#Daddy Issues that stem from trauma

[chaoticswampwitch]

I couldn't find it on here so I had to make it myself 🤧 This scene spoke to my soul....

[minhosimthings]

calling jay daddy when you're username is minho"sim"things...

"please pick one" - sunghoon, 2024

*niki's side eye*

IN MY DEFENCE-

I actually have no defence I literally cheat on my man with Jay and Sunoo like twice a week BUT IT'S FINE HE'S OUT THERE FLIRTING WITH OTHER PEOPLE (Jayeun when I catch you-)

But honestly atp I'm in a poly with 02z so like let's just say this week read:lifetime is for Jay

*Insert Heeseung heart.*

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

first of all, this is all legit, and not bait, though i have a feeling it may come off that way, this did happen to me. please don't publish if tumblr sends it off anon.

i'm a lesbian with gender dysphoria, and while i haven't had much sexual experience, i would consider myself a stone top. in the last year and a half i began reading "terf"/radical feminist writings and reading "terf" tumblr blogs fairly actively, largely out of frustration with misogyny i was experiencing IRL. though i never engaged with the community i did stop identifying as genderfluid and started understanding my dysphoria as stemming from the trauma of being bullied by other girls for having a high-androgen DSD, and using different pronouns/transition thoughts as unhealthy coping mechanisms. i'm happy with this, but i also don't know if i'm attracted to women anymore.

i've always been attracted to women in a way that's stereotypically guy-like; i find feminine women very attractive and not so much fellow(?) butches, want to penetrate with a strap on, don't like bush much, cursory interest in BDSM/daddy kink. i read/watched het erotica and porn sometimes and identified with the man. what i read problematized pretty much every aspect of that- femininity as a cage, penetration as violence/straps as disidentification w the female body, infantilization of women, bdsm as abuse etc. also, desisting making me more conscious of dysphoria/knowledge of how extensive sexual dimorphism is putting me off both women with larger breasts and hips AND smaller breasts and hips/unrealistically masculine body types as well. so a lot of what turned me on before isn't arousing anymore, or i feel guilty about it, and i haven't been able to find butch4butch stuff which is much healthier very interesting.

i consider my sexuality healthier now on a political level but my ability to get aroused/jerk off has plummeted (used to be i could jork it sunrise to sunset) and thinking about being in a relationship w another woman makes me feel uneasy and weird, especially since a lot of what i read emphasized reciprocative cunnilingus/tribbing (which i don't like) as the healthiest sex options. i also think about both my dysphoria and my sexuality issues 100x more than i did before, even though i was promised the opposite (freedom from dysphoria and feeling happier as a lesbian), and it's stressing me out day-to-day. i'm aware based on your general ethos that you probably think i'm a terrible person right now, but i figured it'd be useful to seek the opinion of someone who radically disagrees with what i've read on what i could/should do next, since i admittedly miss being at peace with my sexuality.

thanks for reading.

hi there anon,

it's a bummer that you'd think I would assume you're a terrible person based on everything you've told me here. I generally try not to consider people terrible unless they're actively being shitheads or hurting other people, which doesn't sound at all like you're describing. from what you've told me, you've been up to your eyes in some information that's made you feel deeply uncomfortable in your sexuality and now you're seeking out a new perspective to help you make sense of that hurt. that describes most of the people who send me questions!

it's so striking to me that much of what you're describing is very reminiscent of what's recounted in The Persistent Desire, an anthology of writings on butch/femme identities edited by femme historian and archivist Joan Nestle that was released in 1992. in various essays and interviews countless butches and femmes recount their discomfort with the feminist turn against butch and femme identities that too place in the 70s, when both roles were declared problematic recreations of heterosexuality and summarily decried as politically "incorrect" for lesbians. it's shocking to me how much what you've described echoes these accounts experienced by lesbians half a century ago - the disowning of women who are "excessively" feminine or masculine, the demonizing of penetrative sex, general insistence that there are "correct" sex acts that every lesbian is supposed to enjoy, and the deep discomfort and insecurity that this causes among people who don't fit into the very rigid standards of proper lesbian identity set forth.

here's a link to a PDF, if that's interesting to you at all. it's very long, so feel free not to read it straight through; it's a great project to skim and an incredible way to get in touch with the lesbians who came before us. their accounts of their lives are so wildly different from the boundaries of "good" queer representation that feel so universal today; in discussing their own lives many of these women speak very bluntly about their experiences with abuse, drugs, sex work, and violence. it's a great glimpse into the lives and history of a lot of very ordinary lesbians just living their lives, and I'm very grateful it's been preserved.

now, as for what you're actually gonna do: hey. listen. first of all, if you haven't given up reading this stuff yet, you've gotta. you simply cannot keep internalizing stuff that makes you overanalyze your own sexuality so hard that you feel uncomfortable about being attracted to women. that's not "healthy," that's conversion therapy lite. there are other places to talk about feminism without being made to feel ashamed of yourself.

listen: there's nothing unhealthy about anything that you described about yourself. being a stone butch, being attracted to certain looks and aesthetics, watching porn, wanting to use a strap and roleplay during sex and not being interested in other sexual activities - all of those thing are completely normal and, yes, healthy. certainly healthier than feeling the need to repress your sexuality so hard that thinking about being with a woman doesn't feel right!

should we run through that list?

femininity as cage - sure, okay, femininity isn't for everyone, and there are parts of it that suck. that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with women who like to wear dresses or put on makeup or shave or whatever, or anyone who's attracted to those women. genuinely I cannot think of anything less interesting or important to feminist organizing than getting hung up about what people want to wear. it's clothes, dude. it's fucking clothes. pick a more important hill to die on, I implore you.

penetration is not the same thing as violence. there's just nothing to debate about that one; it's patently absurd to pretend that every act of penetrative sex is rape and you'd have to fundamentally misunderstand how consent works to believe that.

straps are not about "disidentification with the female body," they're about augmenting a sexual experience. a strap-on is not more problematic than a vibrator or a massage oils or a pillow used to prop up a body part. unless those are also bad? are those bad? are pillows disidentifying from the female body also? I'm not up to date on this.

straight up I don't even know which part of your whole deal the infantilization of women is supposed to address, but a thing that I've always found interesting about a lot of radical feminists who are deeply distrustful of sex is the way that many of them seem to assume that women can't be trusted to understand their own sexual desires and need to be taught what's appropriate. seems kind of condescending to me, personally.

BDSM isn't the same thing as abuse. abuse, crucially, is not a situation that people can safe word out of or negotiate the constraints of. it's kind of like how, you know, I purposefully pay people to shove needles in my skin when I want a tattoo, but I wouldn't be stoked about it if somebody just ran up to me in public and started stabbing me without any warning or conversation. context is crucial. there can certainly be abusive people within BDSM spaces, but that's true of people of literally every sexual proclivity on earth, and certainly not an innate feature of BDSM. it's just make believe, dude. it's dress up. it's sex LARPing.

also, psst, hey. that thing about being attracted to women in a "guy-like" way? no such thing. men are humans, dude; they experience attraction in as many different ways as anyone else. for every dude interested in the same stuff as you there are men yearning for hairy women, muscular women, masculine women, women who will dominate them, women who would rather be eaten out then penetrated, and so on. to say nothing of the men who aren't into women at all! and, as is obvious from your own experience, men don't have a monopoly on those kinds of feelings, anyway! there are no men or women feelings, dude; it's all just people having feelings and fighting for their lives trying to figure out what they're into to.

I want to particularly talk about that last bit, where you mentioned not enjoying or wanting to engage in cunnilingus or tribbing. that's totally fine! people like different shit in all kinds of combinations - I'm personally a huge fan of getting eaten out and scratched up or bitten, but I don't do penetration and I've genuinely never met anyone who actually liked tribbing - and there are absolutely people out there who will, to paraphrase the poet Tinashe, perfectly match your freak.

(have you heard about the perpetual, critical shortage of tops that the queer community faces? you'd be a godsend, just saying.)

also, actually, hey I wanted to circle back to another thing as well: it's deeply alarming to me that whatever radfem stuff you've been reading has you feeling "put off" of women with wide hips and large breasts as well as women with small breasts and hips. what is wrong with either of those? both of those are just ways that women naturally look. women just look a wide variety of ways, and it's sad that that's upsetting you now. just thinking about this, conceptually, is giving me hives.

having been up to your eyes in all of this, I can definitely understand why you'd feel the urge to overanalyze you own gender and sexuality to the point of completely talking yourself out of identifying with anything that feels good for you. as I said, that's actually not healthy in any way, and as a sex educator I can't say that I think anyone genuinely invested in your well-being would want that for you.

entirely aside from their feelings on trans people, which I obviously disagree with pretty vehemently, one of the things about radfems that's most endlessly vexing to me is the insistence that such an extremely narrow range of sexual behaviors are appropriate. seems like a miserable way to live, and I sincerely hope you can detangle yourself from the morass of shame it's landed you in. you deserve better.

[daisynik7]

Hii how are you? Hope you are doing well! I have a request. Kento Nanami x f!reader? Where f!reader and kento nanami are happily married but the reader is shy and kinda have daddy issues. Can you please make it comforting,loving and add NsFw.

Pairing: husband!Nanami x f!reader

cw: established relationship (married), angst, reader has some daddy issues, smut – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.3k

Summary: Nanami starts coming home later than usual, claiming he’s working overtime. You start to become suspicious, so you decide to confront him about it.

Author’s Note: Zella! I’m so sorry this took SO LONG. I took a break from all the pending requests in my inbox because of life and to work on my other series. Thank you for your patience with this and for sending this request in! I appreciate you so much!! I hope you like it!

About a month ago, Nanami informed you that he’ll be working overtime at least twice a week. It struck you as odd, considering how much he despises work in general, let alone staying extra hours. However, you don’t question it. At least, for the first three weeks. 

This week, you start noticing subtle oddities whenever he comes home from these supposed “overtimes.” He arrives sweaty, hair disheveled, his clothes slightly wrinkled, as if they’ve been hastily stuffed into a bag and put on again. And before he eats dinner, he’ll take a quick shower. Maybe it’s your paranoia, stemming from childhood trauma when your own father was caught in the act of adultery, resulting in your parent’s divorce. You try to dissuade yourself from thinking this way, knowing that Nanami is nothing like your unfaithful dad. He’s different. Right? 

Tonight, he’s even later than usual. This time, he’s too hungry to bathe, so he goes straight to the table, ready to eat. Your suspicions continue to nag at you. He realizes this immediately, keen on how quiet and shy you are at the dinner table, sliding your fork across your food idly. “Honey? Are you alright?”

You snap out of your thoughts, looking up at him. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” you answer, in the most unconvincing tone. 

His brows are furrowed, leaning forward with his elbows propped on the surface, studying you. “You’re not fine. What’s wrong?”

There’s dread building in your chest, too afraid to ask the question you don’t want to know the answer too, especially if the truth will break your heart. “Nothing, Kento. I’m fine.”

He gets up from his seat, kneeling beside you, cupping your cheek. “Sweetheart, please tell me what’s wrong.”

His touch always has you melting into him, gentle and sweet, loving and pure. You lean into his palm, nuzzling into it, and you’re so close to forgetting the whole thing all together. But then you get a whiff of it. Perfume. Lingering on the cuffs of his dress shirt, his fingers on your skin, the loose tie around his collar. It’s exactly like it was years and years ago; glimpses of your father, drenched in the stench of another women, denying your mother’s accusations until it was guilted out of him. You never thought it’d be Nanami, though.

You whack his arm away from you, taking deep breaths. “How could you?” 

He stares at you, confused. “What?”

“How could you cheat on me?!” you yell, tears streaming down your face. “After everything we’ve been through…How could you?”

His jaw drops, hands waving in front of him frantically. “Sweetheart, this is a big misunderstanding. I promise, I swear, I am not cheating on you.”

“You’re lying! I’m not dumb, Kento. I noticed how you come home, all sweaty, always in a rush to shower. To wash away your guilt. And I smell the perfume on you, it reeks. You can’t even hide it anymore.” You cross your arms over your chest, heaving, attempting to steady your breathing. 

He’s still kneeling before you, this time, hands in prayer, begging. “Sweetheart, please. Please, just listen to me. I can explain.”

“Then explain.”

He sighs, bowing his head in shame. It takes a couple of seconds before he admits in a stammer, “I’m…taking dance lessons.”

A minute passes for you to process this, considering how hyped on adrenaline you were moments ago. It’s enough time to calm down from the midst of your panic attack. “Dance…lessons?” you repeat, dumbfounded.

He nods slowly. “Yes. My instructor is Mrs. Ito. She’s quite fond of perfume. She’s also much older and married.”

“Mrs. Ito,” you repeat, shocked and embarrassed at your premature freak-out. 

“Yes, my love. And I have videos to prove it.” He retrieves his phone from his pocket, tapping at it until generic ballroom dance music starts blaring from the speaker. On the screen is Nanami, in workout clothes, performing a number in front of the mirror, back facing the camera. In the background is an elderly woman’s voice, shouting, “5-6-7-8 and hips, Nanami! Move your hips!” He pauses it once you clap your hand to your mouth, gasping. 

He chuckles, blushing. “Now you know why I kept this a secret.”

Now, you’re the one feeling guilt and shame. “Kento, I’m so sorry,” you apologize, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I know how much you love dancing. I was sick of having two left feet, so I decided to take lessons. I wanted it to be a surprise for our anniversary trip.”

You bury your face into his neck, sniffling. “And I ruined it. God, I’m a terrible wife, aren’t I?”

He embraces you, laughing. “Honey, you’re not at all. Given what you went through, I don’t blame you for jumping to that conclusion. It was very suspicious of me, I admit it. But you mean the world to me. I will nevercheat on you. I’d be a fool to ruin something this special. I love you too much.”

You smile, kissing his cheek. “I love you too. I’m a fool for even thinking you would. I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

“Honey, you don’t have to…”

“Maybe I can show you a few of my moves. If you’d like.” You kiss him on the mouth, gliding your tongue along his lips. 

He raises a brow, smirking. “Oh? What moves?”

You lead him to the couch, shoving him down to sit. He removes his tie completely, unbuttoning his shirt halfway with a naughty grin on his face, watching you. Straddling his lap, kissing his ear, you purr, “How about a lap dance?”

All he can do is nod, sliding his hands around your hips, squeezing at your bottom. You rock yourself on him, tongues swirling around each other’s, wet and sloppy with the rest of your dinner completely abandoned on the table. He delivers a firm smack on your ass, relishing the way your flesh jiggles from the contact. You grind on him harder, running your fingers through his hair, feeling his growing erection beneath you. 

“You’ll make it up to me, huh?” he coos, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your pants, reaching for your pussy. “I’ll prove to you how faithful I am. Never make you doubt me again.” His fingers rub at the wet spot leaking through your panties.

You shove the rest of your pants off, lifting your hips to slide them down your legs. “Fuck, baby,” you moan, bouncing on his lap. 

“Strip. Now.” He watches you undress, tossing all your clothes to the floor in a hurry, eager for his cock. “Do me next. Slowly,” he demands.

You follow his order, kneeling on the floor in front of him, unzipping and tugging at his pants until they’re pooled around his ankles. His cock is stiff in his briefs, the fabric tight along his shaft. He rubs his palm against it, grunting, “Rub your pussy on it. Make yourself come in your panties. Want them wet and creamy for me.”

Without hesitation, you hop back on, riding him with fabric still separating you, extremely horny. He focuses on you dipping slowly into him, biting his lip from the lewd sight. Soon, his thumb is against your clit, caressing it until you’re moaning incessantly, increasing the pace of your hips. “Fuck, Kento,” you whimper, voice trembling with arousal.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Come for me. Make a fucking mess,” he growls, flicking your swelling bud faster. His cock is rock hard beneath you, and you’re so wet, you’re convinced you’re leaking through his briefs, which are now spotted with his own precum. As you approach your orgasm, he slides his fingers past the fabric and directly onto your swollen clit, pinching it gently. You buck, arching your back and gasping from the sensation, reaching your climax. As you descend from your high, he slips into your slick cunt, coating his fingers in your cum, humming with satisfaction. “That’s my good girl. Always so fucking juicy for me. Can’t wait to taste it.” 

Needless to say, Nanami makes sure that you never doubt his faithfulness ever again. 

[lesinquietes]

Yandere!Dabi is so fucking dysfunctional, but what can he say? He learned from the best.

⚠️ mdni (this isn’t for kids/teens). abusive relationship. angst. daddy issues. dark content (I mean it y’all). manipulation. noncon (mentioned). spanking. trauma. violence. victim-blaming.

He doesn’t understand the concept of a healthy relationship — romantic or platonic. His emotion regulation and impulse control are non-existant, making him a walking time-bomb of unresolved trauma that’s bound to be projected onto someone.

Does “I can fix him!” sound like you? If yes, he dubs you a pretty fool. You think you can fix literal decades of internal conflict? He reasons that you have damage of your own if you’re willing to enter a relationship under the premise that you have to change him. You must have daddy issues. In a way, so does he. Unfortunately, heavy baggage x heavy baggage isn’t a good mix.

He can’t let himself be happy. All that’s driving him is revenge. Nothing else has motivated him to continue like the thought of confronting Shoto and his father. He won’t let himself be watered down by love, which is why he laughs whenever you say you care about him, and why he ignores you for a few days until you beg. Mind games. Cruelty. Forcing you to apologize when you’ve done nothing conceivably wrong, but oh, he finds reasons. Coaxing you into saying you’re sorry with a blowjob. Telling you he doesn’t know why he’s with a slut who can’t suck properly. Shoving you away when he loses his erection by thinking about how he’s fucking up a shot at happiness by treating you like a cumrag.

He tells himself it’s self-sabotage. That’s not the whole truth. A small part of him is sadistic; a small part of him enjoys your pain. It reminds him he’s not alone in harbouring a hurricane in his heart. It’s nice to have someone he resonates with. You can combust together. At least, that’s what he fantasizes about, until you burst his bubble.

When enough is finally enough, you leave him. Your decision stems from intolerance. You’ve had enough of his callous treatment. You need a partner you can trust. As a villain, camaraderie is everything, and Dabi hasn’t proved to you he’s reliable. As much as it hurts you, a future away from him is what you need.

You search for a shred of remorse in his eyes. All you discover is darkness. You can’t stay.

But as you explain yourself through tears, stammering and apologizing, he finds himself feeling something for once. It’s absent of revenge. It’s separate from his upbringing. It’s a foreign sensation — for you.

He doesn’t want you to go. Your departure will make the headaches worse and the burns throb harder. It’ll make the rumination deeper and the urge to incinerate himself to a bloody crisp more tempting. It’ll push him to the limit before he’s prepared to face his family.

He searches for any bit of love that’s left inside your aching heart. He finds it in your avoidant gaze. You can’t go.

You throw shit at him as he advances, a feral expression on his stapled face. Running on pure adrenaline, he doesn’t feel the impact of any object. He lurks closer and lets you have your little tantrum. He remembers his mother having one or two of these, too, though his father was good at placating her; watching that from the doorway of his bedroom taught him precisely how he’ll placate you.

Violence isn’t the answer; at least, not if you listen. And you do. It only takes him grabbing you by the wrists and squeezing until you scream. They’ll be bruised for days. You’re lucky he didn’t break them.

He drags you into the bedroom by the hair and throws you onto the bed. He doesn’t let you squirm away. He pulls you onto his lap, yanks down your pants, and asks you how many hits you deserve. He’s not wholly unreasonable, so when you tell him to fuck right off, he thinks twenty is fair. Thirty if you lose count. Forty if you fight him. Fifty if you neglect to admit your wrongdoings. The choice to behave is yours, and he makes this known to you before he begins. If you falter, it’s all your fault.

By the time he’s done, and your ass stings like it’s been sunburnt, you’re weeping and regretting ever presuming you could leave him. How could you think he doesn’t care about you when he took time out of his busy schedule to correct your behaviour tonight? He wouldn’t teach anyone else a lesson — just you, his woman.

You perk up at the term. His woman. As much as you hate to admit it, glaring through the aftermath of sadness, attention from Dabi lights your heart on fire. You crave it. You want to make him happy. Of course, there’s a deranged method to your madness; if he’s happy, he’s not angry, and if he’s not angry, he’s halfway good to you. You need him to be good to you, like he needs you to be a better girlfriend. Take accountability. Give yourself to him. Trust. If he hasn’t been treating you the way you want to be treated, be patient. Maybe he’ll give your way a try when the mood possesses him.

And no more fucking running, or else you’ll have more to worry about than a couple of bruises.

[xseekingsaturnx]

the ninja and their various traumas: a headcanon(?)

jk some of these are def canon

kai!

shouldered far too many responsibilities after the disappearance of his parents

from this stemmed a Phat Ego & deeply ingrained need to prove himself…

…and fiercely protect everything & everyone he cares about because he trusts precious few people and as a child he felt like everything could fall apart at any second

is constantly fighting against impulses that would drag him into darkness if he followed them

nya!

permanently rooted fear that she’s an inconvenience AKA fear of abandonment

mad social anxiety bc homegirl was not in school like she should’ve been

anger issues bc childhood was so unstable & she finds anger easier to comprehend than fear

fear of failure bc what if she looks stupid and what if she’s in her brother’s shadow forever and what if she’s not good enough (see: fear of abandonment)

died one time and no one remembers but her and jay

jay!

anxiety in every shape and size and color

insecurity that he’s “too much” from years of being called loud & annoying by peers

history of investing too much of himself into things and people/hyperfixating bc he only knows how to love & feel with every cell in his body and he’s constantly terrified of overwhelming people

and this doesn’t come in til later but the revelation he was ADOPTED?? he & nya are “fear of abandonment” twins now

watched nya die one time and no one remembers except her

cole!

loss of his mother AKA the softer presence in his life; unrealistic expectations from his dad and constantly facing lou’s disappointment

shitty coping mechanisms. would rather physically over-exert himself than process his feelings. also a stress eater

under a lot of pressure and often behaves too mature for his age bc he’s afraid everything will collapse if he doesn’t hold it together

is competing w kai for mom of the group bc he feels immeasurable responsibility for everyone he cares about

zane!

literally is a robot

and found out he is a robot after years of having LOST HIS MEMORY

always a little nervous he is going to annoy someone/offend someone/further alienate himself (fear! of! abandonment!)

on that note: afraid he will never understand the human experience and will always be lacking in some important quality or ability to connect with others

exploded and was rebuilt and had to regain his memories

lloyd!

actually invented the fear of abandonment.

severe mommy & daddy issues. like “severe” doesn’t even BEGIN to cover it

quite literally grew up too fast

keeps finding out his lineage contains more weird mystical components and is fighting off identity crises with a broken broom

was possessed

and that’s just the tip of the iceberg, feel free to add to it. there’s also PTSD across the board & various deaths/near-deaths & FSM knows what else.

[jasonswh0rre]

This is Halloween

AK! Jason Todd x OC

🎃 Pairings/Characters:

Main Characters: Amira (OC), Jason Todd, Chloe (OC child of Amira and Jason Todd)

Other Mentions: Daily Planet Staff

Metropolis citizens 

🎃 Setting

Arkhamverse (Batman Arkham Games)

🎃 Warnings

Emotional Distress

Mild Violence (brief altercation with a bully)

Mental Health Issues (depiction of panic attack triggered by a clown)

Rating

PG-13

Summary:

On a vibrant Halloween night in Metropolis, Amira must unexpectedly work, leaving Jason to take their daughter, Chloe, trick-or-treating. The night is filled with joy and pursuit of candy until a clown triggers a deep-seated panic in Jason, stemming from his traumatic past. As fear overwhelms him, Chloe’s innocent comfort through a simple hug helps him find a moment of peace amidst his turmoil. The story explores themes of fear, family bonds, and the unexpected strength found in childlike innocence.

Author’s Notes:

This story dives into the complexities of trauma and the simple, powerful ways love can help navigate through dark moments. Halloween in Metropolis brings both fun and challenges for Jason and Chloe, showcasing a blend of light-hearted moments and deep emotional struggles. Thank you for reading and for your continued support!

Halloween may be just a typical Tuesday night for cities like Gotham. Still, in Metropolis, the big apricot can be just as scary. Within in good fun, of course. Ghostly hymns and music played on the streets, people dressed down in their scariest costumes. Kids took the chance to become superheroes; who knew the costume stores sold that many Superman capes? Amira wore a slim, hugging black dress and long black hair draped down her back. She hung the Halloween wreath on the door, decorating the apartment. 

"Mommy, look at me!" a voice shouted. Chloé stood in front of Amira. She twirled in her little witch's dress, its whimsical costume in a dark purple and green color scheme. Her layered skirt with petal-like edges in a purple gradient twirled with her. 

"You look amazing, but wait- something's missing?" Amira exclaimed. Chloé looked confused about what could have been missing from her ensemble. 

"What, mommy?"

"You can't be a witch without your hat," Amira responded, holding out a tiny witch's headband; she placed it on Chloé's head, her soft curls bouncing as she finally felt like a witch. 

"Now you're ready, why don't you go get your basket, and we'll start to head out," Amira suggested, prompting an excitable Chloé to run off to find her basket. 

She smiled briefly as she watched Chloé run off so happily that she didn't notice the sense of a new presence in her home. Arms wrapped securely around her waist, she felt her heart sink; turning around, she let out a breath of relief, seeing it was only Jason; he cupped her cheek and gave Amira a quick kiss.

"You forgot you gave me a key here?" He teased lightly

"To be honest? Yeah, I sorta did," Amira whispered as she embarrassingly confessed; she kissed Jason's lips briefly, her body pressed against his, her arms against his neck, causing Jason to subconsciously wince. Noticing Amira turned his head, moving his jacket collar to reveal a nasty deep cut around the side of his neck

"It's fine, I'm alright," Jason murmured; Amira still stared at his neck, her fingers temptingly flinching, trying to touch it without harming Jason.

"I'll see what I can do about it tonight," Amira said, knowing he couldn't change Amira's mind. Jason nodded his head.

"Where's Chlo?" he asked. Like rubbing a genie's lamp, Chloé appeared and rushed to the living room. When she saw Jason, she ran straight into his arms, ecstatic.

"Daddy!" Chloé cried out. Jason gritted through the pain as Chloé's arms were wrapped around Jason's neck. He laughed and smiled as he held onto Chloé as tightly as she did with him. Smiling at both of them, Amira kissed them both on the cheek. The mood seemed perfect and light-hearted until Amira looked down at her phone, crestfallen.

"What's wrong?" Jason asked

"I'm being called in to work tonight," Amira declared. Chloé appeared sad and reached out for Amira to hold her. 

"Mommy, you promised," Chloé pleaded, tears prickling. Amira held Chloé's head to her chest, heartbroken as she wanted to enjoy Halloween with Chloé so severely. Watching Amira's saddened face and Chloé's defeated expression, a thought perverted Jason's mind.

"What if I take Chloé out?" Jason suggested, making Amira look almost shocked when Jason mentioned the idea. Meanwhile, Chloé seemed happy once more. 

"Are you sure?" 

"I am," Jason insisted

Mouthing, "thank you." Amira put Chloé down and went to her room to change

"Here, Daddy, I made a map of where to get the most candy," Chloé chimed. She handed Jason a hand-drawn map of the Metropolis with a red circle over neighborhoods and the daily planet.

"What's at the Daily Planet?" Jason asked

"Their have a party for Starlight students!" Amira chimed, "They have candy, juice, and a bouncy house," Chloé added; Amira changed from her Morticia Addams costume to a more professional look, consisting of a cream blazer over a cobalt blue top paired with a matching cream skirt. 

"I think I liked you better in black, but this isn't too bad," Jason complimented, kissing Amira's forehead. He handed Amira her keys. 

"Thank you. Have fun at the party," Amira said, leaving the father-daughter duo to their own devices.

•••

Jason and Chloé traveled through the city using Chloé's map. First, they took a ferry to St. Martin's Island, home to the wealthiest, most established families. As Chloé skipped around with her candy bag aimlessly, Jason looked around at the houses, how each mansion had a thousand stairs and a long pathway just to get to the front door, rolling his eyes at the ludicrous amount of wealth, these people had, but he did smile at the fact that even as Chloé was still just a child, she possessed a remarkable sense of business at least kidlike to know where the best candy is at. Pointing to one house, Chloé took her dad's hand and stood in line.

"Watch it, pipsqueak," a boy called out, laughing at his remark; he pushed Chloé out of the way. He looked around 12 years old and dressed like a mummy; Chloé seemed to brush the boy's remarks to the side, still holding Jason's hand as she waited. Jason, however, eyes glared in the back of the boy's head, but he cast his anger away for Chloé's sake. 

"Trick or Treat, trick or treat, Give me something good to eat. Not too healthy, make it sweet; please, let me just rot my teeth," Chloé sang; she held her bag open for the older woman.

"Oh, how sweet. You young lady deserve two pieces," the older woman praised. Chloé smiled gratefully as she picked two pieces; thinking she was done, she almost walked off before Jason held her hand, chiding her for more candy.

"She sang the adorable song for you, and she said please. Don't see many kids with manners nowadays, right?" Jason interjected; the older woman thought for a moment and smiled, agreeing with him

"You’re right, young lady. Take another piece sweetie," she said

"Thank you!" Chloé beamed; as Chloé walked off, she counted her candy bag, which was almost full to the brim, smiling at the big haul she had, unaware of the bully in her midst.

"Looks like you got a lot of candy," a boy taunted. Chloé looked up and saw the same mummy boy that pushed ahead of her at the house, this time with another boy dressed as a vampire.

"Thank you," Chloé replied innocently, unaware of the boy's sarcasm

"You're so small, you could never finish it," the mummy boy jeered, snatching the bag from Chloé's hand. He pushed her back, causing her to fall and scraped her knee

"Knock it off, Tyler, just give the kid the bag," the vampire boy interjected sternly.

"Give it back!" Chloe demanded, her voice breaking with sobs as she stood up to the bully, her anger flaring despite her tears.

"Dude, why are you scared? She's just a dumb baby," Tyler asked; the vampire boy looked terrified, looking up at the figure that was just behind Tyler; Jason loomed over the boy, grabbing him by the strings of his costume; Jason was so consumed by anger he forgot that he was grabbing a boy even if he was acting like a little twerp.

"Apologize to the little girl, now," Jason demanded; Tyler looked frozen in fear as Jason put him down and faced him toward Chloé. 

"Sorr– Sorry," he stammered, handing Chloé back her bag. He attempted to run away before he felt Jason's forceful pressure on his shoulder.

"Put your candy in her bag," Jason coaxed

"But– her bag is already full," 

"I don't care. Figure it out then," Jason remarked. Jason had Chloé open her bag and watched as Tyler began putting his candy in it. Tears prickled from Tyler's eyes as he pushed his candy down Chloé's overflowing bag. At the same time, Jason stood, arms folded with a wisecracking grin. 

As Jason helped Chloé up to her feet, she watched as Tyler started to cry and looked at his now half-empty bag. Looking at her bag, she walked up to the boy.

"Here you go," Chloé said. She held a handful of candy in her hand and put it back into the boy's bag.

"Thank you," Tyler said as he and the other boy walked off, wincing slightly back to Jason's side. He smiled at how kindhearted his daughter was; she was so much different than he was, even if someone was a jerk to her. Picking her up, Jason and Chloé went to the ferry back to the mainland, taking her to a 24-hour clinic to get patched up.

"How are you doing kiddo?" Jason asked

"Better," Chloé responded, and the two started a walk downtown. 

People dressed in costumes just laughed and enjoyed the spooky atmosphere of the night; even Jason was feeling the spirit. Until–

"Boo!" A man said he was dressed like a clown in colorful attire, like him, with a painted smile, like him.

Jason looked panicked, his heart accelerating in his chest. He watched as the clown walked back to his friends, laughing. 

"That laugh, it sounds like- like him,"  he thought,

"You see how I scared the big one? Looks like he shit his pants," the man joked, laughing among his friends who cackled too.

That laugh sounded like him; he grabbed Chloé's hand, walking steadfastly.

"Daddy?" Chloé said; assuming she had called out to him in fear; he picked her up holding her closely to him. He was running like he was running a marathon but his lungs gave a different story. Shallow quick breaths were the only thing keeping him from feeling like he was dying. He continued to run but it's harder to escape your own mind. It made it more challenging, with them only being thoughts and images in his mind, the one place he couldn't run from. He found himself in Centennial Park; his eyesight was beginning to get blurry, moving over to a green blurb that looked vaguely like a park bench. 

He sat hunched over, head hung low at his hand rested on his face, his hand shaking.

"Dad?" Chloé said, starting to look worried for her father. Jason always responded the first time she called him, but it was like he couldn't hear her; no matter how many times she called his name, he couldn't hear anything. Chloé looked around the park, trying to gauge her surroundings and find help; she didn't know what to do, so she did the only thing she knew.

She hugged him. She didn't know what to say but knew what to do. She hugged as tightly as her little arms could. Jason took a deep breath, though it felt like it hurt to even breathe. 

Jason's eyes were closed tightly his entire life he felt he was being plunged into a black hole clawing his way out. The raised J branding gave the sensation of burning like it had just happened yesterday. Feeling his daughter's arms around him, it felt as though that blackness was losing in its battle with the light. He focused on that light, focused on what he could hear: people talking, children saying trick or treat, people laughing; not just the laughter of him but of people enjoying themselves and each other, he opened his eyes and began focusing on what he could see: pumpkins with crudely drawn faces, couples holding hands, leaves falling from the trees. He took a deep breath before looking at Chloé who had been quiet all this time still hugging him. Lifting her on his lap, he held her patting her head. Laying back on the bench, Jason let out a breath, then he looked down at that small little frame holding him. He kissed Chloé's forehead and held her close.

"How did I get lucky with you?" Jason thought.

Chloé ended up taking a nap against Jason. With his heart beating settling, he sat back for a moment. Looking to his right, he saw that the Daily Planet was straight ahead. Picking Chloé up, Jason walked over, showing Chloé's student ID. He walked into the party to find kids laughing and running around.

"Princess, we're here," Jason said softly. Rubbing her eyes, she took in her surroundings. She saw all her friends, games and activities, a snack table with so much food she couldn't believe it, and most of all, the bouncy house. 

"Go have fun," Jason said, putting Chloé down. She rushed off to her friend's side, and they all went to play. 

As Jason went to sit by the other parents, he checked his phone to find a new message from Amira.

Amira:

How's the party at the Daily Planet? I wish I could be there with you all :'(

Jason: 

Me too. The party is fine, doll. Chloé is bouncing off in the air as we speak. 

Amira: 

Good, the more she jumps, the more tired she'll be tonight. Send pictures! Have fun, and thanks, Jay. I owe you 🩷

Jason: 

I'll make sure to collect my fee from you tonight. 

Will send you pictures by the pound. <3

Jason:

1 new photo! 

3 new photos! 

Turning off his phone, he started talking with some of the parents. One woman was decked out in so many pearls that she looked like she'd just raided Poseidon's jewelry box. 

As the party started to dwindle, Chloé walked over to Jason, dragging her candy bag, which had become too heavy for her to carry behind her.

"Let me hold that for you, and let's get home," Jason said. Holding the candy bag and Chloé's hand, they took the Metropolis City bus back to the apartment. 

Once they got home, Chloé's excitement was slowly running out of steam. She yawned profusely. Jason helped her out of her costume, got her changed into her pajamas, tucked her into bed, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Closing the door softly, Jason went to the living room and turned the TV on to watch a movie. He tried to wait until Amira came home, but getting tired himself, he fell asleep. 

As she finally got home, Amira smiled, watching a tired Jason listen to his soft snores. Taking her heels off, she went to the bathroom and retrieved her first aid kit. Taking another look at his neck, she applied an ointment, causing Jason to squirm slightly in his sleep.

She applied gauze and some medical tape to his neck, kissing his forehead; looking down, she saw Jason's hand had found its way to her thigh. 

"I thought you were asleep," Amira teased, her smile softening as she noticed Jason's brief glance.

"Mmh—I was... waiting for you," Jason murmured sleepily; his voice a weary mumble as he confessed, half in slumber. Taking him by the hand, she moved Jason to her bedroom so he could actually sleep comfortably.

They both changed, Amira into her tank top and shorts and Jason into pajama pants. The second Jason was in bed, he went to sleep again, his snores seeming even louder in the bedroom. Amira snuggled next to him, her hand placed on his chest as she went to sleep. 

Endnotes:

I meant to get this out on Halloween but forgot! Well since it's Fall anyways you can read this when you're in spooky mood.  

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

hi i came across your post asking people to talk to you about karl heisenberg so i decided to send in an ask because i absolutely cannot be normal about that man in any way shape or form at all he rotates in my brain 24/7 and refuses to get out

plplsplspls list down some of your hcs for him :33

You and me both, you and me both, don't worry 🤝🏻 I have him living rent free up there since I put my eyes on him and now he won't leave, instead he's wreaking havoc where perfectly normal and content thoughts should be 😭

Thank you so much for sending the ask! 🫶🏻

Karl Heisenberg HCs under the cut since their NSFW 🔞 (gender neutral)

I'll write a SFW Head Canon post later!

🛠 So, what's the first thing that comes to mind when looking at Kar Heisenberg, hm? Yes, exactly: "Damn, Daddy!" but as mighty fine as this is, how about we flip that table upside down and consider Karl with a mommy kink? There is something about the thought of consensually slapping that mountain of a man around and calling him a bad and naughty boy that makes my brain rot so fast 🥴 Depending on how complex of a topic this wants to be fleshed out as, one can always sprinkle some trauma into the mix because both mommy and daddy issues can very much stem from painfully real places and I imagine that Karl as quite a lot of that.

🛠 I like to believe that Karl has a surreal amount of patience, nerves of steel, but only when it comes to a few things in particular. One of them being you propped up in his lap with his cock buried inside you up to the shaft, neither of you making any hectic movements as you cock-warm him while he welds together scraps of metal in his workshop. He can do that for hours if he feels like it, enjoying the engulfing warmth of your body whilst sparks fly through the somewhat damp air of the factory, strangely enough helps him concentrate and be precise for neither sparks nor hot metal to get anywhere close to you.

🛠 Dad-Bod. That's it. Send Tweet. No, but really, I'm drop dead serious about it and will die with my face pressed to that squishy soft belly pooch and my hands clasping at his glorious man-tits. You know what Dad-Bod Karl Heisenberg gets you? So much cuddle-material 😌 And in instances during which you don't peacefully fall asleep wrapped in his arms, he muffles your moans and whines with his chest, just shoving your face into the soft and warm skin.

🛠 In my brain, Karl is a giver. Sure, he might take you whenever the mood strikes, that simply cones with the package, but never without giving equal quantities of affection back. If he'd be out for one-sided sex, he could just as well shove his cock into one of his brainless creations. Karl would make you feel wanted and desired with every opportunity he'd get because he knows how it feels to be left behind, an outcast, and he'd never want you to feel this way especially not around him, ever.

🛠 Intoxication kink, my friends 🙏🏻 Okay, listen, as aforementioned, Kar is a giver and somewhere deep deep down he carries the need to care and nurture. Sometimes it's get so overwhelmingly much that he just has to take matters into his own hands, okay? Fucking you up nicely under his supervision so that you don't go off the rails too hard.

🛠 I believe Karl to be somewhat possessive and very physical about you. Hos fingers are always lingering, sometimes at your waist, sometimes ghosting over the round of your ass and other times lovingly clasping around your throat. Same goes for his lips and teeth. One could say that Lord Heisenberg has a hefty oral fixation that can't be soothed by cigars alone. He'd suck and nibble at your fingers and nipples without hesitation.

🛠 Last but not least, you know how it goes: Save a horse... 🤠

[yourtastefulcannibal]

It is very funny seeing you get bombarded with requests for hugs even though you seem not very keen on it :] which is fair but people seem to really enjoy your presence most stem from wanting you as a father figure though, what is it about you that people feel the need to gain some sort of affection from you? Your looks? Your mannerism? Your age?

“It is exceedingly curious,” Hannibal agreed with a sigh. “I have to wonder if I missed an article written by Ms. Lounds in which she somehow sent her weak-minded followers to harass me… or perhaps Will even has something to do with it, although I hardly see what he might have to gain from such a thing.”

Again, he let out a soft sigh, shaking his head. “I am hardly the paternal sort, but it seems most of the people I come into contact with have some variety of parental trauma… or, shall we say, ‘daddy issues,’ to put it more bluntly. As for what they have to gain… your guess is as good as mine, I am afraid. I am hardly known to be particularly affectionate, beyond what it necessary in professional and commonplace daily occurrences. If someone had a satisfying answer on the matter, I would be much appreciative.”

[chokememaximoff]

You can't hide from the shadows part II

g!p Natasha Romanoff x Reader series

Abstract:In "You Can't Hide from the Shadows," join Y/N on a thrilling journey as she finds herself ensnared in a dangerous game of survival, hunted by a relentless foe. When Natasha Romanoff, the enigmatic Black Widow, enters her life, Y/N's world is turned upside down, leading to an unexpected and intense love affair amidst the shadows. Together, they must navigate a treacherous path of love, danger, and self-discovery, all while attempting to escape the ever-encroaching darkness that threatens to consume them both.

TW: violence, including physical altercations, injuries, and gun violence, along with depictions of abuse, torture, kidnapping, and captivity, explicit sexual content, mentions of mental health issues, pregnancy and childbirth, and strong language and mature themes.

Desperation clawed at Y/N's heart as she tried to push Natasha away, her sobs of anguish only met with a hard, cruel slap across her face. The impact sent shockwaves through her, her cheek stinging as tears streamed down her dirt-streaked face. She sobbed, her voice trembling as she begged Natasha to let her go.

"Please... please, just let me go," Y/N's voice cracked, her words a desperate plea.

Natasha's sadistic grin only widened, a chilling display of pleasure at Y/N's suffering. With a sinister glint in her eyes, she leaned down, her free hand tracing a path over Y/N's body. The touch was violating, a reminder of her vulnerability that left Y/N feeling dirty and exposed.

Y/N's breath hitched as the reality of her situation settled over her. She wasn't going to escape this torment, and Natasha's intentions were becoming painfully clear. Her pleas grew more desperate as she begged Natasha to release her from the trap, promising to do anything, anything at all, if only Natasha would spare her.

"Please, I'll do anything you want," Y/N's voice trembled as she begged, tears streaming down her face. "Just let me go, please."

But Natasha's grip on Y/N tightened, her fingers closing around Y/N's throat with a threatening pressure. The threat in her eyes was palpable as she spoke, her voice a dangerous whisper. "Are you sure about that? Because if you lie to me, I'm going to make you hurt in ways you wouldn't even dream of."

Y/N's eyes widened in terror, her heart pounding in her chest. She nodded frantically, her voice trembling as she managed to gasp out, "I'm sure, Daddy."

The grip on her throat released, and Y/N gasped for air, her chest heaving as she struggled to regain her breath. But there was no reprieve, no respite from the darkness that surrounded her. Natasha swiftly moved, her hands deftly cuffing Y/N's wrists before dismantling the cruel trap that held her captive. She wrapped a piece of clothing around Y/N's bleeding ankle, applying pressure to stem the bleeding.

As Natasha lifted Y/N into her arms, a wave of dizziness washed over her, her vision swimming in and out of focus. She was acutely aware of her own vulnerability, her body limp and weak in Natasha's grasp. Every step seemed to blur into the next, the pain and exhaustion a constant companion as Natasha carried her through the forest.

The cabin emerged from the darkness like a sanctuary, a place of respite from the horrors of the night. Natasha set Y/N down gently, the sound of Y/N's ragged breathing filling the silence. Y/N's consciousness teetered on the edge, slipping in and out of awareness.

Natasha's voice was a distant murmur as she spoke, her words a mixture of authority and something else that Y/N couldn't quite comprehend. "You're going to be alright, kotenok," Natasha's voice held a strange mix of tenderness and detachment. "Just stay with me a little longer."

And then, in a swirl of darkness and pain, Y/N succumbed to the oblivion of unconsciousness, her body and mind finally giving in to the overwhelming trauma of the night.

In the shadows of the cabin, the dance of darkness continued, a twisted waltz of pain and desire that bound Y/N to Natasha in ways she couldn't yet fathom. As Y/N's world spiraled into darkness, the question of what awaited her in the clutches of the enigmatic Natasha Romanoff remained an unanswered riddle, a puzzle to be unraveled in the depths of her fractured psyche.

With Y/N's unconscious form before her, Natasha's expression shifted from sadistic satisfaction to a somber determination. As the night settled around them, she moved swiftly, retrieving her bag from its hidden spot. Her fingers worked with precision, tending to Y/N's injuries with a care that seemed incongruous with the darkness that had preceded it.

The cold night air was a sharp contrast to Natasha's gentle touch as she cleaned and dressed Y/N's wounds. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, held a touch of concern as she worked, her fingers deftly moving to minimize Y/N's pain. She bandaged the wound on Y/N's ankle, her touch surprisingly tender despite the harsh circumstances.

Natasha's gaze then turned to Y/N's broken hand, her expression shifting into a more focused determination. Carefully, she fashioned a makeshift brace, her fingers steady as she manipulated the bone back into place. Y/N's unconscious reaction was an involuntary grunt of pain, a testament to the agony even in her sleep. Natasha's jaw tightened as she worked, her hands deftly securing the brace in place.

Once Y/N's wounds were tended to, Natasha secured her to the bed with restraints, a precaution to ensure Y/N wouldn't attempt to flee in her weakened state. It was a decision born out of a strange mix of concern and a desire to maintain control.

Leaving Y/N's side for a moment, Natasha slipped out of the cabin, her steps silent as she moved through the darkness. The moon cast a silvery glow over the landscape, illuminating her path as she ventured into the woods to gather firewood. It was a practical task, a means to provide warmth and sustenance, yet it also served as a momentary reprieve from the tension that had enveloped them.

Natasha returned to the cabin with an armful of firewood, the sound of her footsteps mingling with the crackling of leaves and twigs beneath her boots. She set to work, building a fire that cast a warm and flickering light across the room. The flames danced in the hearth, their warmth chasing away the chill that had settled into the cabin.

With the fire burning brightly, Natasha turned her attention to preparing food. Her movements were efficient, her hands moving with a practiced grace as she assembled a simple meal. It was an odd contrast – the same hands that had inflicted pain now worked to provide comfort.

As she cooked, Natasha's gaze occasionally flicked to Y/N's form on the bed. The girl was vulnerable in slumber, her defenses lowered, her features softened by rest. Natasha's thoughts were a maelstrom of conflicting emotions – the desire to possess, the yearning for control, and an inexplicable pull towards tenderness.

Once the food was ready, Natasha set a simple meal on a plate and placed it on a small table near the bed. Satisfied with her efforts, she moved closer to Y/N, her gaze lingering on the sleeping figure. The darkness seemed to cast a veil over the cabin, concealing both their pasts and their uncertain futures.

In this intimate moment, Natasha's emotions were a labyrinth of shadows, her actions driven by a strange sense of responsibility. As she watched Y/N sleep, her mind replayed the events that had led them here, the tangled web of obsession and pain that had brought them together.

In the stillness of the cabin, Natasha's thoughts were a reflection of the complexities that defined their connection. The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows across the room, a reminder of the delicate dance that they were engaged in – a dance that seemed destined to continue, even as the boundaries between captor and captive blurred in the depths of the night.

---

As consciousness slowly returned to Y/N, panic surged through her veins, her body tensing in a desperate attempt to escape her surroundings. The pain that followed was excruciating, a harsh reminder of her vulnerability. She whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she fought to scramble away from Natasha's presence.

But her movements were met with a searing agony, the wounds and injuries protesting any attempt at escape. Y/N's body trembled as she lay back down, her chest heaving with exertion and pain. She shot Natasha a fearful glance, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and distrust.

Natasha's lips curled into a smug smile as she observed Y/N's struggle. "Such a good girl, staying put," she purred, her voice laced with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Y/N's heart raced in her chest, her fear now mingled with a growing confusion. The way Natasha's tone shifted from sadistic to almost gentle was disorienting, an unsettling reminder of the enigma that was Natasha Romanoff.

With a roll of her eyes, Natasha continued, her words dripping with impatience. "You're going to have to get used to it eventually, you know."

In Y/N's exhausted and pained state, Natasha's words seemed like a distant echo. She barely had the strength to offer any resistance as Natasha picked up a bowl of food and spoon. The aroma of the vegetarian meal wafted through the air, mingling with the fire's warmth. But Y/N's apprehension was palpable as Natasha approached, spoon in hand.

"No, I'm not eating anything you give me," Y/N's voice was a whisper of defiance, her mouth clamped shut in a show of resistance.

Natasha's patience wavered, her expression hardening as she spoke with a mixture of annoyance and exasperation. "I already told you, I didn't plan on killing you. The food isn't poisoned, and it's vegetarian – just the way I know you eat. So stop being a little brat and eat."

With a reluctant sigh, Y/N finally allowed Natasha to feed her. The taste of the food was foreign, but hunger gnawed at her stomach, pushing her to relent. Spoonful by spoonful, Natasha fed her, their interactions a blend of tension and reluctant acceptance.

Once the meal was finished, Natasha produced a small pill. She offered it to Y/N with a stern look. "Antibiotic. Take it so your wounds don't get infected."

Y/N's fingers trembled as she accepted the pill, mumbling a small, reluctant thank you. Natasha's grin in response was unsettling, a reminder of the power dynamic that had shifted between them.

Exhaustion soon claimed Y/N once more, pulling her into a fitful sleep. As she drifted into unconsciousness, Natasha's touch against her cheek was a haunting presence, a mixture of comfort and discomfort. Y/N's mind swirled with confusion and weariness, her thoughts a tumultuous sea.

Natasha lay down beside her, her touch lingering as Y/N's breathing evened out. The darkness wrapped around them like a shroud, a testament to the shadows that now bound them together. As the night unfolded, the lines between captor and captive blurred further, their fates entwined in ways neither of them could fully comprehend.

As the night unfolded, the cabin remained shrouded in darkness, its occupants suspended in the fragile balance between captor and captive. But in the deep recesses of the night, the quiet rhythm of sleep was shattered by the merciless grip of a fever that tightened around Y/N's fragile form.

Natasha's eyes fluttered open, her senses immediately alert as her gaze fell upon Y/N's trembling figure. The girl was drenched in sweat, her body shaking with the force of her labored breathing. Natasha cursed under her breath, her concern and frustration warring within her.

With a swift movement, Natasha rose from her place and retrieved a small vial of medicine from her bag. She approached Y/N's bedside, her touch gentle as she reached out to touch Y/N's forehead. The searing heat that met her fingers was alarming, a clear indicator of the fever's intensity.

"Wake up, Y/N," Natasha's voice was firm as she gently shook the girl's shoulder. Y/N's eyes fluttered open, her gaze hazy and unfocused. She mumbled a soft, "Hey, Tasha," her words carrying the slurred quality of delirium.

Natasha's lips quirked into a half-smile, a mixture of bemusement and concern. Y/N's fever-induced ramblings were a stark reminder of her vulnerability, a vulnerability that Natasha was reluctantly beginning to care for.

"You're sick," Natasha's tone was matter-of-fact as she held out the vial of medicine. "Take this. It'll help."

Y/N's gaze flickered to the vial, confusion evident in her fevered eyes. She blinked slowly, her dazed mind struggling to grasp Natasha's words. But the girl managed a hazy nod, her fingers trembling as she took the medicine from Natasha's hand.

As Y/N swallowed the medicine, Natasha's mind raced, her instincts taking over. She knew she needed to lower Y/N's fever before it spiraled out of control. A plan formed in her mind as she rose from the bed, her gaze locking onto the small bathroom adjacent to the cabin.

In moments, Natasha had the water heater stoked with firewood, the sound of crackling flames filling the bathroom. Returning to Y/N's side, she cupped the girl's cheek gently, her touch coaxing Y/N into a semblance of awareness.

"Y/N, listen to me," Natasha's voice was soothing, a stark contrast to the tension that usually colored their interactions. "I'm going to free you from the restraints so we can get you cleaned up and cooled down. Can you cooperate?"

Y/N's response was a soft, incoherent mumble, her eyes half-lidded as she gazed at Natasha. But Natasha interpreted it as agreement and swiftly released the restraints, careful not to cause any further harm.

With Y/N's unsteady form supported by Natasha's gentle touch, they made their way to the bathroom. Natasha helped Y/N out of her dirty and sweat-soaked clothes, a process that elicited an unexpected giggle from the delirious girl.

Raising an eyebrow in confusion, Natasha paused. "What's so funny?"

Y/N's words were slurred, her voice tinged with a hazy amusement. "I know what you want... take whatever you want. You can't do anything bad to me that wasn't already done."

Natasha's heart clenched at the weight of Y/N's words. It was a stark reminder of the pain that had shaped the girl's existence, a pain that Natasha herself had unwittingly contributed to. She hesitated in removing Y/N's clothes, uncertainty clouding her features.

Y/N's voice, though weak and distant, held a hint of clarity. "Natasha, do what you please."

Natasha's sigh was heavy with emotion as she resumed her task, stripping Y/N's soiled clothes away. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her fingers gentle as she helped Y/N into the warm shower. The water cascaded over Y/N's fevered form, steam rising around them as Natasha used a cloth to gently cleanse the girl's skin.

Once the shower was done, Natasha retrieved a set of clean, warm clothes from Y/N's closet. With tender care, she helped Y/N dress, her movements slow and deliberate. Y/N's vulnerability was palpable, her fevered state a stark reminder of the fragility that existed within them both.

As Natasha tucked Y/N into bed once more, she couldn't help but linger for a moment, her fingers brushing against Y/N's damp forehead. The fevered heat seemed to burn beneath her touch, a physical representation of the turmoil that had brought them to this point.

The darkness outside seemed to mirror the depths of Natasha's emotions. The night held them captive, their paths intertwined in ways that defied easy explanation.

With Y/N finally settled back in bed, Natasha's attention turned to the girl's wounded ankle. The night was still and heavy with the weight of their circumstances as Natasha carefully redressed the wound, her fingers moving with a deft precision that belied the turmoil within her.

As she finished tending to Y/N's wound, Natasha's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The girl's vulnerability had become a stark reality, one that Natasha couldn't ignore. Contemplation pulled at her thoughts as she considered whether to restrain Y/N once again, a struggle between control and an unexpected urge to provide comfort.

But her thoughts were interrupted by a feeble tug on her shirt. Natasha's gaze snapped to Y/N, her expression softening as she registered the girl's actions. Y/N's fevered eyes met Natasha's, a plea hidden within their depths. Natasha's resolve wavered as Y/N's grip on her shirt tightened, the girl's intent clear.

With a resigned sigh, Natasha acquiesced, her hesitation giving way to an unexpected tenderness. She lowered herself onto the bed, her arm encircling Y/N's trembling form. She pulled the girl close, her body a source of warmth in the cold night.

Y/N's delirious mumbling filled the air, her words a disjointed stream of consciousness that echoed the fever's influence on her mind. Natasha listened, her gaze fixed on Y/N's flushed features. The vulnerability displayed now was a far cry from the resistance and defiance that had characterized their interactions.

"What are you saying?" Natasha's voice was soft, a gentle inquiry as she leaned closer.

Y/N's response was hazy, her words carrying the weight of her fevered thoughts. "Would have just been easier for you to kill me instead of taking care of me, don't you think?"

Natasha's heart clenched at the rawness of Y/N's words. The truth they held was a bitter reminder of the pain that had brought them to this point, a pain that Natasha had unwittingly become a part of. She opened her mouth to respond, to reassure Y/N that she had no intention of causing further harm, but before she could speak, the girl slipped into sleep once more.

As Y/N's breathing steadied and her body relaxed against Natasha's, the assassin's gaze remained fixed on the girl. The night enveloped them in its quiet embrace, the cabin a sanctuary of shadows and whispered emotions.

Natasha's fingers brushed gently against Y/N's damp hair, a silent gesture of comfort. The complexity of their connection defied easy definition, their roles constantly shifting and evolving. In the stillness of the night, Natasha's thoughts were a tapestry of uncertainty and longing.

As Y/N slumbered, her fevered dreams taking her into uncharted territories, Natasha held her close. The girl's vulnerability was a reminder of the fragile bonds that had begun to form between them, bonds that Natasha was determined to nurture, even in the face of the darkness that had brought them together.

The morning light filtered into the cabin, casting a soft glow across the room as the night's darkness retreated. Natasha's eyes flickered open as she heard shuffling sounds, her senses instantly alert. She watched as Y/N struggled to get out of bed, her weak state evident in every hesitant movement.

Natasha's voice carried a dangerous edge as she spoke, her words a mix of concern and command. "Where do you think you're going?"

Y/N's gaze met Natasha's, flinching slightly at the tone in her voice. Her response was a shaky, "I'm not running away, if that's what you're thinking. I can't even if I tried. I just need to go to the bathroom, but I can't."

Natasha's initial stern demeanor softened as she watched Y/N's struggle. With a sigh, she pushed aside her reluctance and got out of bed. "Fine, I'll help."

Y/N's stubbornness was evident in her refusal, but Natasha's tone left little room for argument. She assisted Y/N to the bathroom, her grip gentle but firm. The journey was slow, every step a testament to the toll the fever had taken on Y/N's body.

As Natasha waited outside the bathroom, her thoughts were a jumble of conflicting emotions. The fragility of their situation was apparent, the roles they had been thrust into shifting with each passing moment.

When Y/N emerged from the bathroom, Natasha was there to support her, guiding her back to the bed. She administered more medicine, her fingers deftly holding out the vial. Y/N shivered, her weakened body trembling in the wake of the fever.

Natasha's jacket, once a symbol of her unyielding presence, now held a different purpose. She draped it over Y/N's trembling form, a makeshift barrier against the chill that lingered in the morning air. Y/N mumbled a quiet thank you, her gratitude mingling with the remnants of her fever-induced haze.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Natasha's lips in response. It was a rare display of tenderness, a fleeting moment that spoke volumes without words. As she turned her attention to the task at hand, retrieving a plate of food for Y/N, her thoughts remained tangled in the complexity of their circumstances.

Y/N's appetite seemed insatiable as she hastily devoured the food. The remnants of the night's fever still clung to her, her pale features a stark contrast against the warm morning light. Natasha watched in silence, her gaze unwavering.

In this fragile moment, the cabin seemed to hold its breath, the quiet exchange between captor and captive a reflection of the tangled web that had woven itself around them. Natasha's actions were driven by a strange mix of responsibility and a growing attachment, while Y/N's acceptance of Natasha's care was a reluctant admission of vulnerability.

As the morning sun continued its ascent, their paths remained entwined, bound by the circumstances that had brought them to this point. The darkness of the night had given way to the light of day, but the shadows of their pasts still lingered, casting a veil over the uncertain future that lay ahead.

[shellxrls]

random question but what do you think JJ would be like if he was a kook

THIS IS SUCH A GOOD QUESTION, and i in fact have thought ab it sm that i even have a song rec for kook!jj.

this is rlly complex cuz when u think about it so many factors of jj’s characters are built on the fact that he grew up a pogue, so i prefer to imagine it as him getting a bunch of money and spending it (a.k.a imagine the pogues actually got the treasure the first try) rather than him turning ‘kook’ per se.

i personally think he’d be big spender initially, buying everything big and flashy — boats, alcohol, etc — he’d also throw huge ass parties and essentially splurge on whatever possible. he wouldn’t be responsible w money at alll. i think this cuz of the fact that he’s always expressed desire to go ‘full kook’ and cuz of the time when he bought the hot tub & etc — which also makes me assume he has a tendency to compensate for big feelings w impulsive acts, leading him to be almost uncannily happy with a bunch of money, using it to suppress all complex emotion to the point where it’s unnatural and unhealthy. which is sad when u think about it but i truly don’t believe he’d be completely happy w money cuz i feel like the root of his problems stem from trauma that needs to be worked through and resolved rather than covered up and disregarded.

in all honestly i do think of kook!jj to parallel rafe a lot, considering they alr reflect each other in so many ways despite being on opposite sides. jj drinks & smokes excessively as rafe does coke, both have major daddy issues, and they both have complex emotions they refuse to work through — hence why i think jj wld work through his emotions very alike to rafe if he had money.

[hutchlover69420]

What exactly makes you like Rorke so much? He doesn't come across as the most likable character in the game

hello anon!

I like Rorke so much because of his lore, I love that we don't know why he was evil in the beginning of the game- he's js this guy after 2 kids and their dad. But, once you find more lore (Devils Breath, the comics, taking in his trauma, etc) it's easy to feel pity for this character. Ans don't get me wrong, I was also a Rorke hater once! Its extremely easy to hate him until you learn more.

there is also my personal things- he's my comfort character and my Kinnie XD so yeah- I see him as like a fictional dad (stemming from daddy issues)

js having your friends ditch you once things get hard? ouchie- plus adding that little dash of 15+ year torture.

anygays! I hope this helps :3

[shinojoi]

i find this so funny

people with mommy issues:

I understand that my own traumas stem from my moms unhealed traumas and i believe we can still have a strong connection and work things out together!

people with daddy issues:

*seething with rage: I am going kill him, and it will be painful

[melissacove]

BEN drowned headcanons

hey so the pull said yes so imma give you My BEN drowned headcanons

Warning - one of these mentions s3lf h4rm but not like, in detail. It’s mainly talking about his emotions in that one.

BEN has long hair, like not very long, like about three - to - five inches beyond his shoulders. He puts it in small ponytails sometimes:)

he does smoke weed, but he’s not a chainsmoker/stoner. He only does it like, once a week when he’s particularly stressed.

he paints his nails sometimes, usually black.

He likes video games… …ok, I lied. He LOVES games. He’s also kinda good at them - ok I lied again, he’s is GOD at video games. Well, Nintendo that is. Which leads me into the next headcanon-

he once played Minecraft with Herobrine. He legit couldn’t figure out how to mine wood😭 he can’t play EA, Sega, Mojang, et cetera. It’s hilarious watching him try… he can beat any Nintendo game, he’s perfect at Nintendo and has every Nintendo game, console, comic, anime, YouTube video, etc. on his shelf. Oh, also the merch. Yet, he still cannot do any other company. He just knows the way Nintendo writes their games. (Talking to every NCP, big worlds, no-skip dialogue/loooong no- skip cutscenes, etc.) any other way a game could be written feels foreign to him, I guess. Like Minecraft, he was so confused when the villagers and zombies didn’t have dialogue lol.

The reason he ended up latching on so hard to Majora's Mask is because of the stress of being born into a cult, his cult (the Moon Children) are known for blood letting and their gore-involving rituals. He became slightly skeptical and that’s why he was killed (or ‘sacrificed’) by the Father when he was. His only escape from this madness was his friends (pre-death Lost, Glitchy Red and Strangled Red and Herobrine. They were the gaming clique, although his friends weren’t in his cult.)

he’s a crossdresser, you can’t change my mind.

he has a really cool Princess Peach cosplay but doesn’t wear it out bc he’s trying to protect his ‘bad boy tough guy’ reputation. Only Lost has seen the cosplay, since BEN only really opens up to Lost.

Lost Silver x Ben there’s no telling me otherwise.

BEN drowned is asexual and gay. Lost is asexual and biromantic.

BEN struggles with s3lf h4rm. Herobrine (the game pastas consider him like a father, G. Red even calls him Dad sometimes) is the only one who knows about this and tries his best to help. BENs issue stems from the blood letting in the moon children having given him a twisted perspective on how to cope with trauma. He’s trying his best.

BEN is fine with showers, but he’s afraid of pools, baths, oceans, rivers and bridges that go over water. (He was dumped off a bridge and that’s how they sacrificed him.)

He has severe trauma from Majoras Mask, but it helped him through the hardest time in his life back when he was alive… he has mixed feelings on it. N64 is still his favorite console though, so he plays the old N64 Mario Kart tracks on his switch. He considers them friends from a simpler time.

ik this was proven not canon but I love the dynamic so in my au headcanon thing Sally Williams is BEN’s half sister. (Hence the different last names.)

his mother and father divorced when he was eight when his Mom found out his Dad has been raising their son in a cult.

his Mom took Sally, who was three at the time, and moved. BEN had always been a daddy’s boy though, so he decided to stay with his dad. (Plus his mom didn’t let him play Majoras Mask on his 3ds when they went out but his dad did, so theres also that.)

there lemme know if you want more of this bc I had way too much fun writing this lol

[darkshrimpemotions]

One thing I can't let go is people trying to claim Dean didn't have any mommy issues until the writers "shoehorned" them in to make the Mary resurrection arc work. Like did we even watch the same show??? You can see that man's mommy issues from SPACE.

Like yes, his daddy issues are closer to the surface and a result of active fuck-ups rather than total absence, but the mommy issues are still very much there. Starting with being forced to become her substitute at the age of four and ending with being lowkey despised by his dad for being kind of good at it! Just the simple fact that he's never made any sort of peace with her death qualifies, but it's far from the only issue Dean has around his mother.

As far back as season 2, enemies and his subconscious LOVE to dangle specters of Mary in front of him. The djinn in 2x20 What Is And What Should Never Be, for example, primarily uses Mary to keep Dean compliant. John is dead in the dream. Dean and Sam appear to have a strained relationship. But Dean is close to Mary.

Or consider Dean's first journey back to the 70s in 4x03 In The Beginning. Of course that journey served one purpose, as stated by Castiel, of catching Dean up on what Azazel actually did to Sam. But it also served Heaven's secondary purpose of beginning to drive a wedge between Sam and Dean, primarily using Mary to do so. Partly by having Dean witness all of this alone, and giving him yet another personal tie to Mary that Sam lacks. But also attempting to tie Mary's death more securely to Sam in Dean's mind, and establish Sam as tainted from the beginning to weaken Dean's sense of brotherly love and obligation.

This latter, of course, didn't work, but that they made the attempt at all speaks volumes IMO. If Dean didn't have any issues around Mary, she wouldn't be such a handy lever for antagonists to pull. Dean's desperation to save Mary in this episode is so directly tied to Dean's lifetime of trauma, his idea that the weight of the whole world rests on his shoulders, and his abandonment issues. His conversation with Castiel in this episode even explicitly confirms this: should he succeed in undoing Mary's death, he will undo his entire life up to this point. He knows this, and it isn't a bug in his plan, it's a feature.

In Dean's mind, everything that has ever been wrong in his life stems from this one moment. Mary's death. If he can fix that, he can fix everything. If he saves Mary, he can save John, save Sam, hell maybe the entire world while he's at it. And buried much deeper: if he saves Mary, maybe he can fix himself. Remember, at this point Dean is freshly returned from Hell. He feels broken, in brand new and terrible ways. But maybe, if he saves his mom, whatever it is in him that's wrong gets fixed. Maybe it never breaks at all.

The fact that he tries again in 5x13 The Song Remains the Same, even knowing already that it won't work based on his previous experience, is just heartbreaking. There's still a four-year-old child in Dean's heart, holding his baby brother as he watches his childhood home burn down. He's so fixated on that night and the life he might have had without it. Even knowing that the dominoes that wrecked their lives started falling long before that, it's still all about that night for him.

Then of course, we have 5x16 Dark Side of the Moon just three episodes later. We first see Mary in Heaven in their old home's kitchen making Dean a pie, then getting an upsetting call from John. Echoes of abandonment permeate the scene as Dean comforts her and promises to never leave her. Dean knows even as he says it that they had very little time left together by the time this memory happened, and knows too that he will have to leave her soon as they try to find their way out of this maze of memories. These echoes are brought home when, in the next scene with Mary, Dean attempts to leave her only to have the illusion turn harsh and cold, taunting him with the idea that he was the one that was left.

"I never loved you," she taunts him. "You were my burden. I was shackled to you. And look what it got me."

"I was dead. The one silver lining was that at least I was away from you. Everybody leaves you, Dean. You noticed? Mommy. Sweetheart. Even Sam. You ever ask yourself why? Maybe it’s not them. Maybe, it’s you."

And there it is. Underneath the grief over Mary's death, the missing her, the inability to accept any life that he could have because it won't be the life he would have had if she never died...the feeling, that he beats himself up over, that she left him. Not died. Left him. Abandoned him. Deep down, a part of him feels like his mom left him. That her dying was an act of abandonment, a betrayal. And he CANNOT look directly at it, because that feels like a betrayal in itself, of the memories he has of the loving mother who tucked him in at night and sang him "Hey Jude" instead of a lullaby and made him soup when he was sick.

And buried even deeper: the fear that she never wanted him in the first place.

Dean's issues with Mary go so far beyond "simple" grief at losing her. Mary is at the root of all his other issues, all tangled around her and the night she died. Exacerbated, even actively cultivated, no doubt, by John's A+ parenting. But Dean's hazy memory of Mary, the loss of her, and his fixation on that loss are at the core of his fear of abandonment, his lack of self-worth, and his feeling that he has to save everyone. As well as his deep fear that the thing wrong with his life isn't some childhood trauma or hunting or his dad, or even his time in Hell. But that it's just him, and has been all along.

That's why the resurrection arc works so well. With Mary back from the dead, Dean is forced to confront the feelings of abandonment he pushed aside in favor of preserving her memory. When she fails to live up to that memory, it catalyzes that confrontation even further. He doesn't blame Mary for everything that happened to him and Sam because she's actually to blame. He blames Mary because, deep down, her death has always been the root of everything else in his mind. The one thing that, if he could only fix it, he could fix everything else as well. And seeing living proof in front of him that this isn't true just forces him to face everything he's buried his entire life. Forces him to actually confront the mommy issues at last. And it hurts, and it sucks, but like I said in my other post. It was so necessary.

[farfromstrange]

Ok so

Daddy issues is so relatable, as in like growing up in a rough childhood (specially with a dad like that) I felt it to my bones.

Srsly, your writing made me feel like I was being heard. Like, now people are gonna realise why I don’t like when people get mad and raise their voices, why I’m such a people pleaser, why I wanna be liked more than hated.

And I can’t thank you enough, because not only did I feel like my story is kinda being said. But THE MATTHEW MURDOCK is the king comforting me, and I felt a huge sense of comfort (it sounds weird Ik) when I finished reading that.

I keep on rereading it a lot and it makes me feel so safe and secure for some reason.

Ik, you’re probably not gonna read this 😭😭.

But this is my thank you for being such an amazing writer!!!

LOVE ALL YOUR WORK SIS, DON’T STOP BEING AMAZING 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

Nonnie, it took me two days to figure out how on earth to reply to this because it made me so emotional, I struggled to find the right words.

First of all, I’m so horribly sorry that you had your childhood was the way it was. It’s not something you would wish on anyone. I think no one really wants to relate to what I discussed in Daddy Issues, but there are a lot of people who do, especially from the experiences they’ve had with their fathers. It’s needless to say that you deserve the world and that being treated like that is not the way to treat your own child.

That being said, you being so brave as to tell me this made my heart swell to, like, twice its usual size because I realized once again that this right there is the reason I even decided to post Daddy Issues. As self-indulgent as that fic is, and as much as I struggled with whether to post it or not, I figured that some of you guys might feel the same way or have experienced something similar, so I posted it in the hopes of not crossing a line by being too personal.

Reading all the responses ever since I posted it made me come to the realization though that a lot of you have also been traumatized by at least one parent in your lives, and it’s a cathartic experience every time to see and hear that I’m not alone in this, in what I’m struggling with—what we’re struggling with—and that you guys now know that you are not alone in this either. That’s why posting this fic was 100% worth it.

People who have not gone through the same thing often have a hard time understanding why we cry when someone yells at us, or why we feel like we always have to please everyone. They don’t understand that daddy issues often stem from serious trauma—it’s not just being drawn to dangerously older guys, and it’s not something to be sexualized in that context because daddy kinks are an entirely different thing—and that tends to make you feel extremely lonely because you feel like you’re exaggerating and ‘oh a lot of people have had it worse than me’. That’s hurtful though because everyone’s feelings are valid, and trauma will always be horrible, no matter the extent.

(And there is hardly enough representation of that particular psychological issue)

I didn’t think this fic would bring that many people together, but I’m so glad it did. I’m so glad it gave you, nonnie, some semblance of comfort, and that you’re finally feeling some kind of heard. Because you are. I feel you.

Sometimes all it takes is someone who understands. Sometimes we all just need a little bit of comfort. And sometimes people don’t understand, but the important thing to note is that you’re not alone. You’re never alone.

Anyway, you just made me cry. I’m not even kidding. I feel so grateful that I get to share my experiences with you through fiction, and that it actually helps you guys in a way. And it’s words like yours that inspire me to keep writing, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you!

Whoever you are, I hope you’re having an amazing day, and I’m sending you a big hug 🫶🏻 And this is also a gentle reminder that you’re going to be okay!