#she makes such good characters EVERY TIME

[strang3lov3]

Honey-Do

“You’re gonna work on these every day. And I’m gonna check to make sure you did ‘em all, and if you did, you get to put a sticker down. And if we fill this sheet all the way up by the end of the week, I’ll make ya cum,” Joel explains. “That’s how you can earn back your privileges, Pumpkin.”

Tags - one shot, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, orgasm denial, ddlg dynamics, fingering, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, sneaking around with bad influence uncle tommyyyyy, joel jerks off, sex before dinner, angst + tension, spankings, rewards and punishments, elements of abuse, hurt/lots of comfort, pinky promises, dark. this is a work of fiction, and all characters are adults.

A/N - have I ever not delivered. here’s your uncle tommy fill, as promised. thank you to two anons who know who they are for helping with the creation of this fic, and thank you to my dear L for editing with me! anyway, it's been a minute but i'm happy to see you all :) hope you enjoy. i wrote this through a splitting headache so i'm going to chill now.

Your bedroom door clicks as Joel unlocks it from the other side, and the hinges groan and creak as he pushes it open. He looks at your figure lying in your bed, warm sunlight painting over your skin. Joel knows you’re not sleeping. You’re just lying in the quiet room, soaking up the sun like a kitten. 

“Hi, kiddo,” Joel greets softly, smiling before taking long strides across the room to meet you. He’s stepping over your clothes and tripping on other odds and ends before he reaches you - you’ve been picking out your own clothes lately. Apparently you’ve been less than impressed with Joel’s sense of fashion. Ooohkay, he thought. You’re such a messy girl with the way you try on all of your clothes, then leave them all on the floor. Those, coupled with old, expired bottles of nail polish and lip gloss. Joel told you not to use those lip glosses, but they’re just pretty to look at sometimes. 

“Jesus, girl. Fuckin’ room’s a pigsty,” he says, and he sits on the end of your bed, springs creaking with the shift in weight. 

You ignore him. Joel leans over and kisses both of your cheeks and then your forehead, then your nose. “Don’t smile,” he teases, “Don’t you dare laugh.” And he repeats this, his facial hair tickling your skin, until you’re giggling and your eyes finally open. 

“Ohh, there she is. Mornin’, Pumpkin,” Joel says, chuckling at the way you squint through the bright sunlight. 

“Mmm…morning, D–” you’re interrupted by your own yawn, which makes Joel laugh. “Daddy.” 

Joel pushes some hair out of your eyes. “Lazy ass,” he mumbles. “Listen, kiddo. M’on patrol today, so you’re gonna be home all alone. Y’gonna be alright?” he asks, softly stroking the skin on your cheek. “Gonna be a good girl?” 

He wonders if he can trust you. If he can give you this inch, and you won’t take a mile. The doors and windows will stay locked, of course, but there’s other things he worries about. Joel knows you, you know. You’re never as sneaky as you think you are. 

“Mhm. I’m always good, Daddy.” 

Joel rolls his eyes. “Uh huh, fuckin’ smartass. You can make eggs an’ toast for breakfast, and there’s leftovers in the fridge for lunch. We’ll figure out supper later, hm? Maybe we’ll go to the cafeteria. See what they’re cookin’ up.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you smile. 

“Good.” Joel pats his thighs and then stands up, knees popping loudly. “And I want you to clean all this shit up, alright? Didn’t raise ya to leave messes.” 

You sigh heavily. “I know. I’ll do it.” 

“Good girl.” Joel bends down and kisses your head one last time. “Eat all your lunch an’ have a good day. I love ya.”

You love days where you’re home alone. You used to hate it, and Joel wouldn’t let it happen a whole lot. You hated how lonely it felt, how quiet. You’d hear things go bump that weren’t there, and you’d feel just…nervous. Joel came home once and found you all scared and trembling, and he promised he’d be home with you as much as he could. 

He made good on his promise. And you liked being home with him until you didn’t, until you found it suffocating and boring. Scary. Joel’s house went from being a quiet safe haven away from the horrors of the world to a sort of horror in and of itself. A Sisyphean loop, where nothing ever changes. And it never will, no matter how much you tug on your windows that are bolted shut, or yank on your door that only Joel can unlock. You can never leave. 

You’d stare longingly out the window, hoping to go outside on your own. Just once, maybe. To go in the woods and wander, pick at strange flowers and plants and everything else. Just be alone. Joel grants you so much, and yet, you want so much more than that.

It makes you feel bad, if you’re being honest with yourself. You know what’s out there. What he saved you from. You know you’re safer with Joel, and you know everything he’s done to keep you safe and comfortable and happy. You’re in good hands with him, even if they’re hands that hurt you sometimes. Hit you. Spank you. Choke you. They’re still Joel’s hands, and they’re warm, right? And they love you. 

He said when the weather warms up some more he’ll take you to the lake. You really hope he does. 

You spend the day reading, drawing, watching birds and other critters that come by. Joel thinks it’s cute, the way you’ve named the chipmunks and squirrels that frequent his patio. How you recognize them like they’re your friends. 

Joel tries to leave his bad mood away from home. He knows he’s got a habit of carrying it with him, and regrettably, taking it out on you. You take your moods out on him too, though. Not that it matters. He curses himself for even acknowledging the fact. He’s older, he’s wiser, he’s more patient. You’re not. He’s the parent, you’re the child. But when he comes home, you can tell it was a bad day. You can hear it in his footsteps and in the way he breathes, and it makes you tense. “Y’ready for dinner?” he asks, voice tired. 

“Mhm.” 

“Didn’t hear ya, kiddo. Speak up.” 

“Mhm.” 

“No, no mumblin’. Use your words and tell me, yes or no,” Joel demands, feeling his blood pressure begin to spike. 

“Yes.” 

Oh, you fucking…you. You’re always going to match Joel’s temper. You stare at him and he glares back, balling his fists before turning on his heel to get changed. You both need something to eat, before this goes from zero to one hundred. 

But then Joel goes upstairs, and he walks past your bedroom and sees that nothing - nothing is picked up. He’s back downstairs before he even thinks it through. Before he showers and takes a moment to breathe, even. 

“What’d I fuckin’ tell you?” 

Your stomach drops at his tone. “What?”

“I asked ya to take care of your room, and I come home to see you’ve done fuck all.” 

“I guess I just forgot, Daddy. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Joel scoffs, “Yeah, uh huh.” He pauses for a moment, then puts his hands on his hips. “We talked about this, Pumpkin.” 

“Talked about what?” you ask, and it makes Joel fucking irate that you won’t turn your head to look at him. 

“Look at me when you’re speakin’ t’me,” he barks, startling you. Looking at him from across the room, you can see he means business. Joel’s eyes are already dark to begin with, but they’ve gone black - so depthless and so endless that you can’t tell what’s behind them. 

“You’ve been slackin’,” Joel says in a low tone, breathing heavily as he takes heavy steps toward you. “S’gettin’ old, kid.” 

“I know, I just–”

“Jus’ what?”

You pick at your chipping, poorly-applied nail polish as you roll the answer around in your mind. “I don’t really want to do chores. I mean, I know my room is…but the other stuff, I–” 

“Tough. You live under my roof, y’live under my rules.”

“Then it’s your roof, your mess.” 

The words come out before you can even think about them. You press your lips together immediately, shrinking in your seat a little at the way Joel cocks his eyebrow and puts his hands on his hips. “Wanna try that again?” he asks, and you know what this is, what it is he’s doing: he’s giving you an out. And it’s awfully generous of him, considering. “Don’t make this a bad night,” he warns.

You pause this time, thinking about what you want to say next. I’m sorry, Daddy is that fucking close to rolling off of your lips when you notice that little wren sitting on the windowsill. She’s a frequent visitor, and Joel says she’s just like you. Fiery, assertive, sometimes. Vocal. A pistol. 

She looks at you for a minute, then flies off. It sends a pang of longing through your heart, and perhaps even jealousy that that beautiful little bird can spread her wings and fly away and you…can’t. Not with the locked doors and windows, not while eternally existing under Joel’s fucking microscope.

“I didn’t ask to live here, Joel,” you bite. 

“Oh, s’that’s how we’re doin’ this? This is how tonight’s gonna go?” 

“Yeah.” You get up from your place on the couch and shove into Joel’s shoulder, but he shoves you right back down. He glares at you, and you glare back as hard as you fucking can. Staring at him like you wish you could fucking…you don’t even know. You’re blinded by the same rage and upset that Joel is at this moment, but without the agency to do one fucking thing about it. Joel, on the other hand. 

He takes your jaw in his hand, squeezing your bones tight enough to bruise the soft flesh that covers them. When you jerk your head away, he squeezes tighter. “You don’t get to walk away from me,” he growls, leaning in close enough that you can feel his hot breath on your face. “I do a lot for ya. Done a lot for ya,” he says in a low tone.

“You never let me leave,” you argue. “You trap me.” 

That gets Joel, wounds him a little. His face changes when you say that, before twisting back into something darker. “That’s what you think, huh? That I trap ya?”

You swallow thickly, then part your lips to speak. Joel cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I keep you safe,” Joel whispers. “Fed. Happy. An’ all I ask is that you follow a few simple rules. That’s all. You wanna go back out there on your own, with the fuckin’ raiders and clickers, I can make that happen. Watch.”

Joel’s jaw ticks as he glares at you, fuming at the indignant little look on your fucking face. He could hit you right now, right across your cheek. Or maybe he’ll bend you over his knee and beat you until your ass is fucking raw and bleeding. That’ll teach you, that’ll fuckin’ teach you…

The anger flows through his veins like a fucking poison, and only when one of Joel’s knuckles crack, startling him, does he let your face go. He didn’t realize he was holding you so hard.

“I don’t like you,” you whisper. 

Joel makes a face at the statement, then nods, because he’s heard it all before. It hurt the worst the first time you said it, but you came back to him crying, hours later when you’d had a nightmare and needed him. Not want - that wasn’t the word you picked. You said you needed him, Daddy, and you were so sorry. You didn’t mean it. You love him and you need him. 

He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “M’not too keen on you either, right now, Pumpkin.”    

The room is tense as you and Joel stare each other down, and neither of you budge until Joel tells you to go to your room and stay there. He tells you that you can forget going out to dinner, and you can stay in your bedroom until he feels like looking at your face again. You’re grounded, too - he doesn’t say from what. Now get out of his sight before he fucking hurts you.

You’re in your room forever, the hours alone spent alone passing like days. The sun went down forever ago, and you can’t stop yourself from crying. You held it together long enough downstairs while fighting with Joel but the moment you stepped foot into your room, you burst like a dam. 

And it sucks to cry alone, to not have Joel there to hold you and wipe your tears. But is that what you’d want? Is that what would make it all better? Maybe. Joel has a special way of being your heaven and hell, all in one man. He’s both your nightmare and your solace after a bad dream. What are you supposed to make of that? What are you supposed to do other than cry like this?

You don’t bother wiping your tears when there’s a double knock at the door. “S’me,” Joel says. “M’comin’ in.” 

You keep your back turned to him as he enters your bedroom with a plate and a glass of water, and he sets both down on your nightstand. “Went and grabbed some food. I gotcha…let’s see here. Chicken, mashed potatoes, corn.” 

“Not hungry.” 

“Not even for some pumpkin pie?” Joel asks, noticing the way your eyes widen at the mention. “Still your favorite, right?”

You pause. “No,” you answer, eventually.

“No?” Joel asks. “Hmm. Guess I’ll eat it myself. M’gonna get even fatter than I already am…this is a very unhealthy thing to do to your dear old man, y’know,” Joel says, cutting into the pie with the side of his fork, which scrapes against the ceramic plate. You flip over and sit up, and Joel feeds you the bite instead of eating it himself. “There she is,” he murmurs. 

That’s how you got the nickname. Joel asked your name many times back in that cold, shitty cabin. You wouldn’t tell him. He understood, of course, and he told you his name anyway. You were always such a stubborn girl. For the life of him, Joel could not figure out why you wouldn’t come back to Jackson with him, why the hell you were so apprehensive about trusting him. Most people jump at the opportunity to stay in the cozy, warm settlement but…not you. 

You were a tough nut to crack. It took a lot of time for you to trust Joel. He used to sit in that cabin with you while on his patrols - Tommy would show up sometimes, too. He’d just sit with you, talk a little, the way you’d do with a stray dog in a shelter. He’d bring you warm thermoses full of soup or tea and sandwiches for you to eat, and he was just patient.

And it was pumpkin pie that finally got you to come home with him. He brought you a slice one day, and you scarfed it down quickly and asked if he had more. “Nope,” he answered. “Gotta come back to Jackson f’ya want more. Got all the pumpkin pie you could eat.”

You mulled it over in your mind more than you ever had. And this was after weeks of Joel visiting you, bringing you food, sometimes dry wood to keep your fireplace warm. You didn’t trust him yet, but you didn’t…not trust him. And you really wanted that fucking pie. 

It was your choice to live with Joel, too. When he brought you back, they offered to put you in a house with other girls around your age. Nope. You wanted to be with Joel. Somewhere deep down, you know you picked him to be yours before he picked you to be his. Doesn’t that make you a little responsible for where you are now? 

“Yeah, alright, Pumpkin. I guess I could make some room for ya,” he winked.

“Breakin’ rules here,” Joel murmurs. “It goes dinner first, then dessert. Right?”

You ignore him as you swallow your bite. He’s only teasing. And besides, this is not a battle he wants to fight. At least you’re eating, anyway. Joel puts his hand on your knee and speaks softly, “I shouldn’t have gotten on your ass the way I did.” 

“No. You shouldn’t have,” you snap, and Joel feeds you another bite of pie. You take the fork and eat the rest of the slice quickly, then lay back down and flip over.    

His poor, sweet, tender-hearted girl. Don’t you know that attitude of yours is only gonna get you in trouble? Joel thinks it's just where you’re at in life - he thought he knew the world like the back of his hand when he was your age, too. 

Joel turns your face and wipes your tear-stained cheeks, all swollen and raw. Eyes rimmed red as more tears well up, then spill down, back into your hairline. “Oh, sweetheart. What am I gonna do with ya?” he sighs, gently thumbing away those tears again. He wipes a few crumbs of pie crust from your lips, too.

You sniffle and shrug, avoiding his gaze. A hiccuping sob escapes your lips. “S'okay. Drink some water,” Joel tells you, pulling you upright. He gives you the glass, has you take a few sips, and he notices the way you look at his hand between your thighs. He notices your muscles twitching, eyes widening…knows exactly what you want as he rubs his thumb over the skin. Joel knows you want him to fuck you, to make you feel good, because you always feel better after he gets you off. Presses your little reset button. He’d reckon those pretty pink panties of yours are a little soaked, too. Poor thing. And isn’t this part of tonight’s problem? 

You can’t get anything past Joel. You’ll never be able to. 

“Daddy–”

“Not tonight, kiddo. Y’lost them privileges.” 

“Please,” you beg. Joel takes your glass of water and sets it down on the nightstand. 

“No,” Joel bites, pulling his hand away. He pulls your blankets over your shoulders, then turns off your lamp. “Daddy’s gonna have to think of a way for you to earn ‘em back.” He kisses you on the forehead, saddened by the way you turn away from him. “I love ya with my whole heart, Pumpkin, but you are gonna learn that there are consequences for your actions. Now get some sleep.”

Joel takes the glasses and checks to make sure the baby monitor is on, then leaves you. A night of sleep will be good for you both. 

But it is a hard night, isn’t it? You spend the night tossing and turning - Joel can hear it on the tinny, crackling speakers of the receiver. He doesn’t rest any easier either, so he gets in the shower late at night. Maybe the distant noise of the running water will soothe you to sleep. 

He washes his hair and his body, then grips his cock tightly in his fist. He strokes himself slowly, top to bottom and over and over again, building to a quicker pace in short time. “Ohh, Pumpkin,” he whispers, cumming over his knuckles. Joel rinses himself off and dries himself, then checks on you in your bedroom - you’re out like a light. Good. Fuck, he hates fighting with you. 

In the morning, you tiptoe down the stairs, stopping first behind the wall to steal a peek at Joel before he sees you. He’s got breakfast made already - French toast, eggs, hash browns. You take your place at the table, yawning as you twirl a fork between your fingers. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” Joel murmurs, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. He serves you a large helping of breakfast, your Felix the cat cup is already filled with juice. “Sleep okay?” he asks, sitting next to you and serving himself. 

You shrug. 

“Yeah, me too,” Joel agrees. You and he eat in silence for a couple of minutes, the only sounds being the chirping birds and the cutlery scraping against the plates. Joel finishes his food before you do, and when he does, he gets up from the table. You watch him set his dish by the sink, then grab a couple of papers or something from the counter and bring them back to the table. “Been thinkin’ about how you can earn back your privileges,” Joel begins. Your attention is immediately caught by a few shiny, sparkly papers, decorated in little stars. “Stickers,” Joel explains, peeling one off and sticking it on your nose. “See?”

“Mhm.” You grab the packs of stickers, but Joel tugs them back. 

“Ah, ah, ah. Can’t have those yet. You gotta earn ‘em.” Joel shows you a larger paper next, something he made and drew up himself. ‘Pumpkin’s Honey-Do List’.

“What’s honey-do?”

“S’a chore chart,” Joel explains. “Honey, do this for me. Honey, do that. Get it?” You nod. “We’re gonna use this chart to keep track of your chores, okay?” 

Before you answer, you take some time to look over the chores Joel wants you to do. Sunday through Saturday Joel wants you to tidy your room every day. “Every day?” you whine, thinking of the enormous mess sitting in there right now. It’s gonna take for fucking ever to deal with all of that.

“Every day,” Joel answers. “F’ya stay on top of it, it’s not much of an issue. Been tryin’ to tell ya that, Pumpkin.” 

The rest of the daily chores listed are no surprise. Do the dishes, set the table, make the bed, sweep. But there’s some new ones at the bottom of the chart - dust all the shelves and baseboards, wash the windows, mop. Joel explains that they only have to be done once at some point this week. 

“You’re gonna work on these every day,” Joel says. “And I’m gonna check to make sure you did ‘em all, and if you did, you get to put a sticker down. And if we fill this sheet up by the end of the week, I’ll make ya feel good again. That’s how you can earn back your privileges.”

You think about it, looking over the chore chart. Joel’s all capital letter handwriting, and the silly pumpkins he drew at the top of the chart. “Hey, you,” Joel taps your arm. “We square?”

You still don’t know. You don’t know why you’re hesitant. You’re just…that’s just who you are. Stubborn, indignant. A rebel with a heart of gold. 

“Psst. Take the fuckin’ deal, kiddo.” 

“Okay, Daddy.” 

Joel holds out his fist, pinky finger extended. You wrap your pinky around his, and then he brings both his and your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckle.  

You get started after breakfast, cleaning up your room while Joel takes care of some other stuff around the house. It’s not so bad when you have a goal in mind and a better attitude about the entire thing. It goes by quickly, too, and you feel better when your room is put back together. You don’t know why you let it get so bad. Maybe it’s reflective of your mood. 

Dishes come next, and it’s made easier because Joel cleans as he cooks. It’s just a matter of washing and drying a few plates and forks and glasses, then putting them back into the cabinets. Sweeping comes after that, and then you’re done until dinner tonight when Joel needs the table set. 

It is nice to walk through the house with him as he inspects your work. The concentrated frown on his face as he looks in your closet at all your clothes all hung up and folded neat, and the way it splits into a smile of approval. “Y’did good, kiddo,” he murmurs as he kisses your head. It takes you a moment to decide how exactly you want to place the stickers down, but you like doing it. It’s going to look so pretty when it’s filled in. 

Tomorrow is the same, and the next day, and the next day. Joel does his walk throughs every evening, and then you do your stickers at the table. “Mm, doin’ some neat patterns there, I see,” Joel says gently. 

“Mhm.”

“Very pretty, sweetheart. I’m so proud’a ya,” he smiles. “Couple more days, right? Finish strong.” 

When you wake up on Friday, you feel excited. There’s really not much in your room to clean, not much to sweep around the house, not much of anything to do, really. 

…Until Joel reminds you about the specials. “Ahem,” Joel says, pointing to the chores at the bottom of the chart. “These need’a get done, too.” 

“Oh, fuck.” You cover your mouth before Joel has a chance to scold you. “Sorry.” 

He makes a face at you, but he lets it go. If letting a dirty word slip is the worst thing you’ve done all week, then so be it. You probably picked it up from him, after all. 

Joel quickly makes you a sandwich at the counter, then slices it in half and puts it in the fridge. That’ll be your lunch later. “Uncle Tommy’s coming by today,” Joel says. “But don’t think you can sweet talk him into helpin’ you with those chores, Pumpkin. This is still a punishment.” 

“Mhm. I know, Daddy.” 

“Good girl.” Joel kisses you quickly on the cheek, then he’s out the door. “I love ya. Be home later.” 

When Joel leaves, you go upstairs and shower, then pick out something to wear - just a pair of shorts and a tee, neither of which you particularly like, but that’s okay. You don’t want to dirty your favorite clothes. After checking your list, you get started with dusting first. You’ll work top to bottom, and then do the windows at the very end, per Joel’s suggestion. 

Dusting is tedious. It’s tedious to take every little knickknack and tchotchke off the shelves, but you do like the way the wood sparkles after you wipe it clean. And it feels better, too. There’s a noticeable difference when you clean the place, like you’re washing away everything bad that’s built up over time and starting anew. 

You pause cleaning briefly to eat the sandwich Joel made you, and then you’re back to cleaning, on your hands and knees as you wipe the baseboards. You still have some tall cabinets and shelves to dust, but you’ll figure that out later. 

The back door opening startles you, and in comes Tommy, handsome as ever and smiling so big when he sees you. “Hiya, sweetheart.” 

“Hi, Uncle Tommy,” you greet. You feel Tommy’s eyes on you as you dust, tracing over every inch of your figure. It’s awkward as you clean and Tommy stands there. You’re not exactly sure what he was sent here to do. Maybe he’s your babysitter or something. 

He peruses the house, and you wonder what he’s thinking. You have a more difficult time reading him than you do Joel, though that doesn’t mean Joel is always easy to read, either. Tommy notices your chore chart and smirks at it. Good fucking god. 

Baseboards are done now, so it’s time to finish those cabinets. You drag a chair over to the kitchen counters, but even with the added height, you can’t reach the tops. “Uncle Tommy?” you ask. 

“Yeah, honey.” 

“Do you know if Joel has a step stool or something around here?” 

Tommy holds up a finger before he’s off to check for you. There’s nothing in the closet, nothing in the garage, either. “Don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Hmm…” 

“Whatcha thinkin’?”

Joel would throttle you if he knew what you were about to do, but he’s the one who didn’t account for your inability to reach the tops of the cabinets he wants cleaned. You hoist yourself up onto the counter top with a rag in hand, wobbling as you stand up tall. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Let me use the chair an’ I’ll get ‘em myself, darlin’,” Tommy says as he stands behind you, his fingers tapping against your legs as he gets ready to catch you. He gets a nice look up your shorts from this angle, too, llikes the lace on your panties. “Gonna crack your goddamn skull open, girl.” 

“You’re not supposed to help me,” you tell him, frowning at how disgusting the tops of these cabinets are. “Ew.” 

“Says who?”

“Daddy,” you answer. 

“Ohhh. Daddy says so, huh?”

You sigh, “Yep.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Get down, honey. I don’t like ya up there like that.”

You know better than to argue with Uncle Tommy. He’s fun, sure. But he does have the authority to do whatever Joel does to you, too. Joel’s made it clear that when Tommy’s around, you are to listen and obey him the same as you listen to Joel himself. You turn around and bend down slowly, feeling nervous and unstable on your feet. “C’mere, sweet pea. I gotcha.” Tommy grabs your waist and steadies you, grunting as he helps you down. 

“Can’t believe your old man’s gotcha doin’ all these chores without any music,” Tommy says. You shrug, and Tommy’s off toward the living room where Joel’s got a turntable and some vinyls. He puts them on every once in a while, but you’re not always into the music he picks. 

Tommy puts on Jim Croce and does a little dance that makes you giggle. He wiggles his hips and snaps his fingers, biting down on his bottom lip. “Alright,” Tommy claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work.” 

He takes the rag from your hand and stands on the chair, dusting the tops of the cabinets himself. “I appreciate this, Uncle Tommy, but you really shouldn’t…if Joel finds out–”

“You gonna tell on me, sweetheart?”

“N-no…” you mumble, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. 

“Then your daddy won’t find out,” Tommy replies. 

He finishes the cabinets quickly, then gets off of his chair with a grunt. “Okay, darlin’. What else ya gotta do?”

“Uhmmm…” you trail off, mentally tallying the chores you’ve already done. With Tommy’s help, you’re just about finished. “Windows are last,” you tell him. 

Tommy nods. He grabs a spray bottle from a closet as well as two squeegees, then hands you one. “You wanna do the outsides or the insides, sweetheart?” 

“Insides,” you answer. “I’m not supposed to go outside without Joel.” 

Tommy makes a real show of looking around, raising his eyebrows and squinting dramatically. “Funny, darlin’, I don’t see Joel anywhere,” he says, then pauses. “Why don’tcha wash the outsides and get some fresh air, honey?”

“Okay,” you smile. Tommy gives you the spray, then opens the door and tells you to meet him at the kitchen window. You feel exhilarated as you leave and round the house, loving the sun on your skin and the breeze in your hair. When you meet him on the other side of the window, he motions for you to spray yours down, which you do. Then Tommy opens the window and reaches for the spray, then shuts the window. You flinch when he squirts it at you, and laugh when it hits the glass and not yourself. Tommy winks, then squeegees his side of the window as you do the same. 

He nods his head to motion to you to go to the next window, where you and he repeat the routine. You do the same with the next one and the one after that, and when you’re finished, you come back inside and rest on the couch. 

“Think that means we’re ‘bout done, huh?”

“Yep,” you answer, then pause. “You won’t tell Joel, right?”

Tommy sits next to you and zips his lips. “M’not a narc, honey. So we get to put stickers on your chart now, don’t we?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Joel has to do a walk through,” you explain. 

“Ahhhh,” Tommy nods, understanding. “So whatcha gettin’ for fillin’ in all the stickers?”

Your cheeks heat up at the question and you shy away from Tommy, which makes him laugh. You have no poker face at all. 

“Uh huh,” Tommy winks. “Oh, I get it.”

You squirm in place a little, wondering if you should talk more about it. You kind of want to, honestly. Joel tells you that you can tell him anything, but you know you can’t. Not just anything. “It’s been a week,” you admit finally to Tommy, and immediately you feel relieved to have someone else to talk to about this. About Joel. “Well, almost. Tomorrow makes a week.” 

Tommy scoffs. “Well shit, kiddo. Your old man’s a fuckin’ hard ass.” You shrug silently, and Tommy raises an eyebrow at you. “You can agree, y’know. Ain’t gonna hurt. An’ I won’t tell him if ya do, either.” 

“A little,” you admit, quietly. But Tommy hears, and he smiles. 

“Can’t go a day without it, myself,” Tommy tells you, stretching out on the couch a little. He rests his hand on your thigh, drawing little patterns down to your knee and back up again, patterns that make your skin tingle and make you feel funny inside. Nervous, excited…in almost the same way Joel makes you feel nervous and excited. But there’s an added layer here. You know you shouldn’t be letting Tommy do this to you.

“I think you should reward yourself, ‘f I’m bein’ honest. You did all your chores, after all. Right?” 

“...yeah.” Uncle Tommy has a funny way of making the guilt in your belly disappear, if not for just a moment. It’s in the way he speaks and the words he chooses, and it’s in his sparkling brown eyes and his charming smile.  

“Why don’tcha go to your room and take care of yourself, then? Hm?”

You shake your head. “Joel - Daddy says I’m not allowed to,” you reply. 

“Ohh. Not allowed to do it by yourself.” Tommy clicks his tongue and turns his head toward you. “S’too goddamn bad. Joel’s gotcha on a short fuckin’ leash, don’t he?”

He slides his hand up your thigh, inching his pinky finger past your shorts. Tommy likes the way your breath hitches in your throat when he traces the thin, damp fabric of your panties with just his fingertip. Sensitive fuckin’ girl.

“And you’re really hurtin’ for it too, I can tell. A fuckin’ week, good lord,” Tommy whispers, then pauses before speaking again. “Well, I’d reckon you’re not doin’ nothin’ wrong by lettin’ Uncle Tommy make ya cum, huh?” 

“I-” you stutter, “I really - I don’t know, Uncle Tommy.”

Tommy grins, his eyes so warm and so black, so endless. “Oh, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it in my book.” He wriggles his fingers up your shorts a little more, and slips them past your panties. That little gasp when he touches your lip, lightly teasing you there. Good lord. 

“Then s’gonna be our little secret,” Tommy whispers. “Somethin’ special, jus’ for me and my sweet girl,” he says. “How ‘bout that, darlin’?”

You nod before the little voice in your head telling you not to do this becomes too loud. You can trust Tommy, right? He wouldn’t do anything to get you into trouble with Joel. And like he always says, what Joel doesn’t know won’t kill him. 

You can’t ever pull one over on Joel, but you can try. And if Tommy’s right, and he probably is - you’ll succeed.  

“Good girl,” says Tommy, pulling your body into his lap. He unbuttons your shorts and pushes them down your legs, then cups your pussy with his large hand. You sigh at the relief that comes with the pressure, resting against Tommy’s chest. “C’mere, honey. I gotcha.” 

You spread your legs for him and he rubs you through your panties, just lazily at first, feeling you dampen the fabric. He traces your clit next, “Oh, fuck,” you moan, leaning into him. “More,” you gasp. 

Tommy slides his hand under your panties, touching your bare heat. You’re so fucking warm and so fucking wet, with that pool of arousal he’s created. And it didn’t take much, did it? No, no. Of course not, not when you’ve been starving for it for so long. Longer than a week, too. Tommy knows the way you look at him and what goes on in that head of yours. And if he were a betting man, he’d bet that when you do summon the courage to get yourself off on your own fingers, despite Joel’s rule, that you’re thinking of him. Maybe not every time, but enough.  

“Uncle Tommy,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut as you arch into his touch. You rock your hips as he circles your clit, reaching for his thick bicep. You hold him tightly, whimpering, “Oh my god.”

“Y’wanna hold onto me?” Tommy chuckles quietly, rubbing you slowly. “You can hold onto me, sweet pea. M’not goin’ nowhere. Jus’ you and me right now, sweet girl.” 

He’s so warm, and he smells so fucking good. It’s nice to be in a pair of arms that are safe and dangerous, but different from Joel’s safe and dangerous. You watch yourself in the freshly cleaned windows, all wrecked as Tommy pleasures you. 

He’s sliding his fingers down your seam next, then pushing two into your entrance. And it’s when he curls them rhythmically, looking for that special, sweet little place deep inside you, that you really start to moan. “Relax,” Tommy whispers, squeezing you tightly. “Hold still, honey. Be good.” 

Tommy shifts the positions a bit so he can rub your clit with his other hand while fucking you on his fingers. It’s not long before release is right around the corner, with all of that hot, sparkling pleasure blooming deep in your gut. Your thighs begin to shake and twitch, “You cum nice for me now,” he whispers. “Show Uncle Tommy how hard you can cum.” 

And that’s all it takes for you to fall apart, crying out loudly as he fucks you through your orgasm. Tommy doesn’t let up until you’re a shuddering, gasping mess, until he’s made certain that your needs have been met. A goddamn week, he thinks. That’s fucking ridiculous.

“You cum so pretty, sweetheart,” Tommy whispers, pulling his fingers away from your cunt. They’re all shiny and drenched in your arousal, and he brings them to his lips and sucks them clean. He pats you twice and you get up and off of him, all shy and bashful as he stands up and stretches, his rock-hard erection bulging through his denim. “Fuck, look whatcha do t’me,” he groans, pressing his palm against it. “I’m off, kiddo. Gonna let me leave without a hug and a kiss?” he asks. 

You wrap your arms around his thick middle quickly, perhaps needing the hug more than Tommy even does. You kiss his cheek, and Tommy squeezes your ass. “Alright. Keep outta trouble, honey. I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

A few hours later, Joel’s barely got a foot in the door before you’re taking him by the hand and leading him through the house, showing him how well you cleaned everything. “Jesus, girl. Can’t a man eat dinner first?” 

“No,” you answer. “Look at the windows.”

Joel laughs, “I know, I see ‘em, Pumpkin. They’re sparklin’.” 

“And the baseboards–”

“Are nice and dusted, I see it all, sweetheart. You did good. Wanna go get your stickers?” 

You show Joel that you’ve already got your stickers and your chart in hand. “Go ‘head and put ‘em on then, honey. Y’did good,” Joel says, then pauses as you put the rest of the stickers down. The only one that’s missing is dishes and table setting for today, but that’s because it hasn’t been done yet. Joel tells you he trusts you, and you can put the stickers down anyway. “And you did do it all by yourself, right, Pumpkin?” 

“Mhm,” you lie. 

“An’ if I ask Uncle Tommy if he helped, what’s he gonna tell me?”

“No,” you lie again. 

“Good answer,” Joel replies, then pauses. “Did you play with yourself this week?” he asks.

“No.” 

“Promise?” Joel asks. “Did anyone else play with ya?”

“Nope,” you tell him. Joel smiles, then kisses you on the head and sits down on the couch as you admire your chart. You join him on the couch, sliding onto his lap instead of taking your usual place right next to him.

“Hey, you,” Joel smiles. “What’re you makin’ me for dinner, hm?”

You shrug. “I’m not even hungry,” you tell Joel, and he makes a face. 

“Sure you’re not.” 

You think you know what that means, what he’s doing. He’s deliberately quiet, waiting for you to ask for what you want. But you say nothing as you sit on his lap, eyes wide as you wait and wait and wait for what you’ve earned, squirming on his lap a little. “Whatcha so squirrely for?” he asks finally. 

“You know, Daddy.” 

“Mmm. Don’t think I do,” Joel drawls. “M’not a mind reader, Pumpkin.” 

But you’re too shy to say it out loud. So you take Joel’s hand and stand up, yanking him with you. He groans as he stands up, knees cracking. You hold his hand as you lead him toward the stairwell, “Where ya takin’ me?” he asks. 

“Mmmuhno,” you mumble, walking up the stairs with Joel trailing behind. 

“You dunno, huh?” he teases, amused as you take him towards his room. “Mmm, Daddy’s room. Okay,” he sighs dramatically. “Guess it’s bedtime, since Pumpkin says so. And I was gonna let ya stay up an’ everything, but alright.” 

You’re such a quiet, shy girl as you sit on the end of Joel’s bed, swinging your feet as he undresses himself. You pull at a string on your shorts, waiting for Joel to get the hint. You’re sure he does, but he’s just dragging this out, the same way you are, really. 

Joel, standing naked except for his boxers, turns to you. “Y’look like you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart.” 

“Mm-mm,” you lie, unable to hide the smile that makes your lips curl up. 

“Oh, I think ya do. Wanna tell me what it is?” Joel asks. 

Finally, you relent. “Did I earn back my privileges?” you ask, biting down on your smile. 

Joel chuckles. “Was wonderin’ when you’d ask,” he says, leaning in close. He puts both of his hands on your knees, squeezing you there. “Yes. You earned ‘em back, Pumpkin.” 

You hum in delight and smile so big, then whisper something in Joel’s ear. “Well lie on down, then,” Joel murmurs. “You know what to do.” 

It takes no time at all for you to take off your clothes and lie on Joel’s bed completely naked, legs folded in half and swaying side to side as you wait for that inevitable dip in the mattress that comes from Joel settling between your thighs. It arrives all in good time, and Joel spreads you wide so he can devour you alive. 

He pushes your knees toward your chest and wears a crooked smirk at how anxious you look, ready for him to start. You’re wiggling your fingers, fidgeting with his comforter. Joel teases you with a couple of kisses pressed against your knees and your inner thighs. “Daddy,” you whine, pushing your hips toward his face. 

“Oh, I know, I know,” Joel murmurs, quieting your whines with a kiss to your pussy. “Iiii know, sweet baby girl.” He licks you from bottom to top with his tongue flattened, dragging it slowly through your slick folds. And Christ, how swollen you are - poor thing. But you did it to yourself, didn’t you?

“I am so–” Joel interrupts himself to suck on your clit a little, “So proud of you, Pumpkin,” he says, “My girl. You did so good for me, baby.” 

His beard tickles your inner thighs as he kisses you all over, then goes back to your clit. He circles it a few times with his tongue, then licks lower, burying his tongue in your soft, dripping entrance. You reach for his beautiful aquiline nose as he fucks you on his tongue, drawing up that gorgeous slope and past his forehead, tangling your fingers in his curly, graying hair. 

“Daddy,” you moan, whimpering for Joel as he drags his tongue back up and down your folds. He builds a rhythmic pace then, circling your clit repeatedly, all while allowing you to rock and grind against his face. He guides you orgasm quickly, savoring the way you gush into his mouth, your clit throbbing beneath his tongue. 

You’re fucking soaked, a mess of both Joel and yourself. Joel shoves his boxers down his thighs, erection springing against his soft tummy, and swipes his fingers through your folds. He collects your arousal on his hand, then uses it to coat his hard length. “Ready?” he asks, hovering over you. 

“Mhm.”

“Y’wanna help Daddy put it in?” 

You nod quickly. Joel knows you like to have some semblance of control over the pace at which he enters you, so he likes to grant you that. Not always, though. Sometimes he’ll split you in half just to remind you of who’s in charge here, usually when you get a little mouthy or something like that. 

You take Joel’s cock in your hand, tracing the bulbous head and the veins that climb up the shaft. You tilt your hips and drag him through your folds, sighing softly at the way you tease yourself. 

“You’re killin’ me here, kid,” Joel grunts, taking your wrist in his hand to stop you. 

“Sorry.”

“S’all good, baby.” 

You notch his tip at your entrance. “Your turn, Daddy,” you tell Joel softly. 

And in he goes. He slides into you slowly, filling you with the entirety of his length. “Ohh, big stretch. Attagirl,” he praises, grunting as he bottoms out. 

It always takes you a minute to get used to him. You do your little routine, make your little faces as you squirm and get used to his cock stretching you out, and when you’re ready, Joel begins to move. “Watch,” he says. “Look, look. Wanna show you something,” Joel tells you softly. You lift your head as he pulls out, his thick length all coated in your arousal. “Ain’t that somethin’?”

“Yeah,” you agree, letting your head fall back again. Joel braces himself on his forearm as he thrusts back into you, building to a slow pace. He’s in no rush, really, not when he’s sliding his big hand up your waist and over your ribcage and squeezes you there. He could crush you, you know. His delicate girl. He could do it. 

Joel bends down and skims his mouth and the tip of his nose over your breasts, taking time to wrap his lips around both of your nipples. He loves you so much, the elegant, gentle shapes of your body. All of those curves, all for him. 

The special way he fucks you - nothing comes close to this. No matter what, good day or bad, this will always be yours and Joel’s to savor. 

His cock is dragging against your g-spot, his pubic hair grinding against your clit. It’s all becoming too much, too sensitive for you to even cum. But Joel tells you to anyway. “Can’t, Daddy,” you whimper.

“Sure ya can,” Joel says. “S’been a week, honey. I know you’re needin’ it.” 

But are you, though? Not really, when Tommy took your punishment and reward into his own hands and made good and sure that you were well satiated before he left. And with the orgasm Joel pulled from you using his tongue, well. 

“One more, nice and big,” Joel encourages. “Show your daddy how hard you can cum on his cock, huh?”

Funny. Didn’t Tommy say the same thing?

Joel rubs your clit in practiced circles, coaxing along your release as he thrusts into you harder, faster, and deeper. And then it’s happening, and Joel’s name is spilling from your lips in breathy moans as you cum so hard on his cock, feeling indescribably full as your pussy pulses around him. It’s such a weighted, overwhelming feeling, and it washes over you in wave after wave. “Oh, baby girl.” Joel’s right behind you, breathing your name as he milks himself with your cunt, spurting rope after rope of his cum. “Take it nice an’ deep f’me,” he says, and like the most perfect girl you are, you take it all. 

Joel pulls out of you, not worried about the cum that spills on his comforter. It’s seen better days anyway, he thinks. 

After you both come down, Joel breaks the silence. “Think we should redo our date?” he asks, still breathing heavily. 

“Yes,” you answer. 

“I think so too,” he says. “Go pick somethin’ pretty to wear, and meet me in the shower to get cleaned up. Maybe we’ll see Uncle Tommy there or somethin’ too, huh?”

-

more dark daddy!joel here

anyway, i love ya. thank you for reading ♡ please dirty talk me in my inbox and reblog, because your words go a very long way in keeping me motivated to write. wouldn't be doin' this without ya.

aaaand the cat tax. remember that when it takes me a while to publish a fic, THIS IS WHO IS MAKING IT DIFFICULT TO DO SO!! okay!! do you see this! he's sitting on my arm like a fuck. fricken gizmo.

[dishia]

how they sound in bed

featuring: albedo, childe, ei, navia, kazuha, arlecchino

content: sub!genshin characters, dom!reader, begging, mentions of overstimulation + biting (arlecchino), a bit of degradation (childe)

albedo:

gentle and pure, like freshly fallen snow. albedo isn't the most reactive by nature, and on top of that he's pretty good at holding his voice back if necessary, letting no more than a few hums and hitched breaths meet your ears. but when the pleasure overpowers his self-control and he does let out a moan for you, it’s pure heaven. his voice is so soft and sweet, he sounds every bit as delicate as he looks. when you take him slowly, he lets out airy sighs that make you eager to push him further and see what kind of noises you can coax out of him. when you go hard and fast, tiny little whimpers rise in the back of his throat that surprise the both of you. they build up higher and higher in pitch until anything he tries to say makes his voice crack and his cheeks heat up a bit.

albedo doesn't talk very much unless you prompt him to, but every now and then he catches you off guard with the most sinful, filthy plea for more. he does have a smart mouth after all, and he knows exactly how to beg with it while sounding as princely as ever. his curious nature never stops for even a second, so the entire time you're picking him apart, he's trying to study you too, so he can see what reactions of his turn you on the most. everything he does, right down the noises he allows himself to make, is all for approval. he's not very loud when he cums. rather, he chants out frantic little "ah ah ah"s when his high approaches, sucks in a sharp breath as he reaches his peak, then lets out a long, feather-light moan that's like music to your ears. it's rare to get an intense reaction out of him, but the way your name sounds on his soft-spoken lips more than makes up for it.

"use me," he breathes, quietly resolute. "i was made for you."

childe:

insanely vocal. not just in the sheer amount of sounds he makes, but verbally, too. childe is one to moan, whine, gasp, grunt, groan, whimper, and make every noise under the sun, all while trying to stutter out sentences in between because he can't keep his mouth shut to save his life. the more worked up he gets, the more he starts to babble, almost like a puppy wagging his tail in excitement. his attempts to tease you range from endearing to unbearable; usually in the form of throwing out weak, breathless taunts just so you can go harder and put him in his place. he makes it no secret when something feels good, and unless he's being a brat, he’s not ashamed to beg for you. even if his face starts to flush a little when he hears the pathetic noises coming out of him, childe gladly chases the pleasure you dangle in front of him, moaning and whimpering for you like a dog in heat.

he has a filthy way with words that drive the both of you wild, and the way you degrade him for sounding like such a whore just makes him throb harder. he swears a lot and repeats words over and over like a broken record. when he gets close to cumming, his speech starts to slur together into one long, incoherent whine, only made worse by the drool pooling on his tongue. you can cover his mouth with your hand to try and quiet him, but even, then his muted whines still break through. he'll almost definitely start licking and biting at your palm like the little freak he is, too.

“please, please, please—ah, fuck! please, lemme cum ‘m a good boy," his frenzied whines echo off the walls. "been so g-good for you. so so—mmph—good!”

ei:

a combination of elegant and cute, ei’s true voice is a stark contrast to the cold, commanding tone of her shogun puppet. she’s not very loud or vocal at first—especially because she has a tendency to suppress herself, it can be hard for her to let her voice ring out naturally. so when she holds her breath to try and keep in a gasp of pleasure, she ends up making muffled squeaking sounds instead that are painfully cute. it flusters her a bit when she can't control herself like she normally would, but she feels more encouraged when you coo over how pretty she sounds, even if she doesn't quite understand why you're so enamored with something she finds to be an embarrassing lack of composure.

if ei is service topping (which she often does, she’s very obedient and will bottom if you ask her to, but she gets antsy if she feels like she’s not working hard enough to satisfy you) she lets out soft but enthusiastic grunts of effort, so concentrated on making you feel good that she doesn't worry about keeping her voice down. her breathing gives away how turned on she really is, as it grows more labored every time you praise her for doing a good job. when she's on the receiving end of pleasure, especially when she’s close to climaxing, she breathes out quick little "oh oh ohs" that are as sugary sweet as the desserts she loves so much. even when ripples of pleasure are shaking her body, she has a certain poise and grace to her, moans spilling out of her as soft as flower petals followed by blissed out sighs so gentle that listening to them could soothe you to sleep.

“please…i-if you keep going so fast," she murmurs breathlessly. "i still want to please you, too. let me be of good use to you.”

navia:

passionate. navia is so expressive in anything she does and this is no exception, so controlling her volume is the last thing on her mind when you’re making her see stars. she’s receptive to your every touch, eager to let you know how good you’re making her feel with sharp gasps of pleasure and the most irresistible, high-pitched whines for more. it's very hard to deny her what she wants when she begs so sweetly. playfulness is a given for navia, she loves making cheeky remarks to spur you on, though usually not to the point of full-blown brattiness. communication is a big part of sex to her, it eases her nerves to have a comfortable back and forth with you, knowing she’s safe to fall apart in your hands.

sure enough, though, her banter slowly fades out along with her boldness once you take things further, replacing her teasing with moans so pretty you’d think they were practiced. but navia is far too focused on your mouth and fingers to force any of her reactions, and it shows with all the cute, involuntary squeaks every new sensation earns from her. her glossy lips fall open and stay parted the entire time your fingers plunge in and out of her, spilling out pleas so primal and desperate that they send shivers up your spine. she’s so lost in the pleasure that she doesn’t notice how loud she is until you murmur "listen to yourself" in her ears, but even as her face flushes with embarrassment, she can’t help how vocal she is. when she reaches her high, it’s a burst of passion, crying out your name over and over until her voice breaks and trails off into tiny, satisfied mewls. having to muffle her volume with a kiss as she cums is a very common occurrence, and it always leaves her blushing up at you with a shy pout.

“don't tease me! y'know i-i can't...help it," her protests lose effect when she’s stammering over every word. "you just m-make me so crazy. please, baby, i’m so—ah!—close.”

kazuha:

angelic. it’s almost unfair to you, how every word, every sound that leaves this man's mouth feels like a silk blanket draping over your brain. his voice is gentle and melodic as a songbird's, and though not very loud, kazuha is incredibly vocal. he wants to appear calm and composed in front of you so badly, he cherishes being able to spin together the most beautiful sentences for your ears, but all of his eloquence effectively crumbles to dust the moment your lips find his neck and your hands roam his body. he’s sensitive. his unique constitution has all his senses perfectly in tune with the natural world, after all, which is something he typically considers a gift until a simple touch from you elicits the most pathetic whimper from him. you’ve gotten used to having to tug his hands down when they fly up to cover his burning red face, mortified by his own mewls echoing off the bedroom walls. kazuha isn't much of a whiner, but embarrassing him like that is one definite way to earn the cutest whines from him, pleading shyly for you to let him muffle himself.

broken whimpers and hums rise in his throat over every little burst of stimulation you give him, and he’s hyperaware of every single one. he bites his lips a lot in an attempt to hold himself back from moaning, turning them into breathy squeaks just like the ones he lets out after giggling. it’s hard for him to get words out between all the sounds he makes, and when he does manage to speak, it's all stuttered and slurred together in a whirlwind of “please” and “more”. the complete contrast to his usual poetic word-weaving makes it all the more satisfying to see what a mess you’ve made of him. when his orgasm hits, kazuha’s honey voice almost always cracks because he’s not used to crying out with such intensity. he doesn’t swear very often, even when you’re fucking him senseless, but sometimes when he cums, a few hushed curses slip out in between his moans. it’s a crime how even the filthiest words can sound so sweet and innocent on his tongue.

"p-please, my love, i can't take much more," he begs, voice turning up in a helpless whine. "you make me feel s' good, so, so good. i really...hah...won't last."

arlecchino:

the epitome of discipline and self-control, arlecchino has spent her whole life ensuring that she always has a secure handle on her emotions. it makes her the perfect sub if she’s willing to obey you, but it also means she’s not very expressive. the most reaction you typically get out of her is long claws digging into the mattress or a few shaky exhales through her nose, even when you've pushed her to her limit. it takes a while for arlecchino to unlearn the belief that being vulnerable in bed isn’t a sign of weakness, and that you want to know what makes her tick. she doesn't exactly get it, but she's willing to comply, for your pleasure, if nothing else. when she first allows herself to let a sigh slip out, she's a bit stiff, almost awkward in a way that you probably shouldn’t find so endearing. if it weren't for your consistent orders for her to let loose, she'd revert back into old habits immediately and go quiet.

she relaxes her breathing little by little until every exhale starts to hold a bit of a rasp to it, letting you know that her guard is gradually lowering. her voice is so seductive without even trying. it's low both in pitch and in volume, a husky, rich tone that only makes you more determined to get some proper reactions out of her. sinking your teeth into her skin is one of the best methods to achieve that, the way her breath hitches in her throat, followed by a soft grunt, is addicting to you. her exhales get heavier the more the pleasure creeps up on her, as do the content hums bubbling in the back of her throat. with the delicious edge her voice has, it almost sounds like she’s purring for you. as her peak draws closer, the heat in her core combined with the feeling of your mouth sucking marks into her neck becomes all-consuming. her groans rumble under your teeth when you bite down on her flesh, and when you swirl your tongue over her skin, she hisses softly. her orgasm comes with a quiet warning and a sharp inhale. then, she goes silent for a moment before a deep, sinful moan rings out. but the best part comes when you keep going without giving her a chance to recover from her high, overstimulating her into louder, less controlled reactions. it leaves her panting heavily, voice hoarse and a trembling plea for mercy on her tongue.

"am i...doing this right?" she mumbles. "whatever you desire, just say the word and i'll obey."

[2neaky]

. ۪ ֗ “ 𝑁𝑜—𝐺𝑒𝑡 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑂𝑛𝑒 ”⋆˚🫧

PART 1 • [this fic has been split into two parts]

21k! CONTENT WARNING (MDNI) • phone s*x (mutual m*sturbation), edg*ng, unprotected s*x, p -> v s*x, b*ckshots, squ*rting, choking, c*rvix kissing, rough consensual s*x, dominating male character, possessive behavior/talk, dummification, foot f*tish, minor size k*nk, tummy bulge, heavy use of dirty talk, use of profanity, nicknames (Mami, Mama, Papa, Pa), use of the n-word (all characters & Author are Black) • INSPIRED BY THIS POST • CHARACTER VISUALZ

PART 2 HERE ->

TENSION TIES HER BROWS INTO A KNOT, disturbing the usually smooth and clear surface of her skin.

The pounding at the base of her skull is like a jackhammer to concrete. Nothing even close to a minor headache from hunger or dehydration—though the two factors are likely at play here.

Another migraine, she knows. 

The ailment has unfortunately been reoccurring for the last two months. No amount of pain reliever, water, or “relaxation” seems to be a solution. 

A solution—the solution—would be to come up on the perfect new home for herself.

Her pupils tremble as they struggle to uphold their deadpan stare on the MacBook’s bright screen. The mild sting in her eyes doesn’t distract her anymore. 

Within the last three hours since sitting up in bed, they’ve seen more numbers than her lagging brain can keep up with. Numbers that just keep climbing as the conditions and amenities of newer listings lessen. 

These sellers must be out of their fucking minds.

$3,000 a month for a one-bedroom unit, with no washer and dryer? 

Almost $600 in amenities—per month? 

$2,500 for just a studio?

Every new and disappointing option makes that worrying voice at the back of her head louder. Because—really—she’s only got about a month and a half left of this lease, and she’s definitely not staying here.

She can’t afford to. Not even with her new job.

What started as a fun and optimistic search, has turned into one full of anxiety. As time withers away, her standards for a new apartment have been whittled down to the bare minimum.

Is it fair to say that she’s become desperate?

Whether or not she’ll even be able to find a new place before her lease is up, is unknown at this point.

Funding a new place is her only option at this point. The thought of moving back in with her father is unfathomable. She just can’t.

Minutes of her teeth worrying at her bottom lip; they finally rip through the soft, pink skin. She doesn’t even flinch. Instead, she swipes her tongue over the leaking nick as she proceeds to the eleventh page of results.

These newer listings lie near the outskirts of the city, closer to the suburbs. A problem when the public transportation of her state doesn’t reach those areas, her job is in the heart of the city and—oh! She doesn’t have a car.

“Fuck.”

A defeated whine squirms from her mouth as her head falls in her hands. The heavy comforter over her legs is hot and suffocating. But, at the very least, it feels good to close her eyes for once. 

Tiny beads of tears line her closed lids, pearling up along her thinning lash extensions—which are way past their time for a fill-in. And fuck, she can’t even afford to do that.

Her chest deflates as a long and slow exhale is dragged from her chest. Following suit, is a wet sniffle. 

When she finally picks her bonneted head out of her hands, her blurred vision waltzes around her bedroom.

The light is off, the sunlight does all of the work; pouring in through the tall windows and spilling itself against the cool, plaster-colored wood flooring. It reaches farther in some areas than others.

For instance, it washes over her in a shower of light, yet hesitates to touch the corners of her room where clothes, shoes, and other miscellaneous bullshit are strewn about. She shuts her eyes with the reminder of her need to clean this pigsty.

Every morning for the last few weeks—when she doesn’t have work—has been like this: wake up, check listings for hours, rot in bed for another two while wallowing, then finally picking herself up out of bed to take care of her body’s needs.

It seems to be an endless cycle that she can’t rescue herself from. And she desperately wants to escape.

The sharp ping of her phone interrupts her regularly scheduled sulking. She’s surprised it hasn’t died yet. Her arm drags to reach out for the small device buried within her rumpled, old sheets. It takes some feeling around to find it.

When she brings it to her face, the dim screen alights to show off the brand new notification: a message.

Sito💢 — Mall?

His timing never really errs on the correct side of things. Another sigh, this one gentle, blows past her cracked lips.

You — Too broke and stressed.

A tiny balloon of shame bursts within her as she had pressed ‘send’ on the confession. 

He won’t clown her for it, Sito’s never been one to shit on another person’s financial situation. His family’s been down at a point.

The difference between hers and his, though, is that they were able to pick themselves up out of  that. Something she still faults her father for being unable to do. 

Even if it were a circumstance of luck, why couldn’t they be as lucky? 

Another ping steals her attention away.

Sito💢 — Don’t even tb it

Sito💢 — Yk igu

She stares at his messages, for how long, she’s not sure. Regardless, her delayed response must’ve been long enough to trigger something in him. More messaged come.

Sito💢 — Could tb it over food, I’m buying

Sito💢 — Lmk

The word “food” reminds her body that the last time it’s consumed anything was honestly too long ago to remember—and that she desperately needs to go grocery shopping. 

Her stomach feebly growls.

Sito💢 — Could tb it over food, I’m buying ?

↳ 👍

•

Even with the promise of food, getting ready proved to be an arduous task. She isn’t in the highest of spirits to really dress as nicely as she usually would.

Fishing through the laundry spilling from her closet, she finds her blue Gallery Department hoodie buried under a pile of clothes.

It’s actually Sito’s. Just one of the many pieces she’d stolen from his closet during a visit over to his place.

The hoodie pools around her upper half. She’s got to tuck it under her bra so that it sits right on her. The only pair of denim shorts she can find are her choice of bottoms for the day. 

Her fresh white ankle socks just barely peek out over the low tops of her Converses—a years-old birthday gift.

She ambles out of her room with her phone in one hand and her purse dangling from the other. It isn’t until she reaches the kitchen that she takes a knee to lace up her sneakers.

Just as she finishes the bow of her laces on the second foot, her phone buzzes from beside her foot on the floor. Sito’s contact name flashes across the screen with a FaceTime call. She answers, and her face shrinks as his takes up the entire screen.   

His caramel skin glistens. Fresh braids line his twisting head, dark eyes straying from the camera as his focus is clearly on the road ahead of him.

“Yo.”

“Hey,” she mumbles.

He glances at her, doing a quick once-over of the screen.

“You good?”

“Not really.”

His lips press together in thought as he looks at the road ahead of him. “You gon’ be good, I’m pulling up right now. Come downstairs.”

“Alright.”

“Aight.”

The call ends just as quickly as it started. She shoves her phone into her hoodie pocket and slings her purse over her right shoulder. Quick to grab the keys to her apartment, she heads out of the door and locks it behind herself.

The elevator ride down to the lobby is really a blur. Though, her mind seems to return once she catches sight of the sleek, black Audi Q5. The smile that appears on her face is weak, but at least it’s there.

She’s quick to get to the passenger-side door, pulling it open. “Hey,” she says softly, as she hops into the seat.

The scent of his car warms her chest. So characteristically him. Yet, she can pick up on the separate scent of the cologne he’s wearing, Tom Ford’s Bitter Peach.

He makes the first move, reaching over the middle console to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Wassup.”

She leans into him, her cheek squished against the ball of his shoulder. The hug barely lasts a second. And even with his sweater on, she still feels the chill of when he pulls away.

“You smell good,” he says over the sound of her shuffling in her seat, getting situated.

“Forreal?” The crisp click of her seatbelt cuts through the air.

Looking away, he puts the car in drive, carefully pulling out of the temporary parking spot. “Yeah.”

“Funny thing is, I didn’t even spray nothing on me. I was in a rush, I forgot.” She gathers the hoodie in a pinch, lifting the thick fabric to her freckled, button nose for a quick sniff. “Mmh,” she hums, dropping it. “You’re probably smelling my old perfume on it, I didn’t wash this since the last time I wore it.”

As he’s driving, he seems to do a double-take at her.

“Hol’up—that’s my Gallery hoodie you got on?”

A small, quiet giggle floats from around the nail of her thumb as it’s pushed between the top and bottom rows of her teeth. “I was wondering when you’d notice it was gone.”

“Man, I just got that shit ‘bout … four months ago.” He glances at her one more time, closely eyeing how it shrouds her much smaller frame. “Just spraying your shit all on my clothes like it’s yours.”

“‘Cause it is.” Although quiet, there’s a sass in her tone that relieves him. 

There’s a ghost of a smirk on his pink lips, so faint she doesn’t even see it. “Always playing around in my clothes … barely even notice when something’s missing.”

He isn’t lying. Next to the mall, his closet is her favorite place to shop at.

“I’ma start reporting my shit as stolen.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she mumbles, picking at her outgrown acrylics as she tries to fight back an even bigger smile. “Your mother would not appreciate you lying on my name like that.”

Outside of the car windows, the buildings zoom by. His fast driving hasn’t scared her for a long time. So long as she’s got a functioning seat belt on, she’s secure.

The lemon yellow diamonds on his bracelet glisten when the sunlight hits them; he lifts his hand to play with the curly tuft of hair at his chin. 

“Yeah … you do got my folks thinking you all sweet ‘n’ shit.”

Her eye-roll is polite, despite the rude nature of such an action. “And am.”

“Mmh … nah.” He slows the car as he takes a soft turn. “They just don’t know that you really a brat.”

Her head jerks back, face twisting up with taken offense. “A brat?”

His words posit a bit of energy within her that he enjoyed. Fuck all of that fake, ‘soft-spoken,’ and mopey bullshit.

“No, the fuck I’m not.” She glares his way. 

He grins. “Really? Cause you don’t listen. It’s always an argument, even if you know I’m right.”

“‘Cause you’re not.”

He swipes his tongue along the wall of his cheek. “You think you know everything, huh? You smart, ‘Mani, but you ain’t the only one.”

A scoff. “Really? ‘Cause it feels like it every time we speak.”

He huffs out a breath of laughter, not at all taking her words to heart. “I think you just like hearing yourself talk.”

“I do. Especially when I’m right.” She smiles to herself, triumphantly.

And all he does is shake his head, amused at the whole ordeal. 

Just a quick temperature check, is all that was. He needed to know if her issues were beyond his fixing.

Blindly, he plucks his phone up from its spot in his lap, barely glancing at the screen to unlock it. He tosses the device to her.

“Uh!”

“You been slacking at your job, DJ.”

She kisses her teeth, picking up the phone anyway.

“And don’t play none’a that Slizzy shit. That’s all you been playing lately.”

“Fuck you, it’s good.”

‘It’s really not,’ is what he wants to say. Yet, he holds his fire when he hears the beginning of one of his favorite G Herbo songs over the car’s speakers. 

He begins to bop his head along to the fast-paced beat.

“Yeah, look at you. Like a moth to a flame,” she says with a smirk.

But he doesn’t listen, only happy that he got his way.

As she scrolls through his playlist, looking for a song to queue up that’s more of her taste, a notification pops down on his screen:

Jada — Sitooo

Her eyes narrow. She doesn’t even chance taking a glimpse at him. 

Pursing her lips, Cimani swipes away the message before putting his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb.’ And, no doubt, Sito’s got his Focus Status shared. 

With a one-sided smile, she clicks on a song she actually likes, queue-be-damned.

He kisses his teeth as what is definitely a Slizzy-type beat, begins to play—MHPG Sound’s MHA.

“‘Mani.”

He glances over at her, a large smile splitting her face in half. She only giggles.

“You getting fired soon.”

She laughs harder.

However, eventually, all of that ruckus dies down. Too soon for her liking, actually. 

The silence that fills the space leaves her too much room to think about her problems again—this Jada-character not being one of them. She’s a problem for a different day.

Even if Sito isn’t constantly looking her way, he still sees the way her face slowly falls in his peripheral.

That somber look returns, dragging her pretty face down while her thoughts appear like a dark cloud over her head. 

Thunder’s rumbling, preparing for lightning to strike.

Money.

Her lease.

The apartment—

“You know what your problem is?”

The impending storm quiets, just long enough for her to hear him. It takes seconds longer than normal for her to digest his words.

With what seems to be a surprise attack on her character, she waits for him to continue so that she may decide whether or not to be rightfully offended.

“You be thinking too hard. All these choices and big ass decisions you try to make.”

The birth of this new conversation steals the spotlight from her other issues, shoving those thoughts to a corner in her mind.

“So, what? I should just stop thinking for myself?”

“Didn’t say all that.”

“So what are you saying, then?”

He inhales. “What I’m saying is that, you don’t need to be doing all that thinking and worrying.”

She can only laugh, more out of shock at his audacity. “Excuse me?”

“You tired of it.” He glances at her. “I could tell … should let me be the one doing all that.”

She tries to ignore the way her stomach drops at those words.

“You?” she asks, as if the mere suggestion was an insult. “Oh, please! The nigga constantly losing his wallet?”

He shrugs. “You know I’m right, ‘Mani. You don’t gotta fry me. I’m being serious.”

She kisses her teeth, turning her head to look out of the window, already over this conversation. “Sito, you’re a man. And the last time I put my life into a man’s hands, I almost ended up homeless.”

“Quit comparing me to other niggas.”

As she opens her mouth to say something, he’s already speaking again.

“Told you ‘bout that. I’m your friend, I’d never do you like that.” 

It’s funny. The mention of their relationship sparks a flame of irritation in her. 

Is Jada a friend?

“I just need you to relax around me. That’s all … Relax, and let me take care of shit. Promise you, you’ll like it.”

Releasing a tired sigh, Cimani decides to keep her thoughts to herself. She turns her body back towards the window, allowing the music to fill the space that their conversation once took up.

•

It’s something about going to the mall—call it the spirit of consumerism taking ahold of her. 

Stepping into the cool, wide open space with sunlight pouring in from the glass ceiling, her mood shifts. She can’t lie. 

The mall has always been a place of good vibes and fun experiences. Especially when it comes to Sito being there. 

They’ve been going together for years, at this point. And one thing that always surprises her is how much his love for shopping matches hers.

Quickly, she learned that he’s a great shopping partner. A great plus, too is that he’s got a commendable taste in fashion. But, he doesn’t need to hear that from her.

Their first time going together, she assumed that he’d be a complainer, whining because she took too long in stores trying on every item that caught her eye. Just like everyone else she’d go with.

However, he managed to be the one to outlast her. By the eighth store, she was tired and cranky. Her feet were killing her, and although he held most of the bags, what little she had were growing heavier by the second. And he had the audacity to ask about going to another store.

“Where you tryna go first?” he asks, looking down at her.

“I don’t know.” She doesn’t spare him a glance, still holding onto that conversation from the car. “I’m not gonna buy anything.”

Sito gives her a pointed look. “Lil’ girl’, please pick a store.”

Ignoring his obvious effort at trying to get under her skin, she peers around the busy space. People of all kinds fill the mall. Some walk together while others walk alone. There’s families, friends, and couples alike. 

Entering through the first floor’s main entrance, they’ve come up on the more mainstream stores. Ones that cater more to the general public.

The more expensive stores and boutiques—your name brands—are situated on the higher level, towards the back of the mall. That’s more of Sito’s spot.

However, though, one of the first floor stores catch her eyes: Windsor. Sito follows her gaze. 

“Aight, c’mon then,” he says, gently taking her wrist to pull her along. 

Her protest is only a silent roll of the eyes.

Upon entering the store, his hand drops hers. “Go crazy.”

With a raised brow and a twisted lip, she glares up at him. “Sito, I don’t have money to waste—”

“So don’t.”

She scowls at him.

Letting go of a stressed sigh, he’s more than ready to give up on this conversation. Because he thought it went unsaid that, “If you want something, I’ma get it.”

For a moment, she only stares. The irritation on her face fades, but it doesn’t disappear. 

“Is this an apology?”

He shrugs. “If that’s how you wanna take it.”

Her bright eyes narrow before rolling yet again. She pulls away from him, heading to the first rack that earns her attention. As she walks away, he looks on with satisfaction.

•

There’s racks on either side of them, clothes strewn all over the place. Hangers are twisted and shoved into spots they don’t belong.

All courtesy of Cimani.

He can admit, his friend is a messy shopper. And while he can’t help but to notice it, she doesn’t seem to even be aware of her issue. Her focus is elsewhere.

“What do you think about this?”

To her chest, she holds up the tiniest tennis skirt Sito has ever seen in his life. 

And yet, his eyebrows don’t even raise a fraction.

He’s familiar with Cimani’s taste in fashion. Skin-tight and revealing. He knows who his friend is; “the shorter, the better,” she once said. 

This late in the game, he doesn’t even blink twice when her pants ride a bit too low on her hips or her shirts are too sheer for her brown nipples.

She’s pretty to look at, why would he complain?

“S’cool,” he says, eyeing it. 

The skirt is a soft cream, so pale that it almost appears to be white.

She raises a brow. “That’s all?”

“It’s your style. You already know you gonna look good in it.”

“Hm.” She turns her back to him, tossing the skirt over her arm as she shuffles through the rack. All the while, she’s pressing her glossed lips together, willing them to stay in a straight line.

The pile of clothes hanging over her left arm piques his curiosity. He leans into one of the racks. “You tryna make an outfit or something?”

“I guess,” she sighs out. “I’m not finding anything cute enough, though.”

If she can find this beautiful skirt, why can’t she walk out of here with a whole new outfit?

And that’s how she spends the next twenty minutes in this store, turning it on its head to find a good enough top to go with it. Though, she doesn’t neglect to swipe up anything else that catches her eyes. 

“What the fuck?” She groans. Frustration creases up her face, as she defeatedly joins the line.

“It’s other stores, Mami,” Sito gently reminds from behind her.

She only rolls her eyes. “I wanted something from here, though.”

Throwing a heavy arm around her shoulders, he pulls her body to his chest. The weight of his pull causes her to scuff her CDG Converses against the toes of his Balenciaga ASICS, but he ignores it.

“You gonna find something.”

Her heart flutters from the affection. She keeps the feeling bottled up.

Silence settles between them for some time as they slowly move up in the line. Sure, the clothes have begun to grow heavy in her arms, but she doesn’t mind it too bad. 

However, the arm around her shoulders is definitely a stronger weight. And even as he scrolls through his phone, hitting up any app that catches his interest, Sito doesn’t pull his arm away. 

How many times has she been in his phone? He’s not too worried.

With no choice left but to watch, her eyes scour his screen with a detached interest. 

Until she looks in the upper right hand corner of the screen to see the ‘Do Not Disturb’s crescent symbol.

Her lips purse.

“So … who’s Jada?”

His thumb twitches over the screen. Against her back, his chest slowly inflates with a deep but slow breath.

“Not anyone you know.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds as she waits for a response.

He kisses his teeth. “She not nobody for you to be worried about.”

Wrong answer. 

“Hope you didn’t leave her on ‘delivered.’”

There’s a subtle twist of her lips now.

“I didn’t.”

Before he can provide a better answer, she pulls away to stand on her own.

He sighs to himself. It’s so soft, it can almost be mistaken as a simple exhale.

Without a doubt, there’s more questions she wants to ask, more things she wants to say. But … she keeps quiet. 

They remain parted until they finally reach the register. 

“Hello, would you like to pay with cash or card?” the cashier asks while tapping away at the register. She’s a younger worker, clearly in her teens. 

Cimani’s lips part to give an answer.

“Card.”

Her mouth shuts, head jerking back as she gives Sito a glare. The cashier simply nods as she begins to scan each item.

“What’s the next store?”

She doesn’t spare him a glance as she shrugs plainly. Her frank demeanor makes him press his lips together in annoyance. He stares her down.

“‘Mani.”

“What?”

“Look at me.”

Her upper lip curls in distaste. She doesn’t obey.

“Bro, cmon.”

This time she listens, but the frown on her face deepens. That doesn’t matter too much to him.

“Dap me up.”

With a small grin, he holds out a ringed hand. The diamonds in the jewelry glisten under the store’s warm lighting.

Cimani only gives him a stiff once-over.

“Dap me up,” he presses. The jewelry on his wrist softly clink against each other as he shakes his hand for emphasis.

“Your total is two fifty-six, eighteen,” the cashier cuts in. “You can tap whenever you’re ready.”

Sito wants to groan. Dropping his hand, he retrieves his phone from his pocket to proceed with ApplePay. Shortly after, his phone dings with the successfully completed purchase.

“You over here catching an attitude, but she ain’t the one I’m getting shit for right now.” Reaching over the counter, he grabs the large shopping bags from the cashier’s hand.

“Have a good day,” Cimani tells her with a short smile, before walking ahead of him.

He follows.

“So you do this for all your friends, then?” she asks as they leave the store.

His face twists up. “One—she’s not my friend. And two, Hell nah.” 

Just as fast, he drops the disgusted look. He switches the shopping bags to the other hand, throwing his free arm back around her smaller shoulders. 

“You know I only do this type’a shit for you, Mami.”

Rolling her eyes at the nickname, she begrudgingly succumbs to his affection. Her body goes lax as she eventually leans mores into his touch.

Without a mention, Sito pulls them in a specific route, effectively leading the way to another store.

“Where we going?” she asks after a while.

“This one store I seen.”

When that’s all he says, her face contorts in confusion. “That’s it? What’s the name of the store?”

“Man, I’on know. But, we ‘bout to see, chill.”

She scoffs. “So damn annoying.”

It takes less than five more minutes for them to reach the new location. And “new” it is.

“I never seen this place before,” she says as they cross the threshold.

The store takes on more of a boutique style. There’s decorations of frills, lace, and baby pink all around them. These type of clothes seem to be more of a coquette style.

“Yeah,” he says, leading her towards the back of the store. “Seen it the other day when I came to pick up something.”

A soft gasp leaves her as she places a delicate hand over her chest in offense. “You came to the mall without me? What the fuck, Sito?”

He kisses his teeth, reaching overhead to riffle through a wall-mounted rack. “Relax, just had to get my mom’s pick-up order. I was in and out.”

“So you only went to one store?”

He lifts a cropped cardigan out from behind a couple of its other duplicates. He hands it over. “Yes.”

Without a question, Cimani takes the item. She doesn’t even check the size, confident that he knows hers. 

“You promise?” She gazes up at him with big eyes.

As he stares down at her dramatic pout, he’s reminded of how cherubic her face is.

Faint freckles dot the apples of her cheeks and spill over the bridge of her nose. He only really sees them when he gets this close. On the apple of her left cheek, there’s a tiny beauty mark that stands out. And her lashes—which, speaking of—

“You need a fill-in.”

Her face falls. “Fuck you.”

With a smirk, he huffs out a breath of laughter. “You made an appointment for that yet?”

Finally, she takes a good look at the cardigan he’d given her. She frowns at it. “No.”

“Don’t do that, it’s cute,” he says, referencing the cardigan. “Y’know that’s your style.”

She looks at him challengingly. “Is it?”

“It’s gonna look good on you.” He eyes the piece closely, imagining it with the skirt she just purchased. “But, tell me when you book the appointment.”

“Yeah, you would like to know. ‘Cause you just love running errands with me.” She smirks, throwing the cardigan over her arm.

“I just know you gonna ask for a ride.” He takes her bag from the previous store as she walks over to some dresses. And, of course, he follows. “No car,” he mocks.

She picks up a backless, maxi dress. “Keep being sassy and you won’t have anyone to be taking.”

“Yeah, okay.” He eyes the dress. “Don’t get that.”

Kissing her teeth, her face screws up. “Who the fuck are you to tell me what to wear?”

“A nigga that cares, that shit ugly,” he scoffs. “I’on know why you even picked that up. Y’know I’m your stylist.” His statement finishes with a soft smirk, only earning an aggressive eyeroll.

“And what if I like to dress myself, hm? What if I really liked this dress?”

He sucks his teeth, jerking his head back. “C’mon, y’know that’s not gonna fit you right. Look at the cut,” Sito gestures to the baggy fabric. “You too pretty for that.”

Rolling her eyes, Cimani puts the dress back. 

“That’s not even your style. Just picking shit up to do it—“

“Anyway,” she laughs. The bubbly sound tapers off with a sigh. “I can’t really afford a fill-in right now. You know that.”

“That’s why I said to let me know when you book it, duh. Ain’t no other reason I’ma say that.”

“And when the fuck did you become a trick?”

The simple question earns a chuckle out of him as he follows her on the way over to a short rack of cropped tops. 

“You think you funny,” he smiles.

“You’re laughing, aren’t you?” She pushes a hanger or two to the side, trying to find her size.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Cimani only rolls her eyes.

“Quit questioning me. I’m just tryna make sure you look good.”

•

And he wasn’t lying about that. 

After leaving the second store, with Sito having bought her even more clothes, he decides to take her to his list of favorite stores: Alo, Nordstrom, Lulu Lemon, Bloomingdales, and even a couple of sneaker resale stores. 

Granted, he hadn’t bought something from every store they visited, but he undoubtedly dropped about two bands on her. A little less on himself, just a small cop of some shoes he’s been eyeing for some time.

He was ready to spend more, really cash out and make his best friend feel better, but the food court called for them. And when it’s time for them to eat, that typically marks the end of their shopping trip.

The line for their choice of lunch wasn’t horrendously long—a relief when they’ve got at least five large shopping bags between them. 

When they take their seats, Sito is sure to keep them at his feet, underneath the table. There is the soft crinkle of paper bags and wrappers as they chew on their selection of fries and chicken sandwiches. 

As usual, Sito finishes his meal prematurely. He only rolls his bag over, mentally swearing to go back to this leftover fries later—which he never does. To clear his throat, he takes a sip of his lemonade as he eyes Cimani.

“So,” he begins, setting down his half-finished cup. “You wanna talk about it forreal or…?”

She glances up, a blank expression covering her face. “What do you mean?”

“Shit, you tell me. Something’s clearly bothering you.”

It was only a matter of time.

“And don’t try to say it’s nothing.” He points a playfully warning finger in her face.

For a second or two, she only stares at him. But, that’s all it takes for her to crack a smile. With a lazy hand, she pushes his out of her face and looks down at her food.

She doesn’t know what to say first. Her smile falters as she builds her response in her head.

“Life’s just … beating my ass.” 

A soft sigh slips through parted lips. After eating and the natural wear of the day, there’s hardly any trace of her lipgloss left.

She shakes her head. “It’s about my apartment.”

His brows pull together. “What you mean?”

“Like … ugh.” Her head falls into her hands, her elbows pressed into the surface of the table. “Why is apartment searching so hard.”

The wrinkle in his brows deepens. Since when had she been planning to move?

Cimani picks her head up out of her hands. “My lease is ending in less than two months and I can’t afford to renew it. They’re asking for too much.”

“How much?”

She sighs, picking at her fries. “An extra three-hundred.” Her dark eyes flick upwards to peer into his. “I’m already struggling with my rent as is, Sito. I can’t afford this. I’m already burning through my savings trying to keep up ‘cause it took me so long to get this new job.”

Quiet, he rubs a hand down the lower half of his face, sitting up straighter in his chair. 

“Everything I find is too expensive, and for what these aprtments are offering, it’s not worth it,” she continues. “Everything in this city is just so fucking expensive.”

The fatigue in her voice is almost tangible.

“And what’s actually in my price range is outside the city, and those units aren’t even an option for me. They’re too far from my job to have to take public transportation every day. I don’t even have a car.”

The more she talks, the more he finds her shrinking in on herself. Her shoulders become more hunched, her voice grows shaky, and her frown deepens. 

She picks at the fraying of her shorts. “I can’t risk being late to this job, Sito. I just started it, I’m still on probation.”

Her cracking voice causes a heavy feeling in his chest. His mouth twitches, threatening to fall into a frown of its own. 

How can he make this better?

It only takes about ten seconds for him to formulate an idea.

“What if I let you borrow my car?”

His words seem to pluck her head up, her eyes wide and brows pulled together. 

“What?”

She shakes her head. “Sito, I can’t—“

“Nah, hol’on—obviously, it’s not gonna be the one I drive. Just take the Benz.”

“Sito—”

“I’m serious.”

‘Just take the Benz.’ Did he even realize how that sounded? Sometimes, Cimani feels like it slips his mind how different things are for them.

“And if I scratch it doing some dumb shit or I get in an accident, then what?”

“Then I get it fixed, ‘Mani.” The wrinkle in Sito’s brows grows deeper. “What you tripping for? You need the car, right?”

“I can’t take your car, Sito.” Reaching out, she plucks a single fry from its container and pops it into her mouth, just to keep her body moving. 

Truth be told, the nature of this conversation has ruined her appetite. She chews for longer than normal.

His sigh, one of stress this time around, is quite loud. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything. But when he finally does… 

“So what you gonna do about the apartment, Mami?” His voice is tendered as he tries to meet her where she’s at.

Mid-swallow, she almost chokes on her food.

The nickname; she’s used to hearing it from him—an inside joke between them that should’ve long since died when he said it by mistake to her, during a heated conversation. 

Too unserious for their own good, the two friends couldn’t help but dissolve into laughter, effectively ending the argument.

Ever since, Sito found himself using it whenever he felt like being funny. 

Actually, that was the case.

She’s not really sure when the change happened, but most times now, she finds him using the nickname with a sincerity that’s almost … sickening. 

It actually tends to catch her off guard more often than not these days.

At the very least, she can acknowledge how she really likes when he says it. Even if, at times, she can’t handle it. Especially those times when he purposely softens his voice just to call her that.

Recentering her breathing, she looks past him.

“I dunno,” she mumbles. “Um … guess I’ll just have to keep … looking.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment. The absence of a response has her believe that he chose to accept the situation for what it is, just like she had. That he chose to drop the subject and that they can get back to their day of fun.

“If you want—and not on no weird shit, aight? I just want you to consider it … you could choose to renew the lease, and I’ll give you the difference.”

“Sito,” she exhales. “I cannot make you pay my rent—“

“It’s a good thing you not making me, then. And I’m not paying your rent, ‘Mani. I’m just giving you the rest of it. That’s all. We don’t gotta talk about it ever. I’ll just set up a payment schedule every month—”

“No, Sito, no. You’re my friend, and I love you—I love that you’re trying to help me. I appreciate you, I really do—even for today. Thank you, but I can’t make you do that. I can’t use you.”

“You not using me ‘Mani, damn.” The signs of irritation bleed onto his face, even if he hadn’t intended for it to show. “Where the fuck you getting that shit from? I just wanna make sure you good.”

“And thank you for that, Sito. Seriously, but I’m never letting a nigga get the chance to say that he’s the one paying my rent or holding my living situation over my head. No one’s ever gonna control me like that. Ever. I need to be able to do this on my own. Just respect my wishes, please? Please.“

His exhale tells her all too well that he isn’t the happiest about this.

“Aight … aight then.“

“Thank you… If you wanna help, just … help me find a new place.”

He licks his lips as he shifts in his seat. He nods. “Okay, I’ma help you.” 

“Thank you.” She gives a somber smile. 

It’s so weak that it trembles under the weight of trying to conceal just how hopeless she is.

Yet, the longer he looks at her, the more that smile cracks. And the cracks just keep getting bigger and bigger until the mask shatters. 

A small whine leaves her as she hides her face in her hands. There’s a hiccup he doesn’t hear, but a wet sniffle comes right after. That, he definitely hears.

“‘Mani—“

“I just feel so fucking … broke and ugly.”

Her shoulders tremble as she begins to wipe at her wet face.

“Like … I’m a fucking bum!”

“Aye.” Sito reaches out for her across the table, gently pulling her hand away from her face. “You not a bum, Mami.”

“I feel like one.”

“But you not. C’mon, quit all that crying.” 

She doesn’t look him in the eyes as he thumbs away her falling tears.

“I can’t even get—get my hair done … o-or do my nails,” her voice wavers. 

She can’t deny that she’s painfully aware of her overgrown nails. At this point, her shorties were now considered medium length.

“My lashes are way past a fill-in, a-and now I-I look like a fucking—cartoon character with j-just three lashes on each eye—“

“Aye, c’mon now. Stop.” He rubs her collected tears between his thumb and forefinger before wiping more of them away. “You know you better than that. You just in a rough spot right now.”

Her face creases up again as another cry leaves her, more tears bubbling up at her waterline.

He pulls his hand away to grab her a clean napkin. “Here—look.”

She sniffles again. “Th-thank you,” she hiccups, taking the napkin.

“You good,” he says softly, watching her clean herself up.

Silence settles over the two of them as Cimani slowly regains her composure while Sito patiently waits for her.

“You not ugly, Cimani. You just not done up, and that’s cool. You’on need all that shit. I know how you step. Don’t gotta prove shit to no one.”

A numb sensation settles over her while she listens to his encouraging words. And she appreciates them more than she can even say.

“Just focus on getting that new place first. We gonna find something.”

The only response she can give is a nod.

Her inhale is shaky. She wipes at her face again. With a tired sigh, she places the balled up napkin down on the table. 

“I don’t even wanna go home tonight,” she croaks.

“You don’t got to.”

Finally, she peers at him with glassy eyes. The frown on her lips has yet to go away.

“You wanna leave?”

She nods.

“Aight.”

•

There is no jingling of keys or the click of a lock when he opens his apartment. Instead, there’s a soft whirr when he simply taps his phone against the electronic lock.

He pushes the door open softly and shifts to the side to let her through. Cimani keeps quiet as she slips past him, entering what Sito’s dubbed as her “second home,” for the first time in a few weeks.

When he enters right after her, he flicks on the lights to his kitchen and living room, illuminating the large, open area.

After leaving her shoes at his door, she heads straight to the couch. As much as she loves his place in all of its sleek, contemporary nature, she’s too exhausted and sad to enjoy the decor tonight.

“I’ma go put the bags in the room,” he mumbles.

She nods as he’s already on the way to his bedroom. Settling back against the large, burnt orange cushions, her eyes fall closed as she exhales.

In this time by herself, her brain replays the issues that plague her life with a kind of hurried exhaustion. 

She doesn’t even hear when Sito comes back out. However, when the knock of a closed cabinet door sounds, she finds him in the kitchen. With a new change of clothes, might she add.

Behind the bar-like counter, he holds the long neck of a wine bottle. Just a few inches away, there are two wine glasses, ready to be filled.

“You look like you need to drink your problems away.”

Her face softly creases with a weak smile. She doesn’t even have it in her to give a tiny laugh. 

The bottle isn’t unopened. Usually, he only brings this one out when she’s over. It’s the only brand he owns that she’ll drink.

Without much thought, unscrews the top off of the bottle and pours the first glass. The drink’s deep red color flows into the crystal clear cup, which he eyes with caution.

“On the table right there, it’s my laptop. You could get it.”

Her brows pull together as she looks at him.

He glances at her, feeling those dark brown—almost black—eyes on him. “We gonna find some listings.”

He had looked back at the cup too quick to notice the way her face softened and opened up. But, maybe it’s a good thing he hadn’t seen it—she gets the feeling that he’s seen her get teary-eyed enough for the day.

By the time she retrieved his laptop, a new MacBook—at least much newer than hers—he’s already heading over to the living room with their glasses of wine.

“Password’s the same as my phone.”

She types away, unlocking the device with ease.

“Thank you,” she glimpses at him as he rests her cup on the coffee table, in a spot closest to her.

He takes his own seat in the crook of the couch’s L-shape, just a cushion or two down from where she sits at.

Cupping the bottom of his glass, Sito holds it close to his mouth as he begins use of his phone. He’s the picture of relaxation, it’s almost funny.

He’s got his glasses on—which he only wears when he really feels like being focused. Straight-leg sweats cover his tatted legs. He’s got the ankle of one resting over the knee of the other, his lifted leg forming a right angle. His raised foot wags, both feet clad in his Balenci house slides.

Truthfully, he looks like somebody’s mother. Especially with his small bonnet covering his cornrows.

“What’s your budget?”

She blinks out of her reverie. “Um … two-thousand?”

He takes a sip of his wine, attention still buried in his phone as he types away.

She decides that before he catches her staring, to focus her attention on the laptop and start searching for apartments.

•

Sade plays softly through his surround sound—he’d decided that they needed the accompaniment of music shortly into their search.

Her cup sat untouched for the better half of an hour before she started to sip on it. She’s not sure what to say about this search.

She’s grateful that Sito’s helping, beyond grateful, but a lot of what they find are listings she’s seen before. Cimani’s come to learn the available apartments of their city like the back of her hand.

And the results they’re getting, for her budget, aren’t really even good enough options. Unsafe neighborhoods, not enough space, bad reviews on landlords, units so in-need of a renovation that it was a safety hazard at this point—it’s a struggle.

Near the bottom of Sito’s cup sits the dregs of his drink. He abandoned it on the coffee table just before he reached the bottom of the cup, claiming to “lock in” on this search.

However, at this point he thinks he actually might need another glass to help him continue this search.

With a soft grunt, he slowly unfolds to reach forward for the wine bottle on the table.

“This shit killing me,” he rasps, pouring into her cup before he does his.

“Imagine I’ve been doing this for months now.”

He kisses his teeth, recapping the bottle. “Might as well live with me at this point.” The laugh that proceeds afterwards, is messy and loose.

That’s the wine talking.

“At this point,” she agrees with a giggle. “Clear out a couple drawers for me.”

Definitely the wine talking.

Cradling his cup, he falls back into the embrace of the couch. All the while, he keeps his eyes on her as a lazy smile lifts his lips.

“You know you gon’ wear all my shit anyway.”

Looking over the edge of his laptop, she finally makes eye contact with him. His gaze is stiff, unmoving, as he holds her stare over the edge of the cup while taking another sip.

His lips smack as he swallows the tart drink. “Could move in tonight if you wanted.”

She only smiles, finally gaining the strength to look back at the laptop’s screen.

“You’on think we could live together?” he pushes.

A shortened piece of laughter leaves her as the state of his lovely space, as opposed to hers, comes to mind.

“No.”

His face scrunches up. “Why?”

“I’m too messy for you, Sito.”

“Oh, so—so you aware.”

“Shut up,” she giggles again.

His smile is smooth as he pulls the sound out of her.

“But…” He sits up on the couch, even leaning forward some. “You know I’ll hire a cleaner behind you.”

The soft slur of his words makes her scoff. She almost can’t even hear it.

He kisses his teeth. “Stop playing with me, you know I’ll do it.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Aight, then. So what’s the issue?”

Pursing her lips, Cimani chances giving him another look. “I thought you hate when I take your clothes.”

The second before he answers, he stares into her eyes as he wets his lips. His own eyes are low. “You know I don’t give a fuck about that shit … be forreal.” A smile inches at her lips.

He only breaks eye contact to push a finger up under the band of his bonnet. His eyes slightly roll off as he scratches an itch.

“You know a nigga like that shit, quit acting dumb.”

She’d heard his mumbled words loud and clear. She swallows, her throat dry. It almost tempts her to take some more wine. But she knows it’ll have her saying stupid shit,

“Do you let Jada wear your stuff?”

Like that.

The smirk she wears is hollow, but only she knows that. But, she can’t deny the pang in her chest that appears when he looks offended at her words.

“Yo—don’t—“ He shakes his head, as if trying to erase his mind like an Etch-A-Sketch. “Why you even bring that up?”

She shrugs weakly, looking back at the computer. “Thought that’s what y’all were on,” she says plainly. Though, on the inside she feels like she stepped on a landmine. “Since, y’know, you said she wasn’t a friend.”

“‘Cause she’s not. How those things even connect? And—yo, stop playing on me, you know I don’t bring nobody back to my place. You crazy?” His face seems to screw up the more he thinks about what she said. “All this shit I got up in here—You the only one I let in here. You know that. Quit acting like—“ 

He cuts himself off with the kiss of his teeth, growing more frustrated. He scrubs a hand down the front of his head, a habit he’s never shaken, even after growing out his waves.

“Yo, quit moving like you’on know who you are and what shit is, ‘Mani. You be pissing me off with that shit, forreal.”

She stays quiet, at war with herself on whether or not it’s good that she wants to smile. On the other hand, Sito reaches forward to gulp down more of his wine.

The conversation leaves off there, both electing to continue their search in silence. And it stays that way for a long while. 

This time around, as they put their all into this, both sparingly touch their cups. It was growing harder to focus with all of the drinking.

But, the silence can’t last forever. A yawn wrestles its way out of Cimani. Shortly after, the same happens for Sito.

Then, there’s another pause for silence.

“Look at what I just sent you.”

Wordlessly, she picks up her phone just as it receives a text. Without hesitance, she opens the link he’d sent her.

For $1,850 a month, it’s a newly renovated one bedroom, one bathroom unit almost twenty minutes from her current apartment. Much closer to her new job. Amenities include a rooftop lounge, a gym, and in-unit laundry. And what’s more, is that it’s conveniently located near public transportation.

“Oh my God,” she says, sitting up straighter, her eyes opening a bit wider. She slides the laptop onto the couch, beside her. “This is perfect. How did you find this?”

This is the first time she’s looked at him in almost an hour. And it brings her some relief to see the tiny grin on his lips.

Their last conversation was forgotten, it seems.

“Told you we was gonna find something.”

Looking back down at her phone, she continues to  scroll through the listing, loving it more by the second.

By the looks of it, she’d have to do some minimal downsizing, but this unit would be the perfect size for her. She’s been meaning to get rid of some hoarded junk for a while now.

As she scrolls to the bottom of the page, ready to apply, reality steps in to remind her that nothing ever just works out perfectly for her.

Her smile drops upon seeing the greyed out text: In Contract.

“What? What happened?” 

She peers up to see him watching her, before she looks back down at the screen.

“It’s already in contract, Sito.” She throws her head back against the couch, groaning out. “What the fuck!”

“Don’t trip, relax. See if they left a email and shoot ‘em one about the listing.”

She picks her head back up, worry all over her face. “Don’t you know what that means? They’re already in the process of renting out the space to someone.”

For the umpteenth time today, he sucks his teeth. “‘Mani, you don’t know what stage of the process they in. They could still be looking for applicants.”

“I don’t think they’re looking for anyone else, they blocked off the option to even apply.”

“Which is why you should email ‘em. They gonna see that you serious about the shit. And if they do go forward with this person, they might got another unit they could offer you just like this one. It looks like this place is new.”

He’s got a point.

“Fine,” she sighs out, resigning to his idea.

Sure enough, she finds an email address for the apartment’s leasing office.

“It’s gonna work, I promise you. That’s how I got my place,” he says as she types out her message.

“Okay, listen to this.”

As she recites her message, he listens intently, seeking out any errors for her to fix. When she finishes, she watches him with bated breath as he thinks it over.

“Mmh … it’s good. Send it.”

“Okay,” she breathes out.

Within that second, she presses the send button on the email and watches it get whisked off to the recipient.

“I hope they get back to me soon,” she pouts, lying back against the couch as she looks over at him.

“Forreal.”

They’re both tired, it’s too obvious in the way their eyes droop and their bodies sag against the couch—likely leaving large indents of where they’d been.

“Ugh, I’m over this,” she says. Feeling a bit better about this whole ordeal, she shuts his laptop and places it back on the coffee table.

As she stands to stretch, Sito remains seated, tapping away at his phone.

“Not even gon’ lie … I’m fake tired, but … not tryna go to bed right now.”

He looks up at her through his glasses, eyeing the way the muscles in her legs flex as she stands on her toes. All these years later, and the history of running competitive track back in high school was still there.

He looks up at her face, seeing that she’s already been staring at him. He’s been caught.

Oops?

“What do you wanna do?” she asks as her arms drop to her sides.

“Not gon’ lie,” he drags out the word, contemplating on saying his idea out loud. “You tryna go live with me?”

Her brows raise. “Live, Sito?”

“It’s lowkey fun, sometimes.” He shrugs.

“Sometimes.” She scoffs. “People are mean online. And you have mad followers, I’m not tryna have all those people talk about me.”

“Please,” he waves off. “You gon’ be fine. I’m not letting them niggas talk about you.”

She looks at him, pressing her lips into a thin line as she weighs her options. “I be reading your comments sometimes, I don’t want none of your thirsty-ass fans saying nothing just ‘cause they see you with a girl.”

“Fans is crazy,” his voice muffled as he rubs a hand down his face. “Not worried about that.”

“Easy for you to say.”

He sits up in an instant, feeling a burst of energy. Standing, he grabs their near-empty cups in one hand and the wine bottle in the other.

“You wanna do it or not? Don’t be boring.”

He leaves the area to enter the kitchen. Setting the bottle down on the counter, he heads over to the sink.

“Are you peer-pressuring me?” Cimani follows after him.

He scoffs. “Yes,” he says, dumping out each glass before opening the pipe to wash it all down.

“That’s terrible.”

“Didn’t hear a ‘no,’ though.”

“That’s how peer-pressure works, dummy.”

The corner of his mouth up-turns. “Then I won.”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. 

As he sets up to go live on his phone, clearing anything from his space that can be too revealing, Cimani raids his pantry for her favorite snack—Rice Krispie Treats.

The half-empty wine bottle is used as a phone-stand, as he’s too lazy to retrieve his actual one from his office. He sits before the device, at his counter-top, among one of the many bar stools usually tucked beneath it.

“I’m ’bout to start the live. If you don’t wanna be on, let me know and I won’t put you in it.” He opens up the app TikTok. “Just let me know when you wanna pass through so I could move the camera.”

She shakes her head as she swallows a bit of her snack. “I’ll be in it.”

He peers up at her with a raised eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Aight.”

Finally, he starts the live as she watches from behind the counter.

In the first couple of minutes, about three-hundred viewers roll in. He watches the screen, leaned forward on his elbows.

“What’s up, yall. What’s up … goodnight,” he greets.

The comments roll in, greeting him back. Some playfully berate him for the time he’s choosing to go live, claiming they have to miss this one because they have work in the morning, but they just wanted to stop in and say ‘hi.’ 

The views reach to a steady count of over five-hundred people.

“Came on here ‘cause I was bored, ain’t gon’ lie to y’all,” he says, readjusting his bonnet.

Cimani takes the last bite of her snack, crumbling up the wrapper into a little ball in her hand.

The soft crinkling earns his attention, as it had been the only sound while he read more comments. He peers at her over the wine bottle, the two watching each other for a very still, handful of seconds.

He’s the first one to break, quietly chuckling with a fist over his mouth as she smiles, throwing her garbage into the trash can.

His focus returns to the phone.

“‘He got a bonnet on … lawd, who gon’ be the boys?’” He kisses his teeth.

Cimani laughs, careful to keep the sound hushed.

“Man, we not doing that bullshit tonight.” He sits up straighter. “I got hair, and I need a line-up, chill.” He swipes his hand over his head. “Can’t even find none of my durags.”

The sound of Sito explaining himself becomes background noise as she opens his fridge for a bottle of water. The door closes on its own with a soft shut.

As she cracks the bottle open, she notices Sito watching her.

“They asking who in the back.”

She freezes, the cool bottle to her lips.

“They could hear you moving,” he laughs.

She swallows. “Oh, sorry.”

He shakes his head. “You good. Come in the camera,” he beckons her over.

She takes her time to close the bottle before setting in down. As he watches her, pushing back his stool some to allow space, he’s got a smile on his face.

He ignores the small burst in comments, questioning who he’s calling for off-screen.

When she finally joins his side, he pulls her to stand in front of him, before the camera. Holding her by her shoulders, he keeps her steady.

“Introduce yourself.”

“Um—“ she laughs shyly. “Hi,” she waves.

The comments pour in, complimenting her and asking for her name. If there were an insult or two, none of them catch it.

“She being shy, y’all—“

“Shut up—“

“This is ‘Mani.”

“Oh my God,” she gasps, lifting a hand to her head. “Why didn’t you tell me about my hair,” she whines, trying to smooth down the flyaways of her silky bob.

He pulls back, eyes scouring her head for any imperfections he might’ve overlooked.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

Reaching up, he smooths out the back of her head to make sure that all of her hairs fall straight.

“So why’re you fixing it?” she pouts.

“Chill … just tryna make you straight in the back.”

When it’s finally good enough for him, he returns his attention to the Live’s comments. 

“Yeah, she pretty, right?” 

“They’re actually nice,” she says quietly, her fingers pressed into her lips.

He hums. “Told you, you was gonna be good.” 

Beneath the surface of the bar table, he toys with the fraying of her shorts against her outer thigh. The ticklish touches pull goosebumps up from her skin.

“Um, how was you guys’ day?” She giggles nervously.

Her laugh gets a soft smile out of him. Still eyeing her body, he slips the tip of his finger beneath the leg of her shorts.

“You don’t wanna come up outta these?”

The question catches her off guard, admittedly. She looks down at him, already seeing him stare up at her.

“I … don’t have any clothes over.”

Her voice is quiet, hoping the viewers don’t hear her. She isn’t the most sure of Sito’s reputation online, and she certainly wouldn’t want to ruin it.

“Just take one’a my sweats.”

His voice is noticeably louder, even clearer, than hers.

So, he just doesn’t give a fuck? Got it.

She just nods, recentering her focus back on the live.

“So … we did some shopping today,” he says from behind her. “I ain’t get nothing crazy, just a pair of shoes.” His hands rest on the countertop on either side of her, keeping her in place. “Tell ‘em what you got.” 

“I don’t even remember everything I got.” 

“Oh, wait, you should show ‘em.” He peers from her to the screen. “Y’all tryna see a haul?”

There are too many ’yes’s to count. And it makes her heart race. 

“Sh-should I try them on?”

He shrugs, sitting back in his chair to give her space to leave. “It’s up to you.”

“Alright, um … I’m gonna get the bags.”

As she leaves, Sito monitors the comments, making sure his moderators were doing their job.

User23567907796 So r yall friends orrrr ..

User99645663265 Did I miss a chapter?????

User44666321677 Umm hard launch?🤔

User33561123230 She bad asf tho icl

With every question he answers, there’s a dejected tone in his voice.

“Did you miss a chapter?” He shakes his head. “Nah. You ain’t miss nothing … we friends.” With a finger, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “‘She bad’ … Yeah, she get fly.”

Any comment regarding his looks or trying to spit game at him is left unacknowledged. 

Minutes later, Cimani returns with her bags of purchased items. To which, Sito offers up his seat. She takes it, sitting before the camera.

“Um, I got more clothes than anything,” she starts. “I got one pair of shoes but that’s it. I—“

“Show ‘em,” he says from behind, peering down at her.

She glances back at him. “Huh?”

“Show ‘em the shoes first.”

“Oh, yeah.” Bending down, she rifles through one of the bags to retrieve the box. Balancing it on her lap, she’s careful when taking out the brand new, shiny right foot to her pink Bapestas.

“We got them from a reseller shop,” she says as she shows it off to the camera.

Silently, he reaches out from behind her to assist her in correctly positioning the shoe for the viewers to see.

“Gotta make sure it’s in focus,” he says softly.

“Oh.”

Neither of them read the comments, gushing over how this is clearly her first time interacting with a large audience. 

“You guys see it?” she asks.

“They see it, Mami.”

Her cheeks ache from how long she’s been able to hold a smile. But she can’t stop. Even when she tries to lose it, it’s like the muscles in her face are permanently fixed in this expression.

“Okay,” she says softly, putting the shoe away. “Um … I’m gonna do the clothes now,” she says, looking between the bags to decide which to start on first.

As she scans through each bag, she worries her bottom lip. Would they even find this interesting?

“Start with that one.”

She looks up in time to see him nodding at a large, pale pink bag. Wordlessly, she reaches in, retrieving the first item: a soft white, milk maid style dress.

“Sito actually picked this one out, for me,” she tells the viewers as she holds it up for them. “I accepted, ‘cause it’s close to my style, honestly.”

As she continues showing off her brand new items to the audience, moving through each store, Sito notes her increasing comfort.

Eventually, he even leaves the camera to let her do her own thing. It’s endearing, watching her speak to the viewers. Showing off everything he bought her. Seeing the way her eyes light up with each item, as if she hadn’t been holding them just a few hours before.

As he holds a water bottle, having gotten it from the fridge, he decides that looking at this scene before him—that he likes this. He really likes this.

He’d made the perfect decisions for her, picking out clothes that not only would she like, but would fit her well. That would compliment her.

“I’m not really sure how much all of this was, I can’t lie,” Cimani laughs, answering a frequently asked question among the Live comments.

Rounding the counter, Sito is back in front of the camera with her.

“No, y’all—Sito bought me all these.”

The admitted truth was uttered with an air of shyness. Maybe she was worried about the reaction she’d garner—rightfully so.

And yet, Sito couldn’t find it within himself to care. In fact, he actually felt a seed of pride blossom within him.

Watching the comments roll in, his nose twitches as he reads over one in particular. Her catches it just as Cimani gets up out of the chair.

User2293902682 Better watch out for these females theyll use u

His face twists into a scowl. “Nigga shut the fuck up.” He reclaims his seat before the camera. “I hate a bitchass nigga that just talks.” He kisses his teeth. “Somebody ban that nigga.”

“You’re about to get banned, if you keep cursing like that,” she jokes. “What’d they even say?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Looking over his shoulder at her, he notes the large Alo bag in her hand, looking as though she’s about to leave. “Where you going?”

“I wanted to try on the set you got me. Remember? I didn’t get to try it on in-store.”

He hums, turning back around to look at the live.

Running into his room, she hurries to pull out the grey, cotton ribbed Alo set. She’d always been between sizes. She can only hope that they bought the right size.

Slipping into the set, it feels wonderful against her skin. Her hands spread over her body, feeling over the smooth fabric. The crisp tags dangle from the bra top and leggings.

She pads over to the large mirror staged in the corner of Sito’s room. The set hugs her small frame, even bringing out the faint curve of her hips and the cuff of her small butt.

Staring at her reflection, she can do nothing but smile. 

When she can finally pull herself away from the mirror and out of the room, she re-emerges with a pep in her step.

“Look!”

Sito turns around to see her in her new set. 

“I’m surprised the extra-small fits! I thought I would’ve needed smaller.”

As she gets closer to him, he moves the phone just a few inches over to let the Live see.

“Y’all, look! Isn’t it cute?”

Sat back in his seat, an arm perched on the armrest of the stool, Sito’s cheek is pressed against his knuckles. As Cimani spins and poses for the viewers, he watches on as well. 

Behind the lenses of his undoubtedly expensive frames, his dark eyes run up and down her body. He notes the figure-hugging material, how it makes her butt look just a little perkier.

“Yeah … it’s cute, Mami.”

The words had flowed smoothly from his lips without much of a thought.

“Yeah,” she agrees softly, looking at him with a gentle smile as she toys with the waistband of the leggings. 

The longer he stares, he notices the slight twist in the seam along her butt.

“Come,” he motions over. “Lemme fix it.”

She looks over at him, doe eyes wide with confusion. “What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer as she enters his space, sliding in between his spread legs. 

“The pants is twisted.”

His touch is soft and careful. He barely tugs at the waist band to fix it, while also pulling them up an inch higher. His hands smooth down the sides of her hips, coming to rest at their widest part.

“It’s good now?” she asks, peering down at him.

Licking his lips, he peers up at her. “Yeah.”

Seconds seem to fly by as they stare into each other’s eyes. Cimani is the first to look away, distracting herself with the Live comments.

She gasps, covering her mouth with a hand. “Oh my gosh. They’re going so fast.”

Turning his head, he finally looks back at the Live. He tries to read what he can catch. And from what he can see, damn near all of the comments are about his touchiness regarding his best friend. 

Yet, he still doesn’t pull his hands away.

In fact, his arms encircle her small waist, keeping her in place as he leans against her. 

“I can’t even read them.” She laughs as she passes a hand over his head, feeling the curves of his cornrows beneath the bonnet’s satin.

User282884928 Yall sure yall just friends??

User9298392792I wish my boy bsf treated me to a shopping spree 🙄

User0829927881Are we interrupting🤨

User104882929Jus looked at my bestie and sighed.

She seems to catch the final comment, laughing at the joke. 

“Oh,” she gasps, jumping out of his hold. “The outfit I made—with the skirt? I need to see it.”

Before he can respond, she’s running back to the room with more bags.

As she’s gone, in the mean time, Sito is putting his focus back in the live. There’s mini updates he provides to his audience, informing them on progressions of small tidbits about his life he entails in his TikTok videos.

As he’s talking to them with mild interest, Cimani finally resurfaces.

“I hate to admit it, but you were right about the cardigan.”

He turns his head to see her standing in the hallway that leads to his room. She’s halfway revealed, the lower half of her body hidden in the shadows.

He spins his chair to see her. “Lemme see?”

She steps a few inches forward. The cardigan is stylishly baggy on her, the top button left undone to show subtle cleavage. Its vibrant color pairs wonderfully with the skirt she’d found.

And speaking of said skirt; as she does a little twist, his first impression of the item is confirmed before his very eyes. If she were to bend down even an inch, her ass would be out. 

Granted, she doesn’t have all that much to show off, but the skirt sits pertly on her brown cheeks, teasing at a show. 

“Oh, you can’t show ‘em that,” he says, chasing his phone for it to lay flat on the counter. 

His audience gets a front-row seat to his tall ceilings.

“Come.”

She ambles over to him without hesitation.

“It’s cute right?” she asks, filing back in between his legs.

“You know it is.” Thoughtlessly, he reaches out and cards his fingers between hers, gripping her hand tight. “Didn’t need me to pick it out for you.”

She laughs, the apples of her cheeks lifted to the heavens above. He’s staring at her lips, unabashedly so. There’s a haze to his eyes, he isn’t the most present right now.

How much restraint is he practicing to keep himself from spinning her around and pulling her smaller body on his lap?

Better yet, how much restraint is he practicing that he’s only now picturing just how easy it would be to have her bouncing on his dick?

It would be nothing, she’s so light. He’d be the only controlling her, doing all the work while she just takes it—all of him. Probably crying about how she can’t take it, but about how good it feels. Her cute ass cheeks dropping over his lap. How deep her arch—

“You look pretty, Mami.”

Her brown face is flushed. He can see it.

“Thanks.” She really can’t stop smiling.

“Don’t gotta thank me.” He lets go of her hand to snake his around her waist, cradling the small of her back.

Her expression barely drops for a second as she remembers the Live. “Did you end it?” 

She twists to look at his phone, slightly bending to read the screen.

It’s inevitable, he catches a glimpse of her panties beneath the skirt—a pale, lilac thong that disappears between her cheeks. Yet, he sees the patch of it that covers her.

He swears, it was only a second … but that was the longest second of his life. Time must’ve slowed, because he can recall the barest details of her body. Down to the outline of her lips through the thin cotton. So small and cute in size, like a little pocket.

A burst of heat runs throughout his body.

“Hey, guys,” he hears her say. 

But the Live be damned. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he releases a tired sigh. “Aight, I’m done,” he croaks.

She slips the phone in his hand. He’s the only one filling the screen now, the comments begging for more of Cimani—and asking about that “moment” they just had.

“I’m done talking to y’all niggas.”

With two quick taps of a thumb, he cuts the live off.

“Awe,” Cimani pouts. “That was fun.”

Lifting his arms above his head, he stretches, the bones in his shoulders popping and cracking as he does so. “Mmph—was getting … tired of that shit.”

“Okay, well, bed-time I guess,” she smiles.

“Yeah,” he says, looking elsewhere.

“Help me bring the rest of the bags back in the room?”

Silently, he pulls himself to stand. Together, they bring the bags into his room, positing them in the corner near the mirror.

Getting ready for bed was a smooth process. He’d given her a pair of clothes to sleep in for the night—a large black tee, a random pair of shorts, and an unused pair of boxers he’d recently bought (even though she had to roll them up at the waist to be able to wear them). They showered and brushed their teeth in separate bathrooms, meeting back up in his bed for the night.

“Why this look like my bonnet?” Cimani asks, analyzing the small, satin black bonnet he had passed her.

“It is,” he chuckles, slowly climbing into bed next to her. “You left it over there from last time.”

“Oh.”

With ease, Sito pulls the comforter up high, shielding them from the cool temperature of his room. They don’t go to bed right away, that’s never a reality for either of them.

In fact, they sit up against the soft, fluffy pillows, scrolling through any social media app that catches their attention at the time. They aren’t particularly quiet, either. Cimani plays TikToks quite loudly on her phone, while Sito does his nightly scroll through Twitter.

This grown-up form of adjacent play continues for almost half-an-hour before Sito closes his phone. Setting the device down against his chest, he turns to look at her as she laughs at yet another video.

“Yo, you booked that appointment yet?”

“Huh?” Her focus bounces back and forth between him and the phone. “What, for my lashes?”

“Yeah.” His voice is heavy with fatigue.

“No, Sito,” she stresses, as if this current conversation is an inconvenience to her nightly entertainment.

“Why?”

She sucks her teeth, rolling her eyes as she finally puts the phone down. “Do you wanna do it now?”

Lazily, he shrugs. “Better now than later.”

“Fine,” she sighs, feigning annoyance.

“Yeah, okay,” he side-eyes her. “Matter fact—book the nail appointment first.”

Switching to her Instagram, Cimani pulls up her nail tech’s page to get to her booking site, one tap at a time.

“Hurry up—“

“Don’t rush me.”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. Reaching over, Sito plucks the device from her grasp.

“Hey—“

“Moving too slow.”

Her upper lip screws up in distaste. Nevertheless, she saddles up to his side, watching him fill out her information for the appointment.

“How ya toes look?” He asks, side-eyeing her as his finger hovers over the ‘package’ section.

“Oh my gosh,” she whines, covering her mouth with her hand. “So bad.”

“Lemme see.”

“No!”

He sucks his teeth and gives her a pointed look. “‘Mani.”

“Okay, but don’t say anything!”

Underneath the covers, her leg shifts. She throws it over his hip. Reaching beneath the comforter, Sito blindly fishes for her small foot. Holding her soft sole in hand, he lifts her leg some and pushes down the covers just a bit to examine her toes.

There’s nothing wrong with them. Her white, gel polish is just chipped, but nothing terrible. And even with the old paint job, she still has cute feet. Nothing wrong with them at all.

“Yeah, you need ‘em done.”

“Boy, fuck you.”

“Mmh,” he hums with a one-sided grin.

The appointment is booked with ease before he passes the phone back. “Now book that lash appointment.”

As she does so, he retrieves his phone to continue his twitter scroll.

All the while, her foot remains in his hand, playing with her toes and even massaging her sole. And neither of them say anything about it, enjoying the moment too much to have mention of it mess things up.

Honestly, ‘Mani’s glad that she doesn’t have to outwardly acknowledge it. How can she even explain to him how much she enjoys his gentle touch?

Eventually, it lulls her to sleep. 

Tonight is the first night in a while, that she doesn’t go to bed worried about her future.

ᥫ᭡

MIDNIGHT BLUE OR TORTOISE SHELL BROWN?

Cimani is confident in her ability to make good decisions. She isn’t indecisive, and for as long as she can remember, has never needed anyone to decide anything for her.

She’s prideful about that.

However, swiping back and forth between the two inspo-pictures she’d found from her Pinterest, her bottom lip is caught between her silver-tracked teeth.

It seems her decisiveness has abandoned her.

She wets her lips before speaking. “Sito?”

“Hm?” He hums around his plastic straw.

Stretching an arm over the console, she shows him her screen, looking him in the eyes with a light frown on her two-toned lips. A finger swipes back and forth between the two images.

“Which one?”

Thick brows pull together as his brain struggles to catch up with her rushed thinking. Still sucking down his sprite, he reaches out for the phone, putting a halt to her quick swiping.

She relinquishes her device to him. As he takes the phone, he takes his time to look at each photo. 

Cimani eyes him carefully for a few seconds, then the phone, as if trying to observe them in the same way he does. Then she looks back at him.

“C’mon, which one?”

The urgency in her voice doesn’t make him choose any faster. His cheeks cave in as he only keeps drinking.

She sucks her teeth, sitting back in her car seat with folded arms.

He swallows. “Blue.” He tosses the device into her lap, turning his attention back on the parked car in front of them.

“What? What’s wrong with the brown?” She scrapes her phone up, looking back at the photo of the brown acrylics. “It’s different.”

The ice in his cup tumbles around as he rests his cup in one of the twin cup-holders. 

“You asked my opinion—” He covers his mouth with a fist as a soft burp leaves him.

“I know, but—the brown’s cute!” She pouts, peering back at the blue nails.

“The blue would look better with your skin.”

He’s got a point. Sito has always thought that rich or saturated colors fit her deep brown skin so well. But, he keeps that thought to himself.

He pulls out his phone, copy-and-pasting the address she’d sent him earlier, into his Apple Maps.

She’s not so quick to respond this time, looking down at her screen with furrowed brows and a deeper frown.

“I feel like I should get the brown.“

“‘Mani—“

“No, I’m gonna get the brown! I really feel like it’ll be good.” She reaches across the console again to steal a fry from his bag of food. Before he can smack her hand away, she snatches it back. With a triumphant smile on her spit-shined lips, she pops it in her mouth.

He remains quiet, pressing his own lips together as he starts the GPS for her nail tech’s location.

It’s only about a twenty minute ride, it would’ve been shorter, but Sito had decided that it would be a good idea to get food beforehand. She found herself agreeing with his decision when they pulled into the drive-thru. 

With only ten minutes left of the drive, Cimani is presenting her phone to him at a stop light, once again. 

“Which one?”

He’s ready to give an honest answer, until he sees that it’s the nails, again.

He kisses his teeth. “Bro—“

“I’m not your bro. Now which?”

His eyes switch back and forth between the red light and her changing screen. “Wha—that one.” He tries to point, just as he lifts his hand, the light turns green.

“This one?” She smiles, swiping back to the brown.

He waits until she swipes back and lingers a second too long on the blue acrylics. “No—get that one.”

“Ugh!”

He sighs quietly to himself. “I don’t know why you keep asking me. Already told you which one to get…”

For a short moment, she quietly taps away at her phone. He almost thinks she’s ignoring him. “I like the tortoise shell one better.”

That’s where the conversation ends. 

With a practiced perfection, Sito parallel parks into an empty spot right in front of Cimani’s nail tech’s studio.

“Thank you,” she sings, slinging her mini-purse over her slender shoulder.

“Mhm,” he says, putting the car in park. Sitting back in his seat, he pulls his phone back out.

The soft ding of her phone chimes just as the back of it flashes with light. She quickly glances at the screen as she opens the car door. 

An Apple Cash from Sito, for $230.

She peers back at him over her shoulder with pursed lips.

“Get the blue,” he mumbles, still on his phone.

“Whatever.” 

She steps out of the car, shutting the door behind her.

•

He doesn’t jump when the car door suddenly opens. Cimani made sure to text him five minutes before she finished, to give him a heads-up. 

In fact, he’s pretty sure she was texting him throughout her entire appointment. If she wasn’t actually texting him, she was sending him Tiktoks or Reels/posts.

And if he dared to complain—not that he would—she would guilt trip him for being a bad “best friend” to her. 

The last time she’d said that, as he was taking her to her gynecologist appointment, he only scoffed. 

“Sitooo,” she sings, plopping into her designated seat in his Audi. “I’m back! Did you miss me?”

He side-eyes her, his gaze heading straight for her hand that clutches her phone. Wrapped around the device are perfectly shaped, long square, ombré blue acrylics.

Exactly.

“Yeah,” he says simply, turning the car back on.

“Better have.” She fixes her legging after they’d ridden up her thighs. “Where we going now?”

He scoffs. “I’m taking you home, I got shit to do.”

Her face falls. “What?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, putting the car into drive.

“So I can’t come?” She scowls.

He doesn’t even have to look over at her to see it. “‘Cause it’s some boring ass shit. M’not gonna keep you couped up in the car.”

“So? We do errands together all the time!” In a flash, a deep furrow wrinkles her brows. “Where you going that I can’t come?”

“Bro, you know you’re gonna complain if I keep you bored in here.”

She fully turns her body to face him, crossing her arms. “If you’re going to see Jada, you could just say that.”

He only exhales, focusing on the road ahead of them. And his silence washes away her anger. Cimani’s brows smoothen out as they pull apart, and her pout is back.

“Sito,” she whines. “Are you serious?”

He glances at her, seeing the sadness on her face.

Quickly putting on his turn signal, he switches lanes. “Stop bringing her up. I don’t even talk to her no more.”

“So where are you going?” 

He wants to laugh, he almost does. She sounds like a kid, begging to tag along.

“I’m just going to the shop, get my shit fixed,” he gestures to his head.

She eyes his braids with a scowl, noting his outgrown hairline. “Your hair looks fine to me. Who the fuck are you fixing it up for?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up as he scoffs. “You, before you start cuttin’ my ass about needing a line-up.”

She hums before looking out of the window, seeing the familiar buildings of her neighborhood. “Yeah, you do need to fix that.”

He kisses his teeth. “See? But you just said my shit was fine.”

“I don’t care.”

He rolls his eyes. “But I gotta go take my cousin to pick up his car from the mechanic after.”

“Excuses,” she mutters.

“You being bratty.” He keeps his eyes trained on the road. 

“And you’re being weird, like we don’t hang out all the time.” Finally, she turns to him. “What’s so different this time?”

“‘Cause I gotta get my cousin,” he kisses his teeth. “I’d rather it just be us, to be honest.”

Cimani keeps quiet at that. Her silence earns her a quick glance.

“I’m sorry, aight?”

No answer.

“I’ll call you tonight.”

She rolls her eyes, still yet unsatisfied with the outcome of this all. Sighing, Sito settles for her silence that comes with what’s left of their ride.

As he finally pulls up to the front of her apartment, he unlocks her door.

“Thanks for the ride,” she says quietly, grabbing her bag.

“‘Mani.”

She addresses him with a pointed look, like he’s wasting her time.

“C’mon, bro. Stop acting like that, please.”

When she exhales, her tense shoulders deflate. Her eyes fall elsewhere, unable to look him in the eyes. “Okay.”

He raises his brows, leaning towards her. “You gon’ call me tonight?”

“Yes,” she rolls her eyes.

He sits back in his seat, quite satisfied with that answer. He’s even got a small grin on his face. “Thank you.”

Even with her frustrations against him, she stretches over the console and throws an arm around his shoulders for a close hug. As always, she pushes her small face in the warm crook of his neck. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her torso, rubbing her back. 

“You better not be out all night.”

He fights a shudder back as her lips fluttered against his skin with her softly spoken warning.

“Y’know I won’t.”

The deep rumble of his voice does something to her chest, it makes her feel weak.

After a couple of seconds, they finally pull apart, and before he knows it, she’s out of the car and shutting the door.

He doesn’t pull off until he sees her reach inside the building.

UNFORTUNATELY TUMBLR WON'T LET ME POST THE FULL PART SO PART 2 IS COMING UP RIGHT AFTER.

TAGLIST • @wintrrxxo @vibewshyla @icanmakethedickstandup @toji-dabi-wife @genea-myers @whoareyouuuo @thegoatedaries @nova2kss @thecoochiefairy @plutobratz @levibabymama @bubblegum-lollipop @junitries @thevelvetwhispers @pussypinkdoll @venusincleo @soupersaldz @synicalslut

BANNERS • @cursed-carmine | @adornedwithlight & @cafekitsune

[snooperzz]

Back on You

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x female!Reader/OC Word count: 5.9k Warnings: angst, reader/oc has self esteem issues Note: this is written in third person & reader/oc is unnamed! you can also read this story on ao3 :) Summary/Excerpt: She liked Bob. She liked hearing about his favorite characters in the book he was working his way through, or the crazy stories from his time working at a bail bonds company as a sign-spinning chicken. She liked spending time with him and seeing his dorky smile, and she didn’t want to ruin that by telling him how much she liked it. How much she liked him. (i.e., A former member of the Guardians of the Galaxy, now a member of the New Avengers, has a crush on Bob.)

They had cornered her. 

“They” being Yelena and Ava. She had just gotten out of training with Bucky, and all she wanted to do was take a shower and disappear into her room for the rest of the day. But, of course, Yelena and Ava spotted her raiding the pantry and had now made it their top priority to make her talk about the one subject she avoided at all costs.

Bob .

Not that it was really his fault. He was just possibly the sweetest person that she had never met, and he unfortunately was not hard to look at. It was embarrassing, really, how often she was caught sneaking glimpses at him from across the room. It seemed like everyone was onto her. Well, everyone except for Bob, thankfully. He was oblivious, from what she could tell, and she did not plan to do anything to mess that up.

They were good friends. Ever since the New Avengers were announced, and she found herself moving from her closet-sized apartment into the Watchtower, she and Bob had been spending more and more time together. But that was just out of convenience. It wasn’t her fault his room was right across the hall from her own, and they just so happened to leave their rooms at the same time every morning. And it definitely wasn’t her fault they developed a habit of concocting smoothies together each morning, testing out new, sometimes questionable, combinations (this morning’s was strawberries, bananas, and jalapenos).

She liked Bob. She liked hearing about his favorite characters in the book he was working his way through, or the crazy stories from his time working at a bail bonds company as a sign-spinning chicken. She liked spending time with him and seeing his dorky smile, and she didn’t want to ruin that by telling him how much she liked it. How much she liked him .

So, she avoided the topic altogether. At least, she tried to. Just like she was doing right now, shoving whatever snacks she laid her eyes on into her arms in an attempt to get out of the impending conversation with Yelena and Ava as fast as possible.

“Save some for the rest of us,” Yelena teased, causing her to turn around. She could already feel her face turning hot.

“You’re ravaging this place like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Ava commented. “Which I know isn’t true because I was forced to try the disgusting smoothie you and Bob made this morning.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she muttered, placing a family-sized box of cheez its back onto the shelf.

“Speaking of Bob,” Yelena began, giving her a knowing look. “How is he?”

She shrugged, jostling the remaining snacks in her arms. “I don’t know. You should ask him.”

They both looked at her suspiciously. Then at each other. Then back at her.

“We just noticed you guys have been spending a lot of time together,” Ava hinted, raising her eyebrows. “So we thought you might know.”

“I haven’t seen him since this morning. I’ve been training with Bucky all day, so I’m starved,” she laughed awkwardly. 

They groaned at her excuse.

“Come on,” Yelena sighed. “We all see you guys looking all goo-goo eyed at each other. It’s disgusting.”

“What?! I don’t—”

Ava interrupted her, stating her name sharply.

“You do,” Yelena continued. “You definitely do, even Alexei is getting annoyed.”

“Why don’t you say something?” Ava questioned her. 

Her face was burning under their pointed gazes, and she shifted from side to side, unsure how to respond.

Ava said her name again, waiting for the girl to look up at her before continuing. “You’re a badass, and he likes you. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”

“I don’t know—”

“Oh my God,” Yelena groaned, walking up to her and grabbing the snacks out of her arms and putting them back in the pantry shelf. “Why don’t you invite him out for food instead of stuffing your face with cheese crackers.”

She grabbed the girl’s shoulders and gently pushed her out of the kitchen.

“And take a shower! You stink!” Ava called out after her as she rushed back to her room. 

The two women watched her scurry away before looking at each other, unable to hide the coy smiles growing on their faces.

When she got back to her room, she had hoped she would feel some type of relief. She wasn’t under the prying eyes of Yelena and Ava anymore, but her mind was still racing. Did they really believe that Bob had feelings towards her too? She had sometimes thought maybe he did, like when he stayed up with her until the next morning on movie nights. Long after everyone else went to bed, they would make home on the couch, a bucket of popcorn in between them, having their own movie marathons.

Last week, Bob had introduced her to Back to the Future . Well, she had heard of it before but had never had the time to actually watch it. 

She hadn’t grown up on Earth. She was raised by Ravagers and grew up surrounded by dingy ship walls and bitter outcasts. Her parents had abandoned her as a child, and she was on her own for a while. Until one day, a little boy not that much older than her with fiery red hair picked her up and refused to let her go. Peter Quill became like an older brother to her. A piece of family she never thought she would have. He taught her how to shoot a gun and break out of a jail cell. He showed her which vents in the Ravagers’ ship led to the kitchen and where Yondu kept his spare arrows. She missed him. More than she thought she would when she decided to stay on Earth while the rest of the Guardians travelled back into space with Thor. 

She remembered saying goodbye. Peter almost refused to leave, but she had always been more stubborn. After each Guardian insisted on having their turn to hug her, Peter approached her again, handing her a small box.

“What is this?” she had asked, eyeing him with a quirked brow before taking the box from his hands. When she opened it, she found his walkman along with some other device.

“I can’t take this,” she said immediately, automatically ripping it out the box and pushing it onto his chest.

“Nah, you have to take it,” he chuckled. His eyes were glassy, and his smile was teasing, almost mournful. “You gotta have something to remember me by. Remember how you abandoned me with these losers.” He put the walkman back in her box.

“Then what’s this for?” She picked up the second device.

“That’s a pager. I put my number in there in case you ever want to reach out.”

She smiled, holding the box of gifts close to her chest. She tried to ignore the burning in her eyes. “Does it work even if we’re on different planets?”

“You’ll have to test it out,” his eyes were watering too, and he pulled her in for a final hug.

She hadn’t seen him since that day, and she hadn’t reached out either. Sometimes she would find herself just sitting with the pager, her mind dancing with the decision of sending Peter a message. But she could never do it. She usually ended up slipping on his old headphones and listening to one of his mixes on the walkman. It reminded her of home. Her old home on the Milano. This happened more often, though, before she met Yelena, Ava, and the rest of the Thunderbolts.

She felt happier now. She liked being on Earth. It was something she never got growing up. She also liked her new friends. Her new friends that became more and more like family everyday, no matter how much they tried to deny it. And, as much as she tried not to think about it, she really liked hanging out with Bob.

Sighing, she shook her head.

Fuck it.

She would say something. Tell him how she felt. But only because Yelena and Ava seemed so sure he reciprocated her feelings.

She spent her entire shower trying to find the right words to ask him to dinner, but nothing sounded right. She felt stupid. She had fought side by side Iron Man and Captain America to defeat Thanos. She could fly a spaceship. Was she really going to let the idea of talking to a boy scare her?

No.

Ava was right. She was a badass. She reminded herself of this as she walked towards her bedroom door. All she had to do was open it up, walk across the hallway, and ask Bob if he wanted to get burgers or something. She took a deep breath and swung the door open, only to find a figure already standing there, arm raised as if he were about to knock on her door.

It was Bob. Bob in his navy blue sweater and corduroy pants. Bob with his curly hair framing his face, with that dorky smile that always made her face turn red. He swallowed nervously, letting out an awkward laugh as he slowly brought his arm down.

“Hi,” he said, his voice almost a whisper as he looked at her intensely.

“Hey,” she squeaked back, her confidence from five seconds ago quickly depleting.

He cleared his throat, his hands clasped tightly together in front of him. Despite his efforts to make himself seem smaller, his broad shoulders felt like they took up her entire door frame. She tried not to think about how good he looked.

“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to grab dinner with me?” His words came out quick, like if he didn’t say them now, he probably never would. “I heard the burger place down the block also has good milkshakes.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Really, she was shocked. He asked her before she had even gotten the chance to approach him. When she didn’t say anything for a moment, he began to look worried.

“We don’t have to, though, if that’s too wei–”

“No!” she interrupted him quickly. “I would really like that.”

“Really?” A soft smile began to grow on his face.

“Of course.” She smiled right back.

So, they went to dinner. They both ordered a burger, fries, and a milkshake, hers chocolate and his vanilla, of course. They talked about anything and everything. Bob caught her up on the current book he was reading (Bucky had recommended The Hobbit ), and they made plans to binge all of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings movies once he finished all of the books. She told him about her adventures with the Guardians and all of the stupid arguments her old teammates always had. He was still fascinated by the fact that she had not only been to space, but she had also grown up there too. That, and the fact she also knew a talking racoon.

They spent hours at the diner, talking and sipping on their milkshakes, until finally, a waiter came over and told them the restaurant was closing soon. Bob picked up the check, refusing to let her pay no matter how much she insisted, and they walked back to the Watchtower.

She thought about holding his hand, but she didn’t want to push it.

When they got back to the team’s penthouse, it was quiet. Not quite ready to go to bed, they sat down on the couch. She tried not to think about how close they were to each other. How their legs were brushing against one another’s. They sat like that for a while, quietly. It was a comfortable silence for the most part, but her mind was racing, the butterflies in her stomach picking up.

She wanted to kiss him. She really did. But she had never kissed anyone before. Before she was on Earth, she never really had the time. Or the want. She saw how many women Peter tried sneaking into his room, and she never really understood why. She had never been interested in anyone like that. 

Not until she met Bob. 

But now that she knew she wanted to kiss him, she also knew that she had no idea how to kiss anyone. It was embarrassing, really. Most people her age had been in relationships already, and she had never even had her first kiss.

Bob whispered her name so quietly she could barely hear it, but she still jumped in surprise as his voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“Thanks for getting dinner with me,” he smiled shyly at her, and she returned his look.

“Thanks for asking.”

“Maybe we could go again tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I'd like that a lot.”

They were quiet again for a moment, but before she could spiral into her thoughts for the second time, Bob spoke.

He said her name softly as he shifted his body on the couch to face her head on. His eyes were serious, and they shifted between looking at her own eyes and her lips. He leaned in closer, placing a hand softly onto her thigh and the other on her waist.

She froze. This was it. He was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to kiss her. But she also had no idea how to kiss him back.

He leaned in even closer (somehow that was possible) and stopped for a moment, looking at her, waiting for a sign that she was good, that he could keep going. She took in a shaky breath and gave him a small nod.

When his lips finally touched hers, they felt surprisingly warm, assured. The complete opposite of how she was feeling. She felt like a bumbling mess. She had no idea what to do with her hands. She had always heard not to think about how to kiss someone and just to let it happen. But that felt impossible at the moment. She tried to let him guide the kiss and simply follow his lead, and that worked for a moment until suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore. And neither was the silence they had found comfort in.

In its place was the thunderous sound of thousands of heroes and aliens charging towards each other, attacking each other all around her.

Then she saw it. Herself. Fighting the Chitauri, shooting down every alien that she could, but she was running out of time. They were starting to corner her. She remembered when this happened. It was years ago, in the Avengers’ final fight against Thanos. 

Then she saw him. Peter. After five years of not knowing if he was alive. After hearing from Nebula he had been turned to dust. He was there, in front of her and alive. She remembered how happy she was, how thankful she was to see him.

She watched as he helped take down the remaining Chitauri that had her trapped. She watched her past self as she ran toward him, jumping into his embrace. They gripped each other tightly, and her past self laughed almost hysterically as she fought against tears.

Then there was a shift. He paused. He had seen something else. Someone else . His grip loosened, slowly releasing her, and her past and present self turned to look at what he saw.

It was her. Gamora.

Peter had left her side now, walking slowly towards Gamora, his eyes wide in awe and admiration. He left her alone to watch as he ran back to Gamora. Again. 

It wasn’t that she was jealous of Gamora. She just felt intimidated anytime she was around. And a little bit sad. Forgotten, maybe. She had grown up with Peter, watching him bulldoze through thousands of hookups and one-night stands. Sure, it was annoying, but at the end of the day, she knew she still had him. He would always look out for her, always have her back. Not to say that after he met Gamora he didn’t look out for her anymore, but things were definitely different. He started going to Gamora for second opinions instead of her, and started only looking for Gamora’s approval of his ideas.

So, it hurt when he ran straight to Gamora after not seeing him for years. And watching it all over again, those feelings came right back.

She shook her head violently, wanting to be anywhere but in that memory. She closed her eyes tightly, pushing against her tears and her own brain. She wanted out, out, out .

Then, it was quiet again. A panicked voice was calling her name, and a hand nudged her shoulder softly. She opened her eyes to see Bob again, a worried look on his face. She looked all around her, taking in the environment. She wasn’t in the past anymore. She was here, in the penthouse, with Bob.

“A-are you okay?” Bob asked, his voice laced with concern.

She nodded quickly. She was pretty sure she was fine. Her face felt wet, though, and she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. Had she been crying?

“You went somewhere else, didn’t you?”

She looked at him dumbly. She felt like an idiot. She had spent the past few months thinking about kissing Bob, and when she had finally gotten the chance, she blew it. Maybe if she hadn’t been in her own head so much, she wouldn’t have ruined it.

“I’m sorry,” Bob muttered, his eyes down cast. He scooted away from her, not wanting to touch her. Not wanting to accidentally send her into another bad memory.

She shook her head, watching as he moved away. Even though she didn’t really want him to. “It’s not your fault,” she tried to reassure him, but she could tell he didn’t believe her.

“I’m gonna, uh,” she continued. She stood up, hugging herself. “I’m gonna go to bed. I’ll, uh–I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She rushed out of the living area and back to her room, wishing she could disappear.

The next few days felt never ending. She sunk herself into her training, using it as a distraction from the fact she hadn’t spoken to Bob in days. He was clearly avoiding her. Every morning when she made her way into the kitchen, he was already there, eating a bowl of cereal and refusing to even glance in her direction.

It hurt, but she understood. She had run away after he kissed her, with no explanation. And, in all honesty, she had been avoiding him since that night too. She just missed him. Missed getting to spend time with him every day. 

Instead, she spent time in the gym. And when she wasn’t attacking punching bags or trying not to die on the treadmill, she was in her room. Alone with her thoughts and Peter’s walkman. She tried to use the music to drown out the old memories flooding her brain. Ever since seeing her past self that night, she kept remembering her life before being on Earth. Before the Blip. Before the Guardians, even.

Back when Yondu would send her on smuggling missions once Peter was too big to actually fit in the vents anymore. Back when Yondu deemed missions “too dangerous” for her to join him and Peter, and he would leave her behind. Stuck with the rest of the Ravagers. The Ravagers that would leave her on less-than-safe planets for “fun,” forcing her to find her way back on her own. When she did eventually find her way back, they would still taunt her relentlessly, telling her she would never be a real Ravager. Not that she even wanted to be anyway.

She wanted to be just like Peter. Peter, who was charismatic and good at taking down whatever enemies got in Yondu’s way. Peter was always Yondu’s favorite, and she was always the second choice. The one Yondu would take along only when Peter was too busy with another mission.

She had finally left the confines of her room, choosing to go sit outside instead. She was sitting on the edge of the landing pad, her feet dangling over the streets of New York. She held her pager, staring at the number Peter left for her.

Maybe she should finally reach out. It had been a few years since the Guardians left on their search for Gamora. Maybe they had found her. Her fingers hovered over the device. A small part of her told her to just do it. To not think about it and send him a message. It didn’t have to be anything crazy or deep, maybe just a simple “Hey, how are you?” But, a bigger part of her was scared. Scared to reach out to him only to never hear back.

That was where Bucky found her, sitting at the rails of the helicopter pad. The rest of the New Avengers knew something was up. They had noticed she and Bob were never together anymore, annoying the rest of them with their constant, yet somehow oblivious, flirting with each other. They noticed that she had also spent less and less time with them as a group, choosing instead to hide away in the gym or her room.

He had been looking for her that evening. They had just finished eating dinner, and she opted not to join them once again. So, he took it upon himself to make her a plate and bring it to her room. When he knocked on her door, though, she didn’t answer. She wasn't there, and he also didn’t find her in the gym either. He asked around, to see if anyone else knew where she was, but all he was met with were shrugs. 

That was until he ran into Bob. Bob, who quietly informed him he saw her make her way outside to the landing pad. And, sure enough, that’s where he found her.

He called her name softly, and she turned to look at him, watching as he sat down beside her and placed a bowl of mac and cheese in between them. 

“I brought you some food.” He looked at her carefully, as if he was trying to figure out what was going on inside her head. “We missed you at dinner.”

She scoffed. “Thank you.” She looked back down at the pager in her hands.

“What’s that?” Bucky asked, nodding towards the device.

“Pager,” she responded. Her brows furrowed. “Shouldn’t you know that? Aren’t you like a hundred years old?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Over one hundred, and that’s actually past my time.”

She smiled, “Right.” 

There was a beat of silence between them.

“It’s from Peter,” she spoke again. “He was one of my friends before being here. Before the Blip.”

Bucky nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He just waited for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. “He gave it to me in case I ever wanted to reach out. Put his number on it.”

“Have you?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess…I guess I’m just afraid he won’t answer.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t give you his number if he wasn’t going to answer.”

She shrugged. “He’s probably too busy to respond, anyway.”

“How would you know that if you haven’t reached out?”

“What are you doing?” she huffed. “Did you come out here just to lecture me?” She looked at him, her furrowed eyebrows turning into a scowl.

His head dropped. “No. No, I came out to make sure you’re okay. We’re worried about you.”

She turned to stare at the streets below them. “I’m fine. Just…tired I guess.”

“Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been around. You missed movie night yesterday. I don’t know, I just feel like something’s up.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he said her name again. “You can talk to me.”

She thought about his offer, chewing on her lip. She knew she could trust him. Bucky was there for her after the final battle with Thanos. He took her under his wing, offering her a place to stay. But she knew he had his own demons, his own battles. She didn’t want to be a burden on him, so when she finally got a job, she moved into her own place. Then, they found each other again. Through Valentina, of all people.

“Me and Bob…kissed,” she said finally, so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

“Really?” Bucky mused. “How’d that go?”

She grimaced. “Not great. I ran out on him. Left him alone on the couch.”

“Ouch.”

“Wait, no! It wasn’t his fault. It was me,” she stammered. “I mean, he was great.”

Bucky tried and failed to hide his smile. “I’m sure he was.”

She felt her face burning. What was she doing?  

“Geez,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands, the pager dropping to the floor beside her. She lifted her head to look at it again, the memories of Peter and the Guardians rushing back into her mind.

“When we kissed,” she continued. “It took me back to a memory. From when we fought Thanos for the last time.”

Bucky nodded, letting her continue.

“I saw myself. And Peter. I hadn’t seen him in five years at the time. I thought I would never see him again. When we saw each other, we hugged each other so tight. I didn’t want to let go.”

She could feel the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“But then he let go. Because he saw her. ”

Bucky looked at her carefully. “Who?”

She laughed dryly. She sounded ridiculous. “Gamora. His girlfriend . He ran straight to her. It didn’t surprise me, really, but it still hurt. You know?”

Bucky nodded.

She went on, “I didn’t know it at the time, but he thought she was dead. Well, technically she was . But he didn’t think he would ever see her again, and then he did. And I understood that, I thought the same thing about him. But I just…”

She paused for a moment, gathering her words. “Ever since Gamora came into our lives, and we became the Guardians of the Galaxy, it felt like I lost a piece of him. Like I used to be his number one. His best friend. And then that became…her.

“And it was fine. I mean, I made new friends too, but…my new best friend was a talking racoon. And his best friend was a tree.” She laughed pathetically. She felt stupid, sitting there crying in front of the Winter Soldier about having no friends. He must have had better things to worry about.

He shifted closer to her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder and squeezing it gently. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” he said softly.

She sniffled. “I’m just tired of always being everyone’s second choice. My parents abandoned me. Then my fake-dad liked my fake-brother better than me. And then my fake-brother decided to get a girlfriend that was ten times better than I was.” Her words came out in hiccups.

Bucky let out a quiet, “Come here,” before pulling her into a tight embrace. She hid her face into her hands, tucking herself into his side.

“You’re not everyone’s second choice,” he told her, adamant. “We all care about you. We all want you here. You’re an asset to our team, and you’re a great friend.” He squeezed her to his chest, letting her release all of the emotions she had been holding back for years.

He didn’t let her go until she pulled back on her own.

“For what it’s worth, I can definitely think of one person who considers you their first choice.” Bucky paused, pretending to think. “Hmm, yeah. You are definitely their favorite out of our little group, although,” he grimaced. “Your competition isn’t that great, so I don’t know how flattered you should be.”

He nudged her shoulder playfully, and she laughed, her sniffles fading away. “Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

He looked at her as if it was obvious. “Oh I don’t know, the one person that knew exactly where to find you when I asked.”

She nodded her head and looked down, attempting to hide the smile sneaking onto her face. “Bob,” she whispered.

“Bob,” Bucky confirmed. Another beat of silence. “You should talk to him.”

She took a deep breath in. “I don’t think he wants me to do that. He avoids me like the plague, he can’t even look at me.”

“Okay, now that,” he pointed at her. “That is a lie. He cannot take his eyes off of you. He’s just good at hiding it.”

She shook her head, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t kn–”

“I’m serious,” he butted in, giving her a sharp look. “Just at least try. Please. Okay? If not for your sake then for the rest of ours.”

She nodded. “Okay, I will.”

“And eat this,” he continued, picking up the bowl of mac and cheese and plopping it down on her lap. “Before it gets cold. Yelena worked too hard on it for it to go to waste.”

That night, she found herself pacing back and forth in her room, trying to muster up the courage to go knock on Bob’s door. It reminded her of just a few days ago, when she was convincing herself to ask him on a date. Except when she opened the door this time, he was not already there, waiting for her. So, she took a deep breath and made the short trek to his side of the hallway. Before she could even think about turning around and running back to her room, she lifted her hand and landed three soft knocks on his door.

She waited for a moment, nothing happened. She couldn’t hear anything on the other side of the door. Maybe he was out. Just as she was turning to walk back to her room, the door swung open, and Bob’s voice called out her name.

She turned to face him. He was in his pajamas, a hoodie pulled over his head. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I, uh,” she ran her hand through her hair, trying to release some of her nerves. “I wanted to talk to you.”

He swallowed, nodding quickly. “Sure. Do you wanna…” he trailed off, opening his door a little bit wider. He motioned inside.

She nodded back, stepping into his room. It wasn’t her first time in there. There was one night where she had woken up from a nightmare, unable to fall back asleep. When she went to the kitchen to grab herself some water, she found Bob already there, raiding the fridge for a midnight snack. Since they both knew sleep was not in the cards for them that night, they grabbed a Monopoly board from the living area and took it back to Bob’s room. They played Monopoly until six in the morning, and both ended up falling asleep on the bedroom floor.

They stood there for a moment. Bob waited for her to speak, but she was wrapped up in her own thoughts, remembering that night. Finally, she broke the quiet tension between them.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Bob. For leaving you the other night. And for ignoring you the past few days. I was just…scared I guess.”

He watched her for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

Her eyes grew. That wasn’t what she meant at all .

“No!” she said suddenly, startling him. “ You didn’t scare me, Bob. I just…when we kissed, you disappeared, and I saw myself. Myself from years ago. It was a memory I forgot about, one pushed down, but it came back that night. and I’ve kind of just been…wallowing since then.”

“That was my fault,” he argued. “That still happens sometimes when I touch someone. They see things they don’t want to. They have to relive memories they hate. I knew that it could’ve happened to you, but I kissed you anyway.”

“I knew that, though.”

He stared at her, eyebrows creased in confusion. “Wh-what?”

“I knew that there was a chance it would happen, but I didn’t care.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t. Because I like you, Bob. And I wanted to kiss you,” she was rambling now, the words flowing out of her like a waterfall. “And I’ve missed you the past few days. A lot.”

“I like you too,” he confessed. She could see his cheeks turning red, and she could feel her face heating up.

She went to grab his hand, but he backed away from her touch. He apologized. “I don’t want to send you back there again.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you did. I think I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was so nervous that night. So in my own head. I had never kissed anyone before, and I was so worried about messing it up. About not being good enough. I think all those negative thoughts are what brought that memory back.”

He nodded, taking in her words. Trying to understand. “You could never not be good enough,” he promised. 

His words caused her face to heat up even more, and she looked away, trying to hide it. He said her name, and she turned to look at him again.

He stepped closer to her, grabbing the arm of her sweatshirt. “Would you maybe want to try again?”

She didn’t even have to think about her answer. She nodded softly, her breath hitching as his hand moved from her sweatshirt to her neck, cupping her jaw, his other hand placed on the small of her back. She was still nervous, yes, the butterflies dancing around her stomach made that obvious. But it was a different kind of nervous than before. It was more of an anticipation. She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him in closer until, finally, their lips touched. She didn’t even have to think about it this time. It was natural. Right.

The kiss started off tender, sweet. But soon, it turned into something more hungry, like they had been waiting months to explore each other in this way. And honestly, they had.

After what felt like hours, they finally broke apart, but they didn’t let go, still holding each other close.

“You still here with me?” Bob breathed, his hands traveling down her sides to rest on her waist.

She laughed breathlessly and nodded, their noses bumping together with her movement. “I’m here,” she whispered.

He leaned in again, and she could feel the smile in his kiss.

“For someone so worried about messing up, you’re pretty good at this,” he teased, squeezing her sides.

His words sent heat through her body, and she shoved him back playfully. “Shut up,” she rolled her eyes.

He laughed along with her, and they both settled into a comfortable silence.

“Maybe now everyone can get off our backs about this,” he said, pointing between the two of them.

“God, yes,” she groaned, shaking her head. “Yelena and Ava would not leave me alone.”

“It was John for me,” he chuckled.

“You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was. That guy’s an asshole.”

“...Sooo, how are we feeling about getting some milkshakes right now?”

“I was about to say the same thing.”

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Let them see [B. R.]

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you and Bob are forced to attend an event hosted by Valentina, where more is revealed than you would have liked.

masterlist

warnings: established relationship (kinda) mentions of comic characters like Norman Osborn (Green Goblin), Wilson Fisk (Kingpin) and Danny Rand (Iron Fist), some kissing and I think that's it!

Now that you were The heroes who would protect the earth and Valentina held a high position in the government, it was a prerequisite for the team to appear in public. You all knew it was like a huge, manipulative, and fake publicity campaign, but if it saved your ass, you didn't really care much.

Strangely, you had the most experience speaking to the press and with political figures, from whom Miss de Fontaine wanted to profit. So it wasn't a surprise when she said she wanted all of you at a charity dinner, where, at the same time, she would try to convince various businessmen to finance some of your projects.

You had to cover as much ground as possible, so she would arrange for you to be seated at different tables and, in addition, assign you a partner for that. She didn't ask your opinion, she never did, and you knew where you'd be until she handed you a small map with your assigned seats.

"I had to sit down with the owner of Oscorp Industries."

"Wilson Grant Fisk. Sounds important, doesn't it?"

Your friends were arguing and bragging about who they'd been assigned to sit with at dinner. You glanced at the names on your map, realizing none of them really interested you. Only one was familiar.

"Hey, Bob, we'll sit together."

The boy checked his own piece of paper, frowning to read it, and smiled widely when he checked what you said. You two had been trying to be a thing for a few months, though no one knew it yet. While they suspected it, you had been careful enough to make sure there weren't any incidents. So the coincidence made both of you happy.

"Huh, that's right. Valentina told me to tell you that you can't change your partners because every fire has its extinguisher, whatever that means."

“What are you talking about?”

"Every couple has one person who could break political relations if they don't keep their mouth shut, and another who turns out to be more cautious or diplomatic."

"No surprise my partner is Ava," Walker murmured, suddenly "No offense."

"No, it's okay. I'm used to hearing your bullshit, I'll probably know how to help you avoid it."

While they argued, you tried to guess the other combinations. Bucky and Yelena went together, obviously. They were like the team leaders, after all. Only Alexei remained, whom Valentina had probably paired with herself to prevent any mishaps.

"So you're the fire or the extinguisher?"

"Oh, I don't think that applies to us," you laughed, looking softly at Bob. "I think he just put us together so you don't have to interact too much. You know, the shyest one on the team whom I could talk myself into."

Your partner—would boyfriend be the correct term? No, perhaps lover, in any case—and you shared an amused expression, more pleased than the others with the arrangement your boss had made.

Bucky announced that Valentina would send some stylists who would take care of getting you suitable clothes, makeup, and a good hairdo—yes, the event was that important—and then the matter was settled.

At night, you could see that they had done a good job. Yelena was radiant, Ava looked like a supermodel, and the men didn't look ugly at all. Although, of course, for you, the most pretty was Bob. He was wearing a brown suit, with a nice striped tie, and shoes that gleamed in the light. His hair had been trimmed and was slicked back, but it didn't look stiff, just sleek; a wavy lock fell over his forehead, as if it had been intentional.

"I want all of you to rave about this project," Valentina warned you before walking through the door into the living room. "Make friends, chat with businessmen, tell them jokes, just be yourselves! Okay, a little more charming and less psycho, okay? Have fun!"

The entire group looked like a school classroom that had been forced to go on a field trip, but most of them managed to hide it. As you were entering and the camera spotlights began to flash, you took advantage of the chaos to approach Bob and grab his arm.

"You look handsome," you whispered to him. With your heels, it was easier to reach his ear.

"I feel weird. I was never a big fan of formal wear."

"Well, I say it looks great on you, darling."

A shy smile spread across his face, and although you couldn't see it, your eyes radiated tenderness and love; as if you were bewitched by him. Once you found your table, you took your place and were disappointed to see that you were at opposite ends of the circular table. You would have liked to sit next to him, but the seats were already labeled with each name.

You didn't know how the rest of your friends were doing, but apparently at yours, all the businessmen seemed pleased. It was probably because you were pretty—and wore a tight dress—or because their wives were smitten with Bob, pestering him with questions like seagulls around bread crumbs.

At one point in the evening, billionaire Danny Rand demanded your full attention. He wanted to talk to you about other charitable efforts his company was involved in that The New Avengers could join. He didn't seem as flirtatious or pushy as the regular millionaires, but you knew that if he tried to cross a line, you'd have to hold yourself back to avoid dislocating his shoulder or breaking his wrist.

"You know, now that I'm CEO of Rand Enterprises, I want us to be a more… how should I put it? Humanitarian, maybe. I want to help people, just like you."

"You're quite the philanthropist, I see."

"I'm trying to use my family's fortune to do more than build glass towers. Many people don't have a voice. I want Rand Enterprises to amplify it, not drown it out."

"And you repeat that idealistic speech at every gala?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Danny laughed softly, not offended.

"You know," Danny said, turning the glass between his fingers, "all this… the galas, the donations, the campaigns… it's all good. But if people don't reconnect with themselves, it's all a band-aid. You can't heal a broken system if you don't first heal those within it."

You crossed your arms, listening to him with a barely raised eyebrow. He spoke calmly, without a trace of ego. There was something genuine in his voice, though it wasn't exactly the kind of speech you expected to hear from someone with such an obscene bank account.

"Are you telling me that what the world needs is... meditation?"

"I'm saying we need silence. Inner silence. That people are afraid to be alone with themselves because they don't like what they're going to find. And if they don't confront that, no social change will be sustainable."

"Deep," you murmured, taking a short sip from your glass. "Maybe even a little depressing."

"Not if you think of it as an opportunity. The internal work is the most difficult, but also the most necessary. If every entrepreneur in this room took half the time they spend planning tax evasion and took an honest look at themselves, the world would be different."

"You have surprising faith in these people's capacity for introspection," you replied, amused.

Danny smiled at you. Not like someone trying to win you over, but like someone who truly believed what he was saying.

And then you felt it. That look. Subtle but piercing. You barely turned your face and saw him. He didn't do anything, he didn't say anything, but his expression was enough to understand. It wasn't explosive jealousy, but that kind of sad insecurity, as if he were afraid he wasn't in the same league as a man like Daniel Rand.

Without missing a beat or a smile, you looked him in the eye and winked graciously. A quick, playful gesture, like a secret password: I'm in control. This is all for the cause.

Bob looked away, but the tense line around his mouth softened. You tried to ignore the fact that his cheeks had turned red.

"Did I lose your attention for a second?" Danny asked calmly, following your gaze, though without reproach in his tone.

"Just for a moment," you replied with a light smile, settling in naturally. "But don't worry, I'm still listening."

Danny held your gaze for a moment longer... and then followed. His attention slid naturally to the other side of the table, right where Bob Reynolds was pretending to pay attention to an elderly woman chatting. He didn't seem to be looking at you at the moment, but his body betrayed him: his chin tense, his back slightly rigid, his thumb pressing restlessly against the glass of his drink.

"He's part of your team, right?" Danny asked, without malice. It was a simple question, but loaded with insight.

"Yes. It's... complicated," you replied, staying on neutral ground.

Danny nodded slowly, with that calm that always surrounded him.

"He has the look of someone holding something very heavy," she commented, without looking away. "As if he were standing in the middle of a chaos he doesn't know how to calm."

"Your reading is not bad," you murmured, somewhat surprised by the clarity of his perception.

"I don't judge," Danny added, finally looking back at you. "Some have to survive here, amidst the noise of the world”

There was a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you. He didn't press. He didn't probe. He just offered you a sincere, almost compassionate, unpretentious look.

"Sometimes," he added gently, "the true act of spirituality isn't meditating or helping others. Sometimes it's knowing when not to take someone else's place."

You looked at him, this time without pretense. Because in that moment, you understood that Danny wasn't trying to steal attention or gain your sympathy. He was speaking honestly. And he'd also seen more than you expected.

"You are much more perceptive than you seem."

He smiled barely.

"I try"

You remained silent for a few seconds, observing Bob more closely. His shoulders were still somewhat tense, but now he was pretending to be engrossed in a conversation with a woman who was talking more than he seemed to want to listen.

"He doesn't like these places," you commented, your voice barely above a whisper. "He's not exactly a fan of galas. He barely tolerates protocol, and the idea of having to smile for strangers seems like torture. He's… shy. It's hard for him. Much more than people imagine."

Danny nodded gently, without a hint of mockery. Only understanding.

"But he's here," he said. "For you, isn't he?"

"For the team, actually."

"He seems like a nice guy," Danny added honestly. "If you want, I can go talk to him for a while. That way he won't feel so out of place... and I'd have the perfect excuse to stop talking to businessmen who only want photo ops and tax breaks."

You let out a short, grateful laugh as you looked back at Bob. This time, you gave him a clear signal, a gesture with your fingers that said, "Come here."

Bob seemed to hesitate. Not because he didn't want to, but because he seemed unsure about interrupting. But you held his gaze pointedly, and that was enough. He apologized to whoever he was talking to, then walked toward you with a measured stride, as if trying not to inconvenience you.

When he reached your side, you smiled.

"Daniel, meet Robert Reynolds," you said naturally. "He's a fundamental part of our team."

Danny calmly extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Robert. I've heard good things."

Bob nodded as he shook hands, a little tense, but polite.

"Nice to meet you"

"How about you two chat for a while? I can sit where you were before and deal with the ladies for you."

Bob tried to stifle a laugh, but he couldn't. He was amused to think that his annoyance had been so obvious.

"Alright"

You took advantage of the moment to lean toward Bob and place a soft kiss on his cheek, taking him by surprise. Nothing exaggerated. Nothing over the top—just a brief, deliberate show of affection. Enough to calm him… and claim him.

"Be nice to him, Mr. Rand. Besides being a key part of the team, I'd say he's also the most handsome male member"

Both men laughed at your joke and then Bob sat down, a little calmer than before.

The gala continued with the calculated elegance of any event funded by millionaires with a socially responsible attitude. The glasses kept refilling, the music became a constant background, and you did what you did best: reading the room, smiling intelligently, leading conversations without seeming to. Bob, after his conversation with Danny, seemed more relaxed. Not extroverted, of course. But at least he wasn't on the verge of collapse anymore.

A couple of hours passed. You exchanged greetings with politicians, activists, and heirs. Until then, amidst the hustle and bustle, you felt a familiar presence at your side. Bob.

"Do you have a moment?"

You nodded at his request and then excused yourself to the guests. Bob took your hand in a gesture so casual it almost seemed unconscious, but there was a restrained urgency in his movements. He gently led you to a secluded corner of the room, a refuge between columns and shadows where the noise and curious glances couldn't reach you.

He stopped and looked at you, his deep, dark eyes filled with a mixture of nervousness and a determination that made your pulse race.

"Are you okay? Did something happen?" you asked, trying to soften the moment, searching for a connection that went beyond words.

Bob inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling slowly.

"I'm fine," he replied sincerely. "But I needed a break… a moment away from all of this. Being with you helps me catch my breath."

You smiled, almost without thinking, and reached out to gently straighten his tie. Your fingers brushed the skin of his neck and you felt that invisible electricity that connected you, like a silent magnet that couldn't be avoided.

"Sometimes everything is so overwhelming, right?"

"I've wanted to leave since we got here," he confessed, making you smile.

One of his hands went to your waist, holding you gently and moving his thumb up and down, as if with that he could calm your anxiety.

"Hold on a little longer, just a little bit."

"And you? Are you okay?"

"Wonderful"

"I haven't told you that you look beautiful, have I?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, you look gorgeous."

At his compliment you smiled softly, and caught his gaze slipping to your lips. You knew what he wanted. Or what would make him feel better, anyway.

"Do you think they'll notice we've been gone for a few minutes?" you asked, tilting your head. Bob smiled back, the sweet, mischievous glint in his eyes only deepening what you already felt for him.

"Maybe," he said in a low voice, "but what does it matter?"

Without further warning, Bob brought his face closer to yours with restrained patience, as if he wanted to record every second before giving in. His other hand rested firmly on your cheek, while his lips sought yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

The kiss started slow and uncertain, but within seconds, passion erupted. His lips pressed against yours with a mixture of desire and tenderness that left you speechless. The hand that had previously been on your waist slid purposefully down your back, pulling you closer, melting into that small space that was now yours.

The world disappeared. Nothing mattered more than that burning touch, that electric brush that made you feel alive and yearned for. At some point, he lowered his hand to your thigh, and you lifted your leg, letting him caress your skin.

You continued for a while, and when you finally broke apart, Bob leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, a satisfied smile curling his lips.

"I guess you feel more relaxed now, huh?"

"Definitely," he exclaimed.

His hand gently released your leg until it was back in place, and then you both took a step back. You tried to smooth your dress, and Bob tried to fix his suit, hoping to look as natural as possible. A giggle escaped you when you noticed Bob had traces of your lipstick on, which you tried your best to remove.

To avoid suspicion, you left first, and a few minutes later he did. Just in case.

That was the calm. And then—the storm.

The next morning, well into the day, you woke up intending to find something for breakfast. The sight of all your friends gathered at the bar made you frown, thinking the worst. Most of them looked shocked. Bob, on the other hand, was completely pale.

"Good morning, young lady."

"Is something wrong?"

"Haven't you seen your phone?"

Everyone was focused on you while you tried to remember where you'd left off. You were barely awake yet, and you already had to deal with them.

"It's dead. I couldn't find my charger last night," you explained simply.

Yelena, still in her pajamas, reached out to give you hers. On the screen, there was a conversation, apparently from your group chat.

Mel: Valentina wants to know what this means.

Accompanying the message was a link to a compilation of headlines and photos from various digital media outlets. They all featured the same images: Bob and you arriving at the gala together, walking arm in arm with the ease of a long-established couple. But not only that: someone had captured on camera the fleeting, secret moment when you were secretly kissing in a corner, the intimacy of the moment glimmering in the shadows. The most scandalous outlets had added the obscene moment when you had your leg raised against his side.

"Fuck…"

"At least now we'll talk about the gala, right? That's what Valentina wanted."

"I think that you were more like firewood and fire than an extinguisher and fire."

"Yelena, will you shut the fuck up?"

"What? I'm just saying. Some articles say you look like you were about to take off your clothes…"

Overcome by anger, the embarrassment of the moment, you reached out to push your friend off the stool she was sitting on. There were two problems: you didn't measure your strength, and when she fell, Yelena made sure to grab your arm to pull you with her.

Bob was the first to spring up, approaching you to help you up, worried that either of you had hurt yourselves. You expected her to lunge at you and start hitting you, but that didn't happen. Instead, the loudest laughter you'd ever heard burst from her throat.

"Why did you do that?!"

"Lena, I'm so sorry…"

"You threw me out! What's my fault if you two decided to make out last night?"

"Shut up, for God's sake…"

While Bob tried to lift her, you reached out to cover her mouth, completely in vain. He gave up helping you when he saw you struggling, more out of pride than because you were actually upset.

"Who would have thought it, Bob? You've tamed the beast."

"Shut your mouth, Walker, you're next!"

Walker joined in the chorus of laughter. Soon, everyone else followed suit.

You thought that now that your affair was a matter of public interest, at least you wouldn't have to think about how to tell your friends. Valentina could go to hell.

In a strange, yet pleasant way, the revelation of the secret felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest. When you looked at him, smiling shyly, you suspected it was a shared feeling.

[highway-143]

attention seeker- nishimura riki scenarios

genre: fluff, smut, high school au, based on this ask

pairing: classmate!riki × fem!reader

taglist: @urlocalmultigroupfan @minkilicious @shyoko @vrusha01 @planetmarlowe (open taglist)

word count: 1.4k

song: sign- izna & so high school- taylor swift

a.n- tysm @kiromiix for the request! never really tried scenarios before so i hope this is okay!

tw: kissing, kinda nonchalant riki (ewewew imma cry) reader cant pick up anything he's putting down in the beginning lmfao, underage drinking, protected sex, a lil profanity

(mostly proofread)

all scenarios are fake and are not meant to represent any idol in the story. all characters are of age.

ᯓ★˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗⊹ ₊

classmate!riki who is nonchalant but also somehow manages to be the class clown.

classmate!riki who thought it was funny to put flour inside the cushion of the english teacher's chair on april fools day.

classmate!riki who got lunch detention for two weeks after the flour-covered teacher screamed at him in front of the whole class

classmate!riki who was obviously biting back laughter when she tried to dust the white powder off of herself

classmate!riki who from then on decided her nickname would be mrs. cocaine

classmate!riki who winked at you when he was sent to the principals office for being tardy again

classmate!riki who was randomly partnered with you in a history assignment

classmate!riki who rolled his eyes when he learned you were partners, but gave you his phone number as soon as possible

classmate!riki who you texted two days later, trying to schedule a time to work on the project together

you: hey, is this riki?

riki: yeah, y/n?

you: yeah you: when do you want to meet to work on the project?

riki: tomorrow at 4 in the library?

you: sounds good :)

classmate!riki who hid the fact that he was giddy just from texting you because he was with his friends

classmate!riki who showed up fifteen minutes early to the library just to make sure he looked interested

classmate!riki who was pretending to not care about the project but actually did.

classmate!riki who actually did work because he didn't want you to get a bad grade because of him

classmate!riki who helped on the project just enough so he looked invested but also little enough so he still looked nonchalant

classmate!riki who constantly fiddled with his earring because you constantly kept looking at it.

classmate!riki who grabbed the books from the top shelf that you couldn't reach by putting his hand on your shoulder and reaching up from behind you.

classmate!riki who's abs you could feel pressing into your back

classmate!riki who knew exactly what he was doing

classmate!riki who is so down bad for you, but doesn't really know how to get your attention other than making himself look cool

classmate!riki who enjoys messing with people, especially you

classmate!riki who you started to catch yourself thinking about when your mind wandered during library study sessions with your best friends

classmate!riki who you couldn't help thinking about at night

classmate!riki who caught you staring at him during english class for the seventeenth time that period

classmate!riki who made a funny face and got you in trouble for laughing during a test

classmate!riki who caught up to you in the hall after class and joked about you getting in trouble, but also offered to buy you coffee for the same thing.

classmate!riki who showed up at the library to work on the project with two starbucks cups in his hands because he knew you were tired.

classmate!riki who you confessed to out of sleep-deprivation and stress halfway through a project session, but was overjoyed that you actually ended up liking him

boyfriend!riki who brought you a coffee every morning after that

boyfriend!riki who got a job at the starbucks closest to your school just so he could take the early morning shift and bring you a drink for free every day

boyfriend!riki who hid that from the entire school besides you because he had a reputation to uphold

boyfriend!riki who took you to meet his parents three weeks into your relationship

boyfriend!riki who's sisters were the coolest people you had ever met

boyfriend!riki who's mom and dad treated you like a fourth child

boyfriend!riki who took his dog, bisco, to your house every night so you could take a walk together

boyfriend!riki who held your hand every time, even when he saw some of his friends at the park playing football

boyfriend!riki who just waved to them and kept listening to your story about your seventh grade teacher

boyfriend!riki who took you on your first real date to go see a meteor shower in the forest, renting an old pickup truck and putting a mattress and thick blackets in the back so you could lay there and make wishes on the shooting stars together

boyfriend!riki who turned his head to watch you as you pointed at the lights in the sky, admiring your beauty at night

boyfriend!riki who you noticed staring and turned to look at

boyfriend!riki who's first kiss was with you under the falling stars.

boyfriend!riki who didn't push more than that, respecting your boundaries

boyfriend!riki who fell asleep holding your hand on the mattress in the truck bed

boyfriend!riki who, for your first valentines day together, gave you a necklace with your and his initials engraved in tiny beads around a dainty chain

boyfriend!riki who put the necklace on for you, pulling your hair to the side, and almost crashed out when he saw your neck

boyfriend!riki who had to fight every urge not to kiss you there

boyfriend!riki who cheered the loudest when you received your diploma

boyfriend!riki who you cheered equally as loud for when he got his

boyfriend!riki who gave you the biggest hug ever when you threw your caps into the air

boyfriend!riki who kissed you hard in front of everyone

boyfriend!riki who didn't care about being nonchalant anymore

boyfriend!riki who threw an end of the year party for all the graduating 12th graders at your school

boyfriend!riki who knew his parents were going to be out of town that day

boyfriend!riki who was still a troublemaker and bribed his older sister to buy them beer by blackmail and a large sum of money

boyfriend!riki who you made promise you he wouldn't get drunk

boyfriend!riki who only had one sip of beer and realized it wasn't his thing

boyfriend!riki who lost control of the party and ran away to hide from it because it was too loud

boyfriend!riki who you found sitting on the edge of his bed, about to break down

boyfriend!riki who you sat next to and comforted until he felt better

boyfriend!riki who you helped clean up with the morning after the party

boyfriend!riki who ran as fast as he possibly could when he heard you scream from the backyard because you found one of his friends passed out on the patio table

boyfriend!riki who laughed about it later

boyfriend!riki who you hit on the shoulder because you actually thought the kid was dead

boyfriend!riki who always called you 'mom' when he was talking to bisco

boyfriend!riki who you started to really love

boyfriend!riki who had known he loved you since the night of your first date

boyfriend!riki who took you and bisco to the beach every week that summer

boyfriend!riki who always read books with you in the sand

boyfriend!riki who you took way too many pictures with every day

boyfriend!riki who you took to your house one day when your family went out of town

boyfriend!riki who wanted to be cool and confident, but was really just an anxious mess

boyfriend!riki who let you straddle his lap on your bed when he kissed you in absolute desire

boyfriend!riki who had kept a condom in his wallet for six months because he wanted to be ready when you were

boyfriend!riki who moaned every time you grinded against his dick

boyfriend!riki who flipped you over and took you in missionary for the first time, sliding his dick into your cunt with care

boyfriend!riki who praised you with almost every thrust, calling you beautiful and perfect

boyfriend!riki who hated that fucking condom

boyfriend!riki who powered through anyway, your sweet little moans the only thing keeping him in check

boyfriend!riki who begged for you to cum, just so he could feel your walls clench around his cock even harder

boyfriend!riki who kissed you when you did, his own seed spilling into the condom

boyfriend!riki who had no regrets

boyfriend!riki who you could never regret

boyfriend!riki who ended up proposing to you on your fourth anniversary, giving you a ring with a shooting star engraved on the inside of the band

husband!riki who never tried to be nonchalant again

ᯓ★˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗⊹ ₊

a.n- tysm for reading!!! this one was so cute to write omg where can i find a man like this ToT anyways taglist and asks are always open, and like/comment/reblog if you liked this fic!

heres my masterlist for more fics!

[strawberry-nugget]

notion | k. bakugo | 2

Notion M.list

Paring: Bakugo Katsuki x reader

Summary: The last four years have been a blur. You and Bakugo had been in this hellish friends with benefits/ situationship for way too long until you decided to end it last year. Now, due to being peer-pressured to choose Izuku over him, you've been in no contact for two whole months and you are finally making a hear out of permanently living in Tokyo, three hours away from him and everybody.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, fwb, jealousy, alchohol drinking, bakugo is bloody after patrol, just a tad of angst, situationships (my real worst enemy), no smut in this chapter tho oopsiesss, Bakugo fighting with Mitsuki, All characters are 20+

A/N: oopsies sorry it took me years to come back to this fic 😅 However, next chapter is pure filth to make up for it

Your apartment in Shibuya is too small. It’s a studio apartment, kitchen crammed into one corner, bed pressed against the opposite wall. The Hero Commission pays for it, but that doesn’t make it feel any bigger.

You don’t mind, not really. Most nights, you’re too tired to care. Between patrolling for the agency and handling the odd jobs your boss throws your way, you’re lucky if you get six hours of sleep. The city hums outside your window, neon signs reflecting off glass, the distant chatter of nightlife a constant reminder that Shibuya never really sleeps.

The agency you work for part-time isn’t bad. The pay is decent, the hours flexible—you even get to spend three days of the week back at Musutafu. It’s not a top-tier agency like Endeavor’s or Hawks’, but that works in your favor. Less press, less scrutiny, fewer expectations. The heroes running it like that about you. You’re efficient. Capable. And a former top student at UA. You’re unremarkable and so well trained in such way that makes you easy to move around like a chess piece.

This is the job, after all.

You haven’t been back home for two months. Not since Izuku confessed to you.

His words had been careful, earnest—so painfully Izuku. Through text, on your way home for the weekend, he told you he had feelings for you, that he had for a long time, that he wasn’t expecting an answer right away but just wanted you to know. That was the problem. You didn’t have an answer.

You have not been back home since that stunt Bakugo pulled just to be the one to pick you up from the train station that day and definitely not after that dinner at the Bakugos’ in which Mitsuki was trying her best to set you up with someone that isn’t her son.

Then again how could she have known you and Bakugo have had your fair share of occasional sex throughout the course of four years?

The memory of how awkward that night was makes you groan inwardly. Mitsuki had been relentless, a whirlwind of enthusiasm as she served dinner, her eyes practically sparkling as she brought up Izuku. “You should go out with him! He’s such a good boy, and he really cares about you!” she had exclaimed, nudging you with her elbow as Bakugo sat across the table, his expression a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.

You had tried to redirect the conversation, bringing up Bakugo’s latest achievements or the new training regimen he had implemented, but Mitsuki had been having none of it, like it was too easy for her to pester about Izuku now that he had politely declined her invitation to grade papers for his class “No, no! I mean, have you seen how well he treats you? He’s always looking out for you!”

Each comment made Bakugo’s jaw tighten, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You had laughed it off, but the undercurrent of tension in the room had been palpable. That was the night you’d left, feeling more confused than ever—especially with the way Bakugo had glanced at you when he thought no one was watching.

You remember the way his fingers tapped against the edge of his plate, his eyes flickering to you every time Mitsuki gushed about Izuku’s “perfect boyfriend potential.” He didn’t say much—not outright—but you could feel his irritation radiating off him in waves.

Mitsuki, oblivious as ever, had kept going.

“And you know,” she had continued, pouring more tea into your cup, to help the food go down smoothly “he’s such a sweet boy. Hardworking. Polite. Not like this one—” she jabbed her thumb toward her son, “—who still thinks grunting is an acceptable form of communication.”

“Oi,” Bakugo had grumbled, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he shot you a look, something unreadable simmering in his red eyes before he went back to stabbing at his food. Like he was begging you to say something.

Anything.

Even to mention that he’d come visit you in Tokyo. Something to establish a different kind of familiarity between the two of you to his mother.

You had tried to laugh it off, waving a hand dismissively. “Izuku and I are just friends, miss Mitsuki”

“For now,” she had teased, wiggling her eyebrows. “Come on, you’ve known each other forever. Doesn’t it make sense?”

But you had known Bakugo since forever too. You wish someone could see through that, you wish someone could urge the two of you to admit your feelings but your shenanigans had been tight lipped and banned to mention to the world. Maybe it could have been different had any of you spoken about each other to your friends.

Because how else could you tell his mother you’re never going to fall in love with Izuku-— you’ve been in love with her stupid, begrunting son since high school.

“Katsuki! Put some thought into her brain! She’ll listen to you!”

That was when Bakugo stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “Tch. I’m fucking done.” He grabbed his plate and stomped toward the sink, movements sharp and tense. You’d barely had time to process before he was brushing past you on his way out of the kitchen, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“You don’t gotta humor her.”

He drove you home, tried to kiss you before you opened the door to leave but settled for kissing your cheek. You kissed his neck in return. A promise you do not want Izuku, but not enough of a confession to let him know how you feel.

That was the last time you’d seen him in two months.

Your shifts at the agency have doubled since, at your demand. You’ve tried anything to get him out of your head, anything to just convince yourself that life goes on. You can stay friends with him and pretend you’ve never been anything else.

‘If he wanted to, he would be with you’ one of your coworkers had told you the other night, when you mentioned the matter, while deliberately skipping to mention who you’d be talking about, in your desperate attempts to finally make friends out of all the people you spend everyday with.

And she’s right. You know she’s right.

She’s also right when she pesters you to join her and a few of your other coworkers for dinner on Friday after patrol. Claiming you’ve been so shut off, that they want to get to know you better. And you say yes, because you have nothing better to do— you can’t spend another sleepless night staring at Bakugo’s last message that you left on read. ‘If he wanted to he would’ replaying in your head like a mantra.

______

Friday comes too quickly.

Between being on the edge every single day as your parents are begging you to come back home for the weekend and a single text from Bakugo on Wednesday night asking if you’re still alive, you’ve been expecting the outing with your coworkers religiously throughout the week.

It’s your only excuse to get black out drunk and go home and sleep the weekend off.

Aiko, the coworker that invited you asks you to dress nicely— no cargo pants and a sweatshirt like the ones she sees you exit the agency with and you pack a plain sweater dress with you before you leave for the agency in the morning.

And while the dinner goes smoothly, you’re asked to join them for drinks— frankly you can’t refuse when seeing that they paid for your dinner too.

You promise yourself It’s not a regular thing—you’re not close enough to any of them for that—but someone suggested it after patrol, and you were too tired to come up with a reason to say no. So now you’re here, tucked into the corner of a noisy izakaya, half-listening to a conversation about some high-profile villain case in Minato while nursing a glass of highball.

The place is warm, filled with the scent of grilled meat and cigarette smoke. Your coworkers are already a few rounds in, voices louder, laughter easier this time.

Some sick part of your brain wishes Bakugo was here too. That all your friends were here too, or maybe, that this was one of your class reunions at Shoto’s house.

“You ever think about going full-time?” one of them asks, nudging you with his elbow. Watanabe. He’s been at the agency for two years, still hoping for a promotion. You mostly share patrols with him and Aiko. “Commission’s gotta be lining you up for something better, right?”

You take a sip of your drink, the ice clinking softly. “Doubt it,” you say. “They like me where I am. I like where I am. It’s flexible and pays well. I used to go home in Musutafu every weekend.”

“Oh yeah, you went to UA!” another one exclaims.

“Man, that’s rough,” Watanabe laughs, shaking his head. “With how you handle yourself, you could be working for one of the bigger names. Hell, any big agency at this point. You went to college too. That’s like, insane hero knowledge.”

You don’t respond. You just glance at the condensation on your glass, at the way the dim light catches the edges of the liquid inside. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Not like you don’t know you’re capable of more, but the top hero life isn’t something you ever wanted. You like your job just how it is. Your pay is the same as the one in your old agency in Musutafu where you worked full time and Tokyo is a far better city to live in than your hometown.

There’s a comfort in the routine, in knowing exactly what’s expected of you and having the freedom to navigate your own path. Besides, the last thing you want is to be in the spotlight, not when you’re still trying to figure out your own identity beyond being a hero.

In Tokyo, maybe you could finally get away from that messy situation with Bakugo. You could always be three hours away from him, working less, having more time to yourself. Not fighting for any rank.

As the night rolls on, the conversation shifts from work to personal lives, and your coworkers seem all too eager to poke fun at each other. You try to keep your head down, focusing on your drink, but Watanabe isn’t done with you tonight. So much for wanting to get to know you.

You wonder if Bakugo would snap at them for all those questions. God, he infiltrates your mind in all the wrong times.

Begrudgingly you reach for your phone. You want to message him, casually, maybe snap a picture of the place and caption it with something along the lines of ‘wish you were here too’ but that’s pushing it and you’re not even sure he’s going to let you live this through.

Still, you force yourself to reply to him.

It’s simple. It’s three days late, it’s two o’clock in the morning and it’s pushing Saturday. And you don’t even know the state that he’s in tonight.

You: yeah...

You: If I could see you I’d be better.

You press send and think nothing more of it.

“Hey,” it’s a while before Watanabe calls your name again, “you’re awfully quiet over there,” he calls out, his voice cutting through the buzz of chatter. “Got a boyfriend keeping you busy, or something?”

The table erupts in laughter, and you can feel the heat creeping up your cheeks. “Yeah, right,” you scoff, rolling your eyes as you shut off your phone and set it on the table beside you, screen facing the wood “As if I’d have time for that.”

“C’mon!” Aiko, chimes in “You’re out here saving the world everyday! Don’t tell me you don’t have a cute guy waiting for you to come home!”

You chuckle nervously, unsure whether to play along or deflect. “I’ve got my hands full with work,” you say, forcing a smile. “That’s enough of a challenge for me.”

“Maybe you just need to let loose a little,” Watanabe teases, wiggling his eyebrows. “What’s the harm in dating a villain or two? It could spice up your life!”

The group bursts into another round of laughter, and you can’t help but shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite the embarrassment. “I think I’ll pass on that,” you reply, trying to sound firm but failing to hide your amusement. “I’m not looking for any extra trouble. Or loosing my license”

“Sure, sure,” Aiko says, leaning closer, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “But if you do find someone, we expect an invite to the wedding! You know how to plan an epic event, right?”

Marriage sounds like a nightmare to you, right now, tonight, at almost three am, when your phone chirps with a notification for a text that you know who it belongs to.

It doesn’t make sense that he’s awake, but your heart tightens as you catch a glimpse of his name on your screen as the light starts to die down.

Katsuki <3: Really?

That’s all it says. One word. You read it in his cocky, too annoyed-at-everything voice.

And yet, it makes your stomach drop.

You stare at your screen, throat tightening. It’s been three days since he texted you—three days of silence on your end, because you didn’t know what to say. Because you were trying to be smart about this, about him. Because you’re trying to keep a space between you, since this isn’t working out for your poor heart.

Because if he wanted to, he would.

You should’ve known he’d be pissed.

“Hey, you good?” Aiko’s voice cuts through the background noise, and you force yourself to look up. She’s watching you closely, brows furrowed. “You just spaced out.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head. “Yeah. Just—forget it, just my sister.” Your fingers tighten around your glass.

You don’t know what to say to him. You never really do, and yet you answer when you know you shouldn't.

You: really

____

Katsuki stumbles through the front door of his house, the heavy thud of his boots echoing in the quiet of the dead of night.

It’s barely past 3 am.

The dim light of the hallway barely illuminates his bloodied form as he drags himself inside, his limbs heavy and unsteady. His chest rises and falls in uneven gasps, each breath painful, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving him with a deep, gnawing exhaustion. His body screams for rest, but instead, he opts to stare at the screen of his phone, he chooses to re-read your goddamn message like a book that’s too dear to one's heart.

He curses under his breath, a low, rasping sound as his fingers grip the doorframe, steadying himself for a moment. Blood drips— from his eyebrow down to his eyes, from his lip down to his chin, streaking across his costume in dark, splotchy patterns. His head throbs, dizziness sweeping through him like a wave, but he forces himself to move forward. One step. Then another. But each motion feels like a battle, and the world spins with every turn.

The house is silent. Too quiet.

He kicks the door shut behind him, the noise louder than it should be, reverberating through the walls. He freezes for a second, holding his breath, hoping that his mother isn’t awake now, from that sound only. He doesn’t want to deal with her—not now. But of course, the creak of the floorboards in the hallway answers his silent plea, and he hears her footsteps before he even sees her.

Mitsuki, of course, appears at the top of the stairs, her expression initially blank, but then it shifts. Her eyes widen as she takes in the sight of him; his bloodied face, his torn-up hero costume, the way he’s swaying slightly on his feet, his face lit, only by the screen of his phone.

She rushes down the stairs in a frenzy.

“Katsuki?” Her voice is tight, laced with a mixture of surprise and concern, but it doesn’t take long for the anger to seep into her tone.

When she reaches him, she grabs him by the arm, steadying him with a grip that’s deceptively strong for someone who isn’t as physically imposing as him.

“You’re a goddamn mess,” she hisses, her red eyes scanning him with an expert gaze, noting the blood trickling down his face and his furiously bruised cheekbone, “What the hell happened?”

Katsuki opens his mouth to respond, but his words slur slightly, the pain of everything catching up to him. “Nothing. I’m fine.” He tries to brush her off, but his voice cracks as he sways on his feet, almost losing his balance.

“Fine!? Fine?” Mitsuki’s voice sharpens, rising in volume as she pulls him further into the house, her hand pushing him toward the couch. “You’re barely standing, and you’re covered in blood! You think I’m gonna just let that slide?”

“M gonna go bathe, go to sleep ma” he says dismissively, too silently, hissing at the way his jaw clenches before storming off to the downstairs bathroom.

Mitsuki watches him for a long, tense moment as he stumbles toward the bathroom, clearly not even close to being in the state to do anything for himself. But she’s already too far gone to let him do this alone. Her anger is bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over as she takes a step forward, her eyes narrowing.

“You’re not going anywhere, Katsuki!” she snaps, her voice echoing down the hallway. Without waiting for him to turn around, she grabs his arm again, yanking him back toward her.

Katsuki stumbles forward, but she shoves him down onto the couch, and for a brief second, the world tilts dangerously. He grits his teeth, trying to steady himself, but the dizziness doesn’t let up. His vision blurs, and for a moment, everything feels muffled. He can hear the rapid beat of his heart in his ears, drowning out everything else.

Mitsuki stands over him, arms crossed, her eyes flicking over his body with that sharp, cutting gaze of hers “You’re gonna strain yourself like this, you have to rest.”

“No. No I don’t”

“Don’t give me that shit kid.”

“Oh” he chuckles, looking up at her with full blown eyes “I ain’t giving you any shit Ma. ‘M perfectly fine”

“Right, because isolating yourself and running yourself into the ground is so much better.” She glares at him, voice dropping into something softer, almost concerned. “You barely come home anymore, and when you do, you’re either exhausted or pissed off. This isn’t sustainable, Katsuki. You’ve always been bratty, but this? Why do you always want to get yourself killed?”

He clenches his jaw, looking away, shoulders tense. He hates this—hates feeling like a kid again, like she can still see right through him no matter how much distance he tries to put between them and he definitely hates the fact that his mother has to see him like this. Weakened. Like he’s sixteen with a pierced heart again.

Mitsuki sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You should at least spend time with your friends. What about Izuku? He was asking about you the other day.”

That makes Bakugo bristle instantly. “What about him?”

She gives him a look, like he’s being difficult on purpose. “You know. Maybe you should take a page out of his book—he’s got a healthy work-life balance. And he’s got time to check in on people.”

“Yeah? Good for him.” Bakugo’s voice is flat, but his fists tighten at his sides. He brings out his phone again, trying to check the time—it’s 3.12 am, but instead of actually remembering the time on the screen, he sees that stupid photo of you and him as his lock screen.

His mother notices, says something about how ‘you haven’t even called her’ that you’re the same as him. That she sent you a text on messenger about Izuku the other day and you didn’t respond.

Katsuki hates that his mother so casually mentions you in this conversation, like she can make up for the way she’s been speaking to him so far.

His breath catches, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he scoffs, shoving his phone into his pocket like the sight of it suddenly pisses him off.

“Tch. She’s busy.”

Mitsuki raises an eyebrow. Of course, she doesn’t stop at lecturing him about work, she has to mention you. You, in the same sentence with Izuku. Like she’s not the reason you haven’t come back in Musutafu for so long. It makes him so extremely mad.

“You should call her. Go to Tokyo with Izuku. Help set them up. It’ll do good to you.”

Katsuki’s eyes snap impossibly open at her words “who? Me? I ain’t you. I ain’t setting anyone up. They’re both shit for all I care. I ain’t going to Tokyo just to set that idiot up with her. And I’m not gonna see anyone who doesn’t want to see me”

Lies. Lies. Fucking lies. He wants to see you so hellishly bad.

He gets beat up by a villain and all he wants to do is come to you, wrap his arms around you and drown in that comforting cradle that you’ve got. And you’re in fucking Tokyo for all he cares, because his mother and Izuku and then himself, pressured you into two different choices the last time you were here.

He can still fucking see you in his kitchen, trying to help his mother put the dishes away. He can still feel you kissing his neck, in his car, that same damn night, when he told you he’d beat the shit out of his childhood friend for wanting to get with you.

He wonders if that’s how you felt, four years ago, when he asked you to let him eat you out so he could practice— to do it to someone else.

You’ve never made it weird. Never judged him. You kept giving and giving and he kept taking for three whole years and instead of manning up asking you to be with him, he let things boil to a shimmer and die down.

Now you’ve been in Tokyo for two whole months. You haven’t visited home at all.

“I don’t need a fucking day off.” His voice is sharp, tired, like he’s barely holding himself together. “And I don’t need to hang out with anyone. I'm not going to waste my time setting anyone up.”

The truth is, he doesn’t want to set you up with anyone but himself and he doesn’t even know how to do that.

“Just because you keep running yourself to the ground doesn’t mean no one else can’t be happy!”

“Huh?” Katsuki asks, like a menace, like he’s so furious at his mother for speaking profanities “I'm perfectly happy being a hero!”

Mitsuki scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, please. You’re a goddamn mess, and you know it. At least help her and Izuku be happy, get yourself someone too! You’re twenty fi—“

“I don’t fucking want anyone, I ain’t got time for this shit!”

Katsuki grits his teeth then hisses, his hands shaking where they’re clenched into fists against his thighs. His head is still pounding, his vision still swimming slightly from exhaustion and blood loss, but nothing—nothing, makes him feel worse than hearing his mother talk about you and Izuku in the same fucking sentence. Hearing her trying to scold him at late am im the morning about being single.

How did this fight—that was originally spurt by his battered state, turn into this?

Right.

It’s because for him, everything somehow leads back to you.

No matter how much time passes, no matter how much distance stretches between you, no matter how much he tries to drown himself in the job and pretend it doesn’t eat at him—it really fucking does.

His mother is still staring him down, exasperation written all over her face, but Katsuki barely sees her anymore. His pulse is pounding in his chest and ears and his jaw is clenched so tight it might crack. He sways slightly on his feet, exhaustion threatening to drag him under, but the anger burning in his chest keeps him upright.

“They’re your friends. For god’s sake”

He doesn’t know who he’s angrier at; Mitsuki, for bringing this shit up and merging into this matter like it’s her business? Izuku, for even being in the damn equation? Or himself, for not shutting this down the second your name left her mouth.

He knows he’s not mad at you though. So that’s got to count for something.

“You’re fucking delusional,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “You really think I give a shit about some dumb romance? You really think I’ve got time to play matchmaker?”

Mitsuki gives him a long, unimpressed look. “I think you’ve got time to be miserable and angry every damn day, so yeah, maybe you could afford to think about something else for once.”

“Ma—”

“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes. “You know Izuku’s interested. He told me so himself, and I think she likes him. I don’t see why you have to act so weird about it.” Mitsuki doesn’t notice the way he jerks at that. “You do want her to be happy, don’t you? What’s wrong with giving them a little push?”

His grip on the back of the couch tightens, his breath ragged. “I don’t care what they do,” he lies, and it tastes awful. He absolutely cares about what you do. “Just leave me alone. Wanna wash this blood off me”

He takes off with that— pushes off the couch with any strength he has and gets on his feet. Ready to fleet, ready to rest in the comfort of the downstairs bathroom that he so likes in this house.

And he wobbles, he fucking wobbles. He’s beaten up so bad he really fucking wobbles like a toddler learning to walk.

“Katsuki” Mitsuki snaps towards him, ready to give her full weight to support him and he winces. He wants her away. He’s so tired that he wants everyone to be at least a mile away from him.

“Tch. I just said im fine”

Mitsuki doesn’t buy it for a goddamn second. But he’s fucking fine. At least—he has to be.

He forces his legs to work, trudging toward the bathroom with slow, heavy steps. Every inch of him aches, every breath stings, but he doesn’t stop. He won’t. Not until he’s behind a locked door, away from Mitsuki, away from her damn nagging, away from the thoughts clawing at his skull like they’re trying to tear their way out.

His fingers fumble with the doorknob, slick with sweat and dried blood, but he forces it open, stepping inside and shutting it behind him with more force than necessary. The click of the lock sliding into place echoes in the quiet.

And finally, after an excruciating double shift, a villain with a stupid muscle power quirk and his mother, he’s alone.

Katsuki exhales sharply, leaning against the sink, gripping the cold marble so tight his knuckles go white. His reflection stares back at him from the mirror, slightly swollen, bruised. His lip is split, dried blood crusting over it, and there’s a deep gash above his brow that still oozes sluggishly down the side of his face. The bruise at his cheekbone shines through it all like a movie star on a red carpet premiere.

He looks like shit. He knows that much.

He scoffs bitterly at himself before turning the faucet on, letting the water run warm. He peels his hero costume -whatever’s left of it- off piece by piece, each movement stiff, his muscles protesting as the adrenaline wears off completely. The fabric clings to his skin where the blood has dried, and he hisses when he finally manages to strip the last of it away, standing bare in the dim light of the bathroom.

His body is littered with bruises, deep and ugly, blooming across his chest, ribs, and arms. He traces his fingers over a few of them while looking at himself in the mirror before shaking his head and stepping into the shower.

The moment the hot water hits his skin, a groan rips from his throat. His body slackens, his forehead pressing against the cool tile as steam fills the space around him. The heat soothes some of the ache, washing away the blood and grime, but it does nothing for the real problem.

Nothing washes you away.

A year ago you said you two should stop fucking around. He said yes. No more casual sex, no more getting in between your legs almost every Friday night when you’d arrive at the train station. No more one on one time at night at all, in his car.

A year ago, he said he’d be a good friend. You did too. But you ghosting him for two months and then replying to him three days after his initial text with the desire to see him, deems him unable to keep his word.

He hates it. Hates how even now, even here, when he should be focusing on breathing through the pain of his body, his mind still drags him back to you. To the message on his phone. To the two months of silence that stretch between you like a fucking canyon that was broken tonight with that wrecking ball of a sentence.

It’s stupid. It’s nothing. It’s a simple fucking sentence, but it’s you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, fists clenching at his sides. He wants to hear your voice. He wants to tell you to come back. Offer you a job at his agency too.

He wants to demand to know if you miss him like he misses you—if you ache for him the way he aches for you. He wants to make this shitty fucking joke of entanglement end and make you his officially.

Dammit, he just wants the normality of you.

He can’t let anyone swoosh you away from him.

He sighs.

Tokyo is three hours away, but at this time the roads are empty and truthfully, he’d be better if he could see you too.

Exiting the bathroom, he’s already set on a decision for tonight. He throws on a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants; the set of gray ones that you got him for his birthday two years ago, jokingly saying it’s an outfit for your eyes only, and rampages through his clothes for another change.

With a backpack that’s too out of sight, he scoffs, running a finger through his damp hair. He's too frantic about this, but he’s going to do it.

Mitsuki crosses her arms, unimpressed, standing right at the doorframe of his room.

“Where are you going now? You’re gonna go sleep at the agency? Get a bed in there won’t you?” She jabs and Katsuki stares at her so intensely, backpack finally in his sight and hand that he feels his look could pierce through her.

The sound of Bakugo’s palm slamming against the edge of the bed as he grabs at his clothes makes her jump.

“Stay the fuck out of it,” he growls.

“You’re gonna wake up your father if you keep yelling like that”

“I'm going to Tokyo” he finally announces, after a moment of silence. He wants to be calm. He wants to be with you.

Mitsuki blinks at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His voice is low, rough, like he’s barely keeping himself in check.

“But she and Izuku, they—“

“They’re not a fucking they.” His breathing is harsh, eyes blazing with fury. “I wanted her first. Got her first and you don’t get to decide shit for her. Stop with this fucking Izuku bullshit. If you wanna play matchmaker do it for me and her”

Mitsuki studies him for half a second before scoffing. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you actually—”

Katsuki doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, but she sees the way his grip tightens around the backpack’s edge.

Mitsuki exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ.” She shakes her head and smiles “You do like her.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Bakugo’s fingers twitch. His mouth opens, then closes. His heart is pounding, but he refuses to let it show.

“You’re gonna strain yourself like this, you have to rest. Go tomorrow ”

“I don’t wanna rest,” he snaps, voice low and razor-sharp. “Can’t fucking rest, so what do you want?”

Mitsuki glares at him, arms crossed tight. “Don’t you dare start with me, Katsuki. You come home at three in the goddamn morning looking like that— you’re not going to Tokyo in the middle of the fucking night.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.”

Mitsuki pinches the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply. She looks at him the way she always has when he’s being especially difficult—like she’s two seconds away from wringing his neck and kissing his forehead all in the same breath.

“Katsuki.” Her voice is sharp but edged so sweetly. Right underneath. “You can barely stand.”

“I can stand just fine.”

“You were wobbling like a damn drunkard ten minutes ago.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m going.”

“You’re just gonna show up at her door? At this hour? Looking like that?”

Katsuki’s grip on his backpack tightens. Yeah. That’s exactly what he’s gonna do. That's the plan.

Mitsuki exhales slowly, shaking her head. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“M not,” he admits, “but I don’t care.”

He steps past her, brushing against her shoulder as he heads for the door. Mitsuki doesn’t stop him this time, just lets him go with a sigh that sounds resigned. She’s too tired too.

Katsuki pauses, his hand hovering over the doorknob. His mother’s voice follows him like a shadow.

“Be careful”

He doesn’t respond. Just pulls the door open and steps outside, rushing to his car.

The roads are empty and he’s driving a porche.

Tokyo is three hours away— but he’s gripping the steering wheel like he can cut that time in half. The dashboard clock glares at him, bright in the dark.

3:45 am.

He doesn’t care. He barely even feels the bruises tightening over his ribs as he shifts in his seat, pushing the car faster down the highway.

He should call, let you know, ask you why you’re up so late, ask what you’re doing, ask if you’re even okay with him coming to fucking Tokyo in the middle of the night just because he wants to hold you.

Instead—He sends you a text.

_____

Katsuki <3: Where the fuck are you?

You blink at the screen, heart stuttering in your chest.

It’s four in the morning. You weren’t expecting him to respond—especially not this late, and definitely not like this.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You could play it off, tell him you’re just out with coworkers, that it’s nothing. But there’s something about the way he texted you that makes your stomach twist.

You: Izakaya in Shibuya

Katsuki <3: You drinking?

You hesitate at first. What does it matter if you are? You’re not his girlfriend. Hell, you’re barely even friends at this point—not after two months of silence, not after you stopped responding like a coward. You’ve been nothing but unfair to him and yet, you reply, perhaps out of the newfound boldness of sake. Like this damn exchange of messages means anything.

You: yes

You set your phone to the side, get sucked into any conversation thats going on in the background

But then, before you can reply to whatever question Aiko shoots at you, your phone buzzes again.

Katsuki <3: R u drunk?

The words send a shiver down your spine.

“Hey, everything okay?” Aiko’s voice pulls you back to the present. She’s leaning toward you, brows raised in concern. You force a smile, nodding as you flip your phone facedown after typing the fastest reply in the world.

You: eh idk

You: why?

Not a lie. Not the whole truth, either.

Katsuki <3: just checking

You’re restless now. Your fingers tap against the side of your glass, your pulse thrumming in time with the background music. Bakugo shouldn’t have this effect on you anymore—not after all these years, not after everything.

And yet a lump forms in your throat.

If he wanted to, he would.

Maybe this is just nothing. He’s just bored. Just finished a night shift. Maybe he’s drunk and picking at a wound he doesn’t even realize he left behind.

Part of you wants to ask if he’s doing okay, if work at his own agency has been treating him right lately. But you don’t. You’re lost in your own trance of thoughts.

You want to fucking leave this place. You want to go home. Stare at the screen of your phone, at that two worded response until the sun is up.

“So if you date anyone, you’ll invite us to your wedding?” Aiko asks, giggling over her own glass.

Oh right, the topic of conversation is romance once again.

If you could vomit your heart out on demand, you would.

“My imaginary wedding? Yeah yeah”

You quickly start to think of ways to run away from this place to go home, but none of them do. You just have to rip the bandaid off and do it.

“Promiiiise!”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Alright, I promise, though I have to go, I got a big report to fill out tomorrow and I need to make sure I’m awake enough to handle all of you!”

As you stand up to leave, Aiko leans across the table, her expression suddenly serious. “Don’t fall for any villain on the way home”

“Yeah, please dont, text us when you get home!” Watanabe adds, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “You know we’re always here for you”

You smile, feeling a warmth in your chest at their support, but secretly you wish this was your friend group back home saying all this to you “I will, I promise! Thanks for tonight, you guys. It was… surprisingly fun.”

When you finish gathering your things, Watanabe leans forward, an adorning grin plastered on his face. “Wait a second! I’ll call you a cab it’s almost five am”

Your heart skips a beat, and you freeze for a moment, caught off guard. “Uh, thank you so much,” you say quickly.

“No problem! Get home safe and let us know you’re safe”

You give them one last smile, your heart lighter than when you first arrived. “Alright, alright! I’ll keep you posted!”

As you make your way to the exit, you can still hear their laughter and playful teasing trailing behind you. You can’t help but feel lighter as you step out into the cool Tokyo night, the city alive with its usual energy.

The streetlights cast a warm glow around you, and the chill in the air feels refreshing against your skin. Your thoughts drift back to the teasing, the laughter, and the moments shared. There’s something about it all that ignites a spark of hope within you. Maybe it was time you made a hear out of permanently living in Tokyo.

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Taglist: @littlebignoona @cielito--lindo @hopingforgoodblogs @sexylexy12 @bestyouveevermet @dreamingoftomorrow @2elusional @meeeepsworld @psicotropicwanderlust @katsucookies @xxkay15xx @drabby-abby @ryuucollapse @jennatollsthings @ihatethis222

Sorry if I’ve missed anyone. I will be updating it in the morning

[adoringaffliction]

Dinner time

any male!character x afab!reader

Warnings: oral (fem receiving), reader wears brandy melville, petnames, domestic fluffy smut, overstimulation (*moans loudly), overall just cutesy male yearning 

Summary: reader's significant other comes home from work and mentions a kind of hunger that can't be satiated with food per say…

MDNI +18

“These are cute.” he says as he snaps the waistband of her cotton pajama shorts.

“They’re new,” she looks up from what she’s reading. “How was today?” She sets down the book to look up at him, folding her legs to the side of her on their sofa to make room for him.

He sits down and leans back, decompressing,”Fine. Boring, just did paperwork. Nobody allowed me to do anything fun.” He pouts.

“Sad boy,”she reaches out to tousle his hair threading it through her manicured fingers.

“So sad,” he repeats, leaning into her now. She shifts to lay on her back and he follows suit resting the back of his head on her stomach.

She smiles and plays with his hair,”What do you want for dinner?”

Although his eyes are closed he can hear the smile in her voice as he smirks,”You.”

“C/n.”

He flips around to face her, resting his chin near her navel,”What?”

“Be serious,” she says, looking unamused.

He toys with the waistband of her shorts for the second time tonight. He looks up at her with brown puppy dog eyes as he slowly drags the fabric down her hips,”Who says I wasn’t serious.”

Her breathing hitches as he finally pulls the shorts off and away. He marvels at the sight of her white underwear, lace trimmed with a small bow sewn onto the middle of the waistline. “And where did these come from?” he asks smiling.

Breathlessly she answers,”Brandy, they came in yesterday with the shorts.”

“I don’t know who this Brandy is, but I’ll send them a thank-you letter,” he takes the edge of the panties between his teeth and slowly starts to tug them down.

“You don’t have to-,” she says, but he continues to glide the pair of underwear down her legs. Once at her ankles she tries to kick them off.

“I know honey, I want to,” he ends her struggle by taking them and stuffing them into his pants pocket.

“Wait don’t steal them- I just got those-,” she whines.

He smirks,”Finders keepers, besides, you know I’ll buy you the whole damn store.” He looks down and sighs,”Good god woman.” He looks back up at her face,”You’re going to be the death of me.” He watches as her face heats up and he smiles,”I’m gonna make you feel so good, is that alright with you sweet girl?”

He watches as she nods quickly before leaning down to lick a long broad stripe over her core, all while maintaining eye contact. She lets out a soft mewl and shuts her eyes on impulse. He pulls his face away and taps her thigh,”Uh-uh I need you to look at me sweetheart, look at me or I stop, got it.” Her eyes snap open and she nods. “Good Girl.” He dives back in tracing her arousal around her entrance and back up to her clit. She watches with her mouth hung open, soft gasps and whines falling out every so often. He makes good routine of this, waiting for her to gasp and attacking those parts ruthlessly.

“Taste so good sweet girl,”he says, his voice garbled and muffled by her pussy. He wraps his lips around her clit and softly suctions it into his mouth.

Her hips cant up and a strangled moan is let free,”Ah- fuck-!”

He smiles and continues looking into her eyes and watching as her face contorts in pleasure. Her eyes remain fixed on him. “So obedient,” he thinks as he sucks harder

He begins to take his fingers and probes her entrance lightly, looking for any sign in her face that she might want him to stop. Finding none he slowly pushes a finger inside and she gasps. He retracts the finger and slips it back inside finding little to no resistance. He watches as her eyebrows kiss each other when he curls it against her front wall, brushing the spot inside her that makes her see stars.

“Baby please- wanna cum,” she cries, eyes searching for permission in his desperately.

“I know sweet girl, I know,” he quickens the pace of his finger and sucks onto her clit. A high pitched cry sounds off from her as he feels her pussy spasming around his finger. “Good fucking girl, you gonna come for me?”

“Yes- please- fuck~,” her moan cuts her off as she comes, rutting her hips into his face and hands. Little “ah”s fill the air as she comes down, but he doesn’t let up.

She whines in over-stimulation,”Please- can’t-”

“You can, I know you can honey.” He speeds up his movements once more as she cries. Tears start to prick at her lash-line,”Come on sweet girl, just one more, you can take it.”

“Ngh- I- fuck!”

“You gonna come for me again sweetheart?” She nods in response but that’s not good enough for him. “Say it y/n, say you’re gonna come for me again.”

“Fuck baby- shit~ I’m gonna come for you- ah~ gonna come-,” she arches her back off the couch and releases a pornographic moan as she comes for the second time.

“That’s it.” He works her through it,”Good girl…” He pulls away as she whines this time, arousal dripping from his chin as he climbs up over top of her. He brushes away the sweat drenched baby-hairs that surround her face and smiles,”You did so good sweetheart.”

She hums in response and he laughs,”Wore you out did I?”

“Shut up,” she groans.

“Hey that’s no way to talk to your sweet boyfriend who just made you come twice in a row.”

She groans and shuts her eyes.

“What do you want for dinner angel? I’m not that hungry,” He smirks. God he was gonna be the death of her.

[psformybss]

Press Tour Secrets

drew starkey x actress!reader

warnings: secret relationship, press tour chaos, tension disguised as banter, sarcastic flirting

The problem with press junkets isn’t the hours or the recycled air or the caffeine crash halfway through your fourth interview. It’s that everyone thinks they’re clever.

Especially this one.

“So,” the interviewer says, halfway through her notes, “your characters go from enemies to lovers this season. There’s all this tension, then bam—boat scene, rain kiss, that hallway moment in episode six? Pure heat. How do you prepare for scenes like that?”

You and Drew glance at each other, both of you schooling your faces like you didn’t just rehearse this exact type of question with the publicist twenty minutes ago.

Drew blinks slowly. “We read the script,” he says, deadpan.

You don’t look at him, because you will laugh.

The interviewer gives a little laugh, a forced one. “Sure, but come on. That kind of chemistry doesn’t just happen. Be honest—was there ever a moment on set where the lines got blurry?”

Here we go.

You lift your brows slightly, leaning forward with a bright, fake TV smile. “Are you asking if we got so into character we accidentally fell in love?”

She shrugs like that wasn’t exactly what she was hoping for. “I mean… if you’re offering.”

Drew crosses one ankle over the other, arm resting behind you on the couch but not touching. “We’re professionals,” he says, slow and smooth. “Very committed to the work.”

You hum. “So committed we shot that rain scene for eight hours.”

“Cold as hell,” he adds.

“Someone kept missing their mark.”

“You were distracting.”

You snap your head toward him with a look. He grins, not even pretending to hide it.

The interviewer latches on like a hawk. “So there was something.”

You wave a hand, sarcasm dialed to eleven. “Yes. Our deep, unspeakable love bloomed under wet lighting and a boom mic in our faces. It’s very romantic when the director yells ‘cut’ right as you’re supposed to look like you’re losing control.”

Drew snorts, covering it with a fake cough. The interviewer looks vaguely delighted and very confused.

“But really,” she presses, turning toward Drew, “you said in another interview that you ‘hadn’t worked with someone who challenged you like this in a while.’ What did you mean by that?”

Drew’s smile twitches. You see it—the quick flick of his eyes to you. Calculating. You brace.

“I meant exactly that,” he says smoothly. “She’s… sharp. Funny. Makes it impossible to phone it in.”

“And the kissing?”

“Also challenging,” he says, then tilts his head. “In the sense that, you know, I had to keep it together.”

You bite your cheek to keep from reacting. The host is full-on leaning forward now.

“Why keep it together?”

“She was spitting out gum between takes,” he says with faux sincerity. “Kind of ruined the magic.”

You choke on your water. The host barks out a laugh. The moment passes in a blur of jokes and one-liners and more back-and-forth that to anyone else probably sounds like flirty co-stars with good rhythm.

But you know better.

Because every time your knees brush under the coffee table, Drew doesn’t move away.

Because when the interviewer thanks you and the crew calls cut, he stays just a half-second longer in his seat like he’s waiting for you to make the next move.

You don’t make a beeline for the hallway this time. Instead, you drift out with him, casual but close, exchanging thank-yous with the team, grabbing a bottled water with one hand and his sleeve with the other when no one’s watching.

The corridor outside is empty except for a production assistant on a phone call near the elevator. You keep walking, past another suite, past a “Do Not Disturb” sign on a door.

“You,” you say, elbowing Drew gently, “are a menace.”

He raises a brow, all innocence. “What’d I do now?”

“‘She makes it impossible to phone it in?’ Really?”

He shrugs, stepping in front of you to walk backward. “Wasn’t a lie.”

You narrow your eyes, but you’re smiling, and he knows it. “One of these days you’re gonna slip and say something that actually outs us.”

“Maybe,” he says, low and teasing. “Or maybe I just like watching you panic a little.”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

He grins. “A little chaos never hurt anyone.”

You pass another hallway junction, this one darker and quieter. The carpet muffles your steps. It’s a weird liminal hotel zone—between interview rooms and elevators, private enough to not be patrolled, but public enough to be a gamble.

Drew slows his steps.

You glance around, then back at him. “Here?”

He doesn’t answer. Just reaches for your hand and tugs you with him toward the corner alcove where two walls meet and a floor lamp flickers like it’s not quite screwed in right.

It’s dumb. Reckless. If anyone turns the corner right now, they’ll see you. You’ll be a blurry Twitter screenshot in five minutes.

You kiss him anyway.

Fast at first, a collision more than anything. You’d been holding it in for hours and now your fingers are in his jacket lapel and his hand is in your hair, tilting your head just right. He tastes like spearmint and coffee, warm and solid, grounding.

You break away with a breath, already laughing.

“That was stupid,” you whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back, then kisses you again.

His hand brushes your waist, your hips, careful but not innocent. You hook your arm around his neck and pull him even closer, until you’re pressed between him and the wall, and he mutters against your mouth, “God, I hate these press days.”

“I don’t,” you say, breathless. “Not if we get to do this after.”

You kiss again. And again. Between each one is a half-laugh, a breathless “wait, wait—” that neither of you listen to. It’s addictive, this mix of danger and giddiness, like teenagers sneaking around.

A door opens somewhere down the hall.

You both freeze.

Drew’s hand drops. You step back, fixing your hair, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

“Go,” you whisper, nudging his chest.

He straightens, smooths his shirt, nods. “You first.”

You glance at him over your shoulder as you head toward the elevator, eyes still bright, heart still pounding.

“You’re the worst,” you say.

He grins, walking the other way. “You love it.”

And the thing is—you really, really do.

an: i love writing them, it’s always so fun to come up with their banter

[kcrabb88]

I'm spinning around the themes of haunting in Andor this morning. Things that haunt the narrative. Things that haunt the characters.

The Death Star, obviously, haunts the narrative from the word go because of Rogue One. You see Cassian starting to assemble the weapon that will eventually kill him in season one. Ghorman happens. Mentions of Jedha. The horror over it grows slowly but surely until you see Krennic looking at it through the window.

Palpatine, as I've said a few times, is constantly haunting the narrative. You never see him, but every single time I heard a reference to him I felt it in my chest. I gasped. The "save the sermon for Palpatine" in one of the final episodes almost took me out because they so often just called him "the emperor" so to hear a rare mention of his actual name was powerful. And it's Mon who finally speaks the name of the monster in the previous episodes. And when she does, it takes away some of his power. Things start to slowly unravel for the empire from that moment on.

The Force haunts Cassian through the entire show. This is where you need to be this is where you need to be this is where you need to be, it says to him, via Luthen, the Force healer, Bix, Kleya. He still has to choose it, though. He has to decide for himself. The Force will give you a clue, but it doesn't make your choices for you. To choose that fate is to choose the light not really just for himself but for the entire galaxy, but he still GETS to choose it. He gets to choose it to make everything he's sacrificed worth it.

Two genocides haunt Bail. The Jedi genocide--he was one of the only people in the galaxy to speak out against it. His own genocide that he doesn't yet understand will occur. The camera kept panning to him when Mon spoke of the Ghorman genocide. In the last episode, you could just FEEL it hanging over him. Padme's death, too, haunts him. She's not there but she is. The knowledge that he bears about who Palpatine really is, who Vader is, what happened to Obi-Wan, and the truth of his own beloved adopted daughter. Having to be apart from Breha so much, you can FEEL how lonely he is carrying all of that.

Bix is haunted by her torture. You see how much she struggles. How she takes drugs to sleep. She gets to kill her ghost so he can't hurt anyone else, but it still wounded her so, so deeply (and then more bad stuff happened which only aggravated that!)

Dedra is haunted by her parents. They were criminals, CRIMINALS, and she'll never be like them, no, she'll be the empire's good soldier with all these men, but those men chew her up and spit her out until SHE is the one in prison having committed horrible atrocities in the empire's name, and she's just like her parents in the end, because the empire decided she was.

Mon is haunted by the things she's had to do for the Rebellion (even as she recognizes and appreciates the things Cassian has had to do). Letting her childhood friend be assassinated. Letting go of her dreams of peace, of what she knew before any of this, the senate, her home since she was a teenager, because it's not working anymore. Handing her daughter over to child marriage, and that daughter somehow WANTING that marriage.

Anyway! I'm sure there's more! But I just think it's Neat.

[venomvalley]

NEON CARNIVORES

dom!sevika x fem!reader x pathetic!vi | 5.9k words

SUMMARY: You're Sevika's long-time girlfriend. Vi is Sevika's new roommate. What could possibly go wrong?

TAGS: 18+ only! smut (porn w/ plot, voyeurism, fingering, oral, threesome). angst, addiction, mental health issues, sex as therapy. modern!zaun au. complicated character dynamics.

NOTES: been working on this for so long and i just hope its good. split this into two parts btw so.. look out!!

-> READ ON AO3 | ARCANE MASTERLIST

Saturday morning rolls around with a blare of your work alarm—an early shift to cover for your sick coworker, with the added bonus of overtime for this pay period.

Sevika isn’t too happy about seeing you go, arm wound tight around your waist, grumbling out a throaty protest when you try to wriggle beneath her hold.

You spend every weekend at your girlfriend's new apartment. Twice the size of her last, with an extra bedroom neither of you ever use outside of temporary storage. She’s been weighing the idea of getting a roommate, with the recent hike in rent by her scummy landlord, and you would jump at the opportunity, if not for her insistence that you take things slow.

(You’ve been dating for two years. In Zaunite terms, you might as well be married already.)

Ten minutes later, after wrestling for your freedom from the cage of her bed, you shuffle into the kitchen with a loud yawn. Wearing nothing but a long shirt and a pair of random underwear.

You freeze at the sight of an unknown woman stood at the sink, scrubbing a dish. Pink hair, broad shoulders, intricate tattoos. Dressed similarly to you.

Who the fuck…?

“Uh, hi,” you say, hid half-behind the wall to conceal your state of undress. The woman turns to look at you, and—

(Pot of boiling water, meet frog.

Inevitability is a crazy, crushing thing when combined with your power of extreme denial. One moment, you're sitting in a jacuzzi, and the next, your skin is peeling away from the bone.

A slow, sanguine death.)

“Oh, hey,” she replies, reaching to dry her hands off on a nearby towel. “You're Sevika's girl, right?”

You nod your head and offer up your name, stepping out to stand behind the lip of the counter.

“Name’s Vi. I'm the new roommate.” Ah. Would've been nice if Sevika had warned you beforehand. “I'm just gonna,” a thumb points to the once-spare bedroom, “crawl back in my hole now.”

“Right. Good morning, Vi.”

“Yeah. Morning.”

You return to Sevika’s bedroom with a scowl on your face and a complaint on your tongue, shutting the door a bit harder than you meant to. Her shape beneath the sheets jolts at the sound, head popping up from the pillow.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had a new roommate?”

She blinks, swiping her palm over each eye, jaw dropping to make room for a loud yawn. “Oh, her.”

“Yeah. Her.”

“Relax. Vi stays in her room all day,” spoken mid-stretch, her lone arm reaching for the lip of the headboard.

“That’s not the point. What if I had walked out there naked?”

“Then she’d get one hell of a show.”

You physically deflate, shoulders curling inward, and shuffle over to the bed. Sevika scoots over to give you room, then lifts the sheets in invitation.

“You know I'm joking, right?” she asks, the curve of her nose brushing against your cheek.

“I know… ‘m just embarrassed.”

“Don't be. Vi has three braincells to her name. No chance she even noticed.” Sevika pauses a moment, then gives a lazy shrug of her shoulder. “Probably.”

Thus begins a new era of your relationship: Roommate Woes. Except, Vi isn't the problem here. She keeps to herself, does her chores, pays rent on time via her night shift job (whatever that is). Sevika, on the other hand, never learned subtlety, and coupled with her insatiable libido, you experienced PDA on levels previously unknown to humankind.

But gone are the days of her bending you over the kitchen counter, or fucking you on the couch, or being as loud as she wants—just to spite the cantankerous old lady living next door. While Vi works, Sevika sleeps. Opposite schedules that leave you no room for sexual intimacy. As such, both you and Vi share in this odd stall-state of perceived encroachment. Her, encroaching on your relationship; you, encroaching on her home.

So. In an amiable show, you decide to talk with Sevika about inviting her to your weekly movie night.

The two of you stand in the kitchen mid-discussion, making food to much on as the television plays the movie's menu screen on repeat.

“But why do I have to ask her?”

“Because this was your idea in the first place.” Sevika steps away from the counter with a sigh, hand adorned with a sickly-pink, heart-patterned oven mitt (she swore when you bought it for her that she would never wear it, and now it's the only one she uses). “She won't bite.”

“I think she hates me.” At the crook of her brow, you scoff, voice veering toward whiny. “I’m serious. Every time I come over, she scurries off to her room and I don't see her the rest of the weekend.”

“She does that anyway.”

“It's different, though.”

“… Just knock on the damn door.”

Against your better judgement, you trundle off and away, stopping before the looming pane of wood that separates you from Vi's bedroom.

Really, it's not a big deal. It shouldn't be. But your girlfriend's roommate is a pink-haired enigma, a puzzle stuck in a perpetual state of unsolvable. A disappearing act that, you gotta admit, hurts your ego a bit. You don’t recall saying anything wrong, but maybe, given the circumstances, you should double check that your presence is even wanted. Vi lives here, after all.

So you knock on the door—a few quick raps of your knuckles, just loud enough to grab her attention. You wait for a beat, then another, then another, and just as you turn to leave, the door swings open in a rush of cool air.

Some sort of fan whirs a steady noise from inside her bedroom, the floor strewn with clothes, room dark except for the blue-light halo emanating from her computer. She starts at the sight of you, jolting half a step backward before collecting herself.

“Oh. Sorry, I thought you were—”

“Do you wanna watch a movie with us?” The question comes out in a rush, your synapses a live-wire of anxiety.

Shit. You just want her to like you. Better for all parties involved when you show up every week without fail.

She blinks the kitchen light from her eyes, hand slipping beneath her shirt to scratch at a hip. “What?”

“A movie? Neon Carnivores just came out, and Sevika picked up the DVD after work. It's supposed to be this noir-horror filmed in the Lanes. Thought you might like it.”

“Uh,” a quick shake of her head, “yeah. I'll be there in a minute.”

Then she slams the door in your face.

You shuffle back to the living room, head emptied of all thought. Bewildered. Sevika sits on one end of the couch sans prosthetic, munching on a slice of pizza fresh from the oven. Carefree and oblivious.

“How'd it go?” she asks, bumping her shoulder into yours when you sit down beside her.

“She slammed the door in my face.”

Sevika has the audacity to laugh. To say, “Oh, she's got it bad.”

You land an admonishing smack on her thigh. “Stop, Sev.”

“It's true.” Another bite of her pizza. “You’re all she talks about.”

“What, about how much she hates me?”

“Do you want her to hate you?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

Your mouth drops open in half-serious shock, but she continues to eat her stupid slice of pizza and stares at you like she said nothing wrong.

Vi's bedroom door creaks open. A beat of awkward silence passes before she appears in the corner of your eye, weighing her choice of couch or recliner. One glance at Sevika makes up her mind, and Vi takes the cushion beside you. She offers up a tight-lipped smile when you meet her gaze, turning away before you can reciprocate.

The rest of the evening follows a similar pattern: Vi curled up against the armrest while Sevika cuddles you against her side, the movie you chose bathing the room in colors of neon velvet. An indie-arthouse flick hallmarked by practical effects and unusual cinematography.

Sevika spends the last thirty minutes of the movie with her head tucked to her chest, vehemently arguing against the idea of exhaustion every time you wake her up and tell her to go to bed.

When the credits roll, Vi excuses herself, and your girlfriend finally succumbs to your prodding. Kisses you goodnight and shuffles off to bed.

So here you sit, stretched out on the cushions, cold and lonely and mourning the loss of Sevika's weight against you. Some game show continues in the background as you scroll through your phone, leagues away from the exhaustion that usually sends you to bed.

“Hey.”

The sudden greeting jolts you, and you turn around to find Vi stood at the entrance of the small hallway, housing her bedroom on one side and bathroom on the other. Scarred knuckles curled over the wall's edge, almost skittish in her stance.

“Oh. Hey.” You sit up against the armrest, elbow denting the back cushion.

“Where's Sevika?”

“In bed.”

“This early?” A click of her tongue, arm swinging a lazy rhythm as she steps into the living room. “Somebody's getting old.”

The first conversation you've ever had with her, aside from the greetings-in-passing on your way to Sevika's bedroom. But those don't count, right?

“Yeah, I tell her that all the time.”

Then silence. Vi remains awkward behind the couch, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Your teeth tug at a piece of stubborn skin on your bottom lip. The show drones on, forgotten in the wake of her presence.

“So. How long have you two been together?” she asks, hands finding comfort in the pockets of her sweatpants.

“Two years tomorrow.”

She exhales a sound halfway between a hum and a grunt, brows lifting clear to her hairline. “Shit. Practically married, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Sevika doesn't believe in marriage. A piece of paper solidifying love? Bunch of bullshit, far as she's concerned. And it isn't that you don't agree, but… well. It would be nice to have the option this deep underground. That useless piece of paper is only reserved for pilties.

“She’s happy with you.”

You blink, and she's circling around the couch. “You think so?”

She plops down in Sevika's recliner, one leg thrown over the armrest. (Sevika would kill her if she knew, but you swear yourself to a vow of silence. An olive branch for a budding friendship.)

“Definitely. She helped me out a few years back. Less of an asshole now, with you in the picture.”

So, they know each other. That makes more sense than Sevika inviting some random stranger to live with her. She's made too many enemies to consider such an idea.

“How'd you two meet?”

Her foot jitters back and forth, shaking the armrest. “She knew my old man when they were young, and when he died a few years ago, she kinda… took me under her wing.”

Vi says nothing else, and you don't intend to pry. But you're curious. Who wouldn't be? Sevika stays tight-lipped whenever Vi’s name comes up in conversation, and she’s the only person you know to answer all your burning questions. Aside from the woman herself.

But you're not there yet. Your nosiness will have to wait.

So you smile and say, “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

When she smiles back with a lopsided quirk of her mouth, you think you might be kind-of-halfway friends.

—

A simple text changes everything.

Hey. Turn your tv up.

Sender: Sevika. Recipient: Vi.

A heat-of-the-moment decision from a brain fogged by hormones and the sight of your bare tits in the mirror while changing into pajamas. Post-anniversary date, mid-makeout in her bed, she grabs her phone and sends The Text.

What follows is a marathon of impressive proportions. A box of sex toys, a bottle of lube, and two very insatiable libidos. You expected this after teasing her all night—kissing her neck on the drive to the restaurant, groping her ass during the post-check bathroom break, babbling about your ideas for sex after the two of you make it home.

She fucks you like she's trying to leave a scar in the mattress, maybe carve your body into the wrinkled sheets. Heavy and hot. Angry. Staking her claim. A routine of feeding you her cock until you cry, then soothing the ache with her mouth, then flipping you over and doing it again.

Then, a shadow under the door, shifting its weight. Sevika doesn't notice, too busy lapping at your wet cunt, but you do. Head tipped upside down over the side of the bed, that little patch of inky darkness is all you can look at.

For a moment, you contemplate saying something. You should say something, but you're selfish, and the looming orgasm that numbs you down to the bone steals away every braincell capable of thought.

You know Vi's been listening. Sevika and subtlety mix as well as oil and water. That fucking text. Her shadow lingers under the door like a spilled-ink stain as you whine and whimper through orgasm number three. Even when your world shifts, and Sevika kneels over your prone form, your gaze remains on the shadow beneath the door. A constant, an anchor to the real world.

Strap buried inside your cunt, Sevika flattens herself along the expanse of your back. The soft plush of her lips ghosts over the shell of your ear.

“We have a visitor,” she mutters, and you shudder beneath her. “What do you say? Should we ask her to join?”

The scary part? You actually think about it. Not exactly crossing the line to consideration, but you entertain the idea. The width of Vi's shoulders spreading your thighs, the softness of her mouth against your skin, the layers of her mullet caught in your fist—

Okay. So you consider it.

“Seriously?” you ask, voice a hissing breath of disbelief.

Sevika mouths along your pulse, the cold metal of her prosthetic hand smoothing up your spine. “She's standing outside for a reason.” A sharp bite to the curve of your shoulder, and an inhale catches between your teeth. “That reason isn't me.”

“I—”

Her posture softens, and her voice along with it. “Just think about it, okay?”

Sweet and tender, a facet of Sevika that she reveals only to you—almost comedic given the circumstances. Dangling the idea of a threesome in front of your face, so blasé about the whole thing that you're afraid to take her seriously. No, it's nothing more than dirty talk. Fantasy.

(The disappointment that knots in your gut doesn't actually exist.

Right?)

Things become… weird after that night. Tense as a band waiting to snap. Vi avoids you like you've caught the plague, lurking at the corner of your vision but never daring to approach. No more late-night conversations on the couch, or sharing the burden of dishes, or trading memes back and forth during the week. Like she never even existed at all.

You fucked up. You don't know how, but you did.

Her absence shouldn't bother you so much, but Sevika obviously cares about her to an extent. Why wouldn't you want Vi to like you? And yeah, maybe you enjoy her being around. She's easy to talk to. A comforting presence that reminds you a lot of Sevika.

Given her indefinite absence from your life, you don't expect your phone to blare with her ringtone on a typical Wednesday night (three thirty-two a.m. to be exact) long after you've fallen asleep. You paw at the nightstand for the familiar rectangle of your phone, bleary-eyed and frustrated at the interruption.

At the sound of her voice when you answer the call, you bolt upright in bed.

Slurred and trembling, weak:

“Fuck, it's late, I know, but my boss won't let me walk and I can't call Sevika like this. Can you just—” rustling on the end of the line, a muffled exchange between two voices that you can't quite hear, “I need a ride home.”

Before she can finish her last sentence, you’re throwing a coat on and snatching your keys from the coffee table. “Where are you?”

“Um,” she sniffles, “Apex Eleven. It's this club near the apartment.”

“I'll be there. Wait for me inside.”

She mumbles in agreement then hangs up.

You know that place. Sevika took you there when you first started dating, and though the night started out awkward in that new-romance-learning-curve way, you eventually coaxed her onto the dance floor after a shot or ten. You shared your first kiss in the parking lot outside, right before throwing up all over her pants.

In the heart of the Lanes, the streets awaken at night. Traffic thickens as you near the strip of bars and clubs and brothels, neon signs blinking in rhythmic disorder. Crowds of people stroll down the sidewalk on either side of the street, a jumble of conversation and thumping music intruding on the silence inside your car.

You pull into the club's parking lot then beeline for the front door. One ID check later, and you step inside the club to meet a thick wall of smoke and the smell of sweat-masking body spray. The floor sticks to your shoes as you skirt the outer edge of the dance floor, pinballed between drunken bodies. A party of overstimulation.

Vi sits slumped at the bar, her pink hair a stand-out amongst the sea of clubgoers, undeterred by the lights that cloak her form in multicolor strobes. The tattoos branching up her bare arms ring familiar.

You sidle up beside her, shaking her by the shoulder. “Hey.”

She sits up at the sound of your voice, eyes squinting in confusion, body drawn tight and angular—preparing for a fight.

After a long, breath-stilling moment, she relaxes. “Oh. Hey.”

You nod toward the exit. “Let’s get you home.”

“Whatever. This place sucks anyway.”

Now, the hard part: dragging her to the car. A task she makes no effort to help you with, still sat at the bar, eyes never leaving your face. Low-lidded and darker than you’ve ever seen them.

“What is it?” you ask, shifting back and forth on your feet. The atmosphere of the club renders you drunk by proxy.

“Fuck, you're pretty.” A hand reaches out to touch your face, palm sweatslick against your jaw, fingers ice-cold as they follow the curve of your skull. “Anybody tell you that lately?”

You grab her wrist and step away, a suggestion written in the tug of your hand. “Sevika. Ya know, my girlfriend?”

She slithers out of the chair, balance precarious as her brain struggles to command her feet. One step, then another, until her shoulder collides with yours. You steady her with an arm slung across her back, wincing beneath the drag of her weight as you begin to walk.

None of your Vi-shaped puzzle pieces fit together. No red string to connect all the details. During all your conversations, she kept topics shallow, information casual: likes the color blue, and exercise, and video games; grew up rough; has a sister and a nameless ex. Harmless breadcrumbs to leave behind.

And now there’s a brand new tidbit, filed away under ???????

Fuck, you’re pretty.

She’s far from sober. People say anything when they get a few drinks circulating in their blood, and she passed that threshold a while ago. Mystery solved.

Vi climbs into the passenger seat of your car and curls up against the console. When you buckle her seatbelt, she barely stirs. Something tender and aching rises at the sight of her, impossibly fragile and motionless, just before you close the door.

The drive back to her shared apartment is silent. She adjusts her position every few minutes, grumbling something under her breath—thankfully, still breathing.

Dragging Vi over to elevator is another mountain to climb. She stubs up once she recognizes the run-down shell of her apartment building, slurs something about Sevika and disappointment, and you don't understand the issue. There's no way you could drag her up four flights of stairs to your elevator-less apartment.

“Besides,” you continue, “Sevika's asleep. It'll be alright.”

It takes even more reassurance before Vi finally agrees to walk. You lead her through the small hallway, into the elevator, and up to the third floor.

Before you can find the key in one of Vi's many pockets, the apartment door swings open, and there stands—

“Sev. I didn't think you'd be awake.”

You find no anger in her features, but they contort all the same. Behind her shines the kitchen light, a small halo that cuts through the empty shadows plaguing the small living room.

Her eyes cut to Vi, sharp and piercing. “Women's intuition.”

"How'd you know?” Vi asks, head lowered, unable to meet the gaze of the woman before you.

Already, she stands a bit straighter, weight easing off your shoulder. No doubt sobered up by shock.

Sevika shrugs. Takes a drag of her cigarette. Says nothing, but steps aside to allow you both entry. And once inside, she takes Vi by the arm not slung over your shoulders.

“I got her, honey,” she says, stepping forward in silent request for you to take the cigarette from her mouth.

They disappear into Vi's bedroom. You take a seat on the couch and pass the time by chewing on the filter and watching the paper burn with each lung-filling puff. A fitting end to a night of self-destruction.

A few minutes later, Sevika comes back. Worn down to the bone, wet around the eyes.

“Is she okay?” you ask, scooting over to give her room to sit down.

She collapses beside you, head tipping back against the couch. “I don't know.”

A bad sign. Whatever they talked about, Sevika can't immediately fix, and the worry carves wrinkles into her brow.

Your fingers find the soft thickness of her thigh, comfort stamped in the press of your lips to her shoulder. She's warm, impossibly so. Worked up. Angry, even.

“The deal when she moved in was that she stayed sober.” She scrubs her hand over her face, frustration tangible, thickening up the air that surrounds you. “I told her that job was a bad fucking idea.”

“Is that what you helped her with a few years back?” you ask, voice never daring to rise above a whisper. “Getting sober, I mean.”

“She told you about that?”

“She just said you helped her with a situation.”

A stretch of tense silence, where nothing you say can fix the situation, and Sevika has no interest in wasting the energy on words.

“She wants to talk to you, by the way. You don't have to, but… Vi's a good person, she's just…”

“Been through a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

You're not angry. Worried, yes, but angry? Your Vi-shaped puzzle sharpens into view: a bad childhood, a sister she either doesn't talk to, an ex she refuses to name, a struggle with addiction. One awful event after another, woven into bone and muscle and joint and tendon. Staining everything she touches.

(Really, you don’t know why you care so much.)

When you open the door to Vi's bedroom, she’s laying in bed, tucked beneath the sheets. Staring up at the ceiling, she wipes her face on her shirt.

“Feel like company?” you ask, offering up a smile when she cranes her head to look at you.

The room lay dark, her form a deep splotch of shadow against the wall as she sits up. “Yeah.”

You sit down on the edge of the bed and wait for her to speak.

“I just wanna say that I'm sorry for tonight. I know I should've called Sevika but I was terrified that she would,” she shakes her head, “kick me out.”

“She wouldn't.”

“Well, I know that now, but… sorry for being trouble.”

You shrug. “Better you call me than something bad happen.”

She snorts, pillows creaking beneath her weight. “The worst already has.”

Your jaw aches from the force you exert to keep it shut. Curiosity rears its ugly head once again, but now isn't the time for indulgence.

“You can ask. If anybody deserves to know, it's you.”

“When Sevika helped you a few years ago, what was that about?”

“Oh, that? Funny story, actually.” A sharp sniff. “I was living on the streets at the time, going to bars and clubs every night, fighting for money. Literally, by the way. And one night, this woman walks up to me and says she knew my dad, Vander, before he died.

At that point, I’m ready to knock her out and go back to drinking, but she starts giving me details about his old life that nobody would know. So we go back to her apartment and she’s an asshole about the whole thing, but she helps me get my life straightened out.”

“And after that?”

“I move out on my own. Things are good for a while, but… life always catches up with you, I guess. I start thinking about Vander and my sister and—and Cait, and I start to spiral again. Go back to my old ways.”

Cait. A name for the unforgettable.

“It’s easy, isn’t it?”

The shadow moves, and you think Vi nods her head. “Yeah, it is.”

In a stroke of courage, you move from the end of the bed to its head, and after a bit of searching, you find Vi’s shape beneath the sheets. You lean into her, throwing your arms over her shoulders in an awkward hug. The smell of vodka leaks from her pores, skin sweatslick and sticky, and you can only hope that this brings her comfort.

“You’ll be okay. Maybe not for a while, but horrible things don’t last forever.”

Her hands press against your back, following the curve of your spine. “I’ll take your word for it.”

—

Vi loses herself for a while. She regresses back to some younger, weaker version of herself; back when everything was too much and too big and too scary. She quits her job at the club and starts sharing Sevika's bed at night. Another presence to drive out the demons that plague her.

It happens in the dark.

You're trapped between two very warm, very clingy bodies after a long conversation about boundaries and adaptation and how Vi fits into your life. Sevika tells you that you don't have to stay, that she isn't your responsibility, but you aren't gonna just leave her like this.

(You don't know why you care so much.)

“Can I kiss you?” Vi asks, whispered against the shell of your throat.

The world stops turning. She leans back and rests her head on the pillow, bright eyes wide, bottom lip sucked between her teeth.

Sevika lay right behind you, fitting perfectly against the curve of your spine, arm slung over your waist. That arm tightens, tugging you impossibly closer.

“It's okay,” she says.

Her hips grind against your ass, soft enough that you almost believe it an accident. Soft enough to jump-start the pulse between your legs.

You can't come back from this. Once your lips meet, it's done.

Does Sevika really not mind? Watching you kiss her… whatever Vi is? Friend, responsibility, something inbetween?

Fuck it.

You meet Vi's gaze and nod your head, and her smile flickers beneath the light of the television. As she leans in, her nose brushes yours, and Sevika's buries her face in your shoulder.

Vi kisses you like she loves you, all passionate and needy. Like you mean something to her, for all the ups and downs of your short relationship and her isolating tendencies.

Before Sevika, you never experienced love as a universal truth, giving or reciprocal. No butterflies, or fuzzy feelings, or giddiness at the sight of a lover. But when Vi kisses you, it feels… right. Comfortable. She licks into your mouth and she's warm and soft and impossibly sweet. Tender and careful and savoring.

She pulls away with a sigh, and the hand on your belly moves to cradle your jaw. A turn of your head, and Sevika sucks Vi's taste off your tongue.

It happens quick. The pulse between your legs sparks a fire that threatens full-body consumption. The women that sandwich you in take turns stealing the breath from your lungs, over and over and over again. A competition brews between the two regarding who can turn you into the biggest mess, and while one kisses you, the other nips at your neck and gropes your tits and teases at the seam of your underwear.

You don’t know how things turned out this way, but you aren’t complaining. Not when Vi rucks up your shirt and sucks a nipple into her mouth, and Sevika's lips feel like home against yours. Too much yet not enough, brain dizzy from overstimulation.

“Wait, fuck,” you gasp in a breath when they both part from you, “I just—I need a second.”

So horny you could honestly cry. If Vi wasn't here, you'd be begging Sevika for the strap, face buried in the sheets, ass in the air. They give you time to calm down, and you mourn the loss of their weight and warmth, skin buzzing from the ghostly stamp of their hands.

“Are you okay?” asks Sevika, nosing at the divot of your temple.

“Yeah, just…” you try and fail to suppress the stretch of your lips, “I didn't think you liked to share.”

She exhales an unamused breath, eyes darting to Vi when the latter drapes herself over your middle, hair tickling your chin.

“I'm a special case, right?”

Sevika shoves her off by the shoulder. Says, “Shut up. At least I don't listen in on my roommates—”

Vi stutters a moment then holds up a defensive finger. “Okay, that happened once. Once.”

“Porn exists.” A beat of silence, and Sevika laughs under her breath. “But you don't want porn, do you?”

You're definitely missing context for this conversation, but they argue like you don't even exist in the room.

“Don't,” Vi hisses, rising onto an elbow to glare at Sevika through squinted eyelids. “Seriously, I'll kick your ass.”

“Just ask her.”

Finally, you chime in. “Ask me what?”

Vi's glare turns to pleading, but beside you, Sevika remains stalwart.

“Ask me what?”

“Vi wants to fuck you.”

You blink. The neurons in your brain short-circuit. “For how long?”

“A while,” Vi grumbles, turned on her side, facing away from the two of you.

It's not the idea that surprises you, but the verbal admission. You know how to take a hint, and Vi's slip-up at the club cemented what Sevika already told you as fact.

“It doesn't bother me, if you're worried about that. Brat wants to feel good and she trusts you.” A lazy shrug that jostles your shoulder. “Your choice, honey.”

You look over at Vi to gauge her reaction, and find her already staring at you with pleading eyes. Tender as a healing wound.

It's an easy decision. Easier than your conscience allows. Your memory returns to the night Vi stood outside the bedroom door, when Sevika teased you about inviting her in. She recognized your own attraction before you did. That soft spot on your heart for an unsolvable woman.

“Let's do it.”

The once-playful atmosphere thickens into something anticipatory when Vi crawls between your legs, and your nerves might fray to breaking if not for Sevika’s presence at your side. Always doing what she does best—why you stayed despite her every effort to snuff your relationship out.

As Vi's hands find your inner thighs, Sevika kisses you soft and slow in an effort to tame the wild buck of your pulse.

“Go easy on her,” Sevika says to you, lips stretched in a teasing smile. “I'm sure it's been a while.”

“Fuck you,” Vi mutters, but says nothing in her own defense.

As if it even matters. Your girlfriend serves as the warden of your pussy, and she loves to bark an order or ten. You’re in good hands.

Off come your clothes while the other two remain dressed, a feeling of stark vulnerability that seeks to fry the white matter of your brain. Sevika rubs a comforting hand over your belly, while Vi shoulders your thighs apart.

The first thing you do is reach down to run your fingers through her hair. Soft as you imagined.

She dives in tongue-first, licking you from hole to clit, and groans when your thighs close around her head on instinct. It's all soft, wet heat. Messy from her spit. What she lacks in technique, she makes up for in enthusiasm. Moans so loud against your pussy that you almost believe she can feel your pleasure.

Sevika doesn't let you forget her. She murmurs praise into your ear, teases you for being so wet, asks you how good Vi's mouth feels. You've made it clear how her voice affects you, and she wields dirty words as a weapon any chance she gets.

Good girl.

You look so pretty like this.

How's it feel, honey?

You kiss her just to shut her up. The burn in your belly turns to a blaze embarrassingly fast, and when Vi slides a long finger into your cunt, stars burst behind your closed eyelids. There's no holding back your orgasm when her tongue circles over your clit, slick and hot and—

You turn away from Sevika's mouth and fist Vi's hair in both hands, the muscles in your thighs twitching. "Fuck, please."

"Come on, honey." A pair of plush lips trail down the line of your neck, nipping at your drum-beat pulse. "Let her make you feel good."

That's all it takes. Permission. Weeks without so much as a finger on your clit leads you to a breath-stealing release, and your hearing blots out as you grind against Vi's face. So selfish, needing more, craving the impossible: inevitability.

When the pleasure breaks, you sink into the mattress with a heaving sigh. Each lobe of your brain makes a slow return to normal, and when you blink your eyes open, Vi's face sharpens into view.

Wide-eyed and nervous, she smooths a hand up and down your thigh. "Was that okay?"

All you can do is giggle and nod your head. Too fucked-out to form words.

To your left, Sevika wraps a thick arm around your ribs and pulls you to her. She knows you too well. A long cuddle is neccessity after an orgasm, and she's warm and soft and her chest makes a great pillow. And if you fall asleep for a few minutes, you're none the wiser.

You open your eyes again to Vi gently cleaning you with a washcloth. Sevika sits beside her, nursing a glass of water.

"Hey, Vi." They both look down at you. "Want me to return the favor?"

She shakes her head, slick lips stretching into a dopey grin. "No. I got what I needed."

When Vi moves to lay back down, Sevika catches her by the shoulder. "Wash your face."

"Why don't you clean me up?"

You watch the exchange half-lucid and half-listening, until their voices filter through a lens of fading lucidity. What they both fail to realize is how alike they are, and suddenly everything makes sense.

That's why you care so much.

[microwavesaferat]

April Fools day is a busy day in Gotham, you've got several themed rogues wanting to do something big to commemorate the day, and this year was no different. The Bats were spread so thin trying to deal with the Joker, the Riddler, Calender Man and the Penguin (unrelated to the date, he was just up to shit), that they never got around to any fun sibling pranks. So Stephanie has taken it upon herself to reschedule (not notifying the others though).

Stephanie is not cruel though, she wants to do a trick and a treat almost, one good dead to balance out each prank, so she makes a plan.

First up is Dick. She goes to their gym and applies a liberal amount of oil to every single surface she can find, before finally adding a thin coat of sticky wax to the basketballs. She watches through cameras as Dick slips off every single bar he tries to hold onto. The best is when he gets to the pummel horse and gets so much momentum that he slips off and out the open door. She and Babs then watch as, defeated, Dick tries to play a bit of basketball, only for the ball to not bounce off the floor and get stuck in the net.

She makes it up to him though, she contacted Hally's Circus (it's now under new management and touring in Florida) and managed to arrange for Zitka the Elephant to be brought over for the day. Dick cries at seeing the old elephant. Damian tries to convince Bruce to keep her.

Next on the list is Jason. In the middle of the night, with help from Cass, she dyes his white streak bright blue. He doesn't notice until he comes down for food and Dick gets excited that he's wearing Nightwing colours. He then walks around wearing his helmet all day, unaware that it says "kick me" on the back, in blue ink.

On Jason's bed, there's a VHS tape. When played, it shows the Joker's old standup work, before crime became his full gig. Jason has never laughed so hard before, not at his jokes, but at the booing. Oh my god, he bombed!

But for now, Steph moves onto Babs. Barbara has eyes everywhere, so Steph has to reach depths never before seen; she takes Jim Gordon's laptop, changes the system language to Dutch and all his passwords. Babs spends the full day trying to coach him through changing his passwords to something other than 'Barbara1' and how to use 2-factor authentication.

Barbara gets an anonymous email the next day. It's footage from a hidden camera in Jason's room. He's in a towel and singing ABBA off-key into a hairbrush. Worth it.

For Tim, Steph enlists the help of Kon. See the problem a panicked Kon brings to Tim is as follows: On a mission, Steph got hurt bad. She's woken up, but with no memory of the last 2 years. Now while this is worrying on its own, the true horror lies that, 2 years ago, Tim and Steph were dating. So now Tim has to try and let Steph down gently while his boyfriend watches on. Steph has to break character when trying to plant a kiss on him.

She makes it up to Tim. During her 'injury', Tim had brought her a Gatorade to drink, and she just happened to spill it on Kon's shirt. Guess he'll have to take it off!

Up next is Damian. She swaps his katanas with prop breakaway blades. He goes to practice only for them to shatter on impact. This is the first time Steph has seen him look so heartbroken. The best part is, he can't even threaten to cut her head off.

Forgiveness was easy, she simply opened the barn and the backdoor. Soon the manor is overrun with dogs, cats, cows, and demon-cat things. Even Zitka gets involved. Damian has spent the day in the library, practically drowning in fur and feathers.

The barn escape also serves as Alfred's prank as he has to convince Damian to let them go back to the barn.

When Steph presents him with an apron reading "Kiss the Cook Butler", he sheds a tear.

Now for Duke. This was simple enough to do: the entire family put lifts in their shoes. Duke wakes up to find that Dick, who insists he's 5'10" is taller than him. Duke was sure he was an even 6 foot, but he's now an inch or two shorter than Dick. What's worse is that Tim is the same height as him! When did that happen?????

Once Duke is sure he is not shrinking, Stephani procures a set of noise cancelling headphones. It is difficult to sleep at night when every other member of the family is nocturnal and unconcerned with making noise.

While Steph could never properly get the drop on Cass, it's the effort that counts. So she puts the squeakers from a dog toy into the toes of her ballet pumps. This takes an extra few days to be fruitful, but it is beautiful when Cass, with the grace of a swan, and the noise of a goose, leaps across the floor.

From working with Tim, Steph gifts Cass a small button that can attach to Cass's hand. A simple squeeze and the button will speak. "Idiot, stop it", a phrase too often spoken by Cass to her idiot brothers in the middle of their ill-advised plans. Now the process is streamlined. Cass takes to poking others with the button.

Now last, but not least: Bruce. Steph has been planning this, she phones up Vicki Vale for an anonymous piece. "The Truth About Bruce Wayne" is a headline that gives Bruce a heart attack. Luckily, whilst not revealing his identity, Stephanie has instead created a web of lies about how Bruce actually can't spell, can't drive a car, and is afraid of the dark. All gossip that Vicki Vale would eat up. Bruce is just glad Stephanie doesn't know about his college days.

The chaos in the house when Bruce comes home is bizarre, but having all his kids under one roof? He couldn't be happier. Even if Damian is hidden under Batcow, Jason is frantically googling how to get rid of hair dye, Dick is dangling upside down from an elephant's tusks, Babs is showing a video to Tim, who is definitely paying attention and not at all staring at a shirtless Kryptonian, and Duke and Cass are both squeezed under one set of headphones, listening to music.

In a week's time, Steph wakes up to every Bat and Bird logo drawn on her face, along with angry eyebrows and a moustache.

[hpetrr]

tattletale is too one and done, once she's caught (I'm assuming batman will win everytime, it's how the universe works) she's pretty much done, not much value, so i think she wouldn't antagonize him directly. works best as a neutral villain party that helps both batman sometimes and the villains (i guess batman would be a funner antares lol). 4/8

Batman is effectively a tinker in some ways, so a skitter batman match up would always be different, with each side showing a different tatic every time, and her whole character would be very fun to see interact with batman. their takes on morality and necessary violence would be cool. 2/8

grue sounds like a great henchman but not a proper villain, by himself it wouldn't be very fun to interact with batman, both are too serious and grue is just asking to be redeemed, villain by lack of opportunity. 7/8. grue imp duo though, could see more of that

regent does not work i think, it's either too weak or too fucked up to be in a fun story. 8/8

bitch is perfect, no notes. he would try to save her. it has to end in tragedy 1/8

foil is good for a more violent approach, swords are weird in comics in general, very gray villain 6/8

parian is a very good pick, the versatility of new plushies every fight would rival skitter's tatics, but her character would be hard to make villainesque. what crimes would she even commit? slap on the wrist and go back where you came from 5/8

almost forgot Imp (wink)

like TT, she would require more of batman's detective side, would be fun to see what he would have to pull off to catch her, and her personality is silly enough to have him be the straight man to her bad jokes 3/8

So by 'best villain' that encompasses both being interesting to fight but also having good storyline potential. It is not a WhoWouldWin situation.

I have a strong feeling I already know what people will answer with, but I'm interested to see arguments for/against each character.

[exiledandwanderingfox]

Im tired of Feyre fans telling me that every time they commit a horrible action, it’s for the other character’s “own good.”

No actually. Regardless of the whole book of breathing’s heist, breaking into and manipulating Tarquin’s mind is not for his own good.

Breaking into Lucien’s mind, emotionally manipulating him and abusing him, is not for his own good.

Emotionally manipulating and abusing Tamlin, to the point of using what he loves against him is not for his own good.

Locking Nesta up, giving her an ultimatum and making sure she doesn’t feel welcome in your family is not for her own good.

Im tired of people calling Feyre’s actions morally grey, and for the benefit of others. She is one of the only characters in this series who gets that grace. She hurts people and doesn’t feel bad about it. End of story.

[tooearlyforthis]

Owner of a Lonely Heart

Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

Synopsis: (4.4k wc) Steve didn't want to ever attend another Halloween party. Especially since this is the second time he's spilled a drink on a pretty girl.

Warnings: fluff, angst, implied smut (I tried to write the scene I really did but I just don't think smutt writting is for me)

masterlist || steve harrington taglist

This has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for over a year and I somehow finished it lol who wants a halloween fic!

The last time Steve was in Chicago, he threw up. 

He had been nine, excited to visit the new city his cousins had moved to for Thanksgiving break. If he was being honest, he was happy at first. They went sightseeing, met up with their family, and had an overall great time. 

That was all quickly ruined by Thanksgiving dinner.

Looking back on it, that day was the beginning of the end. His mother had found out that his father was cheating, resulting in what could only be described as a food fight mixed with a WWE match. Steve remembered sitting at the dining room table, sick from all the commotion - the pumpkin pie he had eaten just minutes before coming right back up.

His parents never ended up getting a divorce, thus beginning their unhappy marriage and his shitty childhood. He stopped believing in love that day, stopped believing that anyone could be happy with a significant other. But then Nancy came along and fuck, he had fallen fast. Things were looking up, despite the interdimensional monsters they faced. Life was good. 

And then Halloween happened.

It was safe to say it was now his least favorite holiday — yes, even beating Thanksgiving. So when his best friend, Robin, asked him to visit her up at Northwestern for Halloween, Steve didn’t think things through. Blindly he said yes, wanting any excuse to see her after months apart. So there he was on Halloween night in Chicago, wearing a very uncomfortable costume. 

“The people a few floors up are throwing it,” Robin told him, walking out of her room and toward the elevator. 

Steve trailed close behind, itching at the upside down funnel on his head. She somehow convinced him into a group costume, the Scarecrow and Tinman from The Wizard of Oz. 

The only reason he agreed was because he wanted to see his best friend and she agreed to assemble his costume. She chose the Scarecrow, her nose pink from lipstick and wore a patchy shirt and pants. Steve was of course then the Tinman, a flipped funnel on his head and adorning a silver suit. 

As the elevator doors closed, Robin swatted his hand away from itching his head. “Hey stop that! I worked hard to paint it silver.”

“You know I don’t do hats, Rob, it flattens my hair,” He said, dropping his hands back to his side in defeat. 

Other students filed in as they began their journey up to the party. Steve gave a polite nod, shifting closer to his friend to make room for everyone. 

Robin squished into his side, leaning up to whisper in his ear. “She likes the movie, okay?”

“Oh you’re doing this for Becky?” Steve asked, a little too loud for Robin’s liking.

She shushed him quickly. “Jeez, say it louder huh?”

The doors finally opened, letting all the occupants out onto the party floor. “You really like her huh?”

Waiting until everybody else was out of earshot she replied, “Yes I do, okay? So wear the stupid funnel and look happy.”

“Yes, mom.” 

Robin snatched his hand, pulling him down the hallway toward the party. Steve would’ve been lost without her. Every door around them was open, people funneling in and out whenever they felt like it. They passed people in every type of costume from current pop culture characters to almost every slutty thing one could think of. People were making out, dancing on beds, smoking near a cracked window. 

It made Steve envy them. Not because of what they were doing but because of what they were getting to experience. He was bummed when he didn’t get into college and slowly developed a routine over the past year that made him more confident in his decision. But now, seeing the rambunctious young adults having the time of their lives, he was beginning to doubt his life choices.

“Be polite if we see her okay?” Robin said as they passed through the entrance of the official party.

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I don’t know, I'm just nervous!” She began shaking her hands, trying to get all her jitters out.

He planted his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Just calm down, we’re gonna be fine.”

Nodding, she took a breath. Steve let go of her shoulders, facing toward the party next to her. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s rock this party.”

Madonna, Blondie, and Bowie shook through the speakers, young adults dancing like there was no tomorrow. And for once, Steve felt like there was no care in the world. 

He danced with Robin to the groove of the music, not caring about the bodies bumping all around him. It was…good? It was good. The thoughts of his ex were pushed to the back of his mind and instead he focused on having a good time with his best friend.

“I’m gonna go get us drinks!” Steve yelled over the music. Robin only nodded, continuing to sway to the beat of the music.

Pushing his way through the impressive number of people at the party, he finally made it to the kitchen. He had to guess that whoever owned this dorm was the RA having an almost full sized apartment compared to the standard room Robin had. 

There was a bowl of punch and he poured a glass for her before grabbing a bottle of beer for himself. Taking a moment, he leaned against the counter sipping on his cold drink. 

It had been a while since he had been happy, truly happy. Hawkins just wasn’t the same without her and the younger kids needed him less now that they were sophomores in high school. Hell, Dustin just got his learner's permit. Soon he wouldn’t even need a ride. 

Looking up from his drink he spotted Robin walking over to him, a girl trailing behind in a Dorthy costume. He had a pretty good guess at who it was.

“Steve, this is my neighbor, Becky,” she said, trying her best to not add a weird inflection in her voice. Still, Steve could understand what she was trying to say. 

Smiling, he nodded at her. “Nice to meet you, Becky.”

“You too,” the girl responded. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Same,” he replied and in his peripheral vision he could see Robin’s cheeks getting red with embarrassment, regretting introducing them in the first place. 

“We,” Robin swooped in before more could be said. “Are gonna get out of here.”

That time she made no effort to hide what she meant. Steve’s eyebrows raised. How had she gone from barely being able to flirt to getting a girl back to her place?

“Okay,” he said calmly. Becky began to walk away, a coy look on her face as she dragged Robin close behind. “I’ll find someplace to go!” He yelled after them. 

“I owe you one!” Robin yelled back before disappearing out of sight. 

Chuckling to himself, Steve went to take another sip of his beer to find it was empty. Without looking too carefully he turned around bumping into someone who in turn, spilled the punch spoon all over their shirt. 

“Oh shit!” Steve exclaimed, moving fast to grab a napkin.

This was too eerie, too familiar. His heart began to race, handing the napkin over to the stranger he bumped into. It was a girl, about his age, then again everyone at the party was. She murmured a thanks as she dabbed the napkin into her shirt. 

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said quickly. “Like really, really sorry. I’m pretty sure vinegar can get it out? I don’t know if there’s vinegar here.”

“I don’t think there is,” the girl responded plainly, clearly still pissed off. “It’s fine, I'll do it in the morning.”

“I’m really sorry.” 

She looked up at him, her brows furrowed. “You said that already.”

“Right…” Steve trailed off. He tried to calm himself down but it was just too much. The Halloween party, the punch, the girl…He didn’t even know her name and yet it felt like he was losing control of everything… like that night with Nancy was creeping back up to haunt him for the rest of his life.  

She definitely could tell something wasn’t right because instead of him consoling her, it was the other way around.  “You okay dude?”

“Y-yeah,” he stumbled to say. “I’m just - I wasn’t looking where I was going and, gosh, you’re wearing white that’s hard to get out-”

“I’ll be fine,” she interrupted him. “I’m just gonna go clean up in the bathroom.”

Without another word she turned around, and Steve instantly followed. “Here, take my jacket,” he said, shedding it off his shoulders. “It’s silver, not sure if it’ll match but it can help cover the stain.”

Finally finding the right door, she placed a hand on the door knob, the other pushing the jacket back toward him. “It’s okay, my night was pretty shit anyways.” Opening the door, they could spot two people inside making out. “Get out of here lovebirds some people actually need to use this place.” Detangling themselves, the couple left, stumbling back into the party drunk. 

The minute they left, Steve began rambling again, his panic working faster than logic. “I’m still really sorry that I-”

“If I let you help me would you stop apologizing?” she asked, interrupting his sentence.

Pausing, he nodded, not knowing if he could say anything else. She nodded back, propping herself up on the sink while he closed the bathroom door. The loud noises were muffled as they were enclosed, music softening in the distance. Taking a wash cloth that was folded next to the sink, the girl ran it under the water for a moment before handing it to him.

Steve was hesitant to take it. But this is what he wanted right? To help get the stain out? It felt important to him. Like helping this stranger would fix the wrong doings in his past. Taking a deep breath, he took it. He started on her arm, washing away as much of the reddish liquid as he could. The movement of his cloth on her top was almost cathartic.

“I’m Y/n by the way,” the girl finally said. He looked up at her. “In case you were wondering.”

“Y/n,” Steve repeated, feeling the way her name sounded on his tongue. “That’s really pretty.” Y/n raised an eyebrow in skepticism. “Uh, I mean my name is Steve. Yeah…”

Chuckling at his awkwardness she asked. “What major are you?”

“Oh uh, I don’t go here, my friend does.” Nodding, she let the room fall back into silence. But it felt like a dam had opened between them. “You uh, said you were having a shitty night?”

She let out a long sigh. “Yeah I was. And then this happened.” She raised the arm he was cleaning slightly. 

“Do you mind sharing? I’ve had a pretty shitty night too,” he asked, earning a glare from her. Wrong move, definitely the wrong move. She didn’t even know him. Why would she share with him? It was weird enough, he thought, that she even agreed to let him help her.

Not daring to look up, he continued to clean her arm, wetting the wash cloth again as it started to dry up. “What the hell,” she said with a sigh.

Oh so maybe not the wrong move.

“I got my midterm back this morning,” Y/n began. “Didn’t do so hot. My roommate thought the party might cheer me up but then I saw my ex with someone…we, uh, broke up a month ago so…now I’m here.”

Steve responded softly, letting his thumb graze over her arm in comfort. “That does suck, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah…” 

Feeling satisfied with the amount of punch he got off on her sleeve, he moved up to the next affected area. He paused, realizing it was her chest. Looking up at her, he found her eyes were already on him. They looked soft, a stare unlike the more stern ones she had given him before.

He felt like he could get lost in them, the intricate colors shining brighter than any eyes he had seen before. She gave him a slow nod, an indicator that it was okay. He smiled back reassurance as he gently touched the wash cloth to her chest. Moving it gently, he tried not to think about how intimate the situation felt. Then again, it was better than having her take her shirt off for him to clean.

“So, you’ve been having a shitty night too?” she said, probably trying to distract herself from the almost stranger standing between her legs. 

And Steve had no problem with distractions. 

“Yeah, it’s been, not the best.”

“Care on sharing?”

He met her eyes for a moment but instead of getting lost, they both erupted into giggles. It was such a weird situation laughter felt like the only option. 

“My friend, the one I came to visit, she went off to hookup with someone she’s been crushing on so I’m kind of homeless for the night.”

“Oh,” Y/n began a softness to her voice, like two longtime friends confiding in each other. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he retorted. “It’s nothing compared to your day. I shouldn’t even be complaining, it's just…” 

He debated on talking about Nancy, about how she was the first one to break his heart on a night very similar to the one they were currently having. It felt easy to talk to Y/n. He wanted to pour his heart out to her. But then again, they had only just met. 

Instead he said, “Halloween is just a sore topic for me so when she left-”

“-it felt like she was abandoning you,” Y/n finished. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

Steve nodded. When had anyone understood what he was feeling so fast? She was able to summarize his emotions in so few words, it made him wonder how he never thought to describe it that way before. Pulling back the wash cloth from her chest, he tossed it into the sink. 

“There, uh, not the best but better than before right?” He scratched at the back of his neck, watching her hop off the counter and turn to examine her shirt in the mirror. 

With a smirk, she turned to him. “Not bad, Steve.”

Shrugging, he said, “I tried my best.” 

Their interaction was coming to a close and Steve didn’t know how to react. He liked this girl way more than he should for just having just spilt punch on her. But she could relate to him, made him feel okay in a situation that would otherwise have him searching for his anxiety meds. 

But with her shirt cleaned up there was nothing more to say. Smiling, he inched toward the door. “I guess it was nice meeting you-”

“Do you wanna go steal pudding?”

He cocked his head to the side, letting out a breathful laugh. “I’m sorry what?”

“Do you wanna steal pudding? From the cafeteria? Sorry just we’ve both had shitty nights and this party doesn’t seem like a cure. Plus, pudding is like the only good thing in the caf.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile, feeling flustered at the mere mention of spending more time with her. He opened the bathroom door, the volume of the party increasing to a blaring height. Over the noise, he shouted, “Lead the way!”

“Hmm” Steve groaned, taking another scoop of pudding. “How is a cafeteria pudding this good?”

Y/n chuckled in her seat across from him. She was leaning back in her chair, her feet planted on his lap as a makeshift stool. “I don’t know man. Every other food in this place stinks. But this? I could eat it forever.”

He laughed at her statement, trying not to spit out his mouthful of pudding. Looking around the dark cafeteria that was only lit by the moonlight pouring through the sky roof. Taking a more in depth look, he noticed the lack of security.

“No guards?” he asked.

Y/n raised her eyebrows. “You’ve really never been on campus huh?”

He shook his head as she took her feet off of his lap. Y/n placed down her pudding and scooted her chair closer to him, their shoulders almost touching. He tried not to blush but felt himself failing miserably. 

Why was she so easy to talk to? He wanted to blurt out his life story to her. Talk through what he felt was wrong in his life. He wanted to hear about her too. Console her from the ex boyfriend, make sure that neither of them ever feels broken again. 

Caught up in his own world, Steve blurted out, “My girlfriend dumped me on Halloween.”

He felt Y/n stiffen next to him.  

Retreat, retreat, RETREAT!

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it’s okay,” she said, placing her pudding down. Turning in her seat, she tried to get a better look at him. “I’m sorry she dumped you.”

“It’s okay,” he said, facing her. His gaze was toward the cup in his hands and he forced himself to set it down and look at her. “It was two years ago just- she called me bullshit. Our relationship was bullshit, even though I loved her and-” He stopped himself, trying to think back to the point he was trying to make.

“What I’m trying to say is I don’t like Halloween that much so I really appreciate this.”

There was a look in her eye, like something changed but Steve couldn’t point out what. “Y/n-”

He couldn’t say anymore as she pressed her lips to his. It was a shock, something that took him a moment to recover from before kissing her back. He wrapped a hand around her waist the best he could in their awkward seating arrangement. She felt her hand cup his chin guiding him in a way that was more dominant than any other kiss he had had. 

Breaking away, both of them let out a long sigh. But despite the smell of alcohol on their breaths, they remained close, foreheads almost touching. Steve was still in shock, watching as a smile crossed Y/n’s lips. 

“You know,” she began, “My roommate isn’t going to be home tonight.”

He knew what she was insinuating. And while in the past he would want to take a girl on a date before his bed, there was something about Y/n that made him rethink his rule. 

The sun shined through the blinds of the dorm room, a beam of light hitting Steve perfectly in the face. With a groan, he lifted his hand, trying to block the exposure while scrunching his face. 

As his hand lifted he felt something shift next to him. No, not something, someone. Y/n, to be more specific. The room slowly came into focus as the events of the previous night flooded his mind. 

Stumbling into the dorm. Her lips on his. The pull on his hair, the moans she let out. The weight of her on top of him… He smiled at the memory. 

Y/n turned into his side, her face snuggled into his side as an arm landed across his stomach. He watched as she slowly opened her eyes, scrunching her face the same way he had moments before. 

“Morning,” he said in a soft tone.

As her eyes landed on him, a smile etched at the corner of her lips. “Morning,” she replied, a slight seductive tone to her voice. Steve thought she would turn away at the sight of him. Usher him out of her room and say it was all a lapse of judgment after a difficult breakup. But she didn’t do that, quite the opposite in fact. Y/n leaned more into him, letting her face linger in the curve of his neck. “I had a lot of fun last night,” she told him, her voice a little hoarse. 

Steve didn’t wanna fuck this up. Mess up the first good thing to happen to him in months. So, he went with a simple yet still effective response. “Me too.”

He looked down at her. She looked ethereal, like an angel sent down to earth specifically for him. The hand she had curled around him pressed softly into his side. Like she was making sure he wouldn’t leave her. God, he wanted to kiss her. It would be so easy to lean down and connect their lips. To savor the taste of her against his mouth. But he wanted to be better than that, to set boundaries. Was this just a casual fling? The very thing Steve told himself he would avoid? Or did she want more than that, to keep in touch, to see him again…

He got his answer as she leaned closer to him, capturing his lips on hers. It was a lot slower than it was the night before, less urgency. Now, he really had time to savor it. The cracks in her lips, the taste of her mouth - cherry lipstick mixed with morning breath but he didn’t mind one bit. 

Just as they began to pull away, to discuss the logistics of what was going to happen next, the door flew open. A gust of air hit them as Y/n ducked into his side, Steve pulling up the comforter to cover them. How did someone get inside? Weren’t these dorm rooms supposed to be locked?

A girl stumbled into the room, not drunk but clearly not sober. “Hey Y/n, you won’t believe what happened last--” She paused, taking in the sight before her. 

Steve in her bed, her huddled into his side. The girl’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god!” the girl gasped. 

That seemed to pull Y/n out of her haze. She peered up from her place wrapped in Steve’s arms to look at the intruder. “Gosh, Becky! Don’t you knock?”

Becky. Where had he heard that name before? No, it couldn’t be…

“I live here,” the girl -- Becky -- exclaimed. “Plus you didn’t put a sock on the door.”

That made all three of them realize that the door was still wide open, students passing by for morning classes and showers. Some turned to give a passing glance as they walked by. 

A voice called through the crack of the door, becoming louder and clearly heading in their direction. “Becky, is everything okay?”

Robin rushed through the open door, holding on to the knob to brace herself. She looked disheveled and a little out of breath, like she had rushed over to make sure no one was hurt. 

“I could hear you from all the way down the hall,” Robin continued before turning to look at Y/n and Steve, both too shell shocked to say anything. Robin’s mouth formed an O, her eyebrows raising the same way Becky’s did just moments before.

“Steve? What the fuck are you doing?” Robin shouted, arguably louder than anything Becky had previously said. 

“Uh, sleeping with Becky’s roommate apparently,” he responded. He didn’t know why he said the joke, but everything about this interaction was making his brain falter. Y/n giggled into his side. With every laugh, his arm wrapped around her shoulders bounced. 

“This is Steve?” Becky said to Robin, pointing a finger at him.

Robin groaned. “Unfortunately.” 

“Hey!” Steve said, slightly offended. It wasn’t like he knew he was sleeping with Becky’s roommate. 

“Oh my god, okay,” Y/n interrupted, sitting up in bed. She pulled the blankets up with her to shield her, exposing more of Steve’s bare chest. “You two are going to go back to Robin’s room and get dressed okay? Then we can go to that diner on 3rd for breakfast and we can all talk about…” She gestured to all four of them. “This.

Robin and Becky agreed, walking back out of the room, not without a couple of glances at Y/n and Steve. Once the door was closed, Y/n slumped back into the bed, her head resting on Steve’s arm across the pillows. 

“Well,” Steve began, trying to calm his heart. “That was interesting.”

Y/n reached over, putting a finger up to his mouth. “Nope, we’re not talking about this right now. She slowly let go, tilting her head back to stare up at the ceiling. “I just wanna stay here with you for a few more minutes…is that okay?”

Is that okay? It was more than okay for Steve. He would never leave this bed if she told him to. He had only known her for approximately 12 hours, but it felt like his entire world had shifted. There was something in their conversation the night before that just clicked for him. It felt like a new chapter of his life was starting and he wasn’t scared by it. In fact, he was jittery with excitement for it to begin.

“Y-yeah, that okay,” he said, trying not to sound too happy. 

He rested his head back to look up as well, closing his eyes to ground himself. He felt Y/n lean back into him, fitting perfectly in the slot between his chest and shoulder. Her arm circled his waist, putting just enough pressure for him to know it was okay to scoot closer. 

If this was the start of the next chapter of his life, that meant he needed to do the things that he was scared to do before. And that included being upfront about how he felt and wanted.

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he said plainly. His eyes were still closed as his words drifted into the air, nothing being said back. 

A moment passed with no response. Steve opened his eyes to look down at her. She was already looking up at him, a smile forming on the sides of her mouth. In lieu of a response, she slid her arm up to cup his jaw, pulling him in for another kiss. It was just as good as the last one. Sweet, slow, good. 

When she let go, her hand drifted back to rest on his chest. “Me neither.”

Now Steve was the one smiling. “Cool,” he said. “Uh, not cool. I mean it is cool I was wanted to say something that wasn’t lame--”

“Steve?” Y/n said, interrupting him. He looked down at her. “Kiss me.”

He didn’t hide his smile this time. 

Taglist: @Afraidofshrimp @lovesanimals0000 @cilliansnostalgia @hollandweather @Nix-rose @halflifejess @Palmtreesx3 @superlegend216 @sweetdazequeen @blckburd

[neversleep5842]

The Astral Express

Danny told his parents the truth.

He couldn't be happier. They accepted him.

They accepted his ghost side no he wasn't crying Jazz he even told them about Dani(Ellie). They accepted her with open arms.

They were mortified once they found out they were shooting at their baby boy. They apologised perfusly. They even planned on destroying all of their ghost weapons, the portal and their entire life's work just for him. He was happy they were willing to do that for him but he couldn't let them destroy their work. Danny stopped them before they could.

Destroying the portal is very dangerous. It would ruin the delicate balance between the veil and their world.

They finally could live as a happy family with no secrets.

...Of course nothing good could last forever.

The GIW just had to fuck it all up.

Somehow the GIW found out about Danny and Ellie. They thought they manipulated Jack and Maddie even when they themselves told them they were wrong.

The GIW, the fricking idiots that they are, launched a godamm missile to ghost zone. To destroy it once and for all. To cleanse the world from the evil ghost scums.

What they did instead was destroying the connection their world had with the infinite realms the fucking glue that holds every dimension together.

Their world was gone in less than a second. One moment it was there, the next it's gone forever.

Luckily Danny's family survived. They managed to get into to portal a few seconds before the missile was launched.

But They couldn't stay in the ghost zone forever. They had to find a good dimension to settle down in.

This time Jack and Maddie will be great parents! They will make sure all of their kids are healthy and happy.

Jack and Maddie wanted to find a way to let both Danny and Ellie fulfill their obsessions (Danny- space & protection, Ellie- freedom & traveling/exploring).

They came up with the idea of traveling in space.

Using a train to travel space was probably not the best idea but it's more fun that way (plus they could sometimes let cool aliens travel with them that way).

Danny gets to fulfill his space obsession and protection obsession (sometimes he would help some aliens in trouble, he protects his family and he is protected by them).

Ellie gets to fulfill her traveling/exploring obsession and freedom obsession (as long as she is free to be herself and free to to what she wants she is all good).

They go on adventures in space and get to meet a bunch of cool aliens! (And all characters that have some kind relation to space like the green lanterns etc)

This is just me wanting to see Danny and his family traveling in space using a train.