#on the edge of gone review

[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.

List of Up-and-coming works || Master list || Twitter| Kofi || Patreon

[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.

[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;

[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.” 

[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".

[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.

[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.

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…”

[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

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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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[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.

[polkadotpenguin16]

The Five Stages of Grief: Prologue

Broken promises and unspoken words bring your relationship with Sonny Carisi to the edge. You both mourn what was lost and wonder if you can find each other again.

A/N: waaaay back in like March, I came to @misscharlielulu with a silly headcanon, and she helped evolve it into a full-fledged story. Massive shout-out to @escapingrealtiylovinginsanity who so kindly reviewed my drafts and gave me excellent notes. Extra huge thank you to both these lovelies <3

Pairing: Sonny Carisi x female reader

Tags: much angst; super brief mention of SVU-related violence; anti-Rollisi content; I am not a writer - this is literally the first story I’ve ever written, so read at your own risk

Word count: 3K+ (I know it’s long, I’m sorry!)

This was it – tonight was finally date night. It was long overdue. Two months and five days to be exact. Whenever you and Sonny tried making plans to spend some quality time together, things just never worked out. The first night, you two were supposed to see a movie and get some gelato. Sonny called around noon saying he wouldn’t be back in time. “No big deal,” you told him. You wanted to make him feel better since you knew he felt bad about canceling. The second night, you were going to try a new Chinese restaurant that opened near the Brooklyn apartment you shared. You had almost finished your makeup when he called to say a case just came in and it was all hands on deck.

“I’m sorry, doll. I know I’m letting you down again.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sonny.” You tried to keep your voice light. You didn’t want him to hear how disappointed you were. “You’ve got people who need your help. I get it. Your job’s more important than some greasy Chinese food.”

“It’s not more important than you.” You believed him, although a small part of you was beginning to have doubts. “I’m gonna make this up to you, I swear to God.”

Tonight was attempt number three, and he wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to make it up to you. He made reservations at a very nice restaurant in Midtown. “Only the best for my girl,” he told you earlier this week. “And I wanna see you in that red dress I love.”

That’s exactly what you were wearing. A velvet, off-the-shoulder dress with a skirt that whimsically twirled as you moved. You spent more than an hour curling your hair and putting on your makeup. You felt like a million bucks and couldn’t wait for him to see you.

You sat in a cushy booth, nursing a glass of rosé while waiting for Sonny to arrive. You really needed this time with him, and you were sure he felt the same way. Your paths had barely crossed recently between his late nights and early mornings. During the few moments you were able to connect, you noticed how distant he was. His furrowed brow was becoming a permanent fixture on his face. You were worried about him, afraid he was spreading himself too thin. His job seemed to be taking a toll on him.

That’s actually how you met. You were a receptionist at a small bank, and he showed up one day to interview your colleague. When he came back a week later for a follow-up, he asked you out for coffee. You knew the broad strokes of the kinds of cases he investigated, but anything he shared with you was surface-level. He told you he felt fulfilled helping the victims. He had gone to law school and passed the bar to become a better cop. He liked his colleagues: his lieutenant, the ADA, but especially his partner, Amanda.

From the few times you’d met, it was easy to see why Sonny was so fond of her. He told you she was one of the best detectives he’d ever worked with. She spoke very intelligently about her work. Her southern accent made her voice incredibly engaging, even if you didn’t completely understand the intricacies of the conversation. She was impressively quick-witted. She and Sonny were always cracking inside jokes that flew over your head. She was also very beautiful. Stunningly tall and her blonde hair was always perfectly primped.

Sonny also told you she was a single mother who didn’t have any support system here in New York, which is why he tried to help her out as much as he could. He’d offer to watch her kids or help her with errands. They often went out for drinks after they’d closed a case, whether it be a good one or bad one.  Sonny and Amanda were exceptionally close…

And you would be lying if you said that didn’t make you feel insecure. You and Sonny would be having dinner together and he would be texting her on his phone, focused on a completely different conversation. She’d call evenings and weekends needing help and he’d drop everything to assist.

It made you feel inadequate.

You felt like you weren’t interesting enough to keep his attention. Weren’t smart enough to talk with him about his work. He didn’t trust you enough to confide in. Not like he did Amanda. All the things you felt like you lacked, you saw in her. Not that you would ever mention any of this to Sonny. How could you? She was his partner, his friend.

Best friend.

No one likes a jealous girlfriend. No, this was a “you” problem to sort out. You should just enjoy whatever time with him you have. Like tonight.

You took a break from picking apart your sourdough roll to check the time. 7:45. You tried not to worry – it wasn’t unlike Sonny to be a little late. You decided to wait a little longer before checking in. You didn’t want to nag.

8 o’clock rolled around and you couldn’t help it any longer, so you decided to shoot him a text.

Hi sunshine, let me know when you’re on your way :)

Another 30 minutes passed when your game of Candy Crush was interrupted by his reply.

Hey doll, I’m gonna be home late. I’m taking Rollins home and helping her get the kids in bed. You don’t have to wait up for me, I’ll see you in the morning.

You read the text again, and one more time to be certain. Because you must’ve been mistaken. He couldn’t have forgotten tonight, and he would never stand you up. Date nights were so important to Sonny. He used to text you all day about how excited he was, and he’d always show up early because he couldn’t wait to see you. Yet here you were. He ditched you for Amanda.

Again.

You asked the waiter to bring you the check for the drink you had. Utterly sick to your stomach, there was no way you would be ordering anything to eat, no matter how good the place smelled. You held back your tears and walked out of the restaurant to go home.

You kicked off your shoes when you arrived, then walked into the bathroom. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and paused. You saw your hair that you’d done up so nicely, your makeup that you spent so long trying to get just right, and your dress…that goddamn red dress.

You finally let yourself cry. The tears came hard and fast. You not-so-gracefully wiggled your dress off. It felt like you were in a straitjacket. Once you managed to get it unfastened, you chucked it into the hallway. You collapsed on the floor, overwhelmed by all the emotions you’d been holding back.

Disappointment, anger, betrayal. But more than anything, loneliness. And honestly, you’ve felt alone for a while. So many questions were floating in your head. Did he still love me? Did he ever? Or was Amanda always there between you? Did he…did he love her?

Your body began to shake. You were confronted by all the insecurities you’d been repressing. The walls of the bathroom felt like they were closing in. It was suffocating. The air was wrenched from your lungs as they squeezed tighter and tighter around you. You needed to get out of there.

You shakily stood up and started pacing frantically around your apartment. When you made it to the living room, you stopped in front of the fireplace. On the mantle were a dozen or so framed photos. Some of just you Sonny had taken, but most with both of you. At the park, at an Islander’s game, and your first anniversary. Seeing all these memories made you grieve the relationship you thought you had had.

Was it all a lie?

You weren’t sure anymore but knew you wouldn’t be able to figure anything out while in that apartment.

Through your tears, you scroll through your phone to find your best friend’s number. It was late, but she was a night owl, you knew she’d answer.

“What’s up, girlfriend?” You could hear her munching on chips and what sounded like a Star Wars movie playing in the background.

“Um, hey…” You tried to keep your voice even, but she saw right through it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” She knew you too well.

“Nothing, I-I just…I hate to even ask…can I stay at your place?”

“Of course you can,” she soothed immediately. “You always have a place here. What’s going on?”

The story came out in a depressing, uninterrupted stream. You thought you’d feel lighter getting everything off your chest, but you didn’t.

“Oh, my God, that’s…wow.” You heard the shock at how Sonny had been acting turn into a sympathetic wince. “I’m so sorry, babe.”

“I don’t even know what to do anymore,” you muttered, fighting back your tears.

“You’re coming over here and we’ll sort things out. Want me to pick you up?”

“No, I can get a ride. Just…thank you.”

“None needed, you’d do the same for me.”

You pulled your duffel bag out of the closet and started chaotically packing. Grabbing things haphazardly off the bathroom counter. Pulling clothes out of drawers without paying attention to whether they matched. You didn’t care. You needed to put distance between you and that apartment so you could clear your mind and think about the future of your relationship.

Sonny was starting to get a little worried. He hadn’t heard from you since his last text, which you didn’t respond to. He always worried about you, but this was different. Stirring a pot of marinara with one hand, he pulled his phone out of his pocket with the other.

He just had to check one more time.

He was interrupted by two tiny, blonde tornadoes running laps around his legs. He had to admit that while Rollins’ girls were adorable, they could be a bit distracting. He sat his phone down and playfully chased them back into their room so he could get back to finishing dinner. He didn't even think about it again until after they finished eating. By then, it was too late to call since you were probably sleeping.

It had been such a long day. He was up before 5 and didn’t clock out until nearly 8. They’d been working on a difficult case that left the team feeling torn. A little boy disappeared in the night, kidnapped by his nanny. Once they found him, it sadly appeared that the boy would’ve been better off with his kidnapper than his irresponsible parents. As everyone left, he noticed something was up with Rollins. When probed, she said that the case had gotten to her. She was having doubts about whether she was a good enough mother and if she could take care of her kids alone. So, he offered to give her a ride and cook dinner for them. How could she say no to that?

He thought Rollins was a great partner and admired her. When he first joined, he even had a crush on her. However, she made it clear she was not interested. He had since moved on from those feelings. He still cared about her, but in a brotherly way. She didn’t come from a tight-knit family like him. His Italian genes wouldn’t let him sit back and not help when he saw her struggle. That was Sonny’s job: helping people and fixing things.

After herding the girls into bed and making sure Rollins ate, he made his way home. He could barely keep his eyes open as he drove. God, was he tired. Not just from today. They’d been understaffed for months, so he’d been picking up extra shifts. Between the mandatory overtime, dealing with his sisters, and trying to support Rollins, he felt like he didn’t have much left to give. The only thing keeping him going was you. He couldn’t wait to lay in bed and cuddle up beside you. Somehow you made all the bad things in the world right. You didn’t even have to do anything. Your presence was enough to chase away the demons that haunted him.

He quietly closed the front door to not wake you. He heard rustling coming from the bedroom. Looking down the hall, he saw light peering from the ajar door. You must’ve been awake. He was delighted he would have a few minutes to chat with you before falling asleep. Walking down the hallway, he noticed a small pile of red fabric on the floor. Confused but too tired to care, he walked past it to the bedroom. Opening the door, he saw you rummaging through the closet.

“Hey, doll, glad you’re still up,” he mumbled. He then noticed the half-filled duffel bag in the middle of the room. “What’s with the bag? Going on a trip?” He asked with a chuckle.

You hesitated for a second before turning to face him. His stomach immediately dropped when he saw your eyes were rimmed with red, and mascara was streaking down your cheeks. It was clear you’d been crying.

“Oh, my god, what happened?” He quickly approached you to check if you were alright.

You dodged his advance and returned to packing, leaving Sonny puzzled. He paused to take stock of the situation in front of him. He didn’t see any blood or bruises, so you probably weren’t hurt. You were obviously upset about something. Was it because he came home late? And why were you packing a bag at this hour…

It finally clicked what was happening and alarm bells went off in his head.

“Hey, slow down!” He started taking things out of your bag. “Look, I’m sorry I was home late. Rollins—she was having a hard time, and I was trying to help—”

Without acknowledging him, you picked the bag off the floor and moved it to the bed, out of his reach. You didn’t want to hear excuses, nor did you want to hear about that woman. The air in the room felt painfully thick, making it hard to breathe. You wanted to get out of there, to clear your mind.

Sonny’s confusion spiraled into irritation. He was practically dead on his feet. The last thing he wanted was to deal with you having some kind of tantrum. “Come on, doll, aren’t you being a bit dramatic here?”

You finally stopped and stared him straight in the eye. “Well,” your voice was deceptively calm, “getting stood up by your boyfriend can have that effect on you.”

“Stood up? What’re you talking—”

Date night. Shit. The reservations. Oh SHIT. The red dress in the hallway…

His eyes went big, and his heart hit the floor. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry—”

You felt tears starting to well up again. You bit your lower lip and went back to packing.

Sonny just stood there, rubbing the back of his neck. His first instinct was to go and touch you, but he knew better than to do that right now. He just wanted to hold you. To make all this go away. He hated seeing you cry, and knowing he was the reason? He wanted to puke. If he could just get you to listen, he could fix this.

“What’re doing? Doll, please stop,” he frantically asked.

“I’m going to my friend’s place.” You didn’t even look up. “I’m tired of being an afterthought, Sonny. I need some time to think.”

“Think about what? Sweetheart, please just talk to me.” He was grasping at straws trying to get you stop. “I-I’m sorry, just—I can fix this—will you please just stop for a second—"

But you weren’t stopping, and he was getting frustrated. Why wouldn’t you just talk to him?

“So that’s it then. You’re solving this by walking out on me?” He accused with venom in his voice. “If I hadn’t come home just now, you wouldn’t even be here!” His arms started flailing and his voice got louder and louder with each word. “Is that all this relationship meant to you? That you’d just pick up and leave after a mistake? No discussion, no talking, NOTHING?!”

His shouting startled you, making you stop dead in your tracks. You clench your eyes shut and your hands begin to tremble.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He immediately softened his tone and held his hands in front of him, trying to look less intimidating. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

He regretted raising his voice as soon as the words left his lips. He didn’t mind getting loud and angry at a perp, but he always tried to leave “Detective Carisi” at the precinct. Home was sacred, where he could be soft and gentle. With you, he was just “Sonny” or your “sunshine.” He hoped he still could be.

“Listen to me, please,” he begged. “You’ve got every right to be mad at me. I screwed up, big time, and I couldn’t be more sorry about that.” You looked at him, still shaken, with tears rolling down your cheeks. He realized there was nothing he could do to fix this tonight. It was too much. “Look, it’s late. You’re tired, I’m tired—let’s sleep on this,” he proposed. “I understand you need some space, so I’ll sleep on the couch. The room is all yours. Just…please don’t go.”

You were on the brink of losing control, too overwhelmed by everything. You couldn’t stay. You shook your head. “I have spent too many nights alone in this bedroom, Sonny. I-I need to go.”

That shattered him.

“Okay, I hear you.” He was trying to figure out how to salvage this. “Just for tonight. You’ll come back tomorrow, and we’ll work this out.”

Your phone pinged from where it sat on the dresser. “My ride’s here, I’ve gotta go.”

“You’re coming back tomorrow, okay?” He pleaded. But you walked right past him. “Will you please text me when you get there so I know you’re safe?”

The closing of the front door echoed throughout the now silent apartment. Sonny stood there dumbfounded. He looked at the chaos of half-opened drawers and things thrown about. Something caught his eye in the corner of the room. His gray Fordham hoodie.

It was your favorite and you had claimed it as your own. It was left folded on the chair. You didn’t take it with you. He picked it up and stared at it. You wore it practically every day because it smelled like him and comforted you, and you didn’t take it with you. Somehow this hurt more than anything else that night. He wadded the ratty sweater up and hurled it across the room.

[hwaslayer]

project: make you love me (jyh) | eight.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader x park seonghwa

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 3.2k

—chapter content/warnings: scary movie night with friends!!, flashback scene with seonghwa 😅, snuggles, holding hands, yunho is the sweetest and super gentle with oc 🥺, a kiss on the cheek hehe, the next two updates will also be very crucial for these lovebirds!! 🖤

"What else should we buy in this aisle?" Chaery slowly pushes the cart down the chip aisle.

"Dude? We already have so much chips." Seungmin points at the popcorn boxes, nachos and other chips already sitting in the cart. "We haven't even gone to the desserts yet."

"Kim Seungmin, we are hosting a scary movie night. Back to back scary movies." She pauses to glare at him. "Of course people are going to look for food. We need to over-compensate than under-compensate." She continues to lecture him.

"She's kinda right." Soobin shrugs. "Gotta be good hosts." He shows the big pack of sour worms in his hand. "Sour worms?"

"Yes, but for decoration!" She grabs the bag and tosses it into the cart.

"Decoration?"

"Yeah, I'm going to put it into a fancy jar and organize it all cutely." Chaery giggles, making you shake your head as you trail behind with Soobin. 

"Can we please just eat these normally?" Seungmin continues to bicker with Chaery as they finally lead the way out of the aisle and onto the baked goods/dessert section. Soobin tucks his hands in his pockets, looking down at you with a smirk. You furrow a brow, confused as to what he's smiling like that for.

"What? Weirdo." He laughs and shakes his head.

"Oh, nothing." You playfully hit him on the bicep. "Ouch!"

"You can't just look at me then say that."

"Nah. It's nothing serious. But, Yunho is still coming right?"

"Yes." You squint your eyes at him.

"Goodluck making sure Chaery stays quiet."

"Oh hush, she'll be fine."

"Mhm." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Just friends, remember?"

"Hm." Soobin hums. "We'll see about that tonight."

"Choi Soobin, what is that supposed to mean?"

"Scary movies are the best environment for PDA."

"Or, scary movies are just a good environment for friends in general."

"Mm, no." Soobin shuts you down, making you scoff. "But, we can say that if it makes you feel better."

"It does." You continue to squint at him. "You guys are such instigators."

"Sorry." He smirks. "Just know I think it's adorable." You make a face and roll your eyes. "On a more serious note, have you heard from Seonghwa?" You shake your head.

"Not really. Not after I told him we should end things." You shrug. "He can be mad all he wants, but I'm done with it. He doesn't realize he's wrong."

"Good." Soobin scratches at his temple. "What if he ends up running back to you, though?"

"No, I highly doubt that." You say lowly. "Why?"

"Just wondering. I, um, was just reminded of when Seonghwa never wanted to join in on movie nights or our kick-its. I know it's a small thing but it meant a lot to you. It's nice knowing Yunho is making the effort, even as your friend."

"Mm, yeah." You look at your feet as you continue to walk alongside of him.

♣︎ FLASHBACK

"Hwa." You gently nudge him while lifting your head from his chest to look at him directly in the eye.

"Hm?" He hums, eyes still glued onto his tv screen in front of him. The both of you lay in his bed, his apartment awfully quiet after San and Mingi left for a late night fast food run. Seonghwa's fingers gently trace circles on the edge of your shoulder, his expression flat as he continues to watch the show that's on.

"We're having a movie night at the apartment in a few days. You should come." He lets out a small, pathetic chuckle before shaking his head.

"I don't know."

"Why not? You never come even though it's just my roommates and a few of our friends."

"Exactly. I don't know your friends like that, so why would I go?" You furrow your brows and lift your head from his chest.

"So wouldn't you take that as an opportunity to get to know them?"

"What makes you think your friends are interested in getting to know me? I know they don't like me." Seonghwa has a small smirk forming at the corner of his lips.

"Because they're my friends at the end of the day. They'll still try because they know it matters to me. Just like me asking you to do the same with them."

"It's just weird. I don't wanna be around people who don't like me. On top of that, I know they're your friends, but I'm sure they truly care less." He sighs. "Sorry, I just don't see myself doing it."

"Not even for me?"

"Why do you have to form it that way? You're trapping me into the situation." You roll your eyes, throwing your leg over him to start getting dressed again. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"I'm being honest, Y/N. I don't see the point of this." He sighs and tries to grab at your wrist. "You don't have to act like that. If it really makes you feel better, I'll do the next one. Okay?" He says just to give you what you wanna hear, though he doesn't mean it and he'll find another way to get out of it.

"Nevermind. Just forget it."

♣︎ END

"My point is.. people always realize after they lose something good. I just don't wanna see you get hurt by Seonghwa again, is all." Soobin chimes in again.

"Thanks." You give him a small smile. But, it immediately fades when you both hear Seungmin and Chaery bickering over the types of dessert they should buy, and whether or not Chaery should arrange a small charcuterie board last minute. Soobin cuts in and tells Chaery not to, while grabbing a pack of freshly baked cookies for dessert. He takes the cart from them and heads towards the self-checkout, making you laugh at how frustrated he's gotten in the past few minutes. When you and your roommates finally get home, you all get washed up and clean the apartment to start setting up the food at the table.

You're excited to see Yunho tonight, especially since you both haven't seen each other over the weeks due to tremendous amounts of tests, papers and projects. But, he still checked on you through random texts and calls, keeping it short for the sake of deadlines and letting you get rest. But, you missed Yunho, his company. You missed the random walks. You missed the McDonald's runs. You missed seeing him in the library— which, you haven't really gone to just because you've been spending more nights studying with your roommates comfortably in your apartment.

You remember asking him if he was still down to come tonight, reassuring him that he wasn't obligated and that you'd completely understand if he had other things to do. To be honest, you were ready for it. You were ready for Yunho to tell you he indeed did have other [better] things to work on.

'Nope. I'm gonna be there.' 

Is what he surprisingly comes back with when you tell him. When you heard his response on the other line, you felt your palms get a little sweaty, nerves starting to get to the best of you. How could you keep him entertained? Did he feel pressured? Did he even want to go? What was he going to think of you with your friends?

He is going because he is genuinely interested in going, right?

You couldn't help but overthink.

"Hey, what're you thinking about?" Chaery looks at you before unloading the chips into a big bowl.

"I hope Yunho didn't feel pressured or obligated to come."

"Are you kidding?! Absolutely not!" She sets the empty bag aside. "If he didn't want to come, I am certain Yunho respects you enough to be honest about it. But, I genuinely think he wants to come and just hang out with you." Chaery brushes your hair back. "Don't think that way, babe. If I were him, I'd love to spend time with you, too." You chuckle and roll your eyes.

"Please. We are just friends."

"For now." She winks with a playful pinch to the arm. "Promise he will enjoy himself."

"Thank you." You poke out your bottom lip. "So, how can I make myself useful?" She laughs.

"You are always useful. But, a bit of help with organizing the snacks would be great! People are gonna be here soon." You chuckle and help her set up the rest of the snacks, spreading the decorations across the table shortly afterwards. 

Just as she had mentioned, your friends started arriving quickly— all falling into your apartment one by one. You start to worry a bit when Yunho hasn't arrived, anxiously fiddling with your fingers and checking your phone. You head into the bathroom to relieve yourself and take a moment to calm down.

If he didn't want to be here, he would just say so.

You let out a breath and swing the door open, eyes landing on the front door ahead.

"There you are! She's finally done doing her business—" Your eyes widen when you see Yunho standing next to Seungmin, furrowing your brows at your roommate for having no filter most of the time.

"Seungmin." You say with clenched teeth, making him laugh.

"Kidding! Jeez." He gently taps Yunho on the arm with the back of his hand. "Anyway, I'm gonna help Chaery with the rest of this stuff in the kitchen. Feel free to grab whatever you need and get comfortable." Seungmin jogs over to the kitchen, leaving you and Yunho alone.

"I honestly thought you were gonna back out last minute." Yunho raises a brow before laughing a bit.

"Is that what you think of me?" You shake your head. "I told you I wanted to come."

"I'm glad you didn't change your mind." You smile up at him. "Hungry?"

"A bit?" You laugh and show him to the food, letting him greet your friends and roommates on the way. Yunho helps himself to a slice of pizza, while you take two— getting a bowl of chips and popcorn to share before you plop onto the couch and set your things down on the coffee table. Everyone is pretty much situated at this point, all sprawled throughout your living room while waiting for the first movie to play.

"Okay! Is everyone ready?!" Chaery asks, making sure everyone has their food before beginning.

"Let's go! Play it!" Hyunjin responds excitedly from the floor. And with that, the first movie begins: The Devil Inside.

Of course, with any scary movie, things can start off slow. It gives the illusion that it may not be as bad as you think— when indeed, it eventually does get to that point. Yunho sits next to you on the couch, hugging close to the arm rest to give you space in case you needed it. But, he feels your leg brush against his and he feels himself loosen up. He doesn't feel so tense when you set your plate back onto the coffee table and give him a few gentle taps on the thigh, asking him if he needs anything with that pretty smile of yours. He almost gets lost in the way your eyes twinkle when you look at him, the way your smile feels so genuine.

You are warm.

You are safe.

"I'm okay." Yunho responds to your question with a low whisper. You give him a small nod before proceeding to eat your food while watching the movie.

As the movie progresses, there are a few moments when you've already had to sit back and cover your eyes, the scenes too intense for your liking. Yunho actually hates these movies, truly. He can't stand them because he hates the visuals, the sounds. He doesn't really know where he lies about all this stuff, he truthfully wouldn't know how to explain it. But, he just doesn't like it. It's unsettling, and it's not his cup of tea. Of course, probably stating the obvious for most people.

The point here is that even if you had told him about the movie choice beforehand, he'd still show up. Because he genuinely wants to be here with you. He'll take any time he gets outside of school purposes.

"Oh shit!" You jump from the loud sound, instantly covering your face and digging it against Yunho's shoulder. He laughs at you, before wrapping his arm around your waist— pulling you closer to his body. 

"It's okay, it's over." He chuckles, looking at you while you continue to hide behind your hands.

"Don't lie to me!"

"I would never. I promise." 

"Ugh." You whine. "I'm sorry, I'm gonna hide from time to time."

"It's fine, I don't mind." 

"Really?" You look up at him as you find your body comfortably resting against his, Yunho's arm still wrapped around you to keep you there. He simply nods with a small smile, subtly biting onto his bottom lip when he feels you adjust in your position and scoot even closer. Yunho is trying his best not to be stiff, awkward; but in all honesty, he likes having you close and he just wants you comfortable. 

"Really." He whispers as the intensity in the movie climbs again. You smile at him before returning your attention to the tv, Yunho's hand gently resting on your thigh. 

"Dude." Seungmin whispers over to Chaery and subtly nods in your direction. "Cute."

"Stop." She harshly whispers back with a playful tap to the chest. "Leave them!"

"Says you." Seungmin bites back sarcastically before earning another hit on the bicep. 

You continue to let Yunho hold you, hand gently resting against your thigh as you keep close to him. He draws tiny circles on the surface of your leggings, making you silently giggle to yourself from the ticklish feeling due to his gentle touch. At some point, your hand lingers near his, but you're too afraid to make the first move [if any]. So, you don't. You can barely focus on the movie because you're too busy deciding if you should just say fuck it or not.

The movie says otherwise, though. Especially when a loud jump scare happens yet again.

"Oh my god, can they stop doing that!" You jump, hands coming up to cover your face.

"Y/N, watch the movie." Yunho teases, trying to pry your hands away from your face.

"Only if they promise to stop the bullshit." You joke.

"Okay, I'll call them and discuss." Yunho successfully pries your hands off after that statement, eyes peering into yours to check if you're okay. He doesn't necessarily let go of your right hand, letting you lace your fingers with his. 

"You're funny." You giggle. 

"At least you're laughing, though." He smiles. "Promise the rest of the movie won't be that bad. I got you, okay?"

"Okay." You nod, sinking back into your position against Yunho, hands still laced together. 

"Comfortable?" You smile at him.

"Mhm. If you are."

"Don't worry about me. As long as you don't feel threatened by the movie." You let out a small laugh.

As the movie continues, your position shifts in a way where you're almost laying onto Yunho, while he continues to have an arm wrapped around you and his hand locked with yours. Being with Yunho makes you feel comfortable, and the movies seem less threatening with him here. You can handle scary movies for the most part, but having him feels like a warm blanket on a cold, snowy day; having Yunho feels like the one sunshine ray poking through the clouds.

Yunho is safe.

The rest of the movie goes on, with Yunho being there to soften the blows of the remaining jumpscares. Before the next movie, you run to grab a few more snacks, with Yunho still welcoming you in his arms just like before. When the second movie gets rolling, things continue in the same manner with him. No one is really batting an eye, but everyone is also aware that you and Yunho have gotten closer lately. They try to mind their own business, except they all can agree on one thing: You deserve better than Park Seonghwa. You have been happier without him.

That's all that matters.

During the second movie, Yunho continues his subtle acts of affection— little pinches on your thigh, squeezing your hand, caressing the surface of your hand with his thumb as his way to console you, teasing you whenever you hide;

Nothing more, nothing less.

And it brings you so, so many butterflies. Yet, you're still not really sure of what you feel for Yunho. Maybe you're scared, maybe you're overthinking? Maybe Seonghwa was partially to blame since you're afraid of getting hurt. But, what you do know is that you hate when the movie marathon comes to an end because this means your friends go home, Yunho goes home. 

Everyone does their role in helping you and your roommates clean up, even though you've reassured them that they didn't need to. With that, the house is clean under half an hour, friends bidding their farewells shortly after. Yunho sticks around to make sure nothing else is needed, giving you leverage to join him outside once your roommates thank him for his help.

"What a night." Yunho laughs at your statement just as he slips back into his shoes, throwing his hood over his head. 

"Exhausting?"

"A bit." You giggle. "I can walk you to your apartment—" Yunho shakes his head.

"No, then who is gonna walk you back?" He smirks. "We'll go back and forth." You snort.

"Fine." You cross your arms and look up at him. "Did you have fun, though?"

"I did have fun watching you cover your eyes and accidentally hit me from time to time." You laugh.

"Hey!"

"Kidding. I did." He chuckles and gently taps you on the tip of your nose. "I'll be okay on the walk over."

"Okay." You smile. "Thank you for coming, and for being my shield?" You say in a questioning tone and Yunho smiles.

"Of course." You walk closer and open your arms for a hug, immediately wrapping them around his waist when he pulls you in. You hold your position against him for a bit, taking in his scent while he continues to hold you. 

Yunho is warm.

Yunho is safe.

When you finally pull back and look up at him, you hesitate with your next move. But, with the way Yunho continues keep his gaze on you, you almost feel like he's expecting your next move. Maybe he'd like it? You can't exactly help yourself, either. He was so sweet and gentle with you earlier, and he didn't have to come tonight. He didn't have to, especially not knowing anybody besides your roommates. Yet, he did. And he was there by your side the entire time.

You can't exactly help yourself.

So, you toss the overthinking out the window, tippy-toe and give Yunho a chaste kiss to the cheek. He smiles a bit, ears instantly hot and red.

"Seriously, thank you."

"You don't need to thank me, Y/N. I like your company." He digs his hands into his pockets. "Get some rest."

"Okay. I will. Goodnight, Yunho."

"Goodnight." He bites onto his bottom lip before turning on his heel for the lonely walk back to his apartment. It's a little past midnight and Yunho really does feel the loneliness the farther he gets from your apartment. When he steps into his own, he kicks his shoes off and gets ready for bed. As soon as he slips into his covers and his head hits the pillow, he can't help but think of you.

You.

Tonight, Yunho doesn't think sleep will find him. But he's okay with it for once. Because it's you— you're the reason why sleep won't find him. You're the reason why he's been happier.

You.

And he hopes you feel the same way, too.

♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @marsattacks @mxnsxngie @h-nji @mundayoonimnida @jalapeno-princess @nakiiko @asjkdk @kunikku @idkwgoh @kyeos4ng @agust-d2 @araknoid @bintific @primoppang @betray-the-light

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 49

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, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, 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: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: mondays are for pain.

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 

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

“What’s wrong with her?” Ann’s sharp tone is dulled behind the dim blur all around you. 

“She... she’ll be fine. She’s... adjusting,” Steve explains hesitantly. 

A heavy sigh makes your shiver, an echo of another monster. You sink further down into the bed, eyes shut, body locked up. You couldn’t move if you tried. 

“You had to get her? She’s stupid. Maria wasn’t--” 

“Shut up about Maria,” Steve barks at Ann. “She’s gone. You want a kid, this is what we do.” 

“Should we... should we talk about this here?” She asks. 

“You’re the one who brought it up, Ann,” he retorts. “Besides, she’s dissociating. She probably thinks she’s at home. It’s better she’s like this. Easier.” 

“It won’t be when--” 

“Shut up,” he snarls again. “Go.” 

Silence. Tense and thick. Finally, a set of footfalls depart and another come closer. You don’t react as the figure sits on the edge of the bed, not even as they touch your shoulder through the layers of blankets. 

“Sweetie, how are you doing?” Steve coos. “You wanna get up? You must be hungry.” 

You don’t answer him. You can’t. You’re embarrassed. He’s right about you. Ann is right about you. You’re broken. That fact doesn’t hurt as much as another epiphany; he chose you because of that. You’re not special, you’re not pretty, he doesn’t want you. They want what you can give them. Just like Andy. 

“Can I bring you some food? You have to eat, sweetie,” rubs your shoulder. “Not just for you.” 

You want to scream. Just the very thought of having a baby makes your skins crawl. Your muscles constrict to the point of agony every time you try to imagine it. To you, the very idea is a like a parasite invading your body. 

Just like they did. 

Andy. Ann. Steve. 

She’s right. You are stupid. You made the same mistake twice. Worse, you betrayed and abandoned the only person who every cared about you. The person who would never violate you or call you dumb and useless. You left Amber behind but you think it’s better that you did. Better for her. 

You have no where to go. You’re trapped. This is how it’s going to be. You’re going to keep letting them use you and then you’re going to have a baby. A baby! A baby? No, no, no. 

“Sweetie,” Steve pulls down the blanket to caress your face, “you wanna come to the office today? We can talk. Maybe after, we can go shopping. We’ll need to start getting stuff for the nursery.” You shudder as he strokes along your cheek, “you know, me and Ann, we never thought we could have another. You’re... you’re giving us an amazing gift. You’re making our dreams come true.” 

You stay as you are. He takes a deep breath and spreads his hand over your head. He bends over you and brushes his lips along your temple and to your ear. 

“Get the fuck up.” 

His voice makes you squeak and recoil. As you try to pull away, he catches the back of your head and keeps you there. Your eyes flick open and you gape up at him. He makes you sit up as he grips your skull between his large hands. 

“You’re not going to do this. Not to my baby,” he snarls, “so get up, get dressed, and be a good girl, dove.” 

You pout and your eyes wet, “Steve, please--” 

“You keep this up, and I’ll have to go see how your sister’s doing...” he intones. “Living all alone, she must miss you.” 

“What?” You croak. 

“Someone has to keep an eye on her,” he says. 

“What do you mean?” You whine. 

“You really want me to say it?” He snarls. 

“No, why? Why? You know—I t-t-told you—Andy--” 

He shoves you back down, so hard your neck snaps back and you bite your tongue, “don’t say his fucking name to me. Don't even breathe him in the same sentence as me. I’m not like him and you know that, sweetie. Look how much I’ve helped you. How much I’ve actually helped you.”

He stands and kicks the bed. “I’m giving you a purpose. Something you never had before.” He scoffs and paces around as you rub your neck, “you were nothing before. No one wanted you, no one needed you.” 

“Stop, please. That’s mean--” 

“The truth hurts, baby,” he growls. “So let’s get the fuck up and go.” 

You sniffle and shakily push yourself up. Your heart races and the rampant beat pounds in your ears. You push yourself to the edge of the bed and the blankets slip away from your body. As you stand, his eyes flash at you. 

You’re still naked. They just leave you like that when they’re done. You cross the room but don’t make it to the dresser. He catches you by your arm and drags you back. 

“Not so fast,” he shoves you towards the bed. “Just to make sure,” he forces you onto the bed. “Open up, baby,” he climbs over you, pinning you as his hand creeps between your legs. 

You close your eyes again. You recede back into the shell hewn form years of self-hatred and fear. The cocoon that never let you free. You would never fly free and be a butterfly. You would only ever be this. A burden. Nothing. 

He ruts into you but you don’t feel it. You can’t. His intrusion doesn’t hurt anywhere as bad as the truth. And you can’t blame anyone but yourself. You chose this. 

🕊️

It happens all at once. One moment, you’re sitting there, watching Avery and Harper run in circles around the front room, and the next, you’re keeled over, hurling onto the carpet. You don’t think much of it. Most days, you feel sick. You don’t have an appetite but they make you eat. You still have scratches around your lips from Ann’s manicure. 

You stay bent over the carpet, panting. Avery squeals, “Moooom!” and Harper snickers and adds a draw out, “ewwwwwwwww”. 

You’re pushed back against the couch. You’re breathless and dizzy. You gulp down the bile and watch Ann grimace down at the puddle between your feet. She puts her hands on her hips. 

“Steve,” she rings out. 

Another shadow appears. The adults are quiet as the kids loom behind, “is she sick?” Avery asks. 

“Go. Take your brother to his room.” Ann snips. 

The girl retreats as if away from a lash. You stare up at them. Steve bends and picks you up off the couch. You refuse to set your feet so he carries you away. 

“I’m not cleaning this up,” Ann snarls. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, “did you check the calendar?” 

Footsteps follow him as you hang limp in his arms. He takes you into the bedroom, the dark cell where you languish between their grabbing hands, where you wallow in despair and defeat. He lays you down. 

“Makes sense,” Ann drones. “She’s about on track.” 

He hums and nods. “I’ll clean up. We need to be sure.” 

“I’ll need help,” she sniffs. “Just look at her.” 

You stare at the ceiling. The world fades behind the ring of light in your vision as the light bulbs sears into your retina. You close your eyes and everything moves around you as you stay still. 

It’s quiet when you rise from the depths. Out of the void of your own mind and the prison of your body. The lamp next to the bed is on and you’re wearing a shirt you’ve never seen before. There’s a faint scent of urine in the air. You’re all alone. 

Your stomach turns, mulching in on itself, but you ignore it. You just can’t be bothered. The swell of sickness chokes you and you just wallow it back down. Your body spasms with the effort. 

You roll onto your stomach and close your eyes. When you open them again, you’re spewing puke down the bed spread, watching it pool on the hardwood. You wipe your mouth with the back of your head and groan. 

An inch away is the bin from the bathroom. If you’d been awake, you might have been able to reach it. You stretch out your arm and drag it closer. There's a rattle in the bottom. 

You stare down at the white and blue plastic stick. Without fear, you grab it and bring it up to read the little window. Pregnant. That’s it. That's the end. You drop the test into your own puke and roll onto your other side. You dive back into the despondency of sleep. 

You’re woken again by an angry voice. Then a swat on the back of your head, “disgusting, aren’t you?” Ann chides.  

You can hear her scrubbing the floor as the smell of puke hangs in the air. Puke and piss. Filthy, like you. 

When the room is silent and still, you lay on your back. You’re still nauseous. Weak and tired. Everything is so much more intense than it’s ever been. 

The door opens. You don’t react. Steve calls your name and you still don’t answer. He drags you up the bed and makes you sit against the pillows, placed against the headboard. Then he puts the little folding table over your lap. The scent of food makes you grumble. 

“You have to eat,” he says. “It’s not just about you anymore, dove.” 

His timbre is harsh, hateful almost. He holds up the spoon and you stare it down. You keep your lips sealed. 

“Open your damn mouth or I’ll do it for you.” 

You wince and obey. You don’t understand why he changed. He used to be nice. He used to be patient and gentle. He said he was going to fix you. You take the mouthful of porridge and swallow without tasting. 

“You’re... a doctor,” you squeak. 

“Hmm?” He scoops up more of the oats. 

“You’re a doctor... you’re supposed to help me--” 

“I have helped,” he rams the spoon in your mouth again. “You think it would be any different with him? He wouldn’t want you the minute you got knocked up.” He stirs the bowl as he speaks, “but if you give us a healthy baby, we’ll keep you.” 

If. 

You open your mouth again. You stay quiet. You don’t like talking to him. Not anymore. It's always about the baby. It’s always spiteful. He hates you. 

“You get it?” He sneers. “You are carrying our child, that means you have to take care of yourself,” he grabs your hand and wraps it around the spoon, “you need to grow up.” He guides the spoon into the bowl with a clink. “Because if you don’t start taking care of my baby, then I will make sure you fucking suffer. I’ve lost too much already.” 

You whimper and he lets you go. You raise the spoon and lean forward to put the heap of steaming oats between your lips. His eyes are as icy as his words. You’re scared. You’re even more terrified of him than you ever were of Andy. 

“Good girl,” he says but it doesn’t make you feel good. Not anymore. 

You finish the whole bowl, and the fruit on the side, and the orange juice. He gathers up the tray and leaves you. You slump against the pillows and rub your stomach, trying to calm the storm inside. 

It’s more than the latent tide of nausea that makes you restless. You’re head pounds. You can’t even close your eyes. If you sleep any longer, your skull might just split. Your body is achy and your heart feels as if its always racing. You sit up and look around the room. 

Nine months. You know that’s how long it takes. You’ll have less than that by now. You’re not sure how long it would be. 

You turn and shimmy to the edge of the bed. You slide open the night table drawer and take out your journal. You search through the pages. Steve told you to right down your cycle... 

Hm, you can’t figure it out. Probably two months? Maybe less? It doesn't feel like that long.

You put the journal back and your knuckles brush on the smooth cover of your tablet. You pause and lean forward to look into the drawer. You stopped using it because you didn’t want to be reminded of Andy. You couldn’t draw because your hand wouldn’t listen to your brain. 

You glance at the door then take out the tablet. You push back into bed and put your knees up, draping the blankets over them so if anyone walks in, you can hide the screen. You press the button on the side. It takes a moment but it lights up. 

You wait until the homescreen appears. Thirty percent. You can’t remember where the charger went. 

You pull down the notifications. There are a lot. Automatic alerts from the camera at Andy’s house, messages from a strange account that can only be him, and several app updates. 

You swipe them all away. You flick over the menu, back and forth, back and forth. You tap on Insta and wait for it to load. Your last post was a year ago; a drawing of a dove... 

You go to your followers. You don’t have many but you’re only looking for one. You tap Amber’s picture. Her profile opens and your fingers twitch in surprise. Your fingertip taps the little heart and it blooms red. You quickly press again to undo the like. 

Her last post is from a week ago. It’s her and a man. He doesn’t seem to want to be on camera as she kisses his cheek. Oh. You can’t bother her. She’s moved on. She’s happy and you’re going to ruin her life all over again. You’re not her responsibility. 

Your eyes fill with tears as you stare at her picture. A red dot appears at the bottom over the chat icon. It blinks as several messages flow in. It's Amber. 

‘Hey!’ 

‘Are u there?’ 

‘Says ur online. Pls answer me.’ 

You watch her messages pop up. Your lip trembles. What can you do? What can you say? You wipe your tears and snivel. Hey, sis, got myself knocked up and now I’m scared. No, that’s not it. 

You hover your hands over the keyboard and steady them. You blow out between your lips and sort out the words in your head. You tap the letters slowly, taking your time. 

‘I just want to say goodbye. I’m sorry for all the pain I caused. I’m glad to see that you’re happy. Love you.’ 

You read and reread. Over and over. Then you make yourself send it. You don’t wait for her response. What she says, doesn’t matter. She’s free from you. She doesn’t need to worry. You’re not worried either. This is just how it is.