#and find things that match and go from there

[savanir]

DP x DC Prompt [29]

Danny flees to Metropolis after a bad reveal and finds that its actually really easy to disappear in the gigantic city.

The only pushback (if you can call it that) is that he gets a personal visit from Marilyn Moonlight on her spectral horse and she tells him he's allowed to stay as long as he doesn't cause any trouble.

The last thing he wants is a fight with a city spirit...

He does odd jobs here and there, wanders around, watches the supers handle the threats.

It's not how he figured his life would go but it's alright, he's managing.

During one of his wanderings he overhears an argument at the back of a cafe.

It turns out that a sound and lights guy is a no-show and the metal band that's supposed to perform that night is scrambling to find a replacement.

Danny volunteers if they are willing to show him the setup, he figures he's technical enough, he can figure it out. (And he might use some of his ghost abilities to make things work, but that's besides the point).

This is how he meets their lead singer, one Siobhan McDougal. Its only later that he learns she's also known as the Silver Banshee.

It explains why he feels comfortable around her, she's nice and he absolutely doesn’t have an issue with her ghostly sensibilities.

She's the one to hire Danny to be their sound and lights guy permanently.

Danny also helps with marketing and merch down the line.

Everything is fine until one night there is a commotion at the venue and Danny goes ghost to help handle the situation.

Afterwards Siobhan as Banshee stares at Danny, who stares back, and they kinda just float and look and Danny starts to go gradually invisible when he's suddenly grabbed and held up and Siobhan is positively beaming at him.

"You're like me!"

"Uhm..."

"Boy Banshee"

"Technically, men can't be-"

"So adorable~"

Next thing he knows she holds him close. And well, that's really nice, just happy happy spectral vibes all around and Danny can't help but bask in it and would it really be so bad?

She's definitely squeezing the air out of him though, it's a good thing he doesn't need to breathe in that form.

After that he works hard at altering his ghost appearance a little to make it look like he has matching skull face paint going on when he transforms.

It helps with maintaining his identity too somehow...

Despite the fact that he's still using the exact same skillset, somehow, for some reason, nobody catches on that Phantom and Boy Banshee are incredibly similar.

[firingstars]

locked in

— a sequel to match made

congressman!bucky x matchmaker!reader

summary: you and your boyfriend have been together for a strong nineteen months and counting. problem is, you’re starting to notice he’s hiding things from you.

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, semi-public (?) stuffs, oral (f+m receiving), hair pulling, face grabbing, fingers in mouth, unprotected sex, backshots, fingering, window… sex…, soft dom bucky, slight sub reader, language, no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, bucky is the best boyfriend ever and loves you very much

word count: 15.2k

a/n: due to popular demand, here’s a second part! this is also my formal apology for whatever happened in love, persevering <3 please accept. // also if anyone saw this get prematurely posted with NOTHING attached you didn’t fucking see it. i wasn’t made aware until EIGHT HOURS LATER and the fic wasn’t even done yet!!! 😔 i always make my fic intro template things before my fics are done for motivation

masterlist

You almost lost your fucking job. 

You expected it, honestly. With the amount of lines you crossed, boundaries broken, and toes you stepped on… Yeah. There was only so much that your boss could take from you— star employee or not. 

Thankfully, your boss kept the whole thing quiet from the rest of your coworkers to spare you the embarrassment since you had the decency to come to her and tell her the truth. 

It still meant you had to refund Sam Wilson the entire Ador Luxury Matchmaking Package, which your boss was not happy about.

Sam, on the other hand, was over the moon. 

When he received the refund transaction, he called you almost immediately. You had to go into a private conference room to answer the call, away from your coworkers.

“Mr. Wilson,” you answered the phone, trying to keep your tone light.

“Hey, Ms. Matchmaker,” he said, suspicion in his voice. “Did Buck cancel his membership?”

“That is correct,” you said, clearing your throat. 

“I thought we had an agreement. I paid you guys extra to not allow him to bully you guys into ending the program,” Sam said. You can hear the frustration in his voice. You don’t blame him. “What happened?”

“I can assure you– the refund is not due to Congressman Barnes just cancelling the service,” you said. “In fact, he is no longer in need of my services.”

“What? Then he’s been on a date?” Sam asked. “If that’s the case, then why the refund? If the date was successful, then doesn’t Bucky get the benefits or whatever?”

There was no response from your end for a good handful of moments. You were stuck, unable to respond. You couldn’t figure out how to say the words in the most professional way possible. You needed to find the right concoction, just in case there was someone walking down the hall at that exact moment,  and overheard your conversation. 

In the end, all you could think was that Bucky was a dead man walking.

You were going to kill Bucky. You weren’t sure how you were going to do that, seeing as he was the one with the years of experience of fighting between the two of you, but you would do it. You were hoping that he would’ve told his one and only friend that he had a girlfriend. 

Then again, Bucky refused to answer any of Sam’s calls. You texted Sam back most of the time when you got ahold of Bucky’s phone, pretending to be Bucky. Bucky didn’t care that you were doing that– though you wondered if Sam would be heartbroken if he ever found out. 

“Hello?” Sam asked, calling out your name. “Are you there?”

“Congressman Barnes terminated his membership with Ador as he and I have mutually decided to pursue a more personal relationship with each other,” you quickly answered him, cringing at your own words. You took a quick breath in before continuing, “The refund is due to my own oversight, and is serving as an apology to you for wasting your time on our service. I truly hope that you will forgive me for being unable to maintain a more professional connection with the client.”

It was Sam’s turn to fall silent. You had to check your phone to make sure that the call was still active. There was a slight rustle on the other end, letting you know that he was still there– that he was on the other end, dissecting your words, gears processing through his mind.

“The matchmaker I hired is dating my friend?!” he cackled. 

“Mr. Wilson, I truly apologize for the inconvenience–” 

“There is no inconvenience!” he cut you off, still laughing. “Holy shit, let me tell you– after that first meeting with you? I asked Bucky what he thought about you as his matchmaker and his only words? He thought you were pretty. Would not say anything else. Fuck, listen, let me call you back– or let’s all go to dinner. You, me, Buck, and my girl. I gotta head down to the office and harass Bucky right now.”

You went on an unpaid suspension for eight weeks after the refund transaction went through. The HQ of Ador had to undergo a full on investigation to figure out if you were worth keeping around as an employee or not, seeing as you ended up breaking client-employee conduct. 

Your boss wasn’t awful, though. In fact, she was only pissed off about the refund because she knew that headquarters back in London would have been alerted. Either way, it was still the right thing to process the transaction. She promised you that she would be your biggest advocate during the investigation, and she would try to argue for you to get the time to be paid seeing as you were the best employee in the New York branch.

The second you told Bucky– who told Sam– you found money wired into your account the next business day. It was the same exact amount that you had refunded back to Sam. It was still more money than you would’ve made if you were working those eight weeks. 

Neither man told you how they got ahold of your bank information. Neither man would look you in the eye when you questioned them. 

So, you had eight weeks of basically overpaid, free vacation to do whatever the hell you wanted, and a new boyfriend. Which meant you spent damn near every single day in his office, cosplaying as some government worker– an intern or secretary. And you were helping him. You actually were. 

“You really don’t have to do any of this, baby,” Bucky told you. You had been coming for an entire week straight at this point.

“If I stay stationary for two months, I think I might die of brain failure,” you told him, stealing a stack of his files from him. “Besides. You look like you need some help. You should really hire a secretary. Or someone to help you out. A personal assistant, maybe?”

“I can handle it on my own,” he sighed, shaking his head. Despite his words, he looked grateful as you took the files to the lounge area of his office and spread them out on the coffee table.

“Tell that to me when you sleep more than two hours a night, handsome,” you said, tucking your legs under you.

With less sensitive information that he was allowed to hand over to you, you organized and kept tabs on. You summarized documents for him perfectly that made his life easier. You helped train other onboarding interns that didn’t know what the hell they were doing. You managed his calendar when he looked like he was about to combust into flames. You got to spend time with him during his breaks, have lunch with him, eat dinner with him, and he would drive you home, and spend the night with you most nights.

Not that anyone knew that, though. They thought you were an actual employee of this official government building in New York. With the way that you walked side by side with Bucky every single day, holding files and looking down at his work phone– they really thought that you were working for him.

“Where’s your secretary today?”

You don’t know who asked the question, and you don’t really care. There’s about three other officials in this room that barged in out of nowhere, when you were on Bucky’s lap. 

Both of you had panicked, and he had shoved you into the hiding space beneath his desk before any of them could see the scandalous position he had you in. 

Unluckily for him, he had chosen the wrong place to put you. 

“At a training session with other interns,” Bucky said, tone clipped and short. He was irritated at being interrupted out of nowhere, but also at the fact that you were ignoring his warnings. 

You grinned, pressing an innocent kiss to the hand that gripped over your wrist. Tight, but not enough to hurt you. You continued to palm over his hardening length with your free hand. 

You weren’t paying attention to any of the fancy words that were being thrown around over your head, but you were certain that Bucky wasn’t either. You rested the side of your head against his thigh, feeling the muscle tense and hardened at your touch as you continued to lazily play with him over the fabric of his dress pants. 

Bucky’s metal hand slipped from your wrist to your hair, carding through it and stopping at the base of your skull– another cautionary message being sent to you as Bucky tried to focus on the sudden meeting thrown his way. Thankfully, these men loved the sound of their own voices. They couldn’t hear you slowly unzip him, and free Bucky from the confines of his slacks. 

“Your thoughts, Congressman Barnes?”

Your boyfriend cleared his throat above you as your lips kissed the tip of his cock, wrapping your hand around the base of him to keep him in place as his dick twitched in response. You fought back the small hum that threatened to come forth as you licked up the small bead of precum that leaked out.

“It’s a very… worrying matter,” Bucky said slowly, clenching his jaw as he took in a slow breath. You licked a thin strip up from the base of his cock– focusing on the thick vein that you knew was sensitive. “That is very worrisome. And we’ll get to the bottom of this uh– worrying... issue.”

You paused at his words, unable to believe what you were hearing from him for a moment. You pulled away from him for a moment, hand still wrapped around his dick as you pressed your face to his thigh, trying to hide your laugh into his flesh. 

Bucky’s hand tugged back on your hair roughly, pulling your head back and away from his thigh. Immediately, his metal hand shifted from your hair to clasp around your face, covering your mouth. His fingertips dug into the soft skin of your cheeks, daring you to make another noise. Surprise and excitement shot through your body in response.  

You could test him. You could press it. 

You decided against it, and licked his palm instead, closing your eyes. You could feel his hand twitch against your face— he told you once that his arm was calibrated to feel sensations. That he felt nerves like his other arm did. You smiled just a little, then kissed right where your tongue had just been. 

All the while, your hand was still pumping at his dick in lazy strokes. Nothing too much, nothing that would alert anyone of your presence, nothing that would make him let out noises that were only yours to hear. 

“Right,” one of the officials said slowly. “Well– we have lunch with some of the other representatives in ten minutes. You are welcome to join us, Congressman. If your secretary comes back from her training, she is more than welcome to join us as well. Lord knows we need a little more eye candy around here.”

A chorus of laughter rang around the room, but not from Bucky. In fact, he just stared at them until their laughter became uncomfortable, and they awkwardly excused themselves. 

The second the door to his office shut, Bucky’s chair was rolled back instantly, and your hands weren’t touching him anymore. 

You were still on your knees, looking up at him as Bucky stared down at you, hand still on your face to shut you up before you had been caught laughing at his inability to form proper words with your mouth on his cock.

“You’re so pretty like this, baby,” he murmured, hand shifting to cradle your face.

A metal thumb brushed against your lip slowly, a shiver running down your spine involuntarily. His touch was gentle. Reverent. He touched you like you were made of glass. Unlike the blown out, hungry look in his eyes, the gruff, low tone of his voice as he whispered to you. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw his other hand tuck himself back into his pants. When your eyebrows furrowed in response, he let out a soft chuckle.

Bucky leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. Then, he stood up tall. He rolled his shoulders back, but you couldn’t focus. Your eyes were on him, and the aching bulge above his zipper. 

“I have to go to lunch, sweetheart. When I get back, you’re going to get exactly what you wanted from me, okay?” 

Your boyfriend left you there. Left you partially under his desk, still on your knees. What was supposed to be you teasing him, quickly shifted into you being extremely hot and bothered. You didn’t know how long lunch would take, either. 

You busied yourself with literally anything else. Not that it worked. Every footstep that came down the corridor, you were jumping in attention like some rabbit in heat.

Except, Bucky moved like a ghost. You wouldn’t hear his footsteps. 

When he finally returned, you didn’t even hear him until the sound of the office door locking caught your attention. You barely had the time to turn around before he was all over you. Lips were on yours as he hoisted you upwards, wrapping your legs around his waist to carry you to his choice of christening. 

An arm swiped his desk clear of any debris so no pens or other office supplies would be digging into your skin. He bunched your skirt up to your hips, and pulled your panties to the side. Bucky bent you over his desk with fingers shoved into your mouth to keep you quiet as he did what you wanted from the beginning. He curtained you, his chest pressed against your back as he whispered sweet nothings to contrast the punishing thrust of his hips— letting you know that he still very much adored you, but was also extremely annoyed by your little game earlier.

Afterwards, Bucky cleaned you up gently. Kissed you softly, held you tightly in his arms. Then presented you with food that he brought back for you– he ordered you lunch while he was out eating since he knew you wouldn’t have left the office while he was gone. 

You almost jumped his bones again right then and there for how considerate he was of you.

So yes, you almost lost your job, but you weren’t necessarily upset about it. Not when you got to spend an entire month with Bucky, helping him out at work, cuddling with him at night, and waking up at whatever time you wanted the next morning. On the rare days that you weren’t at the office with him, it was because you were somewhere else– still with him. 

Eventually, you were called back into work.

You convinced Bucky to hire an assistant to take care of his little things— stuff that you did for him to make his life easier so he could focus on more pressing things. It managed to ease his workload just a little bit, but not by a lot. Bucky still managed to bite more than he could chew, and you knew he was stressed from how slow the process was for passing bills and getting change to happen. 

Despite it all, the two of you were content. Happy. Overjoyed, really. He was perfect, and he swore to the heavens that you were, too.

A cacophony of voices, poppers, music, and sparkles were blasted into your face as you pushed open the door to the office. Streamers were shot directly into your face, colors cascading directly before your eyes, showering you with colors of the pastel rainbow. 

Your coworkers, all dressed to the nines, were cheering. A few of them held flutes of champagne. Two of them held balloons– together making the number twelve together. One of them held a cake that read congratulations.

There was a catering table set for the party that was clearly waiting for you. You saw the table set, ready for everyone to dig into. You knew your boss didn’t hold back when it came to celebrating any kind of achievements, especially not your own. You were the best at what you did here.

Your grin wasn’t smug, even though you had every single right to be. You shrugged your blazer off as you sauntered into the room, allowing the applause and cheers to wash over you. You dropped your purse and other materials off at your desk as your boss approached you with a grin, hands going to your shoulders.

“My star employee– our number one matchmaker!” she cooed at you, everyone shouting around you in response to our praise. “Tell me, with this wedding upcoming this weekend, how many will you be responsible for?”

You paused, only for dramatic effect. The ceiling looked suddenly oh so interesting as you smiled. Then, you guessed, “Twelve?”

“Twelve!” your boss roared, the girls around you jumping up and down with excitement and cheer. 

“Do a speech, a speech!” your deskmate urged, and you only let out a small, playful sigh as everyone died down around you.

You were handed your own glass of champagne, led to the front of the room, and turned to look at all the girls. Girls that you worked with for the past six, almost seven years. Your boss had been doing this job for well over a decade now. There were a few new faces that had just started a few months ago. 

With your glass lifted into the air, you smiled, “Love is all around. It’s easy to find the perfect match for someone.”

They squealed, toasting to you. The cake was brought to you, letting you blow out the candles as if it was your birthday or something– just a tradition your company had for good luck. Something to bring more successful matches and weddings to your clients.

Your two clients, Luke and Jessica, were tying the knot after twelve months of dating, and another four months engaged. One year and four months— which was a relatively short time, but who were you to judge? They both told you they knew the other party was the one after the first date. Who were you to stand in the way of them? 

Just because you were fucking bitter, and jealous that you couldn’t spend time with your own boyfriend despite the fact that Luke and Jessica got together three months after you two did didn’t mean a thing. Not a single thing. 

You masked your growing irritation well with your clients. After all, your performance margins had been going through the roof within the last six months. Your productivity has never been better, your clients have never been happier with your performance, and you have been churning out perfect match after match like you might as well have been Cupid himself. 

Yet, you couldn’t find a single time for your own boyfriend. 

When you had a free night, he didn’t. There was a dinner that he had to get to, one that required secrecy amongst government officials. You understood that. You didn’t hold that against him– especially not when he looked pained to tell you that you couldn’t join him when you offered to come with him the first time he said he had the work dinner. Because you didn’t mind joining him for work related activity. You just wanted to spend time with him, by his side.

But you were a fucking matchmaker. You didn’t have any business being in a government setting, and you knew that. He knew that. The entire government knew that. 

Sometimes it wasn’t even dinner. Sometimes, he wasn’t even in the city. Or the state. Or even the fucking country. Bucky always let you know in advance when he had to travel for work, but there was usually never any chance for the two of you to meet for even a brief look at each other across the road. Just to see each other in person before he had to hop on the plane and head hours away from you.

On the rare occasions Bucky had a free night, you most certainly did not. You had a proposal to plan for. Not a policy or business proposal like he worked on. A marriage proposal. One that had you sneaking around parks in bushes, setting up trails of rose petals, hiring and arguing with musicians– things that you didn’t need your boyfriend around to trail you like a lost puppy asking you if there was something that you needed help with. 

If it wasn’t a proposal, you had another work event. A client on the verge of a breakdown because their date cancelled on them, or some bullshit like that. You would be so close to finally being in your boyfriend’s arms, but you would have to cancel on your own lover to play therapist even though you were severely undereducated and underpaid for the position. 

Bucky was understanding. Too understanding. So understanding that it made you want to bash your head into the wall. 

The two of you had working hours that were strenuous, strange, and demanding. 

Bucky hated his phone, but he still texted you often. Texted you good morning and good night every single day. He reminded you to eat at least twice a day knowing you were only running on the fuel of your own brain to make it through your work hours.

Absence definitely did not make the heart grow fonder. If anything, your heart was growing irritated. Angry. These happy couples around you were pissing you off. 

Each and every single one of your clients that reported to you that they were falling in love with the person that you set them up with, was like another person setting you up for failure. You were a ticking time bomb just ready to explode, and the only one who would ever be able to defuse you is currently locked away in his office with his pretty fucking secretary that you know he doesn’t care about, but spends more time with than you do. 

You’re not jealous of her perse. 

You’ve seen them work together. It’s strictly professional. You don’t know if she has a boyfriend, and you don’t really care if she does or doesn’t– you trust Bucky, bottom line. He hasn’t given you a single reason to not trust him. You know he has eyes for you and you only. What you’re envious of is the time that she gets to have with him. She sees him every single day. She handles his schedule, hands him coffee, speaks to him face to face, sits with him during meetings, and discusses his fucking policies with him. 

You’re jealous of the time that you don’t get to have with your own boyfriend. You haven’t seen him in over a week and a half by this point. Last time you saw him, it was for a brief lunch that lasted forty-two minutes before you both had to run into meetings. Before that, two weeks. 

You scratch angrily into your notebook, then rip the page out. You crumple it up, throwing the wasted piece of paper into the bin with a frustrated groan before scrubbing a hand down your face. 

The time on the clock reads 1:44am.

Bucky should be getting home by this time, you think. Your phone hasn’t rang otherwise. There’s no good night text yet. 

This was easier before. Easier before you got so attached to him. Easier before your world got shifted on its axis, and started to rotate around him, just a little bit. Easier when you didn’t love the man so fucking much. 

You couldn’t dwell on this though. Not when you had to go to sleep. You had somewhere to be tomorrow, and you couldn’t look like death itself. You sent off your own text to him, then let your sorrows and loneliness cuddle you to bed. 

As much as you wanted to wait for him to text you back, you couldn’t. You had a battlefield to get to. A networking event. A bride to maybe convince that she wanted to marry her groom. 

By the end of the wedding, your purse was full of business cards, and your lips were full of promises to call women on Monday to get them on your books as clients. Your face muscles hurt, your feet ached, and your heart was breaking.

Your phone was full of notifications, and not a single one of them was from your loving boyfriend. Did he get JFK’d somewhere? He couldn’t have. It would have been all over the news already if he did. Sam would have called you, too. Besides that, the serum in his veins would have him feeling the murderous intent from a thousand miles away.

You were pretty certain that he wasn’t joking when he said that he assassinated JFK, too. Except, you were drunk when he confessed that to you during a drinking game that you two were doing when you first started dating. You don’t know if you dreamt it. Bucky refuses to comment, like a true politician.

You make it through the rest of the wedding, get invited to the afterparty, decline, and step out into the street to wait for your Uber to arrive. A car pulls up to the curb that you know is not a silver hatchback like the app indicates, so you ignore it–

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone on a Friday night?”

Your head snaps up at the voice. Bucky’s stepping out of the driver’s side, holding a colorful arrangement of fresh summer flowers for you, wrapped in kraft paper, tied off with a bow. He’s dressed in a formal suit– bowtie and everything. You vaguely remember him telling you that there was a gala event that was happening tonight the last time that you two had a chance to speak on the phone. He must have had a chance to slip away from there. 

“Need a ride?” he asked, feet stopping just right before you.

You let out a laugh, looking up at him. You take a moment to admire him. Bucky’s smiling at you. There’s so much love in his eyes for you. There always is. In fact, it seemed as if there was more love there than there was than the last time he saw you. You were certain that there would be double the amount the next time you would meet.

“I have one,” you sighed, deciding to play coy with him. “Coming in about five more minutes.”

Bucky clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Five minutes? That’s too long. Shouldn’t make you wait out here for even a second.”

You couldn’t fight back the grin that makes its way onto your face. You close the remaining distance between the two of you, your hand resting on his chest as you lean upwards towards him to meet his lips. Bucky’s hand wraps around your back, holding you to him to stabilize you, a small sigh escaping through his nose. 

“Hi, handsome,” you hummed, parting from him. 

Your smile only widened a little more when Bucky chased after your lips instinctively, wanting more. Wanting another kiss. You gave him just a couple more pecks before you settled the heels of your shoes back onto the cement of the sidewalk. A laugh rumbled through you at the disappointed look on his face.

“How’d you know where my wedding was, Congressman?” you asked, looking back at your phone to cancel the ride. 

“Oh you know. A birdie told me,” Bucky said, shrugging as he moved to open the passenger door for you.

“You had Redwing spy on me?’ you raised an eyebrow at him, stepping into the car..

“More like I had Sam send a trail on you tonight. Don’t know if he used Redwing,” he corrected, holding the flowers out for you to take. 

You rolled your eyes at him as you took the bouquet. He was messing with you, and you knew it. You shared your location with him on your phone a long time ago, and he only just figured out how to use the function of it a few months back. He was even shocked to find out that there was such a feature so easily accessible on regular technology. Bucky even asked you if you had his location. You didn’t, and you told him that you didn’t want it. You figured he would be weirded out by that kind of stuff as a former spy, and you were right. He was more at ease after your reassurance. 

However, he did enjoy the fact that he didn’t have to go through several satellite feeds and camera playbacks to find where you were.

In the car, the music is soft. Low. Something from the forties that you don’t really listen to unless you’re with Bucky. He’s tapping his finger on the steering wheel to the beat of the song, and you find yourself relaxing into the comfortable leather of the seat. 

Neither of you are speaking, nor do you find the need to. 

Bucky knows you. You’re exhausted after an event like this. He used to ask you how the job went, like a mission debrief. To you, it is a mission. This was your battlefield, and you just fought against enemies and kept your cool against a thousand different obstacles that could’ve made the mission go sideways.

He learned over time that you just wanted silence, the same way that he did. Bucky used to think that you wanted to talk after these events, which wasn’t totally wrong. You talked if the event went horribly wrong and you needed to vent your frustration out to someone that wouldn’t get you fired. You talked his ear off because you couldn’t say what you wanted to in front of your own clients.

Bucky misunderstood and thought you wanted to talk after every single event. Eventually, he realized that most of the time, you enjoyed the peace and quiet of a job well done. That you wanted to sit without having to force a smile anymore, to close your eyes, and feel the weight of his hand on your thigh comfortingly as he drove. 

The sound of a text message coming through cut off the music momentarily. Your eyes cracked open, and on the center screen of Bucky’s dashboard, you saw there was a message from Bucky’s one and only friend.

Don’t Respond [12:08am]: Did she find out what you’re doing yet?

“What’s Sam talking about?” you asked, shifting to reach for Bucky’s phone that was in the cupholder. 

Bucky was faster. His hand left your thigh, grabbing the device before you could. He looked at the small screen momentarily, taking his eyes off the road for just a second. Then, you watched as he long pressed the side of his phone, turning it off completely before putting it back in the cupholder.

“Nothing, sweetheart. I’ll text him back later,” Bucky said, giving you a smile before looking back at the road. His hand returned back to its rightful place on your thigh. 

You stared at the side of his face, blinking at him. There was no more music in the car, since his phone was turned off. You were left in silence, just the low thrum of the engine and your thoughts being your only source of entertainment as Bucky turned into your apartment’s parking garage.

Bucky will text him back later? Bucky will text him back later?

No the fuck he won’t. 

As much as Bucky loves new technology like a nerd loves Star Wars, he hates it all at the same time. He thinks it’s disgusting for any sane person to spend the amount of time they do glued to their phones willingly outside of educational and work purposes. He’s a man that had zero choice in life, and he prefers to see the world. If he has free time, there is no way in hell that he will waste it typing away on a tiny screen to text back anyone. 

Except you, of course. He’ll only text and call you.

His reaction was even more strange. Bucky didn’t swat your hand away or anything like that. He didn’t scramble to get to his phone before you did– but he did react. He didn’t answer you. He deflected. He’s always answered your questions to the fullest.

Besides that, this wasn’t anything new between the two of you. You always texted Sam back through Bucky’s phone. When Sam texted, you would read it out loud, Bucky would answer, and you would type what Bucky said, but in a nicer… less aggressive way. In fact, 99% of the conversations Bucky had with Sam through text was done by you. Sam still did not know of that fact, and you were not going to be the one to tell him. 

You’re still reeling in your own thoughts by the time you get to your apartment. 

You shove your downward spiral for just a moment to accept Bucky’s extremely tempting offer to shower together– which is never anything sexual. 

Bucky enjoys the intimacy of being able to hold you, bare, and help you get cleaned from your day. It’s one of his favorite things to do. You revel in the way he takes his time, hands scrubbing at your scalp slowly to lather up the shampoo. He’ll ensure that not a single part of your body goes untouched.

You do the same for him. You take great care in every part of his body. You remember the first time you touched his scars– paid close attention to them. It looked self-inflicted. Nothing like a surgery or done by doctors or scientists, like how he said the arm was attached to him. When you saw his face, you knew you were right.

Every once in a while, you can still see the dark shadow casting over his eyes when your hands run over his shoulders. You simply move to kiss against the scars to quietly remind him that you aren’t afraid of him, and you watch as the shadows fall mercy to the light.

You finish your own skincare routine faster than he does, as per usual. 

“I don’t understand why the hell I have to do this, doll,” he grumbled as you left the bathroom. “I’m over a century old.”

“And I’m trying to make sure that you don’t look like it,” you replied over your shoulder. 

Bucky huffed, but continued with the routine that you strictly put him on. He complained, but he never went against your words. You knew that he was still following it even when he wasn’t spending the night at your place, too. He’s always been a handsome man, but you would say that he’s been leveled up even more since you came around.

While he’s distracted, you move towards his bag. 

You don’t distrust him, but you’re not stupid either. Turning off his phone, saying things out of character– yeah. Something is different. What’s even weirder is that he doesn’t have any of his usual things with him. There’s only his laptop. He doesn’t have any of his regular written notebooks or calendars that he usually carries around with him. The man loves his written, visual items. He likes to flip through pages and see things with his own eyes, to be able to edit with a pen instead of a tap of his fingers.

You hear the last cap of the bottle close, and shut his bag. You’re only left with more questions as you move his bag towards the hanger where your own purses hang.

“Ah– sorry,” Bucky apologized, seeing you move his stuff. 

“It’s alright,” you hummed, thankful you were able to play off your snooping.

The two of you move towards your bed, sliding under the sheets. You settled into his arms naturally, assuming the position that the two of you had found most comfortable in the almost two years of dating. Your head rested on his bicep like it was a pillow, his metal arm coming around you to wrap around your waist to keep you cool against his furnace of a body. 

“You ever respond to Sam?” you whispered into his chest, closing your eyes to snuggle closer into him.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, moving to grab his phone from the nightstand behind him. You immediately shifted, just slightly– to try and see the screen.

But so did he.

With one hand, he angled his phone so that it was distorted. The brightness was down low enough that you weren’t able to properly see the messages between both men. However, you saw him silence the chat. You saw the swipe of his thumb, and the icon that signified a silenced message.

Then, Bucky put his phone face down on the nightstand before returning to you.

“Good night, doll,” he murmured to you, hand moving to tilt your head up to him. He kissed you once, twice, a third time before settling back against the pillow. “I love you.”

“Night,” you whispered back, though your mind was everything but asleep. Suspicion was creeping up on you. You could feel it– the sign of something coming. You pushed your gut feeling down. “I love you, too.”

Bucky ❤︎ [2:48pm]: What days do you think are your most free days right now?

You paused, staring at the text on your screen. This is different. This isn’t a text that you normally received from Bucky. Especially not in the middle of the work day, either. Momentarily, you want to entertain the idea that someone stole his phone, but you were certain that someone would be injured or dying if they even got close to ever trying to rob Bucky.

Me [2:50pm]: Are you asking me on a date, Congressman?

Bucky ❤︎ [2:53pm]: I’m trying to plan one instead of our random spontaneous ones, yes. Can you let me know what days work best for you so I can look at my calendar?

Last time he ‘planned’ a date, the two of you went to Romania for your first year anniversary for a week. You didn’t even realize that’s what he meant by planning a date until you were at the fucking airport with no luggage. Except he packed for you, had your passport, and everything else you could possibly need. You were just completely oblivious to the entire thing. 

Me [2:54pm]: Is this a trip kinda date?

Bucky ❤︎ [2:55pm]: No, but I do need two days of your time.

Me [2:56pm]: You’re asking for a lot, handsome.

Bucky ❤︎ [3:01pm]: I promise I’ll be worth it.

You smile at your phone at his words. Of course he’ll be worth it. You take a moment to go through your calendar, flipping back and forth between all your different events. You cross check between client meetings, event plannings, meetings with your coworkers and boss, and then text him back with your response. 

Me [3:12pm]: Weekends are really bad right now. Mondays, too. Wednesdays are also surprisingly bad… Tuesdays and Thursdays are the best. Fridays are a hit and miss.

Bucky ❤︎ [3:25pm]: Tuesdays are bad for me. Rep. dinners on Tuesday nights and Wednesday morning debriefs. Can you block out Thursday and Friday for me two months from now? The 17th and 18th. I’ll give you more details about our date when it comes closer.

Two months? That’s more than enough time to block out. You’ll even take the weekend off for good measure, just in case. Still, two months is a long time to prepare for just a date. You can’t help but tease him a little bit.

Me [3:27pm]: You don’t plan on seeing me for two months? :( 

Bucky ❤︎ [3:30pm]: You’re funny. We’ll still have our random and spontaneous dates. Like tonight. I’m picking you up for dinner. Don’t call a ride after work.

Excitement flutters in your chest. You saw him four days ago, but you’re still happy. 

Time is thankfully on your side today, and he’s waiting for you outside your company’s building. You’re starved for food, for his affection, attention, and everything in between. 

Except all of that dies once his phone rings in the middle of dinner. Bucky silences it, and you see the screen. It has a name that you don’t recognize, then his phone goes faced down onto the table. A few moments later, it buzzes, indicating there was a voicemail left. Bucky swipes the device, pocketing it safely away. 

You’re really trying to not let this bother you. But change doesn’t just happen overnight, and this is Bucky’s personal phone. This isn’t even his work phone. He leaves his work phone in his bag, permanently silenced when he’s not working. This is his phone that he carries with him that he purposely ignores, that is only supposed to have two contacts in it– yours and Sams.

Bucky drove back to your apartment, even though his apartment is closer to the restaurant that he chose for the two of you to eat at tonight. 

You’re lying awake in his arms that night, listening to the sounds of Bucky’s soft snores as he sleeps beside you. It took him a long time to be able to sleep first between the two of you. You used to see how long you could stay up, to see if you could fall asleep after him. The first time he fell asleep on your lap, you almost cried.

Now, you’re staring at his sleeping face wondering if he thinks you’re a fucking idiot. 

The signs are right there. All the blaring signs are screaming in your face, loud and angry. The hidden phone screen, calls, and texts. Hiding his calendar, and all his written notes from you. The sudden trip planning, even though there was nothing special about two months from now. Two months was your twenty third month together. Not even the second year anniversary. 

Yeah, Bucky thought you were stupid.

The biggest sign? You’re currently sleeping in your own bed, and not in his. He’s hiding something in his apartment that he doesn’t want you to find—

An engagement ring. 

You go through Bucky’s drawers like those are your own clothes to wear because they are, and he loves to see you in his shirts. You once spent an entire weekend properly organizing his apartment in a way that made sense because his junk drawer consisted of bullets and lego pieces from when Sam’s nephews came over.

You once found guns and daggers in his apartment just by dropping pens and searching for them. There’s absolutely no way that Bucky can hide a velvet box anywhere in his apartment from you that you won’t accidentally stumble across. Hell– you found a loaded nine millimeter in your own apartment, and asked what the hell it was doing there. 

“Safety,” is all he answered with.

This was your job. This is what you did for a living. You helped other boyfriends hide proposals from girlfriends like this. This is exactly what you did– this is how you told them to do it, though you were a little more slick with it. You definitely made sure your clients weren’t hiding their phones from their potential fiance’s, that’s for sure. 

You made sure that your clients did not know that they were being proposed to. It was your mission, honestly. You saw enough of those TikTok’s where women truly had that gut feeling where they knew it was happening. You refused. It needed to be a surprise. You scouted out every single person in your client’s lives to ensure that every single moment would come to be a surprise. From ensuring that their nails would be done to the ring itself- everything would be perfect. 

Your boyfriend of almost two years was planning on proposing to you in two months, and he thought you wouldn’t find out? Jesus Christ– what were you going to do with him?

Marry him, you supposed.

If you were anyone else, if you were any less stable in your emotions, you would’ve thought he was cheating on you. Hiding his phone definitely made your eyebrow twitch for half a second, if you were being honest. Thankfully, you were able to maintain a rational and sane mind.

Sane was an overstatement. You were now planning an entire wedding in your head without the engagement ring on your finger. You were anything but sane. Insanity was taking over every single cell in your brain as you stared at Bucky, imagining your future. The thought made you extremely giddy. 

A smile crept up on the corner of your lips as you moved into the warmth of his embrace. His arms tightened around you instinctively, and he let out a soft, contented sigh.

You can’t keep it to yourself as the date starts coming closer and closer. 

Mel, who has graduated as your client and now has become your friend, is sitting in your apartment, telling you about her most recent date with her boyfriend of six months. Not in a way that she would when you were her matchmaker, but as friends would. You find yourself liking this arrangement much, much more.

“Enough about me though,” she grinned, swirling the wine in her glass. “Tell me about you and Bucky. How are things going?”

“You really wanna talk about the guy that your boss hates?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her as you take a sip out of your own glass.

“I can separate work from girl talk,” Mel said, smiling at you. 

“Well,” you said, smiling at her, “If you’re free the rest of the evening, I was wondering if you wanted to get your nails done with me?”

“Nails?” Mel repeated, raising her eyebrows at you as she brought the glass to her lips.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I think Bucky’s gonna propose to me on Thursday.”

Her eyes widened as she choked on her wine, the alcohol spluttering back into the glass. You couldn’t hold back a laugh before you jumped to your feet. You turned, rushing to grab paper towels from your kitchen to wipe off her face before it dripped, and stained her clothes. 

“Shit– shit! I’m so sorry,” she coughed, patting her face. 

“It’s okay,” you said between laughter, desperately trying to compose yourself. “Do you– do you want more wine?”

“Do I want– No! What? We need to go to the salon now! One of us needs to drive! Why the hell don’t you have a car again?!”

“Uh… I just… order a ride everywhere, or Bucky drives me,” you answered her, sheepish. “I’ll just order us a ride, we’ve both had a glass already. We don’t need to drive there, Mel.”

“Must be nice–”

A knock on your door makes you both pause. You move, going to check the peephole and find your boyfriend standing there with a box in his hands. You rip the door open, shocked.

“Bucky?” you asked, surprised. “Don’t you have a dinner to get to soon? It’s Tuesday.” 

“Yes, but I wanted to drop this off to you,” he said, giving you a smile. He leaned over the box, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Just a present. Saw it, thought it would look nice on you.”

“What is it?” you asked as he transferred over the gift box to you.

“A dress,” he shrugged. “What are you up to today?”

“Mel’s here,” you said, opening the door further so he could see her. He looked past you, giving her a small wave that you’re certain that she returned back. “We’re about to go get our nails done. I was about to order a ride.”

“Oh? Don’t do that. I’ll just drop you two off. You’ll go the place you always do, right? It’s on the way to the dining hall,” he said.

“What? I don’t want you to be late,” you said, frowning at him. 

“It’s fine,” Bucky insisted, shaking his head. “They can start without me. Talbot is late more than a few times anyways.”

“It’s true,” Mel said from behind you. You turned around to look at her, finding that she was gathering her jacket and purse. “Talbot is always late.”

“See? Thank you, Mel.” There’s a bit of a gloating tone to his voice that makes you smack his arm. Bucky chuckled in response, a smile settling over his face. “Come on now, grab your stuff so we can get down to the car so I’m not too late for the meeting.”

You sighed, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to change his mind and get him to leave you. You put the box on the counter to inspect once you return later, and snatch your purse from where it’s resting on the table. Both you and Mel follow Bucky down to the car. He holds open the back door for both of you to climb into the backseat like he’s your chauffeur, and not your boyfriend.

Bucky drives in silence, you and Mel scrolling through pinterest hurriedly during the car ride for inspiration pictures for your nails while trying to be subtle about the fact that you know that you’re getting proposed to. Your boyfriend doesn’t seem to notice that you know, though.

Once he pulls up to the salon, Mel thanks him for the ride and slides out. You lean over the console to give him a kiss, and he grabs your hand, stopping you.

His card is slid into your palm, and his lips are pressed against your knuckles.

“I’ll pay for you and Mel,” he said, giving you one more smile.

You want to race down the aisle right at that moment. 

Instead, you get your nails done with Mel, swallow down butterflies that are forcing their way up your throat, and get to the restaurant that Bucky told you to meet him at while he runs late at his last meeting before your date. 

It’s a beautiful skyline restaurant in the middle of New York that your own company can’t even secure a date at. You’ve tried multiple times. In fact, your own clients have wanted to get proposals done at this restaurant. It just couldn’t be done. Reservations were booked out at least a year in advance, and somehow Bucky was able to secure the two of you a spot with two months to spare. 

There’s live music playing here by world renowned musicians. The chefs are even more well known. The lighting was low so that it wouldn’t take away from the view outside the windows. The time of night that Bucky chose was perfect– New York was lit up like stars on the ground from the table that you were sitting at. 

You were dressed in the gift Bucky bought for you. A backless, square neckline gown. The straps came up and wrapped around your neck like a halter top would, and tied around the back in a thin bow, the long straps kissing down your bare spine. It was soft and airy against your skin. 

Bucky arrived earlier than you expected, but you were sure he was still later than he wanted to be. Either way, he still had another bouquet of fresh flowers in his hands for you that you two had placed under the table. Of course, he didn’t take a seat before giving you a kiss for a greeting, and murmuring his apology for not being able to pick you up.

“You look beautiful,” he said, smiling at you. “I didn’t think you would wear it tonight.”

“I thought you bought it for me to wear tonight?” you asked as he placed the flowers under the table. You watched as he sat down across from you. 

“Mm… Well, I bought it for you to wear,” he said, reaching his hand across the table. You easily slipped your hand into his, watching him bring your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. “When you wear it doesn’t matter to me. I just wanted to get you a present.”

“A present?” you echoed, unable to stop smiling. “Even though you already do so much for me?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t want to do more for you, sweetheart,” he hummed. 

The waiter came by not a moment later, letting you know that the first course would be coming out momentarily. You both thanked him, and returned back to each other. 

“I feel like I don’t see you as much these days,” Bucky said, thumbs brushing over your knuckles. 

“It’s been really busy for the two of us,” you agreed, releasing a soft sigh. 

“I even contemplated hiring you as a matchmaker again, just so I could block out meetings and have you in my office again,” he joked, making you laugh. 

“That would be fraudulent, Congressman,” you teased, shaking your head. “For you and me.”

“What are they gonna do? Threaten to fire you again?” 

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face is firmly planted, and isn’t moving anytime soon. 

“You know our dates don’t always have to be somewhere big or fancy, right?” you tell him, your voice softer.

“So you keep telling me,” he hummed, squeezing your hand a little bit. “I know, sweetheart. You said this to me. Several times. I just want to do this for you. For me, too.”

You soften a little bit at his words. You’re gently reminded of a previous confession he told you from when you first started dating. 

You told him that you were more than happy to just get takeout with him on busier days. To get fast food or something quick, if it meant that you two would have more time to spend together. You didn’t always have to sit down and eat somewhere nice. He said that he knew that, and he liked doing that, too. But as a kid in the forties, he always wanted to be the kind of man that was able to spoil his girl rotten– to bring his woman to the best places and sign the check without batting an eye.

This kind of thing was healing for him, too.

“We can get burgers tomorrow,” Bucky said, giving you a smile. 

“Deal,” you grinned at him. 

The first course of your meal was brought out to the two of you. You two never spoke about work over food. It was your rule. You talked about everything else. Sam. Mel. Your parents and siblings. The conversation Bucky overheard while he was in line getting coffee the other day. 

There was always a lot to talk about when you two never saw each other. Then again, you were certain that you would ever run out of words even if you spent every waking moment with him. If there ever came to be a time when that was the case, you were more than happy to spend the rest of eternity in a peaceful silence with him, as long as you were able to hold him. 

Topics never ran dry between the two of you. More than once, you two needed to remind yourselves to shut the fuck up in this fancy establishment because there were sophisticated people around you having very nice meals. 

“I’ll book a private room next time,” Bucky said under his breath.

“I don’t think they’ll let us come back, babe,” you whispered between soft, gasping laughs. “The host is glaring at us.”

That only made Bucky snort, which made you have to cover your own mouth in return before another fit of giggles wrecked through your body. It took everything in the both of you to compose yourselves before dessert was brought out. 

Once your table was cleared off, and you were left with just your wine glasses and the centerpiece on the table, you and Bucky smiled at each other. You were strangely reminded of your first date with him. So you told him that.

“This reminds you of our first date?” he said, his nose crinkling just slightly. “How so?”

“Mm… The ambiance,” you said, shrugging just a bit. You rested your chin in your palm. “You. Me.”

“It’s always you and me on our dates, sweethearts. Who else would it be?” he sarcastically joked, rolling his eyes at you.

“You know what I mean,” you scoffed at him, watching him smile a bit. “I just… feel a bit nostalgic. Just a… who knew, kinda thing.”

“I knew,” Bucky said, making you pause for a second.

“You knew?” you repeated his words, raising an eyebrow at him. Your heart picked up speed just a little bit. This felt like the start of a speech– the start to the speech.

Bucky cleared his throat, and your chest grew tighter at the sound. He shifted in his seat, and you watched as his hand dipped into his pocket. Oh, shit. It’s coming. Your eyes shot back to his face, and your mouth went dry.

“I thought you were the matchmaker, sweetheart. You didn’t know that we would end up together?” he clicked his tongue at you. “I knew I couldn’t trust a matchmaker that didn’t have a boyfriend of her own.”

“I have a boyfriend now, don’t I?” you asked, but thought– Not for long.

He smiled, eyes meeting yours. Then, a velvet box is produced. Placed right on the table in front of you. You can’t bring yourself to look down at it, not when Bucky is still looking at you.

“I want to spend the rest of my days with you. And it’s getting really fucking hard when I can’t see you all the time because we both live on opposite sides of the city, and have awful work schedules that keep us apart. Even so, I love you so much and I can’t imagine being with anyone else,” he confessed to you. Bucky takes in a deep breath that slightly shakes before he whispers out your name, nervous, “Will you move in with me?”

You freeze.

What the fuck?

“Move in with you?” you echoed, blinking.

Bucky opens the box. It’s a key. A shiny, silver key.

“I bought a penthouse in Manhattan,” Bucky said, sliding the box over to you to inspect the key even closer. “I want to see you more often. Not just the random dates when we both have time– I want to sleep next to you every night, and wake up to you in the mornings.”

“A penthouse… In Manhattan,” you said slowly. 

Your brain was short circuiting. In fact, it was fried. Gone.  You were still staring at the key, lips parted. He… wasn’t proposing to you tonight?

“I’m sorry. Am I– Are we moving too fast?” Bucky suddenly asked you, and you could hear the panic in his voice. 

Your head snapped up to look at him. His eyebrows were furrowed in worry, eyes scanning all over your face. You slapped yourself mentally. You could only imagine how you looked just now– staring at him and the key with a blank look on your face, and giving him no answer.

“What? No! No, Bucky– we’re not moving too fast at all,” you reassured him, hands darting across the table to take his hands in yours. “Most couples our age move in together by the first year or so. Mel and her boyfriend are already planning on moving in together when Mel’s lease breaks in a couple months.”

Bucky lets out a breath of relief, and you watch as his shoulders drop. You feel guilt surge through you at the pure stress that is released from his body at that moment.

“God– I just… You know, the penthouse… It’s fully furnished. I’ve been– Sam has been helping me out, actually. He helped me meet with some realtors, get the place fully furnished and decorated,” Bucky said, dragging a hand down his face. “I’ve been living there for the past two and a half months while waiting for all the furniture to come in, and it’s finally all finished as of yesterday and it never occurred to me that you could possibly say no until just now.”

“You’ve been– Is that why you take me back to my apartment after our dates? Instead of yours?” you asked, surprised.

“I already got rid of my other place, sweetheart,” he said, giving you a small, anxious smile. You can see him bouncing his leg up and down just slightly. “Got the penthouse so that we could have enough space for your stuff and mine.”

“You took me out to a fancy dinner, and prepared a speech for me to ask me to move in with you?” you whispered, your heart feeling fuller by the minute.

“I grew up in a time where couples didn’t move in together until after they were married, doll,” Bucky reminded you, his voice small and soft. 

You’re speechless, for just a moment. You take your eyes off of him, to look down at the key in the box, a smile finding its way on your face. You look back up at him, watching as he mirrors your own smile.

“I think it’s time to head home, Congressman.”

Bucky trails behind you quietly as you step into the penthouse. The elevator directly leads to your home– something that you had only ever seen in movies before. You barely took a step into the rest of the home before you were running numbers into your head.

“What’s my share of the bills?” you asked, heart racing as you look up at the high ceilings. “And don’t you dare tell me not to worry about it, Bucky. If we’re living together, then we’re splitting bills. I don’t care that you make more money than me–”

“We’ll talk about finances later, baby,” he cut you off, hands rubbing your shoulders to soothe you. “We’ll split it equally based on our incomes. Just go explore for right now.”

“I don’t know if I can afford this, Bucky,” you said, turning around to look at him. You were freaking out.

“Your salary was put into play when I got this place,” he said, cradling your face. “Sam and I met with the banks. We met with financial advisors to ensure that this would be feasible for both you and me. Please don’t ask how we got your information.”

“Is there a loan–”

“There’s no loan,” he assured you. “Do you trust me?”

“I do,” you answered instantly. 

Bucky gave you a smile, then pressed a kiss to your lips. You melted into his embrace, feeling your worries wash away with just one touch. He wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back comfortingly. When he pulled away, another kiss was pressed to your forehead. 

“I’ll give you all the documents later to look over. If you still hate it, then we’ll break the lease, and we’ll find somewhere else. I don’t care where we live. I just want to be somewhere that’s with you,” he promised. 

“Okay,” you breathed, nodding. 

Bucky’s hands leave your body, and he steps away from you. He’s quietly urging you to take a look around. 

You had two floors to explore. The elevator opened up the first floor, where there was an open concept condo. You were staring at a living room, kitchen, floor to ceiling windows, and there were built-in shelves on the wall that held Bucky’s books– and had empty spaces for your own books. Down here, there were two doors– one leading to a half bath and the other leading to a home office. 

You saw two desks, separated by a bookshelf. Bucky’s desk was already occupied with his things, while yours was empty and waiting to be used. On the shelf were pictures and other momentos collected by Bucky over the duration of your relationship so far. There was space for you to decorate with whatever you pleased. On the other end of the room was a daybed and some other furniture to cozy up the area. 

Upstairs, there was a platform for another lounge area. Also furnished to hang out in case the two of you ever had any guests come over. Here, your bedroom was behind a closed door. 

A king sized bed was in the middle of the room, along with two nightstands on either side of it. There was a full walk in closet, Bucky already having his stuff hanging on his side with yours waiting to be filled. The windows are touching the floor just like they are outside, and Bucky has the curtains pulled back so you can see the city lights from your bedroom window. 

“What if I get fired?” you whispered, Bucky’s arms wrapping around your waist from behind. “I won’t be able to pay my share of the bills.”

“I’ll pay then,” he said, pressing kisses to your bare shoulder and neck.

“What if you get fired? Or what if you quit? Join Sam and return back to action?” you asked, heart racing. 

Bucky chuckled against your neck, squeezing you against him. 

“Iron Man’s late wife donates a large portion every year to the heroes that do the work. If that’s me, then we’ll be fine,” he promised you. “It’s how Sam gets paid right now.”

“Oh,” you breathed, nodding a little dumbly. You tilted your head to the side, allowing him more access to more skin. You felt him smile against you. 

“You like the place then?”

“I can’t believe you hid this from me.”

“I hide you from the entire American government so you can continue to walk the streets of New York without being asked about politics that you don’t care about. I hid Romania from you. I think I can hide an apartment,” he listed off, scoffing softly at the end.

All of your hair is gathered in one of his hands to get it out of his way as he continues to press dizzying, nipping kisses against your body.

“A penthouse,” you managed to correct.

“Same thing,” he muttered, and you felt him tug on the string of your dress. A moment later, the soft fabric was sliding down your body, and pooling at your feet, “C’mon, sweetheart. We gotta christen the place.”

You’re being turned around to face him, and your arms move to slide up his chest and wrap around his neck. Bucky’s lips met yours in an opened mouthed kiss halfway, tongue gliding over yours easily. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you sighed into his mouth, feeling his hands glide up and down the sides of your body. Something about him being fully dressed, and you with nearly nothing at all did something to the both of you.

Your fingers grabbed onto the collar of his dress shirt, tugging him into a deeper, needier kiss. Bucky groaned into your mouth in response, hands finding purchase on the flesh of your ass. His fingers dug into the supple skin, making you moan softly as he groped you.

Your boyfriend gently pushed you until your back was pressed against the window. Once you were situated where he wanted you, Bucky parted from your lips, only to attach himself to your neck once again. He kept shifting, moving down to your collarbones, your chest, your sternum. Lower. 

You watched helplessly, every inch of you thrumming with desire and need as Bucky slowly shifted to his knees in front of you. His hands moved down your body, dragging your underwear down your legs as he positioned himself to sit back on his feet, thighs spread just a bit for comfort. You’re certain your breathing was erratic as you stared at him.

Usually, you were the one on your knees for Bucky. This was different– this was new. You were more than certain that you would still be the one at his mercy.

“Don’t your feet hurt in these heels?” Bucky asked, hand closing around one of your ankles to lift your foot off the ground slightly. “They look uncomfortable. Very tall.”

“It’s not too bad,” you whispered, unable to trust your voice to speak any louder. “I like these shoes.”

“I bought them for you,” he said, tilting his head as he examined the design a little closer.

“That’s why I like them,” you murmured.

Bucky chuckled just a little bit, shaking his head. He moved slowly on purpose, undoing the strap around your ankle and slowly pulling it off of your foot like you were some sort of princess. He gently led your foot back down to the floor, keeping an eye on your posture to make sure you didn’t suddenly fall from the shift in height. When he was certain that you were stable, he switched over to the next foot, repeating the same process.

Except, he didn’t put your foot back onto the ground. Bucky lifted your leg higher, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle, eyes closing as he did. When they opened, he met your gaze, never looking away as his kisses went higher and higher up your leg. He settled your knee to hook around his shoulder, moving to fully kneel before you as his hands went to grab your waist, keeping you pressed against the glass behind you. A firm, tight grip. 

You wouldn’t be able to run from whatever he was about to do to you. Not that you would ever want to.

If he wasn’t holding you up, you were certain you would’ve folded over and collapsed the second his tongue met your heat. The vibrations from the groan sent shockwaves through your entire body that made you tremble above him, hands darting to grab onto his shoulders for an extra form of stability as his tongue parted your folds and flattened against you.

“Shit, Bucky,” you moaned, your mind going blank. All you could feel was him. 

His tongue dipping just slightly in and out of your aching hole, only to drag up to your sensitive clit to swirl figure eights around the nub. Bucky’s hands on your torso, his thumbs  drawing circles into your skin to soothe you against the stimulation he was giving you. The heat of his body radiating against yours from where he was positioned beneath you. 

“Your pussy is squeezing around nothing, baby,” he murmured, pulling away from your core for just a moment, a whine ripping through your throat in response. Bucky clicked his tongue at you, and kissed the inside of your thigh to subdue you. “Have I been neglecting you? Not fucking you enough for you to be so needy?”

Definitely not. Maybe it was the fact that everything was crashing down on you. The fact Bucky went so far to secure the two of you an entire home without you knowing, furnishing the whole place, meeting with financial advisors– all of it made you incredibly desperate for him. 

It was like that one time when you watched him do the dishes for the first time at the beginning of your relationship. He was at your apartment, doing your dishes that you were too lazy to do before he came over. You don’t know what the hell happened to you at that moment, but you just watched him. The second the water turned off, you were unzipping his pants and giving him head. It confused him, but he also wasn’t complaining. 

“I’m always needy for you,” you barely managed to answer him.

Bucky’s lips parted, eyes scanning your figure above him for a few moments. Then, one of his hands left your waist, and two fingers were shoved into you without a single warning. 

A moan ripped through your throat, and you weren’t given a chance to even recover before his mouth was back on your clit, sucking and flicking at the sensitive nub. His fingers entered and exited you at a delicious speed, and he could feel you coming apart around him. Your body was beginning to tremble, walls beginning to shake– and he curled his fingers the way he knew you liked.

You came undone, Bucky’s hand moving to press against your stomach to keep you from collapsing forward. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as you whimpered his name, tugging on his hair weakly to pull away from your overstimulated body. 

Reluctantly, he released you. Bucky’s hands never left you as he stood, keeping you upright. Your legs were still shaking when you had both feet on the ground, but fuck if you were going to let Bucky stay dressed. 

You had every intention of returning the favor once Bucky was just as bare as you were. Bucky saw it in your eyes, too. The way your gaze dropped down his torso to his cock that was stiff and high up against his stomach, waiting for you. You barely moved your hair to the side before you were being spun back around, chest pressed to the glass– eyes to the view of the New York city skyline. 

“Next time, doll,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade that made you shiver. You let out a small moan as you felt him drag the length of his dick through your folds, coating himself in your slick to get him ready to enter. “Gotta be inside you right now or I might go insane.”

“Hurry up, then,” you whined to him, pressing your ass back further into him. A mistake, and you knew it. Not that it really was a mistake on your end though.

His hand came around from your stomach, gripping your throat and jaw, pulling you back into him. Your back was arched, hands resting on the glass for some sort of security in the position he had you in. Bucky forced your head to turn, to look at him. 

Bucky wanted to watch your face contort with pleasure as he finally slid in, watch as you fell apart as he speared you full with his cock. There was a look of satisfaction and fucking arrogance in his eyes with the way your mouth fell open in a noiseless moan. Bucky took advantage of it, shoving his tongue into your mouth to swallow up any of the noises that he knew would start coming once his hips started moving.

You couldn’t keep up– not with his kiss, not with the pacing– not with anything that was happening right now. His hips were snapping into yours at such a brutal pace, his metal hand gripping your hip to keep you in place, and you barely managed to pull away from his lips to breathe. 

“So good– so good,” he groaned as you turned back to the glass, chin falling to your chest for a moment as you moaned in response. 

Bucky didn’t let your head hang for too much longer. He pulled your head back up to look out the window, and you could feel his breath against your ear as he continued to pound his hips from behind you.

“Isn’t the view so nice, baby?” he whispered to you.

“Wh… what?” you moaned, mind spiraling for just a moment.

“It’s so nice,” he continued, grunting behind you, “I know your pussy loves it– loves it when I fuck you in front of all of New York to see.”

Excitement shoots through you, and you unexpectedly clamped around him. Bucky’s hips stuttered as he cursed softly. You were close– again– and Bucky wasn’t making this any better for you. Then again, you almost just brought Bucky over the edge with you.

“Shit. I knew you were a fucking freak when you tried giving me head in front of my coworkers,” Bucky muttered, a small laugh falling from his lips.

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “I’m so close–”

“It’s too bad. New York can’t have you,” he cut you off, pulling out of you. 

The sense of loss is immediate, but not for long. Once more, he’s spinning you around. This time, he’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing at all. Your legs are wrapping around his waist immediately, and he’s sinking you back down on his length within seconds. 

Your lips are collided with Bucky as he’s fucking you against the window now, holding you up in his arms as you hang onto him for dear life. Your fingernails are digging into the muscles of his shoulders, scratching down his chest in a way that he once admitted that he loves, and you’re moaning into each other’s mouths.

The thrusts are growing sloppier as the kiss grows messier– there’s no need for words between the two of you anymore. You both know your tells at this point.

Bucky angles his hips just slightly to hit that one spot in you, forcing you over the edge as his own orgasm threatens to take him. Your body seizes, and you can’t kiss him back anymore. Bucky busies himself with your neck, leaving marks on your skin as he fucks you through your high, chasing his own that comes just moments later, coating your walls and dripping down onto the new floors of your new room together.

You’re still panting and trying to catch your breath, head dropped onto his shoulder when Bucky moves, carrying you to the bathroom to clean up. His kisses are softer as he walks over, his words more gentle. His body separates from yours as he rests you on the edge of the bathtub so he can start the water to fill the tub.

“How’s the view?” Bucky asked you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

A soft laugh rips through you, and you can feel him smile against your skin.

“The view is perfect, handsome.”

You didn’t find a single number out of place in the documents he presented you either. You took an entire weekend going over the numbers while Bucky watched you quietly. He didn’t bother you while you did so. In fact, he just stayed nearby and took the days off work, too. Bucky answered any questions that you possibly could’ve had for him, already knowing what you would’ve thrown his way.

Which only made your heart grow fonder for him, if you were being honest. He knew you like the back of his hand.

Once you were satisfied with everything, he helped you move all your stuff from your previous apartment over to your new home. Bucky timed the move in perfectly– your lease was about to break the following month, so you had just the right amount of time to tie up all your loose ends. 

All you really had to move over to the new place was your wardrobe, books, and sentimentals. You found out very quickly that during your random dates where Bucky would come home with you, he started taking stock of all your little things around the house. Anything that was running low, he just went ahead and bought so it was already at your new home, ready for you to use.

The last couple weeks were spent with you listing all your unneeded furniture up on the marketplace for an extra few bucks. Things like your dining table, sofa, coffee table– everything that Bucky had already bought and decorated for your home together. 

“You know this couch?” Sam asked you as he flopped down on it. “And the coffee table? The rug? Those barstools? The fucking light fixtures?”

You and Bucky invited him and his girlfriend over for dinner for a small celebration– a little get together to commemorate the fact that you and Bucky were officially fully moved in together now. 

“What about it?” you asked, handing him a bottle of beer.

“I picked it. Me. Bucky just swiped his card. You’re so fucking lucky, matchmaker. Your boyfriend sucks. If I wasn’t there– shit. You would’ve had clashing colors and patterns in this luxury penthouse,” Sam scoffed, taking a long swig. “I had a fucking headache just standing there. The sales associate thought we were married the way I was arguing with him in the store.”

“You two basically are,” you said, grinning against the rim of your own bottle.

“Don’t say that,” Bucky muttered, a shudder running through his body. “I’d rather die than spend the rest of my life with that idiot.”

“God, I’m glad we agree,” Sam groaned, shaking his head. 

“We picked more neutral stuff,” Bucky told you, sitting beside you on the couch. An arm draped over your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth. “We thought it would be easier for you to add whatever additions or colors you’d want in the future.”

“Oh, so you did think about me when you purchased an entire penthouse and furnished the whole damn thing without telling me,” you teased. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t fight the smile on his face. “Yes, sweetheart. I thought of you.”

With the two of you living together now, it was easier for you both to see each other. You reveled in the fact you could fall asleep every night in his arms, even if you went to bed first. He didn’t want you waiting for him if he had an event that had him staying out late, but you would often wake up to him pulling you into his embrace.

In the mornings, Bucky would usually be the one to wake up and leave first. 

You no longer set an alarm on your phone. Bucky’s sweet kisses were your wake up call every morning. He wouldn’t leave until you kissed him back, no matter how long it took you to wake up. 

“Morning,” you would whisper to him.

“Morning,” he’d reply, kissing you one more time for good measure. “I made you breakfast. It’s on the table.”

“Wake me up earlier tomorrow so I can eat with you,” you whined to him, though you just rolled over on your side, closing your eyes again.

Bucky chuckled, leaning over your body to press a kiss to your temple. You sighed, letting the morning wash over you for just one more moment before you pushed up off the bed. You’d follow him downstairs, watch him grab his blazer off the seat of the dining table, and you’d tie his tie for him at the door.

“I’ll be home early tonight. I don’t have any events today,” you said, smoothing out the fabric on his chest.

“You’ve been coming home early every night,” he said, raising his eyebrow at you.

“So have you, Congressman. Almost like there’s something you’re running from. Something you’re avoiding at work?” you teased, smiling at him.

“No. Just trying to get home to you,” he hummed, smoothing out your bedhead with both hands before he held your face gently to kiss you one more time before he went off into the world.

This was your new daily morning routine. 

The trade off on coming home early meant that you still had to do work when you came home. Both of you. However, Bucky seemed to plan for that, which is why he had a room specifically made for a home office for the two of you. 

You two would spend your evenings there before dinner for a few hours, finishing up any work that you weren’t able to do at your respective offices. You two would be silently working on your own jobs.

You, researching your clients preferences and trying to match them up based on their profiles. You would also be looking up the best date spots, trying to keep up with the latest trends for dating, and making sure that you weren’t falling behind on anything else.

Bucky would be going through packets upon packets of different meetings that he would have attended. There were several different duties that he had acquired since you first started dating, and there were a lot of responsibilities that he had started shouldering. You were certain that he was also helping Sam on the side, though he couldn’t tell you full details as per usual. 

Usually, you would stop working when you heard Bucky stop working and open the door to the office. He normally ordered food for the two of you, and would go out to the lobby to pick it up, and bring it back for you two to eat.

It was your signal to put everything down, and relax with him for the rest of the night.

You heard him close his binder, heard the wheels of his chair roll backwards, but you didn’t hear the elevator open and close to signify his departure down. You shook it off– wondering if he just went off to the bathroom or something.

Then, you felt him behind you. 

Bucky’s chest was pressed against your back, enveloping you in his warmth. His hands were on your shoulders, and as always, the left side of your body was colder from the touch of his metal prosthetic. 

“Hi, handsome,” you said, a smile coming onto your face. “Is it time for dinner?”

“Almost. Delivery is on its way,” he answered you.

His hands slid down your shoulders, goosebumps rising on your bare skin as his hands moved all the way down to cover your own hands. He left his hands on top of yours, and you hummed, happy to feel him all over you for just a moment. Bucky’s head pressed against the side of yours, then he dropped his forehead into the crook of your neck.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, tilting your head to the side to give him more space to rest. He took it, burrowing deeper into you.

“Yeah. Just a little nervous,” he murmured into your skin, taking a breath. 

You were about to ask him what he was talking about, to turn around and look at him properly. Then, you felt his hands slide up just a little bit, resting now on your wrists instead of covering your hands completely. Except, there was a weight he left behind that wasn’t there before. Your eyes shifted downwards, and your breath caught in your throat at the ring he slipped onto your finger– the cool metal that he masked with the metal of his own arm.

Your breath is caught in your throat, your eyes widened at the sparkling star on your finger. Bucky plucked this thing out of the fucking sky– he had to. There was no way. 

“Marry me, sweetheart?” he asked softly. There was a slight tremor to his voice that you caught. A slight shaking in his right hand that you could feel. 

You couldn’t repeat what you did at the restaurant, make him freak out with worry over your quiet shock and silence.

Your sudden jolt into standing surprised him, but he didn’t seem to mind when you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his lips, then his cheeks, his eyes– everywhere you could as tears were beginning to well up and spill over. You couldn’t help it. You felt Bucky’s anxiety release with each kiss, his hands resting on your waist to hold you against him.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, smiling at you.

“Why would I ever say no to you?” you demanded, making him laugh. “Fuck– I thought you were going to propose to me at the restaurant when you asked me to move in with you!”

“The restaurant?” Bucky asked, blinking. “What– really?”

“Yes!” you nodded, wiping your tears away roughly. Bucky caught your hands, putting them down to your sides so he could wipe your tears away in a more gentle way with his thumbs.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said, looking appalled. “Do you know how many times you have ranted to me about the fact you hate restaurant proposals? You hate planning them, and you hate watching them. Why would I ever propose to you in a restaurant?”

“If it was you, then I would have changed my mind about it right away!” you argued with him, stubborn. “If it was you, you could’ve proposed to me with a candy ring, and I still would have said yes! We can elope– I don’t need a fancy wedding or anything. I just– just you. I just want you, Bucky.”

You watched as his eyes softened for you as he looked all over your features. You were certain that you looked like a mess right now, but you were finding it harder to believe that with the way he was looking at you right now. He looked as if you were the one that created the universe, and solved all his problems. There was nothing but admiration, love, joy. These were eyes that only you had the privilege to see. 

A smile came onto his face, one that you adored. A smile that you were going to be able to have for the rest of your life.

“Well, I’m your fiancé now, but you’ve already had me from the beginning, doll,” he said, “I’ve had this ring for over a year now, actually.”

“A year?” you whispered, eyes wide.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time to ask,” he admitted, a bit sheepish. “And just… right now. It felt right.”

“Me working in the same room as you felt right?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes at your blatant sarcasm. Except, he’s still smiling. He never gives you a real attitude. He wouldn’t dare. He loves you too much to ever do that.

“The fact that we’re both able to do our own thing in silence, but still be together felt right. We don’t need to speak. We don’t need to be touching. Don’t get me wrong, I love all those things, but… When I looked over at you just now— I felt at peace. Peace that I never thought I was ever allowed to have. So yes, it felt right.”

You’re about to cry again. You’re about to start fucking ugly sobbing in your boyfriend– your fiancé’s arms. You have a thousand things to say, but you know none of them will make sense right now. So, you bury your face in his chest and hug him tight, his arms coming to hold you even closer to him. 

“I love you,” you settled with, your voice breaking slightly.

“I love you, too,” he chuckled in response.

You listened to his chest rumble with laughter under your ear, felt his head rest against the side of yours. He led your bodies in a gentle sway, rocking the two of you back and forth. He took in a breath, releasing it slowly in a contented way. 

Your mind is racing still, and you ask one single question– just one to get his opinion. 

“Where should we get married?” you whispered to him. 

Bucky’s quiet for a few moments. A few moments too long. You pull back from him to look at his face, finding a smile on his lips, and a small sparkle in his eyes.

“I have some friends that want to meet you. Do you think you’re up to traveling to Wakanda?”

masterlist

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx @herejustforbuckybarnes @djotummy @star-yawnznn let me know if you would like to join my general bucky taglist for whenever i post a fic!

[fragranticareviewers]

As someone who doesn't know a thing about perfumes, reading what you have to say about them is so unbelievably cool!

If I may ask something, what would a magical girl use, but not the pink main one, maybe the orange/yellow one?

ive been sitting with this for a little bit rotating it in my head... this will be a long one

so im putting my answers into two different categories:

one is for the Orange Magical Girl Archetype, which is how i was thinking of the first one. in my head, the orange ones are usually sporty, energetic, and have a sun or fire theme going on, while still maintaining a lot of that youthful sparkly fun vibe. (i also personally associate them with citrus, because, well, orange) so i was thinking of that. this will be my first category of answers.

olympea solar by rabanne - yummy! white florals and mandarin orange.

h&m sunray - golden warmth by h&m - straight up smells like summer. sunscreen, coconut, slightly floral?

orange ice cream by colornoise - i have no idea if this one is good or not to be honest. but it looks like it should fit. i trust it. i believe in it.

dr. botica poção da criatividade by o boticário - ok pause. i have never seen this mentioned before by anyone and found it by accident. what is this. this is ridiculously cute. how do i get my hands on it? the bottle is so cute! it has a star for god's sake

sundrunk by imaginary authors - "oh noo it's so linear" "it doesn't smell like a city on fire or bull's blood" i don't care. smells like artificial orange flavoring followed by neroli. yummy

...so this was my first thought.

then i started thinking: what about the actual orange magical girls from things i've watched? what do i associate with them?

and then i realized: WHERE ARE ALL THE ORANGE MAGICAL GIRLS?? i can think of, like, 5 total! all of them have completely different personalities! everyone's always like "ohh toei hates making green magical girls, we're starving, please feed us more green magical girls please" as if there is not currently a CRISIS of MAGICAL GIRLS WHO WEAR ORANGE in their series even greater than this...

with that said: the 5 magical girls i can think of who are primarily orange all have completely different associations for me, so i figured it'd be fun to pick a perfume or two for each of them.

cure soleil from star twinkle precure - i think they technically classify her as yellow so she might not even count. that's stupid. she's orange. being blonde does not change the color of her outfit.

for her, i pick aqua allegoria nettare di sole by guerlain. it has solar notes, which are critical for her IMO, along with beautiful white florals, which i think matches with her association with flowers.

hazuki from ojamajo doremi - ah, i'm struggling with this a bit.. she's very shy, naive, and studious, with an interest in things like violin and ballet. i was hoping i could find something with maybe a light varnish accord, but no luck. instead, i looked for things with an old book/paper smell without being overly dark or old, and i'm stuck between these 2...

gion by fantome - powdery rose tea with honey and books. light and cute.

morning room by solstice scents - you thought i was gonna do a recommendation post without mentioning solstice scents huh? huh?? *beats you up* this is another powdery and light floral, this time mostly based on violet instead of rose. and, of course, there's a paper note in here.

cure sunny from smile precure - i'm realizing that, in my head, she is the prototypical orange magical girl. i may be biased because she's also my favorite. i want to find something that evokes fire without being overly smoky or autumnal.

beach bonfire by alchemic muse - a firey gourmand with a little bit of nice sandalwood and amber, nice!

fire opal (orange 2; natural) by dsh perfumes - planning on getting a sample of this. bitter orange that people are complaining is "too masculine"

sailor venus from sailor moon - oh god. is she orange? anyways, i think i'd associate her with like, makeup accords, like the way lipstick smells. but fun and silly. it'd be cool if i could find a light and fun fragrance with a hot iron accord because she has a chain attack and all that, but no such thing seems to exist

iris crush by jimmy choo - powdery floral lipstick. yay!

nagisa momoe from puella magi madoka magica - is this even a question?

cheesecake by arcana wildcraft.

anyways, to be transparent, a lot of the time i don't answer fandom/character requests because it's always things i've never watched/read/played/etc. before. but mahou shoujo... well i've heard of it

[sorin-sunchild]

Important addition from the comments!

This matches up with how she was raised. Her social abilities are next to none and she's been abused into behaving the way she does now. She's nice and smiley and tries not to cause waves because she was punished for not being like that. And the one time she lets it all out? It didn't go well and she ended up being the one who felt wrong again reinforcing the idea that people only like her if she's nice.

I emphasized with that as an abused Autistic child. No matter how you act, it's wrong.

I think Ragatha really does care for everyone and really doesn't want them to abstract, and maybe she even realises she's coming off as insincere simply because she never lets herself go "hey that actually sucked" or tell someone off for hurting her feelings or just have a moment of vulnerability where things were not fine but she can't stop herself from doing it, the trauma is too deep.

She even tries to make light of being attacked when Pomni first arrives! I don't think she can stop herself making light of her own misery and prioritising others.

Nobody has ever given her permission to not be okay and nothing is changing in the digital world either. Instead of a sincere bond with anyone, they all find her tiresome and insincere. So what does she do to try and get them to like her? More of what was turning them off.

Oh Ragatha.

The way Jax vents about Ragatha perfectly lines up with how Gangle described her to Pomni! Both have grown frustrated to Ragatha positive attitude as it feels like she's less so being genuine and more so playing a facade. Even if her intentions are genuine, it's the way she constantly acts like things are fine that annoys them.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

hiii can you do bllk boys pulling a prank telling you they're gonna shave their head off 🥀

food 🍰🧁🧃🍪🍡🌮🍟🍨🍵

yeyeyeyeyyeyeyeye ofc! also to anyone who’s curious, 2000 event fics are 100% coming! still just planning n trying to find motivation.

𝐛𝐫𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐢💀

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐈 𝐇𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐀

“i’m shaving my hair off.”

you stare at chigiri, eyes constantly flickering from his hair to his eyes. “you wouldn’t.”

“i would.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“i would.”

“have you spent a little bit too long with the bald guy at blue lock?”

he sighed. “are you just going to keep going on like this until i comply?” he didn’t need you to reply to know the answer. you nodded.

“hyoma, you would never cut off your long and beautiful and precious and perfect and amazing and glorious and luscious and soft hair. you’ve spent too long maintaining it, and you’ve used too much of my hair oil to cut it.” you muttered. he sent you a quick glare.

“you give me hair oil, i give you the princess treatment. isn’t this a fair deal?”

“not at all. plus, i’m the one who always ends up giving you princess treatment.”

“it’s an excellent deal.”

you sighed. “that was a waste of time. i know damn well that you’d never cut off your precious hair. if our house was burning down, you’d run out immediately even if there was a chance to save me just so your hair wouldn’t get burned.”

“you know me too well.”

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

“I’m shaving my hair off.”

“oh, thank god. finally, i don’t need to see that ugly ass rat tail the first thing in the morning anymore.” you said, not even sparing him a glance from your phone.

kaiser’s jaw dropped, raising an eyebrow. “is this really what you think of my hair?” he picked up the blue strands of his hair, caressing them as if they were his children. you gave him a side eye.

“yes.”

“this is breaking my heart so much. i can’t do this anymore.”

“obviously, you’re not actually going to cut off your hair.”

this time, kaiser gave you a side glance. “of course i’m not going to.” you signed, finally truly looking at him.

“you looked better with natural and long white blonde hair.” you muttered. “like the type you had when you were 16 ish.”

“what, you want me to take a trip down memory lane or something?” kaiser murmured, a few blood vessels popping out of his temple. you sighed; he would 100% get ragebaited by 12 year olds n the internet.

“yes, i do. and i want you to remember the time when your hair wasn’t a fucking rat tail. this shit is not tuff. no point in trying to cosplay as ratatouille.”

“i hate you.”

𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

“i’m shaving my hair off.”

“what?! nonononono—my beautiful, magnificent, wonderful, amazing, perfect, glorious king sae; whenever i complained about your hair, i only ever wanted you to let your bangs down, not shave all of it off entirely!” you cried.

“it’s—“

“please, i’ll get on my knees and i’ll go to every single one of your matches and never pretend to get sick again and i promise I’ll do anythinggggg!”

“it’s a prank. and you were pretending to be sick just to skip my match?”

oh.

oops.

“oh, so like, about that…” you managed a shaky grin, fiddling with your fingers. “just a joke. ha ha. ha ha ha.”

sae’s eyes went downcast, staring at you as if you just admitted to using gen alpha slang. “liar.”

“okay, maybe once. actually, maybe twice. uh, just kidding. buuuut it’s only 3 times! and i promise i’ll neverrrrrr do it again.” you exclaimed. “but do let you bangs down once in a while.”

“no.”

[imtaashu]

Invisible String🪡

Inspired by: “Invisible String” – Taylor Swift

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Setting: Post-Endgame, modern-day Brooklyn

Summary: You’ve always believed in fate, but Bucky never did—until he starts noticing all the invisible threads that led him straight to you.

Genre: Soft fluff, fate, slow burn warmth, soulmates-vibe

Word Count: ~1.3k

Author Notes✍️ : this one is like a warm cup of tea with your name on it. i wrote this with taylor’s lyrics echoing in my heart and bucky’s soul tangled in gold thread. ☁️🩷

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“Time, curious time / gave me no compasses, gave me no signs…”

But somehow, it led him here…

Bucky never used to believe in fate.

Not after Hydra. Not after the Winter Soldier. Not after everything that taught him the world was chaos and survival was coincidence.

But then he met you Or—maybe he didn’t meet you. Maybe he always knew you.

Maybe it was a thousand little things pulling him toward you across years and cities and silence.

Like an invisible string.

Tied from his heart to yours.

⸻

It starts with something stupid.

You hand him a book in the common room one afternoon. He flips it open and finds his own name underlined on page 17.

“What the hell?” he asks.

You laugh. “That’s from years ago. Before I even knew you. I used to highlight characters with names I liked.”

His name. His.

He doesn’t say anything, but later, he folds the page corner down like a secret.

⸻

Then it’s music.

You hum exactly the same melody he used to whistle as a kid. One day, he stops you mid-hum and stares.

“What?” you laugh.

“Where’d you learn that song?”

You shrug “I don’t know. My grandma used to sing it to me.”

His grandma did too.

⸻

“Do you believe in fate?” you ask him once, lying with your head in his lap on the fire escape, city lights flickering below.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t think it’s kind of crazy? That out of every coffee shop in Brooklyn, I picked the one you were hiding in that day?”

“You were loud,” he mutters.

“You were grumpy.”

“You ordered your coffee wrong and then said ‘oops’ like it was cute.”

You grin. “You remembered.”

He looks down at you. Soft. Barely breathing.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I remember everything about you.”

⸻

There are photos now.

Polaroids tucked into his wallet. One in his book. Another under his pillow, where he swears you’ll never find it. (You do. You smile. You don’t say anything.)

He gets clingier the more time passes.

Not possessive. Just grateful.

Like he can’t believe the universe handed him something good and is just waiting to take it back.

⸻

One night, he’s quiet. Too quiet.

You trace circles on the metal of his arm. “What’s going on in that head?”

He shakes his head. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

He hesitates. Then finally, softly “I think I’ve loved you forever. I just didn’t know your name yet.”

You stop breathing. And then you kiss him.

Not like a first kiss.

Like a memory.

Like coming home.

⸻

You both start collecting little threads.

Literal ones.

You find a gold string in a bookstore binding and tie it around your wrist. He notices. Doesn’t say anything—but you wake up the next morning and there’s a matching string on his.

“No one’s gonna believe how soft you are,” you tease.

“Good,” he says. “I’m not soft for anyone else.”

⸻

Sometimes he stares at you like you’re not real.

Not in a weird way. In a stars are real and so are you kind

One day you catch him whispering something to himself after you walk away from the kitchen.

“What was that?” you ask.

He clears his throat. Shrugs “I just… I think maybe the string showed up because I finally stopped running from where it was trying to take me.”

You blink. “You mean… me?”

He nods. His voice is barely a whisper.

“You.”

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🏷️ tagging - @surebutwhy 🤟🏻

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wanna be tagged in all the clingy!bucky chaos and emotional destruction? tell me and i got you ⛓️‍💥♥️

[kuidore]

More MiRomAbby HCs ✧ Mira x Romance x Abby ✧ KPOP Demon Hunters

✧ they have a tradition of having ‘sleepovers’ together. originally it was in Huntrix’ apartment when Rumi and Zoey weren’t gonna be there

✧ it’s because Mira hates sleeping in a house that’s totally empty. She can do it when she’s really tired, but for a while she would just pull all nighters cleaning or watching movies on nights she was alone in the apartment

✧ she doesn’t actually tell them this until the sleepover tradition is long-solidified. It was originally Romance’s suggestion, and they were both surprised at the time she’d been so on board with it

✧ She assumed they knew, they assumed she really liked sleepovers

✧ even when they’ve moved in together, the sleepovers continue

✧ they make a tent in the living room, go buy snacks and facemasks from the store, and they do exactly the type of stereotypical sleepover things you’d expect to see in any bad teen movie ever

✧ there have been pillow fights that resulted in hospital visits and them all desperately trying to assure doctors that they were not in danger or in an abusive relationship, they’re just clumsy and competitive and probably a bit too strong for their own good. Specifically Mira and Abby with the last one.

✧ Romance isn’t weak at all, he just is dating two abnormally muscular specimens

✧ on that note Mira also has abs, and Romance is obsessed with them

✧ Abby is horrible with his non-dominant hand and Mira’s fingers are shaky when she’s trying to do fine details, so Romance is the designated nail polish applicator whenever either of them need a new coat

✧ Mira and Romance fight over who gets to pluck Abby’s eyebrows

✧ Romance and Abby will both let Mira do their makeup whenever she asks. If she’s bored, wants to try out a new technique, whatever the reason.

✧ She will never let them do hers, no matter how much they beg

✧ Abby will randomly come up and start braiding their hair sometimes if he sees one of them sitting down engrossed in something. Romance eventually started asking him to braid it

✧ he specifically does it when it’s late at night and he knows one of them is up when they should be asleep, because within five minutes of him playing with their hair they both knock out like a light and Abby can just carry them

✧ Anytime he has to carry either Romance or Mira to bed he always tucks them in and kisses them on the forehead or the cheek.

✧ Sometimes they’ll pretend to be asleep just so he’ll do it. Abby always pretends not to notice

✧ the three of them have a bit of an unhealthy obsession with arcade dates

✧ Mira is the one who drags them to one for the first time inthe middle of a monday afternoon, because they heard the term on a TV show and Abby literally asked “What is an arcade?”

✧ Mira and Romance hold all the high scores in DDR. The entire leaderboard is just different misspellings and nicknames

✧ Mira is #1 and it doesn’t matter how much he tries, Romance *cannot* beat it

✧ Abby played once, he accidentally stomped too hard and one of the step buttons got stuck or broke or something. He didn’t wanna stick around to find out

✧ They basically ran out of there and have not been back to that specific arcade since. Abby was genuinely embarrassed about it. Mira and Romance still brought it up cackling, even years later

✧ Abby’s really good at skill-based ticket games, specifically skee ball. This extends to carnival games too. He’s the prize-winner of the relationship when they go to places with overpriced games and cheap stuffed animals

✧ Mira gets most of them ‘officially’, but Romance is the one who grabs one out of the top of their closet and naps on the couch with them instead of getting a regular pillow

✧ They can’t go on the bed because they already have too many stuffed animals. Mira loves them, and Abby and Romance insist on getting a trio of matching ones every time she finds one she wants

✧ She pretends to hate it but she actually thinks it’s stupid cute. She always goes out of her way to make sure they’re sitting together in their correct little groups of three.

✧ they have to make a rule about not buying stuffed animals without getting rid of others, because they were running out of space on the bed

✧ the rule gets broken a lot. They are all very attached to the stuffed animals, some because they actually meant something but some just because the three of them had gotten them together.

✧ They’re literally the three most sentimental mfers in the world, and it’s Mira who is actually the worst

✧ Mira keeps their movie and concert tickets and puts them in a scrapbook. she hesitates throwing out receipts if they’re from a date sometimes

✧ More often than not she’ll discreetly buy or grab some sort of tiny souvenier if they go somewhere together. Sometimes it’s a cute little fridge magnet, other times it’s the beautiful pink soy sauce bowls at a restaurant they went to or a flower she plucked as they were walking along

✧ speaking of dates, Abby and Romance both ‘make’ her hold their hand when they go on them

✧ She pretends to hate it and grumbles every time they hold out their hands like expectant children waiting to cross the street. But she’s always the one with the tightest grip.

✧ They have scary dog privilege. Because of Mira, not because of Abby or Romance.

✧ In fact they have the exact opposite and often get approached by women when they’re just out together without her.

✧ Mira finds it *hilarious* to watch them be flirted with. For all that they had directed towards her when they first met, they were both so easily flustered when they were the ones *being* flirted with (Mira takes advantage of this the second she learns about it - mostly when they’re at home)

✧ They don’t notice it’s even happening half the time until someone gets *really blunt*, and then they get incredibly embarrassed and basically beg her with their eyes to save them

��� Usually she lets the suffer for a second to watch them squirm. just because it’s fun. But she always swoops in to rescue them anyways

[be-xkyy]

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐾𝑖𝑛𝑔

Warning: obsession, forced marriage (mentioned), soft yandere?

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★ @minshookie29 ★

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

This is very short but I didn't want to leave you abandoned without publishing anything, in a week I will go on vacation and I will be able to upload more things and be more active. I hope you like it despite everything, take care of yourselves ♡

Yandere King who ascended to the throne after his three older brothers were murdered under mysterious circumstances, leaving him as the sole candidate for the throne (no, he didn't kill them... okay?).

Yandere King who reluctantly (and thanks to much insistence from the council) organizes a party at the palace with all the kingdom's nobles just to find him an ideal wife and queen.

Yandere king who isn't at all interested in the annoying and arrogant daughters of even more annoying and arrogant nobles; he makes a huge effort not to roll his eyes every time one of them opens her mouth (annoying rabble).

Yandere king who gets excited and fascinated when he sees you, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, standing in a corner, your hair beautifully up and adorned with pearls, matching your elegant, silky dress, fitted in just the right places, not at all exaggerated and pompous like the dresses of the other women around him, who look more like clowns.

Yandere King who walks away from the horde of women surrounding him, ignoring their whimpers and attempts to get him to stay, approaches you with a firm step. When he stands in front of you, you make a reference only for him to ask you in a serious voice.

"What's your name?"

Yandere King who nods curtly when you tell him your name before leaving as quickly as he arrived, only to retreat from everyone's sight by leaning against the wall of the empty hallway, one of his hands over his madly beating heart. Yes, you will be his.

Yandere King who is scolded by his advisors the next day for leaving the dance without notice, but he curtly silences them before announcing that he has already found his wife and queen. When he calls your name, the advisors aren't very happy, believing there are young women from more important, influential, and beneficial families for the kingdom. But they fall silent when he slams his hands on the table and says in a disdainful voice:

"You dare compare your future queen to that insignificant rabble? Do you want to die?!"

Yandere King who ends up getting his way and a month later marries you in a luxurious ceremony unlike any other seen in the kingdom (only the best for his queen). During the banquet, you are by his side, adorned in a beautiful wedding dress and sparkling jewels. You are undoubtedly the image of beauty.

Yandere King who, when it comes time to have his wedding ceremony, doesn't let anyone in as a witness; you are for HIS eyes only. HIS queen, HIS wife, HIS everything. He would kill anyone who dared to get close to you, but don't worry, he knows you're nervous. He promises to make you feel great...

[himasgod]

Hello! I just found you off of that request you did with Malleus dissing the reader's taste in men and it has me cackling! Since you wanted more, could I ask for the Leech twins, Jamil, Idia, and maybe Rollo with the same prompt? There's... a lot to complain about with them lol

Thank you for considering my request and sharing your writing with us in general! Be well, be merry, and eat something tasty today!

Malleus and Reader

Where he complains about the boys you like

APPROVED ONES EDITION AND FIRST PART already on my profile<3

How would Malleus complain when you told him about the boy you like?

With Floyd, Jade, Jamil, Rollo and Idia

“So… Floyd. Kinda into him.”

Malleus, blinking once—very slowly: “...The eel.”

“Yeah! He’s unpredictable, exciting, super intense—”

“He once threatened to throw you in a locker for saying his socks didn’t match.”

“But he didn’t, right? That’s growth!”

“He tried to bite Rosehearts last week.”

“That was honestly valid.”

“He refers to people as ‘fishes.’ You want to date a man who’d refer to you as his ‘favorite squeaky plaything.’”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“He carried you over his shoulder for fun and then forgot why he picked you up in the first place.”

“It was spontaneous!”

“It was concerning.”

“He would love you like a storm trapped in a bottle. Always one wrong shake away from chaos.”

"...Wow, Mal. That’s actually kinda poetic—”

“You would never know peace. You would get a ‘good morning’ text and then a ‘rawr I’m bored >:3’ five minutes later.”

"....huh"

"No. You're not dating Floyd. Not at all."

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

“Okay, what about Jade?”

“The other eel.”

“He’s polite! Cultured! Knows about mushrooms!”

“He tried to feed you a mushroom from the mountains. It was glowing.”

“...It was pretty.”

“It tried to move. It was probably some kinda of drug.”

“He’s mysterious! Sophisticated! I love a man with secrets!”

“He speaks in riddles. Smiles like he knows how you die. Enjoys danger recreationally.”

“He’s elegant!”

“He once said he finds pufferfish adorable because they inflate in fear.”

“You’re just threatened because he’s more graceful than you.”

"He tried to make tea out of Grim."

“That was a joke!”

"He was boiling water."

Malleus slowly, very slowly, walks toward you.

“If you date Jade Leech, I will prepare a coffin in advance. No guarantee of survival”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

“I’m kind of into Idia.”

“I’m sorry—into what?”

“Idia Shroud. He’s cute! You know, in the nerd friki kind of way.”

“The one who clutches his tablet like a lifeline and refuses to make eye contact?”

“He’s shy!”

“He hissed at you.”

“He was nervous!”

“He hid behind a vending machine. For two hours.”

“But he’s clever! Passionate! He gets excited about things in this super intense way!”

“He spoke at length about his last game while your nose was bleeding from a cursed book and didn’t notice.”

“See?? He’s focused!”

“He would love you in all caps. Digitally. From a great distance. Through a monitor.”

“I mean yeah that’s kind of my thing.”

“You would receive three paragraphs of love poetry in code format and then not hear from him for a week.”

“That’s fine.”

“You would be second to his game launch schedule.”

“Honestly understandable.”

"I refuse. he'd put cameras in your room to watch you at night."

“Okay but Rollo is kind of… 👀”

Malleus turns his head so slowly it creaks. You have his full attention. And disappointment.

“Rollo Flamme. You have to be kidding me."

"OKAY BUT LISTEN-"

"The man who tried to purge all magic. Who referred to you—his guest—as ‘a necessary pawn in the cleansing.’ That one.”

“He was just going through it.”

“He unleashed cursed flowers. Nearly killed several of your friends. And, of course, he nearly killed me. And attempted to erase my very existence. Yours, too.”

“Okay but he’s hot.”

Malleus just closes his eyes. Visibly distressed.

“You… are in love with a magic-hating fanatical bishop with fire trauma and a weird haircut.”

“Yes.”

“A man who tried to outlaw joy.”

“Yes.”

“A man who speaks like a 19th-century villain in a gothic novella.”

“YES MALLEUS I LIKE THE DRAMA.”

“You would not be dating him. You would be his redemption arc. Do you have any idea how exhausting that is?”

"And I’d look stunning doing it.”

“He would gift you a bouquet and then scold you for smiling too brightly or wearing something too revealing.”

“Hot.”

“Yuu. He would confess his love like he’s confessing a sin.”

“Yes.”

You're obviously out of your mind. Don't seek his love. Seek a psychologist. And another one for him. And if you continue like this, another one for me.

Malleus Draconia DEFINITELY does not approve!

“So… Jamil. I think he’s kind of hot.”

“You mean the one who tried to hypnotize Kalim and hundreds of people?”

"But Malleus you're not one to talk about-"

"He's literally a psychopath. Every time he smiles, poison oozes from his gums."

"Okay but like. Incredible cheekbones.”

“He was literally plotting regicide.”

“He was under a lot of pressure.”

“He said ‘I deserve a palace’ and then tried to build it with hostages.”

“...Honestly? Based.”

“He is cunning. Ruthless. The most two-faced person I've ever seen. And you find this appealing.”

“Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent.”

“He is full of resentment. Rage. Bottled hatred ready to explode.”

“That’s just spice”

Malleus gives you a side eye and pinches de bridge of his nose.

“He walks like he’s calculating how many exits are in the room.”

“And yet he cooks sooo well. Husband material.”

“You want to fall in love with a man who would flip the table at your anniversary dinner because someone mentioned Kalim too many times.”

“I want to love the man who flipped the table.”

“He would kiss you with resentment. And probably knives.”

“And I’d thank him.”

“Very well. You wish to love a man who is one insult away from becoming a genocidal I will not stop you.”

He looks up at the sky like he’s asking the stars what they think of this.

“But if you disappear one day and he becomes even more emotionally unbalanced than usual, I will know it was your fault.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

[thatguywrites]

Drivers + Wags x Bookworm Reader

Piastri + Zneimer, Verstappen + Piquet, Albon + Muni He

In Alex + Lily, reader doesn't really get sports bc I'm projecting how I don't get golf 👍

Oscar + Lily

You first met when you and Lily kept running into eachother at your favorite bookstore

And Lily kept ranting to Oscar about the cute bookstore boy

So he came along one day

More for you than the books, but he was hooked after one look as well

After talking and having book date after book date they ask you out through an annotated book

You and Lily spend every other night cuddled up in a designated corner reading your books

Whenever Oscar feels left out he bribes the two of you to bed with tea and biscuits and cuddles

He'll listen to all your book summaries, and remember every single one, even if neither of you think he cares

The three of you also give eachother books hand picked for eachother for Christmas

It's kinda hard to shop for Oscar

They're almost always recommendations from the two of you, or about cars

But they're the only books he'll read

Color Nicole impressed

Max + Kelly

You're the librarian at P's favorite library

And she drags them to meet the 'nice man who reads all the books for her' every week

The two of them eventually give you their numbers under the guise of asking you to babysit P

And then they invite you to dinners

And all of the sudden your in their bed?

How'd you get there!

Kelly always reads whatever book you're reading so that you'll have someone to talk about it with

If you like it, she likes it, if you hate it, she hates it

Besides, audiobooks are nice for long flights or makeup sessions

Max buys you books from all over the world, in any language you speak

From local writers, or just books he notices haven't made it into your personal collection

He makes you make a list of every book you have/haven't read so that he doesn't buy you a double

P also ends up the best reader in her year

It's hard not to when she has the best teacher, who will help her read whatever book she gets her hands on

Alex + Lily

They find you in a Café while on a date and deside to flirt up a storm with you

And I mean, it's hard not to fall head over heels for these two

As soon as they find out you're a book worm, they're courting you with an onslaught of books

Authors you offhandedly mention liking, special editions of your favorite books, everything they can do to show your love

Nights consist of Lily taking over skin care for the three of you, Alex zoned out into a show on TV, and you nose deep into a book

The public finds out about you because there's always someone huddled in the corner with his nose in a book at Lily's golf matches and Alex's F1 races

Besides how hot they look doing it, sports isn't really your thing

Whenever they come to give you attention you're all ears though

All lips or whatever

In the same way they don't understand the finesse of a good romance book, the details of what club to use, or what tire didn't come naturally to you

Swing well, and go fast

That made more sense

Taglist: (Comment or DM to be added)

@koalapastries @justaf1girl @spoonfulofmilo @op-81-lvr-reblogs

[barleyo]

Acceptable in the 80's.

Bodhi Windbreaker X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: i know bodhi isn't the most popular dateable, but he is one of my absolute favorites. even if this is totally self-indulgent, i hope somebody else enjoys it too.

Tags: mentions of porn, fingering, handjobs, making out/kissing

Wordcount: ~0.8k

Learning about the modern era was interesting, sure, but Bodhi definitely had a preference for his time. This new, strange world made him feel behind, like he was being left out on a joke, and he was, in a way. Everything moved so quickly, despite how long he had been in his time capsule.  Things were just so different now. Not for the better. 

He told you about it all the time, ranting and raving about the 80s and how much he missed it. 

Movies, he claimed, were so much more entertaining. The actors were talented, the actresses were bombshells, and the special effects were "radical." 

Music was hip and catchy. He didn't mind newer tunes, he could admit that there was definitely more diversity now, but it just didn't hit the same. 

He thought today's fashion was clunky and cheap, that the food was overly processed and strange, and that technology was too advanced for his tastes. Social media? God, it hurt his head. Why did everything have to have an algorithm? And what the hell was A.I.? Living robots—like Johnny Five, right?

When he discovered the less wholesome side of modern internet, he found that he preferred the older alternative to it as well.

Bodhi brought you into the living room, carrying a large box of tapes and magazines. 

"I know, I tell you this all the time, babe, but the 80s was something special," he said, beaming down at you as he dropped the box on the floor. "You just had to be there. Or, in your case, you didn't have to be, because I'm gonna catch you up."

You watched him dig through the box and explain the decade's pop culture. It was interesting, but you mainly just stared at his adorably excited face the whole time. 

Bodhi bounced from topic to topic, clueing you in on his unique world of retro nostalgia. It was sweet, seeing him trip down memory lane.

"Right, and nobody knew George Michael was gay?" you asked, listening to him as he moved onto music of the 80s. 

He shook his head, giving a shrug. "I guess we were all too caught up with Hands Across America to notice." 

He dug at the bottom of the box, scooping up a final VHS. 

"What's that?"

"Last thing for today," he answered, blowing the dust out of the cartridge. "Films."

As he loaded the tape into the VHS player he had managed to find, you raised an eyebrow. 

"Didn't we already watch old movies?"

"Yeah, but this isn't a movie," Bodhi smirked, turning to face you as his finger traced over the play button. "It's a film. You know," he shrugged, "an adult film."

"Oh."

He clicked play and took a seat next to you on the floor. "Pornos were much better in the 80s too," he said, tossing an arm over your shoulders.

You didn't realize how the video was making you feel until your hand was slowly pumping at Bodhi's cock, eyes flicking back and forth from the screen to him to make sure your movements matched. 

You kissed him softly, your arm crossing his as you both went to work on each other. The position wasn't nearly as awkward as you thought it might have been. Really, sitting so close to him while his needy hands trailed over you, going exactly where you needed him, was heaven. 

You slipped your tongue into his mouth and explored for a bit, nipping his lips when his thumb ran over your clit.

"Careful," he warned through gritted teeth, sucking in a breath, "it's still got five minutes left. Don't wanna cum before that."

You hummed and slowed your pace. It killed you to do so, but the idea of cumming with the actors was too hot to pass up. If Bodhi kept curling his fingers into you the way he was, you'd be on track to do just that. 

You mumbled a bit, making meaningless observations about the video, trying to distract yourself from how close you were. 

"The music in the back is nice," you said, face flushed.

"Yeah, porn doesn't set the mood with background music anymore."

You felt his hand grip onto your hip impatiently. You were sucking his fingers into your cunt deeper and deeper—how could he not get hasty? 

His cock kicked in your hand before it spurted thin, milky cum, but with your own orgasm crashing over you, you could hardly focus on that. 

The porno faded to black shortly after you both finished, the tape ejecting with a click. Sex with Bodhi was always fun, but this time was especially interesting. You wiped his cum off of your palm and shot him a devious smile.

"The guy had a cute mustache."

Bodhi chuckled softly. "Y'like 'staches?" He ran his fingers over his top lip. "Maybe I'll grow one for you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. That is, if you grow your bush out for me," he said, eyeing your mound, "in true 80s fashion."

[fervent-adoration]

I think we need some more villain f/o representation... so, let's have a

VILLAIN F/O ASK GAME!!

Made with romantic f/os in mind. Pro/darkship DNI, please and thank-you! Our viewpoints clash and I would appreciate you finding another ask game to reblog!

What is your favorite personality trait of your f/o? Why is it your favorite? And how does it affect their actions as a villain?

What is your f/o’s most unorthodox act to show love?

What made you fall for your f/o?

How does your f/o show you that they love you? How does it match up with your preferences? (This is basically asking about love languages with more specifics)

Are there any fun facts about your f/o that you want to share?

Why is your f/o a villain rather than a “hero”? How do they see themself in this regard?

Are you a “f/o apologist”, a “I can fix them”, a “I’ll pretend that this never happened”, or a “I could make them worse” sort of partner in regards to your f/o and their villainous actions?

What’s the worst thing that your f/o has done? How do you feel about that? Is it canon to your selfship lore?

What is your dynamic with your f/o? As many dynamic descriptions as you want here!

What role do you play within your f/o’s villainy? A peer? An onlooker? Perhaps the one to try to stop them? What’ve you got?

How does your f/o feel about PDA?

How does your f/o’s past affect the way they approach their relationship with you?

What kinds of dates does your f/o like to go on with you?

What does your f/o visualize for the future with you? How does this align with your view for the future?

How did you win your f/o’s heart? Was it easy? What’s their favorite thing about you, do you suppose?

What kinds of compliments does your f/o give? Why these ones? Do you like them?

Does your f/o encourage you to become actively better, or do they encourage more nefarious behaviors?

Is your f/o good at taking care of things? How are they in a domestic setting?

How does your f/o attempt to impress you? Does it work?

How would your f/o react if they found you upset?

How did your f/o first take to learning about you? Did they ask you questions outright? Observe you when the two of you were together? Word of mouth from others? Or even something else?

Will your f/o do anything for you? What is their limit, if anything?

Was your f/o scared of falling in love?

Free space! Tell us about your f/o in however much detail you wish, and tell us about your favorite aspects of your relationship with them. This is the infodump question.

Feel free to reblog and have people send specific asks, or just fill out all of the questions for yourself!

[imnothanah]

Childhood best friend!Ushijima

Context: Random thoughts on Ushijima as your childhood best friend. Friends to lovers

Ushijima who has liked you since kindergarten. His dad thought it was only a puppy crush and didn’t pay too much mind to it since he thought it would eventually go away once he grew up (It didn’t). Ushijima father was shocked when he saw his son holding hands with someone’s daughter at the playground. She was eating a lollipop, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world while his son stared with bright big eyes, slightly red cheeks and biggest smile in the world.

Ushijima who saw you were the prettiest girl in the world and has developed a crush on you since kindergarten. He drowned himself in fairytales, daydreamed and drew his thoughts, that being him as the prince and you as the princess that needed recusing. He drew it after much consideration and decided to give to you it as a birthday gift.

Ushijima who got you a lollipop and drawing as a gift, he intended them as offerings to confess, but standing face to face with you got him all shy and words died up in his mouth .

Ushijima who finally gather up all his courage to confess but you couldn't understand. Despite his words being straightforward “I like you!”, you couldn’t comprehend his words or actions, but you knew candy, and it is delicious so you took his offerings anyways “Yummy, thanks”.

Ushijima who didn’t think much and thought you and him were together officially since you accepted his gift offering.

Ushijima’s dad was shocked to see he brought a friend home, a little girl from daycare home to play in the front yard. His dad’s mouth hung open in disbelief. He couldn’t quite put his shock into words.. “Kids these days they grow up too fast. Or am I living too slow?” Or “I raised a gentleman” after seeing how much he cared for you.

(His dad also started to welcome you home more often, inviting you to dinner and coming over to hang out with his son.)

You who weren't good at remembering things, so you could remember much in pre school. Your memories start as soon as elementary. All you knew was there was this boy who spawned in your life and has never left since kindergarten. But he was nice and caring so you didn’t mind his presence. You also found out he just yaps a lot around you specifically, and finds it endearing. He talks a lot but it isn’t annoying, instead you found his bluntness funny at times.

Ushijima who would always walk you home, and would even dare to be late to practices to walk you home (or at least to the bus station if you insist that you could go home by yourself).

He would walk you home then run back to school or sometimes ask you to stay during volleyball practices. You didn’t mind staying behind to wait for him. You often found yourself dosing off and waking up while he was piggybacking you home actually. (This continued all the was up to high school)

Ushijima was famous for his strength at a young age. And once, he spiked so hard that the ball flew off course and went straight to your face. Ushijima genuinely thought he had killed you because the hit was pretty hard, and it made you lay there like you were unconscious. Internally, he was panicking. He thought this was the end and you’re breaking up with him. He immediately rushed over to check your condition while silently blaming himself for hitting so hard. He was only assured when you started moving again and laughed at the situation while continuously assuring him since he looked really sad and remorseful. (He started practicing his spike control a lot more since he didn’t want that to happen again).

You who started going to his volleyball matches since elementary and found it interesting. Every time he scores. especially a hard one (triple blockers, scoring while his form was still crumbling, surprising the team by using right hand, you name it), he would immediately look for you in a crowd and you only continue playing once you gave him a nod or thumbs up or something like a signal of approval.

Ushijima who was strong and healthy most his life, so when he does get sick, it means the fever is really bad and he just dies immediately. You remember visiting him after school to give him get better cards from his teammates and classmates, he insists that he could sit up but you told him he should just rest and he immediately complied. You read him all the letter people sent and even helped writing his thank you letter to everyone that day. You could tell the fever was bad since he kept looking at the ceiling while squinting his eyes, trying to think of words. The fever was so bad that he could only see and see blurry lines. Then, you fed him soup and medicine that his dad left behind before work, tugged him to bed and went home. (He takes 3-4 days to recover average)

In high school, volleyball started getting really competitive and he would always stay behind after school to practice. It was also during this time that you realized he was changing. (Or something inside you were changing). His shoulders were broader and he looked more reliable than ever, but most noticeably, his features were getting more defined. In middle school, you could sometimes see his ears go red whenever he gets a compliment thanks from nice old ladies for helping with carrying their groceries bags, but it slowly disappeared once he started high school. Now he just nods. You started developing feelings for him during high school too an, saw signs that he reciprocated the same sentiment. He would buy stuff for you from the cafeteria or vending machine, stuffing your mouth with food, insisting that you should eat more (He did this in middle school occasionally), while stroking your cheek (now this, THIS is something He didn’t do this before high school, was he getting more bold? I wonder who taught him) Ushijima has spare hair ties in his bag since he knows you would sometimes forget your own and learned how to tie your hair up for you. Piggy backs home from practice upgrade to princess carry and then there was the occasional flowers every month, complying to your wishes without much thought. These made you confused, you guys weren’t a thing (you guys were, for Ushijima) his teammates asked who you were and he would always casually say you were together, proud and clear. So Tendou gave him tips about how to keep this relationship stable. Actually he was always this caring since kindergarten, but things just got more prominent as high school came, thanks to the help of Tendou, Ushijima acted more boyfriend like, instead of a best friend.

Sometimes you guys would plan a two people hangout, and you did it once more today. You were confused with Ushijima during this time and internally panicked so you also invited Tendou to tag along to the amusement park trip without thinking. On the day of the hangout, you found Ushijima getting even bolder. You caught him inhaling the scent your hair, putting hands on your side to keep you from being lost, looking at you with those eyes. And to make things more confusing, during important parts, Tendou would disappear among the crowds.

The whole day was awkward, at least for you it was, and on the last stop, Tendou disappeared once more. “You guys go ahead, im afraid of heights.” Tendou chirped as he happily pushed you guys onto the ferris wheel. You were quiet the whole ride, and to top it off, Ushijima looked hella good today, especially under the radiance of the sunset. “Damn it” you quietly mumbled.

“Are you alright? You’ve been awful quiet” Ushijima said as he looked at you, voice laced with concern. There it is, that expression that eye contact and especially the look in his eyes. The face that never makes your heart flutter every time. Looking at him now would only complicate the situation more so you started panicking and tried looked anywhere, everywhere but him.

“Y-yeah im fine its just-” Before you could finish your sentence, he placed his hand on your forehead, checking for temperature and the words died in your throat actually.

“You’re red. Are you really fine?” He looks at you while squinting his eyes. Which made you panicked and quickly slapped his hands off and stood up to a level that he couldn’t touch your face.

Now this is just unfair, your panic wasn’t completely unreasonable and uncalled for but it made you feel bad about yourself. A confusion and shock now display on his face. He squints his eyes slightly like he was thinking something. You don’t know what he is thinking but he was probably shock and hurt.

“I- sorry- It’s just” You panicked and sat back down with your hands covering your face. “I don’t know how to feel these past few days.” You started “You’re making me confused every time you look at he with those eyes!”

“What eyes?” Ushijima said as he slowly cups your hand as he slowly guides it off from your face. “THOSE!” You said as you once more panicked.

”Ushijima Wakatoshi, you’ve made me VERY confused with MY. FEELINGS. Sometimes, I FEEL like you act like MY BOYFRIEND, but then you’ve been my friend for WHO KNOWS HOW LONG, I CAN’T TELL IF I’M LOSING MY MIND OR IF YOU’RE JUST MESSING WITH ME.

Ive tried to calm down, and I myself, ‘No, he’s just your friend, you’re overthinking,’ but then BAM you say something that makes me think, Wait. Is he?? Is he actually into me. LIKE WHAT?!?!?

Im tired! You’ve blurred the line of our relationship and I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t affect- IN WHICH A LOT.

WAKATOSHI, I- I THINK I LIKE YOU, A LOT”

.

.

.

Silence.

You could bring yourself to look at him, and he just stares at you.

“Sorry-“ You quickly murmured and this time, misreading the silence as rejection.

”Wait no- Sorry I’m just shocked.” Ushijima quickly assured “I thought we were already a thing.”

“Huh?” You looked at him with confusion.

-

Turns out Ushijima genuinely thought you were dating ever since preschool.

“Remember that candy I gave you? I that was my offerings for you to be my girlfriend.” He started talking about how happy he was that day and he thought of 1000 scenarios of him meeting and getting to meet and approval from your parents already.

This made you laugh out loud. You couldn’t believe it, Ushijima was really a dork.

“I guess it can’t be helped, but I noticed how you were really downed today so I bought the same candy as I did that day.” He admitted as he gave you the lollipop

“Come to think of it, we were still kids back then, and I didn’t know a thing about, like… love or relationships. All I knew was that you were the prettiest girl in the world, so I confessed immediately.” He paused, eyes softer now. “But as days went by, I found myself falling harder for you. I like how you laugh, how you talk, how you look, how you treat others, how you treat me… and a million more things I could say. Everything about you amazes me.” Then he looked straight at you.

“So this time… I want to confess again. Not to the prettiest girl in the world, but to you. Just you. The real you.”

“I like you, Y/N, would you like to be my girlfriend and make it official?”

Aren’t you the luckiest girl in the world right now.

[maruflix]

welcome, y/n, to the prestigious furin university! we have many clubs for you to join and a reputable student council for those looking for new friends! just watch out for the boys that are competing for your heart!

[02/12] EMERGENCY CLUB MEETING prev | masterlist | next **black background is endo’s phone

“Hey, Sakura-chan!” the aforementioned boy looks up to see his new club’s vice-president, Endo Yamato, grinning down at him. A towel is slung over his shoulder, his forehead already shining with a thin layer of sweat from the warmup from earlier.

“Your friend,” Endo exchanges a glance with a silent Takiishi Chika, “is she coming?”

Sakura blinks, then nods. “She’s on her way.”

With that, his hand trembles slightly. Although Sakura is adept to fighting, so much so that it becomes like second nature to him, fighting while being watched by his longtime crush is a different thing altogether. Even though Endo said he’ll let him win..

‘I want to do my best.’

Endo studies Sakura’s face go through several expressions with a smirk. He already knows what’s going on in Sakura’s little head. “Hey now, you’re not thinking about going all out, right?”

Sakura pauses, then looks at him.

“Hey, hey. You’ll scare off your girl like that.” Placing both hands on his hips, Endo cackles, “This is just for show, you know? For show!”

‘Oh,’ The tips of Sakura’s ears blushes red, ”R-right. We can’t get too bloody, right? It’s a club activity, after all. We’re going to scare her off.”

Satisfied with how easily he can convince the naïve freshman, Endo places a hand on Sakura’s shoulder comfortingly. “Righto! No worries, just play along.”

Sakura nods, gratefully.

In the distance, Chika watches Endo’s smirk twist menacingly, wondering what the hell that devil can be planning next. ‘Well, anyway...’ he stretches, catching glimpse of your figure at the clubroom door—

‘This is going to be fun.’

“Go get him, Sakura-kun!” Both Suo and you are cheering him on, but your voice is the only sound that continues to reverberate in Sakura’s head.

Endo casually shrugs his jacket off, then flings it to Togame who catches it with ease. As promised, Togame has his phone ready to record.

“Ready?” Chika says as the two men approach each other, “Let’s have a clean fight.”

Endo immediately strikes.

His jab hit Sakura straight in the right side of his face. Although Endo was not using his full strength, it catches Sakura off guard as he stumbles slightly.

“Sakura!”

Your panicked yell snaps Sakura out of his trance. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but he knows one thing for sure—

He’d rather die than embarrass himself in front of you.

Endo has to admit, Sakura put up a good fight. His kicks are powerful and he’s as sturdy as a rock. But he knows that his first blow has shaken Sakura greatly, and there’s no coming back from it. He will only get more tired, sloppier, as the fight drags on.

Deciding to take pity on him, Endo kicks him especially hard on the sides. Sakura stumbles, and when he’s about to stand up again, his head throbs and he falls to the ground.

“Hold it! Match’s over.” Chika calls out.

‘Wasn’t planning on landing another hit anyway.’ Endo sighs at Sakura’s crumpled figure on the ground and sneaks a glance towards the crowd, smirking when he locks eyes with you.

‘Are you seeing this? Aren’t I cool?’

Endo’s heart drops when you glare at him with the intensity of a lion before running to Sakura’s side.

“Sakura-kun! Are you okay?!”

Endo watches you lead Sakura outside, supporting him with your whole body. Suo immediately gathers his things and helps you, bidding everyone else farewell with a curt bow.

Endo turns to Togame, but the man sighs in response, already typing away on his phone. He then turns to Chika, trying to find justification, but the red-haired man merely closes his eyes and shakes his head.

‘Fuck.’

a/n: uploaded this on my phone hope the layouts dont go brr

taglist: OPEN (30/50)

@nyxypoo @ryzheling @kimura-uzuri @munchieschomp @aries-afk @choppedballoondetective @octrellue-ren22 @lunavixia @vashyuu @junephantom21 @silver-rin @bestboileeknow @baby-bread-in @paleocarcharias @yukimaniac @mo072806 @naotoramaru @perkypeony @rinren @antisocialinlw @yxruxp @kurogira @catzoup @kuromisolos @myunghology @meira-channn @cyberasterrr @amirevic @whisperer-of-tragedy @eeiternity

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←　university days!　╱　wind breaker　→

[wonderlandwalker]

The Cut that Always Bleeds

𝐏𝐭. 𝐈 /𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐭𝐥𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: abby anderson x medic!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.5k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: She doesn't know how to come to terms with her feelings, but she doesn't know how to let go either. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: hurt with very little comfort, a few time jumps I don't know how to fix

𝐚/𝐧: I may have yearned a bit too close to the sun with this one, hope y'all are ready for some hurting (also I haven't actually played the game so if any of these are out of character i'm sorry i'm just going on vibes)

Isaac’s voice is pure disbelief the moment they step into the command tent, sharp enough to slice through the low hum of radio static.

"Abby, what the fuck?"

She tenses—just slightly, just enough that someone who knows her would notice. But her face stays carefully blank, a practiced neutrality she’s perfected over years of biting back everything she actually feels. (And god, she’s good at it. Good at locking her jaw, good at swallowing words, good at pretending her heart isn’t a live wire sparking against her ribs.)

He doesn’t wait for an answer, already pacing, arms crossed like he’s physically holding himself back from shaking her. "I got told you were hurt on patrol," he snaps, "so I haul ass to check on you, and instead I find you—" He gestures wildly toward the tent flap, as if the scene is still playing out behind them. "—shagging up with one of the medics like we’re in some goddamn soap opera."

Abby blinks. "A what?"

"You know—" Isaac waves a hand like he’s swatting at a fly. "Those stupid shows where people make out in broom closets and then lie about it."

Her jaw clenches. But she doesn’t say anything.

Because what can she say?

It wasn’t like that. 

It was—just not the way Isaac thinks. Not careless. Not meaningless. Not something she could laugh off with a shrug and a "Yeah, got carried away."

Because she hadn’t been carried away. She’d been fully present, every nerve alight, every thought drowned out by the way your fingers curled into her shirt, the way your breath hitched when she crowded you against the door. She hadn’t lost control—she’d surrendered it, willingly, like a soldier laying down her weapon.

Isaac exhales, dragging a hand over his face. The sound is rough, impatient—but his eyes linger on Abby a second too long, sharp with something that isn’t just frustration. It’s understanding. The kind that scrapes too close to the bone.

"Just—get it together."

The words are a command, but the edge in his voice isn’t just authority. It’s a warning. A blade held at her throat. 

This isn’t just another distraction, and maybe Isaac knows it too—this is the kind of thing that seeps into your ribs, curls around your lungs, and stays in your blood like a fever. 

That’s the part that terrifies her.

Because she can’t get it together.

She’s pulled to you like you’ve become her North Star—not a choice, but a law of her universe.

Gravity drags her pulse southward every time you enter a room, her body betraying her with the same inevitability as tides chasing the moon. Every cell in her body is alight, humming with the phantom memory of your voice—that low, easy tone curling around her name like you’d already tasted it. The fantasy unfolds in relentless detail: the way your door would creak open if she went to knock, your face flickering from surprise to something hungrier in the space of a heartbeat. That half-smile of yours, the one that’s been haunting her for days, would finally meet its match against her mouth. She can feel it—the way your fingers would twitch in her hair, hesitating for one torturous second before fisting tight, dragging her in until there’s no space left to pretend this is anything but ruin. Your hands shoving her jacket off her shoulders, your nails scraping down her back as she cages you against the wall.

The world is a haze—a dull, shapeless blur of routines and obligations—until you step into the room.

Then, suddenly, the air sharpens. Colours brighten. The hum of conversation, the clatter of supplies, the distant shouts from the training yard—it all fades into white noise. All she can focus on is you: the way your hands move with practiced ease as you sort through medical supplies, the way your brow furrows in concentration, the way your lips had felt against hers—soft, hesitant, then desperate.

Her friends notice. Of course they do.

Ellie’s smirk is the worst, all-knowing eyebrows and barely contained amusement. Manny elbows Owen and mutters something under his breath, and Abby hates the way her stomach twists at their silent exchange. She shuts them down with a glare sharp enough to draw blood, and for now, they drop it. But they’re not stupid. They’ve seen the way her gaze lingers when you’re not looking, the way her fingers flex at her sides like she’s resisting the urge to reach out. 

She’s helpless as morning sun spills over the compound like honey, but it's you who holds her attention—golden light catching the sweat beading at your temples as you stretch, the hem of your shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin that makes her grip tighten around her coffee mug. The bitter swallow she takes does nothing to wash away the taste of want thick on her tongue, desperate to trace a path down your throat to where the sweat trickles down to your chest.

When you turn—when you catch her staring with those dark, knowing eyes—she braces for the usual defences: an awkward chuckle, deliberately break the moment with some clinical observation. The careful walls you both built.

But instead your gaze pins her in place, as if you're both remembering the same stolen moments—your body pressed flush against hers, the way your breath hitched when her teeth grazed your pulse point. How perfectly you fit together, like two halves of the same stubborn stone, cleaved apart by some ancient violence only to find each other again.

The air crackles with the memory of your hands on her—practised medic's fingers that now haunt her dreams, calluses dragging over her hipbones in the dark. She's memorised every scar on those hands, every ridge and rough patch. Knows exactly how they'd feel right now slipping beneath her waistband, tugging her closer by the belt loops until—

The assignment sheet glows like a death warrant in the sun, your name etched beside hers in ink that’s too bold, too permanent.

It shouldn’t feel like a betrayal. Logically, she knows this—knows that every squad is structured the same way: a leader, a cartographer, a medic, and fighters. Knows you’re good at your job, that you’ve patched up enough of their people to earn your place in the field. But logic has nothing to do with the way her pulse kicks against her ribs, the way her fingers tighten around the paper until the edges split under her grip.

Your name stays untouched. Unflinching. As if the universe is laughing at her.

It hadn’t even occurred to her when she picked up the mission brief this morning. Her mind had been elsewhere—lost in the phantom press of your mouth against hers, in the half-formed fantasies of cornering you again, this time without an audience. Without hesitation.

But this?

This is a sick joke.

Get in. Find the Seraphite outpost. Get out. She’s done it a hundred times. Should be routine.

Except now there’s a new variable. Now there’s you—steady hands and quiet focus and that infuriating habit of stepping closer than necessary when you're near her. 

She wants to scream. Wants to slam Isaac against the map table hard enough to splinter the wood, to snarl in his face that this isn’t some fucking supply run—that she’s seen what the Seraphites do to the medics they catch. How they carve up the ones who know how to put bodies back together, who understand the sacred machinery of muscle and bone too well for their liking. A violation of divine will, they call it. A lesson.

The memory hits like a boot to the ribs: last month’s retrieval mission, what was left of Thompson strung between two trees like a grotesque anatomy lesson, his own suture thread looped through flesh in meticulous, mocking spirals. The smell had clung to her for days—iron and bile and something sweetly rotten, the kind of stench that lives in the back of your throat.

She could pull every string.

Call in every favour owed, twist every rule until the assignment reshapes itself into something safer—something that doesn’t make her map exit routes and casualty odds like you’re the mission now. It wouldn’t even be hard. A word to Owen, a hissed argument with Isaac, and suddenly you’d be reassigned to inventory duty or perimeter checks, far from the bite of Seraphite arrows.

But then what?

You’d know. You’d look at her with those infuriatingly perceptive eyes, and you’d see it—the fear she can’t name.

The war doesn’t care about stolen moments. Doesn’t care that you taste like hope, stupid and reckless, and that she’s still chasing the ghost of it days later, tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth like she can trap the memory there.

Across the compound, she spots you—

Your hands are moving with methodical precision, rolling gauze into tight, efficient coils. She's memorised the exact pressure of your fingertips against her skin, the way your knuckles flex when you work. It’s obscene how easily her mind twists the motion into something intimate—those same fingers dragging down her spine, gripping her hip, pressing into the give of her throat.

The briefing crumples in her fist before she forces herself to smooth it out again. You haven’t even looked up.

Don’t you know? Haven’t you read the assignment yet? Or worse—do you know, and this is your answer? The silence, the distance, the way you’re so carefully not glancing in her direction, like she’s just another soldier, just another mission.

Look at me, she wills, teeth gritted so hard her jaw aches. Look at me and see what this does to me.

But you don’t.

And she doesn’t call out. Doesn’t cross the distance between you. Just folds the paper neatly—once, twice—tucks it into her pocket, and walks away like it doesn’t feel like signing her own death warrant.

Because that’s what soldiers do. They follow orders. They swallow fear. They pretend.

So she pretends—fiercely, desperately—that this isn’t tearing her apart. And when the team assembles, their gear clattering like a discordant symphony of finality, Abby doesn’t dare meet your eyes.

Not when the route is finalised, the map slashed with jagged red ink that carves through terrain like an open wound. Not when Manny cracks a joke about Seraphite hospitality—"Hope you packed your Sunday best, Anderson, ‘cause we’re going to get a real warm welcome"—and the laughter curdles in her throat, heavy as a stone.

Especially not when you catch her staring.

It happens in flashes—fleeting, stolen seconds where her resolve crumbles. Your gaze locks onto hers, questioning, knowing, and it’s worse than any blade. She tears herself away each time, sharp and deliberate, like severing a lifeline.

"You good?" Manny’s voice cuts through the noise, too close, too perceptive. His elbow nudges her ribs, but there’s no teasing in it now. Just concern. He follows her line of sight—straight to you, crouched to check your med kit’s contents.

"Peachy," she mutters, adjusting her pack straps with unnecessary force. The lie tastes bitter, the heat crawling up her neck not helping.

But the truth claws at her ribs: she doesn’t know how to do this—how to care for you and lead them, how to want and not falter. The mission demands her focus, but her thoughts keep circling back to the press of your palm against her collarbone, the way you’d whispered against her lips like it mattered. Like she mattered.

She hates the way her body betrays her.

Hates how her throat tightens when you adjust your pack, the straps pulling taut across your shoulders, the fabric straining against the shape of you—always so close, yet never close enough. Hates the way her stomach twists when you murmur something to Nora, low and private, your lips nearly brushing her ear. She shouldn't care, shouldn't even notice, but she does—

—and it burns.

She wants to grab you by the straps of that damn pack and yank until there's no space left between you, until her hands can prove what her mouth won't say.

She wants to tell you not to go.

She can’t.

Not without playing favourites. Not without dragging this thing between you into the light, raw and undeniable. Not without admitting—to herself, to you—how much it would destroy her if something happened. And when the briefing ends, when the others file out with muttered plans and last-minute checks, she hesitates.

Just for a second. Just long enough for her resolve to fracture—long enough for her to consider crossing the space between you, for her mouth to form the first syllable of your name, and her eyes scream what her voice won't:

I can't lose you.

It's a confession she'll never speak aloud; doesn't know how to, but for a heartbeat, she lets you see it—the raw, unguarded fear in her gaze, the way her breath catches when your eyes meet. She lets herself pretend that stolen contact is enough.

Even though she knows it isn't.

Not with the way the mission goes to hell fast.

It had started perfectly normally, and she'd almost let herself relax. Almost let herself believe this would be different. That maybe, just this once, the universe would cut her some slack.

Then the rug gets yanked out from under her with brutal efficiency.

One moment, you're moving in perfect sync through the undergrowth, the forest holding its breath around you. The air smells of damp earth and pine, sunlight filtering through the canopy in fractured gold. You're close enough that she can see the way your shoulders tense before each careful step. The next—

A sharp whistle cuts through the trees.

"Down!" Abby barks, but it's too late.

Arrows hiss through the air like serpents striking. The forest erupts—shrieks of Seraphite scouts rending the silence, their painted faces twisting through the foliage like vengeful ghosts. The world fractures into chaos: Manny's rifle barking to her left, Nora's curses, the sickening thunk of steel finding flesh.

And then the comms crackle to life, static-laced and frantic:

"Surrounded—fall back—"

Abby's blood turns to ice. She can feel it freeze in her veins, time grinding to a halt as the words echo in her skull. Because that's not your voice.

The absence is louder than any scream. Just dead air where you should be.

"Status checks—now!" She barks into the radio, her voice too sharp, too loud—the words tearing from her throat like shrapnel. The response is a garbled mess of voices—coordinates called out between gunfire, shouting about a flank collapsing, cursing as arrows rain down—but none of them are yours.

She tries again. And again.

Static.

It claws at her insides, relentless, teeth sinking deep between her ribs with every failed transmission. She should be moving, should be shouting orders, should be leading—but all she can think is that you were right there, just beyond the treeline, and now—

Abby's grip on her rifle is white-knuckled, the metal groaning under her fingers. Her entire body coils like a spring wound too tight, muscles trembling with the effort of not sprinting into the fray as reports trickle in—each one worse than the last.

"Pinned down near the creek—"

"Lost visual—"

A hand grabs her shoulder—Manny, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, eyes wide with something too close to panic. "Abby, we have to go—they're pushing hard on the east side! Rally point's compromised!"

She shakes him off hard enough to make him stumble, her pulse roaring in her ears like a war drum. Blood rushes too fast, too loud—she can barely hear his protests over it, over the voice in her head screaming one thing, over and over:

Not without you.

She's already moving before the thought finishes, strapping on extra ammo with mechanical precision even as her vision tunnels—rifle checked, knife secured—when Manny grabs her arm again, fingers digging in.

"Abby, listen! There's no time—"

Her expression is raw, scraped down to something beyond anger—something desperate, feral. Terrified.

Every instinct in her body screams that you’re hers—hers to protect, hers to drag back from the edge, hers to keep. The realisation should shock her, but it doesn’t. It feels carved into her bones, older than war, older than loyalty, older than anything that ever mattered before this moment.

She whirls on Manny, and for one terrifying second, she doesn’t recognise her own voice. It’s low, guttural, vibrating with something ancient and unstoppable.

"I’m going."

She knows it’s a suicide mission. Knows it’s illogical. 

But it’s not even a choice.

Her body has already decided. Her heart has already decided.

The weight of her fear is a living thing, coiled tight around her ribs, squeezing until every step is a battle, every breath a betrayal. Time fractures—she doesn’t know if it’s been seconds or minutes or hours. The world narrows to the next tree, the next shadow, the next goddamn breath until she finds you.

Mud slicks her boots, sucking at her steps like the earth itself is trying to drag her down, to bury her here before she can reach you. Branches claw at her arms, drawing blood she doesn’t feel.

Then—footsteps. Close.

Her pulse jackhammers, a wild animal thrashing against her ribs. For one fractured second, hope and terror wage war inside her—a collision so violent it leaves her dizzy, breathless:

It’s you. It’s them. It’s you. It’s—

She whirls, finger taut on the trigger, her body strung so tight she might shatter.

Manny and Nora stand frozen on the path, hands raised. Manny’s mouth quirks, but his eyes are dark with something unspoken—pity, maybe, or the grim understanding of what she’s still denying.

"Did you really think we’d let you die alone?"

Nora exhales sharply, adjusting her grip on her pistol. "No way I’m missing the first proof you have a heart." But the joke is hollow, her voice stripped raw. They’ve seen the way Abby moves—like something feral, something broken. Like every step forward is another thread of her unravelling.

Without another word, they follow her.

The forest becomes a blur of sound and shadow, the world narrowing to the next frantic step, and the next, and the next.

Every snapped branch cracks through the silence, sending her pulse spiking. Hope and worry wage war in equal measure, each more brutal than the last.

The light is fading, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and gunpowder, and with each passing minute, the truth becomes harder to outrun.

Manny grabs her arm. "Abby, stop—" His fingers dig into her bicep hard enough to bruise. "We've circled this sector three times. There's no—"

She whirls on him so fast Nora actually raises her pistol. For a heartbeat, Abby just stands there—chest heaving—and the rational part of her knows it’s hopeless—a lost cause she’s still chasing, as if she can conjure you out of thin air just by wanting it hard enough.

Her rifle slips in her sweat-slick grip. Somewhere behind her ribs, something vital is crumbling, and oh god, she's actually considering it—actually hearing the awful logic in Manny's words.

Then she hears it.

A scream carving through the trees, jagged and desperate, and Abby knows. Knows in that gut-twisting way you can hear the thunder before the lightning strikes you down.

You.

The broken thing inside her stitches itself back together with brutal efficiency. When she looks up, whatever Manny sees in her face makes him release her arm like he's been burnt.

Then she's running, faster than before, leaving her squad scrambling to follow.

When she finally bursts into the clearing, time fractures.

There you are—

Kneeling. Choking. An arrow buried deep in your abdomen, its shaft still quivering with the force of the impact. Blood blooms across your shirt like ink in water, dark and relentless, spreading faster than she can comprehend. Your hands clutch at the wound, fingers slipping in the crimson tide. A Seraphite looms over you, dagger drawn, their painted face twisted in triumph—too cocky, too sure of their victory to notice the storm crashing toward them.

Abby doesn’t think.

The gunshot is immediate. Deafening.

The Scar drops like a puppet with its strings cut. Abby doesn’t even remember pulling the trigger. Doesn’t remember crossing the distance. One second she’s at the treeline, and the next she’s collapsing beside you, her knees slamming into the dirt hard enough to scrape them open, her hands scrambling—searching for a pulse, for breath, for anything to prove this isn’t happening.

Your eyes meet hers, wide, bright with pain and something else—something that splits her open, cracks her ribs apart like desperate hands wrenching her apart from the inside.

Relief.

Peace.

As if you’d been waiting for her. As if this moment—this ragged, blood-soaked second—was the one you’d been fighting toward all along.

No. No. No.

This isn’t how it ends.

It can’t be.

Her hands hover over you, shaking violently. She doesn’t know where to touch or what to do—the arrow’s still embedded, and pulling it could kill you faster, but leaving it in might—

Behind her, Manny and Nora crash into the clearing, their shouts distant, muffled, like she’s underwater. None of it matters. The only thing that exists is you—your blood on her hands, your laboured breathing, and Abby—Abby who never cries, who never breaks—feels something hot and furious spill down her cheeks.

She presses her palm hard against the wound, fingers slipping in the slick warmth of your blood. The metallic scent floods her nostrils, thick and cloying, as crimson seeps between her fingers no matter how hard she pushes.

"Hey—" Her voice cracks. She tries again, rougher this time. "Hey, look at me."

Her free hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. Your skin is already too cold, the pallor of your lips all wrong. A tremor runs through her fingers, but she steadies them against your face, forcing your gaze to hers.

"You're okay," she rasps. The lie tastes like copper on her tongue.

The only truth that matters is the shallow rise of your chest beneath her palm, the flutter of your pulse under her fingertips—weak but there, still there.

She repeats it like a mantra, like if she says it enough she can make it true: "You're okay. You're okay. You're okay."

She doesn't know if she's assuring you or herself.

Doesn't care.

As long as you keep breathing, she'll keep lying.

Nora crashes to her knees beside you, her medic training snapping into focus even as her fingers tremble slightly around the gauze. She rips open her pack with her teeth, spitting out the fabric strip that catches between her lips. "Pressure here," she orders, grabbing Abby's wrist to reposition her shaking hand lower on your abdomen where the bleeding pulses darkest.

But she knows Nora doesn't have the same knowledge you do.

Where you would've already torn open a field suture kit while calmly directing others, Nora fumbles with the packaging. Where you'd have that quiet intensity that somehow steadied everyone's hands, Nora's voice wavers on the count for chest compressions.

You're the medic. You're the one who would know how to stem this bleeding, how to stabilize the wound with those precise fingers, how to keep your own damn heart beating. But even Nora—practical, ruthless Nora who once stitched up her own arm mid-gunfight—understands this isn't just about saving you.

This is what Abby needs.

"I've got you," she grits out, sliding an arm beneath your shoulders to lift you up. The movement pulls at her own wounds—the gash along her ribs screams, the bullet graze on her thigh burns—but the pain is nothing compared to the way your head lolls against her collarbone with terrifying looseness. Your breath comes in wet, uneven bursts against her neck, each one warmer than the last as your body loses the ability to regulate temperature.

"Stay with me," she whispers into your hair, your blood soaking through her shirt, your heartbeat thready under her fingertips. 

"Please. Please, just—" Her voice cracks. Breaks.

She carries you to where Manny leads her, where EVAC has gathered, stays with you, tethering herself to you on the drive back. The moment they crash through the gates of the base, the medics surge forward, gloved hands outstretched, voices sharp with urgency. But Abby’s entire body locks up, muscles coiled like a sprung trap. Because the simple thought of letting go feels like tearing open her own ribs and offering her still-beating heart to the open air.

The medics freeze in their reach for you. Even the clamour of the base seems to hush, holding its breath.

Manny steps in, hands raised—slow, cautious, like approaching a wolf with its jaws around fresh kill. "They need to work on her, Abby. You’re not helping like this."

Like this. Like she’s some wild, cornered thing, trembling and bloodied, holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping her from drowning.

Her vision tunnels. The edges go red.

"Then work around me," she grinds out, voice raw.

No one moves.

A beat. Two. The silence is suffocating.

"NOW!"

The roar tears from her throat, primal and desperate, shaking the very air. 

They scramble, not daring to defy her like this—not when her eyes are wild, not when your blood paints her hands like a confession.

A cot is dragged close, the legs screeching against concrete, and Abby's arms shake as she finally—finally—lays you down, but her hands don't leave you. One cradles the back of your skull, fingers tangling in sweat-damp hair, anchoring. The other presses flat over your heart, as if she could steady it with her palm alone, as if she could will it to keep beating through sheer fucking stubbornness.

The medics swarm, cutting away fabric and barking orders, but Abby doesn't blink. Doesn't breathe. She catalogues every flinch of your face, every shudder of your chest, every weak gasp that leaves your lips—

A twitch.

Faint. Fragile. There.

Your fingers spasm against her own, weak but present, and Abby's breath comes in a punched-out gasp. Around you, the world narrows to the space between one heartbeat and the next.

She doesn't pray. She never has.

But for you?

She'd start.

[shamefullyontheside]

replaying undertale because deltarune kicks my ass so hard, and i dont think anyone can match the sheer yearning sans has for toriel.

like whether or not you believe the sans undertale is from actually from deltarune theory, it's undeniable how hard sans cherishes toriel in undertale. what do you mean regularly depressed and eats out at grillby's sans tried baking a pie. what do you mean he tries to find videogames that he thinks toriel would enjoy. what do you mean he bought snail shaped pasta for himself. "shes the best audience i've ever had" man who has a job at mtt resort as a comedian and is clearly beloved in his local community shown in the grillby's scene. sure. okay. sans "its all going to reset so nothing matters" undertale doing things no matter big or small because they matter to toriel, so of course they matter to him too.

honestly i cant tell if its sadder if sans really is from deltarune, but if not then it wouldnt really matter. that deep yearning exists no matter what.