#gear head-supreme

[navree]

genuinely would love for some of the "both parties are the same" people to name me a single election in the entirety of the twenty first century where the outcome for the country wouldn't have been better if a democrat had won

[rebloggiedoggie]

something about Blitz gearing up for a fight, because he thought stolas would fight back. Blitz has had this wrong idea of Stolas in his head this whole time: untouchable, uncaring, playing with his feelings. If you only see the scenes of interaction with Blitz and block out every scene of turmoil and emotion, it's kind of easy to see things from Blitz's perspective.

Because Stolas really is supremely stronger than Blitz, and that's confirmed to him in Truth Seekers when he sees his real demon form. That confession scene to Blitz was literally all wrong: too soft, too caring. Obviously a sexual roleplay of some kind and if he got the wrong idea then he was the fool.

When he understands what Stolas is saying his first reaction is anger but specifically at Stolas saying "that's enough to know what this is" because...why the fuck can you choose for both of us what this is? aren't you gonna give me like two seconds to consider this? You're not even gonna let me express myself bc my opinion is worth nothing to you etc.

So he gets angry about something more pressing that comes to him quicker than understanding, which is Stolas' usual treatment of imps in his presence or how he feels smaller and used.

Then he straight up gears up for a fight with "Let's go!". What he probably imagined Stolas to say back was some kind of possessive pretentious thing or even to attack him: because Blitz has felt more like his property, at the hands of a puppeteer so much stronger than him.

But that's the thing, he doesn't know how Stolas truly is, how kind he actually is. So just at the very end when he cries he understands that all this image he's built up of him in his head is wrong. not only can he get hurt physically, but emotionally too.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Marvel

Dumb, Dumber and Dumbass by tempestaurora

As Coach Wilson peered out the window in the living room, May said, very quietly, “You didn’t realise your brother worked at Peter’s school?”

“We all make mistakes!” Sam hissed.

Then Coach Wilson was leaning back and a figure in a hoodie and jeans stepped through the window and into the living room, and Peter’s heart sank into his stomach like a rock. Sam’s brother was, true to story, scarred from head to toe. He could see the puckered skin on his hands, the burns across his bald head. But that wasn’t the shocking part—the shocking part was that he’d already seen it before: he’d seen it when a certain vigilante’s suit had been destroyed three nights before, and Peter had walked with him back to his backpack to loan him some clothes.

“This is Wade,” Sam introduced.

Sam Wilson had two brothers: one was Peter’s gym teacher, and the other was fucking Deadpool.

OR: A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Family Dinner, during which Peter and May meet Sam's family. Meanwhile, Tony sends constant text updates about his search for whoever graffiti-ed Avengers Tower.

Death Before Inaction by hppjmxrgosg

"Fuck off, Nicky.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Hasn’t anyone ever told you spider-napping is illegal?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “You can’t hold me here, I know my spider-rights.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “God, you guys are so old. What are you? Like 27?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Scale of 1 to 10, how upset would you be if I told you I banged your mom?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Or, I got my grubby little hands on the spider-man time line and fucked around a little bit. Not much (everything) changes.

DC / Star Wars (Crossover)

Obi-Wan in Gotham by hoebiwan (+ podfic)

Obi-Wan falls through a hole in the universe and ends up in the Batcave.

Clone Wars

the war has just begun by unintentionalgenius

The first problem was that the Supreme Commander didn’t give them enough warning about what they were stumbling into, when they were ordered out into it. Someone above General Kenobi’s head sent the men planetside in standard-issue gear, without thermal clothing or heat packs or sleeping kit or enough food for more than a single day. They had no extra ammo, no tents, no heavy artillery. They had barely any warning.

The second problem was that Supreme Command underestimated the strength of the enemy; it was supposed to be an easy enough job, holding the planet long enough to route the Seppies and then right back to the ship, leaving a contingent of troopers stationed there to retain what they’d won.

The third problem - the real problem - came when they let themselves become surrounded and the Separatists cut their supply line. Cody’s partially at fault for that one; a better Commander would’ve seen it coming. A better Commander would’ve had more backup plans, been prepared for more contingencies.

Being cut off from re-supply would’ve been a problem before the snow started.

Then the snow started.

I've never made it with moderation by Trixree (+ podfic)

He’d known how some of the men are with younglings—known from Waxer and Boil how sharply those attachments can form with little ones. Hell, the men were raised to be protective, so much so that Obi-Wan has often wondered if their protective drive was not written into their very atoms, some intrinsic part of their DNA.

It wasn’t something Obi-Wan had ever questioned. He’d thought he had understood the scope of it. In reality, he hadn’t understood a thing.

Not until Kamino.

Or: Not all that dive from cliffs make a running head start. Sometimes, the Fall is only a natural progression.

Standards of Professionality by Trixree

"Are we going to pretend I didn’t just find you fucking your General, vod?” Rex hisses over private-comm.

Cody doesn’t even turn his head to look at him. Rex can hear the smile in Cody’s voice when he replies, “No, because I am not fucking my General, Rex’ika. I am fucking Obi-Wan. We are professionals.”

5 times Cody and Obi-Wan struggled to maintain plausible deniability regarding their affections for one another + 1 time they decidedly Did Not.

The Hunger Games

Lover & Loner by amateurwordbender

Haymitch once told him that he’s a survivor. It hadn’t been a compliment; he’d slurred out the words in pity after finding Finnick shaking apart from a panic attack.

Jo’s a survivor, too.

(Finnick and Johanna, from the moment they meet to the bitter end)

Original Works

for the want of a jewel by FormlessVoidbeast

With his country fallen to the unstoppable tide of the Dread Warlord, a terrified king sends a peace offering of his own flesh and blood in the hopes of buying leniency.

When Prince Damian of Miska is accepted as the symbol of his country's surrender and immediately wedded to the Warlord, he expects his fate to be both painful and humiliating, and his death inevitable. To his confusion, the Warlord and his terrible Warlock seem to have no interest in abusing that which they have claimed as their own. As Damian finds his feet and gains friends in a new land, he begins to question everything he once thought was true.

But some jewels were never meant to be sold, and the consequences of Damian's sacrifice are more far-reaching than anyone expected.

[bonezone44]

but pervy roller derby coach joel and seasoned derby girl fucking in joels truck after a bout when ezra finds them with the windows all fogged up… ofc he joins in

You fucking know it!

Roller Derby Coach!Joel Miller x F!Reader x Boyfriend!Ezra

tags: unprotected p-in-v, double creampie, Ezra and Joel being spiteful towards one another. praise, degredation, use of the word "whore" but in a sexy way

--

He wanted to offer you a personal congratulations after helping your Jammer get point after point, resulting in your team's win. 157 to 163. It was a close one and your offense is what made the difference. Joel lost count of how many times you knocked the opposing Jammer off the track, running them back and killing their spirit. He's surprised you still have any energy left after all that work.

But here you are in his truck with him, bouncing on his cock like it's nothing. You got nothing on but your sports bra and youre soaked in sweat with your gear airing out in his flat bed.

Then Ezra’s wandering around the parking lot outside the rink, wondering where the hell you are because there's an after party to go to. And he already smoked a couple joints with the referees, and you still hadn't appeared. Then he sees the foggy window, the way the truck is bouncing, and he can't help but creep closer. His whole body floods with heat when he sees your gear. He looks around, sees if anybody has eyes on him before opening up the passenger door.

"Shit!" Joel curses.

You both stop in a panic. Your hands gripping his biceps to stabilize yourself.

Ezra's all smiles. "You don't think she's done enough work tonight, Coach?" He chuckles at your silent, shocked faces. He climbs inside and shuts the door behind him. "Our superstar here requires appreciation. Not more strain on her supremely effective musculature." He crawls closer.

"How 'boutchu--" Joel begins.

Ezra wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss.

Joel’s hands are still tight on your hips. Watching Ezra's tongue meet yours makes his cock twitch and pisses him off at the same time. He grunts.

Ezra's hazy eyes slide over to Joel's after he pulls away from you. "How 'bout I what, Joel?"

Joel snarls and shoves Ezra back with a broad palm to his chest. "How 'boutchu see with your eyes and not with your hands?" He turns back to you. "She's mine right now, and I ain't gonna let you touch her 'til I'm done with her."

Ezra chuckles and undoes his pants, pulling his hardening cock out. "Go ahead and fill her up good, then." He smirks and begins to stroke himself. "Patience is a virtue, and although I am far from a virtuous man, I have been known to wander briefly on the path of the principled." He breaths deeply through his nose, taking in the smell of sweat and sex. "A path more easily endured when enticed by heavenly rewards."

Joel rolls his eyes. "Does he ever shut the fuck up?"

Ezra chuckles again. "You best make haste, old man, before that little blue pill wears off and you go softer than an ice cream cone in the Fourth of July sunshine."

Joel smirks at Ezra and shakes his head. He turns back to you, his hands slide up your sides, grip your breasts through your bra. "You ever seen me take a pill?"

"No," you shake your head. You're so overwhelmed by the situation, you're surprised you were able to say anything at all. And Joel's strong fingers are working your chest, working the muscles in your hips and thighs.

"I don't need no pill," he says with a haughty grin, thrusting up into you. "I don't need her to ride me, neither," he adds for good measure. "I can make her come with my cock alone." He holds you still and you angle your hips slightly as his own hips jump in the seat. "Come on, baby. Show 'im how good this cock is. Come on, now."

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and dig your face into his neck, moaning and keening with every strong thrust. You hear Ezra moaning, too. You turn your head to the side and see him panting, biting his lips. He goes from jerking himself off to squeezing his cock at the base and shaking it, staving off his orgasm with a desperate look on his face. It's all so much, you're sent over the edge--your orgasm barely noticable amidst Joel's relentless assault. How can you come down when everything around you is still building and escalating?

"Gonna fill this pussy up, now," Joel groans. His meaty claws close and spread your asscheeks as he begins to grind into you.

You try to remind yourself to breathe as you squeeze him tighter, whimpering and panting.

"Gonna give you all this come," he groans again and you feel a rush of warmth inside of you.

"Come here, baby," you hear Ezra speak up. "Lemme feel that." And before you know it, you're in Ezra's lap. His cock slides readily into yours and he pants and moans pathetically. "Oh fuck, oh shit, oh shit, baby. That's so good." His hips are barely moving as he holds you close against him, but the squelch of your messy pussy is loud. "Mmmm-that's so good. that's that good shit right there. Oh fuck, baby. Gonna fill you up, too. Mmhmm--gonna give you that sloppy cunt, huh? You like that, baby?" His eyes go wide and you're locked in, nodding and agreeing to whatever he says. "You like bein naughty? You like being filthy?"

At this point, it doesn't matter what either of them say. You'll agree to just about anything that comes out of their mouths--and their cocks.

"Fuckin filthy," he mutters with a snarl and brings his hand down to your ass with a harsh, solid slap. "Fuckin filthy whore. Nnnngg---" He comes inside of you.

You feel dizzy. Spent. Tired. Dazed. You should probably hydrate soon. And you wonder if anyone else on the team is looking for the three of you. You hope Joel has some napkins somewhere in his car, but you're not too worried because you have a pack of wet wipes in your gear bag. You never thought you'd use them for something like this, but... so it goes.

No one suspects a single thing at the after party. You throw back a few shots with your teammates and leg wrestle on the bar floor. You dance to the salsa music someone is playing on the juke box. You consider doing those pelvic floor exercises you saw on youtube once.

------------

a/n: I love life and I love being alive.

[ineffablyruined]

A Game of Spy vs Spy

(Or is it more Mr. & Mrs. Smith?)

Buckle up, because this one's about to get a little.. out there? Maybe. You decide for yourselves. I had this thought at 3am and I couldn't get it out of my head.

This following is based on two assumptions:

1. Aziraphale has a Plan (capital letter included) - see my explanation of why I believe that's the case in this post.

2. Crowley has been working on his own Plan since he dawned there Tactical Turtleneck - see this brilliant post by @justhereforthemeta .

Putting the rest under a Read More because it's a little lengthy.

To summarize both in case you don't have time to read both posts:

1. I believe Aziraphale's scary smile in the elevator is a smile he learned from spending so much time around Crowley and that it's reflective of him coming up with a plan to avert the Second Coming that he thinks is so clever that Crowley would absolutely approve.

The fact that Crowley is seen wearing his Super Secret Spy Gear multiple times throughout the series means he's actively working on his heist. He's plotting, he's planning. He disappears on Aziraphale when the angel is remembering Job. Disappearing on Aziraphale? That's not like Crowley at all.

2. Crowley is so enamored with the spy life (bullet hole decals anyone?) that he begins plotting a heist as soon as he finds out the Book of Life is a threat to Aziraphale. And the turtleneck is his spywear.

Crowley saves Aziraphale. It's his thing. He's done it over and over, countless times throughout history.

But listen to what Aziraphale says. Rescuing me makes him so happy. Rescuing me.

And the times Crowley asked Aziraphale to run away with him? Well, those times, it wasn't Aziraphale's life that was threatened. It was Crowley's. Hell found out he screwed up the baby switch? They were coming for him, not Aziraphale. Armageddon't? Isn't it demons that burn in a fiery pit for eternity when the world ends, not angels?

My point is.. M' point is..

Crowley isn't asking Aziraphale to run away with him at the end of Episode 6 only to chance The Metatron erasing Aziraphale from the Book of Life when they get there.

Crowley already has the Book of Life.

My bet? He had a little side project up in Heaven with Muriel off-camera. He was wearing the beige turtleneck after all.

And when we leave Heaven?

Turtleneck gone. Mission accomplished.

But let's not stop there!

Because Aziraphale has a Plan of his own now that he's returned from Heaven. And I'm betting at least part of it involves the Book of Life. And when he goes to look for it? GONE! And when he checks the files? Sure enough, there's Crowley sneaking it into his pocket. (And if we get an "Oh Good Lord" repeat at seeing Crowley's Heaven outfit, I'm not going to complain).

Alternatively, Heaven is going to find it missing, and they're going to know it was Crowley who took it and Aziraphale has to get it back to try to save Crowley.

Either way, he's going to have to get it.

And I'm betting Mr. BackOnHisOwnSide Crowley isn't going to be too forthcoming when the Supreme Archangel asks for it back.

And let the Spy vs Spy hijinks commence.

..................

Below is one conversation I've dreamed up in my head about all this, if you're into that kind of thing. Enjoy:

Crowley: If only I had access to a place with a truly ridiculous number of old books where one new addition would go completely unnoticed.

Aziraphale: Well, it's a good thing I know this bookshop better than anyone then, isn't it?

Crowley (bearing his teeth): I've reorganized.

Aziraphale: *gasp*

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

heyyyy ariiii happy sunday!! (if its still sunday for you)

heres a free pass for anything you feel like!

Clark looked down at the phone on your tool chest that had not stopped ringing. Fuckboi Prime was all it said on the screen. And given that you hadn't so much as turned your head, he assumed you weren't concerned.

But. Still. He didn't understand giving people funny names in your phone. And he wondered what his was. Or if he had one. Did he have a Fuckboi title?

You were at the Watchtower to do some maintenance. Checking some of the stuff you made. Hell if Clark knew what, Just that- wll. He kinda liked watching you work. There was an artistry there. Just as much muscle memory and effort as your skating.

"You gonna answer that?" he asked," leaning against the wall near where you were welding.

"To unsnarl Bruce's new mess? No. He adopted a child. I'm not going to help raise him."

"What-"

"Blah blah trauma. Blah blah sad. Blah blah I don't understand how to respect boundaries and let other people have lives."

"Fair but how did anyone let him do that?" Clark asked blinking.

"No one let him so much as it just kinda happened," you sigh. "I sent gear. And my condolences to Alfred but I'm not going back to Gotham while he's still messing with Selina."

"Fair," Clark said, keeping his tone neutral. Waiting as you lift your face mask and wipe sweat off your face before stealing a kiss. "You okay?"

"Frustrated."

"Also fair. Do you want-"

"Don't get involved," you plead, "I just- God I'm so tired. If fucking feels like he tried to baby trap me."

Clark snorted, "It seems like that," he admitted. "Is he trying to get you to come home?"

"As if I know how to do anything with kids- for fucks sake. Jackie let me live on canned Ravioli and apple sauce for the first year I lived with him for the most part."

"You lived though. And became a world-class Athlete."

"Yeah. But Bruce has Alfred. And a pretty solid staff. He doesn't NEED me. He just doesn't like that I'm not there."

Clark smiled a little and swept a sweat-damp strand of hair out of your face. "I'm proud of you," he said, "I know it sucks. But you deserve to live your own life."

You sigh and thud your head against his chest tossing your mask on the table.

"I do have one question though," he hummed.

"Hmm?"

"If Bruce is Fuckboi supreme in your phone, what am I saved as?"

"Clark, what else would you be?" you ask looking up at him, "Did you want-"

"No! No, Clark is good. My name is fine."

[sadlynojellybeans]

Please, imagine a post-TOA scenario in which Apollo manages to become Co-Director of CHB.

He can now spend as much time as he wants with the kids. Better even, he can share his passions with them, unbury his teacher abilities (coughGodofKnowledgecough) and combine his desire to share what he loves with his desire to help the demigods improve their lives. I bet he would introduce new music, art and poetry courses. He would help with archery lessons, but he could also help with other things. He is over 4600 years old. That is a lot of time to get good at or at least knowledgeable about things, even if they are not strictly part of his domains. Furthermore, I think he would simply be delighted to listen to the kids share their own passions.

Apollo would ask Harley about his creations, starting a passionate rant that ends up with the both of them in the forges and Apollo maiming a piece of metal, because he might be the god of arts and crafts but metalworking is not his thing.

Apollo would hear by chance the kids from the Aphrodite cabin either complaining about fashion or gossiping with each other and would not be able to resist joining the conversation. I imagine him and the kids having "girls' night" kind of meetings where they put on make up, nail polish, try on different outfits and complain to their heart's content about the silliest things.

I imagine Apollo, theatre kid supreme, deciding there needs to be a theatre course in CHB, and butting heads with Dyonisus because "What do you mean you what to teach them theatre, theatre is MY domain!". I imagine Dyonisus finally agreeing to co-teach because like Hades he is leaving Apollo in charge of a theatre production. I imagine Dyonisus seeing Apollo teach the kids for the first time (because of course up until then D tried to stay as far away from the demigods) and being shook to the core by how much Apollo cares, by the passion and attention he puts in everything. By how close he let himself become to the mortals (so stupid, he of all gods should know how it ends, how it always ends, even when tragedy does not cross their paths but their life just makes its natural course).

I imagine someone suggesting a musical for the next production and Apollo literally lighting up because that is a fantastic idea, all the while Dyonisus complains he will not stand for it (but is secretely pleased to see his brother so incandescently happy, especially after the difficulties of the last few years).

I imagine Apollo, sooner or later, coming up with the idea of adding philosophy classes (because apparently that's also part of his domains) and he starts all of them with apparently inane questions ("what is the best shape for potato chips?) that then devolve into deep discussions about the meaning of beauty, individuality and life once he keeps pushing the kids to explain themselves and their opinions.

I imagine the Hermes kids realising that Apollo has a tendency towards starting tangents and making up a game of seeing how far they can make him stray from the original topic of the class without him noticing. Once Dyonisus happens to pass by and asks why the hell they are talking about the cut of women's dresses in the 1400s when they were supposed to be learning beginner guitar. Apollo just stares at his brother for a moment, completely baffled, then looks at the kids around him, down at the guitar in his hands, and you can hear the gears turning in his mind, trying to figure out what happened. Even after he figures out, he keeps falling for it, because they are asking, it wouldn't be fair not to answer, especially when it's such a simple little, question... Eventually someone (probably a child of Athena) is put in charge of keeping him on track, to the great displeasure of Cabin 11.

Just imagine all of this. He is happy. He is with the people he loves, doing what he loves.

Life is good.

[thesupreme316]

how would the aew boys react to you breaking your nose if you can can you add Kenny thank you love you work🌺

AEW Stars React To: You Breaking Your Nose

yall are so sweet; thank you for supporting lil ol me ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Pairings: Kenny Omega x Reader, Eddie Kingston x Reader, Hook x Reader, Ricky Starks x Reader, Wheeler Yuta x Reader, Christian Cage x Reader, Santana x Reader,

Word Count: 920

Supreme Speaks: idk if I've done this before but here you go! thanks to anon for requesting this. please remember that you are loved and appreciated.

Warnings: mentions of father abandoning a bastard (typical Christian things), not proofread, mentions what happened for the reader to break their nose

Taglist: @wwenhlimagines @hooks-martin @hookerforhook @cassie0sstuff @triscillal @sheinthatfandom @eddie-kingstons-wifey

Kenny Omega (During training)

Kenny heard a small crack and immediately picked you up

Does not allow you to re-enter the ring and takes you to the doctor

Looks up home remedies to help you

Understands that you’re angry and tries to figure out ways to relieve you

“Do you want a coloring sheet? No, I don’t think you’re a child- okay now you’re acting like one…Yeah-uh”

Tells you stories about when he broke his (I can’t remember if he did) or his friends broke theirs

He tries to distract you from the pain by his jokes or practicing promos in front of you

Will intentionally mess up for you to smile

Kenny’s really upset that you’re injured but tries to brighten your day by any means possible

Eddie Kingston (Your opponent intentionally injured you)

I feel like I always say this…..EDDIE IS BIG MAD

Eddie is big on respect…he’ll respect you as long as you respect him and those he keeps close to him

Once he saw the ref throw up the X sign, oh Penta and Fenix had to hold him back from going to the ring

Then he saw your bloody face….he started to cuss out your opponent

And then he cussed out Kenny and the Bucks for allowing someone with bad blood to go against you

Will drive you personally to the hospital cause he needs to lay eyes on you

He’s ticking in so much anger that you’ll need to calm him down

“I’m fine doll, I just hate how a shithead couldn’t contain their displeasure to themselves. On the bright side, you still looked like a god/goddess....betta than their hating ass”

Santana (You took an extreme bump in the ring)

You took a facebuster on the ladder and then bounced off, rolling outside of the ring

Listen, this man would be the one to stop watching your match just out of fear (he hates you getting hurt)

Like he physically cannot watch the match anymore

Once he saw blood dripping down your face, he automatically asked for the match to be stopped or at least for you to stop participating

When you come backstage, he automatically hugs you as he doesn’t care about the blood on his shirt

“Mi amor, you scared me out there…I thought I had to go jail while you go to the hospital”

You have to hold him back from cursing out your opponent(s)

Distracts you with food and cuddles (DONT @ ME)

Wheeler Yuta (Your opponent accidentally injured you)

Baby boy is sad

He just looks like someone knocked the wind out of him; he hates seeing you bleed

Is subconsciously mad af at your opponent

Will literally baby you for the rest of the day, week, month, hell even year

“You’re not gonna take any more knees to the face. I won’t allow it….NO BIG BOOTS EITHER”

I think he would be the one to buy protective gear for you while Bryan and Mox look on in concern as he picks up everything in the damn store

He thinks that breaking your nose limits all activity and movement for you

Will not let a minute go by without him saying how pretty you are (with and without a straight nose)

Hook (Someone was trying to fight him and they hit you)

Okay…… man is literally the devil

Will make sure that you are okay before tossing the person over his head

He is punching the shit out of them until he looks over at you and sees blood

Hook gives one more punch before carrying you to a safe corner

He immediately gets you ice before taking you to the doctor

Feels guilty about you getting hit, mentally beats himself up

“I’m so sorry that I allowed that to happen.”

I truly do think that Hook would feel so bad and will try his best to make it up to you in any way possible

Will buy flowers, bears, food, a nerf gun (whatever your heart desires)

Ricky Starks (You hit a door)

Imma be honest….he laughed at you

Like full-on cackled as soon as you made contact with the door (it sounded like an evil witch)

But stopped once he saw blood pouring down your face

Feels like a jackass as he brings you to the doctor (I also think he is saying sorry repeatedly)

Once he hears the word surgery, he offers to pay for it

As your spirit starts to pick up and you feel like yourself after the initial wave of shock

Ricky will go back to laughing at you

Will joke about your nose only when you're comfortable and accepting of the fact

“It’s not my fault you got your ass kicked by a damn door”

Christian Cage (A fan threw something at you)

He’s suing and kicking out the bastard who threw the object at you during the meet-and-greet

Tells security to get him and sends Luchasuarus for extra support

He immediately shuts down his booth and walks you to medical support

Sends a tweet that calls out people who think that was cool and okay

“You’re a disappointment, no wonder your father left you”

Holds you and whispers caring thoughts that only you can hear

Buys anything and everything you need (already paid for the surgery)

Offers to buy a security squad so you can protect yourself

[daddyhausen]

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ 「 KINKTOBER DAY SIXTEEN : DOUBLE VAGINAL PENETRATION 」 ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST 」

「 COMMISION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 SUMMARY 」 — both brothers desired you but their competitive streak gets in the way

「 WARNINGS 」 — 18+, [ MINORS DNI ], dvp, dom!reader, handjobs, sharing, praise, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, vaginal creampie, squirting, internal cumshot

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 1.1k

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x the young bucks

「 GENRE 」 — smut

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 TAGLIST 」 — @cosmoholic13 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @adamjf @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @violetmacher @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @ripleyswife @selena-tyler-564 @auburnwrites @biforrollynch

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

their competitive arguing could be heard down the hall

the brothers seemingly frustrated at their loss of their match

and the subsequent loss of their best friend in one kenny omega

nick seemed more level headed of the two surprisingly

while matt’s tempter tantrum raged throughout the arena

the pair storming into the locker room

fury ravaged both their faces

their gaze soften upon meeting yours

it was nothing special in particular in your appearance that made them stop and stare

you were always the calming force behind their fury

a simply smile from you could melt their frozen hearts instantly

matt fell to his knees breathlessly between yours

his head resting upon your thigh as he gazed up apologetically at you

“i’m sorry…” he muttered softly against your thigh

“don’t be sorry” you cooed sweetly, a hand running through the damp strands of matt’s hair

“you boys did so well” nick took a seat beside you, sighing heavily

despite his calm demeanor, he was burning with anger, betrayal

matt’s lips gently peppered kisses to your exposed thigh, inching closer and closer to your covered sex

nick eyed him curiously, the younger brother fuming with jealously

“what are you doing?” nick remarked

“what does it look like, idiot” matt responded with his usual sarcastic quip, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts

“you lost. you don’t deserve to fuck her” nick placed a protective hand on your thigh

“and what gives you the right to say that huh? last time i checked dumbass, you lost too-“

“well you ate the damn pin!-“

“boys! enough!!” you retorted sternly

“if you keep this up than neither of you get to fuck me”

they cut their act momontarily, offering each other almost apologetic glances

“now…” you started “you boys gotta learn to share”

you pat the seat beside you, offering matt to follow along

he quickly got up, taking his place beside you

slowly you pried his ring gear down, freeing his cock from the elastic restraint, slowly beginning to stroke his size

matt shuddered with a shaky breath instantly writhing against the pleasure of your hand

you began to place chaste kisses to his jawline, adoring the whimpers that left his lips

your free hand reached back, beginning to palm nick through his own gear

the younger brother let out a prolonged groan, the simple touch leaving his mind in a daze

nick’s fingers reached down into your shorts, rubbing small circular strokes against your clit

you whimpered against matt’s lips, quickly breaking the kiss to give the same attention to his brother

nick’s kiss was more feverish, the subtle rage that bubbled underneath only added to his passion.

he retrieved his cock, grabbing your wrist and wrapping your hand around his shaft

both brothers mumbled and moaned with pleasured obscenities

nick’s fingers dancing around your clit

while matt’s gripped the arm rests of the couch, desprate and needy for release

“oh god…” matt groaned, cock feverish and swollen

“you close pretty boy?” you cooed with a small whimper as nick’s finger curled upward inside your cunt

matt nodded, bitting his bottom lip to suppress his moans

his seed spilling over your knuckles in spurts of warm white, his breath labored as you continued to pump his cock

nick removed his fingers from your void, averting your gaze from his brother to himself

you released matt’s cock, the older brother gasping in relief

you did not want to waste anymore time with them

poor nick would have one orgasm less than his brother it may seem

quickly releasing nicks cock as well, sitting on his lap motioning from a still recovering matt to stand behind you

matt postitioned himself in the directions you told him too

standing behind you as nick pried your shorts down your thighs

your pretty cunt glistening under the dim locker room lighting

matt gulped thickly, still breathless from his first orgasm

you lifted up your hips, allowing nick’s cock to snake between your thighs

grazing the tip against your soaked walls before eventually slotting himself in with ease

a soft shudder escaped the younger of the two’s lips as he butied himself fully inside you

“c’mon pretty boy. don’t be shy” you teased matt playfully

grinding yourself back to give him a full view of your already stuffed cunt

egging him on to fill you even more

matt hesitated for a second, grasping his cock st the base, guiding himself towards your dripping void

some resistance on your part but otherwise is was such a heavenly feeling

you cunt gripped both their cocks tightly

both boys groaned with equal amounts of pleasure running through their veins

you began to bounce against both of them, feeling their cocks slot deep into your cunt one after another

“holy shit…” nick mattered, grabbing your hips and slamming them down onto his cock

both brothers began an assault on your cunt, the pleasure was so intense that your mind began to spin, eyes rolling into the back of your head

loud, choked moans spilling from your lips

“god…so tight” matt’s moans left his lips in soft sputters

mind still delirious from his previous and noe second impending orgasm

“you gonna cum on our cock’s angel?”

you nodded feverishly at nicks question, hips slapping back against theirs, taking their cocks fully

matt filled you first, his cock twitching and throbbing deep within your walls

still overstimulated and sensitive as white hot ropes seeped from between your thighs

a mix of moans and profanities left the younger buck’s lips

nick on the edge of orgasm himself

feeling the tightness of your cunt grip his cock

it was inevitable

both bucks were breathless

matt not so than nick

the older of the two having pulled out of you already

now sitting back watching the way his seed dropped out of you

“oh fuck…!” you whined, cunt creaming around nick’s size

spilling around his shaft, feeling so wonderfully stretched out

“fuck angel…you made a mess for us…”

nick’s rebuttal was cut of by a soft groan

his cock throbbing deep in your walls

cum painting your insides white with his warmth

“shit-“ he thre his head back in pleasure, just reveling in the feeling

the three of you basking in a comfortable post sex silence

nicks cock still buried deep within you

you glacéd up at nick momentarily, the blues of his eyes glazed over with adoration

still so fucked out

matt on the other hand was eager to touch you again

impatient it seems as his hands were already at your waist, cock pulsing against your ass

“you boys get yourselves cleaned up, we’ll go another round at the hotel”

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

[lets-talk-gundam]

Beyond the Time - a brief history of Psycho-frame technology

With the Psycommu firmly establishing its place as a mainstay in many high-performance machines, researchers began focusing their efforts into increasing the effectiveness and capabilities of the system while also miniaturizing the technology.

Engineers under Casval Rem Deikun's Newborn Neo Zeon movement eventually developed a way to build the Psycho-frame directly into the inner frame of a mobile suit by lining the material with a technology known as Psycho-chips. Psycho-chips could replace the large subsystem traditionally required by a by a Psycommu system.

The project was headed by former Earth Federation researcher Nanai Miguel.

With the project's success, the technology was applied to the MSN-04 Sazabi as well as several other machines intended for use by Newtypes.

Hoping to make his final confrontation with his long-time rival Amuro Ray a fair fight, Neo Zeon's supreme leader Char Aznable leaked the technology to Anaheim Electronics. The Psycho-frame would be applied to the RX-93 ν Gundam.

Chan Agi was also given a sample of the Psycho-frame material by October Saran, which at one point resonated her will, manifesting a small Psycho-field to deflect a mega-particle cannon blast.

A mysterious resonance between Char and Amuro's Psycho-frame systems lead to the formation of a Psycho-field. Through sheer force of will, the Psycho-field was able to force the asteroid Axis off course and away from the Earth, preventing Char's plan from coming to fruition. This event would be dubbed the "Axis Shock".

Officially, following the end of the Second Neo Zeon War, development and application of Psycho-frame technology was officially halted citing "too many unknowns" regarding it. Unofficially, however, research continued under the UC Project.

The project would result in the RX-0 Unicorn Gundam, the first full Psycho-frame mobile suit. While previous machines incorporating the Psycho-frame did so near and around the cockpit, the Unicorn interwove the material throughout its entire structure. This allowed a Newtype pilot to potentially directly control the mobile suit through sheer willpower.

The construction of the frame remained consistent with RX-0 units 2 and 3, the Banshee and the Phenex.

Psycho-frame was also known to manifest crystals, dubbed Psycho-shards, when perfect synchronization between pilot and mobile suit is achieved.

Psycho-frame would also be incorporated into some other technologies. Jona Basta wore a Psycho-frame equipped normal suit during his pursuit of Phenex. The exact purpose of the modified normal suit is unclear.

The Psycho-frame would see further development and use over the course of UC history. It would be incorporated into several mobile suits developed by the Federation's Strategic Naval Research Institute, such as the F90N and F91 Gundams.

And finally, nearly a century after its initial development, Psycho-frame technology would be incorporated into the α000-0001 Gaia Gear α. It was the only man-machine known to use such a system.

This is by no means a comprehensive list of machines that use the Psycho-frame, or a compete and fully-documented development history! Think of it as a best-of or a highlight reel of Psycho-frame technology!

This piece was a request from a friend!

[love-toxin]

Can you do werewolf Steve in heat and “the second we’re alone you’re mine” ?

ellie's halloween sentence starters!

xi. "The second we're alone, you're mine." 

(cws: werewolf steve, heat cycles, drinking/alcohol, oral, breeding kink, squirting, teeny bit of degradation, aggressive mating instincts, fem reader)

It was quite the easy costume this year--if not a little on the nose. Your cape swishes about your knees, red as the maraschino cherry in your drink, and you sip it knowing that this is probably one of the only times of the year that you'll be out and about with your boyfriend at your side.

Steve's different now. The Upside Down changed him mentally, of course, because who wouldn't have PTSD after all the things he witnessed? But the physical changes have been more disruptive, and you're certain he struggles with them more himself than you could ever imagine. He can't often brave the world outside when it's so hard to hide his appearance, but tonight, you've got the opportunity to let loose a little and have some fun. Nobody would question Steve's fluffy ears or his tail swishing behind him at this party, nor the even more excessive furriness of his already hairy chest--because tonight, Halloween reigns supreme, and all the attention your boyfriend has garnered has been nothing but good. You've overheard the "sweet costume, dude!"s and "you two are so cute, Steve!"s for the past hour, but the man that's disappeared to get another drink hasn't said much in response. He's just been looking at you over the lip of his cup, draining one after another while you stand and chat with your friends.

"Hey," Your gaze snaps away from Robin in her little witch costume, and Nancy with her hair primped up to mimic Sandy Olsson, to watch your boyfriend stagger over and sling a heavy arm around your shoulders while slurring in your ear. "Gimme kiss,"

Steve's already leaning in, breath hot and foggy on your skin, and grazes your lips with a drunken smooch just long enough to get a taste before you're pushing him gently off of you. He's not usually this touchy in public, when he's in public at all--he may be drunk, but it's weird of him even still, because he's never been like that with you. You keep batting his hands away as they try to cup your cheek, slip under your cloak, and trying to keep up your conversation with the girls to no avail. And just as you're getting the most frustrated-

"The second we're alone, you're mine."

-He drops that bomb on you. The growl of his voice warns you exactly of what's gearing up to happen, and you're sure that if you don't get Steve out of here soon, he's going to throw you down and fuck you right in the middle of this party.

So you say a quick goodbye, both Nancy and Robin falling silent and taking knowing sips of their drinks as you manhandle your boyfriend out of the living room, and watching your back as you push him past your confused hosts and out the front door of the house. His car isn't far, but neither are you from him.

"S'what I'm talkin' about," He mouths at your cheek, grinning with canines far too sharp for any human, his hand slipping down your ass. "Right on the front porch..."

"Keep moving!" You hiss, not bothering to move that hand away even though he's groping you in full view of the windows. You push and pull and yank him all the way down to the curb, your head jerking from side to side to try and spot his car--and when you don't, you panic, a shaky string of curses escaping you as you desperately try to think of a plan better than the bushes. Your own body is starting to become uncooperative now, too, and you have to clench your thighs together almost like you have to pee to try and keep the pressure at bay. You spend so much time with Steve and his other unsuccessful attempts at breeding you, so your body has become accustomed to sensing your....mate's....needs. It still feels weird to refer to him as that.

Your savior ends up tapping you on the shoulder, his voice soft and quiet like he's trying not to make his presence too known.

"Eddie?" You whisper incredulously, your eyes dropping to spot the rustling around his pocket as he stuffs something green into it--something like a wad of cash, which is the only reason he would be at a party like this, or a party at all. Despite being your close friend and thus always having an invitation whether people want him there or not, like tonight, he usually just hangs around outside with a cigarette and a lunchbox full of drugs to sell. He looks a little disheveled himself, but not like Steve does, and with a shared glance he finally jerks his thumb towards the end of the curb where his van is parked rather conspicuously.

"Oh, Eddie, I-"

"Just clean up whatever mess you make," He sighs, both of you hating how much he's aware of like he's looking straight through you. Steve growls softly by your arm, and that's Eddie's cue to back away for fear of what his friend's possessive instincts will do to him if he hangs around you too long. "And keep wolfie here from tearing up my seats."

He disappears with a smile full of sympathy back around the side of the house, but not before he presses his keys into your palm and flicks his curly hair over his shoulder as he walks. Eddie's shockingly understanding for someone so picky, but then again, Steve did save his life, so-

"You smell so fuckin' good..."

You've got no time to think about it any more. Steve's gonna be ready to pop at any moment, and the fact that he can't stop drooling and getting it all over your mary janes as you hurry down the sidewalk is more than evident of that. You're able to hustle fast enough to tug open the back door of Eddie's van, shaded on the corner by a streetlight that's burned out, but it's not fast enough for your boyfriend. You feel yourself being lifted up off your toes as soon as you turn to tell him to get in, and he throws you back to land relatively softly on the mess of blankets and a pillow Eddie's stored back there for impromptu road trips with the gang.

Your world spins for a second, the door shutting hard and locking quickly in the meanwhile, and when you sit up to say your piece a hand pushes on your chest and pins you back against the floor.

"Steve-"

"Thought I was good," He mumbles, his pants falling victim to his strong and frantic fingers as he hurries to get them down, if not off completely. "Scent's too strong.."

"S'okay, baby," You whisper back, threading both hands through his hair and coming to rest on his fuzzy ears. "Just do what feels good. Get it all out."

"You're too good for me," He whines, pitiful and soft, but hungry. "Lift the skirt up. Flip over."

It shouldn't feel so lewd when Steve's already so intimately aware of all your skin and bones from the inside out, but it is, the simple act of flipping up your skirt and turning on to your belly while your boyfriend picks up your cape and pushes it aside. He loved the idea of your Red Riding Hood costume before you even put it on. You could wiggle your panties down your legs to get them out of the wsy yourself, but Steve makes short work of them and yanks them down in one tug without stopping to admire how they cling to your soft, slick flesh. His hands come to rest on the backs of your thighs, slowly inching them apart with time he doesn't have to spare--and he dips his head between them, leading you to jolt in shock and a squeak when his tongue flicks out to taste you.

"Oh! Steve-! Y-You don't have to-"

"Shut up," He threatens, eyes flickering with lust in the rearview mirror. Eating you out is no surprise, but the way he's doing it from...from behind...that is. He wastes no time burying his face in deep, tongue making you feel so small with the way it laves over you in short, quick strokes, and Steve gulps like he's drinking you up from a cup--and he is, because you're just getting wetter and wetter the more attention he pays to your pussy. You could swear it's like his best friend, he treats her so nice.

Steve moans into you, gasps for air with each pseudo-delicate kiss placed on your clit, and you can tell by the way the van is starting to sway that he must be humping against the floor while he does so. He's so hungry, so in need, and yet he never fails to spare the time to make you feel like a princess. A dirty princess maybe, but a princess nonetheless.

"Gotta fuck you," He huffs with one last suck for everything you've got left, and leaves your hips to drop and shiver against the floor once he sits up and stops bracing them up. The slick, shucking sounds behind you let you know he's readying himself up, aided in part with a swipe of two fingers through your soaked folds to lube himself up even more. He's always so much more swollen during that time of the month--a lot harder to fit inside sometimes, if he's not careful. "Hit me if it hurts."

He always says that, and it never does. Steve's not a masochist (that you know of) but he's always told you not to be gentle if he does something you don't like. If he needs to be shoved, kicked, pinched, or punched, you have free reign to do all of the above to get his attention so he'll stop, because in times like these, speaking up doesn't always get through that haze of desire that sparks up so strongly in the full moon.

"G-God, I need a trim....sorry sweetheart...might feel weird..." He groans, the warm, velvety tip aching at your entrance to be welcomed in--and in a long, deep stroke, Steve's burying inches and inches inside you and gasping so loud he has to brace his hand between your shoulder blades for balance. It does feel weird, Stevie's thick, wiry bush scraping along your behind and granting you a slight tickle to your clit when they touch, but his hair is a part of him and it certainly doesn't make you less wet for him when it feels so thick and manly pressed up against you. And aside from that, you can feel the weight of his tail wagging when he starts to rear his hips back for a thrust, and you know it's straightening out like a rod and his ears are twitching when he drops his full weight on top of you and sinks like a stone all the way to the hilt.

"Fuck!" He cries, his other hand slamming into the side of the van--not out of frustration, but ecstasy. The way Steve reacts when he's fucking you makes you feel like some kind of sex god, the way he loses all composure and throws every ounce of strength into beating your holes raw, just like he's doing right now. Each one pins you to the floor, he doesn't even need his other hand to hold you there anymore, and Steve bends over far enough that you can feel his chest hair folding into his pecs as his squishes his chest into your back. Any remaining space doesn't remain space for long, not when Steve wants to be so deep inside you you're practically indistinguishable from each other.

"Shit, knot's already coming," Steve warns after a few more thrusts, each one harder and deeper than the last. He's bruising you on every one but you don't care, just as long as he's getting out all that pent up aggression from his heat rolling in--and as long as he keeps putting pressure on that spot inside you that you swear makes your clit jolt with pleasure each time it's pressed from the inside. Thank god you don't have to piss, because you would've done so already with how rough he's being...but there's another feeling bubbling up, a need that keeps growing and growing until you can feel the coil inside you bending hard enough to snap. "I can feel it, fuck, I can feel it baby...this'll be it, this'll be the time I fucking knock you up..."

Steve throws his head back again to gurgle out a string of intense curses, before it drops back down and that fluffy mane of hair rubs against your cheek as he seals his lips against your skin. That familiar churning in the lowest area of your stomach drags your attention away from the teeth nibbling at your skin, and you can feel Steve's hips slowing, your body's grip around him tightening and squeezing taut until it's almost too much to bear--and then one good, deep thrust fits him all the way inside, and his knot is pressed all the way up against your womb. Right where it should be.

"St-Stevie.." Your whimpers luckily reach his fluffy ears, and he nuzzles your cheek while turning his head to plant a kiss there. He won't move until it's softened completely, and those clear spurts of precum make way for pumps of milky seed as he he keeps emptying his balls inside you.

"My princess..." He moans into your ear, a smile following it up with chuckles from both of you. But you can feel it when it drops, and he snarls. "Gonna make you fucking squirt for me. Think you can get away without cumming?"

Both hands come up to drag you down further on his cock, knot squishing up against your tender cervix as if he could stick it inside if he tried hard enough. He's making proper sure that you're stuck--and only then do his hands descend, making a beeline for your puffy clit that's been ravaged by his body hair. He touches it gently, pushes it between the fingers on each hand, and plays with it so carefully the lack of pressure actually makes you squirm more. So much time without him rubbing you there has built up a dam, and within seconds of him granting you that gloriously firm pressure you were so antsy for, your brain drops into your feet and you can't conjure up any thought to save your life. Not even the preventative ones to keep you from screaming Steve's name for all the passersby to hear, and he doesn't stop you either, because nothing satiates those possessive instincts better than for Steve to hear his mate sob for him when he couldn't be any closer to you.

His touches have led to you soaking him from the waist down and matting his hair down to stick to his skin, and your beautiful body has sucked out so much of what he's been saving up that it's dribbling into a pool beneath you--and you both know how pissed Eddie's gonna be when you fail to scrub that stain out, but it won't dampen the sweet kisses Steve peppers you with and the praise for being such a darling girl for him as you both come down from the high of a successful rut. You're the best. The best mate he could ever ask for.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

A Nurse at Arkham

BatmanVsTmnt!Donatello x reader

A/N: Not as detailed as I wanted it to be, since influenza has been kicking my butt, but I still wanted to post this.

-----------------------------------------

You are a nurse at Arkham Asylum, who just happened to be there the night Shredder, Ra’s al Ghul and the Joker cause chaos. Lucky for you there is a purple turtle, ready to safe you💜

Warning: Description of leg injury, but not in depth, spelling bc sick.

-----------------------------------------

At Arkham Asylum, chaos reigned supreme. The Joker had managed to mutate himself into a grotesque creature, overpowering the last surviving guards and taking the rest of the staff as hostages. Among them were you, a nurse who had been unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. As you and the rest of the staff was locked away in the basement, your arms bound behind your back, you cursed yourself for taking that night shift.

It was quite in the basement of Arkham Asylum. You and the rest of the hostages kept as still as possible, in fear that any move would cause Joker to burst in with his new snake form. But though you all tried to keep quiet, it couldn’t stop you and the rest of the injured hostages from groaning in pain every once in a while.

In the dimly lit basement you looked down at your hurting leg. It was swollen and dark from the ankle and up. It was Harley who did it, with her hammer when you tried to run away. Harley had always been strong. You had experienced that first had when bringing her to the bathroom, only for her to try to make a run for it. But as a dog mutant-like thing, she was even stronger. Scarily strong. And now she had done this to your leg. Suddenly all of those nail scratches she had given you didn’t seem like anything. But your leg, it was a horrible sight to look at, making your stomach turn slightly. You hated this. You just wanted to go home.

The silence of the basement was broken, as you heard movement at the door. All of you froze, with your gaze locked on the door. All possible fears rushed through your head. Was it the Joker coming in? Harley? Scarecrow? Bane? You did not know, and you did not wish to know. You just wanted to go home.

You heard something in the lock. It didn’t sound like a key, nor did it open the door as fast as a key would. The hair in your neck started standing as you started wondering; who was trying to come in?

Finally the lock clicked and the door opened. All held their breath in fear as two people rushed into the room. Feat was replaced with sudden relief, causing your head to spin. Batgirl. You could recognize her anywhere. But it was who she came in with, that made you feel a slight bit of fear once again. He was green. His skin, his three fingers on each and the two toes on his feet. On his back he carried what looked like a shell, and in his hands he held a bowstaff. Around his head he had a purple bandana that blended well with his brown eyes.

Batgirl and the purple clad turtle moved into the room, telling you all that they were there to get you out. You watched as the turtle went to the first person and started untying them.

“Who- who are you?”, they asked, staring as the turtle got rid of their robes, obviously on edge because of this new creature.

“My name is Donatello”, he smiled, causing the scared hostage to calm a little. You watched this interaction closely, still slightly shocked by the humanoid turtle. You watched as he walked from person to person, untying them and helding them stand. But then Donatello caught sight of Y/N, cowering in a corner. He saw your leg.

"Are you okay to stand?" Donatello asked, concern evident in his eyes as he crouched down by your side to untie your hands.

You shook your head. “I don’t know. It hurts”, you said.

Donatello looked at your face for a moment, before staring back down at your leg. You could almost see the gears turn on high speed in his brain.

"Here. Let me help", Donatello insisted, his voice gentle as he got closer to your side.

Before you could ask him what he was thinking about, he scooped you up into his arms. Your eyes widened in surprise as you exclaimed a yelp, your hands instinctively wrapping around Donatello's neck for support. Being held in Donatello’s arms, bridal styles, against his hard plastron, you couldn’t help but notice the one thing you had fought against. He was strong, muscular, and actually, quite handsome. You tried to hide the blush that was creeping up on your face, but unbeknownst to you, Donatello had already noticed it. He actually found it quite adorable.

“What’s your name?”, he asked.

“(Y/N)”, you answered.

“Okay (Y/N). You better hold on, because it might become a bit of a rough trip”.

You nodded, adjusting your hold over Donatello’s neck and shoulder.

The journey out of Arkham was a silent one, with Batgirl in the front, looking over each corner before guiding the hostages closer to the exit. In the dim glow of the halfway lights, Donatello stole glances at you, your head resting against his shoulder, eyes looking ahead in anticipation. Donatello was surprised that he could look at someone and find them cute, all while rescuing that same person from a hostage situation. Probably not the best way to handle that situation, but Donnie couldn’t help himself.

After sneaking down what felt like endless halls, you all finally made it to Arkham's main entrance. As you emerged into the cool night air, you looked up at Donatello with gratitude. Your eyes met, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between you. The adrenaline of rushing down the halls, not sure what the next turn would bring, was still flowing in the air.

"Thank you, Donatello", you whispered, as he helped you to sit, outside the iron gates.

He nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Anytime".

You looked into each other’s eyes for what felt like hours, when Batgirl suddenly called out for the purple turtle.

“Donnie, we have to leave. The others might need us in there”.

Donatello nodded, turning to you, a sad smile on his face. “I have to go now. Batman needs us. My brothers need me”.

“Wait! Donnie”, you called out his name, causing him to freeze in place, just as he was about to run. You took his hands, making his brown eyes look at you once more. “If you make it out alive, then I would very much like to see you again”.

Donatello smiled at your statement, giving your hand a small squish. “That can be arranged. See you soon (Y/N)”. With those words he and Batgirl turned and ran back towards the entrance into Arkham Asylum.

[bwoahtastic]

Toto, Nico and Seb retiring to Toto's country estate for the summer. Seb is still being courted by several suitors, though he is firmly fixed upon Jenson, and all of them could do with a break. They will of course attend other balls in the area that they have been invited to, but it's nice to have some peace and quiet, as much peace and quiet as can be had in a house that contains Seb anyway. When they are in the country Nico goes riding every morning. He loves the wind in his hair and the feeling of freedom. Seb will often ride with him in the afternoons but refuses to get up so early in the morning which is when Nico most likes to ride. Toto is surprised at how proficient both Nico and Seb are at horse riding, they are better even than him! Toto asks Seb if he thinks Nico would like a horse of his own, and Seb excitedly tells him about a beautiful silver stallion Nico had seen and ridden once in town, and that he had fallen completely in love with. Toto buys the horse, and wakes up especially early in the morning to meet Nico at the stables and give him his gift. Nico is thrilled about receiving the horse, and thanks Toto again and again, before shyly asking if Toto would like to join him on his morning ride. Toto accepts and spends most of the ride watching Nico gallop ahead, supremely confident on his beautiful stallion, always the most beautiful person Toto has ever seen

Oh plss yes! Nico and Toto going to the country side with Seb, as seb is so confident about his match with Jenson that he doesn't really want to dance with other suitors anymore, but Nico wants hin to hold off on an engagement for a little longer.

Toto having such a beautiful country estate and nico and seb grew up in the country side and prefer it tenfold over the city! Toto owns big stables and quite a few horses too and is amused to find Nico there most of the day, riding but also grooming the horses or playing with the cats living in the hay. Nico is looking much more carefree and relaxed incthe country side, not needing to wear his mask for society and Toto falls for him more and more every single day.

Seb just babbling away most of the day (after getting up pretty late lol) and one day he tells Toto how much Nico adores the stables! Toto asking if seb thinks Nico would like to have his own horse and Seb perks up and is ready to drag toto out of the house and to town to show him the silver grey stallion Nico adores so much!

They go the day after, Toto pretending to offer to chaperone a meeting for seb and jenson and Nico is quite happy not having to for once so he agrees. Seb layer distracting Nico as Toto gets the horse settled in the stables and groomed for the big surprise the day after!

Nico beingnsurprised to wake up with Toto's side of the bed empty but supposes Toto has work to attend to. So he dresses in riding gear and heads to the stables, and almost trips over some hay when he sees Toto petting the nose of the grey stallion!

Nico is so excited and in awe and Toto is grinning as Nico flings himself at him and gives him so many kisses! So much excited affection! Nico is a little flustered after but asks Toto to join him foe a ride and they have a lot of fun. Toto mostly has his horse halt at the side of the field while Nico tries the stallion, galloping back and forth and laughing ao much! He is so beautiful and carefree and Toto hopes thst Nico loves him back just 10% of how much Toto loves Nico, because then it's still more than most people.

(Also the stallion loves nico and toto both but likes to headbutt Seb gently to annoy him, or step away as seb is trying to mount him to ride him too lol!)

[thetravelingtyper]

a supreme love (Spitfire! GN! Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley) Spitfire Pt 5

The team enjoys some late-night baking, and fluff ensues...

Deeply inspired by Almost (Sweet Music) by Hozier!

Warnings: None :D

Part 4, Masterlist

“I came in from the outside

Burnt out from the joy ride

She likes to roll here in my ashes anyway

Played from the bedside

Is "Stella By Starlight"

"That Was My Heart"...

The drums that start off "Night And Day"

Hozier’s voice slipped into the air full and sweet. The base was quiet in the morning as your discarded phone scattered reflected light. Cookies baked in the meticulously cleaned oven and you swayed under warm lights. The holidays had passed easily, and for the first time in the year, you and the rest of the 141 were home for uninterrupted months. There was other work to be done, assessments, training, and assorted intelligence updates. But no killing, no smoke, and no blood. You close a drawer with your hip and grimace. Well, some blood.

A flash in the hall and you flip around spinning under engulfing arms. There is a deep grunt and your surprise greeter is on the ground under your knees in an instant.

“Sweet Jesus” Soap grunts, face pressed into the tile. You huff a laugh and easily pull him up. He then spins on you and lifts you by your hips. His strong arms sweep you up with a startled laugh that jumps out into the calm night. A light turns on down the hall as he spins you around, you have to duck your head to avoid hitting a hanging light as he sways you then in a dance.

“I wouldn't know where to start

"Sweet Music" playing "In The Dark"

Be still "My Foolish Heart,"

Don't ruin this on me”

The song continues as a shadow stalks silently into the hallway, form lithe and ready to fight. Simon reaches the arch into the kitchen and the sight makes him pause. Your head is knocked back in light and soft laughter, his wedding ring hanging simply on your tanktop as you’re spun like a top by an equally giggly Scotsman. Soap has a deep love in his eyes and a loopy grin on his lips. He then catches Simon watching and sends a wink, Simon glares under his mask, the balaclava crumped with haste.

Johnny lowers you to the floor, and you, a little dizzy, wrap your arms around his neck. You both stood eye to eye easily and you pressed a fond kiss to his cheek. The Scot had been Simon’s best man and your adoptive brother for these few long years. He spins you and dips you as Simon finally enters. 

The song repeats, it appeared multiple times in this baking playlist, and in the early wee hours of the morning, Fate played her fond strings for the forest god. 

“"The Very Thought Of You" and "Am I Blue"?

"A Love Supreme" seems far removed

"I Get Along Without You Very Well," some other nights

The radio news reader chimes

Reporting "Russian Lullabies"

She'll turn to me awake and ask, Is everything "Alright"

As you dip you catch Simon's eyes and he pauses, Soap holds you a moment and pulls you back up to his chest in a bear hug as the timer goes off. Simon’s heart swells with the smell of cookies, the comfort of his teammate, and the love of his partner. He signs and the balaclava slips off. Scars reflect in the light as he shifts. He gives Soap his moment as he performs the proper military husband duty. 

Simon pulls out a ridiculous corgi oven glove and pulls your famous cookies out of the oven. The smell immediately bounds out of the confines of the kitchen and another light turns on the other end of the hall. You all hear footsteps and you laugh into Soap’s chest as Simon sets the trays down on the over to set.

Kyle enters in workout gear and looks around.

“Double Chocolate Chunk?”

Your voice is muffled against Soap’s chest, your reply is lost to the comfort of familiarity, your heart warm and fuzzy. Simon decides that your sleepy mumbles mean time is up and Soap whines as you are pulled from him into sleeveless arms. Your husband wore one of your largest shirts. It was over-sized to make you feel small and fun but it fit him perfectly. A rumble of satisfaction left him as he saw you realize this. Your hands pull into yourself and you tuck into him effortlessly.

Price enters, his kids debating.

“No, Hozier means Double Chocolate with homemade Sea Salt Caramel.”

Simon hums in confirmation, and a hand reaches for a hot cookie. Soap shoves it into his mouth and gives a sinful moan, your head shoots up in disgust.

“Keep it in your pants, Johnny.”

Gaz snorts and pulls the parchment paper off the pan and onto a cooling rack. 

“It helps the cookies set better” Gaz mutters as you speak aloud from Simon’s chest.

“We know Kid.”

Price grabs a slightly cooler cookie and slides out of the room, dad tax paid and accepted. Gaz follows suit, wrapping three deluxe cookies in a paper towel and following his Captain.

Soap slightly scalded on the tongue mumbles a goodnight and pecks your cheek before Simon lightly shoves his face away.

“Night Spitz, L.T.”

“Night Soapy.

“Go to bed, Johnny.”

“Aye.”

The lights in the hallway shut off leaving the kitchen alone under one lonely bulb. Hozier sweetens the moment, fate singing her due.

“I wouldn't know where to start

"Sweet Music" playing "In The Dark"

Be still "My Foolish Heart,"

Don't ruin this on me”

The song softens into silence as you call for your phone to pause the music. You give a yawn, stepping back to stretch. Simon’s arms loosen but linger at your waist as his face firmly regards you. You make to pull away to clean but he holds you in place. His eyes smolder in the low-lit silence, not a soul aware but you two in the center of this peaceful universe. Your eyes question him with a smile as you raise a brow, grin spreading, but his mouth remains a solid pondering line.

You stand a moment, the cookies cooling now, and you run a hand to his cheek. He leans into it, a solid wraith materialized with love and your heart melts at the movement. He seeks your warmth like a moth. You run your other hand down his stubbled chin to the base of his neck. Your wedding band sat silver on top of your shirt. Your love swelled and his eyes closed and his head dipped onto yours. You stood vigil with his heart as the night melted away with warm chocolate and caramel.

“I wouldn't know where to start

"Sweet Music" playing "In The Dark"

Be still "My Foolish Heart,"

Don't ruin this on me”

[brotherblaze]

JAILBAIT³ —simon 'ghost' riley

▹ simon 'ghost' riley/gn!reader

▹ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

▹ synopsis: it's time to go home and Ghost finds himself realizing there's never enough time to spend with you.

▹ cw: suggestive themes, a sprinkle of angst

▹ wc: ~3,5k (idk what happened)

▹ please don't try to 'educate' me abt what 'jailbait' means especially if you haven't even read the fic

You pointedly ignore the rookies working out as you step into the gym.

Even when you pass the ones Ghost had scared shitless just days earlier, you keep walking, ignoring the familiar pull of desire to antagonize. The idea of messing with them is chased away the moment it arrives but yet it tries to linger. One last laugh at their expense, one last display of power that hinges on the existence of the hulking mass of a man you call your boyfriend (one that wouldn't even exist without the ties that bind you to him).

But between the desire to antagonize and the desire of spending money that isn't your own, Simon (and his money) reigns supreme.

Ghost has retreated to the very back of the gym. He's sitting on the floor, stretching, when you come into view. It's like he's drawn to you like a magnet, his sixth sense of your presence is honed to nigh-perfection because he's already looking in your direction when you see him.

He's shirtless, though still wearing his balaclava. For a moment, you allow your eyes to trail his impressive physique, the scars and burns and bruises a collection of constellations that make up Simon Riley.

"Men are being sluts again, nature is healing." you place your hand over your heart, glancing up as if to thank a higher power and Ghost can't help but roll his eyes at your antics. "I'd also love to see you all oiled up, by the way, or with a collar and a leash—either works, honestly. Just like, a little something to think about."

"Too much of a good thing..."

You don't reply immediately and Ghost can practically see the gears turning in your head, brows slightly furrowed, nose scrunched and lips parted. "A large piece... will split your mouth." A moment of silence, and then a look of disappointment. "Why do I even bother trying to translate proverbs? I hate English—horrible, ugly language."

It's not that he's laughing at you, or your inability to translate ("Shut up, Colonizer, how many languages can you speak?" you'd hissed at him once and Simon had promptly bit his tongue because you know seven languages and how could he ever compete with how effortlessly you speak them?) but because he likes your ability to slip into a wholly different language so effortlessly. You jab him in the calf with the nose of your shoe.

"What do you need?" Because you wouldn't set foot into a gym voluntarily if it's not the first thing in the morning just moments after the cleaning crew has left. Something about the mixture of sweat and the scent of axe body spray making the inside of your nose ache. He eyes the black surgical mask you're wearing.

"Why would I need anything? Maybe I just wanted to see my boyfriend who is very handsome, by the way." You bat your lashes, the flashy fake lashes fluttering. They're heavy but it's worth it for the dramatics.

Ghost raises a pale brow.

"Fine, I may be here with a proposal." You unlock your phone with one hand and pull the false lashes off with your other. You hand your phone to him, a picture pulled up on the screen, and dig into your pocket for the lash container. "You get a blowjob—I'll even negotiate swallowing—and I get a cowboy Ghost Rider figurine. Something-something, save a horse, ride a cowboy—speaking of, did you know that Russia's Catherine the Great is rumored to have died because she was fucking one of her prized stallions and the horse collapsed on her?" You carefully place the lashes into the lash container they came in and slide it back into your jacket pocket.

"Baseless rumors, I take it?"

"Well, duh; power-hungry men hate women. She died of a stroke. On one hand, girlboss, on the other hand, ew, a monarch. Glad she bit it." You level Ghost's gaze. "I will rejoice the day the British monarchy falls."

"I'll make sure to have streamers and party hats on hand." He stands then, and you extend the black towel thrown over your shoulder. His 'thank you' is clear but low and only for your ears. "You get everything done alright?"

"Yeah, as much as my non-existent security clearance let me do. Server maintenance was boring, nothing riveting which, y'know, is good. Then, I cleaned all the gunk out of Price's laptop and lectured him about clicking on random bullshit on the internet and he was like," you lower your voice to imitate Price, "'I was there when the internet was made' like okay, you living fossil. And then I didn't wanna bother you 'cause you were getting in the zone or whatever so I asked Johnny to come to the grocery store with me 'cause I wanted ice cream and I wanted to spend some time with Soap before I leave, so we went to the grocery store—"

"Breathe."

"And this mean old lady was at the store and I got the low-sugar kind of ice cream and then we came back." You take a deep breath and hold up a plastic baggie with ice cream and a few disposable spoons. "You want ice cream?"

"Did you fight an old lady again?" There is mirth to his tone, eyes crinkling at the corners. Smiling; he's smiling. The corners of your own mouth quirk up.

"Maybe. Rendezvous in John's office?"

Phrased like a question—but it isn't one. He's learned your patterns well enough, he knows when something is a request and when something is a question. You never give him time to answer a request, just state it and leave. Even now you pull away from him, muttering something to yourself as you make your exit.

Soap is the one who beats you both to Price's office. Price looks up from the papers on his desk when Soap enters, wearing the look of a man who's seen his own demise in the form of a human being. He says nothing, only visibly shudders before he collapses onto the worn leather couch in Price's office.

"I saw Jailbait verbally eviscerate an old lady."

Price laughs, actually laughs at that, laughs like he hasn't in a while. But he keeps his joy short, cutting himself off when he notices Soap's bewilderment. He's looking at Price with the utter confusion Price himself felt when he first heard you talking to a group of friends on a video call. "Still fighting with old ladies?"

"'Still'?"

"Jailbait used to babysit for this young single mother in the building. The old hag living next to her and the kid had a habit of running her mouth about everyone, but especially about those two back when she was still alive." Price winces. His chair creaks when he leans back slightly. "Jailbait never had anything nice to say about that hag. Supposedly all hell broke loose when they overheard a gossiping session. Whatever they told her seemed to get the point across. Never heard a peep again."

"She was a bitch and she deserved to know," you announce, standing in the doorway of Price's office. Ghost's tall stature looms behind you. You step in, discarding the lid of the ice cream tub in your hand into the trash. "I take a lot of pleasure in telling shitty old people to fuck off. 'Respect is earned' or whatever."

Ghost plants his weight next to Soap and you seat yourself in his lap. You hold the tub of ice cream out to him and pick up one of the spoons. The second one is passed to Soap and another to Price.

"You ate half of it," Ghost says, balaclava pulled up to his nose as he stares at the contents of the tub.

"I only ate the melting parts. Oh, and," you point your spoon towards Price, "I think she died; saw somebody moving furniture out of her apartment when I was leaving."

"I was away for five minutes." Ghost stabs his wooden spoon into the ice cream. It's soft. "Ever think she died because you were speaking in tongues?"

"Shut up, Colonizer, your Spanish has the thickest English accent I've ever heard." The tub of ice cream travels to Soap who digs his spoon in, and then to Price, still sitting at his desk. "By the way, I need Simon tonight and tomorrow morning, so there better not be some last-minute sudden mission bullshit." You spit over your left shoulder three times and Ghost frowns at the action.

"Did you spit on me?"

"No, but I can spit in your mouth if you ask nicely."

Ghost jabs his fingers into your sides and you yelp. A litany of curses escapes your lips, all of which Ghost ignores. He turns to Price, instead, pointedly ignoring the jab you try to deliver into his thigh.

"I'm seeing Jailbait off. Plane leaves at six."

"Our company that bad?" Soap jokes. He spots the slightest hint of a smile on Ghost's lips before it disappears.

"No, but the person who decided to put a base in the fuckin' desert is an ass and I need to see the sea." You level Soap with a look. "I would put you in my pocket and take you with me if I could. And Price?"

"Can't wait to hear where this is going to go."

"This better go on my CV 'cause I want to flex at my high school reunion in five years. Also, call me if they ever start building Evas 'cause one, I want to be there and two, I want to be immortalized by being one of the first people to work on it."

There's a faint 'what the fuck is an Eva' from Price. You throw your feet off Ghost's thigh and stand, stretching out the knots in your back. Ghost's knee bumps Soap's and he motions towards you with his eyes and when Soap looks at you, you're motioning for him to stand.

So, he stands, back as straight as a board. He can feel the weight of Ghost's gaze.

"MacTavish," you begin with a smile, "if I ever get to program an Eva, I'll fight tooth and nail so you could be my pilot." The curl of your lips is soft, all kind. It has his heart stuttering in his chest for a moment before he collects himself and returns your smile.

"It would be an honor."

You pause just as you're about to step forward, a small flicker of hesitation in your posture, then wrap your arms around Soap's torso. His gaze falls on Ghost, mind reeling back to the threats Ghost had made to the rookies and yet he only nods once. Soap slowly wraps his arms around your shoulders and relaxes into your hug.

"You're... pretty cool, I guess. Hangin' out was fun." It's a whisper against his chest.

"Yeah, you too." His own volume doesn't differ much from yours.

You move first, pulling away from him, and step back., turn on your heel to walk up to Price. His chair groans when he stands and pulls you into a tight hug. There are words exchanged, just like you did with Soap, too quiet to be heard by anyone but the two of you.

Soap spares a quick glance at Ghost whose gaze is pinned on you. There's a softness in his posture, slightly slouched, hunched shoulders. Like he's tired. It disappears the moment you pull away from your hug with Price and Soap spots the shaky smile you put on. There was no trace of Ghost, just Simon, Simon who is now buried again as Ghost's back straightens and he stands, tall and looming.

Ghost takes your hand in his when you leave.

He keeps you securely at his side as you make your way down the long gray hallways of the building. People walk past, minding their own business, some of them offering greetings, and Ghost's reply is always a nod of acknowledgment.

"Maybe once you get better at Spanish we can visit Alejandro and Rudy."

His announcement is sudden, voice a bit too loud and gruff to be Simon and it almost has you stumbling over your feet. You look up at him, and he's already looking down at you, an eyebrow raised.

The gaze you level him with is one he knows all too well; he can already feel the sigh of adoration-flavored exasperation in his chest.

"Wow, you have friends?"

"Pain in my ass."

And yet he still lets you sleep on top of him like a poor man's weighted blanket, head resting over his heart.

He doesn't want to wake you up.

You'd rolled off him in the middle of the night and he'd grabbed your arm to keep you from rolling off the cot entirely. He's spent the time since awake, staring at the calm rise and fall of your chest while you sleep like a corpse. (He finds himself somewhat jealous of your ability to sleep so soundly.)

Simon Riley lives in the shadows, the saturated grays of the world. He can't ever show you off to everyone who'd be willing to look, can't talk about you to anyone who would listen lest you be taken and used against him. His fingers are stained with blood and no matter how hard he scrubs he cannot get it out from underneath his fingernails.

And fuck, you deserve so much better than him; you deserve someone who'd immortalize you in their art, in poems and letters and paintings, marble statues carved in your image in museums where people from all over the world can marvel at your beauty—fall in love the same way he has.

His chest aches and his throat is tight and he tells himself the pain is in his ribs. He tells himself the pain is there because he was shot at.

He reaches out, fingers skimming along your thigh, his touch featherlight. You swat at his hand and bury your face deeper into your pillow.

"You've got a plane."

"No."

Simon grabs the back of your exposed thigh with his cold hand and you squeal. Your hand makes harsh contact with the bedframe and you swear loudly in a language Simon doesn't understand. Your voice is much lower in this language, and he's always liked this tone so much more than the one you use when you're speaking English. This one has a roughness your English lacks.

Briefly, he ponders over taking classes to learn it.

You grumble as you gather your things and follow him out to the car.

The ride to the airport is silent.

You're dozing off in the passenger seat, elbow propped against the window and cheek resting on the back of your hand. The town whizzes by outside, with very little sign of life at this hour. All the traffic lights are blinking yellow.

The car rolls to a stop at an almost empty intersection with a stop sign. A car is approaching from the right.

"I uh..." you pause, closed fist pressing against your eye as if to chase the sleep away. Your voice is still gravelly. "I got to talking about my past relationships in therapy last week. Realized I've met most of my exes at Halloween or masquerade parties—and I've always had this weird... disappointment, I guess, like, the moment they take the mask off. Even if they're objectively good-looking." You look at him. "But I don't get that with you."

Simon doesn't say anything; doesn't want to. Doesn't want to shatter the peaceful atmosphere of your confession, doesn't want to ruin it with his callous words and awkward sentence structure because every time he looks at you, his tongue feels like lead in his mouth and he forgets how to string his words together.

He just watches the car on the right cross the intersection and presses his foot down on the gas pedal.

"I always want to see you again." And you reach your hand across the console and hold it out for him. Simon takes it. His thumb traces circles against the back of your hand. Your grip tightens, three squeezes. He reciprocates the action.

The traffic lights stop blinking yellow. The roads become more lively.

Simon parks the car in the airport parking lot. He kills the engine, and it's silent again, neither of you making any effort to move, to get out and step into the brightly-lit airport.

Gently, you untangle your fingers from his, and trail up his arm, the column of his neck, the curve of his jaw. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. An audible exhale leaves him and you smile, the taste of it bittersweet on your tongue.

Simon leans in, his nose bumping against yours, his breath hot on your lower lip when he exhales.

His lips are chapped and his mouth is desperate and he steals the breath from your lungs. Teeth sink into your bottom lip and you whimper, the sound immediately swallowed by Simon's greed. An apology to your lip is the swipe of his warm tongue, his piercing knocking against your own tongue. He makes you dizzy, head swimming with nothing but him and his touch.

He breaks the kiss first; you have a flight to catch. Time. Time—it's always like he doesn't have enough time with you, one of you is always rushing somewhere, always away.

"Fuckin' hell, Riley," you say between deep breaths, waiting for the world to re-align on its axis. "I'm getting you a lip scrub the moment I get home."

His laugh is a low rumble and then he's kissing you again.

Too little time with you.

He takes your hand in his as you walk through the airport.

He stands a few feet away as you're checking in at the front desk, your manicured fingers tapping against the steel counter. You pull your black surgical mask down at the lady's request and flash her a quick smile, then another towards Simon who can't help but mirror you from behind his own mask.

("Airports are hotbeds for disease," you'd said, hanging him one of the surgical masks in your bag, "not lettin' someone's grandpa cough in my mouth.")

Just a little while later you're standing next to Simon, watching your neon yellow suitcase take off on the conveyer belt.

You find a quiet corner away from the prying eyes of the world. Simon wraps his arms around you, pulls you against his chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You swallow the lump in your throat, fingers clutching onto the back of his jacket as if you're trying to claw your way into his skin and hide in the space between his ribs.

His grip is tight, fingers digging into your flesh so hard it'll bruise. Sometimes he doesn't know his own strength, the little crescent-shaped scars on your hips a witness to his prowess. He'd looked heartbroken, hands shaking and jaw clenched tight, begging, pleading you to tell him when he's too rough.

But it's nice—his hands feel like safety.

When you part, he pulls your masks down to place another kiss onto your lips and the world tilts again. You clutch onto the lapels of his jacket to keep yourself upright.

And then you part again, for the final time, and Simon watches you disappear from sight as you turn the corner towards the departure lounge.

He lingers at the airport for nearly an hour until his phone rings.

"You make it okay?"

"God, people love to try my patience. Some lady approached me and asked if I could switch with her so she could sit with the rest of her family. So I ask which one her seat is and she goes 'oh it's in economy', I just laughed in her face. Now her husband is glaring at me. Like, fuck, buy your own business class tickets, who the fuck is gonna swap business for the ass end of economy?"

He listens, lips curling slightly when he tries to imagine you telling a middle-aged woman to fuck off.

You exhale, adding another swear under your breath, venom-laced and sharp as a knife. He can vaguely hear people talking in the background. The call stretches on, neither one of you wanting to hang up so soon.

"Simon, what do you call the wife of a hippie?"

"Copy. Behave."

"Me? Always." He can hear the grin in your voice and it eases the ache in his chest, his heart thrumming like it's a captive hummingbird desperately searching for an escape. When your voice rings out again, it's small, with a hint of an uncertain tremble. "Don't... d-word."

"Not even death itself could keep me from you."

[scavengerssuccotash]

Little ways Clint accommodates Nat, and Nat accommodates Clint? Like things they just know that the rest of the team has no clue about?

Ohh good question!

Clint’s a nervous knee bouncer when he’s in a very loud places like bars or Tony’s annual Avenger’s Charity parties. It reminds him too much of the bars that him and Barney would sleep outside of when they were kids. Anytime there’s more than twenty people he gets overwhelmed so Nat sticks close to his side the entire time and will pull him away from the party. They have a nonverbal queue when either of them wants to leave the party early without being rude: two taps on the elbow.

Natasha’s sensitive to the cold. Despite being born in Russia and spending the majority of her time in the cold she hates it. Clint doesn’t mind the cold, he prefers it over the heat anyway so he always has an extra hoodie or jacket handy. If they have to wear something fancy he brings along a black shawl just in case. If that doesn’t work, well he’d gladly give her the suit jacket off his back. (Which she likes the best because it’s ohh so warm from his body heat. And it smells like him; rich and woodsy.)

Clint’s not really a picky eater. Growing up dirt poor doesn’t make for a particularly picky palette, but he will pick off the mushrooms on his supreme pizza. He told Natasha that he does it because he knows she likes them! Natasha hasn’t had the heart to tell him that she also doesn’t like mushrooms, but the goofy grin he gives her when she accepts the pile of mushrooms he’s piled on her plate melts her heart. (Ahh the things we do for love!)

Clint’s not that well versed on history, as he missed a good chunk of his schooling thanks to being in the circus and a neglectful foster father. He’s a bit self conscious about it, so Natasha will take over the conversation should the conversation ever gear that way. One time they had a mission escorting a foreign dignitary across enemy lines who had a fascination in early American history. He was absolutely over the moon to have two American history professors escorting him (their covers). Clint hammed up his deafness and let Natasha handle the conversational reigns which eventually become a very hilarious inside joke between them later. (“It’s a little ironic that the Russian knew more about the Revolutionary war than I did.” “I’ll gladly offer tutoring sessions, Clint.” “Ohhh yes please Professor Romanoff.”)

Natasha sometimes forgets a word in English, and instead says it in either Russian or any of the other myriad of languages the Red Room put into her head. She tries not to of course. Nothing blows one’s cover more than a polyglot brain fart. When it happens she sort of stops mid sentence and looks a bit like a deer in the headlights which is usually when Clint swoops in and says something dumb to bail her out of it. A couple minutes later he’ll lean in and give her the correct word with a quick kiss to her cheek. Later she’ll reward him for his quick thinking by telling him exactly what she wants him to do to her in every language she knows. Usually in Russian but sometimes Spanish. Clint’s gets hot under the collar for rolled R’s. (They’ve definitely said some of the filthiest things known to man to each other with the rest of the team none of the wiser.)

Anyway just some little ways these two help each other! Thank you for asking!