#comic called leftover

[gerbiefarted]

the beast finally has a concrete design

#my ocs #my ocs are my babies #oc #oc art #ocs #original comic #original comics #comics #horror comics #original art #comic called leftover #new oc alert #new oc just dropped #new oc who dis #new oc #new ocs #comic character #my art #my art <3 #my artwork #my ocs my beloved #my oc stuff

[xenonmoon]

They-- they've assembled a team of The Most Seasoned and Powerful and sent them over without telling the others they're being left behind

This is rude people

You lost the right to claim any pizza leftovers

#infinity war #marvel #infinity war comics #marvel comics #xenon reacts #in my friends group we call the cold leftover pizza eaten the morning after as 'the champions' breakfast'

[wandanatsgf]

Sugar, Sugar Part 1

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: After losing your job, you are desperate to come up with some money. Your best friend Kate signs you up for a sugar baby app where you meet Wanda and Natasha, who eventually become your sugar mommies.

Authors Note: I've been reading so many sugar mommy!wandanat x reader fics that I wanted to make one myself. I know the beginning is a bit rough, but I'm just trying to set everything up. I promise it will get better!!!! There will also be plenty of smut in the upcoming chapters, this is just a warning for that now. And I plan on making many parts to this. I hope you all enjoy it!

Part 2

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you dramatically exclaim. You drape yourself across the old and slightly musty couch in your small two person apartment. Your work uniform rides up your body a little as you lay down, which you quickly pull down, covering yourself again. You pull your right arm over your eyes, trying to block out the light and the horrible day you just had.

Your best friend and roommate Kate laughs sympathetically at your dramatics. “I know getting fired sucks but there’s tons of ways to make money.” She moves your legs and sits down next to you, placing your legs on top of her.

“Like what?”

“Well you could mow lawns, dog sit, babysit, just until you find another job,” Kate suggests.

“I guess I could but I just don’t know if that would be able to cover my bills and let alone rent.”

“Well there is another thing you can try.” The tone in Kate's voice has you sitting up, removing your arm so you can look at her.

“You remember my friend Darcy that I told you about?”

“Yeah the super rich, successful one.”

“Well when she was in college she was a sugar baby,” Kate says before she cuts herself off to scold you.  “And y/n don’t give me that look just hear me out!”

“Ok fine, keep talking.”

“Well she got a whole bunch of money from it. She was able to pay off her student loans and she had some money leftover that she invested and y’know now she’s rich and super successful and hot and amazing. But that wasn’t the point.” Kate shakes her head at herself, scolding herself for getting off topic like she always does. “Anyway maybe you should try being a sugar baby.”

“I don’t know Kate.” Sure this would be a great opportunity for you, if you find someone that is, but do you really want to use your body to get money?

“You could just look and see what’s out there. You don’t have to accept any sugar daddy or sugar mommy proposals,” Kate says and you’ve got to admit that she’s got a good point.

“Ok what the hell,” you say, agreeing.

“Let me just get the sugar baby app name from Darcy and we can do this.”

A few minutes later the app is downloaded on your phone. You feel nervous but also excited. This could be a way for you to not have to worry about money, at least for a while. Maybe it would be nice to be taken care of.

“Ok it’s downloaded, let’s set it up.” The two of you create your profile and pretty soon you’re looking at sugar mommies and sugar daddies.

“What about this one?” You ask Kate. You pass her the phone, and from the look on her face you can tell that it’s a no go.

“Definitely not,” Kate says, her nose wrinkling up in disgust.

“Why not?”

“I know you, and that’s not what you want.” You have to admit she is right, you don’t really want some 50 year old with a penchant for “parading his girls around” as he called it, but you’re desperate and he is the best looking person on there so far.

You continue to scroll through the men and women, none of them really catching your eye until you see the profile of a beautiful red haired girl and an equally beautiful auburn haired girl. You would recognize their faces anywhere, Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff, the owners of the country's best security company.

“There’s no way this is real,” you say. “This has to be some sort of joke or something.” You pass her your phone and watch as her eyes go comically wide.

“There’s no way the Natasha Romanoff and the Wanda Maximoff are looking for a sugar baby,” you say. You practically scoff at the idea, but there’s still that little voice in your head that wonders if maybe the profile is real.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Kate says. She still has your phone in your hands and you watch as she types, until finally she stops.

“Katie what did you do?”

“I just messaged them,” Kate says innocently. You glance down at the message and it says, “Hi my name is y/n and I’d love to get to know you both and see if I’m what you’re looking for ;),”

“Did you have to add the wink Katie? They’re gonna think I’m like a whore or something now,” you whine.

“Oh relax you big baby. It’s fine. And besides maybe a whore is what they’re looking for,” Kate says, giving you a wink.

“Kate!” You exclaim. You lightly slap her on the arm.

“Owww y/n. You’re very feisty for such a tiny person.”

“Serves you right,” you mutter underneath your breath. The two of you continue to scroll through the app when you see a notification pop up.

Natasha and Wanda had replied to your message.

“Oh my god,” you say. You can feel yourself freaking out, even when you’re going into the texting part of the app and opening the message.

“Hi darling, we’d love to get to know you more too! We’re Natasha and Wanda, we’re both sugar mommies who are looking for a sugar baby to share. We work quite a bit, but we promise that we’ll still have time for you if things work out between us. Can’t wait to hear back from you,” the message reads. You show the message to Kate who responds with excitement.

But you can feel yourself freaking out on the inside even more now. However your doubts from earlier creep in and calm you down. There’s a big chance that this is just a catfish, but you still want to take the chance. Who wouldn’t want an opportunity to be with Natasha and Wanda?

“Help me come up with a response,” you tell the girl sitting next to you. After a few minutes of back and forth, the two of you come up with what you think is the perfect response.

“Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I’m y/n, a sugar baby who is currently in college trying to pay off my loans. I normally have plenty of time on my hands and would be able to be around whenever you need.”

You cringe at the last part of the message, which was all Kate’s idea, but clearly it worked because a few minutes later you have a text inviting you out to get some coffee tomorrow afternoon and you say yes.

“You have to come with me though, just in case it’s like a catfish or something,” you tell your best friend. 

“Of course, I’ll sit in the cafe and just text me if you need me,” Kate says reassuring you. 

The next day comes too quickly and before you know it you and Kate are sitting in the cafe waiting for Natasha and Wanda. You’re sitting at a table in the back, while Kate is sitting at a table across the room from you. The minutes seem to drag on forever, making you even more anxious than you already are. Everytime the bell above the door goes off, you glance up, hoping it’s one of the girls walking through. You’re just about to lose hope when you see Natasha and Wanda walk in. They look so breathtakingly beautiful. 

“Hi Y/n,” Wanda says, being the first to greet you. She towers over you as she envelopes you in a hug, which you gladly reciprocate.  

“Hi,” you say back. It comes out quieter than you meant it to. You can feel your cheeks heating up, but gladly both women ignore it. 

“And hi I’m Natasha,” the red haired girl says. She also towers over you, but you like that about the two women. She also envelopes you into a hug. She smells like vanilla and smoke and it gives you a sense of comfort. The three of you sit down and the two women get straight to the point. 

“So as you know we’re looking for a sugar baby,” Natasha says, her voice a low tone. “We just wanted to meet with you today to go over some things and see if we’d get along,” she explains. 

“Ok that sounds good,” you agree. 

“Have you ever been in a dynamic like this before?” 

“No I haven’t,” you say, your blush coming back. You can feel your nerves getting worse as well as you fidget with a ring on your hand. 

“It’s ok to be nervous baby, we won’t bite,” Wanda leans in to tell you. She places her hand on top of yours, stopping your fidgeting. She places her hand in yours, which you gladly hold. 

“That’s alright, we’re pretty new to this too. But there are a couple of things we wanted to go over today. First, when do you have class?”

“Well Tuesday and Thursday mornings I have class until 11am, but besides that my days are wide open.” This answer makes Natasha smile, which in turn makes you smile. 

“What is it that you need help with?” You appreciate that Natasha is getting straight to the point, it’s doing wonders at calming your nerves.

“Mostly rent and some bills. I, uh, just lost my job and it’s been hard to stay afloat.”

“Well that won’t be a problem now that we’re here,” Natasha tells you, sending you a wink. The action sends a blush across your face, turning it a shade of pink. 

"I know this isn't exactly normal," Natasha says, "But we promise if today works out, which I think it will, we'll take care of you darling." Natasha's words make you smile. Normally you were never so shy around people, but the two women next to you really bring it out in you.

“Do you have any questions for us honey?” Wanda asks. 

“Yes actually. What is it exactly that I would be doing?”

“You would keep us company, go to some company functions with us, and,” Natasha says, her voice dropping low as she says the next part, “have sex with us when we want it.”

“But obviously we would work up to that part,” Wanda adds cheerfully. 

“Ok,” you say, taking all of that information in. You knew going into this that sex would be on the table, but it shocks you that these two beautiful women are wanting to do it with you. 

“I’m sorry if this is a weird question, but aren’t the two of you together? What exactly do you need me for?”

“Yes we’re together sweetheart, but we’re not the most compatible in the bedroom.”

“What Wanda means is that we’re both pretty dominant and we need someone submissive to fulfill our needs,” Natasha says. Wanda slaps her on her arm and lightly scolds her, making you giggle. 

“I can do that,” you say, letting both of them know that you want this. The thought of being submissive for both of them stirs a longing within you. You can feel a slight dampness in your panties and you cross your legs, hoping Wanda, who is still holding your hand, doesn’t notice. But of course she does. 

“You already feeling a little needy, baby?” Wanda whispers, her cockiness coming out of nowhere, but god does it turn you on. Her lips ghost on the outer shell of your ear, causing your breathing to become ragged. 

“Mhm,” you manage to get out. 

“You’re so cute when you’re needy. I can’t wait to see just how needy I can make you,” Wanda says. She leans away from you, but not before leaving a soft kiss on your cheek, making you go pink.

“Don’t kill the poor girl Wanda,” Natasha scolds. 

“I can’t help it, she’s just so cute,” Wanda says, like you aren't there, which just turns you on even more. 

“Yeah she is,” Natasha agrees. 

You don’t know what to say, too absorbed in your own lust, when Natasha speaks again, snapping you out of it.

“Here are our phone numbers,” she says, slipping you a piece of paper. You take the pieces of paper and program their numbers into your phone and you give them your number and they do the same.

“We’ll text you tomorrow to work out the details and set up a contract, assuming you still want to do this?” Wanda questions. 

“I do,” you reassure her. 

“Then we’ll talk to you tomorrow, detka,” Wanda says. The two women get up, both hugging you goodbye. You watch the two women walk out, having forgotten that Kate was also at the cafe until she comes up to you. 

“Oh my god,” Kate says.

“I know,” is all you say.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get two sugar mommies.”

#wandanat #wandanat x reader #marvel #mcu #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #sugar mommy!wanda #sugar mommy!natasha #scarlet witch x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #wanda x reader smut #natasha x reader smut

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 9 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: After Anna joins him for dinner, Bob knows he needs to accept that they really are just friends. Even though her kisses are perfection. Even though he's falling in love. But what's going to stop Anna when she realizes Bob's poems are very familiar to her?

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, Bob in gray sweatpants, eventually 18+

Length: 5700 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

Bob couldn't imagine a world in which he'd go to this much trouble to make the perfect dinner for a woman who he was falling in love with, only to hear her say the words just friends. But apparently it was the world he was living in, because he spent days comparing recipes from both Bradley and Jake, hoping to make something that Anna would find irresistible.

"You should make my lasagna," Jake said for the tenth time at work on Friday morning.

Bradley snorted. "Great idea, as long as you never want to see her again. Make my homemade pasta," he told Bob. "I already gave you the recipe."

Bob just kept nodding and agreeing with whatever they said, hoping they'd eventually be quiet. Anna was coming over tonight, and he still didn't have a solid plan in mind beyond trying to convince her he'd be worth her time. That it was okay to be more than friends.

While the guys argued, Bob got himself ready to get in the air with Phoenix. He must have looked flustered, because she rubbed her thumb gently across the back of his hand when he stood next to her in the hangar. "You seem nervous. Are you still trying to figure out what to make for dinner?"

"Yeah," he replied quietly.

"Oh, Bob. She's not going to care what you make. It could be a grilled cheese sandwich."

"I always burn those," he said with a small smile. "I just feel like this is pointless. I invited her over anyway even though I know she just wants to be friends, but I'm still standing here hoping for more. I shouldn't be doing this, even if we did makeout in her office."

Nat sighed and asked, "Do you want my grandma's recipe for bruschetta chicken? You liked it when you tried it at her house last summer, and it's not that hard to make."

His eyes lit up. "Please." 

He'd only have a little bit of time to himself to prepare the meal and cook it before Anna came over, and he listened as Nat called her grandma and asked her to send it over. Before they were even called out of the hangar to start the day, he had a photo of the handwritten recipe in his phone.

"Nat, you're a lifesaver."

"Just save me some of the leftovers."

--------------------------

Friday was going so well for Anna, she almost forgot to be nervous about dinner. She met with the dean to discuss how her classes were going, and he even brought up the word tenure which sent her into a giddy spiral where she treated herself to a candy bar from the vending machine which she couldn't really afford. She carried it out to eat lunch in the quad with her friends along with her regular, uninspired sandwich and ginger ale.

She hadn't mentioned a word about going to Bob's house for dinner, but she was absolutely certain both ladies knew about it. She almost found it comical the way they were trying to get her to say something about it, but Jessica was clearly ready to boil over.

"Hi," Anna greeted, biting into her Snickers bar as she settled on the bench between them. Advanced Calculus casually offered her some carrots and hummus while Jessica's cheeks started to grow a furious shade of pink. 

"When were you going to tell us Bob invited you over for dinner tonight?" she exclaimed. 

Anna shrugged and said, "I was probably just going to tell you about it on Monday since it's nothing because we are just friends. It's only as exciting as it would be if I went over to your place for dinner."

"That's exciting, too!" Jessica said. "You should absolutely come over for dinner! But you're wrong, because it's not as exciting as Bob cooking dinner for you!"

"Jess. Chill out," came the voice from Anna's other side. "She'll learn soon enough that dinner cooked by one of the Top Gun boys is essentially a marriage proposal on a plate. A very sexy and delicious marriage proposal. You and he will be sleeping together in no time."

Anna chewed up the last bite of her Snickers and shook her head. "You're both wrong. Bob and I are just friends. The dinner means nothing, and we're not going to sleep together."

"Oh, please!" Jessica was back to practically shouting now. "If you think he's actually okay with all the making out, then you've lost your mind. He doesn't want it to be meaningless. He likes you."

Anna looked at her feet. "I know he does. I like him too."

"Then stop stringing him along! I don't understand what the problem is here, Anna."

She sat quietly now, no longer feeling so great as she picked at her sandwich.

"Hey, I know Jess sounds like an excitable terrier, but maybe you need a little tough love," Advanced Calculus said as she dipped a carrot into the hummus. "You can talk to us, you know. You can tell us what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," Anna whispered as her mind flooded with thoughts of Kevin and what he might be up to at the moment. 

Jess took a deep calming breath before she said, "There's just no good reason to put your dream man in the friend zone. And don't even try to lie and say Bob Floyd isn't perfection."

"He is," Anna whispered. Other than her infatuation with Sky Writing, Bob was the closest thing to a dream come true that she'd ever encountered before. But she did have her reasons, and she was too embarrassed to talk about it out loud. She was certain that Jess already knew her current financial state was in ruins, and it might be nice to have her friends understand where she was coming from, but she didn't want them to pity her. That was the last thing she needed right now. "You know what, I think I'm going to get ready for my next lecture."

She was on her feet and rushing away as her friends called after her, but she didn't stop walking until she reached her office. She was not going to cry over this, and she definitely didn't want to cancel on Bob. The only thing she could do to calm down was look at all of the books on her shelves, letting her gaze glide over the colorful spines. Then she read the note from Bob that was tucked in her copy of Papillon.

Freedom would feel like being so in love, you'd willingly let another person lock you to their side.

-------------------------------

Bob had a fully stocked kitchen filled with a nice set of pots and pans and sharp knives and anything else he could possibly want, but right now, it was like he'd never cooked anything before in his life. Nat's grandmother actually had atrocious handwriting, and he could barely make out the measurements in the photo he had to work with.

"Basil," he muttered to himself, grabbing the leafy greens from the cutting board and wondering why it looked like he was supposed to use three cups of them. "I didn't even buy that much!"

He took a deep breath and walked around his kitchen, trying to clear his head. Anna was going to grab an Uber. She would be arriving in about an hour with wine and dessert. He wanted to feed her the most delicious meal he could muster, but right now he was just looking at the chicken breast on the plate in front of him like he'd never seen food before.

And he just knew Jake and Bradley never had to work this hard for a woman in their lives. Jake could rely mostly on his looks if he wanted to, and Bradley was the luckiest person he knew, reuniting with the love of his life after ten years and getting married approximately a day later. "No," he whispered, "that's not fair to them." He knew he was wrong. He knew both of them worked to get where they ended up, and he shouldn't be putting himself down so much. 

He glared at the chicken and picked up a knife. "This is fine. No problem." He had to fudge some of the measurements which made no sense, and he'd suggest to Nat that maybe her grandmother should take an eye exam, but the recipe really wasn't too terribly hard. Soon he had the browned chicken in the oven, and he set to work on the bruschetta topping and started boiling some water for the pasta. He was just adding another tablespoon of balsamic vinegar to the tomatoes and basil when he heard Anna's beautiful laughter.

Bob nearly knocked the bowl to the floor in his haste to get to her. After grabbing a dish towel for his hands, he rushed toward his front door and saw her on his porch. She was wearing a little sundress that he'd seen her in before with her worn out denim jacket over it, and he froze a few feet inside his screen door just so he could look at her. She was juggling a shopping bag and a bottle of wine, and that's when he realized she was talking to Suzanne.

"Oh, no, I'm not in the Navy," she was saying as she tossed her beautiful, red hair over her shoulder. "I'm a professor at San Diego State University. My name's Anna."

She stretched her hand out, and then Bob heard Suzanne's voice. "I'm Suzanne, and that's my cat, Sylvester. I must say, I had no idea Robert got himself a girlfriend. And such a pretty one!"

He desperately wanted to interrupt their conversation before he could hear what Anna's response was going to be, but he just couldn't. She was standing there in the last rays of the setting sun, blushing as she said, "Bob and I are actually just friends. Just good friends."

There was a beat of silence before Suzanne laughed. "Have you seen him? And he's even sweeter than he is handsome!"

Anna was laughing nervously, and Bob's heart was pounding, but he opened the screen door to bail her out anyway. "Hey," he greeted as naturally as he could, and then Anna's apprehensive gaze met his. God, all he wanted to do was drag her inside, push her up against his living room wall and kiss until she realized he wasn't going to hurt her.

"Bob," she whispered, taking a small step in his direction. Her eyes were wide and perceptive, like she could read his every thought on his face. She cleared her throat and said, "I brought wine and some cookies."

Helpless to do much of anything else, he smiled at her. "Dinner's almost ready." Then he leaned further out the door and said, "Hi, Suzanne."

His next door neighbor looked delighted as she glanced between him and Anna. "I was just talking to your charming friend here, Robert. Cooking dinner for someone certainly sounds romantic to me."

Bob was gripping the door frame as he watched Anna's face fill with panic. Then she blurted out, "Why doesn't Suzanne join us?"

-------------------------------

The only thing Anna could think to do was sabotage the dinner she'd been looking forward to all week. She watched Bob's face fall slightly as he realized she invited his next door neighbor to join them for a very platonic dinner. And since Bob was the sweetest man Anna had ever met, he recovered immediately, turned to Suzanne and said, "You're more than welcome."

Ten minutes later, Bob was opening the bottle of cheap wine she'd brought while Anna watched the veins in his hands. He was graceful and lovely, and Suzanne was talking nonstop as he poured three glasses. She had nobody to blame but herself for inviting a third wheel along. The older woman was really more of a safety net. Someone to prevent Anna from kissing Bob. Someone to stop her from falling completely in love with him.

The whole house smelled amazing, and she knew this dinner was supposed to be just for her. She hadn't eaten a real meal like this, other than at the cookout, in months and months. The first bite of chicken, bruschetta and pasta was delicious enough that she moaned softly. Bob watched her take a second bite, and it was incredible. The third bite left her staring at him in wonder.

"You're the best cook in the world," Anna informed him, cutting across Suzanne talking about her cat. She didn't even care if she was being rude, the food was perfect. And it would have somehow been even better if the two of them were alone.

Bob blushed and took a sip of the wine that Anna wished was better than it was. "Thanks. Uh, it was a new recipe. I've never made it before tonight."

Suzanne took a bite and said, "Robert is an excellent cook and a real gentleman. He always makes sure I have groceries, and he picks up a little something for me if he gets dinner on his way home from work."

As Bob's cheeks grew redder, Anna's heart beat faster. "A real gentleman," she echoed, knowing he'd take care of anyone who needed something.

"Yes," Suzanne said. "You don't see many of them around. Never seen many myself."

Neither had Anna, and after she blew her life to bits, she'd probably never see one again. She listened to Bob and Suzanne talk about their favorite game shows, and she cleaned her plate before either of them had finished. All of the toast and sad sandwiches she'd been eating weren't really cutting it, and she knew that. She also didn't want to get another piece of chicken and seem like a mooch.

"Can I get you more?" Bob asked as he stood on the opposite side of the table in his worn jeans and snug white shirt. "There's plenty left."

Anna shook her head, but he reached for her plate anyway. While he was in the kitchen, Suzanne quickly finished eating and downed the rest of her wine. Softly, just for Anna to hear, she said, "He is a very nice man. I hope I see you around here in a less friendly capacity." Then she called out, "Robert? I need to go. I hear Sylvester outside bugging for food. Thanks for dinner, and enjoy your evening."

"Night, Suzanne," he replied, and the older woman bustled off without another word, leaving Anna alone with Bob when he returned with two plates refilled with food. "She's a character."

Anna laughed, but she could tell Bob was hesitant to say too much now. Probably because she'd dashed the mood in the first place. "I'm sorry I suggested she join us," she told him sincerely, shaking her head. "All week long, I'd been looking forward to talking about books with you." 

As she poked at her chicken, afraid of what he was going to say, he said, "Once you finish eating, I could show you my books. I don't have as many as you do, but maybe there's something you'd like to borrow in the mix. And then I'll drive you home."

"I can get an Uber," she insisted, taking another bite of the perfectly cooked dinner. 

"And I can just as easily drive you."

He was a gentleman. She wasn't going to leave here in an Uber no matter what she said. "Alright."

----------------------------

"You have books in every room!" Anna exclaimed as she walked around his house nibbling on a cookie. The wine she brought was kind of terrible, and so were the grocery store cookies, but Bob didn't mind. She ate two full plates of the dinner he cooked, and now that Suzanne was gone, she seemed more herself.

"I have a system," he insisted as she sat down on his living room floor to inspect a stack of paperbacks.

"I'm not buying it," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Try me. The living room is poetry. The extra bedroom is mysteries. The dining room is true crime."

"What's in your bedroom?" she asked, flipping through a collection by Robert Frost.

Bob wanted to tell her that his bedroom was where he wrote his own poetry. And that they had begun to turn into a collection all about her. "Romance," he said.

She laughed softly, such a pretty sound. "I'm assuming you don't have any Vonnegut? No soul massacring, unhappy endings?"

"None," he promised. "You won't find any of those around here."

She was skimming a page as she muttered, "Good. I've had enough of that anyway." Then she stood and carried the Frost poems to another small pile on his coffee table. She rooted around and pulled out a volume by Walt Whitman before asking, "Could I borrow these two?"

Bob was admiring how perfect she looked in his house when she met his eyes with her pretty brown ones. "Of course," he said, dropping down onto the couch as he finished his own cookie. "Anything you want."

She stood and carried the books over to her purse before sitting down a few feet away from him. "What I want is to help you organize your books for real. Have you ever heard of a bookshelf before?"

"Never," he replied innocently. "What's that?"

She laughed and scooted a little closer. "You know those big, wooden things that were holding all the books when we met at that store in North Park? Remember that day?"

He knew she was just joking around, but as he memorized the pattern of her freckles, he said, "I will never forget that day."

Once again, Anna initiated the kiss, and once again, Bob was helpless to pump the brakes. She leaned in close with her hand on his knee and brushed her lips against his. It was so sweet, he was almost able to ask her to stop. Even though it felt too good, he was nearly able to tell her he couldn't do this. But being tortured was worth it. That was the worst part.

He let her do what she wanted, and her soft hands found their way to his face, knocking his glasses askew on their way into his hair. He wanted to touch her, but he was afraid he'd lose himself in these kisses that meant so much more to him than they did to her. He counted to ten slowly in his mind, savoring every touch and taste, letting Anna settle against his thigh. Then he broke the kiss, leaving her hovering there, surprise on her face.

She pressed her lips together, and turned her face toward his front door. "I'll never forget that day either."

He nodded as her hands fell away from his hair and his face, and he whispered, "Grab the books you want to borrow, and I'll drive you home."

----------------------------

"He's a gentleman," Anna groaned in her bed on the floor of her tiny apartment the following morning. It was Saturday, and she didn't have much she needed to accomplish today which would leave her plenty of time to think about the drive home in Bob's truck and the way he walked her to her door. She didn't kiss him again, but he always seemed to be close enough that she could feel his body heat in the chilly night air. Even now, when she grabbed at some strands of her hair, she swore she could still smell his fresh scent there.

She needed to get out. She grabbed her phone and took the longest walk imaginable. Her legs were burning by the time she stopped in a corner store for something to eat for lunch, but the sandwich was almost as bad as the ones she had been making for herself. Nothing would be as good as what Bob cooked, and he served it up last night like it was no big deal at all.

As Anna started the long walk back to her apartment, she groaned while she blasted her music. She had invited his elderly neighbor to join them for dinner, and then she had kissed him again. She was so embarrassing. She'd never been like this when she was in New Jersey, never doing the most mortifying things over and over. 

She didn't go home for a long time. She walked through an enormous park and looked at a fountain while she daydreamed about all of her unfinished manuscripts. When that started to hurt too much, she watched the storm clouds that were rolling in from the coast and thought it might be nice to get soaking wet. Then a few fat raindrops started to hit her face as she realized that she wouldn't be able to replace her phone if it got destroyed. 

"Damn it," she muttered, starting to run through the park under the cover of the trees. The sky was quickly getting darker as she tried to stay under awnings and overhangs as much as possible until she reached her apartment building. Her clothing was soaked, but her phone was still in working order when she ran inside, dripping all over the welcome mat in the small entryway.

She desperately wanted to cry, but that wouldn't solve anything, so she took a long shower instead. She washed and braided her hair, and then she painted her nails. When she finally picked up her phone again, she had a new message from Bob.

Bob Floyd: Taking your advice and buying one of those bookshelves? Was that what they were called? Which one do you think is better?

He had attached two screenshots of nice looking shelves from Ikea that she'd never be able to afford at the moment. She smiled as she typed back to him while she heated up a can of soup for dinner.

Yes, they are called bookshelves. Are you sure you know how to use them? I like the navy blue one better.

The flavorless chicken noodle soup went well with Anna's mood as she sat on the floor and watched a show on her phone. Part of her wanted to know what her friends were up to, but she didn't want to have to tell them about last night. She knew Bob and Jess would be going out to play Dungeons & Dragons soon anyway, but she dropped her spoon in the bowl when Bob wrote back again.

Bob Floyd: I think I'll pick it up tomorrow and make it my rainy Sunday project. Feel like helping me build it?

"Oh, Anna. Don't."

-------------------------------

Bob pulled up to Anna's building on Sunday afternoon after stopping to pick up the shelf. It had been pouring rain since last night, and he had to wrap his new furniture box in a tarp to protect it in the bed of his truck. But this would be a great way to spend the afternoon. He could make two cups of tea, and she could help him organize his books. They didn't need to kiss anymore. He would see to it that they didn't. He could handle this whole thing without issue.

He left his truck idling at the curb, and Anna came running outside like she'd been waiting for him. He grabbed his umbrella and met her halfway, shouting, "I was going to walk up and get you!" over the sound of the rain. She joined him under the umbrella, her denim jacket pretty wet as she shrugged.

"The rain's okay. It reminds me of New Jersey."

Once he opened the door and helped her scramble in, he ran around to the other side of the truck. He was barely able to find a dry spot on his shirt so he could wipe off his glasses, and when he yanked the hem up, he could feel Anna's eyes on his body. There was no sense in feeling self conscious about the way he looked now, because nothing else was going to happen. Last night had to be the end of that.

"You ready?" he asked, cranking the key in the ignition when she nodded. His wipers were going full speed as he drove her back to his house for the second visit in one weekend. "Thanks for helping with this. I kind of realized that having everything on one big shelf makes more sense. Especially if I keep borrowing books from you."

Her laugh was soft as she said, "If you don't borrow my books, then nobody will."

"Same goes for mine," he replied easily as he headed toward the beach. "But don't you dare dog ear my pages."

Now she laughed louder. "I read most of Whitman last night before I fell asleep, and there's nary a bent page in sight."

"That's what I like to hear." When he pulled up in front of his house, he handed her the umbrella and his keys. "Go ahead and let yourself in, and I'll unload the box."

She just gaped at him in response and asked, "Don't you need help carrying it?"

"Nah," he replied, popping his door open, "I can get it."

Bob struggled a little bit with the tarp before sliding the massive box closer to the edge of the truck tailgate. Every movement was made slower by the pounding rain in his face, but he managed to tip it into his arms. It was heavy, but not too bad, and his grip on the wet cardboard was good enough for him to get it inside the house. Anna was standing on the porch, holding open his screen door with the umbrella folded up at her feet, and he accidentally brushed against her with his arm as he maneuvered himself through the door.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, her voice a little breathy as she let the screen door close and helped him prop the box against the wall. "This is massive."

"I guess now I can buy more books," he said with his hands on his hips while he dripped all over the place. "I'm going to get changed quickly, and then we can build the shelf and organize it, and then I'll make dinner."

Her eyes lit up. "You'll make dinner again?"

"Yeah. I was going to see if I can attempt a grilled cheese without burning it. I'll be right back." And then he headed upstairs to his bedroom where he had clean undershirts, some sweatpants and all of his favorite books.

---------------------------

Anna was halfway through unboxing and organizing the shelf pieces on the floor when Bob walked back downstairs. She'd removed her denim jacket, and her leggings and tank top were mostly dry, and she'd settled on the floor with the instruction book. "It looks like we'll need a screwdriver or a drill...." 

Her sentence tapered off when she looked up at Bob just casually standing there in one of his white shirts and a pair of gray sweatpants and neatly combed, damp hair. The ability to speak escaped her.

"I can grab my toolbox," he told her, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants before disappearing toward the kitchen. She needed to lie down. She stretched out on the floor and stared at the ceiling as rain pelted the window next to her. 

"Oh my god," she whispered before biting down on her lip. She wanted him. She liked every damn thing about him, and then he had to look and smell and sound so good on top of it all. The Walt Whitman poems weren't the only thing she had read last night. Sky Writing's words from her favorite poems were also in her mind, and she couldn't shake them. Anna had just rolled into her side, staring at the instructions without actually seeing them, when he walked back in. 

"Are you okay?"

"Great," she said, voice raspy. She was in fact not great. She was the opposite of great. When Bob handed her the toolbox and said he was going to make two mugs of tea, she took the time to pull herself together. Sweaty palms glided along her leggings, and she read the instructions through. It seemed simple enough, and she had the hardware in order by the time Bob returned with two steaming mugs.

"Thanks," she whispered as he settled onto the floor next to her. She knew this was how good things would be if she could date Bob. Hot tea and homemade meals and someone around who loved books. "You're really sweet."

He didn't say anything as he sipped his tea, so Anna did the same. It was raining so hard, she couldn't tell if what she heard was thunder or not, but inside Bob's house, everything was warm and cozy. "Let's get started," he finally said, leaning in front of her to set his mug on the windowsill.

They spoke quietly, mostly about the shelf, while she handed him hardware and tools. Anna found herself distracted as she watched his hair dry and lighten in color as they worked together. Every bump of his muscular arm against hers felt intentional, but she couldn't tell for sure, and she was too afraid to ruin this friendship beyond repair. Especially after what her friends had told her at lunch on Friday.

"I need the screwdriver," he said, bumping her gently with his elbow as he held two perpendicular pieces of wood in place. 

"I can get it," she replied, finally refocused on the task before her. "I'll screw it in." She tried to reach in front of him, but he was too tall. When he moved his arms a little further apart, she popped up between them so she was standing between his body and the shelf. "I'll only take a second."

She could feel Bob's warm breath against her ear, and all he could think was that she would fit perfectly in his arms if he decided to just drop what he was holding and wrap them around her instead. "Take your time," he murmured, because of course his arms wouldn't get tired in this position. She fumbled the screw. His body was immaculate, and it was all she could think about as he exhaled and tickled her hair.

"I'm trying," she whispered, fumbling the screw again. Finally she had it in place, and Bob released the shelf, but he didn't move away from her.

"Think you can screw the last two in as well? Then we'll be done."

She nodded and decided to go slower, savor this tiny bit of intimacy and pretend he was hers. Then it was done.

"It looks good."

She barely had to turn to look at him over her shoulder. "It's a nice shelf. How do you want to arrange your books?"

He was still standing close as he said, "Poetry on the top? Since it's my favorite?"

"Yeah," she told him with a laugh. "Banish it to the top where nobody but you can reach it."

He cocked his head and leaned in closer. "Are you insulting the poetry or commenting on my height?"

"A bit of both," she replied right away. The living was darker now from the storm and from the time of day, but she could see his smile perfectly. 

"Come on, Anna. We both know you love the poetry. You borrowed two volumes the other day."

She only hummed in response before ducking away from him and reaching for a stack of his books. She handed them to him one at a time, commenting on them like she was giving each a bad review. "Oh, this one is too flowery. Too many words and no substance." She handed him another after he shelved the first one. "This author put all their best works at the beginning of the collection. The second half is terrible."

Bob chuckled as she picked up a book that she knew was a favorite of his. "Hey, you better watch what you say about that one."

She waved it in the air, unable to reach the top shelf, and he snatched it out of her hand. "I'm going to be brutally honest," she said softly, and Bob's hand rested on her back almost like a warning. "I loved it."

He smiled and let his fingers trail along her back as he nodded toward the stairs. "Want to help me tackle the mystery books in the extra bedroom?"

"Sure," she told him, leading the way to the steps. "But first, you have to tell me why you like poetry so much."

"What's not to like?" he replied as she started up. "All of the emotions are there. You're allowed to write about any combination of emotions that you're feeling at any given time. And I think that's pretty cool."

Anna's steps slowed a little as she considered his words. "Write?" she asked, turning to look back at him as he made his way up behind her. "Did you say write?"

"Uh. I did. Yeah."

Truly, she loved reading poetry, but she didn't have much of a knack for writing it. She didn't even think she was good enough for PoetsAmongUs. "What's something you've written?"

Bob laughed, and Anna stumbled on the top step as he said, "Just some amateur gibberish like, 'Devotion woven into every breath I take. Love that knows no boundaries, no end.' Nothing amazing."

She gripped the banister to keep herself upright, and then she spun and sat down hard on the top step. Suddenly she felt like she couldn't breathe. She knew those words intimately. She knew the whole fucking poem by heart. She knew everything else he had written as well, because she'd been reading his poetry for years.

"Bob," she croaked, and he rushed toward her, hands gentle on her ankle and leg.

"Are you okay? Did you twist it?"

"Bob," she gasped, reaching for the front of his undershirt and pulling him closer so he was focused on her face. "You're Sky Writing."

--------------------------

BOB IS SKY WRITING, ANNA. What the hell are you going to do now, babe? Please, make good choices. Thank you @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 10

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#bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd fic #robert floyd imagine #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd x oc #robert floyd fanfiction #robert floyd fic #robert floyd #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #covering the classics

[coolnonsenseworld]

Some calendar 2024 pieces in no particular order, still available as prints as well! Another leftover reminder? YES, yes it is! It's the last call for me to send them before Christmas break, so I'm trying to get the word out. Also... those are just pretty cute pieces.... I hope they bring you a smile.... Enjoy the klance otherwise and see you soon for another part of Winter Wonderland comic, anyone remembers it? 👀

linktr.ee/mezzy

#klance #voltron keith #voltron lance #im leaving for hometown on saturday very last minute #but i have so many things to do stilllll #i gotta prepare in advance patreon content too #and hex updates #weekend orders are already packed if anyone is wondering! im sending them on tuesday

[florencemtrash]

Hummingbird: Chapter One

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

You leaned back against the desk, ignoring the leftover smattering of paint as it seeped into your overalls, and checked the time. Miles’s face was stuck to the pages of his sketchbook, blue and red ink staining his cheek as he snored softly. One hand loosely gripped an open highlighter, the other dangled over the edge of his desk, half-eaten sandwich abandoned on the floor.

Twenty minutes. He’d been asleep for twenty minutes, and if you let him sleep any longer, he’d be late for fifth period.

You rapped your knuckles on his pencil case, the ringing tin jolting the teenager awake. Brown eyes flashed around the room, fists shooting out in an amateur boxing move as he tried to figure out why his spidey sense hadn’t warned him of any danger.

But there was no danger here. Nope, just Miss Y/l/n staring at him curiously from under raised brows.

“Wakey wakey, Miles,” You wore your usual pair of yellow Converse and paint-splattered overalls, the pockets hanging wide and loose after years of carrying around paint bottles, brushes, and books. The school board liked to complain about your “improper dress,” but at the end of the day you were one of the school’s only art teachers - and the most highly approved by students.

“Oh heyyyyy Miss Y/l/n.” He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck before dropping to the floor and snatching up his forgotten lunch. This was the fourth time you’d caught him sleeping in your classroom. Any more and you might actually have to start giving him detention. He tossed pens, snacks, and his sketchbook haphazardly into his bag, but not before you caught sight of a familiar blond-haired, blue-eyed girl smiling in front of a backdrop rioting with yellow, pinks, and blues more vibrant than a fireworks display. “GWEN!” the comic-style calligraphy called out next to her glowing face. Miles always seemed to be drawing her these days.

“You’ve still got five minutes left, calm down.” Miles straightened up to face you, clutching his lunchbox to his chest and smiling nervously. You folded your arms over your chest and stared pointedly at the gangly boy in front of you. With how much he’d grown over the last few months you wondered if one of his ancestors had been a garden weed. 

“You want to talk about what’s been going on, Miles?” 

“What do you-what do you mean?”

“You’ve been falling asleep in my class, this is the fourth time I’ve caught you napping here during lunch, and now I hear from Mr. Maloney that you’ve been skipping English.”

“He-he told you that?” He tugged at the collar of his shirt, hoping for a breeze to drift in through the window and save him from his nerves. He thought he’d been good about juggling the responsibilities of being a high-schooler and everyone’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. If his parents noticed anything different about him they chalked it up to teenage angst and grief over Uncle Aaron’s death. But someone had caught him slipping up.

You shrugged, “The teacher’s lounge exists, and people like to talk.”

“Oh…” he mumbled, shoulders dropping.

The dull ringing of the school bell cut through the silence, followed shortly by the rumblings of conversation as students filled the hallway, moving with the current like fish in a river.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Listen, Miles, you’re not in trouble, ok?” Miles sighed in relief. “If you need to eat your lunch or just take a break in my classroom that’s fine with me. I just want to make sure you’re not trying to flunk out like last year.” 

He shook his head adamantly. He couldn’t - wouldn’t - drop out of Brooklyn Visions now. He had a plan for the future: go to Princeton, figure out multiversal traveling, and reunite with Gwen and Peter and the rest of the Spider-gang. Seemed simple enough… and totally doable…

“I promise that’s not the case, Miss Y/l/n.” The sincerity behind his words satisfied you.

“Alright Miles, but I’m keeping an eye on you,” You said dramatically, squinting your eyes and pointing at his chest. Miles snorted, mouth breaking open into a lopsided grin, “Now get out of here or Mrs. Cape will think I’ve convinced you to go to art school again.” 

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I just…”

“Yes, yes, you want to go study physics at Princeton,” you waved your hand in the air, tracing some invisible pattern in the sunlight before grabbing a wet wipe from your desk and tossing it to Miles, “Quantum mechanics, the multiverse, and all that stuff.” 

It wasn’t the first time he’d told you about his future plans, but the words that left his mouth had a tendency of flying over your head. The kid was too smart for his own good.

You paused and took a moment to look at Miles, to really look at him as he scrubbed away at the ink on his cheek, “Those Princeton schmucks would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks Miss Y/l/n.” Again he gave you that crooked, boyish smile.

“Alright now out, out!” You shooed him towards the door, watching as he saluted you and flashed you one last smile before joining the crowd of students and disappearing around the corner.

You slipped back into your classroom, the smell of charcoal, dried paint, and pencil shavings settling into your lungs - sweet and comforting. There wasn’t an inch of space that wasn’t covered in some manner of artwork: sketches, paintings, collages… colorful graffiti that you should probably scrub out before parent-teacher conferences. Most of the pieces were the works of current students, but sometimes people like to leave things behind on purpose, trusting that you would find a place for them somewhere.

You wiped down the desks, rubbed the worst paint splotches from your overalls, and then collapsed into your chair, swiveling around and munching on the sandwich you’d picked up at the Prospect St. bodega. You had thirty minutes of peace and quiet before sixth period. 

That’s more than enough time. You thought to yourself. Maybe I’ll get some grading done and-

A head of curly black hair popped into the room, face wet and screaming with tears. You straightened in your chair as the boy’s lips thinned, then turned down. His shoulders began to tremble.

“He…He,” Hiccup, “He broke up with me, Miss Y/l/n.” 

“Oh geez,” you sighed deeply, setting your sandwich down and ushering the boy in. 

There were things you missed about being a teenager… the highs and lows of a first love were not on that list.

>>>

Saturday nights were sacred - the only time you reserved entirely for yourself. No grading, no reviewing and updating lesson plans, no agonizing over student reviews. You’d used to go out with old college friends for drinks on the weekend, but most of them had moved out of the city or gotten married and were doing married people things.

Is this what getting older is like? You wondered as you snuggled further into your couch, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders to keep out the chill. It wasn’t too terrible… albeit a little lonely.

The latest in a slew of cooking shows played out on the tv, throwing flashes of light onto the book-burdened coffee table and providing the background noise necessary for you to finally get your thoughts out of your sketchbook. But the moment you went to put the pen nib down, your mind went blank, and not in a good way. Every line looked wrong, the eyes of the figure looking bloated and misshapen. Time creeped by slowly, dragging you along for a ride as smooth as sandpaper.

 You knew the cause of your frustration, but knowing never made it better. It had been two months since Richard had moved out, two months and one day since you’d found out he was cheating on you with some grad student at NYU. 

Pendejo.

You’d hated his interior decorating, but now the blank spaces on the wall screamed his name. 

You tossed your sketchbook and pencil onto the ground and went to make a cup of tea. Maybe you were better off calling it a night and crawling into bed. Mid-year reviews had just ended and you had a long list of emails to reply to in the morning. One thing you hadn’t been expecting when you’d accepted this job was the number of parents who’d be on your ass about their kids getting a B in art - in art. 

The tea kettle was just about to open its mouth and start singing when a crash sounded from the living, followed by a sheepish “Whoops.” The muffled word punctuated Paul Hollywood’s critique of someone’s lemon tart - too stodgy.

Your blood ran cold as the stranger continued to mutter. 

“There goes another one. Wow there’s a lot of stuff on the floor.” Another one of your precious potted plants hit the ground with a dull crack. 

You grabbed the wooden bat from where it leaned against the wall, swinging it easily behind your head. At least there was one good thing Richard had left you with. 

You creeped out into the hallway, backing up towards the front door with your eyes trained on the shadowy figure making a mess of your living room. The figure fluctuated in and out of existence as he stumbled about the room, tripping over the piles of books and art supplies littering the ground. His body splintered outwards like cobwebs and twisted with flashes of bright light, haunting and inhuman. 

The creak of the floorboards gave you away. All at once the figure stopped and turned around to look at you. Where its face should have been was a single, flickering white spot, pulsing with curiosity as it tilted its head to the side. 

Mierda. 

You bolted towards the door… but he was already there.

“Why hello Mrs. O’Hara. Nice to finally meet you.” A thousand voices said at once.

You screamed and swung. 

The first swing missed, leaving a crater in the drywall. The second swing hit true, but the bat merely sunk into the black void of his body, some force ripping it out of your hands as you staggered backward. “Oh! Well that wasn’t very nice.” The creature laughed. 

Spindly tendrils of dark matter grabbed hold of you and you let out one final scream before the Spot swallowed you whole.

There was a momentary blindness and the sensation of falling before you were unceremoniously spit out onto a hard granite floor. You winced at the rough cut of broken glass beneath your heels, with nothing to protect you but a thin pair of socks. You looked upward and gasped. 

Where there had once been a towering glass ceiling dozens of stories high lay a gaping hole, the metal beams blown backwards into the night air like a blooming flower. It took you a moment to recognize the building, after all you’d seen it nonstop on the news for weeks last year - Alchemax.

What the hell?

Police tape criss-crossed over the debris like yellow spider webs, the scene broken up by black holes that morphed and twisted around you, pulsing with the same energy as the stranger in your apartment.

I must be dreaming. You thought. But in the back of your mind you remembered bits and pieces of what Miles told you he’d been studying over the summer - wormholes and spacetime and portals to different universes. 

You picked up a piece of metal off the floor, experimentally tossing it into one of the spots. It disappeared under the surface like pottery in slip before popping back into existence above you. You only narrowly lunged out of the way before it crashed into the ground and stuck there like a sword in a battlefield.

“Beautiful, isn’t it Mrs. O’Hara?” the Spot stepped out of a hole in the fabric of spacetime beside you. 

You jumped back, choking the scream in your throat. “That’s not-that’s not my name.” You managed to say. “Maybe you’ve kidnapped the wrong person?” A stupid hope.

“Oh? What is it then?” You said nothing, daring to lean down and pick up a jagged piece of roof panel. It might not do much, but it made you feel safer with its weight in your hands. “Well you don’t need to tell me. I just wanted to ask you a question.” He blipped out of existence, taking with him the darkness that pooled out of his skin.

“Who is Spider-Man?” the voices said as the Spot reappeared right beside you.

“You’ve got to stop doing that! Pendejo.” 

“What?”

“Just talk to me like a normal person.” You pointed the roof panel at him, keeping him at a safe distance.

“Who. Is. Spider-Man?” He stepped closer, the tip of your makeshift weapon sinking into his skin like he wasn’t even there. 

The question made you pause. That was what he wanted to know? He had kidnapped you just to ask about Spider-Man? 

“Um, I mean, he’s kind of the local superhero. Stops thieves, saves kittens stuck in trees, makes questionable brand deals at times-”

“NO! I know who Spider-Man is.” 

You blinked in confusion, eyes shifting to the side, “Then why did you kidnap me?”

“I want to know Spider-Man’s identity! His real identity.” The edges of his body sparked, shooting outward and striking the walls of the room. Dust and plaster fell to the ground like snow.

“I don’t-how the fuck am I supposed to know who Spider-Man is?!”

“You know him! The other version of you knew him!” 

“What, other me?”

“The alternate universe version of you!” He threw his hands up into the air like a petulant child. The darkness around him grew with every passing minute, crawling around on the floor and up onto the walls like a reptile looking for its next meal. He slid his hands down his face, somehow pulling at the ether he was made of as he muttered under his breath.

“Whatever, I may have miscalculated. You’ll still be important. Don’t you worry. You may not know who Spider-Man is, but Spider-Man sure knows you.”

Next chapter ->

>>>

Author's Note: so... I may have gotten carried away and written the second chapter as well... hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @geraskier-thots @howabouticallyou @sweetheartlizzie07 @dont-mind-me27 @omg-edzia-stuff @sarcastically-defensive17 @trouble-sistar @saltyluminaryvoid @lunablue001 @sadslasher13 @yas-v @thel0v3hashira143 @trishuh8 @vague-flying-shape @tiana76 @dinuxia-bhm @mxtokko @devilsrose666 @natbratty @zettoaizawa-shusband @dorck26 @notasadgirlipromise @niyanispunk @thecraziestcrayon @athenxt @imnotyourbcbe @jannajuju @lunamoonbby @elle-19 @aces148 @sseleniaa @elaineiswithyou-blog @summerli-u @rattlethemskulls @sunseekerlove @bubbabobabubbles @loonalockley @aleombre @littlelilies @07-bilin @nerdalicios @insanely-creative-things

#miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #gwen stacy #hobie brown #miles morales #across the spider verse #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n

[squirmhoney]

LIFE'S BETTER ON SATURN |

PART TWO

A/N: Sorry for the warnings but reader has been going through it since the last part. Also I read through this once, it was way too long to read through several times. Enjoy.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Warning: Dark Smut. Fingering. Oral. Pet names. Praise. Overstimulation. Submissive behaviour. Violence. Kidnapping. Drugging. Angst. Suicide attempt. Mentions of depressive thoughts. Non canon ages. 18+ Context: Timeline is based loosely on the "Batman: Under the Redhood" comic. However, characters are aged up. Jason and reader are 18+.

PART ONE HERE

As always Minors DNI.

-

Some days were better than others but you hadn’t had a truly low day for at least three years now. 

People grieve in different ways, that’s what you would say. However, every time you talked to Dick, which was an occasional call every month or so, he’d tell you it wasn’t healthy. You’re latching onto a ghost, I really think you should see a therapist. 

You’d always roll your eyes, making up the quickest excuse you could muster up. Normally it was the little money you had, how could you possibly afford therapy while working some shitty receptionist job at the Gotham City’s Police Department. 

Bruce would pay for it.

That name still made your whole body tense, bile rising up in your throat. You never had forgiven him, especially after bumping him into last year and being introduced to Tim Drake, clearly his next prodigy. 

After threatening to cut contact with Dick as well, he stopped nagging and allowed you to live your life. Even if he didn’t see it as a life worth living. 

Today was one of the more sombre days as you walked through the Gotham streets to get to work. 

The streets were too busy for comfort as people constantly bumped into you and you knew you shouldn’t have bothered to answer your phone but you hadn’t been thinking when you saw Dick’s name light up your screen. 

When a heavy shoulder crashed into yours, your phone had gone flying into the crowd of people. Only to find it crumpled on the floor in pieces within seconds. 

-

Once five o'clock rolled around, you had completely forgotten that Dick had called you this morning and that you had been meaning to call him back. The only thought in your mind was the leftovers you had in the fridge. 

When you stepped through your front door, you realised that the winter breeze had made its way through into your shabby one bedroom apartment. You were quick to turn the heating on before running over to close the window you had managed to leave open. 

That should have been your first sign. 

Unfortunately, out of all Bruce Wayne’s adoptive children, you had always been the last one to catch onto things. 

It was only when you reached your bedroom did you realise something wasn’t right. Your drawers were open and were completely emptied. But you tried to not let that alarm you, carrying on with your routine as usual as you walked back into the kitchen. 

Your pistol was in the kitchen, you thought to yourself as your feet dragged you there. 

In the darkness of your front room you couldn’t see him and you were glad that you hadn’t yet turned on all the lights. You had a chance. 

You were slow in opening the drawer next to the sink, trying to make it seem as seamless as possible. 

But then you could feel him behind you and you found yourself twisting around, gun aiming for the man in front of you. 

You had never seen this man before, the outfit he was wearing too expensive to be some random thug working for someone else. 

His attire was all black, military armour, almost how you remembered the other’s suits when you had last seen them. Then there was his mask, a crimson red, attached mechanically to the rest of his suit, some sort of technology you weren’t familiar with. 

Bullets were sure to be useless against him. They’d probably end up bouncing off, doing more damage to you than him. 

“Don’t come any closer,” you sternly said, trying not to seem as scared as you were. 

You were terrified, this man literally towered over you. The way he tilted his head, mocking you as you aimed the gun directly at his head. 

“I’m warning you,” your voice was shaky, hands trembling as you clutched onto the pistol. 

“I bet you wished you had learnt a bit of self defence,” the robotic voice said, taking a step closer to you. 

“I don’t need it.” You eyed him from head to toe, hoping to see a weak point in his armour, anything to help you out. 

“You and I both know bullets aren’t going to do anything,” He took a step closer, the gun pressing against his chest. 

You were trembling, eyes brimmed with tears as you tried to hold it together. “I won’t go with you,” you spat at him. 

“You don’t have a choice,” he closed the distance between you now, gloved hands covering yours. 

“We always have a choice,” your voice croaked, a sob lodged at the back of your throat as you flipped the gun, holding it against your chest. 

“Y/N,” he demanded, hands moving against yours. 

“I won’t go,” you cried out, finger moving over the trigger. 

But it was too late, the man had swiftly aimed the gun away from you, the bullet flying into the wall. He pried the gun out of your hand then, throwing it across the room and into the darkness. 

You crumbled then, sliding against the cabinets behind you into a heap on the floor. 

“Are you crazy?” The man questioned. 

He wasn’t as close as he was before you realised and before you knew it, you found yourself scrambling for the door. 

But as your hand reached for your door, an arm wrapped around your waist while a cloth was placed over your face. You inhaled what must have been chloroform, leaving you unconscious in seconds. 

Death would have been better than this, you thought. Anything but this. 

-

You awoke wrapped in silk sheets, head fuzzy still from the drugs you had inhaled and eyes taking their time to fully open. 

It took a little while to remember what had happened, your groggy mind going over the details as you fought to lift your body from the sheets. Once the drugs wore off a bit more, you found yourself scrambling around to find some sort of light source in this dark room, knocking things over in the process. 

“There’s a switch to the right side of the bed,” a voice called out from another room. 

For a moment you froze, before your hand slid against the wall beside you, finding what you had been looking for. 

You blinked at the brightness, taking a moment to adjust before you looked around the room. It wasn’t at all how you expected. Beige walls and duvet set you were draped in to match. An oak bookshelf opposite the bed and a pair of cream bedside tables to either side of you. 

It was almost homely and it made you hesitant to move. 

“It took you a while to wake up,” the voice was back again, coming closer now. “I thought you’d wake up on the journey at least.” 

You didn’t know what to do, searching around the room for something to use as a weapon. 

“I was honestly a bit worried about you there.” 

He walked into the room still dressed head to toe in that suit of his and you were still defenceless as you sat in the middle of what you imagined was his bed.

“You haven’t been out that long. We’ve only been here ten minutes.” 

He didn’t even walk over to you, passing the bed and walking through another door to the side, out of sight. 

At the bottom of the bed was an oversized t-shirt and what looked to be a pair of your pyjama shorts laid out. 

“Are these clothes supposed to be for me?” You asked, your mind struggling to wrap around what was going on. 

“I thought you’d want to change into something a bit more comfortable when you woke up,” his voice was different when he spoke now and you were sure he had taken off his mask. 

You wanted to say you almost recognised it. 

Your fingers touched the material of the t-shirt that clearly belonged to the stranger, realising there was no harm in changing into it. You were probably feeding into some sort of sick fantasy but if it kept you safe, then you’d play into it.

“Why have you brought me here?” You asked. 

“Where did you expect I’d take you?” He retorted.

“A warehouse or something,” you replied. 

“You’ve listened to too many of Dick’s stories.” 

It hit you then, there was no denying it. You could literally feel your heart thudding in your chest as you turned the corner, reaching to where the man was standing. 

You couldn’t even look up, eyes taking in the purple and blue bruises that littered his back and rib cage. His face was ducked down towards the sink, covered by his hands as he seemed to be washing his face. 

But you didn’t need to see his face to know who it was. 

“Jay.” 

You felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs, struggling to breathe as your hand reached out to him. But then you felt yourself stumble backwards, hand clutching at your chest. 

“It can’t be,” you said to yourself, eyes closing as you pushed out the thought. 

He was dead. He wasn’t coming back. 

“No, no, no...” You repeated, gasping for air at this point. 

“Y/N,” he pleaded with you and you felt his hand grab yours as he placed it against his chest. “Open your eyes.” 

“No,” You cried. 

“It’s me, Y/N,” his tone was almost as distraught as yours. “Look at me.” 

You did. 

He shared the same dark hair and teal eyes as your Jason. The same chiselled features and sharp nose. He’d lost the roundness of his cheeks, completely dropping the baby weight his body used to hold onto. Then there were the bags underneath his beautiful eyes, showing the tiredness that time had done to him. 

But it still wasn’t fully registering as you took him in. 

“Breathe,” he demanded of you, pressing his free hand against your chest. 

You let in harsh breaths, forcing yourself to calm down as you realised it was him. 

“Breathe.” 

-

You sat on different ends of his couch, unable to stop staring at each other. 

A part of you wanted to touch him, to reassure yourself that the man across from you was Jason. While another part was still trying to register it all. 

He explained everything from that terrible night he had never returned home to you, to the Joker beating him to death, then to the lazarus pit. Then there was the time after that, unsure of who he was or where he was, wondering about different countries he couldn’t even name. His memory wasn’t all there for the first two years but it eventually came back, along with you. 

“Why didn’t you just take your mask off when you came to my apartment?” You asked, feeling more relaxed now. 

“It’s been years,” Jason reminded you. “I didn’t know how you’d react.” 

“I think it would have been better than me trying to kill myself,” you told him. 

He hummed in agreement at this. “It’s just lucky that you don’t have a boyfriend.” 

“Lucky for who?” Your voice was teasing. 

“For the potential boyfriend,” his lips turned up into a smile at this. “God knows what I would have done to him.” 

There was silence between you as you both stared at each other, unable to find the words to say. You didn’t really have anything left to say, no not really. What you really wanted to do was touch him. To feel his skin against yours until your mind became certain that he was real. 

It’s as if he knew, hand grabbing your leg to yank you towards him as he said, “Come here.” 

Then he was on top of you, arms caging you in as his head rested against yours. 

“Touch me,” he wasn’t begging you, he was commanding, a darkness laced in his tone that you had never heard before. 

“Where?” You gulped, hands fumbling beside you. 

“It’s like you’ve never touched me before,” he chuckled, into your lips. 

“Ja-” his name was lost on a kiss, the breath being stolen from your lungs as he took over your senses. 

You were eager to kiss him back, hands tugging him further down as they wrapped behind his neck. 

There was a sense of urgency between you both, your hands keeping him tied to you while his hands snaked their way under the t-shirt, hissing when he finally got to feel your bare skin. He was quick to strip it from your body, craving to see all the parts of you he had missed so dearly. 

His lips were on you in an instance, leaving a wet trail from your neck as he sucked and nibbled all the way down to your chest. He was desperate to leave his mark in shades of purple and red across your skin, finding his chest ease at the sight of you covered in him. 

He had been obsessive before but never like this. There was a guttural need to claim you now. To know that you were still his as much as he was yours. 

He hadn’t even realised how far down he got, face resting against your lower stomach. But once he realised, there was a different need he had, one that was desperate to please you. 

That was when he found himself swiftly wrapping your plush thighs around his shoulders, letting his thoughts take over. 

You weren’t sure on how you felt about this, you felt like the pair of you were going too fast. You hadn’t seen each other in five years and in a few hours of being together, you were already wrapped up in each other’s limbs. 

Those thoughts were soon buried when you felt his fingers slide against your clothed pussy, wriggling from the unexpected touch. 

“Hold still,” he growled at you. 

But you felt his words on your core, his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin of your thighs, making it harder for you to not move. 

“I fucking missed this,” he whispered, nose nudging against your clit. He couldn’t help but take a sniff before licking a long stripe across the material. 

It was amusing how squeamish you were, he couldn’t even deny how much it was feeding into his ego. Even years after him being gone you were still wrapped around his finger as much as he was wrapped around yours. 

When his fingers finally slid underneath your pyjama shorts, he almost lost it, being instantly met with your soaked lips. 

“Tell me I’m the only one that can get you wet like this,” he demanded, sliding one finger across your folds. “Tell me.” 

“You’re the only one that gets me wet like this, Jay,” you swore, looking down at him with pleading wet eyes. 

“No one better not have touched this pussy.” 

His eyes changed at the thought, growing darker, cold as he narrowed them at you. 

It almost scared you. 

“No one, Jay.” 

His face softened at that, fingers sinking into the place you needed him most. You couldn’t help it when you squirmed this time, his thick fingers stretching you out. 

He didn’t seem to care though, too focused on how your spongy walls felt around his fingers. Too busy imagining how it would feel around his cock later. 

“You’re so tight,” he commented, entranced in the way your walls squeezed him, basically pushing him out. It was all the confirmation he needed, and at the realisation, his body relaxed. Not all the way of course, not when his fingers were being soaked by your cunt.

You whined at him when his fingers slid out of your cunt, craning your neck awkwardly to try and see what he was doing. But he was swift in his movements, ripping your shorts down until you were bare before him. 

Without warning his mouth was on you, tongue dragging lazy circles into your clit, moaning at the taste of your juices. But he didn’t stop there, his fingers returning to their original position as they slipped into your walls, curling in and out of you as he turned you into a pathetic mess. 

Your mind was reeling at this, not even sure of the noises that were being torn from your throat as his fingers set a brutal pace. All you were sure about was the burning sensation at the bottom of your stomach, growing with each flick of his tongue and push of his fingers. 

He lifted himself from you, mouth detached from your cunt as he watched your form, hips bucking up to reach his face. The way he titled his head, eyebrows raising at you, told you he clearly wasn’t impressed. 

He showed you how unimpressed he was, the palm of his hands slapping against your clit. 

You squealed at the harsh touch, eyes widening at him. 

“Didn’t I tell you to stay still,” he reminded you.

“I’m sorry, Jay,” you told him, although you weren’t sure he was listening. 

His eyes continued to glare at you, nose flaring ever so slightly as if he was contemplating what he was going to do with you. Then his fingers sped up, pounding themselves inside of you as if trying to see how you would react.

But you were desperate to obey him, grounding your hips into the couch underneath you to keep yourself still. 

“Good girl,” Jason cooed, sinking back down again.

He didn’t waste any time, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking at until he could hear your words slurring together as you repeated his name. You were close, he could tell by the way your walls were sucking him in now, thighs squeezing around his head a bit tighter. 

“I forgot how good you taste,” he slurped, breathing harshly through his nose.

You think it was his words that sent you over the edge, the sound of his hoarse voice as he lapped at your pussy. You couldn’t even help but tug on his hair when you finally came, your other hand clawing at the couch underneath you. 

You were shaking from the orgasm he was giving you, your whole body feeling the spasms of pleasure he was pushing you through. When it finally washed over you, your moaning turns into sobs and you can’t help but struggle for breath again. 

Jason was there though, lips pressing against your cheeks and your eyes, hands rubbing up and down your sides as he made you feel safe. 

“I’m here,” His voice is reassuring in your ear. 

Your eyes flutter open to see his face, chest easing at the sight as you deeply inhale. 

“I made a promise, didn’t I?” He asked, reminding you of all those years ago. 

You nodded. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he swore once again. 

“I need you,” you pleaded with him, hands moving on their own accord as they trailed down his chest. “Really need you, Jay.” 

He stopped your hands once they reached his belly button, not giving you the chance to touch him as he shook his head. 

You pouted your lips at him. “I want to help you, Jay.” 

“Later,” he told you, his hand slipping in his boxers. “I need to be inside you.” 

All you could was watch him, eyes wide as you waited for him to release himself from his boxers. You hadn’t forgotten what he looked like but the sight of his cock still took you by surprise when it was out in the open. 

You swore he was thicker than you remembered, maybe slightly longer too. He looked painfully hard as he stroked himself, veins popping out along his length and a thick string of pre cum leaking from the tip. 

When he finally reached between your thighs, lining himself up with your entrance, you were more than ready for him. It was clear in your shaky breaths as his tip slid across your folds and the way your legs quivered when his tip finally nudged against your entrance. 

Jason’s resolve was crumbling more than yours, he knew it was but he was just better at hiding it. But there was no hiding the hiss that left his lips when he finally entered your walls, fighting against the resistance from how tight you were, forcing himself in. He knew it must be painful for you especially when he noticed you were grinding on your teeth to keep it in. 

“It’s okay,” you told him, hand cupping his cheek before wrapping behind his neck to pull him down. “I’m okay.” 

You both laid like that for a while, his body hovering over yours as you relaxed your body to get used to him. He rocked his hips back and forth a few times, slowly testing the waters and keeping his focus solely on your face to keep some sort of self control. It wasn’t till you were nodding, wrapping your legs around him, did he finally take it further. 

Years may have passed since you had been like this with each other but your bodies clearly hadn’t forgotten. 

Jason showed you that as his hands wandered and his hips picked up their pace. Instantly they found a home on your chest, squeezing your breasts as they bounced.

Jason found himself entranced with the sight, ducking his head downwards to wrap his lips around one of your nipples. While his mouth sucked against one, tongue licking over the sensitive bud, his fingers teased the other, pinching it gently. 

It was muscle memory to Jason and you felt like he was playing you like an instrument, sharply gasping for air at the sensation. You wanted to tell him how good he was making you feel but you weren’t even sure where to begin as the words became scrambled in your mind. 

You were sure he knew when he lifted himself from your chest, resting his head against yours and giving you the softest of kisses. 

Your walls were finally greedily sucking him in, clinging to him like your life depended on it. You could tell it was affecting him as much as it was affecting you, clenching his jaw after he delivered a particularly harsh thrust. 

A certain look came across his face after this, one you had seen before but it was different. His eyes were darker when they looked at you, the pupils completely blown out and there was no amusement laced on his face as his hand dove between your thighs. 

You mewled when you felt his forefinger against your clit, hand grasping at his arm at the suddenness of it. It was shock that took over you as you tried to push him away, eventually settling for grasping onto his arm as he quickened his pace. 

It was too much, his cock bullying your cunt, making you feel fuller than you ever have before. Then his hands nestled in between you, fingers working on your bundle of nerves as if it was some sort of toy to him. You let out a noise that is unholy, feeling yourself teetering towards that edge again. 

But you couldn’t help but try and wriggle free, tears soaking your cheeks at how overstimulated you were feeling. 

It clearly didn’t go unnoticed by Jason and with one hand he’s bruising your hips, holding you in place so he can keep going. 

“Nuh-uh,” he tutted, fingers digging into your side to get your attention. “Don’t you dare fucking move. Understand?” 

You nodded only to whimper pathetically seconds later as you felt your whole body tensing underneath him. 

Jason knew what was happening and on queue he slid out of you, letting his hands do all the work. With each harsh rub of his fingers on your clit, you were gushing onto the couch and squirting over his stomach. 

He was mesmerised by it but most of all he was mesmerised by your fucked out expression. Eyes sinking into the back of your skull, mouth strung open as you screamed his name. Only his name. 

Then he was shoving himself in your walls again, not even giving you a second to recover from your high. Only groaning at the feel of your wet spongy walls enveloping his cock, dripping down onto his balls as they smacked against your skin. 

His body was pressed against yours again, the weight of him holding you down so his free hand could move cup the side of your face. You could feel the wetness on his hands as his thumb flicked against your lips.

“Eyes on me,” his voice was low and sultry as it reached your ears, a deep grumble at the back of his throat threatening to spill. 

You listened, gazing up at him through the thick tears that spilled from your eyes. 

“Good girl,” his toothy grin poked out, rubbing his hand against your cheek in a soothing way. “You’re doing so good for me. Being such a good girl for me.” 

You hummed in appreciation, looking up at him with pure desperation. 

You didn’t care that your body was spent, tired from the way he was thrusting in and out of his walls. Or even the fact that he was basically using your body at this point, enjoying the way you were writhing beneath him. 

You wanted anything he could give you, you wanted all of it. Even if you left you completely numb at the end of the night. 

“I love you,” your voice was barely above a whisper and you were unsure if Jason even heard you. 

“What did you say?” He questioned, eyes widening and eyebrows raised. 

“I-Fuck,” you struggled, finger nails digging into the skin of his bicep as you tried to ground yourself. “I-I love you.” 

“Say it again,” he panted, eyes softening suddenly. His pace was still harsh, hips only rutting faster at the confession. 

“I love you,” you told him again. “I love you.” 

It was all he needed, mind completely reeling as he came inside your walls. He was a mess, riding out his high until he was completely empty. Once he was done, he didn’t even bother to move, keeping himself buried inside your walls.

You couldn’t help but admire him as collapsed on top of you, trying to regain his composure as his head dropped to your chest. He looked beautiful, a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin, chest heaving up and down. 

Your limbs are tangled, unable to move as you both try to regain your breath. But then he’s lifting his head up to get a better look at you. 

“I don’t remember it ever being like that,”  he confessed, fingers tickling your sides. “Do you?” 

“We were teenagers,” you told him, fingers coming up to graze his head. “We also hadn’t been separated for five years.” 

“Is it bad that I want to do it all over again?” He asked, head lifting from your chest as he captured your lips in a bruising kiss. 

Your hands pushed against his chest, giving you space to breathe. “I think that Lazarus pit has given you more strength than I can handle.” 

He’s grinning against, this one’s almost child-like, reminding you of how he used to be. “I’ll let you rest for a bit before we go again.” 

“That sounds perfect, Jay.” 

You kissed him again, something that was only meant to be as a peck but instantly turned into something hot and heavy as he nibbled at your bottom lip.

It was you that had to pull away, lips curving up into a knowing smile. 

“This is going to be harder than I thought,” Jason groaned, finally lifting himself up, letting you see exactly what he was talking about.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd smut #dc x reader #dc x you #dc smut #dc jason todd #red hood smut #red hood x reader

[the-guilty-writer]

Can't Lose Her Too

Request from anon: Hotch x daughter reader when her depression is really bad  and she barely eats and sleeps all the time and doesnt want to see anyone or do anything??

Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

Summary: When your depression hits, your father’s ghosts come back to him.

A/N: Did I intend for this to be Taylor Swift related? No. Did it happen that way? Yes. Yes it did.

CW: reader has depression, mentions of reduced food intake, mentions of Haley and Foyet, lots of sad Hotch

---

When my depression works the graveyard shift All of the people I’ve ghosted stand there in the room - Taylor Swift, Anti-Hero

---

Aaron got home early for once- around 7 o’clock instead of the usual 9 to midnight. In addition to that, it was a Friday and Strauss had a different team on call that weekend, which meant no interruptions, no emergency cases, and more time with his kids.

He unlocked the door, stepped into the house, and was immediately greeted by Jack’s arms around his legs, throwing his balance for a second.

“Hey, buddy.” He smiled and ruffled his son’s hair.

“Hi, daddy.” Jack beamed up at him, his small arms still wrapped around his father’s legs. Aaron put down his briefcase by the door and picked the boy up- Jack was already 5 years old, but Aaron would carry him as long as he could, not wanting to miss more of his son's childhood than he already had.

“You’re home early,” Jessica said as she walked into the living area from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he told her. “The team got lucky and we didn’t have as much work this week so I let everyone go home.” He put Jack down and the young boy ran off to resume playing with his toys.

“Well, everyone’s homework for the weekend is done. Jack already ate dinner and there’s some leftover in the fridge for you and (Y/N),” Jessica said.

Hotch furrowed his brow. “Still?”

Jessica sighed and looked down. “Still.”

When Haley died, one of the first things Aaron did was put you and Jack in counseling- better to do damage control now than to face the consequences years later- but it seemed, to no one's fault, that you were going to need more than that. The event with Foyet had left you traumatized, but you’d worked through it well. Even the loss of your mother wasn’t the cause of the lows you experienced.

Aaron knew better than anybody else that there were things about the brain that were unexplainable in origin and uncontrollable to the being it belonged to; he only wished you hadn’t been an unlucky victim of the chemical warfare of the mind. You’d already been a victim of too much already.

“Thanks again for watching them,” he said.

Jessica shook her head. “We’re family. It’s what we do.” She said goodbye to Jack and grabbed her coat before heading out the door.

“Daddy!” Jack called. “Can you come play?”

“A little later, buddy.” Aaron had made his way to the kitchen, heating up leftover dinner for you and himself. “I’m going to check on your sister.”

“Can I come too?” Jack asked.

Hotch hesitated. You were prone to irritability, especially when your depression became exceptionally overwhelming. Of course, you’d never purposefully say anything mean to your brother, but it was better that the only people in your room- your personal space- were you and the adults you trusted.

“Well,” he said, “it's almost your bedtime. So why don’t you get ready for bed and after I talk to (Y/N) we can read a story.”

“Even a comic book?”

“Even a comic book.”

Jack dashed upstairs without another word. Aaron plated the food for you and him, carefully carrying it up the stairs and knocking on your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart,” he called softly- it was the nickname he had been calling you since you were a child, just as he had always used “buddy” for Jack. “Can I come in?”

There was a murmured “Sure” that came through the door. When Aaron stepped through, he wasn’t surprised to find that the lights were off and you were wiping sleep away from your eyes.

“Hey,” he closed the door behind him and turned the lights on as dim as they could go. “You take a nap?”

“Yeah,” you said sleepily.

“I figured we could eat dinner together.” He sat on the edge of the bed and handed you a plate, though he wasn’t sure if you would actually eat it or just cut it into pieces and push it around with your fork.

“What time is it?” You asked.

“7:30,” he said. He began to eat his dinner, watching passively to see if you would too. “Jack is getting ready for bed.”

You nodded and took a small bite of food- a baby step forward. The rest of the meal was eaten slow and silent, but your dad didn't mind. Any time he got to spend with you was precious, especially since you didn't want to do much these days. Any time you ate something, anything, offered to you it brought him relief.

You finished about a fourth of your meal. Your dad knew better than to question if you wanted more- instead he just put your plate on top of his empty one.

“You want to do anything once Jack goes to sleep?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I’m tired.”

“Okay.” He placed a kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

“Love you too,” you mumbled and tucked yourself back under the covers.

He left your room, quietly closing the door behind him. He put the plates by the staircase so he wouldn’t forget to take them down before he went to bed and then walked to Jack’s room. The door was wide open, the little boy already wearing his favorite set of fire truck pajamas and tucked under the covers. Aaron expected him to be holding a comic book- one of the new ones with Captain America on it- but instead he was holding Haley’s candle.

“No comic book?” he asked.

Jack shook his head. “No. I thought we could talk to mommy instead.”

Aaron smiled just a little and nodded. He knelt next to Jack and lit the candle for him. The reflection of the flame danced in his dilated pupil as he silently thought of his mom and then he blew it out.

“All done,” Jack said.

Aaron placed the candle on the nightstand and gave Jack a kiss on the forehead, just as he had done for you. “Goodnight, buddy. I love you.”

“I love you too, daddy,” Jack said, settling under the blankets.

Aaron walked to the door and flipped off the lights. He was about to leave when he heard Jack’s voice again.

“I asked mommy if she could grant me a wish,” he said.

“Oh?” Jack didn’t usually tell your dad what he ‘talked’ to his mom about, which was something he was okay with. His children’s relationship with their mother was sacred and personal- something they should only have to share with others if they wanted to. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, his head peeking out from under the blankets. “I asked her to help (Y/N) get better.”

A sad smile warped Aaron’s features. “That’s a nice thing to ask for.”

“Yeah,” Jack hummed sleepily. “Goodnight, daddy.”

“Goodnight, buddy.”

Aaron closed the door and went back downstairs. The silence in the house was deafening- there should have been a movie on, or the clicking of a keyboard, or even soft music playing from your phone. But you were upstairs asleep, not wanting to do anything or be with anyone. He could have taken the time to enjoy the quiet, but he couldn’t. He tried to read, or get ahead on paperwork, or even clean (though the house didn’t need it), but he couldn’t be happy about the silence that was a result of your loss of joy.

He went to bed early, following his normal night routine until he got into bed and rolled over onto his side.

Haley’s candle was on the nightstand.

He sat up, taking a deep breath before gently reaching for the candle and lighting it. A tear fell from his eye as he watched the flame burn in front of him- a reminder of everything he had lost.

Honey, he thought. If you hear this, please help her. I’ve already lost you… I can’t lose her too.

I really can’t lose her too.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x daughter!reader #aaron hotchner x child!reader #hotch x daughter!reader #hotch x child!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x platonic!reader #criminal minds x teen!reader #criminal minds x daughter!reader #criminal minds x child!reader

[felassan]

remember that wild Dragon Age theme park ride (Dragon Age: Flight of the Wardens), originally located in Dubai until it randomly turned up years later (now also oddly-rebranded as "[Not Dragon Age We Swears It]: The Guardian") in, of all places, Skegness England? well, I had to satisfy my curiosity and obsession with obscure pieces of Dragon Age media & archival thereof. and so - actually quite some time ago now - I finally got around to going on a pilgrimage there (which was this whole, like.. heinous harrowing in and of itself, that I will not go into), and I rode it

and to my surprise the original Dragon Age in-ride movie is still part of the ride experience! - complete with references to darkspawn, a Pride demon, dragons, green "rifts", Discount Anders (a Grey Warden[?] mage called 'Eldron'), Discount Yavanna (a Witch of the Wilds called 'Alexia') and Dragon Age: Inquisition soundtrack music. there is also now a new pre-ride movie which replaces the old Dragon Age pre-ride movie as part of the ride's rebranding, and i simply ?¿?

there are also still quite a lot of identifiable Dragon Age props in the fantasy-themed queue-area of the ride (so these must have been part of the whole purchase between parks), including multiple iconic Inquisitor helmets, Grey Warden shields, a Dragon Age dragon (now with DA-dragon identifiable horns.. sawn off??), and several Dragon Age banners, including the Inquisition hairy eyeball, the templar symbol and the Circle symbol. here's some pictures.

[^this image is taken from the video linked below]

I also captured the new pre-ride movie, and you can see it along with the Dragon Age in-ride movie here ⬇️. and so now, with this epilogue to the.. most odyssey of all time, more than two years after the first message about the ride was ever sent to Ghil Dirthalen, this adventure in obscurity and the strange fever-dream meta story of the Dragon Age: Flight of the Wardens era in Dragon Age history is finally complete.

Ghil Dirthalen: The Guardian??? {Overview. - Spoilers All}

[video source & link: Ghil Dirthalen, posted here w/ permission]

some further notes, thoughts and commentary under the cut -

there's a few seconds missing from this capture of the in-ride movie. for the sake of the curious and completion: in them, you're still in the fort and you see lots of 'Wardens' walking and milling around.

a camera in the ride takes two photos of the riders during the ride, which are displayed on a screen on the way out. you can choose to buy these from the Fantasy Island merchandise store. you know those photos of people on log flume rides? it's like those, only of the four riders in a row in the seats. the photos have Fantasy Island branding on them and fire along the bottom, then in two corners there's a bit of a dragon's head and that's about it. the ride photo is the only Guardian-specific merch available at the park.

some of the queue area props appear to be from random other places. like there was a barrel which had something like "1850 distillery" written on it, which is obviously temporally/thematically and universe-ly out of place (not that that's at all unreasonable given the rest of the rideworld lore, there's totally a way it could have gotten there easily hh, see below), and I guess it's a spare or leftover prop from a Western-themed ride or something? others were generic sword'n'sorcery fantasy props (some of these are from the ride's previous life in Dubai though). there are also some pretty random props, like a dead stuffed roe deer's head on the wall and a.. comically large spoon.

there's music playing in the queue area, but it's not DA music, it's generic ye olde fantasy world music.

some folks there mistakenly thought that the long themed lead-up (it was pretty darn long) queue area with the props was the entrance to or start of something completely different, like a haunted house or maze type thing, or was the ride 'experience' in and of itself.

the ride attendant gives you the option of watching the new pre-ride movie or not. I guess they get sick of putting it on and listening to it 9000 times a day (valid), and also cutting it out reduces queue times as it's about five minutes long. it's screened in a little enclosed room at the end of the queue area. you go in and sit down, they show it to you, then you go through another door to the chair machine.

the in-ride movie is blurry and poor quality. I heard someone else who rode it say that it was so blurry that they had no idea what was going on hhh

Now about the new pre-ride movie. in the linked video, the start of the new pre-ride movie isn't included in full at normal speed as it seemed to be a compilation of whatever random fantasy-themed stock footage the video creator could find, stitched together. but again for the curious and the sake of completion: it starts out panning randomly around SPACE, like at the solar system and of planets and at the Milky Way. for a sec I wondered if it was made up of random old Mass Effect assets. then it shows dragons (FROM SPACE) invading an Earth-like planet where I suppose the Ferelden-y kindgom (formerly called "Noathen", now called "Elvia" or something) setting in the rideworld is now supposed to be set. these invading dragons invade either from space or.. another dimension?? or maybe from the future or both?? [see below], entering through a big green rift. (and they still have the green coloring for the rifts and call it/them "rifts" like in DA, which was honestly so funny to me for some reason). the whole panning in from space start to the movie reminded me a lot of the Easter eggs in the DA and ME games that, while they're just Easter eggs for fun and I don't subscribe to this theory myself (as DA is its own great, self-contained thing), could light-heartedly imply that the planet with Thedas on it is a planet in the MEverse (like the krogan head in the Winter Palace in DAI or the ogre in that ME dlc).

in the pre-ride movie, the kingdom of "Elvia" might have actually been called "Albion", which is the earliest-known name for the island of Britain. (it was hard to make out exactly what the king was saying there) the new pre-ride movie seems like it was made in England and ofc thats a common fantasy setting, so I could see it, especially since the king character's name was something like Aethylswyth, which sounded very "Old English". for me personally, if it was "Albion", it adds fuel to the fire of Caitie's cracktheory/"trying to make this fit"-headcanon for the ride story/lore (see Caitie's original video on the ride's previous life for this), that it's set somewhere obscure and backwatery in Ferelden, which is kinda England- or Britain-inspired. (dont take these thoughts or other thoughts in this post about the lore/canon etc too srsly pls hh, it's just crack for fun and I know tis just an off-brand themepark ride)

on the whole the new pre-ride movie is pretty random. there's a giant in it, but it doesn't look like a DAI giant. (is it his big spoon??) it shows a fortress in part of it which looks a bit like Skyhold if you squint, with the long bridge approaching it as the entrance. at one point one of the dragons that pops up is a dragon designed more in the style of a dragon as they are sometimes depicted in, for example, Chinese mythology and folklore. the "communication device" the king described had me rolling, it's exactly like a Dragon Age Skype Crystal or a working set of eluvians from Thedas.. I wondered if the video creator was inspired some by DAI promo images and took cues from the Inquisitor's green hand/the Anchor, since the king has a green glowing thing on (or in?) his chest. and when the king started listing the elements humans are made of, I was reminded of Fullmetal Alchemist.

also, "through a time rift".. I mean technically Dorian's involvement in DAI DOES show green space-time magic right? Where is this other dimension? ofc I know it's not literally Dragon Age, but it's funny to think about and to try and make it "fit" skhskdhfjhe. is it the Fade? the Void? from somewhere in-between like Tevinter Nights implies exists? or is it the dimension which has Thedas's mundane world itself in it - like maybe the dragons are invading this poor guy's kingdom dimension from Thedas? if so what tf is going on in Thedas?? did Solas' explosion at the Conclave ripple through spacetime and rip holes in the fabrics of other worlds as well - like is Solas out here accidentally causing interdimensional Space Dragon invasions? like, theoretically.. the new pre-ride move does reference the in-ride movie, and in turn the in-ride movie is still Dragon Age (!), so technically the new pre-ride movie IS.. kind of.. weirdly.. canon.

((the pre-ride movie references an "outerworld", implying that even in THAT dimension there's an outer world and an inner world, definitely more than one at least. and back on the dimensions thing, I'm not clear - are the dragons coming from Thedas dimension? or are they coming to Thedas dimension? "they came through the rift, human in form but with powers, the ability to fly [that's Eldron] and the ability to transform into dragon-like creatures [that's Alexia]" implies that the dimension on the other side of the rift - if the helpers came through the same rift as the invading dragons - is Thedas, because that's Eldron and Alexia from the Dragon Age in-ride movie being referred to, and Noathen where they're from is in Thedas somewhere. so some Thedosians have travelled to another world to save it?? Dragons are escaping out of Thedas? but.. from space? but also - the narration is telling us that Eldron and Alexia and the other Guardians brought with them from where they came from, as a gift, incredible advanced technology that the people of Elvia have never seen before. he then gives the example of "this communication device" which could be read meta-ly as meaning the television screen, and of plans to build a machine made of metal and advanced technology (meaning the ride machine you go sit on, which is a themepark machine irl obviously and in the 'world' of the ride, some kind of flying machine). so like.. are Eldron and Alexia from Future Thedas (think Avatar Aang/Korra, when by Korra's time there's like lots more machinery and a more modern feel), a Thedas which has advanced complex machines like idk, AEROPLANES? is that what they mean by "time-rift"? because they specifically did say "time". is that to try and explain the modern machinery? does that mean the invading dragons also came from the future, not just from space or another dimension? the other option: Eldron and Alexia came from alternate universe Thedas, which has more modern technology in it. but Thedosians Time-Travelling From The Future And Also Space And Another Dimension is so funny to me so lets go with that. my headcanon is that on the way to Elvia they also timetravelled through a Westernthemed time period and thats why theres a recent-modern period whisky barrel)).

in the ride's previous life, the explanatory hook was that Eldron made you a special harness or saddle thing with which to ride a dragon, which was what the ride machine was simulating. however now, the hook to explain the machine is that it's a gift of advanced technology powered by carbon, hydrogen, organic matter (Big Oil lmao?) etc. (I enjoyed that this explanatory hook got wackier between eras of the ride's life, much like the whole meta story of this piece of media itself. it was already weird because riding dragons isn't really part of DA. though I don't understand meta-ly speaking this convoluted explanation for the machine. dragon-riding isn't an identifiable or key part of the Dragon Age franchise, so they could have kept the idea that you're sitting on a dragon's back and flying around on that in instead of having this wacky explanation about a flying machine gifted from magical strangers from Back To The Future and it would have been fine. I love it though bc its so absurd)

And Tiny Dragon Alexia from the original ride experience is kinda referenced (unintentionally?) when the king introduces the dragon "Guardian" "Mia", as when she comes on-screen her size or scaling looks small/kinda off, so maybe Tiny Dragon lives on. so now we have Tiny Dragon Alexia, Tiny Dragon Mia, and Tiny Dragon queue prop. it's a Tiny Dragon Conference.

and like I just have so many questions. in her original video on the ride, Ghil Dirthalen wondered at length where in Ferelden/Thedas Noathen could be. where is Elvia? why does the pov of the pre-ride movie proceed downstairs into the room where the king is - like why does the king have his throne in a basement? is he in an underground bunker for safety because of the Space Dragon invasion? why does he say we "climbed" up when we have just gone down into his dungeon? why is the tiny dragon introduced as "Mia" when the tiny dragon witch lady in the in-ride movie is called "Alexia"? does the king's green glowing chest thing work like the Anchor - does he have a chest Anchor.. a Chanchor? where did they get Discount Gandalf from the queue area and why is he exactly like the Ghil Dirthalen Stock Theatre Wizards in her original video? why did they change the kingdom's name from "Noathen" to "Elvia" in the pre-ride movie when "Noathen" was already non-existent in Dragon Age lore? why did they scrub Dragon Age from or avoid Dragon Age in the pre-ride movie but leave the whole Dragon Age in-ride movie intact? are the "Guardians" Discount Grey Wardens? is the king's whole schpeel secretly an evil plot so he that can use our bodies for like necromancy-alchemy? why does the ride run on your flesh and are we about to be sacrificed in a blood magic ritual? do we end up like the husks in Mass Effect after our organic forms are broken down into compounds to fuel the King of Elvia's flying anti-dragon defense tank? is the actor of the king a park staffer who is into larping, or someone's fun nerd uncle who likes DnD? does Caitie not in fact agree that I am very handsome and smart, indeed the World's Most Interesting Guy? 😤 why go to the trouble of sawing off the dragon's DA-dragon horns when the in-ride movie is still Dragon Age?? why are the dragons invading from space anyway like what do they want??? how can I obtain the king actor guy's autograph? where are EA's lawyers? and why is there a giant spoon?

#dragon age #Not Dragon Age We Swears It #bioware #solas #video games #lul #long post #longpost #gpoy #mj and the world #saveserault #mass effect #(shoutout to the DA Archivists) #thanku to ghil for her vids and for permission to post this video here #this whole episode in my life and in the DA fandom feels like a strange shared fever dream. was that real? am i? is Skegness? is DA4? r WE? #lmaoo #skegness the swampy ass crack of england #Fantasy Island - where dreams go to die (but fever dreams live on) #(cant believe one of the pretend Wardens from Ghil Dirthalen's Eldron's fake Warden cult was literally there irl at Fantasy Island. im ded) #and if u are reading this thinking wat the heck fel r u ok its just a rebranded themepark ride like calm down its not That Deep #i grasp ur collar and raise you that #in the time between dai and DA:D i have fully lost my mind #what dragon age does to a guy #while we wait for dragon age 4 this is the plot of dragon age 4 #on my knees constructing elaborate headcanons about and trying to make sense of a Not dragon age theme park ride #surrealism.txt

[biblio-smia]

sharing a kiss on their birthday + Mike Schmidt (thanks so much and congrats!)

thank you!! | part of v’s 800 follower celebration!

mike's birthdays have been small for a while. even as a child, he preferred to spend the day with his family rather than have a large birthday party with other kids. that had always been enough for him then, and it was enough for him now.

abby always liked to surprise him on his birthdays. usually, it was a special drawing, or a regifted piece of clothing she'd stolen from mike earlier in the year in leftover wrapping paper from the holidays. but each year, mike showed his appreciation with a big hug and a special dinner for just the two of them. and with that, he was happy.

but, this year, you had different plans.

it began small; you called mike as soon as it struck twelve to wish him a happy birthday. you would've felt remorse if you weren't familiar with mike's schedule - he was up at that hour, anyway.

mike had been shocked once he realized you had only called to wish him a happy birthday and not about anything important. he let out a dazed thank you, bemused at the pride mike heard in your voice once he confirmed that, yes, you had been the first to wish him a happy birthday.

mike had tucked himself into bed a little while later, partially confused about the level of concern you had for something as simple as wishing mike a happy birthday. mike racks his brain - perhaps you never celebrated your birthday how you wanted to as a child - but he dozes off before he can come to a reasonable conclusion.

mike doesn't realize that it is, in fact, not about you but entirely about him. while he prefers a quiet celebration, you're still going to find little ways to show mike the depth of the care you hold for him.

like with his birthday cake, for example.

a few candles stand comically tall along the rim of the cookie cake you've bought. mike isn't much of a cake guy, finding most frostings that decorate store-bought cakes to be too sweet. the prefers a giant cookie, especially appreciating the warmed-up leftovers it yields.

mike wears a tall party hat that has been designated for him by abby, a silver a gold cone with a string that's begun to leave a painful indentation around where it squeezes mike's head. he thinks of a wish when you instruct him to do so, holding onto it tightly before blowing an inaudible mouthing of it onto his candles. mike shoulders the task of pulling out the candles, careful of the hot wax beginning to drip down the sides. he doesn't remember the last time someone has bought him a cake and doesn't recall ever having one he's felt like was bought for him - usually, his birthday cakes were picked out with the tastes of others in mind. mike hasn't minded the decision to let abby have most of his cake for the past few years but finds the feeling in his chest when he takes a piece of the giant cookie to be warm and sweet.

but there's really no sweetness like the one in your eyes when you look at mike. it satisfies mike more than any cake could, the love in your eyes never dipping even as afternoon becomes night and plates are cleaned up. mike expects to catch you looking disengaged or at least tired - but the care your soft gaze holds for him has not stuttered for hours.

mike understands the unwavering attention that comes with birthdays to stay in the confines of a few-hour intervals of celebration. previously palatable for him, mike can't wrap his head around the attention that you've given him practically all day.

he suddenly worries he hasn't been all that receptive to it, now that abby has gone to bed and it's just you and him. mike recalls every little thing you've done for him today, everything that had made him feel special - and he still feels like he's missing some.

mike's not sure what to do now, feeling like a simple thank you isn't enough. knowing you, you'd probably smile if that was what he gave you but mike didn't think it was enough.

so he pulls you in now, a little awkwardly. mike, so deep in his thoughts, had not realized you’d been in the middle of saying something. your train of thought has been interrupted and your words falter, expectant eyes boring into mike as he holds you near him.

your arms automatically wrap around him like an instinct and you wait - patiently. you know mike to be poor with his words and can recognize when they fail him; it is especially telling when he stares at you with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape.

“i just… wanted to tell you…”

“mhmm?” you encourage gently.

mike stutters a few beginnings of words but isn’t quite able to string them together. your hands squeeze his shoulders but mike sighs in defeat. he manages to look up at you, though, pulling you in for a kiss.

communication is key. but when words fail, sometimes substitutes are necessary. mike tries, now, to convey how grateful he is for today, to apologize for how strange he can become when someone shows him love.

when mike pulls away he’s not sure he’s managed to say everything he wanted to say - some things simply can’t replace the sincerity of words. but you kiss mike again, quickly, not giving him the chance to reciprocate the love you give so freely - instead, you force mike to take it.

it’s strange to mike, something he is still unable to accept. there’s something in him that tells him to give more than he takes, though he can’t help but feel the strong contradiction you bring with you.

it’ll send mike into a frenzy if he allows it. so he doesn’t - at least not tonight. he lets you pull him into your shoulder and ask him about his day as if you didn’t spend most of it with him.

mike desperately wants, more than anything, to get used to this. though, with time, he thinks his wish will come true.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fanfiction #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x you #fnaf x reader #fnaf movie #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #v + mike #v writes #v's 800 follower celebration

[gerbiefarted]

REINA APPRECIATION POST RAAAAUUGGHHHH I LOVE FAT WOMEN I LOVE FAT WOMEN

SHES SO SILLY MY BELOVED BEAST WITH HUGE FAT BOOBIES

#my ocs #my ocs are my babies #oc #oc art #ocs #original art #original comic #original comics #comics #horror comics #ivan from leftover #comic called leftover #web comic #comic art #oc comic #oc comics #webcomic #webcomix #original character #oc illustration #oc interaction #schrödinger #cigarette #manliness #genderqueer #genderfluid #gender fuckery #genderfuck #lgbt comic #lgbt comics

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Man-Sized

9/9 Peace in a Lifetime of War

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

He didn't call, didn't text, didn't explain himself.

She wrote dozens of texts, mostly with one sentence, Where'd you go?, Could we talk this through?, I'm sorry, would you please come back, but never sent them.

But she was also being ripped apart by the feeling that this simply couldn't be happening. It couldn't end like this. There was something real here. There had to be.

Pride got in the way. He didn't deserve her begging after leaving her like that without even an explanation as to why. He cared about his job more than her, and she would no longer beg for leftovers. She would not be the girl he could come and fuck in the dark when he had the time for it.

Let's make this work.

That's the sentence she wrote the most, to reverse the last words she had said. A nervous voice inside her told her that she had driven him away. That Simon was somewhere out there thinking she didn't want him in her life. After all, she had shouted that he should go and do his job… Practically, get out of her life.

But how could a few words spoken in anger drive him away? How could he just cut her off after everything? Player or not, she had thought him a better man than this.

He still had the key. He hadn't left it on the table or mailed it to her. He might still walk through that door when she least expected it.

But days turned into weeks, and somewhere in her heart, she knew a decision had been made. Simon never half-assed anything. If he had left, he had left. End of fucking story.

After three weeks, she threw away the shower gel. It reminded her of the time she had come from the shower to a dark room filled with him. When she had teased him, and he had sent her to heaven, when they had confessed their love to each other. It stared at her from the bin until she went and took out the trash with not much else but that single men's shower gel bottle in it.

He had left one of his hoodies in her apartment, and she almost threw it into the bin too. Then she crawled inside it like a child who had lost her parents.

It smelled of him, and it was so big that half of her disappeared inside it, and she felt warm, and safe, and devastated. That hoodie and her bedroom walls twisted the knife by whispering the words Marry me, laced with an echo of his laughter. Every day she decided to throw it away and start a new life, and every night she curled inside it to cry herself to sleep.

Bolognese was ruined for her. Motörhead was ruined, bourbon was ruined; the smell of tobacco brought tears to her eyes. She walked past springtime tulips like they carried the plague itself. Even Dürer was ruined.

How could a heartless, cocky 21st-century soldier ruin the genius of a Renaissance master?

Luckily, she hadn't told anyone who she had been dating for months now. She had never asked Simon to meet her parents. She hadn't even told them she was seeing someone… Her mother had made a remark on how nice it was to see her happy when she was visiting on holidays, and she had told her she had gotten good grades this semester. In her heart, she had perhaps always known that things with Simon wouldn't last. It all seemed like a dream. A beautiful, heated, fucked up pipe dream.

It was like the very oxygen from her life was gone. She didn't have the will to masturbate; the toy she had only reminded her of the embarrassing incident where she had forgotten it on the bedside table, and he had seen it and made her blush with a laugh and a comment; "That's the competition?" Such a small, pink thing compared to Simon, and even that reminded her of him.

Her workplace was a smoking rubble after a war. The pole choreographies had the atmosphere of Swan Lake rather than anything sultry and sexy — she flicked the pole to spin mode more often, started to do leg hangs and suicide spins and unicorn splits and chose music with lyrics about betrayal and other heartbroken, forlorn wailing.

Her gaze swept the audience before she grabbed the pole. Just in case. There were hungry eyes, but none belonged to the man with a winter-over stare, sleeve tattoo, and voice burnt from scotch, smoking, and sleepless nights.

The room spun, and her heart hurt, and she wondered if Simon had found another sweet girl or if he was bleeding in the blur too. Perhaps he was taking his pleasure with the women on his team, no strings attached. Fucking those tough army girls who were everything she was not. Making them moan with slow, heavy torture.

She wanted him to hurt. And then again, she did not. She wanted him to be safe, and for the first time in her life, she prayed even though she had never believed in God.

That forgotten oversized hoodie was her temple, and she wasn't sure who she was even praying to before falling asleep inside that black cotton. But she asked for Simon to stay safe, to not do anything stupid. She even prayed for his happiness, but then the prayers turned more selfish, and she asked that he would come back to her.

Just come back to her.

Her prayers were answered sooner than she would've thought. It was a frightening invocation, because when she finally caught him as a black, massive shadow against the darkness of the club, it was clear that he was in an even worse shape than she was.

He was still big, still menacing, a powerhouse of a man, but she saw that he had lost weight, the shade under his eyes was even darker than when they had first met. He was looking at her dance like he was attending a funeral: there was no smile, no hunger, only suffering in his eyes that followed her from inside a black hood.

She wanted to jump from the stage in the middle of her show, climb onto his lap, cry all the tears still uncried, although she had done nothing but bawled every night since he had left. Sweat made the pole slick, and she closed her eyes as she spun, hoping to be somewhere else entirely so he wouldn't see the hurt in her eyes. But the lights were pointing at the stage, and her face must've been a pale mask of fear and longing, and the dance turned into the ending act of her own personal Swan Lake.

It had been almost a month, and he barged back into her life like he would barge through a door into a room full of prisoners. The game was on again, and he was the fucking worst, and the relief and longing turned into red, blazing rage.

How dare he show up here? Still without warning, without a single message, when he knew how much it meant to her. Especially after what had gone down.

When she was done, she didn't go to him; she left the stage before the applause had even died, rushed to get her things, and stormed out the back door, half fearing that she would bump into him. He wasn't there, but when she walked past the entrance to get home, there was a man smoking outside. She wouldn't shed a look his way but knew from the aura of darkness and hellfire and silent leadership that it was him. There was no sound of footsteps, but she knew he was walking behind her, could almost smell the smoke, could feel his stare on her back as she rushed down the street like she was being hunted by a ravager.

And hadn't he, in a way, promised to haunt her, dead or alive?

She cried the whole way home while being followed by his ghost – silent tears of anger and relief and sorrow, jaw trembling and hiccups tickling her throat.

When she reached her apartment, she opened the door as quickly as possible, then slammed it shut behind her.

Would he use the key and force himself in? Would he take the closed door as a sign not to trespass? She almost went to open it to let him know that this area was actually a No Man's Land, not a threshold to her personal space, much less a fortress he needed to conquer.

But he had decided to pursue her, and a clear-cut knock sent her heart up her throat.

She had a choice not to open that door. Return to her old life without this fuckery. He wouldn't use the key she had given him, he was gentleman enough not to. Or perhaps not a gentleman: he simply knew when he was not welcome and would be too proud to force a connection.

But the decision had really been made a long time ago. It was made when she asked for that drink, when she accepted his flowers, when he pushed inside her the first time. Perhaps even on the moment she first laid eyes on him.

So, without having a grain of rational thought behind it, her heart walked her to that door and opened it.

He was leaning on the frame with one hand, and the hooded head rose from a heavy hang. He looked defeated for a moment, and she realized she had taken a while to come to the door… But then he squared his shoulders and raised his chin, bounced away from the frame, and the tiniest little smile played on his lips.

A look of I win.

It was something so Simon that it burned her heart, and the love returned – as if it had ever gone anywhere – and she was so angry that she slapped him to wipe off that stupid look that told her he could drop her like a toy and then come back and pick her up again.

Her palm met his chin, and it hurt her too: to hear that slap and know he allowed it to happen.

He allowed her to slap him. Again.

He reduced her to someone who hit people, like this was some trailer park romance where physical abuse was ok.

It was his fault, not hers.

It was his fault. It was.

His head was turned to the side from the force of her palm, the eyebrows rose in muted surprise. Then he slowly turned to look at her, and couldn't hide his smile anymore. He fucking got off on this.

Which was why she slapped him again – only, this time he caught her hand and finally forced himself inside, like it was an invitation that she tried to hit him. Her other hand shot out, rather impassively, and he caught that, too.

"That's quite enough."

That gruff, dark voice was probably what she had missed the most. Or those big, brown eyes full of promise. Or all that muscle wrapping around her in a crushing hug, those lips that smashed against hers in a starved kiss.

The door slammed shut behind him as he devoured her. The moment his hands let go of hers and enveloped her into that secure embrace, she dissolved and let him crush her mouth, her ribs, her everything — her hands reached for the hood and tore it down, clutched his back, his jacket, threatening to tear the clothes apart from how much she had missed him.

Tears gathered up her throat, and her eyes burned and squeezed shut, she held the black fabric in her fists and pulled, trying to get closer even when there was not a breath of air between them. His scent brought back so many memories that she threatened to drown in the flood.

The kiss left them both breathless and huffing when he drew her against him. She felt like a hostage when he closed one heavy palm around her head and simply forced her cheek to meet his chest. He had never closed her in a hug quite like this — like he was afraid that she would disappear into thin air if he didn't hold on tightly enough.

"Sweetheart." It was a rumble in her hair, a deep vibration in the solid wall she was smashed against.

"Don't you dare," she whispered through tears, but her hands told a different story as she clung to him like a drowning person.

"Sarah…" He only squeezed her harder, so hard that she feared he would soon break bones. "Love. I'm sorry that it took so long."

Her fingers flexed, then wrapped around that jet-black cotton again. The tears disappeared in his shirt, and she was glad he always wore black; otherwise, the mascara would've made a visible mess.

He smelled so good. She inhaled him like a drug — even after the desertion, his scent meant safety and home to her.

"What the fuck happened?" She sniffed, trying not to wail like a child against that firm wall of chest. "I thought you only went for a smoke."

He stroked her hair so gently that the shirt was soon soaked from her tears.

"I thought it would be best if I left you in peace," he muttered, sounding almost guilty. Her hand twitched in the folds of the hood from the utter folly of it all. She thanked the heavens that he hadn't. She had never exactly found peace with him, but being without him was even worse.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she retorted.

"Yeah. I used to be a better man. But if ya think I'm cocky… Hah, you should've seen me back then. Feared nothing."

She had expected him to share a reason for leaving her like that, but she hadn't envisioned it to start with those words. The world was quaking again in her hallway, lit by a single, lone lamp.

"It didn't work. It got people killed. Even my brother's little kid." He was still talking to the crown of her head as if exposing the darkest of secrets, fearing that the walls were wired.

"I'm not really… alive, you know? Died with them about ten years ago."

From any other man's mouth, that trace of information, an explanation for his handicaps, would've felt melodramatic. When it came from Simon, it felt like a void was yawning before her.

"Swore that day I would never let it happen again."

How could she always forget that her judgment concerning Simon was flawed – no – distorted as hell? She knew he had lost everybody but didn't know how exactly. Of course there had been violence. She had never really understood just how important it was for him to protect people from getting too close.

I didn't mean for things to go this far suddenly stood for something completely different.

He wasn't playing or toying with her. He was being absolutely, vehemently, utterly serious.

Even… intimidated.

She felt even worse about not being there for him when he had been thin with his skin. She had made it all about her when he tried to share a deep fear.

"I tried to keep my hands off you as long as I could." He hummed, a sound of a distant, pleasant memory. "You were so… fuckin' graceful. Felt like you were dancing just for me."

The tears kept flowing, the world kept quaking.

"I was," she whispered. "Even when you weren't there."

"Thought you was just teasin' me. Seemed such a tough girl." He gave her one of those short laughs, a cynical scoff that said he wasn't easily caught off balance. "'N then you turned out to be sweet as a pie. So bloody sweet. Swept me right off my feet."

She pulled back a little and saw that his eyes were liquid too, the pale lashes fluttered over bloodshot, melted chocolate, but no tears came out. It was like he didn't quite know how to cry, like that skill had been tortured out of him, never to return.

"Nothing lasts. Especially if it's something good and pure." He ran a thumb over her cheek, catching a tear, like he was soothed by seeing someone crying the tears he could not. "Really wanted this to last."

Her lower lip trembled at that, and she had to fight back a whole bawl that threatened to erupt. He was stupidly eloquent when he wanted to. But he was also blind if he couldn't see that no one else but him had tried to end things this time. How could a man so mature and smart be so stupid?

"You're the one who walked out the door, Simon."

He blinked a few times. Yeah… He was that stupid, even if he was sharp and trained and brave. But it was also stupid of her to think there wouldn't be problems. He had built a wall, five-foot thick, since childhood. She had tried to penetrate it with a needle and had had a fit when it wouldn't budge.

"Look... You can't just come into my life and fuck around and fuck with my head — and fuck me… and then leave and say Darling, it's dangerous."

He huffed a laugh at her imitation of him. "You make me sound like a jerk."

"That's because you are."

A sigh. "Right."

She had expected him to return the quip, make some clever comeback, but their love had been on ice for weeks and weeks. Even if the warmth was there, and he was close, so close… Something was still wrong.

She pulled herself back to the solace of his chest. There were broken things inside, and she was a brittle vase herself, barely able to hold all the sorrow in.

"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?"

"Comes with the job."

"I hate your job," she mumbled in his shirt, and he chuckled humourlessly.

"Me too."

"No you don't. You love it." She sent another accusation in the air, and the penalty was an open prison, a slackening muscle around her.

"Guilty as charged."

"Why are you here, Simon?"

There was a pause, one, two breaths…

"Can't fuckin' live without you."

He had no doubt tried, tried to veritably leave her from fear of setting her in danger. Only Simon could leave a woman for fear of losing them…

"Even if I only get scraps and slaps. Phone's full of look at me's but you never call."

Her eyes flared wide open, her lungs ceased working for a second. Five months flashed backward, then forward, their shared moments twisting and turning, words finding new meanings.

Scraps…

You never call.

Jesus Christ.

It was bitter, and it was true. She had guarded her heart like a prisoner of war during a time of peace. Sent him thirsty selfies like they were the only thing he wanted from her, refused to call in fear of losing some game.

He wasn't the only one who was proud and dramatic. She had had a whole month in her hands. She could've called him, sent him those texts. She could've made it known that she hadn't meant her last words as a command for him to get out. But she had done none of those things. Instead, she slammed the door in his face and slapped him when he finally came back with his tail between his legs.

It was never about his job. She could deal with that. It was about the game.

They were both boneheaded, proud little creatures, and she realized she was the one who had been playing, playing for far too long…

"You said you'd rather call me," she whimpered, voice barely even a whisper.

He pulled her away by the shoulders and took a quick scan. There was patronization and pity, and she wondered whether he would take the blame for her failings too. But the pain was more profound than that.

"Sarah. Do ya even like me?"

Of all the things said that night, said ever, that was probably what hurt her the most.

"Yes," was all she managed to say to the man who was, in truth, the love of her life.

"Alright. Then I don't see what the problem is."

He was being reasonable, but there seemed to be a whole other problem she had never acknowledged. Had never even known existed.

And it was a rare, rare thing, that he chose to break first.

"Sarah, bloody fucking-... It kills me to imagine you with someone else."

All in.

As if she could ever find a man like him. As if she could even see other men. They had ceased to exist five months ago.

Just say it.

"I don't want someone else," she said, knowing that games like these should be illegal. But she was not playing anymore. "I only want you. Remember?"

The wall cracked, crumbled a little, exposed some softness in those chocolate eyes.

"Now that's what I like to hear."

Annoying, lovable, cocky bastard. This time, it was her turn to pull him in for a kiss.

He let her take some of his clothes off but then seized the reins from her again by hauling her to the bedroom like a doll. Everything happened right according to a script: she was undressed, tossed on the bed, and he was climbing on top of her before she could even say his name.

He just wouldn't allow her to touch him. She had given him one and a half blowjobs, one handjob, and slapped him two times. They cuddled every now and then. That was basically it.

He was always on top, had fucked her against this and that wall, fucked her with his clothes on half the time. He initiated everything, made her feel good, and so, so subtly prevented her from touching him. Did he even know he was doing it, or was it subconscious?

This would have to change.

Past torture or not, it would change now.

"Simon," she placed a hand on his chest when he was already inserting himself inside her.

"Hm?"

"Can I be on top?"

Something akin to worry flickered in his eyes, but it was only a brief glitch that soon changed into an intrigued look.

"Why not," he tried to hide the remnants of his bafflement, then crashed to the bed beside her. She flicked the table light on as if making it clear that this was the dawn of a new era. He gave it a hasty side eye, then turned his attention back to her.

"Have you ever heard of Adam's first wife?" She asked when she climbed on top of him. God, but he was wide, even though men were supposed to have narrower hips. Simon was a man in his prime, threatening, even when lying under her in a seemingly vulnerable position.

"You givin' me a history lesson too?"

"She was banished from Eden because she wanted to be on top during sex." She tried to seek support from his chest, knowing it would be of minimal help. If he would get too enthusiastic, she might be bucked off.

"I won't be so cruel," he said with a soft smile as he ran hands over her thighs, then up to her waist, hesitantly. Simon never hesitated.

From what she understood, he was far from a footsoldier. The people he killed never even heard he was coming for them with a thick, ugly blade. Perhaps he preferred to fuck like that, too: stealthy and intimate, in the darkness, keep his victim in a sturdy embrace so he could feel how they bled to death.

That light was a threat. Her stare was piercing awareness: also, a threat.

And it was only now, from this position, that she finally caught the wounds. Fresh, ugly holes that should've probably been under bandage still.

"What's this?"

There were not one, but two cavities surrounded by discolored skin, bruised dark purple, virtually black — gunshot wounds that had barely missed his liver. Had the bullets reached the internals, they would've likely been the end of him.

"That's the reason why it took so long."

Shallow breathing was a stupid response from a body already feeling faint. But the next few breaths were just that: an attempt to sustain the flow of oxygen and allow reality to sink in.

The last time Simon had gotten hit was years and years ago: a bullet to the arm, not nearly as severe as an abdominal wound. She thought they used bullet vests at work. Unless he had chosen not to wear it. Her brain was a horrid thing, pushing a clinical sentence out of a psychology journal to her mind.

"The root cause of self-destructive behavior can stem from a mental health condition such as depression: overwhelming sadness and loss of interest."

She had drowned herself in self-pity in her cozy little apartment and taken revenge on a shower gel bottle while Simon had gotten himself wounded, nearly killed. Probably spent the last few weeks in a hospital after the operation in whatever medical facility he had been brought to from the field. Without telling her, stubborn and proud as he was. Lying there, with no visitors, thinking it was better to leave her alone…

She knew he had a death wish, but this… This crushed her soul.

"Soap said I should ask you to marry me instead of trying to prove something by killin' myself."

Shit…

More edgy, dark humour — but her insides shuddered.

The axis of melancholia turned and turned. She hadn't told anyone about them, but Simon had. So that someone could deliver the message if need be. Even the thought of a Scottish jarhead appearing at her door and telling her how Lieutenant Simon Riley had been killed in action made her eyes sting.

Soap was a clever man. Much more intelligent than the one between her thighs.

"What am I to do with you," she whispered while placing the lightest, faintest touch on the stretched skin around the injury. The muscles rippled underneath her fingertips, and a soft hiss drew her attention back to his face, but the discomfort was hidden from view before she could decide whether it was caused by her words or her touch.

"A few ideas come to mind," he spoke with his everlasting cheek, even when healing from both gunshot wounds and a broken heart. "Wanna hear?"

"How about you shut your mouth for a change," she offered, gently enough to make it clear that some things should be fixed with another kind of communication.

When she reached to guide him inside her, he was uncommonly solemn. The dry spell had ended at the door already, but that drowsy, flaming rust of a stare caused the cup to overflow. She was slippery as hell, but he was patient, mostly having a ball watching how she went through trial and error to get him in. The intimacy made her flustered, and that stern expression soon turned into a smug one as she fucked up guiding him in smoothly and with finesse.

And it was wishful thinking that Simon would keep his mouth shut.

"Ya need help with that?"

"Shush," she said, knowing it was futile, a laugh bubbling in her chest as she tried to sound convincing with the command. As if she could order someone like Simon around.

He broke again when the thick of him finally pushed in, slow and steady like a reverie.

"Always so fuckin' tight 'n wet for me…"

"You can't just shut it for one minute, can you," she breathed while gliding down the cock that spread her wide — and God, she had longed for that familiar invasion.

"Not with you, sweetheart."

She had barely even started when she saw how his throat worked, then felt him tighten the grip on her waist.

"Did ya have others while I was away?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

The muscles on his jaw tensed, then unwound with a sigh, the heavy-lidded eyes making him look like a man about to pass out.

"Neither did I. Seat's already taken."

The jesting, his laugh, their togetherness — she had missed it so much that it physically hurt.

But at the same time, it felt like they were meeting for the first time. This time with more than just their clothes off. Everything was…amplified, and not just because the lights were on. This was not a lazy Sunday morning fuck under the sheets.

She had been squashed against his chest, but she had never traced the muscles with the tips of her fingers, watched how his nipples grew hard at the contact. She had never quite seen how his jaw clenched, how his abs pulled taut just from a slow roll of her hips. Her hands looked tiny, dainty, when they swept over him – a man made weapon – all corded muscle and uneven skin, tone changing with the map of old and new scars, fresh scratches here and there, ill-healed burn marks and whatnot coating a skin that had seen more than just rough weather. He didn't treat his body like a living, breathing thing; it was simply a tool.

Her past boyfriends had been just that. Boys compared to him. It wasn't just his size, that he was older than her. It wasn't even the map of scars spread over muscles built to withstand and wage war. It was just something so inherently him, a maturity, ripe survival, toughness that came from another age entirely.

She tried to be worthy of him, make love to him in return for all the favors he had so generously given her.

He appeared to enjoy it with the most laid-back attitude she had yet seen on him. She had prepared for intensity, as always, a bit of devilry, but not for that daydreamy stare. That absorbed, blissful look could only be compared to someone easing down on a divan, waiting to be served wine and grapes like they were some Roman deity. Or, in his case, on a lush sofa, waiting for his girl to bring him a scotch after a long day. Maybe take his boots off, and his pants too, kneel and take him in a warm, wet mouth…

God, she was fantasizing about blowing Simon while riding him. But she'd be damned if she didn't serve him that back rub with a happy ending as soon as she had ridden him to the finish line.

"Should do this more often," he noted evenly, echoing her thoughts – and trying to grasp some sliver of control by telling her he liked this. Liked being served.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Can't complain."

And she realized now that she wasn't the one in charge, no. He was looking at her much in the same way as he did when she was up on that stage. Only, he was now both the stage and the pole… and the audience.

Fuck.

Every time she tried to get in control, he did that rear choke on her. Even this turned out to be another counter technique. He was simply enjoying her take her pleasure.

The notion didn't cause fires anymore, other than a flare of licking heat down to where they were joined. Her inner walls had decided that he was a keeper too, gripping him so violently that the tendons on his neck became visible. The callous of his hands traveled upwards to her ribs, and she caught a thought of how he could easily crush her if he wanted to — but he only proceeded to hug her waist with an iron grip to join in the show.

"Keep doin' that and there's gonna be a real mess," he said, voice thick, sending more heat trickle down her spine.

"Isn't that always the case with you?" She was on the brink of laughter now, because it felt stupid that it had taken her so long to enjoy this man to the full.

"Yeah… But you love it. Admit it." He wasn't bulldozing now. Just enticing, eyes glimmering from seeing her so evidently happy.

And she did admit it. She didn't hold back at all. She allowed him to see exactly how much she wanted and admired him, how good he made her feel.

The account started as a steaming, almost pissed-off checklist, a confession rather than a declaration of love. It contained pent-up love and hate, from how he fucked her in the dark to how he drove knives to a wall she didn't even own. But then it turned into a hymn. Nevermind ego; she wanted to stroke his heart and soul. He fucking deserved it.

She told him he was a good man, the best man she had ever known. How she had never loved anyone like this. How she was his, had been from the moment he came to that club. She even told him how big he was and how she had trouble concentrating in class because of it. That she had trouble focusing pretty much anywhere.

How she had cried herself to sleep in his sweatshirt every night after he had left… How she wanted him to never leave again — how she wanted to solve every argument they would have from now on with a hatefuck instead.

At first, he looked at her curiously, probably thinking she was joking. Then his expression turned to a choked-up stun.

“Sarah– Fuckin’ hell…"

Every secret thought from the past five months was laid out before them; every little thing she admired about him from body to soul.

It seemed to be a shock treatment, a little too much all at once, but he was true to his word and didn't complain.

"You're gonna make a grown man cry 'ere."

He didn't cry, but if there was still some invisible wall between them, every last brick was blown apart at this point.

The poker game was finally over, the whole table was cleared of cards and chips and bets.

"Do you even like me… Unbelievable, Simon," she said as a final notion. There was a soft smile, but it wasn't arrogant or vain in her eyes anymore. Just proud, pleased.

God, had she been stupid.

She descended to celebrate, to seal it all with a kiss. He welcomed her with fast allegiance: arms went around her as soon as her breasts pressed against his chest. It was all hunger, but ten times more tender than the starvation at the door. Slow, deliberate, and it went straight to her cunt, gripping him — and of course he responded with a groan, straight into her mouth.

His hips jerked up to meet her, and had she not been in the safe custody of freakishly strong arms, she would've fallen off her ride. And it was high time to investigate whether he had a vulnerable spot in his neck as well.

A sluggish, flat-tongued lick up the column of his throat and some open-mouthed, sloppy kisses sent him contracting from the middle, pushing in, balls deep. She risked a nib, even a soft bite, and eventually, went a bit feral on that neck. It was another jackpot for the both of them.

"I need-.. need you on your back," he had never stuttered like that, out of breath, trying to be polite with a raspy throat. But he wasn't really asking, and it wasn't really mannerly. It was actually a demand.

"Wanna fuck you hard," his voice was so low that it was almost a growl.

Yes. 

Yes. Yes, please.

And she knew just the trick that would ensure that he did.

"Hmh. Denied," she said to his neck, and waited for the punishment that was brief and thorough.

"The hell it is."

He rolled over and switched their roles without even pulling out, and just like that, her feeble attempts to be the rebellious first woman turned to dust. But she didn't really mourn the loss. Her Eden resided right here.

"You're such an asshole," she was laughing from mirth and love and the joy of being pressed under that safe weight again.

"Would like to fuck that too someday."

Oh my God..-

She wasn't a blushing lady from Victorian times, but this was a little unexpected, even from him.

"Bet you're even tighter down there… I might just pass out."

Her jaw must've fallen an inch or two, her eyes no doubt shot full of shimmering glee because nothing, absolutely nothing escaped him, and her face was now more than that of a stupefied goldfish.

"I suggest you close that pretty mouth before I-"

She cut him short by sinking nails in his skin — more precisely, his ass. He arched his back with the following thrust, even exposed his throat with a satisfied grunt.

"Lil' wildcat… I could do this all night." It was a pleased chuckle, and her heart hurt — she was constantly calling him annoying, an asshole, a jerk, and he told her she was beautiful, sweet, his girl, or a little wildcat in return…

"Would ya like that?"

She could only nod, time and again, and the sex turned messy, noisy and unhinged, weeks and weeks of frustration and longing dissipating with fucking that spread her thighs wide and made the whole bed wail. Her head hit the frame once or twice before he moved her with an annoyed grunt while she was having a laugh about it, but then she remembered he was injured and that this was a bad idea.

"Your wounds-" she tried to stutter amidst a pounding that had certainly been held back for longer than five months, not to talk of a few weeks.

"I'll live."

She was close, but so was he, and it seemed it was the most difficult decision he had ever made: to choose whether to slow down and grit his teeth or just give into the temptation and spill. A split second, and he chose the latter, and she must've been gawking: all that muscle towering over her went tense, the halved slant between his pecs sheened with sweat.

He came with a long groan and a head rolled back, the tension leaving him in shivers before his head fell back down, chin to the chest. The stare behind those heavy lids was unfocused, heady, drugged.

"Fuck, you're a glorious sight," he said while sweeping a hand over her sternum and closing the giant palm around her throat — nothing brutal or rough, just a little bit of fun that probably shouldn't have made her tighten around him as furiously as it did. It felt like she was one of his victims, held in place by one hand only, as his gaze dropped down to marvel at how his cock disappeared in her and came out all wet. The thrusts were erratic and desperate, the ending throes of ecstasy — must've been a glorious sight indeed.

He wouldn't even pause to enjoy the trip back to earth to the full. He left her, eyes both determined and drunk, cock still half hard, so abruptly that a sad little whimper fled her. But he wasn't gone for long, just settled next to her and gathered her in his arms, wracked with purpose.

She gasped when not one, but two fingers dipped inside, then drove deep to the knuckle.

"Fuck…"

"Will do."

It was a scant substitute for his cock, even with two thick fingers. But he was good, so damn good that it didn't matter.

He did everything right, perfect, precise. Made a mess of the cum that joined the wreckage, played with it, slathered it all over her until she was sticky and wet and the noise was well-nigh filthy.

But even more unbearable was the intimacy, the way her hand found him, the bunching muscles on the forearm, the thumb brushing her clit, his fingers curling in a loose fist while two of them curled inside her…

She wanted to participate, feel the fierce connection that had gained a whole new level. There was a sense of belonging, merging — did he feel it too?

Yeah, he definitely did.

Their gazes were locked, but the depth in his eyes wasn't hunger or will to dominate or even meant for fishing cues, it was pure surrender, actually, it was… love.

"Please," she whispered while he made love to her with both his hand and those eyes, not knowing why she even said that. But he had told her he loved it when she begged, so that's what she did. She would give him every fucking thing he wanted.

The sweltering bronze of his eyes broke a little, his brow gave a minimal tug.

"Simon - Please," the words were a mouthed prayer rather than an audible whisper, and she knew her own gaze was fractured because the warmth in his eyes only spread.

"I got ya," he crushed her in a devout hug while spreading her open, breathed into her ear, all joking gone. It was a solemn pledge, a guarantee.

"Promise I got ya."

This wasn't affection anymore; it was bonding.

She came with a strained whimper in his neck, curled into the hug with thighs trembling and hands grabbing whatever she could: a sheet, a tight muscle. He was an absolute genius for not moving, just stayed inside as her muscles sucked him in with a long, hungry pull that turned into a shudder that went through her whole body.

"Uh, fuh-…" She was cursing, sobbing, coming apart by the seams, and he took it all in, breathing high and wide from witnessing what he was doing to her.

It was a slow and tense shattering but turned messier after: into sloppy writhing and moaning, and he moved gracefully to ride it out with her. An absolute ace at what he did.

He might've said something, cheering her on with That's it or Fuckin' beautiful or something like that. She couldn't hear it, and it didn't really matter anyway. The looting was sweet, and he was the perfect fit, so fulfilling, still inside her after the waves had passed. They were breathing into each other, holding the space, sustaining the present moment just by being entangled together, all limbs and breath and sweat on sweat. When he ultimately pulled out, the hand joined the one wrapped around her, holding her like the most precious thing in the universe.

Her depression was gone, the man supporting her being a better cure for her condition than any kind of antidepressant ever invented by Western medical professionals could ever be. There was no fear, only a terrible will to live, a hunger for love and life.

It felt too lame a thing to say: I love you, in that kind of a moment. But something needed to be said. It wanted to come out like a wild thing from a cage.

"You brought me back to life," she whispered to the pulse on his neck, tasting both their salt, feeling like crying again, but this time for a different reason. "When we met. And every day after."

He was calm and still, frozen in time, but she could feel his heart thundering underneath that chest. Fast and overwhelmed.

"You're good at so much more than just killing people. I hope you know that."

The world could use another flood, but he chose to be the floodgate, chose to fight back mass destruction and death and darkness while looking like it. A hero, if there ever was one.

Simon didn't just take lives. He saved them.

"You saved my life, Simon." She stirred a little to look at him, wholly stripped of all his masks.

"There.. Finally shut you up."

He swallowed, and a steady hand brushed the nape of her neck, dissolving the tension if there still was any left.

"Yeah."

The soft silence covered them like a blanket until he bore even deeper.

"I'm glad you could finally join us."

And she realized he was talking about the Game. Their game. The poker game.

She had been a player while he had been here all along with palms facing upwards, with no cards at all. Just waiting for her to catch on.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"'Atta girl."

The kiss was gentle and slow. He grunted in her mouth, and when she withdrew to look at what was wrong, he opened and closed his jaw, then rubbed the side of his chin that had begun to swell a little.

"You hit hard for a historian."

Oh God.

She felt bad, but not bad enough to suppress a chortle.

"Remarkably hard for a woman. Almost dislocated a jaw," he continued when he saw she was laughing at the whole situation.

"I hope it swells real bad," she chuckled. He cast her a look that said So much for sweetness.

"You're ruthless."

"Do you need ice?"

"A kiss'll do."

She didn't deny him that kiss. She wasn't that ruthless. But after that soft peck, she turned to whisper in his ear.

"You deserved it."

He scoffed lightly, gave her a squeeze. It was the middle of the night, but it felt like the midsummer sun was shining.

"You deserve the best."

"And you're the best?" She asked, while they both already knew he was.

"I try to be."

That was probably the most humble thing she had ever heard him say, but then again, when had his arrogance ever been ego? He had always delivered. He was a soldier, but he was not a killer. He was a protector.

But if he would protect her by leaving her in peace, she would start a war of her own.

"Then don't leave me."

"Never."

Her heart skipped a beat, then fluttered flush against her ribs like an overjoyed bird.

"Is that a promise?"

She caught a smile, cocky, but only because he knew he was the best man for the job. He was best at what he did, and it had nothing to do with games.

"It's a vow."

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x oc #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod fanfic #mw2 smut #man sized #simon ghost riley x female oc #ghost x female oc #simon riley x female oc #soft simon riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #simon ghost riley fic

[somekindofpoet]

Hear me out. I low key think that Vada would form a fear of thunderstorms after what happened at school. So when she goes to call R, who happens to be her crush, she hears knocking on her window. It’s R and they’re holding a bag of snacks and movies. They knew that Vada hated thunderstorms since the last time they talked.

Just overall fluff with lots of cuddles and corny flirting on both ends. Vada is smol and needs to be protected. Even if she will throw a Big Gulp at someone if she needs to 💀.

Since we’re on a Vada kick, have this adorable fluff.

The crashing of thunder rouses you from the short sleep you’d fallen into. You squint at your clock. It’s only 10, you’d been asleep for an hour.

A flash lights up the night sky, drawing your attention to your window. Bright fingers of electricity race across the black sky, and the rumbling that woke you follows it soon after. You admire it, blinking bleary eyes at the raging storm, appreciating the way the rain falls in fat droplets against your window.

Another clap of thunder brings your mind to Vada. She would be terrified right now, you think, remembering how she blushed when she told you she was afraid of lightning. It makes your heart clench, to think of her alone, hiding under her blankets, shaking.

You can’t bear the thought of it.

You roll out of bed and tiptoe down to your kitchen, careful not to wake your sleeping family. You gather the essentials; a bag of smart food cheddar popcorn, a bag of reeces pieces (your favorite) and a bag of sour patch kids (Vadas favorite), leftover from your last movie night. You snag two cans of root beer, throw your loot in a backpack, and sneak out the back door.

Luckily, Vada only lives a block away, so you’re only half drenched, instead of soaked through like a wet dog when you throw your bike down in her driveway.

Another crackle of lightning pierces the sky, so you hustle to Vada’s window and knock softly. You hear a yelp from inside and a thump. She probably fell off her bed, ever the graceful one, Vada was. You can see her figure creep into view, the moonlight hitting her hair and cheeks as she nears the window. With an awkward smile, you wave at her, pointing to her window lock. she squints, trying to see you more clearly.

You probably look something close to a horror movie murderer, standing in the rain with your hood pulled over your head at her window, but she smiles when she recognizes you. It sends a battalion of butterflies charging through your stomach.

She slides her window open and you hand her your bag before hauling yourself over the threshold and flopping inside. You stand, comically dusting your soaked arms off before grinning at her. She laughs through her nose, shaking her head at you.

“What’re you doing here?” She asks, her voice just above a whisper.

You shut the window, saving her bench from the torrent of rain outside.

“I came to watch movies with you,” you gesture to your backpack, “laptop and snacks are in there.”

She looks confused, her brows furrowed. Thunder cracks outside and she flinches, closing her eyes and sucking in air between her teeth.

You take the bag from her and walk it to her bed, unzipping it and turning back to her, “I know you hate thunderstorms, so I thought I’d keep you company until it passes.”

She blinks at you, her expression softening as she understands. You catch the little smile that pulls at the corner of her mouth, and the butterflies conduct all out warfare inside of you.

Your eyes follow her as she goes into her closet, and comes back out, throwing a pair of sweats and a tshirt at you.

“Put these on. You didn’t have like a rainproof jacket or something?”

You shrug, “I was kind of in a hurry.”

She jumps on the bed and takes your laptop, opening it to Netflix and choosing a movie while you change. You toss your clothes into a sopping pile under the window and crawl into bed with her, your shoulders brushing. She leans into you, just slightly, but enough for you to notice.

Butterflies, sound the cavalry charge!

She picks a comedy. It’s stupid, but you enjoy it because it makes her laugh. Halfway through the movie, the storm outside worsens, lightning striking every few minutes and wind screaming outside the window. Vada jumps and inches closer to you every time the skies crack open.

Eventually you stop pretending to not notice and open your arm to her, offering her a closer spot to your chest. She smiles as takes it without hesitating, tucking herself under your arm and into your side. After a short time, her head droops onto your chest, her breathing evening out. The storm keeps clashing outside, but she stops flinching at every strike.

She mumbles in her sleep, her fingers twitching over your shirt. You close the laptop when the movie ends and slide down the bed, letting her stay cuddled into you. You close your eyes, deciding you’ll get up when it stops raining and bike home. For now, you figure it’s the chivalrous thing to do to let her sleep.

The butterflies are victorious another day.

#vada x reader #vada cavell #vada cavell x reader #drabble #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader

[cecilxa]

how stupid it must be to get unwell (fall in love)

summary: scaramouche takes care of a special someone

contents: scaramouche being dumb about his feelings, use of both scaramouche + wanderer, sick fic, reader is sick, established relationship, fluff, gn!reader

cw: small scara threat, food

recommend listening to: i <3 u by boy pablo

a/n: part 3 of my winter special!

“Idiot.”

A pout forms on your face.

“It’s not my fault I got sick!”

You then proceed to let out a series of coughs, each one more violent than the last. Scaramouche scowls.

“You're an actual moron. You’re not supposed to be talking. Save all that energy for when you can actually utter a sentence properly. You need to get better.”

With how harsh he sounds, any onlooker would’ve thought that this man despises you. Quite the opposite, actually. You can hear his voice soften, by a fraction.

“I swear, get better soon, otherwise I won’t hesitate to strike you down myself.”

When you reply with another cough, his eyes gleam, and a hand comes to stroke your head softly, allowing two of his fingers to twirl a strand of your hair. In a much more comforting tone (at least, for him), he places a bowl of soup on your lap, making sure none of it spills onto your skin.

“Now, eat this before I make you.”

You reply with a teasing lilt.

“Okay, ‘Wanderer’, I guess if I want to get better.”

It’s almost comical how you can see his jaw tense up at the use of his current alias, spare fist clenching at his side. He tsks.

“You know, I’ve told you again and again, you don’t have to call me that. Call me whatever you want.”

His voice goes down an octave, and it’s fairly obvious how he’s sporting a subtle pink blush on his otherwise pale cheeks. You decide not to comment on it.

The hand stroking your hair pauses, and comes down to the spoon currently sitting in the bowl of soup he had personally made for you. You know this.

What you don’t know is that it took him an hour to find the perfect recipe, the one that you said reminded you of home. You don’t know how it had taken him an hour to actually make it, displeased with each attempt, deeming each one ‘too mediocre’ for your tastebuds. He had finally settled on the one currently sitting on your lap, but not without his own touch. A tiny, minuscule heart (made out of some leftover cream) settled slightly on the left, which- and he’s not proud of this- made his own race a bit faster. He’s not really sure why he added it, but he’s sure that it’d make you feel better. Oh well, he reasons, he doesn’t mind getting a bit romantic, as long as you’re happy.

Scaramouche may not want to admit it to himself, but there’s a tingly feeling in his chest, one that stings whenever he sees your stuffy nose and clammy hands. It’s that same tingly feeling he’s now experiencing, when he’s demanding you to eat your soup. It’s that same tingly feeling when he sees the little cream heart decorating the bland food. Scaramouche may not want to admit that what he feels is love.

“Open up.”

You look at him- shocked. He stares back- deadpan.

“Did I stutter?”

With a very flustered expression on your face, you take the spoon from him. He continues staring at you, patiently waiting. In only a few minutes the soup is gone. Even though you’ve finished the entire thing, he still frowns. However, you’ve been with him long enough to know this frown is the one reserved only for you. His eyes are caressing, gentle, caring, even though his mouth is turned down. It’s not turned down that much, either. It’s bordering on one of his quiet smiles when he thinks you aren’t looking.

Scaramouche sighs. He still hasn’t noticed how fond he sounds. He still hasn’t noticed how much adoration he carries for you.

“Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head, smiling up at him. He has to resist smiling back. There it is again, that tingling in his chest. How peculiar, it’s warm, so unfamiliar, yet so familial. He doesn’t think he wants it to go away.

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. He lets it linger for a few seconds. Then, turning away, Scaramouche gets up to head out and clean the now-empty bowl, and spoon. Your voice stops him just as he gets to the door, making his head turn immediately, eyes full of concern.

“Love you, ‘Wanderer’.”

His grip on the bowl tightens, and his breath hitches.

“... Idiot.”

a/n: decided to try out a new layout for speech! undecided on whether or not i'll use it in the future? likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated ❣️

#scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche fluff #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #wanderer fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #honestly i’m really confused on how to write his name now #wanderer just feels clunky??? #honestly these harbingers and their names 🙄 #jk scara or wanderer ily anyway #cecilxa winter special!

[sleepimali]

So, I’ve posted these before, but I don’t think I posted the lore at that time, so here we go :-) Mothice

These little friends are called mothice, and are a species from The Devil in the Details  (my comic) lore.

They're very misunderstood, being both mouse and moth; two creatures commonly considered household pests. But as a matter of fact, they are very friendly and caring animals who want to help more than anything.

In the past, people used to chase them away from their houses, before they knew better. The mothice had a history of trying to warn humans of danger being near by making the patterns on their wings glow red, which sadly was taken as a bad omen due to the accidents and bad things that would often follow.

Thankfully at some point, however, people figured out these little fluffy friends not only are harmless, but also downright lovely creatures. Unfortunately the damage was already done, and though mothice still love and care for humans, they are very, very cautious due to their past treatment at their hands.

So if you happen to make friends with one, you are very lucky. (These are another old Patreon print and sticker set reward - the very first I made actually! Once again, they’re not really available anymore unless you join my Patreon for access to the upcoming secret shop, where I’ll list leftovers from previous rewards.)

#sleepimali #ditd lore #mothice #mice #moth #fantasy creature #original work lore #watercolor #watercolor art #fantasy art #long post

[shares-a-vest]

Steve looks up from his magazine, one of Keith’s many car subscriptions that he is gifted as leftovers, to find Dustin not not looking straight at him and fiddling with the same copy of Hello! Dolly he had picked up a solid ten minutes ago.

He is fairly certain he knows Dustin’s movie preferences. And they don’t include Barbara Streisand’s matchmaking through song and big hats.

Dustin turns away, revealing a backpack that now sports a gigantic Hellfire patch sewn onto the front pocket, courtesy of Robin and Eddie’s joint sewing endeavours.

“Henderson!” Steve calls, frowning.

Nothing. The kid might as well be twiddling his goddamn thumbs as he chances a glance over he shoulder, very obviously hearing him.

Steve snaps the magazine shut and rounds the counter to the musical section. But Dustin scampers away, setting a steady pace as he comically power walks down the split horror-comedy aisle in order to double back to the front of the store.

“Hey! What the hell, man?” Steve says, taking a few strides to get ahead of the kid so Dustin is blocked right between him and the front candy display, “What the hell is up with you?”

He probably sounds more accusatory than curious, judging by Dustin’s wide and panicked eyes. The boy shrugs and looks away.

Yeah, Dustin not talking and not blabbering away about anything, let alone whatever it is that’s up? Fucking weird.

Steve looks him over, examining his young friend’s movements as he shuffles on the spot and periodically scuffs his sneakers on the sun-faded green carpet.

“Um, uhhh...” Dustin hums after a long pause.

Still strangely incomprehensible for him – but it’s something, at least.

“What is it?” he asks, voice low as he searches for a shred of eye contact.

“Do you, I dunno... maybe...” Dustin trails off, gesturing in the air as a pair of nervous eyebrows disappear up under the Cubs cap Steve gifted him for Christmas 1984.

Not that Dustin cares about the Cubs – then or now.

Dustin slips his hands under his backpack straps and rocks on the spot as he continues prattling on.

“Do you wanna hang out on Sunday? I mean, if you don’t have a date or anything.”

The kid sticks out his bottom lip and rolls his eyes, not at all appearing as casual as he seems to want to be.

“Sure,” Steve shrugs, confused.

Jesus Christ, since when is this kid all nervous about hanging out?

“Steve,” Dustin sighs deeply, pinching his nose (good, back to his bratty, if a little exasperated, self), “Sunday is Father's Day.”

“Oh.”

He must have passed by the greeting card display at Melvad’s, over and over during every lunch break as he headed in for a can of soda and whatever non Family Video-sponsored candy Keith was craving.

It’s not like he had any reason to remember. His folks haven’t been home since the ‘earthquake’ and they almost never call. Hell, he has enough of a time conversing at any length when his mother does call, let alone asking her to put his father on the phone.

Not that he wants to talk to his non-college attending, barely-high school graduate son who works minimum wage retail and has no girlfriend, anyway.

Not that all of that matters much when Dustin is looking back at him with a rare sadness in his eyes.

“I mean, your dad isn’t home – obviously,” Dustin starts, though not quite as harsh as his usual barbs, “And Will spends the day with Hop now. Eddie and Wayne go fishing. And I would be going to visit my grandpa but he and Nanna went on a cruise. I think they went – ”

“Sure, buddy,” he blurts out, offering a pat on the shoulder to make up for inadvertently cutting the kid off. He pauses and frowns, “But what about your mom?”

Dustin shrugs, “She wants to have a girl’s day with Valerie.”

Ah, yes. Valerie Richardson, Claudia Henderson’s best friend and Hawkins’ biggest town gossip courtesy of her job as the receptionist at the doctor’s office. Steve can’t help but laugh – Valerie really knows her stuff.

“I’m assuming their girl’s day will involve a charcuterie board and wine?”

“Charcuterie,” Dustin mutters, beyond displeased at the thought of dips, fruit and water crackers – a far cry from his mother’s prized lasagne.

“Alright,” Steve announces, rubbing his hands together, “We’d better pick out some movies. I’m thinking we hit the arcade, then have a movie marathon over the cheesiest of pizzas...”

Dustin grins.

#i hope this came across more as a brotherly relationship and not steve as a parent figure #i'm tentatively writing some father-related stuff this week (it's father's day in aus this sunday) #my goal is to write a little something each day but my week is shaping up to be all over the place so i'll see how i go #steve harrington #dustin henderson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #steve harrington headcanon #claudia henderson #lilys ficlets #st: father's day edition