#trying to get back into the swing of things though!

[imfinereallyy]

I wonder if you look both ways (When you cross my mind) pt. 2

pt. 1

🐝･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･✦ʚɞ

June 1996, Chicago

Steve doesn’t exactly know when Eddie Munson became one of his best friends, let alone when he fell in love with him.

He supposes both things occurred between the end of the world, and Eddie’s back walking out the door for the last time, unbeknownst to anyone. Though, that is five years of time, who’s to say when it really happened.

Dustin will argue the friend part. He likes to think it was he who brought them together (it certainly wasn’t; in fact, it put a real bump in the road for them). Dustin also thinks, which Steve is more inclined to think is true, that the two of them had become friends during Eddie’s slow recovery and Steve’s guilt complex, which made him feel responsible for him.

Which—ouch, Dustin—but years of therapy would prove him right.

Little shit.

Dustin doesn't know about the love part, though, and Steve doesn’t think much of the party knows except for one or two of the perceptive ones.

Looking at you, Lucas.

Robin likes to argue that Steve doesn’t know when he fell in love with Eddie because Eddie was different from everyone else.

Steve puts everything into love, moves fast, falls hard, and ultimately gets crushed by his own passion. Steve doesn’t know how to take things slow or wait around for the right person.

Until he did, with Eddie.

Steve managed to have a slow decent into the madness of loving a man like Eddie Munson. And he never did anything about it, although he didn't mind. Steve was okay with just being friends and loving from afar.

Until they weren't even that, and Eddie was gone.

Steve can't think about that now, instead he should probably worry about the man himself breaking into his apartment at 3 a.m.

"Get. Out." Robin hisses, breaking Steve from his thoughts.

Suddenly, Eddie stands. His hands thrust forward in a placating nature, and nervous energy radiates off of him. "Robin, please—"

"No, Munson. You don't get to disappear from our lives for five years, and then break into our apartment!" Robin whisper shouts, the metal bat waving around in her grip.

Steve still hasn't said anything, still unsure of any of it is really happening. But he can't help but warm at Robin's fierceness.

She will go down swinging for Steve, even against someone she cares about.

Fuck, he loved her.

"Give me one good reason not to bash your skull in with this thing, Munson. I dare you!" Robin took the metal bat and pushed it into Eddie's chest.

Steve gets a good look at him as he stumbles backward. He doesn't look much different—well that's a lie. He does look different; more tattoos, more piercings and Steve is pretty surprised to catch him wearing anything other than a band tee. It is just so all quintessentially Eddie. The jewelry is all silver, any tattoo he got after 1986 appears to be in black and red ink only. Even his tee is still black despite the lack of a band on the front.

"Birdie, I don't think you should have Steve's bat in your hands, you're a bit dangerous." Eddie tries to grab the bat from her hands but Robin yanks it back.

"Oh, fuck you, Munson! You don't get to call me Birdie, and this is my bat. Steve's is wooden and full of nails and underneath his bed. You should know that, or has the last five years really rotted your brain?" Robin is now waving the bat around with gusto, nearly missing Steve's head at one point.

Trying to shake himself from his frozen state, Steve decides it is probably in everyone's best interest if he steps in.

"Robs." Steve speaks gently, hand on the bat as he slowly lowers it down. Her shoulders drop, the fight draining out of her in seconds. "It's okay."

It's not okay. Steve doesn't understand what's happening right now. But Steve is okay as long as he has Robin, and Robin has him. Steve hopes she understands that's what he meant.

Robin nods her head, and shuffles closer to him.

Steve takes a shaky breath, "What are you doing here, Munson?"

Eddie cringes at the use of his last name but doesn't comment. "Listen, I know it's weird me just stopping by suddenly—"

Robin snorts, "I wouldn't exactly call breaking in 'stopping by'."

Eddie shakes his head, ignoring her. Stray curls start to fall loose from their bun. "I just want to talk, for you guys to hear me out."

Steve rubs a hand down his face, he is getting too old for this stuff. Being blindsided, being surprised—being thrown sideways and upside down. Sure, twenty-nine isn't exactly old, but Steve has lived practically six different lifetimes by now. There is so much damage to him—physically and emotionally. He is supposed to be past nonsense like this.

Robin takes his silence as permission to snip at Eddie, "No. Go away, Eddie. You don't get to do that. Get out."

Eddie moves a step forward, he is now illuminated completely by the side table's light. He looks tired—good but tired. It's not the kind of tired you see of someone in distress, not the ache that comes along in the tunnel that has no light in the end. No, Eddie looks tired in the way that comes with healing. Like working hard exhaustion. As if coming home from a long but good day at work, and the night grows weary.

Eddie opens his mouth to argue, but Steve cuts him off. "It's fine, Robbie. It's late; let him crash on the couch."

Eddie's shoulders sag in relief, "Thanks, Stevie, we can talk—"

"No." Steve chokes out, moving his hand towards his throat so he can remember to breathe. "You don't get to call me that. And we're not talking about anything. You'll sleep here, but that's it. I might not want you here, but it doesn't mean I'm going to let you wander the streets at night."

"Steve, please—" Eddie reaches out his hands to touch Steve. It is most likely going to be a gentle touch, but Steve can't help the way he violently flinches.

Eddie looks taken aback, eyes wide and full of sadness. He pulls his hands back.

"No, Eddie." Steve grabs Robin's hand and starts to pull her to bed. She doesn't protest and instead leans into his touch. Steve turns over his shoulder to look at Eddie again. "You'll stay the night. It's not an option. But my morning? I want you gone. I don't want you to be the first thing I see after sunrise."

Steve turns quickly back around, ignoring the pained grunt from behind him.

Bypassing Robin's bedroom, Steve pulls them both into his. Robin doesn't question it and instead makes herself comfortable in his forest green blankets.

Steve quickly follows after, snuggling into the bed beside her. People have thought them weird over the years—always in each other's spaces and knowing every little thing about each other. Partners, friends, family—all of them had something to say about it, never even bothering to understand.

Well, except Eddie. Eddie appreciated it, accepted it. Adored it at times.

"Are you really okay with this, Dingus?" Robin whispers softly between them.

"No." Steve never lies to Robin; she'll know. "Not at all, but I'm not going to let him wander the streets, no matter what I loved him at some point. I don't let the people I loved, get hurt."

Robin squints in pity, "Loved?"

"Not now, Bobbie," Steve whispers.

Robin nods, "Besides, I'm pretty sure 'Ed Sloane' can afford a fucking hotel room."

Steve lets out a loud snort, it echoes throughout the room. "God, don't remind me. What a stupid fucking name."

The two of them dissolve into giggles, bumping their heads together. Under the covers, they clasp their hands together tight. "I just don't want you to derail your life, for someone who walked so easily out of it. I know you have that important lunch with Drew tomorrow."

Steve takes a breathe through his nose, "Yea, I do. But it'll be fine. He'll be gone before I'm even up. You know Eds, he's a runner. Wouldn't stop trying to prove it, in fact."

Robin's face is scrunched in pain, and her eyes pool with pity. It's as if she knows something Steve doesn't or sees something he chooses to ignore. She doesn't comment on it, though. Instead, she raises an eyebrow, "Eds?"

It isn't snippy or accusing. Her voice is soft against his cheek. Steve doesn't have the mental capacity to argue though. "G'night, Birdie."

"Goodnight, Stevie." She whispers.

Steve closes his eyes, knowing it will all feel like a dream tomorrow.

Steve is familiar with having dreams with Eddie in them.

🐝･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･✦ʚɞ

more to come i promise, especially after your (loving demands). especially my mutuals who yelled at me in the tags and my dm's (it made my day).Part 3 is currently being typed up. Also might fuck around and make this a full-blown ao3 one shot; who knows.

tag list!:

@stevesbipanic @withacapitalp @emryyyyy09 @brainfugk @blueberrylemontea-fanfic

@slv-333 @thetinymm @connected-dots-st-reblogger @helpimstuckposting @dreamercec

@goodolefashionedloverboi @stripey82 @little2nerdy @anne-bennett-cosplayer @resident-gay-bitch

@ghostquer @sourw0lfs @devondespresso

(please let me know if you don't want a tag, I had to guess by the comments, and sorry if you’re getting a random tag after posting, I had to fix the tag list cause tumblr is weird)

#okay so now it is a thing #no more idk i promise #also this has a happy ending i promise #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #my writing #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates stobin #stobin #platonic with a capital p #steve and robin #I wonder if you look both ways (When you cross my mind) #ao3 #ficlet #angst #hurt/comfort

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

Hand tight around the handle of his sword. Shadows pulled close, close, closer; cloak, hood, shroud. Still as a stone, hardly moving, barely breathing, waiting, waiting, tensing.

The whispers outside his cabin door grow louder.

He shot awake half an hour ago. A shift, under the cracked-open window, rustling, turning. Fabric, maybe, or fur brushing across the polished stone of the wall. Not a hellhound — he’d feel the bent shadows of its presence — nor any other creature from the Underworld, but clearly something dark, foreboding. Some heavy, stifling presence. And many of them, too, or perhaps one thing that is growing. It shouldn’t be possible within camp borders, but he can — feel it. A sense of ambush, of impending attack.

Every few minutes there’s a shake at his door handle. A wiggling of the Stygian iron metal, a whisper of sound as it’s jiggled, fruitlessly, a hiss as something draws away. The sound of quiet, throaty murmurs, muffled through the obsidian door. Escalating. Louder, louder; angrier, frantic.

Something is waiting for him.

It’s some comfort that it can’t get in. The handle was his design — not that most monsters would try to use it, but the burn as it touched their flesh, the threat of the Pit, would certainly would deter them. The obsidian doorway he insisted upon, regardless of skeletal complaints, was for practicality as much as pageantry. He has spent enough time in the well-run Land of the Dead to take notes from his father, paranoid he may be.

The noises, though, still grow stronger. Whatever is waiting for him has not been deterred by his fortifications, nor frightened by his aura of death. The handle jiggles again, and this time, the intruder is smarter — the lock turns, clicking as it is overcome, handle turning to follow it slowly, slowly. Nico holds his breath, gliding along the shadow, hovering in the doorway.

The door swings silently open. A clumsy lump of something steps hesitantly forward, huge and cumbersome; bulbous. At the front of it is a single long, glowing talon. The intruder pauses, contemplating, in the flood of low light, the cabin’s twisting shadows, turning slowly, carefully around. Nico glides along the floor, guessing at its blindspot, holding close to himself, waiting, waiting.

One.

The creature pauses.

Two.

The talon twitches to the left, following the creak of the settling bed springs.

Three.

Nico surges forward, bringing down his sword. It clangs against the talon, reverberating outwards, echoing the screams of the monster and tear of fabric —

“Nico! Nico! It’s us! Cool it! Watch the sword! Watch the sword!”

A burst of fire shoots upward, enveloping the cabin in a burst of white light. Nico hisses, nearly dropping his sword in his hassle to clamp his hand on top of his eyes, hunching protectively forward.

“Leo! Fucksake, you tryna blind us?!”

“Sorry! Sorry! He freaked me out, I flamed too hard!”

“Just fuckin’ — scream, next time! Jesus! I’ve gone blind!”

“What the fuck,” hisses Nico, blinking the spots out of his eyes, “are you idiots doing?”

In front of him stands not a monster but five infuriatingly familiar faces, each holding — for some reason — a mattress. Percy’s sword is still held loosely in front of him, and Jason’s jacket has been singed. Piper and Annabeth blink spots out of their eyes. Leo stands, in the charred ruins of his mattress, wringing his hands.

He glances up at the ceiling. Nico follows his gaze, noting where the black rock has been re-vulcanized into glass from the heat of the flames. He looks back down.

“From the bottom of my heart,” Leo says, solemnly, “my bad.”

Nico sinks to the floor with his head in his hands.

His friends, for some reason, take this as a cue. The heavy door is pushed back closed, cutting off the last of the low light from the Greek fire torches outside and the whistling of light wind. Someone feels around for a light switch, and, upon finding none, shrugs and pokes Leo until his nose catches fire, guiding him around until all the lamps and fairy lights have been located and turned on. Someone else — Annabeth, he guesses — begins instructing mattress placement, directing a crew to dig through his closet for linens. A comment about how spacious it is now that he’s not in it pops into his mind and he shoved it back down. He will not make light of the situation. He won’t.

“What the fuck,” he reiterates, louder this time.

Nobody answers. A faucet starts running in his background, and he hears the flip of a drachma.

“If nobody answers me in the next ten seconds I’m going to reanimate Andre the Giant and have him bodily throw y’all out. He will not be gentle. He will —”

“Y’all count,” they all say at once. Percy, gleefully from the bathroom’s running faucet, calls, “I’ll keep track! Remember if it goes over twelve I win!”

Nico snaps his mouth shut, ears burning.

Why has he remained at camp, again? He trained with Achilles and Patroclus. He learned how to read with Literal Shakespeare. Alan Turing taught him math. Not successfully, or anything, but still. He has no bearing here. He could be anywhere he wants to be, and for some reason he is putting up with unrepentant disrespect.

Nico four months ago would smite them. Nico five months ago would turn them to shadows for their insolence. Nico a few weeks ago, even, would have at least sulked off into the forest to cool of for several days.

Here he stands, Nico of tonight.

Unmoving in the centre of his sieged cabin.

No Andre the Giant raised.

No terrors inflicted.

Hardly even a threat.

What the shit.

“What love does to a young lad, eh?” Piper says, patting him condescendingly on the head. He aims a kick for her knees, which she unfortunately dodges, cackling and scampering away. He surges after her.

“I am several decades older than you, you little snot, what are you even talking about —”

“Older and uglier, you wrinkly ass bitch —”

“Guess who’s gonna be ugly when I remove the flesh from her body —”

“Ha! Catch me first, shrimp arms —”

“It’s working! I got it!” Walking very carefully, not unlike a toddler holding a too-full open cup for the first time, Percy steps out of the bathroom, faucet finally off. In his cupped hands is a quickly spinning vortex of sink water, letting off a fine mist. A prism taped to the side of his forehead refracts a rainbow into it. “Say hi, Hazel!”

“Hi,” says Hazel, waving from her surprisingly solid connection. She meets Nico’s eyes, grinning. He matches it immediately, dropping Piper out of the headlock he had her in.

“Hey,” he says, ignoring Piper’s dark muttering and promises for revenge. “You look eager.”

“I am eager. I heard we’re having a sleepover and talking about boys!”

“…You heard what.”

Percy shucks off his shoes, stepping gingerly over Jason and plopping right in the middle of the mattress pile, legs crossed. Nico realises for the first time that he is wearing pattered Superman pajamas, which is frustratingly endearing. He shifts the water vortex so that Hazel’s projection faces him.

“I’m so pumped,” he says earnestly. “I’ve never done this before. I’m so intrigued. Do we talk shit? Is that how it’s done? Is there swooning? I have a plan if there’s swooning.”

“We’ll get there, Seaweed Brain.” Annabeth brushes a hand through Percy’s hair as she walks by — somehow dignified, which is impressive, Nico has never seen anyone wobble over a mattress elegantly before — and presses a kiss to his forehead. He leans into it. “Ease into it.”

“Yeah,” Hazel snickers. She sticks her tongue out at Nico’s glare. “Don’t spook him.”

Nico throws his hands up. “Don’t spook me, she says. Heaven forbid anyone tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, you’re trying to court that boy, right? The cute one with the motormouth?”

Crazy how two sentences can reach down your throat, grip onto your beating heart, squeeze out your soul, drag it from your body, still pulsing, and leave it to actively shrivel on the floor next to your withered, fetal-positioned body to the audience of your cackling friends. Genuinely wild.

There’s a woman who wanders around the poplar fields of his father’s kingdom and has for tens of thousands of years — longer than even his father. Legend says she is the first user of language as it is understood in modernity. Nico may have to beat her up the next time he sees her. Or, well, try, ‘cause she’s jacked, but her crime cannot go unpunished. How dare she introduce the curse of language upon the human race.

“Which one of you,” he croaks, voice cracking more than Jason’s old man joints when he sneezes, “you — fuckers, told my sister about — about.”

If he says his name he’ll die. Like Voldemort except not stupid.

When he looks up, all five of them hold their hands proudly in the air.

“It was more of a conference call,” Jason explains. “And it was less ‘us telling’ and more us calling to say hey, Hazel, Nico keeps shutting down every time this particular person smiles at him, and then Hazel went oh, is it the medic boy he keeps rambling about when he calls me, and we went yeah, totally, can you elaborate on the rambling —”

“Cool.” Nico scrambles to his feet, brushing off his sweatpants, tucking his sword under his arm. “I’m going to go drown myself, if y’all will excuse me.”

He barely makes it one quarter step away from the stupid fucking mattress pile.

“Initiate part two of the plan!” Annabeth hollers.

“Y’all count!” Percy yells.

Without waiting to be chased, Nico sprints for the door. Immediately a fireball is launched at the handle before he can reach, melting it. He veers for the window, but a gust of air slams it shut, and a shining dagger pins the lock in place. In his final desperate dive for the nearest shadow, Piper sprints over — curse her long legs — and tackles him to the ground, rolling them both towards the nearest light source.

“Every single one of you —”

“Ow! Teeth away! Teeth away! Don’t make me muzzle you!”

“—except you, Hazel, never you —”

“Jason! He’s fuckin’ — his nails are clawed into the doorframe, help me!”

“—will be facing me in judgement day! And I shall not be lenient!”

“Quit trying to bite me or I’ll beat you up again!”

“No! Suffer!”

Conveniently, a spot on the uncomfortable floor has been left free of mattresses and pillows and beddings so that Nico and Piper can claw the shit out of each other properly. He lands a good hit on his collarbone, but she jams her heel into his ribs when he foolishly leaves his left side open. He manages to pin her arms to her sides with his legs, but she mirrors the move and squeezes her thighs around his neck.

“Do you usually just let them kill each other?”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it. They didn’t get to spar yesterday so they’re a bit pent up, they’ll be fine soon.”

“…Must be a Greek thing.”

“Don’t you guys have Violence Fridays?”

“Uh, not quite.”

“We have war games,” Jason explains, “but there are generally repercussions for aiming for one’s jugular.”

Annabeth frowns. “Well, that seems flawed. How do you children ever learn to defend themselves?”

“If I recall correctly, by surviving to adulthood.”

“Touché.”

Knowing the scolding he’s about to get is going to be fierce, Nico rolls them both towards his (thankfully untouched) bed, sinking them into the shadows under it and popping up on top of Jason’s reclining body. As he planned, the combined chaos of Jason’s screech and Piper’s nausea gives him just enough leeway to kick himself free and scramble away behind Annabeth. Not that she’ll usually protect him, but he has a feeling that she has an itinerary and is therefore invested in keeping them on task.

“Okay,” she says, holding Piper back by the forehead — success. “Piper, put the nails away. Nico, quit making faces at her or I’m gonna let her claw you. Go sit on opposite ends of the mattress pile.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” they both say, immediately cowering and Annabeth’s glare and scampering to do as asked.

“Thank you. Alright, everybody grab a blanket and gather around. Nico, is there a — thermostat in here, or something?” She tightens the skull-patterned blanket (that she stole from his closet like the thief that she is) around her shoulders. “It’s freezing.”

Nico sniffs haughtily. “I prefer to have my external environment the internal temperature of my soul.”

He smiles smugly to himself at the chorus of boos that echo around him. That was a good one. He feels no shame.

“You should,” Percy tells him seriously.

“Stick your finger in a socket.”

Annabeth tosses an overflowing binder into the centre of the mattress pile before they can really start to go at it.

“Be quiet and behold,” she says grandly, “the plan.”

Nico stares at it dubiously. “The plan.”

“Yes, the plan.”

“Say plan one more time and I’m chewing the floor.”

“You’re such an odd person.”

“Having your fucked up ghost mentor put you in a labyrinth to be hunted for sport by his monster friends for ‘training’ will do that to you.”

Will once told him that he reverts to making people uncomfortable via depressing personal anecdotes when he is nervous. Startlingly perceptive for someone who, in the same breath, asked Nico if he could bring his siblings to the picnic Nico had planned in the strawberry fields for them, alone, at sunset.

“Just — open the binder, oh my gods.”

Huffing, Nico does.

It’s less intimidating than it looks. The heavily doodled title page reads OPERATION: WOOING WILL, which is embarrassing, but the rest of it is as cleanly professional. Several sub chapters including plans A-L, gathered information, outside input, sources, and hand-drawn diagrams are neatly organized and typed out. It’s even in dyslexia-friendly font. Truly a work of art. Too bad Nico is considering incinerating it.

“It’s not even gonna work,” he mumbles, pointedly avoiding the six pairs of eyes watching him. Well, five, Leo walked in the cabin and immediately got distracted by something else. He’s been poking at a pile of bronze for the past forty minutes at least. “He’s — unplannable.”

“Nothing’s unplannable.”

“He is. He doesn’t — think about things. In the same way.” Nico traces his fingers over a page titled Dropping Hints — How Begging Someone To Go Out With You Has Changed In Seventy Years. “You and me’ll see someone go out of their way to make life easier on somebody and know they’re — crushing, or whatever. But Will goes out of his way for everybody, all the time. It’s not odd for him.”

“Can’t you just tell him? Outright?” Hazel asks. “I mean, he told you, didn’t he?”

“That’s different.”

It isn’t, really. Nico could tell him. He could walk up to breakfast tomorrow and just blurt it out. Same words, even. I think you’re gorgeous.

He wants to. He wants Will to know, wants his bright eyes to go wide and his nose to go red and his voice to go quiet as he says, really? And Nico wants to feel the goosebumps that cover his arms when he rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist and says, yes. Wants to watch him shiver as he says, you make me feel safe, you know. Watch his golden eyelashes flutter as he adds, wanted. Safe and wanted.

“It has to feel right.”

———

next

#i wanted to finish so bad but it’s like 1am i gotta be up in five hours #oh well #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #solangelo #nico di angelo #nico di angelo & the seven #annabeth chase #modern courting #my writing #fic #longpost

[munsonsreputation]

hii! omg so i rlly love your writing its incredible. i have two requests but you can choose whichever one! the first one is an imagine w steve and the reader based off of call it what you want by taylor. orr a hurt/comfort imagine where the reader is basically comforting steve maybe aft he’s had a fight w his parents or something? again i rlly love your writing literally look forward for new writeups all the time!

at least we did one thing right

a/n: this one has been sitting in my inbox since forever and i managed to stir up this cute little thing. ciwyw is one of my favorite tracks of reputation and i can't wait to get the re-recording of this (hopefully soon!!!)

The party was in full swing, and by party you meant all of your close friends who are gathered in Steve’s living room and kitchen entertaining themselves while you and Steve hid away in his backyard like a routine.

His gaze flickered through the sliding doors, mock concern etched on his features as he mutters under his breath, “I swear to god, they better not pick the pineapple off the other slices.”

You turned your head to see what he was going on about, and sure enough the teenage boys were ravaging the kitchen like they hadn’t eaten in days. At this rate, they were like bottomless pits, and you weren’t quite sure how they were able to put away a portion of food without blinking.

Still, you snorted, swatting a hand over his thigh and garnering his attention back to you.

“They’re growing boys and their appetites are different from when they were twelve. We can order another if they’re still hungry.” You shrugged.

He shook his head, shifting to pull your legs over and across his lap.

“I ordered pineapple for you, and you should at least get to have one slice of it.” Steve insisted, though your orbs were too clouded with heart eyes to see the irritation he wore for the innocently selfish boys.

You pursed your lips into a tight smile, hooking your arm over his bicep, tugging yourself closer to him, “You’re so cute for someone who hogs all the blankets at night.”

He looked down at you, shaking his head with a mushy smile coming over him, “Hey you’re the one who likes the house freezing!”

Steve rumbles a string of laughter into the air, using his free arm that’s not being clung onto, to drape over your frame, practically wrenching your whole body onto his as you begin joining in the amusement. You give up on trying to get the upper-hand, letting yourself sit comfortably in his lap, your joined hands resting on either side of your bodies and you lean down to lay your head on his chest.

You snuggled deeper into the fabric of his shirt, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne. It’s a simple pleasure of yours to be wrapped up in his arms, high above the whole scene, in your own little world like nothing else mattered.

“You’re my portable space heater, got all the warmth I need,” you declared, pressing kind kisses over his chest feeling his lips brush over your hairline.

Steve thought he must have done something right in this lifetime in order to give himself to you in a way he hadn’t given anyone else before. He doesn’t care that it’s simply you two sneaking away just to act like corny teenagers again. All of that fades into nothing when you look at him the way you do.

But before you could savor the moment, a familiar voice interrupted from above, followed by the squeak of rusty wheels gliding across the frame.

“Are you guys having fun out here without us!” Robin shouted, ringing out closer as she approached you both, but of course not without the presence of Eddie by her side.

You sat up, laughing, while Steve groaned and craned his neck to greet them. “You guys have to stop sneaking off to do whatever this is,” Eddie teased, gesturing between you both with a lighthearted smirk.

Steve grunted, “You’re just mad you don’t have a girlfriend to love on,” he shot back, pulling you down by the wrists to meet his lips in a messy kiss that left you giggling.

Eddie feigned revulsion and quickly retreated back inside, while Robin settled beside your bodies, her eyes twinkling with affection. “I still think you guys are adorable, even though this sneaking off thing is getting old.”

Robin had always been rooting for the two of you — there was just something about you both that made perfect sense, and when you finally bit the bullet, it was safe to say she was celebratory about the whole thing.

“We just don’t want to bore you guys with our public displays of affection,” you teased, sharing a knowing smile with Robin who threw her head back and laughed at all the times your friends would scold you both to cut out the lovey dovey acts.

Steve interjected, “Last time we cuddled on the couch you kicked us out of movie night…in my house!”

Robin rolled her eyes, pointing an accusing finger at him. “That’s because we could all smell the sexual tension between you guys. Seriously, just get it out of your systems before we get here.”

You slapped your hands over your flushed face, groaning behind them, “Noted. We’ll remember that for next time.” You promised, shaking your head.

Steve couldn’t contain his laughter, his eyes crinkling as he turned to his best friend with a pleading look. “Now, can you please leave and let me make out with my girlfriend in peace?”

She rose up out of the lounger with a grin, “If there’s one thing you guys did right, it’s each other… and I don’t mean sex!” With that she disappeared back inside, leaving you both to yourselves.

Steve gently pulled your hands away from your face, his soft smiling easing away any idling embarrassment that you knew was all in good fun. He brought your hands closer to his lips, spreading kisses across your knuckles that made your stomach flip with warmth.

“Well, at least did one thing right,” He murmured, raising his brows up at you as you blushed and nodded.

“We sure did.” You whispered, before cupping his cheeks and bringing yourself down to him.

Your eyes fluttered shut, closing the distance between your lips, fitting themselves together like a daydream. The jokers and the drama queens could take all the swings and call it whatever they wanted to — as long as you and Steve knew it was love.

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[buttdumplin]

The sweet, lovely poly 141 boys and their Spanish-speaking latine partner.

This was meant to be a quick little thing, but boy did this get away from me lmao. This is the fluffiest shit I've ever indulged in and I love it. Big thank you to @mikichko for inspiring and helping with this!!!

CW: poly 141, gn!reader, latine reader, mexican slang, hint of d/s dynamics in Johnny's

Price, god love the man, is the one who seems to stumble the most. It's almost comical, considering the fact that Spanish and Arabic are so similar due to their histories. But there's a big difference between the Spanish he's learned to recognize and what you throw at him on the daily. He truly thinks it's because of his age, window of acquisition and all that. John does not expect to be able to speak fluently with you, but he does at least want to understand you. What he really wants, though, is to make you feel more fully at home with him, and he is forever grateful that you feel comfortable and safe enough with them to embrace all parts of your identity.

"Hola, amor mío. How was your day?" you greet him from the couch, eyeing him from tip to toe and almost whistling at seeing him in uniform. "Sigues rechulo, mi güerito, so I assume all went well?"

John swings down to kiss you, gripping the back of your neck to prolongue the kiss, trying to soak in as much of the affection as he can while also disguising the fact that he still doesn't fully recognize what came after.

"Yours was good too, I trust?"

"Yeah, but my brother called. El güey still con sus pinches mamadas and asking for my help. Aguas, in case he shows up this week."

"I... will keep an eye out, dove."

"Call me si les arma pedo and I'm not around."

He just nods sagely and squishes up against you on the couch, letting your warmth seep into his tired bones.

Later that evening, he rounds up the boys while you're in the shower and pulls out a small notebook where he's written things out phonetically. John may not have all the knowledge he needs, but he sure as hell is good at getting it.

"'Güey,' that's the brother's nickname?"

"No, that's like 'man/guy.' But it's also an insult. But not always," Johnny supplies.

"Fuck me, okay. 'Rechulo' is... I got nothing for that one."

"The 're' is for heavy emphasis, 'chulo' is 'cute/handsome/pretty.' 'Re' can go on practically any adjective," Simon steps in.

"'Aguas' and 'pedo' CANNOT be what they are, right?"

Kyle takes his hand and chuckles, "No, sweetheart. The first is like a warning, the second a fight or scene or scandal. In this context."

John's shoulders finally relax and he lets out a heavy sigh, putting the final touches on his notes of the day.

"Thank you, boys, for your patience and your kindness. And your secrecy," John huffs a little laughter and gives them his sweetest smile, the one where you can see the dimples poking out through the beard.

They all reach over to gently caress him, taking turns kissing the parts of him they can reach.

"Thank you, John, for trying so hard."

~

Beautiful, wonderful Kyle, the delight of a man that he is, is the one giving it as good as he gets. He's the one crooning in your ear, showering you with the most decadent terms of endearment, knowing full well they make your knees much weaker in Spanish. He'll use the advantage every single chance he has, don't doubt that for a second. But truly, it's the soft seclusion of those moments that he cherishes most, when you're looking up at him with big bright eyes, knowing you fully trust him to take care of you.

You're grumbling away as you wash dishes after dinner when Kyle comes up behind you, arms making the way slowly around your waist, chin dropping onto your shoulder.

"Oh, tesoro mío, look at you working away, working so hard for us."

You refuse to look at him and give a fussy pout. He knows it's your least favorite of the house duties. So much so that you're always willing to do almost anything as long as you don't have to touch wet food.

"It looks like you've done enough, cariño. Come join us in bed."

"No. None of you wanted to trade with me so se aguantan," you try to wiggle and bump his head away from yours.

"Come on, cosa hermosa, we need you with us to settle for the night," he pulls your hands from the water, drying them and turning you towards him.

You immediately bury your face into his chest. Can't look him in the eye, he'll win you over the moment you do.

"So they send in the smooth talker, huh?"

Kyle laughs, clear and bright, and he wraps you back up in his arms, gently cradling your head until you give in and look up at him.

"Or," he says, making you both rock gently, "I'm trying to sneak in a little solo time."

Your body melts against his as the words sink in, big eyes blinking softly up at him, "Besito?"

"As many as you want, mi vida. Until you grow bored of me," and you're letting out a sweet sigh as those soft lips meet yours.

His hands move to bring your body closer to his, to milk this quiet moment for as much contact as possible, to sear it all into his memory.

"You two are awfully quiet out there," Simon calls from the bedroom and it makes you break apart with a little jump.

You hear frantic rustling that has to be Johnny, "Hold on, what happened to doing the dishes!"

A chuckle escapes the two of you, sparkling eyes meeting in the low light from the stove hood. The sound of John huffing to get comfortable floats in from the bedroom.

"Just a minute more, hermosura," he mutters against your hair. "Wanna stay here a bit longer."

"Really liking all those pet names, aren't you?"

Kyle laughs again and gives you a squeeze, "Mean every single one of them."

And you happily linger, not pointing out that you've noticed an endearing pattern of Kyle wrapping up nights in the kitchen with you in his arms and a faint love song echoing down the hall for you two to sway to.

~

Beloved, darling Simon, he hides his own understanding of the language. He understands it nearly perfectly, with just the tiniest margin of error, nothing too big to bring attention to it. Overall, he's able to catch almost everything you mumble. It's not to be sneaky or anything like that, Simon would never do anything to compromise your privacy. It's more that he doesn't quite see the need to verbalize it. To him it's nothing special, no need to make a spectacle. Instead, he lets it seep into his actions, ever the acts of service lover that he is.

You're spread out on the couch, on the phone with your mother, complaining, "Como chingan los del trabajo. Me pidieron un reporte para el viernes y ahora me reclaman que todavía no se los he dado y apenas es miércoles."

There was a tension in your shoulders when you came home from work, he didn't miss that. Caught you jolting to a stop mid-stretch. And as the call goes on longer, Simon picks up on more.

"No he tenido chance de lavar ropa, ni una putisima pijama... Traigo un pinche antojo de mole, pero es un chingo de trabajo y ahorita no le puedo dedicar el tiempo..."

He quietly moves to gather the boys as you continue ranting and pace around the room. You're too caught up in your call to see them forming a massive huddle and their nodding at Simon right as the break and throw their joined hands in the air.

By the time you're off the phone, it's dark out and you notice the house is quieter than usual. You move to look for the boys (they can't have left without telling you, right?) when Simon pops out from the hall, crooked smile you love so much adorning his face, and he simply takes your hand to pull you into the bathroom. A hot bath greets you, some honeyed bath bomb already dissolving in the water and your laptop set up on a bucket besides the bath, your comfort show already pulled up and ready to play. Simon then points to your softest pajamas washed and set out on the counter for you.

"And you'll help me with my lotion too?"

He kisses your forehead, "When do I not?"

"The boys?"

"Setting up dinner. Kyle and I are making your favorite."

You whip around to face him, eyes wide and excited, "With fresh tortillas?"

With a low, affirmative hum Simon pulls you in closer and just holds you. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. But he lends you his strength, which is all he can really hope for. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms around you help release the tightness in your body. Letting out your own little hum, you give him a squeeze and he squeezes back harder, crushing you in the way he knows you find comforting. There's a soft devotion in his tenderness with you, an unshakable support in every single thing you do.

"So you gonna undress me too, or...?"

A peal of laughter escapes you as he playfully swats at your butt, "Undress yourself. I've got cooking to do."

A day without hearing your laughter is a day poorly spent to Simon.

He's almost to the door when you pull him back into you, hands tugging on his shirt to bring him down to your height. His own laughter rumbles in his chest as you cover his face in loud kisses, and he stays locked in place. He will for as long as you need him to, never mind his back. If it's gonna go out eventually, he'd rather it go out from his time spent like this.

~

Johnny, bless the boy, is desperate to hear it, to have you address him directly. You speak plenty around the house, on phone calls with friends, talking back at the tv (some shows have been put on temporary bans, or at the very least you're not supposed to watch them alone), at the lovely crooked cat yall adopted. You shower them with pet names with every breath you take. And he loves it all! Loves that you so willingly share so much of yourself with them. But Johnny boy is dying for something specific- "Love, why don't you call me papi?"

When he voices it, it's a complete surprise. Simon and Kyle both laugh so hard so suddenly that they find themselves choking on their own spit. Price himself is caught so off-guard that he fully looks up from the dinner he's prepping in the kitchen, raw chicken slipping out of his hands and plopping back into the flour bowl. You at first laugh it off lightly, thinking it was one of his cutesy jokes he makes to get a giggle out of everyone. That would have made the most sense, honestly. But when he looks away, big blue eyes shining with the softest hint of embarrassment, it sinks in.

You shift in your seat a fraction, "Johnny, I don't even call any of you that in English. You know it's not exactly the same thing, right?"

"I know but the little old lady from the corner shop calls me "papi" and so does the older man who brings the water and other people too and it's always so affectionate and so I thought..."

He spares a glance at you, hoping he hasn't completely overstepped.

"Where did this come from?"

"Ale let it slip last time we grabbed coffee and the joy on Rudy's face was so blinding that I thought maybe we should try it."

"Honey--"

"Please, just once."

"But I--"

"It doesn't have to be a title! It can be soft and casual, no expectations."

"You don't--"

"I promise I'll be good for it."

Oh.

Your gaze meets the other boys' and you all take a good look at your Johnny. At some point during his pleading he brought himself down to kneel in front of you. His broad shoulders are slumped forward in submission, his hands clenched together so tightly his fingertips are completely white. Price nods at you, the other two eagerly nodding along as well.

Leaning forward, you grab him by the jaw, gently bringing his head to rest against your thigh.

Running your fingers through his hair, you utter out a low, "Sweet little thing like you just wants to be good, don't you papi?"

Johnny's eyes glaze over slightly, a shy, dazed smile growing on his face. There's not an ounce of hesitation in him as he nuzzles his face into your thigh, just sweet elation. Pleased grumbles escape the others, making Johnny's smile grow bigger.

You make sure to add it into your regular circulation.

#poly 141 #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 x latine reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #i cannot emphasize the poly of this enough #this is truly some of the most self indulgent shit i've ever written and i've never been happier lmao #honestly this is just precious moments with each of them #i'm definitely going to be writing more 141 x latine reader #prepare to be fucking sick of me #frfr tho this is the first long thing i've written in years and ngl it feels good to be doing it again #also yeah i tend to sprinkle in commas like they're condiments

[skyloftian-nutcase]

First Meetings (Hero’s Shadow backstory!)

The highlands were particularly chilly today as Link looked out into the dunes of Gerudo territory. It was strange how he could be so close to barren heat while also freezing his butt off.

Trilling his lips, the half-Sheikah warrior stretched lazily, gaze drifting from spot to the next. He had been transferred to guard duty along the Hyrulian-Gerudo border for his new assignment. It was his first time truly far from home, and it was honestly pretty thrilling. Link loved to see and learn new things, and the Gerudo Highlands were so vastly different from the lush, wet valleys and mountains of home. Kakariko Village was tucked away near Lake Hylia, and Link had spent most of his youth swimming and rushing to the large Cracked Mountain - legend said an earthquake had caused the large split along its center, and it held mystical treasures within its belly, but all Link had managed to do as a child was get stuck halfway through and give his elders a heart attack.

Either way, he loved exploring, and this place was all entirely new. The Highlands were visible from the capital on the Royal Plateau, but he’d never really known what to expect of any of it. Now that he was assigned here, he wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of the place.

But at the moment he was on duty, and so he stayed in his position.

It wasn’t as if the Gerudo were particularly hostile. They were not part of the kingdom and needed to be watched, and they were a warrior people, making them more threatening than others, but still… they hadn’t really caused problems for Hyrule, nor vice versa. There was definitely a wariness between the factions, though, and it created tension.

Movement caught Link’s eye, and he turned, wondering if maybe it was another lizard (he had already collected three), when he realized it was a person. Small, far in the distance, but someone nonetheless. Curious and a little wary, Link crept closer, hand slowly resting atop his katana, and then he got a closer look.

It was a Gerudo. A teenager, from the looks of it - maybe even around his age. She had twin scimitars, and she was practicing with them, slicing hydromelons with ease. Link watched her a little while, watched the way she moved so fluidly, the way her muscles rippled with each twist and turn, the way her hair reflected the sun far more than the sands did. He felt himself staring a little too long, his heart fluttering a little, and he stepped back, a little overwhelmed. The girl seemed to sense his scrutiny, stopping and looking around before glancing upward at him. Link swallowed, throat dry.

She—she was—she was beautiful.

Link heard a sandal on stone, and his adrenaline immediately spiked, every nerve on high alert, just in time to see a shadow cast over him. He looked up and saw a large figure seemingly falling out of the sky towards him, large mace in hand, and Link gasped a little, rolling out of the way as the weapon slammed into the earth.

Grabbing the hilt of his katana with his left hand, the thirteen-year-old immediately went into action. The initial removal from the scabbard was a wide slash, pushing the figure—a man who bore Gerudo traits (but weren’t all the Gerudo women? That’s what he’d heard)—back a little to avoid getting eviscerated. The sun shone behind the man, blinding Link a little, and he changed his position, breaking the kata in order to get a better view. It gave his opponent an opening, and he took a large step forward, swinging the mace horizontally. Link ducked, thankful for his small stature, and jabbed his blade directly forward. His enemy twisted to the side to dodge, and Link’s flank was wide open, giving the man an opportunity to do a one-handed swing with his weapon.

It hit true, slamming Link in the ribs.

The young warrior went flying, hitting the cliffside and falling to the ground, trying desperately to catch his breath. He heard the person walk towards him, and then heard under his breath, in a bemused tone, “A child?”

Link gasped life back into himself, ignoring how his ribs protested, and he sprang back to his feet, gripping his blade with both hands as he did another sweeping cut to drive his enemy back. He jerked a little at the end of the fluid motion, hissing in pain. His ribs were definitely broken.

Did he have a fairy? An elixir? He didn’t remember packing anything, but—

Link’s eyes widened as the man strode forward purposefully, both hands around the leather handle of the enormous mace, and he swept it right where Link’s head was. Clapping his hands together, the teenager channeled his magic, feeling the air sucked out of his lungs as he disappeared before the weapon could land a hit.

Ganondorf stared, blinking at the blank space where the child had just been. Despite being caught off guard by the Hylian’s age, he was still armed and he’d still been watching his daughter, which merited a swift response. The Gerudo king looked around a moment, confused, before hearing clothes fluttering. He turned around wildly, still seeing nothing, and then the sun reflected off something bright just above him, and he looked up and—

The child was about to stab him in the head.

Hissing, Ganondorf pushed hard with his right leg, jerking his body to the side just in time for the Hylian to slice his blade across his shoulder and part of his chest. Ganondorf bit back a yell, his blood pumping faster than it had in ages, and when he’d finished dodging, he’d almost had to laugh.

He didn’t know how this child was actually managing to put up a fight, but this was actually kind of invigorating. The boy had even landed a blow!

Ganondorf knew he’d won, though, based on how the boy struggled to breathe, so he paused before continuing the fight. “Who are you, child?”

The boy immediately hesitated, clearly caught off guard by his change in tone, and he stood hesitantly in a ready stance. “My name is Link.”

“Link,” Ganondorf repeated, humming and putting the mace on a strap on his back. The Hylian hesitated, red eyes curious and hopeful and far too trusting. In an instant, Ganondorf pulled out his spear, slamming the boy’s abdomen with the blunt end. The child gasped, falling to his back, and the fight was over. Ganondorf approached him slowly, watching his chest heave as he struggled to breathe. He pulled out a red potion, plopping it on the ground next to the boy, and dug the sharp end of his spear into the earth beside the child’s light blonde hair. “Don’t watch my daughter again.”

With that, the Gerudo king walked away, wondering what in the world Hyrule Kingdom was doing sending children to its borders anyway. But he had to admit… he was impressed by the boy’s fighting prowess.

Link grimaced, turning enough to grab the potion and chug it, wondering what in the world just happened.

Despite reporting the incident to his superiors, not much was really done. Apparently, there was concern that this was the actual King of the Gerudo himself, and no one would dare cause problems by claiming the king had attacked a lowly Hyrulian guard. Link wasn’t important enough to merit a war. He also felt immensely guilty he’d even managed to bring about any concern for one.

Sighing, the teenager resumed his post the next day, a little more wary and more than a little put out.

When he heard a foot scuff on stone, he immediately drew his blade, wondering what kind of insanity he was going to deal with now.

Instead, he saw the girl he recognized from yesterday, carrying a basket and looking apologetic.

“Hey,” she said softly, holding her hands up to appease him. “I don’t mean any harm.”

“This is the Hyrule border,” Link warned, not moving.

“Yeah. I know.” The teenager replied dully, as if it were obvious. Well… it was, but still. What else was he going to say?

“That means you can’t be here,” he explained, though there was less force in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah,” the girl replied dismissively. “Technically I can’t cross the line. That’s somewhere between you and me. I’m still in Gerudo territory.”

Link lowered his sword, growing confused. “Yeah, but… what do you want?”

“I wanted to say sorry,” the girl replied, lowering her arms and gripping the basket with both hands. “My dad is… overly protective. But… yeah. You want food?”

Link blinked. Blinked again. “Uh… sure?”

The girl smiled, trotting over and grabbing a stick. She traced a line in the dry earth, easily creating a division between them. “There. There’s the border. I won’t cross this line. But we can have a picnic in the meantime.”

Link stared at her, then at the line, then back at her. And then he giggled. “A picnic sounds nice.”

The two sat across from each other, the center of the basket placed directly over the line, and slowly they started to eat and chat. And if they stayed there for hours until the sun started to set, neither really commented on it.

And if they saw each other the next day for another picnic, neither complained.

And if a King and Queen of the Gerudo stood exasperatedly at the bottom of the cliff the tenth time it happened, neither of them noticed.

#writing #Hero of shadow #totk #Ganondorf #hemisi #Gan: *thinks some grown man is being a creep on his 13 year old daughter* oh I’m about to break ALL the treaties #Gan after realizing it’s a kid: Oh. Well. He was looking anyway so I’m teaching him a lesson. #Gan after realizing this is a kid who can FIGHT: Huh. Ok. I’m intrigued. #Hemisi and Link are cute <3 #I love them #legend of zelda #No editing my honor dies like Shadow #Poor baby T-T

[cevansbrat0007]

Hello, Duchess

Summary: Your first encounter with Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson, goes worse than you ever could've imagined. Takes place directly after the events in New in Town.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Implied Jealousy, Threats of Violence, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari’s P.O.V.

“Can’t believe this town actually has a real live bookstore.” Ari muses as he pulls up in front of the tiny, quaint-looking bookstore. “Fuckin’ wild.” Throwing his truck in park he takes a moment to survey the area, making note of the empty lot.

‘Must not do much business.’ He thinks before climbing out of his vehicle and confidently striding toward the door. Hopefully, the lack of an audience would make things flow a hell of a lot faster. Hell, if you were anything like some of the other women in this town, he’d probably just have to smile and flash his baby blues to convince you to spill your guts.

In fact, he was practically banking on it. Because this wasn’t Ari’s first rodeo – not by a long shot. He’d spent a lot of his life in and out of small towns like Bell’s Creek, which was part of the reason he couldn’t wait to bag his latest bounty and put this place, and its people, in his rearview mirror. Ari reaches for the handle on the door, only to frown when he gets a look at the sign hanging in the window that reads: “sorry, we’re closed”. 

Well, that couldn’t be right. 

He could’ve sworn that when he’d pressed Mrs. Turner, the First Lady of Calvary Baptist Church, about your whereabouts she’d said he’d be able to find you at your shop. Something about your preferring to work instead of resting and rejoicing on the Lord’s day. 

While the bounty hunter supposed he could always try back tomorrow, he was keen to check you off his list. Refusing to admit defeat, he decides to try his luck anyway, only to be surprised when the door opens with a tinkling chime of a bail. 

Confused but also now on high alert, Ari takes a tentative step inside as he looks for any sign of life. “Hello?” He calls out, finally allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Instinct has him reaching for his back pocket, checking to make sure he had brought along his firearm.

Just in case.

“Is anybody here?” He tries again, moving further into the shop. The place is clean and well lit, and boasts rack after rack of books. But what’s most impressive is that there doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust anywhere. “Look, I just came by to–”

“We’re closed!” A disembodied voice sounds from the back of the store. 

“Yeah, I saw the sign, ma’am…” He clears his throat. “But I think you forgot to lock the door, so I –”

“That means get out!”

“So much for southern hospitality.” Ari grumbles under his breath as he continues on his mission to track down the owner of the voice. “Ma’am, I just wanna talk. And maybe–ahh shit!” He curses when his hip accidentally connects with a half-full rolling cart, sending several of the heavier books crashing to the ground. “Sorry!” 

“Did you just break something?!” The voice suddenly screeches. “Don’t make me get my taser.”

“There’s no need for that.” Instead of picking them up, the bounty hunter hastily nudges them aside with his foot. “My name is Ari Levinson, and I’m just here to ask you a couple of questions.”

While this isn’t how the man had expected any of this to go, he’s relieved when he sees a familiar face peek at him from around the corner. A face that happened to be even more beautiful than he initially remembered. Even though it had only been a couple of hours since he’d seen you last. 

Sweet Christ! That vision of you in that dress taking up space at the other end of the pew was now permanently imprinted into his brain. 

Your P.O.V

“Pretty sure this is what law enforcement calls trespassing.” You sniff, craning your head around the corner to stare at the man who was taking up entirely too much space in the narrow hallway. Sure said man was easy on the eyes, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little concerned about his apparent inability to read. 

“I can assure you that’s not what this is.” The lawman holds up his palms in an effort to placate you. 

And although you try not to stare, it’s impossible to miss just how big they are – how rough they seemed – with just the right amount of callus. You can’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like on your bare flesh. 

“Then what is it?” You ask, struggling to keep your tone short and clipped as you emerge from your hiding place. The last thing you needed was to have this man thinking you were actually attracted to him. 

If anything, you considered yourself to be curious. Nothing harm there, right? 

“As I said, my name is Ari Levinson. I’m a bounty hunter from just outside Rosewell, New Mexico who also occasionally moonlights as a private investigator.” He tells you, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I just stopped by to ask you a couple of questions. And while I didn’t necessarily mean to intrude, I figured you might appreciate me taking a more delicate approach on account of your relationship with my person of interest.”

Fucking Martin Westbrook. He’d been the bane of your existence ever since you’d crossed paths in high school. 

“I know you’re looking for Martin.” Annoyed by the very nature of the conversation, you pick up a box, hefting it onto your hip so that you can carry it out to the sales floor. “But I’m not quite sure how much help I can be.”

You brush past him, inwardly smiling when he scrambles to get out of your way. It was a subtle reminder that this was your shop. And you absolutely refused to be intimidated by him or anyone else. 

“I’m sure whatever you have to say will be plenty helpful.” He’s quick to reassure you as he turns to follow the path you set. “Provided you’re honest, that is.”

“Did you really just waltz into my shop and call me a liar, Mr. Levinson?” 

“I meant no offense.” Ari coughs, scrubbing a weary hand over his bearded jaw. If you were the overly presumptuous type, you might think you’d just managed to fluster the poor man.

Now feeling extra prickly, you drop the box onto the far counter of your cashwrap before turning to face your unwelcome guest. “As you can see, I have a busy day’s work ahead of me. And I was really keen on doing it by myself.” You gesture at the array of other boxes and racks placed around the store. “So if we could get a move on, I would greatly appreciate it.”  

“Gladly.” He gives a brief look around. “Is there some place maybe where you and I can sit and chat?”

“I’d say here is about as good a place as any.” You tell him as you step behind the counter. Bending down, you snag a bottle of cleaner, along with a couple of rags. If this man insisted on being here, then he would just have to deal with you taking care of your business. “I’m pretty confident in my ability to multitask.”  

Nodding along, Ari pulls out a small notepad and pen from his back pocket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Westbrook?”

You let out a sigh as you begin to spray down your countertops with your all-purpose cleaner. While you supposed you could’ve gone with something a little more industrial, you were partial to the way this particular brand’s products always smelled. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug as you bask in the scent of rose and cedar. “Maybe three, four weeks ago.” 

“Do you happen to recall the day and time?”

“No. Not really. If I had to ballpark it, I’d guess sometime around the 5th of last month.” You move to the next flat surface, spraying it down just like the last.

“You sure about that?” You try not to let it irk you when you see him take a seat on a nearby step stool out of the corner of your eye. 

“As much as I can be.” 

“And did Mr. Westbrook happen to give you any indication of where he might be headed?”

“Nope.”

He’d been nervous though. That much you did recall. By the time he’d come to you that night, your old friend had been well beyond spooked. 

“Did he give you his reason for leaving?”

“We didn’t…” You trail off, taking a moment to scrub at a particularly stubborn sticky spot that’s marring the wood. “There wasn’t really much time for talking.” You’re so concerned with scrubbing that you miss the way the county hunter’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “He just stopped over to say goodbye.”

And to borrow all the cash you happened to have on hand – to the tune of $500. Enough for a bus ticket and a couple nights in a dirt cheap motel.

“Right.” Ari scoffs, admittedly with a bit more heat than he intends. “Not a lot of time for talking.” He pauses briefly to drag a hand through his shaggy brown locks. “Not sure why I didn’t wanna believe them.” 

“Am I sensing a problem, Mr. Levinson?” You hum, tossing your rag to the side in favor of focusing on the rugs. 

“I guess I’m just having a hard time believing you when you say he kept you in the dark about his plans.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “In my experience, most men like Martin tend to have loose lips around the women they’re fuckin’.”

In that moment, it’s almost as if you can feel the air go out of the room. Just who the fuck did this knuckle-dragging, mouth-breather think he was?

“Excuse me?” Those two little words are spoken through clenched teeth. You’re so taken aback by his brazen accusation that you can scarcely breathe, let alone think.    

Ari simply quirks a tawny brow at you, seemingly unaware of the danger he’s just placed himself in. Did he not see how close your hand was to that damned stapler? While it was clear that folks in this town had been running their mouths, they’d apparently neglected to mention that you’d also been the star pitcher for your high school softball team.   

“Apologies if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Duchess. But I’ve never been the type to beat around the bush. Besides…” The smug bastard tucks his pen behind his ear. “You have to know that people in this town like to talk.”

Fire simmers hot in your belly, as you come out from behind the register. It takes less than ten  seconds for you to bridge the distance between yourself and the cocky lawman. While you might’ve been taught never to raise a hand against anyone, this man was sorely testing every last bit of your patience.

“I want to make one thing very, very clear.” You hiss once you’re finally standing toe-to-toe with the handsome interloper who, of course, makes no room to get up himself. “I have never – not even once – slept with Martin Westbrook. He’s a friend, you backwoods jackass. Something you clearly know nothing about.” 

“I get the feeling I struck a nerve.” 

And, judging by the newfound tick in his jaw, so had you. Except you had no way of knowing it was because he’d lost a buddy of his own a little while back. 

“And I think it’s about time you got the hell out of my shop.” His piercing blue eyes fly to yours, letting you know that you’d managed to surprise him with your heated dismissal. 

Good. Because this Ari Levinson fella had officially overstayed his welcome.

“Look, Duchess. I apolo –”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me out of my name, Mr. Levinson. And I’m not sure I appreciate it.” You spit as you take a step backwards with the intention of giving him enough space to stand. “Now, I’ve been nothing but amenable to your rather…invasive questions. But we’re done. So, I’m gonna have to insist that you leave.”

Before you decided he’d make a deserving candidate for death by a thousand paper cuts. 

Your pulse continues to thrum in your ears as you watch him rise to his full height – an impressive 6’4 – so that he now towers over you. Perhaps if you weren’t so angry you’d be a little more tempted to allow your mind to wander a little farther into the realm of fantasy. 

But not now. 

Right now, in this moment, all you wanted was to watch Ari Levinson’s sculpted ass walk right out your front door.  

Nodding, the now quiet bounty hunter begins moving in the direction of the entrance. Neither of you say a word as you make that quick walk. In fact, you don’t speak until Ari’s hand is on the handle. 

“This…” He blows out a weary breath. “This wasn’t how I meant for this to go.” His eyes find yours, as if imploring you to see the truth in them. 

However, instead of responding all you can do is offer up a shrug. Which he, of course, takes as an opportunity to keep going. 

“It’s just…the idea of someone like you getting caught up with a piece of slime like Westbrook…” He pauses long enough to open the door and take a tentative step outside. “I guess it bothered me more than I realized.”

His reluctant admission has your stomach tied up in knots, which prompts you to ask the one question you were almost certain you’d regret later: 

“And just what do you mean by that?” You do your best to seem unruffled as you awkwardly brace yourself against the doorframe.

“All I’m saying is that you’re out of his league.” Feeling even more confused, you watch as Ari’s lips curve in a faint smile. “And if you didn’t know that before, well, now you do.” His head dips politely as he turns to head towards his truck. 

“Guess I’ll see you around, Duchess.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning. “Oh, and don’t forget to lock up. Might help with those unwanted visitors you’ve been havin.”

Ari doesn't need to turn his head to know that you're standing there flipping them off. He can feel it. And all it does it make him smile harder.

END 

Sweet Renegade Series Tag List

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#cevansbrat0007 fics #cevansbrat0007 sweet renegade series #chris evans imagines #ari levinson imagines #chris evans fanfiction #ari levinson fanfiction #chris evans x you #ari levinson x you #chris evans x black!reader #ari levinson x black!reader #chris evans x woc!reader #ari levinson x woc!reader #chris evans x black reader #ari levinson x black reader #chris evans smut #ari levinson smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans x female!reader #chris evans x girlfriend!reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x female!reader #ari levinson x girlfriend!reader #chris evans x poc!reader #ari levinson x yn #chris evans x yn #ari levinson x y/n #chris evans x y/n #ari levinson girlfriend!reader #chris evans x fem!reader #ari levinson x fem!reader

[belovedvenom]

how the obx boys met their girls

    *˚⁺‧͙˚◌ 

rafe x bat!reader: i already wrote a whole fic for!

john b x crow!reader: he caught you roaming around in his father’s office. going through papers.

“uh what are you doing?” he watches your every move.

“you have a lot of interesting things in here.” examining the board of his family tree.

“mhm and how did you get in here?”

“the window.” you say it so casually like youve been here before, it catches him off guard.

“well can you-“ “is this your dad?” interrupting him to point at the picture of him and big john.

“yeah, look you gotta go- HEY!” he pops your hand when you reached up to grab a book off the shelf. you look at him with squinted eyes, ignoring the beating in your chest from how handsome he is and john b’s in the same boat, taking a second to admire your face. when he snaps out of it, he places his hands on your shoulder- gently but firmly guiding you out of the room.

“that room is off limits, okay? and next time just knock on the front door like a normal human”

“so you want me to come back?”

pope x raven!reader: she ran into him when she was getting chased by kooks.

“watch out!”

pope didn’t have enough time to react before you barreled in to him sending you both to the gound. youre a giggling mess while pope is trying to get the air back in his lungs.

“shit, i’m sorry dude.” your laughing so contagious, he lets out a couple chuckles himself. shouting from the distance catches both of your attention, noticing the kooks who were chasing you getting closer. grabbing popes arm, you run.

“what did you do to them?”

“kept ruining their game. apparently golfers don’t like it when you blow whistle while they try to swing”

finally losing them, you stop just outside of a shop. a few giggles escaping your mouth.

“thats crazy” he snorts.

“and you’re hot.”

jj x owl!reader: he saw you in a tree playing the violin when he was doing a job for your father, mowing the lawn. after taking a break and getting a glass of water, he heard music coming from above him.

“hey careful up there. you could fall, you know.”

“huh” you paused. staring ahead. ignoring his gaze from below your feet before starting up again.

“can you play something upbeat with that thing?” when you ignored him again, he flicked water at your legs causing you to jerk and hiss at him.

“did- did you just hiss at me” he cackles. “got your attention now though, huh princess?”

“call me princess again, i’ll slit your throat with the bow” lifting it up for emphasis.

his smile couldn’t get any wider.

#rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #obx x reader #john b prompt #john b x reader #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank x reader #pope heyward prompt #pope hayward x reader #outer banks x reader #obx

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

Hey!

Your stuffs cool!

So could you possibly do a Vox X Reader where the Reader is kidnapped?

The reader would have to be like Vox's wife or partner, someone he'd not want to loose of course. You could even do an existing reader theme like Doll, Hacker, Shark, Retro or one of the others you've wrote for before got kidnapped if that helps. I just wanna see your take on Vox coming to save them.

Thanks a lot!

🌸 Anonymous!

Better of Two Evils (Be a Doll AU)

Vox x doll!reader

CW: kidnapping, murder, violence, AU typical events

Vox is mentioned in this one, but he doesn’t really show up. He’s still a bad person and his actions are alluded to, though. He doesn’t come to save you. Sorry.

As consciousness slowly seeps back into my mind, I find myself disoriented and groggy. Blinking against the harsh light filtering through the small, dingy room, I try to make sense of my surroundings. Panic grips my chest as I realize I'm not in my own bed, but rather lying on a cold, hard floor.

Memories flood back in fragments, like pieces of a nightmare that refuse to be forgotten. The last thing I remember is Vox leaving me alone at a party while he went to deal with Valentino who was upstairs, throwing a tantrum in the penthouse.

Struggling to sit up, I'm met with resistance as I realize my wrists are bound tightly behind my back. Fear claws at my throat as I tug fruitlessly at the restraints, the cold metal biting into my skin. “Fuck.” I try to call out for help, but my voice comes out as little more than a hoarse whisper.

Panic threatens to consume me as I survey the room, searching desperately for any sign of escape. The walls seem to press in on me, suffocating in their oppressive closeness. The air is stale and musty, and the silence is deafening.

But then, a sound breaks through the silence—a creak of footsteps approaching from beyond the door. My heart leaps into my throat as the door swings open. Fuck.

"Ah, you're awake," a voice purrs, sending shivers down my spine. It's a voice I recognize, from a man I’d met at one of Vox’s parties. He’d pursue me relentlessly despite Vox’s efforts to be cordial in getting him to leave me alone. I could only imagine why he’d done this to me.

My breath catches in my throat as the man steps into the room, his gaze cold and calculating. "You're probably wondering why you're here," he continues, his voice dripping with malice. "But all you need to know is that you belong to me now."

Terror courses through my veins as I realize the full extent of my predicament. I'm at the mercy of this asshole. “I can’t- I won’t- I…” I’m cut off as the man grips my face tightly, hurting me as he shuts me up.

“Be a doll and shut your pretty little mouth,” he growled. I didn’t react. He scanned my face for any sign that it had worked. When he realized it hadn’t, he let go of my face and shoved me to the ground. “Damn it! Why- I said the phrase, why the fuck didn’t it work?”

“It only-” I broke off with a cough, trying to regain any sense of dignity. It was clear now that the trigger phrase had been his only plan in making me comply. He wasn’t prepared for it to not work. “It only works when Vox says it,” I rasped, watching the man wearily.

“Oh fuck off!” He said, returning his attention to me. He took out a pocket knife and held it to my throat. “If you don’t shut that dumb bimbo mouth of yours I’ll do it for you. I’m not afraid to hurt a pretty doll like you, I know you’ll live.”

“Ha!” I began to laugh, which caused the knife to make a light scratch against my throat. He looked taken aback, giving me my opportunity to make a move. I took my arms from behind my back and shoved him away, revealing I’d undone the bindings a bit ago. They weren’t particularly well done. He was sloppy, an amateur at best. “Let me tell you something, asshole.”

“You can’t do anything to me that Vox hasn’t done first,” I said coldly, bitterly. I wiped the blood off my neck. “You think you’re smooth? You think you’re slick? There’s at least three cameras in this room alone. He knows you have me, he just wants to see how well his perfect little doll can hold up.” I glanced at one such camera and threw up the peace sign, looking very unamused. I turned my attention back to the man in front of me. He’d been trying to attack, and failing. He seemed to have forgotten the fact that Vox didn’t choose just anyone to be so close with, he chose people he knew could handle it. “I think I’m doing well. Points off for the initial panic, though.”

“You- you’re crazy!” The man said, pointing his knife at me again. His grip was loose and he was shaking. Pathetic. I snatched it from him and positioned it at his neck now, pressing it just deep enough to draw a little blood. I’d already healed my own wound. “Fuck- get off me you dumb bitch!”

“No ones going to rescue you,” I said quietly, harshly. A reminder to me more than it was to him. It was only the truth. Vox knew I could handle myself, and he didn’t care how beat up I got in the process, so long as I returned to him at some point. I hated when I got captured like this, because it was always a wake up call. A reminder that Vox didn’t actually care, I was just a toy to him. “Nobody cares enough to save you now.”

He made a noise and I slit his throat. I was tired of looking at his stupid face. I let his body drop to the ground and tossed the knife aside, a disgusted look on my face. I hated Sundays.

Bonus: doll!Reader was actually wrong. Vox panicked when he found out you’d been captured. He was going to rescue you, but he saw who had kidnapped you and decided you’d be fine. He still cares- in his twisted little way. He just can’t show that, because it’d be a weakness.

#hazbin hotel #vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox x reader #writing #my writing #x reader #be a doll #sorry anon

[venuslcver]

HIGH BY THE BEACH ⋆

pairing: boyfriend!pope x carefreekook!reader

synopsis: your boyfriend, pope, and you had been together for a while when he changes his mind about not going to college.

tw: fluff, implied sex, profanity (no use of y/n)

any type of interaction including likes, comments, and reblogs is appreciated! but ultimately not necessary. let me know if im missing any warnings!

“ok, baby! which one should i wear? this one or thissss one?” you questioned pope, holding two of your swimsuits in a display manner. one was a lilac-colored string bikini, the other being a cheeky, polka-dot one-piece.

you could never make a final decision for the life of you, only leaving it up to pope for his opinion. though, pope had known you long enough to know, whichever item you tend to show last was the option you had in mind. hell — most of the time you don’t even know that you prefer one option more than the others.

you wanted to wear the left one, pope concluded. no matter if it was clothing, makeup, nail color, or decor-related. not actually having input into the choices, he usually would just coax the answer out of you. it made it easier on him, besides he didn't give a fuck what you wore, because well... he would still find you beautiful dressed as the grinch. which you did a couple halloweens previously.

“uh… i don’t know — which one is more comfortable?” he asked, putting you on the spot, hoping to get an honest answer out of you.

clicking your tongue to the roof of your mouth in deep thought — lifting each and inspecting it. trying to remember if it was uncomfortable or not the last time you wore it.

“well i… mean. huh. why is this so hard?” you said truly debating both options. making your final answer, “i would probably go with the right one being more comfortable”

“probably… and i’m just sayin’ this as a thought…maybe it’s hard because you have too many swimsuits”

letting out an obnoxiously high-pitched scoff, you halted your attention from the bathing suit debacle to pope, who was leisurely laid back on your rope hammock swing that you had in your room. you never took kindly to anyone, including pope, criticizing your inability to get rid of things, especially your bathing suits.

“firstly, i don’t have too many swimsuits, and one could never have too many of them. secondly, even if i did — how could that possibly affect my ability to pick a swimsuit?”

awkwardly looking at you, pope reluctantly replied, “you can’t keep up with all of them, making you not even remember the last time you wore them… and the last time you chose the right one, you were complain’n the entire time”

ignoring his truthful statement altogether, you thought for a moment. he was right. the previous time, you ended up bitch’n the whole time about having to hold the straps of the one piece to avoid flashing innocent bystanders on the beach. which was the worst, considering the excitement that you experienced when in the water. flailing around without a care in the world.

a light switched when you came to this realization, noticing that you were rather harsh with your poor boyfriend, who did not deserve that in the slightest.

“oh my god! you are right!”, you said squealing, right into hugging pope’s sitting body.

taking his face into your hands, before hugging him again, “i’m so sorry baby! you know i didn’t mean that, right?”

staying firm in the hug, while he pulled himself out of the hammock, “yeah, yeah i know you didn’t mean it.”, pope said brushing your rudeness off. you and him rarely argued, and if you did, you were talking within the next half hour, easily.

looking up at him with doe eyes, and an innocent cast appearing on your profile. an all-knowing look that pope was very familiar with. one of the ways that pope and you were able to get over any kind of tiff was by admitting to being wrong and taking the proper steps to apologize.

for example, this one time pope got all panicked at the future and started freaking the fuck out. which led him to harboring that he was in the wrong and mishandled the situation at hand. before slipping his hand into you. well... two fingers but either way! pope was giving in that way, regularly lending a helping hand to you when in need. it wasn't an obligation as much as a want. you and pope were alike in that way. always willing to put others first.

"c-can i make it up to you?"

sooner than later making it to the intended place of hanging out, the local beach on the outer banks. looking into the surrounding area in your eyesight, the beach was practically empty. a lot of spring-breakers had vacated the week before. having access to almost a completely bare beach.

you helped pope set up on the beach, before laying horizontally on his vertically propped-up body.

pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, that was in his lap. when he did the leaning down motion, you pushed the pineapple in your hand, to his lips. silently urging him to take a bite. to which he did.

immediately snickering when it ran down his face, halting laughter when it dripped onto yours. lucky that the acidic fruit juices didn't collect in your eyes. either way, pope was quick to wipe it off your face.

oftentimes, pope and you were silent when hanging out. you wouldn't per say it was a con, because it was due to being around each other every second, when not at work. though, when pope's dad, heyward, was short-staffed, you would offer a lending hand. taking a couple shifts, with pope. even, visiting each other at work.

along with packing an array of fruits to snack on, you also brought a weed. one of the conversations you had meant to bring up was the future.

pope was wicked smart, at least, school-wise. his choice of friends was questionable. and as much as you love your shared friends— they tend to be dumbasses. pulling pope down to their level. to which, a couple foul decisions led pope to not attend college— as he previously intended.

one late night, he admitted that he felt like "all the work he put in was sliding down the drain". which riddled you with resentment towards your friends. not that you cared what pope did. only that he was happy— which he wasn't at all for a passing time.

"pope? can i ask you something?"

"yeah— what's up?"

"d-do you have any idea what you want?"

"what i want?", pope asked, not understanding the question at hand.

"want for the future?"

looking at you bewildered, pope had no idea where the loaded question came from.

"uh — besides being with you, i have no clue.", a tinge of sadness rolled off his tongue.

grinning at his, rather, romantic proclamation, "o-ok, well, um i was expecting a little bit more of an answer, b-but that works for me"

"i-i'm worried... like really worried", he admitted.

coming off your high, out of your own fantasy land— that was induced by his heartfelt statement, "why?!"

still supporting his weight with one arm, he took the other and rubbed his face, "why shouldn't i be? i-i mean i was going to go to college, b-but now I'm just working at my dad's restaurant"

pope tended to self-destruct when his fears kicked in, sending him into overdrive. sitting up, looking at him directly in the face, "h-hey don't say that! one, you know that your dad would not keep you unless you were working your ass off! you're like the smartest person i know, out of anyone in outer banks, or hell, anywhere! a-and we'll figure it out."

set on helping understand that he and you would be good, you pulled a small baggie out of your beach bag, "ok?"

"o-okay"

"now, let's get high. and forget about everything, ever."

although he wasn't completely sure, he knew that you would stay by him, meaning he would be completely fine. if the world ended that day, he wouldn't have cared as long as he had you. well, and he would prefer if he had the other pogues and his parents.

#pope heyward #obx #outer banks #pope obx #pope hayward x reader #pope x reader #pope heyward prompt #pope heyward x reader #pope heyward fanfiction #pope heyward smut #pope heyward x y/n #⋆ pope heyward fic ⋆ #boyfriend!pope

[ghostypetrainer]

one of cyllene's minions seeing the tag from the store still poking out of her clothes: (shit. omg this is so awkward, but this is a test, right? this is the fullmetal lady, no way she's not doing this on purpose, if i call her out she's gonna reveal it was a trap or-)

meanwhile, cyllene's abra is just like 'hey cylllene. you got a tag.' and then she seamlessly takes off the price tag and excuses it all as a test for rookies to see if they would notice something out of place, which the minion failed bc he didn't say anything ("didn't notice").

Cyllene, absolutely stone-faced the entire time, but internally she's screaming. How could she be so careless? How did she not notice? This is so embarrassing. She has to cover this up. She kept the tag on on purpose, of course! Why would it be anything else?

Zisu, of course, would simply point the tag out without hesitation. That's the fundamental key difference between her and Loid. She might have the same heavy mission load as him giving her stress, but at least she's not constantly overthinking like, twenty different scenarios. This is Zisu's power.

#asks #spy x family au #pla cyllene #pla zisu #I am trying to knock out both old asks in my inbox (at least one a day) and also answer new ones as they come in... #I know I've been AWOL for awhile but you know. that's what happens somtimes. #trying to get back into the swing of things though! #*sometimes

[devildomditzy]

"Are we going to talk about this?"

You watch as 'your demon' strides across his room, sitting down roughly on his couch and staring straight ahead, unable to look in your direction.

'Your demon". Did you even have the right to call him that? After you've been away for so long?

It's been a week since you and Solomon returned unannounced from your journey to the past, much to the shock and surprise of everyone. That night was filled with joy and tears and laughter from everyone. Everyone, except the second born. The person you absolutely missed the most for months and months, the person you thought of during sleepless nights and difficult times. The person you cried over more than anyone else was standing right there, just a few feet away -

And absolutely giving you the cold shoulder.

He's silent for a moment, before his voice comes out like vitriol, scalding and snide, yet somehow so hollow, like his words had no real emphasis behind them. Like he felt almost nothing.

"What's there left to talk about?"

"Mammon-", you try to get a word in before he cuts you off with the same version of the monologue you've heard from him even since you made your way back to this timeline.

Your timeline.

"Ya left me here. Ya left us here. You didn't leave a note or a sign or even shoot me a text that you were goin'. Nothin'. Nada."

"You know I didn't exactly choose to get taken to the past against my will, Mammon."

He stands to face you now, tone filled with pain but his face looking so, so emotionless.

It could scare you, when he gets like this. The second born should never look that serious.

"And how would I know that? Huh? How would I know where you went? How the hell would I know what ya'd gotten up to, huh? How would I know if you were runnin' off with Solomon? How would I know that ya didn't just get sick of us?"

His voice raises his voice as he walks towards you.

"How would I know if ya were alive, or dead, or somewhere in between, huh!?"

You're jostled as the second born grabs your shoulders and shoves you, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to have you cornered between the surface and himself.

"I never stopped trying, okay? Not a day went by that Solomon and I didn't look for a way home, a way out, a way to you, anything!" you exclaim, defending yourself from his tirade.

"How would I know that you were gonna come back!? How would- H-how could ya, I couldn't...I-I-I- can't...."

His voice shakes as he balls up his fists into the fabric of your shirt, his true emotions finally shining through after a week of trying to get through to him.

How quickly his indifference turns to fear.

Tears begin silently falling from his lash line, streaking his cheeks.

"Oh, Mammon...", you wrap your arms around him, following his lead as his body begins to crumple, both of you sitting on the floor.

"I thought you were gone. I-I didn't know if ya were still breathin', or just vanished, but I thought-"

He gulps down a few tears and lets out a shaky breath before finishing.

"I thought you were never coming back."

You respond to him in kind, holding him tighter as he increases his grasp on you.

You can't help but let out a small giggle as you wipe away his tears (and a few of your own).

"Babe, it's me we're talking about. I came back to the Devildom how many times now?"

"Yeah," he sighs, looking off to the side, remembering all the times you somehow managed to extend your stays within the exchange program with Diavolo's blessing.

"I can't believe you gave up on me that fast", you tease, poking his cheek.

"Never did", he mumbles. "Looked for ya every day until I realized.. ya just weren't here. And not like here like in the Devildom, okay? I mean like here here."

He's quiet for a moment before he grumbles again, "Didn't stop lookin' until Lucifer made me, that bastard."

You bust out laughing, "I missed you, and your cute little complaints"

"Hey! My complaints ain't little! I'd burn down all three realms if it meant I coulda found you again!"

You place a quick kiss to his cheek, giggling at the way he goes rigid.

"Well, you don't have to worry. I'll always find my way back to you."

#idk this isn't good honestly but i have feelings about mammon and mc's reunion and I just don't think the boy would be outright happy #I think he'd feel betrayed and alone and it's something they'd have to work though #but once they start to he is elated and literally will never ever ever ever leave your side again congratulations #mammon #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #om #omnb #omswd #mammon angst #obey me mc #obey me drabble #obey me nightbringer drabble #omnb mammon x mc #omnb mammon #also this wasn't really proof read don't shoot me #trying to get back into the swing of things m'loves #I promise i'll get better at it again lmao

[spaceman-spaetzle]

my side of an art trade with @ironicorange !!!

#hetalia #hws russia #art tag #art trade #body horror #just trying to get back into the swing of things skdjnfs #this was fun though!

[tobisaw]

Hi:> I just wanted to say the way you draw Tommy makes me ASGCDHKUCDREFBJ (good)

THANK YOU!!!!!!! glad to have that effect on people

single tommy whiteboard for you

#sorry for lack of art i’ve done nothing but do school stuff and work and play lethal company for the past few days #trying to get back into the swing of things though #hlvrai #tommy coolatta #hlvrai tommy #my art

[bigoltrashpile]

How would your boys confess to their crush?- 🦆(duck anon)

Wow I can't believe I've never done this one before asdfjkl

Happy Undertale birthday everyone!! Sorry for the lack of posts, but hopefully I'll do better from now on :P Anyway, enjoy this little nugget

Mafiatale Sans: This is Sans we're talking about, the world's biggest dork, so you can guarantee there'll be a pun in his confession. For example, giving you a plush otter and saying "will you be my significant otter?" or "you've stolen a pizza my heart" when the two of you get pizza, something like that. Whatever he goes with, you can bet that it'll be super sweet and super cheesy.

Mafiatale Papyrus: Love?? This calls for his finest artisan spaghetti!!! He's going to invite you over for a romantic, candlelit dinner, just the two of you, where he can confess his feelings in the most perfect environment! No need to feel intimidated, although he is very great, you are equally great! Which is why he loves you!!!

Mafiaswap Sans (Lucky): Being nervous or flustered isn't a feeling that Lucky is very used to. But with you, it's nonstop butterflies! When he realizes this, he's going to act as soon as he can. He'll take you somewhere fun, like the aquarium or a restaurant you like! After that, he'll walk you home, and on the way, confess how he feels. Hopefully the sort-of-date will butter you up enough to accept his feelings!

Mafiaswap Papyrus (Slim): Honestly, you're probably going to have to confess to him first. He's not very confident about himself, and isn't sure why you would want him out of all of your options, so why bother even trying? However, if he did actually decide to confess, he's probably make you some cupcakes, and write I <3 U on them with icing. You can't reject someone with cupcakes!

Mafiafell Sans (Butch): Butch has probably flirted with you since the moment he met you, so it might take a while for you to realize when he shifts from casual to serious. He'll try to get through to you this way, but if you don't realize that he actually means it, he'll break out the big guns. And by that I mean he's going to pull out a Sans-esque pun, but more sexual. Something like " you've made your way into my heart, seems fair that i get inside you too~"

Mafiafell Papyrus (Noir): This dork has no idea how to process his emotions. I mean, he'll do his best, but it's...not very good. The best way he'll think of to confess his love is to pin you against the wall and say how much he loves you. However, as soon as he sees you, back to the wall, looking up at him with your innocent eyes and a light blush on your face, his mind goes blank. He'll stand there in silence for a solid minute before screaming "I LIKE YOU A LOT" and running away. Smooth.

Mafiaswapfell Sans (Scar): Scar is SO EXTRA. He's going to go absolutely insane, wanting to make you feel special and make himself seem like the best choice. He's going to get you some kind of jewelry, a necklace or bracelet, whatever kind you like, a whole bouquet of flowers, chocolates or candy of some sort. Then he'll come over to your house in his nicest outfit and confess his love! He's totally confident ignore how much his hands are shaking.

Mafiaswapfell Papyrus (Hound): I hope you're not looking for subtlety, because Hound has never even heard of the word. As soon as he realizes how he feels, he's going to turn to you and say "i love ya." If you're not near him, he'll call or text you. He trusts you, he knows you won't treat him any different, even if you don't feel the same. Although he prays that you do love him back.

#my garbage #writing #sans #papyrus #undertale #undertale imagines #sans x reader #papyrus x reader #mafiatale #mafiaswap #mafiafell #mafiaswapfell #sorry for the lack of content once again #it's been #too long #but in my defense i've been busy #and depressed lmao #i'm trying to get back into the swing of things though!!