#there actually is technically some carpet in the place I usually go to

[tearlessrain]

Hello! I saw your thing about diegetic vs non-diegetic BDSM, during which you mentioned Bonding. Assuming you meant the Netflix show of two seasons, may I ask what your issues with it were? I'm relatively new to the world of kink and Bonding felt like a fun show to me, but I'm always happy to be educated in what is good representation in media!

so I want to start by saying that my opinion on the show is not some kind of objective moral stance or particularly coherent, I just didn't like it and it rubbed me the wrong way. and there were some fun moments but for me it wasn't worth wading through all the unfun stuff to get to them.

the first thing that made me very "eeehhhh" about it was that it came off from the start as poorly researched, and written primarily by people who aren't involved in the community at all. both because of the absolutely baffling aesthetic choices (why. why is there a white shag carpet in a dungeon. why is there any carpet in a dungeon but especially why is there a wall to wall white shag carpet. who's cleaning that every day) and because of the general framing/tone. the show seems to be saying that it's trying to humanize kink and give a realistic/positive portrayal of the community, but it portrays all the pro domme main character's clients as weird/pathetic/awkward for their preferences and the audience is pretty clearly meant to laugh at them. even going into the second season, when they were trying to backpedal after the backlash they got from the first one, they have this tendency to fall back on this othering look-at-these-freaks subtext even while the text is trying to say the opposite. and everyone is so intensely catty and judgemental toward each other and while of course you can find people/social groups like that, it's very much the opposite of what I've personally experienced overall. most of the people I know will absolutely fall over themselves to help and give advice to newcomers and make them feel welcome.

and you absolutely could make a comedy/drama centered around kink without resorting to treating it like a freak show. funny shit happens all the time and this is an objectively ridiculous hobby. it's just that the way they approached it in Bonding always felt vaguely disingenuous and mean-spirited to me.

part of it is definitely also that I just don't like shows where all the characters are just kind of dicks. and most of the conflicts could be avoided if literally anyone would stop choosing to be a dick for no good reason and communicate. that's a big pet peeve for me with any show.

[physalian]

On Describing Rooms (Or Transitional Settings)

Oh the dilemma of how much detail to give a space your characters won’t stay in for very long, but will be in long enough that grounding the area in context is necessary. Spending whole paragraphs coming up with intricate detail about the layout and the decorations of a space is better spent on more trafficked areas by the plot—kind of like designing physical sets for TV and film. You don't want to exahust your creativity budget on setting fodder.

There’s a whole lot of divisiveness already on how much or how little detail to give when describing any one thing. I’ve made it clear that I like lean narratives that don’t wax poetic on the fluff that isn’t necessary for the moment, but there’s a place and an audience for stories that do.

However, transitional/transitory settings, like the inside of a train or vehicle or a motel room they might only spend one scene in, somebody’s office, the school bathroom, etc—these have a stronger argument for being lean.

And at least for me, I like to give them the “vibes” of what I’m seeing in my head, without going overboard. But context and familiarity are important, and details like this are a lot like adverbs: Don’t waste time describing what everybody already knows, if you’re going to give details, they have to matter.

Like, if I my characters are on a bus, I’m not going to also tell you that it has seats and windows and a center aisle and those hand-loopy thingies and a dashboard. By nature of it being a bus, these things are presumed to be included. If this bus happens to be missing any of those presumed details, then I would tell you. Like if it’s been abandoned and the seats scavenged for some other purpose, or it burned up and there’s nothing left unscathed of the interior.

But I might tell you about how the fabric of the seats looks like the carpet of a roller rink, or how some kid’s gummy fingerprints are all over the windows next to the MC’s seat, or how there’s cheese-it crumbs in the grooves of the main walkway, or somebody left a tabloid magazine in the back pocket of the seat in front of them.

These details also don’t technically “matter,” but they give you vibes. It’s a dingy bus, a city bus, one the character probably isn’t happy to be on. It starts to feel more real when you can give random but realistic details for your narrator to notice.

Then it’s not just a bus, it’s this specific bus that only exists in this story.

Even if this is a repeat setting that appears in more than one scene, but is still a temporary setting—like a motel room the characters are spending one night in, but a fair chunk of book pages are spent detailing that one night, you don’t have to throw every little bit of information about the room at the readers all at once—and the same goes with character descriptions. Give details as they become relevant.

Like, here’s a paragraph I wrote:

Onna gave Elias Dorian’s usual room, the nice one in the corner with the little metal fireplace and shark jaws hanging like windchimes from the ceiling. The low-lying bed is little more than furs over woven kelp mats on a metal rack, ones he’d hauled straight from Tanarang.

To this narrator, Dorian, it’s a room he’s familiar with, so he’s not going to go overboard with details that he doesn’t think matters, but he will describe things that he doesn’t have at home, like the decorations and the fireplace, and details that are significant to him, like the kelp mats.

Elias, on the other hand, might take a bit longer when it’s his POV to describe things that he’s noticing, that Dorian wouldn’t. Things like the room’s wooden floor, when he’s used to stone, or actually having a window that opens, or how fragile and old everything looks.

No matter what, I’m trying to still tie these expository details back to how they reflect on the narrator giving them, so they feel less like exposition and more like just part of the story.

[neon-draws-sometimes]

big killer chara’s code in soul deletion fic wip

authors note: this is still under constructions and some of the scenes aren’t really connected properly or have place holders [like this]. Keep that in mind lol. Also don’t read if you don’t want this fix spoiled ig??

anyways.

Summary [wip]: Core, who’s befriended Killer, discovers mysterious  edited code in him. Core investigates further and realizes this code is responsible for Killer accepting the deal with Chara, and decides to take the manner into their own hands.

.

It was strange, the way Killer first became Killer.

He remembered standing there in the Justice Hall, will as strong as either. Prepared to face his death over and over.

He died.

He remembered.

That wasn’t normal at all, and for a moment, Sans considered giving up. But no. No amount of torture could make him work with them, become a disgusting killer.

“Fine. I’ll work with you.”

It came out of nowhere, just a few loops later. Sans covered his mouth in shock. It didn’t feel like he had said that.

Chara looked annoyed. Sans could tell they knew he wasn’t actually going to do it, even if he had technically said he would.

Then, a couple loops later, Sans seriously considered it. He was bored, agonizingly bored.

He looked at the kid’s face. They looked smug, like they knew what they had done had finally worked.

Sans felt this strange dissonance between his resolve to not work with that freak and his painful boredom. Something felt wrong, really wrong. Sans had never felt this before.

Sans walked up. And shook their hand.

***

Killer lay on the carpet, reflecting about his past. This was something he usually preferred to distract himself from, but recently Core Frisk had him thinking about it. They were talking a lot to him lately, trying to help him. It was a wasted effort of course, Killer couldn’t be helped. But still, they were determined to try and fix him.

Killer was annoyed at first by them, but it was nice to have someone to talk to honestly. Killer didn’t like to bother his Boss or coworkers with pointless stuff like this.

***

“Killer, I have something to tell you.”

He got that same strange feeling he had all those years ago with Chara, like something was off.

“There’s… there’s something in your code that shouldn’t be there. I’m removing it.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“…”

“Kid…?”

“Sorry Sans, this is for your own good,” They said earnestly, moving their hand like they were pressing a floating object only they could see.

Killer tried to tell them to stop, but it was too late. His soul seized, and with a painful feeling, began to warp into a heart shape, becoming lighter in color as it went.

Killer screamed, half in shock and half in pain, and collapsed to his knees. His vision blacked out.

***

Killer woke up in his room in the castle, tightly griping the sheets. Beside the bed, Nightmare and Core Frisk argued.

“I’m helping him!” 

“You cannot just alter a persons soul like that!” Nightmare retorted. “You didn’t even ask his permission, did you?”

“I didn’t alter his soul, I just deleted the foreign code in him!”

“…which caused his soul to change.”

“Indirectly!”

Killer moaned and tried to sit up. Immediately both parties stopped their argument and surrounded him.

“Killer, are you alright?” Nightmare crouched down next to Killer’s face.

“You feeling alright now, buddy?” Core looked hopeful to Killer, probably thinking the pain was just a temporary side effect. 

… it definitely wasn’t. His chest still stung and he felt his black tears emptying from his sockets at a rapid pace, quicker than they ever normally had.

Nightmare stood up and left the room, presumably to get a towel.

Killer looked at Core Frisk. Core Frisk looked at Killer. They continued their impromptu staring match until Nightmare came back, setting a towel on Killer’s lap.

Killer started to sweat.

Core Frisk and Nightmare were shouting again, probably starting their argument over, but Killer could barely hear them over the feeling of wrong in his gut.

Killer began to heave.

***

“H-huh?”

Alphys was still half asleep. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes.

“His soul. I think there’s something wrong with it.”

“I-oh, sorry. I’m sorry. Is it-“

“Get over here. Now.”

Alphys felt a cold chill down her spine hearing those growled words. She tried to remind herself Nightmare was probably just afraid for Killer, but she couldn’t shake her anxieties completely. 

She quickly pulled on her lab uniform and bolted through the portal. 

.—-

Alphys held her modified stethoscope to Killer’s soul, trying to focus despite the frantic whispers of the Frisk variant and Nightmare.

She heard something strange, like a churning sound. Alphys thought of the liquid pouring faster than she ever remembered from his face and his heaving and coughing and had a realization. [lalala wip]

“Uh, ahem. I think I know what’s wrong.”

[they don’t hear.]

“G-guys?”

[too busy arguing, getting nowhere]

“Hey!”

[still no.]

“HES PREGANANT !!11! [ican’t resist I need to make this joke.]

They both stared at her, mouths agape. Killer also looks mildly concerned, like he might’ve believed it.

“J-just getting your attention, haha. Sorry. Um. He’s fine, it just seems like his soul is expelling all this… what was it?”

“Corrupted determination.”

“A-ah. Right. And it’s weird, because his soul seemed fine with it before… but, u-um. Now he’s. Expelling it, via increased flow from his facial offices. His soul is kinda. Throwing up. It’s pushing up all the, um, liquid, a-and. Well,” She stopped herself there, not having thought of how to actually end the sentence. 

“So, he is going to be fine?” Nightmare asked quickly.

“Y-yup. He should be totally fine,” She quickly added, “But, I’ve. N-never seen something like this so. If he does anything weird call me I guess?!”

—-

Nightmare gets worried and calls the outcode scientist alphys. She’s like he’s fine physically his body is just expelling the toxic substance.

—-

——

“So it wasn’t my fault,” he mumbled. “[], it wasn’t my fault?”

____

Ok so killers only hobby other than being annoying was killing people. He legit has a giant gap in his life. Bro needs a hobby

“…you sure have a lot of free time now that yer not killin’ people n all.” -horror

Everyone glares at him

“what? S’ true.”

[asdpawprint]

Service Dog at College: My Experience

It's been over a year now since I graduated, and I finally feel far enough removed to look back on the experience without instantly triggering a panic attack, so here's how my experience of going to college with my service dog went!

Max attended classes with me for 3 semesters in total. He was still "in training" for about half of his 1st semester, then considered "fully trained" the rest of the time. He did not live in the dorms with me because I didn't live in the dorms.

In preparation for taking him to class for the first time, we did a lot of training outings on campus over the summer. We primarily practiced 2 hour settles and leading me to exits. I also contacted my college's disability services to notify them that I would have my service dog with me. Luckily, they seemed to already understand the laws around service dogs, so it wasn't an issue.

Actually going to class usually went well. My professors and even fellow students were respectful. I only got asked to pet him a handful of times. He was only stepped on once by accident, even though it was sometimes hard to find a seat in class where he could lay out of the way. I preferred the computer lab classrooms because I could sit anywhere and always have enough room under the desk.

I had 1 class in a room where he had to lay in the way, and the only place he could fit at all was far from both exits. And the professor frequently went on tangents about triggering topics. So I was often stuck there during flashbacks or dissociative episodes. That sucked.

Sometimes professors would forget to give us the 15 minute break halfway through a 3 hour class. Technically, I could leave anyway, but I'd miss instruction. So Max got used to doing almost 3 hour settles. He'd get restless in the last 20 minutes or so, but never disruptive.

All the classrooms I was in had carpet, so I didn't bother bringing a mat for Max to lay on. If the floors had been hard, I would've brought one for his comfort. I offered him water and a potty break outside before and after every class, and during 15 minute breaks if we had them. I gave him treats throughout his work time, but we were never out long enough to feed a meal away from home.

The worst experience we had was graduation.

Before the ceremony was fine: security didn't seem to know what to do with us, so they just let us in without going through the metal detector. Someone from disability services guided me through the tables and forms I had to fill out. They let me sit off to the side for the beginning of the ceremony instead of walking through the miserable crowd of overstimulation (a line of previous graduates on either side) with my peers, and let me have a chair on the outside edge for the ceremony itself.

Then things started going wrong:

I didn't know ahead of time that the floor would be concrete, so I didn't have a mat for Max. He was very uncomfortable and shifted around a lot.

I couldn't wear a treat pouch or access my pockets under the gown, so Max had to work in an extremely overwhelming situation for hours with almost no rewards.

The people with cameras seemed to actively avoid me. I noticed several times that they'd do an overview of the crowd, then stop immediately before my row, then start again immediately past us. That was weird.

The guy telling each row when to start going towards the stage stepped on Max after staring at him multiple times. Then rushed us towards the stage before I could get any treats out of Max's vest pockets. That was very upsetting.

The stairs up to the stage were metal and creaky and had lots of gaps, but luckily Max is well socialized to weird stairs and walked up just fine.

The worst part of all was the end of the ceremony. They invited the whole entire audience to crowd into the arena we were sitting in to "collect their graduate." Luckily, Max perceived it as "So many new friends! How will I ever say hi to them all!" But I was completely out of it. By some miracle, my Dad was among the first into the arena and was able to lead me out. It took over a week for me to recover. I ended up sending an email to disability services suggesting that they should provide options to exit early because that situation easily could've been dangerous.

To summarize, my overall experience with bringing my service dog to college went well (everything else about college was horrible, but they did well with the service dog specifically), but graduation was a disaster.

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

I know you're finishing up the last of these and you've probably technically already answered all of them but time got away from me and I meant to send an ask. So only if you feel like answering:

🌀❄️🌤️🌧️💧☔🌪️

No worries! If I have an ask game pinned, that means I’m still doing it (and it was pinned when you sent this) :D

Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

OOOOOOH! HMM.

This is gonna be a short summary because it’s a very new idea lol, but basically, it’s a modern AU! Tommy has just run away from an abusive situation, and he’s waiting for a train in an underground train station. He’s got a friend in the area that he’s trying to get to, hoping that friend will let him stay at his house for a bit :’0

While waiting… well, long story short, Tommy discovers that a ghost haunts the train station! But he’s actually a quite friendly—and very weird—ghost! He and Tommy become friends :)

The ghost is Ghostbur, by the way. Kinda obvious lol

Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing

Wilbur feels really stupid right now—which, he supposes, makes sense. Anyone would feel stupid standing in a…

Well… maybe not everyone would feel stupid? Some people, at least, wouldn’t. Some people do things like this, come to places like this, all the time. Or at least once a week. It’s once a week, right? Something like that. 

Wilbur huffs out a breath, hands in the pockets of his long brown coat and smudged glasses sat atop his nose. People usually dress nicer when they go to a church, don’t they? They wear suits, and ties, and shiny black shoes. 

Wilbur glances down at his own worn footwear, gently lifting one leg. Dirt falls onto the floor, carried by the soles of his shoe from outside. 

Wilbur sighs, setting it back down. He is not fit to be in a church right now. He is most definitely not fit to be in a church right now. 

Hence, the reason he’s feeling stupid. One of the reasons, at least. 

Wilbur slowly lifts his head, dragging his eyes up the purple carpet and onto the stained glass set behind a wooden podium. He can’t really tell what the glass depicts; too many colors and shapes for that. He thinks that someone is kneeling, though. Bent down, head lowered. 

Should I be doing that?

Wilbur clears his throat. The sound seems to echo throughout the (quite small) building, bouncing around the white walls and black pews and all the other stained glass windows that stretch to the ceiling. It makes Wilbur feel small—smaller than the church.

Which makes sense, he thinks with slightly furrowed brows. He is smaller than the church. Obviously. Obviously, he’s smaller than the church. 

But still.

Wilbur closes his eyes, taking a very deep and very long breath. He feels his chest expand, his body rising ever so slightly taller, before the air is let out and his chest gets small and his body goes back to its usual height. He opens his eyes.

Wilbur feels really stupid right now. 

And he’s about to feel a little more stupid. 

“Hello.” The sound of his voice swims around the building, just like his cleared throat from earlier—except this time, the sound is louder. Almost startling, if Wilbur hadn’t known that it was his very own voice and not a stranger’s. 

But Wilbur does know. He does know that it’s his own voice. So it’s not startling. 

Wilbur swallows. “I um… wanted…”

Wanted? That’s not very true, is it? No. No, he never wanted to come here. He was told to come here.

Wilbur swallows again. “I came here, because… I think… it’ll help?”

Help. Help with what? 

“Y’know, just… it’ll help me get better, or something.” Wilbur says this with an almost-smile, gently bending forward before straightening. “I was told it would, at least. Help me. By um… someone.”

He clears his throat again, and wonders how many times someone can clear their throat before it starts hurting, or causes damage. 

He flicks his eyes to the podium. “Do you ever come inside this place, and listen? Or do you just…” He makes a gesture with one hand, pulling it out of his coat pocket. “Stay up there, all the time? Or wherever you reside.”

Silence is his answer.

Wilbur looks away, nodding his head and clucking his tongue. “Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say. That’s what I thought.”

He blinks. You’re probably being too blunt. Too on the nose. 

“I’m- gosh, what am I even doing?” Wilbur takes a tiny step backwards, looking around. “I don’t- y’know, I haven’t been in a building like this in ages. Not since I was a kid, I don’t think.

“Oh.” Wilbur’s eyes brighten, slightly, and he turns back to the stained glass at the front. “I should talk about that, probably. I probably should. My history, with places like these, I mean.”

~~~

Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP

“Yes!” The man answered eagerly, nodding. “Yesterday! Yesterday was a very eventful day for me—for everyone, judging by the massive hole in L’manburg and how sad everyone looks.”

He said that with a happy lilt in his voice, like he was discussing a new pet. 

Phil began to notice how the man’s voice sounded; high-pitched and scratchy. Not smooth and deep-toned. 

The icy burn in Phil’s chest flickered again. “It, uh… eventful. Yes. It was… it was very eventful. That’s one word for it.”

The man brightened, opening his mouth and beginning to chatter about something Phil had no interest in listening to.

All Phil heard was high-pitched, scratchy. 

All he heard was the sound of something wrong. 

All he heard was someone who didn’t sound like his son.

And yet: 

“Wil?” Phil said it in a whisper, in a breath, the words leaving his chest and taking with it his supply of oxygen. His throat tightened. 

The man went quiet, the smile finally leaving his face in a soft drop, like a curtain closing. He tilted his head slightly. “Hello. Philza, I am very dead.”

The bluntness was enough to shock some air back into Phil’s lungs, and he gulped shakily. “W-what?”

“I’m dead!” The man repeated, tinged with something bright and sharp and almost searing. “You killed me yesterday, remember? That was why- that was why I said yesterday was eventful! That was why!” In a bubbly chuckle, he’d added, “It’s not everyday that someone dies—in this server, I mean. I’m not sure about other servers. Phil, you’ve been to other servers, haven’t you? Do lots of people die in those servers?”

“You- you’re-“ 

The man—dead man, not alive, not alive. Not alive?—watched with wide eyes as Phil stuttered, licked his lips, tried to speak. “You’re… you said you… died?”

“Oh yes! I died, and now I’m dead but still here, but I think I sound different and everyone looks at me like I did something horrible and some of them look like they hate me.” The man blinked, putting on a smile at once. “I’m a ghost!”

And that was when Phil realized; the voice, the skin, the sweater, the smile. The way the man—ghost—stood just a little taller than Phil, and Phil didn’t have to turn his head up to make eye contact. Phil could just turn his eyes up, and not his head. 

That wasn’t right. His son was much taller than this. 

Phil swallowed, and the icy burn in his chest went out in a horrible painless snuff. “What’s your name?”

The dead man stared at him, and he smiled again. “My name is Ghostbur!”

Phil should not have let himself hope.

~~~

Share something angsty from your WIP

"You just shot a tree instead of the target, Tommy!" Wilbur's voice turns sharp like saltwater, and Tommy shuts his mouth. 

Wilbur takes a deep breath through his nose—it's loud, and that's how Tommy can tell it's from his nose and not from his mouth—and comes to a stop. He's right in front of Tommy, several feet away, and the wind is blowing at his coat and making his hair dance a little bit, across his forehead. "You're not good with a bow. That's the simple truth, Tommy. You're not."

Wilbur's voice isn't saltwater anymore; it's back to being river water, all smooth and cold and filled with weird things like wet leaves and mud. Tommy prefers this to the saltwater, but he thinks that Wilbur's voice used to be different, still. Maybe not like water at all. Maybe just like Wilbur, and nothing else. 

Tommy realizes he’s been standing still for several seconds, so he shifts his feet, sniffing. “Well. What do you want me to do about it?”

Wilbur blinks, eyes narrowed just a little bit. “Get better. That’s what I’m helping you with. Now,” Wilbur takes a few backwards steps, back to where he’d been standing before Tommy shot an arrow into a tree. “Try again.”

~~~

Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen

I'll do you one better and share both >:)

~~~

When he steps forward and presses his lips to hers, the sun shines directly into his eyes, and he closes them. He wants to stay like this forever. Even if he can't see. 

Like Eurydice and Orpheus, he thinks. 

When Sally pulls away, Wilbur feels a weight in his arms. When he looks down, he sees Fundy settled in them. The baby is nearly asleep, limp with eyes mostly-closed. He's wearing a light blue onesie. He's adorable. 

When Wilbur looks back up, Sally has taken several steps back. He opens his mouth to call her back, but closes it. 

Sally shakes her head, smiling through tears. "If I stay any longer, I'll never leave."

If you stay any longer, I won't let you.

Wilbur doesn't say that. He merely presses his lips together and tries to smile. Fundy is feather-light in his arms. 

~~~

Ghostbur begins to hum, quietly, as he works on bandaging Tommy’s arm. Tommy can’t tell what song Ghostbur is humming, but it sounds nice; soft and gentle and all that. Maybe Ghostbur made it up. 

“Tommy?”

Tommy takes a breath, straightening his back a little bit (it’s starting to get sore). “Yeah?”

“How did you hurt yourself?”

“I already told you, Ghostbur.”

Ghostbur is quiet for a few moments. 

Tommy turns his head, just a little bit, so he can see his friend. “You forgot?”

“Don’t- don’t look.” Ghostbur quickly pulls one hand away from the bandage, pushing it into Tommy’s face and forcing his head away. “I don’t want you to look.”

“Fine, fine.” Tommy breathes in, deep. “I fell.”

“Fell from what?” Ghostbur’s voice is friendly, conversational. Not a bit of malice or that wrinkled-lip-ness that sometimes makes it’s way through voices. 

Come to think of it, Tommy doesn’t think that Ghostbur has ever sounded like that. Mean, that is. 

“A little, y’know. A tower.”

“Oh.” Ghostbur’s fingers prod along Tommy’s arm, but it’s gentle, so Tommy doesn’t yelp or anything. “Why did you jump off a tower?”

At this, Tommy feels his face burn. “I was… I was trying to do something.”

“Trying to do what?”

“Quit asking so many questions, man! Jeez! You’re proper annoying me right now.”

“Were you trying to do a water bucket clutch?”

Tommy opens and closes his mouth. He doesn’t say anything—can’t say anything, really. How did he-

“Tommy, that was not a very smart thing to do.”

“Oh, shut up! You’re just saying that because-“

“Hold still.”

Tommy grumbles, holding himself steady even though he desperately wants to stand up and smack Ghostbur on the face.

~~~

Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Mmm… I’d really want to write a super long one-shot about Wilbur and Phil, and how they slowly and painstakingly heal after Wilbur is revived… but that’s a very Big Project, and I’m not sure if I’ll get around to it :’(

But I do have ideas for a few scenes!!

Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/Ao3 tags

I’ll go with my chicken au (I will not elaborate)

(I messed up on one of the tags lol)

[spanishskulduggery]

I read a story about a Spanish learner who said something like "estoy caliente" to someone, meaning they were hot, but that really means "I'm horny" or something like that. Are there any other "false friends" like that that someone should really know?

Technically yes, you would not be saying estoy caliente although there are cases where you might be feeling someone's forehead and you might say está caliente which is like "they are hot to the touch". That's more about temperature of the skin; for saying "I am hot" as in "I feel warm" you say tengo calor

There are a few expressions that are like this, some are regionally applicable.

Sometimes there are also words that have more than one meaning so it can get confusing sometimes

-

1. The big one people will never stop telling you is that embarazada means "pregnant" not "embarrassed"; if you're feeling embarrassed you usually use avergonzado/a "ashamed" or the verb avergonzarse "to be embarrassed"

2. I was told never to use estar excitado/a because it comes out as "to be aroused". I have however heard people use excitado/a as "excited", but it could be both. I was taught to say entusiasmado/a or emocionado/a "excited" or in some cases ansioso/a "anxious"

3. pretender is not really "to pretend"... it means "to claim" or "to go after", but it could be like "to try to obtain" in the sense of a "pretender to the throne" [someone who makes a claim to the throne], or pretendiente is a "suitor" as in someone who is trying to "woo" someone.... The true word for "to pretend" is fingir which is like "to feign"

4. la decepción means "disappointment" and decepcionar is "to deceive"; el engaño is "deceit" or "deception" and engañar is "to deceive"

5. la demanda is often used as a "lawsuit", where demandar is "to file a claim" or "to file a lawsuit". There are times when la demanda can be a "demand" [like oferta y demanda is "supply and demand"] so I guess this is sometimes a false friend, but I'm used to seeing a "demand" as la petición for "request" or something more extreme as la exigencia or exigir which are often "to demand" or "to require"

6. la sentencia means "sentence" usually in the sense of a courtroom like someone handing down a "sentence" for a conviction. A typical "sentence" is often la frase or la oración

7. el acta is not an "act", it's a "certificate" or an "official recording" of something; an "act" is usually la acción or el acto

8. actual means "current" or "present-day"; usually "actual" is real or verdadero/a "true"

9. el campo is a "field" or "campus", while a "camp" is often el campamento

10. This one comes up every so often but bombero/a means "firefighter" where it comes from la bomba which does mean "bomb" but also means "pump", so a bombero/a is someone working a water pump or hydrant; people mistake it for "bomber" which is bombardero/a "a bombardier" literally

11. constipado/a is a common one. In Spanish it means "to have a cold", think "stuffed up". To be "constipated" is estreñido/a which I think of as "strained"

12. sano/a is "healthy", cuerdo/a is "sane"

13. el éxito is "success", la salida is an "exit"

14. la fábrica is a "factory", related to "fabrication"; people mistake it for "fabric" which is la tela

15. realizar means "to accomplish" or "to make a reality"; darse cuenta is "to realize" or "to have a realization"

16. Usually a librería is a "bookstore", and la biblioteca is "library"; the -ería suffix usually means "a place where something is purchased". There are places where la librería is a library but just be aware that it usually is not

17. sensible is "sensitive", and sensato/a is "sensible" or "someone with good sense"

18. la carpeta is a "folder" or something that holds documents, la alfombra is a "carpet"

19. emocionante means "exciting" or "thrilling", and emocionado/a is often "exciting", while emocional is "emotional"; qué emoción is "how exciting" or "how thrilling" sort of like a "wow" interjection or exclamation

20. la cuestión is usually "question" in the sense of "a matter for discussion or thought" or "the issue"... a usual "question" like asking someone something is often la pregunta. I can't say it's a 100% false friend, but just be aware

21. recordar is "to recall" or "to remind" or "to remember"; "to record" something is grabar

22. en absoluto trips me up every time; it means "absolutely not" or "no way", it is inherently a negative response. The idea of "absolutely" as an affirmative is por supuesto or claro or something along those lines, while "absolutely" as an adverb is absolutamente, totalmente or something like that

23. el disgusto is "displeasure" or "something unpleasant" with disgustar meaning "to cause unhappiness" or "to cause displeasure"; el asco is "disgust" and dar asco is "to disgust"

24. soportar is normally "to put up with" or "to tolerate"; to "support someone" is apoyar and as a noun el apoyo "support"

25. el preservativo is "contraception" mostly understood as "condom"; the "preservatives" in food are los conservadores

-

There are definitely others but 25 is a nice even number and these are the ones that come to mind.

Also a fun annoying thing that happens in Spanish is that SOMETIMES un billón means "billion" and sometimes it means "trillion". There's a weird issue in Spanish counting where a "billion" can also be mil millón ...it's a whole thing, I have complained about it before but it's just one of those things that Spanish doesn't agree on

There are also many MANY words that are partially false friends, or words that might mean different things in different contexts like la demanda or something like la planta which does mean "plant" but can also mean "floor/story" of a building or "bottom of the foot"

Please feel free to comment more you can think of!

[astaroth1357]

Demon Brothers as Roommates

Intro:

So, the MC has left the Devildom and, of course, everybody is quite sad… But this time around, they have a little trick up their sleeve. With just a bit of magic (and training thanks to Solomon) the MC can now summon one of their favorite demon boys up to the human world with them! There's just, uh, one problem though… After being summoned to their side, their beloved demon now refuses to leave it.

Alright MC, enjoy your new demonic roommate!!

Lucifer

Apparently Lucifer is on sabbatical… And yes, he does appreciate that irony in that.

Lucifer actually has a surprising amount of human world money stashed away in alias accounts (because this man renting a cheap motel on business trips? Let's be real) so he uses that wealth to get them a place befitting his standards… which are high.

Spacious apartments in nice areas that would make even the upper middle-class shit their pants? Congrats, MC, that's where you're staying now!

Even with all that money, though, Lucifer CANNOT sit idle for a second. The guy is used to working all his life and just sitting around would drive him insane!

Expect him to still be running some Devildom affairs long-distance style while doing something else on the side, probably stock market stuff tbh.

Is going to want to pay for and provide everything himself but will respect the MC if they still want to work and split the bills (not to a ridiculous degree, though, like half-and-half because that would mean getting three jobs at least).

A lot of trips and vacations too, especially if the MC likes to travel. It’s a good excuse to relax while also technically doing something so he doesn’t lose his mind doing nothing in particular.

He is going to be that strict roommate who expects you not to be a slob and isn't afraid to say so. Regularly scheduled cleaning/organization days are mandatory because hygiene is important. Take some pride in yourself and wash up, MC. That kind of thing.

Also going to have short-fuse for… antics. If you want to prank him, do so at your own risk because he may prank back (and that’s not nearly as fun as it sounds, trust me.)

Mammon

Yeah so, living with Mammon is like the inverse of Lucifer. Prepare to be poooor.

Man has no human money, are you kidding me? Even if he did, he wouldn’t keep it for very long. Couples budgeting is a MUST if you’re looking to survive.

The apartment is going to be whatever the MC can more or less afford on their own with Mammon shoved in somewhere like a cheap lamp… Don’t expect a lot of room.

However, Mammon is great at the hustle. Man can work multiple jobs and actually be pretty dang good at them. For the most part, anyway. He may occasionally trip up and get himself fired, but he bounces back quick.

If the MC isn’t so moral he can also uh… “find” some extra money lying around too. Just be careful when playing with fire, right?

Even if they’re poor as shit, Mammon is still a blast to be around. The guy knows how to have fun on and off of a budget. Lots of “window shopping” (getting kicked out of stores for goofing off), nightclubs, amusement parks, and cheap fun. They’ll never be without a story to tell or a smile on their face!

He IS pretty slobbish though. He’s not going to remember to clean up after himself unless told, but he’s also not going to be bothered if they don’t do the same thing. A weekly cleaning day is going to be ideal unless they don’t mind living in a pigsty...

Prank waaaaars!! The kind of guy to get them both water guns and have a war in the middle of the apartment complex. Good luck getting any rest with Mammon around.

Leviathan 

Whelp, your room is now his room, quite literally MC. You had to pick the shut-in…

The guy isn’t exactly poor but what human money he does have is all wrapped up in his many interests… Merch interests specifically. 

Thankfully, he won’t take up too much space. Put him in a room with a desk, bed (or bathtub), TV, and computer and he’s good to go! 

He’s not going to be a complete bum, thankfully. There’s no way that they can get him to leave the apartment, but he can run small online stores (usually anime themed) or become a streamer. Probably enough to help pay the bills, but not much more.

If they don’t mind having a literally permanent housemate, then being with Levi has its own kind fun. Lots of anime marathons, movie nights, and game nights. Really, it’s just like how he was in the House, but now transported to the human world.

Is probably going to want a pet goldfish, snake ,or lizard so prepare to house Henry 3.0.

When he does leave the apartment, it’s to take the MC to conventions, concerts, or anime stores. He always manages to get just enough money for these trips, but never says where the money comes from… Best not to ask. Could be black market for they know...

… He’s a shut-in. He’s a shut-in roommate. Hygiene isn’t exactly his main concern. If they ask him to, he’ll make sure to clean up after himself, but he may need a reminder.

Can have a fun side, but just don’t mess with his stuff too much. He doesn’t need a Mammon 2.0 around too...

Satan

He's either hatching a plan for world domination or adopting 10 cats… One or the other.

About as poor as Mammon at first, but threat not. He won’t be for very long. Satan is intelligent beyond his years (or equivalent his years maybe?) so he’ll probably net himself several degrees within a couple semesters like a certified prodigy.

At that point, there really isn’t much to worry about (aside from student loans, join our pain Satan) but he can sell himself just fine and probably get some high paying job like a lawyer or doctor or whatever… I’m not jealous…

They’ll start out in a pretty modest place, but there will be upgrades fairly quickly when he starts racking it in so Satan’s a fairly decent choice as a roommate.

He does still have that nasty habit of breaking things when he’s pissed off, but that can be subverted by getting a pet! Just hold up whatever cat you own when he’s about to rampage then declare that he’s scaring/upsetting them and he’ll stop in his tracks. Works every time!

Probably going to be the most domestic out of the brothers. He enjoys cooking (and ain’t half bad at it either), shopping is a practical necessity, he’ll take care your pets like they were his own flesh and blood, etc.

There will even to be points where he’s in bed reading in the middle of the night with tea and reading glasses like some kind of grandma so take that image for what you will.

Satan is the prankster of the household, but he does his pranks more as a way to give grief to his enemies rather than for funsies. Be warned, if you poke this bear he will retaliate for sweet, sweet revenge and he has centuries worth of pranks behind him. Good luck.

Asmodeus 

It's a new party every night, sweetie, get used to it!

Asmo is the only other brother who has some amount of money to offer from his own trips to the human world, but it's just a modest amount.

Is totally willing to work to help pay for a nice place. He wants a building nice enough to host parties!

Would go back to modeling and maybe dip his toe into acting from time to time… He gets a lot of gigs (this IS the Avatar of Lust after all) so they won't be strapped for cash. Which is good, because Asmo is a very "business by day, but party every night" kind of person. 

Do know that his shopping is NOT going to slow down either. Keep an eye on the budget.

He’s also going to make friends wherever he goes so he’s going to want for them all to hang out at least somewhat regularly.

That being said, he can tone it down some if the MC so desires, just know that they can’t keep him cooped up in the apartment for too long or he’ll start getting antsy. You can’t keep this stallion locked up, MC, he needs to run free!!

Being with Asmo is going to be like having a free pass to whatever gathering the MC wants to go to, at least. He could even get them into red carpet events with just his sheer charisma, charm, and er-… “charms.” Who doesn’t want to meet their favorite actress or singer, eh?

But oh, sweetie, please don’t prank him! Life is too short to waste on silly games (he also just genuinely just doesn’t enjoy being messed with so best not do it).

Beelzebub 

Brave choice, MC, but quick question. How in the world are you going to pay your food bills???

Beel is a real sweetheart through and through but his stomach is NOT. That thing will eat them out of house and home! (Maybe even literally!!) Both of them are going to have to work and probably some pretty looong hours (cause he’s got no money either).

Honestly, Beel would be best as a personal trainer in the human world. He’s a pretty decent combination of tough but genuinely kind and motivating. (The fact that he’s pretty easy on the eyes would help out a lot too).

But the MC won’t have to worry about Beel sneaking off with someone just looking for some “quality time.” He’d take his job seriously, though he’s not particularly versed in what the human body can’t handle so only the really dedicated (or masochistic) would stick with him anyway.

“Good work last week, April! You did so well that we’re going to go from 500 pushups to a thousand! … I can see you’re worried, but I believe in you.”

But hey, he can deadlift well over 2,000 pounds without breaking a sweat so who has the balls to argue with him, anyway?

Trying out every restaurant in town would be a must. He’d even plan out vacations for them with the sole purpose of travelling the globe and tasting the different flavors. Food trips!!

He's neat enough since he used to tidy up a lot for Belphie so no need to worry about him picking up after himself (except for the occasional pile of wrappers. Toss those out unless you want ants)

I mean, you can prank Beel if you want. He'll be pretty good-natured about it as long as it stays harmless. Just don't ruin any of his food, got it?

Belphegor 

So… Belphie makes for some excellent décor! Really he is great at laying around and looking fantastic just… he’s not that great at much else...

Realistically, choosing Belphie as a roommate is kind like having a high maintenance pet. He’s good for love and cuddles, but he’s not going to be helping with the bills or anything unless they whine incessantly about it.

If the MC can make enough for the both of them, then it should be fine. They won’t get upset and he won’t be crabby but if not… Oh boy.

Regular job Belphie is a needy Belphie. He’ll come back from whatever job he’s working, likely a night shift, and demand attention or cuddles right then and there. He needs to recharge those batteries, after all...

If he isn’t working then he's at his happiest. He can even pull off being a “househusband” of sorts. He’s not going to go above and beyond the call of duty, but he can keep the place clean, get a basic meal on the table (provided someone teaches him some human recipes), and get groceries if he needs to… You know, basic domestic shit.

They’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that, at some level, Belphie just doesn’t believe in “common curtesy” or “human decency.” If some neighbors are being too noisy for his liking, he will troll them to oblivion and beyond. He may even get sued for it if he takes it too far, so the MC will have to keep an eye on him…

He’s the House’s #2 prankster, but unlike Satan he doesn’t need any malice to be a little shit. The MC will be pranked and it will be at the most unexpected times. Be warned...

Check out my Masterlist for more!

[beneathstarryskies]

Hi! Can I just say that I'm soooooooooooooooooooo happy someone writes DMC content? I feel like there's not a whole lot of that kind of content on here that suits my needs!!!!!!😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

My request is maybe Dante NSFW alphabet? 🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴 plz and thnx

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Dante’s aftercare is a little rusty. Most of his sexual experience has been one-night stands which ended with either him or his flavor of the night leaving pretty shortly after their heated rendezvous came to a close.

His favorite thing though is long, intimate cuddle sessions and silly pillow talk. If you want something to eat or drink he’ll get it for you (although beware his go-to is gonna be ordering pizza.) He would also be totally down for showering together if you wanted to. If you have more aftercare requirements, you’ll likely have to guide him through it. Dante really wants to do good for you. Give him some guidance, and he’ll happily oblige as long as it makes you feel good.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Dante is confident in his entire body, honestly. He’s muscular and strong, he knows he’s a good looking giy. He is a little bit cocky about it as well. However, if you worship your favorite parts of his body he will be inclined to include those as his favorites.

Dante loves the sound of your laugh, and would do just about anything to have that sweet sound caressing his ears. Especially when accompanied by that bright smile. His favorite thing is when he makes you laugh during sex or while making out and you bury your face against his neck to try to cover it up.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Oh, Dante is definitely weak for cumming in your mouth. He loves it when you’re on your knees in front of him with his cock down your throat, and watching you make a mess of yourself trying to swallow his large load. He would also love painting your skin with his cum.

Dante makes you cum as many times as possible. He loves the way you feel around his cock and how soaked he gets in your juices. But even more than that, he loves pleasing you. The way your name falls from his lips so passionately, and your hands tug on his long hair. He loves knowing he made you feel so good.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Oh the number of times Dante has jacked off at his desk with lewd thoughts of you running through his mind. Sometimes he even gets a pair of your underwear and holds it to his face while he’s jacking off. With his heightened senses, he is practically surrounded by you. He can almost imagine you’re there instead of his own hand.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Dante is experienced, but maybe not quite as experienced as he tries to make out to be. It’s mostly been quickies and one-night stands. Nothing very intimate, so while he knows technically what he’s doing he might need a little help actually learning your body. He’s pretty eager to please, and he has good instincts.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position involving you on his desk drives him wild. It’s just something he really enjoys a lot. Especially having you bent over so he can fuck you from behind, and expect to get spanked.

However, he also enjoys lazy, spooning sex in the bed. Bonus points if it’s in the morning and you’re both still a little sleepy and uninhibited.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Dante tends to be a little bit silly during sex. Sometimes cracking jokes, or just doing random things to get a giggle out of you. He likes to unwind and he loves making you laugh. If you need a more serious moment, he can accommodate that. And there will be times he just wants to be more serious and intimate. Dante also at times requires a bit of comfort sex, although he’ll never actually call it that. He’ll just be a bit more needy and clingy than usual.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is actually a pretty hairy guy. He’s got nice, soft white chest hair. A patch on his stomach that leads into his pants. His pubes are a bit more gray than white, and it’s coarse. On his own accord, he will let it go wild. In a relationship, he’ll put a little more effort into keeping it trimmed up. However, he’d really prefer not to be clean shaven.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Dante usually tends to be more laid back, but he will also make you feel like the only thing that matters in the whole world. He gives a lot of kisses and soft caresses. Between silly jokes or absolutely filthy dirty talk, he’ll confess how much he adores you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jacks off a lot, often purely out of boredom. If he’s alone in the office, it wouldn’t take much effort to walk in on him stroking his cock while sitting at his desk with a dirty magazine open. Sometimes he even tries to time it so you will catch him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Lingerie is a big one for Dante, but also he would be into a sexy school girl outfit. Slight corruption kink, and he absolutely has a daddy kink. Spanking. Semi-public sex.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The comfort of your own bedroom is nice when he wants to take his time with you. As mentioned before, he also loves fucking you on his desk. He also has a weakness for sloppy sex in less than ideal places like a bar bathroom or an alleyway.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Dante gets turned on pretty easily, but will often play hard to get just because he likes it when you try to seduce him. Hearing you beg for his cock and smothering him in affection is the easiest way to get him going. He likes feeling loved and wanted.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Dante doesn’t want to risk doing anything that could hurt you, and with him being half demon he’s all too aware that it’s a possibility. He might be down to experiment a bit with devil trigger, but he has his limits with it and he’s pretty steadfast in his limits.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Dante has a slight preference for receiving. At times he has to remind himself to return the favor. Not to say he doesn’t enjoy giving, because he does. And that mouth is good, okay? The man can go down like no other. But sometimes he gets so turned on by having your pretty little mouth around his cock, that he gets ahead of himself and just wants to sink himself into your pussy immediately afterwards. He’ll make it up to you though.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends. He defaults to fast and rough because he tends to get totally lost in the pleasure and wants to pound into you. However, there are times he just wants to go slow and feel you all around him. These are the times when he’s feeling needy and wants to give and receive a lot of affection.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He enjoys quickies a whole lot, and will never turn down the chance. It’s a pretty regular occurence, especially if he has to leave for a job but wants to fuck you before he leaves.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Dante is pretty adventurous, and there are very few things that are off the table as far as he’s concerned. It just depends on what the risks are.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Oh boy...He has amazing stamina. He can pretty much last as long as he wants to, and can go for multiple rounds.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Dante has never really played around with toys too much, but he’s absolutely open to it. He’d be weak for having a vibrator used on him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is such a tease. Hearing you whine and beg is music to his ears, and he will keep it up for a long time because he knows he’ll make all the teasing worth it for you. Also, he really enjoys teasing you at very bad moments. Like having dinner with friends? Don’t be surprised if Dante starts rubbing your pussy under the table, but never putting enough pressure to get you off. So by the time you leave, you’re basically dripping wet and absolutely infuriated with him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Dante talks a lot, and this is no different with sex. He’s big into dirty talk. He also tends to let out a lot of primal sounds like growls and purrs. Pretty much always lets out a deep growl when he cums.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Dante is a braggart. He loves fucking you very loudly when he knows people can hear because he wants everyone to know how well he can fuck you. This is also a bit of a possessive thing, but he won’t admit that.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His cock is about 9 inches and very girthy. There’s gonna be a stretch every time he slides it inside of you, but he is aware of this and will take his time to let you adjust before getting rough.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Dante’s sex drive is ridiculous. He is pretty much down to fuck anytime, but he doesn’t let it get in the way of pressing matters.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He falls asleep pretty easily afterwards, and sometimes he won’t even warn you. You’ll be cuddling in bed, and then you just hear him start snoring.

[mypoisonedvine]

The Sort of Things We Usually Do Alone | Mob!Sam Wilson, Mob!Bucky Barnes, and Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

summary: it’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into when you got a job at a mob-controlled strip club.  still, you never saw this coming.

warnings: technically dub con but it’s pretty light, there’s three dudes and one girl so i bet you can guess that every hole is going to come into discussion, plus some pain kink and metal arm kink.  (note: none of them are fully dark here, but like… it’s the mob so, they’re not 100% gentlemen either.  just bossy and demanding and a wee bit possessive, but not true creeps.)

word count: 3.7k

@evnscvll​ @mandalorianspace​ @ballyhoobarnes​ @mariahthelioness29​

moodboard by yours truly

Funny enough, you had actually been expecting an easy night tonight.  You were just doing bottle service-- no pole, no private events-- so unless somebody specifically requested you for a lap dance, you were basically off the hook.  Less tips, but you were already looking forward to getting home and changing into something considerably less tight than what you were wearing now.

That all went out the window when you saw three suits walk in the door.  You knew who they were: everyone did.  Just the way they walked made it clear that they owned the place-- literally.

Sam, specifically, you recognized.  He was pretty high up in the organization but he spent the most time here of anyone.  You and Sam had an... arrangement, to put it softly.  You gave him a lot of private dances, and you did things with him that you most certainly were not permitted to do with other customers.  The two men beside him-- one with dark hair and an even darker glare, the other with shorter blonde locks and gorgeous blue eyes-- seemed new.

You pretended not to see them as you set down your tray of drinks and waited for Sam to come to you, like he always did.  You felt his hand on the small of your back and turned to look up at him through your lashes, a little surprised to see the other two still with him rather than dispersing into the crowd.

“Hey there," Sam purred at you, leaning against the bar beside where you were standing. 

"Hi," you replied coyly.  

"You miss me?"

"Always."

"Mm, you're a good liar," he grinned, lifting your chin with one finger and leaning in for an open-mouthed kiss.

You stopped him with a gentle press of your hands against his chest.  "Um, you haven't introduced me to your friends…"

Maybe it was ironically conservative for you to object to being kissed in front of men you didn't know when you literally got naked for strangers every day, but you figured that he had something important to tell you about them.  If he didn't, he would've taken you to the back room by now.

"Oh!  I almost forgot.  We got some fresh blood-- Bucky," he motioned to the dark haired one, "and Steve," he shoved the other on the shoulder.  Bucky barely even acknowledged you aside from a slow scan of your body with his gaze; Steve gave you a slightly awkward half-smile.

"Hi there, boys," you greeted with your brightest smile.  "Welcome to the family."

"You're gonna welcome them a little better than that," Sam grinned.  "Why don't you give Bucky a lap dance, huh?  On the house, of course."

"Sure," you agreed, trying to hide your confusion that he would suggest something like that.  Normally he was pretty possessive and jealous.

Just as you started to walk towards the chairs by the stage, Sam interjected.

"No, sweetheart-- take him to the back."

You could hardly believe what you were hearing.  "A… private dance?"

"Well, Steve and I will be close by.  So not that private."

"Uhh, sure.  This way," you led Bucky with a curled finger and a saunter into the back hallway, past the red velvet curtain where the lights were even darker and the carpet was plushy and soft under your stilettos.

"Take a seat," you offered as you turned the corner to the room you and Sam usually used.  Bucky relaxed into the black suede chair, his eyes never leaving you.  Only then did you notice that he was wearing leather gloves-- a little peculiar, but you’d definitely seen stranger

You felt Sam and Steve step a little closer behind you, caging you in.  Even moreso, you felt three pairs of eyes on you.  It felt different, somehow, than having dozens on you when you danced on stage.

"For private dances,” you explained slowly, “I typically wear… a little bit less than this…”

"I'm not gonna stop you," Bucky shrugged.  

Yeah, but is Sam? you replied internally.

He didn't.  What he did instead was tell Steve to help you unzip the back of your dress.

"Thank you," you mumbled as you made sure your hair was out of the way, shivering a little as his fingers ghosted over your neck to get a grip on the zipper, slowly sliding it down to the small of your back.  

Stepping forward, you slipped the straps off your shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor.

"You're wearing the set I bought you," Sam noticed with a grin.  He said you looked best in black.  You weren't sure you agreed but you ended up using this set a lot anyways.  

"You have good taste," you replied.

"Agreed," Bucky murmured, looking up at you from his chair.  

Lifting one leg and sliding it next to him on the couch, you slowly lowered yourself until you were straddling him.  

You gingerly wrapped your arms around his shoulders and began to move slowly, going through the motions and noticing the way he unabashedly stared at your chest.  The lace bra didn’t leave much to the imagination.

There was a tension in the air as you moved over him, only the thumping bass echoing from the main floor breaking the silence.  Some guys liked to talk during a dance, but Bucky’s brooding said more than enough.  You could sense his restraint being tested-- occasionally you could even hear his fist tighten thanks to the creaking of the leather gloves.  

Quickly turning to face the other way, you rubbed your ass on his crotch and almost let out a groan when you felt that he was hard.  Hoping to tease him, you lifted your hips only to gasp when he grabbed you and pulled you down onto him, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

“N-no touching,” you stammered, grabbing his wrists and placing his hands beside his legs.

“Let him touch you,” Sam instructed darkly.

“Really?”

“Did I stutter?”

You breathed shakily as you lifted your hands from Bucky’s wrists; as soon as he was free to, he reached around you and used his left hand to remove his right glove and toss it aside.  You thought it was a little odd that he left the other one on, but once he was running his hands over your thighs and pushing your legs apart, you didn’t think much of it anymore.

You shivered as his right hand moved, excruciatingly slowly, towards your lace-clad pussy.

“You’re sort of shy, for a stripper,” Bucky whispered in your ear.

“Believe it or not, this is new for me,” you whispered back, giving a quick glance to where Steve and Sam were standing and watching you both intently.  Your head fell back onto Bucky’s shoulder when one finger toyed with the edge of the lace of your panties.

His left hand pushed your face to the side so that he could kiss you, and before you were thinking about it you were kissing him back.

Finally, you felt Bucky's fingers pull your lingerie to the side and slide through your folds.  He growled into your eager mouth when he felt how wet you were.

"Can I fuck her?" he asked, and you didn't realize until Sam replied that he was asking his permission.

"Not yet," was Sam's quick answer as he approached you.  Grabbing your jaw, Sam pulled you forward and kissed you roughly.

Sam's kisses always made you feel completely at his disposal; his mouth dominated yours aggressively, and his hand wrapped around your neck just tight enough to make your heart race.

"Such a good little slut, aren't you?" he teased when he pulled back-- though he was still so close that his lips brushed against yours when he spoke.

"Yes-- for you," you answered.

"And you'll be good for them too, won't you?  Get 'em initiated into the family?"

"Of course," you nodded quickly, "whatever you want."

"You said we were coming here for a team-building exercise," Steve recalled with crossed arms.

"And did I lie?" Sam retorted, standing up again to give him a glare.  “Typically when I share my things with people, they’re grateful.”

“Right-- of course I am,” Steve backtracked quickly, “I just hope she’s not only doing it because you said to.”

“Aw, you’re worrying a little too much,” Sam chuckled.  “She’s a whore, Steve.  She loves it.”

"Go ahead baby," Sam continued, addressing you now, "give him the full treatment.  But save some strength because Steve's going next."

You stood up and flipped around again, working open the buttons of Bucky’s shirt.  Typically, guys responded really well to this part, leaning back and letting you undress them.  He tensed up, though, and his eyes went a little wide.

“I wanna see you,” you explained, taking a moment to reach under the part of his shirt you’d opened so far and run your hand over his muscled chest.

“May not like what you see,” he warned you.

“I doubt that,” you grinned, already nearly halfway done with the buttons.  

When you finished with the tedious buttons and pushed his shirt and jacket aside, you understood what he had been worried about: his shoulder was covered in scars, and even in the low light of the room you could tell that everything past that point was a metal prosthetic.  

"That explains the glove you won't take off," you commented dryly.

"I didn't scare you off yet?" he asked like he was trying to stay cool, but was secretly worried it would bother you.

"Touch me with it," you requested quietly.  Slowly, he removed the other glove and reached towards you with the metal hand.

His fingers were cold as they slid up your chest, around your neck, over your jaw.  You dipped your head down a bit to take two of them into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them.  

He bit his lip quickly before leaning forward and looking you right in the eyes.  “Get on the couch, on your hands and knees,” he instructed firmly.

You obeyed so quickly that you wondered if you left a cloud of dust in the shape of your silhouette like a cartoon; Sam noticed, and laughed.  “Eager, huh?”

“Extremely,” Bucky answered for you as he slipped your panties down, and pushed the spit-slicked metal fingers inside you.  You moaned and gripped the back of the couch tighter.  The fingers withdrew as suddenly as they had entered, and you saw a shirt and jacket land beside you on the couch.  Next was the sound of his belt clinking as it opened-- it made you a little nervous, in an erotic sort of way.

You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you when Bucky thrust into you all at once.  He wasn't bigger than Sam, at least as far as you could tell, but the shape of his cock was completely different.  It pressed against your walls in new ways, and massaged places that you weren't used to feeling.

"Fuck," Bucky murmured behind you, "so goddamn tight."

You were already loud enough that anyone passing through the back hall would certainly hear you and know exactly what was happening.  God forbid they saw three pairs of men’s shoes through the bottom of the curtain; the idea of someone knowing just how thoroughly you were being used made your face burn with a slightly pleasurable shame.

He moved just slow enough to make you wonder if he was trying to tease you.  When he reached around and drew lazy circles around your clit, though, you were confident that he was trying to tease you.

“More, please,” you whimpered.  “Fuck me harder.”

He laughed, and gave your ass a quick spank.  “Poor thing, so needy,” he mocked.  But he still did as you asked, holding you by your waist to keep you steady as he started to fuck you with the brutality you’d been hoping for.

He leaned down until it felt like his entire body would wrap around yours.  He bit at the back of your neck and shoulders, growling as he fucked into you even deeper than you had realized was possible.

Just as you thought you both were on the path to coming, Sam stepped closer.

"Alright, step aside, loverboy," he chuckled, "I think you've had your fair share for now."

Bucky hesitated and you knew he didn't want to stop; you voluntarily clenched your walls around him as a little way of saying you weren't done with him yet either.

Reluctantly, he pulled out and you felt the rough skin of Sam's hand move up and down your back.  "You want your turn with this pretty little cunt, Steve?" he asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

"No."

"...No?!"

"I want that ass."

You swallowed dryly; Sam grinned.

"I like your style, man.  Go ahead, have at it."

Steve took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves before he started to run his hands all over your body, humming contentedly.  He moved a finger through your folds to wet it, then gently pushed it past your tight rim.  "More," you requested with a moan.

"Already?" Steve questioned, but obeyed, adding a second finger quickly.

He scissored his fingers back and forth, slowly stretching you open.  Your face was so hot you could probably fry an egg on it; you felt very exposed getting your ass fingered with two men watching you intently.

"Hurry up, please, I want it," you whimpered.  You knew you could take the pain, and on days like this, you actually craved it.

"Just a little more babygirl," Steve promised, "gotta get you ready for me.  Don't wanna break you."

"I wish you would," you admitted, and you heard Bucky laugh quietly from the sidelines.

Steve got a little more serious suddenly, leaning down as he slipped a third finger into you roughly.  "I don't know if you could take me, little girl.  I could split you in half," he growled right against your ear.

Your back arched.  You wanted it so bad.

“I know that’s what you need, but if I did Sam would probably kill me.  So be a good girl and be patient, alright?”

You nodded and bit your lip, doing your best to relax as he continued to twist his fingers inside you.  

Thankfully, it wasn’t all too long before you felt him slide them out, that telltale jingling of his belt buckle in your ears again.  You moaned when his hard cock slid between your legs, becoming coated in your arousal.  Once he was satisfied, he pushed into your waiting hole; he’d prepared you so well that there was almost no resistance for the first half, but then as he got thicker and harder, you felt it start to burn.  Not that you minded.

When he was fully inside, you both gasped.  Of course, you were still trying to process the feeling when he was starting to slam into you.  This guy did not beat around the bush, holy shit.

“Fuck, you like it, huh?” he taunted, fucking you even harder and faster. 

“Yes!” you cried out, feeling his cock brushing against sensitive places inside you-- even if it was through a barrier.

Sam suddenly appeared on the couch next to you.  You felt a little nervous as his gaze scanned your face, and you looked back at him with wide eyes.  He slid under you on the couch, toying with your clit and grinning when he felt your wetness.

"Look who loves it in the ass,” he mumbled against your ear.

You couldn't respond, distracted by Sam's cock pressing against your available opening.  You had been expecting it to feel familiar, but with Steve inside you, everything felt completely different.

"Oh god," you groaned as Sam pressed forward; he hissed at the sensation of how wet and hot you were for him.

"How does it feel baby?" he asked as he started to bite at your neck.

"So full… so good…"

"What do you want us to do, kitten?"

"I want you to fuck me so hard…"

Before they had really started to get their rhythm, you fought through your haze and motioned for Bucky to come closer.  When he did, you licked a long stripe up his cock before taking as much as you could into your throat.

"Fuck, just like that," Bucky praised, pushing your hair back so he could see your face.  "Choke on it."

With so many cocks moving inside you, you felt like a ragdoll in their hands.  But more than even you had expected, you loved being their toy.

Sam loved to leave marks all over you, even though it made your job harder-- especially because it made your job harder, in fact.  He loved everyone knowing how owned you are.  So it was no surprise that he was already doing his best to leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints everywhere he could reach.  You could tell he was already getting close-- and you were too, close to something so intense that you worried about passing out.

"Want me to come on your cute little face, baby?" Sam asked, his voice deeper and more gravelly than usual.

You shook your head, Bucky's cock still in your mouth.

"On your perfect tits?"

You shook it again, even as Bucky grabbed the back of your head and pushed you all the way to the base.

"Oh, that's right… you want me to fill up this sopping cunt, right?"

You nodded furiously, a tear sliding down your cheek.

"You wanna be full of my come, sticky and wet all night?  Then beg for it, sweetheart."

Bucky released you, and the second you were free to breathe you were pleading already, stroking him quickly.

"Sam, please!  I need to be full of your come-- I want it so bad, please, just come inside me and don't stop until every drop is in please please please--"

"Holy hell, I can't take much more of this," Steve hissed as his hands dug deeper into your skin.

"You want us all to come?" Sam pressed.

"Yes, please!"

"Fuck," Bucky groaned, "keep stroking me-- finish me off on your face."

“Please-- I want you to come, so bad,” you whimpered.  “Oh god, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come, fuck!”

The hand that wasn’t around Bucky’s cock was accidentally digging into Sam’s shoulder, certainly hard enough to leave half-moon cuts from your nails.  He didn’t seem to mind though, fucking you through your orgasm as he fell into his own, finishing with a noise that mixed a moan with a growl.

Steve was next, and you could feel his cock swelling and pulsing; it was like one last test of your body’s physical capabilities, since you’d already thought you were at your limit.

Last but not least, of course, was Bucky.  You opened your mouth and let his come fall in warm streams on your face and tongue.  He made the most beautiful sounds as you kept stroking him through it, and eventually he had to pull your hand off of him when it became too much.  You swallowed what had landed in your open mouth, taking a moment to wipe some off your face and suck it off of your finger as well.  A drip started to wander towards your eye, which you shut to avoid that disaster.

Bucky looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, even though you undoubtedly looked like a complete mess.  All three of them were looking at you that way, actually, but you couldn’t see them.

“Jesus, Sam,” Steve chuckled as he pulled out and watched his come leak from your abused hole, “I gotta be honest, if I had a girl like this, I wouldn’t let her work in a club.”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about pulling her out,” Sam admitted, wincing a little as he tapped your leg to signal you should get off of him, which you did.  

You don’t know the first thing about pulling out, you replied internally.

“She makes us a lot of money, though,” Sam explained.

“But the way she looks right now,” Bucky grinned, “that’s priceless.”

“Ha, yeah, well of course you would say that,” Sam rolled his eyes.  “If you think that coming on her face will successfully mark your territory or something, you’re wrong.”

But Bucky wasn’t listening, he was too busy grabbing your neck and pulling you into a filthy kiss.  You could tell he was tasting himself on your tongue, and when he pulled back, he’d even smeared some come on his nose and cheeks.  He wiped it off like it was nothing and grinned at you.  That, on the other hand, did feel like a somewhat successful territory-marking.

“Now I feel kinda bad,” Steve pouted.  “She’s gonna have to take three showers to get clean enough to go back out there.”

“Oh, I think she’s done for the night,” Sam announced as you finally got your chance to relax and lay back on the couch-- though it wasn’t that relaxing, because you were sore everywhere, and still wearing those stupid uncomfortable heels.

“You’re letting me go home early?” you repeated, your voice coming out froggy and strange; you cleared your throat and ignored the way it tasted like come.

“Hmm, not quite,” Sam smirked.  “I think Steve here has a point.  For one thing, you shouldn’t be going back to that horrible apartment every night.  You live in a really dangerous part of town.”

“It’s not dangerous if you’ve got mob protection,” you countered.

“But I can’t protect you when you live so far away,” he frowned.  “Come back to mine, clean up in a much nicer shower than you’re used to, and you can get back to work tomorrow, alright?”

“Sure,” you agreed, “but maybe… get me a rag first?”

“I’ll drive you,” Bucky offered.

That meant you weren’t going to get a rag.  What you didn’t realize at the time was that it also meant Bucky and Steve were going to stay the night at Sam’s, too.  What you never could’ve imagined was that the four of you weren’t going to leave again for quite some time.  And what you would’ve actually bet money against if somebody had asked you about it that morning was that you weren’t going to be working in the club anymore.

[obeymehasinfluncedmythoughts]

Brothers as New Parents

Featuring Poly!Mc.

Guess who decided to finally finish this oneeeeee. I used my parents for inspiration for some of these. Sadly my getting knocked out by a carpet story didn't qualify 😔

Lucifer

Despite the name and the whole demon thing, Lucifer is actually a pretty decent father.

In the beginning though, he's really lost.

Like, the only baby he's ever raised is Satan and technically that doesn't count, so he's kinda confused here. Which really freaks him out.

Things get easier once the kid can finally walk, but don't expect Lucifer to really understand babies too much, or to like them either. They're way too noisy and dirty for him to actually enjoy. 

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t a good dad.

Sure, he's not amazing, no parent naturally is, but he isn't reckless with your child and genuinely makes attempts to keep them alive. 

He just, kinda waits till the kid isn’t spitting up daily or wearing diapers to actually like their company

Before that it just feels like another job. Or like he’s watching his brothers. 

He loves his child but, uh, he’s going to be the type of dad to forget which baby is his if we’re being honest. 

Mammon

He's really good a keeping babies entertained. Like, really good.

(Who would have known babies also like shiny things that jingle?)

Also loves to spend money on them. Like, legit any baby left under his supervision will be dressed in absurdly priced outfits. It's a little frustrating to wash these clothes, especially considering how dirty kids can get.

But besides all the spoiling and the playing, Mammon is clueless.

Like what do babies do?? What do they need? Are they supposed to sleep for that long??

He regrets not reading the baby books Satan recommended.

He's extremely clumsy as a dad, but in like that way where only he gets hurt but your child never does.

(Despite being so young, you're pretty sure the kid laughs every time he face plants.)

Likes to watch TV with the baby. The kid's probably seen every action movie known to man (and demon) by this point.

Leviathan

Levi isn't good with pregnancy, but he is pretty decent with kids.

Something about his personality really draws them to him

(Which is a great examination as to why most children must have to be taught how to share. Leviathan is a bad influence)

He kinda only ever takes over the "fun" parts of being a dad. Not because he doesn't try though. He does, really, but he often finds himself at a loss when it comes to dealing with spit-up or diapers or the little quirks babies develop.

Levi's the third oldest. He didn't have to deal with that stuff. None of them really had to, as raising angels is kinda a community effort. Seeing as Lucifer wasn't exactly the maternal type, he'd spent his years with his brother watching over kids. Never being beside them.

I think he's especially freaked out if he has a daughter. Like, he doesn't know what to so for the most part with any child, but girls are even more foreign to him, seeing as he's only ever had brothers. Well, besides Lilith, but she's a different story.

It's not really bad, he's just new to everything, but you'll probably give Lucifer an earful for not at least giving more responsibilities with Satan.

Most definitely gives his kid toy weapons and costumes to play with. They can't even walk yet but he's got a chest with princess dresses and lightsabers ready to go.

Satan

Satan is pretty much the most normal dad you could ever ask for.

Yeah, a normal demon, spell-casting dad, but norm nevertheless.

He's always the one to offer to take over your shifts in the night (He will not sub for his brothers though. They can fuck right off).

Buys you your first mother's/father's/whatever you choose to call your parental title's day gift because everyone else most likely forgets amongst the stress of baby.

Most DEFINITELY tries to do that whole "all natural" baby thing, but probably realizes a few days in that breastmilk is not only hard to obtain in the Devildom, but most demons don't really give a samn about cruelty free items (Mass produced cotton included).

^Asmo and him did this together btw. But Asmodeus did it for clout whilst Satan did it for the baby's health.

He'll dress his kid up like him. The clothes are still ugly as sin.

Asmodeus

Your kid will be internet famous before they turn five months old.

Asmo does not understand the word "privacy" or the concept of "not plastering his child's life for everyone to see"

But, you must admit, he does dress your baby up in the most adorable ways.

She might just be the only person he puts above the two of you, both as individuals, and as a couple.

(^I don't think all the brother's would think this way. Some probably still internalize their angel backgrounds or have even formed their own opinions onto where a kid places in a relationship. I might get into it more if asked but I'm leaving this here for now)

He does everything with the kid, when he has them, and if the child is biologically his (which will be extremely apparent), that kid will be with him all the damn time.

He wants his baby to be beautiful like his parents, but most of all, he wants his baby to be happy.

Will most likely turn into the exact definition of "the cool mom" from mean girls but that's far off from now.

Until then, he'll just stroll around the mall, showing his baby all the sparkly things they'll eventually love.

Beelzebub

Beel would have been a pretty normal dad if not for his more older-brother mentality.

Like, the guy has never really been around kids. He's been around Belphegor. Which isn't a huge age gap but there's still that looming protective older-sibling trait there.

He kinda sees the kid, no matter who or where it comes from, as just another sibling.

After what happened with Lilith though, he's more prone to be more protective over girls. He doesn't even recognize he's doing it tbh.

(There's actually a lot of open wounds regarding Lilith that show up in his parenting skills, but they develop a lot later)

He always has to know where your kid is at, but he doesn't necessarily need to be with them.

Like, he's afraid of something horrible happening, but he trusts his brothers, and you, to be able to handle it. He just needs the constant reassurance.

Very insistent on keeping a feeding schedule through, and is known to freak out when they refuse to eat, or get an upset stomach, or something along the lines of the digestive process goes wrong.

Beel is probably the best at bath time. Man can make some awesome rubber duck voices, and the plotlines he thinks up are very interesting.

Belphegor

The one the most scared to have a baby is the one who loves to spend the most time with the baby.

Why? Because babies sleep most of the fucking day. This is a great bonding experience.

And for some reason, you suspect it's due to his powers, the kid will sleep through anything when the two of them are together.

The minute they sleep in their room, or in a cot next to your bed, they'll be waking up hourly for some reason or another.

And it's like, you can't have the baby sleep with Belphegor all the time because if the kid genuinely needs some attention, he needs to wake up and make it known.

But damn are you tired.

Like you some how think raising a child with seven partners is harder than one, because no one should feel this exhausted when they are allowed to take at least three naps a day.

Outside that conundrum, he's a very quiet dad. He'll just sit by the baby and play with them, usually via rattle, enjoying the cute little noises they make and the faces that grace their features.

He'll miss this when the baby starts crawling.

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 14

WC: 958

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, age difference, mentions of professor/student relationships, language

A/N: and I oop

🧠

"Wait-wait, Kreizler kissed you?" Bitsy is sitting next to you on your bed. She tried to refrain from interrupting while you explained what had happened that evening in his office. You must not have been totally clear in your words; hell, you weren't even making sense inside your own head right now.

"No, Bits. He didn't. And then he told me to leave."

She studies you for a second. "And did you… want him to kiss you?" she asks with hesitation.

"I-" you begin. You were supposed to dislike him, to be friendly for the sake of work at best. He was still the self-centered and arrogant man you first met underneath everything, even if your relationship had improved the last three or so weeks. But when you consider Bitsy’s question only one word comes to mind: yes. God, you did want him to kiss you there on the floor of his office.

You aren't sure when things changed. It was like seeing a photograph that you have no memory of being taken, but was undeniably you in the picture. It was a puzzle piece finally being put into place. A light illuminating a dark room. A freight train at full speed. Maybe Freud was right when he said our dreams can tell us the things we don’t even know that we want yet; can tell us what we need.

"I did want him to," you admit softly, both to Bitsy and to yourself.

Bitsy wraps her arm around your shoulders and pulls you to her chest. "You know - I'm really not surprised. I mean I won't lie, I still predicted hate-sex over this but… you’ve been acting different since Chicago. You’ve seemed a lot happier.” In a lighter tone she adds “and we both know he’s your type. Older, intellectual, has a steady job, dark hair and a nice beard, and he’s got your standard ‘dad-bod’.” You laugh into her neck. You know she’s right, he checks off all your boxes. If he hadn’t been so off putting the first time you met you would have definitely developed your crush on him sooner.

A crush?

No.

It was so much more than that. Never in your life had you felt this sort of unrestrained passion and connection to another person. He drove you fucking nuts in every sense of the word. Everytime he spoke you hung onto his words like they were oxygen. You wanted to both rip him to shreds and rip his clothes to shreds. But more than anything, you wanted him to do the same. To absolutely destroy you in every sense of the word. In all honesty you had thought he was thinking the same thing based on the way he had looked at you. The way he had been increasingly kind to you, considerate to you, open to you. The way his touches and gazes lingered.

But he didn’t.

Anger wells in your chest. You pull back from Bitsy. "And that's the fucking problem." You let out an exaggerated growl in frustration. "He could've done it, we were right there and the moment was perfect and I just. Ugh!"

You stand up and pace on the worn carpet. “He does these little things now. He asks me for my thoughts but like he actually wants to hear them, not because he’s trying to pick a fight. And he brings me tea in the mornings sometimes when he gets it himself. He’s invited me to hang with his friends and they’re so welcoming and funny. He- he told me about his childhood. And I told him about…” you trail off. She knows what you refer to regardless. “We have these moments where I look up and he’s already looking at me, but it’s so soft. He even paid for the trip with his own money because he wanted me to go.”

Bitsy just listens to your rant. You pause before slumping on the edge of the mattress. “Maybe… maybe I was wrong? Oh my god what if he thinks I’m some freak now trying to come on to their professor? Fuck - it’s no wonder he wanted me to leave! Shit.” You drop your head into your hands.

Your roommate rubs your back. “Look, I’m sure everything will blow over in the next couple days. He might’ve just been afraid to take that step, or maybe you did just misread the situation. He can either grow a pair or he can get over himself. And if he doesn’t have feelings then so what, fuck him, you can do better than a guy that made you miserable for months.”

A couple of deep breaths calms you down. She’s right. Everything was so sudden today that maybe it just caught him off guard. You know you were beyond unprepared for that to happen. And logically, if he doesn’t feel the same pull then you would be fine. You are his aide and technically a student at the university anyway, it’s likely an off-limits territory for him. Both of you are adults and can be professionals. You didn’t need to plague yourself with it.

“Thank you, Bits. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” With another hug she left you to your devices for the night.

The following morning you woke up as usual to get ready to head to his office. Checking your phone you saw that you had a text from the man in question:

Laszlo: I will not be in need of an assistant for the remaining duration of the term. Thank you for your help, it has been invaluable. Best wishes with your studies.

x Dr. Kreizler

You could almost feel your heart fall into your stomach. “Shit, I fucked up….”

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @thatoneartgalsstuff

[waybrights]

Randome Marcy Sats au hcs

Marcy has multiple threads on Twitter just gushing about the costumes, talking about the technical, the comfort, and the aesthetic.

When she doesn't have her own hoodie string to fiddle with she'll fidget with with Sasha's, sometimes leaving them tied together, much to the blonde's dismay.

Anne borrows Marcy's hair clip and just forgets to give it back, leaving it in the most random places.

Marcy and Anne have had a glitter fight.

Sometimes when Marcy wears a cape to a concert she'll do that dramatic entrance where you throw the cape to the side but someone has to be there to catch it. More than once, that person was accidentally Anne or Sasha.

oh these are all so cute yes!!!!

- they actually have a say in costumes, esp in textures and materials, so she 100% goes on very long rants abt it on twitter!!! (her longest thread was like 50 tweets abt how they made anne's dress that lights up for a concert)

- her favourite costume was the bug ones (yes they exist in this au i just love them sm shakdhkd) and they still have theirs in perfect condition (literally, it looks like she never even wore it)

- sasha makes sure to always wear hoodies with strings, even in summer, so marcy is usually on her lap when they aren't doing anything.

- most of the time, marcy's clothes do have strings, but she'll pretend they don't just so she can sit on sasha's lap (sasha saw right through it the first time, but likes how warm marcy is so never said anything)

- marcy has lost so many hairclips to anne, they just have like a billion of the same green clip from claires (whenever they go past one, she makes sure to stock up just in case anne steals some)

- the hairclips usually resurface again in a few weeks though, somewhere really dumb like in a shoe, or clipped on a shirt so anne doesn't forget it's there (and then she does)

- glitter is still in the carpet of the costume department, braddock is still finding it on black costumes that should not be covered in glitter

- anne and marcy had to write serious letters of apology to the costume department and sasha laughed her ass off reading them out

- marcy will find a way to wear a cape in every single concert, no matter what the vibe is

- they do aim for the wings, but end up getting it slightly wrong and covering anne or sasha in like, a bright green, glittery cape (sometimes it even goes into the crowd and everyone is certain she does it on purpose, but that's never been proven)

[writingsbychlo]

💭hi chloe, congrats! could u do a dating ff!tommy head canon (like the ones you have for stiles and mitch) i miss him 🥺

under the cut! i will also link this to my masterlist, because I know how much y'all like these!

PDA

Tommy is kiiiiinda in a middle ground about PDA

He doesn’t feel the need to go over the top, but he isn’t shy about it either

He’ll kiss his girl when he wants, and he isn’t shy of affection either

Little nudges and pokes and a lot of random hugs

On a call together, he keeps it professional, of course

But in your own time? He’s a free man, and he’ll love his girl if he wants to

At the house, he can be extra with PDA, just to annoy everyone

If he gives you a little kiss, or does something which anybody teases him for, he goes into overdrive, just to annoy them

A lot of ‘my love’, ‘angel’, ‘light of my life’, ‘love of my life’, ‘hey pretty girl’

A lot of flirting too

“Oh, damn, good thing we’re firemen because you are smokin’.” and such

He will one hundred percent grab your ass and run away

You’ve actually become pretty used to it, actually

Little slaps, or pinches, or grabs, and then he just runs away laughing

Thinkin’ he’s doing something

But he still blushes when you flirt back, in literally any situation

Using a fire-related pick-up line

“Well, damn, lieutenant, you’d better come over here and handle me then.”

And his jaw would drop and he’d get cute pink cheeks

Which definitely leads to some PDA because he’ll grab your face and kiss you

The PDA gets more after a hard call but nobody says anything then

Hand holding and cuddling and playing with hair

Soft kisses and whispered reassurances while holding each other’s faces

Honestly, he’s not big on making an exhibition, but he will give out a lot of love

HANGING OUT

Hanging out happens a lot

For starters, there’s all day at work, especially on slow days when you might not even get a case

At the beginning of the relationship, that would be awesome, because ‘honeymoon phase’ and all

But once you’ve moved past that and into a more serious relationship, that can be an issue

Like if there’s been a dispute at home or one of you is on edge

So hanging out is pretty much never alone at work

And you try to break it up into chunks too

Making sure you have a girls night with Brenda at least once a week

And once a week he has a guys night, and you plan them on separate days

You actually have too much hang out time on your hands, and it can be a strain

Once you’ve got it down, though, it’s easy

Having TV shows that you binge together, and will never watch without the other

Cleaning and doing household chores together always becoming fun

Especially when you build a playlist for these jobs, and end up dancing and singing together

Also, cooking together

Which is actually usually just one of you cooking, and the other sitting on the counter just to chat

Grocery shopping alone, and making appointments alone

Just so that you always have time apart, to keep things distanced

DATE NIGHT

Date nights are hard to plan when you live together and have such busy jobs

You rarely ever actually feel the need to go out and about to have a date

Really, you just want to get in your comfies and relax together

At first, you both kind of force yourselves to go out

Making bookings and dressing up and going out for dinner

You feel like you owe it to yourselves at the beginning

Even though you don’t need to do the small talk and whatnot

After that, drive through dates in the middle of the night, or going on walks in the park count as dates

And after that, you honestly stop counting dates

You’re just together

Long before you move in together, you’re already basically living together

You drive home from work together, and choose who’s place to crash at

So dates as a concept are pretty irrelevant after a pretty short amount of time

SEX

Oh, don’t even get me started on this

He’s always horny after regular cases

Watching you go into ‘action mode’, he loves it

And you feel the same about him

Definitely having hooked up in the showers a few times at work while you were still in that phase

His hand over your mouth and trying not to let the sounds be too obvious

Trying to keep quiet and failing at it

You’re pretty sure everyone knows, but nobody said anything

Also fucking in one of the firetrucks and the ambulance

When you get a little more self-control, morning sex is usually the way forwards

Because you’re both always so tired after shifts

So morning sex is usually the way to go

If it is morning sex, it’s always sloppy and clingy and passionate

Slow thrusts and wandering hands and deep kisses

Shower sex is also a regular visitor in the morning sex regime

“It’s hot, and easy clean-up, and it’s hot. I see no downsides.”

He loves shower sex

However, if you’ve been out with the team, you’re probably both a little tipsy

Team nights lead to drinking, lead to Thomas openly saying how much he loves how hot his girlfriend is and getting wandering hands

Also kinda sloppy and clingy sex

But a lot hotter

Because you have more energy than mornings, and you’ve got a little liquor behind it

So it’s the times when you both get a little wilder

Day off sex is different, though

Day off sex is much more like making love than just fucking

Because it’s a lazy day, so you’re both in pyjamas

And he’s just turned on because he loves you so much

It’s quite literally just ‘seriously, you’re so cute and I love you so much’ sex

Wearing his oversized shirts and sweatpants and odd socks

And he’s wearing plaid pants or sweats and old shirts

Literally nothing sexy about it but damn you just have so much love

So those are the days where he takes you apart piece by piece

Slow and deep, so much love and kisses

Dirty talk is more just loving confessions

It’s not “I’m gonna have you screaming my name” like drunk sex or morning sex

But it more like “I’m gonna love you forever, I swear it”

Yeah, he’s always clingy, though

AFTERCARE

Big on aftercare. Big big big.

He’s always affectionate but he’s extra affectionate after sex

Brushing your hair back out of your face

If he got messy, he gets a cloth and cleans you up

Plus a lot of cuddling

“You want anything? Some water, I want some water. You want a snack?”

Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t

If you do, he helps you out on some loose clothes and makes something simple like poptarts

If you don’t he gets you water when he gets his own and brings it to bed

Always helps you get back into some kind of pyjamas afterwards

Even if it’s just throwing them to you if you’re not completely fucked out

Cuddling under the covers afterwards

And it doesn’t get awkward, either

two seconds later, once you’re all cuddled up, he’ll jump right in with “so, guess what my mom texted before-”

And he just skips into the gossip and chatter without any awkwardness

THINGS YOU STEAL FROM EACH OTHER

Ohhh a lot

You wear a lot of his hoodies and shirts and coats

He likes things to be comfortably big on himself, so they’re quite large on you

He steals your slippers and fluffy for a while

Your place has hardwood floors but his has carpets, so when he comes over, his feet get cold

He stretches out your socks and slippers

So you start buying them bigger so they’re comfortable for him

He doesn’t realise until he sees you trip over the extra-long toe length one day

So he buys you your own

You now have like 15 pairs that are alternated around

Honestly, each other’s phones

What do you have to hide from him? You work together, you live together, you have the same friends

So, you use one another’s phones

To get in the groupchat and just reply, or to call someone or send a text

It’s really just about whoever’s phone is closest

He steals your netflix account before moving in

And you steal his spotify premium

His car

It’s cooler and has a smoother drive and you like it

So you like to drive his car around a lot

He always subtly complains about it

“That car is my baby.”

“I thought I was your baby.”

“You’re my angel.”

But he always hands over the keys willingly

And he complains about adjusting the seat after you’ve used it

But he buys the air fresheners you like

PICK UP LINES HE LIKES TO USE

A lot of straight-up firemen puns

“Get rid of your smoke detector, sleep with a fireman.”

“The fire might be out, but you’re smokin’ hot.”

I’m a fireman. I’m an expert in what’s hot.”

But he’s also soft and cheesy and in love with his paramedic girlfriend so

“I’m glad you know CPR, because you just took my breath away.”

“Do you have a band-aid? Because I scraped my knees falling for you.”

“If you’re here, who’d running heaven?”

“Your hand looks heavy, want me to hold it for you?”

“I just stole a kiss. Want it back? Come get it.”

GOING ON CALLS TOGETHER

He's a professional little baby

He won’t let his love for you get in the way, because he knows you’ll yell at him for it

He has a job to do, and he learned the hard way that he has to prioritise that

A lot of arguments and tearful confessions and deep chats made the understanding

But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a few traditions

If it’s just a regular case with him going into a building and you staying outside, it’s the usual

Whispered reassurances as a plan is formed

Before you lock your pinkies, and pull each other close, and kiss your thumbs

It started because you kept bumping your head on his helmet when you tried to give him quick kisses

And then getting in trouble for kissing on the scene when one of the local papers reported on workplace romances

And you aren’t technically doing anything wrong but it made you both mad

So it became a pinky lock, and kissing the edges of your own hand

Because that’s the best you could get

However, if you have to go into a building, he checks your kit himself

You gave up fighting him on it

The only way he was gonna feel reassured was if he’d checked it all himself

Just allowing him to do so at this point

Bumping your helmets together softly before you go inside

When you go inside, you always walk behind him

He never directly demanded that when you were working out boundaries after an argument

But you know it makes him feel better

Always sticking close to his side, and remembering the flashlight technique he’d taught you if you wander off

After cases, when you get back to the firehouse, you always have reassuring little kisses

And that’s his time to support you

Always letting you check him over, even when he’s not hurt

Because he knows that it makes you feel better

And if you have to take a detour to the hospital with patients, he makes sure he has a mug of tea and a snack ready for you when you get back

[sneezefiction]

of night owls & early birds

Kuroo x Reader

desc: Kuroo, your roommate and longtime best friend, likes you but he really dislikes your sleep schedule. alternatively, your crush gets up way too early and you “suffer the consequences.”

a/n: the irony of working on this fic at 5 am doesn’t escape me… but it also hasn’t assuaged my awful sleep patterns. i hope you enjoy!!

warnings: school/general anxiety, crass/offbeat humor (jokes about planning your own funeral), idk if you’re scared of love don’t read this - it’s very fluffy.

wc: 3.6k

--- You’re screwed, you think, as a light flickers on just outside of your room. It illuminates the carpet underneath your doorway with a warm orange tint.

And though it shouldn’t make your heart jump into your throat, it does.

You’d promised, swore to Kuroo, that you’d be asleep by 2 am - and to him, even that was a stretch. But he should count himself lucky that you’d even agreed to his demands at all. 

After all, he is well-versed in the world of night owls.

Kenma, though maybe not your kindred spirit, shares at least a couple of qualities with you. Kuroo likes refer to these “qualities” as crimes.

One of these crimes (and quite possibly Kuroo’s least favorite) is your god-awful sleep schedule. And you’re a repeated offender.

There was only so much nagging and bickering you could take before you’d cracked and told exactly him what he wanted to hear. In a flurry of words, you’d agreed to turn off your laptop, close up your textbooks and actually put your head to a pillow.

You also may have been bribed.

To sweeten this deal, Kuroo had promised to buy you pizza this upcoming Friday, given that you actually did get some rest.

But as you reluctantly lift your phone, the glass screen glowing a little too brightly, you realize that it’s already 5:30 am.

You grimace.

It’s Tuesday morning. Meaning that the repetitive beeping across the hall is Kuroo’s alarm.

Your lips press into a firm line. Most birds don’t even get up at such a godless hour.

You can’t help but wonder what it’s like to have a functional morning routine. Or a morning routine at all.

Leaning back in your plastic desk chair, you squeeze your eyes shut. 

It stings.

You probably got so caught up staring at the blob-like words on your computer screen that, somewhere in the process, your body had forgotten how to blink.

And while the tension in your neck and shoulders is painful, it’s nothing in comparison to the festering guilt of not listening to your longtime best friend and now roommate (a suspiciously well-intentioned college boy who had somehow managed to win your heart over the course of this fall semester.)

Thinking back, working on your final English assignment at midnight wasn’t the brightest of ideas. It wasn’t even due for another week. But as due dates loomed, the impending fear of a bad grade had begun to burrow deeply within you.

If you could just pump the brakes on deadline anxiety, you wouldn’t feel so pressured to type incoherent sentences at odd and empty hours of the night.

And maybe Kuroo wouldn’t feel the need to coerce you into a firmer sleep schedule. Though you do find this caring habit of his to be inexplicably endearing. 

Thus, the prickling feeling continues to infiltrate your restless mind and the brewing concoction of anxiety and guilt in your tummy makes you feel uneasy.

But before you can sneak into bed and tuck yourself inconspicuously under the covers, you hear a floorboard creak. 

As if on instinct, you hold in a breath.

Kuroo isn’t one to forget about little promises. Of course, he’d want to know if you’d made good on your side of the deal. 

Gently, you close your laptop and swivel your chair to face the door. You still your movements, keeping your body taut against the back of your chair.

More soft steps fall just outside of your room.

Your eyes can’t pick a place to land, so they choose to wander. And with a quick scan of your room, it doesn’t take you long to realize that your bedside lamp had been left on - an instant giveaway.

You begin planning for your funeral. 

However, if it were up to you, you wouldn’t go out this way. You prepare yourself for death by interrogation or shame-induced coma.

Regrettably, neither options seem very interesting to you. If you ask politely, maybe your friends will engrave a portion of an epic poem into your gravestone just to make your passing seem more sophisticated. Yeah, that sounds nice and pretentious.

Okay, you might be overdramatizing things - Kuroo would never send you to your grave. But that doesn’t change the fact that your psyche likes to play tricks on you in the wee hours of the morning and that the eerie quality of the atmosphere somehow reminds you of a cemetery.

As you sort through who-gets-what on your will, there’s a not so sudden knock on your door. The soft tap makes your heart skip for two reasons:

The first being that you still haven’t gotten used to the fluttering in your chest from him being present all the time. Developing a crush on him (and suspecting feeling on his side) had made you a little jumpier over the past few months.

And the second had to do with the fact that you were actually going to have to talk to him about this. To apologize for being a bold-faced liar. It wasn’t clear to you whether you’d be teased or reprimanded. And honestly? You’re not sure which option would feel worse.

So you take a breath and steel yourself.

“Y/n?” A gravelly voice sounds from outside your room.

It’s tainted with sleep. You shiver.

There’s a preemptive sigh, “C’mon y/n, your light is on. I know you’re awake.”

You’ve been caught, so there’s no point in prolonging it.

“...You can come in.” You reply meekly, clenching and unclenching your fists.

The door cracks open.

That soft orange hall light floods into your room and directly into your eyes. With a squint, you try to fully visualize Kuroo. He’s positioned himself so that he’s leaning in your doorway with his arms crossed.

Before coming to grips with the situation, you scan the boy up and down. Amusingly, you realize that he has to duck his head just to fit underneath the door header - he really is tall. You have to wonder if he’ll ever stop growing.

Aside from his intensified bedhead (which doesn’t shock you) and the sleepiness in his eyes, he looks normal. But you must look positively spooked, because the moment he sees you, there’s a flicker of humor in his golden eyes… and an almost invisible smirk.

At least he isn’t angry. That fact alone allows you to let out the breath you’ve been holding in. Anger isn’t really a trait you’d ascribe to him anyway.

“It’s funny…” He wonders aloud, “I thought we’d agreed to something yesterday.” Kuroo brings a mocking hand to his chin in a thinking motion.

Your body naturally begins to shrink into your seat. You want to sigh, protest, explain yourself… anything to keep him from lecturing you. But, technically, you deserve this. 

“I’m pretty sure you promised me you’d be in bed, asleep,” He emphasizes “by 2 am…”

“And” he adds, motioning evenly to your set up, “I highly doubt you’re up early just to get work done.”

You bite your lip while gripping and releasing the fabric of your sweatpants.

Kuroo isn’t a mind reader by any extent, but the body has a language of its own. Right now, your actions are murmuring signs of discomfort. And exhaustion, according to your dark circles.

Kuroo heaves out something between a sigh and a yawn before he takes another couple of steps into your room. 

The sound of mattress springs and rustled bed sheets gets you to turn your head toward him, though you hesitate to meet his gaze.

He makes himself comfortable.

This is a familiar scene, Kuroo invading your space. Well, it’s less of an invasion and more of an unspoken agreement that the both of you can ‘come and go as you please’ in regards to bedrooms, granted that the “invader” knocks first.

Essentially, if Kuroo wanted company, he would find his way to you and plop himself on the edge of your bed. You would do likewise. The interaction could last 5 minutes or 3 hours depending on your mental stamina that day.

In a way, it mimicked your childhood - going over to Kenma’s and knocking relentlessly on his bedroom door until he finally let you and Kuroo tumble through the doorway together. The only difference now is in the way that you spend time together. Conversations become deeper a lot faster. Belly-laughs after a miserable day of classes are considered sacred. Study sessions are done shoulder to shoulder and with a myriad of disgusted faces when frustrated with a particularly tricky problem.

But this is different from your usual conversations. It’s sickeningly early, you haven’t slept a wink, and a tidal wave of stress from this entire semester is finally crashing into you.

“I’m sorry,” You start softly, fiddling with your fingers, “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about this expository essay I’ve been working on and my mind is totally numb. I’m so stressed out by all of these-”

“-Classes.” He finishes for you.

You swallow, bobbing your head softly in confirmation.

 “I get it.”

And just by looking at him, you know he understands. For someone so laid back and put together, Kuroo’s eyes could speak a novel’s worth of emotion and information at any given moment.

“But you’ve already spent more than enough time on it.”

Have I really? Have I actually done enough? Because it feels like I’m failing. Like I can’t seem to finish what I’ve started. I can’t even complete this paper.

But at least Kuroo sounds resolute. 

He’s stating a fact, not an opinion.

And he’s not trying to be unempathetic. He does get it, he really does.

But Kuroo also sees how hard you work already. And he knows all too well that there’s only so much work you can get done in one night. You’ve got enough on your plate even without your classes, so having the extra academic pressure is just the cherry on top.

“Mm,” you hum, “yeah, I guess you of all people would know.” You hunch over and rest your elbows on your thighs, using your hands to prop your head up.

He’d been there at your most and least productive moments. On days when you were cranking out a few thousand words and nights when you could only jot down a few sentences. Hell, Kuroo had even volunteered to help you edit and format it when the time came. What kind of person offers to do that before they’ve even been asked to?

It’s just another feature of his charm, you suppose.

But you still feel stuck. Like you’re a boat stranded in the middle of the ocean and you just can’t seem the muster up the strength to pull up the anchor. The anxiety lingers.

“...It just doesn’t feel like it’s ever enough, y’know?” You breathe out.

There it is. Finally out in the open.

And Kuroo hums thoughtfully to himself.

He’s been there.

Not knowing if the effort he put into his work was having any actual effect. Being unsure as to when he should stop taking responsibility for something. Putting work, classes, and people before himself.

It’s draining; a swirling spin-cycle of exhaustion.

But he’s also been learning that “enough” is subjective. So he decides to say just that.

“Enough is a pretty vague word, don’t you think?”

You blink. 

Yeah, you suppose it is. 

Hopefully this isn’t another one of his bizarre epiphanies - the kind that makes you think your brain is going to implode. Sometimes Kuroo could be a little too philosophical for his and your own good. But you humor him anyway.

Shifting in your seat, you give him a stiff nod.

Satisfied with your understanding, he proceeds with his thought.

“What I mean is that we probably have totally different definitions of enough...” he drawls on, “... and different standards too.”

“Okay...”

“What I mean is that-” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “-what’s ‘enough’ to you may not be ‘enough’ to me. And vice versa.”

Kuroo tilts his head back, brows furrowing in thought. He’s grasping for the right way to put it.

“Y/n, I think you’ve done enough. You’ve worked hard,” he points out, “and I don’t think I know anyone who deserves a break more than you do.”

That makes you pause. You lift your head up to catch his gaze - his eyes are already studying your expression. Something inside of you stops functioning because never have you seen such raw sincerity. Or maybe you have, but you’re only just now noticing it.

He gives you a gentle smile. It makes your chest ache.

“You mean it?” You half-whisper.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You’ve known this for years now, but Kuroo truly has a way with words. They had the ability to pierce like a harpoon or stick sweetly to you like warm honey. Even with a few (thousand) shitty jokes littered throughout your conversations, it’s only natural to be awestruck by him. By his ability to make even the most awkward of situations a little more bearable. How he subliminally knows how to soothe and temper you. You think he would make a really great businessman - he’s quite persuasive; a real salesperson.

One part of you wants to apologize to him again. Another part wants to jump up and kiss him. To tear up and cry in his arms with relief. You chalk these potential reactions up to exhaustion and hormones… but you don’t write them off entirely.

Because suddenly being 3 feet apart feels like miles. And your bed is looking terribly comfortable.

“Mind if I join you?” You ask, but you’re already moving from your seat.

He gives you an indifferent shrug - though he feels anything but.

“It’s your bed.” 

Oh, you’re well aware of that fact. You can already feel heat rising to your face.

You stand up slowly, raising your arms to the ceiling in one final attempt to stretch. Then softly, you place a knee to the mattress and wedge yourself on the rest of the way until you’re sitting crisscrossed in front of him. He shifts his torso so that it’s facing you.

And now that you’re finally eye to eye, you can breathe.

He may be your crush, but you feel strangely comfortable in his presence. You always have. It’s part of what makes Kuroo... well, Kuroo. He embodies security while still pushing you out of your comfort zone. And for that, you’re grateful.

You break the silence.

“I really am sorry,” you echo your earlier apology.

You undoubtedly are. And you’re not sure why it feels like such a heavy thing to say over something as menial as a good night’s sleep.

“Hey, hey,” He soothes, reaching a hand over to ruffle your hair, “it’s no big deal, alright?”

You send him a half-hearted glare but it immediately breaks into a soft smile. His hand lingers for a moment longer than it should before he draws it away. You miss the teasing touch.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to maintain eye-contact, but even as you look away, you note that his eyes remain concentrated on you. You can’t tell if it’s you who has moved closer or if he has. Either way, those few inches of distance have narrowed by a decent margin.

“I honestly just wanted you to get some rest. You’ve had it rough and by the looks of it-” He scans your face like he’s trying to diagnose you with something.

“Hey, watch it-” You warn, narrowing your eyes.

You already know you look tired. Kuroo loves reminding you of that in his own little way.

He smirks playfully, continuing anyway.

“-You could really use the sleep.” Kuroo’s raspy voice trails off.

“But apparently even pizza isn’t a convincing enough strategy.” He gives you a lopsided grin.

You shake your head, “Oh no, no, the pizza was very convincing.”

He scoffs, “Was it, now?” Raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, “Because you seem very awake to me.”

“Can’t we just blame this on the paper, please?” You sigh.

He furrows his brows in contemplation, “Hmm, no. I don’t think so. This is partially your fault.” A rather underwhelming response.

“A small part.”

“I’d say it's fifty-fifty.” He reasons with a raised eyebrow.

Rolling your eyes, you respond, “Okay, you can quit whatever-” You gesture to his expression, “this is.” He always managed to pull the strangest faces and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh.

He snorts, “Oh? I thought you liked-” Kuroo gestures to his own face, “whatever this is.”

His voice has a curious edge to it. Some might even call it flirtatious.

And you go quiet. 

You can’t help but stare at him. His messy hair, his barely parted lips. The fact that Kuroo just woken up and somehow still looks this attractive to you is so annoying. So frustrating.

And words are failing you.

It was an innocent comment. He’s just messing with you like he usually does. Maybe this has all gone a little bit too far. You should probably just say good night (or good morning) and rest your eyes.

Yet you can’t shake the feeling that this could be the perfect segway into addressing your relationship.

At literally any other time of day, you might be more rational. You could reason with yourself that this is quite literally the weirdest time to bring up your feelings for him. But something in you needs to close the literal and figurative gap between you two. And, for some indecipherable reason, it has to happen right now.

Whatever the outcome, you trust that Kuroo will always be your safe place.

So you throw caution to the wind.

“Actually, Kuroo…” You begin, staring at your hands which are placed neatly on your lap. “I really do.”

His eyes snap to yours.

This time it’s Kuroo’s turn to go silent in contemplation. Taking in a steady breath becomes an act of labor.

“You… really do what?” He asks slowly, grasping for your intended meaning.

Your heart pounds.

“I really like you.” You clarify.

It isn’t at all eloquent, but it’s sincere. You’d once heard that honesty came easier late at night, but you had no idea that it applied to early mornings as well.

But you finally make sense of the words that just escaped your lips. Panic arises. In an attempt to hide, you bury your face in your hands. You wish you could put the words right back into your mouth.

“I-” You take a deep breath, “I think I spoke without thinking.” Is all you allow yourself to mumble.

You no longer trust yourself with words. 

Your face, your whole body really, feels like it’s on fire. Humiliation begins to wash over you in red hot waves… but you startle when a pair of hands meet your wrists.

You lift your head.

His fingertips are warm and worn. Still decorated with calluses from his years of volleyball back in high school. You want to question why the world has withheld this touch from you for so long.

He lures your hands away from your face, grasping both of them gently. For a sensation so new, it was somehow strikingly familiar. A thumb is meditatively tracing small, slow circles in the middle of your palm.

You gawk in disbelief… and as you scan his face, you catch a hint of pink on his cheeks. You can’t say anything though - your own face feels like it’s just become 1000 degrees warmer.

“I kinda figured you might,” Kuroo breaks the tension rather… bluntly.

Of course he did, wait what?

“But the thing is…”

Is this some sort of rejection? Is he just letting you down gently? Is that why he’s holding your hands like they’re as fragile as fine china? Then why is he looking at you so sweetly, so tenderly-

“I wanted to be the one to say it first.”

You start planning your own funeral again. 

However, this time, emotional whiplash will be your stated cause of death. At least it’s a more unconventional way to go out.

“I- uh,” you swallow, “w- what did you just say?” It comes out as a stammer. 

You’re squeezing his hands a little too tightly. When you recognize your modest death grip around his fingers you loosen your hold.

Kuroo smiles, his eyes crinkling slightly.

It’s nothing like that cunning smirk that you find annoying, yet so adorable. It’s also not one of his full-scale grins. It’s far too simple and reassuring. You almost don’t trust it.

“Well, in short, I like you too,” He re-explains, searching your face for a reaction, “but... I’d hoped to tell you that over pizza on Friday.” Kuroo looks away.

If you weren’t already gaping over his personal confession, you would probably be laughing at this new side of Kuroo. He looks unmistakably bashful.

It takes you a second to recover, but you finally open your mouth to respond...

But you’re cut off by Kuroo, once again. His softened expression is long gone. And, much to your dismay, he’s suddenly shifting himself off of your bed.

“It’s just too bad you didn’t keep up your end of the bargain. I guess that means there’ll be no pizza… no movie… no me.” He slowly releases your hands, knitting his brows together to feign sorrow - it looks hilariously forced, but you’re too worried about the warmth leaving your fingertips to care.

He’s teasing you like you’re his best friend.

And that’s because you are.

So then why does it feel like something’s changed? Like he’s daring you to make the next move?

Before he can pull away and leave, you tug at his hand which draws his whole body toward you.

Your heartrate spikes through the roof. When’s the last time you’ve been this close to someone? To a guy? A guy who’s shown actual living, breathing interest in you.

And he’s in your face.

Close enough that his scent, his cologne, is drowning your senses. Close enough that his breath is fanning faintly against your cheek. Close enough that you know there’s only one thing left for you to do.

Before you can think to hesitate, your lips are brushing up against his.

Intuitively, he brings his hands to your face, closing any extra distance. 

Kuroo’s thumb feathers over your cheekbone, stroking it tenderly. His lips apply very little pressure and it’s unbearably delicate, but it fills you with an indescribable warmth. His lips linger just long enough for you to detect the mint from his toothpaste - he can probably taste the cinnamon tea you’ve been sipping on over the past hour. As far as kisses go, it’s reserved, but perfect for this distinct moment.

Plus, you figure, this is just the first of many longer, more eager kisses - though you can’t imagine being more breathless than you already are right now.

But you can hardly get another taste of him before those warm hands on your cheeks are prying you away. He stares. You stare back. His eyes are brimming with something warm and full. You immediately choose to label it, “affection.”

And in a much lower voice, Kuroo murmurs, “Let’s save this for later.” 

You scan his face, wondering if he’s actually serious. He gradually makes his way off of the bed and onto his feet and before you can protest, Kuroo is speaking again.

“You-” 

He leans down and gingerly lifts your chin with his fingers. The gentleness of his touch almost makes you flinch, but you somehow manage to hold it in the road. Though now you’re really at a loss for words.

“-need to get some good rest.”

He places a chaste kiss on your forehead.

You still feel it after he pulls away. After he closes the door. After you’ve laid you head down on your pillow in shock.

How does he expect you to fall asleep after all of that?

---

extra: this is dedicated to Izzy - our sleep schedules may be jacked up, but i’m pretty sure it’s a blessing in disguise if we’re taking our time zones into consideration. thanks for making me laugh & for not stealing my quarter of the braincell.

and to my precious friends and followers - thank you for being patient with me. it’s hard to post or even write at the moment, but i’m steadily pushing myself toward a better mindset. i appreciate your comments, likes, and the fact that y'all even bother to check out my works in the first place. i’m working on it.

also happy birthday, Tetsu. you’re a real star.

[writings-of-a-british-fangirl]

DAY 17: HOTEL ROOM [DEAN WINCHESTER X READER]

february writing prompt masterlist // february prompt challenge list

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Prompt: Hotel room Warnings: Like one swear word

A/N: Oh no there's only one bed!! And they’re fake married!! I don't know how I've never written these tropes for Dean, but enjoy some fluff as I reminisce on Supernatural

"So this... This creature is going after couples?" you ask Dean, slinging your duffle bag over your shoulder and following him to the hotel.

       "That's what Sammy said," Dean nodded, "So, just follow my lead okay, Mrs Winchester?"

       You looked confused for a second before processing what Dean meant. Before you could make a snide, sarcastic comment at him, he hands you a new fake ID. And there it was, printed clear as day: Mrs Y/N Winchester. You rolled your eyes, and tucked the ID into your pocket.

       "Whatever you say, husband," you tease, thanking him for holding the door of the hotel's entrance for you.

       Looking around you, you feel a little out of place. This wasn't a dingy motel on the side of some forgotten highway in the middle of nowhere: this was a nice hotel. Like, actually nice. Usually, you weren't one to complain about where you stayed; hunting didn't exactly pay well, but you had to admit, you were a little giddy to stay in such a nice place. The walls were painted a bright cream, and there were gold accents- even a nice red carpet leading you from the entrance to the check in desk.

     "This place is a little too fancy for us, isn't it?" you ask Dean, "You sure this is the place?"

     "I know how to follow directions, dear wife," Dean retorts.

     "I don't doubt that, husband," you reply, queuing up beside him to wait for the hotel employee to arrive, "This place is just above our budget."

     "This is where the monsters been hunting: this is where we're staying."

     "You're so romantic," you laugh, "Feels like our honeymoon all over again."

     "An anniversary is it?" the hotel clerk, who had obviously been listening as he walked towards the desk, asks; he has an unnervingly fake smile on his face, but you try to smile back at him nonetheless.

     "Yes-"

    "-Yes."

     You and Dean both reply at the same time.

     "How long have you two been together?" the employee asks, his fake smile never wavering.

     "Ten years," you say, immediately fulfilling your role as the doting wife, "We've known each other since we were young, but got together at a school reunion. Been bliss ever since."

      Dean couldn't help but feel proud of the way you were describing the 'relationship.' It technically wasn't a lie- and, if he was being honest with himself, he had been obsessed with you since he was young. His feelings only grew stronger when you had both hunted together at a school reunion. (Not yours, but the story you told wasn't a lie exactly). Some part of him liked to indulge in this fake relationship- if only for a few days.

     "Isn't that sweet?" the clerk gushes, "Tell you what, I'll upgrade you to the honeymoon suite. I just love couples."

      You and Dean share a look.

     "That would be lovely, wouldn't it sweetheart?" Dean says, gently nudging you.

     "Yes, we'd love that."

~~~

You throw your duffle bag on the floor and look around the room. You sit on the bed and kick your shoes off, and remove your jacket. The room was almost a sickening shade of pink with red accents. It was... It was certainly a lot. Not to mention the amount of decoration that was heart shaped. It was a bit cheesy, yes, but you were just excited not to have to sleep on a shitty motel mattress.

       Carelessly, you flop down on the bed.

       "Dean," you call out, still laying on your back with your eyes closed, "Dean! Come feel how soft this mattress is!"

      "If you wanted me in your bed, all you had to do is ask," Dean smirks wandering over to you.

      He is soon speechless as he lays on the bed.

      "Wow," he exclaims, "This is fancy. Do you think it has a massage setting?"

     "Why? Do you need some time alone?" you laugh, opening your eyes and glancing at Dean, "The red and pink walls get it going for you?"

      "Oh yeah," Dean replies sarcastically, "I love it when the walls give me headaches."

     "I'll leave you alone then, lover boy," you sit up and throw one of the red, satin heart shaped pillows at him, before getting up and walking to the bathroom, "I'm going to take a shower. Not much work we can get done now. Keep an eye out for that clerk though- he was sketchy."

     "Enjoy your alone time," Dean winks, making you blush but luckily he doesn't see it: he'd never let you live it down, "And, don't worry I've already put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door so that creepy clerk will stay away."

      You shut the door and try to enjoy your shower, despite the fact that the man you had been basically in love with for... Forever was only the other side of the door. Pretending to be your husband, no less! You had met Dean when you very young, probably about nine or ten, and had enjoyed spending time with him. After your father had died hunting, your life changed and you didn't see Dean for a good long while. Not until you were almost twenty four. You didn't think you could care so much for one person, and yet Dean had you infatuated. He was oblivious (of course) and you had no intent on changing that, too scared of rejection, but that doesn't mean the thought of telling him how you feel doesn't cross your mind.

     "Nice body," Dean teases as you walk out of the bathroom.

     You are confused for a second, but then he gestures to your towel. Slowly, you look down, and then shake your head. The towel you were wearing was one of those novelty ones with a badly drawn fake, cartoonish female body on it.

     "Thanks," you huff, "Close your eyes: I'm going to change."

    "But, you're my wife-"

     "-Dean, I will lock you out of this room, monster or not."

     He shuts up and does as you instruct. You quickly put on your pyjamas, and slip under the covers, trying your best to not sleep too close to him. You were best friends, yes, but you hadn't shared a bed in years. Least of all when you were pretending to be a couple. A sigh leaves your lips and you close your eyes.

     "Goodnight, wife," Dean murmurs turning off his bed side light.

    "Goodnight, husband," you reply, not realising how hard your heart was hammering in your chest at the reality you were sharing a bed with Dean.

      Although you had started off basically opposite ends of the bed, by the time your eyes opened in the morning, you were snuggling into Dean. Your legs were entangled with his, and you could feel the weight of his arms wrapped around you. Part of you felt like freaking out, pulling away and hoping Dean never brought it up. The other told you just to relax. Too tired to move, you decided to relax into him more.

     Dean, who was already awake but faking sleep, was glad you chose the latter.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 10- These Are Strange Times

Summary: Could something positive be truly on the horizon? With the random intrusion of though-to-be-dead Scott Lang at the Avengers Facility, your hope for seeing Bucky again may have yet to be a possibility.

Warning: yeah nothing enjoy the ride

Masterlist

-Five years since the Blip-

Throwing on a dark sleeveless top, you suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to sneeze which evidently causes your little furry companion to startle at the unexpected noise. The furry tigress lets out a meow of protest that pulls forth a humored snicker from you, while the little beast sends you an annoyed look.

Recovering her bearings in a flash, she walks across the short wooden dresser like a model strutting on the runway, her thick mane of mahogany and dark chocolate fur glossy and adequately brushed to perfection, just how your spoiled Main Coon, Silver, likes it.

She purrs happily as she begins playing with Bucky’s dog tags that lay across the small dresser top.

“What are you do..? Oh give me that you little shit.” Silver ignores you until she’s rudely lifted and placed firmly on the carpeted floor before you snatch up the valuable memorabilia. Placing it around your neck where it belongs then glancing down to give her a casual shrug, “Don’t give me that look Silv, I bought you a cool bird feathered cat toy like three days ago. What happened to that?” Silver meows, running her head against your worn out old boots as you smile, “Guess it’s as good as dead huh, you little beast. Now you staying or coming with me to find Nat?” Nothing but purrs of affection.

You lean down to gently rub her head before standing up fully and heading for the door, Silver hot on your heels. Soon you’re both traveling down the hallway until you finally reach the large study. Natasha’s on a conference call with Carol, Rodney, Okoye, and the last two guardians of the galaxy, Rocket and Nebula. And by the looks of it, nothing new has been reported. How disappointing.

Soon they all log off, leaving Natasha alone with Rodney who stays to give Nat a little insight into Barton’s violent whereabouts from the last couple years since he’s been rouge. Apparently he took out a whole cartel in Mexico, so he’s been busy. Definitely not keeping up with those group therapy sessions Steve makes you go to to help cope with the loss. Not that you’ve actually been that consistent with them if we’re being real here.

Quickly enough, Rodney logs out, leaving a tearfully conflicted Natasha as she slouches in her comfy swivel chair. Head in her hands as she holds back the waterfall that threatens to spill within her. You take a step forward, leaning casually against a steel rimmed display area for random nick-nacks. “I’d join you in the fun, but I’m limiting my crying sessions between 1 and 2 in the morning on Tuesdays. So, uh....I brought Silver.” You smile, pointing a finger down to your loyal companion, “Well I guess she brought herself but you know.”

Natasha breaks out into a reluctant grin, genuinely happy to have a bit of positive company within her gloom, “And you didn’t even want her to begin with.” Laughs the red head, “Now I never see one without the other.”

You nod with an almost shy smile, “Yeah, she’s alright.” 

You hear soft movement making its way through the hallway behind you just as Silver meows when Steve casually saunters into the room, coming to stand next to your side as the furry beast paws at his shoes, “What are you here for? Doing some laundry?” You tease at the tall blonde.

Steve smiles at your little jab since he’s not usually always present, doing Captain America stuff and whatnot, “Just here to see some friends.”

Natasha chuckles through glossy eyes, “Well clearly your friends are doing just fine.” Steve knowingly nods paired with a small smile, both you and Natasha look relatively well kept and functional as usual. It’s just, there’s a palpable pain and hidden darkness that always appears to simmer lowly on the surface. Just enough for a skilled eye like Steve’s to notice.

“Exactly.” You add, wandering over to sit cross legged on Natasha’s desk as Steve moves to lean against the display, “But if you’re here to tell us to look on the bright side...”

“I’m gonna hit you in the head with this peanut butter sandwich.” Finishes Natasha with a pursued lipped grin as the 90 year old nods. “Um, right. Force of habit.” Admits Steve, pushing himself off the surface to find a seat next to you and directly across from Natasha. 

The three of you keep to a mutual silence for a long moment until he finally speaks, “You know,” Starts Steve thoughtfully, “I keep telling everybody they should move on...and grow. Some do.” He pauses for a moment as you frown, Natasha looking elsewhere as Steve finally continues, “But not us.”

She shakes her head, “If we move on, who does this?”

“Maybe it doesn’t need to be done.” Suggests Steve, he means well of course, but maybe he’s right after all, its been five fucking years with absolutely nothing to make for it. Nothing of any significant progress or even a possible way to fix what's happened. 

Natasha blinks through bleary eyes of saddened green while you pet Silver’s furry mane, refusing to give in to that notion, “No.” You whisper softly, causing them to look at you, “We can’t, it wouldn’t be right...at least,” You let out a gentle sigh, “at least not for me....before all of this, before I met all of you. I had nothing.” You admit thoughtfully, “Not a soul in the world who gave a damn whether I lived or died. Then I found Bucky, then I found this. This.....family. And because of it, I’m better off now then I was ten years ago.”

They keep a respectful silence as your breaths become shaky, teary eyes now trained onto Silver’s little ears, “And I know they’re gone now, believe me I fucking know it, but I’m still trying to be better.” Natasha nods in deep understanding, a couple stray tears falling down her cheeks as Steve crosses his arms.

“I think we all need to get a life.” He muses, his tone light as he tries to pull you two back from the edge of grief. You give him a friendly nudge at his annoying brotherliness, “You first.” He chuckles as you throw him a playful glare while Natasha checks an incoming call.

“Oh, hi! Hello! Is anyone home?” Speaks a man frantically from one of the security cameras, an orange van behind him, “This is, uh, Scott Lang. We met a few years ago at the airport.....in Germany?” Now you’ve got his attention.

“What the fuck?” You mutter in bewilderment at the blue tinged image of Scott as Steve and Nat share a confused glance, the three of you quickly rising to your feet while Scott keeps talking about who he is, how he got here, and what he’s learned about the world so far.

“Is this an old message?” Wonders Steve as he studies the image of Scott who’s still waving his hands up at the security camera.

“It’s the front gate.” Replies Natasha with a hopeful smile.

——

All you came here to do was shoot the shit with Natasha and maybe make some actual dinner, but here you are, laying across the study’s plush couch as Scott rambles on and on about the quantum realm. Whatever that happens to actually be, you’ve never heard of anything like that before, but then again you didn’t know aliens existed at one point. So perhaps anything's possible.

Silver brushes her fluffy head across your fingers as they dangle over the couches edge while Scott keeps at his long-winded tellings of how he got there, what it was like, that he’s been technically gone for only five hours, and now he thinks there’s a way to enter this new plane of existence and travel to a fresh alternate reality. Like through a time machine type deal, or whatever he’s on about.

Apparently he means one before Thanos. But it honestly sounds like a load of horseshit and gibberish coming from a desperate man refusing to acknowledge that this is the new shit reality. There’s no fucking way that’s even goddamn possible, right? No way. 

Maybe?

Drifting back out of your doubtful thoughts, you swiftly move yourself into a seated position as Scott begins to self doubt. Head lowering as he mumbles about how crazy that it. You start chuckling as he throws you an almost embarrassed look. “Scott.” You speak to gather his attention, “Nat gets emails from a raccoon. Your idea is admittedly a bit nuts, but nothings that crazy anymore considering all the wild shit I’ve witnessed in the past six years. So I don’t know, maybe there’s a way.”

Scott flashes a hopeful smile as his brows furrow in thought, uncertainty seeping right back into him, “So, uh...who do we talk to about this?”

——

“Stark! Miss us?” You shout at Tony as he holds Morgan in his left arm, an Ironman helmet grasped firmly in the right. He gives the four of you a less then enthusiastic nod of acknowledgment before wordlessly turning around and taking a step up onto the wooden porch.

You give Steve a shrug, “He misses us I can tell.”

Soon Tony let’s Morgan go off to play with you as you opt in to be the babysitter slash distraction from the grownups who are currently discussing if time travel and gathering the stones for ourselves is even a possibility, or even a palpable option that can be done. You skillfully listen to everything they’re saying as the little Stark shows off her array of multiple plant-life assortments picked from the local greenery.

“So I got this cone from that tree over there and then I put a frog in a glass but dad said I had to let him go so I did.” Babbles on the five year old as you entertain her constant musings.

You raise a brow, knowing her shenanigans all too well, “Is he in the garden?”

She mischievously smirks, sneakily peaking over at Tony who’s seated up on the porch, before giving you a nod, “Yeah. I made him a little house from some flat rocks I found too. I named him Froggo.”

You chuckle, “Oh really, Froggo? I like it, has a nice ring to it.” She nods in delight before walking into her tiny tent to retrieve something new as you catch either Scott or Steve saying something about a time heist, what the hell are they going on about now?

“Y/N! Look at this!” Calls Morgan excitedly while bursting out of the tent to run on short legs over to you who’s seated comfortably in the grass, “I got a cool rock from the lake but I didn’t get to show you last time cause you left early.”

Raising your brows in surprise, though you don’t exactly feel as thrilled as she is, you make sure she knows you care, “Woah! A cool rock from the lake, why Morgan I gotta see this.”

“Look.” She hands you a dull grey rock with a tiny fossil shell indentation on it, “It’s from the dinosaurs.”

Examining the small round object, you nod, “Next thing you know I’ll come back to a whole dinosaur excavation site. Impressive Professor Grant, I’m thoroughly amazed.”

She giggles in excitement, “Y/N I know what that means now.” You give her an inquiring look as she smiles proudly, “That’s from Jurassic Park.”

“And your dad let you watch that, with the big Trex eating the goat and everything?” You tease before handing her the prized object, “Next thing I know you’re going to have a whole dinosaur skeleton in your house.”

“Yeah that would be cool. Thanks ninja turtle.” Cackles Morgan as she hugs her rock, smiling brightly as you throw her a puzzled look before joining in on the laughter. “Okay, now you’ve lost me kid, I can’t say I have any idea what you’re talking about.”

She shrugs innocently, “Dad told me to call you that.” Clearly not understanding what she just called you either. A ninja turtle? The fuck is a ninja turtle?

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” You muse before looking up to the four of them getting closer to a heated discussion, “Alright Morgs let’s go save your dad before he decides never to invite us back for dinner again.” You add, quickly rising to your feet as she laughs before racing past you, on a beeline for Tony.

You choose to stay out of the conversation and instead wait for Steve, Natasha, and Scott to start walking back towards the car. You lean against the metal as Steve round the corner before catching your eye as he goes down the three steps, “Are we banished from the castle? I was kinda hoping not cause I actually like Pepper’s cooking.”

Steve smiles, “No. He’s not gonna help us is all.”

“Damn that’s shitty.” You retort with a tinge of genuine disappointment, you don’t completely believe this shit is even possible. But dammit if you don’t want them to at least try for all it’s worth. “So what now? I’m guessing you bastards aren’t gonna let this go anytime soon. And cause Tony’s out for the count, we obviously need some different brain power.”

Steve nods while walking closer to the car, “We wanna do this right. So, yeah, we’re gonna need a really big brain.”

Scott turns from Steve to point a thumb in Tony’s general direction, face a mask of confused puzzlement, “Bigger then his?”

-

After a less then pleasant adventure to some cozy little diner in New Jersey where the four of you were subjected to Banner in his weird Hulkness body or whatever the hell he is now. Turns out he was most definitely on board for this time traveling experimentation. Of course he was, the weirdo takes fucking selfies with children nowadays. 

So here you five are now, in the giant glass and metal garage of the Avengers Facility getting things ready for whatever nonsense is about to take place next. The back of Scott’s orange van closed for the moment, keeping hidden some reactor core thing behind its doors. Scott in some safety quantum realm suit while Banner and Natasha stand behind a large intricate assembly of high tech equipment in preparation for the events to hopefully follow.

You keep an amused yet genuinely curious stance off to the side as Bruce gives you a thumbs up, nodding, you face Scott who’s walking over to the van. “Okay, here we go. Time travel test number one everybody! Scott get that bitch open!” You shout with a small bout of rare enthusiasm while he opens up the doors.

“Emergency generators are on standby.” Announces Steve as he walks into view from behind some large plastic containers covered in safety rope.

Banner nods, “Good, because if we blow the grid, I don’t wanna lose, uh..” He points a green thumb at Scott who’s getting his helmet ready, “Tiny here in the 1950’s.”

Scott’s head snaps up in an instant, “Excuse me?” He worries.

Natasha smiles while looking down at her touch pad, “He’s kidding.” She sing songs before shaking her head up at Banner, “You can’t say things like that.”

Banner turns around to face a fearful Scott as you snort at the small bout of humor that you did happen to find rather amusing. Then again, you’re not the labs guinea pig, so instead you casually shrug while giving Scott a half persuasive grin and a thumbs up of reassurance, “Bad joke.” You add as Bruce nervously laughs, “Yeah, it was a bad joke.”

Scott nods apprehensively before turning to walk over to the reactor, appearing to believe the two of you, “You were kidding, right?” Asks Natasha as you raise a brow at Bruce in question. Albeit a smidge doubtful he actually one-hundred percent knows what he’s doing.

“I have no idea.” Whisper yells Banner, confirming your suspicions, “We’re talking about time travel here. Either it’s all a joke, or none of it is.” Explains Bruce, suddenly smiling as he lifts his attention back over to Scott, “We’re good!” He shouts with a positive thumbs up of that prominently famous green.

“Oh we’re so fucked.” You mutter humorously while Natasha shares an uncertain look with you.

“Get your helmet on.” States Banner as Scott does just that, “Scott, I’m gonna send you back a week...let you walk around for an hour, then bring you back in 10 seconds. Make sense?”

Scott smiles brightly, waving him off with confidence, “Perfectly not confusing.” He muses with an almost annoyingly positive expression.

“Good luck Scott. You got this.” Encourages Steve while Scott grins proudly. “You’re right. I do, Captain America.” Then just like that’s he’s gone, sucked into the reactor like a crumb into a vacuum cleaner.

“On a count of three..” Begins Banner, “Three, two, one.” Bruce flips some switches as the machine whirs before a second later and there’s Scott. In the body of a teen. “Uh, guys? This doesn’t feel right.” Worries teen Scott as his brows furrow in confusion, clearly not aware of how he looks. This just got interesting.

“What’s going on?” Questions Steve as Bruce urgently flicks more switches. “Who is that?” Wonders Natasha as you snort at teen Scott, snickering at how absolutely ridiculous your life is becoming and the weird shit you’re adding to the list.

“Oh my god he looks so innocent, like before the world hurt him.” You muse as Natasha’s brows raise in bewilderment, giving you a side glance as she focuses back on the person in question. “Is that, Scott?”

“Yes, it’s Scott!” Protests the sassy little 14 year old before whoosh and he’s gone once again while Banner squats down out of view to mess with some more buttons. A hot second later Scott’s back, this time looking significantly different.

“Oh, my back!” Complains the short wrinkly 80 year old man, Steve sending the back of Bruce a troubled look, “What is this?”

“Hold on a second. Could I get a little space guys.”

Steve hastily jogs around Bruce as he makes his way over to you and Nat, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can you bring him back?”

“I’m working on it.” Mumbles Banner with underlying urgency as he flicks more switches in hopes of getting a better result, whoosh, and Scott’s gone again before reappearing as a...

“It’s a baby.” Deadpans Steve in astonishment.

You burst with laughter, “It’s Scott! Let’s just keep him this way so we don’t have to hear him ramble about how amazing you are, Captain America.” You tease playfully as Steve throws you a what-the-fuck kinda expression. “Y/N! He’s a baby!”

“He‘ll grow.” Adds Bruce as you shrug in agreement. Crossing your arms as you study baby Scott, “Steve you can change the diapers.”

“Bring Scott back.” Urges Steve as he ignores you and Banners amusement of the situation.

“Alright fine.” Chides Bruce, “When I say kill the power, kill the power.”

Natasha rushes past you while mumbling, “Oh, my God.” As you await for Bruce’s fantastic technological skills.

“And....kill it!” Natasha turns the breaker switch downwards and a moment later Scott’s back, this time fully Scott. Whether that’s good or not is debatable.

He stands there, arms open and face twisted in confusion, “Somebody peed my pants. But I don’t know if it was baby me or old me.......Or just...me me.” Speculates Scott as you snort in amusement.

“It was probably just you.”

He sends you an unsure look that’s half offended yet he can’t exactly counter that claim considering he’s just jumped between three different age groups of himself. Bruce claps his hands together before spreading his arms out wide in excitement, “Time travel!” He shouts enthusiastically as Steve shakes his head before turning to walk elsewhere, “What?” Wonders Bruce, “I see this as an absolute win. 

——

In the following weeks after Banner’s half-successful attempt at legitimate time travel, Tony and Rocket have been toiling away tirelessly on Starks actual time machine since he’s agreed to help fix the mess that Thanos left behind. The Avengers base has honestly never been busier; with Tony, Banner, and Rocket working on the giant machine. Everyone else is going about their business helping when needed and hoping for good news.

So here you are now, in the middle of the night with all light sources retired for the evening, hanging out in the kitchen with a bowl of watermelon chunks in your hand, and greatly enjoying the recently rare peace and quiet. Though soon your silent midnight snacking is disrupted when the sounds of human feet padding on tile reaches your ears from down the hallway. Dammit.

The lights flicker on in an instant, blinding your vision for a brief moment before they adjust accordingly to find the blue eyes of Steve, he yelps in surprise, hand holding his chest as he relaxes once more when he realizes it’s just you. Then he does a double take, considering you’re seated crossed legged on the counter with a bowl of watermelon, “Uh, hey there Y/N.”

You nod, awkwardly taking a bite out of your snack, “Steve.”

He raises a curious brow, deciding to step farther into the large kitchen area, “Huh, never seen anyone eat watermelon like that before, but I respect it.” Says the blonde, nodding towards the chopsticks held in your right hand.

“Yeah. Less of a mess.” He nods before taking a Gatorade out of the fridge, “Mind if I sit?”

“Go for it.” He nods before promptly seating himself next to the marble table. “So, eating in the dark? Your inner night owl keeping you from sleeping again?”

You shrug, “I can kinda see in the dark so....yeah, a bit of a night owl.” You admit with a growing frown, not sure why you suddenly feel so down in the dumbs again, “....guess I haven’t really slept well for some time now....well, now since I think about it actually, I probably don’t get as much sleep as your average person.”

“I get that, yeah....I know what you mean.” Lightly chuckles Steve in understanding, taking a small moment of silence to let his mind think of something to sway the atmosphere away from an awkward tension. Parting his eyes away from his clasped hands, he looks up to meet your stoic gaze, “You think all this is possible? I mean they’ve made some real progress and I guess Tony really knows what he’s doing. Still after all this time I can’t help but find it amazing.”

Pursing your lips together in thought, you let a small sigh emit from your parted lips before answering, “I hope so, cause if not. Well, guess that would be as expected.” You admit with a frown, “Maybe that’s just how it’s supposed to go....a fitting punishment for my lengthy list of crimes. I guess that’s fair.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Counters Steve as he sends you a sympathetic look, “What happened to you isn’t your fault, neither is what they made you do, or everything Thanos did to the universe....”

“Yeah, guess you’re probably right....it’s just...just so difficult to move on you know? From all of it, everything swirling in my head, and even though it’s been five fucking years now. I still think of that shit, even worse, I still think of Bucky every single day, I miss him.....I just, I miss all of them.” You admit sadly, setting your snack down as Steve takes a moment to reflect on his own losses.

Suddenly his lips curl into a humored smile as he shakes his head, eyes looking down at the table before they connect with your curious ones, “God he was so different back in the 40’s....Y/N you wouldn’t believe the stuff we got up to, jeesh, the stuff he got up to.” Chuckles Steve as you raise an intrigued brow. 

“Alright Rogers care to elaborate?” You press with a growing smile at the thought of Bucky and learning more about him, “Bucky never told me a whole lot about that time. Considering he’ll probably never get the chance, I think I’d like to learn more about him and what shit you people did back then.”

“Aren’t you from the 1950′s?” Inquires Steve with a humored grin as you wave him off.

“Yeah, yeah, I was a baby back then I don’t remember what happened okay,” You explain, “I was born in 53 alright, and let’s not forget I didn’t exactly have a normal childhood.”

Steve nods, “Right. Fair point.....Okay so..” He laughs, “There was this one time and if you knew me back in the day, of course I was getting in an unsolicited scuffle with some boys who thought it was funny to argue with the paperboy.”

Raising a brow, you begin to smile as his eyes light up, “An unsolicited scuffle?” You muse, “Or is this when skinny Steve got his ass kicked by a couple of mangy dogs?”

“Dogs. Yeah that’s probably more fitting, well you know, of course I had to step in and do something.”

“As expected.” You quickly add as he continues.

“Which I did. And let me tell you they were not a fan. Those assholes ran me for two blocks till I got cornered in some market when who would you know it.....Bucky was there, taking some cute strawberry blonde out for a date while he got groceries for his mom.” Chuckles Steve, blue eyes shimmering with the humorous memories coming back to him about his old friend.

You heart subconsciously swells with the thought of Bucky, “Clever man. Sweet talk your girl while doing something useful.”

“Exactly. I would have gotten a bloody nose if he hadn’t thrown a tomato right at the biggest guys head. That thing coated his hair like red paint, then...” Steve balls his fist as he presses it against his mouth to try and keep himself from losing it with laughter, “...then, his friend turned around and smack! Another tomato right in his face.”

Snickering in amusement, you run a hand down the side of your face at the vivid image forming in your head, “oh Bucky..”

“It was pretty damn accurate too. The other guy booked it down the sidewalk before Buck could get him. Then when he started walking towards us, the other guys took off like a couple of scared birds....fortunately leaving me with no bruises that day.” Says Steve proudly, no doubt thinking fondly on that old memory, “Then of course he told me I gotta be more careful and all that stuff, I said I was fine and he want back to shopping with that girl......huh, don’t think I ever saw her again, well....at least with him.”

“Don’t blame her, he sounded like a real ladies man back in the day, she probably got too jealous.” You joke with a small brow wiggle before your smile lessens again, God you miss him so fucking much, “Thanks Steve.....he seemed, so different. It’s just when I knew him, when I first met him that is, Bucky was very different.”

Steve’s face looses it’s once vibrant glow, he keeps a steady gaze set on you now, knowing your time with him was such a chilling contrast to Bucky in the 40’s. You sigh, “I think I would have liked to see that version of Bucky just once, but I liked the Bucky I got after everything we went through.....after everything’s that’s happened. Maybe 40’s Bucky wouldn’t even look in my direction, I’d probably scare the socks off of him anyways.”

Steve shakes his head, “No way Y/N, you’d have him wrapped around your finger so fast, not a doubt in my mind he’d do anything for you in a heartbeat. That’s just who he was, a player yes, but a kind one who treated everyone with respect through that famous charm of his.....and you, you’d have caught his attention in an instant.”

Looking down at your hands, you raise the corner of your lips into a small half grin at the thought of Sergeant Barnes losing it all to the dangerous vixen that is no doubt yourself, now that’s an interesting thought indeed. Bucky in the 40′s, how about that.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not....but I know one thing. That I’m glad to have even known him at all, he was...so special and he didn’t even know it.” You pause for a moment, lips pursing together as you think fondly of your past lover. Steve keeps silent, studying your disheartened features as you gather your words, “So if, if they can somehow do this....if it’s even actually possible to get those fucking stones again. I’ll do whatever it takes, Steve.”

Whatever it takes.

-

Tagged:  @diegos-butt @minigranger @bibliophilewednesday @holyhumorliteraturelight @lilacs-lavender @a-girl-who-loves-disney @starkssnarks @vikingqueen28 @bizarrebibitch @atomicpersonacheesecake @jmstz @staygoldsquatchling02 @marvelbros-oneshots @shawnartmendes​ @mischiefmanaged71 @jckie94​  @iamasimpingh0e