#but also should i bother with that right now since i am going to be travelling in less than 2 wks?

[hatchan]

You're right and you should say it!

I recently learned a phrase called "dishonest harmony" and I brought this in to show my therapist because I was like "This. This is what I'm really good at. I've been training in this my whole life. But I don't think that's a good thing??"

People pleasing behavior leads to dishonest harmony. We can get really really really good at maintaining harmonious social relationships that are based fundamentally on pretending we don't hate everything about it.

This is from an email I got as being part of Captain Awkward's Patreon:

Dishonest harmony describes the illusion of social peace & cohesion manufactured by the deliberate suppression of conflict, i.e. “We can all get along and have a good time as long as nobody brings up The Incident.” Dishonest harmony (sometimes called dishonest peace) can absolutely be a strategic choice, as patron Rachel S. eloquently describes:

"I am using it to describe a choice I am making in a relationship to not address an intractable issue in favor of maintaining the relationship. Before I was introduced to "Dishonest peace" I was calling it "superficially pleasant". Another way to think about it is maximizing the things I like about a relationship and refusing to engage around the issue that I don't. So I am choosing dishonest peace instead of honest conflict."

In Captain Awkward lingo, it's the assumption that if you are a reasonable person who is capable of remaining calm in the face of other people's shitty behavior, it's somehow easier to pressure you to keep putting up with shitty behavior forever than it is to impose consequences for shitty behavior on unreasonable people. Again, in working on the book, I have been trying to pinpoint the source of the enduring fear that runs underneath some of the common questions I get. Especially questions where there's a solution that should be straightforward, easy, obvious, etc. on the surface ("Just RSVP 'no thanks' and don't go", "Just be honest about how you feel," "Just tell them to knock it off already," etc.) and yet? The questioner is experiencing a seemingly disproportionate amount of worry and self-doubt. "Is this normal?" "Am I making it awkward because I'm just an awkward person?" "Since I'm the only one who seems bothered by this, maybe everyone is right that I'm overreacting and I should just let it go?" "Am I even allowed to feel upset about this?" "If I speak up about this am I gonna lose [my job][my relationship][all my friends][my whole family]?" These questions also tend to include a request for scripts that will stop other people's stressful behavior without ever making anyone feel bad, which feels to me like a recognition that maintaining dishonest harmony is a baseline expectation of the antagonist in the problem. If someone who mistreats you also has the power to put your housing, livelihood, and safety at risk if they don't get their way, "Can I afford to piss this person off right now?" can be quite a literal question.

Just, if there's a solution to be had, it can't be about individually improving ourselves to become more callous and cool about uncool, shitty behavior. "Politely" going with the flow might be the least worst among bad options, for a lot of reasons: You may not feel safe speaking up, especially knowing that other people are unlikely to have your back. If you depend on an unrepentant asshole for safe housing or continued employment, the costs of speaking up might literally outweigh the costs of staying silent, at least in the near term. But also, any time we calculate the costs of dishonest harmony vs. honest conflict, the cost-benefit analysis has to include both the cost to ourselves and the opportunity costs of doing nothing. If all of my reactions are "overreactions," what is the cost of not reacting? If leaving a party where people say racist stuff is "ruining" the party, what's the cost of showing up to or remaining at shitty racist parties? You may decide that preserving a given relationship is worth making a conscious effort to focus on the positives in the present and ignore the other person's bad behavior in the past, but that doesn't mean it doesn't cost anything, it means you've chosen to bear the costs (the pain of cognitive dissonance, the effort of suppressing what you know to be true, the pain of going against what you know to be right, or what Dan Savage has called "the price of admission") because the alternatives are worse or because the potential rewards are worth it to you. Your generosity, your patience, your hope that someday things might be different if you can extend a little grace? Those are gifts you can choose to give, not something you owe.

^^^^ these are just some highlights that I thought added to this post, but I'll copy the full text below the cut for anyone who wants to read the post in full:

"Dishonest Harmony: Explained" by Captain Awkward

I promised you a post about this after the poll from the other day, and here it is!

I stumbled across this term recently on TikTok where I follow a lot of ADHD and AuDHD creators, and it made a whole bunch of things about awkwardness fall into place. I want to do some more research about the origin of the term so I can give proper credit and citation, but here is my understanding so far.

Dishonest harmony describes the illusion of social peace & cohesion manufactured by the deliberate suppression of conflict, i.e. “We can all get along and have a good time as long as nobody brings up The Incident.”

Dishonest harmony (sometimes called dishonest peace) can absolutely be a strategic choice, as patron Rachel S. eloquently describes:

"I am using it to describe a choice I am making in a relationship to not address an intractable issue in favor of maintaining the relationship. Before I was introduced to "Dishonest peace" I was calling it "superficially pleasant". Another way to think about it is maximizing the things I like about a relationship and refusing to engage around the issue that I don't. So I am choosing dishonest peace instead of honest conflict."

We'll come back to this, but first I want to talk about a) dishonest harmony as a tool that power uses to maintain itself and enforce its authority, b) a consistent source of awkwardness, and c) the price it exacts.

Think about every period drama about elaborate systems of manners and dress where the question of "Will Mr. Ten Thousand A Year make a good husband for our plucky heroine?" is completely divorced from "Does he own his fellow human beings (& does he torture them himself or does he outsource all that to the overseers and just bank the profits)?" What's "ruder" in a ballroom setting, being somewhat disinclined to dance, wearing the wrong outfit, or asking that question about your prospective partners?

Think about every "Has the #MeToo Movement Gone Too Far?" article that tried to make the case that loudly objecting to being assaulted at work en masse is somehow worse than assaulting people at work en masse and how rude and annoying and shrill it is for rape victims to "ruin" everyone else's enjoyment of art by rapists. Think about The Case(s) of The Creepy Dude, where having every single woman bounce out of the friend group when she gets tired of being groped is somehow "easier" for the men than the potential friction of kicking out the groper.

Think about every letter to Captain Awkward Dot Com where the gist is "Not only are my loved ones totally fine with hanging out with my abuser, they also berate and punish me for not wanting to hang out with my abuser." Less dramatic perhaps, but no less painful is the cognitive dissonance of interacting with family members who cannot ever confront or admit the pain they cause. Turns out you can go home again, as long as you pretend that your childhood never happened and find a way to remain placid around people who think that your memories of what they did to you are something between malicious lies and personal attacks.

Workplaces run on dishonest harmony. If you asked 1000 strangers to define "professionalism" you'd get a lot of information about punctuality, how to dress, behave, and communicate, as well as a multitude of field-specific expectations for necessary qualifications and professional standards. But would anybody tell you about the part where you are supposed to remain calm, cheerful, and productive no matter how people treat you or what kind of abuses you witness? Sure, your boss pulled a machete out in a meeting, and your coworker screams at you to the point that it's damaging your health, but that's no excuse to slack off!

As I've been revising the book, there's been this thing in my chest that I haven't known how to say about how the very worst moments of my life were not the times that someone did awful things to me, they were about what happened afterward when the people who were supposed to be on my side did nothing to stand up for me and everything to judge and punish me about my reaction to the awful things. I could never win. If I froze, fled, or fawned instead of fighting, then the problem was that I needed to get better at standing up for myself. If I fought back, I was a troublemaker out to ruin everyone's fun. "Just ignore it!" "They only do that because they know it will get a reaction!" "Two wrongs don't make a right!" (I swear, if my atoms physically expanded every time someone told me to be the bigger person when someone harassed or bullied me, by now my mass would block out the fucking sun.) And if I spoke honestly about it, by pointing out bad behavior and double standards, or even just being honest about my own pain, then I was "overreacting," "causing drama," being "too sensitive," "making a big deal out of nothing," etc.

With serial "missing stairs," they would justify their own inaction with stuff like "Well, that's just how they are, it won't make any difference anyway" because in their minds nothing works to stand up to abusers except working patiently behind the scenes to gently change the hearts and minds of abusers by radiating eternal empathy and acceptance at them while pretending that it's not happening, or something. Believe me, I get the impulse to protect one's peace and conserve energy, and they were probably right about the feasibility of changing certain hearts and minds, but you know what? Even if they didn't know how to stop the abuse, it would have made a difference to me to hear,"You're not alone" or "That was incredibly messed up, I'm sorry, I have no idea what to do either." "You're right, but I can't afford to lose this job, that's why I didn't say anything." "Do you want to get out of here for a while?" "Can I bring you some water?" "Do you need a hug?" It would have made a difference to me to have someone be slightly more interested in my safety than their own comfort or how it might affect group cohesion if I remained visibly uncomfortable.

There's this old business parable/anecdote I heard one time, about the "last monkey." If the actual study existed and you know what it was, I'd love to know, but this is the version from my memory of being told about it:

Supposedly scientists did a study where they put bananas on top of a ladder in an enclosure full of monkeys, and when any monkey climbed the ladder to get the bananas, they whole group got punished. by being drenched with icy water. Once the monkeys knew to avoid the ladder, they stopped the punishments. Instead, they gradually introduced new monkeys to the group, and when those monkeys tried to climb the ladder, the experienced monkeys would stop them, no ice water required. Over time, they swapped experienced monkeys out and new monkeys in until none of the original monkeys who had direct experience getting drenched remained. Adding new monkeys to this group produced the same results--New arrivals would be like "hey, banana!" and all the rest of the monkeys would be like "FORBIDDEN LADDER, NO!" and physically prevent them from climbing, even though they didn't know why, until finally everyone stopped trying.

I think the story was told to me in the context of entering a deeply dysfunctional workplace, and it was supposed to be a parable about, idk, the dangers of unquestioning obedience and how fresh eyes on problems from outside are good, actually, but also if you're the new guy and you point out a problem be prepared for coworkers entrenched in systems of punishment to react badly to change and take it out on you even if they can't articulate why. Also (again from memory), monkeys can't make words, so the warnings were less "Welcome, to LabCorp, Bradison! Please don't climb that ladder, you wont like it up there" and more along the lines of a group rugby tackle. FYI, there's an iconic Reddit post called "Don't Rock The Boat" that covers similar ground. In Captain Awkward lingo, it's the assumption that if you are a reasonable person who is capable of remaining calm in the face of other people's shitty behavior, it's somehow easier to pressure you to keep putting up with shitty behavior forever than it is to impose consequences for shitty behavior on unreasonable people.

Again, in working on the book, I have been trying to pinpoint the source of the enduring fear that runs underneath some of the common questions I get. Especially questions where there's a solution that should be straightforward, easy, obvious, etc. on the surface ("Just RSVP 'no thanks' and don't go", "Just be honest about how you feel," "Just tell them to knock it off already," etc.) and yet? The questioner is experiencing a seemingly disproportionate amount of worry and self-doubt. "Is this normal?" "Am I making it awkward because I'm just an awkward person?" "Since I'm the only one who seems bothered by this, maybe everyone is right that I'm overreacting and I should just let it go?" "Am I even allowed to feel upset about this?" "If I speak up about this am I gonna lose [my job][my relationship][all my friends][my whole family]?" These questions also tend to include a request for scripts that will stop other people's stressful behavior without ever making anyone feel bad, which feels to me like a recognition that maintaining dishonest harmony is a baseline expectation of the antagonist in the problem. If someone who mistreats you also has the power to put your housing, livelihood, and safety at risk if they don't get their way, "Can I afford to piss this person off right now?" can be quite a literal question.

Self-help as a genre tends to treat every issue like an individual skill issue. "Here are 10 easy steps for becoming less awkward and more assertive in life!" It's an appealing and timeless formula because we know that we can't fix other people, we can only control ourselves, and anything that offers more self-control and actualization feels automatically more achievable than something that relies on others to accomplish our goals. As a result, self-help as a genre tends to conveniently ignore power dynamics. Even books that are explicitly designed to address that stuff are like "Welp, you can't fix misogyny, so just lean in harder, girlboss the shit out of life, and you too can become so excellent (and rich) that maybe sexism stops affecting you on a personal level!"

It's hard to fix stuff if you can't be honest about where it's broken and the honest truth is that sometimes when we speak up on our own behalf, we lose. Not because we didn't use the right words, or because our timing was bad, or because we were "unprofessional" or "rude" or terminally awkward, but because the people we spoke up to decided that they would rather have dishonest comfort than honest conflict or honest solidarity with us. There are certainly ways to practice being more strategic with language choices and more confident with delivery over time, but there is no perfect, smooth, foolproof way to deliver news that the other person doesn't want to hear that guarantees that they will react a certain way. And to use a trope as old as time, some people would rather shoot the messenger than be forced to deal with the message.

So, what do we do about it? That's a long and complicated answer about something I just learned the word for, but I have a few initial suggestions which are less about finding the perfect way to exist at all times and more about switching your defaults and rebalancing power:

1. Recognize when dishonest harmony is being prioritized, demanded, and enforced and name it for what it is, even if you're only talking to yourself.

2. Recognize that there is always a cost to dishonest harmony, even when it's a choice. Time to recalculate those costs as if you are (at least) an equal participant in your relationships.

3. Going with the flow, smoothing things over, choosing to stay silent for the sake of a relationship or the "greater" good or longer-term goals, etc. are strategic choices, not absolute rules and certainly not moral requirements.

4. There is power in solidarity. You can't stop other people from behaving like assholes, but maybe you can learn to be the person you needed.

What that could look like in practice, using a common scenario:

You're at a party, and someone makes an offensive comment and tries to play it off as a joke. Some people laugh nervously, others don't react at all, and somehow you're the only person who is like "wow, what a gross thing to say." Sensing you're outnumbered, maybe you don't say anything out loud, but you do something, like grab your coat or ask for the check, because it's clearly time to call it a night. And suddenly, all the people who had nothing to say about the verbal turd that The Great Comedian just left in the punch bowl are very concerned about your reaction. "What's wrong, can't you take a joke? Why are you so sensitive? Come on, sit down, don't ruin everyone's good time! Stop overreacting so much!" 

Recognize and name that shit, even if it's just inside your head. This isn't about what an inherently awkward, dramatic, uncool person you are, this is a demand for dishonest harmony from people who prioritize the illusion that everyone is having fun over real evidence that you are not having fun anymore. If the gross thing the other person said didn't "ruin" the party, but your visible discomfort has the power to ruin "everyone's" fun, that's certainly interesting information! If the group has calculated that it costs less to police your reactions than it does to do anything about what you're reacting to, are they right about that? Maybe yes, but maybe no. Just because they bet on it doesn't make it true.

Just, if there's a solution to be had, it can't be about individually improving ourselves to become more callous and cool about uncool, shitty behavior. "Politely" going with the flow might be the least worst among bad options, for a lot of reasons: You may not feel safe speaking up, especially knowing that other people are unlikely to have your back. If you depend on an unrepentant asshole for safe housing or continued employment, the costs of speaking up might literally outweigh the costs of staying silent, at least in the near term. But also, any time we calculate the costs of dishonest harmony vs. honest conflict, the cost-benefit analysis has to include both the cost to ourselves and the opportunity costs of doing nothing. If all of my reactions are "overreactions," what is the cost of not reacting? If leaving a party where people say racist stuff is "ruining" the party, what's the cost of showing up to or remaining at shitty racist parties?

You may decide that preserving a given relationship is worth making a conscious effort to focus on the positives in the present and ignore the other person's bad behavior in the past, but that doesn't mean it doesn't cost anything, it means you've chosen to bear the costs (the pain of cognitive dissonance, the effort of suppressing what you know to be true, the pain of going against what you know to be right, or what Dan Savage has called "the price of admission") because the alternatives are worse or because the potential rewards are worth it to you. Your generosity, your patience, your hope that someday things might be different if you can extend a little grace? Those are gifts you can choose to give, not something you owe. And you don't get to choose what other people are willing to pay.

Because something we all need to reckon with is the fact that "stunned, disapproving silence when people act like bigots and assholes" looks just like "silent agreement with bigots and assholes" from the outside. If we never speak up because we assume that we're all alone or because it "won't make any difference anyway," then there's nothing to prove us wrong, but there's also nothing to light the beacons for anyone else or change the circumstances. If we internalize and enforce the expectation of polite, compliant silence at all costs on others just because we're afraid because of past bad experiences or because we don't want to bear the costs, then we risk becoming the enforcer monkeys (one might even say "flying monkeys") who would rather teach people why there is no point in fighting back than do any of the fighting ourselves. Sometimes you only find out who's on your side when you stop pretending there are no sides or that we're all on the same one. Or as Maud, a friend of Melissa McEwan (of Shakesville fame/notoriety) put it, "There are times when you must speak, not because you are going to change the other person, but because if you don't speak, they have changed you."

So greetings to my fellow boat rockers, last monkeys, "good" daughters, and anyone who has ever been screamed at to Calm Down and Stop Being So Emotional when all we did was fail to hold perfectly and let flecks of someone's rage-spittle decorate our faces until they were done talking and then pretend like it never happened. Dishonest harmony is expensive. Sometimes it's worth it, and sometimes it is extremely not worth it. When we return awkwardness to sender, think about it as sending the emotional dry-cleaning bill to assholes who won't stop pooping on the tablecloth, and then tell me who is being "rude" and "uncivil."

End of manifesto (for now).

Adult realization: you will make mistakes, you will act irrationally. You will commit some wrongs that cannot be fully righted. People will dislike you and misunderstand you for all sorts of reasons. None of these make you a bad person. All you can do is try your best to be kind and just to people, grow and learn.

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

studying Philosophy is really like

you think this is going to help you understand the world and your place in it better,

but actually all it does is confuse and befuddle you farther than ever before

and also you make friends with the most annoying (read: great, smart, lovely, kind, but argumentative as ALL GET OUT) people in the world and then you realize you've BECOME one of those people and you kind of want to just curl up in a nice quiet little hole in the ground with all your books and read and think until a complete and total understanding of the world falls out of your noggin and everything makes sense; but actually you just want to take a walk in the woods with a friend and not think about anything for at least a year.

[vunblr]

Terms of Attraction

Pairing: CEO! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Some fluff. Slight Angst. Mutual Pinning. Mention of sexual activities.

Summary: Long hours, sharp tongues, and unbreakable trust have defined Industrial Inputs CEO Bucky Barnes and his secretary’s dynamic, always walking a fine line. But some lines aren’t meant to be left uncrossed.

Word Count: 13.2k.

notes: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "CEO AU".

Also, this piece is to participate in Grem's 20 Characters with 20 Questions for 20 Tropes Challenge by @gremlin-girly Using Bucky Barnes' character, "When were you going to tell me about this?" question, and mutual pining trope.

Bucky Barnes never wanted to be here.

He never wanted to be in this office, suit, or life. But fate had a funny way of forcing people into the things they swore they’d never become.

The room was dim since the heavy curtains were drawn shut to block out the midday sun. The only light came from the glow of his monitor, casting long shadows over the polished surface of his desk. He sat hunched over it, resting his forehead against his crossed arms.

A soft sigh broke the silence.

���Again?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t need to. He already knew who it was.

“This is the fourth migraine this week,” she continued, with an edge of exasperation. “I’m making you an appointment with a neurologist. You like it or not.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, mixing a scoff and a tired chuckle. “You’re overstepping.”

“Oh, it is not in your best interest to start talking about overstepping,” she shot back, arching a brow. “Want me to make a list? Ten years under you, since you were a manager, mind you. It will take a couple of pages.”

Bucky grunted in response, looking for the right words, but she was already moving, pushing the coffee table aside and clearing a space on the plush carpet.

“Come on,” she said, glancing at the clock. “You have the meeting with Schwarz in forty minutes. You know, the one I had to postpone twice already?”

Yeah. He knew. He just didn’t care.

He stayed put for a second longer, staring at the dark wood of his desk. His head throbbed, and the pressure behind his eyes seemed to crush everything. He could still hear his father’s voice in the back of his head “Headaches? You think I got to where I am by whining about a fucking headache?” but right now, George Barnes could go to hell.

With a slow, resigned sigh, Bucky pushed himself to his feet. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, rolling his shoulders as he made his way over to the open space she’d cleared. Lowering himself onto the rug, he sprawled out on his back, letting his arms rest loosely at his sides. As the exhaustion dragged him down like quicksand, he closed his heavy-lidded eyes for a moment.

She knelt behind him, pressing her cool fingers into the pressure points at the base of his skull. He tensed on instinct, prepared to anticipate pain, even from something meant to help.

“Jesus,” she muttered, working her thumbs into the knotted muscles of his neck. “You’re tense as concrete again.”

He let out a slow breath through his nose, letting her hands do their work. The pain sharpened for a moment before it started to dull, releasing the pressure just enough to make his migraine a little more bearable.

“Speaking of overstepping,” she continued, “you should really hire a professional masseuse, Bucky. Have them come in three times a week and-”

“I don’t want a stranger rubbing me up and down while I’m ass-up and vulnerable on a pansy cot.”

She snorted. “So dramatic.”

His mouth twitched, but he didn’t bother correcting her. If she was talking, it meant she wasn’t hovering with that worried look in her eyes.

She worked his knots, kneading the tension from his neck and shoulders before her fingers traveled upward. With a gentler touch, she started rubbing slow circles into his temples, easing the pressure that had settled deep in his skull.

“Rebecca called, again.” She said casually, but he could hear the warning under her words. “Says you had her bloc-”

“Not now,” he groaned.

She sighed but didn’t stop. “I know you don’t want to, but just meet with the guy for ten minutes, and you’ll get her off your back.”

“I won’t waste even five minutes listening to her new fucktoy ramble about some ‘revolutionary’ idea for industrial inputs,” Bucky muttered. “I know it’s going to be some half-baked high school powerpoint with stock photos and shit. That’s the kind of man she likes to have around.”

She scoffed, still working her fingers against his scalp. “He is cute, though.”

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t move or say anything right away, but his gaze was locked on her now, sharp, unreadable, and just a little too intense. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way she said it.

“Is he, now?” His voice came out pretty even, but there was something underneath it. Something edged.

She smirked, unbothered. “Not my type, but I can see why she’s… fond of him.”

His jaw ticked, and he exhaled slowly through his nose before letting his eyes fall shut again, but the tension in his body didn’t relent in the way it had before.

Yeah. The headache wasn’t going anywhere.

Just as he was starting to relax again, the door creaked open without so much as a knock, and a head popped inside: the new intern. The kid was his father’s friend’s grandson or something, which meant he had about three functioning brain cells and the audacity to use them in the worst ways.

“Sorry to interrupt your… erm-”

“Get out,” Bucky muttered, not even opening his eyes.

“But I just wanted to know-”

Bucky sat up so fast that the guy flinched. “Get the fuck out and close that door before I send you to count staple hooks in a basement, kid.”

The intern squeaked, stumbling back before the door shut behind him in a not-very-subtle way.

"Moody, aren’t we?” she sighed, shifting her weight as she sat back on her heels. “You’re still a Sarge at heart, it seems. Poor kid almost pissed his pants.”

His jaw worked slightly at the title, but he ignored it.

“The door is there for a reason. Besides…” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, shifting his gaze away.

He didn’t say what else he was thinking, but didn’t have to. She already knew. The way the intern had found them -he sprawled out on the floor, and she knelt behind him, hands on his body- it was enough to set off the office rumor mill.

“Don’t worry. Even if you don’t get out of your dungeon very often,” she mused, stretching her arms over her head, “you do know there’ve been rumors for a couple of years now, don’t you?”

Bucky turned fully toward her, narrowing his gaze. “What?”

“Come on, like the one where I was sucking your cock on that video call with that Japanese exec from the thermoplastics deal? With the guy watching it all because the camera was badly angled?”

His face twisted, and he waved his hands. “You weren’t even there that-”

“Or, my personal favorite” she continued, “that a window cleaner saw us on full display as you rammed my ass against the glass one afternoon?”

Bucky’s expression darkened into something truly menacing. “Bullshit. The cleaning crew comes on fucking weekends-”

She snorted. “People who gossip don’t care much about facts, Bucky. That’s just how things are.”

“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” he asked with irritation.

She smirked, unfazed. “What for? It’s not like it was going to change anything. And you firing people left and right over some rumor no one even knows where it started… Not a good look.”

He pressed his tongue against his cheek, ready to argue with her, but before he could, she glanced at the clock.

“Ten more minutes, and Schwarz will be here.” Her tone was all business now, but then her gaze flicked back to him, sharp and assessing. “How’s your arm?”

Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line.

She sighed. “That bad, huh? Lemme see.”

“You don’t-”

“I do,” she cut him off, already shifting. “It’s probably one of the things that’s got you so moody lately. And the reason I’ll probably have to send the Germans a very nice basket of goodies after you mistreat their guy.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, but when she just stood there on her knees, arms crossed, waiting, he reluctantly popped open a few buttons of his expensive shirt. As he slid it off his shoulders, the scent of his cologne -warm, woodsy, with an edge of spice- assaulted her senses.

Beneath, he wore a pristine white tank top. And, his bad arm.

Irregular scars marred the skin in a twisted canvas that sprawled up to his shoulder, a reminder of the Syrian shrapnel that had nearly cost him the limb entirely. Inside, a lattice of titanium plates and screws that held together shattered bones and torn muscle.

Bucky exhaled sharply as he rolled his shoulder, feeling the familiar grind of metal and bone, and the fucking pain. Most days, he could push past it. Ignore it. But some days, like today, it devoured him, made everything sharper, his patience thinner, and his temper shorter.

She reached out. He could see the way her gaze softened slightly as she took in the limb, hovering her fingers just above the scars. She was softer, yes, but never pitied him.

He let his head tip back against the edge of the couch, closing his eyes as her hands worked their magic over the worst knots of his upper arm, easing some of the strain. He hated how easy it was for her to do this, to get him. To handle him. It should piss him off. Maybe it did.

But he didn’t tell her to stop.

As she gently rubbed on the offending limb, his mind drifted to the hospital bed, to his suspended arm buried in a mix of cast, pipes, and pulleys.

A bitter taste rose in his throat. The sharp sting of antiseptic, the cold bite of metal restraining his ruined arm, the dull pain buried beneath layers of medication. His mother crumpled at the foot of his hospital bed, clasping her hands in silent prayer. And his father… standing rigid, arms crossed, and a voice edged with finality.

"Well, now that you’ve had your share of independence and adventure, I assume you understand that you are meant to be with us. To serve the family the way we prepared you to."

Not a “You’ll be ok”. Not a “We’re glad you made it home alive”. Just “You’ve learned your lesson.” A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitched as he stared at the ceiling, willing the memory away.

Her fingers pressed into a tight knot near his bicep, bringing him back to the present. He exhaled through his nose.

“Where’d you go?” she asked, softly.

His lips parted, with the instinctive lie ready on them -Nowhere-. But when he turned his head to look at her, he caught the way she was watching him, with that usual awareness, so he let out a breath and closed his eyes again. “Nowhere important.”

She hummed and started pulling his shirt back into place, her touch lingering a second too long on him as she smoothed the fabric over his shoulders.

“Well, master,” she teased, the title laced with mockery, “it’s almost time to see the Germans.”

Bucky huffed, dragging his hands down his face before starting to button his shirt. She moved to stand, but before she could, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Firm, warm, just enough pressure to make her breath catch.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She swallowed, willing her face to stay neutral, to ignore the way warmth curled in her stomach at the roughness in his tone.

“You know there’s no need,” she said, carefully measured, as if saying anything more might give too much away.

His grip loosened, and she pulled back, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles from her skirt. If he noticed the way her pulse jumped beneath his fingers, he didn’t say a word. Once she finished straightening her clothes, she turned on her heel and strode toward the office door.

“I’ll let them in in ten, okay?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulder once more before nodding. “Yeah.”

----

She had suspected it wouldn’t go smoothly, but even so, when the heavy wooden door finally clicked open, the Germans’ expressions were unreadable, stern and tense.

She cursed inwardly.

Even if the meeting had been rocky, she hoped they’d at least reached an agreement. Otherwise, in ten minutes, her phone would be ringing with George Barnes on the other end, barking at her because Bucky refused to pick up. And, as always, she’d have to endure his tirade until he inevitably demanded she put his son on the line.

With a sigh, she pulled open a drawer, curling her fingers around a blister pack of Tylenol.

Then, smoothing her expression, she knocked gently on his office door.

A low, muffled groan was the only response she got before she stepped inside.

The sight wasn’t unfamiliar. Bucky sprawled on the couch with his shoes off, covering his face with a cushion like it could somehow block out the world. She knew how this went. If the headache was bad enough, it wouldn’t be long before he was hunched over the bathroom sink, pale and nauseous, cursing under his breath. And, as she suspected, he hadn’t brought anything to help.

She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Should I expect a call from Barnes Senior in the next few minutes, or can I focus on other chores?”

Another groan. “I think he won’t call, but who the fuck knows? Nothing’s ever enough for him. Maybe he has a few things to say about the deal, things even a fresh graduate should know.” His voice was thick with irritation, but there was something else underneath. Resignation.

She tsked. “Good thing you don’t listen to him. Much.”

“Hmm.”

She stepped forward, holding up the blister pack between two fingers. “Here. I bring an offering that might change your mood.”

“Whatever it is, leave it on the desk. And don’t give me any calls.”

“Are you really rejecting Tylenol?”

A single half-lidded eye peeked out from behind the cushion, scrutinizing her like she’d just asked him to sign over the company. Then, he muttered, “Fuck, what would I do without you?”

She smirked. “Probably chomp the heads off the few people who still have the balls to speak to you.” She leaned against his desk, watching him sprawl across the couch, with the cushion still covering his face. “Speaking of your stellar social skills,” she said, The signing for the Research & Development Collaboration deal with Prescott got moved from Tuesday to Friday. You still haven’t told me which day you want your plane ticket booked.”

Silence.

She frowned. “Bucky?”

He exhaled sharply against the cushion before finally shifting it just enough to mutter, “About that.”

That tone set off a flicker of suspicion in her chest.

“I know a couple of the board members are going just to play court jesters,” he continued, voice still thick with exhaustion. “But…I want you there.”

Her brows furrowed. “Sorry, what?”

He let the cushion fall away just enough to glance at her. “I want you there.” A beat. “I need you there.”

Something in her stomach twisted. Not at his words -no, she was used to being indispensable- but at the tone he used.

“I need to see-”

“You handle logistics, and you filter out unnecessary conversations. I'd rather not waste my time listening to a bunch of suits trying to kiss my ass. You keep people in check.” He sighed, tilting his head back onto the couch.

She raised a brow. “So you need me as a buffer?”

He shot her a dry look. "I need you to make sure I don’t tell the wrong person to go fuck themselves."

A flicker of something -something warm- stirred in her chest before she pushed it aside.

“Fine. I’ll book my ticket too.” she said, trying to sound unaffected. “But I want juicy compensation for being away from home in non-working hours. And, I won't babysit you the whole trip".

Bucky huffed a laugh, still sprawled on the couch, with the cushion resting against his temple instead of covering his face. “You’ll do it anyway, even when it’s not part of your job.” He gestured vaguely toward the blister of Tylenol still sitting in her hand. “You’re like a mother hen.”

And fuck, how did he like that? How much did he like her, always two steps ahead of him, anticipating his worst moods and dealing with them before they could ruin his day completely? It should drive him insane, how easily she handled him, read him, but instead, he was perfectly fine with it. He craved it.

She narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. “Well, this time mama is getting a compensation, James,” she shot back, drawing out his name like a warning. “Because I had plans for Friday night.”

He schooled his expression, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Yeah? With who?”

“I don’t think that’s relevant.”

Just like that, something in his chest twisted, sharp and possessive.

“Must I remind you that you signed an availability clause two years ago?” His voice was measured, but there was an edge beneath it. “You agreed to be available if the firm needed you.”

If I need you. His eyes seemed to say it, even if he didn’t.

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Wow. This is the first time you’ve ever thrown that in my face. But don’t worry, I don’t need the reminder.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’m pretty sure availability doesn’t mean ownership, Bucky. But it’s fine, I’ll see my godson another day.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the cushion.

Her godson.

He exhaled through his nose, and his voice came out controlled. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “You know, you could’ve just asked nicely instead of throwing corporate fine print at me.”

He pushed himself fully upright, ignoring the dull ache still throbbing behind his eyes. “I know.” A pause. His fingers dragged over his temple. “Sorry, I… this is killing me.”

She hesitated for a beat, caught off guard by the unusual admission.

“I’ll approve the extra compensation,” he muttered, reaching for the Tylenol she still hadn’t handed over.

“Nah,” she waved him off. “As you said, it’s already covered in the clause. That’s why my salary was increased in the first place. I was just messing with you.”

Bucky quirked a brow. “Not many people can get away with that, you know.”

“Oh, but this mother hen knows she can.” She smirked. “Just a little.”

He huffed, watching as she poured a glass of water and handed him the blister pack.

“None of that scotch after taking these, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, amused despite himself.

She squeezed his good shoulder before heading for the door, and the warmth of her touch persisted where her fingers had pressed against him.

----

The lobby was a mess of tired travelers and frazzled staff, as the storm outside cast long shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The wind howled, rattling the glass as Bucky ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “A place with this many stars and a price tag that could feed a small country, and they can’t even keep track of reservations?”

She sighed, rubbing at her temple. “It’s just one night, Bucky.”

He shot her a look. “That’s not the point.”

“No, the point is that we’re exhausted, it’s almost midnight, and I’d rather not spend the next hour arguing with the poor guy at the front desk when we both know they’re fully booked because of the storm.” She gestured toward the rain hammering against the glass. “Unless you’d rather sleep in the lobby, in which case, be my guest.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed the key card off the counter with a glare, muttering under his breath as he turned toward the elevator.

She sighed again, following. This was going to be a long night.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching as she took in the room with wide eyes. The Renaissance-style decor, the heavy carved furniture, the ridiculous four-poster bed with actual curtains… it was over the top, even for a place like this.

“Well, this is… something,” she murmured, slowly turning in place before making a beeline for the bathroom.

He heard her sharp inhale, then -God help him- a pleased little hum that was dangerously close to a moan.

His bad mood tempered just a little.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stepped further inside, glancing at the coffee table stacked with neatly packaged luxury treats. He had no doubt they came with a price tag steep enough to make even him scoff.

She poked her head out from the bathroom, grinning. “You think they’d notice if I just sat in the tub and refused to leave?”

For the first time since the airport delays, he almost smiled. Almost. Then he sat in an oversized armchair. The long flight, the delays, and the cold air outside had worsened the stiffness in his arm.

She eyed him knowingly, arms crossing. “Speaking of the tub, why don’t you take a shower? Or an immersive bath? Heat those bones a little. You’re tensing the arm a lot, you know.”

He seemed to consider it for a second, rolling his shoulder slightly. But then he shook his head. “After you. You’re cold too. Ladies first.”

She arched a brow. “I appreciate the chivalry, but you need it more-”

“All I hear right now is a hen clucking.” He cut her off, smirking as he kicked off his shoes and sank deeper into the chair.

Her eyes narrowed. “Endearing.”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well, since you offered,” she huffed, “I’m going to test the tub. And don’t expect me to be out in less than thirty minutes because I won’t. If you need the bathroom, I don’t know, use a vase or something.” She said as she started to rummage on her suitcase, looking for her nightgown.

Bucky snorted, “So regal, just what this place needs.”

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, she let out a long breath, and her shoulders slumped as she finally dropped the facade. Out there, she had to keep up the usual push and pull, the teasing deflections, the confidence that made it seem like sharing a room with him -sharing space with him- was just another minor inconvenience.

But alone in here, she could let herself feel the weight of the situation.

She set her nightgown on the counter, running her hands over the silky fabric before reaching for the faucet. The deep tub groaned as steaming water rushed in, the sound filling the room as she braced herself against the edge of the sink.

This shouldn’t be affecting her so much. It wasn’t the first time they’d traveled together, and it wasn’t even the first time she’d seen him this exhausted, this raw from the day. But something about tonight, about his request for her to be here, about the way his voice softened when he said he needed her there -it’s killing me- stirred something deep and restless inside her.

She swallowed hard and reached for the buttons of her blouse, undoing them slowly. He didn’t mean it the way she wanted him to. He never did.

She reminded herself of that fact as she slipped the blouse from her shoulders, shivering slightly at the rush of cooler air against her skin. Bucky was… Bucky. Intense. Guarded. Possessive, sometimes, in ways he didn’t even realize.

But never hers.

She sighed, pushing down the stupid, persisting ache in her chest as she reached for the zipper of her skirt. This wasn’t new. She’d spent years training herself not to hope for something that wasn’t there. And yet, every now and then, he’d let something slip -a look, a word, a need- and it would take everything in her not to lean into it.

The tub was nearly full now, and the steam curled in soft ribbons toward the mirror. She inhaled deeply, letting the warmth settle over her body, soothing and distracting all at once.

Bucky wasn’t doing any better.

He sat in the oversized armchair, socked feet planted firmly on the carpet,  drumming his fingers idly against his knee. The tension in his shoulder hadn’t eased, not even a little. He rolled it again, flinching at the dull throb radiating from his arm.

Maybe he should’ve taken the damn bath first. Maybe the heat would’ve helped more than sitting here, stewing, staring at the closed bathroom door like some lovesick idiot.

Not that it mattered. She wasn’t into him.

He knew that much.

Women who wanted something more -who wanted him- they left hints, like breadcrumbs leading straight to their intentions. He’d seen it a thousand times in the circles he frequented. The way they gravitated toward him, playing coy with soft laughs and lingering looks. Subtle touches under the table, fingers tracing patterns on his thigh. The way they’d beam at the expensive gifts, their smiles slipping the second he showed more interest in his bed than in whatever designer bag they were parading around.

And then there was her.

She didn’t play coy. She didn’t bat her lashes or leave accidental touches to test the waters. Instead, she petted him. Nursed him. Brought him Tylenol like it was her goddamn job -which, technically, it was-. And he liked it. At first, it had been enough, her dependable presence that kept him from losing his mind when everything else was chaos.

But eventually, it wasn’t.

Eventually, he started watching for the crumbs, the hints, waiting for something, anything, that told him she saw him as more than just her boss or her friend.

And he found nothing.

Because a woman who wanted something more wouldn’t massage the knots from his arm like it was second nature, without hesitating, without blinking. Wouldn’t press her fingers into the scarred muscles like she wasn’t touching the part of him that made most people flinch.

He huffed, rubbing his palm over his face.

She was comfortable with him. Too comfortable.

And fuck, it was funny, in a twisted way, how every other woman he’d been with tried not to look at his arm -careful not to let their revulsion show- but she touched it like it was just another part of him.

Because that’s all he was to her. Just another favor.

Nothing more.

----

After exiting the bathroom in her red silk nightgown -a gift from her friends- she thanked her past self for not just throwing in an old cotton camisole.

“Well, I emptied the tub and started filling it again,” she said, leaning against the doorway. “Maybe you should go check the temperature. It’s one of the last things I don’t know about you.” She tried to keep it light, casual.

Bucky stared at her longer than necessary. He had seen her in professional clothes, casual clothes, even bundled up in thick sweaters during late nights at the office, but never in something like this. It wasn’t even that revealing, but the way the silk fell against her body, catching the dim light, made his thoughts go places they shouldn’t.

He forced his gaze away, scoffing.

“Bucky, don’t tell me you didn’t even unpack pajamas.”

“Don’t use ’em,” he said, watching her expression shift.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You’re joking.”

His smirk deepened. “Nope. I’m more of a… natural type of guy.”

She pressed her lips together, visibly trying to suppress a reaction. Interesting.

“Well, I hope you at least brought sweatpants or-”

“Wasn’t supposed to be sharing a room, remember?” He shrugged, stretching out in his chair. “Didn’t think about it. But don’t worry, I still have underwear. Are boxers still scandalous to you?”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “I can manage a slutty pair of boxers, thank you very much”

Bucky huffed a chuckle, turning to his suitcase. He rifled through his things, pulling out the garment in question. “Relax. I was planning on wearing a robe -there are always robes in these places- to protect your maidenhood.” He smirked, but his fingers tightened around the fabric.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck.

“Take the bed. You’ll probably be dead asleep by the time I get out.” He suggested.

“Nonsense.” She waved her hand in a dismissive tome. “That couch is too damn small for you. You take the bed.”

Bucky frowned, standing up straight. “How the fuck could I send you to the couch? It’s irritating that you could even consider me capable of that.”

Her brow furrowed. “Don’t be stubborn, your body-”

His expression darkened, and his voice cut in sharp. “I’m not crippled, doll. I let you play mama all you want, but at the end of the day, I’m a grown man who can sleep on a damn couch without whining like a bitch.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He saw her expression shift. Surprise, hurt, and something more guarded sliding into place. He had sounded exactly like his father just now, and the realization made his stomach churn. He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Just… don’t be stubborn, okay?”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

And as soon as he was alone, he cursed himself.

----

As she slipped under the covers, feeling the crisp hotel sheets' cool against her skin, her mind replayed the moment over and over.

The sharpness in his tone. The way his eyes darkened, his jaw set tight like he was bracing for a fight that wasn’t even there. She had only meant to be practical; his body did take more strain, whether he liked it or not. And yet, the way he snapped felt like she had crossed some invisible line she hadn’t even known existed.

She stared at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. I’m not crippled, doll. Had she made him feel like that? She had never pitied him, and he knew it. Bucky was the strongest person she knew, even when he was constantly grumpy and in pain.

Maybe that was why she did it. The taking care of him. Because no one else did. No one else noticed the stiffness in his shoulder after long days hunched on his desk or the way he rubbed at his temple when a migraine was creeping in. People either feared him, admired him, or wanted something from him. But who was actually in his corner, making sure he was okay without expecting anything in return?

Maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe, to him, she was just another person putting him in a box he didn’t want to be in. She had assumed he liked it, the way she doted him, the way she noticed him. But what if, in his mind, it only confirmed that she didn’t see him the way he wanted to be seen?

----

The water lapped at his collarbones as he sank deeper into the tub, letting the heat work through the persistent tension in his muscles. His head tipped back against the cool porcelain, and he closed his eyes.

He shouldn’t have snapped at her. She hadn’t meant anything by it; she never did. She was just looking out for him, the way she always did, and he’d thrown it back in her face like an ungrateful asshole.

With a sigh, he dragged a hand over his face, water dripping from his fingertips and wetting his scruffed face. He wasn’t mad at her, had never been mad at her. He was mad at himself. Mad at the way the frustration curled in his gut over things that weren’t her fault. She didn’t deserve that. He’d make it up to her in the morning. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he would.

----

At 3 a.m., she stirred awake, blinking against the soft glow of the city lights seeping through the curtains. Her gaze landed on his silhouette, sitting rigid on the couch, outlined by the streetlights below.

She frowned, pushing the covers aside and padding toward him. “Hey.”

He startled slightly as if he hadn’t heard her coming, too lost in his thoughts. “Hey.”

An awkward silence stretched between them.

“Rough night?” she asked, quirking a brow, trying for nonchalance.

Bucky glanced at her, then quickly averted his gaze. “Yeah.” A beat passed before he exhaled heavily. “Didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Normally, she would’ve brushed it off, waved away his apology like she always did. But this time, she stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“You don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my tantrums,” he admitted, his voice quieter than before. “Seems like it’s becoming a habit lately, having to apologize for them. But really, doll, I’m sorry.”

Something in her chest softened. It was unfair how easily those simple words soothed the discomfort that had been eating her since their argument. She wanted to reach for him, reassure him. “I know you’re nervou-”

“No.” He cut her off, shaking his head. “I’m nervous and frustrated by this deal, yeah, but that’s not an excuse to be an asshole. At least not with you.” He let out a humorless chuckle, running a hand down his face. “So don’t do that. Don’t… justify me the way my mother did with my father when he beat her up on a weekly basis.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Well, you were kind of an asshole, if that’s what you want to hear.”

He huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head, but she wasn’t done.

“But you also know we have the kind of relationship where I call you out when that happens. How many times have I told you to fuck off?”

His lips twitched. “Never.”

“Okay, not in those exact words, but you know what I mean. Don’t be a smartass now.”

Bucky bit his lip, letting her continue.

“I know you’ve been working on this deal for over a year. I also know your father’s been breathing down your neck about it, just waiting for you to slip up so he can shove his twisted version of ‘tough love’ down your throat. And on top of that, I know this damn weather is making your arm and shoulder miserable. So, I’m letting it pass. You already apologized; why wouldn’t I accept it?”

His face was unreadable now, all traces of amusement gone as he nursed his glass of scotch.

She quirked a brow, aiming for levity. “Or what? You got some kind of kink? Want to be punished for being a bad boy?”

Bucky choked mid-sip, coughing as the liquor went straight up his nose.

“Oh my God, you do!” she gasped, grinning like she’d just uncovered some deep, dark secret.

“No!” Bucky spluttered, still coughing, his face red as a beet. He barely managed to set his glass down without spilling it.

She knew he was probably telling the truth, but she also knew how easily he embarrassed over certain things, and there was no way she was letting this pass.

“You couldn’t sleep because you were craving a spanking? A little pinching, maybe?” she cooed.

His head snapped toward her, eyes wide with horror. “My God, woman, stop it.”

She smirked. “Tell you what: I’ll stop if you take the bed.”

“I told you I-”

“I’m still taking it too.”

That shut him up. He blinked at her, clearly thrown back.

“It’s so big my whole damn living room could fit on it,” she pointed out. “We can share, so you don’t have to hurt your masculine pride, and mother hen here gets to be happy knowing you’re not miserable on that fancy couch.”

Bucky exhaled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know…”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Tell me one good reason why this is a bad idea. We’re both exhausted, and there’s enough space on that mattress to fit two more people between us.” She raised a brow. “I promise I won’t steal your virtue.” She winked, and he nearly groaned.

Oh, but he wanted her to take it, not his damn virtue, but something else. And that was the problem.

He couldn’t even use the excuse of propriety, he was already sitting there in just his boxers, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him shirtless before. Hell, she’d been massaging his arm and back for years without batting an eye.

So, really, what was he holding onto?

“Will you shut it if I say yes?” he muttered.

“Just for tonight.” She grinned.

----

She climbed into bed, doing her best to act casual, like this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Like she wasn’t hyperaware of the fact that Bucky was standing just a few feet away, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, no robe in sight.

“We have to be there at nine,” she said, adjusting the blankets around her. “So we’ve got, what… maybe four hours of sleep?”

The mattress dipped as he sat down, and she felt the shift beneath her. She told herself not to look. But when he moved to lie down, she turned her head, catching his gaze, and ended up on her side.

He hesitated for a moment before mirroring her, rolling onto his side so they were facing each other in the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Even with the shadows softening his features, she could still see it, the stress in his brow, the weight pressing down on him. The doubt.

So she leaped.

Hesitating, she reached across the space between them, palm up. “You’ve got this, Bucky,” she said, in a soft but firm tone. “You’re going to do great.”

His eyes flicked to her hand, and surprise flashed across his face, but it only lasted a second. Without hesitation, he reached out with his scarred hand, wrapping his fingers around hers, and gave a small squeeze. “Thanks.”

----

The deal with Prescott went just as expected, some rough patches here and there, but overall, both sides walked away satisfied.

As requested, she had sorted through the attendees beforehand, making sure Bucky knew exactly who he could afford to ignore and who required his attention. Not that he always followed her lead, but to her surprise, he was in a much better mood than the night before.

Maybe it was the decent night’s sleep. Maybe it was the fact that, despite his nerves, he had handled the negotiations flawlessly. Or maybe it was just that he finally let himself lean on someone for just a little.

Bucky stepped out of the conference room, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the tension from the negotiations. His gaze landed on her instantly, curled up in one of the lounge chairs, with a coffee cup in her hands, looking perfectly calm. She raised a brow when she noticed him watching her.

“We have a cocktail party tonight,” he announced, coming to stand beside her chair.

She took a sip before answering. “We?”

“Me. The board jesters. A bunch of industrial guys.”

“Right. So, you,” she corrected, setting her cup down.

He huffed. “I want you to come.”

She frowned, caught off guard. “Are you sure it’s not just for you and the board members?”

“I’m sure.”

She leaned back, studying him. “Bucky, I don’t exactly have cocktail-party-appropriate clothes lying around.”

He shrugged. “Neither do I.”

That made her snort. “Yeah, somehow, I doubt that.”

“No, really,” he said. “I didn’t pack for this, which means I gotta go get something to impress a bunch of snobs. You might as well come with me.” He caught the hesitation in her body language instantly, his sharp blue eyes narrowing. “That’s your only reason for doubting, right?”

She exhaled, knowing there was no way to wiggle out of it. “Yeah, that’s the only reason. But…” She opened her mouth, then hesitated. How was she supposed to explain that their budgets were galaxies apart? That the tie he’d pick out probably would cost as much as her monthly groceries?

“But what?” he pressed.

Fuck it.

“But, we are almost at month’s end, and I still have to pay the-”

“Wait. No, no,” he cut in, shaking his head. “I’m not expecting you to buy a fucking dress, doll. The company will.”

She frowned. “Bucky, I don’t think that’s appropriate-”

“I, the director, am the one making you attend this shitty event,” he interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Obviously, it’s a company expense that my secretary looks good there, because if she doesn’t, the company image looks bad too.”

She gave him a flat look. “Did you just say I dress poorly in a roundabout way?”

His jaw dropped. “That is not what I said.”

A smirk tugged at her lips. “Mmhmm.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you just let me do something nice without fighting me on it?”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“Great,” he said, already dialing a number. “We leave in an hour.”

----

The last thing she expected when he said they were going shopping was to find herself standing inside a Prada store. She had anticipated something fancy, sure, but Prada? This was a whole different level. She was almost afraid to breathe too hard, worried she’d somehow stain or break something just by existing.

A perfectly dressed clerk approached them, and the moment the woman’s eyes landed on Bucky, her posture shifted: poised, interested, appreciative. She on the other hand, might as well have been invisible.

“What can I do for you?” the clerk asked, with a voice all smooth with professionalism and something more.

Bucky barely glanced at her. “We need a cocktail dress for her and a suit for me.”

Immediately, the woman waved over a co-worker, passing her off while keeping Bucky’s attention firmly on herself.

“Were you looking for something specific?” the second clerk asked her while signaling her to follow.

“Uh, yeah. I was thinking an empire dress with a V neckline.”

“Let me show you what we have.”

----

After trying on two options that didn’t feel quite right, she slipped into the third dress. The fabric hugged her in all the right places, elegant but not over-the-top, and when she pulled the curtain open, she froze.

Bucky was standing there, dressed in a black suit so well-fitted it might as well have been tailored for him on the spot. His ivory dress shirt contrasted against his sharp features, and there was something about the way he wore the suit -confident and powerful- that made her stare.

What she didn’t realize was that he was staring right back, caught off guard as he discreetly bit at his bottom lip.

“Guess that’s the dress,” he said, his voice just a little rough.

“You think so?” She did a slow spin, letting the fabric swirl around her.

“Definitely.” He managed to say.

She grinned. “Guess that’s the suit?”

He didn’t say anything, just gave her a pleased half-smile that sent warmth curling into her chest.

After purchasing the medium heels and the purse that she tried hard not to think about the cost of, they had lunch at an upscale restaurant.

----

By the time they reached the hotel, she was still reeling a little from the whole shopping trip. The Prada bags felt almost radioactive in her hands, she could barely process the fact that she now owned something so expensive, let alone the fact that Bucky had made the entire thing seem as casual as buying a cup of coffee.

As they approached the front desk, the receptionist greeted them with a polite smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes. We have the second room available now if the lady would like to move in.”

Before Bucky could respond, she beat him to it. “Good. Can I take it now?”

“Of course, ma’am,” the receptionist said, eyes flickering to Bucky for a moment, then back to her. “I’ll send someone up to move your belongings.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” she replied quickly, trying to play it off with a small smile. “It’s just a small suitcase and is already upstairs.”

“Very well, ma’am. Please enjoy your stay,” the woman said, giving her the magnetic card.

As the elevator ascended, Bucky crossed his arms and shot her a dry look. "That was fast."

"Huh?" she blinked, shifting the shopping bags in her grip.

"You practically threw yourself over the door card." He chuckled, but there was something almost edgy beneath it.

"Well," she shrugged, "I was supposed to be there from the start, Bucky. Now you won’t have to miss my… how do you call it? Clucking?" She winked.

Bucky scoffed, but his jaw worked like he was trying to stop himself from saying something. And maybe he was. Because the truth was, he would miss it.

He had no business getting used to her presence, to the way she looked after him. But those few hours they’d shared in the same bed? Dreamless. The first time in a long time his mind had given him peace. And now, standing here, the thought of losing that -even just the simple comfort of her being near- felt… wrong.

He glanced at her and found her watching him with an amused tilt of her head. He swallowed down whatever mess of thoughts he was having and shrugged instead. "I’ll survive."

----

The message came through: "Ready?"

She took a breath, smoothing her hands down the dress that still didn’t feel entirely real. "Yeah, coming out now."

Stepping into the hallway, she turned and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Bucky stood there, waiting, a few doors down. The same suit from earlier, yes, but now fully put together. His hair was neatly combed back, his scruff freshly trimmed, and the addition of a sleek watch and cufflinks only added to the devastating effect. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a high-end catalog, the kind of man people turned to look at the moment he entered a room.

Her pulse stuttered.

He caught her staring, but he didn’t call her out for it, probably because he was doing the exact same thing.

She looked stunning. That dress had already been perfect in the store, but now, with her makeup done, her hair styled just so, and the soft glow of the hotel lighting catching on her skin? He was fucking dying to close the space between them, to inhale and find out which perfume she’d chosen tonight. Would it be the one he liked the most?

His eyes briefly dipped to her neckline before he could stop himself, and his traitorous cock twitched in interest. Damn it. He forced his gaze back up, schooling his face into something composed just as she started toward him.

"You look good, sweetheart," he managed to say.

She smirked, sliding her hand into the arm he offered. "You cleaned up good yourself, boss."

----

The ride in the limo was... interesting.

The board members who had come along were in high spirits, congratulating themselves and Bucky on the deal, clinking their glasses of expensive whiskey as they rehashed key moments from the negotiation.

And yet, somehow, she was left out of the conversation entirely.

Not just the business talk, that she understood. She wasn’t part of the board. But even the petty, circumstantial chatter, the kind of polite small talk that people filled silence with, never once included her. It was as if she were just there, a piece of decoration beside Bucky, an accessory rather than a person.

Of course, to them, that’s exactly what she was.

Just his secretary. The one everybody knew he was fucking.

Now, he’d simply taken it a step further and brought her to the cocktail party, dressed up in Prada and heels, just like a good mistress should be.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

He was fully engaged in conversation with the others, discussing projections, potential expansions, and other things that weren’t meant for her ears.

She knew this would happen. The moment he asked her to come, she’d known she’d feel out of place. And yet, some naïve part of her had thought -hoped- it wouldn’t be this bad.

She wasn’t sure why, but something about the way the man across from her kept glancing up from his phone, barely acknowledging her except for those quick, assessing looks, made her stomach turn. His fingers moved smoothly over the screen, typing something, then pausing -another glance, another smirk- before resuming.

She forced herself to sit still, to smooth her dress over her lap, to ignore the creeping feeling at the back of her mind that something about this moment would come back to haunt her.

----

As they stepped into the reception, they blended seamlessly into the elegant crowd. The board members exchanged greetings with familiar faces, shaking hands and making small talk. A few acquaintances took notice of her, flickering their gazes between her and Bucky before curiosity got the better of them.

“And who’s this lovely lady?” one of them asked with a polite smile.

Bucky barely hesitated. “My dutiful secretary.”

There was always a beat after that -just a split second of realization- before the inevitable, knowing oh followed.

If he noticed the shift in people’s expressions, he didn’t show it. Either he was oblivious to it or, more likely, he just didn’t care. He was too used to these circles, to their assumptions, to their judgments. But she felt it. Every curious glance, every subtle flick of the eyes that said, so, he finally brought her along.

At some point, he made a passing joke “Ten years dealing with me, just for that, someone should give her an award,” which earned a few chuckles from the men around him. She mustered a polite smile, but inside, she could already feel the exhaustion creeping in.

She needed a drink. Or a few.

Slipping away, she made her way toward the bar and ordered a Gancia cocktail, sitting in one of the fancy stools.

Meanwhile, Bucky was still deep in conversation when a firm hand landed on his shoulder. His brows furrowed immediately -he wasn’t fond of being touched- but as he turned, his irritation sharpened into something heavier.

His father.

George Barnes stood there, exuding effortless charm as always, but he knew better. He braced himself for whatever was coming.

“Good job, son.”

For a moment, it almost sounded… honest, proud. But then, just as predictably as the sun rising, he leaned in ever so slightly, voice lowering so only Bucky could hear the next part. “You managed not to ruin it.”

Bucky's jaw ticked. But he exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his expression neutral.

George straightened, turning back to the small group with a practiced smile. “Gentlemen, if you don’t oppose, I’d like to steal my son for a moment.” The group murmured their good-natured agreements, stepping aside as the older man clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder again, making his muscles coil with irritation.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky asked, words laced with aggression but softened enough to avoid drawing attention.

His father’s smile didn’t falter as he tilted his head slightly. "It's a corporate party. Why wouldn’t I be here?"

Bucky’s brow furrowed, and his tone grew colder. "Because it's three states away, and you have no business here."

George chuckled lightly, as if this conversation was little more than a minor inconvenience. "Oh, but you are wrong, I do have business here. I have shares in Prescot & Co. Surprised?"

"In the bare minimum," Bucky replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He took a flute of champagne from a passing waitress, keeping his expression carefully neutral, tightening his grip around the delicate glass as his eyes remained fixed on his father.

George’s lips quirked into something like a smirk, clearly unfazed by the tension. "I know I gave you the industrial input branch to play with, James. And you’ve been doing a decent job. But it’s never bad to be aware of what’s going on there."

Bucky’s gaze flickered momentarily to the crowd around them, trying to gauge how much of this was being overheard. He wasn’t sure if his father’s presence here was meant to make some kind of point or just another round of his usual subtle power moves. Either way, he hated the feeling that his every step was being watched and scrutinized.

"Well, I’m doing just fine without your input," Bucky said, taking a sip of his champagne, trying to sound controlled.

His father’s eyes never left him, and the faintest smirk played on his lips. "Hm, and speaking of knowing what’s going on the firm..." George drawled, glancing toward the bar where she sat. "When were you going to tell me about this?" he asked, with a casual tone but loaded with implication.

Bucky’s body went rigid at the mention of her. His eyes shot toward her, but he quickly masked the tension creeping through his body. "What is it to tell?" he shot back, trying to downplay the situation.

George sighed, like he was explaining something to a child. "Some little birds keep me informed about your affairs on the firm, son. And they’ve been signing songs about you two for years now." His gaze flickered over to her, still perched at the bar, before he looked back at his son with a smug expression.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He could feel the familiar sting of being patronized, and it fueled his growing irritation. He leaned in slightly, keeping his voice calm but laced with the growing sharpness of his frustration. "It’s all bullshit, Dad. Maybe you’ll need to pick better your little spies." He hated the insinuations, the familiar condescension that George always slipped into conversations like these. The man always had a way of making his son feel small, of making everything seem like some petty game.

George didn’t flinch. His smirk only deepened. “Oh, I know about your escapades, James. Those bimbos you dated, the ones you dared to bring home. That last one, Mandy, or Marney...” he waved a hand. “But always, always, the songs about you and that ‘secretary’ of yours remained.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but he fought to keep his composure. “Jesus, Dad. It’s my fucking secretary. At this level, it’s like having a work-wife. We never asked or told you anything about Esther in what, forty years working with her?” his voice was tight, defensive.

The old man quirked a brow, looking almost amused. “Exactly.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ve been fucking Esther on my desk for the last thirty of those forty years, and no one had said a word or suspected anything. Why? Because I have brains, son.” His expression hardened. “It seems I keep overestimating you, thinking you could mask an office affair as it should be.”

Bucky’s stomach twisted.

“You don’t know shit about me,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

His father smiled. “I know more than you think.”

Bucky let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Then you’d know that if we were a thing, I wouldn’t hide her,” he stated in a low but firm tone. “I’d parade her at every opportunity, make damn sure everyone knew she was mine.” His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, more like a warning. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise you one day.”

George scoffed. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d be the talk-”

Bucky cut him off with a sharp smile. “Your last name would be the talk. And that’s what concerns you, isn’t it, Father?” His voice was smooth, but there was steel beneath it. “But since you know me so well, you already know that I couldn’t care less about the tabloids, your social circle, and, lastly, your opinion on this matter.”

His father’s expression flickered, and something dark flashed in his eyes, but Bucky didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he drew on that well-practiced smile, the kind that could fool any onlooker into thinking this was just a polite conversation between father and son. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and strode into the crowd, leaving George standing alone in the wake of his words.

----

As she nursed her drink at the bar, she became aware of someone approaching. A tall man with a confident, almost cocky stance settled beside her.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, flagging down the bartender without even glancing at her.

She turned slightly, taking in the sharp suit, the perfectly styled blond hair, the smug air about him. John Walker. She recognized him from a few previous company functions, one of George Barnes’s people. He wasn’t part of Bucky’s branch of the company, but he had enough pull to be a nuisance when he wanted to be.

“Well, here I am,” she replied coolly, lifting her glass to her lips.

John smirked. “Must be nice. Traveling in style, all expenses paid…” His gaze flicked briefly to her dress, then the Prada bag she’d set down by her feet. “Guess it pays to be the boss’s favorite.”

Before she could respond, another voice cut in.

“There you are.”

Bucky.

His presence was commanding. He stepped between them, close enough that John had to shift back, barely masking his irritation. Bucky didn’t acknowledge him, his eyes were only on her.

“I need you to reschedule the Montgomery call for next week, now.” he said smoothly, the words rolling off his tongue easily. A perfect excuse, a simple reason to pull her away.

She blinked, catching on quickly. “Of course, boss.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Damn, Barnes. You really don’t let her out of your sight, huh?” He took a slow sip of his drink, then added, “You should loosen the leash a little.”

Bucky went still.

It was subtle, the tic on his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides but she could feel the shift in the air.

John had no idea how close he was to getting his teeth knocked in.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing a little smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. I was just thinking about tightening yours.” His voice was deceptively light, but there was no mistaking the threat beneath it.

John’s smirk faltered, but before he could respond, Bucky turned to her and offered his elbow. “Walk with me.”

She didn’t hesitate.

He barely spared Walker another glance as he guided her toward one of the balcony doors. The noise of the party dulled as they stepped outside, and the cool night air contrasted with the heat simmering beneath his skin.

"What did he tell you?" His voice was low and measured, but she knew better. He was seething.

She let out a small sigh. "Ah, just some silly banter we usually have," she tried to deflect, stepping closer to the railing.

Bucky stayed near, and his gaze flicked to hers. “Which consists of…?” he pressed, his voice quieter now but no less sharp.

She sighed, realizing there was no way he was going to let it go. “God, Bucky, it’s just stupid.”

“If it’s stupid, you can tell me.” He pushed.

She hesitated, but under the weight of his stare, she relented. “Some stupid thing about being the boss’s favorite.”

Bucky raked a hand through his hair, and the muscle in his jaw ticked again. "That fucking bastard," he muttered. He started to turn back toward the party, and she recognized the intent in his posture. He was going to find Walker and probably, without subtlety, give him a piece of his mind.

She reached out instinctively, wrapping her fingers around his inner elbow. "Don’t you dare cause a scene over some juvenile taunt."

"He disrespected you," Bucky bit out with restrained anger.

She exhaled, trying for humor. "Did he lie? Am I not your favorite employee?"

Bucky’s scowl deepened. “You know what he meant by that.”

She smiled a little. "I do. But I just don’t care, Bucky." Her fingers lightly curled against his arm. "I know who I am and the place I occupy. John Walker’s opinions are not relevant to me."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "The place you occupy?"

“Yes. As your secretary, as a friend.” She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the simplest truth. “You and I both know there’s nothing between us. It’s just so stupid. He’s seen the women you associate with; how could he even presume-”

Bucky’s chest did something stupid. He wasn’t sure what, only that it felt tight and hot and made him irrationally irritated. “What kind of women?”

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, come on, Bucky. The Vogue cover type.”

Bucky stared at her. “The Vogue cover type?” he echoed, like he was tasting the words and finding them bitter.

She let out a small laugh. “You know what I mean. The ones with the perfect hair, the designer wardrobes, the endless legs-” She gestured vaguely, like that explained everything. “The ones people expect a man like you to be with.”

Bucky scoffed. “A man like me?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re rich, successful, powerful, and on top of that, handsome. It’s not exactly shocking that you’d go for-”

Bucky let out a sharp breath. “For what?” he interrupted, voice edged with something dangerously close to frustration. “A goddamn mannequin?”

She blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Bucky, that’s the only kind of woman I’ve ever seen enter or exit your office in ten years. The only kind you arrange dates with. The only kind you send flowers to,” she pointed out, her tone laced with incredulity. “Did you never notice a pattern in your partners?”

He said nothing. Because she wasn’t wrong.

He couldn't deny it. Couldn’t, because that was the kind of woman that always approached him. The kind of woman that fit neatly into the world he operated in. The kind of woman he was expected to have perched on his arm. The kind of woman who made sense.

And the kind of woman who was so different from her.

Because he couldn’t dare to be with someone who even resembled her. To be what? A cheap replacement for the luscious body and sharp tongue he really wanted in his bed? No. That would’ve been pathetic. Even for him.

And maybe he was delusional, but he could’ve sworn there was something there, an edge in her voice when she spoke about his so-called type, as if she had already decided for the both of them that they could never be a thing.

And God, he was tired.

So tired of this stupid dance that had lasted years of what-ifs, blurred lines, untold truths, and all the office gossip that never seemed to die.

His patience snapped.

“What, do you think it’s so impossible for us to be something more?”

She froze, and her eyes widened with surprise. “Well, I never perceived anything resembling -um- interest from you,” she stammered.

Bucky let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Do you think I would let anyone touch me the way you do if I didn’t feel something?”

She went speechless for a second, parting her lips, scrambling for an answer. “Well, maybe-”

“No,” he cut her off, low and heated. “And you know it. Tell me one person you’ve seen me with who has that level of intimacy with me. One person who can approach me, who can touch me, who can nurse me like a fucking child and I let them.” His chest rose and fell with the force of his words, the frustration thick in every syllable. “You won’t find anyone.”

Because there was no one else. Only her.

Bucky moved in, crowding her against the cool balcony railing, his body was a wall of heat and tension. His hands weren’t on her -yet- but he was close enough that she could feel his breath, the scent of his cologne mixed with champagne, wrapping around her like a slow burn.

His voice was low, almost rough. “The question here is… do you feel anything else besides ‘friendly’ empathy when you touch me?” His blue eyes were searching, desperate for something he wasn’t sure she could give. “Have you ever wanted this to be something more?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

His jaw flexed, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides like he was barely holding himself back. “Am I the only one who thinks that- fuck.” His head dipped for half a second, as if frustrated with himself, before he looked at her again, with a dark, unreadable gaze. “The only one of us that feels like us could be a thing?”

His words were a shock to her system, leaving the air thick, charged between them. His hands found the railing on either side of her body, bracketing her in without touching her.

And she was also tired, so goddamn tired.

Tired of pretending.

Tired of thinking about what was proper.

Tired of believing she could be nothing more to him than his dutiful secretary.

Tired of swimming through dates and relationships that, even with effort, never felt fulfilling.

She looked up at him, the man she had spent endless hours working for, hours that seemed to pass in a blink. The man marked by scars, both physical and psychological. The ruthless wolf who ruled a company he never truly wanted, yet refused to let go of. The man who, in the deepest corner of his mind -even if he never admitted it- wanted to be seen by his father.

The man she had learned to read so many years ago, whose moods, silences, and tells she knew by heart.

The man she couldn’t stop caring for because no one else did. Not even himself.

The man she was in love with.

And she couldn’t deny him.

"You are not the only one who feels all of those things," she heard herself say, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

She averted her gaze quickly, suddenly aware of the distant noise of voices and clinking glasses behind them. But before she could step away, he leaned in, still caging her against the balcony railing.

Bucky turned his head slightly, scanning their surroundings. There was no one. And fuck if he cared if there was.

His intense gaze snapped back to hers. "Do you mean it?" His voice was low, almost rough. Then, after a beat, he exhaled sharply and took a fraction of a step back, and his hands ghosted over her arms as if forcing himself to give her space. "Aren’t you feeling pressured right now? By my position? By our… dynamic?"

She scoffed, shaking her head, "You know me well enough to know I don’t let myself be pressured. I think my first week under you made that clear."

A dry chuckle left his lips. "God. You dared to lecture me about not being a servant just for asking for a coffee."

Her lips parted in disbelief. "Oh, don’t you dare play the victim here," she shot back, jabbing a finger lightly against his chest. "You barked at me to walk eight blocks in those fucking heels just because you wanted that petroleum filth they called gourmet espresso. You had five excellent coffee shops between here and there, but no, you had to have that one, which charged you double for dirty water."

Bucky let out a low, amused hum, catching her hand before she could retreat. His grip was firm but soft, and his thumb glided absentmindedly over her knuckles. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

"I thought of firing you on the spot," he admitted, almost reflectively.

Her brows lifted. "Oh, how gracious of you not to."

His smirk deepened. And then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his other hand, tracing the curve of her cheekbone with the rough pad of his thumb.

"But then I realized," he murmured, tilting his head, "I got so fucking turned on when you didn’t cower and spoke your mind."

Her breath caught as his fingers slid back, cupping lightly the base of her neck.

"It’s so goddamn rare," he continued, dipping his voice into something huskier, "to find someone in these circles who actually says what they mean. Who doesn’t just… bend."

His grip tightened at the back of her head, and his fingers fisted in her hair, undoing part of her hairstyle as he tugged just enough to tilt her face up toward his. His pupils were blown wide, dark and consuming, the pale blue of his irises nearly swallowed by the heat behind them.

"But I'd be lying," he murmured, as his breath brushed against her lips, "if I said I haven’t thought about bending you in other… more pleasurable ways."

A tingle ran down her spine, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. The heat rushed to her face, completely unaccustomed to this side of him, this raw, unveiled hunger. The daily life they shared, the comfort they had built over years of working side by side, had nothing to do with the way he looked at her now.

Like a predator.

A handsome, fucked-up predator, ready to consume her whole.

And she was going to let him.

Far in the back of her mind, the worries of what this would mean, of the implications of crossing this line, of the scandal and gossip if anyone found them like this, all of it faded into irrelevance. The only thing that mattered was the way his fingers tightened in her hair, the way his body crowded hers against the railing, and the way his gaze locked her in place like she was something he had no intention of letting slip through his fingers.

She tried to feign a little nonchalance. "Is this your pickup line for fancy cocktail parties? Telling a lady you want to bend her?"

His low chuckle rumbled against her, his amusement laced with something far more dangerous. He didn’t pull away when she tried to call him out. No, he attacked.

"Oh, I think this lady enjoyed it very much," he murmured, brushing the shell of her ear with his lips, his voice thick with satisfaction. "The way she squirms under my gaze tells me everything I need to know."

The warmth of his breath made her shiver as his manicured stubble grazed her cheek, rough against the softness of her skin. Strands of his loosened hair tickled under her chin as he slowly turned his face, skimming his lips over hers, just the ghost of a touch, but it set her entire body on fire. Without thinking, she pressed the softest peck to the corner of his mouth.

And that was all it took.

He let go.

To hell with the party. To hell with his father, the endless charade of appearances, and whoever might walk through those balcony doors.

His other hand fisted the fabric at her lower back, yanking her against him as his lips crashed onto hers. It wasn’t gentle. It was a claim, deep, possessive, and unrelenting. His expensive suit wrinkled under her desperate grasp as her fingers clawed at his lapels.

Her purse tumbled from her shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when Bucky was pressing her against the railing, caging her in, one large hand tightening its grip on her hair to hold her exactly where he wanted.

He kissed her like he was trying to ruin her for anyone else. Like he was sealing something between them, something untold but inevitable. His tongue parted her lips and swallowed the soft gasp that escaped her own.

Her knees weakened, but he was there, securing his grip as if daring gravity to try and take her from him. A deep, satisfied groan vibrated against her mouth as she arched into him, digging her nails into his shoulders.

Without even thinking, he pressed a thick thigh between hers, forcing a sharp gasp from her lips.

Bucky felt it, her body’s reaction, the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers tightened their hold on him. His grip on her waist grew firmer, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress as if he wanted to imprint himself on her, to make sure she felt him everywhere.

"That’s it, doll," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, his lips barely leaving hers as he spoke. "I can feel how much you want this."

His thigh flexed, pressing up against her just right, and she bit down a whimper, tilting back her head against the railing. Bucky took advantage, latching his mouth onto her exposed throat, scraping over the delicate skin with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue.

Her hands fisted his suit, wrinkling the pristine fabric even further, but he couldn’t care less. Not when she was trembling against him, not when she was letting him take control, letting him push, pull, and claim in ways neither of them had dared to acknowledge before tonight.

His breath was uneven when he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his pupils blown wide, hunger and something far more dangerous swirling in that stormy blue. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he growled, his grip constricting on her waist as if he might just drag her away.

For a moment, she teetered on the edge of saying yes, of letting him whisk her away and finish what they started. But then reality seeped in: the clinking of glasses, the sound of conversation just beyond the balcony doors, the weight of eyes that could turn at any moment.

She swallowed hard, forcing her hands to press against his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt. “We… we can’t.”

“Like hell we don’t,” he countered, as he dragged his thigh between hers again. The friction made her bite her lip, shifting her hips instinctively toward him, betraying her resolve.

“Don’t be a brat,” she murmured. “You’re here to make connections, to pretend you give a damn about these people. Not to mention your father’s just waiting for you to slip.”

“I don’t give a fuck-”

“Bucky.” She exhaled, calming herself. “This is good for you. A couple of hours, and then we can go.”

His exhalation was sharp, and his grip faltered for just a second before his forehead came to rest against hers. He felt dejected. She let her fingers trail down his lapels, smoothing out the wrinkles she had put there.

“Honey,” she murmured, softer now, “I want this as much as you do.”

His lips parted, ready to argue, but she pressed a finger to them, shaking her head. “No. You told me you wanted me on this trip as a buffer, to help figure out who you can be a dick to and who you can’t.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Maybe I just wanted you close.”

Her heart stuttered, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. Instead, she dragged her hands down his arms, squeezing his wrists before stepping back just enough to force some distance. “Shush. I’m doing what I’m supposed to.” She smirked, playful now, tilting her head. “Don’t be stubborn. Be a good boy and talk to those people. We have plenty of time for ourselves once this ends.”

His nostrils flared, and for a second, she thought he might argue. But then, with one last lingering touch along her waist, he huffed a quiet curse and pulled away.

She was right. He knew she was right. But seeing her all disheveled against the railing, lips swollen from his kisses, breath coming in uneven little gasps, none of it helped his restraint.

Which was exactly why, instead of stepping back into the party like a man with self-control, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward a darker corner of the balcony.

“Bucky! What-”

She barely had time to protest before her back met the cool stone wall, and his body caged hers in, shielding her from view.

“I’m being a good boy,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with amusement. “You failed to perceive how you -and probably I- look right now.” His fingers brushed the curve of her cheek, tilting her chin up, and his eyes swept over her face and down her neck, to where her dress was slightly askew from his hands. “We can’t walk back in there looking like two horny teenagers who made out while the adults were talking,” he said, ghosting his lips over her temple, in a teasing but firm tone.

She swallowed, barely suppressing a shiver as his hands roamed her body, smoothing over the wrinkles in her dress and fixing his own tie with a frustrated sigh.

“And whose fault is that?” she muttered, smoothing out the lapels of his suit jacket before reaching lower to straighten the part of his shirt that had somehow come untucked during their little ordeal.

Bucky chuckled, watching her fuss over him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you dare throw this on me when we both know you were pretty damn excited a minute ago,” he teased.

Her hands stilled, lips parting in protest, only to be cut off by a sharp gasp as one of his hands abandoned its pretense of decorum and slid down to cup her ass, squeezing with deliberate firmness.

She yelped, smacking his chest, but his smirk only widened.

“Now stop being so bossy and help us look mildly demure,” he murmured, all mock innocence, though the way his hand rubbed slowly at her rear said otherwise.

She huffed, rolling her eyes as she batted his hand away, not that it did much, considering he was still crowding her against the wall like he had every intention of misbehaving again, and his scent clung to her like a second skin.

“Demure? After what you just pulled?” she scoffed, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles on her dress. “The nerve you have,” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair, trying futilely to regain some composure.

Bucky chuckled, slow and smug, brushing a thumb across his lower lip as he watched her. “And yet, you let me and enjoyed it. And… you’re still here,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

She exhaled, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “For now.”

His eyes darkened, and his amusement flickered into something deeper as he leaned in, fanning his warm breath against her temple. “For good.”

Taglist: @civilbucky

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune

[kenyummy]

✰ 01. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 01. sparkless life.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: guys i couldnt resist posting criesssss . also master is used as a gender neutral term!!!! couldn't be bothered to put master/mistress every time so

prev. ✰ masterlist. ✰ next.

When you wake up, your eyes are permeated by a hard light. Your eyes are squinted hard and you're having a difficult time getting your eyes to focus.

Your brain is fuzzy and feels like melted candy in your head. What was going on, again...? This bed... it's really comfy. It's like laying on a bed made of clouds, fairy dust, and your hopes and dreams.

(Nothing like your lumpy mattress back home... May told you it built character.)

You reach your hand up, to try and block out the harsh glare directed right into your retina. It dims in a second, and for a moment—you think you've finally developed mutant powers of telekinesis. You sit up—only to discover you were not actually the one who turned off said lights.

"Apologies, Master [name]." An older man with a distinct British accent stands in the door—a few feet away from the bed you're resting on. "I did not realise you had awoken already. I would've turned down the lights, if I was aware."

You blink, surveying the room around you. It's big. Unfamiliar, as well. Modern. Really big. Wait, did he just call you—

"Master [name]?" Your mouth moves faster than your mind, and your brows furrow deep. "What... where am I?"

The older man looks genuinely puzzled at how defensive your stance is. "Oh dear. Perhaps you did end up getting lead poisoning. Or a concussion. ... No matter. This recent amnesia is common within traumatic injuries."

He clears his throat with strict elegance and straightens his posture, "[name]. I believe you were attacked in an alleyway, when your brother found you. You were in the hospital for a few days, and brought back here—back home—this morning. You're currently in one of your father's guest rooms. The doctors said you were healing miraculously fast."

You hiss lowly. You really hope they hadn't gotten a blood sample—you haven't had the best of experiences with people getting your blood.

"You seem to be alright now. A bit..." He looks at your exposed, scarred shoulders. "Scuffed up—but better than when Master Jason had found you."

Your brother... Jason...? Who even...?

What's going on here?

Your heart seems to skip a beat as the calculations start going off in your head. A world you had never heard of... a place you'd never seen before—perhaps you weren't on a different world, and like you had suspected... it was definetly some multiverse shenanigans again.

You knew you should've made Jess take that mission instead of you. Damn. You and your dumb rivalry with Doc.

But you couldn't understand why this random man knows you. He speaks as if you've lived a life with him—like he's known you since...

You chew down on your bottom lip. "... This is... my home. I live here, don't I...?"

You play with words cautiously, speaking slow and methodical. It only serves to confuse the man even further.

"Yes, you... do? Master [name], perhaps you should go back to the hospital. You're sounding rather frazzled—"

You almost jump up, out of the sheets, "Uh—no! I... I'm fine. My head's just a bit... messed up right now. Sorry."

It's not—after that flashbang, you're feeling fine. Your shoulder only burns with a stretch whenever you put too much pressure on it—but you're completely okay otherwise. But you don't think you should let him know that just yet.

"If you insist, Master [name]." He bows his head. "Do you require any further assistance?"

You blink, considering your choices.

Eventually, you land on the safest option. Search your surroundings. Find out what's going on here before going all Spider-ham on them. For all you know—they're super skrulls waiting for the right moment to strike. You need to be smart about this.

"Yes... I would like to go to my room... could you... walk me there?" You don't meet his stern gaze. "I'm not sure I'm able to walk on my own two feet just yet. I'm sorry."

You don't see how his stare softens at your words. "Of course, Master [name]."

He walks over to the edge of the bed and steadies you with a hand on your shoulder as you shakily stumble out of the bed. It's bouncy enough to launch you forward slightly—and it takes every muscle in your body to stop your Spidey-instincts from taking over and jumping backwards.

He slips your arm within his and steadies you as you both slowly walk out of the large guest room. If this was a guest room—you wonder what your room looked like.

The hallways weren't anything to sneeze at, either. Decorated with contemporary art pieces—sleek and so shiny you could see your face in the tiles below your bare feet. You felt so out of place—the civilian clothes you sported since you got here still dressed your body, and it wasn't even close to fitting in.

As you stumble down the halls with a bit of overdramacy, a man suddenly appears from around a corner. Deep black hair and the brightest blue eyes you'd ever seen. His smile is wide and he waves enthusiastically, "Hey, Alfred! I got back from Blüdhaven after uh—I heard what happened."

"Hello, Master Dick. It's lovely to see you back home again." Alfred nods his head. The man in question—Dick, apparently, which makes the immature teen in you giggle—gives you a sorrowful expression.

But... doesn't say anything past that. He continues small talk with Alfred—and you're left propped up in the older man's arms with a lost expression.

Did he... just blow you off?

One—that was pretty rude. Two, did he not just say he came back after he heard what happened? Not to toot your own horn or anything—but you'd assume being shot kind of counts as a "what happened".

You press your lips firmly together. This was getting awkward for you, especially seeing how comfortable this huge Dick (yeah, you're taking it and running with it) seemed to be with leaving this sickly, wounded (maybe you're being a tad dramatic) person to stumble like a baby fawn, in silence.

Alfred, however—catches sight of your one-sided tension, and abruptly ends his conversation. "My apologies, Master Dick, but I must help [name] to their room. I would love to continue this conversation at a later date."

"Oh yeah, no sweat, Alfred." He gives the older man a gleeful thumbs up. Then, his eyes meet yours. "Get better soon, okay?"

You avert his stare and only nod in response. Well, at least he noticed you were there. You're still in mild shock, but you somehow manage to keep a pleasant expression. With one last small smile, Dick walks away—where, you don't really care about.

Alfred slowly helps you up a flight of stairs. He only breaks the silence after you find yourself standing in front of a room with a faded name on it. Your name. "... All these years, and only now, you've suddenly changed. I wonder..."

His words are cryptic, but his expression even more so. What was he talking about? "... Huh?"

A small smile fades on his face. "Ah... no. It's nothing. I was thinking out loud. Call me if you need anything else, Master [name]. I am at your service. And please... get better soon."

Somehow, it sounds nicer when he says it. You smile a little, and give him a nod.

"Thank you..." You test out his name on your tongue. It feels natural. "Alfred. I'll try my best."

He leaves with a curt nod and not another word. You finally slide the door open, and take a look around.

You step inside, and it's like you've entered a whole new world, again.

It's... small. Not by regular standards—it's almost double the size of your room at home—but compared to a guest bedroom in this overly massive home... it's rather small. Like a closet, more than a bedroom.

It's empty, too. Your room at home is decorated with posters and trinkets of your favourite shows, pictures of you with Harry and MJ (sometimes even the four), and memorable items you've collected with your friends and family over the years.

Memories. You had memories.

There is nothing here.

It's like you're standing in a blank slate—in a world where you are nothing and yet everything you've ever had. It sends a chill down your spine.

You walk barefoot across cold wood and take a seat on the bedsheets. Bare white with a childish print. Something a young child would use. It looks pretty scuffed up. Old. The mattress creaks under your weight and you wince.

There's a bookshelf just opposite to you. There's not much in it—in fact, it's smaller than small and is almost completely empty. There's nothing but school textbooks and thick novels. And...

It catches your eye almost immediately. A little pink slip in the midst of deep black and brown colours. You stand up—ignoring the creak that follows—and walk over to the shelf.

You slip the book out, and immediately take in its cover. Pink, and with your name in wonky cursive. It's rather dusty, as if it hadn't even been touched in years.

You flip open the cover. Big bubble letters spelling out My diary flash you and you quickly flip the page before the glitter sears into your eyelids.

The first entry is there. Exactly seven years and two months ago. It's nothing like those entries you've seen on those corny 2000's TV shows for tweens—nor is it like those aesthetic journaling girls on Pwinterest.

It's something, familiarly, you. A short clunk of text about your day, on days that had some sort of exciting event going on—something you'd undoubtedly do. It almost makes you grimace.

This whole multiverse thing might be worse than you thought.

Two days ago I moved into a new house. My mom said she couldn't take care of me anymore, and I had to live with my dad. I've never seen him until today, but he's really busy, so we don't talk much. Alfred is nice to me, and his cooking is really yummy.

There's a little sketch of a baked dinner—and despite your pre-tween art skills, it does seem rather tasty looking.

You flip the page. The next entry is a week after the last.

I still haven't talked with dad yet. But I did meet two new people. Alfred said that they're my new brothers. Mom never wanted any more babies, so I was very excited to meet them! Jason is fun to play with. He's really bad at hide and go seek, though—I always win! Dick is fun too, but he's busy a lot, like dad. But he always makes time for me and Jason. I really like it here.

There's a small picture of three stick people holding hands. One is significantly short than the other two—labelled with your name above. The one on the left to you is Jason, with black curls and a wide grin. The one on the right is labelled Dickie, much taller than the other two and with shaggy black hair.

The drawing is innocent. Cute. Wholesome, if you will. There's even heart stickers pasted (and peeling, by now) between each of your heads.

You flip the page with a small, fond smile. The next entry is three days after that one.

Dad played with me, Jason, and Dickie today. He was really bad at hide and go seek too—but Dad and Jason chased each other all around the house before I caught both of them. I was so happy I won today! Dad took us all out for dinner, even Alfred. Alfred said he only came because I always look very happy when we're together. The dinner was really yummy!!!!

The drawing underneath is a picture of what looked like a smaller version of you, standing triumphantly with a little tiara on your head.

You flip the page. This time—there's a significant gap between the dates. This was a whole 5 months after you last wrote in your diary.

I don't know where Jason is. Dad and Dickie look really sad. They've been really busy for a long time, and we don't play much anymore. The only times I see Dad is at dinner. But we don't talk. Sometimes he doesn't eat dinner, either. Alfred still puts my drawings on the fridge, and he says that Dad and Dickie are just sad now, and they'll be better soon. I miss Jason. I want him back home.

There's no silly-looking drawing to go underneath this entry. This Jason—apparently the man who saved you—seemed rather fun-loving, despite whatever happened to him. You wonder what it was.

You flip the page, again. This entry was 3 months after the last.

I miss Dad, and Dickie. Dickie told me he had to go away for a bit, because he has something important to do somewhere else. Dad is busy all the time. I haven't seen him in 4 days. I don't play with anyone but Alfred now, but he's not that fun to play with, because he's so serious all the time. Dad tells me to go on my iPad and not bother Alfred when I'm bored, but I miss them.

Next one is 2 days after.

I met a new boy today. Dad told me he's my new brother. I was pretty excited because he's my age. But he didn't want to talk to me. He said he was too caught up in important stuff, and that I should just come back later. But he looked real annoyed when saying it—so I didn't come back. He didn't say anything, so I don't think he cared.

A week later.

My dad is Batman, and my new brother is Robin. I'm freaking out. He never told me—I saw them sneaking out one day and I got really mad. Why didn't he tell me? Did Dickie and Jason know? Was I the only one who didn't? Tim got mad at me when I started yelling. I felt really sad so I hid in my room to get away from them. I've been here since. Alfred brought me dinner, but I'm not hungry.

So... this Batman who you saw before, is actually your dad? In this world, this is your father? You almost drop the diary in shock, but you can't tear your eyes away. You can't stop reading.

The next few entries don't catch your eye—it's all teen angst about how you're sick of how busy your dad is, how annoying Tim can be, how Dick won't even visit your room anymore—until something else catches your eye.

3 years later.

Jason is back. He's back home. I don't know why, but he's back. I was so excited to see him again—everyone else has become so busy and won't even talk to me. Nobody else has time for me, but Jason did. But he looked different. He's way older than me, now. He won't even look at me. I tried to hug him but he just put a mask on and walked away. Why is everyone doing this to me? What did I do? It's not fair.

Your writing grows into chicken scratch near the end—as if conveying your frustration. You skim through a few more entries. More teen angst. More about how you can't even hold a conversation with your siblings anymore.

Some were sweet, like how you met some people, unnamed, and treasured their friendship so deeply, but they were few and far between.

I met a girl today. She's my sister now. Her name is Cassandra, and she has very pretty eyes. I tried to talk to her, but dad got pretty mad at me because apparently she doesn't like to talk much. How was I supposed to know that? She didn't even look at me as dad pulled her away. Who even is she? Why does my dad like her better than me? Why does he like them all better than me? It's not fair.

You're bitter. You're upset, and so, so bitter. It's so abundantly clear that as time went on, you became progressively more and more spiteful. It was rather sad to watch.

This stupid little kid tried to kill me. Claimed I was unworthy. I couldn't give less of a shit what he thinks—but my family couldn't give less of a shit about me. They said he's troubled, that he needs patience.

The new few words were less than family friendly. Unkind? Definitely. Deserved? Possibly.

I can't believe this. I'm so sick of this. I want to get out. I can't take this anymore. Jason kills people now, but Bruce still loves him. Even Steph and Babs get more love from Bruce than me. They're not even in the family, but they're better. Because they're superheroes, they're better. Maybe I'll be a hero myself. Maybe then, they'll see me.

You flip the page. That's the last entry. The last page of the book—but behind it, there's a page made of sticky notes on the back cover. Your eyes widen in shock at what you see.

It's all...

"Spidey," you read out the name atop this pasted page in a low whisper.

Your fingertips trace over the detailed drawings. Your costume. Though not made of nanotech—the suit was intricately designed with spider patterns falling all around your arms and legs, with a large spider torso. It looked somewhat like Silk's suit.

Web shooters, with thorough calculations on how much you'd have to bulk up to swing without taking your arm off (which, by what you're reading, was humanly impossible for a regular you), and detailed explanations on what the web fluid was made out of.

More environmentally sustainable than your ones. You'd have to take these notes back home.

It wasn't like your family would go looking—you can't help but think, chewing on your cheek. This was incredible. You must've been a real genius to figure all this out.

Back home, you had Reed and Tony help you with all your spider stuff. Sure, you were the one who came up with all the base ideas and constructed it all yourself—but they helped out a lot with all the technicalities. But to come up with something like, from what you can tell, all on your own...

It was nothing short of incredible. And your family had no idea.

You snap the book shut, eyes narrowing down at the ground. Your Aunt May never would've treated you like this—and if you were correct, this other you must be with your aunt right now.

Good for them, you think. Maybe they'd be happier there, anyway.

A sudden knock at your door brings you out of your stupor. You slip the book away quickly as Alfred opens the door, bowing his head slightly. "Master [name], dinner is ready. If you're feeling better, please come down."

The prospect of a family dinner leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, especially after all you've read from this diary. No matter. You don't know how this you behaved before, but you have bigger issues to deal with than becoming a copy of this sad child.

But despite everything... Alfred really did seem to care for them—for you. You nod, smoothing out your cami. "Thanks. Let's go."

You and he both head down the stairs, and you finally come face to face with the family you've heard so much about.

They're all grinning from ear-to-ear, laughing about something that "happened on patrol" as you take a seat at the end of the table—beside a blonde girl who you think was called Stephanie—chewing on the food.

It was good. Really good. Almost as good as Aunt May's meatloaf. The thought makes you feel a little homesick, but you persevere. The hard glare given to you across the table by this small kid (definitely Damian) isn't helping, though.

Dick catches the look and follows his little brothers gaze to you. He doesn't say anything about it—only ruffles the boy's hair, chuckling, and asks why he seems so glum. The child hisses and starts trying to stab the man with a steak knife, to no avail—of course.

That was the last time you were even glanced at for the rest of the dinner. You almost can't believe it. How could somebody really fade into the background like that? How could such a family let it happen?

How could they be so ignorant? You lose your appetite soon enough, and stand up. The chatter dies down for a second. Stephanie—being the closest toward you, gives you an uncomfortable smile, "Are you not going to finish? You were out for a while... you need energy to get back up and do..."

Whatever it is you do at home, you guess that's probably what she was thinking. Who said you hadn't gotten a telepathic mutation?

She doesn't finish her sentence. You'd just met these people and already you were sick of this. Seriously, you don't think you could get any more uncomfortable if somebody strapped you to a chair and tossed you down a dark well.

You miss the most fantastic of fours you know. They'd never do this to you. Sue was far too sweet.

You shake your head, plate held tight in your hand. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. There's much more important things out there in Gotham, isn't there? Besides—I have more than enough time to heal. Not like I'm doing any hero stuff, huh?"

Your laugh lacks any kind of humour, and you walk out in your typical Spidey fashion. The chatter doesn't spike up for a good ten minutes until after you leave.

You meet Alfred in the kitchen, and he's doing countless dishes alone. There's a stack of plates almost as tall as he is. You roll up your sleeves.

He gives you a confused look. "Master [name]? I have told you before, you—"

"I don't care what you told me." You say, suddenly—but you backtrack when you realise how flat your tone was. Cheeks flushed, you correct yourself, "Ah—sorry. I meant... I don't care what you told me, because it doesn't matter if you don't want help... I'll offer it anyway, you know? I can't help it. It's how I am."

It's why I'm Spidey. Not because I have powers. Not because I'm good at swinging around. Not even because the costume is awesome.

It's because you can't help but help others. You have the power to do so—now it's your responsibility.

You take a sponge, and douse it in dishwashing liquid. You scrub down a porcelain plate beside Alfred in silence.

The pensive look on his face was now replaced by a small, fond smile.

we getting into the typical diary entry stuff okokokkkk but. love interests next chapter. smirks let me cook!!!@

taglist: @hello-bina @cosmosluckycharms @1abi @yhin-gg @insideoutjulie @bluepanda08 @omnivirgo @vanessa-boo @dind1n @welpthisisboring @lunaetiicsaystuff @marsmabe @atanukileaf @findingjaxx @4mrplumi

if you asked to be on the taglist but aren't there, your account couldn't be tagged for whatever reason. im not too sure how tumblr works, but if you manage to fix it, ask me again!!!

[chaoticwriting]

Fenton Crime Family

-Wayne Manor, Gotham-

Stephanie: So no one is gonna ask why Cass has been out so much lately? Alone too.

Duke: Didn't she say she is going out to meet a friend?

Stephanie: Yeah, but no one knows where she goes. We don't know who she goes out with nor do we know where she goes.

Tim: Just say that you are jealous that Cass is going out without you. No will make fun of you.

Jason & Duke: That's a lie.

Tim: Yeah, that's a lie. I would totally make fun of you.

Stephanie: Shut up nerd. Don't pretend you are not jealous when Bernard or Conner says that they are hanging out with someone else.

Tim: Woah there. Jason is the nerd one. If you want to insult me, at least use the correct one.

Jason: I want to be mad but you're not wrong.

Damian: Tt, why should we bother who Cain goes out with? It is her choice who she wishes to be her companion.

Stephanie: But aren't you curious even a little bit? Who is the person? Where do they go? Are they friends or something more? There are so many questions and yet so little answer.

Bruce: We should give Cass some room for herself. Letting her form a relationship outside of this household is also good.

Everyone: *Stares at Bruce*

Jason: I think the old man is being mind controlled. Let me punch him to wake him up.

Dick: Are you sick, B? Do you want to go to Dr. Leslie? I can take over your patrol tonight if you are not feeling well.

Damian: I also agree with Todd. Father might be compromised right now. Let's take him down.

Tim: Wait wait. Do you have anything to say before we jump you Bruce?

Bruce: *Grunts* I went to meet the therapist that Jason recommended to me. Dr. Fenton says that I should give my children room to grow independently so that I can take the first step in treating my paranoia.

Jason: *Gasp* You actually went to meet the therapist. Fuck.

Stephanie: He he he, where is my 50 bucks? I told you he would go if you recommend it.

Jason: *Grumble while handing out 50 bucks*

Duke: So that's where you are going. I thought you were going on a date.

Bruce: I am too old for dating anymore.

Dick: Yeah, right. Tell that to me when you go meet Selina later tonight.

Bruce: *Grunts*

Alfred: *Walks in* I am here to inform that Miss Cassandra has returned.

Dick: She's not gonna eat lunch?

Alfred: Miss Cassandra has informed me that she has eaten outside with her friend.

Jason: Did you see who her friend is? Is it a boy or a girl? Please tell me it's a boy.

Alfred: I'm afraid I cannot tell you anything as per my agreement with Miss Cassandra. What I can tell you though is that she is very happy to meet her friend. I suggest all of you don't disturb her happiness.

Stephanie: What? Boooo. I want answers. Timothy I choose you. Go find the answer using your stalker skills.

Tim: I would rather not anger her after what she did last time. All of my coffee mugs are still stuck on the table.

Duke: *Scoffs* You would probably go behind her back to find this friend anyway. You're just saying it in case Cass heard us.

Tim: I shall not confirm nor deny the accusation.

-Upstairs-

Cass lays on her bed after changing her clothes. It's been so long since she saw Danny. If not for the coincidental encounter at the stores, she wouldn't have known that Danny is in Gotham. After the first encounter, they exchanged phone numbers and talks and even met up often. Today is their first official date as a girlfriend/boyfriend.

Cass takes her phone to text Danny that she has reached home safely when she suddenly remembers something. She opens her gallery and puts the photos of her and Danny in a secure secret folder so that no one can find it.

While doing that, a text comes through.

Danny 💕💓💕

Danny: Hey Cass, are you home yet?

Cass: Yes. I just got home.

Danny: Thanks for the date today

Cass: 💖💖

Cass: Are you home yet?

Danny: Almost

Danny: Sorry gotta go. My sister is calling.

Cass: Get home fast. Love you 😘

Danny: I love you too 💖

Cass puts the phone on the bed and closes her eyes. Soon, she falls asleep and dreams of living in a large house with a lot of children running around.

-The Bowery, Gotham-

A young skinny man with black hair and blue eyes is walking down the quite alley slowly. He looks around him as the people of the Bowery look almost respectful but certainly fearful to him.

He sighs and leaves the sprawled bodies on the ground. They wouldn't die. He makes sure of that. A huge man comes within his proximity when suddenly the man bows down to him.

????: We are sorry, sir. These people are a new gang in the rise from the east. We get the news too late to send people to dispose of them.

Danny: Chill out, Jeff. Just take them to Dani and let her handle it. Also, tell her to return before dinner or else Jazz will come for her.

Jeff: Yes, sir.

The man along with a few of his henchmen pick the bodies and move them to somewhere else. To be honest, Jazz and Danny still don't know how to feel that their little sister is officially a crime lord.

All of them moved last month since Jazz gets her job at Arkham Asylum and Danny gets his internship at Wayne Enterprise. Dani tags along since she has explored all the places she wants to visit and she doesn't know what else to do.

Well that also didn't last long, as the first day they arrived at Gotham, Dani goes to beat up all the gang and goons in The Bowery and round them up into one single group. It's certainly easier that all the rouges are in Arkham right now.

One time the Falcon crime family tried to threaten Dani by taking Danny and Jazz hostage. In the end, Falcon and other crime families agree to stay out of The Bowery after Danny freezes all of their building and Dani strikes them with lightning multiple times.

Danny arrives home and sits on the couch. He scrolls Twitter while waiting for his sisters to return when the news catches his eyes.

Breakout at Arkham Asylum

All the people of Gotham are suggested to stay inside tonight.

Danny looks at the news with concern. Usually a breakout at Arkham happens a lot later in the day. He stands up, picks a leather jacket and a mask and then transforms into Phantom. He wears the mask and the jacket and flies towards Arkham Asylum to check out what happened. Today is Saturday so Jazz isn't working so he doesn't worry that much about Jazz.

On his way to Arkham, he encounters some rouge like The Riddler and Scarecrow. He knocks them out and hangs them on a poll and continues flying towards it. He's not a hero anymore but if the rogues are to enter and cause havoc in The Bowery, neither him, Jazz nor Ellie will be happy.

Suddenly, he sees a clown car speeding through the road at a very fast speed. Danny looks at it and sees the Joker along with his few goons are making a getaway while being chased down by a few cop cars. Danny flies down towards the clown car, and slowly unscrews the tyres of the car.

Danny flies back a little bit to the back and the clown car starts to wiggle and waggle and suddenly all of the tyres come off the car. Danny can hear the clown cursing heavily until finally they crash into a poll.He flies back down and just to make sure he is permanently down or at least down for some time, snap his back bone to incapacitate him.

Danny, still invisible, flies back up and continues on his way to Arkham. He meets a few more escapees like Mr. Freeze, Firefly and Killer Croc. Except for Killer Croc, all the other rouges are beaten up and sent back to Arkham. Killer Croc or Waylon is not thinking of causing trouble. He just wants to return to the sewer cause it is his home. Danny plans to maybe offer Waylon employment in their gang if he feels like Waylon is stable enough to work. Meanwhile, he will go around the city and beat up rogues that he is pretty sure is not going out to have a tea party.

When Danny lands on the roof, he opens his phone to see Cass is warning him to stay at home and not go outside. He smiles wryly since he is already outside and is beating up the rouges. Danny replies with a thumbs up and is about to continue flying when a shadow jumps out from behind him.

Danny: Uh, hello? How are you?

???: *Stares*

Danny: I'm no trouble. Just on the lookout just in case there is a rouge nearby. I see some guy beat up Scarecrow and The Riddler on my way here. They are not so scary when they don't have anything to use you know.

???: Where?

Danny: Errr, I think it is right over there. I was coming from that direction so you would probably see them if you go this way.

???: Thank you.

The shadow then vanishes and Danny is left standing there. The shadow really reminded him of Cass for some reason. Looking up online, apparently that one is called Black Bat.

Danny: Huh, they are out early today then. I guess they can work during the day.

Danny then turns invisible and returns back to the Bowery because most of the notorious rogues have been captured and Danny isn't worried about the rest.

Part 2

[intoxicated-chan]

angsty fight between miguel and wife!reader

and then they make up yayayayay

Give Me Reasons We Should Be Complete

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Miguel has been pushing you away for some time now. After a talk with a friend, you and Miguel try to sort things out.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “DANCING IN THE DARK” by Joji. Writing this made me think back on past crushes/lovers. But thank you for your request! I am also holding back on writing smut because it keeps getting labeled and it takes me longer to write.

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1.4k

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, angst-to-fluff, swearing, Miguel is kinda a dick head, mentions of sleep deprivation…

Want more Miguel content? Check out my MASTERLIST!

You stood in his cold and dark office. The best source of light was his laptop but his huge frame blocked most of the light. You managed around the crumbled paper and thrown desk objects with a plate in hand.

“Miguel?” You peer over his shoulder, “I made you dinner.”

He nods.

“You know you haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

He nods again.

“And you know that you’ve been here for a long time. I think it’s best for you to-”

“Take a break?” Miguel interrupts you, “I don’t have time for that.”

“Miguel, I’m sure whatever it is, it can wait a few minutes. All I’m asking is for you to eat something.” You try to set the plate down.

“I thought I made it clear that I do not want to be bothered. You’re distracting me. Leave.”

He didn’t mean it like that… He didn’t mean it like that. He didn’t mean it like that. He didn’t mean it like that…

“But Mig-”

“I said go.” He growls, his eyes turning its blood red from anger, “You’re becoming a nuisance.”

He didn’t mean it like that.

“Okay.” You tried not to let the crack in your voice show. You didn’t even bother to leave the plate behind because you knew it was going to be wasted.

“And don’t bother me again.” You heard him say as you left his office.

You took deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down before you burst into tears. But your hands shook, nearly dropping the plate.

You choked down your sobs and let your tears fall, the plate was left in the fridge, and you pushed yourself to your bedroom. It was basically yours now since Miguel was sleeping in his office.

The sheets no longer lingered on his cologne and any sign of his presence was gone, other than his clothing and a few photos. The room has become a mess of discarded clothing, old plates and cups, and candy wrappers.

How long has it been since Miguel showed affection? Or even looked at you?

This was normal behavior for Miguel, right? You should know, you’re married to him. You’re his wife. But he experienced loss, unlike you. You didn’t want to judge him for how he deals with his emotions, he’s emotionally distant. You knew that from the start.

And because of this, you felt like he deserved more than what you could give him. It’s what kept you going through the many times Miguel tore your heart, how it squeezed in pain at his actions and words. How you look the other way and ignore his hurtful words.

You couldn’t sleep. You left the still cold bed and dressed in something warm and headed up to the roof.

You sat on the edge, looking at Nueva York. How beautiful it looked during the night, which is one of the reasons why you liked sitting up here.

“Sitting all by yourself?” You tense up only to relax when you know that voice, “At this time? All alone?” Peter B. lands next to you, his daughter in his arms.

“I would ask my husband to join me but he’s too busy.” You respond truthfully.

“Again? He’s been at this all week.” He sits next to you.

“Yeah.” You huff.

“And… how are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really? Because it doesn’t look like it.” He offers Mayday who reaches out to you.

You take her and set her down on your lap, “I just don’t know what to do, everything I do seems to bother Miguel. Checking up on him, bringing him food. It feels like he’s doing this on purpose.”

“Miguel’s always been difficult and from the time I spent with him… He’s different, not like the rest of us. He’s accepted his fate as Spider-Man and believes he’s destined for bad things 24/7. But good things do come along, like you. I think… I think he’s trying to come to terms that he can get it because he deserves it.”

Mayday coos, pulling at your hair, “And I think Miguel is scared. He puts on his tough act because he has to, yet he’s afraid to admit he’s scared. Normally, people would’ve given up on him. Why haven’t you?

“Till death do us part. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t give up on him because when you love someone, you love them every single day as who they are.”

“Talk about romantic.”

“Oh please.” You look down at Mayday, “Plus I think-”

“There you are.” You jump and this time, you remain tense, “I was looking for you.”

“Now you’re looking for me?” You respond, refusing to turn your head.

“It’s late, (Y/n). It’s dangerous.”

“I’m here, she’s alright.” Mayday jumps into her father’s arms.

“I’ve already had enough of you. Please, (Y/n).”

“It’s fine.” You tell him, following Miguel inside.

You head to the bedroom, “Where are you going?”

“Bed.”

“(Y/n)-”

“I’m tired and I do not want to be bothered. That includes you too, Miguel.”

“Excuse me?” He follows you into the bedroom.

“You heard me.”

“Please, (Y/n), talk to me.” Miguel begs.

“I’m sorry, did you just say talk? Like I have been trying to do for the past week?”

“(Y/n)-”

“You know what? No, no. You do not get to try to get me to talk after all of this. I have been trying, I have been all in. All I asked of you was to look after yourself.”

“I know.”

“You know? You KNOW?” You scoff rather loudly, “Did you know that Lyla has even talked to me about your behavior? I’m worried about you Miguel. All the damn time, even more when I see you not eating and staying up all night. All I ask is one minute, one bite of the damn food.”

“I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Is sorry all you have to say? Not even a half assed excuse?” You see Miguel trying to form a sentence but nothing leaves his left and his head hangs low, “I need to be alone.”

You walk past him but he grabs your arm, “Please don’t leave.” He says, “Please don’t walk out that door.”

“I’m sleeping on the couch, you could have the bed.” You look up at him.

“I love you, (Y/n). I know I don’t say it as much but I fucking love you. He’s right, you know. I am scared. Scared of everything. Because at first, I didn’t think I could have that, have you. You let me hurt you and that is unforgivable.”

He’s crying. Looking right at you, letting himself be bare right in front of you. His grip on your arm loosens and his hands come up to your face, cupping your cheeks. You could hear his staggered breathing, trying to keep himself composed.

“But I wasn’t lying when I said I love you, I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted a family, and I wasn’t lying when I said that you make me believe in love.”

“I’m always here for you, Miguel. You don’t have to go through things alone, but when you want to, I’m here.” You take one of his hands into yours, pulling it away from your face but keeping a tight hold on it.

“It’s not that easy. I hurt you, I understand why you don’t want to.”

“I love you, Miguel. We’ll work on this. I promise you.” After a moment, Miguel practically tackles you, nearly falling to the ground. The hug is tight and warm, and you could feel your shirt become wet with Miguel’s tears.

“You’re okay, right?” His voice cracks as he speaks through his sobs, “Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I promise you, I am okay.” You whisper.

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“You can start by getting some rest. But you’ve got a lot of apologies O’Hara.”

You don’t know how long you and Miguel stayed like this, nor did you care. All you cared about was Miguel and he felt complete at last.

© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform with permission.

[fluffylino]

minho is felix's bestfriend and also happens to be your sworn enemy. he comes over one evening.

whats the worst that could happen...

-contains mature themes

frustration.

pure frustration was what you were feeling. was it really this difficult to operate a toy?!

a damn vibrator that too. a simple little vibrator. internally embarassed by your lack of 'skills' in using it.

maybe you were pressing down on the wrong setting. cause everytime it reached the highest vibrations, it would go back to the lowest setting, a few seconds after.

you didn't even feel like continuing because of how pissed of you were. what a bad way to ruin your fun.

it had been month since you last felt like you should treat yourself. get yourself off to be very specific.

and when you decide to finally try out your very first vibrator, the universe decides its not your day.

stepping out of the bathroom, still uncomfortable with the sensitivity between your legs. unintentionally edging yourself and eventually giving up entirely on trying to make yourself cum.

you blamed it on the vibrator. that darned cursed object.

flinging it on the bed in annoyance.

a small little sticky note is placed on the lamp on your bedside table. its from felix.

he had yelled goodbye while you were still showering (more like struggling). and you had yelled back, acknowledging him.

i'll be going out with chris for an hour or so. minho-hyung will be coming to our room in 20 minutes. im sowwy but he really needed a place to chill at...seungmin is studying and needs no disturbances....so i told minho he could stay in our room for a couple hours.

don't worry, bubssss i'll be back soon so things don't get awkward between yall!!!

MAYBE TRY AND GET ALONG?!

- lixie ☆

now this pisses you off even more. why the hell was everything going exactly the opposite of what you wanted.

lee minho was the last person you'd want in your shared dorm room. minho was literally gonna be coming here.

it had been almost 15 minutes since felix left. that means he'd be here anytime soon. before you even get the chance to hang your towel on the back of your chair, someone knocks on the door.

"fuckin minho of all people"

its real frustration at this point. nevertheless you open the door for him. taken aback by the attire he's in.

it was the very first time you'd ever seen him so...put together? dressed up?

what you meant was he was in semi formal attire ; a mixture of badboy or rather biker boy vibes.

"whats up with the outfit" you say, gesturing to him entirely. pointing out the leather jacket he had thrown on. it fitted him well. a bit too well.

the ripped jeans hugged his thighs. thick and muscular. a reminder that he works out and is a dancer.

"do i need a reason to wear what i feel like wearing?"

his cockiness has your fists itching to punch him straight in the nose. he huffs out a deep breath, walking right into the room. as if he owned the place. he had been here a number of times with felix. but it still pissed you off.

"fuck off" you mutter under your breath. closing the door and walking back to your bed.

that is until you see him plopping himself down on your bed. YOUR BED.

"what'd you say?" minho repeats. he has a few raspberries in his hand.

did he carry them all across campus..to eat them here ? you sometimes question his questionable habits and ways of thinking.

"don't feel like telling you" you cock back. placing your hands on your face and sighing.

were you that needy that for some reason his cologne made your breath fasten-

"what's gotten you so..." his voice trails off, beginning to question why you were so irritable. "...hot and bothered."

"i am not hot and bothered so kindly shut up"

you blurt out, blinking at him and thats when you realise.

where had you thrown the vibrator? did you put it back in your hiding spot or was it still in the bathroom...

"this says otherwise." and to your worst nightmare, minho is holding up the toy.

its like your blood runs cold. theres nothing you can say. or do. except go speechless and motionless.

"pretty cheap, don't you think?" observing it so casually. you feel yourself get wetter. his fingers catching it mindlessly.

"s-stop playing around with it" you stutter, suddenly feeling shyer than ever.

minho smirks and you unconciously press your thighs together.

"it doesn't work properly, does it."

switching it on. it buzzes loudly in the silence of the room. its vibrations are hardly anything.

you've had enough and you grab his wrist. pausing in shock when the buzzing becomes louder. you can feel it vibrating.

he presses down on it harder and it nearly vibrates out of his grip.

how had he managed to get it to its highest setting-

"did you cum? or are you just staining your panties right now as we speak." he snorts out, manspreading.

"cause this wasn't even switched on properly"

☆

you find yourself laying on your back. his hand slithered past the waistband of your pants. pressing it right over your cunt. teasingly moving the rounded tip up and down.

"needy pussy"

he's on top of you. smirking and observing every single change in your expressions.

"min-hho-" squirming under him. your hands flying down to weakly tug on his wrist. eyes struggling to stay focused.

"i must admit. hearing you say my name like that makes me want to see how you'll be if I fuck you"

sadistically keeping his pressure firm. nudging it under your panties.

"you're so much better like this, baby"

minho smirks. chuckling at the way you push yourself deeper into the bed. hips bucking upwards to escape his teasing. its cold when it comes in contact with your clit. the tips of his fingers rubbing into your folds everytime he played around with the toy.

"lee.minho a-ah" you writhe out, voice turning whiny. the familiar sensation builds up. except its more intense than ever.

he purposely turns the setting lower and you whimper in disappointment.

"maybe if i rub this..." pushing the vibrator all over your folds. a breathy gasp escaping his lips at how slicked up your cunt was.

"...or maybe if i touch this soaked cunt" dropping the vibrator and slipping his index finger through your slippery swollen lips.

"shit baby, did i get you this wet." and you know he's going to tease you for days if not months.

"you hate me, d-don't you" you whisper,shooting him a glare when he traces a digit over your clit.

eyes widening and breath quickening with how he maintains eye contact with you. bringing his head down to grunt in your ear. his fingers slapping your pussy meanly.

you whine, gripping his biceps. the leather jacket thrown on the edge of your bed.

"i hate you alright." he whispers, rubbing into your wetness slowly. minho chuckles. "filthy girl. you're throbbing on my fingers"

"i hate you so much that i jerk off to your pictures or that tone you use when you're pissed at me...i hate you to the point I cum so hard just picturing you taking my dick"

you can't control the fluttering feeling. coating his fingers even more so.

"i h-hate you more"

theres no heat in your words. gasping and legs quivering against his thicker thighs. keeping you open, unable to close your legs around his hand.

"hm, you do? tell me how much you hate me, kitten"

"i d-do...f-fuck" eyes rolling back in pleasure. desperately trying to chase your orgasm but he doesn't let you.

"yeah? you hate me so much that you're letting me touch you." minho says, voice going deeper. his ears are a shade of red and his lips parted.

"you're wet and begging for more under me. is that cause you hate me, sweetheart. or is that just you being you"

he quickens his pace. circling hard over your swollen and aching clit.

till you're throwing your hands around his neck. pulling him onto you entirely while you cum. its the hardest you've ever orgasmed.

maybe it was cause it had been so long...or you were sure it was because of him.

"there we go, good kitty" riding your high.

taking you by surprise when he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. so you push a few strands of hair out of his face. not letting go of him just yet.

"don't call me that" you whisper, struggling to hold in your smile. his lips curve upwards into a subtle smirk. kissing your neck slowly..

"but now that I know you're so pliant, i claim you as one of my cats"

your legs giving in when he gets up. wiping his coated fingers on his jeans. it leaves a wet stain.

"again as I said." you lift your head up, confused.

"this thing is useless!" grabbing the vibrator like he had personal beef with it. flinging it casually somewhere behind you.

"choose me. customize, personal talk, boyfriend material, protection...all in one package, baby"

pointing to himself.

he reaches over to the abandoned raspberries on the counter. walking back to stuff one small red berry in your mouth. smiling when you savour it.

"good kitty"

.

.

"is that minho hyung's jacket you're wearing?" felix' eyes widen. wondering why you were wearing the leather jacket.

"yeah and he told me i could wear it when i meet him for dinner tonight" you reply, lacing your boots up.

"YOU'RE HAVING DINNER WITH HIM?!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

I wanna be his dinner- GOD HE'S SO ARGHSBSJAKJW HAHAHAHIWHEHSHS

[spcherryygirl]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 !

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 !

j. todd x f!reader

𝒮ynopsis: jason todd is a yearner & a true lover boy. when he loves, he loves hard yet quietly. he doesn’t express his affection through grand gestures but through the little things▰remembering your favorite song lyrics, the exact shade of your favorite color, & writing love letters he’ll never send because he’s too shy.

even though he’s already in a relationship with you, he still feels the butterflies whenever you're around. during gotham’s chaotic nights, while patrolling the city, he finds himself missing your touch, longing for your presence. even in the middle of his hardest missions, his thoughts always drift back to you▰wondering what small gift he can bring home just to see you smile.

𝒲arnings : my 3 am writing, grammatical errors(?) separated povs of dear beloved jason & reader. backstory of mr. bugs bunny if u squint.

𝒩ote:

001: idea was from @/tiredtodd on tiktok!

002: I JAD TO REWRITE TGIS TWOBTIMES & TRIED SAVING IT INMY DRAFTS FOUR TIMES

003: ikindof hatetgis..

004: SAY MY MY NAME & EVERYTHING JUST STOPS.

005: thank u for 100 followers ongonfongong/srs/srs/srs/srs

gotham never sleeps.

nor does jason.

it’s been one of those nights▰the kind where criminals seem to crawl out of their skin to horrify citizens once more, where no matter how many heads he cracks, there’s always another fight waiting around the corner. his knuckles are sore beneath his gloves, guns being out of bullets, his ribs ache from a particularly nasty hit, & the sting of fresh cuts lingers across his skin.

still, none of that is what’s bothering him.

he sits on the ledge of a building, letting out a deep sigh, his view of the city blurred through smoky neon below. he should go back now, but he waits, holds his breath, looks down into the streets, limned in dim light, & stares & stares, & stares.

this weight in his chest is unfamiliar, yet so painfully recognizable.

he's always been the guy to carry his burdens alone, shouldering the consequences that comes with being red hood without complaint. but ever since you walked into his life▰sweet, soft, full of warmth in a way gotham could never be▰ things have changed.

his fingers twitch,& he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. he doesn't have to look. he knows.

a note.

one of several, in fact.

he writes them when the nights feel like they stretch into forever & when the silence weighs too much on his chest. little notes he can never possibly say to you. this note is no different. folded neatly, shoved between the worn pages of an old book carried around in the pocket▰words he'll never give to you, yet still can't let himself get rid of.

some people would throw anything they did that are considered embarrassing, but no, not jason.

"you looked cute today. i wanted to tell you, but i figured you already knew."

"i stole your lip gloss again. smells like blueberries. reminds me of you."

it's stupid, he tells himself. you're right there in his life. he sees you every day▰watches you hum to yourself while fixing your hair(sometimes he'd help by brushing your hair using his fingers), twirling a ribbon between your fingers(he'd also participate in this activity, claiming it to be “stupid” but won't refuse, not when you seem to enjoying yourself so much), picking out outfits with that soft, thoughtful expression he's come to love(you convinced him to match sanrio pjs once, he didn't rebuff the idea). you don't belong in the shadows like he does. you're all bows & butterflies, a contrast so complete it should have driven him away.

but it didn't.

it never could.

jason breathes, smoothing his hair with a gloved hand. he should go home. he should crawl into bed, let you fuss over his injuries, pretend he doesn't love the way your hands linger just a little longer when you patch him up.

instead, he finds himself moving▰leaping across rooftops, scanning the streets for something(other than crime). he's not even sure what he's looking for, only that the ache in his chest won't settle until he finds something to bring back to you.

it's a habit he's never acknowledged out loud.

some men bring their girls flowers. others bring chocolates, jewelry, grand gestures that scream their affections for the world to see.

jason todd?

he brings gotham to you.

not in the way it brings bloodshed and violence▰no, never that. but in the little things. trinkets he finds on his patrols, things that make him think of you. a pressed flower growing between the cracks of an old building. a charm bracelet abandoned in a crime scene alleyway.

once, he even found a small, tattered bunny plushie, barely holding together. he cleaned it up, stitched it as well as he could, & just put it on your dresser and left without saying anything.

you never asked him where it came from. you only smiled, kissed his cheek, & said, "he looks well-loved."

jason had to get out of the room after that.

tonight, he sees something that lines one of the fringes of crime alley▰a small street vendor selling handmade trinkets at barely subsistence living. most people don't even give him a glance anymore, being so wrapped up in their problems that they don't care.

there's a necklace resting among the clutter, the kind of thing he can imagine you wearing▰a small pendant in the shape of a crescent moon, subtle yet elegant. he doesn't think twice before pulling out a few crumpled bills(that is probably two times higher than it's price), handing them over without a word.

the vendor barely gets a chance to thank him before he's gone.

by the time he returns to your apartment it's late▰by two in the morning, or at least in gotham; all is quieter & yet not silently so. there is no point in knocking. he slips through the window, sliding in, again, moving silent as a phantom as he reaches the apartment's floor.

a view awaits to knock the air from his breath.

you sleep on the couch, all bundled up in that soft blanket. the tv hums away on the opposite side of the room, highlights light shadows on your face. on your lap lies a book open to one side, as though you had fallen asleep waiting for him to show up.

jason swallows, a warmth moving into his chest. his stomach▰no▰his entire soul feels warm.

he's gentle as he moves, settling beside you without waking you. his fingers brush against your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. you stir slightly at the touch, murmuring his name in your sleep, & he bites back a soft curse, heart aching at how easily you trust him.

how easily you love him.

he never deserved someone like you.

yet, here you are.

by his side, as you call his name every now & then.

his eyes fall to the small bag in his hands, the necklace still inside. for a moment, he hesitates, deciding whether to give it to you now or wait until morning.

in the end, he puts it on the coffee table, placing it beside your book where you'll see it first thing when you wake up. a small note beside it, written in his messy handwriting.

"saw this & thought of you. sleep well, sweetheart."

he doesn't sign it. he doesn't need to.

you'll know.

jason settles back, his own exhaustion finally gaining the upper hand. he needs to get up, shower, take care of the bruises he's been pretending aren't an issue. but as you turn in your sleep, reaching instinctively for him, curling up closer to his side with a soft little sigh.

yeah.

he can spend a little while like this.

the clock on the wall ticks.

it's late.

too late.

you change positions on the couch, adjusting your blanket over your shoulders & looking at the clock once again. jason would have been back by now. you know not to worry. he has lived through worse nights, fought against deadly criminals, walked away from things that would kill another man. yet still, a sense of anxiety clings to you, curling inside your stomach like a knot that feels like it's squeezing your insides.

with a sigh, you again let your eyes fall back to the book in your lap, fingers tracing the worn edges of the pages. it's one of jason's, a novel he left on the shelf ages ago & never reclaimed. you aren't even really reading at this point▰just skimming, letting the words blur together while your mind focuses somewhere else.

to him.

to the little things he does that he thinks you don't notice.

like how he keeps your hair ties even though he swears he doesn't.

or how he always makes sure there's an extra blanket on your side of the bed.

or▰your favorite▰how he writes things in his books.

you found it by accident, months ago. a dog-eared page in one of his old novels, words scrawled in the margins in his distinctive, messy handwriting. you thought at first it was just notes▰random thoughts about the plot, maybe something important he wanted to remember. basically him annotating.

but then you read it.

"she was humming today, while she made tea. low, silent. i believe that was that tune she is very much so partial to, that one she uses every time she is styling her hair. she did not appear to have been aware, but i did. i always am."

you had almost dropped the book, your heart flopping in your chest.

since then, you've turned it into a silly game. you pretend you don't notice the tiny notes he scatters around, but secretly, you live for when you stumble on them.

you know there is one in this book. you haven't discovered it yet, but just the idea of it makes you giddy, titter softly & warmth rising like a volcano about to erupt.

he doesn't even realize you know.

it's so jason▰loving quietly, loving deeply, but never really saying it outright. he'll not say one word on being away for that patrol but have you notice some folded paper with the message tucked into his jacket pocket while out doing laundry. he will never tell you, outright say it to your face that you're pretty, but he would watch you style your hair with gazes soft & lingering.

what is he writing tonight?

(something romantic, obviously.)

if he's sat atop some height of gotham, breathing between fights, scribbling thoughts of you into some old notebook while the city, loud.

"i miss her."

"i wish i could bring her here once to see this view."

"do you think she'd be angry with me for taking her lip gloss again? nah. worth the risk."

you are smiling at the thought, worrying in your ribs.

he'll be home soon. he always comes home.

the television, rapid of brightness, a bright glow over the room. your eyes begin to feel more heavy, the weariness of waiting finally settling into your bones. you tell yourself you'll stay awake, just a little longer. just until you hear the familiar creak of the window, the soft thud of his boots against the floor.

you never make it that far.

sleep pulls you down, the book slipping slightly in your lap, the soft sounds of the city fading into nothing.

you don't know how long you've been out when you feel it.

a shift in the air. the presence of someone near.

it doesn't surprise you▰not in the way that it should. instead, your body relaxes instinctively, as if it knows before your mind is quite awake.

a warmth beside you. a familiar scent. leather, gunpowder, the faintest trace of something you.

you stir, barely conscious, mumbling his name before you can stop yourself.

"jay..?"

a pause. a sharp inhale. then, a hand▰warm, calloused, careful▰brushing against your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

you sigh at the touch, sinking into it even as sleep tries to drag you back down.

there's such a long silence before he talks, his voice quieter than ever.

"yeah, sweetheart. it's me."

you want to wake up all the way now, want to sit up straight & fuss over him like you always do. ask if he's hurt; ask if he's eaten anything; ask if tonight was one of the bad ones. but this exhaustion is heavy, pulling you down like an anchor.

you are barely aware of the way he shifts beside you, settling, the weight of his presence grounding you even into sleep.

you hear nothing in the end except the soft sound of something landing on the table▰the clinking of metal and the faint scratch of paper across wood.

& jason's whisper, barely loud enough to hear.

"missed you."

the sunlight arrives▰uninvited▰through the curtains & warms your skin as you blink awake. the tv remains on, a late-night movie in reruns, hanging precariously in the corner of your head.

the book has shifted slightly, now perched on the edge of the couch.

oh, & your beloved jason is still here.

he's half-asleep beside you, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the other resting loosely against his stomach. he looks tired▰more than usual▰but there's a peace in his expression that makes your heart ache.

slowly, careful not to wake him, you stretch▰only to freeze when your eyes land on the coffee table.

a small bag. a delicate necklace, its crescent moon pendant catching the morning light.

& a note.

your breath catches as you reach for it, fingers ghosting over the familiar, messy handwriting. jason's messy handwriting.

"saw this & thought of you. sleep well, sweetheart."

a smile tugs at your lips, warmth once again spreading through your chest.

you glance at jason, still asleep, still him.

& then, giggling softly to yourself, you reach for the book in your lap, flipping through the pages.

there’s definitely another note hidden in here somewhere.

& you can’t wait to find it.

"she keeps looking at me like that. like i’m something worth holding onto."

"she touches me like i won’t shatter. like i won’t ruin everything the second she gets too close."

"i don’t know how to explain it. it’s in the way she speaks to me, the way she laughs, the way she reaches for my hand without thinking. she doesn’t hesitate. not with me. no one's ever done that before. no one except her."

"i think▰"

there’s a pause. the sentence breaks off, like he wasn’t sure he should continue. like the truth was something too heavy to write down.

& then, softer, almost like an afterthought:

"she's too good. too bright. too much like the kind of thing a man like me should never be allowed to have."

"but gods, i want to.”

if jason peter todd isn't a hopeless romantic, then what is he?

© minorlyatfault, 2025

[eyesonlybutterflies]

Fitting room adventures

𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵�� 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: Sunghoon x fem!reader

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 0.9k

𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: smut, unprotected sex, in a fitting room, rough!Sunghoon, little degrading, pet names (baby, love, etc.), lowkey exhibitionist!Sunghoon, almost getting caught, Sunghoon calling reader missus, chocking, oxygen restriction, lmk if I missed anything

18+ 𝓜𝓝𝓓𝓘!!!

𝓐/𝓝: I was actually planning on releasing a different oneshot (with Heeseung) but instead of it being another 1-2k word fic, ITS GETTING TO LIKE 5K so I'll have something delicious for you guys soon, but y'all just have to hold your tits for a little longer xoxo

𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

'I don't know, I might like it more in blue?' You sigh as you can't decide whether you want to buy the dress in white or blue. You and your boyfriend, Sunghoon, have been shopping for clothes for what feels like an eternity and you're starting to get tired of Sunghoon's uninterested demeanor.

Little did you know that Sunghoon's been fighting a boner since the first store. Seeing you try on all these different clothes, half naked, and sometimes even with your tits out, he's been really trying to focus on anything else as to not ruin this shopping date. He knows how much you love shopping with him.

'Baby,' He says. You hum in response, still contemplating which color to get., when you feel a stern grip on your wrist pulling you close. He grabs the back of your head to gently guide your ear next to his mouth, 'I'm so fucking horny if you don't hurry up I'm ripping that dress off of you and letting everyone here know how much of a useless slut you are.'

You were surprised by his words, but also turned on. You then notice his buldge and bite your lip, 'What if you fuck me right here.'

That was enough for Sunghoon.

He stands up and pushes your chest to the wall. A small thud is heard, but would probably go by unnoticed since it's a little busy in these fitting rooms. Finally a perfect place to fuck you. He unzips your dress, fingers lingering your skin to show you just how he has been feeling for the past few hours; hot, horny and not in the mood to be teased.

For this dress you had taken off your bra, so when the dress falls off your curves you're left in just your panties. Sunghoon grabs you by the waist and pushes you to his chest to massage your boobs. 'They must be so tired from all the changing today,' he whispers, almost cooing your breasts more than you.

'Hoon, please just fuck me.' 'Mmh, now you know my struggle,' he says with a dark expression. 'Baby, you should've told me, I'll fuck you everywhere.' He chuckles, 'A little too late for that now, love' He pushes you back into the wall and slaps your ass. 'Hoon!' You whisper-yell. All he does is smirk, he loves seeing the panic in your eyes.

He unbuckles his belt and drops his pants, not even bothering taking anything of properly. The same goes for you. He just slides your panties to the side, but that's enough for him to feel how wet you are for him, 'Aww, baby, secretly you're just as much of a filthy slut as I am, huh?' You bite your tongue to stop a moan from escaping your mouth.

'No response? I guess I'll just have to fuck a response out of you,' he says before lining himself up with your dripping cunt. He slides in slowly, not holding back on a groan. Sunghoon doesn't give a fuck if you two are caught, he just needs your pussy clenching around his cock like your life depends on it.

'H-Hoon... Please be quiet.' You lowly whine. You love taking risks with him, but in public you've always been more hesitant to try something. 'No can do, baby. Pussy's so good I just have to let everyone know.' 'No, please Hoonie.' 'You're right, sorry. Maybe I should just show them,' he says as he playfully turns around, with his cock still buried deep inside of you, to act as if he's going to open up the curtains.

However, as he is about to turn back around to give you some of the best dick you've ever had, there's a voice right on the other side of the curtains, 'Ma'am? Sir? Are you okay? Do you need help?' 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬

Horror clearly on your face, but Sunghoon handles it like a pro, 'No thank you, the missus is just debating on whether to get her dress in white or blue.' He send you a wink. 'Oh okay,' the employee says before her shoes dissapear from under the curtains.

'Oh baby, did you almost get us caught?' Sunghoon says teasingly as he resumes his thrusts deep inside of you. Your head is too clouded to form a coherent comeback at an appropriate volume. Sunghoon continues fucking you, soft slapping sounds from Sunghoon's balls hitting your heat emitting from the scene.

After a little while, his cock continuesly hits the gooey spot in your pussy and your head is thrown back. A hand is quickly placed on your newly exposed throat and starts squeezing the sides of it. You start to get lightheaded and your climax is coming sooner than you thought, 'Hoon! Shit-' 'Cum for me baby.'

Sunghoon keeps driving his dick deep into your tight pussy, chasing his own climax. Your cunt clutching to Sunghoon like you never want to let him go is the thing that sends you both over the edge. 'Fuck, Y/n, yes, god you feel so good,' he mumbles into your neck, doing his best to silence his own moans.

When a small whimper escapes your lips, Sunghoon is quick to put a hand on your mouth. By accident restricting your oxygen, which caused your orgasm to be even more intense. Sunghoon wouldn't be surprised if people could still hear it even with his hand covering most of the noise.

After you have both ridden out your highs, you quickly gather your stuff. You out of embarrasement, Sunghoon out of excitement of what is to follow at your appartment.

'So, which color is it gonna be?' He says with the widest mocking smile he can possibly give. 'Fuck you.' 'Don't worry, baby. I'll pick it right back up once we get home.'

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝! <𝟑

[tender-rosiey]

hiii 😭 I REALLY LOVE UR GOJO X YN SO MUCHHH 😔😔 I was also wondering like maybe what if y/n has a wound, like any where 🥲 it could be either on her back, arms, legs but she doesn't wanna tell gojo abt it and she hides it, then he will find out about it either she winces when gojo hugs her, starts wearing long sleeved clothes or her shirt lifts up while sleeping 🤧 TYSMM❤❤

strain — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: I am honored that you like my works, love! hope you enjoy this as well 🫶💕🫶 also happy birthday to the man, the myth, the legend: gojo satoru!! (it’s still his birthday in my country so hush I am not late)

you are more than a capable sorcerer. in fact, you are one of the strongest in the field.

however, like anyone else, there are some moments where things get a little out of hand, and you come back bearing a rather long slash on your left arm.

but since it’s pretty late, you decided you will bother shoko about it in the morning. that is how you’re finally in your home, with satoru nowhere to be found.

you frown lightly at the fact that he is still out there fighting curses, but a part of you feels relieved that you don’t have to explain your situation right now.

the night should pass by smoothly, and you will go to shoko tomorrow: a fool-proof plan!

so you do what you can to sanitize the wound, and cover it until you can get it treated properly. you also take the chance to indulge in your favorite snack as a good job treat.

after finishing your food and tidying up for the day, you’re finally in bed, all-cozied up and avoiding anything touching your wound as much as possible.

a deep breathe in, a deep breathe out, and you slowly drift to sleep.

not much time passes before satoru’s familiar footsteps echo throughout the house.

your husband has an abundance of energy.

but it seemed like today’s missions have drained him a bit more than normal, so he skips eating anything and heads straight to your shared bedroom.

his heart softens, and his muscles relax upon the sight of you tucked in bed. he walks to press a small kiss on your forehead, quickly changing into his pajamas and settling right by your side.

he stretches a bit and turns to spoon you as per usual, eyes closing in contentment.

but you wince, even if adeptly, and it sends alarms ringing through his head.

he jerks up, and his hand is instantly placed on your arm again, softly. there is an ever so faint change in your expression as your eyebrows furrow, and he has never pulled his hand away so fast.

he keeps debating in his head whether to wake you up or not, but he swiftly settles for the former.

he needs to know what happened. so he, regrettably, nudges your sleepy form, “y/n?”

you groan, but, nonetheless, you reply, “…what?”

while satoru often likes to base theatrics around his every move and phrase, but he also knows when to get straight to the point, “did you get hurt on today’s mission?”

you’re no longer half-asleep, and you quickly sit up, eyeing your husband. knowing there is no escape nor denial, you fidget with your fingers and nod slowly.

then you hurriedly utter, “but I was going to see shoko first thing in the morning; I promise!”

he nods slowly, holding your hands in his own. you’re left to look him in the eyes. satoru’s eyes being exposed makes him feel so vulnerable, or at least that’s how he is with you.

you can see every wrinkle, and every crease; you can see what he is thinking about in real time. he has long given up hiding anything from you, and, besides, it feels fresh to just let go.

but right now, as you look into his eyes, you see them swarming with confliction, pain, and worry.

he doesn’t scold you about not going right now because he knows that you will tell him that you either thought it wasn’t a big deal or that you didn’t want to bother shoko with it.

instead, he settles on a hushed whisper of “can I see it?”

you throw him a confused look, “why? I am getting it treated tomorrow anyway,” then you smile, “it’s not going to permanent if that’s what you’re worried about.”

he shakes his head, “it’s not that; I just—“ he takes a deep breath then looks at you pleadingly, “just let me see it.”

perhaps it’s to silence his thoughts and to show him that you’re truly okay, as okay as you can be.

you’re still alive, and that’s what matters, he thinks. nevertheless, he feels the need to see just how serious is the wound anyway.

reluctantly, you slowly take off your jacket to reveal the poorly bandaged gash on your arm.

he looks up at you, asking for permission because even if he needs to see it for his own selfish reasons, he has to put you above anything and everything else.

you nod, giving the free reign to slowly take off the bandages. you can barely hold back any pained noises, but you can’t help the wincing of your body.

satoru’s frown deepens, and with every move, your husband’s heart aches. it goes like that until the wound is finally unveiled.

you feel satoru observing the cut so intently that you look away. satoru curses everything that he can think of, and never has we wanted the ability to heal others more than right now.

he straightens his back, “that’s a deep cut, y’know.”

“I know…”

“you also realize that the wound could’ve hit your chest and inevitably heart, right?”

you huff, “listen, if you’re going to give me a lecture or keep making me feel bad about it then I will have you know—“

“you could’ve died.”

you notice the strain in his voice, so you turn to finally look eyes with him. he looks pained, so hurt, maybe even terrified at the fact that there was a chance that he could’ve lost you.

your expression immediately becomes that of sympathy, “but I didn’t, and dwelling on the fact that I might’ve died will only bother you for no reason,” you hold his hand, “I am here and alive, aren’t I?”

your husband sighs, resting his head on your right shoulder, “you’re hurting my poor little heart whenever you put yourself in danger like that.”

a giggle escapes your lips, and your hands naturally find their way in his hair, fingers gently carding through, “whatever shall we do.”

“if things went my way then you would just stay home looking all pretty like you always do,” he states, and you roll your eyes.

“well, they’re going my way tonight, so—“ the clock strikes twelve, “happy birthday, silly boy.”

his eyes widen and he pulls away to look you in the face. he blinks dumbly then looks at what’s in your hands: a cupcake with a candle.

a wide grin of unbridled joy appears on your husband’s face. his eyes shimmer in the moonlight as he laughs, “I really didn’t expect it this time!”

“you outdid yourself, pretty girl,” he hums, hand caressing your cheek.

“I still have a lot more things for you,” you beam with pride. satoru can’t contain himself anymore, and he pulls you into a loving embrace.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs beside your ear, pressing a light kiss to the side of your neck.

you pat his back, “I love you too, ‘toru,” you laugh, “but you’re pressing on my wound, and I think I am just going to cry and not because of overwhelming love.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[bonbonly]

pairing: charles leclerc x f!reader ; tw: rough sex, lots of degrading

sugardaddy!charles leclerc just sent you a whopping check of 5 grand. he doesn't really say much to you during the day, but during the night he always demands that you call him right before you go to bed. he wants to hear your sweet voice. if he's having a good day, he'll ask you how your day went, what exciting things you did. his french accent's sounds like honey in your ears, and his little chuckle gets you all tipsy right before you sleep. if he's having a bad day, though? prepare to spend the entire night with your fingers in your cunt, and he's on FaceTime, making sure you don't cum without his permission. he wants to see you beg for him, to have him be your sole attention. your mind should only be on him and nothing else. who gave a fuck about your class tomorrow? for fuck's sake, he's paying your tuition to even attend those classes!

on one particular day when you're leaving class, he surprisingly texts you and asks if he can drop by your university. it's been a few weeks since he's last seen you. he has some gifts for you and he's planned to take you to some fancy restaurant.

your foolish self leaves him on read because your friends offered to finally take you to this concert, their brothers were also tagging along. and who doesn't love to ogle at their friend's hot brother? so not only did you leave him on read and ignore all his plans, you also forgot to call him right before you went to bed... which was at around 5 am in the morning after your friends and you partied the whole night. you might've also gave one of the boys a very sloppy blowjob in secret, but you were drunk and having fun, it didn't matter!

when you wake up the next morning, you realize what happened and in absolute fear of incurring his wrath, you don't call or text charles at all for the entire week. you didn't want to deal with him at the moment, you cared for him a lot of course you did! but you figured he'd let it slide in a week. he likes to text you a simple "sweet dreams mon ange" right before bed no matter what mood he was in; surely he'd get over it, right?

but then, this semester's housing hasn't been paid yet. charles was always on top of his game, he'd never wait until the deadline to pay. you figure that he must've forgot, so you call him but he's sent you straight to voicemail. with a frown, you hop into your car (a porsche 718 boxster that charles generously bought for you one night) and drive over to where he lives. you haven't seen your sugar daddy for a whole month now! you skip over to his front door, knocking eagerly because you desperately wanted to know why he didn't pay your housing.

you barely have time to speak because as soon as he opens that door, he's grabbing your arm and throwing you onto a sofa in the living room.

"oh i should've known you would be running to me as soon as i didn't pay one thing, pute" he snarls, and you're frowning at him. oh you made such a big mistake ignoring him for what? a month now?

"i go out of my way to buy you that car, to buy you expensive clothes... i pay for your tuition and housing, i pay for everything and yet you don't bother to notice me? i'm done, get out of my sight!" he yells, and you're scrambling to latch onto his feet,

"wait, wait, no, please! charles!" you notice his eyebrow raise at you in a condescending manner and you gulp, "mr. leclerc, i mean. please, please, i was just worried you'd get mad the first day when I ignored your text! i didn't mean for it to get out of hand!"

charles isn't convinced one bit, he's staring at you in frustration as a hand runs over his face. he snaps his fingers, gesturing for you to get up on your feet, "i don't think i can accept your words, you've destroyed my-"

"i'll suck your cock!" you blurt out, getting on your knees immediately. and he's chuckling darkly at your words, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as his other hand cups your chin to look up at him, his thumb running across your bottom lip,

"i could spend fortunes on your education, and the only thing you'd know is to please my cock, isn't that right ma chérie?" there's still an edge in his tone, but he sighs out loud, "i don't want your mouth, no i want your pussy, get up and head to my bedroom."

and you do so because you have your own selfish reasons, to be honest. you need him to pay for housing, you didn't want to end up living on the streets!

but as he's fucking you, his pace brutal and unforgiving, he never once mentions his deal to pay. he has your hair in a tight makeshift ponytail, watching your ass bounce with each thrust as his other hand is rubbing on your clit. you're cumming for the umpteenth time, bedsheets soaked with your sweat and juice. he has no signs of stopping, no he's going to have his fill after a month of not seeing you. your ass is red from all the spanking, you can hardly lay on your back because it's so bruised! your voice is hoarse from all your screaming, but he did offer you his cum to soothe the pain in your throat!

your hands are grabbing the sheets below you, sobbing uncontrollably as he's relentless. he's saying the vilest things above you as his hand now wraps around your throat,

"you're such a slut. maybe i should stop calling you mon ange, no you are far from angel. far from it. i bet you'd spread your legs for anyone you see, hm?"

you're shaking your head, telling him that he's the only man you ever think about the only man you ever wanted!

"don't fucking lie to me, i know what you did with those boys at the concert," and now you're confused as to how he even knew about that! he's shaking his head with a laugh as he watches you glance over your shoulder to look at him, "i should punish you harder for even thinking about sinking that mouth of yours onto another man - no - boy's cock, you whore. you just can't live without someone's cock inside you, can't you?"

"here's what's going to happen, you're going to talk to your housing and talk about cancelling for the term," his thrusts become harsher, and you're silently screaming at how good he feels, "i'm not paying for housing anymore. no, you're staying with me from now on. i can't trust you anymore, you'll throw yourself onto any man you see. you'll stay with me and every night before you go to bed, you're going to take my cock like the good little slut that you are, understood?"

you nod your head, milking his cock once more as he's filling you up with ropes of his cum. he groans out loud, head dipping to see your spent body. after he cleans you up, he has you sleep with him for the night, one arm around your waist as he pulls you closer to his frame. he inhales your smell, nuzzling into your neck; he could surely get used to do this now.

[alisonwritesimagines]

Wayne Family Garden ~Batmom Imagine~

Summary: Your plan on growing a garden. However, you don’t have a green thumb. Luckily, you know someone who does.

Author’s Note: I'm obessed with the Wayne Family Adventures on WebToons. Like you don't know how obsessed I am with them.

BatFamily Masterlist

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: fluff, Poison Ivy and Harley know the Batfam's identies (its canon)

Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not the main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!

Do not repost this anywhere!

"What do you think Alfred?"

"I think having a lemon tree could really benefit the garden and our groceries," Alfred tells you.

"Maybe we can have an apple tree too?" You said.

"Sounds delightful. And Master Bruce agreed to your garden?"

"Yup. Said we can have it on the side in the backyard. And we can grow whatever we want," you smiled.

"We should start off small then," Alfred said.

"Right. So then a lemon tree, an apple tree, and carrots?" You asked.

"Sounds good to me," Alfred smiled.

You had been growing more bored around your home now that most of your kids were adults and had moved out of the mansion. So after seeing a good amount of gardening TikToks, you wanted to start your own little garden. But there was one slight problem, you didn't know how to garden.

So there was one person you could think of who could help you start off. You didn't want to bother Alfred more than what he has to deal with so you used your husband's technology to find a certain someone.

The apartment complex looked a little run down but yet again, you knew this was where they would be laying low. You knocked on the front door, only to see Harley Quinn opening it up.

"Mrs. Wayne? Whatcha doin here?" Harley asked you.

"Hiya, Harley. I'm looking for Ivy. Is she around?" You asked.

"Yeah. What's going on?" Harley asked.

"Harley. Who is it?" You heard Ivy ask.

"It's Y/n Wayne! Batman's wife!" Harley said excitedly.

"Hi, Ivy. I came here to ask for a favor," you tell her.

"Uh sure. What's up?" Ivy asked.

"I am currently planting a garden at my home but the problem is, I don't know how to garden. I was wondering if you can help me out," you asked her.

"Don't you have a butler who also knows how to garden?" Ivy asked.

"Yes but I don't want to bother him more than my family already has. And besides, I need more females around the house," you mentioned.

"What are you trying to grow?" Harley asked.

"I would like to start off with a lemon tree, an orange tree, and an apple tree. But I know those take a couple years to grow but I would like to begin growing carrots, tomatoes, and green beans as well," you tell her.

"Those are good to start off with," Ivy mentioned.

"Thanks. So will you come by my house with me and help me get started? I have the tools and everything to start off," you asked her.

"Yeah. My schedule is clear for today," Ivy shrugged.

"Thank you! Harley! You can come over too," you invited.

"Oh sweet!"

Whenever it was a light night, meaning that there was barely crime for once in Gotham, the whole family would get together for dinner. However, they were surprised to see two new comers joining you all in dinner.

"I expect you all to behave yourselves for the night. Ivy and Harley are my guests as they helped me with my garden today," you tell your family.

"Yes mom."

"And no hero or villain talk in the table. I would like a dinner where we can just eat like normal people for once," you say as you prepped the table.

During dinner, everyone ate peacefully but kept a close eye on Harley and Ivy. It was mainly you talking about the garden and your plans for it.

"What are you planning on growing in the garden ummi?" Damien asked you.

"I would like a lemon, orange, and an apple tree but I know those take a while to grow. But I'm also planning on growing some carrots, green beans, and tomatoes to start off," you say excitedly.

"Just make sure to follow the instructions I gave you," Ivy said.

"Of course. And I'll call you in case anything happens," you smiled at her.

The next few weeks, you were proud of your work. The trees were starting to form slowly but surely. You kept notes to check your progress as well as making sure everything was going smoothly. So it wasn't a surprise for the batfamily to see Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy come to their house every week to help check on your garden.

"They're growing good," Ivy tells you,

"Thank you!"

"If you want, I can help you speed up the process for the trees."

"I know I should wait but I do want to try baking an apple pie and make my own orange juice."

"As long as you keep maintaining it you should be fine."

"Mmm. Okay. Let's do it!"

Cassandra and Stephanie quickly rushed over to Harley's and Ivy's place with the bag from their mom. It had been a couple weeks since Ivy and Harley last visited you and your garden. Cassandra knocked on the door, waiting for one of them to answer.

"What do you kids want?" Ivy asked as she opened the door.

"wanted us to drop this off to you," Stephanie said as she handed her the bag. Ivy looked into it before smiling. A fresh apple pie along with a pitcher of orange juice and lemonade were placed in the bag.

"Tell her we said thank you."

"We will!"

"Let her know that if she wants to start something new, have her call me," Ivy tells the girls.

"We will!"

[nena-la-fresa]

All Hallows Eve

18+ Account | Minors DNI | Do NOT Follow, Like, or Comment | Pls have your age in your bio, if you do not I will automatically block you because I’ll assume you are a minor.

Pairing: Josh Washington x f! Reader

Warning: Flirting | Smut | Semi Public | Fingering | P in V | Halloween Frat Party | Frat Boy Josh (ish) |

Word Count: 1754

A/n: A lot more flirting than smut tbh

You were a little hesitant about wearing this outfit. You knew from the picture that the nurse costume was going to be short but you didn’t think that some of your ass was going to be sticking out. You heard a knock on your door and Sam walked in. She started to laugh at the look of worry on your face. 

“What? Is it bad?” You turned slightly to try and look at your ass in the mirror. 

She laughed again, “No you look good. You just look freaked out.” She set down her costume and started to get dressed. 

“I am freaked out. Do you see how short this is? My whole ass is about to fall out.” You pull it down a little.

“Good. Maybe Josh will finally build up the courage to ask you out.” She smirked at you. 

“Yeah sure. I genuinely don’t understand him. He flirts so much, like with almost everyone and you could never tell when it's real.” You sat down on your bed to put on your heels. 

“You know what you should totally do?” 

You looked over at her, “What?” 

“You should use those red panties you bought like a week ago. You know the lacy ones, I think that'll catch his attention. But also because those boy shorts are not it.” 

You looked down and could see in the mirror that you were still wearing your normal underwear. “I completely forgot to change them. Oh my god, it would have looked so stupid.” 

Sam had finished her makeup in the meantime while you looked through your drawer for your panties. Once you changed you made sure to put on your little nurse hat and fixed your hair before you two left. 

You could hear the music from down the street, but that was typically how it always was. And to think this was the last time you'd be going to a Halloween Frat Party. You both squeezed your way in through the door, once you did you had found Mike and the rest of the group. Josh was nowhere to be found. Not surprising since he’s usually the one hosting.

Once you guys were settled in you let Sam know you were going to leave for a second. 

“Hey I’m gonna get a drink, did you want anything?” 

She shook her head, “No I'm good for now thank you. But come right back, I don't want you getting lost.”

You nodded your way and pushed your way through the crowded hallways. Thankfully the kitchen was less crowded, you got yourself a cup and started to mix yourself a drink. You could feel someone stand next to you. You looked to your left and saw a guy smirking at you. 

“How come I haven’t seen you before? This your first year here?” He bites his lip and looks at you up and down. 

“You must've not been looking hard.” You finished your drink before putting it to your lips.

“Nah I think with that ass I think I would have noticed.” He tried moving closer but stepped back a bit. 

You felt hands on your waist and a body pressing against you. “Hey babe. What'd ya make me?”

You lightly rolled your eyes judging by his voice, he took the cup from your hand and drank it. You watched as the guy stayed put but continued to glare at Josh. He set the drink down, “Hey babe was this guy bothering you?”

He turned you around so that he could look at you. “Josh, it's fine.” You put a hand on his chest.

“See man she said it’s fine. So how about you get going.” 

Josh looked back at the guy, “Look man, you’re being kind of a buzzkill. I’m tryin to bone my girl so how about you leave?” 

The guy scoffs, grabbing his drink to leave. 

“So I'm your girl now?” you roll your eyes looking back at him. 

You watch his eyes leave your lips to look further down. How could he not when your breasts were pressing up against his chest. 

“Hey big boy.” You put a finger under his chin, “My eyes are up here.” 

“No, I know.” He smirked at you, his hands were now on either side of you. 

You scoffed at him, “Okay, so are you going to remake my drink or should I call that guy back over?” 

“I’ll make it. Don’t get your panties in a twist. Speaking of which, lace looks good on you.” He winked at you before letting you go. 

“Oh you were looking?” You propped yourself up on the counter waiting for him. 

“I don’t have to look hard, princess.” He motioned down to your half open legs that exposed the lace more. 

Even if you tried teasing him it always backfires. He’d always find a way to make you nervous. 

“Oh maybe I’ll just open them more if that's the case.” You started to open your legs more but were stopped by his hands on your thighs and him now in between your legs. 

“What’s wrong babe?” You tried to get back at him for using that word, “You trying to stop potential candidates?” 

He scoffed, “No I just don’t want you to look like an easy target.”

“Oh so you think I look easy. Okay.” You crossed your arms and nodded your head. 

“I just don’t like how they were looking at you.” You felt his tone become serious. 

It felt off, so you tried changing the conversation. “So what are you supposed to be? A handyman?” You trailed your hand across his chest. 

“You can’t tell?” He spins around to show himself off. 

You shook your head and laughed a little, “Not a clue. But now that I’m looking at you. You look good. Very fuckable.” 

Josh froze for a moment, he positioned himself back in between your legs. His hands resting on your thighs. His hands left a burning sensation, your breath hitched when you felt them glide against your skin. 

“Oh yeah?” 

You tried speaking but nothing came out, all you could do was nod. 

Your breaths were deep, his hand made its way to your cunt. He let his thumb rub against your cunt feeling how wet you were. He pulled your panties to the side before he started to ran his fingers across your lips. He watched as you leaned your head back, your soft neck exposed. 

He pushed his fingers inside, he could feel you clenching around him. He leans forward, kissing your neck slowly. The heat of his breath against your neck sent chills against your spine. 

He sucked against your neck just as his pace began to pick up. The feeling of his fingers thrusting in and out felt good but it wasn't enough. It felt like something was missing. You wanted to be full. You needed to be full. 

“Josh.” you moaned in his ear, “I need you in me. Please.” 

Josh wasted no time unzipping his costume, he pulled you to the edge of the counter. You watched as he spit on his dick, his precum and spit mixing together as he pumped himself. He positioned himself at your entrance. He pushed himself in, groaning at your warmth. 

You could feel him bottom out, you wrapped your legs around his waist. You watched his dick moving in and out of you. Even over all the music and the chatting behind the kitchen door you could hear the sound of your wet cunt. You knew he heard it too judging by the way his pace had picked up. 

His thrust became more erratic. His eyes shifted between your mouth and your stuffed cunt. 

“Fuck.” You heard him whisper. You heard his breathing getting deeper. 

He lifted you up from the counter, he turned you around and bent you over. With his hands on your waist he pushed himself back in, this time he hit all the best spots. You could feel him pounding into you harder. 

For him his view was everything, your hair bouncing, your dress fitting you just right, the way your dress was creeping up all the way, your panties to the side, and the way your ass bounced with every thrust he made. 

“Fuck you’re so hot.” 

“Fuck Josh.” 

His thrust became more erratic, more desperate. He could feel you getting closer, your cunt sucking him in and tightening. It was enough to get cum in you. And god did he want to cum in you. He’s been dreaming about this for years. Fucking you, watching you beg for his cock, before for him to fuck you, to cum in you. He wished he could watch his cum drip out of you. 

But what he didn’t wish for were his friends walking in. 

“God Y/n what’s taking you so long?”

“Are you sure she's even in here?” 

The door was flung open. Chris and Sam came bursting in, and now regretting checking up on your two. 

“Oh my god!” Sam quickly turned around, she started giggling at the sight though. She knew she was going to comment later about how the panties idea worked. 

Hearing the door swing open Josh looked in the direction, “Oh shit.” He quickly pulled out and put his dick away, covering you in the process. 

Sam had noticed that Chris hadn’t turned around yet, so she scolded him, “Chris.” 

“What?” He looked at her as she motioned to turn around. He finally did. 

Just as Josh put himself away he helped you pull your dress back down to his original place. 

Sam cleared her through, “Are you two both decent now?” You could hear her smirk. 

“Yeah.” You could feel the heat creep up on your cheeks. 

You watched as Sam and Chris were smirking at the both of you. 

“And here I was worried about you. I’m sure you’re not thirsty anymore huh.” 

“Sam!” You could feel Josh looking at you, you just knew he was smiling. You turned around, feeling slightly embarrassed you slightly looked at him. 

You watched him smirk at you. You could see that there was no regret on his face. “I’ll um. I’ll see you later.”

 He took your appearance in again, he thought you looked even better after sex. 

“Alright. I’ll find you.”

You smiled at him, “Okay, don’t look too hard.”

You watched as he looked you up and down, “Oh I will.”

[auroreliis]

Hi! If you're comfortable with it, could I request batfams reactions to a reader who's suddenly clingy on their period or something similar? Normally I like my personal space but I am desperate for some type of warmth because cramps are actually killing me 💔

Bruce would still keep his distance, as he knows you don’t like physical touch. However, he would still be around you more, always asking if you need something. Anything sweet? Any pads? Any source of warmth? He will provide it immediately and be very understanding to you lashing out (don’t worry, he knows you can’t control it).

"What is it? You need pain killers?" He rumages in the bag he brought with him and hands you some pain killers.

"Hm? Chocolate? Yes, right awa-...what? Oh, oreo chocolate...? Mh. Fine, I'll go get some."

Dick would be very cuddly, almost as though HE’S on the period. He would hug you and sometimes even carry you around, despite your complaints…

“PUT ME DOWN YOU OVERSIZED CIRCUS CLOWN”

“:(”

Would he put you down? Well, yes. However, only at the destination. Then, after putting you down, he would take a step back and remain at that distance for about 5 minutes. After that, he would hug you again. And so the cycle repeats.

It does annoy you a lot, however, he is COMPLETELY unbothered by your shouting and your complaining. Like, dude. Take a fucking hint, will you? Obviously, since he’s already there, he also provides you with whatever you need. This means: If you want him to leave while also making him think that he’s doing you a favour, go send him to do something like getting you food or spare clothes. He will happily skip off, thinking he’s gaining your favour.

Jason would be playing with fire, always bothering you with stupid requests.

“So, wanna come to the library with me? I wanna go read something, but I also want you to be there”

You grumble, clearly declining his request.

“Well? Yes or no?” He is not taking the hint.

“No.” You mutter.

“What? A little louder, please”, he leans in closer.

“I SAID NO. Leave me the fuck alone. I want nothing to do with you. Haven’t I made that clear? Are you too stupid to notice? Do I need to be more direct?”

“:d”

At that point, he gives up for his own safety.

Tim, the leech, uses this opportunity, almost viewing it as a blessing.

“Heyyyyy, I have a heating pouch and all your favourite snacks and drinks and your favourite show prepared. If you come over to my room, I’ll make sure that nobody enters beside you and me AND I’ll let you take up the whole bed while I sit on a chair. What do you say? Wanna come to my room? :)”

If you foolishly decide to reject his offer, he will work hard to come up with something more alluring. Tim doesn’t give up easily.

Damian remains professional. He would probably create a presentation highlighting why you should ask him for help during hard times and not his brothers.

“Sibling. I am able to provide you with anything you require. As you know, whatever I provide is better than what anyone else in this manor could provide, hence why you should only ask me for help. Additionally, I am not as pushy as the other rejects, so taking up my offers is most ideal for you too. My goal is to help you, while their goal is to be in your proximity. Compare our values and see which you are most satisfied with.”

Stephanie and Cassandra completely understand. Despite how hard the others try, the girls would naturally be of most help. They’ve been there, they just get it. They also don’t annoy you, so you spend most of your period by their side. They just aren’t as loud and pushy as the others.

Secret bonding moment unlocked.

With special permission from Bruce (which they got with a lot of yapping and convincing), they get a hotel room and stay there with you until your period is over. This is very refreshing, as you don’t have to deal with the boys anymore and finally have some peace.

Honestly, the manor is always full at all times, but now it’s just the 3 of you. You all bond and have fun while the rest misses you. No, seriously, prepare for lots of cuddles to make up for your lacking presence </3

[rieamena]

two plus two equals six

nerd!takuma ino & popular-ish!fem!reader

contains... both of you being absolute losers and incredibly embarrassing. that's about it.

word count: 9.4k (its been a while since i've written something this long...)

riea's comments: it's been a terrible couple of days but this idea really stayed in my head and i really had to act on it. idk if its one of my best works but i still like it! i will prove my spot as the mayor of takuma city!!!

technically, you weren't supposed to bother him. something about threatening a restraining order but a threat is really just empty words, amiright?

"hey…," you called out towards the man just two feet in front of you, as a result of you sneakily sliding into the seat across from him at the cafe table he sat at. your lips hung on that final syllable, really stretching out that "eyyy". "you're in my gen chem right?" the harmonic clink of your bangles rang through the space you occupied as you focused on making your voice sound as sweet and sultry as possible

the man in question, y'know, the ones your friends call p.f.b.b.. the p.f.b.b. thing was all credits to you of course. every time you talked about that day's writing or chemistry lecture, he was always mentioned as just that: pretty face black beanie, even though "pretty face black beanie" never looked your way once. it was several continuous moments of pure delusion, your pure delusion

p.f.b.b. glanced up at you and gave a small head nod before turning back to his laptop. it had a clear case with a bunch of stickers from bands you didn't recognize amongst other things you assumed he liked. "of course you are! the chemistry between us is just so genuine maybe its cause you're such a gentleman!"

a giggle escaped you as you continued talking. "see what i did there? the gen from genuine and the gen from gentleman both correspond to the gen from gen chem. which i know means general by the way, i'm not—"

"are you okay?"

p.f.b.b.'s eyes were now trained on your form, looking with an expression you couldn't discern as anything but pure concern. but of course, for you, that meant something completely different. under his gaze, you felt your cheeks heat up and you began to fidget. "p.f.b.b., stop looking at me like that! you're making me shy…"

it was silent for a few seconds before he spoke. "why do you keep calling me that?"

"i'm sorry?" you tilted your head a bit

"this is maybe the third or fourth time you've called me p.f.b.b.," he takes a sip from his coffee cup before continuing to type away on his laptop

i've spoken to you before??? is what you thought

and its also what you said.

"well yes," he started, gaze never leaving the blue light of his device, "like that time i answered professor's question and you said 'wow p.f.b.b. you're so smart!'. or that other time when i picked up your pencil case for you as i was leaving the lecture hall. or when—"

"okay i get it! i seriously don't remember that happening at all though… maybe i should start taking memory pills…" you muttered

"i know you're popular and stuff but we're in university now. the bullying thing is outdated and super uncool."

you had to take a couple of moments to fully grasp what he was saying. he thought you were bullying him. he thought you were a bully. and worst of all, he thought you were uncool. your body shivered at that thought and a pit formed in your stomach

"wait—!" you exclaimed, even though he wasn't going anywhere, "first off, i'm not bullying you! the p.f.b.b. thing is an inside joke—"

"am i in on the joke?"

you froze in place. he got you there. "well no—"

"exactly. move to the second thing please." he bluntly stated as he took another swig of coffee

"okay um, i'm not uncool! i'm actually really cool. and i wouldn't consider myself to be popular either!" you scrambled to find your words and for each syllable that you said, you felt that pit in your stomach growing bigger

"everyone in the school knows you. you're popular." he said as he reached into his messenger bag, pulling out glasses and putting them on

you usually would be entranced, but you had way bigger fish to fry. "i—i can't be popular! what if someone asks me for the best date spots, or amazing places to eat, or secret secluded areas for a bit of privacy!? i'm not from here! i wouldn't know! and—and then i'll look like a failure! i'll look like a loser! p.f.b.b. i can't!—wait."

it was only when you stopped talking that he looked up from his laptop, "what…?"

you'd never noticed it before but his voice was really nice, almost to the point where even you would shut up just to hear him talk about any topic that came to his mind 

"are you from here?"

"uh, yeah? i was born and raised in this area. why?" p.f.b.b raised his eyebrow at your sudden question to which you sighed in response. "oh nothing…," you cupped your hands on your jaw and looked out a nearby window. "i just wish a local, y'know, someone who's lived here all their life and was born and raised here, knows all the ins and outs of the city…, yeah just wish someone like that would show me around. i'm still new here…"

"well, i hope you find that person."

your eyes snapped open to see him all packed up, headphones on, and that suspiciously never-ending coffee cup in hand. "bye for now."

sitting in shock was all you could do. and sit you did. a calm five or so minutes had passed before you noticed something shiny in your peripheral. a card, but not just any card, a pokémon card, but not just any pokémon card, an ultra rare pokémon card at the back of a phone, but not just any phone, p.f.b.b.'s phone

you struck gold. pretty face black beanie will certainly be looking for this soon enough, and then you'll be there to swoop in and save the day. and it'll go something like this…

"ugh, where is that thing!" p.f.b.b. mutters frustratingly

"what thing?" you say sweetly, batting your eyelashes

"my phone. i must've misplaced it."

"oh perhaps…" you walk over to where he's standing, his phone in hand, "is this your phone?" you look up at him cutely

"yes! this is my phone! you found it! how can i ever repay you?"

"oh… you don't have to. i was just looking out for you…"

"i know! let's get married!"

"well if you insist…"

"of course! i love you!"

cue flowers and glitter and sparkles 

you giggled from how creative and vivid the scene was but unfortunately that sound broke you from your delusion and brought you right back to the real world

"i have p.f.b.b.'s phone." you said flatly, opening the door to your shared apartment. shouts of "what?!" and "huh??!" filled the space as you set down your things and laid on the couch. your best friends quickly flooded the living room, throwing questions at you

"ladies, ladies, please. one at a time."

nobara hit your thigh, "stop acting so high and mighty! how did you get his phone?"

mimiko massaged the area as she listened to you, "so long story short, we were talking at a cafe and then he left but forgot his phone so i just picked it up!"

"so… you stole his phone." nanako stated

"no. he left it and i picked it up."

"wait— don't you know his schedule?" nobara mentioned, resting her head on the plush couch, "shouldn't you have been able to give it back to him?" 

"well no… i'm not a stalker! i just have general knowledge of when and where his classes will be during the week."

"so why didn't you give it back to him, instead of stealing it?" mimiko teased, now kneading at your calves

"not you too, mimi!" you whined, "like i said, i didn't steal his phone! he left it on the cafe table and i picked it up!"

their voices mixed together to try and get the same two words through that thick skull of yours

"that's theft!"

the arguing of you and your roommates concerning your concerning ethics filled your ears, preventing you from hearing anything else. especially that banging on the front door

nanako shushed you all, bringing her voice to a barely audible whisper, "do you guys… hear that?"

thump. thump. thump.

"its probably one of your packages," nobara mentioned, earning an enlightened nod, "you seriously have a shopping addiction."

the shopaholic stood up and walked over to the door, still whispering, "you're one to talk!" you, nobara, and mimiko watched on as nanako's hand slipped over the door handle and turned it open. you swore that the door wasn't even open for a full five seconds before it was slammed shut. "it's a man."

the four of you exchanged confused looks. "yeah… maybe it's the delivery man…? check for a package," you said reassuringly. the door opens and it closes. nanako's voice right after. "no package."

"well… uh… what does he look like? maybe he's returning something one of us misplaced?" mimiko stammered, feeling the tension in the air rise at the unexpected stranger. the door opens again and it closes again. "brown hair. brown eyes. he's kinda emo looking…"

"spencer's emo or hot topic emo?"

"spencer's."

"wait!" you realized, practically falling over yourself as you ran to the door and pulled it open, "its–!"

"uh, hi..." you said, voice suddenly small compared to your usual playful demeanor. he was standing right outside your apartment door, looking more tired than annoyed, though the crease in his brow said he was definitely annoyed

"hey," he replied, with little emotion. his eyes briefly flicked to your roommates huddled behind you, who had all gone suspiciously silent. "you have my phone."

you unfortunately understood his intentions of finding where you live. it wasn't to ask you on a date, or to take you up on that offer you made earlier, it was to get his phone. you could've lied and said you didn't have it but…

"i do!" you held it up triumphantly like some kind of trophy, though the look on his face immediately made you regret it. "...but i swear, i wasn't trying to steal it or anything!"

his eyebrow raised slightly, and for a second, you thought he might actually laugh. instead, he sighed and reached out his hand. "can i have it back?"

"of course," you said quickly, but just as you extended it toward him, you froze. "wait! how do i know this is really your phone?"

"i'm sorry?" he blinked, looking somewhere between incredulous and exhausted. "you know it's my phone. you picked it up."

"yeah, but..." you stepped back slightly, holding it just out of reach. "what if it's not your phone, and you're just some random guy who also happens to wear a black beanie and drink coffee in moody cafes?"

your roommates groaned audibly from behind you, and you heard nobara mutter something like she's impossible under her breath

p.f.b.b., stared at you for a long moment before pinching the bridge of his nose. "okay. fine." he held out his hand again, palm up. "ask me something only i'd know if it's my phone."

you paused, scrambling for a question. "uh... what's on the back of your phone case?"

"a meowscarada pokémon card. holo, rare," he said without missing a beat. "which you clearly already saw, since you're holding it."

damn. he had you there.

"okay, okay," you relented, placing the phone in his outstretched hand. "i believe you. say no more."

he chuckled softly—barely audible, but enough to make your heart do a little somersault. "thanks. i appreciate you picking it up. i was worried i'd have to replace the card."

before you could stop yourself, you blurted, "you must really like pokémon, huh?"

"it's nostalgic," he admitted, remembering his childhood. "my brother and i used to play together when we were kids."

your lips curved into a grin. "that's cute. guess you're not as emo as you look."

his head tilted slightly at that, but you caught the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. "guess not. anyway..." he glanced past you at your still-curious roommates. "thanks again. i should go."

"wait!" you called after him as he started to turn. he stopped, looking at you expectantly. "how do you know where i live? do you live around here or something?"

"i… uh… live just over there," his thumb pointed behind him and you followed that direction to…

the unit right across from yours.

703.

"what?!" you gasped, "how come you never said anything? plus, i never see you in the mornings? how is this possible?!"

"one, we don't know each other well enough yet to know where the other lives," p.f.b.b. scrolled through his missed messages while he continued, "and two, i make sure to leave early and come back late every day just so i can avoid you."

grumbling, you wanted to slam the door in his face again but remembered that you had to choose peace. "that's great! i hope you're happy!" aaaand you slammed the door anyway

yet. we don't know each other well enough yet.

"oh p.f.b.b~!" nanako swooned

"oh [name]~!" nobara giggled

"insert kissing sounds and the actors are running their hands over the other's body." 

"stop that!!"

music was blasting and your spirits were up. you were practically skipping to your next class. that was… until you caught sight of a familiar head of blonde behind the granite fountain 

"uncle ken!" you called out, rounding the fountain's corner

"hello, [name]. what brings you here?" the well-composed man paused his previous conversation, giving his research assistant a silent apology while he focused on you

you nodded to p.f.b.b. before answering kento, "nothing much! just walking to my next class,"

"uncle…?" p.f.b.b questioned under his breath

unfortunately for him, his mentor picked up on it. "my apologies, i should introduce you two," kento turned towards the other man who seemed to regret his decision of speaking his thoughts, "ino, this is [name]. her parents and i are close so, naturally, she calls me her uncle. and—"

kento spun back to you, using his hand to motion towards "ino". you noticed a bracelet adorning his right hand. kento doesn't like wearing anything that's not a watch and it looks handmade and those colors… yellow, blue, black and brown??? how odd… "[name], this is takuma ino. he's been my research assistant for two years."

it was kind of weird to realize that p.f.b.b.'s name wasn't… well— p.f.b.b. like, he has a whole name: takuma ino. it hung on your lips and your tongue savored the taste. "hi," you spoke, giving ino a small wave. "hey," he responded, parroting your motions

"was that what you were working on at the cafe yesterday? some data stuff?"

"uh…, yeah. yeah i was."

kento silently watched this happen and even he was uncomfortable. there was a slight tension in the air. it was missable but apparent enough if you looked for it. he cleared his throat softly, bringing your attention back to him. "how are your parents?" he asked.

"they're good," you replied, smiling, though your voice carried a slight hesitation. "they always ask about you, by the way. mom wanted me to tell you that you're still her favorite."

kento allowed a rare chuckle, shaking his head. "i'm flattered, but i imagine that makes your dad roll his eyes."

"it does." you laughed

"speaking of family," you continued, "my brother is getting discharged from the military soon! and we're planning to have a little get together or something. nothing too crazy, but it'll be our first one together since he left and i know how much he loves you so…" your voice trailed off, hoping that the silence was strong enough to carry your unspoken words

"i understand. of course i'll be there."

kento smiled when he saw you beaming, on the verge of jumping up and down from happiness, and from the corner of your eye, you swear that you saw the corner of a lip curl up from that "ino"

"great—oh shoot—!" you checked the time on your phone and realized that… if you didn't go now, you'd be late. and that professor does not play. you showed up three minutes late to one of his lectures and he basically publicly humiliated you. "i gotta go but text mom and dad about it, okay uncle? bye now! bye ino!"

as you speed walked away, you felt ino's eyes lingering on you. a soft chuckle escaped your lips. takuma ino—you liked the way it sounded

the campus library was unusually quiet for a wednesday night, the usual hum of late-night chatter replaced by the occasional sound of a book being flipped or the muffled footsteps of a librarian making their rounds. you had no plans to be productive tonight; in fact, you'd come here specifically to procrastinate. or, more accurately, to bother someone

your target was easy to spot, tucked away in the far corner of the library like a hermit hiding from civilization. p.f.b.b was hunched over his notebook, one earbud in, one out, the faint sound of rock music drifting in the air around him

you made a beeline for him, sliding into the seat across the table before he could even process what was happening. "fancy seeing you here," you whispered conspiratorially, even though this was his obvious habitat

he didn't even look up, just sighed. "you're aware this is a library, right?"

"and you're aware you're in my study spot, right?" you countered, setting your bag down with an exaggerated thud

finally, his eyes flicked up to meet yours, unimpressed as always. "you… study?" before you could fight back, he continued, "anyways… pretty sure i've been coming here since the semester started, so if anything, this is my study spot."

"well that's too bad for you because i've been coming here since the first day i set foot on this campus," you shot back with a grin, leaning forward on your elbows. "but i'm willing to negotiate. how about we share?"

p.f.b.b. stared at you before shaking his head and returning to his notes. "as long as you don't talk too much."

"me? never."

silence settled between you for a few moments, a fragile truce held together by his focus and your determination not to annoy him too much. but that didn't stop you from sneaking glances at his notes

"why are you studying organic chem?" you asked after a while, squinting at the complicated diagrams on his page. "i thought we were suffering through general chem together."

"because i'm actually trying to graduate," he replied flatly

"well, me too," you said with a dramatic sigh, leaning back in your chair

he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, finally setting his pen down. "if you're not here to study, what are you here for?"

you grinned, pulling a pack of gummy bears out of your bag and sliding them across the table toward him. "to make sure you don't pass out from starvation, obviously."

he looked at the gummy bears, then at you, his expression unreadable. after a beat, he shook his head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "you're weird, you know that?"

"compliments will get you everywhere," you said, plucking a gummy bear from the pack and popping it into your mouth

for the rest of the night, you sat across from him, not saying much but somehow managing to get under his skin with every little comment or movement. oddly enough, seeing him work made you itch to do some studying of your own. and when he finally packed up to leave, muttering something about having an early class, he didn't tell you to leave him alone or call you annoying

instead, he paused just before he walked away, turning back to you with a bemused look

"thanks for the gummy bears."

"anytime— wait! aren't we going the same way…? wait for me!" you scrambled to pack up your pencils and books, stuffing them in your bag, not realizing that p.f.b.b—i mean— ino, was kinda, sorta, maybe, if you had asked him he'd say "no", but from what i saw, he was… waiting for you…

"then move faster, idiot."

you walked through the halls, passing numerous rooms, a small skip in your step. your body froze as you recalled a certain room's number, kento's research lab. walking back to where it was and peeping through the windowed door, you saw that it was… organized chaos. papers and binders were stacked, whiteboards covered in dense equations, and the faint scent of coffee could be smelled from outside the door. looking closer, you could see someone hunched over a desk, scribbling something on a notepad. ino.

you twisted the handle of the door, opening it with a push, "tough work?"

ino looked up from his desk, blinking at you in mild surprise. his hair was slightly disheveled and rid of that beanie, and there was a smudge of something that looked suspiciously like marker on his cheek

"i'm fine," he said, though the dark circles under his eyes told a different story. "really. i've got it handled."

you raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. "you're drowning in… whatever this is. don't worry about it, i'll just provide extra assistance."

he groaned, leaning back in his chair. "seriously, you don't have to. it's not a lot of work."

the phrase held so much irony considering there were sheets upon sheets of paper, and towers of that. you guessed he realized his small lie once he glanced around the room

ino sighed but didn't argue further, instead gesturing to the mountain of work in front of him. "fine. if you're so eager to help, you can start with that pile over there."

you pulled up a chair beside him, scanning the papers and the spreadsheet open on his laptop. "okay, let's see what we're working with."

as you both settled into the task, the room grew quieter, save for the sound of typing or the rustle of papers

"you're surprisingly good at this," ino said after a while, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye

"surprisingly?"

he winced. "i didn't mean it like that. just… i didn't expect you to pick it up so quickly."

"thanks for the backhanded compliment," you said dryly, but there was a hint of a smile on your lips

he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "sorry. i meant it as a real compliment. you're making this way easier."

"you're welcome," you said, turning back to the spreadsheet. "but seriously, how have you two been doing this without losing your minds?"

"coffee," he said immediately

you snorted. "yeah, i can tell. your bloodstream is probably ninety percent caffeine at this point."

he smirked, but the teasing in his expression softened into something more genuine. "it's been… a lot. nanami keeps me grounded, though. he's really good at this kind of thing."

"yeah, he is," you said, pausing for a moment before adding, "but so are you."

ino blinked, caught off guard. "me?"

"yes, you," you said, glancing at him. "you're smart, ino. you don't give yourself enough credit."

he looked at you for a moment, his usual demeanor towards you faltering. "thanks," he said softly

the moment lingered longer than either of you expected, the air between you feeling just a bit heavier

the hours passed in a steady rhythm of work and banter sprinkled in, and by the time the sun began to set, the two of you had cleared more than half of the tasks kento had left behind

"see?" you said as you leaned back in your chair. "teamwork makes the dream work."

ino laughed, shaking his head. "alright, fine. you win. maybe having you here wasn't the worst thing."

"don't get too used to it," you teased, grabbing your bag. "next time, i might just let you suffer alone."

he playfully shot you a look while stretching in his chair, "hey, how about i show you around."

"what? are—are you joking?"

 he got up and packed his bag with never before seen speed, "yeah. i am."

"you—!"

"follow me."

ino led the way out of the building, his energy contagious despite the long day you both had. the evening air was cool and refreshing, the city humming quietly as the golden glow of the setting sun bathed everything in a warm light

"i know this great spot," he said with a grin as he walked slightly ahead, hands casually stuffed in his jacket pockets. "you've been here for a while, but have you actually seen the good stuff?"

you raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. "define 'good stuff.'"

he smirked over his shoulder. "you'll see."

as you followed ino down the bustling streets, the city seemed to transform as it got darker. neon lights flickered to life, illuminating the shop windows and casting colorful reflections on the wet pavement from an earlier drizzle. the aroma of street food mingled with the faint scent of rain, creating a vivid tapestry of sights and smells

"so," you began, dodging a biker weaving through the crowd, "what's the first stop on this magical mystery tour of yours? please tell me it's food. i'm starving."

ino grinned, gesturing dramatically toward a food cart that had a line of eager customers. "you, my friend, are about to experience the best takoyaki this city has to offer."

"oh, come on," you teased, falling in step beside him. "isn't that what everyone says about their favorite food cart?"

"don't disrespect taro-san like that," ino shot back, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "this man has been perfecting his craft since before i could hold chopsticks."

moments later, you stood together, balancing plates of piping hot takoyaki drizzled with sauce and topped with dancing bonito flakes. ino took a bite, his expression almost reverent. "see? what did i tell you? food of the gods."

you took a bite, and your eyes widened. the crisp shell gave way with a soft crunch, revealing the molten, creamy filling inside. it was so warm it nearly melted on your tongue, a perfect blend of savory depth and a subtle sweetness that made your mouth water instantly. the octopus at the center was tender, just the right amount of chewy, and so fresh it almost seemed to bring a whisper of the ocean with it. the sauce on top was like a burst of fireworks—sweet and tangy, with a smoky undertone that paired flawlessly with the creamy mayo drizzled alongside it

you had to pause for a second after swallowing, just to appreciate it. the warmth lingered in your mouth, and you already knew one bite wouldn't be enough. within seconds the entire thing was gone, but you couldn't give ino the satisfaction of being right

"it was alright i guess." you shrugged, "i suppose you're not as full of it as i thought."

"right…," ino said with a suspicious grin, nudging you lightly with his elbow. "stick with me and i'll make you a connoisseur."

he didn't waste any time bringing you to the next point of interest, grabbing your hand with his and dragging you to a small, secluded alley lined with string lights and small artisan shops. it was beautiful, to say the least

"it's… quieter here."

"yeah," ino agreed, his voice softer now. "this is one of my favorite spots. it's like the city pauses for a second."

you glanced at him, noticing the way his eyes softened as he looked around. "you come here often?"

"used to, back when i needed to think. or when i was avoiding studying," he admitted with a sheepish grin

"you? avoid studying? how unlikely…" you sneakily caught a glance at your still interlocked hands, noticing a small, oddly colored, handmade bracelet around ino's wrist. but it seems you were staring at it for far too long

"oh! sorry!" he stuttered, pulling his hand from yours, and bringing it to his chest. you immediately felt the slight chill of the night but still flashed a bittersweet smile that conveyed something of a don't worry about it. out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the shops practically twinkling. getting a closer look, your wallet itched once you saw the array of jewelry and hair accessories. it was sorted by color and then by type, gold earrings on the far left and silver necklaces on the far right. but you were inexplicably drawn to one item: a hair clip with four small, white seashells on it

"that one?"

ino's voice next to you made you jump slightly. giving him a small hit on his shoulder, you followed his finger to the item you were just admiring. "yeah, that one. it's really pretty, isn't it?" ino hummed in response, surprised to see you turn away from it and walk down the alley instead

"but…, maybe i'll get it another time."

after a minute or so of window shopping the rest of the stores, ino caught up to you. "next up is the park. you can't say you've really seen the city until you've walked through it at night."

once you got closer, ino pointed at the beautifully lit area in the distance. lanterns illuminated the paths, and the sound of a bubbling fountain echoed softly. children chased each other, their laughter carrying through the crisp air, while couples strolled hand in hand. ino brought you to a bench overlooking a pond, the moonlight reflecting off its surface like a scene from a painting

"alright, i'll give it to you," you said, leaning back and stretching, stomach craving that takoyaki from earlier. "you weren't kidding. this is incredible."

"see?" ino said with a smirk, leaning back beside you. "i'm full of surprises. and speaking of that… here." ino reached into his left pocket, pulling a small item out, and pushing it into your hands

staring down at it, you realized it was the seashell hair pin you were eyeing from earlier. overrun with happiness, you flung your arms around ino, showering him in thank you's. pulling away and on the edge of bouncing in your seat, you slipped it into your hair, looking at ino for validation

"how does it look?"

oh. oh.

she's… beautiful. though, i've always known that…

thanking the cashier and gathering your bags, you made a beeline for the exit. you see, you were trying to make it home as quickly as possible because it was friday and you and your roommates always watched a specific show on friday nights. you guys ordered in and it was just amazing, until nanako said that she was craving your cooking, everyone agreed, and then you somehow lost the four way rock, paper, scissors on who goes to the store to get the ingredients. so here you were, standing under the awning of the nearby grocery store, bags in hand, watching the wall of rain as it drenched the street. the rain that wasn't in the forecast and the kind of downpour that left everyone scrambling for cover

great. just great.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out to see a text from kento

kento: the rain was unexpected. are you alright?

you sighed and quickly typed back

you: yeah, just stuck waiting for it to stop. don't worry, i'll figure it out

after a couple minutes of you standing and contemplating your next move, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb, and the passenger window rolled down, revealing p.f.b.b.'s grin that even though you've seen about three times, you'd never get used to

"need a ride?" he called out, leaning casually over the center console

you blinked at him, caught off guard. "what are you doing here?"

"i was with nanami when he mentioned you," he said, shrugging. "said you were stranded. figured i'd play the hero."

you tried to cross your arms but the weight of the bags were kind of weighing them down, "play the hero driving kento's car? do you even have your license?"

"hey—," he explained, raising his voice just a bit, "it may be nanami's car but he said i could take it! and yes, i do have my license!"

you rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "alright, fine. but what about these?" you gestured to your grocery bags

"pop the trunk," he said, pressing a button on the dash. the trunk lid opened smoothly. "problem solved."

with a sigh, you stepped into the rain long enough to stow your bags before climbing into the passenger seat, shaking droplets off your jacket as you settled in. the interior was warm, the faint scent of leather and air freshener filling the space

"comfy?" he teased as you buckled up

"more than i'd be waiting in that rain," you shot back

he laughed, the sound light and easy, as he pulled back onto the road. the rain drummed steadily against the car, but inside, it was quiet, almost peaceful

"alright, then…, let's go home."

home, huh?

the blue light of your laptop pierced your eyes as you typed the final words of your assignment, and submitted it, chemistry work abandoned at the edge of your desk. as you were looking at it ashamedly, a ping came through your phone

xxx-xxx-xxxx: have you done the writing assignment yet?

you: wrong number

xxx-xxx-xxxx: no. it's p.f.b.b.

you: oh! how did you get my number?

p.f.b.b.: don't worry about that. did you do the assignment?

you: yeah i just finished. why?

p.f.b.b.: can you come over? i need some help with it. in exchange, i'll help you with your chem work that i know you didn't start

you: well since you're offering…

"do you still even like him?" nobara questioned, "before you'd be jumping up for joy."

"yeah, i do," you put your laptop and chemistry work and textbook in your tote, grabbing some snacks from the pantry too, "i'm just not as upfront about it anymore. maybe it's cause we're friends now, but i don't know!"

you slung your tote bag over your shoulder, opening the door to your apartment and saying a quick "i'll be back" to your girls. walking just across the hall and knocking on his door, you barely had time to exhale before it swung open to reveal ino in a hoodie and sweats, his hair slightly tousled like he'd just slipped off that beanie

"right on time," he said with a grin, stepping aside to let you in

"you texted me like two minutes ago—"

"make yourself at home," he interrupted, already moving to clear space for you

his apartment mirrored yours in layout but had its own chaotic charm—textbooks and notes spread across the coffee table, an empty coffee mug sitting precariously on the edge

you dropped your bag and slid onto the couch, pulling out your laptop. "let's see what you've got so far."

ino groaned, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. "barely anything. writing isn't my thing."

you rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. "that's what i'm here for."

the second session, where you both stumbled through the assignment, bickering over comma placement and syntax while munching on the snacks you brought. you teased him for his messy handwriting, and he fired back with jokes about your overuse of sticky notes

the fourth session, where ino finally made good on his promise to help you with chemistry. he sat cross-legged on the floor, explaining concepts in a way that actually made sense while you leaned over his shoulder to read his notes

the sixth session, where the stress of exams had both of you yawning into your notebooks. he brewed coffee—terrible coffee—but the gesture made you smile. you fell asleep on his couch that night, waking up to a blanket draped over you

or that one time he showed up at your door, unannounced, holding a coffee cup in one hand and a thick textbook in the other for an "emergency study session,"

today was no different. you walked over to ino's apartment that he graciously started leaving unlocked around this time—just for you. walking in and greeting him briefly, you sat on his couch, your knees brushing against his as you both hovered over the same textbook as you reviewed chemical equations. the proximity made it hard to focus; you were acutely aware of the way his shoulder brushed yours every time he shifted, and you wondered if he was too 

"see?" you said, pointing to a diagram. "like what does that even mean? what does this show me?"

"okay so, this shows esterification.  ethanoic acid and ethanol produces ethyl ethanoate and water in the presence of an acid catalyst like sulfuric acid. the reaction begins with the acid protonation of the carbonyl oxygen of the carboxylic acid, making the carbon more electrophilic." he replied, the words falling off his tongue with ease

you glanced up at him, finding his eyes already on you. though the usual playful spark was there, his words went in one ear and out the other, and you felt embarrassed that you didn't understand a word except acid, produces, reaction, and catalyst

neither of you spoke for a long moment. the tension was palpable, the world outside his apartment fading away until it was just the two of you in this bubble of uncertainty and longing

"ino, repeat that for—" you started, but your words were cut off as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so tentative it felt like a question

your breath caught, your mind racing even as your heart leapt. what is happening right now? it was almost an immediate reaction that you kissed him back, the touch lingering just long enough to send your thoughts spiraling before you pulled away

"i—" he started, his expression a mix of surprise and hesitation. "i didn't mean to—"

you shook your head, rising from the couch as you scrambled to gather your things. "i should go."

"wait," he said, standing as if to follow, but you held up a hand to stop him

"i'll… see you later," you murmured, avoiding his gaze as you slipped out the door

the walk across the hall to your apartment felt endless, your heart pounding in your chest. once inside, you leaned against the door, your fingers brushing your lips as you replayed the moment over and over

what the fuck?

the party was in full swing, a cheerful celebration of your brother's long-awaited return. laughter and chatter filled the room, plates of food were passed around, and glasses clinked in endless toasts. you were busy setting a tray of drinks on the counter when you spotted takuma ino standing near the door, looking a little out of place but still managing to charm a small group of your family members and friends with his easygoing smile

your steps faltered, your chest tightening. he hadn't mentioned he'd be here. not that you blamed him—why would he? last night's kiss wasn't a topic either of you seemed ready to breach today. but still, the sight of him caught you completely off guard

turning on your heel, you found kento by the kitchen, nursing a glass of wine. marching up to him, you jabbed a finger in his direction

"why is he here?" you hissed, keeping your voice low

kento raised an eyebrow at you, calm as ever. "he's here because i invited him. your brother wanted to know more about my project. what better way to tell him about it than to bring my research assistant? why?"

you rubbed your temple, biting back a groan. "look, i'm not saying that he can't be here, but… you could've given me a heads-up."

kento's gaze turned suspicious, and his lips twitched into a slight frown. "why would you need a heads-up? haven't i introduced you two?"

you felt heat rising to your cheeks, the embarrassment seeping into your voice as you fumbled for an explanation. "well, yeah, formally, but he and i—we—we're—he and i—NO!"

kento stared at you, unblinking, while you buried your face in your hands, muttering curses under your breath. his frown deepened, and you could practically feel his uncle intuition kicking in

"wait," he said slowly, his tone sharpening. "what do you mean, 'he and i'?"

"nothing!" you snapped, dropping your hands, "i meant nothing. just—just forget i said anything."

kento's expression didn't waver. he studied you for a moment longer before sighing and shaking his head. "whatever you're freaking out about will pass. ino's a good guy."

"yeah, i know," you muttered under your breath, glancing back toward ino, who was now engaged in a conversation with your brother. his laugh echoed across the room, and you couldn't help the flutter of nervous energy it sent through you

as the party continued in full swing, you moved around the room, trying to keep busy—refilling snacks, grabbing empty plates, and avoiding ino's gaze whenever your paths seemed to almost cross

you weren't sure how long you could keep this up. every time his laughter reached your ears or you caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, your heart seemed to skip a beat. the kiss from last night lingered in the back of your mind, a constant, unspoken weight

you had just finished setting down a fresh tray of drinks when you heard a voice behind you

"hey."

you froze, recognizing it immediately. slowly turning around, you found ino standing there, his hands holding a can of soda; they were shaking. his usual smile was softer now, almost nervous

"can we talk?" he asked, his voice low enough that no one else could hear over the party noise

your heart sank and leaped at the same time, "uh, sure. now?"

he nodded. "yeah. just for a minute. outside?"

you hesitated, glancing around the room. kento was chatting with your brother near the couch, and the rest of the guests were engrossed in their own conversations. no one would miss you for a few minutes

"okay," you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended

ino led the way to the front door, holding it open for you before stepping out into the cool night air. the silence stretched as you stood there, arms crossed against the slight chill. ino rubbed the back of his neck, clearly searching for the right words

"so," he started, his tone careful, "i uh… figured it was probably a bad idea to bring this up inside. with, you know, everyone around."

you nodded, unsure of where he was going with this. "probably."

he let out a small breath, finally meeting your eyes. "about last night…"

your stomach flipped. of course, he'd bring it up. you'd been bracing for this moment all day, but now that it was here, you didn't know what to say

"look," he continued, "i don't want to make things weird between us. especially not with nanami, or your family, or—"

"it's not weird," you interrupted, surprising even yourself. "at least, it doesn't have to be."

his brows lifted slightly, a flicker of hope in his expression. "really? because i was worried i'd screwed things up."

"you didn't," you said quickly. "it's just… unexpected."

ino nodded, stepping closer. his voice softened, almost hesitant. "i don't regret it, you know. the kiss. but if you're not okay with it, i'll back off. no questions asked."

the sincerity in his tone made your chest ache. you looked up at him, taking in the way his usually confident demeanor seemed so tentative now

"i didn't say i wasn't okay with it," you murmured, barely louder than a whisper. "believe it or not, but i've been flirting with you for a while now."

ino blinked at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. "wait… what?"

you tilted your head, giving him a look that said seriously? "flirting, ino. you know, dropping hints, teasing, trying to get you to notice me?"

he stared at you, his lips parting slightly as if the realization was slowly dawning on him. "you're kidding."

you let out a soft laugh, part amused and part exasperated. "no, i'm not kidding. you're telling me you didn't pick up on any of it? not even when i started making excuses to see you more?"

ino's hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that familiar sheepish way. "i thought you were just being nice! like, nanami-level nice."

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "nanami-level nice? ino, i bought you coffee with your weirdly specific order three times in one week. kento would never do that."

he opened his mouth, then closed it, a look of genuine shock crossing his face. "wait… that was flirting?"

"yes," you said with a small laugh. "and the time i told you your new haircut made you look good? or when i made sure there was always a snack for you at kento's? flirting, ino."

ino's jaw dropped slightly, his hands falling to his sides as he processed your words. "oh, my god. i'm the dumbest guy alive."

"well… maybe," you said, trying not to laugh at his adorably stunned expression

"i am," he insisted, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. "you've been into me this whole time, and i've been walking around like an idiot, completely missing it."

you couldn't help but laugh now, the sound easing the tension between you. "well, now you know."

he took off his beanie and ran a hand through his hair, still looking flustered but with a hint of something softer in his eyes. "yeah. now i know."

for a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet night stretching around you. then, almost shyly, ino glanced at you again. "so… does this mean i can kiss you again? like, now that i'm finally catching up and all."

you smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. "i think that depends. are you going to keep being oblivious, or are you going to start paying attention?"

he grinned, his usual confidence flickering back. "oh, i'm paying attention now. promise."

before you could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as his gaze met yours. slowly, he leaned in, his lips expecting to meet yours in a kiss that was as sweet as it was certain, but… instead they met your pointer finger

"do you hear that? i think someones calling for me." you walked back into the house, leaving ino to wallow in his self-inflicted embarrassment for a while

the convenience store's fluorescent lights buzzed softly above the aisles, casting a harsh glow on shelves stocked with instant noodles, snacks, and cheap energy drinks. you and ino—or, as he let you call him in private, takuma—had wandered in after a long evening of hanging out at his apartment, the kind of night where laughter and teasing filled the silence

takuma leaned against the refrigerator door, his black beanie pushed back enough to reveal a few strands of his messy hair. he squinted at the drink selection like it held the answers to life's greatest mysteries

"you've been staring at that for a full minute," you teased, sliding up beside him. "it's not that deep. just grab the green tea like you always do."

he smirked without looking at you. "and miss out on your expert critique of my choices? never."

you reached past him to grab a bottle of sparkling water, your shoulder brushing his arm. it wasn't much, just a small touch, but it was enough to make the air between you shift. for a second, it felt like the buzzing of the fluorescent lights got louder, the hum filling the space where words should be

he cleared his throat, stepping back just slightly. "you always drink that fizzy stuff. isn't it just soda pretending to be fancy?"

"it's called having taste," you corrected, placing it in your basket

"right. taste," he said, rolling his eyes but smiling anyway

as the two of you wandered through the aisles, the quiet of the late hour settled over you, broken only by the occasional sound of a cashier scanning items. you found yourself in front of the snack section, takuma trailing behind you with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets

"you want anything?" you asked, holding up a bag of chips

"nah, i'm good," he said, but his eyes lingered on the pack of pocky in your hand

you smirked, tossing it into your basket. "liar. i'll grab it for you. consider it a thank you for giving back that hoodie you stole last week."

"i didn't steal it," he argued, though his tone was more defensive than adamant

"oh, so it just walked out of my closet on its own? how did you even get in?"

he scratched the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "mimiko let me in… and… it's comfortable."

you grinned, but decided to let it go. instead, you nudged him lightly with your elbow as you headed toward the counter. "next time, just ask. i might even let you keep it."

he followed you in silence, but when you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest hint of pink on his ears

after paying for your haul, you stepped outside into the crisp night air. the streets were quiet, the kind of stillness that felt rare in the city. takuma walked beside you, the pocky in his hand already opened

"you're eating that now?" you asked, digging through the bag for that sparkling water of yours

"why not?" he said around the stick in his mouth, offering you the box

you took one, the chocolate coating melting slightly against your lips. for a moment, the two of you just walked in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier still lingering but softer now, like a thread pulling you closer without snapping

"thanks," he said suddenly, his voice quiet

"for what?" you asked, glancing at him

he shrugged, not meeting your eyes. "i don't know."

"he knew. he definitely knew," you insisted, gesturing wildly as you paced the living room

mimiko tilted her head thoughtfully. "but if he knew, why wouldn't he just say something?"

nanako smirked. "maybe he's waiting for you to say something first. or maybe he's just an idiot who can't read the room."

nobara clicked her tongue. "i mean, the guy's not exactly subtle. pretending he needs help with writing assignments? clearing his schedule to go grocery shopping with you so that you never have to carry the bags in by yourself? and don't even get me started on how he looks at you when you're not paying attention."

you threw up your hands, exasperated. "what am i supposed to do, just march up to him and demand he explain himself?"

"yes," they chorused

"ugh!" you groaned, grabbing your bag and stomping toward your room. "i don't wanna do this anymore!"

their laughter followed you down the hall, but your irritation evaporated the moment you stepped inside. on your desk, there was a letter

your name was scrawled across the front in unmistakable handwriting. your breath caught as you picked it up, hands trembling slightly as you unfolded the paper. the words inside were written with care, each line pulling at your heart:

to you, the one who's always on my mind,

i've started and restarted this letter more times than i can count, and even now, i'm not sure if i've found the right words. how do you tell someone that they've completely changed the way you see the world? that their laugh is the best sound you've ever heard, or that their smile makes even the worst days feel a little brighter?

i've never been good at this—putting my feelings into words—but for you, i'll try. because you deserve to know how incredible you are, even if i can't say it as smoothly as i'd like.

you have this way of making everything feel easier, lighter, just by being yourself. and it's not just the big things, like how you help me with work or how you always know exactly what to say when i'm frustrated. it's the little things too. like how you hum under your breath when you're focused, how you tilt your head when you're confused, how you always manage to start an argument over the stupidest of topics, how you light up when you talk about something you love. it's those little things that make me fall harder for you every day.

i don't know when it started—maybe it was the late nights we spent working together, or maybe it was how you didn't let me quit when things felt impossible. but now i don't think i want to stop. you make me want to be better, just so i can be someone worthy of being by your side. and maybe i'm not saying this the right way, but i hope you understand what i mean.

i don't know what you'll do with this letter, and maybe i'm an idiot for writing it (and asking mimiko to put it on your desk for me), but if nothing else, i just needed you to know.

yours (if you want me to be),

p.f.b.b.

your chest tightened, emotions flooding through you as you reread the letter. before you could realize it, you were across the hall, in front of takuma's door

you knocked on it and pushed it open without waiting for a response. "takuma—"

he was standing in the kitchen, and your eyes immediately caught the bouquet of your favorite flowers on the counter. the vibrant blooms were arranged with care, their familiar scent wafting through the room

takuma turned, his face a mix of surprise and panic. "oh. uh… hey."

"you're unbelievable," you said, holding up the letter, trying to fight back your smile

his ears turned red as he scratched the back of his neck. "so, you found that."

"takuma, what is this?" you gestured to the flowers and the letter, your voice a mix of exasperation and something softer

he hesitated, looking uncharacteristically shy. "i… i wanted to tell you how i feel, but every time i try, i just… i mess it up. so, i thought maybe this would be easier."

you stared at him, your heart pounding. "and the flowers?"

"i thought they'd make you smile," he said simply, stepping closer. "do they?"

you felt your lips twitch despite yourself. "they do."

his shoulders relaxed slightly, but the tension between you only seemed to grow. his voice dropped, softer now. "i meant every word in that letter. i did."

your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted, "why didn't you tell me sooner? i've been…" you trailed off, shaking your head

"been what?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours.

"waiting," you admitted. "i've been waiting for you to say something since the party. anything."

takuma stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours. "i'm saying it now," he murmured. "i care about you. a lot. more than i probably should. and if i'm being honest, you terrify me a little because of how much i feel when i'm around you."

your heart twisted at his words, and before your mind could find a reason to say no, you leaned up, capturing his lips in a kiss. it was hesitant at first, soft and searching, but when his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, the world seemed to melt away

when you pulled back, both of you were breathless, his forehead resting against yours

"i think we should date," he said, a small smile playing on his lips

you laughed softly, your nerves giving way to warmth. "i think we should too."

his grin widened, but before the moment could get too serious, he quipped, "does this mean i get to steal your clothes now?"

you smacked his arm playfully. "i'm pretty sure it's supposed to be the other way around."

"hey…, what does p.f.b.b. stand for?"

"mmm," you hummed, looking at your… boyfriend. "don't worry about it."

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[lxkeee]

MY LOVE, IS MINE ALL MINE

—PART SIX

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Fallen Angel! Fem! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Warnings: none

Notes: sorry it took awhile^^" this is a long chapterr and Happy Valentine's day everyone<3

Word count: 2.5k

PART ONE | PART FIVE | PART SEVEN

It has been two days since [y/n] started living with Lucifer in the palace of hell that is located in the pride circle. It's awkward to say the least, it has been years since... Well, they spent time with each other.

Lucifer on the other hand is very overprotective over her, making sure she's alright even though she has already fully healed herself.

Both fallen angels spent most of their time just talking and catching up with one another. Lucifer shared to her what happened with his marriage and [y/n] sharing to him what happened to her in heaven when he was gone and she also told him about her time at the hotel with Charlie.

Currently the two are in the living room of the palace, Lucifer's head on [y/n]'s lap as she plays with his hair. Fingers weaving through silky blond locks, soft against her fingertips. Lucifer's eyes are closed as he enjoys the sensation of her fingers running through his hair and massaging his scalp. He misses this so much, it brought back a sense of deja vu to him. Reminding him of the past where he and [y/n] would just be lying down on the clouds, cloud gazing while she plays with his hair and his head on her lap. Lucifer wonders what his life would be if he chose to stay in heaven and didn't break any rules. Would he have been happy with [y/n]? Lucifer mentally asked himself, realizing the thought made his cheeks warmed up.

[Y/n] raises an eyebrow as she watches the man shake his head to himself, laughing quietly to herself.

“What's got you thinking? I just saw you physically disagree with whatever thought you just had.” [y/n] says with a small chuckle, looking down on him. Strands of her hair falling off from her ear where she tucked them, silk like [h/c] locks caressing Lucifer's cheeks. Lucifer looks up and sees her gazing at him, curiosity in her eyes, her hair framing her face perfectly. She looked absolutely divine. Wait a minute, since when did he start looking at his best friend through heart shaped pink colored glasses?!

The realization made his jaw drop, [y/n] getting more confused as she placed her fingers underneath his chin to close his mouth again.

“Now I am really curious what's going on inside that head of yours.” [y/n] mutters, her hand had stopped playing with his hair moments ago.

Lucifer shakes his head, “It is nothing, just... Hell stuff...” he says awkwardly with a laugh, his fingers pulling his collar as it suddenly felt too tight around his neck.

[Y/n] looked at him with her eyebrow still raised but eventually sighs, deciding not to push him to say whatever is bothering him. “Whatever you say, Lu.” she says softly and the comfortable silence falls between them once more. [Y/n] humming a tune while she plays with his hair once more while Lucifer was having an internal conflict.

“It has been awhile since I've last visited the hotel, how about we go and see how the others are?” [y/n] murmurs softly, Lucifer opens his eyes to look at her. His red eyes dilated as he gazed up at her, a soft look on his face. He grins at her, showing her that toothy smile that she loves.

“What a wonderful idea, we should visit them!” Lucifer grins, excited to see his daughter again. Although, not really thrilled in seeing the other sinners. Especially that radio demon. He knows that the bastard would try to pull something that will annoy him.

Lucifer sighs once more, [y/n] wondering what got him to change his mood again. At this point she got used to it.

Sitting up, leaving the comfort of her lap. He sat and faced her, seeing her hair falling into her face, he gently tucks it behind her ear.

The two stared at each other a few seconds before quickly avoiding each other's gazes. Cheeks heating up.

“... Right, we should visit them right now” Lucifer says, clearing his throat awkwardly and [y/n] turns to look at him once more.

“Like... Right now..?” She asked with a raised eyebrow and he nodded.

[Y/n] clears her throat, trying to calm her fast beating heart. She expected this, her buried feelings now unraveling like petals of a newly bloomed flower.

Awkward...

Lucifer coughs awkwardly, turning around to look at her, “If you're ready, we can go right now...?” he suggested and [y/n] looked at him, slightly in deep thought.

“Can you give me some time to prepare something? I want to bring something to them when we visit.” [y/n] says softly and Lucifer sighed but gave her a gentle toothy smile.

“Alright.”

[Y/n] decided to use Lucifer's kitchen, the king of hell watching her as he leans against the door frame, admiring her figure as she puts on an apron. [Y/n] approaches him, turning around for her back to face him. The ties of the apron are still not tied.

Lucifer smiled and his hand gently worked with the ties of the apron, tying it securely. “I missed eating your cookies, I remember you used to bake me duck shaped cookies.” he says, nostalgia evident in his voice.

[Y/n] chuckles softly, remembering the memories. “Indeed, you often helped me when I baked.” she says and he smiled, turning around as he too wore an apron, [y/n] tying the ties of the apron.

With a flick of his fingers, Lucifer summoned the ingredients they needed. [Y/n]'s eyes sparkled in awe as she sees the ingredients now on the counter.

The two fallen angels began working on the sweets they planned on making, moving around the pristine kitchen. Working together side by side. Lucifer was tasked with whisking the dry ingredients with the wet ingredients. [Y/n] behind him, looming over his smaller body, her hand on his waist while her other hand held his hand that was holding the whisk. Guiding him on how to whisk it.

‘Goodness, she's so close.’ Lucifer thought nervously. His ears felt unbelievably warm.

“Just like that, good.” she murmurs, against his ears. Oh god, he feels like he's about to pass out.

Suddenly he's very hyper aware. He could feel the softness of her skin against his, her hair occasionally caressing his neck as she leans on his shoulder. The hand on his waist, the hand on his waist, the hand on hIS WAIST. Suddenly he could feel how hot his body was, his heart beating so erratically against his ribcage.

“Lu? Are you okay? You seem spaced out...” [y/n] says worriedly as she noticed the man seemed to freeze while whisking.

[Y/n]'s facial expression softens, admiring the man in front of her. He still looked beautiful as the day she lost him.

Removing her hand from his wrist, that hand gently cupped his cheek. Breaking him out of his thoughts, jumping slightly.

“Jesus... You surprised me.” He sighs, placing a hand over his chest to calm his fast beating heart. The golden organ beating against his ribcage.

[Y/n]'s eyes soften, “You spaced out for a second, I got worried.” she says softly, brushing away the strands of blond hair away from his face that was beginning to fall into his face.

“Are you okay?” she asked him worriedly and he gave her a gentle smile, nodding.

“I am alright, I was just... Thinking...” he answers, voice gentle. He wouldn't tell her that he was thinking about her. How he was basically thinking about her touch.

“If you say so...” she says hesitantly and they eventually return to baking.

They just made the classic chocolate cookies and also baked an apple pie.

They arranged the cookies and placed them into two rectangular boxes, they made enough for the hotel crew. [Y/n] carefully placed the apple pie on the cake container, allowing it to cool down first.

The two decided to change into a cleaner set of clothes as the ones they were wearing were dirtied when they were baking.

Lucifer gifted her clothes of course, she has her own room, a few doors away from his.

[Y/n] decided to wear a cute dress that was on her wardrobe, slipping it over her body. Applying some light makeup on her face. Grabbing a brush, her hand gently moving as she began to brush her hair.

After changing and meeting up in the living room, the two fallen angels didn't notice that they accidentally matched color schemes with their outfits.

Lucifer wore his usual white suit with red accents while [y/n] wore a white with red accents short dress that reaches her knees.

[Y/n] decided to carry the two boxes of cookies they've made, though, Lucifer wanted to be the one to carry it but the woman insisted as he would be the one to teleport them to the hotel.

Lucifer sighs but gives her an understanding smile, placing his arm behind her back and allowing his hand to rest on her waist. The action caught the woman off guard as she could feel heat creeping up to her cheeks.

Lucifer didn't notice how that simple action could fluster her so much, he thought it was nothing as he only wanted to make sure she teleports with him.

With a snap of his fingers, sparkling red smoke covered their bodies. The scenery of the palace's living room morphs as they teleport, now, they're in front of the Hazbin Hotel front doors.

Charlie was just discussing with the gang about what they're planning to do once Adam and the exorcists will come. Their attention was diverted as knocks were heard on the doors of the hotel.

“Oooh new guests?” Angel Dust says with a smirk, lying on his stomach as he lies on the couch, taking up the entire space.

Alastor was just grinning as he sat on the cushioned chair, Niffty sitting on his shoulders and playing with his hair.

Vaggie was sitting at the bar area with Husk still bartending. Sir Pentious was sitting with them too. The egg boys are just walking around.

Charlie's eyes sparkled, walking to the front door. Opening it to see her dad and... [Y/n]...?!

“Charlieee!” Lucifer greeted as he immediately hugged the girl, [y/n] laughing softly behind them.

Angel Dust looked at Husk, wondering if he saw the same thing as him.

The two fallen angels looked like they were matching outfits. Angel Dust gave them a smirk, in which the two fallen angels were confused why.

“Dad?! I didn't know you were going to visit? And Miss [y/n] I am glad to see you again.” Charlie smiled and approached the woman in which the older woman hugged the girl.

“[y/n] here wanted to visit and I thought why not? Also, we brought cookies! We baked them!” Lucifer says proudly, a grin on his face. [Y/n] laughs softly as she hands the two boxes to Charlie, in which the girl excitedly and happily accepts. “Really? Thank you so much!” Charlie says excitedly.

Charlie gave the two fallen angels a look before giving her dad a knowing smirk, Lucifer was confused.

The two fallen angels looked at each other and shrugged, not knowing what that was about. The two eventually went inside the hotel, closing the doors behind them.

[Y/n] was immediately pulled into the group, the hotel crew missing her. Lucifer smiles as he sits on the bar stool, admiring how she interacted with the others. No one is stupid, they can literally see the lovestruck look the King of Hell is giving the female fallen angel, they can literally see his dilated pupils. Charlie sat beside him, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

“What?” Lucifer deadpans, confused why his daughter is looking at him like that. Tearing his gaze away from his best friend.

Charlie nudges him, “You liked her don't you?” she teases him, Lucifer could feel his cheeks heat up once more.

“Me?! I think it's a little too early?” he says hesitantly and Charlie just gave him a raised eyebrow, clearly not believing him.

Husk scoffs behind the counter as he continues to wipe the glass, “Yeah, no one is believing that. We can literally see you giving her heart eyes and you two even looked like you guys are matching clothes.” Husk says nonchalantly and Lucifer had to double check his outfit and [y/n]'s.

They indeed looked like they were matching outfits.

Husk and Charlie could see the circles of Lucifer's cheeks redden even more. The king of hell was leaning his head against the counter, burying his face on his arm as he used it as a pillow, “It was a coincidence.” he explained and Husk just scoffs and chuckles.

“I think it's too early...” Lucifer murmurs, he doesn't want to admit it but he's scared of what Charlie will think. Will she think that he's replacing her mother?

Charlie's eyes soften, she places a hand on his shoulder for comfort. “You love her don't you? Long before I even existed and you still do and I think you shouldn't deny it dad. It's not healthy.” she murmurs softly and Lucifer sighs.

Charlie smiled softly at him, “If you're afraid of my opinion about this, I think you should go for it dad... I want you to be happy and Miss [y/n] seems to be a nice woman...” she says softly as she looks at the woman smiling with Sir Pentious and the egg boys as they ate the cookies that she and her dad brought. Charlie doesn't mind calling [y/n] her step mom. She already sees her like a mother figure already.

Lucifer's eyes softened, sparkling.

“You better shoot your shot, I think you're not the only one interested in her.” Husk says emotionlessly, gesturing behind Lucifer. The king of hell turned around and he could feel his eye twitch as Alastor gave him a smirk as the radio demon twirled the woman while she laughed.

Husk knows Alastor isn't interested, sure, the radio demon sees the woman more as a companion. He just needed to help this pathetic man they call a king to make a move.

Lucifer's sharp nails slightly graze the wooden counter in annoyance.

Charlie nudges him again, breaking his focus from the scene.

“Besides, I won't mind calling her mom. I won't replace my birth mother of course but Miss [y/n] is like a mom to me too. Allow yourself to be happy, dad.” Charlie says softly, smiling at her father.

Lucifer could feel himself get flustered at the idea. Him, Charlie, and [y/n] as a family. It doesn't sound so bad. It sounds amazing actually.

“Soon... I want to make sure that I am ready...” Lucifer says softly, his eyes looking at the woman who was happily conversing with a certain arachnid, chuckling softly as he notices her getting flustered. It might be because of what the arachnid has said to her.

Charlie smiled and nodded, “Take your time dad. You have all the time in the world.” she says softly and he nodded in agreement, “Indeed...”

TAGLIST I: CLOSED

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