#horridly slow burn

[nanuk-the-bat]

Darling/Jesse and 1 for the kissing prompts please :D

Well I tried shaking something loose. Here goes:

Against all reason, all circadian rhyme, all the groggy stiffness of a lazy Sunday morning, Jesse peeked her head out from the makeshift comforter. The splash of sunlight licked at her eyes like some affectionate hound before her forearm could brace for impact.

Too slow.

Blinds were very much on the ‘we’ll get to it’ docket. Darling said he could install them. Jesse would stand back, lick her lips, and watch him tinker as his shoulders flexed.

The light spilled into the emptiness of her master bedroom in a way that a singular mattress and body could not contain, but Jesse felt a fullness in her. An optimism collecting within her.

The space was theirs.

The tips of her paint chipped toes wiggled into the slippers he’d thought to bring her. Horridly pink, fuzz covered things—if they moved on their own she might think them alive—another apartment warming present, though all she really asked for was a hand. A body. Maybe a set of chopsticks and some non-disposable plates.

What she got was the full force of ‘him.’

This place would be furnished in a week.

Her fingers hovered over the naked glass, the chill of the winter simmering against the translucent surface. The snow covered cityscape below was alive in its own bustling rebellion, The Oldest House similarly shimmering in the icy distance. Polaris stirred at the sight, at his approach.

Darling’s arm snaked around her middle, the heavy towel robe bunching under her breast as he deposited a steaming mug of coffee in her hand.

“‘Morning, Darling,” she mumbled, melding into him as she felt her missing little spoon press another slow kiss to her cheek.

“Quite the view.”

“Mmm.”

“The city life has its appeal, bathed in the bright light of a star. That’s a beautiful vision too,” he smiled back at her, a happy slightly more caffeinated sleep rumpled mess. All the discovery awaiting them and he was thoroughly content to idle, to stare, to simply exist beside her.

The way he beheld her. Everything that mattered was gathered up in her hands. Spread between them. It was almost too much.

Almost.

She took another sip, then a burning gulp to loosen her lips, never fully letting go, but swaying around to drink him in.

Her free hand gripped his ass. “You only going to look?”

His dimples puckered at her challenge, the silver peppering of indolent stubble grazing her impatient lips.

The chill of the glass sent a shiver through her spine, the goose flesh prickling over the backs of her arms as they pressed against it. They were too high up for an audience. But Polaris didn’t care. Hedron only had an audience for her.

Her hands buried in the disarray of his hair as she brushed it back to free his eyes. The empty coffee mug floated somewhere beside them.

They’d find his glasses later.

#Jesse x darling #my asks #ask game #writing #not completely brain dead #just severely handicapped

[sangwoochos]

title: clinging to not getting sentimental.

fandom: saltburn.

pairing: oliver quick/felix catton, felix catton/annabelle.

rating: mature.

wordcount: 874.

summary: oliver watches felix have sex with annabelle, all while being delusional and lying to himself. as usual.

triggers: alcohol use, stalking, voyeurism, smoking, violence.

ao3 link.

felix is staring at annabelle from across the dancefloor. i've seen that glassy, vodka-fueled look before. we all have, though i know that i see it for what it is: desperation. everyone loves felix, they do. no one leaves him alone, and he's grown accustomed to it. all of these people, all gathered at his feet, leaving flowers and prayers just for a glance in their direction. i think the reason he likes me so much is because i don't do that. never have, never will. my sun doesn't shine for felix catton, does it? no. he's worshiped with longing, especially from those like annabelle. i imagine that in her head, she thinks of wedding bells or invitations or feeding felix cake. it's all a bit pathetic, really, watching her now cut through her friends to get to felix. my gaze flicks to india, and her crushing disappointment. another disciple cast aside for felix's cravings. is it sweet to see them kiss as the music vibrates the entire club? hardly. there's nothing romantic about empty kisses that taste like alcohol.

pushing myself off of the wall, i slowly exit, but not the way felix went. that's too obvious, too... strange. people would notice, more than likely, and i can't have that. once they're on the trail back to felix's room, i pick up the slack and walk behind in the shadows. felix is hanging onto annabelle, his long body bent to the left, his head on hers. i can hear giggling, felix raising a bottle. he's smashed — totally off his arse with something horridly flavored, probably. whipped cream vodka or something equally as disgusting. they make it through the winding courtyard of our beloved oxford, and then — i fork toward the windows. i make sure to get there after felix enters with annabelle. their lips crash, two catastrophes looking to destroy fair towns with their undeniable affection. it's tragic.

i light a cigarette, taking a long drag from the filter, the curling wisps of nicotine-tinted smoke dancing around my head like felix does. he shines, you know. trusting and kind and dangerously sheltered from pain. he doesn't know what it's like to want, to need, to suffer for something you've set your heart on. love for him is so gentle, and it comes too fucking easily. he loves me. i know he does. he told me the first time we officially spoke, the words falling from his mouth like warm waterfalls nestled in hidden mountains. it felt... right. beautiful. no hatefulness, no sarcasm. i've never seen him look at annabelle the way he looked at me that day. it's nice when his brown eyes — so much like a loyal dog's — light up with happiness and laughter. i can give that to him, i can always give that to him.

he thrusts into her, the curve of his back lean and tight with exertion. i gain no sexual pleasure from this, i feel empty. tired. it's far past midnight, but that isn't the reason my heart pumps in a slow rhythm. there is no excitement, only the sharpness that comes before decay. a twisted blade, a gunshot that hits a vital organ. i'm bleeding for him, but not in the way one would expect. a tear falls, hot and stinging, and i finish the cigarette off with another drag. flicking it into the flowers, i hope they burn. i hope they wilt and curl into themselves. that's how i feel, that's how this makes me suffocate. they don't last long — fucking drunk will do that to you — the both of them rolling under the duvet looking for a smoke. felix laughs, the lamplight giving him this fucking awful glow. sweat is settled on his chest, and i hate it. i hate him. i hate felix catton. i want to tell him gorgeous words and say he's the only one for me, but i also want to know what it means to hurt him. really, truly hurt him. that's not violence, it's righteousness. a slaying of the ego, a sword wrapped in the thick muscle of self-worth.

she doesn't stay. she never does. with a kiss to his cheek, annabelle pops out whilst adjusting her clothes. felix doesn't bother lamenting, because there's no reason to. the lamp is off, the night presses against me with such incredible, horrible, nauseating weight. i watch his silhouette, moving with the rhythm of his breathing. my hand reaches out, and i press it to the glass. it's as if it also moves with his lungs, like i can feel the reverberation. in and out, in and out. my fingers curl until i form a fist. it's true, isn't it? that verlaine poem.

your soul is a select landscape — where charming masqueraders and bergamaskers go, playing the lute and dancing and almost, sad beneath their fantastic disguises.

all sing in a minor key, of victorious love and the opportune life, they do not seem to believe in their happiness, and their song mingles with the moonlight —

i rear my fist back and then pound it against the glass, the pitch-black night covering my form, my face. felix startles, yells, then leans over to light the lamp. i'm already gone.

#saltburn fic #oliver quick x felix catton #saltburn fanfiction #myfic.

[plantdad-dante]

Book #84 - Lord Of Shadows by Cassandra Clare

(first time read; ffs I have been reading this fucking book for three solid months now, I swear, The Dark Artifices stretches like chewing gum... It's like pulling teeth with me and this trilogy.) Fine. I guess at first I need to admit that yes, the ending did hit. It did make me sad to a frankly unfair amount. Yes. Fine. You won, like, one round out of a hundred, book. Congratulations. Unfortunately, 10 pages out of 700 are only 1.4 % of the book and the rest of this post will be about the other 98.6%. Cool? Cool. So. With that out of the way.... I think I figured out why Emma and Julian bother me so much. They have this really fun, trust- and banter-driven friendship. And they could have been so chill. And then, over the course of these horridly long books, they could have such a fun mutual best-friend slow-burn. And due to the parabatai bond and the curse and all, this could have been a really cool examination of how platonic and romantic love aren't a binary and how the line can actually be rather blurry sometimes and how relationships are dependent on the definitions of the people involved and how it's actually rather hard not to cross a line you can't even see anymore. And it would have been actually a really fresh take to have a straight couple be in a relationship like that - yk, one that would actually challenge the rigid mold of Straight People Rules. But no, their storyline has to be this angst-ridden melodrama. If it weren't for the setting and it's narrow-minded, binary take on relationships, this could have been such a cool subplot. Or maybe I'm just too far on the aroace spectrum to understand any of this properly. My actual point is - E and J don't fit into their own romantic subplot and their obsessive angst with each other is annoying whenever it doesn't actively make me want to put Julian into a mental institution. There are characters you can do these sorts of high-angst, high-stakes forbidden romance with. Emma and Julian ain't it. And I should like Julian, technically. Ruthless devotion is my jam. My top-shelf jam that I get out for only the freshest and tastiest of breads. I should love him. Instead this is another point on my "him and Emma have the wrong chemistry for their story" list of arguments. And not only does it make me not like Julian, I actually just want the boy to disappear for a bit and go through some very intensive therapy while the rest of the plot happens without him. Meanwhile Mark, Christina and Kieran's story is chock-full of tropes I hate (the lying thing, the amnesia thing, the weird pivot from jealous to actually-not-jealous, the fact I am still waiting for some Kieran pov in all this), but somehow they work despite that. It's the exact opposite of Emma and Julian. While with them, the tropes technically work but the characters don't, here the characters and their relationship(s) work on me, but the tropes don't. Last points, as this is getting long: Ty remains fave and absolutely no one can fight me on that, but- HOW HAS NOBODY TOLD ME ABOUT DIANA BEFORE (like, I really didn't need to know her deadname, honey, but at least someone could have told me that there is a canon trans character in my guilty pleasure book series, omg) That's all. Bye.

#lord of shadows #the dark artifices #cassandra clare #see y'all in a year when I finally work up the nerve to chew my way through book 3

[hcllowedout]

The more they thought about it, the more they wanted to try this idea. This awful idea. It would be a poor decision in their current state, that was something they were sure of. But what if it actually worked? That's what they were fixated on. What if they could make it work?

Pure thinks about this on one of their occasional walks in the Crossroads, when they needed time to themself for a little while. Their gaze goes to where their other arm should've been, and they huff quietly. They wouldn't have lost it if they had actually done their job right. Not to even mention all the ugly scars littering their body, ones that were only barely healed despite all the time it's been. They weren't damage from a mortal bug though.

It bugs them, they want to try. Gods, their siblings won't be happy with them...but what if they managed to do it? A harsh sigh leaves them and they sit down on a smooth stone with the idea buzzing in their head like an annoying little aspid. They move aside their cloak to see the horridly damaged shell where an arm once was, and they can feel resentment bubbling in them. They could fix it. Surely they could. Though something in the back of their head says they definitely shouldn't, they just...want to try.

Void seeps out of their shell, slow and carefully. That in itself didn't hurt. What did was when they tried to force it into a shape, not as though that fazed them. They still felt it was fine. It's hard to keep a specific shape, harder still to attach such a shape to the shell itself. There was a harsh strain forming quicker than they would have liked as they try to Focus. They wanted to heal, they're sure they could. They just needed to try a little harder. Even as cracks start to reopen, they're sure they could.

Or, perhaps not. It all stops at once, and the Void loses its shape and starts to retreat back into their body as it trembles with the strain. Most of it, anyway. The dark substance leaks down from the fresh cracks in their shoulder and onto the dusty floor below. Their head lowers as everything spins for the moment, and they try to simply ignore the pain shooting through their side. It didn't bother them. What did was just how weak they still were. Their Void boiled, but then only simmered. They felt drained, and they dimly wonder how much Soul they burned.

The knight brings a hand to their head, and debates whether they actually wanted to go home and face the shame of Ghost fussing over them, or stay out here for long enough that their sibling worries while they try to will their wounds to close back up.

They really can't win.

#|| do not speak || ic #//poor decisions were made

[slasher-drabbles-n-stuff]

heyy love, can u do a headcanon about being in a relationship with michael myers (Halloween 2018) maybe included age gap

•To start on a lighter note, Michael experiences unwieldy soreness in his weathered joints now that he has grown old. During the hunt, during the times when the “shape” is the sole master of him- the pain is absent..but when he comes home to you, it slowly creeps into him. Despite assuming that this would put him into a sour mood as it would most people, the sensation seems to lull Michael into a subdued trance on certain days. The satisfaction of having you care for him during these times makes the soreness irrelevant. Even if it’s something simple like insisting that he take some type of pain reliever, or maybe even just disregarding your plans for the day to stay inside with him and lounge about..it makes that shriveled little heart of his melt.

•Keep the damn icyhot to yourself tho

•Loves if you read to him during those times. He’ll even lay across your lap..just watch it, he dozes off easy.

•Old Man Michael likes to read too and wears reading glasses and you cannot convince me otherwise. Good luck getting him to be the one to read to you though…

•On less than stellar days, sometimes you’ll find your killer staring silently out of the window. Whatever he sees, you have no clue. The only solace you receive during these times is the way his body relaxes whenever you stand beside him and look out as well. Do you see it too? Do you feel what he feels as well?

•Anyways…

•Enjoys silent mornings with you, just sitting out on the back porch with a cup of horridly bitter coffee and a pleasant October breeze blowing by..just the way he likes it.

•As picturesque as this all sounds, let’s still not forget that his old age has done nothing to tame him.

•Michael in many ways is just like his younger self. His fascination..no..his attachment to you extends to him receiving pleasure just from observing your everyday life when you think he isn’t around. Even if he knows you better than you know yourself by now, he still enjoys watching your little everyday “quirks” and rituals. What’s funny is that he gets the sneaking suspicion that you know he is watching..oh well.

•But, in most many ways- he is still the bastard we all know.

•Now let’s get down to the sinning.

•Let this man figure out you have a daddy kink. It doesn’t really do much for him personally, but being able to make you turn red from embarrassment as you beg for him - having to call him “daddy” to get him to even budge- to ruin you? Oh, that does plenty.

•Careful with that sweet silver scruff of his, stuff burns like fire against your thighs with how vigorous he gives you head..provided he is in the mood for such things.

•Surprisingly starts taking more of a liking towards slow sex when he’s calmed down. He still likes the teasing aspect, and by all means- he can be rough still- but preference wise? Old Man Mike just really enjoys lazy, half asleep, morning sex.

#halloween kills #michael myers #Halloween 2018 #halloween #Michael Myers x reader #Michael x reader #Michael Myers fluff

[seraphdreams]

Short Skirt

warnings : hard dom iwa, fem! reader, quickie, reader being a slut, degradation, housewife-ish antics, a tiny bit of voyeurism, breath play, unprotected sex

wc- 1.6k

iwaizumi hajime

It was a chill day, just you and Hajime sitting on the couch, relishing in the afternoon sun peering through the large window of the living room. You sat comfortably in his arms watching the colorful waves of the awfully boring TV. He seemed so focused on the images coming from his phone screen. A sudden idea popped into your mischievous little head.

“Hajime, let’s invite the boys.” You suggest giddily. He looked over from his phone and gazed into your eyes, deep. “Why?” You narrowed your eyes in annoyance, did he really have to be asking questions right now? “I just think they’re entertaining, that’s all” you reply back. His gazed turned from you to his phone, pulling up the contact information for Oikawa. You tried to hide the joyful smile that crept onto your lips. “Hajime, i’m going to change real quick” You announced. Playfully skipping to the shared bedroom, you looked in your drawer.

You wore the outfit you knew was going to land you in big trouble with Iwa. His aggression seemed to spur you on. All the times he would choke you until you felt as there’s no more breath left in your body, slap your pretty ass so hard that it left red marks, and pull your hair so forcefully. That was what you loved about him, the littlest things made him upset. He wasn’t necessarily a hot head but more so overprotective, wanting to prove to anyone that you were his. And his only.

After you got all dressed, you stepped into the kitchen. “Maybe i should make snacks?” You said as you opened the fridge. “Sure, if that’s fine with you” Iwaizumi replied. You grabbed fruits and cheeses from the refrigerator and organized them in a fetching way on a tray. Honestly, this all felt like being a housewife, you didn’t mind though. It would all be worth it in a while. You heard a playful knock at the door. Walking away from the kitchen and cleaning off your hands, you opened the door.

Three tall men towered over you, making you fold in on yourself. “What’s up, Y/N” Matsukawa exclaimed, raising a thick brow. “Don’t stare too long” Oikawa said, gleeful glint in his eye. His comeback seemed to have caused Hanamaki to chuckle. You stepped back to allow the men inside. They found their way to the living room with Iwaizumi, being as loud as ever. His friends were always so lively. Thats why they were your friends as well. As they settled down and finally sat down, you decided to make your first attempt at getting Hajime riled up.

You went to the kitchen and grabbed the tray of food, happily walking into the now crowded living room. “Here ya go” A cheerful hum in your voice. You bent down to set it on the coffee table, skirt ruffling up slightly, aware of the many sets of eyes staring at your exposed thighs and panties barely covering your cunt. Iwaizumi took notice of your revealing outfit, and the blushes that dusted over the mens’ faces. Anger started to pump through his veins. Out of all the times to act like a slut, you chose this time? He ignored your plea for attention, shrugging it off as an accident. Maybe.

“Thank you so much” Oikawa gleamed, dragging out the the last word. You were such an attention seeker. All eyes (and hands) had to be on you. Mattsun shoots iwaizumi a concerning look, Hajime crossing his arms in response. There seemed to be no room left on the couch, so you tried to squeeze right in between Iwaizumi and Makki.

As about 30 minutes went by, you decided it was time for yet, another attempt. You get up from the sandwiched spot you were in and ventured to the kitchen once again. “Are any of you thirsty?” You asked. All four brunettes with their eyes on you. Hajime cleared his throat, “Well i’m fi-“

“i could go for some water” Oikawa cut in, winking at you. Mattsun and Makki agreeing. This caused your boyfriend to outright ignore you. You grabbed a pitcher and filled it with water. “Do you need help?” Makki interjects. “No, no i’m fine. Thanks for asking” you politely respond. You set four glasses down on the coffee table in front of them, going back to grab the pitcher afterwards. You looked so sexy, running around in your thigh highs, crop top and short, short skirt.

You poured the water into the glasses, cleavage displayed like a rack with a sign that said “fuck me”. Once again, all eyes were on you. Iwa knew this wasn’t an accident this time. His heart filled with rage. He growled to himself. You sat the pitcher into the sink, happy with the damage you’ve done. He quickly got up from his seat aggressively charging to the kitchen, the men watching in shock. He gripped your arm tightly, causing you to jolt back.

“Come. Here.” Iwaizumi grunts, pulling you forcefully into an empty hallway. Finally, what you wanted had happened. The adrenaline pumping through your veins like a drug. He pushed you into the wall, face meeting the cold exterior. Your arms were pinned up above you by his large calloused hands. “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he scolds, leaning into your ear. You could feel your panties dampen at his allure. Before you could answer, he slips two fingers into your mouth. You suck on them, obeying him. He lifts your wrinkled skirt up and pulls down your panties, rubbing the wet slit covered in your slick. “this is what you wanted huh, slut?”. Your legs weaken, his degradation turning you on. “fuck, you’re so wet. you always wanted this didn’t you?”. You moan, nodding your head.

He pushes down on your back, making your ass poke out in the air. He unbuckled his belt and untucked his cock from his jeans. His cock was so thick and long, with veins running along the underside. The tip was flushed an angry red and leaking with pre-cum. Iwaizumi aligned his length with your slit, teasing himself in and out. “please” you moan wantonly. Your cunt was basically clenching around nothing. Iwaizumi was not one to give you what you want so easily, no. He wanted you to beg, he wanted you to be the loud slut you were. Let everyone in the house know that you were about to get pounded. “Beg, whore” He demands. You swallowed the saliva that was settling in your throat. “Please Hajime, please fuck me”. He pumps his cock a few times before slipping it inside you.

The stretch burned, tears prickled in your eyes. He was fucking into you with vigor, no remorse for the loud sound of skin slapping. Every thrust into your cervix caused you to wince in pain and pleasure. It was pure bliss, him grunting at every push in. He kept hitting that white hot spot that made you cry out his name. Dragging his cock along your tight gummy walls, he groans at the feeling. “You like it sloppy, huh” He teases, now growing faster in pace. You bite your lip hard, clenching down on him. “Fuck” he curses. A large hand grips the back of your neck, tightly.

“Skimpy sluts don’t get to breathe” Iwaizumi grunts, still slamming into you at a horridly fast pace. You tried to call out his name, but under his force, it sounded like nothing but gibberish. Tears rolled down your face and your tongue was out past your lips. It felt too good, almost like you were paralyzed under his hold. You reached your shaky hand down to play with your clit, trying not to mewl at the feeling. “Haji-please” you beg, not certain what you’re begging for. He ignores your pleas and continues to chase his own high. “fuck i’m about to cum” He groans. He loosens his grip from your neck and pulls your hair. Feeling totally fucked out, you let your body lax. The feeling of him railing you on his cock was too much for your cunt to handle, drooling all over your thighs. “i-i’m close” You cry. Iwaizumi slows down in response and let’s go of your hair. He hit that sweet spot over and over until you couldn’t take it anymore. Your legs went weak as you trembled and creamed all over his cock, him cursing at the sensation.

A few more seconds of overstimulation is what you had to endure in order to please Hajime. He digs his nails into the soft fat of your ass as he sinks in balls deep. A deep groan left his mouth, “cumming”. You panted against the wall for a few moments, trying to regain your consciousness. He got pulled tucked in his cock and buckled up. He scoffed at your pathetic form, hunched over and sweating. “C’mon babe, go show my friends how much of a whore you are with my cum dripping down your leg” Iwaizumi mocks. You both headed back to the living room

“Sorry, we had to take care of a few things” Iwaizumi explains. You were barely able to stand up, let alone walk, without wobbling over. The men groan at your presence, noticing the lewd white liquid running down the back of your leg.

“Iwa-chan, seems like you had fun without us” Oikawa glints, Iwaizumi shooting him a daring look. “Yeah, don’t have all the fun without us now, Iwa.” Mattsun declared. A teasing smile crept onto Iwa’s face. You were in a lot more trouble now.

#iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi x reader smut #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fic #iwaizumi headcanons #hajime iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi oneshot #haikyuu smut #smut fic

[kiribakuhappiness]

Kirishima getting sick with Bakugo semi-nursing him back to health (badly or not🤣) while they're only in a relationship since recently? 👀

(Kiribaku Drabble Prompt) i love bakugou trying to be the best boyfriend he can be <3

Bakugou’s never been a boyfriend before. Not even in middle school, when that one girl had managed to catch enough of his attention for a couple of weeks that he’d actually abandoned the arcade he usually frequented after school and instead had spent a few afternoons at the park with her. And definitely not after he’d gotten accepted into Yuuei.

Being a boyfriend was taxing. Overwhelming. Annoying. It required a lot of things from him that he just did not possess; patience, dependency, communication skills.

All of those things could kiss his ass.

Bakugou’s never been a boyfriend before. So it was quite the punch in the face when Kirishima had appeared beside him in the locker room after training a few days ago, hyped up on nerves and some energy drink Dunceface made him try, practically vibrating even as he lifted his chin up high and asked if Bakugou wanted to go on a date with him – wanted to be boyfriends.

It was even more of a surprise when he couldn’t really find a reason to say no.

Bakugou’s never been a boyfriend before, and neither has Kirishima, and yet, the redhead seemed to have a natural talent for it. The way he squeezed Bakugou’s hand milliseconds before he was about to blow his top; like he could sense when Bakugou was about to lose it. That little squeeze was always so disarming, enough where the anger simmering in his chest retreated just enough to pull him back from the edge, to clear his mind, to remind him that he couldn’t risk getting kicked out of Yuuei. Not now. Not after everything. A little squeeze; I know you’re frustrated right now but I’m here.

And it helped.

Kirishima did that boyfriend shit like it was second nature. He held and squeezed and kissed and teased like it was the easiest thing in the world to let his guard down around someone who could quite literally blow him up at any given moment.

Bakugou’s never been a boyfriend before; but goddamn it if he was going to let Kirishima be better than him at it.

So that’s how he found himself here; standing outside of Kirishima’s dorm room, leaning back against the wall and begrudgingly waiting for Kirishima’s slow ass to get ready for class. He didn’t usually wait for Kirishima before going to class, but after yesterday’s embarrassing spectacle in the damn common area when Kirishima had come back from the gym carrying a fucking bouquet of hand-picked wild flowers that he had then dropped in Bakugou’s lap with a proud smile, well, two could play at that game, and Bakugou always strived to win.

Except now they were late for class and Kirishima still hadn’t come out of his fucking room.

Bakugou snarled. And then he tried not to, because boyfriends don’t do that. And then he snarled anyway, because Bakugou’s never been a boyfriend before and what the fuck was taking his dumbass so long to get ready?

He pushed himself away from the wall and stalked up to the door before he pounded on it with an angry – loving – fist.

“Kirishima, what the hell are you fucking doing in there? We’re fucking late!” Bakugou barked – with care and concern.

For a while, silence answered him, and it dawned on him that Kirishima might not even be in there. Had he already left for class? Fuck, the one day Bakugou actually waited and Kirishima might already be sitting at his desk, frowning and wondering where he was. But then he heard a loud sniffle echo out of the room, a few shuffled footsteps, and the door swung open to reveal a red-nosed Kirishima, who squinted at him through blurry eyes as though the lights in the hallway were too bright for him to focus on.

Bakugou blinked at him, taken aback by his sweaty forehead and half-lidded gaze. “What the fuck?”

Kirishima coughed horridly into his elbow before he attempted a smile, his already tinted cheeks burning a shade darker.

“S-sorry, I was gonna text you but – “ he coughed again, louder this time. Bakugou took an instinctive step backwards. “I forgot. I don’t feel so good.”

“Well.”

“Huh?”

Bakugou glared at him. “You don’t feel well, you fucking idiot.”

Okay, he was supposed to be doing something here. Kirishima quite literally looked like he might kneel over and die on the floor by his feet, and he was a boyfriend now, which meant he was supposed to be doing something here. He stared at Kirishima hard, as though the answer might magically appear on his face somewhere.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Kirishima chuckled, raspy and low. The baggy t-shirt he wore seemed to stick to his skin. “You can just tell Aizawa-sensei I won’t make it. Bring me back some soup from the cafeteria later, yeah?” And then he was closing the door.

Bakugou scowled and shoved his foot in the opening before it could click shut. “The fuck shithead, you’re just gonna stay holed up in there all damn day?”

Kirishima blinked at him, mouth parted in a little ‘o’ as his groggy brain tried to process words. “Uh, I mean… I can’t go to class and get everybody sick. That wouldn’t be very manly.”

Bakugou scowled harder, his eyebrows notching down to meet in an aggravated sort of manner. A whole day without shithead? Who the fuck was he supposed to spar with during training? When Bakugou got sick, he usually sucked it up and went to class anyway, cause there was no way in hell he was going to fall behind just because his nose was fucking runny. But Kirishima kind of looked like death right now and fuck, Bakugou was supposed to be doing something here.

“You should probably get going,” Kirishima said awkwardly, when the silence had stretched on for far too long and Bakugou still hadn’t moved his foot from the doorway or loosened the tight expression on his face. “Aizawa-sensei is gonna be mad and I would hate it if you got in trouble because of – “ He dissolved into another cacophony of wheezing and sniffling into his elbow. Gross.

Bakugou sighed a harsh breath through his flared nostrils and finally pulled his foot back. Dammit. He knew what he was supposed to do.

Without another word, he turned and stalked away, leaving a stunned Kirishima to look after him.

-

This was stupid. He should definitely be in class right now. The very thought of it had him sneering and growling deep in his throat as he pounded angrily – lovingly and patiently – on Kirishima’s door forty minutes later.

There was a loud grunt and groan, followed by the sound of something thudding to the ground, and Bakugou just barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. Boyfriends don’t roll their eyes, even when their boyfriends were fucking dumbasses, he had to remind himself.

A few moments later, the door cracked open again and Kirishima peered out. For a second, they just stared at each other, Kirishima’s glassy eyes growing a bit wider while Bakugou’s face proceeded to feel like it might burst into flames like IcyHot’s damn quirk.

Kirishima blinked stupidly at him. “Wha-”

“Fucking let me in,” Bakugou barked – with affection – as he gripped the edges of the tray in his hands tighter, definitely not to stop himself from anxiously tapping.

Kirishima complied, probably too doped up on decongestants and a fever to protest. Bakugou barreled his way inside. He shoved a couple of haphazardly stacked textbooks aside before he slammed the tray onto the desk, working hard not to look in Kirishima’s direction, whose bewildered gaze continued to burn into him.

Kirishima appeared by his side, wrapped tight in his camouflage comforter, his red hair was lacking any kind of product but it still stuck up in random directions, looking a lot more like Bakugou’s hair than he’d like to admit. Kirishima blinked down at the tray, the ghost of a smile pulling at his chapped lips.

“You… made me soup? And tea?” He sounded reserved and hopeful.

Bakugou tried not to growl. Boyfriends don’t growl, dammit.

“Well it’s fucking not for me, is it?” He snapped – because boyfriends can snap sometimes – before he shoved Kirishima over to the bed and forced him to sit.

“You better not fucking tell anyone about this,” he grumbled under his breath as he snatched up the mug of tea and held it out for him, eyes glaring out the balcony door, which had been cracked open to let the chilly morning breeze filter into the room.

Warm, clammy fingers grabbed the mug, trapping Bakugou’s hand against the hot porcelain, and Bakugou’s eyes snapped away to look at Kirishima, whose face – despite being tinged red and sweaty – was soft and stupid, smiling at him like he’d just blasted off into orbit and grabbed a damn star for him.

“I wouldn’t ever. This is just for me, right?” Kirishima beamed, and he still looked pretty, even when he was a goddamn mess.

Bakugou’s shoulders relaxed, just a little. “Yeah, idiot. You’re my stupid boyfriend aren’t ya?”

Kirishima’s smile grew impossibly wider. “And you’re the best boyfriend!”

And then he dissolved into another coughing fit. Bakugou wretched his hand away and some of the tea dribbled down the side of the mug, over Kirishima’s fingers, and onto the floor. Bakugou cussed, and Kirishima laughed at him, and later, Aizawa-sensei would ream them both for not informing anyone that they wouldn’t be attending lessons that day, but Bakugou found that he didn’t so much care.

He was the best goddamn boyfriend, and that felt like enough of a victory for today.

#kiribaku fic #kiribaku drabble #kiribaku fluff #sick fic #everybody loves a good sick fic amiright #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #bnha #my hero academia #kiribakuhappiness drabble prompts

[ao3feed-mythology]

The Accidental Tourist

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/339RR6j

by pinksnail

It was just a case of the wrong place, the wrong time and probably the wrong country. I was never really cut out for being a tourist. So you can imagine the horror of being forced to go holiday-making in a realm of Gods. But, it's your lucky day. You don't have to imagine it. I'm going to tell you all about it, in all of its horridly glorious detail.

Words: 13055, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of The Journals of Alice Roth

Fandoms: 神々の悪戯 | Kamigami no Asobi, Religion & Lore - Ambiguous Fandom, Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Norse Religion & Lore, Japanese Mythology

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M, Gen

Characters: Original Female Character(s), Loki Laevatein, Totsuka Tsukito, Hades Aidoneus, Zeus Keraunos, Kusanagi Yui, Totsuka Takeru, Thoth Caduceus, Balder Hringhorni, Apollon Agana Belea, Dionysus Thyrsos, Thor Megingjord, Anubis Ma'at, Melissa (Kamigami no Asobi)

Relationships: Totsuka Tsukito/Original Female Character(s), Loki Laevatein/Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Humor, Angst, Retelling of Kamigami no Asobi, Developing Friendships, Mental Instability, Unreliable Narrator, Ambiguous Relationships, Ensemble Cast, Phobias, Mania, potty mouth, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, gods being gods, Meaning they have emotional baggage and have done bad things, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Slow To Update

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/339RR6j

[ao3feed-bakusquad]

An Idiot's Guide to Teenage Angst

an idiot's guide to teenage angst by plantedinmymind

Kirishima has a problem. Several, actually. Problem one: midterms. Problem two: "operation woo Katsuki Bakugo" is going horridly wrong. Problem three: he's got an overwhelming feeling of inadequacy that makes him want to drop out and hide until all his problems either disappear or the world forgets about him. Problem four: he's definitely going crazy, either that or Touya Todoroki isn't as dead as everyone thinks he is, and every single one of his friends is probably in mortal peril because the dude's got serious daddy issues and Kirishima just so happens to be friends with his kid brother.

Or: Eijiro Kirishima, and the hardships of navigating sexuality, highschool, and harbouring the son of the number one hero in his moms' basement.

Words: 1901, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, M/M

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, Ashido Mina, Kaminari Denki, Sero Hanta, Midoriya Izuku, Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Dabi | Todoroki Touya

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Weight Issues, Body Dysphoria, Bakusquad, Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Vigilante Todoroki Touya, Slow Burn, Teen Angst, Kirishima Eijirou Has Two Moms, Bakugou Katsuki is a Mess, Self-Esteem Issues, Romantic Comedy, copious use of the word fuck, Canon is a coal mine and I'm a canary except this time I have a lighter and I'm not afraid to use it

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30747800

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Kiribaku #♥ #Kiribaku #💥 #💎 #⚣ #R:T #A:Plantedinmymind #Dadzawa #Bakusquad #Angst

[lockawayknight]

collateral damage  |  ringleader (interlude i)  |  creighton, navlaan  |  1944

a mean lil vignette for a discord thread with @mildmcnnered​ :0c 💕!!

“Well hello, Creighton. Been a while, hasn’t it?”

Creighton is familiar enough with the nuance between the man’s voices to know that this is the wrong one.

He’s shocked, really, to know he’s apparently human enough to speak to the true man behind the fog given all these hours’ events. On any other day, he’d consider this a blessing — an idiomatic and literal cutting out of the middleman — but today...

Well, today’s been a hell of a day. 

A sad, frustrated sigh leaves the knight as he pulls the body he drags behind him closer to the fog wall — close enough so the thing within the man behind it can see. “M’not ‘ere t’see you, Navi,” Creighton says, sobered and dark. “Let me talk to him.”

With that, Creighton hoists the body of the still-thrashing guildmaster forward, dropping him in a pitiful pile at the foot of the churning gate. It elicits a flinch from the figure behind the wall — a covering of the ears; a shrinking back as if revolted. “N-no, no,” the sorcerer pleads, turning away in horror. “Creighton, you promised me it would be over after the last!”

“Something’s come up, Nav,” Creighton replies, painfully matter-of-fact, far too exhausted for his voice to be anything other than that of the grave axe murderer within him. “Don’t make this harder on yourself than it needs to be. Let me speak to the Master.”

“Creighton, please.”

“Now, Navlaan.”

There’s a beat as the figure behind the fog lowers his head into his hands, shuddering as if weeping — and perhaps he is. “You promised...” he bitterly echoes. “You promised me, as a friend — you called me your friend...

“...How sad this is.”

There’s the voice Creighton’s looking for.

Setting one foot on the shoulder of the writhing body beneath him, Creighton leans forward. “I need to ask a favour of you,” he says in a murderous half-growl. 

Navlaan chuckles to that, the vessel’s loving soul now fully obscured beneath the cruelness’ veil. “You’re breaking his heart, don’t you know?” the monster within says, maliciously amused. “Oh, how much faith my foolish vessel had in you — in your little promise to behave...”

Creighton knew he’d have to talk around a few riddles and insults in order for this to work. He pays no mind to it. He’s sure the Master can tell he feels horridly remorseful for what he’s doing right now — doing to Navlaan, that is — and will rub his nose in it until he’s satisfied with Creighton’s own pain. Knowing this, and prepared to face the consequences, Creighton ignores the words completely. “Pate’s been taken prisoner by this man,” he says, giving the body before him a hard stomp — a sharp cry muffled into the cloth that gags him as something cracks. The man behind the fog flinches, then snickers again — a rapid switching of the entity that fronts the amalgam. “He refuses to tell me where he is,” Creighton then continues, “so I need your help.”

Navlaan’s chuckle grows louder, his body twitching painfully as the vessel forces their head to turn away — to keep his head in his hands against his Master’s will. Still, the voice that comes out is that of the torturer that keeps the body trembling. “Ah, birds of a feather, as they say, hm? A murderer seeks another of its flock...?”

“Mm.” There’s no use in pretending. The demon will call any bluff. Creighton simply agrees. “You know how to track bastards with red phantom magic, don’t you?”

“Well, of course I do.”

“Then that’s what I n—”

“Oh, but it’s been a dreadfully long time, sweet knight. The gears ought to be greased a bit first, don’t you think?”

“I already ‘ave an offer.”

That gets the Master and vessel both to lift his head, just the slightest bit — the slightest glance. “... Is that so.”

“Mm.”

The body writhes, and so does the man behind the fog — trembling, twitching, muscles arguing with electrical, ephemeral impulse. Eventually, something clicks within his flesh, and he sighs long and relieved, as if a battle had just been won. And it has. Behind the churning grey, Navlaan sits up straight, and folds his hands in his lap, a cruel smile painting his pale blue cheeks. “Well. Consider my interest piqued.”

Creighton wastes no time. “Your vessel refuses to kill, but you miss the pleasure of it all. You’ve said tha’ before t’me, ‘aven’t you?”

A gentle nod, smile never faltering. “Go on, dear.”

Creighton gives the body below him another stomp — another muffled wail, another drool-drenched groan. “He is my offer,” the knight says, shadowed blue eyes reading a cruel emptiness that rivals even the Master’s. “Whatever you wanna do to him.”

The vessel’s throat lets out a hum as the Master within considers the implications here — the offer, the price, what he does and does not want. Regretfully, though tempted as he is, he’s forced to sigh in refusal. “My vessel will no longer kill for me, even if I hold his hand.” He says this with a wiggle of Navlaan’s fingers. “So your offer at the moment is, unfortunately, moot.”

“I’ll be doin’ the maimin’,” Creighton responds flatly. “Whatever y’want. However slow y’want. You can feast your bloody eyes. Jus’ tell me where to find Pate.”

Another pause for thought, then the Master’s chuckle taints the vessel’s chords again. “You never fail to surprise me, sweet knight…”

The body writhes. Creighton stomps. “I’m on a time limit, Navlaan,” he says firmly. “Do we ‘ave a deal or not?”

Pause — silence. Black-gloved fingertips tap together in thought, then shift to a pale blue chin in decision. “Hm. Break his forearm.”

Unhesitatingly, fluid in motion like a dancer’s arabesque, Creighton twists the body below him and gives his right forearm a hard stomp.

Bone crunches. Another yell is muffled. The sorcerer twitches with a yelp, terrified and cowering, then breaks into a laugh that could only be described as evil. “You’re quite serious about this, aren’t you!” he cries out, amused. 

“I don’t faff the fuck about when Pate’s life is on the line,” Creighton responds in a manic crescendo, his volume increasing with the adrenaline of torture. “Now decide.”

“Ah-ah-ah, Creighton,” the Master says with the wag of a finger, “remember that you came to me. Do not rush my decision, now, hm?”

Twitching with impatience, Creighton waits.

Eventually, the spectre beneath the sorcerer has itself an idea, and the vessel grins in response. “Here’s the thing, sweet knight,” he says plainly, lacing and unlacing fingers playfully — or perhaps anxiously. “My foolish vessel was so happy to know you’d sworn off our little contracts. How sad he is to know you’ve gone and betrayed him — you, his only friend…” Pause. “So here is my proposal: I accept your offer... but I want my vessel to watch.”

Behind his mask, Creighton’s lips twitch into a sombre frown, but he remains still and calm. His social inner puppy is whimpering at the thought of hurting one of his dearest friends so viscerally — one who already suffers enough — but he can’t feel bad. He can’t. Not when Pate’s life is at stake. Not when finding him is so close... “S’that all?”

The comment falls on the wrong ears, and the sorcerer sniffles. “Bastard, you said—”

“I’ave my reasons, Navlaan,” Creighton scolds, making the vessel flinch once more. “I...” Inhale, exhale. “It’s... up to your Master whether you ever get to know ‘em.”

Sadly, the man behind the fog looks away.

Pause.

Then, “Break his other forearm.”

Creighton does as instructed. A breath, a scream, a flinch, a horrified voice from behind waves of blue — “Creighton, stop, please!”

“I can’t!” the knight cries back, grinding his heel into the body below him’s cracked arm. “What next?!”

“Please st—!! S-s-shh-shatter his knees.”

He does as instructed. The body can hardly writhe anymore — has started laughing, even, in his misery. It only pisses Creighton off more — upsets the vessel, pleases the Master. 

But the vessel’s voice cuts through the din of silence. “Why are you doing this...?!”

“I have my reasons.”

“Why do you hate me...?”

Pause. “...I know it’s you.”

A cruel chuckle. “Drat — thought that would work...”

“Now what?”

The smile returns, though the vessel trembles in agony. “What else is there left to do, Creighton? Kill him. Let us watch.”

A beat. Creighton shakes his head, his heel pressing the man’s face into the ground. “No,” he says firmly. “You uphold your end a’ the bargain first, mate. I assure you, I want this slimy rat dead more than anyone. But if he dies, he’ll wake back at that bloody bonfire, unbound, an’ I’ll’ave no way of stoppin’ him ‘fore he gets to Pate.”

The grin on the vessel’s pained face widens. “You’ve really thought this out, haven’t you...?” he teases. 

But again, Creighton ignores it. “Tell me where Pate is.”

“Stomp, right there.”

He does as instructed. Blood and chipped teeth scatter. The vessel groans in bitter betrayal, “You’re a fucking monster...”

“I’m sorry.”

Crimson slowly seeps under the fog gate. The vessel pulls up his heels, as if touching it would burn. But toes soon tap the floor playfully once more as that wretched smile and hum return. “You’ve been good to me, Creighton,” the Master says through cracking chords. “When have I ever let you down? Come now, kill him; you can trust me—”

“I do trust you,” Creighton says, grinding his heel into the man’s cheek. “I trust you to not lie. My entire fuckin’ heart weighs on this, Navlaan. I trust you more than I should.”

“...Hmph. Fair enough. Then kill him.”

“Tell me where Pate is first.”

“Stubborn little man...”

“I need to know now so I can get there before this bastard does.”

A pause to think. Fingers and toes tap. Bone crunches and crunches and crunches — anxious fiddling with this body like a toy, like a doll with frayed seams and missing button eyes. 

Soon, the hooded figure behind the fog lowers his head, fingers templed, and he hums, hums, hums — taps his index fingers together, drags toes through the blood on the floor. Then...

“The Crypt,” he states confidently, finally giving Creighton what he wants. “That dour place below Drangleic Castle — the dark one, where the grave wardens lie. There’s a hidden chamber there where thieves gather. You’ll find it if you follow the torchlight.” Pause. Grin. “And now...?”

And now... it’s Creighton’s turn.

He got all that he needs, and though his heart aches for what he’s about to do — for his friend’s sake, and the sake of his broken promise — he shows no hesitation or mercy as he draws his axe for an execution.

Bloodied amber eyes glance up, saccadic as Creighton raises his axe, but the blade descends before any sort of sound can be made from the target of the room’s every ire.

From behind the curtain of fog, the sorcerer cries out in distressed betrayal, but Creighton has no time to apologise any more. Rushing now, adrenalized beyond belief, the knight kicks the severed head through the gate of fog as offering before it fades to umbral ash, drawing a homeward bone from his pocket and kneeling to whisk himself away.

The Master’s vile imitation of Navlaan’s voice follows him for a split second — a laugh, and a cruel, “Ta-ta, Creighton.”

Then the knight is gone from the Keep, and the vessel collapses into sobs. 

#drabbles #mildmcnnered #creighton [muse] #navlaan [muse] #argh i love writing navi but hghhghghghghghhhhh #enjoy Suffering my friends and pals #add me on discord for more threads that wind up In Places Like This #jhgdkfjs

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Guys I’ve been a really bad bean today. Despite not getting even remotely close to my nano word count I’ve got lost in editing land with this piece. I initially just wanted to correct the mistakes my amazing friend @finder-of-rings would find for me but ended up rewriting whole paragraphs of this and fiddling a little with the scene structure at the end.

At least I’m happy how it turned out.

@redstainedsocks  @salamancialilypad @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee

Chapter 3

CW: past parental neglect, panic attack, protagonist nearly experiencing a meltdown, stimming, undeserved punishment

Sahar stumbled, nearly tripping over the small stone steps as he hasted up to the farm. The bushes and ferns around him all swam together into smudged shades of green. The world around him dissolved into a melting aquarelle painting, ruined by tears burning their deep painful paths into his skin as they streamed down his flushed face, incessantly. 

He knew he wasn’t supposed to cry but he’d forgotten how to stop.

The rustling leaves and chirping beetles, the birds, the arguing voices from below, were all drowned out by the thundering heartbeat pulsing through his skull.

I didn’t do anything bad.

I didn’t.

I didn’t.

Or…

Did I?

Sahar’s right arm ached in warning but his relentlessly tapping fingers were somehow capable to hold the feeling at bay, getting it out through his movements before it could break through his skin and twist his very being into an abstract variant of pain.

For now, the horridly familiar sensation just lingered, stinging deep in his marrow and itching under his nails, eager to burst out.

Bolting over the little fence, Sahar hurried across the plateau and passed the house to hop behind one giant root, into nature's comforting embrace. 

He wedged himself between it and the old stump they used to chop firewood on, eyes fixed on the ax still rammed inside as his back hit the roots bark over and over again, chasing unwanted feelings out through movement and the growing throb across his skin, until his violent rocking slowed into a gentle rhythm.

The ache began to fade.

Sahar’s lips trembled around one long shaky exhale and his tears finally subsided. Their tracks were only crusty streaks of salty water now, not overwhelming liquefied aches.

Sometimes Sahar hated his body, hated it for being overwhelmed by the stupidest things, hated to have a brain full of misfiring neurons at war with themselves and the world. A brain that made it unbelievably more difficult to exist, as what he was, in this world.

Maybe this was some kind of divine punishment.

Punishment for what?

Why was it a crime to be-

“Sahar?” Moira’s head peeked over the root. Her brows furrowed in worry as she looked down at his cowering form.

“There you are, sweetheart.”

He didn’t meet her eyes, only tugged his knees tight to his chest, ready to hide his face from whatever scolding was surely to come.

There always had been reprehension when he hadn’t been able to behave himself. Until all of his mother’s angry words hadn’t been enough and she’d ultimately abandoned him.

Ugly icky fear gnawed away at his insides, a sharp toothed beast he desperately wanted to banish from his skin. He rocked against the root again, let his shoulder blades collide with it hard enough the rough bark threatened to tear his grey linen shirt.  

Sometimes his thoughts paused, stayed on safe paths and away from the maelstroms of his ever racing mind when he rocked or tapped or hummed enough. But now was not such a moment.

Sahar’s thoughts spun and spiraled, crashing violently into one another on their collision curses.

Please don’t throw me out. Away. I can behave. I can be disciplined. I promise. Promise. Promise. Please!

The curtain closed and left the window dark.

“Sahar?”

Wait.

There were no curtains here.  And no city streets. No concrete roads or bleeding knees.

Only warm earth under his fingertips. A long grass blade brushed his calf and Sahar closed his eyes to focus on the barely there tickle against his skin.

Feeling his ribcage expand and fill with the lavender scented air, inherent to his home, his eyes fluttered open.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

Here. Here. Here. And I can stay.

Moira began to heave Asmodea over the root with a loud huff that had Sahar instantly uncurl and twist around to take the snail with a firm, gentle grip from Moiras arms. Asmodea immediately clung onto him as best as their soft slimy body allowed, their foot moving in exasperated little waves until Sahar finally sat back down to place them over his lap.

“There, there baby. There you you you go.”

He couldn’t help but smile as Asmodea draped themselves flat over his legs, making no move to retreat into their shining shell. It’s brown and black stripes still shimmered from the shower Sahar had given them yesterday. 

“Sahar? Can you listen to me?”

Hunching protectively over Asmodea, he gave a hesitant nod, before adding a quiet, “Yes.”

Moira didn’t like it when she had to repeat herself. It made her livid when he or Ansgar ended up absorbed in one-

Ansgar.

Something hot and heavy lodged itself in Sahar’s throat at the thought of his furious gaze. Ansgar had never looked at him like this, ever before, but Sahar realized why, now, after he had a moment to collect his racing thoughts, to calm his hammering heart.  He really had been bad. Immature, thoughtless, utterly ludicrous.

But even so he knew. God how he knew.

Even after everything-

“Ansgar and Eric persuaded the… head hunter, to try his luck up in Berlin.” Moira began, lips pursed in displeasure. “Your house arrest however, stands nevertheless. Don’t give me that look. You’ve been irresponsible and ill-mannered, young man. No matter how good a reason you may think you had, you have to control yourself.”

A protest burned on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed the sizzle of anger down, buried it deep inside himself where all his other unsafe emotions were banished.

“I know. I I- I’m sorry.”

Moira shook her head with a sigh, grey curls swishing softly from side to side. “Just be better from now on and stay put for the next  few days.  No strolling through the farm woods either.”

His fingers began to tap an anxious rhythm onto Asmodea’s shell, while their foot pulsed in soothing waves over his thighs. One of her eyes gently nudged his forearm.

“What, uhm what, but if if if one of the snails escapes and-“

Moira’s strict tone nipped his tender try at backtalk at the bud, rendering him silent for good.

“Ansgar and I will take care of that then. I have to go now. Ansgar already went to help Eric and the others check the InD-Unit’s for a possible break through. I don’t trust one word out of this guy’s mouth, and I expect you to stay close to the house. Did I make myself clear?”

The scar on his arm stretched uncomfortably as he curled tighter around Asmodea, desperate for his friend’s silent support. Their soft body wiggled gently over his legs in response.

“Yes, ma’am.”

#theosnanowrimo #nanowrimo #whump #post apocalyptic whump #mutant whump #mutant whumpee #post apocalypse #mutants #whump writing #whumpee #crying whumpee #queer protagonist #autistic protagonist #stimming #panic attack whump

[haikyuu-matches]

｡˚✰˚✦ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐏

exchange with @necr0misis​

— ❛ 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗌, 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 ❜

˚✶⋆｡˚☆ﾟ✦

thank you so much for waiting !! and, thank you for bearing with me. i really hope you like this in spite of such a long wait (over a month oof--) ! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

˚✶⋆｡˚☆ﾟ✦

— 【❈】 ‣  i match you up with … 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔 !!

you and atsumu would make such a powerful pair that i can’t think of matching you up with anyone else. first and foremost, i can imagine you two not getting along splendidly (*cough* frenemies to lovers trope *cough*), but as time goes on, you two will realize you harbor romantic feelings for each other !! and it’s actually goals--

it kind of goes like this: you don’t necessarily like how atsumu . . . has an arrogant streak. you can tell he knows he’s hot shit. he has this habit of calling things as he sees it, which is both admirable and kind of rude. he holds himself and others to a high standard. he sometimes fails to look at the way he treats others. even if he does see it, he doesn’t care enough to change himself. 

whereas. . . you’re a bit of a foil to him. you’re kinder in your approach. given you’re naturally smart & you feel obligated to help others no matter how busy you are, you are so selfless! as opposed to atsumu, you recognize your flaws with social interactions! you try to fix it by sympathizing with and helping others even if it’s not natural to you. 

with that note-- atsumu ends up realizing this about you & he think it’s pretty endearing. although he would be fairly annoyed that people may take advantage of you since you have a problem saying “no” to others. he’ll surprise you by seriously letting you know he has no problem letting down people for you if you ever need it. 

it’s the small things that will shift your view on atsumu, and in turn, push you guys closer-- 

essentially, you may not like him especially at first. but !  i feel like you would see some of yourself in him, and you have more similarities than you both stubbornly refuse to admit. one being the fact you two hold such high expectations for yourselves, and you aren’t satisfied with the bare minimum. arguably, you both have this quality where if you’re passionate about something, you two will obsess over it and work at it. 

i can see you guys often bumping into each other because you two are always working. you can’t avoid each other lol. with atsumu working on his volleyball skills on the court, and you working on crossfit in the gym, you see each other in passing ALL THE TIME.  

when you two become close enough. . . in passing, you will playfully jab at each other about your respective work. to the onlookers, it’s definitely flirting, but to you guys, it’s not just that because your words definitely have an impact on each other. whether you intended this or not, you two push each other to be better with your teasing and sometimes brutal words. 

for example, to the handsome setter, you might say something like “your serve’s looking weak there; you sure you’re putting in enough work ?” and that kind of riles atsumu up. he’d want to do better because his game depends on it, but also a large part of him (ahem, his ego) would want to prove you wrong. besides . . . is he a bit attracted with that someone who has the audacity to say such things to him? oh, that’s an easy yes.

on a different note, you never have to worry about filtering your words or saying something to appease atsumu. in fact, the setter would always want you to be “unapologetically yourself”, and he’d never want you to change for the supposed norm. i feel like he had a pretty apathetic view when it came to girls before meeting you (that squealin’ pig scene comes to mind dfiosjls). 

he didn’t really seem to have an interest in relationships since he’s so dialed in on volleyball. however, in terms of what he generally looks for in a girlfriend, osamu remarks atsumu’s whipped for someone who has enough confidence to deal with his blunt, crude ways & not take everything he says so sensitively. 

after a moment or two . . . atsumu will realize that’s literally you. catch osamu being like obviously

the two of you would be perfect because you stand your ground & call him out for his bullcrap. you just have this effect on him where you basically ground him & keep him more structured if that makes sense. in any case, you’re not so delicate and insecure that atsumu has to walk on ice for you. and vice versa. 

also- atsumu loses it when you use your sarcastic humor & sharp wit against him. he absolutely lives for the banter you have. honestly, there’s so much tension whenever you guys are together that people just want you to kiss already. and you guys will. . .  but in due time ~ 

it’s a bit of slow burn because it takes you both awhile to come to terms to the fact you like each other so much. . . even though you probably exchange more harsh comments than kind ones. after all, there’s a thin line between love and hate. yet, you two both get the unspoken message in spite of those words. but yeah, grappling with these feelings is hard. . . 

when you guys finally exchange numbers (because you’re not just enemies now but perhaps friends-), atsumu surprisingly gets most of your memes you send him?? like, , , it’s kind of weird how he’s on the same wavelength as you, and you’re just like how does he know all these references?? 

by the way, your taste in music ? immaculate.

atsumu will definitely get into 70s music because that’s all you force let him to listen to when you’re hanging out. i can imagine that once you two become a thing, you’ll definitely have impromptu singing where atsumu is singing horridly (maybe on purpose to get on your nerves) and you’re trying to offset it. tbh, david bowie would cringe at atsumu’s poor rendition.

your hobbies of studying theoretical fields & absurd theories about reality may go over atsumu’s head at times, but he finds this side of yours rlly intriguing. he’s the "smarter” twin, so he’ll try to show off what knowledge he does possess in order to capture your affections. study dates are basically you two trying to roast each other & flirt more so than studying ahah.

generally speaking, you two tend to match each other’s energy, and i feel like it wouldn’t take too, too long for you to open up to atsumu and him for you. at least for friendship wise. there was initial dislike, but you two just mesh so well that the dislike kind of becomes a thing of the past.. like you two will find that you’re laughing and giggling in each other’s presence instead of just going at each other’s throats— you two can show your silly & goofy sides and i’m all here for that. just, the development!

and yes, it may take awhile for atsumu to accept his feelings for you, but once he does, he’ll make it clear what his intentions are. he’ll actually be a little weird at first because he’ll try to do something thoughtful or kind, like killing a spider instead of laughing at your horror like he normally does. and it’s unsettling to you. 

anyway ! i feel like he’d just out of nowhere confess to you & you’re just left with a shook face because he likes you?? given your history with crushes, you weren’t expecting for atsumu to take that sort of interest in you but now you’re left with him awaiting your answer. . . 

you say yes eventually- but atsumu definitely teases you for your mental lapse. but really his heart is doing somersaults and he’s over the moon-

honestly you two are like that athletic couple?? you doing crossfit and also swimming & atsumu doing volleyball? you two just look perfect together. 

but also, power to you guys for working hard & chasing your dreams-- it’s so inspiring. atsumu will 100% support all your dreams & endeavors even if they seem all over the place. like if you want to go into biomedical engineering, yes, atsumu will be there for a caffeine run if you need some for studying. or perhaps even astrophysics? atsumu will do his best to support you with whatever it may be-- even with his own busy schedule. his actions tend to show his love than his words.

to conclude, atsumu and you would make such a great match. because there would be obvious attraction but also that relentless, aggressive support. there’s some stark differences in your personalities, yes, but there’s also enough similarities to keep you two compatible as well. i see your relationship as a crackling fire because i get “eternal flame” vibes from you two. like your relationship will stay alive in spite of fights or arguments, and the passion to relay your love for each other will remain through and through. 

possible runner-ups:

iwaizumi hajime

tsukishima kei

#starburst matchup #exchange matchup #haikyuu matchup #haikyuu matchups #HQ!! #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu request #hq matchups #hq matchup #matchup #haikyuu matchup exchange #necr0misis #matchup exchange #matchups #haikyuu writing #haikyuu love #haikyuu love match #atsumu miya #atsumu matchup

[thenightau]

Endangered

((TW: Generalized gore, vomit))

The deity sighed within its castle of destruction. The walls were rotting and covered with vines and moss and mold. In the distance was screams of those who hadn’t lived such peaceful lives. The wind picked up the scent of blood, rot, and desestation. It lounged in a chair made of human bones, legs thrown over the arm of the chair, and its blue hair falling behind them as they stared up at the ceiling. 

“Uuugggh. Im bored.” It muttered, turning onto its stomach and puffing its cheeks out in a pout. “I should check on that SMP. I wonder what they’re up t-”

“Your dastardly-ness!” Came a small, squeaky voice of a man. And it turned its head. The man was mortal, a spirt enslaved in this hellish place. “Words come in from Builder. He needs your help-”

“What?” It asked, sitting up with a wide grin. “You’re telling me. Alexios. Needs my help?” It leaned forward, and the mortal coward back at the gleam in its eyes. 

“Yes Endanger.” He said, “Builder wrote that he needed your help containing Night before-”

“Oh.” It deflated, relaxing back in its chair. “Bo-ring. Go get him to have Protector fight his battles.” It waved its had dismissively. 

“But your dastardly-ness. Protector… can’t.”

“...What?” It asked, eyes narrowing in on the mortal like a lion’s on its prey. 

“Protector… is dead. Night killed her.”

“HE WHAT?!” 

The mortal coward under the shaking roar that was Endanger’s voice. Endanger stood, extending it’s hand as a battle axe, caked red with blood, flew into its hand. It stormed towards the door as the human stammered to explain. But Endanger didn’t hear an ounce of it. It slammed the door shut, yelling behind it to make sure nothing got better in its absence. 

___

Builder paced within the night, pulling his hair as most of the hermits slept. Save for Xisuma, who was watching over Grian and Wels like a hawk. He stared uselessly at a large map plastered to the wall, his brain trying to come up with something, anything that might help him defeat his sibling. But no matter what thought crossed his mind, it was always met with;

‘Protector wouldn’t think thats a smart idea.’ 

‘Protector wouldn’t like that.’

The thoughts made him want to scream out of frustration. He kicked at the wall holding the map, watching as the item frames crumbled to the ground. He let out a slow sigh, leaning down to gather the papers and put them back up before anyone saw his stress induced anger. 

No. He had to stay calm. Collected. For the sake of his son. 

He heard a loud, shrill battle cry. One that came from the heavens and made the hermits jolt to attention. Builder looked up, seeing a blur of blue in the sky before it landed in a ball of smoke. 

Endanger as joined the server

“Endanger! You came! Oh thank void-” Builder smiled, but that smile faltered as the war god stood slowly, skin still steaming. 

“Oh-” muttered Cub

“My-” gulped Bdubs, sweating nervously. 

“Void.” Xisuma cured, eyes wide at the god in front of them. 

Endanger was tall, as was the rest of them. With longer blue hair parted heavily to the left with the right side shaven. In its hands held a battle axe, one still oozing with blood. Covering its chest was a pale dark purple colored chest plate, wearing skin tight clothing underneath it that was tan in nature. 

But that wasn’t what horrified the hermits, no. 

It was the multiple gashes on the deity. The burned, charred hands and feet. Its face was horridly mauled, and Xisuma briefly wondered how the hell that thing saw anything. It was glaring heavily, but not towards the hermits. 

Its anger was directed at Builder. 

“L-Listen, Endanger-” Builder stuttered, waving his hands around and taking a step back from the clearly angry god. 

“You mean to tell me. I had to find out. My sister was dead. From a servent?” The god, known to mortals as Endanger, or the god of brutal war, snarled, its axe pointed at Builder. 

“I’m sorry! I was just busy with trying to get the other hermits back and-”

“Wait wait wait. Hermits?” Endanger looked at the mortals, who all inched back at its gaze. Its eyes locked onto Iskall’s, who was still mostly in his own daze and not paying attention. “You.” It pointed to the other, “You’re Iskall, right?” It asked, and Iskall looked over, nodding a little. 

“Yes. Why?”

“You’re Doc’s friend. Right?”

“I mean we’re all friends-?” Iskall looked at Builder, confused by this gods questions. 

“Then where is he? I don’t see him in your ranks.” Endanger asked once more. Iskall paused, afraid to tell this deity the truth. “Answer me.” 

“Hes… with Night.” Iskall said, eyes glued to the axe in the others hand. Endanger went quiet at that. It seemed to ponder something, only for a few mere moments before it’s angered expression turned into a large grin. 

“Well then. Lets go get my disciple back.”

___

Xisuma was crouched beside the god, and had to breath through his mouth as to not smell the heavy scent of rotting flesh that came with it. Endanger was grinning, completely hidden by the brush of the jungle. Nearby was Iskall’s half burned Omega tree, the start of Grian’s mansion, and the start of Mumbo’s…. Mega base? 

He slowly looked at the god, whose eyes were narrowed in front of it, peering through the bushes and looking about ready to pounce. Its clawed and charred fingers were curled tight around its battle axe’s handle, the sharp blade shining in the dim light. Endanger glanced down at him, only flicking its eyes over at him. 

“Do you want to know how to scare a god shitless?” It asked. 

Endangers voice was… odd. To say the least. It sounded like at least two people talking at once, it sounded sharp and cold, hissing like a snake. And yet it sounded joyful and mischievous. 

“Uh… Sure?” Xisuma asked more than said, but Endanger nodded anyways. They only waited a few more minutes in the jungles humidity, before Endanger’s body tensed, clawed feet digging into the ground as it got ready to pounce. 

“Follow my lead.” 

Was all Endanger said before an ear splitting war cry left its lips, well. It seemed like a war cry. To anyone else it sounded like a banshee screech. It leaped out from the bushes, catching Night fully off guard as it slammed its battle axe into the ground, Night barely missing. 

“SHIT-!” Night hissed, Beside them was Doc and Stress. Well… Doc and Princess. 

Xisuma rushed forward, and used his sword to try and knock Doc down, but was simply met with a sword rivaling his own. 

Endanger laughed, pulling its axe from the ground as its milky white eyes bore into Night’s through the mask. “Did you really think I wouldn’t show?” It taunted, swinging its axe brutally fast. It heard a yelp as Princess ducked down to dodge the swing, creating wither roses to hopefully still the god. The blackened thorns tore into Endangers skin, infecting the god with the withering effect. 

But it did nothing. Endanger ripped the vines from it, lunging once more for Night. The other drew their sword, barely blocking the axe in time. 

“I was counting on it actually. Just wanted to get to you first.” Night grunted, sending a punch to the other god, even if just to make them back away. Their fist collided with Endanger’s nose, and a loud crack followed by blood flow indicated they broke its nose. 

Endanger stumbled back, before glancing over to Princess, who had instead focused on trying to subdue Xisuma. It grinned lowly. 

“You hurt my disciple. You killed my sister. And you think I’d join you?” Endanger asked, its axe hooking around Princess’s waist and drawing her close. 

“Fuck. No.” 

Princess drove its clawed hand through Princess’s chest, the mortal gagging on her own blood as she shakily looked up at Night, fear flashing through her face before Endanger ripped out the mortals heart. Princess’s body collapsed onto the floor, before it vanished. 

Stressmonster101 was mauled by Endanger 

Endanger grinned at the look of horror Night was inevitably giving it. Endanger tilted its head back, mouth opening at it raising the still beating heart above its mouth. Its long tongue wrapped around the organ. Before swallowing it whole. 

“Thanks for the snack, Night. Now. HOW ABOUT THE MAIN COURSE?!” Endanger’s axe drove into Night’s arm, nearly cutting the limb in two. Night just straight up fled with their wound, vanishing into the dark of the jungle. Endanger laughed, blood dripping from its hand as it turned to face Xisuma and Experiment. 

Xisuma had ran into the jungle a small ways, vomiting onto the ground. Experiment stood in horror as the deity came closer. It rested its bloodied hands on his shoulders, falling to its knees. 

“Doc? Can you hear me?” It asked, and Experiment dared to growl at it. 

“I am not Doc.” It said, and Endanger laughed. 

“Always so feisty.” It sighed, before lifting Doc onto its shoulder. “Well. I have what I want. Hey wimp! Come on! Lets go back to the other wimps! Wait till they hear bout this!”

Xisuma groaned, slowly standing on shaking legs as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. 

“How about we don’t horrify the others to the point of throwing up?”

“Awwww-”

~~~~~

AAAAnnnd!!! I’m back and able to post one shots on this account again!! :DD 

Happy New years everyone! Take this as my present to you all! ~Ollie

#Night au one shot #night au lore #Endanger #Doc is one of Endangers four disciples #Who are the other three? #Tw:gore #Tw: vomit #Night gets the shit scared outta him #Hermitcraft au #Hermitcraft fanfic #Ocs #Hermitcraft ocs #Iskall85 #Docm77

[padfootagain]

The Lesson (I)

Part 1 : Punishment 

Ha, look at the fool that I am!! Look how a silly little one-shot has turned into a multi-chaptered fic!! Watch and learn. This is what having 0 self-control looks like…

Anyway, this is a very cute little fic that I'm writing here. Lots of fluff and silly idiots in love.

I hope you like it! Tell me what you think of it!!

Gif not mine

Word Count : 4825

Gabriel really doesn't have a clue what's going on right now.

A minute ago, he was in heaven, drinking tea with Michael, and laughing at some poor ridiculous angel, who had knocked a whole pile of their old files off and therefore had to spend their afternoon putting it all back the way it was before.

And then he was summoned. By God herself. Or well, the Metatron, to be precise, as no one really talks to Her directly. But talking to the Metatron is like talking to God after all, he is Her voice. And he is the one devoted to take care of all the tiny insignificant business that God Herself is too busy to take care of herself.

Gabriel is rather surprised by the summon, but he is an Archangel, after all. And more than that he is the Archangel Fucking Gabriel. He is something of importance, up there, in Heaven, and is quite proud of his influence and reputation throughout the angelic organization.

And yet, how fast has his world come to crumble…

"But, there must be a mistake, I mean… what would She want to punish me for?" Gabriel tries to argue.

He can't be sentenced to something. He just can't. Why… Where was that all coming from anyway?

"You have grown too much apart from the humans you are meant to help and protect," the Metatron replies in a calm, slow voice.

"That's… with all due respect, that's a misunderstanding."

"God knows best."

"Of course, She does. But I am…"

"You shall see the benefit of Her teaching in the end, even if for now, Her decision appears all but mysterious to you. You will grow to learn the lesson She means to teach you."

"What shall I do then?"

After all, Gabriel can't defy God. She for sure knows better than him. His ego is ready to accept only this limitation, but this one, it can't deny.

"You shall experience the world as a human."

"What?!"

"You will be sent to Earth under your mortal form, and shall remain there as long as you need to learn the lesson God has prepared for you."

"But… like… I could stay for several days?! I can't stay down there for days! What about that terrible air they breathe, and this disgusting food and… hang on… if I'm mortal, does that mean I have to eat?! I can't sully my ethereal body with this!"

"You shall leave like a mortal for as long as necessary for you to learn the people you are meant to help."

"This is…"

But he stops himself before he would let out the word. He can't say that it was all ridiculous. Blasphemy and all that. He reckons he is in enough trouble already.

"When am I leaving?"

The Metatron smiles.

"Now, of course."

And before Gabriel can protest, the world around him is of a blinding white, and he is gone.

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

 Crowley is so proud of his garden. He's always loved plants, he's always loved watching them grow (into perfection, using a little bit of his voice). And in the South Downs, near the limestone cliffs and chalky rocks, in the cottage he and Aziraphale have bought after the almost-end-of-the-world incident, he created a welcoming and rather furnished garden. Aziraphale is not one to complain about it, first because he can see how the garden makes the demon happy, and whatever makes Crowley happy instantly makes Aziraphale happy as well, but also because Crowley has turned the garden into the loveliest place to read a good book. Under the warm summer sun, sitting on the wooden bench Crowley has placed there for him (of course, the demon has never admitted that adding a bench to the garden was meant for the angel, but Aziraphale is not a fool, not anymore, at least), with the sweet perfume of blooming jasmine, lilac and hydrangea, it makes it perfect for the angel to get lost in a good book. And that is precisely what he is doing at that moment.

It is a rare copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray he is devouring now, that Oscar Wilde signed for him a long time ago - with a tender note that had made Crowley doubt the angel's purity for a while too, until Aziraphale denied it with a blush and used the obvious fact that there was already someone in his heart when he had met the author in question, to which Crowley had been the one to fiercely blush and hiss a little.

Aziraphale is not surprised at all when Crowley joins him on the bench, takes off his dark sunglasses, that he carefully places in the pocket of his black shirt, and lies down to rest his head on the angel's laps. Actually, Aziraphale has been waiting for Crowley to join him on the bench. It is almost a habit by now, really. A habit nor Aziraphale nor Crowley have managed to get quite used to, even now, that they have been free for several years from both Heaven and Hell.

They can be close now. As close as they have always wanted and fantasized and hoped for, and they are. It doesn't mean either of them has grown accustomed to how lucky they both are to have each other though.

Aziraphale adjusts his position on the bench a little to give Crowley more room to unfold his long legs, and lowers a hand from his precious book to Crowley's burning hair, eliciting a content sigh from the demon as he closes his eyes.

He must admit that this life is a rather good one. A quiet cottage near the sea, crowded with Aziraphale's old books and a large garden for Crowley to terrorize as many plants as he wants. And he's with Aziraphale now. They live together, and drink their tea in the morning while they read the newspaper, and they go out to eat ice-creams in the afternoon, and organize picnics by the sea, and dinners home in the trembling light of burning candles, and they go to bed together, and hold each other as they fall asleep…

… and they can kiss, and hold hands, and touch, run fingers through hair and peck smiles and all of this tastes a little bit too much like paradise for the demon's heart to handle.

He loves it anyway.

They've been free from Hell and Heaven for a decade now. Or well, it will soon be a decade, in one week, to be exact. It coincides with their anniversary too. One year after the almost-Armageddon. After a year of dates at the Ritz, and picnics in Saint James's Park, and holding hands along the Thames, and stealing kisses in the bookshop, and faking they didn't hear people mistaking them for husbands so they wouldn't have to correct them. After a year they decided to move away from the busy town together, and Aziraphale proposed to get the arrangement one step further. Maybe it would make things easier and more practical to get a house. Maybe it would spare them the bother of having people mistaken their relationship. And maybe he wanted to spend the rest of eternity by Crowley's side, and is it not what marriage is all about, after all? A promise to be there, whatever may happen?

Crowley agreed that it would make things clear for the new neighbours, and might drive a few conservative old ladies mad, and he's a demon still, so how could he miss the occasion to mess up with narrow-minded elders? And maybe he also wanted to spend all eternity with Aziraphale, and if he had made that promise to stay with him forever long before, maybe he would enjoy making the statement official now.

It was almost nine years ago that they took their vows, and the thought brings Crowley to gently stroke the silvery ring around his finger, where a pair of wings is engraved. He opens his eyes to glimpse at Azirphale's matching golden ring, wrapped around a finger that holds his book up to read.

They're lucky. Unbearably, cheesily, disgustingly lucky, and it makes Crowley so annoyingly happy.

He closes his eyes again, drinking in the sun that warms up his eyelids, enjoying the way the angel soothingly runs his fingers through his hair.

"Your lilac smells divine, dear," Aziraphale compliments him, and Crowley can't refrain a little smile.

Aziraphale is distracted from his book for good. After six thousand years of companionship (and secret longing), he knows the angel by heart. He might fake an innocent tone, but he merely wants to talk with Crowley. About nothing in particular, really, just talk, maybe hold hands at one point while the sun warms their two frames, and they'll probably share a few kisses on the way too. Crowley grins at the thought.

Temptation accomplished.

"I've made sure they would," he replied without bothering opening his eyes.

"Oh, dearest, really, you ought to stop terrifying these poor things!"

"May I remind you how many plants you managed to make grow with your 'all love and sweetness method' when you were a gardener for Warlock, huh?"

Aziraphale let out a revolted huff.

"Well, your jasmine didn't die when I complimented it yesterday, did it?" he whispers under his breath, just loudly enough for Crowley to catch his words.

In response, Crowley jolts upright.

"You did WHAT?!" he shouts through the quiet garden, but Aziraphale fakes innocence, the ghost of an amused smile tugging at his lips.

And Crowley notices it. Oh, of course he does. Aziraphale can be so horridly annoying sometimes…

"Me? Nothing."

"How many timessss do you have to tell you? No kindnesssss!" Crowley hisses in his anger.

But Aziraphale stares at him with such a tender glance now, as he puts his book down on his lap to cup Crowley's cheeks.

"Oh, you foul fiend…"

But in that soft and playful tone, Crowley knows that the words truly mean You're such a nice soul.

"I'm not niccce," he replies with a pout.

"Of course you are," Aziraphale replies, before pulling the demon to him and kissing him gently on the lips.

" 'm not."

"Yes, you are, dear."

"You bastard."

"I know that too."

They chuckle against each other's lips, and kiss again. And again. And again…

Until they hear a loud thudding noise coming from behind them, in the back of the garden. It comes from… yes, definitely around Crowley's red dahlias.

Crowley is on his feet before a second has the time to tick, and Aziraphale has turned on the bench as well, in the direction of the noise.

A groan rises from behind the tall flowers. Human, without a doubt. Male, judging by the sound of the voice.

Where the hell is he coming from?

"Oh dear… he must be hurt, he must have climbed over the wall," Aziraphale whispers, standing up as well and nervously twisting his clasped hands.

"And landed three meters away from the fence? What was he doing on top of the wall anyway? Diving into dahlias?"

"What should I know? But he must be hurt. We should… go and take a look."

Which, as Crowley perfectly knows, means 'you should go and take a look'.

He rolls his eyes.

"Should I call the police?" Aziraphale asks, following Crowley, a couple of steps behind.

"Nah, no need. I'll handle it, angel. Must be drunk or something."

Aziraphale comes a little closer to the demon, which can only make Crowley smile. As if he would get in a fight if there was to be one anyway… But now that he thinks about it, Crowley guesses that the angel might, if there were to be a real danger. The idiotic selfless being of love…

They walk through the patch of grass splayed before the dahlias, and Crowley notices the broken plants in the blink of an eye.

"My dahlias!" he exclaims with both anger and distress in his voice.

"Oh, my love," Aziraphale tries to soothe him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe a little miracle…"

"No! No! Angel, it took me years to have them so red!"

"I know, dearest, I'm sorry."

"My dahlias!"

"I know. But there's someone in the dahlias, honey, we should…"

"Aziraphale?"

Both the angel and the demon freeze. It's not difficult to recognize Gabriel's voice. He's been haunting their nightmares for years.

They exchange a surprised, then shocked, then scared look, before focusing on the dahlias again. Taking a few more steps towards the plants, they easily spot the archangel indeed, still lying head first in the earth.

Crowley moves to stand between Aziraphale and Gabriel, and the angel has no trouble recognizing the dangerous look in the demon's eyes, along with the little sparks coming out of the tip of his fingers.

"Crowley, no. He seems hurt," Aziraphale stops him, but Crowley turns to him with an astonished look on his features.

"He tried to kill you, angel. He wanted to kill you!"

"But he didn't, did he now?"

Crowley clenches his jaw, hellfire burning in his eyes with his devouring rage, and Aziraphale heaves a sigh.

Meanwhile, Gabriel has sat up in the dahlias, destroying a few more flowers in the process.

"Aziraphale! Oh, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Well, not ussss," Crowley spits back.

"Still with your best friend, I see."

Crowley glares at him, and Aziraphale takes a step closer, coming right beside Crowley.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were to leave us alone, now," he asks back, making an effort close to a miracle to keep a polite tone.

"Well, that's quite a long story."

"Get out of here."

Crowley's jaw and fists are clenched, and Aziraphale knows how close the demon is to miracle Gabriel in the depth of the Mariana Trench.

"Well, I… I'm afraid I can't," Gabriel shakes his head, a touch of panic twisting his features.

"You'd better miracle yourself out of this garden… no, actually, out of this town… no, no, out of this country before I have time to miracle it for you," the demon spits.

"Crowley…"

"He tried to kill you!"

Aziraphale heaves a sigh.

"Look… why have you come here? We weren't doing anything…" Aziraphale turns to Gabriel again.

"No, I mean. I didn't choose where I landed, I just… I was sent here."

"Sent here? By whom? For what?"

"God. She… is punishing me."

Both Crowley and Aziraphale stared at him as their eyebrows shot up to their hairline.

"Punishing you?"

Gabriel nods, on the verge of tears. His white suit is stained with dark dirt and the green dye of broken leaves, his hair a mess. He looks desperate.

"Apparently I've grown… too far from humans. I've… lost the point or…I don't really know why I was sent here as a mortal."

"A mortal?" the demon and the angel ask in an astonished unison.

"I'm stuck here in a mortal body for as long as I haven't changed."

"Changed for what?"

"I have no idea."

He looks up at them. Crowley the demon, and Aziraphale the angel. He hates both of them. They stopped the war that would end everything. They saved humanity, and for what? A garden? A cottage? A little bit of sun? It's ridiculous. They're a joke, an anomaly, and he wishes he and Beelzebub could have found a way to get rid of them both all those years ago.

But he's also alone, in a world he barely knows, with nowhere to go and nothing to do. And they are they only ones he can rely on, if they let him.

"Help me."

Crowley snorts.

"Yeah, of course, why not? Why not help the archangel who tried to burn him alive," Crowley mocks, pointing at Aziraphale, and as he goes on, at himself. "And handed enough holy water to dissolve me."

"We haven't always agreed on general politics..."

"That is a euphemism, Gabriel," Aziraphale replies in a harsh tone. "Crowley has a point, you did try to murder us."

"Yes, that's true. But I'm sent here in a human's body and I don't know what I'm even supposed to do and have nowhere to go…"

"Well, first, you can GET OUT OF MY GARDEN!" Crowley roars.

"But…"

"OUT!"

Aziraphale makes a movement towards the archangel, but Crowley stops him.

"He might be armed."

"I'm not. I'm human now!"

"Oh, and we should take your word for it then?"

"Crowley."

The demon stops to look at Aziraphale again. He seems hesitant, but determined too. Crowley knows this look. It's the look that gets them both in trouble everytime. It's the look that means I know it might be a bad idea, but it's the right thing to do, and thus I must do it. And he hates that look…

"Crowley and I will take you to the hotel. We'll give you some money too, so you can pay for the room for a few days," he decides, and Crowley wants to shout to the top of his lungs how annoying and wrong and stupid the angel is right now. Instead, he lets out a low groan.

He has never managed to make Aziraphale change his mind, not in six thousand years, he doesn't expect to win now.

"Thank you," is all Gabriel can manage to say.

He stands up, and Crowley watches as he reveals the broken plants.

And Gabriel is almost certain to see tears in the yellow, demonic eyes.

"My dahlias…" Crowley breathes, and Aziraphale pats his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, dear."

"It took my years…"

"I know. But they'll grow back. You'll make them grow back."

"My dahlias…"

Gabriel is more confused than ever…

They guide him through the house, that Gabriel quickly examines as they walk through but doesn't really care about lingering in. It feels warm and a little crowded, but in the most comforting way. As they walk through the kitchen, he notices the collection of herbs, the books about cooking and gardening, the many mugs of all colours and shapes, the many boxes of tea and cocoa, the light coming in from the large window. In the living room, the many shelves stacked with old books encircling the room, a large TV screen lost in the middle of them. A warm carpet, a comfortable sofa and two armchairs are set around a little glass table. He can't deny that the place feels loved, even if he's not an angel anymore, and can't feel it the way he used to. But he doesn't really want to linger around the two traitors, and he reckons that a hotel sounds like a good idea. He feels tired all of a sudden. And that's when it hits him. He is tired. Instinctively, he knows he needs to sleep. He also feels a constant but quiet pain in his stomach. Is it what hunger feels like?

The more he thinks about it, the more he is panicking. Crowley has already opened the front door and is ready to throw the (former) archangel out when Gabriel stops in his tracks, and leans against the large leathery sofa in an attempt to keep on standing.

"Oh dear Lord…" he breathes, his heart speeding up, and the thought of his beating heart makes a new wave of panic course through his veins. "What am I gonna do? How… I don't know how to do things like this…"

"What are you talking about?" Aziraphale inquires with a frown, and Crowley hates the fact that he sees pity into his blue eyes.

Really, pity for this murderer is the last thing they need.

"I'm… I think I… my body needs to sleep."

"Well, we're taking you to a hotel. You'll have a comfortable bed and everything you need to sleep."

"But HOW?! How do I sleep?"

"Oh…"

Crowley and Aziraphale exchange a glance, but they don't try to make the other understand the same message at all through this silent communication.

Crowley tries to say this is the worst idea in the whole history of the universe and I am not helping this prick.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale's blue eyes are begging for we can't leave him like this, he's just a human now, after all.

And Crowley, at this particular moment, hates both Aziraphale and himself. Himself because he knows that he loves Aziraphale too much to refuse anything he could possibly ask him. The bastard could ask for the stars, and Crowley would re-learn how to create them just for him. And he hates Aziraphale too because he knows perfectly well that he is looking at him with this particularly soft gaze because of which Crowley can't refuse him anything.

"Well, you… You just lie down in a bed. And close your eyes and try to think of something nice," Aziraphale explains, gently taking Gabriel by the elbow to guide him towards the door.

"Try to think of something nice?! That's all? What nice things do you think about?"

"Well… A good book, or some good food or…"

"Or burning you in hellfire," Crowley hisses behind his gritted teeth, making both Gabriel and Aziraphale glower at him.

"I don't even know what I did wrong," Gabriel went on, and despite Aziraphale's cold feelings towards the archangel, he can't help but feel sorry for him. "I don't know what I have to do to get back. What if I stay stuck here forever?"

Crowley and Aziraphale exchange a panicked glance. They can't allow that to happen…

"I'm sure you'll find something."

"What am I going to do? And I don't have money… they still use money down here, right?"

"Yes. We'll give you some to get by for a few days."

"But then?"

"Then… you'll have to find a job and pay for yourself, I suppose."

"I can't do it, Aziraphale. I can't…"

Gabriel is shaking from the tip of his white shoes to his perfect hair (or well, usually perfect hair, the landing in Crowley's dahlia has disturbed a couple of strands). Aziraphale makes him sit on the sofa while he turns to speak with Crowley, taking his arm and pulling him into the kitchen. By the window, they can see the garden still bathed in sunlight, in which two sparrows decide to settle to sing, but they spend a moment commenting on what could have caused the perfect garden to look so messy now with all these broken dahlias.

"We have to help him," the angel decides with urgency shaking his voice.

"What?! Of course not! He tried to kill you, angel! There wasn't even any form of trial."

"I know…"

"Have you forgotten how mean he was to you all these years?! All his remarks and cruel little comments?!"

"I haven't forgotten any of those, and you know it."

"Then how on Earth can you think for a second about helping him?!"

"Because… if we don't, he might never be sent back."

"Perhaps a lifetime on Earth will do him good," Crowley replies with darkness in his voice.

"We'll never get rid of him then," Aziraphale reasons his demon. "Besides, we're better than him. We have to be better than him. Better than all of them. Our side has to be better than theirs."

Crowley sighs, running a hand through his hair and making the ginger strands messy. He hates it when Aziraphale does that, when he chooses the perfect arguments to convince him.

"We can't leave him," Aziraphale adds in a shy voice.

"He wouldn't do the same for us. He would kill us both if he had the chance."

"But we're not him."

"He doesn't deserve your kindness, angel. Not after all he's done to you."

"No, maybe he doesn't. But he doesn't need to deserve it for me to grant it to him anyway."

Crowley sighs again, but he can't find words to reply. Deep down, he thinks about a day long gone, spent on the top of a wall encircling Eden, watching the first storm wet the world and a couple with a flaming sword disappear in the distance. He thinks about an angel offering him protection from the cold rain under his wing. He thinks about his smile. He thinks about all the times they met after that.

He doesn't think that he deserved Aziraphale's kindness then either, but the angel granted it to him anyway. He isn't even sure that even now, he fully deserves it. He's just lucky to own it.

He rolls his eyes and picks up his dark sunglasses from his pocket to put them on again.

"Fine," he answers moodily. "But I won't be nice with him. And only for a week. One week and he goes to that hotel, and I never want to see him again. Is that clear?"

Aziraphale nods, giving him a tender smile that Crowley knows means you're nicer than you pretend to be again. But Crowley is too preoccupied by the (former) archangel sitting on their sofa to correct the angel this time.

They walk back into the living room, and Aziraphale rests a soothing hand on Gabriel's shoulder. The man really looks distraught. Crowley almost feels sorry for him. But not quite.

"You… can stay here for a few days, if you want. Crowley and I will help you understand what's going on. And once you know what you have to do, you can accomplish your mission and go home."

Gabriel slowly nods.

"If you're tired, you should sleep. We have a spare bedroom upstairs. Come on."

Gabriel follows the angel upstairs, well aware of Crowley's glare as he walks up the stairs behind him, but he chooses to act as if he could ignore it. Instead, he follows Aziraphale into a little bedroom, that is clearly used as an office as well, judging by the many papers on the desk.

"Here, lie down on the bed, close your eyes, and try to calm down. It can take a little while to fall asleep, although, you truly look exhausted," Aziraphale guides the distraught (former) archangel to the bed.

He and Crowley exit the room as soon as Gabriel has closed his eyes, and the angel uses a miracle to lock the door.

"Can you tell me now what the hell you're playing at, angel?" Crowley hisses through gritted teeth as they walk back downstairs. "You can't be helping him just to be good, I know you well enough for that."

"Not so loud," Aziraphale admonishes, nervously glancing up the stairs.

"We shouldn't be helping him!"

"Because letting him wander off across town is a better idea, perhaps?" the angel snaps back.

"Yes!"

"No! We should keep an eye on him. Make sure of what he's up to. And what better way to do so than to keep him here?"

"He could be trying to kill us!"

"I know. Which is why we should make sure he doesn't get the chance to gather some help to do so. Better to keep one's enemies close, right?"

Crowley opens his mouth to reply, but smiles instead.

"Besides, it's the decent thing to do, really," Aziraphale goes on. "No matter what he has done in the past, we can't abandon him. We need to be better than that."

"You, bastard."

"Now, now… no need for that kind of language," Aziraphale fakes to admonish, when in reality, he's smiling and blushing a little. "We need to keep a close watch on him, and make sure no one else is sent down here."

"Or up here."

They exchange a wary glance.

"I'll write the runes on the front door, you take the back," Crowley orders, and they both move to the kitchen to get a chalk.

Before they part to protect their home, Aziraphale takes Crowley's hand in his and gives him a reassuring smile.

"We'll be just fine. As long as we're together, we'll be just fine."

Crowley answers with a tender smile, cupping the angel's face.

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you too. Now, come on. Let's make sure no one can come in uninvited."

They kiss before parting, and half an hour later, the two doors of their cottage are protected by a series of runes written in white chalk.

In the distance, coming from the sea, dark clouds gather through the sky, slowly drifting towards the cottage, and the demon watches them roll through the firmament. Crowley wonders what the future might bring. With Gabriel back in their life, he guesses nothing good is to be expected in the coming days. He steps back inside the house and closes the door behind him, leaving the clouds behind to rest his eyes on his angel instead, who is preparing some tea for both of them.

If one thing is for certain, it is that he will make sure Aziraphale is safe, no matter the cost.

***********************************

Taglist : @imafangirlofeverything @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi

#ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fanfiction #ineffable husbands imagine #crowley #crowley fanfiction #crowley imagine #aziraphale #aziraphale fanfiction #aziraphale imagine #good omens #good omens imagine #good omens fanfiction #gabriel #archangel gabriel #archangel gabriel imagine #archangel gabriel fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #imagine

[wereallydobevibing]

Predator — Loki

Warnings — smut, unprotected sex, more smut

(requested)

Loki, to say the least, was not the most patient of men. Him being the spoiled brat that he was often took what he wanted and didn't care for asking permission.

It was no different with you—when Fury had requested that you return to Asgard with Thor to help defeat a potential threat to the planet Earth, Loki had taken immediate interest in you. He would watch the way you communicated kindly with the Asgardian children, caring for people that weren't your own. It was easy to see that you belonged here, and it aroused him to think that you would do well as a ruler by his side.

". . . very beautiful," you smiled down at a child who held up a flower for you to admire. You giggled, not wanting to mention to the child the the flower was actually dead and it's rotting stench was horridly invading your nostrils.

You were different from the other avengers—still very well trained in combat and highly intelligent, but unlike them, you were gentle and innocent. That aroused him further, and the more he watched you the less he was able to keep himself together. Loki's breathing hitched in his throat and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the golden railings tightly, glaring down at you for leaving him so sexually frustrated.

From behind you, a figure cleared their throat and you turned to face them, finding Loki right there in front if you.

"Lady (Y/N)," he sneered, the look in his eyes represented pure anger and fear struck you—fully understanding that you were helpless against him, should he chose to harm you. "A word, if I may?"

You shakily nodded your head, turning to smile back at the little boy who failed to notice your fear, "it was nice meeting you, Zafer."

"Will you come back, Lady (Y/N)?" He asked, and you couldn't help but hesitate to respond. Loki wanted to privately speak with you, and he didn't appear to be happy. Chances of you escaping him in a private setting were slight.

"Of course," you lied, anyway. "Perhaps in the morning."

Only a few moments later were you following the angered man down a plethora of golden corridors—turning so many corners that you hadn't the slightest idea as to how to find your way back to the gardens. Neither if you spoke during that time; you simply allowed Loki to fume silently as he led you through a pair of golden double doors, then locked them behind you.

The room was dim, organized and cold. You glanced around at your surroundings, finding that you were in a bedroom; where an unecessarily large bed was neatly made in the center, a desk with nicely stacked papers placed in the corner, and large glass doors leading out to a balcony.

You turned to face Loki, hoping he would tell you why you were here. But before you could ask any questions, a large hand had been wrapped firmly around your throat and forced you backwards against the cool marble of the wall. His grip on your neck wasn't too tight, but tight enough so that you couldn't escape him. Loki dipped his head so that he was eye level you, and your own hands wrapped around his wrist in hopes of him releasing you.

"Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?" He growled, his voice low and menacing and his tone had you misinterpreting his exact intentions. For a few seconds, he had you believing that he wanted you dead. Loki let terror rise in your gut as his grip tightened, still, not enough to stop your breathing.

Just as you were about to try to fight him off, he smashed his lips onto yours. You hadn't returned the favor at first, shock paralyzing your body. He'd pulled away from you too soon and began to push you towards the bed.

"Walking around in this," He fisted the skirt of your deep red dress, the slit exposing a freshly shaved thigh as it parted in his grip. He was glaring daggers into your soul, but something about this was kind of a turn on.

"Loki, what—"

"Don't speak." He hissed, giving you a light shove and causing you to fall back onto his bed. He momentarily admired your body in the maroon dress his brother had kindly gifted you upon your arrival. "Such a pretty dress, expensive. Too bad I'll have to ruin it."

He didn't waste another second, tearing the material from your body in a single motion and tossing the pieces off to the side, leaving your skin bare and cold. Loki watched adoringly as your nipples hardened when the cooler temperature made contact with your skin, then smiled to himself as he admired the rest of your body.

The dim lighting made your skin apear golden—your much smaller body squirmed restlessly under his touch as he firmly grasped both sides of your waist and pulled you closer to him. Loki was bent over the edge of the bed and over your body when he took one of your breasts into his hands and gingerly sucked on the sensitive nipple, a moan hostily escaping your lips as he generously teased the other one.

"Loki, we shouldn't-"

"You're right, we shouldn't. What better reason to do it, anyway?" He purred, trailing his fingers down the center of your stomach and carassing your throbbing clit, causing your back to arch and another moan to slip past your lips. Loki prepared two fingers at your entrance, "let me hear more of those pretty little noises you make ."

A strangled cry tore through your throat when he inserted two fingers, using his thumb to rub circles into your clit. You let out a string of colorful curses and Loki smirked to himself as he collected each one into his memory, "such a dirty girl."

But you could only muster, "more."

He chuckled, removing his fingers and causing you to whine, "you must say please, (Y/N)."

You watched him hungrily as he sucked your juices off his fingers, smirking at the way you looked at him with need.

"Please."

Loki began placing wet kisses starting from your jaw and stopping at your thighs, sucking roughly at the skin and ensuring the development of purple lovebites. He took note of the way you squirmed under him, a moaning mess as you appreciated every last one of his touches. The tightening in his pants suggested he finally take you, but he couldn't let you come without getting another taste of you first.

He began with lightly sucking on your folds, then slowly lapping up your juices. Your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged at his roots. He reached up to play with your nipples, enjoying the way you whined for more.

"Loki, please!" You cried, "I need you!"

Loki chuckled, rising to his feet and with the snap of his fingers, was now just as naked as you, "say it again, (Y/N)."

"Please, I need you." You gritted your teeth in frustration, and just as you were going to continue to beg for him, plead for him to make you see stars, Loki had moved far too quickly for you to catch.

There was a sudden preasure between your hips, mixing pain and pleasure. You gasped, moaning despite the stinging sensation and focusing more on the way he filled you up without fully entering himself into you. With each thrust, he added more of himself and choked when your walls came closing in on him.

"Fuck!"

"More, Loki!" You whined, your legs were already burning and the knot in your stomach quickly forming.

Impatience overcame you, and pushed Loki so that you were now on top. He'd been shocked, but was left unable to steal control back from you as you began to rock your hips, bouncing on his shaft at a pace that left you both breathless. Your body was burning, your head thrown back weakly with your mouth formed in an O shape. You'd left Loki gasping for air and he grew harder with each high pitched whine that erupting from your throat, practically ripping you apart from the inside out.

"Fuck, Loki!"

You were beginning to slow as your high came crashing down on you, but before you could reach that point, Loki had flipped you both, turning you so that you your face was now pressed into the mattress and your bum was in the air. You grasped the sheets tightly in your hands and Loki didn't waste any time to reenter himself into you, delivering powerful thrusts as he painfully gripped at your hips and fucked you like an animal.

"(Y/N)!" He grunted, too overwhelmed with pleasure to say anything else. He reached around to the front of your neck and pulled you up so that your back was pressed against his chest, allowing him to fuck up into you from a kneeling position. His other hand reached around to your front, letting his fingers roughly rub circles into your clit and causing a much louder moan to fly through your mouth. Loki continued to suck on the sweat stained skin of your neck, pleasuring you in more ways than one.

He placed you back on your back, leaning down to swallow your moans as he thrusted into you harder and faster than before. Your hands gripped at his shoulder blades, finger curling and dragging your nails down his back while he bit down on your shoulder.

One final, strangled scream erupted from your throat as Loki finally let your orgasm take place, your juices covering him and soaking his bedsheets. He came not too long after you, warmly filling you up inside. Your sweat covered skin glistened in the dim lighting of the room, and he swallowed as he stared down at your worn down facial expression. He'd tired you out, and he was pretty damn proud of it, too.

"Will you stay?" He asked you softly, and a smile ghosted on your face.

You pushed yourself up, slightly wincing at the burning sensation that begged that you lay back down. Loki supported you with a hand on your back as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, whispering, "of course."

A knock sounded at the door, and Thor's voice came from the other side, "Now that you two are finally done with your vigorous baby making, yay, can someone please help me write an electronic letter to the Man of Spiders? What is a WiFi and why does it demand to be connected to my Midgaurdian device?"

#avengers #avengers imagines #avengers one shots #avengers smut #avengers x reader #infinity war #endgame #thor #loki #steve rogers #peter parker #tony stark #sam wilson #bucky barnes #vision #bruce banner #pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff #natasha ramonoff #iron man #captain america #spider man #stephen strange #doctor strange #hulk #clint barton #hawkeye #falcon #winter soldier #quicksilver