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endless-ineffabilities · 4 months ago

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The Bolter (part seven)

Steve Rogers x f!reader / Bucky Barnes x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Steve's visitors in the 1950s force him to accept the truth. The new Captain America drives a wedge in the reader's relationship with Bucky.

themes/warnings : pining, angst, Loki and Mobius featured

word count : 2k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

The 1950s, seven months after Steve's arrival

You're not supposed to be here.

The sound of an old radio drifts lazily through the air, some crooner from a time long forgotten. Loki lingers behind Mobius in the living room, adjusting his coat with a smirk that practically drips with condescension. He's enjoying the storm of emotion on Steve's face.

"What do you mean?" The former Captain America asks.

Mobius and Loki exchange glances before Mobius steps forward, pulling out a small, metallic device that flickers with a strange light.

Mobius gets right into his explanation, gesturing to the TemPad, its holographic images flashing in front of Steve: timelines splitting, branches forming, collapsing under the careful pruning of the TVA.

Steve simply watches as the enormity of it sinks in. His world is crumbling around him yet again.

"What do you think you're doing here, Captain?" Loki drawls, his eyes glinting with an odd mix of amusement and sympathy. "Living the quiet life, are we? Playing house in the 1950s?"

Mobius sighs, ignoring Loki's taunts. "You know why we’re here, Steve. We came to bring you back. You weren’t meant to stay."

Steve’s eyes flicker with a brief flash of something – regret? Guilt? Or was that hope? He turns slightly, casting a glance at the quaint home he stands in, and then back at Mobius. "I made my decision."

"Yeah, you did," Loki interrupts, crossing his arms as he sizes up the man in front of him. "And look where that’s gotten you. Hiding out in a time that doesn’t belong to you."

Steve’s jaw clenches, his fists tightening. He can feel the accusation hanging in the air, too familiar, too true. But he keeps his voice steady, his shoulders stiff. "I came back to claim what I deserve."

Mobius steps closer, his voice softer now. "While I understand that, Steve... Right now, you’re living in the past – a time which was never meant to be your present."

Steve says nothing. The truth is a splinter lodged in his chest, one that’s been festering since he first stepped into this world that wasn’t his. Because it wasn’t really about Peggy anymore. It was about you.

You. The one he left behind, the one he’s thought about every single day since he made that fateful choice. He had convinced himself he was doing the right thing, that he could live in the past and let go of everything. But the truth gnawed at him. He wasn’t living here – he was hiding.

"I had to come back," Steve mutters, almost to himself. "I owed it to Peggy."

Loki lets out a sharp laugh, drawing Steve’s attention. "Oh, please. Owing someone something doesn’t mean trapping yourself in a past that doesn’t need you. Peggy moved on, Steve. She had a life. But you? You abandoned yours."

He abandoned you. He abandoned Bucky.

Mobius sighs again, hands slipping into his pockets as he tries to cut through Loki’s sharp edges. "Steve, we’re not here just because of your choices. You staying here, in this time – it’s creating problems. Serious ones."

Steve frowns, straightening. "You prune timelines. What’s one more divergence?"

Mobius rubs the back of his neck, glancing at Loki before answering. "You're not just some random variant. You're Captain America. The impact of your absence is like pulling a thread from a tightly woven tapestry. Everything starts to unravel. Even the TVA can't stop the consequences of that for long."

Steve’s face hardens. "I'm just living quietly, out of the way. No one knows I'm here."

Loki’s voice cuts in, sharp and cold. "And every day you stay, more branches form. The longer you hide from where you're meant to be, the more damage is done."

Mobius steps forward, his voice steady but urgent. "Steve, we can only prune so much before the entire thing collapses. And trust me, when that happens, we don’t just erase this reality. We erase you."

"I don't believe – "

"We erase her."

Steve’s breath catches, his mind racing. This wasn’t what he thought. Now that harm is directed to you, the situation has drastically changed for him.

"And what if I go back?" Steve’s voice is tight, controlled, but beneath it is a thread of fear, of hope.

Mobius softens, sensing the shift. "If you go back, the timeline stabilizes. The branches collapse. The Steve Rogers your world remembers – the one who fought for the future, not the past – returns. And her…" He pauses, carefully choosing his words. "She's still waiting for you, Steve."

"Is she?" Loki cuts in, his tone mischievous as can be. "Didn't they just – "

Mobius sharply stops him right then and there. "Shut up, Loki."

Steve's heart twists painfully. His choice had been selfish, and he knows that. He'd run from you, from a future he was afraid to face. A life he believed could never offer peace.

"What if it's too late?" His voice breaks, just a little, his heart finally admitting the one thing he’s been too afraid to say.

Mobius smiles gently. "You’ve made tough calls before, Steve. But this isn’t about war, or duty, or sacrifice. This is about you. You deserve to live in your timeline – with the people who need you. She needs you. Go back, Steve. Fix what you can still fix."

Steve stands in silence, torn between the life he thought he wanted and the one that’s still waiting for him. He thought staying here would bring him peace, but all it's brought is doubt, regret, and a gnawing emptiness. He doesn't have his heart here with him.

Steve is about to speak, when Hunter comes bounding in the room, tail wagging wildly as he takes in the intruders. Another thing that Steve will have to leave behind.

But, apparently not.

"The dog can come with you," Mobius offers, shrugging lightly.

"What?" Loki turns to him in amused disbelief.

"Oh c'mon. Hunter is just as much hers, as he is Steve's."

2024, seven months after Steve's departure

For a while, everything had felt right.

Whatever right was in your lives.

Until the TV in your apartment blared the news about John Walker, Captain America 2.0.

Bucky watched it, jaw clenched, as some stranger stood there in Steve's uniform, parading the shield like it had only ever been his.

Bucky saw the flash of pain that crossed your face, which quickly transformed into anger.

He felt it almost immediately. You were pulling back, closing yourself off, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not when the ghost of Steve is hovering between the two of you.

Was it still about Steve? Or was it about the future you both thought you had a handle on, until some nobody took everything that Steve represents?

Bucky knows you're hurting. He feels it. He's felt it since the moment Steve left – when you were left behind, and so was he.

And it kills him, seeing you like this, maybe even more than the pain he feels from being left behind.

Steve's shadow is keeping you from fully being here, with him, and it's a fresh kind of hurt.

You shut the TV off and irately toss the remote somewhere in the room.

Bucky clenches his fists and finally speaks, his voice rougher than usual. "We should go see Sam."

"Okay," you respond, your voice calm yet empty.

He's not going to lose you. He can't.

"Doll?"

Your response is a barely audible hum.

Bucky reaches for your hand, his anchor. "We're gonna be okay."

You nod, and offer a weak smile.

It's enough, for now.

When you arrive at Sam's, the tension doesn't ease. Sam takes one look at the two of you, and immediately detects that something is off.

Obviously, there's the matter of Walker. But he sees that there's something different too.

Just what the hell did you and Bucky get yourselves into?

Bucky and Sam exchange a look – one loaded with frustration – before Bucky breaks the silence. "We can't let Walker carry that shield, Sam. Before Steve left, he – "

Sam sighs, shaking his head. "He hinted at wanting to pass the mantle on to you or me – "

Bucky intervenes, "It should be you."

" – but... it's out of our hands, Buck. The government's already made their decision."

The words hit Bucky like a punch. You stay quiet, your mind whirring. You're thinking about Steve again – Bucky can see it.

Something settles in the pit of his stomach. It's nasty and unwelcome, and it makes him want to reach for you and shake Steve out of your thoughts.

He wants to tell you that he's here, and Steve isn't.

He's jealous.

Great, Bucky groans internally, I'm jealous of a damn ghost.

Sam watches the two of you for a moment, sensing the tension. "We'll figure something out. But for now, we have to let this play out. I've got other things on my plate right now."

"What is it?" you finally speak up, concern evident in your tone. "Anything we can do to help?"

"I've been hearing talk about this group. They call themselves the Flag Smashers. I can show you guys the briefing. They're out there right now, and they're not gonna wait for us to get our act together."

"We're coming with you," Bucky says, his voice steady and unflinching.

"Non-negotiable," you confirm, smirking, stepping closer to Bucky as a show of unity.

Sam hesitates, arms crossed as if weighing his options, then his gaze lingers on Bucky's neck. Then slowly – too slowly – he glances at you.

That's when he finally catches on.

The look on his face is almost comical, his eyes widening as he clocks the similar, telltale mark at the crook of your neck.

"Oh, man. Really?"

You feel your cheeks heat instantly as Sam's smirk grows wider.

"What? It's not – " you try to speak, but Sam's having none of it.

"No, no, no. This explains a lot. Like, a lot." He's grinning now, shaking his head like he's finally in on the joke. "I mean, all this weird energy... I thought y'all we're just mad about Walker, but now I get it. Shoulda known. It makes a lot of sense, the two of you."

You glance at Bucky, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere but in that room.

"It's not like that," you mutter defensively, even though it's pointless with Sam.

"Sure, sure," Sam says, failing to suppress a chuckle. "You two just happened to get the same exact bruise in the same exact spot. Must have been a hell of a battle, huh?"

Bucky just scowls, though his ears are tinged pink. "So are you going to brief us or what?"

"Nah, man, you're good. So, what's the plan? You gonna take on the Flag Smashers like it's some couples' retreat?"

You sigh. "We're helping. That's it. This conversation is over."

"Okay, okay," Sam raises both hands in surrender, but he doesn't miss the chance to land another jab. "You're in. But maybe leave the hickeys for after the mission, yeah?"

"Shut up, Wilson," Bucky grumbles. Then he mutters under his breath, as Sam walks away to retrieve the files – "No promises."

You shoot him a look that lets him know you heard him, and he meets your gaze coolly. He wanted you to hear.

You feel a bit lighter – it's the effect he has on you.

Even though chaos has set back in your reality, and even though you're not quite sure where things stand between you and Bucky, there's one thing you know for sure – you're going into this together.

Non-negotiable.

Read part eight here ~

taglist (let me know in the comments if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx @mrsevans90 @heartarianagran @tinystarfishgalaxy @mochibochinochi @spngingerbread21 @zbeez-outlet @rena15 @raging-panda @marveldaydreamer @integers @imthebadguyyy @iidear @blackhawkfanatic @smhnxdiii @nommingonfood @loki-laufeyson68 @queenofshinigamis @samkickikc @utterlyhopeful-fics @mthealy @angelbabyyy99 @rabbitrabbit12321 @cloudroomblog @haruvalentine4321 @pommblog @yujyujj @thetorturedbuckydepartment @sanoorie1 @cjand10 @micasaessakusa @croftyspock90 @froobaloob @mavrellover91 @dexter99 @barnes70stark @ordelixx @radiantdanvers @chaotic-wanda @mrsnikstan (continued in comments...)

Some notes in the margins...

Stevie boy's coming back! With Hunter!! I guess you can say he'll actually give Bucky something to be jealous about. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Judging by the results of this poll, yous are heavily pro-Bucky. Can't blame ya. But is he endgame?

What do you think will happen when they're all back together in the next part? 🙃

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #mcu #the avengers #chris evans #sebastian stan #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america

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i-think-you-should-leave · 2 years ago

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I don't know. Some people hate this, James. I don't know what it is, but they fuckin' hate it. There's people that wanna kill me, James.

- The Driving Crooner

#itysl #i think you should leave #the driving crooner #driving crooner #tim robinson #itysl s03e01

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awkward-walking-potato · 5 months ago

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Toupée Time with Wade

You had no idea how you’d gotten roped into this, but here you were, standing in the middle of a wig shop with Wade, as he examined a display of toupées with a seriousness that would make anyone think you were choosing an engagement ring.

“So, what do you think?” Wade asked, holding up a particularly ridiculous blond toupée that looked like it belonged on a Ken doll from the 80s.

You couldn’t help but snicker. “Wade, I don’t think this one is you.”

“Not me?” Wade gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Sweetheart, I’ve always thought of myself as a blonde bombshell just waiting to be unleashed on the world.”

You shook your head, trying to hold back your laughter. “It’s not really the color, Wade. It’s more… everything else.”

Wade squinted at the toupée as if it had personally offended him. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s too ‘Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall,’ and not enough ‘Brad Pitt in Fury.’”

“You know, you don’t have to get a toupée,” you offered gently, knowing that beneath all the jokes and bravado, Wade was more self-conscious about his appearance than he let on. “You look great just the way you are.”

“Aw, shucks, you’re gonna make me blush,” Wade replied, but you could see a glimmer of something real in his eyes. “But a guy’s gotta keep his options open, right? Maybe I want to channel my inner Fabio someday.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Then we’ll find the perfect one. But it’s gotta be something that screams ‘Wade Wilson,’ not ‘Bad Movie Villain.’”

He snorted. “You really know how to flatter a guy, don’t you?”

Wade turned back to the display, this time picking up a sleek, black toupée that looked like it had been stolen from a ’50s crooner. He placed it on his head, adjusting it with precision before spinning around to face you.

“Well?” he asked, striking a pose that was a mixture of Elvis and pure Deadpool absurdity. “What do you think, doll? Am I ready to serenade you under the moonlight, or should I just stick to killing bad guys?”

You bit your lip, trying to keep a straight face. “I think you look like you’re about to sell me a used car.”

“Ouch, tough crowd!” Wade chuckled, taking off the toupée and tossing it back onto the display. “Alright, alright, I see where you’re going with this. Let’s try something a little less… sleazy.”

He moved further down the aisle, his eyes scanning the rows of wigs and toupées until he found one that seemed to catch his interest. It was a simple, short style—brown, a little tousled, nothing too flashy. Wade picked it up carefully, almost reverently, and looked at you with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“Hey, what about this one?” he asked, his voice softer now, as if he wasn’t quite sure how you’d react.

You walked over to him, studying the toupée and imagining it on him. It wasn’t flashy or over-the-top; it was just… normal. It reminded you of what Wade might have looked like before everything—the experiments, the scars, the trauma.

“I think it’s perfect,” you said sincerely, meeting his eyes. “You’d look really good with it, Wade.”

Wade blinked, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his eyes before he quickly covered it up with a smirk. “Well, let’s see if the ol’ moneymaker agrees with you.”

He slipped the toupée on, adjusting it in front of the mirror. For a moment, he just stared at himself, tilting his head this way and that, as if he wasn’t quite sure who was looking back at him.

“You know,” Wade said after a long pause, his voice unusually thoughtful, “I kinda like it. Makes me look almost… normal. Whatever that means.”

You smiled, stepping closer to him. “You don’t need to be ‘normal,’ Wade. You’re amazing just the way you are. But if this makes you happy, then I’m all for it.”

Wade turned to look at you, the mask of bravado slipping just enough for you to see the gratitude in his eyes. “You know, you’re not half bad at this emotional support stuff. Almost makes me want to buy you something shiny.”

You laughed, lightly punching his arm. “Just having you around is enough for me, Wade. But if you’re offering, I’ve always wanted one of those giant lollipops they sell at the candy store.”

Wade grinned, the playful spark returning to his eyes. “Done. But only if you agree to help me pick out a name for this bad boy,” he said, gesturing to the toupée.

“A name?”

“Absolutely. Every great hairpiece needs a name. I’m thinking something classic, like… Tony. Or maybe Leonard.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. “How about something a little more… unique? Like… Sir Fluffington the First.”

Wade’s eyes lit up. “You, my dear, are a genius. Sir Fluffington it is!”

As you both walked toward the counter to pay, Wade wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You know, if I’m being honest, this was actually kinda fun. Who knew shopping for toupées could be so therapeutic?”

You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his presence, and smiled. “Anytime, Wade. Anytime.”

#marvel imagine #deadpool imagine #deadpool x reader #deadpool oneshot #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson imagine #wade wilson #x men imagine

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mothtowers · 1 year ago

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the true essence of The Driving Crooner and part of why its so iconic is that it perfectly encapsulates how people on the internet live. being The Driving Crooner is just a stand-in for any online hobby that isnt directly profitable.

I am reminded of how PurpleEyesWTF (of "im at the soup store" fame) once mentioned his day job was updating hospital software and i always wondered what it must be like working with someone like that.

Just imagine youre just a regular person going about their life, you know a little about anime, but you dont know what the hell an abridged series is. And one day a quiet and reserved but otherwise normal-seeming co-worker invited you to their house. Eventually you ask about the ramshackle recording studio they have set up in their apartment, and they excitedly show you a video of what appears to be an anime but they seem to have recorded their own audio and replaced it with a bunch of weird dialogue you guess is funny to a certain group of people. It all seems really high effort and you kinda have to ask why they would do all this. they show you their youtube channel where theyre pulling like 8k views per video and have done like 20 episodes for at least 3 different anime series, all the while lamenting how they dont make any money. intermittently they start venting about their difficulties navigating youtube copyright law and seem strongly opinionated about it. soon they start talking to you about all the petty drama in the abridging community and namedropping all sorts of people they consider their enemies. None of this means anything to you and you feel like youve entered some strange extremely specific world and are a little unsettled by how deep this iceberg could go.

Thats The Driving Crooner, thats what its about

#insects news service

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lullabyes22-blog · 2 months ago

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Snippet - Thirteen Months- Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

If the Silco x Reader fics were realistic.

And not in a good way.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

tw: physical abuse, drug use, rough sex, mistreatment of sex workers

Snippet:

Migraine's ripening in his brainstem; the cigar's nearly dead. He stubs its smoldering butt into a crystal ashtray at the table. Sevika's eyeing him with a shrewd mix of caution and concern.

Ghosts here, too. A shared bed, and the physicality of memory.

"How much sleep did you get last night?" she asks.

"None."

"Figures." Her face goes through a complicated series of micro-expressions. Then it resets into guarded neutrality. "Maven not doing her duty?"

"Maven is, as we know, a marvel."

"Doesn't answer my question."

Silco doesn't answer that, either.

Thirteen months, he thinks.

Thirteen months since his and Sevika's last time. He's not sure what the gap signifies, other than the fact it does signify something, else why'd he keep track of the tally? He's no idea what to call it either: this no-man's land between reproach and rapprochement, a space of tacit glances and barred doors, of shared history and estranged present.

He's got only two working theories. One: it's the symptom of an early midlife crisis, triggered by Jinx's blossoming adulthood and a city narrowly salvaged from hellfire. Two: it's not a crisis, but a crossroads, and Silco's finding himself, after years, in the uncharted territory of unmet need. The kind of need that summons live memory, and makes the memory ache: a shared smoke of brightleaf; a skull resting against a strong shoulder; a sinewy arm slung over a hard waist...

Silco doesn't dwell on the two theories, because there's a third. And he hates it, because it's the truth.

It's not about him. It's never been about him.

It's always, always, been about her.

He would never say he feels the lack. He keeps a revolving door of liaisons who spend the night at the Laguna Lounge, and fill his sheets when they're not filling his head with promises, platitudes, praise. It's a libertine's smorgasbord: from zaftig beauties in crushed velvet to sharp-cheeked high-rollers in bespoke pinstripe.

Except, in Silco's mind, they're an unspooling procession of flesh, like a carnival freak composed of a hundred different limbs. Only vague outlines and fleeting sensations last the distance. He remembers a cute little crooner who'd sing for her supper over his knee. A muscular dockhand with a cock like a bludgeon and an arsehole as pinkly unspoilt as the petals of a Demacian rose. A svelte tinkerer with elegant fingers and the vilest mouth this side of the Fissures; a late-night raver with hair like a halo of sparks and eyes incandescent with holy lust.

He recalls playthings on their knees; paramours at his feet. Recalls his darkest appetites fed; his worst hungers sated.

He recalls Maven.

Last summer, he'd summoned back to his service. She was a dab hand at spreading her lovely legs on command and seeing to his satisfaction without interrupting his twisting train of thought.

Better yet, she was unafraid of his proclivities. Whatever he dished out, she took in stride. Whatever he demanded, she gave.

Talent deserved recognition; Silco had rewarded hers generously. He'd set her up in the Laguna Lounge's east wing. Given her a corner suite, a maid of her own, a monthly stipend. Gifted her with luxury and leisure: anything from high-end threads to high-grade wines. Granted her access to his best, most potent, Shimmer.

He'd also given her an order: Come when called.

For six months, it was bliss. Then it devolved into a nightmare.

Maven was a whip-smart girl with a taste for decadence. But she also had her own vendetta to grind. Her life had been a constant peril, and she'd only made it thus far by making herself indispensable. Now, by a stroke of fortune, she was the Eye's favorite.

And she was determined—at any cost—to secure a permanent berth in his boudoir.

In bed, she was quick to pick up on his cues; even quicker at cater to his whims. Full-body massages, tongue-baths, foot-rubs—the works. Silco awoke to morning suckjobs that could strip the chrome off a tailpipe. Drowsed to nightly kisses that'd drain the venom from a snakebite.

Sometimes, she'd treat him to wicked games of her own devising. Once, she'd greeted him at the Laguna Lounge's front door in nothing but a black leather harness and a set of gold clamps attached to her nipples. Let him fuck her on the marble-topped bar, and afterward, while he'd lazed back in the sofa and sipped a cognac, sucked him off with those same clamps twined around his balls.

Another time, she'd arranged for a trio of dancers—all male, louche and lithe and oiled to a shine. The first pair had swapped sloppy kisses with his cock between their lips; the third had ridden him for a solid hour. Maven, curled up in the sofa, had watched the proceedings with the feral interest of a cat eyeing a birdcage. After the show, she'd fixed him an icy gin cocktail, a hot-tub soak, and an exquisite dinner of seared filet-mignon, poached eggs, and the creamiest souffle he'd ever sampled.

Silco, replete, had asked if she was angling to become his personal chef. Maven, perched naked at the end of the table, had purred, "Among other things."

"What other things?"

"Whatever you want, my love. Whatever you need."

My love.

The endearment hadn't jarred him. She'd used it often. Yet it'd stuck in his palate that night, like a fishbone between the teeth.

In reply, Silco had taken her bent over the table, her cheek pressed to the linen and the tablecloth bunched between her fists, as the wineglasses toppled and a plate shattered beneath his boot. Afterward, to her wet-eyed dismay, he'd retired to the Laguna Lounge's south wing and spent the rest of the night alone.

A week after the dinner debacle, Maven had greeted him at the door, shiny-eyed and smiling. But in her hands, instead of his nightly brandy, she'd presented him with a box.

"What's this?"

"A gift."

"I've no taste for gifts."

"You'll enjoy this one." She nudged the box closer. "Open it."

Inside was a vial of bright-green liquid. Silco, the premier chem-baron of Zaun, recognized it at a glance. A potent psychedelic distilled from a rare strain of Fissure mushroom. The kick was so intense it made the walls breathe and the ceiling bleed.

"A fresh batch," Maven said, her cat-eyes a slow wandering across his face. "One of my old contacts hooked me up. Told me it'd make our lovemaking divine."

"Divine," Silco echoed.

"Even a devil deserves a taste of the divine. Right, my love?"

She'd gone on tiptoe and kissed him. Silco, tongue curling against hers, let it happen. It'd been a bad day. Another Firelight raid. Another fight with Jinx. Another not-talk with Sevika. He'd allowed himself to be persuaded.

It was a costly mistake.

She'd chosen a smooth-flowing jazz song from his record collection, and set the needle on the gramophone. Chosen a syringe, and a vein in Silco's arm. Chosen her favorite spot, and straddled him on the sofa.

Then, hands braced on his chest, she'd engulfed his cock in a wet glide as the world began its slow-motion collapse.

For hours, Silco fucked, fought, fucked inside a kaleidoscope of colors. His brain was on fire with a thousand schemes. His cock was electrified with a thousand volts. Maven's hands were everywhere, melting, maddening, merciless. Her mouth, a living furnace. Her cunt, a nest of wet silk and wetter sin. Her screams, a chorus to his climax. The colors were climaxing, too.

She'd begged to be whipped until her buttocks were a nightmare of earthworm-red welts. Silco obliged, and she'd sobbed so sweetly, so wretchedly, as he flayed the meat off her supple young flesh. She'd begged to be tied to the bedposts and fucked, and he obliged again. She shook and wailed and shook as his cock split her, a rapidfire barrage that had the bedframe jolting and the mattress springs shrieking and the walls coming down. Then she'd begged to be choked, and he obliged once more, and the colors were no longer climaxing but combusting, and Maven's eyes, her beautiful hazel eyes, were rolling back to show the white moon-curves, and her mouth was a perfect circle of rapture, and her thighs were quivering, her spine arching, her cunt squeezing and squeezing and squeezing—

And the high-pitched phantasmagoria liquified into a single blackened maw, and he'd found himself staring into Vander's face.

"You'll lose everything, Blut."

And the high was stripped bare, and Silco fell into a depthless sea, and drowned.

When he resurfaced, there was a body in the room.

Not Maven. She was slumped by the headboard. Knees drawn up, her hands pressed between them, her head lolling forward. Seizing her shoulders, Silco shook her awake. She stirred, murmuring drowsily. He'd sifted her tangled hair aside to take her pulse. It was strong. But there were dark fingerprints on her throat, her wrists, her thighs. Her lovely eyes held a glaze of shock and a deeper, unreachable awe.

In the afterglow, she'd kissed Silco's knuckles, wetting them with tears. And, turning those cat-eyes eyes upon him, she'd breathed, "I won't tell."

The body belonged to a boy.

A lovely, long-limbed lad, with hair like a headful of black waves and eyes like the sun off a churning blue sea. He was a new hire—skittish, as new hires often were—whom Silco had summoned from the lobby, earlier that evening, to restock the bar.

Now he lay starfished on the carpet in a pool of congealing blood. There was a red-lipped gash in his jugular. Vander's knife—now Silco's knife—was planted hilt-deep in his left eye.

Silco had slithered out from bed and crossed the room. Knelt over the boy's body, and stared at the soft sea-glass eyes. It was a stranger's stare. It was his own stare: the face that he'd worn in another lifetime.

"I won't tell," Maven repeated, and Silco felt the icewater closing in.

The blackguards had disposed of the body; Posky had scrubbed down the carpets; the crew sent a fat severance check to the boy's family.

That's how Silco recalls it now: not bloodlust, but a hungover tedium of logistics and a cold stack of paperwork.

He'd not told Sevika. The crew, on pain of death, were likewise sworn to secrecy. Not because Silco dreaded the repercussions. He dreaded, above all, that Sevika would know.

She'd know it'd happened in a psychotic stupor. Know the root of it wasn't naked bloodlust, but naked need.

She'd know, and she'd never, ever, let him forget the truth.

The truth, that Maven was a marvel, but Sevika was worth a million in cold steel—and it wasn't for her grit or her guts or the sheer force of will she exerted in a crisis. It was the other side of her. That quiet side, so seldom revealed. The tether that'd quieted Silco's storm, in turn, and steered him to port. Into a bed that was always warm, and a body built of bedrock.

Except the port had denied him safe harbor, and the bed was empty, and the body beyond reach.

Thirteen bloody months.

Maven hadn't lasted half that time. She'd begun to believe their shared secrets gave her leverage. To believe, too, that Silco's devotion belonged exclusively to her. Bit by bit, she began spreading her tendrils across his private life. Began to intrude where she wasn't invited, and linger where she was least welcome.

Suddenly their late-night drinks were no longer a regularity, but a requirement. Suddenly, the backrubs had an agenda, and the footrubs had a catch. Suddenly, Silco could no longer relax after a long day, because instead of a suckjob and sweet silence, he'd get sulking and a strident earful of demands.

She expected no more playthings past his threshold unless she’d hand-picked them—be they crooners, tinkerers or dockhands with rosebud arseholes. No more games unless she lay down the law—be they on a bed of sweat-stained silk or a dirty rug that'd seen better days or a tub sloshing with wine as cold as a dead man's balls. And no more straying from the beaten path: if she didn't fancy a kink, it wouldn't make it to the negotiating table, much less see the light of day.

She was especially jealous of Silco's private time. She'd pout if he took a business call mid-fuck. If a blackguard intruded with an urgent message, she'd slam the door on his face. Once, she'd nearly gutted poor Posky for wheeling in the breakfast cart at an inopportune hour.

To a point, Silco had indulged her peevishness. A coping mechanism, he surmised, given the hellacious circumstances she'd faced in her formative years. But then, she'd dared to bar Jinx's way into his chambers with the toe of a lacquered heel.

Silco's tolerance took a steep nosedive.

Jinx, to her credit, had given Maven the cold shoulder—nearly regal in its teengirly frost. She'd waltzed right in, a sashay to her stride, pecked Silco's cheek and unfurled the blueprints for a sump-drainage pump across his desk.

Silco had bestowed his usual praise, and the rare show of affection—a palm at the nape of Jinx's neck. He'd not missed Jinx's childishly flushed glee; nor the spite that etched itself at the corners of Maven's pretty, poisonous mouth. After, he'd signed off on the order for the pump's manufacture, and sent Jinx on her merry way.

"It's sweet how close you are." Maven clipped off the word 'sweet' like shears taking off the tip of a rosebud. "She must miss you terribly when you're busy. Why not make it easier on yourselves and move her in here?"

The sarcasm was treacle-thick and spiked with envy. She was testing his boundaries, as she'd been wont to do lately. For Silco, boundaries were ones that didn't need to be enforced. It was implicit that to cross them meant a blade to the throat.

Maven had an appreciation for his knifeplay. But a short memory for the blade's bite.

She'd need a refresher.

"I'd have thought," Silco said, without lifting his eyes from the blueprints, "you'd prefer our privacy."

"Maybe I would." She slid onto his lap. Her dress, a sheer black number, was a curtain of smoke over his suit-clad legs. She circled her tongue over the shell of his ear, then whispered into it, "Or maybe I'd enjoy it if she invited Vi along, and they both watched."

That had done it.

Maybe it was the mounting pressure. Maybe it was the memory of dead boys and rivers full of corpses. Maybe it was his knowledge of Jinx's late nights, and with whom.

Or maybe, he'd simply had his fill: of the constant scheming, the endless death, the ceaseless want. And fact that his needs—his real needs—could not be satisfied, because they were not the needs of a monster but the needs of a man.

His need for Vander's absolution. For Nandi's forgiveness.

For Sevika's touch, and the trust they'd once shared.

Silco needed them all, but none were his to take.

So he'd taken it out on Maven instead.

The backhand was so hard she'd skidded off his lap and crashed to the carpet. A livid mark bloomed across her cheek. When she looked up, shock stole over her face, then an ugly, disbelieving fury.

He'd never struck her before. There'd never even been any sign to suggest it.

The Eye of Zaun was many things—each more atrocious than the last. But he was not a man who'd beat his girls.

Maven was no longer his girl.

"How dare you?" Maven spat. "After all I've done for you—"

Silco's shadow, looming, killed the words in her throat.

"You've two choices," he said, deathly soft. "Leave, and do not look back. Or stay, and take the consequences. I'm giving you this choice because you've served me well. Do not presume that it entitles you to more." His shadow spread across the carpet; Maven's breath caught. "Do not presume anything, least of all what I owe."

The fury leached from Maven's face. Only gelid tears remained, suspended like dewdrops upon her eyelashes.

And in those tears: fear.

Fear, that the man who had saved her life might yet end it, for a transgression so severe it verged on treason.

"Sir," she began, "I—"

"I said: choose."

Maven's lashes dipped; the tears spilled. Shivering, she turned her head, offering the unblemished side of her cheek for the second strike.

The choice, and her penitence, were accepted.

Silco hadn't spared her. He'd taken his due. Taken her, after, on her elbows and knees, with an utter absence of mercy. Taken her until she was sobbing real tears, and barely able to keep her balance. Taken her, as he had the night she'd sworn herself to him: her body bared to his blade; the rest of her aching to prove her worth.

He'll call upon that vow again, before the end.

Since that night, she's slept in a huddle at the foot of his bed, shivering under a crisscrossing of welts. Stripes she's earned, and will wear without complaint. She'll crawl on her knees and abase herself for his pleasure. She'll greet his daughter with downcast eyes and a deferential smile, and she'll be twice as diligent in her duties to him.

And in her heart, where ambition and adoration entwine, she'll be twice as covetous. Twice as cunning. Twice as eager to prove herself worthy.

He'll use that, too, before the end.

And, the end's nearly in sight.

Silco's glad of it. A warm cunt's not a confidant, and Maven's a poor substitute for either. In her, he sees his hunger reflected. Sees the limits of what that hunger can take, and what it'll leave behind.

Blood. Bruises. Bodies.

He thinks of Sevika's steady hands and steadier eyes, and wonders what they'd see if they knew the truth. That, in the absence of a tether, he's let the storm run rampant, and it's taken him over a cliff's edge.

And now he's fallen into the deepest, darkest place of all.

His child: compromised, and no longer his own.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane sevika #sevika #tw: violence #tw: drugs #sevilco #silco x sevika

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actuallysaiyan · 2 months ago

Text

I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm(All Might/Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Reader)

warning: smut, unprotected sex, alcohol(Toshi drinks in this one), Christmas imagery, office Christmas party, reader is a teacher at UA, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering word count: 2k pairings: All Might/Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Reader summary: you decided that the UA staff Christmas party was the best time to approach your crush, Toshinori. And you two hit it off... a/n: FOR YOU RUBY @mightytato!!! MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY YULE, MERRY SOMETHING TO YOU!

dividers: @adornedwithlight

taglist: @thissaintjessi. @cherryblossombankai, @thestarsystemsworld

As the months went on and the days got shorter, you noticed how the talk of a staff Christmas party was at the forefront of everyone’s mind. It was past halloween after all and planning a christmas party would be tedious, though fun. So you decided to submit yourself as a volunteer.

You were sort of hoping that you’d get to make a move on a certain someone. Of course, everyone in the UA staff knows you’re quite taken with Toshinori, but he isn’t aware of this himself. And everyone has been very good at keeping your secret, even if they all are trying to get you to come to terms with the fact that the man in question was deeply in love with you as well.

Meeting Toshinori was the greatest thing in your life. He makes you laugh, makes you feel good about yourself. Knowing that he is the number one hero…well, it certainly surprises you to see this side of him. He’s different from what you imagined, but not in a bad way. He certainly fits the bill for the type of man who could steal your heart.

The days leading up to the office party really feel magical. It feels good to have something to look forward to. You and the other volunteers are working hard to make sure everything will go off without a hitch. It’s exciting to see the fruits of your labor come together.

The night comes and you feel like you’re a nervous wreck. All of your colleagues are coaxing you to take this chance to confess to your crush, but it just seems too good to be true. Besides, what if he says he doesn't like you like that? Then it’ll just be so awkward when you go back to work.

Despite everything, you still take the time to doll yourself up. You’re in your apartment, dancing and singing to old christmas songs sung by the classic crooners. Nemuri is helping you with your outfit and hair, and you do her makeup. When you two leave for the party, she’s assuring you that confessing to Toshinori will be perfect.

“What if he doesn’t like me like that?” You ask as you get in the cab.

“Trust me…he likes you!”

You laugh, “Are you saying this because you want to go on double dates? You and Hizashi would complement me and Toshinori well, huh?”

She grins, “There you go! You’ve got this!”

Despite not wanting to believe this, you try to remind yourself that it could be the best moment to tell him. And if it doesn’t pan out, then you can just apologize and go back to normal.

The party is very beautifully decorated, thanks to your efforts along with the other colleagues who took time out of their busy schedules to help you. You greet everyone as you and Nemuri walk in. She brings you to the bar, ordering you both some much needed drinks.

Hizashi comes over and begins talking to you both. He’s got his arm wrapped around her. You remember the day he had finally confessed to her. You were sure he was into Shouta, but he surprised you. Besides, you were pretty sure Shouta was seeing someone, but he could be pretty sneaky about it.

You’re sipping on your cocktail when you notice him arriving. Your heart skips a beat when you see him. He’s wearing a nice black suit, but it’s the cheesy Christmas tie that really ties it all together. The way he’s towering over everyone has you really feeling hot.

His eyes are darting around, you can see it. It’s almost like he’s looking for something…or maybe he’s looking for someone. When he spots you, his smile gets even bigger than before. You feel your heart racing when you smile back at him. He slowly comes over to you and this is when you realize that Nemuri and Hizashi aren’t next to you anymore.

“Hello,” he says with a cute grin.

“Hi,” you manage to say before taking another sip of your drink.

He orders himself a mocktail, and then he turns to you. He’s got the cutest grin on his face. Everything he does has you completely melting. You take another sip, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks.

“It looks great in here,” he comments a little awkwardly. “You all did a great job.”

“Uh thanks! It was a lot of fun.”

Your conversation continues; it’s awkward at first but soon you two begin to vibe with each other. If anything, you two begin to break the ice even more. Toshinori feels like his heart might burst if you continue to laugh at his dumb jokes, and you’re thinking you might combust if he keeps looking at you with that sweet smile of his.

There’s a few games and prizes, and you two are voted best dressed. It’s really so much fun. It’s the thing everyone needed to ease into the holidays. Soon everyone’s chatting with others and you’re back to hanging out with Toshinori.

Now you two were very clearly flirting with one another. It was more apparent than before. He gently guides you back to the bar, ordering you both another drink. You comment on his diligence on staying sober, which makes his cheeks heat up.

“Ah, well…” he laughs. “I’ve had a drink. An alcoholic one. I have my limits but it’s still fun sometimes.”

You notice he seems a little looser. You get a little closer, taking his hand in yours. You marvel at just how much bigger his fingers are than your own. He smirks down at you, then he leads you towards a quiet corner.

“Oh, are you trying to get me to kiss you?” you inquire, looking up at the mistletoe on top of you.

His cheeks burn but he’s feeling confident. “I wouldn’t make you kiss me, but if you felt like it—”

Without warning, you get on your tiptoes and you pull him down to kiss. It’s soft and sweet, but takes very little time for it to heat up. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you flush against his chest. Despite not being in his muscular form, you can still very much feel a muscle definition there. He smells spicy in a way. Cedarwood and cinnamon, along with something that is just uniquely him.

When his tongue pushes into your mouth, you swear you could faint. You’re thankful for him holding onto you right now because you would not trust yourself to stand comfortably. Slowly your tongues rub together and you try to push yourself against him even more.

“Should we…” he begins to ask as he pulls away. “Somewhere private?”

You nod eagerly, pulling him out of the event hall and towards the offices. You can’t believe you’re doing this right now, but this is what you’ve been dreaming about for a long time now.

Once inside his office, he pushes you up against the door. He doesn’t give you time to really react. His tongue is once more in your mouth, making you moan. You can taste cherry syrup and something a little stronger. And the smell of him, it’s so inviting and warm.

You finally gain a little courage and you tug on his tie, pulling him even closer. As you two make out, you begin to unbutton his shirt and you unbuckle his belt. He’s moaning and panting, then he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Get on the desk, spread your thighs for me.”

You look at him to see his cheeks all red and he’s panting. Still, you do as he says. With your legs spread, he feels like he’s drooling. This is just a dream come true for him at this point. He approaches you, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You gasp against his lips when you feel his large hands on your thighs.

“We gotta make this quick,” he explains. “But please don’t think this is the end of us. Because this is just the beginning.”

Your thighs spread even more instinctively, and you begin to buck your hips against him as you make out. Your heart flutters at the thought of him wanting to do more and to be more even after this quick hookup. He peels off your panties, then he looks at you with very red cheeks.

“I uhm…don’t have a condom.” He confesses.

“S’okay, I’m protected.” You say with confidence. Then you tug on his tie again, pulling him in for another sloppy kiss.

His fingers play with your wet folds, making you mewl so cutely. Already you’re a mess, but he’s nothing but a gentleman. He’s making sure you can take him, considering he’s very well endowed.

A gasp is pulled from you when he pushes two of his fingers into your wet pussy. Immediately your walls begin clamping down on him. He grins mischievously at you, watching you enjoy this pleasure.

“So wet for me,” he comments. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone…”

You don’t even question it. The man is a busy person, and you know he must have a hard time forming relationships. The thought is pushed from your mind as he begins to curl his fingers. With his thumb on your clit, he’s working you towards what feels like the best orgasm you’ve ever experienced.

Toshi silences you with a kiss as you tumble over the edge. You begin to ride his fingers, fucking yourself on them to prolong the pleasure even more. You don’t have much time to react as he quickly pulls his fingers from you and replaces it with the head of his cock.

“Just breathe for me…” he whispers tenderly.

You do as he says once more, and you breathe as he pushes into you. It’s a big stretch and you’re clinging to him. The more of himself that he slides into you, the more he’s realizing just how addictive this is. You envelop him warmly and snugly.

He leans his forehead against yours, moaning your name so sweetly. You never could imagine how sexy this would be, not even in your wildest dreams. Finally, he bottoms out and you’re both moaning and panting.

“You feel fucking good,” he grunts.

He grips your hips, and he begins to pump into you. You’ve never been fucked like this before. Toshinori was definitely the best lover you’ve ever had. The desk under you begins to creak as he picks up his pace.

“Look at you,” he coos. “Made to take my cock.”

You clench around him at his dirty words. Toshi throws his head back in bliss as he fucks you with wreckless abandon. For a man who claims to not be as strong as he used to be, you’re still being wowed by his strength. The tip of his cock keeps slamming against your sweet spot, and you’re having a very hard time holding on for much longer.

“C-cumming!” You whine.

Your vision cuts to white as your groin tenses and your walls clamp down on his cock. Toshinori moans, trying to hold back as long as he can. Eventually, he pulls out and spills his seed all over your mound. Both of you take a moment to catch your breath and come to terms with what just happened.

You pull on his tie once more, kissing him so deeply. He laughs shyly, but then he flashes you that sweet smile of his. He grabs some tissues to help clean you up. Both of you are grinning like mad as you get dressed once more.

Returning to the party was fun, as only a few people seemed to notice you two had even left. Nemuri smirks at you and she mouths “I told you so”. Hizashi nudges her and he laughs along with her. You then turn to Toshinori.

“Merry Christmas, All Might.”

He kisses you deeply, rubbing your back. “Merry Christmas, honey.”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

#bacon.writes #all might x reader #all might x you #toshinori x reader #toshinori x you #toshinori yagi #toshinori yagi x reader #toshinori yagi x you #all might smut #toshinori smut #toshinori yagi smut #yagi toshinori x you #yagi toshinori x reader #bnha #bnha toshinori #mha toshinori

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stupidlittlespirit · 16 days ago

Note

You asked for some cute fun asks, so I've appeared to help!

If you've ever played (or watched someone else play) the Swooning Over Stans game, there's a scene in Stan's route where you go to a 70s dance night with him. It's very fun and flirty~

Ever since then, I've wondered if Ford would enjoy going for a dance like that with his s/o. I can definitely see him getting SUPER nervous about it beforehand because he's having flashbacks of his prom night disaster and thinking he's going to totally bomb it. But maybe his date would coax him to just have a little fun, let loose.

I agree with your thought that he'd be the kind of guy to like old classic crooner music (and now I'm swooning for real just thinking abt it), but maybe some 70s funk can get him going, too. Now every time I listen to that stuff, I can't help but picture Ford trying to teach his date how the dances really went (and possibly failing miserably but laughing over it)

GOD yes, I played Swooning when it first released and it was wonderful. I've played it through on both routes about 10 times each lol. I still can't believe we were gifted such a gorgeous game by all of those talented people for free.

I know exactly what scene you mean. That was such a nice touch.

I daydream about this fucking scenario with Ford a lot. It's so silly but I do it when I listen to that kind of music and it's really nice haha Very normal of me, I know, so expect a long answer to this under the cut:

I'm going to set this within GF, but at a function beyond the town he might struggle a little more unless he knew the people there.

I think Ford would be (naturally) nervous beforehand for the reasons you mentioned. He's not very fond of social interaction that isn't super necessary, though post portal he is definitely better at that than he was, and the thought of doing something that holds bad memories would be very daunting for him, to the point that he'd probably refuse at first. More so with the excuse that he doesn't have time or doesn't care about stuff like that than admitting he's nervous.

Mabel would definitely encourage him to go and Reader would mention that they'd enjoy having some fun/seeing him have fun as well, plus they'd certainly miss Ford if he stayed at home. They would understand his hesitation around the event but a little gentle comforting from them around the knowledge that they'd be there to support him would go a long way, I think.

"There's no pressure to stay if you get there and don't like it," and "We can just go home, you're in control of the situation and I'll be by your side no matter what," kind of thing. I think he'd find that very soothing and helpful, just to be reminded that no one will force him. Eventually, he'd give a little and agree on those terms. Plus, Mabel would guilt him a bit because she wants to see him to be included haha.

Once he got there, he'd be a wallflower to begin with. That's fine, obviously. He needs time to settle in. Maybe a drink or two, as well (I know how he feels LMAO) before he can really get comfortable. He'd look to Reader for comfort but he'd also not want to prevent them from enjoying themselves, so he wouldn't insist they stay with him all the time.

I don't think he'd refuse to engage with other people; he'd be reasonably accustomed with the townsfolk anyway so he'd know them and their demeanours a bit more than if he was at a totally new function or with people he had never met. He wouldn't start general conversation (unless it was with Fiddleford), though.

He'd definitely be more inclined to hover around the edge of the party rather than step straight in like Stan would, but if people came up to see him and say hi (and they would because the family is known and liked) then he'd be able to hold good conversation. Post-Portal!Ford is going to have developed his social skills a great deal from his time away and I think he'd be more willing to hear what other people have to say and engage with them.

When he was younger, I think he might have only really been interested in talking about the topics he knew about because they felt safer for him, they were something he was good at talking about, but obviously when you're that smart it's nigh on impossible to find that level of conversation with others so he would have considered himself a failure in terms of social ability purely because he struggled to connect on that aspect, when really he'd just be expecting a bit too much from the general populous. That, combined with general awkwardness and a lack of knowledge on how to make menial conversation would have made it really hard for him. He does talk about that in TBoB, actually, with the joke he makes about pie in the diner. It doesn't land because the waitress doesn't have that level of understanding. It's a funny joke though! He is good at talking to people, he just comes at it from a unique angle.

So, anyway, I digress. He'd be a bit shy but he'd be open to chatting to others, and eventually he'd warm up. He'd realise he's been overthinking everything a bit too much and getting in his own way, and then start to ease up without even realising.

Reader, meanwhile, would have to strike a balance on making sure he was okay and also giving him the space to bloom on his own. Maybe making eye contact with him from across the room and giving him a little thumbs up-thumbs down gesture to check in, only for him to return a thumbs up and big, warm smile, much to their relief. They'd have known he was capable of it, he just needed to remember his capability himself.

So after a bit of time and a bit of space to find his feet, he might overhear that they're playing the kind of music he used to listen to in his youth. I'm going to project here (because you guys know my affinity for 70's music) and say maybe some Baccara (Yes Sir, I can Boogie is a banger), some Bee Gees (duh), just anything fun.

Ford would know the words by heart and once you'd returned to his side, he'd be singing them under his breath or tapping his foot or whatever, and you'd ask him if he wanted to dance. He'd say no because dancing requires a level of self-humiliation and he'd be too self conscious initially, but again, you would coax him a little.

I think you could ease him into it (I think that's the trick with Ford generally anyway). Maybe Reader would take one of his hands and he'd twirl them around, just indulging them a bit because he'd think it's endearing even if he won't do it himself.

I think seeing someone else be a bit silly puts other people at ease and makes them a bit more willing to be silly themselves, so he'd kind of get a little more into it as the music went on and once things changed to those slower, crooning songs, he might just take Reader's other hand and (much to their absolute joy) slow dance with them a bit. He'd prefer to stay tucked into a corner rather than make a show of being out on the dance floor like his brother, but I think he'd be inclined to sing a little bit, just quietly, privately, and lead Reader in a dance.

He wouldn't be a practised dancer but he'd be able to keep time and count beats (it's math!) and although he'd still fuck it up, as would Reader because I doubt many of us are classically trained dancers, he'd be able to laugh along with you and have fun. He'd forget the room, as would you, and you'd be able to really have an intimate, joyful moment together.

God fuck I am so normal about this old man. This is the kind of shit they put you on medication for if you tell the therapist too much LMAO

Also shameless self plug but here is my playlist for this exact scenario. 'Misty' by Lesley Gore is my personal favourite Ford song. Don't judge me, I beg.

#i use 'reader' and 'you' interchangeably by the way #i don't know why but you're the same person #Reader is you/his date etc #if it's annoying or confusing when I do this btw then tell me bc I can stop #I just see Reader a sort of a combined character of all of us if that makes sense?#you/us/them is all the same to me #he's OUR date!#comrade Reader and their many iterations of Ford #ford asks #this was cute thanks anon #asks #anon #stanford pines x reader #ford pines x reader #reader insert

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