#the ‘blocking every couple i see��� people are the ones who need the most love… within themselves first! ;)

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Love your writing and love Flux!! I was hoping to request a kind of angsty/fluffy fic with the worst!wolverine where the meet her in the void and maybe Logan knew her just not very well and he’s finally letting himself open up and be close with her (likewise with reader/flux towards logan) and they get into an argument or maybe logan has a nightmare and he ends up stabbing her with his claws and maybe the aftermath of him beating himself up and sabotaging the new relationship until reader finally snaps him out of it and says it was an accident and she still loves him?? Thanks!!

mistake

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

a/n: I want to thank you for this request because I've been having the worst writer's block in the world. I was worried about having to go into another unofficial hiatus, but this made something in my brain click together and I knocked it out in two hours. my life is yours 🙏🙏 Summary: You know him. Or, you knew him. And you never blamed him for what happened in your world. It wasn't his fault that everyone you loved died and you barely escaped with your life. But you never actually thought you'd have to see him again. You don't know what to do when all these feelings resurface with his appearance.

No one truly knew who you were back in your universe. After the horrific incident at the mansion, you had run. You’d run as fast and as far as you could from the slaughter of your friends. You’d barely escaped with your life, and from the amount of blood and gore they’d left behind, most people just assumed you were dead. 

It’s not like anyone cared about you. Scott, Ororo, and Jean had been the real heroes. But it didn’t matter because they were still mutants at the end of the day. It didn’t matter how many people they saved. How many lives they positively changed, no one would ever see past the fact that they were mutants. 

Being one of the newer members of the recently disbanded X-Men gave you enough anonymity to get through daily life without being recognized. It did not, however, protect you from being sucked into the shit fest that is the multiverse. 

You’re not sure what it is about you that just attracts bad luck. You don’t know if it’s some hidden power that’s a part of your evolution. You’re just apparently perpetually fucked. The TVA had determined that you were interfering with the proper flow of your timeline or some bullshit. 

Now you’re here. Stuck in the void with nothing but decay and drunk former superheroes. If you have to watch one more Captain America ‘rally the troops’ you’re gonna kill him yourself. You’ve considered switching teams and joining Cassandra Nova at times. If only so you don’t have to deal with Johnny Storm and the rest of the dipshits. 

You get along with Laura, at least. She likes to tell you about her Logan and you like to dodge her questions about yours. She doesn’t need to know that not every version of Wolverine has a golden heart and story worthy of tears. Yours was a fuck up, plain and simple, but you never thought the incident was his fault. 

As much as others tried to push the blame on him. The people who raided the mansion were determined. There was no other way that day was going to end up. You’d just have one less X-Man. But people always love a martyr more than a victim. 

After a couple of years, you get used to the monotony. Your days are only occasionally broken up by dodging Cassandra’s henchmen and trying not to get sucked up into the soul destroyer. Other than that, you spend your nights getting drunk with Gambit and pretending you know whatever the fuck he’s talking about. 

“Laura! I managed to find some chocolate!” You run into the hideout looking for the girl. It’s rare to find good food that isn’t already a month past its expiration date. You weren’t planning on sharing the candy with her but you figured she’d smell it on you and it’s not worth the fight. 

Instead, you stop short as the familiar blue and yellow uniform you’d always try to force on him comes into view. He’s stealing Gambit’s liquor and you know that��s not going to go over well. What you don’t know is why you are so sure that this is your Wolverine. 

You’ve never had a Wolverine in the void. Not once. This could be any one of the hundreds of thousands of variants. But you see that look in his eye. That familiar watery gaze shows just how much he hurts, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

“Logan?” You breathe his name out in disbelief. Bypassing the Deadpool standing nearby. You’ve dealt with enough of those in your time down here. He takes a step back, fixing you with a distrusting look. 

He keeps the bottle of alcohol clutched close to his chest like he thinks you’re going to take it. You track the movement and you scoff. “Right,” you shake your head and stop short. “Of course, the only thing you care about is still getting fucking drunk.”

He glares at you, taking a step forward like he thinks it might actually intimidate you. “Do I know you, bub?” He reaches forward, probably to jab his finger in your chest. You drop your gaze to his outstretched hand and narrow your eyes. 

The material of his suit fluctuates, pulling back and rippling over his arms like liquid and not spandex. He doesn’t notice the manipulation of matter until it's his skin you target. It melts off his adamantium bones and he stares down in horror. 

You know he's scared because he’s watching his body dissolve but he’s not feeling any pain. You could make it hurt, but that’s not what you want. You just want to see if he’ll remember you now. If there’s anything half-decent left in that alcohol-rotted brain of his.

“Flux,” he grits your X-Man name out through his teeth like it hurts him to say it. 

You nod and his skin and suit go back to normal, like you’d never tampered with it in the first place. “You do remember me, then?”

“Thought you fucking died with the rest of them.” Your face drops before you feel an astonished smile on your face. 

“You know, it’s a comfort to know nothing about my world has changed. You’re still the same spineless dick that left us all to die.” You shake your head and storm out of the hideout. You don’t know how long they’re planning on staying but you pray they leave soon. If you have to deal with him longer than a week, you’ll just kill him. 

You step outside just as Laura’s coming back from the bonfire. She greets you with a stiff smile and you wonder what’s got in her in a mood. It only takes a glance over her shoulder to find the reason.

Logan is sulking by the fire, nursing yet another bottle of whiskey. He’s drinking it like water and even with his healing, his liver should have turned to mush by now. “I can see why you didn’t tell me about him,” she mutters as she passes by you. 

You know she tried to be quiet but you can see the way Logan’s head tilts slightly towards you. He’s heard her and you know it has to sting just a little.

You glance down at the leaves under your feet, eyes glazing over as you feel the guilt sink into your stomach. You shouldn’t feel bad, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t hurt him, technically, just reminded him who you were. But you still feel bad for what you said. 

You’ve never blamed Logan for what happened. And if you did, you would be a hypocrite. Because you survived too, and you left them all behind. You ran like a coward. You could never blame him when you failed to save them just the same. 

You take in a deep breath and steel yourself. You’ll just apologize, walk over there, and explain to him you didn’t mean what you said. You know he’ll be a dick about it. Claiming he doesn’t want your apology. You’ll just leave him alone after. 

You’re about to step forward when he barks out a gruff command, “Don’t fucking stare at me like that. I don’t want your company.” He turns back to the fire and takes another swig from his bottle. 

You roll your eyes and walk towards him. “You can be as miserable and self-pitying as you want, just let me say one thing.”

His head whips towards you so quickly you’re surprised you don’t hear it snap. “I’m not fucking pitying myself,” he grits out. You quirk your brows in amusement, glancing towards the bottle in his hand and the clear way he’s sulking. He turns his attention back towards the fire, intent on ignoring you again. 

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” you tell him. You ignore the warning look he shoots you, taking a seat beside him even if he doesn’t want you to. “I-” you choke on the words, struggling to admit to yourself what you’ve never wanted to. 

“Don’t.” You know it’s meant to be a warning. But when you look at him and see how completely broken he is, it sounds more like a pathetic plead. 

But you need to say this. As selfish as it is, you need to say this to someone., Need to unload this guilt you’ve carried for so long. “I was there, Logan. I could have saved them and I didn’t. I fucking ran.”

“Kid, don’t do this-”

“Jean was still moving,” you blurt out. You feel the way your heart speeds up at the admission. Your fingers shake and the air around you stills. 

His face drops and he slowly turns towards you. You’re afraid to look at him. You feel like a bunny staring down the snout of a wolf, there’s no escaping this. You’ve created this trap for yourself. 

“What?” He demands. His voice has lost that tremor of vulnerability. Instead, he sounds like he did when he first found out what had happened to you all. That same deadly level of calm that makes you want to bolt again. 

“She,” you stare into the fire until your eyes burn. You don’t know if it’s from the light or the smoke but the pain focuses you. “She was shaking on the floor. There was blood everywhere and she could barely breathe. They had gassed us with something. None of us could use our powers, it’s the only reason they got a one-up on us.”

You can feel yourself slipping back into that moment. You feel the warmth of the blood on your skin. It seeps into your suit and makes the material cling to you. Your gut is split open and the only thing holding your intestines in is your hands. 

Jean is in front of you. Her hands are twitching by her sides. There’s blood pouring out of her lips, dribbling down her tongue and cheeks. Every breath is a rattle so deep you feel it in your bones. 

Each inhale sounds like someone dragging glass through the membrane of her lungs. Her chest rises and sinks shallowly as she gasps for air. She’s practically convulsing, eyes twitching every which way.

The gas has faded from the halls. The people have left, satisfied with the carnage. You’re alone, surrounded only by the blood and bodies of your friends. None of the others are moving. Some of them are so mangled you can’t even tell who they are anymore. 

Jean’s eyes lock onto yours. The only anchor she has. And you can see it, the frantic, wounded animal gaze on her face. She knows she’s dying. She knows there’s nothing she can do about it. 

You can only stand by and watch as your friend dies. You could be her comfort. You could be the last face she sees before she dies, distracting her from the sight of her dead fiancee behind her. 

But what do you do?

You hold your guts in your stomach and you run. You can’t look at her. You can’t look at any of them. You can hear her croaking behind you. And even when you’re out of the mansion, when you’re in a hospital somewhere getting repaired and Logan’s on a rampage, you still hear her. 

You feel something heavy on your arm and it’s like you're being forcibly dragged out of a trance. Logan’s looking at you with something you’ve never seen before. But it’s something you’ve always desperately craved. 

It’s like he’s seeing you, really seeing you. For the first time in a long time, you feel that ache of guilt ease away ever so slightly. It doesn’t disappear, but you’re sharing the burden with someone else and it’s a relief you’ve desperately craved. 

“You’re not a bad person for leaving, kid.” He swallows roughly and you place your hand over his. He doesn’t look completely comfortable with the touch, slightly flinching away from it, but he doesn’t move. “If you hadn’t, you would be dead.”

You squeeze his hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I never blamed you for what happened.” emotion is so thick on your tongue and in your throat that the words come out a whisper. “Their deaths weren’t your fault, and what happened after wasn’t.”

He clenches his eyes shut and jerks his hand out of your grip. You sigh, knowing you’ve lost him. “I slaughtered them.”

You scoff, “They slaughtered us!” You nearly shout, anger bubbling hot in your gut. When you heard about him killing those who had hunted down your friends, you’d celebrated. And when you heard the way the public was crucifying him, you realized that no matter what you did they would never love you. 

You would always be nothing more than a mutant to them. 

“And the people who didn’t hurt them? The innocents I killed?” 

You don’t have anything to say to that. You just stand up, placing a hand on his shoulder as you pass by him. “I never blamed you, Logan.”

You don’t see Logan again after that. At least, not while you’re in the void. What was left of your little resistance was sucked up into the purple cloud of death. Only you and Laura are left with the carnage. 

Logan and Wade have disappeared to who knows where. It stings, to be on your own again. Sure, you have Laura, but she’ll never understand the pain of what happened to your universe. 

As much as it hurt, at least with Logan, you had someone to share the pain with. You could share your burden with him. You feel lonely and cold. Like there’s a part of you missing. You finally figure out what that ache is when the TVA comes to collect you and you see him again. 

He’s standing behind Wade as he enthusiastically tells you and Larua all about his world. But you can’t take your eyes off Logan, or the tentative smile on his face. Whatever had happened during that fight with Cassandra Nova had changed him, for the better. 

You smile back at him and it feels like taking a breath of fresh air after years. 

Apparently, whoever this world’s Flux had been, she was fucking insanely rich. And dead, which sucked for her but was great for you and Logan. 

It’s not hard for you to fake some government identities and explain that you’d been mistakenly marked as dead. It’s apparently pretty common in this universe. Superheroes are blipped out of existence all the time. You couldn’t get all of her assets as some had been liquidated, but you did get her giant ass house. 

You let Logan and Laura stay with you until they decide where they want to go. It’s better than living with Wade and his coke-fiend roommate. Laura finds her groove pretty quickly, it is her world after all. But you and Logan struggle to figure out what to do with yourselves. 

Neither of you has an interest in being X-Men again, and it seems like they’re not incredibly present in this world either. You also hadn’t been the best of friends, even before everything went wrong, back home. 

You’re not strangers, you’re not friends, you’re that awkward place in between. Each day is another opportunity to get to know each other. The progress might be slow, but you know that you’re getting closer to something real. 

It’s why you don’t feel any qualms about running into his room when you hear him shouting. You burst into his room and the door slamming against the wall isn’t even enough to wake him up. 

He’s writhing around in the bed, sheets twisted around his waist while sweat beads down his forehead. The noises he’s making remind you of a wounded animal. There’s something heartbreaking about this. 

He doesn’t get peace even when he’s sleeping. It makes you hurt for him. You want to smooth over the aches and pains he carries and burden yourself with them. 

The thought snaps you out of your reverie and you’re shocked by the revelation. You’d been growing closer to him, but you hadn’t thought you were growing this close. You feel so strongly for him, but you’re not ready to put a name on what it is that you feel for him. You just know that right now you want to make him feel better. 

You approach the bed cautiously, taking a seat beside him. The bed ripples and jolts underneath you as he tosses and turns. You place a gentle hand on his arm and shake, “Logan,” you whisper. You don’t want to startle him too bad. 

But he’s not responding to anything. It doesn’t matter how much you shake him or call out his name. Finally, you can’t handle it anymore. You get on your knees, sitting over him and bringing your palm down across his face as hard as you can. 

In a second he’s shooting up. You don’t even notice his hand until you see the way his vision clears. The visceral panic fades and something is aching in your gut. “Oh god, no no no,” he says the word so many times it stops sounding real. 

You look down and see the blood dribbling down his palm, the claws buried in your stomach. It’s almost funny, how perfectly aligned they are with the scar that already lived there. The reminder of your friend’s death being erased and reformed by Logan’s hand. 

He pulls his wrist back and you quickly snatch it up. “Don’t!” You shout, jaw clenching against the pain. “Don’t pull them out, I’ll just bleed out.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” You know he’s worried, that’s why he snaps at you. But it doesn’t help the way you feel yourself fighting back tears.

He sees them drip down your cheeks and his face drops. His other hand, the one not in you, comes up and cradles your cheek. “What do I do?” He whispers, and he sounds more desperate than you do. 

You know he doesn’t want another death on his hands. But there’s something beyond that. He doesn’t want to be the reason you stop breathing. There’s a startling clarity when you’re slowly dying. 

He cares about you. Just as deeply as you do for him. You can’t make him go through this pain again. Can’t let him suffer alone, not when he’s made so much progress. “Slowly,” you tell him, guiding his claws out inch by inch. 

It’s hard not to black out. You’d barely felt it when he’d gotten you the first time. You think it’s because of how fast and sudden it was. But this, having them oh so slowly slicing through your insides is the worst form of torture. 

But you don’t heal like him. You have to close your eyes, focus on the pain, and forcibly reknit your skin back together. It’s a clever manipulation of your powers, but it’s a slow one. You could never take serious damage on the field because you wouldn’t be fast enough to repair yourself. 

This is easy to repair. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. It feels like an hour before he can safely draw them the rest of the way out. The second he does, you’re sinking into his arms with a pained sob. 

He clutches you so tightly to his chest you worry your back might snap. He keeps muttering apologies into your hair, hands desperately grasping at every inch of you he can hold. You’re too tired to say anything. 

You realized you should have. You should have told him you don’t blame him. You were the one who snuck into his room. You should have been smarter. But it doesn’t matter how many times you tell Logan not to blame himself, he always will. And you were too tired to try anyway. 

You only realize what’s happening two days after the incident. You figured he might need some space to process what happened. And honestly, you did too. It was awful and incredibly draining. You’ve felt fatigued ever since. 

But when you try and approach him and he just brushes past you like you weren’t even there, you know something is wrong. You watch his retreating back with a disturbed glare. You connect the dots quickly, already knowing what he’s doing. 

He doesn’t want to be responsible for hurting another person he loves. He can’t handle a loss like that again, even if it’s not by his hands. He wants to make sure you don’t want him, that you don’t care for him. Like that might ease the pain and guilt. 

But it wouldn’t. It would just make him feel worse. It would make you feel worse. 

You don’t waste a second, following him up the stairs and barging into his room before he can slam the door shut. It bounces off the wall and he lets out a deeply irritated sigh. He doesn’t turn to look at you, just walks over to his nightstand and rummages around through the doors.

You know he’s not looking for anything. He’s just trying to ignore you long enough for you to give up. It’s not going to happen, he should know better. 

You take a step further into the room and the smell of chemicals slams into you. Your nose wrinkles in disgust. It smells like he pumped Lysol into the vents. Your eyes dart to the bed and you sigh. 

Your blood, you’d completely forgotten. He must have been cleaning it up the morning after. You can’t blame him for wanting to get rid of the remainder. But this seems excessive. 

“Strong nose,” he mutters. You hadn’t realized you’d spoken aloud and you glanced over at him. “I can still smell it, even after cleaning.” He takes a seat on the bed and you hate the way his shoulders are slumped. 

He’d seemed so much more comfortable with himself lately. It’s like one accident has undone all his progress. “Logan,” you start, taking a step towards him. He holds his hand up, still not looking at you. 

It’s driving you insane. You wish he would just meet your eyes. You feel like you could change his mind if he would just see you. Maybe that’s why he won’t. He won’t let himself be happy. 

“Look, that night just made me realize what a huge fucking mistake this was.” He gets up and slides something out from under the bed. It takes a moment for you to register what it is. A duffel bag, packed with all his essentials and what little clothes he owns. 

He’s going to leave.

You act without thinking. Pure panic making your powers surge out. Logan grunts and the bag falls out of his hand. “Quit it,” he snipes, bending over to pick it up. But he can’t because it’s so heavy it’s making the wooden floor splinter and crack under its weight. 

“You don’t get to just leave when things get hard, Logan.”

He stands up, hands propped on his sides. There’s a challenge in his eyes that makes you nervous. “Fuck this,” he scoffs and brushes past you. 

It’s beyond manipulative to use your powers against him. But sometimes, someone is such a fucking idiot, they need a little outside help. You slam the door closed and the handle disappears, locking you both in his room. 

He turns towards you with a fierce glare on his face. “Open the goddamn door before I break it down.”

“You can try,” you taunt, a nasty tone to your voice. You’re sick of this. You’re sick of running from what you want. You’ve been miserable and alone for years. You want to be happy. For the first time in forever, you want something. 

And you want Logan to be happy with you. You can’t force him to feel the way you do. But you can stop him from actively preventing this. “Stop acting like a goddamn child and just talk to me!” You shout at him. 

There’s a disbelieving look on your face. You don’t understand why he won’t let this happen. Why does he have to fight so hard against any semblance of happiness in his life?

“I’m going to hurt you. That is all I do. I hurt the people I love and I cannot hurt you too.” Your eyes widen in shock at his outburst. Beyond anger, there was so much fear in his voice it was almost enough to make you miss what he’d said. 

“You love me?” You can see the realization dawn on him. The fact that he let slip why he’s so hesitant to be around you. You know he wants to leave, his eyes are darting around the room for an escape route, but you’ve blocked them all. You can’t let this go, not now. 

“Logan,” you snap, demanding an answer from him. 

“Fuck you,” he mutters, something vicious on his face. 

He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to lash out and say something cruel so that this doesn’t happen. You know him because you’ve been him. He will take every possible route to get out of this if it means he doesn’t have to face his feelings. 

You roll your eyes and take a step forward. You jerk him towards you and throw yourself on him before he can say something stupid. The kiss is brief, just enough to snap him out of this ridiculous headspace he’s in. 

When you pull back he looks dazed, but he’s relaxed in your hold, sinking towards you. You grin up at him, “I love you too, dumbass.” You lean up to kiss him again but you dart back at the last second, a mean glare on your face. “Pull some shit like this again and I’m going to melt your dick off.” 

You kiss him before he can respond, but you feel the smile against your lips. You can taste the defeat on his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and tugs you into his chest. He’s not going to push you away and you’re not going to let him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl @allllium  ♡ 

[hiddenreamers]

Unlikely pair

SUMMARY: Where Oscar is dating a musician known for strictness and harsh comments on survival shows. To everyone's surprise, the unlikely pair is nothing short of perfect.

yntheone made a new post:

Close your eyes, take my time Let's remember this moment

Photograph (prod. Offonoff) is out on Thursday

Comments:

user1: WHATTT

user2: this is not a drill I repeat this is not a drill

user3: girl you can't just drop this on us and bail 💀

user4: is this real or is this my ambien

user5: i see the saga of blurry pictures continues

↳ user6: it's a vibe, you hater 😤

user7: omg is this the song realoffonoff played on his live the other day??

user8: who is this and why is it not me 😩

user9: she destroyed everyone on Don Mills Daebak remix just to turn around and do cute rnb songs 😭 queen shit 👑👑

oscarpiastri: can't wait ❤️ liked by yntheone

↳ yntheone: ❤️❤️ ↳ user10: the last person I expected to see here ↳ user11: 🤨🤨 well that's suspicious

user12: You need to do an entire album with realoffonoff !! Cigarette was amazing 😍

↳ user13: oh my godddd do you think cigarette was about the same guy? ↳ user14: definitely ?? i mean how can you listen to yntheone sing she wants you to be addicted to her like cigarettes and go "nah I'll pass" ?? brain damage ahh behaviour

yntheone tagged oscarpiastri in a post:

Do you really think you're that good??

(He is.)

Comments:

user15: babe wake up new roman empire just dropped

user16: not the caption 💀💀 quoting herself like the queen she is

↳ user17: giving trainees war flashbacks lmao

user18: he better know how to fight 😤😤 im throwing hands

user19: this can't be the same person who tore apart trainees on live tv 😐 since when is she all lovey dovey

↳ user20: if you had Oscar Piastri smiling at you, you'd be lovey dovey too

user21: out of all the people I suspected to be the guy from a blurry picture, this man wasn't even on the list ??? there's opposites and then there's THIS

↳ user22: ya I'm genuinely surprised someone as calm as him can keep up with her ↳ user23: yall are forgetting he's keeping up with Lando Norris

oscarpiastri: I really am liked by yntheone

landonorris: he's not as good as me but I guess he's still kind of ok

↳ danielricciardo: you might want to rethink that mate ↳ landonorris: blocked

user24: I'll just assume every love song she's done has been about him

↳ user25: Cigarette?? Moon?? Photograph?? Make the Move?? He better know the poetry that she's written about him or he gon catch these hands ↳ oscarpiastri: I do know and I appreciate every word

user25: finally Mclaren found someone who can actually pull off the papaya and not look silly

user26: yntheone is taken?? worst day of my life tbh

user27: imagine all the contestants on survival shows that will come in mclaren merch 💀💀 we're about to unlock a new level of embarrassment that shouldn't be possible

user28: this is the best golden retriever black cat couple, everyone else can go home

user29: for his own sake, I hope he knows what he's gotten himself into 😩😩

↳ user30: no better racing motivation than remembering your girlfriend is famous for roasting people in front of the entire nation

f1fans_official made a new post:

oscarpiastri and yntheone on their little New York trip 🥺🥺

Comments:

user31: yes I watch f1 for the rivalry and driving

↳ user32: these two are the main plot

user33: am I the only one bothered by the fact that she's a rude bitch??

↳ user34: yes sis you're the only one who can't tell between a rude bitch and a professional realistically evaluating wanna-be artists

user35: no thoughts head empty thinking about my favourite paddock couple

user36: i can't even be mad she's taken my man 😞😞 they look cute together

user37: hope they don't break up I can't take going through my parents' divorce twice

user38: if Lando and yntheone become friends we're going to see the most iconic duo of all time

↳ user39: the Lando slander is about to get serious 💀 ↳ user40: Oscar is gonna be bald by the end of the year because of them lmao

oscarpiastri tagged yntheone in a post:

Resting and recharging before the next race weekend

Comments:

user41: it's giving he asked for no pickles

yntheone: no need to thank me, I know I'm the only thing you need 😴 liked by oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri: wouldn't have it any other way ❤️

user42: forget guard dog boyfriend, Oscar's got a guard dog girlfriend and I'm here for it

↳ user44: feminism

landonorris: guys help me she's scary

↳ yntheone: I know where you live 🥰🥰 ↳ oscarpiastri: yntheone I'll hold your bag baby ↳ user43: forget the office this is the sitcom i'd watch ↳ georgerussell63: the bigger the distance from angry yntheone the funnier it is

user45: honestly why would he go for a manly rude bitch?? there are so many better women out there, just sad

↳ user46: have you considered the fact that men are not a monolith and have, in fact, individual preferences? or is your IQ too low to comprehend that?

user47: I will tell my children this is the royal pair

user48: can't wait for her the sample Oscar and add him to a beat 🔥🔥

user49: ok now I get why she wrote absolute bangers about him 😍

user50: if she's in the stands cheering him on, FIA should give Oscar a penalty for unfair advantage 😤😤

[boowritess]

i love love love the headcanon of the 141 not having kids and babies and ewey.

i think that john price is still very relevant to that. kinda. i don't really seeing him having a pet honestly. unless you wanted one... sure... but nah y'know... he's old tired af. maybe a cat. probably definitely a cat.

but it's been you and john for as long as you can remember.

happy to be in each other's presence from morning to night, or simply just exist in a shared life that means you two don't have to always be around each other.

you could be shopping and he could be sleeping. he's outside tending to the stuff he had supposed to finish before he left deployment while you're reading on the couch inside. he's on a long deployment again, and you're at work.

plus the prospect of kids just never seemed to work into the schedule. "nah," john says to one of your friends, "can handle kids fine, but when i'm home, this old mans bones are good for sleep and not much else. i mean the breeding kink can get me goi-" john grunts when you elbow into his side.

"crude." you huff with an eyeroll.

"but true." he says into his beer as he takes a sip, eyes sparking with mischief.

your friend turns to you. "but doesn't it get lonely?" they asks. "wouldn't you want a little one running around?"

and well sometimes the days may be lonely for you when he's gone...

but that's become impossibly hard to focus on when your phone is being constantly blown up - not by price though. by the 141.

it's never really anything outrages or civil conversation. it's gaz asking which tie he should wear at an event because price said the black one but gaz doesn't really like the black one. then it's johnny sending you a video of him besting his previous time on a training course. though it doesn't stop there. ghost is messaging late nights for him but mid-day for you, asking about how to deal with insomnia. ghost is asking you because he knows you're awake and the others are asleep, he doesn't want to bother them.

you answer every single one, with so much care and attentiveness. you save every picture, every video and boost about their achievements to other people as if they were your own. however, people always assume you're talking about little kids not grown ass men.

yet on days when you're at home or you've come home from work. you're hardly surprised to find one of them had invited themselves into yours and johns home as if it was their own.

sometimes it's gaz crashed out on the couch who's in a desperate need of a shower but definitely needs sleep more.

or the sounds of soap in your fridge, raking around to find something to eat. "lass, ye out of cheese-" he ate the cheese. the whole newly bought block of it.

gaz and soap like to hover around you when they're home. whereas ghost helps price around the house.

but when it's just you and ghost, the oldest boy. it's quiet. there's no forced conversations but probably a few shitty jokes. it's you or him making food and the other doing the dishes. yet ghost opens up and the conversations turn into some of the most randomist, boyish, silly conversations.

when everyone's at home, it can actually be pretty hectic. so you go do the grocery shopping, but you take ghost along cause he's a little like you in regard for a need of quiet time.

oh and can't forget the days you go out by yourself only to come home with a few other things. socks for john - socks for all of them. you bought johnny a new pair of jeans and gaz a couple of shirts. and simon some more sweaters.

christmas, easter, new years - every single holiday is always hosted at yours and price. where everyone comes. farah, alex, laswell and her wife. rudy and alejandro making their way- then of course your boys...

and it's there where you've kinda realized.

you and john do have kids.

just in the form of grown men.

which both you and john don't seem to mind.

you end up shrugging your shoulders as you look at your friend, "honestly i have my hands full when they're all home. so... i'm good." you say with a hum, sipping from your own drink with a small smile as john just chuckles softly.

a/n: realized I never posted this. oh well. the no baby saga continues with john price. drink water be well ya'll xx

[angievue]

her doll ʚɞ billie eilish

in which you're billie's plaything and she promised she'd make you her girlfriend. is she honest?

contains smutt!! billie's manipulative, readers an airhead!! dumbification, degradation, fingering&oral (r recieving), tiny bit of edging? cheating, mentions of alcohol, random oc who's billies gf, billie isnt famous in this

wc 3.9k+

a/n this is my first one shot everr!! feedback is always appreciated!! please know that my grammar is ass and english is genuinely not my first language!! :D

"You know, it's a good thing you're done with that two-timer," your best friend says, causing you to tilt your head in confusion.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

She chuckles lightly as she runs the straightener through her hair effortlessly. "It's a relief you cut ties with Billie. You do know she was never gonna end things with Julie, right?"

Your head snaps back in shock, disbelief evident in your eyes. "No! She told me she was going to make me her girlfriend, but I just had to wait for Julie to get over her."

When Billie first came into your life, it felt like a fairy tale. She was the most captivating person on campus, while you were the sweet, naive girl everyone admired from afar. It seemed like fate had brought you together, except for the fact that she said a girlfriend.

After six months of seeing each other, you finally asked why you couldn't be hers. She gave you excuses, claiming Julie was in a dark place and needed her, but that you satisfied her in ways Julie couldn't. 

You were always a ditz. There was no denying it. You grew up with disappointed parents and weary teachers, it felt miraculous that you even made it to college. Little did you know, that very naïveté was what captivated Billie. She thrived on slipping into your mind, convincing you that she belonged there. She adored the way she could bend your perception, making you believe she alone knew what was truly good or bad for you.

But Julie was always lurking in the shadows of your twisted love. Your encounters with Billie were sworn in secrecy, whispered beneath the canopy of night. Billie never missed an opportunity to tell you how much better you were than Julie; her words both intoxicating and confusing. Yet, despite her relentless cheating, you wondered—if you were so much greater, why didn’t she just end things with Julie?

Eventually, you grew tired of being her secret and decided to end things. And of course, she didn’t take that well. She blew up your phone, relentless and pleading, until you could take no more and finally blocked her. If Billie wasn’t willing to claim you as hers, then you had no choice but to walk away. You vowed to yourself, and your friends, that you wouldn’t look back, even though every part of you longed to.

"It kills me how you're such an airhead, Y/N," she said, her voice sharp with frustration. "She never broke up with her. I saw them together not long ago, wrapped around each other like they were the only two people in the world. She lied to you, just so she could keep fucking you over. Can’t you see that? Now, for the last time, hurry up and finish your hair. We're leaving at nine, and you can’t go looking like this."

You grab the straightner, confused at her words. Before you blocked her, Billie swore to you that she'd break up with Julie and go straight to you, and if she really was going to why would she be seen a couple days ago cuddling up to her? Why would Billie lie to you?

The overpowering smell of stale alcohol and sweat fills the air as you roam the upper floors of the three-story mansion, looking for a quiet room to rest. You lost track of your friends long ago and now feel a bit dazed from the shot of tequila you’ve had.

Parties were never your scene, in fact you’d only attend them if your friends dragged you or if Billie was there. She never misses a chance to eye you hungrily, her lips curling into a teasing smile at the mere sight of you.

You remember one particular night vividly. You were at a Halloween party, wearing the shortest skirt you owned, acutely aware that Billie would likely be eyeing you. As you made your way to the bar, you suddenly turned to find Julie and Billie lips intertwined. Your breath caught in your throat, not just from the sight, but because Billie’s gaze was locked on you, piercing through you as if she were the one kissing you.

Soon after, you recall her telling you to meet her at her apartment, which you did without hesitation. She sat you down and demanded that you beg for her fingers, which you did so obediently. You pleaded and pleaded, tears streaming down your cheeks as she loomed over you, a dark gleam in her eyes and a smirk playing on her lips. She’d blow smoke in your face from time to time to tease you even more, marking you as utterly pathetic for her.

A low groan escapes your lips as you shove a random door open, stepping into a dimly lit room. A perfectly made single bed dominates the space, its crisp white sheets a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in your mind. You stumble further inside, your hazy vision clouding your thoughts, when the sudden thud of the door slamming shut jolts you back to reality.

Turning slowly, your gaze finds itself upon Billie. Her raven hair falls like a dark waterfall around her striking blue eyes, an unsettling beauty that captivates yet confounds you. What was she doing here? Why was she in the same room as you?

She shuts the door behind her and bites her lip, eyeing your pitiful excuse for a skirt. Anger fills your cheeks as you remember what your best friend told you earlier. Even if you didn’t block Billie, she still would’ve lied to you—something you can hardly believe.

“Hi there, sweet thing. Care to explain why I’m blocked?” She leans in slightly, her gaze lingering on your mini skirt, a spark of curiosity mingling with a flicker of desire in her eyes

The way she looks at you drives you wild, igniting a heat that spreads through your entire body. Billie was aware of it—she knew exactly which buttons to push and how to push them. It’s what made you so favourable to her.

You huff in frustration and head towards the bed, feeling an overwhelming rush of emotions. Why was she so oblivious to your feelings? You’ve been yearning to be her girl for what feels like an eternity, carrying the weight of your longing like a heavy stone in your chest. The discovery that she never truly ended things with Julie twists in your stomach like a knife, a sickening realization that shatters the delicate hope you had clung to. 

In a swift motion, she grips your waist, halting your escape. With a flick of her wrist, she turns you to face her “What’s your issue?” The challenge hangs in the air, and she furrows an eyebrow, her palm heat against the small of your back, igniting every nerve in your body.

“I’m not talking to you and I don’t ever want to see you again!”

She barks out a laugh, eyes glinting mischievously. “Oh yeah? Is that why you’re still standing here, pretending to be so tough? Maybe you just don’t wanna leave without getting off...”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you grip the edge of the doorframe, fully aware that you could walk out at any moment. Yet, deep inside, you realize you crave her presence more than you want to admit.

“Whatever! I’m not saying a word to you,” you shoot back, though your voice wavers.

Billie tilts her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. She lets you go and you feel empty. She settles down on the bed, patting her lap. “Come sit on my lap, baby. Tell me why you’re so fussy.”

Her stance on the bed gives you an all too familiar feeling back to when you first met; your friends had left you to either get drinks or to get fucked, and you were on the verge of blacking out. You wandered to an unfamiliar room, taking in the scent of frat boys and wavering sex in the air. You sat down on the bed and felt your nerves tense up, until Billie sat beside you.. Billie’s presence had ignited something in you that night, a thrill mingled with fear. You had felt so small, so innocent under her gaze, and yet drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

She leaned in closer, her voice low and sultry, laced with promises that sent shivers down your spine. You remembered the way she brushed a stray hair behind your ear, the soft, lingering touch that made your heart race. She told you how she’s been eyeing you for a while, showering you with compliments about your beauty, how your dress clung to your curves, and how her girlfriend could never compare to you.

Her beautiful gaze had you held captive, and her whispers and promises made you turn into goo. She promised she’d make you hers one day if you let her touch you, which you did, prompting her to steal your virginity. She had promised you that she’d save you from all the evil in the world, calling you naive and unaware. Little did you know, she was the evil who took advantage of you and your mind.

You lock eyes with her and find yourself longing for her, and you obediently lower yourself onto her lap. She bites her lip, holding your gaze as her lips brush against your ear, “So?” she whispers softly.

“You… You told me you broke up with Julie! My friend told me she saw you two together,” you muster the courage to say, blinking away the tears threatening to spill from your doe-like eyes.

“Aww, sweet girl,” Billie coos, her fingers caressing your cheek. “You’ve misunderstood…”

“Really?” You look up at her.

“Yeah, I was just returning some things to Julie after our breakup, and she offered to treat me to ice cream. It was nothing serious, angel.”

You tilt your head, doubt creeping in. “But she said she saw you two cuddling!”

Billie blinks, and for a fleeting moment, you see her features go dark before her expression softens. She smiles, “That was just me comforting her; her cat had passed away recently.”

You nod, comprehension dawning. You internally smiling, realizing that Billie would never lie to you. She did break up with her. Right?

“I hope she’s alright,” you say, feeling a pang of sympathy.

“Mmm,” Billie murmurs, her hands exploring your body, slipping beneath your skirt, and grasping your flesh with a roughness that makes you whine.

“You make the prettiest noises baby.”

She shifts your position, leaving you sprawled with your back against the bed.  With a teasing smirk, she pulls up your skirt, mumbling about how you aren’t wearing shorts under your skirt.

She let her fingers hover over your clothed cunt, eliciting a whimper from you.

“Does.. Does this mean I can be your girlfriend, Billie?”

She didn't spare you a glance, instead focusing her gaze intently on your pussy and giving it a firm slap.  “My dumb baby thinks she can block me and cut me out? How pathetic..” She teased your entrance through your underwear, making you whimper as you squeezed your hands against her arm.

“Please, Billie..”

She licks her lips with a predatory gaze. The way your tits spill out of your dress and the way you blink up at her so innocently drives her crazy. You’re her doll, and she can mold and manipulate you at her will…

“Beg baby. Tell me you’re my doll who I can do whatever I want to with.” You hesitate, your thoughts consumed by conflicting emotions about Julie and how you really longed for Billie to be yours. Memories of having to meet up privately flood your brain, you long for publicity with her. 

She drew circles against your entrance, maintaining unwavering eye contact and challenging you to beg for her. No matter what, you couldn't help but stare into her cold, blue eyes as they taunted you.

"Please, make me your girlfriend, Billie..." You choke out, revealing your true desires.

She rolled her eyes and sucked in a breath, impatient. "I will. Now shut up and beg for it, bunny. Don't you want to feel good against my fingers?"

You blinked, your mind slow to process her words. "I… I’m your doll and... You can do whatever you want to me," you admitted, your voice soft and uncertain. You were always so needy, so desperate for her. It was pathetic, but you didn't care. All that mattered was Billie.

She chuckled softly, her hand reaching out to cup your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet her eyes. "Good girl," she praised, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Such a good, needy girl."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching in your throat. You swallowed hard, your eyes fluttering closed as you leaned into her touch. God, you were such an airhead, so easily manipulated, so eager to please. It was embarrassing, but that’s what drove Billie insane, you're her own personal doll.

Billie’s hand started to travel, her fingers trailing down your thigh, inching closer and closer to the apex of your legs. 

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a whimper, but it escaped anyway. Her touch was electric, setting every nerve ending on fire.

"Quiet, sweet girl," she whispered, her voice soothing yet commanding. "Let me take care of you."

You could feel yourself melting under her words, your body relaxing against the plush chair. Your skirt was already riding up, exposing more of your thighs, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was Billie.

Her fingers finally reached their destination, slipping between your folds with practiced ease. You gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily against her hand. She gave your pussy a slap, her fingers lashing against your sensitive flesh.

"Keep still," she observed, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Already dripping... What a slut you are."

The degrading words should have made you cringe, but instead, they only served to heighten your arousal. You moaned softly, your head falling back as you surrendered to the sensations she was stirring within you.

"Mmm," you moaned, your voice breaking as another wave of pleasure rolled through you. You felt like you were melting against her fingers.

Her fingers delved deeper, finding your clit and giving it a firm pinch. You cried out, your body shaking with the force of your climax. Red heats up your cheeks, embarrassed you finished quite quick, but that’s what drives her insane, she wasn’t done with you yet. She continued to stroke and toy with your sensitive nub, prolonging your orgasm until you thought you might lose your mind.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she withdrew her hand, leaving you gasping for breath and trembling. Her eyes glittered with amusement as she licked your slick off her fingers then llifted them to your lips, watching you licking them slowly and seductively.

"Mmm, she could never have a pussy as sweet as yours," she purred, her gaze locked onto yours. "Such sweet, needy pussy."

You could barely form a response, too overwhelmed by the intensity of what she'd just done to you. All you could manage was a weak whimper.

But Billie wasn't satisfied with that. She leaned in even closer, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered, "tell me you’re a slut baby. A useless dumb slut all for me."

You hesitated, your mind racing as you tried to find the right words. She nudged you with her knee, a silent reminder that she wouldn't be patient forever.

"I... I'm your dumb, needy slut," you finally stammered, the words spilling out in a rush. "Your dirty little plaything."

Your words surprised you, she could mold you into whatever she wanted. Earlier in the night you were pleading to be her girlfriend and now you don’t care what you are to her.

A satisfied smile spread across her lips. "Good girl," she said, patting your cheek gently. "And now, let's see how much more you can take before you completely break."

With that, she rose, her fingers once again reaching for your skirt. This time, she yanked it up higher, revealing your drenched pussy to the world. You whimpered, feeling exposed and vulnerable, but there was nothing you could do to stop her.

"Spread your legs," she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.

You obeyed without question, parting your thighs wide open for her. She knelt down in front of you, her eyes roaming over your glistening folds with obvious delight.

"Beautiful," she breathed, her fingers dipping back into your slick heat. "So fucking beautiful."

You moaned, your body arching towards her as she began to tease you once more. This time, however, she wasn't content with just fingers. No, she wanted something more…

Billie stood between your legs, her eyes dark with lust as she stared down at you. Her lips twisted into a cruel smile, revealing teeth that glinted menacingly in the faint light. She leaned closer, her breath hot against your inner thigh, and whispered, "You’re nothing but my personal little slut, aren’t you? A pathetic whore.”

Her words stung, cutting deep into your already fragile self-esteem. But there was something about the way she said them, the way her voice dripped with disdain, that made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to deny it, to scream back at her that she was wrong, but the truth was, she wasn’t. Not entirely. Deep down, you knew she was right. Knew that you were weak, that you needed someone like her to take control, to control your every action, to make you feel something other than the numbness that had settled over you.

Billie must have sensed your hesitation, because her smile grew wider, more sinister. "That’s what I thought," she purred, her fingers trailing up your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "But don’t worry, sweetie. I’m going to make sure you remember just how much of a whore you really are."

With that, she lowered her head, her tongue darting out to flick against your clit. The sensation was electric, a jolt of pleasure that shot straight to your core, making you gasp and arch your back. But Billie wasn’t done. She let out a low chuckle, her breath warm against your sensitive flesh, and then began to circle your clit with the tip of her tongue. Slowly, deliberately, she increased the pressure, her movements almost taunting in their precision.

"Do you like that?" she asked, her voice mocking as she continued to tease you. "Do you like feeling my tongue on you, making you squirm? Or is it too much for my dumb baby?”

Your mind was a tangled mess of conflicting emotions. On one hand, you hated her for the way she spoke to you, for the way she reduced you to nothing more than a plaything for her amusement. But on the other hand, her words—no, her entire presence—had a strange effect on you. They made you feel... alive. Like the emptiness inside you was finally being filled, if only by pain and humiliation.

"That’s it," Billie murmured, her tongue now flicking back and forth over your clit in quick, sharp strokes. "Beg for it. Beg me to keep going, my little baby."

The command sent a shiver down your spine, your resolve crumbling under the weight of her dominance. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. All you could do was moan, your hips bucking against her tongue as the pleasure built inside you.

"Beg,” Billie demanded, her voice harsh, unyielding. "My little slut. Don’t you dare try to ever run away from me again. You belong to me."

The words tumbled out of you in a rush, your voice trembling with both shame and arousal. "Please... please don’t stop... I need you to... I love... I wanna..."

Before you could finish, Billie pulled away, leaving you panting and desperate. She looked down at you, her expression cold and calculating. "Need me to what?" she asked, her tone sharpening with impatience.

"I need you to make me forget," you blurted out, your voice barely above a whisper. "Make me forget how worthless I am..."

For a moment, Billie just stared at you, her eyes narrowing as she processed your words. Then, she let out a low, satisfied hum. "Good girl," she said, her voice softening just enough to send a thrill of excitement through you. "But just so we’re clear, you’re not allowed to come until I say so. Understand?"

You nodded quickly, your body trembling with anticipation. Billie smirked and then returned her attention to your throbbing clit, her tongue sliding back into place with a slow, deliberate pressure that left you gasping. This time, however, she didn’t tease. Instead, she dove right in, her tongue swirling around your clit in broad, sweeping circles that sent waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"Ahh... fuck... Billie..." you moaned, your hands gripping the sheets as your body arched up towards hers, desperate for more.

"Shhh," Billie soothed, her voice dripping with false sweetness as she continued to lap at you. "Just relax, angel girl. Let me take care of everything. You don’t need to think anymore. Just feel."

Her words echoed in your mind, wrapping around your thoughts like a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter until all you could focus on was the sensation of her tongue on your skin. The world outside the bedroom faded away, leaving only the two of you locked in a battle of wills—hers to dominate, yours to submit.

And yet, as much as you hated to admit it, part of you reveled in it. In the way she made you feel, in the way she took control and forced you to confront your deepest, darkest desires. It was as if she had unlocked something inside you, something primal and raw, and now that it was free, there was no going back.

Billie must have sensed the shift in your demeanor, because she suddenly changed tactics, her tongue dipping down to flick at the entrance of your pussy before plunging inside. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and surprise that left you gasping for breath.

"Oh God... Billie...!" you cried out, your body jerking as she continued to thrust her tongue deeper, exploring every inch of you with an intensity that left no room for doubt.

"Good girl," she murmured again, her voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh as she spoke. "That’s it. Just let go. Let me make you forget everything."

And with that, she sealed her lips around your clit, sucking gently as her tongue continued to work its magic. The combination was too much, too intense, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm, your body trembling with the effort of holding back.

"Please... please let me come..." you begged, your voice cracking with desperation.

But Billie wasn’t done yet. She pulled back, her eyes gleaming with triumph as she watched you squirm beneath her. "Not yet," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "We’re just getting started."

You whine at her words, desperate for a release. Everything was at her will, and it was clear that you truly were her doll. 

a/n sorry i got kinda lazy at the end idk!! hope you enjoyed to some extent! this is my first time actually writing smut so idk how i didd plz give some feedback :D

[fruitjoos]

my favorite person

(boyfriend) patrick zweig x reader

summary: pov someone said there’s not enough happy patrick so here it is :p

contrary to what people think, patrick is a far better boyfriend than anyone gives him credit for. he doesn't fit the mold. rough around the edges, not the type to gush over romantic gestures, but the way he shows up for you is quieter, more real, with a tenderness that sneaks up on you when you're not looking.

those days when he’d drive hours to visit you on campus. he’d always find you at the tennis courts, right before practice ended, hanging back against the fence with that same beat-up lunch bag he’s had since middle school slung over his shoulder. there’d be two water bottles inside, a couple of sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, and sometimes, almost sheepishly, a small bouquet of wildflowers that he’d picked up on his way in. he’d just stand there, eyes locked on you, a grin stretching across his face, like nothing else in the world mattered until you noticed him.

the second your eyes met, you’d drop your racket and run to him, feeling the weight of the day lift. and as soon as you were close enough, his arms were around you, strong and unrelenting, pulling you into him. his lips were always at your cheek, your forehead, your lips, he couldn't help it. there was something intoxicating about the way you felt in his arms, like he’d been starved for it. from behind you, you could almost hear the girls on your team groan in mock disgust, but you didn’t care.

"what are you doing here?" you'd ask, breathless against his neck.

"i came to see my favorite person," he'd say, simply, before giving you one last kiss, soft but firm, like he meant it more than anything he’d ever said.

and it wasn’t just the visits. when he was away, traveling, the distance gnawed at him in a way you could feel in the messages he’d send, the short but sweet voicemails left at odd hours when he knew you were asleep. his days were busy, packed with grueling hours, but you were always on his mind. he’d text you between stops, little notes about things that reminded him of you. some small-town diner where the waitress wore her hair like yours, or a stray dog that followed him for a block.

he collected things for you, too. small, insignificant things to anyone else. keychains from wherever he found himself, little tennis-related trinkets he'd stumble upon in city gift shops. he even got one or two to match with you, though he’d never admit it to anyone else. it wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t grand gestures, but it was his way of telling you that he was thinking of you, always.

he’d surprise you with late night skype calls, blurry and pixelated, but it didn’t matter because it was him. he’d talk about everything and nothing. how much he missed you, how quiet his room felt without you there to fill the space. and when you finally saw him again in person, there was always this energy between you, like he was trying to memorize every part of you before the world pulled him away again.

but perhaps what made him a great boyfriend, what people didn’t see, was the way he noticed the smallest things. he knew when you were stressed before you even realized it yourself. he’d rub your shoulders in that quiet way of his, sit beside you in silence if that’s what you needed, or talk you through it if that’s what helped. he remembered how you took your coffee or tea, and how you liked to crack open your window just a bit before bed because you liked to feel the night air. he was rough and unpolished, but with you, he was soft.

maybe that’s the thing about patrick, he wasn’t the obvious choice. but when he loved, he loved with his whole being, even if he couldn’t always put it into words. his love was in the details, in the quiet moments, in the way he couldn’t keep his lips from your skin when you were near. and you knew, without a doubt, that you were the person who mattered most to him, no matter how far away he was.

[cripplecharacters]

Hi! I was actually wondering if you all could do a really in-depth post specifically on canes versus forearm crutches. I’ve noticed a couple of the recent asks pertain to it, and I think I myself still have one in the queue related to it, but in all of the posts y’all link us too in your answers to those asks, I have found the information is still very sparse and doesn’t directly compare the two in a lot of detail. I would really really love to see a specific dedicated post that breaks down the differences Between them directly, and goes into a lot more detail about what kind of person might prefer a cane and what kind of person might prefer forearm crutches. Differences in conditions, pain levels, fatigue levels, location of issue on their body, other symptoms, examples of disabilities that might more commonly default to one over the other, all that stuff. I’ve looked through basically all your posts on the subject I can find, and still feel like it’s really only scratching the surface, so if there’s a way y’all would be willing to do one big post on this topic specifically, I know at least I would really love it and I think others would as well! Most of the existing posts are a little too broad and surface level, and while I have found them super helpful as a starting point, I would love to see one that zooms in just on these two mobility aids rather than a broad overview of all types of mobility aids being compared like most of the existing resources y’all have. Seriously love what you all do and I would be extremely grateful for this!

Hey anon, just for you:

On Writing Characters Using Canes vs Crutches

[large text: On Writing Characters Using Canes vs Crutches]

This is a writing advice post that doesn't cover every single possibility because that's too impossible to try and do. It's simplified to be coherent for writers who have little to no experience with these sorts of mobility aids, and I encourage anyone who wants to write a character using either of these to treat this post as a small part of a larger research process. This post will contain generalizations for the purpose of me wanting to actually finish it. This is writing advice, not medical information, nor something you should be applying to real life.

Please keep in mind that a lot of the disability examples will only be shown in a single category because otherwise this would be a comical block of text. So yes, I know that a ton of conditions outside the "chronic pain" category also come with chronic pain, but I want this list to be actually easy to look through.

This will compare the cane (singular stick) to crutches (two sticks). Differences between a singular crutch and two canes will be at the end.

Canes

[large text: Canes]

The most primitive mobility aid that's out there. A wrist-height stick with a handle. An incredible invention. You hold it in your hand (at a rather natural angle) and that's mostly it - it's meant to follow a standard (left leg forward, right arm forward) gait and be a support meant for generally milder mobility issues. A cane can take up to 25% of body weight, so like half of what a leg does.

As a TLDR, here's what they could be:

One leg unable to bear the entire weight (but not completely unable) - this could be a result of a problem anywhere from the bottom of the foot all the way to the hip.

Milder balance problems - largely neurological, so either a condition that affects the brain, the spinal cord, or the nerves in the leg. There are also some autoimmune, respiratory, and cardiovascular causes as well, plus a few more.

Back/trunk problems, most commonly pain.

To use a cane you need two legs, most people who use canes for leg reasons will have a “good leg” and a “bad leg”. If this is the case, you'd typically hold the cane on the good leg side, as that redistributes the weight - and pain - between the bad leg and the cane.

The good leg needs to be able to bear the whole weight comfortably, the bad leg needs to be able to bear, at the very least, half of the weight. If the disability affects legs to the point where either:

both have problems weight-bearing;

one can't bear weight at all (e.g., amputation, flaccid paralysis, pain too severe);

then two crutches (or other mobility aid, like a wheelchair) would be the move. The cane doesn't replace an entire leg and is meant to be a minor support.

Examples of what would cause someone to use a cane:

Monoplegia or hemiplegia that is spastic (rigid) in the leg. This could be a result of stroke, traumatic brain injury, cerebral palsy, multiple sclerosis, nerve damage, Brown-Séquard syndrome, polio, encephalitis, transverse myelitis, progressive multifocal leukoencephalopathy, alternating hemiplegia of childhood, hemiplegic migraines, or being a hemispherectomy survivor. And many more things.

Chronic pain; arthritis, hypermobility spectrum disorders, chronic patellar instability, h-EDS, neuropathy, peripheral artery disease, past injuries (e.g., broken foot that healed incorrectly), systemic lupus erythematosus, joint replacement, chronic bursitis, and a lot more.

Relatively minor fatigue - most fatigue disorders will be on a wide spectrum, and people's symptoms often vary a lot. But a cane could help with fibromyalgia, Charcot Marie Tooth disease, POTS, scoliosis, severe kyphosis/lordosis, COPD (and other respiratory conditions), or milder forms of CFS/ME. Someone undergoing chemotherapy (or taking some other fatigue-causing medication) could also use one.

Muscle conditions, which are an even bigger spectrum. Spinal muscular atrophy type 3 and 4, early Limb-Girdle muscular dystrophy, tibial MD, Becker MD, or early myotonic dystrophy type 2 can all be reasons to use a cane. Keep in mind that these have drastically different presentations from person to person, and it's not entirely unusual for two people with the same kind of muscular dystrophy to use very different mobility aids (e.g., a tilt-in-space powerchair vs ...no aid at all). These are just the ones where I'm aware of a person who 1) has it, 2) uses a cane, even if it's not the most common aid.

Prosthetic leg on one side; usually below knee (high level amputees will more often go for crutches, even if they use a prosthetic).

The second biggest reason why people use a cane is balance. For this the cane can be held in either hand; some people have a preference, generally for the non-dominant hand for convenience - although many people with balance problems will also have a coordination disorder that might make using their non-dominant hand too difficult. Some people will switch the side they hold it on.

For a lot of people with balance problems, a cane might be the aid they use at home, and use a rollator or a wheelchair outside.

A good cane for balance purposes is a quad cane - it has four legs at the bottom and offer more stability than the single point equivalent. However, the larger base might also mean that for some people it can be easier to hit it with their foot, which ranges from annoying to dangerous.

Examples of disabilities that affect balance;

Many of the things included in the first section - primarily those that directly affect the brain or nerves.

Conditions that cause vertigo - again, many of the same things as before because a lot of them tend to originate in the brain. So other than aforementioned meningitis or stroke and the like: Ramsay Hunt syndrome, migraines, basically any sort of brain damage, POTS, Meniere's disease, labyrinthitis.

Respiratory problems, like chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, severe asthma, or lupus.

Coordination disorders - again, a lot of overlap with aforementioned disabilities, so I'll skip to things I haven't mentioned yet. Ataxia could be caused by a lot of things; some include the Chiari malformation, ataxia-telangiectasia, Friedrich's ataxia, Parkinson's, brain tumors, or Niemann-Pick disease. Dystonia is usually a primary condition rather than being caused by other things (although it can be). Dyspraxia is also a coordination disorder generally milder than ataxia, and canes can be potentially helpful for it as well.

As mentioned before, some coordination disorders will affect the upper limbs as well, and it might be too difficult to use a cane. For disabilities like Huntington’s disease, or ataxia that significantly affects the hands, rollators and wheelchairs tend to be more helpful.

Anything that causes the person to fall. Fall risk is the primary reason people use canes.

A cane can also be used for back/trunk issues. One can lift off some weight of the body from above the Problem by putting the weight on the arm instead. I have really severe kyphosis as well as (partial) trunk muscle atrophy/coordination problems and quite literally can't straighten my back for more than a few minutes at most - my cane allows me to do that more easily and without needing to think about it as much.

Examples of some conditions that cause that include;

sciatica;

degenerative disk disease;

past spine injury;

scoliosis or severe kyphosis/lordosis.

In my experience, you need fairly good arm strength to use a cane comfortably. For people with more significant weakness in upper limbs, rollators tend to work better.

Grip strength is also important; there are canes designed to mitigate this (the platform cane/crutch comes to mind) but they're not the most common because often (not always) when someone has this issue they already require a larger mobility aid.

Canes are often a "starting" mobility aid, i.e., a person starts using it at first but later transitions to using something else as their disability progresses (or they realize that it wasn't adequate in the first place, it mostly happens with slowly progressive conditions - when they decide to get a cane, it's often just too late). A cane can be useful at the very start of an onset of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, but it's basically worthless beyond that.

Similarly (kind of), a cane can be the "smaller" mobility aid for someone who uses multiple of them at the same time. Someone dealing with fatigue could use a cane at home, but need a rollator for going out, or a wheelchair for longer trips. Another person could use a cane when going out with a prosthetic leg on, but use a wheelchair or crutches at home when not wearing the prosthetic.

Crutches

[large text: Crutches]

These are more complex and provide more help. Crutches directly affect your gait depending on the exact disability, and take away both hands. They can potentially take up to 100% of body weight for parts of the walking cycle if you have good upper body strength and balance, and 50% otherwise (so, one good or two half-good legs still required).

Crutches are used for a lot of things (realistically too many to cover here) so I'll just go with the main categories that encompass most of them.

A) Both legs can't fully bear weight;

The same things as in the cane section, but present on both sides rather than one.

Hypotonia; can be caused by thousands of things. Some include Down syndrome, Tay-Sachs syndrome, achondroplasia, being born prematurely, brain damage, and congenital hypothyroidism.

Paraplegia that's low-level and/or incomplete, or quadriplegia that's incomplete. Quadriplegia is a huge spectrum as well, and it will depend on the amount of strength and flexibility that the individual person has in their arms and hands.

Bilateral amputation with prosthetics. (Someone who can bear weight no problem but has a milder balance problem could use a cane instead.)

B) One leg can't bear any or a lot of weight;

The same things as in the cane section, they're basically all on a spectrum, so some people choose a cane and others choose crutches.

Unilateral amputation, or congenital limb difference.

Limb length discrepancy where it doesn't touch the ground or barely does so.

C) Significant balance issues;

Same things as for canes, but either more severe or just someone's personal preference.

D) Back/trunk pain;

Same as C).

Additional note based on things I have seen: you can't use crutches if you have no legs and no prosthetics. You can't walk literally just on crutches. You need at least a single leg or prosthetic.

(Yeah I'm aware that there's probably a guy somewhere who does tricks where he does exactly that for a short video. That's Crutches Georg and he should not be counted because 99.9% of crutches users won't be doing that ever.)

Crutches will provide much more stability and relieve more pressure than a cane, but there is a wide range of the amount of support depending on how they are utilized.

What the disability is can actually present itself in the person's gait - there are a few main ones that are associated with crutches;

Four-point. The two legs and two crutches work as four different points of support, and three of them are in contact with the ground at any time. A lot (not all) of people who use it will use crutches full-time and/or not be able to stand without them. The most stable and the slowest out of all of these.

Three-point. Probably the one most people have in mind when thinking crutches. The crutches both move at the same time, along with the bad leg, then the good leg follows. This is the "broken leg in a cast" way of walking.

Two-point. The closest to how non-crutch users generally walk. It's like having a cane on each side; left crutch forward, right leg forward. Fairly fast.

Step-to. The crutches work as one point of contact, and the legs as the other - both of each will move forward at the same time. In the step-to, a person puts their feet at the crutches' height. Fairly fast as well.

and step-through. I'd say the most difficult, least stable, providing the least amount of support. The same as in step-to, both crutches go forward before both legs, however here the legs get swung through them while the person is only holding up on crutches. This is the fastest that it gets, and can definitely be faster than an abled person walking. You can run quickly like this.

If you have issues visualizing them, there are a lot of great demonstrations on YouTube that you can look up for clarification.

There are a lot of subtle differences in which one people end up using, but as a rule of thumb, the more balance they lack, the more points of support they need. To provide some examples;

a person with quadriplegic cerebral palsy might lack balance and coordination, so they might use a four-point gait.

A person with one-sided tarsal tunnel syndrome can walk with a three-point gait, as it can be used to mitigate weight-bearing fully or partially - if the pain gets worse, they can just not touch the ground with that leg.

A person with incomplete thoracic spinal cord injury could also work with a three point gait, though they would put both legs on the ground. If someone has good strength in the arms and trunk, they can get both crutches in the front along with one leg, then try to get the second one to go forward as well. This is how a lot of crutch users with a disability affecting two legs, but with decent balance and upper body strength, walk.

A person who had a traumatic brain injury and now experiences balance problems but not as much leg issues could opt for a two-point gait. It does help with weight redistribution, but primarily provides a lot of balance.

Both step-to and step-through are primarily used by single-leg problem havers (like unilateral amputees) in my experience, but I've seen people with diplegia or incomplete low-level spastic paraplegia use it too. You need very good balance and good upper body strength. I've seen dudes do backflips and ride skateboards on crutches like this. You can run as well and be way faster than you think.

The same as canes, crutches require arm strength. The more you're looking to take away from the legs, the more will go to the shoulders. If someone doesn't have the needed arm strength, a rollator will be more helpful. Walkers not so much as they still require some strength to turn.

More Direct Comparisons

[large text: More Direct Comparisons]

The differences between pain and fatigue levels might be somewhat evident from comparing the sections above - to generalize the subject as much as possible: the bigger the pain or the fatigue, the higher possibility of using crutches over a cane is. They provide more relief for both, as well as providing more balance.

Now, there's always exceptions. Someone might not be able to use two sticks, because of a disability affecting one of the arms - hemiplegia is a common example. In this case, the person could prefer to use a single crutch rather than two. They could opt for platform crutches, which don't require as secure of a grip. They might need a rollator instead. They might have a powerchair that they operate with their good arm.

Another thing is that some people will use crutches even if a cane would work just as well. Some people like the grip more, or find them easier to use. They could also like that crutches are seen as more medical than a cane, which could be seen as a fashion accessory. Maybe they can be faster on crutches than with a cane (e.g., if their disability is limited to a single leg, getting it out of the walk cycle might be more convenient) and that matters to them.

And to go with this, some people just don't like crutches. I personally don't like the forearm cuff because I tend to swing my wrist around with my cane rather than hold it perfectly straight, so the cuff seems annoying. For someone else that could be more than a preference, e.g. if they have a limb difference that affects the length of their forearms to be much shorter - a person like this could prefer two canes.

As to what mobility aids are better for which disabilities, it's highly individualized, but to heavily generalize again: canes tend to be more helpful for relatively milder disabilities, and crutches for relatively more significant ones based on the amount of support they provide. But that's an oversimplification so simple that it's not really useful.

Someone with neuropathy in parts of their foot might find a cane completely sufficient, but it wouldn't be as useful for someone with nerve damage that caused flaccid paralysis from the hip down; they would probably prefer crutches. But then again, someone with mild vertigo could use crutches because they prefer them (even if a cane would work just fine) while someone else might have incomplete C6 quadriplegia and use a cane with leg braces over crutches because they enjoy having a free hand.

For more similarities between the two; overuse injuries can happen to both cane and crutch users, generally in the shoulder(s). They're not very common unless you're putting more weight on them than you're supposed to. They're very annoying because it drastically tanks your mobility until they get better (unless you can walk without them just as much that is), but they're treatable with physical therapy.

Now for the two canes and a singular crutch. Let's start with the fact that the latter is infinitely more popular than the former. It's basically the same as a single cane but more supportive; it's good for people who need more balance than a cane provides but can't use both hands. Two canes is very rare and I can't tell you what the actual pattern of choosing them over other options is outside of personal preference because I have no idea.

The general conclusion of the post is that crutches and canes really aren't that different, and are more of a spectrum of usable sticks by the amount of support they provide to the user. That's why often you'll see canes and crutches listed as the same thing when it comes to "management of XYZ disability" type resources - for a lot of them they're rather similar in practice, especially when compared to rollators, walkers, scooters, or wheelchairs.

I hope this was more in depth and therefore more helpful, if this still leaves you with some unanswered question feel free to reach out again.

mod Sasza

[itwasrealtome]

THIN ICE

Olivia Benson x fem! reader

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

ANGST | Olivia Benson x fem! detective reader | Masterlist

Summary : Detective Y/N Y/L/N, part of Olivia Benson’s Special Victims Unit, faces a life-threatening situation during a suspect’s arrest, chasing this one into an ultimate falls to his death. Injured but alive, Y/N finds herself in an hospital room, receiving stern words from Olivia about her reckless actions.

Content Warning : Mention of stimulants to stay awake | Mention of a breakup | Mention of police work | Mention of jumping off a building | Some police man being a jerk | Usual SVU talk : Abuse, murder, violence, weapon and kidnapping | Y/N getting into a fight | People falling from a building | Injuries | Death | Hospital | OLIVIA BEING MAD | HEARTBREAK

A/N : Hello my loves. I'm finally sharing this first Olivia X reader with you. I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think. There are a few people I can't identify in the taglist, I'm sorry.

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This afternoon, the streets seemed even more crowded than usual. The vehicles flooded the roads, coming from every corner and blocking the main way out.

Behind a queue of about ten of them, a police car came to a sudden halt. The alarm was on, and the blue and red flashing lights blinded anyone who looked in that direction.

But no one moved.

Not even the sound of a horn persuaded the citizens of New York to get out of the path.

Amanda’s grip on the wheel only tightened. She had never been able to understand the reason behind people’s insensitivity to this kind of thing. It was such an easy thing to understand. Besides, someone’s life often depended on it. Yet, there she was, turning furiously midway, her partner gasping in surprise, her shirt now stained with hot coffee.

— Dude, can’t you just warn before doing that kind of thing?

The blonde gave a brief glance to her passenger. She expected to find her glued to the door, her fingers clenched around the top handle, but she didn’t.

Y/N was desperately trying to absorb the contents of her cup on her worktop. The wipers provided with her order, finally finding their use.

While most people would have been annoyed about staining a piece of clothing, the young detective was not. She seemed much more upset about losing a few drops of her beverage. The former could still be replaced, but the latter was definitely needed.

— Sorry about your shirt.

— Yeah, well you owe me a coffee.

The driver’s smile only widened when she heard her partner muttering complaints. She knew her well enough to say that it had nothing to do with that slight accident. It was cute. Of course, it was. But Amanda could see through it. She knew it had nothing to do with the coffee. Sure, the days were long and their job involved finding stimulants to stay awake, but Y/N was never acting like that. Something was different. And who better to notice than someone who practically lived with her?

— Sure you’re okay?

— Rollins, it’s just a shirt. I think I can get over it.

Amanda gave her a knowing glance. She expected this kind of answer from the young officer. Everyone knew what kind of person she was.

Committed, she was always the first to arrive at the precinct and the last to leave. She was practically married to the job by now. And though Kat had trouble following orders, Y/N did not. She was the perfect partner. Amanda couldn’t remember a time when Y/N had lost control. But these days, everything seemed to fall apart.

It began with a couple of small comments, here and there, a bit too harsh coming from Y/N’s mouth. Next up, her silence during the team talk was a concerning factor for Amanda. If anyone always had something to add to the investigation, it was her. This ranged from a simple detail no one had noticed, to scientific or sociological facts. It was often complicated to keep the detective quiet, so her lack of involvement was bound to catch the eye. That and the fact the blonde had seen her leave the bunks two mornings in a row at the exact same time.

Sure, it was just the addition of minor details. But the older woman’s gut was not wrong, not about this. Something was wrong with her partner. And it had nothing to do with a simple lack of caffeine.

— Oh, don’t give me that kind of look.

— But you’re not telling me the truth, Y/N/N!

Y/N huffed quietly. At times in her life, she hated being around people whose job was to investigate. She cursed them all equally. She just couldn’t help herself the last few days. Her anger was aimed at a specific and unique person, but that person being in law enforcement themselves, it was almost overwhelming to go to work every day. Time seemed to run too slowly there. The only moments she enjoyed were those outside the building. The cold New York weather allowed her to clear her mind and take a deep breath. And she always had something to do, after all the city never slept.

—Like you don’t keep anything to yourself, huh?

Amanda faintly spluttered. Everyone knew she had had difficult times, but she wasn't the only one. And now that she was honest with herself, she knew she had made mistakes. One thing’s for sure, she did not want her partner to replicate these.

— I made some mistakes, most of them I don’t want you to repeat.

— I seriously doubt you did this one.

That was all she could get out of the young detective. Amanda knew it as she watched her turn toward the window. The mere reflection of her face gave her a glimpse of what she was really feeling inside, a sweet mixture of anger and bitterness. Whatever the problem was, it wasn't something they could fix with a drink. And this worried the blonde even more.

— Just promise me you won't do anything stupid.

These words captured the passenger's interest again. She arched an eyebrow at her partner, a smile forming at the corner of her lips. Knowing their duo’s dynamics, she had dozens of retorts on the tip of her tongue, all of them a little more mischievous than the last. Instead, she just shook her head gently. Amanda didn't have to know how upset she was about the whole thing. She didn’t deserve to worry so much. And Y/N certainly had no right to be such a burden to her partner.

— Like what? Jumping off a building? y/n chuckled at the blonde’s glare. Relax. I won’t do anything of that kind, I promise.

At that very moment, the young detective genuinely meant it. She had not gotten up with such an idea in mind. If jumping off a building was regarded as a very stupid gesture, she considered her routine more so.

It was in the way the precinct’s bunks were beginning to feel like home. And how she spent every second of her days with the badge on her waist. She had no idea when she had last stepped into her apartment for more than a shower. Her desk was overflowing with paperwork and books in which she always found a way to bury herself. It was much more than a way to distract herself. At all costs, she avoided raising her head, out of fear of meeting the gaze that froze her every time. The path she was on was, for that matter, significantly more dangerous than whatever stupid thing Amanda was thinking about.

But she could not say that to her.

To anyone, actually.

— Weren't we just called to make sure that this jerk wasn't prowling around the residence?

In any other context, Y/N would have felt like a fool. Her back nearly arched as she tried to make out what was going on in a street they weren't even close to yet. She may have lacked sleep and insight into her personal life, but her cop intuition never failed her.

— You'd be sure of that if you'd listened to a single word the captain said.

— Something’s wrong.

Amanda brought them to the next intersection before momentarily stopping the car. The sight over her partner’s shoulder sent a chill down her spine. Despite years of experience, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline every time. The crowd of cops down the street certainly wasn’t helping. They were everywhere. Mostly hidden behind their vehicles. But their vests did not go unnoticed and neither did their weapons pointed at a specific target.

— Crap, I hate when you’re right about this stuff.

— Hum…what was that you were saying about our captain again? y/n faced her friend with a teasing smile on her face. She couldn’t help herself. Always listen to what sh–

The sudden acceleration of the vehicle silenced Y/N. She felt grateful once again that her belt was keeping her safe. No day went by without her being in some kind of danger, but she never thought she’d have to worry about dying while Amanda was behind the wheel.

— Would you please stop doing that? cried the younger detective, her hands still clutching the top handle. And since when do you drive so badly? Damn it.

— Guess now you’ll stop driving like a maniac if I let you get behind the wheel.

The door swung shut before she could react. She stepped out of the car herself and walked over to Amanda. A vest was tossed in her face before she could even think about opening her mouth. But anyone who thought she would have given up so easily was wrong.

— I do not drive like a maniac.

Her friend gave her a knowing look as she closed the trunk. Now was definitely not the time to have this kind of conversation, but Amanda was glad her partner hadn’t lost everything that made her the person she was.

She was relentless, both in her work and in her personal life. To be defeated by a suspect in an interrogation room was a rare occurrence. Within the profession, many officers wondered about her career choice. They could imagine her leaving the field to terrify judges in a courtroom. Perhaps because they were themselves scared to death to face her. Seeking victory in a debate with a woman like Y/N was a waste of time. She knew when she was wrong, and would always acknowledge it. Nevertheless, she also knew when she was right. And in those moments, Amanda was the first to grab a bag of popcorn.

— That you do.

The detective’s hands found the velcro on the vest from memory as she was too busy glowering at her friend. The protection weighed on her shoulders. It was almost enough to give her a reason to fall apart. That, and the weight of life that was beginning to take its toll on her.

Slightly defeated, she stomped over to Amanda to catch up with her. She knew the other detective was right. Her anger was evident in the way she drove. Since then, she was assigned the role of co-pilot. It was okay. But she loathed being deprived of her usual distraction. It was starting to loop in her mind. She needed a way out.

— Detective Rollins and Y/L/N, Special Victims Unit.

Amanda shoved her badge in the man’s direction, half-expecting him to tell her to piss off. He dominated the scene with his large stature and a rank evident to all. The rookies were following his orders and keeping their mouths shut. Something that obviously wouldn't work with Olivia Benson-trained agents. He didn't seem to mind, guiding the two detectives as close as possible to the scene. But then, the mere idea of having to send men into the building made him raise his chin in an authoritative, disapproving manner.

— Our only witness is trapped in this building, Rollins began the fight, finger pointing accusingly. I don't care how, I want that man in custody.

If one of them had looked up for even half a second, instead of fighting over who had the biggest –which was obviously Y/N in this situation– they might have been able to stop the young detective in her tracks. Amanda had had enough of listening to the man's whining as he waved his rank in her face. And her colleague, the one she was supposed to look after, was tired of simply waiting.

As discreet as a mouse in the middle of the city, Y/N circled the building and quickly found a fire escape. It wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind when the impulse to walk into the building first came to her, but she couldn't really say she'd given it much thought. With a bit of imagination, and a little help from a trash container, she managed to pull herself up to the top. Now, maybe that was the beginning of a crazy idea. She could already imagine her partner and captain scolding her - if, and only if, she managed to get out of there alive and intact.

At the top of the stairs leading to the third floor, the detective stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of their suspect's agitated voice.

Thomas Patterson, 45, suspected of having violently abused his wife before killing her, and of abusing his stepdaughter - Johanne Morales. The man's profile was clear: a respectful-looking husband and father-in-law, loved by all, carefree, but once the door was closed he turned into a control freak with urges he simply couldn't escape. He clearly hadn't planned to kill his wife. The autopsy had revealed signs of haste and mistakes that a man like Patterson would never have made if he had prepared properly. But he had made mistakes. His blows had been too violent, Johanne had interrupted him, and he'd had to finish the job quickly - too quickly, in order to hide his crime.

Y/N had studied his profile carefully. That's what she did best, that and avoiding her captain. She knew he was restless, nervous, ready to do anything to cover up his actions. The final piece of the puzzle was to eliminate the only witness, the one who would go all the way to court to see him take the fall. She had an advantage over him. She was there, so close to the goal, and he was unaware of her presence. At least, that was until Amanda's voice came through the radio.

— Y/L/N, you've got two seconds to get your butt over here.

The young detective could have banged her own head against the wall. Boy, had she been stupid on that one. She clenched her jaw, the urge to bite her fist growing cumbersome as she prayed Thomas hadn't heard. But he definitely did.

A front door opened slowly, the creaking hinges betraying the building’s condition. The man was probably armed, the sound of the guard echoing in the empty corridor. Each of his steps shook the wooden floor and sent a current of adrenalin through Y/N's veins. He was getting closer. She could smell him and his perfume. Him and her fear.

As soon as he was close enough to round the corner of the stairwell, the young detective took this as her cue. She charged at the man, her hands reaching for the 9mm held firmly in his rough, bleeding hands. In a split second, the magazine slid out and collapsed on the floor. She sent it tumbling down a few steps with her boot, before landing a knee into the suspect’s parts. This only confused him for the briefest moment. He was on her again before she could even flinch. Her body hit the wall with a heavy thud, the vest shielding her body from the heavy impact. However, the man’s hands found her neck and tightened their grip, pulling her head violently forward and then pushing it back, slamming it against the concrete wall.

He repeated the motion twice more, the detective’s pleas of pain provoking a feeling he himself could not begin to describe. Y/N wasn’t done with him yet. He clearly wanted to lash out at a woman and had a nasty habit of underestimating them all. Only, today wasn’t his lucky day. He was forced into the apartment where he had deliberately tied up the young Johanne. It was his turn to bang into something. The dresser barely tilted behind him, but the vase crashed hard against the top of his skull. He felt the water run down his face, the smell of freshly bought flowers wafting through the air.

Back in a corner, Johanne tried desperately to struggle out of her bonds, her words puffed out by the duct tape over her mouth. She could only witness the struggle between her back-up and her assailant. Watching as Y/N unloaded all her pent-up anger on the man who had dared to cause so much harm. In one smooth motion, Thomas grabbed the detective’s gun, a triumphant glint in his eyes. Hope was soon lost, his chances of getting out of there alive and free close to zero. His opponent was relentless and had no intention of letting him slip away. His only option, he realized, a flash of light reflecting off the window, was to drag the detective with him in his fall.

Outside, Amanda was still arguing with the man in charge of operations. He hadn’t given up and neither had she. Only when, as the argument continued to escalate, gunshots were heard, followed by the shattering of a window pane, did they come to an agreement. The plan didn’t even have time to take shape before two bodies flew out of the building.

First, the blonde saw the man she recognized as their suspect crash hard to the ground, the collision knocking him down instantly. Then came a tremendous thump and the shrill sound of a car alarm. Straight ahead of her, on one of the patrol cars, had landed Y/N. The height of the fall meant that the roof of the vehicle had been crushed and some of the windows smashed. That wasn't what Amanda was most worried about. Her partner, the one who'd promised her she wouldn't do anything stupid – like jumping off the third floor of a building, was sprawled motionless on the broken glass, blood on the back of her skull.

— Oh my God, Y/N, in one stride, she was as close as she could get to her friend. Call an ambulance. Now!

For once, the man made himself useful, radio in hand, as he asked for help. He now stood with one, maybe two, even three victims to deal with if the detective didn't make it. He could already imagine the damage it would do to his career. Besides, he knew Captain Benson very well and had no desire to mess with her.

Needless was his worry. The more Amanda studied her friend, the more she realized how lucky she’s been. Y/N was simply stunned, staring at the New York sky with an uncharacteristic intensity. She began to laugh, full-throated, heartily. It was probably the adrenaline pumping again. Tears joined the party, leaving funny marks on her bloody cheeks. Suddenly, she remembered.

— Johanne. She's alive. Up there. Y/N looked up at Amanda expectantly. She needs help.

***

Captain Olivia Benson had seen enough in her career not to let anxiety get the better of her. She had been beaten, kidnapped, almost died and dragged through the mud in front of an entire courtroom. She had reached a point where facing certain types of suspects no longer made her lose her footing.

But someone was bound to make her lose it.

Briskly, almost to the point of knocking herself off her feet, she made her way through the corridors of a hospital she knew all too well. The distinctive clatter of her heels against the floor blended perfectly with the incessant beeping and distant hubbub of such a place. She wasn't there to see a victim, as she often was. Her hasty and agitated demeanor only aroused the suspicions of the medical staff who had crossed paths with her so many times. It wasn't just a professional matter.

It hadn't been for a long time.

When Olivia reached room 212, she didn't spare a moment's hesitation. One of her youngest detectives and latest recruit was sitting wisely on the edge of the bed, her legs wriggling in the air like a child's. A nurse was visibly busy behind her, dropping more and more glass flakes into her tray as she went. She leaned against the doorframe, arms folded tightly against her chest, eyes focused on the sight that made her stomach hurt in spite of herself.

She watched as Y/N's chest, covered in dried blood, continued to pulsate with every breath, as hematomas were already starting to spread across her face and torso, and as her plain face twisted in pain as soon as the nurse reached for another piece of glass. Just a few days ago, her first instinct would have been to rush to her protégé’s side and calm the agony she knew to be growing in her heart. But she'd vowed to keep her distance and stay in her current position: Captain Benson, unit chief.

All too quickly for the young detective's liking, the nurse finished her treatment and left the two law enforcement agents behind. Olivia had had the decency to wait until the door was closed before lashing out at her, which didn't stop Y/N from rolling her eyes. She'd already imagined this conversation - or rather, monologue - and knew she wouldn't come out of it unscathed. She'd probably lose her badge. No matter, she'd already lost her heart.

— Have you completely lost your mind? You could’ve been killed.

This was the cue for a lengthy sermon that she couldn't escape. The words left Olivia's mouth at a speed that seemed unbearable. She paced back and forth, her arms stretching out in waves of frustration and indignation, her cheeks rosy with emotion. She'd done some stupid things herself when she was just a rookie, but throwing herself off the third floor of a building had never been on the list.

— Are you done? y/n arched an eyebrow as Olivia finally paused. I saved a life today. While Amanda and that jerk were fighting over who had the biggest, which apparently I did.

— No, you refused to follow orders. Not only did you put yourself in danger, you put everyone's lives in danger. Heaven help us again that you were wearing your vest, otherwise it could have been a lot worse.

— I don't know why you care so much, you're just my boss!

Although these words were intended to hurt Olivia, it was Y/N who took the brunt of the blow. It was one thing to know that their relationship had been reduced to this, but it was quite another to admit it in person. The brunette was no longer entitled to worry so much, to ask her to watch out and send her a text as soon as she got home. Whatever had been was no more.

— Right, Olivia broke into an almost scoffing snort. Let me tell you, as your captain, that you won't be leaving the precinct for a long time.

— You’re benching me? Liv, you can’t do this!

— What you did was completely irresponsible. You don't want to follow orders, fine. But you're not leaving this desk without my permission.

The young detective had been holding her breath for a long time– far too long. She'd spent days avoiding conflict, lamenting in her corner, mourning the end of a story she'd thought would last forever. It wasn't just about what had just happened, it was something else, something more personal. She felt as if Olivia had no idea how to express her concern, as if her only option was to play the role of the big bad boss. But she was tired of hiding, of running away, of avoiding confrontation.

— Breaking my heart wasn't enough for you, uh? She rose from the bed, hastily putting on her jacket. If you want me to leave the squad, just say so.

For the first time, she faced her head-on. Head held high, eyebrows furrowed in frustration, ready to stand on tiptoe if that would help reach the brunette's height. She faced those brown pearls with all the courage she had left, her own eyes misty with tears she'd never let flow. This was it, so close yet so far, two souls who knew each other becoming strangers once again.

Olivia reached out with a last ounce of regret, brushing away a tear that had escaped down the young detective's cheek with the tip of her thumb. Her heart urged her to do more, to embrace this bruised woman, to bring her all the comfort she needed. She wanted to take Y/N home, wrap her in one of her shirts, tell her how much she loved her. In another life, where they were just two soul mates, where Olivia didn't have to worry about repercussions, whatever they might be. This was where she could find comfort.

— Go home. Take a few days. Get some rest. We'll talk about it when you get back.

The New Yorker had rarely seen a face shattered in a matter of seconds. Her words had urged Y/N to free herself from her hold, her head heavy and spinning from all the hassle and concussion she'd picked up from the blows. Her shoulder nudged her superior's as she walked by, a gesture of no little importance. She did not look back once to meet her former lover's gaze again.

Maybe she should have.

Maybe she would have seen the same love, the same tears, that Olivia saw in her eyes.

Maybe the ice wasn't so thin after all.

•••

Taglist: @electricboost @womenlovingwomen-imagines @hi-1-1-blog @emskisworld @enjoytheentireworld @arie109 @marvelandotheruniverseslover-adhd @philocalistwrites @wittygutsy @observeowl @ravennewlyn @tina-2005 @makkaroni221 @ssaaggwwaa @youdontknowwhotfiamm @mmmmokdok @hbkpop @micaluvssoccer @idk-whats-wrong-with-me-blog @nciscmjunkie @moonlightjxuregui @thefatobsession @12fluffybunny12 @scarletwitcher97 @thesamesweetie @idonothingallday @clozeliz @realgirlbossqueenslay @l4yne @rain-mikaelson @fanfiction-24824 @sammi1642 @inquisitive-nix @namelesscheshire @slasherthrillss @marvelwomenrule @irishavengersassemble

[maxsimagination]

𝗹𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗮 - 𝗮.𝗽𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮𝘀

summary: in a world where everyone knows alexia, it’s nice for her to meet someone who doesn’t know alexia

𖦹 masterlist

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗥 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗤𝗨𝗜𝗘𝗧 for once, a rare wednesday night the one time i didn't have to run around serving drinks in a frenzy.

there was a couple of people, groups at different tables in the building, but very few at the actual bar. i was wiping down the surface and stocking some liquors when someone walked up to the bar. i put the rag down that i was cleaning with and turn to the woman.

"what can i get you, ma'am?" the blonde looks at me, her faded pink strands framing her face. "just a rum and coke, por favor." (please.)

she looks tired, drained. when i slide the drink over to her, she looks up with a small smile on her face. "gracias." (thank you.)

"de nada." (you’re welcome.)

i use the small amount of spanish i know from living in the country for a couple of months. she perks up when i speak in her native tongue. i give a small smile in response and she grins. her smile is beautiful, it makes her face light up.

"do you know much spanish?" the woman speaks again.

"no not much. i've only been here for a couple of months." that seems to surprise her.

"how old are you?"

"twenty, i turn twenty-one in five months."

we keep chatting, the bar stayed quiet as some people filtered in and out and i served a couple drinks. i learned that the women was twenty-nine and she loves women's football. we had that in common, but i watched it a lot less as i had uni during the days and worked the night shifts at the bar.

"when do you clock off?"

"my shift finishes at 12, i'm on close today."

"i can wait for you." i glance up at her, kind of surprised why she'd want to wait until 12 for a stranger to get off work. "just to walk you home?"

she follows up in hopes of not making it awkward. i smile at her eagerness. "i'd like that."

it was a very uneventful three hours of waiting until i could go home, but the woman, whose name i still did not know, stayed with me the whole time. we talked most of the time, and occasionally when i had to serve some customers she would just scroll on her phone.

about an hour out from closing, i started on the tasks that needed to be done before i left.

"i'm going to start cleaning the place before we close." i let the woman know and left the bar to get the mop and other supplies. "bien." (okay.)

after the half hour it took me to mop all the floors, i returned to move all the drinks under the bar into storage.

finally i was done and it was time for me to go home.

"we can go now, i've done everything i need to."

we left the building and i locked the door with the key i had in my bra. it was the only place i knew i wouldn't loose it. we walked in comfortable silence for a bit, when i remember i didn't know her name.

"y'know, you never did tell me your name."

there was a block of silence before she answered.

"ah.., yea. there's a reason for that. i'm, i guess, what you would consider famous. alexia putellas, nice to meet you."

i knew i'd heard that name before, then it clicked; the spanish footballer. "alexia as in barcelona women?" she nodded sheepishly.

"okay."

i didn't mind that she was famous, it didn't change anything. i knew alexia from the conversation we had in the bar, not that fact that she was a famous spanish footballer.

"okay? you don't care that i'm famous?"

"i do, but it's not what i'm basing you off. i got to know the alexia in the bar, not alexia putellas, football legend. i like you for you, not your fame."

alexia flicked her hair away from her face and smiled down at me. "thankyou."

"for what?"

"for not treating me like every other celebrity. for seeing me as an actual person." i almost teared up at how she worded it but smiled at her still. we had been walking for a bit and made it to my street. we walked up to the apartment block and up to where my room was.

"did you want to maybe stay the night? y'know, just because you walked all this way." i unlocked the door with my other key and waited for alexia to answer.

"you haven't told me your name yet." it was not the answer i was expecting but i told her anyway.

"yn. me llamo yn yln." (my name is yn yln.)

"well, yn, i would love to stay the night."

and with that, we both walked into the apartment and i shut and locked the door.

[descendantsramblings]

OMG I just read you fic where Hook drinks the love spell and I need either a part 2 where we see the relationship out of the love spell or another Needy!Hook x Fem! Reader please please please 🙏🙏🙏

Nothing like some fluff to pull me out of my writer’s block ❤️

This is just Hook being needy tbh but if you want to see it as a part two to that story it could easily fit into that category

Edited this to Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson on repeat, it adds to the experience

Wake Up Slow

Needy!James Hook x Reader

Pronouns used: she/her/hers

Summary: everyone needs a place to be fully relaxed, James found his in soft duvets and needy touches

Warnings: no plot just fluff, gentle make out session, Morgie is not rocking with their odd behavior - he just wants people to be normal around him and instead they keep saying odd shit

Word Count: 1.7K

    It was in no way a rare sight, (Y/n) and Hook taking up the same space in his bed. The couple a mess of limbs, you’d have to squint to trace the lines of legs to know whose were whose under the thick maroon duvet. It had been late last night when the two stumbled in, up far past the point of exhaustion and giggling messes. Hair still slightly damp with enchanted water and clothes far more casual than anything that either party would let the general public see them in. The two barely keeping their laughter down to avoid waking the sleeping sorcerer who took up the bed next to his. Too focused on each other, on the hands that found their places on shoulders or wrists. Falling into the bed with exhausted smiles and soft, touchy hands. Hook’s face buried into her chest as he drags her closer, letting out a little whine as he waits on her to hold him back. (Y/n) nuzzling her nose into his hair and wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders, cooing nonsense to him as she sleepily clings to her boyfriend. Tangled, intertwined, two bodies as close as they could possibly manage to become before morphing into one. Warm and safe, the most comfortable home the pirate had ever known. Maybe it was the only one he'd ever known, in moments like that he felt like he could never be too sure.

   Or perhaps, in moments like this were when he felt that way. He’s always the first to stir awake, the sun making its way into his dreams. Waking him with a heated gentleness he couldn’t ignore. Hook didn’t mind being woken up to this view though. Hard to be bothered by the sight of that little white tank top so close to his face. With collar bones and the slightest ghost of cleavage nearly pressed to him, skin on display and within his reach. He can’t help himself but to nuzzle his nose against the same exposed flesh he fell asleep against. Dragging the touch slowly over her skin with the ghost of a smile. He thinks he’ll remember the way she smells for the rest of his life. Not something identifiable, yet he’d be able to recognize the scent on anything. It was intoxicating, pulling him in and seemingly lighting his senses on fire. Just as much as he couldn’t help nuzzling against her, the soft, ghost-like kisses that follow the motion come naturally. Lips brushing across her chest and collar bones, his head raising ever so slightly to press a few soft pecks to her exposed shoulders. Lazy and soft, hoping not to wake her as he takes her in. James was pretty sure he could stay like this until the Earth quit turning. There was nothing like the slow and soft pace of lazy mornings next to someone he loved. Even the seven seas held no candle to having her so, so close. He’d give his ship to wake up slowly with her every morning. For breakfast in bed and wasting days away on her chest. 

     He’s letting soft kisses fall back over previous ones when she stirs against him. A hand sliding up his back and tangling slightly in the boy’s sleep mussed hair. She tugs on it slightly, guiding the boy to show her his face. She’s beautiful, even with sleep dotting her eyes and her hair splayed out around her in messy tangles. As she moves her hands from around him to rest on his face, James is pretty sure the correct word to describe her is actually enchanting. The first kiss she places on his face falls onto his forehead, more dotting down across him as if she’s on a half-awake mission to make him melt. Peppering soft adoring touches across his face like that was the only thing she’d been put on that planet to do. His hand grips at her top, fisting the material as he lets out what can only be described as a whine. 

   “Kiss me, please?” His voice is deeper than normal, gravely with sleep as he nearly begs her to end his gentle torment. She can’t help but give in, slightly chapped lips finding his pouting ones for a tender kiss. Lips moving against each other’s in a languid and gentle pattern. She pulls away for a moment, giggling softly as the boy whimpers at the loss of contact. (Y/n) wiggles down on his bed, putting them nose to nose. She nuzzles against his softly, a sweet smile crossing her lips as she props herself up on one arm. Leaning over James as she swoops back into his lips, connecting them again as his head lulls back to give her better access to him. They pick up right where they left off, that pattern coming back to them like soft, exhausted kisses were second nature to them. They basically were though, this little display came far too easily to them. It was their preferred state of being, much to all of their friends' playful dismay. His hand drags from where it was bunched up in her shirt to rest on her shoulder, slightly pulling her down to get her closer to him as his tongue finds its way between her lips. She’s humming into his mouth, tucking the hand that isn’t holding her up back into his hair to tug at it from the root. 

    Both teens are breathless as they pull away from one another, (Y/n) letting herself fall back onto the mattress, smiling at the way his eyes stay shut. A smile pressed to his kiss reddened lips as she adjusts her head back onto his pillows. James lets those big dark eyes flutter back open, flickering over her as he moves back onto his side. “Com’ere.” She’s pretty sure that his mumble is supposed to be two solid words, but the half awake boy is sewing his words together as he reaches back out for her. The girl lets out a giggle, scooting closer to him and lifting her side ever so slightly for his arm to slide under her ribcage. Hers tuck back around him, one under his neck and one over his side. Fingers finding his hair to play with the ends of silky strands as she nuzzles her nose against the top of his head. A needy hand slips under the back of her tank top, tugging her as close as he can manage. The entirety of their bodies are pressed together, Hook’s forehead tucked against the top of her shoulder, his head just barely touching the pillow. 

    They don’t talk, they don’t need to, everything they could ever need to say is slipping between them from just the physical affection. I’m here for you, I’ve got you. You’re so loved, you mean so much to me. I never want to lose you. James’ lips brush over her collarbone again and she laughs, feeling him attempt to pull her closer than they already are. Legs tangling as he hooks his knee around her thigh. Completely wrapped into him and his adoration of her, as if they might just be the only people in the world. As if she’s the only girl in his world. 

    “You are the neediest boy I have ever met.”  His eyes flash up to her face, taking in the glow that covers her features as she laughs at him. Looking down at him from their tangled closeness. He could connect their lips again, she has them so close, just there for him to take them. “You love it.” Another kiss falls onto her collar bone as he nuzzles back against her. “I think you’d morph our bodies into one if you could,” the words are a coo, the air of her laughter still drenching her tone. He smirks, rolling his eyes just past where she can see it. And then, with a sarcastic and playful air he seems to agree, “I’d crawl into your skin if I could.” 

   “What?” The shout is accompanied by the sound of bed springs creaking as Morgie le Fay forces himself up in his bed. Book falling to the floor from his sudden movement. His bewildered tone causes the couple across the room from him to break out in giggles. James’ laughter sends hot puffs of air across her chest with every shake of his shoulders. Her own breath messing up his hair as her laughter blows the strands around. “You two are the most bizarre people I have met in my entire life,” Morgie is getting up from his bed now, tugging his shoes on with one hand while the other reaches back down for the novel he’s reading. “I mean seriously, who in their right mind tells their partner that they want to crawl into their skin? What, are you going to tell her next? That you want to curl up in her ribcage?” 

    Hook’s laughter gets heavier, words coming out on heaving breaths, “It doesn’t sound like the worst idea. Bet it’s nice and warm in there, I could be all snuggled up to her heart. Love hearing her heartbeat.” Morgie lets out the most exacerbated huff she’s ever heard, hands flying around his head wildly as he does. “See, who in their right mind says that? What is wrong with you?” The boy storms out of the room, book in hand as the couple on the bed fall into each other laughing. A duo of crashing limbs and shaking shoulders as the air in their lungs dwindles. Tears in their eyes with shaky breaths as they finally calm down. Letting out little sighs as they come back down from the emotional high. 

    “Oh, that poor boy is terrified of us, you have terrified your little friend.” Hook hums, leaning back to look at her face, “He’ll be okay.” There’s a moment that the two of them don’t speak, instead letting hungry eyes eat up the other. A plump lip finds its way between Hook’s teeth, big dark eyes trained on her lips as if he was a starving animal looking at prey. She can feel it, brow quirking as the corners of her mouth curling up into a smirk, “You wanna make out again?” And who would he be to say no?

[bonefall]

God I am so tired of Bramble fans who refuse to use critical thinking and believe that brambleclaw and squilf are equally bad. Many also hate on moonkitti's video which they most likely haven't even watched or misconstrued points in it. You can like a character without defending all their actions please I'm begging you

And people will sometimes jump to their defense, saying that people just dogpiled them for liking a character the fandom doesn't like, and while that can happen, sometimes people are actually dogpiling them for ignoring abuse and insulting creators with different opinions

(Some discourse happened on Twitter recently about this but it's something I've seen happen before, I'm not specifically talking about anyone)

I'm going to be honest and drop my feelings.

Never have I ever actually SEEN a Bramblefan "get dogpiled" for liking Bramble.

I come out here on my massive soapbox every couple of weeks and drop whole essays on this guy, I chat casually about how important he is to me as a character, both as someone who was abused in a way similar to Squirrelflight AND as someone who can relate to Bramblestar's situation, and before BB got so large and my attention was easier to divide I even ran an AU called Sweet Nothings which had a "big brother" Bramble take in it.

There is no shortage of Bramblestar-related posts around here, yet, I have never, NEVER gotten shit for when I talk positively about Bramble.

In fact, he's commonly cited as one of the favorite cats to see on this blog from my audience. I get praise for addressing him with nuance, explaining how his actions are abuse while also keeping him human, talking about how his life is a painful cycle of self-doubt that makes him double down on his worst decisions. Every time I post about him, I get an influx of comments centered around how my takes on him are appreciated.

What I DO see is people who make art where they try to bothsides him and Squirrelflight, or say something completely false about his behavior, or straightup post DARVO tactics to defend their fav's honor. When someone makes a comment that goes "uhmm? Bit strange innit?" they call it "harassment." Or when people block them, they call that "receiving hate."

OR when someone makes a vaguepost like "Heyyy, DARVO is an abuse denial tactic where the abuser or their apologists Deny the abuse took place, Attack the accuser, and then Reverse Victim and Offender to claim they were actually the person harmed. Bramblestans are playing this out, step for step, and that's bad!" they call THAT dogpiling.

Meanwhile Moonkitti got death threats and was actually harassed for posting Bramblestar Is Worse. To the point where she is hesitant to ever make another video on the topic.

So y'know what? Hot take? The stans don't actually like Bramblestar. They like the vague idea of a sadboy character who broke free from his dad's legacy so they slurp up the framing of the notorious abuse apologist writers, and they get mad when people who have critically engaged with the books don't see what they desperately crave.

How can you really LIKE a character if you can't engage with their actions? If you need to surround yourself in an unpoppable bubble and can't accept anything he's done in the 20+ years he's been active? How can you truly love a man without all his mistakes?

It's sooo hard to be me, Tumblr User Bonefall, the ONLY one who likes Bramblestar correctly. It's rough out here.

[whowantslovergirl]

You Stupid Bitch

Maddy Perez x reader (gender not specified)

warnings: cursing its euphoria yk, nate jacobs the homophobic gay woman beater, talks about the abuse, reader being an awesome person, somewhat happy ending, and yea! don't forget to smile!! ^ this means start the song 💋

euphoria masterlist

Summary: Maddy can't see that the perfect one for her is Y/N

posted: January 27,2024

Almost everyone knows how toxic Maddy and Nate is. If you don't know anything about their relationship you basically live under a rock.

The person who knew the most was Y/n a timid person but with a loud personality that's why Maddy and them got along so well.

It even got to the point where everyone thought they were a couple and only Y/n wishes for such a thing.

Because they and everyone else believes they are perfect for Maddy.

Except Maddy. ^

You let the wrong people love you

But you don't see that, do you?

When you cry and need my comfort

I drop everything to come over

Nate fucked up again and Maddy is paying for it again.

They were in her room making out and her phone kept ringing. It was this guy that was like obsessed with Maddy.

Nate saw it, got angry, threw stuff like the man he is, Maddy started crying, Nate didn't care, and blah blah blah. He left and Maddy is still crying and immediately texted you.

You were doing homework and a project at the same time when you got a text.

Maddy <3

can u please come over need ur comfort again??

You immediately went to her house.

The homework and project is due next week anyway.

Don't bite your lip or grit your teeth

Just count to ten and try to breathe

You stupid bitch, can't you see

the perfect one for you is me?

You were over at Maddys again trying to her calm down. "He's such a cunt Y/n! I did nothing fucking wrong!" You were quick to agree and still trying to get her to calm down.

"Just count to ten and try to breathe babe." You call everyone babe so of course Maddy isn't gonna find anything weird with the nickname.

She slowly started to calm down. "Thanks Y/n I can always count on you. You're literally my soulmate." She smiled and pulled you into a hug.

If only she said that out of a romantic love instead of a platonic one.

Maddy is your soulmate.

But she's too fucking dumb to see that.

"Anything for you Mads."

The perfect one for you is me

The perfect one for you is me

You stupid bitch, can't you see

the perfect one for you is me?

You and Maddy were taking a walk around the block. An old couple was walking the opposite way and they saw you guys.

"Oh well you guys are the most beautiful young couple l've ever seen!" The old lady says with a smile.

Before you correct her Maddy was a little too quick to jump to the opportunity.

"Oh we're not together I have a boyfriend." Yea for two more days, is what you wanted to say but the old lady just apologized and said

"Well I can tell the one you have now is not the one."

Literally everyone knows it but her.

You don't know what you deserve

And that's why you end up hurt

But you never listen

Take my advice as criticism

"Maddy he doesn't deserve you!" You and Maddy were arguing over the fact that Nate is a piece of shit. You think she doesn’t deserve to be treated like a piece of plastic but she believes that he’s just broken and needs someone to help him.

“You don’t known him Y/n! He needs someone to help him!”

“Yeah a fucking therapist! You shouldn’t have to pay for his actions Mads!” She just shook her head. “He treats you like shit! Every time something happens he storms off like a fucking bitch. He doesn’t care about you, Maddy. He just knows you will never leave him.”

“He does care Y/n! He’ll kill for me and I’ll kill for him. You just don’t know what true love looks like because you’ve been treated like shit in all of your relationships!” You knew she didn’t mean that so you just brushed it off.

“You don’t know what you deserve Maddy and when he puts his hands on you, which he will, don’t come crying to me!” You stormed out of her room and she heard the door slam and immediately started crying.

Her mom, who heard the whole thing. Just stared at her. Maddy looked up wondering why her own mother is not comforting her.

“Tienen razón Maddy. Puede parecer amor verdadero, pero es todo menos eso y muy pronto lo verás tal como es.”

(They are right Maddy. It may feel like true love but it’s anything but that and you will see him for who he truly is very soon.)

Then make the worst decisions

She went back to him but you weren’t surprised in any way. She can be stupid if she wants, you stopped caring.

You saw her the Monday after the fair and you guys made eye contact and she looked pale and very tired. She was also dressed in a turtleneck, since when did she wear a turtleneck in hot weather. Then it hit you.

‘I knew it, he fucking choked her.’

Don't bite your lip or grit your teeth

Just count to ten and try to breathe

You stupid bitch, can't you see

The perfect one for you is me?

When you see Maddie having a breakdown in the cafeteria and only Cassie comforting her at school you can tell she needs you. Really bad.

So you go over and just sit down and hug her. No questions asked. And she gladly accepted the hug and just cried into your shoulder.

“It’s alright Mads.”

The perfect one for you is me

The perfect one for you is me

You stupid bitch, can't you see

The perfect one for you is me?

After Maddy had your comfort. She’s been on you like crazy. Trying to kiss you and all. You thought this is what you wanted but not like this. Not after Nate.

“Maddy please. Just chill out.” You said trying to pull her arms off you. and she’s still trying to kiss you and hug you.

“You know your the best ever right? Even better than Nate.”

This is fucking bullshit.

Don't bite your lip or grit your teeth

Just count to ten and try to breathe

You stupid bitch, can't you see

The perfect one for you is me?

Another shitshow with Nate and Maddy. You’re honestly sick of this shit.

You gotta tell her how you feel.

_____

“Maddy I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“You know what Maddy! This fucking hot and cold shit. I’m done being the therapist.”

“If it was that serious why did you keep doing it?!”

“Because I was in love with you Maddy! I was fucking in love. But now I’m not so?!”

“What do you mean you’re not?”

“I mean I’m not Maddy. Bye.” You walked out and just left her.

You never felt so fucking free.

The perfect one for you is me

The perfect one for you is me

You stupid bitch, can't you see

She just couldn’t see you were perfect for her and will continue to get hurt. But you’re okay with that.

The perfect one for you is me?

An: GOT MY SHIT CHECKED but the spacing looks weird so I don’t know how to fix tht BUT HOPE YOU ENJOYED

[sirianasims]

Chapter 43.6

My mother taught me that sometimes it rains. Sometimes it pours, and you’re soaked through and miserable and it feels like it may never stop. But no matter how heavily the rain falls, no matter how drenched you get, you are not the rain.

Some day you will be dry again.

Things have been easier since I blocked Paul, the pain slowly fading to a dull ache, barely noticeable as long as I don’t dig too deep. I try to keep myself distracted, reading Lucky Girl for what must be the fifth time. It’s my comfort read, Evie reminds me a little of myself. I think we could have been friends, hanging out and agreeing that being in love is the absolute worst, actually, while we yearn for our respective idiots.

The memory of Paul is not the only thing I’m trying to escape. With all my channels inactive, even the haters have gone quiet and my views are dropping every week. I’ve toyed with the idea of simply abandoning everything and starting a new brand, but I don’t want to rebuild my follower count from scratch. I don’t have time for it. My bills are starting to pile up, and while I can still pay them for now, it won’t be long before I have to either crawl back to mom and dad and ask for help, or get one of those real jobs people keep talking about. I’m not even sure which option I would hate the most, so I hide in my book for now.

A sharp knock on the door jerks me away from Evie admiring Jude in an art gallery and back to reality.

I hesitate for a moment. I have no idea who it could be, and I don’t want to see anyone, especially not some smarmy salesperson – or worse, my landlord. With a sigh, I put my book face down on the armrest and shuffle to the door.

Miranda is leaning casually against the doorway, her high heels making her look almost as tall as Samara. At their feet, a couple of large shopping bags are threatening to fall over and spill their contents on my doormat.

“See, Samara? I told you she was still alive.”

“So you did. Then I sure hope she has a very good excuse for refusing to see her best friends for almost two months!“

I feel my cheeks get hot. “Uh, hi. I’m sorry I disappeared, I’ve just had a rough time since, you know. But I promise to call you, maybe we can make plans soon?”

“No need, we’re here now, so you won’t have to worry about that.” Samara’s smile is cheerful, but her tone is resolute. Even so, I try to object.

“Seriously, it’s not a good time, I haven’t even showered for like three days, and the place is a mess.”

“Girl, since when do we care about mess? We’re here because we love you – stinky or not.” She wrinkles her nose, making the freckles on her face dance.

“What is this, some sort of intervention?”

Miranda smirks. “Pretty much. Sorry, but someone’s gotta save you from yourself, and we’re not letting you waste any more time moping over a man who didn’t deserve you. We’ve got snacks and a box of rosé with your name on it, so you might as well get out of the way.”

“Fiiine, but no judging the absolute state of the place.” I roll my eyes and invite them in with a dramatic flourish of my arm, but I can’t help but smile. Samara bounces through the door despite the heavy shopping bags, and Miranda goes straight for my laptop.

“What’s your login?”

“It’s just my birthday, and before you come for me, yes, I know that’s bad.”

Miranda shakes her head as the laptop plays a jaunty tune and lets her in.

“You’ll get the full security lecture another day, right now it’s time to declare inbox bankruptcy. We’re getting rid of all this bullshit so you can get back to business.”

“Miranda, there are literally thousands of messages. It’ll take days to go through, maybe weeks.”

She doesn’t even look up, her perfectly manicured fingers a blur over the keyboard.

“Give me an hour. I’m going to delete anything that contains profanity, and then I’ll sort the rest into folders, so don’t worry, you won’t be losing anything permanently. But I’m going to mark everything as read and archive it so you can get a fresh start. If anyone wants something important from you, they’ll reach out again, trust me.”

I stop myself from protesting further. Miranda knows what she’s doing, and it really would be a relief not to worry about everything.

Behind me, Samara has stopped unpacking the groceries.

“Just let Miranda work her magic and get your smelly butt into a bath. And make it a nice one, soak for a bit and pretend you’re a mermaid or something. We’ll get everything set up in here while you scrub off the sadness.”

I feel a slight pang of embarrassment as I walk into the bathroom. The sunlight is creating little islands of warmth on the black tiles, but it also mercilessly illuminates the limescale in the shower and a couple of cotton swabs that missed the bin. The sink is decorated with a few dried clumps of toothpaste, each of them outlined in red from last time I dyed my hair.

How did I let it get this bad?

I turn on the taps and leave them running while I undress. Then, I lower myself awkwardly into the tub and let the water cascade through my fingers. It would be nice if it was this easy, washing away the sadness and frustration, the longing and the hurt.

The gentle sound of flowing water is mesmerising, and before I know it, the tub is full. I add a small handful of bath salts and swirl it around. A soothing scent of lavender rises with the steam.

When I lie down, the hot water envelops me like a hug. It feels like it’s thawing something in me that I didn’t even know was frozen. I close my eyes and listen to Samara and Miranda laughing about something. It’s almost like being home and hearing my parents talk softly in the other room. It always made me feel safe. Less alone.

As the water begins to cool, I scrub down, slowly, methodically, running soapy hands along every inch of my body. It feels good, like I’m massaging life back into my limbs. Tonight will be fun, I decide. We’re going to stuff our faces with junk food, get absolutely smashed on cheap wine, and pretend that my heart was never broken by some has-been actor from Tartosa.

I watch as the tub empties, imagining that all my sadness is flowing down the drain with the water and the tiny undissolved purple specks from the bath salt. Finally, I move to the shower to wash my hair and rinse off.

When I get out, I stop and examine myself in the mirror. I look a little tired and worn, like I’ve been sick. In a way, I guess I have. But the black tiles are radiating warmth under my feet and there are birds singing outside my window and I’m beginning to feel like everything is going to be fine.

Samara’s blue face glitters in the candlelight. The packaging from the masks we’ve applied is littered with adjectives like “rejuvenating” and “revitalising”, bold statements, but they do actually feel pretty good.

“Sorry, Julia, I know you love this crap, but I just can’t get over the cake tongue. Who decided cake would be the best bait for people? Are we really that obsessed with desserts?”

I look over my nails one last time and put down the file. “I’m actually more disturbed by the whole chin udder situation. I mean, who came up with that?”

Samara makes a disgusted face, but she’s not ready to change the subject. “Seriously though, even if you were absolutely starving and cake was your favourite thing in the whole world, would you really approach a plant shaped like a giant cow head with huge teeth? Really? And then try to grab what is obviously its tongue?”

Miranda giggles tipsily. “No, but can we talk about how Ned’s relationship with the cow plant is super toxic, though? I mean, it always starts out slow, right? Oh, so it eats meat, little bit of a red flag there, but it’s probably fine. And before you know it, you find yourself luring your neighbours to their deaths just to keep it happy.”

“Yeah, it’s classic, the way he keeps making excuses for her? She didn’t mean it, she’s just misunderstood! She only bites me because she loves me! I’m like, Ned, your girlfriend is eating people, you need professional help.”

Samara laughs. “I guess some men would literally rather feed their neighbours to a plant than go to therapy.”

My phone vibrates on the armrest behind me.

“Sorry, it’s Marten again, I better let him know I’ve got company. He’s been super busy with his exams so we haven’t had much time to play lately.”

Miranda raises an eyebrow.

“And he’s still fine just being your friend, is he?”

“Why wouldn’t he be? I mean, he was fine being my friend even though I was dating Paul. Besides, I haven’t even seen him in person since GeekCon, it’s been almost a year…”

I stop. Almost a year since I met Paul. It feels like a lifetime ago. I wonder what would have happened if I’d cosplayed as someone else, or if Paul hadn’t been there that day. Maybe I could have been dating Marten instead of having my heart trampled by some fickle celebrity. Nice, normal Marten with his mousy hair and his robot facts. I smile.

“Anyway, there’s nothing between me and Marten. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Miranda sends me a mischievous grin. “That reminds me, you know that hot bartender from The Rooftop? Super flirty, cheekbones that could cut glass?”

“The one who gave us free refills on Samara’s birthday? Shane or something?”

“Yeah, him! He asked about you last time, wondered why you hadn’t come with us for like three weeks in a row.”

“How does he even know my name?”

“He didn’t, he just asked about our red-haired friend but you’ve clearly made an impression.” Miranda winks. “Maybe he’d be willing to help you get over Paul.”

I shake my head. “No thanks, I’m pretty sure he’s slept with like half the regulars. And I’m not looking for hook-ups, not now. I need to get my so-called career back on track, but I want to do something… different.”

I think of Paul, of late nights in hotel rooms, laughing at the most ridiculous b-movies before having amazing sex and falling asleep with his arms around me. “I don’t want to do cosplay again, absolutely nothing with movies or comics or superheroes.”

Miranda looks thoughtful. “What about just fashion stuff? I started out with just my shoe reviews and now it’s more general style advice and outfits to match your heels, but you have an eye for it and you know a lot about cuts and materials and design.”

“I guess? I don’t really know a lot about classic fashion, though, like couture and such. And it’s a really tough business to get into, plus I’d kinda like to keep the expenses down for now.”

“You could always just jump on one of the big trends. I bet you’d make bank as one of those clean girl aesthetic influencers or something.”

“That’s actually a good idea. I mean, I can probably get pretty far with just the makeup and clothes I already have. And I could move my sewing machine and rearrange the room, set up my camera and the lights…”

Miranda laughs. “We can start right now as long as it means we don’t have to watch any more terrible movies tonight.”

I reach for the remote. “Not a chance.”

beginning / previous / next

[livi-in-digital-circus]

10 Bunnydoll story ideas

(free to use because I have a writer block and a hard time at school)

– Jax is a celebrity that everyone loves, except Ragatha, who openly despises him. Secretly, she is actually his crazy obsessed fan who stalks him almost 24/7

– Years ago, Jax and Ragatha had an affair and since then their paths have diverged. Now they meet again and Jax quickly realizes that Ragatha is not the same sweet rag dolly she used to be, especially since she is now a single mother

– Caine organizes a quiz show about Ragatha for her birthday (imagine they celebrate birthdays) and Jax doesn't want to participate. In the end, it turns out that he knows the answer to every single question, at the same time revealing that they are in a relationship

– Jax and Ragatha have been a couple for quite some time. At some point, the rabbit starts to suspect that his girlfriend might be thinking about starting a family, which makes him a little uneasy. One day, everyone except him and Ragatha turns into babies, while Caine magically disappears and they automatically have to take care of their friends

– One day a child arrives at the Digital Circus. Confused and frightened, it gets "adopted" by Ragatha, who takes care of it and treats it as if it were her real child, which also makes Jax jealous. Later it turns out that this is in fact Ragatha's son/daughter that she had before she got trapped in the circus. After finding out, Jax has a hard time accepting it

– Similar to the previous one, there's a new addition to the circus. This time it's Jax's girlfriend from the real world. Slowly they rebuild their relationship, which Ragatha quickly notices and gets sad because she and Jax recently started to get closer. She tries to make friends with his girlfriend but fails as the girl hates people like Ragatha

– Everyone thinks that abstracting is like death. But when Ragatha abstracts, her subconscious comes back to her body in the real world and she wakes up in a hospital. For the first few weeks, she feels alone, although she is reunited with her relatives and former friends. One day she runs into a guy who seems very familiar for some reason. Later, it turns out that Jax also abstracted and got sent back to the real world

– Ragatha is a teacher's pet who is often bullied by the school's most famous troublemaker, Jax. When she meets some guy online, she befriends him and even develops a crush on him. Little does she know that it's actually Jax, who also has no idea that it's Ragatha he's been texting all along

– There is a Valentine's Day event and the circus members are sent on a special adventure where a mischievous cupid is hiding somewhere on the map. Jax tries his best to avoid him, as it turns out that cupid has the ability to make someone deeply in love with the first person they see after being hit by the arrow. Later, Jax notices Ragatha's strange behavior and suspects that she is the one affected, so he tries to ignore her as much as possible. But he also feels different and doesn't know why. In the end, it turns out that it wasn't Ragatha who got hit, but Jax

– A Halloween adventure where Jax and Ragatha are trapped in a haunted house. Unlike the rag doll, the rabbit isn't scared at all, since the monsters there are just some silly looking NPCs. However, the scariest thing happens when they are suddenly separated and the worst events of their lives as humans are presented to them. After they reunite and leave the haunted house, they feel a strong need to comfort each other (and beat the shit out of Caine when it comes to Jax)

Let me know if you like any of these ideas and feel free to use them! <3

[allastoredeer]

I agree wholeheartedly with your “dear/deer” pet peeve and it reminds of a thing that has been steadily annoying me the more Alastor-centric fic I read and it’s the phrase “deer in headlights”.

It just feels so often shoehorned in and rarely feels like a phrase the matches the moment / tone. It genuinely takes me right out of the fic the moment I see it now, lol. I have to put my phone down for a few minutes and go do something else.

OHHHH! Yes, that's another one!

Believe me, I love bringing out a characters animal features and incorporating it into their very psyche and personality (I literally have an entire 100,000+ word fanfic about Spider-Man having more spider-like attributes than people notice), but this is still Alastor we're talking about here.

"deer in headlights" is a phrase to describe someone who is in a state of paralyzing surprise, fear, or bewilderment. It doesn't mean they're just surprised or caught off guard. It's paralyzing. Like, they can't move. Can't speak. They're unable to even react. All they can do is stare and wait for the impact of the car.

Alastor becoming a "deer in headlights" has to be for a big reason. It needs to be something jarring enough, intimidating enough, for me to believe he is in a paralyzed state like that. So when it happens out of nowhere, for the most mundane reasons, you're right, it does feel very shoehorned in.

I think this is how I feel about any deer-like qualities Alastor is given.

Particularly anything that involves "prey-like" instincts.

I love the concept of Alastor having "prey" instincts, it is so fascinating and so much fun when you also consider how much he also falls into the "predator" side of things too. But I think what takes me out of scenarios when Alastor's "prey instincts" come out, is that, yes, a "prey animals" instinctive reaction to a dangerous situation is to run, but when they're stuck, when they're put in a situation they can't get out of, they fight.

Herbivores ("prey animals") are some of the most dangerous animals on the planet. Typically, they're FAR more aggressive than carnivores, which makes sense considering they're the ones being hunted for food. They WILL attack and they WILL kill when threatened, no hesitation, whereas most carnivores will leave at the first sign of trouble.

I love the idea of Alastor having "FLEE! RUN! SURVIVE!" instincts that he absolutely hates and is constantly suppressing, but only if its coupled with him getting super ultra "MURDER! DIE! TRY ME BITCH!" instincts when he's truly stuck in a dangerous situation he has no way out of. You thought the Radio Demon was dangerous before? Oh no, you just unlocked a whole new level of dangerous and he will not hesitate to kill anyone that gets too close. Rational thought is gone, survival mode has taken over, and he has now become an uncontrollable threat to every person within a block radius.

[mickeyswhore]

You're Mine Now

A/N: Let me know if I should make a part 2, guys. 🥰

Summary: After Mickey was shot, he left the college and became a hitman. His newest target? You. But he didn't want to kill you, so he decided to take you and make you his.

Mickey Altieri x Reader

Warnings: smut, dark, Mickey's POV, unsavory language, Stockholm syndrome, a dash of daddy kink, talks about murder

(this pic gave the inspo, actually)

Mickey had the foresight to escape after Mrs. Loomis shot him, he wanted to kill the bitch but she was finished off so he was fine. He got all of the money he had access from the bank account before it was closed by the police, so he was able to get by for a couple of years. He went back to the forums where he met Mrs Loomis so he started killing people for hire, it was quickly paying off quickly, he was able to be completely underground and it was great, getting paid for doing what you love.

It has been years now, Mickey was in a routine now. His fees were astronomical because he was the best of what he did, and he made no excuses about it, his only rule was no children, even murderous psychopaths had a line, and that was Mickey’s. Usually his customers were powerful men not wanting to deal with prenups, competitors in their fields, or simply people that pissed them off and that allowed him to walk around the higher circles and Mickey loves the finer things in life, so is a win win situation.

Mickey now was about to meet with a potential client, now he only accepts new customers through referrals, so it doesn’t blow back on him. Only now with all of his security measures in place, Mickey realises in how much danger he was by just accepting random anonymous messages, young and dumb as they say. The building was in a high end hotel, Mickey knew the owner so he knows that every recording of him is prompted deleted. He was wearing his signature full black tailored suit, Mickey was a silver fox now, he was glad that between balding and going gray, it was the latter for him.

“Mr. Wadsworth, how do you do?” The man was probably the same age as Mickey but he was in a disgusting shape, balding and a huge gut, it disgusted Mickey to no end. He took great pride in his appearance, he never understood why other people didn't.

“Mr…I didn't catch your name?” His voice was annoying, Mickey thought, definitely won’t be a regular client.

“That is because I didn't give it to you, shall we?” Mickey motioned for him to sit, which Mr. Wadsworth did. “So, what is the sensitive matter that would like me to handle?” Mickey was always adamant about using vague language, nothing that would look bad on a court reading, was his motto.

“I want a permit for drilling oil but the land is protected by law, there is one senator that is blocking it, I simply need him to have a family emergency, him not being around wouldn’t be good for business.” Mickey laughed, at least he had the foresight to know that getting rid of the only senator blocking his progress would be idiotic, you’d be surprised how many people able to afford a hitman are dumb to target the most obvious person.

“Great, who would be causing the family emergency?” The man passed Mickey the folder, he didn't look at it, Mickey was always adamant about doing his own research.

“It needs to be done before next month.” Mickey nodded and got up from his seat, this man was incredibly dull so he couldn’t wait to leave.

“I know my schedule, transfer half of the money and you’ll hear from me after is done.” They shook hands and Mickey went to his hotel room, it was where he preferred to work. Mickey had a house with way too many acres but he was barely there, if he was being honest it wasn’t conductive to business and it was lonely. Mickey always had one night stands, he hated (loved) to brag but getting women was not an issue for him at all, but an actual relationship? Not likely.

He opened the folder and he saw a photo of the target, the daughter of the senator, you. Seeing your photo made Mickey stop, what a fucking waste, he thought. You were fucking hot, he thought about maybe seducing you and then kill you but would that be enough? Mickey started reading about you, it was comical how much younger you were from Mickey, he was old enough to be his daughter, in his fucked up mind Mickey being so much older than you got him excited.

You were in university, no boyfriend made Mickey smile, from the files it seems as if you were a bit of a loner. He was going to start stalking you and to get close to you, and see how is the best way to do his job. Mickey finished reading your files and went to bed, he was painfully hard now, he simply decided to ignore it and focus on his task, you.

Mickey thought it was way too early, but apparently you woke up that early to go to the library, then your favourite local coffee shop. He got to the library before you, and then you entered the store, it was summer so you were wearing a blue summer dress, Mickey thought you looked delicious. You said hi to the worker and was getting closer to where he was, which was the classics. Mickey was now in character, pretending to ponder on which book to choose, he sighed and that got your attention.

“Hey, sorry to bother you but do you need help?” You tapped him on the shoulder and when Mickey turned to you he wanted to laugh at your reaction, your mouth was open it was clear as day that you found him attractive, that was always made the job much easier.

“It is that obvious that I need help?” Mickey let out a fake embarrassed laugh, it was easy to act like a dork sometimes, Mickey thought.

“Well, no. But you are holding one of my favourites and I need to know why you haven’t chosen it yet.” You were behaving like a school girl with a crush, the giggling, the hand on your face to hide the embarrassment, Mickey thought it was extremely cute.

“It’s for my niece, she just started university and I want to give her a nice gift. Do you think that should I just bite the bullet and buy both?” He gave you his million dollar smile and he could see you melting, you were adorable.

“If you can, I would. Especially if she’s a book worm like me.” You laughed again, and Mickey could see that you couldn’t hold eye contact him and he loved it.

“I can’t believe that you are a book worm, how can such a beautiful woman like you be buried in books? I guess that you have the beauty and the brains, then?” You touched Mickey’s arm while laughing, he got closer to you and you did too.

“You are too kind, sir.” Mickey took a deep breath, you calling him sir being so close to him was making him incredibly hard.

“I’m Mickey, by the way.” He extended his hand for you to shake it and you introduced yourself. Your whole demeanor, voice and body was intoxicating for Mickey, he wanted you, not just for one night, he wanted you to be his forever. “I know this is probably too much too soon but…would you like to get a cup of coffee with me?” He looked at you with a smirk, you looked so flustered and Mickey loved every second of it.

“Yes, there’s a coffee shop that I love.” You and Mickey went to the counter and he paid for both books, he could tell that you were admiring him, his suit, the way Mickey carried himself, he could tell that you enjoyed everything about him.

“Shall we? My car is parked right out front.” Mickey’s hand went on your lower back, he could tell that you enjoyed the contact, getting to the door he made sure to open the door for you. He did the same with his car door, his car was spacious and he could tell that you liked it. “You’re gonna have to guide me, because I moved here a couple months back and I still don’t know my way around it.” The two of you smiled and you were more than happy to give him directions to the coffee shop.

Getting there Mickey could tell that people were staring at him, it was a regular occurrence but he could tell that it was a bit weird for you, so he made sure to be touching you at all times, Mickey pulled the chair out for you and acted like the perfect gentleman for you, he was proud on that fact.

“So, what do you do for a living Mickey?” He could tell that you were nervous, afraid of saying the wrong thing and mess it up but that wouldn’t happen with Mickey to smooth out any situation.

“Consulting, they pay an obscene amount of money to put out their fires.” It was true, his killing rates were astronomical, and he did what he loved. “What about you, sweetheart?” You giggled like a schoolgirl and tried to cover it up with a cough, Mickey tought it was the sweetest thing ever.

“I’m in university at the moment, but I still have no idea what I’m going to do…maybe you can teach me more about consulting?” Mickey could see the attempt of trying to get his number and he smiled.

“I’d be more than happy to teach you anything you want, sweetheart.” Mickey put his hand on yours and you looked at it and he saw how your breathing changed, oh you were horny, Mickey thought to himself.

“I’d like that.” You said in a breathy voice and Mickey knew you were a goner.

-----------------------------------------------------

After your first date, Mickey made sure to take your contact details and he was now a staple in your life. He was the first person you called when you had anything going on in your life, and it has only been a week. Mickey on the other hand was utterly obsessed with you, and he already that he wasn’t going to kill you and that you were going to be with him for the rest of your life. He already had everything ready, and he made sure to destroy the life of the man that wanted you dead and if you were with him, no one would try to kill you because of your father ever again.

Mickey went to the restaurant to meet you, today was the day that he was going to make you his fully. His house was already set for you to be there, no work for a while to pay full attention to you, Mickey never felt this way before, and he wasn’t going to give up on you, he owned you, it was only a matter of time for you to find out.

“How are you, sweetheart?�� You went to Mickey and kissed him, and he took advantage of that and put the drug on your drink.

“I’m great, I can’t wait for you to meet my parents.” Mickey smiled, another reason why he wanted to take you away, not having to meet your parents.

“Me too, sweetheart.” The two of you started talking about other things, and you started getting a bit sleepy. “Are you okay, baby?” Mickey looked so concerned, it almost looked real.

“Yeah, yeah…just a bit tired.” You yawned and Mickey asked for the check, the drug was going to knock you out in a few minutes.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.” He paid with cash, as always and guided you to his car. As soon as you got there, sleep took over you.

Mickey started driving, he made the point of not initiating any intimacy with you, he wanted you fully comfortable with him. He looked at your exposed legs and Mickey caressed it, your skin was so smooth, he felt like a goddamn teenager, getting hard just by feeling your leg. He focused on the road, otherwise he would start fucking you before you woke up.

-------------------------------------

When Mickey arrived with you still asleep it was evening, he took you out of the car and carried you to his house. House was an understatement, it was a mansion but Mickey hated to brag. He had a bedroom ready for you, it didn't open from the inside, he knew that you were going to freak out for a couple of days and he needed to break you in.

He decorated the bedroom in a way that he knew you would enjoy, he put you on the bed and left. Watching you on the camera, Mickey grabbed a beer and waited for you to wake up. He knew that he could be quite obsessive but there was something about you because Mickey never went through so much trouble just for some pussy.

Hours passed and you started to wake up, Mickey could see and he was excited about it. He could tell that you were starting to freak out.

“Hello?” Your voice was cracking, and Mickey couldn’t help but groan. He loved hearing you so helpless. “Is there anyone out there?” He could see that you were about to cry, Mickey knew he was fucked in the head, he was since a child but hearing you cry? Fuck, that making him incredibly hard. “Is my boyfriend alright?” Mickey groaned, you were worried about him? Fuck, he started palming himself through his trousers. “Please, don’t hurt him.” Tears were running down your cheeks and Mickey got his cock out and he started stroking it, while he could hear you cry, his strokes got quicker. “Please.” Mickey groaned, and his strokes got quicker. “Please, I’ll do anything.” He started massaging his balls and with the way you were begging? Mickey was going to cum anytime now. “Please.” Mickey came, hard. He got all of his trousers dirty, but it didn't matter.

Mickey didn't talk to you, he only gave you food. It has been days, you were going insane and every time you cried, he was jerking off. He decided to taunt you and got something he hasn’t used in years, the Ghostface voice modulator.

“Good morning, bunny.” The voice boomed across the bedroom and you were scared.

“Who are you?” You sounded almost happy to have a human interaction and Mickey could see how much you craved for it. “Are you going to kill me?” Tears started running down your face, you were so scared. “Where is Mickey?” Seeing how much you were worried about him, Mickey was enjoying every second of it.

“I could never kill you, if you must know someone wanted to kill you, I simply got in the way. This is for your protection.” You started yelling and crying so Mickey stopped talking, and you fell asleep after doing it for hours.

------------------------------------

It has been a whole month, Mickey could see it was getting to you, your mental state was very fragile and he knew this. So now it was time to show himself to you, next part of the plan. Mickey was sure Stockholm Syndrome would make you so malleable, perfect to be his perfect little doll. You were asleep when Mickey opened the door, he watched you for a few minutes, you looked so peaceful.

“Sweetheart, wake up.” He shook you, and you woke up. As soon as you saw Mickey, you started kissing him. 

“Oh my God, are you okay? Mickey, I thought they killed you.” Mickey had a couple of fake bruises on his face, but he thought of something different now.

“How could they kill me when it’s my house, bunny?” He used the voice modulator and you just looked at him, but it was curious, you didn't stop touching Mickey.

“It was you?” You whispered, but your hands were still on Mickey and he was smirking at you.

“Of course, I couldn’t let them kill you, bunny.” Mickey started touching your face and you leaned into his touch.

“You love me?” You whispered, he could see the wheels turning in your head.

“Of course, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” After those words were uttered, you jumped on Mickey.

You started removing his shirt, you were wearing a silk nightgown and nothing underneath. Mickey started kissing you, it was all teeth and passion, he removed your nightgown and you removed his cock from his trousers. 

“I need this, daddy.” You stradled him and aligned his cock at your entrance, Mickey couldn’t believe any of this. It was as if you were possessed.

Mickey put your nipple in his mouth, you were bouncing on his cock, he could feel how wet you were. 

“Keep bouncing on my cock, bunny.” The two of you were on the floor, there was no time to get into bed. You were moaning and bouncing on his big and thick cock, your pussy felt like heaven for Mickey, he was never letting you go now.

“Fuck, daddy.” You screamed, and he could tell you were going to cum.

“Oh, I can tell you’re going to cum bunny. Come on, cum all over my cock little bunny.” He bit your left breast making you moan and then you pulled his hair and Mickey could feel you cumming around his cock.

You were exhausted, you put your head on his shoulder and Mickey started cumming inside you and you moaned. This was perfect, Mickey picked you up and put you on the bed. You started whining and he laid with you, and you laid on top of Mickey.

“I love you, never leave me.” After this, you fell asleep. Mickey smiled, this was way better than he ever imagined.

"Don't worry, bunny. You're mine now." He kissed your forehead and fell asleep as well.

[izzabela]

In the Mafia's Eyes - Lin Kuei Siblings x GN!reader

in which the deadliest mafia group's leader and two brothers have you in their sight

a/n: i was scrolling through and i laid my eyes on the most beautiful fanart EVER, so i asked permission to use it (as you can see, i got permission) BIG UPS TO @moonbay1cn for letting me use their art (i cropped it to fit my blog formats, if you don't mind)

ships: tomas, bi han, kuai liang x GN!reader

warning[s]: mentions of blood, suggested violence, suggestive, you're delusional

p.s. mafia au! the Lin Kuei are based in the U.S. instead of Arctika/China

You should have realized who the men you served were. Every single clue and hint was there, pointing you in the right direction, yet you ignored the obvious flags that waved in your brain.

New York City is insidious: places to be, things to do, dreams to achieve. There's a reason why it's called "the city that doesn't sleep." People are up at all hours of the day and night to do things, and the night was a tad more active than the day. For you, however, the days seemed to blur together. Working at a 24/7 shop isn't rare. What made it rare was that it was a 24/7 tea house/café/eatery.

In the middle of Manhattan.

Upper east side, Manhattan.

In a rundown building that was browner than poop stains and long-deceased rat corpses.

That should have been your first hint.

The building was old, needing constant repairs here and there, yet it was untouched by the most powerful real estate agents, landlords, and other money-grubbing losers that would love to tear the building down to replace it with a painfully sleek and sterile one.

You were grateful for Madame Bo's persistence against this modern era of sad, beige modernness, but were also confused. How did she make so much money to keep them away? And if she had such money, why wouldn't she do the renovations herself? She could easily update the internals and externals of the building if she wanted to.

"Oh dear," she had said, "The charm is in the age of the building."

The second clue to the enigma of the tea house café were the customers.

When you were first hired by Madame Bo, you didn't really notice the patterns of people coming in and out, nor the lackeys that would round the block. Despite how old this building was, it was a popular stop for both the middle class and the privileged snobs residing in the upper east side. Over time, you knew who were regulars and who weren't.

When you worked the day shifts, you made note of four men who would be walking outside the building. On other shifts, they switched it up on you and they were paired with women, posing as couples. However, you knew better than that. Sure, to the untrained eye they would have just been randoms working out, but your gut told you otherwise. They were tall, slightly beefed with muscle, and walked faster than a normal New Yorker- yeah, definitely not normal.

What also peeved you out was the fact you always felt... something on you. You couldn't figure out if it was safety or protection, but what you definitely felt were eyes on you.

It didn't stop there, though.

On the very rare, and desperate, occasions you had a night shift, you kept a mental tab that two people would enter the empty eatery. They would sit on opposite sides of the room, laptops open and untouched. While you didn't judge the work ethics of others, you certainly judged people who had questionable habits of work. Even so, Madame Bo made drinks for them- free of charge!

"My dear," she said to you one fateful night shift, "They do a lot more for us than we know."

The last hint was as obvious as a clown in disguise. Scratch that, it's not even a hint anymore- it's a big red "x marks the spot" on a treasure map. And the "treasure" came in a pack of three hot guys.

Every month since you began working with Madame Bo, three men in luxurious suits and tuxes came to visit the shabby tea house. One of them with gray-colored hair, while the other two matched in black colored hair. You also noted their style of face covering, two of them opting for a face mask while the other remained bare-faced.

Every month without fail, these three men came to visit and sit down for some tea. There were times where they just sat in comfortable silence together, other times they were discussing the mundane in their lives. Most of the time, though, they simply sat together and spoke with Madame Bo, laughing and engaging in hearty conversation.

Every time they spoke with her, you couldn't help but stare at them. Madame Bo and the three mystery men were more different than the poles in a magnetic field, yet they spoke to her with such respect and joy. You thought it was just a rare case of rich people being kind. During a day shift when they visited, you asked Madame Bo for the origins of the three men.

"Oh them? I used to watch them when they were little," she explained to you, Raiden, and Kung Lao, "All three of them are brothers, with Tomas being adopted."

You remembered that you zoned out during the explanation of her ties with them, the only thing you got were their names: Tomas for the ash colored hair, Bi Han to the navy suit, and Kuai Liang in his amber-rust colored suit. As you zoned out, your eyes wandered over to the three.

They were engaged in their own conversation, chuckling quietly as they spoke about their business. While the air within them was pleasant, you felt a bit of fear and excitement. Something about them made you want to straighten up, look presentable, and be on your best behavior. You wanted to give them the best customer service in their lives- actually, maybe more than just "service".

You remembered catching the eyes of Kuai Liang, who briefly looked away from his siblings to catch you staring at them. His gold-black mask covered the bottom half of his face, but the way his eyes wrinkled a bit signaled some sort of smile that lied underneath.

You blushed and turned away, trying to zone back into the conversation with Madame Bo and the other boys you worked with.

"Woah! So like, are they super rich, Madame Bo?" Kung Lao asked innocently.

Madame Bo nodded, stating something about how they own a couple of stores in the upper east side thanks to a family business. You, however, still did not get the memo about who they were until later that day.

This was the answer to your dilemma on who these ferocious and fine men were.

After a night with some of your close friends, you were walking home alone following a sketchy back-path. It was supposed to be a shortcut, provided by the maps app on your phone. However, it died after you forgot to charge it, leaving you wandering the unruly city during its worst. As you walked, you fell into trouble with some sleazy idiots.

You remembered how close they were to you, their alcohol-stained breath and sleazy style of walk. The way they slithered over your shoulder to try and get you to come home with them. Not only were you sober, but willing to fight. You had punched one of them in the nuts to escape, but the grasp of one of the disgusting men was too strong for you.

You remembered four of them surrounding you, and you really thought you'd meet your end in the alley that night. You closed your eyes, but heard gun shots and the sounds of bodies hitting the damp concrete. What once was creepy and dangerous men surrounding you, you found them lying in their own blood, clean shots through the head.

You fell to your knees, threatening to cry, but you saw a familiar color on a suit. Okay, a few familiar colors: gray, navy, and rusty amber. You saw a gloved hand reach out to yours, leading to Bi Han's broad figure. You took it, and he effortlessly brought you to your feet. You noticed his other gloved hand was getting replaced, Kuai Liang replacing the soiled mitten.

Tomas snuck behind you (you didn't even feel him get there) to offer his coat. He gently placed it on your shoulders, his eyes peeking down at your round, doe, startled ones. Despite what happened in front of you, and despite you finally learning who they really were, you weren't afraid.

Each man held something in their eyes that promised you safety, security, and protection. Like a guardian angel, these men made a promise with their eyes to you. A promise saying that no matter where you are, what you're doing, that you'd always be safe.

As the saying goes, "It's in the eyes, chico," and boy they aren't wrong.

=================

It's been a couple of months since that incident, and the games you've played with them and your mind have been infectious. The brother's visits to the café have begun to happen more frequently, they even visit you alone sometimes, which didn't help your brain's delusions.

Every time one of them came to the cafè, you were afraid they would see right through you and into your horny thoughts. Whenever they visited and watched you work, you felt their eyes not leaving you once. It got so bad that you would bring Raiden or Kung Lao to distract you while doing stuff, or simply have Madame Bo make them leave.

Even so, it didn't stop your mind at all.

On the day's Kuai Liang came to the café, his gaze on you was steady and still, like a constant fire during a winter storm. The way he looked at you was full of wanting, desire, and desperation- like he needed you more than oxygen. Your brain imagined that his body was warmer than most, and that he would keep you in a dizzying trance.

Your mind played scenarios in which Kuai Liang would explore every part of you, with no intent of letting you go either. His hands leaving hand-shaped slap marks and bruises, marking every part of you to let the world know that you were his alone to worship. His loyalty to you and your body would leave you overwhelmed, melting under his constant affection and love.

Your mind concluded he'd be a gentleman and a rough lover, and you had to shake the thoughts out before he knew.

When Bi Han came to visit, you didn't have to know it was him at all. While Kuai Liang's presence was warm and welcoming, Bi Han's aura was chill to the bone. Whenever you were working, Bi Han's eyes never left your body. You figured his stares felt more...cold: persistent, chilly, and never-ending. Like a blizzard in the cold tundra of the arctic.

With Bi Han, your mind played vignettes of how he'd take you to bed. He would be rough, not like Kuai Liang. He'd pull your hair, smack your perky behind, and tell you how much of a degenerate you really were- all for him of course. He'd leave hickeys everywhere on your body, a mosaic of pink, purple and red on you to remind you who belonged to who.

Your mind also thinks he'd be great with aftercare. All that rough-housing and such, you needed to calm down and collect yourself. Your brain fills your mind with him putting you in a bath, rubbing your back, shampooing your hair too. He'd whisper "I love you's" in your delusions, peppering each hickey with kisses.

For him, your mind finalized he'd be the roughest of the three, while also caring for your wellbeing post-sex.

Your brain was working in serious overdrive.

Finally, when Tomas came to visit, you always felt sweet with him around. Not only would he stare at you with such love in his eyes, but he'd engage with others around him.

Like a butterfly, he'd go around and spread joy; however, he loved floating around you the most. You found that talking to him was easier than talking to his brothers, so you talked to him about the basics of who you were. When you tried to bring up that night, he told you that it would stay between you four- a private business transaction.

He'd also ask why you spoke to him more, and not his brothers. He assured you that they wouldn't bite, but you simply said it was out of respect.

And to keep your thoughts at bay.

Despite all of this, you weren't fooled by him at all. The way he looked at you, when people weren't present, was filled with a primal hunger, a desire to have you. He was the predator, and you knew damn well that you were his prey- not able to get away from his trapping gaze. His stares were sharp and clear, like a hunter ready for the kill.

And by the elder gods your mind was ready to be hunted.

You imagined his grip on you being tight, like you'd disappear and he'd never find you again. He would be intentional with tour body, exploring every part of you in more depth and detail than his brothers. His touch would make you feel sensitive, flinching at how feathery and flighty his fingers were as he took every part of you for himself.

He'd kiss you like he'd leave forever- full of longing, desperation, and wanting. Your brain thinks he'd need you more than oxygen, that he would love nothing more than to breath your natural scent in like the necessary element.

If Kuai Liang made you dizzy with heat, and Bi Han made you shiver with his chill, then Tomas would have you writhing under him like a poor animal in heat.

You prayed to the elder gods silently, hoping the men wouldn't see your perverse thoughts as they came by the shop.

Unfortunately, your pleas were ignored.

During their monthly visitation, you saw to the brothers yourself and sat them down, took their order, and made their drinks. Tomas took an Earl Gray with a pastry, Kuai Liang with some matcha, and Bi Han with Oolong tea.

You quickly gave their drinks to them, paired with an even quicker "thanks for waiting" and retreated behind the counter.

You watched them only for a bit, your brain playing new scenarios, but you distracted yourself with chores. Deep into them, you didn't even feel them leave until Raiden and Kung Lao tapped your shoulder, money in the latter's and a note in the former's.

"Looks like our prettiest barista got some tip money," Kung Lao teased, "A crisp twenty dolla bill too!"

You gasped, but who could have gifted you with such a generous tip? Raiden hands you a slip of paper, which answers your question and fills your head with more of them.

"Uhh..." he fidgeted nervously, "I am not sure what this means, but it definitely makes me wonder..." he handed the note to you and you flush the deepest shade of red ever.

It's in the eyes, little barista

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once again, big ups to @moonbay1cn for letting me use their beautiful piece of media for this post!

see yall in the next fic ;)