#I keep hoping for happy endings that I know I won't get but I'm in too deep at this point

[middlingmay]

Hello 😌 for the late night call prompt:

"i know you didn't just hang up on me without saying 'i love you'."

This could be so sweet (or not). Would love to see your take on it!

Hello! I'm feeling the fluff today, so I hope you like it. Thanks for the ask :) <3

John's mouth had served him both well and ill in his life.

He was funny and he was charming. He was able to spin a story and keep a table entertained. He could cheer someone up easy, diffuse arguments if he chose to. And because he could read people quick sharp, he could either make fast friends with a few choice words, or could provoke or end a fight depending on which of his more mercurial moods he was looking to feed that night.

But his favourite thing, he'd come to find over the years, was talking in a constant, rhythmic roll and lulling Gale, a notoriously poor sleeper, to a good night's sleep.

John wasn't even going to let state lines keep him from that privilege.

Work had sent him away for a couple of nights to deal with an issue and another officer. It's what he got with his reputation for being able to influence and mediate with the best of them. And of course, just two days before he was due to go, Gale fell sick. Not sick enough to warrant John calling it off; but just sick enough to worry and stress him all the way out because he wouldn't be here to take care of his Gale.

Gale who had no sympathy for his plight whatsoever.

"It's two days. I can take care of myself; I'm a big boy."

John leered without intent and moseyed into Gale's personal space. "Oh, I know."

Gale spluttered a dry cough into John's chest and struggled to get his breath back and John whined.

"Come on, Gale. Just say the word and I'll cancel. You won't have to lift a finger until you're better."

Gale pushed him off and tugged the cover he had draped around him like a cape in tighter. "No, thank you," he grimaced. "You'll hover, you'll get sick, then I'll be taking care of the two of us. Get to stepping, John. Quicker you get there, quicker you get back."

So they'd said goodbye, Gale tolerating John's too-many long looks back with barely a roll of his eyes (and John knew that was just because even his eyes were hurting). But he could kick him out the house and force him to go to work and make fun of him as much as he liked, but Gale couldn't stop John from calling him for their regular night time chatterbox sessions.

"I thought you were working," Gale drawled raspy into the phone.

"At nine pm? Not enough overtime pay in the world, sweets. How you feeling?"

Gale's answers were brief and perfunctory, but John could hear the ever-present affection even through the brevity. And John was always happy to pick up the slack. He murmured to Gale about the trip, the shit show at the office, and the gossip he entirely made up about his colleagues in another state just to keep himself entertained. He spoke about the town and the hotel, and what he had to eat. He told him every tiny detail he could think of, until he heard Gale's breaths even out and the soft snore of the congested drift across the line.

Chuckling low so as not to wake Gale, he finally hung up, proud of himself for being able to fulfil his duties even if he wasn't there in person.

But it only lasted a few seconds before his phone screen lit up, and Doll flashed across the screen. John swiped and lifted the phone to his ear to hear Gale's thick, sleepy reprimand.

"I know you didn't just hang up on me without saying I love you."

John grinned wide and dimpled and all teeth and gum at Gale's grumpy complaint. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. How rude."

"Mmph." Offended. Like a puffed up cat. John could practically see the displeased frown in the centre of Gale's brow.

"I love you. Now go to sleep."

"Mmph." Contented. Pleased. Maybe with that tiny little smile Gale had that pulled his apple cheeks up.

John stayed on the phone long past Gale's return to sleep. Just in case.

[benevolentcalamity]

Once a Father, Never a Daddy [Abusive!Doflamingo & Fem!Child!Reader][1/2]

I do not know him enough so I'm not at all confident in my ability to write him, so I apologize in advance. So I'm very happy accepting criticism/tips. (I'm just after Thriller Bark btw.)

Disclaimer: This fic contains graphic depictions of child abuse/neglect and may be considered triggering. Please do not read more if you cannot handle these themes. If you or a loved one has gone through this, you're absolutely not alone, and help/better days are always there.

Also, this is split in two because when you get fics too long, Tumblr just starts lagging and that REALLY annoys me. So I apologize in advance if pacing's not as stellar as most of my stuff. I'll make it up to you.

CURTAINS!

"DADDY, LET ME OUT!!!"

Your little hands bang on the impossibly still door until the skin splits on your knuckles. With all your might you scratch, slap, and pound on the wood, feeling it press a little stronger against you with your resistance. Tears pouring down your cheeks your hair stands on end as the darkness behind you settles in; a punishment you know too well.

"PLEASE DADDY, I'M SORRY!" You scream, hands already raw from struggle. "DADDY, PLEASE, LET ME OUT! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN, I PROMISE!"

A harsh pound that rattles the door, resounding through your room, sends a piercing chill through your stomach and sends you to the floor. Scooting back and hurrying to your feet, you prepare for the doorknob to twist, for him to come barging in and demand you not make any more noise. But this is enough to scare you into silence - and he seems to know that now.

Softly you sniffle, reaching out as the all-too-familiar sound of the knob being secured and locked clicks. Wiping away your tears you stand, reaching and just barely wrapping your hand around it. With all your might you grab and attempt to twist; it doesn't budge an inch.

"... Please let me out..."

There's a sound like feet retreating from the door, and the loneliness finally hits as you back up, defeat weighing your shoulders. Slinking away, you turn back towards your room. First thing to catch your attention is your nightstand, bereft of the lamp Uncle Rossi gave you to cut through the dark. It had a smell to it, somehow, and you really liked it.

Without it you can't stand the dark - and as punishment for not doing what daddy said, it's gone. Wiping a stray tear from your cheek you grab your stuffed lamb Cuppy, putting him on the bed before pitter-pattering to your wardrobe.

creak

Your eyes shoot to the door, back stiffening as your hair stands on end. Every limb freezes, and your heart leaps into your throat. Swallowing, your hands go up to prepare to shield your head, lest your noise have bothered anyone. As your fingers chill to the bone, your knees lock and the darkness creeps back into your senses.

The doorknob twitches. Your hands fly to your mouth to keep from shrieking. Tears revived and leaking, you await on bated breath... It does make daddy especially angry, after all, when you try to hide from him.

You still have the scar on your arm.

A lump forms and engorges, threatening to choke you if you don't make a sound. You learned better from screaming "Go away" or "I hate you", so that's simply not an option. Gritting your teeth you step more into the open, hoping that an effort not to hide would let you get your lamp back. Hiding, running away... all of it is pointless.

After an eternity it jimmies and then turns after a few small clicks, and a familiar black and red lit up by the hallway relaxes you into relieved elation.

"Uncle Rossi-!" You whisper-yell, him putting a finger to his lips and looking behind him.

With quick movements he beckons you forward, and you rush to him in the time it takes to put a plate full of food on the small chair near the door. Kneeling down he pats your cheek and kisses your forehead, giving you a toothy, reassuring grin.

"Don't forget to eat out the window, and drop it once you're done. It's okay, dad won't notice one plate being missing," He whispers, ruffling your hair. "I'm not letting you go to bed hungry." He's done this every time. "... It's going to be okay, little cutie. I promise."

You nod. "... Does daddy still love me?"

For a moment he's quiet. His expression falls solemn, head lifting to look over his shoulder again. With a sigh, his hand ruffles your hair one more time, before suddenly he smiles again.

"I love you!" He chirps. The words wrap around your heart, like a soft fleece blanket, and like a charm, your sorrow is calmed, and your tears finally stop. "Don't forget that, okay? Uncle Rossi loves you."

Nodding, you finally manage to smile. "I love you too, Uncle Rossi."

His head snaps up again, and he pats your head and hurries out. The doorknob again is secured, and his feet fade out quickly. Swallowing, you grab the plate, carefully bringing it to the window. Unlatching it you crouch as the panes swing over your head, setting the plate of food - bouillabaisse - on the ledge and chowing down.

The moonlight peers out from the clouds like your only friend, and peace returns again to your heart.

"... It'll be different tomorrow..." You tremble. "I won't be bad again, I promise..."

Finishing with urgency, you drop the plate and fork into the sea, pushing the window closed and locked. Crawling into bed, you listen to the footsteps above your room, to the sea calming outside. Yawning, you drift into the now placated shadows, hugging Cuppy close to your heart.

___

A sound like something dropping to the ground above you wakes you with a start. Swallowing harshly you're quick to climb out of bed, little time to spare, and wipe your mouth as you rush to your wardrobe. You're just quick enough to grab one of your favorite cotton shirts, a pair of shorts, and a clean pair of underwear as the doorknob is unbound and unlocked.

You swallow, harshly, rushing towards the center again as dad's blond hair peeks atop the door. As he straightens back up, his head doesn't need to look long to find you. Feet planting in place, you watch, hands clenched to keep from shaking and lip wobbling, as he approaches.

"Behave, maggot," He hisses, holding his hand out.

Eyebrow quirked at you managing not to flinch, he impatiently taps his foot as you reach up to it. Harshly he grabs it, yanking you forward. His large pace forces you into a jog, matching his pace with every third step. At first you're staring up at him, waiting for him to even turn his head your way, to ask how you slept, or even just what you want for breakfast. Or maybe, just maybe, that he loves you and today it'll be different. Better, even.

None of this happens. Your bottom lip wobbles as the familiar doors to the bathroom appear past the corner.

"Take a damn bath." He shoves you to another crewmate, not even giving you a glance. "Watch it, keep it away from me."

Your hand reaches for him as you're guided into the bathroom. "Daddy?" Without a glance or gesture, your lip wobbles further, heart tying in knots. "DADDY!"

A dark cloud weighs on your shoulders again, guiding you to the bathtub as said crewmate puts some soap beside it and a towel. Patting your head in pity, he kneels down to murmur in your ear.

"Disobedient children aren't rewarded." The words are an icy dagger in your stomach. "... If you want your daddy to love you, maybe you should be a good child that deserves to be loved."

With that you're left alone, breath hitched in your throat as your heart runs cold. Staring at your reflection in the water, you cast aside your dirty clothes, stepping into it and sitting. The lukewarm water manages to chill you to the bone, to where you need to hug your knees to feel warm. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you glance at the door, waiting... and waiting...

You sigh, pinching your nose and turning sideways to completely submerge. Curling up, your [h/c] hair waves out in tendrils as your legs minutely twitch in unease. As your lungs slowly grow sore, you momentarily wonder if it's even possible to be good... What did you do? Why won't dad look your way?

Sitting back up, you gulp down air as the answer to your question comes from the red syrup of your shampoo.

"... Just do what daddy says?" Would that make him happy? Will he love you? Do what he says without complaining... Yea, it's as simple as that, isn't it? "... I'll be a good girl. I won't complain about daddy's work."

Yea. It's as simple as that.

Rinsing your head clean, you comb the conditioner from your hair under the running water. Reaching you grab the towel and brush, drying off and putting yourself together, painstaking as the process of brushing your hair is. All the same you finish, tying it back. Sliding back into your shoes you jump up onto the knob, it turning in your hold, and let the door swing open, taking you with it. Lowering back onto your feet, you turn-

"Get your ass to the poop deck." You're shoved into a pace, which you continue with a nod. "Captain's orders, help out with scrubbin' if you want breakfast."

"I understand."

__

It's unbearably hot.

Dunking your brush in the cold, soapy water, you wince at the glare of the sun on the sea, washing away dirt and scum. It takes a few swipes, being as small as you are, but you manage. It's a process that sees you biting your lip so hard in concentration that it bleeds, but you do your best, scrub until your arms are sore, and repeat.

"-and as I was saying, Rosinante, it's complete bullshit."

Dad's voice makes you perk up, and you turn a bit to see where he's coming from. A big smile is what you present as he and Uncle Rossi ascend from below deck, waiting for him to look your way. Dad doesn't but Uncle Rossi gives you a massive smile and thumbs up before dad jabs him, regaining his attention.

"We've had issues with this same supplier awhile now. The frequency of our visits is starting to annoy me."

Standing up from scrubbing, you take a deep breath. Pittering over to him you find his leg, swallowing. Rearing, you take a small leap, wrapping your arms around it like a peach tree.

"Daddy~!" You let out, hugging him tightly-

A harsh kick to your stomach, sending you all the way back to your bucket and straight onto your ass.

...

... Oh.

I'm not doing enough... You turn back to the bucket and brush, biting back tears. Just keep going... Do your best. Daddy will love you if you do.

All the same, your tears keep falling onto your hard work.

A hand on your head, ruffling your hair, tugs you from your sorrow. Looking up, Uncle Rossi crouches down beside you, pointing at your bucket. Now it's too cloudy and dirty to clean efficiently. Managing a nod, you wipe your tears with your arm, standing up and dumping the bucket.

Keeping a tight hold on it, you pause just as you're at dad's side, gaze turning from below deck to him.

"... Do you love me?" You ask.

Not even a glance. You raise up on your tippy-toes, tilting your head.

"Daddy?" You ask again. "Do you love me?"

Lowering, you wait, staring and waiting for what... really has to be forever. Before long though tears blur your vision, and you bite back a sniff as you rush below deck. Not good enough - you're just not good enough yet. If you work to the bone, if you're so to-the-letter it's painful, that's when he'll look your way. You just have to remember that.

Be perfect, and nothing less; push past your limits; endure and don't cry. It'll be unbearably hard, but if you manage to do all of this, dad has to love you.

It's not a long walk to where there's more water by any means. Operating the pump, that's the real test, but you manage just by jumping up onto it. It pinches down on your wrist every time it comes back down, but it doesn't hurt long. Rubbing the red marks it makes, you begin the arduous task of carrying the bucket.

Sloshing and rocking against your body, you stiffen your legs anytime you feel yourself wobble. When the water reaches and touches your chin you wince, staying still until it stops. Every maybe three steps and you're losing your grip, but still you try.

Something swipes the bottom of your feet, and your shrieks are drowned by the water pouring onto your face as you fall onto your butt. Bucket landing perfectly onto your head to hide your face, the cruel laughter of passing crewmates resounds through the rotting wood.

"Better mop that up, kid! You made that mess!"

For a moment you're stuck, legs too heavy to move. You try to move your arms, but there's no feeling. Swallowing, you try to open your mouth to complain, but the lump in your throat takes the sound before you make it. A mix of tears and water pours down your face, your jaw starting to wobble. Biting your lip harshly you force yourself back to your feet.

The bucket slides off your head, falling harshly to the floor. For a moment your gaze turns back to the steps leading above deck.

... Mop first.

Clutching your shirt tightly, your shoes squish against the floor as you go to find the mop, usually near the bathroom. Sniffling harshly, you wipe your face, shaking your head like it'll get rid of this horrible lump. Still your lips purse, and still everything hurts when the supply closet door opens. Reaching, you take the mop in your hands and take a deep breath.

Do your best...

'Watch it, keep it away from me.'

It. You.

... Get out of the way. Maybe that's what he wants.

As much as you want to go back, to try again, maybe it'll just be better to put yourself away. It'd be... a nice reprieve, maybe. And maybe they'll have something good to eat for lunch, seeing as you might not get breakfast after all. That's just what happens sometimes, after all.

You want to puke; to cry; to scream; to just run to Uncle Rossi. Everything and anything feels more like a dead end the more you think, until you've come up blank on what else to do.

"... I hate this..." You whimper, rubbing your arm as you pitter-patter back to your room. I don't know what's wrong with me...

... Someone, please...

Tears well up in your eyes.

Someone tell me what's wrong! Tell me what's bad! Please tell me, someone-!

Your pace picks up, eventually zooming past countless doors and shapes.

Just... How much longer...?

In what must have been a blink you're safe back in your room. For a second you turn back to the door, cheeks waterlogged and red, waiting for footsteps. Wanting someone to just scoop you up and hold you, tell you what's wrong with you - or that maybe nothing is... Is there?

Meandering to your window, you crack it open, and dad's voice is the first thing you hear.

"... Where's the problem?"

"What do you mean, Doflamingo sir?"

"I mean, where's the fucking maggot." Your heart feels a sharp, cold sting.

"She- it went back below deck. I can fetch it so it can keep scrubbing-"

"I didn't give it an order to do chores, I gave you an order to keep it away from me. Looks like it knows what that means. But enough about it. We're arriving to Foam Town shortly, for the supplier. Don't forget the orders."

"Get the Devil Fruit, and kill him, right?"

"Mhm. I don't take kindly to someone holding out on me. Especially when I've been so kind and generous. That won't happen again, though."

"Do you need Corazon to keep an eye on the kid?"

"Tch. It won't be an issue. Just as long as it doesn't get in the way of our business, I don't care what it gets up to... Ugh, but I'm going to hear it cry at some point today. Have someone get it some food."

"Understood, sir."

Backing up once you hear the sound of heavy footsteps, you meander to your shelf. Tugging a worn book from it - a collection of fairytales dad let you get when he looked at you - you hurry to your bed, jumping to get onto it without a hitch. Swallowing harshly you open it to a page with a family of rabbits stealing food from a mean old farmer's garden.

You like these stories, very much. But the pages are falling out, and you can't ask for a new one right now.

Just when you're absorbed enough to where the lump in your throat is gone, there's a knock at the door.

"Got your lunch, kid." That's not Uncle Rossi or dad. The door opens a crack and a bowl is haphazardly dropped on the small table. "We're landing soon. Be on your best behavior."

"... Thank you," You manage, the door slamming your reply.

Putting the book down you slide out of bed, going to receive the meal. It's a lobster risotto, dad's favorite. Tears well up again as you take the bowl back to your bed to eat and read. Dad doesn't care that you do so, you've been told, but you're still careful.

"... Foam Town. Okay." You mutter, something lighting up in your chest.

... This time, it's different.

[softshuji]

Any men out there wanna pretend to be my bf to get my parents off my case about marriage? I am so so serious right now.

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

eddie not having a partner and carlo getting married late bc "my homoerotic friendship is more important to me than regular sex"

[torchickentacos]

Ok so far my experience with House MD is "everyone here sucks on pretty much every level possible. why do I love them so much"

[murobrown]

.

[tenok]

While it's a great analysis, especially the part about Aziraphale being desperate for respect, recognition and validation from people he consider his authorities — which is somehow get painted as his moral failure in fandom and not an inherent human quality, — I want to disagree (or more like... look from other perspective?) on couple things.

First: I always took "bad guys" as face value and I don't get what's fandom problem with it. Yes, the wording might be better, but it's a shorthand for all party lines from both sides packed into two words and it works for this rushed conversation. The point with "bad guys" and "good guys" is that it's arbitrary sides, and Aziraphale and Crowley points it again and again, aren't they? It's not a morality question at this point: they just sides, sure, but they have *goals*. Heavens is the "good guys" that works toward ultimate good (in theory! We and Aziraphale know that it's not the case). So, if you correct this system toward the goal it supposed to achieve, it should start make "good". Now, hell is the "bad guys". Correcting it toward it goal, making it effective leads to making more "badness" (look at Crowley: he's bad at being that kind of demon that kills and tortures, but his innovations actually *effective* at making more people miserable and making bad decisions — it's brushed in series but was more pointed in book). So, yes, "of course you said no, you're the bad guys" there = "your goals as to 'not make people miserable' contradicts hells main goal, while making things good are technically heavens goal and we can work on it there, as you always wished" (yes, heavens actually don't give a shit about humanity, but Aziraphale plans to correct this! How far he will get with it is another goal) (arguably, Crowley also doesn't want to make humans lives better, he's perfectly fine with how they are — it's Aziraphale that loves to meddle, but it looks like he thinks that they align there, making leap from "don't want to kill innocent kids" to "actually wants to go out of my way to change things to the better"). Now, I *do* think that if Crowley told him that he plans to go into hell and become the new prince to make things *less bad*, make it *harder* to hell to gather souls, make it *easier* for people who get into hell because things are unfair and they stole some bread to eat, Aziraphale probably *would've* decided that it's very noble of him (and than he would put him in box and secure this box in a safe, because hell no you're not going lol he's overcompensating when it's the matters of Crowley safety), but it's probably not something he ever considered — which is part of him thinking in black and white, sure, but also like. He has no reason to think about how Crowley can reconstruct hell (again, I want to stress it: Crowley don't think about changing things, and all Aziraphale knows about hell Is from him and heavens propaganda, it's not his fault if he's left with impression that you can't make hell's better!) daydreamed for years about what he would've do as Supreme Archangel, so I think we can go easy on him there.

But what I absolutely don't see is him *wanting* angel Crowley back in any way aside from protection it'll give them and justice it'll bring to Crowley (in Aziraphale's mind), him wanting to change him in any way. Look. He was always accepting of Crowley from their first meeting as a demon, and he never shows any concerns towards him that's not based on fears that based on real possibilities (are you tempting me? Can someone there overhear that we were called friends? Are you lying? Etc). From immediately accepting his new looks and names, to always stating "you're a demon and I hang out with you", not "you're a demon and I hang out with you despite of this". More than that, he's ready to accept version of Crowley that much worse than he are, actually (notice how when he asks "are this your doing?" in Bastille or with nazis, he's not outraged, he's not disgusted, he's mildly irrated at worst! He's not pushing him away based on this! If Crowley will ask him to lend him a shovel he'll probably came ready to help to hide a body, he's that ride or die. Now, I think it's as important to the acceptance as "I know you, you'll never do X". Aziraphale ahowes again and again that there's no unforgivable with him, he will be ready to forgive and forget). And look at how he talks about Crowley to other angels — he can't imagine himself saying something about how bad he is even to beings that haven't heard any honest word from him for millennia, it's just not something he has in his mind. He uses an argument "you were an angel once" twice in this series, both time when people's lives were on stakes, and I can discuss it separately since it's already too long but it was it, just an argument he used with several others to try and persuade Crowley (and Aziraphale, being not really great with social skills, usually uses arguments that will work on him, so). I won't even touch the walls and car and color of Crowley eyes. It's not Starmaker eyes, we all already gushed about it, whatever. (And he wasn't made *uncomfortable* by Starmaker, aren't he? He immediately get *afraid* for him, which is integral part of this relationship. So I don't think he ever dreamed that making Crowley an angel again would make him any different, make him "proper" angel that would be easier to love. Notice how his offer is not going with "and you should promise to be on your best behavior", it's actually partnered with "now I'll be the one in power, so I will protect you from mistreatment").

Honestly I love fics where Aziraphale struggles with shame, but I can't see it as "I ashamed to be attracted to demon so I want to change him into angel" even way back, and definitely not at "six thousand years later" point (and I think it's important to remember that flashbacks are exactly this: flashbacks. Like, you can't hold against Aziraphale beliefs he already changed). I would've compare it to his love of food (sorry Crowley but you definitely a snack). See, Aziraphale ashamed of not being proper angel, but he's not showed to be ashamed of his love of food or to think that food is really a disgusting thing that sullied him. It's complicated feeling, but to love a demon and being ashamed of not being proper angel is not necessary means you ashamed of your attraction, or you ashamed of him being specifically demon, it's more like "I'm ashamed that I'm not ashamed" (forgive me for parallels, but: I'm a person with low empathy, I'm not ashamed of it, I for sure don't want to change it, I'm actually really glad that word tragedies are not affecting me in the same way it can affect my more empathetic friends, but sometimes I get ashamed *because* I like how I am and I don't want to change it, since I know that from many people's perspective it means I'm bad and also lazy. I think Aziraphale really showed it in his "I'm soft" and I think it corresponds well with how he feels about Crowley. Call it more the shame of wanting good things for himself, not the shame of wanting something bad; it goes nicely with Crowley tempting him into doing nice things for himself, aren't it? Ok, now I'm not sure I make sense whatsoever).

Now, sure, maybe he felt some joy about making things easier in his mind if Crowley would become an angel — sure, there'll be much less shades of gray than in relationships with demon. It's possible! But in the whole I'll argue that it's just a headcanon, and that in canon we have no indication of Aziraphale being ashamed of Crowley/attraction to Crowley or at least it being his motivation, partially or wholly, to make Crowley an angel (I can see him being ashamed *now*, because he made an offer and was rejected and now Crowley thinks that he's stupid for accepting and Metatron thinks he's stupid for offering and everyone around him thinks he's *not capable* — and look, aren't it funny how fandom latched on Crowley being the one in need of praise and reassurance, while it's Aziraphale the one that always gets belittled in canon and can't stand up for himself? Fascinating)

Anyway, I agree on some bits and I think that Aziraphale's beautiful brain is full on contradictions and denial, which is what that makes him interesting and unpredictable and what made Crowley fall in love with him in the first place. And I'll be a minority there, but I don't want him to change this, like, just give him information and let him build his best decisions on it I'm sure whatever happens would be FUN. But the part about shame is just not something I see in canon, and while maybe for the second there Crowley thought AHA SO YOU WANT ME TO CHANGE, I can't believe that he, having all proofs on his hands from the six thousand years of knowing Aziraphale and being his friend, can really think "ohhhh he never loved me like thiiis he would prefer an aaangel". Like. No? Like, I do think that they will (or actually that any competent adults on their place would've) resolve it with easy "hey, when you said X, it sounded like Y and I was really sad for a moment" (and let's not forget Crowley picking on Aziraphale being incapable and stupid, which is something he needs to apologize too and probably keep it in mind for their next fight, since it's something he tends to do when he's frustrated and angry/scared, as we saw in season 1). I think the things they need to discuss for more healthy relationship is much more boring, like what things we can do as unit, what we can do separately, how to communicate it clearly and how to not get defensive/attacking when we enter a disagreement. I also think that it's not really great for TV plot, so on screen we will get tearful confessions and a kiss, but whatever, I have my fanfiction for it.

I can go on, since there's a lot in original post to discuss about, but I already spend half-hour on this and I really need get back to work lol. Thanks for interesting points, and as usual, the most important part is that Aziraphale's really, truly good, even when he's being a bastard 😀

if you take "I can make a difference" at face value you simply must also consider "you're the bad guys.” like they are both vital aspects of aziraphale's decision. the problem is not just aziraphale's attempt to lead a corrupt system, it is also his continued belief in the superiority of heaven and angels over hell and demons. that's why crowley was so hurt. it's not just a miscommunication, or a disagreement on the practicalities of changing hearts and minds in heaven--it is a fundamental misunderstanding of morality and of crowley as a person. if crowley had asked aziraphale to come to hell to help fix it and protect the earth, he would not have gone. he says so. it’s not just about safety, or reform. it is about being Good.

and all of this happens because aziraphale is not just motivated by fear and love: he is also motivated by shame. he is insecure in his identity as an angel and a Good Guy, and both his alienation from heaven and his relationship with crowley have always aggravated this insecurity. it’s why shax’s mockery hit him so hard, and why he’s so susceptible to manipulation from the metatron. he desperately wants to be taken seriously and treated with respect and to have power and be an uncomplicated Good Guy, and that is just as much of a motivating factor in his decision as his desire to protect humanity and crowley.

and re: “appoint you to be an angel”: I know people want to insist that aziraphale has never wanted to change anything about crowley, but I’m sorry, I just don’t think that’s true. over and over in season 2 aziraphale demonstrates a desire to sand the rough edges off people and things for the sake of the Greater Good, without consideration for the free will or complex emotions of others. obviously this tendency culminates in the ball, where he exerts control over all of the humans to make everything perfect for maggie and nina, and in doing so, infringes on their autonomy and nina’s (crowley’s narrative mirror!) capacity to feel her own anger and sadness. and he has never liked that crowley is a demon. in his mind, the problem has always been that crowley was put in the wrong category, not that the entire system of dividing people and angels into Good and Bad is ridiculous. that’s the exact lesson he needs to learn.

and yes, his intentions are good, absolutely. I don’t think aziraphale ever acts out of malice, and I do think he genuinely wants the best for the people around him, particularly crowley. after all, if crowley is accepted as an angel again, as aziraphale has always secretly considered him to be, their relationship can (in his mind) finally stop being so fraught with danger and conflict. (the other side of that, of course, is that aziraphale can also stop being so ashamed for loving someone who is supposed to be Bad, and everything in his life will make sense again, the way it hasn’t since he met that star maker who got so upset about god’s plan.)

but that’s not who crowley is, and it never has been. even before he fell, crowley’s recklessness and relentless questions made aziraphale uncomfortable. their relationship has never been safe or easy, and in wanting to make it so, aziraphale is demonstrating a desire to change the parts of crowley that led to his fall, whether he intends to or not.

I’m rambling, but the point is: the insistence on reframing this moment as a purely selfless, calculated, self-sacrificing decision by aziraphale to protect crowley and the world ignores the uglier parts of the things he said in order to make their eventual reconciliation less complicated, and it’s really frustrating to me. crowley is in fact right to be upset by what he said, and it’s not just a misunderstanding that can be fixed with aziraphale saying “I was only trying to protect you!” and another kiss. it’s a culmination of all of the double think aziraphale has been doing in order to preserve his vision of heaven as The Source Of Truth And Light And Good since before the beginning of time, and it’s time for him to finally unpack it.

(and because every post on the final fifteen needs a disclaimer: aziraphale is trying his best and has an incredible amount of love in his heart and wants so badly to do good and ALSO the things he says, does, and believes can be incredibly hurtful and destructive. all of these things can be true.)

[appocalipse]

the same thing ・❥・b. barnes

summary: during a mission, you put yourself in harm's way to protect bucky. back at the avengers compound, he wants to know why. | 1.4k words, angst with a happy ending

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

"You should be resting."

You don't turn your head as the familiar voice comes from behind you, too focused on the delicate art of making the perfect sandwich to look away. You are a woman on a mission. "I was hungry."

A few seconds later, he's standing next to you, leaning back against the countertop with arms folded across his broad chest. "It's been less than twelve hours since they patched you up."

He's not going to stop hovering, you realize, because that's what Bucky does when he's worried.

"Want half?" Maybe you can distract him with food.

He regards the towering monstrosity on the cutting board and the chaotic layers of meat, cheese, and veggies sticking out at all angles.

You can't help but grin as you slap another slice of bread on top. "A quarter, then?"

Bucky has the audacity to look offended. "I'm not eating that thing."

You cradle the plate in your left hand, holding the sandwich with your right, and give him a pointed look. "Your loss."

Bucky just watches, arms still crossed, as you take a huge bite. His blue eyes remain narrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He's like a one-man intervention waiting to happen. You shrug and wander over to the kitchen table.

Sitting down is a bit of an effort. The wound on your side pulls as you slowly lower yourself onto the chair, but if you can keep from grimacing too hard, Bucky won't be able to tell, will he?

Your smile probably gives you away. He narrows his eyes further. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I'm hungry?"

"No." Bucky takes a step forward. "I meant why did you get between me and that shot?"

Good question. The answer is embarrassing and you'd sooner walk barefoot over hot coals than tell him the truth.

"Hm?"

Another step. "I have superhuman healing powers."

"I'll live."

"It was stupid."

"You're ruining my—ow," you mutter, dropping the sandwich as you instinctively put your hand over your bandage. There goes the carefully maintained poker face. You force yourself to remove your hand and look up at Bucky with what you hope is an innocent expression, even as your side throbs in protest. "My sandwich. You're ruining my sandwich. Are you sure you don't want a bite?"

Bucky is too smart to take the bait. He moves around the table, coming to stand in front of you. The whole 'arms-crossed-stern-glare' thing again. It would be intimidating if you didn't know him so well.

"You could've been killed," he's like a dog with a bone, you swear.

"But I wasn't," you say pointedly. "I'm fine."

"Fine? You were shot."

"Will you just let it go? It doesn't even...hurt...that much," you lie.

It will take a while for the super-soldier serum in your blood — a weaker variation of the same stuff that runs through Bucky's veins — to kick in and accelerate your healing.

Bucky exhales. He looks about ready to give you an earful, but then his gaze shifts and he notices the way you're holding your side, how stiffly you're sitting.

You move your traitorous hand away like you've been burned.

"How bad is it?"

"Huh?" you say in a deliberately casual tone. "It's...totally fine. Not bad, really. Don't worry. I don't even feel it."

There's the reason why you've never been a spy. You can't lie to save your life, apparently.

Or maybe just not to Bucky.

"Okay. It hurts, like, just a little bit...like—like not even hurts hurts, just..." you trail off with a grimace as he comes closer. "More of an itch?"

"An itch?" Bucky sounds dubious.

"More of a burn," you concede. "A...mildly annoying but totally manageable sort of a burn."

"You are a terrible liar."

"Okay, so it hurts," you snap, the last vestiges of your patience vanishing. "I have an extensive hole in my side, I get it. It's not—I don't want you to feel bad about it. It's really not terrible, I can take it."

Bucky shakes his head. "What if it had been worse? What if they'd shot you somewhere vital?"

"They didn't."

"But what if they had?"

"Then I would have died!"

Bucky looks at you like you just kicked him. "Yeah. That's what I'm trying to say."

You open your mouth, then close it.

"You think I want that?" he asks softly.

"No." You suddenly feel very small. "Of course not, I just...just..."

"Just what?"

"I don't know," you admit with a sigh. "It's just that you are...people need you, you know? And you have a life, people who care about you, but I'm just..."

A nobody. A girl with no past, who can barely make sense of her present.

"...it would be better if it was me. That's all."

"It would never be better if you were hurt."

"Bucky—"

"You don't get it, do you?" he asks in a low voice. "People need you too."

You roll your eyes. "Please. You mean the team?"

"Me," Bucky says pointedly. "You think it's easy for me? When you get hurt? It kills me."

The sandwich lays forgotten on the table, squashed flat under your clasped hands. "It...kills you?"

He just looks at you for a long moment.

Your heart flutters in your chest. You have a sudden, intense urge to break the silence with a terrible joke, a quip, something light and witty to dispel the heaviness in the air and make this moment go away. But before you can open your mouth, Bucky shakes his head.

"You kill me."

Okay, that's not where you thought this was going. "What?"

"When you say stuff like that. When you make it sound like you don't matter, like it's okay for you to get hurt. Or worse. It's not."

Oh.

"Bucky," you try again, with a more serious tone. "I don't—"

"Stop saying that," he cuts you off.

You realize your mouth is still hanging open and snap it shut.

"You want to know what I think?" Bucky is so close now you could reach out and touch him, if you were brave enough. "I think that you got this...thing in your head, that you're not good enough, or strong enough, or that you're broken somehow. I think that you forget that it's okay to want things. I think that maybe you think nobody needs you. That no one wants you."

You swallow. You're afraid to say anything, to move, because your heart is hammering against your ribs and Bucky is looking at you like he can see straight into your soul.

"But I do."

"Do...what?" you whisper.

"Want you."

It's the last thing you expect to hear. "Bucky, you don't mean that."

His voice drops an octave. "Don't tell me what I mean."

Your cheeks are burning. You feel pinned under his gaze. Your side is throbbing again and you have a mouthful of butterflies and it's all just too much.

You move to get up but only make it halfway before the wound pulls again and you wince. "Shit."

"Where do you think you're going?" Bucky reaches out to help you, one hand braced against your shoulder as you sink back down into the chair. His expression has softened. "You need to rest."

You really want to kiss him right now.

It's the closest he's ever been to you, perhaps. You can feel his breath on your face.

"I need to...? You really confuse me, Barnes."

"How so?"

"Well, first you tell me that I kill you, and then you say you want me. It's kind of a mixed message—"

"I'm not interested in being just friends with you," Bucky cuts you off abruptly. "Is that clear enough?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. There's a warm, tingling sensation in your chest and you suddenly can't breathe properly. "That's—you—"

Bucky smirks, just a little. He looks almost...proud of himself? Like he's happy he's rendered you speechless for once.

You decide to take a page from his book and put him on the spot. "And what do you think I want?"

"I don't know," he murmurs, leaning even closer. "But I hope it's the same thing."

His lips brush against yours, soft and gentle. He pulls away and you want to chase after him but then he's back again and kissing you harder this time, all teeth and tongue and ragged breathing and heat.

You close your eyes. Your head is spinning and you can't get enough air but you're kissing him back now, both hands coming up to fist in his shirt, holding on for dear life.

His mouth trails down your neck, leaving hot kisses along your jawline. You let out a breathy sigh.

"Is that...supposed to help me heal faster, mhm?"

Bucky just smiles against your skin.

[ariaste]

Apparently there was some lil drama in Good Omens fandom again about people being deeply nervous and scared of the end of Season 3, and I wrote this in the replies of one of the asks that Neil Gaiman answered, but I feel like it is deserving of being crossposted into its own post (in a slightly expanded form) so folks actually see it.

cmere, good omens fandom, we're having an intervention. a Come To Jesus talk, if you will.

First of all, I'm literally begging the fandom to:

learn what personal boundaries are, especially around parasocial relationships with strangers. (Suggestion: When sending asks to authors you like, use "polite work email" etiquette, not "joking with a friend" etiquette. The latter comes off REAL weird sometimes, and sometimes outright mean/rude/bullying).

take a couple deep fucking breaths

embrace the philosophy of The Author's Intent Only HAS To Matter To The Author, It Does Not Have To Matter To YOU. If you do not like the author's intent, you can say "hmmmm no thanks" and write some fanfic. That's what it's for.

Friends, Romans, countrymen..... Stop trying to make Neil Gaiman responsible for your happiness. For one thing, that is an absolutely unfair and cruel burden to put on a stranger who doesn't know you. Neil is only responsible for Neil's happiness. You're responsible for your own happiness. In fact, do not rely on ANY external source to guarantee your happiness, not even very nice people like Neil, not even your significant other, not even your family members. Yes, those people might be able to help you with your happiness, but they cannot guarantee it. Expecting a third party to guarantee your happiness is how corporations exploit you, and it is the source of all media trauma. Take agency over your own joy! Don't give away your power! Plan to DIY your personal ideal ending!

Neil is not telepathic, Neil cannot know all your hopes and dreams and wishes, nor SHOULD he be expected to know them, nor does he have space to know them. He is busy with things like his own and Terry's hopes and dreams and wishes. Their hopes/dreams/wishes are just as valid and important as yours, aren't they? Yes, they are. So calm down. caaaaaaaallllllm dowwwwwn.

Yes, I love the show very much too, but at the end of the day it is just a story. And the great thing about stories is that you are empowered to retell them in a different way. It is not real, so if you end up unsatisfied by S3, then blithely impose your own reality and build your own joy. It's not like it's the End Of The World or anything (lil fandom joke there for you)

And look, if you read this and you're feeling Mad and Upset or Frustrated about it, that is a symptom that you are maybe feeling a little stung in your Media Trauma parts. I am sorry that other stories have let you down in the past, and I really sympathize that you are feeling scared about the fate of this story that really matters to you. You've invested a lot of love into it! I really understand the fear! You don't want to be hurt again, and that's super understandable and normal.

But bestie, literally the only way for you to find a story that's exactly perfect for you and that won't hurt you at all is for you to write it yourself. I know that sucks to hear, but it is the truth. If you keep pinning a hope of perfection on other people's stories, you will keep getting traumatized by the media you consume. Love other people's stories for what they ARE, not for the stories that you WANTED them to be -- the same way that we love people, you know? You have to let a person be their own person; you can't force them to be someone else. That's fucked up, so if you notice that you keep trying to do that, maybe go to therapy so you can be that Someone-Else person for yourself (or, if you can't afford therapy, read some self-help books from the library or find some good channels on Youtube who make content that might help with that (I really like JulienHimself)).

If you need a story to be something big and important for you, if you are seeking catharsis and healing from a story that matters to you and you're really scared that you won't get it, then open a Word document and start typing. You can do it. You're a human being, and you evolved to tell stories. Literally it's a species specialization. You got this. It's gonna be okay, because you're going to seize the means of production and MAKE it okay. Yes? Yes.

Good Omens S3 will be what it will be. It will be what Neil wants it to be and what Terry would have wanted it to be. Period. That IS actually the highest achievement and the most noble and admirable accomplishment that we can hope for. And hey, maybe what they want overlaps with what you want, and that will be wonderful! But that will be merely a happy coincidence. The only person who can TRULY center your wants is YOU. So stop trying to trap Neil into doing it, please, because he's busy and it's not his job, AND because your wants do matter and you deserve to have someone who can give your wants their 100% full attention (aka you. that's you. only you can do that. Not even your best friends in the world can do it. Not even your mom can do it, at least not if you're old enough to know how to read.)

It's gonna be okay. Really. Really, it is. No, stop typing the snarky melodramatic reply. This is not the time for jokes; I'm being serious. It's going to be okay. Neil Gaiman can only break your heart exactly as much as you allow him to do so. That's how art works. You have to consent in order to be affected by it, and you can withdraw your consent at any time. You're going to be okay. I promise. As long as you choose to claim your own agency and your own empowerment as an individual, then all will be well and all manner of things will be well.

[iceunhie]

voicelines about you: as their lover !

featuring: imbibitor lunae, jing yuan, gepard. (+ jingliu and kafka)

notes: headcanons! some might be ooc HELP. i couldn't resist writing for hsr man… also jingliu and kafka sneak bc mmm i love morally questionable women 🤩. gn!reader. reader is not trailblazer. some fluff, some angst (?) kinda. reblogs are very much appreciated!

Imbibitor Lunae (Danheng IL)

About [Name]: They're one of the few people who's never condemned me for Danfeng's sins, nor ever tried to get me to own up to them. Their presence is very comforting to me. My lover? *coughs* Y-yes, they are.

About [Name]: Selfies Aside from March, [Name] always seems to ask me to take photos with their camera. Hm? No, I don't really mind. If it makes them feel happy, then that's enough reason for me to agree.

About [Name]: Photo Albums [Name] made an Express photo album with March yesterday. Yeah, pictures of our adventures and memories, according to them. It's in the Data Bank, so just ask me if you want to take a look at it.

Gepard Landau

About [Name]: [Name] is the most amazing individual I've met. Their determination and their will to pursue their goals to the fullest… I'm proud to call them my lover. Oh, ah… Was that too forward?

About [Name]: Lending a Hand Oftentimes, Serval asks [Name] to help her carry some things for her workshop. Although the times I get to personally help out are rare due to my duties, I still make it a point to support them by asking the Silvermane Guards to keep an eye out for them and help carry my sister's things for them if it's too heavy. Of course. They're always my top priority.

About Serval: Nagging Every time Serval stops by my post, it usually means [Name]'s run into some difficulties, which I try to help them out in. While her telling me about my lover's state is greatly appreciated, she always nags and teases me being a fool for them and… *sigh* No, it's alright, really. I'm thankful that my sister cares about [Name] and goes out of her way to talk to them for me. Still, I do hope her nagging would decrease next time.

Jing Yuan

About [Name]: Hm? [Name]? Yes, they're indeed my lover. Hehe, now that you've brought them up, I should go look for them. I'm afraid I've grown so used to the feeling of laying my head on their lap that no other pillow can suffice. Ah, what a predicament…

About [Name]: Spending Time Together While I do enjoy dozing off, [Name] makes a point to let me rest at a more appropriate place, instead of at the Seat of The Divine Foresight, buried under a mountain of paperwork. Oftentimes, I do as they say, but when I'm not and just craving their presence… Heh, now that's another matter entirely.

(BONUS! - Yanqing's Voiceline) About [Name]: Oh, [Name]? They always give me some extra allowance for buying swords, buying me sweets and food I like… Of course I won't say no to that! Sometimes, them being with me when I'm being scolded by the General for my expenses helps a lot. Probably because they're the only one the General can't say no to.

Jingliu

About [Name]: ….Do you really think you have the right to know about them? This is a warning. Try to ask again and perhaps you'll be faced with the end of my blade as my answer.

About [Name]: Soothed The whispers of the marastruck, succumbing to the Abundance… They are the only one able to calm the storm of my thoughts. For that, I am grateful for their patience and their kindness.

(BONUS 2! - Jing Yuan's Voiceline) About Name: While Master's current state is one of irreparable damage, at the very least… She has someone to hold onto while she grapples with the curse of mara. Even if I don't quite believe she's the Jingliu I knew from before, I know that her feelings for [Name] are sincere. I just hope she doesn't end up hurting them in the process.

Kafka

About [Name]: Aha, now thats a question I didn't expect to hear from you. My lover? Yes, [Name] is that to me. I very much enjoy their love and affection, you know. Even if it isn't on the script, I'd still mention them. Quite romantic of me, no?

About [Name]: Trophy They always, always chide me about me ruining my velvet coats when we finish up a script. What's wrong with a little blood? I keep most of them as trophies. There's one I'm especially fond of, too. They think it's rather embarassing that I keep the coat from the time they got injured on the job. Although the stains have long since turnt black, there's still a faint scent of iron in it. Hm? What do I mean by that? Heh, let's just say I don't take any harm coming to [Name] lightly. While they call it a reminder of their lack of caution, I'd rather call it a little show of my affection~

About [Name]: Destiny's Course Elio refused to tell me about what my future with them would be, saying that the path in that choice is quite difficult to discern, and I think it's for the best. I suppose if [Name] decided to leave the Stellaron Hunters, hm, would locking them up till they can't leave me anymore suffice….? Haha, just kidding. I wouldn't let them leave in the first place.

© 𝐌𝐇𝐈𝐈𝐄𝐄𝐄 : do not repost, copy, or plagiarize my work.

[love-belle]

every dead end street led you straight to me !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which no one knows how they're both each other's daylight.

or

for when you find the one you were meant to find all along. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // f1 drivers x platonic!driver!fem!reader // milo manheim x fem!reader

warnings - language

author's note - i am SO sorry for leaving u all but i had my finals going on and now i am DONE with school i just have my college entrance exams left and then im free free FREEEEEE !!!! i love u all sm thank you <333 i hope u like this !!

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by milomanheim, lewishamilton, carmenmmundt and 2,528,519 others

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edit : he says it's baby MAN i disagree ☝️‼️

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≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

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*this comment was deleted*

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≡;- ꒰ °instagram stories ꒱

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landonorris thank you because i saw what you texted him this morning and osc had to physically stop me from bathing with bleach

-> yourusername why are u acting as if u literally didn't just straight up ask us if we "needed a third"

-> landonorris LIES SHE LIES SHE'S A LIAR

-> oscarpiastri mate the entire paddock was there

-> landonorris details but like..........do u

-> yourusername do we what.

-> landonorris ............need a third

-> mclaren oh hello ! guess who just lost their phone PRIVILEGES

username screaming bc they're already parents

-> username he's an absent father but ok

username babe come home the kids and the cats and the cow and that goat miss u ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username mother never misses

username lewis WISHES he was her

-> yourusername RIGHTTTT

-> lewishamilton roscoe's godmother privileges REVOKED

username f1 grid will never fail to make to laugh bc what do u mean lando asked y/n and the bf if he needed a third and what do u MEAN that y/n is roscoe's godmother

username live laugh toaster bath sayonara 😞

-> username felt this in my bones

milomanheim speak out ur truth queen !!!!!!

-> yourusername i did

-> charles_leclerc is that why he's redder than my car righOH MY GOD PEOPLE CAN SEE YOU

-> yourusername charles LOOK AWAY !!!!!!

-> username no bc

-> username oh

-> username she bout to be yelled at by her manager i can FEEL her anger rn

username that man better know how to fight bc the grid can and WILL come for him if he does something

-> milomanheim i am scared

-> yourusername uh

-> milomanheim for him i mean haha autocorrect

-> username did he just

-> username oh yeah

-> username all that build up and for milo to just

-> username guess who's sleeping on the couch

milomanheim before u say anything

-> yourusername i am SO disappointed rn

-> milomanheim I'M SORRY

-> yourusername :(( i had 3 months of soft/hard launch planned with annotations and notes

-> milomanheim we can still do that!!! anything u want!!!

milomanheim i love u

-> yourusername ok

-> milomanheim girl

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-> milomanheim ❤️

-> username fuck u both STOP RUINING SINGLE PEOPLE'S LIVES

-> username crazy about them

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 2,317,637 others

milomanheim something about how taylor swift said every dead end street led u straight to me 💘

tagged yourusername

11,628 comments

username I SCREECHED OH MY GOD

username we knew but OH MY GOD THE REVEAL

username and everyone cheered

username roman empire or roman empire

username THAT DOODLE IS SO CUTE WHAT THE FUCK I WILL CRY RN

-> yourusername it's how he won me over

-> milomanheim wait actually

-> yourusername yes 🥰

-> milomanheim i thought it was me saying PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE till u agreed

-> yourusername that probably sealed the deal 💘

-> username i love how he's so "golden retriever" bf and she's "just proud of him in whatever case" gf

-> username truly mom and dad

username i don't wanna hear bitches say love ain't real anymore bc how do u explain THIS

username taylor wrote that song for them trust she told me herself

username WHAT THE FUCK THE LEGO FLOWERS IM CRYING

-> username he set the bar so high it's a dash at this point

username in love with both of them honestly

username crying LOOK AT THEM!!!!!

landonorris how you've both grown up! i still remember the first time she saw you and cried to me about how fucking pretty you are :)

-> milomanheim OHHHH ????

-> yourusername im gonna jump u this weekend WATCH UR FUCKING BACK

-> username nah bc y/n is so real for this

username milo with that drawing is so "what if i told u i'm a mastermind"

-> username NAH HONESTLY

-> username bro prophesied his relationship

username if my relationship isn't like this then i don't want it 💔💔💔

username lord i see how kind u have been to others

username and adding onto my 252719262 reasons we have THIS

username all the love songs in the universe are about them fyi !!!!!!

username AHHSHSHSHDHSJJDJDNX 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

yourusername also about how she said i wanna teach u how forever feels

-> milomanheim nah bc u will like where r u gonna go 🤨

-> yourusername baby we were having a cute moment there

-> milomanheim BABY 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️‼️‼️‼️‼️😬😬😬😬🤞🤞🤞🤞🔥🔥🔥🔥💯💯💯💯

-> charles_leclerc give him some time he's buffering

-> username something tells me that this is a very regular occurrence

-> oscarpiastri it is

yourusername my baby's fit like a daydream

-> milomanheim 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️❤️❤️❤️❤️‼️‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥🔥🔥💯💯💯💯🥰🥰🥰🥰☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️

-> username what is happening

-> oscarpiastri just give him some time

yourusername not to be a hopeful romantic loser on the main but i find u in every love song i listen to so yea

-> milomanheim look at u being nice for once

-> yourusername boy i will block u

yourusername love u

-> milomanheim who love me

-> yourusername *i* love you

-> milomanheim ilyt

-> username NO HE DID NOT 😭😭😭

-> username bro needs to learn how to hesitate

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by milomanheim, francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux and 2,785,159 others

yourusername if the whole world was watching i'd still dance with u

tagged milomanheim

12,628 comments

username GOODBYE

username this post right here your honour

username the way i teleported to the railway track

username SCREAMING SJSJTRBCUCJ

username pls block me b4 posting happy stuff (im so happy i cry)

landonorris you can't even order on your own sir DOWN

-> yourusername FUCK UUUUU OMG

username i just ascended to the pearly gates

username DRIVE HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS TO BE THERE WITH U

-> username OVER AND OVER THE ONLY TRUTH

-> username EVERYTHING COMES BACK TO YOU

-> username i shed tears

username they're literally winning in life BOTH OF THEM

username NOT HIM PEELING ORANGES FOR HER IM GONNA SCREAM

username the orange theory is true and it's real because y/n and milo just proved it argue with air

username is no one gonna talk about how his name is saved as "mylo(ve) <3333"

-> username i had to take SEVERAL deep breaths so as to not break down in front of my family

-> username no one's doing it like them

username IN A WORLD OF BOYS HE'S A GENTLEMAN

*liked by yourusername*

lilymhe with me obviously 🙄

-> yourusername obviously

-> milomanheim 😧

-> alex_albon 😧

username if he doesn't stand outside my window with a sign asking when can he see me HE IS NOT THE ONE

-> username FRRRRR like stop‼️settling‼️for‼️less‼️

username going crazy over these photos like there's SO MUCH content

username y/n feeding us those milo crumbs

-> username nah she gave us whole PLATES with utensils and all ☝️☝️☝️

username i truly cannot wait for milo to be in her garage bc we all know that they're stupidly in love with each other and watching them giggling and smiling and laughing will be much more entertaining than racing

-> username nah bc bro doesn't know how to function with her around

-> username i don't even blame him bc that's Y/N Y/L/N

charles_leclerc how is this relationship gonna work when none of you has the guts to go and say that they got your order wrong

-> yourusername ur saying this as if alex hasn't been the one to go up and say that u asked for no pickles

-> charles_leclerc that was classified information

-> yourusername not anymore 🤗

username i live for y/n terrorizing the grid fueled by nothing but coffee and/or spite

username they're soooooooooooo disgusting im just gonna cry in a corner bc i do not have someone to peel my oranges for me and i have to do it myself like a common peasant

milomanheim i would peel oranges for u forever dw baby i got u 🍊🍊🍊

-> yourusername this is so sweet i cried stfu

milomanheim cannot believe i get to tell everyone ur my gf like OH MY GOD 😭😭😭

-> yourusername bf

-> milomanheim gf

-> landonorris bf AND gf ?

-> yourusername STOP ASKING

milomanheim wdym i cannot love u more than life itself 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 lies bc i do love u more than life itself

-> yourusername i would sacrifice max for u

-> milomanheim doesn't mean that much bc i know u would sacrifice him for a juice box

-> maxverstappen1 OH REALLLLLLLLY

milomanheim angel 🍒

-> yourusername no u

milomanheim u make me feel all golden like daylight

-> yourusername u make me feel all i like shiny things but i'd marry u with paper rings

-> username bye y'all this was fun

-> username brb i need to test if my toaster is waterproof or not

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 2 - Broken

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

I'm sorry, part 2 got a little out of hand in length so I've decided to split it up into different chapters! There should only be one more part after this (maybe??!) Hope you enjoy! This is more of Bucky's POV and gives some more insight into what happened. Thanks for all your engagement with this series, as always comments and reblogs are appreciated! Unfortunately I no longer use taglists.

💔

Your phone sat on Bucky’s desk as he stared at it blankly. He wasn’t really sure what he expected, maybe that you’d call it, or it would magically reveal some sort of answers to the many questions he had. But it didn’t. It just laid there, about as useful as a rock. A ‘babe, how are you?! we need to hang out soon!’ notification from Natasha had lit up the screen an hour or so before, but otherwise it just continued to sit silently – an insulting prompt that mocked him with your absence, the clock on the screen taunting him with how late it had become.

He'd had a glance at the checking and credit card accounts he’d set up for you, but they hadn’t been touched. In fact, nothing had been touched. None of your clothes had moved, your toiletries remained in the bathroom. You hadn’t even appeared to have taken any shoes with you. Natasha’s casual check-in text suggested your friends were unaware of what had happened. You’d just…vanished. A ghost in the night.

He felt nauseous, his gut churning. He’d tried to find the CCTV footage of you leaving, but the image was grainy – he could hardly make you out. The cameras had been acting up lately, he needed Steve to get them fixed. He kept thinking about you wandering out into the night by yourself, no money, no plan, how he’d forced you out into the cold. The one person he swore to protect, to keep safe.

His guilt was eating him alive.

But then he thought of the recording. Your voice so clear, laughing with the fed – mocking Bucky, calling him names and sneering at his gullibility. He could hardly believe it all at first. Not you? Not his doll, who had opened him up to love in ways he could have never imagined. Surely it couldn’t have been you, who had uprooted his life for the better, who had hit him like a whirlwind, changing his very being forever in all the best ways?

But he’d checked in with Banner who ran the tech and had confirmed you had been there. Your phone had pinged the cell tower in that exact spot they’d tracked the meeting point to. They’d even found a CCTV clip of you getting in a strange car that day, despite telling Bucky you were having Wanda over for a girl’s night. The audio was delivered by his own men, verified by their informant. The evidence was overwhelming.

‘It was so easy’ you had giggled cruelly on the clip, the words burned into his memory, ‘I just fluttered my eyelashes a few times and he was asking me to move in after a few weeks. I barely lifted a finger yet he swallowed everything I gave him and asked for more. Now I know how his whole operation works…but I need more time on the Stark deal. Just give me a bit longer and I’ll have that one-armed pussy spill everything after a few more ‘I love yous’ and dirty fucks. I promise...’

Of course he’d seen red. How could he not? He’d always been hot-tempered (passionate, his mother used to say), and the recording had destroyed his entire world in a matter of seconds. Aside from the betrayal, the pain, he felt humiliated. He’d finally been vulnerable with someone, shared intimacy in ways he’d never experienced with another person – only to find out it was all a lie. A trick. A joke. It affirmed his biggest fear – that he had been correct to build those walls, to protect himself from anyone who would use his feelings against him. Love could be exploited as a weakness, and he’d turned up to the fight unarmed.

In his mind, he’d not thrown you out – not sweet, beautiful you. Not you who held him close in your sleep and nuzzled into his chest, not you who traced his scars with her fingers and encouraged him to take off his prosthetic when you were intimate if he wished to. Not you, who stayed up late on his birthday just to present him with a homemade cake when he came home after an exhausting meeting – insisting he blew out the candles. Did she ever even exist? He’d always joked you were too good to be true. Now he’d accidentally manifested that into reality.

No. He’d thrown out her. The woman who had been gathering intel on him since the moment the two of you had met. The woman who exchanged kisses for information. The woman who had laughed about all of this as she gleefully ratted on him, delighting in her prowess over the foolish, lovesick mob boss she’d so easily toppled. The woman who’d callously worn the mask of someone who loved him. She was thrown out of his house, out of his embrace.

Unfortunately, the two versions of you were one and the same.

But at least he knew better, now. He’d go back to casual sex and pretty girls hanging off his arm. Easy. Fun. Uncomplicated. The walls would go back up and they wouldn’t come down again. Deep down he’d always known that men like him weren’t meant to be loved, that they weren’t worthy of genuine affection. Not all voids could be filled. People like you, or at least who he thought you were, were not for him. They deserved better. You’d always deserved better. He’d had a brief taste of happiness, but that was all he deserved. The universe would continue to punish him for his many bad deeds.

The only thing left to do was finally go to bed, but a solemn knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. He could tell it was Steve. 

“Steve?” he called, checking his watch. It was late, he’d assumed his second in command had already gone home.

Steve entered looking sullen. He was tensely holding his phone, and someone appeared to be on FaceTime with him. He cautiously extended it to his long-time friend.

“I’m sorry, Buck”, he said gravely.

“Steve..what?” Bucky asked as he gingerly took the phone from him. Sam looked back at him from the small screen, his solemn expression mirroring Steve’s.

“Bucky…I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly in that same tone, filling Bucky with a sinking dread.

Something was very wrong here.

“What is it?” He fired angrily at Sam, “just spit it out…”

Sam flipped the camera around to face what looked like a heap of old rags on the ground. He appeared to be in a parking garage, surrounded by nothing but concrete and darkness. It was hard to make anything out.

“What am I looking at here?” Bucky squinted at the camera as he tried to focus the image. Steve silently observed over his shoulder.

“Tell him what you just told us,” came the sound of Sam’s furious voice off-camera.

Bucky watched with confusion at the screen as Sam's boot suddenly kicked out at the heap, and the heap moved.

And then he clicked.

The ‘heap’ was a man.

The man groaned and cried out as Bucky realised the ‘rags’ were ripped, bloody clothes. He rolled over in obvious pain as Sam manoeuvred the camera to get a better look. As the man turned over, Bucky recognised his face. 

It was one of his own. 

“Rumlow?” Bucky asked with confusion. 

Behind him, Steve moved closer and leaned forward to watch the screen. “Just watch, Buck” he said sombrely.  

Rumlow looked up at the phone, blearily staring into the lens as he squinted at the phone light. His face was bruised and bloodied. Someone had given him a good going over. 

“It was me. Alright? I did it,” Rumlow groaned.

“Did what?” Bucky sneered, still not entirely clear on where this was going – but already feeling his anger mounting.

Rumlow sighed heavily and Sam gave him another swift kick to the ribs to encourage him to continue. 

He moaned out in pain and closed his eyes. “Aaargh. Alright…I did it! I did it okay! I made the recording!” he spat.

Bucky’s eyes darkened as comprehension of the situation unfolding began to take hold. His fist tightened around the phone screen. “Which recording…Rumlow?” He asked, his voice sinisterly calm. 

Rumlow paused and spat a wad of blood onto the floor. Bucky recognised the look of fear building in the man’s eyes, he’d seen it many times before. Rumlow was stalling to delay the inevitable.

“Tell me!!” Bucky roared at the phone, holding it so tightly in his fist that the screen might crack.

He watched Rumlow wince as he turned away from the screen, dropping his head in defeat.

“Of your girl…talking to the police…it wasn’t her-uh-it wasn’t even real. I used AI. From…from recordings of her voice from old security footage…I’m sorry…I just-”

But Bucky was eerily composed. Rumlow took his silence as the cue to continue.

“I hacked into the security system and planted the clip of her getting in the car. And I stole her phone for a few hours when she was at the house with a friend, planting it at the meeting point then driving back with it. She didn’t even notice it was gone…I’m sorry I…”

Bucky cleared his throat. He tapped a single contemplative finger over his lips as his eyes glazed over.

“Sam?” he asked, his voice void of emotion. 

Sam flipped the camera back to face himself. He looked grimly into the lens. “I’m sorry Buck…we had no idea…I caught him on the phone with the feds about the shipment – he thought I’d already left and-”

“Keep him warm,” Bucky interrupted, his voice cold like ice, “I have more urgent matters to attend to first, but I will deal with him”.

Sam merely nodded. Just as he cut the call, Bucky heard Rumlow wail and beg in the background. He’d be doing a lot more of that soon.

In a sudden fog of anger, Bucky pelted his phone hard against the wall. He roared with rage, lobbing his scotch glass at the window – shattering both. He flipped his desk, the chair, the bookcase – leaving a tsunami of destruction in his wake. Steve merely watched on, patiently. He knew Bucky needed to vent whichever way he could.

Eventually Bucky slowed, panting with exertion as he took a second to try and slick back his hair, now unkempt and messy from his outburst. He pulled back his shoulders as he attempted to regain his composure.

“We’ll find her, Buck”, Steve told him unwaveringly. “She can’t have gone far on foot. Then you can explain everything and apologise”.

Bucky shook his head as he ran his hands through his hair. Toeing the pile of debris that now cluttered his office floor he sighed heavily. “She told me she didn’t do it, Steve. And I didn’t believe her…”

“The recording was very convincing,” Steve clamped a sympathetic hand onto Bucky’s shoulder, “it sounded just like her – and had all of us fooled. Not to mention the phone location evidence…the CCTV of her leaving…before I came up here, Sam told me that this AI is brand new tech, far more advanced and convincing than what the masses have access to…”

Bucky bleakly shook his head, “Doesn’t matter. She’s my girlfriend and I’m supposed to trust her. Believe her. When I heard her voice on that recording I just…”, he trailed off sadly, “…it tapped into my worst fears…”

Steve nodded sagely. “Let’s just find her first, and you can talk to her. And then we can deal with Rumlow”.

Bucky grimaced, “I knew he was a risk to take on…with our shared history in HYDRA’s organisation…but I never thought…”

“Let’s just find her for now,” Steve repeated, always calm in a crisis. He pulled out his phone, making calls to various members of their group, sending out texts and kicking off various communication chains. In mere minutes, they’d have entire squads of their men scouring the area with a fine-tooth comb.

Bucky stood amongst the wreckage – the room’s physical ruins a glaring reminder that this wasn’t the only mess he’d made tonight. He pulled his own phone from his jacket pocket, opening his photo album as the pings and buzzes from Steve’s device filled the room. He flicked through the pictures of you: your face cheesily grinning at the camera, your lips sweetly planted on his cheek, a candid shot of you cooking in the kitchen – caught off-guard, your mouth a small ‘o’ of surprise. You’d asked him to delete it as you thought you looked dumb, but he insisted he keep as he like the way your eyes sparkled in it. It was one of his favourites. Looking at the pictures helped him calm down, his breath evening as he remembered what was important here. He ran a finger over the image of your face, “I’m sorry, doll” he whispered, “I promise I’ll do anything I can to fix this…”

A couple of miles away, you slept deeply in the tear-stained hotel sheets – completely unaware of the organised efforts to track you down. You didn’t dream, you didn’t stir, you just slept - grateful to give yourself over to oblivion.

💔

There had only been a few places you could have gone on foot.

Bucky’s men had worked quickly despite the late hour. The local police force, already firmly in Bucky’s pocket, loaned him a few law enforcement bodies to assist with the search, no questions asked – as was standard. Sheriff Bodecker always played ball. They collected the CCTV from local businesses, doorbell cam footage from local residents (who weren’t particularly happy to be woken to do so, but didn’t have much choice), swept the area on foot and in vehicles. It was faintly possible you had hitchhiked and thumbed a ride into the city, but Bucky knew this wasn’t likely, so they put that option on the backburner – although it hadn’t been entirely ruled out.

The gas station staff hadn’t seen you, but their CCTV did catch a blurred figure passing in the road opposite the camera. A faint outline of your route started to emerge as the puzzle pieces came together. Eventually, Bucky was sent the security footage of you checking into the Holiday Inn. His heart pulled as he watched you looking lost at the reception desk – your eyes round like saucers as you produced crumpled dollar bills, head turning left to right as you surveyed your drab surroundings. He could only imagine how lost you must’ve felt, how hurt and betrayed. Exiled by the man you loved, you trusted, and having to hunker down in a shitty roadside hotel. Part of him was impressed by your ability to pick yourself up and keep going even in the toughest circumstances – it was one of the many reasons he loved you. But mainly, he was ashamed. Ashamed that he’d pushed you to this, that he’d failed you in so many ways.

Bucky inhaled deeply as he closed the hotel clip on his phone, nodding to his driver and stepping into the dark SUV.

I’m on my way, doll.

[strawberryfloofs]

There comes a certain sadness in being a regressor without a caregiver, but also one who's severely traumatized and neglected. Finding comfort in dark moments by tumblr caregiver posts, feeling like someone cares. Not entirely understanding nostalgia and getting sad when seeing posts about favorite childhood snacks, movies, activities because you never grew up on them. Feeling awkward while playing and or having to relearn it because it wasn't really a thing. I wasn't allowed or given many toys at all. Seeing other regressors happily posting about their caregiver, feeling bittersweet. I'm glad they have them, they deserve happiness and support- but will I ever get that? I hope one day that's me too. Living through cartoons: wishing you had a friend group, family, or whatever like those characters. Happy endings. Imagining lots of scenarios or talking to character.ai cg characters, wanting it to be real so bad. Wanting a caregiver, yet being so scared about being a "difficult" regressor or needing "too much care and comfort." Wishing there was just someone to hold me and pat my head while tiny, playing with my hair and giving me their full attention. It would feel weird, really weird- I don't get attention much, but I'd hope that little me would be okay and happy with that. Bottom line, I hope for the fun days and happy ending of finding someone who will love me and accept my regression. If there's any regressors out there with c-PTSD, trauma, or really just anything that makes them fearful they won't ever get it- please keep trying. One day. I always tell myself that I'm sure I'll be so happy in the future, and look back on moments like these going "she was strong. she didnt know of the moonlight that would hug her everyday, yet she still pushed through- she made it"

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

A Golden Chain

Part Three of A Gilded Cage. Thank you @batchilla for workshopping with me and sharing your ideas! ~2.3k words

Jason isn't there when you wake up. It's something you expected, but it still makes something in your heart feel unsettled. Bean bats at your nose, and it motivates you enough to get out of bed.

Your life just sort of falls into a routine from there. Krystal, Destini, and Robbi fill your days with entertainment, in and out of the penthouse. Bean finds out that his favorite place in the world is on your shoulder or in your lap.

And Jason, Jason, he fills your nights. The notepad goes unused, but you see him every time the moon rises.

He starts to eat dinners with you. He starts to talk to you, never about what he's doing or why you're here. Even if you try to bring it up, he's quick to distract you or to change the topic. It's almost infuriating.

But, sometimes, sometimes, when he smiles at you and his eyes flicker, he almost feels like the boy he was before he disappeared.

You start to fall asleep at night with him at your side, hunched over and watchful in the chair next to your bed. It should be unnerving, should make you want to run and fight, and try to escape. But it doesn't.

You try to bury the part of you that feels safe at his side. Try to remind yourself that he kidnapped you to get you here. That all the military gear he's wearing isn't for show, that he must have some sort of plan.

It's not until Gotham falls into panic that you discover what those plans are. It's worse, that it's not him that tells you.

Krystal, Destini, and Robbi practically break down your door, it's not unusual for them to be excited, but their shared fear is.

They tell you about Scarecrow's threats, tell you about the deaths that occurred at Pauli's Diner. Krystal takes your hand at the end of it all nearly begs for you to go with them.

"It won't be safe, sugar," she says and her voice only shakes a little. The look in her eyes tells you that she knows it's a risk to ask, that whoever payrolls them to keep you company is dangerous.

"You should get out of town. Come with us, if you have nowhere to go. We can look after you till this all blows over," Robbi murmurs, voice low to avoid the prying ears of your 'bodyguards' stationed outside.

"I'm safe here," You tell them, and your voice sounds hollow to your own ears.

You haven't been so confused and lost, and shattered since you found out Jason was alive. You can't explain it, you don't have any proof, but your instincts are screaming that The Arkham Knight– that Jason has something to do with this.

"Honey, whoever–" Destini starts, before cutting herself off with a sigh, "We both know that's not true."

For a moment you want to go with them. To leave Gotham and all its claws and teeth behind. But you know, you know so deeply that he wouldn't let you go.

You shake your head and pull your hand from Krystal's, "Be safe," You say instead, "Get as far away as you can."

They're halfway out the door when you stop them, you hate crushing the hopeful look that crosses their faces. But you silently place Bean in Destinis hands.

You think it breaks their hearts and yours. And then they're gone.

Your well-meaning intentions don't get very far. This is clear because Jason doesn't show up for dinner. It's crystal clear, because as Gotham empties of civilians, Jason walks through the door of your prison with Bean under his arm.

You don't get to react before he drops the kitten in your lap, and Bean is more than happy to cuddle into your thighs.

"He's yours," Jason tells you as he tugs off his helmet, "not something to give away."

"Are they okay," You ask quickly, worry clear on your face and in your voice.

His lips twitch at your question, "They left Gotham unharmed."

You think it's the truth. You hope that he wouldn't lie about that. You don't have it in you to press.

"I just wanted him to be safe," You murmur, petting Bean as he nuzzles your stomach.

"He is safe. You're safe," Jason tells you firmly, standing rigid over your place on the couch.

You look up to meet his gaze, and your accusation slips out thoughtlessly, "Even if Scarecrow goes through with his plan? Even if– even if you go through with this."

You hope he denies what you're asking, tell you that he's not doing something so obviously wrong. He doesn't.

He stiffens more, eyes sharpening, "You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me," You plead, "tell me how working with Scarecrow is what you need to do."

He frowns, and tilts his head down as if to really look at you. His voice comes out hard, flat and nothing like the Jason you've grown used to, "I don't have time to explain it to you. All you need to do is stay here. It's safe."

"But, Jason," You protest, standing quickly as he turns to march back out the door, already tugging his helmet back on.

If his voice betrays how he's feeling, it's hidden behind the helmet's modulator, "This will all be over by tomorrow."

It sends shivers down your spine, how ominous his words feel. You don't get to ask anymore questions before he's tugging the door closed behind him.

He's left you, kitten meowing from the couch and the apartment feeling more like a cage than ever. It makes you want to scream, to cry, to break down the door and chase after him and demand to know why.

Why are you really here? Why can't you leave? Why is he working with Scarecrow?

There's no answer from the locked door. Frustration wells in your throat, and there's nothing, not a thing you can do.

So you sit. Listen to sirens sounding throughout a nearly empty Gotham. Watch smoke rise from a city abandoned by its people to the thugs and rouges of Gotham.

You sit and ache and hurt until you have to move. Until you find yourself out on the balcony overlooking the vacant buildings of the Diamond District.

It helps some. Jason had removed the glass at your request, and the cool night air is almost soothing.

You close your eyes, and for a moment it's almost peaceful. It's peaceful until a thump knocks you out of your thoughts, and you open your eyes.

Robin is perched on the railing two feet away from you. Robin is two feet away from you and every cell in your body is screaming that this is bad.

He says your name like he knows who you are, and you imagine he actually does, even if you've never met.

"I need you to come with me, you're in danger here," he says, extending his hand to you.

A part of you wants to. If anyone could help you, if anyone could get you freedom, wouldn't it be one of Gotham's vigilantes?

But you can't help but hesitate. Leaving means leaving Jason. No matter what he's done, why he's keeping you here, Jason wouldn't hurt you. He's been good to you. He's– he cares. He wants you safe.

"I'm not in danger," You tell Robin, and it sounds weak to your own ears. Your eyes dart between him and the city. It's wrong. You know it's wrong. But your hand won't move.

He looks like he pities you. It almost makes you sick. And then he tells you what The Arkham Knight is really planning.

The canisters of gas filled with enough fear toxin to cover the entire eastern seaboard. The nearly suicidal, revenge mission that ends in Batman's death.

That does make you feel sick.

"You have to come with me," Robin half-pleads, "You'll be safe."

You swallow thickly. It always comes down to that, doesn't it? Where people think you'll be safest. But you can't help but think that Robin is right. That Jason The Arkham Knight is out of control.

You reach for his hand. He helps you up onto the railing.

All hell breaks loose.

A gunshot fires. Robin makes a noise of pain and loses his footing.

The Arkham Knight barrels into you and sends you both falling over the railing and towards the pavement below.

There's screaming. There's– you're screaming. You're falling and screaming, and Jason tackled you over the edge of a building.

Your heart is pounding, and you're going to die, and you've never been so terrified in your life. The wind whips past your ears, the cold air bites at your skin. And the Arkham Knight has you in a death grip as he barks out orders for you to follow.

"Hold onto me– c'mon, you know how, move your legs," he demands, his grasp on your never faltering.

It's mechanical, a shadow of a memory that reminds you you do know how. You wrap your arms around his neck, hook your legs around his waist.

You think you hear him sigh in relief when you do, his arm clutching you all the more closer as he shoots his grappling gun for the nearest building.

Your stomach swoops as the momentum tosses you both onto a nearby roof, and you nearly sob when his feet hit the ground.

You're quick to untangle yourself from him, feet dropping to the concrete. He only wraps both arms around you to keep you tucked against his chest.

You want to let go of him, want to stop hugging him like he's the only lifeline you have, but you can't. The adrenaline coursing through your veins makes you feel dizzy and sick. The fear of nearly dying makes your knees weak and tears prick your eyes.

Jason just strokes the back of your head, murmuring soft reassurances, "You're okay. You're okay. I got you. I won't let them take you away."

You think you let out another sob, all but collapsing against him. You feel like a mess, head spinning and throat tight. You'd almost died.

"Sorry, doll, we've got company," he says, voice going hard.

You don't get to process his words before he's dipping down, and hoisting you over his shoulder.

"Jason–" You choke out, adrenaline and fear spiking as you scramble for something to grab onto, fingers digging into the straps of his armor.

He doesn't answer, only breaks into a run, his arm wrapped around the back of thighs to keep you steady.

Gotham passed by in the blur of colors as you try not to throw up. You register Robin chasing after you. It's the only relief you've felt all night to know he's alive.

The relief disappears when The Arkham Knight shouts an order for drones, and the shots they fire at the vigilante following you makes your ears ring.

You wince as Jason jumps from roof to roof, jostling you and digging your body into the hard plates of his armor. It doesn't seem to slow him down, especially when he lets out a frustrated curse.

You'd be more confused if you weren't so panicked and overwhelmed. That is until, you catch sight of a black figure gaining ground across the rooftops behind you.

Batman. Batman is here. Batman can– you cut your train of thought off. Batman can't save you. It feels cold when the truth becomes clearer than day. Nothing can get you away from The Arkham Knight.

Dots dance in your vision, and bile rises in your throat. It passes in a haze, the way Jason drops down onto the streets, the way he shoves you into one of the armored cars lining the streets. The way the tank takes so many twists and turns it makes the urge to throw up that much stronger.

It's clear you've lost your tail. Either they followed the wrong tank, or they decided you weren't worth the trouble. The second thought makes you retch.

The Arkham Knight doesn't hesitate to rub your back, to try and comfort you. A small part of you is comforted. A bigger part of you wants to scream and cry and hit him.

He continues to order the men driving the tank, his touch never faltering in its rhythmic movements.

Your vision swims, the drive passes in a sickening, adrenaline crashed fueled blur.

You think you might be crying. But it doesn't really matter. Jason hooks his arms under your knees and cradles you to his chest just the same. He carries you out of the armored tank.

You only vaguely take in your new surroundings. The rush of militia soldiers around you, the tables and boxes of weapons and ammo, the shouts and laughs over another one of Batman's failures.

None of that matters either. All that matters is Jason's gloves digging into your skin, the way you can feel his heart pound even through the armor.

He carries you into a room. You think it's some kind of office. That doesn't matter either. He sets you on a couch. It's surprisingly soft. The leather feels cool against your skin. It eases the sick feeling in your stomach, the spinning of your head.

"Get some rest," he murmurs, and fingers trace your jaw for a moment, soft, gentle, and almost apologetic.

Then he walks to the desk. You watch in dazed horror when he pulls out a shiny, gold colored chain. You freeze in shock and betrayal when he attaches a cuff to your ankle and the other to the leg of the couch.

You think he murmurs that he's sorry it came to this.

But then he leaves, and you think he isn't sorry at all.

You break down into the leather cushions. Half you wishes you were still with Bean in that stupid penthouse. The other half of you wishes you had taken Robin's hand sooner.

But that doesn't matter. Nothing does. Because you're still trapped, stuck in some base that screams danger.

And you can't quite convince yourself this time, that Jason Todd wouldn't hurt you.

[octoberautumnbox]

I Got All I Need

Le Sserafim Kim Chaewon (ft. Soloist Jo Yuri & Male Reader)

Categories/warnings: smut, phone sex, masturbation, voyeurism i think, anal, abuse, rough sex, like really really rough sex (kinda)

Word count: 1.6k

a/n: wrote on a whim lol no proofread no beta im sorry anways--

Chaewon lay bored in her bed, having exhausted her SNS feeds and Watch Later playlist. Her members sent all manner of pictures with their families and other friends in the groupchat, and honestly, genuinely, Chaewon was happy for them! And just a teeny bit envious, that's all, cross her heart and hope to die.

Her phone read 6:06 pm, and on her first long weekend off in the year, she had nothing to do. She was getting desperate for some fun. She opened her contacts app and punched in a random number.

"Ah, sorry, Chaewon-ssi," the voice on the other end of the line admitted, "Yena won't be back in Korea until next Friday. I'll let her know you called."

"Hi, this is Eunbi! I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave me a message and I'll get back to you in a jiffy!" Of course she uses an answering machine, Chaewon thought.

"Hi, Unnie!" Chaewon was overjoyed! "Hey Minmin, I was just curious if you were down to eat--" The sound of a bell rang loud in the other side of the phone call. "Oops, I'm really really sorry Unnie. Gotta get back now. Long night ahead of us, they're even killing my character again today! See you soon!"

Looking to her closet, Chaewon's mind was half-set to just put on a warm coat and go out alone. That's a thing people do nowadays, right? Go out and eat by themselves?

Sighing, she went for one last-ditch effort. She knows she won't pick up. She knows that even if she does, she wouldn't want to come out. She knows that if she wants to come out, it'll be shabu-shabu and sitting around by the Han River. "Oh well," Chaewon resigned, "At least I won't be alone."

She scrolled down her contacts and found her name. Tap, tap, tap, and the ringing started. One ring, two, three, and four. Chaewon expected this, so much so that she's not even disappointed.

"H-hello?" Chaewon fought back a gasp! "Hey, hi Yuri! I was going to go out for a bite--"

"Ah, fuck..." Silence filled the phone line for a good few seconds before Yuri's end broke it again. "Shit, th-that's really good."

"Yuri?" "Ffffuck yes, just like that..." Disbelief filled Chaewon's mind. "Sorry," Yuri struggled to whisper, "wh-who is this?"

"It's... It's Chaewo-" "Fuck! Shit, shit, shit, please..."

Chaewon had half a mind to just drop the call then and there, and she should, right? This is one of her best friends in the world. Busy, as they say, with something important.

"Unnie, I'm so sorry, I just have the thickest cock ripping my asshole apart right now, ahhh, oh fuck, OH FUCK!"

Although, as much as Chaewon wants to deny it, dropping the call was out of the question now. She had to know just what exactly was going on.

"Are you okay, Yuri? Do... you need me to call someone?"

"Haahhhhh... Ahh, AHHHH!" Yuri's scream ripped through the phone line, and Chaewon couldn't keep her own free hand from straying anymore.

"Unnie, I... I need y-you... to keep a... a secret," It was hard for Chaewon to decipher what her friend was saying, between every moan and grunt littered across her speech. She couldn't resist, though, that she was paying more attention to them than whatever words could be spilling out of Yuri's mouth.

"I'm... with my... with my boyfriend. He's p-pounding my ass right now..." Chaewon was groping her own ass at that moment, and she could feel herself getting moist.

She heard whispering at the other end. Yuri's voice rang clearer, even if a bit shakier. "He says... if I end the call... he'll tie me up and, and leave me," Yuri's breaths are heavy and laced with exhaustion, "un-until morning. So I'm sorry, but I can't... Mmmmff..."

Chaewon couldn't believe she was getting hot to the sound of her friend getting fucked hard. There was no way pure, sweet, innocent Yuri was like this, right? Absolutely impossible.

And yet, she found her own hand slipping under her panties. She felt her smooth pussy lips, how they were slick against her fingers, and how her insides were starting to burn up.

"Unnie... he's making me tell you..." Chaewon was all ears now, desperate for more.

"I have six inches of cock up my ass... and three ffffingers... in my soaking cunt." Three wouldn't fit, Chaewon thought, so she settled for two inside herself. Her pussy lips parted for them, and Chaewon let out a tiny "mmmh."

"He... he's rubbing my clit, and... AHHH--" Chaewon was palming her own clit as her fingers shoved themselves slowly in and out of her pussy, letting more of her juices out and onto her panties.

"... and he's s-slapping and pinching it, Unnie..." Frustrated and in heat, Chaewon frantically stripped and kicked away both her shorts and panties; they were ruined anyway. She lay comfortably back onto her bed and spread her legs, in prime position for her own missionary fucking, with regrettably nothing more than her left hand.

"And Unnie..." Her former member's deep and heavy breaths occupied the phone line. "P-please... don't let this... change how you see me... God, please, no..."

Chaewon pumped her fingers in and out of her pussy hard now. Her juices were falling all over her bedsheets, and the scent of her sex reaching her nose only spurred her on.

"Yuri... Tell me."

"He... he creampied me, Unnie..." Suddenly, Chaewon's hips lifted off the bed momentarily as she heard this. Her fingers found a good spot as she returned to the bed, and from then on strove to hit it again and again and again.

"More, Yuri-yah... please..." She couldn't hide it anymore, Chaewon was moaning just as loudly now as her beloved friend.

"Th-three times, Unnie... in my ass..." Chaewon's eyes shut tight as her brain locked onto what was being said. "And... six... I think, in my... my pussy... oh- OH GOD!"

Chaewon started grinding against her palm, forcing more pleasure through her crotch. She humped against the air, lifting and dropping her hips in a needy bid for her sweet release.

"FUCK! Unnie, I can't remember-- Shhhhhit, shitshitshitshit... How- how many times he came in my cunt- AHHHH!"

She could hear it so much better now, how her friend's ass slapped against her boyfriend's waist. Yuri's moans rang louder still, pushing her phone's speaker to its limit.

"Unnie, holy fuck, Unnie... Please... don't..." Yuri collected herself for a moment before starting again. "He... he has my-my nipples in clamps, too... It hurts so good, Chaewon-unnie, shit... everything is so good..."

Chaewon struggled against her top, and managed to get all of it up past her chest and under her neck. Her breasts bounced out from under her bra and relaxed. She pinched and squeezed her left nipple as hard as she could, feeling the nub stiffen against her fingertips.

"And I came, Unnie..." Her fingers returned to pleasuring her now-leaking pussy. Chaewon rubbed around her lips to collect more of her slick, before shoving now three of her fingers inside her.

"I came so... so many times. F-fifteen... before I- ahhh- lost c-count." Chaewon found her pace and rhythm again. She pistoned her fingers into and out of her sex as her moans reached the other end of the line too.

"Fuck, Yuri-yah, that sounds so fucking good... I'm close... I'm so close!"

"He's forcing me t-to tell you, Unnie, ahhhhh..."

Chaewon shut her eyes again, wishing, imagining it was her getting the railing of her life. Only now did she realize how big the wet spot on her bed between her legs was.

"I'm... Unnie, I'm... his slut. I'm his ffffuuuckdoll..."

Chaewon was straining herself now, her arm muscles burning with overexertion. She felt her cunt leak so much of her sex all over her hand. She wildly fingered her g-spot, praying that her climax comes soon.

"I'm his pleasure girl, Unnie," Chaewon heard her friend's voice break with sobs between words and moans. "I'm his slutty, hhhorny, p-personal o-onahole..."

At this point, Chaewon was sobbing too. Why couldn't she have a boyfriend like that? Why can't she be the one getting sexually taken advantage of? She even bet she could make Yuri's boyfriend feel worlds better than Yuri ever could.

"I'm his... I'm his slutty fucking cumdump, Unnie! He fucks me raw and creampies my cunt- AHHHHH- and I love when he fills my womb up so much it leaks out of my abused pussy!"

A scream dragged itself across Chaewon's throat, and she made sure both Yuri and her boyfriend heard. Chaewon's arm burned hotter with overfatigue as she was nearly breaking her own pussy with how hard she was pumping. "Fuck, Yuri! Please! I need to cum!"

"Fuck, Unnie, me too! Shit, Unnie, I have to tell you..."

Tears streamed down Chaewon's cheeks now, her crotch and thighs soaked with her slick. She's already lost control of herself and fully gave in to her body's desires, wailing cries and moans that she couldn't even recognize as her own anymore.

"I'm not safe, Unnie! I'm so fucking f-fertile! He's going to make me pregnant! H-he's put- FUCKING SHIT, PLEASE DADDY- He's putting a fucking baby in my womb!!! AAAHHHHHHH!"

"FFFFUCK, YURI! HOLY FUCK I'M CUMMING SO MUCH!!!"

Chaewon's cum sprayed out of her sore cunt in intense streams. Chaewon forcefully pulled her fingers out as her hips convulsed violently, wringing out every last drop of her climax. She kept squirting for what felt like ages, and with every spurt of her girlcum she grew less and less alert.

Her eyes were heavy, and her ears were failing her. Her hands dropped to the sides, as did her waist onto the mattress as her climax overwhelmingly resolved. She grew less and less aware of her heart beating out of her chest, and, finally, passed out naked on her cum-soaked bed.

a/n: lmao jesus christ anyways this wasn't the incest smut i was talking abt that's still in the works

[flippinpancakes64]

cullens w/ a reader who lovesss to cuddle?

The Cullens with a Cuddly S/O

Currently fighting the sleep demons rn so Idk if this will even make sense but whatever full send

Thank you for requesting and I hope you like this

Edward:

We already know he's down

I mean like half of the first book/movie is him watching Bella sleep

He just likes to be nearby

So cuddling up to your side is no burden to him

He'll ask a lot if you're too cold or if you want him to move

He just wants you to be comfortable

After you've established that you do, indeed, like his cuddles, expect them all the time

If the time or place allows him to be right by your side, he is there

"Hey I just rented a new movie, do you wanna come over and watch it?"

"What movie?"

"Uh-"

"I'm on my way, have my blankets ready."

Alice:

She's a pretty energetic person

So I feel like she'd need to either be doing something or talking

So yes she will cuddle, but she needs the TV on

Or she needs to be talking your ear off

She loves being so close though

She's like a lizard she loves the warmth

She doesn't mind if you fall asleep, she'll keep talking

But especially if it's late at night, she loves being so close to you

Btw she's the little spoon or literally laying on top of you

I would recommend investing in a nice heated blanket

Jasper:

I have a feeling he'd love it

He strikes me as the type to be able to stare at a wall for hours on end and not get bored

So he doesn't mind laying with you the whole night

He would lay in one spot for days if you wanted him to

He would be so happy when you asked him the first time though

He has a bit of a hard time grasping that you actually do love him, so small reminders like this go a long way

Is another one who's hyper-aware

Constantly making sure you're comfortable

He would find your even breaths and calm mind soothing

It's his new favorite couples activity btw

Rosalie:

I've mentioned it before but I think she's active at all hours

Either she's at school, hunting, or working on her cars

She just doesn't like to be bored

So cuddling isn't her favorite

Not to say she won't do it

Just that she won't do it for super long stretches of time

She'll cuddle for a movie, or until you go to sleep

But then she likes to get back to doing something

It's understandable, you can go to sleep, she can't

If you ask her to, though, she will stay the whole night

And she won't complain

She also doesn't have a preference on cuddling position

Emmett:

He's definitely more into like casual cuddling

Does that make sense?

Like he loves holding you close on the couch while he's watching a game

And he loves sitting you in his lap when he's playing a card game or doing homework

But he doesn't really like laying in bed for hours

So sort of similar to Rosalie

He just gets restless

He's squirmy too

He wakes you up throughout the night because he moves so much

Cruel injustice

But on the bright side, if he was able to sleep he'd be a loud ass snorer so at least you don't have to deal with that

Esme:

She would be another snuggle enjoyer

She loves the closeness of it

It makes her feel so connected to you

And she has no qualms about when or where

It's the middle of the day and she's outside working on the garden but you want to cuddle?

Okay just let her shower first

She would prefer to be the little spoon

Idk why that's just how it is

Carlisle:

Carlisle "Cuddle" Cullen

Anytime, anywhere

He just misses you a lot when he's at work

So he loves to make up for lost time by having you right there with him

Loves doing paperwork with you in his lap

Or having his arms around you at all times

And of course he will lay with you for the whole night

He tends to lay on his back

But that's just his natural

He will move however you need him to

He only cuddles fully clothed tho

He knows he's cold

So he knows you will need the extra layers between you two

Vampire! Bella:

She's always down

Sleeping is one of the things she misses the most about being human

So laying there with you while you sleep is the closest she can get to the real thing

She likes to cuddle while facing you

Face to face yk

But her one bad habit is that she forgets that she is freezing

Chronically puts her hands under your shirt or her toes behind your knees

"Ah! Cold!"

"Shit, sorry"