#hes so pretty in the latest chapter he's so cool

[m-kyunie]

Allen Walker

[yannawayne]

vi. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures, Panic Attacks, Arguments AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

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NOTE: THIS IS PART 6. I POSTED 2 CHAPTERS TODAY! PART 5 IS HERE

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"No sign of activity. Just monitoring. Slow night."

"Figured," Nightwing's voice spoke up. "There is a storm."

“Ishth Gotham,” Jason's voice chimed in, muffled as if he was chewing something. “When isn’t there a storm?”

"Are you eating right now?" Tim's voice squeaked with disbelief, the sound sharp and incredulous over the comms. "Again? Really?"

"Yeah?" Jason retorted, taking another bite of whatever he was munching on. "A guy's gotta eat. Maybe if you actually ate more, you wouldn’t be so scrawny, Timberland."

"I'm fit!" Tim snapped back, voice cracking. "And can you please stop using my name? We have codenames for a reason."

"You're the genius who called yourself 'Drake'."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 8:35 AM - Gotham Academy, Gotham City.

The halls of Gotham Academy buzzed with the usual chatter and laughter—a total disconnect from the storm of nerves brewing inside you. You zigzagged through the crowd, your trusty, battle-worn Converse scuffing against the linoleum. Damian’s varsity jacket hung over your uniform, the hood pulled low to hide the cuts on your face.

Morgan had ditched you at the entrance, probably off to plot some mad science in the labs. Not exactly your idea of fun, so you opted for aimless wandering instead.

And if I only could I'd make a deal with God.  And I'd get Him to swap our places.  Be runnin' up that road.  Be runnin' up that hill  Be runnin' up that building. 

Your headphones were snug, the music offering a temporary refuge as you walked, your head instinctively nodding to the beat. Even with the volume cranked up, you couldn’t shake the awareness of every shift in the crowd, the way the jacket rubbed against your sore muscles, or the stiffness in your back and arm from the muscle tear. Concerned whispers drifted past you, catching on the currents of passing conversations, but you kept moving, trying to lose yourself in the rhythm of the song.

When you reached Damian’s locker, you leaned against it, letting the cool metal soothe your aching back. You adjusted the hood of his jacket, tugging it further down to hide the cuts around your face. With your free hand, you quickly typed out a message to Damian, your fingers flying over the screen, each tap a small burst of nervous energy.

You:

"At your locker."

You hit send, slipped your phone back into your pocket, then immediately pulled it out again. This time, you opened Twitter, your thumb instinctively scrolling through your feed for any updates on the recent incident.

Tweets about the attack were already trending, paired with blurry photos and clickbait headlines. You cringed as fan accounts for #Nightcrawler started flooding in. It was wild how fast the public’s attention could flip from genuine concern to a full-blown obsession with the latest hero—or villain. 

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders building as you scrolled through the flood of posts.

“Beloved?”

A tanned hand brushed gently against your arm, followed by the sight of polished brown dress shoes stepping into view.

“Dami,” you murmured with a relieved smile, leaning into his hold, your head still bowed.

Damian instinctively pulled you into a hug, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. The embrace was firm but careful, as if he feared you might break under too much pressure. He could feel the stiffness in your muscles, your body wound tight with unspoken tension. His eyes narrowed with concern, but he stayed silent, letting the quiet speak for both of you.

His gaze flicked to your phone screen, catching sight of the trending tweets.

“Nightcrawler…” Damian murmured, and you lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes.

Sighing, you shifted so your cheek rested against his chest, the cool scent of his cologne grounding you. You kept scrolling, clicking on a particularly cringeworthy tweet and wincing at the fanatical comments.

“Can you believe these people?” you murmured, frustration seeping into your voice. “It’s insane.”

Sometimes you wondered how Damian and his brothers dealt with all the fanatics, the constant drooling over their hero personas—or even their civilian lives.

Damian’s grip tightened as he held you closer, his brow furrowing in disapproval as he read the tweets over your shoulder.

Repulsive. To him, it was a grotesque spectacle. The media had managed to paint the Spider into a celebrated hero, a figure of admiration, when in reality, the person behind that mask was nothing more than a monster, cloaked in deception and false heroism.

“They’re utterly obsessed,” Damian scoffed. “It’s as if they’ve completely forgotten there’s a real person behind that mask.”

“I know, right?” You sighed, closing Twitter and slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Like, I really don’t want to see those posts. They’re just—so much.”

Damian noticed your distress and instinctively started rubbing soothing circles on your back. But as his hand moved, a sharp muscle spasm seized your shoulder. You cursed, a wince escaping you as the sensation left you momentarily frozen. It felt as if someone had taken a wrench to your shoulder, yanking and twisting until every fiber protested in sharp, jarring bursts. 

Damian’s hand froze.

Muscle tear. He realized.

Without a word, he guided you gently into a nearby janitor’s closet. The door clicked shut behind you, cutting off the noise of the bustling hallway and granting you both some much-needed privacy. 

Inside, he carefully placed his hand on your elbow and began to stretch the affected muscle. You winced as a sharp twinge of pain flared, but Damian’s voice was soft and soothing.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple,  offering a small but comforting distraction from the pain.

Gradually, the pain eased, and you let out a sigh of relief. Your shoulders relaxed, the tight knots unwinding.

"I love you and your weird Robin skills," you said with a grateful smile, rolling your shoulders and feeling the tension dissipate.

Damian’s lips twitched into a faint, approving smile, though his voice remained gruff. “Love you too.”

He continued to watch you with a keen, sharp gaze, noticing the hood of your hoodie pulled up. His eyes traced the shadowy outline of your face, and he realized he hadn’t seen it clearly. His expression shifted to one of concern, a frown creasing his brow.

“Why haven’t you taken your hood down?” he asked quietly, his voice low and probing.

You pursed your lips, trying to edge toward the exit. But before you could make a clean getaway, Damian’s hand shot out, gripping your arm and yanking you back into him. You collided with his chest, and for a second, it felt like you’d just hugged a brick wall in a hoodie.

“And where do you think you’re going?” 

“Uh, nowhere, apparently,” you sighed, realizing escape wasn’t in the cards today.

“Look. I just didn’t want to get my hair messed up,” you continued, trying to sound casual, but the words felt hollow in the small, enclosed space.

“Oh yeah…?” Damian murmured in disbelief, his voice thick with something darker. His eyes narrowed, and without warning, he bent down to your height, his rough fingers sliding up your jacket. You felt the fabric shift and the warmth of his hand against your side.

You swallowed hard, your hands instinctively bracing against his shoulders. Your nails dug into the fabric of his uniform as you tried to push him back.

“Pull the hood off,” he demanded, his hands working insistently to tug it up. You sputtered out protests, swatting at his hands, but Damian was relentless. “Habibti, let me see! Pull it up—let me see!”

Your grip on the hood tightened, your knuckles going white as you held on for dear life. But Damian’s concern bulldozed through any resistance you put up. He mumbled curses, and suddenly shifted tactics. Bending down, his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. He pinned you against the wall, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as your weight pressed into his hips.

"Damian, stop!" you groaned, trying to push him away.

But he ignored your plea, yanking the hood off. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the full extent of your injuries. Cuts and bandages marred your face, some fresh, others scabbing over. Dark bruises colored your cheek, spreading out like ominous clouds.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded, even though he was already cursing a certain spider vigilante in his head. Damian dipped his head low, his dangerous glare cutting through you. “Tell me who hurt you, and I’ll make them pay.”

“Baby, you’re being melodramatic. It’s just a few bruises,” you deflected, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll survive.”

“Plus, it’s not like you can just go around punching everyone who hurts me,” you huffed, wincing as you tried to pull your hood back up. Damian scowled and yanked it down again.

“Yes, I can.”

“Oh my god,” you said, raising an eyebrow and trying to stifle a smile. “I hate you so much.”

Damian tightened his hold, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Our relationship status says otherwise. And I’m not letting go until I get answers.”

You squirmed in his embrace, attempting to free yourself, but he held you tightly. “Seriously, let go.”

“No.”

“You’re going to miss your first period.”

“And?”

“Your education will be in ruins.”

“Beloved, my GPA is already at a 5.0. I’ve been at the top of my class since junior high. Missing one period won’t ruin my future.”

You groaned and grabbed the nearest object—a mop. Raising it in a mock-threatening manner, you declared, “I’m seriously considering hitting you with this until you let me go.”

Damian gave a flat “Tch,” raising a hand to the metal handle. With a casual squeeze, he bent the metal in half effortlessly. You blinked.

Okay, that's a little annoying, but also super, super, super hot.

“Seriously? You’re showing off now?” you huffed, crossing your arms.

“Showing off?” Damian arched an eyebrow. “I’m merely proving a point.”

“I can handle myself!” you insisted, frustration creeping into your voice.

“Clearly,” he shot back, eyes narrowing. “That’s why you’re covered in cuts and bruises.”

“Fuck you,” you snapped, your irritation bubbling over.

“I would be delighted to,” Damian replied, his tone dripping with syrupy sweetness that was equal parts enticing and infuriating.

"Ugh!" you groaned, pulling the hood back over your face in a futile attempt to hide.

“Drop the theatrics and tell me what happened,” he sighed, tugging the hood back down. “I need to know so I can handle it.”

“I already handled it! I just need some rest, okay?” you retorted, rubbing a hand over your tired eyes. "I can fight my own battles, thank you very much."

Damian’s jaw tightened at your response, setting off alarm bells in his head. He’d need to dig deeper—because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that you weren’t giving him the full story.

"You're not telling me everything," he said firmly. "But I’ll find out. I always do."

“Uh-huh, sure," you said, rolling your eyes as you grabbed him by the front of his uniform and yanked him closer. “You’re such a control freak, you know that?”

Damian scowled, leaning in until his forehead pressed against yours. “And you’re impossibly stubborn.”

“Yeah, well, you’re nosy.”

“Nosy?” He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking. “I prefer the term thorough.”

“Right,” you said, barely holding back a laugh. You shook your head with a smile and leaned in, brushing your lips against his. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey.”

Damian’s eyes softened as he closed the distance between you. You melted into him, pulling him into a tender kiss. Damian hummed softly, the vibration tickling your lips and adding a cozy warmth to the moment. He kissed you again, and again, each one a little more affectionate than the last. Your laughter bubbled up, breathy and light, as you both got caught in a playful rhythm. His nose nudged against yours, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

The sudden ringing of the school bell cut through the moment.

“Mmph!” You pulled back slightly, a smile tugging at your lips as you gently stroked his cheek. “You… probably should get to class.”

It took a few more (okay, a lot more) minutes before Damian finally let you go. You practically had to wrestle your way out of his arms, like he was a kid clinging to a favorite toy. When you told him to go back to class instead of tagging along with you and Morgan, he sulked like a toddler.

Despite his stormy mood, you managed to convince him to head back. As you both stepped out of the closet, Damian trudged away with a grumble, throwing one last dramatic look over his shoulder.

“Behave yourself,” you laughed, waving him away before setting off to find Morgan.

When you finally spotted her by the entrance, she was holding up a flash drive like it was the Holy Grail. Meanwhile, you looked like you’d just been through a whirlwind: your hair was a tousled mess, your jacket was askew, and your tie was twisted at an odd angle. 

“Got the goods?” you asked, breathless as you straightened your tie and smoothed down your messy hair.

“Yep,” Morgan said with a grin, her eyes darting to your state of disarray. “Damn. A janitor’s closet, huh? I see it got pretty heated in there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, scoffing and giving her a kick to the shin. “Nothing happened, you ass. We were just talking. I had to practically wrestle my way out because he was going nuts over my injuries.”

Morgan chuckled, tucking the flash drive into her pocket. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full with him.”

You raised an eyebrow at her. "How did you know it was the janitor’s closet, anyway?"

“CCTV,” Morgan simply shrugged. “Was checking out the live feed for security. And I figured you two were up to something when I saw you both ducking out of the room. The system was laughably easy to hack into. I was honestly surprised.”

“You’re Tony Stark’s daughter,” you snarked. “Anything less than government-level encryption is basically child’s play for you.”

Morgan grinned. “True that. But there’s one tiny issue.” She raised a finger and twirled it in the air. “I might have tripped a few alarms.”

WEE-OWW-WEE-OWW!

The distant blare of sirens cut through the air, growing louder with each passing second. Red and blue lights began to flicker through the windows.

You stared at Morgan, incredulous. 

“What. What the fuck!? What did you do?”

“Let’s just say security’s gonna be a bit more interested in our location now. Oopsie!” Morgan’s grin widened. “I had to shut down some things to avoid detection. So, the power’s going to go out in 3…2…1.”

As she finished her countdown, the lights flickered erratically before plunging the hallway into complete darkness. A heartbeat later, the wail of the announcement system cut through the silence, urgently repeating, “Please evacuate the building. Please evacuate immediately.” The strobing red emergency lights cast frantic shadows, and chaos erupted as students screamed, darting from classrooms and colliding in the dark.

Morgan spread her arms wide, a triumphant grin plastered across her face as if she’d just dropped a mic. “Boom.”

“What the hell about this screams ‘stealth’ to you?” you whisper-shouted, grabbing Morgan’s hand and pulling her toward the exit.

Morgan’s eyes gleamed with excitement as she squeezed your hand in return. "It’s way more fun this way."

You both sprinted down the dimly lit corridor, your footsteps echoing through the hallways and mingling with the blaring alarms.

Turning a corner, you nearly collided with a group of students stumbling through the chaos. Their faces were masks of panic. One of them tripped, sprawling onto the floor with an undignified thud.

“Watch it! Are you okay?” you shouted, skidding to a halt and kneeling to help the fallen student.

Morgan, unable to hold back, burst into laughter. “Dumbasses!”

You shot her a half-angry, half-exasperated look. “Just get us out of here before we get arrested for public disturbance!”

“Right behind you!” Morgan said, grabbing your hand again and pulling you both into a sprint. As you neared the exit, the muffled voices of security personnel grew louder, rushing to restore power. With one last burst of speed, you burst through the exit doors, the alarms fading into the distance.

Morgan looked over at you, her face glowing with sweat and a victorious grin. “And that’s how you make an exit.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday - The Safehouse, Gotham City.

After your adrenaline-pumping escape and a bumpy ride across the city in an Uber that looked like it had seen better days—note to self: next time, cab— you finally made it back to the safehouse.

Morgan was already at the main table, surrounded by a chaotic sea of files and documents spread out across multiple screens. Her eyes were locked onto the flash drive she’d pulled from the school, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she sifted through the data.

A few steps away, you were hunched over a cluttered workbench in the tech area, surrounded by spools of web fluid and a mess of metal tools. The entire day had been spent tinkering, but finally, your whip project was coming together.

With a few final tweaks, you picked up the whip and gave it a few test swings. 

You couldn’t help but think back to when you were a kid, watching Selina work her whip with that effortless skill. You’d sit in the corner of the training room, eyes wide, totally mesmerized. She made it look so easy, so natural. Inspired, you’d sneak off to your room after her sessions, grabbing whatever you could find—a belt, a rope, anything that even remotely resembled a whip. You’d slam the door behind you and practice in secret.

Sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror—awkward, stumbling, and kind of a hot mess—but you didn’t give a damn. You’d keep at it, again and again, dead set on matching her skill, even if it meant looking like a total idiot in the process.

CRACK!

Morgan jumped, her chair spinning around as she stared at you with wide eyes. You couldn't help but grin as you sauntered toward her, twirling the whip around your body. The webbing swirled through the air, curving gracefully around you in a move straight out of Catwoman's playbook. With a final flourish, you cracked it down onto the floor, the sharp snap echoing through the room.

Morgan’s ears flushed red, and she shifted in her chair, clearly taken aback. “Woah. That’s hot as fuck.”

You laughed, tossing her a wink. “Glad you think so. I was channeling my inner Catwoman.”

Still a bit flustered, Morgan cleared her throat and extended her hand. You placed the whip into her palm, and she inspected it closely, her fingers tracing the intricate details of your craftsmanship.

“Seriously, though,” she said, looking up at you, “Where’d you learn to handle a whip like that?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just a little bit of practice, you know? I’ve had some pretty good teachers.”

Your gaze then shifted to her screen, where a file on Ivy's toxins was open. Charts, chemical structures, and old lab notes cluttered the display.

“Thought you were going through Octavius’ files?” you asked.

“Oh, I was," Morgan handed the whip back to you with a shrug.

"But then I stumbled on this.” She pointed at the screen. “Insane, right? Did you know Gotham University lets their Botany majors examine Ivy’s toxins? There are detailed reports from student lab projects—college students analyzing some seriously dangerous stuff. Who thinks that's a good idea?”

You arched an eyebrow. “It’s Gotham University. Top in the country. They probably consider it a rite of passage. It’s not like the city holds back on the bizarre.”

Morgan shook her head, her disbelief morphing into a bemused smile. “Seriously, though, it’s even in their chemistry curriculum. ‘Advanced Chemistry: How to Survive Ivy’s Toxins 101.’ Like, what kind of class is that?”

You chuckled. “Sounds like standard Gotham fare. The city has a way of turning even the most mundane academic subjects into survival skills.”

As you stared at the file, your mind drifted to Ivy—Pamela Isley, who had once been a big part of your life. Back when she was close with Selina, you even used to call her Aunt Isley. It felt right at the time, natural, given how much she was around.

One memory stood out: Ivy had to leave town, and she’d entrusted Selina with her beloved plants. You were just a kid, but you remember how excited you were to have Ivy’s vibrant greenery filling the place. Selina had promised to take good care of them, but… she forgot. Just plain forgot to water them.

When Ivy returned, the plants were withered and dead. For someone like Ivy—an eco-terrorist with a green thumb so legendary she could probably make a cactus bloom in a snowstorm—this was more than just a mistake. It felt like a betrayal.

The fallout was brutal. Ivy was livid, and Selina was wrecked. If you hadn’t been there to calm things down, Ivy might’ve strangled Selina with a vine on the spot.

Morgan sighed dramatically, pushing her chair back from the screen and stretching like a cat. "I’m so over these files," she announced, spinning around to face you with a mischievous glint in her eye. "We need to do something fun."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued as she started navigating through a map on her command center. "What are you up to?"

"Finding us a little adventure," she replied, her grin widening as she zoomed in on a spot on the outskirts of Gotham. "Look at this—an old, supposedly abandoned greenhouse. Rumor has it, it’s still full of Ivy’s plants. We should go check it out."

You blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. "You want to go trespassing in an abandoned greenhouse filled with potentially dangerous plants?"

Morgan shrugged with a carefree grin. "Why not? It’s way more exciting than sitting here with these boring files. Besides, think of the intel we could gather! Maybe even some samples. If you're serious about this hero thing, having some cures on hand could be pretty useful."

You raised an eyebrow. "Last time I checked, my focus was on tech companies. Not plants."

Morgan leaned back in her chair, throwing her hands up. "C'mon, it’ll be fun! We could call it a ‘field trip’ for our mission."

You scoffed, but a smirk tugged at your lips as you grabbed your glasses. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart and responsible one among the two of us?”

Morgan shot you a playful smile as she grabbed her jacket. “Smart enough to know when we need a break.”

She slung her jacket over her shoulder with a casual flick. “And who knows? We might stumble into something interesting or at least have a hell of a time.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fine, but if this turns into a mess, you’re the one explaining it to Tony.”

“Deal,” Morgan grinned, heading toward the door. “Now let’s get out of here before I lose my mind.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 12:34 AM - Ivy's 'Abandoned' Warehouse, Gotham City.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the overgrown landscape as you swung through the rainy Gotham air. Raindrops pattered against your suit, mixing with the cool breeze as you guided both yourself and Morgan down toward the warehouse’s perimeter. You landed softly on the other side of the fence, the wet ground beneath you squelching slightly.

The warehouse loomed in the distance, shrouded in shadows and engulfed by a thick veil of greenery. Vines and creeping plants had swallowed the building, twisting their way up the walls and breaking through the broken windows. Shrubs and wild foliage sprawled across the once-smooth concrete, creating a tangled jungle that had overtaken the area.

You and Morgan navigated through the thick underbrush, your footsteps muffled by the lush carpet of foliage. 

“Welcome to the jungle,” Morgan whispered, adjusting her glasses as raindrops collected on the lenses. She reached for a flashlight, flicking it on to cut through the gloomy darkness.

“Did you really have to pick the creepiest spot in Gotham?” you muttered, glancing around warily. Your spider senses buzzed faintly, a low hum that told you to stay alert, though you weren’t entirely sure what you should be on the lookout for.

As you approached the warehouse’s entrance, you noticed the heavy wooden doors were slightly ajar, propped open by a stubborn vine wedged in the gap. You took a few steps back, then charged at the door with all your might. It crashed inward with a resounding clang, sending splinters flying and the vine recoiling.

CLANG!

You kicked the door aside and stepped into a scene that looked like something straight out of a botanical horror movie. The interior of the warehouse was a riot of green. Hanging plants and tendrils formed a dense canopy overhead. The remnants of old plant pots and scientific equipment were half-buried under layers of creeping vines and moss.

“Keep your eyes peeled for anything useful,” you said, stepping inside.

The plan was simple: infiltrate the location, gather as much information as possible, and leave before anyone even noticed you were there.

Your boots squelched slightly on the damp ground as you made your way further into the labyrinth of greenery. Morgan followed close behind, her flashlight beam scanning the surroundings.

“Looks like she really made herself at home. Can’t believe she’d leave all these beauties behind,” she murmured.

After a few minutes of searching, you stumbled upon a makeshift lab tucked away in a corner of the warehouse. Old tables and shelves, now covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, held an assortment of glassware, old notebooks, and strange samples.

Morgan’s eyes lit up as she approached the lab. “This must be it! Look at all this stuff.”

Kneeling down, she began sifting through the clutter, her flashlight revealing dusty glassware, faded notebooks, and a variety of botanical samples in various states of preservation. She carefully picked up a few jars, examining the contents with growing fascination.

You stood guard by the door, senses on high alert. The slow hum of your spider senses gradually intensified, morphing into a persistent, almost blaring buzz in the back of your mind. It felt like a magnetic pull, drawing your focus to every flicker of shadow and rustle of the unseen. 

Morgan, oblivious to your heightened alertness, was engrossed in a particularly worn notebook.

"This is so fucking cool," she said, her eyes wide with excitement. "Check out these notes—they look like they’re from Ivy’s earlier research. She was experimenting with ways to boost plant growth, mixing toxins, and even concocting some kind of antidote."

As Morgan continued to study the notebook, the buzzing in your senses grew stronger. You tensed, feeling a prickling chill race up your spine and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. There was something else in the warehouse—something you couldn’t immediately identify, but it was there.

“Morgan,” you said quietly. “I’m getting a bad feeling.”

Morgan looked up from her work, fingers curled around a test tube. “What do you mean?”

“Just keep your eyes open,” you warned, eyes narrowing as you scanned the shadows. “Start packing up and be quick. Something doesn’t feel right.”

Morgan’s fingers flew over the lab equipment as she grabbed several samples and shoved them into her bag. The air seemed to grow thicker, the plants rustling with an almost eerie liveliness.

!!!

“We need to go. Now!” you hissed, urgently grabbing Morgan and pulling her to her feet.

Morgan flinched but scrambled up, stuffing the worn notebook she’d found into her jacket. “Alright… let me just—”

Before she could finish, your spider senses exploded into a full-blown scream of warning.

DANGER.

“Get down!”

Without warning, you grabbed Morgan and pushed her down behind some crates, your suit beginning to uncloak.

A thick vine lashed out from the shadows, slamming into your side with a force that knocked the wind out of you. Pain exploded where the vine struck, radiating through your ribs as you skidded backward and crashed into a metal rack.

Your helmet hadn’t fully materialized in time, and the impact with the shelving unit sent a jarring shock through your skull, leaving you dazed and disoriented.

"A little spider has wandered into my web~"

Shit.

Warmth trickled down from your forehead where the impact had split the skin. With a shaky breath, you pushed yourself off the rack, using it for support as you steadied yourself.

"Hello, crazy plant lady," you quipped, your helmet materializing as the voice modulator kicked in.

You weren’t her estranged niece now; you were Nightcrawler, Gotham's latest hero.

From above, Ivy unfurled herself from the ceiling, smirking as she lounged on a sprawling leaf. Vines curled around her with languid grace, reacting to her slightest gesture as if extensions of her will.

"Ah, Gotham's newest little hero," Ivy's voice was a melodious yet chilling purr, her laughter echoing softly through the warehouse. "What brings you to my sanctuary?"

The slits in your mask narrowed as you drew your claws and unclipped your whip from your belt. Ivy’s eyes narrowed at the choice of weapons, a flicker of recognition in her gaze. She was clearly connecting the similarities between you and Catwoman.

"Oh, just swinging by to see what all the fuss is about. Heard you've been busy in Gotham."

Ivy's smile sharpened, a glint of admiration lighting up her emerald eyes.

"Hm. Spunk," she purred, hands moving to tangle in her hair. "I do appreciate that in my visitors."

Out of the corner of your visor, you spotted Morgan inching away. You gave her a discreet nod, signaling her to keep going while you kept your focus locked on Ivy.

"So, this place wasn’t as abandoned as I thought," you said, trying to keep Ivy talking and distracted. "For someone who supposedly retired from the spotlight, you sure know how to throw a party."

Ivy threw her head back and laughed. "Retired?" she repeated. "Oh, honey, you have no idea."

Around you, vines stirred, their sinewy tendrils snaking up your legs like snakes. Unfazed, you subtly shifted your weight, and then, with a swift slash of your claws, the vines split apart. You flipped away, slipping out of their grasp with ease.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice when my darlings are disturbed?” Ivy’s voice dripped with mockery. “Just when I finally manage to reclaim this space from concrete and steel, pests like you decide to get curious.”

“Look, I’ve got a busy schedule,” you quipped, narrowly dodging a lashing vine. “So how about we skip the tango and save us both a night of pain?”

“Oh, you’re simply delightful,” Ivy purred,sultry and chilling. “Very well, little spider. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

In a heartbeat, Ivy was in motion. Vines shot through the air like whips, each one aiming to entangle or strike. You sidestepped a thick vine that snapped past your ear and rolled under another that slammed into the floor where you’d just been. Your senses were on fire.

Beep!

In the corner of your visor, Morgan’s face flickered into view—a welcome sight amid the chaos. The camera feed was shaky, but you could make out her anxious expression as she huddled behind a stack of crates, her phone clutched tightly in her hand.

“Are you okay?” you hissed through the comms, trying to keep your voice steady despite the whirlwind of vines around you.

“M Outside! Sorry! I…I didn’t realize Ivy was here!” Morgan said, her voice tinged with panic. “I thought this place was a total ghost town!”

“Apologize later!” you shouted back, ducking a swinging vine. “Just stay out of sight. I’ll catch up with you once I deal with the plant lady!”

With a quick flip, you barely managed to dodge another flurry of whipping vines. You drew back your whip and snapped it towards the incoming tendrils, slicing through them. 

Ivy scowled, her eyes narrowing as she watched her plants get cut down. She retaliated, sending a fresh wave of vines hurtling toward you.

You dodged and weaved, the thick, green tendrils brushing against your suit. Each crack of your whip was followed by a sharp hiss of defeated foliage.

You charged through, ducking and weaving to avoid the onslaught. When you were close enough, you landed a solid left hook to Ivy’s face, the impact echoing with a satisfying thud. Ivy’s head snapped back with a sharp yelp of pain. You laughed, not giving her a moment to regroup, and threw another punch straight to her jaw.

JAB!

“Had enough, or should I keep going?” you taunted.

Ivy’s eyes flared with rage. “You little—”

Leaping onto a stack of crates to dodge another lash from her vines, you shot a web at Ivy. The sticky strands wrapped around her wrists, pinning her securely against a nearby support beam.

Ivy struggled against the webbing, her vines twitched with agitation as they lashed out. You kept your whip and claws at the ready, prepared for any sudden moves.

“Alright, listen up,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Unless you want more of your precious plants turned into mulch, I suggest you calm down.”

“Calm down?” Ivy hissed, her frustration barely contained. “You’re the intruder here, desecrating my sanctuary. I won’t tolerate this!”

You took a deep breath, trying to defuse the situation. “Look, I’m really sorry about the intrusion. Didn’t mean to step on your botanical toes. We were just here to explore—”

“Explore?” Ivy’s brow shot up. “Is that why your friend took of my vials and papers?”

You stared at her, blinking a few times. Then, with a sheepish shrug, you said, “Okay, to be fair, you left that stuff lying around. It kind of looked like it was up for grabs. Plus, we didn’t exactly see a ‘Keep Out’ sign.”

“So, it’s a case of ‘finders keepers,’ then?” she scowled. “And here I thought you were a little more refined than that.”

“Hey!” you said, walking towards her until you were just a foot away. “I’m just calling it like I see it, lady. Maybe if you knew how to clean up, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Ivy tossed her hair over her shoulder, the golden-orange strands cascading like vines down her back. She leaned closer, her lips brushing against your jaw, her breath warm and tantalizing against your skin.

“Well, if you’re so keen on exploring,” she purred, her voice a sultry whisper, “I could show you something that’ll really satisfy your curiosity.”

!!!

Your spider senses flared with urgent warnings, but before you could react, Ivy thrust a slender vine beneath the edge of your helmet. In an instant, a cloud of pollen erupted inside your mask, catching you completely off guard. You gasped and choked, stumbling backward as your vision blurred and your nose was overwhelmed by the suffocating, heady scent of the pollen.

Your visor’s alarms blared, vitals flashing urgently:

TOXIN DETECTED.

“Damn it,” you grimaced as a searing heat began to radiate through your skin and bones. The prickling sensation quickly escalated into an intense burn, making it feel like your blood was boiling beneath your skin.

“Morgan!” you called out. “Find me an escape route, now!”

"Underestimated me?" Ivy cackled. "Thought you could resist my charms, did you?"

Morgan’s shaky voice crackled through the comms. “I’m searching for a way out! Just hang in there!”

“Oh, you won’t be escaping that easily,” Ivy sneered at you, still trapped in your webs. Despite her restraints, her vines writhed and twisted with a life of their own. “This is my domain, and you’re not leaving until I say so.”

You gritted your teeth, struggling against the searing pain as the vines inched closer. “Alright, I’m really sorry for this, but I’m done playing nice.”

With a sharp flick of your wrist, you shot a web at a vase perched precariously on a high shelf. The vase tumbled through the air and crashed down onto Ivy’s head, shattering into a shower of shards and a splash of crimson.

Ivy screamed as the shards rained down, a flurry of leaves and flowers cascading over her head and shoulders, momentarily obscuring her vision. 

Morgan's face reappeared on your visor, her brow furrowed with worry. “There’s a clear window—no vines blocking it! Hurry! I marked it on your map!”

Glancing at the map in your visor, you spotted the indicated window. 

"This was nice, but I’ve got places to be and people to save," you heaved, your voice breathy as you kicked away a lashing vine. "So if you don’t mind, I'll be taking my leave."

THWIP.

Launching yourself through the open window, you felt the cool, rain-soaked Gotham air slap your face as you soared into the night. The roar of the storm and the distant hum of the city below filled your senses. Behind you, Ivy’s furious shouts pierced through the downpour, her curses mingling with the crack of thrashing vines slamming against the walls.

“PEST!”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 1:05 AM - Crime Alley, Gotham City.

"Robin, status?" Oracle's voice beeped in from Damian's earpiece.

Damian was perched on a rooftop, jade eyes scanning the dark expanse of Crime Alley below. The rain poured down in relentless sheets, the cold droplets cascading off the edges of his hood and dripping onto his shoulders.

From his vantage point, he could see the dilapidated buildings lining Crime Alley, their broken windows and graffiti-covered walls illuminated by the sporadic flashes of lightning. The streets below were deserted, the few brave souls out in the storm moving quickly, their faces obscured by umbrellas and hoods. Puddles formed in the uneven pavement, reflecting the occasional flicker of streetlights.

He lifted a gloved hand to his communication device, the wet leather squeaking slightly against the earpiece.

"I'm in my usual position," he reported, his voice steady. "No sign of activity. Just monitoring. Slow night."

"Figured," Nightwing's voice spoke up. "There is a storm."

“Ishth Gotham,” Jason's voice chimed in, muffled as if he was chewing something. “When isn’t there a storm?”

"Are you eating right now?" Tim's voice squeaked with disbelief, the sound sharp and incredulous over the comms. "Again? Really?"

"Yeah?" Jason retorted, taking another bite of whatever he was munching on. "A guy's gotta eat. Maybe if you actually ate more, you wouldn’t be so scrawny, Timberland."

"I'm fit!" Tim snapped back, voice cracking. "And can you please stop using my name? We have codenames for a reason."

"You're the genius who called yourself 'Drake'," Damian scoffed as he kept his eyes trained on the rain-soaked expanse below.

"Demon brat's got a point," Jason drawled, the sound of him slurping a drink faintly audible over the comms. "Harley still calls you Duck-Boy."

"Just focus on the job," Nightwing interjected, his voice slicing through the bickering with an authoritative edge. "Tonight’s a washout. Red Robin and I are on patrol near the docks. We’ve encountered a few low-level crooks, but nothing major."

"Alright," Oracle’s voice came through again. "Stay on high alert. Let me know if anything changes."

As the comms went silent, Damian pulled out his phone, the screen lighting up against the storm's backdrop. For a fleeting moment, his stoic expression softened. A nearly imperceptible smile tugged at his lips as he glanced at the lock screen—a picture of you, warm and content in one of his shirts, your face framed by tousled hair and a genuine smile.

He noted the time—1:05 AM. Given your unpredictable sleep patterns, you were likely still awake. Damian's finger hovered over the screen, caught between sending a quick message or making a call. But before he could decide, a sharp gust of wind swept across the rooftop, making his cape snap and sending a chill through his soaked uniform.

He slipped the phone back into his belt, shook off the cold, and refocused on the scene below. His eyes scanned the shadowy expanse: dark alleys, rain-slicked roads, and flickering, rusting shop signs.

Then, a sudden, unexpected movement shattered the monotony. A flash of red and white streaked across the skyline, its vibrant colors stark against the darkened sky. A web shot out, glinting briefly in the intermittent lightning before anchoring itself to a nearby building.

THWIP.

There was a pause.

Damian’s lips curled into a sharp snarl. His fingers tightened around the grip of his grappling gun, his mind shifting into high gear. With a scowl, he tapped his earpiece.

“Oracle,” Damian began, boots crunching as he moved to the edge of the rooftop. “I have visual on the spider vigilante. Engaging in pursuit.”

Without waiting for a reply, he fired the grappling gun. The line shot through the air with a metallic twang, slicing through the rain-soaked night. He felt the jolt as the grappling hook latched onto a distant anchor, pulling him forward.

As he swung through the storm, a fierce thrill coursed through him, like a bird unleashed with new wings. With the city sprawled out beneath him and the rain pelting against his face, Robin was ready to do what he did best.

Hunt.

 ༻⊰───⋅

"It's going to take hours to get this smell out of my suit," you heaved, wrinkling your nose as you fired a web into the distant skyline. The line stuck firmly to a building, and with a jarring lurch, you swung deeper into the city.

Morgan clung to you for dear life, her voice barely audible over the rush of air. “Not the time to worry about laundry! Focus on not crashing into something! And maybe on not dying from the poison?!”

"Hey, I’m just saying," you shot back with a strained chuckle, “if I survive this, I’m gonna need to have this suit professionally cleaned.”

Morgan’s grip tightened, and she shouted, “Survive first, clean later!"

With a yank of your web, you aimed for the next rooftop, but as you hurtled through the air, you realized that you’d miscalculated the distance. The rooftop was rushing in too fast, and panic surged through you like ice.

Your stomach lurched, and in a split-second decision, you threw Morgan forward, trying to cushion her fall. She landed with a thud, a breathless gasp escaping her as she hit the roof.

You, however, weren’t so fortunate. Your foot snagged the edge of the roof awkwardly, sending a sharp pain shooting up your leg.

CRACK.

The sickening crack of bone snapping echoed through the air as your ankle twisted violently. The force of the impact jolted your entire body, sending you sprawling onto the rough, gravelly rooftop.

“Great…” you muttered through gritted teeth, struggling to push yourself up onto your hands and knees. Your body felt like it was on fire from the inside out, the toxin’s effects amplifying the pain with each passing second.

You bit down hard on your tongue, the metallic taste of blood bubbling into your mouth. You fought to keep yourself upright, but your legs felt like lead, and you crumpled onto the rooftop, unable to fully bear your weight.

“Shit!” Morgan scrambled to her feet, her face a mask of panic and concern. “Are you okay? What happened?”

"Just… a little off target," you panted, wincing as you assessed the damage. Your visor had taken a hit during the fall, causing the data to flicker erratically. Through the static, you could still make out the crucial info: a broken bone.

“It's fine… Just a broken ankle,” you added, trying to maintain your composure despite the sluggishness creeping into your movements. 

“You’re getting brain fog and dizziness,” Morgan said urgently, her fingers flipping through the notebook she’d snatched earlier. “It’s a side effect of the toxin. We need to get you to the safehouse—”

Before she could finish, you shook your head with a groan. “No. You call a cab and head there. I’ll swing.”

“Are you insane?!” Morgan nearly shouted, grabbing your arm in panic. “You can barely stand, let alone swing through the city! We need to get you help, now!”

You pushed her away, trying to ignore the throbbing in your ankle. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. The suit’s tampered, I think. Look.”

You attempted to uncloack, but the metal sputtered and glitched erratically. “See? I can’t uncloack. If you’re seen with me, they’ll find us out in no time. I can’t risk that.”

Morgan’s eyes darted between you and the malfunctioning suit, her face a mix of worry and frustration. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry. I should have—”

“Stop,” you cut her off, wincing as the pain intensified. “It’s not your fault. Just get to the safehouse. I’ll manage.”

Tears of frustration welled up in Morgan’s eyes. “I can’t just leave you like this!”

“You don’t have a choice,” you said firmly, trying to steady your voice. “If we’re both caught, it’ll be worse. Now go! I’ll be fine.”

With one last, apologetic glance, Morgan pulled out her phone and dialed for a cab, her hands trembling.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Damian, concealed in the shadows of the rooftop, landed with a muted thud. He crouched behind the crumbling ledge of an old brick wall, the slits in his mask narrowing as he took in the scene unfolding just a few feet away.

He watched as you struggled to regain your footing, your movements pained and uneven. The girl beside you—her rain-soaked silhouette a blur against the storm—was clearly in a panic, her phone clutched tightly as she fumbled with it.

‘A civilian,’ Damian thought, frustration lining his features. Launching a direct attack now would be reckless. He had to be certain the vigilante was genuinely on their own before making a move.

After a tense moment, the girl finally moved and dashed down the fire escape, her figure barely visible through the downpour. Damian squinted through the sheets of rain, straining to catch a glimpse of her features, but the storm blurred his view into an indistinct smear of color and motion.

The moment she was out of sight, his attention snapped back to you. You took a deep, ragged breath, bracing yourself. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, you launched yourself into the night. 

Damian followed, his movements fluid and precise as he pushed off from the ledge. His cape billowed behind him like a dark, flowing banner, and he darted into the storm. 

Below, the streets were a chaotic blur of honking horns and glaring headlights, their harsh lights slicing through the darkness like knives. Heavy sheets of rain hammered down, obscuring your vision and drenching you to the bone. Water seeped through the cracks in your suit, each drop feeling like an icy needle against your overheated, feverish skin.

The sensations were overwhelming. It was too much. The pain, the heat, the storm—it was all too much.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, every inhale bringing more of Ivy’s insidious toxin into your lungs.

In one desperate swing, you miscalculated the web’s trajectory. It shot out too low, sending you plummeting uncontrollably below.

Cursing through gritted teeth, you were hurled down into traffic. Everything was a blur as you slammed into the side of a car, metal denting and screams deafening your ears. Your shoulder bore the brunt of the collision, sending shockwaves of pain through your bones.

For a brief, suspended moment, everything went dark.

A cold, mechanical voice sliced through the void, its tone harsh and insistent. Maggie’s synthetic voice, though devoid of human warmth, was tinged with urgency.

“Immediate response required. Vitals are critically low. Consciousness levels decreasing. Current status is life-threatening. Please respond.”

Abruptly, your senses snapped back into sharp focus. You jolted awake with a ragged gasp, your breath coming in frantic bursts. Your vision was a fractured mosaic of blinding lights and shadowy figures. The sounds of blaring horns and panicked shouts crashed back into your ears, tires screeching all around you.

Morgan’s voice crackled through the static, panic evident in her tone. “I’m at the safehouse! Where are you? I couldn't reach you! What’s going on?”

“Change of plans,” you managed, your voice strained. “I won’t make it to the safehouse in time.”

You tapped the side of your visor, making a map flicker to life through the cracks and glitches. The display was unstable, but it highlighted a route to your apartment.

“You know where my mom's apartment is, right?” you heaved. “That’s where I’m heading.”

Entering your apartment was risky, but with your condition worsening and death looming, it was the closest refuge you could manage.

Damian, hidden in the alleyway, watched you with a furrowed brow. What he initially wrote off as rookie mistakes now seemed out of character. Your disoriented movements were starkly different from the precise maneuvers he had seen in news footage and CCTV feeds. He had been tracking your case closely, and this chaos didn't match the profile he had built.

He watched as you struggled to stand, your legs shaking with each attempt. The driver's shouts were drowned out by the storm of noise around you. Your strained apologies were barely audible. Desperation marked your actions as you fired another web, using it to pull yourself up and away from the wrecked car and the angry crowd.

Damian cursed under his breath and quickly took off after you. 

He tracked your erratic path through twisted, narrow streets until he saw you aim for an apartment building. With a quick stretch of your arm, you shot a web toward a balcony, but your aim was off again.

Another sloppily thrown web sent you slamming into the windows of the apartment. The metal edge dug into your ribs with brutal force, knocking the wind out of you. You gasped, your lungs burning as you struggled to draw in air. Pain radiated from your side, and shards of glass sprayed everywhere.

Damian, perched on the rooftop across the street, stared in disbelief. This was Catwoman’s apartment—Selina Kyle’s. The worst possible scenario unfolded in his mind. To him, it looked like a break-in. His jaw clenched tightly, and his fingers gripped the edge of his grappling gun, knuckles whitening with the force of his anger.

Pest.

Without hesitation, Damian leapt into action. He aimed for the fire escape with single-minded intensity, propelling himself toward it with a powerful thrust. His boots hammered against the metal steps, causing them to buckle and the entire structure to groan and rattle under the force of his descent. 

In the corner of his eye, he saw your figure slip into the window.

Tunnel-visioned and driven by a surge of protectiveness, Damian kicked the door to the fire escape open, the metal panel scraping roughly across the floor. His father would have his head for causing unnecessary public damage—something Robin was frequently under fire for—but at that moment, he couldn't have cared less.

"Was that a crash?!" Nightwing's voice crackled through the comm line.

"I think it's coming from demon brat's side. What's the report, squirt?"

Damian merely growled in response as he began to stalk down the hallway. His tall figure, cloaked in shadows, cast long, dark lines across the floor as he moved. He cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp and menacing over the comms.

"Someone's about to learn the price of crossing me."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Dazed and disoriented, you slipped into the building, the rough edge of the window scraping against your battered body. As you tumbled through your apartment, you hit the floor with a heavy thud, the impact shaking your entire frame. Your head struck the ground with a thump, stars exploding in your vision.

For a brief, haunting moment, there was silence—deep, oppressive silence. Then, a cold, creeping dread slithered through you.

You clawed at the floor, your body shaking.

"Mom? Mom, please! I need you!" Your voice cracked, a raw, fear seeping through every syllable. "Mom, are you there? Please, help me!"

Tears streamed down your face, mingling with the sweat and blood as you cried out into the empty, echoing apartment. The lights were off, casting the space into a suffocating darkness that seemed to press in on you.

Desperately, you stumbled into Selina’s bedroom. Your heart sank as you noticed the absence of her suit—no sleek, black leather or whip. She must have been out on patrol.

A deafening crash shattered the silence as the apartment door was ripped from its hinges. Before you could fully react, a rough hand clamped down on you, throwing you to the floor.

Your vision blurred in and out of focus as you were pinned to the floor. A heavy foot pressed mercilessly against your chest, crushing your ribs with every breath. The weight lifted, then slammed down again, ripping through your suit with a sickening crunch. The suit uncloaked, its torn pieces clinging to your clothes, leaving you exposed in just your undershirt and pants.

Through the dim, flickering light, the outline of your attacker became clearer. A katana was unsheathed with a chilling rasp, its cold blade pressed menacingly against your neck. The steel gleamed ominously, catching the sparse light and reflecting a deadly shimmer. The edge was so close you could feel its icy touch, a mere breath away from slicing into your flesh.

The thought of that forced you to tilt your head back, exposing more of your neck to the shadowy figure looming over you.

Tall and imposing, the figure was clad in grey and black armor, with a black cape flowing behind them. A red emblem, unmistakably the symbol of an R, was stitched onto their chest.

A cold realization cut through the fog of pain and fear—Robin?

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

dundunDUN

whatchu think bookiebears

surely the batfam will handle this well

[naoke666]

Rereading Iruma. I am paying some extra attention to the Demon King bits for reasons (writing essay about my gays), and there is actually something in the first volume that surprised me a bit.

(My introduction to Iruma was through the s1 of anime, and back then the early chapters didn't have good quality translation. So this is actually my first time properly reading them)

So, when we talk about Iruma and ambition and his character arc towards discovering his own ambition, we usually consider that it starts from Iruma's and Ameri's first conversation in the student council room. Or, well, at least I did.

But now I think it starts a lot earlier.

And it begins thanks to, of all people, Sabro.

Right here.

I think this is the very very first tinsy bit of an inkling of this character arc. "Wow, it's so cool that Sabnock wants to become a Demon King and is actively working towards his dream! Couldn't be me tho :)" girl. You have NO clue.

There is something else that I find interesting about this. Apparently there are at least a few folks who not only think that Iruma is not going to become a demon king, but that there is 0 foreshadowing for that. Ig it's the result of the latest many-ears arc, which, if read very literally and out-of-context, may lead one to the conclusion that Iruma would rather be a teacher than a demon king, and thus that's what he is gonna choose in the future.

But, if Iruma's search for ambition begins here, in the mini-arc that introduces the demon king, inspired by a character, whose ambition is to become a demon king. Well. While nobody can say for sure how the story will end, this is a pretty clear indication of what the story's direction is and has been from the beginning.

[maleyanderecafe]

The Menhara Rabbit and the Yandere Wolf (Manga)

Created by: Hayu Shiori

Genre: Romance

@erednayy translated a whole entire thing for this one, so this is going to be a long journey of typesetting. I was a little skeptical of it mostly because I'm not super as into the older manga style, but it actually is a pretty good time and the development of the relationship between the yandere and the main character, Tsumugi and Itoshi is actually pretty interesting, as it shows the struggles and happiness of their relationship as a whole. On the first day we'll also be just dumping the first volume on everyone like a late Christmas gift. If you like our stuff, please donate to us on Ko-fi for more yandere stuff.

The story starts out quickly with Tsumugi looking through her boyfriend's phone before her boyfriend, Shouma, finally breaks up with her and kicks her out. Tsumugi begs for his forgiveness, with Shouma complaining about her menhara tendencies: being too emotionally intense, clingy and otherwise hard to deal with. We see that the reason she developed into a menhara was due to her first boyfriend, who confessed and then pretty much immediately dumped her for another girl, causing her to become extremely anxious over her future boyfriend's feelings and being more of a doormat to please them. Shouma attempts to beat Tsumugi for everything she's done, but she is saved by her neighbor, Itoshi, and brings her to his room to give her some clothes (as she was kicked out in only her undergarments). After some introductions, Itoshi comforts Tsumugi for what happened with her ex-boyfriend, telling her it's not her fault for the situation, even stating that he would be happy to have such a cute girlfriend as Tsumugi. Tsumugi, misinterprets this kindness as flirting and tries to kiss him, but Itoshi pushes her away. This causes Tsumugi to lash out at Itoshi for being kind to her and begging him to stay as she's incredibly scared of being lonely after being broken up with. Itoshi is able to comfort and Tsumugi, as she cries, eventually falling asleep. It's then that Itoshi reveals his yandere tendencies, taking a picture of her as she sleeps and promising to make her happy, no matter what. Upon waking up, Tsumugi finds out pretty quickly that Itoshi has been stalking her, as his phone has photos of her and her password is based off her birthday. She freaks out and starts to spiral believing that she can never be loved and that her failed relationships are all her fault. Despite finding out that he's her stalker, she still wants to be with him as he accepted all of her flaws. We get a flashback of Itoshi's point of view, seeing him get dumped by an ex for being too stalker like in front of Tsumugi's apartment. Here she comforts him and he falls for her. As a neighbor, he can hear her and Shouma's arguments and love making and due to this he becomes more and more obsessed over her. Itoshi after finding Tsumugi promises to delete all of his photos though Tsumugi stops him and realizes how similar they are, both being people who go too far and don't feel like they're loved. The two of them kiss, though the latest chapter ends with Itoshi crying and trying to strangle Tsumugi.

I have actually done the typesetting for a couple of the chapters as of current, so although it's not fully translated on our end there's a lot of things that happen even past the first volumethat are pretty interesting. I will try to refrain from direct spoilers, but I will say that the relationship between Itoshi and Tsumugi develops relatively quickly which is pretty surprising, since many yandere stories take a while before the couple gets together (see stories like My Yandere Neighbour for example). It's also really cool to see Tsumugi recognize and understand certain behaviors that Itoshi has as they are things that she herself had to deal with in her previous relationships and improve herself because of Itoshi. It's also incredibly fast how Tsumugi finds out that Itoshi is a yandere, literally two chapters in and the reasoning for why she accepts him is pretty solid the more we learn about her background and menhara tendencies.

In terms of yandere, what we see so far is pretty light, implying that Itoshi has been watching Tsumugi for a while, likely because they are neighbors, making it pretty easy for him to track where she's going. He's also pretty protective, immediately going to protect Tsumugi after being kicked out and almost calling the police on Shouma (at least until Tsumugi prevents that from happening). I can see Itoshi more as a bit emotional, as he seems to show a lot of expression and feelings towards Tsumugi even when not showing off his yandere form, as well as maybe a bit childish considering his reactions, though mature enough to know not to take advantage of Tsumugi's emotional vulnerability after she broke up (because boy would a lot of yanderes jump at that chance immediately). It does make me curious why he does that though, so he's probably much more of an respectful yandere (for lack of a better term) than we'd initially think, because again, a lot of yanderes would have just jumped at the opportunity to become their obsession's lover. Even past this, we later do see Itoshi become very possessive and jealous when it comes to Tsumugi later down the line and he can be protective over her as well, though compared to many other yanderes he's a lot more kinder and the couple strikes a good balance.

Personally, because of How to Train Your Handsome but Overbearing Boyfriend, I actually have taken a liking to yandere and menhara couplings since they work really well in terms of their desires. Menharas desire attention and yanderes love to give unlimited undivided attention to the person they love, so I think that this relationship will be similar where while they might run into some troubles, the two of their desires match up pretty well. Whether or not this will be some balance of unhealthy and healthy or just plain unhealthy is yet to be seen, but I think either way, I think that the story would be really fun to read and explore either or even both ideas.

Overall, a pretty good start to a manga series. This one is pretty lengthy actually, spanning around 14 volumes, so I'm sure there will be many situations for these two to get into and be able to properly develop their relationship.

[unordinary-diary]

Thinking about how Blyke is actually insanely strong, even by the standards of his world, yet he gets his ass kicked for the entire story.

From episode one...

To the first actual fight he’s ever been in... (ch. 15) [Edit: second actual fight]

... to the approximate middle of the story... (ch. 197)

... Up through the very latest chapter as of me writing this— (ch. 345)

— Blyke repeatedly gets pummeled.

Over,

and over,

and over,

and over.

It’s really no wonder he gets insecure about it.

I mean, these screenshots were all taken from different fights. The amount of fights he’s won, on screen, without backup is... once or twice against Zeke, once against Gou (Agwin’s Jack from turf wars), and once as a vigilante solo act. That’s four, max. There could be more that I’ve forgotten, but I’ve read this series so many times and I really can’t think of any. (No, I don’t count firing a warning shots to get people to behave as “winning a fight”.)

compared to all the fights he’s been outmatched in? You’ve got Rein from turf wars, Volcan, John, John, John, Lennon from his vigilante solo stunt, John again, the fight in the Rowden amusement park, the attack on Rowden hill, Ember, and now the authorities in general. Possibly more that I forgot. That’s 11. He didn’t necessarily lose all those fights, but they’re fights where he was way out of his depth and/or would’ve lost without backup.

Anyway, point is: Blyke is no stranger to getting his ass kicked. In particular, he is no stranger to getting kicked while he’s already down.

In fact, I’m gonna take an example from the turf wars match in chapter 15: Blyke has already lost the fight with Rein, yet Arlo hangs him out to dry. Arlo is the one who’s supposed to call him back to get healed, yet he just smiles while the others look at him expectantly, and Blyke gets more and more injured. Even Rein is questioning it.

I could and honestly probably will do a whole analysis on just chapter 15, but eventually Seraphina calls him back for healing. The way Blyke was treated in that scene was kinda heartbreaking.

GOD chapter 15 is my favorite episode but it leaves me with so many questions grrr I wanna talk about it but that’s another entry.

Putting that aside, Blyke is very protective, and compassionate to the plight of others when he’s aware of it. After he sees the situation in Branish, he is immediately, rightfully pissed about the way society is. It opens his eyes to a world he hasn’t experienced, and it reframes how he thinks of John (still a “cripple” at the time).

To the actual point of this diary entry (other than rambling about Blyke, that is), John is another character who gets repeatedly kicked while he’s down. I don’t think I need screenshots to prove that. However, in my current reread of the series, I recently came across a certain panel that I do wish I had a screenshot of. It’s either Blyke or Seraphina who asks John “Why are you always kicking people while they’re down?” And John responds: “Because everyone kicked me when I was down!” And I think that’s a vivid contrast with Blyke, who has been kicked while he’s down, and chooses to protect people who are weaker than him. In particular, I want to point out that in order to protect them, Blyke is willing and actively chooses to get beaten quite brutally.

Mind you, this ^ is to protect people who he barely knows. He and Sera aren’t close, and the others are practically strangers.

It’s pretty much the inverse reaction. John says “Others kicked me while I was down, so I’ll do the same on everyone else tenfold.” Blyke says “I was kicked while I was down, and goddammit I will keep getting kicked if it means other people don’t have to.”

It’s such a cool parallel, and the fact that when John was getting kicked, Blyke was trying to help, but when Blyke was getting kicked, John was doing the kicking adds so many layers to it.

[kirstoons]

SDV Sebastian x Female Farmer (Yandere)

Chapter 4

Author: Me (kirstoons or Pink_Femonade)

Editor and Queef: @gayrahim

TRIGGER WARNING: NSFW, 18+ content, MDNI, mature and sexual themes

Author’s Note: Check out my AO3 for the latest content (Pink_Femonade)

Summary: There’s no way out at this point. You have no choice but to stay at Sebastian’s house. You’re on edge the entire evening, and things only seem to get worse.

Wednesday went by far too fast even though it felt like your brain was a rickety ship on a turbulent sea. You had been paranoid and looking over your shoulder every few minutes everywhere you went. He must be watching you somehow, right? His messages and their timing… It couldn't be a coincidence.

You haven’t received any more texts since Tuesday evening, but you also hadn’t sent any yourself; to him nor to any of your friends. You were way too terrified of whatever “punishment” he had in mind. My Yoba, what if he’s a serial killer?! While this thought occasionally crossed your mind, it felt impossible to picture this dorky goth boy, whom you had seen as a good friend, as anything close to that. Not to mention, it was pretty logistically impossible considering you live in a small town where everyone knows each other and their business. Plus, the nearest city is a pretty far drive. Sure, he has a motorcycle he could use to get there but that seems impractical for someone committing murder. You remind yourself that, though it’s creepy, stalker-like behavior, his actions have never been violent.

It’s still an hour left before you need to leave, and you find yourself pacing the completed parts of the house. The knots in your stomach tighten with every passing second. You unpack and repack your overnight bag for the third time and switch the pomegranate wine out for the strawberry wine then back to pomegranate. The sound of your text notification nearly makes you leap out of your skin, as you tentatively retrieve your phone from the coffee table.

Sebastian

-Fuck, you’re so cute when you’re nervous. See you soon, princess-

It feels like every hair on your body stands on end as you read the text. The sheer anxiety of it all makes you feel nauseous. You peak out your windows and search every nook and cranny of your home but come up empty handed as usual. Pacing the house and looking over your shoulder isn’t doing you any favors. You might as well head out and try to let the cool autumn air ease your mind. Robin had left your farm earlier than normal this afternoon, excited to have company and also to help Demetrius with some of the cooking. Knowing she’d be there eased your tensions some. Maybe if you stuck near her, Demetrius or Maru, Sebastian wouldn’t be able to pull any of his weird shit. You held onto that little piece of hope as you reluctantly walked to your destination in the mountains.

The trek over did help you relax a bit but became completely undone once you saw the front door. Your stomach was doing backflips as you knocked on the door. Maru’s warm smile greeted you and welcomed you inside, leading you into the kitchen where Robin and Demetri were singing some song from before your time, while doing their cooking. They were horribly off-key but were having so much fun with each other you found it quite endearing.

“And Sebastian thinks I’m the embarrassing one,” Maru playfully remarks. You and her giggle as the couple continues their song, forgetting a few lyrics here and there. Sebastian is nowhere in sight, so it’s safe to say he’s still in his room down in the basement. You secretly hope he stays there all night.

You help Maru set the table, asking her about her recent projects and chatting away about local town happenings, funny job stories, and whatever the latest online trends are. You feel the weight on your shoulders dissipate the more you chat and laugh with the three of them. You see Maru grab the wine glasses and you suddenly remember the pomegranate wine you brought and rush to your bag to fish it out.

Your bag sat near the entry of the front room, where Robin ran her shop. You unzip the largest pocket of your bag, revealing the wine placed atop all your other necessary possessions. You grab it, turning on your heel to head back toward the kitchen, but instead you run face first into the well-toned chest of Sebastian.

You freeze in your tracks with only a few inches between the two of you. You can feel the flushness in your cheeks and your hands start to feel clammy. Slowly, you lift your gaze, struggling to meet his eyes. He stares you down like a hungry wolf who’s been given a succulent rabbit on a silver platter; ready to be devoured. He bites his bottom lip taking in every detail of your face, down to the pores. After he’s taken a minute to soak in your beauty, he lifts his hand and pushes a strand of hair out of your face and behind your ear. His rough, yet gentle touch continues to trace around your face, down your cheek and under your chin, which he then lifts higher, forcing you to make eye contact. He bends slightly forward in an attempt to be more level with you since he likely has a good 8-10 inches on you. This also makes him quite literally loom over top of you which turns you on. Though you hate to admit it.

“You’re such a good girl,” he sighs sweetly. His gray-blue eyes, similar in color to the frozen tears he’s so fond of, stare deeply into yours with so much intensity and devotion. His touch and gaze make your stomach flutter and your private parts tingle. He watches as your pupils dilate and your cheeks turn a deeper shade of red than before. His grin grows, revealing his pearly white teeth, his canines slightly more forward than the rest. You thought it was impossible, but you become even more flustered looking at that gorgeous, captivating face.

He slightly tilts your head to the side, then leans in the opposite direction to chew the shell of your ear and tug at your lobe with his teeth. Goosebumps spread across your shoulders and arm as you struggle to contain the moan desperately trying to escape your lips. You act slightly too late, and a single, airy syllable manages to free itself from your throat. Sebastian’s cock twitches at your involuntary sound. You aggressively bite your lip from embarrassment and to prevent any other instinctive noises from escaping.

“I’m gonna have to reward my perfect girl for being so good.” he whispered directly into your ear, his hot breath brushing against the hairs on the back of your neck. You can feel the moisture forming in your vagina starting to seep into your panties causing you to squirm.

He plants a single, delicate kiss on your cheek as he takes the wine from your hands and heads to join the others in the kitchen. You stand there, still frozen in disbelief. It dawns on you that you’ve been holding your breath the entire exchange and you quickly exhale, taking a few deep breaths to normalize your breathing.

Your legs feel like jello as you half-stumble back to the kitchen trying to conceal any lingering evidence of your previous encounter. Thankfully, everyone is excitedly pouring and drinking the wine you brought, allowing your lack of composure to fall under the radar. Except, of course, for Sebastian, who you feel undressing you with his eyes while he peers over the wine glass, taking a deep sip.

Once you meet his gaze, he tilts his head all the way back, chugging down the rest of the glass. You watch as the adam’s apple on his gorgeous, long neck bob with each swallow. A deep red drop of wine dribbles from the corner of his mouth, down his jaw, slipping down the contoured muscles of his neck until it nests itself atop his collarbone. You inadvertently lick your bottom lip before biting down again, trying to keep yourself from dampening your undies any more than you already have.

Sebastian picks up a second empty glass with the same hand and fills both of them with wine. Everyone begins taking their seats around the table and you follow suit. Before you have a chance to grab the seat next to Maru, Sebastian places both glasses on the opposite side of the table with the other two empty seats. He gives you a victorious smirk then nods to the seat he wishes you to take. While it seemed nonchalant to any onlookers, his eyes told you this wasn’t optional. You stiffly take the seat he inclined to you as he proceeds to sit to your left. You reach for your wine, realizing that he had given you the glass he had drank from previously. You pretend not to notice and take the glass anyway, drawing in a large swig to ease your nerves. Under the table, he gives your thigh a few approving pats, followed by a seductive squeeze. You keep your eyes down trying to listen to the conversation being shared, but it just comes across as a dull roar in your ears. You meekly smile and nod along with whatever is being said trying to regain your focus but can’t quite seem to straighten out your thoughts.

A plate loaded with delicious looking food is placed with a small clunk in front of you, causing you to finally snap out of your daze. You didn’t even realize how empty your stomach was till just now, especially since you have only nibbled on a few things earlier in the day, struggling to fight your anxious nausea. As everyone digs into the delicious meal, you begin to rejoin the conversation with the same enthusiasm as earlier. Despite being right next to him, Sebastian seems to be behaving much more normal. He’s acting like his typical self, looking bored and annoyed at having to participate. You know not to let your guard down, but it was relieving to see his usual personality again.

The rest of dinner went smoothly, and Robin and Sebastian collected everyone’s dirty dishes to take them to the sink. You continued your conversation with Demetrius and Maru, which was quickly turning into a friendly debate about some science theory you didn’t totally understand. Out of the corner of your eye you see Sebastian turned to you with a plate in hand, quickly realizing it’s your dirty plate. He runs his index and middle finger in a slow circle around the surface of the plate before inserting them into his mouth, sensually sucking on the two fingers. He does this while giving you bedroom eyes that crave you deeply. Everyone is so caught up in their own activities that they don’t notice Sebastian’s finger-fucking show. You can’t tear your eyes away as his tongue forcefully separates the two fingers, then retreats, only to penetrate again and again. The saliva on his fingers builds, creating a sloppy wet mess that leaks down the back of his hand. You find yourself wishing he was using that tongue on your currently creamy pussy. You were definitely going to need a shower and a clean pair of panties sooner rather than later. He pulls his fingers from his mouth creating a saliva string between them. He then shows off his messy fingers to you in a scissoring gesture, displaying the thick, wet fluid’s stickiness. You wanted to know what those long, slim fingers felt like inside of you. You couldn’t help but wiggle in your seat just thinking about how good Sebastian would finger your holes. You snap back to your senses and quickly turn back to Maru and Demetri’s exchange. Sebastian also turns back the sink, dunking the filthy plate and his filthier hands in the warm, soapy water. He continues to wash the dishes, as if the last few minutes never happened.

Never in your wildest imagination did you picture tonight going the way it is. You feel embarrassed by how wet he’s made you and the lingering mess in your panties. You do your best to ignore it, at least till you have a chance to freshen up, but your gut tells you this night is nowhere near over. You try your best to mentally prepare yourself for whatever comes to you next, knowing that Sebastian has only just begun.

[toxic3mmy]

Star Struck

prompt: you get a message from alex on tumblr

hai lovely peeps <3

this is gonna be a short little book type thing with a few more chapters to come

i hope you guys enjoy!

ps- ill try my best to update this series at least once a week!!!

you mindlessly scrolled through tumblr. yes it wasn’t 2015 anymore but you still used the app religiously. you had a good number of followers, too.

you posted about all the emo and alternative music you were into and not to mention the youtubers who you loved.

your number one favorite youtuber was alexis quackity. you related to him in many different ways. he made you laugh on days you weren’t doing too well. he meant a lot to you, even if you didn’t know him personally and it was all most likely just an internet personality.

still, you found yourself talking about his latest let’s talk streams or even his random tweets. you loved having a community of online mutuals that felt the same way about quackity.

____

halfway across the country, alexis sat cross-legged on the floor of his cluttered apartment, surrounded by a sea of empty takeout boxes and energy drink cans. his eyes were glued to the computer screen, the glow from the monitor reflecting off his square-rimmed glasses. his mouse hand hovered over the keyboard, poised to respond to the endless stream of comments that flooded his youtube channel. his thumbs danced across his phone, scrolling through the notifications that seemed to never end.

it had been a wild ride for alexis since he started streaming games and posting videos under the moniker 'Quackity'. the fame had come quickly, and with it, the adoration of millions of fans around the globe.

sometimes alex would take the time and look through his community of devoted fans. he would use throwaway accounts to simply be unknown for once and just see what there was out there.

his fans were so unbelievably talented. many of them were amazing artists making portraits of him or even writing songs for him. some were even exceptional writers and the fanfiction stories he’d come across were actually pretty good.

amidst the digital chaos, one fan seemed to stand out from the rest. y/n, with her username 'Y/NIsNotHere', had caught his attention with her thoughtful comments and unyielding support. He clicked on her tumblr profile, and there it was: a fan account dedicated solely to him.

her profile was a shrine to his digital persona, filled with meticulously edited gifs, screenshots from his streams, and heartfelt notes about how his content had changed her life. Alexis felt a strange mix of flattery and curiosity. he hovered over the 'send message' button, his heart racing with excitement.

what did she look like? what was her voice like? would she be as amazing as she seemed? with a deep breath, he typed out a simple hello.

granted, he was using a secret throwaway tumblr account so he didn’t expect for an immediate response. and yet, the response still came rather quickly.

Y/Nisnothere: hi! whats up?

emoboy666_: nothing much, just surfin da web. so you’re a fan of quackity?

Y/Nisnothere: yeah im definitely a huge fan. there’s just something about him you know? he’s different, he makes me feel okay

alexis’ cheeks heated up after reading the compliment. he smiled softly as he continued to message you

emoboy666_: i totally get you! it’s nice to be distracted from things

Y/Nisnothere: for sure! so tell me about yourself

emoboy666_: well, im in my early 20s.. im mexican, i love video games and art….. oh and you can just call me A

Y/Nisnothere: well im 21, im also mexican, im also really into all things artsy and nerdy and well, emo lol, and you can just call me y/n :3

emoboy666_: i’m glad we have some things in common! your blog is really cool btw, it’s like a hidden gem amongst the cyber world

Y/Nisnothere: aw thanks! that’s really sweet of you to say <3

emoboy666_: no prob (: so, what are you doing right now?

Y/Nisnothere: oh not much, trying to do homework but getting distracted by tumblr and twitter lol. and u?

emoboy666_: oh same here, what do you study?

Y/Nisnothere: i’m studying art

emoboy666_: that’s awesome! maybe you should show me some of your work sometime

Y/Nisnothere: yeah! id love to (:

emoboy666: me too (:

Y/Nisnothere: (: <3

the two of you continued to message each other practically all night. you were happy to have made a new online friend and alexis was happy to get to know one of his fans.

neither of you truly knew who was on the other end of the phone but you still really enjoyed talking to one another. it was refreshing for the two of you.

you fell asleep with thoughts of your new friend, A

[no-psi-nan]

Now that I've been thinking about Kusuke more, I think I can better articulate what makes Kusuke different from Makoto.

My latest understanding is that while Makoto doesn't think he's doing anything wrong and wants to escalate his involvement with his sister, there's a lot of evidence that Kusuke is actually trying to END his weird fascination with his brother and shift to a normal sibling relationship.

To support this theory, I'm gonna roughly describe Kusuke's appearances / timeline and what I think his motivations were.

Obviously this all starts when Kusuo is born. Pretty normal sibling rivalry for a while, though it escalates as they both get older and stronger and their parents don't stop them.

Kusuke creates the limiters. One limiter was supposed to stop Saiki's powers while inserted, and the other one was to keep Kusuo hostage for their games. I believe Kusuke thought that by suppressing Kusuo's powers, he could establish the "proper" hierarchy of older brother beating younger brother. But it wouldn't be a complete win for him without beating Saiki at full power, so the second limiter ensures Saiki will still compete with him. Kusuke's trying to get better at games and fighting, so he's thinking that if he can beat Kusuo with the limiter in, then he just has to train until he can beat Kusuo with the limiter out.

Up till this point, there's no evidence that there was any sexual component going on. And conveniently, right as he would be hitting puberty, Kusuke high-tailed it to Cambridge. At this time he still thought that by working with other scientists, they could figure out how to completely remove Kusuo's powers.

After that, Kusuke doesn't make an appearance until Kusuo goes to him about the broken limiter. He's left cameras all over the Saiki house which is bizarre and wrong, but to be slightly fair to him, he grew up without any privacy due to Telepathy, so it kinda makes sense. And technically if something went wrong with Kusuo, Kusuke is the only person who could help, so it would make sense that he should keep an eye on things. Still fucked, but he's not exactly an ethical guy overall.

Once Kusuo needs his help, Kusuke tests to see if he can finally beat Kusuo conclusively. He hasn't done this since he left Japan, and it's actually entirely possible that this is the first time that he ever reacted like that to a loss. Still, despite apparently having the best time of his life, he's annoyed enough by the next morning to bully Nendo and Kaido for no reason. Perhaps he realized that his excitement was messed up??

After this, Kusuke doesn't show up again for a while, except to warn Kusuo and their parents that there was a defective part in the limiter. The fact that Kusuo accidentally screwed up the past and met the WWIII AU Dr. Kusuke isn't technically Kusuke's fault and was definitely not his intention.

Almost every single Kusuke appearance after this point is directly related to The Final Game, in which Kusuke will defeat Kusuo in a super epic battle and then cement his dominance forever (and destroy the rivalry / humiliation kink potential) by slam-dunking the power deleter into Kusuo's brain.

Kusuke's next appearance is scamming his grandpa. Not very nice, but I think he was actually testing how much his grandpa loves him before moving in with his grandparents and launching his "elderly robot gang" plan of attack on Kusuo. Notice that his grandmother, who Kusuke likes better and brings gifts for, doesn't get put in a robot suit later on, she gets eternal youth like she wanted (well, at least Kusuke's best shot at it). But Grandpa was definitely going to be used against Kusuo as a hostage and to Kusuke it's justified because his Grandpa doesn't love him.

The elderly robot gang plan is revealed and fails, so Kusuke has to think of some other way to defeat Kusuo in a super cool matter.

In the next new year's chapter, both Kusuke and Teruhashi show up at the Saiki household. It's not clear why Kusuke showed up (perhaps he just wanted to hang out with his family and mess with Kuniharu), but he does seem to test whether Teruhashi could be good hostage material - the grandpa plan failed and we know he later recruits Toritsuka. Luckily for Teruhashi, she's able to prove that she is NOT to be messed with, so that's another angle that's been shut down.

Next Kusuke sends the birthday bomb trials. This is explicitly to measure Kusuo's strength as Kusuke comes up with the perfect counter weapons. He's not trying to kill Kusuo after all, and later he actually gets nervous that the cat tank blast might be too powerful.

Then there's the KochiKame parody chapter, where Kusuke has a little fun getting Kuniharu his job back. No attempts to mess with Kusuo in this one and they interact super normally.

Then Warp the robot cat debuts. Since roboticizing humans didn't work for him, it seems Kusuke is going all-in on developing robots with as much functionality stuffed into them as possible. While Warp also serves as a gift for Kurumi, I think its also a step towards developing Kusuomega.

Ok there's also a chapter where Kusuke tries to get his grandma to divorce his grandpa. Just Kusuke being an asshole lol.

Kusuomega appears!! Since Kusuke's original plan was to throw a bunch of robot old people at Kusuo, it makes sense to test whether throwing a bunch of normal robots at Kusuo would work. Yeah, making Kusuomega lick his shoes is fucking bizarre and making him "fully featured" is also messed up. But Kusuke does also have to prove that he's willing and able to make Kusuomega do freaky shit at Kusuo's school to "properly motivate" Kusuo to fight back at full power. Kusuke puts a lot of effort into ensuring Kusuo doesn't half-ass their games and fights, going all the way back to the installation of the limiters.

Kusuomega was easily defeated, but instead of making more robots, Kusuke realizes he can use Toritsuka as both a weapon and a hostage. He immediately gets to work on that.

Then the cat tank arc, The Final Game. Kusuke was going to win Once And For All.

Except he didn't. Still, he gives Kusuo the option of whether to use the power deleter or not, without the leverage of publicizing his powers. Kusuke has accepted that he can't beat Kusuo, and that he's never going to get another chance to beat him full strength, because he knows Kusuo is going to use that power deleter. This is the ultimate sacrifice for Kusuke, since Kusuo's powers are his one interest and passion in life.

From then on, Kusuke is completely cooperative, helping Kusuo with the volcano problem and giving him genuine advice in trying to prevent his powers from returning. Naturally he gets a little excited at the prospect that Kusuo's powers might be back, but he does respect Kusuo's attempts to deny them back out of existence, setting up Kuniharu to fight the meteor instead of insisting Kusuo do it, even if this might mean they all die.

So in summary, it seems like:

Normal sibling rivalry -> limiters to try to end sibling rivalry -> escape to England -> Kusuo shows up so Kusuke tries to beat him for the first time in years and gets off on the loss -> Kusuke works towards a final conclusive game where he can win and then delete Kusuo's powers

While Kusuke justifies it as older siblings should always be superior to younger siblings, he clearly senses there's something wrong about their dynamic and he works hard to "fix" it in the only way he knows how: with an overwhelming win. And when even his biggest efforts fail, he accepts that he'll never win this way and lets go of their rivalry, shifting into a more normal sibling relationship. And Kusuo recognizes that and even seeks his help with the volcano for the first time.

So while their situation is definitely fucked for most of the series and Kusuke definitely did pretty much everything wrong... Things aren't QUITE as bad as they seem and it looks like the "bro-con" issue is gone by the end of canon.

Which sets Kusuke pretty far from Makoto, imo, who never recognizes for a second that his attraction is problematic and that even if that wasn't his sister, he should never treat another person that way.

Anyways, I figured it might be helpful to explain my thinking on Kusuke in more detail like this, so hopefully this was interesting and makes sense!

[penguinmerchant]

"Darkrooms" Binding

My latest binding! This is the author's copy, my copy is still in the press and looks exactly the same except I melted one corner with the iron, lol. It gives it character. Right? RIGHT?

This is a Red Dead Redemption 2 fic by Besselfcn featuring Arthur Morgan and Albert Mason--so well written, just an amazing voice and it's short but really packs a punch. I used covers like this and this for inspiration, although this one came out to be more complicated than those. Used some of my precious Duo bookcloth for the green, which looks amazing. Anyway, I think there are some really cool parts to this binding. More pics under the cut.

The endpapers, beautiful Renato Crepaldi papers that I knew I was going to use for this the instant I came across them on his instagram. They're meant to evoke a sunset (although they also look a lot like Jupiter to me--but the sunset part was what they were meant to look like, and the papers are part of the Skyscapes collection, so. Yeah.). It's so pretty up close, there are some really cool pictures on Crepaldi's instagram if you want to look at them more closely.

The spine, which echoes the wolf and moon theme from the front (I really like the spine, it's so small and usually so hard to line up right but this came out just perfectly)

The title page, foiled with toner reactive foil--boyfriend designed everything and he really liked this title page, even if it's the name of the first chapter and not the actual collection of stories, lol. But I liked it so much I couldn't help but include it. Along with:

All of the font designs and curlies were made by the boyfriend, but the pictures are all Arthur's. I found this reddit post where someone had collected all of the pictures Arthur draws in his journal, so these pencil drawings (well, printed pencil drawings) are all Arthur's actual pictures from the game. I thought it was such a neat touch and, because Arthur's journal is an important part of not just the game but this story as well, I thought it was important to include them. There are a few more random pictures for chapter breaks, etc. but they're not super fancy like this.

Anyway, not much more to say about this binding. It's getting easier to do these and I make fewer mistakes--I made the case on this just a smidge too short, or maybe made the textblock a smidge too big, but that was about it--and although the HTV is always a pain it's getting more reliable as well. This cover was a pain in the ass to weed, though, and needing to do it twice kind of sucked. Anything in the name of art though! I'm so excited for the author to see this and I'm really happy to be able to add this to my collection!

[groovy-rat-man]

Random baseless punch out wii headcanon time!!

I KEEP TRYING TO SAVE THIS TO DRAFTS BUT IT KEEPS POSTING INSTEAD BUT FUCK IT WE BALL (i might add more stuff or change things but this is what I've got so far)

Doc Louis

Hes not the step dad he's the dad who stepped up

Hes got a tshirt that says that and every time he wears it in public mac dies a little inside

Hes also got pictures of him and mac together in his wallet that he likes showing off to people

Im gonna take this time and tell you about this crackship I like. Idk why but doc louis/gabby jay is just very cute to me and i wanted to share that with you

Little Mac

Everyone makes him transmasc, everyone makes him autistic, everyone makes him selectively mute and I just so happen to be part of everyone soooo...

I might however be projecting myself onto him just a little bit but whatev

Him and Birdie are like brothers to me, not biologically but still <3

Pretty awkward around his fans, especially the ones who don't respect his personal space (looking at YOU, nameless women in super macho man's title defense intro😡)

Got called into the counselors office at his school a lot because he was always covered in bruises, every time he just showed them his latest match on his phone like "yeah don't worry everything cool at home I just get my ass kicked as my job"

Tries to be friendly with all his opponents, or at least decent with them

~~~~

Glass Joe

I read the first couple chapters of this fic and now it's just canon to me, he is a single girldad and there is nothing you can do to change that

Well I say "dad" but sometimes I like to make her transfemme just because I can so when I do that she's still a milf instead

Has always had fucked up bones and joints and health problems and stuff, boxing just made it CONSIDERABLY worse lol

Gabby Jay is like his uncle or something

Sleeps like 3 hours a night and hasn't drank water in like 10-20 years, this freak is living off of coffee, bread, wine, cigarettes, and NOTHING else

Tried to be blond, it didn't work on him

The only reason he haven't died in the ring is because god is punishing him for his hubris

His one win was when Nick Bruiser died in the ring due to a completely unrelated brain aneurism

Von Kaiser

Used to crossdress back in his younger years, he may not do it as much anymore but he still has his dresses

Actually enjoys his job as a boxing teacher! He likes instilling knowledge on the next generation

Complete neat freak, trys to suppress it as much as he can but it's always there in the back of his mind

Definitely has SOMETHING wrong with him but thinks that if he doesn't get it diagnosed then it's not really a problem

Probably has like prosthetics or metal implants in his joints or bones or something, idk why else he'd make the noises he does

Disco Kid

I like to think that he does drag in his free time, makes you wonder if him and VK ever talk about it

Can fully SPRINT in high heels, hell he could probably fight in them too if they'd let him

Always has at least a little bit of glitter on him, it's a curse

Boxing is more of a hobby for him than a career, he's just having fun with it

Always makes sure his friends are safe and having fun whenever they go out somewhere

King Hippo

Scares babies and small children on accident just by being around them and feels REALLY bad about it

The first time he met glass joes daughter he made her cry and still hasn't gotten over it

Whenever fans ask him for a signature he either writes it in the most beautiful handwriting you've ever seen or he just draws a lil hippo with a crown, which one you get depends on how he's feeling

Has a storage unit somewhere filled to the brim with all those shitty blenders that had to be recalled

He still tries to pawn them off on people, too, if he ever tries to get you a gift for like your birthday or something you just know it's one of those shitty blenders

Oh and the "king" in king hippo isn't a stage name, he is actual flesh and royalty. His subjects seem to think highly of him and he treats them well. He does a pretty good job running things too but to be fair his kingdom isn't all that big, just one tiny island that isn't on any maps.

He usually doesn't hold his title over people's heads, mostly he's just some guy

Fully CANNOT swim but he can hold his breath for ages and just sort of walks on the ocean floor (gee, almost like his namesake)

Knows what gender is, does not care for it

Likes to sketch and draw :)

~~~~

Piston Hondo

Possibly aromantic? I don't really know and I don't think he knows either.

God why don't I have any headcanons for him?? He's my fucking wife!!!!

Ok I KNOW I said he's my wife but i saw like one person make him and Bear Hugger queer platonic partners and im in love with that idea

I feel like of the two he's the one who was most concerned with putting labels on it and trying to figure out what exactly they were but eventually just decided that even if they're not in a romantic relationship they can still be soulmates and I think thats beautiful

Hes a sweet guy but he can be pretty awkward around people lol

EXCELLENT cook like you have NO IDEA

Bear Hugger

Does NOT know his own strength. He'll go to hug somebody and and break their ribs, he'll go to open a jar and shatter it into pieces. He's trying his best to be gentle but good god.

Also the gay kind of bear (the stage name was on purpose)

Can actually literally for real life talk to animals. No fucking clue how he does it, i guess it's just a Canadian thing

Lost his squirrel after losing in title defense and was DEVASTATED, but DONT WORRY the squirrel was fine

The "i like raw fish" line isn't about sushi, be just sticks his head in a river and comes out with a live salmon in his teeth

Great Tiger

Has at least one if not a plethora of cats (one of which is a British shorthair cause I feel like that's the kind of cat he'd like)

"I feed you, I home you, I give you all the treats and toys you could ask for, and what do you do? You scratch up my furniture and knock over all my nice cups! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Mmmrrp?😺"

"Hmph, you're lucky you're cute..."

Magic is a difficult thing to control so sometimes when he sneezes he teleports, happesnt to the best of us

It took him weeks to fully resolidify after getting poofed my mac in title defense so for a while parts of his body were just vapor

If i ever draw him I'm gonna give him widdle kitty fangs, trust me

Still trying to work on his music career, the dumbass

Him and don like to gossip together like catty bitches

Don Flamenco

Carmen 100% tops him, I will not elaborate (at least not until I finish my fanfic)

#1 bi4bi couple ever

Whenever he drinks he literally does not shut up about her

"Me gusta mi esposa porque es suave y cálida y bonita y amable conmigo🥰🥰"

Sure, alright dude

I know it's HEAVILY implied that Carmen left him after he lost to mac the first time but I choose to think that he just lost all his self worth and was CONVINCED that she was gonna leave him

That... might actually be worse now that i think about it

But whatever, in the long run they get married and have twins and grow old together and it's great<3

She likes him better without his toupee, more room for kisses<3<3

"I'd kill someone for you, PLEASE ask me to kill someone for you..."

Hes tried on her lingerie more times than he's like to admit, it's gotten to the point where she just bought him his own. She wasn't upset about him stealing her clothes, she was upset because pink is NOT his color

Also I'm sorry that literally all of these are about him and Carmen, I didn't mean to do that

He is a complete giga bitch to everyone except her

I like it when people interpret mac as being Hispanic because I feel like he'd try and start a conversation with don and he'd be like "Lo siento, no hablo inglés. (Lying)" and mac would just be like "¡Oh, está bien! Así que, como te decía..." and dons just like GOD FUCKING DAMNIT

~~~~

Aran Ryan

He used to be normal, but then they put him in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. The rats made him crazy.

Does not know Irish and refuses to learn because it reminds him of being in school and he fucking HATED being in school

Probably because of the adhd or whatever is going on with his brain

Will break somebody's nose if they make fun of his accent

I see folks giving him a ton of siblings and I really like that idea but I just gave him one cause I thought it'd be easier lol

I named his sister Sharan cause I thought it'd be funny, she's also fucking crazy but when they're around eachother they're too busy trying to reel the other one in to be crazy themselves so they sort of balance eachother out

Shes about 6-7 years younger than than him and even though he KNOWS she can stand up for herself he's still very protective of her

When he first started boxing professionally he would bring her with him to get her out of the house (even though she didn't like seeing him get hurt)

Used to read her stories to help her go to sleep and would stay with her to protect her from monsters

Has fistfought his dad and would do so again if he wasn't dead

Soda Popinski

Literally just this post

Him and his wife that I made up have been trying for a baby but haven't had any luck so far

Gained his sweet tooth after quitting drinking (ya know cause he used to be called vodka drunkinski, god I'm so fucking clever)

Is actually a gentle giant outside of the ring!

His wife started knitting him sweaters once she saw him go out into the snow nearly naked. He loves and cherishes them and wears them every chance he gets but he still goes outside without pants🫠

Has killed someone on accident

Bald Bull

I like to think that he's a pretty chill guy when he's not being hounded by the paparazzi but god damn they will not leave him alone

He was probably glad when mac became champ for all the reasons macho man hated it

I honestly don't know what else to say about him

Fuck it I'm giving him agoraphobia

Him and popinski are pals😊

Has killed someone on purpose

Super Macho Man

I'm gonna be real, in my first draft of this post i completely forgot he existed and if he was real and he knew that he would be thinking about it for WEEKS

His ass: NOT real

His tits: NOT real

Thinks he's talking Like The Youth when he says shit like dude and bogus all the time

Also he's like 50

Definitely has at least one kid that he pretends not to know about, dodges child support like it's bullets in the matrix

Idk what social media was like in 2009 cause I was 4 years old but I like to think that people bully him online

Tried to own the "release the bogus" thing but it was just suuuuuuper cringe

Sometimes I like to make him ftm, I think it's neat

Sometimes I also like to make him fluent in asl but I got that one from a fanfic

Mr. Sandman

Comfypilled cozymaxer (at least when he's not training and stuff)

I feel like he would not be able to play any of the punch out games if they existed in his universe

I really dont know what to put here either

I like to think that under that intimidating exterior hes a real sweetie but I also said that about popinski and bb so it feels like I'm just being stupid

Give him some chamomile tea. Now.

[oscquinn]

can't stop thinking about s7 when lip had that summer job moving concrete and shit like that and how he'd be so tired and so sweet when he came home.

lip enters your apartment with a quick “hey baby,” and a tired smile, dirt and grime clinging to his features and the aches of a long day wearing him down. you return the smile easily, watching as he slips away into the bathroom. the shower starts up, tendrils of steam gently winding out through the open door.

you finish up dinner, something simple but hearty, all the good filling foods you know he’ll need after a day of work under the hot chicago sun. you know he’s tired, too tired to be formal, but you don’t mind. you fix up two plates right as you hear the water shut off in the other room. he steps out with a towel tight around his waist, and you go to him quietly, accepting the gentle kiss he lends to the corner of your mouth before he heads to get changed.

you sit both plates on the coffee table, switching the tv on to something light and insignificant. he returns in a white tank top and boxers, an exhausted groan tumbling from his lips when he sits next to you on the couch. he takes his plate from the table and eats with a tired smile on his face. you manage to slide in between his back and the couch cushions so you can offer him some comfort at your gentle touch. your hands work carefully at the knots in his back, leaving sweet kisses and quiet loving words against his tanned and freckled skin.

he’s so pretty in the summer, with sun kissed cheeks and lighter, messier hair. it’s like no matter what happens through the rest of the year, all of the adult responsibility bullshit he deals with, it all melts away in the summer. it’s like he’s the same rowdy boy with the crooked grin and affinity for adventure that you met playing out on the street all those years ago.

and secretly, he thinks the same of you. your eyes shine brighter in the summer, you look happier. he can’t get enough of you. you look so natural in the sun, bathing in it on your small porch, tending to your plants, smiling up at him with an easy sort of wonder.

the two of you don’t need to exchange any words. you understand he's tired, he understands you don't mind his easy silence. you gather the plates and take them to the kitchen, washing them off and putting them away. that way you wouldn't have to worry about them later, when the two of you were cozy in bed with his head pillowed so sweetly on your thighs.

he'd be out by eight, eight-thirty at the latest. you'd finish your wine and a chapter of your book around ten, and by then it'd be much too cozy and far too late to make your way to the kitchen. your wine glass would sit on the bedside table with your book, and you'd snuggle down under the thin cotton sheet with lip. you would roll him onto his back so you could lay on his chest, letting the cool summer breeze drift in from the window and caress the expanse of your skin.

end.

[dariaslookalike]

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 3: Is he hot, or are you just lonely?

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 4

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

The night is cool, practically verging on freezing, but the bar is teeming with people and chatter. You weave in and out of bodies and follow the three doctors ahead of you. The bar’s within walking distance of your work, so no one has changed. Albeit, their white coats are abandoned. They lead you to a table, set deep into the corner of the bar, and together you squeeze into the tight space. Your thigh is flush with Chase’s and if you stretched out an inch further, you would be playing footsy with Foreman.

Cameron breathes out a sigh of relief and relaxes in the faux leather booth. You try not to cringe when you place your palms down and feel the table is sticky or that the light fixture above you flickers every few minutes. Chase seems like a proud patron of the bar, nonetheless; he folds his hands behind his head and closes his eyes in contentment.

Cameron’s nose is tinged red from being out in the cold air, but she follows suit as you all take off coats and scarves, prepared to bask in the warmth of the crowded bar. Beside her, Foreman smiles and faces you. “So… give us your rundown, Newbie.” He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that obviously mimics House.

You laugh. “I don’t really have much to say.”

Chase chortles to your left. “You managed to get the patient’s complete history when Foreman and I could only get three words outta her. What, no family, or pets or boyfriends?”

“Girlfriends?” Cameron says, and Chase practically sputters, whipping his head to you.

You raise your hand in defence. “At the moment, no one. It’d be pretty hard to do so; I just moved to the city about a week ago. As for family, I’m not really in contact with them.”

“Ohh,” says Chase scandalously beside you. “They didn’t approve of their brainiac daughter becoming a brainiac doctor?” Foreman kicks at his shin and he painfully exclaims “Ow, man! What was that for?” Foreman scoffs. “Don’t ask people stupid questions, man. Do you want her to ask about your dad?” Chase tuts and Foreman replies. “That’s what I thought.”

You scrunch your nose. “Brainiac?”

Chase nods in confirmation. “Yeah! When House told us we had a new doctor, he said they were a real nerd! I mean, he also said he thought they’d get confused between the textbook and the real, living patient, but you seem like you’re doing great so far.”

When your eyes widen, Foreman is quick to jump to your defence. “That’s a good thing, coming from House. He told us he’d rather have a team full of nerds than full of Chases.”

Chase’s jaw drops and he starts interrogating Foreman, who smugly repeats himself. Cameron rolls her eyes at their squabbling. “So, you moved here recently? Whereabouts are you staying?”

You tell her your neighbourhood, and she gasps. “House lives about 15 minutes from there.”

The table erupts in sound as Chase exclaims “How do you know that?!” and Foreman shouts “Oh my god, you’ve been to his house?! House’s house?!”

Cameron flushes darkly and buries her face in her hands. “It’s not like that! Remember when we went on that date?”

Chase gags and wretches like a cat. “Ohmygodpleasedon’ttellusyoufuckedHou-”

“Chase! I did not sleep with him, my god!”

Foreman’s eyes are blown wide like an owl and he faces you as if to say ‘what the fuck is going on?’. You just laugh, “Cameron, you dated House?”

“It was one date. One. And, he’s made it clear there won’t be any more. I think I dodged a bullet.” She still has the faint flush you saw on her cheeks earlier, but you realise you diagnosed her too quickly.

Cameron wasn’t in love with House. She was moving on from him. Slowly, painfully, but one shaky step at a time.

She waves her hands in front of her as if to physically brush away the conversation. “If we’re going to talk about House, I need to be drunk. Let’s order.”

Foreman nods and breathes deeply. “I think I need to be five steps past drunk to hear about you and House.” Chase fake wretches again.

The food you order is the cheapest option, but above all, it’s hot, greasy, and melts in your mouth. It’s heaven after the day you’ve had, running around for House like a lapdog. You sip from your soda, and eye Foreman when he guzzles down his beer.

“What?” He says, putting it near-empty on the table.

“Rough day?”

He huffs and sips again at his drink. “House is just. The biggest pain in my arse. ‘Do this. Do that. No, you did this and that wrong, you should’ve done it like those.’,” he side-eyes Cameron. “I don’t know what you saw in him.”

Chase sips from his own beer and reaches over to grab at one of Cameron’s cheesy fries. She swats at his hand but he puts it in his mouth triumphantly, and he replies for her, still chewing obnoxiously. “Obviously, it was his kind heart and tender words. And massive dick.”

“W-what?” You say, near scandalised.

You pin Chase as a lightweight very quickly (and that was coming from someone who didn’t drink). His nose is rosy, and he laughs loudly before repeating himself. “I mean it! I see the way Cuddy looks at him. For such an arsehole, he’s got to have something going for him, right?” You see his leg shift and he nudges Cameron across the table. “Amiright?”

Cameron scoffs and swipes at his food now, pulling away a chicken tender. “What is it with boys, and their obsessions with dicks?”

Foreman laughs alongside you, and the age-old question is again left unanswered.

The conversation gradually shifts around the table. Foreman tells you of the time Chase had piss thrown on him by a patient. Chase tells you of the time Cameron nearly vomited at the sight of maggots in a wound. Cameron laughs and tells you of the time Foreman did vomit after watching House lick a patient’s swab. Eventually, it returns back to you, when the three doctors are more tipsy and filled with liquid courage.

“So,” says light-weight Chase, who seems to be battling to keep his head steady. “Why do you not have a boyfriend?”

You chuckle. “You’re all doctors. When was the last time you got to go out, meet someone and have time to put in effort with them?”

Chase wiggles his eyebrows back at Cameron and she swats at his arm again. Now, she turns to you and speaks. “Well, you’ve seen the hospital now. Anyone catch your eye?”

Foreman bursts out a laugh. “Just because you want someone to share in your House-being-loveable delusion doesn’t mean it’ll happen.”

You shake your head. “I’ve been around more blood and guts today than people.”

You decide to omit the part where you dropped off patient results to House and a hastily scribbled recipe.

It was nothing. Honestly nothing. You didn’t even know the man. You had a total of three conversations with him.

Despite that, your body had committed a crime when you handed both papers over. A near felony. Your hands had brushed against each other, for the briefest second. And you blushed. Like a goddamn school girl. It was bound to happen. You were almost…pathetic in a sense. No, no that was too harsh, but you still thought there was some truth to it. Studying and working were more your thing than dating or flirting. It had left you, expectedly, alone. Relationships were a far-off fantasy that you let yourself indulge in occasionally. Sex was not so much a fantasy as it was a frantic, feverish desire that ebbed and flow; some days, you could deal with the fact that you had no one to return home to, or to tell about your day or to simply touch and hold. Other days? You were a self-loathing, horny wreck that wanted nothing more than to find someone who would fuck you and stay in the morning for breakfast.

It was bound to happen that one day your body reacted before your brain could. No action in a few years would do that to most people. Make you giddy and blushing over the smallest things.

There was nothing to worry about though. Your blush, your tingling hand, your giddy feelings that had only sprung to life in the flash of a second. They all died when House recoiled and said “Ew. Girl Cooties.”

You shake your head and draw yourself back to the table. Chase is practically making out with his food, and Cameron is watching him with intense disgust while Foreman laughs.

It’s later in the night when you all decide it's time to head home. You barely open your mouth when Cameron shakes her head at you. “We take turns shouting. Tonight’s my go, so it’s on me. No fuss.”

You blink but nod when you see she’s unrelenting. “Okay then. Put me into the roster and I’ll shout when it’s my turn.” Something you would have to set aside money for, but you would get paid in a fortnight- if you made it that far at your new job. The money was far better than what you had previously received, and even though it would pain you to some extent, you’d be able to do your part in the team’s weekly outings.

You walk out of the bar together and stand alongside the sidewalk. Cameron slings an arm under Chase, who nearly topples her with his weight and height. She sighs, but she speaks with a smile on her face. “I’m gonna get him home. He can’t be driving like this.”

Foreman chuckles and nods along. “What was it, Chase? Three beers?”

Chase’s eyes widen and he jabs a finger at Foreman’s chest. The movement nearly throws Cameron off balance, but she steadies him as he slurs, “New record!”

Chase swivels his head to you now, and he drawls out your last name. “You! Pretty lady! Why don’t you take me home? She,” He swings his head back to Cameron, “Slept with House! Yuck!”

Chase detaches himself from Cameron with flailing limbs and races towards you. The rapid movement seems to upset him however because, by the time he reaches you, he bends at the waist and vomits.

You step back, but the damage is done and you stare down at your shoes with disgust.

“Dude!” Shouts Foreman, and Chase wipes at his mouth, before looking back at you. “Preetty ladyyyy. Don’t fuck House.”

You nod along with his drunk ramblings and grab him under his armpits to pull him up. Cameron takes him from you and you can see her contemplating letting Chase drop onto the concrete. But her jaw just twinges. “I am so sorry about him. I hope he didn’t ruin your shoes.”

You shrug and try not to breathe through your nose when the acidic smell of vomit drifts up. “It’s fine. A patient would have done it eventually.”

Cameron smiles, but you can see she still feels guilty. Chase is practically asleep on her shoulder “It was great getting to talk with you. We’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

Foreman groans and runs his hands down his face. “Don’t remind me.”

With that, Cameron and Chase hobble off into the night. Foreman turns to you, and breathes a warm puff of air. “I’m getting picked up by a friend.” By the pause in his voice, you’d guess the friend was a bit more than just his buddy. “Are you alright to get home?”

Almost as soon as he’s finished speaking, a car glides up to the sidewalk, and Foreman turns to it. You spy glinting acrylic nails on the steering wheel. He’s torn, however, and turns back to you. You wave him off. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His eyebrows are drawn together. “Are you sure? It’s a new city and dark and cold and-”

“Foreman. I appreciate the concern, but I didn’t even drink. The worst I’ll have to deal with tonight is cleaning my shoes. I’ll be fine.”

He nods at that, eyes dipping down to your feet before he throws one fleeting glance at you. But then he’s in the car with his ‘friend’ and driving away. You tuck your hands into your coat pocket and begin walking. While the bar was crowded, the streets you navigate are quiet. It’s only the moon and the stars staring down at you now. Their gaze is heavy and you quicken your pace.

The air quickly takes away any warmth you found when you were eating. It nips at your ears, and your nose, and you vow to be more prepared next time you go out this late. Maybe some gloves. A balaclava. A scarf. Anything to add to your coat’s limited warmth.

You make your way back to the bus station near the hospital and blow heated air onto your red fingers, and down your own neck. The metal seat stings when you tuck yourself atop it, and you hiss quietly when the cold sinks into the back of your thighs. You wait for a few minutes, before you decide to do the clever thing, and check your watch. You curse, and it’s loud and angry, and for good measure, you curse again. No one is around to see you, so you allow yourself to scream into your palms. There were no buses now; the route to lead you anyway near your apartment had stopped nearly 45 minutes ago.

You could call a taxi. But that would need a phone, and a wallet, which you realise with a startle, you have neither. You still had to set up a phone with one of the local providers, and your wallet, while thinner than most, was in your bag- your bag that was sitting in the conference room.

“Fuck,” you say and begin walking again.

It begins raining when you’re halfway there, and you decide to run. In spite of your efforts, sheets of rain slide down your spine and freeze your body. Your teeth are chattering, you’re dripping and your hair is plastered to your scalp when you finally reach the foyer of the hospital. Despite the lack of people out on the streets, the hospital is still thriving. It’s different at night, you think, as you step around nurses and cleaners and patients. The lights are dimmer. The halls are quieter. It’s as if the hospital, while still alive, is holding its breath.

You duck into one of the washrooms and cringe as you step out of your shoes. Your socks are soaked and squelch against the floor, but at least it's some barrier of protection. You don’t let your brain catch up with you while you scrub at your shoes. The smell, however, catches up with you and you gag. No matter how much you scrub, the smell resists. Eventually, you’re defeated and relent, drying your shoes with paper towels before slipping them back on.

You get turned around from there and have to retrace your steps twice. Each white corridor seems to mirror each others, but you recognise one floral plant and use it as your guide. Soon enough you find yourself outside the conference room, and you push at the door.

It’s locked.

“Fuck. Fuck.” You say again, running your hands down your face. If you braced outside now, walking all the way, you’d freeze or drown before you even saw your suburb. Fuck, indeed.

A voice startles you. “That’s not very nice language. Didn’t Daddy teach you better?”

You whip around, and your gasp catches in your throat. House is leaning against his cane. He stands next to the very chairs you met him by and raises both eyebrows in shock. "Oh my! I forgot my belly dancing skirt! Again!” He face palms, and you have to breathe through your nose to not snap at him.

“Can you unlock this door? Please?”

He clicks his tongue. “No can do. That’s the janitors job.”

You swallow dryly and try to keep the rising annoyance from your voice. “Please. I forgot my wallet, and it’s in there.”

“Saying please with a pout won't make me say yes any faster. That was stupid.”

Your jaw drops open. “It wasn’t intentional. Haven’t you ever forgotten something?”

His lips purse and he looks off in the distance as if he’s contemplating it. But then his eyes draw back to you. “Nope. If you’re forgetful enough to forget your wallet, how can I know you’ll be attentive enough to give a patient 2ml of medication instead of 20?”

Your eyebrows nearly reach your hairline. He was questioning the integrity of your work, because you forgot your wallet? “Because one of those is something I tucked into a dark corner that no one ever touches, and the other could literally kill someone.”

“Mmmhmm,” House’s eyes scan you. “But you’re also showing back up to work drunk, which says more about your character than any forgetfulness could.”

“W-what?!”

“You’re. Drunk. Had a little bit too much fun on the duckling’s night out?”

You huff. “I’m not drunk. I don’t, jesus I don’t even drink.”

His lips flatten. “You’re red in the face. You smell like alcohol. You’re stumbling over your words. Therefore, drunk.”

At that, you laugh. And laugh some more. “I’m nearly hypothermic from the torrential rain. Chase threw up his beers on my shoes. I stumble over my words when people accuse me of things I don’t do. For such a great detective, I would think that would be pretty obvious.”

He shuffles forward and leans in. You’re finding it a very annoying and invading habit of his. He stares at you intently, inches away from your face. You feel his breath fan over your cheek, and you shiver (certain it is only the air and cold water reacting on your face. Nothing else). He draws back, leaning onto his cane again. “Fine. Your pupils aren’t blown. You’re off the hook, newbie.”

There’s no use in fighting him and you just speak curtly, “Can you just unlock the door before hassling me more, House?”

His voice turns somewhat serious. “Honestly. The janitor’s job. They lock up everything and then go home for the night. Did they not teach you how to pick locks in all those courses you did?”

You’re reminded of his ‘nerd’ comment that Chase passed onto you earlier, and feel yourself shrink a little bit. Your head fall back against the glass and you slide down the glass until you’re a puddle on the floor. House peers down at you. “That’s not really sanitary. Cuddy was walking through here earlier, and you never know what kind of diseases she’ll track through.”

When you don’t respond, he sighs gruffly, as if he would prefer to be anywhere else. “Why do you need your wallet?”

You blink away tears that suddenly spring up. Foreman was right.

It’s dark.

It’s cold.

It’s a brand-new city.

And you’re entirely alone.

“There’s no night bus routes and I’ll have to catch a taxi. I need my wallet to pay.”

“I’d give you cash, but I just spent it all on drugs.”

“Wow.” You say bluntly. ”I hope you have a great bender.”

House rolls his eyes. “Get up. Really. It’s gross down there.” When you make no movements, he pokes at your leg with his cane. You have the idea to kick it out from under him. Instead, you raise yourself and glare at him. He glares back at you and pokes his tongue out, turning away. He speaks over his shoulder, “Come on. My car’s down in the parking lot.”

There’s a second where he continues walking, not even glancing back at you, and you wonder if you should follow him. You could stay here. Find a comfortable couch or chair. Try to fall asleep to the droning beeps of machinery and hacking coughs of patients.

Instead, you cross your fingers, hoping that curiosity doesn’t kill this cat, and follow him.

He does in fact lead you to the car park and to a blue-grey Dodge Dynasty. It would suit any other doctor; practical, comfortable, and overtly pedestrian. But, for House, you think it an odd choice. There weren’t even furry dice hanging from the mirror.

He unlocks the car with a flick of his keys and turns to you. “Well come on. You’re being slower than the cripple.”

You stare at him confused and he limps towards the driver's side. Across the roof of the car, you raise yourself onto your tippy toes and manage to maintain eye contact with him. “What’s going on, House?”

“I’m kidnapping you, duh. Don’t look now, but I already have a bag and some cuffs in the trunk.” You don’t laugh or even chuckle, and he sighs. “I’m taking you home. Get in.”

Do you trust him? You didn’t know him. Today you had seen him trick a patient and give the medicine she didn’t want, just to confirm his diagnosis. Cold. Dark. New city. What options did you really have?

You open the door and slide in. You tug your soaked coat off, and fold it over your lap, shivering when his AC blasts cold air towards you. House turns towards you, seemingly ready to mock your poor thermoregulation, but instead, he whistles low. “Wow, Newbie. That’s what you wear under those button-ups?”

You follow his gaze directly to your chest and blush madly when you see your laced, black bra visible through your top. His AC pushes a new breeze past, and your nipples pebble and raise even more. You try to save face and scoff at him. “What happened to girl cooties?”

He licks his lips, and faces forward again, muttering a ‘cooties-schmooties’. He peels out of the parking lot rapidly and you can’t make eye contact with him as you mutter your address to him. He makes no move to turn the AC off.

It’s ten minutes into the drive when he looks over at you and sneers slightly. “Stop that.”

You freeze. “Stop what?”

“Bouncing your knee. It’s distracting.”

You look down, not even realising your knee was moving. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be nervous about. I’m not actually kidnapping you; I think it would make work lunches complicated if you were my sex slave at home.” You huff. “Do you really have to be so inappropriate?”

He flicks his head towards you momentarily. “Do you really have to think that everything to do with sex is inappropriate? Newsflash, your boss gets horny like everyone else.” His eyes dart back to your chest and linger. “I may seem like it, but I’m not a saint.”

Your cheeks were on fire, and you turned to face the window, adamant to not let him see. “Talking about sex is not the same thing as bringing up me being a sex slave for you. And newsflash, most bosses don’t tell their employees when they’ve got a hard on.”

He laughed. “Double newsflash, sweetheart. I don’t have a hard on.”

You turn back to him and your eyes dip to him, “You sure about that?”

You whip back to the window, afraid to see his reaction. But, a streetlight passes by, and the interior is reflected perfectly in the dark reflection. You see House’s head peer down at his tightening pants. He swallows dryly and turns his face back to the road, with a simple “Ah.”

It’s at that moment when Chase’s face springs into your mind. It's vomit-covered, but he slurs the words 'Massive Dick' towards you

You squeeze your legs tightly and try to quiet your breathing, ignoring the sudden coil tightening itself in your stomach. You could reach over. Ask him to stop somewhere. Finally address that decaying hole in your heart that you’ve been avoiding- not fix it with the love and warmth you need, no, but patch it up with lust and sweat and desire. Have him touch you and stroke you and fuck you until you forget everything. But then you remember this is your boss you're thinking of; above all it's House. He had proved himself to be arrogant and rude in the few days you had known him, and you didn't want to put yourself through the same pain Cameron did. You weren't strong enough for that. You simply tuck your hands under your thighs and pray you’re not stupid enough to reach for him.

There’s awkward silence and minutes of absolute stillness. When you’re confident that the tingling in your stomach was just car sickness, your hand finds it’s way to the radio. You flick through all the stations and settle on Country. You see House’s eyes dart to you when you relax back into your seat. “Really? I didn’t take you for a farm girl.”

The streets whip by and rain begins to pour against the rooftop of the car. “I’m not. It’s just the only channel that won’t play ads every five seconds.”

“Ah,” he says, and you’re trying not to think about him groaning it in your ear. “So bad music is better than none?”

You nod. “Yes. It’s either that or I can talk your ears off.”

His only response is reaching for the radio and raising the volume, and you cross your arms, pushing yourself into your chair. He doesn’t say anything when you mumble some words to the songs, and you don’t say anything when you hear him humming along to one of the songs.

You rub at your arms where goosebumps have raised and force your body to not shiver. He seems to know where he’s going, and you’re grateful for that. You’re not confident you would be able to direct him if necessary. Street lamps whizz past and the car is repeatedly illuminated and then immediately left in darkness. Your eyes are drawn to his hands. The tendons flex as he tugs at the wheel.

You look back to your window and focus on breathing steadily.

House pulls up to your apartment soon after, and there's only a slight sprinkling raining down. You unbuckle quickly like the seatbelt is molten metal, and step out. On the pavement, you turn back, more confident with the distance between you, him, and your lustful thoughts, you prepare to bend down and thank him through the window.

His car is already halfway down the street and you stand there, long after his headlights have faded into the night.

You don’t see it, but House reaches into the pocket of his jeans, where his thick, full wallet was digging into his hip bone, and sets it on the, now empty, seat beside him.

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter three: show me how

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 8.3k (a long-y but a goody)

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced/virgin reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, alcohol use, pet name (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl), polite southern manners, feeling familial and self-pressure, masturbation (f & m), light voyeurism, THIGH RIDING, dirty talk, LATINO JOEL cause it's canon which means there's likely subpar spanish bye!!!

Joel is trying very hard to be a good neighbor.

He can be friendly enough when he needs to be, but he absolutely did not know the kind of place he was moving into. It’s like Pleasantville had a baby with The Truman Show. Everyone here is so nice.

Not that his previous neighborhood wasn’t filled with people who were nice, but everyone pretty much kept to their own business and gave a wave here and had a quick catch-up across the lawn there. Well, except for the Adlers.

And here, they also do neighborhood events.

Which is why he finds himself nursing a can of Budweiser that’s dripping cool condensation in the mid-afternoon Texas heat of late June, surrounded by husbands having conversations about the upcoming football season, the latest Astros game, and their wives. He can’t really add anything to the conversation because he hasn’t kept up on any sports news, was working during the last game, and he’s single.

So fucking single that he spends most nights fantasizing about you, his daughter’s nanny. Or just straight up watching you like some depraved, desperate man.

Which isn’t too far off base, cause it’s what he’s feeling right now as he steals glances of you laid out on a patio lounger next to the aquamarine, chlorinated water. You’re sitting in a white linen cover-up dress, but the thin crepe fabric leaves nothing to the imagination when it comes to your swimsuit underneath. It’s modest enough for a family affair, covering up everything appropriately but it still does something to see your skin exposed in the sunlight, a sheen of sweat coating your body.

He’s noticed some of the neighbors around your age checking you out, even some of the men older than him ogling at you. It was hypocritical to feel the burn of anger — he was eyeing you all the same but to him, it felt a little different. Like you were closer to his than anyone else’s. He saw you every day; knew little things about you like how you always twisted the ring on your right hand around with your thumb or how you always left one last sip or two in every drink you had, never fully finishing them before abandoning them on the counter or in the sink.

Knowing more about you, from tiny details to what you wanted to do with your life, made him feel like he was dipping his feet into the pool of temptation. Every bit he learned made him want more.

And every time he saw you through the window of your bedroom, he jumped in head first into that alluring pool. It felt so right, so justified in the moment to him, but as soon as the lights clicked off on your side and he looked down at his come coating his knuckles, shame slithered up his throat and coated his mouth with bitterness.

Yet, he couldn’t stop. And some nights, he swears to himself that he sees you looking, watching his actions. Like you know exactly what he’s doing and you let him. One time, mind hazed over with pleasure as he got himself off to the sight of you alone and half naked, he even convinced himself that maybe you wanted him to keep doing it.

Joel knew you were flirting at times, but at other times he couldn’t tell if there was any difference between your polite, sweet demeanor and a subtle hint that you found him attractive.

Even if you were into him, there’s no way he could do anything about it.

Joel’s pulled out of his thoughts when he feels a tug on the hem of his swim trunks. His eyes flit down to his daughter, standing next to him with a pout on her face.

“Daddy, can I please go swimming now?”

Joel smooths a hand through her hair, bending down to her level to look her in the eyes.

“Can you give me just a few more minutes, Bug? I gotta talk to Mr. Clark about a job he might need help with at his house. I promise we can go down to the pool right after that.”

Joel’s cool thumb from the beer can swipes across her cheek as Sarah huffs in frustration, crossing her arms over her chest and staying put as a sign of her reluctant agreement. He smiles softly at her, kissing her hairline as he stands again, turning to the neighbor near him to answer his questions about a potential job refurbishing his deck over the weekends.

Wrapped up in conversation, Joel doesn’t notice the tiny footsteps padding away slowly at first, speeding up down the stairs. He doesn’t notice until his hand reaches for her curls, the swoosh of air under his palm tearing his eyes away from Mr. Clark. Panic sets in immediately, Joel excusing himself quickly to go to the edge of the deck to search the large party for his seven-year-old. Flip flops slap loudly against the concrete, the familiar voluminous hair bouncing as she runs towards the open water without anyone there to catch her and no safety floats on her arms.

He deposits his beer on the railing, starting to rush down the stairs to try to catch her but is stopped as he watches what plays out below him.

You saw Sarah, without her dad following behind her, and knew something wasn’t right. Joel had told you that she was still in swimming lessons — Sarah loved the water but she’d only had a few lessons last summer so she wasn’t entirely ready to be able to jump in and swim completely without aid. That pings something off in your mind, instincts kicking in as you swing your legs over the side of the lounge chair and jump up immediately to chase after her. Your arms outstretched wrap around her tiny frame right before the edge of the pool, lifting her away from the water on the other side.

Sarah is in a fit of giggles, the idea of you snatching her a playful game in her childish mind. Relief washes over you and you go along with her giggles, spinning her around and bringing her back over to your chair.

“Gotcha, little miss! You’re eager to swim, huh?”

Sarah’s giggles die down while she’s still in your arms, and as you set her back down next to your seat, Joel jogs over from the stairs to the two of you.

“Mija, you can’t just run off like that. You scared me. And you know there’s no running around the pool, and no swimming without an adult. It’s not safe, is it?”

Joel’s squatting down to look his daughter in the eyes, seriousness evident in his tone but not to the point of anger. He’s calm and collected as he reprimands with reminders and honesty, his voice not ever nearing a louder volume than his normal cadence.

God, he’s such a good dad.

It’s so attractive.

Internally, your palm is hitting your forehead at the flutter of your ovaries. Externally, your eyes roll into the back of your head in a curse to your mind.

“You were taking so long, Daddy! I want to swim now.”

Sarah’s indignant, her actions were completely justified to herself when she didn’t know how it could have ended up.

“I’m sorry that it frustrates you to wait, but you can’t go running off. Next time, give me a reminder, Bug. Sometimes I don’t realize how long I’m taking, it’s a curse your dad has for lack of time management.”

You snort a laugh out, covering your mouth as the comment goes right over Sarah’s head. Joel’s eyes find yours, soft crinkles showing next to them as he grins at your laughter.

He sends Sarah over to her bag sitting a few chairs over to grab her floaties for him to put on, standing up and facing you. Hands slip into the pockets of his shorts, shoulders raising an inch.

“Thank you for grabbing her. I just, I dunno, I just panicked at the top of the stairs. Like seeing everything in slow motion and I was stuck there. But, uh, yeah, thank you for getting to her.”

Voice thick with ignominy, guilt sheening in his eyes as he looks at you with a vulnerability you’d yet to see from the daily interactions with Joel.

A crack formed in your heart at the thought that he was scared, that he feels like he failed in the moment for his feelings overwhelming him. Your head shakes side to side, your feet subconsciously step closer to him and your hand reaches out to sprawl across his bicep with a gentle, comforting squeeze.

“It’s alright, Joel. Nothing happened. Sarah’s totally fine, and still chomping at the bit to swim,” you console, a kind smile on your face, “Besides, I probably wouldn’t be a very good nanny if I didn’t do anything when I was way closer to her. You couldn’t have reached her in time, and I stepped in for you. You didn’t do anything wrong, Joel.”

His shoulders relax, hands slipping from his pockets as he nods.

“Thank you. For all of it.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know. But I want to.”

The words strike you in your chest, nothing profound said but the emphasis behind them warming you from the inside out like the Texas sun. You swallow, suddenly feeling parched from the heat and breaking the eye contact that Joel was holding with you to look down at Sarah as she approaches you again.

“Can you help put my floaties on?” She hands you the deflated safety devices with a toothy grin, the gap of lost tooth on the left side of her smile making you want to squeeze her from how adorable she looks.

“Course I can, girly,” you take the floats from her, finding the mouthpiece on one and looking back to Joel, continuing before you start to blow them up, “I can swim with Sarah, if you wanna keep chatting with Mr. Clark. I know he wanted to get your thoughts on his deck. You should go back and talk to him, could be an easy job with decent pay. He’s a generous guy. Go be social, charm the pants off of everyone.”

Joel nods and glances over his shoulder to the deck filled with neighbors. He turns toward you again, raising an eyebrow in question.

“You sure, sweetheart? You’re off the clock today, you should enjoy your free time.”

“Spending time with Sarah is fun. Wouldn’t want to spend my afternoon any other way. Plus, what else am I doing? Baking out in the sun like a lizard?”

Joel laughs, a genuine one that you’ve only heard a few times when a joke of yours really gets him, and he nods, bringing a hand up to gently pat your arm.

“Thanks, darlin’. I owe you one.”

The wink he sends you nearly has your knees failing you, a heat sent to your core at the subtle flirtation.

These charged moments between the two of you have been happening much more often, and with your new (almost) nightly routine waiting up for Joel in your bedroom, you’re waiting with bated breath for whatever is built between the two of you to snap and open the flood gates.

More and more, you’re imagining how it would feel to kiss him, how his hand would feel in yours, what he could take from you and what he could give you. There was so much you were admittedly naive about, but everything that you had once been intimated by seemed exciting when you thought of doing it all with Joel.

He’s kind, and respectful, and gentle. He cares. Even when he acts like a grump or teases you, you know there’s something there. There has to be, otherwise you’re going crazy for sure.

Pulling yourself away from your daydreams, you inflate the floaties for Sarah and help her get them on. You pull your cover up over your head, depositing it on the chair you were laid out on. Sarah’s small hand fits in yours, taking slow steps to allow her to keep up with you as you cross the concrete patio to the pool stairs.

The two of you climb down the stairs and into the water, Sarah shrieks and giggles from the chill surrounding her hitting Joel’s ears all the way up on the deck. He’s back with Mr. Clark, having finished hearing him out about what he wants done and offering his services, reaching an easy agreement with him about when he’ll come by to start and what Mr. Clark will pay him.

Joel wanders away from the group, grabbing another beer, this time a Miller Lite.

Not his favorite, but he’ll take what he can get to keep a small buzz around all these people. Nosy, overly polite, and fake people make him uneasy. He's virtually the opposite, and it occurs to him that you are, too.

Maybe that’s why he feels so drawn to you.

Well, that, and you’re one of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen.

Cracking open the can, he leans on the railing with his elbows supporting him and watches you with his daughter. He takes a long sip, combing his gaze over the top half of your torso that’s out of the water as you stand in the shallow end. The bikini top he’d gotten a peek of under your coverup is on full display now, the sweet lilac color with ditsy florals tight across your chest.

He’s seen more of your bare skin from his window, but the bikini top sends a heat to the back of his neck and behind his ears, imagining you over him on his lap and his hand slipped under the swimsuit.

Shaking his head to pull him away from the image, he takes a deep breath and a few gulps of his beer, taking one more look at the two of you splashing around in the water with some of the other neighborhood kids swimming circles around you. He holds back a smile as he listens to your laughter mixed with Sarah’s, chewing on the inside of his cheek before he returns to be social like you told him to.

Eventually, once they’re pruny and antsy again, Sarah and the other kids get out and towel off to play tag altogether in the grassy part of your backyard. You dry off and slip your coverup over your head again, the fabric clinging to you in places that weren’t fully dry. Bare feet pad against the wooden stairs as you climb them, taking a breath to brace yourself before returning into the mass of judgy neighbors.

The contents of the cooler have dwindled, so you opt for a Corona and pop the cap off, weaving in and out of the crowd to find a lime wedge. At the makeshift bar, you grab a slice and shove it down the bottleneck, taking a sip and turning towards a group of neighbors you actually like.

Walking up to the circle, you see your brother, Chris, a kid his age from down street, Ryan, and Joel standing opposite you. Everyone’s talking about setting up a bags tournament, and you volunteer to play as well. One of the young wives offers to pair everyone off into teams, and you get set up with Chris while Joel gets partnered with Ryan.

Everyone playing meanders down to the lawn where the handful of boards are set up for play, and the four of you end up versus each other. Chris and Ryan walk to the far side, leaving Joel and yourself at the opposite end to start the game.

He bends down to collect the beanbags, handing you the blue ones with a grin while he holds the red for himself.

“You ready to lose at cornhole, sweetheart?”

You scoff and roll your eyes.

“No, cause I’m ready to win at bags.”

Joel scoffs this time, letting out a short laugh and giving you a look of disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people, darlin’. It’s called cornhole. Why do you even call it bags? You’re from Austin. We say cornhole.”

“Um, I am ‘one of those people’ cause ‘those people’ are the correct ones. And there are plenty of people living in Austin that call it bags. For example, my dad who taught me the game.”

You turn away from Joel and lob one of your bags onto the board, watching as it skids across the surface and sinks into the hole.

“Your dad is from the Midwest. Doesn’t count, sweetheart.”

Joel tosses his first one, the red bag smacking against the surface and sticking to its place. You look at him with a satisfied, smug smirk.

“It does count. And even more so, everyone in Fort Worth at school calls it bags. People from Texas.”

Your next shot only lands on the board, an annoyed sigh falling from your lips.

“That’s Fort Worth. I’m talking about Austin. Your hometown. You can’t betray us by calling it bags, darlin’. You’re breaking my heart hearing that.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll always be a heartbreaker to you. Cause if I ever call this game cornhole, it’ll be the death of me.”

Joel sinks his next shot, giving you the same pompous look you’d given him.

“Now I can’t be losing you so soon, so we can agree to disagree. But I’m right.”

“Oh my god, no! I am right. And I will be teaching Sarah the correct name for the game.”

The blue bag in your hand lands on the edge of the hole, taking a second to let gravity pull it in. You cheer to yourself and hear Joel’s laugh next to you, your smile softening.

“Now that’s just too far, sweetheart. I draw the line at influencing the youth. My youth, especially.”

Your laugh pulls a smile from Joel, the shot leaving his hand to land right in the hole of the board. He looks back to you, eyes glistening with a tinge of admiration and teasing all in one.

“Fine. I will allow you to parent as you see fit, even if it’s wrong on all moral levels.”

“I can see who’s influencing her heightened dramatics lately.”

You pause, a beat of silence as you try to find a defense for yourself but coming up short. The last beanbag in your possession sails through the air, missing the board completely. A pout tugs your bottom lip out, huffing a sigh out of your nostrils and crossing your arms to watch Joel take his last turn for the round.

His hand twitches at the last second, changing the trajectory of his throw and sending the bag off to the side into the grass.

“I’ll admit, I do come up with…climactic story lines for her Barbies. But it’s to encourage her imagination!”

“I’m just teasin’ you, darlin’. You’re great with Sarah, and we both love having you around this summer. Don’t need to change a thing about you.”

He must mean the words in a friendly manner, but your heart can help but flutter at the thought of Joel enjoying you being around him often.

The game goes for a few more rounds, Joel and you keeping up with each other and tying at the end of each of your turns.

“Guess we’re a pretty good match.” You smile sweetly at him as you reach out your hand as a gesture of good sportsmanship when you and Chris take the win. Joel’s hand envelopes yours, shaking it firmly as a grin tugs one side of his mouth up.

“I think you’re right about that, sweetheart.”

“We’re quitting, this is boring! Sorry, sis! Sorry, Joel!” your brother shouts at you both, sauntering off with his buddy Ryan. Joel looks back at you, shrugging with his hands in his pockets.

“Think we’d be good partners? We could keep up the tournament together.”

A wide smile crosses your face as you nod in agreement.

“Let’s kick everyone’s asses. At bags.” You wink before walking ahead of him back to the group, getting assigned your new opponents.

You spend the next few games across from Joel, sharing knowing glances and grins, communicating with only a look for the rest of your games. You easily climb through the small, single elimination tourney and get to the winner’s game. The pressure, or as much pressure as a friendly, neighborhood game could be when you’re a competitive person, is on with the eyes of everyone eliminated on you. After a tension filled game, both in scoring, and the look in Joel’s eyes that’s sending a tingle throughout your thighs and between your legs, the two of you earn the victory 21-19.

You both cheer goofily, overly celebratory for the simple sport as you rush to the center of the pitch. Joel meets you halfway, laughing as you raise your hand for a high five. He complies, grabbing your hand when it meets his in the air, squeezing it as he drops them together between your bodies. His eyes are darker, filled with a glint of something that intensifies the feeling at your core.

At a barely audible level, his drawl curls around his words as he tells you, “Good job, sweetheart,” with a wink and a sideways smirk.

Your long dried bikini bottoms are soaked at this point, a chill tickling its way down your spine. His hand pulls away from yours, moving to your waist to guide you to the stairs. He follows you up to the deck, and you can feel the burn of his eyes on your eyes through the layers of thin fabric, imagining the subtle jerks of his arm and shoulder that you catch glimpses of from across the lawn on those late nights you unknowingly share with him. Before you can start a conversation to stay near him, or even suss out the electric chemistry that’s reaching towards a peak between you two, you both get pulled away from each other. For the rest of the night, you can’t ever seem to catch up with him, and you resign wistfully to being stuck in a boring conversation with your mom’s friends while your thoughts circulate around Joel.

The sun set an hour ago, the temperature dropping only a few degrees with the night fall. Most of the neighborhood is still mingling around your family’s backyard, those with younger kids all making their way home.

Sarah’s head rests against Joel’s shoulder as he holds her at his hip, adjusting her to hold her higher as he chats with your dad and brother about his last season on LSU’s baseball team. He feels Sarah rub her face against his shirt and glances at her, checking the time on his watch. It’s about half an hour past Sarah’s usual bedtime, and if he doesn’t get her back home, she’s going to be as grumpy as he is without a full eight hours.

Wishing your dad and brother goodnight and thanking them for hosting, he turns to make his way across the deck and glances around in an attempt to find you to say goodnight. It’s Saturday, which means he won’t see you tomorrow, and the thought of that contracts his chest. He can’t think of an excuse to go on a search to seek you out, and without a reason, he meanders back over to his house.

Joel gets Sarah into her pajamas and lays her down for the night, kissing her forehead and smoothing her hair back. He smiles to himself at the peaceful look on her face, rubbing her back gently before shutting off her bedside lamp and closing the door behind him.

Retiring on the sofa, he turns on some reruns of the latest cable show, zoning out on the screen as his thoughts drift to you.

The smell of chlorine on your hair starts to give you a headache, so you make your way inside and up to your room to shower off. Changing into your oversized sleep shirt and shorts, you fall back into bed and grab your book from the nightstand to read some pages to distract your brain before going to sleep.

You glance out your window to see if Joel’s come up to his room, like that first night you had waited for him and every time since then. When you can’t see his silhouette or any lights on in his window, you take a guess that he must be parked in front of the TV since he brought Sarah home.

After a chapter or two of your book, a vibration muffles against your comforter. The book gets discarded, probably losing your page while your hands scramble to find your device before the ringing stops. Right before it rings through, you grab the small phone and hit accept without a chance to check the contact.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The raspy drawl crackling through the line raises your heart rate, your eyes glancing to your alarm clock to see the time - 11:48 pm.

Why was Joel calling this late?

“Joel? What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. Well, nothing serious. I, uh, just got a call from Tommy and he’s way too drunk at some bar downtown to drive home. I gotta go get him, but I don’t wanna wake Sarah to put her in the car or leave her by herself here obviously. So I was wondering if you’d—”

“I’ll be right over.”

Joel sighs, full of relief and breathes out his next words filled with gratefulness.

“Thank you so much, darlin’.”

You make a quick goodbye, gathering your phone and slipping out of your bedroom. Downstairs near the door to your garage, you slip on your flip flops and head over across your front yard and Joel’s. The humidity in the air has lessened, but your damp hair still sticks to the back of your neck. Your nails scrape up the hair and hold it off your neck, legs carrying you up the short set of stairs and up to the Miller front door. Your right hand knuckles tap quietly against the painted wood, letting your hair down and rubbing your sweaty palms on your t-shirt.

The door swings open with Joel on the other side, a sleepy grin on his face as he waves you in. He looks soft in his washed out Cypress Hill t-shirt and gym shorts, the vision of him in his version of PJs tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Thank you again for coming over here, darlin’. Sarah’s sleeping, should stay asleep while I’m gone. She was exhausted after tonight.”

Following Joel into the living room, he gestures to the couch and the TV that is still turned on to whatever he was watching before.

“Should be back soon, feel free to hang out here. Help yourself to anything to drink or if you want a snack, you know where everything is.” He smiles at the mention of you knowing your way around, grabbing the keys to his truck and slipping on some sneakers as you plop down onto the couch.

“Sounds good, I’ve got my cell so if you need any more help, text or call. But I’ll be camped out here until you get back.”

“Hopefully won’t need anything else, been dealing with Tommy my whole life. Always gonna be the annoying little brother,” he chuckles softly and lingers near the door, glancing around before his eyes find you again, “Guess I should head out, I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Drive safe! And tell Tommy I say hi,” you add with a quiet giggle, watching as Joel shakes his head and laughs to himself, heading out the front door. The truck rumbles to life in the driveway, and you watch from the window as he heads down your street and towards the city.

The engine shuts off in the driveway, and Joel can still hear some echoes of the party carrying on from another neighbor's backyard. Getting Tommy from the bar took way longer than he thought it would, and it’s now 1:26am. Traffic was horrible attempting to cross the city ‘cause of some country show getting out right as he hit downtown, and Tommy wouldn’t answer his damn phone when Joel did get there. He sped back to Tommy’s and basically made him roll out of the car, idling to make sure his brother got inside alright. He was insufferable with his drunk babbling, and now by the time Joel finally got home, he felt a swirl of guilt in his stomach for making you come over. He thought it would be quick, and now he’s slinking inside to apologize profusely for taking an hour and a half.

The front door squeaks on its hinges, the hollow sound of the TV cracking through its speakers at a low volume. You don’t greet him as he slowly clicks the door back in place, locking the deadbolt and kicking off his sneakers into the pile of shoes in the entryway.

Sock covered feet echo muffled thuds across the wood floors of his living room, a grin tugging on his lips when you finally come into view.

Fast asleep, you're laid out on the leather couch with your legs curled into your stomach. One arm’s under the throw pillow your head rests on and the other is bent limply in front of you, fingers wrapped into a loose fist. The movement of your chest is languid and deep with your breaths, lips parted in relaxation and eyelashes resting against your skin.

Painfully angelic.

He’s frozen for a moment across the room, watching you sleep until the time reaches past 1:30am and he knows that he needs to wake you to get you back home and into your own bed. He selfishly wants to let you sleep there, doesn’t want to interrupt any sweet dreams you might be having or the rest you need after taking care of his daughter all week, after helping him too.

Sighing faintly to himself, he moves towards the couch and bends down to gently rub your shoulder to wake you.

“I’m back, sweetheart, you can head home.”

You gasp from the shock of being woken from a deep sleep, scrambling to sit up in a panic with heavy lidded eyes. Your soft touch presses warmly against his thigh through the fabric of his gym shorts, and he looks down at you as you start to fully wake.

“Joel? Oh god, I’m so sorry I fell asleep, I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, sweetheart. I took a lot longer than I thought I would,” the cozy look in your eyes plucks at his heart strings, and the touch lingering on his leg turns into an electric burn, “‘M sorry you had to sleep on the couch for a bit.”

Your head shakes with a dopey grin, fingers brushing his skin as it slips back towards your lap. The spot once covered with your touch sends a chill throughout his body. His eyes track your motion and his own hand reaches out for you. Large fingers slip between yours, Joel’s gaze returns up from your locked hands. Before you can say anything to him, and before he can overthink, he leans in and catches your lips in a fragile kiss.

Everything stops around him in the moment. The TV is muted in his ears, the chill of the AC isn’t felt with the fire alighting in his gut, his eyes close and bring him into an abyss where all he can feel is the plush of your lips against his and all he can smell is the candied scent of your green apple and lime body wash mixing in his nose with the bluebell and jasmine notes of your shampoo. It’s overwhelming, the way you have completely surrounded him with one kiss.

Your mouth is still against his for a few more beats, Joel imagining the shock you must be in and he immediately feels his stomach drop in a rush.

Fucking idiot. Why would you think it would be okay to kiss her? She’s obviously uncomfortable and now you are going to have to grovel out an apology for being creepy and completely unprofessional.

Joel’s head moves back to break the kiss, his eyes opening with dread flooding them. Scanning your own expression, he can’t quite read you.

“Darlin’, I’m so sor—”

“Do it again.”

Now Joel is still with shock, confusion contorting his face as his head tilts minutely.

“What d’you mean, sweetheart?”

“Do it again,” the smooth skin of your hand trails up his arm, across his shoulder, and wraps around the side of his neck, “Kiss me.”

His brain takes a few seconds to process your words and fire actions to his nerves and muscles, but when everything finally connects in him, he’s leaning in and molding his mouth to yours in a deeper exchange.

With hands intertwined, he reaches his other up to caress your cheek. His fingers splayed across your face, grazing the line of your jaw as you sigh into his mouth. The slight part of your lips with the exhale gives him a chance to lick into your mouth, his tongue tasting yours. Your hand on his neck tugs to pull him over you further, his back aching at the angle.

He pulls apart from you, breaths shallow as his eyes search yours for any signs of wanting to stop. When he can’t find any, he moves to sit on the couch, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap.

Joel chases your honey kisses, taking peck after peck as his hands run over your back. He feels your hands scratch into his five o’clock shadow, groaning against your lips when you sit back on his thigh and the front of your shorts brushes against his semi-hard cock in his pants.

Kisses intensify, heating up again. Joel’s hands skim down your back and each grab a handful of your ass, coaxing a small whimper from your lips. The sweet sound flips another switch in Joel, his hips canting up against you as he feels himself swell more in his pants.

Against your lips, he rasps out, “Y’have no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you, darlin’.”

“You could’ve. I’ve wanted it just as much…” you breathe out, a soft whine slipping after, “Don’t know how you didn’t—didn’t notice how much I wanted you.”

Joel’s mouth presses kisses at the corner of your mouth, along your jaw, and down your neck. He nips at your lush skin, moaning quietly and fanning out humid air at your collar. His hips grind up against you again, your inhale catching in your throat in a gasp.

“I noticed, sweetheart. Trust me, I noticed. Just couldn’t bring myself to touch you. Didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” his words tumble out in a lustful haze, the taste of you and the feeling of you lowering his inhibitions, “But I wanted you so bad. Ached for you, darlin’, and when I saw you in your window from my bedroom one night, dressed in nothing but those sweet little white lace panties you got, I watched you putting lotion on and fucked my hand. Felt so good watching your hands all over yourself, wanted ‘em to be mine.”

He moves one of his hands from your ass, slipping it between your bodies and groping one of your breasts through the thin material of your sleep shirt. You moan his name louder than before, your smaller hand gripping right onto his shoulder. He catches your lips in a kiss again to stifle your noises to be sure you two wouldn’t wake Sarah.

Your lips detach from his with a smacking sound, eyes looking into his blown wide with wonder.

“I knew you were there. I did it for you.”

Joel stares at you in disbelief, lips parted as he waits for you to continue.

“I wanted you so badly, that I thought—I thought if you saw me, it would maybe make you see me. Think I’m pretty or something. So I waited for you that first time, glancing over until I finally saw you in the window. And when I noticed you staring, I started to change my clothes but that wasn’t going to be enough cause it would be over so soon. So I put on my lotion. I could see you sitting there when I looked out my window, and I just—I guessed what you were doing cause I saw your arm moving and your head tilted back a lot. And it seemed like you liked it, so I kept doing it for you, and waiting for something to finally happen.”

His cock is rock hard and throbbing for some kind of attention. He can feel a wet spot forming on the fabric of his boxers from his pre-cum leaking out of him.

You knew. You saw him getting off to watching you parade around your room mostly naked. You liked it, and you kept doing it for him.

It’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever told him.

“Aren’t you a sweet little thing, huh darlin’? You did that for me every time?”

Joel uses the hand that was on your breast to brush your hair behind your ear, eyes piercing yours. He can see the shyness in you still, the hesitancy coating your expression and shaky breaths.

“Uh huh.”

“You wanted me to feel good? All those times, I got to take care of myself, but nobody took care of you?”

An audible swallow cuts the silence you’ve created, a shrug of your shoulders before your meek voice vibrates Joel’s ears.

“Um, sometimes—sometimes I would touch myself or rub against one of my pillows after I turned out my light. Not every night, but when I really needed to I did.”

A pout juts Joel’s bottom lip out, his head shaking back and forth.

“Mmm, poor thing having to touch yourself, bet it didn’t ever feel like enough, huh? Probably were thinking about my hands, my mouth, my cock. Am I right, sweet girl? Were you wishing I would find you in your room and make you come?”

His words are shooting right to your cunt, fluttering inside of you and soaking your panties. This moment is more than enough for you to have your imagination run free, even if Joel never so much as kissed your cheek again. But his voice is addictive, his touch setting of ripples of goosebumps and making your body feel as if it’s filled with helium. You thought you would float to his ceiling if he wasn’t holding onto you so tight.

“Yes, yes I wanted that,” you close your eyes, the contact with Joel’s too much as you work up the courage to spill out the embarrassing reality that you’ve been dreading to tell him if you were ever caught in a moment like this, “I’m, um, I’ve never had anyone…”

Joel’s one hand plays with your hair and the other squeezes your bum gently. Your eyes open to see him staring at you full of doting affection.

“You’ve never had anyone touch you? You’re a virgin?” Your eyes cast down to the graphic on his t-shirt, nodding and feeling that meager inadequacy you’ve felt when the confession has come up to other guys and boyfriends in the past.

It wasn’t like you were saving yourself for any reason, it just never felt like the right moment. You never really wanted it with anyone in the past, and you took it as a sign when most guys, especially during college, would bolt after you told them. Your friends comforted you, after the first time telling you how shitty guys were and how they all had this complex that girls become obsessed and clingy with the guys they lose it to.

You braved yourself for that moment to happen now, waiting for Joel to tell you that ‘this wasn’t going to work’ or ‘that it’s getting kind of late’.

“Nothing wrong with that, sweetheart. We can do whatever you're comfortable with. Including doing nothing if that’s what you want.”

“What?”

Your head snaps up in surprise, facing writhe with skepticism. In Joel’s expression, you can’t find any signs of him being humorous or lying to you.

“I said, we can take this at your pace. I’d be happy just having you near me, pretty girl. I don’t wanna pressure you into anything.”

“No, no. You’re not,” your hands run across his broad shoulders, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to his lips, “I want it with you, all of it. What I’m missing out on.”

His chuckle fills your ears, not laughing at you maliciously but as if you’re endearing to him.

“That can all happen eventually, darlin’. Not tonight,” Joel gives you a heady, yet tender kiss, pulling you by your waist over to his right more. Your knees lay on either side of his thigh, and you stare at him when he pulls back from you.

“How about tonight, you just show me how you make yourself come? I want you to show me what you like. Wanna see your beautiful face when you come. That alright with you, sweet girl?”

“What d’you mean?”

He’s patient with you, a warm palm running along your side as his head tilts.

“You rub your pretty little clit against my thigh. Just like one of your pillows. That okay? Think you’ll feel good doin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, yeah. I wanna try it.”

Joel’s smile is sweetened as he looks at you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. He pushes you to stand from his lap for a moment, holding you up on shaky legs while one hand tugs down the waistband of your shorts a few inches. He looks up at you through his long lashes (why do men always have the best lashes?) and presses a kiss to your hip bone.

“Can I take these off for you, darlin’?”

You nod slowly, feeling the words get caught in your throat as tension builds between the two of you.

“Need you to tell me. Always need to hear your words.”

Swallowing hard, your throat clears with a barely there hem and your voice comes out thick with want.

“You can take them off. Please take them off.”

Joel moves with your consent, smoothly pulling your cotton shorts down your legs and dropping them to the ground. He leans forward and grazes his lips along your thighs with a warm exhale, ending his exploration with a suckling kiss.

“Such a sweet, polite girl. How’d anyone resist you?”

His hands grip the backs of your thighs, bringing you into his lap and settling you over his right leg again. You whimper at the feeling of your weight pressing your clit against his thigh, the moment of friction as he adjusts your positions sending a jolt of energy throughout your bloodstream.

“Alright, pretty girl, you just move your hips how you do in your bedroom alone. Right here against my thigh.”

Hands on his shoulders brace yourself as you give your hips one roll against Joel, the wetness of your cunt leaking from your panties and onto his skin. When you pull back, you can see the slightest hint of sheen on him, mouth falling open at the sight of part of you marking him, even temporarily. A slow rhythm builds, Joel’s large hand encasing one of your ass cheeks and the other on your waist to help you find your pace.

“I imagined you over me like this all the time. Y’know what I would say to myself when I was looking at you, sweetheart?” The timbre of his deep drawl vibrates against your eardrum as he leans his head in to press a kiss right under your lobe.

“W-What would you say?” your voice is high-pitched and throaty, eyes screwing shut as you focus on his voice and the feeling of your clit dragging against him.

“I would say things like ‘Quiero saborearte’ and ‘Apuesto a que te sientes tan apretada y mojada’ and ‘Quiero dártelo’. Do you know what any of that means?”

Is he really giving you a Spanish lesson right now?

When you don’t answer, his hands grip you tighter and skid your hips to a halt, a whine pulled from your lips involuntarily as you look at him.

“I asked you if you understood what I said, sweetheart. I wanna know. Then you can keep going.”

He’s being serious, and you huff out a breath in frustration before you respond.

“All I understood is ‘quiero’ which is ‘I want’ and ‘saborear’ is to savor? I think?”

Joel rumbles out a satisfied hum, removing his hands from you completely. At the freedom, you move your hips faster, your arousal forming a wet spot on his shorts and skin. Quiet moans of his name are the only thing that you can speak as you listen to him again.

“‘Quiero saborearte’ is ‘I want to taste you.’”

Oh fuck.

His hands grip you again, moving you in figure eights to grind you harder on his leg.

“‘Apuesto a que te sientes tan apretada y mojada’ means ‘I bet you feel so tight and wet.’”

“Fuck, Joel…”

His dark chuckle cuts through after your breathy adlib, the burning hot coil in your gut twists tighter.

“God, you look so pretty like this. Can’t wait to see what you look like when I have my fingers or tongue on you. I know I’ll get you screaming my name.”

Smug fucker.

“And ‘Quiero dártelo’ translates to ‘I want to put it in.’ Is that what you thought about when you were making a mess on your pillows, sweet girl? Thought about me giving you my cock?”

“Joel, I-I’m gonna—“

“I know, sweetheart, I know. Let go, come on my thigh.”

That’s when the dam breaks and you're swept up into the flood of pleasure that washes over you like a tidal wave. All you can respond to Joel is “yesyesyes” as your eyes roll back into your head with your jaw dropped, his hands continuing to slide your hips back and forth to ride out your orgasm.

“So beautiful, darlin’…”

The feeling dissipates eventually, your chest heaving breaths to slow your heart rate down. Your eyes meet Joel’s again, a Cheshire smile wide across his face as he leans in and kisses you passionately. He pulls away, pressing quick pecks on your lips and around your cheeks, coaxing a laugh from you. You press his back against the couch, grin filled with a shy affection as you stare at him. You move to stand on your knees to climb off of him, your leg brushing his bulge and feeling his cock twitch in his shorts. Eyes snap back to his, a curious expression covering your features.

“Can I do something for you?”

“Another time, sweetheart. S’real late now, probably should get back home to get some sleep.” Joel thumbs your lip as you pout, wrapping around him in a tight hug.

“I don’t wanna leave.”

“I know, darlin’, I wish you could stay with me all night. But wouldn’t be the best look for you to walk home tomorrow morning from my house in your little PJs.”

You sigh deeply, pressing a light kiss to his neck before sitting up again and nodding in understanding.

“You’re right. I should get home,” you stand from the couch and pull on your shorts, slinking over to the front door with him in tow to slip into your flip flops, “See you Monday?”

You look up at him with wide, doleful eyes filled with hope, relief washing over you as he pulls you into him and gives you a breathtaking kiss.

“Can’t wait for it, sweet girl. Have a good Sunday.”

He sends you out the door after one, or a few, last kisses, standing in the doorway to make sure you get in alright.

Feeling your mind in the clouds and floating on adrenaline, you glide up to your room and flop onto your bed. Laying with your thoughts recounting the last hour of your life, you’re only pulled out when your phone buzzes with a message.

Joel:

Think you can sit up on your bed, sweetheart?

The message confuses you for a second until it clicks and you sit up quickly, turning on your mattress to face your window.

Joel’s lights are on for once in his room, his silhouette standing in the window. One hand supports him against the glass, shirt off and shorts pulled a few inches down his thighs. His arm flexes as he jerks his cock, breath fogging up the spot he’s closest to.

A wave of arousal rushes to your core, watching him on full display unlike every other time you’ve been the one to put the show on for him. It only takes a moment looking at you sitting on your bed, even in your pajamas, before his head is rolling back, jaw dropped and hand against the window clenching into a fist as he paints his hand with his come.

You fall back onto your bed when he walks out of sight, assuming he’s cleaning up. One more buzz sounds before you turn your light out, a second message from Joel:

Need you to stay late on Monday.

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @clingontolife @elizabeth01585 @wandaandellie @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @livinxdeadxgrl @sw33tp1xie @starsandsaints07 @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @whydontyoysaynodoja @beee-haw @shmaptainshmerica07 @jenna-mcgraw19 @whore-4-pedro @spursgirl14-blog @katifefe @joelmillerswifu @itsgiorgiaz @soph55 @grapejuicesny @wild-hearts-runfree @youcancallmeelle @lisa-ru @jupitren @ziggy-star @miaispunk @oneofutoo @starkovli @thatgeminigirlx @marchai @bunnyskisses @houseofballoonsth @casual-obsessions @pedro-pascal-lvr @bimbodolls-world @burningnerdchild @tuquoquebrute @mrsvedder12 @estelivi28 @helllsent @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @angie2274 @owod3 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn @sunakochansama43 @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain

[demigodsanswer]

does tattoo Percy ask Sophia’s permission before proposing to Annabeth/if so can we see that scene?

Yes! He absolutely did ask her. Apologies if Sophia is too precocious for a seven year old. I don't spend much time around them.

(context: modern au, single mom & tattoo artist Annabeth starts dating Percy when her daughter is five. Her daughter's father is Luke, who is a good dad and decent coparent, but they were really never a serious couple.)

~

Percy could work from home on Tuesdays and set his own scheduled. Now that he lived with Annabeth and Sophia, this meant Tuesdays were basically "his day" with her. He got her off the school bus and made sure she started her homework. In the Fall, she usually had soccer practice, but she didn't have any activities in the Spring.

Today, her homework could wait.

His palms were already sweaty. Never in his life had talking to a seven-year-old made him so nervous.

When Sophia got home, Percy told her to change out of her school uniform and get ready to go. Sophia smiled and ran to get changed, eager to see what Percy had planned for them.

"Where are we going?" Sophia asked.

"Want to go to the aquarium?" Percy asked.

She jumped up and down. "Yes!" Before giving him a big hug. Percy figured that was a good sign.

They took the bus out to Coney Island while Sophia told him about her day. She was just about to finish first grade, but she was already one of the smartest ones in her class. She was still getting in trouble for drawing on her arms, though. Percy could see some poorly washed off marker stains on her little forearms.

Sophia had packed a little drawstring backpack for herself that had her sketchbook and some markers, and her latest chapter book inside. Percy was sure he'd end up carrying it for her by the end of the day, but he didn't mind. He was also sure she'd leave the aquarium gift shop with some new stuffed animal, but again, he was happy to spoil her. Especially today, he needed her on his side.

Percy smiled at her as she rambled on about her day. Percy had tucked her blonde curls into a neat french braid that morning. some of her curls and baby hairs had escaped, but it was still mostly holding on. She had her father's bright blue eyes, but otherwise her face was all Annabeth.

He might not have had any part in her creation, but he loved this kid. Sophia instinctively took his hand as they stepped off the bus to walk towards the beach. He was pretty sure she was fond of him too.

The Coney Island aquarium wasn't the biggest in the world, but it had a few cool displays and some seal shows. Percy was becoming something of a regular, between taking Sophia after school and going with Annabeth on the weekend after a few edibles.

Sophia plopped down on the floor in front of the moon jellies tank and started to draw.

"These things are so cool!" She said. "Mommy did a jelly fish tattoo for this guy. It was awesome!"

Percy remembered, not because she saw the tattoo in question, but because Sophia had become a bit fixated on it, and had drawn several jellies on her arm and on Percy's. (Annabeth was out of space, but Sophia did color in her mom's grayscale work.)

Percy stood close to her to make sure she wasn't in the way and didn't get stepped on. The aquarium wasn't crowded, though. It was a weekday after school -- no field trips and no families. Well, except for them.

Sophia was a remarkably artistic little kid. She wasn't quite at the level of her mom by any means, but the motor skills where really coming together, and she had an eye for color. She colored in the jelly fish blob she'd made with blues and pinks.

"That looks great!" Percy said to her, crouching on the floor near her. She smiled wide at him.

"I got a book about them from the library at school. They don't have brains!" She told him.

"Jellyfish and I have that in common," Percy joked.

Sophia tapped on his head with the end of her marker. "Empty," she confirmed.

Percy laughed and stood up straight, his knees aching a bit. "Come on, peanut. Let's keep looking."

One of the fish tanks had a tunnel kids could crawl through. One of the benefits of coming on a day no one was here was that Sophia could lay down in the tunnel and stare up at the fish for as long as she wanted. But eventually, there was a three year old who also wanted to use the tunnel.

"Sophia, your time is up," Percy said. She crawled back out to him.

"Do you have a favorite fish?" She asked him.

"I like seahorses," Percy said. "Jelly fish are pretty cool, though."

"I like sharks! Wait, are sharks fish?" She took his hand as they kept walking.

"I think so," Percy guessed, "but we'll look it up when we get home," he promised.

They passed an empty tank that promised to have seahorses soon, but right now it was all kelp.

"Empty," Sophia said with a laugh, "like your head."

"It's not empty, it's got seaweed in it," Percy said, pointing to the enclosure.

"Maybe that's what you've got," she suggested.

"Seaweed brain? Is that what you're going to call me from now on?" Percy asked.

"Yep!" Sophia confirmed before running off towards another tank.

Percy ran up behind her, scooped her up, and hung her upside down as she squealed with laughter. "No running in the aquarium!"

"Put me down!" She said with a giggle, kicking her feet up at him. Percy did manage to get her upright and back on her feet, just in time for them to announce that the aquarium would be closing in half an hour.

Just enough time for her to pick her stuffed animal.

Percy expected her to go for a shark or jellyfish, but there were sea otter plushies to go to with their new exhibit, and Sophia fell in love with them.

She held the toy in her arms, and looked up at him with those big pleading blue eyes. Percy didn't stand a chance.

"Daddy daughter day?" The cashier guessed. Sophia nodded, and Percy smiled, hopeful and happy. Sophia's smile was wide too, but all pointed in the direction of her new toy as she reached for it.

"Thanks!" Sophia said as the cashier handed him the receipt, squeezing the plush in her arms.

"Come on, let's get food," Percy said.

They sat on a bench facing the ocean as they ate Nathan's hot dogs. Sophia put ketchup and only ketchup on hers, and wrinkled her nose at Percy's choice of mustard and relish.

"You'd like it if you tried it," Percy said. He'd gotten her to be a slightly less picky eater since he started dating Annabeth. But she still wasn't that adventurous. Her diet was still mostly chicken nuggets.

"Blegh," was all she said.

When the dogs were gone, they sat and watched the waves for a minute. The sound was usually calming, but nothing was bringing his nerves down now. Would he be this nervous when he asked Annabeth? He hoped not. But probably.

Well, now or never. Percy couldn't remember the last time he'd been this nervous. His dissertation defense maybe? No, even that wasn't anything like this.

"Sophia, I wanted to talk to you about something," Percy said.

She looked at him, attentive and serious.

"I wanted to ask if it would be okay with you if I asked your mom to marry me," Percy said in one long breath.

Sophia just kept staring at him.

"Would you be okay with that?" Percy asked. "If your mom and I got married?"

"Would you be my dad then?" Sophia asked.

"I'd be your step-dad, yes. But your dad will still be there, the same as always," Percy promised her.

"But you'd get to be my dad too?" She asked.

"I would," Percy said. "Is that o--"

Sophia stood up on the bench and threw her arms around him.

"--okay?" Percy finished as he pulled her into a hug.

"Yeah," she said finally. "You're already kind of my dad."

"That makes me so happy," Percy promised her, rubbing her back as he kept hugging her. "I love you, Sophia. I'd be very, very lucky to be your dad."

"I love you too," she promised. Percy gave her a big squeeze, and tried really hard not to cry.

"Do you think you could help me pick out the ring?" Percy asked.

Sophia pulled away, nodding. "Mommy likes Tiffany's."

Annabeth, despite her general punk vibe, did have a weakness for pretty things, Percy knew. And she had a few Tiffany's pieces that her father had given to her over the years. A Tiffany's ring would probably suit her nicely.

"We'll go to the store together, then, and find something perfect," Percy said.

"Can we go right now?" Sophia asked.

Percy laughed. "Maybe next week?" He suggested.

"Okay!" Sophia said, and then, "I have to go to the bathroom." Thoughts of the proposal temporarily left his mind as he led her there.

It was almost seven when they finally got in, but Annabeth still wasn't home. She'd texted that she'd taken a last minute walk-in at six, and wouldn't be home until later. Percy just started on dinner. He and Sophia probably wouldn't eat much after the hot dogs, but he needed to make sure she got a vegetable and that there was food for Annabeth.

Sophia kept working on her jellyfish drawings.

"That'd make an awesome tattoo," Percy said, putting a plate of pasta and veggies next to her.

Her smile beamed up at him. "I was thinking on a leg," she said.

"Or right here," Percy said, gesturing to his un-tattooed shoulder. "What do you think? Ocean on one side, jellyfish on the other?"

"You'd get it tattooed?" Sophia asked.

"Sure would. Your art is awesome," Percy said. Annabeth had a few Sophia drawings on her legs already.

"Okay!" Sophia said, turning to a blank page, "but not that one! Let me do a better one!"

"Which ever one you like, I'll ask your mom to do it," Percy said with a smile.

"Coolest dad ever," she said.

To keep himself from crying, he just pushed the plate of food closer and said: "Eat some veggies, and then we need to do your homework."

Sophia groaned.

Maybe he wasn't so cool after all.

[queenofapeacefuldawn]

SPY × Family: Chapter 94 analysis unhinged thoughts

hello hello! i am back with my thoughts for the latest chapter! please note that there are spoilers ahead for chapter 94! (Long-ish post incoming?)

Okay, so I loved this chapter. I'm a person who loves locked room murder mystery type stories, so this definitely scratched that itch for me. Obviously, I'm biased.

Analysis (of sorts?):

Right off the bat I can say that this chapter isn't really oriented on emotions or certain character dynamics. It is pretty plot heavy (but. not to the main plot. this chapter in itself has a plot to its own, but I really really liked it).

So the chapter starts with Bondman facing off an enemy in a snowy mountain...

which, of course, inspires Anya to have an adventure of her own. She asks Loid to take her skiing, only to be flatly denied...

BUT! Agent Anya has tricks up her sleeve (threatening to cry), and that works on our dear, super-spy Agent Twilight (he's so weak and stupid y'all.)

side note:

he thinks he's soooo cool. he's not.

Anyway, we get Twilight trying to explain skiing to Yor, which... fails, kinda. we also get gymnastics from Yor, (SHE's the cool one), and a half-baked explanation from her about learning all that from a gymnastics teacher.

The Forgers are trapped in a snowy blizzard, which leads them to take refuge in a lodge. They meet a group of young college students, who regale them with a tale of a bloody snowman who kills people in the dark.

Might just be me, but this design reminds me of Type-F from the new Code White movie (note: this isn't exactly a spoiler, I haven't seen the movie, but this is what's on the wiki and in the trailers). The snowy backdrop + this Type-F-esque design might be a homage to the movie? Probably just me, though, haha.

Anyway, onto the main focus of the story (kidding, it's not):

WE COULD'VE HAD IT ALL..... YOR AND LOID SLEEPING ON THE SAME BED.... WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN....

(jk, it probably wouldn't have happened, but a girl can dream)

"Eh, why not?" Certainly, these words CANNOT exist in the vocabulary of THE Agent Twilight! Perhaps.... no, it can't be... he's finally RELAXED for once? Feeling secure enough to ASSESS THE LAYOUT FOR POSSIBLE ESCAPE ROUTES WITH HIS YOUNG DAUGHTER? No... it can't be possible....

(Sorry, I know I'm unfunny. I don't think that'll change)

But, genuinely, this just shows how at ease he is with his wife and daughter. He might not know it yet, but I know it (← somebody whose opinion isn't worth shit).

Finally, onto the main crisis of the story:

the would-be murderer.

There's something to be said about how he jumped into action to save the guy's life, (as one does), BUT. BUT

OHOHOHO. The minute Yor's in danger (see: the man reached out to grab her but Loid just grabbed his hand) he decides to find the killer to prove her innocence. (You know his adage? A spy should never draw attention to themselves.) The minute his WIFE was in danger he resolves to find the killer and prove Yor's innocence their guilt. HMMMMM. Agent Twilight, you ain't slick. I think you momentarily forgot about about your #1 lesson to never draw attention to yourself just to prove Yor's innocence. OHHHHHH. The fanfiction is fanfiction-ing

(I'M SORRY I'LL TRY TO BE FUNNY FROM NOW ON)

To summarize the rest of the chapter: Anya realises with her telepathy that the killer is the lodge owner, and meddles in the investigation to nudge Loid in the right direction, and the police arrive to the lodge to find the incident resolved. Everyone's happy, right?

Not... really.

Anya's excited because, "Wow, I solved a murder! So cool, best trip ever!"

But Yor and Loid aren't that happy. Loid is worried that this kind of meddling will get Anya in danger... and he's more worried that she isn't really grasping the gravity of the situation.

Which. She kind of isn't. A man was almost killed, but she's not showing any signs of shock? Remember, he was this worried even after the hospital visit where she makes a mess of that sand-model thingie, and after the bus hijacking arc, when she's hyped about the Stella, and he tells her that the Stella was "not for the reckless way you defied those hijackers."

Which.... is a lot of character development from the man who was A-OK with leaving her alone in the apartment, to now how he constantly worries about her wellbeing. Growth.

Also, another tidbit:

I feel like this chapter showcases another facet of his personality. Not Agent Twilight's, or Loid's, but [REDACTED]'s.

[REDACTED] always wanted to help. Even in the War Arc, when, in Luwen where he was staying at his great-uncle's house, we can see that he wants to catch fish for his and his family's dinner, while, in the backdrop, children are laughing and playing. It's always been in his character to help, and, hell, it's partly the reason he is who he is today. Agent Twilight wants to think that he left [REDACTED] behind after that fateful bombing in Luwen, but [REDACTED] is hanging around him like a ghost, and some of his character bleeds through the facade that is Agent Twilight, which is masked by the facade that is Loid Forger.

Final thoughts:

Loved the chapter. It's probably just me reading into it too much, but... that scene where he grabs the guy's hand who was trying to tie up Yor. Hm.

This entire chapter might have been a locked-room murder mystery type chapter, but I genuinely think that it showcases how much of an effect this family has had on Agent Twilight. What with taking Anya on a sweep of the premises to look for escape routes, to trying to prove Yor's innocence that definitely betrayed his number 1 rule as a spy... this man is truly so oblivious, I wanna cry.

(Also: did he not stop for a moment to think that him performing first-aid on the victim, or trying to build a radio from scratch OR playing detective to prove his wife's innocence IN FRONT OF A GROUP OF OSTANIAN PEOPLE would raise suspicions? Obviously, it was all overshadowed by the discovery of the would-be killer, but... at least one person had got to have been suspicious of Loid.)

(Also also: He's so weak. One look at her crying face and he's gone.)

This was just my thoughts from a preliminary read of the chap, so if I get more thoughts, I'll probably add onto it in a reblog or a new post. Tysm for reading! Hope you liked it, and have a great day/night! Remember to stay hydrated!

[wntrs0ldier]

An Offer · part 06

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 4,1k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.)

<previous part | series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

chapter sneak peek: You turned your head in that direction. Seeing him, you felt a knot in your stomach, and your heart in your mouth. A strong shudder ran through your body, sending that familiar electricity right to your fingertips. By avoiding him for so long, you had built a wall that was supposed to make you immune to the feelings he evoked in you. But all it took was one look to tear it down. 

As Bucky was coming towards you, you considered running away, but your body – craving his attention, longing for his presence – stuck in place, refusing to obey you.

A single buzz of the phone distracted you from the document you were reading through. Thrown out of the work rhythm that had been driving you for the past few hours, you instinctively ran your eyes over the desk, pretty much buried in papers, meanwhile figuring out that the phone was hidden somewhere underneath. So you started collecting all the documents, putting them in neat piles to eventually find it.

It felt good to be working like that again. Finally, after a few weeks since your father's death, filled with overwhelming responsibilities and things a little too heavy for your shoulders, your mind was in the right place; stable enough to catch up on paperwork.

You grabbed your phone and tapped the screen to check the latest notification, expecting a message from Suzie reminding you to buy her promised snacks on the way home. But it wasn’t your sister. You froze when the sender of the text turned out to be Bucky.

You still have my sweatshirt. I want it back.

You hoped he had let go after weeks of being ignored. Right at the start – on the very evening John showed up at your house – you wrote Bucky a succinct message saying that you couldn't see each other anymore. This was to be the definitive end; you didn't reply to his texts, didn't answer his calls. You realized that otherwise you would be drawn to him again, therefore throwing away your only chance for a marriage. 

The phone in your hands buzzed again.

I don’t want it back. I want to see you. 

An unpleasant warmth went through your body. You put the phone back on the desk, then stood up; mostly to stretch your bones, stiff from sitting, partly to fight the urge to speak to him. With the phone still in your hands, you could have undone the hard work of recent weeks – weaning yourself from the presence of the one person who had always been on your side.

You walked up to the window where, just a while ago, you were thinking about your life, your past; about who Bucky actually was to you, and why your paths never crossed. But they finally did – at the moment when you most needed guidance, understanding, a friend. And now you missed him. You missed Bucky endlessly since the last time you saw each other. You missed him the way you missed the first rays of bright, warm sunshine after a harsh winter; the way you missed the cool, refreshing rain during a stuffy summer; the way you missed a favorite flavor that you never recreated again; the way you missed the childhood years of innocent carefreeness. Because he was just that to you – some lost, longed-for sensation that was beyond your reach.

And all this for what? A successful marriage to John? A peaceful, secure future?

In fact, everything seemed perfect. John was good to you – he didn't drop distasteful hints, didn't ogle you, didn't put any pressure. He regularly took you to one fancy restaurant after another, and kept trying to find out as much as he could about you. He even turned up at the exhibition in your gallery. From the outside it seemed like he was there to support you, to keep you company. However, the truth was that John was controlling you; just as Michael said. What's more, he lavished you with gifts, usually expensive jewellery that was rarely to your taste. You weren't ungrateful, but you got the impression that John was only giving you what he himself wanted to see on you, not what actually suited you.

But there was something that worried Michael in particular. John had expressed a willingness to make a deal, in addition it looked like he was courting you full steam ahead, but he hadn't asked you to marry him yet. So, at any time, he could have simply backed out, leaving you in the lurch – he had you in the palm of his hand and was taking advantage of this by testing your loyalty and, somehow, obedience. Knowing that any contact with Bucky would cost you dearly, you couldn't afford even a moment's weakness.

Hearing a quiet knock on the door of your office, you felt another wave of that unpleasant warmth. You looked back hesitantly and were instantly relieved seeing the familiar face of your friend, Connie.

“Are you okay?” She furrowed. “You look… bad.”

You smiled, as if that would dissuade your friend from worrying. “Just a little tired.” You stretched sleepily to emphasize your words. 

“No wonder. You've been working a lot lately,” Connie pointed out, sitting down on a chair in front of her desk. “You're hard to get to.” She raised her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side as if she had just caught you at something. Connie was one of your closest friends, and although she wasn't directly connected to your world – unless it was through you – you mentioned your problem to her; one that had been dragging on since your father's funeral.

“And how's your new job?” To distract Connie, you slightly changed the subject. You walked over to the desk and took a seat too. 

“It is not that bad. If I get promoted from making coffee and washing cups to actual finances. But it's only an internship, so I might as well keep making coffee until the end.” She rolled her eyes and your smile widened; perhaps Connie was complaining about her duties and you sympathized that she had to do something she didn't like, but it was nice to hear about such mundane problems. You would have liked to be making coffee for bankers and financiers instead of having to marry to save your family from ruin. “Actually…” she began innocently. “I just have one tiny favor to ask you. I swear I came mostly to see if you were okay, but-”

“I know, Connie,” you interrupted. “What’s the favor?”

“Go out with me this weekend. Have some fun, stop thinking about work and… you know, the other thing.”

Turning down such proposals was not in your habit. Moreover, suffocated by visits to expensive, uptight restaurants, which left you hungry and a little bored, you missed this kind of entertainment. Besides, lately you've only been hanging around older men, who always had a full range of golden advice and ideal offers for you. You craved loud music, dancing among strangers and, above all, alcohol – it didn't have to be expensive, the kind John would provide; you just wanted it to take the weight off your thoughts, at least for a while. You needed a break.

“Okay,” you said after a moment of reflection. 

Connie's face lit up with a bright, excited grin. “Okay?” she made sure, and when you nodded in surrender, she reached over the desk, put her hands around your cheeks and placed a big kiss on your forehead, and you – put in a light, somewhat carefree mood by your friend – laughed. You both did.

The weekend arrived much slower as you waited for the fun you craved. You had completely absorbed the idea that you would be spending Saturday night at some club, and there was nothing to stop you doing so. Not even John. As you sat in Connie's flat, in your robe, sipping a margarita, waiting for the polish on your nails to dry, he called you with a proposition for another date. 

“Johnny…” Despite the heavy sigh that left your lips, you tried to make your voice sound as sweet as possible; even if you wanted to set any boundaries, John had the upper hand, so you couldn't behave audaciously – you couldn't be cold and assertive, you had to wrap him around your finger. “I can't see you. I would love to, but I've been neglecting my girlfriends lately. I need to spend some time with them.”

“But in a club?” he reluctantly repeated the information you gave him at the very beginning. “Maybe I could go with you?” 

You nearly choked on your drink. A red light flashed in your head; John Walker was about to enter a phase that would put an end to you going out on your own. And you couldn't let that happen. At least not until he had made his final decision in terms of marriage. You needed that wedding, and in order to achieve it you were prepared to do a lot, at the same time you couldn't let John trample you like that. He said himself that he had always wanted you – so he had to realize that he could easily lose you. You couldn't be the only one who was fearing about this 'relationship'.

“Johnny,” you echoed his name, but this time you almost said it between clenched teeth with a kind of determination and slight irritation. You plastered a smile on your face to sound at least a little softer. “You are really sweet. But I need time with my friends. It will be something like my bachelorette party.” The words you used were intentional; you wanted to give him the idea that he should finally make up his mind and officially ask you to marry him. It wasn't your dream, but you had to protect yourself; you had to stop letting him lead you around by the nose, taking advantage of your dates.

“You're right. But you have to promise me that we'll spend all Sunday together. Tomorrow you will be just for me and no one else.”

The dates with John were not a disaster largely because they usually lasted a few hours. Spending a whole day with him was different. And if you reacted this way to this prospect – with discouraged silence – what about spending the rest of your life with John? You've probably never seen it in this light before, and it suddenly made you sick.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you said hurriedly. “Yes, of course, we will spend the whole Sunday together.”

“Perfect. See you then?”

“See you then.”

You tossed your phone to the other end of the couch. Connie appeared in the living room, although technically she had been there the whole time due to the living room being connected to the kitchen. She looked at you with concern, put down the margarita pitcher she had brought, and sat beside you.

“He's not that bad,” you claimed. 

“Yeah, sure.”

You squinted, staring blankly at a random point in front of you. “But…”

Under the influence of margarita, you wanted to make some philosophical speech about how your end was near; how it was creeping up on you, crawling under your skin. You were sure of the end of your freedom, as future husbands tend to joke about, but you hated these jokes. Eventually you said nothing, occupying your head with ways to help you unwind; to somehow honor the potentially last opportunity for you to go out like this; without your controlling soon-to-be husband. 

Having shaken your head to get rid of some unnecessary thoughts, you glanced at Connie, smiling at her tenderly. “Would you be so kind and lend me the shortest dress you have?”

Although you weren't in the mood for men's company, the decision about the dress resulted in exactly what you thought it would. It was short enough that you didn't dare bend down, but its length and tightness actually played only a partial role in making you attract attention. You oozed a sort of mysterious, appealing aura of being open to innocent propositions you might have refused; eager for an adventure you might not have taken part in. Men followed you with their eyes, and it looked as if they were prepared to get burnt, to be rejected only if that meant they could get close to you, to exchange a few words, to have the opportunity to be noticed by you.

Perhaps it was the irritation, the cooling anger at John and the exhaustion of your living situation that made you attract people the way flame attracts moths? Perhaps your true nature – the one your mother tried to nip – has been bubbling to the surface through some small cracks, caused by your recent bending to the will imposed from everywhere? Or was it simply the result of a couple margaritas consumed before going out?

You didn't know, and you didn't particularly care. 

From the moment you arrived at the club – the kind of club you had in mind; with colorful but not aggressive lights, affordable alcohol and good music; on this night, hits from the early 2000s prevailed – you and Connie basically didn't leave the dance floor. Not including short breaks for drinks at the bar or going to the toilet. For the first time in a long time, you felt your age – carefree, almost irresponsible; you were having fun.

Time seemed to flow a little differently, so you didn't know exactly how much of it had passed, but Connie and you were starting to get sore feet. You knew that choosing some flat shoes would be a wise move, but high heels made your legs look even better than usual. There was no room for reason that night.

Connie disappeared somewhere, having promised earlier to get you some seats. You didn't want to return to the dance floor alone, besides, you needed to catch your breath. You ordered something exceptionally non-alcoholic at the bar – orange juice with ice – and decided to wait for your friend there. Resting your elbows on the slightly sticky counter, thereby trying to transfer your body weight from your sore legs, you sipped your juice. 

The bartender unexpectedly slipped you a pink drink in a wine glass. “From that guy.” She nodded to the other end of the counter. 

You turned your head in that direction. Seeing him, you felt a knot in your stomach, and your heart in your mouth. A strong shudder ran through your body, sending that familiar electricity right to your fingertips. By avoiding him for so long, you had built a wall that was supposed to make you immune to the feelings he evoked in you. But all it took was one look to tear it down. 

As Bucky was coming towards you, you considered running away, but your body – craving his attention, longing for his presence – stuck in place, refusing to obey you.

He stood next to you, his hand resting on the surface of the counter, his fingers almost reaching your elbow. You looked at his face; to your disadvantage, he was as beautiful as ever, his plump lips were wet, giving them the impression of being even more luscious; his eyes seemed fatigued as he watched you with calm and benevolence.

“Aren't you going to ask what I’m doing here?” He spoke, and from the way he articulated the words you were able to tell that he was a little drunk. “If I'm following you..?” 

“No, I'm not going to ask that. I’m not going to ask about anything, actually, because I shouldn't be talking to you at all.”

Bucky smiled, but there was not a bit of warmth in that smile. “So you're marrying him…” He nodded slowly, running his tongue over his teeth. “Did he tell you to stay away from me or what?” 

Closing your eyes, you let out a heavy sigh. “I want this marriage to work, Bucky.” You looked him straight in the eye. “And it won’t work with you there. I wish I could keep what we have, I wish I could keep you, I swear, but I can’t. I need you to understand that. Please.” 

At first he stared at you without a word, anger crept onto his face. “So that’s it? I lose you, you get your perfect little husband?”

You pursed your lips; no matter what, you didn’t expect to hear something like this from Bucky, yet you deserved it; you should’ve had a normal conversation with him. And now you were too tired, too defeated already, to fight. “Yeah, that’s it,” you said briefly. “Friendship isn't meant for us. Thanks for the drink,” you added, trying to take the least emotional approach possible, but in reality you could feel your heart breaking. 

Bucky looked like he was slowly being consumed by panic. But there was nothing you could do about it. You grabbed the glass filled with alcohol he'd bought for you and moved away from the bar. Anywhere, as long as it's far away from him.

By the kindness of one man (or, rather, innocent flirtation), Connie got the seats in the VIP box. The man shared it with a friend who introduced himself as Reggie, Ricky or Randy; you couldn't recall the correct version. You didn't focus on his name; nor did you pay particular attention to what he was saying. All you knew was that he called you pretty, and was buying you drinks, which you accepted cautiously.

Things stopped going as you had hoped. This was supposed to be your night without men, yet you were just letting one hit on you. You were supposed to have fun, yet you felt heartbroken by the situation with Bucky. Since when did everything start revolving around him? Since when did your mood depend on what was going on between the two of you? Did your first meeting unlock some mechanism that you were both doomed to, or did you just get so attached to him over the course of a couple weeks?

When Reggie/Ricky/Randy's hand resting on your thigh began to go higher and higher, your thoughts crashed against all these questions like rough waves. It didn't bother you, what he was doing. And since it didn't bother you, you decided not to spoil his fun. Your thoughts wandered so far and wide that you barely noticed the moment he kissed you. His hot, alcohol-breathing lips pressed onto yours, and you were basically indifferent to that too. Maybe not so indifferent, because you found something pleasurable in it; your relationship with John lacked the flame, the immediate desire. And Reggie/Ricky/Randy had that boyish charm mixed with the possessiveness of a grown man; a combination that appealed to you very much. Besides, your future wasn't in his hands, and not being at Reggie/Ricky/Randy's mercy turned you on even more.

And suddenly he was gone.

Reggie/Ricky/Randy ended up on the floor. You lifted up your eyes from the drunken man, unable to get up from the ground, and saw Bucky. Again. With clenched jaw and heavy breathing, he watched Reggie/Ricky/Randy laying between you. However, he was harmless enough to quickly lose Bucky's interest, so he grabbed your wrist and forced you to stand up, then follow him. 

“Bucky!” you groaned. You were afraid that Bucky was capable of dragging you behind him if the situation called for it. “You're walking too fast! I can’t walk that fast in these heels!” 

He stopped sharply and turned towards you; you could see how angry he was. You didn’t know when he positioned his hands at the right places on your body, so he could throw you over his shoulder. An amused giggle escaped your mouth, but you quickly remembered that you should be mad at him.

“Put me down!” You hit him somewhere under the shoulder blade and immediately felt the hardness of his muscles – you might as well have hit a stone. You massaged your sore hand right away, meanwhile coming to terms with the fact that he couldn't hear you over the thumping music anyway.

A sudden coolness and distant sounds indicated that you had left the club. Bucky put you down but still stayed close in case you would lose your balance.

“What the hell are you doing?” You abruptly pushed back his arm, which was meant to secure you.

“What I am doing?” he bit back, the anger not leaving his face. He seemed more sober than before, too. “What the hell are you doing to yourself, Y/N? Kissing some strange guy in front of fucking everyone? You think John is gonna love that, but us hanging out is too much for him? Do you want this marriage or not?”

“What's the difference what I want!” A dreadful sorrow and helplessness echoed in your voice that made Bucky perplexed. His lips parted slightly, then snapped shut, his eyes filled with concern and sympathy. Despite the fact that you had been yelling at each other outside the club for the past few minutes, these words rang out most emphatically, bringing you both back to reality. “Who cares, Buck?” you said more quietly. “I'm supposed to marry a guy I don't really know, and I try to like him, but the more time I spend with him, the harder it gets. I'm not even talking about love, not hoping for it to happen, because I know John Walker is not it. But it doesn't matter, I still have to have his children, otherwise everything I'm doing now goes out the window. And I'm doing it so that my sister doesn't have to. So that she and my mother don't have to worry about the future and money. I would do anything for them, but my mother won't even speak to me; she is mad at me for it.” You quickly wiped a hot tear from your cheek, completely missing the moment you started crying. “I know there are worse things than marrying a rich guy.” You rolled your eyes at the depiction of your problem. “But it still hurts. Maybe one day I'll get used to it, but right now I'm fucking scared. I’m all alone, I have no one to get my back, no one to hold my hand. I’m fucking scared-” 

“Y/N…” 

“No.” You didn't let him get a word in fear that – whatever he had to say – you would break even more. “Help me get through this less painfully and just… disappear. Leave me alone.”

Connie appeared beside you, but you only noticed it when her warm hand touched your bare shoulder.  You didn't hear what she was telling you; there was just ringing in your ears, and the sound of gushing blood in your head. Bucky didn't take his eyes off you; you'd never seen him so worried, so vulnerable and unsettled before. 

Connie stroked your hair, then put her arm around you, and you both began to walk ahead. The tenderness of her gestures revived you somewhat; you looked away from Bucky and fixed your eyes on the pavement. Eventually she pulled you into probably the only open diner in the area. There was still ringing in your ears, but you realized that you were to get something warm to drink and wait for a cab.

One of your first conscious thoughts shortly after waking up was that physically you felt far too good for a hangover. You were genuinely disappointed by this, as this kind of suffering would have been the perfect excuse not to spend the day with John. The perfect excuse for your nasty mood.

You sat up on the bed, your eyes automatically fell on the black sweatshirt slung over the chair by a vanity table. Returning it would have been the perfect opportunity to see him, but you had finished that stage in your life, and you were going to stick to it. You decided not to bother with how you planned to give Bucky back his property. Instead, you grabbed the sweatshirt off the chair and put it on.

When you went down to the kitchen, you met Michael there. He was sipping coffee – as you gathered from the smell lingering in the room – and focused on you as soon as you entered his sight. As you prepared your tea, you felt his attentive gaze on you.

“Where were you last night?”

You almost dropped the cup from your hands. That uncomfortable, paralyzing electricity ran through your body. The only reason Michael could have asked that particular question was because he knew – someone had told him about what you were doing; that you were making out with a man whose name you couldn't even remember. And if Michael knew, John was also going to get that information sooner or later.

“At a nightclub. With Connie. Do you remember Connie..?” You glanced over your shoulder and he only nodded. “Why do you ask?” you added casually, although in reality you were sure you were about to have a heart attack. 

“I thought you saw Bucky Barnes. That you convinced him to change his mind.”

Your forehead furrowed, your eyes widened. Trying to ignore the fact your heart skipped a beat, you turned to Michael. “What..?”

“He has made an offer.”

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

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