#than any security system

[reconstructwriter]

Ditto to All of This! My sister is an architect and she told me about one of these crazies wanting to basically turn their entire house into a fort. They wanted Trump's Boarder Wall around their house. In the middle of a 20k population town! And hey they're the customer the customer is always right but pro-tip: don't ever spend more on security than people would ever steal from your house.

[beebfreeb]

It is kind of funny how much I've detached myself from appearance directly correlating to gender actually. When I design a character I go. Okay. What would they wear that reflects their personality and surroundings? And I make a character who is a 30 year old divorced man who looks like this:

[technikki]

peach would have a cartoon violence button in her castle though infact i think she would have several of them

[notasapleasure]

Kay, thanks for this link, reading the essay was almost quasi-religious to this lifelong atheist. It's an absurdly optimistic piece and all the more rebellious for it, I think.

I could quote so much more from it, but perhaps this is the most relevant bit right now...

For radicals, fetishizing the guillotine is just like fetishizing the state: it means celebrating an instrument of murder that will always be used chiefly against us.

Those who have been stripped of a positive relationship to their own agency often look around for a surrogate to identify with—a leader whose violence can stand in for the revenge they desire as a consequence of their own powerlessness. In the Trump era, we are all well aware of what this looks like among disenfranchised proponents of far-right politics. But there are also people who feel powerless and angry on the left, people who desire revenge, people who want to see the state that has crushed them turned against their enemies.

Reminding “tankies” of the atrocities and betrayals state socialists perpetrated from 1917 on is like calling Trump racist and sexist. Publicizing the fact that Trump is a serial sexual assaulter only made him more popular with his misogynistic base; likewise, the blood-drenched history of authoritarian party socialism can only make it more appealing to those who are chiefly motivated by the desire to identify with something powerful.

-Anarchists in the Trump Era

Now that the Soviet Union has been defunct for almost 30 years—and owing to the difficulty of receiving firsthand perspectives from the exploited Chinese working class—many people in North America experience authoritarian socialism as an entirely abstract concept, as distant from their lived experience as mass executions by guillotine. Desiring not only revenge but also a deus ex machina to rescue them from both the nightmare of capitalism and the responsibility to create an alternative to it themselves, they imagine the authoritarian state as a champion that could fight on their behalf. Recall what George Orwell said of the comfortable British Stalinist writers of the 1930s in his essay “Inside the Whale”:

“To people of that kind such things as purges, secret police, summary executions, imprisonment without trial etc., etc., are too remote to be terrifying. They can swallow totalitarianism because they have no experience of anything except liberalism.”

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

*giggling and twirling my hair and sighing like I have a crush*

Welchia… she’s so… beautiful…

I wanna run her on a Blaster-infected PC and watch her work…

[devils-yui]

Reposting this from a friend bc I think it is VERY important to know of this, and for immigrants, and other possible victims of the ICE Raids happening right now

Here’s to also a very huge edit, from the list of very helpful people who have been reblogging and providing more info.

I’m not as well informed but I will be relaying the information and tagging each person who added onto this post:

@onthedriftinthetardis -

The phone number in the first photo is ONLY for Orange County, California!

Look up your local ACLU affiliate here

@6feetunderwater -

It always makes me nervous to see a reporting phone number passed around without any links to verify it, so the number in the first pic can be found on the site for the Orange County Rapid Response Network, which is "an interconnected system of non-profit and grassroots organizations, civil rights attorneys, law school clinics, and individuals working together to respond to dehumanizing immigration enforcement activities and policies in Orange County"

@geekerypeekery -

The second warrant is not fake, but is an administrative rather than judicial warrant, and has no constitutional authority to bypass Fourth Amendment protections - in other words, it does not entitle the bearer to enter and search your home. It simply authorizes agents of the issuing department to contact you. Always ask to see the warrant before opening your door!

In addition to the ACLU links, try contacting the National Immigration Law Center https://www.nilc.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/Warrants-Subpoenas-Facts.pdf

@american-anger -

The phone number listed here is specific to Orange County in California, but you can look up other California counties here:

CALIFORNIA RAPID RESPONSE NETWORKS

@beaniebaneenie -

Unpleasant reminder: within 100 miles of the border (which is home to 200 million people and virtually all major cities in the US), ICE does not need a warrant to enter your home, your car, to search anything, or even to arrest you.

You are not automatically safe just because they don't have a real warrant.

The best and safest thing you can do is learn to have escape routes- quick ways to get out of the house or area you're in if you find out ICE or CBP are around. Those of us who do have documentation? Time for us to step the fuck up.

Film any interaction. Every interaction. If you're able, step into the conversation and be a Karen/Kyle- weaponize your privilege for Good. If you get asked about people? Use positive but vague statements so you a) cannot be caught in a lie, and b) do not give any information away.

"I don't know them that well, but I don't tend to socialize much. They seem great to me."

"I can't remember the last time I saw them."

"Maybe they speak another language, I can't remember details. But I picked up Duolingo during the pandemic and tons of other people did too."

"I'm not sure."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you."

Even if you're somewhere the 100-mile Exception doesn't apply and a warrant is in fact needed? I don't expect ICE and CBP to play by the rules for long, if at all. I fully expect this to get ugly, and fast.

Cheeto has already declared an emergency of national security at the border, and is mobilizing the military to have jurisdiction over a huge swath of the country. It's essentially tantamount to martial law. And it's only been four days.

Gear up for a long, hard fight. This is gonna be a marathon, not a sprint.

— I am leaving all of this as an edit because on the off chance someone does find the posts that have these people specifically reblogging, I don’t want it to be too late. So I’m comprising it all here

Here are a few other people’s reblogs I thought were important:

Thank you @onthedriftinthetardis @6feetunderwater @geekerypeekery @american-anger @beaniebaneenie @bunnychiffon @dubiouslynamed @trisockatops @witchy-disaster for contributing and helping me make this a more well-informed post. Thank you so much

[reasonsforhope]

"In Sacramento, California, an estimated 6,615 people are experiencing homelessness, a number that — while still heartbreakingly high — has declined 29% since 2023, according to the latest Point In Time counts. 

But a new project, which has been in the works since 2022, might bring that number down even lower.

A new 13-acre property purchased by Sacramento County will soon be home to the Watt Service Center and Safe Stay. 

The county broke ground on the mixed-use service center this week, which will provide shelter, emergency respite, safe parking, health services, and more to community members who are unsheltered — meaning they don’t have a place to safely sleep at night.

“We wanted to do something that is not only larger, but a large-scale campus to provide more than just the shelter,” Janna Haynes, of the county’s Department of Homeless Services and Housing, told KCRA3 News.

The Watt Service Center will have amenities to help meet the needs of anyone staying there, including bathrooms, showers, laundry, and food, as well as mental health, treatment, and employment services.

“You can also meet with your case manager, get behavior health services, look for a job, get rehousing services, a place for your dog,” Jaynes added. “It’s really everything you need, not only for your day-to-day life, but to hopefully end your homelessness.”

While the center is a costly offering, the city explained that it is ultimately less expensive than allowing the homelessness crisis to go unmitigated.

The land was purchased for $22 million and will cost an estimated $42 million to construct the center. According to ABC10 News it will be mostly funded by the American Rescue Plan Act.

While the center will have the capacity to host 225 beds in Safe Stay cabins, 50-person capacity in Safe Parking, and 75-person capacity for emergency/weather respite beds, it will serve countless others outside of the 350 total people it can house at any given time.

According to a press release from the county, “conservative estimates” have found that over the course of 15 years, the center will serve 18,000 people.

In 2017, the city found that the average cost for an “unsheltered individual” was about $45,000 a year, considering public systems like county jail, shelters, behavioral health, and more.

With the projected impact of the shelter, that cost lowers to less than $3,600 per person.

“If you break down the funding, it’s actually not that expensive,” Rich Desmond, county supervisor for District 3, told ABC10.

“It’s a heck of a lot cheaper than letting someone stay out in the community, unsheltered where they are extremely expensive in terms of the emergency response from fire, our emergency rooms, our law enforcement response.”

Providing what the county calls “wraparound services” not only brings down costs but truly helps people meet their basic needs.

“The really great thing about this site in particular, that we don't have at any other shelters, is the sheer size and the ability to really wrap everything people need,” Emily Halcon, director of the Department of Homeless Services and Housing with Sacramento County, told ABC10. 

One notable feature is the center’s Safe Parking spaces, which are the first of their kind in the city. People living in their cars will now have a safe place to park, monitored by security.

“We know a lot of people who are unsheltered actually are living out of their cars,” Desmond said, “maybe a family that’s barely hanging on but they still need that vital transportation to get their kids to school or get to work.”

This support is especially helpful for those who are newly homeless, Halcon added, building on the amenities provided in the county’s two other “safe stay” facilities. 

While Sacramento County just broke ground on the Watt Service Center, officials say they hope to begin moving people into the facility in January 2026.

“Our staff is putting in extra time and attention to this campus, ensuring that it houses everything we need to end homelessness for people,” Desmond said in a statement.

Once it’s up and running, Jaynes told KCRA3, they plan to onboard formerly unhoused community members as part of the staff at the facility.

“When you have a conversation with someone who understands where you’ve been, and you see the success they’re having now,” Jaynes said, “it really does give you hope something could be different.”

-via GoodGoodGood, January 24, 2025

[tallaennatargaryen]

Wife Speak

Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: You asked Bucky to install the security camera a month ago, and he still hasn’t done it. You take matters into your own hands, to his vexation.

Warnings: Bucky's been too busy to do what you asked, you put yourself in slight peril, worried!Bucky, gentle manhandling, protective!Bucky, mention of previous injury, my own lack of construction know-how so I apologize for any inaccuracies, no use of Y/N

This is my first time writing in second person so hopefully I did okay! This was inspired by this short I saw on YouTube.

You were good at a lot of things. The team’s go-to “girl in the chair,” there was no one better at intel, strategy, quick escape plans, and getting into just about any system you were presented with. You’d had the Avengers’ lives in your hands countless times, and never led them to put a foot wrong. Somehow, you, a girl with just a bachelor’s degree, a–perhaps excessive–perfectionist streak, and a mini fridge full of energy drinks to help you stay sharp on overnight missions, had become indispensable to the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

But you couldn’t install a security camera above your front door.

As smart as you were, you were probably equally as uncoordinated. All the bruises in odd places told the tale of your frequent misfortune. Walking by itself often presented a perilous challenge, so standing on a ladder, balancing precariously with expensive equipment and sharp objects in your hands seemed like a perfect recipe for a trip to the ER and a costly bill for tech replacements.

Which was why you’d asked your husband, a super soldier with a metal arm and a keen eye for home repairs, to do it.

A month ago.

And three weeks ago.

And two weeks ago.

And last week.

You were tired of waiting. Bucky, of course, was busy, and often away on missions, but you only ever asked him to do it when he had a moment to spare. He’d said he would, every time you’d asked, but there was still no camera above your front door. On top of it all, the camera had been Bucky’s idea, a little extra security for when he was away on missions; it was one of Stark’s smart cameras, which could differentiate between a mailman dropping off a package and a criminal about to break into the house. Bucky didn’t exactly know how all of that worked, but he was good with the installation, and you both knew better than to assign the job to you. But the camera had sat there for a month, collecting dust on the dining room table, and despite all his promises, you knew it was time to take matters into your own hands.

And maybe get a little payback while you were at it.

It was a warm spring day, and the front door was open to let the breeze in but the screen door was in place to keep the bugs out. Bucky was in the kitchen, making lunch, so he’d be able to hear everything easily, between his proximity, the open door, and his enhanced hearing. Smirking to yourself, you set up the ladder as quietly as possible, knowing that that alone would tip Bucky off and make him come rushing out before you were ready. If this was going to get done today, you needed to execute the full plan.

Picking up the electric drill and the mount for the camera, you put one foot up on the ladder, and held down the trigger of the drill for a few seconds, causing a loud whirring sound to tear through the quiet midday air. Just as you took another step up and held down the trigger again, Bucky’s voice carried out from the kitchen.

“Doll?” he questioned, and it took everything in you not to laugh. You gave no answer, instead only whirring the drill once more as you climbed to the top of the ladder. “What are you doing?”

You might have felt bad about the panic and concern in his voice, but if he’d done this a month ago when you’d asked, you wouldn’t have to go to such lengths to have it be done. Natasha had called it wife speak, when women use their sly little tricks to get their husbands to do what they need to. She used it with Banner, Pepper used it with Tony, Wanda used it with Vision; it was a universal language amongst women when requests and orders just weren’t cutting it.

Holding the mount up against the wall, you furrowed your brow in concentration as you tried to figure out how to hold the mount, place the screw, and drill it in all at the same time with only two hands. Judging by the purposeful footsteps pounding towards the front door, you knew you wouldn’t have to keep trying to figure it out for long. Still, you kept up the ruse, because he needed to think you were serious about doing it yourself if he was going to get it done right this minute.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Bucky asked, voice raising with alarm as he found you balancing precariously on top of the small ladder. Paying him no mind, you decided to just wing it and put the drill into the head of the screw, pulling the trigger to send the screw spinning into the wall. For extra effect, you added a little wobble, just enough to make Bucky worry more but not so much that your uncoordinated self would actually fall. “Honey! Stop! What are you doing?”

“What?” you responded innocently, still not turning around. “I’m putting up the camera.”

“Why?” His hands grasped at your waist, but you pushed him away as you continued your ruse and placed the next screw.

“Because it needs to go up?” you said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was, hello, and you’d asked him to do it so many times. Once more, you placed the drill into the screw head and let it rip, watching it spin into place. Maybe you could do it yourself. Maybe impatience was all it took to overcome your incoordination. 

“Baby. Baby, baby, baby.” Bucky’s hands were on your waist again, this time with a firmer grip so you couldn’t brush him off so easily. “Come off the ladder.”

“It needs to go up, Bucky,” you insisted, milking your moment of acting for all it was worth.

“I know, so I’ll do it, okay? Just please, come off the ladder.”

“I’ve asked you a million times over the last month to do it and you still haven’t, so I’m gonna do it and then I’ll know it's done.”

The drill was slightly stuck in the screw head once it was screwed all the way in. You gave it a tug, and the force of it combined with the resistance of the drill to come loose caused you to tip backwards slightly; for a moment, you thought you might fall, but you regained your balance after a second or two. Still, it was a second or two too long for Bucky, who’d had enough of asking nicely and being patient. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he declared, using his strength and his grip on your waist to lift you off the ladder and set you on the wooden boards of the porch like you were little more than a doll. You almost grinned at the move, as being on the receiving end of his enhanced strength and fierce protectiveness always made your stomach do somersaults. By the time he spun you around to face him though, you had regained your self-control and regarded him with a displeased scowl. “What are you doing, huh, doll? You know I don’t like you up on that thing.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huffed, “Well, someone has to put the camera up, since you’ve proven yourself incapable.” You turned to step back onto the ladder, but Bucky grasped your arm gently and pulled you to him, maneuvering at the same time to take the drill and the remaining screws from you. You resisted, but even when he was diluting his strength, you couldn’t hope to best him, so instead you started to complain, “Bucky-”

“I know, doll, I know,” he said, voice soft as he pried the drill and screws out of your hands. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your nose for extra contrition. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done it when you asked me to, but I’ll do it right now, okay? Just…please stay off the ladder?”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?”

Bucky chuckled in amusement, his free hand rising to cup your cheek and pull you closer so he could press a sweet kiss to your lips. You melted against him instantly, as you always did, because Bucky always kissed you like he was trying to transfer his heart from his body to yours, deeply and wholly and with every ounce of love that he had. After a moment, he pulled away, though he kept his nose touching yours as his twinkling eyes gazed at you adoringly. “It’s not because you’re a girl, it’s because it’s you, doll. The last time I trusted you with a drill and screws, you drilled your sleeve into the wall and broke your finger trying to pull it free.”

Nose scrunching and lips pouting, you did your best to fight off a smile, trying to lay it on just a little thicker to make sure you would get what you wanted. “Promise you’ll do it right now?”

“Pinky promise.” Bucky held up his pinky finger between you, and you locked yours around it. “You can stay and watch if you want, just to be sure. I think you’ll like the view.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave him another quick peck before stepping back and nodding for him to climb up the ladder. Once his back was turned and he was on the top step, your mischievous smirk returned in full force, not only because of your triumph, but because you really did like the view.

[societyfolklore]

We Couldn’t Stop

Title: We Couldn’t Stop Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Steve Rogers 

Summary:  During a sweep of a forgotten HYDRA lab, you, Steve, and Bucky trigger an old aerosol dispersal system. No one realizes what hit you until it’s too late. Now stuck in quarantine- burning, aching, and caged in with two dominant, unraveling super soldiers- you’re forced to ride out the drug’s effects together.

Word Count:  7k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Sex Pollen / Drugged Lust, Threesome MFM, Dubious Consent (due to drug influence), Double Penetration, Oral (F & M receiving), Praise Kink, Rough Sex/Overstimulationm Fingering, anal ply, cum play, Competitive Doms

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for April Kinky Bingo Square: A3- Threesome Card Number: KB003

The mission was supposed to be a simple sweep- an old HYDRA lab buried deep beneath the forest floor, long abandoned, just a routine retrieval run for leftover tech and encrypted files that could pose a threat if they fell into the wrong hands. You, Steve, and Bucky had done that sort of thing more times than you could count. Clear the rooms, grab the drives, secure any volatile tech, and call for extraction. In and out. Easy.

You should’ve known better the moment you stepped inside. The facility was too quiet, too intact. Dust settled thick on the floors, but the lights still flickered dimly overhead, and the security systems were half-alive, humming low like they were waiting.

You were the one who found the sealed door- reinforced, heavily protected, and drawing power. It was locked down tight, tucked at the end of a corridor where the flickering lights didn’t quite reach. You called the others over.

"You think it’s storage?" Bucky asked, frowning at the biometric pad.

"Locked and powered," you muttered. "Could be data. Or maybe just a lab they forgot to scrub."

"Let's not poke the bear," Steve said, but he stepped up beside you anyway, scanning the door. "Looks like it's sealed for a reason."

That should've been the moment you backed off. But your fingers were already dancing over the keypad, overriding the old security system. The panel blinked. Clicked.

"I’ve almost got- "

The door hissed. Not wide- barely a few inches.

A soft spray hit you all in the face.

It came fast. Silent. A puff of pressurized mist like compressed air, followed by the faintest scent- ozone, chemical sweetness, almost floral.

You stumbled back, coughing once.

"What the hell was that?" Bucky barked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the door. "You okay? Did you breathe it in?"

"Yeah, but- I don’t feel anything."

"We’re all covered in it," Bucky snapped, glaring at the faint sheen settling over Steve’s shoulders. "Fucking hell."

"Close it," Steve ordered.

Bucky slammed the door shut, sealing it again with a growl. "Old security measure. Shit."

"We’ll report it," Steve said, but his jaw was clenched.

The spray clung to your skin. Sweet. Heavy. And whatever it was, it was in all three of you now.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

By the time the jet touched down back at the compound, you were already flushed and aching, your heart thudding too fast in your chest. Whatever had come out of that door- it clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made everything inside you feel off. You weren’t the only one affected. Bucky was pacing the perimeter of the quinjet like a caged animal. Steve hadn’t spoken for the last twenty minutes, but his white-knuckled grip on the back of a seat said everything.

You’d hoped the decontamination shower would be the end of it. But blood was still taken. Swabs run over your skin. Scans. More questions. Until finally, they left the three of you in the quarantine room- one sterile space, no outside contact, and cameras in every corner.

You wanted to apologize. This had been your mistake. But Bucky’s expression was pure storm as he continued to pace like a tiger in a zoo. Steve’s face was unreadable- steely, distant, controlled. So you kept your mouth shut and tried not to scratch at your skin like you desperately wanted.

Soft static crackled, and then Tony’s voice filled the room over the speaker. "It’s biochemical bonding serum," he said. "Looks like it's engineered to push subjects into a state of hyperarousal and submission, designed to override inhibition and drive instinctual behaviors."

Your stomach dropped. What kind of mess had you landed yourself in?

"How long?" Bucky snapped, voice sharp.

"We'll have to check back on the decay and metabolic rate, and we- "

"What Bruce means is- we don't know," Tony cut in. "For you guys, it might be a matter of hours. Little Miss Curiosity might be stuck with it in her system a little longer."

You flinched and shied away from the speaker, burying your face in your hands.

"We're working on it, don't stress. It shouldn't kill you," Tony added casually.

"Big fucking whoop," Bucky growled, pressing a fist into the wall. Steve shot him a look of disproval. 

"Buck.." His tone warning. 

"Just, try and stay calm, guys," Bruce said, trying to sound optimistic. "It'll be alright."

"Don’t make a mess," Tony said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "We’ll keep you posted."

And just like that, you were cut off again. Biochemical- engineered arousal.

"Well, you heard him," Steve sighed, leaning back against the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We just have to keep our heads. It can’t last forever."

That was easy for him to say. Both Steve and Bucky had super soldier serum in their veins- enhanced bodies that could regulate, adapt, maybe even resist. You… you were human. And you could already feel your body reacting in ways that made your skin itch and your blood feel like it was boiling.

You didn't say anything. Just shifted your weight, trying not to squirm. The heat beneath your skin pulsed steadily now, like it was alive.

"This is fucked," Bucky muttered, pacing again. "They just dumped us in here like we’re some kind of experiment."

"They’re doing what they can," Steve said, tone calm but tight. "We don’t know enough yet. Getting worked up won’t help."

"Worked up?" Bucky turned on him, eyes flashing. "You don’t feel that?"

Steve’s jaw flexed. "Of course I feel it."

"Then quit acting like you don’t."

You glanced between them, heart racing. The tension in the room was building again, only this time it wasn’t from anger- it was something heavier. Thicker. Clinging to the air like smoke.

And under it all, that hum beneath your skin only grew louder. 

Hours had passed.

You'd started pacing a little while ago, unable to sit still. Movement helped. Not much- but it was something. You were going through the water they'd left in the room like you were dying of thirst. You were hot, sticky, your tank damp and clinging to your body, and you were doing everything you could to ignore the throbbing pulse between your legs.

You kept moving. Pacing. Trying to shake it off.

Steve watched from the far cot, jaw tight. His shirt was damp, his breath shallow, but he was sitting like he was trying to pretend everything was normal.

Bucky was pacing again, eyes locked on you more often than not, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. “She smells different,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

His words made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rough, raw sound of his voice made your head twitch like it was a physical thing pulling at you.

"Gonna try and sleep," you muttered, not looking at either of them.

Maybe you'd be able to sleep through the worst of it. Maybe if you were lucky, your body would calm down. You slipped behind the thin curtain, stepping into the tiny corner of privacy around your cot. Laying down, the heat of your body only seemed to intensify. Your skin felt suffocated, and with a frustrated sigh, you peeled your tank top over your head, leaving you in just your bra, hoping the exposure would help you breathe easier.

It didn’t.

You curled onto your side, arms around your stomach, thighs pressed tight together. The ache between your legs was a constant, heavy throb now. Maybe… maybe you could just handle your own needs. Just enough to take the edge off. Anything to ease the ache.

Your hands trembled as you pulled the thin blanket around you and lay on the cot. There was a small curtain for privacy, but it did nothing to muffle the sounds when your fingers slipped beneath your waistband.

You tried to be quiet. Tried to hold your breath. But your body was on fire, and even the gentlest brush of your fingers sent you bucking.

A whimper escaped, broken and desperate.

And then you heard it- Steve’s voice. Low. Strained.

“Don’t- don’t do that.”

You froze. “I- I can’t- ”

Still, you didn’t stop. You rubbed faster, then slower, your fingers diving inside of you, pressing deeper, trying every angle- but nothing worked. Every shift of your hand sent sparks across your nerves, your breath hitching with each pulse of pressure, but the fire wouldn’t break. Your legs trembled, your toes curled, but it all stayed out of reach.

You changed angles, tried circling your clit with trembling fingers while your other hand held onto the edge of the cot like it could ground you. You rocked your hips up, whispered pleas into the dark, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. You needed more- needed them- but all you had were your own shaking hands and the unbearable ache growing between your legs.

Your breath hitched again as frustration bloomed hot and frantic in your chest. You were soaking, your thighs slick, the air sticky with the scent of your arousal. Your skin was flushed and clammy, your body locked in this endless loop of need- and yet you still couldn’t fall over that edge. Not like this. Not alone.

"You gonna keep pretending you don’t want her?" Bucky asked, voice low and rough, growling on the other side of the curtain.

Steve didn’t move at first, but his voice followed, strained. "I can smell her arousal from here, Buck. You think I’m not affected?"

"She’s whimpering, Steve. Sounds like music to me."

"We’re not doing this. We can’t- "

"Fuck this. She needs someone."

"Don’t you fucking touch her," Steve snapped.

"Then you do something," Bucky fired back.

Silence followed. You pressed your fingers deeper, hips rocking, but it wasn’t working. You were going to explode- your body was wound so tight it hurt.

Your fingers weren’t enough. You begged, voice cracking, desperate and broken.

"Please... please someone- "

Someone pulled the curtain back. Bucky’s eyes were dark. Blown wide. He didn’t speak. It hurt. “I can’t…” you whimpered, barely able to speak. “It’s not working…”

Your hips shifted again instinctively, your fingers still caught between your thighs, but the tension was unbearable. You were so wet, so swollen with need, it was maddening- and yet release stayed just out of reach. Your body craved more than your own touch could give.

They both appeared, stepping past the curtain without a word. You could see it in their faces- this was affecting them just as much. Steve’s eyes were dark, jaw clenched. Bucky looked wrecked, barely human with how sharp and hungry his expression had become.

You writhed again on the cot, body shaking, and Steve moved first- his weight shifting over you as he pressed your shoulders down into the mattress with steady, unyielding hands.

"Stay still," he said, voice gravel-thick.

At the same time, Bucky grabbed your wrist and gently pulled your hand away from you.

You whined, hips arched up, as Bucky’s gaze dropped to your slick fingers. He looked transfixed. Obsessed. His mouth parted before he dragged his tongue along your digits, groaning low in his chest at the taste.

Then- without breaking eye contact- he brought your hand to Steve.

"Tell me again we shouldn’t do this," Bucky said, voice rough and knowing.

Steve hesitated, staring at your hand, your eyes, then your body.

"...Steve?" you pleaded, chest heaving. A bead of sweat slid down your ribs, slicking your skin as the heat inside you pulsed like a second heartbeat. "Help... please."

Steve’s jaw flexed. His eyes raked over your flushed, trembling body, lingering where your bra had ridden up from the way you were squirming, the curve of your thighs glistening in the low light.

Bucky didn’t speak. He just stood there beside him, wild-eyed and rigid, chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. The scent of you filled the air. Thick. Sweet. Desperate.

Steve exhaled through his nose, heavy and slow like he was trying to exhale restraint. It didn’t work.

"You’re going to regret begging so pretty, sweetheart," he murmured, finally moving closer, the promise behind his words like thunder rolling through your veins.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

They were both on you.

You didn’t know who moved first- Steve’s hand slid up your thigh, firm and sure, while Bucky’s mouth was suddenly at your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The tension shattered. Clothing came off in frantic tugs- your joggers peeled away, your bra unclasped and discarded. Steve’s tank was tossed aside. Bucky’s sweats hit the floor with a low rustle.

Heat and skin and breath surrounded you. Their bodies pressed in, solid and hot and overwhelming. Steve's chest pinned you down as he kissed you- hard and consuming- his tongue sliding against yours as he groaned into your mouth. His hands cupped your jaw, fingers splayed, tilting your head how he wanted it.

Bucky moved lower, lips trailing down your throat, teeth scraping along your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you down the cot toward him with a roughness that made you moan. He kissed your stomach, your ribs, your inner thighs, worshipping each inch like it belonged to him.

You gasped, arching into the touch of both of them. Their mouths- wet and demanding. Their bodies- slick with sweat, grinding against you like they couldn't get close enough.

You'd all held out for so long. Now there was nothing but the letting go.

Every nerve ending in your body sparked like live wires with every touch- every graze of skin against skin sent jolts of unbearable sensation through you. It was impossible to stay still. Your limbs twitched, your hips rocked, your breath came in short, gasping pulls as your body tried to process too much, too fast.

“Don’t move,” Steve growled, voice rough but laced with something gentler beneath. “Too sensitive? No. You’re just not used to being handled right.”

Bucky pushed your legs open wider, guiding your knees apart until your calves hung off the edge of the cot, completely exposed, completely theirs. “She’s soaking,” Bucky breathed. “Fucking hell- she’s dripping down her thighs.” The cool air kissed your slick folds and made you shiver. Then his hand slid between your thighs again, and fingers plunged into you- two, maybe three. You didn’t even know whose they were anymore.

Steve’s mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over the top curve of your breast before his lips closed around your nipple. You sobbed, your body already arching upward from the overload.

The blonde growled against your skin, one hand gripping your jaw while the other tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to bow your spine upward. You gasped, helpless, writhing between them, your body trembling from overstimulation.

“You’re taking it so well,” Steve murmured, voice low and rough. “Just like that. Good girl.”

“Look at her,” Bucky snarled. “That’s it, sweetheart- ride my hand. Come on. Take what you need.”

His fingers worked deep inside you, curling and thrusting, hitting that spot that made your legs twitch and your hips lift off the cot. His palm pressed against your clit with every motion, grinding you into the edge of bliss, holding you there with cruel precision. You could feel everything. Every ridge of his knuckles, every flex of his wrist. It was too much and not enough all at once.

You whimpered, your hands scrambling against the sheets, seeking something to hold onto as your body rocked with each relentless stroke. Steve bit gently at the underside of your jaw, his hand still twisted in your hair as he whispered praises that barely reached your ears over the rushing roar of need building inside you.

Steve’s mouth was on your chest again, sucking one nipple into the heat of his mouth while his hand massaged the other, groping you with a needy rhythm that only made it harder to breathe. His other hand had tangled itself in your hair again, gently tugging until your spine arched up off the cot, your body straining toward both of them.

Bucky’s metal thumb pressed into your clit, circling with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Your breath hitched, head tipping back as you let out a broken moan.

"OH FUCK." you cried, fingers clawing at the side of the cot, knuckles white.

He didn’t stop. His fingers pumped into you, slick and steady, coaxing the sound out of your throat again and again. You felt like you were vibrating- nerve endings lit up with fire, each touch sparking through you like electricity.

“You hear that, punk?” Bucky’s voice dripped with ego. “That’s the sound of my fingers making her cry.” Steve shifted beside you, sitting up to watch, his eyes locked on where Bucky's fingers slid in and out of you. One of his hands moved down, low and out of sight, and you could see the tension in his jaw as he fought to keep control.

Bucky glanced back at him, grinning as he curled his fingers just right and made you cry out again.

"Look at her, Stevie," Bucky growled, his voice rough and ragged with arousal. He didn’t even look up, just watched his fingers slide in and out of you like it was the most important thing in the world. "She’s writhing just from my fingers. What happens when I put my cock in?"

"You’ll wait," Steve snapped, voice sharp, strained with barely checked control. He was flushed, jaw tight, clearly fighting the same battle Bucky was already losing.

"God, look at her," Bucky muttered again, breath coming faster. "Fuck, I want her mouth. I want every part."

You couldn’t answer. Your vision blurred. Every nerve in your body felt like it had snapped tight, vibrating with unbearable pressure.

And then it broke.

You came- hard.

Your whole body convulsed as the orgasm tore through you. Your legs kicked against the cot, arms flailing blindly for purchase. Steve had to hold you down, one hand braced across your chest, the other still tangled in your hair as your back arched and a strangled sob tore from your throat.

It didn’t end quickly. The drug made it last- your climax dragging on and on, crashing over you in waves so powerful they left you gasping, wrecked.

You felt Bucky’s fingers slow inside you, easing off just enough to let you ride it out without breaking. But they didn’t stop touching you. They didn’t let you go.

And worst of all, the haze in your head didn’t clear like you hoped it would.

You were still shaking. Still needy.

Still burning.

You were a panting mess, your skin still hot and your chest tight when one of them scooped you up and lay you out on the cool floor. The shock of it made you gasp, the chill a sudden relief against your fevered skin. You blinked your eyes open, dazed, limbs slack and breath ragged.

"You’re such a mess for us, baby," Bucky murmured, crouched above you now. His voice was low, ruined with hunger. "That sweet little body of yours wasn’t made to handle all this, was it?"

Your eyes found him- Bucky, kneeling near your face now, his cock hard and leaking, so close it blurred your thoughts. He looked feral, undone, lips parted like he was barely restraining himself.

Your tongue slipped out to lick your lips without thinking. The taste of your own sweat clung to your skin, but all you could focus on was him. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his fist clenched at his thigh.

Your mind narrowed to a single point of clarity.

You wanted him in your mouth.

You leaned forward slowly, licking the bead of precum off his tip before taking him in fully- hungry, needy, your lips stretching around the thick, velvet length of him. Bucky’s breath stuttered, and he let out a ragged groan as your mouth sealed around him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he gasped, one hand flying to your hair, not to guide but to anchor himself. “So fucking pretty like this- taking me so deep. Look at those lips- look at that mouth.”

You moaned around him, the vibrations making him hiss. He was hot, heavy, pulsing against your tongue, and you hollowed your cheeks to take him deeper, until your nose pressed against the base and he swore low under his breath.

“Messy little mouth,” Bucky panted. “So eager. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed something to suck while we ruin the rest of you.”

You were lost in it- the taste of him, the heat, the way he twitched when your tongue flicked just right. Spit gathered at the corners of your mouth as you worked him with sloppy desperation, gagging slightly as you bobbed your head in a steady rhythm.

Just then, you felt Steve’s hands at your hips, steady and sure. He shifted your lower body, pulling your legs open and up until you were spread out for him on the floor.

“You liked Buck's fingers? Let’s see how you do on my cock,” Steve growled against your ear, his voice dark and thick with restraint.

You gasped around Bucky’s cock, the moan caught in your throat turning into a garbled sound of pleasure as Steve aligned himself behind you. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you wide as his tip pressed against your entrance- already slick, fluttering, aching.

He pushed in slow, filling you inch by inch, and every nerve inside you lit up in electric spasms. Your muscles fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing as he stretched you open, the thick drag of him stealing your breath.

The pressure, the fullness, the stretch- it was overwhelming. You sobbed around Bucky, the vibration of your moan making him groan above you, his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust.

Steve bottomed out with a hiss, his hands gripping tighter like he needed the anchor. Inside you, he throbbed, deep and perfect. You felt stretched to the edge of your limits, your inner walls fluttering in frantic spasms around him, struggling to adjust and clench all at once. Your body didn’t know what to do- pull him in deeper or push him out.

It was too much. It was everything. Your head was spinning.

They started to move- slow at first. Steve dragging back only to sink in again, deliberate, controlled, while Bucky’s cock bumped the back of your throat as he rocked forward with a groan. You gagged, whined, clung to them both with your mouth and body.

You were stuck in it now. The lust. The drug. The heat. There was no thought left, only sensation. Only how it felt to be stretched open in two directions, trembling and gasping.

They didn’t talk to you anymore. They talked about you.

“She’s so sensitive,” Bucky growled. “Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

Steve grunted, his pace picking up. “Tight as hell. She’s pulsing like she doesn’t know whether she wants to come or cry.”

You tried to moan but it came out a broken, garbled sound around Bucky’s cock. Your tongue dragged along the underside of him as he pushed deeper, your throat fluttering as you swallowed around the stretch. Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth, tears tracking down your cheeks, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Bucky’s hand tightened at the back of your head, not forcing, just holding you there, gazing down into your wet, dazed eyes. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Fuck, look at you drooling all over me. You love it, don’t you?”

Your hips rocked back into Steve without meaning to as he thrust forward again, harder this time, grinding deep. Your nerves fired like sparks, the friction of his cock dragging against hypersensitive flesh sending bursts of pressure low in your belly. Your insides coiled, pleasure building with every thick, deliberate thrust, your body wound so tight it felt like you might snap apart.

“You’re doing so well for us,” Steve grunted, leaning down, his mouth hot at your ear. “Such a good girl, letting us use you like this.”

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, driving in deeper. The stretch made you cry out around Bucky’s cock, throat flexing as your moan turned to a sob.

"That's it," Steve growled, pace quickening. "Fuck, so fucking wet and warm... you gonna cum, sweetheart? Gotta feel you squeeze me while you swallow Bucky."

Your body arched, heat crashing through your spine as Steve hit that perfect spot again and again, each thrust sending a jolt through your core. Your throat tightened around Bucky's cock, the vibration of your desperate moans making him curse under his breath.

“Fuck- she’s so close,” Steve panted, driving harder. “You feel that? She’s fucking pulsing.”

You sobbed around Bucky, tears streaking your cheeks, the pressure in your belly a coil tightening with no escape.

“She’s gonna lose it,” Bucky panted, watching the way you writhed. “Look at how she’s trembling. She needs cock.”

And then it snapped.

Your climax hit like a bolt of lightning, seizing your body with white-hot tension as your inner walls clamped down around Steve’s cock. You wailed around Bucky’s length, the cry vibrating through him as he let out a guttural groan.

“Fuck, that mouth- ” Bucky growled, watching your teary eyes roll back. “I’m gonna- shit- ”

He spilled down your throat with a grunt, his cock twitching between your lips, his hand holding you steady as you swallowed every drop of him while he pulsed. 

The clenching spasms of your climax milked Steve mercilessly, dragging his own orgasm from him with a ragged curse. He slammed in deep, staying buried as he came hard, filling you with warmth that only made the pleasure burn hotter.

“Take it,” he groaned, his breath broken against your shoulder. “Take it all. Good fucking girl.”

Bucky sat back on his heels, pulling himself from your mouth with a wet pop, still hard, his cock glistening with your spit. “"Fuck... you’re unreal..." he panted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing..pupils blown as he looked down at you.

Steve finally pulled out with a groan, the loss of him sudden and jarring, making you whimper. His cum followed, warm and slick as it dripped from your stretched pussy, pooling between your thighs.

His gaze dropped between your legs, transfixed. His eyes went heavy-lidded as he watched it leak from you, dripping down to your slick, twitching rim. Slowly, his fingers moved to your core, smearing the mess down lower, spreading it deliberately to your other entrance.

You gasped, twitching from aftershocks, your body still sensitive everywhere. His fingertip teased your tight hole, rubbing softly, slicking it with a practiced ease. You whimpered, already overwhelmed, but the moan that spilled from you was pure need.

“Damn, Stevie- you didn’t fuck her right if she’s still aching like this,” Bucky drawled, voice hoarse and edged with a smirk, watching the way your hips shifted restlessly on the floor.

You whimpered, the heat still rolling inside you, every nerve ending alive and twitching. The aftershocks made your muscles flutter, your body too sensitive and still so hungry. Steve didn’t bite back. He was too focused- his fingers slick with his own cum as he spread it lower, smearing it over your pussy and then circling your tight, twitching rim.

And then one thick finger pressed inward.

You gasped, whole body jolting, a broken sound catching in your throat as your body tried to clamp down instinctively. But Steve worked slowly, steadily, easing the finger deeper, the stretch sharp and slow as he began to work you open.

You felt your core clench around nothing as Steve worked his finger deeper. “I need- please, I need more, I can’t- ” you gasped, voice trembling. Your head was a mess, fogged with lust and the aftershocks still sparking under your skin. Steve kept up the slow pump of his finger, pushing in deeper, working more of his cum into your ass to keep you slick and open.

“Hear that, Steve?” Bucky said, voice thick with amusement, already fisting his own cock in lazy, slow strokes. “She wants more.”

Steve’s gaze didn’t waver, his finger sinking deeper, curling. You whimpered again.

“Can’t say no, can we?” Bucky added, grinning.

“Oh, I think I know exactly what our girl needs...” Steve muttered, voice thick with heat and control, as his hand disappeared between your thighs.

Steve pulled his finger from your ass just as Bucky got down onto the floor, reaching out to haul you up into his lap. Steve’s arms hooking under yours, supporting your limp, boneless body as they moved you together like you weighed nothing.

“Let’s get you on Buck now...” Steve purred near your ear, voice thick and smooth, a slow heat curling down your spine.

Bucky’s cock was already there- thick, hard, and waiting. They guided you together, Steve steadying you from behind while Bucky angled his cock to your entrance.

As Steve lowered you, your legs wrapped weakly around Bucky’s hips, and you felt the first stretch as his tip slid inside. A guttural groan ripped from Bucky’s throat, his hands tightening on your thighs.

“Fuck, baby,” he gritted out, voice rough and reverent. “You always take me so damn good. Still so fucking tight- even after Steve blew you open? Shit.”

“That’s a girl,” Steve murmured, voice low with praise. “Nice and slow... Want you to feel every inch of him, don’t you?”

You just whimpered and nodded, the need to be filled consuming, overwhelming, as the pair of them helped you sink down onto Bucky’s cock, inch by perfect inch.

Your head fell back against Steve’s shoulder as you settled fully onto Bucky, who thrust up into you with steady pressure. The heat and stretch made your whole body tremble. You could barely breathe, still twitching from your earlier climax. Then Bucky's hands gripped your hips tight.

“Oh fuck,” he hissed, hips rolling upward as he began to move you, guiding you into a rhythm. “Look at you. Still aching. Like how I feel doll?”

The moan that spilled from your mouth didn’t even sound like you anymore- wrecked, raw, and desperate.

You were unraveling under Bucky’s rhythm- the way he filled you had your mind slipping, your thoughts scattering with every deep, slow thrust, how every thrust hit deep, high inside, brushing against that spot that made you shudder. Your head lolled back onto Steve’s shoulder, eyes fluttering, lips parted around desperate little gasps.

“She bites her lip when I go deep. You see that?” Bucky said with a rough chuckle, voice wrecked but smug. “She likes my rhythm.”

You didn’t even notice the way Steve bent you forward over Bucky, hands guiding your body like you were something precious and fragile and already ruined.

You didn’t have time to think too much before you felt Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you open as Steve shifted behind you. It wasn’t until the thick, spongy head of his cock pressed against somewhere you’d never let anyone touch that your eyes snapped open in surprise.

The first inch pushed into your ass slowly, carefully, but it still stole your breath.

“It’s too much- I can’t- wait- ” you gasped, voice cracking with overwhelmed panic as your body instinctively tried to jerk away.

But Bucky rocked his hips upward, pushing deep into your pussy again, and the shockwave of pleasure was enough to paralyze your resistance.

“Shh... it’s okay,” Steve murmured, arms wrapping around you from behind as he continued to press in. His voice was thick and coaxing, his control iron-tight. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good for us.”

You sobbed, your whole body fluttering around them as Steve sank in deeper, the thin wall between your holes trembling with every inch he took. The two of them groaned in unison, voices rough and reverent as they filled you together.

You were caught between them now. Two super soldiers, all three of you lost in lust and need. Your face twisted with sensation as they held you there- one thick cock filling your pussy, the other spreading your ass open inch by inch. Both sunk to the hilt. You were impossibly full. You were shaking. Overwhelmed. Unable to process the stretch, the heat, the drag of their bodies inside you. It was too much. And you needed more.

“You’re both so… big- I’m gonna- fuck- ” you sobbed. You couldn’t believe how sensitive you’d become- how just being filled, just being stretched, could reduce you to this. You weren’t even moving, yet your body was already bracing to come undone again. There was no going back. No holding on. Just surrender.

You came without moving, the sensation of fullness alone tipping you over. Your body seized in the middle, core clenching violently, squeezing down on both of them at once as pleasure ripped through you like a lightning bolt.

Your voice cracked into a scream. You were gone- shaking, convulsing, burning from the inside out as your orgasm dragged through you with devastating force.

Both of them groaned at the way your body squeezed them- tight and hot and trembling.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, rocking his hips once more. “Didn’t even have to move. Just had to be inside you.”

Steve chuckled darkly, voice low and wrecked in your ear. “She’s that sensitive. That fucking perfect.”

You couldn’t even answer. Your lips parted in a silent gasp as Steve’s hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your stiff nipples as he started to move again. Slowly at first, easing back before pressing forward, dragging against that thin wall with every thick stroke.

Bucky's grip returned to your hips, steady and possessive, guiding you to rise and fall on his cock. Your body jolted with every motion, your moans soft and slurred.

“That’s it,” Steve cooed, hips snapping gently. “We’ll start slow…”

“I-I can’t- ” you whimpered, but your body was already moving, driven by instinct and need.

“I know you can take more,” he murmured. “Look how beautiful you are when you come apart. It'll feel better- just gotta keep going.”

And it did. It felt better than the denial. Better than the ache that came from holding back. The pleasure rolled through you like a drug, heavy and all-consuming.

Your hips started to move again, slowly grinding into Bucky as your walls fluttered around him. You didn’t know if it was need or instinct- maybe both- but you couldn’t stop. You were cock-drunk. Barely aware of anything except how good it felt to be filled this way.

“Breathe,” Steve whispered. “Just like that. Hold it- good girl.”

Then Steve pulled your hips back into him and pressed all the way in.

“You think you’re fucking her deep?” Steve growled at Bucky, voice low and wild. “Watch this.”

Bucky shoved his hand flat to your lower stomach and lifted his hips with a brutal thrust. You cried out, the stretch making your eyes roll back as he ground up into you. It was obscene how deep he reached, how thick he felt. You pawed at his chest, clinging to him with trembling fingers.

“..fuck fuck fuck...” you gasped, the breath knocked out of you before he eased his hips again, smug and steady.

“Told ya,” Bucky muttered with a grin.

But it didn’t stop there.

Bucky answered your gasps with harder thrusts. Steve listened for his name and answered with praise. His mouth latched to your neck, nipping and licking along your skin as he squeezed your breasts roughly, molding them in his palms.

“Did you hear that one? That was mine,” Steve muttered against your skin when you gasped his name.

Bucky answered with a sharp thrust that made your breath catch. “She moaned louder for me, sweetheart. Don’t get cocky.”

Each of them was locked into the game- testing reactions, adjusting pace, trying to claim the sounds that spilled from your lips. One made you cry out, the other drew a gasp. They used your body like a live wire for their competition, and you were helpless in the storm.

“She whimpers when I kiss her right here,” he growled, biting just beneath your ear.

Bucky’s hands gripped your hips tighter, fucking up into you hard enough to rock you against Steve’s chest. “She clenched around me when you said that,” he rasped. “Bet she’s trying to pick a favourite.”

You couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t think. You only managed to gasp whatever name escaped your lips first, and they both heard it- every time. And they responded with sharper thrusts, filthier praise.

“You’re so cock-drunk, you don’t even know who’s making you come anymore, do you?” Bucky said, voice rough.

“She’s beautiful like this,” Steve murmured, licking the sweat off your throat. “All wrecked. All ours.”

Then Bucky’s metal hand slid between your thighs again. His fingers brushed your clit, the coolness of steel a shocking chill of metal against your heat made you jolt, gasping as sparks danced up your spine.

“Oh- god - fuck- ” you sobbed, trembling uncontrollably as sparks shot up your spine.

“Breathe,” Steve ordered again. “Just like that. That’s our girl.”

They started to move faster now- driving into you in sync, pistoning in perfect rhythm. The slap of skin echoed, the slick sounds of your soaked cunt and the obscene wet pressure of being filled from both ends breaking whatever was left of your mind.

“You want to make her come, punk?” Bucky growled. “You gotta fuck her harder than that.”

“Shut up, jerk,” Steve snarled, thrusting harder. “We don’t need to break her. Just ruin her a little longer.”

“She’s shaking so bad. You keep her steady, Steve- I wanna see her face when she comes again.”

Your next orgasm ripped through you with a small wail, your features contorting as your body locked up tight. You clawed at them both- gripping Steve’s forearm, Bucky’s shoulder- as your walls fluttered around their cocks, milking them, begging for more without a word.

They didn’t stop. Didn’t give you time to come down. Steve groaned, his thrusts picking up as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. Bucky cursed, gripping your hips tighter, lifting and dropping you into him with growing urgency.

You felt them both losing control- felt their restraint slipping with every second you squeezed around them, heat and slickness pouring down your thighs.

“Fuck- fuck, she’s doing it again,” Bucky grunted.

Steve’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “She wants it. She’s not done. Not till we are.”

Then the pace shifted- harder, rougher, deeper. Their moans grew louder, matched only by the slap of skin on skin. Your head spun, your vision blurred.

And then they were coming again- Steve first, pulled tight to your back, his groan muffled in your shoulder. Then Bucky, buried deep beneath you, eyes locked on yours as he spilled inside you with a strangled moan.

You collapsed between them, limp and boneless, your body a trembling wreck held up only by their hands. You didn’t even try to move. There was no fight left in you- only the slow hum of satisfaction and overstimulation. Somewhere in the haze of your mind, a flicker of disbelief passed through you- how had you endured that? How had you survived the storm of them inside you? But there was no room for shame or second thoughts. Only surrender. And the quiet, overwhelming hum of being utterly, deliciously wrecked. You were too dazed to understand what was happening at first, the haze still thick behind your eyes. The humming under your skin hadn’t stopped, but it had dulled- muted to a low thrum that echoed in your bones. They were careful, even if your overstimulated body didn’t register it that way.

You whined, squirming, as they slowly pulled out of you. The stretch reversed, the heat slipping away, leaving you empty and raw. It wasn’t pain, but your body protested the loss with soft whimpers.

Someone pressed a water bottle to your lips, coaxing you to sip. You obeyed without thought, the coolness trickling down your throat a small mercy.

Another set of hands gently wiped you down. A cold, damp cloth slid between your legs, easing away the slick mess with slow, tender strokes.

Then your head was lowered into someone’s lap. Fingers carded through your hair.

“You did so well,” Steve murmured. “Look at you- perfect.”

You blinked slowly. Steve’s voice again, closer now: “Easy, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Your limbs twitched weakly, still responding to phantom pleasure. A quiet laugh came from Bucky.

“Still twitching. Still fucking gorgeous.”

You felt him kissing up your leg, mouth trailing along your calf, your knee, your inner thigh.

Then your legs were being moved again- lifted, spread with a gentleness that contrasted starkly with the earlier frenzy. There was no rush now, no urgency- just the soft reverence of Bucky's hands as he cradled your thighs like something precious, something breakable, as though he hadn’t just wrecked you minutes ago. You blinked, barely aware, as Bucky settled himself between them, laying flat, his breath hot against your oversensitive core.

He pressed a kiss there, soft and reverent, and your whole body jolted in response.

“And I’m not done tasting her,” he muttered, voice thick with need.

“Buck- she needs to recover,” Steve warned again, but his voice had softened to something indulgent.

“I’ll be gentle…” Bucky promised, his mouth already lowering, tongue dragging slow and careful over your aching folds as your head lolled back into Steve lap, eyes fluttering closed, lost to the warmth and the wetness and the impossible pleasure building again

TAGS: @buckybarnesfic, @ruexj283, @yesiamthatwierd @trojanaurora, @hextech-bros

[jaberfamily]

Support My Family Journey to Safety and Peace

🚨Urgent Appeal 🚨

My name is Jaber Al-Haj. I am from Gaza, married to my wife, Menna, and we have a little son named Hashim, who is less than two years old. Like any Palestinian family, we dreamed of a simple and stable life. But the recent war turned our lives upside down. The sounds of explosions never left us, and fear has become part of our daily existence. My son Hashim suffers from health problems that urgently require treatment, but the war has destroyed everything, including the healthcare system, making access to necessary medical care nearly impossible. With each passing day, our suffering deepens, and the fear for Hashim’s health and future consumes me.

Alongside my small family, I used to work with my brothers, Aboud and Bilal, on our joint project—a small lab for producing essential household cleaning products. We started this project with modest resources, dreaming that it would become a source of income to support us and provide job opportunities for our community. But the war left us with nothing. Our lab, which was once filled with life and hard work, was reduced to rubble under the bombardment. We lost our equipment, our livelihood, and with it, a part of our dreams for the future.

Even our home, our only refuge, did not escape the destruction. It was severely damaged and is now uninhabitable. We were forced to flee and live in a tent under harsh conditions unfit for human life. The cold, the heat, the lack of resources, and the absence of privacy have made life nearly unbearable. We try to cope, but every day brings new challenges and suffering.

Today, what worries me the most is my son Hashim's condition. His health is deteriorating, and he desperately needs treatment abroad. However, under the circumstances we’re living in, I lack the means to secure his travel and medical expenses. As a father, there is nothing more heartbreaking than watching my child suffer while being unable to help him.

This campaign is a lifeline for my family in our darkest hour. With your generosity, we can bring hope back into our lives and secure a better future for my son, Hashim. Every contribution, no matter how small, makes a world of difference.

Please support us through the links below:

👉Donation link

👉Paypal Link

Thank you for standing with us and helping us through this difficult time. Your kindness means more than words can express.

With heartfelt gratitude, Jaber AlHaj

✅ My Campaign ✅ 🔍Vetted by @90-ghost here 🔍Vetted by association in this post

@90-ghost @heritageposts @gazavetters @neechees @butchniqabi @fluoresensitive @khanger @autisticmudkip @beserkerjewel @furiousfinnstan @xinakwans @batekush @appsa @nerdyqueerr @butchsunsetshimmer @biconicfinn @stopmotionguy @willgrahamscock @strangeauthor @bryoria @shesnake @legallybrunettedotcom @lautakwah @sovietunion @evillesbianvillain @antibioware @akajustmerry @dizzymoods @ree-duh @neptunerings @explosionshark @dlxxv-vetted-donations @vague-humanoid @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @sar-soor @northgazaupdates2 @feluka @dirhwangdaseul @jdon @ibtisams @sawasawako @memingursa @schoolhater @toesuckingoctober @waskuyecaozu @a-shade-of-blue @c-u-c-koo-4-40k

[andhumanslovedstories]

The healthcare strike in Portland, Oregon is in its third week with no clear end in sight. Front-line caregivers with the Providence Healthcare System negotiating union contracts at multiple hospitals that would improve employee working conditions and protect legally-mandated nurse:patient ratios so nurses don't get assigned an unmanageable and unsafe number of patients per shift. There's been some progress with negotiations, and the governor of the state is putting pressure on both sides to end the strike soon, but Providence continues to hold out on key issues.

As a float pool nurse, every shift I go to whatever floor is understaffed. In nearly every unit I've been to, there have been patients who still be in the ICU, getting one to one care. But because we don't have enough critical care staff, we transfer them to lower levels of care so that even sicker patients can get beds. This is not safe for patients or staff. And it's not just medical safety. It takes time to talk out a problem instead of calling security, or to help someone with severe mobility issues go to the bathroom, or to sit with someone crying. The kind of care that makes you feel like a person, not just a patient, takes time. The more patients I have per shift, the less time I have for each of them.

A strike is our strongest negotiating tactic. And as long as we're on strike, we're not getting paid. The longer you don't get paid, the harder it is to not cross the picket line. We're already out two paychecks so far. A lot of people cannot afford to lose that much income. As the primary income earner for our household: GOD I would love to make money again. That is what Providence is banking on. They're losing a TON of money during this strike, but they've got deeper pockets than their workers. They are betting that they can survive the strike longer than the union can.

You can support the strike by donating to the Oregon Nurses Association's hardship fund which provides money to caregivers so they don't have to scab. (I'll put a link in a reblog I'll make right after posting this.) There's also a public petition you can sign that I'll also link. And if you're in the Portland area, we've got picket lines at like nine different places at any given point. Even just awareness is helpful. Providence wants people to be angry at the striking healthcare workers, not them.

[enfinizatics]

dear americans,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wwinterwitch]

friendly banter — bucky barnes

summary: sam asks for your help on a mission. you're reunited with him, Joaquín and Bucky. the last one really likes to banter. you think it's just a friendly exchange. it's actually a bit more than that

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader (+ platonic friendships with sam and joaquín)

word count: 5k

tags: friends to lovers, sharing feelings (awkward but cute), reader is a hacker and former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, fluff, undisclosed feelings (mutual), kissing

note: this was kind of a mess but i'm back after a long time on not writing any fics! i'm currently in my last months of studying to become a lawyer (yay) and writing fics has proven to be very therapeutic during this time. this may or may not suck but i enjoyed writing it so i hope you enjoy it

please reblog and/or comment if you enjoy!

all masterlists | marvel masterlist | part 2 (features the thunderbolts* now)

"Got eyes on it?"

You stop walking as soon as you hear that question, staring ahead in disbelief. "You mean...the huge panel in the middle of the room?" you ask with obvious sarcasm, trying to speak as quietly as possible through your comm as you make your way further inside the darkened room.

It’s a typical security room with tons of cameras pointing to every corner of the building. To your relief, the presence of your group is apparently still unnoticed as your eyes wander across the various screens in front of you, noticing no commotion or an unnecessarily large group of unfriendly-looking guys rushing to find you. The large panel control installed in the middle of the desk before you is the thing that immediately gets your attention as you walk closer, always keeping in mind the task at hand.

All you really have to do is hack into the system to disable the security protocols long enough for Sam and Joaquín to sneak into the top floors of the building to retrieve the data that they wanted from the bad guy's records in order to find out more about the gang they'll be (hopefully) putting behind bars soon.

This is not the first and definitely not the last time you'll be doing these kinds of favors for Sam. Your friendship goes way back, when you were still a nobody at S.H.I.E.L.D. that somehow managed to get on Captain America's good graces after that whole Washington fiasco. You're still unsure why Steve always thought so highly of you. Then again, he was the type of guy who never failed to see the potential in other people, even when they couldn't quite see it themselves.

Now, you get to help the new Captain America, who's also as dear to you as the previous one was...perhaps just a tiny bit more annoying, but one of your dearest friends regardless.

As you rush over to the panel, you have to jump over the unconscious body of a security guard that Bucky (another dear friend you met thanks to Steve) took care of before you walked inside, quickly taking a seat in front of the large keyboard to start doing your part of the job.

You hear the unmistakable chuckle from Joaquín as you quickly type in a series of codes and commands. "Jeez, I missed having you on our missions!"

"Awwh!" you mutter with genuine endearment. "I missed being part of these missions too, buddy!"

"And we're still going out for drinks after this, right?"

"Are you genuinely asking me that, Joaquín Torres?" you ask, sounding overly offended on purpose.

You hear him laugh again, but before he can say anything back, you hear Bucky interrupting the exchange. "How about we focus on not getting caught here and then you guys can discuss your night plans?"

"Uh-oh, old man got upset," you joke soon after, finishing to type in the last few codes to fully disable the security system. Surely they have some backup protocol that would soon trigger the alarm to alert these guys of an unwanted visitor, but by then all of you will be long gone. It really is a very simple mission.

"He's jealous you're not taking him out for drinks," Sam jokes back, and then you immediately hear Joaquín agreeing with him.

It's a normal occurrence for Sam to be making those kinds of jokes involving you and Bucky. He has been making those types of remarks for as long as you can remember, fully convinced the two of you "have something going on" as he has put it before. You really try not to think too much about it because, first off, Sam loves to say shit just for the sake of pissing you and Bucky off and, second...you really don't want to let those comments get to your head.

You don't want to let yourself wonder about the what if's of that. There was a time in your life when you did allow yourself to fantasize about the possibility of actually "having something going on" with him, but you learnt to shut off that part of your brain in order to avoid getting your hopes up regarding a situation that just wouldn't happen outside your imagination. Hearing Sam’s silly remarks would only bring you back to those days.

Bucky has been one of your best friends for years and he has never shown the slightest of hints that he might be interested in you in the way you would like (at least not that you're aware of), and there was absolutely no way that you would ever make the first move and risk embarrassing yourself in front of him or, even worse, losing the friendship you two have. You eventually just got comfortable in the abyss of eternal friendzone and learned to accept it. If there was ever going to happen something between the two of you, surely it would've happened by now.

Still, Sam seems to be holding onto that rope for dear life and refuses to let it go. You can't deny it’s a bit uncomfortable to hear those jokes though. They somehow make you feel like somehow you got caught and everyone knows you have a secret crush on Bucky, but you've learned to adapt over the years.

"First part's done.” Leaning back on the chair, you watch the percentage bar on the screen before you, completely ignoring Sam's little joke. "A few more seconds and you're up guys!"

"Hallway’s clear," you hear Bucky say, still guarding the room where you're currently in. "How much time do we have to get out of here?"

"Uh...I can't say for sure. Anywhere near five to thirty, maybe?"

"Minutes?"

"Seconds."

"Oh, great," he mutters ironically.

"Well, I'm sorry. We're hacking into a very sophisticated system that I don't entirely know how it works!" you snap back at him. "Besides, the whole point of this is to give Joaquín and Sam enough time to sneak inside without having to deal with a bunch of guards going straight for them. Bad guys will know we're down here and they'll come looking for us first."

"Isn't hacking your whole thing? How do you not know how it works?" he asks, and just by the tone of his voice you know he's trying to piss you off, because he knows that's exactly the type of comments that would make you upset. If that type of comment came from a stranger you would be strangling them right now, but it’s Bucky, and he seems to enjoy annoying the shit out of you.

"Big talk coming from someone who still asks for my help because he barely knows how to unlock his own phone."

The sound of his faint chuckle immediately makes you smile, perfectly picturing the way he's probably rolling his eyes just barely right now, trying to suppress a smirk as if you could possibly see him right now, knowing he hates when you point it out to him.

"You have to give me some credit, though. I know how to program emails on that thing now. Soon enough I'll be taking your job, so you better watch out."

You can't help but laugh at his reply, slightly shaking your head as you realize you’re getting distracted by him, trying to keep your focus on what you're supposed to be doing right now rather than indulge in a never ending back-and-forth with him. As soon as you type the last codes and the large SECURITY SYSTEM: DISABLED alert pops on the monitor, you quickly rise up from your seat. "You're up guys, hurry!"

"On it!" Sam replies as you rush outside the room.

Before he even says anything to you, Bucky is quickly guiding you down the hallway with the intent of getting out of there as soon as possible, turning to look at you with a confused expression when you stop walking and, instead, start yanking his arm to go in the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?"

"The exit is that way," you point out as if it’s obvious.

He looks even more confused now, and slightly annoyed. "Don't think so. That's the way we entered, but there's another way of leaving this place a lot faster."

"No, we can't change the plan!"

He definitely looks annoyed now, trying not to snap at you. "I'm not changing the plan. Exiting that way has always been the plan. If we go that way, we'll-"

Before he can say anything else, the loud sound of an alarm blasts through the entire building, signaling that you've been discovered and you'll be having company very soon. As if that wasn't enough, the door of the room you were previously in opens violently, and the guard that was previously unconscious on the floor is frantically alerting more people through his radio.

“Oh, that’s great,” you point out, slightly panicking right now because you’re still inside the building. “You decided to wake up early, huh?”

Bucky immediately grabs the guy by his bulletproof vest to throw him against the wall, taking his barely regained consciousness to his advantage. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice about six other guys coming towards you, turning around the same corner you wanted to run towards as part of your escape plan. Sadly, that's when you realized maybe the direction Bucky was suggesting was better.

You’re unsure of what to do now. It's not like you haven't been taught how to take down a few bad guys, but your specialities have always involved computers rather than physical combat. Almost as if he could read your mind, Bucky turns towards you for a quick second. "Go! I'll catch up to you." Again, almost as if he knew that you'd try to ask if he was sure about it, he immediately shouts yet another "Go!" before you're finally deciding to do as he says, running down the hall in the direction he has intended to go before.

Hours later, second after second that passes by, you’re more and more convinced that you'll never hear the end of it. If only you could go back in time and just agree with Bucky's plan rather than trying to argue with him. It would have spared you a lifetime of him reminding you how he was right and you were wrong.

Turns out his exit plan was the one you should've followed all along, because it actually led to the engine room which immediately meant being in a much less crowded part of the building to escape without risking bumping into more people.

All of you had enough time to change into something more comfortable to go out for drinks. Initially it was something you and Joaquín had planned alone, but evidently the two of you didn’t hesitate to invite Sam and Bucky. Of course they accepted the invite, and of course Bucky has done his very best to keep reminding you of your little mistake.

"Listen, if you don't want shit like that to happen again, just let me know your plan beforehand."

"But I did let you know. The problem is that someone is not really a good listener."

"No. Letting me know- like, properly letting me know, would've been telling me before we got inside that building."

Bucky smirks as he leans back on his chair, and it's obvious to you he's really enjoying this banter. "Plan changed at the last minute. If you would've just followed my lead, we could've left that building a lot faster."

"Ah, so you do recognize that wasn't the original plan!" you exclaim with a triumphant grin, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You changed it all by yourself and didn't tell me."

"Changed at the last minute," he repeats, as if to correct you. "You wanted me to stand there and explain every detail to you?"

"Oh, as if explaining it would've taken you hours! You’re always so dramatic."

"Children," Sam commented, interrupting the banter with an unamused expression. "I had to trust the operation to literal children."

Bucky scoffs at that comment, watching as Sam lets out a chuckle, shaking his head after witnessing this whole interaction between the two of you.

"Kinda makes you appreciate having an actual professional around, huh?" Joaquín says right after, flashing a charming smile in Sam's direction.

"Oh, please!" you, Bucky and Sam reply in unison, earning an offended look from Joaquín.

Soon after, Bucky is speaking again. "You know what? I'll give you some credit. You managed to do your part of the job…decently."

It’s obvious he wants a reaction from you, but even if your banter is entertaining, you know you can't keep bickering the entire night. Once again, you can’t help but to feel embarrassed, as if everyone at that table knows your little secret regarding your feelings towards Bucky. As if some innocent banter between friends could ever give it away. Besides, the four of you are here to celebrate your mission was a success, and the fact that you haven't seen the trio in a long time makes it the perfect opportunity to catch up.

Pretending to fully ignore his last comment, you turn to look at Sam from across the table. "You. I haven't seen your lovely face in a while," you start, watching him physically get ready for whatever silly comment you might come up with. "Tell me what you've been up to...I've seen the photos of you shaking hands with the President," the reference to Everett Ross sounding anything but endearing.

Sam sighs, shrugging. "Yeah, well, I guess you can say it's part of the job," he simply replies before taking a quick sip of his beer. "I can't say I'm thrilled about it, but I figured it's best to compromise a bit and keep the man happy. As long as he stays in line, I'll cooperate."

"Of course you're not thrilled about it, Sam. That's the same guy that put your ass in a prison in the middle of nowhere like you were some kind of top security criminal!" you reply almost immediately, still in disbelief at the revelation of any sort of alliance between him and Ross. Sam's expression lets you know that even he is still conflicted about it, not really knowing what to say. After taking a brief pause, you try to say something else to lighten the mood, not wanting him to think like you’re judging him for it. "Hey, I understand having to keep up appearances. I get it. And please accept my deepest condolences for having to deal with that piece of shit."

Your last comment makes the three of them laugh, and Bucky takes the opportunity to change the subject. "And what have you been up to?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious. "It's been a while since any of us has seen you."

"Well, my life has been all over the place the last few months. As all of you know, I moved into a new apartment. I loved my roommate, but I felt it was time to just live by myself, you know?"

"So no plans of leaving New York to move to D.C., huh?" Joaquín asks with a smile.

You return the smile immediately. "As fun as it would be to live closer to all of you weirdos, no. I plan to stay in New York for now. I'm just really comfortable there with the new apartment, the promotion I got a few months ago, the fact that most of my family and friends are there..."

"But not all your friends," Sam quickly points out, pretending to sound incredibly offended by your last statement. "But since we’re talking about friends and just social life in general...are you still single?"

"Why are you always so interested in my love life?" you joke with a playful grin, taking a sip of your margarita to leave him wondering the answer just a few seconds more. "Yes, I'm still single. Queen's full of creeps," you added shortly after. "Are any of you seeing anybody?"

"Proudly and happily single," Joaquín replies, raising his drink up as if to cheer before taking a sip.

Sam gives him a very visible side-eye. "Yikes," is all he says regarding that, turning back to you. "I'm not interested in dating right now, to be honest. I’m quite a busy gentleman, you know?" 

“And you say ‘yikes’ to me?” Joaquín says immediately after, looking dumbfounded.

You chime in before any of them could add anything else regarding that. “Bucky?” you ask, turning to look at him as you await his answer.

It was a bold move to directly ask him that question. On one hand, you know Bucky has always been a loner so you’re almost certain that he’s single. But there’s always that tiny percentage of probability that you’ll learn a truth you’re not sure how you’ll handle. He’s your best friend, of course you’ll be happy if he’s happy…but the idea of him revealing to you that he’s dating someone might actually make you physically sick.

You notice Bucky gets uncomfortable right away. “I’m single too.”

The pleasant feeling of relief lasts just a few seconds. The fact that Sam laughs at Bucky’s reply has your mind spinning, not understanding why he would laugh at that. Why the fuck is he laughing? Should you start panicking already?

"Actually, our buddy has been on a few dating apps, I believe."

Oh no. 

Even when you try to remind yourself not to care about anything remotely romantic involving Bucky- or at least, not to care more than a platonic friend would, you can deny the news of him possibly dating someone or even just randomly talking to any person in those apps makes your stomach turn. It really wouldn't be dramatic to claim that you could quite literally throw up right now at the thought of him and someone else right now.

It's not common to hear any sort of updates regarding Bucky's love life because...well, there's never any developments. He's never shown interest in anyone, and as far as you know he's never had any sort of relationship with anyone like that– serious or casual. What if he's interested in exploring that part of his life now? What if he has found someone already and you're about to hear him talk all about them? It makes you genuinely sick, but you try your best to act as unbothered as you possibly can, forcing you to mask your disgust and heartbreak with pleasant surprise.

"Is that so?" is all you say.

He looks even more uncomfortable by the subject, choosing to look down at his almost finished beer. "It's not...I was just trying to put myself out there," he says awkwardly, shrugging. "Long story short, online dating is not for me. I hated it."

You could tell he doesn’t really like talking about this subject, so you try to quickly ease the tension with a bit of humor. Besides, you're probably better off without hearing anything regarding that topic anyway. "It's because you couldn't figure out how the whole swiping thing worked, isn't it?"

Bucky immediately seems to relax with your joke, chuckling a bit. "It took me a few days actually." He takes a quick pause before continuing. "I probably should've asked you for help."

If there was any hidden message behind his last statement, it completely goes over your head because you genuinely thought it was just part of your playful banter regarding his lack of skills when it comes to technology. You laugh, and in return Bucky offers you a smile because that's as much hinting as he dares to do out loud, especially if Sam and Joaquín are sitting right there. He's incredibly used to you never getting his subtle implications anyway.

In front of you, the other two guys are watching this exchange unfold, and it's hard to tell which one of them has a bigger urge to tell you to stop being so fucking oblivious already. As subtle as he can be, Joaquín pokes Sam's side with his elbow to give him a quick heads-up before speaking. "Considering everyone's almost finished, Sam and I are getting another round of drinks."

The two of them are standing up when they notice you're grabbing your purse and standing up as well. "Oh, I can go with you. I have to go to the restroom anyway."

The two of them want to yet again yell at you to please get a grip on the situation, but Sam just silently takes a seat as you and Joaquín go over to the bar, quickly telling him what you want to order before heading towards the restroom.

A few drinks later the four of you are finally leaving the bar. Sam and Joaquín left to their respective houses while you and Bucky shared an Uber back to his own place. He was kind enough to let you crash in his spare room for the night. It's not like this is the first time you've ever stayed at his apartment when you visit the boys, but you can't deny the idea is both thrilling and terrifying- not like anything would happen to make you feel like that...you two are just friends...but, still...your silly head likes to get silly ideas sometimes.

Deciding not to indulge in your little fantasies, you decide to start a conversation. "Update on the food?" you ask, turning to look at Bucky, who sits comfortably on the sofa of his living room.

"Like ten minutes away," he says, taking a quick look at the screen. "How come you haven't congratulated me for knowing how to order food with this thing?" he added with evident surprise, making you chuckle.

"Because you keep saying 'this thing' like it's some mysterious device completely unknown to mankind," you reply, and before you can stop yourself, you continue. "It's cute, I guess, so congratulations."

Bucky's grin grows wider. "Oh, so it's cute?"

You try really hard not to panic, feeling incredibly embarrassed. The fact that he seems to be enjoying what you just said makes it even worse, because you know he’ll use that to tease you now. He just finds any possible excuse to do it. "Cute as in lame."

He chuckles. "Right."

Not knowing what else to say, you clear your throat before walking towards him, taking a seat next to him as you try to come up with something else to change the subject immediately. "I'm starving," is all you say, mentally scolding you for such a poor effort.

As soon as you're sitting, you unsuccessfully try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he leans just a bit closer...perhaps if you weren't hyper vigilant whenever the two of you are too near you might've missed it. And then, he stretches his arm across the back of the sofa, right behind you.

For a second, you even thought of mocking him for such a move, but bringing more attention to it would only make you that much nervous, and you really don't want to embarrass yourself. And most importantly, you don't want your silly mind and your silly heart to get their hopes up. You're just friends, nothing else.

"Me too," he agrees, the playful grin on his face still not disappearing. "Might have to steal a few fries from you."

"Oh, I'd really like to see you try stealing my food," you reply in the same playful tone, leaning just a little closer to him without even noticing that you were actually doing that.

"I think I deserve some compensation after what happened today. You know, for all the unnecessary ass-kicking I had to do."

"Just when I thought you had moved on from that!" you reply, jokingly slapping his knee. "It wasn't my fault, it was yours for not telling me the plan on time!"

"You should've just trusted me," he insists. "But you always have to be right on everything..."

You know he's joking. There's something about bantering with you that seems to absolutely fascinate him. "Yeah, and you always want to piss me off."

Bucky chuckles again, and that's when you feel his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his arm fully around you. What the actual fuck is going on. "What, you think I like pissing you off?" he asks, tone slightly lower than before, which inevitably makes the butterflies in your stomach multiply. "Is that why you think I do it?"

You were quiet for a moment, your brain not entirely registering what's happening. "I mean...yeah."

He stops for a second, and you almost see a hint of hesitation on his face before he speaks, letting out a frustrated sigh. "For someone who claims to be so much more clever than anyone else, I would've expected you to figure it out sooner," he starts, shaking his head with a soft smile. "I've been actually flirting with you, doll."

The comment evidently takes you by surprise and all you can do is to stare back at him like a complete fool. His arm around your shoulders, the proximity, the fact he had the fucking audacity to call you that nickname...did you somehow fall asleep on his couch without noticing and this is the type of oddly-realistic dream your brain decided to come up with? Are you still standing there like a fool just fantasizing and this one just got way too immersive? And did he really just say that he's been flirting with you?

Noticing you weren't saying anything, he decides to continue, looking a little hesitant and disappointed with your silence. "You know, it'd be really nice if you say something..."

"Awful way to flirt," is all you could come up with, which immediately makes him burst out laughing. 

"Maybe," he agrees. "But I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out. I mean…Sam and Joaquín did a long time ago."

"The three of you share the same brain cell, of course they figured it out a long time ago,” you reply, still in complete shock to be having this conversation with him. Were you really that blind? "You could’ve just asked me."

"You know I'm not direct like that," he replies, and the shy look on his face almost makes your heart melt. "Like I said, I was relying on your impressive intelligence to figure it out."

You let out a soft chuckle after his last comment, immediately giving him a warning look. "Don't." He looks back at you for a few seconds, almost wanting to challenge you after noticing the way you’re looking at him. Soon enough, he’s unable to hide his smirk anymore. "There it is," you point out, knowing he hates that.

Bucky lets out a soft grunt as a complaint, resting his head on your shoulder. Encouraged, you immediately move a hand up to his hair, affectionately playing with it. The two of you stay like that, simply enjoying being so close to each other. It feels incredibly right.

"So how do you feel?" he eventually asks, perhaps feeling braver to ask now that he doesn’t have to look into your eyes when he does.

You don’t reply right away, still feeling incredibly nervous despite knowing he does like you back. Eventually, you do build up the courage to say something. "I like you. Like, a lot."

Bucky moves back to look at you know. The look on his face gives you the impression that he wasn’t expecting you to be so honest with your answer, perhaps expecting another silly joke or sarcastic remark. And even though you thought about the possibility of choosing a more humorous approach, after keeping your feelings for him locked up and stored away for so long, you really needed to just say it.

Instead of saying something back, Bucky tightens his grip around your shoulders just enough, using his other hand to grab your chin right before kissing you. It certainly takes you by surprise, but you're quickly returning the kiss as you just completely melt in his arms, still trying to convince yourself that this is not some kind of hyper-realistic dream.

His hand swiftly moves to your cheek as the kiss continues, the gesture so incredibly delicate, a sharp contrast with the pure need he’s transmitting through the kiss. It’s desperate, passionate, intense…like he’s been waiting an entire lifetime to finally be able to experience this, grateful for the absolute privilege that it is to kiss you.

One of your hands moves up to the back of his neck and your touch seems to encourage him that much more because before you know it, he's taking the opportunity to gently bite your bottom lip, right before continuing to make out with you.

Much to yours and Bucky's disappointment, the sound of his apartment's doorbell echoes through the apartment, indicating the food you previously ordered has arrived.

He reluctantly pulls away with a soft grunt. "Food's here," he comments out loud, offering you a soft smile. He takes a brief moment to look at you, brushing his thumb against your cheek in an affectionate manner, dreading the idea of having to leave this couch. "I'll get it."

"I can help," you offer almost immediately.

Instead of replying right away, he leans in for a short kiss. "I'll get it," he insists, quickly making his way to the door after another buzz could be heard.

You sat in his living room in complete disbelief of what just happened, thankful that he's not here right now to see your goofy smile and blushed cheeks. He'd probably tease you to no end if he did see that.

Not knowing what else to do, you immediately reach for your phone, opening your messages. You knew exactly who would be the right people to share the news with.

'uhm so we just kissed??????' you texted, the first message in the group chat you just created with Sam and Joaquín.

Joaquín is the first one to reply. 'HELL YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!'

'FUCKING FINALLY.' Sam texts shortly after.

[thepencilnerd]

Feels Like Trouble

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: You and Robby have been secretly dating for a while now. Most of the ER is clueless—except the five people who could probably write dissertations on your dynamic. Enter a frat boy med student with too much confidence and not enough self-awareness. Robby? Jealous. You? Oblivious. Everyone else? Watching the drama unfold like it's peak primetime television. warnings: cringe flirting, depiction of boundary-pushing behavior, mutual pining, protective!Robby genre: fluff, slow burn, banter, crack vibes, emotional constipation, robbie's love language is acts of service, strong!reader energy because women run the world word count: 6.3k a/n: robby in his protective, simmering, quietly feral era + men anticipating my needs without me having to ask is my roman empire. p.s. also check out my other Dr. Robby fics (Not Enough | And Through It All) if you're interested <3

It started at the nurses’ station.

You were finishing up notes from a back-to-back shift, hair a mess, sleeves rolled, running purely on caffeine and spite. You barely registered the med student who leaned in a little too close—Jackson, of course. Jackson, who everyone knew had barely scraped through med school with a transcript that looked like a cry for help and a reputation for quoting his frat days like gospel. Jackson, who thought calling women 'Doc' in a tone meant to charm was somehow endearing. So, yeah. Not a great dude, to say the absolute least.

"Hey, Dr. L/N," Jackson said with that ever-present grin, leaning just a little too close. "You, uh... ever take pity on exhausted interns and grab a drink after shift?"

You gave a polite smile. "I’m not really a spirits person, but thanks."

Jackson blinked. "Huh?"

"You said drink, right? I’m more of a coffee or tea girl. Caffeine over cocktails."

He opened his mouth like he was going to try again, but you were already turning back to your chart.

"Good luck today!" you said cheerfully, not noticing the groan from your colleagues. Just around the corner, Mateo muttered to Javadi, "That’s the fourth time this week. It’s painful, man."

Javadi sipped her carton of apple juice with focused precision, attention directed solely on your ability to brush off such obvious advances without it getting in the way of your work. "Seventh, actually. If you count the half-made attempt on Monday. She's bulletproof."

"Try Jackson-proof," Mateo scoffed.

Two beds down, King leaned over to Langdon with her gloved hands clasped and asked, "Why does Jackson keep hovering around Dr. L/N like a... rabid mosquito?"

Langdon just smiled knowingly, looking over to the nurses' station where the man of the hour sat. "Don’t worry. Robby'll take care of it. Eventually."

Unbeknownst to you, Robby had been watching the entire interaction—and every interaction before that. If any med student so much as breathed near you with less-than-pure intentions, he was up in arms, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

There was that time Whitaker nearly took your eye out when a patient came in with a nail embedded in his femur; the force of pulling it out snapped Whitaker’s elbow backward—only for Robby's hand to catch it mid-swing before it could clock you in the face. Or when Santos nearly sliced your finger open as you gently guided her through her first incision—Robby had materialized behind her in the span of a gasp, steadying her hands with a calm correction that masked sheer panic. Or when Javadi passed out for the second time during a gnarly pelvic realignment and collapsed straight into you, nearly giving you a concussion from her deadweight—Robby had been there then, too, catching you both with lightning reflexes and barely concealed fury.

At this point, the only person in the hospital who hadn’t triggered Robby’s internal security system was Mel. And that was only because she kept a respectful three-foot radius and shared snacks with you during breaks. The two of you had a quiet little tradition—inviting her out to try the new cat café when it opened downtown, or attending weekend adoption events together like it was a team-building exercise. Langdon once joked that she was the third wheel in the most wholesome slow-burn romcom he'd ever seen. Mel's only response was two blinks and a single nod of acknowledgement.

Everyone in the ER noticed your dynamic—the way you and Robby worked together like a well-oiled machine, never needing to speak aloud to know what the other needed. It was intuitive. Rhythmic. Like watching a dance you’d been rehearsing for years.

Still, only a handful of people actually knew about your relationship. Abbot, Collins, McKay, Dana, Langdon, and Mel.

Abbot had been Robby’s sounding board from the very beginning. Back when Robby was still pacing around the break room, torn between professionalism and the undeniable, slow-burning pull he felt toward you, it was Abbot who told him to get over himself and ask you out. Life was too short for regrets.

Collins, McKay, and Dana didn’t know officially—but they knew. The meaningful glances, the subtle handoffs of coffee, the shared silences that were too loaded to be casual. They never said a word because they lived for the soap-opera-worthy drama of it all.

Langdon and Mel were on the same wavelength. They hadn’t caught you red-handed, but their spidey senses were borderline clairvoyant. They never probed, never asked. Just watched it unfold like a plotline they already knew the ending to.

Besides them, the rest of the department remained blissfully unaware—except for the way Robby’s entire demeanor shifted over a year ago. A quiet warmth started to replace his usual stoicism. People credited it to the anonymous private donation made to the ER around the same time.

But the truth was, it had nothing to do with money.

It was you. 

You, of course, were oblivious to whatever other people thought or said—unless it had something to do with your patients. Robby sometimes joked that you were pathologically unbothered, something he made a mental note to ask you about, and he wasn’t wrong. The rumors from the nurses, the looks from the interns, the knowing smirks from Dana or Langdon? All of it flew over your head like air traffic.

Maybe you just didn’t see it. Didn’t see how Robby’s entire world seemed to tilt when you entered a room. How effortlessly the two of you moved in sync like second nature—side by side in trauma bays, tossing instruments, treatment plans, and glances back and forth like muscle memory. Everyone else could see it.

You were always focused on the next decision, the next step, the next person who needed your help. You didn’t think about what you needed until the shift was over—if ever. Your well-being came last, always.

But not to Robby. Never to Robby.

He noticed everything.

The slump in your shoulders. The faint crease in your forehead when a headache was starting to set in. He knew when you were on the verge of running on empty, when your patience was thinning, when you hadn’t eaten since sunrise. He never made a show of it. He just acted.

He didn’t wait for you to ask. He didn’t expect you to remember to need anything.

Because he already knew. He just... knew.

Your coffee, brewed and sweetened exactly how you liked it, would be waiting for you at the nurses’ station first thing in the morning. A second cup at lunch—always packed, always hot, even if you never had time to drink it. He’d drop it off like it was routine, like it was no big deal, because he knew the odds of you being pulled into another case mid-sip were astronomical.

Your favorite sandwich from the cafeteria, left quietly on your desk with a sticky note that said, “Eat this or I’m calling your mother.” You'd sooner pass out from hunger than remember to eat. He knew that. So he took the thinking out of it for you.

And after the longest days—those days where you'd made a thousand decisions, answered a hundred questions, led back-to-back codes—he’d cook dinner at his place. Quietly, without fanfare, and pieced together with the same kind of intention you gave your patients. He’d hand you a glass of water—because that was one other thing that you along with 80% of the population deprived yourself of—and steer you to the couch while he handled the rest. Just so you could turn your brain off.

You never asked, never had to, yet he always knew.

You’d just been snapped back to the present by the sound of an unwelcome familiar voice—again.

"Dr. L/N," he said, sidling up to you again with that same confident grin—clearly not deterred by every failed attempt before. "I’ve got a list of mocktails that might just change your mind. Pretty creative, right? I googled it during lunch. There’s this one with lychee and—"

You blinked at him slowly, like you were buffering.

"Jackson," you said, voice firmer this time, "I don’t even have time to finish a protein bar most days, let alone entertain another pitch for drinks. You’re taking time away from my patients, my patients. I sincerely hope you don’t treat them the same way—ignoring their boundaries and refusing to take no for an answer."

You didn’t say it harshly. Just plainly. Clearly and finite. Like a diagnosis that needed no follow-up.

Across the room, Robby pulled down his glasses as his lip quirked up into a slow, private smirk. Pride bloomed across his face so fast he had to duck his head behind a chart to hide it. He knew better than to coddle you. The mutual discomfort and stifled reactions from the staff were one thing. Watching you handle yourself like that? That was something else entirely.

From across the nurses’ station, the staff collectively cringed like someone had just dropped a post-op surgical tray. Santos and Mateo physically turned away to hide their budding laughter. Javadi buried her face in her sleeve, secondhand embarrassment blooming. Mohan took off at a brisk pace to see a patient. Whitaker closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer to the ceiling. Meanwhile, Dana, McKay, and Collins couldn’t look away if they tried, pressing down their grins and wishing they'd brought popcorn. Langdon sipped his coffee like it was a box-office premiere. King, ever diligent, kept her focus on irrigating her patient’s wound—Langdon would fill her in later with full commentary. Before you could continue—

"Dr. L/N," your savior called, tone light but cutting through the air like a scalpel—just loud enough to interrupt whatever nonsense Jackson was about to say next.

You turned and there he was.

Dr. Robby—your chaos compass, your caffeinated partner in crime, loyal boyfriend, favorite soon-to-be roommate, and at the moment, your very composed but unmistakably irritated attending—his expression perfectly calm to the untrained eye, but you could read the tension in every line of his face.

"Got a case," he said flatly. "Now. Come on."

You blinked, confused but relieved. "Okay."

You didn’t miss the way Jackson shrank a little at Robby’s tone, nor the way Langdon grinned over his coffee like he'd just won a bet. You caught up to him by the supply closet, where he all but dragged you inside and shut the door behind you.

"What's up?" you asked, eyebrow raised.

He stared at you, a little too intently, like he wasn’t sure whether to scold you or wrap you in bubble wrap. "Are you seriously asking me that after that guy just tried to chat you up in the middle of the ER like this is Grey’s Anatomy?"

You blinked, tilting your head. "Wait… was that flirting?"

Robby blinked back. "You’re joking."

You were. "I thought he just wanted to split an energy drink or something."

He huffed a quiet laugh, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders as his hands came up to ruffle his hair. "Jesus."

You poked his chest lightly. "You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered, you know that?"

His ears went red immediately. "I’m not flustered. I’m... professionally annoyed."

You blinked. "You’re jealous?"

"I’m not jealous," he said tightly. "I’m—concerned."

You grinned, stepping close. "Concerned is hot."

"He was twelve."

"He's definitely at least twenty-six."

Robby exhaled through his nose. "I’ve been very chill about this whole 'let’s not tell the hospital we’re dating' thing. But if I see him so much as come within two feet of you again, I’m submitting a formal notice that you are very much taken and a complaint with HR about his behavior. And if that doesn’t work—" he leaned in closer, voice dropping—"I’m dealing with him myself."

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a smirk. "What’s that going to look like—are you gonna slam your clipboard down and tag team him with Abbot? Because honestly, I wouldn’t hate that."

Your voice was teasing, but your cheeks were warm. Watching Robby get territorial from a respectful distance? Unexpectedly hot. And now, you couldn’t help but push his buttons to see how much more riled up he’d get.

He didn’t answer. Just leaned in slowly, deliberately, raising both of his arms to cage you in—palms flat against the wall on either side of your head. The move sent heat straight to your cheeks, blinking up at him as he leaned closer, so close his breath brushed your lips.

Then he kissed you—hard and fast and possessive, his hands sliding up into your hair, threading through it with the kind of reverence that made your knees go weak. You gasped softly into his mouth, one hand instinctively rising to cup his jaw, your fingers grazing the edge of his beard before curling into the softness of it. He leaned into your touch, like he’d been waiting for it all day.

Your other hand slid up into his hair, tugging gently at the strands at the nape of his neck, and you felt it—the way his pulse thrummed just beneath your fingertips, the way he shivered just slightly at your touch.

His thumbs caressed the line of your jaw, then drifted down to the curve of your neck, holding you like you might slip away if he wasn’t careful.

It was fire and softness, urgency wrapped in warmth. And you never wanted to stop.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. "Is that allowed in a supply closet?" you smirked. 

"If they didn’t want people kissing in here, they wouldn’t make it this conveniently located."

You smacked his arm, giggling.

"I’m serious," he added, voice softening but maintaining a firm undertone. "I don't share."

You looped your arms around his neck. "Good. I wasn’t offering."

He grinned, still close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "That thing you said back there—about boundaries, about respect." He paused, eyes scanning yours. "That was... incredible. Seriously. You handled it perfectly."

Your brows furrowed for a moment, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

"It was... commanding," he added a moment later, voice lower, more playful now. "Alluringly so."

You snorted. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah," he agreed, pulling you closer to pepper your face with kisses. "Ridiculously in love with a woman who knows exactly how to shut down frat boys without breaking stride, resuscitate half the ER, deliver excellent patient care, and still make rounds on time."

His hand slid down your back, warm and steady. "You’re the whole damn package, you know that? It’s genuinely unfair."

You chuckled, burying your face briefly in his shoulder.

Somewhere down the hall, Dana's voice rang echoed through the PA, summoning you for the consult. Robby groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"This is not over," he muttered.

You kissed the corner of his mouth, a smirk following soon after where your lips lingered. "Got any dinner plans?"

Robby raised an eyebrow, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Actually, yeah. I’ve got a date—with my incredibly beautiful, breathtaking, beyond intelligent, and painfully witty girlfriend."

You blinked at him, then laughed, delighted. "Wow. Sounds like a catch."

He leaned in and bumped his nose against yours, grinning. "She really is. And I think she’s about to say yes."

You didn’t say anything at first. Just smiled, so full of affection it made your cheeks ache. Then you nodded, brushing your thumb gently along his cheekbone.

"Yeah," you whispered, "she definitely is."

[rosemaryhoney27]

Phantom Manor

Danny had been through a lot. He’d been half-killed in a lab accident, gained ghost powers, and then been chased through the multiverse by a government that would’ve loved to dissect him like a frog in eighth-grade biology. So when the portal spat him out into this dimension—one packed with capes, cowls, metas, and aliens—he figured he’d finally caught a break.

No GIW agents. No Fenton parents shouting about ectoplasmic anomalies. No Skulker showing up to hunt him down in the middle of English class. Just... peace.

Well, almost.

The major snag? He was homeless. Again.

No ID, no money, and the last place he tried to haunt had been a warehouse with exactly three raccoons who did not appreciate his presence. He couldn’t go back to school, didn’t know how to get a job, and sleeping on rooftops got old fast, even for a ghost boy.

That was when Danny heard the most ridiculously useful rumor ever: Billionaire Bruce Wayne had a habit of adopting black-haired, blue-eyed children like it was a competitive sport.

And Danny? Well, he had black hair and blue eyes... at least half the time.

Good enough for government work.

So one night, in the dead of moonlight, Danny phased through the locked gates, passed the high-tech security system, and slipped straight into Wayne Manor. The place was huge, quiet, and oddly comfortable despite its bat-themed overtones. He didn’t even try to sneak around like a spy—he just floated through until he found an empty bedroom with a made bed, thick curtains, and a view of the garden.

He claimed it.

No one said anything.

So Danny just... stayed.

Danny didn’t mean to con anyone. It’s just that no one noticed him. He figured maybe there were already so many black-haired, blue-eyed kids around here that adding one more didn’t even make a blip on the radar. And since Jack and Maddie Fenton may not have taught their kids about interdimensional politics, they did make sure their kids had proper manners.

So, the first time he ate in the massive kitchen, he washed the dishes afterward. Alfred showed up just as Danny was drying the last fork, his sharp eyes watching from the doorway.

“...I see Master Grayson’s taste in midnight snacks has rubbed off on someone,” Alfred remarked.

Danny froze. “Uh—yeah. Sorry. Just thought I’d clean up after myself.”

The butler narrowed his eyes. Then nodded. “A rare instinct in this household. Continue.”

And from then on, it became a routine.

Danny helped in the kitchen. He helped clean the manor. He weeded the garden (phasing out any actual creepy-crawlies). He carried laundry baskets. He repaired a broken picture frame. When one of the Batmobiles needed a patch-up job on a fin, Danny phased into the engine and fixed it from the inside out while humming along to an old Ghostbusters theme remix.

Alfred was absolutely delighted with the newest, polite, respectful, and hard-working “Wayne.” Even if he had no earthly clue when exactly this young man had joined the family.

It took a few weeks before anyone realized something was off.

“Alfred,” Bruce said over breakfast one morning, “why is there an unfamiliar teenage boy pressure-washing the back patio with what looks like... green plasma?”

Alfred sipped his tea without looking up. “That’s Master Daniel. He’s been most helpful.”

“…We don’t have a Master Daniel.”

Alfred finally looked up, deadpan. “Master Bruce, I have tolerated you bringing home orphans like stray cats in the rain. The boy helps clean. He gardens. He fixed the coffee machine. I will not be chasing him out. Adopt him, give him a room, or be quiet about it.”

Bruce blinked. “...Fair.”

Meanwhile, Danny was just glad he hadn’t been blasted with a Batarang on sight.

He had a bed, food, quiet (well, relatively), and access to the Wayne library’s wi-fi. He was pretty sure Damian glared at him more than necessary and that Jason kept trying to figure out if Danny was secretly a zombie, but otherwise?

He was kind of fitting in.

At least until someone walked in on him halfway intangible while reaching through the fridge for leftover pie.

“…Master Daniel,” Alfred said from behind him, entirely unshaken. “If you are going to help with the silverware later, do remember to phase after you wash your hands.”

Danny, still half inside the fridge, stared.

“…Yes, sir.”

And thus, somehow, without anyone signing a single form or asking too many questions, Danny Fenton became the most ghostly Wayne sibling yet.

And honestly?

He was kinda cool with that.

[lamtfluff]

A few years ago I had a phase of being REALLY into digital privacy, using tor, duckduckgo, etc before suffering some burnout because I was trying to be 100% secure. So I'm by no means a expert I'm just relaying experience.

The culture of a lot of left leaning and "fandommy" sites (tumblr, twitter, etc) tends to fear/dislike (or just not know about) a lot of the IT stuff used by people into online privacy because they asscoiate it with "techbros". ESPECIALLY anything even remotely involving cryptocurrency. But if Trump is going to start censoring things and making morning after pills harder to get now might be a VERY good time for Americans to get into online privacy and how to avoid being tracked as well as avoiding censorship. Perhaps even some crypto to buy things discretly (or perhaps if ICE agents start caring about cash?) and because many activists groups also take donations in crypto. Never dealt with crypto myself but from what I know Monero was designed to be more untracable than Bitcoin. Don't know how succesfull that is though. Definetly get into privacy in general though.

I'll leave some useful links to get started. Words of advice:

Don't install a fuckton of privacy extensions on your browser, your unique combination of extensions will give your browser a unique fingerprint. Instead read up on and pick a few commonly used ones.

The BIGGEST annoyance for me was acedemic/proffesional settings because noone wants to switch over to some software they never heard off for one group project. Personally I use some normie software for exclusivly proffesional purposes with NO other information on me and do my actual browsing/leisure computer use more privatly.

https://www.privacytools.io/os: General software/browser/etc recomendations.

https://coveryourtracks.eff.org/: Test how private your browser is.

https://www.torproject.org/: THE gold standard for privacy focused browsers. Also obscures ip. Might not always be practical. Has the disadvantage of being notoriously slow and is blocked by some services/websites to avoid people bypassing ip bans and whatnot. Probably don't use this as your everyday browser but if you ever need to look up anything without censorship use tor.

https://tails.net/: Install a portable mini operating system on a usb stick to browse privately from any computer.

https://www.eff.org/ Electronic frontier foundations website.

https://mastodon.social/explore Don't have experience with it myself. But open source social media that should be much harder to censor.

Tumblr probably won't like me talking too directly about this because of ties to piracy but for people interested in banned books https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shadow_library should be an interesting read...