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jamielea81 · 3 years

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Conversations

Bonus Chapter: Colorado

Description: Takes place a year and a half after the first bonus chapter Back to the Beginning. The reader and Chris are married with life changes ahead. Original description for the series Conversations: You accompany your friends on a day trip to Animal Kingdom Theme Park where you meet Scott Evans by chance. This one afternoon leads to a year long friendship with both Chris and Scott over text messages and phone calls.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader, Scott Evans

Warning: Slightly NSFW (18+ only!), cursing, talk of pregnancy, fluff, Grumpy and Sassy shenanigans.

A/N: Look who finally wrote a bonus chapter for Conversations! This girl, right here! Just a little timestamp in the reader and Chris’ life. And of course we needed some Scott time. You do not have to read the series to read this one shot, but it doesn’t hurt. Reblogs, comments, asks, what have you, I enjoy.

Italics are internal thoughts

“Honestly, love, it’s fine,” you spoke softly into the phone, trying your best to keep your voice even. The last thing you want is for him to feel worse than he already does.

“I don’t know…” Chris trailed off. “Usually, when women say the word fine, they really don’t mean, fine.”

“Such a guy,” you chuckle. “I promise, Scott and I are going to have a terrific time. He’s taking care of me and promised not to get us into any trouble.” You raise an eyebrow at your travel companion seated next to you in the hired car.

Chris laughed and then followed it up with a groan. “That does not make me feel better. Put me on speaker.”

You rolled your eyes but did as he asked or rather demanded. “Okay, you’re on speaker.”

“Scott, you better take care of my wife. She’s precious cargo. And she’s carrying precious cargo. So, it’s extra precious cargo.”

You laughed; hand automatically going to your stomach. You were four months along and just starting to show. Family and close friends knew the two of you were expecting your first child, but the tabloids had not caught wind. The two of you had been going back and forth on whether to let People Magazine do an exclusive cover shoot when baby Evans is born. The money earned from People would be donated to charity which was the only reason you were even considering it. Plus, the whole you two breaking the news rather than the public finding out when you weren’t ready. Chris wanted to be the one to introduce his child to the world rather than having paparazzi sneaking into your backyard to get a picture. You couldn’t argue with him there.

“Would you relax! You’re going to give yourself a coronary and then I’d have to take care of both precious cargos and you don’t want that.” Scott shouted.

I really hope the driver doesn’t recognize Scott.

You smacked his arm, taking the call off speaker and bringing it back to your ear. “Chris, we are both going to be just fine. The plane ride was as relaxing as any plane ride can be and we are almost to the hotel. Scott and I are going to pamper ourselves and eat lots of great food. Work is important and I completely understand.”

Chris got called back to Los Angeles for reshoots that he couldn’t get out of. He planned a couple of mini babymoons and this was going to be the first one. Because of your advanced age – insert eyeroll – your doctor had mentioned it may not be safe to travel a lot once you were six months along. Chris took this seriously and booked a trip to Colorado at a gorgeous snowy mountain resort. There wouldn’t be any skiing, just loads of alone time and cuddling by the fireplace. When Chris had to cancel, Scott stepped in and volunteered the cuddles.

“This is one of the many reasons I love you. I’m just disappointed our romantic getaway is now being shared with Scott. My brother,” he said, voice in mock disgust.

“It’s fine. Scott and I haven’t hung out just the two of us in forever.” Scott reached for your hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Alright, sweetheart. Have a great time and rest please.”

“You know I will. I love you, babe. Say hi to Pedro for me,” you said, smile evident in your voice.

“I will. Love you too.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Evans?” The check in clerk, Barbara according to her nametag asked.

“That’s right,” Scott chimed in, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Newlyweds.”

You forced a smile and bit the inside of your cheek so that you wouldn’t laugh.

“Congratulations!” she replied with a sweet smile on her face.

She tapped her chin with her index finger before going back to her keyboard. “Let’s see what I can do here,” Barbara replied, typing away on the computer in front of her. “We have you in a one-bedroom suite with a mountain view, but,” she paused for dramatic effect. “I’m moving the two of you to one of our honeymoon suites.”

Scott gasped and slapped his hand on the countertop. “That’s mighty nice of you,” he spoke in a fake southern accent.

Where did that come from?

“Me and the misses really appreciate it. Don’t we honey?” he asked, turning his attention back to you.

“My pleasure,” Barbara said before you could reply, laying two room keycards on the counter next to Scott’s hand.

You smiled brightly but kept your mouth closed, so afraid of letting a chuckle out or saying the wrong thing. Scott steered you away from the counter, placing a hand on your bottom.

Once you turned the corner to the bank of elevators, you yanked Scott’s hand off your behind.

“Newlyweds. Really?”

“It got us an upgrade, didn’t it dear?”

The first night you were fine. Scott kept you occupied with stories of the single life and the wonders of online dating. You weren’t sure how he did it. Or rather, how he didn’t. After he told you about the guy who wore Barney the dinosaur underwear in a child’s size husky, you laughed until you cried.

“But did you still sleep with him?” you asked wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“Sassy! Of course not. Barneeeeyyyy,” he drawled out.

Shrugging your shoulders, you got up to grab yourself a tissue from the bathroom. Coming back in the room, Scott was on his phone, fingers swiping feverously. You plopped down on the couch, tucking one leg under yourself.

“Here,” Scott said, handing you his phone. On screen was what you would refer to as tall, dark, and handsome.

“He’s hot,” you said, passing the phone back to him.

“Barney.”

“No,” you gasped.

Scott sighed before he started to laugh which got you going once again.

The second day you weren’t so fine. The two of you ordered breakfast in the suite. Pancakes dripping with syrup, crispy thick cut bacon, sausage links, a bowl of mixed fruit, and decaf coffee because Scott was in solidarity with you on your caffeine hiatus.

“Let’s go for a walk. There are tons of trails that the resort clears of snow. I need to work off this breakfast,” Scott said patting his stomach.

“You and me both,” you said, getting up to put on actual clothes instead of the pajamas you were still wearing.

“You are so lucky. Get to eat whatever you want and can just blame it on the baby.”

Stopping in your tracks, you turned around to face him, lower lip slightly wobbling. Since the minute you found out you were pregnant, you found it really hard to control your emotions. You knew Scott didn’t mean anything by the commit, but your brain couldn’t help itself.

“I have to work really hard to be healthy. It’s bad enough the doctor said I’m old.” A sob escapes your lips. The tears already starting to roll down your cheeks. “I can’t have any caffeine, can’t eat a lot of my favorite foods, have to cut back on my salt. My salt! You know fries are my jam. Doesn’t help that my husband is built like a fucking Greek God. I’m not a model or an actress. I already feel like Dodger’s poo compared to him.”

Scott was out of his seat before you could utter another word. Strong arm pulling you to his chest while one hand cradled your head.

“Stop that. You are fucking beautiful and frankly my bonehead brother is lucky you agreed to marry him. Do you even know how many times I have had to leave the room in the last two months when he starts talking about you growing his child inside you and that it turns him on?” Scott pulls away slightly an emulates puking.

“Stop,” you said, burying your head in his neck.

“Why is my neck wet, Sassy.”

“It’s snot,” you said with a chuckle, wrapping your arm around him and holding on tight.

“You two are meant for each other.”

After a minute he pulled away and grasped both of your hands. “I’m with you in any way you need. If you need a healthy eating buddy, I am your man. If you want to say ‘to hell with it’, I’ll pick up McDonalds for the two of us every day if you like.”

You wiped at your eyes and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I love you Grumpy.”

“Love you too,” he replied and then clapped his hands together. “So, are we napping or are we walking?”

“Walking,” you stated, making your way into the bedroom to finally get changed.

That evening, the two of you got dressed up and went to your dinner reservation at the hotel where you were addressed as Mr. and Mrs. Evans. Scott stuck to sparkling water even though you encouraged him to get an alcoholic beverage.

“I don’t need to drink to be the life of the party. You know that.”

He wasn’t wrong. He’d kept you entertained even without the raspberry liquor he force fed you years ago.

“I think we need a dance party when we get back to the room. For old time sakes. Before I am too big to shake it.”

“Done and done.”

The night ended in a bubble bath with both you and Scott in your swimsuits in an oversized soaking tub. Dozens of pictures were taken with many going to your husband. Rather than a text in return, he called.

“What is this? My brother movin’ in on my wife?”

“Babe! You know that it was me and Scott from the start,” you teased.

Chris chuckled. “You go away for a couple of days and it’s like that.”

“You know you are my one and only. Scott’s just making me smile.”

“I know baby. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you said.

The next day you were weepy. As much as you tried to put on a happy face, you were missing Chris. Pregnancy hormones or not, Chris had been working a lot and you had barely seen each other. This romantic babymoon wasn’t what you had in mind. Yes, spending it with your best friend was great, but it wasn’t the same.

The fire place was roaring while Magic Mike was queued up on the flat screen. You and Scott were dressed in jeans and cable knit sweaters with fuzzy socks on your feet. The snow was coming down heavy which was fine with you since neither of you had any place to be.

Pop in hand, though you wouldn’t let Scott hear you call soda that, diet for you, regular for him, the only thing you were needing was Dodger’s wet nose on your stomach and Chris.

“You know, Chris can do that,” you said pointing at the screen where one of the dancers picked up an audience member like she weighed a pound.

“No. Stop. Do not ruin this movie for me. I do not need to picture what you and my brother do.”

“Scott, you do know where babies come from, right?”

“Gross.”

You chuckled, standing up to excuse yourself to the bathroom. Why you brought up Chris when you already cried twice this morning was beyond you. After using the bathroom, you cleaned up your face and stepped back into the living room of your suite.

Scott draped himself over the couch, phone in hand, eyes shifting between the screen of his phone and the TV.

“I think I’m going to take another bath. Need to relax a little bit.”

Scott looked up. “Not too hot.”

“Yes, dad,” you said, offering him a mock salute.

You kept the bath water warm, but added extra oils and bubbles to make it feel more luxurious. The lights were off but a few candles were lit and your phone played 90s R&B. You snapped a pic of your soapy legs and sent it to Chris. Within a few minutes you had a reply.

Chris: My brother better not be in there

Y/N: I’m all alone

Chris: We can’t have that

You heard the door open and you scolded yourself for not locking the door. This text conversation seemed to be heading into rated R territory. You did not need Scott to witness that.

“Scott,” you drawled out. “I’m not wearing my suit tonight. Get out of here.”

When you heard the distinct sound of a belt buckle, you turned around. Rather than Scott dropping his pants, it was Chris.

You gasped, mouth hanging open.

“Room for one more sweetheart?”

You nodded your head unable to form words but those tears had no trouble forming.

Chris continued to undress while you tried your best to compose yourself. He joined you a moment later slipping in behind you.

“How? I thought you were working.”

“I put in some long hours so that I could get to you. I was miserable without you.”

“I know that feeling,” you replied, leaning your head against his chest. Chris lightly rubbing your stomach before sliding his hands up to your breasts, fingers tips rubbing against your nipples. “Babe, did you lock the door?” you asked.

“Don’t worry, I got Scott another room.”

You reached your left hand behind you grabbing on to Chris’ head bringing his mouth to yours. Chris kissed you deeply, your back automatically arching at the taste of his tongue.

“Was he mad?” you asked.

“I don’t even care,” he replied, rubbing his nose against yours.

“Neither do I.”

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#chris evans #scott evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris x reader #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fic #chris evans imagine #conversations

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thetradeway · 3 years

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Session 48 14 Aug 2021: "Dhidth hwe huin?"

I’m late today. Ginger balls. Never admit you were wrong, and never apologise! Has anyone heard from Mina? She may or may not join us. Billy Corgan on a rollercoaster!

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Matthew, wondering: “Does Billy Corgan have alopecia, or is that a choice?”

Duncan: “I don’t know, I’m not his mum.”

Matthew opens a 4% by volume Potion of Healing, and we get started. Everyone makes saving throws except Tarragon for their hangovers after the Midsummer festivities. Ahleqs is delicate but not too rough; he has however just discovered that he is no longer immune to alcohol. (He isn’t quite puking up pixies, so he’ll take it.) Gideon is bright as a button, as is Kessler, and Melaina. Ardvack complained that the sherry wasn’t up to snuff, so he didn’t drink much.

Gutpunch is snoring and emitting smells when the boys wake in their room. Tarragon returns as the sun rises. She returns to her chambers to find everyone else asleep; she joins them, and Mina joins us. The gnome bunked in with us is not emitting smells. There’s a bang on our door - it’s one of the Avowed, a runner.

“Your presence is requested in one of the Necessariums.” He’ll return for us in a few minutes.

Same thing happens for the boys; Ahleqs tries to wake Gutpunch, with no success. Ahleqs, blearily: “Necessari- what? What is this Hogwarts bullshit?”

Is Darkspire in with them? Yes. The Avowed asks if he behaved; yes, Ahleqs thinks so. Charity overhears this conversation, and butts in. He opens the door wide and tells Ahleqs to go back to bed; he does so. Charity peers at the Avowed’s face, the one who showed us to our rooms.

“Yes? What? Yes? I’m here. Everything’s fine, nothing occurred.” Assured that no crimes have been committed, the Avowed retreats.

Ahleqs asks Charity why there would be ‘incidents’. He says he has no idea.

We use our ten minutes to head to the Hearth for breakfast. Ahleqs has water. And a small pot of coffee. and one egg, and one bit of toast with some salt. “Is there any tabasco?”

Ardvack explains about the Necessariums. They are tall towers with lots of books; we can’t access them ourselves but the Avowed will get us anything we want. Kessler wants some books about tinkering and artificing.

The vegetarian menu is vast, and very good.

The runner returns as we are stuffing more food in our pockets to take with us.

Ahleqs is delighted to see Mr Pickles in the Necessarium; he’s talking to a green dragonborn. Ahleqs doesn’t want to interrupt so he hops from foot to foot until the Al Miraj spots him. He is bidden to go over so Mr Pickles can take a look at him.

Mr Pickles says Ahleqs looks a little green around the gills; did he not hear about the revels last night, Ahleqs asks? Mr. Pickles was in the library having discussions. Should he order some tea? Yes, Ahleqs will have a small bucket of tea. Mr Pickles summons an Avowed.

Mr Pickles says there are wards on this place to cut noise and prevent eavesdropping from outside; he has some news for us if we will gather around.

An Avowed brings Kessler the books she asked for. (Carl wants some books too; The Very Hungry Caterpillar, A Tiger Came to Tea, The Borrowers, that sort of thing.)

MP introduces us to Bookwyrm, the First Reader of Candlekeep - the dragonborn he was talking to. He is in charge of maintaining the collection and acquiring newbooks. We want access to books about the Shadow Weave?

The knowledge in there is dangerous, those books have been locked away. They don’t usually let people access them, but since Mr. Pickles is involved, he might be able to help - if we can do something for him in return.

Ardvack has a question; is this endeavour going to cut into our ten-day? No, since we will be out of the Candlekeep to do it. Bookwyrm can’t give us details until we agree to help, but Mr. Pickles believes it’s well within the limits of our skills to accomplish what he needs.

Tarragon agrees immediately, but mostly because Ardvack looks dubious. Ahleqs, assured by Mr. Pickles’s confidence that we can do whatever it is we’re being asked, also agrees.

Some time ago, Bookwyrm tells us, the keep was visited by a drow scholar who told them the location of a book the Keep have been seeking. Are we familiar with the caves below the Keep? No, but we’ve seen a picture.

They are beneath the catacombs, in the bedrock. They lead all the way to the Underdark. The book was supposed to be there. Someone went in search of it; a more than capable wizard, Olius Visk, but they were expecting him back a full ten-day ago and he has not been heard from. He is a young man, it is very out of character for him to miss the Midsummer Festival.

What was the title of the book he was after? Bookwyrm doesn’t know. When the wizard applied to go after it, he didn’t mention which one it was.

Where is the drow? He left, as you can only spend a tenday here. He did not book in another visit.

We just need to rescue the wizard, not necessarily complete his mission, Bookwyrm says. If we do locate the book then we could bring that too. It’s not the Underdark proper, it’s not that far down - it and the wizard will be in the Upper Dark.

The First Reader gives us a book about the Underdark. Tarragon gets excited about the fungus that could be down there, and the potions she could make with them.

Will we need any further resources? Healing potions, at the very least.

When we are ready we’ll be teleported to the caves. We can get past the myconids that way, the ones that moved in and live off the mushrooms they grow on the refuse from the keep; they keep the drow and duergar away.

He gives us an orb to follow; Ardvack suggests giving Gideon the ring the activate the thing. While following Olius’ tracks, it will glow brightly to show us we are going the right way. Gideon blusters about the ring; “A fine piece of brass work! That will fit on my finger nicely.”

How many potions will we need? Tarragon, immediately: “All of them.”

They can spare a GHP and two RHPs - each. Oooo! They will give us twenty days’ of rations as well.

Can Carl come? We need Carl, probably more than Ardvack. Ardvack consults his book of manners, then laughs; “Ahahah, very droll.”

We decide to leave Popcorn in the stables while we go; he doesn’t like dark and scary places.

Tarragon is excited to be going into danger again; Ahleqs less so.

Ardvack, resignedly: “To almost certain death?”

Tarragon, far too excited: “To almost certain death!”

Ahleqs does a very shaky sigh.

A runner approaches with our Healing Potions, and we spend ten minutes farting about with our inventories.

Ardvack, bored, pulls a book from his pocket and begins to read; Ahleqs wants to know what it is.

Matthew, OOC: “What languages do you speak?”

Duncan: “Common, Elvish, Infernal and Light Crossbow.”

Are we all ready? Various themes on ‘yeah’, some more excited than others. Ahleqs casts Mage Armour.

Carl is brought from the Hearth (holding a book called ‘Ye Olde Very Hungry Caterpillar’), and we are teleported.

It takes a moment for our eyes to adjust when we arrive in the dark, wet caves. We head deeper underground, and of course someone (Mina) starts singing Jamiroquai. Well, someone had to.

Tarragon looks out for mushrooms for use in her recipes. There are lots, of various sizes. Some have bits that look like they’ve been cut off; as if someone has been eating or harvesting them.

Tarragon takes a bit of mushroom and eats it; it’s tasty. Ahleqs will watch her for about 45 minutes before he eats any himself. Ardvack stands as far as physically possible from all of the fungus.

Joe waits for his computer before telling us what has befallen Ardvack, who has gone ahead; Tarragon starts cackling. (She doesn't do subtly devastating insults, she does this.)

Matthew rolls a d4; he gets a 3. Does 16 hit him? “I think the 8 might do it.” The 16 does hit as he backs away from one mushroom into a violet fungus, for 8 Necrotic damage.

We roll initiative!

Melaina kills the fungus, but we don’t feel as though we’re alone. Tarragon holds a Thorn Whip in case she sees something within 30 feet of her that she doesn’t like, and warns Ardvack that this includes him.

We hear something shuffling towards us. Ahleqs is trying to hide when it attacks him twice for ten necrotic damage, and Tarragon gets it with her Thorn Whip. Ahleqs does Burning Hands at it.

Joe, laughing: “Really? You’re going to make a mushroom do a Dex save??”

He misses the one he was aiming at but hits the one he didn’t know was there, so… a win?

More turn up; Gideon does an Acid Splash, complete with quavery wizard voice as he announces it.

Ahleqs and Ardvack are closest and get a horrible, acrid stench as the acid burns the violet fungi.

A fungus aims at Ahleqs but only manages to sort of caress his face with its tentacles, leaving a slimy residue; he sicks up all the water he drank.

Kessler gets one with her crossbow. “Remove your grubby bits from the Ahleqs!”

Tarragon, yelling “Danger and excitement!”, takes out her quarterstaff and runs at one; she hits, and is pleased when it doesn’t die just yet.

Does Ardvack want to chomp on a tentacle with someone else, do a sort of lady and the tramp manoeuvre?

Duncan, disgusted: “No tentacle sucking, this is not that kind of show!”

Mina, disconcertingly matter-of-fact about it: “Some people would pay good money for that.”

Ardvack chooses to hit the thing with his shillgjakjsgaklghjkghhhjbblhh instead. It crumbles into bits, but is also ‘a little bit on fire’.

Ahleqs spots some little orbs somewhere ahead up the path. He thinks they are probably magic, but has no idea what they are or what they do.

Carl does a ‘friendly yet violent pat’ on one of the violet fungi and does 5 splatting damage. It wraps its tentacles around him - and then lets go, shuddering. Carl goes in for a bonus action grapple-slash-fatal-hug. The fungus loses the grapple. “High point in Carl’s life.”

Sophie, OOC: “Are you going to give it a noogie?”

Ahleqs takes aim at the grappled fungus. Matthew, OOC, singing: “Now that’s fuckin’ teamwork!”

“If I move away they’ll get a tickle of opportunity won’t they?” Ahleqs stays where he is. “I do not consent to this.”

Gideon gets one with Magic Missile.

Joe: “How de do dis?”

Sophie, OOC: “With gusto!”

Carl maintains his grip on the fungus.

Melaina is feeling arrogant so she goes Sharpshooter. “Urgh, five, that’s not going to work is it?” But to her amazement, it does. 29 damage; a little bit overkill. It explodes into truffle oil, which showers Ardvack but completely avoids Tarragon.

Tarragon offers Carl her old quarterstaff, since he doesn’t have a weapon. He rolls an INT check to try and reply to thank her, but gets a 0. He accepts the staff with a nod of thanks; she smiles at him.

We have killed all the Violet Fungi! We have solved Joe’s Underdark puzzle, yay!

Yeah, nah.

The drift globe leads us around the next corner. Tarragon and Carl chase it, and see three little huts made of fungus and dried grass. Two look abandoned, but the third has light inside. The orbs Ahleqs saw seem to be drifting around it. Ahleqs rolls 19 Arcana; the orbs are warding or protection magic.

We decide to approach, because the inhabitants might know something about the missing wizard.

Kessler, approaching: “Helloooooo? Avon calling?” Tarragon casts Guidance on her as she goes by.

A bell sounds; Kessler recognises the Alarm spell. She calls out to say she doesn’t mean any harm. “Ignore the mech armour, and the idiots with me…”

Duncan OOC: “I want to know what happens if we find the ‘How not to be a goblin’ book and Kessler turns out to be a six foot five valkyrie warrior. Ardvack’s not going to know where to put himself, is he?”

An Unknown Woman appears from the hut:

“What on earth are you doing down here?”

Kessler explains about the wizard and the book. Are we from the Keep?

Yeah…

So is she, it turns out. Will we be going back? Yes, unless we’re killed horribly.

Do we have a way to get back in past the myconids and such? (uh oh.) She says she was a speaker for the keep and was looking for some books, and got lost down here and got stuck.

Kessler rolls Insight with Guidance - 13. She seems convinced. We can pick her up on the way back? That would be amazing, she says. She’s smiling especially at Ardvack.

She has some warding magic up here if we want to rest? Ardvack tenses up. He makes an Insight check as well. He rolls a 9, but uses his Inspiration to re-roll - a 12. He feels a kind of kinship with her, as though her magic might have a similar source. He eases a little bit, and ventures a half smile, even though she’s wearing a 'very low-born outfit'.

Ahleqs, scandalised: “She can’t even afford a middle bit on her top!”

We don’t need a rest, do we? Ahleqs got hit a bit. Melaina doesn’t trust her, and doesn’t want to stop.

Tarragon asks the woman’s name. It’s Ava.

We could take a short rest, roll some hit dice? Have a sandwich? Get to know the locals?

Melaina: “Alright, but I’m not going to sleep.”

Ava points out the orbs. Anything on this side of them is safe.

This seems a bit too good to be true. Does Ahleqs get a sense of magic, other than the protective field? A nine; “She seems legit.”

She was looking for a book that the Keep wouldn’t exactly approve of when she got stuck here. She’s been living off the mushrooms. She was fleeing undead when she was chased into the myconid hives? A ghost or wraith or something.

She brings us some tea, apologising that it’s not quite as fresh as she would like. Something is definitely fucky; Tarragon takes watch, on Ava as much as for other dangers. Tarragon rolls 24 Perception, so she can see the colonies of ants coming to get us.

She sees that no-one’s quite at ease. Suddenly Ava’s skin sloughs off, peeling in big chunks, and a blood hag reveals herself.

Me, horrified: “Blood hag?? JOE!” Tarragon Thorn Whips her.

A writhing mass of hair bursts from the hag, and reaches out toward Ahleqs. She reaches out with her claws to Ardvack and Kessler, and hits both. 23 slashing to Ardvack - and 35 slashing to Kessler.

We roll initiative!

Melaina gets in amongst the mushrooms and tries to hide. “And now I’m going to shoot her in the face. Shit. No I’m not, with a ten.” She cowers behind her mushroom.

Gideon Thunderwaves her and hits, and retreats.

Tarragon casts Greater Shillsdghksdfkhsdg, and crit-misses. The quarterstaff bounces off and hits her in the face - she takes half the weapon’s damage and has Disadvantage on her next attack.

Carl hits her with his new quarterstaff and hits!

Ahleqs casts Mage Armour on Ardvack and Carl, using Sorcery Points to twin the spell.

Kessler bonus action slams her Greater Healing Potion. She uses her Thunder Gauntlets and forces Disadvantage on attacks not against her.

The Blood Hag uses something called Call the Blood, to do a Blood Choke Curse on Ardvack - his mouth fills with blood, preventing speech and verbal spell casting components for one minute. She uses her bonus action to Misty Step to Melaina and do another blood drinking hair, and a claw attack on her.

Ardvack’s turn; he riffles through his spells but they all have a verbal component. Matthew OOC, cross: “I needed that to be effective.”

Joe, pleased: “She’s charming, isn’t she? I thought you’d like her. But at least all the blood vessels in your mouth and throat have burst and you’ll keep having to spit blood for the next minute, so that’s something.”

Ardvack clubs her instead, and hits. He somehow manages to do 0 damage.

Duncan, OOC: “If you say ‘good girl’ or something while you attack, you could do some psychic damage…?”

Matthew: “If only I could speak!”

Melaina gets sneak attack plus Sharpshooter with her rapier - 31 points of damage. All of us, fanning ourselves: “… Damn.”

Gideon will cast Scorching Ray - all three bolts hit, for 21 damage total. The blood hag is pissed off, now, we are told. Gideon bravely retreats.

Tarragon misses again, and begrudgingly heals Ardvack. “Come on, it’s not that bad. Get up.”

Carl was going to use his Raging Cadaver ability, but Tarragon is now in the square he was going to rage to. He can probably navigate through the mushrooms. He does that, and then a slam attack. He does a zombie grab as well. He rolls 17 to her 14, so she’s grappled!

Ahleqs casts Shatter right in the huddle of Carl, Charity, Tarragon and the blood hag. But he would hit Carl, so he doesn’t. He does Eldritch Blast with Tides of Chaos and hits both times for 7 total Force damage.

55: His hair falls out again. “Oh… this again. Okay. I mean I was growing that, but whatever.”

Kessler wants to know if the mushrooms are difficult terrain; she can push through them. “I haven’t finished with you yet!” 16 with the Thunder Gauntlets hits for 12 Thunder damage, then 19 to hit for 11 more. The hag has Disadvantage on attacks versus anyone but Kessler.

Carl is surprised when the hag Misty Steps out of his grip. “He is very perplexed.”

Does 26 hit Ardvack? Er… Yes. He takes 24 piercing damage, and is grappled; her hair worms dig into his flesh and start to suck his blood. He makes a Dex save - or he would, but he might be dead…? No, he’s at 1HP. His lucky hit point.

Matthew is fighting his computer. “Dex save… Any minute now… It’s coming… I’ve pressed the button… It’s asked me if I want to make it public… seven.”

Joe has devastating news for him. The hag has reached out and torn his face off.

…

Holy Fuck.

What the fuck???

“I wanted the pretty elf, but this will have to do!”

The hag makes good her escape as Ardvack goes down. Tarragon uses a free action to vomit.

Ardvack has an ability that brings him back with 8HP. “Dhidth hwe huin?”

Melaina shoots the hag in the back but misses; Gideon does a Scorching Ray.

There’s discussion about the face and the fact that it has Ardvack’s memories and personality; Mina, OOC: “Give it a few minutes, she’ll bring it back.”

Duncan, as the hag: “‘Can you take this back, it’s kinda bumming me out’.”

Tarragon does Cure Wounds at the highest slot available to her; Ardvack’s face is now a mass of scar tissue. She uses her bonus action to throw up again.

This is worse than when Wee Jock got Disintegrated. This is worse than the time we were all zombies, and we started off dead.

Joe, put out: “You’re so ungrateful. It took me ages to find this monster.”

Carl can reach the nasty lady. He can Dash, but he can’t do anything when he gets there. He holds out his hand for Ardvack’s face. She ignores him.

Ahleqs: “Okay… Okay… I cast Fireball. Oooh, it’s big!” He casts it at level 4, and places it so he’ll get the hag, but not Carl. The hag must make a Dex save. She gets a 22.

Duncan, OOC: “Well… Yes, she does and she doesn’t.” She takes half the damage, and is really pissed off.

Kessler: “Oi! Come back with that!” She pulls out her crossbow and shoots. First shot is a miss, and so is the second - a crit fail. Booh. Off target: You deal half damage for 1d4+1 rounds (3). She tries to intimidate the hag, who is unimpressed.

“Let me leave, or I’ll cast Cloudkill.” The bitch uses Invisibility.

Ardvack’s turn; he is now un-stunned, and remembers the sensation of having no face. He’s also still spitting blood. He takes out the mirror that Amelia gave him, and looks in it to see the horrible-ness that is his face, still drooling blood. He puts the mirror away. He gives Tarragon a pat of thanks on the shoulder as he turns away so no-one can see him and crawls toward the hut, “Because this is where I live now.” Even Tarragon feels a little sorry for him.

Before we go, Ardvack is crawling into one of the huts, yes? Yes. "I do not wish to take tea with guests." The most complete hut is the hag’s one; he sees some stones on the floor as if she’s been scrying. Next to them is a pebble with a purple ring on it.

He makes an Arcana check on it to make sure it’s not a bum-stealing stone. 21; he knows the mark as the symbol of Shar. He may remember Shar from such activities as fighting a giant scorpion and an assassin, or raising an army of scarecrows to harass a halfling village.

We decide to leave it on that cliffhanger...

#dnd #thetradeway #campaign diary #Youtube

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rosethesongbird · 4 years

Text

Angelic Illness Part 4: Epilogue

Part 1 here, Part 2 here, and Part 3 here!

“Are you sure? You don’t need anything else?”

“Really, Dawn, you’ve done so much already—“

Dawn gasped, freshly washed brunette curls bouncing at the sudden motion. “I forgot the Gatorade! Can’t send the sweet boys home without their hydration, Dawn, really, what were you thinking,” she walked back into the kitchen, muttering to herself.

“Sorry,” Dawn’s husband Jack, still in pajamas, sheepishly ran his hands over his cropped hair. “Do you…want some help loading that into the car?”

Crowley’s arms were burdened with several hand-crocheted blankets, a basket with basic first aid items, and a box full of all the homemade sweets you could ask for (or at least, all of the homemade sweets Dawn managed to make in two days, in between IV changes and soup dinners). Aziraphale was standing timidly next to him, dressed in his usual outfit, crisply pressed, and smelling of fresh detergent. He was holding absolutely nothing, at Dawn’s behest, and was worrying at the ring he wore on his finger.

“No, no, we’ll be fine, really. Thank you for welcoming us into your home,” said Aziraphale.

“No, thank you,” said Jack. “We don’t want to see you unwell, of course, but Dawn’s really loved having somebody else here. She’s got that whole maternal instinct thing goin’ on, I guess.”

Dawn ran back into the entryway, haphazardly carrying as many bottles as her small frame could handle. “You need a bigger basket,” she whined, exasperated. “Hold on,” she said, trying to set down her precious cargo in a way that would not result in it all being dumped on the floor. The three men shared a knowing glance.

"Honey, they have enough stuff.” Jack gently placed his hand on Dawn’s shoulder. She looked up, eyes darting to his, then to soft blue, then to shaded yellow. The four shared a beat of silence.

“Please, Dawn, let me carry—“

“No,” she replied, interrupting the angel. “No way. No heavy lifting,”

“But—“

“Doctor’s orders,” Dawn said emphatically. “Alright, let’s get you guys locked and loaded so you can go home.” She unceremoniously dumped the drinks in her husband’s arms, rushing to the door to open it.

Crowley and Jack loaded the “goodies” in the back of the Bentley, swiftly getting into a rousing conversation about the vintage car that neither Aziraphale nor Dawn could understand. Dawn laid a hand on the angel’s back, smiling up at him (despite her commandeering personality, she was at least six inches shorter than the angel).

“Our boys, huh?”

“Hm? Oh, yes—I suppose so,” said the angel, preoccupied.

“You alright?” Dawn’s eyebrows raised, questioning.

“Mm,” Aziraphale hummed in response.

“Hey,” she gave his back a gentle pat. “Promise me you’ll call if you start feeling bad again? Now that we know you guys can get sick?”

The angel looked down at her, her brown eyes betraying her concern.

“I promise,”

“—and, promise you’ll force Crowley to do the same,”

“Now that I can’t promise, but I’ll try my best,” the corners of his mouth lifting.

“Good boy.” Dawn flashed him a toothy grin. Her arm came around his side, pulling him into a gentle hug. “I don’t want to squeeze you too hard and start you coughing again,” she said, voice muffled by his many layers of clothing.

He laughed.

“You’re acting like you’ll never see each other again, ngk,” said Crowley, annoyed. “Can we get a move on already?”

“Uh, we were waiting on you,” spat Dawn, still embracing the angel. Crowley looked at Jack incredulously.

“Dude, no sympathy. I have to live with her,” he chuckled.

“Hey!” Dawn let go of Aziraphale, crossing her arms, pouting. “Meanie!”

“Hmm, who do they remind you of?” Crowley asked Aziraphale, opening the passenger door of the car.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I do not sound like that,”

Dawn halted her verbal assault on her husband to interject. “Yeah, you do.”

The demon began to cackle. “See? See?!”

The angel huffed and pouted in response. “You’re doing it right now,” said Jack, turning to head back into the house.

“Sorry to gang up on you, Z, but we’re not that different,” Dawn giggled. “Come here, Mr. Cobra, bring it in,” she pulled Crowley in for a hug (albeit one-sided, it was still a hug). “Please be careful.” She looked up at him, suddenly serious.

“I’ve been saving his sorry angelic arse for six thousand years, I think I can manage,” he hissed.

She smirked. “True.” The demon got into the car, elbow hanging from the open window. The Bentley roared to life as it pulled out of the gravel driveway.

“I’ll come check on you tomorrow or the next day, Aziraphale,” Dawn yelled through open hands. “I’ll bring macarons!”

Aziraphale waved. “Very well, dear!”

“Drive safe, Crowley!” The girl’s voice, still yelling, faded with distance.

Crowley scoffed. “I always drive safe,” he said. The angel in the passenger seat shot him a look that could slice through steel.

—

After much cajoling, Aziraphale convinced Crowley to take the long way home.

“I hate country roads! They’re all… curvy,” said the demon.

“All the better,” said the angel, pointedly. “Harder to speed. Really, you’d think you would have a little more sympathy for your poor partner, having barely come back from discorporation’s doorstep and all.”

“Ngk.” A silent moment, with just the noise of the road between them, the Bentley seeming to know they needed a quiet moment and refraining from blasting Queen.

“Plus, I like the scenery,” Aziraphale remarked. “It��s peaceful, out here in the country.”

Crowley tilted his head, thinking.

“We could live out here, if you want,”

“Really?”

“It’s better than choosing my flat or your bookshop. Meet in the middle, or something.”

The two had been silent for forty-five consecutive minutes after that.

They joined back up to the motorway, alongside all the people running what Crowley called the “rat race,” hustling and bustling back and forth to their places of work, homes, and errands. Of course, traffic was always awful, so the demon was forced to slow his vehicle to a stop.

Crowley set his hand on Aziraphale’s thigh, as the angel looked wistfully out the window.

“Yes?” Blue eyes turned towards him, searching black sunglasses for a hint of emotion.

“I was worried,” he said, the Bentley inching forward with the flow of traffic.

“About what?”

“About you, angel,”

“Oh,” Aziraphale blushed, averting his eyes. “Well you fainted on me, I was worried sick!”

Crowley chuckled, a rare sound. “For what, fifteen seconds? You don’t get it, angel.” He sighed. “Just… promise you’ll say something? Next time you don’t feel well? I don’t want to see you on the brink of discorporation again. Not with things how they are.”

The Bentley roared as the traffic started moving again, almost as if it was in agreement.

“Oh, alright,” the angel relented. “I promise. There, happy?”

Crowley smiled lovingly, briefly meeting eyes with the angel through tinted glass. “More than you know.”

—

The two pulled up next to the bookshop on the corner. There were few other people walking around—being in the middle of a workday, most of the crowds had dissipated. Crowley wordlessly opened the door for Aziraphale before gathering the supplies Dawn had bestowed upon the two of them. Aziraphale let out a sigh of relief as he entered the bookshop, followed by a small cough. Crowley raised an eyebrow, setting down the armful of domesticity incarnate as the door latched shut behind him.

“You alright?”

“Fine, I’m fine,” said the angel. “Dawn said the cough would linger for a while, so don’t panic and faint on me again.”

Crowley crossed his arms defiantly. “How is it that you’re the one who was so deathly ill, yet I’m the one who fainted and will apparently never live it down? C’mon,” he sidled up behind the angel, chin resting on his shoulder, arms now crossed behind his back. “Besides, I’m not the one who puked all over the place,”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whined.

“I mean, you should have seen it,” said the demon, walking away, picking a book off a shelf indiscriminately and waving it around as he spoke. “It was everywhere,”

“It most certainly was not,”

“Was too.”

“Was not! I remember. I was there,”

Crowley began cackling again. “You’re too easy to get a rise out of, angel.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I meant it, what I said earlier.” He carefully placed the book back on the shelf, exactly where it came from. “About moving to the country. Together.”

He came up beside the angel again, putting an arm around his shoulders. “What do you think? A little cottage, all to ourselves. With a garden, and a nice garage for the Bentley,” he gestured widely with his arm. “And enough kitchen space for all the sweets you can dream of.”

Aziraphale leaned his head on Crowley’s shoulder, white blonde curls brushing black leather. “And a library?”

“Sure,” Crowley squeezed the angel closer. “We could even get one of those… slidey… ladder things, if you promise not to hurt yourself falling off.”

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale said dreamily. He pulled the demon into a hug, nestling his face in the demon’s neck, inhaling the scent of the love they shared. Crowley closed his eyes, placing a gentle kiss into the fluffy hair.

#good omens #ineffable partners #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #a z fell #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort in this one #my writing #thanks for all the love!#you guys are so sweet #thanks for all the reblogs and likes #you are getting this extrovert through social isolation #<3 #fluff

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loverontheleft · 4 years

Text

The Honeymoon One (3)

Part 1 -||- Part 2

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: language, sexual tension, alcohol.

-||-

“It’s all going to be okay,” Brendon says softly, taking your hand in both of his. “I know you’re not a good flier but it’s all going to be okay.” He squeezes your hand gently. “We’re gonna take off and then the flight is about 15 hours. When we land, we’ll get a towncar to the hotel. It should be about 20 minutes, maybe. And then we’re there.” You nod, eyes shut tightly. “Hey, Y/n. Hey. Will you look at me?” You open one eye and he grins. “Both eyes, smart ass.” You oblige and open the other eye. “Thank you. We’re gonna be fine. I promise. We’re in these lovely first class seats and I can get you a drink now if you’d like.” You nod eagerly and he laughs, nodding as well. “Cranberry and Tito’s?”

“Cranberry and Tito’s,” you confirm in a hoarse whisper. “Thank you.”

“Of course. You’re my best friend. I’m gonna take good care of you.” He turns to order from the passing flight attendant and before too long, she’s returning with a large can of cranberry cocktail and two mini-bottles of Tito’s. She sets it all down in front of you and hands you a plastic cup before handing Brendon another plastic cup with what you can only assume is bourbon. He thanks her and hands her some folded bills before turning to you. “Let me make that for you, darlin’,” he says with a smile and you feel yourself melt a little. He pops the tab on the cranberry cocktail can and pours a bit into the cup before twisting the lid off of both mini-bottles of Tito’s and pouring freely. The resulting drink is pale pink- it’s the perfect blend- and you beam at how well he knows you and your preferences. “There we are. To us, taking care of ourselves and finally going on vacation.” You tap your plastic cup against his and he takes a quick sip as you take a long slug. “Atta girl. You’ll feel better,” he says with a chuckle as you take another sip.

“Mmmmm,” you agree, already feeling the warmth of vodka spreading through your body. “Yes. I don’t feel half as nervous about takeoff as I did.” You take one last sip from the cup before setting it, still half-full, on your tray.

“Good. Want you to be totally relaxed,” Brendon says, taking only his second sip of bourbon. “But,” and he eyes your cup, “you’ll have to finish that before takeoff. Because our trays have to be stored in the upright position.” He grins at you. “I suppose though, you could just hold the cup…”

You mime spilling a cup all over yourself and roll your eyes. “Yeah, that’ll go well.” He laughs and you lean in closer. “I think I’ll just finish it off before we have to stow our trays.” The side of his mouth quirks up in a small smile and he settles in his seat. “But how are you feeling?” You nudge his shoulder and he meets your eyes.

“I’m okay. A little tense,” he admits. “Nothing the rest of this bourbon won’t fix.” He plasters on a smile and you sigh, implying that you’re not buying it. His smile falters. “I’ll be okay. Just - you know. Everything feels - strange. Like an alternate reality. Yesterday should’ve been my wed- and - I mean...I’m okay that it wasn’t- I don’t even miss her as much - at all, honestly - but it’s just - weird and well...I’m glad I’m not alone.” He pauses. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” He places emphasis on the you’re and it sends another totally non-vodka related rush of warmth through you.

“Brendon,” you say softly. “It’s going to be okay.” He nods resolutely and you drain your drink, indicating he should do the same. He follows your instructions and you nest the empty cups together. “And we’ll get another round as soon as we’re wheels up.”

“That sounds like a great plan,” Brendon says with a weak, but genuine, smile.

-||-

The flight attendant is looking at you both like she wants to cut you off, but you’ve both always been very coherent drunks, so she doesn’t really have any outward evidence to support that inclination. You’ve been snuggled into Brendon’s side since your third drink and his arm around you feels so nice. You’re sharing a pair of headphones and you’re pretending to watch some in-flight movie, although Brendon might actually be watching it - you aren’t sure. His fingers are stroking your waist idly and his eyes are focused on the screen. He takes long sips from his Jack and Coke and you work steadily on the sixth cranberry and Tito’s he’s mixed for you.

You’re reaching that warm, fuzzy, unfocused point of inebriation when you lift your head to look out the window. Brendon’s turned slightly and appears to be intending to kiss your forehead in that sweet, affectionate way he has that you adore. You smile and glance up, intending to make it easier for him.

-||- POV shift to Brendon -||-

In hindsight, you really should have been able to stop it from happening. But she lifted her head ever so slightly at the most opportune (most inopportune?) moment and maybe you subconsciously wanted it all along- either way, your lips don’t collide with her smooth skin, but with her soft lips instead.

It feels like the plane is spinning and you’ve gotten the breath knocked out of you; it’s everything you’ve never known you needed and wanted, her mouth on yours like this. Her hands are in your hair and you’re clutching her, hands roaming up and down her arms while her lips part and she sighs your name into your mouth. It’s when your tongue brushes hers that it’s game over for both of you. She’s whining and clawing at your back and just the taste of vodka and cranberry mixed with her mouth has your head spinning. You realize that if this keeps going, if she keeps kissing you like this and letting you kiss her back, you’re going to be very hard in a not so very private place. But, you realize, based on how she’s tugging your hair and exploring your mouth, she might not be entirely opposed to - whatever you might be able to make happen. “Y/n,” you groan, tangling a hand in her hair and pulling gently. She whimpers and your cock throbs at the sound. “You’re driving me crazy,” you say softly, gesturing down. Her eyes follow your hand and then they snap back to yours. She starts fumbling with her seatbelt, telling you she wants you, and you’re breathing hard, trying to figure out how you can get her in your lap without anyone noticing. You’re thankful for the lapse in your self-consciousness courtesy of the alcohol; normal you would never even consider this, but right now, this seems like an amazing idea.

It’s only a few moments later when she must realize it’s futile or at least impractical because she stops trying to get unbuckled but instead runs both hands back through your hair and down your neck. It calms you too, and you realize that while you absolutely want her- “Not here, not like this,” you murmur to her. “I want you but - not like this.”

She seems to agree by the way she pulls you closer and you let her; she’s whimpering every time your tongues meet and you could listen to her like this forever. You’re awkwardly twisted in your seat but it’s worth it- she’s worth it. It’s the best kiss of your life and you don’t want it to end. She’s just as enthusiastic as you are and she’s clinging to you and kissing you in a way that makes you so very glad you’re not actually married right now. “Everything,” you mumble, rubbing your hands over her back and down over her hips. “You’re everything,” you manage as she whines and brings your mouth back to hers.

“Not everything,” she replies knowingly, and you pull away to look at her, unsure of what she means. You can still taste the sharp bite of cranberry and Tito’s from her mouth. “I’m not -“ but she cuts herself off by pressing a hand to her mouth and closing her eyes.

“Y/n?” You’re studying her closely now. She doesn’t normally get nauseous until she’s past her limit and you didn’t think she was there - not yet. This could be bad - if she’s past her limit, then that kiss - “How drunk are you?” You knew she was definitely drunk; you’d been making her drinks the entire flight, but you didn’t think - not that drunk. Not yet. But - you feel the guilt start to rise in you. Are you taking advantage of her? She’s drunk - but you are too - but...

She yawns, gives a little hiccup, and snuggles against your shoulder. “Pretty drunk,” she finally mumbles, flailing her hand out at the window beside her. “Need a lil nap I think. Love making out with your face-” she pauses here to stroke your face - “but - need a lil nap.” You’re relieved - pretty drunk isn’t gone, wasted, blacked out. You know her and you know her limits. Pretty drunk is okay. You lean over her and pull the shade down and the flight attendant moves in swiftly with a soft blanket. You drape it over her and smooth it down over her body, trying not to focus on how warm and soft she is under your hand and how badly you want to touch every other inch of her body. “Thank you, Bunny,” she whispers and yawns once more before falling asleep.

“Bunny,” you groan to yourself quietly. The words slam into you. It hurts. She’s not just pretty drunk, you realize. She’s blacked out, wasted, absolutely trashed. Early in your college career together when you were stumbling home from a party, she read the name tag on your door - B. Urie - as Bunie, and it gradually morphed into Bunny. Whether through genuine habit or drunk amusement, it became her pet name for you whenever she was absolutely out of her mind drunk, but you absolutely loved it. She’d claim your extra-long twin bed but pat the bed beside her and coax you into bed with the name until you climbed up next to her. She’d cradle your head in her lap and stroke your hair, cooing that she loved her Bunny “s’much,” and you’d fall asleep to her soft touch and the sweet smell of her perfume mixed with the leftover aroma of whatever party you’d both been at prior to making it back to your dorm.

In the morning, she’d clamber over you to bolt to the bathroom where she’d, as she always announced triumphantly while you pulled a pillow over your head, puke and rally. “Come on B,” she’d beg, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to your bed, like she hadn’t just been sprawled over your mattress, hogging the blankets. “The dining hall is going to run out of waffles.”

“They’re definitely not but you might not get one if you poke me one more time,” you’d retort grumpily. “Because I’ll kill you.” She’d just laugh and become your pain-in-the-ass best friend again, no longer the snuggly, drunk, affectionate girl you had no idea how to approach with your long-stifled feelings.

“Oh Koloa,” you sigh, reverting back to your own drunk nickname for her and kissing the top of her head now as she presses her face into your bicep. “My sweet little duckling. What am I going to do with you?” You run a hand over her hair and she sighs in her sleep. “I guess we’ll see if you remember anything when you wake up and go from there,” you murmur before draping an arm around her protectively while flagging down a flight attendant for another blanket. You know her. She needs two blankets to sleep really soundly. You’re going to get her that second blanket.

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spxderman-s · 7 years

Text

I Hope That’s A Yes

requested: hi, if you're still taking requests i was wondering if you'd write a peter parker x reader imagine about him taking her to another homecoming or a prom, like maybe how he asks her and the dance itself? maybe he's her first kiss?

send your requests here!

word count: 1880

pairing: peter parker x reader

warnings: some mean names, some bad words.

a/n: so i tweaked it just a LIL bit, hopefully it still works out!! this was so fun to write because its not the usual personality i give Y/N, compared to my other fics. im also sorry to the anon who requested it, i know its been awhile!! but here you darlings go!

tagging: @tronnoristheotp @nedthegay @i-saved-me @theweirdowithablogo @skymoonandstardust @timemngmtoptimisationproblems @thumper-darling @holywinchesterness @grabyourpolaroidandmyhand @ketterdame

“If I have to see one more person put on a giant performance just to ask someone to homecoming--” you complained as you and your friends watched Flash ask some poor girl in an extremely over-the-top manner, “--I’m gonna puke.”

“I think it’s romantic,” Ned said, pulling apart a banana. “In a weird, disgusting way.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your focus back to your homework that was due next class. “It’s obnoxious, especially for someone like him.”

Peter laughed into his sandwich. “I don’t know what you expected, [Y/N], the guy’s name is Flash.”

“Touche.”

As if he could hear you, your greasy classmate swaggered over with his arm draped over his new date’s shoulders. “You nerds better start getting to asking someone to the dance,” Flash drawled, ruffling Peter’s hair with entirely too much force. “Especially you, Penis Parker. You don’t wanna show up alone, do you?” With a malicious laugh, he steered himself and the girl he was with away.

“God, what a tool,” you muttered. “Seriously, Parker--you need to just pop him one time, right in his smug mouth.”

Peter chuckled, fixing his hair. “He’s not worth it.”

Shrugging, you fixated your glare onto Flash as he was leaving the cafeteria, feeling your hands curl into fists. If Peter won’t stand up to him, you definitely would take that opportunity for him.

“Hey, Flash!” you called, your voice echoing across the room. He turned around, his lip curled in a cruel grin.

“[Y/N], don’t,” Peter hissed.

You shushed him. “I know what I’m doing.” You stood up, palms flat on the table. Both of your friends were looking up at you, terrified of what you would say or do. “Peter already has a date, so quit sticking your prick in his business.”

That was enough to get Flash back to your table. He placed his hands roughly on Peter’s shoulders, and leaned down. “Penis Parker got a date?” He guffawed, loudly. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“That lucky guy,” you said through clenched teeth, feeling your fists twitching--begging to just land one good punch in Flash’s face, “happens to be me. So get your slimy hands off of him--unless you wanna give me a run for my money.”

Flash immediately took his hands off of Peter, and took a large step back. “He--you--he asked you?”

Peter was staring up at you in astonishment, and also confusion.

“Is that a problem?” you asked, warning in your voice.

“It’s--it’s not really my business,” he muttered, before turning away and leaving the cafeteria.

You sat down again, satisfied, flipping the page of your homework. Ned cleared his throat loudly, causing you to raise your eyes to him, who stared at you with huge eyes.

“What the hell was that?” Ned exclaimed, looking between you and Peter, who was still staring at you with his mouth slightly open.

“Look, he can’t keep treating you like this,” you said, crossing your arms. “I’m tired of seeing you get treated like this--you don’t deserve it.” After a moment passed, they still didn’t change their expressions. You slammed your notebook closed. “I’ll see you guys in P.E, alright?”

“C’mon, Peter. Just do like, one more,” you coaxed. “Coach Wilson isn’t anywhere near us.”

Peter groaned and did another sit-up. “[Y/N], about earlier today--”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No--I….well, first of all, thanks for sticking up for me,” he said. “But….were you serious? About--about going as m-my date?”

You didn’t say anything at first. “Do you want to go?”

Peter sat up all the way to look at you. “Kind of,” he replied sheepishly.

“Okay,” you shrugged. “But you have to ask me.”

“But you just asked me!”

“Did I?”

Peter stuttered out some words, a blush rising in his cheeks. You patted his knee, and moved to take his place to do your share of sit ups. As you moved, Peter rolled to his feet and stood up.

“I have a question to ask you,” he spoke loudly, his voice echoing through the gym, everyone stopping and staring at him. Your eyes widened and you shook your head vehemently at him, but Peter ignored you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you hissed at him, blushing furiously.

He moved and stood on the first step of the bleachers. “I only asked you in private,” he went on in the same clearly audible voice, “but [Y/N], will you do me the absolute honor of being my date to homecoming?”

Peter’s words hung in the silence, until you realized everyone was waiting for your answer. Looking around, you returned your glare to him and spoke through your teeth, “Yes.”

He returned to sitting beside you on the mat. “There. Was that good enough?”

“Peter Parker,” you growled, trying to keep your thoughts in order and your head on straight. “You--you--”

“I hope that’s a yes.”

“Sweetheart, there’s someone at the door for you!” your mother called down the hall. “I think it’s Peter--are you two going to the dance together?”

You fiddled with the neckline of your dress, staring at yourself in the mirror. You couldn’t believe that you wanted to actually look good for Peter--but ever since he embarrassed you in the gym last week, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. At first, you tried your hardest to push the rising feelings far, far away, but they kept resurfacing every time he looked at you, laughed, every time he ate a damn grape. Was he always this attractive? And smart, and funny?

“[Y/N]?” your mother called again. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a second,” you shouted back. You tugged at a lock of curled hair, and decided it would have to be good enough. You closed your bedroom door, stuffed your phone and some cash in your clutch, and entered your living room.

Peter stood there talking with your mother. He looked incredibly handsome in a freshly ironed suit, his hair combed to get the curl perfect, flashing his award-winning smile. You gulped, feeling your heart begin to race, and you almost turned around and went right back into the safety of your room.

Your mother noticed you first, who clapped her hands and exclaimed in joy. “You look so pretty, sweetheart.”

You met Peter’s gaze, who was staring at you in wonder. He held a small bouquet of daisies in his hand, with a corsage and pin in the other.

“Wow,” he breathed, before shaking himself and stepping towards you while holding out the flower pin. “I--uh--bought this today. I think you’re supposed to pin this on my suit.”

“Wait, wait!” your mother cried, holding up her camera. “Smile, kids!”

You groaned, but obliged. After pinning the flower to his suit, Peter clasped the corsage to your wrist, his fingertips lingering for a moment that raised goosebumps on your skin.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered to you.

Looking to him, you made a mental note of how close his lips were to yours. You had never once thought of kissing him before, but now….

“Your tie is crooked,” you said bluntly, reaching up and fixing it, mentally kicking yourself. “Sorry--that was rude. You….you look really handsome, Parker.”

He smiled, and you both posed for the countless pictures your mother begged for, your heart racing and palms beginning to sweat at how he held your waist so tightly, the familiar scent of his cologne dabbed onto the hollow in his throat, and the way the butterflies in your stomach fluttered relentlessly whenever his brown eyes landed on you.

The music throughout the gym was booming, the bass shaking the entire building. The laser lights danced across the walls, ceiling, and the large mass of dancing students in the middle of the floor. Peter guided you over to the refreshment table, offering you a cup of punch.

“I don’t really know how to dance,” you shouted over the music, accepting the cup and taking a tentative sip.

“I don’t either,” he shouted back. You laughed, and bobbed your head along with the music. It was something that you probably wouldn’t listen to willingly, but you had it admit--it was catchy. Pretty soon you were tapping your feet and swaying side to side with the beat.

“We can both make fools of ourselves out there together,” you spoke in his ear, grabbing his arm and steering him towards the group of dancers. He protested, stammering about really not knowing how to dance, but pretty soon you were surrounded by dancing people. Peter started swaying awkwardly, but after a few more minutes of the catchy beat, you were both getting more and more comfortable and having a good time. With having Peter so close, the good music and flashing lights, you felt like you were floating on a cloud.

“Alright, we’re gonna have a little tune change--time to slow things down a bit,” the DJ drawled into the mic, fiddling with some flips and switches on his spin table. The pop song playing faded into a slow melody mixed with acoustic guitar and a smooth voice cooing about love. The large group of students began to disband, with a few select staying behind to sway romantically along with the song.

You looked to Peter, whose eyes were already on you. He held out his hand, and gestured to the song, pulling you close to him. As if by instinct, you wrapped your arms around his neck as his hands rested firmly on your waist.

“I’m having a lot of fun with you,” you said, relieved to not have to yell over the music.

Peter smiled shyly, resting his forehead against yours with a contented sigh. “Me too.”

Once again, you were very aware of how close his lips were to yours. You could just lean in, and….

“[Y/N]?” Peter murmured, breaking into your thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Could I--” He cleared his throat nervously. “I mean, I’ve never--”

“Just kiss me, Parker,” you breathed, and he obliged. You were not expecting your first to be with Peter, and you wanted to accuse him of lying about never kissing a girl before because it seemed like he knew what he was doing. His lips were soft and sweet, and he tasted like the sweet punch you had earlier.

You pulled away, head spinning and butterflies flying around in your chest. He looked at you in confusion, his adorable lips still pursed.

“Is--is everything okay?” he asked uneasily.

You smiled and nodded. “Everything is….perfect. I just--I’m still processing all of this.”

He laughed. “Y-yeah--me too.” You both were silent for a moment, before he said, “So the kiss was--it wasn’t too bad, right?”

You playfully punched his arm, but followed it with a kiss to his cheek. “You did great, Parker. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

The two of you spent the rest of the evening stealing kisses, dancing together, and then walking home holding hands, something that you had never thought would ever happen to you. You looked at Peter with fresh eyes now, and you couldn’t deny the growing feelings that now you knew were reciprocated--which held a certain kind of excitement for what the future held for the two of you.

#peter parker #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman #spider man: homecoming #spiderman imagines #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman homecoming imagines #tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #mcu #mcu imagines

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secret-rendezvous1d · 7 years

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aw daddy harry and the missus would so on the first night of the baby being home would just be staring at her in the bassinet and talking about how much they love her instead of being able to sleep right away

I do so many of these scenes, but, the thought makes me so weak.

Persephone is only a couple of days old when she’s given the all-clear to come home with her mummy and daddy on the day the missus is released, still so tiny and fragile and delicate to touch, smelling strong of the new-baby smell that babies are blessed with when they’re born mixed in with the slight hint of the hospital smell that took to lingering on the pink blanket that Anne had brought for her, embroidered with her initials in the bottom corner by Anne’s gentle stitching. It’s the late afternoon when they arrive home, walking through the threshold of their house and instantly being hit in the face with their smell; vanilla candles and pollinated flowers that homed underneath the windows of their living room. A complete change up to the smell that they’d been swallowed up by for the last couple of days.

The rest of the afternoon is spent just the two of them and their fresh newborn. Phone calls coming in left, right and centre as plans were made to have a small get together at the weekend to allow everyone to meet the newest member to Harry’s life, ranging from close friends and their partners who were eager to get a hold of the newborn baby to family travelling down and through the heart of London to see the newest and tiny member to their own family. Texts coming in from Gemma, insisting she get photos in her phone of her little niece because the ones that Harry sent to her once she was born just weren’t enough to show off to all her friends and stick into a little photo album that she was making to keep as memories.

By the time that the night came around, the missus is already snoozing on their bed under Harry’s orders of her getting as much rest as she needed to get whilst he looked after their little girl, curled up in one of his thick sweaters and a pair of his loose boxers that felt comfortable on her sore hips. His body sprawled out beside her, glasses on his face, with his little girl flat on his chest, snuffling and grunting and releasing the sweetest sounds as she fisted at his t-shirt. A book in his hand as he read by lamp-light, his free hand resting on his daughter’s tiny body, with his bare fingers patting gently over her back. Torn away from his book when he heard his wife groan out from beside him and roll onto her back with tired eyes.

“Have you put her down or have you just been holdin’ her since I fell asleep?” She snickers, mingling her toes with his as she hitched her leg over one of his, draping an arm across his stomach, “you look pretty fit as a dad. ‘specially when you wear your glasses.”

“Think they call ‘em DILFs these days, don’t they?” Harry murmurs with a smirk on his lips, tilting his head to give her a glance before dog-earring his page and closing up the book in his hand, “how are you feeling? Feel good? Do you want me to run down and get you some food? I ordered some chinese because I didn’t want to cook but I didn’t feel like waking you up to eat so I kept yours in the oven to keep warm.”

“Hmm,” she shakes her head and nudges her nose into his shoulder, “think she can be put in her bed now, I think, yeah? Give you a break to go for a wee or go for a shower. Neither of us have had a wash since before we went to the hospital. I mean, the shower in the cubicle did nothing for me afterwards. Didn’t feel like our shower,” she admits, running her fingertips through Persephone’s soft and wispy hair.

“How about, when she goes to sleep, we have a bath ourselves? It’ll be much more comfortable for you, I think,” he suggests, sniffling softly and scrunching his nose up to adjust the glasses sitting on the bridge, “you can even eat your takeaway in the bath. I won’t be upset or put off if you want to scoff those chicken balls in front of me.”

“You’re annoying,” she frowns, sitting herself up on the bed and reaching for the baby, “give ‘er here. You can go and run the bath for us, if you want to? Make it warm, yeah? I’ll put her down and make sure she’s comfortable so we can have a nice and peaceful bath,” she wiggles her fingers, lifting the baby from his chest and cradling her to her own chest as she stood to her feet and stepped around the room with gentle steps, swaying her hips.

It’s not long before her green eyes are falling closed to the low hum of the water and the gentle swaying motion, and it’s not long before she’s laying down the baby into her wicker bassinet and tucking her up with a white blanket, taking the monitor with her into the bathroom as she stripped down to her naked form and dipped herself under the water. Waiting for Harry come back, with a couple of plates and the chinese takeout he’d ordered for her to eat once she found a craving some food, to sit with her and keep her company in the vanilla-scented bath.

Tummy tingling when he stripped down to his boxers, a blush forming on her cheeks when he peeled them from his hips and let them fall to his ankles. His naked form, slightly changed in some areas from gaining sympathy weight with her during her pregnancy, standing flush in front of her before he’s stepping into the water and sitting opposite her. Passing her a plate and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispers, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her plate upon her knee-caps, taking a bite from one of the slightly cooled-down chicken balls.

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, sitting in a similar position and nudging his toes against hers with a grin, “I had a feeling you fancied them. Always do when I order chinese for us.”

“No,” she gulps back the food in her mouth, shaking her head with a soft smile, “I mean, yes. Thank you for buying us a chinese but, thank you for everything. I don’t think you understand how much you’ve done for me over the last few days. I don’t think, uh, I don’t think I could have done all of this without you,” she whispers, a little bashfully as she feels her face heat up.

“I’m your husband. I should be there for you when you need me,” he reaches for her hand and wraps his fingers around hers in a soft hold, shaking it softly and running his thumb over her wedding band, “a few days ago, you did the most wonderful thing. You gave birth to our daughter. Our baby. I’m so proud of you. And I want to show you that in a way that takes little pressure off of you as possible. I really am proud of you, and, I couldn’t be any happier or more in love with you than I am right now.”

“Are you trying to make me cry?” She giggles softly, popping in the rest of her chicken ball and chewing it softly, “because I’ll leak from my boobs and I really don’t want to do that right now. Crying sets them off.”

When they’ve finished off their meals, and the water around them is getting cold and making goosebumps form on their skin, they decide that getting out and cosying up in bed with a sleeping baby in her bassinet and a bunch of telly shows and documentaries that they needed to catch up on from over the last couple of days, dressed in thick sweaters and in an outfit that they deemed to be the most comfortable for them.

But as soon as they dressed themselves, and took a glimpse at their tiny and snoozing baby, they were infatuated with how tiny and fragile she looked as she slept. Worry running through them with the fear that she could stop breathing unexpectedly or wake up suddenly with an uncomfortable belly and a need for comfort by someone who could get to her first. Settling down beside her bassinet, cross-legged and eyes focused on her.

“We finally have her,” Harry whispers, a grin on his lips as the tip of his pointer-finger tickled at the underside of Persephone’s foot, from the base of her toes to the curve of her heel, “she’s here. She’s finally with us. She’s no longer a white smudge on a black photograph. She’s no longer a nudge to the hand or a hiccup. She’s no longer just a bump. She’s a baby. Our little girl. She’s here and making us parents.”

“Here to keep us awake at night and covering us in as much bodily fluid,” she snickers, squeezing his knee, “she’ll poo, wee or vomit on one of us. Or both of us. I can see you walking in with a wee patch on your chest or vomit down your back.”

“You reckon?” He chuckles, a dimple popping on his cheek, “I don’t think so.”

“You’ll be eating your words,” she teases him.

“Won’t make me love her any less. Poo, wee or sick. She’s still our daughter,” he whispers, “you know, we’ll be dealing with sick so much when she’s much bigger. Milky puke down my back or on my chest won’t be as bad as what we’ll get when she’s a bit older.” xx

#harry talk #harry styles imagines #harry talk requests are shut right now!

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emetofiend2dand3d · 7 years

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Rin and Sousuke order some enormous meal and get competitive to finishing it and they do but only to walk home feeling awful until they both end up being sick and laugh about it

Author’s note: Okonomiyaki is a type of Japanese ‘pancake’ that you can make yourself at the restaurant. They can be savory or sweet and eaten for just about any meal^-^

“Isn’t that enough ingredients Rin?” Sousuke critiqued Rin as he watched him pour massive amounts of mixture onto the hot plate and pile on toppings.

“Lay off, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day since we’ve been training.” Rin said angrily, then chuckled as he took a look at Sousuke’s pancake. “We practiced for almost four hours today and that’s all you’re having?”

Sousuke raised an eyebrow as he looked at the measly helping he had given himself. He poured some more mixing onto the hot plate and added another topping.

Rin laughed. “Weak.”

Sousuke started getting annoyed, and he grabbed the bowl of mixture and poured himself some more. But he wasn’t paying attention, and accidentally spilled the entire cup onto the hot plate. He gaped in horror as he watched the ingredients begin to sizzle and spread across the plate, in no way resembling a circle anymore.

Rin patted him on the back. “Well, you may as well make it taste good.” He took some ingredients and sprinkled them on.

Sousuke sighed, resigning himself to the task. “This is going to be so expensive.” He groaned as he added more toppings to balance it out.

“If you don’t finish it, I’ll eat the rest for you.” Rin said smugly.

“There’s no way you can eat yours and some of mine. Yours is big enough.” Sousuke insisted.

“Trust me, I’m so hungry I could eat mine and yours by myself.” Rin told him.

“I think you’d end up eating your words.”

Rin huffed and crossed his arms, comparing the size of his own pancake with Sousuke’s. He decided that his was too small, and he casually added more mixture.

“Oi oi! What are you doing?” Sousuke was baffled. “This meal’s ganna cost a fortune.”

“You worry too much.” Rin said with a grin. “Live a little!”

They were both about halfway finished with their pancakes when they noticeably slowed their pace.

They both stared down at their enormous pancakes, frowning. Sousuke glanced at Rin’s plate and saw he had made about as much progress as he had. “What happened to, I could eat mine and yours myself?”

Rin gritted his teeth, picked up his chopsticks and sped up his eating pace.

Sousuke laughed, then sighed as he looked down at his own plate.

“I knew you’d never be able to finish that.” Rin said with his mouth full.

“I suppose I am paying for it… so I may as well get my money’s worth.” Sousuke resolved, then continued eating despite already being pleasantly full.

They continued eating until they were both about two thirds finished and Sousuke sat back and put a hand over his stomach. He could feel it rebelling, growling angrily as it was overly stuffed with fatty food. He let out a burp in his first and breathed uncomfortably as his waist was pressing against his trousers.

Rin was still nibbling at his food slowly, with a look of contempt on his face.

“You can give it up you know.” Sousuke told him. “You don’t have to eat all of it.”

Rin scoffed. “I knew you’d give up. You’ve always been a pansy as soon as a real challenge comes along.” He bated.

Sousuke’s expression changed and he sat forward, picking up his chopsticks. “Prepare to eat your words.”

“I think I ate I really did eat my words. I can feel them sloshing around in my stomach.” Rin complained bitterly as he and Sousuke walked home.

Sousuke burped and massaged his aching stomach. “I can’t believe I let bully me into stuffing myself with Okonomiyaki.”

“Me? I didn’t force you! You could have chosen not to.” Rin argued.

Sousuke rolled his eyes and leaned forward with both arms wrapped around his stomach. “Gah- I don’t think I’ve ever eaten this much before.”

“That’s what you said at my middle school birthday party when you helped yourself to the cake.” Rin recalled.

Sousuke shivered. “I think I feel as sick now as I did then.”

“I don’t feel so hot either.” Rin admitted.

“Slow down Rin.” Sousuke said desperately. “If I walk any faster I’ll surely be sick.” He covered his hand over his face. He could feel his stomach contents being shaken around with each step, threatening to make a reappearance at any moment.

“I just want to get home as fast as possible.” Rin said. Sousuke happened to notice Rin wasn’t being his normal snarky self, and sweat glistened off his cheeks in the evening lamp posts. He wondered if Rin was feeling worse than he was letting on.

His theory was confirmed when Rin suddenly stopped walking and leaned against a lamp post.

“Rin?” Sousuke stopped in the path. Rin was staring at the ground and wouldn’t speak, then suddenly, he pitched forward with a gag and a wet burp released a flood of vomit that splattered onto the sidewalk.

Sousuke felt his own stomach lurch and he turned away, covering his mouth with his hand. “Damn it.” He thought. “One sudden movement from my stomach and I’m ganna lose it too.” He knew his stomach was so full that any pressure on it would cause it to overflow.

Rin pitched forward again, puking noisily and the sounds alone were more than Sousuke could bare.

He gagged on the spot and his eyes watered as he felt liquid shoot up his throat. He tried to get as far out of the middle of the sidewalk before he released a waterfall of sick onto the concrete. “Damn it Rin.” He spat.

Rin only moaned in reply, and dry heaved again until more semi digested Okonomiyaki was forced out of him.

Once there was a pause between both of their bouts, Sousuke grabbed Rin by the arm and dragged him down the sidewalk. “Come on, we’re getting home before we cause anymore trouble.”

The two of them finally got home and Rin was first to go strait to the bathroom.

Sousuke ran a cup under the tap and drank some cool water. Coming from the bathroom, he heard Rin coughing up what sounded like another mouthful of predigested Okonomiyaki.

Sousuke leaned over the sink, wrapping one arm around his stomach and pressing the cup of cold water to his forehead.

He burped and felt his stomach contents jostle around in a sickly fashion. He still felt uncomfortably full and wanted nothing more than to relieved of the pressure.

He heard Rin puking noisily again called out to him. “You okay?”

“This is shit!” Rin yelled back.

Sousuke couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, but he winced as nausea penetrated his senses. He hiccuped and was struck by a wet gag. A moment later, he was spewing disgusting fluids into the sink in rounds of two.

He ran the tap at once and rinsed his mouth out with water. He let his head fall in resignation of his demise and once again he heard Rin vomiting in the next room.

Sousuke went to check on Rin, and shook his head as he saw him looking pale and sickly, hanging over the toilet. Sousuke leaned over the bathroom sink with a groan. “Yare yare. We really screwed ourselves this time didn’t we?”

Rin ran his fingers through his hair and wiped sweat off his forehead. “Man, that was a waste of money.” Rin clicked his tongue with annoyance.

Sousuke was stunned. “That’s what you’re mad about?”

#free iwatobi swim club #emetophilia #rin matsuoka #yamazaki sousuke #stuffing #overeating #challenge eating #vomiting on the sidewalk #vomiting in the sink #vomiting in the toilet #burping #stomach ache #friendship

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