#but trauma is uncomfortable and difficult to watch

[bby-deerling]

breathe (zoro x reader)

a bit of a heavy drabble i've been going through it lately, please heed the content warnings <3

cw: established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst, reader has ptsd, implied history of past sexual trauma (reader), night terrors, dissociation, depersonalization, derealization, zoro is doing his best (it's more than enough <3)

sfw but with some difficult/triggering topics, wc: 652 masterlist

It’s difficult for Zoro to see you like this.

Tense, disoriented, and pulling away from his touch, his heart twists as you begin to emerge from a murky, hazy dream; less of a nightmare and more of a reliving of the horrors you’ve endured, the too familiar sensations of fear and panic embed their tendrils into your veins.  When the enemy is physical—able to be cut and able to bleed out—it’s much simpler for him to deal with; assessing the unseen threat, he cautiously remains still and observes.  He watches you carefully as something between a cry and a shout escapes your lips, and you violently jerk away from him, still dazed, half-asleep, and unable to differentiate him from the monster from so long ago lurking in the foreground of your mind.

“’S just me—it‘s me, Zoro.” he mumbles softly, running his thumb across your shoulder, grip around your waist loosened.  Breathing shaky and shallow, he gently turns you around to face him, allowing you to take the space you need from him, fighting his urge to smother you in his arms and protect you from your own mind.  Noticing your gaze is unfocused and staring off into nowhere in particular, he gently cups your cheeks and tilts your face upward towards his in an attempt to re-center you in reality.

“Zoro… just Zoro.” you mumble repeatedly under your breath like a mantra, trying to convince yourself it was true.  Eyes glazed over, lost in a limbo between the past and present, you were halfway in, halfway out, and unable to shake the feeling of the violation from your nightmare away—not when it felt like it was happening all over again.

He sighs in concern and threads his fingers through your hair as you suddenly bury your face into his chest, aching and shuddering sobs burrowing into his skin.  A familiar cycle begins; melting into his arms, you become nearly comfortable, limp, and relaxed enough to return to your slumber, until you suddenly shoot your head up to look for his face, desperately searching for confirmation that it was still him holding you—his heart nearly breaks at the dull emptiness in your eyes, the light behind your stare lost, confused and broken.

Laying down on his side, he gently nudges you to encourage you to do the same and face him.  Calloused fingers stroke your cheek, and a wide, rough hand runs in a slow, soothing path up and down your arm, providing you the comfort and contact you craved while still being able to see his face.  “’S alright, you’re safe.  You’re with me.” he murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, slowly turning your weak and hollow sighs into hums of contentment, and your sounds eventually ebb entirely into deep breaths as sleep finds you once more.

There is no string of magic, comforting phrases or platitudes he can stumble across and repeat to take your pain away—if there was, he knew he was wholly unequipped to recite them, and that you would be too stubborn and resistant to believe them.  Attempts to soothe you verbally fade into nearly meaningless words, especially in a state like this, when your ability to comprehend is clouded by a dense, dark fog smothering your senses.  Soft, non-constricting touches, as gentle as he’s capable of giving, and simple reassurances are what you need—he's what you need in these moments of weakness.

Zoro presses one last kiss to your forehead and releases the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he watches your sleeping form, tension and agony removed from your countenance. 

Peaceful—your face now radiates with serenity and sweetness, a far cry from the twisted, uncomfortable expression plaguing your features while writhing in panic during your nightmare.

Relieved at the sight, he hopes your dreams are now as saccharine as the look on your face.

#one piece x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x you #roronoa zoro x you #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x y/n #but in a much more real sense zoro x me #ive been really struggling but writing this lifted the burden if only a little bit #x reader #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction

[neopuppy]

Sleep Therapy (M)

Pairing. demon Jaemin x femaler reader

Genre. That Boys Is A Monster AU, life after Be There For You, explicit smut, M/F, dark fic

Warnings. heavy dubcon/noncon elements(don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable. I’m serious. thanks.), somnophilia, breeding, rough and unprotected sex, impreg kink, demon lore, camera use, praise, degradation, obsessive behavior

WC. 6.6(6)k

Now Playing. Slept So Long/Jay Gordon

‘Just wanted to watch you sleep. Wanted to be part of your dreams.’

It’s been hours.

It’s been days.

It’s been weeks.

Herbal teas, over the counter Melatonin, even prescribed sleep medication that could knock out a small child for days scattered your living room table; piled up only to mock you.

Useless, all of it completely useless as you enter another night of restless sleep.

Debilitated by lack of rest has forced you to take a sabbatical from work, per the suggestion of your regular physician. One week at the hospital under careful watch had you in tears every morning, pleading for something to help you. Anything.

It was more than the bags formed under your eyes. Hallucinations had become a reoccurring issue the longer you walked around like a living dead girl, unclear visions of men transforming into monsters; nightmares turned into reality.

“A sleep clinic might be our last hope,” your physician shrugs, having only reached this point with you after insisting you must be exaggerating. “I’ve contacted Dr. Na at the Vision Clinic, he’s the best Somnologist in the district. You should be in great hands.”

Great hands.

Great hands that led up to built up arms confined in a lab coat. Broad shoulders and a warm handsome smile that seems too blinding to even stare at for much long.

Dr. Na floats around his desk to greet you, light as a feather with the most calm of demeanors.

He smells lovely, soothing in a way similar to a hot stove warming up holiday cookies. Nothing too strong, but just enough to pick up a whiff of as he embraces your hand in greeting.

“My new patient.” He speaks with sparkling pearly white teeth on display. Every inch of him is a reminder of how wealthy Doctors are, from the silver Rolex watch adorning his wrist down to his freshly shined designer shoes.

He manages to maintain warmth in his gaze despite the obvious differences between the two of you.

Greasy hair, flesh empty of life and sweats you’ve turned into daily wear paired with fluffy Ugg slippers stand before him on your meek frame. Shyly nodding when he double checks how to pronounce your name and directs you to sit.

Dr. Na seemed too young to be a seasoned professional in this field. He couldn’t be much older than his mid-twenties. Albeit difficult to truly take him in full admiration as he sits against the ledge of the large crimson wooden oak desk placed in the center of his office. He takes time to run through your chart again, repeating the things you’ve heard for months now. No prior health issues or concerning conditions, a proper diet and lifestyle, nothing that could conclude how you’d end up here.

“How’s your caffeine intake?” Dr. Na asks with a charming lift at the corners of his mouth.

“Haven’t had any in two months now.”

“There are many causes behind insomnia.” Dr. Na nods, scribbling notes down while explaining. “I’ll schedule an MRI scan for later today to conduce if this could be connected to a chemical imbalance.”

“Chemical imbalance?”

“Emotional stress, perhaps trauma, lifestyle changes.” He smiles, akin to the way a Kindergarten teacher may when speaking to a naive child. “We will figure it out.”

Scribbling a few more notes, Dr. Na rips out a section of paper instructing you to head down to the cafeteria designated for patients to eat a proper meal. “I’ll be sending out the order for new medication to try. When it arrives at your room please make sure to follow the nurses directions and take them all. I will come by to check on you as soon as I have an open window of time.”

Dr. Na shifts to stand, the full size of him shadowed above your frail exhausted frame. “We’ll see how your nightmares play out this evening, once I can look through your MRI scan results we can move on to other options, such as hypnosis.”

“Hypnosis?” Even your speech comes out in a lazy drawl. Tongue heavy and dry, dizzy on your feet when you get up to head down. Already aware that you wouldn’t be eating much, even lifting a fork to your lips drained you.

“Of course, it’s one of my specialties.” He chuckles. “Might sound silly but I have a real knack for mind control, you’d be surprised how easy it is to dominate the human mind. It’s easier than training an animal.”

If it wasn’t for the speckled white dots infiltrating your vision, you might’ve noticed the slight change in Dr. Na’s expression. The flicker of black consuming his iris, the drag of his tongue across his upper row of teeth, and the amused hum passing through his throat as he takes in your appearance up close.

It’s been hours.

It’s been days.

It’s been weeks.

It’s been longer than that, months of watching you come in and out of your apartment. Endless days of parking far enough across from you to fly under your radar.

There was no rush, until there was.

Suddenly you had a companion walking you to your car after work, you had a reason to shop for pretty dresses, you sprayed more perfume on and smiled to yourself when opening up notifications on your phone.

Suddenly you felt further away, distracted by him. The stupid new much too friendly Economics professor who had found a way to stayed plastered to your side.

It’s too late anyway.

The sound of Jaemin’s knuckles cracked, echoing loud enough to lift your head with a glance around the coffee shop you frequented. He stayed leaned back in a corner less lit up, less noticeable, especially to someone as oblivious as you.

Someone so carefree and innocent, someone who didn’t even bother to make sure to grab the right drink from the counter when the barista called out your name. It was too easy to blindside you, drop a concoction of sleep medication in your cup as he picked up a quad shot Americano sitting near your milky vanilla latte.

Sip after sip had you yawning despite the powerful caffeine. Time and time again your usual morning pick-me-up failed you, to the point that you argued with the baristas about changing ingredients and formula.

It was too late.

Half asleep and drowsy, your key prodded at your front door in frustration, collapsing against it with your eyes shut and a crushed sigh.

The trap had been laid out, more out of enjoying the breakdown of watching you suffer and lose interests in everything the more you stayed awake night after night.

It made him laugh, entertained pulling on invisible puppet strings where he watched from down the hall as you crumbled to your knees, whining desperately for the key to unlock your apartment.

Weak, a perfect victim.

Jaemin had spent time finding you, it hadn’t been easy. Escaping hell never is afterall, bargains had to be made.

A vessel for his spawn, a strong healthy human vessel that could survive demonic childbirth. That was Johnny’s demands.

‘More than 1, I expect you to bring back many.’

You’d only be the first of the batch, the first to carry his lineage, the first to take his seed and hand over every bit of strength your little body had left in it after he finished.

and you’re perfect, immaculate in every way to carry his first child. The epitome of woman from the inside out. The sole purpose of your existence to be bred full, nothing but a hole to fuck.

Jaemin can’t deny the sick pleasure he gets just from watching you nearly pass out at your front door. A bump on your head the next day would be the only hint of what possibly took place. The bulky arms cradling your limp figure to bed would feel like a faded memory, the sound of your door being kicked shut, nothing more than a foreign thought, a distorted picture of a man hovering above you stripping off your clothing to settle you into your bed more of a nightmare than a dream.

Demons don’t have hearts, they don’t feel, they don’t care.

But you’d always be the first.

You’d always be special in comparison to the rest. The first kill of the hunt, the first prey to fall victim, the conquest alone would be more monumental than any of the rest. You’d be his favorite memory, the one he chose first.

Hunger and ache to destroy mattered more, and as his thick fingers dragged down your stomach, following the path of breaths lifting your ribs higher and lower, he salivates. He swallows at a dry itch at the bottom of his throat, fingers crushing your waist to dip in harder.

“Sleep tight princess.” He always spoke to you, a mere muffled sound in your mind.

Muffled sounds, staggered breaths, heavy weight suppressing your lungs and throat. Pain and fear, a dark sensation followed whenever the recollection of thoughts swarmed around.

It could be after a shower, brushing through your hair, applying lotion, dressing for work. The shadowed memory of something you can’t prove ever happened lingers.

Not even the pain in your lower back, the soreness between your thighs or marks blooming across your skin make any sense. Every idea or thought only seemed less plausible. No sign of break in, no clue to indicate intrusion to your home.

The thought of a demon stalking you day and night would never cross your mind.

Demons aren’t real.

Religion had never been an interest for you, your family hadn’t pushed any beliefs to follow. Most of what you’d learn about religious mythology stemmed from horror films, and demons just seemed like such an outlandish idea. A joke.

Why would you ever assume the doctor assigned to solve your problems could be the root of them.

Jaemin watches you sleep for the hundredth time, removing the crisp white lab coat to hang on a hook. He sits near the special bed for out-patients, away from the noise of machines and heart monitors. It’s quiet, peaceful and calm even as you sweat, breathe heavily and twist to hide your face.

Ruined. Mind deteriorated by dark evil, by happenings you have no control over.

It’s not the first time he’s visited your slumbering figure, your bare skin more ingrained in his mind than your clothed one.

The doors locked, nurses working the night shift too busy with sick patients to check on someone knocked out with sleep disorder.

Upon Dr. Na’s instructions no one should come by. As he undoes the buttons of his smooth ironed shirt he grins to himself. A camera’s set up in the room to capture your sleep schedule, how often you wake, if you sleep at all.

The dosage of medication you consumed tonight would be enough to tranquilize even a large dog. There’s no way you’d wake up tonight.

He didn’t want you to remember tonight, as much as the thought of your eyes fluttering open letting out a shrill scream when you see the visual above you made his cock twitch. A tingle burned from the bottom of his spine to his throat. It’d be fun to have you half-lucid, shouting and begging for him to stop.

But it’s more appealing to watch your arm flop limp at your side. Entertained by the way you seem uncomfortable even as you sleep.

Special.

Jaemin thinks about it, pushing the hospital gown up past your waist. He sucks at saliva filling his cheeks taking in the cute pair of light rosey toned panties hiding your center. You’re not even wet, yet, not that he cares. His cock only hardens thinking about it, smoothing down the expanse of your inner thighs. You’ll struggle more to take his size, cry and curl in to get away. Grip at the sheets by your head for some semblance, for anything to ground you and focus your pain elsewhere.

It’s not the first time he’s slowly tugged off your underwear. It’s not the first time he’s stretched your thighs open as far as they’re willing to go. The small scrunch in your nose informing him the pull hurts your hips, it aches up to your groin.

This is good, Jaemin thinks, this is good because he wants you to remember this. He wants you to know you’ve been claimed, fucked by something devilish and unholy. Touched and destroyed by sin in its human form. He wants you to see how well you take it, how your pilant body still manages to jerk and roll up seeking more of his length to dig deeper inside of you.

Tossing your underwear aside, he pauses to blink at the red light flashing on the camera. Recording everything he’s about to do.

He’s waited, waited so long that his cock twitches fiercely against his thigh at the visual of your exposed cunt.

Jaemin wants to take his time, savor the natural scent flowing from your middle. Drag his fingers aimlessly between your folds until you slicken up obscenely, bite every inch of skin, slap and knead handfuls of meaty flesh in a rough manner. Turn you on your stomach to force your ass up in his face, push your pussy folds open just to watch your hole plead. Empty. Begging for a fucking demon to fuck you even if it hurts, even if you don’t actually want it.

He wants to take his time, but he can’t. It’s been months of pulling out, jerking off on your pretty face, cooing and mewling above your cum splattered stomach. Smearing the warm arousal up your chest dreaming of the day he pours load after load inside of you.

and it’s time, it’s time to ruin you for good. Force your unconscious body to take and take.

One hand delicately tugs and strokes himself, hissing as he jerks away from his thumb rubbing across the head. Precum gathered there smearing around the tip, coating it in a thin layer of sticky gloss. His other hand works away the gown hiding your full breasts, ripping off the flimsy garment easily. Easy access to strip a patient, easier access to have you bare and ready for him.

His breath staggers, gliding the pads of his fingers down your chest. Your sternum rising and falling as a human should, because you’re full of life, full of emotions and feelings he could never understand anymore.

The connection to his human self evaded his memory years ago. Void of the life he once had, lifeless, mindless and consumed by nothing but the desire to create pain. To watch a stupid human like you in agony.

A stupid, stupid, pretty little human. Nothing more than a warm blood filled fleshlight to fuck.

Jaemin lets out a chuckle, dropping his neck back to stroke himself above your stomach. Slapping down the middle of your abdomen a few times just to watch your skin tremble beneath, just to picture how far deep inside of you he can reach. With your hips pushed up and expanded, he knows you’ll birth a child for him easily. A new spawn to create a powerful army in hell. The first of his bloodline to lead and carry on the fight for evil.

He knows you’ll make it through, because he won’t give you a choice.

Rubbing the head of his cock up from where your stomach dips to your navel, he almost wishes you’d wake up. Your weak arms would push up, slap his chest, punch his arms, burst into tears with protests.

That will come, in time.

In the meantime, he prods your belly button, smirking at the thought of fucking you there too. Fucking every hole on you just for fun, because who fucking cares what the king of hell demanded. Jaemin’s going to fuck you until only his needs are met and fulfilled.

The thought races through him spine to balls, hunching forward as he shifts on his knees. The bed dipping and creaking under his weight, switching to rub the tip on your clit.

Still dry.

Dry but warm. Warm enough to be incinerated by the jagged rub of his size passing between your folds. It’s dry, but it’s fucking good, just to feel your fleshy folds struggle along his veiny stiff rod. Just to feel your skin pucker against the sticky pre-cum coating areas of his shaft.

He grunts, rubbing his cock against the plush feel of your parted pussy folds, sneaking quick glimpses of your hole— so tight and closed up. Too tight to take his size without it hurting, without ruining your pussy to only take his cock.

He’s way too big, and he knows it. He knows it from the amount of times he's played with you, just swiping against your cunt. Teasing himself to the point of mind-numbing overstimulation by putting in just the tip. Whimpering even in your sleep from the push ripping you open.

Sucking at the drool lining his bottom lip, he staggers for a minute, pushing side to side against your pussy. Lazily drawing his eyelids up to take in your angelic face once more, so much purity and tenderness. All of it soon to be his.

The slumber you’ve drifted off into isn’t peaceful in the least. It’s hot, weighing down on your chest, an itch passing through your nerves. Running through endless hallways filled with doors leading to nothing, nothing but black emptiness.

It’s been Jaemin all along, smoothing your hair away from your face. Snaking his lips over your body layering patterns of kisses. Jerking off for hours on your face, chest, stomach, anywhere he felt like.

He thinks about it again, nudging in not even half of the tip against your resistant entrance. A rubber band-like snap pinches around the width of his size. The skin sucking around him already appears damaged, further arousing him to inflict pain upon you, to make it hurt. Make it hurt knowing you have no choice but to take it and enjoy it against your will.

Groping your jaw with one thick hand, he turns your restless passed out face to watch him; easy to picture your eyes shooting up full of red vessels and tears. It burns from his chest to his lower back, swiveling his hips to push in the rest of the tip of his length. The bulbous mushroom shaped cap suffocates inside of you. Dry and tight as fuck, he thinks fervently, hissing between his teeth shining under the dim light as his lips part in moan.

It’s more than good just to feel you choke around the tip, your mouth falling open with a staggered breath allowing him to pinch and roll your plump bottom lip between his fingers.

Jaemin pauses, once more absorbing just how lifeless and limp you lay spread open. Part of him craves for you to wake, to stare up in shock paralyzed by fear, to be able to relive the torture he’s prepared to demonstrate. To enjoy it, because you’re actually nothing but a filthy slut; his own little human fuck doll.

It’s time. It’s finally time.

Saliva drenched digits drag down your chin, the center of your throat, dipping between your exposed breasts. Hardened pebbled nipples peak upward, more stiff from the chilled air circulating the room than excitement. You’re too unaware to feel aroused or anxious, too lucid, lost in the nightmare grappling you through hell.

Even if you were to wake up, Jaemin would only fuck you harder, tackle you down to take, take, take.

A shot of exhilaration curls through his gut, tugging his spine toward his navel as he hunches closer with one hand planted by your head to stay propped up. Jaemin’s gaze locks on your core, a pussy made just for him, because it doesn’t matter who fucked you before. He’d be the last.

The slow drag out of you draws an anguished sounds from the back of his throat. He needs to see you one more time, one more time before he claims and makes you useless for anyone else.

With a fist wrapped around his length, his other hand palms your cunt, shoving your swelling slit open to see the full visual of your hole. So empty, tiny, like a fucking virgin.

It really makes his head spin for a minute, rubbing the pad of his finger in a circular motion over your entrance. The airy gurgle that escapes your lungs shoots his eyes wide, focused on your face burying into a pillow. He tugs on himself a few more times, mindlessly rolling two digits over the precum that won’t stop leaking. He needs to fuck you, now.

Stifling a grunt, Jaemin shifts an inch closer, wrapping a thick bicep under your thigh to spread you open more. The head of his cock swipes between your core, slapping down heavy. Heavy and loud despite the lack of wet to clash against. Wedged up as close as possible between your thighs, and Jaemin has to grit his teeth to contain a growl. Pushing his hips forward to rub the underside of his cock against your clit, he wants to let out a throaty cry; a muted sound of pain when he feels it.

You’re clenching around nothing, seeking something.. someone to fuck you. Unaware of what your body is even asking him to do. Each drag spurs your hole to clamp down more, the first push of wetness spewing out smears against his balls. His throat tightens up swiping between you again, the tip teasing and brushing against your entrance without entering.

Jaemin’s nostrils suck in, inhaling a deep breath as he watches his cock bounce off your fleshy folds in slow-like-motion. Nasty, so nasty and raw, wet for anyone like the textbook definition of a fucking whore.

The next stroke along his cock glides easily, wet from your dripping pussy, wet because your body wants him whether you’re awake or not. He doesn’t care, but he knows it, he knows from the way you stare. The dreams you have of him not even under his influence.

Pressing at your hole again has him drooling, laving at the innerwalls of his mouth to collect the saliva that won’t stop from pouring.

“Fuck.” Jaemin finally grunts, biting down on his teeth as he sinks inside of you. It’s wet and tighter than he could have ever imagined. The hand wrapped around himself hardly comparable after many nights spent jerking off on your backside.

A smooth thrust fills you up eagerly, a perfect fit making it too hard to hold back from cramming into you balls deep.

Jaemin stills for a minute, long eyelashes fan on the tops of his cheeks. Swallowing harsh enough for his Adam's apple to visibly bob up and down the length of his dipped back neck. “So fucking good, just like I knew you would be.”

Palms scramble along the sides of your thighs, grinding forward to watch your mouth fall open again. A silent cry he wants to hear echo through the room simply not enough. Reaching for your waist, Jaemin pins your upper half to the bed, wiggling his hips to keep your thighs around his sides.

“Wet like a whore.” Jaemin snickers, clicking his tongue along the backs of his teeth. The painful circle of his hips fills the room with gasped whines, grinning to himself because you’re enjoying it. You like getting fucked, even in your sleep. He could care less with the sole mission to breed you full of cum consuming his head. He thrusts finally, the head of his size catching on your hole earning a louder moan.

The warmth gripping his dick feels mind-numbing, the most he’s felt in months since hunting you down, and his pace alters immediately as the feeling finally gets to him. You’re his for the taking, his and only his.

“Mine.” Jaemin mutters to himself, ruthlessly thrusting back into you in a jerky motion. It’d be painful if you were awake, his pace alternating from meticulously deep rolls of his hips to sloppy, aggressive and messy. The sound of wetness more overbearing than the clap of your skin colliding.

He’s frantic, knowing he can fuck you like his as long as he pleases, and you can’t do anything about it.

Jaemin’s thick arms bracket your head, nose hovered above your lips. Moan after moan sounding more excruciating than the last. Fucking into your tight cunt like a man who just discovered the glory of a fleshlight, reckless abandonment. The ache against your groin and thighs one guaranteed to last for weeks to come.

“So fucking good for me angel.” Jaemin praises, head thrown back when you clench around him. It makes him laugh like a maniac, amused by the idea of you listening, hearing everything he says. Dropping his face to your throat, he licks up your jaw to your earlobe, nibbling before he whispers. “Pretty baby loves getting fucked like a slut.”

A sigh sings from your lips, the prettiest sigh he’s ever heard. A sigh that runs in circles throughout his mind, turning to drop his cheek against yours with wide eyes focused on shut ones. The heavy weight of your eyelids taunting him, pushing him to fuck harder for just a glimpse of your hidden iris.

He could cum off that alone, and it punches through him with the next thrust, burying his thick fat length as deep inside of you as he can. Surely deep enough to rip through your insides, the weight of his heavy cock poking between your pressed together stomachs with each pointed thrust.

Jaemin’s obsessed with the grip your pussy gives, needing to feel you lock you and struggle to take him through your unwanted pleasure once more. Snaking his hand between your connected lower halves, he roughly rubs at your engorged clit, fat between his fingers from neglect. The need to cum more prevalent for the both of you than he cares about, but it feels too good to force his size past your shrunken entrance.

“You’re so fucking good for me. You don’t even know.” Jaemin babbles to himself, nose digging into your cheekbone to quiet the groan ripping through his chest. The sound of your wetness fills the room up in the most obscene way, splashing against his thighs and stomach with each impactful land of his hips.

“Ah—fuck!” A string of curses soars free, jostling you up the hospital bed that struggles to stay in place as he fucks you at a near inhumane pace. The whites of your eyes gleam with his next thrust, rolled back from the powerful hit that arches your back involuntarily.

“Fuck you all night, gonna fuck you everyday.”

Jaemin cries out, ripping a chunk of your hair with a balled up fist to unveil the column of your throat, biting down as the coiling heat in his gut becomes too overwhelming.

And he cums, screaming with his teeth dug into your skin. Bits of flesh scraped off by his sharp canine teeth, but still not enough to wake you, even as you let out a weak moan intensely squirting release around his size.

It’s almost too hard to stay put inside of you, having to realign his weight to keep his cock in despite the wet arousal bursting trying to shove him out.

It’s more desperate than he wanted, to fuck you like he owns you, because he does now. You’re his from inside out now. You’ll always be his.

Jaemin’s flopping down to his stomach, pushing your pussy folds open to ensure every drop of cum disappears. He has to fight back the urge to lean in, slurp of the slick wet coating your labia to watch your hole convulse, twitch and swallow down the white mess of cum passing through.

“We always have tomorrow to keep trying.” He grins wolfishly, throwing your gown back on without a care. “and the day after that.”

The camera shuts off, near the end of it’s battery life, and he thinks the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Scooting back toward your heaving figure, he leisurely trails up one of your thighs, playfully pushing them apart to memorize how damaged he’s left you. A fat wad of cum bubbles deep in your stretched out hole, gaped around nothing, sore and painful looking.

When morning comes you’ll wonder again why your body hurts so much. You’ll cry miserably, losing your patience, ready to end your battle, ready to give up. That’s what Jaemin wants anyway.

“Goodnight angel.”

It’s been over a week now of staying at the clinic, and you feel worse than when you arrived.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a good nights sleep?”

The questions rhetorical, not that you’d be able to decipher the true meaning behind your doctors words.

Between nightmares altering reality and mixing up different prescribed medications, you no longer had a grasp on time. Nothing felt real anymore, even the metal table before you reflecting your exhausted lifeless appearance felt like some horrific illusion.

“I can’t remember.”

Dr. Na leans closer to you with his elbows propped on the table to perch his chin in his hands. A soft yet devious smile painted on his lips as he watches you lose your fight.

“I’ll show you what you have forgotten.”

Dr. Na could say anything to you at this point really. Beyond the horrific visions taking over your brain, your body felt like it was breaking down on you. Every muscle sore, even your bones ached, new marks of bruising appeared everyday.

“I believe, I’ve figured out what’s keeping you awake.” The doctor says, turning to a rolly table at his side. Click clacks of typing sounds throughout the empty room, clearing his throat as he turns a black screen to face you.

“You have?”

Dr. Na stands, he smooths back a bang piece of hair that's fallen loose. The lab coat fitting his frame perfectly begins to slip from his wide shoulders and he removes it without breaking eye contact.

“You see, you’re a special case to me.” He continues, rounding the table to stand behind where you sit with his heavy palms weighing down on your slumped shoulders. “I’ve invested so much time and energy into you.”

Dr. Na’s lips pout behind you, gathering your hair off to one side to tickle down the side of your marked up throat. Marks left behind from his ruthless grip choking away your breath while he fucked you harder and deeper without anything or anyone to restrain him.

“In return, I need you to listen.”

“Doctor?” He could be speaking a foreign language as far as you’re concerned. Tilting your chin to the side to look up at him, your forehead wrinkles confused, met with the always handsome comforting face. Big doe eyes that round in a precious way that makes you feel as if everything will be ok.

“Shh shh” pinching your chin, Dr. Na turns you to face the screen, leaning the weight of his chest against the back of your head as he reaches over. Fingers click down, a video of your sleeping figure taking over the laptop screen.

“Did I do something in my sleep?” You wonder, watching as you struggle to stay still. Your feet kick the more you turn side to side, it’s uncomfortable to see yourself in distress.

“Not quite, angel.” Dr. Na huffs, continuing to push his chest closer to you. He has you hunched in closer, face lit up by the screen. Surprised as the doctor appears, and bright red eyes flash in the direction of the camera. A glitch because of the dim-lighting, you decide. “But I did.”

It’s shocking, disgusting, and humiliating to see what happens next. The choked gasp that pours from your mouth trapped by a large hand slapping down on your lips.

“You see, I chose you sweetie.” Dr. Na’s tone falls an octave, the sugary sweetness behind his words disappearing. “This whole time, I molded you, prepared you for this.”

He nods, pushing his other hand down to grip and hold your stomach. “To carry my future child, to birth my spawn.”

Screams go muffled beneath the palm splayed over your mouth, shoved up with an arm belted around your waist to bend over on the table. Dr. Na rips at the hospital gown covering your backside, arching your neck with his powerful hold on your face to force you to continue watching him take advantage and use your body.

“I said shush!” He sounds more demonic now, displaying an inhuman strength as he shreds off your underwear. The chill air floating through the room smacks your core quickly sending your knees to clink together. Fearful as you watch the man on screen rip you open from the inside. “Almost liked you better asleep.”

He has the audacity to laugh when tears trickle down his fingers, kicking your thighs open with a knee as he plants against your bent body. The cool table melting against your heated flesh with his hips smacking into your bottom. Three fingers shove into your mouth as you attempt to scream for help, someone, anyone to hear you and stop what happens next.

“You see,” fingers drag up the backs of your thighs, gripping roughly where they land on your ass to spread you apart. Sucking in air between his teeth at the sight of your ruined hole, swollen and painfully stretched from the amount of times he’s fucked you through the night now. “You’re perfectly healthy, couldn’t be better. A little stupid, but you’re human afterall.”

He doesn’t explain more than that, thrusting his fingers deeper into your mouth to quiet the coughs and cries spilling out of you. The sound of a zipper opening has you weakly attempting to thrash back, fight him off.

He’s too big, he’s too strong, too powerful to kick away.

The first touch of his bare skin shoots your eyes open, crying out as his girth lands against your core.

He’s too big. He’s too fucking big, and he’ll break you.

Pleads fall empty trying to pray for mercy, his cock only leaking out more spurts of precum as a murmured ‘please God’ sounds.

“God can’t help you now, sweet little angel.” He sneers, rubbing the length of his size between your folds just as he begins to on the screen. The hold on your jaw forces you to watch each action, to watch the way he manipulates your body to do as he pleases.

“Don’t want it princess?” He grunts shakily, growling in his chest because you’re already wet. So fucking nasty, hot and wet between your thighs, canting back to meet his cock ramming against your meaty folds. “But look at how much you loved it.”

He shakes your head in a mocking manner, much like a child being punished for uttering a bad word. The screen too blurry behind your tears, but the image is clear enough to see your doctor take advantage of you in your most innocent helpless state.

“Please, please doctor…please.”

The sound of his tongue clicking in dismay echoes like a jeer, circling your entrance with the tip the more you plead. “Jaemin. Enough of this bullshit doctor act.”

Nothing he says to you makes sense anymore, incapacitated by his weight crushing your feeble body to the table. Deeming your pussy wet enough, he scoots forward to sandwich past your clamped thighs, kicking a foot roughly between your knees for more leverage. He wants it to hurt, wants you to scream to make up for all the times he’s let you enjoy it, wants to see you cry and beg for him to stop.

One swoop forward gives him exactly what he desires, shallowly fucking his full heavy girth in even with how tight you still manage to be. The video on screen displays a similar act, different in position, lacking the blood curdling screams and cries you let out as he mocks and laughs.

“So pretty baby, you’re so pretty for me.” Jaemin licks at his upper lip, jostling against you a few times as he turns you by your chin to look at him, cracking your neck with the strain. “Can I fuck you? Huh?”

He laughs again, an arrogant disgusting laugh, emphasizing the question with another piston of his hips. “Can I? My sweet angel can take it. You already have.”

It’s too easy, you’re nothing but a mindless hole succumbed to his strength. The man behind you more demonic than anything, the gentle features of your concerned doctor turned dark, menacing, purely evil.

His hips hammer wildly, keeping your face turned to the side to watch the way he ravages your body. To watch him destroy and rip away your soul.

Every choked miserable cry you let out only heightens his pleasure, snapping his hips brutally against your backside. The pain hits from both ends with each dig of your thighs and pelvic bone cutting against the table.

“You were tighter the other night.” He spits, wadding up saliva to aim at the middle of your fast. The nasty thick wetness trickling from the bridge of your nose to the puddle of snot and drool accumulated on your lips. “Already fucking loose, you know what that means?”

Fingers squeeze past his relentless hips, shoving between your buttcheeks to scratch at your rim earning a shriek and scurry of your feet to get away. The sadistic laugh that booms out behind you sending shrill fear up your spine, tightening up around the length punching in and out of you with intention to hurt.

“Ah, fuck, yeah. Like that.” Jaemin pushes back, choking your neck from behind to hold you down. Palm smacking down angrily on your rim. “but not today.”

He reaches around, finding your clit between his middle and index finger to pinch and roll until you lift onto your tippy toes with a gurgled scream. “Can’t fuck a baby into you back there.”

“Doctor, please! Stop!” Between heavy breaths and sniffles, Jaemin keeps laughing, biting on his lips from the conflict in your tone. Your pussy locked around his length begging for more the louder you cry and protests.

“Don’t have to beg.” He taunts, licking up your back to bite down on your jaw, his fingers continuing to pleasure your bundle of nerves incessantly. “Gonna fuck you full of cum regardless. You’re so wet for me princess.”

It’s sick, sensing the last semblance of energy leaving your fingertips, the hold you had on the table goes numb, shaking against your will as orgasm rips through you making Jaemin growl and fuck harder past the convulsing around his size. He crushes against you completely, knocking your lungs free of all air, desperately twitching as he paints your insides once again.

He’s quick to recover, faster than you can process, pulling out to throw you down onto your knees and stroke the last spurts of cum onto your lips before you can try to crawl away.

“You’re mine now.” Dr. Na’s chest beats up and down drenched in sweat. You shouldn’t like it, but as you wait for the bile to rise up your esophagus you can’t look away. The pads of his fingers clean your chin, pushing release past your swollen abused lips. Nodding with his chin that you swallow it all.

“What did I just say?” He tuts, pushing two digits down on the middle of your tongue until you cough and choke. Jerking out with a river of drool streaming out onto the floor, onto his designer loafers.

“I’m yours.” You repeat, sniffling with a cough as the tangy taste of cum lodges in your throat. It’s everywhere, rubbed raw onto your skin, stuck between your teeth. The statement is nothing but true as he watches you swallow.

“Exactly.” Dr. Na scoops you up, perched on the edge of the table to slap your thighs open. “You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

#jaemin smut #na jaemin smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct jaemin #jaemin fanfic #na jaemin fanfic #nct dream fanfic #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #neopuppy fics #jaemin imagines #onek #jaemin scenarios #nct dream imagines

[grandmother-goblin]

Apotheosis - Chapter 1

Ao3 - Masterlist

Summary: Halsin didn’t know what he had done wrong. One day, everything was fine between him and Zilvira, but then she suddenly started to avoid him all together. So Halsin decided to follow her to Sharess' Caress in hopes of getting a chance to set things right.

Relationships: Halsin x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+) for eventual smut.

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of past trauma, fantasy prejudices, non-consensual drug use (not between the main characters), drow!Tav.

Notes: A big, huge, thank you to @brabblesblog for beta-reading!

It was only a week ago that Halsin was convinced that Zilvira was interested in him.

There hadn’t been a single shadow of doubt in his mind. In fact, it would have been difficult for him to believe she wasn’t interested in him. That knowledge wasn’t just ego or vanity talking: it was years of experience. 

Zilvira had never said anything outright, but she was far from subtle.

It was in the way her curious, intelligent eyes watched his lips when he spoke. It was the way she always lingered in his tent for a moment after their late night conversations, as if waiting — hoping — for him to initiate something. There was the way she messed with her hair when she saw him approach, the way her fingers ‘accidentally’ brushed against his when they walked side by side, the way she smiled up at him with her cherry red lips, the way they could talk for hours…

It had been a long time since Halsin had treasured someone’s company as much as he did Zilvira’s. 

When he was with her, the weight of his responsibilities sometimes felt light enough that he could forget about them entirely. His failures as Archdruid, everything that happened with Kahn’s, the Shadow Curse… Zilvira had a way of pushing them all to the back of his mind.

If only for a moment, Halsin could pretend that his only concerns were for himself, for her, and for the nature that enveloped them.

With her, he could just be Halsin.

Not an Archdruid. Not a leader. Just Halsin.

And it wasn’t until he met Zilvira that he realized just how long it had been since he felt like he could be himself. Truly himself — without putting on any sort of mask of stoicism and authority expected of druidic leadership.

So when Zilvira suddenly stopped speaking to him, it felt like a part of himself went silent as well.

Their once long, easy, conversations turned monosyllabic, overly polite, and professional. Like she thought they were simply business partners rather than a friend he had grown to cherish. All the warmth that had once emanated from her had become an impenetrable wall of ice — but one that only formed to keep him out.

And he hadn’t the faintest idea why. 

Lanterns illuminated the main street of Wyrm’s Crossing with a warm, orange glow that dulled the silvery light of the moon. The distinct aroma of fried food mixed with the salty sea air. Crowds of people gathered around food carts and outside of taverns, chattering away one another like there weren’t hundreds of refugees waiting to get into the city just a few minutes away. 

Like there weren’t metal monstrosities looming around every corner, watching their every move.

Cities had always made Halsin a bit uncomfortable, but he couldn’t remember the last time one made him feel so unsafe. Between the Bhaalists, the Banites, the Absolute, the Steel Watch, and the Guild, his disquiet was hardly unfounded. 

People stopped to stare at him as he passed through the crowded thoroughfare. Perhaps it was because of his druidic attire — completely standard in the grove to wear soft leathers adorned with nature, but out of place in the city. Or, more likely, they simply stared because of his stature.

He heard some whispers as he passed by. ‘Is that the bear man?’ and ‘I heard there was a giant elf in the city, but gods damn he’s huge!’ 

Nothing he was unaccustomed to hearing. There were certainly worse things he could be semi-famous for, that was for certain. 

Whatever people thought about him did not matter nearly as much as finding Zilvira. Their comments went in one ear and out the other. 

From what Karlach had told him, Zilvira had gone back to Sharess’ Caress; a bar and brothel they had stopped in a few days ago on official business. Apparently, Zilvira was hoping to find Inspector Valeria somewhere in the establishment — probably polishing off a bottle of wine. Last time Zilvira had spoken to Inspector Valeria, the hollyphant had demanded she needed to find more convincing evidence if she wanted to exonerate a tiefling refugee of murdering Father Lorgan.

And Zilvira had done just that. 

Halsin had been under the impression that she’d wait until morning to turn in her findings. Or at least until normal working hours. But when it came to protecting the innocent, Zilvira had never been the patient sort.

Although Zilvira would not have expected him to follow, Halsin wasn’t sure when he would get another chance to catch her alone. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to walk back to camp with him. Then maybe they could finally have a conversation about… 

Well, whatever it was that had gone wrong between them.

Whenever Halsin thought back on the past interactions with her, he couldn’t pinpoint a single thing that would have triggered her change in behavior. At least, nothing that made sense.

One morning, she was fine. He remembered how she smiled up at him as she poured him a cup of tea — a ritual they had shared for weeks. How she asked him about Oliver and Thaniel, saying that she missed them already. How her eyes followed a fuzzy bumblebee as she sipped her tea, oblivious to how he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.

It was that morning that Halsin had decided he wanted something more than friendship with her.

But he never got the chance to say something, because by that afternoon she could hardly even look at him.

And the following morning, she had found an excuse to have her tea alone.

A subtle ache gripped his chest when he recalled the moment of rejection. Of course, he tried to ask what was bothering her, but she just gave him a watery smile and said everything was fine.

That was two days ago.

He needed to figure out what was going on with her. Not just for his own sake, but for the sake of everyone else they traveled with. He had made a promise to help with her tadpole, a promise he intended to fulfill, but… did she even still want his help at all?

The bond he felt between them was undeniable, and it. was something he cherished. Besides Thaniel, Zilvira was one of the few people he could truly count as a friend. 

If she was pushing him away after everything they had been through together, there had to be a reason why.

Although several people lingered outside of Sharess’ Caress, there fortunately wasn’t a line to get in. If there had been, he probably would have waited outside since he wasn’t there for any of the services the place offered. Under different circumstances, he might partake in some of the indulgences. 

It had been a long, long time since he had done such a thing.

Tobacco smoke mixed with a myriad of sweetly sour aromas of perfumes and ale, barely masking the scent of too many bodies packed into the establishment. Though the outside air had been pleasantly warm — nice enough that he could wear his sleeveless leathers — inside it turned thick, humid, and almost oppressive. The door had barely closed behind him before he felt sweat beginning to coat his skin.

Halsin glanced around the taproom, hoping that he would be lucky enough to spot Zilvira right away. If she was in the room, she would stick out like a white swan among common mallards. It was difficult not to notice her. 

At least, it was difficult for him not to notice.

“Well, well,” a sultry, feminine voice came from somewhere to his left. The owner of Sharess’ Caress, in her spot behind the reception counter. Mamzell Amira, if he remembered correctly — the woman who hardly cared at all when Zilvira informed her that one of her employees had been brutally murdered simply because it affected her earnings. “I was hoping to see you again, handsome.”

Halsin did not quite share her sentiment, but he gave her a tight smile in greeting. 

It wasn't completely her fault. Cities had a way of turning even the kindest hearts callous — it was often the only way people could survive.

The Mamzell leaned across the counter in a way that put her cleavage on full display. “I’ve loved plenty of elves back in my day, but none of your — ” her eyes roamed up and down his body, pausing at his chest, biceps, and a little lower than what was polite “ — physique.”

Part of him wanted to roll his eyes at her flirtations. It was just an act as part of her business, so he knew not to take the comment too personally. But still, it was tiring to hear variations of the same observations from everyone.

When he thought about it, he realized Zilvira never made any sort of comments regarding his size. She never made him feel odd for being larger than the average elf. At the very worst, she occasionally asked for his help retrieving something that she was too short to reach. But nothing beyond that.

“You look like a man who has seen a great many things,” Mamzell Amira continued as she rested her chin in her hands, “but I’m certain Sharess’ Caress can show you a great many more. I’m sure we have something that would interest someone of your experience.”

“Perhaps another time,” Halsin replied diplomatically. “I’m actually here looking for someone. A young drow woman with white hair, cut about chin-length, and lips red like cherries.”

“‘Lips red like cherries,’” she echoed as the corner of her mouth tugged into a teasing smirk. “You sound smitten, you poor thing.”

Maybe Mamzell Amira had a point, but it was an accurate description. Halsin never once saw Zilvira without her bright red lipstick — she jokingly called it her ‘war paint’. Sometimes, he found himself wondering how often she had to reapply it. Or if it would come off when she kissed— 

Halsin pushed the thought aside. Focus. No point in thinking about Zilvira’s lips when she wouldn’t even use them to speak to him. 

Mamzell Amira tapped her finger to her cheek as if in thought. “You know, I’m not supposed to answer questions like that. Customer confidentiality and all of that. But since you helped me out before….” She cocked her chin toward the curtained area behind her and gave him a wink. “If anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”

Halsin inclined his head toward her gratefully, tension draining from his muscles with the knowledge that Zilvira was here. He could finally talk with her.

Heart fluttering in his chest, Halsin made his way toward the back room.

***

Wine wasn’t helping.

Resting her elbows on the sticky, wooden table she had been sitting at for the last hour, Zilvira ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled slowly. She had hoped that the alcohol in her system and a topless tiefling gyrating to music on a stage not ten feet away would have been enough of a distraction. 

It should have been enough of a distraction, considering she had never been someplace like Sharess’ Caress until a few days ago. But as excited as she was to experience all that the city had to offer, her mind kept drifting back to Halsin.

Zilvira took another sip of her wine. She couldn’t avoid him forever, nor did she want to, it was just that — How the hells was she supposed to pretend everything was normal after what he had said?

Gods, she felt like such an idiot. 

She had thought they had a connection. A real connection. She had thought it was mutual. There was always a softness to his eyes that made her want to melt, the gentleness of his words, the comfort of his presence.

He made her feel safe, and she thought at the very least she might provide the same comfort to him.

But she had been mistaken.

Zilvira pushed her wine goblet toward the edge of the table, not wanting to take another drink but needing something to do with her hands other than pull her hair out. It was only her second drink, and she was just starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. 

Normally, she didn’t resort to drinking when she had a problem. She liked to face things head on but….

She didn’t know what to do. 

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Truly, she hadn’t. Hells, she wished she hadn’t, because then she would be having tea with Halsin under a canopy of stars rather than cheap wine in a dingy taproom.

Ignorance was rarely her friend, but Zilvira longed for it at that moment. 

It wasn’t like she could just pretend she hadn’t overheard the tail end of Halsin’s conversation with Shadowheart. And it wasn’t like she could bring up what she had heard to him without admitting that she had inadvertently listened in on a private discussion. She shouldn’t hold something Halsin said against him if his words were never meant for her ears.

Though, she wished she had learned that he had some history with drow another way. 

A long and unpleasant history.

From the bit of the conversation she had heard, Halsin apparently had been a captive of a drow noble house for a few years. He said that seeing the drow twins at the brothel had reminded him of his ‘misspent youth’ — that drow seemed to be as much of a novelty on the surface as he had been  in the Underdark.

Based upon her limited knowledge of the drow in the Underdark, it was all too easy to parse Halsin’s words.

No matter how Halsin tried to play off his years of captivity as if it was nothing but the mistake of a young druid, there was some resentment to his tone. 

From the sound of it, whatever wound the drow had inflicted upon him seemed to still be a scab. Not quite a scar.

When that scab healed, there was no way of knowing how bad the scar would be beneath. Raised and angry, a light indentation, or just a faint discoloration one could only spot in the right light.

Zilvira’s first instinct had been to express her sympathies and offer an ear to listen. If the conversation had ended there, she might have done just that. 

But then he said a few words, words that sounded so light and easy in that deep timbre of his, that struck her like a sharp blade to the heart.

“I count myself lucky that I made it out of the Underdark alive,” Halsin had said matter-of-factly. “Cruelty comes to Lolth’s followers as easily as breathing. It’s part of a drow’s nature.”

“Surely that statement doesn’t include Zilvira?” Shadowheart had replied with a playful edge to her tone. Like she already knew the answer had to be some variation of ‘Of course not!’

“She’s a drow, is she not?” Halsin had said instead, without a moment of hesitation or a hint of humor. 

Zilvira had expected to hear a follow up. Something to indicate that Halsin didn’t think of her as cruel. 

But no. 

He left it at that.

Zilvira closed her eyes and willed the hurt and confusion of the memory away. 

The monks had warned her that the world outside of the monastery would treat her differently — that most people would be wary toward her because of her ancestry. It was part of the reason Zilvira had rarely ventured far from that hidden grove where the Eldathian monks had raised her. 

She knew why the surface world was wary of drow, but she thought that if people would just give her a chance they would —

Zilvira startled when the table jostled beneath her. Quickly, she grabbed the edge of the table to try to hold it steady before it toppled over and she could only watch as her goblet of wine teetered off the edge. 

A lightning quick hand snatched the goblet before it crashed to the floor. “Whoa!” a man exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to bump into you there.”

With his hand poised over the mouth of the goblet, he set the wine safely in the center of the table. “That could have been bad,” he said with an adorable laugh that immediately drew Zilvira’s attention to his face.

He was a young man. Neatly trimmed blonde hair, clear skin, bright eyes, and dressed in a Flaming Fist uniform. He gave her an easy smile as his eyes met hers.

Zilvira cleared her throat and averted her gaze, hoping the young man didn’t notice the dampness in her eyes. It was one thing to cry over Halsin alone, but she didn’t want to do it in front of a stranger.

“Good catch.” She picked up the goblet of wine and brought it to her lips. There wasn’t much left, and she swallowed the remainder of the dry red along with her impending tears. She set the empty goblet on the table with a little laugh, “Can’t spill it if it’s empty.”

The blond man rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a sheepish smile. “Can I get you another one?”

Zilvira shook her head. “No, thank you,” she replied amicably, though she was flattered by the offer. “I think I’ve had enough for one evening.”

“Are you leaving?” he asked, his brows raised as a small pout grew on his lips. Then he cleared his throat. “I saw you across the room and — well, I was hoping to have a drink with you. You’re really stunning and I would never have forgiven myself if I didn’t at least say ‘hello.’”

Her cheeks heated at the compliment, and Zilvira pushed a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. The blond man wasn’t really her type, but he wasn’t unattractive by any means.

Maybe a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. Talking to a friendly stranger seemed preferable to drinking alone. Besides, maybe the young man could help her keep her mind off of Halsin. Even if it was only for a few moments.

“I’m not leaving just yet,” Zilvira said and nodded to the empty seat across from her. “What’s your name?”

The man beamed at her as he told her his name: Jack. He pulled the chair around the table so he could sit closer to her, crowding her personal space in a way that seemed more over-friendly than overbearing.

Jack, Zilvira quickly learned, was the type of person who was extremely easy to talk to. He had a boyish charm about him — a playful innocence in his eyes and a smile that probably got him out of all sorts of trouble. More than that, he seemed very polite. 

Sweet, even.

Conversation came easy to them. Even with all the people crowding the room, Jack only had his eyes on her as he hung on her every word. Like she was the most interesting woman he had ever had the privilege of speaking to.

Yet a few minutes into the conversation, a sense of uneasiness came over her. It almost felt like she had had too much to drink, but… she didn’t have that much to drink. Did she?

She looked at her empty goblet, but found that her eyes were unable to focus on it. It doubled, then her vision went dark for a moment, only for it to come back a second later.

Zilvira sat back in her seat, trying to hold her head high in an attempt to look sober as Jack continued to talk. It was strange. She never had a problem holding her drink before, but something didn’t feel quite right.

Perhaps there had been a drink mix up and her wine was stronger than she had realized. 

A warm hand rested gently on her forearm, a featherlight touch that felt oddly comforting. She wanted to lean into it. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Jack asked, his brow furrowed with something like concern. Although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, something about his expression seemed off.

Or, perhaps, it was just another side effect of the alcohol. 

Shaking her head, Zilvira attempted to stand. The room blurred as she got to her feet, like she had been spinning around in circles, and she quickly sat back down. 

“I think I had too much to drink,” she said, her voice echoing in her own ears. “I should probably get some water.”

Yeah, that was probably it. A little bit of water and she would be feeling better in no time.

“Here, let me help you up,” Jack said and wrapped his arm around her, providing her some support as she tried to stand again.

The corners of her vision darkened, but it wasn’t as bad as standing up on her own. She leaned against Jack’s chest, inhaling the sweet and spicy scent of his cologne.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “I don’t normally get like this.”

Jack laughed good-naturedly. “Don’t worry. It happens all the time around here. You’ll get no judgment from me.”

Even with his assistance, it felt like she was walking underwater with every step. Almost as if she could just tap her foot and float away. 

Zilvira blinked hard as if it would make the room stop spinning. “I should probably get back to my camp.”

“In this condition?” Jack asked incredulously as he walked her toward the curtain that led to the main tap room. “You should probably lie down and drink some water. I have a room here. I’m happy to let you stay until you sober up a bit.”

Laying down sounded nice.

It sounded really, really, nice.

Amidst the blackness and spinning of her vision and the volume of the music surrounding them, Zilvira almost didn’t notice the alarm bells ringing in her subconscious.

Something was wrong but… she couldn’t quite place what it was.

Each one of Zilvira’s steps felt huge, like she was trying to step over a puddle. She glanced down at her feet, but her steps seemed normal. At least, from what she could tell. She was at least keeping pace with Jack, so hopefully she wasn’t walking like an utter lunatic in public. 

Being drunk was embarrassing enough as it was.

Jack stopped suddenly, pulling her to a halt alongside him. “Oh, excuse me, sir,” she heard him say. “Sorry, my girl had a bit too much to drink. If I could just get by you —”

His girl? Wait —

“Your girl?” An all too familiar voice echoed in her thoughts, drawing her attention away from her feet.

Halsin.

Even if her eyes couldn’t focus, she would know that voice anywhere. When the black spots cleared from her vision, she saw Halsin standing before them with a deep furrow to his brow. 

Gods, why did it have to be Halsin of all people? What the hells was she supposed to say to him?

“Funny you say that,” Halsin continued, his expression like a brewing storm cloud. “Because I’ve been traveling with Zilvira for weeks and I know this is her first time in the city.”

Jack’s hand tightened around her upper arm, making her wince. “It was just an expression, big guy,” he replied coolly. “We were just getting to know each other and — ”

“ — She is in no state to be in a place like this with a stranger.” Halsin crossed his arms over his chest and took a single step closer, forcing Jack to tilt his head back to look up at him. “I’m her friend. I’ll take care of her from here.”

Jack’s hand was like a manacle on her bicep, but it was probably the only thing keeping her standing upright. 

“Listen, you creep,” he said, his voice loud and projecting as he rammed a finger at Halsin’s chest. “We don’t know you, so leave us alone and find someone else to bother.”

Zilvira could barely keep track of the conversation. Her thoughts were like clouds that drifted through her mind, slipping through her fingers every time she tried to catch one. 

But Halsin was right — she knew that much.

She weakly tried to extract herself from Jack’s grip, but felt herself losing her balance. She latched onto his Flaming Fist uniform to keep herself from falling face first onto the floor. 

“He’s my friend,” she muttered as she leaned heavily on Jack. “I should go back with him.”

For a moment, Zilvira wondered if she said anything at all or just thought of saying something. Gods, what was wrong with her head? She hadn’t been this drunk — well, she had never been this drunk.

Adjusting his grip on her arm, Jack pulled her tight against his side. Then when he spoke again, it was with a firm, authoritative, voice that carried over the music. “She just said she doesn’t know you. Stop trying to harass her.”

Zilvira could feel eyes on her and… she realized she didn’t care. Normally she would have been mortified to be the center of attention in such a way, but at that moment she just wanted to lay down and get away from all the noise.

A gentle warmth brushed against her fingers, and she glanced down to see a large, suntanned hand littered with whittling scars held out toward her.

Halsin’s. 

“We should get going,” he said to her, ignoring Jack entirely. “I’ll walk you back to camp.”

“Don’t touch her.” Jack shoved Halsin’s chest with his free hand, jostling her with the movement.

With feline-like reflexes, Halsin grasped Jack’s wrist. “Last warning,” he said, his voice low and his expression thunderous. “Let Zilvira go. Now.”

The next thing she knew, that hand holding her upright had vanished and she heard the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh as she crumpled to the ground.

Then she heard a roar.

---

Next Chapter

#halsin #halsin x tav #halsin x female tav #halsin smut #halsin fanfic #halsin silverbough

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Homelander being obsessed with his sister HC V

Warnings: siblingxsibling implications, Homelander being such a narcissist that he falls in "love" with his own sibling, dubcon, manipulation, stalking, basically all the horrible parts of HL come out to play, MC has blonde hair and blue eyes like HL, different plot than 'All I Ever Wanted, All I Ever Needed', stockholm syndrome, dealing with aftermath, mental trauma

I II III IV

Oh you poor fool, did you really think Homelander would keep to his word? No, this only meant that he had to act under your radar. Stealth was required now to feed his desire to be close to you always.

He let you think that he was taking a step back. Grudgingly let you resume your previous life though you found little comfort in the family you once lived with. Time with HL changed you. Everything you'd known about your life was an utter lie manufactured by Vought. The hero you'd adored was. . . a complicated creature that wasn't like the golden man on the tv.

HL will draft thousands of texts to you but hesitate on sending them to you. He'll break and send you at least a text every other day. Tolerable, you think. You didn't know that he'd be using his enhanced vision to watch you read them and gauge your reaction.

Now is the time that stalker HL comes out to play since he can't be caught or you really would never forgive him. He didn't want another fight. He hated fighting you. It fought against his natural instinct to protect you. Plus you packed a punch that actually bruised his ribcage making it difficult for him to breathe for the next two days.

Often on his patrol breaks (and when he knows you aren't home) he'll fly by your apartment just to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary. You know, checking your drawers just to reassure himself that you were taking care of yourself and doing your own laundry. Particularly your undergarments.

Careful not to leave a trace when he does these inspections. Never staying too long.

You're non the wiser when you return to your apartment although you do notice how you have to buy more underwear lately.

He likes to keep the clothes he's taken from you under his pillow. When he goes to bed he pulls them out from their hiding place and places it next to his face.

your absence in his own apartments is suffocatingly pronounce

he hates how quiet it is, hates how his room is so empty without you there

and grudgingly you miss his familiar presence too

Your bed is suddenly too large without Homelander laying next to you. You hated when he'd pull you close to his chest in the middle of the night, refusing to relinquish you even if you had to pee.

You find yourself actually missing him and fuck does that make you resent him more. He completely uprooted your life. Him and Vought.

When exactly did you starting hating him less to actual start contact with him? You hate that you cracked after three days of being away from Homelander. Three days and you missed him like you hadn't seen him in a week. Hell, you'd been stuck with him for close to two months before enough was enough. That time spent together, all that trauma bonding, was bound to leave it's mark on you.

Loathing the idea that you may have developed a degree of Stockholm Syndrome. You'd read about it in books and seen it played out hundreds of times on tv.

You're annoyed when you close your laptop after spending hours of research. Especially after encountering this little passage: "An alternative explanation suggests that being in a captive or abusive situation generates intense emotional dynamics. Over time, individuals may adapt their emotions and develop feelings of compassion towards their abuser, particularly when subjected to kindness."

For the most part, Homelander had been kind to you (except, ya'know the whole fucking kidnapping thing). There were definitely moments where he made you uncomfortable but overall his intentions weren't necessarily malicious.

You recall a few times when Homelander leaned in too close to you and you thought. . . well you thought he was going to kiss you. But wouldn't that be messed up? Why would he do that? You didn't quite understand those odd moments where it sounded- it sounded like he was in love with you. There was nothing familial about the way he'd eye you.

In a short amount of time Homelander had done so much damage to your mental health. You found yourself unable to be without him. Perhaps that was the cruelest thing he's done to you.

#reader insert fanfiction #reader insert #the boys series #the boys imagine #the boys #the boys x reader #the boys tv #the boys amazon #homelander #the boys homelander fanfic #the boys homelander #homelander headcanons

[actual-changeling]

some early fluffy msr featuring once again a very tired scully and a worried mulder. if i end up writing more vignettes like these i might start posting them on ao3. this is set a few days after the first pfaster incident.

—

Mulder should really wake her up.

Not only is sleeping on the desk incredibly uncomfortable—speaking from a lot of experience—but he also knows that her first reaction to realising she fell asleep at work will be shame. She is slumped over in her usual chair, angled towards him and with her back to the door; every now and then she makes a little noise and buries her face deeper into the cradle of her arms.

Her blazer has ridden up her back and her blouse with it, revealing not soft skin but a deep-blue, slowly healing bruise. There are several more littering her entire body, and Mulder has caught her wincing or hissing in pain more times than he can count, swallowing the needle of guilt that comes with it. The memory of her sobbing into his chest is at the forefront of his mind, impermeable and achingly bright, and he regrets not shooting Pfaster dead right where he stood.

Scully had insisted on going back to work and shrugged off any and all attempts at getting her medical attention, eventually telling him to 'leave her alone or so help me god'. Not wanting to push, he had, and yet, seeing the shadows under her eyes match her bruises more and more, he wishes he had said something—anything—if just to make sure she is not hurting more than can be avoided.

It is not difficult to guess what exactly is keeping her up at night, and this is not the first or the last time a harrowing experience haunted them all the way home. Nightmares are as much part of the job as paperwork, and he would carry it all for her if he could.

Mulder watches her lips part for a sigh, a week's worth of fatigue finally catching up with her, and his indecision disappears entirely. He quietly pushes back his chair and tiptoes around their office, first taking the phones off the hook, then switching off their cellphones too. If anyone wanted something from them (and 'anyone' was almost exclusively Skinner), they were going to have to wait.

After locking the door, he turns off the ceiling light, picks up his coat, and gently drapes it over her shoulders; the heavy fabric wraps around her like a cocoon, making her appear even smaller than she already was. Shifting for a few seconds, Scully seems to adjust to the new weight and influx of warmth, but she quickly settles again with sleep softening her features. Hesitantly, Mulder reaches out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, disproportionately endeared by the content noise he gets in response.

In the late afternoon twilight, her red hair is littered with specks of gold, and he cannot resist the urge to run a palm over the back of her head to smooth it down further. Leaning in, he presses a tender kiss on her temple, murmuring "_sweet dreams"_ before he can second-guess himself.

Mulder knows he cannot change what happened or the lingering trauma she is inevitably struggling with, but he can allow her to get the rest she needs, if just for a little while, his gaze never straying far from her. No uninvited visitors disturb her peace, and he busies himself with expense reports and filing while she naps. 

The sun sets, the moon rises, and a handful of hours later, he catches her lashes fluttering and fingers twitching as she finds her way back to consciousness.

Contrary to his initial assumption, Scully doesn't seem to feel embarrassed or uncomfortable, but rather leans back and pulls his coat tighter around herself. Her eyes are clear, and he can spot the beginning of a smile tugging on her lips. He breathes against the sudden wave of anxiety washing over him, worried that he somehow overstepped.

"Better?"

Scully nods, letting out a puff of air and looking away as a blush rises to her cheeks.

"Thank you," she whispers, extending her arm to take his hand, which was starting to make a mess of the files without him noticing. Mulder squeezes it in return, his thumb unconsciously drawing circles along her knuckles. Unsure of how to deal with the emotions surging between them, he bites back the joke on his tongue and settles for honesty instead.

"If you ever—you can call. Anytime. Odds are I'm probably up anyway, and if-" he stumbles, mentally preparing himself to see her walls slot back into place, but she is meeting his gaze with steady, familiar affection. 

"If that's something I can do, please. Let me."

Scully squeezes his hand one more time before pulling back, carefully pushing herself upright. His coat is swallowing her, merging her with the creeping shadows on the wall, and her hair is a flame, drawing him in like a moth to the light. His light. 

"Dinner? Your choice."

Mulder smiles, recognising the offer for what it is: gratitude and affirmation wrapped in one.

"Let's go."

(When Scully calls him later in the early morning hours, they end up falling asleep together, and seeing her lively and infinitely less tired at work is worth the phone bills he continues to amass over the next few weeks.)

#alex writes x files #txf #the x files #x files #dana scully #fox mulder #scully x mulder #mulder x scully #msr #txf fanfic #msr fanfic

[ivystoryweaver]

Happy New Year, Jake

Happy Rosh Hashanah to the Moon Knight system

I haven't written enough for Jake, so he gets an impromptu story this lovely Rosh Hashanah (New Year).

Pairing: Jake Lockley x gn!reader

Word Count: 820

Content: Fluff, slight feelings of unworthiness, mentions of food, alters mentioned, brief reference to past trauma, mentions of religion and religious practices, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You asked Marc and Steven if you could do this.

Celebrate something with Jake.

Marc had some happy memories of holidays - Passover meals - finding the afikomen and getting a few dollars for it. The food, the wine, the prayers, the traditions.

Hanukkah wasn't quite as big of a holiday, but there were presents and dreidel to play and latkes to eat.

There were candles to light and services to attend.

Then, one day, there was no more happiness.

Steven's memories were spotty at best, but they were happy. His heart was rooted in the traditions of those before him.

But Jake had none of this. He was a shadow - a creature of the night. He had only been in your life for less than a year.

Jake was a difficult man to get to know. He preferred to keep to himself, but he was soft for you - that, he could not fight.

You didn't want to ambush him, or even surprise him. You asked his permission.

"Could...do you think we could have a little dinner for New Year's?" You asked him one night, moonlight spilling across the bed as you drew circles on his bare chest with your fingertips.

"New Year's?" He gruffed out, confused. "In September?"

"Rosh Hashanah," you supplied. "You know...the new year. If you want. I wanted to make you dinner - just something nice."

Jake's calloused hands scratched lightly down the curve of your back. "Not sure, mi vida. Better ask - "

"I did," you interrupted. "Marc's not ready yet and Steven is okay skipping this year - at least the dinner so you and I can share it. Only if that's okay with you. It doesn't have to be anything you're uncomfortable with."

The stubble of his chin tickled the skin of your cheek as he whispered back and forth with you.

"Okay. Yeah. I...I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do, but...sure."

You were excited, having hoped Jake wouldn't turn you down.

You prepared a savory meal - doing most of the work the night before. You set an elegant yet simple table, with your best dishes, a tablecloth and your grandmother's silver.

A round challah loaf sat on her silver serving platter. You prepared apples and honey to symbolize the hope for a sweet year. You also served pomegranates and some vegetables. You made some brisket for Marc to eat later. Wine glasses and water glasses were set appropriately. You were ready.

You put the finishing touches on the table just as Jake emerged from your bedroom, straightening his tie. Jake was no stranger to wearing a tie or looking absolutely dashing at any given moment.

But this was something else. Instead of his typical leather jacket, he wore a dark suit jacket. Noticing your blatant stare, he ran a hand over the stubble of his jaw.

"I think this is like a...proper dinner," he attempted, sounding a little like Steven. "This too much?"

"Jake," you breathed, floating toward him. "You look incredible." Placing your hands on his muscled chest, you leaned in and brushed your lips tenderly over his.

"Shana Tovah," you wished him, motioning for him to have a seat at the table. But he pulled you back to his side, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple.

As you sat down to enjoy your holiday meal, your heart burned within your chest each time Jake seemed uncertain about what exactly to do. The last thing you wanted was make him uncomfortable, or make him somehow feel less...Jewish? Than Steven or Marc.

You only desired for him to be who he was. But you wanted him to feel a part of his history too, if he was comfortable.

"You okay?" You quietly asked, watching as he dipped his apple slice into the honey.

He paused, his warm brown eyes going wide. "Did I do something wrong? Is there like a prayer?"

"Jake, you can't do anything wrong. This is for you. Just...be with me." You reached across the table and squeezed his hand, watching as his shoulders relaxed.

"This is nice, baby," he spoke up after a few minutes. Leaning in, he made sure to catch your eye. "It's really nice. Thank you...for thinking of me."

You smiled warmly. "Of course, I'm always thinking of you."

You shared your special meal and some traditions together, feeling so warm inside and so grateful for this man of yours. When you got up from the table, he pulled you close and told you how amazing you looked.

"Gotta dress up like this again so I can take you out," he roughly whispered against your ear while holding you against him.

Easing back, you brushed your fingers along his jaw. "You mean 'take me out' a date, right? And not...your nighttime job?" You teased.

"Very funny," he mocked, scooping you up into a hug, where you stayed for a while, content in his arms.

"Happy new year, baby," he whispered, feeling like he belonged.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #holiday fic #rosh hashanah #new year #happy new year #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight system #moon knight fic #jewish holidays #oscar isaac characters

[miakate-writes]

Hallo! I saw your touch-starved prompts, and loved them, but (prepare yourself)... What of the character hated being touched(like some sort of trauma involving others touching them)?

Thmank(not a typo) you very much!

Touch starved prompts part 2 (with a twist)

[thank you for this submission! if you have any suggestions for prompt lists or prompt lists that you would like to see, please don’t hesitate to pop into my asks box and i will get to your request asap <3]

[tw: mentions of abuse]

song to set the mood [taylor swift my beloved] ^^^

in which Character A knows that Character B was previously in an abusive relationship, A will do everything to make sure that B is comfortable. they don’t want to be touched right now? B isn’t going to push it. they do want to be touched right now? B will absolutely give them all the love and attention they deserve.

in which Character A doesn’t know that Character B was previously in an abusive relationship. it doesn’t take A long to notice that something is wrong with A, hugs and even hand-holding makes them uncomfortable. communication is key between them. they sit down and talk about it and A is completely supportive and willing to help.

“is this ok?”

“you know that i won’t hurt you, right?”

“i’m never going to let anything like that happen to you again. ever.”

for a while they just sit in each other’s company while watching tv or reading.

eventually they work up from linking pinkie fingers to full cuddles. it takes a while and is very difficult for B to get used to and know that they are safe, but A is patient with them and they are learning together.

“can i have a hug.” B asks one day. it shocks A so much that they think it’s a joke at first. once they realise that B isn’t joking they slowly wrap their arms around them, letting B adjust to the feeling.

[hope you enjoyed the prompts! if you write something inspired by anything here PLEASE tag me in it, i would LOVE to read your writing :) if you like my content PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE follow me on tiktok and instagram @/miakate.writes i would really appreciate the support 🫶🏻]

#writing prompts #romance writing prompts #romance prompts #domestic romance #domestic romance prompts #touch starved #touch starved prompts #dialogue prompts #friends to lovers #friends to lovers prompts #angst comfort #comfort #comfort prompts #fluff prompts #fluff #otp prompts #fluff writing prompts #fluff drabble #drabble prompts #otp #otp writing prompts

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Forgotten Nest (Part 8) - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw / Mitchell!OC (Cora)

Word Count: 4.7k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Past Unplanned Teenage Pregnancy; Angst; Absent Parental Figures; The 'He Didn't Know About the Pregnancy' Trope; Repeating Trauma Cycles; Crying; The Uranium Facility Mission; Named Mitchell Daughter OC (Cora) and Named Mitchell-Bradshaw Son (Nickie)

Summary: The uranium facility mission commences.

A.N. There are references to a previous unplanned teenage pregnancy (between two eighteen-year-olds) in this fic. There won't be any flashback scenes to the pregnancy, but the references are still there, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

Master List

Cora stood at the window of her home. It was barely light and she was still dressed in her pajamas. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stepped out onto the front deck of her home, and closed the door behind her. Stepping further out onto the deck, she stared in the direction of the Naval Air Base, trying to hold herself together.

She hadn’t slept last night. Not after her talk with Nickie and her discussion with her dad. Glancing down at her fingers, she tried to rub the blue ink out of her finger pads. The ink was still wet when she handed that photo to Maverick for the transfer. He shot her a look that she didn’t have the stomach to return and pulled her into a tight hug before he was gone.

Letting out a shaky breath, Cora turned back to the Naval Air Base to see an F/A-18 take off. And then another. And then another. Slowly sinking onto the front steps of her home, Cora watched them fly off before slowly lowering her head down into her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks.

~~~~~

Bradley rifled through his small bag, moving to grab his sleep clothes. Omaha was already in his bunk behind him, but Bradley’s mind was racing too fast for him to fall asleep quite yet. The mission was set for tomorrow and they were simply getting into position tonight.

Reaching for his toothbrush, Rooster paused and frowned when he felt his hand brush against a thick piece of paper. Pulling it out of his pack, Rooster paused when he realized that it was a photo. A photo of him and Cora at their senior prom.

How did that get into his bag?

Flipping it over, Rooster’s eyes quickly landed on the blue ink on the back of the photo. It was slightly smudged and the letters were written in haste, but it was clearly Cora’s handwriting. He knew it all of these years later.

Nickie told me about your meeting. Come home safely and we can talk.

Rooster flipped the photo over again, remembering that night vividly. He and Cora spent the whole night together, never wanting to leave each other’s sides, and caught up in the kind of love that only teenagers seemed to experience.

And bile rose in his throat when Rooster did the math in his head.

Cora was probably already pregnant in these photos. And it might just be the closest that they would ever get to having a photo of all three of them.

~~~~~

Maverick stared out at the assembled aviators in front of him with his hands folded calmly behind his back. This was the moment. He knew that someone wasn’t coming back from this mission and now he had to pick the pour souls who would be on the chopping block, all of which had families and friends back home waiting for their return.

The foxtrot teams were a simple choice. Speed and accuracy and ability to react quickly were his main criteria for that. Picking the single flier was the difficult choice. The one that would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. However long that might be.

Hangman was the answer on paper—he flew the fastest and the most aggressively, which was what the mission called for. But no one trusted him to cover their backs. Coyote was out. The G-LOC incident grounded him. And between Fritz and Rooster, Rooster had the better stats and repertoire with the foxtrot teams. So, the answer was there. He just had to make it.

“Rooster,” Maverick called after Cyclone’s prompting.

The initial shock that Rooster wore on his face was clear as day, though he quickly shoved it behind the mask that all of them were wearing during the briefing. The mask that all aviators forced themselves to put on before every mission.

Rooster and Maverick locked eyes for a moment, a silent conversation passing between them. The more sheepish, guilt-stricken side of Rooster stood out more than Maverick had seen since the incident seventeen years ago. And from what Nickie said, Maverick knew that it was genuine. He just wished that it happened sooner.

Then Nickie and Rooster could have actually talked and learned about each other. Rooster could have made it up to Cora and that stress could have been off of her shoulders years ago. And then they could have been just like any ordinary family of three.

But things were never simple in the Mitchell family. Nor were they easy in the Bradshaw family.

Maverick nodded to the gathered aviators before making his way to the locker room, leaving Rooster standing there, a bit lost.

~~~~~

Rooster stepped out onto the flight deck, gripping his helmet loosely and clearly lost in his thoughts. He wasn’t expecting to be chosen. Not after everything that he and Maverick had put each other through over the years, and especially in the last few days. Not after he coasted his way through the training runs, never quite pushing it like Hangman did.

He didn’t think that he was good enough for this mission. And yet here he was.

Picking his head up for a moment, Rooster paused when he found Hangman standing on the deck in front of him, a serious expression on his face. Gone was the arrogant edge that made Rooster want to knock his teeth out ever since he met him. No, for once, Hangman actually looked like a team player. Like someone who cared if everyone came home.

“You give ‘em hell,” Hangman yelled over the roar of the engines, before making his way to his plane.

Rooster barely even acknowledged Hangman as he walked away, too caught up in his emotions. Nickie wanted to see him. Cora wanted to see him. Maverick chose him out of the line up of the best aviators in the country. Hangman was actually believed in him.

Rooster was so lost that it was a miracle he didn’t fall off the side of the ship.

Righting himself, Rooster turned and walked over to the plane adjacent to his own. Maverick was running through the pre-flight checks on his own aircraft when Rooster approached him, a bit more frantically than he intended.

“Sir? Sir?” Rooster called, causing Maverick to turn around to face him. “I . . . I just want to say—”

The orders over the comms cut off Rooster’s apology and automatically snapped both aviators into action. Maverick, seeing the shakiness to Rooster’s expression, took charge.

“We’ll talk. When we get back,” Maverick assured Rooster, who nodded curtly in return.

Maverick watched Rooster turn around and head for his own plane. Letting out a breath, Maverick looked to the ground, shaking his head before moving around to climb into his plane. Maverick didn’t want to lie to Rooster. But he wanted to protect him even more.

And, so, he lied.  

~~~~~

Nickie sat out on his surfboard, staring out into the Pacific Ocean with a far-off expression in his eye. The waves passed harmlessly under him, tickling his calves, but not pushing him hard enough to snap him out of his daze. Maverick was somewhere out in the Pacific in that direction. Bradley was somewhere out in the Pacific in that direction.

And Nickie hated waiting. He hated not knowing.

“Hey, Mitchell!” one of the other surf team boys called, breaking Nickie out of his trance. “Let’s go!”

“Right,” Nickie breathed out, blinking rapidly.

Turning to shoot one last look in the direction of the Pacific, Nickie paddled forward to catch a wave, ignoring how his stomach was knotted uncomfortably with stress.

~~~~~

Maverick signaled to the deck crew that he was prepared for launch before grabbing the handle. Forcing himself to take a breath, Maverick closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Nickie and Cora back home, safe and sound and taken care of, before he opened his eyes, completely focused on the mission directly in front of him.

“Watch over ‘em, Ice,” he murmured, before his plane was launched into the air.

~~~~~

Cora stood on the sand with Penny, watching Nickie surf with the other surf team kids. The two women had barely talked since Cora arrived, both caught up in their own thoughts. Cora wrapped her arms around herself, watching Nickie surf through the waves, though not as well as he normally did. He was distracted, she could tell, and the realization made her heart ache.

“He’s doing well,” Penny commented, causing Cora to nod slowly.

“But he’s not in it,” Cora stated softly, turning to face Penny. She gestured to the open ocean in front of them. “His head’s out there.”

“Can’t blame the kid,” Penny replied, just as Nickie wiped out.

Cora held her breath until Nickie resurfaced, completely unharmed, but just a little sheepish. Settling back down, Cora pursed her lips together and stared out at the setting sun in the distance. Penny reached out and wrapped an arm around her, giving Cora some support.

They didn’t need to discuss it. They both saw the look in Maverick’s eyes when he said goodbye.

“I think I’m going to take Amelia on a sailing trip,” Penny suggested, causing Cora to nod in return. “Did you and Nickie want to come?”

“No, thank you though,” Cora replied softly, turning back to her son. “I’m worried that Nickie would go tumbling off the side at this rate.”

“You know that I’m always here for the two of you.”

“I know, Penny. Thank you.”

Cora turned back to the waves of the distant ocean, unable to help the tears building in her eyes. Silently letting them drip down her cheeks, Cora let Penny pull her into a tight hug as the two women tried to hold themselves together for the sake of their children. And, frankly, for themselves.

~~~~~

“Dagger Two defending!” Rooster called out, spotting the SAMs behind him. Slamming his fist into the flares button, Rooster cursed when none popped out. “Shit! I’m out of flares!”

“Rooster, evade, evade!” Maverick yelled back, quickly turning around to help.

“I can’t shake them! They’re on me! They’re on me!” Rooster warned, going through evasive maneuvers.

Maverick didn’t hesitate. He just moved.

A thousand thoughts were flying through his head as he sped towards Rooster. Goose’s face. Carole’s face. Cora’s face. Nickie’s face. Oh, God, Nickie. Racing to protect his best friend’s son and his grandson’s father that he barely knew, Maverick hurried to get into position.

Rooster had to live. He had to live. He had to make it right with Cora. He had to make it right with Nickie. He had to live. He had to survive.

The sensors in front of Rooster started to beep aggressively, warning him that the SAMs were getting closer. Maverick yanked back on the joy stick, using the cobra maneuver to fly up above Rooster. Slamming his fist onto his flare button, Maverick released the flares behind Rooster, protecting him from one of the SAMs.

But Maverick’s own sensors started to blare as the second SAM flew forward.

“Mav!” Rooster screamed out in a panic.

Maverick grunted as the SAM hit him directly in the back of his aircraft. His plane broke apart and he started hurtling towards the ground in a great ball of fire. Sensors beeped all around Maverick as he released the joy stick, submitting to his fate.

And just before it all went back Maverick swore that he heard Nickie’s voice calling out to him.

~~~~~

“Penny said that she’s taking Amelia on a sailing trip,” Cora told Nickie softly as they packed up his gear to head back home. “Did you want to go?”

“No,” Nickie replied quietly, shaking his head. “I think that I just want to stay home.”

“We’ll do whatever you want to do, okay?” Cora assured Nickie, forcing a small smile.

“Do you think we could get those burgers at the diner that Gramps likes?” Nickie asked as he opened the passenger door.

“I thought that you hated those burgers,” Cora replied quietly, staring over at her son. “You always said that they were too greasy.”

“I know, but . . . Gramps always like them,” Nickie returned softly.

Trying to not let her lips wobble, Cora forced a smile and grabbed Nickie’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. Turning on the car, she faced forward to try and get control over her emotions.

“We’ll get some burgers then. For your Gramps.”

~~~~~

Maverick sprinted through the thick snow, powered by sheer determination. Every few steps he took, Maverick did a quick calculation about how much farther Rooster was and about how long it would take to get to him. His first aid training ran through his brain too.

Was Rooster hurt? Did he land safely? Did he eject safely? Maverick didn’t have the answer.

Spotting Rooster upright and kneeling in the snow, shoving down his parachute, Maverick felt new energy course through his veins. Rooster was alive. And he wasn’t hurt too bad based on the way that he was kneeling. He was alright. He was going to survive his ejection.

“You alright!?” Maverick yelled, hopping over a snow bank.

“Yeah, I’m good. You alright?” Rooster called back, right before Maverick pushed him straight into a pile of snow. “Jesus! What the hell!?”

Rooster yanked his helmet off and shoved it into the snow. Maverick slipped his off as well before turning to give Rooster the scolding of a lifetime.

“What are you doing here!?”

“What am I doing here!?” Rooster squawked back indignantly as he stood up.

“You think I took that missile for you so you could be down here with me!? You should be back on the carrier by now!”

“I saved your life!” Rooster snapped back.

“I saved your life! That’s the whole point.” Shaking his head incredulously, Maverick turned back to Rooster. “What the hell were you even thinking!?”

“You told me not to think!”

Maverick didn’t have a response for that, simply breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath. Rooster nodded sarcastically, throwing his arms up in the air, before slamming them back at his sides. Both Maverick and Rooster breathed heavily, looking around the forest for any hostiles, before turning back to each other.

“You were supposed to go back to Cora and Nickie,” Maverick sighed, staggering a bit. Squatting in the snow, Maverick looked up at Rooster, who stared back evenly at him. “You were supposed to go back and make it right.”

“I am going to,” Rooster vowed, straightening up. He looked around the forest again before returning his gaze to Maverick. “But it wasn’t going to work without you.”

Maverick let out a breath, dropped his head down onto his hand. Rubbing his face as he tried to catch his breath properly after sprinting a couple miles at his age, Maverick picked his head up to find Rooster already offering him a hand. Taking it, Maverick accepted Rooster’s help up and dusted some of the snow off of his flight suit.  

“She’s going to kill us when she finds out,” Maverick stated, glancing around the forest.

“If she finds out,” Rooster suggested, causing Maverick to nod in agreement.  

“Well, it’s good to see you,” Maverick replied with a small smile.

“It’s good to see you too,” Rooster returned, setting his hands on his hips. “So, what’s the plan?”

~~~~~

Cora looked up from her computer when one of the nurses at her office rushed into the room that she was charting in. Immediately assuming that something was wrong with one of the patients, Cora leapt to her feet, ready for action.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You have to come see. Room 22.”

Cora quickly rushed down the hall, overtaking the junior nurse. Opening the door to the patient room, Cora stepped inside, expecting to see a swarm of doctors and nurses, but all she saw was her dad, dressed in his flight suit, waiting for her on the patient bed.

And in that moment, Cora wasn’t thirty-four. She was a little kid all over again.

Letting out a choked sob, Cora raced across the room and threw herself into her dad’s waiting arms, completely unaware that her coworkers were filming the whole thing. And she was even less aware that there was another surprise guest waiting for her in the corner. Unable to help the tears of relief, Cora let her dad rock her back and forth.

“I’m alright,” Maverick chuckled, hugging his daughter to his chest. “Just a few bumps and bruises.”

“I know that you’re hiding injuries from me, but I don’t even care right now,” Cora sobbed, unwilling to let go of her dad. “You’re home. You’re home.”

“We’re home.”

Releasing her dad, Cora wiped some of her tears away and turned to see Rooster standing in the corner, also dressed in his flight suit. It took her a second, a painful second where Rooster wondered if she was even happy to see him, before Cora took off again. Running into his arms, Cora buried her face into Rooster’s shoulder, and Rooster quickly returned the hug.

Wrapping her arms around him tightly, Cora breathed in Rooster’s cologne, soothing herself just a bit more. They were home. They were safe. They were alive. There wouldn’t be a funeral. There wouldn’t be a burial. They were here.

“You came back,” Cora whispered shakily, causing Rooster to hug her tighter.

“I wasn’t going to leave you guys. Not again.”

Cora nodded against him, letting out a shaky breath. Maverick smiled at Cora and Rooster’s embrace as he stood up. Cora and Rooster broke away, both turning to Maverick.

“So, how’re we going to surprise Nickie?” Maverick asked, wearing that iconic mischievous smirk.

~~~~~

Nickie walked up to the side door and unlocked it, heading inside after taking the bus home from school. He locked the door behind him and went about his usual after-school routine as if it was a normal day. Dropping his backpack onto one of the chairs, Nickie turned for the fridge to grab a snack. He opened the fridge door and frowned when he found a note waiting for him with his mom’s handwriting.

“Turn around?” he read aloud, confused, before doing as the note said.

Nickie had a split second to register who was standing behind him before sprinting the last few steps over to his grandfather. Maverick laughed as Nickie had to bend a little to give him a hug and rubbed his back as Nickie quickly sobbed into his shoulder. Cora held a hand to her mouth, happy tears coming to her eyes as Nickie reunited with his grandfather.  

“You’re alive,” Nickie croaked out, hugging his grandfather just a little tighter.

“Well, apparently, I refuse to die,” Maverick returned, causing Nickie to laugh a bit shakily.

“Does Mom know that you’re here?”

“Yeah, she’s right there.”

Nickie looked up from his grandfather’s shoulder to see his mom standing there with tears in her eyes. Cora waved to Nickie before he looked beyond her and spotted another figure standing there. Rooster stayed back, knowing that Nickie didn’t exactly view him as a dad but more of some kind of random stranger that bumped into his life unexpectedly.

But after Nickie gave his mom a quick hug in greeting, Nickie turned to face Rooster on his own. Rooster stood a bit nervously as Nickie stopped a few paces away from him. He wasn’t sure what Nickie’s reaction was going to be to his presence. But after what seemed like a century passed, Nickie reached forward and gave Rooster a hug.

Rooster froze for a moment before hugging Nickie back even stronger, far too emotional to do anything else. It was the first time that he held his son. His kid. And his son willingly hugged him. Rooster couldn’t help but let a few tears out during the moment. And Nickie, for his part, didn’t seem to want to let Rooster go either.

Amelia was right, Nickie realized with some apprehension. He really would have beat himself up for the rest of his life if he didn’t talk to Rooster before he left on the mission. Not that it mattered now, because Rooster was here. And based on the way that Rooster was hugging him back, Nickie had a feeling that Rooster was around to stay.

Cora shared a smile with Maverick as they watched Nickie and Rooster embrace for the first time ever. Maverick squeezed his daughter’s shoulder as she dried her eyes again.

~~~~~

There was a cook out on the beach with the whole Dagger crew in a post-mission celebration. Penny pulled out a grill from somewhere in the Hard Deck and Maverick was nominated to do the grilling for the whole team, which he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

The rest of the Dagger Squad and their guests were spread out over the patch of sand, talking and chatting with each other and simply enjoying the San Diego sun. Cora stood to the side of the volleyball court a short walk from the grill, smiling to herself while she watched Nickie and Rooster work together to try and beat Harvard and Yale.

“Ms. Mitchell?” a voice called from her left, causing Cora to turn.

“Admiral Simpson,” she returned, straightening up subconsciously as Cyclone stood beside her.

“It has come to my attention that your son, Nickie, wants to become an aviator,” Cyclone began, causing Cora to pause for a moment.

“Yes, I believe that he does,” she replied quietly, fiddling with her necklace.

“Well, if he’s anything like his family members before him, he will one day make it to Top Gun.”

“That is his dream,” Cora echoed softly.

“Can you do me one favor, Ms. Mitchell?” Cyclone asked her after a moment.

“Sure,” Cora responded, turning to face Cyclone fully.

“Please inform me the second that your son gets his wings. So that I can immediately put in my retirement notice,” Cyclone emphasized, causing Cora to bite her cheek to not burst out laughing. She simply nodded instead, trying to hold it in. “Thank you.”

When Cyclone walked off, Cora let out a quiet laugh to herself. Shaking her head, she turned back to watch the volleyball game. But it seemed that between being Maverick’s daughter and the mother of Rooster’s secret love child, she was a popular person around the Dagger Squad.

“You must be the lovely Cora that we’ve heard so much about,” Hangman drawled, walking over to her.

“And you must be Hangman,” she returned, gazing at him curiously.

She didn’t get much of the details about the mission—considering it was top secret and all that—but the way that Maverick talked about Hangman led her to believe that something happened on the mission that fixed Maverick’s and even Rooster’s perspective on him.

But that grin that Hangman only told her one thing—he was trouble. Luckily, Cora was a Mitchell. She was natural at being trouble. It was in her genes.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he stated, offering her a hand to shake.

“Likewise,” she returned, shaking his hand politely.

“You know, I have to say that you are far more beautiful than anyone described you as,” Hangman flirted, causing Cora to cock an eyebrow.

“How badly do you want Rooster to lose this game?” she asked, tilting her chin up a bit.

“About twenty bucks worth. Forty, actually,” Hangman replied, waving over to Coyote and Phoenix.

Phoenix shook her head in disbelief, probably waiting for Cora to knee Hangman in the balls, while Coyote seemed to be struggling to contain his laughter. Remaining poised, Cora turned back to Hangman as he continued with his explanation.

“That is, if Rooster comes and tries to rip my head off,” Hangman replied with a wink, causing Cora to smirk to herself.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Rooster.”

“Your dad’s all the way—ow!”

The volleyball smacked right into the back of Hangman’s head, causing him to whirl around, rubbing his head. Nickie, who was originally wearing a look of death, immediately put on an innocent smile when Cora and Hangman turned to him and waved sarcastically.

Nickie, after all, was a mama’s boy. A mama’s boy who knew that men liked to lurk around his mom.

“Sorry!” Nickie called over.

“It slipped because of the sunscreen!” Rooster covered for Nickie, holding a thumbs up.

“Sure, it did,” Cora replied, shaking her head. Turning back to Hangman, she offered a smile. “I think that means that you only get twenty.”

“Great shot, Nickie!” Penny praised, clapping loudly for him.

“Any chance that you’d like a drink?” Hangman asked, trying to make just a little more money.

Up until Rooster hit the volleyball, which had rolled back to him after hitting Hangman in the head, into Hangman’s back, causing Hangman to roll his eyes. Rooster waved innocently, not unlike his son did moments before, as Cora shot him a look.

“Sunscreen again!”

~~~~~

Eventually, the teams broke for food. Cora sat on the beach chair that she brought along, chatting with Bob and Phoenix, when Rooster slowly approached her. Phoenix nudged Bob in the side and they both made lame excuses before heading off, leaving Cora and Rooster alone.

“Is this seat taken?” Rooster asked, gesturing to the seat next to her.

“It looks like it’s about to be,” Cora replied, nodding towards it.

Rooster sat down and the two of them shared a small smile for a moment. It was still a little awkward between them, and there was no way really around that, but it was getting better. It was getting more and more like old times. Bradley was reminding Cora more of the Bradley she knew before Carole died, and that in of itself made her so happy.

“They asked us if we had a preference for where we wanted to be stationed,” Rooster began, causing Cora to sober up a bit.

“And?”

“I talked to Cyclone about it. He couldn’t guarantee North Island, but he said that he would make sure that I was in California,” Rooster explained, causing Cora to smile and nod. “And I know that you have work and Nickie has school, but we could drive out to where we grew up and show Nickie all of that and . . . my parents and that sort of stuff.”

“I think that Nickie would really like that,” Cora agreed, smiling softly.

“And you? Would you like that?” Rooster asked quietly.

“I’d love that,” Cora stated, causing Rooster to grin.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I would,” Cora repeated, smiling over at Rooster, who beamed right back at her.

Maverick watched Rooster and Cora chat over by themselves, relived that the two of them were talking and seemed to be getting along again. Penny nudged him with her arm, causing Maverick to turn to her. She pointed over at the volleyball court, where Nickie was holding up the ball.

“Hey, Gramps! One more game?” Nickie asked, grinning mischievously.

“Easy game!” Fanboy heckled, causing Maverick to laugh and slowly get to his feet.

“Alright, one more game, Nickie,” Maverick replied, jogging over to his grandson. “But we can’t go easy on them, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nickie agreed, smirking that iconic Mitchell smirk.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

A.N. So, that's it! The main part anyways! Epilogue is inbound, and should be posted soon! Thank you to everyone who read this series and especially those who reblogged and commented on all of the different chapters! I hope that you enjoyed it!

Tags: @xoxabs88xox @eternallyvenus @mygyn @kmc1989 @thegoddessc @midnightmagpiemama @badasspizzalover @praline357 @oatmealisweird @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @abaker74 @avengersfan25 @yogabigooby @daisydaisygoose @sgt-barnesveins @angelbabyange @percysaidnever @artemissunn @indiestrashfire @kidd3ath @luv4kani @lt-spork @brooke-stinson

If I forgot you in the tags, don’t be afraid to ask again because I’m definitely scatterbrained when it comes to that but please have a reference to your age somewhere on your blog (bio, pinned post) or just message me because you will not be tagged otherwise.

#top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun #tgm #tgm fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster fanfic #bradley rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw #top gun rooster #rooster #rooster top gun #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell

[romanarose]

Protected

Jake Lockley x fem!reader

Masterlist : Join my taglist!

Summary: Jake is trying to relax at a bar when a woman won't leave him alone. Confused as to what's happening, Jake isn't sure how to react. Men don't hit women, right?

Warnings: Depiction of sexual assault (over the clothes gentile touching), reader gets aggressive with other women. Jake has old fashioned, patriarchal notions of paying for women's drink, that he shouldn't assert his boundaries, that he can't be assaulted because he's a man and she's a woman, blaming himself. Men have a right to protect themselves from violence of any sort with proportional means. Protect men. Reader mentions trauma, illuding to rape. Reader isn't exactly "safe" with going out, but neither am I know I'm "supposed to" go with friends, no walk off with strangers etc. but I won't live my life afraid. My assaults have been from people I was supposed to trust, every single time. Strangers don't scare me.

Immersabily: Fem reader. Reader mentions past sexual trauma. reader mentions working with children. At one point, Jake mentions reader being shorter than a woman taller than Jake so??? IDK if that's anything lol. Could mean anything IG.

*************

Jake Lockley respected women. Jake Lockley didn’t hurt women. Jake Lockley wasn’t rude to women.

That made his current position complicated.

He’d just come to this bar to drink for a bit, to get away from his alters for a bit. He loved them and he loved the new relationship with Steven and Marc, but he needed peace and alone time. Well, not totally alone. When he was totally alone, Khonshu liked to talk to him like they were friends or something, that’s not what he wanted, so Jake went to a karaoke bar.

 He liked it, honestly. It was fun seeing people’s personalities come out in the songs they sang, he liked watching people get more and more drunk, strangers becoming friends, people singing way out of their key as the night went on. Some people hated watching others do karaoke but Jake thought it was fun. It was people’s truest selves. He liked to watch the show, drink a little but also keep an eye on things. No one was getting roofied or assaulted on his watch.

As people got drunker, a very unsteady woman got on stage (barely) and tried to rap to Without Me by Eminem. It did not go well. It wasn’t terrible, she knew th lyrics down pat but 1. She could not rap for the life of her 2. She was very giggly and kept laughing. The smiling DJ kept taking the second mic and filling in for her while she laughed. It was adorable. 

That was his first impression of you.

The night went on and he noticed you weren’t with friends. A bold move, going out alone. You were brave. He liked that. He tried to keep a special eye on you but it was proving difficult and you were beginning to stress him out. You’d leave drinks with random people asking the girls to watch it. How did you know they could be trusted? He followed you outside when you stumbled off with people you were talking too, only to find you smoking in an alley. What the hell is wrong with you? You were going to get yourself killed. Right now, you were his main focus.

Until you left to use the bathroom, leaving your drink on a table and Jake attempted to walk toward it to make sure no one spiked it when another women intercepted him. “Hi handsome, what’s your name?” She smiled at him, looking down a bit. She was tall. Jake didn’t mind his women taller than him; he liked his women however they came, but she seemed to be positioning herself to intentionally intimidate him.

“Jake.” He needed to get over to watch your drink, but when he tried to step to the side, she stepped along with him and blocked his path. It was when she put a hand on his chest he grew uncomfortable.

“My name’s Cas, why don’t we head to the bar and you buy me a drink?”

Jake was about to object. He needed to get to you, but he didn’t have much of a choice when she grabbed his tie and pulled him. She ordered two vodka cranberries. Jake didn’t like vodka. Why was he paying? That’s what he did, right? He was supposed to pay. He was supposed to entertain beautiful women -and she was beautiful for sure. 

He wasn’t entirely sure how she got him in this position, but he wasn’t doing much to fight it. He was backed into corner and the woman was kissing him. He didn’t like it. Jake’s stress was compounded by the anxiety that he couldn’t see your drink, he couldn’t see you. Did something happen? Did someone spike the drink because Jake wasn’t watching? He wasn’t watching because he was horny? 

He didn’t want to kiss her, but when she ground her body against his, the natural reaction was to get hard. He fought it, fought it, fought it but his will power was no match for biology. Jake felt like fucking shit. His body was stiff, he wasn’t kissing back, he kept trying to move away but his efforts were weak. She was strong, and it wasn’t like he could push her or hit her. Only weak men hit women, right?

When he turned, he locked eyes with you. Little did he know, you had been watching much of the scene play out. It wasn’t entirely clear what was happening, as the crowd of karaoke fridays kept blocking your view, but you’d grown concerned when you saw him in a corner and went to investigate. One of the girl’s you’d met and had been chatting with told you not to worry about it, that the man could handle himself… but after all you’d been through, you never wanted someone to go through that.

Then you see it. The woman’s hand went to cup his crotch, and the panic on the man’s face that had locked eyes with yours was clear. He tried to gently nudge her away, to squirm out of her grasp but she didn’t move. So you did.

The violation on his body got him moving a bit, disgust at himself for letting them happen. Not because it was his boundaries, his body, his autonomy, but because the body was Marc and Steven’s, and he was letting someone touch Marc and Steven. He wasn’t protecting them, he was failing them, but he still couldn’t manage to get her off him without hurting her. 

“I don’t-” He tried to protest, but she shushed him.

“Yes, you do.”

Did he?

Before he had time to think more, Cas was ripped off of him, and another body was placed in between. 

You stared the woman down, glaring daggers into her eyes; although shorter than her, you show no fear. All night, you’ve shown no fear.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” You shout at her.

“Me?” The woman gahawfs. “You’re interrupting a perfectly good-”

“He’s clearly uncomfortable!”

“He’s a big boy, he can handle himself.”

“Well he doesn’t have to, because I’m handling it, now get the fuck out of here!”

Cas looks at Jake, glaring at him and flipping him off before walking away. Jake wasn’t entirely sure what he did, but whatever it was, it was wrong.

Once she left, you turn to the man again. He looks in shock. “Can we step outside?” 

Silent, Jake nods and you take him hand, carefully guiding him to the alley where you pull up two crates for you both to sit on. Both his hands are in yours now.

“I need you to breathe with me, okay, in your nose, out your mouth.” Your voice calms him. It’s only then that he realized he wasn’t calm. Jake was having a panic attack. You continued instruction. “I’m going to squeeze our hands as I breath in, but if you need to squeeze at any time, you can. Hard as you need to, you won’t hurt me.”

You did just as you said. As you breathed in, You gently squeezed his hands, letting go as you breathed out. It helped him keep in time when the panic made blood rush to his ears. He couldn't hear you, but he could feel you. Jake certainly wasn’t going to squeeze as hard as he could -his strength could actually hurt you, despite what you said- but he did give a few good squeezes and although his were random and erratic, yours remained steady. Jake latched onto that steadiness, beginning to squeeze in time with you until he was calm.

After a few moments of silence, Jake spoke. “Where’d you learn that?” He didn’t fully look at you, but you could hear the smile in your voice.

“I work with preschoolers. It’s a great way to teach them to manage their emotions…” You pause a little before adding. “Well, I guess I learned it from myself. Breathing exercises were the only way to calm myself down for a while.”

With that, Jake locked eyes with you. “You’ve had… you’ve felt like that before?”

You nod. “Yeah. Especially when random people touch me. What happened to you, has happened to me, so touch can be very triggering.”

That caught his attention. Jake was no stranger to rape victims; he’d killed plenty rapists in his day… but this still mad him feel pity. You were kind, and it made him sad to think that you’d felt like he did now.

“Someone did that to you?”

“Multiple people.” You confirm. “Sometimes it ended at a bar or a party, sometimes it ended… much worse.”

Jake felt anger in his confusing mix of emotions. He wanted to track down every single person who did that to you and end them, violently. “Is that why you…”

“Stepped in? Kinda. I’d hate for anyone to feel like I did.” Your smile was kind and warm. “But I’ve always been like that. A little crazy.” Crazy is how you’d put it.

Jake nodded, only then realizing he was still holding your hand. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” You reassure him before finally telling him your name.

“Jake”

“Well Jake, I assume after all that you don’t want to go inside. Can I walk you home?”

Absolutely insane, you were just trusting him like this… but he really didn’t want to be alone right now. “I drove. I only had one drink… if you’d like I can drive you home?”

You smiled. “I’d like that. What’s your last name?”

“Lockley.”

“Okay, Lockley. Stay here.”

You went inside, coming out and handing him his ID.

Now Jake was confused. “I- what?”

“Your tab.” You explained. “I paid it.”

Jake had never had a woman pay for his drink before. The only person he ever let get away with it was Matty, and that was on a good day.

“But-... I can pay my own tab?” He tried to protest, as if it wasn’t already paid.

“I’m sure you can.” Gathering up his hands in yours again, you pull him to his feet. “It’s just one drink, no big deal. I didn’t want you to have to see her again.”

Having a woman pay for his drink should make him embarrassed. A woman assaulting him should make him feel embarrassed. But you? You calmed all that. A drink wasn’t a big deal to you, but most importantly, you validated his feelings. You didn’t make him feel weak for feeling how he did. 

It was okay to be human with you.

You protected him, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life returning the favor.

***********************

I just wanna protect Jakey and make him feel saaaaaaaafe.

he deserves it.

@missdictatorme @ahookedheroespureheart @whatthefishh @runa-falls @del-ightfulling @eyelessfaces @fandxmslxt69 @pikapuff-316 @mikaelak @k-ra @ivystoryweaver @campingwiththecharmings @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @steven-grants-world @boysddontcry @harriedandharassed @lokisv7lkrie @scarletthefierce

#jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #jake lockley x you #comfort #hurt comfort #jake lockley hurt comfort #protective Jake Lockley #soft jake lockley

[zepskies]

Why We Love the Boys

As promised, here is my review of Supes Ain’t Always Heroes. I actually used to write book reviews in my high school journalism days, so here we go!  

What this book is: A masterful deep dive. A study on character psychology, the source of the comic and show’s inspiration, and the narrative themes illustrated in The Boys that parallel American culture and our real lives.

It includes interviews from one of the comic’s creators, Darick Robertson, The Krip himself (Eric Kripke), and actors Jim Beaver (Robert Singer), Aya Cash (Stormfront), Chace Crawford (The Deep), Jessie T. Usher (A-Train), Nathan Mitchell (Black Noir), and of course, Jensen Ackles (Soldier Boy).

It also includes a small but significant ode to the creativity of fans and fandom (with a mention of fanfic writers)!

I’ll admit, I felt seen. 😊

Who wrote it: Psychologists Lynn S. Zubernis and Matthew Snyder. Zubernis is a self-proclaimed fangirl of not only this show, but Supernatural and Eric Kripke in general. (That aspect definitely comes through in her writing.)

She is also editor of Family Don’t End with Blood: Cast and Fans on How Supernatural Changes Lives and There’ll Be Peace When you Are Done: Actors and Fans Celebrate the Legacy of Supernatural. Both of which I now want to read.

Several other authors also contributed to this book, as their expertise and backgrounds lend to the subjects they’re covering, such as racism, sexism, the entertainment industry, the comic’s inception, and more.

Who wants to read this book: Anyone who enjoys learning about what makes characters tick. What drives their choices, their sense of morality and justice, and their trauma and strife that lead them to do heinous things. This book will help you better understand your favorite characters (and how to write about them).

Perhaps most importantly, this book is for anyone who wants to read it put into words, why many of us love The Boys, as well as Supernatural.

In a way, the latter is more escapism entertainment than The Boys. Because in this show, there isn’t much, if any escape.

Despite this being a “superhero show,” as we all know, it’s so much more than that. It’s a mirror held directly into our own faces: about why we enjoy heroes and antiheroes, and excuse the “bad behavior” of the ones we like.

About mental health, grief and loss, nature and nurture, coping mechanisms and the importance of choice in dealing with trauma; of racism, sexism, misogyny, weaponized social media, politics, corporate greed, and the power (and cruelty) of good marketing.

This book explores the true villain of the story (and it ain’t Homelander).

I’m going to get into my favorite aspects of this book—as well as an amazing chapter on Soldier Boy’s character study (and why we love him, perhaps too much).

Though in my opinion, it was missing one small, but key thing…

The Mirror of The Boys on Screen

This world is a gritty, bloody, and at times all-too realistic take on how superheroes would be if they lived in our world.

They are the worst of celebrities, professional athletes, and politicians all rolled into one. They are the shiny products of a company and are marketed as such. And they often buy into their own hype.

Some of my favorite quotes on this topic:

“The Boys often reflects darkness in our real world that is uncomfortable to watch. While we go through the tedium of our daily lives, trying to get by and using television or comics as an escape, it can feel difficult and overwhelming to confront the very real and insidious sources of authoritarianism, nationalism, and corporatism that are not just part of a story. “This show holds up a mirror and forces us to catch a glimpse of things we need to question, and asks us why we so easily believe the talking points of systems with marketing departments and press flacks behind them that carefully massage every word in order to get us to feel enamored with their product or policy.” (p. 227-228)

“The Boys works to reveal the nonaltruistic, sociopathic nature of contemporary US corporate culture. In a sense, The Boys uses the behavior of its characters to diagnose not an individual, but a culture.” (255)

In studying narrative I’ve learned that the best fiction and art serve to reflect the human experience. In this case, it’s something The Boys does expertly, even though it’s packaged in extreme, shocking, and often uncomfortable ways. But also in brutal, hilarious satire that’s fun to watch.

It “exposes real-world abuses, revealing many” of our own frustrations in American culture and in life in general (267).

Major Themes & Questions Explored

Several Boys themes are explored from a psychological, cultural, and narrative point of view, as I mentioned earlier. These are some of my favorite segments:

Toxic Masculinity & Narcissism

A whopper in The Boys, and the main theme of season 3. This book defines clearly what both of these words actually mean from a psychological point of view.

It also takes the bad taste out of your mouth that you might get from just hearing the words “toxic masculinity,” as it’s a phrase that can be carelessly thrown around to describe men and character traits that aren’t truly toxic.

How being emotionally available to your loved ones and not repressive of your feelings doesn’t make you weak, or less of a man. And how “being strong” doesn’t mean being physically violent and domineering. (AKA: the Big Swinging Dick™️ in the room.)

Narcissism is explored in a very interesting way. The book gives a diagram of different aspects of narcissists and how each character (Soldier Boy, Homelander, Butcher, and the Deep) falls into them.

Soldier Boy, for example, is classified as a “Classic Narcissist,” while Homelander a “Malignant Narcissist.” <- This will play into SB’s character study, and the main difference between SB and Homelander.

Butcher, however, displays narcissistic tendencies but is not, in fact, a narcissist. (More of an antisocial sociopath. Yay for him.)

Misogyny & Sexism

The classic superhero world of comics dates back to the 1930s and ‘40s. It has been, and in many respects still is a (White) male-dominated industry, where in narrative, female superheroes typically work under a male leading the team, as in Justice League, Teen Titans, and the Avengers.

As much as I love DC and Marvel comics, female characters have also been drawn wildly sexual for male readers and the male gaze, and non-supe characters have been written primarily as love interests and damsels for the hero to save. (Think Lois Lane, Lana Lang, and Mary Jane.)

Modern adaptions have given female characters more agency, but their foundations were rooted in underlying sexism and the mythic hero—an Odysseus-type with certain characteristics of male strength and heroism. And that goes all the way back to classic literature, like The Odyssey, Beowulf, and the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In The Boys, the female supes go through the same issues as their comic counterparts. And they are treated how women are treated in the real world—marketable as sexual objects. (Starlight’s forced costume change is a prime example.)

Author Danielle Turchiano argues in the book that the women in power at Vought (Madelyn Stillwell, later Ashley) are given only so much power as men like Stan Edgar and Homelander give to them.

Stillwell, Ashley, and even Stormfront “drink the Kool Aid” of the misogynistic infrastructure of Vought, but they’re not truly “powerful” in and of themselves. (112)

And I would add that the only female characters that have or find true agency are Grace Mallory, Annie January/Starlight, and Maggie Shaw/Queen Maeve. Even Victoria Neuman is trying to work the political schematic and Vought by operating “within the system” Vought has created.

Mental Health, Trauma & Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

This is a huge section, and rightly so. It kind of spans throughout the book, really, because all of these characters have traumas that inform who they are as adults making the (often grotesque) choices they make.

For many of these characters, it stems from their upbringing and fraught relationships with their parents, whether explicitly or implicitly explored in the show.

Butcher: Is an antisocial sociopath with narcissistic tendencies. Arrogant, emotionally manipulative, violent, and obsessive. He was also physically and emotionally abused by his father, led to use drinking and violence as a means to cope and express himself. His rage is so deep under his skin—he loathes himself for it (and his father), but struggles immensely to escape it.

Homelander: A malignant narcissist, the height of arrogance, and emotionally manipulative. He lacks empathy for others' pain, and in fact enjoys inflicting it. Yet he was a sensitive, gentle child who only wanted connection and love. Vogelbaum raised him like a lab rat and fostered him in a cold, detached cell. He was raised to be entitled and to believe he was an all-powerful god, the lord of his own kingdom within his mind, excused from the responsibility of his actions.

Soldier Boy: Also a narcissist; violent, arrogant, misogynistic, and often indifferent to the damage he causes, emotional or physical. Yet he was also emotionally abused by his father, who set impossible standards for what it meant to be a man. It drives Ben to try and prove his worth to his father, though he’s never able to. It fosters the lack of self-worth he feels as he seeks validation through fame and what he believes power to be.

These three characters have many similarities, but also notable differences that set them apart from one another. And both Butcher and Soldier Boy use substances like drugs and alcohol to cope with their traumas—ones that their forced stoicism and sense of manhood won’t allow them to easily express.

“We see Soldier Boy use substances almost continuously in season three to deal with his PTSD from the childhood emotional abuse he received from his father, the betrayal and assault from his team, and the torture he endured from the Russian scientists.

“In the short term, the use of drugs and alcohol to avoid thoughts and feelings about traumatic experiences can be felt as helpful, but in the long term, it hinders one’s ability to process emotions and can cause a deeper depression from the guilt and shame of both avoidance and substance abuse.” (27)

Heroes, Antiheroes & Villains

This book explores two key questions that the show encourages you to think about:

Who the hell is the hero of this story?

And who is the villain?

The surface-level answer is that Homelander and other supes like him are the villains, and Butcher and his band of bros are the heroes (or antiheroes). But they commit just as questionable, sketchy, and downright murderous acts as the supes they’re trying to take down.

“Butcher is not really a good guy. He’s manipulative and self-centered. His reasons for wanting to take down Homelander are utterly personal. That it serves the greater good is almost a coincidence.” (9)

And if Butcher is not a hero, but a vengeful vigilante, then why do we root for him so much?

Well, we see his incredible flaws. But I sympathize with his struggle in losing his wife and the life he could've continued to have with her. I root for the underdog going against the hydra head of Vought and the psychopathic Homelander.

And I see in Butcher, as I also do with Homelander and Soldier Boy, their traumas and their internal conflicts, their deep-rooted self-loathing, and a desire, deep, deep down…to be loved.

(And to foster connection with others, even if they’re unable to sustain them.)

On the flipside, we have antagonists in this show who do truly heinous things. What makes them compelling and even sympathetic, yet again, are their painful upbringings that have shaped them to be who they are. The supes of this show are byproducts of being treated like products.

Like the saying goes: Villains aren’t born, they’re made.

That’s why the real villain of this story is Vought International. It’s an allegory, and an indictment of the ruthless corporate greed that pervades American culture—and much of the world.

It’s why Stan Edgar is sometimes scarier to me than even Homelander (and was the true villain of my story, Break Me Down), if far more insidious.

Speaking of BMD, let’s get to it, shall we?

Here’s a (lot) bit about the Soldier Boy section of the book.

Soldier Boy: Why We Can’t Hate Him

I had to laugh out loud at the title of Soldier Boy’s chapter:

Loving the Villain: The Confusing Case of Soldier Boy

I’m not gonna lie. I felt called out. 😂

It is a confusing dichotomy. Soldier Boy is an absolute asshole. Misogynistic, narcissistic, arrogant, callous, violent…

But also deeply traumatized, a man-out-of-time, emotionally abused, byproduct of the historically and culturally different time he was raised in, a man who just doesn’t get it…

And also charming, adorably grumpy, and undoubtedly attractive.

It’s hard to indict “Ben” as an unredeemable villain in the same way I do Homelander, the psychologist-labelled Malignant Narcissist.

Therein lies the main difference between Soldier Boy and Homelander: Soldier Boy doesn’t take joy in harming others the way Homelander does. But he still harms people, whether he means to or not.

Zubernis confirms many of my own conclusions and ideas about Soldier Boy, and why I still rooted for him to be better, and didn’t want him to die at the end of season 3.

As Zubernis rightly exclaimed during her own watch of the finale: “Noooo, don’t kill the Danger Grandpa Baby Murder Kitten!” (175)

Because Jensen did what he does best in his roles: He made us feel Ben’s pain.

“What’s funny is, in regard to Jensen playing Soldier Boy, you know he’s fucking fantastic, he’s just so good at bringing the audience, and it’s almost like—what I laugh about is, he was probably a little too good at his job!” Kripke said. (180)

And he continues, “In part it’s because of the fandom. So many people took his side in the finale, they’re like, Were’s on his side, fuck everyone! And you’re like, but he’s the bad guy and he’s trying to kill a ten-year-old.”

Were there fans who held this viewpoint? I’m sure. There are some radicals who don’t give a fuck and will side with their favorite character, come whatever. But while I can’t speak for others, that’s not how I interpreted that moment in the season 3 finale.

Yes, I think Soldier Boy was (wrongfully) willing to fight Ryan. Do I think he would’ve killed him? I’m not sure. I think he would’ve done what he had to do to get Ryan out of his way in his fight with Homelander. Maybe he would’ve been more violent than he intended, in the callous collateral damage he’d shown throughout the season, or maybe he would’ve gone that far, if provoked.

It’s a tough call, as I think this character can go one way or the other in terms of his “villain” nature. We just haven’t seen enough of him in the series yet for me to make that conclusion on the canon-version of Soldier Boy. (In fanfic, I’ve explored my own interpretation.)

But overall, I think The Krip once again underestimated the power of Jensen’s acting.

…And the ardent nature of his mostly female fanbase. 😂

Why We Love Soldier Boy

The author cites multiple reasons for why we love Ben more than we probably should:

It’s Jensen Ackles. Fair enough. His talent speaks for itself.

Soldier Boy’s backstory: He was emotionally abused by his father and as a result, he has a complex regarding his self-worth, “something to prove,” and a secret need for attention, validation, and praise.

He has trauma and PTSD: He is displaced from what is familiar to him and confused when the boys find him, and that is the least of it. He’s been tortured for 40 years. Can you even conceive of that?

He’s charming: in a sexy grandpa, adorably grumpy, lovable asshole kind of way.

We’re drawn to danger: dangerous “edgy” types are fun, especially when you’re physically attracted to the character.

He has his moments of vulnerability: Jensen’s ability to play the nuance in the character is the ultimate draw. I felt his pain, could see his torture, and his resulting PTSD. He longs for a family, even if his ability to bring up those children is questionable at best. 😅

But I think the one aspect the author doesn’t consider is the character’s capacity for change.

Soldier Boy’s Potential

Again, I don’t think you can write off Soldier Boy’s potential for positive character development the same way you can Homelander, or even Butcher.

For one thing, we just haven’t spent enough time with the character. A lot of his collateral damage after he escapes imprisonment has been accidental, or PTSD-induced. Though we can’t discount how he murdered M.M.’s grandfather via collateral damage (and was callous about it).

I think this is what drew me to write about Soldier Boy. “For all his arrogance, his chauvinism, his massive ego and general bastardry, there’s still humanity in Ben.”

In the book, Nathan Mitchell also says something amazing about his own character (Black Noir) that resonated with me about Soldier Boy as well:

"One of the ingredients of a compelling character is contradiction. How does one aspect of our personality contradict with one another? [...] Who is he underneath? How might his true nature contrast with the demands of his job?"

Or coded for Soldier Boy/Ben: The pressures he puts on himself to be the type of man he thought his father wanted him to be.

Again, his sexist, misogynistic ideals are shaped by the time he was raised in, by being a product of Vought, and of his father’s emotionally abusive upbringing. Does this excuse or justify all of his behavior? Of course not.

But I think those 40 years in captivity changed him from the careless alpha dog we saw in 1984 Nicaragua…

He admits to Crimson Countess, with tears in his eyes, that he’d loved her. That he waited for her and his team—arguably the only social system he has in his life—to save him. He’s gutted to realize that not only did she and the rest of the team never love him, they hated him. They traded him for nothing. Just to get him out of their lives.

For all he claims to be afraid of nothing, tough as shit, he is afraid when he goes to face Mindstorm. He knows what the supe is capable of, and he visibly takes a shaky breath and tries to steel himself.

For a moment, he drops the “Soldier Boy” persona that he wears like a fine tailored suit. And he tells Butcher that the backstory Vought created for him was a lie; he grew up a rich kid who got sent to boarding school, but flunked out, because "he was a fuck up." And his father couldn’t be bothered to discipline him, implying he didn’t care enough about his own son to even lay a hand on him.

He is reluctant to kill Homelander when he finds out he’s Ben’s son (sort of). He even claims that he would’ve been willing to share the spotlight “with his own son.” — Something I doubt even Homelander would do.

Ben even seems to be fighting tears when he levies the same vitriol at Homelander that his own father did at him:

Homelander: “Weak? I’m you.”

Soldier Boy: “I know. You’re a fucking disappointment.”

Let me be clear. I don’t think it’s up to someone to change him (like a love interest). I don’t subscribe to that thinking, that a woman can “change” a man.

For example: In season 2, Butcher tells Becca, “Who was I before you? Nothing.”

And yet, she tells him that he put her on an unrealistic and unsustainable pedestal, in which she felt like she wasn’t allowed to fully be herself, unable to keep him from flying off the handle in rage. That kind of relationship (where one is dependent on the other to “keep them in check”) doesn’t work as a lasting, satisfying redemption arc, and it doesn’t work in real life either.

I do think, however, that a person is capable of change if they’re broken down enough (pun intended), and if they themselves have a desire to change. Someone they encounter can inspire them to be better, like Butcher with Hughie. That person can help support the other.

At the end of the day, however, it’s Ben that has to want to change.

If he wants love and connection, he’ll have to somehow want it, and try (and sometimes fail) to get it, thereby giving him agency and a redemptive character arc.

Now, obviously, it’s up to The Krip where Ben goes from here. He seems to have a more indicting vision of the character than I do (at least, so far). But we’ll see! The fan demand to bring back the character has already had Kripke confirming that Soldier Boy will be back.

Maybe it will encourage him to give the character a more satisfying ending than Dean Winchester got in Supernatural. Though granted, that one wasn’t his doing, apparently he was in favor of the ending the writers came up with.

Comparing Dean & Ben

In his interview segment, Jensen talks about what, if any, are the comparisons between Dean Winchester and Soldier Boy. AKA: Wanting a father’s approval, and an undercurrent of “John Wayne”-esque masculinity in John Winchester that Dean sought to emulate.

Jensen also talks about where he drew from to not only embody the character of Soldier Boy, but bring nuance to him—and show the peeks of vulnerability under the bravado and stoicism.

“He’s so fragile and his ego is fragile. Just like Homelander. These bigger-than-life powerful heroes really have a glass jaw… “And everyone walks on eggshells around him [Soldier Boy], and they tell him that they love him, and it’s the same with Homelander. Then when all of a sudden he faces his old team and Crimson Countess says we never loved you, we hated you—that’s a gut punch for him. Because even though on some level he may have known that, he never thought he would hear it. “And he probably propped himself up around trying to believe otherwise, because how can you walk around knowing everyone you’ve ever cared about hates you? It’s too painful.” (191)

It really is. And I inherently felt this about Soldier Boy/Ben when I watched season 3 for the first time. That’s exactly what I got from his performance and thought, there’s more to this guy than the toxic masculinity he represents.

This guy just wants to be loved, like everyone else. He wants to feel important, and even after his father’s dead, “show him” that Ben is the man his father wanted him to be. And so, he bought into the illusion Vought painstakingly crafted for him.

Whether he can come back from that remains to be seen. But I choose to be optimistic until evidence points to the contrary. 😅 (We’ll see in season 4!)

So that’s my personal take on Soldier Boy and this awesome book. 💚 Thank you again @kaleldobrev for recommending it to me! I hope you all enjoyed my long-winded review and want to check this out.

And if you do read it, I hope to read your thoughts as well!

Tagging people who said they wanted to read my review on this book: @venus-haze @jessjad @kristophalis @sl33pylilbunny

#supes ain't always heroes #book review #why we love the boys #the boys #my take on Soldier Boy #boys psychology #character study #cast interviews #jensen ackles #soldier boy #Homelander #billy butcher #aya cash #stormfront #jim beaver #robert singer #nathan mitchell #black noir #chance crawford #jessie t. usher #the deep #a-train #book rec #zepskies reads #zepskies reviews

[idolomantises]

talking abt that one thing in velma thats on my mind a lot for the past few days (that turned into a big incoherent rambling about gay rep in media)

i'm seeing jokes about how the queer representation in mystery inc being so much better than the queer representation in velma and honestly it makes me want to go on a whole tangent about my thoughts on queer representation nowadays vs the more subtle examples decades prior.

There's this weird debate that goes on online about what is "good" queer representation, and one of the most notable and honestly annoying examples is that queer representation has to be so subtle that you could easily miss it/ignore it. i've always hated that take because its a claim mostly said by straight people who are uncomfortable with seeing characters who are openly queer and/or state their identity, but they present it as some sort of push for subtle and nuanced writing. personally i do prefer it when a character just, identifies as how they are without explaining their identity, but that doesn't mean flat out explaining your orientation is inherently bad representation. its why i will always defend the very clunky and awkward high guardian spice scene. it is absolutely poorly directed and written, but that doesn't make it "bad representation". however, I do consider the character who explains that he's trans bad representation because he is flat, uninteresting and very clearly a creator self insert. he doesn't feel like a well rounded character who's also a trans man, but just an incredibly sanitized example of trans representation.

i have many, many issues with helluva boss/hazbin hotel and i do genuinely find some depictions of queer characters just flat out offensive (you can argue with me about how angel dust being written like your average 90s gay stereotype is woke actually because he has trauma, i dont care), but i do admire and appreciate that the series doesn't want to sanitize its queer characters, even if its done poorly. though i could go into a whole rant about how i find it very telling that female characters that are queer are far less sexualized or allowed to be problematic compared to their queer male counterparts.

anyways back to velma. that show does something that i've always found pretty irritating in queer representation which is just this weird lack of faith in its audience. characters can't have a slow burn anymore. internalized thoughts, anger, frustration, longing. you have to immediately know that two characters are gay for each other, even if they're lifelong enemies. its like when modern horror movies open with the gore because they're scared people are going to be bored or leave early. there's no subtlety or chemistry between daphne and velma, they're just lovers because idk, its two girls who hate each other and who doesn't love that.

then i think about how mystery inc handled velma and her sexuality, how she was allowed to be well rounded and nuanced before you slowly realize that "oh, she doesn't like boys". i know her whole thing with shaggy is controversial among fans but i always loved how she does do something pretty unlikable but not immoral. yeah, it is shitty to force shaggy to choose between her and his dog, but i can understand her line of thinking and empathize with her. and i do like how they become friends in the end despite their awkward break up. It's always fun rewatching it and realizing that their incredibly awkward and cringe relationship was meant to be awkward and cringe. it was supposed to be weird and difficult to watch, because those two weren't meant to date each other. you could see how hard velma was trying to make the relationship work despite the fact that you never get the vibe that either character was full invested in it, unlike daphne and fred's relationship.

then you had velma and her relationship with marcie, which started off as sort of a catty rivalry (not full on attempted murder, i mean holy shit hbo velma) that slowly grows to where you're completely convinced that these two did gradually like each other. and i do really enjoy stuff like that, more subtle writing like that. which doesn't just apply to queer rep btw, my favorite ships are relationships that feel understated, something you have to really dig for and pay attention to. its why i consider bubbline the best f/f representation in cartoon. because its subtle, but not too subtle where it feels out of no where when they kiss, and nuanced in ways that enhances the relationship AND characters.

there's a good amount of relationships i see in cartoons where the creator, who is usually queer themselves, often wants to depict queer relationships, but is weirdly adverse to depicting the uglier aspects of that character, and refuses to add subtlety to it. steven universe is a show i've always felt conflicted on its handling of queer representation because on the one hand i appreciate writing lesbians that are messy, traumatized and make constant mistakes. but on the other hand, the show goes out of its way to ignore these issues and/or make excuses for it, making the decision to make these characters messy and complicated genuinely baffling (this is also one of the big issues i have with catradora and stolitz).

it makes me think back to my own work too. i really enjoy making fluffy, easily digestible gay content for my followers and myself because it puts me in a good headspace. But even now and then i like exploring those little nuances too, because i don't really enjoy stories with little conflict. Because of that acknowledgement of how satisfying it is to write fluffy, queer rep, you end up putting yourself in other creator's shoes. you're so used to media that either dehumanizes gay people or tells people that they don't exist that you push yourself to make the most in your face queer rep you can but its at the cost of an interesting and subtle characters. characters that don't really have arcs or places to learn and grow.

With bugtopia i made a joke about how i want some of my queer rep to feel like you're being queerbaited. It's not literal, obviously, but mixed in with characters who are already married and in same gender relationships, i really want to write dynamics that feel subtle enough for a bit of a slow burn. even if you know they're going to end up together, to at least value the characters on their own before centering them on their relationships. queerbaiting is something that deserves all the criticism it can get, but it is embarrassing when queerbaiting feels genuinely more interesting than actual queer rep because queerbaiting has that factor of "maybe they won't get together" that adds that bit of intrigue, vs so many shows that repeatedly hammer in your head "don't worry guys, they're gonna be lesbian lovers".

mystery inc (and many other shows) being forced to keep a relationship obvious while subtle to get through censorship really forced creators to be creative with their storytelling and not center characters around their relationship and identity. but nowadays i think shows like to take the easy way out. for me, i always thought the most impactful example of queer representation in steven universe is "Rose's Scabbard". I genuinely don't enjoy that episode because it's a good example of the show thinking that trauma is an excuse for shitty behavior, but i cant deny that an entire episode of pearl breaking down and finally accepting that she wasn't the center of rose's world. it's the crew being forced to be creative and push through censors to telling a compelling story about a traumatized lesbian slowly realizing that she basically deluded herself into thinking she was someone's savior.

I think it's silly to try to place good queer representation in one box. like subtle queer rep is good, but also queer rep where a character flat out states that their gay. where I think it falls apart is when it either reinforces stereotypes without properly deconstructing or expanding on them, makes the characters so overly kind and non-controversial that the relationship is just boring, or try to make your messy and complicated characters but the narrative refuses to hold them accountable or at least acknowledge that they're doing something wrong. and to clarify on that last part, i'm not asking for some hays code nonsense where every bad person goes to prison and/or promises to stop being a bad person again. i mean the narrative doesnt just fucking sugarcoat their behavior. i don't want to see helluva boss ignore the fact that stolas made blitzo call him out for only using him for sex and then pathetically rush to justify their relationship by giving them a bizarrely sanitized and sweet backstory. and i don't want to see catra literally end the fucking universe and only do something good because she's straight up out of options and the show just decides that that was her redemption and she doesn't need to do anything to atone for what she did (including repeatedly abusing and verbally berating adora).

anyways velma has none of those interesting qualities and i'm pretty sure daphne and velma kissed because the creator is a weird pervert who thinks two girls kissing is hot.

#txt #i was thinking abt knocking off some of my longer posts on my tumblr but ya know its tumblr. its made for a blog #twitter isnt really a good place to write think pieces because its not really made for thinkpieces #i really enjoy expressing my thoughts on discourse and media but i don't want to over do it because ya know. you guys followed me for my ar #not my 2434334th post about why i think helluva boss is a bad show #but i've been thinking about sometimes prioritizing what i want to do vs what people want to see from me. so now you're getting #a long ass rant about why i think velma showing two teenagers kissing by episode 2 #encapsulates the overall issue with modern queer rep

[itsawhumpsideblog]

The Safehouse, pt. 18

CW: for institutionalized slavery, mentions of abuse, treatment of people as things, medical setting, surgery, panic attack, flashbacks, broken bones and treatment of same

Advice from the Box Boy Liberation Movement:

Given the percentage of rescuees who enter a safehouse with one or more injuries or illnesses which will require medical attention, it is probable that you will be accompanying rescuees to medical appointments early in their time with you. Obtaining medical care can present unique challenges for rescuees and it is important to exercise complete patience with them in a doctor's office or hospital setting. Be aware that the atmosphere in such facilities may bring up difficult memories or even trauma reactions. Be prepared to help rescuees through anxiety or panic attacks, even flashbacks.

The surgery took longer than Angie had expected, or hoped and as it entered the third hour, she was glad that she had gone to get lunch right after they took Mikey. Finding the cafeteria, eating the sandwich, and getting lost on the way back had taken almost an hour and a half; a call to Tim and a chat with the rest of the household had taken another half hour. Since then, she had been sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair, watching the clock and fidgeting. Not for the first time, she opened a game on her phone, played for a few minutes, closed it, and then opened it back up.

Angie tried the TV and found that it was showing an infomercial trying to delude senior citizens into converting their savings into gold bars. She fiddled with the remote, couldn't get it to work, and turned the TV back off. Then she played a podcast she couldn't concentrate on.

She was tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair and staring into space when the door finally opened and Wanda came in, holding some paperwork and smiling. Angie jumped up, fighting down a sudden surge of nervous, excited energy.

"It went great," Wanda said, before anything else. "He did just fine and the doctor said she thinks the procedure was a success."

"Oh, fantastic," Angie said. "That's amazing. I'm so glad to hear it!"

"Me, too. Now, let's go over some paperwork while they finish getting him in a cast and then they'll bring him back here to wake up a little bit. We want him awake and... well, usually we would say talking. But let's go with 'alert' this time. Once he's feeling a little more like himself, we can send him home."

"Sounds great!" Angie could have giggled in sheer relief.

"Okay, so there's no discharge paperwork, as such." Wanda flipped through the papers in the folder. "Not for the hospital, anyway. We've got a form here that should go to your Network contacts, detailing what the surgery was, the cost of it- not that Dr. Silva is charging, but just so their accounting folks are aware- and some discharge instructions." She handed the folder to Angie. "We should be done with him in the next half hour."

"Thank you so much!"

"Of course!" Wanda smiled and let herself back out.

Angie sank back down into the uncomfortable chair in relief, grinning to herself. Then she remembered her other responsibility and picked up her phone.

"Tim?" she asked, when he picked up.

"Yup, I'm here and you're on speakerphone."

"Oh, super, thanks. Hi, guys! I just heard from the nurse. She says Mikey did really well and they're going to bring him back in a few minutes. We'll give him some time to wake up and then we should be on our way home in a couple hours. Just wanted to let you know."

"Did they give you the instructions and everything?" Tim asked.

"Yup, all the paperwork we need. I'll hand it off to you when we get back."

"Excellent, thanks. Text when you're on the way and I'll meet you outside, okay?"

"Yup, will do."

"Thanks for calling, we'll see you soon."

"See you soon!" She hung up, took a deep breath, and sat back to wait.

Mikey was unaware that he had woken up, the first time it happened. He had the impression of being somewhere soft, softer than the garden had ever been before, and warm, too. For the first time he could remember- the first time since the drugs had taken his memory away- there was no pain. He felt like he was floating in a warm cloud and his head was light and sleepy. He let the clouds carry him gently away.

Angie watched Mikey as he lay in the hospital bed, waiting for the anesthesia to wear off and for him to start coming around. He was totally still, which he had been for much of the past week, since his fall, but it felt different this time. He wasn't holding himself rigid, nervous and braced against pain. Instead, he just lay quietly, slightly slack-jawed as he slept. Once, his head stirred and a faint smile lifted one corner of his mouth before he sighed in soft contentment and his breathing slowed and evened as he drifted back off to sleep.

He was still sleeping when Dr. Silva came in with post-surgical information for Angie, outlining instructions for monitoring Mikey's recovery, acceptable activity levels, and a basic plan for continuing treatment.

"He did well," she said at last. "I know we really kept you waiting but-" she shook her head. "There was a lot to fix. He's going to be in the casts for a long time and some sort of brace for even longer. I'm not sure I can say exactly how long it'll be, not until we see how his healing is progressing. We're talking months, though, not weeks. The scarring is likely to be extensive, although we did our best. And his joints will probably always ache a little, especially that shoulder." She sighed. "I really wish it was all better news. But there is some good news, which is that when this is all said and done, eventually he'll be able to use his hands and arms. And he won't be in nearly as much pain, which is the important part. The process won't be pretty, but when it's done, everything will be much, much better."

"Thank you," Angie said. "He would thank you, too, if he could." She looked over and smiled at Mikey, still resting peacefully.

The peace did not last.

When the anesthesia wore off, Mikey woke suddenly and completely, the way he had done when he slept every night outdoors and needed to respond instantly to his Master. When his eyes snapped open, he realized that something was very, very wrong.

All he could see were white walls and a white ceiling with bright lights that seemed to shine directly into his eyes. The brightness stung and Mikey squeezed his eyes shut for just a second, as if, when he opened them, he might find himself somewhere more familiar.

But when he gathered his courage for a second look, nothing had changed. He was still in the strange, monochrome room with the blinding lights and he was lying down. Nearby, something was beeping ominously and Mikey felt his heart speed up and adrenaline dump into his system, like it did when he heard those first footsteps cracking a stick somewhere in the dark at the edge of Master's property.

His mind was still hazy from the drugs and not really awake yet, and Mikey had the terrible, foreboding sense that he wasn't supposed to be there- wherever "there" was.

It never occurred to him to be frightened by the fact that he did not remember having come to the strange, white room. Mikey lacked memories of so much that this new gap in his life was barely meaningful. What was very meaningful was that Master was going to wonder where he had gone.

Then, suddenly, Mikey had a flash of memory of another Pet, tall and thin and dark-haired, bringing him fruit wrapped in a towel, and his stomach clenched. If he was here, what had happened to the other Pet? Was he here, too, or had he been sent... Mikey could not even imagine where else the other pet might have been sent. But he knew it would be bad.

All these thoughts crossed Mikey's mind within seconds, a collection of fears and memories and associations that came to him automatically and without larger context. Then he realized, again, that he was lying down on a soft surface and he broke into a cold sweat.

Soft surfaces were not for Pets. He must not be found here. He had to move, whatever it cost him. The cost would be so much higher if they caught him like this.

But when Mikey tried to sit up, he couldn't. Something tugged at his face- a muzzle? It was blowing cold air into his nose. And he couldn't seem to bend his body to begin sitting, or force his aching muscles to lift him. Mikey looked frantically around but without actually taking in his surroundings.

He dropped one leg over the side of whatever the soft surface was and tried again to sit up and found that was impossible. When he swung his right arm up to try to shift his balance and rise, he was horrified to find that it was restrained, tied up in some kind of cloth, and he couldn't even see his fingers properly, only the very ends of them. When he tried to wiggle them, pain shot down his fingers and they didn't even move.

Even worse, his left arm was immobile. He couldn't see it under the blanket, but it was probably tied to something, strapped tightly down to keep him from doing what he knew a good Pet should do. He strained every muscle trying to sit up, kicked his legs to shift his balance, threw his right arm forward in almost grotesque exertion. But he barely moved.

When the door opened, if Mikey had been able to make a sound, he would have screamed. As it was, his eyes widened, his fight-or-flight response in full activation, and he tried one last time in futile terror to right himself.

"Oh my god," Mistress gasped. "Mikey, what- I was only gone for a second- I'm so, so sorry." She hurried over to the bed. "Hey, hey- careful, you- oh geez-" She put a steadying hand on his right shoulder and finally Mikey's eyes landed on her face.

It all came flooding back to him in a rush, like being struck. The terrible beating they had given him the night his old Master died; the time in a cage; the journey to live with Master and Mistress.

Then, even better, he remembered everything that had come since. A comfortable bed he was meant to use and enough food to eat and a television to watch; Nathan's cheerful company and the joy of being re-united with someone who had become a friend; gentle Francis who told him stories when he couldn't sleep and who held his head when he had fallen and was hurting.

Best of all, he remembered that Master smiled and laughed and spoke softly, and that Mistress talked to him like she enjoyed his company and she had kind hands and Master and Mistress looked after them and never, never hurt them.

Mikey remembered all these things in a flash of knowledge, the same sudden wash of memory that only moments before had caused him such terror, and then he realized that Mistress was standing over him with her hand on his shoulder. If it had been any of his old Masters, Mikey would have been frightened but he found that even now, standing like that, Mistress didn't frighten him at all. She didn't look angry, only dismayed and- maybe even worried.

He looked up at her as if he was searching for answers to many questions and she smiled comfortingly at him. "Do you remember where you are?"

Mikey wasn't sure and didn't know whether to nod or shake his head, so he simply waited and watched her.

"You're in the hospital," she reminded him and now he did nod, a little uncertainly. That might be true- he might remember the morning, if that wasn't a dream.

"You had surgery, to fix your shoulder and your hands and everything. You won't remember that, because you were asleep for it, but it's over now." He nodded again. "The doctor says you're going to be fine- your hands and arms will be a lot better when you're done healing."

He gave her another nod, since she probably expected it, but he wondered if she would explain why they had tied his left arm down. Mikey felt that there must be a reason for it, but something was making his head feel fuzzy and it was hard to think. Hoping she would understand, he raised his bound right hand and looked questioningly down at it.

"Yeah," she said, as if she was continuing a conversation. "I know that probably feels weird. And it's going to be hard, not having your right hand to use, even a little bit-"

Wait. What did she mean, he wasn't going to have his hand anymore? Forgetting the strange stiffness holding his left arm and the way he was restrained from sitting up, Mikey tried to raise himself and looked frantically from his hand to Mistress. His hand was still there, wasn't it? He could see his fingertips, a little bit, under the heavy bandages and surely it wouldn't hurt so badly when he tried to move it if he didn't have a hand-

Mistress made a face that Mikey didn't realize was guilt. "You don't remember what happened at all, do you?" she asked. He shook his head, a little frantically now, starting to feel his heart speed up and beginning to sweat.

"Oh geez. I'm sorry," she said, and he was surprised to find that she actually seemed to mean it. "I'll start from the beginning. So, during the surgery, they basically put all your bones back where they're supposed to be, right? So they can heal and they won't hurt all the time." Now Mikey nodded again as the memory slipped through the fog in his head, of Master explaining this at home last week.

"And now that it's done, they have to hold all those bones and joints and whatever still, so they can heal. So everything will stay where it's supposed to be. Right?" A nod. "And to do that, they put on some casts. The one on your right hand is like what Nathan had on his leg when he first came home. Remember that?" Mikey found that he did.

"They need your whole hand not to move for- I don't know, a long time. Like a couple months, at least. And they did the same thing to your left arm and your shoulder, but that was a lot worse and it's kind of an awkward spot, so they put the cast over your whole arm and then they attached it around your body to hold your shoulder still."

Mikey just stared. So he wasn't actually tied to the bed? But he couldn't move his arm at all. Well- he hadn't really been able to before, either. Maybe in some ways, this wouldn't be so different.

"Do you want to see it?" Mistress asked. She almost sounded nervous and Mikey wondered if he should be nervous, too. Very gently, Mistress drew back the blanket that covered Mikey from his shoulders down, except where he had thrown it off trying to get up.

When he could see it, he stared at his left arm. The cast was blue and covered his shoulder and then went all the way down over his fingers, just like the one on the right. His arm was bent at the elbow so that his forearm was parallel to the floor and angled across the front of his body. There was a band of the same material around his chest, holding his arm still.

"Does it feel really weird?" Mistress asked, and he didn't even bother to nod. Somehow, he felt that she would know his answer.

"Don't worry," Mistress told him, but it sounded more like an offer than an order. "We'll take care of you. You're going to be just fine."

Mikey nodded, but he thought that getting used to this was not going to be easy.

Next Time: Mikey comes home from the hospital, to his housemates' great relief.

Master List

Notes: These keep being longer than I expected, so I'm adjusting the previously listed summary to account for that. A good problem to have!

Tag list: @pigeonwhumps, @cepheusgalaxy, @i-eat-worlds, @honeycollectswhump @taterswhump, @starfields08000 @whumpsday, @fruitypinapple00, @currentlyinthesprial

#bbu #box boy universe #box boy whump #whump #whumpee #the safehouse #pet whump #surgery whump #medical whump

[cardentist]

Context: [Link]

but it Really Is frustrating being a traumatized person within the hellscape that is queer exclusion and discourse.

because everyone is So Eager to point to their neighbor and declare that They're not oppressed, that They don't experience violence, that Their experiences don't need to be considered or told.

it's Easy to look at a trans man and Insist that being a man erases his oppression.

but nobody wants to Hear It when you bring up trauma at the dinner table. when experiences are ugly and messy and difficult to think about.

it's Easy to look at a trans man and insist that being a man makes everything about his life better, it's Hard to look at a trans man and see a child experience things a child never should. it's Hard to acknowledge the horrific and the awful and the uncomfortable.

so you either have to sanitize yourself, sanitize your life, and watch people eager to pick you apart and Prove just how little what you've experienced means. Or you tell the truth, you show people what it Means when they throw marginalized people under the bus, and suddenly everyone is pulling their collars and refuses to look anybody in the eye.

either way the conversation never Really addresses anything. people like you aren't seen or heard because people either don't know people like you exist, or would rather pretend not to.

I remember Ages And Ages Ago back during ace discourse I had someone tell me that asexuals don't experience any trauma for being asexual. and I went on and explained my personal experience and linked to a source with more. and then they yelled at me for bringing up something traumatic in a conversation with them.

and most of the time it isn't that bold, but that's always what it is. people who don't have the stomach to look at you and the reality of your life but have no qualms denying you your experiences if it means they get to hurt you without remorse.

#discourse #transandrophobia #trans unity #asexuality

[deebris]

Melancholy

Kakashi Hatake x wife reader

Synopsis: You and Kakashi were never passionate, but you got married and developed an affection for each other. You had two children together and your life was peaceful. But a single winter night destroyed you two forever.

Warnings: trauma, misscariage, blood.

Words: 3.5k

Observation: part II here.

Kakashi Hatake is a good man. A skilled ninja, with an exemplary character and an admirable reputation. That was enough for you. You never demanded he be a loving husband, his calm and patient nature was already a huge comfort in your 9 years of marriage.

Many women weren't as lucky as you were. Some poor women suffered at the mercy of violent and cruel men. But few others were much luckier than you and were blessed with a marriage filled with passion and warmth.

You were fine with the way things were. You lived in squalor and Kakashi gave you a home, you had no dreams and he gave you purpose. He graced you with two wonderful children, and you repaid him by taking care of him and being a good wife. You never wanted to be a ninja, but in the midst of poverty this was the only thing that got you a little bit of money. He was a stoic man most of the time, and he wasn't a father who showed much affection with words either, but he had action. He was always there for you and the kids.

You two loved each other, that's for sure. It was impossible not to grow fond of someone like him after years of marriage. Coexistence created a bond between you. But it was never passion. Your relationship with him didn't take off because of passion, which never existed. To be clear, it just wasn't reciprocated. You were head over heels for the man, but he wasn't.

"I made dinner earlier today, I hope the food is to your liking." You said receiving him after hearing his voice announcing that he was home. You noticed the deep circles under his eyes, the day had obviously been exhausting. Being Hokage was difficult, there was a lot of responsibility in his hands. He had already mentioned to you his desire to pass the position on to someone else. Everything indicated that the next Hokage would be Naruto, the boy deserved it after everything he went through to get the title.

"Thank you. Your food is always good, don't worry." Little affirmations like that cheered you up, although you never let on too much contentment so as not to make him uncomfortable. Kakashi didn't handle affection well.

You immediately returned to the kitchen and placed a plate for him on the table. As soon as he finished taking off his shoes at the entrance, he went into the kitchen to wash his hands and sat down, waiting for you to sit down with him so he could start helping himself.

"Where are the boys?" He asked you, finally finding the silence in the house strange. The kids always jumped on him as soon as he walked through the door.

"Katsuo is feeling bad today. He had a bit of a fever, so I put him to bed to rest."

"Is that why you made dinner early?"

"Yes" You gave him a slight smile as you also sat down at the table and helped yourself along with Kakashi.

"But what about Kenji? Where is he?"

"Hinata took him, he and Boruto wanted to watch a TV show together tonight." You were a little nervous about revealing this to him, as you had forgotten to let him know that his son was going to his friend's house. When Hinata showed up at your door this afternoon to take Kenji away, you felt silly, but you let the boy go. You gave your word that he would go to their house. Kakashi was very worried about his children, always wanting to know what they were doing, where they were and who they were with. But it was Naruto and Hinata's house, everything was fine and you would deal with your husband later.

"I'm sorry for not letting you know, I just forgot to-"

"All good." He said it simply. Kakashi trusted Hinata, unfortunately he couldn't say the same about Naruto taking care of a child. It wasn't as if the son was in a stranger's house.

You and Kakashi were married shortly after the Ninja War in a simple ceremony. You met him in the preparations for battle. He found you a beautiful, intelligent and good-natured woman. You went out a few times and got closer. Coming from a very poor village with no family to go back to, you wanted to settle down in Konoha. And thanks to your contribution as a ninja, you were more than welcome. At first neither of you thought your dates could result in marriage, but you both saw that it would be a good thing. It was convenient.

You expressed your feelings to Kakashi after a while. He was sincere and said that he wasn't in love, but that he saw you as a good person, that he admired you, and that he wouldn't mind getting into a relationship with you. You should have been sad, but you felt hope. Maybe you could make him fall in love with you over time. But these days, you're pretty sure you never made it happen.

"Thanks for the meal." He told you as soon as he finished eating and put his plate in the sink. "I'm going to sleep now, I'll wait for you in the room."

"No need to wait up for me, you look tired." He looked you briefly in the eye and nodded as he walked up the stairs. Really a man of few words, you thought.

Kakashi checked on Katsuo when he got upstairs before going to bed. He placed his hand on the boy's forehead and saw that he had a very high temperature. His breathing was also hampered, making it take a lot of effort to pull air in and out of his lungs. He adjusted the blanket a little and smoothed the boy's hair, white like his and his younger brother's. Kakashi's genes were definitely dominant, but the eyes were still yours.

He turned his thoughts from his son to you. It was common for Kakashi to think about his wife during the day. He wondered how you were doing, maybe the boys were too much trouble. He was strict with his children when they threw a tantrum or disrespected you, he would not accept any kind of bad behavior from them towards you. Although you sometimes covered up their bad creations out of pity for their cute faces.

You are a good mother and a good wife.

When you finished cleaning the kitchen, you went to your shared room to sleep and finish the day. You opened the door carefully so as not to make any noise, figuring that Kakashi must be sleeping. You took a shower to remove the unpleasant onion smell from your body. You put on a satin nightgown and lay down on your side of the bed slowly so as not to wake your husband. But Kakashi moved as soon as you laid your head on the pillow. He hugged you from behind and buried his head in the crook of your neck.

"You smell good." He said after a few minutes in silence enjoying the new scent the floral soap gave you.

"Thanks." You said placing your hand on top of his which rested lazily on your belly. You didn't dare say or do anything more and just appreciated his rare gesture. It wasn't common for Kakashi to hug you, let alone hug you in your sleep, although he always said when he thought you were pretty on occasion. But on strenuous days, it was notorious that he got a little clingy on you at bedtime. Like a child clutching his teddy bear to ward off the fears of the night. He said nothing more than the brief comment about how good you smelled and drifted off to sleep.

You had been debating with yourself for a few days now about how you were going to tell Kakashi that you were pregnant for the third time. You have noticed your intense mood swings, becoming more emotionally sensitive. Nausea would come and go, and since your husband was working all day, it would be hard for him to notice any change in your behavior. You weren't gaining weight yet, but cravings for certain foods had already kicked in, plus your breasts were starting to feel sore and slightly larger.

You planned two children when you got married, a boy and a girl. Well, two boys came, but you two didn't care, because you were happy with the children you had. A third wouldn't be a problem for you, but maybe it would be for him. It was stupid to be afraid to say something like that, you two were an adult couple not teenage sweethearts. Now would have been a perfect time to tell if he wasn't so fatigued. A week from now it would be Katsuo's 8th birthday and you didn't want to take away your firstborn's special moment with the news of another child. So maybe it would be better to wait a little longer, then you would tell.

Katsuo was angry when he found out that you were pregnant with Kenji. He was only 3 years old at the time, how could a boy be so aware of his age as to be jealous of his parents? Pregnancy hormones made Katsuo's attitude hit you harder than it normally would. You were worried, imagining that he wouldn't accept his brother, but Kakashi assured you that afterwards he would be excited about the idea of ​​being a big brother. And he was absolutely right.

You couldn't sleep, it was already 2am and you just couldn't fall asleep. Then you can get up to check on your son who was sick in the next room. You thought your insomnia was related to worries about your newfound pregnancy, but as soon as you sat up in bed ready to get up, you felt warm liquid leak between your legs.

You lifted the hem of your nightgown to see a dark stain spread across your thighs and sheets. But how? You couldn't be menstruating, you were sure you were pregnant. Was it all psychological? You had all the symptoms. You weren't feeling any pain, it couldn't be a miscarriage, could it? You didn't really know how these things worked, or why they happened, but you were aware that before 3 months there was a risk. But there was no pain, it should hurt if it did, right?

You immediately burst into tears not understanding what was happening to your body and you shook your sleeping husband for help.

"What happened?" He carried himself drunk with sleep and worried at the desperate tone in your voice. His fears soon led him to think of Katsuo, who perhaps had deteriorated due to the bad situation he was in when Kakashi visited him in his room.

"Kakashi-" you stumbled over the words, not knowing what you were going to say. What needed to be said? What if it was just your time of the month coming up? But there was so much blood, and this had never happened to you. He didn't even know you were pregnant, how to throw all that at him at once?

Not knowing how to express yourself properly, you just turned on the bedside table lamp and showed him the stain. Kakashi saw it and froze in shock. The scene was unpleasant. You crying frantically and the red stain underneath you only made everything darker.

"What is wrong?"

"I-I…" You started moving your hands nervously gripping the dirty sheets, further staining your fingers with the sticky liquid.

He decided not to waste any more time. He gave up waiting for an explanation from you and took you to the bathroom. You wouldn't be able to say anything with the panic taking over your nervous system.

"Do you need medicine?" Kakashi asked you for guidance. He didn't know what to do, damn it, he didn't even understand the situation right. You didn't answer but he insisted "Do I have to take you to the hospital?"

You just nodded your head quickly after his last question.

"Take me to the hospital." you said clinging to his arms. He gently let go of you as he walked back into the room,

He went to put something on and as he hurriedly put on his shirt he called Naruto asking if he could come watch over Katsuo. He got you a set of clean clothes, but you refused and just accepted that he dressed you in a long coat. In Kakashi's head everything was in slow motion, but it only took him 7 minutes to do everything and get you to the hospital

Arriving there you demanded that Sakura assist you, Kakashi knew that she was on duty today keeping an eye on some jounins who were injured on a mission two days ago, so the nurses quickly went to call the woman seeing that it was the Hokage himself who was asking, or rather, ordering.

How could this be happening? you wondered. You were a healthy woman, you always took care of your food and kept in good shape. You were concerned about your well-being.

After half an hour, Sakura confirmed that you were indeed pregnant. It was, in the past.

Even though she explained to you that this could happen, that it was normal, you couldn't accept it. You couldn't care less about how Kakashi was reacting to the news. All you could think about was your little baby, who would never see the world. You think you've never felt such a pain in your heart, loneliness and sadness dominated your mind. So that was what grief was like. You had never become attached to someone to the point of mourning their death. But you already loved your child, you still love. Why did life take your baby away from you?

Kakashi wanted to be selfish and suffer alone after the crushing news. But you didn't look well, either physically or emotionally. You were blaming yourself for what happened, he knew that.

"But I take care of myself and I've had two healthy pregnancies. I barely have cramps when I'm-"

"Y/n-senpai, these things happen regardless of us. It's our body working, and we can't consciously stop it." Sakura tried to get it through your head, to see if it comforted you, but the sadness of a mother who lost her child wasn't easy to deal with. You shut up, which made Kakashi take matters into his own hands. Sakura explained what was needed for you to recover physically, and she emphasized that you might need some psychological support.

"Kakashi-sama, are you okay?" Sakura asked quietly just for him to hear, the woman noticed his melancholy state.

The truth was, Kakashi was broken inside. More broken than ever. Finding out he was going to have a child and losing the baby within such a short time shook him. But he just maintained a calm pose and thanked his former student. Sakura gave you some painkillers, cleaned up what your body had put out, and promised to visit you at home during your recovery, but for now you would spend the night under observation and being cleaned up.

Kakashi worried about his two young children. They were with Naruto and Hinata now, but he couldn't get the bad feeling out of him. He imagined losing the two boys, and tried to push the dark images out of his head. While he didn't know how to act to make you feel better, you cried and cried. It hit you both hard. Neither of you two have spoken directly to each other yet.

When you returned home the other morning, Kakashi felt guilty. He needed to work, but how could he after tonight? He tormented himself for a while and decided to leave things in his counselor's hands for the day. You saw Hinata giving Katsuo soup and Kenji on the sofa playing. The youngest was excited by the arrival of his parents and ran to jump on your lap. But Kakashi was quick to catch him in his arms before he jumped on you.

"Daddy!" The boy yelled in surprise at Kakashi's sudden attitude. He rested one small arm on his father's shoulder and looked at you. "Mommy!"

"Hi, little angel." You tried to make a happy face for him and planted a kiss on his cheek. You were feeling weak and dizzy. You wanted to feel pain just to distract yourself from sad emotions, but painkillers still did not allow you to suffer physically. Perhaps being in pain eased the mental suffering, perhaps made it worse. You didn't know right.

You thanked Hinata for looking out for the boys, and asked her to tell Naruto that you were also grateful for his help. Kakashi walked with her to the door while still holding Kenji. Both waving her goodbye.

"If you need help, or anything else, don't hesitate to ask. Sakura informed me, I'm sorry for you." She said before walking away.

You looked away from the door to a still sick Katsuo sitting at the table, the soup was almost finished and you started to feel worse than you already did. You had lost a child, you were a horrible mother, and meanwhile your other little boy was sick and you weren't there to take care of him. You couldn't take care of any of your children properly. If you had been more careful, Katsuo never would have gotten sick. He would be fine.

You began to feel a terrible fear of losing yet another child. You feared that his illness would get worse and take him away from you too. Was Kakashi feeling how you felt?

You went to him and hugged him tightly, shedding tears for the thousandth time.

"Sorry mom, my love." The boy didn't understand your apology, but he hugged you back anyway. "I won't leave you again." You tightened the hug leaving the boy scared.

"Mom, why are you sad?"

"I'm sad because I was away from you, that's all." you kissed his hair brushed a few strands off his forehead "I missed you."

"But you saw me yesterday, Mommy." he let out a cute little laugh, typical of a child.

"What about me, Mom? Did you miss me too?" Kenji slipped off his father's lap and placed him in the middle of the hug. Kakashi watched his interaction with the boys silently at the entrance to the kitchen.

"I missed you very, very much." You said finally showing some fun grabbing your youngest. Kakashi saw that his children did you good, it improved your mood a little. Though he had thought the boys might overwhelm you, they eased your pain. So he thought he could finally suffer his way while the children comforted you.

Kakashi went upstairs and locked himself in the bathroom in the room you shared. He finally showed the sadness he was feeling to the walls of the cold room and started to cry. He tried to cry silently, stifling some of the sobs that came out of his mouth with his hand. His legs gave out and he slid down the wall until he was in a crouch. Kakashi started to feel his chest get tight and he forgot how to breathe. He tried to scream and no sound came out.

No, not now.

He couldn't have a anxiety attack right now, locked in the bathroom. And he didn't want you to have to come to his rescue, you didn't need another problem to deal with. He forced himself to be calm and managed to breathe again, fast, but breathing. Her body begged for the air it was deprived of for a few seconds. He quickly unlocked the door and sloppily wiped away a few tears. He was going to come down to find you, he wasn't going to be able to be alone this time. He has dealt with many losses in his life, and in all of them he has suffered alone. But now he wanted his family.

He was going to go downstairs again, but he stopped abruptly in front of Kenji's open bedroom door. He saw you sitting on the floor watching the boy play. You should have put Katsuo to rest. You noticed his presence at the entrance to the bedroom and when you saw your husband's red eyes you somehow knew what had happened. You've caught Kakashi crying a few times, but he's never let you see much beyond a few tears. He always isolated himself when he was sad.

You got up and let your child play. When you entered the hallway, you carefully closed the door and immediately hugged Kakashi. He dropped his head onto your shoulders as you both cried. Your tears and his fell together in sync. Both grieving the loss of their son.

"I'm sorry" you said to him softly.

"No. It's not your fault." He lifted his head to look you in the eyes. Kakashi cupped his cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.

"We'll get over this, won't we?" You asked with hope contained in the words.

"We will." He leaned his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes. "You need to sleep."

You nodded, knowing he was right. "I love you so much" you declared giving him another hug, this time more intense, tighter. Kakashi kissed you on the side of your cheek, and you understood that this was his way of saying he loved you back.

#kakashi x y/n #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake x you #kakashi hatake x reader #hatake kakashi #naruto #naruto x reader #naruto shippuden #anime imagines #anime #imagine #oneshot #x reader #wife reader #one shot #kakashi x you #naruto uzumaki

[earlgreydream]

🍓 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝟒. || 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐜𝐰: 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐯𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫), 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐮

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫! 𝐈 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐦 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡! 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤-𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠-𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

As hard as Bucky tried to nurse you back to health, you’d been sick for days, dehydrated and burning with fever, unable to keep anything down.

“Babydoll, look at me,” Bucky spoke softly, stroking back your hair as he sat on the edge of your bed.

Your lashes parted just enough that his blurry face came into view, a migraine pounding in your head. Your fingers gingerly slipped over his, your lips trembling as Bucky gently squeezed your hand.

“My friend Steve is a doctor, he’s going to come take a look at you because I think you need some medicine to get better. We’re not kicking this bug on our own,” he tried to speak quietly, praying that you wouldn’t panic like the last time he’d mentioned a doctor.

“Please no,” your whimper was barely audible, eyelids unable to stay open from the exhaustion the illness had wracked on your body.

Bucky sighed, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. He’d already called Steve, the only confidant he could trust with you — to come see about your afflictions. He was scared, seeing you so weak and fragile and a shell of yourself, frightened Bucky into realizing how delicate you were.

.

You stirred as Bucky slipped from the bed, going to answer the door. You were too miserable to even react, the only indicator of your fear being the increasing heart rate. The bedroom door opened gently, Bucky’s friend Steve following him in after a few minutes of hushed discussion.

“Hi, bunny,” the blond man spoke softly, a beard making his face appear gentle as he knelt beside you, Bucky watching anxiously.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and you used all your strength to shy away from the hand that reached out to touch your face, unfamiliarity striking terror into you. Your few months with Bucky had trauma bonded you, the only thing scarier than him was someone else.

“Please, don’t be difficult. He’s not going to hurt you, Steve only wants to help,” Bucky promised, pulling you to sit on his lap, the vibranium arm snaking around your waist.

“D-don’t let him hurt me,” you begged into Bucky’s neck.

Steve’s hands were gentle as he felt your fever, his fingers gently massaging your throat to be sure nothing was swollen.

“Gonna press on your stomach, okay? Tell me if it’s uncomfortable. I’ll be real gentle, I promise,” Steve spoke softly, a gentle patience about him that was so dissimilar to Bucky.

Warm palms pressed to your stomach, making you feel like you were going to throw up the little bits of bread and soup you’d had.

“Don’t!” You gasped, spasming against Bucky, pulling your knees to your chest to protect yourself.

“Baby-“

“It’s okay, it’s alright. You’ve definitely got a bad strain of the flu, darling,” Steve diffused Bucky before he could reprimand your outburst and uncooperation.

“I’m going to give you some antibiotics, okay? After a couple days you should feel like a new person. For now though, you’re pretty dehydrated and that’s contributing to how awful you feel. I need to give you an IV and put you on a saline drip to get some fluids in you,” Steve explained patiently, his cornflower blue eyes never leaving yours as he spoke.

“You said he wouldn’t hurt me,” you whispered to Bucky, shrinking back against his chest.

“It won’t be bad, just a quick little pinch and it’ll help you feel so much better,” Bucky promised, one hand rubbing your back, attempting to soothe you.

“You can be good for us, can’t you? I know you feel icky, but I promise I’m going to help,” Steve tenderly touched your cheek, before retrieving an IV needle from his kit.

You laid your arm out, fighting back tears as Bucky held you still, letting Steve stick you as gently as possible. His heart ached at your pained whine from being stuck, hurt in your eyes as he taped the needle down, hanging a bag of fluids beside the bed.

“M’freezing,” you mumbled as the cold seeped through your veins, coupled with your fever to leave you trembling against Bucky’s warm form.

“Here,” he wrapped a fuzzy blanket around you, helping you settle against him, trying to talk you into a nap while you hydrated.

Bucky smeared kisses over your forehead, helping you drift off while Steve went to get some antibiotics for you. The house was quiet, freezing rain coming down on the roof in a rhythm that kept you drowsy.

You didn’t remember Steve coming back, just waking up to him easing the needle out and wrapping the injection spot. He gave you the first dose of the antibiotic, and Bucky informed you that he’d been staying to oversee your recovery.

“Daddy,” you sighed, your skin clammy and sticky from sweat as you sat up.

“I want a bath,” you requested once you earned his attention, wanting to be clean.

Bucky helped you up, frowning at the way you were unsteady on your feet, dizzy as you sat down on the edge of his bathtub, patiently waiting as he filled it with water.

“Can I wash your hair for you?” He asked, catching you off guard.

It was one of the first times he had asked what you wanted, offering himself instead of forcing it upon you. You nodded, not wanting to lift your sore arms to scrub your scalp.

Bucky carefully washed the grime from your hair, careful not to get any water in your eyes. His strong hands massaged your head as he ran the detachable faucet over it, getting all the soap and conditioner out.

His movements paused at your brief sigh, though he relaxed when he saw it was because his touch felt good, and was entirely wanted by you.

“I’ve got it,” you whispered, taking the loofah and cleaning your skin while he leaned on the counter and waited.

“Once you’re down again, I’ll make you some toast. Do you think you can keep it down?” He questioned as you sat on a stool in front of the mirrors while he toweled your hair.

Your affirming hum was enough for him, and he leaned in to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, so tender you almost forgot about the reality of your relationship.

“I’ll go start it, leave you to dress. Steve is working in my office if you need anything from him. I’ll be in the kitchen,” Bucky squeezed your waist before disappearing, letting you get dressed by yourself.

You found warm pajamas and socks, still bitterly cold despite Bucky’s attempts to keep the house warm in the winter. He watched as you entered the kitchen, pressing the button to turn on the kettle for some tea.

“I’ll get make it for you, go rest,” Bucky’s tone was gentle, though an edge of sternness hung in his voice so you didn’t argue.

You kissed the Star on his arm, sending a painful twinge through Bucky’s heart. He watched you slip around the bar into the open living room, putting on one of your soothing movies to doze in and out to.

With your sickness, he’d gotten less strict about you using the television, unworried about you being upset when you put on something quiet that ended up putting you to sleep a couple times a day. Young magicians casted spells on the television, bad CGI of the early 2000s adding to your coziness, and before your tea and toast was finished, you were barely awake.

“Try to wake up and eat for me, bunny,” Bucky helped you sit up on the couch, smiling at your sleepy yawn.

“I feel a little better after my bath and being hydrated,” you confessed as you sipped the tea and nibbled on the toast.

Bucky relaxed, tying your hair up and playing with the hem of your pajamas. His warm hand slipped under your shirt, rubbing your back tenderly. He looked up when Steve entered the room, leaning in the doorway, watching the two of you.

“You’re starting to look a little better,” he broke the silence, walking over and feeling your still-warm forehead.

“All I want is to sleep,” you confessed, your eyelids heavy.

“Drink the rest of the tea first. You need to stay hydrated. Daddy’s taking good care of you,” Steve hummed, exchanging a look with Bucky.

You forced the last couple swallows of lukewarm tea down, before dragging yourself to your feet.

“Your bed?” You mumbled, and Bucky frowned.

“I’ve got to work late tonight, I don’t want to wake you coming back to bed. Sleep in your own bed and get a good nights sleep,” he held your face, pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose.

You were too tired to protest, satisfied when he handed you the stuffed rabbit that you curled up with when you weren’t snuggled into his warm body. You’d gotten used to sleeping next to him, safe from any unknown threats that lurked in the dark. The sound of the wind frightened you, your body remembering what it felt like to nearly freeze to death, anxiety only satiated when you were curled up against the space heater of a man.

“Steve is staying?” You questioned, uneasy that Bucky would be working, letting Steve unsupervised in the house with you.

“Yes, he’s here if you get to feeling icky again.”

Your eyes locked on the blonde that towered over you, his broad body nearly as thick as Bucky’s. After a moment of reading your expression, Bucky understood that anxiety was woven in your features. You didn’t trust Steve yet, afraid of everyone who wasn’t your savior.

“I can work from my laptop in your room until you fall asleep,” Bucky offered a compromise, knowing he couldn’t rush you into being comfortable with Steve.

You nodded, relaxing as he settled down in the rocking chair at the foot of your bed, standing guard while you slept off some of your sickness.

.

“People are looking for her. They’re playing the missing persons ads on the news,” Steve spoke over a cup of coffee, alone with Bucky in the kitchen long after you’d gone to bed.

“Even still? It’s been months. They usually give up after seventy-two hours,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head.

“That’s what you get for snatching a Stark.”

“She’s better off with me. She was mistreated, and the Starks have a world of enemies. Here she is safe and loved,” Bucky glared until Steve soothed him.

“I know. She’s perfect, she’s lovely, I’m just saying, they may come looking here eventually. How long are you going to hide her in this house? At some point, you’ll have to assimilate back into real life.”

“She’s still not completely attached, but it’s getting better.”

Bucky stood off the counter he was leaning on when you walked in, offering an arm. You sank into his side, his vibranium prosthetic wrapping around your waist as he smeared a kiss over your forehead.

“The weather is nice today. I think some fresh air would do you some good,” Steve broke the silence, and you froze against Bucky.

“It’s too cold,” you mumbled, shaking your head.

“Darling,” Bucky’s voice was surprisingly soft, and he reached over and grabbed a blanket for you.

Steve handed you a hoodie, pulling it over your head and smiling when the sleeves fell over your hands. Bucky lifted you effortlessly, carrying you outside to the front porch, where a white swing hung overlooking the garden. The last bits of snow had melted off the ground, promising spring soon, but the air was still crisp.

You shivered as you wrapped the blanket around yourself, settling onto the swing and inhaling the clean air. The sun was warm on your face, bringing life back into it that made Bucky breathe easy again.

“I love you,” Bucky’s eyes locked with yours, and you slowly leaned in and kissed him.

“I’m going to keep you safe,” he promised.

“I know.”

#strawberry!au #stockholm!reader #strawberry kisses #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky smut #Bucky barnes x reader

[nterini]

In Defense of Hira - A textbook case of C-PTSD caused by Childhood Abuse and Neglect

In a lot of the shows that I watch, especially with teens or young adults relating to trauma, or any genre really, there’s always a playful question on my mind: where are their parents? However, at this point in show, it’s becoming so much more apparent that the lack of support Hira received growing up, is fundamental to the way that he sees himself and his position in the world around him. So much so that as much as I want to joke about Hira being as dense as a stone wall, I find myself becoming increasingly uncomfortable in how much my own trauma and reactions to isolation mirror Hira’s.

Symptoms of complex PTSD

Feelings of worthlessness, shame and guilt.

Problems controlling your emotions.

Finding it hard to feel connected with other people.

Relationship problems, like having trouble keeping friends and partners. (Source: NHS)

How was Hira Traumatized?

He was left to his own defenses at an early age and had to fend for himself. Just because they provided him with a house and money for food doesn’t mean they took care of him. He was also bullied for a speech impediment and isolated by his peers as a result. He’s probably never had anyone listen to him closely or had close emotional or physical relationships in his life. Extended periods of neglect in childhood and then more intense isolation later on is extremely damaging.

Trauma manifests differently. Before therapy, it was really difficult for me to wrap my head around the fact that I wasn’t actually invisible to friends and family. It took a quite aggressive and embarrassing event, (now funny and touching really) for me to understand that if I deviated from my own patterns or if I disappeared or didn’t contact people for hours that people would actually miss me or think about me. I went out and watched a movie after an event, and told one person through text. After the two hour movie, I turned my phone back on and found 30 missed calls. My mother had informed me that she had called the police and that the principal had formed a search party for me. My face was plastered all over Snapchat by my classmates.  I was mortified by what I believed to be a waste of resources and time on my behalf. Such a loud display of love and even then all I could think about was hiding away and making myself smaller. I wasn’t even decent enough to acknowledge the pain, worry, and fear they felt at the thought that someone they loved went missing. It took multiple years later: a very a tentative mother and aunt, very involved teachers, mentors and friends plus therapy for me to stop feeling like a ghost. To get out of my own head and stop trying to fade in the background as a coping mechanism. After being abandoned by his mother to live alone in a house so she could be with the family she wants, after being isolated by his classmates for having a stutter all throughout high school, only one person knocked loudly enough at the door attached to the fortress Hira built in his mind to cope with his trauma. Kiyoi.

That mental fortress is why Hira is alive today. It kept him safe when he had to sleep in the dark alone as a young boy when he had to cook his own meals. His social ineptitude is due to years of isolation and degradation by those around him. He wasn’t deemed worthy enough by his own mother to be taken care of. Yet Kiyoi loves and sees him. Kiyoi says his name and holds his hand and kisses him and suddenly Hira is solid mass. Not a shadow on the wall or the useless child not worth keeping. He becomes slightly more than nothing. In Hira’s mind he becomes a pebble. Sigh. Well it’s a start. But it’s not enough. It’s gonna take a real miracle for Hira to overcome years of trauma and see himself as a human being. I believe in him though. He’s so brave. No like really though, some of the shit he says is so cringey it takes real guts. Kiyoi is not going to give up on Hira anytime soon he’s too much of an exhibitionist for Hira and a freak (endearingly). Also, Hira is obsessive and intense, so they’re a perfect match.

He just needs proper counseling and a bit of time. I’m rooting for them.

#My Beautiful Man #my beautiful man 2 #utsukushii kare #utsukushii kare 2 #hira x kiyoi #kiyoi sou #Hira #show analysis #review #childhood truama #tw cptsd