#...again he isn't entirely sure what's going on most of the time

[eyes1nthewoods]

[thattimdrakeguy]

HOW TO DRAW THE ROBINS! What do the Robins look like? How are the Robins supposed to look!

It's me! A stranger on the internet with too much time and passion for Robins, once again, here to help you on your journey of understanding these beloved characters through these trying times.

Note: Most artists, especially modern artists, don't care about consistency. But maybe with some luck, we can get things back on track!

(I'm not gonna draw it though. I'm just gonna go back in time to when consistency mattered most to DC. After all Denny O'Neil not wanting to make people believe Dick traveled back and forth from New York to Gotham City all the time is how we got Jason Todd. Look it up.)

Let's learn how to keep track of who's who! And what which one of the original three are supposed to look like!

Why only the original three?

Because Steph is mostly consistent, and the other guy showed up during the Dan Didio era of DC, where consistency mattered not, as long as the edge lord head in charge was pleased. And changing the entire formatting of the post since I'd have to dig deeper to find the answers, would be way too much frustration for what it's worth.

Plus, it's easier to make the point using fewer artists that actually drew around the same time.

Also I shouldn't have to say this, but of course, these characters do age. But remember, when it comes to aging, your features don't just completely change, unless you had injury or plastic surgery. At least for most people.

Let's start with my personal favorite because he's easy to explain:

TIM DRAKE:

Here is your default Tim Drake. Drawn by George Perez who was brought back specifically for the Teen Titan issues of this story. Given that, I'm going to logically assume this is what Tim is meant to look like.

As you can see here, he has massive eyes, a soft face, high cheek bones, a buttoned upturned nose, a small mouth, and expressive eyes, with a hint of natural curls to his hair (though that detail would be forgotten since it's easy not to notice due to all the gel in his hair).

We can see this panel to panel in George Perez' own art.

Really note the nose here, because this often isn't depicted in modern art, yet was in truth, very specified.

I believe some people would call this a snub nose if you're into the world of feature identification--or plastic surgery. It's pretty much the Peter Pan nose if you understand more by relating it something else. You can also see more of the gentle waviness to his hair here as it's brushed back that would later be ignored since this detail is so missable initially.

He's also really f'n small for his age. He is 13-years-old, and all, but wow, that is one tiny kid.

These details are kept when Jim Aparo can be bothered to not draw the same face on everyone.

Again, note the very specified nose, and large bambi eyes. The high cheek bones, but general softness of the features. It's like he's a human kid trying to pull off the Puss in Boots trick to get his way into the Batcave to cater to his Batman and Robin fanboy desires.

Seriously, bring the nose back you animals, it's so distractingly noticeable, I'm not sure how people missed this detail when going back to research his appearance.

And since he is so young here, if you wanna know how to use his features in the context of him being older now. Ya don't really have to worry.

'Cause he evidentially don't look that much different. So you don't have to go too far with aging him up.

(He's only months away from 18 there for context.)

JASON TODD:

Poor Jason is gonna have to be compared to others more than anything, because he was a character originally created to be basically a duplicate of Dick Grayson in the silver age, and wasn't 'til after a whole freaking reboot did they try to give him his own personality, and even longer for his own appearance.

He's more notable for being the bigger, buffer Robin. Which is kind of funny, given he was a starving street kid. But this IS ACTUALLY consistent with how he's depicted in the Batman series itself, because he is shown casually working out his muscles. His appearance going from, just silver age Dick, into his own unique person. His head is the shape of a brick, he has tougher features, and more noticeable muscles.

His features are also clearly more mature than how Jim Aparo draws the other Robins.

But if you're drawing specifically Robin era Jason, don't go super far. He looks mature for his age--

But he's still identifiable as someone under the drinking limit during this time. So don't overexaggerate it too much. Keep it realistic. Some teens just do be looking more like slightly shorter adults.

Also, if you're one of those Jason fans that think him being cute is an actual trait he had because you're delirious (yeah, he had his moments of being a sweetheart, he's a good kid, it's why he's Robin. but don't lie to yourself, he isn't meant to be a cute character, not the more well-known post-crisis Jason anyways. there's a difference lmao)

I refuse to use this as an example of Jason's appearance. That's just silver age Dick.

Why would I want a character I love for how much of an individual he is compared to the other Bat-Family members to look like a clone, when they very quickly made the change to make him more of his own person. Is it weird they didn't change it right away? Yes. But whatever. It's very clearly a deliberate decision to change the way he looked. Especially in context that Jason became a homeless child, because his original origin of being another circus kid was way too goofily similar to Dick. Ya gotta have a context when inferring things.

This is literally Dick Grayson right here. Golden age Dick Grayson. You can't tell me that's not who they drew when drawing Jason in the beginning.

Even has that creepy tiny nose that I guess was the style at the time. Same head shape, same hair.

So, yes, I'm going to be using what Jason looked like when they gave him a unique appearance. Why would I not?

DICK GRAYSON:

He's friggin' Dick Grayson, man. How did you make it this far if you don't know what he looks like?

If you want you can go with creepy tiny nose, pencil drawn eyebrow Dick if you want, but that's more of a 'of the times' art style thing since things were a little more comic-strip style back then.

But I'll use the 80s because it's a decade more focused on realistic drawings, with just a dab of exaggeration to keep things looking super.

And if ya wanna know what he's supposed to look like as a younger Robin, gasp, he's just supposed to look like how he does but younger. They don't overcomplicate it, probably because they gave Jason Dick's golden age hair, because nothing creepy about forcing your new adopted son to look like your old ward, Batman.

Where Tim is small for his age, and Jason after eating a mean diet of pure protein or something is big for his age (I'm assuming. They couldn't even make up their mind on Jason's age. Which is why you'll find a lot of contradicting depictions of Robin Jason), Dick is more so just your average height.

Lean muscle you can notice through a shirt, but not a body builder. Stylish hair for the time.

He's the Robin that actually is a pretty boy. He's not ruggedly handsome, he's not soft to the touch cute. Just some well-proportioned and well-angled features that would equal someone handsome in any decade.

Why is the most famous Robin last? Because he's almost always drawn right, because comic artists instincts is to make the character very attractive. And since that's what Dick's suppose to look like, hard to mess that up too far from the point.

NOW OF COURSE

Times have past, and it's not the 80s anymore. You can't just inhale copious amounts of cocaine in the office and get a promotion for it. It's not those days anymore. I'm sorry, but it's true. Perms are back, yes, but none of these guys had a perm.

You're gonna want to modernize them. And have fun with figuring out what that'd be for each of them.

They all just kind of dressed them the same at this point, which they still kind of do. I guess Robin's have a uniform even outside of patrol work.

But feel free to make them individuals, and try to figure out what hair they would have nowadays. Just keep the features right, and the heart accurate if ya wanna do an accurate depiction of them.

As a generalization Tim wears comfy clothes and sweaters, this has gone from sweater vests with the sleeves cut off to oversized sweaters in the modern day so just give him trendy sweater fashion really is the consistency. Dick tries to be trendy generally speaking, and dresses mostly smart with a dab of bad ass cool just please do a good job and don't seem like an old man trying to be with the youths like some of those crummy 90s art depictions. And Jason of course when he came back from the dead got a leather addiction.

So have fun with your new Robin knowledge, if you weren't already in the know!

Or don't, I'm not your boss.

I'd appreciate it though.

[demonslayedher]

Things that went through my head while watching this episode (in 2025!)

--Everybody's faces in this arc are dough. It was Gotouge's dough period. Dough and googly-eyes. And some more tongues and teeth than usual for fun. Gotta keep pushing Zenitsu to more powerful levels.

--And Ufotable was like, "Maybe Sensei can get away with this in little tiny manga panels, but we are known for how hard we go on animation. Uhhhh..."

--"Don't worry, we can do this. We are going to honor the dough faces. We are gonna honor those bug-eyed dough faces so hard. Enough to justify 8 whole episodes of runtime."

--"Yes, but how? By slowing everything down? By adding filler?"

--"By... by drowning Zenitsu!!"

--"OHHHH!!!! Shimono-san will surely make a masterpiece of this!!! Get Hanae-san in there too!"

--"We can't drown Tanjiro! That's not allowed!"

--"No!! It will be silly! It will be so silly as he tries to save Zenitsu. They will be blubbering and chanting sutras and screaming all at once. It will be amazing. And it's going to work BECAUSE of the dough faces. And because we are Ufotable, the water is going to be beautiful."

--"Ohhhhh!!!! Genius!!!"

--But still, it is not as good at Tanjiro BRINGING INOSUKE BACK FROM THE BRINK OF DEATH. You know, that thing that just casually happens sometimes. Casual for everyone except Tanjiro, who is traumatized by it every time.

--One of my very favorite Gotouge doodles is Himejima smashing Inosuke's head to the ground. What a statement.

--Gosh, this made me want to go stand in a waterfall so bad. (Unfortunately, every time I have tried, the weather did not cooperate. Like, either flooding or waterfalls left at their driest in ten years. Nature does not want me to be cool.)

--Murata works so hard.

--So does Nakime, and she gets praised for it.

--Love using the crows flying overhead to announce when parts of the training are done.

--I love the added detail of all these guys who haven't given up on the training having a bunch of scars. They may not be on Tanjiro's level, but gosh dang it, they have survived for a reason. I wonder if (and where, and when?) we'll be seeing them later?

--It hits SO HARD to see Genya just... be normal.

--When he's not freaking out in understandably stressful situations or acting like a scared animal backed into a corner and trying to puff himself up to look like a threat, Genya is... a pretty normal dude.

--He could have just lived a peaceful, normal dude life and that would have been fine. Everyone would have been happy for him.

--The way that he can Tanjiro can just talk instead of bring out each other's stupidest sides and react to one another (ala Kamaboko style) is so refreshing. My gosh.

--And then they meet up again later and just. Go back to simple talking. The most low-stress interactions these two have in the whole series, with just about anyone as their interlocutor.

--Genya is just so wonderfully chill when his anxiety isn't getting the best of him (anxiety can often take the form of anger, and I think that is where a lot of Genya's defensiveness stems from).

--Himejima spying on the boys AND NOT BEING NOTICED AT ALL is so my jam. Like, this time time, Himejima is just doing his own thing. At some point he leaves the mountain entirely to go visit Kagaya. The crows are the ones overseeing the completion of the training. Himejima isn't even supervising. He's just pushing his own rocks in the background. Lighting himself on fire because whatever, it's got nothing to do with those guys' waterfall meditation. (Tanjiro is sure gonna get lucky that Himejima happened to be around when he is dying of thirst... again.)

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Guys what if the skellie and their S/O were doing something, chatting or whatever and their 6 year old kid thats very curious walks up behind said skeleton

And grabs their spine to see what happens

Bonus: they begin shaking it (or trying to)

An ask for the main guys!

Undertale Sans - He stiffens in surprise, and quickly puts a hand behind his back, relaxing when he notices it's just his child. Sans doesn't like to be touched out of nowhere, but he's more tolerant with his family. He doesn't give more attention to this and goes back to talking.

Undertale Papyrus - He yelps, surprised, then blushes, embarrassed about the sound. He didn't mean to do that. No big deal though. He tells his child to give him a warning next time, which would be appreciated.

Underswap Sans - He wiggles his butt awkwardly, trying to get his kid to let go while still focusing on what his S/O is saying, which is harder than it looks. Eventually, he snaps and hisses, "STOP IT," before yanking them out from behind his back.

Underswap Papyrus - That's fine. Honey is used to this and lets the kid explore. He twitches a little when they start to shake his pine like some toy, but he tries to ignore the discomfort. Honey is the most patient guy ever.

Underfell Sans - He jumps in surprise the first time, then asks them to please not do that. The kid just found his reaction funny and does it again the second he has his back turned. Red just sighs in defeat and lets them do whatever they want to do. He has no authority whatsoever.

Underfell Papyrus - He keeps talking, but gives THE look to his child, who quickly understands it's best to drop it if they don't want Edge to get mad and put them in time out. The kid just looks at him sheepishly, nervous.

Horrortale Sans - Yeah, that's a no. Bear is too gentle to tell them to stop, though, so he just picks them up. You're in air jail now. The kid pouts, wiggling their legs in frustration, but Oak's grip can't be corrupted. You lost your spine-shaking privileges.

Horrortale Papyrus - He winces in pain, but refrains from slapping whatever is touching his spine. It's a very sensitive area of his body, and he really didn't like it. He immediately reminds his child that his back is hurting and that he would appreciate them not doing it again.

Swapfell Sans - The kid keeps tugging on his spine, clearly trying to get his attention, but Nox is talking with the Queen and doing his best to not let anything break his focus, even if it means the Queen can see his spine wiggling behind him. You're so getting lectured once he's done, though.

Swapfell Papyrus - Rus grabs his child by the spine and like the good father he is, carries them like a handbag in front of him, asking them if they think this is fun. Because, buddy, that sure isn't. Spines are sensitive, keep your hands to yourself, thank you.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He tssks, then slaps his kid's hand away from his spine. He won't hesitate to do it as many times as it is necessary for them to get the message. Well, until he runs out of patience, that is, grabs their soul with blue magic and puts them in air jail so they can't reach him again. He never stops talking with his S/O the entire time.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He whimpers pitifully, begging his S/O with puppy eyes to do something. He knows the kid won't listen to him but they listen to you, so please help him, he's begging you. He doesn't like it.

[kermdoeswriting]

Don't Call Me That

Dick isn't entirely sure what it is about their newest teenaged recruit Phantom, but the guy absolutely gives him the creeps.

He knows it isn't the implication of a realm of ghosts being a real thing, no matter how much that implication has rattled his brain. But it is something, something else.

There was just some kind of certain air surrounding Phantom that tended to put Dick on edge whenever they're near each other.

It also doesn't help that the guy has the tendency to do things normal people wouldn't really do. Things like talking to the empty air like he's having a genuine conversation or staring off into one spot of the room like a cat watching a corner of the wall while hunting.

Things like bringing sudden chills to Dicks skin whenever he passes by or the way he seems to constantly breathe out cold air like a dragon for the fun of it.

Dick has caught him doing all of these things multiple times and most times, despite scaring him slightly, they were just harmless things about his newest team-mate.

But right now it wasn't really about that at all. Right now he's more annoyed than afraid of him.

For some reason recently, Phantom has been greeting him by his old hero persona rather than his new one. And its been eating at Dick every single time it happens, being reminded of the time he had first switched costumes and names to distance himself from Batman as a whole.

Except this time the person saying it had never even MET him in his original suit, so having Phantom calling him Robin was aggravating him faster than any of the other more important issues he should be dealing with were.

Dick originally attributed to it possibly being some sort of hero worship that he was going through, an attempt to impress him with his past history as knowledge. God knows, Tim wasn't any better when he had first met the poor kid at his doorway all those years ago.

But then Phantom had revealed that he hadn't even known Gotham was a real city nor did he know who Batman was up until a few months ago. That had set Dicks mental alarm bells off all over again.

It was weird all over and since it was just outright weird, Dick had decided to pull him aside to talk to the younger teen about it.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't call me by that name, Phantom" He had started off, watching as Phantom went through confused faces to figure out what this conversation was about. Dick just continued on.

"The name, Robin, is just really special to me and my family. And I stopped going by that name years ago, it would feel wrong to be called that again when I've outgrown it."

Phantom looked less confused now as it seemed to click altogether about what he had been talking about. The teen tilted his head at him, looking over him for a second before doing another one of his cat stares at the dead air behind him.

Dick just sighed for a moment but watched as Phantom came back into focus and genuinely looked somewhat apologetic.

"I'm sorry," Phantom started off sheepishly, eyes looking towards the floor for a second before looking back at his. "I didn't know you both went by that name at some point. I had mostly been greeting the little ghost attached to your side, not you, sir"

Dick froze at the wording, looking at Phantom with wide eyes. Phantom just continued without even looking at him.

"He always seems to be around you a lot and he was excited when he realized I could see him so I started greeting him whenever he was with you. I'm sorry if it made you uncomfy doing so."

Dicks breath hitched a bit before eventually choking out all the questions he had trapped in his throat. The suddenness made Phantoms eyes land back on his face again.

"What... What little boy? Did he say his name? What was he wearing?"

Phantom tilted his head again at Dick, looking more confused at Dicks confusion.

"What do you mean? It's Robin wearing the Robin costume?"

Phantom suddenly looked over to the dead air behind him again for a second, nodding his head and humming a bit before turning his attention back to Dick.

"He told me to say 'Big Bird you're such a dolt' to you. I don't know what that means but-"

Dick couldn't hear anything else Phantom was even saying to him. His breathing stopped and all he could feel was a small chill behind him, seemingly surrounding him in a small way that reminded him of a certain boys hug.

"Jason?"

[libraford]

The word 'rural' is in the public consciousness again and every time people start going in about the 'rural values' 'rural way of life' I remember just how subjective that word is.

I have a friend that lives in LA. He considers Columbus, OH to be 'rural.' A population of over 900k. Thriving arts community, tons of culture festivals, every kind of restaurant you can think of, one of the most annoying college campuses ever, several smaller colleges, lots of queer spaces, comic book conventions, huge concerts... rural.

The town I live in considers itself 'rural.' 38k population. Arts festival every year, a small pride celebration, monthly gallery hop, big Halloween festival. Five ice cream shops, three coffee shops, a couple fancy bars, so many grocery stores. Huge library, conservation and sustainability advocates, queer spaces, a hospital, one private college. Rural.

The town we nearly annexed, but lost the deal considers us 'urban' compared to them. Less than 5k. They have a limited hospital, often send their surgeries here. Downtown has hardware store, bars, craft supply store, a couple grocery stores, pizza places. There's some farmland, but much of the square acreage is golf. Mega churches. The houses here are 500k. Most people drive ATVs. They have a handful of festivals in the summer.

A town I would often get sent to to cover their high school sports- a little over 2k. There's a Subway, a Domino's, Family Dollar. Some bars, some corner stores. Some local crafts. All the students grow up knowing each other, most of them stay there. But they have craft fairs and art galleries, still.

Less rural still than the town I go through to get there, population of around 600. Houses, farmland, post office, general store.

Who would still look down upon the town of about 400 that I would go to sometimes- post office. Gas station. Bar. The school is the only big thing there.

And yet still, I have seen towns with population in the double digits that have a church and a post office.

Even just looking at the numbers doesn't lend accuracy to what 'rural' actually looks like. Because this is what it looks like in ohio, but it's different in West Virginia- where your closest neighbor might be a mile down a hill. Or in Montana, where your town might be planned very tightly and your neighbors are very close, but the nearest grocery store is an hour and a half away. These are places I've been, friends that I've talked to. I've never been to Missouri or Alabama or Louisiana- I'm sure they have a unique experience of being 'rural.'

So my point is that when people talk about 'the rural experience' or 'rural values,' they are talking about millions of people across the entire country who all have lived unique lives- and who may not even agree on what 'rural' is.

Think about who is talking, and who is being talked over, and who isn't even being asked to join the conversation.

[enigmaris]

If Lois Lane had a nickle for every time she had to help an overpowered boy from the midwest with the power of journalism, she'd have two nickles. Which isn't a lot but its weird that its happened twice.

Danny watched as Lois pulled out her phone and pulled up a recording app.

“What are you doing?”

“You came to a journalist and are surprised to get an interview?” She asked him, her tone clearly joking. “What you’ve given me here is great kid, but newspaper clippings and copies of federal laws don’t get the public’s attention. I need a story, Phantom’s the story.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

Lois looked at him, less than impressed. Slowly, she turned the screen of her computer until it was visible to both of them. There, in full clarity, was a front-page story from his hometown newspaper. ‘Danny Phantom saves Bus Full of Children!’ and there was a picture of him in his ghost form, his face crystal clear on her screen.

"Phantom’s a ghost. I’m just a dumb kid.” Danny tried again.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand and muttered to herself.

“Why do all you midwestern boys have the same schtick?”

“I’m sorry?” Danny said, unsure if he should be apologizing or not.

“Changing your last name from Fenton to Phantom does not a secret identity make kid. It might work for most civilians, but anyone familiar with the hero game will clock you from a mile away.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

“Sure, kid. But I’m sure you have a way for me to interview him, right? Because I want to talk to him before I do anything else about your town.”

Danny hugged himself and looked down at his knees.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Wonder Woman’s is paper thin. I'm pretty sure most people in DC know who she is outside of the cape and just don’t say anything because she scares them.”

Danny snorted involuntarily at that, looking back up at the woman.

“What’s going on in your town, Phantom? Why come to a journalist and not the Justice League?”

“The Anti-Ecto Acts got passed like a year ago. They state that only being that produces or contains ectoplasm above a certain amount is considered non-sapient and is to be turned over to the government for disposal.” Danny said. “I put the whole thing in there for you to read, but it's long. Amity Park has a lot of ectoplasm in it. It's seeped into the air and water. Normal human people have it in them now. At first, those agents were just firing at me whenever I finished a ghost fight. I could deal with that. Their aim is terrible anyway. But then they figured out that humans can become contaminated with ectoplasm. They decided that meant the entire town was under their jurisdiction. They've decided that means that no one in town counts as human anymore, that we don’t have rights, that they’re doing us a favor by not just exterminating the entire town like the law says.”

Danny leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk in front of Lois Lane. He looked right into her bright eyes and spoke seriously.

“When it was just ghosts under attack, I didn’t think anyone would care. I’ve tried calling the Justice League for help, but they’ve brushed me off. People need to know what’s happening. Anyone can become ecto-contaminated. You just have to be in the right place at the wrong time. It’s not right what’s happening to Amity, Miss Lane. I came to you because if anyone could get the world to listen, to believe, then it's got to be you.”

And Lois Lane smiled. It was a proud, eager smile. The kind of smile Danny had seen on Sam right after she convinced the school to serve a vegan lunch. He barely held back from shivering.

“Well then, Mr. Phantom.” Lois said, before tapping onto the recording app on her phone and starting a recording. “Let’s begin.”

[lostrologyy]

himbo!james potter x fem!reader

cw: smut. kissing. spit. biting. unprotected sex. praise if you squint. manhandling. doggy style, headlock & missionary (I'M OVULATING OKAY?). orgasm denial (just once). james's biceps 'cause they need their own warning. size difference.

a/n: something different while I'm working on a longer fic for my brahms!simon au. as always, any feedback is very much appreciated¡! english isn't my first language. not proofread.

it is common knowledge that james’ head is empty most of the time, aside from working out and you, there's nothing else that ocuppies his mind as much as you would think.

except when he’s capable of combining his two favorite things together — kinda.

“yeah, just like that pretty boy. fucking me so- ah!, soso good.” your mouth barely forms a few words before james shoves your face against the pillow, his hard grip on the base of your neck almost distracting you from the hard slaps of his hips against yours echoing in the room.

“ah- ah- I just, I just need- oh fuck!" he takes you by the waist and pushes you against his hard body so you are kneeling before him, with his sculpted chest against your back.

"mhm, jamie!" you whine.

filthy sounds fill the air as you hear the squealching of your dripping pussy around james' dick, and you're sure that if you caught a glance of it you'd see a creamy ring forming at the base of his cock. you shiver at the thought.

from this angle you can feel every vein as his girth goes in and out of you at a brutal, almost desperate pace.

the hold in your waist tightens and you're certain he's gonna leave some colourful bruises that will last a few days. not that it matters anyway, he's gonna replace them tomorrow, then the day after, and then the day after that one, he's gonna make sure that you don't spend a single day from the rest of your lives without any marks presenting you as his property, just as much as he is yours.

"mhm! not enough, want you closer." his hot breath hits your right ear just before one of his hands leaves your waist.

"what-? what are you- ugh!" out of the sudden james' arm enters your vision as he wraps it around your neck, covering it entirely along with a part of your face.

"mhm, pretty." he whimpers as his free hand lowers to pinch your clit.

your body spams as you start to feel the pressure of your orgasm building up deep in your core. james' attention to you clit mixed with his nearly inhuman thrusts make your vision go white. it's so overwhelming that you don't even realize the moment you open your mouth and sink your teeth around jamie's bicep. not so hard to break skin but it is obviously gonna leave a trace.

abruptly, he gets out of you and his fingers disappear from your clit, leaving a tingling sensation along with a frustated orgasm.

"nonono james! I was so close! what the-" more whines escape your throat before he takes you by the waist again, turns you around and pushes you in your back.

you watch how he grips his hard cock in his fist, the shaft covered and glistening from your own wetness and the tip already leaking precum.

he slaps his girth agaisnt your clit a few times, making you squirm, then puts himself at your entrance and reanudates his in-and-out feral pace, gently stroking at your sensible nub again and hitting that spongy spot inside you that always makes you see stars.

"ah! love you, soso much. c'me here!" he towers over you and grips your cheeks with his hand, your mouth forms an adorable pout and james finds it impossible to resist. without breaking his brutal assault at your pussy, he gets closer to your face and spits directly between your lips, he watches how the liquid hits your tongue and then you swallow, opening your mouth again so that he can check you did it well.

you start feeling the pressure of your orgasm again, this time more powerful, and you can't help the meowls and moans that leave you as your pussy spams around james' cock.

"jamie! i'm cuming! be a good boy, baby, be- ah! be a good boy and- and let me cum, please!" james feels your warm walls tighten around his aching dick as the orgasm finally hits you, and in a couple of seconds he can't contain himself anymore.

"angel, i'm cumming!, please let me come inside you, pleasepleaseplease"

"cum inside me, jamie, fill me up!" as soon as you command it, he grabs you by the neck and crashes his lips agaisnt yours. he instantly comes inside your warmth and you feels his seed paint you walls white. all while swallowing his moans and groans of pleasure with the kiss.

you stay like that for a while, kissing with him inside and on top of you. under the effects of the post-orgasm haze, james lays his head on top on your chest, his breath still heavy from all the adrenaline of the bone crashing sex you just had. your hand goes to his head and sweeps his hair off his sweaty forehead. you give him a kiss in that same spot.

"did so good for me, baby. my pretty, lovely boy." he just nods at you and nuzzles his head deeper in your chest, falling asleep with a feeling of safety only you can provide him.

lostrologyy © 2025.

[militaryapple]

AINT NOBODY TAKIN' YOU AWAY FROM ME.

sypnosis. going to an event with caleb was supposed to be fun - but teasing him & making him upset is even more fun!

cw. fem!reader, degradation, fingering, pet names (usage of wife, husband, baby & honey), somewhat voyeurism, p in v stay protected babes. aw hes like really insane i love u babe  

add ons. for @rcvcgers #1 supporter and bestie i know ur reading this btw stupid says what? lol i got u LMAOOO

wc. 2k

"you aren't going - no." caleb scowled. he looked at you, his gaze looking you up and down, scoffing. "cmon pip-squeak, you really don’t believe in taking you to the fleet’s get together. you remember what happened last time - i can’t let it happen again. stupid mistake of me.” he waved you away and you couldn’t help but letting out a ‘hmph!’ noise. so what you could’ve died? you do that all the time - it’s literally your job.

“you’re doing it again” you nudged him. “you don’t need to protect me, i can handle myself just fine caleb. also, it was just an unfortunate event that happened. even if i don’t leave with you i’ll find a way in.” you chipped. you notice caleb clenching his fists and dating his eyes around his uniform. he was thinking.

caleb turned to you, sighing.

“you aren’t leaving my side.” his gaze shifting away from you.

“wasn’t planning on it.” you squeezed his shoulder before walking away.

it took you a while to find an outfit. black? god that was plain, green? too much. through all the tossing and 'eughs' you finally found the dress. it was gorgeous. a red dress, long and silky, how It seemed just so right for a day like this. honestly you were a bit proud of yourself for having something like this in your closet, you didn't expect it but it was a pleasant surprise.

when you walked out the door, caleb tensed. god how he wanted to ravish you in that moment. how pretty you looked and how the dress connected to every single curve in your fucking body. the way it made your face pop out more, your hair done and set. how couldn't help but think about how much he wanted to ruin you. that pretty face, that hair, and the dress that hanged perfectly over you.

his pants tightened, and he let out a shaky sigh.

"so how do I look?" you spun around happily. for him? you were beautiful. you couldn't compete with anyone in the world - no the entire fucking galaxy. his pretty little thing, how he hated the thought of other men looking at you. he knows them, he knows what vile nasty things lay in their mind. yet he was no better than them when it came to you. the only difference is that, he had you. they didn't.

when you both left the house caleb made sure you were well protected. he stood by you, never leaving your side. his eyes staying around pretty you. it made you feel somewhat excited. come on, you dressed down like some actress going to an award winning show! well.. the fleet gala and an award show were practically the same thing! pearls, jewels, and a personal bodyguard? you were living THE life.

by the time you and caleb arrived, the scene was beautiful. the building was glistening, while you could see people come in and out of the large doors. caleb stood at the door, helping you out before leaning down to your ear. "beautiful isn't it? I know. I need you to remember to stick with me." he tugged on you.

you latched your arm around his and in you went. it was loud, bustling and most of the things you didn't understand. caleb was in a conversation, looking over at you occasionally to make sure you were okay. god you were BORED. you knew it would be a little boring but not this bad.

after a while you had slipped away, getting a drink. Caleb followed loosely behind you just to keep you in eyesight. so when he saw some random guy walk up to you, he couldn't help but tense. fuck, but it was impolite to step away from a conversation.

at first, you weren't interested. you were happily with your date, yet you couldn't help the fact that caleb looked like he was going to tear the poor guy to shreds, or the fact that you loved making caleb angry.

you started sipping on your drink, turning to the man and talking to him. he complimented your dress and you were sooo flattered. your face smiley and happy - while caleb couldn't do anything but clench his fist. he hated how happy you seemed with some other man. how polite you could be with someone while he wasnt there.

god.

did you know what that man was thinking? how nasty and vile he wanted to get with you? you weren't fucking stupid, you knew. you fucking knew how badly that man wanted to take advantage of you, yet here you were. feeding right into it. the thought just making calebs blood boil.

the man had gotten closer to you, too close for caleb's liking. putting his hand around your arm, how he moved around your body. not touching you - but enough to know that he was trying to make a move on you. caleb scoffed, this was as much as he could take. he needed to shut this down.

caleb made his way towards you, grabbing your drink from your hands and coming between you and the filthy man. "I'm sorry honey, i got a little caught up." he smiled, towards you. turning back to the man. "i hope my wife didn't cause too much trouble for you." he looked down at the man in front of him. with that, he scattered away. leaving only you and caleb.

he was quick to grab your arm and bring you to his office. closing the door and locking it. you didn't know he had an office here - was this his building? you moved back, shaking him off. "what? we were having a friendly conversation." you pout out.

caleb scoffed at you little act, grabbing your arms and pushing you against the wall, his hand behind your head making sure you didn't hurt yourself. "don't you fucking do that. he wouldn't have let you go if I didn't introduce you as my wife." caleb scowled. he moved back, pressing his hands against his temples.

"we're going home, I cant trust you here." caleb turned, making his way back to the hallways. you rushed to him, grabbing his arm and tugging him back. "it'd be a bad look for the colonel to send his wife back home. you don't want them targeting me and thinking that I'm weak, right?" he stopped and stiffened. turning back to you. you didn't realize how tall caleb was until he was actually towering over you.

he let out a simple "ha", looking away then back at you. "target you? are they really stupid enough to target someone I call my wife? how about I show them who you belong to. so when you go home, people know exactly who you're with." caleb grabbed your arms and moved you to his desk, sitting you up on it before kissing you. he didn't waste time having his hands around your body.

"caleb," you whimpered, holding his back and digging into his uniform. "we shouldn't be doing this here" you wiggle under him, yet his hand keeps you seated on his desk. he moved back away from you, "so then tell me to stop, baby." is hands moved under your dress, feeling around your thigh before moving up to your panties rubbing small circles around your cunt.

he leaned down to your neck, biting and sucking on it while his fingers rubbed your nub. "no one can make you feel like this anyways, it was stupid of you to even try to provoke me." he whispered, moving up and kissing around your face. you whined and jolted at his touch, looking at him.

caleb looked back at you, his hand that was once on your hip now caressing your face. "oh baby," he coo's "what's the matter? is your husband making you feel good?" his face feigned uneasiness, while his fingers poked and rubbed your soaking heat. you nodded in response, grabbing on to his arm and clutching it tightly. "wait baby please 'm gonna," you begged out, eyes starting to tear up.

he wiped your face, coo'ing you. "go ahead, cum for me, let the whole building know how good your husband makes you feel." he hummed. he moved you up and flipped you over. your head pushed down on his desk while your legs dangled off it, pushing your panties to the side. "what? come on honey, you didn't think that was it right? what about me? and you're not even well prepared yet." he sighed.

his hands rubbed your slick, then he put one digit in your cunt, then another. his pace was agonizingly slow as he pumped in and out of you. it practically made you sob. you begged for him to go faster, to make you feel any better, yet your pleas were ignored. caleb laughed, holding your back down.

"after that little show? why should I make you feel good?" he scoffed, his fingers slipping out of your wet cunt. "no! please, please baby make me feel good - we'll have a little family, yeah? my husband."

it was like something in caleb had turned, he slid his fingers back inside your needy cunt, stretching you. you coated his digits with each slip. his hands moving faster making you shake and grab on to the desk. with that, caleb had slipped out his fingers and you could hear shuffling in the back.

he undid his belt, pulling out his cock. he lined himself up before planting a kiss on your neck. "need you to relax for me okay hon? just for a moment." with that, he slid himself in. his pace slow as he thrusted into you. oh fuck the feeling of you making him want to cum on the spot.

he couldn't help but think of you, with his kids and a ring on your finger, calling him your husband for real. fuck, he would love that. love a little family with just you and hi,. you couldn't need to go anywhere - you wouldn't need anyone else. just him and you.

calebs hands made their way to your hips, pulling you back on his cock. "fuck baby," he groaned. "cant wait to make you mine, show everyone who you fucking belong to - who you need." he whined. he leaned down, biting your shoulder and neck, kissing and licking over the spots.

"my pretty wife," he moaned, moving your hair away from your face while he picked up the pace. he didn't care who heard you both - fuck he didn't even care about the event. so what if people heard? you were his wife. he could touch you, make you feel good. no one could make you feel the way he does and you know it. he's made sure of it.

his hands slipped under your dress, he fondled your bra, then your tits. they were so soft, and just right for him. fuck he loved that about you. he loved everything about you.

he loved your scent, how you talked and stood for yourself, how you make sure he's okay daily and how fucking good you can make him feel - how he thinks about you every time he's in the office bathroom trying to make himself feel good. you were crucial to his life.

his pace quickened and you whined "baby - wait - cum gonna cum soon," you moaned, hearing this caleb moved a hand down to your sobbing cunt, rubbing your nub while his hips slammed into you.

you tensed around him, your eyes rolling back as your legs curled up. god did he make you feel good. "my husband - fuck fuck i love you." you groaned before twitching. caleb rolled his hips, smacking against you before slowing down and kissing your body all over. then fixing your dress.

"once you go home, wait for me honey, okay? i'll be home with some extra things for me and you." he said, kissing your cheeks then lips. he moved away getting some towels for you and water, fixing himself before leaving.

yeah - maybe you could get used to being a housewife.

[prlssprfctn]

I awfully need a fic, where Jason gets drugged by a big dose of fear toxin and starts seeing Joker's hallucination around — kind of like Bruce in Arkham Knight game, you know — and everyone is just... confused what to do with all of it?

They can't really produce antidote because it would fuck up his mind more, so he is stuck in the cave for the next 24 hours, and no one is leaving, because they can't allow Jason to go through this alone. Again.

Jason tries to put a brave face of course (god, he is THE Red Hood, one of the most influential people in the Gotham, he can't be afraid of a stupid clown–) but the more hours pass, the less he can control his fear or anxiety. Instead of pacing around like a ghost — he did that in the first four hours — he sits down on the couch, hugs himself, and starts answering to Joker?

Yeah, he knows he is not real. He understands that feeding hallucination with conversations will not help — and Dick, the ultimate expert in handling hallucinations, really, gave him some tips on what to do — but he can't just ignore it now.

He is too scared.

He remembers what comes if he flips off Joker or stops playing by his rules, alright?

"Knock, knock!"

Joker's face is as pale and terrifying as Jason remembers it to be. And maybe it is hallucination, but he still can feel his panted, hot breath on his ear.

He is alone, of course. Or not entirely alone, but others would notice if Joker was really here, right?

"Who is this?" He whispers, sensing his family tensing a little, not being sure what to expect.

Jason either argues with his hallucination or asks to stop. Or maybe just wordlessly scraps on his temples or cheek, in the place the J scar used to be, before the Lazarus Pit erased it from his body completely, leaving no traces.

"The stray dog that can't bark! Do you know why it can not bark, Jayjay?"

"I don't fucking know," he murmurs, but the fiericness with which he screamed at this man for hours now is gone; he sounds tired even to his own ears, and it is embarrassing. "Tell me."

"Because I broke its bones with a crowbar, silly!~" Joker shakes his shoulders, and Jason can practically feel the familiar ache of shattered bones. "It– Ahahah, it is too hurt to bark! It can only whine!"

Jason laughs.

His facial expression doesn't really change — he is still frowning a little — but he laughs with a painful wheeze. Joker is pleased enough to sigh dreamily in his ear.

Good job, Jason.

"What so funny?" Dick asks carefully, a patient smile on his face — he has been trying to distract him with conversations the most; Bruce prefers to keep his silence, and Tim thinks accidental physical touches help more than talking.

"He just said a joke," Jason shrugs weakily.

"Tell it to them," Joker orders. "Let us all laugh."

He doesn't really want to. But he can't disobey. He can't allow himself to die again, and–

"Knock, knock," he clears up his throat.

"Who is this?" Tim echoes, turning his chair to him, smart eyes scanning him up and down.

"The stray dog that can't bark," Jason tugs the tips of his own hair. "Do you know why it can not bark?"

Bruce tenses in his chair. He tenses in a way, Jason thinks, he already knows this joke; he has already heard it before. He almost looks as if he wants to stop him, cut mid-sentence.

But for some reason, he doesn't.

"Uh, why?" Dick tilts his head.

"Because my– its bones are broken," Jason stutters. "You know, dogs can't really bark when they are hurt? Just whine."

He can't bring himself to laugh again, even though Joker keeps giggling over and over.

"That's not funny, Jay," Tim murmurs.

"Yeah. I guess it isn't. But if I don't laugh, he'll get the crowbar again, and I really, really want to keep barking," Jason smiles.

He tries to ignore pitful glances of his family members, and the torture continues. No one breaks his bones this time, but Jason still whines when Bruce hugs him by the end of the night, pressing to his chest.

Joker is not here anymore, but Jason still can hear his taunting whisper, somewhere in the back of his head.

You will die his son.

[life-is-more-than-just-a-game]

Can you make a jealous chishiya? Where chishiya tells the reader to thet information about arisu but the reader and arisu gets along prety well and chishiya gets jealous? Thank you.

♠️ Chishiya being jealous about you and Arisu getting along pretty well ♠️

A/N: Hey, sorry for letting you wait so long. Maybe you have already forget that you wrote me this request but I like the idea behind it, so I decided to make this my "comeback". 👀

I'm actually not sure if I understood it the correct way, but I definitely understood you want a Chishiya who is jealous about the fact Arisu and you are get along splendidly. 😋

Hopefully it reaches you and I also hope you will enjoy reading this. ♥️

Characters: Chishiya

POV: gn!reader

Warnings: Not given.

C h i s h i y a

I don't see him being a jealous person actually.

Unless you give him a reason to ...

Chishiya isn't even a person who falls in love easily.

But when he is falling for someone, he falls pretty hard.

So, you have to deal with his feelings and his behavior when he sees you together with Arisu, chatting and laughing together as if there would be no tomorrow.

Okay, to be fair, nobody knows if there would be a "Tomorrow" ... but that's something different!

Arisu may be a great help to him when it comes to collecting all the cards, but sometimes Chishiya thinks Arisu is his downfall.

Especially when it comes to you.

Yeah, but don't think he will talk about it- he is more concerned with hiding his feelings from you than actually speaking about them.

Even if you already have realized something isn't okay with him, he wouldn't admit it.

"I'm used to it that you are not talking much when there is nothing important to discuss about." "I can hear your "but" even though you didn't said it yet." "Then guess what I wanted to say next." "I don't have any problems, I feel fine, no worries."

Nobody said it would be easy with him. He can be as cold as he looks and it's hard seeing through him, even for you.

Still, he can be a calm and cool person as much as he wants- but he's just a human being. You can endure a lot, but at some point everyone reaches their limits.

You and Arisu are talking a lot? Fine.

Arisu makes a joke you find funny, so he watches both of you laughing and having fun with each other? Alright, you aren't his trophy, everyone can have other friends next to his own partner.

But seeing both of you hugging after a game ...

Because you saw someone die in front of your eyes and you are now overwhelmed by many different emotions ...

Well, enough is enough.

"Step aside, Arisu, that's not your part, alright?"

He was waiting for you the entire time you were in the building, so it's not hard for him to find you both outside being ... needy.

"In the future, you'd better keep your hands to yourself." "Excuse me what was that?" "You already understand."

While Chishiya switches positions with Arisu and holds you captive in his arms, he just gives the dark-haired man a warning look.

… Even if unintentionally.

… And unconsciously.

"Well ... I better go then and ... leave both of you alone ... for now." Arisu lets off of you, leaving you to the person who means the most to you. "You better do."

Trying to catch your breath and calm down, you look up to Chishiya and Arisu alternately, feeling the tension between them.

Still, you can't help but start giggling a little.

Arisu und Chishiya both start looking at you now, irritated and confused.

"W-Well, wait ... just to make it clear- is there someone ... really ... jealousy?" "Yes, he is." "No, I'm not", he says calmly. "Okay, then ... let me hug Arisu again ... s-shouldn't be a problem when everything is okay. Right?"

Silence.

You smiling up to Chishiya, who is now biting his tongue and pressing his lips together, not even thinking about letting off of you.

Arisu watching in amusement.

"I'm ... just not fine seeing another one be there for you while I can be there for you. It's my job to cheer you up- even though I'm not the best in it, but I'm trying very hard." "You ARE jealousy, Chi!" "Oi, stop saying this, will you ... ?"

[keferon]

Chapter 3 of Blurr’s storyline in Mecha AU!

Previous chapter

“Speaking of Mechs.” continues Blurr, ”That thing's evacuation system sucks. What if you were stunned by the fall? What if something short-circuits and starts a fire???”

Swindle just clenches the glass in his hands. Feels the cold moisture of condensation dripping down onto his fingers.

“Then I'd burn.” he doesn't say

Under the cut⤵️

——————————————————

It's Swindle's birthday.

He thinks it is.

He's pretty sure.

Since he was taken into the program, it's always hard to tell. It's like time flows differently here. He had a calendar, but Brawl put it somewhere a while ago and then forgot where it was. And they're not allowed to have phones yet. Though Swindle assumes Onslaught managed to steal one from someone anyway.

Shit. Where's the calendar?

Swindle remembers the date, but can't remember the month.

There's a strange static tingling sensation in the back of his head. If he turns his head too fast, it'll grow into an unpleasant pricking pain.

The last time in the lab was disgusting.

He can't remember what month it is. He's not even sure why it bothers him so much. Not that birthdays mean anything within the walls of the program.

He stops in the middle of the living room and looks around with a meticulous eye. He's already checked the beds, desk, and nightstands...hah.

“Hey have any of you seen my calendar?”

Vortex, sitting on top of the bunk bed shakes the ash off his cigarette right down into Blast Off's lap.

“Nope.”

“TEX YOU'RE LITTERING ON MY BED.”

“I could have ..torn it up” offers Brawl from across the room.

Swindle turns on his heels and angrily rests his arms at his sides.

“You tore it?”

“I might have,” Brawl scratches the back of his head.

Swindle pinches the bridge of his nose

That's fine. Not that he cares that much. Not that any celebration at all would save the crappy day.

He has some new “experimental” medical procedure scheduled for later, which generally means suffering. Or if he's lucky, some critter will attack the city and instead of squirming on the slab, he'll have to go cuddle with huge nasty beasts. Which is slightly better than the actual procedures. He'd like that to happen. If only his head would also stop buzzing....

“Happy birthday to me” Swindle thinks, sticking his Mech hand under the plates of a particularly ugly monster and pulling something disgustingly oozing green blood out of there. He can see the faces of the random gawkers who didn't have time to evacuate. Ooh, some of them got that nasty stuff on their faces. Swindle has no time to feel sorry for them.

The monster did attack, but it's entirely possible that this monster ended the last meager supply of luck Swindle had. Because somewhere. Something. In his head begins to hurt again and the world in front of his eyes begins to slowly blur and..

ahh FUCK….

The monster grabs him knocks him to the ground and Swindle can literally feel in his bones that something's wrong, but the data from his Mech doesn't give him any useful information. Which isn't that uncommon. These things are glitchy as hell and aren't designed to recognize anything but the most basic popular malfunctions.

The word “error” shines mockingly in his face. Blurring in his eyes and reflecting in red on his uniform.

Error, error, what the hell is this error. He needs to know what's wrong so he doesn't accidentally kill himself, but all this bucket offers him is oops. You're in trouble teeheee~

He can hear the sound of Blast Off's giant cannon in the distance. And the loud rumble where Vortex and Onslaught are trying to get out of the ring of monsters.

His Mech is unresponsive. His damn machine refuses to move and Swindle isn't quite sure if it's the Mech that's the problem, because his head feels like a piece of raw rotten meat and maybe the error meant that what's broken is him.

The monster leans over him, trying to rip off whatever it can rip off and thank god this thing apparently isn't smart enough to realize that the Mech is controlled from the head because it's aiming straight for his chest.

He needs to get out. If he can't get this thing to move, he needs to get the fuck out of it before the alien gets him.

He manages to open the emergency hatch and quietly slip out and ohhhh the world is spinning, this is not bloody good.

He manages to take a few steps before a loud B A N G comes from somewhere above and IS THAT A TRAIN???? Who in their right mind would think of using a fucking train as a throwing weapon???? Is that Brawl? It's got to be Brawl. Oh, Swindle is so gonna kill him.

Because (sadly) in addition to the monster, the train and Swindle, there's also physics involved in this circus.

So while the monster is effectively brought to rest and knocked sideways with a hole in it’s head, the train stops its forward motion and starts its downward motion.

Right onto Swindle's head.

He just has time to think that dying from a train falling out of the sky is a pretty creative death. His legs are shaking, his head is buzzing and he only manages to take half a sluggish step in an attempt to avoid the inevitable when a loud “MOVE” comes to his ears and something yanks him to the side.

The tug sends fire down his spine and head. The ensuing landing reverberates with pain in his shoulder and sides. He barely has time to process the first two sensations until a moment later he hears a rumble so deafening that he thinks his eardrums are about to burst.

Swindle props himself up on his elbows and hisses in pain as the movement causes the back of his head to sting.

“Ah I'll fuckin' kill him...”

A voice comes above him

“Ouw dude. You okay?”

There's.. Some teenager hovering over him. And behind him is lying...the wrecked train...right where Swindle himself was standing a second ago.

The strange teen frowns worriedly and pulls Swindle upright and drags him somewhere else

“Come on, it's best not to be in the open during monster attacks”

“Ah” thinks Swindle ”right. Without Mech you're a pathetic tiny piece of chop begging to be stomped on by Brawl.”

He tries to focus on balance so he doesn't hang too much on this kid.

They find the nearest unlocked door, which turns out to be the entrance to an underground bar.

“So” says the stranger, letting go of Swindle and shaking the dust off his hair ” You're a pilot! That's so cool, but you're kinda small for a pilot.”

Swindle sighs sullenly.

“I'll let you have that one comment about my height because you helped me, but next time you're dead.”

“Helped? I saved your ass.”

“Helped a lot” says Swindle grudgingly. “Thanks.”

The teen laughs and climbs into the bar. It's a mess everywhere, people clearly evacuated in a hurry and threw everything in haste.

“What's your name? Oh, or, wait. Do you guys use code names? I've heard pilots call each other by call signs, but half the time those call signs sound so dumb, I don't see how they can respond to that.”

He waits for the kid to cut off his flow of words to take a breath. Man, what a chatty boy.

“You can call me Swindle.”

“Kay” the kid pulls out a couple glasses ”I'm Blurr. Would you like something Swindle? I don't mean to brag, but I'm pretty good at mixing cocktails.”

Swindle looks around the room suspiciously. The bar, even though it's underground, looks pretty good. Too good, in fact. The place is clearly not for the poor.

He walks over to the bar and climbs onto a bar stool. There's no one else in here but them, but the electricity is on so he doesn't doubt for a second that they're being filmed by a security camera right now. Maybe a few even.

Blurr throws him an expectant look.

Swindle pretends to go through his pockets. As if there could be money in them out of nowhere. Then he makes a comically confused face and spreads his hands.

“Oh, no, I think I left my millions at home. What's the cheapest thing you have?”

Blurr snorts.

“Ice is free.”

“I'll take the ice then” nods Swindle.

There is a loud rumbling sound above them. It must be Vortex having fun again bouncing on the aliens that have fallen to the ground, crushing their heads.

Swindle is just. He takes off his helmet, takes a glass of ice and presses it to his head enjoying the way the nasty buzzing recedes.

Blurr waits for the rumbling to recede before speaking again.

“But really. You're a pilot but...uh. Are you even old enough to drink?”

Swindle sends him his best grumpy look. It's not exactly a joke about his height, but it's damn close.

“Are you old enough to pour?”

“Sure,” says Blurr too fast for it to be true. If Swindle had to guess, he'd say the guy in front of him is no older than seventeen. The tattered jeans and the T-shirt with the F1 logo printed on it definitely don't help. And, hey, those headphones look very expensive. So do the sneakers. Kid's clearly from a wealthy family.

Blurr pulls out a bottle of syrup from somewhere and pours it straight into his mouth. Doesn't miss, which is amusing. Doesn't wince, which is frankly impressive. Swindle feels the unbearable sweetness just looking at him.

It suddenly hits him

“Hey, do you have a phone?”

“Sure,” Blurr pours himself more syrup. Swindle twitches.

“What's the day today?”

Blurr's mouth is full of an unimaginable amount of sugar, so he just pulls out his phone and turns its screen toward Swindle and oh...oh. He was wrong about the date. And the month, too. It's not his birthday. His birthday was a week ago...

Does that mean he must be nineteen now? Yeah, that makes him nineteen.

Blurr takes the phone back and slips it into his pocket.

“Your face looks funny.”

“I just realized it's my birthday today,” smiles Swindle.

“Oooooooohh~~~” rejoices Blurr ”Congratulations! It's kind of poetic that you almost died just today. Can you imagine how funny the numbers on your tombstone would have looked.”

Swindle chokes on air.

“That's certainly a very appropriate comment, thank you...”

“Sorry haha said without thinking.” Blurr reaches under the counter again and pulls out a bottle from there “Hey, they have more syrups!”

There's another loud rumble from upstairs.

Blurr presses his head into his shoulders and stares up at the ceiling as if hoping to see something through it.

Swindle puts his elbows and head on the tabletop

“Don't worry, it's just Brawl.”

Blurr doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling

“ You can tell that by the sound of falling concrete?”

Swindle lazily dangles his feet. The chair is high and even the toes of his shoes don't reach the floor.

“Brawl is the loudest. And the heaviest, too. He's always crashing into everything, throwing things and breaking things too. You can hear him a mile away.”

He pauses to listen

“And that kch-ooooooooomm is Blast Off's cannon. It's some super rare experimentally advanced one, so it sounds like something out of a space movie. He couldn't stop bragging about it for half a year when he got it.”

Blurr chuckles and leans his elbows on the counter, relaxing.

“ And this...uh...what's this?”

“That's Vortex, he's our local lunatic. Best not to listen too much to what he does, it's almost always disgusting in ways you would never even consider.”

Blurr makes a disgruntled face and is silent for a couple minutes.

“It's weird hearing you call them by their names. I mean, I kind of always knew Mechs were run by people but you guys are never seen, so most of the time it's just.. Huge robots and huge monsters. You know what I mean. I was actually surprised when I saw you get out of that Mech.”

Swindle just nods. Because, what else is there to add.

“Speaking of Mechs.” continues Blurr, ”That thing's evacuation system sucks. What if you were stunned by the fall? What if something short-circuits and starts a fire???”.

Swindle just clenches the glass in his hands. Feels the cold moisture of condensation dripping down onto his fingers

“Then I'd burn.” he doesn't say

Blurr doesn't seem to notice his glum mood

“Oh, hey. If it's no secret, why did you go into piloting in the first place?”

Because he had no choice? He can't answer that, that information isn't for civilians.

Because he didn't know what he was getting into until it was too late? That's not vague enough either.

Because he was up to his neck in debt and barely into college before a smiling man showed up on his doorstep and offered him good money if he agreed to a couple tests...?

“I had to do it for the people.” Swindle decides to repeat a line of propaganda.

“Ohhhh.... That's...a good reason. The monsters are disgusting, of course. But the reason is cool.”

Swindle just. Holds his glass of melting ice, listens to Blurr's mutterings, and enjoys the peace. This random teenager is not his superior or colleague and has nothing to do with the organization at all. Swindle doesn't have to remember to salute or follow orders or fear being reported to his superiors.

He can just. Be.

Just him and his free ice and his saved for free life.

That's. Sweet.

Blurr's drinking syrup again.

...and a little disgusting.

—————————-

Brawl jumps out of bed, hits his head on a shelf hanging on the wall and drops everything on it onto Blast Off's head

“Swindle!!!” yells Brawl.

“Why are these books sticky???” shrieks Blast Off.

“You don't wanna know~” giggles Vortex.

Swindle sighs.

“You're alive!!!” ignores Blast Off Brawl's complaints. And a second later runs up and pulls Swindle off the floor in a crushing bear hug.

Behind them, Blast Off, with his face wrinkled in disgust, gathers all the dropped books back onto the shelf.

Swindle wheezes pathetically and slaps Brawl's arm with his palm, either to reciprocate the gesture or to beg for mercy

“Br...khaaaaah...Brawl I can't breathh.”

“OH. I'm uh. Here. Wait.”

Brawl puts him back on the floor and runs back to the shelf.

Onslaught, who has peeked into the room, puts a hand on Swindle's shoulder

“You've been gone a long time. Boss said you tried to escape.”

His tone isn't judgmental. And not pressuring. Not even questioning, but Swindle knows Onslaught wants more information. Swindle clutches a piece of napkin with a phone number in his pocket and smiles weakly.

“I've found a...friend? I think?”

Onslaught nods. In a manner that only he knows how to do. Not giving an opinion, not encouraging or condemning. Just taking in the information. Swindle admires him for that.

Behind them, Brawl pulls some piece of paper out from under the books that have just been put away and drops them again

“FUCK!” yells Blast Off. Vortex just starts hooting like a hyena.

“Hey Swindle I found the calendar!” yells Brawl waving the paper.

Swindle frowns in surprise.

“It's a different calendar...”

“I found you a new one.” nods Brawl.

“...Why...is it...it's torn in half?”

“It had stupid flowers drawn on it, so I ripped them off. And I accidentally ripped off more than I needed.”

“Ah,” says Swindle, clutching the calendar, ”That's...Thanks. I forgive you for losing the previous one.”

Behind them, Blast Off is trying to strangle Vortex with a jacket.

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

Blurr waves his arms happily like a hyperactive windmill.

“Swindle!!!”

Swindle smiles and adjusts his glasses

“Your party can be seen from across city.”

“I know~~” primps Blurr “Are you hungry? There was a snack table around here somewhere.”

“I didn't bring any money.” lies Swindle.

“Hey man, it's a party. Help yourself, it's free.”

“Оh.” Swindle's mood instantly brightens. “All right, then.”

“You look terrible” Blurr decides to share.

Swindle, busy shoveling food into his pockets, nods.

“I've had a rough week. Actually, it'd be cool if you didn't tell anyone you saw me here. I'm kind of not supposed to be here.”

He doesn't elaborate.

Blurr is a civilian. In his mind, a rough week is rude people or an exam or bad weather. Swindle's bad week is strap marks on his wrists and double vision. It's nausea from injections and sleepless nights because Vortex won't stop screaming in his sleep.

Blurr doesn't know that. With him, Swindle can pretend to be somewhat normal.

-----------

“Heeeeey“ says Blurr ‘I haven't seen you in a long time~"

“That” thinks Swindle ”is a pretty standard phrase for both of them.

Blurr looks older. Taller too. He was taller than Swindle before, but now that difference is starting to look almost comical. He's also flaunting a cast on his arm.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Didn't make a turn at training” waves Blurr off “It's no big deal. Wanna go find something to eat?”

Blurr is always trying to feed him, Swindle notices over time. Offers him drinks or snacks or whatever.

“ I like your uh..cap?”

“I got a promotion” Swindle smiles proudly “Me and the guys were made a special group...actually you're not allowed to know more than that, so you'll have to take my word for it when I say we are officially cool.”

He purposely adjusts his cap by the brim so Blurr can get a good look at it.

Blurr makes a delighted sound. Something between a “wow” and a giggle. He generally makes a lot of sounds all the time. Tapping his fingers on every hard surface, stomping in place like he's always late for something, laughing, whistling, clicking his tongue. A human orchestra.

__________

Onslaught sits down next to Swindle and clutches his hands in his lap in front of him. This makes the bed legs squeak pitifully. Onslaught has grown surprisingly large. He can almost rival Brawl in height already. Most people find that intimidating, but Swindle just thinks Onslaught is like a wall. A big, solid concrete wall that's so good to hide behind.

“Be careful with what you tell this guy.”

“Don't worry” says Swindle ”He's not the type of friend you tell secrets to. He's just a fun dude who's great to hang out with.”

Onslaught hums.

“And who feeds you for free.”

“If that's how you're trying to ask me to share, you're not doing a very good job.”

Vortex snaps his fingers as he walks past them

“Hey Swindler, the lab is closed for today. It's your day off.”

“Wha...”

Onslaught tilts his head.

“Vortex. What did you do?”

“I spat in their dna sample vault” proudly proclaims Vortex “and didn't tell them exactly where.”

-----———————-

Blurr frowns.

“Hey...are you okay?”

“No” thinks Swindle.

“My friend died” he says instead.

He's not okay. He feels like an animal caught in a beartrap, trying to chew off its own paw to get free.

Except the trap is closed around Swindle's head and it's not a body part he can afford to lose.

There's been a lot of talk. Even more rumors. Swindle listened but tried not to believe.

And then one of pilots, Shockwave… was taken to the lab and brought back a different damn man and it felt like Swindle had the rug pulled out from under his feet with hot coals underneath.

Because Swindle's boss, with his stupid, rehearsed smile, started writing reports about how “human personality flaws are something that can be fixed. That challenging behavior is something that can be repaired with tools.

Blurr freezes.

“Who?”

“Vortex.”

Because of course it's Vortex. Talented but difficult to handle. Powerful but uncontrollable.

They wanted a pilot who would be a beast on the battlefield and a loyal dog on base. And who else would be a more ideal test subject than him?

Vortex was being very rude that day, even by Vortex standards. Yelling and swearing and throwing things around. Kept saying that no shitty lab could make him “a fucking puppet.”

Scratching the stitches on his head until he started leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He went on a mission.

And never came back.

The reports said it was all the monsters' fault. That Vortex was unstable. That the accident had nothing to do with the new technology. But it was nevertheless suspended.

Swindle is both bitter and amused by this. Vortex would eat the same monsters for breakfast any other day. The bastard was unkillable.

“Oh my god” says Blurr “I'm so sorry to hear that.”

He says something else. Probably comforting. About how Vortex died protecting people, maybe. About Vortex being a hero.

“Vortex,” thinks Swindle, ”loved life. He loved adrenaline and danger and pain and thrill and fear, but he never wanted to die. They did something to him. Something that made him go over the edge.”

Vortex got his head in the trap and ripped it off to escape it.

Swindle knows him and the others are next. And knows that no one but themselves can help them.

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

Blast Off seems...very quiet. He could never stop complaining about Vortex before. Yelling about the garbage. Resenting the unmade bed and the cigarette ashes.

Vortex's bed remains unmade.

Blast Off regularly cleans everything up, but never wipes away the little circles of ash from the places where Vortex used to put out cigarettes on the furniture.

Onslaught puts his hand on Swindle's shoulder and squeezes. Not hard. Just enough for Swindle to register the gesture as important.

Standing nearby, Blast Off lights a cigarette and leans on Onslaught.

“Ons told me about your plan. I want to join in.”

“What kind of plan? Can I get involved?” inquires Brawl.

Onslaught sighs.

“Repeat after me - I don't know, they don't tell me anything.”

“I don't know, they don't tell me anything.”

“Good job” nods Onslaught “From now on, every time they ask you any - listen. Any! Question about us, you will answer them with this phrase.”

“Got it,” grins Brawl.

Swindle smiles.

“Gentlemen, it's time to violate all that is written, and rewrite all that is violated.”

__________________

Blurr lazily takes his eyes off the phone. He's wearing a racing suit and tons of hairspray. He's shiny and gleaming like a fine collectible figurine that should be on the shelf of an expensive exhibit. He's also bored.

“Sorry buddy, the interview is long over, if you have any questions you'll have to pay for the session.”

Swindle smiles.

“How about one tiny little question?”

Blurr makes funny big eyes.

“SWINDLE!!! I haven't seen you in a thousand years! You...oh I didn't recognize you haha sorry. Nice coat. You quit being a pilot?”

Swindle proudly adjusts his glasses. He's wearing a brand-new, ironed shirt that's exactly his size. Nice neat tie, expensive coat. Swindle isn't surprised Blurr didn't recognize him immediately. Sometimes he looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize himself. After all those years of wearing the pilot's uniform, he felt almost attached to it. And yet here he is.

“You could say I moved.” he winks snarkily, “Up. All the Mechs you see on the streets now are my Mechs~”

Blurr completely forgets about his phone.

“REALLY?? Oh man congrats to you!”

“Thanks” nods Swindle ”You want something to drink? I'm buying.”

———————-

Onslaught adjusts his tie. It's still, years later, a little strange to see him in a uniform instead of a pilot's suit.

“You do realize it's going to be hard to find a person like that, right? We need someone famous enough to be effective and dumb enough to want to save mankind instead of sunbathing on a yacht.”

Swindle adjusts his glasses and leans back in his chair.

Someone outgoing so they can quickly befriend all the right people. Handsome enough to have their face printed on a poster. Smart just enough not to say too much. And not associated with Mecha program so they can't be accused of trying to get promoted through their acquaintances.

Someone who already has everything but still willing to put themselves at risk for the cause.

“You know, I think I have a possible candidate.”

[pythonmoth]

cw: flashback, sort of. military inaccuracies. lots of cursing. implied sexual activity but nothing explicit, this pov is just bloody shameless. blood, war, canon violence. author is projecting their own friend group, who cares. everyone's a little shit, including reader. mention of past gaz x price. (author is giggling at this).

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.

word count: +6.4k

Part 10

If anybody had told him he would go through this a few months ago, he would've laughed at their faces.

He's too busy for this mess, really. He goes on a solo mission for a whole month and when he comes back all he knows is that his favorite lass is hospitalized and that Ghost and Soap were involved, and that it's John's fault. He had thought "well, they definitely broke her now", and had laughed in his mind at his silly joke, and then the soldier in front of him told him what had actually happened.

"Tortured. Nails all gone. Capt'n Price ordered it. Big mess".

Not even an hour in since he comes back and he has to see that bastard get away with it, and leave you with the physical consequences of it all. It was enough to make him burst a fucking blood vessel. He couldn't possibly smack John —he did once, and it did not go well for him—, but fuck, he was absolutely tempted, and he genuinely felt no sympathy for his team.

The rest of the lasses are worried about you, bombarding him with questions, but they have nothing to do with it and he does not have the time to stop and talk, so he just lifts a hand and doesn't bother replying as he sidesteps them.

He'll find the time later on.

After he got the doctor to clear a bed for you, he barely had the time to do his entire paperwork. He works quickly so he can be there with you. He can only eat and work, treating the minor injuries he got, work again, and as soon as he's finally free, he goes to the clinic. He can see Ghost and Soap waiting anxiously by the door. Your door.

Kyle sighs as he gets closer. He can understand their feelings, but he honestly can only feel annoyed at their stupid display.

Hell, if they were so worried, they should've refused! The Captain could've chosen anyone else. He knew it was hard and that they had orders, but if he had been here, he would've seriously smacked everyone.

If you had to be tortured for whatever reason, why the hell do it themselves? Isn't that fucking ridiculous?

This team is the most important thing for him, and they simply accepted to torture their favorite lass —the one they've been dating for a year, no less—. Kyle just can't understand that. If the torture had to happen, as the Captain was ordered, they should've refused and forced him to choose someone else.

Everyone's fucking stupid, really.

Not you. It's not your fault that you're surrounded by complete dickheads.

Not wanting to startle them, he makes sure to make noise with his boots, and grips their shoulders to silently force them to sit down. Ghost and Soap are a goddamn mess, both of them trembling, on edge. They're quiet, more than he thought they'd be, considering what they did, but seeing them like that, the guilt clear in their eyes and body language, Kyle starts calming his own anger down. They weren't in the mood to be yelled at, and he didn't feel like lecturing them either. It's enough for him to see how tightly they're holding hands, knuckles white, for him to try and make them feel worse.

He would, but he isn't an asshole either.

With nothing left to do but wait, he sits there next to them, waiting as the Captain's muffled voice comes from inside your room. Just a few minutes later, he comes out, and the three of them bolt up. Kyle's heart trembles slightly as he sees you on the bed, your back to the door.

"Sergeant Garrick" the Captain calls, and Kyle is a little surprised to hear how happy his tone actually is. "She's hungry. Would you mind bringing something? She's okay with you being there".

Kyle nods, patting Ghost and Soap's shoulders in sympathy. Just a tiny bit.

He rushes to flirt with fight the lady at the mess hall, securing a good meal for both of you. He couldn't eat because he was so worried about you, so now that you're awake and okay with seeing him... hell, he'll eat whatever the kitchen lady wants to give him. He'll even take those disgusting rolls of rice the lady loves making.

Anything for you, really.

Half an hour later, hands full with food, he gently knocks on your door. When you don't respond quickly, he peaks inside. "Hey, it's me. Come in peace. Brought you food".

"Gaz" you cry out, rushing to stand up. Kyle feels his heart drop to his feet, eyes wide, and immediately jumps forward, nearly dropping the food in his haste to catch you when your knees give out, hissing in pain as your feet touch the ground.

"What are you getting up for, you idiot?" he scolds, his arms under your armpits to keep you up —it's easier than he remembers from past missions, and he does not like that—, biting the bag of food between his teeth as he helps you to the bed. "Dumbass. Come on".

To keep himself from crying at the sight of your weakened state, he tells you about how he fought the lady at the mess hall, setting the food on the floor only after making sure you're comfortable. You stare at him in silence but he's fine with that, making sure he only touches your arms and shoulders so he doesn't accidentally hurt you.

"You look like shit" you mumble, interrupting him. Kyle looks down at you and, with his heart full of warmth, he grips your nose between his fingers, shaking your head slightly.

"Missed you, too. Now, come on, let's eat. I'm starving" he says, not giving you a moment of silence. He's glad you don't fight him as he helps you settle properly in bed so he can sit next to you. With quick hands, he places the food between the two of you so it's easier to eat.

He talks about his mission, exaggerating it just a tiny bit. He didn't take seventy men down, he took only like... thirty. He also didn't dismantle an entire Cartel on his own, but he did kill anything he saw moving in one of their safe houses and managed to capture the leader alive when she was running from the back. He had a grin on his face —he didn't add that little part— as he managed to shoot her on the leg to slow her down.

He also doesn't tell you his heart was pounding with excitement when he saw the panic in the sicarios’ faces, wishing he could hunt them all.

Just that, really.

Halfway done with his own food, he realizes you're just listening to him talk and haven't eaten more than a single bite. "Weren't you hungry?" Kyle questions, his voice a little muffled as his mouth is stuffed with food.

"I guess. I don't know" you mumble, your shoulders slumping even further.

Kyle reaches out to steal a piece of chicken from your plate and takes a bite, munching happily as he starts talking again, mouth full. Gratefully, you don't realize he slowly starts feeding you the bites he steals, filling your mouth and watching you chew.

He can't have you fall asleep for another three goddamn days without taking a bite, so when he manages to trick you into eating more than half of your meal, he relaxes.

He has no intention of treating you like a victim, even if part of him wants to just cradle your face and protect you from whatever is gonna happen in the future. He doesn't think you're weak, you're just... hurt, so he stays the same. At some point of his rambling, your head lands on his shoulder. Kyle watches you sleep, his lips curling up as you drool on his uniform. He gently moves the food from the bed, making sure you stay comfortable resting against him.

Careful not to wake you, he lowers you on the bed and gets the rough hospital blanket over your shoulders. He tries to step away so you can rest properly, but one of your warm hands curls around his wrist in your sleep, so Kyle just drags a chair with his foot very carefully, and sits right next to you until he also falls asleep, his head on your bed.

You sleep for so, so long he's nearly afraid he gave you food poisoning.

Dr. Wilson catches him on his way to the bathroom, and sends him to wake you up. He takes just two minutes for himself and rushes back to your room. As he gets closer to you, your arm squishing your face as you drool against it, he smiles. You're snoring, your eyelashes sticking together, and you look so ridiculous he can only stare for a little moment, cursing himself for not bringing his phone. He never uses it, but now this is a wasted opportunity.

Eventually, he does wake you up, helping you prepare for the exams they'll have you take.

The art of tricking you into eating... he's a master at it, already. It brings him no happiness to use tricks but it works, and he'll take it for now.

While the medics check on you, he catches up with John.

Ghost and Soap are nowhere to be found, probably in the smallest corner in the barracks drowning in their own misery, but John looks like he wants to either kill everyone or himself. Maybe both.

"I know I fucked it up" John tells him. Kyle watches as he pours himself a drink, which... he technically shouldn't, but neither of them says anything about it. "This is my responsibility. Hell, if she decides to leave the team, I won't be bloody surprised."

Kyle keeps silent, the resentment towards his own team slowly building, even if he tries to bite it down. It's hard not to be angry at them. They didn't even give it a single day, didn't even wait for him to arrive. This whole situation is just bullshit.

"At least we can agree on that. That's a first".

"Can I ask you to—"

"I ain't convincing her that you weren't absolute dickheads and didn't rush the situation, John" he cuts him off. "You fucked up".

John gives him a warning look, but only sighs, nodding and gulping down the rest of his whiskey. "Well, then. We've got work to do".

On the third day of you being awake, Kyle is there when the Captain tells you you're leaving the next morning. He doesn't miss the way your shoulders tense slightly whenever you look at Ghost and Soap, or how your eyes go warm whenever you look at him. If this had been another time, he would've been jumping up and down just because you're looking at him this way, but right now, it's slightly... hurtful?

Maybe that's not the word.

Annoying, definitely, in a way. He doesn't want to be a replacement for Ghost and Soap, and Kyle knows you're not that kind of person, but maybe you're doing this subconsciously. A traumatized mind can do a lot of shit to a person. He just wished…

Something else. Perhaps.

That night before you leave, he is the only one who stays with you, as he had the past few days. Kyle's just surprised you decided to actually share the bed instead of having him sleep on the floor. He totally eats it up, however, smiling brightly as you giggle, glad that his good energy is making you happy before sleeping.

With your head nestled against his chest, your arms gently curled between the two of you as he holds you lazily, one of his hands caressing your hair, he wishes he could stay like this. You seem so peaceful, so distantly different from the person he saw a few days ago that it's just perfect right now. It's comforting and warm, and as you two relax, the conversation slowly turns from idle gossip to a bit more serious, finally reaching Ghost and Soap.

No. Simon and Johnny, he corrects himself.

"You don't have to forgive them. Fuck them. I hope you remember that" he mumbles against your hair. Kyle makes no attempt to subdue his anger, not wanting to hide that from you. "Maybe you'll learn to understand why they had to do it, but that doesn't mean you have to be cool with it".

"And I'm not" you mumble back, shaking your head as you shift, looking up at him. "It's hard to just... look at them and not think of it. It happened like a week ago, anyway, so I can't be blamed. Right?"

"Fuck no. I'd say you give them hell a few months" he reassures you, nudging you slightly. It's enough to bring a smile to your face. Kyle keeps his arms loose around you, as you keep on shifting, restless.

"I don't know. I understand, I guess. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same in their position, but... I don't want to think about that right now".

"Of course" Kyle hums, his hand gently rubbing on your back. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

It's warm, and it's nice. Your breathing is slowly calming down and he knows it won't take long for you to fall asleep. It is pretty late, after all. He's lost in his head for a while, wondering if he should take your things to the truck while you're asleep or if he should do it in the morning when you're getting ready to leave. It takes him a moment to realize you're staring at him. Kyle raises an eyebrow, playfully poking your back.

"What do you want? Is there something on my face?" he asks, moving so he can look down at you properly, his eyebrows furrowing, a feeling of worry growing in his chest.

When he shifts, trying to get comfortable as your eyes follow him, you surge forward, pressing your lips to his.

Kyle's heart stutters a bit, his eyes slightly wide as he looks at you when you pull back not even a second later. His body is frozen, half lifted from the bed.

"I'm sorry. I'm really-"

He cuts you off.

Of course he'll cut you off if you look like you're about to burst into tears if he dares flinching away.

It's a soft kiss. There's nothing but calm and affection in it. Kyle's fully aware of why this is happening, of the need for comfort that's definitely growing in your brain. He keeps it gentle, even if your breathing is ragged, even if your arm wraps around his neck. He sooths you with it, and he hopes it helps. He's okay with it.

Kyle welcomes it, calming his heart. He... also doesn't mind it. In the slightest.

Its only when he cradles your face, feeling the warm tears over your heated cheeks, the kiss slowly becoming salty, that he pulls back. He holds you closer, letting you cry into his chest, pressing another soft kiss to your hair. It takes a while for you to calm down, but Kyle just holds you through it, caressing your back, your hair.

It's you who breaks the comfortable silence.

"Are you angry?"

"What? No. Why would I be?" Kyle asks, genuinely confused. Your question feels so anticlimactic he nearly groans.

"Because I kissed you?"

He hums, his hand never stopping where it's caressing your back. "No. I'm not mad. It was a good kiss." You groan instead, hitting him on the ribs with your elbow. He laughs, patting your back so you settle against him again. "Nothing wrong with kissing your mates".

"Shut up!"

"Fine, fine. Well, look" he sighs, reaching out to the lamp so he can turn it on and look at you properly. "I think you needed that, and maybe I did too. I don't think I'm a replacement, either. Or am I?"

"No!" you shriek, your face heated.

He won't tell, but his shoulders relax as you reassure him. Kyle doesn't mind kissing the nerves out of you, but he's glad to see the genuine glint in your eyes.

"Then that's fine. Just kissing the mates goodnight".

"Garrick!"

"All I'm saying" he says, grinning down at you, and placing a hand on your head, "is that a kiss can just mean that. Did it feel good? It helped?"

You purse your lips, frowning at him. "Yeah".

"Then that's alright. Don't question it much".

"Should've asked. I'm sorry".

That makes him grin, his chest warm. "It's cool. Just don't do it in front of the rest. They wanna kiss their mates, too, but they need alcohol for it".

"What? You'd be embarrassed?"

"No. You would be, though".

"Why? It's not like- ugh!"

He playfully grabs your face, not letting you move, and kisses your cheek loudly, making you laugh for the first time since you woke up. He manages to keep your good mood, not letting you dwell on whatever that kiss could've meant. At some point, he can't keep up with your energy, and slowly falls asleep, his mind filled with contentment, and warmth.

Saying goodbye to you for nine long months was one of the hardest things he's done. Kyle doesn't like being near Ghost or Soap or the Captain when there's a big hole missing. It's their fault you're missing, and he knows his annoyed looks convey that. He's professional, but it takes him a while to get along with them again. Mostly, he's forced to.

Ambushed.

During a mission, they get caught in enemy territory. Kyle's not sure how it happened, just that it was just too fast for anybody but him to react as two cars suddenly burst from fucking nowhere. He manages to jump out of the way, but the rest aren't so lucky. When they drive away at high speed, no doubt suspecting they're all dead —or will be, anyway—, Kyle gets up and checks on the rest, knowing they have to move. If they want to survive so close to the enemy's base, they need to rush.

"Fucking hell, they got your leg" Kyle grunts, helping Soap up. His bulky leg is dripping onto the ground, his uniform soaked in just a few minutes, but he looks focused. Maybe a little too much, but that'll have to do.

John has a wound on his left shoulder, but he can walk for now, so it's only Ghost and him that ain't hurt. It's their job to find quick shelter so they can treat Soap and John before rushing back to their camp. It's not easy but Kyle manages to find an abandoned small house that isn't armed to the very core with bombs. They all ignore the old bodies in the place, especially a smaller one in the back.

It's impossible not to take a moment, all of them freezing as the clothes of that smaller body rustle with the harsh air. Suspended in time, however the kid met their end.

In silence and not wasting another moment, they walk inside as carefully as they can.

Kyle and Ghost do their best, treating Soap and John for an entire night, but they can't stay there. So they risk it. Ghost drags John, who looks extremely lightheaded from the blood loss, while Kyle carries a bloody Soap on his shoulders. It's a long, long walk back to the camp, especially with the enemies so close.

Kyle says goodbye to you in his mind.

You should be here with the team, but he's also glad you aren't. At least you get to live on.

Fortunately, he gets the opportunity to feel silly for being so worried not even two hours later when they make it to their hidden camp. Once they're all in their jeep, however, he sees Ghost slowly passing out, just now noticing his uniform was darker than usual.

That's fucking blood.

"Do I have to do everything in here?! I'll skin you all if you die!" he growls to himself, knowing the rest aren't even conscious or interested in his anger. Kyle pushes the jeep to it's limits, the team bouncing off the seats slightly, and the hot air making his eye twitch.

It takes him a few hours to be back, worried out of his mind. He's the only one who didn't get hurt, and that's fucked up. He gets to help his team but at what cost? If they die, that's on him for not being fast enough, for not being good enough at his work. For being too focused on his own safety instead of looking out for his team.

Ghost's side is fucked, Dr. Wilson tells him. Of course, she doesn't use those words, but that's pretty much what she means. John's shoulder wasn't actually damaged, there was no fracture, but he lost a lot of blood. Same thing with Soap. It had been a close call, in any way.

Kyle spends the next five days making sure Ghost is comfortable, the drug-induced comma he's forced into fucking up his planned Months of Hatred. He really had planned on pulling faces at them when not in immediate danger, on going as far as ignoring them, but because he had been pissed at the three of them and his mind didn't instantly click to treat them as a priority, they're all hurt. He wasn't good enough and he will never forgive himself for that.

Because of him, you could've lost them all.

Dr. Wilson insisted he doesn't have to be here, but he can't just leave them alone again.

The sunlight coming from the windows, he sits right next to Ghost, rubbing his own face in profound desperation. He doesn't have the heart to text you. He wouldn't even know how to tell you in person that your dear Ghosty and Johnny got hurt, but texting or calling is not his strongest skill so it's out of the question. He would only make you worry even more.

Besides, you weren't talking to them, as he'd gathered from their conversations, so he doesn't think you'll miss them much.

At least, he forces himself to think like that.

By the time Ghost wakes up, the first thing he asks for is his phone. Kyle only gives him a look but he quickly brings it. He gives him space, knowing he'll probably want to be alone when he texts you. Kyle hears his grunts of pain stopping, and then his voice going all soft.

Ah, a call, then.

Pretty soon after Ghost recovers, by the fourth month of you being away, one night Soap suddenly rushes over to the Lieutenant, and Kyle would be damned if he didn't understand the little tears clinging to the sergeant's curly eyelashes. Really, he doesn't even feel guilty anymore. They both seem so happy, now out of danger, the love of their lives is texting them back and he's actually very happy for them.

Even John seems a lot better, seeing these idiots happier.

No matter how hard Kyle tries to fight it, he loves these idiots. Even the people closest to you might hurt you, and you'll hurt them sometimes.

It's been nine months.

Despite his better judgment, Kyle's managed to text you every now and then, and, even though it pains him greatly, he takes your calls if you text him beforehand. At least two days before so he can be ready for it. Kyle would rather die than to willingly call someone; if it's not an order, he just can't be bothered. But this is you, after all. Kyle makes an exception for you.

Now that everyone's getting along a lot better, nearly the same as it used to be before this whole bullshit situation, Kyle does spend time with them, having drinks by the bar or just in John's office. Everyone clearly needed that, because they get drunk ridiculously quick. Including him, honestly.

"Ya know, I've never asked" John begins, sipping his whiskey as he turns to Ghost and Soap. "How did y'all get together anyway? If you're gon' be explicit, I don't wanna hear it, though—"

"None of your business" Ghost grunts, taking the mask off, since it's only them. It's not like it's the first time, anyway.

"Shut your mouth" Soap says, waving a dismissive hand to Ghost. He sips his whiskey and grins at John. "It was pretty funny, actually".

Kyle remembers that day perfectly.

Over a year ago, he had realized the moment you and Ghost first started dating. It wasn't super obvious, nothing really changed, not even when you thought nobody was looking, except maybe that Ghost was extra touchy. He also pretended not to see the little marks on the Lieutenant's back whenever they changed.

Good for them, he thought.

The little dates you shared weren't a secret, either. Whenever you had the time, Kyle saw you walking into the common area to watch a ridiculous movie, or a show, or whatever. He could barely hear it from the kitchen if he happened to need a drink, anyway. All he knew is that, at some point, Soap joined the movie nights.

At first, Kyle thought it would be a problem because, to him, it was painfully obvious the sergeant had a thing for Ghost, but if you two were together... where did that leave poor Soap? Eventually, Kyle himself ended up joining a few movie dates, out of boredom really, and, one night, after enduring two long hours of the heaviest sexual tension he's ever felt and trying to pretend he wasn't more interested in whatever was happening behind him instead of the actual movie, he just drops on the carpet and pretends to sleep as he listens to you talk.

"Dunno... is it wrong?" you murmur after a while, sitting on the couch right behind Kyle.

"Hell if I know" Ghost grunts back.

The silence is thick with something, but Kyle would rather die than to get up and miss whatever is happening. He breathes slowly, but not so much that he doesn't seem to be asleep.

"Every time he looks at you with those silly eyes I kinda just wanna..."

"Smooch him?" Ghost snorts quietly, earning him a smack on his arm. "What, you wanna kick him instead?"

"Both, I guess" you admit slowly, and Kyle can't help but grin.

Really, the army is fucked up. Everyone's together for so long that the lines between romance and friendship sometimes get blurry. Hell, Kyle himself had a thing with John for nearly a year. That did not happen, if anybody asked them, and they never brought it up after they decided to break it off. They're still a little petty, however.

The credits roll slowly, an obnoxious song playing as Kyle listens to Soap's soft snoring where he's curled next to him in the carpet, by Ghost's feet. It's funny, though, he's sure the sergeant is also pretending to sleep. Soap's one hell of a snorer. That's cutesy snoring.

He calls bullshit.

Sure enough, when you very quietly admit that you wouldn't mind if dear Simon was interested in little Johnny, and Simon admits he's actually smitten by the sergeant, Johnny sits up so quick he nearly kicks Kyle in the face.

"Wait, say that again".

And when their conversation turns a little too serious, too bloody personal, Kyle stops pretending and absolutely bolts away, earning a few snickers from the three of them.

Little shits knew he was listening.

The road to your house is a little too... exciting. You've been talking to all of them by texting and calling, and they could see how much you've improved in therapy. The therapist wouldn't tell the Captain much, and he told them even less, but you were doing better, and that's all that matters to them. Soap's nearly bouncing off the seat, Ghost's hand on his thigh to keep him still. Kyle's riding shotgun and the Captain's driving them. Unfortunately, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole, and they all have to sit through the Captain's music for the whole ride.

It isn't so bad, but it's something Kyle's father would listen to.

... He decided not to think too hard on that a long time ago.

The city is pretty calm, and Kyle likes that. He can tell the rest are excited to be back, both because of you, and because this is the smallest city they've ever been in —where they didn't have to kill anybody, that is—. Not even fifteen minutes into the city, the Captain is already parking outside your house.

Kyle goes first, knocking on your door, the Captain right behind him, his steps calm, but he notices the other two faltering behind them, as if scared, hesitant. He can't blame them at all, it's been a while they since also saw you in person, but right now, he's only focused on seeing you again. Your face through the screen isn't good enough, and he's terribly excited.

He has to knock twice, but as soon as he sees you he wraps his arms around your middle, grunting happily to feel your weight back in place, no longer too light. He carries you further into your house so the rest can get in as well.

"Hey, sweetheart. Looking good" Kyle hums, beaming at you, pressing a soft kiss to your cheekbones before letting go of you.

He watches as you say hi to the rest, but there's something in your behavior that has him sharing a look with John, and when Ghost takes his mask off, Kyle can see the worry in his face as well. Okay, so they'll go slow. He meets Soap's eyes and they both nod. They'll be as careful as possible, not wanting to startle you at all.

That proves a challenge.

With everything happening to you, and probably triggered by their presence in your safe place, your home, you're snappy and terribly annoyed at everything they do. Not him directly, but you can't handle his touch, so Kyle keeps his hands to himself for now.

And, naturally, he had to take the initiative yet again. Everyone's so goddamn awkward, so watching a movie is way better than just staring at each other in silence. Soap and the Captain offer to buy snacks, so that leaves him with Ghost and with you.

Yippee, seriously.

Fortunately for him, you're less anxious now that there aren't so many people in your home and immediately crave his touch. He hugs you and checks on your fingernails, making sure you didn't anxiously bite them off again.

Kyle kisses your cheek, your hair, making sure you're feeling better, and grinning down at you when you give him grateful smiles. He barely notices Ghost shifting, uncomfortable. If he said he doesn't feel guilty, that'd be a lie, but you need him right now, so he doesn't stop to explain Ghost what's going on. Not that he knows himself... not really, anyway.

A while later, the Captain and Soap are back, and you're looking so much better. You're enjoying your sour candy, making Kyle eat them to giggle at his despair —he hates those things—. Soap and Ghost throw some annoyed looks in his direction, but you don't seem to catch them, probably protecting yourself from any kind of anxiety by just focusing on Kyle alone.

But then, Soap kinda fucks up.

Getting more crisps from the kitchen, he accidentally drops a plate, the shattering sound making even him flinch. You get up so fast you end up smacking Kyle on the face in your haste of getting away. He pauses long enough to watch Ghost hesitate, and then rushes after you. Kyle finds you easily in the guest room. You're on your knees, shaking so much he wonders if you're breathing at all, and he can see your hands gripping the rough carpet. He dives for you, not closing the door in case you panic even more and hugs you tightly.

It's like you can't process his words for a few moments, until you suddenly go limp on him. Kyle's deeply worried for a second, but then you're speaking and he feels his heart beat again.

Now, he won't lie and say he doesn't feel a little, really, just a tiny little bit used when you seek his lips again, but he puts aside his own feelings to give you what you need. It's not about him right now, it's about what you need.

So, really, imagine his fucking surprise when you shut his smart ass with a proper kiss. He's so startled he can barely keep up with you, his mind spinning with contentment. Maybe he's enjoying this a little too much, but just this once, he decides to indulge himself.

Your warm hands cup his cheeks, the kiss deepening so much that Kyle can hear the harsh smacking of your lips as they sloth together. With his arms around your middle, pulling you closer and closer until your front is completely flushed against his, your hands find the back or his neck, of his head, and he sort of... just melts. Kyle let's out a shaky exhale that makes you pull back for a moment.

He stares at you with half-lidded eyes, feeling your nails dig slightly onto his skin. "I'll be damned" Kyle mumbles quietly.

Neither of you do or say anything for a long heartbeat, only breathing each other in, staring.

Then, he just can't hold back. And apparently, neither can you.

Well, fuck him. What the fuck.

It's only after a while, when neither of you can breathe anymore and the fierce need seems to slowly melt away, that Kyle finally pulls back, panting heavily against your shoulder, a hand gripping your hip. He's seriously fucking glad you have the decency not to question why he's shifting away from between your legs even if he doesn't let go of you.

He doesn't think he can stand that question right now.

"I'll be damned" Kyle murmurs, repeating himself.

The only thing that keeps him sane right now is that you burst out laughing, clearly flustered. He laughs, his cheeks aflame as he helps you up.

When the whipped cream touches his face, he just can't stay still anymore, his mustache quivering as he holds back his laughter. These ridiculous kids don't hold back at all, filling his face with whipped cream and placing more and more gummy bears on top. Finally, he opens his eyes and stares directly at you, your giggles stopping immediately as you rush to stand up, trying to escape him.

Price grips your arm swiftly and pulls you closer, holding you against him as he uses your face as a napkin, rubbing the whipped cream all over your cheek and hair, your screams of delight filling your house, the rest joining immediately after, even Ghost's amused huffs make it to his own ears.

Its a little messy, but he can only grin brightly, seeing you happy enough that you're no longer avoiding Ghost and Johnny. He doesn't bother questioning why Garrick is all over you. Really, at this point he's just happy you're content.

After a few hours of playing around, of getting teased for pretending to be asleep, you invite them to sleep over.

Price wasn't expecting that, but he doesn't say no. Neither do any of the other idiots, not that it's a surprise, and, while the others get ready to sleep in the guest room, their voices loud and actually happy for once, he gently pulls you aside over to the kitchen, away from possible eavesdropping.

"What's up?" you ask, your hair still a little wet where you had to wash it, just like his damp beard. Price grins down at you.

"Are you okay?"

"Hm? I am. Why?"

You look so confused as to why he's asking such thing that he almost believes you. He does, just a little bit, mostly because the therapist did tell him you're doing better now.

"You panicked on me just now" Price says anyway, his eyes inviting, hoping he doesn't scare you off again. However, you only give him a small smile.

"I was terribly anxious I was gonna be scared of you, that I ended up... kinda forcing myself into being scared? If that makes sense. My therapist's been helping me realize a few things" you mumble, rubbing the back of your head.

Price places a hand on top of your head and nods. "As long as you're okay. If you change your mind about us sleeping here, I'll drag them out".

The smile you give him, the dismissive wave of your hand, tells him enough. Still, he waits a little bit.

"It's fine" you reply. He blinks when you flick his nose, actually grinning. "I'll also lock my door, and I have a few knives under my pillow. That helps".

"Fair".

It's pretty late when Price hears Garrick walk into the guest room, even if they're all still awake. Ghost and Johnny only give him a look, but say nothing, carrying on their conversation as usual. They've been looking a lot better than they had when they left before the whole whipped cream prank, so that's something positive, at least.

As Garrick gets closer, Price sees the little gloss on his lips and he has to bite back a smirk.

Kids these days, really.

You had excused yourself after a while, yawning for nearly an hour until you decided to just go to bed. Garrick followed after you not even ten minutes later.

He didn't know what to make of it, didn't know if he felt annoyed or not, but Kyle gave him a not a word look, so Price only gives him a smirk.

Well, then.

Now with everyone curled on the bed, legs half-dangling from the mattress, Price sighs loudly, making the rest turn to him.

"If I lose my team over this... new generation's type of relationships or whatever the fuck is happening here, I will skin you all alive".

"Noted".

"Copy that".

Ghost only looks at him, and shrugs, flipping onto his back before closing his eyes. "Price and Garrick fucked".

That makes Price gap in complete disbelief, turning to look at Ghost when Johnny bursts out laughing, Kyle burying his face in his hands. "Why are you even saying that? That did not happen, don't know what you're talking about. I just think it's ridiculous to—"

"Oi!" Price snaps at him, frowning, feeling just a little bit offended. He doesn't even want to know how the hell Ghost knows.

"I saw you with her" Ghost says instead, cutting over Johnny's laughter. Price sighs, turning to Garrick, who's staring at the pair. "We both did".

Johnny sighs deeply, his laughter dying out, one of his arms under his head. Everything is quiet, Garrick's breathing slow, his face unashamed but a little guarded. Eventually, Johnny speaks up. "It's cool".

"Is it?" Garrick asks, blinking at the two of them.

"If she's happy, it's fine" Ghost replies instead, rubbing his face.

"Doesn't mean we'll stop fighting for her, though".

"Fine by me" Garrick hums, shrugging.

Price stares at them in complete silence, listening to them talk about this as if they were discussing the fucking weather. Shaking his head, he turns his back on them and pretends he can't hear the slowly warming tone from Johnny when he talks to Garrick.

Ah, he should retire.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

Masterlist | Part 11

Buy me a coffee

im having the time of my life, birds are tweeting outside, the woodpeckers are going insane, my cat's on my lap and my old pup is by my feet, tf141 is a loving polycule (price is like a father to reader so not w her, but the rest? *shrugs*) and im tired of pretending it isn't.

gaz calls price "john" when he's either pissed, worried or content.

» why gaz (nearly) taking down an entire Cartel isn't as ridiculous as you might think it is: that's happened here in México before.

there is someone we call "El Marino Loko", a crazy mexican marine; he and his team didn't care for sicarios' human rights. they would beat them up, would force them to wear women's clothes, would make them kiss each other, humillation in general yk how it is. they never took prisoners :) the government and the mafias themselves wanted that marine dead, but he disappeared.

he's still alive, as someone's personal guard but nobody truly knows *twirls hair* there's no way to know how many sicarios he killed, but he and his team killed hundreds if not a thousand (or more). that's pretty hot, if you ask me.

anyway, since it's just gaz I couldn't say he killed a hundred alone, but definitely a few. follow me for more interesting facts that emilia pérez could never tell ya lol

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @codeseven @babydoll-143

[brunchable]

How To Impress a 21st Century Girl.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Themes: Rom-Com, Fluff, Mutual Pining(Heavy?), First Date, Flirtation and Playfulness.

Summary: Sam had forced Bucky to use Tinder to solve his abysmal love life. Bucky tells himself that if third time isn't a charm, he will officially give up trying to find a partner.

A/N: I'm a sucker for rom-coms, I hope you guys enjoyed this because I enjoyed writing it.

tags: @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917

It had all been Sam’s idea. "Come on, man. You need to get back out there!" Sam had said, way too enthusiastically, while setting up a Tinder profile for him without even asking. Bucky had resisted at first, arguing that dating apps probably weren't his thing. But Sam was persistent, reminding him that it was 2024, not 1944, and that "no one meets in grocery stores anymore."

Reluctantly, Bucky had gone along with it, figuring it couldn’t hurt to try. What was the worst that could happen?

Well, now he knew.

Bucky was starting to think Tinder was out to get him. His first two dates had been disasters—and not just normal awkwardness, but spectacularly bad. The first girl, Jenny, had brought her ex-boyfriend to the date. Apparently, he was her ride, and they were still "good friends." Bucky had spent two hours third-wheeling a reunion he hadn’t signed up for. The second girl, Alicia, had a collection of ceramic frogs. And when Bucky said “collection,” he meant obsession. The girl spent an entire dinner showing him photos of different frog figurines. It was ribbiting. Literally. One of them even made croaking sounds.

So, now here he was, on date number three, standing outside some trendy café, wondering what fresh nightmare awaited him. This time, though, he’d let you plan the date. Maybe handing over control would be better than having to smile through another amphibian-themed dinner.

You showed up right on time, and Bucky was genuinely relieved to see no ex-boyfriend hovering in the background. You were wearing a paneled knit dress with spaghetti straps that hugged you just right, and your short hair was perfectly tousled. You smiled at him, but the look on your face told him you were just as unsure as he was.

“Hi,” you greeted, and Bucky instantly forgot every single normal response. Holy shit he is TALL.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” he mumbled back. He was really nailing this whole dating thing.

You walked inside, and the café had that minimalist vibe. A lot of plants. A lot of exposed brick. The kind of place where you’re not sure if you’re supposed to sit or admire the interior design.

As you both sat down, Bucky tried to channel his inner suave. He could do this. He had faced way worse than an awkward date. Like alien invasions. Like that one time he lost his arm again. This was nothing.

Except... why was talking to an attractive woman harder than fighting off super soldiers?

“I, uh, like your dress,” Bucky said, already feeling the heat creep up his neck. Nice, Barnes, real original.

“Thanks,” you replied, with an amused smile playing on your lips. “I like your... jacket.”

Bucky nodded, looking down at his worn leather jacket. “Yeah. It’s... warm.”

Warm? That’s what you’re going with? He mentally slapped himself. This was going well. So well. He tried to change the subject and scanned the menu. “Uh... so, what’s good here?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been,” you said, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “The internet said they have good coffee, though.”

“Internet reviews, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s always a gamble. Could be great... could be a disaster.”

Cue the awkward silence.

The waiter had barely placed the food in front of you both before the quiet tension stretched between you like you were sitting in a library, not a café. Bucky poked at his bagel as if it might come to life at any moment, while you took a delicate sip of your coffee, your eyes darting between him and the wall behind him.

You both chewed in the most nonchalant way possible, each of you hyper-aware of the silence that was growing louder by the second. You were mentally cursing every decision that led to this exact moment, and Bucky, for his part, was questioning whether retiring from the whole Avenger thing had been a mistake.

Say something. Anything, Bucky thought, taking another bite of his bagel, which suddenly felt like chewing rubber. Ask about herr favorite food? No, that’s boring. Comment on the weather? Oh, yeah, nothing like ‘Hey, it’s been cold lately,’ to really sweep her off her feet. Real smooth.

Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out how you managed to forget how to make normal conversation. Maybe ask him about his hobbies? No, that’s basic. Compliment his hair? What are you, in fifth grade? Pull yourself together!

Bucky, still chewing the world’s driest bagel, caught your eye for a split second, and you both did that polite half-smile thing that happens when you’re not sure whether you should talk or continue pretending to enjoy the food.

Did she just smile at me because I’m being awkward, or am I overthinking this? Bucky wondered, immediately breaking eye contact and pretending his coffee was the most fascinating thing on the table.

You, on the other hand, were screaming internally. Oh God, did I smile too weird? Was it the kind of smile that says, ‘I like you,’ or the one that says, ‘I’m trapped in this date and don’t know how to escape’?

You both took another sip of your drinks at the exact same time.

Alright, Barnes, get it together. Say something smart, Bucky told himself, putting his mug down carefully.

“So, uh... how’s your coffee?”

You blinked, your brain scrambling for a response. How’s my coffee? It’s coffee. Just say it’s good. Don’t overthink it.

“It’s... good. How’s your bagel?”

Bucky looked down at the circular piece of bread like it had personally betrayed him. “It’s... round.”

Round? Really? You went with ‘round’? Smooth, real smooth, he chastised himself, nodding like he had just made the most profound statement about bagels ever.

Your lips twitched. Did he just describe his food as ‘round’? Okay, maybe I’m not the only one struggling here.

You took another sip of your coffee, trying to hide your smile. God, this is like watching two middle schoolers on a first date.

You both glanced at each other again. Smile. Look away. Silence.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. Alright, clearly, she thinks I’m a complete idiot. But it’s fine. I can recover. Just... find a topic. Literally any topic.

You picked at your napkin. Okay, maybe I should mention the escape room next. But what if he hates escape rooms? What if he thinks they’re boring? You cleared your throat slightly, ready to speak, but then—

Bucky cleared his throat at the same time. You both froze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You go first,” Bucky said quickly.

“No, no, you first,” you insisted, waving your hand.

Bucky’s brain blanked. He blinked, searching for anything to say. “Uh... did you... park nearby?”

You stared at him, and then a smile slowly spread across your face. Did he really just ask me about parking? You nodded. “No I–um took public transport. Did you?”

Bucky gave a stiff nod. “Yeah. Close. Very close. Super convenient.”

You both stared at each other for a beat, and then, in a miraculous moment, you both cracked up at the exact same time.

“Parking?” you laughed, shaking your head. “That’s the best we’ve got?”

Bucky held up his hands. “Hey, I panicked, okay? The bagel threw me off.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, your shoulders shaking with laughter. “And I thought the frogs were bad.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh harder. “Okay, in my defense, this date is way better than ceramic frogs.”

“Glad to be the non-frog date.” You raised your cup in mock salute.

You both chuckled, and for the first time, the awkward tension seemed to melt away. Sure, you were a bit of a mess, but at least you were a mess together.

As you calmed down, you leaned forward, a playful grin on your face. “So, what’s next? You ready for the escape room?”

“I dunno. Should I be worried?” Bucky smirked, feeling a lot lighter.

“Only if you’re bad at puzzles,” you teased.

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning back with a smirk. “Oh, trust me, I think I’ll manage.”

And with that, you both finally stood up to head for the next part of your date, the awkwardness left behind with the round bagel and the overly complicated coffee.

× × × ×

As soon as you stepped into the Asylum escape room, the mood shifted from "awkward first date" to "this might be how I die."

Oh, great. Creepy hospital décor. Perfect first-date vibes. You eyed the flickering lights and eerie medical tools scattered around the room, trying not to let on how much it was creeping you out. At least it’s better than ceramic frogs, you thought, glancing at Bucky.

“This is supposed to be the hardest escape room they have,” you said, glancing at Bucky. “Takes most people at least an hour. You ready for this?”

“Yeah, sure. I mean... it’s puzzles, right? How hard can it be?” Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to appear calm. I’ve literally fought aliens. How bad could a few puzzles be?

“You’ve never done one of these before, right?” You looked at him, a bit skeptical.

He shook his head. “First time. But, uh... I’m good under pressure.” Under pressure? What am I saying? I sound like I’m about to defuse a bomb, not solve a riddle. Get a grip, Barnes.

“Alright. Let’s do this.” You smiled, trying to hide your own nerves. 

The clock started ticking, and immediately, you were plunged into darkness. A loud creak echoed through the room, followed by a voice over the intercom: “Welcome to the Asylum. You have 60 minutes to escape. Good luck... you’ll need it.”

Perfect. Creepy voice? Check. Flickering lights? Check. Yep, I'm doomed. You moved toward a stack of papers, squinting at the dim lighting. “Okay, first thing’s first... we need to find the clues hidden in this room to unlock the door.”

Before you could even start, Bucky was already inspecting a random pipe on the wall. He tugged at it, and it came loose, revealing a hidden key taped to the back. Oh, that was... lucky? Or did I just break something?

You froze mid-step. “Wait. How did you—”

“I... uh... just pulled on it.” Bucky looked just as surprised as you. Did I just accidentally solve this?

“Okay. Lucky guess.” You stared at him. 

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe.” Play it cool, Barnes. Don't look like you’re clueless here.

You both moved into the next room, which had even creepier décor. Faint writing on the walls, jars filled with unidentifiable things, and a mannequin in the corner that Bucky immediately side-eyed like it was going to jump out at you. Okay, I don’t trust that mannequin. Why’s it looking at me like that?

You picked up a piece of paper with some cryptic writing on it. “This says something about finding the light within the dark. I think it’s a clue. We need to—”

“Found it,” Bucky called out.

You turned to see him holding up a blacklight. How does he keep doing this?! 

“They always hide something with a blacklight, right?” He grinned, flashing the light on the wall, revealing a series of glowing numbers. That’s a thing, right? People hide stuff with these lights all the time... right?

“Oh, you’re just full of ideas now, huh?” You crossed your arms, smirking.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “Just... using my instincts.” Yep. Totally knew that.

You worked through the next few puzzles, but by "worked," what you really meant was Bucky accidentally stumbling into the solutions. Every time you tried to figure out a clue, Bucky would casually touch something, pull a lever, or press a random button that—surprise—opened the next door or revealed the next key. At first, you thought he was joking. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear: Bucky was somehow solving the escape room by sheer dumb luck—or so you thought.

This is starting to freak me out... Am I secretly a genius? Bucky thought.

At one point, you were trying to decipher a complicated code etched into the wall, mumbling to yourself about numerology and patterns, when Bucky—completely oblivious—pulled a book off the shelf, and a hidden door creaked open in the floor.

No. No way. “Are you—” You blinked. “Did you just—”

Bucky glanced at the open trapdoor, confused. “What? Was that not supposed to happen?”

You slapped your forehead. “No! I mean, yes, but—oh my God, Bucky, you’re breaking the game.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose!” Seriously, I just touched a book. How is that a thing?

You looked down at the trapdoor, then back at him. “What are you? A puzzle savant? Did you plan this?”

Bucky laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Nah, I just thought the book looked weird.” Great, now she thinks I’m some kind of escape room wizard.

You gaped at him. “The book looked weird?” Weird? Dude, I’m starting to think you have X-ray vision.

“I mean... yeah. It was dusty.” It wasn’t even that weird... or was it?

You squinted at him, hands on your hips. “You’re telling me you spotted a dusty book and thought, ‘Aha! Hidden door.’?”

“Isn’t that... what you’re supposed to do in these rooms?” Bucky shrugged, looking genuinely sorry. Please tell me that's how this works.

This man is unbelievable. You stared at him for a long moment before bursting out laughing. “Oh my God. You’re accidentally good at this. You’re just walking around solving stuff like you do this every weekend!”

Bucky chuckled, his shoulders relaxing a little. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m glad she’s laughing. “I swear I’ve never done this before.” This isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s happened to me this week.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified,” you teased, stepping closer to him. “You’re like a walking cheat code.” Sure, Sherlock. Whatever you say.

“Hey, I’m just here to help.” He smiled, clearly enjoying your reaction. At least she’s impressed. That’s something.

I think you might secretly be a robot. You shook your head, grinning. “Alright, escape room prodigy, let’s see if you can crack the last one.”

You entered the final room—a dimly lit chamber with a creepy-looking mannequin in the corner and random medical equipment scattered around. You narrowed your eyes.

“Okay, this is the hardest part. No way you’re going to just... guess your way out of this one.”

“Yeah, this one’s. . . tricky.” Bucky glanced around, clearly trying to look casual. Please don’t let me stumble into the solution again... 

Please don’t let him find the solution immediately. Just this once.

You pointed at the mannequin. “We need to find a code hidden somewhere in this room. The clue says it’s ‘locked in the mind.’ So it has to be something mental, right? Like a puzzle?”

Bucky stared at the mannequin for a second, then slowly reached out and twisted its head off. Inside, there was a slip of paper with the code on it. Oh, come on. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Are you KIDDING me?!” Your jaw dropped. 

“I just thought... you know... maybe the head comes off?” Bucky held up the paper, looking sheepish. 

Why am I even here?! You threw your hands up in the air. “Of COURSE the head comes off! Because that makes total sense! Sure!”

Bucky bit back a laugh. “Well, it did say ‘locked in the mind.’” Technically, I was right.

You glared at him, then shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Okay, that’s it. You’re banned from escape rooms. You ruin them.”

“Ruined it?” Bucky asked, grinning. “We escaped, didn’t we?” She’s totally impressed, even if she won’t admit it.

“We escaped in twelve minutes, Bucky! Twelve!” You slapped his arm playfully. “That’s not normal!”

He laughed, ducking his head. “Sorry?” Guess I’m not so bad at this ‘fun date’ thing.

As you both stepped out of the escape room, the staff was standing there, looking like they’d just witnessed the impossible.

“You’re... done?” Pink-haired Girl asked, your eyes wide with disbelief.

Wow. They look like I just told them Santa isn’t real, Bucky thought.

You, just as confused, looked over at Bucky. “Uh. . .yeah, I guess?”

“Looks like it.” Bucky gave a casual shrug. No big deal. Just casually shattering dreams.

Clipboard Guy checked his stopwatch again, his mouth hanging open. “Twelve minutes. No. That’s not possible. People are supposed to break down in there. We’ve had people cry!”

Cry? What is this, an escape room or emotional boot camp? “You want me to go back in and tear up a little? You know, for the full experience?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“People have left that room emotionally damaged. You just... strolled out.” Pink-haired Girl blinked. 

You stared at Bucky, still wrapping your head around it. “I didn’t even get through the first clue, and you were already unlocking half the room.”

“You were working hard. I just sped things up a bit.” Bucky chuckled softly, glancing at you with a playful smile. I mean, you were giving it a solid effort...

The Master of Puzzles guy appeared, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Did you... have the answers beforehand? Because that’s the hardest room we’ve got. We’ve had people rage-quit in there.”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, looking amused. “Nah, just good at finding my way out of things.”

“I didn’t even do anything. You solved the whole thing!” You shook your head, still half-laughing, half in disbelief.

“Hey, you were a great moral support.” Bucky smiled at you, nudging you lightly. Seriously, though, it’s good to have someone to watch while I dismantle a room’s dignity.

Clipboard Guy muttered, “We’re gonna have to ban him. He’s banned.”

Oh no, I’ve ruined their sacred puzzle temple.

“He broke the hardest room we’ve got. Who even does that?” Pink-haired Girl nodded, still dumbfounded. 

“Well, I’d offer to go back and struggle a bit, but... I don’t think it’d be convincing.” Bucky smirked, leaning casually against the counter. Trust me, I can’t fake being bad at something. Even if I tried.

As you headed for the exit, Bucky held the door open for you, giving the staff one last glance before he leaned over to you, voice low. 

“What? You wanted to be stuck in there all night?”

“Honestly? It would’ve been nice to solve at least one puzzle.” You groaned, though you were smiling.

“Next time, I’ll let you have the first clue. Promise.” Bucky chuckled softly. And by let you, I mean I’ll stand far away from everything and try not to accidentally win.

 “You better.” You laughed, shaking your head as you both stepped out into the night.

× × × ×

The arcade was buzzing with lights, sounds, and the faint scent of popcorn. It was a complete shift from the eerie asylum escape room, and you were already eyeing the rows of flashing machines and claw games with glee.

Alright, this is more like it. No creepy mannequins here, just good old-fashioned fun.

Bucky, on the other hand, looked around like he had just entered a foreign world. The last time he’d been in an arcade, they didn’t have all this flashing neon or half the games that were here now. What happened to the simple stuff? Pinball machines and jukeboxes. Now I’ve got ten-foot robots staring at me while kids slap buttons like their lives depend on it.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile at how excited you looked. Okay, if she’s this excited, maybe this won’t be so bad.

“Okay, so... how does this place work again?” he asked, watching a kid furiously slap buttons at a nearby game.

You laughed, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s simple! We just play a bunch of games, earn tickets, and then trade them in for really weird prizes. Easy.”

Bucky nodded, though he still looked a little confused. “So, you win tickets by—?”

“By being amazing at games, obviously,” you said, your eyes already darting toward a nearby basketball shooting game. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Bucky followed you, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, I’ll keep up.” Alright, let’s see if I remember how to be competitive at... basketball?

You started with basketball, and while you had a decent shot, Bucky quickly became the Michael Jordan of arcade basketball. He tossed shot after shot into the hoop with ridiculous ease, barely even looking like he was trying.

Oh, come on. Seriously? Why is he good at everything? You shook your head in disbelief. “Oh, come on. Are you serious right now? Are you even aiming?”

“I dunno. I just... throw.” Bucky shrugged, not missing a single shot. 

“This is what I get for going on a date with someone who’s literally built for accuracy.” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. Why am I pretending like I’m mad? It’s honestly impressive.

He flashed a boyish grin. “You wanted to see if I could keep up.” Oh, I’m keeping up, doll.

You crossed your arms, pretending to pout. “I wasn’t trying to lose in record time.”

When the game ended, Bucky had a ridiculous amount of points, and you had... well, significantly fewer. He collected your combined tickets from the machine, glancing down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Should I carry these, or do you want to hold on to the three tickets you earned?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

How is he still charming even while teasing me? This is unfair. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you snatched a couple of tickets from his hand with a grin. “You know what? Fuck you.”

“Careful, doll. You keep talking like that, and I might just take you up on it.” Bucky’s smirk widened, and he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice just enough to make your pulse quicken. 

Okay, that was a little too good. I should not be blushing right now. Your eyes widened for a second, a flush creeping up your neck before you shot him a playful glare. “You wish.”

“You know I don’t have to wish for anything.” He chuckled, stepping back with a wink.

Well, that escalated quickly. You tried to bite back your smile, but it was impossible with the way he was looking at you. “I’m starting to regret bringing you here.”

Bucky held up the stack of tickets, grinning like a kid who just won the lottery. “You’re only regretting it because I’m walking away with all the prizes.” Did I just turn an arcade into a battlefield?

“Yeah, yeah, keep rubbing it in.” You huffed, shaking your head, though the smile on your face said otherwise. 

Bucky shot you another wink. “Oh, I plan to.”

This guy is dangerous with that smile. You smirked, leaning in a little. “So... what happened to the awkward guy who pointed out that bagels are round? Because this,” you waved at the arcade tickets, “does not feel like the same guy.”

“What? You weren’t impressed by my bagel observations?” Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. I was doing my best back then, okay?

You laughed, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, I was very impressed. I just didn’t know you were hiding this arcade legend behind all that bagel wisdom.”

He grinned, eyes glinting. “I’m full of surprises, doll.” You have no idea.

“Clearly,” you said, still teasing him as you walked toward the next game. “Let’s see how many more surprises you’ve got.”

You dragged him over to the shooting gallery game, where you were met with an array of plastic rifles and paper targets.

“I’m kinda good at this,” you declared, grabbing one of the rifles with renewed determination. “You can’t have a crazy aim for everything.” Finally, something I can win.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused. “Okay. Let’s see what you got.”

You aimed and fired... missing every single target. You winced as the targets flipped back and forth, mocking you with their tiny, evil faces. Are you kidding me?

“You’re holding it too tight.” Bucky stepped up beside you, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Oh, great. Here we go. The expert.” You groaned. Of course, I’m holding it too tight. Leave it to Bucky to know everything.

Bucky smiled, but instead of saying anything, he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you, his hands gently guiding yours on the plastic gun. You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you felt the warmth of him so close. His breath was soft against your ear as he leaned in to guide your aim, his voice low and steady.

Why does he have to be so good at this? I can barely think straight.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands adjusting yours gently. “Don’t grip it so hard. Just like this.”

How am I supposed to relax when he’s practically wrapped around me?

Your pulse quickened, your senses suddenly overwhelmed by how close he was. His cologne—woodsy and warm—filled your lungs, making you a little dizzy. You swallowed hard, focusing on anything but the way your back pressed against his chest. “Okay... relax. Right. Got it.”

“You’re not relaxing.” Bucky’s voice was low, almost teasing.

Yeah, no kidding. Not exactly easy when you smell like a lumberjack dream. 

“I am relaxed!” you shot back, though your heart was racing so fast you were sure he could hear it.

Bucky chuckled, and the soft rumble of his laugh vibrated against your back. “If you were relaxed, you wouldn’t be holding your breath.” 

If she’s holding her breath, I must be doing something right.

You blinked, realizing that yes, you were in fact holding your breath. You exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the targets instead of the fact that Bucky was basically wrapped around you.

“Good,” he said quietly, his hands still steadying yours. “Now, pull the trigger. Nice and easy.”

Yeah, this is totally normal. Just shooting targets, totally not thinking about how close we are.

You followed his lead, squeezing the trigger gently. The shot rang out, and the sound of a hit echoed through the machine. The target flipped backward, signaling a perfect hit.

“I did it!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over as you turned your head to look at him.

Your faces were just inches apart. Bucky’s eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with tension, the good kind—the kind that makes your heart race and your stomach flip.

God, she’s close. Just a little closer...

Your gaze flickered down to his lips, and Bucky swallowed hard, momentarily forgetting where you were or what you were doing. All he could think about was how easy it would be to lean in just a little more, to—

“Uh, sorry!” A kid nearby bumped into the machine, jolting you both out of the moment.

Of course. Great timing, kid.

You quickly stepped out of Bucky’s embrace, your face flushed. “Well, um... thanks for the lesson, Barnes.”

Bucky cleared his throat, his ears a little pink. “Yeah. Anytime.” Anytime? Seriously, Barnes? That’s all you’ve got?

You moved on to a few more games, but the tension between you still lingered, electric and unspoken. After a particularly intense game of air hockey (where you almost won, thanks to Bucky being a little too distracted by you), you found yourselves at the prize counter.

Your eyes scanned the shelves, but one prize in particular caught your attention: an absolutely massive goose plush sitting at the top of the prize display. It was ridiculous, almost comically large, but it made you smile instantly.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, pointing. “That goose is so cute.”

Bucky followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow. A goose? Really? She could pick anything, and it’s that giant bird?

“You like that thing?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“I mean, look at it. It’s the size of a couch,” you said, laughing. “No one’s ever gonna win enough tickets for that.”

Bucky looked thoughtful for a second. Then, without saying a word, he handed all of your tickets to the guy at the counter. Challenge accepted, doll.

The kid behind the counter stared at him. “Uh, you know this isn’t enough for the goose, right?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, but... what’s it take to win that thing?”

Because clearly, winning giant plush birds is my new priority in life.

The kid blinked. “Like... a thousand tickets.”

Bucky smirked, then turned to you. “Wait here.”

“What are you doing?” You frowned, confused. 

Please don’t say you’re going to try and win a thousand tickets... oh my God, he’s going to try and win a thousand tickets.

Bucky said nothing and disappeared into the crowd. A few minutes later, you saw him at one of those old-school, rigged basketball games. His face was calm, determined—like he was about to go to war.

One after the other, Bucky sank shot after shot, racking up points so fast that you had to rub your eyes to believe it. Within minutes, he had earned a mountain of tickets. He moved on to another game, this time skee-ball, and then to another. Every single game, he dominated, earning enough tickets to make the counter kid’s jaw drop when he returned with what looked like a roll of tickets big enough to use as a belt.

“Holy crap,” you muttered, watching as Bucky handed the tickets over, a satisfied smirk on his face. The kid counted them, eyes wide, then slowly reached for the giant goose plush.

The oversized goose was practically half Bucky’s height as he carried it back over to you, grinning.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you with a proud look. “You said you liked it, right?”

Who just... casually wins a giant goose plush? How did he do that?

You stared at the giant, fluffy creature, then at him, your heart flipping over itself. “Bucky... this is insane. It’s huge.”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave without winning you something.” He shrugged, his grin boyish and a little shy. Yeah, Barnes, act like you’re not insanely proud of yourself right now. 

He’s... adorable. Stop. Focus. “You really didn’t have to... but I love it.” You laughed, hugging the goose to your chest. 

“Good.” Bucky’s eyes softened as he watched you smile. Worth every single ticket.

Your heart raced, your face heating up as you looked at him over the massive plush. “You’re full of surprises, Barnes. Who knew you’d be this good at arcades?”

Just trying to impress the girl, no big deal.

“Maybe I just wanted to impress you.” He smiled, a little more reserved this time.

Well, mission accomplished, buddy. You blushed, the air between you crackling again with that familiar tension. “Well, mission accomplished.”

You stood there for a moment, just smiling at each other, the absurdly large goose between you, until you laughed and nudged him with your elbow.

“You know, this might be the best date I’ve ever been on,” you said, your tone light but sincere. Was that too much? Did I just over-share?

Bucky’s smile grew, his eyes softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, holding the goose a little tighter. “Definitely the best.” Okay, that was smooth. Not awkward at all.

You left the arcade with the giant goose plush between you, its goofy face almost mocking the awkwardness that had suddenly crept back into your steps. Bucky walked beside you, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, trying to figure out what to say.

Do I say something? Or just... keep walking?

The sounds of the city filled the silence around you, but neither of you spoke. The playful energy from the arcade had faded into something quieter, more uncertain.

Why am I so bad at this? Just say something, Barnes.

After a long stretch of quiet, Bucky cleared his throat. “So... is this the end?” Smooth, real smooth.

You blinked and glanced over at him, trying to keep your heart from doing a flip at his words. “Well, that’s all I had planned. Why?”

Bucky hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly as he looked ahead, his mind clearly weighing something. Okay, don’t screw this up. Don’t sound too eager.

For a moment, you thought maybe he was going to say goodbye, that maybe this was the end of your date after all. But then, he spoke quietly, almost as if he was embarrassed to admit it.

“I kind of don’t want to go home yet.” Well, there it is. Now she knows.

You felt a flutter in your chest, your face heating up as a small, shy smile tugged at your lips. You ducked your head, looking down at the sidewalk to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks. The way he said it—so simple but sincere—made your heart skip.

Why does that sound so much cuter than it should? You bit your lip, an idea suddenly coming to you.

“Well...” you started, glancing up at him. “There’s a new building by the riverside with a sky deck. It just opened recently, and it’s supposed to have the best view of the city.”

“Sky deck, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, intrigued. A sky deck? Yeah, that sounds better than awkwardly walking home.

You nodded, a little more excited now. “Yeah. It’s pretty high up, and overlooks the whole city. I haven’t been yet, but I heard it’s amazing at night.”

“Sounds better than going home.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a soft smile. Thank God. I’m not ready for this to be over yet.

“Then let’s go.” You grinned, feeling your heart race just a little faster. 

You shared a quick, almost nervous glance at each other before walking in the direction of the riverside. The awkwardness wasn’t completely gone, but now, it was laced with anticipation, a kind of giddy energy that made your stomach flutter. You hugged the plush goose a little tighter, trying not to let your excitement show too much, but inside, you were buzzing.

× × × × 

The city lights shimmered below you as you lounged on the comfy chairs, drinks in hand. The night air was cool, but it didn’t come close to breaking the warmth buzzing between you and Bucky.

She’s... something else, Bucky thought, leaning back slightly. His gaze kept shifting between the breathtaking skyline and you, but he found himself more captivated by you. How am I supposed to focus on the view when she looks like that?

Noticing the quiet, you smirked. “So, you were really gonna end the night without showing off more of your endless talents?”

Oh, she’s teasing now. Alright, two can play this game. Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused. “What, beating you at arcade games wasn’t enough?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re a walking cheat code, Bucky. But I feel like there’s more you’re holding back.”

His eyes flickered over your face, lingering on your lips for just a little too long. More than you know, doll. “Maybe I am.”

Your breath caught for a second, but you quickly recovered, tilting your head and flashing him a grin. “Oh yeah? Like what? Some secret talent I should know about?”

Keep your cool, Barnes. Don't blow it now.

Bucky leaned in just a fraction, his voice lowering, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. But I only show them to people who ask nicely.”

God, does he have to sound that smooth? Your heart flipped at the way he was looking at you, intense, as if he was seeing through every joke and teasing comment. How am I supposed to keep this casual?

“Nicely, huh? And what do I have to do for you to show me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the playful banter fading into something more charged.

“Keep hanging around,” he said softly.

I’m in deep now. Bucky's eyes dropped to your lips again, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into nothing. Should I kiss her? Maybe I’m reading this wrong...

His eyes dropped to your lips again, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into nothing. It was just him—his voice, his presence, the way he was looking at you like he wanted to kiss you but was holding back.

You swallowed, feeling the tension build like a slow fire. You sipped your drink, trying to cool yourself down, but it did little to shake the feeling that something between you had shifted. Stop overthinking, just go with it.

“I could do that,” you murmured, a small smile playing on your lips. You felt his eyes on you, and the air between you felt electric. You glanced at him, catching him staring at your lips again. Your pulse jumped. He’s really staring... isn’t he?

“You’re staring,” you said, teasing, though your voice had a soft edge to it, your heart thudding in your chest.

Bucky blinked, caught, but instead of pulling away, he smirked. “Am I?”

Yeah, Bucky, play it cool. Like you haven’t been staring for the past five minutes.

“Mhm,” you teased, though your voice was barely steady. Why does that smirk make my heart race? “I mean, I get it. The view’s great and all.”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping lower. “You could say that.”

I can’t believe this is actually happening. You felt your face heat up at the way he was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze made your stomach do wild flips. Why is this so... intense?

“You’re not just talking about the city, are you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, sending shivers down your spine. Just kiss her already. “Maybe not.”

Your breath hitched. “And what are you looking at?”

He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked on yours. “What do you think?”

She knows exactly what I’m looking at. 

Your heart raced, the pull between you growing stronger with every passing second. His eyes kept flicking down to your lips, making you wonder if he was going to kiss you. I really shouldn’t wait any longer...

Bucky cleared his throat suddenly, as if shaking off the trance he’d been in, and leaned back into his seat, looking almost embarrassed. Okay, maybe I’m rushing this.

“Sorry... I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you interrupted quickly, your voice softer, gentler now. God, why did he stop? “Don’t be. I didn’t mind.”

His gaze snapped back to yours, the tension flaring again. She didn’t mind? Well, maybe I didn’t screw up, after all—or I did because you didn’t kiss her you idiot. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, a soft smile tugged at his lips, and his expression softened.

“So... orthopedic ward, huh?” he said, shifting the conversation, though his eyes were still locked on you. “How do you handle that? All those broken bones?”

Smooth, Barnes. Talk about bones to distract yourself from the fact you were just about to kiss her.

You took a deep breath, relieved for the break in intensity but missing it instantly. Great, now I’m thinking about how close he was... “Well, it’s mostly convincing people not to do dumb things. Like skateboarding down staircases. You wouldn’t believe what people put themselves through.”

Bucky chuckled. Yeah, I believe it. Considering I’ve done dumber things in my time. “I can believe it. I’ve been there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve skateboarded down staircases?”

“No, but I’ve done some pretty stupid things in my time,” he admitted, leaning in again. Pretty sure falling for you might top the list. “But if I did something dumb, you’d patch me up, right?”

You smirked, your eyes twinkling. He’s flirting again. I can’t take this seriously. “Oh, I’d patch you up. But I’d make sure to remind you how dumb you were the entire time.”

“Fair,” Bucky said, the distance between you shrinking again. Patch me up, lecture me—just keep talking, I don’t care. “But I think I’d be a good patient.”

You shook your head with a grin. Good patient? Doubtful. “I doubt that. You’d probably complain the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t,” he replied, his tone teasing but soft. I’d let her take care of me, no problem. “If you were the one taking care of me, I’d be on my best behavior.”

He’s definitely not just talking about broken bones... Your heart skipped at the way he was looking at you again, his voice dropping to something more intimate. The banter was light, but underneath it all, there was that same intensity. Okay, now I’m thinking about kissing him again...

“You don’t strike me as someone who’s ever on their best behavior,” you teased softly, though your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky smirked, his eyes flicking to your lips again. “Maybe you bring it out in me.”

God, I hope so.

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning. Your pulse raced, and you leaned into the moment, letting the tension simmer between you, unspoken but undeniable. He’s close again…

“I’ll have to see that for myself,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat.

She’s close, too. Just lean in, Barnes. Bucky’s gaze darkened, his voice low and rough. “You just might.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as the tension between you crackled, thick and electric. You shifted slightly, leaning in with a playful smirk. “So... tell me, you got any other dates lined up after this one?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered with amusement as he leaned back, crossing his arms. Dates? I can barely keep up with this one. “Why? You worried I’ve got someone else lined up?”

You grinned, holding his gaze. “Maybe. Should I be?”

Not a chance. He leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking as his voice dropped lower. “I don’t know... do you have any other dates lined up?”

He’s really turning this on me, huh? You blinked, your heart racing, but you quickly shot back, “Well, maybe... maybe not. Depends on how this one ends.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his eyes dropping to your lips again, the intensity rising. Alright, Barnes, time to end this date right. “Guess I better make sure it ends right, then.”

Before you could respond, Bucky reached out, his fingers gently tilting your chin up. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek as he leaned in, your lips so close you could feel his breath.

Your heart was pounding, your breath shallow, as his parted lips brushed against yours, soft and slow, his head tilting just slightly. The kiss was gentle at first, his lips locking against yours in a way that made everything around you fade to nothing. He could taste the faint sweetness of your daiquiri on your lips, and with a soft groan, his tongue did a slow, savoring lick against your bottom lip before slipping past, deepening the kiss.

Your hands instinctively moved up, cupping his face as you kissed him back, your fingers sliding along the scruff of his jaw. The warmth of his touch, the way his thumb stroked your cheek, the way his lips moved against yours —everything about it was intoxicating, pulling you under.

Then Bucky pulled back for a quick gasp, his breath mingling with yours , before diving back in, capturing your lips with even more intensity. The kiss deepened, more urgent this time, as though neither of you wanted the moment to end. His hand on your nape tightened slightly, pulling you closer as the kiss intensified, his lips pressing more firmly against yours.

They didn’t stop until they couldn’t breathe anymore, finally pulling apart when the need for air overtook you, both of you breathless and flushed. Their foreheads rested together, the cool night air doing little to cool the heat between you. Bucky’s thumb gently stroked your cheek as he whispered, his voice rough, “Definitely no other dates lined up after this.”

You smiled, your hands still cradling his face, your heart pounding. “Good. Neither do I.”

× × × ×

As Bucky’s motorcycle came to a slow stop outside your house, and glanced up at your front porch. You hopped off the bike, shaking out your hair with a satisfied grin.

That ride was way too short... you thought, glancing at him as you handed Bucky his helmet, which he stubbornly told you to wear instead of him.

Bucky, being the gentleman, didn’t just let you off with a wave. He slid off the bike and stood up straight, dusting his hands like he was about to help carry your groceries.

Alright, Barnes. Play it cool.

"I’ll walk you up," he said casually, like it wasn’t 2024 and people usually just waved from their cars.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking into a smirk. "You’re walking me to my porch?"

Bucky nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She thinks it’s weird? Hell, I thought that’s what you’re supposed to do.

“Of course. What kind of guy lets a lady walk to her door alone?” he replied, shrugging like this was completely normal.

You tried not to laugh, biting your lip to hold back a smile. He’s serious. Oh my God, he’s really serious. "Wow, okay, Mr. 1940s. What’s next, you gonna tip your hat and call me ‘ma’am’?"

Bucky smirked, taking a step closer. Alright, go with it, Barnes. “I could, if that’s what you’re into.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes but smiling as you walked together toward your porch. He’s ridiculous... and kinda sweet. You couldn’t help but notice how he slowed his pace just a little, like he was savoring the moment, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, casual yet somehow... considerate.

When you reached your porch, Bucky stopped, glancing at your door as if making sure it was safe territory. This is it. Play it smooth.

You turned to him, unable to hold back a laugh this time. "So, do I get a secret code to get into my own house, or...?"

Bucky grinned, leaning casually against the porch railing. “Just making sure you get home safe.”

Alright, Barnes, she’s not buying it. But hey, it worked.

“You know, they invented porch lights for a reason.” You shook your head, amused. He’s seriously acting like my personal bodyguard right now.

“What can I say? Old habits die hard.” Bucky shrugged, leaning in just a little closer, that playful glint in his eye. Please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh.

You looked up at him, crossing your arms with a smirk. “You know, there’s a fine line between being a gentleman and babysitting.”

Bucky chuckled. She’s killing me with that smirk. “Hey, you never know. There could be a rogue bagel out here, just waiting to trip you up.”

Oh, not the bagels again. “Oh my God, not the bagels again!” you burst out laughing, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You know they’re round, right?”

This man is unbelievable. You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I think we’ve officially come full circle.”

“Just like a bagel.” Bucky gave a slow, dramatic nod.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, but you shook your head, standing on your porch with your hands on your hips. Why do I like this guy so much?

“Alright, alright, you’ve escorted me safely to my door. Anything else, or are you going to salute me goodbye?”

Bucky’s grin softened, and with a playful twinkle in his eye, he gave a small, mock salute. She’s gotta be messing with me right now, right? “Goodnight, ma’am.”

“Goodnight, soldier.” You couldn’t stop smiling as you opened your door, turning back to look at him. Don’t walk away, don’t walk away yet...

As you slipped inside, you peeked out one last time, watching as Bucky lingered for a second, that charming smirk still on his face before he finally turned and headed back to his bike. Say something, Barnes. Don’t just leave like a dork.

But then he stopped, halfway to his bike, and turned back around, something flickering in his eyes.

No, I’m not leaving yet. Not without...

Before you could ask what he was doing, Bucky closed the distance between you with a few long strides. Without hesitating, he gently tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing your cheek as he leaned in and kissed you—soft, quick, but just enough to make your heart race. His lips parted against yours, and for a split second, you tasted the warmth of him before he pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes.

That... was... wow.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart doing a somersault. Did that just happen? You were still processing when Bucky grinned, his voice a little more hushed. “I guess I couldn’t leave without a proper goodbye.”

Smooth, Barnes. Real smooth.

You blinked, trying to find your voice, but all that came out was a soft, “No complaints here.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his hand still lingering at your neck for a moment longer. Then, he cleared his throat, stepping back a bit. “Hey, uh... you got a number I could call sometime?”

He’s asking for my number after that?

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter as you reached into your pocket, grabbing your phone. “Yeah, here—let me put it in.”

As you typed in your number, Bucky watched you, that familiar twinkle back in his eyes. Best decision I’ve made all night.

When you handed his phone back, your fingers brushed his, sending a small jolt up your arm. Yep, I’m done for.

Bucky pocketed the phone, flashing that boyish grin again. “Alright. I’ll call you.”

Yeah, you better. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He took a slow step down from the porch, but not without glancing over his shoulder one more time. “Goodnight... again.”

You stood there, grinning like an idiot. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way back to his bike, you slipped inside your house, leaning against the door as your heart raced. Did he really just kiss me? Again? Oh, this is definitely not over.

You peeked out one last time through the crack in the door, watching him as he swung his leg over his bike. Even from your doorway, you could hear him muttering with a smirk, “Just trying to keep the rogue bagels at bay.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you finally closed the door behind you, your heart racing a little more than you expected. I’m never going to forget this night...

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

ragatha is NOT abstracting* and i will bury myself six foot under that hill

* well , i don't think she'll FULLY abstract . _____

i know this may be shocking coming from Me , the ragatha angst enjoyer , who made an entire au where she's having a bad day 24/7 . i truly , do not believe that ragatha's going to get killed off . just . hear me out . sit down on this chair .

it's not even that she's my favorite character and i don't want her to die . the opposite , actually , i eat ragatha abstraction fanfics up . my problems are more ... well , it lies more on the writing .

first of all , let's remember what tadc is for a second ; it's a tonally hopeful show with messages about community and not being truly alone . even in episode 5 , where ragatha Goes Through It , it has a glimmer of hope through jax — where he finds a friend in pomni .

it's why i truly believe she'll have some form of positive development , because if Jax , the character that gooseworx said who's Most deserved to be stuck in the circus , can be happy ... then why couldn't ragatha ?

also . i Love assholes with repressed trauma as much as the next guy , but it'll be weird to make the guy who's been antagonistic to most of the cast thus far find more happiness than ..... the clearly-traumatized woman ...........

when you write a story with mentally ill characters and a hopeful message ... what does it say when you kill off one of them ? what does it say to the audience that relates to that character ? here's a hint — stuff that i would find IFFY to put in your show .

obviously , you can do literally anything as a writer , but picture this ; imagine setting up a character like ragatha . someone who has gone through abuse and a lot of trauma . desperate for a community to the point she grasps for any scraps of validation she gets . you put her in a show where every character find some form of hope in the situation they're in . she has shown herself to harbor some form of self-loathing .

by that point , you should see my problem with killing her off . once more : if she dies , what does it say to the audience who relates to that character ?

and now for my next question — what would it add to the show ? what message does it send and how does it add to the theme ? because ... any of the answers to those questions i can think of are NOT good answers considering the last paragraphs .

" it'll show that people truly cares even when you're gone " we'll have episode 2 again , but this time at the cost of a character we've gotten to know for the last five episodes . it'll make ragatha's time in the show a Total Waste . like cool , all she's been set up for the last five episodes is to Die ...

i sure do hope we don't have another dead character who tells the same message of people caring about you when you're gone and also had an entire funeral scene which will make all of this build-up so redundant — oh wait his name is kaufmo .

at that point you could just remove her and put kaufmo in her place , because it's just the Same Message being told . it'll be impactful to see a main character dying ... if that character isn't going to essentially make all of their scenes redundant in hindsight .

" it'll give the cast character development " but not ragatha ?? i will be real with you i will be so Mad if ragatha gets killed off as a catalyst for jax to have an epiphany or character development . like genuinely that would make me instantly drop the show , do Not get me started .

even then , the thing that's going on with ragatha thus far is her thinking nobody cares for her despite that it's the Opposite . by giving the other characters development instead of her in Her Own Arc is Terrible Writing and i'm not going to budge on that .

" it'll mark a tonal shift " an answer i'm slightly okay with , but let's take the above paragraphs again — it'll be iffy nonetheless . do i Love the idea of an unsatisfying character arc where it suddenly ends , therefore breaking the formula that's been set since the beginning ? yes ! would i love it in this specific case considering the context of the show and its themes ? very much Not !

i know these arguments are more of an opinionated , ' think of how that'll work into the story ' rather than actual proof , but when it comes to making predictions , the tadc fandom doesn't really stop and think about how it adds to a character or story beyond It'll Be Shocking . for this theory specifically , i can't see a Good narrative reason to kill off ragatha without stepping on at least one land mine . as someone familiar with writing stories with mentally ill characters — it'll get Weird quick !

do i accept that there could be a Tiny possibility that ragatha Does abstract ? absolutely . i do trust gooseworx's ability as a writer enough to Maybe make this sting less when it actually does happen , but i'll very much criticize it .

so ! i don't think she Wouldn't abstract 100% though . because by this point it's inevitable that she'll sink into the darkness in some way . keep in mind that Barely Anything goes right for this girl . i don't think she'll die , but a very public mental breakdown is inevitable . at most , i see a fake-out abstraction . you know . one where she gets pulled out of it at the last second . just to scare the fans .

personally , do you know what would be more impactful than a death ? a character that fully believes she'll die alone and unloved being proven Wrong . episode 5 has shown how the other characters Care for her . imagine her spiraling and thinking that nobody cares if she abstracts , only to realize that there are people by her side . shit that would actually make me cry , i'm not gonna lie .

she will get a BIG group hug and she'll cry and i would also cry and we crew and we crode and i don't know maybe i'll be wrong Shrugs let's see this post age like milk LOL

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

(Don't You) Steal My Thunder

my tyler owens playlist 🤝 inspiring fic titles

Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words

summary: Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's set on getting you on his good side. And the more you get to know him, the less you can resist.

a/n: i had to research sm car stuff for this it's not funny. i now know exactly how to describe a truck bed though, so. that's fun.

again, my inbox is wide open <33 i don't guarantee anything, but you can always come talk to me or request smth

masterlist | twisters masterlist

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met.

He prints his face on t-shirts, writes his autograph on mugs, comes up with ridiculous sayings ("Not My First Tornadeo" and "If you feel it, chase it" are really just the tip of the ice berg) and most importantly, he costs you the best shots of tornadoes every goddamn time.

Tyler Owens is a problem.

And Tyler Owens seems to have actively decided to make himself a problem too.

Which would be fine, if he flipped you the bird or told you to fuck off or threw his paper towels at you. Unluckily, those are rather examples of what you have done to him. Because it's not fine, not at all - no, Tyler Owens has decided that it's not enough to be in your way all the time, he has to seek you out and rub your nose in it.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's arrogant and he's entirely too full of himself. He brags too much and calls you "weather girl" too often. He gets under your skin more than you would ever admit.

And, as if all of that isn't enough - Tyler Owens is the very epitome of handsomeness.

It's like god didn't just have a good day when he created Tyler Owens, no, god must have still been in the post-haze of the best head he'd gotten in his whole immortal life when he'd created Tyler Owens.

Because Tyler Owens has the body of a greek god and the face of a Hollywood actor. He's not a pornstar, he's who pornstars worship. He's the Prince Charming little girls dream of and the Christian Grey grown women lust for.

Tyler Owens looks like everything you've ever wanted.

But he's just such a fucking asshole.

You wish you could say you didn't care. You'd love to be the kind of woman who didn't even acknowledge him. But you're not. You're not. You watch his videos when you can't sleep, you chuckle when you happen to overhear his jokes, you ogle his back when he's turned away from you. Sometimes, you get so lost in staring at him that you realise too late when he turns back around, and then you have to act unbothered when he grins his fucking grin at you. That's mostly when you flip him off, desperately fighting to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

Not like it stops him. You honestly feel like it only spurs him on.

Something has to seriously be wrong with him. It's not his face. But something is seriously wrong with him, you're sure of that.

Something has to be wrong with him. No sane person would ever go tornado wrangling. No hate to the rest of his crew - they're nice, you've managed to hold a few pretty normal conversations with them here and there - but none of them are sane either.

Storm chasing is different. You keep your distance. All you need are a few well-placed photographs - and those you can get from a rather safe number of miles away. The weather channel doesn't care about close-ups (not really, anyway). They want something to show the people on their comfortable couches, up in New Hampshire or Maine, so that all of them can say to each other "What poor folks, wouldn't wanna live there" and nod in pity as they switch the channel to watch another blockbuster.

You're just doing your job.

The only problem is that it's hard to do your job properly when there's always that fucking red truck in the way, driving down empty roads right into the heart of the tornado. And because no one on the news wants people to see that and go "Well, can't be too bad if there's still cars on the streets!", in the last few months - ever since you'd volunteered to move back to Oklahoma 'So that we've got someone right in Tornado Alley and don't have to fly people out there every time' - the weather channel has only shown the first few minutes of tornadoes forming. The rest of your pictures and videos lie abandoned in the trash file on your laptop. Except for a few - a very, very few, very, very good pictures of Tyler Owens and his Tornado Wranglers. But those won't ever see the light of day either.

You'd be damned if you let anyone know that while Tyler Owens is busy disturbing your actual work, you're busy taking pictures of him shooting fireworks into tornadoes. Pictures that would make for some damn good headers (if you hadn't buried them far, far down your gallery).

This time is no different. You get a few amazing shots of the tornado forming – surely an EF2, maybe even an EF3 - before you settle in the driver's seat again, your window rolled down and your camera hung around your neck as you push down on the gas. Then, a few miles further, you get even better shots of the full tornado, of the first few minutes of destruction, right there, in the middle of an empty field.

And as always, of course, just as the tornado takes on full form, you spot that familiar red truck through the lens of your camera. It speeds down the pavement right in front of where you’ve swerved onto the side of the road and you snap a few pictures, just because you’ve got the trigger right underneath your finger. Honestly, something about that dirty red paint against the grey skies just looks too good not to capture. But then the truck comes closer and closer and starts to slow down and you let your camera sink.

Tyler has his window rolled down already when he stops the car. There’s that annoyingly handsome grin on his lips, the one that makes you want to slap him across the face.

“You’re too far away, weather girl”, he calls out above the rumble of distant wind and thunder. “The good pictures are down that way.”

“The good pictures are right here.” You lift your camera at him. “Maybe you just need to update your equipment.”

Tyler’s grin widens, but before he can throw another of those obnoxious retorts your way, Lilly’s voice rings out through the car.

“Hey, T, looks like it’s changing course. You should hurry.”

His eyes are still glued to yours, still glued so firmly to yours that it makes your skin crawl. You can’t look away, couldn’t possibly look away. Tyler Owens might just be a cocky asshole, but you’re only human. And the weight of his gaze on yours is enough to keep you stuck in place, clutching at your camera.

“We’re on our way, Lilly”, he drawls without looking away from you. “See you around, weather girl.”

The rest of the pictures you take land in your trash file with all the other pictures of the last few weeks. You’re laying in bed, your laptop propped up against a pillow, the empty plate from dinner on the mattress next to you as you sort through today’s work. That’s the good thing about the time difference – you’ve got until seven to send the channel the day's results.

By nine, you’ve showered, put on a dress you feel confident in and settled on one of the chairs at the local bar. You’ve been telling yourself you need to get out a little bit more – you’ve been living here three months now and you haven’t really made any friends so far. To be fair, your job has kept you out and about most of the time. You’ve spent more hours at gas stations to fill up your tank than you have in your own home. But now you’ve decided to put an end to that. You're a young woman in a new town, you can meet more people than just the cashier at the local supermarket.

So for the past twenty minutes, you’ve been nursing a mojito at the counter and talking to the bartender. She’s nice, she’s your age, she’s extroverted enough to keep sidling up to you after every time she has to excuse herself to do her job. That, and she tells you she’s grown up here, so she knows most of the people around. She’s just serving another customer – a long-haired, brown-eyed, hat-wearing country guy who’s already shared a smile or two with you – when someone rests their arm on the countertop next to you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here”, he drawls, all low, deep Southern accent and you recognise his voice before you’ve even tilted your head up and looked at him. His grin drips down onto his words and wraps itself around your mind.

Tyler Owens isn’t just annoying – he’s unbelievable. He's unbelievable and he’s here.

“So you’re stalking me now”, you say, as drily as you can possibly manage. You've been doing that a lot around him. Dead-panning everything. Schooling your expression into fake neutrality.

"I'm here all the time, weather girl", he grins. "If anything, you're stalking me."

You snort, but it's rather unfunny when you think of all the videos you've watched, hours after they'd been livestreamed, cuddled up in your bed until midnight just to stare at his face. He's not that far from the truth.

"In your dreams, Owens", you say anyway, dragging your eyes back towards your almost empty cocktail glass. You wrap your lips around your straw and drain your drink entirely. What you say and what you do, none of that matters in the end. All of this is just show. Every conversation you've had with Tyler Owens in the last three months has been nothing but a performance. Other than your name, you don't think a single sentence out of your mouth has been honest. Not when it comes to him.

"Let me buy you a beer" is the only answer you get.

His grin widens when you look back up again - so cocky, so unbelievably cocky.

"I don't drink."

You push your glass an inch further down the bar top. Tyler raises his eyebrows. Fuck, someone really needs to kick him in the face. You can't keep having all these little heart attacks whenever he's close enough that you could touch him if you wanted.

Not that you want to.

"You're drinking right now", he says. You rest your palms against the bar top and blink at him.

"I don't drink with you."

He lets out a chuckle, one of those deep ones that settle right in your chest and make it hard to swallow.

"Just this once?", he asks and in all honesty, for just a second there, you actually consider giving in. He's too handsome for his own good. You really need to get it together. He's an ass (what an ass, goddamn). And he's insane. He's an insane ass. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of that - those times like now, when his piercing eyes and his kissable lips and his rugged stubble and his broad, broad shoulders and his drawled voice overshadow everything else.

"Don't you have some livestreaming to do?", you ask, hoping it still comes across just as sarcastic when you're the slightest bit distracted by how gloriously tight the sleeves of his flannel are. "Go chasing tornadoes, not me."

His grin widens inexplicably further. You're sure that if you were in a comic, there'd be a lightbulb flashing above his head right about now.

"Well", he drawls, "if you feel it..."

"Don't you do that shit to me, Owens."

He's raising his eyebrows again, raising his eyebrows as you clasp your hand around your empty glass so hard your knuckles turn white. But you're serious. Just as you'd lost yourself in the view of him, that angelic, sinful view of him, he'd gone and reminded you why you were so adamant to keep your distance. If you feel it, chase it. Ridiculous. Obnoxious. He's an arrogant, know-it-all, suicidal job-wrecker. He's the guy with cameras pointed at him everywhere he goes. He signs mugs and selfies and hats and shirts and bras. He's the reason you haven't gotten a single un-edited shot of a fully formed tornado in the last three months.

"You're not a fan of my catchphrase, weather girl?"

He can't even pretend to look wounded (even though he tries) with how big the grin on his lips still is. You stare right at him, dead-eyed and unflinching.

"I'm not a fan of you."

Lies slip off your tongue so easily by now that you wonder when you'd become morally compromised enough to not even care anymore. It must've happened somewhere along the way, sometime between the first conversation you'd had with him and the one you're having with him right now.

"You wound me", he grins, his palm pressed to his chest.

For the first time tonight, you allow yourself to grin back at him.

"I try."

With that, you slip off your chair and wave the bartender goodbye. You're already two steps away when Tyler calls after you.

"I'd still buy you a beer."

"I'm still not drinking with you", you call back. You don't turn around again. You just make your way back to your car and mark the evening as a half-successful night of socialising on your to-do list.

...

You see him again first thing the next day. Of course. Because there's no tornadoes without the Tornado Wranglers on their tail. By now, you're used to it. You wave at Dani as they come back out of the store at the gas station you're waiting at. They've got both arms full of coffees and for a second, you consider offering your help, but then you hear Tyler shout something out of his car and you suddenly don't feel any desire whatsoever to get up. You've sat yourself down in your truck bed, your camera slung around your neck and the radar on your lap. If all goes right, you're hoping for a tornado to form a little to the east from here. And as much as you dislike Tyler Owens, the fact that he's here soothes your nerves. Where he goes, there's sure to be tornadoes close by.

The few times you hadn't seen him had never ended well for you. You'd missed an EF3 your second week here just because you'd followed the wrong hunch. Meanwhile Tyler, of course, had been in the middle of it.

This might just be the one singular situation that you welcome seeing his red truck around. As long as you can manage to overtake him on the road after.

It's not that you need to be faster. You don't need to reach the tornado first. You don't even take the same way as him most of the time. He wants in there, you just want a sensible picture. Still, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment every time you hit the brakes and jump out of your car, miles away from the actual cell as Tyler speeds down towards it. You've been telling yourself that it's because he ruins your pictures. It kind of is.

"Hey, weather girl!"

You let out a resigned breath as you tilt your head up and squint against the sun. He's still in his truck, his window rolled down, his elbow propped up against the car door.

"What do you want, Owens?"

Your fingers itch to reach for your camera. It's a visual, him in that fucking car, leaning out of his window with the sun peaking out behind him. But you can't, you can't take a picture of him this openly. Even if you were to argue that it's just the light you'd wanted to capture.

"To give you some advice", he calls out, his lips pulling into a grin. You raise your eyebrows at him. "East isn't gonna work out. Wind's changing. Go south."

He throws you a mock salute and hits the gas before you can say anything else.

Not that you'd been about to.

Instead you just curse to yourself, jump off the truck bed and throw your treacherous technology into the passenger seat with a little too much vigor. Fuck this. You sit at the steering wheel and stare out at the sky for exactly two seconds before you make your decision. Then you start your car and drive south.

You may not be a fan of Tyler Owens, but you've long since admitted to yourself that this man has got a gift. He has an unbeatable instinct when it comes to storms. And sure, you have your fair share of knowledge, but in the end, you're a photographer, not a meteorologist. You won't miss a day's work just because you're too proud to listen to Tyler.

You're a little further behind, but you can spot his truck and guess that he's driving straight on into the cell today, so you take a right and decide to try your luck with the side of the tornado. Not being right in its path doesn't sound too bad anyway.

You actually manage to snap a few well-placed pictures. You don't know what Tyler's doing, but it seems like he's not shooting random shit up the cell today. You'll watch the stream later - you're just the slightest bit curious now what's happening with them. Maybe they're doing some old-school chasing? Or maybe they're doing a challenge. Maybe Tyler is driving blindfolded. At this point, who knows.

It's good for you though. It's a considerable tornado today, an EF2 at least, and you only spot Tyler's red truck again when the cell moves further down the fields, away from him. It doesn't look like it's gonna disappear anytime soon. Maybe today's your lucky day.

Half an hour later, you're sure you've got at least a dozen pictures of the fully formed tornado, long touched down and without the red truck in the way.

You're just packing up your things, already sifting through the photos on your camera, squinting against the sunlight, trying to both tug the zipper of your bag closed and hit the right buttons at the same time when Tyler pulls up next to you.

"You look busy, weather girl", he says, already grinning that damn grin again.

"I am", you say - truthfully, for once. You let go of your bag and lower your camera. You're hesitant, but... "Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime", he grins. "Just do me one favour."

You already know this can't be good. Not with that cheeky look on his face. But he'd just saved you from chasing hot air (quite literally), so he deserves a little treat. And you don't want unsettled scores with Tyler Owens.

"I want to know what favour that's supposed to be before I agree", you say anyway, because with him, you can never be too careful. And in the end, you're only willing to do so much. (Though for him, you'd already do a lot more than you'd admit. A lot more than you hope he's aware of.)

"Let me buy you a beer", he says, and for once, he sounds serious.

The memory of yesterday night flashes before your eyes, of those same words at the bar. With him so close, way too close - with that grin and that stubble and that voice and those shoulders. You cross your arms and stare at him.

"If you're livestreaming this, I'm gonna sue your ass so hard."

He just lets out a chuckle and raises his hands in surrender.

"Cameras are off, I swear."

You stare at him for another silent ten or so seconds. At him in that fucking truck that looks just a little too good in your pictures. At him and his fucking face. That fucking face that you certainly wouldn't mind sitting on, if just to shut him up.

God, he's asking you to drink something with him. He's asking to buy you something to drink with him. You're stupid.

You're so, so stupid.

"Alright, cowboy", you say, uncrossing your arms and reaching for the handle of your car door. "I'll humour you."

...

You're in the bar again by nine that night, the same way you had been the day before. You're wearing a different dress and there's a different bartender, but you've ordered the same mojito and chosen the same place to sit.

Only this time, you're actively watching the door. And when Tyler strolls in, you've got to shift around in your seat and cross your legs. You don't even pretend you're not staring. You just ogle him openly. Not for the first time ever - you'd checked him out very obviously when he'd strutted towards you to introduce himself three months ago - but definitely for the first time in a while. And god yeah, he's a hunk of a man, alright. If you had your camera here right now...

But you don't. So instead, you drop your eyes to his feet (brown leather boots), drag them up his legs (blue jeans), over his chest (red checkered flannel), over his face (god, what you wouldn't give-) and finally rest them on the cowboy hat on top of his head.

When he's close enough to hear you, already grinning, of course, probably at how you're actually sitting there in the same spot as yesterday and hadn't just lied to his face about coming here, you raise your eyebrows at him.

"A cowboy hat?", you ask, your voice as unbothered as you can possibly manage (even though you're very, very, very much bothered right now). His grin only widens.

"Ladies love country boys", he drawls with a shrug.

"Now that's straight out of a song", you say. "You're getting lazy, Owens."

"A song?", he asks. "No, that's an Owens Original."

You pull your eyebrows even further up.

"Ladies love country boys? Trace Adkins?"

"Nope. Not familiar."

But his grin tells you that he's lying. He's a liar. He knows very well where he got that line from. And he knows just how easily he got under your skin with his simple trick. As if his face isn't enough already.

You just shake your head and turn away from him.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Owens. Buy me a beer."

...

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also a great conversationalist.

The hours fly by as you're talking. One beer turns into two, then into an uncountable number of soft drinks. You both agree that you need to drive home, neither of you is willing to risk a run-in with the police. You need your drivers license for your jobs.

Tyler talks to you about the pictures you've taken today, then about the pictures from last week. He laughs when you blame him for ruining half of them and almost spits out his coke when you slap his arm for laughing at you. He tells you about his crew, about the people they've helped with the money from their dumb t-shirt sales. You think you hate him less by the minute. You're not sure if you're okay with that. But he gets you talking about your childhood and your parents, about school and college and about how you've wound back up here in Oklahoma. That effectively distracts you.

That, and how his cocky grin morphs into a genuine smile the more you open up.

Not that you didn't love the cocky grin. You did, just a bit. As obnoxious as it was. But the way he smiles at you all sweet has you melting right in your spot.

It's not the first time you realise that beneath all that rough exterior, there beats a heart of gold. You've known what those t-shirt sales are for, that he offers food and water after a tornado hits a town, that he carries the injured out of the ruins of their houses and helps find lost dogs. The more you've been around him in the past weeks, the more you've seen of his soft side. Of the way he cares and supports. But in the end, it always is easier to go back to the status quo - to fall back onto mindless snark and fleeting first impressions.

You'd clung so desperately to the image of him as this arrogant, smug, holier-than-thou influencer god for the sole purpose of keeping your own sanity. Because you'd known that without despising him, you would fall head over heels for Tyler Owens, and you just couldn't have that.

But now, with his arm brushing against yours and his hat discarded on the bar top and his smile, that beautiful, beautiful smile on his lips...

"Five bucks", he drawls, already reaching for his wallet.

"What?"

"Five bucks says there won't be a tornado tomorrow."

You raise your eyebrows at him, your glass hovering in mid-air between the two of you. You'd meant to take a sip, but now you're setting it right back down on the bar top.

"You're shitting me."

Tyler just shakes his head. He's grinning again, but it's much softer this time around.

"The winds are looking great. The forecast says it's gonna be the best conditions for tornadoes we've seen in the last six weeks. I've heard Dexter talk about how we're probably gonna see an EF4 tomorrow", you tell him, even though you're sure he's well aware of all of it. This is Tyler Owens, for god's sake. He knows about the winds and the forecasts. He knows that his crew is making preparations already.

His grin only grows. And it's smug now. It's cocky now. It's everything you thought you'd left behind during this conversation. He looks like the Tornado Wrangler again, like the guy who fucks up your pictures and makes your job harder than it already is.

It takes you a second too long to realise why.

"Dexter said that on our live", he grins, as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing. You physically recoil from him. "Do you watch our streams, weather girl?"

"No", you breathe, rigid and frozen, shocked to your very core. No, no, no, no, this cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. You'd... You hadn't made that mistake. He hadn't got you to make that mistake.

"Dexter talked about tomorrow on our live", Tyler says again, straightening his back and grinning down at you like he's just uncovered the lost grave of Cleopatra. "Only on the live. You watched our stream."

"No", you mutter, your eyes wide and your mouth dry, so dry. You need to drink. You need to drink so badly. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You watched our stream, honey."

The petname runs down your spine and clogs your senses. Honey. Oh, he's an ass, he's an asshole! But you're on the spot, you're on the spot and he's calling you honey, honey, honey. You can't do anything but watch as he leans closer to you, grinning down at you like it's his one true purpose on this earth, like he wants to eat you alive.

"I'd say you watch our streams pretty regularly, weather girl."

You swallow hard and clasp your hand around your glass.

"Yeah?", you breathe, hoping against all hope that your voice sounds somewhat innocent. You're sure it doesn't. You know it doesn't. You probably sound as guilty as you are, but... Hope dies last. Hope always dies last. "Why would you say that?"

"Just a hunch." He shows off those pearly fucking whites for you. "Call it an instinct. I'm usually right."

He is.

He's right now. He's right usually.

Him and his fucking instinct. His goddamn gut feeling about tornadoes, always right all the fucking time. He's like an Oklahoma Jesus. The first coming of Tornado Christ.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

"I'll take your bet." You drain your glass at once. "Give me your five bucks, Owens."

You don't think it'll work. You don't think he'll let you distract him. You don't think it'll be this easy to stop his vile teasing. He's not the type of guy to let something go. He's not the type of guy to let anything go ever. But he looks at you and he grins at you and he trails his eyes over your face and then he opens up his wallet and pulls out five dollars without another word.

He puts the bill flat on the bar top.

But when you go to reach for it, he pushes his fingers down.

"The price just went up", he says.

You raise your eyebrows and let your hand sink again. Tyler is absolutely unpredictable. You should've known.

"The price just went up?", you repeat. He nods. "What more do you want to bet?"

He's closer now, closer all of a sudden. He's too close, close enough to make your breath hitch. He's looking down at you with that cocky, cheeky grin, with his weirdly green eyes, with his three day stubble and his generally much too symmetrical face. You can't do anything but look back up at him.

"A kiss", he says. Simple as that.

A kiss.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He is. Truly. He's annoying and way too full of himself and much too presumptuous. Tyler Owens is the only man who would ever do something like this. The only man who'd bet a kiss on whether or not there will be tornadoes tomorrow.

Especially with that forecast.

The one that says a tornado is basically inevitable.

"Alright", you say. He may be Tyler Owens, the guy with an infallible instinct - but he is also Tyler Owens, the guy who's been doing his hardest to get under your skin. This time might not be any different. For all you know, he's bluffing to rile you up. "I'm in."

...

At eleven the next day, you're standing next to Dexter in resigned silence.

"I really thought today was gonna pan out", you mutter.

"It should have", Dexter frowns, tapping against the screen in his hands. "It should have worked out. The conditions should have been perfect. Everything's been building the last few days."

"But it collapsed this morning."

You turn your head and watch as Tyler comes to a stand next to you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the clear sky up above. He tilts his head to you and grins. Fuck, he's wearing his goddamn hat again. It's like he doesn't even try to be normal.

"Hey, weather girl", he greets. "Ready to cash out your bet?"

You shake your head at him. No, you're not giving up this easily. You never give up this easily.

"The day's not over yet, Owens. You haven't won 'til midnight."

...

You spend most of the next hours sitting in your truck bed, reading a book you'd thrown into your backseat weeks ago and had so far neglected. Lilly hands you lunch around two, Dani offers you a coffee around five and Boone pipes up here and there to joke about the wasted day. Around six, Dexter comes by to let you know they're calling it.

You still have another hour to go. By seven, it'll be too late to send your pictures anyway. But you want the hour. You need the hour.

You still haven't decided what to do about Tyler. About Tyler and his fucking bet.

He's been loitering the whole day, walking by, joking around with his crew, livestreaming a spontaneous q&a just because.

And the more minutes tick by, the harder it is to keep ignoring that you've most definitely lost the bet. Even though you do your best. You read, you check your phone. You stare at your radar. You stare at the weather forecast. You talk to Dexter and Dani and Lilly and Boone. You take a few pictures of the sky. Then you take a few pictures of Tyler, standing some feet away from his truck and looking out at the clouds.

It's only when two of three Tornado Wranglers cars are disappearing down the road, when Tyler Owens suddenly stands in front of your truck bed, that you put down your book and face reality.

"No tornadoes in sight", he says, instead of 'Hello' or 'How are you' like any other person would.

"There's still six hours left", you reason. Even if only one of those is relevant for your job today.

"You really want to wait out six hours to prove I'm right?"

"You're not right", you argue. It's fruitless, it's stupid, it's unreasonable. But... "Not yet, anyway."

Tyler raises his eyebrows at you, lets out an amused chuckle and leans against the side of your truck bed.

"Alright, so we wait."

You eye him from the side. He's fucking leaning against your truck, staring out at the sky, talking about six hours. Goddamn. He can't be serious, can he? His crew is already gone. They've disappeared into the descending sun and he's talking about waiting another six hours. Leaned against your car.

"Fuck's sake, Owens", you sigh, scooching over to the right. "At least sit down then."

You don't talk much at first. You just open your book back up again and try your hardest to ignore that he's even here at all, barely two feet away from you on the other side of your truck bed. If you stretched your leg, you'd hit him right in the hip.

It makes reading close to impossible.

Even though he's not doing anything at all. He's just sitting there, one arm propped up on the side board, that goddamn cowboy hat on his head and his feet hanging off the opened tailgate. It's almost worse that he's not doing anything.

That he's just sitting there and watching the sky change.

You give up on reading entirely when you realise that you've finished exactly five pages in half an hour. Instead, you put your book back in the car, pull out your bluetooth speaker and two water bottles and offer Tyler one of them.

You don't even ask him what music he wants to listen to. You just put on your country playlist and roll with it. By the twitch of his lips, you know he certainly doesn't mind.

Another half hour later, it's starting to get chilly and you're beginning to grow bored of the music. Tyler sitting next to you makes you fidgety, somehow, and you can't really enjoy the songs you usually love so much. So you switch to a podcast. You don't ask Tyler if he minds. He's free to go anytime.

Around eight, the sun starts to set, and the chill turns into an unpleasant cool. You hadn't really expected to be sitting out here so long. You're not prepared for the temperature to drop. You're wearing shorts, for god's sake, shorts and a top. It's summer in Oklahoma - you don't know how Tyler even manages to survive in his long jeans. You certainly wouldn't.

But now you're a little jealous, to be honest. He doesn't look cold in the slightest while you're fighting off shivers. You can feel your hands trembling already.

You really should've brought a jacket. But who brings jackets in 30 degree summer weather?

So instead, you just resign yourself to your fate and rub your hands along your arms. Anything to get some warmth into your body.

For the first time since you've sat back down, Tyler turns his head and looks at you.

"You're cold", he says, eyes raking over your arms and the goosebumps you'd gotten.

"Great observational skills, Sherlock Holmes", you deadpan, even though he doesn't really deserve that. He had so far left you pretty much alone. "A+ on that assignment."

Well, it's hard to break bad habits.

Tyler just chuckles, shakes his head and pushes off of the truck bed. You watch, eyes narrowed, as he walks back to his own car, opens up the trunk and- pulls out a blanket?

Your hands have sunken down to your lap all by themselves by the time he's standing in front of you again, holding out the blanket.

"For you, Watson", he grins as you slowly, carefully take the blanket from him. You mutter something along the lines of a soft 'Thank you' before you wrap the blanket around your arms.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also the very definition of "Tough on the outside, soft on the inside". Sometimes, you think the word 'angelic' works for more than just his divine looks.

Your eyes are glued to him as he sits back down next to you and looks out at the darkening sky with that signature grin on his lips, like he knows that you're watching him and enjoys it more than he should. That doesn't deter you though. For the very first time. You don't even stop staring when he turns his head back to you. You don't even stop staring then.

You just look at him until his grin crumbles. Until he's smiling that smile from yesterday night, the one that has your heart squeezing together and then exploding in your chest. You think you could stare at that smile for the rest of eternity and never feel sated.

"What?", he asks, his voice so soft it makes you swallow. Your lips part, but there's no words on your tongue, none in your throat. They're stuck in your chest somewhere, wrapped around your heart so tightly that you can't let them go even now. So you just press your lips together, wrap your blanket tighter around yourself and say:

"So I'm Watson, yeah?"

Your podcast is long forgotten by the time the sky turns dark. So dark that you make Tyler climb into your car and turn on the lights. You're comfortable in your blanket, you don't feel the need to move.

It's around ten when the blanket isn't enough anymore.

You tuck your hands underneath your top, but that only helps for so long. A few minutes later, you're trembling again, trembling even though you're pulling the blanket as tightly around you as you possibly can. Tyler raises his eyebrows when a particularly heavy shiver runs down your spine, one of those that come and go within three seconds.

"Come here", he says, shuffling in his spot and motioning for you to move over to him. You don't really think about it. It's more of a reflex as you fumble the blanket off of your body, scooch over to him, settle yourself against his side and sneak your feet under his thigh. He tugs the blanket back up to your chin, tucks it in behind your back and wraps his arms around you.

Tyler Owens wraps his arms around you.

And he's so fucking warm you literally almost moan. God, you hadn't actually realised just how cold you'd been.

"Damn, you're freezing", he notes as well, just as you nestle further into him and hum in agreement. He's like a living heater right now. You'd like to just crawl inside of him and suck up all his warmth. "You should've told me sooner."

"I didn't tell you at all", you mutter, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. He smells good. He smells so good. Earthy, musky somehow. You're tempted to turn your head and bury your nose in his shoulder.

Instead, you just satisfy yourself with what you can get. Fuck, he smells so good. He smells just like you'd thought he would, like country and rodeo and thunderstorms. He smells like falling into bed at the end of a successful chase. He smells like more. You want more.

You want more of Tyler Owens.

"Are you sniffing me?", he asks suddenly, but he sounds so amused you can't even bring yourself to feel embarrassed. You just open your eyes and grin at him, tilting your head so you can look up at him.

"What if I am?", you ask, if only to hear that breathless chuckle fall from his lips. Oh, those lips. You're in trouble. "Are you gonna call the cops on me?"

"I could never."

"Yeah, you better not, cowboy", you mutter, eyes dropping to his lips when he grins. He's so close. He's way too close. "There's like thirty things I could call the cops about on your channel."

His grin grows until he's showing off his teeth, glinting against the low light of the leds in your car. He's closer now.

"So you do watch our streams, weather girl."

His voice is so low and he's so close, so close. Your lips part all on their own. You haven't looked back up at his eyes in too long. Far too long. But he's so close, and he's so warm, and he smells so good.

"Alright", you whisper. His mouth is barely an inch from yours. You can feel every breath he takes. "I watch your streams."

And then your lips are on his.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's smug. He makes your job harder than it has to be. He does everything and anything to get under your skin. But Tyler Ownes is the best goddamn kisser this side of the globe.

He trails his hands, his big, big hands, down your sides, pushes the blanket out of the way and grabs at your waist with just enough firmness. He pulls you onto his lap and rests his thumbs over the hem of your top. He breathes into your mouth and takes it slow. He doesn't care that you almost knock his hat out of the way when you try to wrap your arms around his neck. He just holds you tightly to him and lets you tug on his lip.

You honestly don't know how much time has passed when he pulls back, grinning an entirely new grin at you, hazy and euphoric.

"It's not midnight yet", he mutters, the slightest bit out of breath.

"I don't care", you mumble, drawing him right back in for another kiss. You think you might be addicted. You simply can't get enough of him. You can't get enough of Tyler Owens.

But then a thought strikes you, and you pull away with a grin that makes him raise his eyebrows.

You chuckle against his lips.

"If you feel it, chase it, right?"