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scatteredskittless · 2 months

Note

Hi! I love your writing! Would you be up for writing a fic where reader has super bad separation anxiety from Al, but he has to go somewhere without them and either Angel Dust or Husk is in charge of taking care of them/keeping them calm while he’s gone? Thanks a bunch!!! ❤️

Separation anxiety! GN! Reader x Alastor/husker?

A/n: Of course !! Honestly this has been super fun and I’m more than grateful for all the people who seem to enjoy my silly little fanfictions/headcanons, many thanks everybody ♥️♥️

Also, if you couldn’t tell from a lot of my writing, I’ve taken quite a liking to Alastor… So I get it, I love him too y’all ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Warnings: Mentions of separation anxiety, Mentions of alcohol, Alastor being Alastor so light mentions of blood and cannibalism (doesn’t actually happen)

Fluff✔️ Comfort✔️ Angst❌ Smut❌

Hope yall don’t mind a few headcanons first about this :33

📻𖤐 it’s hard to tell how Alastor would realistically react to someone being attached to him in that way..

📻𖤐 Like do I think it would bother him? No, he wouldn’t mind you tagging along wherever he went as long as you didn’t bother him too much or get in the way of things but there are just times where he requires or wants to be alone. Which is where Husker would come in lol

📻𖤐 He probably wouldn’t leave you with Angel, even if Husk wasn’t available for whatever reason he’d just get Charlie to look after you while he was away.

📻𖤐 I feel like he cares/loves in an odd way.. like he wants to tear you apart and lick up all your delicious, sweet blood but in an affectionate way??? If that makes sense?? Remember that pomegranate cannibalism metaphor that went around on TikTok for a bit there? Think that.

📻𖤐 of course, he wouldn’t do that, he wants to keep you around.

Okok I’m done yapping about silly radio man lol, onto the fic

Unfortunately, today was one of those days you couldn’t tag along with where Alastor went, he was attending an overlord meeting and obviously you not being an overlord it meant that you couldn’t go with him despite all of your protests and begging.

Before his departure, he sat you down at the bar with Husker and gave you a little pat on the head, telling you that he’d be back shortly and walking out of the hotel doors.

The grumpy cat demon poured himself a drink as he stared at you, this wasn’t exactly the first time Alastor had left him on “babysitting” duty with you and he didn’t exactly mind it. You were quite sweet for somebody who landed themselves in a place like hell.

“Where’s he off to this time?” Husker asked before taking a sip of the alcoholic beverage he held in his hand, attempting to make some form of conversation with you.

“Oh.. just some kind of silly overlord meeting…” You mumbled out a short reply whilst looking a bit glum. He simply nodded in response, setting his glass down on the bar countertop to mix you up a little something as well.

Husk didn’t understand your attachment to the Radio Demon to be completely frank with you. He and a lot of others viewed Alastor as something to fear, respect, and try to avoid contact with the best they could… so seeing someone who enjoyed his company was a foreign idea to him. But he wouldn’t judge you for it. It wasn’t exactly his business anyways and at least he seemed to treat you decently.

“Don’t stress it kid, he’ll be back soon. He keeps his promises I’ll give him that much.” Husk attempted to reassure you, giving a slight smile as he slid a drink down to you.

You smiled back weakly and nodded, taking a deep breath as you grabbed the drink he had slid over to you. You took a sip and it tasted like a screwdriver, not too bad of a drink and it would probably take your mind off of things a little bit if you had a few of them. Which was probably the goal Husker was trying to reach.. he couldn’t imagine separation anxiety to be very fun.

Later into the night once you got a few drinks in you, you started to forget all about why you were upset and/or stressed out in the first place. Chatting with Husk about random stuff and occasionally mentioning and talking about a person or two.

Husk wished there were more nights like this, more time spent with you… and who knows? Maybe you’ll be visiting the bar more often for him after tonight if he was lucky. He was pretty good at playing his cards right, after all.

(Sorry this was kinda short !! I wasn’t sure what else to write. Lmk if you guys maybe want a part two with Alastor coming back from his little meeting, I might do that :3)

Please do not repost, translate, or plagarize any of my fanfictions/writing/headcanons without permission ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ Scatteredskittles

#requests open #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fluff #alastor headcanons #alastor x reader #husk x reader #hazbin hotel #x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor #husker #husker hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel comfort #angel dust

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devildomditzy · 2 years

Text

How they apologize

Tags/ Warning : Mildly suggestive statement in Asmo’s Part

Lucifer

He doesn’t :)

He’s not the avatar of pride for nothin, babey!!

Even if he’s in the wrong, he’ll find a backwards way of apologizing without explicitly saying sorry

Your most recent argument broke out when you felt he was getting a little too carried away with Mammon’s latest punishment

Although you tried to tell yourself it’s not your place, you eventually butt in when the agony on the second oldest’s face becomes too much for you to take

“Lucifer, I think he’s had enough…”, you trail off, trying to quell the worry in your voice

“Oh really MC, if you think so, then how would you like to take his place?”, he threatens as his demon form comes out. Whatever Mammon did must have been diabolical this time. He’s pissed.

Still you can’t hide the fear in your eyes and you freeze a beat too long before apologizing for the interruption and shuffling away, shivering.

As you walk away defeated, he quickly realizes what he’s done. He calls after you, “MC…”

Leaving his brother precariously dangling, he power walks after you, stopping outside of your recently closed door, knocking softly

As your wide eyed, tear stained face opens up, he sighs and he looks down at you. “You really shouldn’t get in my way when I’m disciplining my brothers. I’d hate to see anything bad happen to you if I lost control. I’ve become rather found of you.”

When you catch on to what he’s trying to say, you give a half hearted chuckle before responding, “Okay, I get it. Thank you for being concerned about my well being.”

He gives you a warm smile

“But you still have to cut Mammon down from the ceiling.”

He rolls his eyes and huffs before giving a curt “fine.”

Mammon

Despite his constant denying, you already know you mean the whole world, solar system, galaxy, and universe to this man. So when he upsets you, it’s panic time (tm)

He was fooling around in a game of poker with a few demons you had become well acquainted with and had come to know as his “boys”

It was a bit of a rowdier night, with Mammon having drank a few too many glasses of demonus, but you didn’t mind. Class could be stressful, and you wanted to see him relax a little.

What you didn’t want was for him to lose control of his greed. Unfortunately for you, once he’s thrown a few back, it’s hard for him to help it. So, when the betting stakes begin to be raised, you feel yourself tense up. He had already lost most his money tonight. What else would he have to bet?

Oh no. He wouldn’t. You swear to Diavolo you’ll kill him. But, of course just like clockwork, you see your boyfriend look down at the shining, gold object wrapped around his wrist.

That watch. That damned watch. The one he saw in the window in Majolish months ago and would not shut up about. He had already maxed out Goldie so he couldn’t buy it, but that didn’t stop him from yapping about it every chance he got. You saved up for what felt like forever, taking extra shifts at Hell’s Kitchen to surprise him with it. But, now you see your stupid - adorable yet stupid - boyfriend unhook it from his wrist and slam it down on the table atop the grim already thrown in the pot by the other demons

You sat in silence as you simmered in your anger and watched your boyfriend play another round.

Upon arriving home, you immediately changed into pajamas and got in bed, rolling to face the wall with the intentions of pretending to sleep until he shut up about how he won the jackpot in the final round. It didn’t matter if he won the watch back, he still bet it in the first place. He knows how hard it was for you to get it.

“Aw Doll, did ya see the looks on their faces when I played that hand? Ha Ha, full sweep baby!”, he cheers, seemingly still not catching onto your anger. “Yeah, great. Goodnight”, you flatly respond.

He can immediately tell you’re mad. Oh no, why are you mad? Di-Did he make you mad? Oh fuck, what did he do to make you mad? He’s racking his demonus clouded brain as best as he can for an answer. It takes him awhile, but when sees the watch on his couch atop a pile of grim, it hits him

It’s at this moment Mammon knew he fucked up.

He’s on the bed in a instant, scooping you up into the biggest hug he can manage

“Fuck. Treasure, I’m so sorry. I-I got carried away and I forgot. I forgot how hard ya worked, I-I forgot how much it meant to me. I was blinded by grim. Dammit, I’m so sorry!”, he practically sobs into your back as he clings onto you. Despite if you forgive him or not from this apology, he’s no where near done.

The next day, you awake to find him trying to sneak back into the room with a bouquet of roses and those scones you adore from the bakery in town.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake ya. I just got ya somethin’ and…I’m sorry. And if ya don’t believe me, I’ll do this everyday til ya do.”

Crisis averted 🥹

Levi

Levi may have fallen, but he essentially prays that he never does anything to upset you, because he genuinely wouldn’t know how to fix it

You arrived at his room at 5:15 on the dot, the time you had both planned to meet up to go on a date scheduled last week

You had been looking forward to it for days, and you fussed at your clothes as you waited for the door to open, trying to look your best. You know Levi loves the way you look regardless, but you thought it wouldn’t hurt to put in some extra effort

When the door remains closed, you knock again this time a bit harder. Behind it you hear Levi swear under his breath before shouting “IT’S OPEN!”

You twist the door handle, and the sight in front of you makes your heart drop a little.

In the corner of the room sits your boyfriend, still in his pajamas, hunched over his computer with his headset on

He forgot.

In your anger, you marched right over to him, ripping the headphones off his ears

“Hey, MC! What do you think you’re doing! I’m in the middle of a tournament!”

“Oh, yeah? Well I was in the middle of meeting up with you for our date I thought we we’re both looking forward to, but I guess I’m alone here.”

Levi.exe has stopped working

His face goes beet red as he starts to stammer

“M-Mc I’m so sorry! How could I forget! God, I’m such a Normie!”

With a huff, you turn to leave the room, but you stop when he grabs your hand

Thinking that this was a rather bold move from the third born, you let him continue.

“Please MC, I’ll do anything to make it up to you. We can do anything you want to do today, we can go anywhere you wanna go! We can even go to that coffee shop you like!”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “I thought you said that coffee shop was for normies?”, you question

“Yeah, well today I guess I’m one of them. How else would I have forgotten I have a d-d-date with someone as p-p-p”

“Pretty?”, you help finish the word he can’t manage to get out

His face flushes. “Yes. That word as you. Please, give me another chance?”

you do 💕

Asmo

Ahem.

YOU KNOW THAT ONE SCENE IN HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE WHERE HOWL THROWS A GIGANTIC FIT BECAUSE HE DYED HIS HAIR THE WRONG COLOR?

yea that :)

You used his bathtub with all his nice, luxurious bubble baths, soaps, exfoliators, and a nice hair mask you found on a shelf next to his large, ornate vanity. The bottle was pretty much empty, but you knew your Asmo wouldn’t mind

Oh boy, you sure were dead wrong.

It starts sweetly, when you hear him sing ,”MC, would you please be a dear and grab my hair mask off the vanity for me?”, while he’s in the shower. You figure this was just another attempt to get him to join you, but then you remember.

“Oh, sorry Asmo, I think I used the last of it last time I was in there.”

“…what.”

“…WHAT!!?”

You see the shower curtain get yanked furiously to one side as Asmo stands before you in his demon form.

“…do you always shower fully clothed or?” you are not helping your situation in the slightest

“Do you even KNOW what happens to my hair if I don’t use that product? Did you even stop to think? Now it’ll be frizzier than Belphegor’s bed head!”

Pulling out the first names. Oh yeah, he was mad

“I-I didn’t think it would be a big deal. I use your stuff all the time, you know that. I’ll just go get you more,” you stammer

“You better! I can’t leave my room looking like this!”

It turns out this specific hair mask is specially made by everyone’s favorite in-house sorcerer. You practically skitter to Solomon’s room and beg him to make more. He needs a few special ingredients though, so guess who’s going on a quest!? (it’s you, congratulations :) ) But, at this point you don’t care. You’ve never seen Asmo so angry

When you knock on his door, he opens it to find you, battered and dirty with clothes torn up from the journey and slightly singed from Solomon’s castings, but with the new jar of product in your hands

He takes it from you and twirls around the room before looking back at your form, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you to sit on the bed with him

You see a rare, genuine moment of vulnerability from Asmo as he softly says, “I guess it wasn’t that beautiful of me, lashing out like that. Thank you for going through all that trouble for me. I’m really sorry if I scared you.” He pulls you in for a hug, honestly you’re surprised he even think about touching you in this state. He pulls away from the hug before poking his tongue playfully between his lips, adding -

“Be honest though, did my rougher handling turn you on?”

Satan

So, you’re dating the embodiment of wrath, huh?

That’s rough, buddy.

To be clear he tries his absolute hardest to never take it out on you

But sometimes his rage can be blinding

It’s after he sees you talking to his oldest brother that something just snaps within him. Out of all his brothers, why’d you have to be talking to Lucifer. And why did you look so happy?

He watches carefully as you throw your head back laughing. Your beautiful laugh, it’s like music to his ears. He could listen to it all day. You looked so carefree. But then,

Lucifer reaches a hand out, and places it on your shoulder. A menial gesture. It could have meant anything. But of course, he could never hold back when it came to you.

Immediately shifting forms, he jumps between the two of you, pulling you back by the shoulder to dizzyingly move you away from Lucifer before getting in his brother’s face

“Exactly what do you think you’re doing with my partner, dearest brother.” You can hear the venom dripping from his words. But of course, Lucifer would never hold back when it came to teasing Satan.

“We were simply sharing in a pleasant conversation, one that I think MC and I would like to get back to if you don’t mind. Isn’t that right, MC?”

Satan turns to you, fury in his eyes. “Oh, is that so? Well please, don’t let me interrupt while you snuggle up to every boy in this house!”, he snidely comments while glaring down at you.

“S-Satan it’s not like that”, you stammer, “I was only asking about our next student council meeting.”

Looking between the two of you, he continues his rampage. “We’ll, isn’t that convenient? Blame it on the student council meeting. Can you blame the laughter on the student council meeting? What about the touching? You sure didn’t seem like you wanted my brother here to remove his grip on you-”

As tears well up in your eyes, you decide you can’t take it anymore. You cut him off, “Why do you have to be such a jerk! I can’t believe you’d accuse me of that!” You sprint off down the hallway towards your dorm room.

Aw, fuck. He never meant to make you cry, it’s just, shouldn’t you be laughing with him? Shouldn’t you be smiling at him? You were his and he wanted to be the only one who makes you feel special.

He gives it some time before he approaches your room. He know it’s best if you both cool down before trying to sort this out.

When you meekly answer to enter, he steps into the room, your favorite book in hand.

“I figured you could use something to cheer you up. May I?” You allow him to join you on the bed and he begins reading to you. A few chapters in he stops to take you in

“I suppose I let my sin get the best of me. I promise you I am working on it, love.” He finishes his sentence with a kiss to your forehead. “I promise I’ll become less.. well, you know.”

Beel

Never has to apologize because he never hurts you UwU

Okay but the one time he did upset you was when Luke had taken an interest towards recipes from the human realm

You were talking to him all about dishes your family would make every holiday, reminiscing on your fond memories. It made you feel a little homesick, a fact you tried to hide from the young angel, but unfortunately one he could pick up on

At that moment, Luke declared that he was going to find a way to make you your great aunt’s banana pudding one way or another to cheer you up! He demands you wrote down all the ingredients for him.

With shopping list in hand and the help of Simeon, Barbados, and a “human realm” street vendor, Luke was able to collect everything he needed to whip up your familial recipe, with your help of course.

Setting it in the fridge to solidify, you thanked the angels and demon for trying to bring you some for of comfort from home while you were away. At Simeon’s suggestion, you all decide to watch a movie together while you wait. It didn’t even cross your mind that Beel considers anything in the kitchen fair game…

You could barely hold in your excitement when you bound into the kitchen, ready to divvy out portions and get a little piece of home. You enter to find Beel, just finishing up a bowl of something or other in his hand. You give him a big smile as you open the fridge, “Oh Beel, Luke and I just made a human realm dessert! It’s my great aunt’s recipe, you’ve got to try so-”

You cut yourself off as you see no sign of the pudding in the fridge. Your eyes make their way over to the bowl in Beel’s hand. Oh…

It was literally just pudding. They have it here in the Devildom. But you can’t stop the tears from gathering on your lash line. You just wanted a little reminder from home. And now that little reminder lay in the stomach of Demon in front of you

“Beel, you couldn’t have asked first? Clearly this wasn’t Devildom food, and it’s not pretty enough to be Celestial realm food, so, you know..” you trail off, voice getting shaky

His heart breaks at the sight of you shaking, he’s immediately stepping forwards towards you.

“MC, I’m sorry. The hunger was just overbearing, I didn’t really think about it. Is there anyway I can remake it? If not, I’ll ask Lucifer if I can go to the human realm to get ingredients for another one.”

He would scour across all three realms just to see you smile again. Even after he fixes it, he’ll feel terrible about it for months

Makes sure to ask you if something in the fridge is yours now every time before binge eating

Belphie

It’s always the same thing with Belphie. He knows what he did. He knows there’s nothing he can do to erase that. He knows that no matter how many times, in however many different ways he apologizes the trauma will still be there for you.

And it tears him apart.

At first he apologized through flirtatious quips, offering himself up to you. But you still tended to shy away from him

He then tried gifts, leaving flowers with a note outside your door, or leaving stuffed animals on your bed

He knows no matter what he does he can’t make what he did go away. It happened. It was real. And even though it didn’t happen to this version of you…

it was still you

It doesn’t matter if you forgive him. He’ll never forgive himself.

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ascalonsmercy · 8 months

Text

9/02: BARK.

noun: to make the characteristic short loud cry of a dog.

rating: g

characters: donatien de dansereau, archombadin de dzemael, douceline de dansereau (mentioned)

tags: post-heavensward, character study, chomby pays a visit and finds donny instead of dou (unfortunate)

summary: an unexpected social call.

wordcount: 733

The end was sure to come for anyone—or anything—that would part Donatien de Dansereau from a good night’s sleep. Regardless of how many bells had passed since he laid head to rest the night before, the lordling was wont to spend as long as he could in the comfort of his bed and the several layers of furs and sheets that practically cocooned him through the cold Coerthan night. He had finally received respite from his work at the offices housed in the Tribunal—albeit a forced one—and since he and his peers were unsure of when their duties would resume with even a modicum of what they once knew it to be, he was sure to make the most of his free time doing as he pleased.

The hounds of Cygne Cross thought otherwise.

He groaned and bent his ample pillow over his ears. Jean-Luc led the charge with a bark that outdid his underlings tenfold and the others—the rumbling growl from Aubergine and the short but rapid-fire yapping from Nougat. Something—or someone—had stirred them awake.

Not long after came the hurried feet of the House Steward accompanied by what Donatien assumed to be two of the servants.

His lips pressed thin for one, two seconds before he swept the sheets and furs off of him, braving the cold floor with his bare feet. Maybe ‘gonde had brought a new pet home and the rest of the household had come to bid it welcome—or Dou had brought home a dragon, and their hounds were simply doing as hounds in every Fury-fearing house was wont to do. Even then, old habits were hard to break—and seeing as none of his siblings had come to properly greet their guest, he ought to share in some modicum of responsibility with their mother still indisposed.

In naught but his sleep clothes and deep-blue robe he peered down at the staircase with its subtle-spiral, noting the wag of tails and the flurry of newly-brushed fur at the entryway as the figures by the door became clearer as he took one, two, three steps down. Almost halfway down the staircase and Donatien found his earlier assumptions by ear correct—all but the snowy-haired Elezen

Donatien smiled. His morning was saved after all.

“Lord Dzemael! What brings you here so early on this fine day?” Few would know the delight in seeing a scion of House Dzemael taken aback like a cornered rabbit. And Donatien would enjoy it in full.

“...I wanted to.” He cleared his throat.

“Congratulate the Lady Douceline—”

“I’m afraid there’s a bit of a queue.” Donny grinned.

“Though I would hate to put you through such efforts for nothing. Care for some tea, perhaps?” At the word Thibault turned to have the refreshments made ready—perhaps a bit too quickly for their guest’s liking. The hounds aside—there was only him and the youngest Dansereau at the base of the staircase, and no dear Douceline in sight. Archombadin knew there was no winning to this situation. He was in a home not his own, after all—the only slim advantage he held was that the Dzemaels ranked higher as counts rather than the baronial Dansereaus. But, as all of Ishgard knew—the status quo had changed so swiftly after certain events—and the validity of their so-called ranks were now called to question. Also, Douceline would no longer be a mere lady of House Dansereau—she had now been dubbed the Savior of Ishgard. Much more was now at stake for an otherwise spare heir, even from one of the Four High Houses—a fact that Donatien relished. “Tea would be lovely. Thank you.” The welcomed guest cleared his throat as he acquiesced, still unable to look directly at his host For better or for worse—these last days had been an exercise in learning to swallow his pride.

“Shall we, then?” Donatien extended his hand, his mood soaring to new heights. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his sleep clothes and robe and now he had no intention to. Archombadin had entered his house, high-necked overcoat and buttoned boots and all—and Donatien would appear as effortlessly comfortable in his own environment. Once in a while the petty power games so prevalent in the Pillars were fun to play—especially if he held the higher ground.

With a subtle nod, Archombadin followed the younger man suit, with the dogs eager and wanting at their heels.

#ffxivwrite2023 #eggpens.#donatien de dansereau #archombadin de dzemael #it's a little late but I FINISHED...#donny putting chomby through the gauntlet if he wants to date his sister

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muertocountyprincess · 4 days

Text

Been in my head a lot lately.

I honestly don’t really know what’s going on. So many memories (mostly the bad and traumatic ones), have been reaching from the depths of my mind and coming back to haunt me.

And I hate it. So much.

I feel like my depression and mental health in general has been like a teeter-totter, constantly back and forth, battling between the good and the bad this entire year so far.

A lot of stress with personal affairs, figuring out life & career related stuff, internet drama, it’s all just too much.

I feel too much.

I’ve enjoyed being this sort of small “Internet personality” and connecting with others in the space, but god do I hate being made to feel like everything I post is up for some sort of debate, simply just for becoming relatively popular on tcm twt. Just let me yap in peace!

And I hate that every little thing affects me. For so long, probably at least the past decade or more, I’ve tried to wear this hard shell as armor from the outside world, trying to not let words of strangers affect me. But for some reason, I feel like I’m in middle school again, speechless from the relentless bullies, too fearful to use my voice.

For a long while, I’ve become the type to stand up for myself and what I believe in, but lately the ignorance of keyboard warriors has made me want to stay silent - the polar opposite of who I really am. If I say anything, I get attacked. And I’m tired of it. If I don’t speak on it, it just continues to bother me.

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

And I don’t want to keep going on about things, it’s just hard when something’s like an itchy tag on a shirt that keeps rubbing the wrong way - hard to ignore and act like everything’s okay when it isn’t.

Idk, just feeling a lot of mixed feelings and trying to process and work through them.

f★

#vent #personal vent

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snowstark · 3 years

Text

— you’re my world. —

for @truckloadoffrogs | LINK TO AO3

for @buckybarnesbingo | Y2 - Kink: Wall Pinning

“I… oh, I get it now.” Sam tilted his head, perceptive as ever, goddammit. “All this flirting with my sister, that was just to get my attention, wasn’t it? I know it was. Say it.”

“That wasn’t—” Bucky croaked, but Sam wasn’t having it.

He huffed a low laugh, and bulldozed right through Bucky’s feeble pretense. “You like it when I pin you against the wall? Take away all that power you have, that strength that your arm gives you? Make you feel small, maybe?”

“Stop. Flirting. With my sister.”

“Sam, she’s a grown woman!”

Sam growled. He actually growled, what the fuck. “She’s still my sister.”

Bucky snorted. “Alright, fine, Christ. Sorry.” He raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. “We’re cool now, right? Didn’t mean anything by it.”

Sam eyed him for a few moments, then nodded. His shoulders drooped, like they had lost all the pent-up tension, and he reached out to clap Bucky on the back, hesitating for just a second before going for it. “Yeah, we’re… yeah, we’re cool.” His jaw flexed and he looked away for a split second, like he had more to say, but he didn’t; he just walked off, giving Bucky another pat before ducking into the boat.

Bucky stared after him, sucking the inside of his cheek thoughtfully.

Sam was weird.

Sam pissed him off. From the moment he’d refused to move his seat up in the car, he’d burned right through Bucky’s patience like a hot flame and gotten right on his nerves. Had toasted them to crumbs, in fact. He’d yapped on about that shit about Gandalf and the big three—as if Bucky wouldn’t have read the goddamn Hobbit! And now he was here, being all domestic about his boat, and Bucky was willingly helping him.

Sam was so fucking weird.

But… he still liked him.

He was… they were… it was complicated.

__________

“Hi, Sarah.” Bucky smiled and waved, hearing the waves slosh behind him—nice, he liked that; reminded him of when he and Stevie would go on walks by the bay—and she smiled, waving back. Bucky grinned, and she ducked into the house. She was real pretty. She was. He liked her.

Sarah was Steve’s ma’s name. That was kind of weird, he had to admit. But Bucky found that a lot of things were weird now. Like the internet. Mytube—no, youtube. Social media. Cellphones.

No wonder Steve had written things to discover in the book. It was there in his pocket now, too. It was small and old, but it felt like his whole damn world, because it had been Steve’s. All he had left of Steve were bits and pieces of objects that he could put together to find some sort of remembrance of him, so every part counted. A machine couldn’t run when it was missing a screw.

“So. Why did my sister just tell me you could stay the night again?” Sam plopped down next to him, and despite his words, Bucky could only see amusement on his face. “Oh, hold on, let me correct myself—why did my sister just say my handsome friend can stay the night?”

Bucky’s lips twitched before he could stop himself, and he had to cover his laugh with a cough at the mildly outraged look on his face. He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a charmer.”

“No.” Sam gave him a look, and Bucky tossed him an affronted one right back.

“That was rude.”

“No, I mean—” Sam huffed. “You are a charmer, okay? Whatever.”

Why did that make Bucky’s chest feel warm? Sam was so fucking weird.

“Doesn’t mean you have to be charming my sister.” Sam frowned at him.

Bucky gave him a mockingly sympathetic look. “Can’t help it. Charmers don’t choose who they charm.” He gave Sam a lopsided grin. “Just happens.”

“Okayyy. And now your ego is pissing me off.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“I don’t have an ego,” Bucky said defensively.

“Oh, baby, you do.” Sam let out a bark of laughter. “Please. Charmers always have an ego.” He gave Bucky a pat on the shoulder, a bit harder than necessary, Bucky thought, and strode off to break up the playful tussle his nephews had started with the shield.

Baby.

Sam called him baby.

Bucky let his left hand drift up to his shoulder, touching the spot Sam had clapped, just hard enough for him to really feel the ache. Shit, Sam was strong.

And weird.

Really, really fucking weird.

Baby.

Bucky shivered.

__________

See, Bucky’d thought it was a joke, had thought that Sam was joking when he’d said stop flirting with my sister. And that was why he’d kept doing it, because it was funny to rile Sam up, and that was what they did with each other, that was what Sam did to him.

So he didn’t quite understand why Sam was refusing to say a single word to him while they fiddled with the water pipes of the boat.

Or, well, he did understand, but he just— look, the situation was weird and complicated.

All he knew was that Bucky had flirted again with Sarah; she was a nice woman, her smile made him smile, and Sam was upset because he had spent the last couple of days telling Bucky not to. But the truth was, Bucky had thought it was a joke, even more so because he and Sarah had established—just by exchanging a very long look with each other, how strange was that?—that it wasn’t serious, that it was just them exchanging sweet manners, and he’d thought Sam was joking when he said stop.

Bucky had thought it was a joke, and now that he realized that it wasn’t, there was a familiar little ache in his heart, one that he didn’t like to discuss or delve into, one that he knew well because he constantly carried it around with him.

Guilt.

And the fact that Sam was giving him the cold shoulder was making it worse by the second.

“C’mon, Sam.” Bucky scowled to hide his hurt. “C’mon, jesus fuck. If I’d known you were gonna throw such a tantrum I wouldn’t have done it.”

No response, except for another flex of Sam’s jaw muscles.

“Christ,” Bucky muttered under his breath, chest tightening with frustration and anger and resentment and fear because shit, he didn’t have anyone else besides Sam now, he didn’t— he needed Sam, he wanted Sam, he— no.

No. That wasn’t the path he was going to go down. He’d done it with Stevie, he’d done it with— with a billion of others, and he didn’t need to be focusing on whatever this was right now, he needed to be making amends and saving the world—with Sam.

Sam.

It always circled back to Sam fucking Wilson, right there in the corner of his brain, never leaving him alone, always lingering, always reminding him that he was always— always— alone.

He wasn’t… Sam wasn’t his.

And he needed to stop hoping for something that he would never fucking get. Wasn’t this proof enough? Sam refusing to look at him, not speaking to him, turning his head away just when Bucky tried to make eye contact so he could show that he was sorry, because his words were never enough? Wasn’t it proof enough that he was reaching for something he would never be able to grasp in his hand?

Sam didn’t need him. Not the way Bucky needed him. Sam wouldn’t understand, so he would— he would need to leave him alone. Let him be. It’d be fine. He’d just go to his apartment again, he’d be fine on the floor, with the dog tags clinking as he woke up from yet another nightmare, the TV flashing bright enough to make him twitch in his sleep, the bare, cold room, cold like ice, cold like the soldier, cold like loneliness.

It was always cold without Sam, he realized.

That created a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow, his spit felt like acid, burning a hole into his tongue, and he couldn’t— this wasn’t—

“Okay,” he said, and his voice came out more hoarsely than he’d wanted it to. He cleared his throat, forcing the lump down, feeling it move down to his stomach, and he tried again. “Okay. I’ll just—I’ll let you be.”

Sam twitched, reaching for the wrench to fix the pipe, but… silence.

Bucky took a step back, and still… nothing. He was shocked by how hollow he felt inside.

And when Sam pulled out his phone, like he wasn’t even fucking there, the hollowness in his chest filled, filled with anger, with frustration, with— with—

“Okay,” he repeated, muscles tensing enough to hurt. “Okay, I’m gonna go to Sarah and see if she needs a hand in the kitchen.” He turned, grimacing at the jab—no, bait—he’d thrown, knowing it was fucking stupid, and jesus, Steve definitely hadn’t taken all the stupid with him because here he was, and before he knew what was happening, there was a whirl of movement in the corner of his eye as Sam shot up from his seat and slammed him into the side of the boat.

It rocked precariously; it had been strong enough to rock the whole boat, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and it went straight to Bucky’s dick, even more so when he realized that Sam hadn’t just shoved him, he was holding him there, with his arm across Bucky’s chest, hard enough to make him wheeze like the 106 year old man he was, and— and Bucky—

Bucky moaned.

Sam held him there, looking taken aback not only by the noise that had left Bucky’s mouth but by the entire situation, and his eyes dropped to the tent in Bucky’s pants. “You—” He broke off, staring.

Bucky’s face flushed hotly at the dumbfounded expression on his face. Shit. This— shit, he should’ve— he’d miscalculated, he shouldn’t have—

“You like this,” Sam breathed, and Bucky couldn’t bear to look him in the eye.

“Sam—”

“No, no.” Sam pushed a finger onto his lips, making his heart skip a beat. “You like this. You like— you like me. You do. I can see it on your face, Buck.”

Bucky twitched and gritted out, “Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want to,” Sam snapped, and Bucky’s mouth went dry. “Jesus fuck, Bucky. Look me in the eye and tell me you like this. You like it when I hold you down? When I make you tell me how much you like it?”

“I— no, that’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me.” Sam’s eyes flashed, stopping Bucky right in his tracks. “Don’t lie. You’ve done enough lying.” He stared at Bucky, eyes boring into his, and Bucky wet his lips nervously with his tongue, not missing the way Sam’s eyes flickered over the movement. “I… oh, I get it now.” Sam tilted his head, perceptive as ever, goddammit. “All this flirting with my sister, that was just to get my attention, wasn’t it? I know it was. Say it.”

“That wasn’t—” Bucky croaked, but Sam wasn’t having it.

Bucky stared back, breath hitching in his chest.

Sam tightened his hold. “Say it.”

Bucky groaned, his cock twitching. He couldn’t. He— that wasn’t— he was— Sam didn’t—

Sam… Sam wasn’t weird. He was hot.

He liked Sam.

The full extent of that realization hit him like a truck and he choked on his next breath. “Yes,” he gasped out, trembling, and Sam released him. He fell to the floor, breath still raspy and hitched in his chest.

Sam let him catch his breath, face expressionless, and then said, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

In any other scenario, Bucky would’ve laughed at the potential that pun had, because holy fuck, his dick had never been so hard before. But right now, he was a cock-hungry tornado for one Mr. Sam Wilson, and Sam was going to fuck him into a new dimension, he already knew it.

“I—shit, Sam,” Bucky said intelligently, staring up at the man. Sam extended a hand and Bucky took it cautiously, letting him help him to his feet. “You still mad at me?”

Sam huffed and turned his head to the side, making Bucky’s heart sink a bit. There was a small pause between them, not necessarily awkward, just… there, and Bucky was ready to say something inevitably stupid when Sam beat him to it. “Nah. Nah, I’m not… I wasn’t mad.”

“Yeah, you were.” Bucky felt his lips twist into a bitter grimace, angry at himself. “Shouldn’ta done it. ‘s my fault.”

“Yeah, well.” Sam finally dragged his eyes back to him. “Not your fault you’re, well, you know.” He broke off awkwardly.

There was another silence between them and Bucky’s mind was beginning to go white with panic, because this wasn’t exactly how he’d planned this shit to go down, ever, and he stammered, “Um.”

“Um?” Sam stared back at him.

Bucky licked his lips again, and again, Sam’s gaze moved down to follow the movement. “Maybe we should—‘s too quiet. Maybe—”

“Maybe I like it quiet.”

“I—oh.” Bucky broke off, biting his lip.

Sam just stared, then broke into a wide grin that had Bucky both relaxing and tensing for whatever would come next. Then, just when Bucky was beginning to sweat through his shirt, Sam stepped closer, close enough to press him against the wall of the boat, and tilted his head when Bucky chewed at his lip nervously again. “Don’t do that,” he breathed, and Bucky obeyed instantly because Sam told him not to, “that’s mine to bite.”

That was the only warning he got before Sam pressed his lips to Bucky’s, kissing him soft and tender before Bucky let out a small moan. Almost as though the noise had jump-started something inside him, Sam growled, and the kiss quickly turned hard and wet and sloppy.

When they broke apart, Bucky’s chest was heaving, and he found himself following Sam without even realizing, only stopping when Sam laughed and pushed his hand against his chest, forcing his back to the wall again.

“You stay like that,” Sam told him, and Bucky was pleased to hear him sound a bit winded from the kiss. Good. He wasn’t the only one. “You stay where I put you.”

Bucky nodded eagerly, hard enough to give himself whiplash. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay,” he breathed.

“You stay,” Sam repeated, then pulled back from Bucky after one last lingering look to disappear, heading for the exit of the boat.

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat and for a millisecond, he wondered if Sam was leaving, if he’d seriously misread this situation, but there was no way that was the case, right? Sam had kissed him.

Bucky could still taste him.

Sam Wilson tasted like fucking candy.

He heard some rustling, and then a clink and a grunt, and he realized that Sam was locking the door down to the area of the boat they were in, and he swore under his breath.

Sam was serious, then.

Wetting his dry lips nervously, he let a hand fall down to the bulge in his pants, pressing the heel of his hand against his cock, letting out a deep, shaky breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

His eyes fluttered shut and he bit his lip before releasing it, remembering that it wasn’t his to bite, it was Sam’s, and fuck, just the thought of that was so fucking heady that it made him dizzy.

“There.” Sam appeared, making Bucky jump. There was a glint in his eyes as he drew closer, then pulled Bucky’s hand away to pin it above his head without a moment of hesitation, the sheer demonstration of his strength going straight to Bucky’s cock, and he caged Bucky in his arms by planting his hands on the wall until everything, Bucky’s entire goddamn world, was full of one Sam goddamn Wilson. “Now we can get started.”

Read Part 2 Here!

#sambucky #tfatws #winterfalcon #sam/bucky #sam x bucky #buckybarnesbingo2021 #bucky barnes #sam wilson #my fics

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drawing-way-outside-the-lines · 2 years

Text

➖ Mature content, 18+ ➖ check the trigger tags each time ➖

Chapter 22 - A spark of life.

Episode 1. Andy: *He sighed soft as he laid in Raven's arms after a long relaxing shower* I can hear your mom and Ronan... Raven: Me too *he forced a soft smile* Andy: *He sighed deep* Are you sure you are okay, being out in the open again? I kinda hate that you had to come out of hiding for me, but on the other hand, I just couldn't stand it any longer... the fear of not knowing anything about you *he frowned soft* Raven: *He ran his fingers gently through Andy's hair* I was 'out in the open' before you came along Andy: *He frowned deeper* What's happening with you two anyway? Raven: *He sighed soft* Nothing, Andy. I scratched an itch for her... well several different itches.... and she kept me grounded for a while. Andy: *He sighed soft* I'm just scared you're going to fall for her, and she's gonna mess with your head. Raven: First of all, I'm not that easy to mess with *he smiled soft and stroke Andy's cheek* Secondly I don't fall for women that often. Romantically, I'm much more into men than women, it seems. So the odds of me falling for her, are not really that high, specially since I am in no way attracted to her, other than sexually. And that really doesn't say much on it's own, since I practically have no sexual limits *he chuckled soft* Andy: *He joined the chuckle* Same.

Raven: *He smiled soft, running his fingers through Andy's hair again* I really am sorry. None of it was ever planned. Neither did I plan to return to the 'real world' any day soon, but I'm glad I'm here with you.

Andy: *He closed his eyes, enjoying Raven's words and fingers, then suddenly flew up from the couch they were both laying on* SHIT!!!

Raven: What? *He sat up slowly, looking at Andy a bit confused*

Andy: Fuck!!! I made an agreement with Adrian that we could spend the next couple days alone just him and I, after I made a big deal out of him and Sam sorta seeing each other, and then I just took off with you without even telling him first!

Raven: You didn't take off with me, I took off with you. It's not like you could tell him in the split second it took for me to zap you away

Andy: Well, yeah, but... *he sighed deep* fuck! I'm such a fuck up man, it's extreme! *He quickly grabbed for his pants, pulling his phone out of his pocket* Sorry I gotta

Raven: *He slowly laid back down again* By all means...

Andy: *He quickly typed in Adrian's number and waited for him to pick up*

Adrian: *Back in the valley the romantic bath had turned into a tender make out session, so the sound of his phone ringing, made him groan irritated*

Sam: Should I pick it up? *He nodded soft at Adrian's pants on the floor* I can reach from here...

Adrian: *He groaned soft* Leave it! I'm busy...

Sam: *He chuckled soft* as much as I love to hear that, it might be something or someONE important...

Adrian: Ssssshit!!! *he closed his eyes as he recalled having an agreement with Andy*

Sam: Yeah *he quickly reached for the phone and picked up as he saw his dad's name on the display* Yeah?

Andy: ..... *he snorted soft* well I guess I don't have to feel so guilty then?

Sam: ....... guilty?

Andy: Adrian and I had a.... a thing... but a black haired demon swept me away, and I was calling to ask him if we could reschedule. I felt guilty cause there were this whole speech about you and Adrian and me needing more honeymoon time and yip yap - you know

Sam: *He smiled soft* Yes, I get it.. and you can have that, all you want... but I guess you are busy now?

Andy: .... mmhyeah... yup... busy... don't want it to run away again *he chuckled hoarse*

Sam: Is he okay?

Adrian: *He observed Sam closely sitting on top of his lap, trying to figure what the conversation was about*

Andy: Yes, yeah, I mean, yeah, he's not at the best mood, and he didn't plan to come back yet, but here we are... trying to make the best out of it, I suppose? He's as good as he can be, I guess?

Raven: I'm fine... Sam... I'll manage *he spoke in a tired but positive tone*

Sam: *He nodded soft* got it!

Adrian: *He slowly leaned down, kissing Sam's neck*

Sam: *A soft pleasureful sigh escaped him* I'm talking with my dad

Adrian: I know *he mumbled against Sam's skin* hand him to me

Sam: *He gave up the phone quickly with a longing sigh, his whole body begging to be with Adrian's*

Adrian: *He grabbed the phone, and spoke in a milder tone than usual, but still deep* Andy?

Andy: Yeah, hey, sorry, Raven suddenly-

Adrian: so you're busy?

Andy: Yeah, I'm sorry, I feel pretty shitty cause we agreed to-

Adrian: It's okay, I'm... glad he's back

Andy: *He snorted soft* No you're not

Adrian: No, not really....

Andy: I'll try to wrap it up fast, I mean after my long speech and-

Adrian: It's perfectly fine Andy, I got caught up again... take your time, and when you are done, give me a call, I'll be available then..

Andy: are you sure?

Adrian: Mmh *a deep rumbling from within him*

Sam: *He gently placed his hands on Adrian's hips, gazing deep in his eyes* stay calm....

Adrian: I... am....

Andy: You are?

Adrian: sorry, it was Sam... I'm okay, it's fine... take your time okay?

Andy: Are you sure, you don't sound fine? I can come back now, it's okay, I can see Raven another time

Adrian: *he closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath* Andy... it's 100% fine... I'm just...

Andy: Yeahh you're pretty irritated, I got it... I'll come home, I'm the one who made a fuss and yeah, it's only fair...

Adrian: *He took another deep breath* Andy... when I say it's fine, it's fine. The only thing you are picking up on, is simply me being horny, needing to sit on your sons dick, if you must know.

Andy: *He burst out an amused chuckle*

Sam: *He observed Adrian with a slightly amused, yet surprised face, and let his hands slip down between Adrian's legs, gently stroking his dick*

Adrian: *He moaned deep* Andy... call me when you have some free time...

Andy: *He chuckled hoarse* Yeah, enjoy your dick!

Adrian: Ye-you too! *he shook his head and quickly hung up, throwing his phone back on his pants, as he leaned in, passionately kissing Sam*

Andy: *He chuckled amused as the call got cut off and looked at Raven* I guess he had to 'sit on my sons dick'

Raven: *He snorted soft* Not a bad choice

Andy: You're into Sam too?!

Raven: *He chuckled soft* I thought we just talked about me not really having sexual limits?

Andy: *hoarse chuckle*

Raven: Come on... given the chance, can you say that you would turn down Sam's dick?

Andy: ....... *a deep blush started creeping over his nose* ssshhh!

Raven: *He chuckled amused and stroke Andy's cheek* I missed you... my little pervert.

Travis: You must think I'm crazy?

Wyatt: .... hm... it's not as much what I think, but rather what I know

Travis: *He chuckled soft*

Wyatt: It's one of the many things I love about you *he grabbed Travis's hand and squeezed it tight, as they stood side by side, gazing down the less than safe looking skating ramp* which is also why I ask you not to make this jump... please?

Travis: *He nodded soft* Yeah, I guess it's crazy even for my standards, let's go get something to drink somewhere instead

Wyatt: *He smiled soft at Travis* How about we go to a bar instead? Less chances for us to run into someone we know... equals more privacy *he smiled secretive*

Travis: *he lifted an eyebrow* meaning I get to kiss my boyfriend in public?

Wyatt: *He chuckled soft* if you promise to climb back down with me, and not take the express way....

Travis: Deal!

Lina: *She suddenly knocked the door of the bathroom*

Sam: *He cleared his throat and parted his lips from Adrian's* Lina, we're busy!

Lina: Yes, I'm aware, I can hear you. But I have guests coming over in 45 minutes and I'm out of a few things, but I can't leave, cause I already put the roast in the oven! Will you please run to the grocery store for me? Please Sam.. I wouldn't interrupt if it wasn't important.

Sam: *He groaned soft* We can watch the roast!

Lina: ......we both know that's not a likely possibility.... please

Sam: *He sighed deep and looked up at Adrian* I'm...

Adrian: *He sighed even deeper and growled as he slowly got off Sam's lap and out of the bathtub* if anyone asks me for what I want for Christmas... it would be some goddamn privacy! And people to stay out when they claim they are going out!

Sam: I'm sorry, Adrian! *he quickly got out of the tub and grabbed two towels, quickly wrapping one of them around Adrian's waist* I'm sorry... I really am *he planted a soft kiss on Adrian's shoulder*

Adrian: *He sighed deep* S'fine.. guess I should be used to it by now.

Sam: Used to it?

Adrian: .... too many people in the mix

Sam: ....*he chuckled soft as he planted another kiss on Adrian's shoulder* you're lovely.

Adrian: I thought I was an asshole?

Sam: Well.. that too sometimes... but a lovely asshole

Lina: As much as I love to listen into this very well written love affair, could you guys please inform me if you're about to help me or not, cause if not I have to call dad and ask him to-

Adrian: Lina! *he ripped the door open* perhaps I'm not the only one around here who needs to be taught some patience?

Lina: *She frowned deep* Maybe you should also be taught to wear some pants then? *she nodded at Adrian's towel*

Adrian: *His usually frowny face lit up in a wide grin, as he slowly loosened the towel and let it drop on the floor* See anything you like?

Sam: *he couldn't help but chuckle amused as he observed Lina's face turn almost fire truck red*

Lina: Uhp! *she opened her mouth, but not much came out before she quickly turned on her heels and marched into the kitchen*

Sam: *He chuckled soft as he walked up next to Adrian* she might not see anything she likes, but I sure do! *he smiled warmly at Adrian* How about we make that run for her quick, and when we're done, I'll make sure to find some privacy for us?

Adrian: *He squinted his eyes and nodded contemplating* ..... I'd say that sounds like the best damn idea I have heard in a while!

#Raven McKinney #Brandubh McKinney #Andy Shaw-Thompson #Andycorn #Travis Maycock #Wyatt D'Angelo #Ashes #Ash #Phrack #Sam #Samuel Cullman-Thompson #Adrian Blackwood #Lina #Aishlynn Selena Zoe Hartwig #unicorntales

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shorkbrian · 3 years

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Prelude - Idek man I’m a sucker for a lil bondage. Reminder!!! Coercive sex, or any sex where there isn’t any consent, is no-no!!!!! that is rape you guys! this type of behavior where a respected authority figure takes is absolutely not cool under any circumstances. I can’t believe that this is something that I have to make clear, but I don’t condone any of these actions, nor do I support this behavior, or any behavior that’s similar.

Pairing - Aizawa X Reader

Warnings - NSFW (no penetration), noncon, dub con, fingering, abuse of power,

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/4TQcARE7Fd58akNhr3N7AE?si=ffl2jJviRAyVzK3QtU85Jg

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You’re a hero he’s being forced to work with, even though technically he isn’t supposed to have an agency, and technically, he’s supposed to work alone.

Apparently your superiors decided to ignore those two facts, practically dumping you on top of him the second school lets out.

You’re adorable, all fresh faced and young, full of hope and energy and everything that he’s not. Aizawa tries to get out of it, arguing with your superiors while you just stand there watching, but ultimately, he leaves with you trailing behind him.

Tonight, it would seem he’d be working with you.

The whole way downtown you talk his ear off, chattering just like Hizashi does when he’s extra nervous - except, you don’t seem to be nervous.

No, you’re excited, bragging about your accomplishments, your skills. How many villains you’ve turned in, how many civilians you’ve saved. Aizawa quickly gets irritated by your incessant yapping, how you sit there and boast about how good of a hero you are.

From what he can tell, you haven’t been a hero long.

There aren’t any noticeable scars on your form, and if there were, your flashy, skin-tight outfit would’ve exposed them, just like it’s exposing you. It’s impractical, illogical, leaving your skin open to cuts and burns and any other sort of attack.

Plus, it’s distracting. He figures it’s designed to get better ratings from male viewers, to get the videos of you rescuing civilians or taking down low-ranking villains more views.

You don’t watch your surroundings as intently as Aizawa does - a woman sniffles in an alleyway as the two of you pass by, and Aizawa’s immediately on high alert at the sound, looking for potential traps or incoming enemies. You didn’t even register the sound.

Thankfully, you’re not as loud as Hizashi, and when Aizawa holds his hand up to signal you to shut up, you do, immediately clamping you mouth shut with an audible click. At least you can follow orders.

You have no idea of stealth, footsteps falling heavy as you walk, swinging your arms jauntily and seemingly uncaring of who sees you. It makes Aizawa’s blood boil. You sit there, patting yourself on the back about what a good hero you are, yet you’re barely better than a bad sidekick. A sidekick Aizawa wouldn’t-doesn’t want tagging along.

After the third time of you bumping into him after he’s stopped to listen to the sounds of the city, high on the rooftops, Aizawa wants to give you a pinch, scold you for not being ready for hero work, tell you the truth about your “skills” and how good of a hero you really are.

But he’s a patient man, and he knows how to calm his irritation by taking deep breaths. Lord knows his students test his resolve to resort to corporal punishment, so he should reign himself in from considering using it with you. Still, you’re an annoying, young little thing - excited and prideful, trying to show off to the older hero.

Aizawa can deal with it though, as long as he ignores your blunders.

The way you talk too much, how you don’t pay attention, the way you constantly bump into him because you haven’t realized he’s stopped in his tracks. You’re foolish.

It’s not until you almost push him off the edge of a building with your mindless blundering does Aizawa lose his patience.

The man rounds on you, blood pumping quick and fast in his heart from the adrenaline of teetering over the edge, feeling himself about to fall. He probably could’ve caught himself with his capture weapon, but what if he hadn’t? Your stupid mistake could’ve cost him his life, his career.

It takes him less than a second to have your wrists tangled up in his capture weapon, dragging you towards him so he can tower over you, fisting a hand in your hair.

“You’re a shitty hero.” Is all he says, pushing you to the side. Aizawa knows that will sting more than anything else he could say - it’s obvious that you look up to the older man. He wouldn’t put it past you to be the one who begged your agency to dump you on him for the night, so you could talk to him, learn some trade secrets, gush to your little hero friends how you were “trained” by Eraserhead himself.

He’s expecting you to be indignant, to try and argue your case. What he’s not expecting, is for you to attack him as soon as he retracts his capture weapon back onto his neck.

It’s almost laughable, how bad you are at fighting. He can hear you run at him, anticipates the first swing you take at his back, easily tucks forward and out of your reach. When he turns, you're standing there, chest heaving (Your suit really doesn’t leave anything to the imagination, does it? He wonders if it’s something your agency chose, or if it’s a personal preference) as you stare at him with a fire in your eyes.

“You have no right to say that to me.” You grind out, before running at him again.

Now that Aizawa can see you, it’s even easier to dodge your attack, ducking and blocking each punch or kick with ease. “I wouldn’t even want you for a sidekick. You’re sloppy-”

He jabs his fist into your side, and you let out a pained gasp.

“Poorly trained-”

A quick backhand across your face sends you reeling, and Aizawa sighs. He didn’t even put that much force behind it.

“Dangerously prideful-”

His capture weapon whips around your legs, tangling them and pulling them right out from under you. Aizawa moves to yours side, crouching by your head so he can see your eyes.

“And unfit to be a hero.”

You’re winded, but despite that, you thrash, infuriated by the words. You try to strike out at Aizawa, but you find yourself quickly wrapped up in his capture weapon, immobilized.

“Instead of doing important work, trying to keep this city safe, I have to deal with an arrogant brat.”

Aizawa stands up, using his capture weapon to drag you to your feet as well. He takes less than a moment to stride to the edge of the building, pulling you along with him, making you stumble.

With a flick of his wrist, you’re leaning out over the edge, the only thing stopping you from falling being Aizawa’s capture weapon wrapped around your wrists, lacing over your chest, holding you back.

He hears you squeak in fear, watches you go completely still as he holds you there, lets you feel the fear of being dangled above the edge, flirting with the height.

“You saw how easy it was for me to subdue you, how easily you yielded. How do you even beat villains?” Aizawa clicked his tongue. “I’m worried about the future of this city if you’re what we have to offer in terms of a hero.”

You tensed up, obviously hurt by the words. Aizawa felt no remorse - he truly was disquieted when faced with the knowledge that people like you were the next generation of peace-keepers.

With a jerk jerk, you were yanked away from the edge, landing on your butt, air whooshing out of your lungs in a gasp. Aizawa crouched down behind you, leaning close, letting you feel the heat of his body.

“Do you know what would happen if a villain had you tied up like this?”

You quickly shook your head, silent. Aizawa almost wanted to laugh, how were you this naive?

He let his hands rest on your shoulders, let them slowly slide down to your exposed collarbones, further, down to the tops of your breasts.

“Stop... please...” You whispered, frozen.

Aizawa huffed. “A villain wouldn’t stop. You’d be powerless against one. I doubt the “villains” you’ve been taking down could even be classified as such.”

He let his hands drop even further, until he could feel the weight of your breasts in his hands, thinly covered by your costume.

“Let me guess, they’ve all been petty criminals? Bicycle thieves... pickpockets... People who accidentally let the parking meter run out?” He chuckled.

Aizawa kneaded your tits, the warm flesh pliant, soft, delicious. Your nipples were hardening under his touch, pressing against your suit, peaking into solid shapes against your chest. He let his touch focus on them, rolling and pinching the little buds until you were whining beneath his hands, squirming in discomfort as he played with your tits.

“A real villain would have so much fun with you. You’d be so easy, so effortless to hold down. They could do whatever they wanted to you.” He purred into your ear.

You relaxed when Aizawa pulled his hands away, stood up to circle around to your front. You thought he was done, thought he would let you free from his capture weapon. You thought wrong.

The man sat down in front of you, leaning back easily onto his ankles. You were quickly pulled into his lap, crying out at the way he jerked you closer to him, until your fronts were pressed together, until he was pinching and massaging your plump rear.

“What a shame, loosing an untrained hero to a villain. If you’re really unlucky, they won’t kill you once they’re finished with your body.” Aizawa watched you shiver. “No, they’ll keep you alive, and in the clutches of evil men? that’s much, much worse than death.”

Your suit exposed your legs, had a short, flashy skirt that barely covered your ass. Underneath, a flimsy leotard protected your modesty, easily pulled to the side.

A panicked whine tore from your lungs as you felt Aizawa’s thick finger ghost along your folds, rubbing the delicate flesh, acquainting himself with the feel of a tender young body.

The hand on your ass was still groping, squeezing and pulling you impossibly closer, until you have to turn your face to the side, chin hooking over the man’s shoulder. Aizawa nuzzled your neck, breathing in the subtle scent that covered your body, some type of perfume, a scent he couldn’t place, but pleasant nonetheless.

When he felt wetness slowly beginning to seep from your cunt, Aizawa grinned, rolling his eyes. You would be eaten up by a villain, completely destroyed.

He slipped his pointer finger inside, circling his thumb against your clit as he did so, shushing your frightened noises at the unexpected intrusion.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if a villain targeted you. With a costume like this? Your obvious inexperience? The way you boast and brag about what a big girl you are, how proficient you are at taking down big, bad criminals?”

Another finger slipped inside, stretching you wide. You were so warm, so soft, squeezing his fingers like you were trying to suck him in. It was almost like your pussy was desperate for more, aching for something bigger.

But Aizawa had standards, morals. He just wanted to scare you a bit, not ruin you completely.

With two fingers inside of you, he stroked along your velvety walls, searching for the special little spot he knew would make you squeal. You were trembling, draped against his body like a rag doll, hips twitching ever so slightly when he did something you liked.

He tapped your clit again with his thumb, and you stifled a moan. Aizawa resisted the urge to smile; you were so easy.

As his fingers explored your cunt, probing and stretching and scissoring you open, he let his lips attach onto your neck. He could let himself indulge a little - after all, your agency had insisted you come along, even after he told them no.

With a shrill cry, you bucked into his hand, trying to press your hips down further. Aizawa hooked his fingers again, pressing down on the spot he had just rubbed with his fingers, and you yelped again, rocking down, fucking yourself against his thick digits.

He found it.

Starting slowly, the man began fingerfucking you, making sure to hit the spongy, sensitive spot that had you moaning and crying, shaking in his arms.

He found himself quickly loosing patience, especially with the way you wiggled and fidgeted in his lap, trying to chase the sensation his fingers provided.

With no warning (not that he’d given you one once throughout this experience), Aizawa went from his slow, gentle pace, to one that made his forearm flex, one that made your back arch and your toes curl in those impractical, stupid high heels.

You were quickly reduced to mush, able to do nothing but let Aizawa fuck you to tears with his fingers, driving you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel it, how you were almost there. You clenched down on his fingers, sweat shined across your skin, you were absolutely gushing with your creamy wetness, the liquid sliding down his hand and soaking into his pants.

Messy.

Another few quick, hard flicks of his wrist, and suddenly you were squirting, forcing his fingers out of your pussy, writhing from the stimulation. A stream of wet was forced out of you, spraying all over his pants, his hand, the concrete of the rooftop.

Your legs shook with the force of it, eyes rolling back in your head. Aizawa knew you were lost in pleasure, so far gone you couldn’t do much but moan and gurgle brokenly as you slowly came down from your orgasm.

He let you lean against him for a few moments longer, let you pant into his ear, felt your sweaty skin stick to his own.

But he was tired, and he wanted to finish patrolling, and you were barely more than a nuisance, and he needed to find somewhere to jerk off.

He wasn’t a rapist, after all.

So with gentle hands, Aizawa untied you from his capture weapon, slowly sliding you off his lap and onto the ground. He gave you a few moments to collect yourself, rising to his feet to turn and give you privacy as you righted your costume, smoothed down your frazzled appearance, caught your breath.

He was so hard.

When you finally joined his side, you were meek, quiet, subdued. Aizawa barely glanced at you (If he did, he might do something he’d regret, not that he already hasn’t) before striding forward, moving with purpose towards the next roof top.

Hopefully, you’d learned your lesson, and wouldn’t run your mouth so much.

Hopefully, you’d train harder, try to strengthen your fighting style.

Hopefully, Aizawa found somewhere he could jerk off, before his primal urges coerced him into doing something more befitting of a villain.

If that happened, it wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s not like you would tell anyone.

#creepy aizawa #creepy behavior #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #aizawa sensei #bnha aizawa #aizawa #my hero academia aizawa #Shouta #yandere aizawa shouta #tw #careful #bad morals #bad Aizawa

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pengychan · 3 years

Text

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 23

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by @swanpit.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: Long overdue make-up sex? Long overdue make-up sex. Only the epilogue left before this is all wrapped up!

***

“... I need water.”

“Seconded.”

“Thirded.”

Silence. Some shuffling.

“Well, who’s going?”

“I’m not. I went and got Coco back to sleep when she cried. Did my part.”

“I am not getting off this couch.”

“If you make me go, I’m only getting water for myself.”

“I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Uugh. No, I don’t.” Ernesto groans, rubbing his eyes before dropping his head back against the couch’s backrest. He grimaces towards the kitchen. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Three in the morning.”

“What! Where has the evening gone!”

“Where has the entire day gone, we began discussing this over lunch,” Héctor mutters, laying upside-down with his legs over the backrest.

He is not wrong, really: they have quite literally spent half a day and much of the night discussing where to go from there. They talked through lunch, through the afternoon with Coco passing from one set of arms to another whenever she was not napping, talked while Héctor changed her diapers with a frequency Ernesto found frankly concerning given the child’s small size. They took a brief break from talking while walking their dogs - best to be careful with their words outside - and feeding Coco respectively.

More talking ensued as they put Coco in her playpen to watch a cartoon, as they cooked dinner, as they ate it, as Coco fell asleep cuddled up to Pepita while the dogs watched with envy from outside the playpen, with Dante having finally learned that trying to jump in would spell disaster.

They discussed everything they could possibly discuss - their arrangement, how it could work going forward, whether to tell Coco, what to tell Coco once she was old enough, how to keep it private business without having to actively hide, what family members could be told and what family members could never - coming to the agreement Imelda’s brothers were probably the only ones who could be trusted, at the moment, to possibly know if it came to it.

“I never thought I’d see the day I had to say they can be trusted over our father,” Imelda said as she disappeared to put a very sleepy Coco in her crib, and Héctor and Ernesto were still snickering at the idea when she came back. They sat on the couch with a drink, resumed talking, and never stopped except for the time Coco began crying and had to be soothed by a very concerned Héctor.

Until, of course, exhaustion and thirst caught up with them at three in the damn morning.

“So, I’m going to be the waiter from now on,” Ernesto mutters, just a little dramatically, as he finally gets off the couch to fetch everyone some water. He guzzles down a glass, fills two more, and brings them back. Héctor and Imelda drink just as greedily while he flops back down on the couch, exhausted and honestly still absolutely stunned.

“... This is-- is this really happening?” he finds himself asking, very quietly. Part of him fears this is all a dream, that he will wake up alone in his bed to find none of this has really transpired. The other two pause, look back down at him - and maybe Ernesto let something vulnerable show a bit too much, because suddenly they’re both leaning down with the clear intention of giving him a kiss. Exactly at the same time.

With predictable results.

Bonk.

“Ow!” Imelda yelps, wincing back.

“Agh! Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” Héctor frets. Imelda just slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle laughter, which just comes out of her nose with a honking sound. Ernesto just laughs, his own head unscathed but oddly light. Yes, this is happening. He couldn't have dreamed up something so stupid if he’d tried.

It is happening, he thinks. We’re giving this a chance, he thinks. For the love of God don’t fuck it up, he tells himself, but says none of those things aloud. He just laughs until he has to catch his breath and it dies down in a snicker. That’s when Imelda leans down to kiss him briefly, this time without bumping her head against Héctor’s.

“I think that means we’re officially too tired to function,” she says. “Let’s go to bed.”

Ah. Right. It is three in the morning. Ernesto clears his throat and sits up. “Of course-- I’ll drop by after lunch, then, so we can go rehearse--”

Imelda pinches his earlobe. “Who said anything about you leaving?” she asks, an eyebrow raised. Ernesto’s words die in his throat.

Right. Yes. This is happening.

Not that anything physical is going to happen just yet. They are all much too tired to do anything other than shuffling into the bedroom as quietly as they can - “whoever wakes her up has to calm her down”, Imelda threatens - and changing their night clothes - it is odd, finding one of his nightshirts still in their closet, washed and neatly folded - before they flop on the bed.

At least, Ernesto and Héctor flop down on it. Imelda is decidedly more dignified, and leans down between them. Héctor pulls her close, and immediately holds out the other arm for Ernesto with a grin. Part of him is still wondering if he’s dreaming this, really, but when he slides closer, leaning against Imelda’s body with Héctor’s arm around him, again he knows he will not awaken alone after all. He smiles.

“Your arms are freakishly long,” he mutters, very romantically, causing Héctor to snort.

“Oh, thanks, amigo,” he mutters, but his hand keeps resting on Ernesto’s side. “Don’t hear you complain when I give the best hugs ever given.”

“That’s debatable, who decided it is you to give--”

“I said--” Imelda cuts him off, then yawns. Loudly, and without bothering to put up a hand against her mouth. “Sleep,” she mumbled, settling her head back down, forehead against Héctor’s chest and one hand resting on Ernesto’s forearm around her waist. It’s not clear whether it’s an order or just a declaration of what she’s about to do, but they do take it as an order.

They are, after all, exhausted. There will be time to marvel over getting all of this back in the morning; for now, Ernesto leans down his head, closes his eyes, and sleeps basking in their warmth.

***

They get to sleep a grand total of two hours and a half before they awaken to a chorus of wailing, barking, yapping and yowling. It’s hard to tell what started first - Ernesto apparently would put money on the wailing, though Imelda is ready to counter-bet a chihuahua yapped first - but the fact stays, someone needs to go put an end to it before half the condo is at the door with murderous intentions.

Thankfully, Héctor is out of bed almost immediately. He’s still sleepy and misses the door the first time, hitting the wall before stumbling out with a murmured ‘I’m fine’ to go make sure no horrid monster has attacked Coco in her crib. In his haste he leaves the door open, and two chihuahuas as well as the cat rush in, with the small dogs yapping and trying without success to jump up on the bed.

The other two as well as Dante clearly decided to stay behind and watch Héctor’s baby-soothing operation. Imelda stifles a yawn, bringing a hand up to her mouth. “Those dogs are not allowed on the bed,” she says the instant Ernesto moves to pick them up, just as Pepita jumps to settle down next to her head.

Ernesto scowls. “That’s favoritism,” he points out, and a little monster yaps as though to agree. One of them whines, clearly trying to move her into relenting. Imelda remains entirely unmoved.

“Pepita is clean,” she replies, reaching over to scratch Pepita behind the ears. Her green eyes, fixed on Ernesto, narrow. Hard to tell whether it is in pleasure for the ear scratch or in displeasure for the man back on her owners’ bed, but if it’s the latter, she will have to get used to it.

Ernesto makes a face. “I can’t imagine it’s hygienic.”

“She grooms herself for hours on end--”

“With her it tongue, that’s not cleaning a thing--”

“Well, it’s more than dogs do. I have only ever seen them use their dogs only ever use their tongues to lick--”

“They’re clean! I bathe them every week!“

Imelda blinks. In the next room over, Coco’s wails are quieting down. “... You do?”

“With a very expensive dog shampoo, too. I advertised it on my Instagram account - I mean, their Instagram account. Didn’t you see?”

Ah. That. “I think I unfollowed both when we-- broke things off,” Imelda admits, causing Ernesto to frown. “It stung,” she adds quickly. “Seeing you.”

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Well, I-- I haven’t been posting a lot, so you haven’t missed much. Should get back to it. I think the dogs have more followers than I do at this point.”

“Well, they are cute. I suppose,” Imelda concedes. Pepita jumps off the bed, clearly satisfied with her dose of scritches, and is followed outside by both chihuahuas. Imelda props herself up on her elbow. “You should try with shirtless photos,”she adds. It’s mostly meant as a joke, but Ernesto is clearly considering it.

“I already posted plenty. And a couple where I was only wearing a--”

“I mean, more shirtless photos,” Imelda rectifies, very much aware of what photos he is referring to. Unlike Héctor, whose social media accounts are bereft of any sign of life aside for the occasional photo of a guitar, a music sheet, or Imelda going over his latest work, Ernesto is very much active and not precisely trying to disguise the fact his sexuality is ‘yes’.

“I guess I could take a trip to the beach for a few more shots, after we’re back from Santa Cecilia...” he muses, and Imelda is about to ask if they’re meant to join him for that trip to the beach when Héctor walks back in, a triumphant grin on his face and phone in hand.

“She’s sleeping! Look!” he whisper-exclaims, and gets right back in bed between them before he proceeds to show them thirty identical photos of Coco sleeping. “Isn’t she the most beautiful little girl?”

“She is,” Imelda agrees with a small grin, leaning her chin on Héctor’s shoulder. “Not that I’m biased or anything.”

Ernesto scoffs. “You absolutely are.”

“Not everyone is your mamá, Ernesto,” Héctor snickers, elbowing him. “Telling everyone within earshot how handsome you were going to be once you shed your baby fat.”

“Well she was right, I did turn out-- what! She never said that, pendejo!” He huffs, giving Héctor’s shoulder a shove that almost sends him flying off the bed. He laughs it off, flopping back down.

“She did too, Ernestito! Heard with my own ears!”

“Mph. Your stupid elephant ears.”

Héctor’s expression turns coy. “Ah, what can I say, it’s my cross to bear. Much like a dick a couple of inches longer than yours…”

“It’s not, Héctor!”

“Is too! We checked with Imelda’s measuring tape, remember?”

“... You did what with my measuring tape now?”

“We had a disagreement to settle, mi amor.”

“And we found it’s-- maybe an inch longer! At most! And mine is thicker, too!”

“Oh no, it was longer than that. Need me to refresh your memory?”

“We can arrange that, if you let me catch another couple of hours of sleep,” Imelda mutters, causing the squabble to die down. There is some grumbling, a few more shoves, but soon enough they’re all settled to sleep again, basking in the warmth and enjoying blissful silence.

For another fifty minutes.

***

“Oh my God!”

“Gah!”

“Wha--??”

Héctor barely catches himself before he falls off the bed, flailing his arms and only narrowly missing Imelda’s face. He reaches to turn on the bedside lamp, and sits up to look over to the other side of the bed where Ernesto is sitting upright, hair tousled, a horrified expression on his face as though he just awakened from the worst nightmare a human mind can conceive.

“Ernesto? What is it?” Imelda is asking, concern plain in her voice. She puts a hand on Ernesto’s forearm and he looks back at them, eyes wide and skin ashen.

“Oh my God, ” he repeats. “My mother has seen my Instagram.”

Ah, Héctor thinks.

“Ah,” he says, mind already wandering to some photos that are probably not meant for the eyes of one’s own mother.

“Oh,” Imelda repeats, clearly thinking the same.

They succeed in staying serious for almost five seconds before Héctor cracks, and Imelda is quick to follow.

“Pffft…”

“Heh…”

“She has been looking up my account for ages-- she even mentioned it, I had forgotten-- what if my father-- stop laughing!” his voice comes out a whine, and it’s what entirely undoes them. “This is serious! Stop laughing! I’ll have to look her in the eye when we go back for Coco’s christening! I-- uuugh!” Ernesto lets himself drop back on the pillow with a groan, covering his face with an arm. “I hate you both.”

“No, you do not.” Héctor grins down at him and, while Ernesto scoffs, he fails to say otherwise.

“If she brings it up, I will dig myself a grave and crawl in it.”

Imelda snickers, leaning across his chest. “If they’re that terrible I don’t think she’ll want to bring them up.”

He pulls his arm off his eyes, frowning a little. “Not that I’m naked in those photos, I’m not an idiot, but I--” he trails off with a sudden intake of breath when Imelda’s hand slips beneath his nightshirt, across his chest. Héctor sits back a moment, watching them - Imelda’s tousled hair and the strap of the nightgown falling off her shoulder, the way Ernesto arches a little at her touch.

It’s not the most alluring sight he’s ever laid his eyes on, but it comes pretty close - and it hits him suddenly, the realization that they have this again. It leaves a lump in his throat and a dumb smile spreading on his face while he watches Imelda lean in and kiss Ernesto’s lips. When they break apart, Ernesto’s breathing is quicker and his eyes wide.

Imelda grins, and tugs at his nightshirt. “Since we clearly are getting no more sleep this morning, would you mind getting this out of the way and let me take your mind off your mother going through embarrassing Instagram photos?”

Ernesto is sitting up and pulling the shirt up over his head before she’s even done speaking, but he doesn’t get to take it off - not before Héctor moves suddenly to pull them both in his arms, and squeeze tight.

“Agh!”

“What the--”

“Really?”

“And here I was trying to be seductive,” Imelda mutters, face pressed against Héctor’s chest.

“It was a very good effort,” Ernesto informs her, head still tangled in the shirt.

“Thanks.”

“Unfortunately, you married an idiot.”

“Oh, like you didn’t stick to the idiot long before I got him to put a ring on it.”

“What can I say, I felt bad for him.”

“... You guys realize I can hear you, right?”

“No doubt you can, with those ears,” Ernesto mutters, voice still muffled by the shirt wrapped around his head. “Can you let me go now?”

“Do I have to?”

“If you want us to get anything done before Coco needs breakfast, yes,” Imelda says against his chest. “Now, if you’d let go and fetch the lube and condoms…” she adds, and Héctor is off them and across the room so fast he almost topples on the floor.

With most of his blood flow already getting redirected in his nether regions, Ernesto’s power of thought may not be at his highest. However, as he gets the shirt off his head and throws it off the side of the bed, he does pause a moment to think. Or try to. Something is definitely different.

“Condoms? Not on the pill anymore?”

“Not yet. It already failed, anyway, and I really am not ready for another little miracle. At least if the condom breaks we’ll notice right away.” She reaches up to brush back his hair, and leans against him. She is warm against his bare chest, her lips so close to Ernesto’s own. Her nails rake lightly down the back of his neck, and he swallows. “But it shouldn’t happen, if you know how to put one on properly.”

He makes a face. “Well, of course I know how to put on a--” Ernesto begins, and then trails off. The amount of blood going straight to his cock is making it very hard to think about anything else, but he’s not yet so far gone he can’t catch the meaning of her words. He stares at Imelda, mouth hanging open.

There are...few things they did not at least experiment with throughout the relationship, but at no point did Ernesto get to be in her. Not with his cock, anyway. It simply never happened, Ernesto would think, but he knows deep down that was not it. It was a line Imelda did not want to cross, the one that marked the difference between her husband and the annoying-- acquaintance -- friend turned unlikely lover. Something Héctor could have while he could not. Until now.

He should try and play it cool, of course. Get cocky and say he’s glad she changed her mind there, she has no idea what she has missed out on. Instead, he sputters.

“What-- are you-- sure?”

Imelda’s expression turns coy, a finger running down his chest. “Well, if you’re afraid to disappoint…”

What!

“What!” Ernesto huffs, crossing his arms. “For your information, I never disappoint.”

“Sofía told me otherwise.”

“Sofía should mind her own-- wait a moment, since when are the two of you on gossiping terms?” he asks, just a hint of panic making it to his voice as he tries to run the numbers on the amount of ammunition Sofía may have to use against him. Unaware of his worry, or maybe all too aware of it and hiding it very well, Imelda shrugs.

“She ordered a pair of shoes and we got talking.”

Talking about what, Ernesto wants to ask, but before he can open his mouth Héctor is back on the bed and kissing his shoulder, causing him to trail off and his breath to catch a moment.

“Here,” Héctor smiles against his skin, pressing a condom in his hand. “Put it to good use, we have no others left until we restock.”

Despite the rising heat, his own quickening breath and the by now unbearable friction of underwear on his erection, Ernesto raises an eyebrow. “That busy, even with the baby?”

��Not really. It’s that Dante found the box.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, ah. The vet judged me the entire time. Not that he said anything, but--”

“... Surely we can have this conversation another time?” Imelda intervenes, tapping her fingers against Ernesto’s chest in a motion that is… a little more annoyed than seductive now. Héctor blushes a little, and gives a sheepish grin.

“Heh. Right,” he says, and without warning he suddenly pushes Ernesto forward, causing him to fall over on top of Imelda. He barely catches himself, hands braced against the mattress, and almost protests - but then he looks down to see Imelda leaning on her back beneath him, head between his arms and hair spread across the pillow. Her skin is flushed, and ah, the way she looks at him. If one could bottle that look to sell it, they’d make billions.

“I can’t help but feel I’m terribly overdressed for the occasion,” she tells him, and starts unbuttoning her nightgown. She barely makes it to half the buttons before Ernesto’s mouth comes down on hers, hard. She melts into the kiss in a way he cannot recall her ever doing before, fingers tangling in his hair and Christ - Christ - it is almost worth the long months without them, waking up in his own bed.

Ah, it’s good to be home.

“Ah--” Imelda sighs and throws back her head while Ernesto’s mouth trails down her throat, to her breasts. He only stops with a startled gasp against her nipple when a pair of familiar hands pull off his boxers, and a very familiar finger begins to probe as him, slick with lube.

“Oh, don’t mind me back here,” Héctor calls out, and Ernesto can almost feel the grin in his voice when he slides the finger in, slowly but without hesitation, getting another gasp out of Ernesto he barely muffles against Imelda’s skin. “Want me to put on the condom for you while I’m at it? You look busy,” he adds. His other hand closes on Ernesto’s cock in a soft squeeze, and he almost cries out.

“Christ-- don’t do that!” he pants, suddenly terrified he’s going to just come like that, before anything can happen. Héctor chuckles, but does pull back the hand. The other hand pushes in another finger, sending more shivers up his back. God, he’s shaking - this is bliss, never enough and yet too much, how can he possibly hold himself together?

“That horny?” Héctor asks lightly, as though conversing over a glass of wine. Ernesto snarls.

“I’m about to fuck your wife, what do you think?”

“Ah, good point.”

Beneath him Imelda, who somehow managed to unbutton the rest of her nightgown and shrug it off, laughs and forces his head back by the hair to kiss his mouth. He doesn’t resist - how can he resist? - and only lets out a noise of surrender. The finger within him retreats and Héctor is leaning across his back, putting the condom on him with surprisingly delicate fingers. His own cock presses against Ernesto’s thigh, hard and hot and already slick with lube. When he pulls back, Ernesto lets out a whine.

“Don’t bother with fingers,” he groans. “I can take it-- por favor--”

A kiss on the back of his neck, just as Imelda’s mouth presses on his throat. She has a leg on either side of Ernesto, and his cock brushes against the warm skin on the inside of her thigh. It is only a soft brush, but it’s almost unbearable on heated flesh. He lets out a shuddering breath, and glances down to meet her eyes.

Are you sure?, he asks without words, and Imelda responds just as wordlessly, pulling his mouth down on hers and arching beneath him. Whatever shred of self-control Ernesto had left is annihilated and he kisses her back, frantic, before pushing his hips forward purely out of instinct and oh--

He slides in so easily and for a long, blissful moment, Ernesto forgets how to breathe or move or think. There is only that tight heat, Imelda’s scent in his nostrils and her breath against the side of his neck as she clenches around him - the soft moan filling his ears and the nails sinking in the skin of his shoulders.

And then Héctor is bearing down on him, mouth on the back of his neck and weight across his back, pushing into him unbearably slowly and all too fast at once. Everything is too much. Nothing is enough. He wants and needs and yearns and yet it’s everything he could possibly ask for, and more.

As much as he enjoyed the strap-on and Héctor’s ass, this might just be the best variation of Ernesto sandwich he’s ever had.

“Pepita got your tongue?” Héctor chuckles against his ear, settling deep into him, resting his chin on his shoulder and glancing over at Imelda. “You good?” he breathes. Imelda lifts her head to kiss his lips. Her skin is flushed, eyes half-lidded.

“Oh, yes,” she says, and kisses Ernesto’s neck again. “You are thicker, I’ll give you that,” she whispers, perfectly audible to Héctor, whose chuckling protests are not very believable. Her hand cups Ernesto’s cheek, her fingers calloused from working leather. “Don’t worry about a thing,” she murmurs, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. “We’ll take good care of you.”

“Christ--” Ernesto pants, and manages to lift himself up on his elbows just enough to get some weight off her, and rest his forehead on hers. He’s so acutely aware of everything - the smoothness of her skin and Héctor’s chest hair against his back, her hand cupping his cheek and his chin on his shoulder, the heat around his cock and the cock in him. “I don’t know-- how long I can last,” he manages to admit.

“Ah, don’t worry about that, amigo,” Héctor speaks, and tilts his hips, sending a jolt of pleasure up Ernesto’s spine and tearing a gasp out of him. “Wouldn’t be the first time. And we can do this whenever we wish…”

He says something else after that, or Imelda does, but none of their words makes it to Ernesto’s brain. They start moving in tandem, in him and around him and on him and beneath, and it is all that Ernesto can think of or feel. It is all he wants to feel right now.

The moans that leave him are louder than advisable, with Coco sleeping just a couple of rooms over, but Imelda is quick to muffle any noise he makes with a kiss. Good move, that.

None of them is in the right state of mind to go soothe a cranky baby, after all.

***

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#pixar coco #hector rivera #ernesto de la cruz #imelda rivera #coco #mind the gap

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sunball · 3 years

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Hi💫💓. I have a confession to make. Nothing too serious tbh. This is going to be lengthy. I created a Tumblr acc a while ago but, I was never active on it. I preferred to guest browse, you know. I would lurk around in the tags and read stuff. But, I never actually interacted with the posts. Ever. One day, I was doing the same thing and, I came across your blog. I LOVED reading your posts. You came across as an authentic and outspoken person to me. Your blog's aesthetic stood out to me. I could see that it was an expression of yourself. I could see the effort you put into it. I kept coming back to your blog and ended up finding some other wonderful blogs through it. After a while, I ended up traveling. I didn't have data or WiFi access at the time so, I couldn't read any of your posts. When I returned, I couldn't find your blog for some reason. I low-key freaked out. I am not sure how to explain this to you but, I have ALWAYS struggled with communication. It made me SO anxious to the point that I couldn't even imagine being on social media. People say that interacting with others on the Internet is much easier than face-to-face communication but, to me, it's all the same. At the end of the day, I am always wondering "Was I rude?", " Did I even make any sense?", "What are they going to think of me?". It is such an irrational fear but, I can't help it. After coming across your blog, I decided to check my natal chart, and lo and behold, I have Saturn in the 3rd. After finding out that you had the same placement, it gave me some kind of hope? That may be, someday, I would be able to express my thoughts just like you do. I really respect the efforts you put into your blog. I admire you for that. I really do. Okay, let's go back to the story. I eventually ended up finding your blog. I made up my mind to finally tell you that I loved your blog. I think I send you an ask. I think. But I decided to redo it cause' I felt like the first one didn't do justice. So here I am. I don't know if you will ever actually read this. Even now, while writing this, I am freaking out! I know I am anonymous but, my anxiety doesn't give an f. I want you to know that you are doing great. There are lots of people out there who appreciate what you do, and I am one of them. I hope you rise amongst all perils and achieve all your dreams. Thank you for being yourself. 💛💛💛

Hold up, I was supposed to make a confession, right? Okay so, I used to hang around with a cockroach as a kid. Let's call it bestie. Feels weird to say it, but bestie was actually well behaved? I used to sing songs for it and stuff. Our friendship lasted for a grand total of two days. Bestie was a great roach. Best of all?? It didn't fly. Yap, that's it. I don't know if you will read this but thanks for listening.

omg anon🥺🥺 I’m speechless aahhh aakdhjdg this means SO much to me. you made my day. you made me smile and tear up wow. thank you so much for taking your time to write this. im feelin super special rn hehehe just reading your words makes me feel appreciated 😭 I’m guessing you found my blog when my URL was ilyneptune? I was shadowbanned so that’s why you couldn’t find my blog, SORRY ABOUT THATTTT! I’m glad we found eachother again though :D

I totally get what you mean about the communication part, as a child I was really quiet and did not talk to my family or my friends much. at school I was the most awkward person and was labelled as stupid because whenever I got picked on to answer questions, I would just stutter and answer something stupid 😭 just speaking makes me feel like choking even if it’s just a simple hi. I also used to not like talking online too, I would leave messages unread and ignore them for weeks and I absolutely hated calls (I still do). I also take hours to write a paragraph. saturn in 3rd house things I suppose 😔 but actually, this year my communication got so much better. I stepped out of my comfort zone and made this blog. not so sure what made me do it but I’m glad I did it anyway. now I’m arguing with people in comment sections and I’m not afraid of being wrong anymore. I guess I just accepted that I’m not perfect and that I’m bound to make mistakes and that everyone is here for the same reason - to learn. would me saying something wrong make me a fool? or would the person laughing at me for being wrong and not asking questions be the fool instead? I actually have 2 quotes on my wall, “speak your mind even if your voice shakes” and “he who asks a question is a fool for a minute, he who does not ask is a fool for life”. those quotes are very important to me and pretty much changed my life :B my dad also helped me ig, he’s kinda cold lol but he told me that people actually don’t give a fuck about your mistakes, they don’t notice the things you notice like your crooked teeth, the way you eat, how you stuttered 3 times or how you messed up your presentation. why? people have their own insecurities and their own life to think about, they’re probably thinking of the exact same thing like “omg did they notice that I accidentally spat when I talked?”. so yeah that helped me too.

I believe that you can overcome these fears! I mean, you’re already doing it by writing this to me :D (which brought me to tears lol). If an awkward bean who barely spoke at school (aka me) can do it, so can you! I believe in you anon ((: it’s okay to be anon I understand! I appreciate you writing this to me (for the 2nd time KAHDH I’m sorry I didn’t get your last ask 😭). but anywaysss I’ll still be here for the day you express your thoughts (and imma listen hehe) I’m a sucker for thaaatttt, hearing people’s thoughts and opinions. I think it’s super fascinating how people think differently and how people can come up with different ideas. makes me just wanna take a look inside their mind KAHDJDH.

okay wth a cockroach HAHSGDGD AND WHY IS THAT WEIRDLY CUTE??? why am I aww-ing at a cockroach I don’t get it AHAHAAH AND YOU SANG TO IT?? WELL BEHAVED??? I’m chuckling here 😭😭 that’s so wholesome. so cuteeee😔 bestie will forever be missed <33

thank YOU anon. I hope you are doing well! I hope to see you againnn 🥺

#answered

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mostly-marvel-musings · 4 years

Text

A Mere Mortal - Chapter Five

A/N: This story is based on Landlord Vampire Fic Frenzy hosted by the amazing @just-the-hiddles. The second last chapter of this series! Yay Feedback’s appreciated as always! :))

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Bucky Barnes x Vampire! Loki x Human! Reader

Word count: 2043

Warnings: Foul language, murder description, mostly angst.

Tags: @buckybarnesplumwhore @ladyacrasia @tcc-gizmachine @alexakeyloveloki @rogerrhqpsody

Taglists open! Send me an ask if you wish to be tagged in future chapters.

...

You’d had enough. Bear was driving you insane with his persistent howling and barking. For such a small pup he was quite loud. Groaning, you turned on your side hoping to block the noise out.

Maybe it’s a phase. Don’t they start teething or something at this age?

You thought you’d ignore him and eventually he would keep quiet and go back to sleep, but something made you get out of the warmth of your bed, down the stairs and flick the light on in the living room. Bear was standing by the front door, staring it down as if it were an enemy. Huffing, you went closer.

“What is it buddy? Bad dream?” you leaned down to give him a scratch but he backed away; instead trotted up to the door and began scraping it with his front paws.

“You want to go for a walk now? Its 4:00 am and freezing cold. Come on now back to sleep.” You turned to switch the lights off again when Bear grabbed your pajama bottoms and tugged on them.

“What the hell Bear! We cannot go out now. Enough.” Irritated at this point, you picked him up and took him upstairs to let him sleep in your bed. Maybe he’d calm down then.

Once inside, you slid inside the still warm bed with the puppy and cuddled him close, he was surprisingly pacified at that time. He scrambled around a little bit before snuggling in, his rapid breathing gradually began lulling you back to sleep. Though it was short-lived.

Soon the quiet of the room was broken by Bear’s yapping right beside your ear. Angry at this point, you threatened to lock him in a room, though you could never do such a thing. He sat beside your bedroom window and looked out into the darkness. Following his gaze, you peered out to see what’s got him so riled up.

You saw a blurry dark figure laying on the ground on the far end of the street. The hairs on the back of your neck stood in alarm as you squinted to see clearly.

Were they unconscious? Or worse? Should you call the police?

Deciding the latter was the logical option, you got your phone and dialed 911 and waited for in your living room for a car alarm to be heard. You weren’t planning on standing in the dark out there alone.

Upon hearing cars in the distance, you pulled on a sweater and a hat, carried Bear in a little blanket and went out to the possible crime scene.

As you got closer, your heart rate picked up, Bear’s barking returned and you could sense something was horribly wrong. One of the officers saw you approaching and walked towards you.

“Do you live around here ma’am?” he asked looking at you warily.

“Yes, right down the street. I was the one that called you. My dog kept barking endlessly and I saw a figure on the ground. What happened?” you asked trying to peak behind him where the figure still laid, lifeless.

“I’m afraid it’s an animal attack. A brutal one. This woman was dead when we arrived. Her head was about ten feet away from her body.” He said matter-of-factly.

Your eyes went wide as he described the scene as if it were a routine weekday for him. You stepped around him, still in shock, to see who the woman was. To your horror, it was Jenny. Jenny who served you food at the grill on your very first day here; Jenny who was always so warm and kind towards you whenever you visited her.

She lay there on the cold ground, decapitated. Her mouth agape in shock, her eyes grey, lifeless, and what looked like scratch marks all over her severed neck and shoulder region. All this, and not an drop of blood was to be seen.

That was odd, to say the least. Judging by the intensity of the attack, there should’ve been a pool of blood right? Unless those freaky legends were all true. It couldn’t be, could it? Body drained completely of blood? What animal does that? Your detective alter ego was hard at work at this point.

“I can escort you home miss. We’ll do an inspection of the woods for any signs of animals. It’s not safe out here.” The officer broke you out of your mental investigation of the scene.

Agreeing, you let the officer walk you home, still in disbelief that you had just witnessed such a terrible yet odd scene. You were in shock.

Placing Bear down once you were inside, you walked in the kitchen, dazed, and got a glass of water. Bear following you closely, sat right at your feet as you leaned on the island counter, and looked up at you concerned.

“I forgive you for waking me up.”

…

You woke up that morning with a pounding headache and your hyper puppy dancing around the bed and licking your face.

Stepping under the shower, you recalled last night’s or rather, this morning’s events. The sight of Jenny’s lifeless body without a drop a spilled blood filled your mind with equal amounts of panic and curiosity. Mind immediately jumping to Bucky’s story from the other night.

Bucky! You could talk to him about the incident. You hadn’t spoken to him since the little make out session at his house. Sure not much time had passed, plus you had just witnessed a mysterious death.

Sam’s words echoed in your head at that moment. Creepy town.

After a heavy breakfast, you fed the dog and stepped out heading towards the library. The change in weather was quite evident as the leaves had started to fall and your breath was visible even during the day as well. You were sure you heard leaves crunch a few feet behind you but you didn’t stop to look, in fact you picked up your speed and jogged to the library.

“Ah (Y/N) my dear, how nice to see you again.” Frank’s kind voice came from his desk on your right as you entered the library.

“Good morning Frank. Did you hear about Jenny’s death?” you replied, immediately getting on the subject. You saw him get shifty-eyed for a little before a sympathetic smile donned his aging face.

“Ah yes. Terrible animal attack. You be careful when stepping out at night, my dear.” He replied hurriedly making you wonder if he’s memorized that response.

Not asking any further questions because he said he was busy looking at the logs, you made your way to the usual spot by the window and opened up a dusty copy of Dewsbury Legends & Myths.

You were lost in the book, not noticing a figure approach and sit right across from you, until he cleared his throat.

You looked up to find Loki peering at you intently with a slight smirk adorning his thin lips. As if a hunter would look at its prey who has absolutely no chance of escape.

“Hello love.” His smooth accented velvety voice enveloped your senses with intrigue and trepidation. He was leaning close, a bit too close for your liking. Your body automatically straightened back, going as far as away from the man without getting up.

“Loki. What brings you here?” keeping your tone polite yet unyielding you held his gaze.

“Oh you know me, Frank is a dear friend. And you are too.” He added with a full grin this time. Something about that grin sent a shiver down your spine. You wanted to get away from his presence, and yet you couldn’t get yourself to physically stand to leave; as if he had put you under a spell.

“How’s James? Haven’t seen him in a while. You two have gotten quite close it seems.” He interjected your train thoughts, his tone dripping with disdain.

You remained silent. Somehow you knew this wasn’t the end of his queries.

“Sad what happened with Jenny, you must’ve heard. Such a poor thing. Pathetic.” He said, gaze piercing at this point as if trying challenging you to speak the obvious at this point.

Your mouth went dry as your mind grasped the idea of what Loki had just implied. It was him. He did it. He killed her. He had bitten her, drained her body of blood.

Him.

Was he a-?

In flight-or-fight mode you scrambled to gather your things to get the hell away from him, of course he stopped you.

“Come on darling, it is only just getting interesting. I haven’t even told you the best part yet” His calm demeanor frightened you all the more.

“Since you’re so keen on knowing our town history, has James been telling you the real one or the one about Morwenna and Lucas?” Loki said sitting back on the armchair, knowing you wouldn’t run away now. Not until he spills the whole truth anyway.

Your voice came out feeble and shaky as you asked him what he meant by the real story.

“Has James ever mentioned of his deceased sister? My guess is he hasn’t. Well (Y/N), Evelyn was James’s sister who died tragically in the woods.”

“Evelyn was Lucas’s sister.” The words just blurted out without your approval.

“There is no Lucas darling. James made it up. He’s been telling that story for decades.”

Decades?

“You’re lying.”

“Perhaps you should ask him yourself. He should be here any minute, wanting to ‘protect’ you from me.” Loki sneered, leaning forward again. You swore you could see his eyes turn dark.

As if on cue, the library door swung open and Bucky came charging in towards you. Your body felt released from invisible chains as you scrambled to stand up and backed away from the two men.

“(Y/N) I’ve been calling you, why didn’t you pick up? What’s he doing here?” he looked concerned as he scanned you before staring daggers at Loki.

“Nice to see you James. I’ve just been updating our darling (Y/N) on real Dewsbury history.”

Before he could answer, you interjected,

“What happened to your sister?” your voice shaking with fear as you began plotting your escape from the small library. Would it really work? Probably not. Would you still try? Yes.

“Don’t believe a word he says doll, I was worried about you.” Bucky started stepping closer as you moved further away, not knowing who to trust.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Look, let me take you home, we can talk then.” He tried to reason with you as he saw fear in your eyes.

“That’s not an answer either.”

All the while Loki sat back in the armchair, observing the drama unfold. The one that began because of him.

“She died. In the woods.” Bucky finally said, head bowed.

You knew deep down Loki’s words were true, though Bucky’s admission shocked you nonetheless. It was true. The legends, the myths. And you needed to get away from them at once.

You made a run for it as you closely avoided Bucky who could’ve easily stopped you, but didn’t. As you reached the door, his hand interrupted your actions. You didn’t even hear his footsteps follow you.

“Please let me explain.” He pleaded.

“You stay the fuck away from me.” Yelling, you pushed his hand away and opened the door, bolting towards your house.

You kept glancing back as you ran, looking to see if either of them were following you, they didn’t.

“(Y/N) please, I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I was protecting you.”

Of course he was standing right behind you.

Angry tears blurred your vision as you turned to face him, “I think I told you to stay away from me. Leave me alone. Please.”

Bear’s barks filled your ears as you heard him scratching at the front door, to come to your aid. You turned and opened the door, immediately your dog began growling in Bucky’s direction without stepping out of the house. He could probably sense Bucky wasn’t a human.

“(Y/N).” he said as a last attempt to get you to listen.

You of course, slammed the door, locked it shut and sank to the floor, crying.

…

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neon-junkie · 3 years

Text

It’s Me Or The Liquor

Summary: A misunderstanding during an argument leads to you storming off, crying over what Bill's done.

Pairing: Bill Williamson x gn!Reader

Word Count: 2913

Rating: SFW

Tags: Drinking problems, Alcohol, Break ups, Arguments, Angst, Angst with a happy ending.

Notes: I wrote the first chapter from a prompt list, then felt bad for leaving the ending so sour, so I fixed it :)

Bill's drunk yet again. This is the second time today, and the fourth time this week. And it's only Wednesday! He's getting worse lately; usually, he's bad, but recently it's been agony. Maybe he was approaching the anniversary of his deployment and didn't want to be conscious to experience the pain, or maybe he was more stressed and worked up than usual.

You'd tried talking to him many times, as a friend and as his other half, but he'd always brush it off and mumble "I'm fine. You ain't got nothing to worry about." It's all lies. He's not fine, and you have so much to worry about. There's so much on your plate, so much stress, so much fear. You don't want to bury Bill when the alcohol finally takes him, or have him damage his brain so much that when he finally becomes sober, he doesn't remember anything, especially you.

He's currently sat by himself at the round table near Pearson's wagon. It's late afternoon, and the Lemoyne air is thicker than usual. Damn this swamp, and damn Bill for working you up. It's selfish of him, to have you worrying like this when all he needed to do was accept his problems and fix them. Sure, it's a big step and not as easy as it looks, but you've told him time and time again that you're willing to help him. The whole gang is willing to help him, but first, he needs to help himself.

"Bill?" You call out as you approach him.

"Sweetheart!" He slurs, looking over as you approach. He leans back a little too much, almost slipping off his seat. "W-why don't you come join me, huh?" Bill offers.

"No, Bill. We gotta talk," you sternly tell him.

"We is talkin', ain't we?" Bill laughs. He's right, but that's not at all what you meant.

"No, Bill. I mean real talk. I've had enough," you say. Bill's picked up on your defensive body language and the frown on your face.

"What's a matter? What you... What... you had enough of?" Bill stumbles. He's really sloshed, but at least he's responding.

"This drinking, Bill. It's gotta stop, for good." You have to put your foot down. Every time you've spoken to him you've been soft, not wanting to hurt him, but enough is enough. You take the bottle from his hand, swiftly chucking it out of camp, spooking the chickens as it flies over their head.

"What the hell?!" Bill's quick to his feet, knocking over the crate he was sat on. "Why'd you do that?" He almost shouts, trying to turn around and walk over to find his discarded bottle, but you put your hand on his arm, stopping him. He's always obedient with your touches, even if he is drunk.

"Listen to me, Bill," there's a grit to your teeth, and your tone is strong enough to have a very shocked Bill turn and face you. "This drinking ends today, alright? I can't deal with this anymore. All you're doing is stressing and upsetting me. I'm tired of this, it's hurting me just as much as it's hurting you."

"What in the hell are you talkin' about? I'm fine, you're fine. There's ain't nothin' to be worried about." Bill shrugs your comment off as always.

By now, most of the camp is watching, concerned for both of your safety, and curious as to where this is going to go.

"This ain't fine, Bill! You know it, you just keep pretending it is," you shout. You've never shouted at Bill before, but you're finally at your breaking point. "It's me or the drink, Bill. I don't want this anymore!"

"Well, you know what?" Bill slurs. He pauses for a moment, trying to think of what to reply. “I don’t want you anymore." He was meant to say he didn't want you to keep bothering him about his drinking, but his drunken brain had spilled the wrong words out of his mouth. It was too late for him to explain what he really meant; your heart had just been shattered for the last time.

"Fine," you tell him, sniffling lightly as tears began to fall. "We're done then."

You're quick to turn heel and walk away, not wanting to waste any more time trying to get through to a drunken fool.

"Wait, no. That ain't what I meant," Bill calls out after you, trying to chase you but you speed walk away. Bill ends up stumbling over within a few paces, groaning and mumbling to himself as he sits upright.

He looks around but you're already gone and all he's greeted by is the many disappointed and disgusted faces of the camp members. "What is you all lookin' at?" Bill barks to them, trying to shove them off but none of them are budging.

"You fucked up, Bill," Arthur sternly tells him. "You just picked the hooch over your other half."

"Why would you do that? ___ does so much for you! They're been tryna get you to quit it for months now and all you do is make things worse," Tilly butts in. Mary-Beth has her hand on Tillys shoulder, quietly telling her to leave it.

"I'm going to go see if they're alright," Susan tells the gang, ignoring Bill on the floor. She storms off, following your tracks, ready to mother hen you.

"Shit, leave me be!" Bill mumbles as he stands up. He walks away in the opposite direction.

"Moron," Bill overhears Arthur mutter under his breath.

All Bill wants to do is grab another bottle and continue to drink the pain away, but he can't. For once, the thought of alcohol makes him feel sick. The thought of you makes him feel sick, but not in a disgusting way, more like he's sick with himself for acting the way he did towards you.

His heavy steps lead him to the back of Shady Belle, grumbling to himself as he sits down beside one of the trees, overlooking the field and the lake in the distance. Despite the alcohol in his system, he no longer feels drunk. The shock of the breakup seems to have sobered his thoughts and vision up, and for once he realizes what a mess he's made.

There's no way you're going to take him back, is there? There's no way he can fix this, especially after you've spent so long trying to help him. All Bill's done was throw everything back in your face whilst giving you the middle finger. Shame on you for trying to help him.

Bill soon realizes he can hear the faint sounds of you sobbing. You're sat over by the boathouse, sobbing into Susan's arms as she coddles you, telling you you did what you could, that you're a good person, that he doesn't deserve you.

Bill wants to get up and walk away, not wanting to hear those sounds, but he continues to sit there, letting the sound of you crying from his mistakes scold him. Hopefully, he'll use those sounds as a wake-up call, finally quitting the drink and focusing on fixing his mistakes.

We can only hope.

---------

It's been a few weeks since the incident with Bill. The gang is still stuck at Shady Belle, and Dutch has been yapping to everybody about some bank robbery for a while now. Something in your gut tells you that it's a bad idea, but your thoughts and feeling have mostly been drowning over Bill. He's barely been around, occupying himself with heists and robberies, staying out of camp as much as possible and far away from you. The few times you've seen him, he's kept his head down and walked the other way. In some ways, you're happy that he's keeping his distance, but you can't help but notice his permanent glossy eyes and the shakes he's been getting from the alcohol withdrawal. He hasn't picked a bottle up since the breakup, and although you're happy he's quit, it's still a shame things had to be this way. Maybe this was the slap around the face that Bill finally needed, though he never expected you to be a casualty. There's one thing neither of you had done, and that's talk. Most couples tend to have that 'talk' after they break up, usually letting off steam and urging out whatever feelings were leftover, but you'd not said a word to that man. Bill hadn't said anything either, but you'd seen the way his mouth had partially opened and quickly shut whenever he was around you. It seems Bills fuse has finally come to an end, as he'd made it his mission today to talk to you, hopefully about what had happened. The Lemoyne air always feels sticky, even at night. You wipe another layer of sweat off the back of your neck, wiping it off on your pants, your eyes flicking back to the campfire. You're on guard duty, a camp chore that often gave you time to yourself to just think about things. Nobody ever came round these parts, probably still assuming it was crawling with Lemoyne Raiders, meaning you could let your guard down just a little bit and spend that extra focus on thinking about whatever was bothering you. Unfortunately, Bill was always bothering you. You'd questioned yourself over and over on if you'd take him back, and despite having countless arguments with yourself, the answer is always yes but only on certain terms. If he could keep the hooch away, then yes, simply because you know the second he picks it up again, he'll drown himself in it. And Bill needs to find a way to make things up to you; changed behaviour is at the top of your list, though you'll also accept a fancy dinner or a new outfit. The thought of Bill dressing up in his undersized tux to take you out always brings a smile to your face, and you catch yourself smiling at the thought now. You overhear those distinct heavy footsteps approaching, and your heart both sinks and flutters at the same time. "___?" That deep voice calls out but remains soft and timid. "Bill?" You respond, your eyes focusing on the landscape. "Could we talk?" Bill asks, still stood a meter or two behind you. You pause for a moment and decide that yes, you definitely want to talk. "Alright," you respond. Bill takes his time approaching, slowly settling onto the stool beside you. His eyes flick over to you but quickly moves them to the campfire instead. He's quiet for a good few seconds, his mouth repeatedly opening but nothing comes out. Finally, Bill speaks. "I err... I guess you know what I'm wantin' to talk about?" Bill asks. "I do, yes," you respond. "Well, it probably don't mean much to you, but I am sorry for what happened," Bill tells you. You remain silent, giving him time to continue as you can tell he has a lot more to say. "I ain't touched a bottle since, the thought of booze now just makes me sick-" "It's a shame you had to sacrifice me in the process," you cut him off. You didn't mean to snap, but you can't help the anger that begins to bubble in your chest. "Like I said, I'm real sorry," Bill pouts. "You was right. You were just tryna help me and all I did was take you for granted." "And not listen to me," you add on. "And not listen to you," Bill repeats, nodding at the same time. "I was really foolish, treatin' you like that, not listenin' to you..." Your eyes have been fixed on the landscape this whole time, but the faint sound of a sniffle makes you snap your head away, looking over to Bill. He's hunched over as always, his forearms resting on his knees, his back slightly arched. Bills head is dipped down, almost staring at his feet, and the brim of his hat covers most of his face, but you can tell from the way his nose twitches that he's crying. "Bill?" you question. "What?" he asks, a little bluntly. "Are you crying?" "What? No. I... I don't do that," Bill tells you as he quickly wipes his eyes, his hat still covering his face. You're quick to your feet, taking the few steps over to where Bills sat. He keeps his head down, still sniffling away. You bend down and reach out to cup his chin, but Bill slightly flinches. He eventually remains still and allows you to gently tilt his head up, though his eyes flick away to stare at anything but you. "Bill," you sigh, noticing his glossed eyes and the salted trails over his cheeks. "What?" he asks again, acting as if nothing is happening. You crouch between his legs, one hand still on his chin, the other resting on his knee to steady your weight. Bills eyes finally lock onto yours and you notice the way his bottom lip starts to shake, probably also biting his tongue to try and stop himself from crying. "Bill, I gotta tell you something," you say. "What is it?" "Since... that event happened, I've questioned myself over and over on if I'd ever get back with you." "Would you?" Bill asks, almost cutting off the end of your sentence. There's both hope and fear in his eyes as they meet yours. "I keep arguing with myself about it, but I always decide that yes, I would get back with you." Bills eyes light up as you speak, his heart pounding in his chest, but he refuses to get his hopes up yet. Bill knows from experience that every time he becomes happy, something bad always happens, stealing that moment from him, so he refuses to let his guard drop this once, knowing things will only get worse if he does. "I don't get why, I ain't treated you right at all. I've been a sorry excuse for a partner," Bill beats himself up, his eyes trailing to the floor again. "Apart from the drinking, you've been an angel," you say with a smile. "You mean that?" "I do." Although Bill wants to call your bluff, he sees no bluff in your eyes, only a warm heart and a gentle smile looking up at him, something that he thinks he doesn't deserve. "I still don't deserve you," he replies. "Maybe not," you say with a small shrug and a laugh, "but I think you do." "Are... are you suggestin' that we could... maybe work things out?" Bill asks as his eyes meet yours, a tear trailing from the corner of his eye as he blinks. "We could, but I still expect change from you," you reply as you catch the tear before it hits his beard. "Sure, I got it. I ain't gonna be touching the booze no more, I can promise you that," Bill says as he raises his hands. "And you've gotta make it up to me," you add. "How?" "I ain't gonna tell you, you've gotta put some thought into that." Bill pauses for a moment, already thinking of the many ways he could make things up to you. "Alright," Bill says with a small nod. "Sweetheart," he quietly adds on, nervously looking away. "Oh, Bill," you sigh, cupping his cheek and brushing your thumb over his skin, still slightly damp from his tears. "Come here," Bill says, his hands flexing as he urges you onto your lap. Bill pulls you onto him, swinging your legs over his as his arms wrap around your waist. He cradles you, holding you like a baby as you snuggle your head into the curve of his neck, his beard brushing against your forehead. Bills hands knead at your shirt, eventually settling with a firm grip on you. "I've missed this," Bill mumbles as his cheek rests on the top of your head, his heartbeat echoing against your ear. "Me too," you admit. "You have?" "Of course I have." Bill doesn't verbally respond. He pauses for a brief moment, letting your comment sink in, before holding onto you tighter, bringing you in for a bear sized cuddle, his body almost wrapping around you. A large part of you wants to cry, not just because you have Bill back in your arms, but because the feeling alone of him holding you is enough to bring you to tears. Like Bill, you're never had anybody pay you much attention; most folk look straight through you, but Bills ears perked up the second he saw you, and the more the two of you spoke, the more you realised how similar you are. Bill has to fight the urge to apologise over and over, wanting to tell you how truly sorry he is for what happened and the way he spoke to you. He holds himself back, scared that his insecurity and repetition will scare you away, although he knows it's going to take a lot more than that. Instead, Bill just holds onto you, enjoying the way you're curled up in his lap, despite his thighs going a little numb. He'll sit there for as long as you'd like, happy to have you in his arms again, appreciating you more than ever. He's already thinking about the many ways he can make things up to you, and he plans to do them all.

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georgescatcafe · 3 years

Text

the rising chariot — 3

rating: t warning/s: none pairing/s: platonic dream team, karl jacobs/sapnap genres/tags: percy jackson and the olympians au, friendship, angst summary: Nick Pappas isn’t sure it’s normal for teenagers to be sent across the United States on a quest that could potentially kill them, but Nick has started to realize that everything he thought was normal is entirely false. George Davies doesn’t particularly want to spend three consecutive days with this new camper and that son of Hermes who snagged his win in Capture the Flag two weeks ago, but he knows he has to suck it up and go with them, no matter how irritating they may be. Clay Bryce just wants to prove himself and show that he’s more than that troublesome kid from Cabin Eleven, but even as the leader of this quest, he’s not sure how to when Nick has fire powers and George is practically capable of mind-control.

Yet what they feel and want will mean nothing if they don’t complete their quest. When a petty feud between gods has Apollo threatening to take the Sun from the sky, the three must head out to stop him, but not just that—they’re in a race against an ancient enemy of the god, one who definitely will try and kill him if it gets to Apollo first.

New York City was as terrifying as it was large. Which means very. Floris, luckily, knew the city well, and he led Nick past block after block to their hotel.

“Don’t people normally take a cab?” Nick asked once they had their bags set down on their respective beds. “Like… that’s an NYC staple?”

“I’m a native,” Floris replied, distracted as he dug through his suitcase. He grinned when he pulled out a hoodie. “I forgot how cold it was here, even in the spring.”

“Is it?” Nick asked, only wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. “I thought it was nice.”

“It is nice,” Floris agreed, even as he tugged the hoodie on over his head, “but I get the chills when I’m here. Can’t help it.”

“So is it cold or not?”

“Yes,” Floris said, talking his bag off the bed and setting it on the floor. “Anyway, get your nap in, your jet-lag settled; I’m giving you a full tour of the Big Apple before dinner.” He settled atop his bed, arms stretched behind his head, and Nick made a face at the shoes touching the covers.

“Seriously, man?” he asked. “Shoes in the bed?”

��Not in the bed,” Floris replied smartly. “On the bed.”

Nick made another face, but didn’t argue.

His nap was poor, tossing and turning, never properly falling asleep, while Floris snored on, feet kicking and fingers twitching. Nick wished he slept as good as the other. But instead he ended up staring at the ceiling, waiting for the other to wake and take him on this tour.

When Floris did wake, he looked refreshed, and he pranced around the room getting everything he needed (which was apparently just some cash, an umbrella, and a change of shoes, except he went into the bathroom to change them, which Nick thought was weird, but he didn’t comment on because he just wanted to get out of the stifling hotel room). By the time Floris came out, Nick was standing by the door, hands shoved in his pockets to keep them from moving restlessly.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I’ve been ready,” Floris replied, allowing Nick to pull the door open and letting it fall shut behind him.

They made their way down to the lobby, where it was clear it was a new shift, a new receptionist sitting at the desk. Nick wondered what went through the man’s head, with the way he fixed a piercing stare on them. Floris didn’t seem to notice the stare, however, as he kept on his merry way, beginning to talk about all the things New York had to offer. Nick couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder one last time, though, before they exited the building, catching the eyes of the receptionist. A chill went down Nick’s spine. Quickly, he turned away and hurried to follow Floris as he began to walk down the street.

“Obviously we can’t see everything, and we definitely can’t do it all tonight,” Floris was saying when Nick focused on him once again, “but we can just walk around for now, and I can give general directions. Also, I personally am not a fan of the subway, but you can go on it.”

“I,” Nick looked around, “don’t need to go on the subway. Are you sure about the cab thing?”

“Does it matter?” Floris asked.

Nick guessed it didn’t.

Floris was an alright tour guide, if you overlooked the fact that he didn’t say much about any actual landmarks or places you’d find in a NYC guidebook. Nick wondered if that made him a better tour guide or not. They stopped at a nondescript deli and had sandwiches and soda for dinner. Nick stared as Floris happily ate a veggie sub, tomato juice spilling down his chin.

“Is that actually any good?” he asked. “It’s like… salad between bread.”

“It’s good,” Floris reassured. “Is yours good?”

“Duh,” Nick replied.

When they got back to the hotel, the receptionist wasn’t there, but Nick swore he could still feel those eyes on his back. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he and Floris got in the elevator, heading up to the fifth floor.

“That receptionist from before,” Nick said when the doors slid shut, “did you see how he was looking at us?”

“The receptionist?” Floris echoed, thinking. “No. Why? Was he looking at you weird or something?”

Nick frowned, but he shook his head. The guy probably just had a staring problem, or maybe he thought Nick’s t-shirt was stupid or something. He ignored that feeling in him saying that not telling Floris was a bad idea. Besides, if Floris didn’t care, it probably was fine, right?

The doors slid open and Floris led them back to the room. Nick flopped onto his bed, now properly ready to sleep.

“I hate walking,” he said. “My legs hurt.”

“Sleep it off,” Floris replied, disappearing into the bathroom. He stuck his head out. “Might go downstairs to get more of that fresh air. Is that okay?”

“You’re really weird,” Nick answered.

Floris smiled before his head went back through the doorway. Nick never saw him leave, eyes slipping shut, breath going even, sleep overtaking him.

He was back in the hotel lobby. Nick looked around, for the receptionist, for Floris, but it was just him. He took a seat on the bench.

“You’re late.”

Nick jumped, and when he turned, a woman sat, one of those small, yappy dogs held in a purse on her lap. When Nick waved at it, it growled and spat. He made a face. “Nice dog,” he said.

“What dog?” the woman asked.

Nick looked at her before pointing. “The one in your purse.”

“I don’t have a dog,” she replied.

Nick looked to her lap once again. There was no purse, no dog.

He stood. “Um, my bad.”

“Are you okay?” the woman asked.

“Fine,” Nick snapped, irritation culminating under his skin. “Who are you again?”

“Did you forget me already?” she stood too. In her seat sat that dog in the purse. Nick stared at it, and again, it growled. Nick looked at the woman. “It’s rude to forget people, you know. Fills people with a certain rage; you’ve felt rage before, haven’t you?”

“Not because someone’s forgotten my name,” Nick answered.

“So you’ve felt rage,” she continued, “and what did it do to you? Did you feel rage when they took your mother? Did you feel rage when that new woman came to replace her?”

Nick took a step back as the woman took a step closer.

“Hot and burning inside you, you scream and no one hears, what a weak little boy you were.” She laughs, and it’s a witch’s cackle, high-pitched and grating. Nick stumbles as something nips at the backs of his heels. The little dog, eyes rimmed red and crusty. It’s teeth trying to cut through his pants.

“Your dog,” he said, trying to kick it away from him, “make it stop.”

“Isn’t it cute?” she asked.

“You said you didn’t have a dog.” Nick managed to send him flying off, claws skidding on the polished tile. It ran back towards him.

“I don’t,” she replied. “Are you sure you’re okay? You keep doing something strange with your legs.”

The stupid dog was gone, and Nick was kicking and tripping on air. He cursed. “What’s up with you, lady? Seriously, you’re freaking weird.”

“Am I?” she asked. “I’m sure you know all about weirdness. Your friend, for instance, weirdest of all. Though he pales in comparison to you.”

“Floris?” Nick screeched when that stupid dog bit at his ankle, sweatpants now basketball shorts, ankles exposed perfectly for the dog to sink its teeth into. “Get your dog!”

“Yes. Floris. Forgot.”

“It’s rude to forget people’s names,” Nick echoed back to her.

The woman smiled, showing teeth tipped in red. Nick choked on a breath. “You’re absolutely right.” She snapped her fingers, and the dog was back at her side, yipping and yapping at her to pick it up. When she did, she stroked a calming hand down its back. It looked at Nick, and that’s when he realized there was foam around its mouth. His own mouth dropped open in horror.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Am I going to die?”

“This is a dream, stupid boy,” she answered. “And if you don’t remember me,” she laughed, that same spine-tingling cackle, “you’ll figure out who I am soon enough.” A sudden shriek pierced through the air, and Nick stood at attention, eyes wide and heart pounding. The woman’s smile stretched to a grin, those red-tipped teeth glinting in the bright lobby lights. “Best wake up now; you don’t want to be late again.”

Nick’s eyes blinked open. He was in the hotel room, in bed. He shoved the covers off him and hurried to put his shoes on. Everything in him screamed to go find Floris. Without a single look back, he flung the hotel door open and ran.

He avoided the elevator, fearing it would take too long, instead finding the door to the staircase and prying it open, the metal heavy but not enough to stop him. It’s cool where it is pressed to his skin. He rushed down the stairs.

The closer he got to the first floor, the louder the noises that come from the lobby were. Nick sped up as much as he could without tripping.

“Floris!” he shouted, unsure if the other could even hear him. He was breathless and panting by the time he reached the first floor but he shoved it open, the metal bar digging uncomfortably into his skin.

“Nick!” Floris shrieked. “Watch out!”

Nick moved out of the way just in time to miss a barrage of spines being flung at him. He sucked in a breath. “What—”

“Move!” Floris screamed, and Nick obeyed, dropping to the floor when a large paw came at him, claws extended. When Nick looked, he saw Floris’s hoodie had been torn in multiple places, hanging off his body loosely, in tatters. Nick took in another breath.

“How are you still alive?” he asked, crying out when more spines came at him.

“Who is this, Floris?” the monster growled. “You’ve brought another course? How delicious!” His lips curled into a treacherous grin, and when he spoke, his breath came out and hit Nick straight in the face, rancid.

Nick gagged against the smell, trying his best to get over to his friend.

“We need to,” he stuttered, “I can’t—fire, I can’t—”

“You have to,” Fundy replied. Nick shoved him and dropped to the floor when the monster ran out them, rolling under the massive body. (The mom lifting the bus for her baby.) His heart pounded. Floris had crawled behind the receptionist’s desk. His head poked up over the top. “You have to, Nick!”

“I’ll burn this place down!” Nick shouted. “I can’t—”

“But you have to!” the monster mocked. “You have to! You have to!”

Nick bared his teeth, anger beginning to boil his blood. “Yeah!” he replied. “And you have to die!” That was the only way—this thing was an abomination, the head of a man, the body of a lion, spines shooting from its tail with a single flick, leaving Nick dodging and ducking like nobody’s business.

Without fire, he was left defenseless, left to tire out the monster, but he knew it’s a lot more likely it’ll tire him out instead. Floris ran at him, then, and tackled him, sending the two of them through the sliding front doors. Even at night, the streets of New York City were bustling.

Floris grabbed him by the arm and took off, tugging Nick through the crowd. “This was a bad idea,” Nick just barely heard over the sounds of traffic.

When Nick turned back, the crowd was parted like the red sea, and charging right at them, the monster.

“A manticore,” Floris said, “one of the deadliest monsters out there. Just our luck.”

“I don’t want to burn down New York,” Nick replied.

“I know,” Floris tugged them down an alleyway.

“If he catches us, we’re dead,” Nick realized.

Floris looked at him. “So we can’t let him catch us.” He leapt onto a dumpster, and Nick was left to hurry after him. Floris scaled the building like nobody’s business. Below, the manticore shrieked and yowled as Nick climbed up as quickly as he could after his friend.

“How can you,” Nick sucked in a breath, “climb so fast? I thought you had,” another breath, “some kind of leg issue.”

Floris’s foot slipped. Nick yelled. Off came Floris shoe—foot—what? Nick stared at the hoof waving in his face.

“Come on!” Floris cried. “I’ll explain later!”

Then, Nick felt the back of his sweatpants rip straight down the middle, and pain flared hot and heady in his left leg. Shock flooded his body. He doesn’t know if he screamed. But he did know what he had to do.

Floris was already near the top of the building.

Nick climbed.

When he reached the top, Floris was waiting for him, arm outstretched to pull him up. Nick accepted it. Together, they ran, uncaring of the manticore they both knew continued to climb up after them.

Salt from his tears and wind stung in the corners of his eyes. He grit his teeth as he followed Floris across rooftops, biting back a pained groan every time his injured leg met the ground. Behind them, the manticore followed, chasing after them on all fours, calling to them, taunting them. Nick took a deep breath, preparing himself for the next jump.

“There’s somewhere you can go,” Floris said, his remaining ‘shoe’ left behind two buildings ago, hooves now carrying him easily. “It’s safer—monsters, like the one chasing us, they can’t get in.”

Nick looked at him before Floris stretched out an arm to stop him from falling off the edge of the roof. “Seriously?”

Floris nodded, then dropped his arm. Nick backed up then got a running start, stretching his legs as best he can as he jumped to the next roof. Floris followed not long after. And the manticore not long after that. Nick cried, genuine crying, not tears from the winds that whipped around them, as he reached the edge of another roof. The next building was across the street.

Nick turned to Floris.

“We won’t make it,” he said. “We won’t make it.”

Floris returned his stare. “We have to try to make it.” He wrapped his arms around Nick and sent them plummeting from the roof.

#sapnap #fundy #karlnap #dreamnotfound #pjo au #mcyt #updates every friday #fic #fanfiction #hfh

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loyally-unfaithful · 4 years

Text

pairing: agatsuma zenitsu & hashibira inosuke — though it can be interpreted as pre-relationship

genre: crack (?)

prompt: “I can’t believe I’m sitting in a mall jail with you of all people” (23.) + modern!au

a/n: aaaaaaaaaaaa thank you 🥺🥺🥺

and thank u for requesting ! kinda nervous since this is the first request i’ve ever received haha,,, you didn’t specify a format ? so i wrote it in scenario/hc form—if that’s not what you wanted, you can send a message and i can turn it into a ficlet (Ф∀Ф )

edit: reposted because to my displeasure, this would not show up in the tags :(

« i can’t believe i’m sitting in mail jail with you, of all people… » zenitsu groaned, burying his face into his hands.

how did he even get into this situation in the first place?? how does inosuke always manage to rope him into doing some dumb, impulsive, potentially life-threatening shenanigans???

this was supposed to be a completely mundane, uneventful, trivial, everyday trip to the mall.

the pantry was starting to look rather sad and it was his turn to go grocery shopping, so he asked his flatmates if they wanted something while he’s at the shops and started organising his shopping list.

he doesn’t quite understand why tanjiro needed 20 pairs of cheap earphones, but he feels like he shouldn’t question it…

zenitsu hated shopping, absolutely abhors it. something about spending time in the supermarket with the monotonous droning of the cooling systems and the machines singing a duet with that same pop song put on repeat just drained the energy out of him. going shopping was just a drag.

but it was his turn, and he’ll get it done and over with.

everything was gonna be normal and ok.

as he made his way to the shops, he’d mentally pat himself down to check if he had everything on him and go through his list again.

keys? check.

wallet? check.

face-mask? check. (not because of corona, it’s just because it’s common courtesy in japan.)

mobile? check.

hotel? trivago.

inosuke? check.

wait inosuke?!

« wait inosuke?! what are you doing here??! » the blond shrieked in surprise, stopping dead on his tracks.

the loud young man would halt next to him and ask him if he’s gone blind/deaf as inosuke has been « following you since way before. »

now that zenitsu thinks about it, he did remember inosuke exclaiming something like being bored at home and wanting to tag along…

regardless, he doesn’t know if he’s more alarmed by the fact that he didn’t notice inosuke was trailing beside him this whole time or by the fact that the boisterous young man actually had it in him to be sneaky.

zenitsu grinned nervously, praying to whatever god or gods above that everything will be okay despite the human sized tornado he has with him…

even so, the shopping trip was characterised by more peripeteias and tribulations than it really should:

they haven’t even gotten near to the actual store within the mall and inosuke has already tried to punt a 5 year old for apparently staring at the black haired man for too long.

zenitsu had to quickly defuse the situation and apologise the very alarmed mother and petrified child as inosuke stood still in his shadow, clutching the corner of the blond’s sweater and watched the interaction, not saying a word.

zenitsu grumbled something about dragging him into inosuke’s mess and returned to his walk to the market, inosuke still hanging on the blond’s sweater.

zenitsu’s mind is still boggled. why does tanjiro want 20 pairs of earphones…?

but he ignored this riddle and took inosuke’s hand in his, leading the both of them to the shops—the blond found it oddly endearing how there was such a juxtaposition of inosuke’s rough hand paired with how softly and carefully he’s returning the blond’s hold.

zenitsu allowed the warmth to ground him and, thankfully, they’ve soon made it to their destination safe and sound, without yet another disaster

the two would disperse once in the market, zenitsu collecting these 20 damn pairs of earphones and go down his list while inosuke ran off to god knows which aisle to go ham on the snacks.

the blond would casually shop when he’d hear hurried footsteps before a bunch of product was dumped in his cart. the raven-haired boy would then dash off again to repeat the cycle. the same cycle that has spooked zenitsu more than it should.

one time, zenitsu turned around to find two piercing blue eyes stare back at him. he swore his heart leapt out of his chest as he screeched at the uncannily realistic boar mask that greeted him.

zenitsu is still recovering from his mini heart attack while inosuke bursts into hysterical laughter at the blond’s ‘near-death’ experience.

the latter has just caught his breath when the energetic young man has run off yet again. zenitsu wants to know where the hell inosuke procured such a mask and who the hell put it there. it’s not even near halloween?? they’re literally in june???

when most of the items have been retrieved, zenitsu would window shop as he waits for inosuke to bring yet another armful of snacks. the blond’s current preoccupation was a hair trimmer. should he buy it? his hand hovers as he reaches out, but then halts it to slowly retract it back. he looks at the hair trimmer again… his dilemma. then again it looks scary, maybe he shouldn’t… his gordian knot.

deciding that buying the item would be pointless, the blond looked around. inosuke hasn’t returned in a while…

it seemed that inosuke had already grabbed everything he wanted, and soon found himself bored in a quiet and empty supermarket—boredom and an empty mall: a couple made in hell, a recipe for disaster.

the quieter of the two has started to make his way to the till when he heard a large crash. he silently hopes it has nothing to do with him or the person he brought with him. but of course it did.

inosuke had dived into one of those ball racks near the toy aisle, the rack itself not looking as upright as it should and its content having spilt all over the place.

zenitsu just… takes one look and pretends not to see it.

he just

walks away

so close yet so far. the blond has managed to reach the cash register and has started unloading the contents of his cart when he sees inosuke with his own.

they make eye contact.

zenitsu knows what he’s gonna do.

the black haired man puts one foot on the empty cart.

the blond slowly shakes his head, half trying to tell him to not do it because it’s fucking stupid and half pleading him to not cause more trouble.

inosuke eyes contained a determination and resolve that not even god can stop.

almost like watching an accident in slow motion, zenitsu watched, petrified, as inosuke yeets himself on the cart and send it speeding down the aisle with more force and a higher velocity than what was considered safe.

surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, zenitsu hears a loud crash and a noise that sounded like a potato sack was thrown on the floor—and he was sure he didn’t just hear it because of his sensitive ears.

abandoning his own groceries, he ran off to join inosuke, who laid by a couple of soup cans, some still rolling anyway somewhere—the stand that held them and the splash zone surrounding area having been reduced to chaos.

the young man was comically strewn upside down on his upper back, his lower half flopping over and folding into himself.

ok ooc, but i suck at anatomy but suck even more at describinf so here’s an artistic depiction of how zenitsu found inosuke

ok bye bye sorry for bothering you

« inosuke what…?!! i— are you literally dumb? »

the boarheaded young man just shook off his injuries and righted himself, unfazed, as zenitsu continued his yapping and rambling.

« monitsu..

– what?! zenitsu stopped midword in his lecture, having long stopped bothering to correct inosuke.

– monitsu, run. inosuke finished as he rushed to make a quick dash. »

zenitsu was just sat there, stunned, when he felt an ominous presence behind him.

he slowly turned his head around to delay the inevitable, offering a nervous and fearful grin to the shadow hovering behind him.

with a pathetic expression and an even more pitiful shriek, he was dragged into the mall security office by a guard as another security member chased after the other young man.

despite having run like a bat out of hell, inosuke soon joined zenitsu in the mall jail.

« i can’t believe i’m sitting in mail jail with you, of all people… » zenitsu echoed, having dragged his palm down to cover his mouth.

he sat immobile waiting for inosuke’s apology, or maybe any sign of repentance.

he waited.

and waited some more.

« at least try to pretend you’re sorry?!? » the blond gaped in disbelief.

« huh? why? » inosuke just turned around to look at zenitsu blankly. « it was your fault we got caught anyway… »

the blond’s immediate reaction was to retort and argue but swallowed down his arguments. he’s fighting a losing battle.

snapping his mouth shut, he sulked in his own corner as the two waited for tanjiro to collect them.

he sighed, it was… embarrassing. but it didn’t really matter that much at the end of the day: inosuke would probably forget most of the incident within 20 minutes of being freed, and zenitsu just doesn’t find it in him to be mad forever. especially at inosuke.

did zenitsu ever mention he absolutely detests going grocery shopping?

LIKE MY WORK? CONSIDER BUYING ME A COFFEE // CHECKING OUT MY MASTERLIST | LINKS CAN BE FOUND ON MY DESC

#zenitsu agatsuma #inosuke hashibira #inozen #demon slayer #Kimetsu no Yaiba #inosuke x zenitsu #inosuke & zenitsu #falselywrites #answer #modern au? i guess cuz the kamaboko squad are flatmates?? so theyre college age #age up i guess???#also the reason why tanjiro wants 20 pairs of headphones #is because od that one kimetsu radio episode #where his va literally bought.... 20 pairs....#if you know you know #i dont ship inozen so idk how this turned out? dkajfka i made it vague so that u can interpret it as platonic or pre-relationship uwu

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rex101111 · 5 years

Note

17, 20, 33, 34, 36, and 48 for the ask meme!

17) Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on.

.....uh, remember those two posts i did about writing a thing for a mobile game? WELL: (also more then a line, a lot more, but eh)

/Thefirst time they met, Loki (the cowardly, capricious bastard) snapped hisfingers and picked a shadow to skulk in while Fenrir leapt from her portal inher chains and tried to rip her throat out, cursing her to her tenth generationin some dead language (extending it to Loki while she was at it) and screamingat Cerberus to sit still.

Loveat first sight.

Cerberusmust have been a sight, laughing her ass off as teeth sharp as fear and colderthen Cocytus snapped barely half an inch from her nose as she held Fenrir off.She couldn't help it; she hadn't been this excited in centuries.

Humansdon't properly appreciate how long a century is, especially a boringcentury. So forgive her for being excited at the prospect of a half decentfight with someone who might just be able to take a punch or two. Or hundred.

Tobe fair to Fenrir, she did not go down easy. Cerberus had to drag every inch ofprogress out of their little tousle with teeth and claws, dodging icicles thesize of houses as they hailed around her head and taking shoots at the chainedhellhound when she could.

Cerberuseven managed a few bites, and the chill of the hell wolf's blood nearly madeher faint. She couldn't get enough. She needed more, more of that icy blood,more of those hateful eyes, more of her.

Mimiand Coco weren't as enthused by the situation as she was, especially whenFenrir managed to bite down on Coco and proceeded to shake her head with thepossessed gauntlet still between her fangs like a dog with a chew toy.

Bythe time Cerberus had managed to wrap Fenrir's chains around her limbs moretightly and pin her to the ground, she has lost more blood in two hours thenshe had in the previous 500 years, her heart was pounding in her chest, everybone in her body was either broken or bruised, her armor was ruined, and shewas thoroughly, utterly, hopelessly in love.

Notthat she would tell her defeated opponent that of course, Cerberus was used toshoving any silly feelings under a rug and force a smile on her face when sheneeded to. Love was for mortals with expiration dates to worry about. Primalshad more important things to waste their time on.

Fenrirraised her head with a growl, only to yelp sharply as the other hellhoundslammed it back down with a foot, flat heel pressing into her cheek andcracking a fang. "Oh no you don't!" Cerberus laughed, out of breath,one hand wrapped around the chains, pulling them up and away, while the otherwiped a trail of blood from her chin, "as much as I enjoyed that, I thinkthe both of us need to stop before we rip each other to pieces."

Thoughthat does sound like load of fun, she thought to herself, repressinga chuckle as she felt her bones knitting back together under her skin.

"Rippingyou apart is the only thing I want!" Fenrir growled under her heel,blood red meeting amber as she glared up and Cerberus leered down, "nowget off me, you ash covered bitch!"

"Watchyour mouth!" Coco yelled out, the possessed gauntlet still shimmering withdark bolts of energy and dripping with Fenrir's saliva as he hid behind hismaster, "Cerberus beat you fair and square! So just suck it up!"

"I'LLRIP YOUR HEART OUT!"

Cocovery wisely shut his yap and hid himself in Cerberus's crimson hair, joiningMimi who had went there the second Fenrir went down. Cerberus, for her part,was having the time of her life, she hit this frosty mutt with everything shehad to spare and she still wasn't ready to go down quietly.

Andshe was pretty too, now that Cerberus had a moment to take a proper look, whichwas a plus. Frostbitten skin, pale and smooth, long blue hair descending fromher head past her waist with two long ears at the top. Sharp cheekbonescovering her vicious fangs. Each of her limbs ended with large paws decked withmassive black claws, thick azure fur covering half a leg or arm before givingway to more pale skin. A blue tail swishing in agitation completed the image, awolf top to bottom.

Andher eyes, a shade of bright, sharp, hateful blood red that wastrying to stare a hole through her from the moment the fight started and notletting up for a second even now.

Nowthis seemed like a good person to keep an eye on…which was probably whatLoki had in mind. "Alright buddy!" She called out with a grin to oneof the shadows of the only building still standing in the abandoned town wherethe two hellhounds fought, a pair of calculating eyes peered out at her call, "you'veconvinced me! I'll tag along with you for a bit!"/

(been working on this on and off for a while, but it WILL happen you mark me...it’s granblue fantasy, if anyone was wondering)

20) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently?

Not really, I think the ending to “Proper Punching Form” is a bit weak but otherwise I’m pretty happy with my endings.

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

oh geez, pretty much everything @sevi007 says about my GG shorts, though the thing that stood out was her saying that she enjoyed them even though he knowledge of the lore is kinda wonky.

I think that’s the biggest compliment you could get as a fanfic writer, that someone COMPLETELY outside your fandom enjoying your stuff even if they’re not familiar with the source material to have some base connection to the fic.

34) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten?

ah, I think it was something i got offline, I was in a creative writing course and the instructor of the course said one of the things I wrote was “too irreverent” like there was no heart in what I did, just a bunch of mean spirited trope subversions with no depth to them.

I mean, she still said it was good, but that was a little hard to take still ^^;

36) Can you give us a spoiler for one of your WIP’s?

In one of the MHA shorts I have planned, Eri will be very cute.

48) What’s your favourite trope to write?

Witty back and forth, sarcastic comments, stuff like that is breezy and fun to do. Funny stuff like that in general, I’d like to think I have an at least okay sense of humor XD

#pheW that was a long one XD #imbeccablee #answers

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peterporkerpeter · 6 years

Text

Code Red — Part Three [Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader]

MASTERLIST//CR MASTERLIST

WC: 2.900

Y/N shuffled into the black car, Tony sitting in the front with his hand steadily curled around the steering wheel. Clint happened to be conveniently placed beside him, his eyes continuously darting towards the rear view mirror to glance back at the two teens.

The car ride was absolutely silent—at least for the first half of the ride. Y/N was too anxious to make any half-assed quick-witted remarks, and Peter was too concerned with consoling her. His hand gently rest upon hers, the warmth of his fingertips radiating onto hers. A part of her was put to ease by the simple gesture, but that certainly didn't distract from the waves of anxiety crippling her every limb.

On top of that, she was hoping Clint would keep his big fat mouth shut, but that was unlikely. The archer always seemed to enjoy being a chaotic human being, so he was entirely unpredictable. Y/N despised that about him. She hoped that maybe he did know how to shut up, otherwise she was in for long ride and an earful from Tony.

"Why is no one talking?" Tony cut the silence with a knife. He spared at glimpse at the Clint then flickered his eyes up towards the mirror where he made eye contact with Y/N.

"Because I'm trying not to hurl," Y/N groaned, slouching back.

She blinked away fearful tears, not wanting to appear weak. She kept forgetting she was still a child, but Natasha's words kept ringing through her head. Now was not the time to act like a kid. It was important to remain structured and intact for the mission, as much as it pained her to do so. Y/N didn't realize how hard that was. Natasha seemed to do it so fluently like undercover work was merely instinct. Then again, she was a trained assassin.

"I think we should call this off," Clint added, pondering on his little conversation with Y/N earlier. He couldn't stop thinking about the miscellaneous Prom question. Why would she ask that?

"No!" Y/N shouted, sounding a lot harsher than she intended. Everyone shot her concerned glances before she relaxed, calmly shaking her head and adjusting her tone. "No, Clint. It's fine. I can do this. We've gone too far to give up now."

Time to grow up.

"Y/N, I'm sorry, this is going to bother me the whole night. Tony, I walked in on—"

"No!" Peter cried.

"Clint, I swear to God, you say one more fucking word I will throttle you! I. Will. Kill. You."

"Language!" Tony hissed. He looked skeptically between his three team mates, a muddled look in his whiskey brown eyes. "What the hell is going on?"

Clint was squirming in his seat like a five year old just desperate to tattle on Y/N and Peter. He kept fidgeting with his hands, making silent conversation with Y/N through mouthed words and violent hand gestures.

"I will kill you. Hold off for now. Do it later."

"Do what later?" Tony was starting to get antsy. "Someone tell me what the hell is going on."

"Nothing!" The three chanted in sync.

Tony pursed his lips, rolling his eyes before settling back into his seat. "Whatever. You guys are children. Ridiculous children. I'm gonna' bitch about this moment to you later during the drive home, FYI."

"You did not just say 'FYI' like that," Y/N winced. "You sound like a total dad when you do that. Soon enough, you're going to start saying 'LOL' out loud to fit in with the cool kids."

"You're very snappy tonight, little miss. You're lucky I don't hate you, otherwise I'd be yapping your ear off like a Chihuahua about how much your getting on my last nerve."

"I'm getting on your last nerve? Are you joking? Tony, I've pretty much had it up to here with you," she used her hand to show how fed up she was with him by furiously shoving it high into the air, "and the night has barely begun! You're practically throwing me into a fucking war zone to die! Give me a break!"

"Y/N, it was a joke! Jesus, kiddo!" Tony argued. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

Y/N thought she could hear her own heart loudly thumping against her chest. She could certainly feel it too. There was a giant lump in her throat, limiting the accuracy of her breathing, trembling, shallow breathes puffing past her lips. She slumped against the corner of the car, her arms wrapped around her body as if to protect herself from the cruel world. Slowly, she sank into a silent panic attack, shutting her eyes to hide herself from the people in the car.

"Y/N?" she noticed Tony's voice, but this time isn't wasn't dripping with sarcasm or aflame with a fiery remark. It was soft and soothing, full of uncommon sincerity. "You've gotta' stop thinking so much. All you're doing is freaking yourself out. You have five of us in there with you. Five. They'll have eyes on you the whole time, they're going to keep you safe. Nothing bad is going to happen."

Y/N used the pad of her thumb to blot away a tear that managed to appear on her waterline. She didn't want to ruin her makeup—another reason why she hated wearing it so much. Tears were bound to happen eventually, and she did not want to be walking around with mascara tracks stained onto her cheeks. She drew out a shaky breath, then swallowed her fear.

"Yeah," she replied. "That's what they all say right before something bad happens. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Let's just get it done."

"Sounds good, Hermione," Clint sighed.

Y/N grinned.

Eventually, the car pulled up to the front of the location. The gala was located at an art museum in the center of the city, which Y/N found to be quite the glamorous place for such a luxurious party. She noticed all the women entering through the entrance wearing long, elegant gowns with their handsome dates locked like a chain around their arm. The jewelry was flashy and the cameras were clicking. She could hear conversation carrying fluently across the sea of expensive color rolling in through the grand front doors.

"Good luck, Y/N. You got this kid. And you look like a million bucks," Tony turned around in his seat to face her. "Also, no making out with Parker. At least, not during the mission. I don't care what you do afterwards. Make sure your comms are on."

"Love you," she said quickly, not even thinking before the words came flying out of her mouth. Subconsciously, she supposed it was a good time to say it, seeing as there were a million different ways—good or bad—that this thing could go. She didn't want to take any chances.

Her hand found Peter's as he escorted her from the car, and immediately the folding red hot waves of anxiety succumbed to the tenderness of his touch. Y/N let out a long breath, collecting herself before forcing the fakest smile onto her painted features. She wanted to apologize to Peter for how clammy her hands were, but he didn't seem to care in the slightest. With ease, he extended his elbow towards her, and she took it graciously.

"You okay?" Peter asked. Y/N hadn't even realized they were already up the whole flight of steps.

"Yeah, just flustered. I can do this, right?" Y/N whispered, breathing in how attractive he looked in his suit. She wondered if they looked good together from afar.

Peter smiled daintily, brushing a messy strand of hair from her eyes. "Definitely."

She flashed her friend a dimpled grin before lacing her fingers with his. They poured into the museum, the hum of classical music instantly filling her ears, drowning out the harsh clamor of perturbation. She heard the steady taps of high heels rapping against the sleek marble tiles, men's shoes clicking aimlessly as they trailed behind their dates or danced with them enthusiastically. Chatter hovered at an even pace throughout the tall halls, wine glasses clinking together in an epiphany of joy and gathering.

Y/N glanced up towards the massive crystal chandelier dangling from the sky like a star. A large mural painted the ceiling with reds, blue, beiges and greens. The colors seemed infinite. Art littered the walls, surrounded by engraved golden frames. The place was absolutely stunning—it reminded Y/N somewhat of a building she'd see in France or Greece. God, how she wished she could see those wondrous places.

"Wow!" she gasped, absorbing the view for all its worth.

Peter shared a similar awestrucken expression as his date. "I see Natasha and Clint. Wanda and Steve should show up by the bar any second now."

Y/N nodded, ignoring the brisk stares from adults silently commending her dress. She made the smile on her face relaxed, trying to keep her appearance more inviting by standing up straight and keeping her brows subtly lifted.

"Testing, testing. Ground control to Major Tom. This is Tony Stark—AKA Iron Bitch. Do you copy?"

"Oh, my God. Stark. Shut the fuck up," Clint groaned.

"Affirmative."

Y/N giggled, Tony's ridiculous commentary settling her nerves and making the situation appear less frightening than it initially seemed.

After everyone checked to make sure their comms were working, the plan was in motion.

Peter stuck out his hand, blinking nervously. "Uh, wanna' dance? I-I mean, we kind of have to, but . . ."

"Spider-ling shoots his shot aaaaannndd . . . he fails. Quite dramatically. Better luck next time, pal."

Y/N bit down on her lip, repressing a cheeky smile. She graciously accepted his hand, entwining their fingers together. A gleeful chuckle flew from her lips and Peter felt relaxed by here sincere reaction, escorting her to the dance floor.

"Fair warning, I-I don't really know how," Y/N warned.

"It's okay. Me neither. We can just follow what everyone else is doing and hope they don't judge us."

She extended her arms, trying to follow what the other adults in the room were doing. She clasped her hand onto his shoulder then threaded her other soft, manicured hand with his, moving their arms outwards away from their bodies. His available hand looped around the girl's waist, lying firmly against her back. He pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together. Y/N could feel his breath on her lips, her heels providing enough height for her to be eye-to-eye level with him.

"I kind of want to kiss you right now, but Tony's in my ear and that just makes me feel dirty," Y/N said, staring at his lips, annoyed that she couldn't close the agonizing gap between their faces.

"I don't know whether to feel relieved or uncomfortable."

"Wait, are they kissing? Should they be doing that?" Definitely Steve.

"Ha! I walked in on them kissing in Peter's room." Clint. The rat.

"Way to keep a secret, Clint. I'm never telling you anything anymore!" Y/N hissed under her breath.

"Sorry, Mr. Stark!"

"I'm sorry, they what in Peter's what? I'm offended I didn't know that. Is that the secret you three gremlins were fighting about in the car? It definitely was. I don't care. I want the details. How was it?"

"Y/N made a vow to not fall in love with Peter, and she broke it barely thirty minutes in."

"You made a vow to not fall in love with me?"

"I thought she broke that vow like a month ago!" Steve felt confused. "Or was that a different one?"

"That was the one where she vowed off chocolate milk."

"Ohhh," he understood. "I remember that."

"Yeah, you're an old man so you wouldn't remember those kinds of things, Steven."

"What?! Everyone shut up! Focus on the mission, stop talking! You're stressing me out!" Y/N muttered, her tone thick with irritation.

"Yikes, I feel like I'm listening to a soap opera."

The conversation finally died down, and Y/N just wanted to curl up beside Peter and take a long nap. Her exhaustion was nearly enough for her to ask to call of the mission, but she decided that was rather a ridiculous reason.

Y/N slid her arm around Peter's neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. His arm tightened around her waist, large palms resting flat against her bare back. Her skin was cold against the pads of his fingers. He felt electrified by her. The scent of vanilla soon wafted towards his nose, and he closed his eyes, their hands still absentmindedly entwined, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

For a moment it felt like they weren't on mission. It was just Y/N and Peter, swaying away in the middle of a ball room, bodies pressed together, undoubtedly young and in love, unbeknownst to it. It felt like they were normal—like Y/N didn't have powers and Peter wasn't enhanced. They weren't Avengers or superheroes. They weren't challenged by the everyday horrors of the real world. They were just stupid teenagers with a lot on their plate and diverging paths, with broken vows and shimmering promises.

Reluctantly, Y/N opened her eyes, settling back into reality, removing her hand from Peter's and placing it smoothly onto his shoulder. He snaked his hand down towards her waist until his arms locked around her. Peter started to scope out the area out behind her, attempting to identify Axel Klein in the crowd. Y/N's eyes skimmed past anonymous faces until finally they did a complete rotation around the entirety of the room, her eyes recognizing the blonde haired boy meandering through the hefty crowd with a glass of champagne.

"I've got eyes on the subject," she mumbled, taking one last moment to press her mouth against Peter's shoulder. She inhaled the scent of his cologne, closing her eyes to bask in it.

"Go for it, Y/N. Your time to shine."

Y/N felt the anxiety slowly creep back, but she couldn't turn back now. She was brave. She could do this.

"I loved dancing with you, Peter Parker," Y/N always loved to say his full name. It rolled so pleasingly off the tongue, by now it was a habit. "Please tell me I'm not going to fuck this up."

Peter half-smiled at the girl, rubbing her shoulder gently. "You're not going to fuck this up. And I liked dancing with you, too."

"Ugh, cringe . . . Sorry, did I say that out loud? I would say just kiss already, but that would blow the whole operation. So Parker, kindly stop staring at Y/N's lips, please and thank you. Good luck, kiddo."

Y/N started to walk, but she couldn't leave yet. She didn't want to leave Peter. She already felt alone without his hands caressing her back like she was the most important thing in the world to him. She turned around to face her friend, eyes practically pleading with him not to let her go.

Peter himself had no clue how he felt. His heart was racing, his palms were sweaty. He felt like he would pass out at any given moment. All he wanted to do was protect Y/N, but he knew deep down that she needed to do this. Something inside of him stirred at the horrific thought of this being their final interaction together. He wanted to be with her forever. He would love to be with her forever.

"I-is Axel looking?" she asked, pressing her lips into a thin line.

"W-what? No? He's uh, he's turned around talking to some man."

"Good," Y/N breathed, lurching forward to grab his face. She pressed a quick kiss against his lips, basking in the moment as short lived as it was. Her thumbs laid gently on his cheekbones, as if Peter himself was the most delicate, precious thing in the world to him. She wanted just one more memory of Peter Parker, just one last part of him to hold onto. She just wanted to taste him one last time.

"Oh! Shit! She shoots! She scores!"

Muted colors rained down upon them from the mural painting the sky, violins humming softly in the distance, the deep groan of a cello bouncing like an echo off the walls. The kiss was short but more passionate than the first. It said everything that needed to be said without the interruption of unnecessary words threaded together into unnecessary sentences. It was everything all wrapped up into one pretty, defective bow.

"Thanks for the dance," she whispered, turning around quickly, not taking the chance to see the look on his face. She was afraid if she did she would never leave him.

"Woah. That was . . . pretty intense." Clint took a long sip of his drink.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Hormones."

"Is it just me or am I feeling way too many emotions? I'm literally drowning in teen angst. This is horrible, I feel like I'm in high school all over again," Tony added, sinking back into the seat of his car, the laptop balanced on his lap.

Y/N casually walked through the crowd, fixated on getting Axel's attention. An idea burned bright in her mind, a smirk growing confidently onto her red lips.

She strutted over in his direction, keeping her shoulders back and chin high. Just out of the corner of her eye she could see Steve and Wanda watching intensely.

Once when you're in the car. Twice in the house. Three times in case of an emergency. Three times in case of a code red. Once. Twice. Thrice.

TAG LIST: @reallyconfusednowpt2 @-thatgirloverthere- @mca-attack21 @high-functioning-fangirl02 @yourwonderbelle @printedpeterparker

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker series #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot #peter parker blurb #peter parker x avenger!reader #avengers #tom holland #tom holland x reader #spider man: homecoming #spiderman x reader #spiderman #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #avengers x reader

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