#what is making him so cool and attractive?

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Are You Always This Forward? | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

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Summary: Y/n meets Charles at a party, and what starts as a casual fling quickly becomes something more. As their connection deepens and feelings grow, Y/n begins to question— is it really casual? [Inspired by Casual by Chappell Roan]

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A/N: Also comment if you guys wanna be added to the taglist because I've written almost 7 chapters for this series and we're nowhere near done so buckle up

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Part 1 of my Is It Casual Now? series: Masterlist

You weren’t exactly thrilled to be here. The party was crowded, with people spilling out onto the balcony, laughter and music filling the room. It wasn’t really your scene, but your friends had convinced you to come out for a change, insisting that you “needed a night out.”

"Look, if nothing else, you might at least see some familiar faces," one of your friends said, nudging you with a grin. “Rumor has it Charles Leclerc is here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the little spark of curiosity that flared up. “Oh, please,” you replied with a laugh, though you glanced around the room. “Why would Charles Leclerc be at a random party like this?”

“Apparently, he knows the host,” your friend said, looking around too, as if he’d appear on command. “Besides, you know he’s got a thing for these parties. Always in the photos with some new girl hanging off his arm.”

“Right, the ‘playboy’ Leclerc reputation,” you muttered, trying to sound as uninterested as possible. But the truth was, you knew exactly who he was, and while the rumors weren’t exactly your thing, he was… undeniably attractive.

“Yeah, that reputation,” another friend chimed in, giving you a sly smile. “I mean, look at him—he’s practically a walking invitation for bad decisions. But I wouldn’t mind, honestly.” She laughed, and you joined in, the both of you glancing around in a playful attempt to spot him.

But in the next second, you felt it—a gaze that sent a small thrill up your spine. Your friends were still laughing and joking, but your eyes had locked onto someone across the room, and there he was: Charles, in the flesh, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand. And he was staring right at you.

A rush of heat crept into your cheeks, but you quickly looked away, brushing it off as a fluke. You barely knew him; it was nothing. And yet, a few minutes later, when you glanced back, he was still watching you, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips.

“Look who’s got Leclerc’s attention,” one of your friends whispered, nudging you in the ribs. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was eyeing you up.”

“Stop,” you muttered, laughing it off. “You guys are reading too much into it. He’s probably just looking around.”

“Yeah, right,” she teased, winking at you. “Seems like he’s only looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to ignore it. But Charles seemed to have other plans because, a few moments later, he began making his way over to your group. Your friends scattered, throwing you quick glances of encouragement, leaving you standing there as he came to a stop in front of you, his gaze warm and entirely focused.

"Enjoying the party?" he asked, his voice smooth, just a hint of an accent slipping through.

“It’s all right,” you said, trying to play it cool. “Wasn’t really planning on talking to anyone new tonight.”

He laughed, the sound deep and rich, tilting his head as he looked at you. “Well, that’s a shame. You’re the most interesting person here.”

“Oh, please.” You shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “Don’t you have other people you could be charming?”

“Maybe,” he replied, his eyes flicking over you again, “but none of them seem half as interesting as you.”

The boldness of his gaze unsettled you, and you bit your lip, shifting your weight slightly as you tried to keep your cool. He was every bit as captivating as his reputation claimed, and yet you were wary, keeping your guard up despite the warmth spreading through you.

“Are you always this forward?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Only with people worth it,” he said, his gaze unwavering. He took a small step closer, a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes. “So, can I at least buy you a drink?”

You found yourself nodding before you fully realized it. He waved down a waiter, ordering drinks as the conversation between you flowed easily, surprising you. He was funny, easygoing, and each small, accidental touch sent a jolt through you that you tried to ignore.

Over the next hour, you laughed, your body leaning into his as the drinks made you both looser, the edges of the world around you softening. The subtle touches became less accidental—his hand resting on your lower back, the way he’d brush his fingers against yours whenever he handed you your drink. It was heady, electric, and you found yourself drawn to him in a way that felt both thrilling and a little reckless.

“So,” he murmured, leaning in close, his face just inches from yours. “Are you going to keep pretending you’re not interested?”

You laughed, looking away, your cheeks warming under his gaze. “Who says I’m pretending?”

He smiled, his fingers brushing your cheek as he gently guided your face back to his. “I do.” And then he closed the gap, pressing his lips softly against yours.

The kiss was light at first, testing, but when you responded, his hands settled on your waist, pulling you in closer. You could feel his warmth, his heart beating beneath your palms as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the kiss deepening as the tension that had been building between you finally spilled over.

You broke apart for a moment, catching your breath, and he smiled, looking at you as if he was just as affected. “Come back with me?” he asked softly, his voice low and inviting.

Your heart raced, but you nodded, the thrill of the moment drowning out any hesitation. The ride to his apartment was a blur, the silence filled with anticipation, the only sound the occasional brush of his hand over yours. And when you arrived, he barely waited for the door to close before he pulled you close again, kissing you deeply, his hands finding your waist as he guided you toward his bedroom.

In his arms, it felt like time slowed. Every touch, every kiss was filled with an intensity that left you breathless, his lips tracing a path from your mouth down to your neck, his hands warm and steady as he pulled you against him. The night was filled with whispered words and soft laughter, the thrill of his touch and the warmth of his presence pulling you into a heady, dreamlike state. When you finally drifted off, it was with a sense of contentment you hadn’t expected, his arm draped around you, his breathing even beside you.

The morning light seeped through the curtains, and you blinked, slowly becoming aware of the weight of Charles’s arm still wrapped around you. You shifted slightly, thinking you’d sneak out quietly, but he tightened his hold, murmuring sleepily, “Where do you think you’re going?”

You laughed softly, turning to face him. “I thought I’d slip out before I overstayed my welcome.”

He grinned, his hand moving to your waist. “And here I was hoping you’d stay for breakfast.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. “You really don’t have to play the gentleman.”

“Who said I was playing?” he replied, a playful glint in his eyes. He reached over to grab his phone, tapping in the passcode before handing it to you. “Just in case,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze soft, watching as you saved your number on his phone.

You arched a brow as you handed it back. “Right. As if you’re going to remember to call me.”

He shrugged, smirking. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

With a laugh, you finally slipped out of bed, pulling your clothes back on as he watched you with a lazy, satisfied smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from me,” he called out as you left, and you shook your head, chalking it up to morning-after charm.

A few weeks later, you found yourself at another party, the memory of that night with Charles lingering somewhere in the back of your mind. But it wasn’t until you felt a familiar hand on your waist, warm and steady, that you turned and saw him, his grin as mischievous as ever.

Without a word, he guided you down a hallway, slipping into a quiet bathroom and closing the door behind you. “Miss me?” he murmured, pressing you back against the door as he leaned in close, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart raced as you looked up at him, barely able to suppress a grin. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Well,” he replied, brushing his lips over yours in a way that made your knees weak, “I couldn’t just let you disappear.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you, and just like before, the spark ignited instantly. It was the start of something unspoken, casual but thrilling, each encounter leaving you wanting more, yet content with the moment.

The next few weeks went by in a blur. Somehow, Charles found his way into your life again and again, just as casually as that night at the party. You didn’t think too much about it. He’d message you when he was around, a simple “Hey, what are you up to?” that always had a certain charm to it, like he’d genuinely missed your company. You didn’t mind, and maybe part of you even looked forward to it.

One evening, you found yourself back at his place, sprawled on the couch together, a movie playing in the background though neither of you were watching. Charles was close, his arm slung over your shoulders, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him, his fingers tracing light patterns along your arm in a way that felt natural and maybe a little more comfortable than you’d expected.

“So, what happened this time?” you asked, glancing at him. It had become a bit of a game between you two—he’d tell you a funny story or some little anecdote, always skirting around any real details about his life but sharing just enough to keep you intrigued.

“Oh, nothing too dramatic,” he replied with a lazy grin, “just an embarrassing incident in front of the team principal. Tripped over a power cord, nearly brought the whole simulator down with me.”

You burst out laughing, nudging him. “So much for that smooth reputation of yours.”

“Oh, I’m smooth when it counts,” he shot back, his eyes dancing with that familiar cheeky glint as he leaned closer. “I haven’t heard any complaints from you. Also being smooth is more of my teammate’s thing”

You felt your cheeks warm, and you looked away, laughing softly. There was something about him, the way he moved so effortlessly from humor to something more intense, that always had your heart racing. When his hand moved to brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just a moment longer than necessary, you felt that familiar spark between you.

The kisses started slow, a mix of laughter and warmth as his lips met yours. You’d gotten used to the way he’d go from teasing you to pulling you close, his hands trailing along your back as he deepened the kiss, his touch growing more insistent. Somehow, even though you both kept things light, there was a weight to it, an intensity that left you breathless every time.

But no matter how intense it got, the mornings were always easy. He’d hand you a coffee, tease you about how you liked it, and insist on making breakfast—even if that breakfast was sometimes just a couple of slices of toast or a quickly scrambled egg.

One morning, you woke up with him lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his face relaxed in sleep. You tried to slip out of bed, but as you moved, he tightened his hold, his eyes opening just a sliver. “Going somewhere?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“I’ve got things to do,” you whispered back, though you were reluctant to move from the warmth of his arms.

“Stay,” he mumbled, pulling you back down, his head finding the crook of your neck as he nuzzled against you. “Just a few more minutes.”

You rolled your eyes but settled back into his embrace, a soft laugh escaping you. Moments like these, the playfulness and ease, were what kept you coming back. And every time he brushed a kiss over your shoulder or laced his fingers with yours under the covers, it felt like he was daring you to let your guard down just a little bit more.

It was a pattern—casual, yet consistent. You never really talked about what you were doing, and maybe that was part of the appeal. There were no promises, no declarations, just the simple thrill of seeing him and the warmth of his company.

Then one night, at yet another party, you spotted him across the room, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw you. He excused himself from his conversation and strode over, his usual smirk in place.

“You just can’t stay away, can you?” he teased, his hand resting on your lower back as he guided you out of the crowded room, into a quieter hallway. His gaze dropped to yours, a familiar heat sparking between you.

“Oh, please,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m here because my friends dragged me out again.”

“Sure,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice. He took your hand, leading you down the hallway and into a closet, closing the door behind him. Before you could say anything, he pulled you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours, and the familiar thrill washed over you, as strong as ever.

“You know,” he murmured between kisses, his voice low, “I missed you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, really?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, his lips grazing along your jawline, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re hard to forget.”

He kissed you again, his hands roaming over your waist, your body responding with the same intensity as if this had been brewing since the last time you’d seen each other. The kisses were heated, a rush of warmth and urgency, the world outside fading away as you lost yourself in the moment.

This was supposed to be just casual, just fun. But as you felt the way he held you close, his fingers tracing light patterns on your skin as if memorizing every detail, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—this was starting to mean something more. For now, though, you were content to leave it unspoken, savoring each moment with him as it came.

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[lailols]

Kai’s Pretty Girlfriend [Prologue]: The Plan

Hueningkai x Reader, eventual OT5 x Reader Some feelings first

Being Kai’s pretty girlfriend who has been around so long, you’re a permanent fixture in the dorm. You’ve been together nearly 4 years and you’ve outlasted the many partners all the other members have had. They don’t even bat an eye whenever they enter the dorm, to find you on the couch with a movie playing a hot takeout ready for them to eat.

The guys can really see how much you love Kai. Sending him care packages while he’s on tour and you can’t go along. Waking up at odd hours of the morning to sneak out so that the managers don’t see you when Kai wants his cuddle buddy at night. Buying him all the plushies he could want because they make him happy. Every time you look at Kai, everyone in the room can see how much love and devotion lies in your eyes.

You’re also so sweet to them. Always lending an ear to the guys if they ever look even the slightest bit down. Sending them food when they have late practices. Hyping up their latest comeback. You’ve even cleaned up around the dorm once or twice.

You and Kai are drawn to each other like magnets. Always in contact whenever you’re together. It’s like any minute spent apart takes years off your lifespans. You know each other like the back of your hand. The few times you’ve argued were immediately resolved because you can’t bear the thought of being without the other.

They can also see how much Kai loves you. He’s always talking about you and when he’s not, he’s talking about the next thing he wants to get you or a date he wants to take you on. He looks at you as if you single-handedly hung all the stars in the sky. Maybe that’s why the guys feel so guilty about the thoughts they have about you.

Soobin feels like some sort of pervert. He’d actually rather just be a pervert and think you’re hot. He thinks he could live with jerking off to you every now and then if it meant he wasn’t constantly plagued with thoughts of you cuddling him on your movie nights instead of Kai. That’s not to say that he doesn’t jerk off at the thought of you now, but he can handle lust. What he can’t handle is thinking about you running up to him when he enters the dorm and jumping into his arms. He can’t handle imagining how it would feel to kiss you, hug you, hold you like you were his.

Yeonjun thought it was a phase. He’s not surprised by the fact that he thought you were hot, anyone with eyes would. In fact, when you and Kai first started dating, he’s pretty sure he told Kai how attractive you are and gave him a pat on the back. But when did that initial attraction turn into him showing you choreography and getting an outside perspective? When did he start living for your praise? When did he start turning to you with his problems since he felt guilty confiding in his younger members?

Beomgyu feels like this is his punishment. He must’ve been a crime lord in his past life because nothing else can explain this. You guys get along like a house fire. If Soobin didn't exist, he'd probably call you his best friend. He’s never been struck with such longing when considering a person. He stays up at night thinking about how he can even stand to be in the same room as Kai with the guilt eating at him. Is it so wrong to love? No. But to love Kai’s girlfriend? Could he really stoop so low? Apparently, he can.

Taehyun ignores it at first. The little inkling that he could ever consider you as something more than an acquaintance. Not even a friend. You are Kai’s girlfriend, his best friend’s girlfriend, and you’re cool but that’s it. But it’s really not, is it? The way you smile and do a little wiggle anytime you eat is something everyone notices, right? The way you can’t lie to save your life, not because you’re perfect, but because your nose scrunches up each time is something everyone knows, right?

Kai is many things, but stupid is not one of them. He sees the way that his friends look at you. He’s noticed for a while, actually. At first, he was jealous and maybe even a bit angry. You have been and were one of the only things he had to himself. You’re his, just as he’s yours. Mind, body, and soul. Past, future, and present. But the more he thought about it, the less angry he was. Kai never really minded sharing, especially with his members. They’ve been together through thick and thin and will continue to be together. Tomorrow and every day after that. He also knows that they’d treat you right. But how does he approach a conversation like that? Not even with them, but with you.

Oh, how Kai loves you, but you’re so damn oblivious. Just thinking they’re nice to you because you’re his girlfriend. Not noticing the longing in their gaze when they look at you. Not thinking twice about how you’re the first person they go to with accomplishments. Not batting an eye when they send you unreleased concept photos, new songs, concert choreographies, and the list goes on. Hell, you didn’t even know Kai liked you until he confessed. As if the guy didn’t follow you around like a lost puppy anytime he could spare.

So, he devises a plan. It’s a bit unconventional but. hey, no plan is perfect, right? It goes a little like this.

★彡Operation Confession ★彡

Step One: See if y/n has an exhibitionist kink with carefully placed dirty talk.

Step Two: If she does, get a little heavy-handed during movie nights. Maybe even introduce a toy.

Step Three: Find some way to make the guys notice, which shouldn’t be too hard because you can’t be quiet unless something is shoved in your mouth.

Step Four: Introduce the idea of bringing a third… or fourth…. or fifth…… or sixth into your sex life.

Step Five: Introduce the missing pieces into your sex life.

Step Six: The guys will pull their heads out of their asses and confess is post-orgasmic clarity!

What could go wrong?

We can get into the fun stuff now! How do we think Kai is going to go about step one? Will he be as subtle as he thinks? Will you catch on? Is anyone going to get caught in the crossfire?

Let me know what you think! <33 Chapters 1 and 3 are done! Probs gonna post 1 tomorrow!

[brunchable]

It's not a Meet-𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆, it's a Meet-𝗨𝗴𝗹𝘆. 《 Chapter 4: First Snow. 》

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: It's not a meet-cute, it's a meet ugly, Grumpy Meets ���️Sunshine✨️, Opposites Attract, Sassy Pet Matchmaker, Enemies-to-Lovers (Lite), Destined to meet again, Bucky is a hidden softie. Summary: Rhys punches Bucky. A/N: This story will be OUTSIDE of MCU but Bucky's traits will be mixed comics/mcu. This will be updated every FRIDAY(AEST). Adouble update what?? Credits to me for the Banner lmfao. credits to @ khaer for the divider.

You found yourself at the exclusive charity gala hosted by none other than The Emporium NYC—the brand your family had poured decades of effort into, now under your guidance as the new CEO. The chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting an elegant glow on the crowd below. You were dressed to the nines, a sleek gown that turned a few heads as you made your way through the event, mingling with business elites and socialites alike.

But tonight, even with all the excitement and the well-wishes in your honor, the event felt hollow. Rhys hadn’t even bothered to follow up after your argument; instead, he’d left you to attend alone, citing “deadlines” without even the courtesy of a call.

You brushed off the nagging disappointment as best as you could, forcing yourself into the motions—smiling politely, engaging in small talk, and pretending to care about which investments were “in” this year. Just as you debated sneaking out for some air and possibly texting Lincoln to bring the car around, a familiar face caught your eye.

There was Bucky, standing awkwardly near a table of canapés, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He was wearing a suit, but somehow, it seemed like he hadn’t entirely agreed to it. Apparently, he’d been convinced by Sam to come along to “loosen up” and “put himself out there,” which sounded suspiciously like Sam’s code for “torture Bucky with forced socializing.”

The sight of him, uncomfortably tugging at his collar, made you smile.

Before you even had a chance to greet him, he glanced up, catching sight of you, and did a double-take. He looked you up and down, clearly not expecting you to look… immaculate.

“Well, if it isn’t the king of resting grump face,” you teased, giving him a once-over. “Who roped you into this?”

He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “A friend. Said it’d be ‘good for me.’” He leaned closer, mock whispering, “I feel like I’m at a wedding where I don’t know the bride or the groom.”

He then raised an eyebrow, his gaze settling back on you. “What about you? Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You gave a small, tired smile. 

“I’m the guest of honor, actually,” you explained. “The company wanted to make a big deal about me taking over, so here I am. Networking, keeping up appearances, and all that. Not exactly my favorite way to spend the evening.”

“What? Alone?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

You sighed, “Well… wasn’t supposed to be, but here I am. Just me and all this sparkling conversation.”

“Sounds like a blast.” He paused, glancing toward the crowded room and then back to you. “How about a little detour?”

Without waiting for you to answer, he gave a subtle nod toward the balcony doors. You hesitated only a second before following him, slipping away from the noisy crowd. The cool evening air was a welcome relief as you stepped onto the balcony, leaving the gala’s glittering scene behind.

As you leaned against the balcony railing, enjoying the cool air, fireworks suddenly burst across the sky in a loud, over-the-top display. Bucky raised an eyebrow, staring at the colorful explosions with a perfectly flat expression.

“Wow,” he said dryly. “I guess this is their way of saying, ‘Thanks for enduring the world’s most boring gala.’”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

Bucky shot you a look. 

“The appetizers are the size of my thumb, everyone’s pretending to care about whose yacht is biggest, and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard the phrase, ‘Ah, you’re the guy with the metal arm, right?’” He paused, smirking. “No, wait—I stand corrected. It’s definitely that bad.”

You laughed, nearly doubling over. “Fine, fine. Maybe it’s a little unbearable.”

“A little?” Bucky raised his arms in mock disbelief. “I’d rather be chased by an actual bear.”

Before you could respond, a camera flash caught both of your attention. You looked over just in time to see a photographer inching closer, recognizing Bucky and readying his camera.

“Oh, no,” Bucky muttered, eyes widening. Without a second thought, he ducked behind you, hiding like a kid trying to avoid a parent-teacher conference.

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered, snickering. “You’re seriously hiding behind me?”

Bucky’s voice came from just over your shoulder, desperate but deadpan. 

“Do you know how ridiculous it is having pictures out there of me just… standing around, doing nothing? People already think I spend my free time brooding in a dark cave or plotting world domination. This’ll just confirm it.”

The photographer was undeterred, trying to get a clear angle. You decided to make it worse for him. Plastering on a winning smile, you called out scrunching your nose, “I’m sorry, but he’s very shy. You’ll need an appointment.”

Bucky, catching on, slouched further behind you, groaning dramatically. “Yes, I’m a fragile introvert,” he declared, though it sounded more sarcastic. “All this socializing is emotionally taxing.”

The photographer gave you both a look of pure exasperation, muttered something like, “Celebrities,” and finally left, muttering under his breath.

As soon as he was gone, Bucky straightened up, looking both annoyed and relieved. 

“Oh yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled as you doubled over, laughter spilling out uncontrollably.

Through your giggles, you gasped, “Honestly, who knew you were camera-shy?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, shooting you a half-hearted glare. “I’m not camera-shy. I just don’t need photos of me doing… absolutely nothing.”

You were about to fire back with another teasing remark when a voice called from the doorway. 

“Hey Boss?” Lincoln said, looking around the balcony, finally spotting you and pausing after catching you with Bucky. 

You groaned, rolling your eyes, the interruption pulling you back to reality. 

“Duty calls,” you sighed, turning back to Bucky with a reluctant smile.

He smirked, folding his arms as he watched you with a glint in his eye. “Guess I’ll just have to survive the party on my own.”

“Well,” you teased, backing toward the door, “try to avoid any other photographers. I don’t think I can save you twice.”

Bucky chuckled, taking a small step forward. 

“I’ll manage. But hey,” he said, holding your gaze for a beat longer, “maybe I’ll catch you around again… if you’re not too busy saving other poor souls.”

A giddy warmth bloomed in your chest as you tried to keep your expression casual. 

“Maybe,” you replied, giving him a small, playful wave as you stepped back into the light of the ballroom.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder one last time. Bucky was still there, hands in his pockets, watching you leave with that unreadable but somehow endearing look. And as you slipped back into the crowd, you couldn’t fight the small, stupid grin that tugged at your lips.

You caught Lincoln’s expression—one part curiosity, two parts astonishment, and maybe even a hint of betrayal. He quickly fell into step beside you, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper-shout.

“What the—? You know him?” Lincoln’s eyes widened as he tried to process what he’d just seen. “Is that why you asked me about him last week?”

You pressed your lips together, fighting back a laugh. “Calm down, Lincoln,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge.

“Oh, I’m calm,” he replied, though his eyes sparkled with barely restrained excitement. “Just… maybe feeling a little betrayed you didn’t tell me sooner. . . So can I have an autograph?”

× × × ×

Mission Report - J. B. Barnes To: N. Fury Subject: Preliminary Surveillance – The Emporium NYC Gala

Summary:

Attended charity gala hosted by The Emporium NYC, commemorating Ms. Y/LN’s recent promotion to CEO. Initial impressions align with prior assessments—She upholds a strong public image, maintaining composure and control over social interactions. Notably absent was her brother, who is assumed to play a significant role in the family business. Financial connections between The Emporium and Hydra remain unconfirmed at this stage.

Primary Observations:

Maintained close proximity to Ms. Y/LN during the event without raising suspicion. Her interactions suggest minimal awareness of potential financial inconsistencies within The Emporium. Detected a slight tension in her demeanor, potentially unrelated to business—indicating she may be open to informal connection or support.

Detailed Notes:

She was notably present without partner Rhys De Armande’s, who was expected as her support. Possible internal strain within close relationships could provide leverage if needed.

During casual conversation, Ms. Y/LN displayed no defensive behavior or signs of suspicion, indicating low likelihood of awareness about The Emporium’s alleged Hydra-linked transactions.

Absence of her brother raises questions regarding his involvement; additional background assessment on his role is advised.

Next Steps:

1. Gather intel on Ms. Y/LN’s brother and his level of involvement in company affairs.

2. Establish a means of recurring contact with Ms. Y/LN, potentially leveraging existing rapport to gain closer access to The Emporium’s internal affairs.

3. Monitor Rhys De Armande’s for any connections or knowledge that could corroborate Hydra involvement.

Conclusion:

Further investigation is required to confirm any connections to Hydra funding or activities. Ms. Y/LN appears unconnected to questionable financial activities, though developing a closer association could aid in discerning the nature of her family’s business ties. Recommend extending this cover to build familiarity with Ms. Y/LN and establish grounds for continued observation.

End Report

——

After finishing his report, Bucky leaned back, glancing over the words he’d typed. His gaze drifted to the section where he’d noted your apparent innocence in the financial dealings, the way you seemed oblivious to the possible Hydra ties. He read through it again, feeling a faint tug of something uncomfortably close to hesitation. The report had started to sound less like a surveillance file and more like a defense of you, highlighting reasons why you couldn’t be involved.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, mind flickering back to your laughter on the balcony, the way you’d leaned against the railing, unguarded and vibrant against the glittering cityscape. This was just a mission, he reminded himself. And yet, the thought of digging deeper, of edging closer to unravel the truth about you and your family, left a sour taste in his mouth.

With a sigh, Bucky closed the laptop. Getting close to you wasn’t just part of the assignment now—it felt like he was being drawn in against his own judgment. And for a man who’d always trusted his instincts, that was proving harder to shake than he’d expected.

× × × ×

The next morning, you were seated at your desk, a stack of files and emails demanding your attention. You were barely halfway through your coffee when the door to your office swung open without so much as a knock. Rhys strode in, his jaw clenched and his expression hard as he slapped a stack of photos down on your desk.

“What’s this?” he demanded, his tone icy.

You blinked, glancing down at the photos in front of you. Each one showed you on the balcony last night with Bucky—leaning against the railing, laughing, and standing close enough to him that it could easily be misinterpreted. The photographer had clearly captured every moment, especially the one where Bucky ducked behind you, making it look almost… intimate.

You took a steadying breath, not breaking eye contact as you replied, “It’s exactly what it looks like. I was at the gala, taking a break on the balcony, and happened to run into a friend.”

Rhys let out a disbelieving scoff. 

“A ‘friend’? This guy—Bucky Barnes?” He gestured to the photos, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you even know who he is? Since when do you two get so close?”

You felt a flare of frustration but kept your tone calm. “Since we ran into each other last night, Rhys. We were just talking. That's it.”

“You’re representing the company, Y/N. This isn’t the image we’re trying to project.” He folded his arms, staring down at you with a hard, unyielding expression. 

“Oh, I see.” You arched an eyebrow, finally letting a hint of your irritation slip. “So, the issue here isn’t that I was talking to someone—it’s that I was talking to him?”

Rhys clenched his jaw, looking ready to argue further but instead settling on a quieter, pointed tone. 

“We have an image to uphold. People are going to start talking if you’re seen getting cozy with some guy on a balcony—better yet an ex-assassin.”

“If people want to talk, they’ll talk, no matter what I do, Rhys. And for the record, there was nothing ‘cozy’ about it.” You held his gaze, unflinching.

Rhys leaned forward, his tone soft but cold. “Just… watch yourself. You wouldn’t want any misunderstandings to get in the way of your responsibilities, would you?”

He straightened, his expression still severe as he waited for your response. You met his gaze, forcing a small, composed smile. 

“Yeah—okay. Noted.” You nonchalantly shrugged, “Now, if you’re done, I have work to do.”

After a tense beat, Rhys finally nodded, his face tight as he turned and strode out of your office, leaving the stack of photos on your desk as a bitter reminder. You took a steadying breath, staring down at the images for a moment before sliding them aside, determination hardening your expression.

As you refocused on your work, a faint memory of Bucky’s amused smile from last night flickered in your mind, lingering as you shook off the chill of Rhys’s visit.

× × × × 

You weren’t quite sure why you’d agreed to come to this high tea in the first place. Sitting here, surrounded by ornate teacups and delicate pastries, you wondered if some part of you had wanted to give this gathering one last chance—or maybe Sarah had just been very persuasive. Either way, here you were, sipping tea with college “friends” whose fathers all happened to be powerful men with influence. Chloe’s father owned a chain of luxury resorts, Cindy’s was a prominent investor, and Louzy’s family practically monopolized a certain high-end fashion brand. They had all grown up in the world of prestige, learning to wield influence with a perfectly manicured smile.

Across from you, Chloe extended her hand with a satisfied smile, the enormous diamond ring on her finger glinting in the afternoon light. 

“So,” she cooed, with an air of superiority, “Andy finally proposed. Practically begged me to say yes.” She laughed lightly, flicking her hair. “It’s been, what, a year and a half? I’d say he made a smart choice, wouldn’t you?”

Cindy gasped, leaning forward, eyes wide. “Oh my gosh, Chloe! It’s stunning. I can’t believe he went with such a massive diamond!”

Louzy added, “That ring is literally to die for. I mean, anyone with a ring that size has to be super special, right?”

Chloe smirked, then turned her gaze to you, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed judgment. 

“But, Y/N, you’ve been with Rhys for… how long now?” She clicked her tongue, feigning surprise. “Still no ring, huh?”

You took a sip of your tea, forcing yourself to remain calm. “It’s been a few years, yes.”

“Oh, a few years?” Chloe repeated, her tone laced with condescension. “I mean, not to sound rude, but… you’d think he’d be, you know, a little more committed by now.” 

She gave you a sickly sweet smile. “Especially since you’ve been attending a lot of events solo.”

Sarah shifted beside you, clearly annoyed, her fingers tightening around her teacup. You caught her eye, giving her a small, reassuring smile.

“I think Rhys and I are just… taking things at our own pace,” you replied, keeping your tone calm but firm. “Some people prefer to build a relationship on something deeper than a timeline.”

Chloe’s smile faltered slightly, but she quickly recovered. “Oh, of course. I mean, whatever works, right?” She shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Though, personally, I think it’s nice to have that… security.”

Cindy nodded enthusiastically. “Totally! Who doesn’t want a big, sparkly ring to show everyone how loved they are?”

Louzy, who had been listening intently, suddenly perked up, her gaze sliding to Sarah. She tilted her head, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Hey, Sarah, I love that top! Is it one of the things you borrowed from Y/N’s wardrobe?”

A smug smile crept across Louzy’s face, clearly reveling in the veiled insult.

Before Sarah could respond, you placed your teacup down with a deliberate calmness, fixing Louzy with an unwavering gaze. 

“Actually,” you said coolly, “Sarah works for the Daily Bugle. And she has fantastic taste—though I wouldn’t expect you to recognize it.”

Louzy blinked, momentarily thrown off. Cindy looked at her in confusion, then at Sarah. “The Daily Bugle? Isn’t that… a real newspaper?”

Sarah shot you a grateful look, her confidence restored. “Yes, Cindy, it’s a real newspaper,” she replied with a touch of humor.

Sensing the shift, Chloe lifted her hand to admire her ring again, determined to reclaim the spotlight. 

“Well, anyway, let’s not get sidetracked,” she sighed, as if tolerating the attention on anyone else had been exhausting. “I just think it’s wonderful to finally have everything in place.”

You forced a polite smile, leaning into your chair. “Yes, Chloe. It really is… wonderful,” you replied, voice smooth but tinged with sarcasm.

As the tea dragged on, Chloe and Louzy tossed subtle jabs your way, but you countered with steady calm. Every now and then, Sarah would shoot you a grin, and by the end of the afternoon, you felt a quiet satisfaction settle over you.

You stepped out of the tea place with Sarah, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Remind me again why we went in there and willingly subjected ourselves to that?”

Sarah chuckled, glancing back at the elegant yet pretentious building. “Well, I always wanted to try that tea place… you know, just once.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing down at your Chanel tweed jacket and skirt as if regretting dressing up for this crowd. 

“Sarah, why didn’t you just tell me? We can go here anytime without needing to endure Chloe’s… antics.”

Sarah chuckled sheepishly, running a hand through her hair. “I guess I didn’t want to impose.”

Just then, your phone buzzed, and you glanced down to see Lincoln’s name flashing on the screen. 

“One sec,” you said, answering the call. “Lincoln? What’s up?”

“Hey, Boss,” he replied, his tone urgent. “We’ve got an issue with the Emporium accounts—a discrepancy that needs your immediate approval to resolve. And, well, the board’s asking for an answer ASAP.”

You frowned, glancing at Sarah apologetically. “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You hung up, turning to Sarah with a reluctant sigh. “Looks like I’ve got to head back to work. Raincheck on that shopping trip?”

Sarah nodded, waving her hand. “Of course! Go do your CEO thing,” she teased with a smile. “I’ll hold you to that raincheck, though.”

You laughed, giving her a quick hug before stepping toward the curb, lifting a hand to hail a cab. As one pulled up, you glanced back at Sarah with a quick grin. “Promise, next time it’s just us—and zero frenemies.”

With a parting wave, you slid into the cab, already shifting gears mentally to whatever awaited you back at the office.

Sarah watched you disappear into the cab with a sigh, her shoulders slumping. Just as she turned to figure out her next move, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, wincing when she saw the caller ID. Taking a steadying breath, she answered.

“SARAH!” J. Jonah Jameson’s voice practically exploded through the phone, making her jump and hold the phone a few inches away from her ear. “I need you back at the office, pronto!”

“Uh, hi, Mr. Jameson,” she replied, trying to sound composed. “Is everything okay?”

“Do I sound like everything’s okay?” he barked. “We’ve got a tip on a big story—no, a scandal! Could shake up the whole city! And I need my best reporter here now!”

Sarah rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “On my way, boss.”

“Good!” he replied, practically cutting off the line before she could respond.

With a shake of her head and a resigned smile, Sarah headed down the street, already mentally preparing for the whirlwind of work that awaited her at the Daily Bugle.

As Sarah headed toward the office, she couldn't help but wonder what kind of "scandal" could have Jameson so worked up. The Daily Bugle was always sniffing out juicy stories, but this sounded personal. When she finally reached the office and pushed through the doors, she barely made it to her desk before Jameson spotted her and charged over.

“Glad you finally made it,” he said, his voice intense. “We just got a tip about the Emporium—the shopping mall empire. Something big is going on behind the scenes.”

Sarah’s eyes widened, and her mind raced. Y/N’s family business.

“Do we have any solid information yet?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Jameson thrust a stack of preliminary notes and reports into her hands. “Not yet, but rumors are swirling about questionable transactions, offshore accounts, maybe even connections to shady organizations. I want you on this, Sarah. Dig deep, find out if there’s a scandal in there somewhere. If there’s dirt, I want it on the front page!”

Sarah forced a nod, her mind flashing back to her earlier tea with you. 

“Got it, boss,” she replied, clutching the documents, her mind already racing with questions about what this could mean for you—and how she would approach it without compromising her friendship with you.

× × × × 

A discrepancy in the accounts wasn’t typical, not for The Emporium, and certainly not something the board would demand immediate approval to resolve. Numbers ran like clockwork under your oversight, and you’d established a system so airtight that any red flag was immediately worth noting.

Staring out the window, you couldn't help but feel a pang of unease twist in your gut. Sure, discrepancies happened—data entries, system glitches, even miscommunication between departments. But this felt different. Lincoln’s urgency wasn’t the usual, nor was the board’s sudden insistence on your approval.

You knew that taking on the CEO position would mean an endless carousel of problems needing to be fixed or avoided, but this was something more. Something beyond routine. You’d barely had time to settle into the role, and already it seemed like cracks were surfacing.

When you finally arrived at The Emporium’s main office, you stepped out of the cab, straightening your posture as if bracing yourself against whatever you were about to face. The lobby bustled with activity as usual, employees and visitors moving about, the hum of productivity masking the weight of whatever issue had been quietly simmering beneath.

Once upstairs, you strode into your office, where Lincoln was already waiting, a set of documents spread out on the table. His usual calm demeanor was tinged with tension as he handed you a tablet displaying the latest financial report.

“Here’s the summary,” he said, his voice lowered. “It’s in the overhead expenses—numbers don’t line up with projected costs, but it’s small enough that it might’ve flown under the radar.”

You scanned the figures, your brows furrowing as the discrepancy became more apparent. The numbers weren’t wildly off, but they were just enough to be suspicious. The amounts were being siphoned off in bits and pieces—a little here, a little there—practically invisible unless someone knew where to look.

“Who else has seen this?” you asked, voice steady as you looked up.

“Just you, me, and the board,” Lincoln replied. “They’re pressing for a quick approval to ‘rectify the issue,’ but…” His voice trailed off, clearly cautious about voicing his suspicions.

“But it doesn’t feel right,” you finished for him, the weight of his unspoken concern settling over you both.

You set the tablet down, crossing your arms as you considered your options. This was your first significant test as CEO, and you couldn’t afford to let it slide—not without answers.

“Alright, Lincoln,” you said, your tone resolved. “I want a full audit of every expense tied to this discrepancy. And I want to know who’s overseeing these transactions.”

He nodded, already jotting down notes. “I’ll get the team on it. In the meantime, maybe stall the board?”

You gave a tight smile. “Let them know I’ll review it by end of day. They’ll get answers once I have them.”

As Lincoln left, you exhaled slowly, leaning against your desk, the polished surface cool beneath your fingers. You’d wanted this job, wanted to carve your own place in your family’s legacy, but now you were feeling the weight of what that truly meant. You were the one in charge, and this—no matter how small it might seem to others—was yours to resolve.

With a quick shake of your head, you steeled yourself and turned back to the tablet. You had no intention of being caught off guard again.

Your phone buzzed, drawing you out of your focus. It was a text from Rhys.

Rhys: Hey, can’t make it to dinner tonight. Got to stay overtime at work.

You glanced at the message, feeling a familiar twinge of disappointment. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you typed, your response clipped.

You: K.

A few seconds later, the dots appeared, then disappeared. Another message popped up.

Rhys: Raincheck?

You stared at the screen, your lips pressing into a thin line.

You: Sure.

× × × ×

By the end of the day, you’d pored over the accounts, scrutinized each line and every report, reviewing it all until the numbers blurred together. Yet no matter how many times you examined the details, something about the discrepancy didn’t sit right. The board was pressing for a quick approval, but approving without full certainty wasn’t a risk you were willing to take.

Taking a steadying breath, you pulled up the video call with the board members. Your face remained composed, professional, as you addressed them.

“After a thorough review of the accounts, I’ve decided to delay my approval,” you announced, your voice calm yet resolute. “I want to ensure everything aligns perfectly before moving forward, for the good of the company.”

A few board members nodded in understanding, but one of them—a man with a steely gaze and a penchant for impatience—leaned forward, his brows furrowing. “With all due respect, Ms. Y/N, perhaps another review could clear this up quickly. We’ve been waiting on this matter for a while.”

You met his gaze evenly, unfazed by his subtle challenge. “I understand the urgency, but approving without absolute clarity could expose us to greater risk down the line. I’d prefer to be certain now rather than regretful later,” you replied, keeping your tone respectful but firm. “I’m sure we can all agree that protecting The Emporium’s integrity is our first priority.”

A murmur of agreement spread among some of the board members, though the one opposing you still seemed unconvinced. He opened his mouth to press further, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“I’ll follow up with additional findings by the end of the week,” you continued, your voice steady. “But until then, my decision to hold off stands.”

You could feel the weight of their scrutiny, but you held your ground, watching as one by one, they gave reluctant nods. After a few more exchanges, the call ended, and you exhaled, feeling a mix of relief and resolve. You’d faced their pushback with confidence—and ensured that your standards for the company remained intact.

As you leaned back in your chair, the weight of the meeting with the board still settling over you, a knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. It was Lincoln, poking his head in, his expression a blend of curiosity and concern.

“How did it go?” he asked, stepping inside and closing the door quietly behind him.

You managed a small smile. “Surprisingly well. There was some pushback, but I held my ground,” you said, leaning forward to stack some papers. “They weren’t exactly thrilled about the delay, but I made it clear why I’m being cautious.”

Lincoln nodded approvingly, hands slipping into his pockets. “Good call. Want me to arrange your ride home?”

You glanced at the clock, then back at the files still sprawled out over your desk. “Thanks, Lincoln, but I think I’ll be staying late. Just want to go over everything one more time, be certain I didn’t miss anything.”

With a nod of understanding, Lincoln gave a brief smile. “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning then,” he said before heading out, leaving you alone with the silence of the office and the persistent, nagging feeling that there was something still buried in the numbers.

Determined, you dove back into the system, meticulously retracing each figure and record line by line. After what felt like hours, your eyes caught something—a detail that seemed to have slipped through before, a specific source of funds that suddenly appeared in the data. You swore it hadn’t been there in your last review, but there it was now, standing out like a flag.

A frown creased your forehead as you hovered over the entry, wondering if you could’ve really missed it. You wanted to cancel the audit entirely and approve the request, as the newly surfaced detail seemed to align perfectly with the numbers. But as you leaned closer to the screen, the strange sense of something being slightly off continued to linger, almost hauntingly.

But it all looked right… didn’t it?

× × × ×

As you step out of the Emporium, the chilly late November air greets you, and the faint sound of holiday music filters through the street, blending with the gentle noise of the city. Pulling your coat tighter around you, you start to head toward the curb when a figure catches your eye.

There, leaning against a lamppost just outside the building, is Bucky. His face is partially shadowed, and he’s dressed casually, hands tucked into his pockets, looking a bit out of place yet completely at ease in the late-night scene.

“Bucky?” you ask, your surprise evident as you step closer. “What are you doing here?”

He straightens, glancing briefly up at the Emporium sign before looking back at you. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, “I was just, uh—meeting someone nearby. Thought I’d take a walk after, and figured I’d swing by here to see if the rumors were true about those holiday lights.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in your expression. “Really? You decided to swing by the Emporium in the middle of the night to check out Christmas decorations?”

He shrugs, looking offhanded but not entirely defensive. “Yeah, well, they’re pretty famous. Thought I’d see them up close. But I guess you got the better view from up there.” He nods toward the office windows, giving a slight smirk.

You cross your arms, unable to help the amused smile that tugs at your lips. 

“Sure, okay,” you say, not entirely convinced but entertained by his excuse nonetheless. “But for the record, you didn’t miss much. It’s just lights.”

“Hey, it’s the season,” he replies, gesturing around at the twinkling displays. “Guess you’re not a fan?”

“After a long day of spreadsheets and budget requests? Not tonight,” you say, shaking your head. “But thanks for the review.”

Bucky shrugs, glancing at the quiet street. “Well, then, let me make it up to you. Mind if I walk with you?”

You give him a raised eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at your lips. 

“Actually, I have a car waiting,” you say, teasing just a little. Then, with a small sigh, you add, “But… I guess I’ll say yes. Just because I don’t want to feel guilty.”

He lets out a low chuckle, falling in step beside you. 

“Well, far be it from me to give you a guilt trip,” he replies, a bit of mischief in his eyes. 

You and Bucky strolled side by side down the twinkling city streets, he glanced over, his expression relaxed yet curious. 

“So,” he started casually, “how was the day? Besides the whole spreadsheet marathon and budget thing.”

You shrugged, lips quirking. “Oh, you know, just another day of trying to keep an empire afloat without losing my sanity.”

He chuckled, his gaze following the lights strung along the trees. “No pressure, right?”

“Not at all,” you replied dryly, sharing a knowing look. “Though I will say, I could’ve used a win today… like maybe a certain bag of cat kibble.”

A spark lit his eyes, and he tilted his head with a smirk. “Ah, you mean the bag of kibble I heroically claimed off the highest shelf? I’ll have you know that was Alpine’s reward for being a saint.”

You scoffed, feigning disbelief. “Heroically? You didn’t even offer to help. You just left me there, hanging—literally.”

“I don’t know,” he replied, a glint of amusement in his gaze. “You seemed pretty resourceful. Besides, I figured I’d let the ‘trash panda’ hone her skills.”

You nudged his arm lightly, as you continued through the festive district, the world around you buzzing with soft chatter and the glow of holiday lights. The chill in the air had grown crisper, biting, and you tucked your hands deeper into your coat pockets.

Then, just as you were about to reply with another retort, a tiny cold speck landed right on the tip of your nose. You blinked, surprised, watching as Bucky’s eyes drifted upward, following yours to the sky. Little white flakes were floating down, delicate and pure, catching in the glow of the lights as they drifted.

“Oh…” you whispered, lifting your hand to catch a few of the tiny, fleeting snowflakes, their touch cold against your skin. Around you, a hush settled as people stopped to take in the first snowfall of the year, gazes lifted in awe.

Bucky held out his hand, watching a single flake melt against his palm, his expression unreadable. And just then, he overheard a soft voice from a couple nearby, a woman nudging her guy friend and whispering, “You know, in my country… seeing the first snow with someone you like means you’ll fall in love and have a lasting relationship.”

The man laughed, nudging her back, but Bucky shook his head slightly, a low chuckle escaping him at the sentiment. That’s ridiculous, he thought, though when he glanced back, his gaze softened. You stood there, face upturned to the sky, lips parted in a soft, childlike smile, utterly mesmerized by the tiny specks of snow falling around you. The snowflakes caught in your hair, melting against your cheeks, their delicate spirals illuminated by the glow of the city lights. You lifted your hand slowly, palm open as if to cradle the snow, and for a brief moment, the world around you seemed to fall away, leaving only the gentle dance of winter’s first gift.

Bucky found himself frozen, captivated by the simple joy radiating from you, his own breath catching in his throat. The city sounds faded, and all he could focus on was you, wrapped in this fleeting, ethereal moment. The way the snowflakes danced around you, landing softly on your hair and shoulders, made it seem like time itself had stopped.

Bucky cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away and glancing off to the side just as you turned back to him with a soft, glowing smile.

“It’s so lovely, isn’t it?” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper as your eyes drifted back to the falling snow.

He glanced up briefly, letting the snow brush against his face, before looking back at you. 

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, his gaze on you a bit longer. “Lovely.”

× × × × 

Rhys swirled his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim lights of the bar. A few of his friends sat around him, joined by two women who laughed at each half-hearted joke he made. He took a sip, then leaned back, crossing his arms with a smug smile.

“You know, these days Y/N seems… less clingy,” he said with a hint of disbelief, like he was still processing the change. “No more arguments, no more endless complaints. I mean, it’s probably just because she’s still bitter I couldn’t make it to that gala,” he added with a dismissive wave.

One of the women leaned forward, tilting her head. “Honey, she’s obviously done with your relationship.”

Rhys snorted, though her words seemed to settle in the air a second too long. One of his friends chuckled, nodding in agreement. “That’s what happened to me last time. She probably wants out. Just break up with her, man.”

Rhys scoffed, looking genuinely taken aback. 

“Are you insane? There’s no way I’m letting her go,” he muttered, taking a longer sip from his glass. “Do you know how valuable her family connections are? And besides, she’s never going to leave me. She’s invested.”

Rhys’ friend, Derek, raised an eyebrow, barely holding back a smirk. “Really? When was the last time you two even slept together?”

Rhys' jaw tightened, irritation flickering across his face. “I’m not telling you that,” he replied curtly, setting his glass down a little harder than necessary.

Derek let out a short, mocking laugh. “Right. Because, you know, inviting other women over for drinks isn’t exactly what most girlfriends would call a turn-on.”

Rhys’ grip on his glass tightened as he turned to face Derek, his gaze hardening. “Got something you want to say, man?”

Derek just shrugged, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back, clearly enjoying how easily he’d ruffled Rhys. 

“Hey, I’m just saying… maybe you should think twice before acting like she’s wrapped around your finger. Just looks like the ice might be thinning, that’s all.”

Rhys glared at him, the playful atmosphere turning tense. But Derek just held his gaze, unconcerned, before lifting his own drink in a mocking toast.

Rhys’ gaze drifted toward the window as he took another sip, only to freeze mid-drink. His jaw clenched as he spotted you walking along the street with Bucky by your side. 

Scoffing, he muttered, “Speak of the devil.”

He slammed his glass down, standing abruptly, drawing curious glances from the women beside him. Derek glanced over, his eyes widening slightly as Rhys stormed out, pushing past the crowd without a word.

Outside, you were laughing lightly, lost in the easy conversation with Bucky, unaware of the storm approaching. The chilly November air swirled around you, a rare moment of peace settling between you two under the soft glow of the city lights and holiday decorations.

“Y/N!” Rhys’ voice cut through the evening calm, loud and unmistakably irritated.

Startled, you turned, seeing him striding toward you, a tense expression on his face. Bucky’s gaze flickered to him, his posture shifting slightly as Rhys approached.

“Rhys… what are you doing here?” you asked, instinctively stepping back as he drew closer.

“Forget that,” he said, brushing off your question, his tone sharp. His gaze narrowed as it flickered between you and Bucky before landing back on you. “Let’s go. Now.”

You hesitated, glancing at Bucky, who was watching the situation unfold with a calm but alert expression. “Rhys, I’m just… out for a walk. You don’t get to tell me—”

Before you could finish, Rhys reached for your arm, gripping it firmly. “We’re leaving. This… whatever this is, is over,” he said, jerking his head toward Bucky dismissively.

“Rhys, let go!” you protested, your tone turning firm as you pulled against his grip, but he only tightened his hold, ignoring your plea. His fingers dug into your arm, the discomfort quickly bordering on pain.

“You’re causing a scene,” he hissed, leaning closer as if to scold you.

“Rhys,” you said, a wince escaping, “your grip… it’s starting to hurt.”

That was all Bucky needed to hear. He stepped forward, positioning himself between you and Rhys, gently guiding you behind him. His expression remained calm, but there was a steely edge to his voice as he addressed Rhys.

“You heard her. Let go.” Bucky’s gaze was cold, unwavering, as he stared Rhys down, his entire stance emanating a quiet warning.

Rhys scoffed, his jaw clenched, refusing to back down. “And who exactly are you to tell me what to do?” he sneered, still holding your arm as he squared up to Bucky.

“I’m the guy telling you to let go,” Bucky replied, his tone steady, his eyes locked on Rhys without flinching. He took a small step closer, his frame casting a shadow that made Rhys falter just slightly.

Your voice trembled slightly as you spoke up, “Rhys, please, you’re making this worse.”

Bucky's jaw tensed as he held Rhys' gaze, his piercing blue eyes unyielding, a flicker of restrained anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. He stood tall and solid, a quiet force between you and Rhys, his frame blocking you protectively from Rhys’ looming grip.

“She’s not going anywhere unless she wants to,” Bucky said, his voice low, edged with a steel that made him look almost dangerously calm. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t make a scene—he didn’t need to. His mere presence, unwavering and intense, was enough to convey every warning Rhys should heed.

Rhys scoffed, rolling his shoulders back as he maintained his grip on your arm, not backing down. 

“Do you know who I am?” he spat, narrowing his eyes. “I’m her boyfriend, so she’s coming with me. Get the hint?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed just slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if Rhys' bravado amused him. 

“Oh, I get the hint,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with calm menace. “I just don’t care.”

Bucky took a half-step closer, his gaze never wavering, his voice dropping lower. “You heard her. Let. Go.”

Rhys' face twisted in fury, clearly not taking the hint. His grip tightened as he looked straight at you, tugging at your arm again with impatience. 

"Let’s go, Y/N. Now.”

You winced, pulling against his hold, but he held firm, clearly too fueled by anger—and probably the alcohol coursing through his system—to let you walk away.

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he watched you struggle against Rhys’ grip. Without a second thought, he reached forward, his hand strong yet controlled as he pried Rhys’ fingers from your wrist, loosening his hold until your arm was free.

The tension thickened as Rhys’ gaze flicked down to his empty hand, his face contorting with anger. Before either of you could react, he swung, his fist connecting hard with Bucky’s jaw. The impact echoed, drawing the attention of people nearby who began to murmur and stare.

Bucky stumbled back a step, his hand reaching up to wipe the corner of his mouth, smearing the faint trace of blood there. He straightened, his expression calm but his eyes dark and intense. He smirked slightly, almost as if he found Rhys’ outburst… amusing.

“Really?” Bucky murmured, his tone cool, laced with disappointment that cut deeper than anger.

Rhys faltered, his confidence shaken as he met Bucky’s stare—cold, unwavering, and far from intimidated.

Bucky’s fingers flexed at his right side, and he took a half step forward, his eyes never leaving Rhys. The silence between them was charged, heavy with unspoken challenge, but before he could make a move, you gently wrapped your hand around his arm.

“Don’t,” you said softly, knowing Rhy won’t be able to handle what might come for him. “He’s not worth it.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted to you, his hardened expression softening just a fraction. He gave a slow nod, letting out a controlled breath as his shoulders relaxed. Then, without another word, he took a step back, keeping himself firmly between you and Rhys.

Rhys’s gaze darted around, finally noticing the crowd that had gathered, their eyes fixed on the tense scene unfolding before them. A few whispers and pointed glances pierced through his drunken haze, and he stiffened, the hint of embarrassment creeping over his face.

Realizing he was becoming the center of unwanted attention, Rhys clenched his jaw, reluctantly loosening his stance. He took a step back, throwing one last, heated look at you.

“This isn’t over, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely more than a growl, but the threat was clear.

With that, he turned on his heel, brushing past the murmuring onlookers without a backward glance, his posture rigid with lingering anger and frustration. The tension in the air gradually lifted as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Bucky standing together under the soft glow of the city lights.

Bucky turned back to you, his gaze immediately dropping to where you were rubbing your wrist. His eyes softened, and he reached out gently, his fingers brushing yours.

“Let me see,” he murmured, concern lacing his voice as he carefully held your wrist, examining it with a gentle touch that contrasted sharply with the earlier tension.

You offered a small, apologetic smile, averting your gaze. “I’m sorry… about all of that,” you said quietly. “You didn’t have to step in.”

Bucky’s grip was firm but reassuring as he looked back up, meeting your eyes. 

“Don’t apologize for him. And trust me—I did.” His voice was stern, with a hint of quiet conviction, as if he wanted you to understand that he’d gladly do it again if he had to.

Your eyes drifted to the faint bruise forming on Bucky's jaw, the small cut on his lip that still bore a trace of blood. A pang of guilt tugged at you, even though you knew Rhys was the one responsible.

"Bucky…" you began softly, biting your lip. “Let me make it up to you. Come back to my place? I can at least clean that up,” you offered, gesturing to his split lip.

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk breaking through. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Well, I want to,” you replied firmly. “So unless you’re planning to argue…”

“Alright, fine,” Bucky agreed, a slight chuckle escaping as he glanced at you.

You pulled out your phone, dialing your chauffeur, and after a brief exchange, arranged for him to meet you both outside. The evening air was crisp, a soft breeze tugging at the stray hairs framing your face as you stood beside Bucky, waiting.

Within minutes, the sleek car pulled up to the curb, and the driver stepped out, opening the door for you both. You slipped inside first, settling into the plush seat as Bucky joined you, still looking slightly amused at the unexpected turn of events.

× × × × 

You unlocked the door, stepping into your penthouse, the soft lights illuminating the modern, inviting space. Almost instantly, Figaro trotted over, his tail swishing elegantly behind him. He rubbed against your legs, his usual greeting… until his gaze landed on Bucky.

The cat stopped in his tracks, staring up at Bucky with wide eyes, almost as if he were thinking, What the…? Figaro let out a small, questioning chirp, his gaze shifting between you and Bucky with unmistakable suspicion, though a small part of him begrudgingly acknowledged, Well, he did have a decent ear-scratching technique last time.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Recognize me, don’t you?” he muttered under his breath, watching Figaro with a knowing look. It was hard to miss the cat’s distinctive tuxedo markings—after all, he’d seen this little troublemaker sneaking over to visit Alpine more than once.

Of course I recognize you, Figaro thought, his eyes narrowing in mild annoyance. Doesn’t mean I have to like you invading my domain.

Unbothered by Figaro’s scrutiny, you led Bucky into the kitchen, opening a drawer to pull out the first aid kit as Bucky settled onto a bar stool. Figaro followed, tail high in the air, but he seemed more fixated on Bucky than usual, his amber eyes narrowing as he watched Bucky’s every move.

“What’s up with you, Figaro?” you asked, casting the cat a puzzled look as you opened the first aid kit on the counter.

I’m keeping an eye on him, obviously, Figaro thought with a huff, not that I’m worried or anything…

But Figaro only responded by jumping onto the countertop—a rare move for him—and inching closer to Bucky with a loud, indignant meow, as if to say, What is this guy doing here?

Bucky chuckled, meeting Figaro’s glare with an amused smirk. “Got a little territorial streak, huh?” He looked back at you. “Pretty sure he doesn’t approve of my presence.”

You glanced between Bucky and Figaro, your brow furrowing in mild disbelief. “Figaro, honestly—what’s with the attitude?” you said, reaching over to give him a gentle scratch behind the ears, but his gaze never left Bucky.

It’s not attitude, Figaro thought, shooting Bucky one last narrowed look. It’s… quality control. You’ll thank me later.

Bucky raised his hands slightly, grinning. “If it makes you feel better, I’m just here for the first aid. Nothing permanent,” he joked, earning another disgruntled meow from Figaro, who continued his vigil from the counter, as if making sure Bucky knew he was being closely monitored.

You shook your head, rolling your eyes with a smile as you dabbed some antiseptic onto a cotton pad, preparing to tend to Bucky’s split lip. Meanwhile, Figaro stayed firmly planted on the counter, his tail twitching as he observed every move with a suspicious, almost possessive air, though a tiny part of him begrudgingly admitted that he didn’t entirely mind Bucky’s presence.

As you began to clean his lip, Bucky’s eyes subtly scanned the room, taking in the layout of your penthouse in that almost instinctive, assessing way. His gaze flicked from the sleek, modern furnishings to the well-organized shelves, noting details without appearing overly interested—a habit he couldn’t quite shake, even in settings like this.

Figaro, still perched on the counter, watched him with narrowed eyes. He let out a low, inquisitive meow, his head tilting slightly as if asking, What happened to your face?

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing at Figaro with a smirk. “Oh, so now you’re interested?”

You laughed, catching the exchange. “Figaro’s just keeping tabs on his guests. It’s not every day someone shows up with a busted lip.”

Figaro’s tail flicked, his gaze lingering on Bucky’s bruised jaw, as if silently judging him for somehow letting it happen. You call yourself a tough guy? his eyes seemed to say, a faint air of feline disapproval mixed with that begrudging interest he refused to admit.

Bucky chuckled under his breath. “Well, tell him not to worry. The other guy didn’t fare much better.”

Figaro gave a little snort of a meow, as if to say, Good. Keep it that way, before settling back, still keeping a close eye on Bucky’s every move as he took in the surroundings, each glance and observation not escaping Figaro’s watchful, judgmental gaze.

You dabbed at Bucky’s lip with a cotton swab, your face mere inches from his, he watched you with a soft intensity, a gaze that lingered, one where he couln't tear his eyes away. Figaro, keenly observant even when pretending to ignore things, narrowed his eyes, picking up on the subtle shift in Bucky’s expression. That soft, unwavering look—a look Figaro had seen before, usually directed at Alpine, but never this intense.

Oh, I see… Figaro thought, letting out a low, almost smug-sounding meow that echoed around the kitchen. You find my human. . . attractive don’t you?

Bucky shot a look at Figaro, brows furrowing, as though he could sense the cat’s amusement. Figaro’s tail flicked with a barely contained smugness, his gaze darting between you and Bucky like he’d stumbled upon a secret.

“Something you want to add, buddy?” Bucky muttered under his breath, his tone just low enough.

Hm. How about we settle on a deal? I will help you with her. You throw in a good word for me to your feline friend, okay? The cat only blinked back at him with that irritatingly all-knowing expression, like he was storing this little detail away for later teasing. 

“Oh, he’s just nosy,” you chuckled, glancing over at Figaro, who was watching the two of you with an unmistakable gleam in his eye.

But as you returned your focus to Bucky, Figaro’s gaze lingered on the man, practically oozing feline judgment and, if Bucky had to guess, satisfaction. It was as if Figaro was thinking, Yeah, I caught you, and good luck hiding it.

“There,” you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “All done.”

Bucky offered a small smile, his hand instinctively brushing his lip where you’d tended to the cut. 

“Thanks,” he replied, glancing around before adding, “Mind if I…?” He gestured towards the open expanse of your penthouse.

“Go ahead,” you replied, moving to the bar area to fix a couple of drinks. As you started pouring, Bucky drifted towards a series of frames on the wall, his gaze lingering on one particularly large, formal portrait.

He pointed to the frame, glancing back at you. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

You followed his gaze, feeling a familiar, complicated tug at the sight of the photograph. “Oh, yeah… half-brother, actually. My mom’s the second wife.”

“I see,” he replied softly, still studying the image with an almost analytical eye. He seemed to pick up on the formality in the photograph—the perfectly arranged poses, the distance in everyone’s smiles.

Noticing his expression, you added, “Family photos tend to look like business headshots when your family’s… like mine.”

“Guessing ‘family time’ wasn’t exactly Friday night pizza and board games?” Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, nodding as he looked at you with a newfound understanding. 

You laughed softly, handing him his drink. “Not exactly.” 

As Bucky moved from one framed photo to the next, Figaro padded along right beside him, tail flicking as he matched Bucky’s steps with a slight swagger, casting sidelong glances up at him.

In his mind, Figaro couldn’t help but scrutinize Bucky’s every move. Are you here to get rid of that other guy for good? Because, frankly, I DO NOT like him. He flicked his tail with a sense of finality, as if his opinion were the only one that mattered. Just saying, he thought, staring up at Bucky with a silent, assessing look.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing down to find Figaro practically glued to his side, the cat’s wide, amber eyes watching him with a mix of expectation and judgment. For a brief second, it almost felt like the cat was evaluating him.

“Got something to say, Figaro?” Bucky murmured, giving the cat a curious look.

Figaro simply blinked back, his whiskers twitching in what could only be described as mild approval. Maybe, he thought, as he continued shadowing Bucky’s every step, we can be on the same side, after all.

Bucky paused mid-step, glancing down at Figaro, who was still trailing him like a loyal—albeit judgmental—shadow. He let out a soft chuckle, crouching down to the cat’s level. 

“You’ve got quite the attitude, you know that?” he murmured, extending a cautious hand.

Figaro’s ears twitched as he considered the offering, giving Bucky a look that seemed to say, Finally, some respect. After a brief, regal pause, he leaned in, letting Bucky’s fingers brush over the soft fur on his head. “Guess we’re cool then,” Bucky muttered, scratching behind Figaro’s ears. Figaro’s eyes narrowed in pleasure, a low purr rumbling from his chest. He wasn’t about to admit it, but this arrangement suited him just fine. If you’re here to stay, soldier, at least you know who’s boss around here.

 tags: @winchestert101 @lomlbuckybarnes @lveegsoi @itsshellzy @almosttoopizza

@aami98 @hextech-bros @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @infqnitysblog

@ayayaeyato @blackbirdwitch22 @mostlymarvelgirl @bohoooitsme @crdgn

@yiiiikesmish @jae0515 @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @nikey-no-likey @aami98

@almosttoopizza @hextech-bros @wisteriaandwafers @yiiiikesmish @marvelavengerspovs1

@ppbhquinn @ziawbarnes @scott-loki-barnes @let-it-sn0o0ow

[mc-lukanette]

Ladybug massaged her temples. She'd really, honestly tried to be sympathetic to Chat Noir, knowing how much love utterly sucked and how rough it could be when one's plans didn't go well.

But in the middle of an akuma battle? Because she didn't come after telling him that she already had plans? Prioritizing his own hurt feelings when people were literally melting after being turned into ice cream?

She couldn't do it, not now. She wasn't going to lose both of their miraculouses because Chat couldn't wait a few minutes to argue with her.

As Chat turned to go fight without a plan, she reached out and snatched his baton off of him. He halted, staggering and nearly falling off the roof in the process, then glared at her.

"What are you doing?!"

"Making a backup plan, because I'm the only one who can stop the akuma and you seem to want to cool off by becoming dessert," she stated. Pointing downwards, she instructed, "Stay safe. If we can't work together, I'll find someone else to help me."

She didn't wait for a reply, making a quick escape before his shouting drew even more attention to them. She ducked into alleys to keep herself hidden from Glaciator, only getting up on rooftops when there was no other way of getting around.

Despite the confidence she'd tried to show Chat, she knew deep down that it would be difficult to find someone who would fit the bill. She needed someone who could not only be convincing, but who she could be convincing with. She'd be a liar if she said she was in any way a good actor, so having to fake a romance with someone she wouldn't be comfortable with would definitely tip off Hawk Moth.

That left out strangers and, ironically, Adrien, with a sarcastic voice in her head commenting that he wouldn't be available even if she could ask him. She reigned in the voice with a shake of her head, feeling it was petty of her when it wasn't like it was his fault.

It wasn't like he planned on not coming, or knew he wouldn't be able to go and had been up to something else. That would've deserved the criticism.

Her thoughts bounced around in her head, running through all of the people she knew. Some were blatantly off-limits, like those who were already dating someone, and she had to keep in mind that they would have to be willing to practically throw themselves in front of an akuma alongside her. That narrowed her options even further, as some she couldn't be sure would put up with the danger.

She summarized everything in her head: someone she could feel comfortable around, who was unattached, who could handle the danger, who could act as needed, and who she wouldn't feel squeamish about being romantic with. Names and faces rushed through her memories like she'd pulled a crank on a slot machine, disappearing as she mentally disqualified them.

Until finally, there was only one left and she'd hit a jackpot of red 7s; or, in this case, black and blue 7s.

Turning on a dime, Ladybug took out her yoyo so its GPS could guide her, changing course now that she had a destination.

—————

It was strange landing on the Liberty without hearing any music. She tried to shake off the feeling, just hoping no one was asleep as she looked around, wandering from the front of the houseboat and into the little greenhouse area to check the seating there.

Still spotting no one, she headed further towards the back to peek into the cabin. Even if she saw Anarka instead, Anarka might've at least known where her temporary partner went, provided she would be willing to share after knowing the reason she was looking.

Because Luka would be perfect as her partner. He was brave enough to make himself bait for Captain Hardrock, acted well enough so that Captain Hardrock truly thought that he'd seen her escape out the window, and she was comfortable around him despite the attraction she had. It was a no brainer, really.

As if her thoughts had personally summoned him, a voice called from below, "Ladybug?"

She backed away from the cabin, peering down the stairway leading into the lounge room. Her face brightened in recognition and she exclaimed, "Just the person I was looking for! Luka—ah, Couffaine!"

She added the last name in a hurry, remembering that she was in hero form and not wanting to come off as too informal.

"I heard something up on the deck and came to look. I never thought it'd be you," he said, hurrying up the stairs to stand in front of her. "Why were you looking for me?"

"There's an akuma," she explained, the earlier cheer in her voice gone to express the severity of the situation. "He's after Marinette, and she told me to come find you if I needed help."

His face remained carefully neutral, but his cheeks were faintly flushed. "Marinette said that?"

Technically, it wasn't a lie. Marinette did tell Ladybug to go find Luka, just... in her head, since they shared the same head.

"Wait. Is she alright?" Luka pressed further, taking a step closer to her.

Ladybug had to suppress a smile, as well as the bubbly feelings in her stomach at knowing he was so worried about her. "She's fine for now. I helped her hide and Glaciator doesn't know where she is. All I need now is you to help keep the akuma from attacking me."

"You need a distraction?" He frowned worriedly. "Did something happen to Chat Noir?"

She made a face, nose scrunched as all of the unpleasant memories came back. There went the mood. "He's not being a team player, let's leave it at that."

Luka didn't ask for further detail, unintentionally proving to her that he was the right choice, and nodded along. "What do I have to do?"

"That..."

She hesitated, knowing that this was the only potential roadblock to all of this. She didn't have a backup plan for her backup plan, so if Luka didn't agree then she'd be stuck. The only way to know was to ask.

Taking a deep breath, she laid it all out to him, "Glaciator's power lets him turn anyone he hits into ice cream, even someone like me. His only rule is that he won't shoot couples, which is where you come in. I need you..." She swallowed, blushing but pushing on. "I need you to be my fake boyfriend and pretend like we're in love while I think through setting up a trap for him."

It sounded like something out of a cliche and she would rather not get into the logistics of how awful it was that she had to do something like that in the first place. She'd already had to kiss Chat Noir during an akuma fight even though she didn't want to and had reluctantly accepted that it was part of the job, albeit a gross one.

At least it would be with Luka this time, though he needed to accept first. He hummed, rubbing his chin in thought as he looked away from her, seeming conflicted.

"You won't be in danger. Hawk Moth won't go after you when it's all over," she tried to assure. "I'll make sure he knows before I purify the akuma that it was just a trick."

He shook his head. "Sorry. It's not that. I'm not dating anyone, but I do have someone I like."

"Oh." She didn't expect that, wondering who it could be whilst ignoring the tight feeling in her chest. "They must be something special."

"She is." He beamed, eyes growing soft at the mere thought of her. It felt oddly familiar somehow. "But I'll do this for Marinette, since she's in danger."

There was still something not quite right in his tone, but she knew he meant it and also that they was a she (even if it had nothing to do with the akuma). She placed a hand to her chest and sighed in relief, glad that this wasn't going to be too difficult. "Thanks. Now, let's—"

"Wait," he interrupted, raising a hand to signal for her to stop. "How much are you comfortable with?"

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

He squinted in concern. "I heard about the interview on Face-to-Face. A lot of Paris wants you and Chat Noir to be together, so he might not be fooled by us holding hands or hugging each other."

Oh, that... that was sweet? She hadn't given a thought to it beyond his own boundaries, but he cared about hers despite her status as a hero. After her interview with Nadja, it was true that she'd given up on some level that Paris might see her as anything close to a real person.

"I... thank you," she said, though it was a thanks from the heart rather than the professional one prior to it, "but I'll be okay. I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

He nodded in agreement. "Me too."

"Good!" She smiled, pulling him to her side and taking out her yoyo. "We can talk about a plan on our way there!"

—————

They'd agreed to wait in an alley that Glaciator would soon come across on his pathway through Paris, since he'd be caught off guard for a few seconds when he spotted them. She would stick with the reality that her and Chat had a fight, but from there she would act like she left to find Luka to "destress," as "Luka always worried about her when she fought akuma whilst upset."

She knew it wasn't real, but it sounded nice in a way. In another universe where she didn't have to keep her identity a secret to those close to her, could things be different? Would she be able to have a boyfriend she could go to who would congratulate her on her victories? Would he fret over her and be upset that it was Chat Noir helping her instead of him? Would he hold her after particularly tough battles, and even after easy ones—

Focus.

"We should practice while we wait," she suggested, putting her air of professionalism back on, "to make sure we'll be convincing. How good is your imagination?"

"What?" The question caught him off guard.

"I want this to be enjoyable for you, and it'd help the act." She waved a hand at herself, instructing, "Just picture her, and do to me what you'd do to her if you were dating."

He gave her a once-over, mulling over the request. He rubbed the area along his shoulder where his guitar strap usually was, then closed his eyes, possibly getting into the right mindset to imagine this mystery person girl in front of him at that moment. She could also swear she heard him humming a familiar tune as he tapped a melody against his thigh.

When he opened his eyes again, the soft half-lidded look had returned. She shuddered, knowing now that the look was directed at "her," and unconsciously held her breath as he took a step towards her.

His fingertips touched her shoulder, slowly trailing down to her forearm and then her hand. He raised it to his face and, rather than the cheesy peck on the back that Chat had always given her, he flipped it around to place a slow, steady kiss against her wrist.

She let out the breath in a single exhale, blushing. Already, the atmosphere felt far different than what she was used to. She knew that Luka didn't mess around when it came to feelings, and these feelings were clearly very genuine.

"She's so creative," he whispered, kissing the back of her curled fingers as well. "My sister's told me so many stories about her. She's extraordinary."

So he was getting into the mood by gushing about his crush. She almost felt like she was intruding, having more information than he thought she did, but she let him keep going, unable to tell him that.

Then, remembering that she should be just as involved as him, she raised her free hand to his face, starting at his temple and slowly working down towards his chin. He didn't have the look of a model, even if he dyed his hair and dressed up, but he was handsome in his own way, so she took her time feeling along his cheekbones.

Luka leaned against her touch, nuzzling into her palm with a sigh. With his head turned, she could free the hand he'd been holding and touch his earlobe, feeling the black earring he was wearing with her thumb.

"We match," she teased lightly.

His smile widened. "She matches me too. She has black earrings."

Black earrings. Despite the mixed feelings that he appeared to already like someone, she couldn't help being curious. Did she know someone that Juleka knew who wore black earrings?

She was startled out of her thoughts at the faint sound of loud, squishy footsteps and a sing-song voice off in the distance. She had rightly predicted Glaciator's path and he was approaching, so he'd be there at any moment.

Luka's eyes flicked out of the alley, then back to Ladybug. Gently taking both of her forearms in his hands, he circled her so his back was facing the nearest wall. He slowly sat himself down, bringing Ladybug with him as he pressed himself against the wall. She caught on quickly, climbing onto his lap and making herself comfortable.

She was rewarded with a kiss against her lower jaw, causing her to gasp. "You...you really like this girl."

"You should know, since you met her again today," he countered, encircling her with his arms to bring her in.

Her mind grew briefly fuzzy when he kissed her cheek, but it cleared as his words registered with her. "W-wait, you mean... m—Marinette?"

He nodded, beaming shamelessly like he hadn't dropped a bomb on her. She was just glad she was sitting in his lap, her legs feeling vaguely like jelly all of a sudden.

So all the things he said, the soft eyes that had felt so familiar, and all of the affection on offer had been for her. She knew she had her own spark of affection for him, but she felt like she was always looking like a fool in front of him, thus making it all one-sided.

Yet, it was mutual, and the unspoken conflict he'd been facing earlier suddenly made sense. He'd been torn when he heard that Marinette had "told" Ladybug to find him because that meant she was okay with him potentially kissing someone else.

She giggled. If only he knew, and if only she had known it could be so simple.

"Luka," she began, putting her hands on his shoulders and pushing herself up enough to kiss his forehead, "Did you ever think that Marinette recommended you because she thought it was one-sided too?"

"Ah—mm." Whatever he was going to say stalled as she kissed his temple as well.

She continued without waiting for an answer, "Y-you know what she told me when I told her the situation? That you were the perfect boyfriend material; that you were brave, capable, and sweet when she needed it most."

The alley was dark, but she could make out the way his cheeks pinkened. She wanted to see that through Marinette's eyes one day, not Ladybug's.

"I think you should ask her out," she added.

"I..." He hesitated, his arms around her loosening. "I wouldn't want to pressure her."

She almost laughed, thinking back to how badly she would've wished for someone like him when she was still struggling to make friends, and even now. "Take it from me, I know these things..."

The footsteps were growing louder and she heard the sound of boots against rooftops. Recalling the baton at her lower back, she glanced across the street and up, seeing that Chat Noir was stealthfully keeping up with Glaciator. She had no idea what was going on in his head, whether he was skeptical if she'd make due on her word or was simply waiting for her to come back, but their eyes met.

Pretending not to have noticed him, she took Luka's chin using the hand furthest from where Chat was. Her other cradled Luka's cheek, carefully hiding the sight of his lips from anyone else behind her wrist.

"If it's you asking, and this is what you have planned for her," she began, leaning towards him, "then she'll definitely say 'yes.'"

She sealed the promise with a kiss purposefully to the side of his mouth, though to anyone watching from where she knew they would, it would look like the real deal. Luka's breath caught as his embrace tightened back up, and she knew he was strongly considering the suggestion.

He better, anyway, as she wanted to give him the real deal as Marinette.

[gottalovetumbler]

𝓓𝓪𝔂 6

𝓓𝓪𝔂 7

ⁿⁱᵏᵗᵒ/ᵏᵒⁿⁱᵍ ˣ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

Info: Fem!Reader, cussing, description of cut skin, more cussing. Long chapter so tall better enjoy.

——— 🚔 🏃‍♀️———

It’s hard to ignore one person when they try to talk to you but three? Three attractive people with nice (not understandable) accents trying to get a reaction out of you? That’s fucking impossible.

‘ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕠𝕟 ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕠 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕦𝕤 𝕙𝕞𝕞? 𝕎𝕙𝕠’𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕔𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥? 𝕀𝕤 𝕚𝕥 𝕞𝕖?’

‘𝕆𝕗 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖 𝕚𝕥’𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕕𝕚𝕠𝕥. ℍ𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤𝕟’𝕥 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖 𝕒𝕥 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕜, 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕙 𝕀 𝕘𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕒𝕝𝕤𝕠 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤𝕟’𝕥 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕦𝕥𝕖 𝕖𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣.’ Valeria says with a smirk.

‘𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥’𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕣𝕦-‘

‘𝔸𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕚𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝔸𝕝𝕖, 𝕤𝕔𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕠𝕠.’

A look of shocked hurt crosses his face as, Alejandro, turns back to face you.

‘𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕀’𝕞 𝕔𝕦𝕥𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕄𝕚𝕛𝕒? 𝕀’𝕞 𝕒𝕥-𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥?’

‘𝕆𝕙 𝕀 𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕥𝕠-‘

‘As funny as it's tae watch her panic over yer accents th' poor birds heart rate is almos’ tae 200bpm. Any quicker 'n' we're gonna git scolded by th' nurses again. Speaking of, probably gettin’ hungry huh? I’ll go en grab ye some food.’ You shoot Gaz a confused look as Soap stands and stares at you expectantly.

‘He’s gonn’ go grab you some food luv. Any preferences?’

‘Ah no I’m good with whatever.’ You answer with a small smile. ‘Can you please turn off the lights though, they’re starting to hurt my eyes.’ Soap flips the switch before heading out, followed closely by Rudy and Ale.

A couple quiet minutes pass till Gaz stands with a grunt.

‘I’m gonna go an update Captan’ Price on everything and you,’ He points to Valeria, ‘are coming with me. Can’t trust you won’t do anything if I leave you alone.’

She grumbles under her breath as she stands to join him.

‘Need anything while we’re gone luv?’

‘No I’m okay, I’ll see you in a bit.’

‘Okay, we’ll be back soon, push the nurses button if you have any issues.’ And with that they head out, leaving you in silence.

You sit there picking at your nails, the Mexicans are fun to talk to but the lights are starting to hurt your eye’s. It’s kinda nice being able to talk to someone other than Gaz and Chase. They’re fun to watch as they banter and try to help you understand what they’re saying. Though they won’t give you any hints to what the nicknames they call you mean.

The headache starts to make your ears ring and eyes sting. (I’m a fucking rapper now) You try laying down to sleep off the pain but after a few minutes you give up. Irritation grows in your veins as sleep tries to pull you under but the headache keeps you gasping for air.

If you can just get to your own bed then you’ll be okay. You keep a small ac unit in your room with a cooling pillow. If you can just get there then maybe you can sleep well. Your brains muddled and desperate to find solutions so you just follow the thoughts it spews out.

Carefully stepping on the ground, you’re luckily not hooked up to anything but the heart rate monitor. It’ll probably make a sound if you just take it off so you unplug it instead.

Slow steps take you to the bag in the corner holding a fresh change of clothes. They were meant to be worn in 2 days, when you actually get discharged, but you’re not walking out of here in a gown so they’re getting worn now.

Once you pull the soft pants and large tee-shirt on you lock eyes with your reflection in the mirror. Fuck, you forgot just how fucked up your face looks.

The bandage takes up the center of your face but it doesn’t fully cover the brushing your nose suffered. Spots of dark blue and purple creep out from under the skin colored bandage. Small cuts decorate the rest of the uncovered skin. Some of the deeper ones have tiny bandages but most are just little scabs littering your cheeks and forehead.

Exiting the bathroom you look around for something to cover your face with. It won’t be long till someone gets back and you gotta get gone. You’re about to give up, just lay back down and suffer with your headache when you spot a box on the corner of the counters. Light blue medical masks.

You snap one on as you slip through the door, signs helpfully tell you which way the roof and cafeteria are so you go the opposite direction. Luckily that’s also towards the exit.

Staff don’t give you a second thought as you slip past them through the halls with your head tilted down. The elevator dings as it arrives on your floor, a couple stepping off as you step on. The ride from the top floor to the bottom is long and slow.

The elevator stops on floor 2 and the doors ding open as two men step on, one carrying a bouquet of lillies. You shift into the front left corner and they stand towards the back right. As the elevator starts moving you glance towards the doors reflection of the men and freeze.

You recognize the one holding the flowers, Konig, Rudy had mentioned off handedly. The one with the ripped shirt, standing right behind you with the same terrifying mask on. Honestly it’s surprising they even let him in with it on. If you thought Konig was scary though, the man standing next to him doesn’t even have a word to describe the way he looks.

A mask covering everything except his eyes, like Konig, but his mask is skin tight. Outlining his nose and ears. You look towards his eyes in the reflections again and startle as you lock eye contact with him. His shrink into slivers as yours widen.

As soon as the door dings open you step out and of course, right into a broad chest.

‘Oh I’m so sorry miss, are you ok?’ You assure the man as you speed walk off, not looking back. The headache is still pounding as you rush through the hospital doors and out into the air. The cooling breeze helps cool your head and calm the pounding a bit. You head towards one of the corners cause by the door jutting out and just soak up the air.

Your eyes startle open as you heard loud thud leave the hospital. Glancing around the corner you’re hidden behind and see Konig and the mystery man standing there. You watch their heads as they slowly and methodically scan the area before standing back behind the corner.

Please just give. Please. Please. Please. Just go back and give those flowers to whoever you guys are visiting. Why did they even follow you out? Did you do something wrong? Were they gonna yell at you? Did you accidentally fuck up their flowers?

Feet shuffle closer and you hold your breath. The “fresh” air now suffocates you as it seems to grow warmer, causing your headache to flare again. You squeeze your eyes closed to try and alleviate some pain. The shuffling eventually stops and after a few beats you crack your eyes open, screaming at what you see.

The unnamed masked man is standing 6 inches away from you. You jerk your head back in shock and nearly knock yourself on the brick wall behind you but something soft protects your head. You look to your right and see Konig himself standing there, his hand being the thing that protected you from a much worse headache.

‘ᘺᕼᘿᖇᘿ ᕲᓰᕲ ᖻᓍᑘ ᖶᕼᓰᘉᖽ ᖻᓍᑘ ᘺᘿᖇᘿ ᘜᓍᓰᘉᘜ SᓍᒪᘉᓰSᕼᖽᓍ? ᕲᓰᕲ ᖻᓍᑘ ᖇᘿᗩᒪᒪᖻ ᖶᕼᓰᘉᖽ ᖻᓍᑘ ᑢᓍᑘᒪᕲ Sᒪᓰᕵ ᗷᖻ ᑘS?’ Ok either you’re going fucking crazy or he is just making random noises.

‘ጎ ፕዘጎክጕ ቿረቻርዘቿክ ዘልነ ል ዘልዪዕ ፕጎጠቿ ሁክዕቿዪነፕልክዕጎክኗ የቿዐየረቿ ክጎጕ. ረቿፕ’ነ ኗቿፕ ዘቿዪ ጌልርጕ ሁየ ፕዐ ዘቿዪ ዪዐዐጠ ጌቿቻዐዪቿ ነዘቿ ጎክጋሁዪቿነ ዘቿዪነቿረቻ ጠዐዪቿ.’

They share a look before the new one takes your wrist gently and tugs. You shoot him a a fearful look and stand firm, your other hand rubbing your forehead.

‘ᑢᓍᘻᘿ ᓍᘉ SᓍᒪᘉᓰSᕼᖽᓍ, ᒪᘿᖶ’S ᘜᘿᖶ ᖻᓍᑘ ᑘᕵ ᖶᓍ ᗷᘿᕲ ᕼᑘᕼ?’

‘I can- I can’t understand you. Im sorry.’

You mutter as you continue to rub your forehead, closing your eyes again.

Konig clears his throat and grabs your other wrist, pulling your hand off your reddening forehead.

‘ሠቿ’ዪቿ ጋሁነፕ ኗዐጎክኗ ፕዐ н︎є︎ℓρ yσυ в︎α︎¢к︎ т︎σ в︎є︎∂︎ ልክዕ ኗቿፕ ሃዐሁ ነዐጠቿ м︎є︎∂︎ι¢ιηє︎. ዐጕልሃ?’

Oh back to bed? Okay. You nod your head and slowly follow the men. You blink and find yourself tucked back in bed as a nurse hooks back up the monitor. They let you stay in your clothing, pajamas, and with short scolding left you alone. Well as alone as you can be with six other people in the room.

‘ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕘𝕠 ℕ𝕖𝕟𝕒, 𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕦𝕡. 𝕎𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕪 𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕦𝕟 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟.’ Rudy winks as he places the tray of food infront of you.

‘I wasn’t trying to run. Just wanted to go home and lay in my cold dark room.’ Your muttering is barely understandable as you shovel jello in like there’s no tomorrow.

‘Ok luv, we believe you.’ Gaz smiles as he hands you a second cup of water.

You eat in silence till the door creaks open and the unnamed masked man walks in holding something. He places a light blue vase filled with the white lillies from earlier on your bedside table.

‘Oh thank you. I didn’t realize they were for me.’ You thank the new man, honestly flattered that the masked giants got you flowers. ‘I’ve never gotten flowers before,’ you say with a blush. ‘They’re gorgeous.’

‘ᖶᕼᗩᖶ’ᒪᒪ ᑢᕼᗩᘉᘜᘿ SᓍᒪᘉᓰSᕼᖽᓍ, ᖶᕼᗩᖶ’ᒪᒪ ᑢᕼᗩᘉᘜᘿ….’

——— 🚔 🏃‍♀️———

Tis all! Hope y’all enjoyed!!

[lord-squiggletits]

Hello! This was for your ‘ask me megop stuff’ post, which I realize I’ve lost track of october so if you’re not looking for those anymore feel free not to answer!! But in case you still want asks!

-How do you think megatron and optimus each react to being sick/who is the worse patient? Or how do they react to each other being sick? (in a scenario where they were in proximity to each other, could be during or post war)

-Do you have any headcanons about hearts of steel megop? Ik there’s not a lot there in canon but still, megatron cannon looks cool XD I have been contemplating if plug n play would work the same way because I’m not sure if a cannon and a train have cables the same way? Or if it’d work the same because they’re alien tech anyways!

-In the spirit of the season, what do you think each of them would wear for halloween if a scenario occurred where they had to dress up, or how do you think they would get out of wearing a halloween costume?

Sickness: I've actually thought about this before and even thought of writing a fluff piece for it in NATP-verse! Idk about who's the better/worse patient, but I think Megatron is actually the best caretaker simply bc Optimus is so active and powerful (their equality is a reason they're attracted to each other after all) that it's rare for Megatron to get the chance to be nurturing and protective towards Optimus. And I think, because IDW Megatron in particular deprived himself of attachments for so long, the act of caring for another person is especially novel to him and so he just loves doing it. Optimus is there all sick and grumpy bc he can't jump off buildings or w/e but meanwhile Megatron couldn't be happier... even the tedious/gross stuff just makes him so happy to have a chance to care for Optimus 😭 I think they're both equally bad patients for the same reason (tough, independent leaders not used to relying on others), but Megatron makes an especially good caretaker/they're both in better moods when OP is sick and M is in charge bc Megatron's latent tenderness simply gets a chance to jump out

Also, this is why it's a really good reason that in Addicted to You, Megatron is the one who overdosed while Optimus is the one who's taking care of him. Bc I think if it was the opposite way around, sore interface array or not Megatron would be doing the hell out of Optimus bc he simply would not be able to resist the combination of needy, desperate, affectionate Optimus PLUS getting the chance to take care of his needs? Actual heaven. (This is basically what happened in Megatron's OP-threesome wet dream anyways so I'm sure that's not a surprise sldkjlsdf)

Hearts of Steel MegOP: None, sadly 😔 I actually haven't read the comic (if there's a full comic? I've seen concept art but that's it). Also yeah, I think that even when they take on Earth vehicle alt modes, they only superficially look like Earth vehicles and their actual composition and interior guts are still Cybertronian. So, cables.

Halloween Costumes:

Joke answer #1: Them showing up to a Halloween party is scary enough as it is, so they just come as themselves

Joke answer #2: They come in dressed as each other (like, paint swap and wearing fake kibble stapled to themselves) and do absolutely uncanny impressions of each other's voices and mannerisms

Joke answer #3: They don't dress as each other but they pretend that they had a personality swap through some unknown technological mishap (or maybe they actually did personality swap) and they fucking prank everyone else bc everyone at the party genuinely can't tell if Megatron and Optimus are telling the truth or lying about the personality swap, or they're like trying to find the hologram devices bc clearly they're actually disguised as each other and there's no way that Megatron could reproduce Optimus' quiet, bleeding-heart self-effacing nature or that Optimus could reproduce Megatron's loud self-righteous declarations, right? lksdflsdk it could honestly go either way as to whether or not they actually swapped or are just pretending

Honestly, I'm not sure I have a NON joke answer for this one akldfjls I hope these answers were satisfying!

[hypnoneghoul]

I would love some endometriosis/pcos trans Dew content if you’re up for it 🖤🖤

Dewdrop hates his body.

Don’t get him wrong; he considers himself quite attractive, and does love his mortal vessels for some fun things it allows him to do, but sometimes…sometimes he wishes he could hop out of it and be incorporeal.

Today is one of these days.

His uterus is an absolutely vile thing, and when Rain asks him what’s wrong, Dewdrop spits out to get him a kitchen knife so he can cut the damn thing out of him himself.

Rain doesn’t deliver, of course, and asks the fire ghoul to glamor away his claws before he even thinks of helping him. “Endo flare, I assume?”

“Yes,” Dewdrop rumbles through gritted teeth. He’s curled up into a little ball with his arms around his middle and his temperature kicked up worryingly high. Rain won’t be able to touch him if he doesn’t lower it.

“I’m so sorry, droplet,” he sighs. He really is—he hates seeing Dewdrop in pain. “Is it Mountain’s tea level, Aether’s quintessence level, or infirmary level? What do you need?”

“To die,” he grumbles into his pillow.

“Not that,” Rain chuckles, “not allowed.”

“Then tea, I guess,” Dewdrop rolls over onto his other side to finally face Rain. He looks awful, but still he rolls his eyes at the water ghoul, “and cuddles. Might need Aether later.”

“Okay. I’m gonna grab the tea and you cool down in the meantime,” Rain orders before turning to the door. “I mean literally, or no cuddles.”

“You hate meee,” Dewdrop whines. The water ghoul scoffs and leaves to prepare the tea.

It’s not a normal tea—of course. It’s infused with both Mountain’s and Aether’s magic, making it one of the few things that can ease Dewdrop’s, or one of the ghoulettes’, period or endometriosis pain. Not always, though; sometimes the pain is just too much.

It doesn’t take long for Rain to make it and be on his way back—his water magic certainly is useful and can speed up the process. When he comes back to the fire ghoul’s room he notices Dewdrop hasn’t moved, but it seems it's not as hot in there as it was.

“My lord and savior,” he exclaims, opening his arms for Rain. Or rather the tea.

The water ghoul rolls his eyes at him before handing him the mug. He cringes when Dewdrop takes a gulp out of it right away—even though he knows very well it won’t burn him. He moans at the taste and the warmth spreading inside him as he drinks the beverage. It really is a brilliant thing.

“Feeling any better?” Rain asks when Dewdrop hands him the empty mug.

“A little,” the fire ghoul replies truthfully. He makes grabby hands at Rain. “Cuddles, now.”

“You’re such a baby,” the other laughs, but obliges, anyway. Rain crawls into the nest and curls around Dewdrop’s back, nuzzling his face into the back of the fire ghoul’s neck and putting his hands on top of Dewdrop’s own over his stomach. He needs the heat of his own hands there and Rain doesn’t want to interrupt that.

“Your huge ass is squishing my tail,” the fire ghoul grumbles.

“Oh? Sorry,” Rain giggles and lifts his hips to let Dewdrop wiggle the appendage out. He does, but doesn’t just lay it out between them; he prompts Rain’s own tail to wrap around it, tangling them together in affectionate matter. The water ghoul hums, “Cute.”

“Shut up,” Dewdrop spits back.

“I love you, too, droplet.”

[chocolatepot]

Well, I think that incongruity is part of what helps people to read the actual body of Rhys Darby as something separate from what Stede Bonnet looks like. One valid interpretation is that he is Rhys Darby and they're lying or completely misperceiving him, but it's also valid to interpret him as being more physically "soft"/less muscled (particularly since he's shown repeatedly as uncoordinated and awkward) though obviously they're still wrong about his body to some degree.

Part of why I'm so laid-back about this is that I have no real stake in it. Being aspec, I don't think that much about bodies (when I write Ed being attracted to Stede it usually relates to his manner or his hair or his smile etc. etc.) and when I do focus more on them it's in my genderbent universe, where there's much more latitude for imagining what Stede looks like, and where frankly my goal is more about making myself feel good than trying to exactly reflect Rhys's body as a woman's.

But I also find variation in fannish interpretation really cool in and of itself! I used to focus on correctness to an unhealthy degree and while I still have my own personal standards of which interpretations seem most correct, I just really love the way that different people come to different conclusions about conflicting information in a canon, or straight up rejig canon to conform to their own kinks or emotional needs or taste. Even, to some extent, when it comes to interpretations I actively dislike. I'm glad they exist even if I don't necessarily want to read fic/meta based on them.

I can admit defeat by the Rhys faction 💚 I will continue to be quietly baffled and y'all can continue to see him as buff.

In my defense, my ex was way too into powerlifting and I have consumed probably too much strongman content, largely against my will. I never intended to know who Eugene Sandow was.

[lordnikto]

Time for fanart, here my new Harry Potter drawing.

I love it, tryed a slightly different/ new drawing style out, so I hope you like it too.

[eerna]

me explaining why Will/Elizabeth/Jack love triangle was a perfect little one-movie arc that wasn't present in the final movie because it was never about choosing and instead just about dynamics and character development so they all outgrew it by then

[surepetey]

Petey offered a sloppy little smile -- or whatever the equivalent of a sloppy little smile is on a duck bill -- when Ezra actually seemed interested in their half-joke. Maybe he was just being nice and trying to make sure Petey didn't feel as inferior as they did ( hey, glowing under a UV light was cool, but it was no walking through walls ), maybe he did actually want to see it... But, in that moment, head swimming a bit, Petey didn't really care which it was -- they were just glad to be in the company of someone so nice ( ha ! ). The sloppy little smile faltered when Ezra launched into a description of what his old settlement had been like, though. As a platyperson, Petey hadn't been living a life that was all sunshine and rainbows, but it sure was better than what Ezra had begun describing! Petey still had good friends, Petey still had a job and somewhere to live, Petey still had loving parents. They were never one to complain -- they knew they were lucky ! -- but, man, they wouldn't even speak a word of that. Instead... hm... "Man, I -- I'm glad you could get over here, then." That worked, right? Maybe a little too hazy to judge it totally properly, but it was acknowledging that that sucked but also not totally pitying him and also... uh... Another thing that their bill couldn't do, but definitely would? Blush. They were not conventionally attractive by any means! They were too human for platypuses, too platypus for humans -- 'conventional' and 'platyperson' never really went together! But... beauty? Gee, they liked to think they were all gravy with it, but they'd never known what the opposite end of it felt like -- not until now. Of course, they most certainly did not get the innuendo Ezra had assumed they were making -- far be it from them to understand it! "Oh! Oh -- I, y'know, one of my, ah... talents is, see... I sweat milk." Not very sexy, Peter. "Really?" Petey asked, genuinely shocked... maybe a bit too shocked, maybe they had to tone that down. "I just mean, y'know, you seem so... confident." Ezra had been lost before? "And -- and very pretty, too." Man, there were so many words other than 'pretty'! Not that it didn't describe him... Ezra had been lost before when he was also attractive?

"i'm sure i can rustle one up. i'll be holding you to that, i hope you know." and he will, even past the disappointment that it isn't something sexual. overtly, anyway... he's a pervert first and person second, but the second does still exist. there's natural curiosity within himself, still. all it needs is a little platypus-shaped kindling! in the meantime, there's always the physical to get him interested. he can't imagine a place in the world where petey doesn't find someone falling at their feet. ah, if only... he can be a tad idealistic. taking another gulp of his drink, ezra's brow arches. "were they, what? horrible, awful, no good, terrible shits? yeah, most of 'em. would sell their own mothers if it meant getting on the train below." and then there's the follow up. and you? of course, it's a silly question. he's already sold out the lot of his family and would again for less! his mum, bless her soul, had hated him... even as much as she had tried not to, caring for him as she did. his father was just shy of his own level of crazy as a human. and his siblings? screw them. they had better prospects away from the old man. envy is the name of the game. he leaves that unsaid question... unanswered. "that it is—part of your beauty, i mean. not part of whatever nonsense has convinced you it's not." he even means it, strangely enough. it's not often that ezra insists upon someone else's confidence—no, more likely for him to take advantage of it—but it just doesn't sit right seeing someone so... lost. "'course, you'll have to suffer through me asking all my terrible questions." he smiles, genuinely. "by milk, you don't mean—?" he grins, hopefully getting the message across. he's not shy to say it of course, but he's testing the waters of his company. petey seems the flighty sort. "me, myself? you'd be surprised. at one point i was as...abandoned... as you are. i had to build myself back up from all that. part of the reason i'm here, now." with a lot of omission between the beginning and end. his indulgence in his gifts were not won by confidence alone, but by the willingness to disregard all else—convenient when, genetically, he tends toward chaos and destruction. not so good for anyone in the way...

[gorespawn]

also while we're here i would like to share the two iterations of tumblr user gorespawn that have existed since i abandoned this blog back in like early 2021. Who wants me

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Can you expand on what you mean by Baron being "too cool" to really fit a horror monster? It's a very interesting concept and I'd love to hear your thoughts. Is it that they're too active/involved/tangible and it detracts from their scariness?

I feel like I should preface this with a wall of disclaimers lmao 1/I am a hardcore, down-to-the-marrow, avid, deeply sincere horror enthusiast, esp. horror creatures. this usually means my mileage is vastly different from the average populace's, and my scaredy bone has been disintegrated by longterm exposure. most things in a piece of horror media won't scare me! so I practically never use that on its own as the scale to talk abt horror experiences, but when something does scare me it's always a special occasion to be treasured. 2/canon d20 is never really meant to be horror horror, and for good reasons: it doesn't fit the company's output, it takes a kind of carelessness in production estimation that is always a huge risk, it's often vulnerable in a way that kinda goes against how TTRPGs usually facilitates vulnerability, and for most people it's just! stressful! d20, even with the "horror-themed" seasons, generally just plays with horror tropes and stays focused in its goal of being a comedy improv tabletop theater show. 3/fantasy high's chosen system is DnD, which as I've mentioned before is before all a combat-based game system, which means the magic circle of play is drawn based on stats that facilitate and prioritize combat. want or not this affects every interaction you have in the game, and given fantasy high's concept from the ground up (everyone's going to school of DnD stuff to get better at DnD) it's doubly relevant. 4/This Is Fine I have no quarrel with this. my meters are internal, I do not ask this show to be anything it doesn't advertise itself to be, and what it is is fucking great! I like it! when I expand on this ask's question it will be like a physicist going insane in a lab. that's the mindset we're going in with.

disclaimers done. my stance on horror as a genre is that it's a utility genre rather than a content genre or a demographic genre; it is the discard of narratives. it's the trash pile. horror, above being scary, is about being ugly and messy, it's the cracks on the ground any story inevitably steps over to stay a genre that isn't horror. the genre's been around long enough to develop a codex and a general language that medias and makers and enthusiasts of the genre can use to talk about and build onto, but if you go into individual pieces there's really no unifying Horror Story. one person's beautiful life can be another's horror story, it's just how it is.

this makes The Monster a deeply intriguing piece of the genre. thing is a monster is in a decent percentage of any story - it's just when the antagonist force steps into something past a certain line traced out in the story's world. monstrousness is in pretty much every western fantasy story, it's in any story with a hero and something to vanquish or win; more than anything it's a proxy of that thing up there. the line in a narrative's world. the monster is the guard of the unknown lands, where heroic, civilized people don't tread.

what does this mean in the context of horror? the genre is about that perceived lawlessness, that "unknown land" so to say. we're in the monster's home. that's the literary context that we often walk into a horror piece with; the monster knows more than you about where you are. it may not understand you, but it holds more information than you, and with that it moves swifter than you, has more covered than you, and is more assured in its existence in this context than you. it's a struggle to catch up to it, it's nigh impossible to get one over it, and you're never sure it'll 100% work, because you just don't have the information necessary to.

with that framing you can kinda see where I'm coming from here: horror's often about the breaking of rules. I always think a monster's most effective when it breaks well-established rules of both existence and visual storytelling. think Possum (2018) or Undertale's Omega Flowey or the Xenomorph Queen - unique change in medium, unique change in graphic, unique change in design language, etc. in that sense I actually really like how canon baron plays out: they don't really function like anything else in the fantasy high universe, the bad kids have not managed to kill them when they've felled literal gods, their domain in fhjy literally introduces new mechanics to encompass their existence! from an experience design standpoint they slap mad shit. BUT! I can't help finding their character, like as a character riz (and the other bad kids, eventually) interact with, to be very... coherent? in design. this is kinda hard for me to articulate in words, it's more often a sense you get once you've looked at enough of these scrumptious fuckers, their general design and the way they show up is just kinda too clean, so to say. always kinda newly made? fresh unboxed. it, once again, makes sense for their lore - they are looking for more about themself from riz - and their function - they're an antagonist in a game experience, they're meant to be interacted with in a way that produces results and meshes with the existing magic circle - but that shininess takes away from the implied history they should have dominion over and the person they're haunting doesn't.

from another angle there is kinda something there about how put-together canon baron is as a concept; the domain they call home is riz's deep-seeded fears, extremely vulnerable things he's drawn borders around to quarantine and refused to walk into. things that from his perspective would irreversibly shatter certain pleasant fictions his world is built on top of. canon baron, While Extremely Cool, I feel is kinda too neat to connect with and signify the apocalyticized mess that'd result from this paradigm shift. the part where they're in riz's briefcase and looking through every mirror is Very Cool And Fucked Up! but ultimately the show draws a line around them as well, by making game-physical, tangible spaces they're in (the mirrors and the haunted mordred manor) and put riz and the bad kids there only when they need to confront stuff. riz is meaningfully narratively away from baron's unknown land for most of fantasy high.

with that and all of my disclaimers in mind my conclusion here is if canon baron wants to be a Horror Monster they'd have to cross way more lines. be a Lot more invasive. hence (holds up my class swap baron like a long cat)

[maulfucker]

a handful of oc concepts

[kuromi-hoemie]

feel like I've genuinely spent at least a quarter of my day too horny to think. i was going to do some kind of art today but I've been thinking about the boy...

[sysig]

Yeah of course I’m still thinking about plushies, what else (Patreon)

Most specifically thinking about magnets again - there’s the obvious of putting it in their hands so they can hold hands!

Of course if they’re on the same side i.e. right hand gets south polarity, left gets north, they’d only be able to hold opposite hands, so no handshakes (but I think that’s fine personally haha)

But on top of hands they could also have magnets behind their mouth! Kiss-magnets! My only real concern is the fabric pulling and developing kiss-wrinkles from being pressed against each other haha

They’d also be able to giggle with their palms to their mouths hehe, how cute! It’d depend on their kiss polarity

Which would of course depend on ship compatibility! Max has to be able to kiss Dex and Caleb, so if that makes it that Caleb and Dex can’t kiss, I mean that’s just an unfortunate side effect haha