#on the edge of gone review

[brunchable]

How To Impress a 21st Century Girl.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Themes: Rom-Com, Fluff, Mutual Pining(Heavy?), First Date, Flirtation and Playfulness.

Summary: Sam had forced Bucky to use Tinder to solve his abysmal love life. Bucky tells himself that if third time isn't a charm, he will officially give up trying to find a partner.

A/N: I'm a sucker for rom-coms, I hope you guys enjoyed this because I enjoyed writing it.

tags: @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917

It had all been Sam’s idea. "Come on, man. You need to get back out there!" Sam had said, way too enthusiastically, while setting up a Tinder profile for him without even asking. Bucky had resisted at first, arguing that dating apps probably weren't his thing. But Sam was persistent, reminding him that it was 2024, not 1944, and that "no one meets in grocery stores anymore."

Reluctantly, Bucky had gone along with it, figuring it couldn’t hurt to try. What was the worst that could happen?

Well, now he knew.

Bucky was starting to think Tinder was out to get him. His first two dates had been disasters—and not just normal awkwardness, but spectacularly bad. The first girl, Jenny, had brought her ex-boyfriend to the date. Apparently, he was her ride, and they were still "good friends." Bucky had spent two hours third-wheeling a reunion he hadn’t signed up for. The second girl, Alicia, had a collection of ceramic frogs. And when Bucky said “collection,” he meant obsession. The girl spent an entire dinner showing him photos of different frog figurines. It was ribbiting. Literally. One of them even made croaking sounds.

So, now here he was, on date number three, standing outside some trendy café, wondering what fresh nightmare awaited him. This time, though, he’d let you plan the date. Maybe handing over control would be better than having to smile through another amphibian-themed dinner.

You showed up right on time, and Bucky was genuinely relieved to see no ex-boyfriend hovering in the background. You were wearing a paneled knit dress with spaghetti straps that hugged you just right, and your short hair was perfectly tousled. You smiled at him, but the look on your face told him you were just as unsure as he was.

“Hi,” you greeted, and Bucky instantly forgot every single normal response. Holy shit he is TALL.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” he mumbled back. He was really nailing this whole dating thing.

You walked inside, and the café had that minimalist vibe. A lot of plants. A lot of exposed brick. The kind of place where you’re not sure if you’re supposed to sit or admire the interior design.

As you both sat down, Bucky tried to channel his inner suave. He could do this. He had faced way worse than an awkward date. Like alien invasions. Like that one time he lost his arm again. This was nothing.

Except... why was talking to an attractive woman harder than fighting off super soldiers?

“I, uh, like your dress,” Bucky said, already feeling the heat creep up his neck. Nice, Barnes, real original.

“Thanks,” you replied, with an amused smile playing on your lips. “I like your... jacket.”

Bucky nodded, looking down at his worn leather jacket. “Yeah. It’s... warm.”

Warm? That’s what you’re going with? He mentally slapped himself. This was going well. So well. He tried to change the subject and scanned the menu. “Uh... so, what’s good here?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been,” you said, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “The internet said they have good coffee, though.”

“Internet reviews, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s always a gamble. Could be great... could be a disaster.”

Cue the awkward silence.

The waiter had barely placed the food in front of you both before the quiet tension stretched between you like you were sitting in a library, not a café. Bucky poked at his bagel as if it might come to life at any moment, while you took a delicate sip of your coffee, your eyes darting between him and the wall behind him.

You both chewed in the most nonchalant way possible, each of you hyper-aware of the silence that was growing louder by the second. You were mentally cursing every decision that led to this exact moment, and Bucky, for his part, was questioning whether retiring from the whole Avenger thing had been a mistake.

Say something. Anything, Bucky thought, taking another bite of his bagel, which suddenly felt like chewing rubber. Ask about herr favorite food? No, that’s boring. Comment on the weather? Oh, yeah, nothing like ‘Hey, it’s been cold lately,’ to really sweep her off her feet. Real smooth.

Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out how you managed to forget how to make normal conversation. Maybe ask him about his hobbies? No, that’s basic. Compliment his hair? What are you, in fifth grade? Pull yourself together!

Bucky, still chewing the world’s driest bagel, caught your eye for a split second, and you both did that polite half-smile thing that happens when you’re not sure whether you should talk or continue pretending to enjoy the food.

Did she just smile at me because I’m being awkward, or am I overthinking this? Bucky wondered, immediately breaking eye contact and pretending his coffee was the most fascinating thing on the table.

You, on the other hand, were screaming internally. Oh God, did I smile too weird? Was it the kind of smile that says, ‘I like you,’ or the one that says, ‘I’m trapped in this date and don’t know how to escape’?

You both took another sip of your drinks at the exact same time.

Alright, Barnes, get it together. Say something smart, Bucky told himself, putting his mug down carefully.

“So, uh... how’s your coffee?”

You blinked, your brain scrambling for a response. How’s my coffee? It’s coffee. Just say it’s good. Don’t overthink it.

“It’s... good. How’s your bagel?”

Bucky looked down at the circular piece of bread like it had personally betrayed him. “It’s... round.”

Round? Really? You went with ‘round’? Smooth, real smooth, he chastised himself, nodding like he had just made the most profound statement about bagels ever.

Your lips twitched. Did he just describe his food as ‘round’? Okay, maybe I’m not the only one struggling here.

You took another sip of your coffee, trying to hide your smile. God, this is like watching two middle schoolers on a first date.

You both glanced at each other again. Smile. Look away. Silence.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. Alright, clearly, she thinks I’m a complete idiot. But it’s fine. I can recover. Just... find a topic. Literally any topic.

You picked at your napkin. Okay, maybe I should mention the escape room next. But what if he hates escape rooms? What if he thinks they’re boring? You cleared your throat slightly, ready to speak, but then—

Bucky cleared his throat at the same time. You both froze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You go first,” Bucky said quickly.

“No, no, you first,” you insisted, waving your hand.

Bucky’s brain blanked. He blinked, searching for anything to say. “Uh... did you... park nearby?”

You stared at him, and then a smile slowly spread across your face. Did he really just ask me about parking? You nodded. “No I–um took public transport. Did you?”

Bucky gave a stiff nod. “Yeah. Close. Very close. Super convenient.”

You both stared at each other for a beat, and then, in a miraculous moment, you both cracked up at the exact same time.

“Parking?” you laughed, shaking your head. “That’s the best we’ve got?”

Bucky held up his hands. “Hey, I panicked, okay? The bagel threw me off.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, your shoulders shaking with laughter. “And I thought the frogs were bad.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh harder. “Okay, in my defense, this date is way better than ceramic frogs.”

“Glad to be the non-frog date.” You raised your cup in mock salute.

You both chuckled, and for the first time, the awkward tension seemed to melt away. Sure, you were a bit of a mess, but at least you were a mess together.

As you calmed down, you leaned forward, a playful grin on your face. “So, what’s next? You ready for the escape room?”

“I dunno. Should I be worried?” Bucky smirked, feeling a lot lighter.

“Only if you’re bad at puzzles,” you teased.

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning back with a smirk. “Oh, trust me, I think I’ll manage.”

And with that, you both finally stood up to head for the next part of your date, the awkwardness left behind with the round bagel and the overly complicated coffee.

× × × ×

As soon as you stepped into the Asylum escape room, the mood shifted from "awkward first date" to "this might be how I die."

Oh, great. Creepy hospital décor. Perfect first-date vibes. You eyed the flickering lights and eerie medical tools scattered around the room, trying not to let on how much it was creeping you out. At least it’s better than ceramic frogs, you thought, glancing at Bucky.

“This is supposed to be the hardest escape room they have,” you said, glancing at Bucky. “Takes most people at least an hour. You ready for this?”

“Yeah, sure. I mean... it’s puzzles, right? How hard can it be?” Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to appear calm. I’ve literally fought aliens. How bad could a few puzzles be?

“You’ve never done one of these before, right?” You looked at him, a bit skeptical.

He shook his head. “First time. But, uh... I’m good under pressure.” Under pressure? What am I saying? I sound like I’m about to defuse a bomb, not solve a riddle. Get a grip, Barnes.

“Alright. Let’s do this.” You smiled, trying to hide your own nerves. 

The clock started ticking, and immediately, you were plunged into darkness. A loud creak echoed through the room, followed by a voice over the intercom: “Welcome to the Asylum. You have 60 minutes to escape. Good luck... you’ll need it.”

Perfect. Creepy voice? Check. Flickering lights? Check. Yep, I'm doomed. You moved toward a stack of papers, squinting at the dim lighting. “Okay, first thing’s first... we need to find the clues hidden in this room to unlock the door.”

Before you could even start, Bucky was already inspecting a random pipe on the wall. He tugged at it, and it came loose, revealing a hidden key taped to the back. Oh, that was... lucky? Or did I just break something?

You froze mid-step. “Wait. How did you—”

“I... uh... just pulled on it.” Bucky looked just as surprised as you. Did I just accidentally solve this?

“Okay. Lucky guess.” You stared at him. 

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe.” Play it cool, Barnes. Don't look like you’re clueless here.

You both moved into the next room, which had even creepier décor. Faint writing on the walls, jars filled with unidentifiable things, and a mannequin in the corner that Bucky immediately side-eyed like it was going to jump out at you. Okay, I don’t trust that mannequin. Why’s it looking at me like that?

You picked up a piece of paper with some cryptic writing on it. “This says something about finding the light within the dark. I think it’s a clue. We need to—”

“Found it,” Bucky called out.

You turned to see him holding up a blacklight. How does he keep doing this?! 

“They always hide something with a blacklight, right?” He grinned, flashing the light on the wall, revealing a series of glowing numbers. That’s a thing, right? People hide stuff with these lights all the time... right?

“Oh, you’re just full of ideas now, huh?” You crossed your arms, smirking.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “Just... using my instincts.” Yep. Totally knew that.

You worked through the next few puzzles, but by "worked," what you really meant was Bucky accidentally stumbling into the solutions. Every time you tried to figure out a clue, Bucky would casually touch something, pull a lever, or press a random button that—surprise—opened the next door or revealed the next key. At first, you thought he was joking. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear: Bucky was somehow solving the escape room by sheer dumb luck—or so you thought.

This is starting to freak me out... Am I secretly a genius? Bucky thought.

At one point, you were trying to decipher a complicated code etched into the wall, mumbling to yourself about numerology and patterns, when Bucky—completely oblivious—pulled a book off the shelf, and a hidden door creaked open in the floor.

No. No way. “Are you—” You blinked. “Did you just—”

Bucky glanced at the open trapdoor, confused. “What? Was that not supposed to happen?”

You slapped your forehead. “No! I mean, yes, but—oh my God, Bucky, you’re breaking the game.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose!” Seriously, I just touched a book. How is that a thing?

You looked down at the trapdoor, then back at him. “What are you? A puzzle savant? Did you plan this?”

Bucky laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Nah, I just thought the book looked weird.” Great, now she thinks I’m some kind of escape room wizard.

You gaped at him. “The book looked weird?” Weird? Dude, I’m starting to think you have X-ray vision.

“I mean... yeah. It was dusty.” It wasn’t even that weird... or was it?

You squinted at him, hands on your hips. “You’re telling me you spotted a dusty book and thought, ‘Aha! Hidden door.’?”

“Isn’t that... what you’re supposed to do in these rooms?” Bucky shrugged, looking genuinely sorry. Please tell me that's how this works.

This man is unbelievable. You stared at him for a long moment before bursting out laughing. “Oh my God. You’re accidentally good at this. You’re just walking around solving stuff like you do this every weekend!”

Bucky chuckled, his shoulders relaxing a little. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m glad she’s laughing. “I swear I’ve never done this before.” This isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s happened to me this week.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified,” you teased, stepping closer to him. “You’re like a walking cheat code.” Sure, Sherlock. Whatever you say.

“Hey, I’m just here to help.” He smiled, clearly enjoying your reaction. At least she’s impressed. That’s something.

I think you might secretly be a robot. You shook your head, grinning. “Alright, escape room prodigy, let’s see if you can crack the last one.”

You entered the final room—a dimly lit chamber with a creepy-looking mannequin in the corner and random medical equipment scattered around. You narrowed your eyes.

“Okay, this is the hardest part. No way you’re going to just... guess your way out of this one.”

“Yeah, this one’s. . . tricky.” Bucky glanced around, clearly trying to look casual. Please don’t let me stumble into the solution again... 

Please don’t let him find the solution immediately. Just this once.

You pointed at the mannequin. “We need to find a code hidden somewhere in this room. The clue says it’s ‘locked in the mind.’ So it has to be something mental, right? Like a puzzle?”

Bucky stared at the mannequin for a second, then slowly reached out and twisted its head off. Inside, there was a slip of paper with the code on it. Oh, come on. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Are you KIDDING me?!” Your jaw dropped. 

“I just thought... you know... maybe the head comes off?” Bucky held up the paper, looking sheepish. 

Why am I even here?! You threw your hands up in the air. “Of COURSE the head comes off! Because that makes total sense! Sure!”

Bucky bit back a laugh. “Well, it did say ‘locked in the mind.’” Technically, I was right.

You glared at him, then shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Okay, that’s it. You’re banned from escape rooms. You ruin them.”

“Ruined it?” Bucky asked, grinning. “We escaped, didn’t we?” She’s totally impressed, even if she won’t admit it.

“We escaped in twelve minutes, Bucky! Twelve!” You slapped his arm playfully. “That’s not normal!”

He laughed, ducking his head. “Sorry?” Guess I’m not so bad at this ‘fun date’ thing.

As you both stepped out of the escape room, the staff was standing there, looking like they’d just witnessed the impossible.

“You’re... done?” Pink-haired Girl asked, your eyes wide with disbelief.

Wow. They look like I just told them Santa isn’t real, Bucky thought.

You, just as confused, looked over at Bucky. “Uh. . .yeah, I guess?”

“Looks like it.” Bucky gave a casual shrug. No big deal. Just casually shattering dreams.

Clipboard Guy checked his stopwatch again, his mouth hanging open. “Twelve minutes. No. That’s not possible. People are supposed to break down in there. We’ve had people cry!”

Cry? What is this, an escape room or emotional boot camp? “You want me to go back in and tear up a little? You know, for the full experience?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“People have left that room emotionally damaged. You just... strolled out.” Pink-haired Girl blinked. 

You stared at Bucky, still wrapping your head around it. “I didn’t even get through the first clue, and you were already unlocking half the room.”

“You were working hard. I just sped things up a bit.” Bucky chuckled softly, glancing at you with a playful smile. I mean, you were giving it a solid effort...

The Master of Puzzles guy appeared, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Did you... have the answers beforehand? Because that’s the hardest room we’ve got. We’ve had people rage-quit in there.”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, looking amused. “Nah, just good at finding my way out of things.”

“I didn’t even do anything. You solved the whole thing!” You shook your head, still half-laughing, half in disbelief.

“Hey, you were a great moral support.” Bucky smiled at you, nudging you lightly. Seriously, though, it’s good to have someone to watch while I dismantle a room’s dignity.

Clipboard Guy muttered, “We’re gonna have to ban him. He’s banned.”

Oh no, I’ve ruined their sacred puzzle temple.

“He broke the hardest room we’ve got. Who even does that?” Pink-haired Girl nodded, still dumbfounded. 

“Well, I’d offer to go back and struggle a bit, but... I don’t think it’d be convincing.” Bucky smirked, leaning casually against the counter. Trust me, I can’t fake being bad at something. Even if I tried.

As you headed for the exit, Bucky held the door open for you, giving the staff one last glance before he leaned over to you, voice low. 

“What? You wanted to be stuck in there all night?”

“Honestly? It would’ve been nice to solve at least one puzzle.” You groaned, though you were smiling.

“Next time, I’ll let you have the first clue. Promise.” Bucky chuckled softly. And by let you, I mean I’ll stand far away from everything and try not to accidentally win.

 “You better.” You laughed, shaking your head as you both stepped out into the night.

× × × ×

The arcade was buzzing with lights, sounds, and the faint scent of popcorn. It was a complete shift from the eerie asylum escape room, and you were already eyeing the rows of flashing machines and claw games with glee.

Alright, this is more like it. No creepy mannequins here, just good old-fashioned fun.

Bucky, on the other hand, looked around like he had just entered a foreign world. The last time he’d been in an arcade, they didn’t have all this flashing neon or half the games that were here now. What happened to the simple stuff? Pinball machines and jukeboxes. Now I’ve got ten-foot robots staring at me while kids slap buttons like their lives depend on it.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile at how excited you looked. Okay, if she’s this excited, maybe this won’t be so bad.

“Okay, so... how does this place work again?” he asked, watching a kid furiously slap buttons at a nearby game.

You laughed, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s simple! We just play a bunch of games, earn tickets, and then trade them in for really weird prizes. Easy.”

Bucky nodded, though he still looked a little confused. “So, you win tickets by—?”

“By being amazing at games, obviously,” you said, your eyes already darting toward a nearby basketball shooting game. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Bucky followed you, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, I’ll keep up.” Alright, let’s see if I remember how to be competitive at... basketball?

You started with basketball, and while you had a decent shot, Bucky quickly became the Michael Jordan of arcade basketball. He tossed shot after shot into the hoop with ridiculous ease, barely even looking like he was trying.

Oh, come on. Seriously? Why is he good at everything? You shook your head in disbelief. “Oh, come on. Are you serious right now? Are you even aiming?”

“I dunno. I just... throw.” Bucky shrugged, not missing a single shot. 

“This is what I get for going on a date with someone who’s literally built for accuracy.” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. Why am I pretending like I’m mad? It’s honestly impressive.

He flashed a boyish grin. “You wanted to see if I could keep up.” Oh, I’m keeping up, doll.

You crossed your arms, pretending to pout. “I wasn’t trying to lose in record time.”

When the game ended, Bucky had a ridiculous amount of points, and you had... well, significantly fewer. He collected your combined tickets from the machine, glancing down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Should I carry these, or do you want to hold on to the three tickets you earned?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

How is he still charming even while teasing me? This is unfair. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you snatched a couple of tickets from his hand with a grin. “You know what? Fuck you.”

“Careful, doll. You keep talking like that, and I might just take you up on it.” Bucky’s smirk widened, and he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice just enough to make your pulse quicken. 

Okay, that was a little too good. I should not be blushing right now. Your eyes widened for a second, a flush creeping up your neck before you shot him a playful glare. “You wish.”

“You know I don’t have to wish for anything.” He chuckled, stepping back with a wink.

Well, that escalated quickly. You tried to bite back your smile, but it was impossible with the way he was looking at you. “I’m starting to regret bringing you here.”

Bucky held up the stack of tickets, grinning like a kid who just won the lottery. “You’re only regretting it because I’m walking away with all the prizes.” Did I just turn an arcade into a battlefield?

“Yeah, yeah, keep rubbing it in.” You huffed, shaking your head, though the smile on your face said otherwise. 

Bucky shot you another wink. “Oh, I plan to.”

This guy is dangerous with that smile. You smirked, leaning in a little. “So... what happened to the awkward guy who pointed out that bagels are round? Because this,” you waved at the arcade tickets, “does not feel like the same guy.”

“What? You weren’t impressed by my bagel observations?” Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. I was doing my best back then, okay?

You laughed, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, I was very impressed. I just didn’t know you were hiding this arcade legend behind all that bagel wisdom.”

He grinned, eyes glinting. “I’m full of surprises, doll.” You have no idea.

“Clearly,” you said, still teasing him as you walked toward the next game. “Let’s see how many more surprises you’ve got.”

You dragged him over to the shooting gallery game, where you were met with an array of plastic rifles and paper targets.

“I’m kinda good at this,” you declared, grabbing one of the rifles with renewed determination. “You can’t have a crazy aim for everything.” Finally, something I can win.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused. “Okay. Let’s see what you got.”

You aimed and fired... missing every single target. You winced as the targets flipped back and forth, mocking you with their tiny, evil faces. Are you kidding me?

“You’re holding it too tight.” Bucky stepped up beside you, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Oh, great. Here we go. The expert.” You groaned. Of course, I’m holding it too tight. Leave it to Bucky to know everything.

Bucky smiled, but instead of saying anything, he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you, his hands gently guiding yours on the plastic gun. You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you felt the warmth of him so close. His breath was soft against your ear as he leaned in to guide your aim, his voice low and steady.

Why does he have to be so good at this? I can barely think straight.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands adjusting yours gently. “Don’t grip it so hard. Just like this.”

How am I supposed to relax when he’s practically wrapped around me?

Your pulse quickened, your senses suddenly overwhelmed by how close he was. His cologne—woodsy and warm—filled your lungs, making you a little dizzy. You swallowed hard, focusing on anything but the way your back pressed against his chest. “Okay... relax. Right. Got it.”

“You’re not relaxing.” Bucky’s voice was low, almost teasing.

Yeah, no kidding. Not exactly easy when you smell like a lumberjack dream. 

“I am relaxed!” you shot back, though your heart was racing so fast you were sure he could hear it.

Bucky chuckled, and the soft rumble of his laugh vibrated against your back. “If you were relaxed, you wouldn’t be holding your breath.” 

If she’s holding her breath, I must be doing something right.

You blinked, realizing that yes, you were in fact holding your breath. You exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the targets instead of the fact that Bucky was basically wrapped around you.

“Good,” he said quietly, his hands still steadying yours. “Now, pull the trigger. Nice and easy.”

Yeah, this is totally normal. Just shooting targets, totally not thinking about how close we are.

You followed his lead, squeezing the trigger gently. The shot rang out, and the sound of a hit echoed through the machine. The target flipped backward, signaling a perfect hit.

“I did it!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over as you turned your head to look at him.

Your faces were just inches apart. Bucky’s eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with tension, the good kind—the kind that makes your heart race and your stomach flip.

God, she’s close. Just a little closer...

Your gaze flickered down to his lips, and Bucky swallowed hard, momentarily forgetting where you were or what you were doing. All he could think about was how easy it would be to lean in just a little more, to—

“Uh, sorry!” A kid nearby bumped into the machine, jolting you both out of the moment.

Of course. Great timing, kid.

You quickly stepped out of Bucky’s embrace, your face flushed. “Well, um... thanks for the lesson, Barnes.”

Bucky cleared his throat, his ears a little pink. “Yeah. Anytime.” Anytime? Seriously, Barnes? That’s all you’ve got?

You moved on to a few more games, but the tension between you still lingered, electric and unspoken. After a particularly intense game of air hockey (where you almost won, thanks to Bucky being a little too distracted by you), you found yourselves at the prize counter.

Your eyes scanned the shelves, but one prize in particular caught your attention: an absolutely massive goose plush sitting at the top of the prize display. It was ridiculous, almost comically large, but it made you smile instantly.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, pointing. “That goose is so cute.”

Bucky followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow. A goose? Really? She could pick anything, and it’s that giant bird?

“You like that thing?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“I mean, look at it. It’s the size of a couch,” you said, laughing. “No one’s ever gonna win enough tickets for that.”

Bucky looked thoughtful for a second. Then, without saying a word, he handed all of your tickets to the guy at the counter. Challenge accepted, doll.

The kid behind the counter stared at him. “Uh, you know this isn’t enough for the goose, right?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, but... what’s it take to win that thing?”

Because clearly, winning giant plush birds is my new priority in life.

The kid blinked. “Like... a thousand tickets.”

Bucky smirked, then turned to you. “Wait here.”

“What are you doing?” You frowned, confused. 

Please don’t say you’re going to try and win a thousand tickets... oh my God, he’s going to try and win a thousand tickets.

Bucky said nothing and disappeared into the crowd. A few minutes later, you saw him at one of those old-school, rigged basketball games. His face was calm, determined—like he was about to go to war.

One after the other, Bucky sank shot after shot, racking up points so fast that you had to rub your eyes to believe it. Within minutes, he had earned a mountain of tickets. He moved on to another game, this time skee-ball, and then to another. Every single game, he dominated, earning enough tickets to make the counter kid’s jaw drop when he returned with what looked like a roll of tickets big enough to use as a belt.

“Holy crap,” you muttered, watching as Bucky handed the tickets over, a satisfied smirk on his face. The kid counted them, eyes wide, then slowly reached for the giant goose plush.

The oversized goose was practically half Bucky’s height as he carried it back over to you, grinning.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you with a proud look. “You said you liked it, right?”

Who just... casually wins a giant goose plush? How did he do that?

You stared at the giant, fluffy creature, then at him, your heart flipping over itself. “Bucky... this is insane. It’s huge.”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave without winning you something.” He shrugged, his grin boyish and a little shy. Yeah, Barnes, act like you’re not insanely proud of yourself right now. 

He’s... adorable. Stop. Focus. “You really didn’t have to... but I love it.” You laughed, hugging the goose to your chest. 

“Good.” Bucky’s eyes softened as he watched you smile. Worth every single ticket.

Your heart raced, your face heating up as you looked at him over the massive plush. “You’re full of surprises, Barnes. Who knew you’d be this good at arcades?”

Just trying to impress the girl, no big deal.

“Maybe I just wanted to impress you.” He smiled, a little more reserved this time.

Well, mission accomplished, buddy. You blushed, the air between you crackling again with that familiar tension. “Well, mission accomplished.”

You stood there for a moment, just smiling at each other, the absurdly large goose between you, until you laughed and nudged him with your elbow.

“You know, this might be the best date I’ve ever been on,” you said, your tone light but sincere. Was that too much? Did I just over-share?

Bucky’s smile grew, his eyes softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, holding the goose a little tighter. “Definitely the best.” Okay, that was smooth. Not awkward at all.

You left the arcade with the giant goose plush between you, its goofy face almost mocking the awkwardness that had suddenly crept back into your steps. Bucky walked beside you, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, trying to figure out what to say.

Do I say something? Or just... keep walking?

The sounds of the city filled the silence around you, but neither of you spoke. The playful energy from the arcade had faded into something quieter, more uncertain.

Why am I so bad at this? Just say something, Barnes.

After a long stretch of quiet, Bucky cleared his throat. “So... is this the end?” Smooth, real smooth.

You blinked and glanced over at him, trying to keep your heart from doing a flip at his words. “Well, that’s all I had planned. Why?”

Bucky hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly as he looked ahead, his mind clearly weighing something. Okay, don’t screw this up. Don’t sound too eager.

For a moment, you thought maybe he was going to say goodbye, that maybe this was the end of your date after all. But then, he spoke quietly, almost as if he was embarrassed to admit it.

“I kind of don’t want to go home yet.” Well, there it is. Now she knows.

You felt a flutter in your chest, your face heating up as a small, shy smile tugged at your lips. You ducked your head, looking down at the sidewalk to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks. The way he said it—so simple but sincere—made your heart skip.

Why does that sound so much cuter than it should? You bit your lip, an idea suddenly coming to you.

“Well...” you started, glancing up at him. “There’s a new building by the riverside with a sky deck. It just opened recently, and it’s supposed to have the best view of the city.”

“Sky deck, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, intrigued. A sky deck? Yeah, that sounds better than awkwardly walking home.

You nodded, a little more excited now. “Yeah. It’s pretty high up, and overlooks the whole city. I haven’t been yet, but I heard it’s amazing at night.”

“Sounds better than going home.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a soft smile. Thank God. I’m not ready for this to be over yet.

“Then let’s go.” You grinned, feeling your heart race just a little faster. 

You shared a quick, almost nervous glance at each other before walking in the direction of the riverside. The awkwardness wasn’t completely gone, but now, it was laced with anticipation, a kind of giddy energy that made your stomach flutter. You hugged the plush goose a little tighter, trying not to let your excitement show too much, but inside, you were buzzing.

× × × × 

The city lights shimmered below you as you lounged on the comfy chairs, drinks in hand. The night air was cool, but it didn’t come close to breaking the warmth buzzing between you and Bucky.

She’s... something else, Bucky thought, leaning back slightly. His gaze kept shifting between the breathtaking skyline and you, but he found himself more captivated by you. How am I supposed to focus on the view when she looks like that?

Noticing the quiet, you smirked. “So, you were really gonna end the night without showing off more of your endless talents?”

Oh, she’s teasing now. Alright, two can play this game. Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused. “What, beating you at arcade games wasn’t enough?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re a walking cheat code, Bucky. But I feel like there’s more you’re holding back.”

His eyes flickered over your face, lingering on your lips for just a little too long. More than you know, doll. “Maybe I am.”

Your breath caught for a second, but you quickly recovered, tilting your head and flashing him a grin. “Oh yeah? Like what? Some secret talent I should know about?”

Keep your cool, Barnes. Don't blow it now.

Bucky leaned in just a fraction, his voice lowering, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. But I only show them to people who ask nicely.”

God, does he have to sound that smooth? Your heart flipped at the way he was looking at you, intense, as if he was seeing through every joke and teasing comment. How am I supposed to keep this casual?

“Nicely, huh? And what do I have to do for you to show me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the playful banter fading into something more charged.

“Keep hanging around,” he said softly.

I’m in deep now. Bucky's eyes dropped to your lips again, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into nothing. Should I kiss her? Maybe I’m reading this wrong...

His eyes dropped to your lips again, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into nothing. It was just him—his voice, his presence, the way he was looking at you like he wanted to kiss you but was holding back.

You swallowed, feeling the tension build like a slow fire. You sipped your drink, trying to cool yourself down, but it did little to shake the feeling that something between you had shifted. Stop overthinking, just go with it.

“I could do that,” you murmured, a small smile playing on your lips. You felt his eyes on you, and the air between you felt electric. You glanced at him, catching him staring at your lips again. Your pulse jumped. He’s really staring... isn’t he?

“You’re staring,” you said, teasing, though your voice had a soft edge to it, your heart thudding in your chest.

Bucky blinked, caught, but instead of pulling away, he smirked. “Am I?”

Yeah, Bucky, play it cool. Like you haven’t been staring for the past five minutes.

“Mhm,” you teased, though your voice was barely steady. Why does that smirk make my heart race? “I mean, I get it. The view’s great and all.”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping lower. “You could say that.”

I can’t believe this is actually happening. You felt your face heat up at the way he was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze made your stomach do wild flips. Why is this so... intense?

“You’re not just talking about the city, are you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, sending shivers down your spine. Just kiss her already. “Maybe not.”

Your breath hitched. “And what are you looking at?”

He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked on yours. “What do you think?”

She knows exactly what I’m looking at. 

Your heart raced, the pull between you growing stronger with every passing second. His eyes kept flicking down to your lips, making you wonder if he was going to kiss you. I really shouldn’t wait any longer...

Bucky cleared his throat suddenly, as if shaking off the trance he’d been in, and leaned back into his seat, looking almost embarrassed. Okay, maybe I’m rushing this.

“Sorry... I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you interrupted quickly, your voice softer, gentler now. God, why did he stop? “Don’t be. I didn’t mind.”

His gaze snapped back to yours, the tension flaring again. She didn’t mind? Well, maybe I didn’t screw up, after all—or I did because you didn’t kiss her you idiot. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, a soft smile tugged at his lips, and his expression softened.

“So... orthopedic ward, huh?” he said, shifting the conversation, though his eyes were still locked on you. “How do you handle that? All those broken bones?”

Smooth, Barnes. Talk about bones to distract yourself from the fact you were just about to kiss her.

You took a deep breath, relieved for the break in intensity but missing it instantly. Great, now I’m thinking about how close he was... “Well, it’s mostly convincing people not to do dumb things. Like skateboarding down staircases. You wouldn’t believe what people put themselves through.”

Bucky chuckled. Yeah, I believe it. Considering I’ve done dumber things in my time. “I can believe it. I’ve been there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve skateboarded down staircases?”

“No, but I’ve done some pretty stupid things in my time,” he admitted, leaning in again. Pretty sure falling for you might top the list. “But if I did something dumb, you’d patch me up, right?”

You smirked, your eyes twinkling. He’s flirting again. I can’t take this seriously. “Oh, I’d patch you up. But I’d make sure to remind you how dumb you were the entire time.”

“Fair,” Bucky said, the distance between you shrinking again. Patch me up, lecture me—just keep talking, I don’t care. “But I think I’d be a good patient.”

You shook your head with a grin. Good patient? Doubtful. “I doubt that. You’d probably complain the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t,” he replied, his tone teasing but soft. I’d let her take care of me, no problem. “If you were the one taking care of me, I’d be on my best behavior.”

He’s definitely not just talking about broken bones... Your heart skipped at the way he was looking at you again, his voice dropping to something more intimate. The banter was light, but underneath it all, there was that same intensity. Okay, now I’m thinking about kissing him again...

“You don’t strike me as someone who’s ever on their best behavior,” you teased softly, though your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky smirked, his eyes flicking to your lips again. “Maybe you bring it out in me.”

God, I hope so.

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning. Your pulse raced, and you leaned into the moment, letting the tension simmer between you, unspoken but undeniable. He’s close again…

“I’ll have to see that for myself,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat.

She’s close, too. Just lean in, Barnes. Bucky’s gaze darkened, his voice low and rough. “You just might.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as the tension between you crackled, thick and electric. You shifted slightly, leaning in with a playful smirk. “So... tell me, you got any other dates lined up after this one?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered with amusement as he leaned back, crossing his arms. Dates? I can barely keep up with this one. “Why? You worried I’ve got someone else lined up?”

You grinned, holding his gaze. “Maybe. Should I be?”

Not a chance. He leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking as his voice dropped lower. “I don’t know... do you have any other dates lined up?”

He’s really turning this on me, huh? You blinked, your heart racing, but you quickly shot back, “Well, maybe... maybe not. Depends on how this one ends.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his eyes dropping to your lips again, the intensity rising. Alright, Barnes, time to end this date right. “Guess I better make sure it ends right, then.”

Before you could respond, Bucky reached out, his fingers gently tilting your chin up. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek as he leaned in, your lips so close you could feel his breath.

Your heart was pounding, your breath shallow, as his parted lips brushed against yours, soft and slow, his head tilting just slightly. The kiss was gentle at first, his lips locking against yours in a way that made everything around you fade to nothing. He could taste the faint sweetness of your daiquiri on your lips, and with a soft groan, his tongue did a slow, savoring lick against your bottom lip before slipping past, deepening the kiss.

Your hands instinctively moved up, cupping his face as you kissed him back, your fingers sliding along the scruff of his jaw. The warmth of his touch, the way his thumb stroked your cheek, the way his lips moved against yours —everything about it was intoxicating, pulling you under.

Then Bucky pulled back for a quick gasp, his breath mingling with yours , before diving back in, capturing your lips with even more intensity. The kiss deepened, more urgent this time, as though neither of you wanted the moment to end. His hand on your nape tightened slightly, pulling you closer as the kiss intensified, his lips pressing more firmly against yours.

They didn’t stop until they couldn’t breathe anymore, finally pulling apart when the need for air overtook you, both of you breathless and flushed. Their foreheads rested together, the cool night air doing little to cool the heat between you. Bucky’s thumb gently stroked your cheek as he whispered, his voice rough, “Definitely no other dates lined up after this.”

You smiled, your hands still cradling his face, your heart pounding. “Good. Neither do I.”

× × × ×

As Bucky’s motorcycle came to a slow stop outside your house, and glanced up at your front porch. You hopped off the bike, shaking out your hair with a satisfied grin.

That ride was way too short... you thought, glancing at him as you handed Bucky his helmet, which he stubbornly told you to wear instead of him.

Bucky, being the gentleman, didn’t just let you off with a wave. He slid off the bike and stood up straight, dusting his hands like he was about to help carry your groceries.

Alright, Barnes. Play it cool.

"I’ll walk you up," he said casually, like it wasn’t 2024 and people usually just waved from their cars.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking into a smirk. "You’re walking me to my porch?"

Bucky nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She thinks it’s weird? Hell, I thought that’s what you’re supposed to do.

“Of course. What kind of guy lets a lady walk to her door alone?” he replied, shrugging like this was completely normal.

You tried not to laugh, biting your lip to hold back a smile. He’s serious. Oh my God, he’s really serious. "Wow, okay, Mr. 1940s. What’s next, you gonna tip your hat and call me ‘ma’am’?"

Bucky smirked, taking a step closer. Alright, go with it, Barnes. “I could, if that’s what you’re into.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes but smiling as you walked together toward your porch. He’s ridiculous... and kinda sweet. You couldn’t help but notice how he slowed his pace just a little, like he was savoring the moment, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, casual yet somehow... considerate.

When you reached your porch, Bucky stopped, glancing at your door as if making sure it was safe territory. This is it. Play it smooth.

You turned to him, unable to hold back a laugh this time. "So, do I get a secret code to get into my own house, or...?"

Bucky grinned, leaning casually against the porch railing. “Just making sure you get home safe.”

Alright, Barnes, she’s not buying it. But hey, it worked.

“You know, they invented porch lights for a reason.” You shook your head, amused. He’s seriously acting like my personal bodyguard right now.

“What can I say? Old habits die hard.” Bucky shrugged, leaning in just a little closer, that playful glint in his eye. Please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh.

You looked up at him, crossing your arms with a smirk. “You know, there’s a fine line between being a gentleman and babysitting.”

Bucky chuckled. She’s killing me with that smirk. “Hey, you never know. There could be a rogue bagel out here, just waiting to trip you up.”

Oh, not the bagels again. “Oh my God, not the bagels again!” you burst out laughing, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You know they’re round, right?”

This man is unbelievable. You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I think we’ve officially come full circle.”

“Just like a bagel.” Bucky gave a slow, dramatic nod.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, but you shook your head, standing on your porch with your hands on your hips. Why do I like this guy so much?

“Alright, alright, you’ve escorted me safely to my door. Anything else, or are you going to salute me goodbye?”

Bucky’s grin softened, and with a playful twinkle in his eye, he gave a small, mock salute. She’s gotta be messing with me right now, right? “Goodnight, ma’am.”

“Goodnight, soldier.” You couldn’t stop smiling as you opened your door, turning back to look at him. Don’t walk away, don’t walk away yet...

As you slipped inside, you peeked out one last time, watching as Bucky lingered for a second, that charming smirk still on his face before he finally turned and headed back to his bike. Say something, Barnes. Don’t just leave like a dork.

But then he stopped, halfway to his bike, and turned back around, something flickering in his eyes.

No, I’m not leaving yet. Not without...

Before you could ask what he was doing, Bucky closed the distance between you with a few long strides. Without hesitating, he gently tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing your cheek as he leaned in and kissed you—soft, quick, but just enough to make your heart race. His lips parted against yours, and for a split second, you tasted the warmth of him before he pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes.

That... was... wow.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart doing a somersault. Did that just happen? You were still processing when Bucky grinned, his voice a little more hushed. “I guess I couldn’t leave without a proper goodbye.”

Smooth, Barnes. Real smooth.

You blinked, trying to find your voice, but all that came out was a soft, “No complaints here.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his hand still lingering at your neck for a moment longer. Then, he cleared his throat, stepping back a bit. “Hey, uh... you got a number I could call sometime?”

He’s asking for my number after that?

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter as you reached into your pocket, grabbing your phone. “Yeah, here—let me put it in.”

As you typed in your number, Bucky watched you, that familiar twinkle back in his eyes. Best decision I’ve made all night.

When you handed his phone back, your fingers brushed his, sending a small jolt up your arm. Yep, I’m done for.

Bucky pocketed the phone, flashing that boyish grin again. “Alright. I’ll call you.”

Yeah, you better. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He took a slow step down from the porch, but not without glancing over his shoulder one more time. “Goodnight... again.”

You stood there, grinning like an idiot. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way back to his bike, you slipped inside your house, leaning against the door as your heart raced. Did he really just kiss me? Again? Oh, this is definitely not over.

You peeked out one last time through the crack in the door, watching him as he swung his leg over his bike. Even from your doorway, you could hear him muttering with a smirk, “Just trying to keep the rogue bagels at bay.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you finally closed the door behind you, your heart racing a little more than you expected. I’m never going to forget this night...

[ffsg0jo]

"She asked for no pickles" with the JJK men if you would like?

characters (all written separately): nanami x reader ; gojo x reader ; choso x reader

warnings: fem!reader , mentions of food , pickles , swearing , gojo being weird , light angst (choso)

w/c: 1.5k (roughly 500-600 words each character)

a/n: this was really fun to write, so thank you sm for sending a request in !! i kinda deviated from the brief a little, so i hope you don't mind too much :)) i hope you all enjoy it and let me know what you think !! ive also decided to split it into 2 parts since it was getting really long.

part 1 (nanami ; gojo ; choso) ; part 2 (toji ; geto ; sukuna)

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈. 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 ::

"sweetheart what's wrong? why aren't you eating?"

your husband’s concerned voice pulled you out of your reverie. you sighed, weighing up your options, trying to decide whether it was worth telling kento your problem or not.

it was supposed to be a cute day out for you both, first going to an art museum which had a special exhibition you were both dying to see. then deciding to visit a nearby park with freshly baked bread, feeding your beloved husband a bite, and then the ducks.

now you were both currently sitting at a restaurant, and the sight before your eyes was enough to ruin your mood.

your husband reaches out and holds your hand from across the table, eyebrows furrowing further as he sees the despair on your face. you refuse to look at him, and kento starts to worry even more.

"my sweet girl, please tell me what's wrong," he urges, lightly squeezing your hand.

you sigh once more, and he follows where your eyes are pointedly staring the burger on your plate. immediately, he sees pickles sticking out from the edges, cemented into the melted cheese, and everything clicks.

"i asked for no pickles ken, but i don't want to be rude and send it back."

kento rubs your hand with his fingers and asks if you want him to take pickles off for you.

"i'll still be able to taste them though because i know they were there," you slightly pouted.

you looked so upset, and your husband hated that. you were really looking forward to trying this restaurant's burger due to all the good reviews you've heard. and as a fellow foodie, he can empathise and share your massive disappointment.

that won't do, kento thinks. his dear heart asked for no pickles, so she'll get a burger with no pickles.

kento spots a waiter nearby and makes eye contact, politely smiling and lifting his hand up. the waiter comes over immediately and asks if everything's okay.

"my beautiful wife here asked for no pickles on her burger, but there seems to be pickles," he looks at you and sees the slight embarrassment on your face and reassuringly rubs your hand. "would it be possible to send this one back and get one without pickles, please?"

you looked up at the waiter in hope with a bashful look on your face.

"absolutely sir," the waiter smiles at your husband and moves to take away the plate from in front of you. he turns to you and dips his head. "i apologise for any inconvenience caused, ma'am. i'll get that to you as soon as possible, alongside a desert of your choice, on the house."

you thank the waiter profusely, and once he's gone, you turn to your husband with the biggest smile on your face. you bring your joined hands up to lips and press kisses on the back of his hand.

"i love you so much kento, thank you!"

your husband smiles with a light blush adorning his cheeks. he leans over the table and presses his lips softly against yours.

"anything for you my sweetheart, i love you too." he whispers softly, with his lips still pressed against yours.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 ::

“satoru, my darling, my honeybun sweetie pie, did you put pickles in my fucking pastry?”

your boyfriend, who is sitting next to you, freezes at your tone, with his thumb pressed onto his lips to lick away cream from his cake that had gotten onto it. he turns to you with an incredulous look on his face, hand slowly falling back down to his lap. everything’s silent for a moment as he just blinks at you.

“pickles? did you say pickles babe?”

seeing the visible confusion on satoru’s face, you move the plate in your hands closer to him and pout.

“there’s pickles in my pastry.”

he looks down, and you’re right. for some reason, alongside the cream and the strawberries, there were two small slices of pickles half hidden underneath the strawberries. satoru’s confusion doubles, but then he remembers your accusation and how you looked like you were contemplating murder.

“that wasn’t me babe, i promise, scout’s honour!”

“don’t disrespect scouts toru,” you whine. “i was really looking forward to it you know.” you place the plate down on the tea table in front of you and huff, falling back and sinking into the sofa.

the only thing that got you through the long, hard day was the prospect of feasting on the pastry you bought and cuddling up to your lover. and now it was all ruined. what kind of sicko jokes around and puts pickles on perfectly delicious pastries, actively working to ruin people’s days.

seeing your lover’s shock, you’re inclined to believe him. out of everyone, satoru knew not to mess with people’s food, especially sweet treats. but you could’ve sworn putting it in the fridge with no pickles on it. so what happened?

satoru looks at you all upset, and he loses his appetite. don’t get him wrong, he would die for cake. but seeing you so distraught, he could not, in good conscience, enjoy his slice without you. he looks down at the slice of cake in his hand and decides to make a compromise.

“here, my love,” he says with a sweet smile on his face, handing you his plate. “you can have my slice.”

you look up at him, with your mouth slightly open in disbelief. no way, satoru just offered his cake. you never thought you’d live to see the day. looking at his plate, it does look delicious and pickle-less, but you shake your head. he deserves his sweet treat.

“s’fine baby, thank you though.”

“no, honestly, i don’t mind something savoury with my sweets,” he pushes the plate into your hands and grabs the pastry from the table. satoru makes a show of picking a pickle slice off the pastry and licking the cream off. “see it’s delicious,” he smiles brightly, seemingly enjoying it?

“i love you, but you’re a freak,” you grimace burrowing yourself into satoru’s side.

he only chuckles in response, munching on the pickle. he absolutely hates it. he’s a brilliant actor, but you can see it in his eyes, yet he still swallows it. you lift your hand up to his cheek, holding it gently and pressing kisses to every single bit of skin you can reach. your lover only gives you a cheesy smile in return, popping another cream covered pickle into his mouth.

“you don’t have to eat that love, we can just share your cake.”

satoru shakes his head, adamantly refusing. instead choosing to take a massive bite of your pastry covered in pickle juices. it’s disgusting, and he’ll probably cry in the shower before bed at the horrifying taste, but he could handle a couple of pickles if it ensured your happiness.

𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎. 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 ::

“baby it’s fine, i promise”

“no it’s not choso, first they made fun of you, and then they messed up your order on purpose,” you spluttered in pure disbelief. “it’s disrespectful and rude, i’m not letting them get away with it!”

how dare they, you thought as you sped back to the fast-food chain choso had gotten food for you both from. your husband is the sweetest and most respectful soul to have ever graced this earth. how dare they make fun of his facial marks and hair. you wanted to hug and kiss him all over, but first, you had some strong words for the workers at the food shop.  

to say you were fuming was the absolute least of it. you know for a fact that choso probably just awkwardly stood there, hearing their remarks and silently accepted his order whilst they laughed at his buns. picturing it only made you angrier, fists balling and blood rushing through your ears.

“baby, please calm down,” your husband called, hot on your heels. you were only a couple of shops away, and he absolutely did not want to make a scene. he took hold of your arm and gently pulled you towards him, grabbing your other hand in his too.

“my love, it’s okay, just let it go,” he urged. you looked at his face and you saw the slight shine in his eyes, and you were about to turn to straight back around. choso only tightens his hold on you and his hand moves up to hold your face.

“they’re just miserable people, not worth wasting your time on them baby.”

“you would do the same for me cho, i’m not hearing it!”

“i absolutely would, but the workers were young, and i don’t want you getting in trouble for fighting a bunch of kids,” he stressed. “let’s just go home and cuddle, and order takeout or something. please.”

the discomfort of going back inside the shop was written all over his face, and you really didn’t want to make choso’s day harder or worse than it already was. your husband deserved the world, and it made your heart break, knowing that there were people being mean to him. sighing, you lean up and press a soft kiss to the bridge of choso’s nose, right where his mark is.

“okay,” you relent. “let’s go home.”

choso kisses your hand and smiles at you, relief written all over his face.

“you didn’t deserve that choso, i’m really sorry they said all those horrible things to you.”

“’s fine,” he says dismissing it. “my wonderful wife did my hair and tells me how gorgeous she thinks i am every minute of the day. some silly teenager’s words won’t affect me.”

it was easy to see the words had affected him more than he let on, but for now, you decided to let it go. tomorrow you’d talk to him and offer reassurance properly and make his day extra special, but for now you’d let it go, seeing how clearly he wanted to leave it behind.

holding onto his hand, you both turned around and started making your way back home, discussing what you guys should order, already feeling lighter.

“oh babe, let’s invite yuuji over, we could have a family dinner,” you suggested, knowing if there was one thing that would cheer him up, it would be his brother. your husband’s face immediately lights up and he beams at you, nodding his head enthusiastically and agreeing.

it’s sorted then, cuddles with you, then takeout as a family, and then some more cuddles with you both whilst watching a movie.

extra note : geto put pickles on your pastry thinking it was gojo's when he came over the day before. gojo had been annoying him all week, so he decided to hit him where it hurt. when he found out it was yours, he felt terrible and brought extra pastries for you when he next came round.

© ffsg0jo 2024 — do not plagiarise, repost, modify, or translate any of my work, in any way shape or form; i will piss in your cereal if you do. all work belongs to me and me only.

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine inconveniencing Sir Crocodile with your fucked up sleep schedule

Early morning

Crocodile: [finds you in the kitchen procuring a beverage for yourself] I'm surprised you're up so early.

You: I haven't gone to bed yet, but I'm just about to head off. Night. [starts the trek -+

Crocodile: [follows you] It's six in the morning, just stay up and go to bed at a normal time tonight.

You: mmm, no, I'm sleepy, and I get nauseous when I stay awake for too long.

Crocodile: I need you to help to review all the accounts, if I did it by myself I'd take two days.

You: [enters your room and gets into bed] Do what you can, I'll come to help you around noon when I wake up.

Crocodile: That's not long enough, you need eight hours to be at the top of your game.

You: since you insist, then I shall see you around midafternoon.

Crocodile: seriously, you need to fix your shitty sleeping habits.

You: [cocoons yourself in your blankets and nuzzles your pillow to get comfortable] I'm gonna do a wrap-around.

Crocodile: [cocks an eyebrow at you] the fuck does that mean?

You: I'm going to sleep later and later, and eventually it'll be normal.

Crocodile: you're a ridiculous creature if you genuinely believe that will work.

You: I meant it as a joke, I'm actually going to bed earlier than usual.

Crocodile: this is early for you? [sits on the edge of your bed]

You: I usually go to bed around eight in the morning.

Crocodile: You need more structure in your life from an outside source... [reaches over and strokes your hair] I've clearly been too lenient with you, so starting tomorrow, you must be in my office and ready to work by noon. You also have to wear people clothes, no pajamas or sports wear. I'll gradually have you come in earlier and earlier until you have some semblance of a normal sleep schedule.

You: [whines].... fine, now shoo, I need to sleep, also I'll be billing you for the clothing I have to buy because I don't own many 'people clothes' as you put it.

Crocodile: [rolls his eyes, and ruffles your hair] Try to keep it under fifty thousand berry, please. I'm not made of money.

You: no, you're made of sand, which you're getting in my bed.

Crocodile: [snorts, and flicks some sand at you] Sleep well, brat.

You: thank you, I will.

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[clockwayswrites]

What yes? I didn't write one.

WC: 808 Masterpost

Jason didn’t see Danny until Tuesday. Which was fine.

It was fine.

He knew how busy Danny’s Monday classes were. But knowing that Danny was busy and waiting out the other’s expected arrival were two very different things. Jason did his best to occupy his time with reviewing the proposition for the new Park Row Library.

His kitchen counter covered in baked goods showed how well the distraction went.

It’s just that if he thought to much about Danny and all of the… surrounding Danny-ness, he started over thinking everything about it. It was better to just not think, which was hard, so baking. Baking always calmed him down. But now Jason had nowhere to set down the tray of cookies that were in hand. Maybe he should invite his siblings over, all of this would be gone by nights end with that swarm of locust.

A knock at his door paused Jason’s attempts to Tetris his counter into order. Thanking his good balance, Jason pulled up his door camera on his phone.

It was only Danny.

Fuck, it was only Danny.

Plate of cookies still in hand, Jason opened the door. “Danny, hi.”

Danny opened his mouth, closed it, and then took a step back. He brought a hand up to cover his grin. “Jason.”

“Danny…,” Jason said back warily.

“I, um,” Danny did his best to muffle a snicker. “,ah, like your apron. Did Dick get you it?”

Jason had to glance down at the apron he had put on that morning. He didn’t really look at them, it’s just whatever was on top of the clean stack. Today though, meeting him was the upside down text of ‘Titty Protector’. It was bright white on the blue apron.

As Jason sighed Danny gave up on trying to hide his laughter and just cackled.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up and see how many cookies you get.”

“No! I’m sorry,” Danny whined, trying to get his laughter back under control. “It’s a great apron. Amazing. Would ogle again. Dick totally bought it for you, didn’t he?”

“Actually it was Stephanie, friend of the family.”

“She must be something,” Danny said. He snagged a cookie as Jason backed up to let him through the door, only to pause with it halfway to his mouth. “Um, prepping for a bake sale?”

“No,” Jason grumbled. He locked his door before joining Danny in staring at the counter covered in baked goods. It really was absurd looking at it with fresh eyes. Even his siblings might have issues with this pile.

“So… ah, why all the food?”

Jason just frowned and clicked his nail against the edge of the plate. He didn’t know how to explain this to Danny.

“Oh Jason,” Danny sighed. He took the plate from Jason’s left hand, snagged his right, and led them over to the couch. The cookies got set down on the coffee table. “Hood talked to you, didn’t it?”

Jason nodded.

“Jason, it’s okay. We can still just be friends, right? I promise I won’t try anything with Hood either, it’s both of you or neither of you—”

Jason jerked his gaze to Danny. “What?”

Danny smile was sad and a little wobbly. “Like I told Hood, I’m not a home wrecker and clearly this is stressing you out. You don’t have to worry about letting me down gently.”

“Danny.”

“I just… I’d still like to be friends?”

“Danny! I’m stress baking because I want to say yes. I mean, we both want to say yes.”

Danny’s mouth snapped closed. His brow furrowed. “Saying yes is stressing you out?”

“Well… you have kept me waiting. You never did ask me, actually, and—”

“Hey Jason?” Danny asked, cutting Jason off.

Jason didn’t know whether to smile or sigh. He settled for both. “Yes Danny?”

“I’d really like to date you and your boyfriend. I think you’re both pretty amazing and I’ve gotten permission from your boyfriend to ask you. So, what do you say, want to date me too?”

“It could be dangerous.”

“Luckily I’ve been getting self defense lessons.”

“I’m a public figure.”

“I’m pretty oblivious to news, or you can keep me a secret like Hood.”

“He’s a crime lord.”

“Let’s be real, he’s a philanthropist with guns.”

“I’ve… only dated Hood. I might be really bad at it.”

“Luckily I already like being around you. And you feed me. Come on Jason, date me?” Danny asked, finally taking a bite of the cookie he had been holding this whole time.

Jason rolled his eyes, but could feel the smile pulling at his lips. “How can I say no to that?”

“That a yes?”

“Yes.”

Danny whooped and leaned in to press a quick kiss to Jason’s lips.

“You taste like cookies,” Jason said. He was grinning now.

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?”

---

AN: Thank you for the suggestions! I actually had a few lines of this one written so I went with it because I've been slayed. Had some bad new from work on the end of 3 meetings and then came home to a disturbing comment so I'm just a little done today.

BUT! We got something cute! And the boys have the scene where they start dating! Woohoo. Stay delightful and kind, darlings.

I no longer tag, you can instead subscribe to the masterpost.

[aether-starlight]

Silence - Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x Reader

Warnings: Minor injury, grief, brief mention of addiction.

Summary: After avoiding Zayne for some time, a situation arises where you are left with no choice but to see him.

Word Count: 1.5K

Anyone who knew you for long enough was aware of how much you disliked uncomfortable silences.

You always felt the urge to ease tense atmospheres, to build a bridge between opposing sides.

When Caleb had gone through that rebellious stage most teenagers seemed to experience at some point, you had been the mediator between him and Grandma.

Piercings were allowed after hours of soothing and convincing. Hunter's training had been authorized despite the fear of losing someone precious, accepting their freedom to choose.

Now, as Zayne placed careful stitches on your right cheek, you came to realize that you couldn’t be a person and a bridge at the same time.

He was upset, it was clear in the tense set of his jaw, the closed-off gaze he regarded you with, strictly medical in his evaluation of your injuries.

You know I’ll wait for you, you said the last time you saw him.

And yet, you had rescheduled appointments for later dates and avoided places you knew he’d probably be in.

You had been off social media in case he uploaded one of his rare posts, probably a disappointed restaurant review, or a reminder to his patients.

You had waited for anything he had been willing to give. A text, a call. But none had come, and it made you both furious and heartbroken.

No, you couldn’t be a bridge with Zayne.

You couldn’t stand in the middle. To have his affection but not his trust, a door only opened by halfs.

You would have all of him or nothing at all.

Of course, life, being such a poor comedian, had soon decided otherwise.

That Wanderer had gotten you good.

You had lost focus, too worried about watching over the kid hiding under a desk at your back to dodge long, sharp limbs.

Now your face was colored in shades of purple and blue, with the gash running down your cheek taking the price.

The receptionist knew who your head doctor was, and had almost screamed Zayne’s name into the phone when you accidentally scattered drops of blood at the edge of her desk.

You had been mid-apology when he stormed out of his office, quieting you with a single look.

Now, the atmosphere was certainly uncomfortable as he barely uttered a word beyond instructions of turning your head or how to care for the wound for the following weeks.

Silence had been filled with words that in the end felt hollow.

But now he was done, and his hand was still gently cradling your unharmed cheek, tilting your injured side to the light.

The scent of blood and antiseptic dimmed beneath the freshly washed clothes and lavender, coming from the sleeve of his white coat.

He called your name. You winced lightly at the repetition of your earlier mistake.

Zoning out was a matter of life or death in your daily life, and lately, you had been at odds without it.

“When was the last time you slept through the night?”

“You know I haven’t for a while now,” you replied quietly, gaze downcast.

Nightmares plagued you still. It was hard to disconnect from a job that required you to be in a constant state of alert.

His grip slid to your upper arm, a gentle pressure over your half-singed sleeve. You were lucky. So incredibly lucky to be alive.

“Why didn’t you make an appointment? I could have prescribed you a sleep-inducer.”

Your gaze darted to your lap, hands trembling, with uneven nails and scratched knuckles.

What a mess.

“I have an appointment.”

“A month due,” he chastised. “Do not think I am unaware that you rescheduled it.”

Your hands closed into fists as you finally met his eyes.

“You know why I did that.”

This time he was the one to look away.

“Do you wish for me to refer you?” A muscle twitched in his jaw.

You gritted your teeth, something half grieving-half furious stinging behind your eyes.

“I don’t.”

His hand was still on your arm and you could not figure out for the life of you why that was.

He sighed, weaker the longer he stared into your eyes. He had been told more than once that his evol was perfect for him. Cold as ice.

If he was ice, then you were the sunlight that slowly thawed it, changed it into something warmer, more adaptable.

A light that had come so close to being snuffed out.

Before he knew it, his forehead was pressed to yours, eyes closed as he basked in the darkness your conjoined shapes cast, the scent of you beneath all the grime and blood, of jasmine and warmth.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out.

Your lips pressed together, and your face contracted in that unflattering way it does when one is holding back tears.

“Why would you suggest that?” Your voice was small, betrayed. His sudden closeness surprised you, mostly because of the way your body reacted, pliant as an addict at the hint of temptation.

Zayne leaned back, cupping the back of your neck, running his thumb down the line of your jaw.

The low temperature of his hand soothed your heated skin, carefully pressed to the swollen and bruised areas.

“Perhaps it is because I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

You smiled, but it was humorless, wincing when it pulled at your stitches.

“It’s in the job description, unfortunately.”

Contradicting emotions bloomed within his gaze.

Repentance, relief, open and closed. His heart was a room you liked to peer into before the door slammed shut.

Someone knocked, coming in only to halt at your presence. A male doctor stood by the door. He seemed to be around Zayne’s age.

Surprisingly enough, Zayne didn’t pull away, keeping his hand where it was, now pressing his thumb beneath your ear.

The young doctor—Greyson, guided by his name tag—, gaped at the sutures on your cheek. Or perhaps at the rainbow of bruises marring your face.

You winced, an uncomfortable feeling spreading at the pit of your stomach. It was strange to be seen in such a vulnerable state by a complete stranger.

Noticing your discomfort, Zayne shifted to partially hide you from view.

“Yes?” He asked frigidly.

You often forgot how cold he could be. It was a pleasing contrast to how soft he was only for you; and a painful reminder of everything he had been through.

Getting information about Zayne’s past from his own lips was a challenging task. The few times he shared his experience as a combat medic and missions at Mount Eternal had been in an attempt to comfort you.

Doctor Grayson relayed information concerning a patient’s health improvement, placing a file on Zayne’s desk.

“I’ll see to their discharge,” he said, not turning until Grayson had shut the door behind him.

You felt yourself sag in relief, leaning forward until your forehead was pressed to his shoulder, eyes closed.

Lavender and antiseptic surrounded you, held you in the present, and kept your feet rooted to the Earth.

It was only once you felt the growing dampness on his coat, that you realized you were crying, shoulders shaking beneath his touch.

Zayne let out a low sound from the back of his throat, something sorry and tender.

“Why the tears, sweetheart?”

Pulling back, you roughly ran the back of your hands to your cheeks.

“I don’t know,” you admitted in a croaky voice. “I guess I’m just tired.”

Zayne’s gaze was soft as he grabbed your wrists, pulling them down to wipe your tears himself, with slow swipes of his thumbs.

Unable to meet his eyes, your attention drifted to the movement of his fingers, lithe and steady.

One day you had arrived for a check-up and his hands were littered with scars, a shade lighter than his skin.

You had ran the tips of your fingers over them, traced their rise and fall, felt the echo of his evol against your own, something sorrowful and guarded.

He had let out a derisive comment, something about his hands being no longer useful for anything but surgery.

Now, as they cradled your face so carefully, you couldn’t help but strongly disagree.

“Zayne,” you murmured, finally meeting his gaze.

Beneath your damp lashes, your eyes were red. Your hair could have used a comb, and your clothes were half charred. Not to mention the sorry state of your face.

And yet, to Zayne you had never been so dignified. A hunter in your own right, you were the one he bowed to as you bled. The one he thought of when pondering salvation.

You took the pain meant for others and crafted it into something else, something pure and meaningful.

When he answered, he was half ashamed to admit that his voice came out pliant and quiet.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Your features were open and docile, something he was still too afraid to inspect. It opened the scars of the past, yearned for you to see them, hold them closed between your fingers.

“Can I crash here?”

His eyes darted to the painfully white couch you were meant to lie on if you did, then studied the grime and blood in your hunter uniform.

Lastly, he thought of the pile of clinical notes that awaited him.

He was a weak, weak man.

“Of course. I’ll wake you when I finish.”

The smile you offered him was nothing short of dazzling, even when toned down by your injury.

“Then your place?”

He flicked your chin, oddly playful.

“My place,” he confirmed.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: yuhhhhhh.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Gulls flap across the cornflower sky. Thin wisps of cloud crest beneath the gemlike sun, shining at you with a blinding gleam. You shield your eyes with your hands as Sy steers along the crooked backroad around the cliffs the face the coast.

Aika pokes her head out between the seats as she sits in the back. She is your only comfort on the long journey to a beach you’ve never been before. 

You don’t ask where you’re going. You wouldn’t know the difference, you only know that most people head to West Cove. You jostle with the truck. The sun reaches its apex. It’s a bit late to just be getting to the beach then. 

Yet, he doesn’t stop. He keeps driving. Around the rocky crags and cliffside, on and on, through the scatter of trees, and past that. You can still see the water but the clock ticks on. 

You sit up, more rigid than ever. You haven’t been able to relax but you’re on edge as you realise how far you’ve gone. How long he’s been at the wheel. 

“Everything okay, sweetie?” He asks. 

“Y-yeah. Um... does Aika need to go?” 

“She’ll let us know, don’t ya worry,” he chuckles. “Pretty, ain’t it? The water?” 

You peer around him as the water now stands at his shoulder. 

“Shouldn’t we be going towards the coast?” You ask. 

“We’ll get there, sweetie,” he assures you. “Just a little further. Didn’t I mention I got a surprise?” 

“Erm, no. A surprise?” 

“Don’t wanna spoil it,” he smiles and runs his hand over his beard.  

You shrink down and go silent. You don’t want to push him. You can’t help but hear the echo of his booming voice and the crack of plaster around his head. No, you won’t do that again. 

You come in sight of a house. The siding is beaten wood, the blue paint chipping away, and there’s a crooked shed around one side. The pillars of the porch are dusted with dirt and the old windows boarded up. A tickle creeps up your spine as Sy steers toward it. 

“Surprise,” he blusters excitedly. 

“Surprise?” You squeak and stare at the house. 

“It’s a beach house,” he proclaims proudly. You don’t have the heart or the courage to extinguish his excitement. Does he not see how decrepit it is? 

“A beach house?” 

“Oh yeah,” he shuts off the engine. “Just us.” 

“Wow,” you breathe. 

He laughs so loud it makes you flinch. He slaps his hand down on your thigh and squeezes, “don’t be so nervous. We’re gonna get it all cleaned up. Won’t take much.” 

“Mhm,” you hum as you look down at his large hand. You gulp and he lets you go. 

He gets out and you look at Aika. Her wet nose touches your cheek. Sy whistles and she hops between the seats and follows him out the open door. You climb out on your side and peer up at the house in dread. 

“Sy, it’s... it’s gonna be dark in a few hours though.” 

“Well, we won’t be driving back now,” he scoffs. “We’re gon’ be here a while. Just you and me. Like a honeymoon or such.” 

Your heart sinks. This man took over your life barely two days ago and he’s talking like you’re married. Worse, you let him bring you out to who knows where. Why hadn’t you been paying attention? 

“I’ll just get it opened up and air it out,” he says as he marches up to the porch. 

You watch him. Stunned. You really can’t believe this. It can’t be real. You scratch your scalp as panic razes through your skin. Aika sits on the steps and you turn back to the truck. You don’t understand... 

You go around the bed of the truck. It’s covered. And locked. You can’t pull it open. 

You hear him stomping before he appears. You quickly move away from the truck and pretend that you’re admiring the wooden bench amid the patchy grass. He calls your name and you turn to him, swallowing your fear down deep. 

“Wanna come see? Got a flashlight.” 

He wiggles the yellow plastic and clicks the button. He hits it to make it turn on. You blow out a breath and nod. You go to him, choked of your voice. 

He waves you ahead of him. You enter as he shines the flashlight around you. There’s furniture draped in sheets and an old cross stitch hung over a chest of drawers. There’s a fire stove that could be a century old and a carpet with fraying edges. You don’t know if this place is forgotten or condemned. 

“Get the boards down, get the dust out, and it’s perfect. Isn’t it?” He purrs as he comes up and puts his arm across your shoulders. 

You wince and nod. He guides you along as he aims the light into the kitchen and the stove that looks right out of a mid-century advert, well maybe if it got a fresh coat of paint. He squeezes you closer and stops. 

“You alright, sweetie? You quiet?” 

“Yes,” you sniff, “y-yeah. Like you said. It’s a surprise.” 

“Now I know you wee probably looking forward to the beach today but we’ll get this place nice and cleaned up and have a good fire. I brought stuff for smores. Heh, another surprise. Then tomorrow, we’ll have the whole day in the sun.” He waves the flashlight around, “you know, it’s not ten minutes walk to the shore. I know a shortcut.” 

“That’s... great,” you eke out. How does he know this place? 

“I’ll get the windows open. How about you pull them sheets off the furniture?” He suggests. 

“Okay,” you agree softly. 

You turn and go back down the hall. Aika watches through the door. You’re trapped here with this mad man and his trained dog. There’s no way out, even if you did know where you are. 

All you can do is distract yourself for as long as you can. Take your time, stay busy. It’s once you have nothing to do that he’ll be able to do anything he wants. 

You work at uncovering all the furniture. Then you find a cloth to dust the surface. Sy tosses the boards from the windows in the yard and you take the straw broom form the corner to sweep the floor. The sky ripples as the sun sets and you work in the dimming haze. 

Sy lights an old lantern, struggling to catch the wick. He leaves it with you as he takes the flashlight. He mutters something and continues into the shadows the hallway. There’s a clatter and Aika taps through the open door with breeze. She stops as her snout points after her owner. 

Thump, thump, thump, thump... the noise whittles off and you look down as you hear noise beneath you. There’s a basement? You wait as Aika keeps vigil, unmoving. You scratch the floor with the bristles as you try to get up as much dirt as you can. 

There’s a crackle and some more creaking. Sy thunders back up the stairs and you look up as he searches the wall. He twists a switch and shuts off the flashlight. The tinted bulbs on the wall light up.  

“Found the generator,” he says. “Look at you. Looks good in here.” 

“Um, yeah,” you continue to brush the floorboards. 

“Should I make up the bed?” He asks coyly. 

You put your head down as you move with the broom, “well, I am getting tired.” 

“Tired...” he mutters. “Mm, sure, but we’re still gonna have a fire, huh? It’s a nice night.” 

You nod, “if that’s what you want.” 

He sighs, “hm, I’ll... I’ll go fix up the bed then.” 

You know he’s disappointed. You’re trying to play along but you’re terrified. As the crickets buzz louder and you hear the forest cracking and swaying, the desolation sets in. Your hopelessness cannot be staved off much longer. 

Mistake after mistake, you can’t help but blame yourself for this. He might be the villain, but you set yourself up. You started that Instagram, you didn’t pay enough attention to security, you spoke to him at the grocery store, and you let him take you home. You let him invade your life and when you finally tried to get him out, it was already too late. 

It is too late. 

You still the broom and squeeze it. You stare at the window. You're lost. Entirely. 

He comes back out and you flinch. You try to shake off your despair. It clings but you make yourself smile. You lean the broom against the wall. 

“Can I help?” You ask. 

“Help, er, sure.” He accepts, “I got some fresh stuff in the truck.” 

He ushers you ahead of him. You go outside and he’s close behind. The keys jangle as he comes up next to you and you walk with him to the bed of the truck. He unlocks it and you nearly collapse. He drags out a large plastic bin. What is all this? It’s like he’s moving... 

How long has he been planning this? 

You step back and blink. You’re woozy with horror. All this stuff, you don’t think he’s planning on leaving. 

“Ah, this one,” he drags out another container. “Got the sheets in there.” 

He lifts the big blue bin and you take another step back. You shake your head as you stagger around dumbly. He doesn’t notice as he hauls the container in his arms toward the porch. 

“Be a sweetie and get the door,” he says. 

“No,” you wisp and clear your throat. “No,” you say loud as you stumble back. “No, no!” 

You shake your head as he turns to you, his face contorted in confusion. You spin and nearly trip over your own feet. You burst into a sprint. You’re not thinking. It’s purely your body moving on fear alone. 

You pump your arms and lift your knees, heading for the spatter of trees. They aren’t thick enough to hide you completely but you might be able to weave around fast enough to lose him. And then... 

Then... 

You don’t know. All you know is that you have to keep going. You can hear him. His footsteps crush through the twigs as he hollers, “Aika.” 

He whistles as you puff shallowly through the pain in your chest. Go, go, go. It isn’t fair. It’s two against one. 

You get past the first few trees as you hear his next order but don’t understand it. It’s in that other language. You’re hit from behind, a toppling force that sends you onto your stomach. You land painfully in the dirt as Aika stands on your back and growls in your ear. 

“Aika, please. You’re a good girl,” you plead, “Aika, off! Aika--” 

“She don’t know English,” Sy snarls as stomps up behind you and kicks your foot.  

You whimper and drop your head down. Your stomach, knees, arms, hands, legs, even your cheeks are scraped from your fall to earth. And fall you did. Back to reality. 

“Please,” you snivel. “Please, Sy. Take me home. I’m scared.” 

He sighs and snaps his fingers. Aika quiets and hops off of you. She turns as she stands by your head and Sy approaches you from behind. He pulls you up and turns you to face him. 

“You are home, sweetie,” he grits through his teeth. 

You pout and shake your head, “no, Sy. Why? Why are you doing this to me?” 

“Doing what?” His forehead wrinkles and his eyes dull. “I’m takin’ care of ya. What do ya mean?” 

“But... we can’t stay out here.” 

“Why not?” 

You stare up into his eyes. They’re empty. Like before. Like when he went rabid. You squirm and grab at his thick fingers. 

“Because,” you exclaim. “I don’t know you.” 

He winces and blinks. His throat bobs as his head tilts back and forth. He squeezes your shoulders and huffs, “no, no, you know me.” 

“I don’t,” you whine. “I don’t know you.” 

“You do. You do.” He insists. “You spoke to me. You smiled at me. Every night.” 

Your lip quivers and your tears overflow, “Sy,” you sniffle, “Sy, you... you... you’re not a bad guy, you’re just confused. Please, I know you don’t want to hurt me so take me home.” 

He closes his eyes and sucks in through his nose. His chest rumbles and he his breath out slow. His lashes lift. His pupils swallow up his irises. You shiver at the pools of black. 

“Captain,” he snarls. “I am your Captain.” 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Linkrot

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

Here's an underrated cognitive virtue: "object permanence" – that is, remembering how you perceived something previously. As Riley Quinn often reminds us, the left is the ideology of object permanence – to be a leftist is to hate and mistrust the CIA even when they're tormenting Trump for a brief instant, or to remember that it was once possible for a working person to support their family with their wages:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/27/six-sells/#youre-holding-it-wrong

The thing is, object permanence is hard. Life comes at you quickly. It's very hard to remember facts, and the order in which those facts arrived – it's even harder to remember how you felt about those facts in the moment.

This is where blogging comes in – for me, at least. Back in 1997, Scott Edelman – editor of Science Fiction Age – asked me to take over the back page of the magazine by writing up ten links of interest for the nascent web. I wrote that column until the spring of 2000, then, in early 2001, Mark Frauenfelder asked me to guest-edit Boing Boing, whereupon the tempo of my web-logging went daily. I kept that up on Boing Boing for more than 19 years, writing about 54,000 posts. In February, 2020, I started Pluralistic.net, my solo project, a kind of blog/newsletter, and in the four-plus years since, I've written about 1,200 editions containing between one and twelve posts each.

This gigantic corpus of everything I ever considered to be noteworthy is immensely valuable to me. The act of taking notes in public is a powerful discipline: rather than jotting cryptic notes to myself in a commonplace book, I publish those notes for strangers. This imposes a rigor on the note-taking that makes those notes far more useful to me in years to come.

Better still: public note-taking is powerfully mnemonic. The things I've taken notes on form a kind of supersaturated solution of story ideas, essay ideas, speech ideas, and more, and periodically two or more of these fragments will glom together, nucleate, and a fully-formed work will crystallize out of the solution.

Then, the fact that all these fragments are also database entries – contained in the back-end of a WordPress installation that I can run complex queries on – comes into play, letting me swiftly and reliably confirm my memories of these long-gone phenomena. Inevitably, these queries turn up material that I've totally forgotten, and these make the result even richer, like adding homemade stock to a stew to bring out a rich and complicated flavor. Better still, many of these posts have been annotated by readers with supplemental materials or vigorous objections.

I call this all "The Memex Method" and it lets me write a lot (I wrote nine books during lockdown, as I used work to distract me from anxiety – something I stumbled into through a lifetime of chronic pain management):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Back in 2013, I started a new daily Boing Boing feature: "This Day In Blogging History," wherein I would look at the archive of posts for that day one, five and ten years previously:

https://boingboing.net/2013/06/24/this-day-in-blogging-history.html

With Pluralistic, I turned this into a daily newsletter feature, now stretching back to twenty, fifteen, ten, five and one year ago. Here's today's:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/21/noway-back-machine/#retro

This is a tremendous adjunct to the Memex Method. It's a structured way to review everything I've ever thought about, in five-year increments, every single day. I liken this to working dough, where there's stuff at the edges getting dried out and crumbly, and so your fold it all back into the middle. All these old fragments naturally slip out of your thoughts and understanding, but you can revive their centrality by briefly paying attention to them for a few minutes every day.

This structured daily review is a wonderful way to maintain object permanence, reviewing your attitudes and beliefs over time. It's also a way to understand the long-forgotten origins of issues that are central to you today. Yesterday, I was reminded that I started thinking about automotive Right to Repair 15 years ago:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2009/05/right-repair-law-pro

Given that we're still fighting over this, that's some important perspective, a reminder of the likely timescales involved in more recent issues where I feel like little progress is being made.

Remember when we all got pissed off because the mustache-twirling evil CEO of Warners, David Zaslav, was shredding highly anticipated TV shows and movies prior to their release to get a tax-credit? Turns out that we started getting angry about this stuff twenty years ago, when Michael Eisner did it to Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 911":

https://www.nytimes.com/2004/05/05/us/disney-is-blocking-distribution-of-film-that-criticizes-bush.html

It's not just object permanence: this daily spelunk through my old records is also a way to continuously and methodically sound the web for linkrot: when old links go bad. Over the past five years, I've noticed a very sharp increase in linkrot, and even worse, in the odious practice of spammers taking over my dead friends' former blogs and turning them into AI spam-farms:

https://www.wired.com/story/confessions-of-an-ai-clickbait-kingpin/

The good people at the Pew Research Center have just released a careful, quantitative study of linkrot that confirms – and exceeds – my worst suspicions about the decay of the web:

https://www.pewresearch.org/data-labs/2024/05/17/when-online-content-disappears/

The headline finding from "When Online Content Disappears" is that 38% of the web of 2013 is gone today. Wikipedia references are especially hard-hit, with 23% of news links missing and 21% of government websites gone. The majority of Wikipedia entries have at least one broken link in their reference sections. Twitter is another industrial-scale oubliette: a fifth of English tweets disappear within a matter of months; for Turkish and Arabic tweets, it's 40%.

Thankfully, someone has plugged the web's memory-hole. Since 2001, the Internet Archive's Wayback Machine has allowed web users to see captures of web-pages, tracking their changes over time. I was at the Wayback Machine's launch party, and right away, I could see its value. Today, I make extensive use of Wayback Machine captures for my "This Day In History" posts, and when I find dead links on the web.

The Wayback Machine went public in 2001, but Archive founder Brewster Kahle started scraping the web in 1996. Today's post graphic – a modified Yahoo homepage from October 17, 1996 – is the oldest Yahoo capture on the Wayback Machine:

https://web.archive.org/web/19960501000000*/yahoo.com

Remember that the next time someone tells you that we must stamp out web-scraping for one reason or another. There are plenty of ugly ways to use scraping (looking at you, Clearview AI) that we should ban, but scraping itself is very good:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

And so is the Internet Archive, which makes the legal threats it faces today all the more frightening. Lawsuits brought by the Big Five publishers and Big Three labels will, if successful, snuff out the Internet Archive altogether, and with it, the Wayback Machine – the only record we have of our ephemeral internet:

https://blog.archive.org/2024/04/19/internet-archive-stands-firm-on-library-digital-rights-in-final-brief-of-hachette-v-internet-archive-lawsuit/

Libraries burn. The Internet Archive may seem like a sturdy and eternal repository for our collective object permanence about the internet, but it is very fragile, and could disappear like that.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/21/noway-back-machine/#pew-pew-pew

[bowlofsoob]

YEONJUN AS YOUR COLLEGE RA

yeonjun x gender neutral reader

strangers to friends to lovers, college setting

started out as you and yeonjun only communicating for things via dorm life but after a party breaks the ice you start to catch feelings for him after becoming friends with benefits

notes; idk if it’s different in other countries but RA means resident advisor and basically it’s the person in charge of your dorm floor and in charge of everyone

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

The night was alive and the air was thick with multiple lights and smoke that you and the other students could have been underwater. It seems your roommates had gone all out with the smoke machines placed at the front of the dorm, blanketing it, as if it was a completely different world compared to the other silent dorms on the same floor.

You awkwardly nursed a cup of beer in your hands near the door as you anxiously wait for Yeonjun to arrive. It was stupid, but if you couldn’t have him you’d at least like to befriend him. Or take a body shot off of him. More so the latter.

“Hey,” you hear, a voice so low in your ear you almost jump and drench yourself in cheap beer.

“Hi,” you swallow, turning around and coming face to face with the man of your wet dreams.

You shove your drink into his hand, “Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss the first party of the year,” Yeonjun lazily smiles, downing the cup in a second, not even flinching once.

A group of boys followed behind him, immediately running in and jumping to the music as Yeonjun stayed near you.

“Show me to the drinks,” Yeonjun hums, holding up two bottles he’d brought.

As you both walked deeper into the dorm you could hear the roar of the students and music thrumming straight through your body and into your eardrums. Bodies moved around you like sweaty gnats, the dim lights strung up on the walls being the only source of light guiding you through the hall beside Yeonjun, flickering between violets and hues of blue. It fit the theme perfectly for that night.

Once in the kitchen Yeonjun went to work pouring himself a drink.

“You want one of my famous drinks?” Yeonjun asks, rolling up his sleeves as he leans back on the counter.

“Famous?” you smile, “According to whom?”

A cold glass was shoved into your hand, liquid sloshing precariously against the edge. You brought the drink to your lips, the fizzling sensation causing a nostalgic feeling to wash over you. Yeonjun immediately drank one of his own, gulping it down as you cheered him on. He raised his arm above him once he was done.

“Pretty good, right?” he laughs, already working on another drink for you both.

It was at that moment you were ready to strip right then and there. There was something so intimate about you both being the only ones in the kitchen, red lights flickering every other second and illuminating Yeonjun’s sly smirk. His eyes on you.

“I suppose,” you shrug, “Get a couple more in me and we’ll see.”

“I like your vibe, Y/n,” Yeonjun hums, this time just making one drink and walking over to you. “I call this one the Lover’s Shot,” he slurs, bringing the glass to your lips.

“You use that line on everyone?” you question, letting Yeonjun tilt up your face with his finger and pour the concoction down your throat.

“Nah, specially curated for you,” Yeonjun answers, wiping the astray alcohol that missed your lip with his thumb.

“It’s…something,” you strain, the alcohol burning your throat, but not as much as Yeonjun’s eyes boring into yours.

“Not the best review but I’ll take it,” Yeonjun murmurs, placing an experimental hand on your waist. You try not to shriek as you feel your stomach churn.

You offer no words of protest as Yeonjun’s slender fingers slide underneath your top, caressing your bare skin.

Maybe it was the alcohol filtering your senses but a part of you wanted to make-believe that the entire campus’ crush wanted you too.

“I could show you something a bit tastier,” Yeonjun says, gently pinching your waist.

You feel hot.

“Yeah?” you manage to get out.

“Is this alright?” he innocently murmurs before kissing you on the corner of your mouth.

His breath against your cheek is soft and unimaginable.

“It is,” you answer before moving your head so his lips land on yours instead. You tried not to smile as you felt his pillowy lips upon yours, his other hand on the back of your neck as he tilted it.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as Yeonjun guides you and presses you against the counter, slipping a knee in between your legs as you reach over the tug on his hair.

“My room?” you slip out in between kisses.

“How about mine?” Yeonjun smiles, breath hot on your neck, “Nobody there to bother us.”

That was enough for you.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

the next morning and few weeks;

[afewproblems]

I just got a tattoo done and was thinking about all of the before and after care instructions they gave me and how older Eddie would have possibly reacted to the list of things he would need to do or items to purchase for a new addition to his sleeve.

The artist reaches out to Eddie years after corroded coffin makes it big. She's fairly well known as a minor celebrity herself in the tattoo and body modification space in LA, so when she contacts Eddie's agent about offering a new piece for his eclectic sleeve he checks out her portfolio and is immediately sold.

She sends him the idea and he signs off on it right away and before they know it, he and Steve are on a plane from Chicago to Los Angeles.

It isn't until it's done, and the second skin is placed over the piece, smoothed out to ensure no bubbling, that Eddie balks at the secondary list of steps he needs to take.

The artist taps out the instruction email on her phone, hitting send with a dimpled grin before reaching out to shake his hand and Steve's, thanking them for being such great new clients. She asks Steve if he would be interested in a piece at some point, to which he smiles politely and shakes his head.

Steve has never been into tattoos for himself, though he's always gone to great lengths to admire and kiss each piece on Eddie's body.

Eddie half listens as they continue to chat, pulling out his phone to review the email she sent him.

"Ensure that you leave the second skin on for three to five days and upon its removal (see removal instructions on page two)..."

Eddie has to stop himself from rolling his eyes right then and there. It's not as though this is his first ever tattoo, he's been getting ink since before this girl was even born.

He winces at the thought, reminding himself that just because she's young doesn't mean she doesn't know her shit, and she clearly does. He shakes his head and nods when Steve says goodbye for them and they make their way to the elevator.

"Okay, what's with the face?" Steve asks quietly as soon as the door closes.

Eddie sighs and folds his arms over his chest, careful not to bump the now tender area on his forearm.

"You look like you swallowed a lemon, spill," he reaches out for Eddie's shoulder, his warm hazel eyes, now lined with gentle wrinkles at the edges search his face, "do you not like it?"

Eddie barks out a laugh, "it's probably one of the nicest ones in the whole collection, no Stevie, it's not that".

Steve raises his eyebrow now and just looks at Eddie until the elevator dings and the doors open before them.

God Dammit.

He loves and hates this ability, that Steve knows Eddie will crack eventually if he just waits long enough.

"Fine!" Eddie sighs as they make their way back to the hotel.

It's gorgeous out, nothing like the weather back home right now, the palm trees lining the streets and the twinkling fairy lights on every corner gives the area an almost magical feel, despite the bustling pedestrians packing the sidewalks.

"It's a little weird all the instructions," Eddie says eventually. He speaks slowly, doing his best to articulate exactly what he feels.

Steve nods, though the confused pinch between his brow doesn't quite fade.

"And I've been getting these done since it eighties, Steve, it's just a little--"

Eddie growls and tugs on his hair in frustration, "I don't want to be shitty".

Steve shrugs and loops his arm around Eddie's small waist, tugging him closer.

"Be shitty, you know I love it," he grins and lifts his free hand to remove Eddie's from his hair, "what about the instructions made you upset?"

"It's like I'm being talked down to," Eddie says with a frown, "I got a stick and poke from Jeff in '84 that was totally fine with out any of this," he lifts his arm now to show off the shiny second skin to Steve who nods.

"And which one was that again?" Steve asks, there's a leading lilt to his voice that makes Eddie want to sit on the sidewalk.

He huffs out a low whine, "Steve--"

"Eddie," Steve answers with a soft smile.

And Eddie knows he's lost this argument, if you could even call it that, because the bats that Jeff did for him all the way back in '84, have since been covered up.

Over the years they had morphed into six blobs of bluish grey on the back of his forearm that could no longer be distinguishable as bats, and after being asked about his 'abstract' tattoos by an interviewer a few years back, he had made the decision to get them covered.

And it could have been any number of things that lead to the eventual fading and blobification of his bats, but Eddie figured it was probably because they had almost immediately gotten infected a few days after Jeff had finished them in his parents garage.

Eddie clears his throat and opens the email on his phone again, taking another look at the list the artist had sent him.

"Fine, you gonna help me take care of this thing Stevie?" Eddie grumbles as they enter the revolving door of the hotel, stepping carefully into the pie shaped section to avoid colliding with the moving entryway.

Steve snorts and lets his hand curl through one of the belt loops on Eddie's jeans, "I think I remember agreeing to something like that, in sickness and health?"

He leans forward and nuzzels his nose into Eddie's ear, "till the end of our days".

[prentissluvr]

the impala, 4:00 p.m. — sam winchester

cw : gn!winchester!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, sam & reader are twins, dean's implied to be dead/gone (you choose which time lol), unedited, 608 words. requested ! for my 800 followers event [ closed ] .

summary : sam lifts your mood with a book on a sort of somber day in the impala.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

for months now, it’s just been you two. sort of like how it was when sam was at stanford. you moved near campus to be close to him at nineteen. the year apart beforehand had been hellish sometimes.

but these days have this odd liminality to them. there are no crappy college kid apartments or girlfriends or parties. just the impala, the road, monsters, and each other. you miss dean. some days you almost don’t.

lots of days you miss what you and sam could’ve had, but it feels too late now. it’s sort of nice, though, because you don’t hunt all the time. you and sam take breaks. you help where you can, then you visit southern california for a taste of hot weather and salty air. last week, you stopped for a few days in a midwestern national park. it was stunning, and perfectly suited to yours and sam’s tastes.

today is an in between day, no plans and no hunts on the horizon yet. you’re behind the wheel, your mixtape playing through the speakers. as for the way you feel, everything there is an in between too.

you’re tired, but painfully aware. mourning, and oddly at peace. it doesn’t quite feel bad, but you don’t feel good.

oftentimes, your mood aligns with sam’s. you guess it could be that cliche twine telepathy, but to you it feels more like a deep understanding of each other paired with so many sort of insane and mundane shared experiences.

but today, sam is good. he’s not great, because it’s sort of hard to be more often than not these days, but the two of you are slowly figuring it out. sam very easily senses the way you feel. today and every day. he thinks you’re teetering on the edge enough that he can steer you in the more pleasant direction.

he’s going to offer to switch to the drivers seat in a bit, but he’ll do a few other things first. before interrupting your quiet time with the music and scenery, he’s going to find a good place to eat. not an american diner, but somwhere with better food. he hopes he can find a thai place with good reviews.

then he pulls out a book. you don’t look over at the movement at first. you can see the book in his lap through your peripheral vision, and don’t blink because he’s always reading when he get’s bored in his passenger’s seat. but then he turns down the music and shows you the cover with an unspoken question.

the fellowship of the rings.

you had forgotten that sam carries the lord of the rings books around with him. it catches you by complete surprise, the sight of the worn copy you two shared as kids and the question in his eyes. you grin. he’s asking if you want him to read it aloud to you, to fill up a bit of the gaping hole in this car.

“i forgot you had that,” you say, eyes turning back to the road, but your smile sticking around. sam grins back at you.

“what, you think i go anywhere without a copy of this?” he says lightheartedly, half teasing himself by saying something so nerdy.

“as you should,” you shrug, shutting the music all the way off. “go on, then.” you hear the creak of the spine, and the rustle of pages. then sam’s voice, a sound that melds in perfect familiarity with the rumble of the impala.

“three rings for the elven-kings under the sky, seven for the dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, nine for mortal men doomed to die…”

[lunarw0rks]

Hi! Is it possible to get an imagine where Ghost accidently walks in on reader changing (they're together and reader doesn't mind) but Ghost kinda freaks out and insists he can wait outside until they're done. I feel like with his past he'd constantly worry about invading people's privacy/violating them in anyway, so maybe just some fluffy reassuring him that he's ok and he makes reader feel safe? Sorry if that's a lot 🫶

༄ Poise | Simon Riley

Warning(s): !!brief references to ghost's trauma/SA!!, established relationship, mentions of sex/nudity, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, gn!reader

₊˚ෆˎˊ˗ Word Count: 1.2k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ- ♡‧₊˚✧˖ 「 AO3 VER. 」 A/N: Tried my best to handle this topic respectfully. Definitely an underused, under-discussed part of Ghost's character.

Simon Riley was a complicated man, to say the least.

But he never intended to let his complications rub off on you — no matter how much suffering he voicelessly endured to ensure that.

Whether it was weeks into the relationship or months, his walls were still standing tall. Certain things: he just couldn't do with you. Reviewing old photographs of himself, going to a park where children run joyously with their parents, nor could he do anything to invade your privacy.

To you, your involvement with him was at a pivotal point. Where there wasn't a need to be bashful around the other and withhold the petty grievances.

Though, Simon's skeletons were anything but quaint.

There was weight to them; weight you only bore a measly tinge of. He never told you details, only bits and pieces of what he had been through. Those serious talks were scarce and short-lived — forgettable, even, if it weren't for the woeful nature of his past memories.

『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』

Per usual, he had gotten up long before you. It was a typical sight; laying in the empty bed unsure if Simon was even home, because of his default stealth. Even though you knew he wasn't beside you, your fingers outstretched to his side, palming the sheets that had gone cold in his absence.

With a drowsy sigh, you peeled back the plush comforter, revealing the remnants of the lustful night before. Or, the lack of remnants, considering you were still rid of your clothes.

Through the curtains, the risen sun engulfed the shared bedroom, illuminating its lackluster decor — at least on his portion of it. Little decor, no pictures or clutter out, clothes folded and hung neatly as he would with his uniforms on base.

After a few minutes of gathering your strength, you climbed out of bed and approached the dresser, giving your fatigued eyes a rub. You dug through the clothing piles until you found an outfit suitable for a slothful day in with him.

You set the pickings on the edge of the bed. Following, you were slipping into a fresh pair of undergarments, listening intuitively for any sound of your lover, which wasn't an easy task.

Simon ambled up the staircase, on his way to the ensuite washroom to retrieve the watch he took off to shower. In his mind, you were still fast asleep, especially after last night. His fingers clamped around the knob, opening it with slowness.

In a matter of seconds, he was poisoned with a sensation of unbearable discomfort, as well as disgust towards himself. Seeing you, nude and vulnerable rather than slumbering in the bed.

"Shit, I'm sorry, love." Unlike before, he handled the door with haste — closing it like he had just walked in on a stranger.

Your mouth remained slightly agape with bafflement, paired with a feeling of unease for him. You were only changing, and it wasn't the first time he had seen you undressed. This wasn't a little hiccup in the day, nor an off-beat moment that you could laugh at later on.

Something gravely upset him, and it wasn't your bare skin.

Quicker than before, you changed into the remainder of your outfit. As well as fixing up the rest of your appearance; an excuse to figure out how to approach the subject.

You exited the bedroom, giving the door a gentle close. No sign of Simon down the hall, not in the living room, either. You checked the office next, finding nothing but another uninhabited space. Lastly, you crept through the kitchen with wary arms folded across your chest.

Then, you caught a glimpse of Simon's unstirring silhouette through the window. Slouched while sitting on the steps of the deck; a thousand-mile stare into the garden.

He didn't flinch when the patio door shut behind him, not even when you sat beside him on the steps.

"This isn't about me being naked, is it?" You spoke into the crisp mid-morning air, feeling the unforgiving bite of it overwhelm your exposed skin and lips.

Simon scoffed at your poor attempt to lighten the bleak mood, giving you a brief glance. If only things— if only he were that uncomplicated. "No, it's not you. Nothing like that."

You nod your head, trusting that his blunt nature wouldn't allow him to stifle a thing as serious as that. If he truly wasn't attracted to you or your frame, you wouldn't be resting your head on his shoulder.

For a few minutes; the conversation stopped. Only the occasional passing car in the distance or an animal or insect chirping. The leaves blew gently, until the breeze eventually found the both of you, sending a bitter, unforgiving autumn wind.

The silence was fine; it was common with him. But it wasn't fine when you knew he was swallowed by sorrowful thoughts.

"Can I..." You began, still keeping your head pressed firmly against his solid shoulder. "Can I ask what's wrong? Why you wouldn't stay in the room?" Asking what happened was too far, and you were already walking a narrow line. He wouldn't hold it against you if you got too invasive, but that wasn't a chance you wanted to even consider.

Simon's flashbacks hadn't ceased for a minute. Not since he shut the bedroom door behind him and sat out here.

The worst part? None of it was your fault. It had nothing to do with your bare skin, not even him catching a glimpse of it. His inner voice had him convinced he overstepped; that he made you feel used and violated by proxy.

He sighed heavily, saying a thousand words with a mere exhale. "Things you don't need to hear, sweetheart. Trust me on that." That was one way of putting it lightly, considering the gravity of what he had endured years ago.

"Listen, Simon," your fingers roamed along his shoulders, caressing down his back, careful to avoid the scars he didn't want you to touch. "I feel the pain you walk around with, I do. Every moment we're together, it doesn't rest."

He nodded his head slowly, closing his eyes for a moment to absorb the bleed of your words. You weren't sugarcoating the rawness of how his past affected you, nor were you judging him for it.

"But you didn't hurt me, alright? You did nothing wrong." Your voice couldn't have reached deeper. The tightening of his chest had uncoiled a bit, soothing his silent episode of derealization.

Simon's shaky fingers found your cheek, caressing against your chilled flesh with a tender firmness, "don't think I deserve you and that bleeding heart."

Your brows knitted with benevolence, returning the same gloomy gaze his amber eyes were emitting. Following his words, you shook your head, gripping his wrists gently.

"You do deserve it," you retorted gently, "nobody makes me feel safe like you do." You had never said something more truthful. He really did make you feel safe, in every sense. Intimately, romantically, even just as another human being you decided to spend your time with.

"C'mere." Simon murmured, shortly before nudging your head in the direction of his lap, allowing you to lay against him completely.

Whether he believed you or not, that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he hit the jackpot with you. Someone who didn't tip the scale, who didn't need to be privy to his every sorrow.

You were there purely to be there for him, expectant of no rewards or praises — though Simon would definitely give them soon enough.

In his own, deeply complicated, way.

[vargamornight]

i don’t read or watch reviews of anything until after i've finished it so i may be repeating what others have said but here is my impression of dragon age: the veilguard

overall i like it. it's a fun game with a good story, likable characters who feel interwoven with the narrative in a pleasant way, really good character customization, and a nice style that rides the fence between realistic and cartoonish that i actually really enjoy.

i do feel like they made this game with the intent for it to be picked up and turned into a tv show, a la arcane, if arcane wasn't allowed to have nuance.

every edge has been sanded down. there is almost no mention of the anti-elf racism, anti-mage bigotry, slavery, etc that were HEAVILY important in the first three games. the mage stuff makes a bit more sense since it takes place in tevinter, where mages "rule," but still. (they also only mention slavery when your character has a background in freeing slaves, as though the fact that the nation you currently inhabit has slaves is irrelevant unless the player character decides to care.)

in the first three games, the bad guys were guys. just some dudes. every villain, with the exception of the archdemon, was a person. it was an elf selling elves into slavery, a human turning his back on the grey wardens, a man insisting the mages be slaughtered just in case one of them was an abomination. in da2, it's your friend's brother who tries to kill you, the fantasy sheriff who tries to kill everyone, your friend and/or lover who blows up a building. in inquisition, it's your friend's old mentor who tries to erase you from time, your friend and/or lover who was lying the entire time, and a DIFFERENT friend and/or lover who was ALSO lying the entire time. who the villains even were is occasionally debatable, but every villain was familiar. you knew them, you cared about them and their story, so it added weight to your decisions about how to deal with them. this is present in all three games.

in veilguard, the bad guys are grotesque, ancient mages akin to gods, so far removed from anything familiar that you cannot possibly mistake them for anything other than the villains. they are completely foreign to you. you don’t give a shit about them, because there's nothing more to them than "they're evil and need to be stopped." all nuance is gone. the biggest decision in the entire first third of the game just hardens one character. compared to any big decision you could make in origins or inquisition, where your choices literally shaped the future of multiple nations, it seems very... meh. and the decisions you made in the previous three games have no bearing whatsoever on the world in veilguard! i knew i wouldn't like that when they announced there would only be three decisions included, and i was fucking right.

basically veilguard feels like it was written for people who have never played a dragon age game, with the express purpose of netflix adapting it to a pg13 original series, so it has absolutely no teeth.

comparing veilguard to origins feels like going from the shawshank redemption to toy story. toy story is still an amazing movie, but how the hell did we end up here?

[multifandomlover01]

Be Careful What You Wish For

Sub!Spencer Reid x Fem!Dom!(BAU!)Reader (female anatomy at least)

Established Relationship

WC: ~2.3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI sub!Spencer, dom!reader, Spencer gets the silent treatment, cockwarming, edging as a punishment is mentioned, Mommy kink, bit of mean teasing

Summary: Spencer needs to work…but he needs his girlfriend too. She disagrees...until she doesn't

Set during: S1

Gif cred: Ropoto

You’d gone over to his desk late into the evening to give him some water. You two were the last at the office. He grabs your wrist gently before you can get too far away from him.

“Stay?” He asks softly as he looks up at you.

“No, baby, you need to work. You know you do.” You shake your head.

“But I need you too. Please?” He was giving you those damned pleading eyes.

“Hon. I can’t. You need to work.”

“Just sit on my lap, ok?”

“Oh, yeah, like that’s a great idea.” You chuckle.

“I promise I won’t do anything. Please. Just sit on my lap while I work.”

"This isn't going to go well." You grumble as you sit in his lap as he'd pulled his chair out. He pulls himself back to his desk as close as he's able to with you now on his lap. He has one arm around your waist to steady you and to keep you close to him while his other hand holds a case file that he's reviewing.

“I totally shouldn’t be concerned about the fact that I have not been on your lap five minutes and I can already feel your boner, right?”

“‘M sorry. I couldn’t help it.” He mutters.

“Is this why you wanted me to sit on your lap? Because you were horny?”

His cheeks heat up and his gaze averts to the floor.

“Look at me.” Your tone is a gentle command. You didn’t say his name or say please. And why should you have to when he obeys you just the same like this?

His eyes lift to meet your gaze. You’re not happy. And why should you be? He should be working, not deriving pleasure from you sitting in his lap.

“I’m sorry. I can’t concentrate without you near.” he whispers softly.

“And how do you propose you concentrate with me here?”

"I dunno." He murmurs.

"You don't know?" You chuckle. You try to get off of his lap, but he squeezed you tighter.

"Don' go, please." He murmurs as he nuzzles your neck.

"Spencer...I need to get off of you. How will you ever concentrate on your work with me in your lap because it makes you hard?"

"I'll make it go away. I promise." He whines.

"We both know it isn't going to go away as long as I'm in your lap." You cross your arms and give him a stern look. "Let me up."

He pouts. He really doesn’t want you to leave his lap.

"Come on now, none of that."

"Miss...please." He whispers.

"Oh no, no, no. Definitely none of that at work."

"Please, miss...I need you...besides...there's no one else here." He mumbles into your neck.

"That's not the point. Stop it. Right now." You say as sternly as you can muster. You're really not happy he's being like this at work. You'd both agreed this was only for private time.

He whimpers. But pulls back. "'M sorry." He mutters. "You can get off if you want...I don't deserve you being on my lap." He pouts again and you're not sure if he's trying to guilt you or if he's truly remorseful.

"If I want? You're allowing me off your lap now?"

He realizes his mistake. "I'm sorry. You can do whatever you want...obviously...just...ignore me." He mumbles.

You get off of his lap and go back over to your desk to continue your work while he stayed at his desk and continued his. He shuffles over to your desk when he's finished with his work, satchel slung over his shoulder. He's ready to leave and he's waiting patiently for you. He doesn't say anything. He just stands there in front of your desk.

You merely glance up at him before continuing to finish up your work. You make him stand there and wait for you to finish, being purposefully slower then usual. He picks up on this but does not dare to say anything about it to you.

You finally finish your work, logging off of your computer and shutting it down. You get up and pack up, walking away from your desk, across the bullpen and towards the exit without so much as another glance towards him. He follows you like the good little puppy dog that he is. His long legs allow him to get to the glass doors first to open one for you. You walk through without glancing at him or saying thank you. He crosses the threshold and again strides over to the elevator and doesn't make you wait for him to press the down button. He wouldn't want to make you more upset than you already were.

When the elevator doors open, he lets you enter first before getting in and pressing the Garage Floor button. You stand in silence as the elevator descends. He glances at you every once in a while but you do not grant him the pleasure of glancing back. You're not glaring at him, you're not looking at him at all. It's torture.

The elevator doors open and he lets you exit first before following you. He stays a respectful distance behind you. He wouldn't want to annoy you by being too close but he knows you don't like it either when he's too far in front of or behind you.

He says nothing as you both load your things into the car before getting into the passenger's seat. You don't say anything either as you get into the driver's seat and start the car. The drive to your shared apartment is torturously silent as well. You don't say anything as you drive and he again does not dare to speak to you.

You pull up to your apartment complex after the drive and park the car in your reserved spot. He waits for you to get out, an indication that you still do not wish to speak to him before he himself gets out and retrieves his satchel from the backseat.

He walks quicker than you to buzz into the lobby and to open the door for you. He sighs in relief when you walk ahead of him again and choose to walk the three flights of stairs instead of making him endure another horrible elevator ride.

He follows behind you at a respectful distance as you both ascend the stairs. He doesn't talk the whole way up to your floor. He gets in front of you and opens the door to your floor, letting you lead the way to your door. You stop at your door and look to him. He understands that you want him to open this door for you as well so he gets his key out and does just that, holding it open for you as you enter first before following behind you and closing and locking the door.

You say nothing once inside. You kick your shoes off. You take your jacket off and put it on a chair, putting your purse down on the dining table as well. You turn to look at him. Your expression is very stern. You're not very happy with him right now. He wishes you'd say something but he knows if you want to just give him a stern expression and say nothing at all to him, you were well within your rights to do so. You owed him nothing. He deserved nothing.

"What were you thinking pulling what you tried to pull at work? And I don't care that there wasn't anyone there. You know full well cleaning and maintenance crews may start working around that time."

"I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I'm sorry." He says softly, not being able to look you in the eyes.

"I hope you'll understand that sorry just isn't going to cut it when you disrespect me like that."

"I do understand, yes." He nods, glancing up at you before averting his gaze to the floor again.

"Good. Go sit on the couch."

Not daring to disobey you, he promptly goes over to the couch and sits down. You make him sit there and wait before you go over to the couch, now without your blouse. Spencer has to force himself not to look at your chest. You shed your bra next and Spencer can feel his face heat up as he tries desperately not to look at your bare breasts. He instinctively knows that you wouldn't want him ogling you right now.

"You don't wanna look at me, hon?" You ask and he can tell by your tone that you're teasing him.

He shakes his head no. He is afraid of making a wrong move.

"Why not? You were so hard and desperate for me earlier but now you don't even wanna look at me?" He's not looking at you but he can imagine that you're pouting.

You step closer to him. He still does not look at you. Instead, he's counting the stiches on the nearest throw pillow. You decide to let him spare himself for now and continue to strip out of your clothes. First your slacks and then your underwear.

He can hear the rustling of fabric. He knows you're stripping. He can see it out of the corner of his eye but still refuses to look at you. Even as you climb into his lap, his eyes are fixed on the throw pillow.

20...21...22...23...24...25

He shudders as your hands caress his neck. For now, you let him look at and do whatever he wants as you do whatever you want. And what you want to do is make him hard again so you rock your hips against his. His breath catches.

35...36...37...38...39...40

He tries to concentrate more on counting the stitches but he knows he's dangerously close to losing count and having to start over. You continue to rock against him and he involuntarily whimpers softly.

It doesn't take him very long to get hard again. He's that pathetic and he finds you that attractive. Once he's having a hard time containing his whimpers, you know he's good and ready. You get off of his lap to get his cock out of his slacks. He doesn't move (his hands or anything else) because he hasn't been told to.

"Look at me when I sink down onto your cock." You command and he obeys although he's not sure how long he is going to be able to last. He is sure that the look in your eyes alone was enough to make him cum. But he hasn't been given permission to cum so he doesn't.

He maintains eye contact with you as you position yourself and rub his cockhead up and down your already wet folds. He doesn't look down at it because he hasn't been instructed to. He looks into your eyes and has to fight to keep his eyes open as you push his cockhead against your vaginal entrance. You slowly sink down on him until you are fully seated and back in his lap again, your bare thighs spread out and touching the fabric of his slacks.

And so you just sit there on his lap. His hands stay at his sides and he maintains eye contact with you. You aren't moving. You aren't rocking. You aren't bouncing. You're just...sitting.

"Isn't this what you wanted earlier? For me to sit on your lap?" You ask softly. Your tone and eyes suggest that you’re teasing him just a bit. He wants you to do more? Too bad. He’s getting exactly what he wanted.

His stomach drops. You are right, of course. Earlier he was trying to get you to sit on his lap and now...here you were...on his lap. And he was hard earlier, just like he is now. And he can't deny that the thought of you warming his cock while he worked hadn't crossed his mind when you were sitting in it at work.

"Answer me, Spencer." You request gently.

"Y-yes," he admits softly, "this is...what I wanted earlier."

"And are you gonna be a good boy for Mommy while she gives you what you want?"

He nods, looking at you still. "Yes, Mommy. I'll be…a good boy." He murmurs softly.

"Do you like being inside of me like this, hon?" Your tone is sweet, still a little teasing but not as much as before.

"Y-Yes...I do." He nods slightly.

"See? All you had to do was be patient, baby. You didn't have to be a naughty boy. But...if you had been a good boy at work...maybe Mommy would be bouncing on your cock right now. But she isn't, is she?"

"N-no...she's not." He instinctively pouts lightly. Of course he’s sad that you’re just sitting still and not riding him, using him. But you’re giving him what he wanted. So he should be grateful, shouldn’t he?

“That’s right. She’s just sitting in your lap like you wanted earlier. She’s just giving you what you want. And you should be grateful. Mommy didn’t have to indulge you at all. You were a bad boy. You made Mommy upset. I could’ve edged you for a couple of hours instead.” You caress his face with your fingertips.

He looks at you wide eyed as you mention edging.

“Oh…you don’t like that idea, do you?” You chuckle softly.

He shakes his head no.

“So you’re grateful to Mommy for giving you what you wanted, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, Mommy. I’m grateful. I was a bad needy boy. Thank you for not punishing me more harshly.”

As you continue to just sit there on his lap, he whimpers when you rub your clit a bit and provide some more lubricant. Your wet and warm cunt envelops his cock completely. His cock fits snuggly inside of it like it was made for him. Or rather…your cock fits snuggly inside of you like it was made for you. And maybe it was. He belongs to you. Every part of him is yours. To love. To hold. To cherish. To praise. To use. To punish.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet Ones 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: first draft of my final assignment is done, just need to do a few other things for class and I'm pretty much done.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

As night falls, you feel woozy. You don’t know how much longer you can hold out. The boxed macaroni and cheese only made your stomach hurt and you’re pretty much out of water. Tomorrow you might just have to venture outside and hope he’s not around. Somehow, you don’t think he’s ever gone. He seems to always be watching. 

You can’t focus on your book. The edges of your vision are hazy and your head is pounding. You close it and look for something to watch. You just as quickly forget what you’re doing and shut off the television. You’re too weak to make it to the bed. You're tired, you just want to sleep. 

You look at the window before you lay down, then glance down. The light isn’t there yet. Its absence unsettles you. You wouldn’t exactly prefer it was but it not being there makes you wonder if something else is coming. 

You’re too exhausted to worry about it. You close your eyes as you lay flat on the couch. You exhale and let your body relax. The tension is as tiring as anything else. You’re always wound up tight, always waiting, always watching. You just don’t have anything left in you. 

That familiar drifting sensation takes over you. Your eyelids itch and your muscles grow heavy. You slip into your unconscious little by little until your shrouded in a deep unbreakable darkness. You’re not scared or frustrated or happy or sad. You’re just tired. 

The shatter of glasses splices through your momentary escape. You groan as you eyes snap open and you lay in the dimness of your apartment. What happened? The light was on when you passed out. What was that noise? 

You push yourself up to your elbows and look at the window. There’s not green light but something worse. The window is broken. The jagged glass shines with moonlight as shards litter the floor. You sit up all the way and scramble around, unable to make sense through the darkness and your own sluggish perception. 

You reach for the lamp and try to turn it on. On, off, on, off. You shake your head, trying to free yourself from the clouds, and stagger to your feet. You go to the wall and flip the switch for the overhead light. Nothing. The power must be out. You can’t even hear the hum of the fridge. 

A tickle crawls into your throat and you cough. You smell smoke. You go to your desk and feel around for your phone. You wait for it to turn on as the dryness in your nose and throat build. You finally get the flashlight glowing on your cell and shine it around the room. 

The haze isn’t in your mind. The apartment is filling with smoke. You pull your shirt up over your nose and cough again. Your eyes burn as you try to see through the fog. There’s a dark shape on the carpet spewing fumes. What the heck? 

Adrenaline kicks in and instinct has you feet moving before you can think. You can’t breath. The smoke gets thicker as your eyes stream and you rack with coughs. You hit the door with your body, clawing at the lock, fingers aching as you twist back the latch. You waver as you step back, pulling the door inward and stumble into the hall. 

Your feet hit the floor clumsily, flat and thumping, thunderous in the hue of night. You hack again, hand on your chest, and tumble to your knees. You grip your head as the strength drains from your body, seeping away little by little. Are you dying? Is this it? 

You fall onto your side and suck in deep breaths. Your head lolls and your arm falls slack beside you. Your eyes roll up and a black silhouette appears above you. A tongue clicks and a whistle blows out. 

“I didn’t want it to be like this, baby cakes,” the timbre skews in your ears as your lashes close, “don’t worry...” the world shifts beneath you, “daddy’s got you.” 

👄

You don’t dream. You don’t think. You don’t feel. There is only endless black. 

A sliver of light pierces the void. It's too bright. Painfully so. Your eyes slit and you peek out from beneath heavy eyelids. You don’t recognise those walls, the bed is too soft to be yours, and this place doesn’t smell familiar. You take a deep breath and force your eyes open. 

Soft light glows through large panes to your left. The bed on which you lay is swathed in the dull tones of the morning rising just outside. You’re laid beneath blankets, several layers that make you sweat, and a cushy pillow cradles your head, many more litter the bed along the top. There’s too much of everything. 

The ceiling and walls are black, the bed frame too, the silky and dark, with a fluffy zebra print throw across the foot. You can’t see much more as you lay on your back. You might not know where you are but you can certainly figure who brought you there. 

On cue with your consciousness, the opposite the bed opens and you raise your head to watch a shadow enter. It reminds you of another figure, that one rippled with disorientation and impending darkness. He reaches to flip the switch beside the door and the two sconces mounted above the bet light up. 

It’s him. It wouldn’t be anyone else. That stranger from the cafe. Your personal tormentor. The man who calls himself Lloyd and a litany of ridiculous names. 

He stares back at you. You’re struck dumb with the dregs of you unconcscious and disbelief, meanwhile he looks almost giddy. A smile curves his lips under the line of hair and he rubs his palms together as he shifts his weight between his feet. He raises his hands appeasingly. 

“Jellybean, before you scream, please hear me out,” he pleads. 

You couldn’t scream if you tried. You’re too weak. This can’t be happening. Why would you be here? In a nice bed, in a nice room. You should be in some twisted torture chamber or out in the middle of the woods. If he’s going to kill you, he needs to at least be straightforward about. 

He turns and strides over to another door; a closet. He slides it open and tuts as he browses the contents. You can’t see past him. You barely even try as you let your head fall back against the pillow. 

“So, thoughts?” He turns to face you again as he holds up two hangers, “the navy is cute. I like the polka dots and the see throughness here and here, but the pink would bring out your complexion.” 

Your eyes flit down and you gape at the two dresses, one in each hand. You shake your head and blink. You bring a hand up and touch your forehead, a grumble slipping free. 

“You’re right, jellybean, it’s late,” he turns to put the dresses back in the closet, “we can deal with that in the morning. It’s not too far away... just a few hours.” 

He nears the bed and you shrink down, curling your shoulders in as you fold your arms over the blankets. He lowers himself next to you, an elbow in the pillows as he peers down at you. He reaches to touch your cheek and you try to move away. He barely seems to notice as he strokes your face. 

“I’ve just been so excited I can’t sleep,” he drags his knuckle around lightly, “but I didn’t want to wake you up. You need to rest. After everything you’ve been through.” He brings his legs up onto the bed and wiggles down to his side, “I know you don’t take care of yourself like you should, baby face, but that’s okay, because you have me now.” 

“Why... are you doing this?” You wisp out. 

He laughs, “you’re so funny...” he pets your chin, “and cute and...” he trails his hand down and squeezes your shoulder, “small. You’re adorable.” 

“Please,” you groan. 

“Why am I doing what?” He asks coyly, “why am I taking care of you? Why am I ready to give you everything? Why am I dying just to hear your voice and see your face and...” he stops and leans in, giving a deep sniff, “smell your hair?” 

You want to shrivel up. Your lip quivers as the daze recedes and the fear sets in. He’s delusional and you have no way out. You don’t even know where you are. It hardly matters, you doubt you could get very far. 

“You’re right. We should sleep. We have tomorrow to get settled in,” he reaches back to flip the light switch next to the bed, dimming the sconces back to black.  

He lifts himself to free the blankets from beneath him and sidles under them. He nestles close as you go rigid. He slips his arm under you as he nuzzles your cheek. 

“And every day after that. We have a whole lifetime ahead of us, jellybean. Me and you. Together forever...” he stretches his other arm over your stomach, “I never liked fairy tales before, babes. Not til you.” 

You close your eyes. You’re tired but there’s no way you’re falling back asleep. This is a waking nightmare. 

👄

The man, Lloyd, starts to snore. You feel his muscles relax and feel his breath steady against you. As much as you want to push him away and run, you can’t. You don’t know what it is. It’s akin to sleep paralysis. You’re awake but you can’t fight what’s happening. Something in your mind tells you it’s futile. 

The sun rise on the other side of the large windows. In any other circumstance, you would admire a place like this. The sleek furniture, the luxurious blankets, the expansive view. It’s a far cry from your cramped apartment and its small windows. 

You can only wallow in helpless self-pity. How did this happen? How did you let it happen? If you hadn’t been so indulgent, you would’ve never been seen. You should’ve known better than to go down to that cafe and splurge on something so menial. You could have made your own tea. You could’ve stayed inside, stayed safe. 

His closeness has you sweating. It’s uncomfortable and itchy. You want to rip your skin off. 

He moves and you hold your breath. He’s waking up. That can’t be good. At least asleep, he can’t do much. You curl your fingers into your palm and wait. 

“Mmm,” he leans in and brushes the tip of his nose against your cheek before planting a kiss, his mustache tickles, “this is heaven. I can’t...” he pushes himself up, planting his hand on the mattress, “I can’t believe this is real. You’re really here.” 

You look at him, almost glaring as you let your distress burn through. He doesn’t even notice as he rubs your arm and his blue eyes dance over you. Laying next to him as he looms over you, his size is more obvious. He’s much bigger than you. 

“Coffee?” He asks, “I got this new dark roast. All the way from Colombia. I haven’t even tried it. I’ve been waiting on you. Bet it’s much better than that InstaCafe.” 

You blink at him. All your fears are coming true. It’s not that he’s snatched you, it that he’s been watching you. You might never know how long but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change this moment. 

“And breakfast, if you’re hungry. I know you usually skip that but--” 

“Please stop,” you croak, “please...” 

“What? Honey, I’m just trying to show you all I can do for you. You don’t have to do all the work anymore. Staring at a screen is bad for your eyes. And your posture.” 

“I... I didn’t mind...” 

“Ah, that’s just you. You’re a hard worker. Resilient. You do what needs to be done. You don’t complain and you don’t make demands. Baby, you don’t have to. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you without you even asking.” 

“I liked... being alone. I want to be alone,” your breath hitches between words as panic pulses in your chest. 

“Do you want to be alone or do you not know what it’s like to have someone? Jellybean, I’m scared too. You’re the first girl I’ve had in my bed that made it past dawn. Hell, the first girl I didn’t... you know,” he gives a crooked grin. 

Your lips part as you stare at him, dumbfounded. Sure, he didn’t do more than forcibly cuddle you but it doesn’t change what he did do. You shake your head and sputter as you search for words. 

“You followed me.” 

“I kept you safe,” he insists. 

“You turned my water off. I...” 

“That’s what the IV is for,” he reaches over to touch your other arm. You don’t know how you didn’t notice the tubing before. “I brought you tea. All you had to do was open up--” 

“You threw something through my window... there was smoke...” your lashes flutter as the memories creep back in. 

“I did what had to be done,” his grin falls away and his expression turns stony, “what you made me do.” 

You stare at him, speechless. 

“I haven’t given you any reason not to trust you. I mean, all you had to do was have a coffee with me. Or even open your door. Honey, I should be mad at you. You hung me out to dry but I can forgive you,” his face softens again, “how can I not?” His eyes go doey, “you’re so beautiful.” 

You lay there, unmoving. You feel as if any suddenness might trigger him. He traces along your cheek and jaw and down your neck, “did you decide?” 

You narrow your eyes and frown. 

“A dress? Blue or pink?” 

You don’t answer him. You just look at him as he continues to touch you. Your skin speckles with goosebumps as a chill rolls through you. 

“You know what, neither. I get it. You want something more classy. Yeah, given the occasion, I think you’re right, baby face,” he leans over you and looks you in the eye, “we’ll have a look in the closet after breakfast.” 

Before you can react, his lips are on yours. You let out a surprised squeak as he holds your chin in place. His mustache tickles you again and his tongue flits across your lips, wetting them just slightly before retracting. He pulls away and sighs. 

“Wow.” 

[denial-permanente]

You often mentioned that to start off Etsy/ Amazon etc offer cheap Chinese copies of devices which are good to get an idea of what fits.

My thought has always gone to the health risk that there is in buying anything that comes from China and is cheap. Do you have any advice on how to avoid stuff made of harmful plastics/covered in toxic chemicals?

🔏 Okay, buckle in, we're going for a ride.

Very few people in our consumer society know how anything is made. I'm not joking. Even the simplest items most of us buy are mass produced. When I was growing up, most kids had been to "the factory in town" on a class trip to see things produced. I have seen dozens of different kinds of things being made, from baked goods, to bottled soft drinks, to wine, and of course, to manufactured goods (consumer and industrial products). Now, nobody sees these anymore, and no body gets to have any underlying k edge of how things are made, or how good, ie, quality products differ from crappy consumer items. Hell, most schools no longer have regular shop class anymore (I'm told it's a liability 🙄).

All that is a lead up to this: most consumer driven products (like plastic chastity cages) coming from China are cheap because a) they did not have to so k any mo ey I to development costs, and b) the products are cheap enough so that most people don't care if it breaks, and c) most people can't tell the difference between an okay product and a high end one. A $10 crappy product might have sharp edges and burrs, while an okay $30 product won't. But few people will notice or care about the difference between the $30 cage and the $130 or even the $300 cage.

Now, that said, I am wearing a Chinese made A272 cage that I bought about seven or eight years ago, and have been wearing steadily (and now permanently) since. Did I get lucky? Maybe. I've bought other Chinese stainless steel cages just to test them out, and most were junk. And even this particular cage came with a crappy knockoff Burg Wachter ME/2 barrel lock. I ended up buying a few more, better quality locks as backups.

Okay, I got that off my chest. 😅

Here's the problem with buying those cheap Chinese cages: you can't tell what you're getting. The Cobra knockoffs have been reported to have color dye that irritates some people. The locks will probably need to be replaced with decent ones. The molds will probably leave the cages with sharp edges that could irritate sensitive skin. And don't even get me started on the quality of the plastic. Many years ago I bought a cage that was advertised as stainless steel. The cage was, but the rings were cheap metal with chrome plating. That would have been a major reaction for a lot of other guys.

So while I do suggest that some people experiment with the cheap cages in order to get a feel for what works, I also follow that up with suggesting that when they figure out what works, to use that information to help pick out a quality cage. A few months in and out of a crappy cage will probably not poison you; the harmful chemicals in those plastics are fairly well bound up.

And until Consumer Reports starts reviewing them, then about the best you can hope for is reading the various discussion groups to glean whatever information you can.

[tin-wufborf]

Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 13)

Hello, and welcome to part 13! You're getting this part pretty much immediately after the last because this is currently all I have the energy to do right now. So...I guess my cold says "you're welcome" lol.

Thank you all again for all of your support for this series. You're all amazing and fantastic and I love you all. I hope you all have as good a day as you can, if not a great one!

Oh! Before you proceed, please recall the warning I gave you in the last part's preamble about the prevalence of Bad Friend Scott McCall fics you'll be seeing moving forward. There's a shit-ton of them on this list, and there will definitely be some more moving forward.

Okay, that's all now, byyyyyyyyyyyyyye.

Smoochies and squeezies, my dudes!

List and links to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19

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Layover by dr_girlfriend (G | 1/1 | 3,643)

Excerpt:

Big, serious brown eyes were staring right into his from only a few inches away. The child had clambered half over the arm of Derek’s chair to study him at close range, her little rosebud mouth pursed in concentration.

“Uh.” Derek couldn’t look away as the girl reached out one pudgy hand and patted him gently on the cheek. Her scent was soft and sweet and somehow a bit familiar, just enough to keep Derek from shying away. Derek didn’t know too much about kids but he guessed this one was probably three years old or so, head still oversized in proportion to the short limbs and round little belly.

She seemed fascinated with Derek’s beard, eyes widening further under incredibly thick lashes as she petted Derek’s cheek some more, smoothing down the short stubble. Finally she grinned widely. “Good wuff.”

Derek jerked upright, hands clenching on the edge of his seat. Did she just say?...

“CJ!” The child was suddenly gone, lifted up by a strong, tattooed forearm around her little potbelly. “You scared the he— heck out of me! What have I told you about wandering — Derek?”

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Hale Construction by Mynuet (G | 1/1 | 8,342)

Derek gets a business and a home. Stiles gets his own Batman. The sheriff gets hash browns. The Stilinski household is expanded without anyone quite talking about it.

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So When Do I Get To Pledge My Loyalty To The Mob? by RedRidingStiles (M | 1/1 | 10,146)

“Are you my sugar daddy?” Stiles blurts out, slapping a hand over his mouth when his brain catches up to his mouth.

The man lets out a soft laugh, making his way around the couch till he’s standing just feet away from Stiles.

Stiles can smell his cologne from here, it smells heavenly, Stiles kinda wants to bury his face into the guy's chest so he can figure out exactly what it is.

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.” The man smiles.

Stiles doesn’t think he should be allowed to smile like that. All soft and gorgeous and way too pretty to be legal.

He’s still not convinced any of this is real.

Stiles loses his wallet, someone returns it along with $5,000. Shit keeps coming, Stiles life doesn't make any sense anymore, he's just going with it.

Edited in October 2022

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Stop Crossing Oceans by greenleaf (M | 1/1 | 11,654)

“There are no absolutes, Scott! No hard rights or hard wrongs! The world doesn’t fucking work that way and we can’t afford to think like that, because people are going to die! We signed up for that the moment we got involved with all this!”

“We? We?” Scott hisses. “Don’t you think you? Don’t forget that you’re the one who dragged us into that forest the night it all started, Stiles. So if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours.”

Something inside Stiles cracks, so strong and so deep that he practically hears it.

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The One You Choose by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions) (M | 7/7 | 13,495)

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

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By Moon and Stars by kellifer_fic (M | 1/1 | 15,929)

"Have you heard of this Alpha?" Stiles asks, shuffling up his pallet so Scott has room to sit. Scott does with a grateful little twist of his mouth. Stefan forces him into the Stilinski ceremonial armor when they travel and Stiles can see that it's heavy and doesn't sit well on Scott. He can't shift encased in metal and Stefan knows it.

"I know of him, mostly stories that seem a little fantastical. Shifters exaggerate just like common people. They like their war stories."

"Tell me of him. Tell me a war story."

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What to expect when you aren't expecting by MemeKon (T | 1/1 | 16,921)

The baby's wailing is piercing, Stiles doesn't know how Derek can stand it. He tries shushing her and cooing at her and bouncing her a little, but the crying only gets louder, and in addition to hurting his ears, it's hurting his soul.

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts him mid-croon, eyebrows meeting over the bridge of his nose, “have you fed her since you found her?”

Stiles gapes and looks down at the baby's distressed face as she bawls.

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the most important things series by sarcasticfishes (2 works | G-E | 23,774)

1. most important things (E | 1/1 | 21,180) At first Derek didn’t know what to do with Romy. She was this tiny, squirming, pink thing that he had no idea how to read. But she was also his niece, and the only thing he had left in the world. He thought about giving her up and going back to California, but the thought of being so close to the place where his family had once been so alive hurt him, and so did the thought of letting her go. And so, in Chicago he stayed, and the Hills were forgotten. He didn’t want to go back. And no one came looking for him anyway. 2. most importantly, happy (G | 1/1 | 2,594) “Wow, Derek Hale talking about tutus. I’m hallucinating, right?” “Nope,” Derek turned his head slightly, to regard him, “Single parent syndrome.” “My dad tried to take me shoe shopping when I was twelve. Melissa ended up doing it for him.” “I’m a pro at shoe shopping,” Derek admitted, scanning the letter again.

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A Healing Silence by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere (NR | 28/28 | 36,329)

Stiles is slowly pushed out of the pack following his fight with Scott about Donovan's death. After receiving a phone number from an old friend, Stiles is surprised to find that it belongs to the one person who may be able to bring him back to himself.

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How Derek Met His Smallest Fan by purpleduvet (maga_nw) (M | 2/2 | 37,273)

Derek is standing in the fruits and vegetables aisle, trying to decide between two very nice looking watermelons, when someone small crashes into his legs.

or

Derek comes back to Beacon Hills after years of being gone and meets Stiles and his kid at the supermarket.

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Suspicious Minds by HaleHole (SweetFanfics) (E | 1/1 | 40,105)

“Don’t feed Balto your pizza,” Stiles mildly warns his daughter.

“Derek.”

Stiles pauses, mouth open and cheese sliding off the pizza as he parrots, “Derek? Who’s Derek?”

His daughter rolls her eyes, like Stiles has just asked her the dumbest question ever. “The wolf, Daddy!”

“You changed his name?” Stiles asks in surprise. Usually she’s pretty set about naming things. Her doll’s name was decided two seconds after receiving it, the car has been Alonzo for three years now, and the toaster ‘Pop’ for the last six months.

Meg nods, prodding the sliding cheese back on top of her slice. “Yeah. He told me his name is Derek. And that he doesn’t really like Balto.”

“Is that right?” he asks, eyeing the wolf who seems far too interested in watching a pair of animated moose arguing. It’s official. This wolf is weird. This whole situation is weird.

-- Separated from Laura after being cornered by some hunters, an injured Derek finds himself being rescued by Stiles and his young daughter. In more than one way.

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We Play In The Shadows by words_reign_here (E | 17/17 | 40,729)

"This is my dad, Stiles." Emeri said and patted his belly. Emeri did not know what personal space was. "This is my godfather, Scotty." She said and patted Scott next. "This is my godmother, Allison." Emeri lowered her voice, "She works with Pops. She's a deputy." Mr. Hale nodded seriously, his full attention on Emeri. "And this is Lydia. She let dad borrow her uterus for nine months. But she's not my mom. Well. Biologically she is, but she doesn't have the legal rights."

Stiles put a hand over his face and sighed.

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our lives are changing lanes by grimm (E | 1/1 | 47,537)

There's a lot of screaming going on inside the first house Stiles visits. He isn't really worried, because it sounds like kids, but then the door opens and hi, says his dick, because the dude in front of him is gorgeous, built like a god with a face like thunder. Stiles wants to lick that solid jaw line. Hold the fuck on, says his cop brain, because the dude's got kids hanging all over him; one's on his back, skinny legs looped around his waist, and another two hanging off one arm, toes barely brushing the ground. There's a tubby toddler clinging to his leg like a koala, and he's got a baby tucked into the crook of the one arm that doesn’t have kids hanging off it. Stiles' mouth drops open.

"How many of those kids did you kidnap?" he asks before he can wrangle his brain into submission.

The man gives him a look that says what the fuck is wrong with you and snaps, "You think I'd subject myself to this on purpose?"

"Oooh," says one of the kids hanging off his arm. "I'm telling Mom."

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The House That Wolves Built by LuneFaitLaFolie (G | 6/6 | 48,978)

"Stiles isn’t stupid. He knows well enough that the pack are done with him. He knows he’s useless, and broken, but it still hurts."

"Derek is running through every interaction he’s ever had with Stiles, trying to figure out which ones he could have caught Stiles with his claws. The unfortunate reality is that he loses count of how many times he could have. "

or

Stiles is pushed out of the pack as his injuries render him useless and unhelpful, and the pack start to hate him. He hasn't spoken to them in months, until an allying pack comes to visit and he gets dragged back. But do they really hate him? Or was it all a big misunderstanding?

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Hale's Modern Encyclopedia of Playing Cards (and Dating Humans) by thepsychicclam (M | 1/1 | 49,698)

Wolves don't date humans. And Derek's okay with that. He's got his Pack, his friends in the Pack network, and lacrosse. Plus, he plays cards with his grandma all the time. Stiles Stilinski definitely doesn't factor into his life - no matter how much of a crush Derek has on him.

But when bird creatures attack Derek, Stiles, and their friends in the Preserve, Stiles finds out about werewolves and things get pretty complicated. For Derek at least. And he thought school was his only problem, but now he's grounded and Stiles is hanging around way too much for Derek to ignore him any longer.

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The Quickest Way to a Man's Heart (is Through His Bottomless Pit) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (E | 1/1 | 54,170)

Pulling open his apartment door, he let out an involuntary shout when something was quite literally thrust into his chest hard enough to have him almost tip backwards. He managed to right himself while keeping hold of what had been shoved at him and looked up in time to see his neighbour striding back towards his apartment.

“You’re going to fucking kill yourself.”

His door slammed.

Stiles blinked at the other man’s door, utterly confused, and looked down at what he was holding.

It was a plastic bag, full of what felt like tupperware, which made no sense to Stiles because when had his neighbour broken into his house to steal his tupperware?

(SNYE - January 11th - Neighbours)

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Go Away, Scott by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere (NR | 45/45 | 66,227)

After the incident at the warehouse, Stiles is fed up with Scott. He finds himself drawn into Derek’s pack and in the process, drawn to Derek himself.

With the Alpha Pack closing in, Derek needs to learn how to trust his pack and those around him. And who better to help him than Stiles?

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Misfits series by Morraine (2 works | NR-T | 79,970)

1. Three Misfits in New York (T | 25/25 | 68,543) After Gerard beat up Stiles, the Sheriff doesn't believe his son's lies anymore. He demands answers and along the way mends his fragile relationship with his son. While they do their best to make sure that something like Gerard's attack will never happen again, new and unexpected friendships form and Stiles learns that he actually is kind of special. Suddenly it's not Scott by his side but Lydia and Derek, something he wouldn't have dared dreaming about in his wildest fantasies. Coupled with a surprise trip to New York and meeting an Avenger or five, life is bound to change drastically for the three misfits and their families. 2. A Misfit Working Holiday in New York (NR | 4/? | 11,427) Despite the looming threat of the Alpha pack, Stiles, Lydia, and Derek stay in New York to explore a possible alliance with SHIELD and further their new friendships. While there, new opportunities arise and they find themselves immersed much more in secret dealings than they could have anticipated. Not all of it is good, but the things that are good are beyond amazing for the disillusioned, hurt friends. Short though the working holiday may be, time well spent with incredible people allows each of them to grow beyond the hurt feelings and anger and discover not only what is really important but also their true potential.

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A Similar String by snarkatthemoon (M | 14/14 | 118,250)

Strong bonds made for a strong pack, and he needed a strong pack.

They spent a long time in silence, Derek thinking hard about how he was going to cement the bonds. It needed to be done, and not just because they had the threat of the witch hanging over them, but for the good of the pack.

It felt like hours had passed by the time he came around; he had been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Stiles moving around on the couch so that his head was resting on Derek’s thigh, his long legs hanging over the arm on the far end.

He wasn’t sleeping, but his eyes were closed and his heartbeat wasn’t as fast as it usually was, as if he was just on the edge of sleep. It should have felt weird, having Stiles in such close contact, but Derek found that it really didn’t feel weird at all. His head was a comforting weight in Derek’s lap, another anchor tethering him and keeping him calm and in control.

.

Or, the one where Derek meets a witch, gets his betas back, and seemingly develops a sense of humour. Also, Stiles is totally magic, manages to accidentally join a werewolf pack, and asks too many goddamn questions. What could possibly go wrong?

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Kings of the Moonlight by thelogicoftaste (E | 25/25 | 148,854)

Derek is the newly single father to his only son, Isaac Argent Hale, and he finds himself having to move back to his home town of Beacon Hills to escape the insanity of his ex. It's in the middle of all this upheaval, the crazy mess that his life has become that he meets Stiles. Crazy, beautiful Stiles.

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