#you already know i’m gonna be a professional menace

[izzief1rambles]

pov: me and my best friend @izeverythingok after we go karting tomorrow

[loquaciousferret]

Little Games

Summary: Agent Peña reaches breaking point after your not-so-subtle teasing around the office, deciding to teach you a lesson you won't be quick to forget.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Content Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, degradation, name-calling, rough unprotected sex, semi-public sex, orgasm denial, Javi being mean. As always- maybe more! Read at own risk

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Javi pulled me out of my Joel thots today, enjoy this short piece of filth

MINORS DO NOT PRESS KEEP READING

“Cut the shit!” Javi’s palm slams into the wall behind your head.

You could see how the man would be terrifyingly intimidating, if this hadn’t been your goal all along.

“What’s wrong, agent?” You gaze back at him innocently with wide eyes, his cock twitching just at the sight.

“Don’t give me that.” He snaps, grabbing your wrist and pinning it against the wall after you had tried to reach out and push his chest back lightly to create space between you.

You blinked. You wouldn’t give in yet.

“Just admit it.” He hisses through gritted teeth, “You may be stupid but not too stupid to know what you’re doing.”

You can barely keep a straight face, it’s practically painful trying to hold back the defiant smirk that wants to creep its way onto your lips.

“I’m sorry Agent, don’t you think I’m doing a good job?” You said, holding on to the pretence a little longer.

“Cut the act.” His tone is menacing. “You know you do a great job, staying late whenever I do, doing my paperwork faster than any of the other agents just so you can come back and see me sooner. Hovering around me in those ridiculously short skirts, driving me crazy. Maybe HR should talk to you like a grown up about professional dress codes.”

“You don’t like how I dress?” You said, playing dumb for him.

“Shut the fuck up.” He gripped your jaw and tilted your face up to him.

“Is this a game to you?”

Involuntarily, your tongue darts out to lick your lips. He can’t bear to look at you any longer and spins you round so you face the wall.

“I’m gonna teach you a lesson.” His hand was roughly separating your thighs, spreading your legs forcefully. “Maybe you’ll learn not to start something if you don’t plan on finishing it.”

You moaned as one of his large hands started to put pressure on your already wet pussy, through your thin underwear. He pushed it aside and thrusted two fingers inside you roughly. You gasped and he hissed at you to “Cierra el Pico.”

Of course he had seen you coming from a mile away that morning, wearing a black pencil skirt that barely grazed your mid thigh, and a white blouse under your blazer that clearly showed the outline of your lace bra. Most of the department were away at an incident, and management had been scheduled in with the President. Being a secretary, you knew everyone’s schedules, and you knew today was the perfect day to take your little game with Agent Peña up a notch. He would already be in a bad mood, frustrated that he had been benched while most of the other agents were out potentially getting into some action today. You used this existing frustration to your advantage and that’s how you ended up here right under his grasp where you had wanted to be all along.

You heard him unbuckling his belt with his free hand and you shuddered with excitement. He removed his fingers from inside you and gripped your panties, pulling them down your legs roughly. You stepped out of them when they hit your ankles and he picked them up, stuffing them into his pocket. You smirked, suspecting that he wouldn’t return them following this encounter.

He pressed on your upper back, folding you more so that your ass stuck out and your chest was pressed to the wall. Your breathing faltered as he slid his erection through your wet folds and lined himself up with your entrance. He pushed into you with no mercy and you whined, unprepared after using his fingers on you for such a short time.

“I thought I told you to shut up.” He sneered.

He immediately set a punishingly harsh pace, pressing you hard into the wall as you held both your hips, guiding you back onto his cock to increase the force of each rough thrust of his cock.

You chewed on your lip to silence your moans of pleasure, there was only one locked door between yourself and Javier and a corridor that could contain government officials at any moment.

“Is this what you thought would happen when you started your little game, huh?” He goaded, continuing to slam into you harshly.

You couldn’t come up with anything clever to say in response, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure he was giving you.

“You can dress up and pretend to be whoever you want but look at you now, huh. Just a whore under all those fancy clothes as soon as someone sticks their cock inside you.”

“Only you, Sir.” You manage to get out, releasing a stifled moan.

He scoffs at that but the intensity of his thrusts somehow increased, as if the idea turned him on even more. If this wasn’t him at his worst then you didn’t think you would be able to handle whatever that would feel like.

He kept one hand on your hip but moved the other round your front to play with your clit, rubbing and applying pressure in circles around the sensitive spot.

“Do you think you deserve to cum?” He challenged.

You nodded, unable to speak for fear of crying out in pleasure.

“Really? After all that teasing? You think I should make you feel good?” He chuckled.

“I think I’d rather leave you frustrated all day, let you play with yourself tonight and wish it was me touching you.”

You whined, “Please, Javi-“

“Listen to yourself,” He taunted, and you could hear his smirk. “Willing to beg for it, you little whore.”

As soon as your orgasm started to build, your legs stiffening and your pussy clenching around him, he removed his fingers from your clit.

You whined at the loss of contact and he laughed and tutted, “This is what happens when you try and involve me in your slutty little games.”

He went quiet then, done taunting you and instead focussed on chasing his own release, slamming his cock into you as deep as it could go, your warm tight cunt getting him closer to his orgasm with every single thrust.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, remind you all day what I did to you.”

You nodded, whining, your pleasure reaching an absolute high.

After a few more thrusts, his pace faltered, and you felt his warm release inside you as he grunted, stilling inside you while he caught his breath.

He pulled out of you and you felt his load trickling down your inner thigh slowly.

“Make yourself presentable.” He ordered as he tucked his cock back inside his jeans and refastened his belt. “And leave me alone, I have more important things to do today than deal with you.”

He unlocked the door and slipped out of the disused file room back into the office. Your mind was already whirring, planning on how you could get him to do this to you again.

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Just Another Notch

Bucky Barnes x Plus!Reader Masterlist

Summary: If Bucky thinks his charms will work on you, then you’re gonna put up one hell of a fight to prove him wrong. PART 4/? Part 5

An: Hey all, sorry I haven’t updated this baby in months. Gonna try and work on it more from now on. Hopefully it’ll be finished before the end of the year 🤞💜

Word Count: 1,278 (not proofread)

You never found him. After trekking through a path of destruction you realized, you didn’t know where exactly Bruce lives; better yet anywhere besides the lab he considers home. Once large foot prints and fallen trees ceased, so did your trail. You haven’t yet trained on tracking, so someone on foot could allude you indefinitely.

When you made it back to the compound, Friday announced “Stark will see you in his office, Ms. Y/L/N.”. You hadn’t even walked in the door, and already Bruce’s mess was piling up on your lap. As if you had control over a gamma radiated mutant.

Tony had another thing coming If he thinks you’ll pay damages. Your salary consisted of room and board, and a part time paycheck that you sent home to help your parents. Solid wood floors weren’t in your budget.

When you make it to Tony’s office it looks crowded. You can see Natasha, Steve and Bucky all standing around his desk, arms crossed with annoyed looks on their faces. This isn’t good, and it’s all your fault, you should’ve swallowed it, never mentioned it to Bruce.

You knock on the glass door, catching the attention of the the most attractive people you’ve ever seen. Their harsh gaze made you wish your X gene was invisibility. “You wanted to see me, Stark?” You pipe up, hoping the faster you get this over with, the easier it will be. You brave your face to the room, not putting your head down in shame. You won’t let this destroy you, you won’t let bullying ruin the workplace confidence you’d grown.

Tony rolls his eyes, “You know why you’re here, don’t play coy kid.”. Without hesitation You immediately start defending yourself, “I want to be the first one to apologize for the gym floor. I cannot excuse Bruce’s actions, they were not justified in any manor. Destruction of property over measly feelings, if not already, should be a fireable offense. I however have done nothing wrong. I played a part in telling Bruce about the situation, but I never could have foresaw this outcome.” Your chest is heaving when you finish. You’ve kept a neutral look on your face the entire time, meanwhile Tony’s face morphed into confusion, suprise, confusion again and then agreeance.

“Wow, the things I miss not living here.” He laughs, like it was some kind of joke. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, but I’d love for you to tell me the full story later.” You straighten your shoulders, what had you just done? Not only did you snitch on Bruce and yourself, but your pathetic plea was witnessed by three devils. Why are you here then?

You hadn’t done anything else wrong, you haven’t even been on a mission in forever. “Oh, my apologies then, I don’t know why I’m here.” You admit. Now you were unbearably nervous, you didn’t know what to expect. Tony opened a tab on his touch pad inlaid desk, pulling up the picture of an obviously foreign man. His menacing scowl only meant one thing, Hydra.

“Bruno Müller, age 37, served as a hitman for Hydra, much like yours truly.” He waves over to Bucky, giving him stank face. You nod your head, trying to take mental notes. “He was seen last night, on a yacht off the Florida Keys. Intel is saying, he’s hosting a party this weekend, and I want you to be in attendance.” Your head is spinning, you struggle to find the right words.

“What- I mean why me? You have many more capable agents at your disposal.” You’ve lost that workplace professionalism in place of confidence. You know you shouldn’t speak to your boss this way, but who does he think you are, Captain America?

“I would agree to disagree on that. Do not sell yourself short, your capabilities are more than qualified for this mission. But the truth is, no one knows you. You’re faceless.” You try to not let his last words hurt, but you suppose he’s right. It would be a simple plan, get in and get out, right? “What am I doing?” You ask, trying to fit the other three people into the plan somehow. “I need you to first, immerse yourself into this party, let everyone know you’re there. Talk with the women, flirt with the men, drink but don’t get drunk. If someone on this boat has a suspicion of you, it will take a minute for renforcements to arrive. Meaning, fighting off 30+ angry Hydra all by yourself.” He was blatant.

Your anxiety was starting to pick up. You’re not sure you can do it. The two super soldiers behind you instantly notice the shift in your mood. They see the hair on the back of your neck stand, and they can smell the sheen of sweat covering your body. Steve genuinely feels pity for you.

Tony continues, “Infiltrate his office, access his computer and download all of his files onto this bad boy right here.” He pulls a bracelet out of thin air. He gently unclasps it, revealing a usb drive hidden inside. “The second you plug it in, a virus will download onto his computer, corrupting the files, for any further use, and it will immediately download them, bypassing any need for passwords.”

Once he finished you had nothing to say. Well, you had plenty to say, but you couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t embarrass yourself further. “So, why are they here?” You finally ask, daring to make eye contact with Steve. His eyes weren’t as harsh as you expected.

“Every secret agent needs an intel team, and a guy in their ear, these two are your intel team, and Barnes is your new conscious.” Great. Now instead of playing along with him, you’re forced to be in their presence. You let the heroes behind you groan in place. They must’ve already debriefed, they had no witty remarks or protests.

“When do I leave?” You ask, just wanting to get out of the room at this point. You need to let yourself process everything, before you overload and overstimulate. “Tonight.” You give him a curt nod and leave before your team could ask you any questions. There would be plenty of time for that on the flight there.

Your brain is racing. Maybe it’s the combination of everything happening so far today and it’s only 9am. Or it’s the straps on the sports bra absolutely obliterating your shoulders. You’re pacing down to the simulation room, the only place you can go to escape.

You’re manically talking to yourself when you swing the door open. “How the actual fuck does he expect me to do this alone?” You ask no one. Seeing the empty desk chair Bruce left in its exact spot was enough to send you crumbling to your feet. Pressing your back against the door, squeezing your knees as close to your chest as possible. Bruce isn’t even here to console you because you fucked that up too. You bang the back of your head on the door, “What the fuck is wrong with me?”.

You doubt you’d see Bruce before you left, which meant you wouldn’t see him till you returned, which is never promised, better yet scheduled. You needed answers, why did be react like that? Wrapping your head around it was impossible, unbeknownst to you, Bruce sat pressed against his front door, his head in his hands, wondering why he can’t control his anger. Wondering if he’d scared you away forever, you’d never seen him as hulk before, just Bruce. He knew you liked just Bruce, but now there’s no telling.

[sicknasty03]

Seat Warmer

Pairing: Captain John Price/Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Price haven’t officially announced your relationship yet but everyone knows you’re together, except Soap of course. (And reader likes to be a bit of a menace)

Warnings: Slight NSFW (implied sexual themes), some cussing, possible ooc characters (I’m American trying to write characters who don’t have an American accent so please bear with me lol)

Author Note: This is self-indulgent. I haven’t written fics in years but I want more Price content. I don’t know anything about the military and I’m not great at making characters sound like how they do. Soap being oblivious is a favorite trope of mine, so is reader being a brat/menace to the team hehe. I’m also writing this on my phone so idk how the formatting will look.

Your day—no your week—was practically ruined. John said you were acting dramatic but you couldn’t help it, not when he betrayed you so.

You were the first to enter the mundane conference room on base where Price would be holding a meeting with his crew, Taskforce 141. The debrief would consist of important information for their upcoming mission.

While sitting down, a deep sigh left your pouting lips. You honestly felt a little miserable even though it really wasn’t that big of a deal. Gaz, Ghost, and Soap were the next to enter the room some time later. They all immediately took notice of your mopey behavior, but they didn’t make any comments. Gaz sat across from you, next to Ghost while Soap sat beside you.

“You alright?” Soap asks, feeling concerned about your unusual behavior. You just sighed and slumped forward, resting your elbow on the table and your head in your hand.

“I’m alright.” You said very unconvincingly, hoping Soap wouldn’t give up. Of course he didn’t though, he’s Soap.

“Come on lass, what’s on yer mind?”

You kept your eyes downcast as you replied in a somber tone. “Price got rid of my seat warmer. It’s not gonna be the same anymore.”

Soap furrowed his brows in confusion before glancing over to his companions for clarification. Gaz and Ghost looked just as confused—well more so Gaz, Ghost was hard to read when you could only see his eyes.

“What do ya mean Captain got rid o’ yer seat warmer? What’re you on about?”

You huffed a little in frustration. “Exactly what it sounds like Johnny. Price got rid of my favorite seat warmer and now it’s not gonna be the same for a while.”

“What won’t be the same?” Soap asked, his tone and body language expressing how confused he was.

Before you could respond, the door opened and in walked Captain Price, ready to begin the debrief. All eyes turned to him, except for yours as you already knew what to expect. The guys all stared in awe at the sight of their Captain with a clean shaven face as he walked to the front of the table and began setting his things up. Then the realization hit Gaz and Ghost as they gave each other a look, silently confirming their own suspicions.

Gaz and Ghost immediately glanced towards you, a small huff of laughter leaving Ghost as Gaz gave a small smile in disbelief. “You serious?” Gaz whispered in your direction. You stopped glaring at Price and turned to look at Gaz. You did your best to bite back your mischievous smile and solemnly nodded as you whispered back, “Worst day of my life”.

Price cleared his throat after getting everything set up and began the meeting right away. Everyone immediately got into professional mode as what was being discussed was highly important.

At the end of the meeting Price nodded and looked around, asking in a gruff voice, “Any questions?”

Soap immediately raised his hand. “S’not about the mission though, Sir.”

Price motioned for him to continue. Gaz immediately pursed his lips in disapproval, knowing where things were going to go.

“(Y/n) said you got rid o’ her seat warmer and she’s all bummed out but won’t elaborate past that, what’s she on about?”

Price pauses, a small look of disbelief flashes across his face before he looked over to you and raised his eyebrow in a slight scolding manner. You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing.

Price sighs and shakes his head. “Really, Sergeant?”

Putting on your best (worst) act, you smile innocently and bat your eyelashes at him. “What?” He gives you another disapproving look, one that should make you shake in fear but is actually having the opposite effect.

He unintentionally lowers his voice, further igniting the heat in your core. “Would you quit telling people people I got rid of your seat warmer?” His fingers make air quotes at the end of his sentence, making your internal situation worse as you focus in on his hands. “How many people have you told that to today?” He stands up straighter, crossing his arms across his broad chest. The stance almost completely distracts you from answering.

“I dunno, lost count.” You gave a mischievous chuckle.

Price gives you a heated stare for a quick moment before remembering there are others in the room. “I’ll deal with you later. All of you are free to go. Rest up and prepare yourselves for the next mission.”

Gaz, Ghost, and you began getting up to leave the room. Soap slowly stood up, confusion still written across his face.

“Uh, you never answered my question, Sir.”

Price gives him a tight lipped smile and walks out. Soap scoffs and throws his arms out to his side before letting them drop to his sides.

“Come on! Am I missing something?”

You step closer to him and place a hand on his shoulder. “Soap, I’m upset because he shaved his face.”

His brows furrow once again. “The hell does that have to do with yer seat warmer?”

Gaz groans and mumbles under his breath. Ghost had enough of the conversation and left.

You couldn’t help but laugh until your sides hurt. “Are you being serious Johnny?”

“Yes! I’m lost! I know it’s hilarious but give a dog a bone here, lass!”

You recovered from your laughing and wiped away any stray tears. “I don’t know, I wanna see how long it takes you to figure it out.” With that, you walked out, searching for Price so you can make it up to him for your mischievous behavior.

Gaz, taking pity on Soap, pats the Scottish man on the back and says, “Her and the Captain are dating. She was making a dirty joke.”

“Wait—they’re dating?!” Soap was genuinely shocked. “Who else knows?”

Gaz chuckled. “Pretty much everyone. It’s pretty obvious, they’ve just never officially announced it.”

“Wow. I seriously had no idea.” Soap shakes his head in wonder.

“We know. I kinda thought you would have figured it out by now.”

Soap just shook his head, and then he paused and that familiar look of confusion graced his face.

“Wait, where does the seat warmer fit into all this?”

Gaz groans and slides his hand down his face. “Soap, I told you. She was just being a lil shit, making a dirty joke.”

Soap just blinked at him, the confusion still apparent in his eyes.

Gaz grabbed the man’s shoulders. “Captain’s beard was her seat warmer. He shaved it off and now she’s winding him up.”

A few moments of silence fill the room as Soap tries to process what Gaz said.

“Huh…Oh…Oh.”

“Finally.” Gaz laughs and walks out of the room. Soap just stands there as he really thinks about it.

“Guess I’d be upset too.” He mumbles to himself as he finally takes his leave and heads towards the men’s barracks.

————————————————————————

Okay this sucked but thanks for reading!

(I didn’t proof read. i’m too tired to do that right now lol)

I love the idea of reader being a brat in a sense like this, and the idea of Price’s beard being considered a “seat warmer” lol, so if you’re a writer and want to write something of your own with this idea, feel free to do so. Just please tag me if you want cause I want to see everyone’s else’s takes on this!!❤️

[torahoes]

IDOLiSH7 Part 6 Chapter 12.1 - 12.2 (ŹOOĻ's scene)

Please note that I am not a professional translator. If you come across any mistakes, feel free to let me know and I will make the necessary corrections.

Chapter 12.1:

Minami Natsume: This is our new song’s demo. Please listen to it.

Touma Inumaru: So it’s finally done!

Haruka Isumi: It’s the song we’ll be singing at the New Black or White, right?

Torao Mido: What kind of song is it?

Minami Natsume: Before we proceed, I'd like to make it clear that I won't be accepting any criticism from you all.

Minam Natsume: I’m only willing to listen to praises.

Torao Mido: There’s no need to be so menacing…..

Touma Inumaru: Basically, that means you’re super confident about this song, right?

Minami Natsume: ...........

Minami Natsume: Well… yes, that’s right….

Touma Inumaru: Then I’m really looking forward to it!

Haruka Isumi: What’s the title?

Minami Natsume: Did I forget to mention it?

Minami Natsume: It’s “Utopia”.

Haruka Isumi: That’s a cool title! Ah, it started. … Woah!

Touma Inumaru: Ah….!

Torao Mido: Oh….!

Minami Natsume: What are these reactions supposed to mean…?

Touma Inumaru: This is good!

Haruka Isumi: It’s cool!

Torao Mido: I like it!

Minami Natsume: You three with your limited vocabulary…..

Minami Natsume: More. I need you all to praise me properly.

Touma Inumaru: It’s the best of the best! Mina, you’re a genius!

Haruka Isumi: If this is our song, we’re definitely going to win!

Torao Mido: It’s perfect! The entire world will bow down to you, Minami!

Minami Natsume: … Yay!!

Touma Inumaru: Now that’s a rare sight, he’s frolicking…

Minami Natsume: Let’s listen to it again from the top. Please praise me for each lyric, one at a time.

Haruka Isumi: You’re super, super, SUPER cool! You’re the only one who’s capable of composing a song like this, Minami. You’re the greatest in the world!

Torao Mido: That’s right! Now there’s no way we can lose. Let’s win with this song!

Minami Natsume: Yes, absolutely. And since you’ve said that, please put your body on the line too.

Torao Mido: Huh?

Touma Inumaru: Show us some cool, daring moves! How about around this part of the song?

Haruka Isumi: Sounds good! Let’s blow their minds! Torao, can you do it?

Torao Mido: Fu… Who do you think you’re talking to?

Touma Inumaru: Okay, I’m slowly starting to get a handle on how to deal with Tora!

- Door opens -

Shiro Utsugi: Please excuse me.

Haruka Isumi: Utsugi-san, did you listen to the song Minami made?

Shiro Utsugi: Yes, I was able to listen to it earlier. It felt like the advent of a godlike song.

Shiro Utsugi: Natsume-san, I don’t think I can convey what I feel through spoken words alone, so I will prepare a 10,000 word report later.

Minami Natsume: Fufu, thank you very much.

Shiro Utsugi: Now that the new song is finished, there is somebody I would like to introduce to you all.  

Haruka Isumi: Somebody you want to introduce to us….?

Chapter 12.2:

Touma Inumaru: Is that person here right now?

Shiro Utsugi: No, they said they wished to greet you all through a video call. Let me just set up the laptop first.

Minami Natsume: What is this person like…?

Shiro Utsugi: Ah, please wait a moment… it’s connected to these headphones right now, so before I switch to the speakers, let me just check with them once again.

Shiro Utsugi: [On the call] Hello? Did you decide on your character?

Haruka Isumi: … “Decide on your character”….?

Shiro Utsugi: [On the call] Anything’s fine. Huh? Ah… ughhh, what a pain. Okay, fine, I got it.

Touma Inumaru: He’s totally snubbing this person….

Shiro Utsugi: Thank you for your patience! Allow me to introduce you to a highly-respected world-class event artist.

Torao Mido: Uh, that didn’t really sound like how one would speak to a highly-respected world-class artist…

Minami Natsume: What is their name?

Shiro Utsugi: Ah, that’s right… please wait a moment.

Shiro Utsugi: [On the call] What’re you gonna do? Which one are you going with? Did you decide already?

Touma Inumaru: We can hear you asking them that, though…

Haruka Isumi: This manager’s introducing us to a really shady person……

Shiro Utsugi: Thank you for your patience! His name is Mr. Moonlight Ichiro.

Minami Natsume: Mr. Moonlight Ichiro….

Torao Mido: Have you heard of him before?

Minami Natsume: Unfortunately, I have no idea who he is either…

Shiro Utsugi: Then, I will be switching to the speakers now. I apologize, but there will be a mosaic filter on his face.

Touma Inumaru: Why!? SERIOUSLY, why!?

Shiro Utsugi: We’re starting now~

- Beep -

Haruka Isumi: Oh! It started…

Torao Mido: Can he hear us already?

Minami Natsume: It would appear so…... Nice to meet you, Mr. Moonlight Ichiro. I’m ZOOL’s Minami Natsume.

Moonlight Ichiro: Yes… Nice to meet you.

Moonlight Ichiro: I am Moonlight Ichiro.

Touma Inumaru: [Internally] … Ryo-san….?

Haruka Isumi: [Internally] … Isn’t that Ryo-san…?

Torao Mido: [Internally] … Is that Ryo-san…?

Minami Natsume: [Internally] … Is that not Ryo-san….?

Moonlight Ichiro: Right then, without further ado, before you compete at the New Black or White, I would like to offer you all some advice.

Touma Inumaru: Now hold on a second… you’re Ryo-san, aren’t you?

Moonlight Ichiro: I am not.

Haruka Isumi: You’re Ryo Tsukumo, right?

Moonlight Ichiro: I am Moonlight Jiro.

Torao Mido: The more I listen to your voice, the more it sounds just like Ryo-san’s though… Also, did you just say “Jiro”?

Moonlight Ichiro: Tch… See? What did I tell you, Shiro? Come on, do it quickly.

Shiro Utsugi: Hold on, I’ll try to do it now…..

Minami Natsume: What are you setting up on the laptop, Utsugi-san….?

Shiro Utsugi: I apologize; it might become a bit harder to hear his voice, but... ah, it's finally done!

Moonlight Ichiro: [With a voice changer] Yes. I’m Moonlight Ichiro.

Touma Inumaru: Oh, never mind, it’s different from Ryo-san’s voice…… AS IF WE’D THINK THAT!

Haruka Isumi: Now you’re just blatantly using a voice changer! Come on, you’re Ryo-san, aren’t you!?

Moonlight Ichiro: I am not.

Torao Mido: It IS you! Utsugi-san, get rid of that mosaic filter on his face.

Shiro Utsugi: Is it okay if I do, Ryo-kun?

Moonlight Ichiro: Of course it’s not okay, idiot!

Minami Natsume: He’s even calling him “Ryo-kun” now…

Moonlight Ichiro: Moving on, I’ll give you some valuable advice that you’ll be grateful for, so listen to what I say carefully.

Touma Inumaru: This takes me back, Ryo-san! Have you been well?

Moonlight Ichiro: I haven’t. I mean, this is our first meeting.

Haruka Isumi: Did you watch “BLAST”?

Moonlight Ichiro: I did! That final episode was no good.

Torao Mido: It was good though?! I did that jump myself, you know!

Moonlight Ichiro: Oh, I know. I read it in the magazine.

Minami Natsume: Would you like to listen to the new song?

Moonlight Ichiro: It’s done already?! The one for the New Black or White?

Minami Natsume: Yes.

Moonlight Ichiro: Okay, just send me the file.

Shiro Utsugi: Ryo-kun. Are we done with the whole “Mr. Moonlight” act now, then?

Moonlight Ichiro: Don’t call it an “act”! Everything’s ruined now because of you.

Shiro Utsugi: Nothing’s ruined yet. If you forcibly continue the act, you might still be able to succeed.

Moonlight Ichiro: Really?

Shiro Utsugi: Maybe?

Haruka Isumi: I’m telling you, it’s not possible. Utsugi-san, do you think we’re stupid?

Shiro Utsugi: Oh, no, I wouldn’t dare to think that.

Haruka Isumi: The person on the other side of the screen is Ryo-san, right?

Shiro Utsugi: Huh……..?

Haruka Isumi: A grown man like you shouldn’t be tilting your head to the side and playing dumb like that!

Minami Natsume:  Oh well, I think it’s alright. So, then, Mr. Moonlight, what kind of advice do you have for us exactly?

Minami Natsume: We are no longer going to be dictated by the will of others.

Moonlight Ichiro: Fu… so you’re able to say things like that now, huh.

Moonlight Ichiro: With the goal of triumphing at the New Black or White, I’ll give you some advice on organizing ZOOL’s mini-live.

Haruka Isumi: We don't need it! Don't attempt to involve yourself with us while you're still unwilling to drop the act!

Haruka Isumi: Say it properly. You’re Ryo-san, right? You want to be involved with us, right?

Moonlight Ichiro: …………..

Moonlight Ichiro: You’re wrong.

Haruka Isumi: Utsugi-san, cut the call!

Shiro Utsugi: Understood.

Moonlight Ichiro: Don’t understand him!

Haruka Isumi: See you then, Mosaic Man!

Torao Mido: Wait, wait, calm down! Isn’t this Moonlight thing good enough for now?

Haruka Isumi: You’re too lenient, Torao!

Torao Mido: I mean, I also just went through something similar with the whole, you know, not being able to properly express what I really wanted to do thing, or whatever, so…

Moonlight Ichiro: What the heck are you on about, idiot? I bet in reality, you nearly wet yourself during the action scenes and swapped with the stuntman at the last moment, didn’t you? Because, you know, you lack guts.

Torao Mido: ………………. Haha….….

Torao Mido: Utsugi-san, cut the call.

Shiro Utsugi: Right, I agree.

Moonlight Ichiro: Why are you agreeing with him?!

Shiro Utsugi: Ryo-kun. If you’re just going to mindlessly insult ZOOL, I’m going to cut the call. This is a really important time for them.

Shiro Utsugi: I only set this whole call up for you because you said you had something to say to them. If you don’t, I’m going to end it here.

Moonlight Ichiro: …… Fine. Remove the mosaic.

Shiro Utsugi: As you wish.

Moonlight Ichiro: It’s just as you all say. My true identity is, indeed, the one who scouted you four……..

Ryo Tsukumo: ….. Ryo Tsukumo.

Touma Inumaru: Hm…? Did the blur on the screen just get stronger?

Minami Natsume: Utsugi-san, what did you press?

Shiro Utsugi: Oh? That’s strange……

Ryo Tsukumo: I have my own proper reasons for not revealing my true identity to you four right away. You see, I’m purely in the position of watching over--

Haruka Isumi: Wai- Ryo-san, can we hold off on the serious talk until this gets fixed? It's starting to feel like a police investigation with that mosaic over your face.

Ryo Tsukumo: What…. Hey, what are you doing? This is an important moment, damn it!

Shiro Utsugi: Uh. Hey, Ryo-kun. What did you mess with when we played that game a while back using our faces?

Ryo Tsukumo: The app we downloaded. Isn’t that obvious?

Minami Natsume: These old men with plenty of time on their hands… they spend quite the pleasant time playing with each other, apparently.

Haruka Isumi: So you can still play those kinds of games even after you become an adult… I feel kinda relieved now.

Touma Inumaru: I'm surprised they actually seem to get along pretty well...

Shiro Utsugi: Oh we don’t get along. But I suppose you could say we're sort of like childhood friends, so I’ve been looking after him for a long time now.

Ryo Tsukumo: I’m the one who’s been looking after you. You’re from a commoner family, after all.

Shiro Utsugi: No, I’m the one. You were hated by your family, weren’t you? Ah, it’s finally fixed.

Ryo Tsukumo: [Now normal] Hello there. It’s been a while.

Touma Inumaru: Long time no see. You could’ve just contacted us instead of going about it in such a roundabout way!

Ryo Tsukumo: I was busy.

Minami Natsume: So you haven’t met with Momo-san either? I thought he was a good friend of yours.

Ryo Tsukumo: He isn’t, so I didn’t meet him. But, well, I suppose I can drop by to console him after the New Black or White ends.

Haruka Isumi: Console him? Why?

Ryo Tsukumo: Because ZOOL will be the ones to win, obviously.

Haruka Isumi: ….. Ryo-san….

Minami Natsume: You said that you have some advice for us, but what kind of advice is it?

Ryo Tsukumo: That, I will decide after this. First, tell me the setlist! Or are you going to refuse because I’m an outsider?

Touma Inumaru: That’s only natural. You disappear like that and don’t even contact us a single time afterward…

Ryo Tsukumo: What? Are you mad or something?

Touma Inumaru: I am.

Ryo Tsukumo: ……….

Touma Inumaru: It might not be that I’m actually angry. There are things I’m grateful to you for as well, and despite everything, I can’t really hate you.

Touma Inumaru: But as ZOOL’s leader, I absolutely cannot allow people that I think might hurt these guys to get close to them.

Touma Inumaru: That’s also why I think Utsugi-san called you an outsider too. So, which one are you?

Touma Inumaru: Will you support us and help in realizing this dream alongside us, or are you just here on a whim to pick on us?

Touma Inumaru: Answer us properly…… We already know that you covered for us and disappeared alone to protect ZOOL.

Touma Inumaru: Will you hold our hand once again, properly this time? Please tell us.

Ryo Tsukumo: …………..

Ryo Tsukumo: You four really are idiots.… After I used you so much, you really thought I was protecting you?

Ryo Tsukumo: And on top of that, you want me to hold your hands? You all are idols selling your images, aren’t you? You really are feeble-minded and foolish.

Ryo Tsukumo: I was feeling bored so I thought I’d prick and play with you for a bit, but I’m over it now. My real identity got exposed anyway.

Ryo Tsukumo: That’s the end of that. Shiro, you can cut the call now.

Haruka Isumi: The real idiot is you. Stuuupid.

Ryo Tsukumo: What?

Torao Mido: That really was nonsensical. Utsugi-san, pass me the laptop.

Shiro Utsugi: Here you go.

Ryo Tsukumo: What are you doing? Hey, I can only see Torao’s face in this spot.

Torao Mido: Aren’t you lucky then? You guys, this is fine, right?

Touma Inumaru: Yeah.

Minami Natsume: I don’t mind.

Ryo Tsukumo: What are you secretly whispering about?

Torao Mido: There, I just sent it to you. The setlist. Although it’s not final yet.

Ryo Tsukumo: … Hmm……

Touma Inumaru: We’re thinking about this earnestly and working hard on it in our own way.

Touma Inumaru: If you have any advice, we’d like to hear it. But… I ask that you don’t thoughtlessly try to hurt us.

Touma Inumaru: If we’re affected by your words and can’t give our absolute best during our performance because of that, that would be the worst.

Touma Inumaru: You not liking us even a bit... we don't believe that anymore, Ryo-san.

Minami Natsume: But it’s also true that you left our side without saying a word to us.

Minami Natsume: The present us need someone who may not necessarily love us but is willing to take responsibility for us…..

Minami Natsume: Rather than someone who loves us but is not willing to take responsibility.

Shiro Utsugi: Why are you looking at me? I truly do love you all.

Minami Natsume: If you’re going to be considerate towards our feelings, then let’s play together again sometime.

Minami Natsume: Being an idol is the game Ryo-san taught us— it’s the greatest game in this world.

Ryo Tsukumo: ……………

Haruka Isumi: It's okay, right? You’ll come to cheer us on, won’t you?

Haruka Isumi: I know that you came to watch us last year. I saw you from the stage at last year’s Black or White.

Ryo Tsukumo: …………… Fu……..

Ryo Tsukumo: As if I would cheer for you. I don’t even like idols in the first place.

Ryo Tsukumo: … But, maybe every once in a while, Moonlight Ichiro might make some favorable comments towards you all.

Torao Mido: You’re still going to continue with that character despite failing as hard as you did?

Touma Inumaru: Alright, we got it. In that case, this marks our farewell with you.

Touma Inumaru: But I'm glad we got to see you doing well.

Ryo Tsukumo: Mmm… likewise.

Minami Natsume: Please contact us whenever you feel like it.

Torao Mido: Come to see us, alright? On the day of the event too.

Ryo Tsukumo: If I have the time, maybe.

Haruka Isumi: Cheer us on.

Ryo Tsukumo: Do your best.

Haruka Isumi: ……………

Ryo Tsukumo: … Break a leg.

Haruka Isumi: …. Yeah. Thanks.

Ryo Tsukumo: Haha…….. Shiro, that’s enough. End the call now.

Shiro Utsugi: Understood.

- Beep -

Shiro Utsugi: I disconnected the call. I apologize for taking up your time during such a busy period.

ZOOL: ……………

Touma Inumaru: We’re idols, so… it would be nice if someday we could make Ryo-san happy, too.

Torao Mido: Yeah…..

Shiro Utsugi: You all really are very kind...… hm?

- Phone ringing -

Minami Natsume: There’s an incoming call again…. Is it alright if I pick up?

Shiro Utsugi: Go ahead.

- Beep -

Minami Natsume: Hello, who is this?

Moonlight Ichiro: Hello, this is Moonlight Ichiro speaking!

Minami Natsume: ……….

Haruka Isumi: You're surprisingly quick at changing gears, Ryo-san….

The End.

[oonajaeadira]

I'll Never Fall In Love Again: Scene 7: The Sex Scene

Fandom: The Bubble

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings: story jumps back and forth in time, playing fast and loose with "how things are done" in the film industry, consensual troublemaking with just a little boundary testing, frottage and thigh-riding (nothing super explicit but still very much a focus of action), messy feelings, indulgent yearning, angst, performance anxiety.

A/N: Thanks for your patience on this. It's nice to get back to these two idiots. I went light on sex and heavy on feelings and I hope that's okay with y'all because you know my kind of porn is feeling porns, right? Right. Okay. Let the disaster continue.

On film, kissing can’t be faked. Sex most certainly can.

When you enter the dim studio, Natalie and Nate, your stand-ins, lay artfully folded around each other in the back seat of a sedan, bared to the world in nothing but nude underwear as the crew work to set proper lighting levels and the DP makes sure this tight shot’s gonna work.

Unlike Natalie, you’re in a skirt and blouse, but only for the time being–it will be Dieter’s task to open that blouse and get that skirt rucked up around your hips soon enough.

Shit. You really should have taken some time to mentally prepare yourself for this. Taken a page out of Dieter’s book and, what? Had a stiff drink? (Heh. Stiff.) The butterflies that are escaping the cage of your stomach and eating at the supports in your knees should have been tended to prior to this shoot–

But then Dieter comes and takes a stand next to you and those nerves just…go away.

Yes, you both had your feelings out the other night, it should be awkward now, but it isn’t. There’s understanding now. Healing is coming. Has started already. And there’s never been anyone you’ve trusted more on set than Dieter fucking Bravo. You know he’s a pro. He’s a mess and a menace. But he’ll take care of you. Still.

“Hey,” he bumps a shoulder into yours. “You wanna have sex with me?”

Smiling down at your feet, you nod. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

Maybe not the best choice of words, even jokingly. You can feel his energy droop beside you, almost hear the wattage of his good mood bawooing out. “We okay, Cakes?”

Reaching for his hand, your fingers weaving into his own, you serve him a confident smile. “Of course. I’m glad you’re here.”

Like you have been for so many of my major career firsts.

The frantic kissing and the tussle in the rear car seat goes well; it’s okay to let your character get lost in his, to lean in and borrow from the way you and Dieter claw at each other. He kisses you hungrily, hands grasping your jaw, sucking in any breath you’ll give him, taking control of the kiss so you can concentrate on stripping him of his shirt and pants in the confines of the car seat as parsed out with Annie and the intimacy coordinator. But it's work and it's professional. Mostly.

You’d fall in love with his talent if you actually thought he was acting.

A few takes with resets of hair and makeup, a few different angles and a few shared giggles, and a few hours later you’re moving into the full shot, from the moment of first contact all the way through the deed.

And the kissing continues to go well–easy, pleasing, second nature. You’ve done enough takes to be able to get his clothes peeled away with ease.

But it’s when it comes to exposing you–to his big fingers somehow making short work of your dainty blouse buttons, to his palms sweeping up the sides of your thighs to push your flounces up and away–something yips in you, steps over a line into an unknowing void and you fixate.

It would be the same with any other actor, but it seems so strange here with Dieter–technically your husband–that you’ve never been in this state of undress with each other. With your breasts out, him slotted between your legs in nothing but a genital sock thrusting without actually making contact other then his hot breath in your neck and hands curling under your back and would it be better if he was making contact and you think about that night on the couch and what came after and your head’s not in the game here and Annie makes you take one shot, two, five–

“Cut, please,” Annie begs after take eight. “Take a break you two. Reset. We’re gonna try another angle.”

This isn’t good. Dieter peels himself from you, and you look anywhere but his face–although you have to avoid staring at the cock sock, at his whole bronzy naked body, really.

Something’s not working here.

And you both know it’s you.

A PA approaches Dieter with a robe open to receive him, but before you can ask him for reassurance, he simply snatches the robe as he passes the poor assistant, lazily throwing it on and padding off the set into the darkness of the crew area, covering his naked ass in his own time. “Hey. Annie, can I talk to you?”

Shit. FUCK.

It’s very telling that neither of them are turning to you immediately. Annie giving up on offering direction and Dieter has no encouragement in him anymore. Like they’re gonna huddle up and decide what to do with you. The thought of disappointing not just one but both of them–a director you admire and a friend and fellow actor who you had looked up to not so long ago–is heartbreaking and ego-shattering in so many ways and imposter syndrome shrinkwraps itself around your heart, preserving it in a marinade of cringe.

Why? Why can’t you just portray sexual pleasure? Sex can be faked! Tap into the arc of your character using this man who’s crazy about her to get off? You’ve got real life experience to draw on, and–if you're sly about it–you can play a little of life imitating art here….no. You don't need that. This shouldn’t be hard.

But it is. And you know full well why.

You can just make out Annie’s serious face and Dieter’s waving arms over by the craft table.

Shit. Well, union rules are union rules, and you might as well take advantage of the break. If you make it quick, you can get all the tears out and still swing by makeup to cover it up before anyone misses you.

____________

That summer after Cannes and Seattle was a whirlwind. Fall of Timon had its major release and there were regional premieres and panels, talk shows and interviews, everyone fawning over the director and Davey and Dieter; those few who paid attention to your involvement mainly asking about your experience with those two and then of course your marriage to the latter.

Auditions came hot and heavy. Dieter had some last minute ADR work for Hunger Strike and then took on a voice acting gig for a major video game company, so he rarely allowed himself to speak much after hours in an effort to manage his instrument.

But there were a few nights that hot summer, balcony windows open, curtains billowing and blowing through your room out into the lounge where you and Dieter sweated against the couch, taking turns getting up for cold beer and ice cream, laughing through a classic 80’s romcom. Those were good nights. Happy nights. You-and-your-best-friend nights.

By the end of August he was gone. Venice’s Film Fest first, then Toronto’s to promote Hunger Strike. Straight from there back over the ocean to Jordan for filming a season on a sci-fi series.

He called almost every night. Not long. Just a harried recap of his day–your morning–the shoot, his victories, his irritations, outings with the cast, hot goss. And you fought so hard against your jealousy–of him for his adventure, and of the cast for getting his presence. You found any and every excuse to be out at night with friends rather than streaming tv by yourself in a big, empty house.

But more and more he’d tire of talking and beg you to tell him about your day. Well. Your yesterday. If you didn’t have much to tell, he’d push you for details of a meal you ate or what you wore or even what the weather was like. It became clear that he was growing weary of being away from home and just wanted to hear you chatter, that your voice was his bedtime routine, that he would sleep better just hearing you complain about traffic.

And more and more, you realized your day was better when you could speak to him at the beginning of it.

And soon enough it was Thanksgiving week, Hunger Strike’s Stateside premiere, and Dieter was coming home. His schedule was tight–a mere five days to hit the premiere, the afterparty, the talk shows, a few auditions, and a recording session–and yet, he took you by surprise and reserved an evening just for the two of you.

Dieter new people, like any celebrity might. And one of the people he knew–an old college friend–happened to be working an install at Geffen Contemporary, able to open the gallery after hours for a private walkthrough on the weekend before the exhibit was set to open.

Takashi Murakami–one of your mutual favorites. A surprise for you. And as much as he was happy to get the chance to see the exhibit before he flew back to Jordan, he spent most of the time there just enjoying your delight at all of the bright colors, the insipid smiling flowers, the crazed and euphoric animals, the fountains of anime jizz.

Standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling mural of repeating cartoon faces, you’d turned to him, grinning like an idiot, only to find him regarding you with the same expression.

“This is a nice treat. Thank you, Deets.”

“Happy birthday,” he beamed, severely proud of himself.

You laughed, your nose wrinkling in confusion. “It’s not my birthday.”

“I know,” his smile faded a bit, “but we didn’t do yours properly. So since we’re done here, we’re going to the weiner stand.”

“Is that a metaphor?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Do you want it to be?” But your pseudo-husband granted you mercy, turning to go before your face betrayed the whammy he’d just dealt you, leading the way out of the gallery and into a silent Uber. The trip ended up with the two of you sharing a messy order of Holee Molee Fries with your hands, standing on the sidewalk in front of the hot-dog shaped walk-up eatery under the husky rose and umber L.A. sunset.

He always looked so content and warm and beautiful in the twilight hour.

You weren’t prepared for Hunger Strike. Or rather, how it would make you feel.

The premiere was grand, fun. Davey and half the cast of Timon were there making the occasion a mini-reunion, and Dieter’s stylist had struck up a deal with de la Renta, so you were matched in a tasteful floral cocktail gown from the same series as Dieter’s suit. Which meant plenty of couple photos on the carpet. It wouldn’t have been wrong to slip off and let him take the spotlight alone, except he simply wouldn’t let you, holding tight to your arm and joking that you were his fanciest and most slimming accessory–nobody would notice that he’d gained weight since the filming if they were all drooling over you.

But you weren’t fooled. And he wasn’t trying to fool you. Just trying to keep you beside him because he wanted you there. Simple.

It wasn’t until he found you in a quiet corner of the afterparty that he was able to seek your opinion, your mind whirring with the premiere you’d just witnessed, Dieter’s performance brilliant, unnerving, inspired, breathtaking–leagues more surprising and career-making than his work in Fall of Timon.

“Hey, I wondered where you’d gone,” he breathed, relieved to be away from the crowd for a hot second. “You okay?”

He was quiet while you gathered your thoughts, while you tried to articulate the swirl of emotions after watching your best friend–your mentor, your damned fake husband–fucking kill it on that screen. Finally, all you could manage was to pull him into an embrace that he eagerly returned, to press a kiss into his cheek and tell him, “That was astounding, D. I’m so, so proud of you.”

In those scant seconds after you let him go, he was transformed–haloed in pride, drunk on your praise, even though he’d had more thorough words from the mouths of a hundred guests–you watched the world begin to fall away from him as his eyes held yours, yearned after more. There was something he wanted to say, something that started with, “Yeah? You really think so,” and might have ended in god knows what if he’d been allowed to finish, but a couple of VIP guests had noticed the lack of crowd around you and paid no respect for the private moment, swooping in to take the opportunity to have you both to themselves.

As it was, all you got out of the night were some blisters from your designer heels and a press photo someone had snapped behind your back--your arms around him and your lips to his cheek, his fingers gripping the back of your dress and his face buried against your shoulder, eyes squeezed tight in agonized bliss as if your approval had meant more to him than the whole theater combined.

You refused to entertain the possibility of that being the truth.

You found a printout of the photo hung on the refrigerator after he flew back out to Jordan the next morning. Like a toddler that did a good job on his spelling test and wanted you to remember the best of himself.

You had a suspicion that a twin printout was in a bag on its way to Jordan.

____________

“What’s going on?”

The crew is in a flurry, doing final light checks and adjusting the car set when you’re called back into the soundstage after being redressed and reset again.

Dieter’s back in his full costume as well. Looks like it’s another full take again.

“They’re doing a slight adjustment on the lighting,” he says, watching them. “Talked to Annie. We’re gonna try something different.”

“Uh…what?” You’d just gotten used to the fact that this scene was happening and now they’re changing it? “Does the I.C. know?”

He shrugs. “She’s not here. What she doesn’t know won’t get her buttplug all twisted ‘round.”

“And were you two going to clue me into these changes or…..?”

Here’s where he finally turns to you, but can’t seem to meet your warning gaze for long, chewing on the inside of his cheek. God, he’s pretty when he drops all his swagger. If only Dieter knew how good vulnerability looked on him….“You trust me, ‘Cakes, yeah?”

An old warmth returns, melting you like the earth turning back towards the sun in spring. It’s an instant recognition that whatever he said to Annie was about you–and in your best interest–and just like he did during Timon, he wants to help you again.

“‘Course I do.”

One of the assistants calls over to the two of you, ready for you to return to the set, and you follow close to Dieter as he whispers, “Listen. You’re just wearing a snatch patch, right?”

“W-what? Yes?”

“Good. A full genital guard would have been rough."

The assistant dressers crowd you, doing a last minute swat for lint, trapping fly-aways, fixing your waistline. “Um, okay, why–”

“Alright, you two,” Annie appears beside you, all smiles, her tiny frame belying the big sass that you know lurks underneath. “So Dieter and I talked and he made me see the very rare error of my ways and here’s the deal.”

Your director goes on to explain that Dieter alerted her to the fact that this is an escalation point for your character, that little by little you’ve been taking control of your situation and this is the moment you take control of Dieter’s character. Trapping you under him was cutting you off from options to express that.

“We’re putting you on top,” Annie says to you, continuing when she sees your dropped jaw. “You let Dieter guide. This isn’t about you seducing him or dominating him. It’s about you learning to let go and enjoy him, to own your own sexual freedom. So we’ll start with the buildup as is, disrobing as is, but then let him pull you on top. It’ll give you more opportunity to play.” Pinching your chin and giving it a sisterly shake, she growls, “You got this, kid. Feel free to really give into her wildness. And remember it’s your call if you need to stop at any time. Dieter leads, but you’re in control here? Okay? Now. If you want to rehearse a take, that’s your right, but I’d like to roll for spontaneity’s sake.”

Looking away from her glittering, black eyes, to Dieter–standing there like a taught rubber band, his arms hanging but his twitchy fingers betraying his trapped kinetics–and back to Annie, you give her a nod. “Let’s do it.”

A shake of the shoulders, a fist bump with your scene partner. A silent commitment to do better for both of them.

And while Annie gets situated behind the monitor and the DP synchs, you keep Dieter’s focus, allowing yourself just for the moment–for the hour, the day–to fall back in love with him.

You wonder if he senses this change. You’re certainly sensing one in him, his fidgets melting, his jaw unclenching.

You both know what to do.

His kissing has improved since……well. Perhaps he’s more confident when he’s acting rather than being drunk or jet-lagged. But right now…now he’s intoxicating. Traces your jaw and ears with the soft bend of his nose and plush of his lips, taking care not to let his scruff tear you up too much. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to devour your breath, keep your tongue dancing tempo with his, put his big hands in all the right places to press out all your tension.

It’s not even whispered, just mouthed against your lips: “That’s good.”

His shirt comes off first, and you take the lead in stripping away his jeans, but then the choreography changes as he slows you, brings your focus to him, pushing up your skirt in order to hold your hips and guide you to his lap, pulling you into a straddle, watching your expression as you land.

Only the thin fabrics of his genital sock and your modesty patch separate your softer sections from his harder ones.

And he drags you against him.

And you gasp.

There’s a moment where you pause with your eyes and mouth wide in surprise, his air trapped within him as he waits to make sure he hasn’t crossed the line.

He has.

But your skirt covers things. And what Annie and the crew don’t know can’t hurt them.

Suddenly you’re in the mood to match his trouble.

And you begin to slowly ride.

And in his escaping breath, there’s a “Yeah.”

His hands give you a gentle pull and leave you with the subtle direction to keep rocking while he takes his time working his way through your blouse buttons, pushing the fabric down over your shoulders but not your arms, leaving it to drape artfully from elbow to elbow across your back, giving you a little more cover, a little more security, allowing his naked character to be the vulnerable one.

And as you roll against him, wetting your breath-dried lips, he watches you, checks in with you.

You okay with this?

Yeah.

A rise of his hips. I’m gonna pick it up.

Please.

That’s good, Babycakes. Just like this.

And all of a sudden, it clicks. It doesn’t matter that the set is full of people, doesn’t matter that Annie is hoping for a saving take, doesn’t matter that millions of people will watch this intimate moment between the two of you.

All that matters is that you get to have it with him.

As he rocks you closer to breaking, your lips part, your eyes close, and your forehead lands upon his.

“That’s it, Baby,” he breathes, his words just hurried shapes and pops, “I want you to feel it this time. I want you to have this. I’m here. Use it. I want you to have it.”

Later, Annie will tell you what a perfect arch your back makes when your character finally lets go.

____________

After the Hunger Strike premiere, he called less often. He was bouncing around Europe, shooting a commercial, visiting friends, auditioning a few treatments, and when he was back in Jordan, he was far enough off the grid that he’d have to use the production’s satellite phone to call and that was getting governmental aerospace involved, so communication slowed to a crawl.

You’d had an unsent message sitting in your drafts for weeks and was just about to delete it one dreary January morning as you lazed in bed. Alone. In a big, empty house.

But then the phone rang in your hands and you dropped it on your face with a loud curse, fumbling and snatching it back with the hope that the call was coming from the person your message was addressed to so you wouldn’t have to say it–

“SWEETHEART!”

No such luck. “Heyyy Morgan.”

“Well, you did it, kitten,” your agent’s bangles rang over the phone as you imagined her clutching her fists and doing a little shimmy, “congratulations!!!”

“Huh?”

“Wait. Are you kidding me? The nominations dropped today. Don’t tell me you slept in.”

And all of a sudden you were a windmill of arms and legs and flying sheets, a shrieking and thudding mess across the carpet as you ran to the desk to open a laptop. “Shit! Tell me!!!”

“Supporting actress, hon. I TOLD YOU.” Morgan knew you’d be sitting there in a permanent gasp, so she took the opportunity to spill. “Fall of Timon is one of the big takers; film, director, special effects, supporting actress, lead actor–”

“Dieter?” you squealed. “Oh shit, he’s going to be so excited–!”

“Ah, no. I mean, yes, but Davey’s been nominated for Timon. Dieter did receive a lead nom, but it’s for Hunger Strike.” As if she could feel the turmoil in your silence, Morgan laced her voice with a smile pushed forward. “And this is marvelous; the press will be all over you two, the power couple who have to war with rooting for their spouse or their project. Good visibility.”

“Well,” you force a chuckle, “I mean, yeah. Davey’s my costar. But of course I’ll pull for Dieter because I know he’ll be pulling for me.”

“Yes. Although. He’s going to have to support Chelsea as well.”

“Chelsea? What? …Oh.” Chelsea Seagate. His nemesis in Hunger Strike. “But…that’s easy, right? She would be up for leading actress, so–”

“The studio thought she’d have a better chance at taking supporting, so that’s where they championed her.”

“Oh.” Direct competition.

Somehow you’d made it through the rest of the conversation. Somehow you’d managed to fake full enthusiasm for Morgan’s sake while you were sitting stunned on the edge of your bed. Somehow you’d let her congratulations sink in.

But you’d also fallen back onto the mattress, all fetal position and stunned silence.

It wasn’t anything to cry over. But your adrenaline was running high off your own nomination and you were stupidly excited for Dieter of course.

If he had been there, it wouldn’t have been an issue. You would have hugged and jumped up and down and called in a mess of takeout and downed some edibles and just been happy for each other.

But he wasn’t there. And you felt it. Had been feeling it for weeks and living in denial that it meant anything. The year was close to being over and there was no need to complicate things. Catching feelings wasn’t part of the deal and the logistics of being tied to Dieter Bravo for a long haul just weren’t built on solid enough ground.

Especially since he’d been calling less. Being out of country meant he could probably mess around easier without anyone finding out. He was doing his best, keeping his promise, slowly repairing his image and not making you look foolish for marrying a–well, a bit of a slut, really, if reputation served. And if he was getting his dick on, well, he’d been discreet and you could appreciate that.

You told yourself he was having his fun but being discreet for you. There was no way you’d believe he was denying himself for your sake. Not Dieter. Entertaining that thought would be like admitting that…

That you didn’t want him to.

Shit.

Laying with your cheek to the sheets, squinting in the cold January sun, a thumb-drag across your phone opened it to your messages. It was easy enough at first to avoid the unsent one.

--Congratulations, D!

Still skipping past the unsent text.

--I’m so proud of you!

You should have closed the phone, but your heart teetered on the edge of a gulf, hovering over the send icon.

There had to be a different way to say it.

--If you were here, I’d take you out to celebrate.

It was the wrong thing to say, because it was true.

And it hurt. And the realization of what you were then admitting to yourself pulled the tears out even faster. All the times you almost told him out of some nagging need, and then, as if he knew you needed to hear from him he’d call and then it just lived there in your drafts, but oh god, this was a big twist of the knife, and it hurt, and you just thought, fuck it, and hit send.

--I miss you so much, Dieter.

____________

Silence.

Stupid. For the next week you tried to push the mental groan of anguish out of your head. This is why you should never text when you’re emotional, you big dummy. He might have been too far out on location. Or trying to text and it didn’t come through. There was no reason to believe he was ignoring you or you’d overstepped. After all, it was text and didn’t have intonation behind it. You could still be his best friend and miss him. That was allowed.

No need to fret.

Anything would be preferable to silence though.

What was going to buoy you was a celebratory get together at Davey’s place that weekend. An invite went out to cast and crew of Timon, and Saturday night saw old friends converging in Beverly Hills, Davey and his partner Mark’s mid-century home still lit up from Christmas.

It was exactly what you needed to relax and find your smile, to be among friends, and, of course, proceed to get just a bit more than tipsy thanks to the catered bartender.

Davey mentioned that he’d gotten into pinball lately and at one point in the evening a friend asked to see his collection, so the whole party took a detour to the outbuilding that he’d turned into a throwback dive-bar setup with nine vintage pinball machines.

Everyone was crowded around Mark, watching him play for the high score on the very suggestive cowboy machine that would trip the bucking bronco. He’d just missed, and there was a loud, raucous groan, that ended in Davey cheering, “Well fuck you, you son-of-a-bitch Oscar-traitor! Aren’t you supposed to be in Egypt or some such shit?”

The group spun as a messy whole to find Dieter standing in the doorway, offering up a dumb grin and a wave, causing everyone to whoop.

You were too drunk to feel anything but delight and shock, and it must have shown, because once he saw you in the crowd–saw you gasping smile and brimming eyes–he came straight at you, bowling you backward in a sloppy embrace, growling contentment as everyone else slapped and patted his back in welcome.

“I missed you too,” he mumbled against your shoulder. “Surprise!”

And everything that felt broken in you found its way back into place.

He made the rounds at the party, said his hellos to friends, but kept you close by until it was just the two of you creating your own little bubble, both leaning head and shoulder against a wall in the hallway–you a little overwhelmed with drink and him jet-lagged–explaining that he’d hoped to be here a day or two sooner, but there were re-routes and delays and he’d be flying back as soon as he could guarantee a stand-by. He’d literally been traveling over 24 hours just to surprise everyone and come celebrate.

And you’d stood there, asking him questions about the location and the shoot, listening, laughing a little too hard, hanging on every word, holding his hand as if he’d fly away the second you weren’t tying him to you. But he wasn’t going anywhere at that moment. He was as grounded to the moment as you were.

Maybe an hour? Two? Another drink? An Uber ride home. Laughter. You almost dropped your keys on the doorstop trying to unlock the door.

“You wanna see my house? It’s really big and I live here all alone,” you joked, chuckling as you kicked off your shoes and stumbled into the dark living room, your oncoming headache keeping you from turning on the light.

Dieter followed, but didn’t join you in the merriment.

“I’m sorry for not calling more, Cakes. We’re literally staying with the Bedouins, there’s nothing out there–”

“Hey. You don’t have to apologize to me. If I need company I know where to find it.”

That made him smirk. “Yeah? You’d cuck me in my own house?”

“Ah–” stammering, you tried to make light of what you assumed was a joke. “That’s not the kind of company I meant. Besides, you’re the one out there away from prying eyes with the desert roses, Mr. Bravo. So. No pointing fingers at me.”

“That’s what you think?” You couldn’t see his face in the dim light, but his voice told a story of quiet disappointment. Oh. So not a joke then. “I flew back here to surprise you.”

You had to put some mental distance between what he was saying and what you hoped it meant. “And to go to the party.”

“Because I knew you’d be there. I wanted to get home earlier so we could go together. Like we're meant to.”

You wished a lot of things in that moment, the main one being that you were more sober.

You didn’t get that wish. But you did get another one.

Because he didn’t pull back when you crashed your mouth into his. He didn’t push you away when you wrapped your arms around him. And even when the momentum of a few kisses pushed his calves against the couch and he lost balance and fell onto it, he was the one who reached up and pulled you onto his lap and kept begging you silently not to stop.

Delirium. Bliss. You were both sloppy, but equally present and willing. “Holy shit your lips are soft. Like pillows or some shit,” he mumbled, unable to help himself.

At one point you felt the evening dragging you down and you could sense yourself slipping into fatigue, threatening to steal precious hours with him away from you, but you fought it, trying to crank it back up by reaching for his belt.

He laughed softly against your lips as he gently moved your hand away. “Mmmmnnnope. You’re drunk, ladybug.”

“All the easier for you to take advantage.”

“I know,” he groaned, just a shadow of regret coloring it. “Another time maybe.”

“But you came all this way,” you whined, reaching again for his buckle and then switching to a purr. “Don’t you want to sleep with your wife?”

That made him stop. “Fuck, you’re making this hard on me.” He pulled your hand away again, this time guiding it up to receive a kiss to the knuckle. “No means no, missus.”

Oh shit. Thinking you’d really gone too far, misread the situation–how?--you shifted backward, moving to get up.

“No, no. Wait. C’mere.” Hands on your hips guided you back and he put a thigh between yours. Urging you to sit, he pulled you back to his mouth as he whispered, “Just. I can’t… Not me. Let me help you.”

And he did. Although he denied you any payback. He simply held you, gave you his kisses and his thigh, and your head swam and your desire glowed. But each sigh got longer, longer, longer…

Until you woke up the next morning on the couch, covered with a blanket, a glass of water on the coffee table in front of you twinkling in the cold wintry morning sun, the spike of pain in your head matching the one of complete mortification in your heart.

____________

I want you to feel it this time. I want you to have this. I’m here. Use it. I want you to have it.

Standing in the trailer at the end of the day, you flip through the divorce papers absently, unfocused, not really seeing anything but a word here and there; “differences,” “lack,” “unable,” “resolve.” Yours is the only signature. It’s inelegant–either your pen didn’t have enough ink at first or you hesitated–

“Hey.” Dieter stands in the doorway, confused, not expecting to find you in his trailer. As you turn toward him, he notices the papers in your hand and cringes in recognition, sucking in a rallying breath as he enters and pulls the door closed behind him. “That mad, huh. Listen, Cakes–”

But his jaw drops as you grip the top of the small packet….

…and give it all a neat tear down the middle.

Dropping each half to your sides, it signals an end to something between you that isn’t your marriage.

He waits for you. A little bit anxious. A little bit hopeful. Expectant and quiet.

And you make him wait.

Then you simply place what’s now garbage in the bin.

“I see you’re still in your robe.”

“I see you’re still in yours.”

“That was some trick you pulled, Mr. Bravo.”

“I can’t tell if you’re mad.”

“I’m not.”

He’s still not sure where this is going, keeps watching you with those same puppy eyes, Fight sitting on one shoulder, Flight on the other, waiting for a million shoes to drop.

“You didn’t finish during the scene.” You say, pointing to a shape that’s hiding under his robe. “How very professional of you. I suppose you came in here to take care of it.”

He swallows, nods eagerly, his hope utterly, adorably transparent.

You take a step toward the back where the crash bed is. Jerk a thumb back over your shoulder in its direction. Cock an eyebrow. “Well? I’m sober this time. You wanna consummate this thing or not?”

It’s not his birthday, but you might as well have just told Dieter you were taking him out to the wiener stand.

And this time, it would most definitely be a metaphor.

____________

NEXT

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

[banannabethchase]

They went after each other twice onscreen during Dynamite. But it didn't stop there.

~

Hi yes this is a Professional Wrestling Fic. No, I didn't expect myself to be here either. Mox and Hangman were just so horny for each other last night this essentially wrote itself. I'm blaming my husband for this.

Takes place basically during AEW Dynamite 11/30/2022, after that second Mox/Hangman interaction when Hangy had that little manbun.

Title from Ryan Star's "Start a Fire" because I always use his songs for titles when I'm stuck in 2010.

~

There’s a bruise already forming on his cheekbone, a split lip threatening to bleed everywhere. “You need to leave the building,” Tony says sternly. “I get that he goaded you, but there’s – I can’t do this whole fighting thing again.” There’s exhaustion in his voice. Adam gets it, he really does, but he can’t take on Tony’s problems right now.

“I know,” Adam says, and he wants to slam the phone down, flip it shut, something, but he has to settle for an impotent press of the End Call button.

“Mr. Page -”

“I’m fine!” Adam snaps, pushing past the last security guard as he hovers between Adam and the door back into the main arena. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

One of the guys, a young kid named Bennett from forty miles out, from a farm like the one Adam grew up on, eyes him hesitantly. “Mr. Page, sir,” he says, voice practically quivering, “I was instructed to ensure you exit the building after getting your things.”

Adam groans. “Fine. Walk with me. Just – act like this is normal, okay?”

“If I’m being honest, sir, this is the least normal day of my life.”

Adam laughs, pushing sweaty hair from his forehead. “In this industry, you’ll get used to it.”

Bennett doesn’t respond, walking quietly next to Adam like a squire. He likes this kid. But he likes the silence more.

Bennett drops him off at the locker room hastily labeled, “Hangman.” He’s fairly certain it’s a repurposed closet. Amanda and maybe Megha probably cleared this out once they heard he was coming, and the thought warms him a little bit. At least he has someone here who cares about him. With the Elite and Dark Order in different universes from himself, he’s glad to have a place to sit.

He drops, heavy, onto the bench. It’s not a bench, on second check. He’s sitting on a string of black metal chairs lined up. “Figures,” he grumbles.

He doesn’t rush as he gathers his stuff, and Bennett doesn’t leave the door.

“What, you think you can take me by yourself?” Adam asks. He fights the laugh behind his voice. “You gonna rush me or something?”

Bennett shrugs. “No. I think they just consider me expendable. As long as we can get the two of you out of the building, I’m good.” There’s a menacing crash in the hallway. “I think I jinxed myself.”

“Hangman!” Adam recognizes the growl just as surely as he recognizes the anger rising in his chest.

Silently, he stands. He’s got at least four inches on the kid. It’d make his heart hurt, just a little bit, to take him out, but you do what you’ve got to do. “You gonna hold me back?”

Bennett shakes his head, stepping into the closet. “I’ll just – I’ll go back in here. It’ll be like high school all over again. “

Adam steps past the door, and there’s Moxley. Jon fuckin’ Moxley, storming down the hallway like a man on a mission. Adam runs at him, noticing in the back of his mind that it was a picture perfect spear that sends them both crashing to the ground, fists flying. He hears the footprints of the security guards in the hall, close behind them, and he pulls them both to their feet. He turns around, taking a fist to the jaw as payment, and manages to grab the door to the showers and haul Moxley in there with him. Mox kicks the door shut behind them, then slams Adam against the wall.

“What the fuck,” he says, breathing hard, eyes dead on Adam’s, “do you think you’re doing here?”

Adam grins as he pushes against Moxley, freeing a hand to wipe the blood from his mouth. “Just what all of us are.”

Mox gives him a last shove and steps away, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his arms. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Last time I saw you, you got pulled out on a fuckin’ stretcher, and you come back like this?” He whirls back toward Adam. There’s blood dripping from his eyebrow. It makes his eyes look bluer, somehow. Mox thunders toward the showers, leaning his arms against the tile.

Adam lets out a harsh little laugh. “You were running your mouth up there. Somebody had to shut you up.”

Mox huffs out a little laugh. “Of all people, you had to be the one there. I nearly killed you.” He turns back to Adam. “You got any idea how shitty it’s been the past few weeks?”

“Probably as bad as getting your lights knocked out with a simple clothesline,” Adam says, shrugging. “People are out there calling me a pussy, man. You at least have the crowd behind you.”

Mox licks his lips. “Oh, we’re talking about things behind me now?” Adam’s never had that smile directed toward him, not out of the ring. Predatory, combative, hungry. But there’s something else in this smile. He stalks toward Adam. “You think I forgot about that last time we talked in the ring?” He rubs a thumb against his bottom lip, catching on the split in a way that sends a spark through Adam. He can’t tear his eyes away. “You got a look in your eye, kid.”

“I’m, like, six years younger than you.” Adam’s eyes flicker up. “Quit calling me kid.”

Mox rolls his shoulders again, the tension loosening not a bit, as he stares Adam down. “I got a question for you.”

Adam can’t help his eyes from flickering to Mox’s lips. From wondering if he can more with that mouth than just talk in the ring. “I might have an answer.”

“I wanna know what you meant with that laugh,” Mox says. “Sounded like a challenge.”

“What laugh?”

Mox crowds into him, close enough that he could line their bodies up if he wanted to, and Adam didn’t know he wanted it until this very moment. “When I told you I’d choke you ‘til you’re blue,” he says, that gruff voice nearly a whisper. “You looked a little too excited.” He runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “But not in a match way.”

Adam straightens. He’s eye level with Mox on any damned day, but, right now, it feels like more. “No,” he decides to say. “Not in a match way.”

Mox’s smile gets predatory, dangerous. Almost menacing, the way he gets when he’s hit with a good punch and he really feels it. “Yeah? Want to see if you can keep up with me like that?” He gets closer. Adam can smell the smoke on his breath from even before their fight, can see every crease in his forehead and scar on his skin. “Since you couldn't keep up in the match.”

“I kept –“ But he doesn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Blood and teeth, Mox crashes against him, one hand twisted in the front of his shirt, and one, surprisingly, between the back of Adam’s head and the tile wall. Mox is managing to pull the two of them together and against the wall. Adam’s stunned a little bit, eyes still open, when Mox slides his tongue between his mouth, and his brain kicks into gear. He slides a leg in between Mox’s thighs, and he can feel him, he can feel Mox is hard, and it’s so much at once he can’t quite process. He does know one thing: he’s straining his jeans just as much as Moxley is.

Mox laughs against his lips, and Adam can feel the way it must look, can imagine that knowing grin. “Thought so.” His voice is low. “See, nobody goes after me in that way unless they have some,” he pauses, “ulterior motive.”

“Fuck off,” Adam says, and he pulls him back in so their teeth clash together, and it shockwave it sends through the back of his skull somehow makes it better. He shoves the leather jacket off of Moxley’s shoulders, the damned thing so tight around his biceps it takes him longer than he plans. Mox is looking up at him.

“Aw, you not strong enough to take off a coat?” Mox licks his lips. Adam doesn’t know whose blood paints his teeth. “You got my arms like this, I can’t choke you like you want.” Adam lets out a weird little laugh and, after a moment, he realizes it’s disturbingly similar to the one he said in the ring. “That’s what I like to hear.” Mox shakes off the jacket, stepping back. “Come on, baby, tell me what you like.”

“I –” Adam swallows, hard, and thinks about this. On every level, this is the worst idea he could have. Half an hour ago, he wanted to rip this man apart. Now, he’s ripping off his jacket, consequences be damned, and he can barely think straight. He’d blame the concussion, if he wanted to.

 Adam decides thinking isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and trades it for gripping at the bottom of Mox’s shirt and pulling it off, hearing a tear in the fray. He throws it onto the ground. “Get in the shower.”

Mox steps back, leading with his infuriating hips as he walks. “After you, Cowboy.”

Rolling his eyes, he grabs the front of Mox’s shirt and practically throws him into the shower, a little too pleased at the mild crack of his head against the tile.

“That’s not exactly the you do me, I do you thing I was planning on here, but I get it,” Mox says. He drops to his knees, and Adam can’t get over the way it seems so natural to him, to boss Adam around. He wants it here. He wants it in the ring. He wants to clock Mox in the jaw as hard as he got clocked in November. “Get your pants off.”

Adam pauses for a moment. He’s not sure how this happened. He doesn’t know how to he got to this arena, how he’s looking at Mox, grinning up at him at the bottom of a shower on his knees.

“Commit or quit, kid, these knees ain’t young.”

Adam pulls his shirt off over his head and unbuckles his pants, carefully laying the belt and the buckle on a dry bench.

“Buckle means a lot to you, huh?” Mox asks.

Adam nods. “Family heirloom.”

Mox nods towards Adam’s cock. “Big stuff runs in the family, I guess.”

Adam wants to tell him to shut up, but he has a better idea. This man is always running his mouth, always talking, always ready to say something. Adam steps toward him and with a hand on Mox’s jaw, finds, quickly, that when he gets a cock in his mouth, he puts it to good use.

Adam would swear Mox laughs as he guides his cock down Mox’s throat, and Adam lets his head drop against the tile a little harder than he should. He tries to buck his hips, but Mox has an iron grip him and pushes him against the wall.

Mox pulls off of him, wiping his mouth. “You move again, I deck you.”

“Got it,” Adam says, and he closes his eyes and leans back. He grabs at Mox’s face, running his fingers along his jawline, and he whimpers when he can feel his own cock throbbing through Mox’s cheek.

“That’s it, baby,” Mox says, pulling away, just a little, “make that noise for me.”

Adam can’t help it. He lets it all out now: babbling nonsense, and only a little bit of it is actual words. He grips at Mox’s shoulder so hard he’s sure it’ll bruise. He’s also pretty sure that’s what Mox wants.

Mox pulls away, standing up and pressing Adam against the wall at the wrists. “You good?”

“Was,” Adam grunts. He bucks his hips up to get some sort of friction back, but Mox angles himself away. “What the fuck are you doing? Get back down there.”

Mox laughs, ducking in against his neck, biting there at Adam’s pulse point. “I only won last time because you got yourself a concussion,” he goes a little lower, bites a little harder, “and this time I want you to tap out.”

“What the fuck is this to you?” Adam says, pushing Mox away a little bit. “Another match? You want me to tap out? You want me down for the 1, 2, 3?” He feels exposed, used. “I wish I had knocked you out when I had the chance.”

Mox raises an eyebrow. “Who says you don’t still have a chance?”

He knows it’s bait. But Adam can’t help himself. He reels back and slams his fist into Mox’s face, right into his nose. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone that he held back, just a little. “You can go to hell,” Adam spits, and he grabs his clothes, pulling his shirt on over his head as he gets to the door. There’s hesitation, though, when Mox doesn’t demand he come back. Before he gets a hand on the doorknob, he turns. Mox is leaning up against the wall, shirtless, nonchalant. Adam eyes him silently, waiting for him to react. After a beat, Mox lifts his eyes to meet Adam’s. There’s a little new blood on his face.

It seals it for Adam, who groans. “I changed my mind.”

Mox rolls his head to the side, barely acknowledging him,

Adam feels the anger well inside him again, at the lack of response. “Mox, get on your fucking knees.”

Mox lights up. “Oh?”

“Get,” Adam says, throwing his clothes back down, throwing his shirt somewhere in the room, “on your knees.”

“You get on the bench.”

Adam stalks toward Mox and goes for the throat, hand closing around it as they back against the wall. “Quit fucking around.” He squeezes, just a little, before releasing him, just to get a little bit of that look into Mox’s eyes. “And finish sucking me off.”

“There’s that fire,” Mox says. He grabs Adam by the back of the neck, and practically throws him into a shower. “Easier cleanup,” he explains.

Adam’s about to throw something. “How is that where your mind is –” but he’s back on his knees and his mouth is back on Adam and there’s not much else on his mind other than the feel of the tile against his bare skin and Mox’s mouth around his cock.

Adam’s only able to let out this half laugh, half sob as he’s getting closer, but Mox doubles down. Adam is close, and he digs his fingers into Moxley’s shoulders, and he hopes what little nails he has bite into the skin. When he lets out this garbled little sound, Mox stands back up.

Adam’s breathing stutters. “The fuck, man?”

“You had a very specific request.” And that’s when the hand goes around Adam’s neck. First loose, gentle, allowing Adam to pull away or push him off. It only makes Adam want more of it. He puts his hand on Mox’s, and pushes down.

Mox laughs, the sound dark and low. “If that’s how you want it, Cowboy.”

Adam lets it wash over him, just a little, but he’s still feeling a little too vulnerable to let go. He snakes his hand between the two of them, getting a hand around Mox’s cock. Like it’s involuntary, Mox thrusts up, and uses his free hand to tangle around Adam’s fingers, the two of them stroking each other with a frenetic, graceless pace that has Adam’s head spinning. He’s thrusting up into Mox’s grip, head tilted upwards, and he feels Mox’s teeth at his jaw. He tightens the circle of his hand, feeling the girth of Mox’s cock, feeling the heat of it move. Mox does something particularly effective with his thumb, and Adam braces himself against the wall with his free hand. It flails against the faucet. The freezing shock of it startles them both, with the hand leaving Adam’s throat.

Mox looks bewildered. “You could have just said hit me if you wanted me to stop.”

“No, accident, get back here.” Adam reaches for him desperately, because the only thing worse than Mox’s hand around him is Mox’s hand anywhere else.

The water shifts warmer, and Mox rolls his eyes. “Fuck, you’re a handful,” he looks down, and laughs. “I guess literally.”

“Shut up and get me off,” Adam demands. He grins when that both of those hands go back to where they belong, around his neck and cock. Head swimming, he can tell he’s close by the way his hips stutter. He gets rougher around Mox, more deliberate, and the hoarse, choked out moan is the best reward.

“Fuck me,” Mox groans, and, with one last heave of his hips, he comes all over Adam. Adam thinks he’ll hold this memory until death, when suddenly he’s out of air and coming, too. Mox does too good a job, though, and Adam loses his balance, sliding to the floor in the mess of water. Mox twists them so it’s his elbow cracking into the tile, and his forearm behind Adam’s head. “You got a kink for concussions, too?” Mox asks, bewildered. The red blush has spread all over him, all the way down to where his jeans, now soaked, are pooled around his feet.

Adam’s not quite in it again, still a little dazed, and he’s sucking down air to steady himself. He looks around. “Dude,” he says, half impressed, “you cracked the shower.”

Mox moves, and there’s a clinking sound that echoes through the room. “Tony’s gonna kill me,” he grumbles.

“Well, you cracked his favorite wrestler’s skull a few weeks back, and he was okay then.” Adam shuffles to his feet, stumbling through the water and the haze. He stands under the water a little bit, trying to wash off some of the come that seemed to have shot to his chest.

Moxley grumbles something that sounds like, “Fucking cowboy,” but he crowds behind him, pushing him out of the water.

There’s a thudding, rhythmic sound from outside the room, and Adam’s got the impression it’s been going on for a while.

Mox licks his lips, the blood on his face washing away. Adam thinks it’s a bit of a shame. “Wanna tell them we beat the shit out of each other?”

Adam shrugs. “If the alternative is admitting we had sex without one of Megha’s workplace relationship contracts? Yes.”

The water’s still running when Adam pulls on his shirt and jeans. When he turns it off, he hears the voices outside.

“If you concuss him again, I’m actually going to fine you this time!” It’s Tony Khan. “Open this goddamn door!” The door handle rattles again.

Mox sighs. “Aw, fuck.” He yanks his torn shirt over his head as he walks to the door, his leather jacket over his arm. “He’s not dead.”

“Oh, good, that’s reassuring,” Tony says, pushing past him. He slows to a stop when he looks around, seeing Adam’s disheveled state. “What, and I say this with as much respect as either of you have earned tonight, the fuck happened here?”

Adam shrugs. “We fucked in the shower.” Mox snorts. “What the hell do you think we did, Tony? We worked it out.”

Tony sighs. “I’m making you two do a shit ton of publicity work to pay for this,” he points around. “You people are going to be the end of me.” He looks at Adam, stepping closer. “Oh, fuck, Mox, did you try to choke him out?” He gestures to Adam’s neck. He turns to the mirror. There’s a few clear fingerprints there, along with bruises that would be hard to attribute to anything other than what they are.

Mox shrugs. “You heard him a few weeks back, there. He asked for it.”

Adam gently touches his neck. “I did.”

Mox throws back his head in a laugh like Adam’s never heard it. Tony sits on the bench and drops his head in his hands.

[phoenixyfriend]

Fake Sith TCW Trio

I have another fucked up time-travel AU! Who’s surprised? (Nobody.)

So like. Have you guys read that one fic where Luke and his students go back in time and pretend to be Sith Lords and are super hammy about it? (Sith Lord Swell by AMournfulHowlInTheNight)

This AU has contributions by @atagotiak, @the-lunar-system, @purronronner, @gelpenss, @creepingthroughthistidalwave, and @thisarenotarealblog.

I want TCW trio (plus Rex and Cody) to go back to several years pre-TPM and, since the Council DEFINITELY won't believe them about the Sith being back... they'll force the issue.

Anakin is weirdly excited about things and building up their backstory.

Anakin: Okay so I can definitely be a Maul type, with the unhinged ranting and manic laughter, Obi-Wan can be the whole Refined Rich Guy type like Dooku, where you can't even tell he's evil until he starts talking about getting out the eyeball scoops, maybe toss in a bit of mad science stuff? Ahsoka could play up like Ventress OR, oh oh, she can be the Light Side Child we need to PROTECT who's publicly begging us to return to the Light after our big dramatic Falls where we murdered like eighty people to save her, and-- Obi-Wan: Why are you never this enthusiastic about actual undercover missions. Ahsoka: Did you just have all this ready to go, or...? Anakin: WE COULD GET YELLOW CONTACT LENSES FOR ME.

Obi-Wan: How's my evil laugh?

Anakin going “Okay.. so if any of us need to murder someone to sell the bit it should be me, I think I could handle it the best. Why? No reason.”

Obi-Wan: I'm not sure a complete Fall could come from protecting Ahsoka, really-- Anakin: No, no, it could.

Obi-Wan: Surely you’d hold back because you realize neither of us want that for you. Anakin: Uh. Sure. Definitely.

Obi-Wan points out that none of them can channel the dark side to Prove they're Sith and Anakin just goes "Okay, give me like two seconds to stew in my negativity and--right, you can stop staring in horror, please."

Anakin rambles on that they can TOTALLY make the galaxy a better place while playing at being Sith! He's got a whole LIST of slave empires to "take over" and disassemble!

Anakin has a whole excited spiel about how EVIL soldiers and assistants are minions, in this case partly because Cody and Rex are too good at what they do to be mooks. Cody could pull off evil minion very well. Facial scar? Looks good in black? Quietly competent and sarcastic?

He also pushes for Obi-Wan to lounge in a fancy throne with a glass of wine while Anakin stalks the shadows and Ahsoka hangs out on the window ledge. The disaster lineage is dramatic, okay, Anakin’s just leaning into it, he’d appreciate it if everyone stopped looking at him like that.

Qui-Gon, surprisingly, ends up a skeptic about all of this. Everyone is freaking out about the Sith and he’s like “y’know I’m not even sure they’re darksiders.”

Some Jedi, possibly Qui-Gon for his conspiracy board, gets in a real risky situation and one of the Fake Sith saves them, but also panics and kinda drops character for a bit.

Jedi: You saved me! Why’d you do that? Anakin: I uh... just wanted the pleasure of killing you myself?

"You saved me. Why?" "Mmmm. Jedi." [walks away]

Qui-Gon: [trying to figure out what is up with these people semi-competently (from his perspective) pretending to be Sith] Dooku: [trying to protect Qui-Gon from Sith influence]

The gang is the most successful at pretending to be Sith to Dooku. Sure, they’re not gonna punish him for something he hasn’t done, but it’s not hard to act menacing and angry around him.

(They really do have so much fun irritating the heck out of Dooku. He hasn’t Fallen yet, but they want to keep an eye out.)

At some point, future Obi-Wan definitely drops that little tidbit of "What, you didn't think the Banites were the only Sith running around did you? You... didn't even know about the Banites. How... disappointing."

They REGULARLY use Ahsoka as an excuse to be marginally less terrible. They claim that if Ahsoka pouts, they stop. ‘Soka also uses them as an excuse for why she’s a lil feral. (To be fair, that one is accurate. She was already a lil feral before but it’s not like they did anything to stop it.) Ahsoka gets her "breaking into people's offices" jollies by bugging Nute Gunray's office.

The Jedi keep trying to Rescue Ahsoka.

Rex and Cody end up in real beskar, there's a whole Thing with Mandalore and Jango and Satine.

Obi-Wan is CONSISTENTLY worried about Anakin Falling for real, which... hey, at least he knows to be worried about Anakin Falling. Step up from canon, really.

Anakin is WAY too into killing the Hutts but like. It does... technically sell the bit.

Obi-Wan: Sure, I’m not sad that they’re dead, especially because we’re not connected to the Republic, so we don’t need to worry about starting a war and all that. But. Anakin is disturbingly cheerful about this. Rex: Wasn't he a Hutt slave? Obi-Wan: Well yes, but-- Rex: I'd kill Nala Se if I could get away with it.

Cody and Rex are very supportive of Anakin's murderous intentions.

Obi-Wan does understand anger, even killing someone in anger. Like Maul (the first time at least) and D’nar and a few others. All the same, like... y’know. The level of bloodthirst from the others is a little off-putting.

At one point, Anakin accidentally addresses young Obi-Wan by name, despite never having met before, and to cover it up, he... panic-flirts. He panics, and so he flirts, with young Obi-Wan.

(He will later blame this on old Obi-Wan, because he had to pick up the habit of flirting with the enemy from somewhere.)

Anakin vaguely implies that he's a wee bit obsessed with young Obi, and that the padawan should "get used to being the target of a dark-sider's interests," because he’s scrambling for Ominous Shit and, well, future Obi-Wan was pretty frequently a fixation point for darksiders, right?

The second he gets out, he just starts screaming into a bucket while Rex pats him on the back.

For the next however many terrible months, possibly years, he has to keep up the act while having an ongoing meltdown about how That's My Dad As A Twenty-Something.

(It doesn't help that young Obi-Wan reflexively flirted back.)

Old Obi-Wan, meanwhile, is just very "you dug this hole yourself, padawan."

There is an argument at the beginning about Obi-Wan’s outfit. If he’s gonna be a Sith, he can’t just go around in beige, but he’s like “I like this and it’s comfy.” Sure, he’s changed clothes for undercover stuff, but that’s always been temporary, y’know? He likes his beige.

We have a number of options.

My first instinct? Beige linen three piece suit, like a southern lawyer. "Now I may just be a simple Outer Rim force adept--"

And, of course, you can TOTALLY make the beige sinister: he’s impersonating a Jedi! Jedi impersonation would also explain why nobody has a red saber.

“Sure is good that the Jedi don’t seem to realize most of the galaxy doesn’t know red sabers are different and bad.” “Shhhh, stop poking holes in our story where a Jedi might overhear.”

Like.... if you do enough doublethink, it works! How would a Sith hide? In plain sight. Also, it’s a GREAT way (if they were actually assholes) to try to slander the Jedi name.

(Anakin and Ahsoka still think he could stand to put a little more effort in. Add a splash of color, for pity's sake!)

Though tbh part of me is like “What if Old Obi wore, like... a split skirt suit...” Victorian womenswear inspired because he misses his robes, but he has to look Professional, and like he's MOCKING Jedi instead of BEING one, so he wears a vintage-y split skirt thing over his leggings. Ends up looking a lot like what Ventress had for a while, but Beige. I also keep wanting to put him regency menswear.

Anyway. Obi-Wan’s wardrobe aside...

Anakin builds up his Tatoo accent again. It helps him with the (mostly true) "slavery helped me fall" backstory.

Either Cody or Rex offhandedly mentions being made to serve them (the Fake Sith) and now the Jedi are somewhat concerned about brainwashing. Are these Mandos the victims here?

“No like. Literally made for this. In a lab.” This is even more horrifying. So...

On the one hand good! The Jedi should be scared about Sith! On the other hand... it makes the Jedi more determined to stop them, specifically. They keep on getting in the way, just, all the time, and they’re not investigating the actual Sith problem, which is decidedly not great since the Team doesn’t actually know who’s a real Sith right now, except Maul, and who even knows where that guy is.

Obi-Wan, at some point: Do you think we've succeeded at this ruse... a little TOO well? Anakin: I don't follow. Obi-Wan, gesturing at the truly obnoxious amount of wealth they've collected, including "trophies" of their kills: Really? Because I'm a little worried! Anakin, planning out a battle to take on Nar Shadda: ...I'm not.

"How many people do we realistically we need to take over Hutt Space? Apparently... five."

(Mostly because Anakin is ridiculously op.)

ANAKIN AND YOUNG OBI GET KIDNAPPED BY PIRATES TOGETHER. It's tradition.

Anakin: Okay, so, I need to get really angry about something to pass as a Sith... time to think about my WIFE and how I'll NEVER SEE HER AGAIN.

Since Anakin’s life never goes as planned... this does not work. Instead of getting properly angry, he makes himself sad. There are tears. There is wailing. There’s a distraught rant or two. Young Obi ends up awkwardly trying to comfort him.

“Oh no, this… Sith?? Is crying on me. What do I do???”

Later on, when the Council wants intel: "So... one of the Sith cried on me about his wife. I think she's dead? He wasn't very clear about it but it, uh... it sounded like it might have contributed to his Fall. Also the relationship was a little unhealthy? He basically worshiped the ground she walked on and kept ranting about how he would have given her the galaxy on a platinum platter of she'd only asked, but that might be new and inspired by the Dark."

One of the random Jedi is REALLY good at detecting the truth Through The Force, and asks Anakin how he Fell...

Anakin just. Tells the Tuskens story.

They don't get pinged as lying, but oh boy does old Obi have a LOT of questions for Anakin once they're in private.

There are other things happening to help sell the ruse. Some of them are necessary! Some of them are... not.

Obi-Wan: What's the best way to show we're rich and kind of evil, but like... classy about it? Anakin, immediately: I sit on the floor next to the throne, leaning against it, and you call me pet names while stroking my hair, and then when you need something killed I get to do it for you and then I go back to the floor and you thank me for the directed violence, and then you go back to Negotiations with criminals while I’m sitting there covered in blood. Obi-Wan: ...is there something you want to TELL us, or...?

"You're all going to get a glimpse of something normally kept hidden about me." "Anakin, you don't have to do that." "No, I'm gonna."

(Anakin has decided hes going to peel his kink tomato to sell this ruse, and the others are slightly uncomfortable with that.)

Anakin: Okay, I cannot keep flirting with you. Young Obi: Wait, what? But that's the best part of any time we run into you! Anakin: You look WAY too much like my Master did when I met him. Obi: O...kay? If someone looked like my master when HE was young, I'd-- Anakin: My Sith Master half-raised me. He's basically my dad. Obi: ... Anakin: What's that look for? Obi: I mean, you spend a lot of time lounging at his feet, and, like, given how much you hate slavery, I... kind of assumed it was a kink thing? Anakin, brightly: Oh no, I just have a LOT of trauma. And neuroses. Snips says they’re neuroses.

Young Obi is a little upset because he was actually getting REALLY into Flirting With The Enemy and was hoping it would go somewhere. He mopes to Qui-Gon about it. Qui-Gon isn't sure whether to be proud about Obi breaking rules, or worried over Obi-Wan falling for a Fake Sith.

(As Tia put it: "You enjoy making young Obi-Wan have a completely unrequited crush on Anakin, don’t you?")

Fortunately, one of those attractive Young Mando boys very kindly helped him tape up his ribs this one time, and has thus caught his eye...

I feel like having Cody date Young Obi would court an entirely different kind of (internet) drama because clone ages, but whatever.

Also please imagine an element of "so I'm dating the genetic identical of my boss... who's dating the man I'm a genetic identical of..."

(It's probably not actually Jangobi but man would that be funny and also stupid.)

Somehow Young Obi figures out that the "Sith Master" is a future him before he realizes that they're not actually dark. In his defense, Anakin was pretty convincing. Especially with the wife rant. It makes HIM more obsessed with Anakin, in a reversal of the implied earlier dynamic, which is all kinds of weird. Less romantic but like. Still weird.

"Future Me Scares Me" with Extra stupid. "Future Me Annoys Me." "Future Me acts like grandmaster Dooku, but more sass." "Future Me raised a really hot evil guy that refuses to bang Present Me." "Future Me might be a Sith, but I'm getting more and more convinced he's just fucking with us all." "Future Me is really rocking that beard, and I can't BELIEVE we figured out a way around the babyface."

"I’m kinda concerned about the whole evil thing, but I’m also glad that I know I’ll stay hot as I get older."

Quinlan approves of the priorities.

Also a lot of interactions with older Obi are very Anakin: [does/says something deeply unhinged] Obi-Wan: So, do you want to…. Talk about that? Maybe? Anakin: What’s there to talk about?? I’m fine, everything’s fine! Anyways how about those plans for tracking down Maul?

Anakin later, like way after the ruse is lifted, just blankly tells everyone that he did Fall, once, and Older Obi made him get therapy about it after the truth came out between the two of them a few months into the Fake Sith thing.

Where'd they find a therapist? I'm sure there's one SOMEWHERE around. Denon and Herdessa are close enough, and they've done enough "your criminal empire now belongs to me" that they can pay well. They make sure to find one that takes confidentiality real seriously.

It's all very "we need some more time to unpack all that."

Therapy helps get Anakin to figure out Sheev’s whole deal. They don't necessarily figure out he’s a Sith from it, but they figure out he’s sketchy and they need to look into that more. Obi-Wan probably already thought he was sketchy, but the whole active gaslighting campaign was a little surprising. They realize that he kinda benefited a lot from a lot of Sith plots and they still probably don’t think he’s a Sith but Obi-Wan is definitely starting to think he’s working with one.

"Okay, we're already bugging Gunray, should we bug Palpatine just to be safe?"

They get away with a lot of slicing because Anakin is a technical genius from twenty years in the future.

The reasons they're so good at Taking Over Hutt Space: 1. They know parts of the future. 2. They have superpowers and FAR less reason to not use them, now that their actions aren't going to reflect on the Republic. 3. They have Cody and Rex, who are two of the greatest military minds in the galaxy, and know EXACTLY how to wage a war that covers a solid third of the galaxy, starting from a position of relative weakness. 4. Anakin's charisma is scary high, and his knowledge of slave culture means they gain a lot of trust from the people they free, and they just... keep acquiring volunteers for the army they didn't plan to have. Obi-Wan doesn't know what to do. He thinks they might have started a cult?

In his defense, Dooku sort of started a cult, and Komari got kidnapped by a cult, brainwashed into joining it properly, and then took it over as head figure of said cult. It's practically tradition!

Comics Vader is the central figure of like three different cults, it was really just inevitable.

Anakin: Aw, don't worry master, it's not a cult, it's a revolution! Ahsoka: They're worshiping him, though. Anakin: ...it's still a revolution! Just... with some misunderstandings.

Also, if they got wind of people trying to keep people from being able to leave and other culty stuff like that, they’d probably put a stop to it pretty damn quick.

Names! Time for names. As per usual, it's easiest to keep track of Obi-Wan's alternate Older Self by just calling him Ben.

Darth Ben.

Ahsoka: You should be Darth Boring. Obi-Wan: I can still make you run laps, you know.

Anakin: The Force is telling me to call myself Darth Vader. Obi-Wan: ...why? Anakin: I dunno, but it sounds cool, I'll run with it.

Someone: Ben has all the answers; we shouldn’t question him, ever. Ben: One time I lost a planet, and a five-year-old found it for me.

More options: Going with the "evil word with the prefix 'in' chopped off" that we get with Sidious and Vader: Darth Surrectus (as in insurrection) Just random Latin words: Darth Temporus (time) Darth Commenticius (fake)

Anyway, back to Nonsense:

Maul goes after young Obi early, because the Fake Sith are really invested in this one random Padawan (Sidious is saying he might be a cousin of the false Sith Master? They do look similar enough) so someone needs to investigate. Naturally, Anakin shows up with some wild screeching to fight Maul, and when someone questions why he got involved it gets very "Kenobi is MINE!" and like. Okay. So.

Anakin means it in a very Sith "to toy with" and "to torture" way, or the ‘my chosen opponent!’ way, just the same kind of Obsession as Maul had with Obi-Wan in the original timeline. Unfortunately, Anakin’s a weird-ass person who flirts with Young Obi against his own better judgement, so there's some awkward "Like... your boyfriend?" from young Obi. Anakin just screeches in SOME emotion that nobody wants to interpret, and couldn't even if they wanted to, and starts whacking away at Maul again.

(Anakin hasn't explained the "you look exactly like my dad, sorry, it's just too weird" thing yet, and he is HAVING MANY REGRETS.)

There's definitely at least one instance where a person asks Anakin if he's planning on dating That One Jedi Twink, or at least banging out the tension. At that point in time, Anakin doesn't actually know who the fuck they're talking about, because "Obi-Wan + Twink = Does Not Compute" for dear, dense Ani, and instead he just ends up ranting about how he is LOYAL TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LATE WIFE, how DARE anyone so much as INSINUATE that he would TARNISH HER PERFECT MEMORY and UNWAVERING KINDNESS and WHOLESOME BEING, and the person who asked doesn't end up lightsabered but they do end up with a LOT to tell whoever they're reporting to.

Young Obi-Wan definitely hears Anakin mutter the phrase “something to discuss with my therapist later” a few times, and he’s a little bewildered because darksiders definitely don’t seem like the type of people to go to therapy. They’re the type of people to need therapy, sure, but not the type to go to therapy.

I think it would be very fun for Young Obi to continue sighing over Anakin (who's pretending to be fine with it and even flirting back because he's in too deep to stop and hasn't worked up the courage to explain the elephant in the room) while Anakin is covered in grease and infodumping while having a slightly manic hyperfocus on engine repairs while the two of them Somehow got stranded together in the middle of bumfuck nowhere (it's Plagueis's doing, he finds the interactions between THESE two in particular to be the most informative regarding the fake Sith).

Anakin, at some point while stranded with young Obi-Wan, and having actually started unpacking some stuff in therapy, though he’s def still got a ways to go: I’m pretty sure Ben cares about me. He acts like he cares, like he’ll do stuff like put extra blankets in my quarters in the spaceship because I get cold real easily or track down those droid parts I need for a project and he always has my back in a fight but y’know it’d be nice to hear him say he loves me once in a while. Especially because we kinda had a rough start and idk I don’t think he wanted me around at first.

And uh. Obi-Wan definitely relates to that a bit too much, y’know?

I want to say that Young Obi ends up mentioning All That to one of the clones or Ahsoka later, because they seem probably invested in Anakin's well-being, even if Ben is, well, a Sith, so Obi-Wan's a little worried the man's affection really is fake, but at least Ahsoka...

(Ironic, given what Anakin's actual eventual Sith would-be-Master was like.)

Young Obi mentions Anakin’s most recent rant to Ahsoka, and she just goes "Wait, is that why Skyguy likes to sit by the throne and get called pet names?" "Uh... I don't... know... but it sounds like all of you have a LOT to unpack there, Miss Apprentice."

Later on: "Master Kenobi, you need to tell Skyguy you love him 'cause apparently he's been having a lot of emotions about you not telling him you care and he's been talking to mini-you about it whenever they get stuck together and--"

Young Obi-Wan is just constantly the "Now we don't have time to unpack all of that" John Mulaney gif. Anakin in particular is a mess, and young Obi-Wan slowly goes from "I want to date that" to "I want to study that" about him.

Obi-Wan gets stuck somewhere with Ben, tries to small talk, gets on the topic of Vader, and spills the drama. He gets an awkward “Thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

It’s followed by a fairly frustrated “I try, but Anakin refuses to communicate his needs to me, and it feels like I’m always falling short.”

At least one member of the group is in therapy, probably all of them, but they’re still using young Obi as a sounding board for all this stuff. On the bright side, this is probably good for impressing the importance of good communication on Obi-Wan.

Good for Obi-Wan! And... whatever Padawan he eventually has.

As for baby Anakin, who is approximately age four, I want to go with "Anakin decides to be his own uncle, and Shmi just rolls with it because fuck it, she’s not a slave anymore, and a Fake Sith is a solid defense against anyone trying to re-enslave them."

[This is a backstory I've had them use before (see here and here).]

Seeing Big Ani and Little Ani in the same space might be what finally pings the "oh shit, that's future me" thing for Obi-Wan... you know, if he’s ever allowed close enough to see Little Ani in the first place.

Little Ani stays with the fake-Sith and is sorta jointly trained by all of them, and young Obi-Wan teaches little 'Soka at the Temple. Ani and 'Soka still end up friends somehow, but it is fairly different.

Every time little Ani addresses Old Obi as "Dad," it's just like ten kinds of awkward. The one time someone tried to explain that Ben wasn't his new dad, Shmi glared them down. She is of the opinion that, all the gods be damned, Ani deserves to refer to the most mature man in his life, who raised another him in another timeline already, as a father.

Ani doesn't NEED a father, Shmi herself is more than enough, but he does deserve to have this if he wants it.

An alternative conclusion to the time travel is uh. So the Mandalorians are genetically identical (give or take a hair gene) and really resemble Jango Fett, though whether anyone notices that is up in the air. Then the three ‘Sith’ (two fake Sith and their morality chain tag-along) have three younger, identical copies show up….

It could be really weird cloning shenanigans. Now, it makes no sense that they’d make clones, and stagger their production like that, and leave them as babies on various planets for Jedi to find. IDK what reasons Obi-Wan would come up with for that, but it’s a fun little detour before he gets to time travel.

There's a really painful moment (for the audience, who know about canon Vader) where someone tries to convince Ahsoka to leave the Sith and she's just like "no way, they'd never hurt me!” Then she clarifies that “someone has to keep them from doing stupid Sith shit whenever they get bored, you know?"

A bunch of Jedi probably think she’s delusional, but the few that have seen her get into trouble that is legitimately too much for her, which isn't often, have then seen Anakin show up like the devil himself to save her, and it's like. Oh. This is why she isn't scared of them hurting her.

We’ve discussed how Anakin does get concerningly in character with the fake Sith thing. However, Anakin and Ahsoka are, just once in a while, surprised by how Ben gets sometimes when playing the bad guy.

After all, he stabbed a dude with a fork and threatened to eat him during his time as Hardeen…

He has the same dramatic streak as all the rest of the lineage. He can be vindictive and creepy and scary as fuck.

HOWEVER:

Obi-Wan: I know I'm supposed to be playing at evil right now, but how do we feel about me making that evil a little... fruity? Ahsoka: Fruity, master? Anakin, who knows where this is going: [buries face in hands] Obi-Wan: You know, the... [limp wrist] Ahsoka: ... Obi-Wan: I mean, I'm already bisexual and well-groomed, I can play it up.

What’s the point of being evil if you can’t be flamboyant?

Anyway, I had to put in a lot of thought for what to do with Rex and Cody, because there's a solid place for them in terms of strategy, but it doesn't do much to give them independent narrative arcs, and 'young Obi-Wan has a crush' isn't much of an arc, you know?

So, basic info first: Cody, Rex, and Anakin all hold the rank of General in this AU because, like... who else is gonna. Ahsoka remains a commander because everyone declares her Baby, and also to keep up the "I'm a morality chain" ruse.

Cody maintains a very stern and unyielding public persona, but the second they're behind closed doors, he's roughhousing with his little brother.

Rex has some fun pretending to be a sadist whenever he and Anakin have to team up, because hamming it up as an evil bastard in front of Jedi is actually really fun... but usually, he's a competent fucking professional.

Because here's the thing: someone has to be.

They both kind of hate the army they've gotten, because these people don't even have proper trigger discipline, let alone any actual discipline.

This army? Tragic. They hate it. Give them the clones.

They have to be drill sergeants for months before they have anything worth sending onto the field.

I think that might be how/when they end up reaching out to Jango. Like, the first inroad is absolutely "we're your clones from the future and you were a Shit Dad so you owe us," but then they actually talk him around into letting the Fake Sith hire him. He brings along all the Mandalorians he can get to answer his calls, and on suggestion from Those Mando Twins, joins the army Ben doesn't even want.

Darth Boring doesn't want an army! Unfortunately, Cody thinks that's stupid as hell, and is overruling Ben so they can actually work on this 'cleaning up the galaxy of slavery' thing with actual resources.

Cody and Rex are super competent, and it shows in their horrified disdain for the state of their troops.

Rex: Fucking natborns. Anyone who isn't in the know: What's a natborn? Rex: [leaves without answering] People: WHAT'S A NATBORN???

(I'm assuming that the word smush is harder to parse in Basic.)

I think young Obi-Wan's new crush on Cody should also be unrequited. Cody's just like... bemused. Very "Okay, then, that sure is an Affection you've decided on."

Cody and Anakin both: Sorry, it’d just be too weird. Obi-Wan: Why would it be too weird? Cody and Anakin: Reasons.

Rex has to deal with the "whyyyyy" from both his brother and his (former?) General.

Young Obi-Wan just likes cute boys that fight good! Is that so wrong???

Ahsoka: So since we're not officially Jedi anymore-- Obi-Wan: We're still Je-- Ahsoka: Can we date? Can I date now? I want to date someone before we go back to the Code. It's a classic life experience for most teenage girls, and I want to Have That Experience before we're back at the Temple. Obi-Wan: You're not... you can date, Ahsoka, that's not actually banned by the Code. I mean, you'd have to keep it casual, but-- Ahsoka: I CAN DATE!!!

(Great priorities, Ahsoka.)

An idea I'm toying with is that one of the clones ends up Legally Engaged to Satine for political reasons, and young Obi-Wan is just like ???? because not only can he not date the hot boys, but one of said hot boys has become Mr. Steal Yo Girl.

Young Obi-Wan is suffering, and Quinlan is the worst friend ever because Quinlan is laughing at him.

There is obviously the question of

"How would Satine ever end up agreeing to that, given what their public personas are like and all that? She puts duty ahead of personal feelings but all indications are that it’s a terrible decision both ways." (as stated by Tia)

Which, yes, I forgot to actually say that I was imagining Jango had declared "those twins" his heirs after telling people they were his younger* cousins. Because reasons.

* Jango is about 27 when they land in the past, and I’m going to say the accelerated aging ended after hitting physically twenty because no, I don’t want to deal with that. As far as anyone knows, Cody and Rex are about five years younger than Jango. They’re less than year apart, which isn’t very visible, and most people assume they’re identical twins (except Rex’s hair), and that Cody just looks slightly older because of the scar.

Darth Boring had convinced Satine that the way to keeping Mandalore peaceful was to work with Jango (because Darth Boring, which is not his actual title but it is what Ahsoka insists on calling him in private, has a vested interest in keeping Mandalore and all interested parties calm), and he... maybe accidentally set up a political marriage between her and one of the clones.

It wasn't on purpose! Satine never married in his timeline, okay, he didn't expect her to ever get married here, either! He didn't even suggest it! This just happened!

(I want to say that Cody would be more competent at having a political marriage? But IDK.)

Do I do the Satine thing? It has potential, but also it's a bit of a cop-out. Do I have Cody be a diplomatic representative for their pseudo-Sith empire? He could be, but I think he'd hate it. Do I have Rex date one the Chaos Entities (Anakin or Ahsoka), or is that too repetitive with my other works? THERE'S JUST TOO MUCH GOING ON.

Part of me wants Quinlan to get a crush on Cody, and the crush gets bigger specifically in response to the fact that Cody refuses to take him seriously and/or just doesn't give him the time of day.

Based on their one interaction in TCW, they probably let get along ok. Cody maybe likes him back, buuuuuuut internally he's just a little "you were tolerable at almost-forty; early twenties you is obnoxious."

Just imagine the absolutely puppyish attempts at gaining approval and Impressing The Hot Mando General. Quinlan keeps having vague daydreams of seducing someone to the side of the Light. He really leans into the bodice ripper fantasies of saving someone evil with the power of love! (And also the power of really good sex.)

Bant looks at Quin and Obi and wants to throw them both into the nearest pond because they're idiots, but on this topic they are the same flavor of idiot. She considers calling up Reeft and Garen to help her knock some sense into them.

Quinlan: Can I volunteer to go undercover to the Sith? The Council: No. Quinlan: ...what if I-- The Council: No.

Tholme tries to get Qui-Gon to commiserate over their Padawans getting obsessed with Hot Sith Boys, but Qui-Gon just finds the whole thing funny. He knows from the chats he has with Ben that Anakin feels so completely, utterly, incredibly awkward about all of this.

(Ben continues to hold to "Anakin brought this on himself.")

(Ben also “kidnaps” Qui-Gon a lot.)

Also, hey, at least Quinlan isn’t actually into hot Sith boys! He’s into hot Sith minions which is... probably a step up. At least Cody’s not a Sith himself!

It's a step in some direction but Tholme has no idea which one.

(Quinlan sees Cody in dress uniform once and just keeps the mental image for Ages. It’s in his dreams. Sometimes said dreams overflow to Tholme via Force Mind Magic and Quinlan wakes up to someone smacking his face with a pillow.)

Arguably, Quin's also a lot more romantic about his crush than Obi-Wan is, in this case. Quinlan: I want to save him... Obi-Wan: Hey, hey, cute boy. Look at me. Let’s bang.

Cody: There are currently two future Jedi generals having some form of absurd romantic fixation in my direction. I don't know how to feel about this. Rex: Bed them. Cody: ...I'm not saying that's not eventually an option, but one of them is the younger Kenobi, and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that. Rex: Pat him on the head like a tooka and then bed his friend, it'll be funny.

I think the Quinlan thing and also general exasperation of leading an absolutely useless army can function pretty solidly as the basis for Cody, but I have another idea for Rex now.

Komari is currently brainwashed in a cult, yes? So.

I keep bouncing around back and forth on what to do with Rex, but part of me suddenly really likes the idea of, after Team Fake Sith finds and dissolves the cult (as one does), and takes Komari into custody (because she's dangerous and deeply unwell), Rex kind of ends up her touchstone to being a decent person. He’s not a morality chain, and it’s not really a redeemed-through-love thing, just This Is A Solid Dude who doesn't pity her or thinks she's irredeemable (however you choose to define such a thing), but actually relates to the kind of conditions living like that can involve, and just kind of...

I don’t know. I think Rex's arc in this AU could be very heavily grounded in something to the effect of "You're not the worst darksider I've met. You're not the only person who was in a cult. You're not even the only former Jedi I know that's committed awful, horrible crimes. My question is just this: What are you going to do moving forward?"

Later Anakin: Wait, who do we know that was in a cult? Rex: What did you think Kamino was?

(Rex isn't as chill as he'd like her to think, but he's trying, and she's fairly reliant on the Force to understand emotions, and is currently in nullifying cuffs, so he can bluff.)

Komari needs someone solid and dependable to rely on for at least conversation, and I think Rex needs to feel needed.

I’m not sure if it’d be romance or friendship, but I think there's a solid basis to work with, potentially.

Per Tia:

One thing about Rex and shipping is like. If you want to do Rexwalker again that's fine, but if you're worried about repetitiveness but still want to like. Ship him in a non-political-convenience way. Rexsoka here actually would be different than your other stuff.

I'm trying to figure out if I can make it work because Ahsoka thematically fits very much into a little sister shaped hole here? She feels younger than in other works, despite not actually being younger than she is in, say, Commander Buir. In those other fics, she has some time alone to function and prove herself independently of Anakin and Obi-Wan.

I usually pluck Ahsoka out at sixteen if I'm pulling her from TCW, so she's got most of her competence but hasn't gotten quite all the trauma yet. Commander Buir, in particular, also has baby-shaped Anakin for contrast.

That said, I can see a decent source of narrative conflict in her wanting to experiment with romance and all that, and Anakin trying to tell her she's too young.

A year into this whole time-travel mess, she wants to give the dating thing a shot, and it spirals into "You were only two years older than me when you got married!"

I think I could build a plot out of Ahsoka wanting to do these things, and Anakin as an audience insert not quite processing that she's old enough to make these decisions. If she's choosing to date Rex, whose age works out as being close to hers when one takes into account Kamino fuckery, and whom she trusts absolutely, it’s arguably extra weird for Anakin to be upset with it.

"Senator Amidala was five years older than you, and you married her when you were nineteen and had only really known her for a week! I can go on a date with a guy we both know is one of the most trustworthy people alive if I want, Skyguy!"

I can definitely see Ahsoka getting annoyed with Anakin being overbearing and controlling at some point before that unrelated to romance, too. It’s not exactly a new fault of his.

My god, just imagine someone snidely asking Anakin "where's your little shadow?" and Anakin, being Himself and also a Fake Sith, has an emotional breakdown about how Ahsoka yelled at him for micromanaging her and not trusting her to make her own decisions in life and so she got herself a multi-month solo mission from Ben that Anakin isn't allowed to know any details about, and--

It's another one of those "oh, you have PROBLEMS problems with your mental health" incidents for the Jedi to add to the file, because Anakin having emotionally charged rants about his issues at seemingly terrible times is how they get a lot of information.

Some of the rants are planned.

Many of them, actually.

They want the Jedi to know these things.

Just, well. Anakin.

He really is a little Like That.

On that note, I'm low-key imagining that Anakin gets put on mood stabilizers by the therapist in this context, and he's doing good! He's handling his issues! He's--been captured with Obi-Wan the Younger again and his medication was confiscated.

Anakin is... not great. He's a little out of practice managing his unmedicated self, and when adding withdrawal symptoms onto that... poor Anakin.

(Poor Obi-Wan.)

I think it would be best if Anakin makes a bunch of ominous blustery comments at their captors about how they won't like what's coming to them if they take his belongings (AKA the fanny pack that has his backup pills), and then Obi-Wan just gets to watch Anakin get more and more erratic, because like. Yes, Anakin is using the Force to compensate, but unfortunately he's mostly cut off, and the stress of the situation is pushing him away from depression and into the beginnings of a manic episode.

Anakin is aware of his issues to the point where he's mostly managing, and he keeps asking Obi-Wan "would it make sense for me to [slightly deranged, very impulsive action]," and Obi-Wan realizes he's being the morality sounding board for the Hot Sith because ??? reasons?????

Eventually, Anakin does flop back in bed and dramatically throws his arm over his eyes, and says he needs his meds back, he's absolutely going to lose it, and Obi-Wan tentatively asks what kind of medication. There are levels to worry about. Mild allergy medication is one thing, but heart medication that needs to be taken every four hours is another, you know? He wants to know how much panic is appropriate.

Anakin lets him know that it's Psychiatric In Nature. Obi-Wan suddenly realizes that he really, really, really doesn't want to know what a properly erratic, unmedicated Anakin is like.

(An unmedicated Anakin really isn't nearly as bad as Obi-Wan fears. Anakin's been dealing with this for a while, and knows what his issues are and some of how to deal with them. He'd need to be running on no sleep and higher levels of stress, or to have been drugged with something meant to increase his aggression, to really lose his shit and do something worthy of Vader. RotS levels of stress and sleep deprivation is required to pull RotS levels of manic paranoid delusion.)

Tia asked:

How long does it take the Jedi in general to catch on to how like. They have opportunities. But these Sith never seem to harm any Jedi. And it’s not just like, the past timeline parts of the disaster lineage. They probably get opportunities to hurt other Jedi. Ones that are less skilled at saber work. And more importantly ones that they don’t seem weirdly interested in."

I'm not sure, really. The Jedi don't spend as much time in the Outer Rim as they could, and that's where the Team operates, so actually running into them by accident is unlikely for anyone other than Shadows.

Fortunately, it's really easy to toy with Shadows with the excuse of "I want to see how long it takes before you Fall with us."

I do want like... okay. Here’s the mental image:

Qui-Gon calls them out on being Fake Sith pretty quickly, so Ben just sort of eyes him, dramatically, and orders out "Leave us" to all non-team people. The threat of torture is implied but not stated. He gestures with wine to keep in character. He definitely makes sure Young Obi-Wan is ushered out, so it's just five time travelers, Qui-Gon Jinn, and Ahsoka's immortal force birb.

"...so, what's the reason for the farce, Obi-Wan?" "How in all the hells did you figure it out so quickly?"

(Qui-Gon cheated a bit. He could feel the broken training bond that was never properly severed due to Traumatic Death Of A Master on Ben's end)

Ben didn't realize he'd feel it! Young Obi-Wan can't feel his older self or a training bond with Anakin or Ahsoka, so why could Qui-Gon?

IDK if there would be anything on the level of crying and hugging it out, but I think it would be very funny if, every time young Obi and Anakin are getting captured by pirates or something, Ben and Qui-Gon are just having a nice afternoon tea and checking their watches to see if their respective walking bundles of neuroses are done with their adventure yet.

The Council is So Done, because Qui-Gon continues to insist that they're Not That Bad, but every time anyone other than Qui-Gon brings up the friendship, Ben laughs and makes a comment about how absolutely gullible Master Jinn is.

Obi-Wan is skeptical of his own experiences with Anakin, at least, if only because he's skeptical about Anakin's everything.

"I don't know if Vader is telling me the truth. I don't know if he's telling himself the truth. I don't think he's a great source of information even when he thinks he's being honest."

Anakin could tell Obi-Wan the full and complete truth, and Obi-Wan would worriedly put a hand to his forehead and start doing tests for hallucinations and paranoid delusions. In his defense, this is a very reasonable assumption to make with an individual like Anakin. It's just also not accurate, this time. I don’t know if Anakin hallucinates in canon without a weird inciting incident like Force Nonsense or getting drugged by the enemy, but paranoid delusion is pretty much all of RotS.

"I’m your time-traveling padawan who’s pretending to be a Sith to catch some other Sith who’re going to start a galactic civil war and those Mandalorians you like are from a clone army based on a template of Jango Fett made to serve the Jedi (because that’s totally something he’d sign up for), and one of the Sith is your grandmaster but he doesn’t seem to have fallen yet, it’s probably fine," is hard to believe.

Honestly, even if he seemed stable before saying that, which he doesn’t, it’s all real far fetched. There's a lot going on and Obi-Wan wouldn't even begin to believe it without evidence.

I've had it in my head that he and Bant and Quinlan have been gossiping about the mess for months if not years about these idiots, and at one point it became common knowledge that Ben was a Kenobi, and Bant convinced them (since the two were among the most likely in the entire Order to encounter the Fake Sith) to get a DNA sample, probably hair or blood since that's easiest so they can figure out HOW these two are related, if they are, and then there's a whole big thing.

Bant: No, no, this must be contaminated, it's coming up as Obi-Wan! Are you sure you didn't accidentally grab some of your own hairs? I know it's a little long for most of your hair, but the braid-- Quinlan: Wait, they keep claiming stuff about cloning, right? Maybe someone's a clone? Check for artificial telomeres! Bant: ...okay, so, there aren't any artificial telomeres, but the ones from apparently-Ben are... a lot shorter... um... I don't know what to do with this. It's like I have two samples from the same person, twenty years apart. Quinlan: Obi-Wan, what's that face? Why are you-- Obi-Wan: Vader told me he was a time-traveler. I thought it was the fever talking, but...

That’s how he finds out that Ben is future-him before finding out about how he’s not evil!

"Master Jinn... I think... I think the Sith controlling the Outer Rim is me from the future." "Oh, you finally figured it out?" "I AM HAVING A CRISIS HERE."

Obi-Wan, after a few hours of dazed realization, runs screaming to Quinlan and Bant like 'GUYS GUYS THIS EXPLAINS WHY VADER KEPT SAYING IT WAS WEIRD AND THAT I LOOK LIKE HIS MASTER AND THAT IT WOULD BE LIKE DATING HIS DAD.'

You know, the important stuff.

I think Qui-Gon tells him that Ben isn't evil because, like, That Sure Is A Crisis Obi-Wan's Having. He could hold off for shits and giggles, sure, but Obi-Wan’s on the edge of something Really Concerning, mentally. Best help calm him down on at least one or two things.

Obi-Wan’s maybe still a little skeptical until he confronts them over it. Because their Sith act was real good and also like. Maybe Qui-Gon just wants to believe the best of his Padawan, y’know?

Quinlan runs into Ben before Obi-Wan does, after this whole mess, and gets to observe as money changes hands and people act like sore winners about bets made for When Does Obi-Wan Figure It Out.

Anakin was saying 'soon' because he really didn't think the fever-fueled rant would be discounted as easily as it was.

Cody was of the opinion that it would take at least a few more years since they're actually pretty damn good at this whole schtick.

Quinlan: Wow, he's... going to be really disappointed that you have such a low opinion of his intelligence. Cody, gesturing at Ben: Experience. Darth Ben: ಠ_ಠ

Cody just rattles off some of the Extremely Stupid Shit that Ben's done in their time working together.

Rex cheerily offers up "You didn't even realize General Skywalker was married, sir! And they weren't subtle!" "I knew they were together, I just didn--" "Everyone knew they were together, sir. Everyone."

(Rex had the lowest opinion of their deductive capabilities. He claims it would have taken until Baby Ahsoka showed up at the Jedi Temple.)

-Once Obi-Wan accepts that they're decent people after all- Obi-Wan: Wow, Anakin, you're real good at acting unhinged! Anakin: Haha. Yeah. Thanks?

[jaehyunfirstlove]

Could I make a request (if you’re still taking them of course!) of y/n teasing Johnny?? And the effects of doing so? <33 Heh we love being a ✨brat✨ in this household

Congrats on the milestone xox

Pairing: boyfriend!johnny x f.reader

Genre: smut (18+ only)

Warnings: dom/sub, spanking, unprotected sex

Word count: 1k

A/N: my first johnny request! hope you like it and thanks for sending it in!

Johnny had invited you to watch them practice, and you were so excited to finally see your boyfriend and the rest of the group in action. You’d worn your workout leggings and a tank top because he’d mentioned you could join them for an informal session afterwards, and you were stoked for that too, having begged him to teach you some of their dance moves.

You entered the practice room when all of the members were already there, greeting you with high fives and hugs. But when Johnny saw you, there was an indecipherable look on his face.

“Hey babe,” he greeted you, slipping an arm around your waist and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Hi Johnny,” you replied, but you noticed he seemed distracted, his eyes shifting back and forth before they finally landed on you.

“Why are you wearing that?” he whispered, leaning in close to your ear.

“You told me to wear workout clothes,” you answered, “this is what I wear to work out.” You twirled to show him the outfit and his eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as he took you in.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, “this is going to be a long practice session.”

He walked away, running a hand through his hair, and you smiled devilishly. You could have fun with this.

---

Throughout the practice you made sure that he could see what you were doing, whether you were leaning against the wall sticking your chest out, or practicing a move alongside them and making sure to jut your ass out as much as you could. You preened and pranced around, flaunting your curves at any chance you had. Johnny being the consummate professional though, only messed up once or twice after being distracted by your show.

When it came time for your informal lesson, he banished the rest of the members from the room, not without protest though, Taeyong insisting he had some moves to teach you. But Johnny was firm, and none of the members dared oppose him in that state, so they left quietly, Johnny locking the door of the practice room behind them.

“So what are you going to teach me today?” you asked excitedly, but he just turned to you, a hard look on his face.

“I’m going to teach you how to not be a fucking tease,” he answered, in a low voice that almost sounded menacing. You bit your lip, adrenaline spiking inside you at the prospect of what he was going to do. He stalked towards you and you almost flinched, but held your ground even as his six foot tall frame towered over you.

“Turn around,” he commanded, and when you didn’t, he turned your body for you, hands rough as he positioned you to face the mirror. He stood behind you, and in the mirror you could see his eyes on you, dark and heavy-lidded.

“You think you can wear that, and flaunt it in my face, distract me from practicing? Hm?” he held your chin with one hand, the other hand roaming over your stomach.

“You told me to wear workout clothes,” you protested, but inhaled sharply when his hand moved between your legs.

“I meant sweatpants and a t-shirt, not an outfit so fuckable I had to dance with a fucking boner,” he growled into your ear, hand cupping your pussy as he tilted your head up so he could suck on your neck.

“I’m s-sorry,” you moaned, as he sucked marks into your skin, fingers rubbing over the wetness that was dampening your panties and leggings.

“You’ll be sorry, alright,” he warned, suddenly bending you over and slapping your ass. You cried out, even through the layers of fabric the sting was easily felt. “You liked that?” he asked, and in the mirror you could see him smirking.

“Yes,” you whispered, and his hand came down again, a resounding smack echoing through the room.

“I can’t hear you, tell me again, did you like it?” he held your hips, pressing his hardened bulge against your ass, leaning down to speak in your ear.

“Yes, yes, I loved it!” you cried, and you were rewarded with another one, your panties getting wetter.

“Let’s try it with nothing in the way, shall we?” he proceeded to pull your leggings and panties down and whistled low when he saw how red your ass cheeks were. “Beautiful,” he whispered, rubbing the raw skin tenderly before he resumed spanking you.

“This is what you get for being a tease,” he growled, his voice sounding strained as his hand came down again and again. You could tell he was aching to fuck you, but enjoyed making your ass cheeks red too. Finally he yanked his pants and underwear down and in the mirror you caught sight of his face, eyes brimming with lust, before he thrust his cock into you.

A scream tore from your throat as he pounded into you from behind, the pain from his hips hitting the raw skin of your ass mixing with the pleasure of his cock drilling into you. He held you tightly by your hips, keeping you in place as he fucked you.

“You took your punishment like a good girl,” he groaned, “this is your reward.”

He fucked you so hard you saw stars in your vision, hitting so deep inside you it felt like he was rearranging your guts. You didn’t know how you were able to stay upright, your limbs shaking from the pleasure running through your body.

“Johnny!” you screamed, “I’m gonna come!”

“Come on, give it to me then,” he encouraged, reaching around to rub your clit vigorously. The added sensation made you snap, your orgasm hitting you so hard your body convulsed, pussy clenching so hard around Johnny’s cock that he groaned, fucking harder into you until he came. His fingers dug into your hips as he pumped his cum into you, filling you up so much that you knew you’d be leaking afterwards. He only released you when he was done, pulling out of you and letting his cum leak out of your abused hole.

“So you learned your lesson?” he asked, pulling up his pants and smirking at you.

“I don’t know,” you replied saucily, “I may need another refresher soon.”

---

Thank you for 1k!

[ephemeralstark]

Take the Sting Away

Summary: What’s happened?” Mr. Stark asked him. “Really, it’s fine.” “Kid.” “Alright, fine, maybe I messed up my landing and my arm went in a really weird direction - like I genuinely don't know how it happened, but there was a pop and now my shoulder looks all gross and Karen says it's dislocated and I’m stuck on a roof and I don't want The Bugle to hate me for wasting city resources because I-” “Woah, woah, woah,” Mr. Stark interrupted, “calm down, now where exactly are you?” - Prompt: Shoulder dislocation and/or old injury playing up.

-

AN: Requested by @littlemissagrafina, thank you my dear <3

-

Prompt: shoulder dislocation and/or an old injury playing up.

Read HERE on AO3 or continue reading below the cut.

“Goddamn it,” Peter mumbled to himself as he laid on his back, breathing heavily through the pain, “Karen? What’s the damage?”

“Well, I would say that your pride took a pretty big hit after that catastrophe of a landing, but otherwise your left shoulder appears dislocated,” Karen informed him.

“Huh,” Peter mumbled, “is that why I feel like I’m gonna spew?”

“I have no physical body and I’ve never felt pain before but following a brief search on the internet I understand that dislocations can be more painful than a broken bone and some people respond to pain with nausea,” Karen said.

“Right,” Peter muttered, lying motionless against the rooftop, he wasn't sure whether his stomach was going to be able to handle moving at all, “uh, how do I get it back in?”

“I can talk you through a YouTube tutorial if you’d like, but I would recommend seeking professional help as there is a risk of permanent nerve damage,” Karen said.

“Right, of course there is, why wouldn't there be?” Peter asked.

“I don't follow that question.”

“It was rhetorical, don't worry about it,” Peter said, he took a deep breath and braced his good arm against the roof he was currently lying in a heap on, before shoving himself up into a seating position that took the breath out of him.

He was unable to stop himself from letting out a scream of pain, beads of sweat formed on his head and after making sure he was sitting in a sturdy enough position and wouldn't fall back against the roof, he reached up and ripped his mask off. He took deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth as he did his best not to throw up or pass out.

“God, this sucks,” he muttered to himself.

Finally, when the disgusting feeling of dizziness and nausea passed, he risked a look at the affected shoulder. That was a big mistake, the nausea returned in full force and he let out a gag that did nothing more than make his mouth fill with saliva and upset his stomach more.

Yeah, that was definitely not a normal looking shoulder.

He pulled his mask back on over his head, reopening his line of communication with Karen.

“Alright, this hurts real bad, what should I do?” he asked.

“I would recommend contacting Mr. Stark,” Karen said.

“I thought he was busy,” Peter said, “Miss. Potts mentioned that he had meetings all morning today, I remember that because he was very dramatic about his complaints.”

“The other option would be to call the emergency services,” Karen offered.

“Isn't there a step between bothering Mr. Stark and calling an ambulance?” Peter asked.

“Actually it would have to be an air ambulance considering your current location and the lack of roof access on this particular building,” Karen said.

“So what you’re saying is I picked a terrible building to fall on and dislocate my shoulder?” Peter asked, trying to find some humour in the completely humourless situation.

“Obviously,” Karen said, “who would you like me to call?”

“I can't call an air ambulance out here,” Peter said, “not only is that seriously overkill, but I’m sure The Bugle would have an absolute field day with that news. I can imagine the headlines already ‘Spider-Man, local menace, wastes city resources’.”

“Contacting Mr. Stark,” Karen said.

“Wait no that’s not what I-” Peter was cut off by Mr. Stark’s face appearing before him.

“Underoos, to what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, and Peter almost died when he saw the irate glares of the businessmen in the background.

“You answered in your meeting?” he squeaked.

“Of course, you rarely call me so I figured this must be an emergency- oh calm down Fiddes, we both know that your business is going to sink if I don't sign this deal so you can stop your huffing and let me talk to the kid for ten goddamn minutes.”

“Uh, I can wait Mr. Stark,” Peter said, “you can just call back after your meeting.”

“What’s happened?” Mr. Stark asked him.

“Really, it’s fine.”

“Kid.”

“Alright, fine, maybe I messed up my landing and my arm went in a really weird direction - like I genuinely don't know how it happened, but there was a pop and now my shoulder looks all gross and Karen says it's dislocated and I’m stuck on a roof and I don't want The Bugle to hate me for wasting city resources because I-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Mr. Stark interrupted, “calm down, now where exactly are you?”

“Um, don't laugh,” Peter said.

“Kid…”

“I’m on top of your tower, I was coming to make some more web fluid because I’m on my last vial and it’s Friday so I’m not back to school til Monday,” Peter rambled.

“Kiddo, you know you're welcome to use my lab whenever you want, just next time use the front door, alright,” Mr. Stark said, and Peter could hear him walking as he spoke - hopefully on his way to help.

“Speaking of, why don't you have roof access?” Peter asked.

“Who says I don't?”

A portion of the roof opened up and Mr. Stark emerged from the hole, “huh, that’s kinda cool,” Peter mumbled.

“It’s a safety thing,” Mr. Stark explained, “can’t have anyone using the roof to try and break in, can I?”

“I don't think F.R.I.D.A.Y. would let that happen, but I suppose you have to be prepared for anything,” Peter said with a shrug that reminded him that he shouldn't have moved his shoulder at all.

He gasped in pain and supported his bad arm with his good one, trying his best to make sure that he was keeping it as still as possible.

“Wow, Pete, I didn't realise you could turn that pale,” Mr. Stark muttered as he gently helped support Peter and prevent him from toppling over..

“It hurts,” Peter whimpered.

“Yeah, Bud, it will,” Mr. Stark said, not unsympathetically, “now, come on, let’s get that shoulder back into place and then we’ll go get pizza - my treat.”

“Wait, you’re not going to do it are you?” Peter asked.

“Come on Kid, I’ve not only put Rhodey’s shoulder back in a thousand times but I’ve also put various members of The Avengers’ shoulders back in, we live a risky lifestyle.”

“But-”

“Kid, I promise you, I can do this.”

Peter paused and looked in his mentor’s eyes, seeing nothing but honesty there, he finally nodded, “alright, I trust you.”

Tony took a hold of Peter’s arm, not doing anything except holding it for the moment being, “do you want a countdown?”

“No,” Peter clenched his eyes shut and shook his head, “just do it, please.”

Pain was all Peter could feel in that moment, he was so consumed by it that he couldn't tell what Mr. Stark was actually doing to his arm as he moved it around, eventually though, tht pain reached an white hot agonising peak and just as Peter was about to cry out and beg the man to stop and leave him alone, he felt a sickening pop followed by utter relief.

“Oh god,” Peter mumbled, wiping his cheeks to remove the wetness that he didn't even realise had fallen from his eyes, “that was hellish.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark agreed, “but how does it feel now?”

“A million times better,” Peter said, “there's still an ache, but it's almost nothing compared to what it was.”

“Well then,” Mr. Stark said, “time for some of Cap’s special pain relief formula and then pizza.”

“Wait, what about your meeting?” Peter asked.

“Meeting schmeeting,” Mr. Stark muttered, “that guy is a douche anyway, it’ll do him good to exercise some patience.”

[softluci]

aggressive affection (round two!)

[ part two of this, with the now dateables. guess which one(s) i have a crush on—i am actually so embarrassed because i'm getting shy trying to write this, but it's a must that i put this into the universe. if you want to read this first, rather than the one with the brothers, here is the preface: ] 

i’m not sure if this is something unique to younger people, but i am one hundred percent sure that younger people do it a lot, just going off of the behavior of my friends and i. (i’m gonna tell you now that this isn’t entirely sfw, so minors dni please and thank u)

but i’ve found that it’s pretty common for friends to be, like, aggressively affectionate with one another, for lack of a better phrase. if not aggressively affectionate, then just really flirtatious, often for no reason, and it is still meant entirely in a platonic sense. some examples of this that i have experienced include, but are not limited to:

“i’m gonna eat you,” “do u wanna make out,” “just remember, no matter WHAT happens, i will ALWAYS wanna make out with you,”  “i have literally wanted to fuck all of you at some point,” “let’s have sex,” “stfu before i kiss you,” [points to lap] “is this seat taken?” “every day i’m like, ‘wow, [name] is so cool, we should make out,’” and so on and so forth. 

so you can imagine the fun i’m about to have.

dia

you—why did you—look. 

dia is a very nice, social guy; very smiley, you guys get along great, that's great! 

he is still very much a demon (the prince of them, in fact)  and very much not one of your friends from the human world, no matter how much he wants you to treat him as such. 

you should've known better. 

he'd invited you to the castle for tea and a nice chat—a regular occurrence between the two of you so that he could see how you were doing, how the program was going, talk about lucifer, play catch up; nothing out of the ordinary. 

he complimented you on your performance thus far, telling you about how well you've done—which was just standard kindness—so would you like to explain to the class why your immediate response was, “so kiss me then,” ? 

he was totally fine with it, but he was also very confused, so it was only fair that he pulled you into his lap to get a better understanding of what you meant. if you do the math, it adds up, i swear. 

luckily, you don’t even have to explain yourself with this one because it seems like he already knows. this is good because, given his proximity to you at that moment, you wouldn’t have done a good job explaining yourself anyway. 

“is this how you talk to your human friends?” 

it was a simple question, with a simple answer, it’s just that you were nose-to-nose, and his eyes were hooded all of a sudden and his hand was cupping the side of your face so, naturally, you had some difficulty forming words—fortunately, you managed to nod instead of embarrassing yourself by trying to talk. 

“and do they ever do what you ask?” 

again, it would’ve been foolish of you to try and speak, so you just shook your head. you were doing a surprisingly nice job of maintaining your dignity, well done! this is nice compensation for the fact that you seemed to forget you were dealing with the demon of demons, but he was kind enough to remind you—

“well, i’m not one of them, so i’ll do as you say. you don’t mind, right?” 

do you have a saving grace with this man? meh. he doesn’t want to do anything in front of the others, but he can literally go somewhere private with you under the guise of wanting to talk. it’s not like anyone is gonna tell him he can’t. 

barbatos

you don’t make any sense. you watched black butler know that he’s the scariest person in the devildom, why did you think you could do this? he might be a menace not too far underneath that professional exterior, but that doesn’t mean you have to fuck around and find out. or maybe that’s exactly what that means. 

all he did was bring you tea. he saw you sitting in the castle’s library doing schoolwork—dia offered to let you study there to enjoy some quiet that you wouldn’t have gotten at the house, and because you aren’t one to forgo such a kind gesture, you accepted. 

he set it down on the table in front of you, much to your surprise. 

“oh, thank you! you really didn’t have to,” you said, looking up at him from your seat. 

“nonsense,” he started, smiling softly, “you’ve been working hard.”

you, for whatever reason, took this as an opportunity to pretend barbatos was one of your human friends. 

“you shouldn’t say that unless—” 

that’s all he let you say. what you were going to say was, “you shouldn’t say that unless you plan on making out with me.” trouble was, he already knew that. you must have forgotten who you were talking to. 

before you could finish, his hand was under your chin, and his other hand was resting on the arm of your chair, effectively caging you in, and effectively keeping you from looking away. 

his smile went from benevolent to teasing meaning you got the menace you wanted, as he asked,“unless what?” 

he took more joy in your flustered state than he would care to admit, but he’d recently learned that you had an affinity for trying to catch people off guard, so he thought it was more than fair to do the same to you—as a treat, for him. 

that said, it’s no surprise that you had to endure relentless teasing, him asking you what you wanted from him, why you were so shy all of a sudden, telling you not to be shy and that he wouldn’t bite, unless you asked nicely. what? he liked how warm your face made his hand. 

“what’s wrong? don’t you want to kiss me?” 

okay. that was the last straw. you never even hinted that you didn’t wanna kiss this man, and here he was, making assumptions about you as a person. 

you, in your infinite confidence and assertive nature, said, “i—i never said i didn’t want to.” 

and you know what, you really showed him because even though he laughed at you, even though he made a show of taking off his gloves, even though his hand moved from the arm of the chair to your thigh—even though he took every necessary step to remind you that he was in control, you still got what you wanted. and then some. 

your only saving grace with him is the fact that he breathes professionalism and he’s always busy. when he isn’t busy, however. well. 

simeon

you goddamn heathen. oh, you fucking freak. simeon has a reputation to uphold, you can’t treat him like one of your heathen little human friends, which means you can’t just say whatever pops into your head when you’re talking to him, which means—you should really learn to take compliments normally. 

simeon is a nice guy, and he likes you a lot, so it only makes sense that he compliments you whenever he can. in other words, he dishes out anywhere from one to four compliments whenever the two of you are together. he can’t help it, he just thinks you’re neat! 

the fact remains that you chose to be a menace to the angelic persona he is supposed to project at all times. 

it was a simple compliment. he enjoyed spending time with you, and he told you so, just telling you that your presence was a pleasant one. 

your response was actually normal—it was a simple, “i like being around you too!” 

in a way, this is simeon’s fault, if you think about it. he could’ve just said, “thank you,” and kept it pushing, but instead, he said, “really?”

why would he think you didn’t like being around him? that was unacceptable, so, really, what choice did you have but to give him the most solid affirmation he would ever hear? 

“of course! every day, i’m like, ‘wow, simeon is so cool, we should make out,’ you know?”

what you were expecting was for him to blush and laugh it off, call you silly, and maybe pat your head for good measure. that was a reasonable thing to expect, albeit that is not even close to what you got. 

since you were being so casual, simeon figured that he could—that he should—do the same. it was only natural that he stop being a model angel for a little while, right? 

oh, don’t look so flustered, it’s not like you’ve never been backed against a wall before. how many times has a demon done this to you? it’s only fair that an angel gets a turn. 

“actually,” he started, lips already brushing against yours as he spoke. “i don’t know. would you mind showing me?” 

if you are, understandably, too flustered to function, he will gladly make the first move, don’t worry, but if his first move happens to be taking your bottom lip between his teeth instead of kissing you, well… there’s not much you’re going to be able to do about it, so you may as well just enjoy. 

i mean, you tempt an angel, and you get what’s coming to you—that’s all there is to it. 

similar to barbatos, you will only be safe from this man when he’s in public or around a few of the others. if you’re alone with him and in private, he’s already under the impression that he doesn’t have to be an angel with you, so find joy in the side of him you’ve uncovered. 

solomon (derogatory)

you two deserve each other, really. both of you are public enemies. he was just as terrible as your friends from back home, except he was always walking the line like a tightrope. he was always on the verge of making his teasing into a reality, and to be quite frank, you were starting to get fed up—and you were right to be. but this is what you get for being a dirty solomon enjoyer. 

all of his empty threats and demands about kissing you, his lingering touches on your lower back or waist or thighs, his dumb little smirks on his dumb little face, his occasional bites wherever you were vulnerable, his habit of putting his hand around your throat for fun (or so he says)—those all came with the territory. he hasn’t had a friend to tease in ages (he can’t do it to asmo without it immediately turning into an hour long event), so you get it all at once, congratulations! 

don’t look so upset, he’s an attractive guy, so this is still a win. 

now, all of that said, you were hard pressed to find an opportunity to catch this man off guard, but once you got your chance, you latched onto it exactly as you should’ve. 

the two of you were in his room, studying (“studying”) for an upcoming exam. he was sitting in a chair, and you were on his bed a few feet away. you needed something from your bag, which was on the side of his chair farthest from you, so you decided to walk by him to get it, like a normal person. look at you, acting regular for once.

evidently, that was a mistake. as soon as you were in front of him, his hand was on your waist, and you were pulled into his lap. 

you turned to look at him, eyebrows raised and everything, and he seemed to have an explanation ready to go, paired with one of his signature smiles.

“i was wondering when i’d get to bother you again.” 

this was your chance—probably the only chance you’d get in a while, so it made sense that you took this opportunity to be heinous, even though you were in a rather compromising position. 

“either sleep with me or leave me alone.”

you did it. for a moment, you had him. the surprise plastered on his face was enough gratification to last you a lifetime, however fleeting it may have been. unfortunately for you, he had a wonderful recovery time. 

before you could fully enjoy the look on his face, it was gone, replaced by a more sinister expression that almost made you regret your decision. 

for what it’s worth, you didn’t have to see that menacing look of his for long because he turned you away from him to press your back into his chest. if that makes you feel any better. 

“i’ll never leave you alone,” he hummed, teeth already grazing your neck. his hand moved from your waist to your inner thigh, slowly separating one leg from the other. “but you already knew that.” 

you didn’t have a saving grace with this man before, and now you never will.

[lazychickensoup]

U probably know who this is but anonymous makes me feel m y s t e r i o u s

Sakusa x maid reader with an even bigger obsession with cleanliness than Sakusa

Ever since she was hired, she was convinced that Sakusa was a slob because of how high her standards were. It became a competition for Sakusa because everytime he would try to clean something before she got there to do her job, she would end up re doing it. It became a daily part of his life to take note of what she did and do it himself the next time she came. It got to the point were she had to quit, because there was nothing she could do anymore, she taught him how to clean better without him even knowing it. He thought that once she left it would be better for him but his stubborn self eventually finds out he likes her, and asks her out.

Enemies to lovers

Maid | Sakusa K.

warning: I know next to nothing abt sakusa except the fandom has deemed him king germaphobe. (would he be the kind of person to clean before the cleaning person gets there? probably.)

THIS IS GONNA BE IN PARTS BC I GOT CARRIED AWAY

editor/beta reader: @gargantuan-peepee

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It was your first day at your new job. You were beyond nervous when you heard who's home you would be taking care of. Kiyoomi Sakusa. Professional volleyball player. You were not scared of the fact that he was practically famous. More of what state his house was in. You've heard so many things about the man and the team itself. Apparently, he was the cleanest out of his team, but you don't know the expectations of that. You went to high school with Shoyo and god was that miserable. He and Kageyama never knew how to clean up after themselves much less the rest of the team. They called you a germaphobe and teased you on how you kept everything so clean. You don't get why exactly. Cleanliness was not a bad thing and something they would need to learn at some point. You had a basic knowledge of volleyball since you were their manager after Kyiko left. You also know all the parties that happen after games. Shaking out all the menacing thoughts in your head, you walk up the steps to the large house. You take a look at the patio and click your tongue. Leafs had been littering it along with an ashtray with cigarettes left on it. 'Disgusting.' All your expectations plummeted. You knock on the door and you feel pollen and dirt build up. You shake your head adding on to your mental list of what to do first. The door creaks open and you're met with a man wearing nothing but sweat pants. His hair was a tangled mess and his eyes were dark. He yawns and rubs his eyes. 'He must have just woken up.'

"Can I help you?" he scruffs out, voice so low it sent chills down your spine. You eye the body in front of you getting red in the face as your eyes lingered on his abs. "Hello? Ma'am?" he speaks again, waving his hand in front of your face.

"Oh right! I'm Y/n you hired me to take care of your house?" You try to look around him to the inside but he was too in the way.

"Right. I didn't hire anyone to clean my house. I can do that myself. You must have the wrong house." he leans against the doorframe waiting for your explanation.

"You're Kyioomi Sakusa right? 888 Willow Lane? I had a call a week ago saying that I needed to take care of this house." you think back to the call. The voice didn't sound like Sakusas. Now that you realize it did sound awfully familiar, and not too long after Shoyo had dmed you on Instagram talking about 'I wanna reconnect with everyone in the volleyball club.' All the dots are connected in your head. "Shoyo." you groan. Sakusa looks at you confused.

"Shoyo? Hinata?" he asks, confirming you were talking about his teammate. You nod. Taking out your phone.

"Yes, he's an old classmate. I used to be the manager for Karasuno Volleyball Club. He dm'd me the other day trying to reconnect and I'm now assuming that he set this up. Sorry for wasting your time." you start to dial the number Shoyo had given you to contact him so you could have a 'talk' with him. Sakusa grabbed your phone, making you stop.

"You're already here, might as well do your job. I'm just saying there isn't that much to clean. I'll have a talk with Shoyo, I think I know what this is about." he moves out of the way letting me in. 'Why does it matter, at least I'm getting paid.' You walk in and you are immediately disappointed. 'Not much to clean huh?' Maybe your standards were too high but you can't help it. He had a few dishes in his sink. Catalogs all over his coffee table. You couldn't smell anything which means he doesn't use freshener. He clearly did sweep and mop every day either. "You know what, this might not be a bad thing. I can finally not have to worry about having to clean at 3 am for the after-parties."

"Sounds great. Where would you like me to start Mr. Sakusa? I wanna try to get done before seven, and obviously, I have a lot of work to do." You slap your hand over your mouth realizing you had said your thoughts out loud. Sakusa raised an eyebrow at you. He motioned his head for you to follow him, not having anything to say about your comment. You did as told and he took you for a tour around the house, showing you all the rooms and explaining what his expectations for you were. Though you had already planned to exceed those. Anyone else would have thought they would be drowning in work. To you, he was asking you for the bare minimum.

After showing you the house you made your way back to the kitchen planning to start there. "I have to make a call. Please go ahead and do what you need." You nod at him and start on the dishes. Sakusa walked into his bedroom pressing on Shoyo's contact.

"Hey, what's up Kiyoomi?" The ginger spoke.

"You asshole."

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Tags: @gargantuan-peepee @shotosgaychangemymind @bictoeia @cinnamonnn-roll

[reikoackerman]

Hello Rei!! Yes, I’m sending you my self-ship Sunday responses on Monday. Yes, 6 days in advance. Yes, you can see how excited I get for this and I have no regrets :P Anyway, here are your answers!! This one’s a long boi.

1. Give me three songs you and Erwin love slow dancing to!!

-> So instead of the instrumental music we listen to, I’m gonna tell you which worded music is on out playlist:

The Way You Look Tonight – Michael Bublé's version

All of Me – John Legend

Can't’ Help Falling in Love – Elvis Presley

2. What happened the first time you both slow danced?

-> Pretty sure I almost fainted from how giddy I felt! I was just goofing around while Erwin was trying to read (I’m a bit of a menace) – giving him a dramatic performance of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ by Celine Dion while he patiently tried to concentrate on his novel. Since I wasn’t getting the attention I so-desperately craved, I was about to plop down on the couch beside him after the song ended. But just then, ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ by Frank Sinatra began playing.

Now, let me tell you, Erwin is good at most things. But the man can’t sing to save his life. And he casually kept his book aside and began to sing along in this God-awful non-tune that had me in splits. And within a flash, he was off the couch and had swooped me into a dance while I was still wheezing into his chest from how hard I was laughing. And he waltzed around the living room with me, continuing to sing nonchalantly as if he’s Sinatra himself. But the laughter died down eventually and before we knew it, we were seven songs in, glued to each other, and quietly swaying together in perfect harmony.

3. Were there any embarrassing episodes that happened during a slow dance with Erwin?

-> Well, I’m good with casual dancing. But I had to learn ballroom dancing for a black-tie event I was to attend with Erwin. He had never trained for it either. But 10 minutes of Youtube tutorials somehow turned him into a professional while I was still struggling pretty bad. I kept looking down at our feet while dancing because I was terrified that he was gonna step on my toes. And given how tiny I am compared to him, my fear of a broken toe was justified, okay?

He got irritated because I’d never learn if I kept looking down and was attempting to lift my face to face his own. And I got annoyed with his constant instructions, and lifted my head up at full speed. Neither of us have no memory of what happened, but my head hit his nose at break-nose speed (haha, get it?), and the next thing we realized was that blood was flowing out of it like the fucking Niagra.

So, I had to drive him to the hospital in the middle of the night, two days before the event, to get it patched. We attended the party with a giant bandage on his face as he made all attendees aware of how I was responsible for his look for the night. Ugh, he still gives me an earful about it sometimes.

Now, time for my questions for you! Just asking 2 this time since I know they're going to have loooong answers!

Have you two met each other’s families yet? How did the first meeting go?

What was your family’s first impression of Levi? And what is it today?

Levi: Oh. You're back.

Rei: I hope you bring Erwin over for a visit soon Mia!!!

Rei: Mia, I am in love with your playlist!!! The songs.. oh... so so good!!! All the classics!!!! Can't Help Falling in Love is mhmm.... Levi and I love it too!!!! Maybe Levi can tell you some of our favourites!

Levi: Fine. Now and Forever by Richard Marx, Can't Take My Eyes off You by Frankie Valli & the Four Seasons, and Beautiful in White by Shane Filan.

Rei: MIA!!!! HOLY COW. That is so... so sweet and SO CUTE I am tearing up <3 I am also grinning from ear to ear if you can't tell already!!!

Levi: Tch. You're right. Erwin can't sing to save a life. Mike is much better. But I got to admit. That was smooth of him.

Rei: You should hear about how Levi and I had our first slow dance hehe. *giggles*

[Levi smiles at the memory, his expression soft.]

Levi: We'll leave that story for another time.

Levi: I never knew that. He never told me.

Rei: You don't go around telling people why you had a nose bleed Levi...

Levi: He claims that I'm his 'best friend' yet I am unaware of this?

Rei: Oh. So now you call him your best friend when something embarrassing happened???

Levi: Best friends are there to embarrass you most of the time, no?

Rei: ... no? I mean, yes you're not wrong but, best friends are there to SUPPORT you too???

Levi: Fine. I get why he didn't tell me this happened. I didn't tell Erwin the time with the Ver-

[I hurriedly covered Levi's mouth, keeping him quiet. I quickly tried to change the topic. My cheeks heated up at the thought of a certain memory.]

Rei: Anyway! Omg Mia, I hope you didn't get too much of a lecturing from your colleagues or supervisors during the event... must have been awkward if Erwin appeared with bandages... omg.

Levi: Oi. Haven't we already answered this question?

Rei: It doesn't hurt to answer again~

Levi: ... well fine. Nothing unexpected though. Her dad hated me, her mum liked me. End of story. At least it's better now since we've been together for a few years already.

Rei: Initially my parents couldn't accept the fact that I wasn't dating someone Chinese, or at least Asian, but who gives a heck about it? Levi and I are going to have beautiful mixed blood babies and I don't even care about anything else.

Levi: Oi, brat, shut up.

Rei: What? I'm not wrong. Our kids are going to be gorgeous. Our daughter will have your eyes. I just know it.

Levi: Tch, whatever. You think too much.

Rei: I was so worried that Aunty Kuchel wouldn't like me, but she was so sweet and lovely!! She even joked with me and asked me what did I see in Levi that made me fall in love with him, hahaha.

Rei: But uhh... Uncle Kenny though... *shurgs*

Levi: He said she was a midget being in a relationship with another midget. Tch.

Rei: No offense Levi, but yeah. You know my parents had issues about your height. Pffft.

Levi: My mum had issues about your shitty temper.

Rei: As if yours is any better than mine? Hmm?

Levi: ... Whatever. My first meeting with Rei's parents were so weird. She told her mum about me, and her mum said she would keep it a secret from her dad.

Levi: A few weeks later, we were sitting by the stairs near her house when the lift door opened and her dad walked out of the lift while we were hugging. He told Rei that he would keep it a secret from her mum. But we did have a proper meeting. It was a dinner session.

Rei: The amount of mind blowing and deception though. It's funny. Thankfully my first meeting with Aunty Kuchel turned out well too.

Rei: It's really funny!!! It was my first time over at Levi's house, and uhhh, I came out of the toilet and I nearly walked into Aunty Kuchel. And then we just silently stared at each other for a while until she went, "Oh, so you're my son's girlfriend!"

[i-am-distressed]

RIDE ALONG: Part 1

Prologue-Part 2

Warnings: none

You thanked the officer that held the door open for you, nodding to one you recognized as ‘Nanami’ as you made your way to your destination, Captain Yaga’s office. When you committed the misdemeanor, you were 3 days away from starting your first day as a rookie for the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. When you punched your ex, a few of the higher ups deemed your actions as ‘inappropriate’ and ‘out of line’, and they put your admission into the unit on ‘pause’ while they figured out what to do with you, but they weren’t the ones who decided what would happen to you.

It was the man who would hopefully be your new boss, Masamichi Yaga. The Chief, who apparently trained Yaga first hand, decided whatever he decides will be best, so this is your one shot to get this right. The other new recruits were starting today, so they put you on a ‘3 day probation to think about what you did’. You walked up the flight of stairs, letting your eyes wander as you did. The station was in nice condition. It had been remodeled a few years ago, so it was really sleek and new looking. It had an open concept layout, and most every room had plenty of windows in it, keeping the station open and light. It was much different from the 30+ year old academy you had spent that past 5 months training in, where every time you stepped into daylight your eyes spent a good 5 minutes adjusting to seeing an adequate amount of light. Already, this was a promising change, you just needed to not screw this up any worse than you already did.

You got to the top of the stairs and proceeded down the hallway the dispatcher you ran into had directed you to, Miwa? She was nice, much better than the other 2 girls who were sitting at their desks throwing balled up pieces of paper into a far off trash can. Walking down the hallway you found the second floor was much more closed off and professional than the first. It had more closed doors and private offices, not surprising since you saw a few doors with ‘Sergeant’ and ‘Lieutenant’ on them. You got to the end and stopped when you found the door that had ‘Captain Masamichi Yaga’.

You stopped taking a deep breath before you squared your shoulders and knocked. Just before you did, you heard the captain talking to someone, you didn’t recognize the voice, but it was clear it belonged to a man. “Come in.” You turned the knob before stepping in the door. “Go ahead and close the door, please have a seat.” Yaga motioned over to the second chair he had sitting in front of his desk, diagonal to the chair the unknown man was sitting in. You nodded as you closed the door, making your way to sit in the chair, keeping a professional posture and a steadfast expression.

“I don’t believe either of you have met before, no?” You looked over at the man. He had pinkish hair with a dark undercut, his eyes were dark red and sharp, even with how lazy his gaze seemed, it was intense. You could feel his eyes wandering you, not in a creepy perverted way, but in a scrutinizing judging way. And to be honest, you couldn’t tell which one would tick you off more. Beyond having hair that was definitely too long to be within regulation, he was also covered in tattoos. Maybe he was a C.I? “Never seen her in my life, can I go?”

Your eyebrow raised as you turned back to look at the captain, who had an almost visible tick mark appearing on his forehead. “No.” Sighing the man leaned back in the chair, crossing his notably muscular arms over his chest. You couldn’t tell since he was sitting down, but you guessed he was in the 6’0 range, probably taller. He was very fit, that much was for sure. And he definitely was no professional, that much was also for sure. Whereas you came in wearing a very nicely fitting pair of slacks and a silk button up, he came in wearing a tight white t-shirt and dark wash jeans, he was wearing what looked like a black flannel over his shirt, it being left open and the sleeves rolled up. It definitely didn’t meet the uniform standards, but it didn’t exactly look bad either.

Yaga cleared his throat and you directed your attention back to him. “I’m sure you’re aware of the possible consequences of your actions, yes? Your record shows good grades, good conduct, and overall a spotless record. Nevertheless, what you did could get you in serious trouble a few years down the line, you’re lucky he didn’t decide to press any charges. I should tell you to go find another career, since it’s clear you don’t process emotions well.” You looked down at that, your arms had crossed over your chest and you held your tongue, he had a point.

“But, My wife happened to be there, and when I confided in her on what to do about the situation, she told me if I treasure my marriage I should show you some mercy. Our daughter was cheated on, so I can’t say I hate what you did. In light of that, a punishment is still in order,” He paused to lean on his elbows, gaze serious, and honestly intimidating as he stayed quiet for a moment.

"For the next 3 months, You, Y/n L/n will be doing a sort of probationary trial with this man sitting in front of me." The man's head shot up, his crimson eyes wide open as his face contorted into a scowl. "Yeah, no, she won't be. I don't take passengers." Yaga sat up, his glasses casting a menacing gleam, "If you'd like to keep your job, Corporal, you will be." The ‘corporal’ in question ‘tsk’d’ before sinking back into the leather chair, leg crossing lazily over the other as his hand gripped his bicep. He was muscular alright…

”Ms. L/n, this is Corporal Ryomen Sukuna, he’s just recently been taken off of suspension and is in a probationary period of his own. If at the end of these 3 months the two of you are deemed fit for duty, you will proceed on with your careers with no problem.” You looked over at the man, his red eyes finding your e/c ones as he raised an eyebrow, your own narrowing slightly at him before you smartly returned your gaze towards Yaga. “Do I make myself clear?” You both responded with ‘yes sir’ and he dismissed you.

You both stood from the chairs, him grabbing the badge that was slid over the desk while you made your way to the door. “Your first day is tomorrow, don’t be late,” Yaga turned to Sukuna, “I hope you understand, it doesn’t matter how good of a cop you are, this is your last chance, mess this up and you're done. Please cooperate.” Your eyebrows raised at that before you felt yourself cringe, great, the ‘probation officer’ they assigned you was some kind of delinquent? You opened the door and stepped out, Sukuna passing by you without a word, going his own way as you sighed, shutting the door and making your way back out of the station.

On your way to the front desk to sign out, you heard your name being called. “HEY! Y/N!” You stopped and turned, finding two of the new recruits who had graduated with you, Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro. They were nice, and good at what they did, so you were happy when you heard they’d be going to the same unit as you. You watched as Fushiguro smacked Itadori upside the head, “We’re inside, idiot.”

Your lip tugged up at that, watching as Itadori rubbed his head with a pout before turning to you, giving you one of his smiles. “Anyway, what did the Captain say? Are you gonna be able to continue with us?” You nodded as a small smile made its way to your face, “With conditions, yes.” Fushiguro nodded as Itadori gave you a thumbs up and ‘nice!’, “You’re lucky you didn’t get cut, the higher ups can be really cut throat when they want to be, i’d watch my back.” You nodded at Fushiguro, remembering the stories your dad had told you about people being let go for trivial things, although back then it was mostly family politics.

Fushiguro was from the Zen’in family, who was known for being exemplary cops, and had a strong presence in the station. From what you knew, there were at least 5 of them in this unit alone. “I will, they’re letting me join, but for 3 months i’ll be doing a probationary trial with one of the corporals.” Fushiguro nodded at that, Itadori’s eyes lighting up, “Which one did you get? We get assigned our T.O’s (training officers) tomorrow.” You felt your eye twitch as you thought back to the disrespectful and presumably problematic individual you had just met.

“Ryomen Sukuna. From what I know he just got back from suspension, so this is a punishment for him too.” Your eyes narrowed in confusion when Itadori’s widened in shock, “wAIT!? Does he have hair like mine?” You nodded, “Tattoos??” You nodded again, “Really bad attitude and terrible social skills-” “I think she gets it, what’s your point Itadori?” You almost laughed at how tired Fushiguro looked, despite being friends all throughout high school, and going to the academy together.

“Dude...her probation officer is my cousin Ryomen.” You watched as Fushiguro’s eyes now widened, his lips fighting a smile as he turned around, grabbing the collar of Itadori’s uniform as he dragged him off with a wave, “Good luck then, you’re gonna need it!” Your mouth opened to reply before you decided against it, just shaking your head and finally making your way to the front desk. ‘Ryomen Sukuna...I’ll ask dad about him later, I swear i’ve heard it before..’

**20 minutes ago in Yaga’s office before you arrived**

“Corporal, please have a seat.” Sukuna walked in, sitting down on the chair and bringing his elbows up on the arm rests, hands clasping together in front of his mouth. Sukuna had been on a 2 month suspension after yet another misdemeanor. The only reason he hasn’t been fired is because he’s truly good at what he does, and the department really doesn’t want to let him go but…”You’re aware of how we handle discipline in this department. So tell me how it is you’ve been dealt 7 out of the 8 disciplinary actions and you still have yet to change?”

The department had a sort of system for disciplining it’s cops. 1. A verbal warning (which Sukuna had ignored), 2. A written warning (Sukuna had thrown away), 3. Performance Improvement Plan (He had on multiple occasions ditched his supervising adviser), 4. Temporary Pay cut (He practically lived at the station, it didn’t phase him much), 5. Loss of privileges (see #4), 6. Suspension (recently completed), 7. Demotion (...up until 2 months ago it was Sergeant Ryomen Sukuna…) and 8. Termination. He could handle everything else but...termination meant he was done, and he was anything but.

“I told you captain, it’s not me who needs to change, the departments way too stuck up.” Yaga took a breath before he sighed, leaning back in his swivel chair, “I know the higher ups don’t always act accordingly, but they’re still your higher ups, and I can only defend your job beyond so many offenses.” Sukuna glared at the ground as his arms crossed against his broad chest. *Knock knock* “Come in”

TAGLIST: @alohablue 💙

[sunsetcurvecuddles]

Hello you told me not to hold back so I’m gonna be ANNOYING feel free to ignore indefinitely until you’re feeling it but I’m gonna send you like a bunch of prompts cause I can’t sleep and am stalling finishing my own fic.

First one: Bobby (obviously), Reggie or Luke or friends I don’t even care, tea and blankets

lol hi have a rebuke cuddle-puddle disaster, also available on ao3 here. warning for swearing and very vague allusions to physical child abuse.

i guess we belong to each other | reggielukebobby | 1.8k words

--

Luke has his guitar in his lap and his writing notebook by his side even though it's late at night. He's playing his acoustic, so that he has no chance of stirring Bobby's parents from where he's sat in their studio, and though he'd never admit it to anyone, it's cold enough that he's found one of Alex's hoodies in the back of the studio, a black one Alex never wears any more, and he's bundled up in it to try to fight off the chills. He regrets storming out earlier this evening — not because his parents might be worried, he's still too mad at them for that, but because he misses his own warm bed in a house with central heating.

But it's late, and he doesn't want to bother Bobby, who's already been generous enough as it is (and is exceptionally grumpy when he's woken in the middle of the night). So Alex's old hoodie, smelling vaguely of the dusty studio and distantly of Alex, will have to do.

A noise distracts Luke from his writing. Something outside the studio, maybe an animal, but it sounded like footsteps. Cautiously, he draws his guitar closer, running through what he could say if it's Bobby's parents, his heart suddenly rabbit-fast in his chest.

A head pokes through the door.

Luke's shoulders drop with relief.

It's Reggie.

He looks a little scruffy, not like himself, because usually Reggie pays such close attention to his appearance, fusses over his hair and colour-codes his outfits and shaves with the precision of a professional painter. But he kinda looks messy, which makes Luke's stomach feel even colder than the air around him.

“Oh! Hey, man,” Reggie laughs, putting on a big smile, and it'd fool anyone else — Reggie's too experienced at this for his own good. “I didn't know you'd be here!”

“Hi, Reg,” says Luke, sounding a little distracted even to his own ears as he carefully looks Reggie over. He's not walking like he's been hurt, and there are no visible injuries. So that's something. Jesus, Luke wouldn't know what to do if Reggie turned up here with a fresh version of the bruises Luke sometimes catches him trying to hide. “You, uh — you good?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Reggie agrees easily, saunters into the studio and slumps down on the couch next to Luke. The relaxed way he moves soothes Luke's worry somewhat. “The house was just — ugh. You know how they can be.” Looking over at Luke, Reggie adds, “Hey, isn't that Alex's hoodie? I was wondering what had happened to that.”

“Hey!” Luke sputters, a little defensive. “He didn't, like, loan it to me or anything, it was just here! I found it.”

“It is cold,” Reggie concedes, pulling his flannel a little tighter around him. “Wish I'd brought my jacket, but it was in the kitchen and I didn't wanna. I dunno. Didn't wanna get in the way.”

Luke nods, puts his guitar to the side so he can press up against Reggie's side. Hip to hip, his cheek on Reggie's shoulder, links their ankles together and puts an arm over Reggie's stomach. Almost automatically, Reggie links his arms around Luke in turn.

Honestly, Luke was intending to steal some of Reggie's body heat, but after Reggie's walk outside and in such a thin layer, he thinks Reggie's probably leeching his own. Luke lets him go ahead; Reggie seems to need it more than he does.

They sit for a moment, both unusually quiet, huddling and not talking. Not so much for a lack of things to talk about, but more because any topic that comes to Luke's mind feels insurmountably complex and emotional. There’s so much stuff he can't tell Reggie — so much stuff Reggie isn't telling him. So they sit together and try to create some warmth without the need for disclosure.

Until there's another set of scuffled footsteps outside.

“Not Alex too,” Reggie sighs, at a whispered volume so that the newcomer can't hear him, “he squirms so much in his sleep, man, I can't share this pull-out with him again.”

Luke muffles a laugh with the back of his hand, but he can't help worry it's Alex, too. Things have been... okay, he thinks, with Alex's folks since he came out, but he also knows Alex hoped for better. Suspects there are things Alex isn't telling them (so they all have that in common).

But it's not Alex. Preceded by an armful of blankets that he's almost tripping on, Bobby staggers in, still in his pajamas and with his eyes almost all the way closed. “Luke? It's fucking freezing, I thought I'd—” He stops when he gets far enough in to see Reggie on the couch too. “Oh, shit.”

“Hey, Bobby,” says Reggie, voice a little nervous. “I hope it's okay that I—”

“Shut up,” Bobby grumbles, and dumps the whole pile of blankets on top of Reggie. “You guys are stupid. You're both out here, in the freezing cold, and neither of you come wake me up?”

“We didn't want—” Luke starts, at the same time as Reggie insists, “You were sleeping—!”

“Idiots,” Bobby growls, rubbing his eye with his sweater paw and yawning. He looks stupidly cute, like a little kid. “You're idiots, and I hate dealing with you. I'll be back.” Turning to leave the studio again, he turns back and adds, “Hurry up and burrito yourselves in those blankets, I swear to god. And Luke, isn’t that Alex’s hoodie?”

“He left it—!” Luke starts, but Bobby’s already gone, leaving Luke with Reggie, cackling at him.

—

By the time Bobby returns, Luke and Reggie have folded the couch out into its bed form, and are snuggling under the several blankets, giggling together as they talk about how grumpy Bobby had been.

“We should have woken him up,” Reggie snorts, “I think then he would have been less pissed.”

“I would have,” Bobby agrees, sounding somewhere between menacing and amused, as he reappears over them. His hair is all shaggy in his face. He's carrying a teapot. And cups. “Sit up.”

Luke does right away, Reggie pulling himself up a little slower. Bobby sits cross-legged at the foot of the couch-bed, tucking his socked toes under his own legs to keep warm, and pours them each a mug of what smells like peppermint tea. Suddenly, Luke can't imagine anything better in the world. When Bobby offers him a cup, he takes it eagerly, wrapping his cold hands around it and enjoying the steam wafting up to his face.

“Wow,” says Reggie softly, eyes wide, “thanks, Bobby.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Luke echoes, letting out a sigh as he takes his first sip.

“Forget it,” Bobby says, a little bitey. Luke knows it's because Bobby hates being seen as nice, so he doesn't take it personally, and he knows Reggie won't either. He has his own cup, which he drinks as though it's done something to offend him, scowling off into the corner of the studio. Reggie nudges Bobby with his foot from under the layers of blankets, and a tiny smile tugs at Bobby's mouth as he nudges Reggie back with his elbow.

After the cup of tea, Luke feels better. He feels warmer on the inside, now, and sleepy too. Reggie is starting to get that dopey, slow blink that shows he's on the verge of sleep as well. Bobby clears his throat and holds out a hand, beckoning for their empty cups. Luke and Reggie hand them over.

“Okay,” says Bobby, after a pause. “G'night, guys.” He goes to stand, but Reggie leans forward and catches Bobby's sleeve.

“Would you stay?” he asks, as if he can't help himself, as if on sheer impulse, but he doesn’t look embarrassed afterwards.

“Reg!” Luke says, a little startled. “It's cold out here, he won't want—”

But he sees Bobby's face, and he stops himself. Because he can see it in Bobby's eyes. That he does want. He’s Bobby, so he won't say it, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his gaze fixed on some point behind Luke and Reggie's heads, but Luke has known Bobby for too long to miss something this obvious, no matter what else Bobby can hide from him.

“That being said,” Luke backtracks hurriedly, “it would be warmer with you here, Wilson. I'm happy to be a leech.”

“That's all I'm good for, huh?” Bobby snorts, but he's already setting the mugs down on the floor near the side of the bed, already shuffling the teapot down there too. He hops up for a moment, and Luke wonders where he’s going, before he realises Bobby is just switching off the light. When Bobby comes back, he pauses, like he's not sure where he fits, and Luke and Reggie make eye contact for only a second before they move apart, leaving a space in the middle.

Bobby looks even less sure of himself, eyebrows knitted, jaw tight. His hands flex and one of them twists in the hem of his sweater. Luke gets it. It looks too much like it's on Bobby's behalf, like they’re doing it to make space for Bobby. Bobby’s always had trouble accepting anything that seems like it’s for his own benefit.

“I already sucked all Reggie's warmth up,” Luke explains.

“Yeah,” Reggie agrees immediately, and Luke loves him, “and you're warmer than Luke anyway, man. I wanna huddle with you. As a penguin, you would be my first-choice huddle-buddy.”

Bobby barks a laugh. “The fuck? What does that even mean?” Finally, he wriggles his way under the blankets in between them, and rolls his eyes when they both throw limbs over him right away, twining legs and arms together and resting cheeks on his chest.

“Like, if we were penguins. You know? In the winter?” Reggie says, like this is totally obvious and self-explanatory. “If I was a penguin, I'd be looking for the Bobby-penguin in the winter huddle to stick close to.”

“Aaand I'm at my capacity for dumb shit,” Bobby says, closing his eyes pointedly, but it's a scam, because his hands come to run through Luke and Reggie's hair. “Goodnight, morons.”

“Goodnight, Bobby,” they chorus. This close, Luke could almost brush noses with Reggie, has to try to focus his eyes to keep Reggie from getting blurry. Reggie sticks his tongue out at Luke just a little, and Luke grins back, links his fingers with Reggie’s over Bobby’s stomach, rubbing over Reggie’s knuckles until Reggie’s fingers don’t feel so much like icicles. When Luke uses his free hand to tug the neckline of Alex’s hoodie up over his nose, the familiar smell of the third piece of his heart soothes him right down.

The feel of Bobby’s fingernails on his scalp makes Luke’s eyelids flutter, and before he knows it he’s dopey, the world feeling blurrier and safer and cozier. Honestly, more like home than his own house would have. He no longer daydreams of returning to his own warm bed. Instead, he feels the way Bobby’s chest rises and falls with his breaths, pushing his and Reggie’s joined hands up and down. If he listens closely, Luke can hear Bobby’s heartbeat, familiar and steady.

Maybe the cold isn't all bad.

--

other prompt fills here :)

jatp taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @queenmolina @nickalicious @bi-reginald @malecacidd @burntchromas @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @cinnamonstickrayofsunlight @chickwiththepurpleguitar @fairylightsandrainydays @joyandthephantoms @fighttoshine @michelangelinda @queenofthequillandink 

[nanasparadise]

Please~ yandere la squadra with a darling that heals them after a battle? Angel 👼 anon but Christmas inspired~

Hi anon! I hope you had a beautiful Christmas! <3 I know I’m super late (T-T), but I hope you still enjoy the headcannons! Where I live, it’s still freezing cold, so the Christmas spirit still lingers a bit in the air.

!!!!! TW: mentions of blood and wounds, implied stalking, implied NSFW, toxic relationship, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY !!!!!

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Yan! La Squadra x gender-neutral Stand user reader who heals them during a battle (Christmas edition)

Yan! Risotto

Risotto hates to go to you for help: he likes to appear strong in front of you.

But the battle has been tough and his wounds are quite deep.

You rush immediately to the hitman, inspecting the severity of the wounds.

With your Stand, you’re able to heal him pretty fast and effectively.

Risotto keeps staring at you throughout the whole healing process, red eyes boring intensely into yours.

It does make you quite uncomfortable.

But you push that thought away and instead sigh: why did Risotto have to get into trouble on Christmas?

After you’ve patched him up, you try to look out for the other hitmen in case they need your help as well.

But the silver-haired man puts his calloused hands on your wrists under a tight grip and keeps fixating you.

You are surprised by his action, but he simply states that he needs you in this moment and that you shouldn’t worry about the others.

For Risotto, this admittance of weakness bothers the Italian. But he’d rather like you only for himself. The capo can’t help the feeling of jealousy and possessiveness rising up in him like bile whenever he sees you with the other team members – or anyone that isn’t him, for a fact.

You want to escape his grasp, but something in his gaze – something dangerous that you shouldn’t unleash – makes you remain by his side.

The capo bores again his intense eyes into yours. You feel as though he pierces right through your soul. For you, the quiet feels unbearable. On the other hand, for Risotto, this moment of calmness feels like bliss, like the perfect Christmas present, as he’s got everything he needs right next to him now.

“Good God, Risotto!” “It’s fine, it’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Risotto, could you please let me go? I need to look after the others.” “They’re fine. I need you more by my side.”

Yan! Illuso

Illuso comes back with blood covering his clothes. He weakly breaks down on the nearest chair, too exhausted from the battle and the wounds.

You immediately notice the deep cut on his torso. Rapidly, you hurry to his side.

Illuso’s face is adorned with his typical smug smile as you approach him, despite his injury and severe blood loss.

Swiftly, his wounds are healed with your Stand. During the process, the hitman goes on confidently about how he beat the enemy to a bloody pulp. Though you quickly notice his boasting is just to distract himself from the pain.

After you’ve helped him with his injuries, you’re about to see the other hitmen, but Illuso quickly stops you.

The Italian shoots you again one of his self-assured grins and asks you to come sit next to him. With a sigh, you do as he told you.

Illuso mentions how you shouldn’t waste your time with the other members of the team, especially not on Christmas. After all, he could give you a much better time and already has a gift for you…

After all, Illuso knows exactly what you want for presents. He took his time observing you through your mirror to find out everything he needs to know about you.

You feel highly uncomfortable by his comment. So you decide to stand up and leave.

But before you could truly escape the situation, Illuso takes your arm with an iron grip. He discreetly nods at the mirror in the room.

You understand immediately the underlying threat. Not wanting to be dragged into the mirror world, you simply swallow the lump in your throat and sit down again. Internally, you curse your Stand, knowing that it is practically useless in a fight…

Illuso smiles at your compliance, a dark spark glimmering in his red eyes.

The brunette babbles about how he’s gonna make this Christmas perfect for you.

“Of course he was no match for Man in the Mirror. You should have seen how I disfigured his face.” “Sure, Illuso…”

“Why don’t you stay a bit? These men don’t deserve your attention. I can make this Christmas so much better for you, tesoro.”

Yan! Formaggio

Unlike the other members of the team, Formaggio comes with a crooked grin and cracking jokes when he perceives your form. Even though his bloody and bullet-ridden body was nothing to make fun of, you thought.

The Italian groans from time to time when you heal him,  but he secretly also relishes the fact that you touch him so freely.

He keeps on talking about how he can’t wait for the holidays to be over so that the football season can start again. You simply roll your eyes and smile mindlessly at his comment.

Though the young man must admit that he likes the thought of you curled up in your arms while watching a cheesy holiday film.

You nervously chuckle, hoping this was just another one of his jokes.

But the green eyes that stare intensely back at you do make it hard to believe so.

You utter an apology, saying you should see the other hitmen, but your movement is halted by Formaggio’s hand on your upper arm.

The Italian flashes you another grin, though it appears much more sinister this time.

He suggest to stay, having already found the perfect film to watch for you two. You are well aware of the fact that it’s a threat, recognising the menacing edge in his voice.

You aren’t sure how to react: should you risk it and leave or should you just stay?

In the end, much to Formaggio’s satisfaction, you decide to remain with him. After all, this couldn’t be so bad. You two are friends, this doesn’t lead to something more, right?

Meanwhile, the hitman already plans the next intimate moments between you, not taking in account whether you want this or not.

“Well, look at that Y/N, I do give my name much honour with these holes in my body!” “Please Formaggio, don’t joke about that! You could have died.”

“C’mon babe, it’s just a nice evening between us! It’s Christmas, share the spirit, be kind and stay with me.”

Yan! Prosciutto

If it wasn’t for the trail of blood, you wouldn’t have noticed that Prosciutto is injured.

As usual, the blond hides his pain by putting on a perfect stoic face.

You heal him with your Stand, Prosciutto being silent during the treatment. You are shocked to see that his wounds are so deep.

After the process, you ask him about the battle. The assassin quickly gives you all the important information about the enemy, though he reassures you that they are dead now.

Prosciutto has a hard time keeping his professional façade up around you: he can’t help but feel touched by your sincere worry.

Wanting to share the information with the rest of La Squadra, you intend to leave the room. Though Prosciutto’s voice cutting through the air, that leaves no room for disobedience, stops you from doing so.

The Italian confidently asks you out for dinner, wanting to indulge you with his favourite Christmas recipe.

You raise an eyebrow at that invitation, shooting a questioning look at your colleague.

Prosciutto is fully aware of his out of character action, but you made him react untypically more often then you knew: when he kept thinking about you instead of concentrating on his mission, when he kept photos of you in his room, when he imagined your lips on his…

You politely decline his kind offer, pretending you don’t want to bother him. But it’s more the fact that your gut feeling says that something is wrong about the hitman’s sombre gaze.

Prosciutto clicks his tongue at your reaction. He simply takes ungently your hand and drags you out of the room.

You try as best to fight against him, but your resistance turns out to be futile.

The blond is visibly annoyed by your fighting. With The Grateful Dead, he ages your soft hand, leaving it all wrinkled.

You stare at your hand in distraught. You’re smart enough to see the threat behind his action. So you let him drag you out, too scared to act up again.

“Prosciutto, are you alright? You never say when you’re hurt.” “Showing weakness would put a bad example, now wouldn’t it?”

“Why must you always be so stubborn? I just want to take you out for dinner, it’s not too much asked for.”

Yan! Pesci

Pesci groans when he enters the room. He hates to see you worried because of him, but the battle left him in an excruciating pain.

You patch the hitman up as fast as you can, using your Stand efficiently.

During the healing process, the Italian’s dark eyes glisten with something you recognise as affection. You feel uncomfortable under his stare and don’t know how to react. You simply shove it off as him being an emotional friend and man in general.

Though his following words make it clear that he thinks of you more than just a colleague or friend.

Pesci gathers up all his courage. Shyly, he asks you if you would like to spend the remainder of the evening by his side. You could maybe bake some Christmas biscuits, if you like!

Immediately, pity blooms in your chest. You don’t want to hurt his feelings, knowing that he already suffers enough under the sneers of your teammates.

Still, you decline his offer. After all, you don’t want to falsely lead him on… To make it alright, you offer him to do something together with the team instead.

Already being emotional, Pesci’s eyes start to water. He insists spending time with you alone, nearly begging you.

The Italian goes on then about how he can never spend time with you alone… He just wants to participate for once and not being able to watch you doing activities with other people.

Majorly distressed by what he’s just told you, you don’t hesitate a second to leave the room, all sympathy for him gone.

The assassin doesn’t follow you, lucky for you.

Again, Pesci is all by himself, without your presence. It’s going to be a lonely Christmas for him.

“Thank you so much for healing me, Y/N! You’re really like an angel.” “Oh stop it, you’re exaggerating…”

“Please, I’m begging you to stay! It’s going to be fun, I promise! I just want you all for myself, just for once.”

Yan! Melone

It’s untypical for Melone to actively engage in a battle. So when he comes back from the mission, being wounded severely, you are more than surprised.

Even though you tend to avoid the rather lecherous man for his inappropriate comments towards you, you don’t hesitate to heal him. After all, he’s still your teammate.

Seeing you so willingly tending his injuries seems like an open invitation for the assassin to continue his usual dirty talk with you (which of course it isn’t).

He bathes into your warm touch on his cool, naked skin, caused by the cold temperature outside.

You wrinkle your nose at his rather disgusting remarks, threatening him to just let him bleed out the next time, to which the Italian only laughs.

After you’ve fully healed him, you intend to immediately rush out of the room, desperate to create some space between you and Melone.

Your escape appears to be fruitless though as a gloved hand grips tightly on your upper arm. The hitman has surprisingly lots of strength for his slim build.

With eyes of a predator, Melone lets his gaze wander over your body, lust and darkness swirling in his blue eyes.

You are unaware of how much he has longed for a moment with you. He’s grown tired of you avoiding him. You’re his perfect match: the compatible birth charts, the messages from the tarot cards, all of it let to you being his. Or so it should be, in his mind.

You are repulsed by him and do your best to get off from his grasp on you.

Melone doesn’t mind your resistance, perceiving it only as an encouragement for his advances.

He rambles about how he’s got some fun Christmas games prepared for you. Though you definitely don’t want anything about the nature of these supposed games…

With one final push, you finally manage to get out of his hold, a scowl adorning your face. Throwing a rude comment at him, you eventually leave Melone and his creepy tendencies.

The Italian watches you storming off, a smirk on his face. He doesn’t worry about this incidence. He will get you afterwards, he’s made sure off it.

“You should touch me more often like that, amore.” “You’re disgusting Melone, next time I’ll leave you out to die.”

“I’ve got some special games for you prepared. And if you behave well, I make sure to give you a gift.” You get sick to your stomach at his words.

Yan! Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio seethes with anger as he stumbles through the door. Why did he have to get attacked this bad by the enemy? Though he’s more than proud to have annihilated them.

As you see the man clutching his wounded side enter, you make your way to him to heal him, earning a scornful look by the prideful Italian.

What you don’t know is that his ego is only that big because he wants, like Risotto, appear strong in front of you.

During the healing process, a string of insults escape the assassin’s mouth. You roll your eyes at the dramatic behaviour.

Ghiaccio has a hard time to express his affection for you. At first, he has been annoyed by you infiltrating his mind, but now he has grown tender to it. He wishes he could be more soft with you, but having his feelings under control has never been his strong suit. Though he wants to try it today, because what day could be better than Christmas?

You grow uncomfortable by the hitman’s intense gaze. Tentatively, you ask him if everything’s alright.

Ghiaccio snaps out of his thoughts. Impulsively, he just blurts out if you wanna spend Christmas with him.

He keeps on going, saying that he usually hates the cheesiness that comes with the holiday, but he would like to make it a nice experience for you, with him by your side…

You interrupt his rambling by saying that you already spend the holidays with your family off-base.

Hearing your answer, the assassin’s hot anger returns. He’s making an effort for you, could you not see that? Why would you decline his offer then?

You are about to leave him as suddenly ice hits your feet and legs and you are frozen to the floor, giving you no choice as to remain in the room.

Ghiaccio didn’t mean to use White Album on you, but he can’t help it if you act so stubborn and ungrateful. Now you would spend Christmas with him for sure.

“This little son of a-“ “Ghiaccio please, calm down.”

“Spend Christmas with me. I know, I hate this corny shit, but with you, it will be more bearable.”