#strong encryption

[noob2networking]

Webinar Wednesday: Decoding Decryption - Understanding the Process of Securing Data

Welcome to another exciting Webinar Wednesday! Today, we’re diving into the intriguing world of decryption, where we unravel the secrets of securing your data. Get ready for an informative and entertaining session as we decode the process of decryption using analogies, emojis, and our signature funny tone. So, grab your virtual seat and let’s begin! Introduction to Decryption: Unlocking the…

[welcometogrouchland]

I'm not even that invested in Tim Drake as a character (he's neat! Just doesn't give me brainrot + I haven't read his og solo series, tho I skimmed parts of his current one) I just think it's so funny that he's canonically bi. Oracle caught him looking up "boys kissing" on the batcomputer

[enfinizatics]

dear americans,

as a polish queer woman and human rights activist, i know exactly how you're feeling right now and what to expect from these elections. i lived through the 2015-2023 regime of pis, a right-wing populist party that divided families in the same way trump did. i’ve experienced the rise of fascism in poland, the influence of far-right parties like konfederacja, and their “santa’s little helpers”—ordo iuris, an ultra-conservative catholic organization (banned in many countries, mind you) that helped enforce a near-total abortion ban and runs anti-queer campaigns in public spaces. i supported the black protests in 2016 as a middle schooler when they first tried to ban abortion. as an adult, i actively participated in the 2020 women’s strike, running from police tear gas daily after they finally passed the ban. i supported friends who faced charges.

i’ve lived through intense homophobia in poland as a queer teen and adult. i survived the first pride march in my hometown, where far-right extremists threw stones and glass at us. i endured the anti-queer propaganda spread by the ruling party in state-owned media. i survived the “rainbow night,” poland’s own stonewall moment in summer 2020, when police arrested around 50 queer activists following the arrest of margo, a nonbinary activist. i survived the "lgbt-free zones," the targeted violence, the slurs from strangers on the street, and the protests i held against queerphobia. it was hard as fuck, but i survived.

but just because i survived, it doesn’t mean others did. many women died because of the abortion ban—marta, justyna, izabela, dorota, joanna, maria, and many others who didn’t survive pis’s draconian anti-abortion laws. milo, kacper, michał, zuzia (she was 12), wiktor, and other queer and trans kids and young adults took their own lives because of the relentless queerphobia.

despite all of this, our experience in poland can serve as a guide now. here are some tips for staying safe and how we, polish queers and women, organized under the regime:

safety first, always. if you know someone who’s had an abortion, no you don’t. if you know someone is trans, no you don’t. if you know people who help with safe abortions, no you don��t—at least not until you know it’s 100% safe to share. if you are queer or have had an abortion, only share this with people you trust fully. most importantly, not everyone has to be an activist just because they’re part of a minority. if it feels unsafe to share that you're queer, trans, etc., then don’t. it doesn’t make you any less queer.

use secure, encrypted messaging like signal for conversations on potentially risky topics, such as queerness, abortion, organizing counter-actions, protests—anything that might be used against you.

stay anonymous online. if you want to research or report something without surveillance, do not use regular internet. get a vpn (mullvad is affordable and reliable), download the tor browser (for both onion and standard links), and if you plan to whistleblow, consider using a riseup email account.

organize and build networks. community is everything now. support each other, foster independence, because your government won’t have your back. set up collectives, grassroots movements. create lists of trusted professionals—lawyers, doctors, etc.—who can offer support.

to lawyers and doctors: please consider pro-bono work. this is what got us through poland’s hardest times. your work will be needed now more than ever.

for protests or risky actions: always write a pro-bono lawyer’s number on your arm with a permanent marker.

get to know the anarchist black cross federation and other resources on safety culture: "Starting an anarchist black cross group: A guide"; Still We Rise - A resource pack for transgender and non-gender conforming people in prison; Safe OUTside the system by the Audre Lorde Project;

for safe abortion info or involvement: get familiar with womenhelpwomen.

stay radical, stay strong, stay informed: The Anarchist Library

if i forgot to (or didn't) include something, don't hesitate to reblog this post with other resources.

[legalfirmindia]

Data Protection: Legal Safeguards for Your Business

In today’s digital age, data is the lifeblood of most businesses. Customer information, financial records, and intellectual property – all this valuable data resides within your systems. However, with this digital wealth comes a significant responsibility: protecting it from unauthorized access, misuse, or loss. Data breaches can have devastating consequences, damaging your reputation, incurring…

[zapperrr]

Securing Your Website: Best Practices for Web Developers

As the digital landscape continues to evolve, website security has become a paramount concern for businesses and individuals alike. With cyber threats becoming increasingly sophisticated, it is crucial for web developers to adopt robust security measures to safeguard their websites and the sensitive data they handle. In this article, we'll delve into the best practices that web developers can implement to enhance the security of their websites and protect against potential threats.

Introduction

In today's interconnected world, websites serve as the digital storefront for businesses, making them vulnerable targets for cyber attacks. From data breaches to malware infections, the consequences of a security breach can be severe, ranging from financial loss to damage to reputation. Therefore, prioritizing website security is essential for maintaining the trust and confidence of users.

Understanding Website Security

Before diving into best practices, it's crucial to understand the importance of website security and the common threats faced by websites. Website security encompasses measures taken to protect websites from cyber threats and unauthorized access. Common threats include malware infections, phishing attacks, SQL injection, cross-site scripting (XSS), and brute force attacks.

Best Practices for Web Developers

Keeping Software Updated

One of the most fundamental steps in website security is keeping all software, including the content management system (CMS), plugins, and server software, updated with the latest security patches and fixes. Outdated software is often targeted by attackers due to known vulnerabilities that can be exploited.

Implementing HTTPS

Implementing HTTPS (Hypertext Transfer Protocol Secure) encrypts the data transmitted between the website and its users, ensuring confidentiality and integrity. HTTPS not only protects sensitive information but also boosts trust among visitors, as indicated by the padlock icon in the browser's address bar.

Using Strong Authentication Methods

Implementing strong authentication methods, such as multi-factor authentication (MFA) and CAPTCHA, adds an extra layer of security to user accounts. MFA requires users to provide multiple forms of verification, such as a password and a one-time code sent to their mobile device, reducing the risk of unauthorized access.

Securing Against SQL Injection Attacks

SQL injection attacks occur when malicious actors exploit vulnerabilities in web applications to execute arbitrary SQL commands. Web developers can prevent SQL injection attacks by using parameterized queries and input validation to sanitize user inputs effectively.

Protecting Sensitive Data

It's essential to employ encryption techniques to protect sensitive data, such as passwords, credit card information, and personal details, stored on the website's servers. Encrypting data at rest and in transit mitigates the risk of data breaches and unauthorized access.

Regular Security Audits

Conducting regular security audits helps identify vulnerabilities and weaknesses in the website's infrastructure and codebase. Penetration testing, vulnerability scanning, and code reviews enable web developers to proactively address security issues before they are exploited by attackers.

Choosing a Secure Hosting Provider

Selecting a reputable and secure hosting provider is critical for ensuring the overall security of your website. When evaluating hosting providers, consider factors such as security features, reliability, scalability, and customer support.

Evaluating Security Features

Choose a hosting provider that offers robust security features, such as firewalls, intrusion detection systems (IDS), malware scanning, and DDoS protection. These features help protect your website from various cyber threats and ensure continuous uptime.

Ensuring Regular Backups

Regularly backing up your website's data is essential for mitigating the impact of security incidents, such as data breaches or website compromises. Choose a hosting provider that offers automated backup solutions and store backups securely offsite.

Customer Support and Response to Security Incidents

Opt for a hosting provider that provides responsive customer support and has established protocols for handling security incidents. In the event of a security breach or downtime, prompt assistance from the hosting provider can minimize the impact on your website and business operations.

Implementing Firewall Protection

Firewalls act as a barrier between your website and external threats, filtering incoming and outgoing network traffic based on predefined security rules. There are several types of firewalls, including network firewalls, web application firewalls (WAF), and host-based firewalls.

Configuring and Maintaining Firewalls

Properly configuring and maintaining firewalls is crucial for effective security. Define firewall rules based on the principle of least privilege, regularly update firewall configurations to reflect changes in the website's infrastructure, and monitor firewall logs for suspicious activity.

Educating Users about Security

In addition to implementing technical measures, educating users about security best practices is essential for enhancing overall website security. Provide users with resources, such as security guidelines, tips for creating strong passwords, and information about common phishing scams.

Importance of User Awareness

Users play a significant role in maintaining website security, as they are often the targets of social engineering attacks. By raising awareness about potential threats and providing guidance on how to recognize and respond to them, web developers can empower users to stay vigilant online.

Providing Training and Resources

Offer training sessions and educational materials to help users understand the importance of security and how to protect themselves while using the website. Regularly communicate updates and reminders about security practices to reinforce good habits.

Monitoring and Responding to Security Incidents

Despite taking preventive measures, security incidents may still occur. Establishing robust monitoring systems and incident response protocols enables web developers to detect and respond to security threats in a timely manner.

Setting Up Monitoring Tools

Utilize monitoring tools, such as intrusion detection systems (IDS), security information and event management (SIEM) systems, and website monitoring services, to detect abnormal behavior and potential security breaches. Configure alerts to notify you of suspicious activity promptly.

Establishing Incident Response Protocols

Develop comprehensive incident response plans that outline roles, responsibilities, and procedures for responding to security incidents. Establish clear communication channels and escalation paths to coordinate responses effectively and minimize the impact of security breaches.

Securing your website requires a proactive approach that involves implementing a combination of technical measures, choosing a secure hosting provider, educating users about security best practices, and establishing robust monitoring and incident response protocols. By following these best practices, web developers can mitigate the risk of security breaches and safeguard their websites and the sensitive data they handle.

[rosemaryhoney27]

"Diplomacy for the Feral and the Damned"

Bruce had just sat down in the Batcave with his second cup of post-patrol coffee—black as his mood, strong enough to keep a Kryptonian awake—when his private line buzzed. Not the Batline. Not the board line. The one buried so deep in encryption and passive-aggressive threats that even Oracle called it “Extra-Paranoid Mode.”

He stared. [Incoming Call: Vladimir Masters]

Bruce blinked. “…Oh, this is going to be a day.”

He answered with the flat monotone that had driven Gotham’s underworld into therapy. “Vlad.”

The holographic screen flickered to life—and there he was. Vladimir Masters, looking every inch the eccentric billionaire and possibly more ghost than man now. Silver-haired, in a robe that screamed “I paid three million for this and regret nothing,” surrounded by classical art, levitating books, and the faint crackle of ectoplasmic interference. The whole aesthetic screamed “If Lex Luthor was haunted by a Victorian novelist.”

Vlad beamed. “Brucie!”

Bruce’s eye twitched. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s lovely to hear your voice, dear cousin. It’s been too long.”

Jason, eavesdropping from the shadows with popcorn, whispered, “Wait. Cousin? Since when do we have that brand of family drama?”

“Shh,” Tim muttered, scribbling something labeled Possible Interdimensional Ghost Cousins Conspiracy.

“I need your advice,” Vlad continued. “Something very personal. Deeply serious.”

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What now, Vlad?”

Vlad leaned forward, the screen staticking briefly. “How do you get your children to be civil with you?”

There was silence. Real, echoing, existential silence.

“…I wasn’t aware you had adopted children, Vlad,” Bruce said slowly, like trying not to scare off a rabid raccoon.

“I haven’t. Not technically,” Vlad said breezily. “But my godson is staying with me. Lovely boy. Has the appetite of a black hole and the sense of self-preservation of a rabid badger.”

“...Oh god,” whispered Dick, “he sounds like all of us.”

“Cute that Masters thinks we’re civil,” Damian sniffed. “How charmingly misinformed.”

“Wait. He said godson?” Tim asked, eyes lighting up. “Do you think—could it be—Phantom?”

Vlad didn’t notice the peanut gallery commentary. “The boy has caused four minor diplomatic incidents, bitten a baron, vanished into the ceiling during a formal gala, and accused a senator of being a reptilian. Which turned out to be accurate, but the delivery was unkind.”

Bruce squinted. “That sounds like… Dick, Damian, and Tim at the Wayne Foundation Spring Gala ‘19.”

“I know!” Vlad pointed at him like a man discovering fire. “That’s exactly what I said! He’s like your sons! In one small, glowing, vaguely feral body!”

“Glowing?” Steph mouthed. “Definitely Phantom.”

“So, cousin dearest,” Vlad purred. “How do you get them to listen? How do you parent the chaos incarnate?”

Bruce took a long, tired sip of his coffee and simply said, “I don’t.”

“…You don’t?”

“I survive it.”

“Bold of him to call this survival,” muttered Cass as Jason started texting Alfred for cookies and emotional support.

“Each one is an unpredictable event wrapped in trauma and tactical gear,” Bruce continued flatly. “They will not listen. They may occasionally pretend to. But only after chaos. Much, much chaos.”

Vlad sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So there’s no secret Wayne method? No clever strategy?”

“...Cookies?” Bruce offered.

From beneath the desk, something gnawed at Vlad’s ankle.

He glanced down and hissed, “Danny, stop that, I told you we don’t bite family!”

“He said that senator looked like a snake,” came the muffled voice. “And I was right.”

Vlad groaned. “Why couldn’t he just be one kind of disaster? Why all of them?”

Jason grinned. “I like this kid.”

“New cousin,” Steph agreed. “Absolutely chaotic. Ten outta ten.”

Vlad looked back up at Bruce. “So. No help?”

Bruce looked thoughtful. “Keep fire extinguishers on hand. Avoid hosting events near chandeliers. Always assume they have at least two hidden weapons. And get used to being called ‘Dad’ at the most inconvenient political moments.”

A pause.

“Also,” he added, “tell him you’re proud. Even when he’s a disaster. Especially then.”

Vlad blinked. “...That worked for you?”

Bruce glanced around the cave. Steph had stolen Tim’s notes and was writing “FERAL COUSIN CLUB” across the top. Jason was already planning a trip to Amity Park. Damian was silently judging the snack selection of this new relative. And Dick was on his phone already texting Danny memes.

“…Eventually,” Bruce muttered.

“Charming,” Vlad sighed.

From under the desk: crunch.

“Danny! Stop chewing my furniture!”

Danny peeked out, sharp-toothed grin gleaming, eyes flickering green. “Tell B-man I wanna go to one of those galas next time. I wanna meet chandelier boy.”

Jason fist-pumped. “YES.”

Bruce just sighed. “...I’ll warn the staff.”

[aleksatia]

Please Verify Your Lover Before Proceeding

One of the strangest nights of your life. You had a little too much at Tara’s birthday—the drink tasted light, but turned out vicious. Your brain took a vacation through a Deep Space Tunnel, and your body was on full autopilot.

Somehow, you ended up with him, fully convinced it was the right one. But oh, how wrong you were—drunk and blissfully unaware, you’d just mistaken one of your men for another.

Author’s Note: Please don’t take these drabbles too seriously — they’re purely for fun and unhinged emotional relief. I desperately needed a break from the recent angst spiral to be able to return to it with (somewhat) intact mental health 😅 Logic may have been slightly sacrificed along the way, and yes — this is basically an AU.

CW/TW: Impaired consent due to intoxication, Mistaken identity during intimacy, Sexual situations, Mild voyeurism / indirect third-party involvement, Emotional confusion / post-intimacy guilt or shock, Strong language & innuendo, Humor + chaos.

It wasn’t… Caleb?!

You didn’t remember falling asleep—only that the table was sticky, the music was loud, and your messages to Caleb had begun to look more like encrypted runes than words. But you’d been so sure he’d understand. He always did. He was reliable like that.

When arms slid under your body, you didn’t resist. Of course he came.

The world swayed as he carried you, steady and strong. You nuzzled closer to his chest and sighed. Everything smelled clean—sharp, cool, and oddly antiseptic—but you chalked that up to his military instincts. Caleb always smelled like order.

A car. Then motion. And then—blankets. Pillows. The faintest hum of electronics nearby. Hands tucking you in like you were fragile. Like you mattered.

“Stay,” you mumbled, fingers clinging to his sleeve.

He exhaled through his nose. “You need water.”

You frowned. “You never let me just feel things. Always hydration and discipline.”

“That’s hardly a criticism.”

You cracked one eye open, just a sliver. His silhouette hovered near the bed, sharp and still.

“I asked you to stay,” you said again, lips barely moving.

“You also asked me to bring snacks,” he murmured. “And a crowbar.”

You groaned into the pillow. “That sounds like me.”

“You texted me eight times in ten minutes.”

“I thought I texted you once.”

“There were diagrams.”

You made a noise of protest, buried your face deeper in the pillow, then muttered, “Well. I wouldn’t have let anyone else see me like this.”

Silence. A rustle of fabric. Then the cool press of a glass against your hand.

“Drink,” he said softly.

You did. Begrudgingly.

Because of course Caleb would come for you. And of course he’d bring water.

You drifted off with the world tilting gently beneath you, like the bed was floating somewhere through space. The weight of him settled beside you—solid, grounding, exactly where he was supposed to be. You reached out, blindly, and found his hand. Twined your fingers with his and dragged his palm to rest flat against your stomach. He let you. Of course he did. He always did.

Sleep took you again.

You weren’t sure what woke you. The dark still pressed heavy against your closed eyelids. But your body stirred, aware before your mind caught up. His chest was warm against your back. One arm wrapped tight around your waist. Your legs tangled together beneath the blanket.

And he was hard.

You shifted—just a little—and felt it. The unmistakable pressure, hot and firm against the curve of your backside. Your breath caught. A single beat passed. Then another. Your pulse quickened.

Desire slid into your veins like heat meeting cold.

You didn’t think. Not in full sentences. Not in anything that might pass for logic. You only felt: the warmth of his skin, the weight of his body, the way his presence lit something low and needy inside you.

You turned, slow and quiet, until your chest met his. Eyes still closed. Your nose brushed his throat. You inhaled deeply, searching for that familiar scent—leather, wind, the faint sharpness of steel.

Your hand found the plane of his abdomen. His skin was warm, smooth, the muscle beneath taut and unyielding. Your fingers followed the line of it lower. Slipping beneath the edge of his waistband. Seeking.

He gasped.

The sound was rough. Strained. Not what you expected.

But it didn’t stop you.

Your hand closed around him. Firm. Intentional. He was already hard, already pulsing with heat, and you stroked once—slow, deliberate.

The moan that tore from his chest startled you. Not because of the sound itself, but because something about it was… off.

Not unfamiliar.

But wrong.

Before you could process it, his hand shot out and caught your wrist—tight, urgent. He didn’t push you away. Not yet. But the question was there, suspended in the air between you, pulsing louder than the beat of your heart.

Still, you didn’t stop.

Your lips found his throat. You bit—softly. Your tongue traced the line of his jaw, then higher, brushing the shell of his ear.

“I’m aware of what I’m doing,” you whispered, voice low, slow, thick with sleep and need. “And I’m not nearly as drunk as I was.”

His breath hitched.

You smiled.

“Let me thank you,” you murmured, your fingers flexing slightly, teasing his grip on your wrist. “For taking care of me.”

His fingers trembled against your wrist. The grip loosened—not quite a surrender, but not a refusal either. An uncertain signal. A warning draped in permission.

You ignored it.

You didn’t want hesitation. You wanted heat. Contact. Caleb would’ve already had you on your back by now, reckless and absolute, dragging you under without room to think. 

But this? This felt… cautious. Careful.

Too careful.

You pushed the thought away.

With one fluid movement, you rolled on top of him. Straddled his hips. Your thighs pinned his firmly in place as you shifted, slow and deliberate, letting the friction of his arousal drag against you through too-thin fabric.

He exhaled like you’d knocked the air from his lungs—and then, suddenly, he surged upward.

His arms wrapped around you, crushing you against him, and his mouth found yours in a kiss that was nothing like Caleb’s.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t dominant. It was hungry and startled, like he was discovering the shape of you for the first time. Like he didn’t know how to kiss you—only that he had to. Urgently. Now.

It should’ve been a clue.

Instead, it turned the fire in your chest into something wilder.

You moaned into his mouth. Your hands fisted in his shirt—no, bare skin now—your nails scraping across his shoulders as you ground your hips down again.

“Caleb…”

He froze.

Every muscle in his body went taut beneath you.

And then—his hands shot up. Not to push. Not to hurt. But to catch your face, firm and deliberate, his palms warm against your cheeks as he held you just far enough away to see you clearly.

“Open your eyes,” he said, voice sharp. Not cruel—but commanding.

Not Caleb’s voice.

Your heart stuttered.

You opened your eyes.

And stared straight into green.

Not warm purple. Not storm-dark, half-lidded with possessive heat. No.

Sharp, clear, unflinching green.

Zayne.

You jerked back like you’d been shocked, your limbs tangling in sheets that weren’t yours, weren’t his.

This was Zayne’s apartment. Zayne’s bed. Zayne’s body.

And you were half-naked, straddling a man who wasn’t the one you’d summoned in your drunken haze.

Your voice cracked. “Oh my god.”

You scrambled back so fast you lost the sheet. There was a heroic attempt to rise with dignity, followed by a valiant battle with the comforter, and then—gravity. Your heel caught on the edge of the blanket and you toppled clean off the bed.

The floor greeted you with a muffled thump. Fortunately, Zayne had expensive taste. The rug was thick, soft, and tragically unjudgmental.

You lay there for a second, face-down, tangled in linen and a full-body mortification spiral.

From above, Zayne’s voice: “Another point in favor of sobriety.”

You groaned into the rug.

“Impaired coordination,” he continued, in a tone that could only be described as clinically disappointed. “Reduced motor skills. Poor spatial awareness.”

You flailed upright with the rage of a woman who wished the carpet would eat her alive. Your face was on fire. Your hair looked like a stormcloud with trust issues.

“You’re not helping,” you hissed.

“I’m educating.”

“Zayne—!”

“Also: tendency toward misidentification of romantic partners. Should I add that to the list?”

You made a strangled noise. A mix between a gasp, a sob, and the dying shriek of someone who had just remembered exactly where her hand had been several minutes ago.

“Are you writing this down?” he added mildly. “I can fetch a datapad.”

“I’m never drinking again,” you muttered, yanking the sheet tighter around yourself like it might smother the memory. Or you. “And if I do, I’m never texting Caleb for help again.”

There was a pause.

“Why would he send you, anyway?”

Zayne tilted his head, expression infuriatingly neutral.

“Possibly,” he said, “because you texted me. Not him.”

Your face went very still. Then very pale.

“Oh God,” you whispered. “I… I didn’t say anything indecent, did I?”

He didn’t answer.

Your stomach dropped.

“…Zayne?”

He looked at the ceiling. “There were words. Phrases. Some suggestive punctuation.”

You let out a dying noise.

“And a photo,” he added blandly.

You buried your face in the sheet. “Please don’t finish that sentence unless you want to resuscitate me.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—so dryly you almost missed the humor under it—

“…I’ve already cleared it from my device.”

You made another noise.

Possibly a prayer. Possibly a scream. Possibly both.

You mumbled into your hands, voice muffled and pitiful, “Zayne, I’m so sorry. You should’ve left me there. Let me deal with my drunk disasters alone…”

Without warning, he reached for your wrist and pulled you upright, settling you on the bed beside him with calm, practiced strength.

“Look at me.”

You shook your head instantly. “I can’t. I’m too embarrassed.”

“That’s your punishment,” he said, voice flat but glinting with something undeniably sharp. “You kissed me. While thinking I was someone else.”

You winced and slowly peeked up at him—only to find no trace of anger. None.

Instead… he looked like he was on the brink of laughing.

Zayne. Laughing.

There was warmth tugging at the corners of his mouth, rare and real. His eyes shimmered with quiet amusement. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him this entertained by anything—let alone by you.

And then—his hand moved.

Gently, his knuckles traced the curve of your cheek. His fingers tucked a rogue strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that stole the breath right from your lungs.

“So,” he said softly, “you and Caleb. It’s serious?”

You closed your eyes, barely whispering, “Zayne… please don’t.”

But his voice was quiet again, low and steady. “You can message me. Or call. Any time. No matter what state you’re in. I mean it.”

You didn’t even realize you’d leaned into him until your shoulder brushed his. Your body betrayed you—drawn toward his warmth, the way his presence steadied everything. Your pulse slowed, and then shifted. It wasn’t beating for Caleb anymore.

It was singing. For him.

“For the record,” you murmured, “what if I… try to seduce you again?”

His voice was a breath against your ear.

“Did I resist the first time?”

You swallowed hard. Then—he whispered:

“Just promise me, next time… you’ll be sure it’s me.”

And you nodded. Because next time, it absolutely would be.

It wasn’t… Rafayel?!

You hadn’t meant to end up in his bed. That much you’d be forced to admit later—probably while he quietly reviewed the sequence of your poor decisions like a disappointed professor grading a very chaotic thesis.

It had all made perfect sense at the time. Tara’s birthday had involved five kinds of glowing drinks, three games with suspiciously flexible rules, and one hot tub that felt like the gateway to another dimension. By the time you stumbled out into the hallway, barefoot, blissed out, and humming a song you didn’t know, your brain had decided it was time to find him.

You’d made it to the door. That counted. The hallway swam slightly, edges soft in the low light. The lock read your fingerprint and clicked open. Inside: dark, warm, quiet. Moonlight spilled faintly across the floor. Familiar outlines slid past as you moved—sofa, shelf, the slight turn toward the bedroom. 

You didn’t think. You didn’t need to. Your body knew the way.

So of course you’d climbed into the bed without thinking. Of course you’d tucked yourself against him and whispered half-intelligible things into his skin. And of course, when strong arms wrapped instinctively around you, you took that as confirmation that yes, this was right. This was where you belonged.

He shifted under you when you kissed the hollow of his throat, but didn’t speak. His breath stilled, then deepened. When your fingers trailed down his chest, finding the edge of the sheet and the warmer skin beneath, he flinched—but still said nothing.

So you kept going.

He tasted like the dark—clean, quiet, unexpectedly warm. The muscles in his stomach twitched as your mouth moved lower. His fingers curled in the sheet. You caught his wrist, guided his hand to your waist, and exhaled against his neck, letting your body press fully to his.

It was quiet for a long moment. Then—his voice, rough, barely above a whisper.

“You’re drunk.”

You hummed an agreement against his collarbone and licked it, slow and deliberate.

“We shouldn’t,” he said. But his hand stayed on your hip.

“We won’t,” you lied.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he pulled you closer.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was a sudden, visceral shift—the kind that made you gasp against his mouth and cling to him harder. His mouth found yours like he’d waited years to taste it. His hands moved over you like he was mapping terrain he hadn’t dared to touch before.

This wasn’t quite the slow-burning, theatrical Rafayel you were used to. He liked to draw things out—playful, teasing, all about the build-up. But this... this was different. Urgent. Focused. Like he’d waited long enough and wasn’t in the mood for his usual games.

It wasn’t a thought, not really. More like a drunk idea dressed up as instinct. Your fingers fumbled at the hem of his shirt, gathering soft fabric, dragging it upward. He shifted—just enough to help—and the shirt came off in a blur of warmth and motion. You blinked at the bare skin in front of you, something in your brain slurring oh yes, that’ll do, and you pressed your hands to him like the rest of the scene couldn’t continue without contact.

When he pushed you down into the mattress, you welcomed the weight of him. His hands moved with surprising coordination, slipping under the fabric of your dress, tugging it down with quiet urgency. When his mouth found the curve of your jaw, your throat, your shoulder—you arched into him, fingers tangled in his hair, your dress forgotten somewhere near your knees.

He groaned—quiet, desperate—and for a second, his forehead pressed to yours. His breath was ragged. His eyes never left your face, even in the dark. Then he drew back just slightly, the moonlight skimming across your skin—and he stilled. His gaze moved over you, unhurried, almost cautious, like he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to touch. Not quite the hungry, theatrical boldness you’d come to expect. No smirk. No whispered praise. Just silence, and a look that felt... different. 

Like he was seeing you for the first time.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, the words almost accidental, half-swallowed.

You smiled lazily, fingertips skimming his ribs. 

“I thought you’d be used to me by now,” you said, your words slightly slurred, softened by heat and alcohol. “My body’s not for watching tonight. It’s for enjoying. For doing things.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat—something between restraint and surrender—and kissed you again, harder this time. His body moved against yours in a way that left no doubt: he wanted this. 

He wanted you.

So when your legs wrapped around his waist, he didn’t stop you.

And when your hands slipped down his back, dragging him closer, he moaned into your mouth.

And then—

“God,” you whispered, “I’ve wanted this since I saw your last painting… the way you had me sprawled out, all silk and shadows—like you were already touching me.”

The words hung there for a moment, sticky with heat, stillness, and something just a bit too specific.

Then—he went absolutely still.

Not the intoxicating stillness of desire. The clinical, surgical stillness of a mind calculating disaster in real time.

You blinked up at him, a little dazed, your body still aching from the closeness, the heat of his skin against yours.

"Rafayel?" you said softly.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he said, calm and mechanical, "Lights. On."

There was a barely audible click—and then light flooded the room like divine judgment.

You froze.

He was already half-sitting, breathing heavily, shirtless and flushed, his eyes locked on your face with a mix of focus and sheer, silent horror.

And then you saw his face.

Not rose-blue eyes glinting with mischief. Not a lopsided, teasing mouth.

Not Rafayel.

You saw precision-cut cheekbones, sky-blue eyes sharp as scalpels, and a jaw that had never once wobbled mid-sentence with poetic nonsense.

Xavier.

You shrieked. 

Actually shrieked.

You slapped both hands over your bare breasts with a speed that could qualify you for Olympic fencing and scrambled backward in the bed, pulling the sheet up with wild eyes and lungs full of panic.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, suddenly and violently sober. “Oh my—oh my GOD—”

Xavier, to his credit, didn’t move. His breathing was steadying. His expression was unreadable, but his knuckles were white against the mattress.

“I thought—” You stared at him like he’d grown horns. “I thought you were Rafayel!”

“Yes,” he said tightly. “I noticed.”

“I didn’t just crawl into the wrong bed—”

“You broke into the wrong apartment.”

“I kissed your neck!”

You flushed, vividly, because that hadn’t been the only place you'd kissed—just the only one you could admit out loud.

“I was painfully aware.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I was... reassessing reality.”

You buried your face in the sheet with a strangled sound of anguish.

After a moment, you heard him get up—quiet, efficient. Fabric rustled. Then something soft landed next to you.

You peeked out from the sheet.

It was his T-shirt. White, loose, and—dear gods—smelling exactly like him. A mix of clean cotton, green tea, and that cool scent you’d never been able to place, only feel. It was like someone distilled self-control and made it wearable.

You looked up at him. He stood by the bed, wearing only joggers, one brow raised.

“Put it on,” he said calmly. “Before your shame kills us both.”

You yanked the shirt over your head so fast you nearly headbutted yourself in the process. It fell down over your thighs like a dress. You smelled like him. That was worse.

You sat there, radiating nuclear embarrassment.

He watched you for a long moment.

And then, quietly: “You really thought I was him?”

You nodded, mute.

“In the dark. After drinking... whatever that glowing thing was.”

You sighed, covering your face. “I regret ever convincing you to switch to a biometric lock and give me access.”

“I don’t,” he said quietly. “I just regret being the wrong destination.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, not close. Measured. That familiar weight of his presence returned—less physical now, more intellectual. You glanced sideways at him, unsure what you were allowed to say.

“I should go,” you offered weakly.

“No. You’ll trip. Or misidentify someone else. You’re a hazard tonight.”

He sighed. “Stay here. I’ll take the couch.”

“Fair.”

He glanced at the ceiling. “Let’s try not to confuse the doors next time.”

That earned a groan. “I’m never going to live this down.”

“I might require compensation,” he said dryly.

You turned, still hugging your knees. “How do I make it up to you?”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Next time,” he said, “you come to the correct bed. On purpose.”

You blinked. “Wait. Are you saying—”

“Fully conscious,” he added. “And able to tell your men apart.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I’m sober now. That could technically be—”

“No.” His voice was softer now. “Not tonight.”

He reached out, gently touched the crown of your head, and pressed the softest kiss there—quiet, a little too tender. Your heart seized.

“Tonight,” he said, “I’m still trying to process the fact that I don’t leave enough of an impression to be distinguishable in bed.”

You winced. “I mean... in the dark... you did feel a little like him...”

He gave you a look that could have withered a houseplant.

“I’ll stop talking now.”

“Wise.”

Still, he stayed close. He reached for the crumpled blanket and helped you lie back, adjusting the pillows behind you with quiet efficiency. You didn’t speak. Neither did he. He pulled the blanket up over your waist, smoothed it once, and stepped back—not far, just enough to give you space you weren’t sure you wanted.

He turned to leave. You caught his hand.

He froze.

When you spoke, your voice was quiet, stripped of awkwardness.

“If I confused you with someone else... that doesn’t mean I never wanted it to be you.”

His eyes met yours.

“I’ve wanted it to be you,” you went on, “for longer than I like to admit. But you’re so... precise. Reserved. I didn’t want to cross a line. I didn’t want to lose what we do have, whatever it is.”

He was silent.

Then he smiled. Just barely. A corner-curve of the mouth. Trouble in disguise.

He stepped over to his nightstand, tore a page from his notepad, and scribbled something.

You sat up as he folded the note and tucked it beside your pillow.

“Good night,” he said.

“Xavier—what’s this?”

He was already at the door.

“Open it when I leave.”

And then—he was gone. Out of the room, the door closing behind him with soft finality.

You opened the note. In clean, minimal handwriting:

"1x Free Visit. Valid for: the right door. Condition: Full sobriety. —X"

You sank back into his bed, clutching the note to your chest. Your fingers found his pillow—still warm, still carrying the quiet, unmistakable scent of him—and you pulled it close, burying your face in it with a helpless little sigh. Half in love, half in horror.

Somewhere, in the haze between drinks and desire, you’d made a mistake.

But maybe—just maybe—it had been waiting to happen all along.

It wasn’t… Zayne?!

How on earth had you let Tara drag you into a masquerade party?

If only you’d known what was coming.

You’d arrived in your normal clothes, and within minutes, she’d stuffed you into the only spare costume she had left. You’d barely downed your first drink when you caught your reflection in the mirror: an almost indecently short nurse’s dress, thigh-high fishnets, unforgiving heels, and—because humiliation demands layers—two pigtails perched like cherries on a sundae.

Glass after glass drowned out the voice of reason until, eventually, you started having fun. Maybe a little too much fun. Because that’s when the idea formed.

You messaged Zayne.

“Still working?”

He replied almost instantly. “Yes. Another sleepless night. Want to keep me company?”

You smirked, picturing his face when you’d peel off your coat and reveal the gloriously inappropriate disaster you were currently wearing.

“Call me a cab and you’ll get a surprise,” you typed, giggling.

You dropped him the address. The letters on your screen were already beginning to dance, so you tucked your phone into your purse and made a wobbly descent toward the pickup point.

You passed out in the car.

Your legs carried you on autopilot when you arrived. The building seemed darker than usual, quieter. Like a hospital at 3 a.m.—eerily clean and vaguely menacing. You could’ve used a saline IV and a glucose drip, but you soldiered forward, heels clicking ominously against marble floors.

At one point, you had to catch yourself against the wall, nearly toppling over. You burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

Someone whistled.

Zayne?

He didn’t usually whistle… but then again, he didn’t usually see you like this. Drunk. Sultry. One wardrobe malfunction away from a lawsuit.

“Doctor,” you slurred, dropping your purse with a dramatic gasp. “I think I need assistance.”

You bent down in the least ergonomic way possible—legs locked, heels steady, dress defying gravity. Your hands fumbled across the floor, patting around blindly while he, poor man, had an unobstructed view of everything that made your outfit barely legal.

“What are you waiting for, Doctor?” you purred. “Put me to bed, stat.”

“Might need an ambulance,” he muttered.

“Tonight, you are my ambulance. My emergency contact. My…” You paused, reaching for a word.

“Grateful audience?” he offered dryly.

“Well, if you’d rather just watch, Doctor. Or are you going to perform a proper exam? I think I twisted my ankle…”

He chuckled.

Zayne—laughing?

You blinked at him, trying to steady the room, but he stepped in, catching you carefully beneath the arms and lifting you upright. Then, without a word, he scooped you into his arms and began carrying you toward the bedroom.

You looped your arms around his neck, closed your eyes with a happy sigh, and let yourself melt into the warmth of him.

Once you were laid out on the soft bedspread, you stretched out one leg toward him—gracefully, or so you believed. The stiletto heel pointed at his chest like the barrel of a gun.

 “My ankle, Doctor,” you reminded him.

Obediently, he slipped off the shoe. His strong, confident fingers wrapped around your foot, gently massaging it. It felt so sweet—so good—you tilted your head back, relaxed, and moaned.

He braced your leg against his chest and reached for the other. The second heel hit the floor with a dull thud. He began to knead your other foot, and it awakened something in you that felt anything but patient-like. Your heart pounded loudly beneath your ribs, urging you toward something bolder. Braver.

Your leg began to slowly slide down his torso, inch by inch, until it came to rest precisely where you wanted it—against the hardness that told you he wasn’t as detached as he pretended.

You heard him exhale sharply. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around your ankle.

“You need sleep and hydration,” he said, voice low, breathless. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Nooo,” you drawled, pouting. “I’ve been a very, very naughty nurse tonight.”

He paused.

Not just physically—his whole energy shifted, like something inside him pulled tight. His hands were still on your ankles, but they weren’t moving anymore.

“You’re drunk,” he whispered softly. “This isn’t fair to you.”

You blinked, pouting deeper. “Ugh. Your professional ethics are showing.”

His thumbs brushed lightly over the bone of your ankle. “They tend to, when my patient is trying to seduce me.”

You stretched like a cat, deliberately languid, as your calf slid back up his chest. “I may be tipsy, but I’m also extremely committed to bad decisions. And I would absolutely do this sober.”

He didn’t speak.

You tilted your head, arching a brow—at least, you thought you did. It was hard to tell with the ceiling gently rotating overhead. You squinted, trying to make out his face. But the low light, the alcohol, and the sheer gravitational rebellion of the night blurred the lines of his features. He was all shadows and warmth and intent.

“Unless… you’re just not interested?”

That got him.

He surged forward—fast, smooth, a whisper of movement—and braced himself over you, catching your wrists with one hand, his body caging yours without fully touching. His face hovered just above yours, close enough that his breath tickled your lips.

“I’m interested,” he said, voice low and strained. “That’s the problem.”

You grinned.

“I knew it,” you whispered. “Even doctors are weak to naughty nurses.”

Still grinning, you reached up, hooked a finger through the front of his shirt, and pulled him closer. His nose bumped yours. His hair brushed your cheek. His breath hitched.

You crashed your lips against his in a kiss that was all wine and wicked intent. He let out a surprised breath—half gasp, half groan—but his body was already surrendering. Resistance ebbed away with every exhale.

With a burst of surprising strength for someone three cocktails and a questionable decision deep, you pushed him back onto the bed and immediately latched your mouth onto his nipple, biting just enough to make him jolt. His fingers tangled in your hair, breath catching.

Your lips continued their descent, tracing his abs like a cartographer mapping out forbidden territory. The soft trail of your tongue drew out a sound from his chest—low, needy, beautifully vulnerable.

You’d just reached his belt when you purred, mock-innocent:

“Mmm, Dr. Zayne, I think you’ve just entered my private treatment room...”

“Oh, cutie,” came the reply, tinged with amusement, a spark of offense, and a whole lot of lust, “I think you just fell into your own damn trap.”

Your fingers froze mid-buckle.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Your head gave a small shake.

No. Nope. Not yet.

Because now you knew. You knew exactly whose voice that was.

Still crouched low, you began to slide—gracefully, like a wartime spy—off the bed, dragging half the sheet with you. It took some maneuvering, but you made it to the floor in one piece, curling under the blanket like a small, trembling tent of denial.

“Do you think if you can’t see me, I’ll just disappear?” came Rafayel’s voice, far too amused for anyone who’d just been mistaken for someone else. He shuffled to the edge of the mattress.

You could feel him hovering.

“Say I’m dreaming,” you mumbled from under the blanket, your voice muffled by mortification. “If you’re any kind of gentleman, you’ll pretend I’m asleep and this was all a fever dream.”

“Naaaah,” he replied in a pitch-perfect mockery of your earlier whine. “Up until ten seconds ago, it was a very sweet, very erotic dream. I’m not quite ready to downgrade it to a nightmare just because the starring role was apparently meant for someone else.”

“Raf...” You had no idea what to say. Your head was pounding, your dignity in shreds. “I swear, this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh really?” he drawled. “Because it looked a lot like a drunk and debauched nurse opening the gates of heaven before kicking me headfirst into hell. Or are you going to tell me calling me by someone else’s name was a charming little accident?”

You peeked your nose out from under the blanket to breathe, and his face was suddenly right there. Way too close. That smug grin said it all: you owed him emotional reparations until the end of time.

“I don’t even know how I ended up here.”

“Yeah,” he smirked, tugging the blanket off your head and grabbing both of your ridiculous pigtails in one hand, pulling you closer. “I gathered that much. What I don’t know is how often you pull stunts like this with your good doctor.”

“What? No!” You struggled slightly, trying to pull back, but he tugged again, tilting your head up with a wicked glint. “There’s nothing serious going on! A girl has needs, okay?”

Rafayel tilted his head. “Sweetheart, I saw those needs up close and in high definition.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “Etched forever in my memory. Like a museum piece. ‘The Lustful Nurse: A Study in Confused Devotion.’”

You groaned and tried to bury your face in the sheet again. He didn’t let you.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, catching your chin and forcing you to meet his eyes. “You wanted a doctor. I stepped in. Professionally. Valiantly. Heroically, some might say.”

“Heroically?” you snorted. “You didn’t even stop me!”

“I did, cutie. I said something about hydration. And moral boundaries. But then your foot was—how do I put this—communicating with certain regions of my anatomy, and I lost the thread.”

You sputtered a laugh before you could stop yourself. His grin widened, full of wolfish charm and barely-concealed affection.

“I’m just saying,” he continued breezily, “next time you feel overwhelmed by your... medical urgencies, I’d prefer you direct all prescriptions and referrals to me directly.” He leaned in slightly. “I happen to think I played the role of attending physician beautifully.”

You tilted your head. “Does that mean… you’ll forgive me?”

He pretended to ponder. “Hm. That depends. Will the cure involve exactly the moment where we left off?”

You blinked.

“With the nurse on top, making some very compelling arguments with her mouth?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Only if the nurse is sober.”

“Oh, definitely sober,” he agreed. “I want her full faculties engaged when she begs next time.”

You rolled your eyes. “And what if next time, she shows up in horns and a succubus tail instead?”

His eyes gleamed. “Darling, that is your default setting.”

Before you could retaliate, he grabbed the sheet and wrapped you up like a particularly offended caterpillar, tucking the ends with unnecessary flair.

“Hey!” you squeaked, now entirely cocooned.

“There,” he said, with deep satisfaction, flopping you gently onto the mattress like a tragic little gnome. “A very dramatic gurney roll. Perfect hospital protocol.”

He leaned over and pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead, lingering for a beat.

“Rest now, Nurse Chaos,” he murmured. “Your doctor will go brew you something for the hangover of the century.”

And with a final wink, he vanished toward the kitchen—barefoot, shirtless, and infuriatingly smug.

You sighed into the pillow, flushed and cocooned, and groaned: “I am never drinking again.”

From the kitchen, his voice rang out cheerfully: “Liar.”

It wasn’t… Xavier?!

You were so drunk you didn’t remember ordering a car. But apparently, you had. Your phone—bless its barely functioning GPS—had autopiloted to the first name on your address list. And that felt… correct.

The car ride was a blur. The city swayed too much. You told the driver about the ocean at some point. He didn’t respond.

When you stumbled out in front of the building, something felt off. The lights were dimmer than usual. The entryway looked taller. Moodier. But you were too focused on the door—because for some reason, it refused to open.

You glared at the scanner, then at your hand, as if your fingerprint had betrayed you.

Eventually, after a prolonged and increasingly hostile battle, the lock beeped. You triumphed with a muttered, “Told you.”

The elevator was missing.

Replaced by a flickering light and an echo.

You turned. Someone stood by the stairwell.

No. Two someones. Identical silhouettes in matching black. Both leaning against the wall like shadows in waiting.

“Hi,” you said carefully.

Both of them smiled. It was disconcerting.

You blinked. “Are you... the neighbor?”

One of them nodded. The other tilted his head in sync.

You decided that meant yes.

“I’m looking for the elevator,” you whispered, as if sharing a classified secret.

“Out of order,” one said.

“Stairs only tonight,” the other added, perfectly in time.

You squinted. “…Okay.”

The stairwell was infinite. You lost a shoe on the third landing, your dignity on the fifth. Your left heel gave up entirely and got left behind somewhere between realms. You told it you’d come back for it.

Eventually, floors blurred into memory. The hall looked darker than it should’ve. You walked along the wall like it owed you support.

And then—him again. Them.

Same neighbor(s). Same smirks. Still somehow here.

You blinked. “Didn’t I pass you?”

“Not yet,” one said, cheerful.

“Still on track,” said the other.

You frowned. “Where’s… he?” You didn’t say the name. You didn’t need to. Your brain filled it in: Xavier. Of course.

One of them pointed to a door. The other followed the gesture like a synchronized swimmer.

You nodded gratefully, only swaying a little. “Thanks, Mr. Neighbors.”

The door surrendered instantly—possibly out of self-preservation. You stepped inside with a victorious little “Hah,” completely and utterly confident…

…that you were finally at his home.

You were, quite literally, trapped in your own dress.

One arm was hooked behind your neck, the other somewhere near your lower back, and the fabric had bunched halfway over your face like a smug, pastel-colored straitjacket. Your shoulder popped audibly as you twisted in what you were reasonably certain would qualify as a Cirque du Soleil audition gone wrong.

Somewhere in the room, a crow cawed.

You flinched. “Shhh. Bird,” you hissed at it. “Don’t judge me.”

You staggered blindly toward the edge of the bed, hands fumbling forward until they landed on what you assumed—hoped—was Xavier. The solid warmth under your palms shifted slightly. And then—

A sound. Not a protest. Not quite a groan.

Something… different.

“Babe,” you slurred affectionately, still muffled by the offending dress, “help me. I’m being strangled by haute couture.”

The air around you shifted. A dip in the mattress. The brush of hands—warm, steady—finding the zipper and carefully easing it down your spine.

Strange. He always had cool hands.

“Curious,” he murmured, voice low and amused.

“Right?” you replied brightly, stepping out of the uncooperative fabric as he pulled it down. “Also, before you say anything—I don’t know how I got here. I couldn’t find my door. And I was thinking about us and… I figured, you wouldn’t mind if we kept things casual. No pressure.”

“No objections,” he said easily.

The dress pooled on the floor. His hands paused at your hips, waiting.

You didn’t move. Your legs weren’t really cooperating anymore.

You sighed and flopped backward onto the bed—unexpectedly plush. Softer than usual. Your brain tried to inform you that his mattress wasn’t this springy. You silenced it with a groan.

“You just gonna sit there?” you muttered, eyes half-shut.

“I don’t think you realize—”

You didn’t let him finish. You grabbed his wrist and pulled him down beside you. Somewhere in the corner, the crow cawed again.

You winced. “Ugh, it’s back. Rude.”

Something flickered uneasily in your chest, like a memory trying to surface. Something wasn’t quite right.

But nothing had been right since the third round of absinthe.

“He’s warning you,” he whispered, so low it barely reached your skin. “You’re drunk. Not thinking clearly. You should leave.”

But his voice didn’t move away. His hand didn’t loosen. His mouth stayed close—too close.

You exhaled shakily. “Shut up and kiss me,” you muttered. “You can give me the lecture tomorrow.”

He hesitated for half a second.

Then: “If I start, I won’t stop,” he warned, his voice suddenly hoarse. Deeper than usual. Rougher.

Maybe he had a cold. Poor thing.

“And does it look like I want you to stop?”

You opened your eyes just enough to reach for him. Your fingers slid into his blonde hair—soft, thick, impossibly light. Almost glowing in the dark. You tugged gently, guiding him down to you.

He hovered above you, braced on his arms, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. Then—his mouth dipped.

He didn’t kiss you right away.

Instead, he ran his tongue slowly along the curve of your lips.

You gasped, mouth parting instinctively, and he kissed you—deep, searching, intense. Different.

You moaned softly, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close. His body felt broader, heavier. Or maybe you were just very, very small tonight. You couldn’t tell.

And you didn’t care.

“Here,” you whispered, breathless, guiding his mouth to your shoulder.

He obeyed. His fingers brushed the strap of your bra aside with reverent slowness, and his lips descended—warm, deliberate—on your skin. A rush of goosebumps chased the touch, spreading outward in every direction.

Yes. You were exactly where you wanted to be. And his mouth was following that same map.

Both your hands tangled in his hair, urging him downward. Your pulse was a drumbeat under your skin, and your hips rose instinctively when his lips traced down your sternum, lower, over your stomach, kissing every inch like he was memorizing it.

You were burning.

“More,” you gasped, arching beneath him. “Please… lower. There…”

He paused.

“As much as I want to—”

“Please,” you interrupted, too desperate to care. “While I’m still brave enough.”

Something in your voice must have undone him, because he stopped resisting. Slowly—agonizingly—he eased your underwear down your legs. His hands were steady. Careful. But everything in him was tight with restraint.

He kissed the inside of your thigh. Then—closer.

Your back arched violently when you felt him—tongue, lips, heat—all of him focused on one singular purpose. His movements were slow at first, cautious, like he was still asking permission with every breath. And when you answered in moans, he got bolder. Greedier. More confident with every cry that escaped your lips.

Your legs locked around his shoulders. The world narrowed to the rhythm he built between your thighs. Your hands fisted in the sheets, your head thrown back, mouth open in broken sounds.

You couldn’t hold it. You were close. Right there.

And then—

“Please, Xavier—don’t stop—”

He froze. A beat of silence. Then—

“Kitten,” came the voice. Low. Dangerous. Almost purring. “I can almost understand how you failed to notice where you were. But mistaking me for another man…” A pause. “That’s nearly a mortal insult.”

From the corner of the room, the raven cawed again.

Your blood turned to ice.

Eyes wide, you finally—finally—looked down.

Not blue. Glowing red. Smoldering. Amused.

Everything slid into place with a sickening click.

“Sy—Sylus?!”

He licked his still wet lips, slowly, like he’d just finished dessert and wasn’t entirely satisfied. “Disappointed?”

You squeaked. Instinct took over—you clamped your legs tighter around his neck in pure panic, your thighs locking like a wrestler’s hold.

“What the hell are you doing in Xavier’s apartment?! With your damn bird?! Were you following me?!”

“Sweetie,” he drawled, voice vibrating between your legs, “I’d like to remind you that you broke into my house, seduced an innocent man—” he paused, smirking, “—and are currently attempting to murder him with your divine thighs.”

You released him so fast he nearly fell backwards.

He caught himself with a laugh, rolling onto his side with the elegance of a man who’d never in his life been embarrassed.

You scrambled toward the headboard, dragging the sheet with you, curling in on yourself like your bones were trying to retreat into your body.

He propped himself up on one elbow. “God, you’re adorable when you’re horrified.”

“I’m traumatized!”

“You say that,” he mused, glancing meaningfully at your flushed cheeks and the way you were still breathing hard, “but your body tells a very different story.”

“You—! I called you Xavier!”

“I noticed,” he said, mock-wounded. “Took me a whole half-second to recover.”

“You could’ve stopped me!”

“I tried. Several times. You were extremely persuasive.”

Sheer horror twisted your face. “If you really wanted to stop me—!”

“I didn’t,” he said plainly.

Your mouth opened. Closed. Then:

“You took advantage of my condition!”

“Kitten,” he sighed, tone maddeningly patient, “it never crossed my mind that you were disconnected from reality and didn’t know who you were seducing. Shall I throw myself out the window in penitence? Or would a dueling pistol be more poetic?”

“You’d survive the bullet,” you muttered darkly. “I’d have to try a guillotine.”

His lips twitched. Despite yourself, yours did too.

He noticed. Of course he did.

And then he delivered the killing blow: “I’m happy to pay for your therapy bills for the rest of your life. If you’ve been… emotionally scarred.”

You snorted.

“No. I… I think I’m okay.” You hesitated. “Sylus.”

“Yes, kitten?”

“We’re adults. I hope no lasting wounds were inflicted.”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “Only to my ego. But I shall take this trauma to the grave. Shall I drive you back to your… actual lover?”

You flinched. “Xavier’s just a friend,” you said slowly. “Well… a friend with benefits. Sort of.”

You swallowed.

“But with you… it was different. I didn’t realize how different until…”

Your voice dipped.

“Until I couldn’t stop wanting more.”

For once, Sylus didn’t grin right away. His eyes darkened, and the smirk curled slower this time—deeper. Sharper.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he murmured. “Just don’t make the same mistake twice.”

You blinked. “The drinking, or… you?”

He chuckled. “Kitten, we already crossed that line. Might be time to consider someone a little more... stable than your friend with occasional benefits.”

You snorted. “I’d rather start with dinner.”

He stood, stretching lazily, reaching for his shirt. “Dinner after dessert? Bold move.”

You watched him check his watch. The smug bastard.

With a sigh, you pulled the sheet tighter. “The dessert was good. But the waiter cleared the plate too fast.”

His eyes gleamed as he looked back at you. “Then next time, sweetie, the waiter will bring the whole damn menu.”

He stepped closer, then paused, amused. “Now get dressed. I’ll take you home—unless, of course, you’d prefer to linger in the restaurant.”

You gave him a flat look. “Turn around.”

He laughed. That low, rich laugh that made your pulse misbehave. And then he moved—close enough to feel the heat from his body. Two fingers caught your chin—his thumb and forefinger gentle but sure—and he tilted your face up just enough to press the softest, briefest kiss to your lips.

“I adore you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You good with the dress on your own?”

You nodded dumbly. He stepped back, already halfway to the door. “Good. Be quick.”

You blinked. “Wait—you’re leaving? Just now?”

He flashed a grin over his shoulder, hand on the doorframe. “Don’t worry. Next time, kitten—I’ll cancel everything.”

And then he was gone.

Just like that.

You stared at the door. Still half-wrapped in a sheet. Still burning.

Gods help you. You were in so much trouble.

It wasn’t… Sylus?!

You’d somehow made it home on your own, though the details were fuzzy at best. All you really remembered was that your heels had developed a personal vendetta against straight lines, repeatedly dragging you leftward, and at least twice you nearly embraced a lamppost like a long-lost lover.

You’d spent an impressive amount of time talking to a stray cat outside your building. He meowed, you answered—telling him, in great detail, that Sylus was probably going to hold your drunken calls and voice messages over your head for at least the next decade. Especially if you kept making them during business meetings.

You and Sylus were in that strange stage of something that wasn’t nothing, but also wasn’t something. There was intimacy. Oh, there was intimacy. But no promises. No forward motion. Just a precarious dance between magnetic pull and emotional inertia.

The memory of him made your stomach twist. You’d almost called him again, just to say you couldn’t make it up the stairs. That he should come carry you, arms and all, straight into bed and wrap you up in his sinfully warm embrace.

So when you saw the leather jacket draped over the arm of your couch, you didn’t question it.

Of course he’d come.

Of course he’d let himself in.

And of course he’d decided to take a shower. You could hear the water running in the bathroom, steady and confident, like it belonged to him.

You methodically stripped down to your underwear, fully intending to throw on your robe, only to remember that said robe had likely fallen victim to last week’s laundry crisis.

Doesn’t matter.

Waiting for him to come out felt like a personal attack. You simply didn’t have that kind of patience. Besides, something about the heat, the scent of soap and steam, was pulling you in like gravity.

You cracked the bathroom door open.

The air hit you like a sauna—thick with steam, saturated with warmth. Light filtered dimly through the haze, barely illuminating the tiled space beyond. Inside the glass enclosure, the outline of a naked male figure shimmered like a mirage. He stood with his back to you, a thick lather sliding down from his hair, tracing the lines of his shoulders and spine.

You grinned.

With a quick shrug, you let the last of your clothes fall, and stepped inside the shower, the heat swallowing you whole. Silently, deliberately, you slipped your arms around him from behind.

He jolted.

You responded by digging your nails gently into the firm ridges of his abs, resting your forehead against the damp heat of his back.

“Shhh. Don’t say anything, okay?” you murmured, your voice hoarse. “My head’s already splitting. Just… help me get clean.”

For a moment, he was motionless—utterly still, like your touch had turned him to stone. You could feel the rapid thrum of his heart under your fingertips, every inch of him wound tight. And then, wordlessly, he shifted to the side, letting the stream of hot water hit your skin.

You closed your eyes and tilted your face up into it. Water filled your ears, muffling the world, like slipping under the surface of a dream.

“This is a terrible, terrible idea,” he muttered at last—but you felt him reach for the bottle of shower gel.

“Right now it’s a medical emergency,” you mumbled back. “You wouldn’t leave a helpless girl in need, would you?”

Your hand trailed down his chest again, teasing—until he caught it, firm but careful, and turned you gently so your back was to him.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he began to soap your shoulders and arms with the soft rhythm of the loofah. Tender. Meticulous. Each motion measured like a vow he wasn’t sure he should make.

It was starting to feel less like a shower and more like a very specific kind of torture.

When he reached your hands, he took them one at a time—cradling each palm, massaging your fingers slowly, purposefully, working the thick, fragrant lather between them like it was the most important task he’d ever undertaken. Then the other hand. Same care. Same unbearable, aching slowness.

When the loofah returned to your back, he traced long, deliberate lines over your skin. Gentle swirls. Careful strokes. Avoiding—so infuriatingly precisely—anywhere remotely intimate.

Your blood turned to molten heat.

He hesitated. You didn’t.

You caught his wrists, tugging them forward, down and then up—guiding his palms over your belly, then higher, until you pressed them firmly against your breasts. You felt the slight tremor in his arms, the sharp inhale against your neck. That surprised you. Sylus was never hesitant. Not once. But maybe… maybe he was punishing you, making you work for it after your little drunk-dial escapades?

You leaned back into his chest, into his touch, giving him space—permission.

And that’s when you felt it.

Hard. Pressed right against you, nestled between your cheeks, unmistakably eager.

You moaned, slow and approving, your spine arching just slightly, sliding your soapy skin against his torso. A tease. A promise. A challenge.

His grip tightened.

Resisting.

Why? Was he mad?

But you knew exactly which buttons to push.

“Don’t stop now,” you purred, voice dipped in syrup. “My legs need your attention too.”

He exhaled against your neck, ragged and low, like a knight realizing the battle was already lost. “You’re not yourself,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t…”

“Then leave,” you murmured, swaying your hips back against him. “Unless you’re too polite to walk out mid-procedure.”

He didn’t leave.

He moved.

More soap. More silence.

Then a shift.

He sank to a crouch, one hand slipping down your thigh, the other gently lifting your foot. Water cascaded down your body as he lathered your calf with careful strokes, like he was preparing you for worship, not hygiene.

You reached out blindly for the wall, chest rising and falling with ragged, expectant breaths.

There was something so devastatingly intimate about it. So unassuming and utterly charged. Like your skin had become a live wire and his hands knew exactly where to touch, and more dangerously—where not to.

Your entire body buzzed with the aching need for him to forget his restraint.

To finally, finally stop pretending he didn’t want this just as badly as you.

Smirking to yourself, you reached—decisively—for the bottle of intimate wash, squeezed it into his waiting hand like it was a silent command.

For a few long seconds, he just stood there, his palm full of scented foam, unmoving. Until you parted your legs just a little wider in wordless invitation.

And then—you felt him.

There. Exactly where your body pulsed with need. Exactly where you’d needed him all along.

His fingers slid between your folds, gentle at first, exploring with maddening patience. Soft, slow strokes that made your knees weak. That dragged needy moans from your throat, one after another.

It felt different.

Unfamiliar.

Too… unfamiliar.

“Sylus,” you whimpered, your voice ragged, “you’re killing me tonight with this patience…”

And then—

He froze.

The heat disappeared, the contact broken. A faint chill rushed down your spine, goosebumps blooming across your skin.

You blinked, suddenly, sharply aware of a single terrifying thought:

Sylus had told you he’d be out of town. Work trip. He mentioned it during one of your calls, half-distracted, but clear. 

So how was he here?

How was he in your shower?

Your stomach dropped.

You turned. Slowly. Reluctantly. As if giving your brain time to come up with any explanation, any excuse, any miracle.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you looked up into a face that was very, very much not the man you thought you’d been grinding against in your own shower.

Oh gods.

Oh hell.

This wasn’t Sylus. This was someone else entirely.

And in that moment, standing there stark naked, soaked to the bone, legs still parted like an offering—you wanted nothing more than to melt into the steam and swirl straight down the drain.

Preferably with the rest of your dignity.

“Pip-squeak,” he said slowly, clearly, planting his hands on either side of your head against the wall. There was nowhere to run.

“Tell me you didn’t expect the leader of Onychinus in your shower tonight.”

You bit your lip. Your chest was still rising too fast, your brain pulsing against your skull, and the thick steam made it hard to breathe. You tried the fainting strategy—gracefully sliding down the tiles like a wilting Victorian heroine.

It did not work.

Caleb caught you halfway down with a sigh and set you firmly back upright, unimpressed by your performance.

It was then that you realized—fully, painfully—that you were completely naked. You crossed your arms. Then your legs. And very carefully avoided his eyes.

Unfortunately, that meant your gaze landed squarely on—

Yep. Still hard. Still very hard.

Caleb followed your line of sight, made a vague sound somewhere between a groan and a growl, and turned away. In one fluid motion, he wrapped a towel around his hips and tossed you a second one without looking.

You caught it. Barely. And wrapped yourself up like a guilty burrito.

Now that your brain was clawing its way out of the absinthe swamp, you couldn’t for the life of you explain how you’d managed to confuse two very different men. But to be fair…

They did seem equally capable of awakening some deeply primal needs in you.

You groaned. “This is humiliating.”

Caleb glanced over his shoulder, towel still knotted dangerously low around his hips. “For you. I’m traumatized. I have decades of cold showers ahead of me now.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re traumatized? I groped my best friend and begged him to shampoo my sins away!”

“I did shampoo you,” he said flatly. “I’m considerate like that.”

“Caleb.”

“What.”

You hesitated. “You’re… not gonna make this worse, are you?”

He arched a brow. “Define worse.”

You gave him a long, warning look.

He held up both hands. “Fine. I won’t mention the moaning. Or the way you pinned me to the glass like a woman possessed.”

You whimpered into your hands. “Please stop talking.”

“Done,” he nodded solemnly. “We’ll bury it. Deep, deep in the vault. Like national security secrets.”

A pause.

“Unless,” he added thoughtfully, “you’d prefer a repeat performance. Next time with scented candles and less identity confusion?”

Your lips twitched despite yourself. “Caleb... are you flirting with me right now?”

“I was naked and obedient in your shower. I think the flirting ship has sailed.”

You laughed. Helplessly. Warmth bloomed in your chest where panic had been just moments ago.

Then he stepped closer, voice dropping low, quiet:

“All righty, Pip-squeak. You’re still swaying. Get some water. Get in bed. And if you ever confuse me with that white-haired bastard again, I will take it personally.”

Your smile widened. “So you forgive me?”

He reached out, knuckled a stray wet strand of hair from your cheek. His touch lingered.

“If the cure,” he murmured, “is what almost happened five minutes ago—then yeah. You’re fully pardoned. But next time?”

You leaned into his hand.

“Next time, I won’t be stopping you,” he said softly.

And just like that, your pulse forgot how to behave.

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake Accidentally Takes Over the World (and Didn’t Think to Mention It)

So, Janet somehow spent decades climbing her way into every government worth a damn, ruling the entire world from behind the scenes. And then, because the universe is apparently wild, she left it all to Tim.

Cut to Tim Drake, the brand-new, completely reluctant secret ruler of the entire planet. And he just… never really thought it was worth mentioning?

The Batfam finds out when Bruce stumbles across an encrypted memo traced to a mysterious Gotham office with Tim’s name on it.

Bruce, holding up the memo: “Tim. Want to explain why this document about, oh, international finance reforms is signed with your encryption key?”

Tim, not even looking up from his laptop: “Oh, yeah. That. Janet left me her ‘global influence portfolio’ or whatever. Mostly paperwork.”

The Batfam stares in total shock.

Dick sputters nearly dropping his coffee: "Wait—you’ve been managing world policies?!”

Tim, shrugging, barely paying attention as he emails the president of Germany: “Well, yeah. I figured someone had to keep things running. It's not that big a deal. I mostly just redirect some policies. You know, keep things running smoothly.”

Jason, absolutely cackling: “Are you telling me that little Replacement here is the reason for half the ‘global cooperation’ headlines?”

Tim, scrolling through emails: “They send me reports; I send suggestions. And honestly, they make it way more dramatic than it is. It's not that hard."

Barbara stares at him, half horrified, half impressed. “How did we not notice this?”

Tim blinks. “I mean, it’s not like I was actively hiding it. I assumed you guys knew I was… kind of managing these things?”

Cue utter disbelief.

Stephanie, laughing too hard to breathe: “Tim, do you have world leaders on speed dial?”

Tim, completely unfazed: “Only the important ones. They text, mostly. Oh—by the way, I might’ve influenced a minor arms control thing last week. Don’t worry; it’s all sorted.”

Bruce, looking like he’s two seconds from fainting: “Sorted? Tim, we're talking about you having global authority here. People notice these things."

Tim shrugs again as his phone buzzes with notifications. “Sure, but it’s not like they’re going to do anything too crazy. I just suggest stuff, and they listen. Honestly, it’s like herding really powerful, really overdramatic cats.”

Damian, scandalized: “You mean to tell me, Drake, that you’re manipulating world politics like it’s a game of checkers?”

Tim, still casual: “Manipulating’s a strong word. Like I said, it’s more just nudging things along.” His phone buzzes again. “Oh, hang on. France is panicking about their energy policy again.”

The Batfam tries to process the fact that Tim—Tim, who routinely forgets what day it is—is now, somehow, running the world.

And then his phone buzzes with a message from the UN Security Council.

Tim sighs, glancing down. “Oh, great. Looks like they’re debating nuclear arms again. Be right back.”

Meanwhile, the Batfam is left absolutely speechless, processing the fact that their Tim—scrawny, coffee-fueled Tim—is apparently one of the most powerful people on the planet. And to him its just another tuesday.

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio Nobody Knows AU DP x DC Part 4

Part 3

(Tim POV! This is a long one 😅)

 Tim almost has it. He's so close to cracking this file he can fucking taste it. He's been fighting this thing for two weeks. It's the most incomprehensible and infuriating code he's ever faced off against, which is fitting considering who gave it to them.

The engineer. THEIR engineer. The engineer they didn't ask for and Tim still isn't sure how they got, and the single biggest mystery in Tim's fucking life right now.

See, a significant amount of Bat gadgets at this point are Tim's brainchildren. He imagines them, he designs them, he workshops and tests them.

A few months ago, he'd had a pouch on his utility belt full of experimental pellets meant for slowing down fleeing vehicles. They were designed to break when run over and the compound inside would expand into durable, sticky foam that would ensnare tires.

He'd tested them in the cave.

He had not been prepared to take one hit to that side and have to frantically divest himself of that pouch before he became Gotham's latest foam based cryptid. 

His family had laughed themselves silly at him even as he broke off in pursuit of the drug runners he'd been fighting.

When Tim had doubled back expecting a mess to clean up and pellets to rework? It had been gone. All of it. The foam, the pellets, the pouch of his utility belt.

A serious problem, because who knows who got their hands on that?

Then it had shown back up.

That is to say, Gordon had called them because he found a pouch with a note labeled ‘for Red Robin’ sitting on the stand of the Bat Signal and didn't dare touch it.

After making sure it wasn't a bomb or some kind of biological weapon, Tim had opened the pouch - his own belt pouch - and found pellets. New pellets. Different pellets.

The note just read, “As funny as that was to watch, I fixed them for you. No more premature sploogage on the job. :3 P.S. here's a recipe for solution to dissolve future intentional discharges.”

They'd been right, too. The new pellets were tested (in case THEY were a bomb or biological weapon) and they'd been just strong enough to safely transport but still break when under the pressure of tires. Even the foam was more effective, and the spray Tim synthesized from that stupid recipe had worked like a dream.

What. The fuck.

This person not only improved his design and came up with a dissolution agent from scratch in days, they'd been watching without him knowing and made off with the original pellets without anyone noticing.

This was either a rogue in the making or someone they wanted on their side, and either way they needed to be found.

So Tim had done the obvious.

He'd put together a lockbox of money for the product they'd been given, loaded it with no less than ten (10) bat trackers and a note thanking their mysterious benefactor and requesting to meet up. He'd exploded a foam pellet on a rooftop and left the box on it in the hopes they'd notice and find it, then hung around far enough to not be seen and close enough to beat feet as soon as the trackers started moving. 

They did not start moving. They all went offline simultaneously. 

Tim has never moved so fast in his life, and yet by the time he got to the rooftop there was a pile of foam and nothing else. Not even a trace of whoever took the lockbox.

The next day, there was a ping of one (1) tracker that led them to a note thanking him for the money, refusing to meet, and asking if they'd considered certain improvements to their grapples with schematics for said designs.

Thus started the most bizarre and infuriating chase through notes, money, helpful designs and disappearing trackers Tim has ever been a part of.

Last time, the engineer had left them a USB stick and a note claiming that since they really wanted to know about him so bad, they could have the information on the USB if they could crack the encryption on the zip file inside.

Obviously they screened heavily for viruses or backdoors, but long story short Tim has been trying to crack the fucking thing for two weeks and refuses to let Oracle help. It's personal. It's a matter of pride. 

He could swear the code itself has actively been sabotaging his attempts to hack it, which is, you know. Impossible. 

Ping!

Tim blinks, looking over at the map on another monitor of the Bat computer. 

“Motherfucker-”

He taps into Duke’s comms. This is the first time this has ever happened during the day shift, he wasn't expecting it.

“Signal! I need you on the roof of the warehouse on the corner of Fifth and Everest - a tracker just came online.”

Another thing that infuriates Tim. You can't just turn Bat trackers on and off. They're activated, and then they either stay active or they're destroyed. They can't be turned off and then reactivated.

And fucking yet.

Duke groans, but his own tracker starts making its way in that direction.

“Dude. He's gonna be long gone by the time I get there. He always is.”

“He can't run from me forever,” Tim insists. “I'm almost in this damn file, and I am going to find him and dangle him off a roof from his ankles for giving us this runaround, so help me God.”

“Uh huh,” Duke deadpans. “Sure you are. I'm almost there, and- oh look! A note. What a surprise!”

Tim hears Duke touch down on the rooftop, eyes on the code on his screen while his brother clears his throat and reads aloud.

“Ahem- ‘Good morning, sunshine!’ - guess that's me - ‘I hear some bats and birds have been murdering tires at an alarming rate with the way they drive their bikes-’”

Tim freezes. He's not listening anymore.

“Signal.”

“‘- and that just can't be good for business. Nobody wants a bald tire ruining a chase. So boy do I have the thing for you-”

“Signal!”

“What?”

“I got it.”

“Huh? Got what?”

“I cracked his file. I got it.”

Tim is staring, wide eyed and full of a mixture of elation and trepidation at the contents of the zip file. It's a single text file titled, ‘Wow! You did it!’

“Oh, shit? Well? What's in it?”

Tim swallows, mouse hovering over the file. He takes a deep breath, then double clicks.

The file opens.

Tim blinks.

“Red Robin? What's in it?”

Tim scrolls slowly down, disbelief and horror dawning across his face. “Oh my God.”

“What? Come on, man, talk to me.”

Tim scrolls further.

“Oh. My God.”

“Red? Red Robin, you're scaring me, man.”

Tim puts his face in his hands. Voice muffled, he responds.

“Duke.”

“...Red? You okay?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It's the entire Bee Movie script.”

Silence reigns for a solid five seconds before Duke breaks and descends into raucous, hysterical laughter.

Even muffled by his own hands, Tim's scream of rage scares the bats in the cave into a tizzy.

Part 5

Masterpost

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 10- Static Amongst Memories

A/N: Guess who’s back after not existing for almost two weeks 🧍🏽 not my fault (totally my fault I forgot about I had to write instead of daydreaming)

Dick held the mantel of being the big brother they can rely on. He couldn’t say no to his baby brothers and sisters, especially when they feel low. He loves his family, seeing it expand over the years he knew them like the back of his hand.

Yet ever since a week ago he felt like shredding that mantel to pieces. He couldn’t even imagine being the best brother after failing you, losing you, seeing you in that grave made him fall into disparity.

“I-Is it done? Did you finally get to my baby bird? Are we going to see them one last time?” He asked in a frantic manner, gripping the back of Barbara’s chair, causing her to scowl at him and swatted his hand away.

“Back off birdbrain, we’re all wanting to see them,” She hissed at him, her calm demeanor didn’t hide her shaking hands that were filled with excitement and dread. The Bat Cave was filled with the entire family, all waiting around as the process of infiltrating your phone was almost complete.

She wanted to see how truly a genius you were, but it made the fact she didn’t see you as you, and that made her feel horrible because she saw you the same way people saw her when she was first bound it her wheelchair. She swore to never make others feel weak for who they are.

God, this whole family is full of hypocrites.

“Dick done with his aneurysm?” Jason asked while limping back to the Bat computer. It was a mere few moments after his attempted murder on the bee beast, being scolded heavily by Bruce and Alfred before his broke wrist was tended to.

"Look," Damien spoke up, "Whatever we will see, it'll be out of respect and closure... even if we don't deserve it," Ever since your death, Damien has gone through a roller coaster of emotions, your room, photos, now these videos he inspected very single thing just to understand what he failed to see all thise time.

“So you have managed to break through the H.I.V.E defense, congratulations! ~🐝”

A cheery robotic voice popped that caused everyone to scramble and stand right in front of the computer. Barbara grinned widely in triumphant pride before clicking on the keyboard.

“The few reasons to do so is that if my creator has had their device stolen, a simple hacker attempting to get a hard-on for getting through strong encryption, or that my creator has sadly passed, ~🐝”

Duke and Alfred looked at each other, hugging out breathless laughs. That was created by you alright, even if one of them knew you for hours, it was definitely your humor.

“I must advise you to handle with my creator’s mind with care, they were a very gentle soul, ~🐝”

With a glitch and a static, the voice went silent before beginning to upload files of videos into the Bat Computer. Barbara swallowed hard, before pressing play to the first video ever recorded.

The family went silent when the video showed the camera behind shaken around, being set up before staying still, showing off the empty warehouse. Nobody appeared on screen for a moment before a child like voice began to make “duuuun, dun dundun” sounds and a cardboard with scribbles that appeared to be earth came on screen.

“Earth!!” A very young voice that belonged to you years ago spoke “What is it? A floating rock drifting in space? A massive planet filled with awesome life and color? And why is it considered to be the greatest?” You dramatically asked.

The cardboard was thrown to the side, and there you were. You were only 10 years old, yet your smile never changed in Alfred’s eyes. His gloved hands tighten around the chair, tears welling up as you giggled on screen.

“Simple. Plants and animals! They were first roaming the earth way before the mere concept of humans! And plants are like the superheroes to them! They feed us, give us protection, and provided materials to make our world today!” You waved your arms up in the air, giggling while you yelped when the camera unfocused on you, frantically fixing it.

“But that’s the problem. Humans are getting greedy and hurting this planet, causing the bee population to go out rapidly! Which is where we come in!” You stepped out of view, before pulling a cart with flourishing plants on top, cloth covering a large object underneath.

“(M/N) Raine, a wonderful and beautiful woman who spent her life on saving those bees. She had a whole group to help her, even got funded by The Bruce Wayne!” Another scramble and you held up a different cardboard that had a photo taped to it of your mother, your finger pressing on a crude drawing of the Wayne Enterprise logo.

“Right before he ghosted her and got her pregnant like the slut he was,” You then bluntly stated, “But that doesn’t matter! Because despite her no longer being here… I-I made it my goal to keep her legacy alive,” You trailed off, eyes drifting away before clearing your throat.

Meanwhile, Bruce watched with his heart aching at the fact you saw so lowly of him. Though he cannot blame you, what you said was true, and he regrets it every single day until he dies.

“Hello, my name is (Name) Raine Way… Raine, and this is day one of my re-research to bring Project: Honey back! For you, mama!” You swirled in your chair, giggling as you pulled the cloth off the cart, revealing the small beehive that belonged to your mother. You tended to it all this time even after a year being away.

The video ended, showing the black screen that reflected the whole Wayne Family. Some stared in awe, others letting their tears fall. You were so small, so alone in the Manor yet you still smiled as bright as the sun.

“Show us more,” Bruce managed to choke out, placing a shoulder on Barbara’s shoulder. She nodded and clicked on another.

~

“Day 15, all these papers don’t make sense!” You whined, holding up old papers, with complex math equations and blueprints of bees invoking over complicating words.

“But that’s why mama was so smart! She could understand this…” The look in your eyes the kids knew very well. Missing your parents was hard, but they had each other to comfort. But not you.

~

“Day 46, and the bees have hatched their new queen!” You beamed, “Aaand, guess what? Bruce took in another kid! His name is Jason, and he’s so nice to me! My new big brother!” You rambled on as you let a bee perched on your finger.

Dick’s heart shattered. He never was mentioned once, and Jason got the title of big brother? He… deserved it.

~

“Day 847… JayJay is…” You hiccuped, “I don’t know why… how… but he’s-,” You couldn’t finish the recording as you broke down, sobbing into your hands as you scrambled for the camera, cutting it off quickly.

Tim gripped Jason’s hand as he felt his brother shudder ragged breaths. It was a hard blow to remember that day, he was selfish to not see how it truly affected everyone.

~

“I think this is day 1034? Wow,” You breathed out, looking older, “Guess helping for the greater good takes a while, huh?” You looked tired, with a terrible black eye on your left side.

Jason remembered. The day he returned, he punched your face out of anger. But it wasn’t for you. Never towards you he would be angry.

~

“Day 2304, Just had to shake off a dog attack from… a brat,” You tried to joke, but there was bitterness in your tone, rubbing the bandaged area on your arm.

Damien winced ever so slightly and looked away. That damn scar on your forehead stayed permanently traced on your skin the moment he arrived. He made it your problem for him not understanding anything outside the League of Assassins.

~

“Day-! Um… well, it’s my 15th birthday,” You gave a little cheer, “Wanted to try and ask Cass and Steph to hang out… didn’t even acknowledge me,” You rolled your eyes, taking a deep breath before smiling again when your bees began to swarm the sweet fruits you brought them.

Steph looked down in shame, Cass clutching the photo that held you and your mother she took from the warehouse.

~

“Another kid came in today… his name was Duke,” That was all you said, tiredly looking at the camera before moving on with your bee process, as if he wasn’t worth mentioning.

It hurt Duke deeply, but he knew it wasn’t personal truly. The others swept him away before he had the chance to know you, and he shamefully admitted he never bothered to see you again since then.

~

“Day… whatever,” It was a 16 year old you. Only recorded a month ago, you still have the awkward yet bright smile. However, the smile you had was a tired one, one that looked pitiful and pathetic.

“Not really a day to log for important things. Just a way to vent I guess,” You shrugged, before slumping over the desk and rubbing your face, inhaling shakily.

“My so-called family apparently did a family portrait when I was at school… couldn’t even be bothered to interrupt them so I just snuck behind them to my room,” You snapped bitterly, fiddling with your sleeve.

“Not only that, but Damien decided to get me into trouble again… I hate that little rat,” You hissed, before your lips quivered ever so slightly.

“I’m tired…” You finally admitted, “I’ve been trying for years to get things right, but all deemed failures… no breakthroughs, no discoveries, no legacy,” You rubbed your hand across your face.

“And the worst part? I have no one to lean to…” Tilting your head up you blinked any years away. It broke their hearts seeing you cry, why now should they feel guilt for witnessing you cry?

“My family… I can’t keep living there any longer. I have a father who doesn’t even look at me, siblings who never gave me a hint of acknowledgment unless it’s only to torment me… but at least I have a father figure, a-and a mentor!” Your wavy lips turned into a small smile, trying to cheer yourself up.

“Her name is Ivy, and she’s amazing with plants! I told her all about my love for bees, plants and animals! Sure, she’s one of the most deadliest criminals in Gotham for trying to replace humans with plant mutated corpses, but so what?” You awkwardly smiled, before coughing and sucking your teeth in at what you said.

“Poison Ivy…” Bruce mumbled, eyes wide in realization. How could he have been so stupid for not figuring it out?! Where you knew about plants so much in your journals, ones where they were extinct too, either you were into books too much… or you had a little tutoring from the best of the best plant lover.

“She even asked me who my family was so she could grind them into fertilizer for my “siblings”? And take me away from Gotham… okay now that I think about what she said-,” You scratched your neck, eyes widened at how crazy you must’ve sounded, but let out another awkward laugh.

“B-but anyways, haven’t told her who my family was, because you know. Not like it matters, since once I publish my mother’s research, I’ll be out of there and living in my own home, with my friends, and Ivy, and even Alfred!” You gave the same old determined bright smile before cutting the video short.

“That plant bastard,” Tim hissed after a moment, “Of course, she must’ve had brainwashed (Name) into their death,” Maybe he wanted someone else to put the blame on, or maybe truly Ivy was manipulating you all along, but that wasn’t true. They know nothing of your trust in others, even if it might be obviously to the point of naivety.

“Do we really know master (Name) enough to claim such things?” Alfred muttered, causing Tim to stagger slightly and rubbed his arm.

The last recording you made, was dated to the night where you were taken away from them.

“I don’t want to see this moment again,” Steph muttered, attempting to move away, yet her eyes still trailed up to the screen as Barbara hesitantly clicked on the very last video you made.

The video immediately began frantic breathing, the loud sounds of rain hitting metal was heard as the camera was shakily being tossed around before half-hazardously getting set up on a stand.

"Project: Honey," You began, "An intense research study on genetically altering the DNA and structure of the honeybee. To provide better insight on saving endangered plants and to uprise the declining bee population," You swallowed hard, preventing more tears from falling.

You were pacing around the warehouse, grabbing whatever you needed going in and out of frame, mumbling like a madman. Duke watched uncomfortably seeing you act like this. It unnerved that it was the same you when you were smiling with joy hanging out with him earlier that day.

Bruce watched as his child, the one he was meant to love and protect, breaking out after he destroyed the last thing you ever cared about in the Manor. How could he screw up this badly?

"Final test, what more can you push yourself into being a part of your research than being just like a bee?" You asked yourself, holding the jar up in the light, "For you, mama," And with that, you took a small sip.

Then another, then another. Tim and Cass winced at how you became more desperate in drinking more honey, mumbling about how delicious it was, tilting it until the honey was all gone.

Then silence.

Then it all started.

The horrific, unimaginable horror recorded for them all to see. Alfred stumbled back as if he was slapped, face pale and his hands shook. Dick covered his mouth and choked. Jason felt like throwing up, along with Steph as she looked away. Cass couldn’t bear your screams and the disgusting noises of flesh tearing. Duke was mortified, bile rising in his throat before vomiting. Barbara pushed her wheelchair away and gagged as the sounds boomed across the cave.

Then… silence. Bruce managed to stay still the whole time, horrified at what he witnessed. The bee beast… the one they saw hovering over your corpse… was you all along. The camera was then knocked over and froze mid recording when the sound of the glass roof shattered. Then silence once more.

No one dared to say a word, not a single movement as they took in what they saw, and what they realized.

“It was them…” Jason stumbled back, causing all eyes to be on him, “W-When I tried to attack it… them… It was Bumble all along… a-and I tried to kill them,” That’s when all hell broke loose.

“W-where are they now?!” “They must be all alone and scared! Of us!” “I tried to kill them…” “Oh god, are they even still alive?!” “They must be…” “Poison Ivy probably has them being tortured as we speak!” “We have to search the whole city!” We don’t even know if they’re still in Gotham as all!!” All these voices broke amongst each other, all filled with shame, fear, and rage.

Meanwhile, Bruce’s fearful eyes turned to Alfred, the one who truly knew you yet never did, the one who cared yet was never there to protect you, the one who loved you yet never was enough.

“Alfred…?” He whispered out, before flinching when a tear fell down the butler’s face, eyes shiny and hands trembling. All Alfred managed to say was weak, yet it was clear enough for all to hear.

“I need to get my baby back,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

They say there’s two reactions to danger: Fight or flight. In your bees’ case, it was freeze. Older workers protected the little ones, drones high alert, your mother’s beehive bused so loudly it shook the entire warehouse.

“My my! A party? I must say, you simply cannot call this a party without inviting entertainment!” The raspy and psychotic tone that fell into manic giggles caused the whole hive to go silent.

No one spoke, simply staring at the clown and his goons piling inside, guns drawn and pointing at them. The glow from the hive began to dim completely, the tense feeling filled the air.

“Now, which one of you sweet little insects is the leader?” Joker asked in a fake sweet tone, crouching down to look at the drones as if he was talking to children. And in a way, he was, the youngest drones were 12.

A 14 year old worker snarled at the sight of Joker, horrid memories of her last encounter with the clown involving her parents and Joker Gas rose her rage. An older drone sensed her fear and mixed rage, stopping the kid before anything she does anything stupid.

Then, a sudden loud thump shook the ground, all heads snapped at the dictation to the gigantic figure standing in the center of the hive. Joker clapped his hands delightfully and giggled.

“Wonderful! Say, something about you seems familiar? Have we had band practice before?” Joker pointed a finger, grin wide as ever, yet you stayed silent. He playfully placed a finger on his chin, thinking and squinting his eyes as he stared into yours.

“Yes… I recognize you! Hahahaha!!” Joker clapped again, “Those eyes are always a show for the light!” He waved his hands up, signaling his clown goons to raise their guns higher, causing your drones and workers to back away out of fear.

“You surely changed a bit, but I know your eyes anywhere!!” He grinned, “You’re that child belonging to that bee loving scientist! Lovely woman, I admit!” The drones and workers held disgusted expressions when Joker licked his lips at the thought of your mother.

Yet you stayed silent.

“A beauty in one’s eye, I admit, but still not amusing enough to spare her life however,” He clicked his tongue in feign sadness, shaking his head as if her death was a mere inconvenience. Your antennas twitch wildly, causing the others to snarl at him.

“They said it was a mugger, but oh ho ho!! I knew better!!” He cackled, “A simple accident on my end, one of my loyal minions had a bit of pent up anger, took it out on poor dear mother!” He faked a horrified gasp, pointing his gun at his head and pretended to shoot his head, grinning as he could practically hear your heart stop.

“But that’s neither here nor there, I supposed you want to know the reason I’m here! Funny story, really!” He kept on laughing. His stupid, irritating, psychotic laugh that made your anger rise more and more.

Your emotions vibrated heavily through the hive, causing your drones and worker’s antennas to twitch with rage, your mother’s beehive glowed in a searing bright light as Joker raised his gun.

“You see, Cobblepot has really irked me lately, and he totally crossed the line! Do I decide to be a little petty, and bring your head on a platter to him!” He did a shrugging motion, one hand on his hip and the other holding the wild lazily as if this was just another Tuesday.

His stupid smile still there.

“A reminder to him that I. Do not. Like to be undermined by,” He cocked his revolver, his face swirled into a serious sneer before grinning again, “You’ll understand when you’re older, kiddo! Or rather… guess maybe not!!” He lets out a cackle before snapping his fingers, and his clown goons pointed their guns at your drones and workers.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

The hive wasn’t filled with screams, no terror, no nothing. The Joker still had his manic grin, yet it faltered ever so slightly after the dust has finally settled. His clown goons lowered their weapons a little, searching for the bodies they assumed to take, but not a single drop of blood.

Between the clown and the drones, was a bright orange glowing wall of honey, one that you controlled with a single lift from your arms. A glint in your eyes priced Joker’s own eyes, grin getting a little wider as you swung your arms down to release the wall of honey.

With a snap of your fingers, your drones pushed the workers back and lunged at the clown goons with such speed it was merely a blink of an eye that they attacked. Joker took a stumble back, eyes darting at the sounds of the screams from his goons, the darkness only illuminating so little of silver glints from the moonlight.

The silver glints from sharp objects digging into the skin of the clown goons, cries and screams continued before Joker looked back, only to see glowing eyes in the shadows, and the looming figure of your bright body staring him down.

The Joker could only let out a hysterical giggle before taking another stumbled and tripping over a gun, falling as you sneered at him with disgust and hate.

“You dare enter my home,” One step closer to this pathetic clown.

“Terrorize my drones,” One terrified scream from one of his goon’s before muffled by honey.

“Insult my mother,” One constant cackle from Joker.

“Yet dare to expect me to laugh at my own demise?” One last step you grabbed his throat tightly, claws digging into his pale skin.

“When a wasp intrudes into a hive, the bees kills the wasp by lots of excess heat produced from intense rubbing of their bodies,” Your eyes glowed in sync with your drones, your wings unfolding and fluttering over the lights, creating a bright and reflective shine looming over Joker.

“But death seems to be a kind route… You killed j̸͈̆͌̂̋̑́͂͜͠â̸̠̋y҉̃̀̋̑j̸͈̆͌̂̋̑́͂͜͠â̸̠̋y҉̃̀̋̑, so I have a special fate for you,” That name was like a mixture of poison and fondness, an unknown yet familiar. You weren’t going to kill him. God knows you can’t take a life, you’re not a monster.

But you could make him into something useful. Something you can make better. After all, royalty needs a jester. You pushed his jaw down, opening his mouth as he kept on cackling, his permanent smile painted on his sickly pale face.

“You wish to be this party’s entertainment?” You stared down at him, pushing his mouth farther apart while your clawed finger lowered a single large drop of your honey, glowing so bright as everything seemed so fuzzy in Joker’s eyes.

Buzzzzz

“Then open wide,”

A/N: Heyyy!! Looks like you got ONE thing from your father, you don’t kill! Just… use them ig-

Anyways, that’s neither here nor there.

You finally got the Bats reacting to your videos! All sad and shameful really, but now they know!

Taglist: @pix-stuff @jellystar-star @moon0goddess @bad4amficideas @lettucel0ver @lithiumval @degenerates-posts @ryuushou @deathbynarcisstick @silverklaus @artistwithcreativeburnout @middevil465 @jsprien213 @1abi @oliviaewl @redkarmakai @nxdxsworld @the-dumber-scaramouche @sc3n3mo-t3to @tw-om-gi-hs-56387 @bunniotomia @welpthisisboring @rad4bean @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @ceramic-raven @danart501 @esposadomd @trashlanternfish360

[bodybaggage]

The Dan-Tastic Disaster

When the JL is stuck on babysitting duty until Danny shows up

———

It started like any other Justice League meeting, with Batman brooding in the corner, Superman standing confidently at the head of the table, and Wonder Woman calmly preparing for the mission briefing. What none of them expected was to be dealing with a de-aged, ghostly child with the potential to end worlds.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Superman asked, glancing down at the toddler perched on the conference table, currently gnawing on a metal batarang like it was a teething ring.

"Safe?" Batman muttered, rubbing his temples. "No. Manageable? Hopefully."

Dan Phantom—or what was left of him in his current toddler form—looked innocent enough at first glance. Bright green eyes, tiny fists gripping onto Batman’s cape like a security blanket, a cute little tuft of white hair curling above his head. But the Justice League had been briefed on his true nature. He was Danny Phantom’s evil future self, de-aged through some cosmic mishap. And now, thanks to fate or terrible luck, they were babysitting.

"Up! Up!" Dan suddenly demanded, lifting his tiny hands towards Superman.

Superman, always the gentle giant, smiled softly. “Okay, little guy. Let’s—OW!”

The moment Superman picked him up, Dan burst into green flames, scorching Superman's red cape and singeing his hair. The Kryptonian tried to gently pat out the fire, but Dan just giggled mischievously and floated upwards, still burning, as Superman’s cape disintegrated into ashes.

“I’ll just… get another cape,” Superman mumbled, resigned.

Wonder Woman knelt down, observing the floating toddler with the curiosity of someone about to embark on an epic quest. ���He reminds me of the young warriors of Themyscira,” she said, a glimmer of fondness in her eyes. “Strong, brave, and full of fire.” Literally.

She offered him a soft smile. “Little one, let me tell you a tale from my youth, of the Amazons and their triumph over the beasts of the land.”

Dan floated down toward her, his eyes glowing with interest for all of three seconds before he grabbed her lasso and swung from it like a child on a tire swing. "Wheeeeee!"

Wonder Woman blinked. “He is… very enthusiastic.”

Meanwhile, Batman was in the corner, already furiously texting Danny Phantom on his encrypted Bat-phone. URGENT: Toddler version of evil future self setting things on fire. Please advise.

Danny’s response pinged back almost immediately: Good luck! Don’t let him touch anything sharp or made of explosives. Be there soon-ish.

Batman scowled at the "soon-ish." The last thing they needed was “soon-ish.” They needed now.

"Uh, Bruce," Superman said, nervously eyeing Dan, who had now decided that the perfect place to hide was inside a control panel. "He’s touching the lasers."

Batman swiveled around just in time to see the Watchtower's interior light up in bright neon green flashes. Every screen blinked with static, and the alarm system activated. Dan was just... pressing buttons. Randomly. While humming a tune and still floating lazily around, now wearing Wonder Woman’s tiara on his head.

"Dan," Batman said in the tone reserved for criminals, children, and now, apparently, demonic ghost toddlers. "Get out of there."

Dan paused, looking Batman straight in the eye, and gave the kind of evil grin only a future supervillain could pull off. He slammed his tiny fist into the panel, causing every door in the Watchtower to open and close in a chaotic frenzy. Somewhere, the coffee machine exploded.

“Great Hera,” Wonder Woman murmured, eyeing the scene with wide-eyed awe. “He is... relentless.”

“He’s a menace,” Batman grumbled, already trying to recalibrate the systems on his wrist computer.

Superman, ever the optimist, decided to take a different approach. "Dan, how about we go play somewhere that isn’t full of very important and dangerous equipment?"

Dan looked at Superman for a long moment, then reached out and ignited Superman’s other cape. Superman sighed. “I don’t know why I thought that would work.”

Before Batman could further escalate into his “silent looming” tactic (which, thus far, had only led to Dan giggling and calling him “funny bat man”), Danny Phantom finally phased through the wall. He was panting, his hair tousled, clearly in a hurry.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Danny said, hands up. “I had to deal with this whole thing with the Ghost Zone and—oh, wow. He’s already set things on fire? That was fast.”

Batman gave him a look. The kind that promised revenge if Danny didn’t take care of this immediately.

“Oh yeah, he’s... a handful,” Danny said, scooping up the toddler, who immediately stopped causing chaos and instead tugged at Danny’s hoodie. “I told Clockwork it was a bad idea to leave him with you guys, but you know how he is.”

Batman raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me Clockwork is responsible for this?”

“Yeah,” Danny replied, casually flipping Dan upside down, which somehow made the toddler laugh instead of scream. “Said it would ‘build character’ or something. No idea what that means.”

Wonder Woman glanced between the now-quiet Dan and the previously-chaotic Watchtower, eyebrow raised. “And what, exactly, are we meant to learn from this?”

Danny shrugged, adjusting Dan like a backpack. “Patience? Endurance? Definitely not fire safety, though.”

Superman, cape now a pile of ash on the floor, simply chuckled. “Well, it was... eventful.”

“I’m just glad the Watchtower is still standing,” Batman muttered, already mentally drafting the report about the damage.

Danny grinned, patting Batman on the back. “You did great! You didn’t even let him explode anything. That’s a win in my book.”

As Danny started phasing through the walls with a happy toddler on his back, Wonder Woman watched them go, a soft smile on her face. “He truly has a way with him, doesn’t he?”

Superman nodded, glancing down at the remains of his cape. “Yeah. But next time, he’s babysitting.”

Batman, deadpan as ever, just sighed. "There won't be a next time."

[motherofdogs1010]

Guys Not My Age I (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: They say sometimes older men are better when it comes to relationships, but Y/N finds that isn't always the case when she wakes up in bed with a certain younger man after breaking up with a certain Winter Soldier

Warning: 18+ only, age gap relationship, older woman/younger man!, everyone is over 18!, fratboy!Peter Parker, cheater!Bucky, computergenius!reader, hacker!reader, toxicex!Bucky, consensual sex, semi public sex, heavy smut, drinking, swearing, unprotected sex, eventual pregnancy

A/N: Re-write of 'Need to Know'

Series Masterlist

Banner @vase-of-lilies Dividers @firefly-graphics

Her head throbbed and pulsated as she begun to wake up.

The overall shittyness of a hangover taking over her body as the loud, blarming phone alarm rung hard in her ears as she groaned. She buried her face into the pillow as she felt movement coming from next to her, immediate confusion filling her mind as she heard, "Shit, sorry. Forgot that I had the stupid alarm on."

She recognized that voice even with it being laced with grogginess and sleep as she snapped open her eyes, wincing from the daylight that peeked over the curtains.

She was met with an unfamiliar room that looked like the standard college dorm: books and notes in an slight mess on the desk with a laptop hanging by it, posters on the walls and the distinct sound of boys laughing and footsteps coming down the halls.

Turning her head, her eyes widened as the memories of the previous night filled her as she resisted to gulp as she was met with the shirtless image of Peter fiddling with his phone.

The memories of the night before felt like a tidal wave washing over her as she remembered having gone out to drinks with the Avengers team to celebrate their latest takedown of yet another Hydra compound (she handled hacking into the tightly encrypted computers) and she knew Tony had partly also wanted to take her out to get her back out onto the dating scene.

She watched as Peter scratched his head for a moment, seemingly beginning to wake back up as she came to the realization of her naked body under the blanket and the realization of her memories being confirmed as she saw a glimpse of the scratches on Peter's back.

Sitting up as she tugged up the blanket, she wondered how the hell she was suppose to do a walk of shame out of her as Peter said, "anyway, want to get breakfast?"

"What?"

Peter tilted his head a little, "want to get breakfast? I thought since we were getting along so well..."

The ache between her legs from last night a reminder of how well they got along.

It wasn't like she didn't enjoy it or anything, but it was the realization that she had slept with someone nearly ten years younger than her.

"Peter, I'm-"

"I know. You're 30 and I'm 21, I don't care." Peter shrugged and she couldn't help but get distracted by his strong physique. "I told you I don't want a girl my age, I've wanted you."

It made her heart clench at statement.

"All I'm asking for is you take a chance", Peter pleaded, bringing their lips into a soft kiss.

It made her melt.

"Fine. One chance."

Peter grinned.

"But I refuse to be seen by a bunch of frat boys so you better make sure they clear out of here. I'm too old to be dealing with that."

"You're barely 30, no even that old."

Y/N downed the shot of tequila that Tony had passed her, laughing as she felt the burn in her throat and hearing Tony cheering. Say what you want about Tony, but he knew how to party as he had taken them to some nightclub that he bought for shits and giggles.

"Enjoying the burn", Tony teased, Y/N laughed.

"It's the tequila sweats that I hate", she said back.

Standing up from the little VIP booth Tony had rented for them all, Y/N scoped out her surroundings. She saw Nat dragging a bashful Steve to the dance floor, Steve was awkwardly moving around before he finally got the hang of it and began dancing with Nat. Y/N laughed as she watched Steve get down on the dance floor, she spotted Vision (who had his human form on) with Wanda near the bar as Wanda was getting another drink.

"Are you having fun?"

Y/N looked in the direction to see Peter standing there with a grin, Y/N smiled back at him.

"I wondered where you were", Y/N responded, "I always forget your 21."

"My baby face makes it that way", Peter joked.

Y/N had to admit, Peter Parker was a very attractive man, especially right now with his hair gelled back, a white button down that had the sleeves rolled up and dark slacks. Tony said Peter had changed a lot since high school, having managed to join a fraternity in his first year of college; she had only met Peter in the last year so hearing that he was anything but confident before was a little shocking since he walked around like a little mini Tony sometimes.

Peter moved a little closer to her as Tony announced that he was going to join Wanda at the bar.

Sam and Clint were missing, both men having taken some time off to go visit their families, especially for Sam since he wanted to be there for one of his nephew's birthdays.

Although, the person that everyone seemed to ignore that wasn't there was a certain Winter Soldier, but it seemed everyone was on the rocks with the man at the moment. But cheating and immediately bringing around the girl you cheated with will do that, won't it?

Of course that was the second main reason behind Tony bringing nearly all of them out to the club was because of her confiding in Tony about being ready to get back out there. She felt no issue confiding in Tony considering how close of friends they were, she was coming out in his upcoming wedding to Pepper in just a few months time.

"It's a cute baby face", Y/N teased, Peter chuckled.

"I'm glad you're having fun", Peter said, "you deserve it."

Y/N smiled as she tugged up the neckline of her red mini dress, the fabric clinging to her large breasts and hips. It was an off the shoulder dress that she chose just for the occasion with long sleeves and paired with some red bottoms that Nat was letting her borrow.

Y/N watched as Peter looked a bit indecisive as if he was second guessing himself before he blurted out, "Would you like to dance?"

"Don't you think you should be dancing with someone your own age?" she teased before Peter snaked a toned arm around her waist.

"Age is just a number, right?" Peter answered with a wink. "When it comes to two consenting adults, of course."

She wouldn't be an idiot to say she hadn't noticed the younger man's eyes roaming her figure. But she never thought much of it considering she had been in a relationship with Bucky, but that bridge was burned a lot time ago.

She was here to have fun, dance a little, drink... there was no harm in just a dance, right?

"Alright, Spiderboy", Y/N said, "show me what you got."

~

Wanna know what it's like (like) Baby, show me what it's like (like) I don't really got no type (type) I just wanna fuck all night

The sound of Doja Cat singing could be heard even in the women's restroom, the door locked in a rush as Peter pressed her harder into said door. Their tongues dancing across one another as she could taste the alcohol on his tongue, Y/N moaned as Peter slotted his knee between her legs, pressing against her wet cunt and beginning to rock her hips against him.

But Peter pulled his knee away and she whimpered, breaking the kiss for a moment before she felt one of his hands trail under her dress, finding her thong.

"You're soaked", Peter teased, she shuddered as Peter ran a finger down her slit. "I bet I could slid right in."

As if that was his cue, Peter slid a finger into her, Y/N let her head fall into Peter's chest as he slowly began to pump his finger in her.

"Don't tease", she moaned as she brought his face down to hers.

What's your size? (Size) Add, subtract, divide ('vide) Daddy don't throw no curves (curves) Hold up, I'm goin' wide (wide) We could just start at ten (ten) Then we can go to five (five) I don't play with my pen (pen) I mean what I write

She connected their lips again as Peter slid another finger into, fingering her harder now as he began to rub her clit in tight circles. Y/N cried out at the sensations as she rocked her hips in time with Peter's movements.

Peter began to trail kisses down her neck as her eyes rolled back into her head, her mouth falling open as pants escaped her mouth.

"Fuck you're beautiful", Peter said as he quickened his fingers. "Come on, Y/N, cum on me."

Y/N felt like she was in the Twilight Zone right now, but fuck it, she was enjoying it with the way Peter was fingering her. She could feel that tight knot building in her as Peter's fingers reached an area in her that made her nearly tear up in pleasure, his fingers practically massaging it as she began to tug on his hair as her toes began to curl.

"P-Peter", she panted, "gonna...cum..."

She saw Peter grin in satisfaction as her orgasm hit her like a freight train. She felt breathless and fuzzy as Peter fingered her through it before she whimpered at the overstimulation, which Peter pulled his fingers out.

"Still think I should find someone my own age?" Peter teased, she narrowed her eyes as she panted.

Peter slid his fingers into his mouth and sucked on them.

"I always knew you'd taste sweet", Peter said as she reached for his belt buckle.

Peter brought a hand up, squishing her cheeks together and forcing her lips into a pout; he pressed a sloppy kiss to her lips as she successfully managed to get unzip Peter's slacks, slipping her hand inside to begin to tease the younger man in front of her.

"Now, you wanna be a tease?" Peter groaned as he began to move her to one of the many sinks in the bathroom.

I just can't help but be sexual (whoa) Tell me your schedule (yeah) I got a lotta new tricks for you, baby Just sayin' I'm flexible (I will) I do what I can to get you off (I will)

Peter had gotten her on the sink, legs spread and her thong stuffed in one of his pockets as he began to rock into her. Her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she felt Peter hike up her leg on him higher, sending him into deeper territory and brushing up against her G-spot as he began to rub her clit in time with his rocking.

"P-Peter", she slurred, eyes beginning to water from pleasure.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me so good", Peter whined as he gripped the sink below her.

His thrusts becoming rougher as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Might just fuck him with my makeup on (I will) Eat it like I need an apron on (yeah, ay) Eat it 'til I need to change my thong (yeah, ay) We could do it to your favorite song (yeah, ay)

Her makeup was ruined, she was sure of it from the amount of kissing, sweat and tears. Y/N shivered as Peter bite down on a part of her neck, making her clench around her even tighter and causing him to let out more groans of pleasure, his hips slapping into her even rougher.

The sound of skin slapping skin rung in bathroom, echoing off the walls as she brought Peter's face back to her own, smashing their lips together as she squealed when her second orgasm hit her, her legs shaking and back arching.

You're exciting, boy, come find me Your eyes told me, "Girl, come ride me" Fuck that feeling both us fighting Could he try me? (Yeah) mmm, most likely

She had pushed Peter onto one of the toilets in the bathroom, his dick red and leaking when she had straddled him before sinking down onto him. Y/N shivered as she felt Peter stretching her out again and she knew she was going to be feeling him the next day as she moaned and threw her head back at the delicious stretch his cock gave her cunt again.

Peter gripped her hips before grabbing her ass and smacking it, she pulled her face towards his, connecting their lips as she begun to rock her hips.

Oh, wait, you a fan of the magic? Poof, pussy like an Alakazam (yeah) I heard from a friend of a friend That that dick was a ten out of ten

She could someone knocking on the door, but she could care less right with Peter buried so deep inside her as his hands that gripped her hips so tightly began to help rock her.

Baby, I need to know, mmm

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🕷️🕸️💻~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes Y/N wondered what Peter had been like before he went to Empire State and joined his fraternity, and in this moment as they sat across from one another at one of the on-campus cafes, she figured maybe this might have been it with how he fidgeted a little.

"Nervous?" she mused, "this was your idea."

"I can't be nervous on a date with a pretty girl?" Peter remarked and she chuckled.

"Not after last night." Peter grinned and ran a hand through his fluffy, chocolate brown hair. "Besides, this isn't a date. This is you trying to convince me why I should go on a date with you."

"Sorry, it's just... I've liked you for awhile, but I didn't say anything because-"

"Because of Bucky?"

Peter looked down sheepishly and Y/N reached over to grasp his hand.

"And then when you two broke up, I didn't think it would be right to tell you because of how everything went down."

"You're doing a lot better than he did", Y/N said. "I appreciate that you waited, Peter. That's really sweet of you."

Peter grinned a boyish grin that Y/N couldn't help, but replicate back at him.

~

She had agreed to a date with Peter.

In the back of her mind, she couldn't help but think of the thoughts that others might have with her being seen with Peter. She examined her face in the mirror, trying to see if she had any wrinkles, age-related blemishes and sighed.

"You look stressed." Slightly startled, Y/N turned around to find Nat standing the doorway of her room with a curious look on her face.

"Just a little."

"Where are you off to? Hot date tonight?" Nat asked with a grin.

"About that", Y/N trailed off, looking at her outfit.

A white, blue-floral printed dress that cinched at the waist and was off the shoulder adorned her body with her keeping her makeup clean and simple, and her face loose and away from her face.

"Who's the lucky person?"

"Peter."

Nat was silent for a moment as Y/N felt the pit of anxiety in her stomach at the thought of her friend's judgement before Nat said, "well damn, didn't think the kid had the balls to make a move."

"What?" Y/N asked as she went to grab a pair of platform sandals.

"Anyone would working sense could tell the kid was eyeing your ass all the time", Nat nonchalantly said with a shrug. "Don't tell you didn't notice?"

"I noticed", Y/N defended, slipping her feet into the shoes. "I just thought it was because he was young."

"I also take it that you were with him when you disappeared from the club?"

Y/N's eyes widened as she looked away before Nat let out a laugh.

"Damn, you have to tell me all the details when you get back", Nat teased. "But I'm glad you're getting back out there again."

"You don't think it's weird? With me being older than Peter?"

"If men in their sixties can date women young enough to be their daughters, why can't you go on a date with a younger guy?" Nat shrugged.

Y/N gave Nat a smile and sucked in a breath.

"So, how do I look?" Y/N asked, posing for a moment.

"Like Parker will most likely fuck the shit out of you."

"Perfect."

Peter texted her not too long after that he had arrived and in an air of her favorite perfume, she met him out in the living room of the compound.

A sense of satisfaction fell over her as she noticed Peter's eyes raking over her body as she took in his appearance. His hair slightly gelled away from his face, a white button down shirt and black slacks framed his body.

They were alone in the living room, a rare event since the space always had at least one person present but apparently not today.

"You look amazing", Peter complimented, stretching out his hand and grasping hers.

He gently pulled her towards him as his eyes hungrily stared into hers.

"Thank you", she said with a small smirk. "I thought you'd enjoy this. Never worn it before."

Lost in their own world, they never noticed a certain figure hanging around the corner, seething as he watched Peter met her lips in a soft kiss.

His metal hand clenching into a fist as he turned away, fuming at the sight before him.

TAGLIST

@theoraekenslover

[popp1n]

GHOSTING THE GOVERNMENT

|masterpost| ao3

Chap 1: A Not-so-Ghostly Getaway

PT 3

The initial adrenaline of the outpost encounter slowly bled out, replaced by a dull hum of unease. Jazz kept her speed steady, just a hair under the limit, watching the rearview mirror like a hawk for any tell-tale signs of pursuit. Inside the van, the atmosphere was a mix of quiet tension and calculated planning. Danny and Sam had settled back into their "sleeping" positions whenever a car approached, a practiced ease to their stillness.

"Anyone else getting hungry?" Sam mumbled, finally breaking the silence a good half-hour later. Without waiting for an answer, she began rummaging through the cooler in the back, a rustle of bags and a soft clinking of cans. Soon, she was handing out an assortment of chips, granola bars, and juice boxes. The mundane act of eating provided a small, welcome distraction.

Another two hours and forty-five minutes crawled by before the gas light flickered on, a silent cue. Jazz spotted a brightly lit truck stop a few miles ahead, a sprawling oasis of neon signs and late-night travelers. She pulled in slowly, parking near the far end of the lot, away from the main flow of traffic.

"Alright, operation 'find the bug' is a go," Jazz announced, grabbing the keys. Danny and Tucker were already out of their seats, moving with purpose. Sam, ever practical, pulled out a small, high-powered flashlight.

They fanned out around the van, Jazz opening the hood as a diversion, while Danny and Tucker knelt down, peering underneath with the flashlight. It didn't take long. "Gotcha!" Tucker hissed, his voice a low, triumphant whisper.

Tucked discreetly into the wheel well, almost camouflaged against the dark undercarriage, was a small, oblong device. It was about the size of a thumb drive, sleek and white, with a smooth, shiny surface. A tiny, almost imperceptible red light pulsed faintly, indicating its active status. Two strong magnetic strips were clearly visible on one side, allowing it to adhere firmly to the metal. There were no visible wires or antennae, just a seamless, self-contained unit designed for stealth and durability. Danny carefully nudged it with a gloved finger, confirming its magnetic grip.

"Looks like a standard GIW model," Tucker murmured, pulling out a specialized scanner. "Encrypted, but nothing we can't handle... later."

They left it in place, as agreed, a silent passenger in their otherwise quiet escape, waiting for the perfect moment to sever their invisible tether.

Having found the tracker, they pulled the car up to a pump and ensued standard gas station activities; pumping gas, buying snacks, and using the restroom while they had the time.

Once they were all piled back into the car and back on the road, everyone besides Jazz, who was still driving, checked the weather forecasts and locations they could dispose of the tiny infernal, intrusive device.

"Weather for the next couple hours is clear." Sam said, mildly disappointed. "There are car washes along our route, but...." Tucker trailed off.

"What's up, man?" Danny asked twisting to face the other boy. Tucker sighed, "The car isn't in need of a wash, and the GIW would be aware of that."

Danny smiled, "So let's make a reason! Sam, do you know of any off-road or scenic routes on our way?"

"Well, there is a national park a few hours ahead. Would that work?" She replied, searching through 2F maps. Over the past couple of years, Tucker had started naming his projects under the umbrella term of Too-Fine or 2F.

"Perfect," Danny answered, unclipping Jazz’s phone from the holder and adding the park to the route, "Let's get this car dirty."

<Prev | Next>

[hellfirebarnes]

Slow-Burns - Part 3

PART 1 PART 2 PART 4 PART 5

I split this up in several, shorter parts because I know the feeling when you want to read a fic but don't have the time or energy to get through a 10k+ words one. Also if you hate my writing you can just read part 1 and then leave it. Win-win I guess?

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.7K words

Fluff, ''normal'' violence and descriptions of injuries. For sure out of character stuff, but I am who I am. Your appearence is barely desribed what I can remember, I think your hair and a couple types what clothes you're wearing?

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

Bucky scanned the briefing file. Intel breach. Corporate sabotage. Medium risk, low collateral. High-tech infiltration. One scientist needed extraction. Half the mission screamed you - cyber-forensic work, silent infiltration, backdoor escape route.

He frowned. “She’s not coming?”

Yelena leaned back in her chair, sipping bad coffee from a novelty mug that read ‘Crime, But Make It Cute.’

“She’s not coming.”

Bucky’s heart skipped. “Why?”

“She has the day off,” Ava answered, scrolling through her own tablet.

“But we need someone who can spoof an encrypted relay system on the move,” he said, voice flat but tight. “That’s her.”

“Relax, grandpa,” John muttered. “We’ve got it covered. Ava rewrote a protocol last night, and Bob is flying overwatch.”

Bucky looked back down at the tablet, annoyed. Not at the team. Not at the mission. At the fact that it felt wrong without you. And he hated how that felt.

“She asked for the day off two weeks ago,” Yelena added, tapping through something on her screen. “She deserves it.”

Alexei, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly grinned like he’d been waiting for someone to ask.

“Is big day,” he said, voice full of pride. “I set her up with very nice man. Name is Luka. Banker. Hair like lion. Very symmetrical face.”

Bucky looked up, slowly. “…You what?”

“Date!” Alexei beamed. “They go to brunch. Then art museum. Maybe share pretzel. Classic courtship!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Bucky didn’t move.

“Wait,” John said, looking up from his file. “She’s on a date?”

“Yes!” Alexei slammed a celebratory hand on the table. “I make things happen!”

Yelena blinked. “With Luka? From your bowling team?”

“He does not just bowl! He reads books. Big hands. Gentle eyes.”

Ava smirked. “You sound like you’re in love with him yourself.”

“He is very huggable!”

Bucky barely heard any of it. He was still stuck on date.

Something cold settled under his ribs. He hadn’t known you were seeing someone. He hadn’t even thought to ask. You’d always been here, orbiting close. And now, without warning, you were… elsewhere. With someone. Laughing, maybe. Wearing something soft and light. Smiling the way you always did when you were teasing him - except it wasn’t him.

Alexei’s words filtered back in. “—and if it goes well, they go to second location. Maybe fondue. Is very romantic.”

Bucky pushed back from the table. “I’ll be on the jet,” he muttered.

Yelena watched him go, eyes narrowing. When the door slid shut behind him, she turned to the others. “Okay,” she said. “That man is not okay.”

Bob tilted his head. “Is this the part where he acknowledges his feelings and makes a healthy emotional decision?”

John scoffed. “More like he’ll sit alone in the cargo bay and think about how her laugh sounds.”

Alexei frowned. “But she deserves strong man with good face symmetry. Why is Barnes sad?”

Ava deadpanned, “Because he’s been in denial for months.”

Two hours later Bucky sat strapped in, arms crossed, staring out the window like it had offended him personally. Every passing city below looked like a blur of decisions he hadn’t made. He thought about the last time you had touched his shoulder. How you’d laughed at one of Bob’s ridiculous stories. How you always leaned in just slightly when you talked to him, like what he said mattered more than anyone else’s words.

And now you were giving that attention to someone else. Some Luka.

He didn’t even know what the guy looked like, but his brain was helpfully painting the worst: tall, perfect teeth, probably called you beautiful without tripping over the word like Bucky always did in his head.

He wasn’t mad at you. Not even close. But he was angry with himself.

He’d wasted time. So much time, thinking if he just stayed close, you’d know. That he wouldn’t need to say anything. That maybe feelings could transfer telepathically through awkward silences and missed glances.

You were out there living. And he was up here… sulking.

He hadn’t wanted to make a move. He’d told himself he wasn’t ready. And now it might be too late.

Meanwhile, at a café in Brooklyn, you stirred your coffee absently as Luka droned on about crypto trends and some vacation he’d taken in the Alps with his “boys.” His shirt was tailored, his teeth were indeed perfect, and he had zero opinions on whether or not one should put glitter in combat boots.

You smiled politely. But your mind wandered.

To the Tower.

To the mission briefing you could have been part of.

To a certain grumpy super soldier with eyes like storm clouds and the emotional range of a wounded wolf.

God, you missed him already.

The Tower was quieter than usual that night. Post-mission debriefs were filed. John had gone out. Yelena and Ava were holed up somewhere with wine and a true crime doc. Alexei was in the sauna, probably giving unsolicited dating advice to someone over speakerphone.

And you? You were back.

Bucky noticed the moment you walked in. Not because you announced it - you never did - but because the air shifted.

He was in the common room, nursing a drink and reading the same paragraph of a book for the fourth time when he heard the elevator ding and your familiar footsteps cross the floor.

Then your voice. “Hey.”

He looked up.

You were dressed casually - simple, comfortable, but still carried yourself like you had a secret no one else was allowed to know. Except this time, you looked… tired. Not physically. Just disappointed in a way that sat deep in the shoulders.

Bucky sat up a little straighter. “You’re back.”

You sank onto the opposite end of the couch, kicking your shoes off with a sigh. “Yeah. Just got in.”

He hesitated. Then, carefully: “How was the date?”

You groaned and dropped your head back dramatically. “So bad. So impressively bad.”

Bucky’s heart did something traitorous - thrilled a little too much at the words. He worked hard not to show it.

“He was… polite. I’ll give him that. But every time I tried to steer the conversation toward something fun or personal, he’d redirect it back to himself. Or his investments. Or this stupid vacation he took with a group of guys who all wore matching swim trunks and called themselves the Wolfpack.”

Bucky blinked. “The what?”

“Right?” You said, eyes wide. “It felt like a sitcom where the punchline never came.”

A beat passed. He couldn’t help it—he smiled. Just a little.

You caught it. Your expression softened. “What?”

“Nothing. Just… sounds like hell.”

“It was. But the pretzel was good.”

You shared a quiet moment. Bucky’s chest felt warm and strange. He didn’t speak much, but he listened, and for once, he didn’t feel like he was drowning in his own silence. Maybe it was the soft tone in your voice. Maybe it was the way you’d looked at him when you walked in, like you’d missed him too.

He almost leaned in, just a little, like he was going to say something real for once.

And then Bob practically exploded into the room, arms wide, face beaming like a golden retriever who’d just spotted his favorite human.

Bucky immediately sat back, shoulders going tense.

You blinked, then smiled, bright and open. “Hey, Bob.”

Bob crossed the room in three giant steps and flopped onto the couch between you with a whoomp, knocking Bucky’s knee in the process. “You’re back! I missed you! Did you see the picture of Waffles I texted you?”

“I did,” you said, laughing. “The little hat was a nice touch.”

“He wore it willingly!” Bob looked at you with stars in his eyes. “Did you have a fun day off?”

You paused. “It had its moments.”

Bob turned to Bucky, clueless and radiant. “Didn’t we miss her, Buck? I kept saying we needed her on the mission. She would’ve handled that alarm system in two minutes.”

Bucky blinked slowly. “Yeah. We missed her.”

Your eyes flicked to Bucky, and something quiet passed between you again. But Bob, entirely unaware, continued cheerfully.

“I was thinking maybe we could all go get pancakes tomorrow. Celebrate a mission well done and your return. I know a place. They have whipped cream. And seasonal syrups. And they let you mix them. Which is chaos, but good chaos.”

You laughed again, and Bucky felt the familiar ache settle back into his chest. Because Bob wasn’t competition. He was just kind. Bright and open and honest in a way Bucky hadn’t been in years. Maybe ever. And you looked so comfortable around him. So light.

Bucky couldn’t even be mad. Not at Bob. Not at you. Just at himself, for still sitting there, wanting something and saying nothing.

He stood up quietly, draining the rest of his drink.

“Where you going?” You asked, noticing.

“Gonna turn in,” he said, avoiding your eyes. “Long day.”

“Goodnight,” you said softly.

He paused. Then looked at you - really looked at you. And for just a second, he let something show.

“Glad you’re back.”

And then he walked away.

Behind him, you watched him go. And for the first time since the date, you weren’t thinking about Luka at all.

Valentina slid a sleek folder across her desk. Inside was a badge, a keycard, a stack of onboarding documents, and a post-it with “Val we need a hot tub in the tower—seriously” scribbled in Yelena’s handwriting.

“I want you full-time, Agent. No more coming and going. A room and an official seat at the table. The team already treats you like you’re one of them. Might as well make it real.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Your heart said yes immediately. But your brain, ever cautious, flipped through the mental index of what-ifs and escape routes.

“You sure you want to say no?” Val asked, arms folded, one brow arched.

You blinked. “Did I say no?”

“You hesitated.”

“I blinked.”

“Same thing in spy-speak.”

Then you thought about last night’s mission.

How Yelena had linked arms with you when you walked back into the jet, chattering about snack options. How Alexei had announced proudly that he’d protected “the two best sharpshooters in the world.” How Bob had quietly tucked your coat over your shoulders when you’d dozed off.

And how Bucky had looked at you before you parted ways. Like maybe he didn’t want to see you go.

You smiled softly.

“I’m in.”

[diejager]

Hi! If your ask box is open then can i ask forced riding with König or Horangi ,please🥰?

Sharing Cw: DARK,DUB-CON/NON-CON, thigh riding, exhibitionism , call sex?, tell me if I missed any.

Straddling König’s lap, you rocked your hip against his strong thigh, thick and hard, moving under the guiding hand and stare of your captor. You were stripped down to a lose, oversized shirt, the collar sliding down your shoulder and the end draped around you like a mini skirt, and a little collar clasped around your neck, a soft, lace choker with his name engraved into the metal plate. Unlike you, he was fully clothed, tight pants and an even tighter shirt dripping the fat and muscle of his arms and chest, and his hood pulled over his face.

It was an act of domination, an intentionality to show his control and dominion over you. He moved your hips up and down the rough texture of his pants, rubbing your swollen clit over him without reprieve when you came all over him, staining and pants. You mewled and arched your back, head resting on his chest as he kept moving you. Your little pants, wet and humid gasps, and warm drool seeped into his shirt, painting a darker patch on his nipple, perked and sensitive if you bit into it.

You pawed him, nails raking his forearm when it got too much, your core tingling too strongly, feeling empty, yet over-satiated with how many times he made you ride his thigh, grinding your slick cunt on the soaked spot. You hated this, feeling his overpowering grip urging your hips forward and sweet praises coaxing you to follow his order. He sang praises, eyes gleaming so brightly that they burned a brand into your skin.

They roved over your thighs, admiring the slickness of it before moving up your rising chest, bite covered shoulders and pretty neck adorned with his name - König engraved in bold and black letters - and finally your flushed face, tears streaming down your cheeks, lips swollen and stare glossy-eyed, drunk on pleasure and pain. König’s cool eyes lingered on your face, taking in your appearance and admiring it with sweet, little words, then he gazed past your shoulder, meeting the black eyes of his partner.

“Enjoying the show, mein Freund?”

“네,” he grunted, eyes fluttering through the screen, his mask still hiked up his nose and panting at the debauched sight of you. (Yeah.)

Horangi was a close friend of his that König shared everything with him, they were as thick as thieves, sharing secrets and a pet. When König was busy, Horangi would come over, and when Horangi was gone, the responsibility would fall back onto König. And tonight, with Horangi far away, he called his friend through his laptop, the call encrypted and the view available to them alone. He’d watched you grind König’s thigh, leaving a long and damp line of slick and cum, glistening from the screen’s light in their dark room.

“You’re a good girl, ja, Kätzchen?” His eyes smiled, narrowed so mirthfully as he hastened your pace, pulling you more roughly and pressing you down to split your lips wider. He raised his leg, bouncing you as you moved, drinking in your mewls and tired moans, “Mein süßes, süßes Kätzchen, look at him.”

You could hardly turn to meet his gaze, mind so numb and glossed over that König had to turn your face around, letting you peer at the Korean from over your shoulder, lashes fluttering and lips wet. He groaned loudly, brows pinched in devastating pleasure at your broken expression, his arm jerking faster and low moans more common. König kept you half turned, feeling much more exposed than you were before, and a shameful throb crawling down your back.

With a few buck of his leg and your shirt riding up your mound, you came in a white, pulsing blaze, the cool air brushing your twitching nub. You gushed on his pants, dripping down his thigh and wetting his couch, spamming and toes curling while you keen. He bounced his leg once or twice for good measure before he turned you to face Horangi, back pressed to his chest and eyes threatening to close from exhaustion.

“So good and pretty for us, süßes Mädchen.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny