested that, hey, maybe staying home for a day wouldn’t be a bad thing. You could use a break from dragging yourself around New York, searching for the next big scoop, the next tragedy to document and earn a living off of, too. 

So, there you were, in bed, with the tv in the front room playing some sort of movie that you’d heard a thousand times but never learned the name of, while your littlest, newest addition to the family starfished in a laze, his tiny tummy pressed to your broad chest. Your fingers lazily rubbed circles against his little back as he snoozed and drooled on your shirt. Somehow, the giggling and chattering of his sisters didn’t wake him up. Maybe the drumming of your heart, or the safety of a warmth he hadn’t known until now, drowned all of it out. 

He didn’t even stir when his sisters screeched.

You closed your eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. God, please just let it be a spider, please just let it be a spider. You sat up, holding your baby to your chest as you plucked a gun from the side table. You carefully set Nico down into the warmth of where you were laying before stalking to the door and whipping it open, gun poised and ready for–oh. A big spider.

“What the fuck, Miguel,” you hissed, beyond exasperated as you lowered the gun. “Why the–what–I could’ve shot you.” 

Miguel looked beyond bewildered, though some would say entirely bamboozled. He had his hands up like the police had them in his sights, his face was a combination of embarrassed, shocked and annoyed, and his claws had popped out in his flustered panic. His spiderman suit was still on, but he had that white hoodie thrown on top like it’d hide the fact he was spiderman. Hopefully it did. 

“I–” Miguel started.

“Ah-ah.” You cut him off like a dog misbehaving. “Girls?” Their heads popped up from behind the couch and you sighed in relief. “It’s alright, he’s a friend. From work.”

One of your daughters gasped. “It’s the weirdo that’s suuuper into dad!” Isabella cried, jumping out from behind the couch and pointing an accusatory finger at a very unamused-looking Miguel. 

“For the last time, I’m not–”

“You so are!”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Yeah!” Natalie joined in, hopping up and down by her sister excitedly and pointing at the man they deemed guilty. “You are, you are!”

Miguel, probably halfway to an early grave, looked to you for help. But you flashed him a tight-lipped smile that said more than words could offer: perish. 

You let the girls hound him while you turned on your heel, heading back into the bedroom to sooth your stirring little boy. The gun found itself back in the drawer, safety on, magazine removed, before you scooped the tiny being into your arms and smooshed up against your chest. Your son quieted and clung to you. You left a kiss on the top of his head to welcome him.

"So," you started as you came back to the scene of the crime, "the hell're you here for, Boss?" You asked, completely unfazed by how the girls had corralled him onto the couch and had his hands in their own, their curious fingers pushing on his tendons and making his claws pop in and out. Honestly, you were pretty tempted to do the same. 

Miguel pursed his lips and ignored the gremlins on him as he looked at you again, something distant softening his features. 

"I, uh. I heard you were sick," he confessed with a small shrug. "Just thought…y’know." 

You hummed as you rubbed your son's back. "Huh. How'd you find that out?" 

"Peter mentioned it." 

"Pete doesn't know I'm sick." 

"Must've been Jess, then." 

"Jessie doesn't know either." 

Miguel was caught. His ears grew red before his cheeks did, and you smirked. Cute. Way too cute. 

"Lyla told me," Miguel grumbled, finally. 

"Ah. There it is. Not so hard to tell the truth now is it, Miggs?" You said with a Cheshire smile and a wink. "Good to know you've got your confidant spying on me." 

Miguel freed himself from the children and stood up quickly. "It's not--I'm not spying on you, I–you–" Miguel pursed his lips. "I don't need to explain myself." 

That made you laugh. "Relax, tough guy. I don't mind ya swinging by. Or, hm, guess I don't mind ya portal-ing in." Miguel didn't seem to think you were that funny, but thankfully Nico, in his haze of dreams, giggled at the right moment. "Nicky thinks I'm funny. You should take notes."

It didn't take much convincing to get Miguel to stay for dinner. You made him take a shower, though, and leant him some clothes to lounge in while you cooked everything from scratch. From scratch. Miguel couldn't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal. 

"Yeah? That's sad as shit," you remarked nonchalantly as you diced vegetables. "Tell ya what, you make it a habit of coming around, and I'll make sure I make extra for you, yeah? It's important to have that home cooked goodness for your soul 'n what not." 

Miguel felt his chest fill with something fluffy and warm. "Good point." But it wasn't, really. "Guess I'll have to make it a habit." He leaned back against the counter as he watched you prep everything. "Wouldn't want you putting in all that extra effort for nothing."

You twitched a bit of a smile and nodded. "My thoughts exactly." 

You spared a glance at Miguel. He looked calm, at ease, like the threat of the dimensions collapsing wasn't at the forefront of his mind for once. You thought, maybe, this might be the first time in a long time that he had his mind off work. Maybe he was doing that whole human thing and enjoying the present for a change. Jumping to conclusions wasn't really your style, though. 

Crimson eyes flickered, then, gazing towards the crib settled in your bedroom. He must've heard your little man stir. He must've wanted to do something about it, if his sudden shiftiness told you anything. 

"You mind checking on him?" You asked softly, knowing that, maybe, this was a big ask for a man who only had a phantom to tuck in at night. "He's fussy. Likes to be held." 

"You're sure?" The other man asked, brows furrowed in concern. 

"You kidding? If there's any guy I'd trust with my kid, it's you." You fiddled with the wrapper of the packaged chicken meat before ultimately stabbing it with a knife. "Go on. Before he starts crying." 

And Miguel wandered off to the little one. His voice had that sound to it when he spotted him, that kind of gentleness a man unlocked when he felt what it meant to be a father, a protector of a smaller soul. You listened hard for Miguel's smile, and felt your heart throb when you heard, "Hey, mijo. ¿Estas bien?" leave his lips. Your little boy cooed, and Miguel made a noise that sounded so frightfully domestic and dad-like, you thought you might perish on the spot, or fall in love in a second. 

Get it together, get it together. A deep breath steadied your blitzing nerves when Miguel came back to the kitchen, Nico in his arms, smooshed up against his chest. You stole a glance, smiling to yourself when you caught Miguel mooning over the lazy bundle of joy. 

You worked fast, feeling a weird, undeniable desire to talk after you had your army of children fed and sent to bed. Miguel didn’t leave your side, nor did he deign to put Nico down, not through soup and sandwiches, not through 20 questions hosted by Isabella and Natalie, and not through the moments alone where you herded the young ladies off to wash up before getting them to bed for the night. 

“Y’know, you’re gonna spoil that kid,” you said with a smile when you came back to find Miguel on the couch with your son. You sat down by him with a dad-like sigh and peered at the little one snoozing away. “He’s gonna demand you hold him every time you come around.”

Miguel huffed a laugh. “You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”

“Hey, with arms ‘n pecs like that?” You pat one of Miguel’s impressive biceps to prove a point. “I get where he’s coming from. Lots of free real estate with good foundations.”

“Oh? You want me to hold you too?” Miguel offered, some sort of impish lilt lifting his voice as he looked over at you.

You fought back the urge to swallow. “Sure. If you’re offering.” But Miguel looked a little caught again, a little unsure of how much to tease and how hard to press, so you let him off the hook with a laugh. 

“Man, you really remind me of her.” You rested your head against the couch, maybe a little bit on Miguel’s shoulder, as you watched your boy sleep. “Liliana,” you amended, “Isabella’s mom.” 

Scarlet eyes flickered to you. Seems you caught his attention. “Liliana,” Miguel tested the name on his tongue slowly, thoughtfully. “Isabella’s mom.” And after another pause, he asked, “I guess she’s gone?”

“Gone. Yeah.” You blinked slowly, and let the words rotting in your lungs breach the surface: “I killed her.” Ah, maybe you said that with too much nonchalance, you worried, but Miguel’s low hum seemed to suggest otherwise. 

It felt good. You couldn't stop yourself from talking. “It was an accident, I guess. She was a scientist. Geneticist, I think. Made me into, well, whatever I am now.” You flexed your hand and looked it over, like the blueprints of your design were still hidden under tired skin. “‘Cause, y’know, I was a soldier, she said I was gonna be the next Captain America, but… that doesn’t matter. Anyway, side effects were bad, really bad. I freaked out, then--then, y'know.” You took a breath. “Killed my little girl’s mom.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you stared at nothing, sucked back into a daze and a trance you’d long forgotten about. But you remembered the blood, the screaming, the way you and those webs ignited and how the white lab coats all howled and screamed and popped. The scent of roasted flesh should have disgusted you, it should have knocked some sense into you and dragged you out of whatever episode you were having, but instead–

Your stomach growled, and you cleared your throat. 

“Yeah. That was a bad day.” 

“I get it,” Miguel said, and sounded like he meant it. “Guess something like that happened to me.” 

You peered up at him, glimpsing his conflicted, troubled look. 

“Yeah?” Thought Spiderman had a boring, normal story. Because, in totality, you were something more demented than just Spiderman, so your story was more fucked up than the rest. Maybe you were wrong.

“Yeah. I was–my research killed someone when I was trying to make them into, well, Spiderman.” Miguel sighed and shook his head, admonishing himself from the past. “I didn’t want to. I got pressured into it. Drugged when I wanted to quit. It was a mess.

“Tried to rewrite my DNA, and then a colleague shocked that up for me, and I ended up with the claws, the fangs, the–the everything. Slashed his throat by accident, got some other people killed when they tried to help me, killed some baddies when I didn’t mean to.” 

Miguel’s gaze turned to you. “So don’t think you’re alone.” 

“Huh,” you said astutely. “Guess you really meant it when you called us ‘miserable bastards.’”

“Takes one to know one, I guess.” Miguel’s shoulder shifted slightly, easing down so your head could rest more comfortably against him. Your chest swirled with errant embers, but you tried not to think too hard about it. 

“You said I reminded you of her. Of Liliana?” Miguel asked, quiet and tentative. 

You hummed. “Yeah. The good parts.” You smiled (when had that gotten so easy?) and reached over to brush some dark hair from Nico’s tiny forehead. “She was smokin’ hot.” 

“...Huh.”

“Way too smart for her own good,” you continued. “It's always the smart ones that get me, y'know? Anyway, she was sly 'n funny in a mean way, but hey, I like that shit. Maybe I'm a masochist." 

"So," Miguel started, shifting slightly to face you more, "let me get this straight. You think I'm 'smoking hot,' 'too smart for my own good,' and 'funny in a mean way'?" The grin on his face was too much for you to handle. Why did you feel so hot suddenly? Why was he so close suddenly?

"I think that sums it up." 

"Huh. Anyone ever tell you you're an asshole?" 

"Ouch. Okay, what if I throw in 'she was born to be a bangin' mom','' you offered, feeling a long-forgotten rush of excitement as you sat up and leaned in close, so close, your hand coming up to cup the side of his strong neck as you kept talking, "and that she made me feel somethin' for the first time in a long time?" 

You could feel Miguel's breath hitch in his throat as he measured the gap between you two, his eyes flicking down to your lips and back to your eyes in debate. You wanted to close it. With every inch of your being you wanted to take the plunge and crash your lips against his. 

But, with every fibre of your soul, you didn't want to fuck this up. You didn't have words for what this even was, but you cherished it. Sauntering down this line of friendship, of companionship, was better than taking the dive back into that world of icy yearning and wilting roses–this type of love, the platonic sort shared between brothers and men, was meaningful in and of itself. It was good enough.

Wasn't it?

You looked over his face, in disbelief with yourself. "Who am I kidding?" You whispered, letting your hand fall from his neck like a glacier shearing away from its home. 

A small, tired laugh crawled from your chest, and you rubbed your face. "I, uh, think I oughta call it a night. I'm gonna–I gotta tuck Nicky into his crib." And carefully, gently, you scooped up your monkey and whispered quiet thanks into his hair–your little man was the perfect scapegoat. 

What're you thinking? Careful hands pulled up the banana-patterned blanket over Nico's tiny form after you'd set him down in the cozy crib that he loathed so much. You thought it was nice and comfy. Hell, if you could fit, you'd probably snooze in there all day. 

"Good work today, Nicky. I think you made the big guy relax a little, y'know?" Your son cooed sweetly in his sleep, and your spirit lifted just slightly. It almost gave you the strength to go face Miguel after coming onto him so hard. 

Finding the last bit of courage yourself, you gave your boy one last kiss on the noggin and quietly snuck out, closing the door with utmost caution behind you, only to be pressed up against it a moment later, and smothered with a kiss. 

A bolt of lightning kicked your pulse into triple time as you kissed Miguel back. His hands caught you by your hips, and your arms hooked around his shoulders and pulled him in closer. The simple thing was exhilarating. He was exhilarating. The embodiment of strength and resilience, of power and intelligence, was crushing you up against a door and taking the air from your lungs with such ease. 

"Fuck," you gasped when you parted with a wet noise that sounded far too Hollywood. "You're not half bad." 

"You've got a talent for ruining the mood." Miguel scoffed and tilted your chin up. His half-lidded eyes drank you in as soft breaths left his parted lips. You wanted nothing more than to be eaten whole by him (was that weird?). 

"I got a few other talents, too," you purred, voice swirling with velvety dark chocolate. "But that might be too much for an old man like–" 

Your squawked indignantly when he scooped you up and hoisted you over his shoulder like you were nothing but a petulant child. Your hands scrabbled against his back, and a shocked bout of laughter bubbled up from your core as he slapped you on the ass hard. Was this real? Were you seriously getting manhandled and spanked by Miguel O'hara? 

Miguel almost threw you onto the couch, but you guessed the children snoozing in the next room over hampered that decision. 

"If there's one thing I'm never too old for," Miguel murmured lightly, almost condescendingly as he set you down on the couch and got on top of you, "it's sex." 

Your eager hands flitted across his taut muscles, too excited and undecided as to where to land first. "Thought you were too old to sleep around?" 

"I don't sleep around," Miguel corrected, letting you fill in the blanks. 

That helped you relax a little. "Yeah?" 

He looked so conflicted, a little embarrassed, too. But that was becoming more and more common these days, thanks to you. "Yeah." 

You nodded and reached a hand up to his cheek, and he leaned in graciously as a needy cat might. "Okay. Then I don't either." 

Miguel hummed, and turned to mark your palm with a little kiss. "Alright." 

"And maybe…we don't fuck tonight." His sleepy gaze found you again with one dark brow raised, surprised. "I'm, uh, I think I'm down pretty bad for you, Boss. I don't wanna fuck this up." 

And, truth be told, you wanted to give him some respite. Maybe you wanted to give some to yourself, too; Liliana and Dahlia danced through your mind so much these days, no thanks to the burgeoning fondness growing for Miguel. He reminded you of both of them, of Winter and Summer, of snow and flowers. But it wasn't fair, not to you or him, to compare him to the epitome of cold and the apex of warmth. You needed time, too. Time to learn how to compare him to no one.

Miguel smiled, small and sincere. You admired the fine lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. He looked so handsome when he smiled. You wanted him to do it more. Were you enough to make him smile more?

"Yeah. I don't want you to shock this up either," he said, and your brows raised, incredulous. 

"This is what I get for trying to be mature ‘n romantic, huh?” Your fingers drummed against the arms caging you in. You thought about chancing a finger-taser to his ribs, but with those damn claws of his, you were a little too worried about your couch cushions getting demolished.

His handsome smile turned into a punchable smirk. “What? I’m agreeing with you.” 

“Ah-huh, ah-huh, that’s all, hey?” You leaned up and kissed Miguel again, slower and tamer this time, but still burning with want. Ugh. Why did you have to try to be all mature and romantic? “You’re just being a good boy?”

Miguel’s hips twitched at that, and it was your turn to smirk. Oh, how the tables turn. 

“Lay down,” you ordered, sitting up to get out from under him. “Come on.”

“I–what?” He grumbled, looking a little befuddled and frustrated. Cute, cute cute. “Thought we agreed on–”

“Heavy petting’s not off the table, right?” You cut him off. Miguel perked a little bit at the suggestion and did as he was ordered, his hands finding your hips again as you took your turn straddling him. “Luckily for you, I’m an expert at the clothes-on experience.” You winked and Miguel sucked in a breath. 

“Show me.” He ordered, voice deep and gravelly.

And you did.

[in1-nutshell]

Okay I absolutely love this thank you and sorry that I didn't specify which Autobot or decepticon in my ask it's just I was barely awake when I sent that ask I forgot to specify it and realized it and it was too late to redo it considering I already sent it but could you do Megatron and Optimus from transformers animated with cybertronian megalodon buddy please and thank you =]

No problem! I just prefer to have the characters named whenever I do these things so it makes it a bit easier. If you forget, its totally understandable!

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy with a Megalodon alt mode with Optimus Prime and Megatron

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronain reader

TFA

Optimus Prime

Optimus met Buddy by accident.

After he swung across the docks and missed a building causing him to take a quick dip into the docks.

Conveniently Buddy was just swimming by the docks looking at the small fish when something metallic fell onto their back. Buddy turned to see a rather startled looking Prime clinging onto their backside like his life depended on it.

Taking pity on the startled bot on their back, Buddy slowly rose up to the surface and moved towards the docks edge. Now the bot could reach over and grab the side pull themselves up.

As soon as the bot was on the dock, Buddy transformed, taking a better look at him.

“Are you okay?”--Buddy

“Yes, umm, thank you for the help…”--Optimus

“I’m Buddy!”--Buddy

“Buddy?”--Optimus

“Yep! That’s me! And you are?”--Buddy

“Oh! My name is Optimus Prime.”--Optimus

“Optimus Prime? Hmm. It has a nice ring to it. It suits you!”--Buddy

“Really?”--Optimus

“You look like an ‘Optimus’. Probably because you’re the only ‘Optimus’ I’ve met.”--Buddy

“Wait what— never mind. Did you come from Cybertron?”--Optimus

“What’s a Cybertron? I just remember waking up one day, and now here I am! Are you from Cybertron?”--Buddy

“Yes—”--Optimus

“Can you tell me about it?”--Buddy

“Oh, okay…”--Optimus

Optimus concluded that Buddy must have been some old machine that came alive thanks to the Allspark. He wants to tell them about it but decides against it and to tell them another time.

Optimus enjoys some of the small tales that Buddy has to talk about their time swimming around the lake, while he tells them a bit about Cybertron.

When he gets a message from his team, he knows that he needs to go.

He waves at them good-bye.

“Bye Buddy!”--Optimus

“Good-bye Optimus Prime! Thank you for being nice! If you have time to spare, I’m usually by the docks if you want to hang out again!”--Buddy

“I’ll come back, don’t worry.”--Optimus

“Really?!”--Buddy

“I promise.”--Optimus

Megatron

His meeting with Buddy was… special, to say the least.

Lugnut had dragged him to a nearby island close to the city to meet someone.

When they land near the islands shore, something starts to come out of the water. Megatron had his swords ready but knew that Lugnut would never put him in harm’s way.

At least intentionally.

He is a bit in awe seeing the gigantic mechanical shark. Though he was bit disappointed seeing how docile the shark was.

“Lugnut! You came! Oh? Who’s this?”--Buddy

“This is Lord Megatron! Our grand and—”--Lugnut

“Thank you for the introduction Lugnut. And you’re name must be…”--Megatron

“Buddy!”--Buddy

“…Buddy?”--Megatron

“Yep! That’s me! Are you here to be my friend too?”--Buddy

Megatron and Buddy started to chat a bit while Lugnut surveyed the area making sure no Autobot spies were there.

Megatron tried to persuade Buddy to become a Decepticon, but Buddy was much more concerned about being friends with him.

Seeing this as a potential way to get Buddy to his side, he agrees to be their friend.

“Really!? You’d be my friend!”--Buddy

“Of course—”--Megatron

Buddy transforming out of their altmode to give Megatron a strong handshake with a goofy smile on their faceplate.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”--Buddy

“…You’re welcome.”--Megatron

[the-most-faithful]

Snaters using theories to accuse Snape

New day on tiktok, a long time ago I left this comment under a video of a Santer.

The other day I received this response:

They admitted that it is not written anywhere in the books. It could have ended here, but with the Snaters there is always a BUT... For them there is A LOT of evidence because Snape created a spell that is only used to bully and so if James uses it then... well then I don't know where they wanted to get with this, since they abandoned this point. But let's think about it for a second.

Levicorpus is a spell that has become very popular, many characters have used it according to Lupin, so if we follow the logic of "it is a spell used ONLY to bully" it means that all those who used it were bullies, among them certainly James.

Obviously this does not make sense, Levicorpus is not dark magic, it can be used for evil purposes, but in itself it is not evil. But having no arguments they move on to another point "Snape says that his friends attacking muggleborn was 'a bit of fun."

Lily had reached a pillar and leaned against it, looking up into the thin, sallow face. “That was nothing,” said Snape. “It was a laugh, that’s all—” (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows)

Yep, he downplays what his friends do, does that remind you of anyone? Remus and Sirius do the same thing AS ADULTS. They downplay years of bullying, the SA, and an attempted murder in "The Prank" But hey if Snape downplays what his friends do as a teenager then he's a monster. Usual double standard.

"Lily also states that she's heard him call all muggleborn friends and peers mudbloods."

Yep, this is clearly told to us by Lily and I've touched on this point several times because it's important. Snape calls all muggleborns slurs EXCEPT Lily and she knows that. So that means she tolerated it until she was the exception. If we also mean bullying as insults (which is what it is) then yeah, Snape was insulting muggleborns. But hey, how long did it take us to get to this point? And let's repeat that Snape's sins do not erase those of the Marauders and vice versa. Returning to the Levicorpus issue since here we were talking about the Marauders against Snape

Here we are, since "It isn't said in the books" we need to find something to blame Snape using theories. James used the levicorpus to bully and SA Snape, but how did James learn the spell? The subtext is clear: Snape bullied someone with it and James saw it, so he used it in turn. But again "It isn't said in the books" this thing is a theory, it is not canonical. Do we want to theorize? Ok, but it doesn't lead to anything. James could have spied on Snape and seen him use it to train on some creature or on friends (like Harry does in the sixth book without malice), He could have just heard the formula, he could have seen it written down in Snape's book, he could have stolen the potions manual. The options are numerous, but none of them are canonical. In fact I answered like this:

[all-pacas]

anon requested some houseswapped cam/chase and this started as an attempt at that fill and then did not turn into it at all but here it is anyway:

(honestly i need other people to get on this au because i can't post any of this to ao3)

-

February, a winter storm hits south Jersey, and the ER is predictably overrun with accidents: Cameron arrives at five two shifts later is still at it. When she spies Chase across the nurse's station chatting with one of the nurses she feels a twinge of exhausted annoyance: "You don't need me to get you crutches," she snaps, tossing her paperwork onto the looming pile. "Steal what you need and go."

Nurse Jacobs, a relatively new hire, looks scandalized, her mouth falling open to protest. Chase has the habit of leaning heavily on counters, elbows and upper body. Ingratiating, charming, like he's engrossed in whoever he's chatting with, not trying to keep the weight off his legs: Jacobs is blonde and cute and goes by Katie at thirty, and —

“It’s stopped snowing,” Chase says. “Twenty minutes ago.”

“Great,” Cameron says coldly, although honestly it is good news; the sooner the roads get cleared, the sooner people will stop getting into stupid accidents: it doesn’t explain what he’s doing here. “Glad you took time out of your busy schedule to let me know.”

He doesn’t rise to her bait — guiltily, she only realizes she has been baiting him when she bites her lip and he’s just… smiling, not quite smiling, but looking at her calmly, pleased. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Lunch,” she says warily, snatching a stack of paperwork from Jacobs, who is gaping and sure to be filled in on all the relevant gossip the moment Cameron turns her back: never date coworkers, she wants to tell her, although even admitting that much —

“So eight hours, give or take,” Chase says, and she starts: it can’t be that late, it is six or maybe seven, she thinks, but a quick glance at her watch reveals the truth of the situation: it’s closing in on nine. Now aware of the time, Cameron can feel the way her head is throbbing, that she is faintly dizzy — “I’ll buy you a coffee,” Chase says, pleased with himself.

“Don’t you have a patient?” she grumbles, but he pushes himself unsteadily from the counter and she tucks her files under her arm: “I’m taking fifteen,” she tells Jacobs.

Chase doesn’t often work overtime unless a case is truly urgent. If he’s still at the hospital this late, well…

“Not really,” he says. “House found a teenage girl with CIPA outside the OR -- her mother’s in the ICU.” He actually has his crutch and slips it on without fuss, tapping his toes heavily on the floor to try, fruitlessly, to shake away his paresthesia before limping off in the direction of the ER lounge.

“MVA from this morning?” Cameron asks, following, trying to remember: mother and daughter, mother rushed to the trauma surgeons… She frowns. “CIPA? Are you sure?”

“Yep. She’s fine, but I figured it’d be fun for the kids.”

“She’s not a new toy for your team,” she scolds, but Chase shrugs it off: Cameron wants to argue, advocate for this poor kid being battered by Chase’s fellows, but…

In the lounge, Cameron starts a new pot of coffee — Chase’s promise to buy her one already forgotten by them both — and listens to his sigh as he sits down on the sofa. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks suspiciously, and then regrets it: Chase looks up at her, frozen in the middle of rubbing fruitlessly at his thigh, and she wonders if she’s spoiled it. In the harsh lighting of the ER lounge, Chase’s face is shadowed: he looks his age, less baby-faced than she thinks of him. Tired.

“I need a favor,” he says.

“What is it?” In a way, she’s relieved. Easier if it’s a favor, if it’s nothing.

“Don’t know yet. But I’m sure something’ll come up.” He grins up at her, and she turns away. Her head is starting to pound, like the reminder of her exhaustion was all it took for her body to protest: she fishes mugs out of the cupboards, checking inside both before pouring coffee.

“Your CIPA patient,” she starts.

“Cuddy won’t let House do anything too crazy,” Chase interjects.

She presses her lips together to keep from rehashing the argument. “I was going to ask how her mother was doing.”

“Not well,” he admits. He takes the mug she offers and Cameron sits on the other end of the sofa as Chase loops her in on the mother’s second surgery: that she hasn’t died yet is a good sign, but means nothing. “Wilson told Hannah and she…”

“Didn’t handle it well?”

Chase makes a face. “She decided she needed to see her mother immediately, problem being Wilson was in the middle of getting a chunk of her liver…”

“Is she okay? Is he okay?” Cameron asks: of Chase’s team, Wilson in some ways has always seemed the least suited to the job. She closes her eyes as she takes her first sip of coffee, feeling the heat blooming through her chest. She lets her eyes close and wonders if she has the energy to open them again.

“It didn’t hurt her. Wilson will feel guilty for a few weeks, but he’ll be fine.” She can hear Chase rubbing at his thigh again, cloth rustling as his hand moves up and down.

“Does that help?” she asks.

“No.” Paresthesia, she knows. Radiating up and down his legs ever since the accident. According to Chase, sometimes it’s tolerable, barely noticeable: sometimes he cannot walk from the pain of it. She remembers watching him shifting restlessly on the sofa, in bed. Lying in bed with him, trying to help with movement exercises, rubbing up and down the backs of his thighs, his calves, trying to help, trying —

And then one evening he’d been in pain. More pain. Worse pain. She’d reached for him, wanting to help, to do something — he’d yanked himself away. A one-off, it could have been: a bad mood or a bad day. Don’t touch me, he’d said. And the next day. And the next.

It had been, she remembers suddenly, in February.

It had been their one-year anniversary.

It had been five years ago.

Cameron opens her eyes and finds Chase is looking at her, his expression closed and thoughtful. She has long since trained herself not to think about what ifs. What life might have been like without the accident. If she’d moved back to Chicago after the break up. If they’d gotten married.

“What?” she asks.

“I’m looking out the window,” he says: it is true there is a window behind her.

“Liar,” she says, sipping her coffee.

Statistically, nothing would be different, even if the world was. Statistically, it is still their anniversary.

[amnevitahwritesstuff]

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Chapter Two

If I Had a Little Money

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The Pretty Woman AU no one asked for.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Age Gap, Prostitution, Older Man/Younger Woman

Chapters: 1, 3, 4, 5 (WIP)

Length: 2,190 words

Read on AO3 or below the cut

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The morning brings with it confusion. 

It took Feyre a few moments to realize where she was when she woke up. She knew almost immediately that this wasn’t her bed. For starters, her bed wasn’t nearly so comfortable. So where…?

She saw white sheets. Pretty cream wallpaper. And a floor to ceiling window that showed off a dazzling city skyline. 

It all came rushing back then. 

She had…! And then she…! And he had…!

She felt dizzy. 

It almost didn’t feel real. Like the events of the night before had happened to someone else. 

To Vivian. 

Vivian had been confident. Vivian has been sexy. Vivian had been enthusiastically willing to jump into bed with a stranger and get paid for it. 

Feyre finally spied her purse, carefully laid out on the bedside table, and snatched it up to look inside. There, nestled safely where she’d stowed it the night before, was all the money she had earned. She counted it to be sure and, yep, all eight-thousand dollars was accounted for. She would be able to pay her landlord. Buy groceries. Maybe even have a nice buffer for when her sister inevitably didn’t show up to pay her half of the rent next month. 

She…she needed to go to the bank. She needed to get this deposited and safely out of her hands as quickly as possible. Knowing her luck, she would get mugged on her way home. No. Better to get it locked up in a vault somewhere. 

It didn’t take long for her to gather her meager belongings. Her purse. Her ratty converse. Her hoop earrings that she didn’t even remember taking off (had she taken them off? She must have…). And then tip toeing to the bedroom door looking for the exit. 

The man from the night before (Rhys, her brain reminded her helpfully) stood with his back to her, quietly speaking on the phone, as he leaned on the kitchen island. 

“No that won’t work. I have something I need to take care of first.”

Shit. 

How was she supposed to get out of here? Didn’t people usually just expect prostitutes to…walk out? She had the money. He’d gotten what he wanted…right? This transaction was over and now it was time for her to make like a banana and split. 

So then why did she feel so awkward about the idea of walking out without saying goodbye?

Clearly she wasn’t as cut out for this sex worker thing as she thought. 

Too late, Rhys had turned and noticed her. He smiled at her warmly, as if she were a beloved guest instead of his late-night booty call. 

Fuck. 

“Listen, I’ll check back with you soon,” he said quickly into his phone. “Just move the meeting up.” Then he ended the call and tossed the (very expensive looking) phone onto the counter while his eyes zeroed in on her. 

“Umm…hi.” Feyre wanted to smack herself. She sounded like an awkward teenager. 

You are an awkward teenager, a traitorous voice in her head replied. 

“Going so soon?” 

“Well…yeah…” she trailed off meaningfully. They were done…weren’t they? He had only paid for the night after all. And he couldn’t meaningfully argue it still was what with all the morning sunshine streaming in through the giant hotel windows. 

“Do you have somewhere to be?” 

“I…umm…I mean, I should probably go to the bank…”

He stared at her then. In the morning light, she really could almost be convinced his eyes were purple…they were just so…blue. Like a night sky just after the last rays of sun had sunk beneath the horizon. 

“What if…what if I bought you out for the rest of the week?”

Feyre blinked. 

She opened her mouth. Then she closed it. Then she opened it again. This was the part where she told him ‘no thank you’ and got the fuck out of dodge. She had her money. Nearly ten grand of it. She wouldn’t have to worry about bills for at least a few months. 

And yet all she managed to get out was, “I think I need to sit down.”

She sat on the floor. 

Rhys suddenly looked a little panicked. 

“Are you feeling alright?! Do you need anything?!”

Strangely, this actually made her feel a little better. If he was being awkward about this too, then it actually put them on somewhat more equal footing. 

“I’m fine,” she began. “I just…why?”

“Why what?”

“Why me? Why an entire week? That’s…that’s a lot of money.”

Rhys shrugged. “I can afford it.” 

She thought of the eight-thousand dollars burning a hole in her purse. Yeah. She just bet he could. 

“But…you’re…you,” she argued, waving at his expensive suit and model-ready cheekbones like this explained everything. “You could have anyone. For free.”

He cocked his head at her curiously. Almost amused. 

“Could I have you for free?”

“Well…no,” Feyre admitted. What she didn’t tell him was that he probably could…if she wasn’t so fucking desperate and poor. 

He shrugged, as if he had expected that. “Then you can have the money and I can have your company. Besides,” he added with what could only be described as a sly smile. “I’m here on business for the week. You need money. I need someone pretty on my arm for all the work functions I’ll be forced to attend. Everyone wins.” 

“So you don’t just want me for…you know…” her cheeks darkened, much to her horror. This man’s hand had been inside of her and yet she couldn’t even say the word ‘sex’ to him out loud? God, what did he even see in her?

He grinned and crouched down to her level. “I wouldn’t say no…but I’ll leave that up to you. No, you just be your charming little self and you’ll more than earn your keep.” 

She didn’t know what to say to that. Her? Charming? Had he hit his head last night? 

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, she thought. 

“Okay.”

Rhys looked beyond thrilled by this answer, though she couldn’t imagine why. 

“Now,” he said genially, reaching forward to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. Feyre tried not to shiver. “What do you say about us getting you some new clothes?”

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There were things she needed to take care of first. 

Like calling into work. 

“Hey Gabe…” she began, already dreading this conversation. “A family emergency came up and I’m going to need to take the rest of the week off.”

She wasn’t about to tell him the truth, that she actually needed to spend the week at a millionaire’s beck and call to make ten times her monthly income. She was sure that wouldn’t have gone over well, so family emergency it was. 

“Fey, honey, really?” She frowned. She hated that nickname. “We’re slammed over here. We need you!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency. There’s nothing I can do,” Feyre said firmly. And then, because she was a pushover, “I’ll make up the hours next week.”

“But we need you now.”

“Well,” she said, frustrated, “I have an emergency now. You’re just going to have to deal.”

“I can’t believe you would do this to us,” Gabe scoffed, laying on the guilt trip. 

“I’ve never taken time off before,” she pointed out. And it was true. She hadn’t. Not once in the three years that she had worked for him. Not even when she’s gotten the plague and had run a fever so high her sisters had nearly sent her to the hospital. “And I’m not asking.” 

Her boss grumbled some more about ‘staffing shortages’ and ‘peak hours’ but she knew she had him. He may bitch and moan about how much she was ‘letting the team down’ but he wouldn’t dare fire her over this. She was too good of a worker to risk losing. 

Once she made her excuses and disconnected the call, she wandered back out into the living area to find Rhys lounging on one of the couches (the same one he’d fingered her on), typing away on his phone. She sat down next to him. 

“So…” she said. “I…still need to go to the bank. To deposit all this.” She gestured to her purse. 

“I’ll have someone drive you,” Rhys said, still typing something on his phone. “What bank do you use?” 

“Umm…Bank of America?” Feyre said automatically, taken aback by the question. 

“And your account and routing numbers?”

She stared. 

“…Why do you need those?” She asked suspiciously. 

“So I can wire you your money.” He said simply. 

“…Oh.” 

“How does twenty grand sound?”

Feyre nearly swallowed her tongue. 

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Later, after she got herself back under control, he gave her a card. 

A black card. 

Feyre may have been poor, but even she knew what a black AmEx card was. She held it gingerly, the way one would a live grenade. 

“Do I have a budget?” She had asked. 

Rhys had just laughed. 

So here she was an hour later, card in hand, standing outside a boutique she’d been ushered to by Rhys’s chauffeur and a personal shopper named Claire. 

“Is there any particular style we’re going for?” She had asked her in the car and Feyre had only been able to stare at her blankly. The only ‘style’ she had ever been known to exhibit was ‘cheap’ and ‘my father bought this for me in middle school and somehow I still fit into it’. Style was for people who had disposable income. And she was definitely not one of those people. 

Or, she thought dazedly, maybe she was now?

As they entered the boutique, Claire took charge like a general rallying her troops. Immediately, half a dozen impeccably dressed saleswomen appeared to do her bidding. One of them spied the black card in Feyre’s hand and the look in her eyes could only be described as predatory. 

Feyre gulped. 

The next several hours were a whirlwind of Feyre trying on a bevy of beautiful designer clothes (with price tags that gave her heart palpitations) while Claire barked orders to everyone who would listen. Occasionally Feyre found herself trying something on she thought looked perfectly fine only for the other woman to shake her head in frustration. 

“No, not that one. It’s too last season.” 

She had no idea what that even meant but at this point Feyre had grown rather scared of this woman so she had dutifully taken the outfit off in favor of the next. 

The only time she had found herself putting her foot down was when Claire had tried to veto a leather jacket she had liked. 

“No,” Feyre said quickly, clutching the jacket to her chest. “I’d like to keep this one.”

Claire just seemed confused. “It doesn’t really fit with the aesthetic we’re going for.” 

“That’s fine.”

Everything else that had been approved and then ferried off (to be packed up and sent to the hotel she later found out) had followed the pattern of being very…sophisticated. Gorgeous beaded ballgowns, crisp white blouses, cinched pencil skirts, red bottomed heels, all of it seemed tailored to an image of a woman Claire seemed to think Rhys needed at his side. And Feyre was fine with that. She certainly had no idea what kind of woman Rhys needed on his arm. 

But this jacket was also the first thing that seemed…her. The real her. And if she got anything out of this strange business arrangement she’d like it to be something that she could actually wear again after this was all over. 

Claire shrugged. 

“Alright.”

She directed someone to take the jacket so it could be added to the pile of approved clothes and then Feyre was back to being shoved into another extravagant dress. 

She sighed. 

Finally, when all was said and done, Feyre found herself to be the owner of a dozen new outfits, various accessories, far too many shoes, and all the while wondering how on earth she was expected to wear all of this in a single week. 

When the total was read out, she tried very hard not to have a heart attack then and there. Wincing, she handed over Rhys’s black card and watched the saleswoman swipe it with a bit too much relish. 

At least someone was enjoying themselves. 

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Her last errand was the most important of all. 

“Here, Miss?” The chauffeur confirmed a little skeptically as he pulled up in front of her run down apartment complex. 

“Yep. This is it. I promise I’ll only be gone for a second.” Then she was climbing out of the car and sprinting into her apartment as quickly as possible. 

Thankfully, her landlord’s door was conveniently near the front exit. She banged on it a few times and was soon rewarded with a rumpled look middle aged man poking his head out. 

“Feyre,” he said her name the way one would to a misbehaving child. “You here with my money?”

“Actually,” she smiled, pulling out a stack of bills. “I am.”

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