#wails and sobs and cries and weeps pitifully

[foxett]

GRAHHH CURSE OF SUNTAN 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️(I'm literally on the verge of passing out) hurt/comfort, neutral ending, bad ending, good ending and future!!!!! Yay

[idiotwithanipad]

Era Swap Au: The Between

(During my Era Swap Au where my OC Amy is a blood relative of Humphrey and Sophie)

(TW: Mentions of abuse, scars, hallucinogenic tea)

- Set after Scars

Silver's breath caught in her throat. She thought she was prepared for the moment that her friend would yield and ask for the astral herbal brew, but in thruth, she wished it would be under different circumstances. Amy had knocked feebly at her complimentary chamber door looking the worst that Silver had ever seen her.

When she first met the young noblewoman, it was brief and yet deeply disturbing all the same. Like seeing a taxidermied animal, there is an outer shell which catches the eye, but within is just emptiness. Silver had known people with afflicted minds, but none quite so haunted and macabre as Amy Bone's. The old Amy who would rave and laugh and damage the very flesh on her bones was left far behind. In her place nowadays was just a normal, well raised girl of ten and seven. Cautious and bloodthirsty at times, but after her suffering, wouldn't anyone be?

Now though, Amy was sat trembling on a wooden chair, face reddened from crying and voice hoarse from horrific sobs. Her ebony hair loose and unseemly, strands had accidentally been pulled from beneath her French hood and left to fall against her cheeks. She could scarcely risk uttering words without hyperventilating and crumbling back into wailing cries.

Mary, apron held to her lips with a stiff hand, approached behind Silver, a saddened and uncomfortable twitch in her cheeks.

"Breathes, dear child, breathes" Mary encouraged softly, wafting a hand back and forth to aid the girl. Amy dabbed her eye with the back of her shaking hand an shook her head loosely.

"... Forgive me, forgive me, I- ... I'm making a spectacle of myself"

Mary shook her head pitifully, daring to give her a coy smile.

"Frets none, child. Thee be free to weep if thou needs it" Mary bent her knees, crouching beside Silver.

"But pray, tells what hath troubled thee so? Mayhaps we might assist?"

Silver nodded in agreement and tenderly rubbed her thumb along Amy's knuckles.

Amy paled further - if it was even possible - and her back seemed to curve. She bent forward, lowering her voice.

"Papa let that stranger examine me for scars. I wore only a mere shift before a man's eyes, that's disgraceful for a lady" Amy whispered feverishly. Silver blinked and tightened her grip around Amy's hand. Mary tilted her head.

"Be that not a stamp of thy Grandda's record? Proof of that which he hath dones to thee?"

Amy shook her head again.

"I could live with that, I'll get over it. It's the fact that- Papa let that happen when he himself carries scars inflicted by Grandpapa"

Mary stills, eyes slowly blinking.

"Would they not be given evidence also? Supposedly, Papa's letter to the Parish Constable regarding Silver's ordeal wouldn't stand on its own" Amy uttered.

Silver took a breath.

"I sees. Thou art disgruntled by that fact thy Da dids not stands with thee and present his wounds?" Silver hypothesized. Amy shifted awkwardly, giving a tiny nod.

"Partly. But, the main reason I'm in such a state- is..." Amy sniffled again, her teeth chittering.

"I lost my temper and struck him about the face"

Mary froze, as did Silver.

"I could count on one hand the amount of times Papa and I had a disagreement, but I've never before taken a hand to him. Never" Amy tired to plead, desperation rising in her voice.

"It was a mistake, truly! I'm ashamed of myself, who am I to take a hand to my own father?!" Amy began to twist the scarred flesh above her wrist. Silver reached forward and took both her hands.

"T'was a knee-jerk occurrence, Milady, shame not what does come natural. You shan't repeat it, I promise thee" Silver managed a gentle smile.

Amy's red eyes gazed into Silver's, full of imploring hopelessness.

"How am I to show my face to he or Mama again? I've made a mockery of our family name in the presence of a Parish Constable and acted so disrespectfully to Papa. I've known he had suffered, and I used it against him"

Silver's heart throbbed with mutual pain. She patted Amy's knuckles softly.

"Come morn, I is certain it shall be but water off a duck's back"

Mary gave a nod and stroked at Silver's shoulder proudly.

"I concur with thee, darling girl"

Amy's eyes drifted to Mary's.

"His Lordship doth boast thy name to many in this house, little'en. Take comfort in that thou is the apples in his eyes"

The apple of his eye? More like a rotten artichoke caught in his teeth.

Amy wiped a stray tear from her cheek as a quiet knock reverberated to their ears, causing Amy to freeze.

"Mary?"

Thankfully, it was Sophie's voice. Yet she sounded just as meek and unsettled as Amy, no doubt coming to let off steam with her new-found friend.

Mary scrambled to her feet and approached the door. Sophie gave a nod and a mildly relieved smile, a sorrowful arch in her brow. Mary smiled back with a bow.

"Milady, come sits thyself by the fire" Mary prompted sweetly, stepping aside and offering to take Sophie's hand.

Sophie greatfully obliged, but before she could take Mary's hand, her eyes landed on her distressed daughter.

"Aimée!"

Silver rose to her feet and stepped away, letting Sophie pull Amy from the chair and embrace her.

"Ne pleure pas. Je suis là" Sophie hushed, stroking at Amy's hair. Seconds passed before Amy pulled back.

"Mère...je suis désolé" Amy muttered, looking like she wished the ground would swallow her up. Mary and Silver kept their heads low respectfully, yet Silver's eyes glanced upward, keeping her vision on them. Sophie shook her head slowly and brushed Amy's hair from her face, planting a gentle kiss against her forehead.

"Ne t'excuse pas, tu avais peur, tout va bien maintenant"

Amy wasn't so sure that everything was fine at all; her guilt and shame was eating her up from the inside. Amy lowered her eyes.

"S'il te plaît, mère, pardonne-moi mon comportement terrible" Amy uttered.

"Et s'il te plaît..." Amy's throat caught.

"Dis à père que je ne m’attends pas à ce qu’il me pardonne"

Sophie brushed a hand over Amy's hair once more before throwing a glance over her shoulder towards the door, a look painfully clear that she had no intention of seeing him for the rest of the day

"Ne fais pas attention à lui, Aimée"

Amy's lip trembled again as she gave a tiny, obedient nod. Sophie slowly pulled her hands from Amy, a look of regrettable sorrow in her eyes, and headed over to Mary. The voices of the two women faded in Amy's ears as Silver approached.

"Thou is quite sure of thy choice, Milady? Thou wisheth to see thy angel once again?" Silver asked once more, just for confirmation. Amy scoffed, glancing up at Silver, remembering to keep her voice down with Mary and Sophie in the room.

"Not 'Angel', Silver. Ghost. He's a ghost" Amy growled.

Silver stilled briefly before nodding, just to appease her downtrodden Lady.

"Very wells... Takes me arm. I shall walk thee to mine and mummy's old lodgin's- and coach thee..."

Amy looped her hand into the cradle of Silver's arm, hand trembling as they descended through the house. Luckily, they'd not seen Humphrey in the halls; if they did, Amy would've dropped at his feet and begged with him to forgive her.

The little cabin was dim and held a musty scent from months of disuse. Amy waited by the door as Silver ladled a small flask full of the herbal tea.

"Be sures to warm this over a candle, will makes drinking it more bearable. 'Tis a most foul of tastes, hold thy nose if musts, but do tries to drinks it all"

Amy accepted the flask wearily, as if she was being handed a murder weapon. Silver placed her hand over Amy's.

"Retire as usual, drinks this and goes straights to sleep. Keeps thy wild man in thy thoughts as thou drifts off, t'will open thy mind to his presence. Thou will'st knows when thou hath reached the between realm, the mind will shapes it upon thy whims" Silver assured.

Amy nodded, managing a greatful smile to her only friend. Silver added with a sincere smile.

"I shall find him soon, I shall lets him know that he is to wait in thy chambers come nightfall so he may join thee in the between realm, and no matter what he may sees of hears, he is not to leave thee"

--

Nightfall. The moment of truth. Amy sat on the edge of her bed holding the metal flask over a candle on her bedside. Her tired mind strained and grasped to remember her memories of the ghost - who at the time - Amy had assumed was an angel, a lot like Silver. In accordance with Silver's instructions, she wracked her brain. The scant amount of memories she could readily recall were happy, jovial, but they didn't bring a smile to her face. Only instilled a deep, sour sting in her heart.

The flask began to grow warmer against her hand, alerting her from her daydreaming. As she leaned over the flame, the liquid within the flask had began to simmer. It's time. The scent was potent, earthy yet sweet, sour with undertones of herbs and spices. Leaning over the steaming flask to take a sniff, she nearly reeled back. Pressing the back of her hand over her nose, she knew it was too late to go back now; the ghost was probably in the room with her right now. She mostly just didn't want to waste Silver's time and resources.

The first sip was the easiest, at first, Amy could only taste the warm water and the soothing bliss of the Lavender and Rosemary. Then came the earthy Mugwart and bitter Juniper berries. Halfway through and Amy had to stop for air, and to hold off vomiting. Willing away the vile urge to wretch, she pinched her nose and threw back the last few heavy mouthfulls. With a cough and a splutter, she placed the now empty flask back on her bedside and ran her tongue along her teeth to clear away the residue.

In the eerie silence that followed her coughing, Amy glanced suspiciously around her dark room, almost expecting to see the apparition appear right before her. No going back now. Amy shuffled into bed carefully and settled down against her pillow, gazing into the candle, trying her best to imagine the ghost's face watching her from beyond the glow. Like when she was a child.

Her eyes eventually drift shut, unsure of how long she had been staring at the little flame. Yet, when she opens them again, there is no flame, no candle and no bedside. In fact, when she lifts her head from the pillow and glances around sleepily, all of the furniture in her room is gone, all apart from her bed. The room is stark bare, lit by nothing except the pale blue hue of the moon somewhere behind the foggy windows.

When she steps out from the bed, she doesn't feel the wooden floorboards beneath her feet, all she can feel is the soft brush of her white chemise against her skin. An impulse tells her to approach the windows. Upon reaching the panes, she wipes away the condensation, and to her amazement, discoveres that it's snowing outside. Flakes the size of ripe grapes fall gracefully past the windows and gather into a thick blanket on the ground below.

When she looks deeper through the weather, she notices two figures, one seemingly an adult, the other looking to be a toddler. They step and kick around in the snow like they haven't a care in the world, the smaller one practically spinning and floundering like a fish on land. Amy frowns down at them in bemusement; they seemed familiar.

"You remember that?"

Amy's knees nearly give way when the feeble and unsure voice breaks her concentration from the frolicking pair outside. She spins on her heel back towards her bed. Sat cross-legged on the foot of her bed, looking partly in awe and partly fearful, the ghost sits, watching her. His furs are exactly how she'd recalled them to be, a slightly unsightly and moulded beige, mildly greasy and tattered by weather.

For a moment, she is frozen, her lower back pressed against the windowsill, all movement rendered impossible for this brief encounter.

"Who are they? ..." Amy mumbled, a shaking hand fluttering to the window she'd been peering from. The ghost followed her hand, nodding to the window.

"You remember?... It you and me, long time ago" He clarified, his voice ringing with regret and longing.

Amy held her breath as she dared to take her eyes off of the man to look back out the window to the figures in the snow. But they were gone. No gleeful playing, no footprints left behind. The man's voice spoke softly from the bed again.

"Not there anymore... We here now"

The soft padding of leather wrapped feet brought Amy back to reality as she turned her head in time to see the man-creature had gotten up from the bed and began to approach her. His eyes gleamed with sorrow and hope, one of his hands risen forward, barely above his waist.

Amy side stepped and tried to inch herself away in trepidation, causing him to lower his hand, yet the hopeful and saddened shine in his eyes remained. She stepped back towards the foot of her bed.

"Stompy no need fear, it just me, Rogh. Remember? Rogh?" The creature asked, slowly following her like a desperate animal.

Amy's hand came up to hold onto her bedpost for security, hiding half of her form behind it, her knees trembling.

"Yes. I'm sure I do... " Amy mumbled, her eyes never daring to peel from him. He exhaled, carefully stepping closer. His eyes gazed at her for what would be - in any other scenario - an uncomfortable amount of time, like he was deciphering a secret or a code.

"Stompy not changed. 'Cept grown taller. Still have same eyes" He observed adoringly.

"Neither have you..." Amy admitted, eyes flicking down to his furs. Caught in her brief moment reflecting on their past, Amy opened up.

"You seemed- bigger, back then"

Rogh huffed, a pull in the corner of his mouth, nearly a bashful smile, but his eyes drifted down, shame plucking at his spirit.

Amy shifted slightly, reaching her arm out towards him. He stood still as an iron rod as he watched her reach towards him. With a trembling hand, Amy's fingers brushed against his furs, the tips of her fingers only slightly disturbing the strands. She pulled away in a flash and stared. With faltering breath, she staggered.

Rogh, on an impulse, lurched forwards and caught her arms before she could fall. Each stared at each other briefly, Rogh in shock that, finally, he was able to make contact with her, to feel alive again. Amy righted herself and pulled her arms from his hands, settling herself on the edge of her bed. Rogh's arms stayed out, as if he still held her, already looking like he missed it. Amy ran her hands down her face and resisted the urge to let tears fill her eyes.

"It okay. You okay" Rogh uttered softly, shuffling to approach the bed. Amy remembered her urgency from yesterday, her tone sharpening.

"No. It's not okay"

Rogh stilled, eyes flickering.

Amy glanced up at him, only for a second before averting her gaze, as though merely looking at him filled her with dread.

"How dare you-..." Amy muttered. Rogh brushed his knuckles along his furs and shifted awkwardly.

"How dare you act like nothing has changed. Silver explained enough to me to know that my not being able to see you anymore is none of our faults, but where were you all these years?"

Rogh's throat felt like it had been stuffed with dirt.

"I always with Stompy, not left, always stayed close... " Rogh explained.

Amy shook her head.

"No. Where were you-" She pulled the sleeve of her chemise up to her elbow, revealing tremendous scars and welts speckled along the soft flesh of her forearm from where the dreaded man had dropped hot candle wax and oil over her flesh.

"- when Grandpapa did this to me?"

Rogh stared at the wounds, looking like each one he laid eyes upon hurt him twice as hard as it did her.

Although un-ladylike, Amy pulled down the shoulder of her chemise and exposed her even more scared shoulderblade, twisting her back so he could see it.

"And this?"

She released her gown and pulled up the hem to her knees, exposing her calves, also damaged and covered with ugly scar tissue.

"And this?"

Rogh didn't breathe, only stared down at her legs, being forced to see firsthand the depth of anguish she'd been put through for years. Amy released her gown and pulled her sleeve back down.

"You knew it was happening. So why did you just sit there and do nothing? And don't give me any tripe about 'not being able to', you assisted my dear friend in her hour of need, which I am beyond greatful for-" Amy's hardened shell cracked.

"But why did you wait so many years to help me when you could've done so from day one?" It wasn't a question, it was a plead.

Rogh dared to step closer. Amy didn't recoil or glare at him, thankfully.

"Rogh tried. Really, really tried. Couldn't-" Rogh stammered.

"Every week you let a small part of me die" Amy cried.

Rogh felt the air leave his chest, like being kicked at by a great deer or charged at by a rhino.

"Only save Petite Lune thanks to horsie. If he not outside with Little Lordy Man, Rogh wouldn't be able to help, and Stompy wouldn't have friend anymore" Rogh explained, sickness and regret flooding his stomach.

"You couldn't do that before?" Amy challeneged.

"Not like Rogh could make horsie run inside house and get Stompy to show cuts on arm, leg and back" He explained, sounding like that was a last resort.

He sat beside Amy on the mattress, eyes staring down at his knees.

"Rogh was scared too..." He admitted. Amy laughed.

"You were scared? You're a dead man, what do you have to fear anymore? It's all over for you anyway!" Amy spat, causing the caveman to glance at her, hurt yet empty.

Appearing knocked for six at her own cold remark, Amy sealed her lips and looked down, a pitiful wince in her eyes.

"Didn't want see little Stompy get put in bad jacket and taken away. That what he say? Prison for mad people? That where Big Lordy Man take Stompy if anyone find out?" Rogh combatted, looking her right in the eye. Amy sat still in stunned silence.

"... I never told you that. That was after I'd- forgotten about you... "

Rogh nodded.

"You write so in book. I watch you write, I was right there"

Amy let her eyes wander off to the side as Rogh continued on.

"And most times Big Lordy Man would hurt Stompy was away from house. So there nothing Rogh could do 'cept see you come home more and more sick"

There was truly nothing the ancient spirit could've done to assist her. The evil man Amy, unfortunately, had to call 'Grandpapa' was even smart enough to evade the dead it seemed. Amy pulled her legs close to her chest, resting her brow against her knees with a shudder. Rogh glanced down at her, risking placing his hand against her back in an attempt to comfort her.

"You would've helped if you had the chance?" Amy asked from within the confines of her knees.

Rogh could laugh at how ridiculous that question was.

"'Course would! Rogh would follow Stompy anywhere! Would snap the hands of anyone who touch her off and throw them over fire!"

Amy lifted her head from her knees.

"Big Lordy Man would never get chance to hurt Stompy if Rogh had his own way. Would rather take Stompy and live in cave somewhere that let him hurt you!"

"I suppose you already received the news that he isn't coming back then?" Amy muttered. Rogh nodded, rubbing tenderly at her back, being careful not to agitate her wounds.

"Yes. Big good, now Stompy have nothing to fear"

Amy shrugged.

"I worry that he'll have some cruel trick up his sleeve. But until then, yes, I have nothing to fear" Amy dropped her legs down from the bed and wandered over to the windows again. Rogh watched her until she reached the panes and rose also, softly padding up beside her to look out at the still falling snow. Amy ran her fingertips along the damp wood of the windowsill.

"...I forgot how much I missed you..."

Rogh glanced to her, biting back a giddy smile.

"I see you every day, but still miss Stompy. All the fun we had. Remember when I teach you to draw Mammoth out there?" Rogh pointed towards the frozen lake. The memory managed to tug a smile from Amy.

"How could I have been so stupid to forget?" Amy rubbed her brow.

"I remember it now. I stepped too close to the river bank and the ice broke, in I went" Amy chuckled fondly.

"Mama was very cross that I'd gotten muddy water on my dress but that didn't matter, we had fun"

Rogh chuckled alongside her.

"Then we have to sit by fire all day so you not freeze. Little Lordy man have big heart attack when he see Stompy all wet and cold"

Amy's smile faltered slightly at the mention of her Papa. Now that one of her problems was solved, one still remained, the one that troubled her the most.

Rogh caught on.

"What matter?"

Amy turned to look up at him innocently.

"I made a grave mistake. In my anger yestermorning, I slapped Papa in the face. I was examined for scars by an officer, I knew that Papa had scars from Grandpapa also but he didn't show them" Amy admitted shamefully.

"He showed me off without hearing my pleads for him not to, I was angry with him, but- I don't know what came over me. I fear I won't be able to make it up to him"

Rogh blinked. He hadn't seen that part.

"Real? You really do that?"

Amy's breath hitched at the surprise in Rogh's tone; here was a man who had skinned countless animals and potentially murdered others and he was standing before her looking gobsmacked.

Amy nodded.

"It was unbecoming. I'm ashamed of myself, truly. What would it take for you to forgive me if I'd struck you in the face?"

Rogh paused, turning on his dad brain.

"Well..." He started, patting her back.

"If it me, I'd forgive in heartbeat if daughter go on hunt and bring back juicy meat to cook over fire.."

Amy glanced up at him in disbelief. He shrugged.

"Or if she come up and give me big, big hug" That was more doable.

Amy sighed.

"I fear a hug may not be enough, and cook dares not let me into the kitchen after that- incident with the cleaver..." Amy recanted, the grizzly memory of her almost removing her own finger with the tool.

Rogh tilted his head.

"Trust Rogh, Little Lordy Man will forgive. One big hug from Stompy and he melt, you'll see"

A brief speck of hope flickered in Amy's chest.

"Mayhaps if Silver accompanies me I can bake some tarts for him, he never says no to jam" Amy smiled.

Rogh beamed.

"Only if Stompy let Rogh sniff tarts first!"

"Only if you keep your foul beard out of the dough!" Amy quipped playfully.

The two laughed together briefly, before a jolt in Amy's heart nearly sent her to the floor. She yelped out, stumbling down slightly, Rogh acting in a flash and catching her again.

"Rogh? What's this? That pain, what is it-?"

Rogh looked towards the horizon beyond the window, an orange glow eclipsing the trees and glistening against the snow.

"Stompy waking up now..." He announced sadly.

The jolt again. Rogh gripped her tighter, refusing to let her go yet.

"Do you promise you'll never leave me, and Silver?" Amy pleaded, a glimmer of the little girl she used to be in her eyes.

Rogh cupped her face softly.

"Never"

Amy flung her arms around him, knocking him back slightly. A few seconds passed before Rogh could even register her embrace, but once he reciprocated, he never wanted to let go. Amy's legs gave way as a third jolt rendered her gasping and weak at the knees, leaving Rogh no choice but to pick the young woman up. He walked with her in arm over to the bed, bending down and setting her back on the sheets carefully.

"Wait..." Amy pleaded, clutching his hand. Rogh looked at her expectantly, like he was ready to oblidge with a potential promise she'd beg him to keep. Amy managed to raise herself on her elbows enough to sweetly kiss his cheek. He wasn't expecting that. Her head rolled back against the pillow, her eyes drifting as though she'd been given anesthesia.

"Thank you, Rogh"

The last thing Amy felt before she awoke was a pair of rough knuckles pressing gently against her brow.

--

Sharp breathing, pressure in her chest and tingling limbs. Amy felt a warm hand against her forehead as her eyes fought to open. The sound of the rooster outside caught her ears.

"Milady. Milady, hush now" Silver's gentle voice spoke from above her.

Amy's eyes adjusted to the early morning sun shining into her room, the light reflecting off of the furniture that was back inside in it's usual places. Silver sat on the chair beside Amy's bed, her eyes glistening with hope. Amy sat up slightly, resting on her elbows. Her eyes flicked to the empty flask she'd drank from, the burnt out candle.

"Silver?..."

"Milady?"

Amy sat up, ignoring the uncomfortable pulse in her temples, shifting to face Silver.

"It worked. Silver, i-it worked, I saw him-"

"I knows, my sweet, I knows, he be right 'sides me at thy bedside as we do speaks" Silver assured sweetly. Amy glanced to the empty space, which, knowing what she knew now, felt a little less empty. Amy's clammy hands clasped at Silver's.

"Silver, he said- he told me all- he-he said that-"

Silver's hand reached to pat gently at Amy's cheek.

"Hush, Milady. It be 'tween you and he, you needs not divulge if it be too soon. It be most befuddling the first try, you shall adjusts"

Amy took a breath and nodded, greatful to have Silver at her side.

"We shoulds get thee dressed, 'tis past the hour, hence why I hath been sent up to thee" Silver smiled. Amy nodded in agreement; today her tutor wouldn't be here, ample time to work on a surprise for Papa.

[dorimena]

Ugh... been thinking about Aizawa crying during sex. Sucking on your fingers? Tears. Cockwarming? A river has been cried. Pegging him? Fucking waterfalls. Idk, man. Got any headcanons or add-ons about this? Maybe a short little blurb? — 🐬

Oh my-

I actually have this draft somewhere in my files about Aizawa crying during sex and cockwarming him (and I’ve been tempting myself to release sometime soon). But him crying a river because he’s cockwarming you? That sounds incredibly sexy, even better, dear 🐬 anon (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; aizawa shota

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 1.2k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; implied female reader, cockwarming, pegging, overstimulation (?), crying, cursing, mostly shameless smut, dom!reader, sub!character

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; crying Aizawa, sobbing Aizawa, slut Aizawa, mating press, couch sex, loud sex, lots of cum

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; yes, horrible title, terrible joke, but it’s kind of funny, right? I got carried away, as you see... will I ever be able to write a blurb? Probably not. It’s not proofread!

𝕴𝖙'𝖘 𝖌𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖔𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 (𝖘𝖔 𝖑𝖊𝖙 𝖒𝖊 𝖗𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖉𝖎𝖈𝖐.)

He thought it was going to be a romantic date night at your place.

You promised some delicious food, some strong liquor, some nice massages, maybe throw in some soft cuddles as you lull him to sleep.

You did mention before that you had a little surprise for him to reward him for his good work this week, for saving more lives, contributing to keeping the city safe, teaching the kids at UA everything they need to know to excel in the hero world.

And what a surprise it was when you took out his favorite strap on he gifted you. But maybe he shouldn’t have gotten so excited at the idea of you fucking him until he forgets past pains and sufferings, maybe even today’s disappointment with how Kaminari seemed to forget how electricity could very much be well conducted in water…

Because for the past hour or two, maybe three, you’ve had him sitting on your lap with your silicon dick in him, slapping his thighs even if he were to shift, making him leak more tears each and every time the stinging becomes more intense.

You’re tempted in gagging him to see if with the lack of words he’d cry more.

“Stop moving so much, babe. We’re supposed to be relaxing.”

Your mocking purr makes him shudder as he flinched at another slap. Looking down, he can somehow make out, through his tear-covered vision, how his skin is turning red, a blurred handprint noticeable at the edge of the growing redness. He can also see how sticky his thighs are with how badly his dick is weeping in thick blobs of precum. God, has he always been such a slut?

Well, his shameless moan at the appearance below him and the lasting sting on his skin is enough to answer his own question.

“C-can’t he-elp it.” He groans out, trying his best to ignore how much hotter his body keeps getting the more he’s forced to sit still, the more you keep ‘accidentally’ teasing his nipples and play around with his precum covered thighs. Don’t you feel disgusted? Aren’t you?

Because if you are, that’s too bad. He hasn’t felt so proud of himself since-

“Auugh! M-mistress!” Aizawa sobs, feet trying to plant themselves onto the ground to keep himself stable as you slam up into him again, and again, and again.

No signs of mercy ever-present as you drag out of him so, so painfully slow before you go ahead and hit his sweet spot straight on.

Even with his feet on the ground and his back pressed onto your chest to keep him still, his hips still pitifully chase your thrusts, desperation present in every way he twitches and sobs.

He’s not even moaning, or even if he is, it’s just a garbled strain of your name fucked out of him as you coo praises and compliments into his ear, your hands grabbing onto his thighs to keep them spread so that he doesn’t shy away from your cock.

Turning your head a bit to see his face, you grin at how red he is, just like his wet, slick covered dick, his cheeks decorated with trails of hot tears coming from his closed eyes. And once he opens them, he looks into your eyes, eyebrows furrowed upwards as he wonders why you’re smiling like that, as if he were something so magical, so beautiful.

But this isn’t a time for something so romantic, not with how much he’s burning from deep inside his core up to his skin, flushing everywhere that’s possible as he manages to whimper out.

“H-hard, hard! N-need- nngh, ri-ide you!” And a please is whispered so, so sweetly, so softly, so unlike how society sees him as.

“Go ahead.”

And he rides you like there’s no tomorrow, even if you’re still slamming into him at an even faster pace. He can ride you, but you’re still in control of how fast everything goes.

He doesn’t complain, and not like he can even give his usual sarcastic remark with how his mouth's currently occupied letting out a waterfall of cries, moans and sobs, getting louder and bolder with every fast change of speed.

He’s gripping onto the couch cushion below you with such strength, you swore you heard a rip- but that’s alright, it was old anyways. Right now, feeling the way he can’t even control himself to at least act anything but a porn star is rewarding and forgiving enough.

His tears from earlier? You’re sure there’s enough water to bathe in, feeling how it touches your shoulders, seeing how it trails down to his chest, some lucky ones even going to his neglected dick. Poor thing, weeping just as much as the man who’s feared by so many criminals and past students.

This delicious fucking is going animalistic with how he’s bouncing on you, skin slapping polluting the air as much as the smell of sex. You hope neither filter outside into the neighboring apartments, although you’re positive you’ll be receiving some unhappy calls from the landlord.

Aizawa feels so, so hot and so, so close. It’s so painful, too painful, he’s never felt this way before. Maybe it’s how deprived he was for weeks, how starved he was for you, how desperate he was to be able to cum after so many failed attempts.

But he’s becoming so, so, so loud, with his sobs echoing around the apartment, his cries of your name and ‘mistress, mistress, mistress!’ ringing in your ears that maybe you should’ve gagged him. Your fingers will do-

And they did, with how greedily he’s sucking them, as if they offer the finest water to help quench his growing thirst to cum, cum-

“Cu-umming!”

And you let him, not retorting anything, not depriving him anymore as you send the most powerful thrusts you could muster into him to hear him wheeze so, so pathetically, reminding you how old he is, even if just 31.

And his eyes? His beautiful onyx eyes are glowing red, his sweaty, tangled mess of black hair floating in the air giving you the view of how he didn’t only lose control of his quirk, but also how he lost control of his thighs, his quivering, trembling, now cum covered thighs.

He’s babbling anything that comes to mind, it’s difficult to know if he’s praying for mercy or praying in gratitude, his hips still sliding up and down your cock as every hit to his prostate milks out more and more cum, the hot substance spurting onto the floor, onto the coffee table, onto his thighs, legs, feet, everywhere.

It’s so pornographic, so unbelievably out of this fucking world that you just need to see him do it again, even if you’ll have to stay inside of him to keep him horny and hot and bothered.

“Ag- augh- gain?”

Aizawa doesn’t wait for you to answer, and to damn your answer, not with how he still feels his dick burn with more need, still so hard because you wouldn't give it our attention.

But you do this time, switching your position to fuck him deep into the couch, mate pressing him as you flick your wrist furiously as wet sounds join in the symphony of his wails, his pleas of mercy which you’ll never, ever give to him unless he says the safe word or you’re feeling romantic.

[princessbunnyblossom]

First and last of her Kind Ch 6 The Mysterious Ship Approaches

It had been quiet on the ship for awhile saved for Spinel’s soft weeping and that’s when one of the Rutile twins spoke up.

“You can make more friends.” The left one said.

“Yeah you can make so many more friends.” The right twin chimed in.

Spinel remained quiet soft sniffing was heard as wet pink eyes peered at them.

“It’ll be great just imagine.” The right twin said, sounding so happy.

There were pleasant looks on all the gems on the ship all except for the small pink spinel who stared with confusion.

“Just think we won’t have to fear of being shattered.” Rhodonite sighed.

“Or judged based on our looks.” The right Rutile twin said.

“Or our skills and talents.” Padparadscha added in with the right Rutile twin.

“Or our status rank.” Florite hummed.

“But most importantly.” Lars said. “We won’t have to serve any diamond.” He said.

All the gems on board agreed yet Spinel seemed confused, she would no longer be serving a diamond. How bizarre. Spinel would have never thought that she would go against the diamond authority but it didn’t look like she had much of a choice. The small pink gem didn’t think she could serve anyone other than her diamond. She didn’t want to even fathom what it would be like if she served another gem. Probably wouldn’t be treated well….again.

Spinel rubbed the last remaining tears from her eyes and looked out at the vast amount of stars out in space. Spinel looked as Homeworld grew smaller and smaller, she wondered how far away from the entire planet Homeworld was she when Oink left her in the garden. Spinel didn’t want to think about it, it scared her a little. She must’ve been so far away from Homeworld. With the warp pads everything seemed so close but now that Spinel was leaving her home she couldn’t help but think.

Home the garden was once a lovely home and now it had transformed into her small personal hell. Spinel could feel tears bubble up in her eyes again. She sniffed which caught the attention of an unlikely gem. Spinel sniffed, rubbing her teary eyes and could see through her blurred vision a caterpillar like body wrapped around where she sat. Spinel cried out in fear but stopped as it was only Fluorite, a fusion as Homeworld put it. Spinel sniffed as she listened to a slow yet seemingly calm voice speak to her.

“It’s alright.” Fluorite said.

Spinel sat there sniffing, rubbing her wet eyes and despite how bizarre this day was these gems were just so nice and kind to her. Spinel was grateful for the comfort. Spinel wanted to say thank you but despite not talking it seemed that Fluorite understood her. The small pink gem gave a tired sigh and rested herself against Fluorite slowly beginning to close her eyes but suddenly snapped upright. She had no clue what she was doing but it scared her it felt like she was shutting down and she didn’t like that. Spinel began to focus on the stars. She remembers counting so many stars in the garden and right now there were so many stars out she didn’t think she could count anymore. The small pink gem felt like she had been counting for so long . Spinel’s soft pink eyes traveled around the shop and that’s when they stared at Fluorite. Spinel couldn’t help but state. This gem was so different yet she was so kind. Spinel stared at her colorful form; she couldn’t help but admire Fluorite for her oddity but Spinel found her colors and her form fascinating and comforting. The cool,gentle colors on Fluorite’s form were relaxing to look at and Fluorite had this calm aura around her which seemed to ease Spinel. Despite the way Fluorite spoke it was nice to hear and oddly enough comforting and she was nice to lay on as she was soft yet cool. Maybe it was just Spinel’s lack of physical contact.

The small pink gem would always be grateful that Fluorite had come over to comfort her. However Fluorite was again needed and the small pink gem was one again alone. Spinel sighed, she really had nothing to do except….the small gem looked down at the notepad Kars had given her and a small smile began to spread on her cute pink face.

Captain Lars Barriga stared out into the mass majority of the stars in space . The young pink teen sat there navigating the ship’s direction and making sure everything ran smoothly in the ship. To think one day he was working at a donut shop and then he. Was picked up by these giant aliens called gems snatched him from his home and tossed him in a human zoo. To be taken without warning, away from his friends, his family and his home. Lars couldn’t remember how long he had been away from earth but he wasn’t going to wait a single second on that horrible planet known as Homeworld. Lars couldn’t wait, soon they would all be free. They would be happy sna safe.

That thought alone seemed to make the young captain happy. Who would have thought someone like him would be out flying in space with s bunch of gem rock aliens. It seemed like only yesterday he escaped the human zoo and was hiding away from the Amethyst guards. Lars couldn’t remember exactly how he survived but he managed to do just fine by taking some water and food from the zoo. Lars couldn’t he,p but smile despite his struggle he managed to steal a ship from a high status gem as his way of sticking it to that crazed robotic planet

Lars couldn’t help but chuckle. He wondered who the poor sap was and how embarrassing it would have been to have their ship stolen by a human. Lars chuckled again knowing that he had taken a high class gem’s ship would have been an utter shame and humiliation to have their ship taken by what they called “lower life form.” However to have it taken by a human mini less would have been humiliating at best. Lars couldn’t he,o but laugh a little putting a hand to his mouth and try and muffle it out. It was just too good to not enjoy.

Spinel place the pencil down or what she liked to call the drawing wand and stared at her drawings. One was if her escaping the garden and running away from Pink Diamond’s son and his topaz guard and amethyst guard. It then shows her rejuvenating a topaz guard and running again before jumping off a bridge and seeing those weird machines. Before one could get to her Spinel had drawn the Rutile twins saving her and bringing her to see the rest of the off color gems.

Then the small gem drew the present, explaining her story and leaving Homeworld on a big ship. Spinel looked down at her drawing pad and couldn’t help but smile as she began drawing them heading to earth. Ah, earth. A colony she was left for by her diamond. Spinel narrowed her eyes not wanting to think back on that painful memory anymore. Once Pink had her colony she just left Spinel and didn’t come back. Spinel blinked a couple of tears away and swallowed a painful lump that was stuck in her throat.

Sox thousand years .

She had been playing with the one person who she believed was her best friend, who had left her to rot. It was funny though, Spinel had never seen earth before but now that Pink was gone and Spinel left the garden she could finally see earth. The thought of seeing earth made Spinel happy. Even forgetting the horrible mistreatment and punishments she would dish out to Spinel. The hair pulling, grabbing her pretty rough to the point of bruising, putting her down or much harsher punishments like being hit, kicked, punched or thrown around like a rag doll. Spinel could eerily remember her diamond dissipating her form via ,by crushing.

Spinel could feel her body freeze up and get cold.. Pink Diamond has just about enough of Spinel . The small pink bubbly gem one day was a little more excited than usual but that was because of a reason. Spinel had made a gorgeous flower crown for her diamond and the tiny pink gem just couldn’t wait to show her. However Pink Diamond was in a rather sour mood but Spinel couldn’t help herself. She really wanted to show her diamond what she had made her and when Pink had back handed her the poor gem causing her to hit the floor causing her to drop the flower crown Spinel looked up feeling a painful sting longer on her cheek. That happened so fat and without warning.

Spinel had no clue what she had done. The pain lingering on her sensitive pink skin causing tears to well up in her eyes. She gave out a pained whine and looked at her diamond eyes fearful and her body trembling.

“P-Pink.” She whined pitifully trying to suppress a sniffle.

The littlest diamond stared down at the small pink spinel with little to no emotion in her eyes. It scared Spinel to see her Diamond’s face like that. To see that there was nothing in her pink diamond eyes that they had grown dark and without light seemed to make Spinel fear for the worst and without warning Spinel cried out and n fear as Pink Diamond grabbed her a little more rough than usual and proceeded to squeeze the sides of the small and now helpless spinel. Spinel shrieked from both lain and fear. She could feel something warm trickle up her throat and out her mouth. It tasted like metal and Spinel could feel it spill out of her mouth and drip down her chin. She hadn’t realized at the time that it was blood.

Her blood.

Spinel stared on in horror as her dis one stared down at her with a hateful glare while her hands pressed against Spinel’s sides. No matter how much she cried and sobbed telling her diamond that she was sorry that only seemed to make her more angrier. The squeezing felt horrible; it felt like her inside were being caved in. Spinel couldn’t tell if this was the way she was going.to die but by the looks of it, it seemed that way. Spinel could feel her eyes rolled back, tears spilling down her face as her vision blurred and she could only see darkness . When Spinel had reformed her diamond was no longer there but the pain of what she had done was. Spinels whimpered unbaked to hold back the painful sobs which resulted in outwardly wailing.

She couldn’t understand why her diamond wanted to do something like that, wasn’t Spinel being a good gem? A good little gem for her diamond. It didn’t matter right now. Spinel just wanted to rest for a moment. The small pink gem limped over to a path of forget me not flowers, her absolute favored flower and when she laid down she must’ve blacked out cause she couldn’t remember what had happened after she had closed her ryes.

Spinel shook her head, not wanting to think about Pink Diamond right now . The small gem gasped when she felt a small bump in the ship. Maybe that was normal.

lCaptain you might wanna take a look at this.” The left Rutile twin said.

“Yeah it looks serious.” The right Rutile twin said in a shared whisper

Lars began to check some of the camera footage and frowned.

“Oh no. “ he said l

“O-oh no..l.what do you...mean?!” Rhodonite asked , getting a little worried.

Spinel looked over to the orange sapphire who spoke.

“I predict that Rhodonite will begin to panic when she hears news that an oncoming ship has begun to approach us.” Padparadscha stated.

[vannahfanfics]

Of Comfort and Cup Noodles

Category: Hurt and Comfort 

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Ochako Uraraka, Fumikage Tokoyami

Requested By: generic-goblin (Tumblr)

Hey, everybody! Here’s another story for @bnhabookclub​’s Bingo Event for the prompt “Bad News”! Enjoy~

Ochako hummed happily to herself as she watched the cup of instant ramen slowly spin in the microwave. Her brown eyes focused on the bubbling water slipping out of the lid to roll in steaming droplets down the patterned plastic side. Her mouth watered as her mind danced with visions of soft noodles, hearty vegetables, and tender meat. She’d scored some high-scale ramen at a supermarket sale, so Ochako vibrated with excitement, simply dying to taste the fancy noodles from which she was typically barred. She watched the seconds tick down with mounting excitement. Before the microwave even had a chance to beep with the finished countdown, she popped the machine open. 

“Oh my Goooooood,” she exhaled exultantly as the aroma of cooked ramen wafted up her nose. Her eyelashes fluttered with ecstasy just smelling it, so naturally, her tastebuds tingled in rapt anticipation. Using a dishtowel to transport the hot cup, she scurried over to her small table and set the cup down. Wielding her chopsticks in one hand, she slowly peeled the lid back and watched with dilated pupils as hot steam billowed from within. The noodles looked simply perfect bobbing in the light brown broth, and a thick slice of chicken surrounded by green onions, spinach, and carrots practically screamed at her to be eaten. Laughing almost maniacally with exaltation, she plucked the meat from the broth, which dripped deliciously from its off-white surface. Ochako blew on it briefly before slipping it into her mouth. With a delighted, muffled squeal, she melted against the floor, having achieved nirvana with just one bite. 

“Soooo gooooood,” she groaned blissfully. The ramen was seasoned to perfection, and the healthy blend of vegetables only added to the delectable taste. She flopped back up and began digging into the ramen with gusto, savoring each swathe of noodles with airy giggles before inhaling some more. She was so enraptured with her meal that she didn’t notice that her phone was ringing until she almost missed the call. 

“Hello? Hello?” she cried into the phone as she hurriedly picked it up, her voice slightly distorted from the noodles still shoved into her mouth. She quickly swallowed, beaming when her mother voiced greeting on the other end of the line. “Oh, hi, Mom! What’s up?” she asked and pushed the ramen aside to hold conversation properly. They made pleasant small talk, but there was a particular strain in her mother’s voice that had Ochako’s nerves buzzing suspiciously. When her mother abruptly sighed, Ochako inquired, “Mom? Is everything all right?” Silence hummed in the other end of the line for several seconds. 

“I don’t know, ‘Chako,” her mother finally admitted in a small voice. Unnerved, Ochako tucked her legs under herself and narrowed her eyes. 

“What is it?” 

“Your father… His company lost a really, really big building deal.” Ochako gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth in shock. Her mother’s voice shook tremulously as she struggled not to cry, but Ochako could practically hear the fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “He’s been working so hard to score this contract for three months… But the investors went with someone else. It’s already so difficult finding projects in the winter,” her mother lamented woefully. “This was our only shot. I don’t know what we’re going to do, Ochako. The bills are mounting up, and I just… I just…” Her mother trailed off into bitter sobs. 

“Mom, it’ll be okay,” Ochako offered weakly. She wanted to help her mother, but the fear crept up, spilling a dreadful cold feeling through every inch of her body. “You know… It always is,” she continued lamely. Ochako struggled to offer encouragement to the weeping woman, but every forced reassurance fell pitifully short. After about five minutes of weak consoling, her mother quietly thanked Ochako for listening and assured her not to worry about her parents’ financial struggles. By this time, her body had gone painfully numb. Ochako couldn’t even feel her limb moving as she slowly lowered her cell phone to the table. She stared down at the half-finished bowl of ramen, and her belly twisted with nausea. 

Guilt swept through her like a tidal wave. Sure, she’d gotten the ramen on sale, but she’d still splurged and spent an extra dollar or two on the package. How could she be so selfish when her parents were literally struggling to make ends meet? Shameful tears burned in the corners of her eyes; as they slipped down her cheeks, they felt like lava, searing marks into her skin. She pushed the cup away, no longer able to bear the thought of finishing it. She had no right.

Ochako pressed her face into her palms as sobs gripped her body. “Oh, Mama… Oh, Papa… I’m so sorry!” she cried petulantly. In her anguish, she didn’t think to quiet her crying, and instead wailed openly. Mina’s room was down the hall, and the bubbly pink girl frequently spent her evenings in the first-floor common area, so by all rights, Ochako thought no one would hear her sobbing. 

That’s why the light, timid knock at her dorm room door nearly startled her out of her skin. 

“Uraraka?” The wood muffled the voice, making it difficult for her to hear who exactly it was, but it sounded like one of the boys. “Uraraka, are you… okay? I heard… I heard you crying.” Ochako shakily stood up and swiped at her face, trying to conceal the evidence of her misery. 

“I-I’m coming!” she cried, stumbling over herself to get to the door. In her clumsiness, she banged her shin against the corner of the table. She swallowed a pained squeal and stood there for a second to let the burning pain subside. “J-just a second!” she called, her voice now several octaves higher, as she slowly limped to the door. She tossed her hair from her face as she opened it, forcing a bright, fake grin on her face. “Oh, hey, Tokoyami!” she cheerfully greeted the feathered boy standing at her door. 

Fumikage inspected her critically. 

“Uh… Are you okay?” Fumikage asked suspiciously. Ochako’s cheesy grin didn’t falter as she leaned casually against the door frame, mentally cursing as her shin flared with pain once more. 

“I-I, of course, why wouldn’t I be okay?” she asked with a nervous chuckle. Fumikage’s red eyes looked her up and down, drinking in her very disheveled appearance. 

“Uh-huh…” he droned disbelievingly. “Well, I was just at Shoji’s room,” he explained while pointing over his shoulder, “and when I was heading to the stairs, I heard you crying… pretty loud…” 

“Are you sure it’s not Mina? She’s been soooooo stressed about the upcoming winter finals.” 

“Mina’s downstairs.” 

“Ummm, someone’s television could be on…” 

“Please stop lying to me, Uraraka. I’d rather you just tell me that you don’t want to talk about it.” Ochako’s plastic smile fell from her face immediately to crash at her feet like porcelain, making her nerves prickle up her legs. Fumikage’s eyes had taken on an irritatedly concerned aura, and it felt like those ruby irises bored straight into her soul. Ochako’s bottom lip wobbled as she stared at him culpably.

I do want to talk about it, she realized sadly. With a troubled sigh, she stepped aside and tiredly gestured for Fumikage to enter. He hesitated a second, jerking as he debated stepping over the threshold, before stiffly walking into the room. Ochako swung the door closed and then walked over to her bed, where she slumped onto it like a bag of lard. 

Fumikage leaned against the wall opposite her and crossed his arms, capturing her in an intense but not judgemental gaze. “So, what happened?” Ochako played with her fingers for a minute before answering. 

“My parents are having money problems…” she admitted in a tiny voice. “My dad works in construction, and he just lost a huge contract that would’ve floated them through the winter. It’s hard to get work during the winter season because the cold makes construction work difficult… They were really relying on this contract, and now, my mom isn’t sure they’ll be able to make their bills.” Her lips trembled as she slid her teary gaze to the now lukewarm cup of gourmet ramen on her table. “And here I am… splurging my allowance on stupid gourmet ramen while my parents are struggling,” she moped with a sob and buried her face into her hands. “I’m so selfish and greedy!” she wailed. 

“Uraraka!” Fumikage cried, and she could hear him stumble forward by the sounds of his unsteady footsteps over the wood floor. Ochako peered through her fingers to find him standing in front of her, hands fluttering around her form but too nervous to actually touch her. Eventually, he grabbed her wrists to gently lower her hands from her face and rest them in her lap. Muted, Ochako allowed the boy to manipulate her body like a puppet, finding a strange comfort in his guiding movements. Fumikage exhaled deeply and sank onto the bed beside her, pressing himself slightly against her in a soothing fashion. “Uraraka… You aren’t selfish or greedy.” 

The girl cast another remorseful glance at the cup ramen on the table. Before she could voice opposition, Fumikage gently grabbed her chin and turned her face back to him. A blush crept into her cheeks as his fingers slowly fell from her face in a gentle caress. “You’re not. Your parents’ troubles aren’t your fault, and so you don’t need to punish yourself with guilt over some ramen.” Hearing it out loud solidified how absurd her feelings were, making her snivel. She shifted nervously and looked down at her lap. 

“You’re right… How silly of me…” 

“It’s not silly,” he objected with a kind smile. When Ochako looked up at him, he turned nervous and twiddled his fingers. “I-I mean, it’s not uncommon to feel bad and shoulder the burdens of your parents…” he explained quickly. “But I’m sure they don’t want you to do that. I’m sure they’d much rather you be smiling and enjoying yourself,” he said with another look into her face. Ochako blinked, surprised by the wisdom of his advice, and then smiled warmly. 

“Yeah… You’re right. Thank you,” Ochako said. She genuinely felt a lot better, and she rose from the bed to stretch her arms over her head. “I feel loooooads better!” she crowed. Tokoyami jumped at her sudden outburst, but then chuckled and stood up beside her. 

“I’m relieved.” 

“You’re so kind for coming to check on me, Tokoyami,” Ochako beamed, clasping her hands behind her back and smiling radiantly at him. Fumikage flushed and nervously shifted his feet with shy mumbles. When he mentioned something about excusing himself, Ochako grabbed the hem of his shirt. “No, no! Please stay. If you’re not doing anything else, of course,” she asked with a flutter of her eyelashes. If his face wasn’t covered in dark black feathers, she was sure his face would be beet-red. “I’ve got another packet of that gourmet ramen. We can share it.” 

“What? No, Ochako, I couldn’t-” he began to stammer, but in that moment, Dark Shadow sprang out of him with a delighted squeal. 

“Ramen! Ramen!” the shadowy spirit demanded insistently. Ochako giggled and patted the bird-like spirit’s head, then proceeded to prepare two more packets of the ramen for them. Fumikage flapped anxiously around her as she filled the two noodle cups with water. 

“O-Ochako, you spent money on that… I simply couldn’t!” he protested. Ochako ignored him as she popped the first one into the microwave. 

“Nonsense,” she said while starting the timer. She looked over her shoulder at him with a sweet smile. “You helped me deal with my bad news. Besides, a meal is always better when you have someone to share with!” Fumikage blinked at her, then resigned himself to the situation with an amused smile. 

“Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.” Ochako hummed happily, and together, they watched the ramen cup spin slowly around the microwave- but they were too absorbed in trading smiles to count down the seconds.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork​ @sadistiks​ @wesparklebitch​ @simplybakugou​

[hungline]

you’re my tear

pairing: jihope  genre: angst, break up au, rated pg  warnings: breaking up, crying, heavy angst  words: 1040

summary: Jimin’s such a child, no wonder Hoseok doesn’t love him anymore.

⇢ day five of jihope week 2018 

"So that's it."

Hoseok nods from the closet, a suitcase by his feet. "That's it."

"You're not even going to try and fix this? Fix us?" Jimin asks, still seated on the bed.

"What's to fix?" Hoseok replies immediately, picking up his suitcase with the last of his things in it. "We've been over for a while."

Jimin shakes his head and wrings his hands together in his lap. "I don't understand. I thought we were fine."

Hoseok laughs humorlessly and walks towards the door, not bothering to spare a glance over his shoulder. "Jimin, we haven't been fine for a long time. We're just not in love anymore, plain and simple."

His back is to him, the line of his shoulders stiff. Jimin wants to scream, wants to kick and punch himself because this was never meant to happen. He loves Hoseok, has always loved him. He has been in love with him since they were kids, how could Hoseok say that they aren't in love anymore?

If someone is not in love anymore, then it's Hoseok, not Jimin. Jimin feels like his stomach has dropped right out of him as Hoseok walks down the hallway, steps measured and steady. The elder's resolve is unbending and Jimin wishes he could do something about this.

"Hyung," Jimin calls out, breath stuttering in his chest when Hoseok pauses. "You don't get to decide when I've stopped loving someone."

Hoseok sighs heavily, keeping still as Jimin stands and walks towards him. Jimin is sure of the fact that he isn't going to save this, that Hoseok is going to walk out that door and out of his life, but if he leaves then he has to know. Nothing is going to stop him from saying it.

"I do love you. Just because it comforts you to think that neither of us wants this does not mean that it is true and you know that. You know that I've always looked up to you, how long I pined after you. You don't get to tell me when I'm not in love with you anymore, do you hear me?" Jimin spits through his teeth, not expecting for this level of an outburst to come forth or for so much anger to channel through him either.

Whatever has been happening to the elder, whoever made him think otherwise, Jimin sincerely curses every and anything that convinced Hoseok Jimin didn't love him anymore. The apartment is going to feel empty and cold for a long while after Hoseok leaves, Jimin is sure of it, but he'll be okay eventually.

It will be hard to get over Hoseok, but not impossible. Jimin's loved him for as long as he can remember, but he still dated other people before they got together. He loved them as much as he loved Hoseok and the only reason they never seemed to work out is that they knew he didn't love just them. They knew his heart was big enough, but it never comforted their egos and it bruised their pride. Jimin got tired of putting on a mask a long time ago.

"Hyung, it's okay if you don't love me anymore," Jimin says, the words scalding his mouth as his heart trembles with each passing second, "but don't decide shit for me. I know how pathetic you must think I am for still being in love, how stupid you think I am for even admitting this."

Jimin is crying and he doesn't know when tears even began to pool in his eyes, but he's crying and it is ugly. Sobs wrack his chest. It's difficult to breathe and whenever tears threaten his vision, Jimin blinks them away as quickly as they came, wanting nothing more than for Hoseok to hold him. For Hoseok to comfort him one last time.

"I'll always love you, hyung," Jimin mumbles, sniffling like a child, "I will and it's fine if you don't love me, but don't lie about it to my face. I can't stand that. I hate liars and I don't want to hate you, no matter how much you wish I did."

Hoseok has said nothing so far, simply standing there as Jimin cries. His arms hang limply by his sides, hands curled into fists as Jimin wipes pitifully at his face. Jimin must look like such a kid to him with snot and tears running down his red, shiny face. He's an ugly crier and he knows it, such a contrast when compared to how beautiful Hoseok looks like when he cries, but he doesn't care. Jimin doesn't care about any of that anymore.

"If you are going to go, then at least kiss me goodbye one last time. I don't care if you don't love me anymore, I just need the closure," Jimin begs, feeling shitty and fucked up to his core. "Please?"

The elder does not say anything at all as he lets go of his suitcase and steps forward, using his palms to wipe Jimin's mouth clean. He grabs Jimin's chin and tilts his head up, leaning down quickly to press their lips together. Jimin stands there and merely enjoys the feeling, sure of the fact this is the last time they will ever kiss again.

When Hoseok pulls back, Jimin closes his eyes and listens to the elder pick his suitcase up and walk out the door. Jimin sinks to the ground as the front door slams shut and sobs into his hands, curling into a ball as he weeps.

He has always loved Hoseok and he always will, but Hoseok does not love him anymore and it's time Jimin faced the music and grew the fuck up. It is really no wonder Hoseok fell out of love considering Jimin still acts like such a kid, crying over the dumbest of things.

Heartbreak may not be such a dumb thing to cry over, but Jimin feels like an idiot anyway so he lets it all out as he wails in despair. 

When Taehyung lets himself in a few hours later, he finds Jimin asleep on the floor, still curled up into a ball with dried tear tracks, snot covering his face, and his tiny, fragile heart broken.

[partyinthemysterymachine]

Stop Stopping

Ch. 5/?

They ran. Harry was so close on James’s heels that he was nearly colliding on every step. The rusty door banged on the wall when it was thrown open, and the two of them raced down the narrow alley. It took seconds to land on Katz St., the wail of the radio deafening in the abandoned street. They stood in the middle of the road, frantically looking both ways, until James grabbed Harry’s sleeve and yanked him to the right. Harry turned on a dime and took off after him, only to stop again in the intersection at the sound of a pitched, gurgling woman.

From the fog emerged a staggering, loose-limbed creature that was closer than either of them had anticipated. It shuffled on buckled legs, its ropey arms swinging carelessly in the momentum. The head drooped on its neck, masking its face from everything but the asphalt, and they ought to be grateful for it. The entirety of this abomination was ravaged in sickening swirls of exposed muscle, black rot eating away at its flesh, and raw, peeling skin. Like most of the hell creatures in Silent Hill, it was an impossibility. The thing moved as though it was treading through tar, but these two were wise to the fact that that shouldn’t be undermined.

The stench of it reached them as soon as they saw it, triggering bile washing up Harry’s throat, and gritted disgust on James’s face. It smelled of charred meat forgotten in an industrial oven fueled by sulfur and was heavy with the unmistakable odor of wet, moldy clothes. Every breath it took sounded labored and painful, and vaguely feminine. In its wake were slicks of thick blood, and if they dared to be any more observant, flung drops of blood from its stiff fingertips as the arms swayed.

This was Harry’s welcome party. It was a party of one and that was more than enough. The sight of it left him frozen in place for a multitude of hours that were condensed into several threatening seconds. When struck with terror, one forgets how long seconds truly are. He was stuck in it. The radio was just background noise to the head spinning fear that gripped him.

He nearly ate pavement when James once again seized his arm and pulled him out of the moment and down the street. Harry went after him in a daze, his brain and legs acting on autopilot to keep up with the misplaced civilian he was now reliant on. They raced down Katz, the squeal of the radio still strong in warning, but for the third time in their escape, it was James’s turn to brake hard in the road. Harry crashed nto him, the both of them catching themselves before a stumble.

“What’re you doing?!” Harry hissed to the back of James’s head. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t just stop like that—“

“What the hell is that?”

Harry looked over his green shoulder. The sigil was still planted right in the road. James stared at it, disquieted. It was foreign to him, and told him it was something he was going to be much more than just an acquaintance to it. It was mocking him. Taunting him. James felt threatened, and with good reason, and all he wanted to do was run away from it, and the way it itched in his brain.

Harry was anxious behind him. “C’mon, James, keep moving,” he urged, starting to sidestep him to blindly lead the way. James came to his senses and cut him off, dashing into the apartment building. Harry had to ignore the dread that went along with entering the lobby, and they ran up the stairs skipping a step at a time.

The radio was unrelenting, as was the pitch black darkness of the hall stretching before them. Their flashlights illuminated the disgusting walls as they hurried to the stairs to ascend to temporary safety. The dark made it look like the hall was a mile long. It wasn’t; it was easy to cover the distance in under thirty seconds if they ran. They were focused; they were propelled by their survival instinct.

Through the noise of static, Harry heard crying. The crying of a girl was hollow and trapped behind one of the doors as he passed it (the hall was so short! it didn’t need to seem to long! he was so close to the stairs!) and then came the voice that speared his heart, and body, in place.

“Daddy!”

Harry sucked a hard breath and looked at the crusted doorknob. Guilt hit him like a truck. The little girl was sobbing on the other side of the door, breaking his heart and kicking his protective fatherly instinct into foolish gear. She sounded so scared. She sounded like she was abandoned. Another cry took his chest in a crushing twist, and knowing that they had to hurry, knowing they were in danger, knowing the town was baiting him, forcing him to stop and make himself vulnerable, but he couldn’t live with the possibility that he’d leave Cheryl to suffer alone.

“Daddy!” she cried pitifully. “Daddy, please! Please help me..”

“Cheryl, baby,” he whispered in ache, weakly reaching for the knob. “It’s okay, honey, I’m gonna get you out.”

Like hell he was. James’s strength was angry when Harry was ripped away from the apartment and dragged down the hall. He was all but thrown through the stairwell door and shoved up the steps to the second floor, where James manhandled him one more time when Room 212 yielded, and he staggered to the middle of the living room as the door slammed shut.

Harry was dazed. The radio had silenced. His head swam in murky sludge as it tried to catch up with everything that had happened since they left the cafe. Too much information was squeezed into a span of minutes just shy of ten, perhaps, but neither of them would ever know. His eyes rooted to the crusted floor, the flashlight’s white ray bobbing as his breath heaved. Harry could barely process anything, much less James’s furious step towards him.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” James bristled. “What was that? You can’t stop in the middle of the hall like that! Didn’t you hear the radio? Don’t you remember what that means?”

Harry couldn’t respond in his struggle to process. James scoffed over his shoulder and fidgeted. The questions were mostly rhetorical anyway. He sighed and rubbed at his forehead, and took a walk to the kitchen to cool off.

Harry was beginning to pull himself together when they both looked up in cold horror. There were footsteps running beyond the apartment. Light ones, like a child’s. They passed their hideout, stopped, and then returned. The tread sounded heavier now, like they’d grown to an adult’s weight, and came to a stop outside the door.

The tension was thick. Both men were waiting, staring at door with bated breath. There was hardly a full minute of rest. The town had gleefully initiated the hunt, and had decided to begin with a marathon. They were not just kept on their toes; they were kept on the tips of the hair that stood on end.

Then the knob rattled. Like lightning, James hurled himself at the door and slammed it shut the moment that it tried to open. He braced his weight on it, his eyes wide as the knob rattled again and again, and a force attempted to counter his strength.

It gave up. James didn’t. He leaned everything he had into keeping that door shut, and then looked pleadingly to the disoriented father in the middle of the room. “Harry,” he whispered, “please. Help me keep it shut.”

Harry was at a loss. His eyes roved blankly to James. There was desperation in the air, and he couldn’t do anything about it. His body felt numb; it didn’t even feel like his. A knock rapped on the door, and a girl’s muffled voice begged for her father.

“Daddy, please help me. I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what’s going on. Dad.. please..”

The voice was familiar, and too unnatural to be trusted. It rose and fell in pitch from child to teenager in each sentence. James stared anxiously at Harry, watching his every move - more like the lack thereof. But Harry was trapped in place by his own deadened mentality.

The girl’s weeping went ignored. Soon it petered off, and the footsteps receded down the stretch of the hall. Only when they were gone did James feel for a lock on the door, and to some miracle there was, and the deadbolt slid into place.

Neither of them noticed that the radio’s static was hushed but humming that entire time. James peeled his body tiredly from the door and looked out at the man who wasn’t in himself. He looked so despondent.. lost. James’s anger had washed away, and now he appeared awkwardly sympathetic.

“That was Heather, wasn’t it?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah. And Cheryl.”

James’s head bobbed their brief uncomfortable silence. “Yeah. But that wasn’t her.”

His lousy attempt at comfort actually brought Harry back into the present. He stared at him like he’d told him the earth was flat and he had a globe to prove it; he was astounded at how empty James’s head was.

That dealer was out on a really, really long smoke break.

“You don’t say.”

The snap of the icy sarcasm caused James to look away. Harry, heavy with the stress and confusion of everything, turned his back. There was a stained green chair that faced a broken TV, and he trudged over and sank into it.

He needed a few minutes to sort himself out. He didn’t want to hear or see James, or the rest of this decrepit space, or acknowledge the blood that was caked to the unit in front of him. He didn’t even want to think. He could barely feel. Harry needed to breathe and come down from the displacement of his brain from his body. He just needed a few minutes to himself.

James silently took in the scene. He’d seen this before. Harry was no dead body with a gaping hole in the back of its head and remaining features concealed under blood, like the other man was. He recalled feeling like it was an omen then. Now he felt mocked. Harry sitting in the chair like that was a cruel joke.

He had to wonder if that decision was Harry’s alone, or if the town had something to do with it.

Of course, he knew the answer. James quietly left the living room. He went into the bedroom and sat on the edge a mattress that was yellow and sagged. Harry needed alone time to gather himself, that was made abundantly clear. He understood that. There were many times in his life where James could relate. In that, though, James felt the pang of rejection.

He’d upset Harry. He had been hotheaded in that whole stressful escape and battle for sanity, and he knew that was a flaw he had to live with. How selfish of him to feel rejection at a time like this, from a person he barely knew, whose prior visit to Silent Hill had left him unprepared for the rest of his life. James was so full of self-pitying that he went to wallow in it alone in the aftermath of someone else’s trauma. He was pathetic, insensitive, and helpless to know how else to be.

He didn’t think with words. He thought with feelings, and though there was a numbing effect to his foul pool of negativity, he was resigned to sit in it until Harry was ready to join him.

So James waited. He was accustomed to it. He was good at it. He hated it. It left him alone with himself, and kept him lonely. As his mind took the merry-go-round of problems and emotions that played over and over ad nauseam, he waited. And waited. And sighed.

There was no point in noticing how his hands were getting cold, and droplets of water gathered at his fingertips, and plummeted at will to the dark floor.

pt 1//pt 2//pt 3//pt 4//pt 6// series on ao3

[crazyclouds5281]

Castaway

A short one-shot about leaving behind all you’ve ever known

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“I’ve never aligned with this city’s pulse, so that makes it easier to leave behind.”

-Castaway, by Grant (feat. Juneau)

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The absent father sucked. The drinking, fame-obsessed, depressed mother was worse. The monsters that occasionally attacked were really just the ugly cherries on top. But this… This was the last straw.

“Where is he!?”

“I- I had to! I’m so sorry, baby, please-!”

“I said, where’s Jason!?”

Her mother didn’t reply, sniffling pitifully. Thalia had to tamp down the urge to slap the woman. She knew that if she started now, she probably wouldn’t stop until she killed her own mother, which she wouldn’t do- no matter how much the crazy bitch deserved it. Instead, the seven-year-old, who felt far too old for her age, began meticulously searching for her lost brother.

Deep in her heart, though, Thalia knew she wouldn’t find him.

It took two hours for Beryl to pull herself together, at which point, she dragged Thalia into the car, ignoring how viciously the girl fought, and peeled out of the parking lot, speeding home. The instant they pulled onto the main road, all the energy seemed to drain out of Thalia’s small body, and she slumped back against her seat. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she made no noise, too emotionally exhausted to sob properly. The ride back was quiet.

When they pulled into the driveway, Beryl shut off the car and placed her forehead on the steering wheel. Meanwhile, Thalia stepped out the car, wandered in through their unlocked back door, and picked up the phone.

“Hello? Is this the police?”

“How could you do this!? To your own mother!?” Beryl shrieked the instant she entered the house. She’d just been released from custody, as the police weren’t able to build a case. They’d just chalked it up to the toddler vanishing on his own, and left it at that.

“How could you just get rid of Jason!?” Thalia snapped back, standing as tall as she could. Despite her short stature, though, the sparks curling around her were plenty intimidating.

“I raised you, and took care of you! I don’t deserve this!”

“You deserve worse!”

Beryl gasped in horror. “Thalia… Thalia, you don’t mean that, baby, please tell me you don’t mean that,” she weeped, tears springing to her eyes. She fell to her knees and shuffled over to her daughter, grabbing her by the shoulder, heedless of the way the static shocked her. “Please, sweetie, don’t say things you don’t mean,” she pleaded, giving the girl a watery smile, wrapping her in a big hug. “It’s fine now, Mommy’s not mad at you, I swear! We’ll get through this together!” Beryl rambled. She was cut off when Thalia squirmed out of her grip, scurrying back a few steps. She stared at her mother for a few tense moments, sky-blue eyes flashing.

“I’m leaving.”

“What!?”

It took all of five minutes for Thalia to empty her school bag and pack two boxes of cereal bars and a few water bottles into it. The entire time, Beryl hovered around her, wary of the lightning wreathing her daughter, trying to talk her down. She was doomed to fail from the start, however, since Thalia wasn’t even listening. The girl didn’t say anything as she walked out the house, leaving the front door hanging wide open behind her, like an invitation for Beryl to go after her. Instead, Beryl knelt on the floor, wailing incoherently, unable to muster up the strength to stand. She had no choice but to watch as Thalia walked out of her house- and out of her life.

It was the last time the mother and daughter saw each other.

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Luke knew the signs. After all this time, how could he not? The instant his mother’s cloudy eyes flashed green, he was rushing up the stairs and into his room. He didn’t bother closing the door behind him, instead making a beeline for the closet. None of the doors in this house had their locks anymore, except the front and back doors. Not even the bathroom. May had, in a particularly cruel fit of genius, realized that if Luke couldn’t lock the doors, he couldn’t hide from her. Not truly. So, she ripped out all the handles, leaving empty holes where a knob should go. Right now, Luke’s fingers were sticking through said hole, and he pulled the door shut with all his might.

The pounding of feet on the steps made him go rigid in fear, and his breath quickened as he tried desperately to keep quiet. Occasionally, May’s fits wouldn’t last long enough for her to check all of his possible hiding places. Please, let this be one of those times.

It wasn’t.

May’s shattered mind didn’t lend itself well to orderly thoughts. So, rather than entering the first room she saw when she reached the top of the stairs- the guest room- she instead went somewhere random each time. Today, it happened to be Luke’s room. Her wild eyes roved over the empty bedroom, and she ran out a moment later. The boy breathed a sigh of relief. A preemptive one, it would seem, because May barged back in, and instantly began attempting to open the closet. Luke pulled harder, but the woman began slamming her fists on his fingertips. He bore the pain as best he could, lasting a few seconds longer than usual, but like always, he had to give in, or risk having his digits broken irreparably. May didn’t waste a second ripping open the closet door. Luke didn’t even have time to scream before she was bearing down on him, grabbing his shoulders with a painfully-tight grip.

“No!” she shrieked, “Not my baby! He won’t do it! He won’t! This will not be his destiny!” The woman devolved into senseless screaming, shaking Luke like a twig in a hurricane. He just closed his eyes, grit his teeth, and tried to block it out, like always. Eventually, the fit ended, and May slumped to the floor, unconscious. Luke lay at her side, seizing in fear, gasping for air with unstable heaves and wheezes.

I can’t stay here.

Slowly, shakily, he rose to his feet, and set about grabbing a few things. Some snacks, water bottles, and a few medical supplies were all shoved into his backpack, along with a few changes of clothes. He glanced at his mother, still passed out on his floor, and had to fight back tears. Sympathy wouldn’t change his mind, though- not this time. He only allowed himself to give the woman a kiss on the forehead, before he crept down the stairs and slipped out the back door. When he was on the sidewalk, he glanced back at his home of nine years.

Bye, Mom.

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Annabeth didn’t understand it. Why did her dad refuse to believe her? The spiders were there! She wasn’t making it up! Monsters had attacked their house and everything- why wouldn’t he believe that there were spiders, of all things? Sure, the bites and cobwebs might disappear by the time she’d reached her bedroom door, but it happened.

Why didn’t he care?

Helen. It had to be because of Helen. Ever since that woman had shown up in their lives, it seemed like her father had conveniently forgotten about Annabeth, only acknowledging her when something went wrong, like the monsters (which wasn’t her fault, no matter what Helen said!). Then, when she got pregnant, that stupid woman took even more of her dad’s attention, as if Annabeth didn’t struggle for the scraps she was already barely getting.

Matthew and Bobby were born in the summer, and Annabeth hated them from the first time she saw them. They were gross, constantly pooping their diapers and vomiting whenever one of the adults tried to burp them. They cried for no reason- loud, obnoxious wails that didn’t stop. Sometimes, they woke up in the middle of the night for the sole purpose of crying, bringing Annabeth out of her exhausted daze and forcing her to focus on the arachnids still crawling over and under her blankets.

Most importantly, though, her dad actually paid attention to them.

Why not me!? Annabeth wanted to scream. Did you forget you have a third child!?

She’d always been smart. Her dad had said it a lot when she was younger, before they became so distant. Annabeth was able to piece things together. Eventually.

Her father never talked about her biological mother.

He jumped at the chance for a relationship with another woman.

He doted more on the children he had with that woman, as if he wanted to forget about his past relationship.

Frederick wanted nothing to do with the past. He just wanted to live in the moment; play with his stupid military toys, love his new wife and kids, and ignore the monsters that attacked them every now and then.

Annabeth took the hint. She wasn’t wanted. She was just a reminder of a time that Frederick didn’t care for in the slightest. He had a new life now- he didn’t need her. Didn’t even want her.

So, when she was seven, she left. Packed a bag, and walked out the door in the middle of the night, spider bites covering her skin like goosebumps (they’d be gone in the morning).

For five years, she didn’t look back once.

[thecreativeangel]

Hurricane (Peter Parker x Reader)

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: A battle against Thanos leaves your unconventional family even smaller and more divided than ever. As you dig through the rubble to find their bodies, tempers flare at the slightest touch, including yours and Peter’s. 

Warnings: This oneshot is based off of Hurricane by Flurie, I highly recommend you check her out. Definitely swearing, and MAJOR angst. Describes blood, gore, being ripped in half, losing loved ones, death, Thanos being a lil shit, going mad... I cri so much, my poor bby’s. 

Word Count: 1647. That’s... less than I usually do...

Your could feel their hearts hanging in the air, chipping apart to splinters. How does a person begin to describe how icy cold and searing hot the pit in your stomach is when all you want to do is vomit until the pain goes away. There was no time for tears, not for you. You, who desperately yanked at Black Widow’s arm, the only part of her exposed under the chunk of concrete that crushed her legs. Every pull was another sound of flesh ripping as you separated her upper and lower body, the blood beginning to pool into a puddle, dirtying the toes of your shoes. With one last jerk, you and her upper body skidded back, your butt landing painfully on the destroyed sidewalk, a few feet away from the largest pile of rubble. What remained of Natasha Romanoff wasn’t much, but you had to lay her next to the others. You had to.

So, you dragged her limp half form across, the smears of blood intersecting with others. There would be no proper funeral, but years of mourning. She was laid next to Captain America, who’s cracked in half shield was already loaded on the Guardian's last getaway ship. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave their most precious belongings, it would be sin, absolute sin. Rocket payed no attention to you as you placed Black Widow’s pistols down next to Captain America’s cracked shield and trudged back to the wreckage. It was harder than ever to keep your composure, almost impossible. This was harder than you knew it would be, but you held your strength in the most when wearing thin. Take everything in slow; that was the only way not to break down right now, that was what Natasha told you before she died.

Thor was standing over Loki’s body. You didn’t know if he was crying his soul out or silently brooding because it would hurt too much to look him in the face. Gamora and Starlord huddled together with Groot under Gamora’s arm, watching Mantis sit over Drax, weeping loudly and muttering like a crazed person. She had been trying to heal him for two hours now, pressing her bloodied hands against the hole above his heart as if she had the power to make it better. You guiltily decided she had gone half mad with anguish, most likely for good. Wanda Maximoff was lying on a stretcher in critical condition, but at least she wasn’t in heaven with her brother yet… Bruce Banner was now standing over Natasha’s half corpse and you joined him, not knowing what else to do at the moment.

“You didn’t have to tear her apart.” He murmurs dryly, still looking down at her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Bruce…”

He whipped around to you suddenly, his skin tinted green. “I COULD HAVE FUCKING DRAGGED HER OUT MYSELF.”

His voice echoed across the abandoned street and you shrink back. Banner unclenches the fists at his sides, bringing his hands up to rub his temples and you choose this moment to slink away, tears pricking your vision.

Reaction wise, Peter Parker the worst of them all. You approached him at Iron Man’s body, the man and the suit separated, but you didn’t know which looked worse. He heard you come closer, curse the enhanced senses, and wheeled around, pale in the face and red in the eyes.

“Are you going to take the suit.” It was more of a statement that a question, harsh and dead.

“Who cares?” He says, twisting his mask in his hands. “‘Cuz I don’t. I don’t care what happens anymore. I don’t care if his body fricking rots here, I don’t care if Thanos shoots me down himself.”

“Great way of thinking.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks loudly, temper flaring. “How ironic to hear that coming from you. What did you do to save him?”

“Don’t-” You say stepping closer. “Don’t give me that shit. I-”

“You failed!” Peter yells harshly. He never yelled at you. “We all failed! I could have done instant kill and I didn’t because I was fucking scared!”

“You’d have died if you activated instant kill,” You counter, trying hard not to explode. The temper had to be kept inside, fragile and composed, but still inside.

“I DON’T CARE!” Peter roars, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you roughly. “MR. STARK WOULD BE ALIVE NOW IF I HADN’T BEEN SCARED!”

“Shut up with your mourning!” You seeth, regretting every word of defense that was uttered. So close to breaking down, you ached to let him in, to tell him you understood. “You’re not the only one-”

“Who did you lose?” Peter asks incredulously, throwing his hands up. “No one, because you’ve got no on-”

You shoved him back with all your strength. He didn’t know the several times your life nearly ended because he was never there. Peter was never there when your hurricane came, he never knew. Your anger was several times the flame, too much for you to take, your mind roaring at you to tell him, to make him know what he missed. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, but they weren’t sad tears, they were angry. Furious. Livid because…

“HOW FUCKING DARE YOU, ASSHOLE!” You scream, pushing him back again. “I LOST NATASHA! SHE ADOPTED ME, CARED FOR ME WHEN I WAS LIVING ALONE ON THE FUCKING STREET, I LOVED HER LIKE A MOTHER AND YOU STILL BITCH? HOW’S AUNT MAY, HUH PETER? HOW’S SHE DOING, SAFE AND HAPPY IN BOSTON?”

You gasp for air, loving to let go of the poison inside you. The sky evening sky burned red against your skin, ashes falling like a eerie rainfall. Words flowed out of your mouth, mixing with relief, weakness and self doubt. Peter stepped back, stiff as a board. The world you knew, the world you kept to yourself spun and churned around him in the wind. This was it, your hurricane had broken loose, the weathervane spinning out of control, fragile and exposed. There was a pained look on his face, but then again, that only scratched the surface of what he was feeling. The worst possible moment you chose to break down and give into the ache, letting him in. It’s all you knew, all you ever knew was this hurricane, standing there, rooted to the ground. Ashes were falling slow, dense like a pouring rain.

Peter moved. Rushed forward and tackled you in a hug, squeezing you like letting go would mean instant death.

“Let go,” You mumble stubbornly in protest, attempting to pry his arms from around your waist. Peter would deal with the pain like you did. Now both of you would know the hurricane. He would fall apart slowly under the pouring ash rain, just like you did. “Let me fucking-”

His sob made you forget everything. Peter Parker was sobbing into your suit, his chest spasming in heaping cries, burying his face deeper in the material. Peter Parker was broken.

“I’m s-sorr-” He couldn’t finish before another convulsion and he wailed pitifully, hiding against your shoulder.

“It’s-” You cut yourself off. It wasn’t okay, nothing was okay. You watched his emotions flow, regretting everything, because it was just Peter, after all. After this, he wouldn’t stay the same, but you didn’t ever think of how it would change him. You watched his emotions go, knowing both you and him would never be the same. Everything was messed up, beaten, burned, obliterated, but those words weren’t comforting. “It’s okay...”

Peter responded with a muffled wail. “Peter…” You murmur softly, running your hand through his messy hair, over and over. “C’mon, we have to-to go. You shouldn’t l-look at him an-any more-”

You were weeping harder now too, choking on the salt water that poured down your cheeks. Peter heard your distress and raised his head, cupping your face in his hands and brushing away the flow with the pads of his thumbs. It didn’t help, the tears were still coming in streams, but then he gave you a watery smile and you couldn’t help but mirror it, staring into his red rimmed eyes.

“Who’s helping who, huh?” You murmur, causing him to chuckle. He would change, so would you, but you didn’t know how, and that was okay.

“I love you…” He whispers simply, pressing his lips against yours. You respond immediately, the kiss tired and lazy, open mouthed with the absence of lust. Right now, all you and him needed was a bit of hope and a lot of love, just enough to glue the shattered pieces back together. You close your eyes and grip his sides tighter, cherishing the moment of peace.

You pull away, taking his hands off your face and lacing his fingers together with yours. “We’ll rebuild the Avengers.” You suggest. He tries to turn behind and look at their bodies but you force him to look at you.

“We’ll rebuild the Avengers.” You repeat firmly, staring into his eyes.

“I know we will.” Peter says softly, tearing up again. Here you were, building yourself up again after such a defeat, like a true warrior. He was beyond proud. “We’ll be different after this, y’know. I don’t know how we will change…”

“Stay with me then,” You whisper. “We can save them, if we try.”

He squeezed your hand and sniffled. “‘Course we will. We always do.”

And so it known to you and him that life has a funny way of restarting itself. While everyone else is living peacefully, some take on the job of bringing the peace at the sacrifice of their own sanity. In a hurricane of heartbreak, misery, torture, pain and suffering, all it takes is to find the tiny drop of hope that, in your case, came in the shape of a lanky sixteen year old boy named Peter Parker.