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espinosaurusrexex · 8 months ago

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Bad Boys Don't Buy Flowers

CEO!BuckyBarnes x Female!Florist!Reader AU

read Steve's story here

summary: Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

a/n: I should be working instead of writing long ass billionaire love stores, but here we are: you and me both... happy it happened and already regretting the tasks we neglected because of it (please enjoy this wholesome piece of imagination - I know it's long, but I hope you’ll give it a try nonetheless)

word count: 16.4k 😬

warnings: play boy behavior/talk, a reader that knows what she wants, Bucky falls first (and hard 🤭), mentions of war, injuries, and death (all not applying to Bucky for once), just so much fluff, questioning life choices (angst with happy ending!), smut (this is freaking love making okay?!?!? praise and confessions, dry humping, fingering, multiple orgasms, squirting, touch starved Bucky - in a way…, sensual and beautiful, protected p in v, cock warming, and aftercare) !MINORS DNI!

ﾟ✫ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ𝒄.𝒂𝒊 ｡✭･ﾟ

"Did you place the order?" Bucky leaned back in Steve's office chair and watched as his friend paced the space with a hand in his pocket.

Steve was grinning like an idiot when the answer on the other side satisfied him and Bucky felt a tiny little spark in his chest at the sight. He'd watched his best friend go through life with a default tension in his shoulders for what seemed like forever. All until he found Bambi - a sweet and incredibly clumsy woman who was formerly his maid. But they found each other and Steve had been a happier man ever since.

Bucky was happy for him, too. He was a lot more fun to be around ever since, but it did remind him that Bucky himself had yet to find the one that would make his heart beat faster.

It was a ridiculous idea, of course. Bucky was never the one for relationships or long-term commitment in the romantic department. To be honest, he wasn't even sure he was capable of love - not that he needed it, anyway. He had no problem with having a new plaything every other night. It was fun and kept him on his toes.

"Perfect. Okay. Thanks, Sharon." Bucky sat up straighter in the chair. "Yeah, next Friday. See you later."

Steve sighed as he slumped on the sofa across the room. He watched the ceiling, looking like a love-drunk schoolboy, even though he tried so hard to conceal it. Bucky knew him too well.

"Dinner is booked.”

“You’re really doing it huh?"

“Yup." There was no doubt in Steve’s answer, but rather a special kind of excitement Bucky rarely felt.

The brunette just nodded as he looked to the ground, the chair swaying as he pushed his knees from one side to the other.

Steve just grinned in response. "So when are you gonna let me help you find the one?"

Bucky perked up, amusement seeping through his gaze when he answered his best friend. ”Me? No no. I’m fine."

Steve shrugged. ”You know, that’s exactly what I said about a year ago."

"No offense, Stevie, but you and I were in vastly different sex universes back then. I’m getting laid - I’m aaaaall good." He leaned back with a smug grin and Steve just frowned in response. "You can be as happy as you want but don’t start trying to get everyone on the girlfriend train. That’s a Rogers and Wilson thing. I don’t need that type of commitment."

Steve remained silent as he watched Bucky stand up and head for the door, a thoughtful look on his face when his friend passed him.

“Look, I’m happy for you, truly. I just don’t see myself in that type of life.” Bucky’s hand squeezed Steve’s shoulder just as the blonde cocked his head to the side.

“Never?”

Bucky winked at him. “You know I like to live in the present. But speaking of the future... You’re still up for tomorrow night, right?”

“Tomorrow night?"

"Ironbar."

Steve’s eyes widened. ”Shit. No, I promised Bambi we'd-" Steve stopped when he saw Bucky's eyebrows raise in amusement. “...next time."

Bucky sighed in defeat. "Tell her to leave some Steve time for the rest of us, will ya?" And with a laugh of Steve’s, he shut the office door, walked past Sharon’s desk, then Natasha’s, and then into his own office.

❁ ❁ ❁

The clock hand barely struck 8am when another set of files hit Bucky’s desk.

Bucky huffed as he watched Natasha stand before him with an amused smile, her hands on her hips that were hugged by a tight pencil skirt. “Looking for something, Boss?”

“No...”

“Something like... the invitation to that business dinner on Thursday?” She mused and carefully pulled a piece of paper from the stack between them.

Bucky snatched it with a glare. “It would be much more helpful if you sorted this chaos rather than stand here and be a smartass.” He looked at the invite, the familiar company logo printed in the top right corner. “And why are people even sending paper invites anymore? We’re a security firm,” he sat the paper down and tapped on it with his index finger, “just shows how desperately they need consulting.”

“Don’t blame me for it.” Nat threw her hands in the air. “And stop complaining. I know you’re the cyber guy but a couple papers shouldn’t faze you. I’ve got more important things to do that don’t particularly fall in your area of expertise.” She turned to leave but Bucky stopped her before her heels could reach the threshold.

“Are you saying your job is harder than mine?” Bucky watched the mess on his desk, then the computer screen with his calendar and the impending meeting with those jackasses from Hydra Enterprises. There was no way sorting a couple of papers could be worse than Alexander Pierce and his nephew Brock Rumlow. One of them barely knew how to send an E-mail and the other kept subtly asking if it was legal to install cameras in the lady’s room.

“If you’re referring to your inability to sort a couple files, then yes, I assume you wouldn’t last a day with my tasks.”

“Now that’s bullshit.”

“Is it now?” She raised her left eyebrow with a half-smirk. “I want to see you deal with idiots when scheduling appointments and keeping everyone’s day structured while also organizing the annual fundraiser.”

Bucky huffed, leaning back and crossing his arms before his chest. He averted his eyes from his assistant and the stupid pile of paperwork in front of him. He really did not want to sort through all of that.

“Call me old fashioned but I believe assistants should sort files.” He shrugged, knowing Natasha wouldn’t let him off that easily. They had been working together for years, he respected her as much as his other friends. And presenting the fierce redhead with a challenge to get out of some annoying tasks was something he would gladly do.

“I’ll tell you what. I will sort your papers in my assistant duties.” She made a mockery curtsy - as much as her skirt allowed - and then lifted her finger before the smile could spread on Bucky’s face. “If... you plan the charity event.”

Bucky was shocked. He didn’t expect her to play dirty - well to be fair, it wouldn’t be Nat if she weren’t teasing a little bit - but still. “You think you can handle that, boss?”

Bucky closed his mouth and eyed her suspiciously. It couldn’t be that hard to do. And certainly would be a nice distraction from the impending meeting of doom as well as the following consulting sessions. He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling.

Was he really going to trade some papers for a whole Gala? That paperwork really sucked. He loved how easily he could wash through files on his computer. Sadly, his programs didn’t help much in the analog part of the job.

“Are you backing down, Barnes?” Nat’s teasing voice rang through to him and he snapped back into his attitude.

“Never.” He stood up, fixed his suit, and then reached his hand toward her. Natasha shook it with an evil smirk. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Romanoff.”

And with that, she took the papers from Bucky’s desk and carried them out of his office with a triumphant smile.

❁ ❁ ❁

It wasn’t long before Bucky regretted his decision.

What had he been thinking? A Fundraiser... a fucking fundraiser. Bucky couldn’t care less about them.

Okay, that wasn’t true. He deemed charity to be a very important part of society... and economy. There were times in his life when he was close to needing their help as well. And Bucky swore he’d never let that aspect of his story slip from his mind ever. Still, it didn’t prevent him from living lavishly and making use of the things he had access to now.

Usually, the organization of the charity gala was stuck on Nat and Sharon. Mainly because they had always done an amazing job. The tabloids had only positive things to write about it and always pushed the number before Christmas even higher. Which urged Bucky even more to do just as good of a job this year.

There was just one problem.

He had no idea how to organize events this size. Bucky could program a software from scratch, hack into classified state files on a bad day. Hell, he could track every person’s phone in New York in his sleep. But he never expected to be overwhelmed by a couple invites and color palettes.

Though as little as he knew about his new task, he liked a challenge, and he would most certainly not give Natasha the satisfaction of asking her for a checklist.

So, the internet had to do for now. He’d found a blog by a highly motivated suburban mom, that led with step-by-step instructions on how to plan the perfect event. It might not have been on the scale of what Bucky had to do, but considering his lack of knowledge on the topic, he figured this would do until Natasha snatched the task away from him again.

The first thing on the list was to find a date and venue. But since the gala of Shield Protection Services was always held at the same venue, Bucky figured they had booked it indefinitely for the event.

Next was to find the perfect florist that ‘is able to put your vision into extravagant floral arrangements’. Yeah... that was another problem.

Bucky didn’t buy flowers. The only women he deemed important enough in his life to get them were his sister and his mother. And well, both of them had passed away. So, picking the right flowers hadn’t been a problem until now. His mother and sister were always enchanted by the bouquets they received when Bucky was younger. He’d steal them from their neighbor‘s garden. But since he could grow a beard, Bucky hadn’t even touched flowers anymore.

Well, that had to change now.

Bucky stepped into the elevator just to be greeted by big round eyes and an even wider smile. “Paying Steve a visit?” Bucky teased with a half smile as he hugged Bambi and then faced the doors.

“I’m actually meeting Natasha for lunch,” she shifted from one foot to the other, “I didn’t realize she was already at the restaurant... so that’s where I’m headed now.”

Bucky chuckled at her slight awkwardness. But it wouldn’t be Bambi if she wouldn’t miss such a detail.

“Do you need a ride? My driver’s waiting for me anyway.”

“Tha- yes that would be nice, thank you.”

Bucky just nodded and gestured for her to lead the way when they reached the ground floor.

“Where are you going?” Bambi asked as he stared out the window of the car. They had told the driver where they needed to go. And Since Bucky had no particular destination in mind, it worked out well.

“I’m on the hunt for the perfect flower shop to cater to my vision of our charity event.” He chuckled and shook his head at his own words. He’s never thought he’d say this.

Her eyes peered at him with intrigue, a glimmer washing over them when she asked: “Are you taking suggestions?”

Bucky sat up straighter now. “Uh, yes. Gladly.” This was easier than he thought.

“There is this wonderful shop in Brooklyn. It’s called AsGarden on 18th Avenue. You can’t miss it, it’s like a breath of fresh air between all those ugly beige buildings. The woman owning it has great taste, she managed to make the perfect bouquet for me without ever seeing me.” She turned forward, a little flustered, “Steve gets me flowers from there sometimes, they’re my favorite.”

“Did you hear that, Stan?” A victorious smile spread on Bucky’s face as he squeezed Bambi’s shoulder. “Next stop is Brooklyn.”

“Alright, Sir.”

“You don’t know how much easier you just made my life.” Bucky leaned forward and kissed her cheek before the car came to a stop and he bid her goodbye.

“I’m glad I could help.” She waved back and then headed into the restaurant.

Maybe the event wasn’t so difficult after all, Bucky thought as he leaned back in his seat, his legs spreading in satisfaction.

❁ ❁ ❁

The cool air snook through your shop when the familiar bell of a customer chimed above the door. You’d seen many people frequent your shop daily. Women, men, teenagers, elderly. All came from different backgrounds and varying stories in their repertoire. Your store was in the heart of Brooklyn - a bunch of people mixed in this town. And you’d made it your mission to find the perfect flower arrangement for each and every one of them.

The man who had set off your little bell this afternoon was different though. A perfectly tailored coat adorned his broad shoulders. The way his hands were tucked in his pockets revealed the expensive-looking suit beneath as well as the toned chest that hid beneath the button-up in vain. His presence oozed money as he sashayed through your shop, carefully grazing delicate pedals with the aura he brought in.

He seemed to own the world, but something about him just didn’t fit between the colorful flowers surrounding him. If you didn’t know any better, he looked a little lost, eyes glassy as they swayed through the sea of colors and shapes soaking in fresh water.

“Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you?”

He ripped around, fixed his posture, and approached the cash desk. When his eyes landed on you, he froze. Just for a second, however, and then his jaw snapped into a handsome smile as he leaned forward.

“I sure hope so.” His white teeth flashed between his lips before his tongue stroked over them. It was capturing. “This flower shop has been recommended to me. You wouldn’t happen to be the owner?”

“Well actually, I am,” you smiled hiding the pride swelling in your chest from the comment.

“Great. What is your capacity when it comes to event arrangements?”

“That depends...” You smiled as the handsome stranger raised his eyebrows in intrigue. “I reckon we have vastly different understandings of what is small and... big.” Your eyes wandered over his expensive coat again. The innuendo was accidental, really, but he seemed to be amused nevertheless.

“My company is hosting its annual charity event in November... at The Glasshouse.”

“So just as I suspected...” You nodded and strode past him towards the fall flowers.

“Pardon me?”

You turned your head towards him and winked. “Bigger than I thought.”

“So?” He approached you with his hands still in his coat pockets and peeked over your shoulder. “Can you do it?”

“Totally.” Then you gestured to the flowers. “Do you have any preferences? I don’t have all the flowers in yet, but I recommend going with some soft orange and sage tones... to cater to the season.”

“Forgive me, sweetheart, but I am useless when it comes to this kind of stuff. My qualities lie more in the technical aspect of things.” A hand ran through his thick dark hair and the gesture made him look boyish.

“Alright let me rephrase my question then: Do you trust me?” A sly smile sneaked on his face, matching yours.

He tipped his head. “My life is in your hands.”

“Good. Then please write down your details here.” You pushed a form over the counter once you reached it again, and the man just followed you around like a lost dog. You watched as his hand swiftly filled out the free spaces on the paper, curious which company he had been referring to.

“Wait you’re working for SPS?”

“I own it, sweetheart.” The man adjusted his coat as you tried to look unimpressed. “My name is James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky.” His hand extended over the shiny countertop until it encased your smaller fingers and his warmth seeped through your body.

Bucky’s smile brightened when you revealed your name to him, telling you how beautiful it was, and you began to struggle not to show the effects it had on you. Then he resumed filling out the order and slid it over to you again.

“What cause are you raising money for this year?” You asked as you sorted the paper into your books, only to be surprised when Bucky seemed a little nervous all of a sudden.

You knew Shield Protection Services was a pristine company with reach to people whose powers you could barely comprehend. Whatever they were choosing, it would have a big impact on the change their chosen organization was advocating.

“Well, to be honest... we haven’t decided yet.” A silly idea hushed through your head at that, but you dismissed it. A company such as Bucky’s would raise sums only big fish could handle. There wasn’t space for the things you had in mind.

“I hope you’ll do so soon, then.” You nodded thoughtfully and ended with a tight-lipped smile.

Bucky nodded and smiled, then turned around and headed for the door. But before he could open it, he came back again. You looked up to see a black card held before you.

“I’d be happy for suggestions... if you have any in mind.” He shrugged with that cheeky look of his and then left. And you just stood there, dumbfounded, and toying with the ridiculous idea that Bucky Barnes might actually be able to read minds.

❁ ❁ ❁

“Rogers really couldn’t make it?” Tony asked as he leaned back in the leather booth of his very own establishment. He tipped his emptied whiskey glass towards the slender redhead at the bar and smiled as she rushed to get his refill ready.

“He promised Bambi to be home...” Bucky trailed off as he watched a customer hit on the waitress - Tiffany he remembered - A pretty thing, but unfortunately incredibly hollow when it came to conversation... not that Bucky looked for anything like it.

Tony huffed. “That woman has him wrapped around her finger!” He liked Bambi, everyone did, he just missed hanging out with his guys.

“Just wait until you find the one, Tony,” Sam chimed in with a sly smirk on his face - a hopeful, yet cautious hint as Sam secretly loved the idea of all his friends finally finding the one. He was a romantic, Bucky knew it, even if Sam never actually said it.

“Me? I would never give up my glorious bachelor life for one woman. There are way too many things to explore...”

“Mark my words, Stark. We’ll look back to this day and laugh about this incredibly jackassy statement. You, too will be finding the one. I just know it.”

Bucky chuckled and tipped his glass on the Table as the bickering of his friends faded into background noise. For some reason, he didn’t feel like adding to the conversation. He blamed it on the banality of a conversation both he and Tony had long decided on, but perhaps, it was because for once in his life, he considered taking Sam’s side on the topic.

It was ridiculous, really, how fast you’d occupied his mind when it came to Sam’s comment about finding ‘the one’. He didn’t even know you aside from the ‘background check’ he conducted after his visit to your shop. That might have covered your personal details, but he still didn’t know if you were a dog person or preferred cats, or if you were vegan or vegetarian, or if you considered kids in your future.

Bucky cleared his throat and sat up straighter when he felt the fluster creep up his neck. What the hell was happening to him? He wasn’t like this at all. Women occupied his mind for about as long as it took for him to make them come undone in his hands. When he was with them, his full attention was on them - he loved them - but he’d never let them control his life. James “Bucky” Barnes never even considered seeing them twice, let alone thinking about a future with them.

Though, to Bucky’s displeasure - or pleasure (he hadn’t decided yet) - the thought of seeing you again wasn’t uncomfortable to him. On the contrary, he got a weird tingly feeling in his stomach when he remembered the smell of the flowers in your shop and how your delicate fingers carefully picked out the prettiest ones. Bucky sat his drink down with a clink. Maybe he’d had enough alcohol for tonight.

“Barnes, how come you’re not defending me here? Have you grown soft or something? Do you have a girl we don’t know about?” Tony’s nagging broke through to Bucky and the whole bar reached back into his consciousness.

“Sorry, what?” He stuttered, shaking his thought and trying to find a good answer to his friend’s remark. “I was distracted by Betty.” Bucky smiled sheepishly as he received a clap on his shoulder.

“That’s my man.” Tony grinned and Sam huffed into his whiskey. And Bucky? He just sunk into his seat, feeling somehow shameful for the white lie he had made up.

❁ ❁ ❁

The SPS office was impressive. Amongst the old New York brick building surrounding it, it reached up into the sky with its glass front everything. But you wouldn’t be fooled by its fragile looks. This was one of the most secure buildings in the city. You’d read about it in an article some time back - the whole hype about the company was their way of making fragile-looking things indestructible. You couldn’t see through the “windows” from the outside. And you wouldn’t be able to launch a rocket through it either. SPS had patented their stronger-than-steel-glass years ago, making them the leading security company in the world.

To say you had been a little surprised to see the very owner of said company on your side of town would be an understatement. But besides his incredibly adamant way of flirting, he was quite normal to talk to. He’d even asked you for advice on the cause they should donate to this year. And after having thought about it for the better part of what should have been your sleep time, you had decided to just try and pitch your idea.

“Do you have an appointment Ms.?” A stunning redhead peered up at you from her desk, her nails clicked on the keyboard of her computer as she waited for your answer. You didn’t really know why you thought getting to Bucky was going to be easy. The security guard had already eyed you suspiciously at the front desk in the lobby. After you’d smiled at him as charmingly as you could, he’d decided to let you be someone else’s problem today - or maybe he just didn’t see you as a threat - whatever it was, it had gotten you this far. But what were you gonna say now?

Actually, I don’t have an appointment, but Mr Barnes met me yesterday and after thinking about him all night, I decided to pay him a visit today.

Yeah, that wouldn’t cut it. Not in this office. The redhead - N. Romanoff - was what her sign said, made that fairly clear with the way her lips pursed at the opened calendar on the screen.

“You don’t happen to have to discuss something not suited for work with Mr. Barnes, do you? I know he tends to leave some of his meetings... open-ended.”

Your eyes got wide. “God, no. I’m not-“ Your hands made a swishing motion between you two and then you took a breath. “I’m here to discuss business. Purely business. Mr. Barnes has made an order at my shop for the company fundraiser and I just want to discuss some details.”

Her eyes glimmered when her lips pulled into a smile. “Did he now?” She peered over to catch the look of the blonde assistant a few feet next to her and then back to you. “Well if that is the case, please have a seat, I’ll tell him you’re here.” And with that, she got up, winked, and wrapped at the large wooden door presumably leading to Bucky’s office.

She came back a minute later and gestured for you to enter. “Lucky for you, his meeting just got canceled, so you should have enough time.”

“Thank you.” And then Ms. Romanoff went back to her desk and started whispering to the blonde assistant.

Bucky sat behind his desk, a sleek glass surface lightly cluttered with papers. Other than that, the room felt cool, the large rug by the seating area did little to cover the marbled floors. You stepped inside just as Bucky called out your name. You almost didn't see the wide smile on his face as the rising sun hung low on the horizon behind him, casting a halo-like glow around his silhouette. What a freaking entrance. Though Bucky surely couldn’t control the sun, you thought with a small smile, you really had to stop imagining this man was extraordinary.

“You’re here.” He got up and walked towards you, his sleek back shoes echoing on the ground. And then he was next to you, leading you to the seat in front of his desk with his hand on the small of your back. “What brings me the honor of your visit, darling.”

He leaned on his desk with his arms crossed, a pleasant smile on his lips. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice that you came by, but you do have my number, don’t you?”

“I do.” You cleared your throat, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “I was hoping you had some time to spare, actually. I find the phone to be a little... impersonal.”

Bucky’s eyes shined with intrigue as he leaned forward, pinning you to the chair with his gaze. He licked his lips. “Show me what exactly?”

“You’ll see.” You smirked. “I happen to know that your next meeting just got canceled.”

Bucky got even closer, his breath hitting your neck with every word he spoke. “And I’ll gladly cancel the rest, too.” A shiver shot over your arms, his cologne seemingly intoxicating you. But before you could respond, he backed up, grabbing his coat and gesturing towards the door. “Lead the way.”

And so you did.

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky was suspicious when you pulled him into the subway, but he decided against saying something. He had told you he trusted you after all, and though Bucky considered himself a lot of things, a flake was not one of them. So he let it happen.

It wasn��t half bad, either. Somewhere between his office door and the train, you had taken his hand in yours to pull him along faster. Bucky had noticed his lips spreading into a smile. It didn't last long, unfortunately. Because as he had made eye contact with an elderly lady who had then proceeded to tell you what a beautiful couple you were, you had pulled your hand away with an awkward laugh.

‘Oh, God, no, we’re not together, ma’am.’

Admittedly, Bucky felt a little sting in his chest ever since. In fact, he was rubbing his hand over his shirt at this very moment. You were walking along a street in Brooklyn, not too far from your shop. The neighborhood was a little more run-down than he was used to, certainly nothing like the part of town he lived in. But he kept quiet still. Maybe he was a little butthurt from your earlier aversion about the couple comment, but to be fair, Bucky wasn’t used to women denying him - except Nat.

You suddenly stopped, making Bucky almost run into you and then stare at you in question. But when you gestured towards the sign above the two-story building, his gaze softened.

There, above the blue-painted metal doors, hung a faded sign. Bucky could make out the orange and yellow stripes on the board, a big Sunflower painted in the middle of it all. ‘Sunflower -Shelter & Food’.

“Hey, are you coming or are you glued to the ground?” Your voice rang from the entrance, he hadn’t even noticed that you already moved inside.

Bucky gulped when his eyes swayed back to you and then down his own body. If he was going to step in there in the outfit he was currently wearing, he would look like the biggest asshole on the planet.

“I can’t go in there.”

“Why not?”

He just gestured towards his clothes, his Rolex glinting in the sunlight for good measure. But there was no reaction from you. You stood in the doorway, pursing your lips seemingly in thought, and then shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly. “I guess you’ll just have to deal with it then.”

“What?” He called your name. But when he realized you weren’t joking, he caught up to you as fast as possible. Because the only thing worse than showing up there looking like he did was doing it alone, he decided swiftly.

“‘Think now might be a good time to mention that this is not a very good place for a date,” Bucky mumbled next to you before closing his coat, trying to hide the even more expensive suit beneath.

“How would you know?” You turned to him. “This isn’t a date, is it?”

Bucky just smirked and then he watched you greet a young boy with a warm hug, and man he imagined what it would be like to have you hug him like that.

“Peter this is Bucky, Bucky, Peter.” You pulled him towards you by his hand again. “I brought him along to help today, thought we always need an extra pair of hands around here.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” Peter reached his hand out, slightly frowning when he took in his appearance but did not say anything. “Any help is always welcome here. Come, I’ll show you what we’re doing today.”

Within ten minutes, Bucky had an apron and gloves on and was ordered to cut the biggest stack of potatoes he’d ever seen. You were happily chatting away with the other helpers and Bucky, for the first time in a long time, felt ...normal.

Nobody was recognizing him in the crowd, there was no talk about business and investments, and there were no fucking cameras. Here, people recognized him for what he came to do, help. And it felt weird. Bucky wasn’t quiet about his lavish lifestyle around his crowds. He knew the privilege he had, and he had worked for it enough to be proud of it. But it was like he had entered a different universe in this part of town. All the things he deemed normal, were things so far from imagination here, they were left out of conversations entirely. So, he tried to remember this whenever he was offered a conversation.

“You do this every day?” He asked into the kitchen while struggling to peel his 5th potato.

“Whenever we can.” An older woman answered with a smile. She was the one who had shown him how to use the peeler faster. “They are people just like you and me. They have to eat every day, too, Bucky.”

Bucky just nodded in silence at the humbling answer, his cheeks felt hot with embarrassment at how naive he had been.

Two hours later, he was standing by your side at the serving station, plating mashed potatoes and the accommodating ‘you’re welcome’ every once in a while. He rarely was out of his comfort zone, like today. But he also knew that, whenever he felt unsure, he’d look at you and you’d gift him an encouraging gesture that kept him going a little while longer.

After everyone had their food, you gave Bucky a tour of the premises.

There was a small courtyard, a couple rooms with telephones and a computer, some sofas and pillows. Nothing fancy but functional nonetheless. You led him through every room, explaining curtly what it was for and then you led him up the stairs.

On your way up, you passed Peter, who was helping a child find its toy and Bucky felt a lump form in his throat at all the new impressions he was fed today.

He cleared his throat. “Peter... is he?”

You shook your head. “Not exactly. His parents died when he was quite young. Lucky for him, though, he has always been a bright kid. He got a scholarship for every school he ever went to. But he spends most of his free time here. He has this urge to help wherever he can. Took me a couple months to keep him from skipping his lectures.” You chuckled and led him through the next door.

Bucky nodded with adoration. Not many people dedicated their time to something that would not benefit them directly. And while Bucky knew what a dedicated mind was capable of, he had to admit that his efforts were always motivated by personal gain.

“He’s very admirable for that.”

You just hummed in response. “I don’t think he chose it himself. Not that I think he wouldn’t. But this shelter belonged to his uncle and aunt. They died when he was in high school. He’s working hard to keep this place alive. As do we all.”

The next room you entered was resembling a classroom. “What happens here?”

“Most of the children are registered for the public school of this district. But they don’t always make it there. This room gives them the opportunity to catch up on missed work. We also have adult classes here, preparing for job interviews and such.”

The next hallway presented doors, all leading to bedrooms, as you explained to Bucky when you walked through the corridor. The last door was larger than the others - a double swing leading to a big sanitary area. Showers, toilets, and sinks lined the walls - all run down but functional.

“This place could use some serious renovating,” Bucky mumbled, but he was sure you had heard him. Because you looked up at him now, a sad smile decorating your beautiful face.

“We try to make it as clean and cozy as possible here, but we just don’t have the necessary financial means for it. It works for now. The people coming here need very little. But it’s only a matter of time until the roof needs redoing or the pipes or the windows, or the-“

“Yeah...” Bucky trailed off, making you stop and giving him a break to breathe. He usually wasn’t surrounded by people unable to get out of unfortunate situations. The clients he spent his time with ordered his services to protect the material things they’d bought for status and fun. It was something entirely different when you were robbed of your place to sleep.

“Well, this completes my humble tour.” You clasped your hands together and proceeded to look at your watch. “I think it’s time to go home.”

You descended the stairs in silence, Peter hugged Bucky goodbye and when he stepped foot back on the sidewalk, Bucky turned around to the sign once more. You stood beneath it, leaning against the doorframe and smiling at him. It was dark out now.

“Are you not coming?” He asked watching as you shook your head.

“Peter has an exam tomorrow. I offered to stay the night.”

“Here? Alone?”

“Yes.”

Bucky stepped towards you again. “Then I’m go-“

“Stop.” Your hand reached for his shoulder, the touch sending him straight back to a haze. “Don’t do this. I know how you feel. There’s this sadness inside you now. You saw this for the first time. It feels awful - I know.” You retracted your hand and pushed yourself off the doorframe. “But until you don’t see anything other than pity for these people, you can’t be here without breaking.”

“Doll...”

“Bucky, I'm serious. Go home. Sleep on it. Try to understand the situation.”

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this helpless. He just stared at you, unable to move or say anything. He didn’t like the idea of you staying here alone at night. And though the feeling of caring for someone he’d only known for two days so much scared him, he pushed it aside.

You leaned forward and hugged him goodbye and then the cold night surrounded him again. “Thank you for trusting me today.” And then you turned around and left him standing outside alone.

❁ ❁ ❁

Your purple-inked pen marked the date in your calendar.

“That’s an unusually big order, Steve...” You looked up at the blonde frequenting your shop every so often. He’d always get the pink carnations for his girlfriend. Apparently, she loved them after you bound them in the first bouquet you ever sold to Steve. He was a simple man, you could tell, so his usual orders were just as such. But not today. “Are you planning anything special?”

The handsome customer blushed with an innocent smile. “Actually...” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m planning to propose.” He looked so sheepish when you clasped your hands in excitement.

“Oh, that’s amazing. Congratulations!”

“Well not yet.” He cleared his throat, visibly trying to compose himself. But this giant pretty man in front of you was adorably nervous.

“I just know she’ll say yes,” you mused and made a note to reserve some more carnations for his order - a couple simple arrangements that held so much meaning.

“How do you know?”

You watched Steve peer over to you with hopeful eyes. “It’s not every day a man puts so much effort and thought into what bouquet to get his girlfriend on a casual Monday evening each week.” You winked and Steve nodded lost in thought.

“To be honest, I haven’t even thought about her saying no. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“You shouldn’t worry too much. You are a good man, everyone can see that. And just to be sure, I’ll make the most perfect flowers ever. Paired with your charming ways, there will be no other option but to say yes.”

He relaxed a little. “Great. Thank you.” And then he turned to leave your shop.

“I’ll have them ready by Friday.” You smiled.

“Thank you... so much.” Steve smiled and you knew there was so much more hidden in his gesture.

❁ ❁ ❁

It had become a habit that Bucky visited the shelter with you once a week. Admittedly, you were surprised he even cared enough to free his schedule so religiously. But as of the past four weeks, he had shown up at your shop, walked with you to Sunflower shelters, mingled with the people, and then even walked you home.

It was actually kind of refreshing, seeing him so invested and kind of protective. There weren’t many guys in the city that cared enough to get you home safely. Peter offered more times than often, but you rather knew him safe at the shelter than try to fight a gangster double his size out of the kindness of his heart and the deep wish to somehow become a superhero one day.

So Bucky had to do it for now. Not that you were complaining. He was handsome and charming and interesting to converse with given the vastly different lives you lived. But he tried to adapt. Ever since the incident on the first day, he had even tried to wear less wealth-telling clothing, though he seemed to not always hit the mark just right.

In a way, bucky was a little fashion icon. You’d noticed it in his colorful waistcoats, the intricate details on his shoes, or the fancy cufflinks adorning his oxford-cotton shirts. He tried to dress down. But to your surprise, the color remained. Instead of waistcoats and dress shirts, he wore regular t-shirts. His confidence never wavered.

A little smile hushed across your face every time you looked at him. The pink shirt he wore combined with the green apron he had been given, made him look like a lollipop. A Beautiful one, that was. With a dashing smile and an adorable frown as he tried to separate the peas from the pod.

“So... how is the gala coming along?” You teased him a little having noticed how unusual this task was for him. Throughout your few meetings, you had gotten to know Bucky quite well. And apart from his statement the very day he stepped foot into your shop, he revealed to you more and more how difficult the project was for him.

“Let’s just say I’m glad I can count on the flower arrangements,” he grumbles as a pea slipped from his fingers and across the table.

“That bad, huh?”

His hands stopped working. “The Band canceled on me again and I seem to run after every other arrangement I have made so far. If I had known how much work-“ he huffed and then shook his head with an even deeper frown.

“Hey, it’s okay to not be good at everything.” You encouraged him, your elbow nudging his side as you smiled lightly. “There has got to be something humbling you. Makes you seem more human.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I meant to ask you...” You picked up your task to avoid his eyes that were suddenly on you again. “How come you’re the one organizing the gala?”

Bucky chuckled, his head shaking for what seemed like the hundredth time today. “I made a deal with my assistant.”

“What was in it for you?” You threw a couple peas in the strainer and Bucky did the same.

He shrugged. “I got to hand off some paperwork.”

Wow. “Seriously? A bit of paperwork seems like a poor trade for months of organizing something so important.”

Bucky laughed, the sound warming your stomach from the inside out and finally making you look at him again. It was little moments like this in which he felt so careless and relaxed. You liked to believe the shelter did it to him, or maybe even you. But primarily, you were glad he laid off his work self just then. “Yeah it might have not been my smartest move... but I don’t mind it really.”

“Why’s that?” Your eyes locked and you suddenly became very aware of how close the two of you were standing.

“If it weren’t for the deal, I would have never met you.” There was something so honest and pure about the way he had stated this so plainly. And for a moment, you liked to forget that he might have just meant your suggestion to donate to Sunflower. That maybe, the funny fluttery feeling in your stomach wasn’t one-sided, and that you too meant something greater to him than the coincidences that led him into your shop that day.

A wide smile spread on Bucky’s face and then he winked. He freaking winked at you. And while you turned back to your peas, desperate to hide the fluster on your face, you had to remind yourself that this was Bucky fucking Barnes and that he knew what he was doing.

About two hours later, you sat amongst the people currently living at the shelter, sharing the meal you had prepared for them with the hopes of getting them through another day. You and Bucky were sitting with Gabe Jones, a veteran whose post-traumatic stress disorder had cost him everything after the Vietnam War. He was always telling stories of his time on the front - a way to cope with his horrible past. By now, you and Peter had probably heard every single one of his stories twice. But Bucky was on the edge of his seat. Listening with intrigue as the food on his plate remained untouched.

“It was ’68 when I was sent out. There were soldiers who done already survived a year or so at the front. And, son, I am sayin’ survived ‘cause you couldn’t call that livin’.” Gabe shook his head before pointing his fork to his shoulder. “Caught a grenade in ’69 and on our way to camp, they shot at the helicopter. Lost my right arm and comrade that day. The damn arm’s gone but I’m gon’ have the memory forever.”

The words didn’t seem to affect the veteran anymore, but they never failed to leave their recipients shocked and wondering. It was always the same question: How can someone fight for a country, leave their life for a country, and end up here?

And honestly? You didn’t know.

“I’m so sorry, sir.” Bucky swallowed as his eyes fled over to yours. “Thank you for your service.”

“Notin’ to be sorry ‘bout.” Gabe waved his hand and then pointed at Bucky’s plate. “You eatin’ that?”

Bucky just shook his head and pushed his plate towards Gabe, a somber state overtaking his body. You did feel a little bad. But you also knew that Gabe wasn’t affected by sympathies and that he was happy at Sunflower - though he preferred the street over the beds here. While he had spent just another day existing, he had simultaneously opened Bucky’s eyes to the severity of making stories like his more known.

By now you were pretty confident, Bucky would choose the homeless as recipients for his company’s fundraiser sum. But he surprised you by getting involved with the people here over and over again, willing to learn and to understand.

The walk to your apartment building that evening was awfully quiet. Bucky had insisted he walk on the street side of the sidewalk, buried his hands in his coat pockets, and shut up ever since.

You knew he was contemplating, letting the day play on repeat in his mind. He probably had a lot of questions, a lot of frustration, and worry. Nothing unfamiliar to you, but something you’d learned to deal with ever since helping out at Sunflower.

“Don’t feel bad,” you said when you stopped in front of the familiar brick building you called home.

“How?”

“Feeling bad isn’t helping them. You have the power to change things.” It was an awfully dry response, but the truth hurt sometimes.

Bucky just looked at you through hooded eyes, a knowing nod shaking his features as he watched slowly take a step back toward your front door.

“Thank you,” he suddenly released - steady and calm. “For taking me. For helping me see...”

You couldn’t help yourself. The confession overwhelmed you. Knowing you had succeeded in showing him what was so important to you overwhelmed you. You leaped forward and slung your arms around him, pressing tightly into his chest.

Bucky’s arms found their way around you in an instant, the hug conveying so much more than just a goodbye. It was a ‘thank you’ a ‘this means the world to me’.

After about a minute, you leaned up to him and placed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m also glad you took the deal, Bucky.” You whispered into his ear, feeling the smile on his face on your cheek.

When he finally released you, it seemed like the spell was gone. Bucky was back to burying his hands in his pockets, only the faint remnants of a smile hinting towards your earlier interaction. You hadn’t realized how much this would affect him. You had forgotten how long you fought with yourself until you could act normal around the people at Sunflower yourself.

“Do you want to come up?” You threw your thumb over your shoulder at the entrance of the building with a lopsided smile. “Don’t want that cheap bottle of merlot to go bad.”

Bucky’s eyes brightened underneath the street lights and the wide boyish grin returned to his face. “We can’t have that, can we?”

❁ ❁ ❁

To say Bucky’s heart had skipped a beat at your invitation would have been an understatement. It did somersaults and ended with an impressive backflip. He’d not expected a move from your side. Especially, since the last time he had picked you up, the universe had flipped him the bird by sending two of his former one-night-stands your way. He had been able to shake them off before they were able to yell at him or reveal more of what their connection to him was. But that marked the first time he was a little embarrassed by his late endeavors. You had acted like nothing happened, but since that night, Bucky hadn’t stopped wondering what you thought of him.

You lead him up the narrow staircase to a red wooden door, the color chipping by the floor as an indicator of having to kick it to open sometimes. Beyond the door, it was cozy and warm. Every corner of your place had a memory placed in it - a self-made quilt or a photograph. When you walked through it, Bucky could feel the love and time this place had seen.

It was nothing like his own apartment: a penthouse standing high above the city, with sleek black surfaces and cold marble wherever you reached. Here, he felt the need to take his shoes off, to feel the fuzzy carpets on the scratched-up wooden floors. Your place wasn’t sterile like his, it felt... like a good hug.

Bucky snorted as the result of a breath he released. Never before had he cared about what his place lacked. It was expensive and pristine, clean and big. And even though your apartment was about the size of his living room, it had so much more to offer.

“The living room is right through there, you can choose a movie if you like.” Your voice called out from somewhere Bucky assumed to be the kitchen as he kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable on the rust-colored sofa that had more pillows than necessary. It was super comfortable, though. And the lack of space due to the pillows forced you to sit a little closer to him, so he wasn’t complaining.

“Your place is... cute.” He stated as you handed him a glass of wine and laughed.

“It’s a shoebox but I do love it very much. Probably nothing compared to what you’re used to.”

Bucky shook his head and took a sip. The wine did taste cheap, but he did not care. “Bigger isn’t always better.” His arm was spread on the backrest but your whole body was turned to him. “It has a lot of character.”

“Oh god, please stop, you’re just making it sound worse.” Your hand came up to hide your face but your smile peeked through the gesture.

Bucky laughed. “I didn’t mean it condescendingly. I really do like it. Reminds me of my childhood home.”

“Are you close with your family?” Bucky was surprised by the question. Maybe it was because his friends never talked about his family, or because the peers he hung out with tended to discuss business rather than sentimental. But he realized that nobody had asked him about it for a long time.

And so he began talking. Bucky talked about his parents and how both of them died early in his life. He told you how close he was with his sister until she got adopted into another family. He spoke about his childhood with Steve and how they’d met Sam and Tony in college, about the night they had the idea for Shield Protective Services, and finally the day he was told his sister had passed away.

Throughout his story, you had leaned into him closer, hanging onto his every word until your hand had to support your body on his thigh and Bucky suddenly stopped talking.

Your glasses were emptied, the bottle as well, and Bucky gulped when he felt the heat from your hand travel throughout his entire body.

“So... that’s my story.” He had to clear his throat to gain his usual timber back, his hands becoming sweaty when you blinked next to him. “What about you, dove?”

“Dove?” You smiled, yet intrigued by the name that had slipped past his lips in the trance of the moment. He’d only ever called you that in his thoughts. Attributed the nickname to you the second he realized it was the most fitting one of them all.

“You don’t like it?” He asked, his arm slipping towards your shoulder ever so slightly.

“I like it.” You smiled. “I just want to know... why this one?”

A hush of giddiness crawled up his throat when he thought about his answer. It was the way you had welcomed him so easily into this world of yours. How you were willing to show him the things precious to you. That you trusted him with this very opportunity to help. Every day he spent with you he felt it, found that between coding his new security program and meeting with Hydra enterprises, its somber reality sent him into a feeling of breathing fresh air. You created a button that turned off the noise in his head. “Because you bring me peace.”

Your eyes stared at him in wonder when he tilted your chin with his thumb and index finger. There was appreciation and happiness, he could see it, feel it.

Bucky was entranced by your stare when your voice whispered a response to him: “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever been told.”

You leaned forward and Bucky’s heart threatened to jump out of his chest, and then your face fell into his chest, your arms encasing him in the warmest hug he’d ever received. He willed his pulse to slow and wrapped his arms around you tightly. A little humbled and a little confused, but appreciative of the situation nonetheless.

You stayed like this when you chose a movie to watch. Even after an hour, Bucky’s grip didn’t loosen. He peered down at you on his chest and watched as you fell asleep. And when he was sure you were far away in your slumber, he pressed a warm kiss to your head, lingering in the scent of your shampoo.

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky stared at his computer screen as the pen in his hand clicked on his glass desk in perfect rhythm. The Shelter website displayed on the surface, portraying a brighter version of the sign you had dragged him to that very first day.

But it wasn’t the heartfelt story behind the building or the way his pen clicked slightly more hollow every other tap because he turned it too much that had him zoned out at work. It was - as unbelievable as it sounded - a woman. Not just any, no. You.

“Hey, I need a signature from you for this design draft.” Steve dropped his notepad on the desk, then rounded it and settled behind Bucky who had yet to recognize his presence.

“This your charity suggestion?” He questioned with his hands on his friend’s office chair.

Bucky nodded absentmindedly. Perhaps it was because he had decided to support your suggestion the second you had taken his hand on his way to the subway. Or maybe he was just letting his mind roam freely again. Mainly because it was a safe bet to call you into memory and he liked the feeling it provided.

A pale hand waved in front of his face. “Earth to Bucky.” Steve snapped his fingers, making the brunette jump. “You seem oddly distracted.”

He had been thinking about you. Of course, he had. There seemed to be nothing else he could do lately. Every time Bucky read through his reports, he imagined what your voice would sound like reading them to him. Whenever he went down to IT, he envisioned the room decorated with your flowers and how much happier they would make the place. When he sat in a meeting with HR and watched their burnt-out faces stare back at him through their coffee haze, he wondered if you could make them as lively as you made him.

Bucky could - so he realized after weeks of denial - not escape you.

That was one thing. But the more chilling revelation was that he did not mind. He enjoyed the little admonitions his mind set out in his environment. He appreciated the quickening thumb in his chest, whenever he saw his calendar entries stating another meeting with you - so much so that he almost forgot how unusual it was for him.

It was crazy. A month ago, if someone had dared to tell him he’d be finding something more than his regular flings, he would have laughed in their face. In fact, he actually did a few days before he met you.

Bucky didn’t know what kind of magical spell you’d put on him, but within a few weeks, he’d started to become a different man. A better version of his thought-to-be-marvelous self. Now he realized what he was missing: a counterpart, someone who made life seem dull without them by his side. He wasn’t going to admit it to Sam or Steve immediately, but the idea of you being that very someone became more attractive each day.

“Just a lot to do with the gala and all...” Bucky trailed off and spun around to Steve.

“You know, I never took you for an event manager...” The blonde grinned and his eyes lit up in the office light. “Don’t take this the wrong way, I like seeing you try something new, but this feels very... out of place.”

“But you also know I never back down from a challenge. And I’ll be damned if Nat has something to hold against me for life.”

Steve’s head tipped forward. “We both know that woman has blackmail material for two lifetimes on us.

“She really does.” Bucky sighed and then slumped back in his chair, the little issue he had been hiding from his best friend gnawing on his mind.

He thought about Steve and Bambi and how he had just asked her to marry him. She’d said yes, of course, nobody expected otherwise. Steve - of all people - was living a magical fairytale life with the woman of his dreams. And here Bucky was, thinking he had figured it all out with women and relationships - or rather that he never wanted one - yet he found himself wondering why that decision bugged him so much when you came into the picture.

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, not believing he was really going to ask Steve for dating advice.

“Always.”

“How did you know that Bambi was the one?” A stupid question, really. Bucky already knew there was nobody like you. But it was best to start this conversation off lightly.

Steve smiled widely again, his cheeks tinted pink. “Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And not in an I haven’t touched a woman in years kind of way... I couldn’t stop. Every second of every day, I imagined her with me. The thought of her made me happier even before she knew how I felt about her. And, well, it also hurt like hell when I thought she didn’t return my feelings... when she refused to talk to me for a day...” He cleared his throat and then eyed Bucky again. “Why do you want to know?”

“Nothing in particular. I was just wondering and I needed material for my best man speech.” But the blonde didn’t buy it. He caught Bucky’s chair when he attempted to turn away, pulling him right back in front of him. “Are you dating someone? Is it that woman from the flower shop?”

How did he know about you? “No??” Bucky squinted at Steve.

“You know if you wanted advice, I do consider myself an expert to some extent now.” Bucky wanted to wipe the smug grin right off his friend’s face.

“You’re an idiot.” He stood up and paced to the window.

“Oh come on, Buck.” Steve followed suit, the playful grin ever present. “You teased me for years about my love life, can’t be mad now.”

“I’m not mad.” He was annoyed.

They stood by the glass front for a while, watching the busy city unfold beneath them in the glow of the rising sun. Bucky could feel his friend’s eyes stare at him though. And after another moment of silence, the blonde finally spoke. “You should ask her out.”

“What?” He faced him again.

“You like her. I can tell. And you’ve never acted like this about a woman, let alone put so much effort into a relationship. I know it’s not your style, but I think it would do you good to at least try.”

“The effort is for the gala.” Bucky corrected.

“Right. Because that’s your thing... charity galas.” Steve squeezed Bucky’s shoulder and then tapped it and then he made his way to the door. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I really wish you would listen to your heart and not be a stubborn dickhead for once. This could be something life-changing - something great. And it’s your choice whether you welcome it or not.”

Life changing. Bucky didn’t like the sound of that. He liked to be in control of the situation and rule over his own life. However that aspect seemed to have left the building when you entered.

He huffed. There you were back on his mind again, and he felt the tingle creep up his throat. There was no denying it. What Steve had described with Bambi was what Bucky had with you.

With a shake of his head, he grabbed his coat, told Nat he’d be back in an hour, and then pressed the button for the elevator. He would deny it if Steve ever dared to take pride in convincing him to do so, but he’d also be damned if he didn’t at least try to find out if you felt the same.

❁ ❁ ❁

There was a burly-looking stranger standing at the counter when Bucky entered your shop. He had willed the traitorous voice in his head to silence all the way here. But now that he saw the handsome older man taking all your attention to the point you hadn’t even noticed him stepping in over the customer's broad shoulders, the heat began to bubble up again.

Bucky wanted to tell himself you wouldn’t prefer the salt-and-pepper-bearded man over him. But to be honest, he didn’t even know what your type was. Yes, you had cuddled on your sofa just the other night, but since Bucky wouldn’t consider himself an expert in anything other than one-night stands, it could have been a friendly gesture for all he knew.

“Would that be all for you?” You asked the man and handed him his chance. Bucky watched as his thumb grazed over your hand, feeling a tinge of anger starting to consume him.

“That’s all. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I hope to see you again soon, sir.”

“Oh, you can bet on it.” He winked then turned, nodded to Bucky in a brief greeting, and then exited the shop. Bucky’s eyes lingered on the door for a while longer. He took deep breaths as his jaw clenched and the bell above the entrance fell silent.

“Hey.” A warm hand touched his arm, pulling him right back to your eyes. And just like that, the anger washed away a little. There were just you and him in your tiny oasis amid Brooklyn. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He forced a smile, but the frown on his face probably betrayed him. “Just thought that man was a little inappropriate.”

“He’s just a sweet man buying flowers for his wife.” Your eyes glimmered with mischief when you bit your lip. “Bucky... are you jealous?”

Oh, hell no.

“Jealous?” Bucky wasn’t jealous. He couldn’t be. There was nothing to be jealous of. He had no claim to you. Even if he really wished he did. And yet that man had angered him with only the touch of his hand. That was the only thing he’d ever get. Bucky knew what it felt like to have you in his arms, how your body lotion settled in his nose, how your head fit perfectly in the crook of his neck. “No.”

“But you should not be so naïve, dove. Married men are also flirting... and cheating.”

A short laugh escaped your throat before you caught yourself again and Bucky’s heart began doing that funny somersault thing. “Not to burst your bubble or anything, but I do know how the real world works.” You crossed your arms before your chest. “Besides, what do you care if he did ask me out? Maybe it has been a lifelong dream of mine to be a mistress.”

“It’s not. And I don’t. I just think you deserve someone better than a cheater.”

“Oh, like who? The percentage of good guys in this city is disappointingly low.”

Bucky snorted, guided by the excitement in his chest he opened his arms. “Please, I could name at least five guys off the top of my head who are better than whatever that was.” His left hand flailed in the direction of the door, referring to the previous customer.

“Name one.”

“Me.”

The surprise sprung onto your features faster than Bucky realized what he had said. “What?”

Well, this was certainly not the way he had planned to ask you out today. Damn jealousy. The only way for this to not be embarrassing was to own up to it now. It was what he had come here for after all, right?

Bucky looked directly into your eyes, his expression sincere and determined. "Yes, me. I may not have everything figured out, but I do know one thing: I care about you. I've seen the way you light up a room, the kindness you show to everyone around you. You deserve someone who sees that, who appreciates it.”

Your eyes softened when you shook your head, averting your gaze to the ground. “I don’t know, Bucky.”

He bit the insides of his cheeks, instantly hoping you’d say something else. Anything that would show him there was a chance you would change your mind. The silence was all-consuming, but he kept his mouth shut, careful not to fuck it up once again.

“Bucky, I appreciate your honesty, I really do. But I don't think it's a good idea.”

Bucky's brows furrowed, his confidence wavering as your soft refusal hit him. "What do you mean, you don't know?" he asked, his tone tinged with a hint of frustration. He struggled to keep his composure, the unfamiliar feeling of rejection gnawing at him. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he searched for the right thing to say. His jaw tensed, betraying the hurt he felt deep down. "Forget it," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel, his disappointment palpable in the air as he made his exit, leaving you to contemplate his unexpected confession.

❁ ❁ ❁

“Why, don’t you just look precious!” You bent down and picked up Sam’s daughter, Darla, who had eagerly stormed through the door as soon as he’d opened it because she wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the handle yet.

“You... I’ve missed you soooo much.” You nuzzled her into your chest and pretended to squeeze real tight.

“Come play dragons with me!” The little one squirmed and then hopped off in her tiny knight costume.

“Nothing I would rather do,” you singsonged and then mouthed a ‘she’s grown so much’ to Sam before he closed the door with a shake of his head.

“I know... she just does it without my permission. Unbelievable.”

About ten minutes later, you sat on the living room floor with a bunch of stuffed dragons, you had been instructed to play. Sam’s daughter was happily fighting the stuffies with her wooden sword and his husband handed you a cup of coffee with a smile.

“So how have things been?” Matt sat down on the sofa and Sam instantly wrapped his arm around him. Your eyes lingered on the interaction for a second before your gaze wandered back to Darla.

“Oh, you know, business as usual. The shop is doing very well... the shelters are holding up.” You smiled at her and then made a dragon fall backward in defeat.

“Hm...” He frowned. “That’s weird... I had a feeling it was getting better soon.”

You smiled tight-lipped and wondered if you had butchered it all with your stubbornness. Matt wasn’t clairvoyant or anything crazy like it. But the joke of his other senses being heightened due to his impaired vision had carried on forever. And even though you never believed in supernatural magical things, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, there was a hunch of truth to it nonetheless. He had been right about many other things after all.

“I don’t know,” you sighed and Darla excused herself to her room to ‘get more toys’. “Except for the shop, everything else seems to go a little downhill right now.”

“But you have been seeing someone, no?” Matt tilted his head and Sam squeezed his shoulder in an attempt to make him stop.

“Babe, do we need to talk about appropriate prying again?”

“Sorry,” Matt blushed, “Occupational hazard.”

You laughed and then turned serious again. “I have... but to be honest, I doubt it will have a future. It’s - I don’t know - it just seems a little too good to be true.”

“It’s been Bucky you’ve been seeing, hasn’t it?” Sam chimed in with a calm deep voice, making your attention snap to him. Your heart began to race at the mention of Bucky’s name.

“How did you know?”

His fingers lifted in air quotes “A gorgeous girl with a flower shop in Brooklyn that somehow tries to convince him to donate to Sunflower shelters? You did not make it hard, honey.”

“He... he talks to you about me?” Well, that changes things, you thought as you watched Sam reassure you with a small smile.

"More like a little birdy told me...." Sam shrugged. “What happened?” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes holding concern.

“Isn’t it obvious? I don’t want to be one of his many trophies. And I’m scared, I just made the chase attractive by not putting out immediately.” Your eyes turned glassy. “What if he will lose interest when I do.” Your voice broke, making you almost whisper the last part into the living room. “Because I really really want to...”

Matt cleared his throat. “If it helps anything... I have a feeling you are not going to be just another one-night stand.”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve never seen him like this.” Sam chimed in. “So butthurt about a girl or even put effort in a relationship that would only become a one night stand - which it is not - he wants more, he needs more. He sees a future with you. And as much as his bad-boy demeanor has made that pretty unbelievable in the past, he is changing. I just know, and it’s about time that he aims for peace and quiet and love and comfort.”

Turning your head with a suspicious grin, you answered: “Is Matt contagious? Because that sounded one hell of a lot like a prediction to me.”

Sam just shook his head with a smile, scooted forward on the sofa, and then took your hands in his. “Believe me when I say this: You are so amazing. And not even a douchebag like Bucky could deny it. Yes, he has had his fair share of women in the past, and he can be the most stubborn dickhead in all of New York City, but he’s not stupid. He knows something valuable when he sees it. And you, love, have given him the most precious thing he’s ever had.”

You held eye contact for a short moment, letting your friend’s words sink in and warm you from the inside until the butterflies in your stomach began to tingle. As much as you wanted to refuse, you had shown him love and acceptance every step of the way. And Bucky? Bucky had tried so hard to impress you. He had done so many things just for you, to spend time with you.

You just wrote it off as a means to get you to sleep with him. But at this point, that argument was farfetched. Because throughout the time you spent together, his presence was pleasant, casual, and... wanted.

“So what do I do now?” You said with determination, making a smile spark on both Sam’s and Matt’s faces.

❁ ❁ ❁

“So, Barnes is unusually grumpy tonight.” Bucky heard Tony say when he came back from the bathroom, jamming his glas on the table to announce he was listening. “Did you get cockblocked or what?”

“Shut it, Stark, or I’ll personally demonstrate your very own cockblock.” Bucky pressed through his teeth.

“Damn, Buck. What the hell could possibly throw you off this much?” Tony signaled for two more drinks to the bar as Bucky took a seat again.

Sam looked at him with a raised brow - the fucker knew what was going on. But Bucky refused to get dragged into talking about his feelings.

“I thought it was going good?” Steve chimed in, a question in his features. Steve, you punk. Shut up!

Bucky knew he was referring to the bouquets of flowers that subtly decorated the office now. First his own desk, then the kitchen. And when Nat had grown suspicious, he proceeded to place them on her desk to have her stop asking questions.

It wasn’t his doing - not this time. You had just given him a bouquet of the flowers you couldn’t sell anymore every time you met. And Bucky couldn’t bring himself to throw them out. They also reminded him of you and were a nice little distraction from work. ...Not that it mattered anymore.

“Going good? What is going on? What are you talking about, Rogers?”

“Bucky met a- ouch goddamnit!” A kick was heard from beneath the table. And when Steve’s eyes snapped over to Sam, the man just tipped his head with a warning stare. “What the hell, man?”

“Okay, that’s it. I feel like you guys don’t tell me anything. I need details. Now.”

“No.”

Bucky didn’t need Tony to know. In fact, Bucky didn’t need anyone to know he had trouble talking to a woman. He, of all people, who never had any difficulties getting even the married ones - yeah he wasn’t too proud of that... But Tony would just make everything worse. And with his patience hanging by a thread right about now, he was not willing to play with fire.

“Buck, we- they’re your friends. They deserve to know, especially if things are as serious as you told me.” Bucky just stared at Steve in silence, his gaze trained on the crystal class in front of him with the amber liquid untouched. Steve always had a need to calm the storm. And maybe, Bucky would let him do it this time.

Truthfully, Bucky couldn’t imagine a life without you anymore. His friends would sooner or later hear about you - if he had not fucked it up entirely. So, it was better to rip the band-aid off now than peel it back painfully slow in the future.

He crossed his arms and exchanged a brief glance with the blonde, and Steve understood that he was allowed to proceed.

“Bucky met someone. He’s organizing the charity gala this year and she’s the florist doing the flower arrangements.” He had never noticed it before, but ever since Bambi had entered Steve’s life, his best friend’s fable for romance became more and more apparent to Bucky.

“She’s also helped him find a cause to donate to. She’s been taking him to the Shelter she has worked at for years,” Sam chimed in and Bucky didn’t even question where he got his information from anymore. Steve and he had always been close, and though Bucky didn’t believe Steve would tell Sam his most private conversations, Sam always had a way of finding out.

“Event planning? Florist? Who are you and what have you done to Bucky?” Tony looked seriously stunned, But Bucky didn’t expect anything less than incomprehension. He had always been the only one in the group Tony could relate to and talk to when it came to women and lifestyles. Now, that very thing was slipping away.

Bucky just shrugged, uncertain how to answer. It was true: He had changed quite a bit ever since meeting you. But they weren't bad changes. He actually liked them.

Steve cleared his throat. “I thought things were going great, just the other day he talked about asking her out. And there were all these flowers in the office, I just assumed...”

“Yeah well, they weren’t.” Bucky interrupted as he felt the frustration creep back up. There were so many new feelings mixing within him that he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Well it’s good to have you back, I guess. Can’t imagine how that would’ve turned out.” Tony’s hand landed on Bucky’s shoulder, who immediately brushed it off.

“What do you mean ‘turned out’?”

His head swayed from left to right and his hands turned outward. “Well, we all agree it would have never worked out right? You’re not the one for relationships and she was clearly using you for that charity money.”

What the actual fuck?

“You don’t know her. So don’t you dare assume anything about her.” Bucky sprung up, his hands hitting the table with a thump. “Dove has the kindest, most beautiful soul on this earth.” He wouldn’t let Tony, of all people, insult you. Not you. Not his dove. And, yes, maybe it also hurt a little that his friend did not believe Bucky could change for something truly important. And maybe it scratched his ego that this might have been the reason for your rejection the other day. But all of that seemed unimportant now.

“Look at you growing all protective.”

“Tony.” Steve’s condescending tone rumbled over the booth.

A look at Tony and Bucky wanted to smack the smirk off his face. Another look at Sam, whose eyes had grown soft with empathy. And one last look at Steve, who’d only wanted him to be as happy as him. Damn it.

“You wouldn’t fucking know what I’m talking about, Stark.”

And then he stormed out of the Ironbar and into the night, head fuming, heart racing, and only one thing on his mind.

❁ ❁ ❁

You were pretty sure Bucky would have kicked your door down had you not opened it the second time he wrapped his fist against it. Now he was standing in front of you, cheeks reddened from the cool night air, chest rising with deep breaths, but still devilishly handsome.

“Hey, Bucky!” You smiled until you noticed the irritated look in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He seemingly ignored you, stepping into your home and then turning once you closed the door. “Do you think I can change?”

“What?”

“Do you believe I could change? That I could become the person you would date?” His eyes were pleasing, his head cocked to the side - fidgedy.

“Is... is this about the other day?”

Bucky looked nervous, vulnerable even. “Just answer my question, please.”

“I believe everyone has the ability to change. But I also know not everyone wants to.” You looked at your hands, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.

“Then why... why do you think I haven’t. Through all the times we’ve gone to the shelter, through all the conversations. I’ve never had that with someone before... what I have with you.”

There it was. You knew you had to talk to him about it sooner or later. Sam and Matt had suggested as much. You just didn't know it would be this soon.

“Bucky, I just don’t want to end up as one of the women passing you on the street, throwing side eyes at the newest one you’re having on your arm.” Yeah... that encounter had been a rather awkard one. Not to mention how nervous you were that night, hopig Bucky had only played it cool in order to protect you.

“See, but that wouldn’t happen to you, dove. It wouldn’t. Because I realized that you are the reason that makes me want to change.” Bucky's gaze softened as he spoke, his tone gentle yet resolute he stepped closer. “I'm not perfect, but I promise you this: I'll always try my best for you. So, yeah, maybe it's a long shot, but I think I could be good for you. And if you'd give me the chance, I'd love to show you.” He took your hands in his, then closed his eyes and came even closer. “I know I'd treat you right.”

Throughout his confession, your gaze never faltered from his face. You could feel the desperate honesty in his tone, in the way his hands lightly trembled. He was scared, and he lay that emotion in your hands - for you to do whatever you needed with it.

Your voice was shaky when you answered, a light hue of shame fogging the question on the tip of your tongue. “But how do I know...?” That this is not what you’re telling every woman in this godforsaken city?

But Bucky understood. Because apparently that pull you'd had toward him had been there for a reason. “Because the things you make me feel scare me.” His face was mere inches from yours now, you could see every speck of color in his irises. “They scare me because I’ve never felt them before. Every time I’m not with you, I think of you. In every situation I am in alone, I imagine how much more exciting it would be with you in it. I’m going crazy. I’m lost without you, dove.”

A single tear ran down your face at his confession. This moment felt so raw, his words so sincere. But most importantly, it made your heart pound with excitement.

“Will you be mine?” His forehead leaned against yours, his hands moving up your arms and to your neck. “Please say yes,” he whispered and his breath tickled your nose.

He just felt so right. Bucky felt right in your home, in your arms, in your life. “Yes.” You finally answered and as soon as the syllable left your mouth, his lips came crashing onto yours.

Within seconds, Bucky had you pressed against the door. His hands held your face lovingly, his hands warm and big on your skin. The kiss was deep and so unbelievably pure, it punched the breath from your lunges the second your lips connected. And suddenly you knew that Bucky’s words held far less emptiness than you had feared. Nobody could kiss like this and not be sincere. At least you hoped it to be true because once you’d gotten a taste, you knew you would never want to try anything else. You could get drunk off him. Forever.

Your hands wandered beneath Bucky’s coat, settling in the warmth of his back beneath the thick wool and feeling the muscles ripple when he pulled you even closer.

You sighed into him because the moment felt so right, so perfect, so tailored to the two of you and Bucky brushed his tongue over your bottom lip. The tingle from the gesture traveled down your spine. Before you could hold yourself back, you let his touch swallow you whole.

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky moaned, a feeling so warm and enjoyable taking over his body with every breath you stole from him. He had wanted for this to happen for weeks. And the real thing did not disappoint.

Your hands roamed his back until they hooked onto his shoulders and began shrugging off his coat. He tried hard to keep your lips on his during the action, not wanting to miss a single moment without them anymore. You were here, you were his, and it was perfect.

“Bucky,” you whimpered when his thigh made its way between your legs. A move so instinctually feeling for him. But all the other women he’d been with before only seemed like practice now. Preparation to be the best lover you’ve ever had and ever will have. Because you were the real thing, the grand prize, the best person to ever happen to him.

You ground down on his legs in rhythmic motions, Bucky could feel the heat seeping through his expensive dress pants and it made him feel even hotter. He pushed his leg higher, reveling in the sounds that came from your lips and the very knowledge he was the one providing this pleasure. There was nothing more exhilarating.

But still, it wasn’t enough. “There are too many layers of clothes between us, dove,” his wet breath brushed against your cheek as he pulled his thigh back for you to take off your jeans.

“You’re so right.” You grinned and then pulled them down in one swift motion only to reveal a pink pear of panties underneath.

In an instant, his body was pressed to yours again, his lips attaching to yours like magnets - he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you. But instead of placing his leg right back to get you that delicious friction, his hand began traveling down your front until it disappeared in your underwear.

If you were any other woman, Bucky would’ve gone down on you. He would have dropped to his knees and eaten you out because he knew it was the fastest way he’d make you come. And he took pride in the fact that the women he was with always had at least one orgasm more than him. But he didn’t do so with you.

Why?

Because Bucky Barnes got high off of your lips, and he couldn’t possibly imagine not seeing your face, feeling your mouth shape in a silent scream when he would make you come for the first time.

So his hand had to do for now. His fingers slipped past the thin pink cotton and over your mound to gather your slickness. He gasped when he reached your heated core. “You’re so wet for me, love. So ready.” He pecked the corner of your lips. “So perfect.”

“Yes!” You whined and pressed your pussy into his touch. Bucky immediately started to trace circles on your clit. He took his time to find the motions with which your breath staggered, or your fists clenched in his shirt. With every whimper, every stroke of his hand, he felt his dick strain his pants a little more - the aching exciting him for when he could finally sink into you.

“Shit, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

“I don’t plan on ever stopping.” He growled into your mouth, his hand movements becoming more frantic, the wet noises filling your apartment. Frankly, Bucky didn’t believe he could ever stop giving you pleasure and having you writhe in his arms with deep sighs. Not until he knew how you sounded cumming on his hand, on his face, on his dick, on the sofa, on the bed, and every other surface he could possibly imagine. Your body was like ecstasy.

Your walls began to clench around his fingers, every drag becoming harder as he imagined his cock being squeezed by you instead. “There you go, Baby. That’s it.”

“OH MY GOD!” You screamed as your hand pulled on his hair, your body growing rigid with pleasure and Bucky kissed every curse word from your lips.

After a minute, he slowly pulled his hand back, the other caressing the skin on your cheek. “Are you okay?” He whispered, his eyes boring into yours in genuine concern.

“Are you kidding? I’m more than okay. That was incredible.” Bucky couldn’t help the small chuckle from leaving his lips at your praise.

“You look really fucking pretty when you come.”

“I’m glad. Because I want you to make me do it again.” You kissed his cheek. “And again.” And then you gently stroked his cock through his pants. “And again.”

And the second you said that Bucky pulled you onto the floor with him. He took his time removing your clothes, kissed the trial of your bra strap all the way down your shoulder, licked and bit at your hips all the way down to your ankles where he finally pulled off your underwear and pressed his lips to the soft skin of your leg. And when you were fully naked, he paused. Bucky’s eyes roamed your body, taking in every divot, every mark and curve of yours.

He sat back on his haunches, his head getting dizzy when the butterflies took over. “God, you’re so beautiful,” Bucky softly wheezed, his hand slowly stroking your leg as you lay spread out in front of him.

“Come here.” You gestured with your arms open, welcoming him in your embrace with a wide smile. Bucky supported his weight with his arms on either side of your head and let your hands bury in his hair. He closed his eyes letting the warmth of your touch overtake him. Your thumbs stroked over his brows before you whispered: “Look at me.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I doubted you. I feel the appreciation in the way you talk to me and touch me. It was unfair of me to assume you are your reputation.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s not like I made it easy for you to believe me.”

You chuckled and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Well, I do now.” Your eyes locked with his and a new fire lit within them.

“Good.” He smirked and then rolled you over so that you were straddling his waist. The cool wooden floor hit his bare back as you had bunched his shirt up on the way, now pulling it over his head and revealing your satisfied stare when your hands traced over his abs.

You shook your head and released a breath. “Shame on me for refusing this for so long.” Your fingers passed his happy trail and began working on his belt. Bucky’s thumbs stroked your thighs as he watched you undress him, the tent in his pants ever so present and growing with every brush of your fingers.

“Don’t worry, dove. We have all the time in the world to make up for it.” When his pants were off he pulled you forward again, kissing you ferociously. “‘Cause I’m not planning on leaving.”

You smirked and ground down on his cock, interrupting his speech and ripping a guttural sound from his chest.

He had been holding back. Ever since you'd dragged him into that shelter, he had not touched a woman, because you had him hooked the second you had taken his hand on the way. And now he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from coming in his boxers like a school boy.

“Are you getting nervous, Bucky?” You grinned and moved again to tease him a little more.

“Can you blame me?” He clenched his jaw when you rocked forward again, his hand stilling your hips with a near-bruising grip. “I’ve wanted you ever since I stepped foot in your shop.”

“You did?” Your head cocked to the side, surprise washing over your face and his dick twitched making Bucky’s cheeks heat up.

“Yes...” He confessed only to be attacked with your kisses again. He groaned and bucked his hips up until you were a moaning mess on top of him. His hands reached around you, settling on your ass and giving it a small clap.

“Hand me my walled, baby. It’s in my pants.”

“Why?”

“We need a condom if you don’t want to keep dry-humping me.” He smirked, knowing, feeling there was nothing dry about this anymore. Your arousal was already drenching his boxers. The slick pushing him close to losing it.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to, I have an IUD.”

“As much as I want to, we should be safe...” Bucky swallowed and averted his eyes in regret. “Have to get tested again.”

“Oh, ok.” You were disappointed, he could tell. And Bucky was too. It was the first time he ever regretted all his one-night stands because he would kill to fuck you raw and feel all of you. And as hazy as your body made him, he could not ignore the fact that he did have several different sex partners before. It would have to wait a few weeks. And when he would come back clean, he would keep you in the bedroom for a week straight.

You must have noticed his misery because you leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Then you scooched back and retrieved the condom from his wallet. Bucky held his breath when your fingers hooked into his waistband. And when you pulled them down, his cock stood proud and thick with precum already pearling from his tip.

He reached for the shiny packet in your hand but you pulled your arm up, your eyes stuck on his cock. “Let me.”

“Okay,” he breathed out as he watched you rip the packet. His shaft twitched when your careful hands rolled the condom over him, another bead of precum dripping into the condom and before he could collect himself, you rubbed your pussy all over him, coating him in your arousal.

Bucky’s hands turned into fists at your sides as he watched you finally sink down on him - inch by inch, your heat welcomed him, his body sparking with pleasure all over. You moaned in unison when he was fully seated inside you, his cock being hugged tightly in your warmth - he’d barely held it together then.

You planted your hands on his abdomen and rocked forward, sending the both of you reeling. It took a second for Bucky to collect himself. His eyes closed and his nose huffing, he reminded himself of what he had promised you and what he wanted his first time with you to be. When he opened his eyes again, his hands moved over your body with determination. One setting over your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, the other began tracing tight circles on your clit.

Your head fell back, a vision of ecstasy and pleasure unfolding before him when he sent you over the edge a second time. He slowed your hips on his and rubbed your pussy with his thumb. He needed you to come again. And then again, and he had to hold out for that long. But the way your chest heaved, the light sheen of sweat forming on your skin, made his plan more than difficult.

It took all of Bucky’s willpower to pull you off his cock and push you to his legs. He sat up and kissed up your neck until he reached your lips. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you what you asked for.” He mumbled against your skin and then licked over your nipple, the other being caressed by his fingers. His free hand found its place right between your legs again and when you moaned lowly, he slipped two fingers inside you.

Your pussy was squelching, the lewd sound traveling across the living room as Bucky worked you towards another release. You were already squirming in his hands again. Your fists pulled at his roots, sending a shiver straight to his cock when you leaned his head back. “You’re amazing.” Your breath was hot, fanning over his lips only to be replaced by them again. His tongue slipped inside and mimicking the movement of his fingers in your pussy.

“Right back at ya, dove. I can't wait to be inside you again.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“For you to come again.” He bit your lip and sped up his fingers already feeling you squeeze him tightly. “So you’re satiated when I come deep inside you, feeling you squeeze me with that perfect pussy of yours until you see stars.”

“Shitshitshit. I’m coming!” A series of curses flew past him when you pulsed around his fingers, gushing all over his hand and lap until he finished rocking you through your third orgasm.

“Fuck,” Bucky licked your juices off his fingers and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“I don’t think I have another in me, Bucky.”

“Don’t worry, love. I got you.” And with that he hooked your legs around his waist, falling forward until you were with your back to the floor, Bucky hovering over you and aligning his length with your entrance.

He couldn’t wait anymore, in one swift motion, Bucky fully bottomed out until his balls hit your ass. And when he was confident you were comfortable, he set a relentless pace. He had been on the edge this entire time. You had almost made him come just having him watch you let go. But there was nothing like the feeling of your pussy hugging him tightly, your body writhing beneath his, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure and nails raking down his back.

“You feel so good,” he grunted and you just moaned in response.

“Look at me, please.” His hand turned your face. “I need to see you.”

Bucky snapped his hips into yours even faster, your walls already clenching tightly around him and he threatened to burst. Your eyes opened and fell to his and Bucky couldn’t stop his orgasm from ripping through him anymore. His strokes stuttered, his balls tightened, but he held eye contact with you, searching your hand behind his back to lock your fingers with his.

The white pleasure exploded within him, elevated by your own peak hitting with full force. He kissed you then, feeling like he was somewhere between heaven and your living room floor. His mind was consumed by you, his body tingling in aftershocks as he rocked you through your highs.

His damp chest fell into yours when you came down. He rolled on his back, taking you with him, pressed deeply into his body, his cock still buried inside you. Bucky’s chest was heaving, the last remnants of pleasure sparkling in his nerves. He kissed your hand and cuddled you closer.

This was what he was made for. To be with you, to be consumed by your affection and warmth.

He smoothed over your head and felt your lashes flutter on his skin. His heart was blooming with contentment - all the fear he’d felt to commit was miles away, lost somewhere between the Ironbar and your doorstep. There was nothing he was more sure of.

“Let me do this right. Let me take you out.” He whispered into your hair with a smile, trying to remember a time he’d ever been this happy.

You snorted as your hand gently stroked over his chest. “Bucky, you’re literally ballsdeep inside of me right now.”

Bucky chuckled as well, his hand rubbed down your bare back in a soothing motion when he kissed your head. “Nothing like a convincing argument, huh.”

🫵 You cant get enough of this character? Go check out the chatbot I made for him! This way you can explore different endlings, plotlines, or just enjoy his company for a while longer 💕

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bet-on-me-13 · 2 years ago

Text

Danny runs for Mayor P.2

kgned3Part 1

Some more snippets of the Gotham Mayor Danny AU!

...

Danny would absolutely try to hire some of the Rouges as his Mayoral Cabinet, I can just imagine Waylon Jones, the Killer Croc, in a Suit and Slacks sitting in a the Mayors Office while awkwardly holding his resume.

Danny: So, Mr. Jones, why do you think we should hire you? Waylon: Well sir, I have something of a reputation and I feel like I would be an amazing Bodyguard. Danny: OK, one question though. What is your opinion on Clowns? Waylon: I don’t like them. Danny: Hired!

...

Danny: Now, Mr Nygma, what do you think you would bring to my office? Edward: Well sir, I am fairly well known for my expert planning and timing skills. Also I can give you fun riddles whenever you want! Danny: Hmmm, that’s definitely a good point. One question, if needed, will you attack a clown on sight? Edward: Yes? Danny: Hired!

...

Danny: Now, I can see that you used to have a very reputable resume Mr. Dent. Harvey: Thank you sir. Danny: I can’t see any reason to refuse your application, but I do have one question. Do you like Clowns? Harvey: Uhm...yes? Danny: I am sorry dir, but I am going to have to reject your application for a job in the Mayors office. Mr Jones, please escort this man out

...

Danny would absolutely do an amazing job in decreasing the crime rate, just by virtue of the fact that his very presence is destabilizing the Curses put on the City.

But at the same time, his policies are also very efficient, based on Gen Z Humor/Ideas

Danny: As my new Law states, every year the most rich person in the City will be forced to give up 70% of their assets to Charity. You can avoid this by donating as much as possible in the weeks leading up to the Sacrifice Day, whoever donates the most is exempt from the choosing even if they are the Richest, we will then move on to the second Richest, and so on Reporter: Sir, isn’t this just the “Winner Of Capitalisms” Prompt from Tumblr? Danny: Yes.

...

Batman: Why did you just pass a Law that states that all Vigilantes are given the right to kill? Danny: Because I accidentally hired every villain in Gotham, so now there is nobody to try and bribe me. And if nobody tries to bribe me, then nobody realizes that I will only accept bribes if the Joker is dead, like I said in my Campaign. I know that you guys have a no-kill rule, but I know at least one of you who would jump at the chance Batman: *realizes that Dick has already killed the Joker once, Jason is actively attempting to every day, Tim is chaos incarnate and would do it to feel included, and Damian just really wants to let loose* Well played...

...

Danny: Vlad, I am serious. Leave me alone or I will put you in Soup Jail for 3 months! Vlad: FINE! I’ll just go possess another Billionaire to force them to give me their company again Batman, listening from outside the window: What the f-

...

Danny in every conversation with the Batfamily: I re-respect your decision to not tak-take a life...but I must insist you kill the Joker...for the good of the peephol-People! He is not a good inf-influence on this city and he must be des...troyed. Batman: *Wondering why he sounds like he is reading from a script* Um, I don’t think thats a good idea? Lady Gotham: *Standing behind Batman with some Cue Cards, trying to communicate with her Knights through Danny* *Thumbs Up* Danny: Also I wanted to say that you need to- oh um, ok- to get over the deaths of your parents and grieve in a healthy way instead of adopting every child you see. You are doing a great job kid, parentheses, do not read this par- Oh-Oops. Batman: Hm. I’m not even going to question that anymore.

...

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starwrighter · 11 months ago

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Yet another chirp au let's go!

Let's say that ghost chirping doesn't exactly sound like birds. Like it doesn't come from their throat and instead comes from their cores. And while avian themed ghosts chirp like birds most have their own way of chirping.

The yetis make chuffing noises of various pitch as they use their breathing to amplify the sound.

Technes and other technological themed ghosts mad robotic noises. With Technes specifically making dial up noises.

Ember and any musical themed ghosts mimic their instruments.

The box ghost's chirps like cardboard being folded while the lunch lady sounds like a pan sizzling.

Skulker's chirps are like gunshots while Walker's are like the slam of a cell door.

Spectra's chirps sounds like people crying while youngblood's sound like giggling.

Now here's the fun part. Danny's a halfa, and as much as I love the idea of him having a space obsession I'm going with the protection obsession because I want to.

Danny's chirps are different because he's half human. He can't exactly hear them just as we can't hear our own heartbeats unless we have a tool our are having a panic attack. Other people can hear them just fine though.

Danny, decides to leave Amity Park because enough people hate him and try to kill him unprompted that it's interfering with his obsession. He decides against going to metropolis because lex Luther is just another Vlad that'd rally people to hate him too.

Danny decides to go to gotham because there's plenty of people to protect and there's no crazy billionaire only a ditsy one.

The only problem is Danny's chirps sound like dead people. Danny taking advantage of his powers so imagine it being late at night, you're a cop beating the crap out of a man stealing diapers for his son and you hear a distorted.

"Helllllo?"

And it's your dead mother's voice.

#whenever I type out a prompt I try to edit out “like”#but my brain kins shaggy without my permission #dpxdc #dcxdp

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littlediscoveredstars · 3 months ago

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I have a fanfic idea that I haven’t really committed to writing, so you can have it here.

Idea: Batman and Superman decide to finally put the bro-mance to rest and go on a proper date. The thing is, they both plan to reveal their identities at the restaurant.

Bruce focuses so hard on looking like Bruce Wayne, but also more himself that he does at galas. He’s wearing a turtleneck and his comfy work shoes. His hair is less organized and he lets himself slouch.

Clark isn’t sure whether to slick back his hair like Superman but keep the glasses or keep everything Clark Kent but leave the glasses home. He decides to just wing it and go as much like himself as he can: jeans, boots, and glasses. After all, he’s a Kansas farm boy under every layer of identity he’s created.

So, then comes the day for them to meet. They expect to see each other, be a little surprised, then go about their date as normal.

It turned out…not like that.

With neither knowing what name the table was reserved under, they both assume they’ve arrived first and watch every man that fits their date’s general build pass them by.

Clark sees Bruce Wayne and thinks, “Wow! What are the odds Bruce Wayne happens to be at the same restaurant? Funny.” Then he sits down at a booth and waits for Batman.

Bruce, to his credit, watches Clark pass by with suspicions. The guy looks kind of like Superman but those curls are so dense and he honestly cannot imagine Big Blue dressed like a cowboy, so he waves it, especially when the man doesn’t stop to confront him. He just stares the way everyone else has after seeing a celebrity out in public and moves on.

An hour passes. Then two. Both are sitting a few tables apart, looking around desperately for their hero coworker to show.

Bruce gets impatient first. He understand Superman has a lot on his plate and a single free night is a lot to ask. Maybe they’ll try again. Or they won’t, since Bruce has convinced himself this was stupid to begin with.

It’s as he’s preparing to go that he sees that cowboy again. The gorgeous man is looking down, crestfallen at also being stood up.

So, Bruce does something a little spontaneous. Bruce sits in front of the guy. He blames it on the glasses of wine he had while waiting.

Bruce: “I’m Bruce. May I be blunt?”

Clark, blinking in surprise: “uh, sure?”

Bruce: “I watched you walk in over an hour ago and no one has accompanied you. Seeing as my date did the same, I’d like to fill the space.”

Clark, again, surprised he’s even being talked to by a billionaire outside of his job: “Y-yes? Yes! I mean, sure! By all means!”

It’s not like Batman’s going to come crashing in from the window. Well, he could, but Clark’s been listening to the city around them. No sign of Batman’s grapple.

So, Bruce and Clark meet. They fall into conversation easily, even make each other laugh. It’s so effortless and slightly suspicious, but they’re having a fun time and Bruce isn’t self-sabotaging enough to break away now. Not when he’s needed this for a while.

Then, at the end of the date, Clark listens for Batman’s heartbeat. He tries to hear where his friend might be, to understand why he didn’t show, but the heartbeat is standing right in front of him. There, in Bruce Wayne’s chest.

And/or, Clark removed his glasses to clean them and it clicks in Bruce’s mind. He reaches out to smooth all of Clark’s hair back and a single, rebellious curl pops out.

They’re both so furious, Clark has to fly them to the roof to properly shout about it.

#fanfic #writing #batman #bruce wayne #clark kent #superman #superbat #misunderstandings #these idiots #I love them #blind date #accidental dating

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justkending · 5 months ago

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Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (7/7)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader (Enemies to Lovers) (Fake Marriage Trope)

Word Count: 1800+ (shorter but sweet;)

A/N: This is the last chapter of the mini-series! I've loved a break from all my other WIPs and am surprised that I was able to complete this even if I wasn't sure where it was going 🥲 Thank you all again for the support, comments, and sweet love you've sent my way, and I hope to have more free time to write this summer now that I'm on break!🥳💞

Next Chapter

Y/N’s POV:

Four months have gone by since our mission. And to say things are different would be an understatement.

We kept the game of hating each other going on long enough for Steve and Nat to both lose their bets. And then we each did a little betting on the side with the two on how fast we could make the other reconcile. Bucky and I both were $200 richer after that.

The team was shocked at the new friendship, but after some consideration and after coming clean to Bucky about my reasoning for how I treated him, I felt a weight off my chest. That weight grew lighter and lighter with each person I confided in, making our explanation of no longer having a feud unimportant.

My story was a reason for how I acted the last almost five years with Bucky, but it wasn’t a valid one. I was happy to have moved past it and frustrated that it took me this long.

Comfort in having Bucky as a genuine friend was a gift I starved myself of for so long, and I’m happy to know that I’ll have it from here on out.

“If Sam asks, I didn’t do it,” Bucky sped walked into the room and tried to act casual as if he had been in the space the whole time, standing next to me at the kitchen island as I cut up fruit for my snack I'd become hyper fixated on recently.

God bless the billionaire who could keep all fruits, in season or not, on hand.

“Got it,” I nodded unphased, never taking my eyes from the cutting board before me.

“Have I told you thank you for never questioning my antics with Sam?” The smile in his voice is evident, and I turn to see the proof of it stretched across his features as he looks down at me.

“You've established your appreciation once or twice since we’ve become friends,” I laugh, looking back at my work. “Grab me some blueberries from the fridge, will ya?”

As he moved and started opening the fridge, perfect timing, Sam turned into the kitchen with steam practically blowing out of his ears.

“What did you do?” he grunted as he stomped in, fists at his sides.

Bucky turned from halfway in the fridge and gave him a confused look. If there was one thing I learned about him while on the mission, he was a great actor.

“Y/N or me?” he asked, pointing between us with the carton of blueberries in his hand. “Do you want an apple too?” he asked casually, one already in his hand as if Sam wasn’t seconds from shooting him from existence with Redwing.

“Sure, why not?” I hummed, dropping the knife and wiping my hands as I turned to Sam. “What are you going on about?”

“I know it wasn’t Y/N, Barnes. She’s been on a mission the last two days and just got back this morning. This was a premeditated hate crime.”

“Whoa. I’m intrigued now,” I laugh, and start placing the cut strawberries into a bowl I had out and take the apple Bucky hands off to me.

“You want to tell her about your fun, little prank?” Sam turns his annoyance to Bucky with crossed arms, and Bucky flips on the water to wash the berries in hand.

“I would have to know what you’re talking about in order to tell her.”

“Don’t play coy, Barnes,” he points a finger his way, and his eyes could laser through vibranium if they wanted.

“Help us out. Give us context,” I carry on, very intrigued with what it is Bucky had done, and start cutting the apple up.

“As if he doesn’t already know,” Sam grumbled, walking in further. “You know how I had to buy all new long sleeve thermals because my clothes don’t fit anymore?”

I hummed and smiled down at the fruit. “Getting too swole in the gym, as I heard you tell Steve. Trying to match his bench press will do that, trust me. I know,” I raised an arm and flexed for extra measure, and he rolled his eyes as Bucky laughed and placed the cleaned blueberries on the counter.

“Tell me why all my new shirts don’t work…” Sam looked to Bucky with a cold, calculated stare.

“Would work be the correct term?” Bucky poked. “Would you say shirts ‘work’ or ‘fit’?” He looks at me with the tiniest smirk on his lips. I shook my head, trying to soften the smile growing on my own.

“You sewed the end of my sleeves shut so my arm wouldn’t go all the way through!” Sam shouted, pulling the shirt from his back pocket and holding it up.

Bucky let out a ‘pft’ sound and leaned against the counter by me. “Who’s to say I even know how to sew?” In truth, I knew he was using me as a barrier when Sam eventually fell over the edge and gave into his fantasy of choking him out.

“Shut up!” Sam growled. “You stitch yourself up on missions half that time because you hate having the nurses do it. Obviously, you know how to work a needle and thread.”

“Needle and floss most of the time, actually,” he shrugs, and that does it for Sam.

“I’m gonna beat your ass!” Sam stomps hurridly to the counter, but Bucky goes on the other side, estimating his moves.

“Have to catch me first!” he said with a wicked grin, and Sam wasted no time running after him.

As Bucky escaped the room and Sam followed behind him, I heard a “That’s what you get for hiding all the remotes in my room while I was gone, dick!”

_______________________

A few days later, after I got a stitch ripper and helped Sam get his thermal shirts ‘working,’ I asked Nat and Wanda to join me on a girls' trip to buy a new winter wardrobe now that the seasons had officially started turning in New York.

When we returned, Nat was called to talk with Fury, and Banner asked Wanda to be a second set of eyes for something in the lab.

I was left grabbing my bags by myself in the den, and just as I was about to tumble to the side with the last overstuffed brown sack, Bucky came around and caught me. His hand wrapped around my waist as the other grabbed the bag that would have been my doom.

“Thanks,” I groaned as the weight of them pressed into my wrist from the handles.

“What happened to all those gains you got matching Steve’s bench press?” he laughed, taking at least three bags before I waved him off, taking the others myself.

“I gave up on that challenge a long time ago. I’ve lost the muscle mass, unfortunately.”

“You didn’t lose it. Just transferred it,” he winked, curling the fourth bag I fought him taking.

I rolled my eyes and nodded my head toward the hall with our apartments. “You do have a vibranium arm. That gives you more of an advantage than you give credit for.”

“Just be happy this advantage is working for you and not against you,” he kicked the back of my knee as he followed behind me. “Find anything good?”

I turn back and see him glancing in the bag like the snoop he is.

“If I tell you, are you going to sew my sleeves shut?” I hum, turning a corner down the hall from my door.

“Only if you hide all my remotes and then log out of all my streaming services, so I have to put them all in one by one,” he whistles a jazzy tune. “Stear clear of that, and I’ll be nice.”

“Ooo,” I cringe, turning and looking at him as I put my thumbprint on the door to unlock it. “He got you with the minor inconvenience prank. Those are the worst.”

“Minor was an understatement. Hence the retaliation.”

We both go inside, and Bucky places his bags on the couch while I dump the remaining ones on my bed.

“Thanks for the help,” I smile, stretching from the long day out, and shrug off my coat as I settle.

“No problem,” he replies, but I don’t hear him move to leave, so once I throw my coat off completely, I turn and give him a look. He’s watching me intently, and I feel almost bare under his gaze.

“Was there something-”

“Can I ask you something?” he cuts me off, and his mood shifts.

“Um, yeah. Sure. What’s up?” I turn to him and give him my full attention cause it seems serious.

He hesitates at first and almost looks nervous as he contemplates how to ask me whatever it is.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” he looks around my room towards the living space.

I follow his gaze, trying to see if I’m missing something. “Plans that I can think of... No. Why?”

“I was wonder- well. I was- I was wondering if you’d want to maybe- I mean, if you’re up for it, of course, possibly maybe, watch a movie or something?” he gets out, and oh my God. I’ve never seen him fumble over his words like this before.

“Watch a movie?” I recap as I blink out of the idea that Bucky is 100% nervous. “You and me or with the rest of the team?”

He lets out a small chuckle and rubs the back of his neck.

“You and me. If you’re ok with that,” he answers, looking at me bashfully.

“I’d be up for that,” I smile and my stomach does a little flip even if I’m not sure where he’s going with this. But the teenage girl who never got to experience this before is doing cartwheels. “What movie were you thinking?”

He seems to have a permanent smile now because of my answer, and I can’t lie and say the one on my face doesn’t hurt a little from how wide it is.

“Lady's choice. I’ll bring one of those fruit bowls you like to make and maybe-”

“I made some cookies this morning. I hid them in the pantry because we all know Tony and Sam would have finished them off before I had a chance even to smell them from the oven,” I rush out.

“You’re baking tends to have that effect on many people around here. I kind of miss when I was the one and only recipient of it,” he laughs. “Even if I wasn’t lying about gaining a few pounds.”

I roll my eyes at that and start to walk to the door, stopping to put a hand on his shoulder. “We both know that your metabolism is far too magical for that to be a long-term problem.”

“True, but I’m not against testing that theory,” he shrugs, bumping my shoulder with his own as he walks with me.

I stop right before reaching the door and turn to him with a grin and blush I cannot control.

“Bucky, is this a date?”

As if he’s so sure of himself now, the nerves melt off him; he says, “I was hoping we could count it as one this time. Considering all the others were fake, even if I don't count most of them that way...”

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses @livstilinski @basicallylool @starryeyeseunbyul

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter1 @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk @billyseye @hallecarey1

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness @bellamy-barnes @katiaw2 @aikeia @stopjustlovethemcu @enchantedbarnes

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:

@jackiehollanderr @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @theroyalmanatee @wintrsoldrluvr @alexakeyloveloki @bxckybxrnes24 @lillianacristina @selella @heletsmelovehim @lovelybaka @julvrs @mostlymarvelgirl @heletsmelovehim @learisa @bubblegumbeautyqueen @that-d-bitch @rabbitrabbit12321

#bucky barnes mini series #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader insert #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x mini series #justkending #marvel mini series #bucky barnes x avenger reader

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ellesthots · 4 months ago

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Fateful Beginnings

XXV. “Mr. Wayne”

parts: previous / next

plot: debuting a new playboy persona, Bruce banks on a moment of reprieve that never comes. after saying goodbye to a friend, you make your way to city hall for a final meeting that leaves both you and the billionaire in a haze.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, anxiety, romantic tension, infidelity/flirting, mention of sexual harassment, mention of illness

words: 7.4k

a/n: a treat of a chapter for everyone 🏹 thank you for continuing to show fateful so much love! adoring the comments and reblogs, it's so fun to see your reactions ✨ soooo much more to come <3

It'd been long enough of occasional high-profile, low-commitment public escapades as Bruce Wayne. With the candidates coming, he felt it deep in his gut he had to show out and perform. He put on his best suit, had Alfred do his hair. He ordered the most expensive cologne he could find (that didn't seem to be oversaturated on the market like Baccarat Rouge; he knew Bruce would need to keep ahead of the trends) as well as the watch. He spritzed Guerlain Tobacco Honey on his wrists, chest, and neck before getting into his Bugatti. He spent so many millions in one week Alfred had checked if this was some sort of mental breakdown. He assured him it was 'only necessary' and 'only temporary', and that these items would eventually make good money at a charity auction.

When he arrived (after making a showy tip to the valet), he made a beeline for the cocktails. He asked the steward to give him a mocktail, quietly, and with a successfully deceiving martini in hand, he moseyed about the room and made small talk in a booming voice. Rich guys aren't afraid to take up space and well, as the richest man in the room...

He sipped his martini as an incredulous man's gaze lingered on his wrist. A moment of hesitation and the man appeared mere inches from his glass. "Mr. Wayne, I couldn't help but notice your Patek. Is that the Philippe Chime?" Hook, line, and sinker. He nodded, as if it were confusing the man would even approach him. He had a split second to deliberate on an asshole persona or a charming one. An easy decision, remembering his family image needed all the support possible after the antics of Edward Nashton. "Ah, a man with good taste."

They chatted for a moment about different watches and stocks (thank god Bruce had remembered to talk to Alfred to get a refresher), until a tall woman in a red silk dress tugged on his elbow. After a small laugh and excusing himself, he turned to face the blue-eyed blonde. Her smile was sparkling white and veneered, and her face didn't move a wink. "Mr. Wayne, excuse me if this is too brash but, I need to know the name of that cologne." She smiled bigger, flit her lashes, and whispered to him. "If you can't tell me, I might just have to replace you with my husband."

Oh this was going to kill him before the night was out. He grinned wider, flashing teeth, and performed a rehearsed laugh; he lowered his voice to match her evocation. "We wouldn't want that, now would we?" He winked, internally cringed so hard he thought he'd turn to diamond, and watched as she gave him a once over and walked sultrily back to the man she'd so brazenly been willing to abandon.

He knew he couldn't be seen standing around, and moved swiftly over to a gaggle of men with their martinis delicately in their left hands, positioned just below their breast pocket. The chandelier to his right kept twinkling in his periphery like an omniscient presence.

"Mr. Wayne, this renewed presence of yours..."

This was gonna hurt. "I'm glowing, right?" He flashed a bright smile and all the men grinned and rolled their eyes, their wives blushing demure side glances amongst themselves. Am I going to have to keep this up forever? Good God. He shook his head and leaned his weight on his left hip. Sip, absentmindedly. Look as if perusing through a scrapbook of memories. "There's this spa in Dubai, it does wonders for the spirit. And the body." He laughed again, feeling like he was shoving out the very last oxygen from the deepest well of his chest. "This past Spring I jetted over there for a few week-long stays, nothing crazy."

"Playboy bootcamp, hmm?" A woman in a midnight blue dress stood by Mr. Gavenstein, a popular investment broker on the Northwest side of town. Gavenstein glanced hard at her for a split second before interrupting her seduction. In all honesty he couldn't blame the ladies, remembering from a few summer camps that many upper-class Gothamite girls were raised to marry wealthy—and to lend no concern to things as trivial as loyalty to men who were probably cheating on them anyway.

As Gavenstein talked to the group (but mostly to Bruce), it became difficult to hide his increasingly strained attempts at mellowness. Bruce's first night at one of these city hall meetings a handful of years ago had led to the one and only time he'd gone out with these men, and every single waitress and bartender who served them that night got a side of sexual harassment from the husband himself. The ring his wife wore looked like it'd been longer than a few years since they gave their vows, corroborated by the same subtle chip in the gold of his wedding band. Bruce had made a small comment about the 'strange lack of respect people had for staff', and tipped the servers a few thousand each on the way out. He made it a point to lay as low as possible from that point on.

The man in the same white linen shirt interrupted the reverie by opening the door to the conference room with an announcement. "The meeting will convene in two minutes, but tonight we have an intermission at half time for the candidates to prepare their initial statements."

This schtick wasn't easy, but it was easier now that you weren't here. With the conference room's opening and you nowhere to be found, it left him no choice but to know with surety you'd left back to Washington and cut your losses. He bristled at the thought, but paid it no mind. No one here knew this wasn't the real him; no one here would be scanning to see if his hand was clenched in his pocket to try and metabolize the anxiety of performing. And if someone did notice, he would be able to effectively lie that he'd hurt his hand playing polo. Bridgit wasn't here either, and he let his shoulders relax knowing he wouldn't be grilled until he walked into the foyer of Wayne Tower.

He followed the men into the room with its sturdy, polished mahogany table set, making sure to chatter with the people at his side—until Convoy shot him a confused look as he struggled to control the din and start the meeting. Be annoying, but never rude. Feign innocence, seem to mean well. As embarrassing as it was, he had binged a smattering of critically-acclaimed films all week to prepare his psyche only to realize upon stepping back into this lion's den he'd already studied these men enough to camouflage.

Dr. Vry had been suspiciously apologetic upon your return to her office to grab supplies. She gave you the 'very best' voice recorder, a sparklingly new leather-bound notebook, and 'only the finest' 'Italian' fountain pen. As you hurried out the door she told you to keep everything but the recorder, and 'not to worry' about the price. Her Hermés Birkin bag sat bright and pink in the corner, making a mockery of whatever 'expensive' ink lie in the pen.

While she had largely been unhelpful, she had told you ahead of time that this city hall meeting would be inundated with candidates and their teams, meaning there would be an intermission halfway through meeting time. At seven sharp you'd be in the lobby waiting to whisk him to a room she'd already secured for the fifteen minutes between sessions. The key glimmered on your keyring under the shimmering streetlights as you walked to city hall.

On the way you stopped at Rai's. The store wafted with the familiar warm scent of a perfectly spiced, decadent deli, and he beamed at seeing you again. You grinned and pulled out your wallet to get a container of tabbouleh. Rai, with his deep, reverberating voice, teased you as he took the bills. "Strange woman you are, no lettuce boat! Straight 'bouleh."

"I like the tartness, what can I say?" You watched him scoop up a double helping than the cash you'd given, and felt a pang of sadness. He's the only one that's been consistent my whole time here. The only person that seems to genuinely enjoy my presence. If the two of you hadn't known each other better (coming off of a night of particularly hard partying at Mora's your first term) you might have thought he was simply schmoozing a loyal customer. But Rai had patched you up after icy falls on the way for snacks, chatted with you about early dating troubles, and you'd given him advice on how to care for his sister's elderly cat. When his grandfather had been in the hospital, and he'd received the call as you were checking out some Nutter Butters, you'd covered the rest of his shift without question. You'd had to pull an all-nighter because he'd left the keys on his keychain, but nonetheless.

"Getting ready for another school year?" Rai handed you the tabbouleh and a to-go spoon. You averted your eyes, lost in thought. "No, I'm moving home actually." The statement reminded you that Mar had yet to get back to you officially about moving things tomorrow.

His face fell, his brows pulling together. "Gotham has plenty jobs available." Now he was standing right across from you at the register, his arms crossed around his chest so he could rest closer on his elbows. "Don't tell me this is permanent!"

Anxiety was rising in your chest because you didn't want to say goodbye to him, he was possibly the only good thing in Gotham. C'mon, just uproot your entire family and move your business to nowhere Washington. "My mom is sick, actually." The truth spilled out easily for him, and thankfully no customers came in during your retelling with the tears beginning to streak your cheeks. After a few anguishing moments talking over her prognosis, he walked around the counter to wrap you in a hug. His hand was firm and soothing against your back. "Make sure you do what is best for you. If that means leaving the city, leave the city. But you must take a summer here at least once! I will feed you and your family for free."

You hoped Rai's would still be open if you did ever visit. He was the kindest man you think you'd met here, and it was a blessing he was still open—whenever someone was hungry, he'd feed them. He practically ran his own soup kitchen on the weekends, when the houseless would line up to pick some meals from his deli. As far as you knew he relied wholly on catering jobs to make the bulk of his rent. Do I even want to come back? It felt like Bruce owned this city; as much as you'd pushed back when he'd said Gotham was his, it kind of... was. His family's shadow was cast over every street and alley like a weeping willow; but that wouldn't stop you from visiting Rai. "I'll make sure of it, thanks." You grabbed your tabbouleh and spoon, and walked to the doorway with its little signs and small wind chimes. He smiled and waved at you from the register. "Thanks for being a friend, Rai. See you around!"

"I'm only saying, none of these candidates seem to actually want the best for the city."

"Well we gotta pick one of them, right? Unless one of us wants to run."

The candidates hadn't set foot in the conference room yet the space was alight with debate. Convoy had precipitated the intermission by rallying off the candidates' stances in small blurbs. "Ms. Grange is in favor of tax cuts, Mr. Hady wants to tax the churches, and Mr. March wants to increase taxes on... all of you."

"Can you believe that guy," Gavenstein was two to Bruce's left, and nudged the man closest to him. "Thinks he can waltz in here and empty our pockets." His graying hairs were sculpted fashionably above his ears on either side of his head; Bruce wondered if he painted them on to appear wise.

"The only person in this room left with a decent account would be Wayne." The man to his left chuckled and glanced at Bruce, then leaned back in his chair. Christ. He would've rather watched paint dry, then chipped off a mansion's worth of said paint with a single thumb than hear that noise again.

Bruce wanted to stay out of it, he actually wanted to leave this room forever and never come back, but that wasn't his new M.O. "At least he had the guts to say it to our faces." He got a few shrugs and murmurs before the next guy spoke.

"Grange wants tax cuts, now there I'm willing to listen."

"Hady, an attack on the churches? Isn't that unconstitutional?" The man to Bruce's right spoke like he'd never said the word before, and he stifled a laugh at how blatantly they grasped at straws to sound informed. Like a cold glass of water, Convoy announced it was intermission and to find the lobby for the next few minutes. "Our caterer has prepared ample appetizers for the break. Please enjoy!"

Lincoln... how to avoid him... As he walked out Bruce braced himself for being bombarded by the man, his opponents, and excess reporters. Never spoken to them before, don't have to speak to them now... or did he? Next week. Or the week after. He'd have more than enough time to be interviewed and photographed during the rest of this election cycle. It was already enough for him to burst simply talking with the usual suspects that didn't have a recorder on their person. He'd read up a bit on the candidates in the moments between marathoning movies and deduced a small amount about them, though the blurbs on their campaign sites seemed hastily written. Grange was indeed wanting to cut as many taxes as she could get away with, Hady was set on making sure churches paid equal tax while simultaneously cutting taxes on the elite (seemed personal), and March... well, he just wanted all the rich people to be less rich. Bruce had yet to parse if he was only not bothered by that because he had more money than someone could ever tax away.

The lobby was shockingly crowded. Three individual, large clusters splayed across the room supported the candidates, their teams swarming like flies. Reporters stood with their mics and recorders throughout, some with point-and-shoot cameras limp in their bored hands. The very second he was out of the doorframe, all eyes snapped his direction. This has to get easier eventually, right? Right? He walked to grab another mocktail, counting each step to force his nervous system to regulate. He waited behind a blonde reporter after effectively sussing out whether it was Bridgit back for revenge. He closed his eyes and took some deep, slow breaths. In, out. Innn, outttt, nose, mouth... palo santo? He'd smelled that warmth before.

"Bruce."

He spun around to see you standing with your same recorder, a different notebook, and the same slight reflection under your eyes as when you'd come out of the bathroom the night you'd gone missing. A nauseating blend of relief and anxiety displayed brightly across his face. "Y/N."

Bruce looked as he usually did now, with his perfectly slicked hair that fell just slightly askew across his forehead to look like he'd woken up that way. Only now instead of a suit he donned a dark gray cashmere sweater; it read as fancy as one, due to how expertly it had been fitted to his torso, and the same went for his slacks. You admired the fact he didn't seem wholly catering to the people here, or he'd be decked out in some starchy suit. The only way you could tell he wasn't replaced with a robot was how his face turned up looking at you.

The clock was ticking, and the room was just across the hall. You hadn't thought it would be this busy with reporters—how were you going to get him into the room without suspicion? You adjusted the PRESS badge to be loud and clear across your back, since that's what they'd be seeing. You let the notebook slip slightly to take up more real estate on your silhouette, trying to look as official as possible. "I need an interview with you. I got us a room." You strode past for him to follow in tow, knowing otherwise he'd overwhelm you with questions that would only waste the clock. Heavy footsteps behind you (how was he the picture of stealth in the heavy suit?) alerted you to his compliance.

You messed with keys on your keyring and jammed it into the lock, which was stuck. You expected him to gaff and make a snide comment, but nothing interrupted the silence. A few moments later and the door opened cleanly to a dark conference room about half the size of the one he'd just came from. As he made his way quietly in and shut the door behind him, walking easily to his seat, you grew increasingly suspicious and frustrated. He pulled these emotions out of you so easily it was almost clinical. His compliance frustrates me? I almost want to call him out on it, but we don't have time. In, and out.

The notebook slid across the heavy glass with a small squeak. First page was clean, and you pulled out the insert you'd tucked into the middle. The other half of the table was so silent you had to monitor your periphery to see if he hadn't somehow made a getaway. Unfolding the beige paper in the middle revealed your printed question sheet. You cleared your throat to give the customary announcements you'd role played so much in intro journalism. "I'm with the Gotham Gazette, and this interview will be transcribed and published in next week's paper, both physical and digital." You glanced up to see him sitting nicely with his hands rested together on the table top. Through the streaking in the glass you could see the ghosts of where he had first placed his hands. You drew a deep breath. He makes intimidating eye contact. "Feel free to decline answering any question, all I ask is that you answer things as honestly as possible. Though I may cut answers short if they run long. As this is your first interview we would like things to be as comprehensive as possible, outside of what is already known via public record. As soon as I ask the first question I will hit RECORD." You clicked your pen ready and hovered above the switch. Your hesitation combined with his silent acceptance of this made the room drop twelve degrees. "Is there any topic off limits, Mr. Wayne? You and your team will not be able to edit your answers after the fact."

Mr. Wayne? He clenched his fingers against the backs of his hands. His eyes narrowed, but your eyes were fixated on the ruled paper beneath you. You must've cried on the way here, your tear troughs were still slick. Bad news at home? Scared of him? You'd rather get fired than be in this room talking. What could've brought you back? He shook his head. "Not that I can think of. I'll let you know."

So cordial. You clicked RECORD after landing on an acceptable first question. "Mr. Wayne, this is your first public interview. Why did you choose to break the silence now?" You readied your pen to jot any additional questions that spurred from his answers.

He'd anticipated this question months ago and had an immediate response. "The timing finally feels right. For so long I hid, still feeling trapped by my parent's murder. Now that I've hit 30, well... I realized I need to make myself useful. You could say I finally figured out I didn't have to die with my parents."

Jeez, that's rough. You pressed on with the follow-up without obvious sympathy. "I'm sure many are wondering why the timing was not right after the historic flooding? Gotham was in dire need."

"I didn't want anyone to mistake my intentions. I figured if I were to do public-facing work, it would read as opportunistic. I don't want to capitalize off of tragedy. I spent my time working on the back side of rebuilding."

Hmm, convenient. But you couldn't say that on tape. You still refused to look at him, buried into your notes. You'd seen him in the doorway, how he'd transformed from a recluse to an unapologetic schmooze overnight. On your way to get him at the snack table you'd heard some women talking about flirting with him at the meeting's front end. Was he genuinely as good as he seemed? His intentions only the purest and brightest? You struggled to believe it.

"Speaking of rebuilding, at Gotham University's commencement you announced a desire to invest in Gotham city. Any sneak peeks for your Spring 2025 rollout?"

In truth, he hadn't started. He figured he'd speak to Alfred, get a board meeting set up, meet with his investors, and within a month there would be a budget drawn up for his funds. He figured he could start it early in the new year, but your delicately tamed tongue nor floundering public opinion would be charmed by the honest answer of 'I've put it off'. "Pass."

That bristled you, and for a half-second you seriously considered stopping the tape; but this wasn't personal. It couldn't be.

Why aren't you looking up? So... stoic. Guarded. Sitting down here had happened so quickly, with no fuss or snide commentary. Did Vry outfit you with a shock collar and a mic? As much as he hated your rustling, the stillness was more uncomfortable, eerie even. It was like you had a moat between the both of you, with armed guards ready to fire.

The LED lighting was causing an ache in your temples. Your feet were cramping from walking halfway across town in heels through cobbled streets, and being in a closed room with Bruce was choking out your oxygen. Every time you saw him he grew larger, and tonight was far from the exception. You'd been smacked with his cologne at a ten foot radius, he was actually taking up social space in the foyer, he'd worn well-tailored clothing for once... next question. Ask it. "With efforts towards rebuilding a better Gotham in your near future, we have come to know the business side of you far more than the personal. What brings you joy in your everyday life, away from the cameras?"

These questions were far kinder than he'd anticipated from you. Did Vry... threaten you? He refocused on your question to try and rid of the thought before he blurted it out to you. He didn't know what brought him joy, but it didn't seem the type of question to skip. His heart fell into his chest as he continued to come up empty-handed, no matter how deep he sifted into his memory.

It'd been thirty seconds and still no answer. He'd forced your hand to look up at him, and his face was pale. His eyes moved from left to right as he peered at the center of the table. Does he ever feel joy? When do I feel joy?

If this were any other reporter he would lie. Say he loved meeting with people in the city. Loved traveling. Loved sports. Maybe he woke up every morning with the songbirds, a cup of coffee in his right hand and the daily stock exchange pulled up on his MacBook. Maybe his muscles were from a home gym, playing polo, sparring with his butler. That won't fly with you. But this wasn't about you. Even still, as he tried with utmost desperation to sink it into his skull, he couldn't get the words to form in your presence.

Do I ask him if he heard me? Clarify? "Mr. Wayne," He met your gaze and it constricted your chest. You were afraid. Afraid of him and his influence, afraid of writing a good enough essay, afraid of the time running out, afraid of your mother's condition, afraid for your father if she passed, afraid for yourself and this debilitating loneliness that sat like a brick in your gut.

He spit the word out. "Pass."

God that was sobering. You swallowed a hard lump in your throat, and the room went stale in the silence. A dissonant sensation of camaraderie fluttered between the two of you. You drew a sharp and deep breath. You'd had cramps this morning, your period was on the way. You'd have cried if a dog looked at you the wrong way; this new sympathy was environmentally influenced. Next. Question. "What motivates you?"

He stared at you, blank-faced. When would this facade break? Almost imperceptibly you narrowed your eyes in response. "My parents. I want to make the city safer so no one else has to lose anyone. My parents believed in Gotham. I want to make them proud."

If only they knew their son was an infamous vigilante. Next question. You didn't have this written down, but followed off his last answer. "You speak very fondly of your parents, even after what Riddler said of them. Two months after the tragedy, Commissioner Gordon made a statement on behalf of Wayne Enterprises. Is there anything you'd like to add to it?"

If his response hadn't been succinct and wholly accurate to his feelings, he might have regretted spitting something out without thinking. "My father was a good man. Everything in the statement I gave Gordon can be corroborated. It wasn't right what he did, trying to bribe a reporter into silence, and I do not support that in any circumstance. But that is all that he did. Falcone is the one who decided to threaten and murder an innocent."

You might strike that question in editing, as he didn't add any additional information outside of what was already public record. Glancing at your phone showed that five minutes had already passed. You pressed on. "Speaking of your parents, what positive memory stands out when you think of them?" This would be the last question related to his parents; you gathered it was a kind segue between what was known to the public and comfortable to Bruce, and more personal questions.

Except, it wasn't that easy. Bruce sat in silence again, unable to stir up positive memories. This combination of questions was making him dizzy from shame. How the hell could he not remember a good memory with his parents? He knew he had good memories, he knew there'd been beautiful times with his mom, his dad. He knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. Yet... "Pass."

You shut your notebook and turned off the recorder. He watched it like a hawk. "If talking about your parents is off-limits, tell me."

Bruce shook his head, a bit too fast and a bit too hard. "My mind is cloudy tonight."

"Finally gave in and drank on the job?" He certainly hadn't been in line for the food.

He shot a glare at you, a glare that caught the light for a brief second, exposing you to the rich blue of his irises. "Thinking about it." He sat his head in his hands. You were left stunned, looking at the back of his head across the table. Tower Bruce would've said something brutal back to you, maybe even accused you of being an alcoholic. He was unarmored. It was unnerving.

You let the silence sit. He stayed with his nose nearly touching the table, his hands massaging the back of his neck, slowly, thoroughly, painstakingly. For the first time since knowing him you felt like you were sharing space with an actual human... nah, not quite. He still stalked my family. When he looked like this though, this was his greatest defense against being found out. Batman didn't read as sensitive or lost in troubled thoughts. The same muscles rippled down his shoulders and back, but the bullets had been removed from the gun.

The silence went on, and it must've been another two minutes passed staring at him. You could've color picked his hair at a Home Depot you'd been so well acquainted with its hue. You remembered you hadn't truly responded to him when he'd told you why he paid for your parent's debt. You gripped the sides of the chair and broke the extended silence. "Was it true what you said about your, motive?"

He roused, barely. His eyes were tired, his body limp like a ragdoll. More hair had fallen across his forehead, and after the impromptu neck massage his clothes looked a bit haggard, wrinkled in new places and scrunched up just below his ribcage. He wanted to clarify what you meant about motive, but he didn't want to give you the glee of knowing he had no idea what you were talking about. His body was melting in front of you, relaxing until he became one with the chair, but his mind was frantic and frayed. Motive about Batman? Motive about wanting to help Gotham? Why weren't you asking him more interview questions? Why were you here?

The silence had been too long and you already regretted asking him. You flicked the recorder back ON. "Mr. Wayne,"

"Y/N."

OFF. "That's not professional,"

"I never officially agreed to this anyway."

"What do you mean? Dr. Vry said—"

"What did she say?"

"She told me you'd only talk to me."

"Why would I only talk to you?"

This felt strangely reminiscent of when you'd awoken in his bed. Anything that connected the both of you was tossed aside like a rotten, wormy apple by the billionaire. You hoped he felt too accosted to recognize the hurt in your tone. "She said you asked for me, Bridgit said,"

He rolled his eyes. "I couldn't tell them I was worried,"

"Why?"

"You left in the middle of the mission."

"I left a note."

His scoff echoed off the whiteboard. "I'm supposed to trust that?"

He pissed you off so easily. Leaving me alone in an alleyway, expecting me to just stay put? After he'd effectively bribed me? "You're lucky I left anything at all."

"Lucky..." He laughed as he shook his head. The guts of you.

The nerve on him. You tucked your chin up and away from him. "What tech did you use to find me?"

This again. "Nothing."

I'm supposed to believe that? "Sure."

"I waited until the next meeting. When you didn't show,"

"You asked where I was, okay, I get it." There was a part of you that believed Bruce, or at least wanted to; a part of you that begged to turn off your brain and naively believe all the pretty words from the pretty man so you wouldn't have to feel so on edge. If you believed him, you weren't supposed to listen to the frustration, the lashing out, the way he spit his words at you graduation night. You were supposed to kindly follow him into the dark and abandoned streets of Gotham night life. He'd only accidentally seen your texts, looked you up, found your mother's doctor, and put his card on file, and all out of the kindness of his heart. It had nothing to do with you knowing information that could land him behind bars. He didn't do bribes. He was just another upstanding citizen who spent his nights breaking people's jaws.

"How dumb do you think I am?" If this was really your last night here, he really had no answers, and he really wouldn't hurt you, nothing would come from a little hotheadedness.

He struggled to size you up. "What are you talking about?"

"Yeah, my mom's sick. But I don't think you're out here filling up GoFundMe's—why me?"

"I don't know."

"How could it not be a bribe? Do you regularly pay other people's medical bills?"

You'd backed him into a corner... or maybe he had. "I felt compelled."

"Because I know confidential information about you."

You weren't not making sense, it just wasn't what had happened inside his head. He didn't know what happened in his head, besides his snaring, insistent fixation on how quickly you'd found him out. "I don't think that played a part."

"This is why I asked if you think I'm an idiot, because? You 'don't think' it did?" Your fingers made air quotes for good measure.

"I don't have a good answer for it."

"That's not the same as not having one."

He loathed to admit it, but you had a strong point. When you put it so frankly it begged suspicion. "Maybe I believed you more than I thought. A thank you instead of bribery." Your blank face compelled him to speak again. "Saying you wouldn't tell."

"Then why were you so mad at me that night? When you found me?"

How could he navigate away from this conversation as quickly as possible while evading your suspicions? What would he do if you asked why he'd needed your help? "I was having a rough time."

"You seemed to really not believe me."

"I was in my head."

"So what's it now?”

He barely heard you through cascading thoughts. He liked being seen; he hadn't internalized it, maybe because he couldn't fathom accepting it even months after the fact, but it felt relieving to be known. Well... equal parts relieving and terrifying. What if you knew the only reason he was here right now was because you found him out? He shrugged, a move that was too casual for you. "I hope you won't."

You glanced at your phone again and saw it'd been over ten minutes. Any moment now someone could come looking for him and your window would be gone. If he were any less analytical, you might have thought he read your mind. "The meeting resumes any minute."

"Then let's use what we have." You slammed open your notebook and tried to find a question that wasn't related to his parents, childhood, or any positive emotions. You paused before pressing RECORD, begrudgingly asking for consent to interview, since apparently Dr. Vry hadn't cleared it with the man. "Are you fine with doing this interview?"

What choice did he have? He feared Vry would never lay off of him (or you, if it mattered) if he were to deny you. And if he were being completely honest, who would he be at all willing to talk to outside of you? You were aggravating and abrasive, but because of that he was allowed to turn 'off', even if just a bit. As his mouth opened to say a begrudged yes, he came to a peculiar standstill—in that he realized he might have deflected interviews all this time as a coping mechanism. Maybe he didn't have a personality outside of the Batman, and Batman himself was only borne of tragic grief. He didn't know what propelled him to honesty, but he averted his eyes and did just that. "I don't think I have answers."

The tone in which he said it brought back the earlier sympathy pang tenfold. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling a desire to poke fun and steamroll past the palpable despair in the room, but you were finished fighting. You'd be home tomorrow night, and soon the only thing on your mind would be making a life for yourself away from Gotham. This place had served its purpose, turning black and burnt as you further overstayed your welcome. This city was so big and you so gone from it you could crash into a building and abandon the car in Kansas without being caught; what meaningful consequence could come from being temporarily kind to someone who would forget you in the next five years? He didn't have answers, and that was... fine. "You have a good reason to feel that way."

He knew you were talking about the murder of his parents, and suspected this was some sort of personal comparison. After some deliberation, he went for it. "And you don't?"

You wanted to retort something about how he didn't know anything about your relationship with your parents, your life, or general wellbeing, so much so that it sat on the tip of your tongue like a yellowjacket freshly landed on its target. You cooled its vice grip by considering just how fucked up you'd feel if you'd seen your parents get shot to hell lying in a pool of their own bloody excrement. "My parents didn't get murdered in front of me."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't want pity. I've had enough of it."

"No, I'm saying it makes sense. Grief is..." You shook your head and sighed. "Strangling. All-consuming."

Shit. He'd expected you to say 'just get over it'. Thankfully he didn't have to scramble much before a hard KNOCK took the space. Foregoing polite hesitation, Mr. Convoy entered. "Mr. Wayne! We thought you might have flown the coop." A watery grin. "Please, the candidates are settling into the conference room." He glanced for a moment around the smaller, darker room you three stood in. "Well, the main conference room."

Convoy held the door open wide and a hand out to mime leaving, obviously anticipating Bruce would simply follow orders and stand to attention. No acknowledgement of you. He didn't like that. When he rose, following a squick of the seat, Convoy stepped just outside the doors in waiting. The door was wide open, and by the way his eyes tracked the floor in front of him he was very much still listening. He maneuvered round the table and hovered at your side, facing the door that was to your back. He spoke quietly, but loud enough that Convoy wouldn't think he was listening in on a secret. "Next week. Should have more time."

You'd gotten yourself into this mess by opening a can of worms. Frustrated and kicking yourself, you groaned. "This has to be in by tomorrow at 9am." Once again he was filling your periphery; you tried not to breathe through your nose, suspicious that the warmth of the honey could subconsciously warm you to him. His brows knit together as they so often did, and you felt a jump in your gut.

"Mr. Wayne?" Convoy peeked his head in and startled Bruce, whose fingers clenched momentarily, reflexively moving toward a fist. God, he's so Batman. "They'll be closing the doors soon."

"It's fine, I'll talk to Dr. Vry before I leave. It's my fault, I'll rip the bandaid off." You stood up and gathered your things. She's gonna hate me for this, but I never have to see her again. I never should've lied. I never should've felt entitled, I could've done anything and I chose this fucking mess. You could already tell you were going to have a miserable rest of the night, but at least you didn't have to type up an interview anymore.

Leave? He glanced down the hall to see the doorman looking befuddled in his direction, but there were still a few stragglers making their way in. He calculated he had about thirty seconds before attention was glaringly drawn to his absence.

You pushed your chair in and it slammed against the corner of the table, smashing your pointer and middle fingers. Bruce tracked the movement, like he always did, and you noticed it, like you always did. "She'll be angry."

Now it was your turn to shrug something off. "Can't get fired twice." Vaguely aware of Mr. Convoy's presence, you held out your hand and forced your eyes to make contact with his, the motion as heavy as lifting a slab of concrete. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne."

His hand was warm and strong. He pulled some vetiver from your perfume. His eyes were such a gentle, crystalline blue that for a nanosecond, you forgot they were his. If they weren't, you could've stared into them all night. And your eyes, they were enchantingly bright and equally deep. For no longer than a brief moment, a single split hair, something sacrilegious flickered in your eye and reflected back in his.

Quick breath in, arms back to position.

Walking out of the room felt like a hard reset. The ping-pong game of emotions Bruce had just pulled out of you was erratic. Frustration, anger, sadness, camaraderie, helplessness, defiance, sympathy, and... You barely remembered what either of you had said at all. It felt... weird. You felt doused in a blanket of sticky emotional sweat, the most peculiar, offputting sensation you'd ever felt. Mr. Convoy led Bruce towards the foyer, and by the time you finished locking up he'd been swarmed by women who pet his forearm with their long, delicate fingers. You noticed his left hand tucked away into his slacks, tense and clenched. He glanced back and caught your stare at his pocket, and deja vu grabbed him by the throat.

You took the back exit, but he couldn't linger on it. He strolled into the room and sat down, this time not by Lincoln, who was standing third in line by Grange and Hady. He flexed his hand beneath the table, his left hand absentmindedly tracing the inside of his palm; slow, swirling zigzags painted across the high points down to his wrist. He tapped his foot impatiently, revved up and jittery.

Grange was first up, standing at a haphazardly placed podium. Her assistant adjusted the mic and handed over a folder, presumably filled with projective data and other persuasive elements for the bored elitist crowd. As much as he wanted to tether himself to this conversation, echoes of his dad's voice tempting him to cling to every word said by the candidates, his mind was with you. In a few minutes you'd be long gone, never able to be contacted again. Every second he sat in this stiff chair was a foot's more distance between the both of you.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for hearing me tonight." Her midwestern accent only pushed the words further out of active listening territory. His foot tapped anxiously, each sentence increasing its fervor. You could be in an Uber by now. Already at your hotel room.

"I differ from the other candidates in my distinctive approach to city taxes. I'll be passing around a chart showing..." Her voice completely left his head as her silver cufflink glinted off the fluorescents. The insignia taunted him, its beak and feathers embedded under his epidermis, just searching for a vein to latch onto.

Fuck. He stood so abruptly the security nearly lunged at him from the doorway. His chest was heaving and there was nothing he could do about it. His brow beaded with sweat, and there was nothing he could do about it. He stammered a response to save face. "Excuse me, I need to use the restroom. Carry on, please." He was already out the door.

Frantic eyes traced the perimeter of the room; reporters whipped their heads up, and a quick glance to the entry revealed a steady stream of paparazzi fighting for the sliver of window. You'd left through the back. He sped toward the hallway in a desperate haze, his good sense rapidly falling by the wayside as he turned the corner to the emergency exit. The instant mildewed, cool air smacked his cheek he broke down the alleyway; a paparazzi had been looking down a side alley from the front of city hall and noticed Bruce's rush. His name shouted behind him, then a cacophony of scuffling feet and metal. He broke into a sprint, the slick soles of his dress shoes struggling against the wet pavement. He careened down side streets, cloaked in shadow from ill-wired streetlamps, his eyes busy with a constant scan for your silhouette. Universe willing, he would—found you.

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whistling-birds · 17 days ago

Text

A Series of Events

These little chapters are all part of one larger story. Please enjoy! Let me know if you are interested in more. I just write these for fun, so please be nice! (Also my grammar sucks so I apologize in advance)

———————

STORY OVERVIEW: One day you randomly wake up on a planet with a Mandalorian hunting you even though you swore you were just in your bed, on Earth, the night before. Why are you being hunted? Why are you here? Is this a bigger story or just a series of random events taking place?

CHAPTER OVERVIEW: After you’ve been captured by the Mandalorian, Grogu seems to be interested in sitting with you. When he begins crying, you show Mando how to comfort and stop the kid from crying.

1. The Favor

The consistent humming of the ship engines would have been relaxing if I wasn’t so damn anxious. My heart was beating out of my chest- I could actually feel it shake my entire body. It was like a drummer boy in the middle of band practice during a drum solo and I could swear that the metal knight heard it, too.

I sat there quietly as I examined the interior of the ship. I did not speak or move. I was too afraid, to be completely honest. I tried to make myself as small as possible in the copilot chair. Maybe if I willed it hard enough I would evaporate in thin air.

The cockpit was small with a giant glass window. Small lights and buzzing noises illuminated from the overwhelming amount of buttons on the dash. How did he remember which button to press or use? It was like second nature to him. This man knew exactly what he was doing as he sat in front of me and steered the ship into nothingness.

The knights body was stiff and in control like a soldier. If I moved even an inch I would have been dead in a heartbeat, so I sat there, glued to my chair.

I watched him carefully as he steered the ship through the empty vacuum of space. He was really good at it. I would have been more impressed, but he was holding me hostage, and I wasn’t going to give him any more credit than he deserved.

I don’t know how I got here. I’ve never been to space before. In fact, no human has ever been to space unless you were an astronaut or a damn billionaire.

I would have been more excited, but how could I when I was handcuffed on a random spaceship? Not to mention I had no idea where this man was taking me nor did I have any memory of how I got here in the first place. One moment I was laying in my bed and the next I woke up in the middle of a desert with TWO suns.

I think I was in complete shock or denial...maybe even a bit of both? My body and mind were numb. I was afraid, but I couldn’t feel it at the moment. I became a shell of myself and tried to figure out what was going on.

If you’re wondering about space- it’s absolutely beautiful. Empty, but beautiful. There weren’t as many stars as I’d hoped, either. There wasn’t much of anything, actually. It was dark and cold and lonely like if you were to go to your school late at night with nobody around to occupy the halls. It was a strange sense of familiarity yet I had never been there before. I guess I have, just from a different perspective.

I must’ve hit my head- hard. I would say this could have been a dream, but it felt too real to be a dream. I was alive and I was awake.

“Grogu. Stop.” The metal man finally spoke. His voice was cold and altered from the helmet. He wanted to be hidden. He wanted to be a complete mystery and he succeeded.

My eyes darted towards him, but he didn’t move. His body remained in the same position the entire time: straight, stiff, and alert.

Who was he talking to?

That’s when I felt a tugging on my pants. The breath I had inhaled hitched in my throat as I slowly looked down at the culprit.

A little green goblin with three fingers gently pulled on the fabric of my jeans. He had large eyes and pointy ears; he honestly resembled a gremlin or Furby.

Aliens exist?

Aliens…exist.

Oh my god, aliens exist.

What the fuck.

I blinked rapidly. Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe I had smoked a little too much with my friends and transcended dimensions. I would have rubbed my eyes, but my hands were cuffed together.

This had to be a joke.

The creatures big black eyes met mine as I stared down at him. I expected to have a meltdown. I expected my heart to explode out of my chest from overwhelming doom like that feeling you have right before you wake up in the middle of a nightmare.

Instead, I was met with tranquility and gentleness.

“Grogu. I said enough.” The man demanded, but Grogu did not listen, so the man directed his frustration towards me, “if you touch him you die.”

I believed him. I wasn’t going to test his patience so I nodded carefully. This man towered over me. Even in a sitting position his frame was much larger than mine. His shoulders were massive. Not to mention the fact that he was covered in armor from head to toe.

Even if I wanted to respond, Grogu jumped in my lap before I could say anything. An audible gasp left my mouth- the first sound I had made since being forced onto the ship.

The man instantly turned to face me. For the first time in hours I could analyze the front of his helmet. The T-shaped visor covered his eyes completely as the silver metal encapsulated his head. It was honestly beautiful, but I was in no state to admire his armor.

“I didn’t touch him I swear.” I spat out.

My body trembled in the seat. I couldn’t help myself. I tried to show him my hands, but they were still cuffed like he had originally done earlier in the day.

“Grogu.” The knight said with slight undertone of annoyance. The type of annoyance a parent gets when their child ignores their demand for the fifth time.

He had completely ignored my statement as he grabbed the alien off my lap and placed him in his own, “stay here.”

Satisfied chirping erupted from the kid as the man sat him down upon his lap. Grogu seemed happy- he was chirping and babbling like a baby. He seemed comfortable in the man’s lap…his dad’s lap? I don’t know.

Grogu was an interesting name, but not out of the ordinary here. Not the weirdest thing I’ve heard since being off earth. I could see Grogu peering over to me slightly. His large pointed ears made their way towards my direction.

I couldn’t help but smile at him. He emulated warmth and innocence, yet there was a type of wisdom that radiated off of him; as if he knew more than he could share.

“Hi, buddy.” I whispered to the kid.

I don’t know what prompted me to speak, but confidence started to grow within me. Maybe it was the kid or maybe it was me testing the waters. I don’t know, but there was something in the air. The warrior might’ve been terrifying, but if he had the child with him, he had to have some sort of empathy. Right?

Grogu’s little hands began reaching for me. He couldn’t touch me, we weren’t even close to begin with, but he tried. Babbling echoed from his mouth.

The gremlin brought life to the ship. A youthful sort of energy that permeated the cold decrepit steel. It was nice. If I knew more about the pair, and wasn’t cuffed, I would’ve enjoyed the laughter.

“That’s not a toy.” The man said sternly. He ripped a metal ball out of the kids hand and placed it back on the shifter of the ship.

Their dynamic was funny. He was stiff and strict while Grogu was playful and curious. They seemed to balance one another out providing each other a sense of comfort and security they didn’t know they were missing.

The kid then turned to look at me. His eyes glimmered with mischief. Within the blink of an eye the kid appeared in my lap.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

I was definitely hallucinating.

“What the hell!?” I gasped. I…did I have a heart attack? I must’ve stroked out or something because a second ago he was three feet away sitting in his father’s lap. Now he appeared in mine.

So magic existed now, too?

I was actually going crazy, I think.

I looked down at the kid who sat in my lap. His hand held onto my thumb as he tried shoving it in his mouth with satisfied babbles.

His father swiftly turned to face me once more. He grabbed the alien and placed him back in his lap. I couldn’t see his face but could sense the frustration growing.

“I didn’t touch him I swear.” My voice trembled, “what…what happened?”

I needed answers. I needed SOMETHING to explain all of the nonsense I had experienced today. Two suns, a desert planet, aliens, and not to mention a damn spaceship. But he ignored me completely. He simply sat the kid back in his lap and continued steering the ship.

It didn’t last long, though, because Grogu started to cry. A shriek of sadness bounced off the hollow metal of the ship and pierced through our ears. I had heard children cry before, but nothing like this. His cries were more powerful. Way louder, too.

I hated hearing children cry. It broke my heart hopelessly listening to their wails. Grogu’s tin can of a father seemed completely ignorant to his son’s cries as he sat there.

I couldn’t see his facial expression, but his posture stiffened even more, if you could believe that.

The warrior held the child in his hands and looked at Grogu, “Grogu. Enough.” Was all he said, but the kid continued to cry harder and harder.

For some sort of warrior, the knight looked extremely out of place when it came to domestic life.

Seconds turned to minutes and the wailing continued to echo throughout the cabin.

“Grogu.” The man sighed. A hint of desperation slipped through his modulated voice. He tried patting the child’s back, rocking him, even retuning the metal ball to the child, but nothing seemed to satisfy the baby.

“I could quiet him.” I spoke up. My fragile voice exposed my inner feelings of fright. The crying was getting out of hand, though, and I could tell the frustration was building.

I could see the armored man look my way, but he did not speak. Was he analyzing me? Probably.

I looked at his visor and searched for his eyes, “Please. I can quiet him down. I hate hearing kids cry.”

I could sense his hesitation. Apparently I was the bad guy and was not to be trusted in this situation even though I was a confused person out of place in a new world I have never been before.

“Please. Give me five minutes.” I begged at this point. Grogu’s sobs continued.

“Five minutes.” Grogu’s father barked, “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you. That’s a promise.”

I nodded slowly processing his statement, “understood.”

It was a damn promise and I believed him. He didn’t seem like the type to joke around.

I slowly stood up from my chair and stepped closer to the pair, “I just need to be uncuffed…please.”

The man watched my every move like a damn hawk. To be fair, my eyes were on him, too. His gloved hand hovered over his holster.

“Please. So I can hold the kid properly.” I said with more need in my voice, “I’m unarmed. And I can’t go anywhere…we’re in the middle of space.”

The same silence filled the room once more. I looked at him with pleading eyes. I wasn’t going to betray him. What was I going to do? I couldn’t jump off ship. I had no idea where we were and he was my best chance at survival.

The knight nodded once. He swiftly unshackled my hands with ease.

“If you do anything stupid I won’t hesitate to shoot.” His modulated voice threatened once more.

I didn’t respond. I got it the first time he threatened me. Instead, I picked up the wailing child and held him in my arms.

“Hi, buddy. It’s okay.” I said as I began rocking him back and forth. The child was small and soft- he fit in the nook of my arm perfectly. I tried to relax him, and kept him pressed against my body for warmth. A trail of tears stained his cheeks which allowed more tears to follow.

“No, it’s okay. Shhhh..” I said as I rocked him back and forth. I was looking down at the child, but in my peripheral sat Grogu’s metal father. He was watching my every move. His hand was glued the gun on his hip waiting for me to make one mistake.

I had to get this kid to stop crying.

Grogu, PLEASE stop crying.

I cradled the kid more against my chest as I rocked him back and forth. My hand softly wiped his tears off his face.

“It’s okay, Grogu.” I whispered softly to him, and to my surprise, his wails turned to quiet cries. I started petting his soft ear.

Progress. Maybe singing would help?

“I see trees of green. Red roses, too. I watch them bloom for me and you, and I think to myself what a wonderful world…” I began singing to Grogu. His eyes lit up with curiosity as I watched the child soften in my arms.

I continued to sing, “I see skies of blue and clouds of white. The bright blessed days, the dark sacred nights and I think to myself what a wonderful world.”

I slowly swayed side to side and continued singing in a whisper. The song caught his attention as his big ears tilted to hear more.

My eyes slowly moved to the warrior. His helmet was glued to my direction and I could tell time was ticking.

Okay, we were getting somewhere.

After the longest minutes of my life passed, cries turned to whimpers and whimpers turned to hiccups, but I didn’t trust the kid to calm down just yet, so I went on, “The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky are also on the faces of people going by. I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do. They’re really saying I love you…”

Grogu relaxed more and more in my arms. His soft skin against my arm radiated warmth. It seemed like we were calming each other down.

“I hear Grogu cry…I watch him grow…he’ll learn much more than I’ll ever know and I think to myself what a wonderful world…”

Silence filled the ship once more and a relieved shaky sigh fell out of my lips. The kid liked the song. He began babbling between small sniffles as he recognized his name.

All the while the space warrior sat silently watching us.

“Good. See? Everything is okay.” I whispered to the baby. His big eyes looked up at me as I held him in my arms, “everything is okay.”

Although his tantrum seemed to dissipate I continued holding him and rocking him gently. My gaze gravitated towards the knight. He sat in his pilots chair and watched my every move in silence.

“It’s okay, Grogu.” I said once more before handing him back to his father, “everything is okay.”

Grogu sat in his father’s arms like a football, but this time he was quiet. His tears disappeared and quiet coos filled the ship.

I cautiously sat back down in the copilots chair and suddenly realized I was still held captive in an unknown world. I may have controlled the situation for a moment, but I was not in control of this game.

Hopefully I won some brownie points for quieting and caring for his child.

Eternal moments passed. I stared out of the window into space to try and distract myself from all of the awful thoughts that consumed my brain. Where exactly was I? Why was I in trouble? Will I ever get home? Am I going to d-

“Thank you.” The warrior said out of nowhere. His robotic voice interrupted my spiraling thoughts. He was still stern, but I could sense more sincerity after watching me care for his child.

Did I earn his trust?

My head snapped towards him from surprise. I only nodded.

His helmet analyzed me curiously as he tilted his head slightly. I couldn’t see his face, but noticed his body relax a bit. After a moment of awkward silence he turned back to the steer the ship to an unknown destination.

“It’ll be okay.” I whispered to myself, “everything will be okay.”

Part Two: Reality

#din djarin #mando #the mandalorian #mandalorian #star wars #mando x reader #Mandalorian story #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #Grogu #mando x original female character #the mandalorian x reader #the Mandalorian/reader #din djarin/reader #Spotify

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fashionteahouse · 2 months ago

Text

Detonate - paul lahote x reader

You were happy. You were always a joyful person, but you felt complete with your boyfriend, Jared Cameron. You had a crush on him since forever and you were pleased to find out he liked you too.

He asked you out over lunch at a diner you liked to eat at and presented you with a “Will You Be My Girlfriend” dessert plate, with the help of the waiter.

You spent a lot of time together to the point where you began to build bonds with his little siblings. They looked up to you in a way and were happy about how sometimes you gave them advice or take time out to spend time with them.

Jared loved showing you off. His friends already gotten the idea of if Jared was coming, you were coming too. They didn’t mind, they were immune to how crazy you two were over each other.

Jared was particularly happier than usual this day, if that was possible, because his childhood friend, Paul, was moving back to Washington. He was living with his mom but after getting kicked out of public school, being sent to alternative school, and being kicked out of that, she figured living with his dad would help straighten him up.

Jared’s phone rings while you two sit on the couch in his parent’s lounging room. He gets up to answer so he doesn’t disturb you from watching your favorite show, which he agreed to watch with you.

He comes back in beaming announcing, “You know Paul’s over his dad’s house now. Are you coming?”

“Is it okay if I stay here? I don’t want to intrude.” You say to him. You were respectful or giving him some space, you wanted him to catch up with his childhood friend without being too much up under him.

“Are you sure? You know it won’t be a bother.”

“Yeah. I’ll meet him whenever things get settled better.” You promised.

He was reluctant to leave you there but your demeanor let him know that you were okay.

That following Saturday, Jared’s parents were going out of town. His siblings were over their grandparent’s house. He decided to throw a get together. Or a welcome back party for Paul.

You arrive with your best friend Leah and she brings her boyfriend of 2 years, Sam Uley. You liked Sam for Leah and you didn’t pay attention to the public’s opinion about him. They stereotyped him as a sketchy guy but they just didn’t know him. He always had piles of responsibility since a young age, so he was mature. Leah helped him by being his peace and he loved her for that.

It definitely wasn’t a small get together. You would’ve thought it was a new year’s party if it weren’t for it being spring time.

You couldn’t find Jared, so you decided to dance around Leah and Sam. They were too busy following each other’s moves. You didn’t mind, you just felt the vibrations of the musical waves and let yourself have fun.

You saw some familiar faces, chatted with them, and followed them into a smaller room where they were sitting, talking and smoking some tree. You didn’t do it often, just occasionally. You felt comfortable since you knew them, but you just didn’t know the one guy.

Grey clouds were evident in the smaller room and you guys were hotboxed in with the door closed.

“Okay. Shag, marry, kill.” a guy you knew from your own childhood said.

You roll your eyes and groan knowing this guy loves this game.

“Lay it on me.” You say.

“Aladdin, Batman….hmm…oh! Harry Potter.”

The guy that you didn’t know starts cackling loud. “Weird ass choice.” he says.

“This is why I can’t stand him. Okay…kill Batman, shag Aladdin, and marry Harry Potter.” you decided.

“Really? You would kill Batman? He’s a billionaire.” The guy who started the game said.

“Okay but he would stress me out. All of those gadgets in his house and I know Harry’s pretty cool. He can do magic.” you say and cough a little bit.

“Okay but fucking Aladdin is crazyyy.” The guy you didn’t know pipes up.

“Fine! What’s your pick?” you challenged.

“They’re all not my type so I’ll pass.” he replies.

“What is your type?” you inquire, you didn’t want to sound flirty but you were soft spoken because he had such a bold personality. It took the room like it was his.

“Definitely not Aladdin.” he teases and gives you a panty dropping smile. You swallow because your boyfriend is in the same house. You want to stay respectful.

You shift your eyes and tell the girl to your left that ran in the same circle of you and Leah, that it’s her turn.

She chooses to marry Batman of course, kill Aladdin and shag Harry Potter.

After some more teasing, you get up to use a bathroom and get some water for your cottonmouth. You see Jared and run and hug him.

“Hi babe,” he laughs then pauses and whispers, “You’re high?” You nod and shrug.

“You should’ve got me. I would’ve joined!” he says to you.

“I was trying to find you when I came.” you tell him.

Just as he opened his mouth to reply, he looks over you and gets into a bigger smile and steers you along with him.

“I get to introduce you now! Paul, this is Y/N, my girlfriend I was telling you about.” he says and you realize the boy who matched your red eyes and teased you about the game, was in fact Paul.

You’re a bit caught off guard, but decide to shake it off since you’re sure that Paul must’ve didn’t know you were Jared’s girlfriend.

You politely smile, “It’s nice to match the name with the face.”

“Likewise.” he says and doesn’t dare to break the eye contact, as if he’s determined to win a staring contest.

“Come on. You want to dance.” Jared asks you, oblivious to the fact that Paul was close to eye fucking you. You nod with the quickness.

After your high was starting to come down, people started to file out, and the music was lower than when you came in, Jared was ready to wrap up the party. He was thankful that nothing was broken.

”You want me to help you clean up? It’s not a big deal.” You tell Jared.

“No it’s okay, just go ahead. I got it.” he tries to tell you, but you didn’t feel right leaving him to clean up a full house. There were people already helping so it felt only right.

You took two big trash bags to his garage’s garbage can. You spot the mini fridge down there and grab a water bottle.

“You mind handing me one.” a voice asks.

You slightly jump, startled, and drop your bottle out of your hands.

Paul picks it up and hands it back to you. “I’m not that scary damn.”

“I’m sorry it’s just I thought I was down here alone.” you say.

You had him a bottle and he makes sure to make contact with your hand and you pull your hand back and use it to open your drink to take a couple of sips.

“How long have you and Jared been together?” he asks.

“It will be a year this November.” you tell him, slightly smiling. He nods taking in the information and then looks at the label of his drink as if he’s researching something.

“Had to break up with mine before coming here.” he confesses.

“Oh really? Sorry to hear that.” you tell him.

“Yeah.”

“Have you guys considered like…long distance?” you offer.

“Well…I don’t believe in those. I share my love through touch.”

You nod and slowly make your way to the stair case that leads upstairs that leads to civilization.

The house is almost cleaned and you forgot that Leah and Sam were your ride back home. Jared’s parents took their car.

“Damn.” you whisper to your self.

“What?” Paul asks, you didn’t even know he followed you upstairs.

“Oh nothing, I have to call someone to pick me up.” you say softly.

“Paul can drive you home.” Jared says and looks at his friend.

“No! It’s no bother. I’ll just tell Leah or Sam to just come and get me.” you say to your boyfriend, but he just shakes his head and says, “You know damn well they left to get their freak on.”

“It’s alright. I’ll take you home.” Paul ends the conversation with that sentence and his car keys are now in his hand.

With Paul’s back turned, opening up the door to start his car, you give your boyfriend an affectionate smooch and promises to text or call him when you get home.

It was quiet in the car for a bit while Paul was driving. You kinda wish you were still high so the silence wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. Once at a red light, he leans back a bit and looks at you.

“Are you a native to here?” he asked.

You nod your head yes and make a mhm sound.

“I don’t remember too much about being here when I was a kid. Just bits and pieces.”

“Did you like where you lived before moving back?” you ask.

He thinks for a minute before answering, “I mean..it was cool but hopefully it’s not boring here.”

“There’s plenty fun stuff to do here. Well.. at least for me. Everybody’s interests are different.” you tell him.

“Maybe you could show me around. Get me used to being back here.”

“Maybe.” and that’s all you said.

The ride was over and you thanked him for the ride.

“You’re welcome.”

He even waited for you to get into your house before deciding to pull off.

You did let Jared know that you made it back safe and after conversing, you knew that he couldn’t hang with you tomorrow because of work.

So, the next day, you decided to walk to your favorite hang out spot. Headphones in and all. No one knows about it, not even Jared, fearful of it being over saturated.

As you were walking, a familiar car comes into view. You pay it no mind at first but they honk to get your attention.

“Where you going?” You see that it’s Paul asking this as he leaned over with the window down and one hand is on the steering wheel.

“Just going for a walk.” you tell him.

“I can give you a ride.”

Damn. You didn’t want people to find out about your sanctuary. It was the only place you could be free in without worrying about people intruding.

“I’m good! Really.” You say and continue walking.

He doesn’t listen but just instead put the car into cruise mode and won’t give up until you huff and look at him.

“Are you seriously going to follow me the whole way?” You ask.

“I’m just trying to be a gentlemen. I’ll drop you off and leave you alone. How about that?” He tries to compromise.

You hesitate to get in the car and shut the car door. His car was clean and since it was daylight, you had a better look at it. The car’s aroma smelled so good and like him. You shake your head to forego unwanted thoughts. You had a boyfriend who you loved for christ’s sake. You’ll never forget this smell because it’s so unique and it fits him.

You tell him directions and he’s makes his way to the destination. It ends when a woodsy sight makes its way to the forefront.

“Here’s good. Thanks!” You say and fling the door open.

With furrowed eyebrows he looks at the sight before him, “It’s a dead end. There’s nothing but trees here.”

You just don’t say anything because you know beyond those trees, there is a sanctuary that’s waiting for you. You make your way to the through the woods and you don’t notice Paul turning off his car to follow you. He’s a stubborn person and he was nosey, he had to see where you were trying to go.

You notice louder footsteps and whip around to find him taking in the scene.

“Dude, you followed me?” you say in disbelief.

He shrugs and just stares at you, daring you to tell him to leave. It’s not like he was going to listen.

You make your way through the small trail and lo and behold, the swimming hole was right there before you two’s eyes. The blue water was glistening and almost glittering. That’s why you were so protective of this spot, the water was so clear.

“Wow.” you hear him say behind you and you look around to see him with a twinkle in his eye.

“So what do you do here.” He asked curiously.

You shrug, “Swim, read…sometimes just sit on the rocks and listen to music. It honestly depends.”

“Let’s go for a swim.” He suggests.

“Don’t tell anyone about this spot. I’ll hate you forever.” You warn while he’s taking off his shirt.

“You have my word.” He says like he’s taking an oath. He pulls his jeans down and he had basketball shorts on.

You take off your cardigan, which reveals your bikini top and peel off your jean shorts that reveals your bikini bottoms. You chuck off your socks and sandals and leap in with him in the water.

Cold and refreshing is an understatement. It feels like heaven. You feel oddly euphoric, maybe because you have company with you.

Paul comes up for air and shakes water off hair to get it out of his face. “I definitely see why you gatekeep this place.”

“Uh huh.” you say seriously.

“It’ll be our little secret.” He purrs and shines you a mischievous smile.

You look at him for a bit but dunk your head underwater. You swim and swim and come back up for air once you’ve made some distance.

You see him not in the water anymore but he’s sitting on a rock, lighting up a joint.

After he takes two hits he extends it so you can join in. You shake your head but he extends it again in a “come on” motion.

You swim over, sit next to him and one puff and you’re coughing. He’s laughing at you, “I don’t do that weak shit.”

It was good. The high felt better than the high you felt at the party, you felt looser and more confident in a way. You two cracking jokes and swimming around until you two feel drops of rain interrupted the splashing session. You swear in another life Paul was a water bender the way he wouldn’t give you a break.

“Shit! Come on.” you say and make your way to shore and hurriedly put your things back on. Paul doesn’t care to put his shirt back on and just throws his discarded shirt and jeans in the backseat.

By the time you two made it in the car, it’s pouring down raining. Paul turns on the windshield wipers as fast as they can go. He makes his way back to normal road. You two glance at each other and giggle like little children.

“That was..”

“Crazy?” you finish for him.

He nods. After some time, you notice him going in a different direction.

“Actually you were supposed to keep going straight.” you tell him.

“I’m just letting you dry off at my place.”

“Someone’s scared of thunderstorms.” You tease.

“Ha, ha.” he dryly says.

His father wasn’t home. The air was cool and you two were just hanging out watching trash reality tv, not caring about the plot, but making fun of the people on there.

You go to crack one more joke but look at him this time, you see his eyes weren’t on the screen, they were on you. It was like he had a mission in his eyes.

“What?” You start to ask and when he didn’t say anything you touch a spot on your face and look down at your hand, wondering if there was something on your face.

He still doesn’t say anything but lifts your face up with his finger and leans in. You’re too stunned to move because you don’t know what he’s gonna do but in the back of your mind you have a feeling.

The kiss was so different than Jared’s. Jared was gentle and almost careful. The way Paul kissed you was like you were already his woman. He kissed you like he worshipped you and your soul. It left you breathless and feeling tingly. He let go of your bottom lip with a soft pop and you looked at him face, completely in awe.

Then reality hits you. You just cheated on your boyfriend.

You quiver your bottom lip and put your face into your hands, too ashamed to look at him.

A sniffle makes Paul put his hand on your back and asks you if you’re okay. You just shake your head.

“Was I that bad?” he says. You had to hold in your laughter because it was far from bad. It was so good, you almost wanted to hop on him.

You reveal your flushed, emotional face and quiver out, “I’m the worst girlfriend ever. I have to go.”

You turn to leave out but he grabs your arm.

“Hey, it’s still raining out. At least-“

But you don’t care. You yank your arm out and you don’t care that he’s calling your name. Right now you hated Paul’s guts. You don’t care that you had to walk 30 minutes in the rain from his house to yours.

Your clothes are completely soaked and you peel them off and shower. You know you’ll be sick as a dog the next day.

Jared called you an hour ago. You start to tear up all over again and decide to sleep off your misery. You hated yourself for kissing him back and enjoying it.

The next day, you wake up, your throat is a bit scratchy but not too bad. A cough drop will do the trick. You see a text from Jared.

Jared: “I tried calling you yesterday day but you were probably sleep. When you get this call me.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears. You nervously press on his contact and he answers after two rings.

“Hello?” he says.

“Hey.” You reply.

“I’m coming to pick you up. Be ready.”

“I don’t think-“ you start to say but he wasn’t having it.

“Come on! I miss you. We couldn’t hang yesterday.

You finally agree and he’s so happy to see you. The only thing that keeps replaying in your mind is what happened the previous day. When he greeted you with a kiss, it felt nothing like it did with someone else.

You two are lounging about in his bedroom when you finally get the balls to want to make things right.

“Jared.” You start.

“Yeah?” he says.

As soon as you open your mouth, a doorbell rings faintly.

“Hang on. Hold that thought, I’ll be right back.”

You sigh to yourself in defeat.

You hear happy chatter going about and realize the person who was outside of the door made their way inside of the house.

The person you did not want to see enters Jared’s bedroom behind him and you felt like your heart dropped.

Jared sits back in his spot on the bed with you while Paul flops in Jared’s gaming chair.

“What were you gonna tell me?” Jared says and looking at you.

“Uh..I forgot.” you say dismissively.

You catch Paul looking at you with a knowing look on his face. It kind of pisses you off.

Jared moves from his spot and puts a game disc in and two controllers now occupy both of their hands.

“I think i’m gonna head out.” You say.

“What? You just got here.” Jared says.

“Bet you can’t beat me.” Paul says. The game is on the try again or pick another character display and Jared snickers and offers you his controller.

Not trying to make anything more weirder than they are, you decide to just give it a shot.

You win, leaving Jared boasting and teasing Paul. Paul just passing it off as beginners luck.

You let them two play and eventually Paul wants to go home. Jared goes to the bathroom.

“I’ll drive you home.” Paul offers.

“I’m good.” you say too eagerly.

“We need to talk.”

“Talking’s the last thing we should do.” You say.

“After this talk, I’ll leave you alone.”

Jared comes back in and Paul volunteers to take you back home and Jared has no problem with it. Kissing you goodbye, you and Paul made your way into his vehicle.

Once he leaves Jared’s block, he begins to talk.

“Look I’m sorry for what I did. It was pretty shitty….The last thing I want to do is break you two up. So what I’ll do is, I’ll tell him I kissed you and you pushed me away and that away he won’t be mad at you.”

“No,” you shake your head, “I can tell him what really happened. You don’t have to cover for me….Why did you do it?”

Silence happens for a beat and you almost regret asking him.

“I just…i don’t know…I like you…and it just happened. You didn’t even like it and I just feel more horrible.”

Was he joking? Did he actually believe he was..bad?

“I liked it.” you whisper but recover yourself, “But I’m devoted to Jared.”

He accepts this.

“Can we be friends?” He offers.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“If you’re going to be around him, I’ll be around. I don’t want any animosity between us.”

You think silently for a long moment.

“We can be…friends…I guess.” you decide and almost missed his grin.

He drops you off and you feel like you’re in a daze. You wanted to kiss him again. You almost wished he kissed you again. But, you know the consequences.

The following day, you wake up to Paul messaging you on a social media site. You two chat and it’s friendly like he promised.

A couple texts turned into full back and forths. Months passed and he doesn’t pursue you again. He even brought a girl to the double date with you and Jared. You felt yourself get jealous. You felt silly for feeling that way.

But your jealously is pushed to side when Paul starts to make comments through texts, making you giggle.

Things were starting to die down with Jared and he begins to notice.

You two sat on a log at the beach with cool wind blowing you two’s way.

“I don’t think it’s working it out.” Jared says to you.

You did feel sad. He was your first boyfriend.

“Is there a way we could..maybe work it out?” you ask him. You did care.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to force something that’s not there for us you know? I’d rather be honest about it than bottle it in and be an asshole to you, you know?”

You nod and you two just sit there, looking into the sunset, still holding hands.

Later that night, Paul texts you again.

He shares a picture of a movie he wants to go see that just came out in theaters. He asks you.

You: I’m not sure. Me and Jared just broke up :/“

Paul: Shit i’m sorry to hear that.

He sends another one.

Paul: Was it because of me?

You: Nah it was mutual

He doesn’t reply after that.

You wake up the next morning to him text you.

Paul: what’s your number? I hate texting on here.

You give it to him automatically before realizing what you were doing.

You two text nonstop until you finally agree to go to the movies with him. He picks you up and buys you both tickets. To compensate him, you buy whatever snack he wants of his choice.

After the movie, you two slowly walk back to the front, joking around and talking about the movie.

After he pulls up to your house, turns to you.

“I really meant it when I said I like you.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“Can I kiss you again? It’s like you’re addicting.”

You glance at him and blindly nod your head as if you were in a trance.

He makes his move. Leaning in, leaving you breathless again. This time you both are holding each other and there’s no regret.

“You were never a bad kisser.” You say after you two catch your breath.

He smiles a confident smile and says to you, “I know.”

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dccomicsbracket · 6 months ago

Text

Motivations:

Jaime Reyes (Blue Beetle)

My man has no idea what's going on throughout his entire movie. He's possessed by a homicidal bug from outer space. He is the official successor of a guy who REALLY wanted to be possessed by the outer space bug but couldn't get it past management and just decided to fake it till he made it with his billionaire budget. His family loves him. His suit is iconic. Sometimes his little outer space bug just goes "hey lil mama lemme whisper in your ear" and then it forcibly takes control of his body and tries to murder people. But also it loves him <3 I think he deserves to win, personally The writers were like "What if the teen superhero had parents that were alive and loving and not criminals" and proceeded to make the most wholesome guy. He power of friendship-ed a homicidal murder ai into being good. His darkest power fantasy is becoming a dentist. Lex Luthor tried and failed to turn him evil so hard he killed him about it, because that was easier. Also his costume kicks so much ass that the main thing that changes about it between redesigns is the eye colour. It's just that good. the 2006-2009 blue beetle run is not only my favorite dc comic, but one of my favorite comics period. it flips so many typical superhero tropes on their heads and does it well. jaime is an incredibly kind and well-written character and his relationship with his family and friends is so touching. Jaime is the perfect blend of goofy and sad, street-level and cosmic, kind and flawed. He was forced into becoming a hero by the weight of a legacy he didn't even know existed and a presence in his mind that would have him become a weapon. Before he even figured out his powers, he was hauled into space by established superheroes to deal with a Crisis and then left for dead for a year while his loved ones mourned him. His primary guides for his first solo were the hostile AI fused to his spine, a mercenary biker who only stuck around to see if he had to kill Jaime, and his normal parents. His greatest power fantasy was becoming a dentist because the power he already has over people's lives was crushing him. And yet, through all of that, his family and his culture and the mundane reality of being a teenager in El Paso were enough to keep him grounded. Read Blue Beetle 2006 and you will understand why Jaime is my son.

Mia Dearden (Speedy)

she's soooo cool and fun and silly. her boyfriend once cheated on her with emma watson! she's always wearing silly little y2k crop tops and baggy pants! she's a csa / sex trafficking survivor and lives with hiv! teenage girl character of all time!

#dc comics #poll #best of dc no batfam poll #jaime reyes #blue beetle #mia dearden #dc speedy

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zeltqz · 2 years ago

Text

It’s crazy how the smallest of incidents could make you hate someone. Especially from a young age.

There you were, in your own little corner of Utopia, you’re grasping a handful of coins in your palm as you stare down the different soda options at the vending machine.

You were extra happy today, having saved up this amount of coins from doing chores around the house, specifically the living room because that was where the spare change always dropped underneath the couch.

This was your money, no one else’s. At only eight years old, your handful of coins made you feel like the next billionaire, rich enough to buy almost all the drinks at this vending machine.

It’s pretty dumb to be excited over something like this, but you were bored and thirsty.

The rest of your classmates play around cheerily, laughing thunderously when they’d gotten hit with the colourful water guns, running around volubly to dodge the splashes of water balloons thrown their way.

They’d all learnt long ago not to include you in their games, giving you the distance and space you wanted because frankly…you were a buzzkill. They weren’t sure what had happened to you to cause you to be such a stick in the mud, a buzzkill they’d murmured to each other when you’d walked past.

You weren’t sure either, you just didn’t want to join them. Their idea of fun was lame to you. Splashing around in water like you’re some kind of pond animal. It was filthy and disgusting, and you wanted no part of it.

You were happy by yourself, with your handful of coins, and your drink.

You lean forward to press a coin into the vending machine, tapping away at some buttons and watch as the can drops down, bending to pick it up and shove the rest of your coins into your back pocket.

“Hey!” A voice of a young boy calls from behind you.

You don’t even bother looking back to see him, opting on cracking the can open and taking a refreshing sip, downing half the contents of it at the same time it takes him to catch up to the vending machine.

He’s out of breath by the time he’s standing before you, hands on knees and panting like he’d ran the equivalent to a marathon.

“Hey.” You lift your head, turning slowly to face the boy from over your shoulder. “Can—gimme a sec—” He pauses, exhaling all the dirty air from his lungs and you eye him weirdly, watching him with a stank eye as he huffs and puffs, composing himself before standing up straight and your eyes almost widen at how tall he is compared to you.

“Can I have some?” He points down to your drink and being the stingy little girl you were, you pull it closer towards you.

“No.”

If you weren’t so ravishingly thirsty, you almost would’ve felt bad at the way his smile turned into a frown.

“C’mon please, my brother is thirsty and I forgot my change at home and it’s so hot out here—”

“Well boohoo,” you stick your tongue out and take a step backwards.

The sound of spare change in the front pocket of your overalls catches his attention, but is lost when you start talking again. “I don’t wanna share, so go away.”

The previous frown on his face is washed away, now staring down at you is a boy with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw.

“You don’t have to be sucha bitch all the time.”

The insult has you seething, now even more determined to not share any of your money with him. Ever.

Shooting him a flat look that mirrors his own, you say, “Well this bitch isn’t drink-less.”

The two of you glare at each other for a moment and your brows are starting to hurt from pinching them so much.

He walks past you to the vending machine, shoving you so hard with his shoulder you almost stumble back, but you manage to ground yourself and watch as he kicks the machine, one, two, three times, then ten times more soda cans drops down.

A bright look appears on his face and he’s waving over his brother who abandons his friends and runs up to the machine in a heartbeat.

His brother is a little shorter in height, wears glasses and has his hair tied up in a little bun that you would find adorable if it wasn’t for the fact they were currently stealing from the machine, using their shirts as a makeshift basket to carry all the drinks.

A bitter feeling simmered down in the pits of your stomach as you watched them run back to the other side of the playground, handing all the drinks around to your fellow classmates.

You knew you shouldn’t care because why should you? You had more change in your back pocket to buy the entire world, (not really but one could only dream, right?).

You may have been stubborn, but you knew when to accept defeat when you had lost. Which is why you felt sort of relieved when you watched the two brothers hand out drinks to the group.

The boy glances back at you again, lips curled up into a smug smile that made the bitter feeling return inside you quicker than a heartbeat.

Except this time, that feeling was only reserved for him .

You went home even angrier than a usual school day, your mother noticing how you stomped your way around the house and asked what was wrong.

You confided in her, telling her about that boy and his stupid face and smile and height, how he thought he was better than you just because he was taller and could kick a vending machine.

Your mother only laughed and told you to go bed.

Later on, you found out his name was Ran.

That name ended up being everywhere in your life for years to come. As a kid, he was popular, everybody loved him and wanted to befriend him. That popularity never died down even as you both entered your teenage years, 17 years old and still just as, if not more so popular.

It had been ear aching walking into class and hearing girls talk about how they flirted with him, how he didn’t hesitate to flirt back, how he gave them his number, how let them ride things other his motorcycle.

Each time you’d heard his name, you felt like you were slowly going insane.

Ran would recognise you around town. Whenever he’d be hanging out at with his friends, he’d notice you idly walking, or standing by from the corner of his eye. When you’d both make eye contact for a split second, he’d grace you with that smug smile, one that’s been plastered on his face since young age, one that knows gets your blood boiling whenever you’d see it. The smile only intensifies when you’d roll your eyes at him and continue what you were doing.

It filled him with an ill sense of joy and contentment whenever he’d see your signature eye-roll, scoff, glare, any other sign that you were utterly disgusted with him.

Though it’s fairly amusing to him, the only thing in question he’s failed to understand for all these years is why you hate him. He’d never done anything to you.

Your first interaction ended up being the last, because you both never verbally spoke to each other again.

Verbally never spoken to each other again.

Physically—lets say there was some moments where he caught you off guard, and you’d fallen for his charm and wits and spent maybe a couple hours in bed together.

It was a mistake and you knew that. He knew it, but it didn’t feel like one.

The only mistake that came from that bed incident, was that you used it as leverage to never talk to him again.

It’s been a couple months since he’s held you, kissed you, looked at you face to face. He doesn’t wanna say that he misses you, no that’s too desperate, too clingy for a one night stand.

Besides, you’ve seen to move on anyway, judging by the arm around your waist, kissing your cheek from where he’s stood behind you as you fix a drink for yourself. It’s playful, and frisky the way you laugh when he kisses down your neck by your sweet spot, blowing against it almost causing you to drop your cup.

You’re telling him to stop lemme pour this, I’m thirsty, but your pleas go ignored when he tilts your face to kiss him.

He makes a face of disgust when he sees who you’re kissing, a guy that at least scratching college whereas you’re in your final year in HS.

So he’s one of those.

Ran can’t help but roll his eyes, his jaw aches from clenching it so hard, chewing the soft tissue of his cheek when you drop your drink onto the counter in favour of wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He uses it as leverage to slide his hands downwards, cupping your ass through your jeans and mutters some inaudible words against your bottom lip.

You can’t help but smile and nod at his words.

He needs to stop staring at you, surely it’s been long enough for someone to notice his attention is elsewhere. The last thing he wants to come off as is—

“—desperate. Dude!” A nudge to his arm has Ran turning his head, “Why’re you staring in that direction? It’s been like—”

It was as if a radar went off in Ran’s head, like he’d sensed movement coming from your area. A quick glance in your direction proves him right; your hand sliding playfully between that guys own, the love struck look in your eye as he’s pushing past crowds of people in favour of guiding you up the stairs.

He decides to take a shot for courage, and his feet move before his friends could even ask where he’s going.

The sounds of moans ranged throughout the hallway barely drowning out the music from downstairs. Some ranging from desperate pleas to straight up fake moans one would only hear in a porno. That guy clearly had no idea what he was doing.

The desperate pleas die down a couple moments later and a girl and her lover walk out from the bedroom.

So that means—

“ Ooh—ooh like that, fuck! You’re so good—yes, keep goin—”

No, no there’s no way those obviously fake moans are coming from you. You sound like a cheap hooker .

Ran has to slap a hand over his face, wondering what he would do in a situation where he was fucking a girl and she was so obviously faking her pleasure. He knows how you sound when you’re about to climax, the soft change in your voice when your actual orgasm hits.

In all honesty, he’s not sure why he cares so much. Not sure why he abandoned his friends downstairs to come listen to his guy have his way with you.

Just before he could change his mind and walk away, the door opens, the smell of sex following after the guy and wow he didn’t even say goodbye to you, just walks out and heads back downstairs.

Asshole.

Ran peeks into the room and you’re readjusting your clothes with a frown on your face. He can’t understand what it’s there for; the bad sex or the lack of aftercare.

Probably both.

He can change that though.

He heads to the bathroom and fixes up his clothes, makes sure he looks his ultimate best before heading back into the hallway, ready to knock when he hears soft moans coming from the door.

Oh.

There’s a frustrated groan and shuffling of clothes, then seconds later you walk out. You seem to walk just fine, meaning he didn’t fuck you hard enough to momentarily pause your ability to walk.

He can change that though.

That’s when you bump shoulders with him, painfully apologetic before you realise who you’re apologising to. It’s amusing to him how quick all sense of remorse drains from your body, now replaced with a deadpan glare.

“Oh,” your voice is flat, “it’s you.”

He only chuckles, and your fists clench when his signature smile is back on his face. He nods over in the direction of the room, crossing his arms and doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart to follow the movement. “You have fun in there?”

“Did I have fun—” you pause, face warped in confusion as you try to make do with his words. “Were you listening in on me?”

Yeah, shamefully so.

“Did it ever occur to you, that you were so loud, the whole damn party heard you?”

That shuts you up. For the first time in years, you look dumbfounded and embarrassed. He’s seeing your face without that infamous glare.

Your eyes widen and he can see the embarrassment creep into your body and you hide your face in your hands. “Fu ckkkkkk are you serious?”

No, no he’s not.

But he’s enjoying seeing you like this.

He removes your hands from your face and looks down at you with an expression you can’t recognise. It’s oddly soft and concerned, and you hate the way it’s making heat blaze your cheeks.

“Why do you hate me?” He asks, sliding his hands to your wrists, letting them drop to your side.

You look down at your shoes and shrug. “You just make me angry.”

“What part of me does?” He’s shifting closer with every word, waiting for you to push him away, tell him he smells or something crazy.

“Every part,” you shove your hands away from his grip and subtly wipe the sweat from your palms onto your jeans. “You just piss me the fuck off.”

“That so?”

He’s so close , when did he get so close? You can smell him. You’re slowly crumbling when he steps a bit closer, a hand darting out to your waist.

“Fuck off, Ran.”

The hand you were going to push him away with is caught in his own, and you’re frozen, watching him pull your fingers out from the fist and eyes the wetness staining your fingers under the low hallway light.

“What are you—” your words die down in your throat when he drags them up into his mouth, licks and sucks your two fingers.

Everything falls apart around you, the ground crumbling to pieces when you slowly realise it was the hand you’d used on yourself moments prior.

You do nothing but blink at him, physically can’t do anything but focus on the feeling of his tongue lapping up the underside of your fingers, the prior wetness now replaced with his saliva. You just stare at him, coming to terms and how fucking hot that was.

He pops your fingers out of his mouth and licks his lips, smiling cheekily down at your dumbfounded face.

“You ready to head out, now?”

It’s impressive how casual he can act, as if he didn’t just do that, as if he didn’t just fry your brain for days with that action. Who does he think he is?

Something possesses you, something creeps inside you and takes control over your limbs because you’re dragging him down to your level and smashing your lips together.

Almost instantly, his hands move to your waist and lifts you easily, carrying you inside the bedroom, kicking it shut behind him.

The party ends when you both finish. Laying naked under the soft sheets, you slowly realise what you’d done again . You’ve fallen for his charm a second time.

“So,” he pants, turning to face you, “was that the best you ever had?”

“I’ve had better.” You curl your fingers in the sheets when you feel his fingers flutter against your thighs. “Stop that.”

He ignores the second part of your sentence, hands sliding higher up your body to your hips. “Who was better than me?”

You clear your throat, tongue sitting heavy in your mouth as you think of a name. When none comes to mind, you shrug your shoulders. “You don’t know them.”

“I don’t know, or they don’t exist?”

He laughs when you glare up at him, dodging your hand when you move to hit him.

“If I say you were the best, would you shut up?”

He leans in to kiss you and it’s almost embarrassing how your mind goes blank as he works his mouth against yours. The trail of his hands sliding hot along your skin burns addictively.

That’s what Ran is.

He’s addictive. He possesses some strange ability to put you in your place without even trying, succumbing to his will with nothing than a kiss.

“Say I was the best you ever had.” He mutters against your lips, continuing to fry your brain when he does something wicked with his teeth and your bottom lip.

“The best.” You moan into his mouth when his hand tickles your nipple.

“Good.” He mouths down your jawline, wet and uncaring of the marks he may leave.

“Your—” You giggle when his lips graze that sensitive spot just under your jaw, above your pulse, your hands moving to tug on his hair. “Your thrusts were a little sloppy though.”

“They were?” He presses you down onto the bed, hovering above you. “Well, we’re still young. We can try again next time.”

“Yeah, we are still young,” you totally miss the second part of his sentence, only realising when he’s shifting off of you to put his clothes back on. “Wait, next time?” He nods and you shake your head, “no, no this was a one time thing.”

“Uh huh, sure.” He vaguely remembers the last time you’d said that in bed.

“Let’s just blame this on the alcohol.”

He quirks a brow in your direction, only mildly hurt but refuses to show it. “We never drank anything though?”

“Yeah well no shit, Ran. Keep up.” Your shirt and bra is tossed at your face in an attempt to silence you. “Very mature of you.” You ignore his snort in favour of sliding your bra back on. “Just saying that’s my excuse if anyone finds out about this.”

“You really hate me that much, don’t you?”

“Well,” you grab your pants and throw them on, “I didn’t exactly talk all that shit about how overrated you are just to end up in bed with you.”

“But you did though.”

“And,” you crawl up to his edge of the bed and tap his nose, “now nobody needs to know.”

It’s a shame when you avoid him for weeks to come, though he should’ve seen it coming. This was the second time you’ve done this, let him hit then disappear for however long.

This time, the disappearance was shorter than most others.

There’s a knock at his front door and his brother opens it, spoonful of ice-cream in his mouth as he lets you inside, yelling for Ran to come downstairs.

Ran’s been waiting for this moment, has been waiting to get his hands on you again, hoping you got tired of fucking around with other guys, finally ready to come back to him.

Except, you look ultimately serious when you step inside his house, hands shaking in fear and on the verge of biting off the skin on your lips from how hard your teeth are sinking into it.

“Hey, wait—what’s wrong?” He runs up to you when the tears fall from your eyes, wiping them with his palm and uses this as an excuse to hold you close. You’re sobbing into his shirt, hands gripping onto his back for leverage as he tries to calm you down. “Shhh, you can talk to me about anything.”

“No, I can’t.” Your throat feels clogged and your hands are still shaking even as he sets you down on his couch, ordering Rindou to grab some water for you.

“Look at me.” He’s wiping your face and you flutter your lashes, looking up at him. “What happened? Is everything okay?”

“I’m—” you can’t even look him in the eye, busy regretting everything over the last couple weeks, “I’m pregnant, Ran.”

The silence is painful, gut wrenching, the lump in your throat only getting bigger by the second the longer he doesn’t speak.

“Can—” you clear your throat, choking your words out, “can you say something, please?”

“Just—” He presses his hands against his face, exhaling deeply, “sorry, repeat that?”

“I’m not repeating myself.”

He pauses for a fraction of a second, staring you in the eye, then stands up and paces the proximity of his living room. It’s an understandable reaction. You’d gone silent as you stared at the five positive pregnancy tests sitting on the floor of your bathroom.

“This doesn’t—how the—what the fuck?! You’re eighteen , you can’t be pregnant—”

“I’m not sure that’s how biology works, Ran.” His brother calls out from the kitchen, ultimately ruining the moment, souring Ran’s mood even further.

“Rindou, shut the fuck up and do something useful for once.”

His brother only chortles, hiding the comeback that knocking up a girl is much more useful than anything he’s doing on his tongue.

If it wasn’t such a serious situation, you would’ve laughed along with his brother at the irony of Ran’s sentence.

Rindou tosses you the bottle of water and bag of chips, tenderly squeezing your shoulder before heading up the stairs and for a second, you regret fucking the wrong brother.

“Are you sure it’s mine?”

You can’t stop the glare that houses its way onto your face. “Are you—” you choke on your own voice, feeling dizzy with how quickly you stood up, the bag of chips falling onto the floor in the process, “—you’re serious right now?”

He stays silent.

“Oh my god, you’re fucking ridicuous. Yes, Ran,” your voice spits venom when you say his name, “it’s fucking yours.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m lost now, are you deaf or just indirectly calling me a slut?”

He laughs, clearly unamused. “Of course you’d head to that conclusion. Are you always this dramatic?”

“I’m dramatic?”

“I’m asking if it’s mine, or that college junkie you slept with minutes prior to me.”

“College junki—” You rack your brain back to that night, remembering the failed hookup, the way he struggled to even stick it inside for the first couple moments, “—he’s not in college. And he’s not a junkie, what?! He’s in my class, and you’d know that if you actually showed up to school!”

“Ohh,” he scoffs, “so now you’re calling me uneducated?”

“Yeah. I am. You’re a fuckin’ idiot, coming into my life, trying to seduce me with your little moves to get me into bed with you and for fucks sake!” You groan, pulling at your hair, the true gravity of the situation dawns on you. You slept with an idiot, now you’re bound to this idiot forever. This was such a mistake, a pitiful mistake that you have to pay the price for. For the next nine months and the rest of your life.

“You know, last I checked, it takes two people to fuck. You let me, so you’re not about to turn this on me—”

“You should’ve left me alone.”

“You shouldn’t have let me in.”

You pause, and look up at him for only a split second, unable to even stare him in the eye. “Wow. It’s—you’re really—after I told you I’m pregnant with your —”

“Who said it’s mine?!”

“You rlly think I’d lie to you?! I don’t even like you! Why WOULD I WILLINGLY WANT YOU IN MY LIFE?!” You barely manage to push out the tears before they’re falling, watering his wooden tiles. “Coming here was such a mistake. I’m out.”

You tasted blood in your mouth for how hard you bit into your cheek, blinded by sheer frustration and anger alone. His front gate opens before you can get to the front door, and his parents walk inside, carrying grocery bags in hand.

“We’re home—oh, hello dear. Who must you be?” His mother steps out of the way and lets his father pass.

You look over at Ran who looks like all colour has drained from his face if you open your mout—

“Your son got me pregnant ma’am.”

The tears fall once more from your eyes, except this time it’s deliberate, even going as far as to slip a side glance over towards Ran.

Her face falls and she feels faint, his father drops the groceries and by the time you manage to slip out from her hold, the house has practically burnt up in flames from the sheer wrath of his parents' anger.

idk if i shld do a part two n force him to take sum responsibility 🤦🏾‍♀️

i just had a dream and wanted to write this out before it left my brainnnnnnuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

#—tr </3 #ran x reader #tokrev #tokrev x reader #tokyorev x reader #haitani ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #rindou x reader #haitani ran smut #ran smut #ran haitani x you #haitani ran x y/n

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sirfrogsworth · 2 years ago

Text

The Babylon Bee School of Comedy

Have you ever wanted to make Elon Musk reply to you with a double cry laughing emoji?

If you crave that sweet billionaire validation you need only follow this carefully crafted conservative comedy content creation course for that powerhouse of online satire... The Babylon Bee.

Soon you too could be bootlicking billionaire balls with the rest of The BBee writers.

Are you ready to get your learn on?

Let us Bee-gin.

The number one most important rule that all The BBee writers must internalize to their core...

Conservative comedy abhors effort.

Brainstorming for hours on end to craft the perfect premise and punchline... is for the Libs. Check out this Facebook meme that got 10,000 likes.

Can you order Starbucks from a bar? Doesn't matter, it's a snowflake drink for a snowflake Lib.

Does this joke not have an actual punchline? Doesn't matter, get lost you stupid Lib!

Is this technically a joke by definition? Doesn't matter, if you believe it is a joke, then it's a joke! Just like modern currency.

If you put too much thought into a joke, it might grow in complexity. That could be confusing! The death knell of any conservative joke are the words, "Hmm, that's a thinker."

This brings us to rule number two...

NO THINKERS!

Let's take this Ben Garrison comic as an example.

Spell everything out! Label everything! Don't leave anything to the imagination! If your audience has to figure something out or draw their own conclusions, what fun is that?

Conservatives want to hear things that are familiar. They want their beliefs parroted back at them. You must regurgitate those beliefs and then just make it *sound* like a joke. Don't break new ground or introduce new ideas. Don't get all caught up in interesting wordplay or clever puns or subverting expectations.

All expectations should be fully verted.

That is definitely a word because I saw someone use it on Facebook. End of research.

Here is a helpful tip. If you can't imagine the joke coming out of the mouth of late night comedy genius GUTFELD!, then you need to dial it back a bit. Do not surpass GUTFELD! levels of humor. GUTFELD! is your touchstone.

youtube

Oh, GUTFELD! I laughed so hard I FELD it in my GUT.

See, I went too far with my fancy pun. That is not the GUTFELD! way.

But what happens if inspiration is fleeting and you can't pay attention to your comedy writing task because you don't believe ADHD is real and thus you are unmedicated?

Don't you worry. If you do happen to get writer's block or are distracted by a funny Pepe meme or a shiny object, just call your racist uncle and say the magic word... "Bidenflation."

As the ensuing unhinged rant darts from subject to subject without any kind of connecting theme, just start writing down every right wing buzzword you hear. Then just insert those buzzwords Mad Libs-style into a derivative joke format.

Let's practice!

Ex. 1: Why did the PRONOUNS cross the BORDER? To get to the DRAG QUEEN STORY HOUR!

Ex. 2: How many GENDERS does it take to GROOM a lightbulb? Two! One to hold the BUTT PLUG and one to GO WOKE, GO BROKE.

Great start! I'm sure with a polishing pass those will make more sense. Or not. The bar is pretty much "will it get clicks?" so we're not too worried about coherence.

Heh... Mad Libs.

U MAD, LIBS?

Get it? Cuz Libs are always mad? About the normalized bigotry and whatnot.

Jokes are always better when you need to explain them.

Oh! That's another rule. Write that down. Wisdom like this is why I am teaching this course, of course. Hah, that's like that horse show song. I got jokes coming out the wazoo. Wazoo is my butt, right? Siri, is wazoo a butt? Oof, I'm kinda spacing on what the next lesson is.

I really wish Matt Walsh hadn't flushed my Adderall down the crapper.

Can I get a second opinion? Top Gun was so good. What does Tom Cruise think about ADHD? He always has good takes on stuff like this. Did I leave my oven on? Shazam, what song goes doodoo doo doo doooooo? Can you vacuum a yard? Has anyone tried that? That sounds more like a marijuana thought than an ADHD tangent. I should double check the THC content of that cotton candy vape juice.

I'm flyin' off the rails over here.

Matt, are you super duper sure it's not real?

Okay, fine. I'm an "energetic boy."

I hope whichever fish absorbs my meds is extra focused on whatever fish shit he needs to get done.

COMEDY WRITING!

Sometimes it is best to learn through observation. Let's eavesdrop on an actual The BBee writer's room to see how the sausage is made...

"So what did your racist uncle have to say?"

"Well, first he texted me a cameraphone picture of Trump as an astronaut that he wants me to print out cuz he doesn't know what a crypto wallet is... but then he said all the woke schools are turning kids into a bunch of gay commies."

"EUREKA!"

Classic! The BBee writers strike again. I mean, they aren't striking. There is no commie clamoring for a union at The Babylon Bee. That's for damn sure. FOCUS!

Do you get the joke though? With the kids and the gay and the communism?

Because all of those woke schools totally cover complex economic theories in 4th grade and all it takes to turn gay is a little persuasion from a teacher with green hair. Libs of TikTok wouldn't lie about that. End of research.

Look at this public school teacher!

I mean, you knooow she has a litter box in her classroom. I can just sense it. End of research.

Sure... it is just a context-free picture of a person with green hair in front of a flag and you cannot actually judge the quality of their teaching ability from this. But yoouuu knoooooow she is skipping right over grammar lessons and giving detailed instructions on how to turn gay.

Step 1: Look at a bunch of butts. Step 2: Touch a bunch of butts. Step 3: Gay sex a bunch of butts.

(Replace butts with cooches for lesbians.)

Grooming accomplished.

And you definitely shouldn't look up that green-hair'd, nose ring'd educator and research her any further. Extensive research is for the Libs, bro. Because you definitely don't want to discover she is a passionate high school English teacher who makes fun content on TikTok in the hopes that people will buy things off her wishlist so her students will have a better learning experience. I mean, caring about her students? That's so gay.

YoooOOOuuuUUU knnnooooooOOOw she is a bad teacher because she has green hair and a flag. End. Of. Research.

So... you have your gay communist headline that is perfect to get all of those sweet conservative clicks. But you still have a full webpage to fill out with more words and stuff.

Now I want to see if you learned anything from my perfectly focused and informative teachings. I want you to write some jokes about kids becoming gay communists.

Ready? GO!

Joke #1 Little Billy has wealthy parents so all the students will share his cookie at snack time.

Joke #2 At the beginning of the day, students pick a new gender out of a hat but all the kids fight over Attack Helicopter.

Joke #3 At lunch, the students have to stand in a peanut butter and jelly bread line.

Joke #4 The teacher makes the kids take turns combing each others' hair for a grooming session.

Wait a sec... are those... THINKERS?

No no no no no! You made my brain all confused and thinky!

You need to calm down, you overachieving silly billy. You forgot the first rule... NO EFFORT.

Just make the same joke over and over again with slightly different wording. EASY!

Remember the classic final rule of comedy...

Jokes always get funnier the more you repeat them.

Anyway, that's probably enough... joke.

Now let's close this article out!

Maybe we can drop the pretense this is comedic satire and just do some hardcore pandering. Gotta own the Libs, amirite?

Gender theory and drag queens and guns, oh my! That is pure pander-monium.

Just shove those factless tactless Tucker talking points straight down their gullet. They'll forget this was supposed to be funny and shake their fist in the air with exaltation. And it's definitely a great idea to put the thought of gunning down drag queens in their heads. That won't backfire in any way!

Congratulations! You are now ready to "write" for The Babylon Bee.

Please purchase this official Trump NFT certificate for $99 that acknowledges that you have completed this course and have a very poor understanding of what satire actually is.

End of research.

#long post #trigger warning #matt walsh #transphobia #homophobia #satire #babylon bee

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scarlettsandmaroons · 2 years ago

Text

it was paradise | n. romanoff

about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist

pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader

chapter nine | chapter ten: all the love we unravel

chapter summary: you couldn't tell when mrs. romanoff became natasha romanoff; the woman who'd laugh with her friends, or kiss you in an empty parking lot. when did the big, bad, mrs. romanoff who you prayed would take you off her radar, became nat, the very woman you'd beg to look at you. when had the hatred turn to all this?

warnings: curse words, fluff; public displays of affection, platonic relationships, cheesy. unedited.

a/n: im sorry it took so long!!!! this was initially much much longer. but i had to cut this part in half. i had to sneak in this bit of fluff in the story, i think we all deserve it. but anyways, natasha and reader's relationship is just so <333333

"oh fuck off, romanoff!" tony yells when natasha steals the last bit of popcorn. the boys complain after him, clint taking a forgotten piece to throw at natasha. natasha expertly dodges even when facing away and walking back to her small kitchen.

you took a handful of your popcorn and threw it at tony, "hey, don't talk to my woman like that," you laugh, but not as loud as thor did when he joined in and threw a handful from your bowl at tony. and thus begun the ruckus in natasha's apartment of you and thor teaming up against tony in a popcorn war; clint and steve laughing at how tony tries to hide behind his swatting arms, and bruce trying to avoid the flying pieces of popcorn.

"fine. no college fund for you then," tony declares after you ran out of popcorn to shower him with, "and don't expect me to pay for your expenses the next time you visit."

thor chuckles, giving tony a big slap on the back on his way back to his spot on the carpet. "i'm only helping the girl," thor says, "don't talk to her woman like that."

"oh let him have his fun," clint interjects before bringing his bottle to his lips. "he knows romanoff won't do anything to him because y/n's here."

"shut up, katniss," tony hissed, dusting off the popcorn from his hair, "i'm not afraid of romanoff."

"you saying something, tony?" natasha says from the kitchen just a few steps from where you were inside her open floored apartment.

"no ma'am," tony salutes, and you all broke out in laughter.

natasha returns with a fresh bowl of popcorn, setting it down on the coffee table near the foot of the bed. "you guys are cleaning that up," she says, dropping herself down to the spot next to you.

"hey, y/n started it," tony insists, but natasha only chuckles.

"well, she did say not to talk to her woman like that, didn't she?"

tony stood up abruptly, pointing a finger at natasha who left no space between the two of you. "i'm sensing favoritism," he pushed. "this is unfair. i'm calling a for a vote."

"oh, sit down tony," natasha waves him off. she began picking the few pieces of popcorn stuck on your hair before bringing your forehead up to her lips for a soft kiss.

you swooned.

"i feel cheated on," tony sits down defeated, "can you see this, i can't do that now can i."

"you can always book us that trip to the bahamas," natasha laughs, still looking at you while holding either side of your face close to her own. she places another kiss on your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. and then she stares at you for a moment more before letting you go.

"did anyone get this on video? we need this for blackmail," clint says. "the big bad romanoff secretly a softie."

everyone coos.

"agent romanoff is in lo~ve," tony adds on.

"the wedding shall be held in asgard!" thor yells.

"i'm not paying for the space travel,"

"you own the ship though..."

"gas cost money, bruce."

"see, steve gets it."

you and natasha shared a laugh. enjoying the interaction between the five. if you didn't see them in their best tuxedos earlier, you would've forgotten how half of them were professors and the others, massive billionaires.

of course, earlier, that was all you could see them as: mrs. romanoff's big shot friends who you are terribly far from impressing.

"so what does your mother do?" steve asks breaking the silence after you'd all settled down on the table right at the center of the expensive restaurant tony book you in.

"oh, i—," you looked at natasha for a second, afraid almost that what you'll say next might turn her friends off. way to get on a bad side of people you're trying to impress is to tell them your mother is a drug addict. by then, every attempt you make at getting on their good side would only receive pity. "i don't have one," you resorted.

silence.

you feel natasha's hand on your thigh. she soothed it. and then she leaned in to whisper, "i'm sorry. they could be invasive," she tells you. "i'll tell them off later."

you were thankful the waiter came in to save what was filled with them avoiding your eyes and clearing their voices. you hadn't heard what everyone got. just that they all ordered a complete five course meal with fish, meat, vegetables, and everything else.

you were supposed to order next. at least, after almost a year of dating natasha romanoff, you'd grown accustomed to always ordering first, but this time she doesn't let you.

she ordered first.

"i'll take the oysters on half shell please," she started, looking at the menu. "then the shrimp cocktail too."

"any salads?"

"no, actually. maybe just the caesar salad for me," natasha's hand never left your thigh. in fact, if continued to soothe over your exposed skin. "then maybe pan seared scallops and steak tartare," she looked at you. "rib or strip?"

you stuttered for a bit, at lost for words when you realized that she was ordering for you too.

you didn't know what you wanted. you never really do. you always end up somewhat regretting your order every time you and natasha go out.

but in a hurry, you just utter a, "strip."

"great. i'll take the new york strip, braised short rib. and for sides, just the baked mac and cheese for the girl please," she smiled at the waiter and you swore he melted when he had to force his eyes off her and to his little notepad.

and you can't help but smile.

"did you want anything else?" she asks, looking intently at you but you just smiled and let your nose touch hers. you see her cheeks grow red. "what was that for?" she smiled.

she was never used to public displays of affection. even something as little as your noses touching, or your eyes looking a second longer than it's supposed to into hers. but of course, neither should she. something as destructive as your relationship should be kept a secret. even the smallest touches.

but at times like these, when you're neither alone nor allowed, but you still sneak in those rare moments of affection, she swears, she falls much much deeper.

"okay enough of that, the boy here is getting nervous," tony interjects, making you giggle out of the small bubble you and natasha had encapsulated yourselves into.

"i think you're getting nervous too, tony," clint laughs but he knew enough to stop when natasha shot him a sharp glare.

you smiled, soothing over natasha's hand that remains on your thigh before taking a glance at the waiter who was only standing there awkwardly staring at natasha, then at the hand you hold over hers.

that's right, stare at everything you will never have.

steve clears his throat. "uh, any drinks?"

"we—uhm—we actually offer—uh, we only offer wines in bottles for service. other drinks; cocktails, mocktails, vodka, everything else you can get from the bar."

natasha prepares as soon as the boy finishes, "vodka for me, and one mocktail. what are you having, boys?" she asks.

"isn't—isn't y/n going to like something with alcohol too?" bruce asks. you would actually, but before you have any time to say anything, tony beats you to it.

"exactly. give the girl a break, agent. she's not a kid," tony protests in your place.

natasha only chuckles, fixing the napkin that she took off her lap neatly on the table, "i think i know what's good for her, don't i, y/n?"

"boo!!!!!! give the girl a drink," tony still stands. "give the girl a drink!"

"no. we're riding my motorcycle home, and i'm not having her fall off my bike," she says firmly, almost like a silent command.

but you still insist. you looked at her with pleading eyes, extending your arm to hold her fingers. "i want a drink, please," you say. "i won't fall off, i promise."

"give the girl a drink!" tony chants but natasha's eyes stay on you, her smile, daring, but firm.

she leans against your ear, her lips softly grazing your lobes, and her arm supporting her weight through her grip on your waist. you shuddered. "come on, dear. won't you listen to mommy? mommy knows best, doesn't she?"

you were aware how exposed you were. in front of her friends. being at the very middle of the packed restaurant as tony claimed was the best table because of the sofa seats, tony, bruce and clint sitting across from you and nat who were the only ones on that side because steve decided to sit on an extra chair at the head of the table. you were surrounded by people, covered by a few friends who even then you didn't expect natasha would be so open with.

you almost wanted to complain. i'm only meeting your friends, what if they say we're too physically affectionate in public and it turns them off? what if they're reminded of wanda and billy, the very people we're betraying while we're doing this in front of them?

but you couldn't. this was one of the very rare times when you get to enjoy her physical affection, in public which was terribly off-brand of mrs. romanoff. this was one, if not the only moment when you don't feel hidden, when you felt normal, when you felt seen by the world. when you satisfy the small hidden part of yourself that craves for the domesticity of public relationships.

"i think she really likes you."

you hadn't realized she was gone until only the memory of her breath against your skin remain. and you remembered you were with her friends.

you looked up. within the 30-45 minutes of knowing these people, you've come to learn that tony is a very bullshit person. he's the joker, the one who would bullshit his death by making it into anything but serious. maybe through his narcissism, or sarcasm, or jokes. that's what makes him charming. other than, of course, his billions of dollars net worth.

"you think?" it sounded coy but you were serious. you had to know. did she really like you? or was he bullshitting you? would he build this up into a joke, a thing to make fun of natasha when she comes back?

no. because he chuckles, and it was more genuine than even his smiles. and for the first time he looks away, and it took him a few seconds before looking at you again, "you know, romanoff called me last week. told me she wanted us to meet her girlfriend," he let that sink into you for a moment before he raises a finger, "you know, one thing about romanoff. she never calls me," he says. "she calls clint, tells him everything. she meets with steve. but that's between them. romanoff and i—we have a more eye-to-eye kinda thing. she came and visited me once, nobody knew i had a child by then, we look at each other for one second, and she understood the entire life i built beyond stark industries," he wasn't looking at you again. he was looking over your shoulder, unmoving. "when she called me first of all, i knew it was serious. group serious sort of thing. and then she told me she wanted us to meet her girlfriend? i dropped everything in my lab."

your mind still processed what he meant. actually, it was so far from that. you were stuck on the image of natasha visiting tony. or meeting up with steve. or telling clint everything. the little things that makes natasha further from her life as mrs. romanoff, or as wanda's wife, or as billy's mother, or as your secret girlfriend, and closer to just being herself, natasha romanoff, it sticks to you. and it remindes you that beyond the labels, beyond the titles, the names. that she was just natasha romanoff before all of these.

"natasha dated a few people, but none that we actually heard of," steve clarifies, but tony quickly took his spot.

"we knew about rogers and romanoff. they had a will-they-won't-they going on for a bit until she got together with bruce. of course that's something we just found out during a party when his face fell into her boobs—"

you choked.

and so did professor banner.

"she never told us anything. we know what we see, and the rest, well—who knows."

"actually, we didn't know she was married to wanda until three years into the marriage," clint adds.

your eyes widen at that, choking for the second time but this time on your glass of water. "what?" you ask. "you weren't invited?"

clint laughs, "oh no, we were invited."

"wanda invited us," bruce says.

"she invited us through text. she didn't specify who was getting married so we always just assumed she's either remarrying vision or she's marrying a new man," steve continues. "we assumed the latter."

"we've always been a vision fan, so we didn't go in case she was actually getting married to someone else," clint notes.

tony laughs in somewhat a bitter tone, but still humorous, "mind you, we had group night outs, phone calls and we texted all throughout those three years that she could've told us she'd gotten married to a mutual close friend."

"she didn't. and three of us works with both her and wanda at the university," clint losens his tie and slouches slightly against the couch. "we found out when wanda invited us for thanksgiving and said natasha should be preparing the table so we all came assuming natasha was only there to help."

"plot twist, she's married," bruce finishes.

there was a silence between your shared glances of natasha just talking to the bartender while being handed two drinks.

"you take care of her, okay?" tony says. his voice had zero pitch to it. it was low, and lazy, and sincere. "romanoff, spent decades taking care of us. you know, when we're sick, heartbroken, happy, drunk, sad, in trouble. she picks up after us. she holds us together. and she still does to this day," he looks up at you. "do us a favor, take care of her. i think you're the only person she'd let take care of her."

"what are you whispering about," natasha asks, setting down your drinks, just in time for your meals to arrive. she looks at you while sitting down, and bringing the napkin to her lap again, "do you still love me?" she sets both hands on your thigh, completely facing you. "whatever these idiots told you aren't true. do you still love me?"

you giggled. "i was hoping it might be true, actually," you say.

"this," tony interrupts. "this is true."

natasha rolled her eyes upon realizing that what he said might not be anything that would jeopardize the relationship you two have. she lands you a kiss on the forehead before fixing herself to her seat, and assisting the waiter in distributing the first round of meals.

"hello, friends!"

natasha doesn't tell you much about her friends. but she's told you enough to know where they live, and what her relationship is with them. you know one of them lives very far away.

this must be thor.

he came in late. he entered with much energy, immediately pulling you into a hug. you were sure he would've carried you right out of your seat and spun you around if natasha hadn't got out in time to make way for you.

he still picked you up and spun you around nonetheless, "oh is this the girl?!" he said. "look at you! you're a lot prettier than nat described you."

you'd gotten dizzy. your world spun, perhaps because of this giant man that spun you around like a kid with his doll, or maybe because natasha told them about you. she told them, like how you used to with billy over the guy you had a crush on in middle school. she told her friends about you.

"okay, okay, please stop. she's getting dizzy," natasha's voice faded into your thoughts as thor slowed down. natasha was already standing behind you, ready to catch you the moment thor sets you down, and she did. you fell limp into her arms as the world tried to catch up. "i swear to god, she's not going to make it out of here alive with you doofuses."

while everyone stood up to give thor a hug, natasha had her hands loosely wrapped around your waist, and her chin on top of your head while she holds you still to recover from the unsteadiness.

"so i see the problem," you hear thor say behind you. you turned around, still within the warm hold of natasha romanoff. "romanoff's smitten."

you blushed a little.

"am i—am i allowed to say that or will i be in trouble?" thor speaks when natasha doesn't, looking at the others for backup.

"you won't. y/n's here. we're basically untouchable," barton says, laughing.

that's how you spent most of the night—laughing. you slowly started easing into the group. they were laughing hard, and so were you. a lot of times, they were making fun of natasha, the others, they were asking about your life.

everything was light. and you noticed how they were smart enough not to put you in a spot where you'd have to mention either wanda or billy.

you see a glimpse of natasha's past through them. they were her family. you pieced that together after a few of their stories.

natasha was almost silent all-throughout, aside from the occasional protest when tony makes fun of her, or the rare interjections of when she feels they'd gone too far with you.

but because of all the laughing, you hadn't realize natasha cutting your meat for you, and taking the vegetables off your meal until she subtly switched back your plates which you hadn't notice was switched in the first place. you feel her constantly returning glances, checking on you, watching you. and when you ran out of the mocktail she got for you, you see her silently go off to get you another one.

"natasha, i'm okay. sit down and talk to your friends," you tell her softly when she comes back with another glass for you. this time, you take her hand that's been holding your thigh the rest if the night, and held it with both of yours on top of her leg.

"you heard the girl romanoff, sit down," tony agrees.

you were aware that these little moments between you and natasha were in front for everyone to see, and bask in. but you couldn't help it. you leaned against her, your head on her shoulder and your arm tangled with hers as you waited for desert.

at the end, what was supposed to be your last solemn night alone with natasha, became a loud one with her friends when they all decided to come over her apartment.

they all shared a car, going off first while you and natasha takes a moment to yourselves when you walk through the parking lot to her motorcycle.

you were silent, and walking so painfully slow as if you don't want it to end.

you spent the entire week together. alone. while you did have classes, your girlfriend was a professor, so was most her friends. she had you excused for a week, getting your work sent through her. while she was on a leave.

there's never a gap between the times you have to spend with billy, and the times she has to spend with wanda. but this week, with billy's research, and wanda's inability to leave the house without her son for long periods of time, you found your window.

natasha lied; said tony invited the group to the bahamas with their families. she knew wanda won't be able to come because billy won't. so she just "brings" you.

and just like that, you had one uninterrupted week of just you and natasha.

"did you have fun tonight?" she asks, stopping you to face her so she can wrap around you the coat you refused to wear when you left her apartment. you hadn't realized she carried it with her though.

"mhmm," you say with a smile, beginning to rock back and forth on your feet like a child. her hands found yours to hold. "i had a lot of fun with you and your friends."

"they weren't too much?"

"i feel like they'd get in trouble if i say yes."

"your intuition is spot on."

you laugh, "nope, they weren't too much then."

you fall into silence. comfortable, soft, kind. you watch the way the breeze blows the strand of hair away from her face. then it falls back, so you took it upon you to do a better job and tuck it behind her ear completely.

she smiled at you, holding your hand against her cheek now, warming up your cold hands from the heat of her skin.

"i want to stay like this forever," she tells you.

you weren't religious, but every day you thank the lord for every moment when you get to feel the bumps on her skin, or see the mole on her cheek; when you get to feel her lips twitch into a smile, not see it behind her office desk, or in front of the rows of people you're sitting behind of, but through the kiss that you share the moment her office door closes, or the last person leaves her classroom.

you weren't sure when all your hatred turned into love, when you started searching for her in every crowd, when you silently prayed for her praises, when avoiding her glances became begging for her gaze. when did you seek for her warmth beyond her approval? when did you chase for her recognition besides her dismissal? when did you thirst for her touch aside her praise?

the lines between hating her, and loving her was a blur. all you know was that one day you prayed you'd stop being the one student she saw, then the next praying you'd be the only one she'd look at.

"stay with me forever," you tell her.

she was a secret. she was forbidden. she was the sin you've been engaging in for a year.

you weren't religious, but every day you thank the devil for every moment when you get to feel the curves of her body, and the mounds on her chest; when you get to feel her tongue on your skin, or her hand between your legs. never in front of wanda, or billy, or anyone, but in every moment when one of them turns back, to every time they look lovingly into your eyes unaware of the touches under the table, or behind the counter.

you thank the devil for inventing sin.

praise the devil for every bite you take of your forbidden apple for god hadn't thought about the paradise you'd find in hell when he sent your ancestors outside his heaven.

you kissed her, basking in the taste of sin, and hell, and your home through the saliva that coats your tongue.

"i love you."

#ath: natasha romanoff series (wasn't midnight rain)#ath: natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #mcu #mcu fanfic

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