#re-reading this after having not been messing with it for a while tells me it needs some remixing

[flowersforbucky]

moth to a flame

bucky barnes x reader / winter soldier x reader

"I know you. even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

word count: 4.9k

summary: bucky is triggered into the winter soldier during a mission and then goes MIA, until he seeks you out in the middle of the night.

warnings/tags: SMUT, canon divergence (bucky hasn't been successfully deprogrammed in this), kind of dub-con, language, some violence, reader is afab, no use of y/n, friends with benefits situation, angst with a happy ending, 18+ only

“You've reached Bucky. I can't answer the phone right now but leave me a mess–”

You hang up before the voicemail recording finishes. You already knew he wasn't going to answer, just as he hasn't answered any of the other thirty-something times you've dialed his number over the course of the last few days. Or read any of the two dozen text messages.

The messages had stopped delivering and the calls had started going straight to voicemail almost two days ago at this point. And yet you still got your hopes up every time you checked your phone, only to be met with gut-wrenching, nauseating disappointment.

It had now been three days of this - not to mention picking your cuticles until they bleed, flipping back and forth between every news station on your TV in hopes (and fear) of seeing his name, a few collective hours of sleep each night, and too much Red Bull.

Just when you were thinking about trying to kick your caffeine addiction, too.

Three days of feeling completely and utterly helpless.

You place the phone back down on your coffee table, staring down at the thick, white cast encasing your left leg from your foot to just under your knee.

Useless.

You knew you were doing what you physically could - the spread of laptops and tablets on the table in front of you continuously supplying data from facial recognition programs across the United States.

Realistically, you knew he could be on the other side of the world by now, but that didn't stop you from checking. It was the only thing that you felt you had any control over right now.

But it wasn't enough. Not when Steve, Sam, Natasha, Sharon, and every other currently able-bodied team member are out scouring every safehouse and known former HYDRA base in the tri-state area while you're holed up in your apartment with a fractured fibula and a brain that won't let you stop reliving the moments before he went missing.

“This is as straightforward as it gets,” Steve re-assures you both for what felt like the dozenth time that day. “You'll be in and out in no time.”

“So straight-forward that you're going to hang back here while we do all the dirty work?” You joke as you make the final adjustments to your parachute.

“We've been monitoring this base for months,” he reminds you. “This place is as abandoned as they come. Get in, get the intel from the database, and get back to the jet.”

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Bucky adds with a devious grin.

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Steve agrees.

If only things had been as simple as he had expected.

You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach from the moment that you and Bucky landed on the ground outside of the HYDRA base. You told yourself that you were being irrational - but you couldn't shake the looming feeling that something was going to go wrong.

“See?” Bucky says after removing the USB drive from the computer. He sticks the device in the breast pocket of his tactical vest before edging you towards the desk. “Easy-peasy. You've been worried for nothing.”

“I have not been worried,” you deny, leaning against the edge of the desk. “This place is just old, and smelly, and creepy.”

Bucky takes a step closer to you so that there's no space left between you. He places his hands on the desk on either side of you, enclosing you.

“You think that I can't tell when you're nervous?” He says quietly, studying your face. You can smell a lingering hint of cool mint from his mouthwash. “That I haven't spent enough time learning your body to read you like an open book?”

Your thighs clench together and your nipples pebble at his words. You're almost embarrassed at how easily his voice, his scent, his closeness elicits a physical response from your body. Almost.

“What I think,” you murmur against his mouth. His hands come to grip your hips as he nudges your thighs open, standing between your legs. “Is you're crazy if you're thinking about trying to fuck me in an abandoned HYDRA warehouse.”

He exhales a dramatic sigh. “You can't blame me for trying.”

“I am relieved to know that you'd even want to do that here,” you say, hopping down from where you're perched on the desk. “I really think that shows you've processed your trauma–”

You're cut off by the room going completely dark. Every light, every computer, turns to black.

Bucky's flesh hand instinctively reaches to grab your wrist in the dark, tugging you to him.

“What the fuck,” he groans under his breath.

“We need to get out of–” you start to state the obvious but close your mouth when the computer that you and Bucky had retrieved the data from turns back on.

And then a computer to the right - and then across the room - and another to the right - and one to left - until every computer is on and showing the exact same screen. Bucky's hand grips yours so tightly that it borders on being painful.

Displayed on dozens of screens throughout the room is the face of a man. A man who you've never met, but recognize immediately.

“Zola,” Bucky whispers almost inaudibly.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola addresses him with a perverted smile. “Welcome home,” his voice pours from every computer speaker throughout the room and echoes off the walls.

“Steve?” You whisper urgently, clicking on the communication device hidden in your ear. “Steve, we've got a prob–”

“There's no use in that,” Zola interrupts you. “It's too late. They're almost here.”

The following sixty seconds were a jumbled blur that you were still trying to piece together in your mind.

You remember hearing the stream of words spoken in Russian.

Longing. Rusted. Seventeen.

You remember Bucky screaming at you to run, the sound of Steve's voice in your ear telling you that back-up was on the way and asking a dozen questions that you were too overwhelmed to respond to.

Daybreak. Furnace. Nine.

You remember begging Steve to hurry. You remember pleading with Bucky to come with you to try to get away; pleading with him to just look at you, just stay with you, help is coming -

Benign. Homecoming. One.

You remember the moment that Bucky went completely still as the room was infiltrated by HYDRA agents.

Freight car.

You knew that Bucky wasn't there anymore. You could sense it in his stance, in the way he wouldn't meet your eyes, in his silence.

Before you could say anything else to him, close to a dozen HYDRA agents came barreling towards you both. He charged through them, taking down one after the next with ease, until there were just a few left standing.

It was a side of Bucky you'd never seen. You thought that you had witnessed his strength, his agility, his determination, his ruthlessness working beside him in this field - but you then saw just how much he had been holding back.

He fled past the remaining few, out the door and down the hallway of the warehouse. The agents turned to follow him, forgetting about you - until you threw a knife directly into one's neck from behind.

Another agent shot at you, the blow hitting your bulletproof vest and sending you flying backwards onto hard cement.

Before you could catch your breath, there was a sharp cracking noise and a blinding pain radiating from your lower leg - but it was short lived.

The last thing you recall is the man's boot swinging towards your face.

You woke up some number of hours later, in a hospital bed with your temple throbbing and leg elevated in a cast.

“Hey,” a soft voice calls from your right. Natasha stands up from the singular chair in the room, both concern and relief evident across her features. “You're okay,” she begins to assure you. “You have a concussion and a fractured–”

“Where's Bucky?” You interrupt her, your voice scratchy. You clear your throat. “Is he okay? Did Steve find him? Did HYDRA get–”

“HYDRA didn't get him. Steve took care of the last of the agents after him,” she stops you from rambling. There's an immediate sense of relief wash over you.

“But we haven't found him yet,” she adds carefully. “Everyone is out searching for him now. You know we won't stop until–”

A gentle knock on your apartment door snaps you back to reality.

You freeze, your heart jumping to your throat. You stand as quickly as you can manage, grabbing your crutches propped up next to you on the couch.

“It's just me,” a feminine voice calls from the other side of the door. Your heart goes from your throat to your stomach. Not him.

“I'm sorry, I should have text you first,” Natasha continues. “But I brought you food. Street tacos from–”

You turn the deadbolt and unhook the chain lock before swinging the door open.

“You look–”

“Like hammered shit?” You finish for her, nodding your head towards the inside of the apartment as indication for her to come in.

“I was going to say exhausted,” she says, walking past you with a large paper sack of take-out food. Your stomach growls at the aroma - when was the last time you ate something more than a bowl of cereal or granola bar?

“Your favorite,” she tells you, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. “Extra salsa verde and lime wedges. Have you gotten any sleep recently?” Her eyes skim across the empty energy drink cans littered around the kitchen.

You maneuver yourself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen's small island, leaning your crutches on the edge of the counter.

“Yes,” you mumble. “For forty-five minutes from 2:30 to 3:15 today.”

She lets out a long groan, rolling her eyes at you.

“You're supposed to be healing from a concussion,” she reminds you, taking a seat for herself. “Which generally doesn't include sleep deprivation and excessive use of computer screens.” She stares in the direction of the array of laptops that overcrowd the limited space of your coffee table.

“Did you find anything in Connecticut? What about Sam, is he back from New Jersey?” You ask, ignoring her concerns as you unbox your food.

“Connecticut was a dead-end,” she sighs. “We're still waiting to hear back from Sam. There's a safehouse up in Vermont that Steve wants to head to tomorrow–”

“You don't think there's a chance of him letting me tag along for that, do you?” You tap the edge of your cast against the base of the island with your foot.

Her eyes soften as she looks at you. You already knew the answer.

“I know this is really hard for you,” she says delicately. “I may not know exactly what has been going on between you and Barnes these last few months, but it's obvious you care a lot for him. We all do. We are going to find him and bring him home,” she assures you.

You nod at her in agreement, not quite trusting your voice enough to speak.

Your eyes sting as you attempt to blink away the tears that threaten to spill over. You had yet to allow yourself to spend any time crying these last few days and you didn't wish to start now.

Her words remind you that no one knows exactly why you are taking Bucky's disappearance so harshly. You assume that your friends have their suspicions about your and Bucky's arrangement but the two of you had agreed to keep it between yourselves.

They didn't know it had started off being a weekly occurrence - late Sunday evenings, your apartment. Or how it had quickly escalated from once a week to twice, and then from two times a week to three - and instead of just your apartment, it would happen anywhere the two of you had a private (and sometimes public) moment - up against the wall of the communal showers at the compound's gym, in the back of the Quinjet after missions while everyone else would be sleeping on the flight back home, even during team meetings with his hand creeping between your thighs while you try to stay quiet enough to not draw any attention to yourselves.

They didn't know you were supposed to be friends with benefits but that at some point during the days and nights spent underneath one another, the line between friends and something more became blurry for you.

You had just been too chickenshit to tell him.

Natasha sits across from you as you inhale the Mexican food that she brought you. She doesn't say anything else, just keeps you company in a comfortable silence as you eat your first legitimate meal in days.

“Thank you,” you tell her as you're finishing your food. “I appreciate you. I've been going a little crazy here by myself,” you add meekly.

“Of course.” She stands back up. “I would stay longer, but I've got to prepare for Vermont. We're leaving early in the morning.”

“Be safe. All of you,” you remind her. “Let me know if you guys find anything. Just tell me if there's anything at all I can do. And please let me know when you hear from Sam–”

“You'll be the first to know when there's anything to know,” she assures you gently.

“Thanks, Nat.”

“You just try to get some rest, okay?” She requests as she walks toward the door. “Maybe drink some water, possibly consider taking a nice, long shower…”

“Goodbye, Natasha.”

She's chuckling as she closes the door behind her.

You lower your nose to your armpit as soon as the door clicks shut, inhaling.

Maybe she makes a valid point about showering.

Half an hour later, there's a heavy rain beating against the windows of your apartment when you finish bathing. You secure a towel around your chest before yanking off the garbage bag that you had wrapped around your cast well enough for you to rinse off.

Belly full and body clean, you felt somewhat better; at least physically.

You listen to the rain pound down as you sit on the edge of the bathtub, massaging lotion into your skin, and wonder where Bucky is right now - if he's safe, if it's raining wherever he's at, if he's somewhere dry -

You come to a sudden halt in the middle of brushing your teeth. It's hard to tell over the deafening roar of the rain and your bathroom fan, but you could have sworn you heard the creaking of a door or window from your living room.

I double checked the door locks after Nat left, you rationalize to yourself. This apartment is on the fourth floor, no one is going to climb the fire escapes to–

There's an unmistakable shadow visible through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. It's gone as quickly as it appears.

Shit. You start to panic as you realize you left your cell phone in the kitchen. As quietly as you can, you look around the small room for something to defend yourself with. A hair dryer, dental floss, a few week’s worth of dirty laundry..

You hear the creaking of floorboards as footsteps seem to creep closer and closer to the bathroom door.

Crutches. You have two crutches. You can clobber them with your crutches.

“I can hear you,” you call to whoever is just beyond the door. “I know you’re out there.”

Silence. No hint of any further movement.

You place one crutch under your left armpit for support, keeping the other one ready to wield as a weapon. “You have ten seconds to get out of my apartment,” you say a bit louder, willing your voice not to waver. “I have a weapon.”

Yeah, a weapon. If you can call it that.

Ten seconds come and go, followed by another ten seconds.

You weren’t going to let someone play this game with you in your own home.

Taking one last deep breath and tightening your grip on the defense crutch, you sling the bathroom door open quickly.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim, immediately relaxing your weight against the crutches, releasing the death grip that you had on your uninjured side.

It’s dark in your bedroom save for a few pale orange string lights hung around your bed frame and the light that spills in from the bathroom, but you would recognize his broad frame anywhere.

“Thank fuck you’re okay,” you exhale, swinging yourself over to where he stands at the foot of your bed. When you’re a little over a foot away from him, you realize he’s sopping wet - his hair dripping water droplets and his skin dewy. His clothing, the same clothing that you last saw him in three days ago, clings to his body like a second skin.

He remains still as a statue, and as silent as one.

“Are you okay?” You ask him apprehensively. You give him a once over, from head to toe. You don't see any noticeable injuries, but he is trembling.

“Bucky?” You ask in a small voice.

His lips are set in a hard line. He doesn't answer, just stares at you. Stares at you like he’s trying to figure out why he’s here.

Stares at you like he’s trying to decide if he knows you or not.

The immense relief that you had felt at knowing he's alive is washed away by a sinking feeling.

His eyes trail from your face and slowly down your towel-clad body. He pauses when he gets to your foot, glancing back and forth from your cast to the crutches on either side. His brows furrow together - almost like he's in pain.

“I'm okay,” you assure him in a shaky voice. “It's just a fracture,” you explain. “I'll be healed in no time.”

You notice that his features relax a bit at your words - just enough to give you hope that Bucky, your Bucky, is in there and he's listening to you.

Do whatever you have to do to keep him here. Don't let him out of your sight. Help him remember who he is, your inner monologue screams at you. Just don't let him run away again.

“Are you cold?” You ask him. You're not necessarily expecting him to answer, you're just trying to put him at ease. “How about we get you some dry clothes?” You add, nodding towards his drenched henley.

You retreat into the bathroom, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he'd left over the last time he had stayed the night - the night before he went missing. They were at the top of the laundry basket - maybe not the cleanest, but better that the wet, dirty clothing he's in currently.

You limp your way back over to where he stands at your bed, leaning against the mattress for support. You set your crutches down and hand him the shirt and pants, which he hesitantly accepts. He makes no move to remove the wet clothes from his body, instead gently places the dry clothes onto the mattress beside him.

“Would you like some help?” you offer cautiously, terrified of doing anything that could cause him to run. You slowly reach towards the clothing that he had just placed on the bed, but he stops you before you can pick the t-shirt back up - grasping your wrist in his vibranium hand.

You can’t stop the small gasp that escapes past your lips. His hold on you is firm, but not painful. You could rip your hand from him if you wanted to - but you don’t.

Instead, you let him hold your hand as he begins to rub his metal thumb in a circular motion next to yours. You’re frozen; watching him carefully as he examines the movements his metal digit makes on your skin.

The goosebumps that appear in the wake of his touch don’t go unnoticed by him. His eyes trail from where his hand holds yours and up the expanse of your arm, until they land on your exposed neck. The towel covering your midsection has started to come loose, hanging low enough to reveal the top of your breasts.

He drops your hand, taking a step closer to you. You have to remind yourself to breathe - your Bucky is in there. Your Bucky, who is gentle, and soft, and would never do anything to cause you harm.

You have to trust that.

He brings his vibranium fingers up to the edge of the towel, trailing them across the mounds of your breasts. Your nipples harden right away, visible through the thin material of the towel.

You would let this play out however he wants it to. However he needs it to.

When his index finger stops where the towel is tucked into itself at your side, you forget how to breathe. He pauses for a split-second before unhooking the cloth and letting it fall to your feet.

He drinks in the sight of you bare before him, his jaw clenched and pupils dilated.

Dozens of times he has seen you like this, and never have you felt so completely vulnerable under his gaze.

And still there's a slickness gathering at the apex of your thighs.

He brings his flesh hand to your waist, putting the faintest bit of pressure against your skin. You close your eyes at the sensation - he's barely fucking touching you and you could melt into him.

Your name falls off of his lips - it's barely even a whisper, nearly inaudible but unmistakable. Your name. He remembers your name.

“Bucky,” your voice cracks when you whisper his own name back to him. His eyes snap up to yours, a mix of realization and hesitation brewing in them.

You bring both of your hands to the tail of his wet shirt, giving him time to pull away before you start to tug the shirt upwards. He doesn't stop you - in fact, he raises his own arms to help you tug the soaked fabric off of him. You toss the shirt in the general direction of your bathroom.

You didn't think there would ever come a time that the sight of him getting naked for you wouldn't make you want to drool.

You unsnap the button of his tactical pants, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time, hyper-analyzing his expression for any sign of reluctance.

You dip your fingers past the waistband of his boxers, his eyes fluttering closed as your hand travels lower.

He's already fully hard as you hold him, stroking him as best you can from inside the confines of his underwear and pants. You pump him in your hand and his head rolls back so that he's looking up at your ceiling.

Fuck, it takes all the restraint you possess to resist leaning forward and sucking on his neck.

Another time, you tell yourself, anxious about overwhelming him.

He curses under his breath - something in Russian that you don't recognize but the expression on his face indicates it to be a praise. There's a shift in his initially reserved, unsure demeanor when you begin to pump him faster.

His head snaps back down, his eyes raking up and down your body once more before he brings his hands to your lower back, maneuvering you against the bed.

You scoot until your back comes in contact with the cool satin of your pillows, relaxing into the bedding. At last Bucky begins to shed the layers of wet clothing covering his lower half, not taking his eyes off of your body as he removes his boots, followed by his pants and boxers.

He kneels on the mattress, crawling above where you lay. You want nothing more than to grab him by the shoulders and pull his mouth to yours, but you are going to let him call the shots.

He nudges your thighs apart with his knee, nestling himself between your legs. He grasps your breast in his vibranium hand, giving it a firm squeeze before rolling your nipple between his icy fingers.

He lowers himself so that he's belly down on your mattress, his face inches away from your pussy. He removes his hand from your breast and you let out a small whimper of disappointment at the abrupt lack of sensation. He uses that same hand to hike your uninjured leg over his shoulder, securing his head between the soft interior of your thighs.

He kisses you, starting at your belly button and working his way to your center. His lips feel like fire against your skin. You keep your hips planted firmly on the bed, fighting the urge to thrust your pussy up to his face.

“Please,” you whine. “Bucky, please.” You swear you can see the faintest trace of a smirk that looks so undeniably Bucky.

You clench your thighs around his face and he lets out a low, guttural groan as his mouth makes contact with you.

Normally, Bucky closes his eyes while he's going down on you - gets completely lost in it. Right now, his eyes are wide open - making sure he doesn't miss the way your mouth gapes when he rolls his tongue around your clit and the way your chest heaves when he nudges his tongue inside you.

You don't know which you find hotter.

You can already feel the tightening of a coil in your lower belly, making it impossible to resist rolling your hips to meet the torturous pace he's set with his tongue. You grind against his face, the thin layer of stubble that's grown across his jaw since you last saw him scratching against the sensitive flesh around your cunt.

You're approaching your climax when he pulls away, making you mewl at the loss of contact. His face glistens with your slick.

He flips you onto your side, placing you on your left side so that your injured leg rests against the mattress. You prop your head up with your hand as he slides in behind you.

His chest presses against your back, the heat of his body warming you all over. His flesh hand juts between your thighs, raising your right leg high enough for him to slap his cock against your pussy.

He strokes himself in his hand while he teases your folds - lubricating himself with your juices.

You turn your head to look at him right as he sheaths himself inside you, filling you entirely in one swift motion.

Fuck, you have to taste yourself on him. You can't handle not having his mouth on yours for another second.

You tilt your head back enough to connect your mouth to his - every worry you once had about coming on too strong and overwhelming him melts away as he opens his mouth for you, moving his lips against yours in an effortless rhythm.

He starts slow, quickly working up to a rapid pace as he repeatedly slams into your cervix from the sweetest angle. The sounds that you're making for him are pornographic - moaning into his mouth as his flesh hand comes around your front, landing on your engorged clitoris. He rubs languid circles while he continues to pound into you from behind.

You pull your lips away from his when you feel your orgasm building. “You always make me feel so good, you know that?” You ask him breathily, your mouth now right next to his ear.

“Every time you fuck me, I'm more sure that no one could ever compare to you. You've ruined me for everyone else. There’s only you for me.”

“Fuck,” he curses and groans your name again - it's the closest he's sounded to his normal self, which only spurs you on.

“I’ve become so fucking addicted to you in such a short amount of time,” you say in between moans as the head of his cock hits your sweet spot just right. “Think about you anytime you're not near me, drives me fucking crazy.”

He flips you - doesn't pull out - so that you're now underneath him. He goes right back to the same brutal pace, bringing his flesh hand to cradle your face as he stares down at you.

Clarity - you recognize it plain as day on his features.

He gives you a few more fast, hard thrusts before you're milking his cock through your orgasm. You crash your lips to his and he's coming - filling you up with his warm seed as he kisses you senseless.

He gradually stills inside you, his body going limp on top of yours as he rests his face in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, peppering kisses across his scarred shoulder, where flesh meets metal.

“I'm so sorry if I scared you,” he murmurs against the sweat-slicked skin of your throat after a moment. “I wasn't myself. Not even entirely sure how I ended up here - it's like I was pulled in this direction - to you,” he sighs.

You're overcome with such an immense relief at hearing him speak that you could cry. You tighten your hold around him, rubbing your hands up and down his back.

“You could never scare me, Bucky,” you assure him. He pulls out of you, rolling off of you onto the bed beside you and tugging you to his chest. Your cheek rests just over his heart.

"I know you. Even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks for reading! as always comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated!

[lightseoul]

cw. worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), a lot of cussing (bkg-typical), reader is implied to be smaller than bkg, some angst (or a lot? :0)

words. 3k (ofc had to end it with a bang)

a/n. see the end of the post for a message from me, as well as the title reveal of the series! hope you enjoy this ending <3

masterlist | part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

The fairy lights strewn across your walls and interwoven with fake vines finally flicker out, robbing you of your clear view of the ceiling, leaving you in a sea of darkness with the only source of light being the sliver of sunshine that’s entering through the small gap between your curtains.

You heave a heavy sigh, vaguely seeing your chest rise with the action, your legs tangled in a messy heap of your blanket and pillows.

Replace the damned batteries—again, you make a mental note while side-eyeing the alarm clock that reads 8:37 AM.

Rolling your torso to the right side in a stretch, you groan as your hips make a loud cracking sound.

You can’t remember the last time you intentionally moved your body like this—at least, not for the last two days.

Ever since you got home that Friday night from Bakugou’s parents’ house for Thanksgiving, you haven’t exactly been attuned to your body and what it’s telling you its needs are.

As much as you’d hate to admit it, you’ve been way too in your head since then, going over every interaction with Mitsuki and Masaru, pinpointing every lie you spat out, and replaying in your head the delighted reactions they paid you back in return. And with each re-run came a new wave of nausea and the pitiful urge to collapse in a boneless heap.

You can’t even bear to think about how they’d react once they find out everything’s a sham.

God, Mitsuki’s gonna have a heart attack and die before she even gets the chance to enjoy retirement with her husband.

Needless to say, you barely managed to sleep a wink that night, too heavily preoccupied with your guilt and paranoia to even get a half-hour straight stretch of rest in.

The weekend that followed wasn’t any better.

The worries expanded from Bakugou’s family and how they’d react to his friend group, and god forbid Kirishima and Mina and Sero and even Kaminari find out and you painfully witness palpable disappointment flash across their kind features.

Especially after they welcomed you that warmly into their squad and even went out of their way to conjure stories about Bakugou to make you laugh and enjoy yourself.

By Sunday afternoon, you finally decided you were in no shape to prepare for all the work needed to be done for the next day, let alone show up to the agency and face everyone.

Particularly Bakugou.

The thought of whom has been causing puzzling physical sensations that you find messes with your rationality and causes your chest to ache, frustrating you even more and furthering your resolve to avoid things for now until you can come up with a solution to the situation at hand.

And so with an email sent to Hikari about filing for a sick leave tomorrow and her having to step in for a meeting with the founders and department heads on the day of, as well as a reply expressing her affirmation later, you buried yourself in your queen-sized bed and doom-scrolled to distract yourself until you fell into a fitted sleep.

Which leads you to now.

With you, again, staring at the ceiling, the sounds of nothing but distant honks and a gust of wind entering through the windows breaking the silence.

At least, that is the case until a barrage of weighty knocks echoes throughout your apartment and into the doorway of your bedroom.

Almost instantly, you sit up in alarm, and you’re immediately hit with gut-wrenching dizziness from the action. Despite that, you stumble out of your bed in a hurry, swiftly adjusting your pajamas and baggy T-shirt as you shimmy your socked feet into your house slippers before running to the foyer.

Your heart is hammering in fear as you tiptoe to peek at the intruder through your peephole, thoughts racing as to who the fuck could this person possibly be, visiting at not even 9 AM on a Monday.

You’re bracing yourself to see the ghost of Christmas past who just happened to visit a little early, whoever the fuck that person could be in your life, and for your stomach to drop in horror at the sight of them, only it isn’t someone from your past.

No, it’s someone from your present.

Someone who’s very much in your present.

Yet your stomach drops nevertheless.

Through the hole, Bakugou is studying the unit number hung on your apartment door, brows furrowed in what you think is confusion and a tinge of impatience. He’s decked in his winter hero costume, although his eyepiece is up against just above his forehead, pinning down his notoriously unruly ash blonde hair. You almost miss it, but he seems to be carrying a plastic bag with his left hand.

You feel your throat dry up at the sight of him, and you’ve half a mind to do a complete 180 and tiptoe back to your bed and just pretend you’re not home when he knocks again, only this time the knocking’s more insistent.

Despite yourself, you still jump at the sound, and you chalk it up to your nerves being indubitably fried from three days of constant worrying.

You glance longingly at your bedroom, itching to dive into your sheets, drown out the rest of the world, and pretend you’re not in the middle of the mess you’ve inadvertently made. But as you look back at the door and the sound echoing from its direction, you’re washed with an uncanny sense of shame.

What happened to facing your fears head-on?

With a few soothing circles to your chest where your heart is approximately at in an effort to ground yourself, you take a few cautious steps towards the door, hand slightly shaking as you reach out to hold the knob.

Here goes fucking nothing.

Bakugou’s in the middle of still rapping at your door when you finally twist the handle and fling the slab of wood wide open, revealing the man with his right fist frozen mid-air, a prominently surprised look plastered across his features, as if he didn’t expect anyone, let alone you, to open the goddamn door even with his absurd knocking.

You force a smile onto your face, although you can tell it probably looks more pained than anything. “Bakugou.”

At the sound of his name, it’s almost as if he snaps out of a trance because he quickly brings down his raised hand, clearing his throat in the process. And almost immediately after, an eyebrow raises in question.

He opens his mouth to speak, and you couldn’t have ever guessed what he’d say next if you tried.

“…You don’t look like shit?”

You gawk, “Excuse me?”

Bakugou frowns, as if you’re the one not making any sense. “I thought you were sick.”

With that, he thrusts the plastic bag he’s been carrying to you.

Your eyes dart down to inspect it, before looking back up at the man in confusion.

He huffs, “‘s care package, is all. Come on, fucking take it.”

Not knowing what else to do, you gingerly take the bag off his hands, opting to cradle it with both arms and hold it close to your chest. You give him a quiet thanks, to which he just nods in acknowledgment.

You both stand there in awkward silence for what feels like minutes, neither of you saying anything. It’s only when you catch Bakugou peeking at your living room above your head that you remember basic courtesy.

“…You want to come in?” you meekly ask, conflicted as to whether or not you prefer a decline from the pro-hero.

To your chagrin, or delight—you don’t fucking know—he replies with a curt ‘Sure’ before squeezing in through your doorframe and toeing off his boots.

Against the backdrop of your rather modest home, pro-hero Dynamight looks completely out of place. His bulky figure further dwarfs your small decorative knickknacks, and his black and orange pieces stand in stark contrast against the earthy tones of your furniture.

Suddenly remembering you’re fucking staring, you lift your eyes back up to Bakugou’s face, only to find him already studying you.

You quickly scramble for something to say.

“H-how’d you get up here?”

“…The elevator?” he answers, with too much of an ‘are you dumb’ undertone for your liking.

You huff, “No, I meant how’d you get past the security and receptionist? And I don’t remember ever mentioning what floor and unit I lived in.”

To that, Bakugou only shrugs. “The guard recognized me. Even asked for a fucking photo. And when I asked about you, he was quick to give me your details.”

“Seriously?!”

Bakugou has the audacity to roll his eyes, before: “He knows about us, dumbass. Said he read it in the news.”

Oh.

“R-right,” you dumbly reply. “Sorry.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, only shaking his head in what you think is dismissal. He shifts his weight to his other leg from where he’s standing near the backrest of your couch, a few feet away from you awkwardly leaning against the kitchen island where you’ve placed his gift bag.

When you meet his gaze again after a brief moment, he’s already looking at you expectantly.

“What?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“Why are you not at work?”

You absolutely can’t with his fucking bluntness.

“I’m sick,” you lie, surprising yourself with how smoothly it tumbles out of your mouth.

You’ve had plenty of practice after all.

But apparently, not enough to fool Bakugou.

“Bullshit.”

Instantly, you feel a wave of indignation wash over you, together with a sense of deja vu—as if this conversation has happened before.

“I don’t think you’re my fucking thermometer, Bakugou,” you snap, unable to rein in your anger.

“Really, now?” he retorts, not missing a beat. “How ‘bout we use the thermometer I brought you and see what that has to say, hah?”

Before he can even move towards you to grab the tool from where it’s sitting behind you, you blindly reach for the bag behind you and bring it to your front, clutching it close to your chest.

“No.”

At your move, a devilish sneer invades his features. “So you’re admitting it, then?”

You purse your lips in a tight line, already teeming with irritation. “I don’t owe you an explanation. My request’s already been approved by HR.”

“But why?” he presses, eyebrows seemingly permanently furrowed. “You never take time off unless it’s a major emergency or some shit.”

“And you don’t just take off and abandon your patrol duties, yet here you are,” you quip, not knowing how else to respond to his accusation because it’s true.

“I didn’t abandon patrol,” he spits back, “I had Eijirou cover for me.”

That’s it.

“Well, I’m sorry I’m a goddamn mess, right now, okay?” you finally cry, throwing your hands up as if gesturing a surrender. “Can’t a person have just one day of not having to fucking lie to everyone?”

To your surprise, Bakugou doesn’t bite back and bark a harsh reply. Instead, he only stares at you expectantly, wordlessly coaxing you to explain.

And you don’t know what it is about it, but his borderline concerned gaze is the catalyst that causes the proverbial dam to break open and for everything to come flooding out.

Your voice is so pathetically small when the words finally come out.

“…Bakugou, why are we even doing this?”

Again, he doesn’t say anything, and you take his silence as an opportunity to keep going.

“You know, at first, I thought I—no, we—had a rationale,” you start, looking at everything else in the room but him. “I wanted to get back at my ex, and you, for some reason, wanted to be a hero and get back at him…too? Okay, shit, it’s already getting confusing.”

At that, Bakugou scoffs. “Quit making me sound like an aimless dumbass, idiot. I just hate ugly ass douchebags.” He crosses his buff arms in front of his chest, “It’s a personal goal of mine to make them pay.”

You eye him suspiciously, not exactly sold on his answer, but you press on.

“Okay… And so we—I did—exactly that by punching him at his wedding. Which brought us unnecessary attention from the press, eventually pushing and forcing us to act like we’re dating around everyone.

“And we’ve done exactly that!” you bemoan, “Around your closest friends, even around your sweet, innocent parents, for crying out loud!”

You finally will yourself to look at Bakugou, and he looks like he’s about to say something but you cut him off before he can.

If you don’t get this out now, you doubt you’ll ever get another chance to do so.

“It’s just—I—I don’t think I can do this anymore, Bakugou,” you finally say, shoulders sagging in relief at finally having said aloud what’s been haunting your mind.

You look at him squarely, injecting as much conviction as you can into your tone for what you’re about to say next.

Because, you now realize, it’s the one thing that’s been plaguing you the most.

“I don’t want to cause you to fuck up your life any more than I already have.”

You study his face, bracing yourself for a spectrum of reactions you can potentially elicit from the man. You watch as his jaw visibly clenches, and it bewilders you how he can look so pained when, no matter how much you rack your brain for a reason, there’s nothing in it for him in this silly, not-so-little arrangement of yours.

Except, maybe a bit of self-satisfaction and amusement over having helped a damsel in distress.

A few minutes of silence pass with neither of you saying anything.

“…Bakugou?” you finally ask, voice small.

Suddenly the previous expression that was just on his face morphs into a full-on scowl, so much so that the man looks like he’s about to combust any second now.

And erupt he does.

“You have some fucking nerve, you know that?”

Again, and despite yourself, a pulse of fury courses through your body, but before you can even spew your own venom in your defense, Bakugou beats you to it.

“Who gave you the fucking right?”

You’re fuming. “Who gave me the fucking right to what?”

“To fucking walk into my life, just like that!” he snaps, shutting you up.

He shakes his head, disbelieving and seemingly resigned. “Like you had any business strutting in looking so fucking pretty, and then you had to put a nail on the coffin by being the best at your job like it’s no big fucking deal? You put all the agency’s useless executives to shame with how hard you work and how good you are at it.

“And you go ahead and punch the guy who’s been a complete dickhead to you and then worry about how you ruined his wedding. And you say all this nice shit to me and my friends and my family like it’s fucking nothing.”

His hand shoots up to pinch the bridge of his nose, like he’s feeling a headache creeping in, before he drops it in favor of turning to fully glare at you.

“But now you have the gall to call it quits when I’m just starting to get used to this? It’s—you—you’re something else.

“You’re a fucking pain in my ass, you know that?”

Robbed of all words and eyes wide as saucers, the only thing you can choke out is: “W-what are you trying to say?”

At that, Bakugou scoffs. “You really are a fucking dumbass, aren’t you?”

But you don’t even get to retort a defense, or even get the slightest bit offended at his remark, because in the blink of an eye, Bakugou is on the move—purposefully stalking towards you.

And just like that, he pulls you into a searing kiss.

You think you might have squeaked in shock at the contact, but that thought is suddenly overwritten in your mind the moment you feel his big hand rest on the space between your neck and shoulder, while the other remains firm holding your chin in place.

Your eyes flutter close at the intensely warm feeling, and before you get to talk yourself out of it, you kiss him back, and Bakugou’s grip on you tightens when you do so.

And as you revel in the softness of his lips and the fervent way he’s kissing you like he’s been waiting to do this for as long as he could fathom, everything finally dawns on you.

Your feelings—your true feelings—and the fact that you’ve been in denial all along; an idiot who chose what to see and hear and believe to protect herself from hoping and potentially getting disappointed in the end.

But this?

This.

This is the farthest thing from disappointment.

Finally, and maybe a little too soon to your liking, Bakugou slowly pulls a few inches away, and the boyish grin that’s now decorating his beautiful features causes your heart to throb so painfully that it almost hurts—in a good way.

With his two hands that are now resting on your shoulders, he squeezes the flesh, bringing you somewhat back to reality.

“That answer your question, princess?”

Despite yourself, you flush, but now you find that you don’t mind Bakugou noticing, what with the wave of warmth that floods you at the view of him grinning even wider at the sight of you.

Not trusting your voice not to crack just yet, you can only nod as you smile and feel tears slowly pooling your eyes. And not wanting for him to see them, at least for now lest he worries, you quickly blink them away before leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

And he leans his against yours.

A few moments pass before he speaks up again.

“…Fucking finally.”

“Fucking finally…you have a girlfriend?” you jokingly reference his best friend, although despite the playfulness of the quip your heart is hammering at the suggestion and silently begging, begging for an affirmation.

But what he ends up giving you is lightyears further than that.

Bakugou shakes his head, tipping your chin up so that you’re looking straight into his eyes.

He grins.

“Fucking finally I have you.”

a/n. not to be emotional out here, but this series was such a joy to work on. i haven't written in a year and a half since this series, what with my depression having gotten really bad. i'm nowhere near better, but the process of working on this series and interacting with you all really gave me a sense of fulfillment that i haven't felt in the longest time. with that, i want to thank you all for the support and love <3 this wouldn't have been as enjoyable without you all!

and so drum roll, please; the title of the series is: the wonderful mess that we made (from the song flaws by bastille). a separate masterlist for this will be posted soon, so pls keep an eye out for that :,)

lastly, i'd love to hear from you about how you found the series! my replies, tags, and asks are always open <3

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii @beab19 @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @lovra974 @chelbyisbord @k0z3me @meeeepsworld @asura-rose @dragonscribble @moonz33 @citrustsuki @deadhands69 @lemuhr @rosemarygalaxy @iluv-ace @eyesforbkg @carpe000diem @shushbruv @matchat3a @ttalgi @bakunianadecorazon @the2ndl @keiscwsz @onlyisaa @aizawa19 @471323 @bakugosgothhoe @bleublooded @msjaeger @ellielover69

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 they make the biggest difference! have an awesome day ( ˘ ³˘)

[often-daydreaming]

A Quick Chat

'Absolutely not!'

'I'm just gonna talk with him!'

Following the quickly escalating shouts down to the Batcave Bruce found Dick and a heavily armed Tim at each other's throats while their siblings oh so helpfully egged them on.

They were arguing about Wally and their last universal saving mission for some reason and Tim had nearly every contingency he could think of to handle a speedster on him.

-nna talk, that's it!'

'Then you can leave the gear here!'

'What's going on?'

All of his children froze, finally realizing he was here before they started shouting over each other.

'You remem-'

'-ick's trying to-'

'Father Dr-'

'-ng crazy, just because the universe re-'

'Enough!'

'Now, can someone tell me what's going on or do I have to get Alfred?'

And Jason was happy enough to tell him. 'Replacement's pissed because we finally discovered a pretty big difference with the universe after the League hit the reset button.'

Multiple screens on the Batcomputer held information on new heroes, a Junior JLD and everything Tim could dig up on two individuals. The first one was Phantom, a new addition to the Titans and had a number of detailed conspiracy theories tracking his appearances through time while the other held the detailed background information of a recently graduated Daniel James Fenton. Tim had dug up everything from his kindergarten grades to... Oh... Oh no... That explains why they were arguing about Wally.

Most of Daniel's latest online post covered his move to Gotham, his new job offer working in their engineering department and his new boyfriend Bernard. Looking at it all made it painfully easy to piece together that... 'They stole my life!'

And Dick and Tim were arguing again but Bruce knew it wouldn't get too heated and focused his attention on the gathered information. It was easy to see that a number of encounters his kids (mainly his oldest three) should have had with the Titans were adjusted just enough to fit Phantom now and Tim's involvement with the Children of Dionysus had been shifted around to involve Daniel in this new universe.

'-e universe reset doesn't mean you can ruin their lives. Phantom seems like a good kid.'

'Dowd would have left you eventually.'

Dick had to hold Tim back from launching himself at Damien while Jason and Steph stood by egging the two of them on, but then Tim got that look in his eye when Duke brought up the idea of reintroducing himself and everyone noticed.

'No.'

'Come on. Tim, you don't need another restraining order.'

'But it didn't happen in this universe so it doesn't count.'

'It counts if we still remember it!'

But Tim wasn't listening, too busy changing out of all of his gear as a plan quickly started forming together in his mind.

Why waste time with Wally when he can just as easily win over the new couple while ignoring everything else he's learned from his friends.

He'd figure it out one mess at a time. After he won Bernard back he'd figure out the situation between Red Robin and Phantom.

-_- -_- -_-

Reading over the sticky note Danny couldn't help but wonder what Clockwork meant when he wrote 'Have Fun'.

Again, I blame my medication for this, but this came from a couple of different prompts about Tim, Bernard and Danny and I just sort of went with it. Basically the main roster of the League has to stop (Pick a threat) and end up resitting the universe again. The problem is they still remember the old universe so they spend a week or two looking up any big changes and a sleep deprived Tim starts believing he barely knows Bernard in this universe when he's actually dating him and Danny. He just hasn't dug deep enough to figure out his own connection.

[thecuriousbeauty]

Traitor-The Present

Chapter 1

Synopsis:y/n is a hard working painter, trying to make the ends meet. She lives with and takes care of her sick Uncle, the only one she has for a family. She has dreams to make it big, and when the desperation for money strikes, she has to make a choice. Walk away after listening to an incredible deal that would fix all her problems, or take up the deal. A top secret, risky deal, which involves meeting Harry Styles.A man once rumored to be a dangerous secret weapon of a leading mafia. artist!y/n x mafia!harry (he's also a doctor)

Word Count: 3601

Author's note: This chapter is just a start to what I hope will be a very interesting thriller. This is my fan first fiction, but I've made sure that it's all planned out properly for you guys. Warnings will be mentioned at the beginning of every chapter. Please re blog to support me if you like it! Next chapter will be up very soon:)

Warnings: Talks about mafia, gold smuggling, accident.

___________________________________________

"Ms. y/l/n, this is the second time I'm calling you, I'm afraid I cannot wait longer. I may have to-"

y/n closes her eyes, bringing her index and thumb finger to squeeze at the skin of the bridge of her nose. "No, no! Mr. Timothy please give me some time, I promise I'll send everything I owe you, just give me some time."

She was due on her rent on the little place she and her uncle call as home.

"I can't give you any more time, Miss. By tomorrow 8 pm, or I'll have you evicted.", Mr. Timothy told her on the phone. 

"Yes, um thank you." y/n sighs as she keeps her phone on the table, and looks around at the mess of her living room. It was a small flat, with a decent living room, a comfortable couch, a TV where her uncle usually spends away the day when she's out working, and two bedrooms. 

Her phone beeped, with an alarm to make sure her uncle took her medicines, and she walked to his bedroom. He was resting on the bed, back supported by a pillow as he read a book. He loves books on underworld mysteries and mafias. She never gets it. 

"Uncle Luke, it's time for your meds.", she says. 

From the time she remembers, y/n was raised by her uncle. She doesn't remember having a father, or a mother, she only has her Uncle Luke to call as family. Whenever she asked him about her family, he would stroke her hair and tell her that no one realized how special she was.

She loved her uncle, he was her father figure. Uncle Luke got diagnosed with Alzheimer's a few months back, and he had to retire from his job as a librarian. Sometimes, he appears completely normal. y/n's heart breaks when she sees the painful expression on her uncle's face as he tries to remember something that shouldn't have been that difficult to remember.

"I took them.", her uncle smiles at her, lifting his eyes from the book. "Are you okay? You seem stressed."

She smiles for his sake, nodding. "Just tired. You need anything?"

Uncle Luke shakes his head, before taking her hand. "Is it money? I can help you out, go back to my job-"

"-No, Uncle Luke, I got it.", y/n squeezes his hand. "I just need you to rest up and be okay. I'm gonna try and squeeze in another job, I'll work something out. I've gotta go now."

Uncle Luke nods, gently ruffling her hair. "Off you go, y/n."

"See you in the evening!"

y/n rushes out the door, and takes the train to the cafe. She doesn't work as a barista, the cafe wanted someone to paint beautiful pictures on the canvas while their customers enjoyed their service. The Golden Cup cafe was a beautiful place. Covered with greenery, sweet smelling flowers and little tables around. 

y/n set up her canvas, paints and brushes. "Morning.", her best friend Sania nudges her elbow. Sania works as a server in the same cafe, and they have been best friends since the first day they met.

"Good morning. It's not good though, I hope yours was good.", y/n rambles, stressed about her desperate need for money.

"Woah, what happened?", Sania asks watching her mix a few colors onto her palate. y/n tells her about the rent problems, and Sania nods understandingly. She also had her debt issues, but recently, she was doing well. y/n thought her rough patch would also be over soon, but she had no hope now. 

"I can set you up an appointment with the people I was talking about.", Sania tells her, and it gains her attention. "They can help you."

"I don't want to do anything illegal Sania-"

"-No, it's not illegal. It's off charts, but you're gonna get money in exchange for a task they assign you. It's simple!"

"That task may involve illegal activities.", y/n shakes her head. Last thing she needed was to go to jail, leaving her uncle all alone.

"No, it won't. Come on y/n, they helped me.", Sania smiles at another coworker, and lowers her voice. "You don't even have to agree immediately, you can decide and get back to them. This job isn't going to be enough to make ends meet and you know that. Think about it."

"Sania take table 4 please!"

"Yes.", Sania nodded at y/n. "I have to get back to work."

y/n also had to get to work, she smiled at the customers before putting her brush to the canvas. She doesn't decide on what to paint. She just lets the inspiration take over. The customers watched in awe as her hand moved skillfully, without an effort. y/n didn't think about her problems when she painted. When she painted, she was in her own world where everything was alright. That was why her paintings all turned out extraordinary.

She talked to the customers who came up to her. During her break, she sat with her cold mint lemon tea and thought about everything Sania said. She was right, she needed the money. Just talking with them wouldn't hurt would it? 

She approached Sania later on that day. "I'll um, I'll talk to them."

"Good! I'll set you up a meeting tonight.", Sania smiled and gave her a side hug. "The choice will be yours babe, to take up the offer or not."

y/n looks around nervously as Sania leads her through an alleyway. It was a sketchy place. There were no people around. 

"Are you sure this is the right place?", y/n whispers.

"Yes.", Sania holds her hand. "They like to be discreet."

"Why? Because of their illegal businesses?"

"Stel. I don't know if they have illegal businesses or not, but they won't involve you in anything like that. There, that's the building. Third floor."

"You're not coming with me?", y/n asks as she stares up at the tall building. It looked musty and old. Much like a haunted house.

"No, but I'll wait for you in the car, okay?", Sania says and y/n sighs, wondering if this was a bad idea. "You'll be fine.", Sania assures.

y/n nods, and goes inside the building. She took the elevator, and waited until it got to the third floor. The building didn't look as bad inside.  

"y/n, y/l/n?", a man asks. He was tall, clad in a black shirt and black pants. He had an AirPod in his right ear, an expensive watch on his left arm. 

"Yes.", y/n answers and the man nods, before walking towards the end of the hallway. y/n assumed she was supposed to follow him so she did. They stopped at a room, and he opened it, stepping aside for her to enter. "Please."

The door closed behind her as she entered the room. She noticed the velvety purple couch in the middle of the room, where a bold looking woman sat. Neat white blouse tucked into dark red pants, along with red heels and red lipstick coating her lips made her look like the boss. She was the only one sitting, the other two men were leaning against a table, and the other was looking outside the window, not paying attention to her. They wore similar clothes to the man who brought her here.

The woman looks her down, her dark brown eyes trying to stare into her soul. Her short hair was sleeked back. 

"Miss y/l/n, please take a seat.", she gave her a smile, but y/n knew it wasn't a warm smile, it was more like a challenging smile. 

"Thanks." y/n sits on the chair in front of the woman. "I am Romania Pelt, nice to meet you.", the woman said, no shake of hands. 

"I guess you already know my name.", y/n replies nervously.

"Come on Hans, where are your manners? Ask our guest if she'd like something to drink.", Romania looks at the man leaning on the table and staring at y/n.

"Anything to drink?", he promptly asks.

"Um, mint lemon ice tea?", y/n blurts out nervously, and the man smirks in amusement, before turning around and fixing her a water. "Water will do too, thank you.", y/n takes a sip, and keeps the water on the table, before keeping her hands on her lap. 

"So Miss y/l/n, we know about the trouble you're in and we want to help you out.", Romania tells her.

"If you want to help me out, I have to do something for you. Let me tell you, I will not take part in anything involving illegal issues like drug dealing, or sexual favors for anyone.", y/n put it out.

"Okay.", Romania nods. "Anything else?"

"You know illegal includes dealing with unauthorized guns, stealing, trespassing-"

"We're aware what illegal covers.", Romania cuts her off, and the man chuckles like she was funny. "You're right about doing us a favor. Let me tell you about it."

y/n nods. "We have a big business, all around the world. We do a lot of things, which involves a lot of side operations.", Romania said in a way y/n wouldn't know what the things were. "But now we're at a little bit of a loss."

"I um can't help you with business.", y/n murmurs.

"I know. But you can help us bring back our main player."

y/n raises an eyebrow as Romania continued. "He was our leader. He was the best at everything. Masterplans, hacking, leading our opponents into traps. He was mainly in charge of the gold smuggling. One night when he was travelling with the gold along with his partner, something happened between them. All we know is that there was a blast, and his partner died. The gold was gone too."

"He didn't die?", y/n asked.

"No.", Romania smiled. "Harry Styles does not go down easily."

Harry Styles. y/n liked the story but she didn't like what she was going to hear. "In the blast, Harry suffered a severe head injury. He was in a coma for a while, but he came back. Unfortunately, he doesn't remember anything that happened.", Romania said. "He has forgotten everything about his past life. We know it must have scared him deeply, losing his partner. She was his lover. Reagan Jones. She was the only one in our unit who was just as good as Harry. They both were literally, a power couple."

y/n felt bad for the guy. "When Reagan died, Harry permanently lost a piece of him too. Not a small piece. A large part of his past life."

"W-What's he doing now?", y/n asks.

"He is a doctor.", Romania says. "Only we knew him as who he was. On the outside he maintained an image as our Doctor. He remembers about being a doctor, so that's how he's leading a living now. Everyone knew about Reagen and not to mess with her, but Harry was our secret weapon, and we need him back. We've given him enough time to sulk about Reagen. It was unfortunate, and we all hate that we lost her but we need Harry back in his bearings."

"What do you want me to do about that?", y/n asks confused.

"You need to befriend him.", Romania says. "Talk to him, get to know him. We heard from Sania that you love talking, and you're great with customers. So do your thing. Eventually, we need you to ask him about what happened that night, what really went wrong, where is the gold?"

"You just said he doesn't remember."

Romania and Hans smile, even the man who was looking outside the window up until now and ignoring y/n, now turns around. "You are going to make him remember.", he said in his gruff voice.

"I'm not a brain surgeon!", y/n scoffed out a laugh. Who do these people think she is?

"We think Harry remembers everything. But he is putting on a show, a mask, to hide whatever he knows. He knows something huge, that's why he does not want to come back to his old life. We need to crack his shell somehow. We've all tried y/n, but someone like you is who we need. Do whatever you need to do, but please, you have to make him remember." Romania had a desperation to her voice now. "Oliver, please."

The bearded gruff man Oliver, pulls out a wad of cash. "Thirty thousand dollars, you can take this now, if you accept our deal."

y/n's eyes widens at the cash. "It's not black, it's real money.", Romania assures. "And on completion of the task, we will give you the rest. Five hundred thousand dollars in total."

"W-Why would you pay me so much?"

"Because this is important to us. We need Harry back.", Oliver says slowly. "I need my best friend back."

Hans pats his arm like he was offering the man comfort. "You'll have to report to me weekly, and you get four weeks to make him remember.", Romania says.

"Four weeks?!", y/n was surprised. How can she make a man remember things he doesn't want to remember in four weeks?

"You can do it.", Romania tells her. "Let me show you his picture. Hans?"

Hans nodded and handed y/n a photo. "That's him. The most wanted man. By now, our opponents also know about Harry. They knew Reagan alone couldn't carry off what she did. So Harry has a lot of people wishing him dead. They don't want to risk him remembering and going back to the person he was."

y/n looked at the photo of the man as the thoughts ran in her mind. A man who lost his lover, and lost his memory. Now he's living without knowing that he is a live target for the big thugs. He was handsome, y/n thought. Luscious brown hair, styled neatly, a little and his green eyes were so deep, like they held a forest inside them. This was the person she was supposed to befriend.

"You can take your time to think about it, give me a call by tomorrow.", Romania slides her card over to y/n. "Nice talking to you, Miss y/l/n."

"I'll escort you outside.", Hans says, and y/n understand that they're done talking to her.

_____________________________________________________________

"Well he's a handsome man, Reagan must have been lucky.", Uncle Luke says as y/n shows him the photo of Harry and tells him the story. y/n shared everything with Uncle Luke. Sania was her best friend, but she still didn't share some things with her that she would with Uncle Luke. 

"Well she's dead.", y/n mumbles. "What do you think?"

"This man must be important.", Uncle Luke says, and y/n nods. "If they're willing to pay so much just in return for his memory."

"What if he doesn't want to remember Uncle Luke?", y/n asks softly. "Reagen died. That must have scarred him deeply. Maybe there's something more to it. Maybe someone attacked them and he couldn't save her. He must be in pain, that's why his mind is shutting it all off."

"Don't get personal, darling.", Uncle Luke advises. "We don't know what kind of a man Harry was, so don't feel for him. Your job is just to befriend him and make him remember."

"I'm too curious to let this go now.", y/n says. "I only read about mafias in novels! I told Sania they were real."

"Mafia?", Uncle Luke laughs. "You confirmed they're mafia?"

"Of course. Business, she said. So secretive! You had to see the building and all the men.", y/n laughs too. "You're right, I won't get personal. I just need the money. Maybe we can get out of this town sooner than we thought, Uncle Luke."

Her uncle smiles, patting her hand as he closes her eyes. "Reena said she'll come over for dinner."

y/n's smile freezes as she hears that. Reena was Uncle Luke's daughter, she had died in a fire. She hates when the disease does this. Uncle Luke had early onset Alzheimer's, so it wasn't as bad as him not being able to recognize her. But she still hated it. 

"I'll make her favorite pasta.", y/n whispers, fluffing his pillow. "You get some rest, Uncle Luke. I love you."

She had to get him the best care. He took care of her all her life. She took the card, and called Romania.

"Miss y/l/n, good to hear from you.", Romania's voice says.

"I'll do it.", y/n said before she could change her mind. "I'll bring his memories back."

___________________________________________

She decided to go with the classic method of meeting first. Go out for drinks. y/n wasn't a big drinker, most of the time. She wasn't going to drink too much today, she wanted to be sober enough to remember everything she got out of the man. 

Romania sent her the details of the hospital in which Harry worked, and told her that he goes to the bar down the street after his working hours sometimes. y/n hoped this would be one day like that, as she set out to the bar. y/n wore a chrome yellow fluffy, silky top along with her jeans and heels. She let her hair out. 

She looked around the bar as she entered, not spotting her target. She decided to wait.

"What would you like, ma'am? New here?", the bartender smiles at her. 

"Uh yes, first time here." She skims through the names of the drinks. 

"First drink on the house. I'll get you our special cocktail?", he asks.

"Okay!" 

Anything on the house sounded amazing.

"I'll be right back.", he winks at her and goes away. y/n turned on her chair to continue scanning the crowd. The bartender was cute, but she had stuff to do.

Her drink came faster than Harry, and she was disappointed he wouldn't come to the bar that night when she finally saw him.

The photo didn't do justice. Harry Styles stood tall, six feet two at least, she thought. His stubble had grown out, and his hair had curls peeking out. Sharp cheekbones that could slice through skin and strong shoulders that hid beneath his light blue shirt. 

He appeared stressed as he ran a hand through his hair, and sat on the empty chair a few seats away from her. "Usual.", he nodded at the bartender, who got to making his drink right away. y/n watched him roll his shirt sleeves back, and sit with his head on his hands. He must have had a rough day.

Then he lifted his head up suddenly and looked straight at her, like he knew she had been watching him. Their eyes connected for a second, before he looked away. 

y/n felt a shiver up her spine. 

That was close, y/n breathed as she sipped the concoction. 

She waited until he had drowned a drink, of what looked like whiskey, before she made her move. 

She gave him her best smile as she took the seat next to him. "Hi, rough day?"

He didn't spare her a look, but he grunted in reply.

Very polite.

"I had a rough day too.", y/n goes on. "Being an artist isn't easy. Sometimes it's hard to get into the creative head space. I had some decisions to make today, and that interfered with my work."

"Artist?", his voice was smooth and deep.

"Yes. I paint.", she answers. "What do you do?"

"ER Doctor.", he looks at her with those eyes looking like they were brimming a storm behind them. "I like art."

"You do? You should come to the cafe sometime, then.", y/n says, treading on careful steps. 

"I don't get time to take a stroll into a cafe.", Harry scoffs, taking a big gulp of his drink. 

"Your job is difficult.", y/n agrees. "Do you like being a doctor?"

Harry tilts his head to study her. "Yes."

y/n waited for him to say something more, but he didn't. Great. He does love talking.

"What do you like about art?", she asks. That, she could talk about.

"The colors.", he answers, looking away from her again. "They have a hidden meaning, most of the time. The artist might not even have an idea when they start, but it turns out beautiful when they're done. Like they gave life to it."

That was the most he had told her since they started talking, and Stella smiled at his description. "I have a small studio too, you should stop by when you have time, Doctor-"

"Turner.", he completes. "Harry Turner."

Either he changed his last name, or he doesn't remember. y/n offers her hand to shake. "y/n, y/l/n."

He nods, and she feels the rough callouses of his fingers as it brushes hers. His hand was warm, and she liked the feel of it on hers. It made her feel safe. Why did it make her feel like that? Why did she feel like it was a familiar hand?

Chapter Two

[dipperscavern]

Ok, just read your blurb about being Jessica’s assistant and being nicknamed baby.

What if the origin of baby was that someone was giving baby shit and someone else (Harvey perhaps) says the classic line “no one puts baby in the corner” when coming to her defense. Then it just kind of spirals from there and no one gives her shit again.

Also feel free to ignore this, literally just my first thought when reading your post!

oh my god. when i tell you i SCREAMED this is so genius & yummy.. PHEW. i know exactly what ur referencing ily & thank u so much for the ask! 🫶🏻

“I’m just saying, the assistant to the Jessica Pearson.. and your desk looks like this?”

you roll your eyes, the hint of a playful expression on your face. while you knew he wasn’t being completely serious, you liked your desk — pink things, trinkets, & personal touches all. you found decorating your desk as a fun way of personal expression, and you were so damn good at your job, jessica didn’t care.

“Would you like to re-decorate for me?”

your reply is dripping sarcasm, a playful tone in your voice that masks how you really feel. you look up at the few bored associates hanging around your desk, and they snicker at your reply.

“Yes I will, thank you. It’s.. something. Could use a more professional look.”

that makes you frown. something? more professional? what started out as a joke seemed more like a personal attack the more it went on. tom, the associate who’s mouth was moving, never seemed to know when to stop. you’re about to say something when a miracle in the flesh steps in your line of sight — harvey specter.

it’s ironic, really. he radiates business when the very reason he came over to your desk was to shoo off the associates bothering you. he looks around to the people that have now stiffened up in his presence, and he gives them an almost confused look.

“And what the hell are you doing?”

tom swallows. “Just- messing around. Sir.”

“What?” harvey looks around. “What’s wrong, you.. don’t like her desk? Is that the nationwide issue we’re facing today?”

you look up at harvey, a faux expression of sympathy on your face. “He doesn’t like the color pink, sir.”

that makes harvey’s brow raise, for two reasons. one, his associates shouldn’t have the time to be complaining about any colors. & two, you’ve been on a first name basis with harvey for a year. he doesn’t mind people calling him sir, but he definitely does mind when it’s you, batting your lashes & giving him a look thats sure to distract him for the rest of the day.

“You shouldn’t have time to worry about the color pink. Time is money, money is time, and if you have time to complain then your workload must not be large enough to satiate your.. innate genius.”

harvey pulls out his cellphone while talking, as if he couldn’t be bothered to give them the time of day — which he really can’t. he’s not really typing anything, but they’ll never know that.

“Don’t be sad she’s not as miserable as the rest of you. Get back to work.”

mumbles of “yes sir” can be heard throughout the office as they move to gather their things & get up, obeying the order given to them with only slight disdain.

“Thanks, Harvey.”

he reaches for the two-pack of oreos on your desk, grabbing one & handing it back to you.

“Nobody puts baby in the corner.”

this makes your brows furrow as you smile, & he bites into his cookie as you reach for yours. he quickly notices the look on your face.

“What?”

“Dirty dancing?”

he gives you a look of his own. “Sir?”

you smile as he walks away, getting back to work of his own. & you fail to notice the associates ears tuned into your small conversation as you bite into your cookie. hey, what’s the worst that could happen?

“Thanks, Baby.”

“Hey, Baby, could you-“

“Where’s Baby?”

“I need this for Baby.”

you stand corrected. jessica pearson herself joins in after a mere day. “Baby, I need you to reschedule that meeting with Mr. Sawyer. Give him my sincerest apologies- I gotta run.”

“Yes ma’am.”

she quickly gathers her things & leaves, in a rush to complete her full schedule. once she’s gone, you put your head in your hands, sighing. your official nickname is baby.

and you like it.

[brucewaynehater101]

Look maybe it’s just me but if I saw my little brother spiraling I wouldn’t just corner him in a graveyard once to talk about therapy then let him fuck off to go globe trotting

I mean... kind of I'm trying to be more canon accurate in my posts, so I apologize for correcting ya.

Cassie was the one to meet Tim in the graveyard. Dick met him at the city bounds.

Here's a funny pic of Dick as payment

Bruh. I'd either be so intimidated or so mad if Dick did this to me.

"We need to talk." After what Tim walked into of Damian wearing the Robin suit because Dick didn't talk to him until after the suit was made? I'd be mad (this is not an anti Dick. This is just how I would feel).

Anyways. Dick didn't let Tim go. Tim held him at staff point and guilt tripped the man into letting him go (not anti-Tim either).

Re-reading it again, I still think Tim is an unreliable narrator.

However, Tim is all like, "Hey, I know I sound nuts. I know how it looks, but I know I'm right." He provided examples of how he can, in fact, understand where Dick is coming from.

And then Dick is all like, "I know how you feel, but you need a therapist." Which... yes, but that's not the point. Tim is bringing up all this horrid shit in his life and acknowledging how he understands Dick's viewpoint (while also saying Dick is only there cause Cassie called him). Then Dick claims to understand Tim's perspective, but only from Dick's "Tim must be seeing things where isn't anything instead of grieving" viewpoint.

Basically, they aren't communicating with each other efficiently (they are also physically fighting each other while doing this too).

It's a mess. A hot mess.

Dick is trying:

But he's also just not listening to Tim. He's not giving Tim the benefit of the doubt. He's concerned af, but he's not listening or trusting Tim. He's just going at it from his own worried mentality that Tim's going down a conspiracy bender. I don't blame Dick for not communicating well (poor man is going through so much at this point [Damian, JLA, switching to Batman, etc]).

However, I also understand Tim's perspective. He doesn't trust Dick to actually listen to him. Dick wants to help Tim Dick's way and not what Tim believes he needs.

I personally get very very triggered if my boundaries are not met. If someone held on after I told them to let go? Yeah. Hands are being thrown. I also get triggered if people try to force me to do shit, don't listen to me, or try to do "what's best for me" when I've told them no. Real quick way to get cut off by me.

That's off topic, lmao.

Anyways, Dick kind of let Tim go, but that's because Tim forced him to. It wasn't because Dick didn't care, but he didn't care in the way Tim wanted him to (debatable if that's not how Tim needed either).

I'm curious. Are there any comics that cover that scene from Dick's POV? I'd appreciate it if anyone could let me know ^^

Also, I agree I would not do what Dick did here. On the other hand, my siblings and I have worked very very hard for the relationships we have. It's taken years of trial and error to get the boundaries and level of communication the way it is. We all agree to allow the others to make decisions for themselves and fight their own battles unless otherwise asked (I had a habit of trying to help and fix the situation for them when I was a teen. Now we just inform and offer help. Lots of acknowledgment for boundaries as well). If my siblings want to make dumb decisions, I let them. Just as they would for me. I might tell them I think that's dumb as hell, but it's their life.

If Tim was my sibling, I'd say something like, "I'm not sure I believe you, but I trust you. If this is what you need, if you think this is true, I'll support you. Would you like my direct assistance with this?"

If they say no, then I'll respond with, "Okay. I can handle Gotham as long as you keep me in the loop. If it's been 48 hours without contact, I will hunt you down. I love you."

Then we'd hug goodbye.

On the other other hand, there's not this age gap between us. Dick is 7 or so years older than Tim, and Tim is a teen. Dick may feel it's his responsibility to look after Tim and might be hitting the road bumps I did with my siblings (of giving them the respect and trust to handle their own issues as well as know what they need).

So, the situation is a hot mess :)

[milykins]

Hacked

I felt like I needed to redeem myself with Donnie since I’ve had a couple comments where people expressed feeling sad that I had a girl scream and run away from him in a previous headcanon. I thought maybe I should give him something sweet and fluffy. Added some fun quotes as well.

Special thanks to @iridescentflamingo @the-cauldron-witch @avery73 and @sophiacloud28 for all of your help with this story, editing it and helping me with ideas! I hope you enjoy reading it!

Aged up TMNT x Reader

TW: None: Donnie's system keeps getting hacked into and he gets increasingly more frustrated.

“No I’m not playing hard to get! I’m telling you, Sir, it’s not that kind of phone line!”

“It’s always the time for accuracy, Leo.”

“When you put it like that it sounds ridiculous.”

“Let me be the bad-ass for once.”

On the outside, Donatello was the brain, the tech-wizard, the tinkerer. A master of all things technological and a true intellectual able to solve a Rubik’s cube in less than 20 seconds. If it was broken, Donnie could fix it, if it was a seemingly impossible situation, Donnie could figure it out. His three brothers relied heavily on him because he was the smartest, even Leo because there were some questions even he couldn’t answer. This is how it had always been, and he didn’t mind for the most part. He did feel like he was a valuable asset to the team if not a bit overused.

On the inside however, he was the shy one, the introvert, the one who secretly feared being alone forever while slowly descending into madness from his own self-induced seclusion.

Despite Chief Vincent telling them they’d be accepted by society, the collective agreement to stay hidden remained. It had served them well, why mess with it? As they aged into adulthood, it became glaringly obvious. Loneliness, the fear of being forgotten after their father passed on. The crushing reality that he may very well die alone.

He wasn’t like his brothers. Mikey had gotten himself on the scene pretty easily and had made friends and had girlfriends. Raph too, had managed to snag someone, even no-nonsense Leo had. That just left him and he couldn’t help but think. What was the point of having all of this intelligence, creating all of these wonderful inventions, all of the things he’d built… if there was no one but his brothers to share it with?

Donnie acted like it didn’t bother him but secretly he felt it: a sort of crushing loneliness that seemed to stretch on and on. Sadly, he’d sort of given up on meeting someone. It just wasn’t in the cards for him… or was it?

It had started off innocently enough, one day he’d come to work on his computer and noticed something was… off. His desktop looked normal but none of the icons worked when he clicked on them. It didn’t take him long to realize it was a false desktop placed on top of the real one. Odd, he thought. Who had managed to even do this? He’d had the best firewalls and encryptions and security that not even the FBI could crack. Yet, he’d been hacked, someone had hacked him.

He blew out a breath of disbelief, ran a diagnostic and fixed the issue in no time. He did a careful sweep and found nothing else out of the ordinary. He chalked it up to a fluke and went on with his day thinking that was the end of it.

Then it happened again. Upon sitting down in his computer chair he noticed his taskbar was horizontal.

“What the hell..?” He fixed it and upped his security and left it at that.

A week after that all of his icons were replaced with Hello Kitty characters. He was beginning to feel annoyed. Who was doing this, and why? It seemed like they just wanted to mess with him. Frustratingly he couldn’t figure out how they kept getting in. Every time, he strengthened his security it didn’t seem to matter!

He reached his breaking point the following week when he was re-routed to a popular Pokemon meme every time he clicked on something. He was going to find this person and ask them to stop. They weren’t that hard to trace and soon he was purposefully typing a message.

Please stop, you’ve had your fun but it’s getting old

No :)

Seriously, you don’t know who you’re messing with.

Someone who can’t even stop a low-level hacker, clearly.

Who are you?

No one :)

Why are you doing this?

I’m bored, it’s fun

Bored?! How did you even find me? These servers are highly encrypted!

LOL not enough… I was just bouncing around and found them.

Are you with the Foot?

What?! No? I told you, I was bored and saw your shit, and took it as a challenge.

A challenge indeed. Stop this now, this is your final warning.

He broke off their connection then because that had better be it.

Of course, it wasn’t. One boring Saturday night, he was zoned out, totally engrossed in one of his projects. His computer screen flickers a moment. He almost doesn’t see it thinking it’s a trick of the light but it does it again. Curiously, he moved to his computer screen. When he realized what was happening, he actually laughed.

“Seriously? Again?! They have no idea who they’re messing with…”

It was clear that this was same someone who had been hacking him for weeks was trying to get into his system again.

“I’ve got you this time…” His fingers fly over his larger-than-normal keyboard as he managed to secure a one-way live video feed.

“Someone forgot to cover their webcam…” He sang, “Hello, you’ve been hacked by Donatello, I thought I already told you to cease and desist.”

You are absolutely mortified. You’d been doing this for fun, and had no ulterior motives. Truthfully you had been bored and loved a challenge. Yes, you were warned but you didn’t think he would hack your webcam! Immediately, you attempted to hide, hoping he didn’t catch a glimpse of your face.

On his end, Donnie first heard a soft, distinctly feminine gasp and a string of curses. There’s a flurry of movement as you tried to move out of the range of the camera and swiftly stick a piece of tape over it. More shuffling followed, along with the sound of you returning to your computer chair.

He can’t help but feel amused. “There’s no point in hiding, I saw you. How did you think this was going to go?” He waited patiently for you to answer.

You swore softly. The cat’s out of the bag. Swallowing your embarrassment you gingerly peeled the tape off. It didn’t take you long to notice that the video feed only went one way. That was unfair and you intended to change that.

“Sorry…” you murmered. Shit, shit, shit! I’m gonna get you for that!

He took a moment to get a good look at you. Even with the soft lighting of what he assumed to be your bedroom, he could still make out your pink cheeks, flushed flushed with embarrassment and the bridge of freckles across your nose. It was… cute.

“Sorry?” He echoed. “That’s it? You still didn’t answer my question.”

“Do I have to?” You’re trying to keep him talking while your fingers worked their magic. If he could do it… so could you.

“No, but I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone. You’ve had your fun, go bother someone else, please.” He replies.

“But I like bothering you.” Almost there… just a few more seconds…

Donnie has to scoff at that. “You don’t even know me.”

“Not yet… there you are!” You cheered as you manage to tap into his own webcam.

In a split-second Donnie had instantly ascertained that she’d been distracting him. To his horror, the little red light of his webcam had blinked to life. Two seconds too long which meant he’d been seen…

“FUCK!” Immediately he cut the power, sending it straight through to your house. He was panicking, he’d been compromised, he was going to have to wipe her computer, all of her hard drives. His heart was pounding and his breathing had quickened as he tried to tamp down the panic he felt. No, maybe he’ll just find her… ask her to keep his secret…? All options were equally bad. What do I do…?!

Luckily, it didn’t take long for that powerful brain of his to think of a solution, albeit a temporary one. His fingers flew over the keyboard once again, restoring power on her side before getting to work.

You were utterly confused. Two seconds ago, maybe five…? Once the webcam was active, you saw what appeared to be the green, blurred image of his face. Was he wearing a mask? You heard the panic in his voice and the ensuing curse word right before your entire room was plunged into darkness. What. The. Hell. Just. Happened?

Just as quickly, it all came back and your computer was rebooting. Okay… you attempted to type once it was all back up and running but something was wrong. Nothing was clickable, nothing worked save for the cursor on your screen. Furrowing your brow, you kept trying, but to no avail. Then, something finally.

A message popped up on your screen and you wasted no time in reading it.

Apologies, I had no choice but to freeze your system. I promise I will explain everything but I need to do it in person. Meet me here:

There was an address to a building between two cross streets and he was asking you to climb the fire escape to the roof.

At first, you scoffed in disbelief. Hell no, you weren’t going to meet some stranger on a rooftop at some weird location. Did he think you were stupid?

Then, as if your mind is being read, another message popped up under the first.

I understand if this is something you might be uncomfortable doing but my identity and the safety of my family is at stake so I must give you an ultimatum. Meet me or your computer will remain frozen.

You swore softly to yourself. This wasn’t something you could fix on your own and you knew it.

You murmured a sarcastic reply. “Well, damn, I guess I’ll just go die then,”

He was giving you no choice and you needed your computer, not only for work, but it had everything. You considered it one of your most precious items. After a minute you’d made up your mind but you still packed your taser and pepper spray just in case.

Donnie was an absolute bundle of nerves. He’d already arrived at the location and was pacing back and forth while sticking to the shadows. He was berating himself about how stupid this plan was. She wasn’t going to show up, but he’d giving her no choice. He did feel a twinge of guilt but years upon years of lectures from Leo had made him be extra cautious. He couldn’t risk his family’s safety because he was careless.

You were nervous too as you carefully climbed the steps of the fire escape. Luckily, the building was only four floors but you still would’ve liked to take an elevator. Reaching the top, you took a moment to catch your breath.

“I do… computers… not stairs… you better be here.” Upon first glance you don’t see anyone and your annoyance grows. “Hello? Please don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing, I just want my computer back.”

Again, there was no reply.

Talking to yourself you groan. “Fuck… you are such an idiot…”

Donnie was only slightly panicking. To his amazement and relief, you showed up. In his anxious state he did manage to notice you looked kind of pretty despite the frown gracing your features. He felt frozen the moment he saw you but snapped out of it pretty quickly when he saw you about to leave.

“Wait!”

You turned. It was actually him. You recognized his voice prompting you walk closer to the source.

“Hello? If you’re here please show yourself. This is sus enough as it is and I’m already over it.” You couldn’t mask the exasperation in your tone. This was already beyond ridiculous.

Donnie had to admit he found her frustrated tone kind of endearing. In a fleeting thought he’d felt she was someone who could match wits with him.

 “Okay, okay, hold on, I’m coming out. Just… do me a favour and don’t scream, please.”

Arching an eyebrow you repeated. “Don’t scream? What kind of question is… oh.” You saw one extremely long leg and then another followed by a lengthy torso and a very green… okay, that’s definitely not human face. “Oh… so it wasn’t a mask…” It wasn’t as though he was unpleasant to look at though, just different.

He was trying his best to control his breathing, bracing himself for some kind of negative reaction. When none came, he took a breath and spoke, trying to keep his tone as even and neutral as possible.

“You see, when you hacked my webcam, you had unwittingly put me and and the safety of my family at risk… this is why I had to s-see you and why I froze your computer.” He was cursing himself inwardly for stuttering.

You were still trying to find your voice. You had SO many questions and actually still a bit annoyed. “First off… how…? You’re a turtle… I doubt anyone would even believe me… and… second… I didn’t even really see you! It was a complete blur and then you cut my power!” You exhaled as you took another breath. “NOW, I’m seeing you.”

Donnie couldn’t help but flinch a little. “I had to make sure, I had no idea how much of me you did see.” A soft sigh followed before he continued., pinching his skin just below where the bridge of his glasses was resting. “And if you had listened when I told you to stop, we wouldn’t be in this situation, now would we?”

He’s got you there and unconsciously you bite your lower lip. The stubborn part of you, however, wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet. “Well, how was I supposed to know that you were a… seven foot…”

“I’m six feet, eight inches.” He interrupted with his matter-of-fact correction.

Another exasperated exhale from you. “Sorry, six foot, eight inch… turtle man!” emphasizing your point, you gestured wildly at the full length of him with your arms. “Who’s apparently so good at hacking that my entire network is completely frozen and I had to drag my ass across town to beg you to unfreeze it!”

He was a little amused by this, he had to admit as his mouth quirked a smile. “Like, I said, I had to be sure, and might I remind you once again… you were the one messing with me.”

“Yeah! Because you were fun to mess with! It was giving me a chance to practice, and it was just innocent fun, it’s not like I could do what you did! And… AND you wanna talk about an invasion of privacy? You hacked my webcam first!”

Donnie blinked, she was really getting all worked up now, and he was trying not to stoop to her level. He was failing. “I only did it because I didn’t think you’d stop! I gave you fair warning.”

“I would’ve stopped!” He doesn’t believe you at all and you hate that because he’s right, messing with him had been too much fun.

“Really?” he deadpanned.

“Yes,” you stubbornly replied.

There’s no stopping his eyeroll at that. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

She crossed her arms with another soft huff. “Fine, don’t believe me.” A shrug followed. “So, now what?”

The tall turtle paused. Usually, he had all the answers but now that he’d frozen her computer and dragged her all the way out here, he felt at a loss of what to say. “I… I just wanted to make sure you’d keep my secret and not tell anyone.”

“Okay… I won’t.” A simple answer, and a truthful one. You watched as he looked at you a long moment. No doubt wondering if he could trust you or not.

Donnie was actually subtly checking for very slight facial cues to determine whether you were lying to him or not. He could tell that your heart rate appeared to be steady. Your gaze never wavered from his, no dilation of her pupils and no mouth tics either. He believed you.

“Okay.” He finally said. “Thank you. I’ll unfreeze everything once I get home.” He turned to leave. “Please get home safely.”

Wait… that was it? Just like that, he was leaving!? “Wait!” You rushed forward to grab his arm. “Wait… that’s it?”

He looked… confused? He had immediately zeroed in on your hand clutching his bicep and then back to your face. “Yes…? You agreed to not tell anyone so… you probably should… let me go? The less you see of me, the better? I thought you were… angry anyway.”

Reluctantly, you released his arm, speaking softly. “I’m not… that mad, I never was really, I just… didn’t want this to be… it. I feel like I could learn a lot from you.”

You watched as her hesitated, seemingly working through his own inner conflicts at this presented opportunity.

“You could…” He turned back around, facing you once again. “Although, you’re already pretty good, I was actually impressed that you’d made it as far as you did.”

You couldn’t help but puff up a little with pride. “Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself. Maybe I could teach you a thing or two.”

He actually laughed. Like a soft little chuckle with a wheeze, his lips blossoming into a smile. “Perhaps you could.”

You smiled back, that laugh of his was adorable. “I’ll let you go but, Donnie… don’t be a stranger, okay?” You already had known his name from getting into his system so many times.

He spoke your name too, softly. “Okay, I won’t.” He looked a little shy then. “Please, allow me to escort you home. It’s late.”

“How very chivalric of you.” Smiling at him with a nod. “I accept.”

Donnie looked pleased with this turn of events and then a little nervous. “I could… carry you, if you want, it’s faster going by rooftops.”

That was an unexpected offer. and now you hesitated before answering. “Oohkay… what are you, some kinda parkour master?”

He snorted softly with a little smirk. “Something like that, ready?”

When you nod, you’re scooped up into his arms at speed that makes you exhale quickly. Being in his arms and feeling the power they held was… nice.

“Hold on tight.” Is all he says and then he starts running.

Automatically you wrapped your arms around his neck watching as the edge of the building came closer and closer… and then, you were flying. Air shooting past your face at a speed that made your eyes water. Your stomach dropped and you clung tighter as you sailed through the air, landing with a thump on the other building.

“You, okay?” He wasn’t even out of breath, like this was easy for him.

“Yes…! Do you know where you’re going?” You ask a little breathlessly.

“Yep. Hold on, I’ll be there in ten.” He took off again, leaping across to the next and the next.

You had to admit it was probably the most exhilarating thing you’d ever experienced and you were actually a bit regretful when he stopped on the roof of your apartment building. Carefully, he brought you to your feet and pushed those large glasses of his up a bit.

“Here we are.” He was more relaxed now, you noticed and felt glad for it.

“Thanks, I appreciate you bringing me back.”

He offered a shy smile then. “You’re welcome. I dragged you out there, the least I could do is make sure you get home safely.”

“That is very much appreciated.” Feeling a bit shy yourself, you paused before heading in. “I’ll see you around.”

“For sure.” Donnie had found he didn’t want to leave yet either, he wanted to make sure you entered the apartment safely.

Heading in, you waved to him before closing the door behind you and took a deep breath. Wow… that really happened. That was incredible! You could barely contain your excitement as you went back to your apartment.

Once Donnie arrived home, true to his word he freed up her system and felt proud of himself for handling things the way that he did. He blew out a breath, leaning back in his chair a moment while lacing his fingers behind his head.

*bing*

He glanced at his screen to see his computer icons dancing and an unseen song playing in the background.

Ninja, ninja, rap, ninja, ninja, rap, go go go go. Go ninja go ninja go! Go ninja go ninja go! Go go go go!

Donnie snorted softly to himself and quickly typed a response.

Back in your apartment, your computer screen suddenly became flooded with memes. Mostly turtle ones of course and try as you might there was no containing your giggles and snorts as you watched them take over your screen. You liked him; there was something very endearing about his quiet shyness mixed with his sharp wit.

Typing back, you take over his screen once again. You took a breath and pressed enter. This was a big chance you were taking but you couldn’t help but feel a connection with the tall, lanky turtle man.

Go on a date with me

Check box yes or no

No rush

Donnie froze, his fingers twitching slightly as they hovered above his keyboard. She wants to go out on a date? With him? He had a mild panic attack for a moment and read and re-read the message at least ten times.

His cursor hovered over the ‘yes’ box. Come on Donnie, throw caution into the wind for once. When are you going to get another chance like this?

Making his decision finally, he clicked his mouse button.

Yes

You couldn’t hold your excitement as you blew out a breath of relief.

He said yes.

The End

@danceingfae @thelaundrybitch @iridescentflamingo @redsrooftopprincess @ninnosaurus

@the-cauldron-witch @thepinkpanther83 @avery73 @adebauchedsloth @sophiacloud28

@definitely-canon @scholastic-dragon @truffle-reblogs @fyreball66 @yorshie

[vidavalor]

Fish: A Good Omens Sex Meta Thing

A deep dive meta on fish and that deathless death.

NSFW under the cut. TW: Mention of Satan's attacks on Crowley. Also for those who asked me for more on the Ineffable Husbands and trauma-informed partnership.

Aziraphale, listen to me. The supernatural world? It's a mess. Life under the sea is better than anything they've got Up there...

This is basically the requested "Crepes 2" but you don't have to have read that first. I did link it at the bottom if you have not and you're interested in more meta like this one. Thanks for reading. 💕

Couples. Romantic and/or sexual partners who have an understanding of a mutually-agreed upon level of commitment to one another and their relationship. Frequent celebrators of special occasions.

"A team-- a group; group of the two of us." A couple.

Special occasions. Notable life events celebrating milestones and past days significant to a couple's relationship.

"For special occasions." Why Aziraphale bought one dozen cases (144 bottles) of Chateauneuf-de-Pape in 1921, as he either tells or reminds Crowley on the walk to the bookshop in 2008. Only "a few bottles" were still left at that time, according to Aziraphale, after 87 years of Crowley and Aziraphale celebrating special occasions enough times as an unofficial couple between 1921 and 2008 to have drank almost 144 bottles of the wine they only drink on special occasions.

Wedding anniversary. A special occasion; the "big one" of a married couple's special occasions. Celebrated annually by married couples as a romantic day that honors their commitment to one another. In S2, the day of The Meeting Ball is the night that Armageddon: Round Two gets underway. It is also the wedding anniversary of...

Mutt and his beloved spouse. The lovely magician who owns Goldstone's Magic Shop in 2023 and his beloved spouse, who is dry-witted, trans and had on a dress the color of Crowley's eyes at The Ball. Paralleling characters to Crowley and Aziraphale.

Anniversary. For partners who are not married, usually celebrated as a day of significance in their romantic relationship, chosen for its importance to them. Almost always related to a "first" in the relationship, like the day they first met or on which they had a first date.

"This is The Big One, Crowley..." What Satan (while impersonating the voice of Freddie Mercury) said to Crowley about Armageddon while assaulting him in 2008, on the night Armageddon: Round One began. Crowley was supposed to be having dinner with Aziraphale at the time.

The 1.01 sushi scene. Our re-introduction to Aziraphale in 2008. A series of indicators that we learn throughout the course of the season teach us that Crowley was supposed to be with Aziraphale in the Japanese restaurant on this night before he was delayed by Hell, assaulted by Satan, and forced into helping to start Armageddon.

Various scenes in S1 show us that Crowley always comes up on the same side of Aziraphale if he is approaching him from behind when meeting him but we don't yet know that in the first scenes of 1.01. As a result, we might not immediately realize that the reason why Aziraphale opens his eyes and looks to his left after hearing a miracle chime in this scene is because he expected that it was Crowley arriving to meet him after having been running late. In reality, it turned out to be Gabriel on his right-- which Aziraphale first sees in a mirror and which will be mirrored in additional scenes in the show (Crowley dragged to Hell in 1827 and the Gabriel statue on the other side of Aziraphale, etc.). Dialogue from the scene set the next day in St. James' Park that we will look at later on in the meta also confirms that Crowley was supposed to be with Aziraphale in the 1.01 sushi scene.

The sequence of scenes at the start of the 2008 minisode also sets this up by giving us Crowley alone first and letting us revel a bit in how fun he is and like him even more. The contrast with Hastur and Ligur establishes for us that Crowley is about a trillion times smarter and more enlightened than these guys. It's the second scene with Satan, though, that exists to show us that while some of the demons are just idiots, demonic life for Crowley is actual hell.

The "Bohemian Rhapsody" he so endearingly rolled up blaring in The Bentley comes back and now takes on a nightmarish tone as Crowley receives instructions from Satan while driving The Bentley and we learn that Satan can possess him at will and Crowley's sunglasses-- even in the dead of night while driving alone-- start to make more sense. They're a defense mechanism but he's actually defenseless in the face of this threat. It's from watching Satan get in-- through the radio, taking over the music, speaking through the voice of a non-evil entity, jumping through the air and through Crowley's sunglasses through his eyes and into his mind and rendering his body immobile while he's driving The Bentley-- that we are taught the core of what it means to be a demon in Good Omens.

The demons belong to Satan, in Satan's view. They are part of his collective of souls who exist to serve him. They are not individual people existing independent of him. There is no such thing as bodily autonomy in Hell.

What Satan does to Crowley in 1.01 is a metaphor for sexual assault. It's a forcible attack on his body against his will and without his consent. Though the scene is mercifully short, we are left with the awareness that it is short for reasons of the plot in this instance-- because Armageddon is beginning and the purpose of the attack in this moment is to give Crowley directions on delivering the antichrist baby. The scene, though, shows us that Satan can do this to Crowley whenever he wants and Crowley-- an otherwise very powerful being-- has no known defense against it. Crowley is unsurprised by it and that, plus all his various defensive layers already in existence in 1.01, show that it has happened before. Crowley has been on Earth for 6,004 years in 2008 and the implication here is that these assaults have been happening periodically the entire time and are among the issues most responsible for the PTSD symptoms he shows throughout the show.

It's off of this assault, though, that we segue into our re-introduction scenes of Aziraphale in the present and they are, at the start, the exact opposite of this nightmare that Crowley is living. As Crowley is attacked in his car on a dark road alone at night and then has to narrowly avoiding killing a man in an oncoming truck, we move over to Aziraphale's world, not yet realizing that this is the world that Crowley lives in when he can get away from Hell-- that it is actually their world together.

Aziraphale is presented with the sushi from his friend who has prepared it specially for him and we listen to Aziraphale thank him. The Italian of "Bohemian Rhapsody" (symbolic in this moment of Dante's Inferno and Hell) gives way to Aziraphale speaking Japanese (symbolic of mindful living.) The tone is all kind and gentle-- respectful and peaceful. We then get what is, really, the exact opposite of what just happened to Crowley, which is Aziraphale taking a slow breath with his eyes closed, inhaling the scents of the brine of the fish and vinegared rice and the herbs, and centering himself in the present moment as part of the experience of enjoying his meal.

The immediate contrast is drawn between Satan-- Crowley's rapist, who terrorizes him-- and Aziraphale-- Crowley's partner, who loves him, and with whom he has the kind of consensual, mindful, sensual experiences he was supposed to be getting up to on this night when Armageddon began instead.

In S2, the importance of the sushi scene from 1.01 returns as it is mirrored during the attack on the bookshop. Once again, Crowley is away from Aziraphale when he should have been there by that point and Aziraphale is worried about him. Present instead is, once again, Gabriel. This time, Gabriel has undergone a bit of a Jim journey. (Aziraphale offering him hot chocolate instead of tea in 2.01 was also set up by the sushi scene, as it's off of Gabriel being grossed out by the "rose matter" tea, showing again how important the scene is.) In S2, Gabriel is with Aziraphale again, this time pushed back further into the bookshop, and where are they in the bookshop-that-represents-Aziraphale during the sushi scene mirror? They're upstairs, on the landing.

Specifically, they're just inside the top of the stairs in front of a room, the door to which we are shown several times in S2 but which we have not yet seen open.

We have gone into the room next door to it-- that's the guest bedroom, where Gabriel stayed during the season. By process of elimination and out of an idea of convenience here, the room we haven't been inside of that is located at the very top of the stairs is almost certainly Aziraphale's bedroom. So, we've gone from S1 and having Gabriel show up unexpectedly while Aziraphale mistook him for Crowley while he and Crowley were supposed to be having one of their sexy meals together to S2 and Gabriel now there in the mirror scene in front of their bedroom, drawing a bit of a correlation between what these two scenes are both about.

There's also something symbolic to the idea that S2 uses invitations and doors and rooms in the bookshop to symbolize Aziraphale himself and who he lets in and whose voices he is, for better or worse, listening to at different times-- with his mental health crisis being symbolized by the bookshop being essentially overrun to a point that anyone can now get in. The one room that is shown to us but the door to which never is opened in S2 is the bedroom door. The bookshop can get overrun and others can get deeper into it than we've seen before-- demons in the living room, Maggie and Nina and Gabriel upstairs and in the back kitchen table area like the family they've become-- but the bedroom door stays closed because only Crowley and Aziraphale are allowed in there. No one but them can open the door. Metaphorically-speaking... and probably literally as well.

As the sushi scene is paralleled in S2, we get Shax there bullying Aziraphale. Shax is jealous of Aziraphale and his relationship with Crowley and she also fails to understand it because she sees Crowley as a demon like her and presumes he's as dark as she is, having no idea that Crowley's demonic schtick is an act to survive. She gives voice to these questions (and to Aziraphale's most illogical self-doubts-- but self-doubt is never logical...) when she asks:

"Aziraphale, what *are* you? Crowley's emotional support angel? The softest touch? The one who went native? Do you need more big, human meals, Aziraphale? Shall we send up *the sushi*?"

Shax is actually doing something here, language-wise, that the show first did with Hastur in 1.01, and that's making them both useful idiots when it comes to language. Remember Hastur's mistranslation of "ciao" as Crowley leaves the graveyard with the baby? What Crowley said was, as we know, Italian-- Hastur got that bit correct-- but instead of translating it in his mind as meaning the "hello"/"goodbye" that "ciao" means in Italian, he confused it with its homophone of "chow", which he said "means 'food'." It does but in an informal way or in reference to food given to animals.

This is darkly ironic in the scene because of where Crowley is headed in the next scene-- and where he's supposed to be during both scenes. He's supposed to be "chowing down"/having food-- having dinner-- with Aziraphale and food is, as we'll learn over the course of the 2008 minisode, euphemistic for sex in Ineffable Husbands Speak and symbolic in relation to it in the show itself overall. Instead, Hastur isn't entirely wrong when he translates "ciao" as "chow"-- and he might have done so unconsciously in his mind because he knows Satan is going to contact Crowley with instructions soon. He sees Crowley as "chow"-- in the sense of food fed to the animal that is Satan.

In 2.06, while Crowley is taking Maggie and Nina to safety outside the bookshop, Satan is mentioned when Shax demands that Gabriel and Beez be given to her to take "as gifts for Our Master Satan." Dagon-- Head of the Dark Council and not known for mincing her words-- replies that Satan "wouldn't want them... maybe as hors d'oeuvres." Not a single person in the room-- which contains almost every major non-human character in the show shy of Crowley-- disagrees with this assessment. Rape is not about sex-- it's about power-- but in a show that uses food as euphemistic for sex on several different levels, Dagon's comment is chilling.

It not only takes the attacks on Crowley that are already a metaphor for sexual assault and codes them through food in such a way that the feeling you get from the 1.01 Satan scene-- how it comes with an implication that the assaults aren't always a delivery of instructions-- is correct and that, unsurprisingly, Satan is a rapist in every way possible, but it also sees someone who would know in Dagon state that Satan would not actually care that much about Gabriel and Beez. He'd rape 'em, sure, is what Dagon is saying. He's Satan. But they would be just hors d'oeuvres. They're not who he's really fixated on.

The Grand Duke of Hell who betrayed him and their former Supreme Archangel partner are not interesting to Satan is Dagon's statement and not a single person in the room challenges that. No one says anything about it and the scene is deliberately structured so Crowley is not in the room when it's said to create this reaction in the others... the implications of which are just horrible where Crowley is concerned.

Back to Shax in the bookshop attack scene...

Shax parallels Hastur here because they are using her lack of language skills to highlight something to us by what it is that she doesn't understand. Much like with Hastur unintentionally spelling out what's really going on through mistranslations of words, Shax is trying to bully Aziraphale and she's tossing insults at him that are, actually, in the alternative meanings of what she's saying, the answers to the very questions she's been asking.

"Aziraphale, what *are* you? Crowley's emotional support angel? The softest touch?..." In insulting Aziraphale, Shax is using Crowley's mental health issues as a way of insulting both of them here, which shows how Hell obviously isn't exactly the most trauma-aware place. She's obviously saying that Crowley is comparable in mental health issues to humans (whom the demons see as beneath them) who have a need for emotional support animals. Like Hastur with the "chow", there's an animal comparison being drawn beneath the words used here but instead of the ominous lead-in to Crowley being attacked in 1.01, in S2, we have it about Crowley and Aziraphale, not Crowley and Satan.

So, Shax is calling Aziraphale Crowley's pet, right? And then she calls Aziraphale "the softest touch", which is a phrase meaning someone who is really gullible. What Shax doesn't realize is that the other, human-derived meanings of what she just called Aziraphale are the answer to the question of what Aziraphale is to Crowley.

In British slang, "pet" is a term of endearment. To pet someone is to touch and kiss in a way meant to be sexually arousing-- as in, "heavy petting."

The softest touch. This is, quite literally, the definition of a caress.

In S2, Aziraphale pats his and Crowley's pet-- The Bentley-- but he pets Crowley. The only time he tries to actually pet The Bentley is when he's semi-jokingly making it a sexual metaphor for Crowley. It underscores that Shax is almost there in getting it-- she's just not quite understanding the meaning of her own words-- which are words that, like Hastur's ciao/chow moment, exist to tell *us* something in how we look at them more than to tell the character speaking something.

In effect, we get a whole scene in S2 that parallels the 1.01 sushi scene by defining some more what it's really all about through Shax not quite fully getting it. What is Aziraphale to Crowley? is her question and the answer is the softest touch, just in the other meaning from the way that Shax says it. Aziraphale is kind to Crowley and gentle with him. He's the mindful sushi night in the face of the horror chow of Hell. They love each other. It's soft and sweet and that's why Shax has trouble understanding it-- it flies in the face of what she thinks the demon Crowley would want because of the reputation Crowley has sold everyone on regarding who he is, which isn't who he really is at all.

"The one who went native. Do you need more big, human meals, Aziraphale? Shall we send up *the sushi*?" Aziraphale is the angel who "went native"-- he lives a mostly human existence with Crowley alongside the humans. Shax clearly doesn't eat that much as no one has ever called sushi a "big meal" lol but besides that bit of humor aimed our way, this is more tying of food to sex. Aziraphale likes food and he likes sex and in Ineffable Husbands Speak-- which Shax does not speak-- food is euphemistic for sex. What's unnerving about this scene in this moment is that it plays like the later scene between Maggie and Shax does-- as if Shax is reading the thoughts of the character she's bullying and lobbying them back at her. She might well be doing this here and that's why the sushi comes up-- Aziraphale is thinking about it because Crowley should be here and isn't and Gabriel is right near him instead and it reminds him of 2008. (This wouldn't be the only callback to S1 in this sequence, either; there's Aziraphale explaining the fire extinguishers to Nina not that long after this.) Either way, it's writing designed to directly correlate this part of the bookshop attack with the 1.01 sushi scene to further underline what the 1.01 scene is about.

Okay, so, let's look then at why we're so into repeating bits of this sushi restaurant scene in GO and what it tells us about Crowley and Aziraphale's story by what other scenes it ties to...

As the 1.01 episode continues, we get another scene pretty soon after the sushi scene which adds another layer to this by recontextualizing our understanding of the sushi scene-- that's their lunch at The Ritz the next day, in which we learn that Crowley is rather into watching Aziraphale eat and Aziraphale loves it. This then helps to explain Aziraphale's look in the sushi scene when he turns to look in the direction of where he thinks Crowley will be on the left, before it clicks that Crowley is not there and he sees, instead, Gabriel on his right via the mirror on the wall.

Aziraphale hears the chime with his eyes still closed. His eyes are then still on the food when he reopens them and he hasn't had time to see that Crowley is not beside him before he turns in that direction and this is the expression on his face as he does:

That is a pretty sexy little look that was indisputably supposed to be given to Crowley...

In the later scene where they're at lunch at The Ritz, we come in on their meal at the end of it. Aziraphale is on the last forkful of his dessert and we get the idea of kinky lunch from what we see on the tail end of it. But before it? Back at the start of the episode, set the night before? We see that everything that happens the next day at The Ritz actually happens because they weren't able to be together the prior night. It will also help us to understand how Crowley knows about "the fascinating little restaurants where they know" Aziraphale in the St. James' Park scene.

The 1.01 sushi scene tells us that, by 2008, they sometimes sneak out to a quiet, dark place where they think they won't be seen to have dinner together.

What's most notable about the set of this scene in the sushi restaurant is the shocking brightness of one color in particular.

The scene leading into it, as we noted, is Satan's attack on Crowley in The Bentley and that scene is, appropriately, very dark. It's pitch black night outside and Crowley, in his perpetual black clothes, half-blends into the night around him. Flecks of grey and silver are the main sources of light in the scene. The same color scheme tips into the Aziraphale sushi restaurant scene-- with two exceptions. The silver grey remains (Gabriel) and so too does the thick, black darkness but there is more light in the restaurant and it shines over Aziraphale. He looks bright against the black darkness, even though he wears beige. He is the light that is missing from Crowley's scene. But that's not the shocking color to us in the scene. That's the one that saturates its way through the darkness around Aziraphale. That color is...

Pink. The color you get when you mix white (Aziraphale) into red (Crowley). Traditionally, a color of love, romance and health.

Pink plume. The energy field emanating from the bookshop when Crowley and Aziraphale performed a miracle together to protect Gabriel in 2.01. Also: part of Mrs. Sandwich's hair accessory during The Meeting Ball. Mrs. Sandwich represents sex and healthy communication in 'The Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Represent The Stuff of Life' thing the show has going on.

"In the pink." A phrase meaning "in good health."

1967. Flashback scene in the 1.03 Cold Open in which Aziraphale gives Crowley holy water and they discuss their relationship-- specifically, trying to be more openly together. The scene is drenched by the pink light from the sex shops (one called the "Love Shop") that were then in the spot where Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death (symbolic of freedom) is in S2.

Jane Austen. One of the most famous writers to ever live (sorry, Crowley, but she is lol.) Writer of romance novels. A human that both Crowley and Aziraphale knew in the early 1800s. As Aziraphale brings her up to Crowley while they are talking about romance, pink floods the frame through the clothes on the extras in the wider part of the shot besides him. Pink is also present throughout this scene in general, which already parallels 1967 via it being related to set up, The Dirty Donkey and Crowley's turtleneck.

Back to the pink-dipped sushi restaurant in 2008... what else do you notice about this scene that is familiar, now that you've seen all of S1?

Maybe that Aziraphale is actually sitting at a bar? And thought Crowley would meet him there, so they would be sitting at the bar together? Aziraphale also had just spoken at the start of the scene with the restaurant person on the other side of the counter. Where have we seen one of them doing something like that before?

That other rather fish-oriented scene: Rome. 41 A.D....

Rome. 41 A.D.. Aziraphale runs into Crowley in a tavern in Rome. Crowley is miserable and not having the best day of his demon life. Frustrated by the temptations he's been sent to perform for Hell that have him enabling horrible men in the Roman military, he's lonely, tired and grouchy. This initially was worsened by the arrival of Aziraphale, whom Crowley always loves to see but who, in that moment, was a reminder of how broken Crowley felt.

PTSD. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. A psychological condition brought on as a result of experiencing the psychological shock of a traumatic event or events. Some symptoms of PTSD include disturbed sleep, difficulties feeling safe, difficulties trusting yourself and others, anxiety, depression, and intimacy issues.

"In the pink." Remember the phrase meaning "in good health'"? Not a lot of pink in the Rome scene... initially. 😉

"Salutaria." What Aziraphale says in toast as he and Crowley clink glasses. Means "to your health." Crowley clinked glasses but quickly looked away, leaving Aziraphale thrown in the moment as to why Crowley was not rejecting his presence entirely but seemed uneasy and was putting up some walls between them that he had not in this way up to this point.

So, why was Crowley doing that?

Anorgasmia. Modern, clinical umbrella term for all issues relating to disorders surrounding an individual's ability to orgasm. If physical or medicinal reasons are eliminated, however-- as they often are-- then anorgasmia is a psychological mind-body disconnect.

Not an arousal disorder. Sufferers of anorgasmia still experience desire, compounding the impact of the disorder.

Secondary anorgasmia/situational anorgasmia. The inability to orgasm unless under certain conditions, such as through self-stimulation (masturbation). The inability to enjoy partnered sex. Extremely common in rape/sexual assault survivors.

(Diagnosis for anorgasmia are related to biological sex but Crowley is able to switch that at will so he'd be both of these, which are fundamentally the same thing.)

Hot Water Boiler. Device which heats up water in a house or apartment. In S2, a metaphor for anorgasmia.

In S2, Shax is living in what used to be Crowley's apartment and asks him if he knows how to fix the hot water boiler, as it has "two yellow lights" and isn't working. The point is that this used to be Crowley's apartment. Crowley, in 2023, knows how to get beyond a bout of it. He's fixed his own metaphorical hot water boiler-- and also the literal one when he used to live in that apartment. And while he's being sarcastic because Shax won't stop hounding him and Aziraphale, he's also giving her the most sage advice he knows, as he has continuously been doing during the season. In this case, it's to self-love a bit (which is actually prescriptive for anorgasmia in our modern times as well.) That he does is suggestive of the prior issues with secondary/situational anorgasmia.

Alcohol (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). As we looked at in the Crepes meta: Surface layer: alcohol. Hidden language layer: Sex. Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol. An extremely alcoholic breakfast at The Ritz.

Whiskey. Alcohol. What Crowley orders in a bar. Usually Talisker, which is a single-malt scotch. (Scotch being whiskey made in Scotland.)

Broken bottles of whiskey. What was in the case Crowley brought Mrs. H in 1941 at the start of the sexual metaphor that is The Bullet Catch.

Trauma-informed partner. Modern term for a romantic and/or sexual partner of a trauma survivor who is aware of the pervasive nature trauma can have on a person and who endeavors to provide a sense of safety-- physical, psychological and emotional-- for their partner and to create a relationship centered on healing and recovery, rather than one that causes further distress.

Frequently survivors of one or more forms of abuse themselves, as Aziraphale is. Not expected to be perfect but just to do their best by their partner.

Characteristics of trauma-informed relationships include kindness, empathy, mindfulness, gentleness, well-earned trust, a sense of playfulness, and a well-developed shared sense of humor. (Sound familiar? 😊)

The Bentley. Crowley's car and Linus blanket. As sexual metaphor, when Aziraphale is feeling cheeky: Crowley himself.

Driver's license. Documentation that must be obtained in order to operate a motor vehicle. Requires permission, experience, necessary skills, and willingness to learn. In London, not originally necessary to drive upon the invention of cars, until everyone realized what an absolute disaster that was. Aziraphale long ago passed his test and has had a driver's license since shortly after Crowley bought The Bentley. They did not require licenses at that time but always-eager-to-be-thorough Aziraphale made them give him a test to be sure he was truly qualified to drive.

As sexual innuendo: Crowley, we're absolutely ridiculous. You won't give up your car and I wall myself off in a fortress of books I can't part with but you've been "in my bookshop" and I've been "driving your Bentley" for an absurdly long amount of time. We even swapped bodies a few years ago. It might not actually be possible to be any more intimately familiar with a person than we are with one another and we both know I had these car keys the moment I asked for them so hand them over. No one was exactly a trauma-informed partner in those days but I was-- aren't I marvelous?😉I'll treat your car as gently as I treat you. Give me the keys or I will just keep going until I run out of car sex innuendo and I should warn you that I have lots more...

Trauma-informed partner. Aziraphale.

Mindfulness. A state of mind that focuses on being in the present moment by being conscious of one's thoughts, emotions, and bodily sensations. A state of the mind being connected to the body and experiencing the present moment consciously and fully. Frequently used to help combat PTSD, anxiety and depression. Also frequently used as a therapeutic intervention for assault survivors experiencing intimacy issues.

Aziraphale and Crowley smelling the magic shop in Season 2 and Aziraphale inhaling the scent of the sushi in 1.01 are both examples of mindfulness exercises. The sushi scene is tied to sex, as the food kinky thing is a form of foreplay, suggesting a focus on sexual mindfulness in bed.

Mind-body connection. What is in need of repair in sufferers of situational/secondary anorgasmia. Sexual assault causes the body to associate a loss of control with being under threat. Whereas people who have not experienced a violation of their bodily autonomy tend to respond to sexual stimulation with a response of pleasure, those who have been hurt have bodies that are wired to react to being touched or to feeling out of control as if they are under threat again, even if they are intellectually aware that the new situation they are in is not dangerous. What is arousing for others can cause a sense of anxiety instead of pleasure. There is also the risk of flashbacks to being attacked.

Healing the mind-body connection requires a trusted partner with whom the person suffering from anorgasmia feels safe and who is willing to help keep their partner in the present moment and help them "re-wire" and recover their body through new, positive experiences.

Asmodeus. The Demonic Prince of Lust. Crowley. A persona to have in Hell to give him big reputation that didn't involve him having to kill anybody and that also acted as a cover for his anorgasmia.

"Crowley." What Crowley asked Aziraphale to call him in 33 AD, just 8 years prior to Rome. An admittance of being mad about Aziraphale.

"What am I supposed to be, an aardvark?" In Rome, as Crowley grows nervous by this wine-drinking Aziraphale who also has nothing to do for the evening that has shown up in his world on a miserable day, he responds to Aziraphale's "still a demon, then?" nervous chatter with a line of his own, asking what else he was supposed to be? An aardvark? Of course, if Crowley was not a demon, being with Aziraphale would be easier and he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place but an aardvark is not just a random animal that Crowley thought up here.

Just prior to this moment, Aziraphale had approached him with "Crawley-- Crowley" and a soft smile. It wasn't actually a mistake on Aziraphale's part but a silent question: is it still alright to call you that? Thanks to S2 and the Job minisode we can see the 33 A.D. scene- in which Aziraphale learns of Crowley's new name-- in a different way. We see it as Crowley romancing Aziraphale a bit-- responding to Aziraphale being obviously a little jealous of Crowley's reputation as the wild Asmodeus with a whisper of how he'd changed his name to "Crowley"-- something that we know now that only Aziraphale understands. In Rome, eight years later, Aziraphale is asking by saying both names if that's still something Crowley feels-- and silently saying he hopes it is by subtly asking and by flirting with him a bit.

Crowley doesn't object to Aziraphale calling him "Crowley" and that encourages Aziraphale to join Crowley, who sends signals that he wants his company, even if he's grouchy. Maybe especially because he's grouchy. He can be grouchy around Aziraphale, who is his friend and will listen.

Aardvarks. Primarily eat ants and termites. In the insect metaphor in the show, humans are ants. (The "ants go marching" of The Flood scene.) Demons were hornets in this analogy but also flies and one could assume that termites might also be a good demonic insect analogy, as termites eat decaying plant material and demolish the dying down into the ground. Since food is sexual metaphor on Good Omens and living creatures are metaphorical in multiple ways, being an aardvark then is being someone who both fucks and kills other demons and humans. Being an aardvark is actually a good metaphor then for what's expected of Crowley in Hell and he obviously has some issues with it.

He doesn't want to kill anybody and he's sitting there wearing Roman military regalia, having been sent by Hell to facilitate some death and destruction in a way that he hasn't been able to Bildad his way out of this time. Aziraphale's presence is always welcome but Crowley's crabby in this moment because he knows Aziraphale is in a place by this point where he wants to sleep with him and they just ran into each other in a tavern and both clearly have the night free and now Crowley's got to decide if he's going to tell the angel or not that he's a disaster of an aardvark.

Aphrodisiacs. A substance purported to increase sexual desire. Named for the Greek goddess of sexual love and beauty, Aphrodite, who has been depicted since antiquity usually nude and on the shell of an oyster (or, occasionally, a scallop), as both are two of the oldest purported aphrodisiacs known to man.

Oysters. History's foremost food-related aphrodisiac... though that's not really proven. A few years ago, Italian and American scientists did a joint study to attempt to prove if oysters really did increase virility. What they found was a very minor increase in testosterone in men brought on by one of the compounds of oysters (which is also found in some other kinds of shellfish.) The difference was so small, though, that the scientists determined that an individual would have to consume a lot of oysters (like, a bucketload) to notice any significant difference. In other words?

Whether it works or not is, like with almost all aphrodisiacs, in the mind of the individual. If you believe it will work, it likely will. It's mind over matter. If you want it to work, it probably will. Thematically, an interesting thing to throw in a scene involving a character deciding he's in a place to work on overcoming psychologically-based anorgasmia.

The ancient Romans were obsessed with the oyster-- particularly the soldiers of the Roman military. Much of the cultural awareness of oysters as having a reputation today as being sex-boosting food is actually rooted to the beginnings of that trend in ancient Rome. Both Crowley and Aziraphale would have been aware of the reputation of the oyster in 41 A.D. and Crowley wearing military regalia might have been one of the reasons, in particular, that Aziraphale chose oysters as an euphemism to convey his meaning.

Oysters. Fish. To eat them, you have first got to get them out of their protective shells.

Adam and Eve. The first humans and the other inhabitants of The Garden of Eden. Parallels to Crowley and Aziraphale. Eve gave Adam food-- showed him the pleasures of eating the apple. It sent them on a path of sensual exploration and Adam, freed by Eve showing him food, gave her sex in return.

The other two in Eden at the time-- The Angel of the Eastern Gate and The Serpent of Eden-- are actually no different.

Crowley tempted Eve but Crowley also parallels Eve to Aziraphale's Adam. Crowley encouraged Aziraphale to try the ox ribs and unleashed the raging hedonist that Aziraphale can be. Rome in 41 A.D. is Aziraphale then realizing just how much they are Adam and Eve. (Something that they become aware of over time and is at the root of things like Crowley dryly saying that it's "time to leave The Garden" in 2019 in S1, when they leave a park to go have kinky lunch together.)

By Rome, Aziraphale is now a devoted gourmand. He also drinks now; he's tried wine at some point in the interim years between the Job minisode and this scene. (This is the first scene in which both Crowley and Aziraphale drink and the first time we see them share a toast-- something that becomes symbolic of them as lovers in scenes in the future, like its parallel scenes in 1941 and 2019-- furthering the suggestion of Rome as the start of their sexual relationship.)

Aziraphale might be in Rome on Heavenly assignment but that's not what he mentions to Crowley, if he is. Instead, he talks about Petronius, whom he assumes from Crowley's military clothes that Crowley will know and whom Crowley does. If referring to, as we suspect, Gaius Petronius Arbiter, then Aziraphale is referring to a being so queer even the historians can't get around acknowledging it-- a courtier who was the taste and style maker of the Roman empire, and who is believed to be the author of The Satyricon, which is basically the foundation of satire in literature but also famously contains a whole chunk of it that is just basically erotica.

Some details of Petronius' life are a little vague so Good Omens is exploiting the wiggle room here to suggest that he actually did own a restaurant. In reality, Petronius wrote in The Satyricon a description of ancient Roman feasts that have been seen as maybe barely satirical because of the whole bacchanalia of the period that Petronius was satirizing. So, by 41 A.D., Aziraphale is moving in wealthy human queer circles in ancient Rome and enjoying all of the pleasures life on Earth has to offer... and he's found Crowley alone in a tavern and is throwing as many of these things together in a sentence at one time as possible to convey an overall sense of would you like to join me?

The Job minisode has already happened. Aziraphale is more than aware that Crowley was enjoying watching him eat. They're both here with the night free and blending in amongst the crowds has never been easier than it was in highly-populated Rome. Aziraphale is used to picking up humans and it's different than it is with Crowley, who is quasi-immortal like he is and his friend and somebody for whom Aziraphale has feelings. There's also something funny about the fact that Crowley is in a (literally) hellish mood and Aziraphale is pretty undeterred and still goes for it. In attitude, Aziraphale is basically like You're in a terrible mood--you need to get laid, Crowley. Lucky I showed up, isn't it? 😂

Meanwhile, Crowley is fully aware of what Aziraphale is up to. He's known since he heard Aziraphale approaching him and has been mulling over how he's going to handle it. The grouchiness isn't just about his bad day-- it's anxiety manifesting as crabbiness. To his credit, Aziraphale seems to get that even before Crowley more specifically shares the source of that anxiety.

So, Aziraphale goes for it and how he does is to pick up on their way of speaking to one another euphemistically that they started in Job's courtyard and introduce food as a way of speaking about sex. This is already amusing in S1 but it's funny as fuck after S2 when we know that the ox ribs have already happened at this point and that that's why Aziraphale is going this route. Aziraphale's like how to see if Crowley wants to smash? Tell him I'm hungry wink wink... 😉

I would also like to point out that they are already in a tavern that sells food. In the wider shots of Crowley in the second half of the scene, a plate of food is on the table beside him. There are oysters *in this bar* lol. Oysters were not uncommon in ancient Rome by this point-- if this conversation were really entirely just about trying this particular kind of seafood, they could just order some from the woman who served Crowley his drink who is three feet away for the entire scene and try oysters right here.

By bringing up Petronius and another restaurant where they sell sexy fish, Aziraphale is laying down an ancient Roman, euphemistic equivalent of do you want to get out of here?

To tell Crowley that he [Aziraphale] hears that Petronius "does remarkable things *to oysters*." To ask Crowley to go to bed with him.

Specifically, to see if the food kinky Crowley wants to go with him to Petronius' new restaurant and try these oysters the human guys are so on about and then go back to where Aziraphale is staying and see if the oysters really do anything to their oysters.

With this one sentence, Aziraphale has just turned "oysters" into three specific, separate-but-interrelated things at once:

1) oysters are fish-- just the seafood itself-- as we're always also talking about the thing on the surface level as well in Ineffable Husbands Speak and this is no different. Petronius makes some yummy oysters, according to the restaurant reviews of ancient Rome, and his new restaurant is an opulent food orgasm of a place and Aziraphale correctly thinks that would be appealing to both of them. He loves to eat and Crowley loves to watch him eat and does Crowley want to go on a little date to do that-- just also with actual sex this time?

2) oysters are aphrodisiacs-- Aziraphale is bringing up the fact that everyone is talking about how eating oysters can increase your sexual desire and bring about more pleasure for you and your partner(s) in bed. Aphrodisiacs are evocative of partnered sex. Not that you can't take them for fun times on your own but most people do not so bringing them up then sets up the verbal italics of "to oysters" that lands Aziraphale's invitation, unintentionally, straight in the heart of Crowley's issues, because:

3) oysters are a partnered sex orgasm-- Aziraphale says he (Petronius) "does remarkable things to oysters" so Petronius makes delicious oysters, which are what you eat to increase sexual desire and therefore what apparently cause you to experience more pleasure for longer and to climax harder... the innuendo is that the oysters (the aphrodisiacs) do things to your oysters (your orgasm).

Surprise twist, Aziraphale...

Crowley has made sure it never occurs to anyone that he has problems in bed and that has included Aziraphale up to this point.

Crowley basically now has a couple of choices. He can gently rebuff Aziraphale's offer, hopefully without embarrassing him too much, and they can try to pretend this never happened, and then he knows that Aziraphale is probably never going to ask him again. Not an option. Who knows when else they might find each other with the night free like this again? and Crowley does want to try.

He can pretend there's nothing wrong with him and stress himself into a disaster, like he's probably tried to do with humans before but they die within a couple of decades and take the embarrassment with them but Aziraphale's going to live for ages, is really his only friend, and Crowley's in love with him. Crowley's self-sabotaging at times but he's also an optimist and a romantic, and it's those things that give him some hope that he might not be permanently broken.

Finally, there's that he can just tell Aziraphale the truth because, let's be real here, the angel wants to try it and like hell is Crowley saying no to that.

So, he doesn't.

(Note the red squiggles on his costume that look pink in the light and like a heart monitor jackhammering-- with anxiety, with arousal-- and the candle that burns a pink flame where the light hits the jug.)

"I've never eaten an oyster." Aziraphale has defined an oyster between them as an orgasm had during partnered sex and that is what Crowley is saying he's never had.

He's also possibly saying that he has never eaten an actual oyster-the-seafood, because even though they were pretty common in Rome in the era, Crowley eats less than Aziraphale does, apparently hasn't been in Rome that long, and has had, until this moment, no reason to try the fish everyone is throwing back to try to increase their sexy times as Crowley's just been avoiding any sexual situation like the plague.

This is both a leap of faith on Crowley's part and a moment indicative of just how much he trusts Aziraphale. He needs every other living being to believe he's Asmodeus but Aziraphale can have the real, unvarnished truth because Aziraphale is the only person Crowley trusts not to hurt him. He knows Aziraphale can keep his secrets and that they have their own private world where vulnerability is allowed. He knows that Aziraphale is his friend beyond anything else.

This is telling Aziraphale that he'd like to try but he's kind of a mess. He doesn't want Aziraphale to feel like it's his fault if this doesn't work and he wants him to know what he's getting into. Crowley has long harbored a suspicion, though, that it would be different with Aziraphale, which is also why he wants to give it a try. If the angel can't help him rewire himself here, no one can.

Emphasizing this is Aziraphale's reaction. If they had been talking about pizza, maybe this reaction would have fit lol but it's clearly not a reaction to learning that Crowley has never consumed one particular kind of squiggly, hard-to-eat, honestly not that great seafood. It's a reaction much more befitting learning Crowley has not experienced something far more delicious and life-affirming than actual oysters-the-seafood.

"Oh-- well, let me tempt you to--" Just consider this moment from Aziraphale's perspective for a minute...

Serpent of Eden Crowley? He is literally the spark that lit the flame of all of humanity here. By tempting Eve into free thought and sensual pleasure, he also empowered her into teaching Adam these things. As a result, Crowley is basically responsible for sex on Earth-- for all of its history. If you live in the Good Omens universe and you've ever had an independent thought, a sensuous experience, or an orgasm, you owe Crowley a thank you note.😂Every play Aziraphale has ever seen, every meal he's ever enjoyed, every human he's ever taken to bed-- all of those experiences are indirectly because of Crowley.

Aziraphale has wanted him for quite literally ever. He compares everyone else to him. No one else has ever made him feel like this. He knows they're attracted to each other but he never felt like he knew what, if anything, he had to offer Crowley. The hottest being he'd ever seen freed him from the prison of his own repression here-- what could he ever give Crowley that was worth something like that? How do you learn together and try new things and adventure together with someone who seems like they're leap years ahead of you and know all the things it took you a long time to find out?

It's at "I've never eaten an oyster" that Aziraphale realizes that the being who freed everyone else got left behind and Aziraphale can fix that. He is good at burning holes in prison walls. Protection and arming others against threats to them and healing and kindness-- that's what he does. He's been here thinking for ages that Crowley would never need anything from him that he knew how to give like this but now he sees it differently. They've shown each other already by this point that they're good at being partners but this one aspect of it always felt to Aziraphale like it would be imbalanced. In Rome, he realizes that it isn't.

Aziraphale doesn't have the vocabulary we have today for these sort of issues and Rome wasn't exactly a bastion of trauma-informed sex lol but he didn't need any of that because he's intuitively good at this. He already knows that it will be fine because Crowley doesn't know it yet but he effectively already told him that it will-- by telling him in the first place. Aziraphale knows that trust and desire are what's needed and that they have those in spades. All he really has to do here is help Crowley relax and get out of his head.

Or, as Aziraphale will put it during the 1941 sexual metaphor that is The Bullet Catch plot: "You do the shooting. I'll do all the hard bits."

What gets Crowley's attention in Rome is how utterly confident Aziraphale is. How empathetic but unpitying. Aziraphale doesn't hesitate and he trips over himself accepting the challenge-- which is awfully cute-- but it's that Aziraphale doesn't treat him like he's broken or seem to see this as daunting that works for Crowley. There is a lot of internalized shame and fear and pain associated with anorgasmia and Crowley has been stewing in this for a very long time up until Rome so for Aziraphale's response to be not dismissive of it but, instead, reassuring, was exactly what Crowley needed. Aziraphale's whole attitude is oh ok no problem should we get going now or..? While he was not happy about Crowley having had difficult experiences before because he doesn't like to think of him in pain, he was really into the idea of Crowley thinking it could be different with him.

Aziraphale really, really, really likes being the person Crowley let in enough for this. Pardon the Crowley pun here but Aziraphale has never stopped crowing about it between them in thousands of years and if Crowley weren't besotted with him, he would have murdered him over it by now. (See: an example in 1941 that we'll look at near the end of this meta and "I had to miracle in the cherries" in Good Omens: Lockdown.)

"No, that's... that's your job. Isn't it?" Aziraphale's use of "tempt" to offer Crowley sex is then something of a joke between them because neither of them are tempting each other in a demonic sense of the word at any time. They find each other tempting though, in the sense that they find each other attractive. To use "tempt" with one another is just to ask each other if they are in the mood for something, not to influence the other into doing anything ("tempt you to a spot of lunch?" and "temptation accomplished" in 2019.)

This is really established first in the Job minisode, chronologically, as Crowley didn't so much tempt Aziraphale to try the ox ribs so much as he just offered them to him and Aziraphale decided to without influence. The same is true for Crowley choosing to try sex with Aziraphale in Rome-- he's really already chosen to by not saying no and that's all before Aziraphale's "well, let me tempt you--".

When Aziraphale replies to Crowley's reaction to the "tempt" line with "No, that's... that's your job. Isn't it?", Aziraphale is teasing him a bit. He's saying he sees through Crowley's massive control issues and that he gets him. You always have to be in control but you don't always want to be. Well, today's your lucky day, Bildad, because we're partners in this now.

Or, as it's known in 2023:

Flame burning pink as Crowley smiles a little for the first time in the scene:

"Oysters! Oranges!" What Juliet (the woman selling snacks) calls out as the opening dialogue in the 1601 scene to entice prospective buyers, the only one of which really is Aziraphale. Oysters-- aphrodisiacs. Oranges-- cinematic symbol of death. Aziraphale chooses...

"Some grapes please! They look scrummy." Grapes. Fermented grapes are wine. Wine is alcohol. Alcohol is sex. We haven't a need for oysters anymore and we shun symbolic death in favor of the little death. The grapes look "scrummy", shortened version of "scrumptious", meaning both "delicious" in food terms and "sexy enough to eat" in people terms. Aziraphale eats them in front of Crowley during the scene.

Oysters. What Crowley and Aziraphale had in ancient Rome.

Oysters. What Crowley and Aziraphale had in ancient Rome.

Oysters (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). Both an aphrodisiac and an orgasm, but...

...since they don't want to bring up anorgasmia every time they're flirting or talking about sex for the rest of their very long lives... and since oysters on their own are really hard to work frequently into conversation and would get a bit old pretty quickly, they need another word.

So, based on what we've seen in the series, it evolved into...

Oysters = Fish.

Fish live in the ocean, amongst other sea creatures.

Fish & sea creatures (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). An orgasm.

Anything related to the ocean (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). A metaphor for sex.

If it is in or lives in water, it's prime material for climatic innuendo. If it has multiple meanings in English? It will be used frequently as part of wordplay. If it pertains to the ocean or lends itself to destructive adjectives (shipwrecks, sea monsters, bubbling seas and rising waves), it will absolutely be a sexual metaphor at some point.

Such as...

Wahoo. A kind of fish. Also: an exclamation of joy. For obvious reasons, Crowley and Aziraphale's favorite fish joke.

In 1941, Aziraphale seeks feedback in the dressing room on their sexual metaphor Bullet Catch performance-- that they are both more than aware of-- and Crowley agrees that it went well and dryly suggests they "chalk up a win for the side of the angel", turning the common phrase that is usually "...side of the angels" singular to reflect only Aziraphale, who is over the moon that Crowley enjoyed it and cheekily replies "wahoo!" before their flirting is interrupted by Furfur.

Decades later, Crowley gives another stellar performance-- the full, epic saga of his M-25 Orbital Disruption-- to the joyless, miserable lot in Hell and concludes it with a line that he plans to tell Aziraphale later to make him laugh:

Carp. A kind of fish. Also means: to stand around and bitch. Aziraphale telling Crowley to stop standing around getting off on grouching and go get Maggie and Nina for The Meeting Ball in S2.

Gravlax in Dill Sauce. Cured salmon. This one is special and we'll look at it in the Dill Sauce meta about the St. James Park scene soon.

Ducks. Waterfowl. Aquatic birds. This is long enough. 😂 They are a whole separate meta.

Pickled herring. A kind of fish, cured in salt. What was dumped out of the barrel by Elspeth in The Resurrectionist minisode so she could use the barrel to transport her corpse. Crowley and Aziraphale spend half the minisode dragging around a barrel that should contain fish (the little death) but actually contains a corpse (actual death)-- foreshadowing the fact that their date will end with Crowley dragged to Hell and the start of the holy water arc of misery for them.

Red herring. A dry, smoked fish that turns red as it is smoked (ooh la la...) 😉 Also: A literary device, in which something is established with the intent of it distracting the audience from something else in the story. Elspeth and her pickled herring barrel are a red herring that changes The Resurrectionist minisode story from what the audience thought it would be into what it is, distracting the audience from the fact that the story actually began with Crowley and Aziraphale meeting in a graveyard at midnight for... ah... reasons. Aziraphale also turned 'red'-- turned to Crowley's side-- during the course of the episode, even as his shot at getting him some "pickled herring" that evening went up in hellfire smoke.

"Sargeant Shadwell." The hilarious, Sean Connery-esque way that Crowley said Shadwell's name in 1967, made funnier by the fact that a shad is a type of fish... and part of the herring family and this scene itself is a red herring. It misleads the audience into thinking we have a whole new plot about Crowley leading a break in to a church that is rendered inert within a matter of minutes when Aziraphale gives Crowley holy water. Shadwell's name is basically 'Fishwell' and, for Madame Tracy's sake, I hope that's true and not ironically funny. Either way, doubtful that Crowley and Aziraphale haven't joked about his name before. Shad also phonetically sounds like 'shag', the British slang word for fucking, and Crowley's tone of voice in the scene had a ring of 'shag' connotation to it.

Kieler Sprotte/Kieler Sprotten. A German smoked herring dish. A hidden reference in the Baraqiel entry in 'The Demon's Guide to Angels...' book that Furfur had in 1941. Baraqiel is Crowley and the entry, based on what's in it, was written by Aziraphale. One of you requested a meta on Baraqiel so that's on deck for now.

Newt. A semi-aquatic salamander. They live in the water but only some of the time. Also: Newt Pulsifier, an extreme parallel of Crowley who breaks all technology he touches, loves his less-attractive-than-The-Bentley car, and falls for a being who has issues with the purpose they feel they were put into the world to fulfill. Newt gets "in the water," metaphorically-speaking, when he has sex for the first time in S1 with the Aziraphale-paralleling Anathema, which is another example of how he's a more extreme version of Crowley, whose parallel to Newt is Aziraphale helping him through his intimacy issues.

Flounder. A kind of fish. Also means: to struggle helplessly in water. "To flounder" is frequently confused with "to founder", which is wordplay intentionally being used by Aziraphale in the "Seeds of Destruction" scene in S1, which we'll look at in the requested Seeds meta soon.

Bananafish. A kind of fish. Also: the first two words of Aziraphale's magic words. Is it "bananafish" or is it "banana, fish"? It's a little unclear and possibly situational. It's also likely both and a reference to wordplay and sex via fish. "The Bananafish" is also a short story by J.D. Salinger about trauma, PTSD and suicide that correlates to S2 quite a bit but we can look at that in a more Aziraphale's-trauma-centric meta.

The 'drunk-in-the-bookshop' scene. Part of the 2008 minisode, in which Crowley and Aziraphale are drunk and talking on the surface about Armageddon but are actually flirting with each other using sea-related terminology to make some drunken sexual metaphors.

Whales and dolphins. Sea-dwelling mammals. Not fish but live like them, alongside them. Damn big brains. Whales, in particular, are their own metaphor in Good Omens-- above and beyond Ineffable Husbands Speak-- but, in this context, they are non-fish creatures that live in the ocean, so Crowley is equating himself and Aziraphale to whales and dolphins in the drunk-in-the-bookshop scene and calling Aziraphale smart and clever in doing so. He is too drunk to come up with how smart they are ("brains the size of... *gives up* damn big brains" lol). His point is that Aziraphale is so smart, which is so hot, and that's his point. Brain city, whales.

Off of this, a drunk Aziraphale has heard Crowley say "damn big brains" and is thinking you know what *else* is big, Crowley?

"Kraken! Oh, great, bigggggg bugger..." Totally plastered Aziraphale is undefeated at Completely Wasted Wordplay, though, and he has a mythical monster and a whole attempt at a sexual metaphor for Crowley here, thanks to whatever brain cells are still kicking around in his damn big whale brain. The Kraken is huge and we aren't just talking about smart anymore, nope... Adding to the humor is the use of 'bugger'-- The Kraken is a massive one and we're talking about both in size and in terms of quite extraordinary amounts of buggery that Aziraphale wants to get up to here...

Giant squid and octopi. Also not fish but live in the sea, much like the whales and dolphins that Crowley had just mentioned and probably one of the reasons why Aziraphale's mind then goes towards The Kraken.

The Kraken. Mythical sea monster from Norse mythology. The Kraken-- and sea monsters, in general-- are thought to be based on giant squid and/or octopi. Particularly before days when squid and octopi were understood, The Kraken was sometimes described as a "sea serpent". Crowley, in Aziraphale's sexual metaphor here, is The Kraken-- is the great, bigggg bugger who is:

"Supposed to rise up-- right up-- to the surface. At the end. When the sea boils." We're talking about Armageddon on the surface but we're talking about sex under the surface and The Kraken is a mythological being who does not exist, making this drunk conversation even funnier. Adam will manifest The Kraken into existence later on in the season-- but, prior to that, the actual Kraken was a myth. Aziraphale and Crowley both know that. Neither of them believe in The Kraken-the-sea-monster. Aziraphale is just using it as a joking sexual metaphor while they're drunk as all fuck to flirt with Crowley using their whole ocean-themed innuendo.

"The Kraken" is "supposed to rise up, right up, to the surface, at the end". The sea serpent going from the depths of the cold black sea to cresting the surface of the ocean at the end of days, which is Aziraphale using destructive sexual metaphor-- using disaster, death, apocalyptic terminology, etc. as a metaphor for sex. Armageddon is the end of days is a sexual climax. "The Kraken" rises to the surface of the ocean "at the end-- when the sea boils"-- when it becomes too hot and there's no other choice but for the sea serpent to come... to the surface. 😉

"There is a lot of 'underlying unspokenness' and it comes to the surface now and again." Michael Sheen quote describing the nature of Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship in S1 in the interview below. I'd bet serious cash he's specifically thinking about The Kraken scene.

Thanks to @procrastiel for showing me the interview.

"Well, that's mah point! Dolphins and whales-- whole sea bubbling-- hard to keep everybody from turning into bouilla--" Crowley's response to Aziraphale's The Kraken metaphor. Actually surprisingly witty at the start considering how drunk they are (it's their damn big whale brains hitting on something every few words lol.) It is, indeed, his point that Aziraphale is talking about-- his boiling point-- but Crowley uses "point" in the other meaning here as well (as in, "that's the point of what I was saying!").

"Whole sea bubbling-- hard to keep everybody from turning into bouilla--" Everybody, eh, Crowley? 😂I thought we were talking about fish being boiled in the end of days here? (Someone ought to get Crowley and Aziraphale to make videos explaining climate change lol.) These fish and dolphins and whales seem like they could be easily mistaken for people? Like, say, you and Aziraphale, hmm?When the whole sea gets bubbling and it's just too hot in here, it might, indeed, be hard to keep you both from turning into...

Bouillabaisse. A fish soup that is frequently referred to as a fish stew, which is what a drunk Crowley calls it. The dish is French and when Crowley is too drunk to get the word out, he keeps repeating the first half of it-- "bouilla"-- which comes from the French verb "bouillir", which means "to boil". He heard Aziraphale's "when the sea boils" and his mind took it to the fish joke of bouillabaisse. To boil is, of course, to cook something in very hot water.

Crowley is too drunk to get the word out in full and repeats the "boil" part of it, getting distracted at one point and calling Aziraphale "baby" while they make hilarious, drunk, kissy faces at one another, before redirecting it with "fish stew-- anyway! It's not their fault."

A bouillabaisse features at least two different kinds of fish cooked together and served alongside one another in the same bowl.

Bouillabaisse/A fish soup or stew (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). Climaxing together/simultaneous orgasm.

"Fish stew-- anyway! It's not their fault." The end of the 'bouillabaisse' portion of the scene and yes, it's not the fault of the actual fish that will be turned into bouillabaisse when the world ends but this is also Crowley thinking of Aziraphale's earlier "hereditary enemies" comment and saying again that it's not their fault, they didn't ask for this. Tossed drunkenly into this getting sloppy sexual metaphor, it's pretty funny as it's also saying wouldn't be their fault if they turn into bouillabaisse later as who could blame them? World ending, been waiting for days, bouilla bouilla baby...

Good thing they sobered up because they were one more bottle of Chateauneuf-de-Pape away from just speak-singing "Under the Sea" at one another. Even the sturgeon and the ray, angel! They get the urge and start to play! That's *mah point*... 😂

"Heaven will finally triumph over Hell." One of the coded things that Aziraphale said to Crowley in the 1.01 St. James Park scene. While the surface layer of this conversation is about Armageddon, they're actually talking on the hidden layer about having not been able to be together the prior night. The key bit to this that I'm mentioning here is the use of the word "triumph"...

Triumph. A triumph is obviously a great victory or success but the history of the word is interesting. It originally meant a victory parade-- a processional-- held for a victorious general upon his return to ancient Rome. It was exclusive to Rome for a time as a word and still is how historians refer to that type of processional.

By using "triumph" in the St. James' Park scene, Aziraphale correlates the would-be sushi night with Rome.

Sushi. Raw fish mixed into vinegared rice, along with other ingredients. What Crowley and Aziraphale usually go out for in the modern era on their unofficial anniversary, which is the date of the first time they had sex in ancient Rome.

1,967. The number of years between the first time Crowley and Aziraphale had sex and when they were trying to meet to celebrate that special occasion in 2008 in 1.01. Armageddon: Round One began on their 1,967th anniversary. A reference to:

The 1967 scene, in which they talk about their relationship, and "dine at The Ritz" is said.

41. The number of years between Aziraphale suggesting they could one day "dine at The Ritz" in 1967 and when they did for the first time in 2008. A reference to:

The 41 A.D. scene in Rome, which shows how they first became lovers.

Well, with one caveat...

Hellfire and Holy Water. Substances produced by the physical corporations of angels and demons which are lethal to one another's "opposite kind"/"enemy." Aziraphale's body can make Holy Water, which could liquidate Crowley into non-existence. Crowley's body can make Hellfire, which could burn Aziraphale into the same.

As such, they spent some time concerned that each other's, em, "hellfire" and "holy water" might be harmful to one another, until they disproved this theory. This historical HIV allegory is alluded to in the "angel-demon, probably explode" Discorporated!Aziraphale scene in S1 (to "explode" also meaning to "explode a theory"-- to disprove it) and also in this scene here, in The Big Damn Sexual Metaphor that is The Bullet Catch:

Aziraphale's dry "just aim for my mouth but shoot past my ear," right?

So, how did they figure out that they wouldn't kill each other?

Kingdom of Wessex. 597 AD. The Camelot scene. Crowley and Aziraphale cross paths in the time of King Arthur and are so damn over canceling each other out at work. After Aziraphale rebuffs Crowley's initial proposal of basically quiet quitting Heaven & Hell-- just doing the paperwork and phoning it in-- because he thinks Michael will figure it out (not because he doesn't want to lol), the two part the scene without a resolution... but the 1601 scene provides that resolution for us via the reveal of The Arrangement.

Back in 597 A.D., after the scene we saw, Crowley and Aziraphale got creative in trying to find a solution to their work woes and wound up experimenting with what they had been told by Heaven regarding what their capabilities were. They uncovered that Crowley could still do blessings and Aziraphale could do temptations. So long as they kept pulling power from their respective head offices, it didn't matter what type of miracle they did and no one in Heaven or Hell figured it out. This then caused them to also realize that if they were biologically similar enough to be able to do the same miracles, then odds were high that they actually wouldn't hurt one another if they had more expansive sex and they decided to try it. They're both still here so obviously the end result was nothing but wahoo. What else is suggestive of this besides the already mentioned scenes? This one, in 1941:

Excalibur. King Arthur's sword. Excalibur's Chest. The famous swords-in-the-box magic trick, on sale at Goldstone's in 1941. Swords are as much sexual metaphor as guns. Note what's between them in the magic shop in 1941 when they agree to perform The Bullet Catch together that night, after a performance by The Ladies of Camelot:

This is part of the reason why they also use performing miracles as innuendo-- besides the fact that there is just a lot of material there lol. It's because it took them 556 years after Rome but they happened into figuring out Heaven's big secret and it freed them to boff each other senseless for the last *maths* 1,426 years as of S2 lol so it's kind of irresistible. An example is Aziraphale in S2 with "the 25 Lazari miracle you and I performed together the other night" which is on the surface, sure, about the miracle they did together to protect Gabriel but which Aziraphale makes actually sound like what they got up to the other night, probably the one before Gabriel arrived. He's talking about Muriel there for the Gabriel miracle but he's saying it with a tone of: I suspect that the angel is here to verify the miracle that was Sunday night. I'd imagine alarm bells must have been ringing in Heaven constantly since. You and I raised the damn dead, old serpent...

The Bullet Catch. A sexual metaphor for both "firsts"-- 41 A.D./Rome and 597 A.D./Kingdom of Wessex-- mashed together because they were similar... but also a metaphor for Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship overall.

The Bullet Catch requires them to trust one another and be vulnerable with one another. It's only possible because of how much they trust in and care for one another. Crowley's ability to fire the gun in a way that won't kill Aziraphale-- which Aziraphale is trusting him to do-- means that Crowley has to trust himself to do it. He has to believe himself capable of it and that he can relax enough to do it. He only believes this because Aziraphale believes it about him and makes him feel safe enough to focus. Aziraphale's trust in him allows Crowley to trust both himself and Aziraphale while Aziraphale's trust in Crowley allows him to let Crowley in enough to let him see his insecurities and be loved in spite of them, something Aziraphale's self-doubts and imposter syndrome keep him from doing with other people. Crowley knows he's imperfect and loves him madly anyway, something Aziraphale has trouble doing with himself and which no one else in Heaven ever has. Crowley's faith in and love for Aziraphale give Aziraphale the confidence to live more freely and feel like he's among the professional conjurers and not just on the outside of life. Their trust in one another helps them trust each other and that self-trust opens them up to experiences with each other that lead to ever-deepening trust of one another that lifts them both in a kind of feedback loop.

"Cheers for, um, getting me off the hook." Crowley thanking Aziraphale for helping him with the Mrs. H situation. He's more than aware that Aziraphale assisting with Crowley's broken alcohol bottles when alcohol = sex to them is more than a little metaphorical for their actual history and he chooses a fish reference as part of the thank you. "Cheers" is that British way of saying "thank you" but it's also obviously what people also say as a toast (which is also a word used to refer to warmed bread, which is also related to partnered sex in Ineffable Husbands Speak.) It's what Crowley actually says in 2019 at The Ritz at the end of S1 in the "Cheers. To the world." moment. Here, it's also a reference to the first time they did clink some glasses together in toast-- the "Salutaria" of ancient Rome. And what is this toast-y thank you of Crowley's for? For getting him off-- that is, for getting him "off the hook."

"Off the hook" refers to a caught fish being taken off the hook. It also became, over time, a phrase referring to communication, from the days of phones with cords. Leaving a phone "off the hook" meant that calls couldn't come through and communication couldn't be had. By 1941, the phrase would have roots in both origins and if we're talking about fish and telephones, we're talking about earlier in the evening in 1941 but we're also talking what it referenced to them symbolically about the past of their relationship. It is also absolutely why Aziraphale jumps on The Bullet Catch as his grand gesture once they get to the magic shop-- he sees a way to continue the metaphor that they're both more than aware of.

It also makes it a thousand times funnier then that poor Aziraphale essentially makes the same assumption about demonic life twice over a bazillion years apart. He thought The Bullet Catch would be a no-brainer, fun thing for them to do because he assumed that Crowley had fired a gun before, only to discover that this was now actually Rome all over again because while Aziraphale has a firearms license and a Derringer hidden in a hollowed-out book in the bookshop, this metaphor was suddenly way too on point because Crowley hasn't fired a gun with someone else around before-- in this case, at all, actually. His dry as all fuck "not as such" response to Aziraphale is well, we both know I've fired the metaphorical gun this rifle is standing in for here but yeah, no, I have no idea how to shoot this thing and I was going to miracle you safe and now those aren't working either so I have to do this for real and I'll just be over here trying not to have a panic attack...

Talking. Making sure the telephone is not off the hook is obviously always a good thing with everyone one trusts around them in life. In a relationship context, feeling safe enough to talk openly with your partner about things which make you feel vulnerable is the mark of a trust and what allows for deep intimacy. Talking in bed-- not just checking in with a partner but talking beyond that-- is a therapeutic intervention for anorgasmia, as it helps someone suffering from it to stay present in the moment. Tends to work in general but even more so if the person involved likes chat in bed as a whole, which a couple of scenes suggest Crowley does (the evolution of it into also some extra spicy chat in the "Seeds of Destruction" scene in S1 and his self-deprecating "you just say 'blah blah blah'" moment in S2.)

"We need to talk." What Crowley says in 1.01 when he calls Aziraphale from a corded public pay phone. This is the first time that Crowley and Aziraphale talk in the present, even if they're in separate locations, and the first time we've seen them interact since the opening scene of the show of them on the wall in Eden. We've spent the first part of the 2008 minisode re-introduced to them separately, not yet fully aware of how they were supposed to be together during it. Crowley doesn't wait until he's back in Mayfair after dropping off the antichrist baby-- he calls Aziraphale from the nearest payphone. He says "we need to talk", a phrase that is, for many, a relationship cliche that comes with a sense of the foreboding but we will learn from this scene also means other things to them.

For one thing, it's a code phrase that automatically triggers them to meet the next day at noon at St. James' Park. If one of them calls and says they "need to talk", they know that it means to meet the next day and when and where. This one they know a lot better than their four million alternative rendezvous spots, as we saw in that other scene in S1 when they set up meeting in the bandstand over the phone. Because it triggers St. James' Park, it means that the initial talk will be all coded in their hidden language, as that scene in 1.01 was, but that is also a form of communication for them and a kind that they actually enjoy.

For another thing, it means that they need to talk in general-- that something is happening and they need to talk about it, as was the case with Armageddon. At the time that they have this phone conversation, they don't yet know that one another already knows about Armageddon starting. We know from all the contextual clues we've already looked at here that they were supposed to be having dinner together earlier and that they also can't say that over the phone so when Aziraphale says: "Yes, I rather think we do. I assume this is about....?" there's a dryness to Aziraphale's tone because a form of talking was already on the menu. Sushi night is Rome and Rome had talking so, yeah, Aziraphale rather does think they need to talk-- to fuck-- and also Armageddon just started so they'll need to actually talk-talk about that as well at some point.

Crowley's response to what it's about, though, is destructive sexual metaphor. What do they need to talk about, on all levels, summed up by Crowley in a word?

"Armageddon." Armageddon: the actual end of the world and Armageddon: their big damn anniversary sex. The Big One. It's an apology of sorts for Hell detaining him and a request that they meet tomorrow.

The scene ends with Crowley placing the phone back on the hook-- indicative of understood, secure communication, the likes of which will be on display in the following scenes of the 2008 minisode.

Talking (in Ineffable Husbands Speak). Both verbal communication and physical communication. Talking means speaking. Talking also means making love.

"Trust me." What Aziraphale mouths at Crowley in 1941 to get him to be in the moment enough to be able to fire the gun. Absolutely one of the things Aziraphale said to Crowley to help him relax in Rome.

"I knew you'd come through for me. You always do."

Aziraphale pouring Crowley another glass of wine (and alcohol = sex) and the wordplay kink out here in full force as there are three levels of meaning happening at once. Surface level is about their success with The Bullet Catch earlier in the evening. Aziraphale knew Crowley would come through for him-- "come through" in the sense of he can always rely upon Crowley to be there for him when he needs him to be.

To "come through" something, though, is also to get through to the other side of something-- to have been able to pull through a difficult time or a struggle-- and refers to Crowley always coming out of dark periods and not giving up. But there's really also the third meaning, which is just the direct innuendo:

Some serious 'tone of voice' at play in this bit here performing a little magic trick and making that 'through' disappear right out of first sentence lol, turning it into: I knew you'd come for me. You always do.

Aziraphale's never going to stop being thrilled at their Roman triumph here and is still happy to remind Crowley in 1941 that they both know Aziraphale just does it for him.

"Well, you said 'trust me', so..."

Just prior to this, Aziraphale had been telling Crowley the magic words he silently said to keep the photo of them from Furfur (more fish-- "bananafish").

"Well, you said 'trust me'..." is Crowley saying "well, you said my magic words, so..." Aziraphale invoked Rome and talked to him so he got there.

"And you did." And Crowley did trust him, so it worked.

Aziraphale, though, is not just thinking about earlier that night in that moment in 1941 when he's staring off, reminiscing, before looking at Crowley like that...

...he's thinking about Rome.

"To drain the whole sea/Get something shiny..." Lyrics from Hozier's "Take Me to Church", pretty uniformly agreed as the most Crowley song that has ever Crowley songed, and which is on his official playlist in S2.

Pearls. The shiny things found in the sea. The jewels harvested from within the opened protective shell left behind by emerged oysters.

The original post referred to a bit in this one:

[softstarlite]

Se nos rompió el amor

CHAPTER 1

Summary: You thought your love was strong and could conquer everything, I guess you were wrong...

Warnings: Physical violence, talk of doctors, talk of pregnancy, toxicity from romantic partner, implied age gap. (Not proof read)

Rating: +18

Word Count: 1.6K

Sneak peek / Chapter 2 / Masterlist

Divider by @saradika

A/N: yes sorry guys, I've done it, I've started another series when I feel stuck on my first one, The Casualty of Love. I promise that'll I try to update that one as soon as I can.

You fidget with your hands on your lap like you always do when you're nervous, before you can continue to let your anxiety eat you, you hear your last name called. You look up from your lap to the nurse looking around the waiting room and then you stand up.

“Soy yo (it's me)” you inform her and when she signals for you to follow her, you do.

Minutes later after a full check up, when you hear the confirmation of what you feared from the doctor's mouth, you feel your entire body going cold, you and him hadn't even talked before about this possibility, which now that you think about it was incredibly irresponsible.

Your walk home is something that you don't even remember by the time you´re already there. How were you supposed to tell Javi? You guys have been having your worst moment in your relationship lately, always irritated answers to questions, the rolling eyes or the groaning after a complaint and let's not get started on the countless arguments.

You knew that his job was frustrating, stressful and many more things that can mess up with somebody but you are not at fault for any of those things and yet you were paying for them. You fear this would only make the entire situation worse and you would lose the only family you have left.

It's not after 2 am that Javier arrives to your shared apartment, in the almost two years you and him have been together he had always tried not to arrive home this late, so on the nights that he had succeeded you would wait awake for him and on the nights he would have no other option but to arrive this late you would have fell asleep waiting for him on the couch, but today it was a surprise because there you were at this ungodly hour on the couch but not asleep, instead with a lime blossom infusion in hand.

“Where were you today? I came home for a few hours to have lunch together but you weren't here” that's the first thing he says to you while putting on the coffee table his keys, his satellite phone, his gun, his badge and his sunglasses, not even a hello, or a, what are you doing awake?

“I was running a few errands” you lie, not sure if you could share with him what the doctor had confirmed just yet.

You hear him scoff and when you look at him, he is pouring some whiskey on a glass. “What?” you ask him with confusion painting your face.

“Oh nothing” he answers with a shrug and a lace of sarcasm in his tone “just curious about what those errands are querida (dear)”

You put the cold cup on the coffee table beside his sunglasses and then put your legs on the couch under you, your arms hugging themselves “well umm…” but before you can come up with a fake errand that you´ve been doing earlier on the day, he cuts you off.

“umm… umm…” he mocks your doubt “can think of a lie that fast querida?” he spats at you with slight anger.

You don't know if you´re more confused about how he could have found out or about why he would be so angry at you for it. Sure like you said earlier, it was unplanned and you two had never talked about it before, but you would have expected another reaction from the man you knew and loved. You stand up from the couch quickly with your hands reaching for him.

“Javi, I'm sorry for not telling you before but…” again before you can finish, he cuts you off and takes a step back so you can't reach him.

“¡Claro! (Of course!) Because telling me earlier would make your cheating better, that's exactly why I'm mad!” he say stepping away from your reaching hands and turning around, running a hand through his hair he curses under his breath “Por el amor de Dios… (for fuck´s sake)”

You're taken back by his accusation “Wh-what?” what was he even talking about? Cheating?

“Don't you even dare to try to play the innocent card; the whole sudden glowing thing that even Steve keeps complimenting you about, the weird whispering phone calls on the evenings, the sudden errands that you can't even explain today” he runs a hand over his face with a frustrated groan “is your little “friend” from work isn´t it? Carlos is his name i think”

Still in some kind of shock from this out of the blue accusation, you stare at his angry face for a few seconds before answering “Carlos? Javi even if i was cheating, which i'm not, it would definitely not be with him, he's…” you sigh “he's not into women…”

“Well if not him then with who, i deserve to at least know that” he demands.

“No one, Javi, I'm not cheating on you, I know those things you said can be seen like I am but I promise I'm not” you try to reach for him again but he grabs your wrist before you can.

“Oh so since the innocent card didn't work, now you´re trying to play the “you´re imagining things” one?” he scoffs and his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Javi you're drunk” you have been able to smell the alcohol in him since he came through the door “and lately you´ve been too stressed because of work, let's relax, lets go to sleep and talk about this on the morning, please” you look into his eyes “por favor Javi…(please Javi…)”

He shakes his head “No, you´re not putting this on me, ni te atrevas (don't even dare), i'm not letting you have all night to come up with all the lies you can so you can trick me in the morning” he pulls you towards him by the wrist he has on his hold, then he grips your jaw with his free hand making you look at him “just fucking confess already” you put a hand on his chest to try to push him back.

“Javier you're hurting me…” you try to reason with him to let go of you.

“Cariño, i can assure you, you've hurt me more with your lies” you can see his eyes turn a dark color.

“I-I'll tell you” you try to let your words out with his hand constricting your jaw and cheeks “I'll tell you where i´ve been today” he almost seems surprised by it.

He finally lets go of your face to let you say what he thinks will be a confession of adultery “I was at the gynecologist”

He scoff and shakes his head “i said no more fucking lies!!” he raises his voice a little.

“You can call the office as soon as they open if you don't believe me” you say with a shaky voice, feeling fear for the first time in the presence of Javier “she'll tell you all about the pregnancy” you finally say with a hint of venom in your words.

Immediately, you can feel his hand and grip leave you; he takes a step back, leaving your personal space, you can see a million thoughts passing through his eyes, like he is connecting all of the dots.

“P…pregnancy?” he talks out loud but you see that it's not towards you but to the thick air, then his eyes connect with you again, an expression of confusion, fear, regret and sadness mixing in his face “you're pregnant?” his voice comes out as a breathy whisper.

You can only nod while you finally let your tears fall from your eyes. Javi can feel his heart ripping apart, sobering up in a second, the truth sinking in him.

Now that his grip on you is not longer, you rub at the wrist he had gripped so hard that now it was red. You see him still standing there in shock, you take that opportunity to make a beeline to your purse, taking it to the bedroom where you put in it a few clothing items and some underwear, then you quickly put on some shoes.

When you walk out into the living room, he's still there, looking at the wall behind the couch, you walk in front of him towards the front door; your passing in front of his eyes makes him snap out of his trance, his eyes following you now.

“Baby…” his voice now soft, apologetic “I…I…I´m so sorry” he apologizes looking at his hands like they don't belong to his body “I don't…I shouldn't have…” he tries to step towards you and reach for you but you instinctively step back, a hand finding home on your lower stomach and your eyes closing hard.

He feels like a monster, like the worst human being to walk this earth, for a moment he even thinks more highly of Escobar than himself. He feels shame and guilt eat him from the inside.

“Please baby lets just talk, I'm really sorry, please…” you can see for the first time, since you guys met, tears in his eyes.

“Please don't…I can't” you shake your head again and again while tears fall from your eyes and snot leaves your nose,

He watches you turn and leave the apartment, he falls to his knees, looking at his hands again while he lets the tears finally fall from his eyes, his heart breakin in a million pieces, and anger for himself building on his chest.

Next chapter

[ovaryacted]

PAIRING: Jackson! Joel Miller x f! reader || WC: 1.0k CW: NSFW/18+ content below. Oral sex (f! receiving). Premature ejaculation. Kinda touch deprived & sub! Joel Miller.

I haven’t been able to work on my WIPs because I’ve been stressed about life and stuff. So take this little drabble of some thoughts about that old man Joel Miller adjusting to living in Jackson that I wanted to share earlier. This can also be interpreted as a little character analysis but yeah. [Note: not proofread, I wrote this off the top of my dome.]

So I know a lot of people like making Joel Miller as this #realfucker and #realeater that knows how to fuck and I love that shit! LUV IT! CAUSE PEEPAW LIKES TO FUCK! But I also like to imagine the alternative: Joel Miller in Jackson not knowing what to do when it comes to doing the nasty, so he has to re-learn everything.

Now, do not get me wrong, I don’t not think Joel Miller is a smart and cunning man, and usually I characterize him as such cause I just think that’s part of his natural personality. But when you think about it, a man as closed off as him who’s been through so much and lost so much after the apocalypse probably doesn’t know what to do with himself when he reaches a point in his extended life where he can actually take a breath.

I like to think that while he was in the Boston QZ!, there is no doubt that he didn’t do much outside of smuggling and kill people. He didn’t have the time to mess around, didn’t know how to appreciate fucking or even miss it, and I also imagine that while he did have Sarah pre-outbreak, he was too busy working to date anyway so having sex was out of the question.

But when he meets Tess and builds that partnership, they probably got frisky a couple of times, because what else are you going to do when the world has gone to shit? However, when they both did this, it’s a mutual agreement that it’s more of a physical release than anything else. That was his only partner for so long that the moment he reaches Jackson with Ellie and actually tries to live again, he doesn’t know how to.

He’s relatively closed off, sticks to his own for the most part and relearns how to be a functioning member of society. He does his part during the patrols, hunts with Tommy when needed, does his little carpentry projects, plays his guitar, takes in the simple pleasures of what he thinks can be a good life if he sticks to it.

But relationships and sex? That’s so far gone from his mind that he doesn’t think much about people approaching him, trying to pursue him even for companionship. Here is this old man with hands capable of killing anyone who comes within a foot distance of him, not knowing what to do or how to respond when someone flirts with him.

Joel Miller isn’t an idiot, far from it, but he’s sort of aloof and hardheaded. He can read people and situations proficiently, and yet when he manages to allow someone to get close enough to touch him, he doesn’t know what to fucking do with himself.

Doesn’t remember how to kiss, where to put his hands, what to even do with his dick. He’s touch deprived and a mess, though he knows what he can do because it comes back like it’s muscle memory, he doesn’t comprehend that now he doesn’t have to rush through it. He can enjoy the experience, he can want and need things freely without having to constantly look over his shoulder every couple of seconds.

You’d have to gently coax him into things to stop him from overthinking and just let him act based off of what he feels. Hold his cheek and jaw as you kiss him slowly, telling him it’s okay to touch you, to let his hands roam and grip wherever he wants. Holding his head against your neck as he kisses and nips at your skin, grinding his hips into you and feeling the burning arousal settling in his lower belly.

When Joel finally manages to strip you of your clothes and get in between your legs, he can’t help himself and silently admires your pussy, not even daring to touch you yet until his mind has taken a perfect screenshot of your body, head resting against your thigh.

Gently, you wrap your fingers around his thick wrist, guiding his digits to your wet heat and letting him probe and touch you just the way you like. He gets more bold, more curious, absentmindedly kisses your sensitive clit and begins to learn what makes you tick.

Moderate rocks of your hips against the crooked bridge of his nose, encouraging tugs on his graying curls, and your nails digging into the nape of his neck are all the signs he's looking for to know that he’s doing something right, that he’s still got it in him to bring somebody pleasure. But what sends Joel into overdrive is what you say as you praise him.

“Right there baby, doing so good for me.”

“Add another finger in, I can take it.”

“Yeah, just curl your fingers, just like that.”

“Fuck…you feel so damn good Joel.”

Joel. Joel. Joel.

Hearing his name on your lips when you hit your climax is what propels him into his own, body shaking as he groans loudly against your cunt. The material of his denim jeans are stained with an obvious wet spot now, hazel eyes glancing at you in a slight daze as you bring his head up away from your body. He’s a little embarrassed when he looks at you, blushed cheeks and plump lips glistening with your slick as he offers you a bashful smile.

You drag him back down to kiss him passionately, chasing the taste of your release on his tongue and caressing it with your own. He pants against you, rough hands gripping on to your bare hips for grounding. When you pull away from him, you’re damn near sure that you heard Joel whimper from the sudden distance.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

Life in Jackson isn't so bad after all.

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[balkanradfem]

Do you ever think about how sad and messed up it is to grow up in this world as a little girl who likes to read. Because you are a child, and you don't get that there's a difference in who writes the books, you read everything you like, you read the adventures and the fantasy and the mysteries and the traumatic stuff and if you're also very isolated and lonely, these books build your worldview. Because why wouldn't they? They're written by humans, so they have the attitudes, opinions, perceptions, morals and spirits of human beings in them, they're telling you what humans think and feel about things, how they go about situations, what they imagine, what they desire. What your role in all this is, or what it could potentially be.

But, since you are not capable of differentiating the material, and you just read what is available to you, you end up reading a lot of books written by m*n. You also have to go thru the required reading at school - 90% written by m*n. And so slowly, since young age, without even socializing or learning it thru interaction, you find yourself in a world shaped by minds who do not have empathy for women, especially not for little girls. You find yourself relating to the male protagonists, but you also find out that girls only play a passive role in their stories. You find that m*n problems are centered, made important, their suffering and violence critical points in the story, while women are cast aside as helpers, servants, givers, caretakers, and generally just exist in the background, not a thought given to what they are going thru.

You learn thru books written by m*n, that your experience is secondary. Even if you cast yourself as the adventuring, immensely important and struggling protagonist, even then the other women in your mind end up being just background characters, caregivers who do not need a thought spared for their suffering.

Books written by m*n, even for children, will trivialize female suffering to the point where they shape the child's mind into one that looks at the world from a male perspective. Where women either don't matter, or are capable only of giving and aiding, to be cast aside for more important matters, such as male aspirations for their own lives.

Thinking back, I understand why I felt myself unimportant and trivial in any social setting - I understood my role from the written word, and I knew adults found me trivial, secondary, only a background figure to someone else's adventure or mission. As much as I could fight it in my fantasies, and make myself the main character, it felt like a pipe dream, like something that was incredible self-indulged and selfish and would never translate to reality.

I wish it had been different. I wish I had been introduced specifically and only to books written by women, for women. I wish I had found empathy for myself in those books. I wish I had found myself standing on high ground, equal ground, with other women, our desires centered, our lives translated into tales of epic importance - because that's what they are. I wish I had been born into a world where female perspective is available from the start, not after years of growing up and finding feminist literature and having to re-write my own role in my brain, from all of those years of reading male perspective as the default.

I don't think any little girl should be exposed to literature that shape her world as a place where she doesn't matter. I don't think books written by males and shaped by their worldview should be allowed into children's literature, or teenage or for young adults. Girls should not be learning from fiction that their most important value is empathy and understanding for male problems, and their second, to be desired and/or helpful to them, all while being treated as nothing but service and background noise until you're desired for something. We need to open books and find out that we matter too. That our lives can be the center of our existence, rather than being in the service of someone else's life.

[rqbossman]

Hello Mr Bossman! (and possibly anyone else who reads this)

Its an honour to be here, I have a few questions. First i appologise for the long paragraph, you may dismiss it for the questions at the bottom. For context, i am here after finishing TMA and being up to date with TMAP, i then went over and listened to RQG, and have just finished listening to Epilogue 3 and might i just say, good sir I am grateful for your podcasts. I am currently just a few months away from my final exams of High School, and as someone who even just 1 year ago was very lost, struggling with school and being just overwhelmed. TMA isnt exactly comforting, but the characters and plot managed to serve as a good form of escapism while sorting myself out. I found my self engaging more in creative things that i had originally put aside in favour of maths and science (which i hated but thought i needed to do). I started drawing again, even if just fanart. and i found things going well. By finding podcasts, story telling and these communities have helped me in my own understanding of what i want in life. I got an ADHD diagnosis earlier this year, and almost directly after started RQG and as my first hyperfixation (that i was aware of as an hyperfixation) gosh dang it hit hard. (in a good way). Ive been able to do so much more creative writing and drawings, and got re-involved with a small dnd group with some friends who i played one game with almost 4 years ago now. So overall, inspirational sounds cringe, but it was. Im doing my best with the upcoming exams, but trying to get in to Medicine is not my only prority, and the fact ive been re-introduced to my first love (Literature and story telling), im planning to go do an Arts degree and i know i wouldnt have been able to confidently make this decision, or even have survived this long in the school system without the work you and your coworkers do. Now the sap is out of the way, Question time! (if you could answer even just one of these questions it would be so cool)(they go in order of RQ relevant to random stuff)(dont feel pressured to answer all/any. i know i wrote alot): 1. what would you say is the best way to draft out a long-form story. (with "Erasing the Line" as an example) Did you start at the end, with the links to the overarching plot.

2. When working with the players (in a form of TTRPG), what did you do to make sure you didnt miss relevant timing of plot points/ avoid creating spoilers while still giving enough detail?

3. What are good places to start with making a job out of storytelling/voice acting/audio etc. In the case of RQ, how is this a job and where do i sign up please! /j (what i mean is, how is best way/how did you find all the people involved and was there a common path that you were all on before getting to where you are now?) 4. Do you have recommendations for Terry Pratchett Books, i may be an literary-leaning student, but it seems i have never actually properly read any of his books. so where is best place to start?/What did you read first?

5. Similar authors or similar inspirations? Did you have a favourite podcast you listen to in your free time that you havnt had a hand in producing/directing/working on. 6. Favourite song/album/artist. And more specifically, what you like listening to in background when doing either writing or (for ttrpg) character research/game planing. 7. Since the olympics are on at the moment, what has been your favourite sport to watch, if you have been watching at all. Thank you for your time :)

Thankyou for all the kind words. Knowing our work is helping people really keeps our engines fired up. Let's see if I can't answer your questions: 1. I "sandbox" which is where I just shove everything I can think of into an unorganised bullet point list. Characters, setting, plot, all of it in one big mess. Then I decide what type of story you want to tell, copy and paste to a new document and then start to organise the thoughts (with the sandbox on standby if new stuff comes in I don't know what to do with). I think of it like scultping, you cut away bits and reshape until something comes out the other end that is story shaped. Only then do I attempt to build the sandcastle and put something coherant together like a synopsis or scratch draft etc.

2. Very tricky. I did a complete review and update of all notes after each recording session and don't forget the audio eas edited. I made lots of gaffs that you never heard as audience.

3. I contacted anyone I could convince to take part and just proved I was serious by overworking. I don't reccomend that route. Unfortunately it really is "who" you know. That doesn't mean chase established professionals as much as it means you need to get out there and associate with other up-and-comers who match your vibe. For me the route was long and windy and not a particularly good example. 4. I normally recommend people do not read his books in publication order. Don't get me wrong, its wonderful watching his craft grow from one title to the next but I would recommend new readers tip their toe into his later works to see if they like where he ended up before committing the time. I often recommend 'Monstrous Regiment' as people's first one. My favourite though is 'Thief of Time.'

5. I don't get much time to listen to podcasts in the last couple of years. I used to listen to a lot of non fiction. 'Stuff you Should Know' and that ilk. I also read a fair amount of classic YA fiction to unwind (Windinsger trilogy, Bartimeous, stuff like that.) 6. Paul Simon's Graceland but when working I assemble a playlist for each seperate project that is tonally appropriate. If I really need to focus I listen to Classical Minimalism. Or the Old School Runescape soundtrack. I'm allowed to be ecclectic. 7. I am actually in an incredibly busy work crunch at the moment so haven't seen any of it!

[cosmicschmidt]

Dating Mike Schmidt HC’S

Mike Schmidt x fem!Reader

Word count: 2,7k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, punching, smut (NSFW/MDNI), tell me if I missed anything <3

Reblogs and requests are always welcomed <3 (just like pointing out grammatical mistakes :))

Mike is the type of guy to show everyone the cold shoulder before letting them in

Even when it came to you, right at the beginning of getting to know each other he ignored most of your attempts where you tried talking to him.

But you were stubborn, and kept on trying, ignoring his hard shell that had yet to be cracked by you, and when it did, ugh that guy was all over you.

That´s how most of works, you´re strangers, then friends and love follows shortly after.

Although with Mike the road had been a little bumpy. He's the type of guy to never ask for help, like ever.

There was that one time when he desperately needed someone to look after Abby for a few hours while he was searching for a new job, it almost ended with him taking her with him. But luckily you just came to visit them and were able to take care of him.

Although Mike wanted to pay you, you assured him that he didn´t have to, and that spending time with Abby was enough, she loves you, like LOVES you.

That ended with him forcing money into your hand and you pushing it right back into the palm it just came from.

He´d sigh at your stubbornness, and eventually accept your gesture.

Mike mostly shuts himself up whenever he´s asked if everything is okay, like how he slept or how work went.

You know about his trouble sleeping and his problems with running from one job to the next, only to be fired a week right after.

And over the time you spent together, you´re always able to read him, his gestures and the look he sometimes gets when he´s sad.

And the only thing that ever calms him down is your touch.

The simple feeling of your skin against his is able to slow his breathing and his quickening heartbeat.

And his sort of. let's say small anger issues come hand in hand with jealousy and this urge to protect you.

So you can imagine what happens when the both of you walk down a street hand in hand, and some guy decides to call on you, telling you that you could do much better than Mike, and commenting on your body.

That doesn´t end well for him though.

Within a blink of an eye, he's on the guy punching him square across his face, grabbing the collar of his shirt that then is painted in small droplets of blood that spilled from his nose.

A small crowd of people would gather around him, some urging him on to punch harder, some screaming at him to stop with his punches.

And when he doesn´t seem to let up on it, you can´t help but step in, not with words though you know they won´t get to him, you just quickly put your hand on his shoulder before he seriously hurt the guy beneath him.

With the softness of your touch on his shoulder, he stops in his tracks, his eyes meeting yours within a second and quickly lets go of the barely conscious guy.

There were other times when his jealousy showed, they don´t always end in bloody messes, just some of them do.

There was this one time where he waited outside of the store you worked at, your shift only lasting for another five minutes before the both of you could go home.

He always did this, even before you got together, he always picked you up so you didn´t have to go home all by yourself.

So when he was standing outside and got bored, he decided to look around in the shop, looking at all types of clothes, rating them in his hand and imagining you in some of them.

And when your sweet honey voice reached his ears he quickly spun around, his eyes searching for yours, although you didn´t call out to him, you talked to someone else.

A guy, a little taller than him is standing in front of you, smiling at you and sometimes trying to touch your arm, but you seem uninterested, yet your polite smile is still plastered all over your face.

Mike can´t help but notice the way he looks at you, and from the distance he can still hear the faint words that fall from his mouth.

"You´re like really pretty, you know that?" the guy says while leaning against the counter.

"My boyfriend thinks so too," you reply with a fake smile on your face, as you keep putting the stuff he bought into a bag.

"You´re boyfriend? I don´t see him anywhere, why don´t you come with me and I show you a good time, hmm?" the guy dares to touch your arm again, but that only causes you to pull it away.

Mike can´t help but clench his jaw at the situation that plays out before him, his hand tightening around something he picked up, it cracks in his hand but he couldn´t care less.

He throws the broken pieces onto the floor before him and takes rather quick strides toward him in order to close the distance that separates him from you.

"Hey asshole, back off," he says, choosing a slightly louder tone.

"Who are you? Don´t you see I´m occupied?" he turns his head back to you, and now touches your hair, smirking in the process.

That alone crosses the line even further, without thinking Mike´s fist collides with the guy's head.

I lied, actually all of his jealous moments them end with a bloody face. (not his tho)

Moving on, Mike is as already mentioned cold with everyone around him, but with you it´s different.

He has this soft spot for you, which makes it possible for you to get through with almost everything.

Whenever you ask for something from him all you need to do is smile at him and his knees go weak.

This leads him to not being able to say no to you when you begged him to take you with him to his new job, yes, the new job.

In all honesty, Mike had no idea what awaited him at his new security guard job, he thought spending some time with you could make it easier so why not, when Max was available to keep an eye on Abby, the was nothing stopping the both of you.

Although the old restaurant got the creeps and definitely caused a shudder of fear running down your spine, with Mike you always felt safe.

After taking a look around the worn-out and old building, the both of you settled in a room full of computers that showed the most important rooms he had to keep an eye on.

You knew about his past, about the guilt that haunts him in his dreams ever since, and how to ease his mind.

So when you both sat in front of the small T.V. you somewhat grew tired with time passing, until your eyes fluttered shut and you gently rested your head against Mike´s shoulder.

With you near him he doesn´t need his walkman and the sounds of nature to fall asleep, with you he feels safe and knows he still has the chance to go back to his dream in order to solve the still open case of his little brother's disappearance.

Yet, if he ever does stir awake from his dreams, some end with him waking up with tears streaming down his face and a thin layer of sweat covering his skin, you always wake up at the same time, ready to comfort him.

He´d tell you about it over and over again, with tears not stopping and small cries leaving his lips, but you listened every single time.

If he´s by himself he never falls back asleep, no matter how hard he tries to.

But with you by his side, everything seems so much easier.

You´d let your hands glide through his brown locks of hair, and scratch his head softly to lull him back to sleep, he´d rest his head against your chest and hug your waist, in order to be as close as possible to you.

Those moments might just be the most bonding moments of your relationship, the fact that you were always able to lean onto each other at your lowest points.

That´s one side of your relationship, the sweet and reassuring one, and then there's the other one, the one with the constant thirst for the other one.

Seriously, he can´t get enough of you, the way you scent sticks to his sheets or how he always feels agitated when you´re not by his side for two hours.

And when you do get back his hands would be all over you.

Like that one time, you worked an extra shift, covering for your friend that called in sick.

He sat on his couch, his knee bopping up in nervousness, he knew you´d take longer, considering you have to stay another 45 minutes.

But he just couldn´t wait for you to be in his arms again, this job he´s currently attending wearing him out more and more with such little payment.

His eyes stared at the T.V., some show he´d been watching for the past 20 minutes playing, but he stared right through the screen, in his own little world thinking about all the things he could do to you.

So when your keys jingle right outside on the front porch signaling him you´re finally home, he can´t help himself but jump up from the couch, move over to the door and pull it open.

There you stand, your eyes on your hands as you´re occupied with finding the right key for the door, but his sudden action of ripping the door open causes you to look up.

"Oh, hey Mike-" you start to speak, the view of your boyfriend washing away all the stress within seconds.

But Mike doesn´t let you finish the phrase, before he pulls you through the door and slams it shut, shamelessly pushing you up against it, the dim light of the room shining against the side of your face.

His lips easily find their place on yours, a feverish kiss breaking out, your lips fitting against each other like puzzle pieces, his eager and desperate need to taste you again, -he just did this morning- growing with each passing second.

The kiss caught you off guard, a small sigh which could be counted as a soft moan causes your lips to part slightly, Mike can´t help but use that as an opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth, and his skilled muscle meets yours.

Eventually, you have to part, your burning lungs screaming at you to fill them with oxygen again.

Soft puffs of air leave yours and his mouth, your chest raising quickly with how breathless you become.

You open your mouth slightly, the words at the tip of your tongue before you´re yet again cut off by him, his head disappearing in the crook of your neck, his lips meeting the most sensitive spot right under your ear. His sudden action makes you moan, his lips delicately sucking on your skin until it hurts a little, only for him to ease the pain by gliding his tongue against the spot.

Throughout your small moans and whimpers, you quickly shove him off of you, your eyes widened in realization.

"What about Abby?" you breathe out with a gasp, your upper body leaning away from him and take a step to the side and walk all the way to her room, when you´re about to peak through the door, Mike somehow made it right behind you, his body warmth all the way over your back.

His only response is his lips, he presses them against the right side of your neck his eager pace yet again returning, you feel his hands sneak down to your waist and lower to your hips before he whispers against your neck;

"She´s at a friend's, some sleepover.", his words make you breathe out in relief, the fear of her catching the both of you quickly washed away, your mind now finally consumed by him.

His appetite grew the more you leaned into his touch, his hands quickly unbuttoning your pants and pulling down by the hem of them.

"I- I need to-" he starts, but you´re quick to respond;

"Again?" you giggle, searching for amusement in his brown orbs, but he´s more serious than ever,

"I can´t Y/N, I need to taste you." his words make your arousal grow.

He waits for your consent, and you quickly nod your head at him to continue, he does as he´s told without wasting another second, your pants now roughly pulled to the ground as you kick them off.

You´re facing him again, he´s on his knees before you with his hands firm around your hips, your hands tangled into his soft brown hair, combing it gently.

He won´t wait another second, he wanted you again ever since you left his house for work, so he´s eager to kiss his way all the way from under your breast to the side of your hips, his thumbs now under the thin fabric of your panties, gliding his hands down and taking them with him. His eyes never leave yours, he´s quick at pulling them all the way off, his mouth immediately making contact with your heat.

The sudden contact of his warm mouth against you pulls a moan from you, your head falling back against the wall in pleasure, he groans at the taste of you, his tongue sliding through your folds and dropping once or twice down to your hole making you squirm against him, your hands pulling at his hair.

He is quick to react and pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, spreading you further and pushing his tongue into you, now deeper than ever at the newfound angle.

A high-pitched moan falls right to his ears, his left hand tightening around your hip and the fingernails of his right hand softly dig into the fat of your thigh, making sure to leave a mark he could lick over in the morning.

His tongue left your pulsating hole, making you clench around nothing.

"You taste so fucking good." he hummed out, before licking a strip through your folds again and dragging his muscle all the way to your clit, roughly sucking on the nub, making you arch your back of the wall, your hands tightening in his hair.

Your moans echo through the hallway, as you mindlessly grind yourself against his face, causing him to suck again, with his tongue now flat against your heat.

Mike was completely drunk by the taste of you, as he whimpered and moaned against you, the vibrations of his sounds running all the way through your body, your orgasm quickly building with each drag of his tongue.

His mouth and chin are coated by your slick, but he doesn´t seem to mind, he just buries his face in you again and sucks softy, groaning at your taste on his tastebuds.

As his licks grow longer and deeper, your moans grow louder, the hand that was previously on your hip slides up to the small of your back and he holds you there, steadying your body with his tight grip.

"Common baby, make me happy and cum for me."

Your groan at his words, your hands pulling at the back of his neck to pull him deeper, he moans at the sensation.

You start to see white, your eyes rolling back your peak almost overtaking you whole, and with a final suck you do, he pushes you over the edge.

"That´s right, you´re mine.."

He moans against you at the view of you falling apart in his hands, the vibrations he sends through you heighten the orgasm.

He keeps licking, taking hold of all your juices, until you have to push his head away gently, the overstimulation setting in already.

The both of you breathe loudly, you more than him, desperately trying to grasp a hold of the air, as your chest starts to move slower, your heartbeat slowing down.

"Abby needs to attend sleepovers more often," Mike admits before he kisses the inside of your thigh, his words make you laugh.

[the-s1lly-corner]

I’ve read through some of your old posts and I gotta say…I love me some angst. May I kindly, pretty please with a plastic cherry on top, ask for TADC gang with an S/O who abstracted a while back, but then they ‘respawn’ one day with a glitch affect about them, and their memory was totally wiped? Like it was their first day in the digital world? The glitch affect doesn’t hurt them or anyone like what happened to Ragetha and Pomni btw.

TADC cast x mended!reader

so funny story i was about to sit down and work on this about 4 hours ago but then my parents said they were going to watch the fnaf movie in the garage and i literally dropped everything and watched it so uh uh. the reason the grind stopped was because of fnaf movie and now im kinda tempted to pick up my fnaf fic again anyways! i did a similar post, here! jax and caines parts here will be short, really only focusing on the glitch aspect for them in this post, since the other half has already been written!

CAINE:

just got flashed with an image but you know that scene where the iron giant is trying to pick the boy up but hes like limp or something and the giant pulls back (ive never watched iron giant i just know this clip from a meme) i think it would be like that if he tried to poof your glitching away; but like. in an emotional way, if that makes sense. like its the same kind of carefulness and worry, i think... bonus if he does more damage than not

JAX:

honestly a little too scared to even touch you out of the deep seeded fear of getting all glitchy as well. like he knows it wont spread to him, but you know...

POMNI:

similar to jax i think she would instinctively avoid touching you even though she knows its fine... the whole hand thing making her overly cautious for future scenarios, you know? i think she would slip up and accidentally bring up something you and her did before you abstracted, or call you an endearing name before abruptly stopping herself and trailing off, sad stuff. grief makes her tear between wanting to find an exit faster and trying to make you remember/stay for you

RAGATHA:

poor girl :( i think she would genuinely try to make an effort to re/befriend you and try not to have her hopes too high for the two of you to get back together. if you hear about your past relationship and want to learn more about it, shell tell you what you want to know, but i doubt she would instantly start dating you again if you suggest the two of you trying to give the relationship a second shot... i think that would need some time

KINGER:

bro is gonna be going through it, first he loses his possible wife to abstraction and now he lost you.. got you back, but you dont remember anything. on top of that you look.. off.. sure it doesnt hurt you but it still looks like it would be uncomfortable, even if it isnt

stuck between longing to rekindle your old relationship and letting you go in order to allow himself to process this grief; the third option is potential abstraction for himself

ZOOBLE:

tries not to care. they want to forget everything like you did, they were finally starting to be normal after your abstraction. but now your back in a clean slate, mind wiped and memories gone. how does someone cope with that? as much as it hurts them they think it would be best for them to pretend you were a stranger again

GANGLE:

saying it again, poor girl. mix of pomni and ragatha here i think, like she keeps messing up and verbally reminiscing before realizing you cant relate to what shes saying anymore. will tell you anything you want to know about the past, but i think it would take a lot longer for her to consider getting with you again than ragatha. for both its kind of a "i dont want them to feel obligated to try because we were together once" type deal

[yannaryartside]

THE LIE THAT CLAIRE BELIVES

THE CARETAKER WOUND

So, I keep coming back and forth with my opinions on Claire. Yeah, she did many things that will be a no-go for me as a person, sometimes cringe or childless, and could be taken as manipulative as well. I have been rethinking about it after reading this amazing post:

But there was something constantly ominous about how she was presented, not only as a manic pixie dream girl coded woman but also as a helper, described as an "incredibly good person" who sometimes managed to become an enabler. I will use some books about childhood wounds I have been re-reading, trying to do for her what I did for Carmen in this post. A deep character analysis speculating on the character's childhood wounds based on behaviors they display.

Let's go brick by brick. Long post underneath.

PART 1: THE HELPER OF DRUNK, SAD PEOPLE

Quoting from @brokenwinebox post: In the party.

Claire: “In college, people would come back to my house after parties. and I think I got really good at managing sad drunk people.” Carmy: “Yeah, I know that feeling.” Claire: “I know you do.”

That made me pause, because she made it seem like a common occurrence. She doesn't say these people were their friends, and maybe they were. But it becomes weirder when you think they were at that party (with Carmy) with the excuse of helping her broken-hearted friend. Claire said, "She needs me"

Girl, what? I get wanting to be there with your friend, but you are talking to your (you said later) childhood crush, dont you wanna spent time alone with him? The other girl doesn't seem like your best friend or anything, so doesn't she have other friends she could rely on during this hard time? She was throwing a party, so she was surrounded by people who could have cheered her up. Why was your presence so needed in particular?

Even if you say they were really close, when Claire said that other people would come to her house drunk after parties, my question is

Why? why was your house the place to do that? Did they insist? Some people can be dangerous while drunk, even if she described them as "sad."

Why did you feel these people were your responsibility? To be a good friend? Didn't you have to study? I had a heavy reading career in college, and I will read while eating or even in the gym, but it didn't come close to being a medical student. I assume these parties were in college, and I understand partying is a college thing, but having to stay awake and comfort a drunk person for as long as they need is another thing. It demonstrates a disregard for your time and needs; weren't you tired, busy, and probably also drunk? You are accepting people who come to you at their most vulnerable but also their most unpredictable. We all have people in need we want to care for even when they are messed up, but she didn't say "my friends" or even "my girlfriends". She said people (it could be a wording thing, but this dialog is very intentional)

She seems proud of it, giving her limited time to confort people she may not be closed with.

Here is my point about the lie I think she believes. I was reading again How to Do the Work: Recognize Your Patterns, Heal from Your Past, and Create Your Self–by Dr. Nicole LePera, and there was this passage that sounded very familiar:

In the book, Dr. LePera explains "The 7 Inner Child Arquetypes" as behavior tendencies and internal beliefs that one may develop depending on the environment one grows up in. We don't know much about her childhood (I have a theory about it, which I will discuss in another post), but I think this description can apply to her behavior.

The issue here is not to "feel good to take care of people." There are many reasons one may do that, and many of them are altruistic in nature or just love for the person. the key element is the "disregarding of one's own needs." Look at me in the face and tell me that doesn't sound like Claire. She seems proud of how much people would go for her for comfort when she was a student in a very time-demanding career. It was likely very taxing, but she doesn't want to say it was. Not to mention that comforting somebody is emotional labor on its own.

The lie that Claire believes is that she needs to sacrifice (time/energy/emotional labor) to be loved, that only that is her worth as a person, particularly in the role of a caretaker of people in need.

And it also shows in her relationship with Carmy.

PART 2: LOOKING FOR THE LOVE

A scene that always stayed with me was this:

This "I know" seemed childish on my first watch, kinda saying "I know ligfe is not as complicated as you think."

But then I realized she was happy to say the right thing for him to love her. This "I know" is she saying, "I know I am perfect for you, I am catering especially to your needs" after saying, "Nobody is keeping track of shoes," which was kind of nonsensical, to begin with, but it also sounds like something from a Hallmark movie when they try to be profound and prophetic.

I want to bring the Caretaker Archetype to her relationship with Carmy because she also completely disregards her own needs with him. To begin with, when you have a profession with little time outside work, you probably will like it to be a good, stable one. Why are you chasing a guy who gave you a fake number and that you had to "push' for them to be with you? You even joke about the Faks beating him up for giving her a fake number, like wtf. In her interview, Molly Gordon talked about how Claire was pushed in a previous relationship, which gave her the idea pushing was okay, which is an entirely different conversation, but ok.

Regardless of that context, she went for a guy with also a time-demanding job, that you have seen in ages, and that you know it has social issues and comes from a family of addicts, and that family as a very tragic story.

Here is my biggest question:

DOES CLAIRE SEE CARMY AS ANOTHER "DRUNK, SAD PERSON"?

gif from @mporium

He may not be an addict, but he is aware of the substance; they made us watch her purposely giving him the soft drink; he didn't ask for one. Like she is saying, "I know you have this issue; look how good I am at anticipating your needs." Their first date was at a party, the place where she was to rescue a "sad drunk person," as she had done so many times.

Coming back to disregarding her own needs, she didn't establish boundaries or expectations throughout the whole relationship; she said, "I love you," after 2 months of fucking, no dates, and a homemade pasta dinner.

She squished herself into whatever hole Carmy needed her in. I have read in other posts that her profession does not give you much free time. Doesn't she sometimes need time of her own to keep studying, just relaxing?

I am aware they could have just not shown any of it, but when you are writing a romance, it is important to show how each person can satisfy the needs of the other; it is not supposed to be one-sided.

She doesn't discuss her stressful work or mean patients. She does not discuss her dreams; we don't even know her last name.

I think this is why she felt so empty to me: even in her conversations, she seemed to be mirroring him the whole time, looking to say the right thing. She only seemed to address her needs by asking him about the fake number because she felt rejected, and Carmy's pathetic response seemed to be what she needed to hear. For many people, that answer would have been a warning of someone not ready to be in a relationship. But for her, it was okay.

She has to be able to at least suspect his depression and other mental issues. She doesn't know about his fire incidents yet; why does a person look for a partner she has constantly to care for while he can't take care of her besides one dinner (or at least, she doesn't ask)? Because she finds her worth in caring for others while receiving very little in comparison. That is why their dynamic is that Claire is always giving and Carmy is always taking.

That is my theory. That's why many of her actions look both good-intentioned and manipulative because she is doing both. She wants to be loved in a very specific way after providing care and sacrificing a good deal herself. She wants to be loved because she does these things; that's how she earns it.

PART 3: ALWAYS SMILING

Gif de thoughtfulchaos773

She always makes this picture of perfect faces and soft smiles; a part of me wonders if she wants to display exactly that. She is inviting, always a calm and happy person, which is also on brand for someone who may have grown up finding worth in being pleasant to others. It is not like I hate pleasant female characters; I love a cinnamon roll any day, but this could be very performative, especially the way society pressures women to present themselves this way in order to be lovable. For Claire, this is the cherry on top of her masking to be a good caretaker, always available and welcoming.

This may also have a dark side. Why doesn't she recommend that Carmy seek professional help? Nobody wants to be confronted or hear that they are broken. She knows he may react negatively to her suggestion, so she doesn't do it; love is what she is after.

PART 4: CODEPENDENCY

This topic is huge, and I am gonna brush over it.

A person who only feels worth taking care of others will try to make the other person rely on them as much as possible. The party scene becomes dark-toned in this subtext. She brought him to a place where he felt like an outsider, she supported him in using a fake persona (ew), she knew there was gonna be alcohol there, didn't she feel bad that people may pressure him to drink, or she wanted to be his aid on the scenario (giving her the soft drink), she tried to make him fit in, even told him what to say in certain scenarios, especially when she was doing the thing she says she is so good at: taking care of the drunk friend. She kept bringing up in the phone conversation how much the Faks would be angry with him for rejecting her. She kept saying things like, "You could not have done this without me." Idk. Now that I keep thinking of the caregiver archetype, I can't unsee it.

Why did she leave that voicemail? Who says I love you for the first time in a voice message? On the opening day of the fucking restaurant? A very high-stress, demanding job, that day with so many things can go wrong?

Was it because she wanted her voice to comfort him during the most stressful times? The only comfort? Was she so sure that after all she had done for her, how could he not love her back?

PART 5: THE DOCTOR CONTRADICTION

This is to lomg, but to analyze Claire, I cannot ignore this part. I said this before in this post, but when Claire said:

I had to pause. That didn't sound like something a doctor would say. There is a reblog from @ciaonicole85 that I would like to quote:

I'm a healthcare provider, and I don't know anyone in my field who would say that setting a fire is cool. We're typically very respectful when talking about someone's dead family member, especially when suicide is a factor and mental health generally.

Then there is also the mention of discussing her classmate getting a broken arm in kindergarten. Quoting, again, from @brokenwinebox amazing post:

Claire: "When we were like six, she fell off a fence and broke her arm, and it scared the shit out of everybody. Except me, i just like sat there and stared at her arm." Carmy: "Cause you wanted to fix it?" Claire: "I wanted to understand it."

First of all, why is one thing exclusive to the other?  She said she wanted to understand it, almost as a priority to fix it. That is weird as fuck. She tried to make that distinction, that point. As @brokenwinebox mentioned, is this supposed to be a clue that she wants to understand more than fix? I think it is.

A little side note here, this line gave me a "I am not like other girls (or people for that matter)" vibe, because she made a point to say that everyone else freaked out but her, as if that made her extra brave or something, destined for what she does now, an emergency doctor, but no, a kid freaking out would be the most normal thing. The brave thing would have been asking for help, like wtf. But coming back to the point.

I am not saying Claire doesn't care about his patients or that she doesn't want to fix them. However, her dialogue displayed carelessness and ominous comments about other people getting hurt/sensible topics.

I don't think it's because she doesn't care but because she is attracted to risk. She mentioned she used to shoplift as a teen (I am not judging, but wtf). That surely will give her an adrenaline rush. She mentioned she likes driving because of the risk of it.

This also makes me think: Does she like Carmy because she thinks dating him can also be risky? Not in a dangerous context or anything, but because of how emotionally unreliable he is. There is a thing as always looking for emotionally unavailable people, and there is a psychological explanation for it, too.  

So yeah, those are my thoughts. Maybe s3 will prove me wrong.

Thank you so much for reading.

[wolfiesmoon]

You and the cosmos

megumi x gn!reader

me breaking my "no angst allowed" rule just this once bc i feel sad and i will make you feel sad too 😈nobody's allowed to be happy today

still this is pretty lighthearted for angst since i based it off andromeda andromeda by nayutalien

You could say that you have a huge crush on your classmate, Fushiguro Megumi. He always looks so effortlessly handsome and you can't help but stare at him when his back is turned.

And you're not the only one who's all for getting together with him. Your friends always support you in any way they can and hear you out on your delusions regarding him. You always have so much fun talking about him.

Truly, you feel the most happy when in his presence. And today, you will make a move.

After much convincing from your friends, you settled on placing a confession note under his desk. That'll get him to notice you. All your attempts of approaching him in more subtle ways didn't work out, after all.

You re-read the note for the thousandth time, making sure every word is spelled correctly before slipping it under his desk quickly and walking away as if nothing happened.

'Meet me behind the school next to the oak tree at 5 pm. I have something important to tell you.'

Now you just have to wait.

.

You might have gotten a little excited and came to the meeting place a whole 30 minutes early. Your friends were already waiting for you there, though. They helped you fix up your hair and helped you recite what you wanted to say, wishing you luck and leaving for club activities.

Oh, it should be about time for him to arrive. You can't believe it took you 20 minutes to properly recite your feelings. You're sort of scared, but also really excited.

You can feel your heart beating in your ears, and you're sure you're properly sweaty right now. It's a rush only someone in love can experience.

You lightly slapped your cheeks, looking at every possible corner he could arrive from and practiced your smile for a bit.

...

He's kind of taking a while, isn't he?

You checked your phone. 5 minutes over 5 pm. He must be busy today, or something. Five minutes isn't a big deal.

You opened your phone camera, making absolutely sure that you look good right now. This is a very important moment that you absolutely cannot mess up by looking strange.

But the minutes kept ticking away, and he still didn't show. Maybe he got asked to help someone clean up or got called to the office by the teacher. You mumbled your script to yourself for the final time.

The wind blowed against your face, making the leaves of the nearby oak tree rustle gently. The setting sun painted everything in a slightly orange hue.

It feels like you've been standing there for an eternity at this point. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other.

Sighing, you checked the time. 26 minutes over 5 pm.

...He's not going to show up, is he?

You knew it. You shouldn't have let your friends convince you to put that stupid note under his desk. You were so stupid for thinking he would even look your way when he talks to you like he does to everyone else. Like you're just another classmate.

It'll be okay. He isn't the type to bring these things up after they happen. You can always keep staring at him from afar. That way, both you and him are happy.

It's not like he's leaving forever. You can still look at him every day.

You slowly walked away from the oak tree, going to your shoe locker and putting on your shoes to head home.

He could have atleast showed up and told you "no". Well, you suppose that you got your answer either way.

You're perfectly okay with him not liking you back. So why are tears running down your face right now?

.

"Huh...? What's this?" Megumi felt an unfamiliar piece of paper when he reached under his desk the next month. He's looking for a missing science paper and he figured he might have left it under his desk. He took the mystery paper out, inspecting it.

"Meet me behind the school next to the oak tree at 5 pm. I have something important to tell you." he read the note quietly as to not raise attention from anyone in class.

"A confession note...? How long has that been there?" He whispered.