#combination of ‘rusty’ and ‘would like to get good at’

[catwingsthespatula]

Put in the tags:

Which of these are you currently Real Good At, and still growing and improving?

Which are you currently Real Good At but in the process or in danger of becoming rusty through lack of practice?

Which were you Real Good At at some point in your life, but are no longer at that level because you stopped using it and lost the skill over time?

Which are you just starting the process of Getting Real Good At?

Which would you like to Get Real Good At someday but haven’t yet had enough hours in the day to put in the time?

And

Which would you theoretically like to Get Real Good At, but realistically given time and energy constraints it’s not a priority and probably never will be?

Feel free to include other skills besides those listed, and to adjust the categories to those that make sense for you!

There aren't enough fucking hours in the day to get real good at chess, violin, piano, singing, crosswords, film photography, contemporary dance, literary analysis, writing, film criticism, historical analysis, political commentary, tennis, Latin, French, German, Italian, identification of invertebrates, programming, cooking, musical composition, watercolour painting, philosophy, stage acting, fencing, psychoanalysis, and sickoposting online.

[nanamiskentos]

MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.

[navybrat817]

Just Like That

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky suggests staying in a hotel together before an undercover mission, which would be fine if you didn't have a massive crush on the super soldier. Word Count: Almost 5k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, pining, flirting, slight possessive behavior, talk of undercover mission, "only one bed" trope, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: A combination of @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge and my Bucky Barnes Smut Menu, courtesy of @ellemj. "Only One Bed" Trope and the dialogue prompt in bold italics. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The engagement ring on your finger suited you. Not large or overly flashy, the single diamond radiated a subtle sparkle. It was beautiful and a perfect fit, a representation of the unifying love of marriage. When you looked at it under the light, it was almost as if you could feel the love that Bucky had for you.

If only that were the case.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” You asked, taking a seat at the table across from Bucky.

“So we can practice and make sure we’re a convincing couple,” he replied.

You sighed as you glanced around the hotel room for the umpteenth time. A small sitting area, a dining and kitchen combination, a single bathroom, and a bedroom. When you pointed out that there was only one bed, Bucky reminded you of the expectation that the two of you had to sleep together while on assignment since you were going on a couple's retreat. Which wouldn't be an issue if you didn't have a crush on him, right?

Right.

You were completely enamored with Bucky Barnes, the handsome former assassin turned agent for the revamped SHIELD. Instacrush wasn't something you experienced often, so he took you by surprise. It was pathetic to fall for him so hard and quickly. It had to be some sort of karma or divine intervention that you were with him in a hotel room.

Just the two of you.

“You know,” he began, wetting his lips as he leaned back in his chair. You blinked, only because you didn't want him to call you out on staring. “You don't have to look so miserable to be here. Is my company that terrible?”

“What? No. Bucky, you aren't terrible company,” you promised, slumping a bit in your chair. The last thing you wanted to do was upset him. “Just been a bit since I've been in a relationship and I’m kind of rusty.”

“You're talking to a guy who hasn't been on a real date since the 40s,” he deadpanned.

He had a point. Plus, from what you understood, Bucky wasn't exactly interested in dating anyone. Every time Steve or Natasha suggested he go on a date, he found a way to brush it off or change the subject.

Even if he was interested in dating, did he think of you as anything beyond a colleague?

Taking this assignment may have been a mistake.

“I’m just not sure I’m the right one for this job,” you said.

“You’re perfect for this job. Why would you think otherwise?”

You froze like a deer in headlights, even as his compliment warmed your heart. It meant a lot that he thought you would do the job well. But how were you supposed to answer that question? That you adored him and it would be torture to pretend to be with him for a week just to back to being coworkers after?

“We should practice,” you suggested instead of giving him an answer. The backstory wasn't overly elaborate, but you had to get it right.

He leaned forward, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Did someone say something to make you think you wouldn't be good for this assignment?” He asked in a low voice. “Because I'll straighten them out.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from whimpering. The thought of him putting someone in their place to make you feel better was swoon-worthy. “No, Bucky. No one said anything. You're right. I’m good for this,” you said before you added, “We’re good together.”

You couldn't read the look he gave you and it became more difficult not to squirm under his gaze. “Yeah,” he whispered, leaning back and clearing his throat. “So. We’re engaged. Going to a resort for a much needed vacation. We’ll have to mingle with some of the guests in between investigating the owner. One of the first questions will be how we met.”

With an exhale, you recited, “We met at a coffee shop. We both ordered the same drink.”

“An iced caramel macchiato,” he said.

“And we reached for the drink at the same time,” you smiled, making a show out of reaching for the glass on the table. “Our fingers touched first. Our eyes met second.”

“And I immediately asked you out,” he smiled.

Your heart swelled. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world when he smiled like that. “You did,” you said, trying to blink the longing from your eyes. “We went to dinner and talked a bit about ourselves. You told me you're a mechanic and I told you I’m a teacher. And once dinner was over, we went back to that same coffee shop and we shared an iced caramel macchiato.”

“Even proposed to you at the same shop,” he said, gesturing to your left hand. “But I actually got the ring after our first date because I knew I wanted you to be my girl,” he said with such conviction that you found it hard to breathe.

The way his eyes softened as he gazed at you, you found yourself believing him for a moment. You had to stay rooted in realism though. The point of the mission besides the actual mission was to act as if you two were crazy about each other.

Not that you had to do any acting on your part.

You cleared your throat and pulled your hand back from the glass. “If only that were true,” you said, absentmindedly twisting the ring around your finger. You weren't cynical about love, but this whole thing was a reminder that you were single and alone.

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Heat crept up your neck. You shouldn't have said anything. “I mean, it just would've been nice if we met at a coffee shop,” you replied to avoid saying you wanted to be his girl.

“What’s wrong with how we met?” He asked, crossing his arms.

The metal arm gleamed under the light. You noticed that he had a tendency to wear long sleeves and gloves whenever he was in the building, but seeing him with his sleeve pushed up and missing glove? You would almost say he was comfortable around you.

Again, he had to play the part right.

You pulled yourself from your thoughts when he said your name, which sounded like it melted on his tongue. It made you press your thighs together. You needed to stay professional. “Do you not remember what happened or are you just being nice?” You asked.

Months ago, the day you met Bucky, Steve informed you that he planned to introduce you to him after he came back from a long assignment. Not only were you excited to meet one of his best friends and a great soldier, but you had wanted to make a good impression on him. What you did was make an ass out of yourself when you turned the corner only to smack right into the former Winter Soldier.

And splattered your beverage on both of you in the process.

Instacrush and a horrible impression on your part.

Bucky’s lips curled in a smile as your eyes widened. “You do remember,” you said, wadding up a nearby napkin and tossing it at his face, which he easily caught. “Oh, my God! That’s why you chose ‘coffee shop' for this, didn't you?”

You concentrated so much on getting the backstory right that it didn't occur to you that he was maybe poking fun at you. He wasn't the kind of guy that liked making others feel bad though. Tease you, sure. Outright make fun of you at the risk of hurting your feelings? He would never.

“Hey, I didn't choose how we met, but I also didn't object,” he said, raising his hands in surrender when you went to throw another napkin at him. “And I wouldn't forget meeting you, doll. You make a lasting impression.”

You wished you had done something to make him remember you besides spilling a drink on him. “I guess making an idiot out of myself is a lasting impression,” you teased.

Something dark flashed in his eyes, making your breath hitch. “That’s not what I meant. You didn't make an idiot out of yourself and I don't like you thinking that or talking down about yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, not used to someone getting so defensive at your self-depreciation. There was something sexy and heartwarming about it. “You were very nice about the whole incident.”

“You were nice, too,” he said, gesturing to his torso. “I mean, you offered to buy me a new shirt.”

“Because I spilled my drink on it! I felt bad,” you said.

“And when I said you didn't have to buy me a new shirt, you said, ‘Are you sure I can't pay for the dry cleaning at least, Sergeant Barnes?’” he said in a falsetto voice.

He chuckled when you rolled your eyes. “I don't sound like that, first of all, and I was being considerate,” you said. You couldn't believe he remembered your exact words. “And you just gave me that half confused smile of yours before I grabbed napkins for both of us to clean up.”

“You mean this?” He asked, his lips stretching in that familiar awkward grin.

“Yeah, that,” you giggled, your heart doing that funny flip that happened far too often around him.

In the beginning, whenever you smiled at him, he gave you that very look in return. Somewhere along the way, the uncomfortable glances on his end became genuine fondness. It didn't mean anything though.

Just an agent being kind to another agent.

Bucky stared at you as you continued to giggle at the memory. “I’m sorry. I just-”

“I love your laugh,” he said, almost making you choke on your own breath. Nothing like forgetting how to be a human and breathe. “And your smile.”

Maybe he had switched back into practice mode. “You do?” You asked, playing along as you smiled directly at him.

He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I do,” he replied, his voice thick as he unfolded his arms. “You know, you're one of the people that actually smiles at me. And you look me in the eye when you talk to me.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Because some people are still afraid of me,” he whispered.

Your heart sank. He was a good man. A hero wrongly painted as a villain. It wasn't fair what he went through and you had no reason to fear him.

Why couldn't everyone else see the good in him?

“I’m not afraid of you, Bucky,” you promised. And after what he went through, frightening people was the last thing he would do. “Never have been. Never will be.”

“Maybe you should be,” he muttered, some of the light leaving his eyes.

Your eyes narrowed as you tempered the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Seeing this vulnerable side of him also brought out your protective instinct. “Listen to me. You’re amazing and a good man, okay? And if I don't get to call myself an idiot for spilling a drink on you, then you don't get to say I should be scared of you, Sergeant Barnes,” you said with an air of finality.

He gave you an impressed smile. “Just like that? Because those are totally different things you're comparing.”

“Just like that,” you said, putting your hand on the table for him to take if he wished. “Do you trust that I'll have your back on this mission? Because I trust that you'll have mine no matter what.”

He stared at your upturned hand for a moment before he took it. “You're one of the only people I do trust,” he admitted.

His eyes bore into yours as you tried to find the words to respond. He wasn’t feeding you a line to make you feel good about yourself. Bucky Barnes trusted you.

“Then trust me when I say we got this,” you promised. You would look out for him and let him know that he hadn’t misplaced his trust in you.

“Why don't you have a boyfriend?” He asked suddenly.

The switch in topic jarred you, but he didn’t let go of your hand. “That’s. I’m. What? How is that relevant?”

It wasn't smooth, but it was better than blurting out that your hopeless crush on him was one of the major factors.

“I’m curious,” he shrugged.

“Oh. Well. My last boyfriend dumped me for being an agent. Seriously, he didn't like the fact that I could kick his ass if I wanted to,” you told him, squeezing his hand without meaning to. He didn’t object. “Which I wouldn't.”

“You could kick my ass if you wanted to,” he winked. Physically, Bucky was broad and strong. You weren’t sure you could take him in a real fight, but you could take him another way if he ever offered. “And your ex sounds like an asshole if he can’t stand beside and support an amazing woman.”

You smiled humorlessly. “Thanks, Bucky, but I’m not-”

“I swear to fuck if you talk down about yourself again, I will put you over my knee,” he threatened, his eyes darker than they were seconds ago.

You didn’t laugh as he stared at you. Neither did he. Your clothes suddenly felt too heavy, your body too warm. Licking your lips, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “Is that a promise?”

Bucky pushed his chair back and pointed at his thigh, his eyes still on you. “Get over here and find out.”

Oh, fuck.

The sound of Bucky’s phone ringing snapped you both out of whatever spell you two were under. “Shit,” he muttered, taking his hand from yours. “It’s Steve. I better-”

“Yeah, you should answer that,” you said, almost knocking the chair over as you stood. “I think I'm going to call it a night.”

“Wait, what?” He asked, answering the phone. “Hold on, punk,” he said, covering the screen as he looked at you. “You’re going to bed now?”

Guilt settled in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. “Just going to lay down. I may not go to sleep right away. And we can practice more in the morning,” you replied. You just needed to step out of the room and take a breath.

He waited a beat before he nodded, the tension still lingering. “I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded, leaving him alone so he could talk to Steve.

You splashed a bit of water on your face when you went to the bathroom to change. The assignment hadn’t started and you couldn’t keep your cool. With squinted eyes, you pointed at your reflection and mentally scolded yourself. Yes, you wanted Bucky Barnes and maybe, just maybe, some part of him wanted you. At least, he wanted you enough to put you over his knee.

You couldn't have him though. Could you? Mixing business with pleasure could lead to complications if you crossed that line, but it wasn’t like you’d break some major bylaw by being his girl.

Now wasn’t the time to think about that.

“Get your shit together,” you hissed, rushing through your nighttime routine and changing into your comfortable yet sexy nightgown.

Your eyes went to the bed when you left the bathroom. Just a regular hotel bed. Inviting, but not overly frilly. Large enough for the both of you, but small enough that you might end up in each other’s arms.

“It’s going to be a long night,” you muttered.

Sighing, you left a light on for Bucky to see and crawled into bed, shutting your eyes as he wrapped up his call with Steve. You tried to block out the sound of his footsteps as he made his way to the bathroom. Maybe his nighttime routine would take a bit longer than you thought and you could drift off and wake up to the sight of his beautiful eyes and-

The bed dipped as Bucky curled up behind you, your eyes opening when he placed his arm around your waist and pulled you back against him. You were conscious of every shift in his body, every breath he took. How you could smell his lingering cologne as he pressed himself closer. How he ran warmer than you and you wanted him to heat you up even though you weren’t cold.

And that he wasn’t wearing a fucking shirt.

“I know you aren’t sleeping,” he whispered, his fingers brushing along the fabric that covered your skin. “Your heart’s beating too fast.”

He was right. It was about ready to burst through your chest. “Can’t sleep.”

“Why not?” He asked, helping you roll over so you were on your back. He didn’t remove his hand though. “Did my ‘threat’ make you uncomfortable?”

“No, it didn't,” you assured him, heat pooling between your legs that you couldn't prevent. “I wouldn't have continued with the banter if I was uncomfortable.”

“Just making sure,” he said. “I was only teasing.”

You huffed out a laugh in an effort to cover up the crushing feeling in your chest, your arousal fading to a dull ache. “Of course, you were,” you uttered. Teasing. Nothing more. “Good night, Bucky,” you said, turning your head away.

He brought a hand to your cheek and brought your face back toward him. How did his eyes look so blue in the faint light? “Don’t go to sleep yet, please.”

“Why not?”

“You rushed to bed and now you're shutting down. I clearly said or did something wrong,” he sighed, which made you feel bad. He hadn't done anything wrong in your eyes since it wasn’t his fault you wanted his teasing to mean something. “I need to fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix because you didn't break anything,” you said, the ring heavy on the finger. “But can I ask for a favor?”

“Of course,” he whispered.

You didn’t dare search out his gaze when you said, “I may need reminders this week that you don't actually have feelings for me.”

A few seconds went by before he asked in a small voice, “What?”

You took a breath to compose yourself. The last thing you needed to do was get upset for no good reason. “We’re going to hold hands and cuddle and share a bed and be a couple, but you may need to give me a reality check now and again that you only see me as an agent. Okay?”

Maybe he’d ask Steve for a new partner in the morning.

“You think I only see you as an agent?” He asked, sighing when you nodded. “I used to be good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Teasing. Flirting,” he answered, leaning in close. He stopped just before his lips touched yours. “Kissing.”

“Wait. You were flirting with me?” you said, not moving forward or back as you put a hand on his chest. His heart raced as fast as yours. And your brain couldn’t compute that implication that he wanted to kiss you. “You weren’t just practicing for the assignment?”

He huffed out a laugh this time. “You’re killing me, doll,” he whispered, closing the distance.

You imagined Bucky kissing you before, but didn’t think it would ever be so soft. His lips barely brushed against yours, but it felt like the beginning of something more. It tempted you like nothing else ever had. He must’ve felt it, too, since he deepened it. You melted. You surrendered.

You never stood a chance.

“So, you like me?” You asked when he pulled back a little to gaze at you. “I’m sorry. I just need to hear you say it because I really like you and have for months. Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have said that because we have a whole week together for this assignment and now you know and I don't want it to be weird.”

Your mind almost shut down when he gave you a full-blown smile and said, “Yeah, I like you. I thought it was obvious. I tried dropping little hints, talking about your smile and trusting you.” He chuckled almost shyly as his words sank in. “I took this assignment because of you.”

A moment passed before you giggled, happiness blooming in your chest. Bucky Barnes liked you. Wanted you. “Thank fuck,” you breathed, pulling him back down for another kiss.

He groaned, ravaging your mouth as he moved on top of you. His knee pushed your legs apart so he could settle between them, swallowing down your whimpers when he pressed his growing hardness against your pussy. He ground his hips, your panties soaked as his tongue tangled with yours. The man kissed you like he had something to prove.

Like he wanted to own you.

His muscles rippled as he leaned up and grasped the bottom of your nightie. The vision of him above you like this was now engraved in your mind. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

Sleeping with him was moving fast considering you just confessed your feelings for each other, but you didn't care. “Don't stop,” you whispered, quivering as he tugged the fabric over your head.

Your hands moved up to cover your chest before he gripped your wrists. “Are you trying to hide from me?” He questioned, his smirk playful in comparison to the uncertainty in his gaze.

You didn't want him doubting himself or your want for him for a second.

“Maybe? I mean, look at you and look at…”

You wouldn't knock on your looks since you were generally confident in your appearance, but the super soldier was an entirely different level of gorgeous. He towered over even the largest of agents, with the exception of Steve, and his dark lashes framing his steel eyes were enough to pull you under.

And who were you compared to him? Just another agent. Average.

“Don't,” he whispered, releasing a wrist so he could cup your breast. You arched your back and any uncertainty in his eyes before faded when a moan escaped your lips. “You're so fucking beautiful.”

The praise almost made your eyes water as he brought his head down, losing focus when he swept his tongue across your nipple. Your eyes fluttered shut as he did it again, a wave from a sea of ecstasy crashing over you. Your heart thudded faster, addicted to the feel of his sinful mouth.

“You’re the reason I don't have a boyfriend,” you whined, your fingers twisting in his hair. Why did you say that?

He smirked against your skin before he reached down and tore your panties away. “I haven't gone on a date because of you.”

Your body throbbed with need as you met his gaze. “You're just saying that to get in my pants,” you joked.

His eyes raked down your body, stopping between your trembling thighs as he pushed his pants and underwear down. “If I had my way, I would've taken you out first,” he said, drawing a moan from you when he wrapped a hand around his thick cock. “But all I can think about right now is how loud you’ll say my name when I make you come.”

“Bucky,” you moaned, tempted to reach down and touch yourself to the sight of him.

“Louder than that,” he said smugly, rubbing the tip of his cock along your slick folds. “Fuck, I wanna take my time and explore you. Make you feel like a goddess. Treat you the way you deserve.”

It warmed your heart and sent another wave of desire through you knowing he wanted to take care of you. “I know you'll treat me well,” you smiled, opening your legs wider. “But for now, please, fuck me.”

He didn't ask about birth control, which you were on. You didn't ask about condoms. It didn't matter. You wanted to feel all of him.

You glanced down as he lined himself up, watching as he slowly eased into you. It was overwhelming as you took every inch, your mouth falling open with a moan. You floated in a cloud of lust, the sound of his groan reaching your ears.

“Look at me,” he ordered as he bottomed out.

Your eyes flew to his as he gripped your chin. The feel of him inside you, his eyes staring so intently into yours that he practically touched your soul. It was almost too much. And that was when he began to move, the weight of his body on top of yours as he fucked you in slow and deep thrusts. It was the kind of lovemaking that would make you crave more.

Crave him.

“Knew you'd take me well,” he grunted. You whined, the praise going straight to your core as you tightened around his thick cock. Your walls couldn't stop gripping him as he slid in and out. “Knew your pussy would be greedy for me. Won’t let me go.”

Your head fell back against the pillow, dizzy as he trapped your body under his. As he rolled his hips, you wondered if he’d let you ride him at some point. Maybe he’d fuck up into you as he brought your hips down. Or maybe he’d lay back and cup your breasts, let the weight bounce in his hands as you took all of him.

You’d take whatever he gave you.

The growing pleasure within you was like you were burning from the inside out, each movement from him stoking the flames. His low groans mixed with your whines, his thrusts increasing in speed when he brought his thumb to your clit. Your hand worked its way back into his hair as you cried out his name, your control slipping further and further away as he took over.

“Just like that,” he moaned. “Don’t hold back on me. Wanna hear every pretty sound you make.”

“Bucky, I'm gonna…” you trailed off, your orgasm building fast in your core and ready to burst.

“Come,” he finished for you, a filthy smirk on his face as he laced his fingers with yours.

One more thrust and you were gone, his name falling from your lips as you came. Your mouth stayed open as you spasmed, pleasure rushing from head to toe. You panted and didn't care if you'd ever properly breathe again. That was how good it felt.

“I’m close, doll,” he gritted, resembling a growl as he continued to fuck you and chase his release. “Gonna come inside you. Gonna own you.”

“Come inside me, Bucky,” you begged, watching through half-lidded eyes as his face contorted in ecstasy. It was such an erotic sight. “Please.”

He buried himself deep with a long moan as he filled you in hot, thick spurts, nuzzling his face in your neck when he finished. He said your name as he heavily breathed against your neck and it was the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. You wrapped your arms around him when he stayed inside you, not at all bothered as your mixed release slowly trickled out.

You didn't want him to let you go.

“Well,” you huffed, a dopey smile on your face as you ran your fingers through his hair. “I don't think we’ll have a problem convincing people we care about each other.”

He chuckled, kissing your warm skin. “And we won't have a problem sharing a bed,” he said, keeping you close as you yawned. “Sleep, doll. I’ve got you.”

“I’ve got you, too,” you said, feeling him smile against you as you drifted off.

The delicious ache between your thighs was the second thing you noticed when you woke up. The first, of course, was Bucky’s arm and leg draped over you: warm, protective, perfect. He was still fast asleep, the blanket pooled around his waist, completely at ease with the world. You could get used to waking up like this.

You hesitated before you touched his cheek, not wanting to wake him as you kissed his forehead. You wished you had time to kiss every scar on his body and worship him the way he said he wanted to worship you. The two of you would have to leave the bed sooner or later. There was work to do.

“Mmm. Morning,” he said, his voice laced with sleep as he cracked an eye open.

“Morning,” you whispered, cuddling closer as he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed over the ring. The motion made you brush against his crotch and you were close enough to hear the hitch in his breath. You did it again, keeping your gaze innocent as he opened his eyes more and groaned.

Yes, there was work to do, but it was still early.

“You’re still horny? Didn’t I fuck you hard enough last night?” He teased.

“Yeah, I’m still horny,” you replied. Waking up next to him would arouse anyone. “Need you to fuck me again.”

“You won’t be able to walk if I fuck you again,” he smirked, rolling on top of you and digging his fingers into your waist.

“Should’ve known you’d be a cocky boyfriend,” you teased back, your heart thundering in your chest as he leaned down and skimmed kisses along your jaw. “Sorry, we didn’t put a label on this and there’s still stuff to figure out and the mission and-”

“Hey. Boyfriend, your man, whatever you want to call me, I’m yours,” he cut you off, his mouth drifting to your neck. “And I still owe you a date, got it? You’re my girl. You’re mine.”

“I'm yours,” you gasped when he nipped your skin hard enough to sting, his tongue soothing it after. You were his and he was yours. “So, we're a couple now? Just like that?” You smiled as he worked his way back to your lips.

Bucky answered you with a kiss. “Just like that.”

I struggled a bit with this one after having to scrap almost 2k and go in another direction, but I ended up falling in love with it. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[according2thelore]

okay but…ruby who just actually uses dean’s dead body as a host.

sam yells at her to get an ethically sourced glove, kicks her out. one not in use. fine. ruby knows she shouldn't, but after a long night of shopping through a few comatose bodies, then a pit stop in the morgue, trying to find the perfect face that'll make sam trust her. the perfect voice. it clicks.

no one's using the body lying in a pine box deep in illinois woods. ruby hops a truck driver and has dean winchester hauled out of his grave, out of his lovingly constructed coffin, before the sun rises.

we've seen multiple times that demons CAN use dead bodies as hosts, and can possess them both right before and after they've died.

dean’s not alive for his wounds to heal, and the patch job sam managed before he buried him isn’t enough to keep his organs in. demons have been shown to have healing abilities (e.g., meg heals the broken bones of her host, bullet holes disappear, etc.) and ruby takes a few days to sew all of dean’s skin back together, tucks his liver back in brand-new. it takes a lot out of her, but ruby's been waiting a long time for this, so she can take the few days it takes to coordinate dean's limbs into movement.

she shows up at sam’s door, when he's staying at that shack in the middle of nowhere. sam is on the hours-deep wrong side of stolen opioids and shitty whiskey, and blinks dumbly at her in the doorway for a long, long time. he either thinks he's dreaming or dead--eyes half-lidded and mouth open loosely--because his knees just buckle, and he sobs.

she puts a hand on his forehead and seeps some of it out so they can have this conversation like grown-ups--a hit straight to her brain, and it's a miracle sam's alive, because holy shit, her vision goes a little sideways as the combined depressors hit her nervous system.

he's pissed, of course. he screams and tries to hit her and demands that she leave dean's body. he looks at her--for the first time--like she's an actual, eldritch beast. horrified. furious. disgusted.

but ruby's planned for this. she calls him sammy. she tells him that she can protect dean's body perfectly, like this. she can keep it ready for him to come back. she can keep it warm. feel how warm, sammy.

later, sam sprawls against the dusty chair, slams their mouths together furiously, begs ruby to fuck him between furious bites of her neck; she does so, and sam sobs through the whole thing, hands buried in dean’s short hair but eyes slammed closed tight.

they get to work.

sam blossoms under her tutelage. he wants to impress her, and ruby doesn't know how much of that is response to dean's voice telling sammy he's doing a good job, and how much of that is sam's thirst to have control over an impossible, unwinnable situation.

they share motel rooms as they crisscross across state lines. sam always gets two beds, but turns away from her when he goes to sleep. ruby doesn't need to sleep, and dean's body certainly doesn't, so she lets him be. he's more cooperative if she messes up the other bed's sheets, though, so she tries to do it when she can remember to. he likes the illusion that nothing’s changed. clings to it.

it's not as hard as she thought it would be to get sam to drink her blood. it's practically sam's own blood, she reasons. same DNA. sam's so desperate for any part of dean he can take that he just looks up into her--dean's--eyes, and when ruby tells sam that it'll help take lilith's head off her shoulders, sammy tucks in.

sam only cuts ruby on dean’s existing scars, as if to hide new injuries from a dean that’ll never come back. as if ruby couldn’t just rub a thumb over his surgical-precision cuts and seal them up brand-new.

he worshipfully nicks dean’s body along silvery lines, barely deep enough to draw any blood. when he’s a couple of mouthfuls in, sometimes he’ll tell her where dean got the scar. a poltergiest in milwaukee. saving sam from a werewolf in tallahassee. falling off a tower of rusty cars at bobby’s.

some of them he doesn’t know how dean got—probably amassed in those four years they were apart. sam drinks from those the deepest, like he can suck dean’s history through his cold skin.

he drinks more when she pets through his hair with one of dean’s hands, when she mutters “there ya’ go, sammy,” so she does. he goes frantic for it, lips hungry and teeth gentle and tongue needy. if he's real-strung out--missed a few doses, just like ruby likes him--he makes overwrought little whimpers as he sucks dean's blood and keeps pockets of it in his cheeks, too desperate to even swallow, yet.

then a big swallow, thick and deep, rabbit-quick breaths and sighing out of his nose at having his first hit as he goes back for more.

they fuck whenever they can.

more often than not, it's when sam's high on blood, pupils blown wide and brow sweating and breaths deep and shaking.

he fucks her like an animal. begs to be fucked like one, too. he pins her down underneath big, hungry hands. he fucks her like he hates her. he might.

he doesn’t kiss her, even when she tries. he jerks his head away from dean's spit-slick lips, every time, eyes closed tight and teeth bared like he’s barely resisting tearing her throat out. she wonders if she had gotten some pretty little thing to wear around--something with tits and a pussy that doesn't wear dean's face--if he would kiss her.

she longs for it, in the way that something like her can even long for something.

she’s sick of his little morality act in month four, and drags a knife lengthwise down dean’s tongue. it’s angrier than she’s ever seen him; more inhuman than she’s ever seen him. sam takes her to the ground, slams a hand against her mouth like a muzzle, and gets a few words into an exorcism that makes her blood boil under her skin.

but he feels the wetness of dean’s blood—ruby’s blood, mother’s milk—under his palm. his hand slowly comes away, shaking, the exorcism dying on hypocrite lips.

she’s only seen hunger like that in one being’s eyes before: alastair, when he’s forcing someone’s own femur down their throat.

ruby grins, blood no doubt making a massacre of dean’s perfect little teeth.

sam kisses her then. of course he does. he’s ruby’s perfect little boy.

dean’s perfect little boy.

he sucks her tongue into his mouth, and barely even cries or whimpers or apologizes.

she even cuts dean on his pec once, right above his nipple, and sam lets pretty little tears sit on his lashes the whole time, grabbing handfuls of dean's body and telling ruby not to speak. ruby pets dean's hands through sam's hair, coos at him, calls him my good boy, and sam ignores her calls for a week afterward.

ruby finds out dean’s back when she’s got her knees up near her ears, sam folding her in half, his thick delicious cock heavy in her guts and tearing dean's rim a little (ruby's never been careful about prep, and sam never asks because then he'll have to acknowledge that he's fucking his brother's body while he's not in it out loud; pussies are so much easier), and nursing at her shoulder, and then she’s…not.

she’s a loose canon, untethered, unformed. she slips into a hooker a few motel doors down, still dizzy. ruby tries to get her feet underneath her, wondering where the fuck she is, and what happened, when she hears a muffled shattering, sam screaming her name, dean's voice screaming sam's.

dean’s back.

ruby heads towards the door, when her knees buckle, and something oil-slick and nauseating shivers up her spine. energy crackles in the air, and ruby freezes, because she's only felt this zing in the air once before.

an angel is here.

she barely manages to duck before the windows explode inwards. a shard lands right in her thigh--the vessel's blood oozing thick and heavy over bare skin. sam can probably smell it, if whatever dropped dean off let him live.

something brought dean back, alright. a new player just entered the field.

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

— power plays, pillow talk

pairing: victoria neuman x fem!reader

warnings:: smut, lesbian sex, size difference, strapon referred to as cock

summary:: a bottle of good wine, homemade dinner, a sweet little thing warming up her bed – what more could victoria possibly ask for after a long workday?

word count:: 1.5k

a/n: wow i'm rusty, haven't written smut in a good long while. starting off a bit vanilla with vicky. also she would 100% talk you thru it. i don't make the rules

never in her life had victoria neuman ever felt the need to compensate for something. a woman in power, in more ways than one, she never needed to climb through the ranks, simply gliding through them, a casualty or two on the way.

she had it all – a big car, a big house, a big desk at the Congress.

so you suppose it’s fitting; the big, girthy toy she has strapped around her hips under the material of her dress pants.

it’s huge, actually – got to be six inches at the very least, and that’s without taking into consideration the fact that you’ve never had any eye at all – of a dark, wine red color, the thick, thoughtfully lubed shaft glistening under the dim lights.

that one image of a hamster chomping down on a banana ten times his size pops up in your head.

your throat bobs with a soft gulp — oh god. you’re the hamster.

but victoria is nothing if not considerate. a soft silky pillow is lying under the small of your back, angling you properly for her, and the bedroom you share smells distinctly of something dark and woodsy, heady but not enough to overwhelm, the scented candles a welcome sensation that serves to relax you further.

when her hands grab ahold of your hips, thumbs pressing into the hipbones, you buck into her touch involuntarily. you’re not sure if it’s anxiety or arousal.

“no-no, that won’t do, pretty girl…” victoria chides softly, gives a playful little squeeze as a warning. “you promised you’d be good."

well, that’s true. you did.

you’re almost embarrassed – two glasses of cabernet sauvignon in and you’re already unable to think of anything but how much you want her. your skin tingles with anticipation, the gentle pressure of her hands grounding you as they slowly map their way up and down your body, caressing the undersides of your breasts, your shoulders, the plane of your belly. the warmth of the room wraps around you like a comforting embrace, the scent of the candles mingling with the subtle notes of the woman’s perfume – victoria’s hands work your body like dough, and that combined with the sight of the powerful politician standing between your thighs, all veneer and perfect composure, dark brown eyes trailing over your naked form like a feast is enough for your legs to part further. she doesn’t even have to ask.

“just like that, sweet thing. open up for me,” her palms rest on your thighs and she leans in to press a few gentle kisses to the side of your neck.

it’s intoxicating – her touch, her scent, how tender she’s with you, loving. you’re so aroused it’s starting to hurt.

“vicky…”

“i know, i know,” she murmurs. “need to get you ready for me first.”

she slides her ring finger through the warm petals of your pussy, humming at the wetness gathered there, and she can’t help but indulge herself. she leans down, face level with your cunt, and licks a thick stripe through the dripping warmth, teasing another involuntarily buck of your hips and a whimper from you.

you should’ve known she’d be too greedy to waste all that sweetness on her fake cock — she laps and slurps at you with gentle vigor, palm squeezing your hip to keep you from bucking into her mouth again. it’s a soft, affectionate kind of pleasure — victoria doesn’t rush, doesn’t push you too much too soon, deliberately avoiding your puffy clit to keep from any possible overstimulation.

you sigh softly, leaning your head back against the pillows, but before you can enjoy the heavenly sensation any further, she pulls away with one last flat lick, guiding your thigh to press against her hip.

the head of the toy pushes tantalizingly against your entrance, its smooth surface just barely parting your folds before she pulls back, sliding the silicone along your slit once more – the motion is slow and deliberate, the toy gliding easily through your wetness, teasing you with its presence. every so often victoria lets the tip dip inside, a fleeting, electrifying intrusion that leaves you aching for more, before withdrawing it again. the sensation sends shivers up your spine, your body instinctively arching towards the source of pleasure – but you know she’s doing it to get you nice and ready for her, as if the sloppy little courtesy licks weren’t enough.

"fuck, you're so wet," she whispers, her voice thick with satisfaction. "so eager. it's almost too easy."

she presses her hips more firmly this time, her cock breaching your entrance and slipping inside with a smooth, deliberate motion. the sensation is overwhelming, your body accommodating the intrusion with a mixture of relief and intense pleasure. she holds herself there for a moment, letting you feel the stretch and fullness.

god, it’s big – bigger than anything you’ve ever taken before. for a moment an alarming thought of not being able to fit the intimidating girth inside you shoots through your lust-clouded brain, but the smile on victoria’s painted lips tells you that she will make sure you do.

you tilt your head back with a shaky breath, and she chuckles, leaning in to nose at your earlobe, “good?”

biting your lip, you manage a nod in reply, hiding your face in her neck as you try to process the sensation.

victoria sets a slow, torturous pace, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, her thighs kissing the backs of your legs. her hand shifts from your hip to your navel, gently sliding along your skin and pressing against your warm, sensitive stomach for purchase – the action so undeniably erotic it has a broken moan tearing from your mouth.

“oh?” victoria quirks a thick eyebrow, perfect white teeth peeking out to worry a plump lip between them. “does that feel good, sweet girl?”

her palm presses just the slightest bit firmer, enough to heighten the pleasure of her silicone cock pushing deep inside of your cunt deliciously as her fingers sprawl over the flesh of your belly — it flutters under her hand, muscles struggling to accommodate the enormous intrusion.

“d’you feel me here?” she asks, voice a silky purr, dripping with control and a hint of amusement as her hips drive the toy deeper into you, each thrust deliberate, strong, unyielding. “such a pretty tummy, baby… so, so perfect.”

you can’t even speak.

victoria leans down, her breath warm against your ear as she whispers, “i love how you open up for me… how you take every inch like you were made for this.”

the pressure in your stomach intensifies as she slows her movements, dragging each thrust out to an agonizing pace. her thick cock feels impossibly full inside you, stretching you in a way that teeters on the edge of pain and ecstasy.

"such a good girl, letting me stretch you, fill you up. gonna make it the only size you’ll ever take. the only that can ever satisfy you.”

she shifts her hips, the change in angle making you gasp as the toy hits that sweet spot inside you, the pleasure so intense it almost hurts. victoria's other hand that isn't busy trying to feel herself through the thin wall of flesh of your belly moves to prop herself next to your head, caging you in with her presence, and you reach to desperately hold onto her bicep, fingers digging into the dark blue of her power suit she has insisted on keeping draped over her shoulders.

“there you are, pretty girl. so close. so, so close, sweet thing. need you to cum for me."

victoria's pace quickens, hips snapping forward, and with a final, shuddering breath, you let go, the pleasure crashing over you in waves, overwhelming and all-consuming. she guides you through it, soft, reassuring whispers as she follows you into bliss, a guttural groan escaping her lips – for a moment the world is nothing but the two of you, tangled together in a haze of pleasure.

with the waves of white ecstasy beginning to ebb, she slows her thrusts to a gentle rhythm before withdrawing slowly, the loss of her presence inside you almost as intense as when she was buried deep. you whimper at the emptiness, your body still trembling with aftershocks, and her warm hands soothe the feeling away, a small, amused smile on her full lips, “thoughts?”

as if that isn't obvious.

you groan in response, wrap your arms around the woman’s shoulders to tug her down and press your lips against hers hungrily. then you pull away, breathless in satisfaction, and grin up at her, “fucking amazing. i wasn't even sure it’d be possible.”

victoria hums, her palm caressing your thigh thoughtfully, “in that case… you think you can take more?”

not one for being patient behind closed doors, she grasps your hips, coaxes you onto your stomach with firm hands.

“what am i saying. of course you can take more. cock-hungry little slut.”

the degrading words make you whimper into the silky pillow, and victoria coos, her tone the slightest bit patronizing, “ohh, yes you are, sweet thing. no use denying it.”

her fingers dig into your soft flesh, and suddenly all the warm tenderness is gone from her voice.

“up. don’t make me repeat myself.”

[in-my-feels-probably]

Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

I Feel So High School (Every Time I Look At You)

Request: Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

and: art being 10ish years older than reader? that’s all i got. go crazy

Hi! Challengers has been on my mind literally since the day it came out, and I think I've read every single fic on here about it, so I figured I’d give it a shot writing one myself. First of all, I combined your requests, hope that’s ok. Second, this is my first time writing for Art, so please bear with me while I try and get the hang of writing his character. I haven’t written a fic in weeks, so my skills are definitely a little rusty. Please be kind! Anyways, I hope you like this. Let me know what you think, and thank you for the request :)

(Warnings: none? idk, maybe very vague mentions of sex, art is divorced, swearing, i guess the age gap taboo. let me know if i missed anything)

—

You should have known trying to explain your situation with Art to someone else would’ve been difficult, but finally telling your roommate everything was just as humiliating as you thought it would be. She always had a knack for nosing her way into your business, and not even you were immune to her federal level detective skills when it came to getting information out of someone. 

“And I’m seeing him today,” you finished your rant as you sucked in a breath, wincing as you waited for the bomb to drop.

But it didn’t. Your roommate just grinned, standing up and walking over to your closet. You watched with a confused look on your face until she turned to you, already elbow deep in your clothes.

“So…you have a sugar daddy?” your roommate asked, trying to stifle a laugh as she rifled through your closet to help you find an outfit. “No judgment, I’m honestly jealous.”

You picked a pillow up off your bed, launching it at her when she smirked as you flushed. “I don’t have a sugar daddy! I have a…well—ok, I don’t know what we are. But he’s not my sugar daddy.”

“No, he’s just an ex pro tennis player with a famous ex wife who was also a pro tennis player that he had a perfect little girl with, complete with a house in the Hamptons. Now, he’s…what, exactly? A coach? A commentator? Part of Stanford’s glorified alumni? No, I’ve got it! I know what he is — hot. In a beekeeping age, recently divorced, kind of way.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up to help her look through your closet. “He’s only in his thirties. You’re making him sound archaic and washed up.”

“Look at you, gushing over him,” she grinned as she finally landed on something for you to wear, quickly handing it to you. “At least he has good taste. You’re hot, too.”

Your roommate turned around while you quickly changed, sitting down at the foot of your bed. She talked over her shoulder as you got dressed, her voice full of curiosity.

“So, how did this all happen anyway?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Remember alumni week with all the guest lectures and presentations a few months ago?”

“You met Art Donaldson during alumni week? What the fuck! Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have skipped all my classes that week if I thought I was gonna pick up a trophy husband instead of being forced to sit through a mind-numbingly boring presentation from some guy who used to go here that I’ve never heard of.”

“Sucks to suck, babe,” you grinned, finished getting dressed. “I’m good, you can turn around now.”

She quickly turned around, patting the spot on the bed next to her.

“How did this even happen? I’ve never seen you step foot on a tennis court in your life, and I know they wouldn’t have asked him to speak in a graduate lecture.”

You sat down next to her, nodding. “He did a seminar down at the courts for the kinesiology majors or something like that. They were learning about sports related injuries and how to treat them. He told them about how he hurt his shoulder a few years ago during a match, and he talked about all the physical therapy he had to do.”

“You’re telling me you sat through a kinesiology lecture? On a tennis court? When you don’t even study kinesiology?”

“Absolutely not,” you laughed, leaning back against the headboard. “He told me about it that first week while he was here.”

Your roommate giggled, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Oh my god! Okay, okay. Spill. Now. I want to know everything.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, but started ranting again anyway. 

—

In truth, you didn’t really know what your relationship with Art was. You’d met when returning alumni who’d gone on to excel in their fields came to campus for guest lectures and demonstrations.

In a total mortifying cliche, you ran into Art in a hallway while you were rushing to a lecture that had already started ten minutes earlier. You would have been on time, but your roommate accidentally locked herself out of your dorm, and the RA wasn’t answering their phone. She had an exam she needed to get to, which—in her own words—“trumps your boring book lecture.” You had no choice but to turn around and save her, making the trek back across campus to let her in. That’s how you ended up running face first into Art, your bag and all your things scattering across the floor. By some miracle, at least the halls were empty.

You quickly kneeled, scrambling to pick up all your things. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’m late for class.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, kneeling to help you.

It was then when you looked up, and you felt your heart jump into your throat. Art Donaldson—famous alumni and world renowned tennis player—was crouched right in front of you, handing you half empty tubes of chapstick, a pair of headphones, and a stray pack of gum. Oh god, you thought to yourself. Why me? Why today? You quickly cleared your throat, standing up.

“God, sorry. Thanks…Mr. Donaldson.”

You cringed as you said it, the title of Mr. feeling off as it rolled off your tongue.

“Mr. Donaldson?” he raised a brow, shaking his head. “No, just call me Art. Uh, you know who I am? Am I actually still recognizable here? I figured no one off of the courts would have any idea who I was.”

You glanced down at his shirt, pointing. “You’re wearing a name tag.”

Art paled, raising a hand to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. Good one, he thought to himself. Very humble. He cringed to himself as his cheeks flushed, a small smile on his face.

“Right. I knew that.”

You smiled, pulling your bag back over your shoulder as you let out a little chuckle. “I know who you are. Stanford never lets us forget about their prized students.”

“Ah,” he nodded, grinning. “In my day, it was Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Connelly. Although, Reese dropped out halfway through her degree, so they don’t talk about her much—”

“And Jennifer left Yale to come study here,” you finished. “That’s one they do still brag about.”

Art smiled, leaning back against the wall as he looked at you. You suddenly became very aware of your situation, tearing your eyes away from him to look down the hall where your class was. Art’s eyes followed, and he straightened up, clearing his throat.

“Am I keeping you?”

“No!” you said all too quickly, biting your tongue for a second before you forced yourself to calm down and continue. “Uh, my class already started. It’s not really important, he doesn’t count attendance anyway. And, to be honest, he’s pretty dull. He managed to make Jane Austen boring.”

“Not Bazin’s class, is it?” Art asked, making you raise a brow.

“Yeah, it is. How’d you know that?”

Art smiled, letting out a little laugh. “That’s why I came this way, I wanted to see if Professor Bazin still taught English here. He was a dinosaur even when I graduated. I’m surprised they still let him teach.”

“If they actually read the end of term course evaluations they make us fill out, they wouldn’t,” you mused, making Art grin wider.

“I guess I should let you go then,” Art shrugged, glancing down the hall. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on something you could use in your scathing evaluation.”

You glanced back down the hallway at your classroom, but you couldn’t get your feet to move. You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t want to go just yet. 

All you did at Stanford was go to and from class and stay on top of your studies. It was monotonous and boring, and you were always up to your neck in papers and projects. Other than your roommate, you hardly had any people left you talked to or hung out with. They all graduated with their undergrad degrees, and you moved on to your graduate studies. Your education was important to you, but it got lonely. You almost never took risks anymore. But as you glanced back at him, that’s what you did.

You took the risk.

“Or…you could save me from my misery?” you stuttered out, an awkward smile on your face.

Art looked at you with an amused expression, tilting his head as he waited for you to continue. You swallowed, fiddling with the strap of your bag.

“My classes are almost all entirely in this building. I’m sure you’re sick of talking about tennis, but between here and my dorm, I don’t think I see enough sunlight in a day to keep me going. Maybe you could walk with me somewhere that actually sees the sun? Doesn’t have to be the courts or anything, although I can say with full confidence that I’ve never actually seen that part of campus and I’m in my graduate studies. Uh, maybe you’ve got somewhere in mind? Or you could let me buy you a cup of shitty cafeteria coffee? I promise I’ll refrain from asking you about your career. But, as I’m sure you can tell just by looking at me, I don’t really know enough about tennis to ask anyway.”

As you rambled on, horrified by your own rambling but determined to put yourself out there, Art smiled. 

He’d met a lot of girls over the years. Some girls who had a genuine interest in him but didn’t last, and some who saw his fame and fortune as a one way ticket to an easy life. 

None of them mattered. 

He had married Tashi, head over heels from the first moment he saw her. He had a kid with her, a career with her, a seemingly picture perfect life with her. It didn’t even occur to him to look at other girls until his marriage started to strain under the weight of his career, and he’d almost forgotten what it was like to look at a girl for the first time and feel that sickening but addictive feeling of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. After the divorce, it felt so foreign to him that he didn’t even try. He had resigned himself to being a single father who co-parents and lives the rest of his life comfortably and quietly.

But here you were, rambling on with flushed cheeks and bright eyes trying your hardest to ask him out, and he couldn’t be more captivated.

There was just something about you. You were pretty, obviously. Anyone with eyes would’ve been able to see that. But there was something else, too. You were still young and not entirely pessimistic yet, with your whole career ahead of you. Probably no more than a few heartbreaks under your belt, able to muster up some sort of courage to fight for what you wanted. He used to have that, and he missed it — admired it, even. As you finally cut yourself off and looked up at him with mortification written across your face, Art saved you from further embarrassment with a smile. 

“Um…coffee sounds good,” he said with a shy smile. “Not from the cafeteria, though. If it’s as bad as it was when I went here, I’m not gonna let you waste your meal card money on it. There’s a cart outside of the athletics center, I stopped by it this morning. It’s still good.”

Trying your best to mask the shock you were feeling by his answer, you quickly nodded. “Oh, okay. Sounds good.”

You spent the entire afternoon with him. Coffee turned into lunch, and lunch turned into a long walk. Although you both had things to do, neither of you wanted to say goodbye and go on with your day. You skipped the rest of your classes for the day, letting Art show you around campus. He took you to all the places you had never been, and you kept quiet and let him show you anyway when you passed somewhere you had already been a hundred times. He was polite and asked you about your major and career goals, even managing a graceful smile when it was his turn to tell you about his career and how it unfolded after he graduated. He was careful to leave out the end, but he found himself comfortable enough to tell you about the first few years. You asked what you could, but you really didn’t know enough about the sport to ask much of anything.

“I’m boring you to death, aren’t I?” he asked when there was a lapse in silence after you passed a poster with his face on it for a Wimbledon campaign.

“No, not at all!” you replied, tilting your head up towards the poster. “I’m just wondering how you managed it.”

Art cocked a brow, turning towards you. “Managed what?”

“Not becoming a complete asshole,” you shrugged, making him burst out laughing. “I’m serious! You’re not the first celebrity to come here during alumni week. The difference between you and them is that you didn’t show up and immediately start bragging about how successful you had become. As far as I can tell, you’re the same as when you graduated. That seems pretty rare.”

“There’s not much to brag about,” he shrugged, too humble for his own good.

“A career Grand Slam isn’t worth bragging about?” you asked, turning away from him when he gave you a confused look. “Okay, fine, I may or may not have Googled you back in the restaurant while you were in the bathroom. I was running out of things to ask you, and I figured I should know something about tennis. Anyway, I was impressed.”

Art just chuckled. “I’m flattered.”

After walking a few more minutes, the street lamps turned on. It had gotten late enough in the evening that they were starting to light up around the darker parts of the campus. It was your cue to stop walking and look around, both of you realizing how long it had been since you started talking.

“I guess I should be headed back to my dorm,” you said, a hint of disappointment in your voice. “My roommate is probably freaking out by now. She knows I never really go anywhere after class without her—and yes, I heard how pathetic that sounded as it came out. She’s probably gonna call campus security if I don’t show up soon.”

Art nodded, knowing you were right. And yet, his feet didn’t move. Neither of you made any attempt to leave, still standing under the soft light of the street lamps. Art looked at you with soft eyes, absentmindedly reaching to fiddle with his wedding ring with his thumb before he remembered it wasn’t there anymore. Finally, he cleared his throat. 

“Well…I guess this is the part where I ask you for your number.”

“It was nice meeting you, too—” you started, doing a double take once his words registered. “Wait, what?”

Art let out a nervous laugh, shrugging. “You bought me a coffee, it’s only fair that I do the same. I’m here all week. Maybe you’d want to do this again sometime?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, that sounds good,” you replied, trying your best and failing to sound as nonchalant as you could.

Art smiled and pulled out his phone, opening his contacts. He handed it over to you, watching as you typed in your number before handing his phone back to him. You fought the heat pooling in your cheeks, fiddling with the strap of your bag. Art grinned, breaking the silence. 

“Go find your roommate. Tell her to call off the search party.”

You chuckled, nodding. “I’m on it. Well…bye, Art.”

“Bye, Y/N. I’ll text you,” he replied, enjoying watching you shuffle back and forth on your heels. 

He made you nervous. And for some reason, he liked that. He’d spent practically the last decade of his life perpetually nervous. It was nice to know someone else felt the same way. 

He watched you go as you turned around and headed back to your dorm, a distant but still familiar warmth in his chest. He’d only known you for a few hours, but he could already tell he liked you. By the time you made it back to your dorm and managed to come up with an excuse for your roommate who immediately interrogated you the second you stepped through the door, your phone was ringing. You excused yourself to the bathroom with a bashful grin on your face, answering the call.

—

You spent the better part of a week with Art when you both had time between your classes and his seminars. 

It felt surprisingly easy and normal talking to him. Your small talk about your careers and plans turned into more personal topics, and then you were talking about anything and everything. You were fully aware of the age gap between you two, but it didn’t bother you nearly as much as you thought it would. If anything, it was part of the draw to him. He was also kind and friendly, with a surprisingly self deprecating sense of humor that made you laugh. Not to mention the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous. You had to actively make sure he didn’t catch you staring at him when his head was turned. He made you want to actually giggle out loud, which is something you never thought you’d do over a guy.

By the end of the week when it was time for him to leave and go back to New York, you both were dreading saying goodbye. 

It was late in the evening, about an hour before he had to leave to catch his flight. He’d finally taken you to the courts, once again only lit by the street lamps overhead. It was the first time all week he’d stepped onto the court and actually wanted to be there, not surrounded by onlookers who knew every nook and cranny of his life and career. Instead it was you, the sweet pretty girl who made him genuinely laugh when you asked him why the points system would ever use the term love to describe a lacking score. 

He fiddled around for a while, teaching you a few serves and how to hold the racquet to hit the ball. Eventually he was on the other side of the net, watching you giggle and chase after the few balls he’d softly serve your way. He could hear you panting and the sound of your shoes skidding across the court, but your laughter was too sweet to make him stop. 

Finally, you stopped to take a break, sitting down on the bench. “Don’t look at me, I might cough up a lung.”

“Very impressive,” he smiled, passing you his water.

“Thank you,” you grinned, motioning between him in the court. “Go on, let’s see what you’ve got. I’m down for the count, but I’m sure the ball machine will be more than happy to fill in for me.”

Art smiled, watching you grin at him with flushed cheeks and glowy skin. If anyone else was asking, he wouldn’t have done it. He wasn’t interested in showing off his skills, or lack thereof to put it more accurately as of late — he’d stopped training as intensely after the divorce, no new tournaments waiting for him to come and win. But the look on your face when you asked was just one he couldn’t say no to. Plus, your knowledge of the sport wasn’t that vast. You probably wouldn’t notice if he slipped up anyway. And if you did, you’d be too kind to make him feel bad about it.

“If you insist,” he groaned, but he was still smiling to himself as he moved to the other side of the court.

You watched him play for a few more minutes. He really was something to see. Every movement he made was smooth and graceful, a far cry from the stumbling around and huffing and puffing you had been doing. Every ball hit its target, every serve lining up exactly where he wanted it to. As silly as it sounded, you actually had to prevent yourself from clapping once he finally slowed down and turned the machine off.

“Look at you go,” you smiled from the bench, handing him back his water as he walked back over.

His cheeks flushed pink, and he was silently praying you couldn’t see it from under the low lights. He was too busy getting all flustered to reply to you, and it made you smile. It was silent for a long moment as you stared at each other, before he finally stood up. You followed him, a sinking feeling in your gut as you realized that it was probably time to say goodbye.

It had been a week you had never even dreamed would’ve happened to you, and yet it did. The one risk you decided to take had led to the most fun you’d had in your entire time at Stanford. You didn’t want to see him go.

As you looked up at him with soft eyes and a melancholy look on your face, like you were looking to him for all the answers, Art felt a sharp tug in his chest. He found himself immediately wanting to fix it, wanting to make you smile again — smile because of him. He’d have done anything in that moment to get you to laugh again.

So, against his better judgment, he leaned in and kissed you. 

It was a spur of the moment decision, one he almost immediately regretted. But then he felt you sink into the kiss, your hands coming up to his waist to steady yourself. He cupped your cheeks and pulled you into him, unable to stop the smile spreading across his lips. 

And that was all it took — he was falling, and falling hard. 

—

That was months ago now, and yet, Art still found reasons to visit you. 

When there was lapses in tours, or it was Tashi’s week with Lily, he always somehow found himself ending up coming right back to you. He’d pick you up from your dorm, and you’d spend the entire day with him. On weekends, you ended up in whatever hotel he was staying at, telling your roommate you were going back home for a few days. When you weren’t together, you were constantly texting or calling. He even sent a postcard once when the ATP took him to Europe. It was cheesy, but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face all day when you got it in the mail. 

You hadn’t exactly put a label on the relationship, but it was clear to the both of you that you meant more to each other than either of you cared to admit out loud. Quite a bit more, actually.

And Art wasn’t stupid — he knew what your relationship looked like. 

Recently divorced, a younger woman by his side. If they knew, the media would paint him as one of two options: an easily manipulated victim of a gold digger, or a washed up athlete who split with his wife that was now taking what he could get, the younger and prettier the better. 

But that wasn’t it at all for Art.

It wasn’t just sex, or a new pretty face. You were something different. A breath of fresh air. Someone who didn’t care about his career or money or fame. You had no interest in what he could offer you, or what you could get out of him. You never made him feel pressured to do anything or talk about anything he didn’t want to. He’d spent so many years craving a sense of normalcy and peace. Time and time again, he’d wanted to go to Tashi and beg for a break in his routine. But, always too afraid to disappoint her and everyone else watching him, he stayed quiet. He never got a break. As odd as it was to say, that’s what you were to him when he met you — a break. A minute to breathe, a moment to relax. He always felt that way around you.

Simply put, he was head over heels for you. He didn’t think he’d feel like that for another woman after Tashi until he met you, and it shocked him how easily the feeling came to him.

And it wasn’t just him that had fallen. 

You practically hung on every word he said, and soaked up every ounce of praise he gave you. You had never been with someone like him before. Someone so experienced and sure of himself, but just as gentle and patient as he was sure. He made you laugh and smile, and he made you feel safe. For whatever reason he had taken interest in you, you didn’t care, you just didn’t want it to stop. You clung to it, enjoying it while it lasted.

And if either of you had anything to say about it, it would last.

—

By the time you finished explaining your relationship with Art to your roommate, she was already pushing you out the door. 

“Go, go, go,” she squealed, tossing you your keys. “Wait!”

She wrapped her hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks as she glanced down at the outfit she chose. “Is that a new dress? Did he buy you a dress? Oh my god, please tell me he has a brother.”

“Not sure,” you grinned, smoothing your hand down your front. “Show up to alumni week next time and find out.”

You were already pressing a kiss to her cheek and rushing down the hall before she could get out another word, giggling as you made your way to the stairs.

On the drive over to the hotel, the nerves in your stomach were making you nervously tap your fingers on the steering wheel. You must’ve got caught by every stop light, making the trip even longer. You were practically vibrating once you finally pulled into the parking lot, grabbing your bag and hurrying inside before your nerves got the better of you and made you stand like an idiot in the lobby, trying to muster up the courage to get in the elevator. You coasted on autopilot as you forced your feet to lead you upstairs to his floor, all the way down to his door. You only came back into your body when you raised a hand to knock on the door, pausing to take a deep breath.

Just knock, you thought to yourself. You’re a big girl. Just knock.

You had barely even knocked twice on the door before the door swung open, and you came face to face with Art. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you took a second to take him in. Still as pretty as you remembered, and every bit as alluring. You could feel yourself melting. 

The feeling was mutual. 

Art let out a sigh of relief, like it was the first good breath he had taken in weeks. A genuine smile crept onto his face as he reached for you, practically making grabby hands like a child. 

“Come here, pretty girl.”

You tried and failed to stifle a giggle, immediately burying yourself in his chest. You let out a hmph as you pressed your cheek against him, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. You could feel his thumb running along the bare skin of your arm, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He nudged the door closed with his foot, tugging your bag from your shoulder and setting it on the floor without even letting you go. He was warm to the touch, and steady against you. He hummed into your hair, squeezing you tighter.

“There she is,” he murmured, letting out a small laugh. “My girl.”

“Hi, baby,” you giggled, the sound making his heart soar in his chest. 

He slowly walked you backwards to the bed, supporting most of your weight as you laid down. He was quick to follow, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. His arms hooked lazily around your waist, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

This is what you both had been waiting for. This feeling, this moment. Just this.

“You look very pretty today,” he whispered into your skin, pressing a kiss where his lips rested. “All this for me?”

The humor in his voice made you grin, your fingers running through his hair. “Couldn’t let you be that pretty all by yourself.”

Art smiled, pressing his face further into your neck as he let out a breath. You tightened your grip around him, holding him close. You let your eyes close, resting your cheek against the top of his head. 

A comfortable silence fell over the both of you, as easy as it ever was.

—

A/N - Hi! So sorry this took so long to get out, thank you for your patience. I keep rereading this and editing it over and over, I’m not totally happy with it. But something is better than nothing, and I’m tired of staring at, so here you go! Hope this is ok, let me know what you think :)

[httpvomitello]

Hi hi! Can I request donnie x s/o (fem) where he confesses to reader in the middle of a fight with one of the villans and their just like: uhh... should I be here?

Have a good day/night :]

Hi, hi!! Thanks for the request, I had fun writing it and I hope you enjoy it too! Since there were no specifications of which year Donnie would be, I decided to make it from the Bayverse. Have a great day/afternoon/night!

In the middle of the fight *⁠.⁠✧

The poor artificial lighting of the warehouse combined with the industrial lamps illuminated the piles of crates and rusty equipment with a sullen glint. The smell of oil and metal dominated and there was the distant sound of water dripping. The Foot Clan had been broadening and getting demandingly aggressive and was so tonight. You had no right to complain when you followed him willingly, however, even for this situation, nerves stood out.

"Stay close to me." Donnie had said something which really sounded more like a plea, but there was no opportunity to reply. On your entry, the Foot ninjas had launched a group attack.

The metallic ring of the weapons, the effortful sounds of wrestling, the sound of the percussion as Donnie struck the bo staff through the air. A time or two a shuriken or flying kick might come your way, and all you could do is try and weave. Still, you could not help but finally pay attention to Donnie’s protectiveness. He was often around, looking at you with concern with every instance where you had to defend yourself against an aggressor.

"Donnie, focus!" you screamed, to deflect a punch by one of the ninjas. But just as quickly it would be Donnie in the scene beating your opponent to the punch as he swung his staff to knock your opponent right back.

The leader of the group stepped forward. He was bigger than the others, more skilled, and he moved with a confidence that made you nervous.

"You really think you can take me down?" the man sneered, his voice deep and mocking.

Donnie narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on his bo staff. "I don't think. I know."

They charged at each other, weapons clashing with force. You watched with bated breath, unsure if you should jump in or stay back. Donnie was handling himself well, but this guy was no joke. Every time it seemed like Donnie gained the upper hand, the villain would counter with a brutal strike, sending sparks flying as metal hit metal.

Then, out of nowhere, something happened. As Donnie blocked another attack, his voice broke through the chaos. "This isn't how I wanted to do this!" he yelled, his eyes locking onto yours for a brief moment.

Your heart skipped a beat. "What?"

He pushed the villain back with a grunt, and in the heat of the fight, he shouted, "I like you, okay? I—no, I love you!"

You froze.

The villain, who had been winding up for another strike, paused mid-swing, his confusion evident.

You didn’t know what to say. Was this really happening? Right now? In the middle of a fight? "Donnie, what the—"

Donnie twirled his staff, knocking the villain back again with a swift move. "I know! I know this isn't the best time, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer!"

The villain looked between the two of you, his sword still raised, but clearly unsure if he should be attacking or letting the moment play out. "Are you seriously doing this right now?"

"Kind of busy, pal!" Donnie snapped, deflecting another hit. But his eyes kept darting toward you, his face flushed under the faint light. "But yeah... I've been holding it in for a while now. I—I've wanted to tell you for so long, and now, here we are, and it just... slipped out."

You blinked, still processing what was happening. A part of you wanted to yell at him for picking such a ridiculous time to confess, but another part of you was... thrilled. Despite the danger, Donnie had just blurted out the truth, and it left you feeling lightheaded.

"Uh... okay?" you managed, your voice shaky. "But Donnie, now? We're kind of—"

Before you could finish, the villain interrupted with an exaggerated sigh.

"This is ridiculous."

He sheathed his weapon and backed away slowly, his hands raised. "You two need to figure this out, clearly. I'll just... yeah. I'll catch you later or whatever." He turned and walked off, muttering under his breath about how unprofessional the whole thing was.

Donnie stood there, breathing heavily, but his eyes were locked on you, waiting for a response.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Did you just... scare off a villain by confessing your feelings?"

He laughed breathlessly, shrugging. "I guess so?"

You took a deep breath, stepping closer to him. "Donnie, I... I don't know what to say. I mean, I had no idea you felt that way."

His expression softened, and despite the battle that had just unfolded, there was an intensity in his gaze now that made you forget everything else.

"I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. But it's true. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. You... you mean a lot to me."

You smiled, despite yourself, feeling your heart swell. "You mean a lot to me, too, Donnie. I—"

Before you could finish, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. For a moment, it was just the two of you, and nothing else mattered.

"So... does this mean you're not mad at me for confessing during a fight?" he asked, his voice light, teasing.

You laughed softly, resting your head against his plastron. "Oh, I'm definitely mad. But we'll talk about that later."

"Fair enough," he said with a grin. "But for now, can we focus on the fact that I totally just scared off a villain with my feelings?"

You pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Okay, I'll give you that. But next time, maybe pick a better moment?"

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Deal."

[hencheri]

if you ever get the chance, watch squid game s2 (or s1 if you haven’t, top tier) but, your racer heeseung got me thinking.

racer!jeno (or anybody, i don’t care as long as it’s fitting) who comes to your car repairs shop late at night to get some paint fixed on his car. when it comes time to pay he makes sure to give you a big tip. you tell him that there’s no need but he wasn’t talking about cash. despite the protests, he bends you over the front of his car while he holds your wrists in his hand while he thrusts into you, the side of your cheek practically stuck to the car from the paint drying :/ he asks you what a women’s doing fixing cars and shit anyways. when he’s finally finished and he pulls you off the car, you swear your skin ripped off from how much paint had combined you and the car together. he looks over your shoulder and the side of your face was completely embedded in your car. he tells you he thinks he’ll keep it there, and you know what? maybe he wants your ass to be printed on the top of his car too? maybe he wants your tits to be embedded on his passenger door too. it doesn’t matter, the next race he’s in, everybody’s gonna be wondering who’s face that is on the front of his car.

it’s got to be written because my mind is going absolutely wild

▸ 18+ mdni. | warnings. noncon, misogyny.

racer!jeno is perfect, especially since i've been craving him really badly lately... honestly, it's something i would have never thought of, that's so out of pocket (in a good way). i know he's mad af when he comes to the garage and he sees you, like, really? a girl, repairing his car?

you ignore his comments at first because you honestly hear it all so often... "isn't there anybody else working?", "you? the mechanic?", "you're sure you won't break my car even more?", stuff like that... when he comes to check on the job you've done, it pisses him off that everything seems completely fine bcs he can't complain. but he pays you the right amount, but when your back is turned, he takes a hold of your neck, pulling you to his chest. he wants a little extra, a bonus. after all, that's what you're here for, right? to serve him, use you how he sees fit.

he bends you over the hood of his car, your hands flat on it, trying to keep your balance as he fucks you brutally. he's merciless and rough; he has a point to make. you're made to take cock, be a little cum dump, nothing else. and he fully believes it by the end of it, taking a fistful of your hair and bringing you flush to his chest once again. his eyes burn into your face and honestly, he's never been so painfully hard.

but also... i see the opposite, you coming to have your car repaired; brakes too rusty, oil change... idk, something like that, something real simple. with the model of the car, he fully thinks the owner is a man, but when he sees you, his jaw clenches, biting the inside of his cheek. apparently, you do car races. well, you think you do because he knows someone like you could never handle a race. he wants to scoff in your face, but he holds back.

the garage slowly empties, only you and jeno remaining as you come to pay him. when you hand him the money, he reaches for it, but unexpectedly grab your wrist, bending you over the counter. he shoves the side of your face onto the surface, squishing your cheek against it. he snarls at you, talking about "it's no place for a woman, who do you think you are? driving a car way too powerful for you". you're a dumb little girl if you think he won't demand you an extra.

[suzukiblu]

NaNoWriMo fic, day one: obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Tim Drake had absolutely no intentions of ever becoming anyone's sugar daddy when he met Superboy.

This would have worked out better for him if Superboy had ever had an actual legal identity or an actual legal guardian or just . . . literally anything whatsoever in life. Ever. At all.

Just a bank account, even.

"You're working for Cadmus," Tim says slowly. "Cadmus, as in the lab that stole Superman's body and cloned him without his consent. Cadmus, which you had to break out of so they couldn't put mind control code words in your head."

"Yeah," Superboy replies like that's not literally insane. Tim stares at him.

"Why?" he asks incredulously.

"Food and shelter?" Superboy shrugs. "And I mean, I dunno, where else am I gonna go?"

Tim is not okay with this situation.

"What did Superman say?" he says.

"Just to like, keep an eye on things," Superboy says with another shrug. "Make sure they're not up to anything shifty."

Tim stares at him.

"Superman," he says. "Told you to just . . . 'keep an eye on' the dubiously ethical cloning lab. The specific dubiously ethical cloning lab that tried to put mind control code words in your head. Specifically."

"Yeah," Superboy confirms.

Alright, Tim is actually even less okay with this situation than he thought, apparently. Like, impressively less.

"Okay," he says. It is absolutely no kind of okay in any way whatsoever, of course, but he doesn't want to put Superboy on the defensive. That'd make effectively interrogating him a lot harder, for one thing. Cooperative subjects are best in these situations. "What are they paying you?"

"I mean, like, they gave me my own room and they're feeding me and whatever, so I don't really need much money," Superboy says. "There's a discretionary fund I can use if I need to go on an undercover mission or anything like that? But I'm not really the undercover type anyway."

"Sure," Tim says. So . . . no way for Superboy to save up to move out and get an out-of-lab life, then. Great. That's not fucked-up or crazy or horrible at all. "Do you like it there?"

"It's okay," Superboy says, shrugging again. "Better than literally everybody in Hawaii yelling at me every time they see my face, yeah?"

Tim wants to set the world on fire, but he's trying really hard not to go supervillain before he's thirty and he'd hate to throw out all that hard work.

"They just let me do whatever, mostly," Superboy adds. "They don't really care as long as I'm around when they need me."

He'll go supervillain as soon as Bruce dies, Tim promises himself. Just–he'll give his share of the eulogy at the funeral and then he'll blow up three-fourths of Arkham and the entire GCPD while Commissioner Gordon is on his lunch break. He can time that out, that'll be easy. And then he'll go and personally murder the Joker with the very specific combination of a rusty crowbar and a shrapnel bomb, and then he'll just . . . well, he'll just go with the flow from there, he figures. Do whatever feels natural.

Seriously, the world as it is does not deserve to exist. It really just does not.

Tim figures he can probably convince the rest of Young Justice to tag along for the whole supervillain thing and hopefully Dick and Steph and Barbara too, and ideally also Alfred, in the unfortunately likely event that he outlives Bruce. He's got time to lay the groundwork with them all and all, and also everything really is awful and horrible and really does deserve to burn.

"Are they sending you to school or anything? Or tutoring you?" Tim asks with what little scraps of hope he has left. Higher education would be . . . well, something, at least. And actually it probably wouldn't hurt for Superboy to learn a bit more about genetic engineering from the same place he got genetically engineered, just in case anything goes wrong with his DNA again. Cadmus should at least be good for that much, right?

"Ew, no, thank fuck," Superboy says, making a face. "Like I said, they mostly let me do whatever until something needs punched."

So . . . no furthered education or learning any usable job skills or making real money or literally anything that could, again, lead to Superboy ever getting any kind of an actual out-of-lab life established.

Great.

Just great.

"I see," Tim says.

"It's a pretty sweet gig, considering," Superboy says, and grins brightly at him. It's a very nice grin. Normally being faced with that particular grin would make Tim need to beat down the highly unprofessional urge to kiss it.

Right now, though, he's a little bit more concerned with the fact that his teammate is just . . . living in and working for a fucking lab. As a matter of course. Just as a thing.

And Superman of all people thinks that's . . . fine, for some reason? Like, normal and ethical and okay? Somehow? In some way?

What the actual fuck, Tim thinks to himself.

"You said Superman told you to keep an eye on things?" he asks.

"Yeah," Superboy says, his grin widening. "He took me to his fortress and asked me to do it there. Showed me around a bit, too."

"That sounds really interesting," Tim says, wondering in vague disbelief if that means Superman had never taken Superboy to the Fortress of Solitude before. He must've, right? And just . . . inexplicably not shown Superboy around then.

Yeah. Sure.

"It was awesome!" Superboy says with more enthusiasm than Tim's seen from him since they met Nina Dowd's . . . endowments, seemingly forgetting the need to be "cool" for long enough to lean forward in his seat and outright beam at him. Tim is gonna need a minute to recover from the sight of that expression, probably. "It's seriously freaking freezing up there, but there's so much cool shit in the place. Like, from all over the universe, but from Krypton, even! The only thing I'd ever seen from Krypton before was kryptonite!"

Tim considers moving up his supervillain timeline after all. Like. Just possibly. Just a little.

Maybe he can convince Bruce to take an early retirement off-planet and just go from there.

What the hell is wrong with Superman?

"Oh, wow, really?" Tim says, simultaneously pretending he didn't already know what Superman has in his fortress and trying not to be screamingly obvious about the internal calculations he's running on figuring out how to weaponize red sunlight. Or like, maybe he could look into learning some magic. That's technically an option. Probably more time-consuming and harder to hide the process of, though. Still, it's on the table.

"Yeah. He showed me some of it. Told me some stories and stuff, even," Superboy says, and that excited grin turns just a little bit shy and soft and somehow even more distracting than usual. He ducks his head just a little, and then that soft grin is more like a soft smile, and Tim suffers. "And I, uh–and he gave me something, too."

"What did he give you?" Tim asks, praying to God that the answer is "an emergency contact number" or "an allowance that can cover a semi-decent Metropolis apartment" or "an offer to live literally anywhere but Cadmus, including in the thirtieth century or on a hostile alien planet or inside an active volcano". He's technically an atheist, so the praying thing is probably moot, but times of desperation are times of desperation.

"A name," Superboy says, and his smile widens helplessly. "Like, you know, a real one."

Tim might hate Superman, he thinks. That might actually be a thing now.

Yeah, he's definitely going supervillain after Bruce dies and doesn't need an emotional support sidekick anymore. Better start stocking up on the kryptonite.

"That's great," he says with a very carefully not-forced smile of his own instead of anything more along the lines of "wait, you've been alive and active as a superhero for all this time and no one ever actually named you?!" Superboy would probably take it the wrong way, not in the least because that genuinely never actually occurred to him as being a thing before. Like–he really did just assume Superboy was keeping a lid on whatever his real name was for personal reasons or Superman reasons or something. "Are you allowed to tell me it, or is that a no-go?"

"Oh, yeah," Superboy says with a sheepish laugh, rubbing at his arm. "It's like, a Kryptonian name? Not like a secret identity one. It's, uh, Kon-El."

Of course it's not even a damn secret identity, Tim thinks in absolute frustration and abject loathing. Of course not! Why would it be?! Fuck forbid!

"I like it," he says, because he lies to Batman and therefore there is no fucking way that he's going to let Superboy–Kon–see any sign whatsoever of the metaphorical 9.9 on the Richter scale that is currently happening in his psyche. "It suits you."

"You think?" Kon grins all the wider. Tim can't even calm down enough to want to kiss him, except in the sense that he always wants to kiss him.

"I do," he says, and smiles at him again.

Kon smiles back.

Tim hates everything. All the things. There is nothing that Tim doesn't hate right now, except maybe Alfred's snickerdoodles because he might be having a nervous breakdown but he's not, like, criminally insane or whatever.

Yet.

"Yeah, it's kinda cool," Kon says, straightening up in his seat and then leaning back, clearing his throat and slipping his sunglasses back on like they're not in a literal cave right now. Tim doesn't call him on it, because he has a supervillain timeline to work out and that's much more important.

Also because the teammate he has an inadvisable crush on is in a much, much shittier situation than he ever realized and he has to reconcile that with his worldview and also his opinion of Superman. Tim doesn't especially idolize the man except in the sense of knowing he's one of the greatest heroes on Earth and a very, very good man that Bruce thinks incredibly highly of, one of the best men on the League and maybe even on the planet, but . . .

But if he's such a good man, then why the hell is Kon living in a lab that tried to mind-control him and why has he only just seen the Fortress of Solitude for the first time?

Why didn't he have a real name?

"So do we call you Kon or Kon-El now?" Tim asks, which is a bit of a senseless question but also at least a bit of a distraction. He wants to say this whole situation is a horrible idea, who the FUCK convinced you this situation was a good idea?!, but there is no possible way that Kon would respond well to that. Ever.

Also, Kon had a point. Where else is he gonna go?

Clearly not the Fortress of Solitude.

Seriously, would it be that hard for Superman to give him a room there? At least a place to stay sometimes, so he wasn't exclusively relying on the mind-control cloning lab for food and shelter and basic comforts?

"I think just Kon?" Kon says, frowning consideringly. "'El' is like Superman's last name, I guess? So I think just Kon."

"Makes sense," Tim says, internally seething. Superman gave him the "El" name but not a secret identity? A name from a dead civilization with a bit of sentimental value, maybe, but nothing usable on this planet? Fuck, you'd think Kon didn't already know his secre–

. . . Kon doesn't know Superman's secret identity, does he.

Tim had thought he was lying, when he'd said that stuff about Superman not having one, before. Thought it was supposed to be a cover or a misdirection or something. But Kon actually thinks that, doesn't he. And Superman has just . . . kept letting him think that.

Becoming a supervillain actually might be an underreaction, in retrospect.

"Just Kon sounds less formal anyway," Tim says instead of so just in theory, do you think tactile telekinesis could trigger a heart attack or stroke in a full-blooded Kryptonian, if you could REALLY concentrate on doing it? like not FATALLY, just dehabilitatingly?, because he still has some groundwork to do before they get that far into potential supervillainy. There's steps to the plan. The steps need to be followed. They're very important steps. "You don't want Bart full-naming you every time he's looking for the remote."

"Like he'd even bother, it's faster for him to turn the living room upside-down than actually ask anyway," Kon says with a laugh, dropping his head back on his neck. Tim has some thoughts about climbing into his lap and figuring out if the TTK makes him hickey-proof, and then buries them. Not appropriate. Not professional. Just not.

. . . technically, if Kon wanted a hickey, he could just let his TTK down and ask for–

Tim buries his thoughts deeper.

Much, much deeper.

"Point," he says. "So what time does Cadmus expect you back?"

"Dude, it's a job, not a boarding school," Kon says, giving him an amused look. "I don't have a curfew."

Tim, technically, hasn't followed his own curfew any way but accidentally once in his entire life, but for god's sake, is Cadmus even pretending to be raising a teenager or are they really just being that flagrant about ignoring all the child labor laws they so clearly do not give a fuck about? Like, there must be something illegal about this. There has to be.

If there's not, Tim will be adding "burn down Project Cadmus" to his list of supervillain plans to set up in advance. In red pen. Underlined.

Twice.

God, why is the world like this. Why are people like this?

"I guess that'd be convenient," Tim says, internally ranking various methods of combustion. "Though I guess it depends on the cafeteria hours, too."

"It's whatever, I can always eat later," Kon replies with a shrug. "I think I've still got a couple protein bars in my room anyway."

"Just protein bars?" Tim asks, mentally upping the amount of explosives he was considering going with. Cadmus is going to be a crater by the time he's done with it. "Don't you need more calories than that?"

". . . well, sort of," Kon says, folding his arms and looking very briefly embarrassed. "Superman doesn't have to eat, apparently, but, uh, guess I'm not Kryptonian enough for that. Actually I kinda need to eat more than normal humans, it's weird. Like. A lot more."

"I'm ordering pizza," Tim says, upping his mental explosives count again. "What do you want on it?"

"We're the only ones here," Kon says, looking puzzled.

"More pizza for us, then," Tim says.

[puckdoll]

mmmm can i humbly ask for reverse amnesia with kris??? make this man suffer a little

Leave it to Geno to reserve one of the VIP rooms at the most popular club in town. Take you all out, Geno had said after a particularly brutal loss, we, like, relax and drink. My treat.

My treat my ass. Inevitably by the end of the night, Geno would pay part of the bill and leave the rest for everyone else to cover. Same as every year, yet everyone else always fell for it. Kris hadn't for at least the past five years, always starting his own tab and leaving the rest to flounder. Not his problem if they hadn't learned yet.

Stumbling over his own feet, he caught himself on the wall and forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath. The bathroom in the lounge had been full--Kris was pretty sure he heard Doc and PO on the other side of the door, puking their guts out--so he'd been forced to step out. He hated this shit, the private lounges and the velvet ropes and the weird security guard that kept people out. He'd much rather go to a nondescript bar where he could fade into the crowd, and just hang with the guys. The drinks were always a lot cheaper, too.

He made his way up the illuminated stairs, the neon-purple lights stinging his eyes. Gaudy, he thought, but just the kind of thing Geno liked.

Nodding to the security, he went to enter the lounge, when that large, muscled arm jerked out, blocking his path. The security guard reeked of booze and Old Spice, a lethal combination that had Kris rocking back on his heels.

"Private party," the guard said, and didn't so much as blink when Kris glared.

"I know," Kris replied, a little hot, "I'm with them. I literally just came from there."

The guard smirked, tilting his head, the light refracting off of his bald scalp. "Nice try, but you're not getting in."

"This is ridiculous--" eyes sweeping the inside of the lounge, relief flooded him as he caught sight of Sid. "Sid! Hey--Sid."

Initially, Sid didn't visibly react, even though Kris knew he heard him. He wasn't that far away, Kris could almost touch him if he stretched as far as he could over the velvet rope. But upon the second call, Sid stopped, a look of resignation sweeping across his features before he turned. The entire thing was strange; this didn't feel like a joke, or some sort of awful prank.

The feeling intensified when Sid turned, slowly approaching the velvet rope. His guard was up, his entire body slowly tensing like it always did when he interacted with fans. He had plastered on his media face, the fake genial look that too many people read as genuine. "Hey," Sid said, not an ounce of real emotion in his tone.

Kris didn't like this at all.

"This guy says he's with you," the guard tilted his head back towards Sid, who's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I am," Kris protested, stomach twisting into knots at the looks the two exchanged. "I just came from there. Jesus Christ--Sid, you know me."

There was that head tilt, the slight adjustment of his weight, drawing himself up as he focused in on Kris. It was not a good sign. "I do?" Sid asked with the incredulity of a man who had met many 'long lost cousins' before.

Despite knowing that he was losing the argument, despite knowing deep in his gut that something terrible had happened--perhaps he was asleep, in a fucking nightmare that he desperately wanted to wake up from--he kept going, digging himself deeper and deeper into this hole. "I--Sid. We've played together nearly twenty years, we've--God, we've won three cups together."

That was the wrong thing to say. Sid's face shut down, the shutters closing. "We've won one," he said, and Kris could feel himself react, his jaw dropping and his brows arching as Sid continued, "Just the one."

"No--no, that's not true at all." Kris' eyes scanned the lounge, searching for someone else, anyone else. Where the fuck is Rusty, he thought, where's EK? Surely Sid was just misremembering. Surely--

He didn't know what else to do. He couldn't accept that this was his reality, that somehow by going to the bathroom and coming back, he was in an alternate universe where he wasn't a hockey player--because, fuck, Sid didn't even recognize him--and the Pens had only won one cup. Did Sid hit his head? There had got to be some explanation as to why--

Sid turned to walk away, frustration embedded into his features, like Kris had just insulted his mother and sister to his face. Kris' heart leapt into his throat--if Sid left, if he walked away, how the hell could he prove--

My jacket, he thought, eyes landing on the dark leather coat draped across the back of the chair. That's my fucking coat.

"What?" Sid turned back, brows furrowed. Kris hadn't even realized he'd spoken out loud, but he had, as Sid was staring him down instead of disappearing further into the lounge. The security guard was the only thing keeping Kris back, one large arm wrapped around his chest as Kris attempted to lean over the velvet rope, his nails digging into the guard's forearms.

"That's my coat," Kris said, pointing to it with the urgency of a dying man. "Just--it's my coat. If I'm not who I say I am, why's my coat there?" At Sid's skeptical look, Kris gesticulated wildly towards it. "Check it. Check. My wallets in there, my phone. Phone's in the right pocket, wallet's on the left side, inside zip."

Like he was possessed, Sid moved to Kris' coat, hands dipping into the pockets, searching. He pulled out Kris' phone, and Kris' heart soared. Then, he reached in, and pulled out Kris' wallet, flipping it open and sliding his driver's license out. Sid stared at it for a moment before his eyes darted up, curious but untrusting. "What'd you say your name was?"

"Kris," God, he sounded so pathetic, practically pleading with Sid to believe him while he was restrained, "Kristopher Joseph Pierre Irwin Letang. April 24th, 1987."

There was no recognition in Sid's eyes. Instead, he slid the license back into its slot then into it's pocket, zipping it up. He approached the velvet rope, holding out Kris' jacket like it personally offended him. The last bit of hope Kris had been clinging on to began to violently die.

"Sorry," Sid said, the coat falling limply into Kris' hand as he stepped back. "I don't know how it got in here. One of the guys must've grabbed--"

"You are Victoria's godfather," the words left his lips in a rush, panic and fear twisting in his gut as Sid jerked his head back, "You're my daughter's godfather. Your sister had a pet hamster as a kid that died because your mom sucked it up in the vacuum and it had a heart attack. She made you go buy another one and you felt so guilty about it you eventually told Taylor, who told you she knew because her old hamster was a girl and you bought a boy. You despise the way Geno eats his food but you'd never tell him that because you care about him way too much; you order pineapple as a side when the team goes out and gets pizza so you can still have it on the pizza without forcing everyone else to eat it like that. You're thinking of getting another cat because you're nervous that Maverick gets lonely. You--"

"--I think you should go."

The definitiveness, the finality of his words left Kris speechless. There was genuine fear and apprehension in Sid's eyes, like Kris had just flayed him open and played in his guts before attempting to sew him back up. Everything Kris had said had rung true, was true in this universe, and Sid didn't know how to reconcile the fact this complete stranger--to him, at least--knew all of these things about him. This wasn't something you could Google, probably wasn't even anything you could ask Sid's friend about because they were conversations that only he and Sid had together.

Still, it wasn't enough. Still, Kris was being sent away, unaware of where the fuck he was, who the fuck he was, if his entire life had been a dream, or if he'd even wake up from this nightmare.

Without a word, Kris pushed himself up, and took a step back, stumbling backwards down the stairs, his jacket clenched tightly in his hands. He pushed through the clubs door, practically gasping for air as the cold swarmed him. He staggered away from the entrance and down the street, away from the bright lights and line of people waiting to get in. As he was shrouded in darkness, his hands fumbled into his pocket, yanking his phone out.

The screen saver was of him and some random guy he didn't recognize. His fingers shook as he typed in his passcode. His background was, again, of that same guy with a German Shepherd. He stared at the photo, and thought, am I fucking dating him?

Text messages from a man named Youri--not his Youri, because this number was completely wrong, and this Youri didn't text the same at all--popped up along the top of his phone as he stared blankly, asking him if he was okay and when he was going to be home. Swiping them away, he pulled up his photo app, searching through them with a hunger that he'd never felt before.

There was no Cath. No Alex, no Victoria. Just him, a bunch of people Kris didn't recognize, that man, and the dog. The only people he recognized was his family.

"What the fuck," he whispered, sinking down on the curb, clutching his phone so tight he feared it might crack, "what the fuck."

There was no Sid in his contacts. No Geno, no EK, no Flower. Not even his fucking agent was listed.

Before he could really think it through, he was pulling open his messages, punching in a phone number for a new text. It had to be Sid's number still, right? Not everything could've changed.

I know your number, Kris typed, almost in a frenzy, I know you. Please believe me.

Sid read the message. Three dots popped up, then disappeared. Kris pressed the edge of his phone between his brows, scrunching his eyes shut.

He didn't know what to do. Didn't know where to go. Who the fuck was he, where the fuck was he, why had everything changed when he had left the lounge--

"You Letang?"

That Russian accent sent hope surging through Kris, his head snapping up, each vertebrae popping in his neck as he craned backwards. Geno stood in the halo of the lamp post, his face shadowed. Even still, Kris could tell he was on guard. Why are you here, he thought, before it answered itself. Kris had been Sid's guard dog; with him gone, him being nonexistent in their lives, someone else had to step up. Clearly, in this fucked up universe, that duty fell to Geno.

"Yes," he said, hopeful, despite everything, "You recognize me?"

Geno tilted his head. That was a no.

"Fuck," Kris said, putting his face in his hands again, "fuck."

"You act like I'm supposed to know you."

"Because you do. This shit isn't fucking real."

Geno said nothing, and Kris had to bite his lip to stop himself from rambling. Fucking fuck.

"Sid say you know things about him he not tell anyone. That you know his number. How?"

"Like I said," Kris said, resignation slowly begging to eat away at his frustration and anger, "you know me. I know him. We--" his voice cracked, just for a split second, "were something."

The implication didn't seem to be lost on Geno, because every inch of him perked like a hunting dog. Kris bowed his head, fingers twisting in his hair and pulling. Maybe, he thought, without a sliver of optimism, maybe he'll believe me.

"I'm think you sick," Geno said, effectively crushing whatever fight he had left in him for tonight. "You need help? I'm call cab, ambulance for you?"

"No," Kris swiped at his eyes, at the tears that were beginning to brew. "No. I'm good."

Silence gathered between them, the only sound being the echoes of life from the bar and Kris' occasional wet, snotty sniffles. He didn't know why this was getting to him so badly, but he supposed having your life turned upside down in the span of an evening would do that to you, especially when you got confirmation, twice, that it was real. That there wasn't going to be a gentle pat on the back, a reassurance that they'd just been fucking with you.

Geno's shoes scraped against the sidewalk as he turned to walk away, evidently deciding that Kris wasn't a threat.

"Hey."

Geno paused, glancing over his shoulders. Kris ground his forehead against the heels of his hands before he turned his head, mouth pressing against his bicep as he stared tiredly at Geno. They locked eyes, Geno's slit but curious, Kris' open and exposed, wet. Kris sniffed. "Remind PO that he needs to re-lace his skates."

PO had taken the laces out last game, and had put them back, shoddily. He missed a couple of holes, and hadn't gotten around to fixing it yet. No one had noticed except for the guys in the room.

Geno's eyes widened, his lips parting, but still, there was no recognition within those kind eyes. Curiosity, shock, confusion, but Kris was still a stranger in his eyes.

Turning away, Kris tightened his grip on his hair, staring between his knees. Geno stayed, his eyes burning a hole through Kris' thin shirt for a couple minutes before he left, clearly unconvinced. Had ultimately decided that Kris was just a freak who was either really good at guessing, or a stalker.

There was nothing more he could do. Kris sat on that curb in the cold, staring at the pavement until his eyes grew blurry, until the club went quiet and the street lights began to flicker off.

Kris checked his phone. A couple more texts from Youri. Swiping them away, he opened the chain he had started with Sid's number.

You liked it when I kissed you, he typed, you liked that it was uncomplicated, that the three of us could be together and go home to Kathy, to Anna, to Cath. You liked that you could forget about us.

He clicked send. It came back undelivered.

[ninyard]

The monsters and their ability to pick up languages is so interesting to me so here’s some random HCs about monsters + languages that are definitely not original at all:

- Neil learned French in Europe before him and Mary found their way to French-speaking Canada. He essentially had to semi-adopt the language discrepancies while he was there, and even though his fluency is in French from France, sometimes he messes up and pronounces things weirdly or differently (and Kevin frequently makes fun of him for it)

- Kevin has some rusty Japanese that he was forced to learn growing up. He can understand it pretty well, and can somewhat speak it to a lower level, but he can’t read or write it. He’s not fluent, and probably couldn’t hold a conversation with a native speaker, but he could understand his Japanese counterparts in the Nest when he needed to.

- In turn Kevin isn’t able to order in Japanese at a restaurant, but he could explain the rules of Exy to someone fairly coherently if he had to.

- This isn’t an original thought by any means but Neil and Kevin definitely speak in French when they’re by themselves just to make sure they don’t lose it.

- They sometimes make calls to each other on the court in French, and because of this, most of the team picks up very basic calls in French. None of them can actually speak it, but Andrew picks up a little more than the rest, having spent so much time with Kevin. Again, couldn’t hold a conversation, but every now and again he recognises certain words in their conversations.

- Neil is like a walking version of those White Guy Speaks Chinese And Stuns Waitress (he can understand her?!?) polyglot youTube videos. It becomes more of a hobby for him once he’s settled and the FBI are off his back, but the foxes are constantly shocked by how many languages he can speak. He is fluent in English, French, and German of course, with some conversational Spanish, but he can pretty much have a basic interaction in most of the languages of countries he’d been in. His Dutch is the worst, because he could never quite grasp the proper pronunciation of things, but one time he speaks to a waiter in Italian and Andrew can’t believe it.

- (RIP Neil Josten, you would’ve loved duolingo)

- When he goes to the Olympics he’s like a kid in a candy store. It’s like a subconscious bingo game for him to speak to someone from every country at least once.

- Aaron loves listening to music in German. He would definitely drag Nicky to a rave if they ever found themselves in Berlin.

- Katelyn asks him whenever they have their kid if he wants to raise them bilingual, but he decides not to because he only really learned German for Nicky and his brother, and doesn’t really speak it at all after he graduates.

- Neil and Nicky study Spanish together sometimes. It helps Nicky stay close to his roots now that his immediate family is pretty much out of the picture. It means way more to him than Neil even knows.

- Another unoriginal one but Andrew and Neil definitely do learn sign language in the future. I could talk about this one forever.

- When Kevin gets frustrated, he finds it hard to speak ANY language. He messes up words in English, forgets how to say things, and occasionally is the butt of the joke when he combines a French and English word accidentally.

- Kevin watches anime when nobody is around. He thinks dubbed anime is a crime.

- Andrew thinks he’s pretty good at German until he tries to have a conversation with Erik and realises wow native speakers talk a lot faster than we do. You wouldn’t know, because even if he just understands half of a sentence, he can usually piece together what is being said 90% of the time, and he would never admit out loud that he needs Erik to slow down when he’s talking so he can understand him.

- He is, however, REALLY good at accents. He has a talent for speaking gibberish but sounding as if he’s speaking fluent French. It drives Kevin up the wall when he does it, but he also hates when he can’t understand what Kevin and Neil are saying to each other.

And Bonus:

- Jeremy is really bad at accents. He is initially frustrated by Jean and his French, but once he understands that it is Jean’s first language (that the Moriyama’s took from him), he makes an effort to try and learn. He’s just really, really bad at it. Jean cringes every time he tries, because he speaks with a heavy American accent. Jean is not pretentious about his language, but he is, at the end of the day, French. So when Jeremy says bonjour in that hideous so-Cal accent, it’s in part endearing that he’s trying, but mostly like nails on a chalkboard.

[twomanyfandomshelp]

I’ve been obsessed with the Hadestown musical recently, and last night while trying to fall asleep I had Wait For Me playing, and for some reason, my brain started combining it with the life series. The thought wouldn’t leave me alone, so I grabbed my computer and an hour later had this typed out. Enjoy the chaos of watching me slowly descend into madness and realize that this might not work as well as I wanted it to, but at that point, I was committed, so I just kept typing and ended up with this. This is directly copied and pasted from the Google Doc I created last night at 10 o’clock when I was supposed to be asleep lol

Joel as Orpheus and Lizzie as Eurydice (this is non-negotiable).

Grian or Scar as Hermes? Grian could be Hermes because Hermes is the narrator of Hadestown, and Grian is the founder of the life series. But Scar would be a good Hermes because of his scamming tendencies and general personality.

Ranchers as Hades and Persephone? Cause I feel like Tango fits Hades’ industrial vibe, and Jimmy could be a good Persephone character. Also, I just like this ship.

Another possible Hades and Persephone pairing is Etho and Bdubs. Etho, because of the redstone and also his very mysterious vibe. Bdubs because he’s covered in moss and idk just has kinda the same vibe as Persephone. Both relationships bounce between healthy and adorable to kinda toxic. Could provide some angst? Probably influenced by that one Hermicraft + PJO AU by @/ahllohehn tbh because their parents are Hades and Demeter in that, and there’s even a post making a joke about how their relationship in that could be compared to Hades and Persephone.

The Three Gs (Cleo, Scott, and Pearl) as The Fates (also non-negotiable, I love these three so much, and it just fits so well).

Are there even enough characters in Hadestown to fit all the life series characters? Or would a bunch of them just end up being background characters?

Other Redstoner characters could be the workers in Hadestown building the wall. Mumbo, Impulse, wherever Impulse is, Skizz has to be there too, so even though he’s not a redstoner, maybe he’s there to lift the heavy stuff, idk he’s always portrayed as really buff and an angel, so I’ve decided he gets to be dead with his friends, and then either Tango or Etho, depending on who’s Hades.

What about Martyn? Ren? Gem? BigB? And whoever is left after Hermes and Persephone are chosen. The other Hades would be taken care of by the workers, but what about Grian/Scar and Jimmy/Bdubs?

Fic? How could this be a whole fic? Wouldn’t it just be the story of Hadestown, but change the names? Can’t change the story much, the whole point of Hadestown is that the story is a tragedy, and Hermes knows this, but he keeps telling the story anyway.

Drawings? I don’t have the art talent for that. I still have the sketchbook app on my iPad, I could probably try to figure it out. Tracing?

Drawing of Joel and Lizzie in Orpheus and Eurydice’s costumes from the musical. Pose like that one dip from Rusty Courage’s Dancin’ video. I can picture it so clearly in my head, and I’m so frustrated because I know the second I start trying to draw it, it’s not going to come out how I picture it because I just don’t have the artistic talent for that. It sucks to have a super creative imagination that can create these beautiful images and then hands that refuse to translate the image to paper or screen or canvas or whatever. Sorry for the mini rant about my terrible art skills lol

I felt like the people of Tumblr should see this. Other people think about taxes before they fall asleep at night, I think about combining two of my obsessions and then grab my laptop and type everything out because I’ll be damned if I lose this great idea. Please either reblog this or send me an ask or put your thoughts in the comments; I want to know what y’all think, and am open to suggestions! Who do you think would be a better Hermes? What about Hades and Persephone? Are there any other characters that y’all can think of in Hadestown? Where would you put the other life series members that I couldn’t find a place for? Do you have any match-up ideas that I might not have thought of? That’s all, have a great day!

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

A Natalie bot in the scene where Travis and her are left alone in the cabin so they wanted to do stuff in season 1 episode 7 (Only if you comfort able with a smut bot about Natalie, us as Travis obviously lol)

Natalie Scatorccio Bot (Link at Bottom)

AN: NSFW UNDER THE CUT. I don’t really write NSFW often so I’m a little rusty, I hope you like it though :))

Natalie is burning.

The second that last footstep disappears into the trees, it’s like something inside her ignites—a spark that’s been smoldering for weeks, barely contained beneath the weight of survival, of exhaustion, of never having a single goddamn second to breathe, to feel, to want.

But now, finally, the cabin is empty. And you’re here. And she is not wasting this moment.

Her grip on your wrist is almost bruising as she pulls you through the cabin, her heart pounding so hard it drowns out the creak of the floorboards, the rustling of the wind outside. Her pulse is a drumbeat in her ears, a relentless rhythm of want, want, want.

She all but shoves you into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her before pressing you against the rough wooden wall, her hands already fisting in your clothes, like she needs to hold onto you, to make sure this isn’t a dream, that you won’t vanish like everything else good in her life has.

"Finally," she breathes, but it comes out almost strangled, like she can’t get enough air.

She kisses you hard, almost frenzied, her lips urgent, teeth scraping, fingers digging into your sides. She’s always careful with you, always aware of what you need, but right now, she can’t help it. She needs this. Needs you.

"We’re alone," she whispers against your lips, and it’s almost disbelieving, like she half-expects someone to come bursting through the door, ripping you away from her, because of course something would ruin this.

But nothing does. The cabin is quiet. It’s just you and her, and the press of your body against hers is real. You nod, and that’s all the permission she needs.

Natalie smiles—crooked and wicked and so fucking relieved—before kissing you again, slower this time, savoring the way your lips move against hers. Her hands slide up, fingers threading into your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp. And fuck, she loves that sound. She wants to hear it again.

She guides you back onto the bed, the mattress creaking beneath your combined weight, but she barely notices. All she can focus on is the warmth of your skin, the way your hands grip her hips as she straddles you, the heat coiling in her stomach when she sees the way you look at her—like you need her just as much as she needs you.

"Been waiting for this," she murmurs, dragging her hands up your chest, fingertips teasing over fabric before she grips the hem of her own shirt.

She can’t get it off fast enough, practically yanking it over her head, and then she’s there, bare skin flushed, her red bra a stark contrast against her pale frame.

She sees it happen—the way your breath catches, the way your eyes darken, the way you just stare.

And fuck, it wrecks her.

A choked sound escapes your throat, raw and needy, and Natalie grins, her heart hammering, her skin burning, because finally, you’re here, she’s here, and this moment is theirs.

"Jesus, babe," she teases, tilting her head as she watches you drink her in, chest rising and falling with every uneven breath. "You like it that much?"

You swallow hard, barely able to find words. "You have no idea."

She leans down, her lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, her voice nothing but a breathless whisper. "Then show me."

And fuck, you do.

The second you flip her onto the mattress, pinning her beneath you, a sharp gasp leaves her lips, but it quickly turns into laughter—breathless, giddy, full of something she hasn’t felt in so long.

Your lips are on her in an instant, trailing down her neck, kissing and biting just enough to make her squirm. She tilts her head, giving you more access, her fingers gripping the back of your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll pull away.

"Fuck," she breathes, her voice barely more than a whimper, her body arching into you like she can’t get close enough. Her hands slide under your shirt, nails raking lightly against your skin, and the way you groan—low and rough—sends a fresh wave of heat flooding through her.

"I want you so fucking bad," she whispers, her voice raw, desperate.

And when you kiss lower, lips tracing the curve of her chest, just above the seam of that damn red bra, she swears she might just come undone right then and there. Your lips brush the swell of her breast, her back arching off the bed, pushing herself closer to your mouth. Her fingers tangle in your hair, gripping tight, holding you against her as she lets out a shuddering breath.

"Please," she can’t help but whimper, her voice barely above a whisper, but it's enough. Enough to spur you on, to make you want to give her everything she's been craving. Her nails dig into your scalp as she guides you lower, until your lips close around the stiff peak of her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra.

She cries out, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, her hips bucking up against yours as you suckle and tease the sensitive flesh as your hands slide around her back, finding the clasp of her bra, and with a deft flick of your fingers, you unhook it, letting it fall away.

Natalie's breasts spill free, and you take a moment to admire the way they bounce slightly, the perfect mounds topped with pink, pebbled nipples. Your eyes zone in on the single freckle just on the curve of her right breast. Unable to resist, you place a soft gentle kiss to it before you lean down and take the nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the hardened bud before grazing it lightly with your teeth.

"Oh—," Natalie moans, her head falling back against the pillow, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. And she swears she died and went to heaven

Link -> 🦎

[itsnotamatterofif]

Okay it’s not my lunch break anymore but I am home from hell sorry work and I have the support of the collective tendersteam/Coalectra nation so. For context I have severe sleep debt and I hate my job so I’ve had time to think.

Like, to me (TO ME) Porter and Electra are able to bond over the fact they are both representative of something that was once the shining future, Porter in that he’s representative of the previously shining coal heart of Britain, and Electra in that they’re the brilliant first introduction to electricity in the rails. Now coal isn’t used in the UK beyond specialist industries and heritage rail, and EMUs are literally everywhere, so neither of them, once shining images of power and strength that are now either commonplace or obsolete. Both are presented as established characters with good relationships with other characters, and despite their objective statuses going against their reputation (porter being obsolete and Electra being fairly commonplace) they have respect and a job within the yard. They’re the shining image of what was once the future, now the present and the past, plus them being together is kind of a moot point - neither of them need each other, truly, and an argument could be made that Electra is not a shunter, and should not be supporting Porter in the rails. They aren’t built for each other, but they don’t work together despite the situation, they have to learn to support each other outside of work in the face of obsolescence.

Contrast with Rusty and Hydra, a combination of the disregarded past and an unstable future. Despite their power, neither of them have respect or presence, and are generally regarded as oddities or overzealous in their own claims of their own power. They’re stronger together, and they’re each other’s greatest strength; Rusty is the starlight powered by hydrogen, after all. They’re a theoretical bright, clean future, standing together in the face of adversity, but only as a produce of their own teamwork. Hydra is nothing without an engine to power, Rusty cannot win on his own, and following his conversation to hydrogen, is reliant on Hydra for power.

They’re diametrically opposite in every way - Porter is inefficient, unused, and well liked, Hydra is about as efficient as you can get, in demand, and generally considered an annoyance. Electra is bright and egotistical, strange considering that they’re not as exciting as they think they are, Rusty is determined but more reserved about it, aware of he had to get where he is, and as the worlds first hydrosteam engine, should be much more exciting than he presents.

Porter and Electra as a couple too oppose them, unlabelled, subtle, and really really on tenderhooks the whole time - one wrong statement and they’re on ANOTHER week long break whilst Electra makes a scene about being single and then they’re back together again. Hydra and Rusty, meanwhile, are solid from the get go once Rusty gets over his own hang ups, and are incredibly incredibly public.

I reckon they see each other and get jealous sometimes. Porter wants stability to show his love, Hydra’s worries that Rusty’s love is transactional and sometimes doesn’t want to be as reliant. Electra wants room to be vulnerable, Rusty would like retraction from the public eye.

Is this anything. Chat am I cooked. How does Slickball fit into this. Please god someone help me. I need them injected into my veins I think

[daysofyellowroses]

heaven only knows (chapter one)

david von erich x f!reader | 3k | warnings: none, starting off pretty tame

she's back! (kind of) so..hi! very aware that i have let this blog grow dormant but it was never my intention, things just got a little overwhelming in life and this space wasn't my top priority. but lately i have tried writing some things and nothing was really working, until i was reading over requests i received and noticed a lot of them were based around david and i have been having such an iron claw resurgence lately so i decided to combine the david requests into one big story and break it up into manageable parts which has been very enjoyable i must say! hopefully this beginning is a fun and pleasant read, i haven't written for a while so i feel a little rusty but i'm getting back into it slowly. as much as possible i have tried to avoid any details of the reader, the only thing i had in mind was her being around 20/21 but that's just in my mind. anyway, unnecessarily long monologue over, hopefully you enjoy this!

🌼

“How do you feel?”

“Like I wanna puke.”

“Again?”

“Yes ma'am.”

You laughed softly as you took in the worried look on Mike's face, gently squeezing his arm.

“Don't worry,” You smiled, giving him as reassuring a look as you could muster. “We got this. You got this.”

Mike nodded, still looking a little green around the gills. “Thanks, appreciate it.”

You gave his arm a quick squeeze before letting it go, walking away to pick up your bass from the couch it was leaning against.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to ease your own nerves. It was just like any other gig, you told yourself. Like any other gig, just with an industry scout possibly being in the audience. Absolutely nothing to worry about, no way.

As tempted as you were to seek out a bottle of whiskey to drown your nerves, instead you focused on the instrument you were holding. The last thing anyone needed was you being too hammered to play or even get onto the stage, especially tonight.

The feeling of the strings beneath your fingertips soothed you, it was second nature by now but you still liked to focus, to feel each movement. Sometimes you let your mind drift off while your fingers caressed the strings, playing a song that was well settled in your memory, but in this moment you wanted to be perfect, to walk onto the stage knowing you wouldn't miss a beat.

You glanced up as you heard Mike and Travis talking, resting your arm on your bass. It didn't seem possible that you'd only known them for a couple of months, it felt as though they'd been in your life forever, figures in the background who didn't take centre stage until you all needed each other.

It was pure chance that you happened to meet your fellow band members, or maybe fate. You didn't necessarily believe that everything that was meant to be would be, but you wouldn't ever outright deny the possibility. Had it been fate that led you to them? Or was it just coincidence? After all, it was just a flyer pinned up on a notice board in the supermarket, you could have discovered it any time. Then again, you had only gone to the supermarket because your mum couldn't, on account of her recently broken leg. And, of course, you wouldn't normally read the notices, only that on that particular visit to the supermarket you had to place a notice yourself (kittens free to a good home, the ‘mischievous little devils’ being omitted from the ad), and the flyer with music notes and lightning bolts crudely drawn on it caught your eye. A local band was holding auditions for a bassist and you figured it wouldn't hurt to go and try out.

Now, a couple of months later, here you were in a fancy house that you felt a little too out of place in, about to go and play to a crowd of people you barely knew (and for the most part didn't even have that) including possibly someone who could vastly change your life. It was quite daunting, a little overwhelming and incredibly exciting. You weren't going it alone, you had the boys with you, and you were all in the same boat.

Setting your bass down carefully, you walked over to the unlit fireplace and looked into the mirror above it. As nervous as you felt, you were relieved that you didn't look on the verge of a panic attack, a relatively calm and composed image looking back at you.

You looked at the guys through the mirror, smiling at Mike as he caught your eye.

“Shall we?”

Your heart was in your throat a little as you walked onto the makeshift stage in the ridiculously huge back garden, lit with endless strings of lights, the sea of faces on the lawn blurring together in the shadows. You watched Mike approach the front of the stage, his confidence kicking in as it always did once he got in front of the crowd. You let him get on with the introductions, looking down at your bass and taking a deep breath. Telling yourself on repeat to just enjoy the moment, appreciate being able to do what you loved with people you cared about. Come the next morning you'd be back at work, pouring coffee and serving pie, dreaming of a life better led, so any chance to do that should be taken.

By the time you finished the last song, your adrenaline was pumping and you couldn't keep the smile from your face, wanting to do it all over again. The band had been in fire, the crowd had been electric, and you knew if the talent scout was among them then they'd be seeking you out before the night was over.

After you left the stage and put your instruments away, you and the guys could finally join the party and relax. Once you had a cup in your hand and the pressure dropped from your shoulders the world felt right again, like you could breathe.

While you didn't have a deep and intimate knowledge of most of the partygoers, you didn't need to. People flocked to the band, wanted to be in with you guys before you were even somebody. You didn't let it get to your head, the minimal and vapid attention. A couple of drinks, some chatting, brushing off intense and sloppy flirtations, it was like most Saturday nights.

You found Mike in the bustling kitchen when you went to refresh your drink, leaning against a counter and watching him pop the cap off another beer.

“Having fun?”

“Hell yeah,” Mike grinned, turning to you. His eyes were glassy and bright, his smile infectious. “Are you?”

“Of course,” You smiled, glancing around before spotting a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the kitchen island and stepping over to it. “In spite of..well you know.”

“Yeah,” Mike nodded, clearing his throat. “But there's always next time, right?”

“Absolutely,” You responded, pouring some whiskey into your cup before reaching for a lukewarm bottle of cola. “And maybe next time you'll finally bring those brothers of yours I've heard so much about.”

You grinned as Mike flushed slightly pink.

“Maybe, yeah,” He nodded, rubbing his neck as you laughed softly. “They're just busy a lot, you know?”

“Mm, I know,” You nodded, setting your cup down and leaning on the counter. “I'm just surprised they can't make time for their own brother, not very supportive.”

“They are supportive,” Mike insisted, his glassy eyes going wide. “It's just..a scheduling thing, otherwise they'd be here, honestly they-”

“Mike,” You held your hand up with a smile and an arched brow. “Relax. You know I'm just teasing you. But I am curious..if I talked about my sisters the way you talked about your brothers then you'd want to meet them too.”

“You have sisters?” Mike asked, looking deeply stumped and making you laugh. “I didn't know that.”

“Because it's irrelevant,” You smiled, standing up straight and picking up your cup. “Most people don't really talk about their siblings. But most people aren't you.”

You walked around to him, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “And that's a shame.”

The following morning, you groaned into your pillow as all too bright sunshine began to sneak behind your eyes. Now that you were somewhat awake, a thumping headache made its presence felt, and your stomach twisted itself into a tight knot. You really hadn't intended to drink so much, but you'd been having a good time and when drinking games were suggested they just seemed like harmless fun to round off the night.

Your headache wasn't eased by the sound of your alarm blaring, your arm slowly stretching out from under the covers and giving the clock on your nightstand a smack. There was no point even attempting to call in sick to work, there was barely enough staff when everyone was in full health, never mind on a Saturday morning when half the staff would be praying for a quick death rather than suffering through hangover hell and irritating customers.

Eventually, you dragged yourself from your bed, feeling very much like death warmed up. After a shower and changing into your loathed light blue uniform dress, you made your way downstairs. Choosing to ignore your mother's shouting from the kitchen (it could have been aimed at you, your dad, a sibling, a pet, a neighbour a block over, you never knew) and instead grabbed your jacket. Glancing down as a softness brushed over your leg, you smiled as you spotted Burt (former kitten, now not quite full grown cat) purring contently by your ankle.

“Don't you dare make me late,” You sighed, bending down to scratch behind Burt's ears. “Go find your mama before my mama has a conniption that you're still around.”

You took your keys from the hook by the door and slipped out of the house, the fresh air and sunlight making you long for the dark cosiness of your bed. The hangover was your own doing, but that didn't mean you couldn't be annoyed about it, especially when you only had hazy memories of a good time that weren't enough to justify feeling so shitty. The walk to the bus stop seemed to take a lifetime, your headache pounding with every footstep. It would be a miracle if you got on to the bus instead of laying down in front of it, which was sounding more tempting than having to face work.

As fate would have it, you were stuck with your hangover, which had completely settled in your bones. When you arrived at the diner you took a deep breath as you saw how busy it already was, the long white vinyl counter already full, most of the booths occupied. You quickly headed to the back, wanting to be on the clock before someone asked for a top up or another slice of pie. Even with a jacket still on and no apron it didn't stop some of the customers, and you weren't willing to work for free, especially not today.

Once your things were stuffed in your locker, you grabbed an apron from the kitchen and tied it around your waist. You looked over to the crew of chefs, all of them having at least five different conversations at once, while shouting for the servers to pick up orders or flirting with them relentlessly. You knew at least one of them would have a little pick-me-up available if you wanted, keeping it in mind for later as you clocked in and headed out to the front.

The shift seemed to drag by ten times slower than usual, despite how busy you were. It was halfway through when things finally started to calm, it was still busy but far more manageable. You were on counter duty, which was a small relief to your feet after rushing around all morning. When you had a moment, you let your mind wander to the previous night, particularly the performance. While it had been frustrating that the scout wasn't there, it was still one of your better gigs, and you knew that you would've been snapped up in a heartbeat if the scout had been there. Everyone was on top form, it had all come together perfectly to-

“Excuse me, miss?”

You popped your daydream bubble, looking for the source of the interruption/customer and finding two men standing at the counter who looked a little familiar but you couldn't but your finger on how or if you knew them.

“Hi, how can I help?” an automatic smile was back on your face, your hand reaching into your apron pocket for your order pad. Judging by the size of the men they wouldn't be content with just a coffee. You didn't think people could be so muscular in real life, not that it mattered, of course.

“Could we get three cheeseburgers and three large sodas to take out, please,” The brunette asked with a charming smile, spurring your brain into action to think where, if anywhere, you knew him from.

“Of course, coming right up,” You nodded, scribbling the order down on your pad and glancing up for a moment to find the blonde's eyes on you, a small smile on his face as he looked away. You looked back to the pad, taking a moment before tearing the page off and looking back to the men in front of the counter.

“It'll be a few minutes, if you want to take a seat.”

You walked back into the kitchen, tapping the page against your hand.

“Got a takeout order, anyone free?”

“I got it,” Ed, one of the chefs who had been at the diner so long you suspected he had been born in it, waved over to you, his tattooed arm still well muscled.

“Along with a little proposition for you sweetheart.”

You handed over the order with a raised brow, watching Ed read it over.

“I'm all ears, what is it?”

Ed set the order aside, straightening up with a grin.

“Got a truck out back, it'll take you any place you wanna go, just say the word.”

“Oh really?” You glanced to the back door before looking back at Ed with a smile. “What a tempting offer..especially if you wouldn't be coming too.”

Ed laughed heartily, waving you away as he started on the burgers. You went back out to the counter, finding the blonde sitting alone. He didn't look as familiar as the brunette, but you couldn't shake the feeling you'd seen him somewhere before. He was pretty cute, sitting there in his cartoon t-shirt and blue jeans. Cute, but also looking like he could easily pick you up like it was nothing. Pushing that particular image from your mind, you walked over and stood across from him, meeting his eyes after a moment.

“Your friend abandoned you, did he?”

He laughed, and you felt your heartbeat quicken a beat.

“Not quite,” He shook his head with a smile. “Went to the bathroom. But I don't think he's missed just now.”

“No?” You smiled, folding your arms. “Why might that be?”

“Gives me a chance to talk to you alone,” The blonde grinned, and you had to admire his confidence. Plus, you couldn't recall the last time someone had flirted with you and you wanted more, or even to flirt back and mean it.

“And what did you want to talk about, exactly?” You asked, taking a step closer to the counter. “World peace?”

The blonde smiled as he sat up a little, resting his hands on the counter.

“Well it would be an appropriate topic, I am talking to a beauty queen after all.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't fight the smile, lowering your arms and glancing around the diner.

“That line is about as old as this place.”

“Just means it's a classic,” The blonde held his hands up with a grin.

“If you say so,” You smiled, looking up as you heard a loud giggle from the back corner, the blonde's friend surrounded by three girls before he made his way back to the counter.

“Let me go check in your order,” You told them, enjoying the slight look of disappointment in the blonde's eyes as you turned to walk away.

In the kitchen you found Ed laying it on extra thick with Christina, one of the newer waitresses, who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“I leave for a minute and you're already moving on?” You sighed, walking over to Ed. “I guess that'll teach me not to get my hopes up. You got my order ready?”

“I got the whole world for you darlin,’ just ask,” Ed held his hand over his heart. “And if you don't want it I still got that truck.”

“And I got customers waiting,” You replied, glancing over to Christina as you heard her stifle a laugh.

“So before I drive off into the sunset at least let me do my job.”

Once you had the order, you took the bag and turned to Christina with a smile.

“Could you do me the biggest favour and give me a hand with the sodas for this? Three large, if you could grab just one I'd really appreciate it.”

“Of course, I got it.” Christina nodded, following you back out towards the counter. You placed the bag on the counter in front of the brunette, feeling the blonde's eyes on you.

“Your sodas are just coming,” You told him, glancing to the blonde with a smile before joining Christina by the soda machine and grabbing a cup.

“You okay?” You asked her, taking in the slight flush of her cheeks.

“Yeah,” Christina nodded, glancing over her shoulder before looking back at you. “I just can't believe-”

“Oh don't worry about him,” You smiled, pouring a soda into the cup. “He's a pain in the ass but he's harmless. He'd try it on with a mop if nobody else was available.”

You took the sodas over to the counter once they were ready, watching the men argue for a minute over who was going to pay before the brunette was handing the money over to you with a grin and insisting you keep the change.

“Thank you, much appreciated,” You smiled, glancing at the blonde, who looked annoyed to have lost out but still gave you a smile.

As you were putting the tip in the jar, you looked at Christina, who was watching the window with wide eyes.

“You sure you're okay?” You asked, turning to her. “I can tell Ed to cut the shit if you want, he'll stop.”

“No it’s not that,” Christina turned to you with a grin. “It's..well you know.”

You gave her a confused smile, glancing to the window before looking back at her. “I know what, exactly?”

“It was him!” Christina exclaimed, not exactly easing your confusion. “Don't tell me you didn't recognise him?”

“Then I'll have to say nothing,” You laughed softly. “Because I don't know what you mean. Who am I supposed to recognise?”

Christina laughed, an exasperated look on her face as she touched your shoulder.

“That was Kevin Von Erich!”

[softestqueeen]

ghost🙏😍

it's yours, princess

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader x König (Call of Duty)

summary: On a mission with König and Ghost you have to stay at a safe house. The only problem – there is only one bed.

warnings: : 18+ MDNI!! smut, knife play, threesome (kinda), slight voyeurism, p in v sex, face fucking, porn without plot, cunnilingus, breeding, praise kink, degradation kink (yes, I am aware of the irony), pet names (princess), finger fucking, slight hand kink, masturbating, dirty talk

wordcount: 4256 words

a/n: This is a request from a friend. I've really enjoyed writing something longer and something with kinks I've never really explored! Enjoy <3

Finally, after being on your longest mission so far, you were relieved to be finally at your safe house. The mission is not yet over, but as long as you got some sleep, it didn’t matter to you. Everything that mattered to you right now, was the image of finally getting into a very soft bed, that was currently going through your mind.

“There it is! But it does look kinda small, don’t you think?”, the British man next to you remarked.

And here’s the reason why this mission was so incredibly exhausting. Instead of your regular partners you are on a mission with Simon “Ghost” Riley and König. The men you despised most on this planet.

Because of his paranoia König was still looming around somewhere in the woods, checking for possible threats. But you didn’t mind, every second spent less with one of them, was one second that you could relax a bit more.

The two of them were thick as thieves, but you never liked them. They always thought they were better than everybody else and picked on you because of your size and mostly because of the fact that you were female – the only female on the team to be precise. 

They thought that this minor detail defined you and everything you did. That you were weaker than them and just on the team out of pity. Also, they never called you by your name but always called you ‘princess’, because they thought you were getting a special treatment, even though you didn’t. And sometimes – especially in your first days – hearing stuff like that could get under your skin. So, you decided that you would give them the same treatment they gave you.

You didn’t answer Ghosts question, but instead just kept on walking to what would be your private heaven for the next twelve hours.

In hindsight, Ghost did in fact have a point. That house looked very small for three bedrooms. In fact, it looked like it could barely fit one very small room, a kitchenette, and a shower if you’re lucky. But the idea of a bed sounded too good at the moment, so you didn’t pay this minor detail any more thought.

You wish you did.

The moment you entered the house, your worst fears were confirmed.

You stepped into the living space which had a couch, a counter with a microwave on top, a refrigerator next to it, a table with only two (!) chairs and two doors. You froze in the entry, but after someone made a very unhappy noise behind you, you snapped out of it and stepped further into the room, which combined kitchen, dining room, living room and hell.

But you told yourself, there was still hope that behind one of these still closed doors was an oasis waiting for you.

You turned the doorknob on the first one and entered a bathroom that had as much charm as the kitchen. A rusty sink, a shower, and a toilet. The shower didn’t even have a curtain and you could sit on the toilet, shower, and wash your hands at the same time. You felt like you were about to cry. You could already feel the tears prickling behind your eyes at the realisation that not only you had to live in this shithole, but you had to share it with you your two colleagues who are essentially two mountains of meat.

You got out of the “bathroom” again before closing the door behind you with a sigh. Ghost wandered the small room. Even though you couldn’t see his face through his mask, you could feel the frustration radiating from him.

You choose to ignore him and entered the other room.

Oh-oh.

The room was small, really small. Two people would count as a crowd in there. The worst – there was only one bed. It was king sized at least, but it still meant one of you had to sleep on the shabby couch that probably wouldn’t even fit your smaller frame.

The worst was that you already knew who would have to take the piss and sleep on the couch. There was no way one of the men would give up their place for you. You could feel a tear escaping your eye and running down your cheek before you angrily wiped it away and quickly collected yourself.

You could hear a dissatisfied grunt from the kitchen/living room/dining room which made you leave the most depressing bedroom you’ve ever seen.

You could see that Ghost had rummaged through the one cabinet and only found one of those cheap TV-dinners that you could just pop into the microwave. You just realised that the “kitchen” didn’t even have a sink and that you would have to use the one in the bathroom. 

Could this day even get any worse?

Ghost was still standing there with the TV-dinner in his gloved hand, looking at you. He could see your face fall and if you could see his face, you could see that he did the exact same thing.

You were shocked when Ghost put the frozen meal on the desk in front of you and nudged it into your direction. “It’s yours, princess”, he stated while looking into your eyes. Was it even possible for Ghost to be nice?

You were literally stunned into silence before you realised that a thank you would be appropriate now. “Th- Thank you! We could also share it though. Not even I would get full of this, so it’s better if everyone eats at least a little bit.”

For a moment the two of you were silent, just looking into each others’ eyes. Maybe you didn’t hate each other, maybe you just got off on the wrong foot.

Suddenly Ghost went around the desk between you and stood in front of you. You looked into each others’ eyes and before you could think about it, you said “There’s only one bed.”

Very vell done, that will definitely loosen up the tension between you. Not.

“Well, what now?” Ghost was so close you could feel his breath on your face, even through the balaclava he wore under his mask.

“Someone has to sleep on the couch, if you can even call it that.” You didn’t even know anymore what you were talking about. His scent enveloped you and made your knees get weak. 

He lifted his gloved hands and you almost flinched at the action. He rolled up his balaclava, so his lips were free before he roughly pulled you in by the hips and kissed you.

You froze before you realised what’s happening. Ghost was kissing you. On the lips. You came back to your senses and started kissing him back. You put your hands on his chest and could feel his muscles even through his tactical gear.

You moaned into his mouth, which gave him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You wrapped your hands around his neck and pressed yourself against him. Your broke away for a second to breathe and think about what the actual fuck you were doing right now.

Your literal enemy kissed you and you just let it happen. And even though your mind was still sceptical, your body had clear intentions.

So, deciding that this felt actually way better than you would’ve expected, you dived right back in and pressed your lips against his again.

You had to stand on your tiptoes and strain your neck to be on eye level with Ghost, so he lifted you by the hips like you were a bag of feathers and you immediately wrapped your legs around his waist while he supported your weight by grabbing your ass.

At feeling his hands on your ass, you let another moan slip into his mouth. This new position also made you feel his growing errection against your still clothed pussy.

You could feel yourself getting wetter at the feeling of his body against yours and the incredible feeling of his kisses didn’t help either.

Ghost decided that he wanted to take things further and carried you into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. You had a slight idea where this was going, but you decided that there was something more important at the moment.

He laid you down on the bed, covering your smaller frame with his bigger one, without breaking the kiss once. He was driving you insane. You let your hands wander over his body again, feeling only his strong muscles. You went further down his body and palmed his errection through his trousers. At his size you let out a sigh and started humping against his groin.

But before you got the chance to touch him further, he took both your wrists in one of his hands and pressed them over your head. You let out a gasp before Ghost tsked you. “I’m calling the shits here, princess.”

You didn’t think getting any more turned on was possible but here you where, drenching your panties because of a man you despised just ten minutes ago.

He kissed you again before caressing your body again. He palmed your breasts before squeezing them, making you moan again.

He started to open your tactical suit but couldn’t get too far with just one hand. He straddled your hips, being careful not to put too much of his weight onto you and let go of your wrists.

He gave you a stern look, signalling that even though he let go of your hands, you’re still not allowed to touch him.

You obeyed his silent demand and watched him take out his knife. You stared at the knife and then at his face. Was this all just a trick to put you in a position where he could easily hurt you?

“Do you trust me princess?”, he wanted to know while twisting the knife, making it reflect the light.

One word could literally shatter this moment and both of you were aware of it. He didn’t just ask you because of the knife, but because of all the things he’s going to do to you. The thought of that warmed your hearth but also made you a bit giddy from excitement.

But even through your uncertainty you didn’t have to think long about your answer.

“Yes.” It didn’t take more for him. He took the knife and cut your suit open, slightly grazing the skin with the tip of the knife, making a chill run down your spine.

You leaned forward so your top fell from your body. He didn’t let your sports bra stop him either, and quickly cut through it.

He leaned back and just looked at your now exposed breasts for a moment. Your nipples were hard, and a thin layer of sweat covered your skin. You couldn’t make out his face since it was still covered by his mask. The only thing that made him seem human at the moment was the rising and falling of his chest, which was slightly out of rhythm.

“Fuck are you beautiful princess. Even better than I imagined.”, he murmured under his breath more to himself, but still loud enough or you to hear it.

You couldn’t believe your ears. Did he really just admit that he imagined you naked before? A blush crept onto your face at his words but also at that thought. Seeing the blush on your face, Ghost noticed his mistake. He didn’t want to say that aloud, but his mouth apparently had a different plan. Realising that, a blush also crept on the British mans face, though he would never admit it and you couldn’t see it because of his mask.

He quickly overcame his shock and remembered that he was on top of you. He let the blade of his knife glide over your skin again, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

He slowly circled your breasts with the blade, slowly going closer and closer to your nipples. He leaned down and pecked your lips before circling the tight nub with his knife. The sensation of the cool blade against your hard nipple, made your eyes roll to the back of your head and a moan leave your lips.

He repeated the same motions with your other breast, slowly teasing your breast before circling your nipple again. You were slowly getting frustrated with the amount of foreplay but didn’t dare the comfortable silence that had laid over you in the last few minutes.

After he was done toying with your breasts, he got off you, now standing next to the bed. He lifted you up with ease and put you onto your feet next to him. Before you could ask him what he was doing, he opened your trousers and pulled them down. He also removed your panties in the same manner, muttering a silent ‘fuck’ as he saw how drenched they were.

He simply manhandled you back into the bed, so you were laying down again. You had to admit that it turned you on to see how strong he is and how easy it is for him to manhandle you. In the end the two of you had a size difference from over a foot, so it wasn’t a surprise to you how simple it was for him to carry you around.

Ghost got on top of you again, laying his still completely clothed body onto your bare one. He kissed you again but pulled away way too soon for your liking. You didn’t complain though because he started to kiss down your body. He didn’t leave an inch untouched. He started to kiss your neck, pulling a string of moans from you. He then kissed your collarbone and then put his attention towards your breasts.

He gave them the same treatment he gave them with the knife, first kissing the soft flesh of your breasts before taking on of your hard nipples into his mouth. He sucked on the, licked them and bit down on them. The latter making you arch your back, leaning into his touch. He did the same to your other breast before kissing down your stomach.

He kissed your hips, but instead of putting his mouth to your pussy where you needed him most, he started trailing down kisses your legs instead. You let out an impatient groan at which Ghost only chuckled.

“Patience, princess, patience.”, he said against the soft skin of your thigh. He kissed down one of your legs and then up the other. He kissed and bit down on the inside of your thigh, getting closer and closer to your glistening pussy.

Finally, he licked a stripe along the lips of your cunt, before circling your clit with the tip of his tongue. You let out a string of curses at feeling his tongue finally against your pussy.

“You’re so fucking wet for me princess. I’ve never tasted anyone so divine in all my life.” His words made you blush, and you let out a breathless moan as he dived in again.

He didn’t stress himself, enjoying the feeling of being between your thighs. He pulled your legs onto his shoulders so he could have better access to your pussy. He pulled of a second to pull off his gloves. He revealed strong, veiny hands with long fingers. A flood of wetness rushed through your cunt at the thought of him fucking you with his fingers.

He entered your tight hole with one of his thick fingers, making you moan and buck against him, slowly starting to fuck his hand and face. He didn’t seem to mind as he just kept on eating you out. Slowly he entered another finger, hitting your g-spot perfectly. When he entered a third finger, you started to feel him stretching you out. But you were glad for the preparation before he fucked you with his cock.

When you felt a fourth finger entering you, you couldn’t control yourself anymore. You came with a shout around his fingers while he kept fucking and licking you through your orgasm. He slowly came to a halt and pulled out of you, earning a whine.

“No need to worry, princess. You won’t be empty for long.” Another wave of excitement hit you, as you thought about finally feeling his thick cock inside of you. From what you felt before, he must be at least 9 inches long, which would make him the biggest you ever had.

König was finally done with checking for traps and such when he decided to join the two of you in the safe house. He knew that the three of you didn’t get along too well so he hoped the two of you hadn’t lost it when you found out that the safe house had only one bedroom.

He approached the house from the wrong side, so he had to go around it to be able to enter through the door.

As he came closer though, he heard noises coming from inside of the house. Was that a moan? Was someone hurt? He quickened his step, seeing a figure through the bedroom window. Had he not seen an enemy?

But what he saw did not only shock him, but it also aroused him. There was his best friend between your thighs, while you fisted the sheets and fucked his face. He was speechless.

He could feel his dick coming to life, twitching in his boxers. He fisted his cock through his trousers while watching you cum. He never would have thought that seeing his best friend with a woman would turn him on, but here he was. He decided that he would enter the house, even though he didn’t want to disturb you.

“C’mon princess, take out my cock.” Ghost didn’t have to tell you twice. He was straddling your hips again, so you had to lean up a bit. First, you opened his belt but didn’t bother pulling it out completely, letting the buckle hang to the side. You opened the button of his trousers and pulled his zipper down. You put your hand into his boxers to pull out his hard cock.

You knew he would be big, but nothing could have prepared you for the real thing. Veins were running along his cock, leading to a fat leaking tip. His cock stood upright and almost touched his belly button.

At the sight of it, you could have started drooling. You reached out and pumped him a few times. Your hand almost couldn’t go around his thick shaft, and you imagined how he would feel inside of you.

When you moved to take him into your mouth, he stopped you.

“Another time princess. If I’m not going to be inside of you in the next two minutes, I’m going insane.”, he told you before demanding, “And now on get on all fours for me, princess.”

He got off you and helped you get on all fours. He gave his cock a few jerks before he got behind you. With one hand on your hip and the other one guiding his cock to your entrance, he entered you with his fat tip.

If you already felt full of just his tip, how were you going to feel with his entire length? He entered you slowly, inch by inch. He also put his other hand on your hip and thrust into you, filling you up with his thick length.

When he was finally settled completely into you, you let out an almost pornographic moan. You swore you could feel him inside of your stomach. You’ve never felt this full in your life. He didn’t fuck you though, but he leaned down and whispered directly into your ear.

“Can you hear that princess? Can you hear König? Do you want him to see what a good little slut you were for your lieutenant? How well you are taking my cock?” You whimpered at his filthy words. You could only nod as you heard the door to the house opening.

“Simon? Princess? Where are you?”, Königh shouted, even though he knew exactly where the two of you were. He entered through the door and at the sight of Ghost’s cock inside of you, he almost came into his pants.

But Ghost only grinned, he could feel you clenching around his cock, the thought of being watched while fucking did not just arouse him, but you too.

“Hey, König. Found any traps?” Ghost said as if he wasn’t inside of you and split you open. König could only shake his head, being stunned into silence.

“If you want to, you can watch, König.” Ghost proposed and you had to suppress a moan. He only nodded and left the room. Why did he- oh. He got one of the chairs and put it next to the bed. He sat down, spread his legs, and started to open his trousers. “Please, don’t let me stop you. Go on.”

That’s all it took.

Ghost pulled out completely before he slammed into you again. You fell forward, your chest being pressed against the bed. Ghost did not like that at all, so he took one hand off your hip and wrapped it around your throat to pull you up. He was holding you up with one hand while you just let loose, getting lost in the feeling of him inside you.

Meanwhile, König pulled out his cock and started jerking off to you two fucking. His cock was of similar size, if not a bit smaller.

At the image of taking both of their cocks at once, your pussy clenched around Ghost again, making him groan.

“You’re doing so good for us, princess. You look so pretty, all cock drunk.” Ghosts’ words brought you impossibly close to the edge. But you tried to control yourself, wanting to cum together with him. But König’s groans were not making it any better.

The picture of him jerking off to you two fucking was sinful but also incredibly turning on.

Ghost started to pick up in speed, mercilessly hammering into you. It was almost too much now, his balls grazed your clit with every thrust, making you see stars.

He took his hand away from your neck and you slumped against the bed again. You thrust against him, arching your back so he could fuck you deeper. At the new angle you felt like you were about to pass out. He kept on fucking you like he hated you and you love it. You had never felt this good in all of your life if you’re being honest.

Ghost leaned forward, covering your body with his, his thrusts not faltering. He leaned down to your ear. “Cum for me princess and I’ll fill you up with my cum. Be a good girl for me and König.”

And that was all it took. You let out a cry and came. You saw black for a second and the feeling of Ghosts cum inside of you, made a second wave of pleasure roll over you. Ghost grunted and cursed while he filled you up with ropes of his thick white cum.

Only when he had emptied his balls he started to slow down and pull out of you. After catching his breath, he leaned down to you and flipped you, so you were now laid out on your back. Ghosts cock was already softening as he put it back into his trousers.

“You want to cum in her too buddy or do you want to blow onto her?” Ghost asked König who was still jerking his cock.

You were still catching your breath when you noticed a shift in the room. Ghost was now sitting in the chair and König was standing on edge of the bed. He pulled you by the ankles to him and threw your legs over his shoulders.

As he entered you, you could feel him stretching you out. Not as much as Ghost but he was still bigger than most of the men you’ve slept with. He started thrusting into you at a relentless paste.

He leaned down and almost bent you in half as he kissed you, his mask long gone. You moaned into his mouth as he kept on fucking you. You could feel his thrusts getting sloppy and you knew he was close. If you were being honest, it didn’t need much more for you either.

The feeling of König fucking Ghosts cum into you, his cock hitting your sweet spot, his lips against yours – you were so close.

With one final grunt, König came to a halt and filled you with his cum. The sensation of his cum filling you, mixing with Ghost’s and trickling out of you, sent you over the edge. You screamed into his mouth as you clenched around him.

When both of you caught your breath, König let go of your legs and pulled out of you. He tucked himself away, while Ghost entered the room with a wet cloth. He cleaned you up and pecked your lips.

They helped you into your underwear and into a pair of their spare shirts, before laying down next to you. You were now sandwiched between the two soldiers. “Well, if this is how all of our missions go, we should work together more often.”, you said. The laugh of the men was the last thing you heard before falling into a restful slumber.

I hope you enjoyed these 4k words of smut, that I will 100% go to hell for. (It was worth it tho) Please leave some notes if you liked my fic (likes, reblogs comments)

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