#do not give them up voluntarily out of fear

[sillygoofynerd]

Regarding the US election

This was an election I had the highest stakes in but ultimately no say once however. I am a nonbinary teenager. These next four years are supposed to be about growing up, figuring out who I am and where I stand in the world. If this election goes the way it looks like it will, I will instead have to figure out who I can safely be without endangering myself or my family.

Myself and every other teenager were forced to entrust our futures in the hands of the adults.

This message is to everyone who said "they're the same, " decided not to vote out of a misguided ego or even thought they were helping by abstaining from their fundamental privileges, to everyone who claims that economic policy outweighs human rights.

I hope you're happy with how you've used our trust.

[carto0ncritter]

I wanted to address some of the points your previous asker made https://www.tumblr.com/carto0ncritter/766355644544696320/i-just-want-to-say-that-i-personally-disagree-with, but I kept getting bogged down in the quagmire of it all. In the end I gave up and just let it be long - apologies for the wall of text but I'm tired of seeing the fandom repeat talking points similar to IRL apologia whenever someone isn't a perfect enough victim for them.

1 A fixation on "if Blitzo could say no in this or that specific instance, that 'proves' every other yes was freely given"

This line of argumentations fixated on the idea that if Blitzo wasn't shaking with fear and unable to refuse Stolas every time, he must have felt safe and able to consent every time. But there's a wilful disregard for how the deal works - the basic arrangement is Blitzo gives Stolas the book on the full moon and then they have sex.

The times Blitzo feels able to say no either fall outside that arrangement (Ozzie's being a one-off night out where Blitzo STILL felt the need to apologize for not wanting sex which doesn't say much for how safe he feels to refuse, and dragged a hand over his face when Stolas started talking like he was dreading dealing with Stolas trying to make a move on him) or because Stolas himself gave Blitzo an out. Blitzo wasn't taking months off until Stolas gave him the option, because it's Stolas who holds all the power and what he says, goes. We don't see Blitzo demand a night off and Stolas hand it to him before then - Blitzo phrases it explicitly as Stolas giving him nights off from 'having to' (i.e. a mandatory chore he has to do when asked) sleep with him.

Likewise all the texts show this same dynamic - once s2 happens Stolas is trying to get Blitzo to want to voluntarily spend time with him but Blitzo explicitly says in one text 'It's ur night' because that's how it's worked until now and he had no reason to think otherwise; the deal hadn't ended yet so Blitzo believed the terms were still in effect.

Side note - there's a specific mention of a shot during All 2 U when Blitzo - according to OP - refuses to stay after sex, proving he can say no. First off, saying no only counts if it's before sex, not for cuddling. Again, cuddling falls outside the deal.

And more importantly, I'm wondering if this is the shot being referred to:

https://64.media.tumblr.com/306e7f801fff142d57bee633abdfa9c6/90d50e1d22f5b44b-e8/s400x600/c03e4f8a2f96de0cc9c7add6749cc1e367187d90.jpg

If so, it boggles my mind anyone would use this as 'evidence' that Blitzo could always say no.

Really look at this shot: Blitzo's eyes are narrowed to slits and he looks furious & degraded. It's hard to tell if Blitzo is angry because of the sex he was just forced to have, or he's angry because Stolas is trying to get more out of him while he's trying to leave. Either way I don't see how anyone can look at that expression and think 'there's a man who just had sex/was asked to have sex he's totally enthusiastic about!' Any other show, any other fandom, this would be universally understood as a depiction of the moment right after coerced sex i.e. rape. If there is a single instance of Blitzo not wanting to do it but feeling like he has to, then that is rape. Period. Kill shot. End of discussion. No amount of 'he said no one time/he enjoyed it one time' fixes that or 'proves' all of them were fine. Consent is a case by case basis.

2 Blitzo had other options besides the Grimoire

This feels unrelated tbh; it's edging into 'well Blitzo could have done something else so having sex extorted out of him is his fault!' But to respond quickly:

The crystals existing doesn't mean Blitzo understood 100% how they worked or if he'd be able to use one (he says 'a what now?' or something when Stolas gave him one) or if it was a succubi-only thing and he has no reason to assume Ozzie would just hand him one (especially not once he knows Fizz works with him). By comparison Stolas had a book about them in his library all along apparently, is a prince on friendly terms with Ozzie so in a way better position to ask and had more incentive not to want to risk his book. But he didn't because he knew he could use his book to get sex.

Likewise saying Blitzo could just do Hell assassinations ignores what little worldbuilding around the economy there is. It's well established assassins doing Hell-based missions are more common while offering to kill Earth targets is a USP that brings in a steady client base that helped Blitzo found a business and rent an office (both things it's repeatedly said imps don't normally do). Stolas was under no obligation to let him keep the book, of course, but no one was forcing him to make a favors for favors deal to get sex out of Blitzo (and s2 adding Asmodean Crystals makes the idea that he didn't want to hurt Blitzo's business look 100% false: his only motivation for quid-pro-quoing this is unambiguously to get sex; him framing it as 'supporting' Blitzo is self-aggrandizing narcisstic nonsense).

3 Blitzo is shown wanting sex and wanting Stolas back in Full Moon/Apology Tour

This is a thing the writers like doing - backfilling stuff that should have been shown way earlier in order to rewrite the story into anything they need it to be that second.

S1 Blitzo's attitude to Stolas alternates between repulsed, indifferent and enjoying the power he has over Stolas by being the dominant one. He straight up glares at him like he despises him after Stolas yanks on his face in Truth Seekers (not to mention the chain vision implies he feels trapped and degraded). S2 Blitzo just seems…idk, annoyed by him some of the time? They don't exactly get on better. Then Oops backfills Stolas is being a totally nice person on the phone now and Apology Tour tries to insert flashbacks to stuff we should've seen in the show - i.e. Blitzo actually enjoying his company. Inserting the good times after the two characters have a falling out is totally backwards - we need the actual care and attraction establishing beforehand, not after. Stolas laughing at some of Blitzo's jokes and Blitzo worrying Stolas can actually get hurt is such a bare minimum floor for a ship

As it is the change is so abrupt it's just as easy to argue Stolas has made Blitzo believe all he's good for is sex (and he's panicking because Stolas has cut him off twice now without attempting to talk things out or apologize for any of his demeaning, objectifying behavior, which would make anyone think they aren't even good enough to exploit anymore and that they deserve to be mistreated without explanation) or that Stolas ending the arrangement just set off his abandonment complex. That and trauma bonding is a thing that could definitely happen with a 'relationship' as toxic as this one. Putting it short, the writing is so poor that even though they obviously want us to think Blitzo actually likes Stolas it's kind of hard to tell what he even likes about him or when it started.

4 The closing point

So the original post ends on "it's pretty clear that Blitzo at no point felt coerced into having sex with Stolas, and the people that claim otherwise I have good grounds to believe aren't even watching the same show anymore."

On some level that's true, because Helluva isn't the same show anymore.

Season 1 opened with an episode where Blitzo couldn't give informed consent to Stolas' deal because his life was in danger and his business was being threatened, and Stolas knew all of that. He could see Blitzo was injured and hear the gunshots along with Blitzo whispering and telling him repeatedly to get to the point. He took a hurried 'fine, whatever!' as consent.

He ignored Blitzo telling him not to hit on him at Loo Loo Land (multiple times) - the fact Blitzo seemed legitimately worried Stolas would try to 'diddle his holes' while Stolas' daughter was there speaks volumes to just how safe he felt around Stolas. Harvest Moon has a similar arc - Blitzo takes Stolas' invite in good faith and in return gets demeaned in front of a crowd of imps. Once again he feels so disrespected by Stolas by the end of the episode he explicitly mentions the 'thirsty owl onstage' as the reason why he didn't go to the harvest moon ceremony and had Striker not hurt M&M, he probably could have persuaded Blitzo into joining him. He feels so safe around Stolas, apparently, that when Stolas asks for a reward after saving him he immediately assumes Stolas expects Blitzo to pay him with his body - something which Stolas immediately agrees to. All this culminates in the season finale where he uses Stolas to get into a club and is surprised when Stolas tries to talk to him like a person for once. He's never done that before.

But the damage is done by then. He drops Stolas off, looks desperate to be able to leave when he thinks Stolas is going to try and get sex out him (like always), then tells Stolas all he wants is for Blitzo to fuck him and he makes that really clear 'all the time'.

But what in a decent show would be a condemnation of Stolas' behavior because Blitzo did feel coerced into sex at several points (read: the whole first season, actully) was in fact the writers trying to make the viewers feel sorry for Stolas - a fact that's only come into sharper and more awful focus the more they double down on making Stolas the saddest prince to ever exist in s2 and throw everyone else under the bus to do it.

Finishing off, there's really only one thing I can say left to anyone still insisting the writers aren't trying to retcon the rape ship that they wrote. And that's this:

What Stolas has done to Blitzo is the definition of quid pro quo sexual coercion.

To quote from a source:

https://www.wmlawyers.com/oakland-sexual-harassment-attorneys/eeoc-definition/quid-pro-quo-harassment/

“Quid pro quo” literally means “this for that” in Latin. Quid pro quo sexual harassment occurs when employment, pay, benefits, title, position or other opportunities for advancement or training are conditioned on the submission to unwelcome sexual advances. Whether the harassment is explicit or implicit, it is illegal.

Read that again - when employment is on the condition of submission to unwelcome sexual advances. That's literally what the deal is - Blitzo keeps his job if he sleeps with Stolas. And as we've seen in most of s1, the advances are unwelcome. Even if Blitzo had been more enthusiastic from the start, his job would still depend on keeping Stolas sexually gratified.

A dynamic like that is always going to be prone to abuse no matter how many 'but Blitzo enjoyed it this one time!!' caveats the writers stick on it, because if he had a day where he wasn't feeling into it he would feel obliged to hide his feelings and sleep with Stolas anyway because his livelihood literally depends on it. That isn't informed consent. And this rhetoric is pernicious and should go the way of the dodo

THIS

[tame-the-lion-writes]

cat shifter reader x 141 pt.5

(Some angst today, but not without the added comfort.) CW: implied past abuse

Though you've had plenty of time to grow closer with the boys, they still haven't seen you as--well--you. Not since you first got sick.

The next time isn't the most fun, either.

You'd returned after another day hunting rodents--this time voluntarily, since you've witnessed how disappointed Gaz looks when seeing chewed-through grain sacks. You tell yourself it's only a returned favor; he did cook for you while you were sick, after all, and you don't like having unpaid debts. At least, that's what you tell yourself. Still, you huffed at the now-dried mud clinging to your fur--the result after a chase through the pig pen. Ghost seemed to notice, too, and scooped you up before you could dirty the wood floors inside the house, muttering something about you being too dirty to go trapsing around the place.

You let out a disgruntled meow, thinking he'd just throw you back out to wash your paws with the outdoor facet. Too tired to fight back, really. But instead, he heads to the bathroom.

And your heart drops.

You wriggle around, but the man just won't let go.

"Don't be like that. You need a bath. I already warmed the tub," he argues, wrapping you in a towel from the linen closet to try and avoid more scratches. You'd been doing so well, having let them carry you around most days. What now?

"Don't think she cares much for water," Price says, having just walked in as well. "Might be human somewhere in there, but she's a cat all the same."

"Even cats need baths once in a while. Especially this one," Ghost mutters. But as soon as he lowers you, and your paws hit the surface of the water--

"NO!"

In a blink, you're human--scrambling to stay in Ghost's arms with reckless abandon, your own hands wrapped around his neck and legs around his torso.

"What the!--"

He's about to lash back reactively when he sees the fear in your eyes--teary--and the shudder, the shaking of your shoulders before you bury your face into the crook of his neck.

"Not the water, not the water--" you mumble over and over again, hiccupping softly. Your cheeks are red as apples from the anxiety, and knuckles white as snow. It's clear that this is no simple dislike, but something more. Something that makes you cling to even him--to think, the man you've been so keen on despising.

But a man you think cares for you nonetheless.

"Hey, hey," Ghost eases, grip softening into something still firm but gentle. "Won't do nothin' you really don't like. Promise," he sighs, backing away from the tub. As soon as you're out of the bathroom, you calm down somewhat, though you refuse to speak or explain. Just sniffle in the awkward quiet before shifting back and bumping your head repeatedly into Ghost's chest--this time, grateful he hadn't let go. Price's idle talk fills the empty space.

"Easy now," the Captain mumbles, placing a hand to the top of your head. "You're alright."

They don't know why you're scared, and it's not as though you've offered any explanation. Despite your words, you seem fine with water itself--they've seen you paw at the water pouring from the sink, or dipping your feet in shallow--

In shallow water.

"... You think she had previous owners?" Price says slowly, watching as Ghost cradles you, frozen in gentleness.

"Don't know. Dunno if I wanna think about it."

_

Bonus Thoughts:

Ghost is extra nice to you after this. I think we (breaking the fourth wall as actual readers) know why. You've got a temper; he's got a temper. You're stubborn; he's stubborn. And for fairly similar reasons.

It's also him who brings up giving you your own room first. "Can't have her stay in Soap's forever," is his only explanation. They have an extra office they use as a storage space, anyway.

"Since when did you get all soft on the cat?"

"'m not soft."

[lovverletters]

👉👈 yandere serial killer...??? Maybe?? Like just this big scary dude with a mask and a big fuck all weapon like a butcher's knife or something and hes so big and scary but he sees his darling as he's just head over heels in love and obssessed and stalks them and makes sure they are safe.

Maybe leaves gifts as a way to try and court his darling even (trial and error style)

So like he leaves maybe a dead animal like a fucking cat cause he's this kinda survival guy and he's trying to provide food but darling is freaked out, so he tries again with something else maybe bones. Doesn't work. Tries to figure out what they like and tries again with their favorite flower or something.

Like he's out of touch with society cause again big serial killer who likely lives out in the woods, kills people who get to close to his home etc so he's really trying to win over his darling who lives closer to the town/city or something.

Just.... I just love big scary man who is so scary and mean but is ONLY nice and soft to his darling and tries to be so gentle, especially if his darling is much smaller than him.

No pressure if you dont wanna do this! Just!!! Giving out some ideas!

♡♡♡

♡Bunny

Yandere! Serial Killer

A/N : thank you for requesting! I changed a few things if you don't mind💖 this is like an intro for him? I'll write more if people like this dude

T/W : Obsessive behaviour, murder, mentions of dead animal.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

"─yet another body has been discovered near a park at Heartfelt Avenue this morning. The police were alerted to the scene after a man who was walking his dog stumbled upon the deceased body covered with deep cuts that were shaped into a heart. This marks the twelfth victim of the serial killer, 'Lovelorn' that has left communities in fear──"

The news forecaster were cutted off as [Name] switch the television off. Their stomach churned with uneasiness at the reports of the new killing. With the serial killer still on the loose, god knows who'll be next?

It could be them.

It's a terrifying thought but a probable possibility. All of the bodies were found near their place of living, meaning that the killer is not far from their area. Moving away is not a choice for them, they could barely make enough money to stay afloat.

[Name] will have to put up with the murderous maniac's antics until they were caught and placed behind bars.

"Shit── I forgot I have to cover for Stacey today!" They cursed out, hurriedly changing into their horrendous work uniform.

Working a late shift at a cafe wasn't exactly their choice. [Name] usually worked the day shift── stressful but far better than being all alone at night when there's a lunatic who's going around stabbing people. Their coworker Stacey had an emergency today and had practically begged [Name] to cover for her shift as no one would take up on it.

[Name] don't blame them, no one in their right mind would voluntarily throw themselves in a situation where they would ended up in a news headline.

However, adulting is hard and it drains your sanity slowly and [Name] already lost theirs a long time ago. Plus, they really need more money otherwise they'll have to live off cup noodles.

What ever could go wrong? The killer had just slain a person today, they couldn't possibly attempt to do it again could they?

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Everything went wrong.

It had been mind numbingly boring shift, the cafe were deserted at night with only a few people coming in and getting out as soon as they got their drinks.

[Name] were tempted to just sleep through their shift in the break room. Their boss won't care──probably.

"Can't something interesting happens right now? I'm bored out of my mind──" On cue, the lights suddenly begun flickering before shutting off.

Fuck. They're not bored anymore.

[Name] jolted in their place when the main door slammed to a close and their heart stopping momentarily as they saw a figure running towards the backdoor entrance.

They raced towards the exit──there's no way they're going to investigate it! They value their life more than this store they worked at──and try to pry the door open but discovered to their horror that it has been jammed!

Before they could attempt to break the glass door with a steel chair, they heard a noise from their former place behind the counter. [Name] eyes widened in fear at the sight of the figure they'd seen running earlier.

The man was muscular and had a red horned mask on, in his hand was a large butcher knife that serial killers loves wielding. Had their life not being in danger, [Name] would've laughed at how cliché this situation they're in.

"H─hey buddy, that's a nice looking knife you got there" [Name] says as they held onto the steel chair tighter, ready to wield it as a weapon if needed to.

The killer only stalked further in silence, ignoring [Name]'s remarks. He only stopped once they reached a good distance from each other and [Name] were confused, is he fucking with them?

Their confusion only furthers when the killer drops a fucking dead rabbit in front of them. Horrified beyond belief, [Name] looked at the horned masked man who stared at them as if he's waiting for a praise.

"Wh──wha..?" They could only croaked out timidly.

"It's for you" The killer spoke in his deep voice, elaborating no further.

Their eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as he dropped a human heart next to the dead rabbit. [Name] felt their knees weakened as they fell on the ground, disturbed at the sight before them.

Mustering whatever courage they have left within them, they asked the killer that's towering over them.

"Wha──what are these f──for?" Stumbling over their words from how terrified they were.

The killer, holding a flower in his hand──they looked freshly cut from the stem──lowered to their level of ground and spoke in his gravely voice that's strangely laced with a certain gentleness and love.

"M' courting you cause' I love you"

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[qqueenofhades]

I got political whiplash on Threads. First, everyone was screaming, “All is lost!” I came back an hour later, and everyone was screaming, “We Ride at Dawn!”

The right-wingers are in panic mode. Steven Miller was practically screaming on Feckless news. 🤣

I mean. The right-wingers' entire mentality, the fuel for the January 6 attempted coup, the recent SCOTUS President God-King Immunity ruling, and all the rest, is premised on the simple fact that the president is indeed, Almighty God King who serves for life and will never, ever willingly give up his power. So that's how I can guarantee that the GOP, because they are short-sighted fascist morons, did not plan for this. Their entire strategy was built around attacking Biden, because they hate him. Like, really hate him. He defeated Trump the first time and there was still a good chance that he could do it again. Trump got impeached the first time for trying to extort Zelenskyy for dirt on Biden, because he didn't want to face him. That's why they went after Hunter on largely bogus charges, tossed around the idea of impeaching Biden, actually (uselessly) impeached Mayorkas, etc.

And yet, because Biden (even if he was forced to do it) decided to step away and voluntarily give up his presidential power instead of wrecking American democracy to hold onto it, that has broken their little shriveled fascist brains. They literally can't comprehend it, and I can guarantee they're now shit scared about having to face Kamala, a brown woman, who is the epitome of everything their tiny evil brains hate. As noted by those bangin' fundraising numbers, there is also a lot of excitement around her. And suddenly, after MONTHS of "this election is a referendum on which old and mentally declining man you hate more," that has been removed as a factor. (Watch the media suddenly forget all about age and/or mental competency as a factor now that Biden is out. Does it apply to Trump, you ask? CRICKETS.)

Kamala is going to mop the f'n floor with Trump at the next presidential debate, and I guarantee that the GOP knows that too. Because yes, if Biden had another bad debate, or if he has a bad case of COVID that might end up giving him long-covid symptoms or keeping him off the trail for days or weeks, that would have been very, very hard to recover from. Now the GOP is the one stuck with an old, mentally baffled, virulently hated presidential candidate and the most pro-Russia, anti-woman, demonstrable-sellout whitebread VP pick imaginable, that they had to choose because Trump nearly got the last one killed and he wasn't interested in the job again, for some weird reason. And as we have pointed out before, this is the last-chance saloon for Trump in any number of ways, and he has been demonstrably overconfident the last few weeks as the media was consumed with discussion of Biden's stumbles rather than Trump's manifold unfitness, treason, felonies, and all the rest.

I don't agree with Biden on everything he has ever done in his long career in public service, but I will say that I don't think he would have actually done this if he wasn't eventually convinced, for whatever reason that might be, that it was the right decision. And my one big fear about him stepping down was that the party would instantly fracture, people would start flogging unrealistic Magical White Boy replacements, and otherwise insist on an "open mini-primary!" or some other fucking bullshit. Now, there are still a few idiots trying that, but by and large, the Democratic power apparatus has instantly thrown its weight behind Kamala. That doesn't excuse them for the weeks of wibbling Anonymous Sources self-sabotage beforehand, and I still vote that we destroy the billionaires at our next opportunity, but if we can stick with that and keep up those mongo fundraising numbers, we might indeed actually have a better chance than before, and that was what this was all about.

As I noted yesterday, Black women have been disproportionately influential in taking Trump down (think Leticia James, Fani Willis, etc) and there is undoubtedly a huge, HUGE amount of poetic justice if Kamala can be the one to stick the knife in his greasy orange gut once and for all. I can likewise guarantee the GOP is well aware of that, and the fact that while they can yell even louder and trot out the same old racist, sexist, misogynist fearmongering dirtbag attacks they used on HRC, that is a strategy with demonstrably diminishing returns (it sure as hell isn't going to help them win any more female or suburban or black voters or anyone else we always hear about how they're Making Inroads with). And we're not going to talk about how it's Obvious that America would never elect a black female president. Obama won two terms. Even with all that weight of frothing misogyny and DECADES of Republican smear machines, HRC won the popular vote and was ratfucked out of the Electoral College by the slimmest of margins, after a massive interference campaign by the Russians. It is fucking possible, we are going to do it, and the Republicans are so, SO FUCKING SCARED of having to live in an America run by a brown woman, that can only be for the good.

Kamala Harris 2024. Let's go.

[americankimchi]

Do you have any tips for writing Obi Wan or any meta in mind with his characterizarion?

hmmm sure why not! i'll give a few tips on how i'd write obi-wan. mind you this is how i interpret the character, so ymmv.

i truly do not like it when fics have obi-wan voluntarily leaving the order. like it's so out-of-character for me in my head that the premise of the story + the writing would have to work triple-time to get me to stick around. now if he's been removed from it by an EXTERNAL SOURCE (not the order. i cannot stress this enough: the jedi kicking obi-wan out is so jarring to me i'll leave the fic in an instant) or somehow unable to return to the order for whatever reason, all is well.

not a prodigy, but a genius. obi-wan is an incredibly intelligent person with an absolutely staggering knowledge base in a wide variety of topics, but all that knowledge was earned through blood, sweat, tears, and time. he sat down with his game face on and put in the work. that's also why he makes an excellent teacher: he knows what most students will struggle with because he struggled too, and knows through experience how best to overcome them. i headcanon that it contributes to why he's such a good negotiator: he's really good at stripping down information to the essentials and communicating that information effectively and efficiently to others because of his intense study habits.

humble, but not ignorant of his skills. it's pretty impossible to fully divorce yourself from pride in your achievements, and i don't think it's healthy to not feel any pride at all, so i think obi-wan has a very clear understanding of his skillset and how best to use it. i don't think he'd be ignorant of how good he is at something, especially since the direct consequence of his aptitude led him to being a member of the jedi council. pretty hard to be blind to your strengths when you're being asked for your input on topics that directly draw from that knowledge.

averse to healthcare. listen i enjoy obi-wan whump just as much as the next obi-wan stan (the desire to put him in the cosmic salad spinner comes with the territory, i fear) but as a character who grew up in an environment that deeply cares for the well-being of all, and knowing that you cannot help others unless you yourself first have the ability to do so, i can't really see him ignoring injuries outside of combat scenarios. like on the battlefield he's got more pressing concerns than a pesky little shrapnel wound or five, but once the battle's over?? he might not be first in line to the medics but i can't see him avoiding them entirely. an army without a general is working at a sharp disadvantage and i don't think he'd risk his men by neglecting his physical health in that manner. note that i said 'physical'. make of that what you will :)

duty. obi-wan is the definition of a paladin. he takes an oath and by the force he's going to keep it. train the boy? absolutely, qui-gon. whether or not anakin chooses to respect that training is another matter, but he did definitively get knighted! refuse to kill anakin? listen he's handed vader his own ass to him twice post order 66 and each time he did it he did it nonlethally. that takes skill. that takes dedication. exile yourself to tatooine for 19 years and then decide fuck it, we ball, and die after Once Again Deciding Not To Kill Anakin Skywalker? step aside casper, there's a new friendly ghost in town. every time obi-wan commits to something the man COMMITS. you GOTTA respect that grind.

flirty but in the sense that he's going to match the energy someone brings to the table. like he's a negotiator. he knows how to read people and figure out the Vibes. if he thinks the other person will be 1) 100% receptive and 2) will respond with a delightful wit, why the hell not? obi-wan's highest stat is charisma and he's got expertise in persuasion. whether they're allies or not does not factor into this equation. he can have a little flirtation with morally dubious and potentially hostile characters. as a treat.

this has nothing to do with his character but i firmly believe that he and quinlan vos had at LEAST a fling when they were padawans. there is zero evidence to back this up aside from a few comics where they were being goofy teenagers together but i stand by this. it is an unshakeable aspect of obi-wan to me that has only gotten worse with the kenobi show.

no matter what, no matter how terrible or devastating or downright apocalyptic it gets, obi-wan kenobi will never fall to the dark side. never. it won't be easy, but that is a line he has never, and will never cross. i will not hear any "obi-wan touched the dark side during the theed generator fight" slander. if that was true tell me why the force theme was playing during his moment of triumph!!! Would John Williams Lie To Us Like That?? to our face?????

anyways i could go on forever about obi-wan because he is My Ultimate Blorbo but this post is getting super long so i'll leave it there. hope this helped even a little or at the very least was entertaining for you to read <3

[doremimosasol]

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 - 𝐇𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐟𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ✧

Ravenclaw!reader here

Slytherin!reader here

Gryffindor!reader here

warnings: none

word count: 1,2 k

requested

he was never interested in the Hufflepuffs

he saw them as stuck-up people

boring

people pleasers

and he thought they were absolute goody two shoes little did he know about the Hufflepuff parties they kept a secret from the rest of the houses

they were everything he didn’t like

they were also too nice for his liking

but even for their friendly nature, most of them didn’t like Mattheo after all

most of them actually hated him, and held grudges against the boy for whatever reason

no one except his closest friends liked him and the ones who seemingly did, just put on an act

or they just were too scared to go against the son of the Dark Lord

it made him feel extremely powerful, on top of the world

not being liked, not even by the kindest house in the school

except for you

it drove him absolutely insane, he was hated by all except for you?

at first, he even thought it was fake but you were actually being genuine

you always smiled at him when you crossed each other’s paths in the hallways

you voluntarily sat next to him in class when people would rather sit on the other side of the classroom, as far away from him as possible

you never distanced yourself when you two accidentally stood a little too close

you were comfortable around him?

it threw him off completely

ever since first year he tried everything to make you hate him too, like everyone else does

you were that one loose end

that one loose he’d so desperately try to get rid of

he’d throw insults and you’d just laugh it off

he’d make you trip and you’d apologize for walking in his way (really?)

he’d write scribbles on your paper and you’d laugh at the cute gesture

he even once locked you up in a classroom all alone and even then you forgave him

nothing worked, you’d never hate him

you’d never fear him

after 7 years he eventually gave up, as school was almost finished he didn’t see the use anymore

he’d just let you be

let you be kind

that’s where everything went downhill for him though

when he started to let you be, he started to look past his goal of trying to make you dislike him

he actually finally acknowledged your sweet heart, the absolute kindest student in the whole school

no one was like you

he grew a small soft spot for you, and at that moment he knew he had to protect you at all costs

he knew he fucked up by admitting to these feelings to himself but something about it made him feel warm

it melted the cold layer around his heart, which was never meant to be melted

he’d notice all the little things you did

you’d regularly help first years around school

you’d help around in the Three Broomsticks when it was busy on weekends, sacrificing your precious free time

you’d even help Hagrid with his odd creatures

feeding them almost daily; even when it rained, when it was early in the morning, and during dinner

you’d rather spend time with the creatures than eating together with your friends

it wasn’t that you didn’t have any friends though, you were one of the most popular Hufflepuffs

but was it due to your kindness or did people just take advantage of it?

you were too blind to see through people’s acts though

but Mattheo saw how people put on a nice facade in front of you to get something out of you

it was always when they needed something for themselves

you gave and gave and gave but never received anything

when he noticed this he wanted to do anything to make you feel appreciated for all the giving you did

that’s when you frequently started to receive anonymous gifts

you’d find notes in between the pages of your books, just a few kind words

you’d find roses in front of your door, never a bouquet, always one

one single red rose

it kept going for months, never knowing the real sender

it put a smile on you every single day, and Mattheo loved to see you smile

every time he left one of those roses at your door, he made sure to figure out your schedule to pass by you in the hallways and see that smile of yours

because it also made his day every single time

you appreciated the gesture so much

it made you feel all warm and fussy

you dried all the roses he got you and put the leaves in a special box

there was not one you threw away, always keeping them

forever

as the months progressed he started to leave small notes with the roses too, signed as “MR”

you never tried to figure out who it was, liking the mysteriousness of it

though, the initials could obviously only belong to one person

one specific Slytherin

on the day before graduation you finally got more than initials: “Meet me where the earth swallows the sun.”

the Black Lake…

it was the perfect time

the last day of school ever

the last day before graduation, leaving your second home behind after all

he wouldn’t have to explain his actions ever

because after this day he’d leave school behind, which meant also leaving you behind forever

excited but a little skeptical you approached the Black Lake at sunset, seeing the back of a well-known Slytherin boy

the one you could never hate

Mattheo Riddle

he turned around to meet your eyes, with no emotion to reveal his true intentions

he called you closer to him and when you stood in front of him, he put your hair behind your back

not without softly stroking your cheek, making it look accidental

you froze at that moment, completely lost in his warm brown eyes

you wondered how people could hate him when his eyes told a whole story

it was like coming home to a fireplace after a day in the snow

the browns hugging you like the warmth of fresh warm chocolate in your hands

he took something out of his pocket, hiding it in his hand

“Close your eyes”

you didn’t immediately comply, unsure of what his intentions were

“Trust me…”

you closed your eyes and you felt his fingers slightly grazing your neck when you heard a click behind it

he stood behind you, brushing your hair to the side for his lips to meet the back of your neck

the softness staying there for a few seconds

you felt his breath on your ear when he pulled away for a moment, his lips grazing your lobe

“Thank you, y/n…”

the whispering and his deep voice echoing in your ear

just when you decided to open your eyes, the touch disappeared

you turned around and he was gone…

around your neck was now a silver necklace with a beautiful silver rose hanging as a pendant

though you never gave him anything, you finally received something

but to him, you gave him everything…

kindness

[wandagcre]

Need some soft golden retriever Sam hcs please 😭

SHE IS THE CUTEST GIRLFRIEND EVER. LISTEN‼️

she waits for you (whether it's after your classes at uni or after working) if her shift happens to end early, sam is literally the embodiment of 🧍🏻‍♀️ emoji

sam LOVES tummy rubs ;( if you don't do it while you're watching a movie, she will grasp your hand and place it on her stomach so you'll be reminded!

you can envision her pouting with knitted eyebrows in confusion if you drop some slangs and abbreviations that she can't keep up with (don't laugh at her pls 🥺🤏🏼)

sam: kys 🥰

you: ??? baby what do you mean by that ☹️

sam: What, y? I said, keep yourself safe? ☺️

you: oh my god.

she didn't care much for board games, since the crowd she's been into has either avoided her or she's a part of sketchy ones ;(

however she eagerly wanted to learn when she met you! sam says it's also pratice for her. she liked scrabble a lot, idk i envision her as someone who reads when she has the time.

if you're a foreigner, i can see sam studying more than basic phrases of your native language. she'll surprise you, handwritten or sam will randomly blurt them out. she rlly wants to know you better this way <3

sam lets you win in board games btw, you caught on after like 3 times of playing with her and you called her out of it

sam simply raised her hand in defeat, giggling about it. in reality, she just enjoys spending time with you hence why she doesn't mind letting you win. it's also for her to have a reason to invite you eventually on game nights with the 3/4 of the core four ;(

sam loves seeing you bond with her other loved ones: tara, mindy, chad <3

she's pretty great with words, but sam doesn't express much out of fear of fucking things up. however, when she does, it's the sweetest thing ever

doesn't care if her partner is shorter or taller, you will GET forehead kisses, regardless! she tugs you close and gives you one whenever she sees you or before you say goodbye

if someone is bothering you i can see her being very protective. if she's present, sam will have a hand around your waist tightly. wouldn't hesitate to verbally call them out - she's straightforward. if she's not: sam will joke about being a loomis - that they should watch out for her (she looks adorable because she's gentle with you. in reality, sam is for REAL. she's ready to pounce on them omfg)

wordlessly passes you the utensils first before getting hers whenever sam eats with you

i can see that in general, sam expresses her love and care through acts of service and physical touch. she tends to be nonverbal at times due to her trust issues. be patient with sammy! ;(

doesn't know how to say sorry when she accidentally messes things up. she either cooks for you or does something to help you as her way of extending an olive branch about that disagreement that happened

speaking of: the core four will tease her of being called "sammy" like it's the softest thing she has ever been called!! with saccharine voice, "oh look, it's sammy, precious (y/n) sugarplum is waiting for youuu" and sam rolls her eyes at their silliness 😭

sam doesn't expect anything in return, the simple gestures really, she does it voluntarily to express that she cares for you. but still it moves her when you reciprocate you swear that you'll see her teary eyed !!!

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Love Triangle

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

i have an idea... a love triangle.

now, hear me out.

an actual love triangle. not the love corner disguised as a love triangle.

bucky loves you, you love steve, and steve loves bucky. imagine the angst. the pain.

after all, no one leaves a love triangle unscathed.

no one.

we'll start with bucky, self effacing, self sacrificing, noble, bucky barnes. he swore he loved you from the moment he saw you. the one and only person to welcome him to the compound after his stint in wakanda.

he remembers it perfectly. every detail of the moment he first laid eyes on you. but mostly, your smile. it was that damned smile. so warm. so genuine. from ear to ear, you greeted the both of them. you reached out a hand to him. it was so unexpected, he couldn't remember the last time someone voluntarily stood that close to him. he couldn't remember the last time he didn't see fear shining in a stranger's eyes. you reached out your hand to him, only for him to kiss the back of your hand. you blushed and a little chuckle bubbled from your lips, and he fell just a little more.

you showed him kindness he'd long forgotten. a warmth that almost thawed all his years as the winter soldier. you listened to him. held his hand as he told his story. how easily you slid past his walls. he loved you so much it hurt.

and that smile. that damned smile.

it didn't take very long for him to realize that smile wasn't for him.

he could pinpoint the exact moment he figured it out. a mission gone wrong. him and steve barely made it out with their lives. he limped off the quinjet with steve hobbling right behind him. the door slammed open and you skidded across the hangar. panic and tears welled in your eyes. that smile. that smile bloomed across your face at the sight of them. he smiled back. his heart warmed at the sight of someone actually caring about him.

bucky couldn't help but think that maybe this would all be worth it if you were always there to welcome him back.

you sprinted up the ramp. you and that smile blew right past him. right into steve's arms. bucky's heart broke as steve wrapped his arms around your waist. even more as you nestled your head against steve's chest, right over his beating heart. all he could hope was that you didn't hear the sound of his heart shattering.

he sees you walking past him in the compound and he wonders how he never noticed it. how after all this time watching you, pining for you, he never saw it. your eyes don't search for him, they search for steve. his heart beats for you. and still, your heart beats for steve. of course it does, why wouldn't it? steve is everything that bucky is and so much more. this only proves it.

you're friends. that much is true. but your eyes, your heart, that damned smile, it's all for steve. and there's nothing he can do about it.

he'd give you up in a hearbeat. bucky would hand over the dream of holding you in his arms. the hope that one day you would look at him like you look at steve. he would give it up to see you smile like that for the rest of your life. he would live his life on the outside looking in, watching steve live the life that bucky wanted. he could take another lifetime's worth of hurt if it meant that you would be happy.

and then there's steve, captain america himself, head held high, stoic and unflinching. a moral compass personified. the moment he came out of the ice, he pined for the man that he promised forever to, he longed for bucky.

until the end of the line, he promised.

and he meant it.

it was wrong, he knew. at first, he liked your company. it only dawned on him months into your friendship that you felt differently than he did. he wanted to tell you. he just didn't want to hurt you. he didn't want to lose you. he liked the way you looked at him like he hung the moon and the stars. he liked being loved.

he wanted to love you, desperately so. he told himself he just needed time. loving you would be so easy for him, all he needed was time to move on from his first love.

the moment he finds out bucky is alive, he knows how wrong it really is. because he'd do just about anything for bucky, even breaking your heart over and over again without a second thought.

no one could ever compare to the man he spent more than seventy years loving.

he fought his way back to bucky. fought through all the politics, war, all the time lost, back to bucky. foolish hope bloomed in his heart when bucky uttered those same words back to him, 'until the end of the line'.

for a short moment, steve thought it was the start of a love story for the ages.

it only took watching bucky watch you, to know that bucky didn't mean it.

not the way steve did.

he wasn't sure why he thought it would be any different. beneath the serum, steve was still that kid from brooklyn. the kid that bucky defended, protected. he was bucky's friend, but he was never truly his equal. bucky had never given him any reason to think that he was remotely interested in him. he never gave him so much as a second glance. not in the way he wanted. not then and most certainly, not now.

bucky had eyes for you and only you. of course. you were amazing, exactly the kind of woman that bucky deserved. exactly his type. more than steve would ever be.

why would bucky ever look in his direction when you were right there?

how could he take bucky's chance at the love that he deserved? bucky deserved that, as much as bucky believed he didn't. steve knew he deserved that and so much more. so he stood aside. tall and unflinching. and watched bucky love you the way that steve always wanted bucky to love him.

and you. you came much later into their decades long saga. you were his first real friend when he came out of the ice. it didn't take long for you to fall.

you knew your mission. help him, be there for him.

you tried to talk yourself out of it, to keep yourself from falling. you were just an agent. just a friendly face to him. he was captain america. you were the shield agent that followed him around like a lost puppy. he never made you feel like that, never treated you as anything but his equal.

there was something about the way steve looked at you.

there was something about steve rogers that you couldn't let go.

he made you feel almost worthy of his love.

perhaps it was the way steve would call you in the middle of the night when he lie away sleep evaded. you didn't mind it, not one bit.

perhaps it was the way steve always held out an arm for you to hold on walks through new york city. you liked listening to his stories, watching him point out the things that were still the same.

maybe it was his warmth. the warmth of his overheated skin that could warm you from the inside out on blistery days. the warmth that radiated from his skin when he would hold you in his arms, listening to the sound of his beating heart soothing you like the most comforting of lullabies. the warmth of his smile. the warm blue eyes that you wanted to fall into.

sometimes, you thought he could love you, too.

until bucky catapulted back into his life.

it happened so quickly. and still, you'd never forget the moment you realized he would never love you like he loved bucky.

'you're going to do something stupid, aren't you?' you asked him on your final call before he disappeared.

'i love him' steve whispered into the phone. it was the way the words fell from his lips. love. it wasn't the sort of love that you declared for your friend. it wasn't familial, platonic. it was an intensity he'd never felt for you. in that moment, you're sure he never will.

a breath lodged in your throat. your heart splintering. 'you love him?'

'until the end of the line.'

and still, you couldn't stop loving him. you loved him enough to become a fugitive for two years. enough to run by his side knowing that he would never want you. two years worth of pain isn't enough for you to learn your lesson and walk away. it's not enough to stop you from loving him either.

even after the dust settled, when steve returned with bucky barnes. none of it is enough for you to walk away from him. and steve rogers is far too love struck to notice the way you watch him.

you curse yourself, how foolish you were to think that steve ever loved you. that was not steve rogers in love. it's clear to you now. it's clear because watching him like this, you know what love actually looks like on steve rogers. he never had a fraction of that for you. he never looked at you like that.

he never loved you. not even a little bit.

there's a part of you that wants to hate bucky, but you can't. you can't because he's pretty incredible too.

you can see exactly why steve's spent seventy years loving him.

you'll take your pain and bear it with the bravest of faces because he's perfect for him. you'll swallow all the hurt, the broken pride, the bruised dignity, all to see steve finally at peace. after all the decades of suffering and pain, they deserve their happy ending.

you wonder if he knows. if either of them know.

you wonder if you'll ever escape this feeling.

you don't think you will.

none of you will.

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez@ludicbouquetfromearth@matchat3a@famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff@valoraxx@blue786sworld@buckyandgeraltsupremacy@geminigengar@ansaturn@ecolle@lexhalstead3@ybflkmj@mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112@thegirlnextdoorssister@toomanyfanficsbruh@moonlightreader649@breathtaking-cynthia@mirikusashes@beans-and-toast@niyahcoca@katiechikin@elxvrr@antiheroxsblog@infamouslyclumsy@krissydclayton93@buckysbarne@deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic@whitexwolfxx310

[whumblr]

Hey! I just wanted to say that I absolutely love Home is Where the Hurt Is, I've been rereading it over and over again for literal days, it's great. You're a really good writer! I was wondering if you would be willing to do a drabble with restraints for Jay? Idk i just think that Zayne would have fun with that. feel free to ignore this, ofc, if you don't want to do it no pressure.

“Whoawhoa, wait! Wait!”

But already spinning in midair with the wall approaching at breakneck speed, there wasn’t much to wait for. Besides the unavoidable crash right into said wall. Which he managed to break, just about, catching himself with his free hand. He grunted at the collide, dazed for a second, time that Zayne used well by snatching up his other wrist and twisted it to his back.

“How about a something like this?”

Zayne pressed further up against him, pinning him to the wall with his body. He clamped both Jay’s wrists together in one hand, keeping them firmly to the small of his back. With his free hand, he pulled something from his pocket. Jay immediately snapped from his daze.

“Oh, no! No, no, no, absolutely not!”

Zayne wiggled the long piece of plastic around. A zip-tie. “Absolutely, yes.”

Jay struggled with all his might, pulling one hand free from Zayne’s grasp, only to be caught again and renew his struggles to break free. A dance they continued for a bit until Zayne leaned his full body weight against him and forced one wrist up to his shoulder blades.

“Then I take you want me to rip your arm from its socket. Only a little more slowly,” he said, actions following his words, slowly forcing Jay’s wrist further up in-between his shoulder blades, relishing the bitten off cry. “Twisting it until it finally grinds free and—"

“NO!”

“You give such mixed signals, you know.”

The sharp pain in his shoulder subsided and Jay mentally called himself – and Zayne – all the worst names he could think of as he voluntarily, under threat, pressed his wrists together.

A zipping sound crinkled the air, filled his stomach with dread before he even felt the plastic pull his wrists together, biting into the skin. He yelped out an indignant sound.

Zayne grabbed him by the collar, yanked him back and with a simple tap to the back of his ankles pulled him right over.

Jay flailed—or well, didn’t. His intended wild swing of both arms was restricted, the force absorbed by the plastic around his wrists. Unable to break his fall, and not wanting to land on both arms, he twisted best as he could and landed with a grunt on his shoulder, the shoulder that he was glad still remained in its socket but shifted precariously against the sudden impact.

The plastic hadn’t given at all at the sudden yank, but his skin had. He hissed at the sudden pain.

“Take it off!” He tried not to struggle, knowing it would only make things worse but the discomfort made him automatically twist his wrists. “It's— Agh!— It’s too tight!”

“I might consider it if your fingers are turning purple.”

But by then it would be too late… Though Jay didn't say as much. Because the immediate future – Zayne now unfolding his knife – demanded much more attention than the near future.

Fearful eyes met cold eyes looking down on him.

He scooted a few inches back in retreat, feet scrambling, shoulder sliding over the floor, pushing himself away and keeping his eyes on the threat. He was vulnerable as fuck, barely able to move. All he could do was buck like a fish on dry. And even those small movements caused nothing but pain. His arms were screaming in protest, straining as his own body weight pressed them down.

His hand already started to feel numb, the added pressure sending a tingling sensation to his pinky finger. Like bubbles creeping up over his hand, coating every finger one by one until his whole hand was pins and needles.

But as he struggled for a form of relief, a single heavy footstep made him go still.

Zayne stepped towards him, raised one leg, and Jay could do nothing but watch as he slowly rested a boot heavily against his shoulder. He ignored the soft pleaded ‘no…’ and forced Jay over onto his back.

Jay winced hard, both arms crushed under his own weight, tendons straining, hips pressing his wrists painfully against the floor. Every pointy bit of bone protruding grinded hard against the floor, wrist bones, elbows, shoulder blades…

Zayne smiled down on him, slowly forcing more of his weight down, leaning forward, taking in every wince, every struggle. Watched as Jay’s hips bucked up, how his face twisted in pain. And only when a soft cry of pain scraped out of his throat, he let up.

For merely a second. The boot retreated, but was replaced by Zayne’s full weight as he settled over Jay, straddling his waist. He pulled him up by the front of his shirt. Almost an relief, as the pressure lifted from his arms. But now the knife teased into his line of vision, moving down his jaw line, making him go still as the tip scratched over the vulnerable skin of his throat.

He knew that even with his arms free he still couldn’t do a damn thing to make Zayne stop. But struggling or at least being able to put a hand on Zayne’s shoulder to give the illusion he was holding him at bay was better than absolutely nothing at all.

“Don’t,” he settled on, voice his only defense as he hung limp in Zayne’s grasp.

“I quite like this,” Zayne said, voice soft. “Not having to catch flailing hands for a change, having both hands free for—” He dipped the blade under the neck of Jay’s shirt letting it rest just above his clavicle – “other things…”

“Don’t! AGh!” His head fell back, teeth clenched as Zayne excruciatingly slow let the tip sink into his skin and dragged it across the length of his clavicle. Blood tickled over the bone, dripping down his chest, staining his white t-shirt.

A soft chuckle. The blade retreated and just as sudden Zayne let go of him.

Jay hissed as he landed on his wrists again. He immediately rolled over before Zayne could stop him, with a groan of relief as the pressure lifted from his arms.

“I think my hands are about to fall off…”

Zayne stepped over him. “Oh, stop your whining. I’m sure it’s not that ba— oh shit.”

“What?”

“Damn, I’m sorry—I…”

“What?!” Jay nearly twisted his neck trying to look over his shoulder what got Zayne to fucking apologise.

“Here, let me just…” The cold of the knife touched against his skin and with a quick flick upwards, the plastic broke.

Jay’s hands shot back to his front. He twisted his hands back and forth. Going by the numb feeling and Zayne’s words, he expected purple fingertips, ready to either fall off or explode due to a lack of blood. He turned his hands up and down, left, right, back again, and wiggled his fingers. But besides the red circles around his wrists, everything was in working order. Nothing dying off.

Panicked eyes turned exasperated, and he shot a glance of rage up.

Zayne had pressed his lips together in a badly hidden smirk. “All fine.” He rustled in his pocket again and pulled out a handful of zip-ties. “Meaning we can safely try this again.”

-

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror

@susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime

@freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks

@hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion

@afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8

@itsmyworld98 @whumpifi @painless-and-colourful @withdrawingramen @lolrpop

[timidpumpkin]

Little Light (Stucky x reader)

Part 4: Retribution

Pairing: Dark!Stucky x f!reader

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: While you're left feeling hopelessly confused, it's clear to Steve and Bucky that you have a lot to learn about being their good little girl.

Warnings for this part: Dark!Stucky, Daddy!Stucky, Forced age regression, DDLG themes, Female reader, Manipulation, Violence against reader, Being tied up, Hints to sexual themes, This one's dark folks, Mean Steve and Bucky, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI

As always, lemme know if I missed any!!

Notes: Thank you to everyone who has supported me since I posted Part 1 many many months ago. I love you all and appreciate your support and kind words more than I can express. I'm super nervous to post this one so i'm really hoping everyone likes it. ^.^

Tagging: @ppatricia34me @canyonmooncreations @haleyhunwritess

(lemme know if you wanna be added to my taglist!)

P.S. Please feel free to comment/ask questions as they are a million times appreciated as I ALWAYS love to read you guy's thoughts!

(pictures are not my own)

Warm. 

The cozy temperature surrounding you beckons you to sink further into its comfortable drowsy feeling. It feels nice–good. It’s comfortable as you pull at the blanket wrapped around you to cover the cold tip of your nose. 

When you do though, adjusting as you move, adrenaline rushes through you. 

All sense of tranquility leaps out of your body to be replaced by standing hairs and cold blood as you realize you’re not napping in your bed. 

No–you’re napping on your capture’s lap. 

Hazy memories from just a bit ago replay in your mind. The picture they paint is fogged up by an overcast of intense emotion. 

Worry. Fear. Shock.

The panic you felt is now an almost disembodied ghost, content with hiding in the closet as it knows you can’t handle its presence anymore. 

Not right now. 

It would be too much. Your body and mind having already fought till every single cell within you is doused with exhaustion. 

The wispy wave of relief you felt–feel–now molds into another feeling. It rips the comfort your body so desperately clings to at this moment of peril and unkindly reminds you that you shouldn’t have let your guard down. 

But you did. 

You–as you see it–involuntarily allowed the very person, no, the very people who have snatched you, took you from your, albeit, unexcitingly ordinary–but otherwise stable–life, to soothe the very predicament they have forced you in.

As you recall their hushed voices anchoring you, steady hands smoothing your trembling ones, and sweet comfort that you somehow found in their pacifying of you, the one emotion you painfully feel now is…embarrassment. It aligns with disgrace you feel within yourself for giving into…this. 

You stiffen, body frozen in place as you become acutely aware of your situation again. Both the larger reality of being held hostage, and the other–ever so slightly smaller issue–that currently places your head nestled right in your captor’s lap. Bucky’s lap.

This is what you found so comforting in your sleep state? 

Head wedged exactly between his legs, resting heavily against his lower half. Your hands curled up. You stare at them. They lay right in front of your view. Almost too close to your vision where you watch them resting, palms nestled down between his thighs.

But it’s not just your position. It’s his too. One of his arms is resting against you, draped over your side, his hand sprawled just at your navel, adding to the welcoming warmth you felt upon waking up. The other, languidly stroking your head with his thumb. 

It’s an intimate position–close–in more ways than one. It’s not one you should be in, it’s not one you’re in voluntarily–despite what your last memories torturously remind you.

“You get enough sleep there, princess?” Bucky’s voice calls. You haven’t spoken a word but he must be able to tell you’re awake. Whether it’s from how your muscles have tensed, or the way you’ve been holding your breath since, is unknown to you.

You can’t see him. Your eyes are too intensely focused on how your hands rest with faux intimacy at his thighs and the realization of how long you’ve been in this position makes your lungs feel as if they don’t work anymore.

“You really scared Dada you know,” he moves his hand from your navel to caress your arm as he lends forward a bit to get a better view of your face. Still, frozen in place, you don't meet his gaze. Your self-preservation response only knows how to freeze now as you don’t move, but keep looking forward, completely unsure of how to tackle the situation you’re in. 

Waves of memory come back to you. It’s blurry as you remember how scared you were. You remember how Steve calmed you. How his voice led you to placidity. How could that be? It’s what led you to the position you're in now.

Vulnerable. Again. And yet, you let it happen. 

But you didn’t, no–you couldn’t–you don't remember exactly with anxiety fogging up your memory. 

You knew one thing for sure; you couldn’t give in. 

“Not going to ignore Daddy now, are you?” Bucky questions, taking his hand to your chin and facing it upwards so you’re looking up to him. Somehow, it’s still shocking how large he looks. You feel as though you've somehow been shrunk down a third of your size when looking at him. His hand is mostly just ghosting your face, guiding it up as he looms over you, one cheek smooshed against his navel now as his hand remains on the other.

“Hmm?” he questions, his pointer finger tapping methodically on your cheek, prompting you to answer. “Don’t tell me you forgot your manners already now, doll.”

“I-I wanna go home,” You try to sit up, not exactly sure why you said that, as recent events have told you already it’s not what he wants to hear. But you’re just not sure about anything at the moment. He looks at you with a displeased look, face dropping into an unkind frown.

His hold on you tightens; his forearm presses down on your chest lightly, silently reminding you that trying to move would be a bad idea. You don’t fight it, knowing you wouldn’t be able to succeed in getting up even if your life depended on it.

“You are home.” he declares curtly, before swiftly picking you up, dizzying you as he turns you around. You feel as though you’ve barely blinked before you’re in the new position. Your back is to his stomach as he situates you on his lap. His right arm wraps snugly around your waist, firmly securing you against his body. His left hand reaches in front and clasps around your cheeks, the cool metal instantly raising goosebumps on your once warm face as he slowly tilts your head back and forth for you, forcing you to look around the room. 

“You see all this?” he lilts with a scolding undertone. “This is your home. All of it.” he pauses before–somehow–squeezing you closer to him. He brings his head to the side of your ear. His chest flush against your back, engulfing your body, and encapsulating your very being with how he maintains his grip on your face. His breath dances lightly against your ear as he speaks, adding to the chilling feeling overtaking your insides.

“Now what would you call a house where two Daddies take care of their little baby?” He speaks in a low, hushed tone. Not a sweet one–like the hushed subdued one Steve used on you just hours ago–No, Bucky’s tone is polar to that. It’s mocking, and sardonic as you can almost feel the smirk gracing his face without even looking at him. It’s as if he’s asking the most rhetorical question known to man. “Hmm?” 

You feel your own breathing pick up. It becomes evident with how every millimeter your chest moves, your lungs have to fight against the pressure of Bucky’s heavy arms around you. Your mind is blank as fright starts to fill it instead. How were you supposed to answer that? 

When you take too long to respond, Bucky promptly pinches at your side and simultaneously squeezes your cheeks harder, causing a retaliatory yelp out of you. 

“Ah! I-I don’t know!” you squirm around at the pain that certainly doesn’t help you think. 

He promptly covers your mouth with a shush, his sizable metallic hand swallowing up your face as you squeak dully now into his solid palm. 

“No yelling now, doll.” He turns your face towards him so he can look at you as he speaks. He glances quickly at the closed bedroom door before looking back at you. “Answer Daddy’s question.” He directs, “I know you’re a smart girl.” he grins at you, and though–in most contexts–that would sound like a compliment, his tone is decidedly condescending as he continues. “But I’ll repeat my question, just in case my silly little girl forgot.” he smiles snidely at you for a brief moment before continuing. “What do you call a house where two Daddies take care of their little girl?” He says the question more slowly this time, eerily calm but just as patronizing as he goes.

You stare at him with wide eyes as he carefully removes his hand from your mouth. He doesn’t have to speak the words as his eyes alone tell you not to yell again. His fingers remain on your face, retaking their previous position of gripping your chin as he looks at you expectantly.

“...home…” you breathe meekly, voice almost cracking as you do, hoping that was the right answer. 

“Good girl,” he roughly pats at your cheek with a slightly more authentic smile. “that’s exactly right.” he praises. You then hear some movement coming from the bedroom. Bucky glances that way before speaking to you again with a stern glare in his eye. “Now when Dada comes in here, you won't say any of those silly little thoughts, will you?” he asks presumptuously. You shake your head agreeably, and when Bucky’s head tilts with a clench of his jaw, you answer promptly out loud.

“Yes, Daddy” you quiver. He smiles at you, and as if on cue, Steve emerges from the door. There's a towel around his neck and he ruffles it around his hair before spotting you, his face lighting up when he does.

“Hi there angel,” he beams and leans down to you, instantly taking in the sight in front of him. 

Your adorable frame sitting atop his partner's lap. You looked so perfect right there. As if you were the last puzzle piece missing his entire life, now fitting together so seamlessly that it just looks like a painting. A beautiful one. Steve isn’t sure how they went without you before. Your soft face still holds a frayed look. His poor girl. He was hoping a little bit of rest would ease your frazzled little mind.

“You feeling a bit better after your nap?” Steve asks with a loving tone as he carefully picks you up from Bucky’s lap. He situates you so that you are on his hip, one arm supporting your bottom with legs wrapped around his side as he guides your arms around his neck. You fit so nicely around him like this. He almost wishes he could stop time and freeze this moment forever. Being able to hold you like this, he’s never felt so whole, so complete. You feel tense in his arms, but he knows one day…that won’t be the case. You’ll lean fully in, wholly relying on and giving yourself to them both. He’s eager for every moment leading to it and each subsequent instant after. 

Steve’s cold and wet hair tickles your arms. Being so close, you can’t help but notice the crisp comforting aroma that emits from his warm skin. 

For some reason, you look to Bucky as if he holds the answer to Steve’s question. He just glares at you with a slight scowl that dares you to misbehave before standing up after too long of silence on your part. 

“She’s still feeling a bit confused.” Bucky caresses you, palm enveloping the side of your face. “Huh, doll?” 

“Awh…” Steve joins in on stroking your face by soothing the back of your head. “well that’s okay angel. Babies get confused so easily.” he says with that underlying patronizing but sweet tone he uses. “Why don’t you let Dada check you, huh?” he asks while looking you up and down. You then feel all blood draining from your face as your eyes go wide, having no idea what he means by that. 

You look between him and Bucky frantically as Steve gently grabs one of your hands from behind his neck. You instinctively try pulling away but his grip tightens before you’re able to. 

“Now now, don’t be scared,” Steve assures sweetly, a stark contrast to the death grip on your hand. “Dada just needs to look at those pesky little marks we had to leave on you last night,” he explains while unraveling you from him and setting you back down on the couch where he kneels in front of you. Your body trembles in anticipation–for what exactly, doesn’t matter. 

You can’t control it as he diligently peels your socks off and rolls your leggings up to look underneath. He takes his time tracing the deformed marks with his fingertips, lifting up your ankles as he goes before making his way to your arms. He tugs on them gently in front of you and repeats his previous examination as if he’s mapping out every little laceration. “You don’t want any more of these…do you, babygirl?” Steve lilts, an ever so slightly threatening tone lacing his otherwise calm voice as he presses his fingers down, digging just harshly enough into where a bruise must be forming and causing you to jolt at the pain.

“Ah!-n-no!” you yelp pitifully quick at the discomfort.

“No…what?” Steve prods with false grace before pressing harder into your skin.

“N-no Dada!…ah!...please.” you shakily breathe the last word with a plea, pathetically pulling on your arms that don’t move an inch under his hold.

“Good girl,” he praises with a mischievous smile, and unclenches his painful grip, but doesn’t let go completely, instead, keeping a firm hold on you. 

He steadily lifts your wrists up…to his lips. They ghost your skin as he glints at you with a soft smirk before placing slow…slow kisses along the marked-up lines. 

Warm lips meet the welts that are painted all across and up your arms from where you were bound–corporal reminders of what disobeying meant–he trails each one of them, dragging his lips and dousing each inch of burning skin with tender kisses, his grip remaining its powerful hold so you remain immobile. 

When he makes his way to your upper arm, you physically resist from full-on screaming. A quick glance to Bucky with your sorrowful eyes reveals no mercy from him. He just glares at you, a deadpan look on his face but a teasing smirk in his eyes that dares you to make a noise. 

Steve lifts his head up to face you after planting his last kiss on your upper arm, just a hair's breadth from your face. Your head has already pushed itself back as far as it’ll go as the rest of your body is ensnared by his that hovers atop yours. Thick air surrounds you as your trembles turn to full-on shaking, watching him as his eyes don’t even meet yours. His blown pupils are intensively fixated on your lips now.

They look so soft.

Time itself seems frozen, all except a slow-motion icy droplet that falls from the tips of his hair. It lands atop soft cotton, dampening the fabric on your chest that ripples chills throughout you. He follows it, dark eyes lowering to where sensitive skin is hidden by the dainty onesie Bucky dressed you in earlier. You feel heat taking over the arctic sensation within you as he looks at your body with what you can only prescribe as desire–want.

But to your–very minuscule–relief he looks back up to your eyes, and gives you a quick smile, before leaning back on his knees again in front of you with a satisfied smile adorning his face.

“Might take a while for those to heal up,” he remarks, “but don’t worry, Daddy and I will give them lots of kisses to help them heal.” he smiles at you. 

“What do you say, doll?” Bucky speaks up, crossing his arms. 

A confused and worried look that causes your eyebrows to furrow comes over your face, unsure of what he wants when you’ve barely gotten your heart to stop pounding from the previous predicament.

Bucky decides–for now–he’ll key you in. Mostly because he doesn’t like seeing his Stevie all upset when you don’t do as you were told. 

He mouths a “thank you” with a cock of his head motioning towards Steve below him. 

“Th-thank you…D-dada” you squeak, voice uncontrollably shaky. 

“Oh, such a good girl. My good little girl,” Steve beams at you before standing up. “Oh…poor thing,” he remarks while looking down at your trembling form. “You must be freezing,” he states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Dada will go get you a sweater. Stay right here,” he instructs before trailing off. 

When he comes back, there's more than just an extra garment in his hand. 

“Now later you can play upstairs all you want, but right now,” he speaks while setting down a few colorful-looking books and a box of crayons on the coffee table. “Daddy and I need to watch you and make sure you stay safe,” He then motions for you to move your arms up so he can put the sweatshirt he brought for you on. He carefully moves your arms and head through the holes and then leads you to the coffee table. “You can color as long as you like, angel, just make sure to tell us if you need anything, like water…or juice, okay?”

You nod your head complacently at him while he holds your hand looking down at you.

“Okay-I mean-I-yes…Dada” you fumble before kneeling down on the carpet yourself in front of the variety of coloring books. 

You don’t want to color. But–genuinely–what choice do you have? You could protest, but it wouldn’t lead anywhere beneficial. 

You scan the playful books in front of you, trying to find some solace in the fact that maybe focusing on this would at least mean less nerve-wracking interactions with…them. 

It shouldn't matter–which picture you settle on–with your brain still rattled from before, only you can’t help but feel choosy about the drawing you pick. You flip through the books, dog-earing the ones that pique your interest before settling on a foresty scene that depicts two large sleeping wolves and a little rabbit nestled right in the middle. 

For some perplexing reason, the crayon box decides it doesn’t want to be opened by your frail fingers. Steve quickly notices your frustrated struggle with it and instructs you to hand it to him so he can open it for you. You groan at the box and mutter something about how you ‘got it.’ 

You don’t see his eye squint and eyebrow raise as he watches you fumble with it for a moment longer, but you do feel him taking the box from your hands. 

“I don’t want you hurting those precious little fingers of yours now,” He smoothly opens the box and hands it back to you with a pet to your head. 

At some point, Bucky notices your tired posture and offers you a pillow to sit on before moving the coffee table closer to the couch so you can rest your back on the cushiony sofa. He moves it effortlessly as if the table wouldn’t break your back if you tried to move it. 

You mumble an assenting “thank you daddy” to which Bucky responds. “You’re welcome, sweet girl” with a wink and you withhold from sticking your tongue out at him.

Either one or both of them remain in the room with you for the rest of the evening, checking on you every so often. You attempt to keep your attention on remaining within the lines when you color, but you can’t help the way your unnerved hands still shake, causing you–to your annoyance–to occasionally strike outside the lines. 

By the time the sun has long set, and the only thing illuminating the paper in front of you is warm artificial light, you find yourself yawning with your head sideways on the table as you color. Whiffs of savory smells dance through your nose as Bucky has been in the kitchen for the last little bit preparing dinner.

“Getting sleepy babygirl?” Steve asks, peering down at you and your drawings. You shrug your shoulders, unsure of which answer would allow you the most leniency. 

“Oh, that one is just perfect,” he remarks while bending over and picking up the forest scene you colored first. It was hidden amongst other drawings that you had shuffled to the side. He holds it up and takes a good look at it. “You did such a good job,” he compliments. “I think this one deserves a place on the fridge” he boasts.

You turn your head back and watch in curiosity as he really does make his way to the kitchen and secures it with a little magnet. He stands back and smiles in satisfaction while you go back to coloring, feigning that you never even noticed the proud expression radiating off his body, and positively pretending that your insides didn’t go soft for a brief moment watching him. 

Steve and Bucky chatter while setting the table. You try to tunnel in on their voices but you can’t exactly make out what they’re saying as they speak quite lowly to each other. 

Steve makes his way to you and takes your hand to guide you to the table. He sets you in the seat furthest away from the door as they both sit rather closely to you–practically trapping you in. You poke at your otherwise appetizing plate as you have little desire to eat with your stomach still turned in tangled knots. 

They both encourage you to eat throughout, but you only manage to get a few bites down. Neither of them look particularly happy with you and your full plate. Nevertheless, they stop pushing after a bit and share a knowing look that you can’t make out the meaning of. 

You huff a quiet sigh of relief when they take your plate and start cleaning the kitchen, silently feeling as though you won this trivial round of control.

Bucky catches you from the corner of his eye as you take it upon yourself to get out of your chair. He tenses, preparing to snatch you before you can move until he realizes you’re only going to the living room, opposite of where the front door is. He decides to just watch you for a few moments as you go back to coloring with criss-crossed legs.   

Innocent little thing. His naive little doll shading away, having not a clue in your pretty little head of how erroneous it was to make your own decisions like that. It really was much too soon for you to truly understand what consequences will come when trying to think for yourself. He can’t exactly blame you though. His poor little baby had to do it for so long before they found you. It’s probably why you’re benignly coloring away with not an idea in your head of what’s really in store for your life here. Such a sweet, sweet little girl they had. All to themselves. Forever now.

He observes how you ferociously analyze and juxtapose the colors before you, even testing them on other miscellaneous paper before choosing the right one for the job. 

He already knows you better than you can even comprehend. He knows you’ve likely already thought you’ve gotten away with it.

“What do you think you’re doing little girl?” Bucky’s scolding voice startles you, causing you to jump a little in your spot. After just a second, he roughly yanks you up by your arm, spinning you around to face him as he holds you. “Did Daddy tell you you could leave the table? Hmm? Did Dada?” he fumes, the sudden escalation in action and tone making you want to just cry. 

“I-I-” you fumble, squirming uncomfortably below him. “I thought-”

“Oh I don’t think you were thinking anything in that silly little head of yours,” he chastises while pinching one of your cheeks harshly with his free hand. “And did you really think you could get away with not eating?”

“Ah!-” you fight, struggling against him, confused and disoriented on why he’s suddenly being so harsh when you thought you were off the hook. 

“Hey-hey, it’s okay,” you hear Steve speaking up behind him. “Let me talk to her Buck,” he says, allowing Bucky to let go of your arm and cheek. You tearfully rub at your hurt cheek while Steve kneels down to your level. “Sweet girl…remember yesterday when daddy gave you apple juice?” he asks, circling his hand behind your ear and gently cupping the cheek that Bucky previously inflicted harshly. You nod smally, glancing away around the room as you recall the unfond memory of being bottle-fed against your will. “Good, then you should know that little girls need their nutrients. And that means no skipping dinner,” he explains with a kind voice that makes you feel as if he's quite literally talking to a child.

“I-okay…Dada” you add, grateful for Steve at least being gracious enough as to not yell at and pinch you like Bucky just was. 

“Good girl,” he smiles at you before telling you to sit tight on the couch while he goes to get your dinner. You sit there, a bit perplexed on how he planned on giving you a meal when you’re pretty sure you saw Bucky scrape the remnants of your food into the trashcan. 

Steve returns with no plate in hand and sits a bit away from you, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion until you see it. 

You watch in horror as he reveals a milky white bottle that he shakes in his hand while speaking to you.

“Come here,” he beckons, patting his spacious thigh. You grimace at the granule liquid that swirls around in the bottle, not unlike the one Bucky used on you yesterday. If you didn't know better–which you don’t–you’d say it quite literally looks like baby formula.

“Uhm…I just…” you trail off, trying to come up with a reason, any reason not to be literally bottle-fed like you were yesterday. “I’m-I’m really not hungry-my-my stomach hurts,” you reason clumsily, but truthfully as well since the only thing filling your stomach right now is queasiness. Most of it coming from your situation, but the grainy texture swirling around in the bottle certainly doesn’t help your appetite either. “And-and I can just eat the other stuff,” you add frantically while looking back to the kitchen and wringing your hands.

“Now this is going to help my sweet girl feel a lot better and sleep real tight,” Steve remarks, completely ignoring your words and requests. 

“I-I said I'm not hungry.” you say a bit louder, but with a mild tone as to not sound too combative. 

“And I said this will help you sleep,” he asserts while dabbing the tip of the bottle on his wrist. “Now come sit on Dada’s lap,” he demands while patting his thigh again. You shake your head while subtly scooting away from him. 

“Mmm-mmm” you hum a no while sliding back even further. “Please, I don’t wan-”

“Did Dada ask what you wanted?” he cuts you off with a cock to his head at you. “No,” he shakes his head, answering his own question patronizingly. “I didn’t. You don’t get to decide what’s good for you. Only Daddy and I know that. Now I won’t ask again. Come here. Now.” he insists sternly. You debate quickly in your head, weighing out your limited options. When you still sit there not moving an inch, Steve sighs and reaches for you. He grabs your arm and pulls you towards him.

“No!” you say in response to the action. He’s not necessarily yanking or being particularly rough, but without thinking, you push back at him, your free hand overshooting and accidentally hitting his shoulder. Of course, it’s like you’ve hit a brick wall, the small action hurting your wrist much more than it likely hurt him at all. But something about it felt…cathartic. And something inside you just…snaps. 

You had played nice all day, letting them hold you, touch you, kiss you. Hell–you even sat on the floor for hours and colored while wearing a onesie. And now he wanted to bottle feed you actual formula. You had to draw the line. 

You couldn’t give in. The silent promise you made to yourself earlier rings in your head. You weren’t going to drink this stupid bottle.

Steve still has you in his grasp and is pulling you closer to him so that you can be in his lap. Only, you take this opportunity to fight. Hard. 

With all the strength you have, you wrench yourself back. Steve quickly encapsulates both your hands, making you feel as though you’ll sooner break your own wrists before you ever successfully free yourself from his grip. You take it upon yourself to switch strategies, maneuvering yourself into a position where you just start kicking at him feverishly. It felt childish. It looked childish. But you didn’t care right now. You weren’t going to play along any longer. 

You realize halfway through your nonsensical thrashing fit that Steve is likely just letting you play this out before he decides he’s had enough. He decisively stands up, dragging your combative form with him as he roughly swings you up to throw you over his shoulder. You still fight him, your flailing is joined with nonsensical shrieks as you lash out on him physically and verbally. Steve holds you down atop him firmly while hauling you upstairs. Before you realize it, you’re roughly tossed down into a mattress. The otherwise compliant spread hurts you on impact from the height you fall from. Your swirling vision from being upside down and lack of oxygen in your lungs from screaming leaves you disoriented until your dazed eyes focus on structured parallel bars. 

Steve’s thrown you into the very crib he showed you just hours ago. 

“That’s just for when you’re feeling extra little,”

You instantly try to stand up only for Steve to effortlessly push you back down, sending you to roughly bounce on your bottom. You clumsily try to regain your balance and breath while Steve reaches for something besides the crib. Before you know it, Steve’s grabbed both your hands and starts heatedly tying them together. Tightly. He ensnares your fingers together and weaves the rope around every inch of your digits up to the middle of your forearm, completely restraining the hands that fought him. 

You try getting up again only to find it’s surprisingly hard to move with your hands bound in front of you. 

He mutters to you something about ‘not moving’ while making his way to the end of the crib. He abrasively yanks both of your legs down to the edge of the caged mattress and begins tying those together too. You flail hopelessly, hurling unkind words at him while he secures your ankles to the bars, completely immobilizing the legs that were just unabashedly kicking at him.

When you finally catch a glimpse of Steve’s face, his expression is unforgiving. Furrowed eyebrows highlight his intense dark focus as veined arms secure you to the crib.

Steve straightens himself up and towers over you from beside the crib. He just watches you until you decide to give up on fighting, realizing you can’t free yourself from your binds. Your anger slowly turns to just pure sorrow, as you find yourself crying hot tears into your already burning face. You murmur pointless cries asking over and over again to just be let go…

“Angel…” Steve says softly, his features appearing less angered now, but still unhappy nonetheless. “I’m going to give you one more chance,” he kneels down, leveling himself with you from outside your confines. He reaches through the bars and caresses your rope-covered hands. “If you do what Dada says, then I might go easy on your punishment,” he slides his hands up, open-palmed, slowly inching his way to your face. He lingers on your throat for a moment too long before laying his hand across your cheek. “But that’s only if you stop being a bad girl…is that what you want?” he asks patronizingly, with a cock to his head, faux sympathy lining his tone. “You want Dada to treat you like a bad girl?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, heavy tears pitifully falling as Steve watches you. He doesn’t catch them as he awaits your answer that doesn’t come. 

He then tries to give you the bottle from before again but you only resist. Shaking your head and crying profusely while mumbling sorrowful nonsense.

Steve sighs, and hangs his head. He doesn’t enjoy seeing you like this. He wants to hear you laugh. The same laugh he heard over anything else the first night he found you. He wants to see you smile. The same way you beamed at him that night he helped you find your way back. He wants to draw you close when you fall asleep next to him. The same way he’s watched you fall asleep all by yourself for months. He wants to replace the teeny little thumb you always stick in your mouth when you think no one is watching with his. He knows you want this. He knows you need this. 

But it’s obvious his poor girl just doesn’t understand that yet. 

Steve knows babies have a hard time listening when throwing tantrums anyway...  

For now, if you won’t listen, he’ll just have to show you. 

“My sweet girl…” Steve grabs your face, turning it towards him. “You just won’t learn unless Dada shows you, huh?” he releases your face dismissively and stands up. 

“If you want to act out…” he speaks while reaching across the crib above you, 

“and think you’re a big girl…” he lifts something weighty that’s attached to the top of the crib, 

“that’s fine,” parallel bars intrude your vision of Steve from above you, 

“But this is what happens when you act like a bad girl.” Steve’s voice turns more ireful with every word he speaks, as he works his way around the crib, latching multiple locks together that you hadn't noticed before with increasingly aggressive force. 

“You get treated like one. Bad girls get left all alone by themselves without Dada. If you really want Dada to let you go. Fine. You’ll stay right here until you understand what it means to listen.” he slams the last latch shut.

You barely have time to process his words while your wobbly vision interprets what’s happening above you. By the time you comprehend that there’s a top to this ‘crib’ that Steve has locked you in, he’s already left the room, truly isolating you.

Anguished sobs that were falling on deaf ears during Steve’s spiel to you now meet the equally deaf silence of the room itself. 

The only sound that accompanies you now is your own cries, echoing back pitifully to you from the horizontal bars above…

[igotanidea]

The fear : Jason Todd x fem!reader part 8

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

***

„You good?” Damian asked taking in her pale face and hurt eye expression.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She muttered, obviously lying. Even despite her experience-enhanced skills in the art of deceiving it was impossible to cover up for the fact that unwanted, unneeded and unwelcomed encounter with Jason took a huge tool on her mentality. And it lasted no longer than an hour.

An hour, that took turn from open hostility to a little unexpected heart to heart that opened old wounds. Reminding of the past mistakes, lost things and casted wounds. Ruined relationship that was doomed from the very beginning.

But even though-

They fought for it.

They fought to the best of their limited abilities, despite the world that was conspiring against them and throwing obstacles their way. Damn that tears that started flowing down her face when she started dwelling in the past. There was no denying she still held strong feelings for him, though couldn’t quite define if they were good ones or the bad ones.

“Y/N…”

“I’m fine, Damian. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine…” she repeated as some sort of spell. A lie told a hundred times becoming a reality.

“Let’s get you upstairs first. We’ll watch some silly movies so you could stop telling me bullshit.”

“Hey! Language!”

“I’m 15, you can’t tell me what to do.”

“15 my ass. Still the same nasty little boy as always only with a fouler mouth.”

“It’s good to see you again Y/N.” Damian smirked

“Yeah, you too, kiddo.”

“You do realise you won’t be heading back home tonight, right?”

“What? Huh! You’re gonna keep me captive now or something?”

“You voluntarily got yourself in the house full of vigilantes, the heck were you thinking?”

“I could argue on that voluntarily part but-“

Regardless of what she said, it was evident that Damian has grown during the time they didn’t see each other. Not only in height, but also mentally. And it only made her realise the full amount of things she lost.

Not just the man she loved, but also priceless time with her best friends Wayne boys.

While Y/N was getting drunk and laughed with Dick, Tim and Damian upstairs, Jason refused to step a foot out the batcave as long as she was still in the manor.

Fuck her.

Fuck her help, her words, her gestures, her eyes and hair, her smile and her coming for the rescue attitude. Who the hell she thought she was?! Paw patrol?!

The anger started boiling in him again, threatening to take over.

Anger at everything, but mostly at himself for getting so vulnerable and honest with her, to the point when he asked her to fucking take him back.

Pathetic. Foolish. Idiot.

“Aghghhg!” he jumped from the chair kicking it with all the rage he had, nearly breaking the metal.

Fighting the urge to destroy all that stupid batcave – the real reason of his fucked up life and psyche. He could have been a normal boy being in a relationship with the girl of his dreams. Instead he had to die (leaving her in tears), come back (leaving her in tears), suffering from the Pit madness (leaving her in tears) and due to this fucking fear gas incident loose her again (leaving her in tears)

“FUCK!” he grabbed the chair and threw it on the floor “FUCK!” he yelled, throwing all the stuff from the nearest desk “FUCK!!!” he pulled at his hair, hard enough he could be left bald.

He had no idea what he wanted.

So fucking angry, horn-mad, charged with hands itching to punch something, someone, to destroy, hurt, kill…

Stop…

“Huh?! Get the fuck out of my head Y/N!!” he yelled in the air, his voice echoing through the empty space.

Stop, Jason…

Right. Stop. He was past his killing days. He was not a monster. Not a beast.

He changed. He grew up, matured, became a man and not a boy.

He had to get a hold of himself.

Move past the past.

If he couldn’t have her he might as well spend the evening with his crazy asses brothers, giving them his attitude, using the bad mood to banter and bicker and pick up on someone else to make himself feel better.

So he emerged from the batcave, almost in the same way he did emerge from the Pit.

Slowly heading upstairs.

To the main room, filled with surprising silence. Deafening silence that formed goosebumps on his arms and immediately put him on alert, searching for some kind of threat.

Vigilante instincts never fail.

There was some movement on the couch.

Two people, a man and a woman judging by the silhouettes.

Girl sitting on man's lap, straddling him, their hands all over each other, their lips moving together, the room filled with soft whines of pleasure and sweet whispers.

“Y/N…” the man whispered.

THE FUCK!?

Jason stomped inside without a care in the world, making the couple break the intense make-out session and look at him with terrified expressions.

“Grayson!!!” he yelled taking in the scene, his fury immediately raising head again. “Y/N!!!”

He was right.

There was someone else in her life already.

And that someone was the fuckboy - his older adoptive-brother.

[princesayumi4k]

SFW = Blue NFSW = Red

He's definitely more insecure than people see him as. Sure, he has this whole "I'm a evil villain" mentality/attitude...but he's actually quite sensitive and fearful about how others perceive him.

He has a poor diet.

He prefers cats over dogs, but would prefer bunnies over any other animal - just because he thinks he's allergic to cats.

He is fully Japanese, but isn't a very good formal speaker in the language - he mostly uses slang.

He is an amazing gamer...literally loves League of Legends with his heart.

Mommy issues mf - loves sucking your titties (if you're a girl) or just fondling them in general.

A lot of people would say the opposite, but he's a sub. He doesn't know what the hell he's doing, but still wants you to be pleasured so he lets you take control.

He doesn't have a low sex drive, which makes him a lot more horny around his s/o especially when he gets the chance. You could look at him in a certain way and he'd immediately pop a boner.

I know I said he has a poor diet, which makes his seed hard to swallow, it's more sour and salty rather than what you picture sperm to taste like.

He jerks off actually more than you would think. Sure, he's a scary villain, but he doesn't really care, he'll be laying there with you and then just pop it out and stroke it - he doesn't really care if you want to help or not.

I don't feel like he scream-moans or anything, but he's definitely a whimperer. You can lay a finger on his peen and he will let out a tiny whimper - sometimes he will jerk his body back and start shaking with a heavy breath.

In my opinion, I feel like Tomura is straight, and I'm not trying to be rude - I just feel like he prefers to be dominated by a woman.

He doesn't care if someone walks in or even teases. If someone asks if you've ever done it with him he will go straight into detail - slightly not being able to tell that what he is saying is completely tmi.

He actually doesn't like to go slow, he wants to go rough and will spit out insults and praise at the same time while you ride him or suck him off.

He doesn't like being dom often, but will voluntarily give oral. He could fall asleep if you let him.

A bad thing about him is he wants to do it anywhere and everywhere - he doesn't like quickies but if you need to pull one he doesn't mind.

He LOVES receiving hickeys, but does a sloppy job at giving them to his s/o.

The amount of dirty talk this man will give, oh my god.

Has a love/hate relationship with PDA. He doesn't want others to look at them and start shit, or look at you and imagine themselves with you, so he prefers to only sometimes flaunt you in public - he doesn't mind holding pinkies or index fingers though.

He has to wear his gloves during sex which he hates with a passion. He wants to spank you, he wants to whisper how much of a slut you are while you ride him - but his glove muffles the ass slapping and he HATES that.

He doesn't call you a lot of pet names other than dirty ones - but that's only in bed. Usually he calls you "mine", "dear", "love" and occasionally says "darling" to make you blush.

The dirty names he calls you are "slut", "bitch" and "cumslut" but he refuses to call you a whore or anything to call you nasty/dirty

Jealous Tomura is a whole different ride. He will be calm with you and once he gets jealous he will find the closest wall, bed or couch - even a counter and start making out with you, telling you to shut up. He does feel bad after though, he will just eat you out and he prefer to do it with you standing up so when you reach your high, he can watch your legs shake - and also he can smack your ass.

He isn't the best at aftercare, especially since he cries first - yes. He cries as soon as he shoots his seed inside you. But he will clean you up and kiss you once he calms down, he will even sleep with you (like actually rest) after.

He doesn't send nudes a lot, he always complains that the light is too low or he can't get the right angle, but will send a jerking off video if you ask.

He loves loves loves you with all his heart, so he will cook for you if you ask - even though he can only good pizza, noodles and mac and cheese. They are very good though.

DICK SIZE? He hates his dick size, even though it's huge for his age. A good, whopping 9.5 inches when erect, about 8.0 when flaccid.

[lou-struck]

Ghost vs Monsters

Meguru Bachira x reader

Flufftober Day 2- Ghost Tour

WC: 2.5k

~You and Bachira  go on a tour of your city's "paranormal underground." But when your experience with the tour guide goes sour, he shows the group that it's not ghosts they should be afraid of, but Monsters.

~a/n: this one was challenging for me to complete but I did it! I had to cut it short because I have 31 of these to do and my imagination was working overtime.

It's one of those evenings where you aren't quite ready for dinner, but you are craving a little something to keep you going. That something… an egg on toast. 

Just as you slide the fried egg on top of the still-warm bread, two hands reach out from behind you to cover your eyes. 

Guess who?" a lovingly familiar voice coos from behind you, bringing a genuine smile to your face. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the voice belongs to your boyfriend, Meguru Bachira.

"Hmmm, is it the Pizza delivery guy?" You ask innocently, playing along with his usual shenanigans. 

"Nooo, try again.."  the soccer star chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. 

"Ghostface?" You say with a hopeful lift in your tone. This answer is nowhere near correct, but it sends him into a fit of laughter.

"No, but you would like that, wouldn't you?" he laughs softly into your ear as he spins you around. His cheeks are pink from the fall air, and he is still in his practice clothes, but you think he has never looked better. 

"How was practice?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his midsection. he hugs you back with all the strength of his right arm, but his left is tucked suspiciously behind his back. You can tell from the eager look on his face that he is hiding something from you.

As subtle as you can, you try and peek behind him. But you are no match for a professional athlete's agility; he seems to be three steps ahead of you, his eyes daring you to ask him what he's hiding. 

"What you got there?" you ask, finally giving up trying to outmaneuver him. His grin is victorious as he removes his arm and eagerly whips out a bent white envelope, holding it up in the air like it's a trophy. 

"Look what I won for us," he beams, lowering the envelope and handing it to you. You open the previously ripped seam and see that there are two long black tickets printed with bold white lettering.

'Admission for 1 to the Underground Paranormal Investigation Tour'

'Arrival time 9pm'

"What are these?" You ask, furrowing your brow as you read the address on the back of the ticket. You may not know many street addresses by heart, but you think that it belongs to one of the warehouses down by the docks.

"Aren't they cool?" He says with his usual elated grin. "I won them at the program's fundraiser the other day and finally got to pick them up. Have you ever been on a ghost tour?"

"No, I can't say I have." You admit, and you aren't sure that you would do this on your own. If the paranormal exists, it seems that voluntarily seeking it out is something straight out of a horror film,  but when you look at Meguru and see the excitement on his face, you know that you will be clearing your calendar for Friday night.

~

You've never been to a warehouse district at night, but the whole place is set up like some kind of sheet metal labyrinth; if it weren't for the smell of the salt and sea invading your nose, you wouldn't believe that you are so close to the ocean. The thick fog that rolls off the water doesn't help your visibility as Meguru leads you confidently through the alleys to the tour site, there is not a hint of fear or apprehension on his face.

"It looks like we are getting close. Are you scared yet, y/n?" he asks, giving your hand a squeeze. If it weren't for his constant touch, you doubt you would've made it this far, especially after researching the details of this tour…

After a little search of The Goog, you find out that this district is historic, and many years ago, the whole place was destroyed by a devastating fire. After the tragedy, the city just built on top of the ruins like nothing ever happened. Today, you two, aligned with your guide and a few other groups, will be exploring the underground tunnels that connect the surface to the old underground warehouse district's ruins.

To be honest, the idea of climbing down some kind of rusty metal ladder into god knows what is kind of freaking you out. Even if there aren't any ghosts in this tour, who knows what kind of rats or creepy crawlies are down there just waiting to lunge out and bite your ankles. 

"A bit," you admit. "I just hope we don't see any rats down there."

"If we do, could I keep one as a pet?" he asks, brightening up at the prospect. Before you can object, you come across a small group of people standing outside of the warehouse you are supposed to be meeting at. You can tell by the headlamps on their foreheads and their ghostbuster attire that they must be there for the tour, but you can't find anyone who looks official, like your guide."

"It doesn't look like our tour guide is here yet," you say to your boyfriend, who nods and looks around at the wannabe ghost hunters.

"It looks like we may be underdressed; I left the ghost vacuum in my other jacket." he chuckles lowly, nudging you softly with his arm. You struggle to contain your laughter when, suddenly, the static recording of a pipe organ begins to play. You look around just as thick fog pours out from underneath the partially opened garage doorway. It smells artificial and super stinky; you cough and cover your nose as your boyfriend tries to shield you from the putrid mist. 

"Oh boy, what do you think we've gotten ourselves into?" he asks, fully amused by the theatrics. Squinting your eyes, you see a figure, a grown man, squeeze himself between the pavement and the garage door just as the music dies out. 

He coughs and bats away the smoke around him as he steps into clear view of the crowd, dressed in a similar ghostbuster jumpsuit as the others in the group, but now, his is smudged from being on the ground. 

Through his thick goggles, a pair you definitely remember seeing in a minion costume set at the Halloween store, he scans the group, eyeing the two of you with interest. "Welcome, brave souls." He says, "It looks like we have some new blood joining us this evening as we venture between our world and that of the spirits. Follow me, and we shall begin our adventure."

He's got some groupies," Bachira says, noting the way the others in your tour group follow him. Clearly, this isn't their first rodeo. You and your boyfriend take up the rear as you walk through the warehouse to the very thing you were weary of, a sketchy-looking metal maintenance ladder that descends into utter darkness. You watch as the guide instructs each member to climb down to the burned ruins below. And no one bats an eye as the ladder squeaks and rattles. 

By the time it is your turn, you look at the guide, "Are you sure this is safe to use?"

"Of course it is," he scoffs. 

"This is your first time, isn't it? Don't worry, I am an expert, this thing is completely safe. The only thing that may get you is the spirits; they tend to get aggressive when it comes to non-believers." Ignoring his weird little comment, you squeeze Meguru's hand with a vice-like grip. Even in the low lighting, you see the compassion in his gaze. "We don't have to go down there if you don't want to." 

His care for you tugs are your heart, but you know he is really interested in this little tour. Love is all about sacrifices, and you love him more than just about anything. Sure, the climb may take a few years off your life, but you'd gladly do it for him.

"No, it's alright," you say, taking a deep breath. "Besides, they didn't have us sign any waivers, if that thing breaks on us, we'll make bank."

"Huh, waivers." the guide mutters, fanning the flames of your fear. "That would be a good idea."

"Then I'll go first, so you get the emotional distress payout," your boyfriend says with a wink. He grabs both sides of the ladder and slides into the darkness. 

"don't worry, it's really not that far," he yells from the bottom; you let out a shaky sigh of relief as you start to go down the ladder. Hearing a strange little chuckle from the guide as you begin your descent. 

Which seems pretty rude since you are just being cautious. You climb down carefully until you hear your tour guide yell from the top. "Oh no. It looks like we have angered the spirits with our presence tonight."

You don't know why his words make you feel so uneasy until you feel the ladder shake. You tighten your grip on the metal as you look up and see your tour guide purposefully shaking the ladder to scare you.

The squeaky ladder rattles dangerously, and on the wrong, just below you, a screw wiggles out of the side and falls to the floor. The crowd below murmurs in excitement, happy that they witnessed something paranormal.

What would've happened if you were on that rung?

"Cut it out," you yell at the strange man. "It's not safe." 

"It's not me," he laughs, his hand still obviously shaking the ladder. "It's the spirits." 

You feel as if your stomach hit the ground before the rest of you did. Your legs shake, and your palms have angry indents from how tightly you were holding onto the metal as Meguru watches you slowly climb down from the pavement below. He has a rare scowl on his face as he looks up at the guide descending just above you.

"Are you alright?" He asks worriedly, his long arms holding you as tightly as they can. "What happened up there?"

"He was shaking the ladder like an idiot." You say as he guides you away from the site of your almost untimely demise. As mad as you are, you truly don't think that the tour guide meant to cause you any physical harm. But his negligence has pissed you off. 

And judging by the way Meguru's eyes darken when he reaches the ground, he is also pissed off.

He walks over to the man and stares at him with a monstrous glare. "Are you insane?"

" I don't know what you're talking about," your tour guide says, raising his hands to play innocent.

Bachira's smile never leaves his face as he leans in closer to the guide. "Because I am.."

"Look, I warned you that the spirits were active tonight; your partner over there just chose not to listen." nervously, he backs away from the athlete, clears his throat, and turns to address the rest of the group. "These spirits are angry; it is important for everyone to stay with the group as we continue our tour."

He starts to walk ahead with the group, explaining the history behind the dozens of charred, abandoned structures around you as well as the background of the 'spirits' that haunt this place, but you are too pissed off to listen to that performative man-child. You walk slowly, looking at the fascinating walls that time seemed to have forgotten about when Meguru grabs your hand, a much softer smile on his face as he leans and softly whispers into your ear, "Don't worry, y/n, there may not be any ghosts on this tour, but there is a monster." 

"Wait, what?" You turn your head to ask him what he meant, but he has disappeared. 

The tour guide lights his headlamp and tries to show the returners how to use their ghost-catching devices, which he apparently sells on Etsy, but you aren't paying attention to his sales pitch. Instead, you are wondering where your boyfriend wandered off to, you know he has something planned, but he can be unpredictable, just like his footwork on the soccer pitch.

As your guide leads you into the ruins of an old bunkhouse, The door opens with a creak as the group steps onto the stone flooring. While everyone snaps pictures of the room, you notice a shadow moving along the wall. 

"And it was in this very spot that Minato succumbed to the injuries inflicted upon him by his wife's lover." he says dramatically, pointing to a spot on the floor. "it is said that on quiet nights, just like this one, he rises, ready to inflict that same pain on whoever he comes across."

Suddenly, the door to the bunkhouse slams shut, and everyone flinches and snaps their heads toward the sound. 

You catch a glimpse of Meguru's two-tone hair sneaking under the window and have to cover your mouth with your hand as if you are terrified. "Is the door stuck?" you ask, adding a slight shake to your voice. That gets everyone's attention as they look towards the door nervously, pointing their glorified vacuum cleaners at the entrance.

"Of course not," Your guide says with a nervous laugh. "It's just an old door, it shuts sometimes." He pulls on the handle, but the door does not budge at all. As the group watches him struggle, the sound of nails against glass can be heard from the other side of the room.

"Oh no, it's Minato." a lady cries, looking to your tour guide for any kind of guidance, but he just stands there terrified. He honestly looks like he is about to piss himself.

"That's impossible." he stammers. "W-what are we gonna do?"

"Suffer…" 

The room erupts into screams, and you start to wonder if maybe Bachira has gone too far. But as you look at the tour guide hunched in a corner, you don't feel any pity for the man.

"I wanna go home," he cries when suddenly the door opens, and the room goes quiet.

"Oh, it looks like this is a push door, not a pull door." your boyfriend says with a syrupy sweet smile. "No wonder you guys couldn't get out of here."

"Shall we continue on with the tour? I'm having such a great time." He holds his hand out for you as the other guests rush out of the boarding house. On his way out, the tour guide, still as pale as a ghost, glares at you, leaving you and your boyfriend alone. 

"I don't think they are gonna invite us on the next tour," you laugh, leaning up and pressing a thankful kiss to his smiling face.

"That's alright," he chuckles, "we'll just have to find another adventure to go on together. 

"One with less ladders please," you shudder as he slings his arms around your shoulders. 

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @ambiguouslady42

[satureja13]

When the Boys just were about to finish their Yoga/Meditation/Tantra practise, Leander and Wesley arrived. That wasn't planned. The Boys were supposed to spend the day alone ö.ö Vlad sighed. Leander, his arch enemy... And Wesley, his first love...

Leander: "Hey Boys. Vlad. Ms Coombes asked Wes to prepare her next Defense against the Dark Arts lesson. So I thought I'd accompany him and hold my History of Magic lesson today. Meet me on the top floor after you showered." And even though Ji Ho knows how much Vlad despises Leander (and to a certain degree Wesley too), he can't help his feelings taking the downward path - again - into the blurry, red-hazed realm of jealousy, distrust and anger. And their Bond is still utterly quiet. Giving him no sense of Vlad's love for him - nor the slightest bit of reassurance. Over the last two years the Bond was Ji Ho's anchor. Whenever he felt unsure and helpless, the Bond was there, wrapping him in the utter security that Vlad will always love him. No matter what. Which carried him through all the hardships. And now he fears that this love was just a trick from the Council. Initiated by a Siren's Spell of his own grandfather... And all these overwhelming feelings he dug out only intesify these fears.

The History of Magic Classroom. Decorated with paintings and photographies of the members of the Resistance. One might think that History of Magic is a quite boring subject. But it wasn't. There's so much to learn and the Boys barely ever got any insights about how the Resistance was founded and by whom.

After a brief overview, Leander talked about the most famous accomplishments by other members of the Resistance. And the most devastating failures. Then he gave the Boys their homework. Each creature is different. Each has their own, very unique, abilities and traits. And each has their weak spots. There is no established method to succeed. So Leander asks them to collect their own abilities and weak spots - and the ones of their opponents. And after that - work out strategies. And lots of plan B's...

Meanwhile Ji Ho is in his own personal hell. Why do Leander and Vlad look at each other like this? Has something changed between them? He knows it is crucial to listen and pay attention and to do everything in his powers to find a way to detect and destroy that spell, but he just can't. He's fighting for every breath he takes and every beat of his heart right now. As if none of the things his body usually does on his own stopped working and he had to manage them all manually.

Jack doesn't do any better. The heat has its firm grip on him. But it's not his feelings. It's his body he can't control. His heart is racing, he can barely breathe, his intestines are intertwining... He tries to act as normal as possible to not upset Sai and Ji Ho any further. Only his good mate Kiyoshi seems to know what's going on with him and watches him worriedly.

After classes, they went down to the yard again. Vlad, Leander and Wesley are putting their heads together and talk quietly. And Ji Ho is watching them. What does that mean? Ji Ho is raging. First Jack is stirring Vlad up with his Omega pheromones and now Vlad is voluntarily hanging out with his exes! Is it possible they were finally able to cut the Bond? Because Ji Ho is a danger for Vlad?

Ji Ho ran away - crying. Adriano: "Oh no!" Kumo: "What are we supposed to do?" Little Goat: "I hope he isn't about to do something silly!"

Leander: "Don't worry. It will all be well in the end. We are going to take good care of you." Oh no! I've heard this before...

Jeb and Kiyoshi are in their own world. Jeb's talk with Sai lies ahead. And poor Jeb is losing it. Kiyoshi tries to reassure him. But of what help can he be after messing it all up with Jack and his relationship...

And the party goes on.

Skully dug out a matching song and sings along:

'I was dreaming of the past And my heart was beating fast I began to lose control I began to lose control

I was feeling insecure You might not love me anymore I was shivering inside I was shivering inside

I was trying to catch your eyes Thought that you was trying to hide I was swallowing my pain I was swallowing my pain'

Jealous Guy - John Lennon or, another great version by Roxy Music

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-28

[the-maladjustedjester]

Cringe is dead they said but I still feel humiliated making nsfw ship headcanon posts

Billford headcanons that exist sprinkled throughout the multiverse and aren’t always compatible babey:

Ford overthinks everything and is too in his head to be able to engage in sex without following a rigid script and gets upset if anything deviates—until Bill introduces him to hypnosis. He’s a little too relieved to be able to experience a quiet mind for once and starts asking to be hypnotized into a dumb subspace just to be able to fall asleep some days. Bill loves having this power over him, and the temptation to keep him just a subby helpless drooling mess permanently is always there, but he’s endeared by Ford’s intellect and it’s always more fun to have a servant who voluntarily gives themselves to you.

Adding onto the above: Bill has a worship kink (obviously, just look at how he views the world as potential puppets or devoted followers). He might not be able to tell fear and love apart, but that doesn’t mean he can’t see which is more likely to bring them crawling back. He’s always loved being referred to as a “muse” throughout history, but the way Ford uses it as more of a term of reverence and endearment really floods his ego and makes him happy.

Bill knows the best way to manipulate Ford is through praise and making him feel special. When they first started communicating, Bill insisted he could only be contacted through a specific ritual, and then as time passed he gave Ford the instructions to a very secret blood pact that only very very special people can use to make the communication easier—it was some bullshit Bill made up on the spot but Ford was so happy to be chosen he carried it out without hesitation. Bill thought it was so amusing and adorable how easily he convinced Ford to bleed for him, and often tried to see just how far he could push before he stopped doing painful things for his Muse’s sake.