#like uh tamales

[blondefoxmedic]

“This Uquiz is unisex“ *gives you aesthetic pictures of femme presenting people* *all the songs having the word girl in them* *fantasy creatures but like fairies, succubus, mermaid*

#Uh huh #unisex more like there is one sex and it is female (pronounced like Tamale) #uquiz #tell me you think nonbinary people are all afab without telling me #queer

[rafeandonlyrafe]

bésame

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only! smut, female receiving oral, p in v sex, unprotected sex, bilingual!reader, spanish dialogue (its not really translated but all the important parts are explained), rafe learning spanish

rafe sets down his briefcase, toeing off his shoes as his eyes scan the foyer for you, surprised that you don’t come running up to greet him like you normally do when he gets home.

“hola, baby!” he yells out, suddenly hearing a clatter from the kitchen before you stick your head into the hallway.

“hola, amor.” you smile. “just making tamales for dinner.”

“ahh.” rafe nods, the time consuming dish explaining why you were already working in the kitchen, filling the corn husk with ingredients before rolling them up.

“come keep me company?” you smile at him, batting your eyelashes in a way that always has rafe bending and agreeing to anything you ask him. “tell me about your day?”

“of course.” rafe walks the short distance in the hallway, pressing a kiss to your lips, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you close.

“missed you.” you hum against his lips. “te amo.”

rafe smiles back at you. he didn't know any spanish besides hola when he first began dating you. “te amo, amor.”

you give him a look, eyes widening slightly as you go back to working on your dish. “that pronunciation was shockingly good, rafey.”

“i may have been practicing a little.” rafe smirks, in truth he's been practicing a lot, working really hard to learn the language for you, even going as far as to hire a native speaker to meet with him on his lunch breaks.

“practicing, eh?” you smile, fingers effortlessly folding the tamale, having done it so many times. “how do you say eat, then?”

“comer.” rafe answers, without even having to think about it.

“¡no me digas!” you gasp in surprise. 

rafe laughs, a faint blush on his cheeks at the look of wonder and excitement in your eyes. “we… i mean uhh… vamos a comer tamales.”

“yes!” you squeal. “we are going to eat tamales!” you have to put the corn husk down, quickly washing your hands before moving over to rafe, touching his cheeks.

“you’re so good, cariño!” you have to get up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to rafes lips. 

“i know that one.” rafe admits with a smile. its one of the first thing he had the instructor teach him, various pet names to call you. “sweetheart or darling. i also know mi vida, mi corazon. i even know princesa and uh..." it takes rafe a second, but the word for soul finally comes back to him, "mi alma."

“oh wow.” you could melt on the spot at the sweet words coming out of rafes mouth, only sounding even better in your natural language. “let me see if you know this one… bésame.”

it takes a second for the words to click, and then rafe smirks down at you, leaning in to press your lips together in a kiss, just like you asked for. his mouth dominates yours, turning your bodies so you’re the one leaning against the counter, trapped between rafes strong arms.

“quiero verte.” you whisper to rafe, tugging on his shirt. “i want to see you.”

rafe quickly pulls the shirt off over his head, his muscles on display for you to rub your hands over.

“how do i say undress me?” rafe asks, moaning lowly when your hands pass over his nipples.

“desvísteme.”

“undress you? okay. bueno.” rafe smirks as you let out a laugh, tricking you into being asked to be undressed. 

you raise your arms up so he can tug your shirt off, eyes widening when he realizes you’re not wearing a bra. his hands cup your chest, playing with your tits as he finds his way back to your mouth, tongue running along your lower lip until his thumb swipes over your nipples and makes you gasp, finally allowing him entrance. 

“quiero probarte.” rafe whispers against your lips, your eyes widening when you realize what his words mean, still not used to hearing him speak in spanish. “quiero probarte, baby. can i take your shorts off?” “yeah, yeah.” you nod. you swear you must be dreaming, with rafe saying that he wants to taste you in spanish. you wonder who he asked, who gave him the translation, because as far as you know, the only spanish speaking people he knows is your family members, and while rafe is not easily embarrassed, even that's going too far for him.

rafe tugs at your shorts and underwear, letting them fall to the floor before you’re being lifted up onto the island counter, half-assembled tamales long forgotten as rafe bends, burying his face into your core without any delay.

his tongue laps at your entrance, tasting your juices as they build up. his mouth makes an obscene slurping noise, and you didn’t even realize how wet you’d gotten from hearing him speaking spanish, getting to communicate with him in such a beautiful language that you love so much.

he drags his tongue upward, flicking it against your clit. “te gusta?” rafe asks.

“yeah, yeah i like it!” you answer rafes question, head feeling fuzzy as he goes back to flicking over your clit before circling it teasingly, making you feel every nerve when he drags back over before his tongue finds its way down towards your entrance.

he gathers even more slickness on his tongue before dragging upward, using it as extra lubrication against your clit. he licks at your most sensitive area before tugging your clit between his lips, sucking it into his mouth.

you let out a squeal, reaching down to grip his hair in your hands to hold him in place, pressing his face further into you.

you can feel rafe chuckle against your skin at your clear excitement, but he doesn’t pull away, simply continuing to eat you out as you mumble a few curse words in spanish when his fingers press against your entrance.

hes slow when pressing his digit inside, counter to the speed and intensity of his lips on your clit. when he finally begins to pump it inside and out, your body relaxes, the familiar feeling allowing him to slip a second finger in.

rafe wastes no time scissoring his fingers, clearly needing to open you up quickly to get himself inside.

“fuck!” you shout out. “rafe, rafe, cógeme. cógeme, por favor.” rafe pulls away, looking up at you, clearly having not heard that word before. “fuck me!” you tell him in english, tugging on his hair slightly to encourage him to stand up, to take you.

rafes confusion turns into amusement, his grin spreading as he slowly raises, fingers continuing to thrust inside of you as your hands grab at his pants, undoing them as quickly as you can before shoving them down, rafes hard cock rising.

“tell me the truth, rafe.” you gasp as his fingers pull out, only momentarily feeling the gaping emptiness inside of you until rafes cock takes its place, filling you up effortlessly, the perfect amount of stretch to your walls to bring you the slightest hint of pain, that only increases your pleasure. “who is teaching you this?” “i may have hired someone to help me out on my lunch breaks.” rafe smirks, keeping his cock buried inside of you, your hips moving while sat on the edge of the marble counter, trying to entice him into thrusting. “no promises im ever gonna be fluent, but i figured its the least i could do. for you.”

“oh, rafe.” you feel tears well up into your eyes. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his lips. “i love you.”

“te amo.” rafe smiles down at you, your legs wrapping around him next, waiting for the thrusts to begin, but rafe remains still for a few more moments, letting you enjoy the soft, sweet moment.

it lasts as long as rafe can hold himself back until he suddenly pumps forward, hips thrusting up rapidly, glad that the island counter sits at the perfect height for him to fuck you at.

“oh, yes!” you moan out, nails raking down his back. “fuck, feels so good baby.” “yeah, can feel your tight little cunt squeezing me.” rafe moans as well, combined sounds filling the kitchen. 

“don’t know…” you try to get the words out, his cock repeatedly filling you, making you interrupt your sentence with gasps. “don’t know how long i’ll last.”

“yeah? my mouth and cock that good? need to cum already?” rafe loves how easily he can make you cum, how fast he can push you to the edge. it only turns him on more.

“sí.” you nod. “close, papí.”

rafe lets out a groan, his orgasm suddenly close from the use of that single word alone. “call me that again, baby girl.”

“papíííí.” you whine out, rafes hips pushing up, slapping against your skin as an orgasm suddenly forces out of you, cunt pulsating around rafe, pulling his own orgasm free.

“fuck.” you curse, before repeating it in spanish. “joder.”

“god, your pussy is perfect.” rafe says, pressing his lips against your cheek as the last of his cum is milked out. “how do you say that in spanish?” “nnn, i don’t know.” you groan. “my minds not working right now.”

“aww, pobrecita, all fucked out.” rafe laughs, pulling his cock out of you.

“your fault.” you grumble, feeling his cum leaking out onto the counter, but you need at least another minute of rafe holding you close before you care about the mess. “your fault dinner is gonna be late too.” you look at your workstation. “we’ll wash up and then i’ll help you.” rafe offers. “and you can teach me some more words in spanish.”

“fine, but you don’t need to learn any more dirty ones, niño travieso.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid

#rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #outer banks smut #rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe x oc #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine #rafe drabble #rafe blurb #rafe one shot #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron x female!reader

[ellethespaceunicorn]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Well, it took me a couple of days but I did it!! Oh, and it's the longest drabble in the world. Did y'all know a drabble is only 100 words???? I thought it was 100-500...I still wrote way more than that, but still.

Title: No Good Deeds

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Landlord!Ari Levinson x Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: Moving out on your own is challenging, but your landlord, Mr. Levinson is kind and helpful. But he may want more from you than your tenancy.

Prompt: Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Warnings: age gap (Ari is mid-40s, Reader is early-20s), yandere Ari, drugging, non-con fingering (f receiving), non-con p-in-v intercourse, non-con creampie, choking, dead dove: do not eat

A/N: Hahahaha this was supposed to be a drabble. Thank you to @peyton-warren for the beta!

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

Moving out on your own isn’t exactly the easiest thing for you. You spent four years living in your college dormitory, but you always had at least one roommate. So, signing a lease and accepting the single set of keys was a huge accomplishment.

Your landlord, Mr. Levinson, is so great. He told you to call him Ari more than once. From the first tour of the apartment to the day of your move-in, he offers his help in many ways. Where the best farmer’s market is, how to reach him if you need any repairs, and even when the local bars close are just a few tidbits he leaves you with.

You get to know him a bit more during a block party one Saturday night. The two of you talk over cheap beer, tamales from Señora Cruz, smoked brisket from Mr. Lorenzo, and lasagna from Mrs. Di Paolo. Ari seems like he is lonely, and your kind heart can’t stand to see someone in need. 

Before you know what you are getting into, you agree to have a weekly tea date with him. It’s during one of those visits that you realize that something is a bit odd about Ari. He tries to cover up how he knows what cabinet you keep your tea in, but he makes up some dumb excuse that it would just be “the perfect spot”.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom as he busies himself with setting the tea, and when you come back, a steaming mug is waiting for you on a saucer on your coffee table. Usually, you make the tea, but Ari wanted to help out, and you had a long day at work, so you accepted.

“What is in this tea? It’s almost spicy,” you ask, taking another big gulp of the tea you don’t recognize.

“Is it spicy? Well, it does have ginger and cinnamon in it. Some chamomile, too. A little benzodiazepine in there,” Ari clambers on, trailing off at the end.

“D-did you say benzo…dia…zep,” you slur, reaching for Ari as you sit on the couch, but you end up passing out with your head in his lap.

When you come to, you struggle to remember what happened. Your heavy head pounds as you turn it to the side before putting the heel of your hand to your still-closed eyes.

“Take it slow, Bunny. You must’ve been really tired,” he consoles, from the other side of your bed.

“Mr. Levin-”

“Uhn uh. Call me Ari; no more of that Mr. Levinson polite shit, ok?” he swears for the first time in your presence.

“Um, Ari… What are you doing in my bedroom?” you ask, your mind a blank slate from earlier.

“Oh, Bunny. You invited me over for tea, and then you weren’t feeling well, and you asked me to stay until you felt better. Next thing I know, I’m carrying you in here because you fell asleep on me with that sweet little face of yours right in my lap,” he comforts, the knuckles of his hand sliding down your face before he boops your nose.

“Why do you keep calling me Bunny?” you mewl, still trying to get in control of all your limbs.

“When you sleep, you furrow your eyebrows and scrunch up your nose like a little bunny. It’s one of the cutest things you do,” he admires, his hand now moving down your neck and through the valley of your breasts to get to where your skirt rides up your thigh.

“Mr.-Ari…I think I feel better now; you don’t have to-” 

Your words are cut off when Ari reaches under your skirt, and you specifically remember having on panties earlier today, but his fingers are touching your tender pussy directly. Did he take off your underwear?

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Must’ve been all that time I spent rubbing your cute little cunt through those white cotton panties. God, those little moans you were making went straight to my cock, Bunny. Feel it,” he dares, grabbing your hand and resting it against the thick outline of his dick through his Wranglers. 

While your hand is on his length, he shoves two of his fingers into your wet heat. At first, you are surprised by the shock of it. But soon, you can tell that he knows how to work your body. You scream out his name, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he shoves one hand over your mouth and gets close to your ear.

“You’re not gonna ruin this for me. You have been parading yourself around here like you’re some holier-than-thou sweet little thing. And I knew you’d end up letting me smash at some point. But I didn’t wanna wait anymore, Bunny. You have had me wrapped around that little finger of yours since you moved in. It’s time that I get what’s owed to me-what you’ve been flaunting in front of me,” he sneers, pulling his fingers out of you and sucking them clean before opening his pants and pulling his dick out.

He lines up with your sodden core before thrusting in with no grace or elegance. Slamming himself inside your tight snatch for the first time feels like he is splitting you in two. You’re no virgin, but you also don’t have much casual sex, so Ari’s thickness was a shock, to say the least.

“Sweet Bunny, you’re so tight. What a good girl! You’ve been waiting for me like I’ve been waiting for you, huh? Fuck, you’re like a fucking vice. You hear that, Bunny? Hear how that cunt loves it when I fuck it? Love that loud, sloshy pussy,” he beams, his wide hips between your legs making your joints hurt.

You’re in stunned silence as Ari uses your body to chase his release. Your mind is bringing up all the times it seemed like he was getting a little too close for comfort. All the times when he would talk to you about his divorce, or his current dating trend, or the fact that he once told you that a pretty thing like you belonged locked up in a tower for a prince to come and free you.

Did he think he was a charming prince?

“Oh, Bunny, fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer. Look at me; wanna see your eyes when I cum inside you,” he blurts, holding your face in his hands as you look into his dilated, hungry eyes. “Take it. Just. Like. That.” The last few words are punctuated with thrusts as he paints your walls with thick, milky ropes.

Once he closes his eyes, his hips remain still, and his forehead meets yours. This would be almost romantic if Ari didn’t make it beyond creepy by whispering how perfect you are and peppering kisses all over your face. His softening cock finally slips free from you, and you are happy to be empty until you feel the flow of his semen leaking from you. He notices your discomfort and mocks your whines as he pushes his jizz back into your swollen hole.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he starts, moving off of you to recline next to you, “Not gonna leave this bed ‘til you’re knocked up. As soon as you are, I’m gonna move you in with me. You are gonna be well taken care of, too. You are so perfect-every little thing about you. And when the baby comes, we are gonna be the perfect little family. You wouldn’t wanna ruin our family, right? You’re gonna be a good girl for me, huh?” he implores, holding your cheeks in his hand so your lips poke out a bit.

You nod while tears stream from your eyes, finding it hard to form words. But what would you have said? He seems to like you mostly silent; you haven’t uttered a single word since before he was inside you. It wasn’t too late to try, but it was too late to have hope; at least that’s what you told yourself.

“I don’t know about you, but I am starting to get hard again just looking at you. On all fours for me, Bunny. I know you got it in you,” he orders, no kindness in his voice.

You quickly scramble to get on your hands and knees for him and are happy that he is pleased with your speed. As he slides into your sensitive folds again, you grimace but hold in your noises of pain. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you hurt, even though what he is doing is traumatizing. He relishes in the gushy sounds your pairing makes and the mighty “oomph” you make when he wraps an arm around your neck and flattens you down to your belly.

He has you in a chokehold while his hips canter back and forth, plunging his length deeper and deeper inside you. When he hears you start to sputter and gulp in air, he removes his arm from around your neck and holds your face cheek-down on the bed.

“Look at her, taking my cock just like she should. You’ll be the prettiest little wife and mother, won’t you? Gonna keep you nice and round as much as I can. My perfect little Bunny…ugh, fuck,” he blurts, his release surprising him suddenly.

When he pulls out, he smacks your ass and lays down next to you while your life flashes before your eyes. He moves closer to you, readjusting your body to lay on top of his as he rubs your back. He kisses the top of your head in such a kind gesture that you feel your eyes stinging with unshed tears. 

You can’t even bring yourself to fully cry, the tears streaming down your face just to splash on Ari’s denim shirt. Forgotten and dried up to never be seen again.

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble!!!!

**Tag List**

I also didn't know who to tag since this is the first time I wrote Ari.

#chris evans #ari levinson #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson smut #chris evans characters #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #ellethespaceunicorn prompt fill #ask reply #landlord ari levinson #dark ari levinson #dark ari levinson fanfic #dark fic #dark fanfiction #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dead dove

[therapycat21]

All Right Now Part 7

Travis Kelce x Famous!Reader Description: The reader catches the eye of famous footballer Travis.

Warnings: None

Social Media AU

Travis p.o.v

It has been a few months now since y/n posted the photo and It has been nothing but amazing It feels like we just met yesterday but in reality, I realized it has been eleven months close to one year.

It has never been this way for me, every time I had gotten into a relationship it always felt like I was waiting for the inevitable, always knowing something was gonna happen that led to the breakup, or you know the usual, them going to the press and telling lies after the breakup trying to get me to look bad.

But ever since y/n and I have been together I would always stop and see if that feeling is there but it never shows, only pure adoration and love for her.

And of course, I told Jason that and you can already guess what the topic of conversation is right now where I sit in the office talking to Jason over video and filming a new episode of New Heights.

“So how has been with y/n so far?” he tries to throw it out there nonchalantly. I can already tell I’m blushing as I smile at him “Uh you know, we have been very good, just living life together and enjoying what we have.” I try to tell him without giving away any information. “Oh come on trav!” He says flinging his hands up, all I give is a laugh before Jason changes the subject to talking about the plot of Twilight, I tune him out a little bit as a joke until I see I have a few unread messages from y/n, I can hear Jason trying to get my attention but all I see are y/n’s messages asking if I’m busy still and if she can come bring me lunch from the other room.

“TRAVIS!!TRAVIS!!” I finally look up from my phone smirking “Sorry, very Important message I needed to respond to.” 

That is all I say to him, he gives me a look “Is it my awesome sister-in-law that is messaging you?” he smirks, thinking he got me all I reply with is “Yep” before I hear a small knock and the door slightly open. I look behind me to see my angel  “Is it okay for me to come in?” she whispers, I smile before trying to wave her in “Come on in baby” I tell her. 

She walks in with a small tray “Oh oh what is this?” I ask taking the tray and looking at it, she smiles “I made tamales with some horchata” she replies smiling. I look back in the camera and show Jason the tray “look at this!” I smile big. I see Jason look at the tray in shock and mock envy “oh my god, What I would do to be there right now, wait hold on where is she?, I gotta ask her a question”

I look over to where y/n stands by the desk, still off camera, I see the nervous all over her face as I wave her over “come on baby” As she finally comes closer to me I subtly grab her waist ushering her partially onto my lap.

 I give her a second pair of headphone “hey Jason” she smiles at him “hey girly, Was all of that homemade?, cause if so, kylie said we are all coming over for dinner” he says matter-of-factly. We both laugh and I see y/n now has a blush casing her cheeks “yes, it is all homemade, It is my grandmom’s recipe” I tell him “you guys can come over whenever you want I will gladly cook dinner and see the babies” She replies before getting up slowly “Okay I’m gonna go, I have to film some stuff for the documentary ” She leans down giving me quick emotional kiss before waving by to Jason before softly shutting the door behind her.

“Can I just say, you two are very whipped for each other, she has made you homemade food from her home country and you have reluctantly adopted a cat, that is wild to me.” He laughs smirking at me.

I blush a little underneath his knowing gaze “Look, like the kids say nowadays, the cat distribution system has chosen me and I can’t not accept it, once pasta showed up on the front porch I just had to take her” I explained laughing.

Jason gives me a confused look asking about what the distribution system is, we sit there for thirty minutes with me explaining it to him.

3 Hours later

As we finally finish up the episode and we say goodbye to each other, I head out to see y/n laying on the couch with pasta laying on her lap as she is scrolling on tiktok, I walk over and jump into the empty space next to her gaining the attention of pasta, she stretches before walking over to lay on me and fall back asleep. 

I look up over at y/n to see her already looking at me. She breaks the silence “do you know we have been together for about a year now?” she says. I give her a small soft smile “Yeah, it feels like yesterday I was trying to get the nerve to talk to you without stuttering.” I smirk.

She laughs reaching over to run her hand over my head before she turns a little more serious “I know we’ve had this talk before a few months ago but I just wanted to check in again and see if you still want that future?” she asks. I’ve told her before I’ve wanted to get married and have children sooner rather than later. I nod my head at her “I still do baby” I reassure her. But I can tell there is still something on her mind “With me?” she questions lowly.

I stare at her in a small shock, I always thought she knew I wanted that with her but I guess I haven't done my job right if she is questioning this. I grasp her hand in mine before looking into her eyes with the most seriousness I can muster up.” I love you with everything I have and I can’t wait to marry you and make a family with you, you just let me know when”.

All there is genuine shock on her face as she tries to mentally understand the last part of my sentence. “Let you know when?” He nods smiling big “you let me know when, and I’ll be there baby” All she can do is nod before moving to cuddle into where I am on the couch.

We are relaxing on the couch now watching a baking show she found randomly when I feel her stare from where she lays on me. I look down in question to see nothing but love in her eyes when all of a sudden.

“When” 

That is all she says before turning back to the TV as if she didn't just shock me to my core. I never wanted to say anything to her for fear we were moving too fast, clearly, I’m not. All I can think about now is finally taking the velvet black box out of the safe.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Taglist:

@whitemanswhore3

@bxdbxtxh15

@cixrosie

@kkrenae

@the-untamed-soul

@calirindo

@armystay89

@hotwheels1108

@awatt31

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@chimchimmarie

#travis kelce #travis x reader #allrightnowseries #famous!reader

[senoraackerman]

Bread and the babies

OH SHES SO BACK. Día de los Reyes Magos with Nanami. Think about it. ALSO LATINA READER IN MIND

“…..so I cut it wherever?”

Nanami looks at the bread before glancing up at you and your family before looking back to the rosca.

You nod your head, handing him the knife. “Yep! Cut wherever. If you the get the baby, show it to us. No hiding it under your tongue, or swallowing it.”

“People swallow it?”

“Don’t even ask.”

With a slight sigh, Nanami begins cutting his piece of the rosca with you standing idly by. He pulls out the slice and examines it: “no baby”

Slightly clicking your tongue, you get the knife handed back to you by nanami as you estimate where you want to cut it.

Cut it there?

Or cut it right here?

Or maybe right there?

Nah, maybe more-

You get snapped out of concentration when you hear your family urging you to cut it and stop beating it around the bush.

Your mom calls you out, “¡Lo haces de emoción!”

You narrow your eyes at all at her, playfully shushing all of them before finally cutting your slice of the rosca. The knife goes smoothly through the bread, so you confidently pull out your slice.

Least to say there it was: a plastic baby Jesus, wedged in the bread

Your family goes absolutely insane in laughter- not even laughter, howling as they look at you with the slice of bread with the baby Jesus. You press your lips into a fine line and look to Nanami, holding up the baby Jesus.

A small crack of a smile forms as he sees the expression of disbelief on your face and the laughter of your family. He could spend many more years like this with you.

You look back to your family and point to them, “two more babies. Get to cutting!”

Later in the night, Nanami found a baby Jesus in his slice of rosca. The other couldn’t be found until a week later, and we all assumed it was a fluke by the baker- that was until your older brother revealed he hid his baby Jesus under his tongue.

A/N

Uh oh. So like….what’s up. What’s new. Let’s pretend that I haven’t written an actual fic for the first time in like six months? Yeah let’s pretend.

January 6 is not for the weak yall 😭 I got a baby Jesus when I cut my third slice. Making tamales as we SPEAK

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk nanami #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami #nanami kento x you #jujutsu kaisen kento nanami #nanami kento fluff #kento x reader #jjk kento #kento nanami x reader #nanami imagine #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami headcanons #jujutsu nanami #nanami fluff #jjk #jjk x latina reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk headcanons #kento x you #kento x y/n #jujutsu kento

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Message Waiting

Sequel to One is the Loneliest Number, One on One, One Little Thing, Only One I See, One Thing Leads To Another

Warnings: none, Professor Steve (that’s a warning in itself)

Dunno if I’ll be doing an exhaustive drabble series but there’s at least this. Let me know if you’re enjoying it or not and any thoughts you have. Love you!

Your phone lights up in the middle of the lecture and you flip it, ignoring the dual notification in the corner of your screen. Inez has no shame as she swipes through her feed, Professor Rogers' voice reaching the high ceiling as he expounds on the themes of FitzGerald. You note the title of the email before it flits back into the tool bar: Teacher's Assistant: Application Accepted.

You can't get ahead of yourself. Once you're through class, you can get excited. And anxious. Inez has taken to calling you goody two shoes over your extracurriculars but you'll laugh at her over your paychecks.

As the lesson comes to a close, Inez yawns and stretches, "you'll send me a copy of your notes?"

"Star student right here," you close your laptop and slip it in yoir bag.

"Who? You? You learn fast, Miss Sniper from the Side."

"You might get a bit better than a C if you wrote anything down," you chide as head down the row.

"Right, mom, I'll get on that," she follows you down the steps towards the front of the lecture hall, "right after I pick up my official geek badge from the station."

"You're stupid," you hurl back at her.

"Never claimed otherwise," she chuckles, "hey, you hear that, this bimbo used a big word. Otherwise!"

"Quit," you smile and stick your tongue out at her over your shoulder.

Your name smothers her response. Professor Rogers waves his pen at you as he nears, twirling it before hooking it over his shirt pocket, "so, you get the good news?"

"Hi, professor," Inez says deliberately.

"Um, hi," he gives and awkward smile before turning back to you, "so?"

"About my TAship? Yeah, I just got the email but haven't opened it–"

"So you don't know?"

"Um, it said accepted so–"

"Right, I won't spoil it," he beams, "sorry, I… you two have a good day. I gotta get across campus but if you have any questions about your placement, you know how to find me."

"Sure, thanks, professor," you nod and turn away, Inez hesitating before she trails after you.

"Uh huh, you know exactly how to find him, don't you?" She hisses as you pass into the hallway, "all you have to do is exist. Like Christ–"

"Really? You're still on this?" You huff.

"Oh, come on, you're not that clueless. He was shaking in excitement. Just to talk to you."

"Whatever," you take out your phone and swipe up. "I bet I got Laufeyson. Not even English, just my–" you pause as you open the email and read through, "huh."

"What?" She asks as she opens the front door ahead of you.

"I got… him. Professor Rogers."

"I knew it. I fucking called it," she hops down the steps in glee ahead of you, "oh my god, perfect opportunities for good old Professor Hunk!"

"Stop. Please. I'm already stressing and you're– you're freaking me out."

"Come on, I'm teasing you. We both know he's too squeaky clean to do anything like that. But it's funny, he's got a little crush on you. On you! The cutest little nerd on campus."

"Wow, thanks, you're an amazing friend," you say dryly.

"You should be flattered. He's a hottie, even for an old dude. Not exactly my flavour, you know, with the dangly bits and all, but I can tell a hot tamale when I see one."

"Do you stop? Ever?"

"No," she giggles, "come on, lets go get some tea. Then maybe you'll calm down… and we can plot how you can really make Dr. Heart Eyes squirm."

"No," you sneer.

"Aw, fine, just tea."

📱

The weight of the textbook weighs on your chest, your eyes half-closed as you lay across the narrow twin bed. In a minute, you'll finish, you swear. You just need a moment. Your phone vibes and you growl, Inez can be so annoying. And persistent.

You reach over blindly and bring your phone up, unlocking it with your thumb. The screen flashes and you hit the icon for your messages. You're surprised to find it isn't Inez, but a number without a name. You read through the last messages and realise it's Steve.

'Hey, can't wait to see you gorgeous. At the restaurant now.'

You blink and shove the book off your chest as you sit up. What the hell?

You put the phone back. Wrong number maybe? You don't know but you feel worse correcting him.

You let out a breath and grab the textbook, trying to refocus on your homework. He'll figure it out. Hopefully he can just laugh it off.

You uncap your highlighter as you contemplate another cup of coffee. It's late. You should at least try to sleep after.

You zone out to the buzz of your playlist, bulling through the last half of the chapter. History… it's like reading a story in a way but you just can't hold onto the details.

Your phone shakes again. You grab it and look at the time. You rest it on the closed textbook and yawn. It's veen thirty minutes since hisnlast text but you don't think he realises.

'Hey, you still coming?' Followed by the smiley emoji. Oh god.

You should tell him. You should let him know he's texting the wrong person. You key in the message and hover over send.

You can't. You feel the second-hand embarrassment through the phone. Hopefully he figures it out and just deletes the messages and pretends it didn't happen.

You black out the screen and plug in to the charger. You pile up your textbook and notebook and drop them on the floor beside the bed. You hit the bottom of the lamp and it turns off before you flop against the pillow. You're too tired to worry about all this.

You drift off easily. You sleep most of the night but wake at the noise of one of your roommates in the kitchen. The place is small and the walls are thin. You groan and rub the sleep from your eyes.

You get up and pull on your robe, dragging your feet into the hall and down to the bathroom. You take your time and come out as Ellie waits outside. You apologise and go back to your room.

You take your phone and look at the time, a speech bubble floating beneath. You hit it to expand the preview.

'So sorry. Wrong number. Hope you had a good night.'

You snort, slightly amused. At least he caught his mistake. You swipe away the notification and unlock the screen, going through the dailyl listless scroll of social media.

#steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #professor!steve #au #series #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america

[clusterbuck]

omg for the little romantic gestures, “trying to cook their favourite dish”? 🥺💕

the house smells good when eddie walks in. spices linger in the air, familiar in a way that feels like the heat of the texas sun on the back of his neck. it still takes a moment for him to recognise it, and when he does he understands why—it smells like his abuela’s tamales. which isn’t something he’s expecting in his house, eight hundred miles from his abuela.

he drops his work bag by the door and kicks off his shoes, wandering through the house until he reaches the kitchen doorway. buck is standing at the counter, seemingly so absorbed in whatever he’s doing that he hadn’t noticed eddie coming home.

“hey,” eddie says, leaning against the doorway. “smells good.”

buck startles, just a little, and when he turns to look at eddie there’s a hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks.

eddie puts his hands in his pockets so he won’t reach out to touch it.

“you—you’re early,” buck says, turning back to the counter. now that eddie looks, he can see that the kitchen looks a little like a miniature hurricane tore through it. but it smells even better here than it had by the door, so eddie’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

and besides, he likes cleaning the kitchen with buck. it’s the kind of thing that feels so domestic he sometimes thinks his heart will crack under the weight of it, but he loves it anyway. loves the way buck fits into his kitchen like he lives here, like he’s always lived here, like he’s meant to be part of their family unit.

so it’s okay if the kitchen looks like a disaster zone. they’ll fix it later.

eddie glances at his watch. “only half an hour,” he says. “there was some kind of confusion with shift change, the next shift got there early so they just sent us home.”

“okay, well—go wait in the living room or something,” buck says, trying to hide his cooking behind himself. “i’ll only be like—well, i don’t want to jinx it, but—”

“i know you’re making tamales,” eddie says, frowning. “what’s the big secret?”

buck’s face falls. “it was supposed to be a surprise,” he says. “i even asked your abuela for her recipe.”

“and she gave it to you?” eddie asks. “she guards that thing with her life.”

“she didn’t want to,” buck admits, then grins. “but she caved when i told her it’s for our one-month anniversary.”

eddie freezes. “our—”

buck, seemingly misinterpreting eddie’s confusion, looks at the floor and scratches at the back of his neck. “i know it’s—silly, and kind of juvenile, but i just—i don’t know, it’s the first month of the rest of our lives. i wanted to celebrate that.”

eddie blinks, silent, and buck lets out a nervous laugh. “it’s corny,” he says. “it’s—is it corny? it is, right?”

“no, it’s—” eddie manages to say, then swallows, unsure where to even start. “buck—”

buck looks up at him, and eddie takes a deep breath.

“it’s—buck. we’re not dating.”

something clatters, and eddie realised buck’s dropped the spoon he was holding. he stands stock-still next to the kitchen counter, completely frozen except for the way that his mouth opens and closes then opens again without any sound coming out.

“i’m—” buck finally says, then blinks. “yeah, we are. you—eddie, you asked me out. last month. you told me to dress nice and said you’d pick me up. and we went to—”

“the poker game,” eddie says slowly.

“yeah,” buck says. “and it was—we were—i don’t know, i guess i just—assumed. that it was—” he trails off, shifting his weight from foot to foot and looking anywhere but at eddie.

“but—” eddie starts, dumbfounded. he has what feels like a million questions, but what ends up coming out of his mouth is, “you haven’t—we haven’t even kissed.”

buck huffs a hollow laugh. “i thought we were taking it slow,” he says. “i thought—i don’t know, i mean, i was gonna ask about it eventually, but i thought—” he shakes his head. “god, i don’t know what i thought,” he mutters. “this is so—i’m just, uh. i’m gonna go—”

he makes to step past eddie and out of the kitchen, but eddie grabs his wrist. buck stares at him, and eddie lets the grin that’s been building inside of him finally spread across his face, all the way into a laugh that bubbles out into the space between them.

“okay, laugh it up,” buck mutters. “just let me—”

“buck,” eddie interrupts him, squeezing his wrist. “that poker game? i spent the whole night wishing it was a date.”

buck stares at him, blankly, until a flicker of recognition starts in his eyes and finally cracks into a careful smile. “you mean—”

eddie slides his hand down over buck’s wrist to where he can thread his fingers through buck’s. “i mean today isn’t an anniversary, but one year from today can be.”

little romantic gestures💘

#911fic #buddie #buddie fic #ask emma #hattalove #emma writes

[somekindofpoet]

R gifting Lorraine a jacket matching theirs that has who knows what on the front. But on the back Raines says “save a horse ride a cowboy” and Rs says “cowboy” on theirs. R just tells her it says cowgirl or something. Later Raine suggest they visit her parents & R forgets they have them on. Let’s just say Mrs. Day is flushed while Mr. Day is ready to tussle - 🛸

“Baby, I got you something,” you say, grinning with your hands behind your back.

Lorraine turns from the sink, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“You did?”

You smirk, reveal the denim jacket from behind your back, “It matches mine. Here, let me put it on you.”

Her eyes light up and she immediately turns to let you pull the jacket onto her arms. She doesn’t even pause to look at what’s printed on the back.

She’s clueless to the fact that your ‘matching’ jacket says “COWBOY” and hers says “Save a horse, ride a cowboy”. You grin, satisfied with your ploy coming to fruition. You had no intention of wearing them in public, and you planned to show her the joke after wearing them for a while.

Only, you got comfortable, and completely forgot you were wearing them. You’re snuggled up on the couch, enjoying a movie with Lorraine tucked under your chin.

When the credits roll, Lorraine heaves herself out of your lap and stretches.

She reached down and pats your leg, “You ready?”

You frown, “For what?”

She rolls her eyes at you and huffs, “We’re having dinner with my parents babe. And we’re gonna be late. Momma made tamales and I want to get there before Daddy eats them all.”

You chuckle and stand, stretching your back out, “Alright, get in the truck baby girl, let’s go get some grub.”

The jacket has been on her for so long you don’t even notice it anymore.

When you stroll in through the Day’s front door, the entire house smells like the sweet baking corn dough and seasoned meat. Your mouth waters and you practically shove Lorraine aside to hustle into the kitchen before she can.

“Mrs. Day!” You exclaim, charismatic grin on your face, “looking as beautiful as ever!”

You lean on the butcher block island, batting your lashes at her as she turns around.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite child,” she says, winking at you and wiping her hands on her apron.

“Hey!” Lorraine yelps from the doorway, throwing her hands out to the side.

You turn to Lorraine, “Told ya.”

Mrs. Day strides around the island to kiss Lorraine’s cheek, “Glad you made it when you did, mija. Your father is in the dining room and I don’t think he intends on sharing the tamales.”

“Is that my daughters in there?” Comes Mr. Day’s booming voice from the room over.

Lorraine squeals and scurries into the dining room yelling, “Daddy!”

You snort, it’s only been two weeks since you’ve seen them. But they always act like it’s been years they’ve been apart. It’s one of your favorite things about the Days. They have so much love for one another it’s almost unreal.

“What’s that your jacket says, hon?” Mrs. Day asks, peering over your shoulder.

You blanch, realizing your mistake too late.

“Oh…uh…nothing.”

She frowns, shaking her head and grabs your shoulders to turn you around. When she reads it she laughs and lightly pushes your shoulder.

“Go take a seat, cowboy. Dinner is ready.”

By the time you’re in your chair, your blush has spread all the way to the tips of your ears. Lorraine frowns in confusion, resting her hand on your knee.

“You okay?” She whispers.

You gulp, “Is it hot in here? Let me take your jacket, baby.”

She grabs the ends of it and wraps herself tightly in it, shaking her head, “No. I like it, it smells like you.”

“What’s that you two love birds are whisperin’ about?” Mr. Day asks, leaning forward.

“Oh nothi-“ you start to say.

“Y/n got us matchin jackets. Aren’t they cute?” Lorraine coos, smiling from ear to ear.

Mrs. Day walks in with a platter, places it on the table, “What’s yours say Raine? Cowgirl?”

Lorraine tilts her head, “Say?” She looks at you, “I didn’t see the back.”

You try to discreetly shake your head no at her, your eyes wide. Her brows furrow, she’s confused at your sudden reluctance. She stands and turns her back to her mother, who barks out a laugh.

“Well,” Lorraine says, peering over her shoulder, “what’s it say?”

Mrs. Day raises an eyebrow at you, and you bury your face in your hands.

“It says, ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’.” Mrs. Day can hardly contain the giggles she’s overcome with.

Mr. Day cocks his head, frowning, “What’s yours say, kid?”

You wince, “it’s uh…it doesn’t matter. It’s just a stupid joke. Not very funny.”

Lorraine narrows her eyes and sits next to you, pushing your shoulder forward. The second she reads the word on your back she seats your shoulder.

“Seriously, y/n?”

You yelp, “I forgot we were wearing them!”

“What’s it say?” Mr. Day asks, his tone even and quiet.

You swallow hard, turn slowly toward him, “Cowboy?” Your voice goes up an octave, and it comes out like more of a question than an answer.

Mr. Day stares at you, unmoving. The moment feels like it lasts an eternity. You have half a mind to crawl under the table and hide like a kicked dog.

Then he laughs. His laughter booms through the house, his hands slapping the table.

“You are a damn fool,” Lorraine says, laughing with her father and shaking her head.

Your grimace twists into a pained smile, “At least he thinks it’s funny,” you say through clenched teeth.

“You got lucky,” she says, her eyes twinkling, a smirk on her mouth.

“And later?”

“The joke wasn’t that good, don’t push your luck.”

#lpm #lpm drabble

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

more night!nurse? i’m in love! maybe something more with jason buying her dinner?

"Hey Sunflower," Jason hummed, slipping through your window with a bag of burgers and some fries, "You hungry?"

When there's no response from the couch where he can see your feet sticking up, he froze. Putting the bag quietly on the table and creeping forward. Expecting to see you, a bloody, mangled mess. Only to see you sound asleep. Your chest rises and falls slowly. Still in the clothes you wore home from work. Like you'd sat down to put your feet up, just for a moment and sleep had crashed into you before you'd known it was coming. Before you could even turn on the TV.

"Oh, sweetheart," he breathed. Exhaling a sigh of relief. "Guess you're not hungry, huh?" He thought for a minute about waking you up but. He didn't know when you last slept. Or how long you'd been asleep. But you looked exhausted when he last saw you. So, he settled in to eat- but not before throwing a blanket over you carefully. It's chilly in here. And he's not sure if your slum lord landloard is dragging ass fixing your heat or if you just like it that way. But regardless. You should be cozy.

And if you woke up in time, he'd make sure you ate.

It wasn't healthy but- he forgot to grab the stack of cash he had for you. And he figured it wouldn't take anything off his tab but. Anyone that worked like you did and then volunteered for Leslie when they had time deserved dinner.

Jason went to the kitchen, looking for a cold drink and a couple plates and froze when he missed the counter trying to set a can down, "Damn it," he hissed, wincing when you sat up, looking around.

"It's just me, beautiful," he said apologetically. "I uh- brought you dinner. You want-"

"How long was I asleep?" you rasp, rubbing your face with your hands. Feeling like your head was full of radio static.

"Dunno," he said, grabbing another couple cans and some plates, watching you try and get your bearings and check your watch before flopping back with a groan. "Come have dinner with me," he chuckled, "Then be comatose. You'll sleep better."

"Why-"

"Was half way here and remembered I forgot your money. Figured I'd bring you dinner and an IOU."

"You don't have to-"

"Well Leslie doesn't pay you and you can't pay rent on tamales," he pointed out. "Gotcha a burger- didn't know what you wanted on it though so I got everything on the side."

"Ketchup, mustard, onion, extra pickles," you murmur, rolling to your feet.

"Simple tastes," Jason said, pouring a soda into a glass for you. "Long day?"

"Long three days," you sigh. "Not sure how long I was up but- I watched the sunrise twice."

"Ugh," he said, plating food for you. "What did-"

"The only reason I'm not at the Clinic is because Leslie sent me home before I fell asleep on my feet... I might call in tomorrow. I feel like I died and they forgot to tell me."

#Jason Todd #Jason Todd x reader #night nurse!reader #ask answered #minors dni

[ironspiderfics]

tick tock

by @iron--spider for @savvysass

~

And Peter stares at him, watching the panic seep into his shoulders.

 “Why did you come to me first?” Ned stammers. “Me, I mean, I can’t do anything—I mean, I can say it sucks, and that doesn’t help—”

 Peter leans back against Ned’s pillows, clearing his throat. He’s going for nonchalance. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned it at all. 

 But sometimes there’s something that’s nagging at him and he knows logically it’s nagging at him because it’s important, but he downplays that nag because he thinks he’s being paranoid or he thinks he can handle it. Maybe it’s both of those things at the same time. 

 But he mentioned his problem anyway, because of course he did, and Ned has been standing frozen in front of him since, like he got struck by lightning.

 “It’s fine,” Peter says, his voice going a little high, but not enough to give him away. He clears his throat again. Nonchalance. “Do you have any of the tamales still?”

 Ned’s brows furrow, like he’s primed and ready for an argument. “You are the only—the only person in the known universe who climbs through my bedroom window and tells me he’s been poisoned and then says it’s fine and asks for tamales.”

 “You know I like them so much,” Peter says, shrugging at him. “That’s why we got so many, and I already ate the ones I had stashed—”

 “Peter!” Ned yells, drawing out the word like a wiggling worm. “Poisoned?”

 “It’s fine,” Peter shrugs again, and he swallows hard, and he mostly believes that. His head hurts, but that’s normal after a fight. Rattling his brain around.

 It’s all normal. It’s fine. 

 The room isn’t shimmering at the corners. No way.

 “Peter.”

 He keys back in. “That guy…is a weirdo,” Peter laughs, and Ned takes two steps closer to him, still poised, eyes still wide under a stern, furrowed brow. 

 He analyzes him, like he’s looking for something Peter’s hiding. “All of the dudes you fight are?” he says. Asks. It’s a statement phrased like a question. “Which one was it? You could be referring to any of them?”

 “The guy who thinks he’s a snake,” Peter says. He winces. “No. A scorpion.”

 “Worse,” Ned says. “And what exactly did he say? Did you know you’re bleeding?” He’s getting worked up, and his cheek spasms a little bit. “You’re trying to be too casual I don’t trust you right now you’re doing that thing where you’re under—you’re under—I’m gonna tell Tony I’m gonna tell May and MJ—”

 “Ned!” Peter yells, scrambling off the bed and reaching him before he grabs his phone from the desk. He holds onto his arms, and Ned is still looking at him like he’s grown another head. “It’s fine. I swear. I was just…telling you…the events, I was close to your house and I thought I’d tell you the events of my, uh, night, my patrol—how was your night, did you get to that episode of Survivor where—”

 “What exactly did this guy say to you?” Ned asks, slowly. “Like, in words. His words.”

 Peter swallows hard. “Well, uh, we were fighting, and he—he ‘poisoned’ me, right?” He uses air quotes.

 Ned glares at him.

 “And he said we were gonna play a game—”

 “Bad—”

 “And he said, uh, if I couldn’t find the antidote in three days that I’d, uh. Die.”

 Die. DIE. It lands like an anvil.

 Ned gives him a piercing look.

 “That’s everything he said? Those were the words—that’s it? No clues no map no—three days—three days is nothing—that’s not—that’s not even four days—when does it start does it start at like midnight or the second you—”

 Peter clears his throat again. He needs to refocus. 

 He feels like the walls are moving—no. Not happening. He’s fine.

 He shakes his head. He wishes he hadn’t mentioned it at all, but here he is. “Ned, that—I mean, this is normal.”

 Ned scoffs. “Norm—”

 “This is just something that happens. Spider-Man gig. He’s—this is part of the rapport.”

 “Rappo—Peter what if you start dying? What if you can’t find him? What if you find him and he won’t give you the antidote? What then? What if there is no antidote? There isn’t enough time—”

 “There’s probably not even a poison,” Peter says, shrugging again. Brushing it off. Being normal. Managing the situation.

 Ned pauses for a second. Then his eyes bulge. “Probably?”

 Peter gets this shit all the time. Every day, it’s some guy in a weirdo costume telling him they’re gonna kill him or he’s gonna drown tomorrow at noon or they’re gonna take his powers away or they’re gonna launch him into the sun, and none of those things have ever happened. And this guy, this Scorpion has threatened to poison him dozens of times—it’s his deal, it’s his thing, since he showed up a few months after the world ended, and he’s never good at it. He said he was gonna poison Harlem’s water supply and that didn’t happen, despite days of monitoring. He said he’d poisoned the mayor’s family and that they’d die in five days and they’re currently vacationing in Kokomo. He’s even said he’d poisoned Peter before and that his skin was gonna fall off and that never happened. 

 Tony has always told him to take threats seriously from everyone that threatens him, even if they sound stupid. But when it winds up being a lie or a fluke, over and over—

 The only thing that’s worrying him is that this guy did get him with his stupid stinger this time. 

 He had a better costume, one that didn’t look like it came from the November discount at Spirit Halloween. And it was a knockdown dragout fight, because he was threatening to poison this bank manager to steal his codes, blah blah, bad guy shit, but then he got Peter in the shoulder with his stinger and he seemed surprised that he got him and that’s when he said what he said and he did what he does best: disappear. Peter can usually find these guys, and he actually got a few of them and their gangs locked up. But this asshole falls off the grid really easily, and doesn’t leave much behind. Peter doesn’t even know his real name.

 And Peter’s shoulder is pulsing. But only a little bit.

 So he’s just—he’s not concerned. Maybe slightly. But not really.

 He’s just got a headache. He feels fine.

 He’s fine.

 He manages to convince Ned that he doesn’t need to tell anybody, and they bandage up the things that need bandaging, including the spot where Scorpion got him, which is only a little green and angry, not nearly as bad as Peter was imagining. Ned huffs and puffs at it, but he doesn’t try to restart the argument. And then they share tamales and Peter goes home.

 “You okay?” May asks him, when he kisses her cheek before bed.

 “Yep,” Peter says, smiling, and nodding at her, because he is. 

 He feels fine. He texted MJ that he was fine, even though that seemed to make her suspicious, but she’s always suspicious of him even though they’re together now. She’s paranoid.

 The ceiling is absolutely not slowly lowering. It’s just the light being weird that’s it nothing more than that—

 May gives him a look, similar to the look Ned gave him earlier. “You sure?” she pushes. “Look a little…peaky.”

 He shakes his head. 

 Only a little dizzy. 

 Three days…

 “I’m fine. I just had seven tamales. I’m fine.”

 ~

 “Boss,” Friday says, pulling Tony out of a dream. “You have an incoming call from Ned Leeds.”

 Tony groans, and opens his eyes. 

 It’s Saturday. 

 Ten in the morning.

 He glances to the side. Pepper is already gone, and he’s gotta check the calendar for the where-to, and he clears his throat and rubs his eyes.

 A call from Ned usually means trouble.

 He closes his eyes, and grapples for his earpiece on the bedside table, and Friday indicates for his heart rate with a polite little trill. He ignores it, and tries not to jump to conclusions about Peter or the call, and he taps on the earpiece and answers.

 “—no, it’s okay. No, I don’t need anymore, Lola, I’m full—”

 “Nedjamin?” 

 “Mr. Stark?” Ned nearly yells. “Is that you?”

 “Well, this is my number,” Tony says, rubbing his face. “As you know, or you wouldn’t be calling—”

 “Sorry, I—I’m always shocked that you actually answer. Like even your personal lines must have somebody to like screen calls for you—”

 “You’re on the list,” Tony says, and he can hear Ned’s little gasp—the same little gasp he always gasps when Tony says that. “What’s the problem, where’s the fire? What’s Pete done now?”

 “Listen,” Ned says, and suddenly he’s whispering. “I don’t know when to take him seriously. But last night he showed up here and he was being all nonchalant and shifty about some scorpion bad guy poisoning him and telling him they were playing a game and that he had three days to find the antidote or he’d die.”

 Tony’s eyes snap open.

 “He was just saying it was fine and he was probably not even poisoned and like he was a little beat up but not more than normal, you know, his normal amount of—either way, he’s not taking it seriously and he’s not telling you and three days is not a lot of time—like, it’s not even four days—”

 “Mmkay,” Tony says, sitting up, feeling like someone’s lit a fire under his ass. “Okay. I’m gonna go get him. I’m gonna handle it.” He stands up, knees creaking, and worry is already coursing through his veins.

 “He’s gonna be mad at me for telling you but it’s for his own good,” Ned says. “Three days is not a lot of time, like—to handle something like this—even if it’s fake I mean—”

 “Even if it’s fake, you did the right thing,” Tony says, grabbing a gray shirt and some sweatpants. “Always better to check it out.” He sucks in a big breath, trying to focus. “Friday. Get me a lead on Peter.”

 ~

 And it’s never Tony’s favorite, when Peter isn’t where he’s supposed to be. 

 And Tony can’t exactly say the kid is supposed to be somewhere in particular—it’s the summer time, he’s been dealt a raw hand with all the end of the world bullshit, and he’s a good kid despite Spider-Man —and not that Spider-Man makes him bad, exactly the opposite, but it…sends waves of danger into his life on a daily basis that Tony wishes he could wash away a lot better than he does. 

 So when Tony can’t find Peter at home, he tries not to—go off the deep end. 

 It’s probably fine. Peter’s had a lot of close calls that weren’t close calls at all—the type of dickheads he encounters lie a lot, to try and puff themselves up, but Tony worries that’s made the kid complacent. He himself brushes things off far too often, and he’ll wind up kidnapped or thrown in a ditch or lost on an island because he didn’t take something seriously.

 Three days

 When did that timeclock start

 Ned was right to be concerned—

 “It’s fine,” he breathes, driving around in New York’s torture tactic they call traffic, “it’s fine—it’s fine—”

 He thinks of a ticking clock, thinks of three days and how that’s not a lot of time and how many times Ned repeated that, thinks that this guy could very easily be telling the truth and it could be a slow-acting poison that doesn’t even kill Pete until the last possible second, and it’s not even a week, it’s three days, and it’s less than that now because Peter decided not to call him immediately, decided to terrorize Ned instead, and tick tock, goes the clock, and Tony hasn’t even seen him yet—

 “Friday,” Tony says, his voice strung-out with anxiety, “are you—”

 “Boss, I was about to cut in,” Friday says, “Spider-Man is three blocks away in an apartment that does not belong to him. He broke in and he is in distress.”

 Tony sucks in a breath, his eye twitching. “An apartment—dist—am I going in the right direction—”

 “Yes,” Friday says, sounding too goddamn calm, even for an AI, and she trills again, for his heart rate. “I will let you know where to park.”

 ~

 Tony is incapable of relaxing. It isn’t the time to relax. Nobody’s telling him to but he always feels like people are telling him to, he’s heard it so many times in his life.

 The only saving grace in this situation is that the goddamn owner of the apartment isn’t home, and Peter is too savvy to let the alarm go off to alert anybody, and Tony doesn’t know why the hell he’s here why here why now does he know these people did something happen here and of course he doesn’t know why he hasn’t seen him he hasn’t gotten to talk to him yet—

 And he can picture it now—SPIDER-MAN CHOOSES A LIFE OF CRIME, MORE AT 11—

 “Kid,” Tony breathes, and he tries not to touch anything as he slinks inside the open door like an accomplice to a robbery, “kid—”

 “TONY!” 

 Peter screams his name, booming and loud, louder than he’s ever sounded before. And Tony hears him before he sees him, and he staggers back and shuts the door when he hits it, and he clutches at his chest and Friday trills twice for his heart rate, a little more urgently.

 And Peter is standing there in the middle of this plush, eggshell-white Central Park view.

 And he doesn’t look good.

 He’s pale as a sheet, his eyes bloodshot, and it looks like there’s throw-up on the front of his suit. His hair’s a mess, and his breathing is hard and wheezy.

 “Don’t move,” Peter says. “Just stay right there. Stay on—on that spot right there that spot is uncompromised.”

 Tony stares at him. “Uncomp—Pete, we gotta go, we can’t—we don’t know this apartment, we weren’t invited here.”

 “How do you know?” Peter asks, looking at him incredulously.

 “Well, were you?” Tony asks, mouth agape, feeling like the stupidest person in the world.

 “This place was pulsing,” Peter says, too fast, all manic. “It was ready for liftoff, okay? That’s why I’m here but now there’s a problem. There’s a problem with the floor and it burned me three times. They say fool you once, uh fool you twice but three times, so… the whole apartment is a problem. The whole thing, I could see it from the outside and it might have fallen so…I had to go up. Here. Up here.”

 This isn’t good. This isn’t good. Tony stares at him and he can feel the very very not good hanging all over the room in tendrils. “Kid, you’re not making any sense at all, okay? Can you—can you just…slow down a little bit and—”

 “It’s too windy,” Peter says, shaking his head. He looks at him, sort of—looks through him, and then he focuses on him again. “Okay. Break. Team, uh—Tony. We can’t fix it now. We just need to abort, okay, just—spider, uh—spiderweb on out of here—you need to—listen, we can jump off the roof. That might be the right—the right, uh—”

 “Okay,” Tony says, more concerned with every new word that leaves his mouth. “Okay, Pete, I’m gonna come over there—”

 “No no no don’t move!” Peter yells, his hands outstretched in Tony’s direction. 

 “What?” Tony shouts, his heart slamming in his ears. “Peter.” 

 Peter stares down at Tony’s feet. “It’s gonna get you. It’s going to—it’s gonna start eating you like it’s been eating me.”

 And Tony knew, when Peter started talking, but in that moment he really knows, like a ding ding ding game show buzzer. It sinks in his gut.

 This is the poison’s fault. 

 And he’s stupid he’s so stupid, and suddenly it’s blindingly real and not at all a false alarm, it’s the ticking time clock in his head that he’d been tamping down on the way over here. It’s ticking, sand is running down, and it’s a race now. 

 A race to save him. 

 Too short. Not even a race. A fucking thousand yard hurdle.

 Will he really die if they can’t—can Tony figure this out on his own—who the hell does he have to call who should he get—they’ve never been able to track down this scorpion asshole before and why is this gonna be any different—

 He’s wasting time—

 Focus, for him—

 “Pete—”

 “It’s like acid like a river of acid it’s everywhere,” Peter says. “You’re gonna. Just. We have to like, leapfrog—maybe I can carry you on my back—”

 “Look, it’s gone,” Tony says, gesturing to the ground. “Not there, gone. Just floor.”

 Peter narrows his eyes. “No, it’s still there—Tony Tony Tony—”

 And he’s freaking out because Tony is walking towards him now, through—whatever LSD trip awfulness he’s imagining, and he’s gasping and gripping his hair and he reaches out and tugs him towards him when he’s close enough.

 “Okay, I don’t know how you did that,” Peter says, and his eyes are wild and a little glazed. “Did it get you? It’s green. It got me, it’s some sort of—acid, acid—you’re not even in the suit, you’re—”

 “Pete,” Tony says again, getting more desperate—and he holds Peter by the shoulders—

 “My legs are burning, this stuff, this is stuff—it’s everywhere—are you okay?” Peter asks, breathing hard. “It—you walked right through it—we’re in trouble, we’re—”

 “You’re hallucinating,” Tony says, trying to hold his gaze. “You got poisoned, and you tried to brush it off, and it’s here to kick your ass.” Too harsh, but it’s out already. 

 He doesn’t mention anything about three days. He doesn’t mention anything about death.

 Peter’s eyes cut to the side. “No, it’s, uh—it’s real. The apartment was—and now there’s—green acid, like an entire—like it’s an ocean of green acid in here and probably outside too and it’s consuming—and it’s in here it’s like—when water comes in during a hurricane—not that I’ve ever been in—but May had that one unlucky vacation in Florida—”

 “Listen,” Tony says, because he can hear the tick tock in his head. He has to get him to focus. “Listen, do you trust me? Pete, can you—”

 Peter stares at him. “I think the green acid ate Ned,” he whispers, tearing up.

 Tony heaves a sigh. Tick tock. “Buddy, close your eyes, and hold my hand, okay? Hold my hand, hold onto my shoulder with your other hand, and close your eyes. I have a way out.”

 Peter’s eyes only go wider. “You have a way out but I can’t see it?” he whispers.

 “That’s right,” Tony says, swallowing hard. “Just…trust me, okay, just—let’s go, we gotta get out of here.”

 Peter stares at him for what feels like an age, and tick tock tick tock, and then he grabs Tony’s hand and latches onto his shoulder and closes his eyes. 

 “Okay,” Tony says, squeezing his hand a couple times as he maneuvers towards the front door. “Okay, we are—skimming over the, uh, the surface—we are walking on water—”

 “Acid—”

 “Acid, but it’s fine—”

 ~

 He has Peter keep his eyes closed until they’re out of the building, and his heart is hammering in his ears. 

 Friday trills. Tony ignores. 

 Peter isn’t wearing his mask and he’s got the rest of the suit on and there are people around and goddamnit. Tony holds onto him and ushers him into the car and hopes he isn’t drawing too much attention.

 Peter sits like he’s frozen solid, and Tony runs red lights.

 Tick. Tock. 

 Peter grits his teeth. He’s antsy. “Are you not concerned about the roof being gone?” he asks, his voice wavering. “Because those things are…they’re all over the car, the things with the antenna and the beady eyes and the little stingers—”

 “Peter,” Tony says, swerving around a slow driver in front of him, “I don’t know whether to play into this and pretend but I guess—I’m—kid, you have been poisoned by that dickhead, that scorpion guy. He poisoned you, and he—he put—” a time limit on it and you’re gonna die if I don’t fucking find his ass or synthesize a cure—

 And you didn’t tell me you should have told me but I’m not gonna give you shit for it right now while you’re actively dying—

 “Who?” Peter nearly yells, and he reaches up and bangs on the roof. “Tony, Tony, it’s phasing in and out now—does that mean—are we gonna quantum leap—like that show—”

 “Pete, it’s not,” Tony says, reaching over and grabbing his arm and trying to keep his eye on the road. “None of these things are happening that you think—Peter—”

 “I think there’s one on your—far shoulder,” Peter says, holding onto Tony’s arm. “A big one, he looks—he’s got plans, Tony—”

 Tony has to pull to a stop at the next red light, and he sighs and holds onto Peter’s arm. “Kid, can you hear me? Can the logical part of your brain break through the fog and hear what I’m saying?” His voice wavers with the worry that’s trying to rise to the surface. 

 Peter just holds onto his arm and stares at him. His eyes are bulging out of his head and he’s clinging onto Tony’s arm like it’s his last lifetime. There’s sweat gathering on his forehead and in his hair and he looks like he’s getting paler.

 Somebody honks behind them and Tony sighs, putting on the gas, still holding onto Peter’s arm. 

 “Tony,” Peter breathes. “I think one of them just climbed inside your ear.”

 ~

 Tony puts on an actual timeclock when they get back to the new facility, and he calls Ned to get the right timing on it. Currently, he’s got two days, five hours, and fifty-three minutes.

 “What is it?” May asks, over Tony’s shoulder. “Do you know what it is yet?”

 Tony shakes his head. He’s still going over Peter’s bloodwork, and Helen is doing the same in her lab. He can see the tests she’s running on the screen, and they’re both cross-referencing with every known poison and every run-in any of them have had with something like this. It isn’t often that Tony gets poisoned, with his suit of choice. He wishes Peter would wear the goddamn iron spider more often. 

 He wishes he could keep this shit from ever happening in the first place, to any of his team and his friends but to Peter especially, but what is he gonna do? He can’t swing around in a steel box, or in a bubble, like that movie—

 Tony rests his elbows on the table and rubs his eyes. He feels that pressure all over him, like he always does when Peter is in danger, but this one is different. He doesn’t think he’s been—on a time clock, with Peter’s death at the end of it.

 Peter’s death, last breath, eyes going glassy—

 No, no—

 It sends chills down the back of Tony’s neck, it makes him feel like he’s gonna throw up—

 Tick tock—

 It was bad enough the first time and that wasn’t even a proper death—this would be, this could be bloody and gasping and—

 “How’s he doing?” Tony asks, spinning his chair around and looking at May. He tries to keep the horrors out of his eyes.

 “Um, not great,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “It seems to be just—getting worse. He still thinks there’s water rising in the room and that he’s trapped and he still thinks the ‘acid’ earlier burned up his legs, but you know that—”

 “Nothing there,” Tony says, clawing at his own throat a little bit, anxiety choking him. 

 He cracks his jaw and blows out a breath and glances up into Peter’s room. The kid is still pacing, and he’s in there with MJ and Ned, talking close to their faces, all wild-eyed and gesturing, pulling his IV pole around. He already sweat through his shirt and he’s hardly retaining any fluids. None of the trial antidotes they’ve got lying around have worked. None of the preventative measures have prevented shit. Peter’s been rambling about someone having cloned the Avengers years ago, and how the floor keeps rumbling because there’s going to be an earthquake in the building. He keeps lifting MJ up and putting her on the bed because he thinks there’s a monitor lizard trying to eat her. 

 And the original wound on his shoulder is full of pus and bruised, black in some spots. They’re trying to treat that too, even though Peter barely recognizes Helen and her team when they come into his room. He always squares up, like he needs to fight them.

 “This isn’t a fair game,” May says, with venom, watching Peter. She wipes her eyes and looks at Tony again, like it’s too hard to keep focusing on the problem. “But I guess we can’t expect fairness from people who want to…hurt others.”

 “I’m gonna fix it,” Tony croaks, because he’s getting teary-eyed now, too, and he turns around and faces the computer and sets up the new ingredient trials. He’s still got a bunch he needs to test, it’s fine, they’re out there looking for this asshole in teams, it’s fine, he wishes he was out there looking too and that’s not fine, and if Peter was right about the clones Tony would leave his clone here and he’d be out there searching and they’d swap—

 “I’m gonna fix it,” he says again, eyes cutting over to the time clock.

 It’s not enough time it’s not enough time it’s not it’s—

 ~

 Peter is—

 The world floats and—

 Of course it floats, and no, it’s not floating, it’s gravity, stupid, and—

 He’s walking down the hallway one minute MINUTE HEY LISTEN YOU’RE and he’s dragging something along with him one minute and HE SAID THREE DAYS STOP LETTING IT TAKE and then the next his arm is bloody and he leans against the wall and he falls into the next room because there are no more walls and—

 He braces his hand on the tile and the tile crunches into wet sand and his hand presses into it an imprint hand and footprint Hollywood Humphrey Bogart and Ben saying he had big hands for a tiny guy huh

 And then there’s the monitor lizard again. Hissing and rampaging towards him.

 “Stop,” Peter says, pointing at him. “She’s not here she’s—”

 Then he’s in bed again. And there’s Tony. And there’s a big fire flames in the corner licking at the wallpaper and it's hot on Peter’s face and trying to singe Tony’s hair. It’s so hot it’s blue. It’s so hot it’s burning Peter’s eyes out of his head.

 “This is the third time,” Tony says, and his voice is echoes, inside one of those water tubes, water spouts? Itsy bitsy spider? “No more getting up and roaming the halls, Pete, please, okay? Jesus, and stop taking out your—”

 The fire gets really big before Peter can even say anything about it and it explodes in a big fireball and tries to consume the entire room, and Peter grabs Tony and tries to cover his head and hide his own face at the same time and—

 “Buddy, buddy, relax, relax—”

 But Peter can barely hear him above the explosions and it’s hot it’s burning it’s all over—

 He groans, screwing his eyes shut, and how’s he supposed to fight fire? “It’s burning it’s—we have to get out we have to—”

 “Nothing’s burning, it’s in your head, it’s in your head,” Tony says, and he’s ruffling Peter’s hair, a gentle feeling amongst all this big and bad and fire, and he’s squeezing Peter’s shoulder and then water—water is trickling out of the walls. Peter can see it over Tony’s shoulder. 

 “It’s in your head, okay?” Tony says, softly, and when he pulls back he phases a bit. In and out. On top of himself like a copy. Like a bad copy like when Peter used the copier at May’s work for his NYC transit project and it spit it out all inky and Peter covers his eyes with his hand. 

 “We can’t stop it,” he breathes, breathes, is he breathing still—

 “Lemme try this one,” Tony says, and he’s still gentle, voice calm waves. “This should help, okay? We’re trying the natural steroid with the anti-toxin—it should—it should work—if the tests—if I know anything at all—”

 And the room changes again.

 Tony isn’t there and the room is smaller, the walls are trying to. Trash compactor. Rectangular and square and there are windows and they move and they morph and he can see the green acid is still outside and it’s rising out there, and that means people are dying, that means—it burned Peter and he’s—he’s who he is, with them they’d be burning—burning alive—

 “It should have worked,” Tony’s voice, but he’s not in here. Is he in the walls? Are they squashing him? “It should have, goddamnit—”

 “It’s close, everything improved there for about twenty—”

 “He was practically catatonic and now he’s worse again—has Sam updated you yet, Helen, because I think he’s afraid to tell me he hasn’t found anything—I gotta fucking get out there—Happy’s out there driving around and Pepper is too and I’m fucking useless—”

 “TICK TOCK,” a voice says.

 A bad voice. Sounds like a stereotypical New Jersey background actor but this one Peter knows, and then he spins around on the spot and all the windows go and then the room shrinks and it shrinks fast fast fast fast too fast a not-fun funhouse and he can’t even try to stop it and he throws his arms out but the walls crush him into something small—

 “FUN GAME, HUH, SPIDER? CLOCK IS TICKING DOWN. THEN I WIN.”

 Peter is running—

 —but there’s nothing, there’s nothing it’s blackness and echoes and nothing anywhere, except when he steps on something it zaps him, like a taser, and it makes him tremble and his face sags and the aftershocks run through him and he feels off course, and he tries to run in the opposite direction but what’s the opposite direction in a void and he’s zapped again, and he tries to go—a couple steps back and—it’s so dark he can’t see and when he tries to yell nothing comes out, nothing, and he grabs at his own throat and tries to pull his voice out and—

 A full body zap and he collapses, seizing—

 In the room again.

 In the bed.

 Handcuffed, to the bed. Soft straps, around his wrists and his ankles, connecting to the bars of the bed.

 “How the hell did he even get in that room?”

 “God, I don’t know—how does he get anywhere—”

 Tony and May are on either side of him, and the acid is in the room again. They’re sitting on the bed so they’re out of the way of it but it’s rising, and Peter swallows hard, peering down at it.

 “I can get out of these,” Peter says, and he tries to concentrate and break them, and it’s usually so easy, it’s usually very easy, and he breathes hard, watching the acid break and splash against the wall. It eats away at it. “Tony, May, why would you—”

 “You keep getting up and hurting yourself,” May says, and she sniffles, and she—her face is in darkness. He can’t see her face. “You don’t have much time and you keep—”

 “May—”

 Tony’s voice, but he can’t see his face either, they’re both, they’re—their faces, they don’t have faces they don’t have faces no eyes nose mouth nothing nothing—

 He closes his eyes and keeps rattling the handcuffs. Why aren’t they breaking? Why aren’t they?

 “You’re weak right now,” Tony says, and Peter squeezes his eyes shut because he can’t—he can’t look he can’t—

 ~

 “We didn’t wanna do it, Peter,” Tony says, feeling shame, watching him thrash around. 

 And if this was normal, he’d try to convince him to stay still, to stop getting up and breaking into storage rooms and labs and they���d take them off, but he’s—he’s barely in there. Barely lodged in his own head. The hallucinations are too strong and they barely have a day left. They haven’t found Scorpion and they haven’t figured it out themselves—

 And is Peter going to die like this? Wasting away, handcuffed to the medbay bed by two of the people who love him most?

 He’ll uncuff him if he’s dying and what kind of thing is that to fucking say what kind of thing is that to even think to even fathom—

 A wave of horror goes through Tony’s entire body and he reaches for the right cuff—

 “Tony, he’ll be out in five seconds flat,” May says.

 “Not if we’re in here—”

 “We were in here before and he got past us—”

 “Please, Tony,” Peter says, and he’s still trying to break them, and he just might, if he keeps trying. Not all of his strength is gone. Not yet. 

 Peter’s eyes are teary and pleading, and he looks so pale, so tired. “Please, the acid is—it’s rising and if I’m cuffed here I’ll—you guys can get out but if you leave me cuffed here it’ll—it’ll burn it’ll kill me—”

 Tony feels insane. He can’t take this. He leans forward, holding Peter’s shoulder with one hand and cupping his face with the other. “Listen,” he says, and Peter is looking at him, but that hasn’t meant much, since this started. “Listen. There’s no acid. You’ve been poisoned, and you’re dying, Pete, you’re dying. We’re trying to help but we—we…” His voice gets caught again and he shakes his head, but Peter is still looking at him. 

 He doesn’t wanna say that out loud he doesn’t want to acknowledge it because it can’t be true it can’t—

 “It was Scorpion,” May says, and she’s rubbing Peter’s left arm up and down. “If you know, anywhere inside you, baby, if you know where he might be—anything, any possibility—”

 “May, you gotta let me go,” Peter says, and he shakes them both off, thrashing harder. “The acid, the acid, I’m gonna drown—I gotta—”

 Tony gets up, turning around and covering his face with his hand. He can’t stand it. He can’t fucking stand it. He’s shaking and he feels like he’s gonna pass out.

 “Peter, baby, please,” May whispers.

 “May, please let me go,” Peter pleads. “Please, please, the acid—”

 “I’m gonna go fly around,” Tony says, dizzy and sick, the time ticking away in his head. “I’m gonna go—search for myself.”

 “Tony,” May calls, but he doesn’t look back.

 ~

 The acid is licking at the edges of the bed now, splashing up onto Peter’s legs and burning him. Peter sobs and grits his teeth and keeps trying, keeps trying, thrashing and wearing rug burns onto his wrists and ankles and maybe this wasn’t Tony, maybe this was the clone, and the acid is rising up and rising up and Peter tries to hold his arms up as much as he can and the windows are back and swapping around on the walls like bad Tetris and he’s about to yell out for May when—

 Scorpion. Big Scorpion. In the corner of the room.

 Laughing at him.

 And the acid seems to cling to him when he moves. Like a neon sign.

 ~

 And after six hours of looking all over God’s green earth, after watching Peter’s time dwindle to just under a day, May calls to tell Tony that Peter is gone.

 “Gone?” Tony screams, nearly crashing into One Vanderbilt.

 “Not dead,” she says, and the crying doesn’t help. “But gone, he—broke out of the cuffs when I went to get him something to eat. He was really bad off, it was getting—so bad, and I left and I wasn’t gone for long and he just—now we can’t—everyone is looking, everything is activated—”

 “Friday,” Tony stammers, and she confirms by throwing it all up on the screen.

 May gasps and tries to keep talking. “He—doesn’t have a suit, we didn’t—see him take one, and there’s not—no tracking, but we’re—”

 “I’ll find him,” Tony breathes, changing his trajectory.

 ~

 And it feels like another lie.

 He couldn’t come up with an antidote. He couldn’t find Scorpion. He couldn’t even make Peter comfortable, couldn’t soothe him, couldn’t counteract anything, and worse yet the last thing he did before he left was handcuff Peter to the bed, a severe breach of trust no matter what the hell’s going on, and he shouldn’t have done it, he shouldn’t have, he should have just kept chasing him down, bringing him back, but he was going into other rooms and electrocuting himself on old machines, for God’s sake—

 And Tony searches and searches and he doesn’t even register the time until the clock runs out.

 The clock runs out.

 It runs out, all zeroes, and Tony is in the air in Queens and everyone else is scattered and the time runs out. The three days, they ran together like watercolor, like broken glass in the trash bin, and it’s over and it’s done and he’s—he’s—

 He’s not in front of them, so they don’t know. 

 Tony gets a few calls, but he ignores them, setting his jaw and trying not to cry.

 He can’t be dead he can’t be he can’t be—

 They’d send messages if they’d found Peter, if they’d—

 Tony keeps searching. He can’t breathe but he keeps searching.

 “Friday, take that shit off the screen,” Tony rasps, trying to see through his tears.

 The zeroes disappear.

 ~

 And Peter doesn’t come home.

 Tony doesn’t like the phrase ‘presumed dead’, and yet, somehow, the news starts splashing it across their headlines about seven hours after the time clock runs out. 

 SPIDER-MAN PRESUMED DEAD, and it’s everywhere, on all the networks, to the point where reporters start showing up at Stark facilities, including their new home base. And Tony doesn’t understand why, or what the fuck happened, and he hasn’t eaten and he hasn’t gone back and he hasn’t stopped looking, so what the hell do they know that he doesn’t?

 “Nothing,” Rhodey says, on the phone. “They don’t know anything, Pepper and I interrogated Don at CNN and he just got a tip, a bunch of them did, but they don’t know anything for real.”

 “They don’t have any actual information?”

 “Just a story,” Rhodey says. “No sightings, no anything, I don’t know why they’re taking it seriously. Pepper is with May, she’s—not dealing with any of this well, and I know you’re not either, so you need to—you should come home, just for a little bit, okay? Just to eat, just to see us, and then—”

 “No, I gotta keep looking,” Tony says, continuing his scans and sweeps of the street. He’s sure Iron Man’s presence in the sky isn’t doing them any favors in terms of the story. 

 And what is he looking for? A dead body? A miracle?

 “Tony.”

 “Rhodey, I gotta keep—I gotta keep looking.”

 ~

 And he does, and he doesn’t find anything. He essentially starts going door to door and he doesn’t fucking find anything. He shakes Electro out of his cave and he doesn’t know shit, he finds that rat gang of assholes and they don’t know anything either. 

 And Tony comes home after a day and a half and nearly passes out. From not eating, from exhaustion, from grief, from too many zeroes and too much silence. That headline. Failure.

 The ghost of Peter’s face—

 You need to come to terms—

 No. No.

 He sits in a dark room with half a bagel and he can’t face May. He can’t face MJ or Ned or his own wife or anybody that loves Spider-Man.

 He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t do anything, at all. He was completely and utterly fucking useless. No wonder Peter didn’t come to him.

 Where is his body gonna be? Who’s gonna find it? What will he be wearing in his casket? The kid doesn’t like suits. 

 Tony covers his face with his hands. His breath comes out in tremors.

 ~

 And Tony feels like he’s hallucinating now. Everything moves in stop-motion. 

 “Come sleep,” Pepper says, kissing his forehead. “Just for a little while.”

 He says something back to her. He doesn’t know what it is, and she gives him that look, like she pities him, like she wishes she could take it all away. But she kisses him again and leaves, and he’s alone, terrified he might see May around the corner.

 He drifts, lost in his own pain and failure, and the memories and Peter’s chit-chat and everything he’ll never get to say again, and Tony’s just about to leave to suit up again when he gets the alert.

 “Boss, Peter Parker is at door B5 on the second level.” 

 Everything comes to a screeching halt. It catches up with itself. 

 Tony leaps to his feet, and Friday trills for his heart rate. It seems like the world is thrown off its axis for a second—or it’s reset back on it—

 Tony reaches for something that isn’t there, trying to steady, trying to—

 Peter. Peter. Peter at the door?

 Not dead. Not dead. What the fuck is going on?

 “Peter?” he breathes, already moving, not of his own accord. “Friday, it’s—are you—are you sure—”

 “Peter Parker, B5.”

 And Tony races there. Doesn’t think. Races through the empty hallways and nearly busts his ass on the stairwell. And when he reaches the door he can hear someone trying to scan in, and failing, more than one time, and he feels like an alarm would have already gone off if Friday didn’t know who it was.

 “Friday, let him in—”

 And the door opens just as Tony grabs the handle, and Peter stumbles inside.

 Tony catches him when his legs give out, and Peter laughs a little bit, holding onto Tony’s arms. 

 He laughs. A laugh.

 “Hey, hey,” Tony stutters, and he kicks the door closed and gets a hold of Peter around the waist. “Jesus, Jesus Christ—sitting or standing? I can do either one. Expert at either one.”

 Alive alive he’s here—

 “Uh, standing,” Peter says, gripping Tony’s arm and his shoulder. “Geeze, sorry. Still…wobbly.” He finally looks up at him—his eyes are so much brighter, and he’s gotten some of his color back.

 Alive. Alive, not dead. Alive, solid, real.

 How? How?

 “What the hell happened?” Tony breathes. He glances around, panic rising in his throat, and he feels dizzy. “No, you know what, I choose sitting, I forgot there was a couch here—c’mere, c’mere bud, easy, easy—”

 Peter snorts. “Okay yeah—good idea, uh—”

 “Tell me what happened,” Tony says, moving them over there, sitting down. He keeps an arm around him, and brushes his hair back from his forehead so he can see his face better. 

 Disbelief. He can barely breathe he can barely think—

 Peter shakes his head, closes his eyes, sags into Tony’s side. “Um—it’s still like, a mess, in my head, but I think like—I don’t know, I saw Scorpion, in the hallucination, and I—the acid, that I thought was there, it like—it pointed to him. And when I broke out of the handcuffs—”

 “I’m so sorry,” Tony says, his face burning. “I’m so sorry.”

 “No—I—listen, I get it, it’s okay—but the acid, it kept—even when he disappeared, the acid was neon and made like a trail and I—found him. I don’t know. I don’t know why it worked. Maybe something like a signature in the poison he made and my brain and him—I don’t know.”

 He really looks at Tony, and Tony can see he’s bloody at the corner of his mouth, and he’s got a black eye. 

 Tony’s heart lurches. “Are you okay?” he asks, tipping Peter’s chin towards him, and Peter nods. “You got the—”

 “I got it,” Peter breathes, nodding slowly. “Antidote. He actually seemed impressed—”

 “Where is he now?” Tony says, blinking, feeling displaced. 

 “I left without a suit, so—I—he was in this warehouse. They’re always in a warehouse. I just piled as much shit on top of him as I could without killing him. He was knocked out, it was—hard but it’s—he should still be there.”

 Tony nods. He’s gotta get somebody on that. 

 He’s shaking with the emotion of it all, and he stares at him, tries to believe it, tries to live in it. He’s here. He’s here. 

 Tony deflates a little bit, and he leans forward and presses his forehead to Peter’s, closing his eyes. “Jesus, Pete, I thought you were dead.”

 “Me too,” Peter says, laughing a little bit. He pats Tony’s knee. “Can’t get rid of me that easy though, so—don’t, uh—sorry, my brain is still mushy peas.”

 “It’s okay, it’s—we gotta tell May, she’s been half insane—”

 And like clockwork, Tony hears her coming down the stairs. 

 “Tony,” she’s yelling, and Tony peels away from Peter to look. “Tony, I heard—Friday sent a notification—”

 She sees Peter, stuttering in her tracks briefly, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. But then she’s running again, at full speed, and Tony helps Peter stand up.

 “Hey May,” Peter breathes, and she rushes at him, wrapping him up in her arms. 

 “Oh, my baby,” she says, clutching at him. “My baby, Peter, you’re alive. You’re alive, thank God, thank God.”

 “Yeah,” Peter says, rubbing her back, looking a little unsteady on his feet. “The news, uh—I told you they get it wrong a lot.”

 “Come on,” Tony says, patting Peter’s shoulders. “Let’s—let’s go get you checked out.”

 ~

 Happy goes to pick up MJ and Ned. Pepper deals with the news and the police. Rhodey heads out with Sam to get Scorpion and put him away for good.

 And Tony and May watch while Helen checks Peter out. His levels are all getting back to normal, for real this time. His body is recovering, and the hallucinations are gone. Peter still has the “antidote bottle” that asshole gave him, and Helen takes it to test, to make sure they’ll have everything covered for next time. 

 Next time. There better not be a next time. Tony’s heart can’t take it.

 “He did it all himself,” Tony says, when he and May are heading back into the room where Peter is. “I didn’t help at all—actually, I hindered. I actively hindered.”

 “You kept him safe, and he felt safe, even if he didn’t really know it,” May says. “He feels comfort in us, even if we can’t—fix it, every time.”

 Tony blows out a breath.

 “And I know you want to be able to fix it,” she says, as they reach the door. “But you wanted him to be better than you, didn’t you? You said that to him once?”

 He freezes. It hits him like a pile of bricks, but all she does is smile. She opens the door and they walk inside and Peter is already getting out of bed.

 “No more acid?” May asks, glancing back at Tony.

 “No more acid,” Peter says. He crosses his arms over his chest, and shakes his head. “I barely remember any of it. Just sort of like—flashes of a very bad movie.”

 “Yeah,” Tony croaks, emerging from his shock. “You broke into Beyoncé’s apartment.”

 Both Peter and May whip their heads up to look at him.

 “Beyoncé?” they both nearly yell, in unison, and Tony snorts.

 “No,” he says. “I don’t know.” He feels hazy still, and he swallows hard, trying to focus. “C’mere, I need a—real hug, real quick.”

 “You mean not quick at all?” Peter asks, smiling at him with that bright, familiar smile that was lost the past couple days.

 Could have been counted down to being lost forever.

 Tony hugs him, squeezes his eyes shut, and doesn’t think about that. He rubs Peter’s shoulder and sways them both a bit, and doesn’t think about that. There’s no more ticking in his head, and Peter’s…Peter’s back. 

 “Maybe it was Beyoncé’s apartment,” Tony says, before the emotions overwhelm him, cradling Peter’s head. “It’s not out of the question. We’re gonna have to find out.”

 “Yeah, we’re gonna have to—resolve that before the Beyhive finds me,” Peter says, still hugging him. “They’ll figure out my identity immediately.”

 Tony pulls back, shaking his head at him. “I don’t know what a Beyhive is.”

 “Don’t cross them, that’s what I’m saying,” Peter says. “And the other thing I’m saying is, I’m extremely hungry, and I might…I might die, if we don’t resolve that sooner rather than later.” He raises his eyebrows. “Tick tock.”

 He’s trying to be cute and funny, to make them feel better, like things are getting back to normal after another round of hell courtesy of Spider-Man’s enemies. But Tony and May look at each other with a different kind of understanding of that phrase now.

 “Okay,” Tony says, wrapping his arm around Peter’s shoulders, while May gently takes his elbow. “That, I can help with.”

#iron dad #tony stark #peter parker #irondad #iron man #spider-man #works by iron_spider #irondad fic #marvel fic

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine finding out Shanks is a picky eater

Benn: So lucky Roo has a cold and is down for the count, so you're going to need someone to take over the cook's duties.

Yassop: the only other people on the crew that can cook would be the captain and (y/n)

The crew: *shudder at the thought of Shanks' cooking*

Benn: let's put it to a vote, raise your hand for Shanks.

You and Shanks: *raise your hands*

Benn: Now show a raise of hands for (y/n)

The crew: *raises their hands.*

You: no! Please no.

Yassop: *pats you on the head* it's what Lucky Roo would want.

You: don't talk about him like he's dead, ugh fine I'll take over the cook's position.

Later when you're preparing dinner

You: *looking through the cabinets for a ladle only to find an entire cupboard filled with instant make and cheese.* What the fuck? Lucky Roo! What is this shit? *makes your way to the infirmary* Lucky, why in the absolute fuck is there so much box mac n cheese in the kitchen?

Lucky Roo: uh, oh that's for the captain, he usually refuses to eat what's cooked, mac n cheese is a safe fall back to get him to eat something.

You: Ya can't wait him out?

Lucky Roo: *shakes his head* nah, the stubborn bastard would rather starve.

You: ugh, fine I guess I'll just go ask him what he likes

Lucky Roo: His answer isn't helpful.

In the Captain's cabin

Shanks: it just has to be interesting to eat.

You: like how? Flavor texture?

Shanks: both? Like kimchi fried rice with lobster or tamales!

You: *understands what he likes food with complex textures and strong flavors* ohh okay, is seafood chow mein good with you?

Shanks: hmm, maybe we'll have to see.

You: *not confident* ugh I'm just going to heat up so mac n cheese just in case.

An hour later in the mess hall

You: how is it?

Shanks: *happily munching away* good

You: Good, good, the mac n cheese I made just in case will be in the fridge.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #akagami no shanks imagine #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #akagami no shanks #shanks #red haired shanks x reader #red haired pirates #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #8/18/22 #no beta we die like men

[freneticfloetry]

Actual writing is happening! Just not in the same place at once. Progress is progress, I guess? Thanks to @heartstringsduet, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @strandnreyes, @orchidscript, and @carlos-in-glasses for the tag love.

"Uh, wow. What's the occasion?" Carlos freezes for a split second, covered with a shrug as he sets the platter on the table. "Just had a taste for them, I guess. It's not a big deal." He looks up just as TK raises an eyebrow, smiles shakily around an audible swallow. "What?" "Nothing. Just… there was this food cart in Midtown, not far from the firehouse. Good tacos, better burritos, but once every blue moon the guy would have tamales on the menu. He'd go on and on about how much work they were for his wife, with all the filling and the folding and the steaming… the same spiel every time someone wondered why he didn't offer them more often. Or gave him shit about the fact that were five bucks a pop." TK takes a deep breath, waiting for the same sharp edge of cold, cornered panic that had sent him running once before. But as he looks from the spread to Carlos' caught face, so far from If it looks like a lot of work, don't worry, it was, all that comes is a rush of warmth, and he can only smile and fondly shake his head. "You're so cute."

Tagging @ambiguouspenny, @never-blooms, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @reyesstrand, @rmd-writes, @welcometololaland, and @alrightbuckaroo. No pressure!

#wip wednesday #my fic #the same in every language #the proverbial plate

[hmslusitania]

If you build it…

another 5x18 spec because I am useless at all other thing s

Buck is not…a handy person. He’s good with power tools, obviously, has to be for work. Drills, chainsaws, axes, halligans, sledgehammers. Give Buck something to destroy and he can pull it apart in ten seconds and look good doing it.

Also, he’s never lived anywhere that he was allowed to change the basic structure of the place. So the caulk? Spackle? Drywall putty?? aisle of Lowe’s is a foreign land. Buck doesn’t know how to make things.

But fuck it, he’s gonna learn.

The lady at the paint counter is helpful when he doesn’t know the exact shade of off-white-taupe-beige, and lets him leave with some samples. Apparently looking helpless as shit and like he hasn’t slept in a week goes far.

His plan, his thought, is that if he fixes it, if he sets it all up pretty, then maybe — maybe Eddie will let him stay.

On his way back to Eddie’s, he stops at the grocery store to get beer. It feels like the thing to do, right? It’s guy stuff, fixing walls, having a beer, all that jazz.

Eddie hadn’t wanted Buck to come pick him up from the airport. They were getting in late, and it was just easier to take an Uber. So it means that when Eddie and Chris get home, Buck is still crouched on the floor of Eddie’s room with the …drywall putty and a spatula.

“Uh, hello?” Eddie calls from the living room.

Because Buck’s stuff is in neat piles by the couch.

“Its just me!” Buck calls back.

“Hi Buck!” Christopher shouts, and he sounds tired but happy and the next thing Buck hears is the clack of crutches down the hall and then Chris’s arms are around his shoulders.

“Hey buddy!” Buck says. “How was Texas?”

“Abuelita made tamales,” Christopher says which is apparently the thing that matters most. Buck appreciates that. He’s missed Isabel’s tamales since she moved back to El Paso too.

“I’m very jealous,” Buck says.

“We were gonna try to bring some back but we weren’t sure if they would get seized by airport security or not, so she’s gonna try and freeze some and mail them,” Christopher says.

“And someone here is about to crash from travelling,” Eddie says. Buck looks up and past Christopher’s shoulder to see Eddie leaning in the doorframe, looking down at Buck and Christopher with a warm, fond smile.

“I’m not tired,” Chris insists and betrays himself with a yawn. “Ugh, fine.”

He hugs Buck again and then heads off to brush his teeth. Once he’s in the bathroom with the door shut, Eddie’s expression turns to worry.

“Hen, Chim, I saw the news and—”

“They’re good,” Buck says. “Yeah, no, they’re okay.”

Eddie exhales and drops his suitcase on the foot of his bed. “Good. I mean, I figured if anything was — if they were — you’d have called me.”

“Yeah, of course,” Buck says. “But they’re good. Really. And Jonah’s in jail and he’s gonna go away for a long, long time.”

“Good,” Eddie says. He unzips his suitcase and Buck feels his eyes linger on the back of his head. “So, uh, what are you doing?”

“Making myself useful,” Buck says, holding up the putty spatula. The wall doesn’t look wildly better he has to admit. Lack of experience is ruining him. “Sort of.”

“And, uh, the bags out in the living room…”

“I broke up with Taylor,” Buck blurts.

“Oh,” Eddie says in the most neutral flat tone Buck’s ever heard him say. “You broke up with her. With bad feelings?”

The distant echo of shattering porcelain rings in Buck’s ears. He hadn’t taken Taylor for the type to smash all his shit — no, just in an ephemeral sense, in a fuck your family I’m going to publish everything sort of way — but, well, in the end, how well did they really know each other?

“Yeah,” Buck says. “With some real fucking bad feelings.”

“Oh thank god,” Eddie exhales.

For the first time since, Buck laughs.

“And you’re — I’m sure you’re not okay yet and apparently you’re sleeping on my couch but, you’re like….”

“I’m fine,” Buck promises. And he is, for now. Somewhat. Its like the moment after you get out of the water when you’ve been drowning. You feel like absolute two day old laundry and like the salt down your throat is going to pickle you from the inside out, but you’re not actively dying anymore. And so its better.

“And so you’re…here. Fixing my wall,” Eddie says.

“Trying to, anyway,” Buck says. “I’m not really great at making shit as it turns out. How was Texas? Besides the tamales.”

“It was…good,” Eddie says. He clears his throat and Buck looks up at him again. He’s taking a second to rub at his eyes. “Yeah, it was a good start, I think.”

“Good,” Buck says. “Good. I’m glad.”

Eddie’s hand drops to Buck’s shoulder and very gently, he squeezes. “Did you get a second spatula?”

“I wasn’t sure what kind to get, so, yes,” Buck says, fishing the second one out of the bag.

Eddie inspects the second spatula and the project on the wall.

“Why don’t we put this away for the night,” Eddie suggests. “And tomorrow maybe we can try making something together.”

#you don’t find it son you #9-1-1 #911 spoilers #911fic #buddie #anti bucktaylor #the ghost ship scribbles

[im-yn-suckers]

they dont match butttttt, I. DO. NOT. CARE. PERIODT.

pairing- bf choi yeonjun x mexican female reader

warnings- hugs, kisses, food, not proofread, uhhhhh idk what else lol

yes, i did it. coming from a mexican female, i think i have a say in this. where all my mexicanas at? i love yall🫶🏻

christmas with your parents was an exciting topic for yeonjun. he always wanted to meet your parents and was extremely excited to meet them on christmas.

you arrive at you parents house and yeonjun was flowing with excitement and joy. he was excited to stay the night and he wanted to see how you lived growing up. you werent nervous about him meeting your parents at all because you knew theyd get along. you were a bit worried about the food.

what if he didnt like it? would it make your parents feel guilty? no, hes going to love it.

"mija! your here! oh i missed you!" your mom greeted you at the door as soon as she saw you. you hugged your dad next.

"mija! how are you?" "im ok, papi" yea, you called him papi, and? he your father, you love him.

"mijo! its so nice to finally meet you! how are you?" "yes it is! im alright, mrs.-" "oh, dont start that nonsense, call me mama." you heart melted at the sight of your mom and your boyfriend getting along so well.

"mijo, how are you?" "im good, mr.-" "call me suegro" (it means father in law in spanish). "alright" your dad shook yeonjuns hand and smiled very fondly at him.

"so! shall we have some dinner!" "lets eat!"

the table was decorated with pozole, tamales, pico de gallo, enchiladas and mole. yeonjun was left amazed at all the dishes on the table.

you two ere standing as your mom brought out the bowls, spices, and anything you could imagine.

"sit down mijo, get whatever you'd like, i made pozole and tamales. if you dont like that theres pico de gallo, enchiladas, mole, and theres desserts."

"thank you" he served himself some pozole and you grabbed the bowl of tortilla chips to eat with the pozole. (thats how i eat it lmao, if you eat it differently, adjust it as you wish)

"uh, y/n how do i eat it?" he nervously giggled and stared at his bowl in confusion.

"you can use your spoon to drink the soup, you can roll up the tortilla to dip it in the soup and use the spoon to eat the chicken and the corn. and you can also put lime, lettuce, raddish, and chile in it."

"ok, thank you" he did as you told him to and his face lit up with delight when he took the first spoonful. "wow, this so good!'

"im glad you liked it, mijo!''

he served himself one enchilada, a small spoonful of mole, and some pico de gallo, you cant forget the tamal he put on his plate.

he ate some of everything and he loved every bite of it. you mom served him a glass of horchata and he had two cups of it!

"i'll clean up you guys go and wait in the living room, and when im done we can eat dessert!" your mom obviously could not wait until a certain dessert that ill leave to your imagination for now.

"i'll help you pick up!" yeonjun immediately refused to sit down and went to go help you mom.

in the living room, you and your dad were chatting. "so, yeonjun, really liked the food, huh, mija?" "yea, he loved it. i think he liked moms pozole best though. the chiltipin helped a lot too." "well, your mom made a lot for your could take leftovers home." "i'd love that. also, mami never made this much food for christmas when i was a little girl. we only had pozole and we bought the horchata, did she make it?' ' she did, and she was going to make birria but it takes too long." "aww, i love her birria" "come get desserts guys!!" your mom poked out of the kitchen and called you in.

when you walked in, the table had a big rosca de reyes in the middle and buñuelos and conchas, and mugs of champurrado. oh, how you missed the nostalgic smell.

"ok, who wants the first piece of it?" "be careful, if you get the baby, you need to make the tamales for everybody" "oh, uh. should i get the first piece?" "if you want" "papi, did you get the baby?" " no thankfully" "mami, give me this piece" "no baby!!!" "yeonjun, here you go!" she gave him a random slice and she bought the rosca de reyes so, she couldnt cheat. "did you get it baby?" "uh, yea." your family burst into laughter at the fact that yeonjun, who had tasted tamales for the first time today, was stuck making them!" "ay, mijo! i'll give you guys the recipe dont worry."

all the dessert was delicious and so was the champurrado. you and yeonjun cleaned up as your parents set up the living room for gifts and maybe some mistletoe. but shhhh. they may be mexican but, they still follow the trends duh.

"so, we gotta make tamales for the boys huh"

"i guess, but i dont know how to make them. and your lucky, mami never made this much food on christmas."

"im her favorite i guess" "when i was a kid, i always dreamed of getting the baby. when i turned fifteen, me and my sister got it and we were stuck with making tamales. never wanted the baby ever again."

yeonjun laughed as you walked into the living room with your mom and dad waiting. a big present marked yeonjun and y/n was waiting in your seat.

"open this one first!" you opened it and a big ol pot was wrapped up. your mom and dad were laughing and you and yeonjun were smiling. you mostly wanted to cry, you cant make tamales like girl.

everyone opened up their gifts and they gave you guys some to give to the boys back home. "alright, its really late lets go to sleep." you and yeonjun got ready for bed and went into your parents guest room. it was filled with pictures of your childhood an teen years and stuff you wouldnt really display yourself.

"good night mijo! buenas noches mija! te amo! (i love you)" your mom told you both as you were walking into your room. "buenas noches mami. te amo!" "good night mama!" you wouldve definitely melted into putty right there and then if you could.

you plopped into the bed and waited for yeonjun to finish changing. "your moms so sweet. y/n!" "i know, she was texting me nonstop in the morning asking what time we were heading over." "aww," he laid down and kissed you softly. "goodnight baby" "goodnight my love"

in the morning you were woken up with a torta that smelled like heaven. you needed to leave soon so you ate then went to your room to clean up your things. "we only ate beans and tortilas for breakfast when i was a kid. you must really be the favorite." "she loves me''

"alright, mami. the cars loaded, we're gunna get going."

"oh, wait!" she brought out three(BIG) full bags of containers of food.

"wow, this is alot. " "good, now no one will have to cook for at least a day." "with five men in the house, itll be gone in an hour"

"bye mijo, it was nice having you over and meeting you." "thank you suegro. it was nice meeting you too" yep, melted again.

"mija, bye, i love you." "bye papi, i love you too"

"mija, bye, i'll miss you. thank you for coming over. i love you" "i'll miss you too, thanks for having us. i love you too mami"

"ay mijo. i dont want you to leave." "i dont want to leave either"

"bye mijo, thank you so much for coming. i'll miss you." ''bye, mama. thank you for having us. i'll miss you too."

you two walked out the front door and got into the car.

"love you guys! say hi to the boys for me!" "we will mami! love you too!"

"bye mama! love you!!!"

and with that, you were driving back to your house. yeonjun intertwined your hands and kissed it. man he was hot driving with one hand.

the end

um so why am i posting a christmas fic in august, bc i thought abt it while eating mole sooooooooo. yall, before you come at me for having the rosca de reyes in december, i know its eaten in january but, yall arent gunna visit them until then soooo. uh LATINAS FOR YEONJUN

#im-yn-suckers #txt yeonjun #txt fluff #txt ff #txt fanfic #txt #txt post #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun x reader #choi yeonjun #yeonjun #LATINAS FOR YEONJUN

[thesmpisonfire]

Also, I have come to learn that I know next to nothing about Brazil so uh, anything cool you'd be willing to/like to share? Any foods that are top tier or cultural aspects that you find unique to Brazil (or, a part of Brazil, it's a big country). Idk, I'm just curious about it since I've started hearing bits and pieces from various posters.

Oh i can talk more about the region i live, up in the northeast!!

We have a lot of traditional parties and celebrations that are a very interesting mix between Catholicism, African religions and indigenous religions, such as Festa Junina. We are well known for corn based food and our sweets. Brigadeiro is a Trademark™ from Brazil, and it's perfect btw you can never go wrong with it, but if I can recommend a food from the northeast, definitely it's pamonha, which is almost like mexican tamales but ours are sweet instead, we usually eat it with a cheese typical from my region called butter cheese and its AMAZING

[sp-ce-doll]

"I'm not coming to dinner tonight."

Bruno Madrigal x Chubby!Fem!Reader

Request from @bloody-bunni666 

MINORS DNI!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Sliiiiiiight breeding kink. Like if you squint lmao. This is very SFW though, nothing graphic.

A/N: This is literally the first fic I’ve ever posted on tumblr. Please be nice >.<

Bruno was sweating bullets, tugging at the collar of his brown shirt as he descended the steps from his tower. It was almost dinner time for the Madrigals, and he was about to announce his absence from the daily family event.

He had only recently rejoined his family after years of isolation, years of sitting in the walls of La Casita watching his sisters raise their children and his mother growing older. At last, he was finally welcomed back and as he entered the dining room, he saw a plate with his name on it already set in front of his seat.

Dolores was already seated, laughing as she watched Camilo shifting his physical form between himself and Alma for her amusement. Julieta and Mirabel were running frantically between the kitchen and the dining room, bringing with them a new plate or pan or bowl with the family’s dinner. Bruno giggled to himself, admiring how his niblings had grown, taking after his sisters’ respective quirky natures. It was going to be hard to excuse himself from dinner.

Alma walked in carrying Bruno’s favorite tamales, followed by his brothers-in-law. Now was as good a time as any.

“Mama,” Bruno said just above a whisper.

“Hm?’ she said, setting down her baking dish without looking up.

Bruno took a breath and let it out.

“I’m not coming to dinner tonight.”

The entire room stopped what they were doing and stared at Bruno wide-eyed. All except for Félix and Dolores, who smiled at each other with a knowing look.

“What?” Alma asked in complete shock.

“I’m not joining the family for dinner tonight. I, uh, I have plans – dinner plans – with someone,” he replied, punctuating his sentence with a nervous laugh.

Alma looked taken aback. She loved and missed her son dearly, despite years of refusing to say his name. She unsuccessfully tried to hide her disappointment while fiddling with the placement of her cutlery.

“I see,” she said, “and who will you be joining for dinner this evening?”

Bruno was flustered and struggled to answer. Félix, however, was happy to help.

“He’s going on a date with the thick mamí that lives next to the bakery.”

The room erupted into whistles and teasing bouts of “Oyeee!” while Bruno tried to hide his face in his ruana.

“Es el tomando mi pelo? I didn’t hear about that!” chimed Dolores. She’s lying, of course; she hears everything.

Alma was unamused. She sat down in her chair and magically whisked Bruno’s chair away from the table with a flick of her wrist. The teasing banter settled down and Bruno came out from his poncho.

“You will be missed, mi hijo,” she said.

“Sorry, mama,” Bruno said.

***

Bruno made his way to your house, so nervous that he forgot to ask Isabela to make a bouquet for you. He didn’t want to show up empty-handed, so he ran into the bakery and got some pandebono, hoping it meshed well with whatever you were cooking.

He finally arrived at your door and knocked three times, whispering to himself, “Knock, knock, knock on wood.”

You answered the door wearing a flour-dusted apron that you felt did not flatter your body. You stared wide-eyed at your crush who was smiling and nervously holding up a bag of bread.

“Bruno!” you blurted out. “I wasn’t expecting you – uh, how are you?” You took the bread from his hands.

Bruno frowned. Did you forget about their date?

He looked down to meet your eyes and mustered up the courage to speak.

“I’m good, yeah, yeah, I’m good. It’s just we had a da- I mean, you invited me to dinner. It’s seven o’clock, haha.” He wanted to curl up and die.

“Oh, Bruno,” you said with a small laugh, “dinner’s tomorrow. I’m preparing everything now.”

Bruno couldn’t possibly be redder. He didn’t know what to say.

Above, the clouds rapidly began to cover the sun and sky, a few drops beginning to fall.

“Oh, it’s raining! Hurry, come inside!” you said, pulling Bruno in by his free hand. He nearly tumbled over, but you were quick to catch his scrawny frame with your broader body. You helped him get to his feet, smiling ear to ear at his embarrassed face.

You turned to grab some water and a plate for him since he’d already made the trip over here.

He couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you looked, despite your messy hair and disheveled clothing. Your apron was tied tight around your plump figure and Bruno could see every roll and curve of your body. He knew he probably shouldn’t be undressing you with his eyes right in front of you, but you just looked so delectable and somehow, so motherly.

“She would be such a good mamí,” he thought, quickly shaking the notion from his head so you wouldn’t notice him lusting after you.

You turned around again to face Bruno and nudged your head to the side, signally him to follow you. You led him to your small dining area and placed down a plate of the bread he brought with a glass of water.

“I’m sorry I don’t have much for you now,” you said bashfully.

“No, no! My fault…I probably should’ve looked at a calendar, ha,” said Bruno.

“Well regardless, I’m glad for the company,” you said smiling. You walked back to the kitchen to continue getting ready for the large dinner you planned for the both of you. Lord knows that poor boy needs to eat.

“How is tu familia, Bruno?” you called from the kitchen.

In the seconds since you left him, he had stuffed two balls of bread in his mouth and was working on a third. He panicked for a moment trying to respond you, causing him to choke.

“Bruno?” you called out to him again. There was no answer.

You wiped your hands clean and rounded to corner to check on him and saw as he beat his chest with a closed fist. His face was beginning to turn blue, and his eyes could practically pop out of his head from how wide they were.

You ran to his side, unsure of how to help. You tried to give him a rough couple of pats on his back, but he continued to choke. He looked so scared, and you began to cry from the fear of losing him.

“What do I do, what do I do?” you tried to ask him.

Bruno grabbed at your hands, turned around, and drew your arms around his waist so that his back was flush against your torso. He tried to cross your hands over his stomach, and you quickly got the message. You began squeezing his tiny body in short spurts, eventually dislodging the bread from his throat.

Bruno fell to his hands and knees, coughing and struggling to breathe. You took the glass of water from the table and knelt next to him, offering the cup. He put a hand up, letting you know that he was okay, and pulled himself up on feet using the table for leverage.

He swayed and brought a hand up to touch his head.

“Ay, I’m dizzy,” he said.

You snaked your arm around his and led him to your bedroom to let him rest.

***

Around two hours later, when you had finished preparations for tomorrow’s meal, you took off your apron and went back to your room to check on Bruno. He was lying awake and had the hood of his ruana up, covering the majority of his face.

You gently rapped on your open bedroom door, leaning against the doorframe.

“Knock, knock,” you said.

Bruno pulled his hood further over his face and mumbled a soft, “I’m sorry,” into the fabric.

You walked into the room and joined him on the bed, awkwardly sliding your body behind him, and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“You know you have nothing to be sorry for, right? Accidents happen, amor,” you whispered to him.

“Bruno is stupid,” he said.

You huffed a small laugh and slid your fingers up and down his chest.

“Why is Bruno stupid, Hernando?” You played along with his little act. Bruno loved to bring out Hernando when he was ashamed.

“He ruins everything,” he responded.

“Bruno didn’t ruin anything. Like I said, accidents happen,” you said, sighing a little. “I was so worried about you.”

You could feel Bruno’s heart thumping hard from under his clothes. You knew Bruno liked you, but you were waiting until he was comfortable enough around you to make your move. You planned to confess your feelings to him at dinner.

“Did I ruin it?” Bruno asked all of sudden. You looked at him confused.

“Ruin what, Hernando?”

Bruno pulled off his hood and sighed.

“Did I ruin my chance with you?”

You could cry, he was so sweet.

“No, but you sure know how to keep a girl waiting, amor.”

Bruno shuffled around to face you without you having to move the arm that encircled his waist. He was trying to be brave for you.

“I think you’re beautiful, (y/n),” he said.

You couldn’t think of anything to do or say but kiss him. His lips were soft, warm, and plush against yours. You closed your eyes tight, enjoying the passion between you two, but you could tell Bruno’s eyes were wide open from the green light somehow penetrating your eyelids.

You pulled back, opening your eyes as the green light vanished from his.

“I think you’re beautiful too.”

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