#I can only imagine the pressure he’s under that the first thing he said after his car was on fire was an apology | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

romerona · 2 months ago

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All Y/N ever wanted to do was sing her songs and be free. Yet somehow, after offering to pay for the meal of a certain boy in a straw hat she finds herself causing havoc through the East Blue.

Masterlist - Next.

Trigger warning: violence, death, abuse, trauma. Word count: 10K

A/N: The only thing I will be describing about Y/N is her hair colour. Everything else you can imagine her as you wish.

Disclaimer: The songs I will be using in this fic aren't mine bc I have 0 creativity. I'm sorry.

"Easy. Easy!"

Nami, Luffy, Usopp, and Y/N struggled to carry Zoro’s unconscious, bloodied body onto the Going Merry. The swordsman was dead weight—his usual strength now replaced by alarming stillness, and every step felt like a race against time.

"Easy!" Nami huffs.

Y/N pushed the galley door open with her shoulder and all but shoved everything off the kitchen island in one sweep, “Put him here! Try not to drop him, Usopp!”

"I didn’t,” Usopp grunted, his arms trembling under the weight as they carefully maneuvered Zoro onto the cleared surface. “He’s really heavy. I mean, he’s got a really big head. It’s, like, freakishly big.”

Y/N barely acknowledged the comment, but it is already working fast. She grabbed a paring knife and cut away Zoro’s blood-soaked shirt, revealing a gash that made her stomach turn. Her hands hovered above his chest for a moment—uncertain where to even begin—before she snapped herself into motion again.

Nami dashed off to grab a towel, muttering something under her breath."What does that have to do with anything?"

Y/N barely registered Luffy’s voice as he leaned in closer to Zoro, his usual bright tone now hushed and trembling. “Zoro? Hey, can you hear me?”

Nami, quick on her feet, folded a towel and slipped it under Zoro’s head to cushion it against the hard surface of the table. The gesture was careful, almost tender.

Cabinets slammed open and shut behind her as Usopp darted from one corner of the kitchen to the other. “Where’s the first aid kit?”

“De we even have a first aid kit?” Nami grumbled ya as she went to stand next to Y/N. Both girls shared a Look. This is bad.

“These are all I could find!” Usopp returned a moment later, arms full of half-clean towels, a bottle of who-knew-what, and a cracked tin of bandages. He dumped it all onto the table in front of them. “Where’s he bleeding from?”

“Everywhere,” Y/N grabbed a towel and rushed to the basin. The faucet sputtered before water finally flowed, and she soaked the cloth as fast as she could, squeezing it once before darting back.

Usopp moved to her side and helped with the water, his eyes wide, his hands twitchy. “We need more towels.”

“No,” Nami said, shaking her head. “We need a doctor.”

“Well, last I checked, we don’t have one!” Usopp snapped, his voice a little too loud in the tight space.

“There’s got to be someone at the Baratie who can help,” Y/N said quickly, voice taut as a bowstring as she cleaned the blood away. Her hands were slightly shaking now. Zoro didn’t even flinch—he was just still. Too still.

“Luffy?” Nami called out, glancing over her shoulder toward the boy captain. Her voice was sharper now, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Luffy! Someone needs to go back to Baratie!”

He blinked, clearly struggling to pull himself from the sight of Zoro—so still, so bloodied. “Um… I’m really not hungry right now, Nami.”

Y/N’s jaw tensed as she pressed a towel harder against a wound, eyes flicking toward him. She got it—truly. Shock did strange things to people. The first time she saw someone bleed like this, she’d panicked too, but there came a point when fear had to give way to action, and they were well past that point.

She didn’t say anything, just pursed her lips and forced herself to stay calm, even as her hands trembled from the pressure she was applying.

Nami, however, had no patience left. She nearly growled in frustration. “Not for food! Maybe one of the customers is a ship’s doctor!”

“Right,” Luffy said, blinking again as if he was trying to reboot his brain. “A doctor.”

It wasn’t much, but something clicked behind his eyes—some return to clarity. And though he still moved like he was walking through water, he turned and began to head for the galley door. “We need a doctor.”

Y/N pressed a fresh towel to it, her hands slick with blood, jaw tight with focus. She could feel the pulsing heat of it, the way the bleeding refused to stop. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the cup of water Usopp had just filled, dipping another cloth in it, trying to clean around the wound without making things worse.

"Keep that one there," she said to Nami, nodding to the towel near Zoro’s collarbone. "Firm, steady pressure. Don't lift it."

Nami nodded wordlessly, her own hands red to the wrists, her forehead glistening with sweat. She had seen plenty of danger in her time, but this—watching someone she knew bleed out in front of her—this was different.

“I—I don’t know what to do,” Usopp stammered, backing away from the table like the blood might leap at him. “Is he gonna die? He’s gonna die, isn’t he?”

“He’s not going to die,” she said firmly, though her stomach twisted at the lie. “Not if we keep him breathing."

She leaned in, eyes scanning the torn flesh. It was deep—deeper than anything she’d ever tried to fix. And so clean, too, like it had been carved with surgical precision.

“He needs stitches,” Y/N murmured, more to herself than anyone else. The words hung there, cold and impossible. She wasn’t a doctor. She’d done a few messy patches in back alleys before, helped close up a wound or two with trembling hands and borrowed thread—but nothing like this.

Nami glanced over, her hands still pressed down on a towel rapidly turning scarlet. “Can you do it?”

“I... I don't know, I don’t think we have a needle that’s strong enough,” she said, eyes darting across the kitchen. “Or thread thick enough to hold skin.”

“There’s gotta be something,” Nami said, her voice clipped and panicked. “You seem like you’ve done this before—can’t you just—just improvise?”

“I am improvising,” Y/N snapped, voice sharper than she meant, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she gripped the make-do supplies. “Gods, where is Luf—”

The galley door slammed open.

Speak of the devil.

Luffy burst in—and behind him, to Y/N’s utter confusion, came the blond, sharply dressed waiter who’d flirted with anything that moved, and the rough, one-legged chef who had dragged Luffy to the kitchens the night before.

“What the—?” Y/N blinked, thrown completely.

“Are you kidding?” Nami snapped at Luffy, “He needs a doctor!”

“Do you wanna save your swordsman friend or not?” the wooden-legged chef snapped, already brushing past them without waiting for permission.

Y/N and Nami instinctively moved aside, letting the man work, though their hands hovered like they were ready to jump back in at any second. The chef—Zeff, if Y/N remembered right—tossed off the bloody towels and assessed the wound with a cool, calculating look, like he’d seen worse and fixed worse.

Sanji—yes, that was the waiter’s name—set down an armful of supplies beside him. Y/N caught the glint of steel—actual knives, proper scissors, a big curved needle, spools of dark thread.

And... a yellowtail fish.

Y/N blinked. She looked at the fish. Then at them. Then back at the fish.

Was that part of the plan?

Before she could ask, there was the distinct pop of a bottle opening.

“Is that to sterilize the wounds?” Usopp asked, hope flickering in his voice.

“Hell, no,” said Zeff, already lifting it to his mouth. “That’d be a waste of really good liquor.”

He took a long swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and gave Zoro a look like he was sizing up a slab of meat he was about to butcher—or save.

Y/N, hands still stained red and jaw clenched, stared at the scene unfolding in front of her. It wasn’t what she expected. Not even close.

“Beautiful,” Zeff murmured—not to Zoro, but to the fish—as he began slicing it with the kind of practiced ease only a lifetime in a kitchen could give. His knife moved like it was part of his hand, clean and precise. In moments, he was separating the skin from the flesh and setting it gently on a clean plate like it was a delicacy.

Y/N’s eyes widened—then narrowed with realization. Her doubts vanished in an instant. She knew exactly what he was about to do.

“Needle,” Zeff said, holding out his hand without looking.

Sanji passed it over without a word, the sharp arc of it gleaming under the light.

Y/N, Luffy, and Nami stood frozen, watching in stunned silence as the old chef leaned in and began stitching Zoro’s gash. His movements were swift but careful, efficient without cruelty. Each pass of the needle tugged skin back together, layer by layer, until the worst of the wound was closed.

Then, with the same steady hands, Zeff lifted the prepared fish skin and began laying it over the wound like a graft.

“Why are you putting that on him?” Usopp asked, his voice cracking slightly from the back of the room.

Before Zeff could answer, Y/N spoke. She didn’t mean to. It slipped out, too fast, too natural, like it was instinct.

“It helps the skin regenerate faster,” she said, eyes still fixed on the wound. “It’s one of the only things that can bond quickly to broken skin, it's quicker than cloth. Holds moisture. It—heals better.”

Usopp blinked. “...How do you know that?”

Y/N didn’t look at him. She forced a shrug, trying to keep her voice level. “Read it in a book.”

Zeff, for his part, didn’t question it. He just kept working, wrapping another piece of the fish skin gently across Zoro’s side.

“You’ve got good instincts, girl,” he muttered without looking at her.

Y/N didn’t respond. She just stared at Zoro, willing his chest to rise a little more steadily, for the color to return to his lips. Willing something in him to fight back. To stay.

“He’s gonna be okay,” she whispered, more a plea than a promise.

Zeff wiped his hands on a towel, the tension in the room thick as the blood drying on the floor.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you,” he said, glancing at the table and then back at them. “He’s lost a lot of blood. It might be too late for him.”

Y/N’s breath caught. Her stomach felt like it dropped through the wooden boards beneath her feet. She stared harder at Zoro, as if glaring at the Reaper himself, refusing to let go.

“But it might not be,” Luffy chimed in quietly from behind her, voice soft but the hope unwavering.

And damn it, Y/N was grateful for that hope. For Luffy’s impossible, stubborn faith—because right now, hers was cracking.

Zeff gave a short nod, his gruff voice cutting through the air again. “He’s got one foot in each world right now, caught between life and death. You have to find a way to keep him tethered to our world.”

Y/N furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

“Talk to him,” Zeff said simply. “Tell him stories. Remind him who he is. Sing him sea shanties for all I care. Anything to keep his mind from drifting too far. He may not reply, but at least he’ll know his crew are still with him."

Y/N looked back down at Zoro, her fingers brushing lightly against his wrist—barely a pulse. His face was pale, features drawn like stone. He looked like he was already gone.

But he wasn’t, not yet.

She bit her lip, hard, then slid a stool over, sitting beside the island. Her hand settled on his, gentle but firm.

“Tether him,” she whispered under her breath.

They could do that. So they did.

Once Zeff finished stitching w,rapping Zoro’s wounds and confirmed Zoro was stable for now, the crew moved him with painstaking care to Nami’s room—she insisted, saying it was the closest to the kitchen and had the softest bedding. No one argued. No one had the energy.

Hours passed. Then a full day, then another. Time bent strangely around the ship, caught in a hush of half-whispers, shallow breathing, and the occasional creak of wood and waves. The Going Merry floated as if in mourning, the air thick with waiting.

They hardly left his side.

Luffy, least of all. He sat beside Zoro’s bed with his hat in his lap and a look in his eyes Y/N hadn’t seen before—not even during fights or storms.

Nami kept vigil at night, curling up in the corner with a blanket and glaring at anyone who tried to make her leave. Usopp tried to stay brave, but often hovered outside the door like he couldn’t bring himself to go in for too long.

And Y/N?

She moved around them all like clockwork. Quiet, constant, present. She made sure Zoro’s bandages stayed clean, that everyone ate something—even if it was just bread or tea. When Luffy refused to budge for nearly a day, she dragged him to the shower herself.

“Five minutes,” she told him sternly. “Or I’m coming in after you.”

He obeyed—reluctantly.

The ship felt like it was caught in a kind of time spell. No one trained. No one joked. The sun rose and set outside, but within the Merry, everything held its breath.

So Y/N did the one thing that felt right at the moment and truly because no one else had the energy for cooking—she went to the Baratie to buy some food.

She tied her hair up and rolled her sleeves, smoothing her shawl over her shoulders as she stepped off the Merry and onto the Baratie. The floating restaurant gleamed in the late afternoon light, all polished wood and stained glass, like a ship that belonged more in dreams than on the sea.

She walked through the entrance with quiet purpose, heels tapping against fine tile as chandeliers sparkled above her. Tables lined the open floor, each one covered in crisp white cloth, polished silverware, and plates too delicate for the kind of storm churning in her chest.

Y/N was halfway through scanning the menu at a corner table (which she had to bribe the host for) when a familiar voice floated in with the same buttery smoothness he probably used for every woman who walked in.

“Now that’s a view I wouldn’t mind plating up.”

Sanji emerged from the kitchen a second later, sharp in black and white, sleeves rolled up, towel draped across his shoulder, and that ever-present flirt in his eyes.

“Back already, Mon chérie?” he asked, sliding up beside her table like he belonged there. “Let me guess—you missed me.”

Y/N didn’t look up right away. She calmly flipped the menu closed and rested her chin in her hand, casting him a sideways glance.

“Missed you?” she echoed, voice lilting, “What a bold assumption. I only came back because I heard the fish were fresher today.”

Sanji clutched at his chest dramatically. “You wound me.”

“That’s funny,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Most men don’t realize they’ve been wounded until it’s far too late, loverboy.”

His grin flickered, just for a second—like he couldn’t decide if he was being flirted with or threatened but he liked it either way.

“Well, if you’re here for food, allow me to make a personal recommendation—anything cooked by these hands is practically a love letter.”

“I prefer my love letters spelled correctly and not dripping in butter,” she replied, crossing one leg over the other, eyes gleaming. “Though the butter’s tempting.”

Sanji gave a low laugh, clearly enjoying the banter more than he probably should’ve. “Mon chérie, you're either trying to seduce me or destroy me.”

“Can’t it be both?” she asked, resting her chin in her hand again. “Anyway, I'm not here to banter—much as you seem to crave it. I’m here for the others. Thought I’d try and cheer everyone up before the brooding officially becomes contagious.”

Sanji hums, brushing his flour-dusted hands against his apron. “Your friend still hasn’t opened his eyes?”

Y/N’s smile faltered just a touch. “Not yet.”

There was a beat of silence before she added, "Luffy’s hardly eaten a bite, which I’m pretty sure breaks at least three laws of nature. Everyone else is just... stuck. You ever see a ship caught in still water?”

He nodded, the smile slipping just a little.

“I figured I’d bring something back,” she continued. “Something warm. Something familiar. Food’s the best medicine we’ve got right now.”

Sanji gave a low, appreciative whistle. “Charming and wise. A girl after my own heart."

She rolled her eyes with a soft chuckle. “Flatter me all you want, but I’m only buying what I can carry. Just a few things. Enough for comfort food. Warm rice, some fish and sauce, maybe fruit? I know Nami likes them—figured it might cheer her up a bit.”

Sanji didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he studied her for a beat—long enough that Y/N felt a flicker of discomfort under the weight of his gaze. It wasn’t the usual kind of look men gave her. There was no teasing grin, no swooning tilt of the head. Just... observation. Like he was trying to read something between her words, between her smile.

“You really care for them, don’t you?” he asked quietly.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard.

“I… well, I do,” she said, tone lighter than her pulse. “Been traveling with them for some time now. Would be weird if I didn’t.”

It was the truth, mostly. Or at least, the part she was allowed to say.

She’d grown used to Luffy’s chaos, to Nami’s sharp eyes and thong, to Usopp’s, tho only knowing him for a few days, tall tales and Zoro’s quiet strength. Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being just survival and started to feel like… something more. Something closer.

But admitting that? Saying it out loud? That was a different kind of exposure, it had been a long while since she had last felt this way... actually it was since she had roamed with Tallen and the other sirens.

Sanji’s expression softened, the flirtation dimming into something quieter. Then he nodded, like he’d come to some personal conclusion.

“Let me cook for you.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

He gestured toward the kitchen with a dramatic little flourish, towel flicking like a stage curtain. “I'm sure in an hour or so we will have some ingredients we won't use, I can whip something up—real food, comfort food. For you. For your crew.”

She tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes—not suspicious, just trying to keep up. “That’s generous of you, but no, I couldn't you and Zeff have done enough already.”

“Please,” he scoffed, but the smirk was softer now. “You think I can just stand by knowing there’s a crew full of hungry, miserable people floating outside my restaurant? That your captain hasn’t eaten? I couldn't live with myself."

Y/N hesitated, arms crossed loosely. She wasn’t used to people offering to help without a price. Without a reason. Without her having to ask. But then she thought of Luffy, hunched over the bed like a statue. Nami’s clenched jaw. Usopp’s worried pacing. The way Zoro looked was far too still.

“Also,” Sanji added, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “I was hoping if I fed you all well enough, maybe you’d smile at me like that again.”

She scoffed—but she was already smiling. “You’re bloody relentless.”

“Determine,” he corrected with a wink. “And a damn good cook. Let me do what I’m best at.”

“Careful,” she said, lips curling into a wry smile. “You keep saying stuff like that, and I might actually start trusting you.”

Sanji gave a low, satisfied laugh. “Then I’ll make sure dinner lives up to it.”

She let out a breath, considering. Her instincts—usually guarded, protective—didn’t flare with danger. Not with him. He was a flirt, sure, but something about him told her he meant it. Not the compliments. Not the show. This. The cooking. The feeding. The giving.

“…Fine,” she said at last, exhaling as she stood. “If you insist—but nothing fancy.”

Sanji pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “You wound me. My least fancy dish still brings tears to grown men’s eyes.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips and said playfully. “If I see one pansy on the plate, I’m tossing you into the sea.”

“If it’s you doing the tossing, I might just let it happen.” said the blonde.

She rolled her eyes and walked toward the door. “Bring the food, cook. Then you can flirt.”

“Deal,” he called after her. “Just don’t fall for me before dessert!”

Y/N smirked to herself as she walks

Not likely, she thought but she had to admit—it was kind of nice having someone else carry the pot for once.

Hours later, the kitchen on the Going Merry was filled with steam, warmth, and for the first time in days, smell like some real food.

Y/N worked beside Sanji, shoulders brushing from time to time in the cramped space as they shaped rice balls together. The rice stuck to her fingers, no matter how many times she dipped her hands in water, but the act of pressing it together was strangely comforting. She didn’t even mind when Sanji gently corrected her technique—for the third time—with a little smirk and a too-charming, “Not bad, but watch your thumb.”

They’d kept it simple: warm rice, salted fish, a bit of seaweed.

Y/N placed the finished rice balls in a plate and dusted her hands off with a sigh. “I’ll take these to Nami. She’s been sitting with him all morning.”

Sanji didn’t look up from where he was slicing vegetables for the next dish. “Tell her there’s more coming. Some garlic fish.”

She smiled slightly. “Thanks, loverboy.”

He gave her a mock bow. “Always a pleasure to serve you, ma chérie.”

She slipped out of the kitchen and padded down the hall, knocking lightly on Usopp’s door.

“It’s food time,” she called gently. “Real food. Not crackers and bread.”

A muffled reply came through, something like, “Coming!”, followed by the sound of something clattering to the floor. She smiled to herself and kept moving.

As she turned the corner, she nearly bumped into Luffy.

He stood in the hallway, Zoro’s swords carefully tucked under one arm, a rag in his other hand. There was a smudge on his cheek and a familiar glint in his eyes—not quite as bright as usual, but still very much Luffy.

“Stud, here you are,” she said gently.

He looked up, blinking at the sight of her—and more importantly, the rice balls.

“You made food?” he asked, eyes lighting up but not like before.

“Sanji did most of it,” she said with a little shrug. “He’s got something going in there. Rice balls, fish. Smells like heaven. "she then nudge at the swrods. "Zoro's sword?"

He held up one of Zoro’s swords like it was made of glass. “I was gonna clean ‘em before he wakes up. So they’re shiny. You think he’ll like that?”

Y/N paused, then smiled. “Yeah. I think he’ll like that a lot, but go eat before Ussop ravished it all."

Luffy grinned and nodded once before heading off, humming softly under his breath as he went.

Y/N watched him for a moment, then turned and made her way toward Nami’s room, the plate of rice balls still warm in her hands and the scent of comfort trailing behind her like a quiet promise.

Y/N watched Luffy disappear down the corridor, humming with Zoro’s swords tucked protectively under his arm, before she turned and continued toward Nami’s room. The plate of rice balls was still warm in her hands, the scent of seaweed and vinegar rice rising gently with every step.

She paused at the door and knocked softly.

“Hey, pumpkin,” she called with a teasing lilt, “brought you some food.”

She pushed the door open gently and stepped inside.

Nami looked up from her seat by the bed, a worn book resting open in her lap. She was reading aloud—softly, steadily—to Zoro, whose chest rose and fell in shallow, sleeping breaths. His face looked a little less pale now. Less ghost-like.

Nami offered a tired smile, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion but softer than they’d been earlier. “You made rice balls?”

“Sanji did,” Y/N said, stepping in. “I supervised. Threatened him a little. Standard stuff.”

She set the plate down gently on the bedside table, close enough for Nami to reach but far enough not to disturb the quiet.

Nami gave a breathy laugh. “Sounds like you.”

Y/N shifted a little closer to the bed, and she reached out and brushed a few strands of hair off his forehead. His skin was still warm, slightly clammy, but the color was better than the day before.

“Any difference?” Y/N asked softly, her voice just above a whisper as her fingers brushed gently away a stray lock of green hair from Zoro’s forehead.

“Still out,” Nami murmured, her lips pursed, eyes locked on him like she could will him back with enough focus alone. She didn't say much—but she didn’t have to. Y/N knew that look, that stillness. She’d worn it herself too many times before. “But… I think his color’s better. I’ve been reading to him. Thought maybe hearing our voices might help.”

Y/N nodded slowly, glancing at the book resting open on Nami’s lap. The pages were worn, sea-softened at the corners.

“What is it?” she asked gently.

Nami gave a little shrug. “Just a storybook I found.”

Y/N let out a quiet breath and lowered herself into the empty chair beside her, taking a rice ball. “Well, go on then, pumpkin. Don’t stop on my account.”

Nami hesitated for a moment, then looked down at the page and picked up where she left off.

“In a certain country, in the northern seas, there was an explorer named Mont Blanc Noland.”

Her voice softened with rhythm, almost like a lullaby.

“His stories were always grand adventures that sounded like lies.”

“Noland told his king he found a city of gold, but when the king went to claim the treasure, the city was gone, and most of the king’s soldiers perished on the journey.”

Y/N leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand, watching both Nami and Zoro in turn. The story washed over the room, strange and sad and oddly fitting.

“Noland was sentenced to death,” Nami continued, more quietly now, “but he continued to lie to his king, insisting the city of gold sank into the sea.”

A pause.

“And… even though nobody believed him, he never stopped lying until he was dead.”

The room settled into a heavy silence. Nami stared down at the page, and Y/N opened her mouth—maybe to shift the mood, maybe to say something thoughtful—but someone beat her to it.

“Poor guy," came Luffy’s voice from the doorway. "Can you imagine that? Losing a whole city of gold? ”

Y/N tensed slightly. She hadn’t even realized he was there, leaning against the doorframe. His voice was light, casual.

Nami didn’t even look up. “I don’t think that was the point of the story.”

“Stories can have different points,” Luffy said as he stepped into the room. “I mean… why did the king have to kill him?”

“Sometimes,” Nami said, her tone tight, like she was holding something back and failing, "when you’re in charge, you have to make the tough decisions.”

There it was—that cold edge. Passive-aggressive, laced with hurt, and barely disguised under the thinnest veil of civility.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, then rubbed her temples.

Here it comes.

Luffy let out a quiet laugh, though Y/N heard no humor in it. Just that same, strange heaviness that had crept into him over the past few days. “Why does everybody keep saying that?”

“Because you could’ve saved Zoro.” Nami stood, finally turning to face him. Her voice wasn’t raised, but it struck like a whip.

Y/N sat up straighter, already feeling a headache blooming behind her eyes.

“Can we please not—” she started, trying to cut in, to soothe the sparks before they turned into something worse.

But Nami wasn’t finished.

“Zoro didn’t have to fight Mihawk. But he let it happen.” She looked at Luffy, eyes sharp and angry. “You let it happen. Why didn’t you stop him?”

Luffy looked at her and for once, he didn’t smile. "I didn’t think he was going to lose."

Nami stared at him, disbelief washing over her features like a rising tide. “You could’ve tried to change his mind.”

“I would never do that,” Luffy said simply.

“So you’d rather see him like this?” Her voice cracked, thick with anger and something sharper beneath it—fear. “He might die, Luffy.”

That word settled in the air like smoke.

Die.

Y/N shifted where she sat, her hands curling slightly on her lap. The thought alone made her stomach twist into a knot. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes flicked back to Zoro, still and pale beneath the blankets, and she swallowed hard.

“And I’d do anything to save him,” Luffy continued, softer now, but with no less conviction. “Anything. Except stands in the way of his dream.”

Nami let out a bitter, shaky breath. “We all have dreams, but we outgrow them.”

Luffy’s head tilted, and for a moment, he just looked at her. Like he was trying to understand something impossible.

“Is that really what you think?” he asked. “Don’t you have a dream?”

There was a pause, and this time—Nami was the one who seemed to be dismisive.

“Yeah,” she said flatly. “Right now, it’s for Zoro to not die in my bed.”

“But isn’t there something that you want?” Luffy asked with that wide-eyed honesty only he seemed to carry. “Something more. More than anything else in this world?”

Y/N’s eyes drifted toward Nami. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak right away. But Y/N saw it—the flicker. The way her jaw tensed, how her fingers curled just slightly at her sides. She was thinking of something, maybe about someone. That question had struck something deeper than either of them probably realized.

Nami kept her gaze on Luffy, but Y/N saw the moment her guard wavered.

The silence stretched between them and then—softly, bitterly—Nami said, “Not everyone gets to follow their dreams.”

And then, without another word, she turned and walked out the door. Y/N didn’t try to stop her.

Y/N stayed where she was, eyes flicking between the door and Luffy, who stood now in the middle of the room staring at where the orange-haired girl was. He looked like he’d been struck, not quite hurt, but confused. As if he couldn’t even imagine a world where dreams didn’t get to come true.

Y/N rose slowly, folding her arms loosely over her chest.

“She didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she said gently.

Luffy didn’t reply at first.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

“She’s scared,” Y/N continued. “That’s all. And when people are scared, they start burying their dreams. Pretend they never had them.”

“She shouldn’t have to pretend,” Luffy said, staring down at the floor. “Nobody should.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, watching him.

“You’re not wrong,” she said. “But… it’s easier to forget about your dreams when you’re afraid they’ll never come true.”

He looked at her then, and for the first time since this started, he looked tired. Not defeated. Not broken. Just... human.

Y/N offered a small smile, soft around the edges. “You didn’t let him down, stud.”

“Feels like I did,” Luffy said, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Well,” she replied gently, “when he wakes up, I’m sure he’ll be glad you let him choose—just like he was before.” She glanced toward the bed, her voice softening. “Besides, I hardly think we could’ve stopped him even if we tried.”

A small chuckle escaped Luffy—not his usual boisterous laugh, but a tired, real one. He stepped forward and sat at the foot of the bed without saying anything more.

Y/N moved slowly, settling into the chair beside Zoro again. She smoothed the edge of the blanket, brushing her fingers lightly against his hand. The tension in the room had dulled now, quieter. More fragile.

She let out a long, slow breath, then leaned forward just a little.

“You remember that lullaby I said I’d write for you, hotshot?” she murmured. “Well… I never got around to finishing it, so you’re gonna have to deal with a half-sung, half-hummed version.”

She exhaled softly, then let the melody rise, slow and low—more hum than words at first. The kind of tune that came from the sea.

She sat up a little straighter, voice still soft, but this time there was rhythm in it—a steady beat like the echo of boots on a ship’s deck, like the clash of steel. A heartbeat in song.

Three swords, one goal, and a promise made—

Eyes like fire, never once afraid. Steel sings loud where silence falls,

And even blood can’t drown your calls.

Luffy blinked beside her, listening now with a grin slowly returning to his face.

He trains at dawn, he sleeps on deck,

He drinks like six and still don’t wreck,

He never runs, he never begs,

He’d fight a god with broken legs.

She tossed Luffy a grin, and he grinned right back, "That one was good."

Y/N turned back to Zoro, the smile softening, though the tone stayed light.

You’re too damn tough for death to take,

Too stubborn for your soul to break,

So wake up now, or don’t complain,

When I write this song and steal your fame.

Luffy gave a dramatic little clap, clearly delighted.

Y/N gave Zoro’s arm a gentle pat. “There. I immortalized your stubborn ass in song. That means you have to wake up now. Can’t have people thinking I wrote it for someone else.”

They both turned back to Zoro. Still breathing and still fighting—somehow.

Usopp slipped into the room.

“How’s he doing?” he asked, voice low but laced with hope.

Luffy, who’d been quietly staring at Zoro—eyes wide open, not sad, not smiling, just waiting—answered without turning. “He hasn’t said a word. Not even when Y/N sang to him.”

Y/N arched a brow from her seat, a grin already tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Rather rude of him, right?”

Usopp chuckled, then nudged Luffy lightly. “Maybe you should talk to him, too.”

Luffy frowned. “What would I even say?”

Usopp shrugged. “Whatever pops in your head. Just… speak from the gut.”

“My gut hasn’t been so great lately,” Luffy replied, light in tone but heavy in truth.

Y/N smiled softly but didn’t speak. She was still sitting nearby, legs curled up beneath her, watching with that quiet kind of knowing she always carried when emotions ran too high for everyone else.

“At least he’ll know it’s you,” Usopp said, a little gentler now. “What do you got to lose?”

Luffy paused, staring at Zoro like he was trying to have a conversation without saying anything at all.

Then he slapped the wood of the bed, suddenly animated. “Hey, Zoro. What’s up?”

Y/N blinked, her grin returning instantly. Luffy’s sincerity was always… Luffy-shaped. Clumsy, honest, and somehow perfect.

“I just wanted to tell you that…” he paused, scratched the back of his head. “Okay, wait—let me start over. I’m just gonna… Hi, Zoro. Hi. You know, it’s—”

“Luffy!”

Nami’s voice rang sharp from the kitchen, slicing through the stillness of the ship like a whipcrack. It echoed off the wooden walls, sharp enough to snap them all to attention.

All three of them turned toward the door at once—Y/N, Luffy, and Usopp—frozen for half a heartbeat.

Then it came again, louder. More urgent.

“Luffy!”

There was no mistaking it now; something was wrong.

All at once, they moved—Luffy leading the charge, feet pounding against the floorboards. Usopp scrambled after him, dropping what was left of his rice ball. Y/N was right behind them, her pulse suddenly thudding in her ears, one hand lifting her skirt just enough to sprint.

They reached the galley just as Nami turned from the counter, her eyes wide, "The Arlong Pirates are at Baratie. We have to leave now."

Y/N froze in the doorway. The name hit her ears like a stone dropping into deep water.

The Arlong Pirates… They did sound familiar—but from where?

“What? Why?” Luffy frowned, stepping further into the room. “Why should we leave?”

“Because they’re looking for you,” Nami snapped, eyes locking onto him.

Luffy points at himself, “Me?”

“And the map,” she added, her voice tight. “Those fishmen will tear this place apart if Zeff doesn’t turn you over.”

Fishmen.

The word dropped into Y/N’s stomach like a weight.

Her breath hitched ever so slightly. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt before she could stop them.

Oh… fishmen.

“Where are you going?”

Usopp’s voice cut through the tension, snapping Y/N out of her thoughts. She turned just in time to see Sanji striding toward the door, jaw tight.

“If Baratie’s in danger,” Sanji said stopping, “I need to be there.”

“I’m coming with you,” Luffy added without hesitation, already stepping forward.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Nami snapped, barely keeping her frustration from boiling over. “They are hunting you. We need to run.”

“I’m with Nami on this one,” Usopp said quickly, raising a hand like a white flag. “I’m really not trying to ruffle any feathers… or scales…”

Y/N shift on her feet, "Luffy, let's just think for a second--"

“I’m not running,” Luffy said firmly, his voice low and unwavering. “We’re going to protect this place.”

Sanji frowns “This isn’t your fight. Why would you do that?”

Luffy glanced at him, his expression so simple, so Luffy, that Y/N almost laughed.

“You fed us,” he said, like that explained everything.

Nami stepped forward, her voice a little too quick, too sharp—not just worried.

Frightened.

“Look, I know this crew,” she said, eyes locked on Luffy, more desperate now than angry. “Their captain—Arlong—he’s got the highest bounty in all of the East Blue. You do not want to mess with him.”

Luffy tilted his head, calm as ever. “Sounds like he messed with us first.”

“Luffy, please,” Nami said, and this time it cracked. She stepped closer, the plea trembling just beneath the surface. “Please.”

Y/N watched her—really watched her. This wasn’t about strategy. This wasn’t just about a fight, it was something deeper.

But Luffy didn’t hesitate. “I can’t let innocent people get hurt because of me.”

He turned then, facing them—Usopp, Sanji, and... Y/N. That look in his eyes… that quiet fire. That same unshakable conviction that had carried them through every storm.

“If those fishmen guys want a fight,” he said, voice low but fierce, “we’re gonna give them one.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted—equal parts pride and nerves—but she didn’t move. Didn’t question it. That tone in his voice made you feel like you could move mountains or at least stand in the way of something terrible.

Luffy walked over to Nami and rested a hand on her shoulder—gentle, reassuring, not a command, just trust.

“You stay with the ship,” he said softly. “Protect the map, hmm? It’s gonna be safe with you.”

He gave her shoulder a small clap, something brotherly, something solid. He didn’t wait for her reply. He didn’t have to and then he turned and started walking out.

Y/N stood still, her fingers curling again at her sides.

There was a part of her screaming to stay behind. To hide. To take the map, the wounded, and vanish beneath the sea like a shadow. That ancient, primal part of her that knew how dangerous the world could be—especially when it came with names like Arlong.

But louder than that—growing with every moment, every reckless heartbeat—was something else. A part of her that didn’t want to see the Baratie torn apart. That didn’t want innocent people dragged into whatever mess fate had dumped at their feet. That didn’t want to let Luffy—idiotic, idealistic, impossible Luffy—go headfirst into danger alone.

And gods, more than anything, there was a part of her that didn’t want to run. For the first time in so so long, she wanted to be brave.

Godsdammit, she thought bitterly. His stupidity is rubbing off on me.

She glanced toward the door where Luffy had disappeared, then turned her eyes to Nami.

The girl still stood frozen in place, unmoving, her expression unreadable—but her fists were clenched at her sides.

“Nami,” Y/N said, voice low. Steady. Just enough pressure to cut through the weight in the room. “Tell me why you’re desperate to go.”

She stepped closer, not with force, but with familiarity—like someone who’s shared too many sleepless nights and stormy decks to be lied to.

“Just tell me, Nami.”

For a moment, silence hung between them.

Nami didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her jaw worked, like she was grinding something behind her teeth she didn’t want to say.

Y/N softened her voice even more. “I know what it feels like… when running isn’t fear—it’s survival. When it’s the only thing you can do.”

Still, Nami didn’t speak.

She stood there, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes fixed on the floor like if she just stared hard enough, the weight of the world might finally lift. But it didn’t. It never did.

Y/N let out a slow, tired sigh and dragged a hand over her face. She felt the fatigue deep in her bones, the dread curled at the base of her spine—but her eyes still flicked toward the door.

She didn’t want to go.

She didn’t want to freaking go. Every bone in her body begged her to stay put. To shut the door. To stay safe.

'You’re not a fighter,' something whispered inside her. 'You’re a survivor.'

Her feet moved before her mind could catch up. One step. Then another. Toward the door. Toward the storm.

But just before crossing the threshold, she paused and turned her head, eyes catching Nami’s profile in the flickering light—still frozen, still silent.

“You’re not alone anymore, pumpkin,” Y/N said softly, her voice steady despite the fear still gnawing at her ribs. “You’re not.”

And then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft click, leaving Nami in the quiet with nothing but the smell of rice, salt, and truth.

By the time Y/N made her way into the restaurant, the fight had already started.

The place was chaos.

Tables overturned, glass shattered across the floor, lanterns swinging wildly from the ceiling. The salty tang of blood and seawater filled the air.

Sanji lay slumped on the stairs, his shirt torn, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. Usopp was crouched beside him, one hand braced on the banister, the other gripping his slingshot like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She barely registered them before her gaze snapped to the open space near the center of the floor.

Luffy was alone.

He stood across from a creature so massive, so unnaturally built, that the air seemed to shift around him. His skin was deep blue, stretched tight across muscle, his grin filled with rows of jagged teeth. His presence was suffocating. Even without an introduction, she knew.

Arlong.

She watched in horror as the Fish-man moved faster than she expected for someone of his size. With a roar, he drove a brutal punch straight into Luffy’s ribs, sending him flying across the room and into a support beam with a sickening crash. Dust shook loose from the ceiling, and Luffy’s body slumped at the base of the beam.

A sharp cry escaped Y/N’s throat before she could stop it. “Luffy!”

The word wasn’t loud, but it was enough. Every Fish-man in the room turned toward her like hounds catching a scent.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

Y/N’s feet froze in place. The bravado—the fierce, reckless fire she’d carried into this room—flickered like a candle in a hurricane and went out.

Just like that.

Her legs locked beneath her, breath caught in her throat. It was like the world had shifted focus—and now it was fixed on her.

Arlong’s eyes narrowed, and he didn’t speak at first. He took a slow step forward, his gaze never leaving hers. Then, as if something dawned on him, his expression changed, sharpening, twisting into something cruel.

There was no confusion in his stare. No curiosity, just certainty.

“Well, now,” he said, voice low and rasping like a blade dragged through gravel. “Would you look at that?”

Y/N couldn’t speak. She didn’t need to. It was already too late.

Instinct took over before reason had the chance to catch up.

The moment Arlong’s eyes lit with recognition, Y/N turned on her heel and ran. Her boots hit the cracked tile hard, the sting of panic flaring up her spine. She didn’t care about pride, not now—she needed to disappear, to get out, to breathe.

But she hadn’t seen the other Fish-man—tall and slim, with scaled arms and gills that flared like wings.

He moved fast—unnaturally so—and in the space between heartbeats, he was on her.

A clawed hand gripped her wrist like a vice, wrenching her backward. The second hand clamped over her mouth before she could make a sound, muffling her startled cry. She thrashed against him, heels skidding across the floor, but it was no use. His strength dwarfed hers like a tidal wave swallowing a ripple.

The room seemed to pause.

Arlong watched with a kind of venomous delight as she was dragged forward. He stepped into the light, grinning with slow, deliberate malice.

“Thought you could run?” he said mockingly, tilting his head as he stepped closer. “Little fish thinks she’s clever.”

Sanji, bloodied and barely on his feet, tried to push himself off the stairs. “Get your hands off her—!”

Before he could take a single step, another Fish-man backhanded him hard enough to send him crashing back into the railing, groaning.

Usopp, who’d been halfway to reaching for a slingshot, was struck down with a single sweep, knocked to the floor with a strangled cry.

Y/N’s heart pounded as she watched them fall—Sanji, Usopp—and then Luffy, still hunched near the broken support beam, dragged himself upright, hands trembling, blood smeared across his chin. His hat hung askew, casting a shadow over his eyes—but not enough to hide the fire behind them.

“Let her go.”

His voice wasn’t loud, it didn’t need to be.

Arlong turned toward him slowly, savoring the moment, still standing far too close to Y/N, who remained frozen in the grip of the Fish-man behind her.

“You don’t give orders here, boy,” Arlong said, flashing rows of serrated teeth. “You don’t understand what you’re protecting.”

“She’s my crewmate and my friend,” Luffy said, louder this time, straighter despite the ache in his ribs. “I don’t care what she is.”

Arlong barked a cold laugh, the sound grating and humorless. “You should. She’s a siren. She’s lied to you from the beginning. They always do. It’s in their blood. Deceit, betrayal—it’s what they’re made for.”

Y/N tried to shake her head, to scream through the hand still clamped over her mouth, but the Fish-man holding her only tightened his grip.

Luffy’s eyes never left hers.

He took a shaky step forward. “She’s not lying now.”

“You think she’s your friend?” Arlong snarled, finally losing some of that smug calm. “Her kind never pick a side unless it benefits them, they’re monsters. Traitors. Think they’re better than the rest of us because they can slither onto land and smile like nothing ever happened.”

He stepped back and spat in her face.

Y/N’s throat burned beneath the Fish-man’s calloused hand, her lungs screaming for breath. Her body heaved in his grip as she fought for control, for air, for anything—but the harder she struggled, the tighter his hold became, like he wanted to crush the resistance out of her.

Arlong leaned in close, his breath hot and foul against her skin, his twisted grin carved deep into his shark-like face.

“You thought you could pretend, little siren?” he whispered, slow and cruel, dragging each word like a blade. “Thought you’d be safe among the humans? That you could run from what you are?”

His voice dipped lower, thick with disgust. “Your kind deserved to be slaughtered.”

Then, with a casual turn of his head, he addressed the room—Luffy, really. His voice rose, booming with theatrical cruelty. “And she’ll be sold to the highest bidder. Mark my words, there’s always someone willing to pay a kingdom for a siren."

That was it.

Something inside Y/N snapped.

A muffled sob tore from her throat, raw and broken. She began to thrash violently, all grace gone, nothing left but the naked desperation of a girl who knew exactly what was waiting for her if they took her.

Her eyes were wide, wild, brimming with tears as she kicked and struggled against the Fish-man’s hold. Her fists pounded uselessly against his chest, fingernails clawing at the arm pressed over her mouth, legs flailing as she bucked like something drowning.

Gods, no. No, no, no. Please, no. Not again. Not again.

The panic drowned everything else. The walls, the people, the voices—it all blurred.

She wasn’t in the Baratie anymore, she was there again.

With him.

The past surged up around her like a rising tide, inescapable and merciless. The pain. The blood. The cold cage that kept her like an animal. The sound of her own voice echoed in the dark, unanswered. Her wrists raw from the shackles. The silence between screams. And his face, the one that still haunted her even in the warmth of the sun.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

The present melted away, and all she saw was the then. Her body locked up, trembling, helpless. She tried to will herself back—to claw her way out of it—but she was already drowning. Already gone.

Not again.

Please, her mind whispered. Not again.

And still, no one could reach her. The hand over her mouth, the grip around her arms, the jeering voices of the Fish-men—it all swam together, rising into a deafening roar.

A sharp crack of impact.

A jolt of pain. Stars burst behind her eyes as her head snapped sideways from the blow.

And everything went black but just before the world fell away, just before her knees buckled and her body sagged in the arms that held her, she heard it—fierce, furious, and burning with everything she couldn’t hold onto:

“Let. Her. GO!”

And then there was nothing.

Y/N:

Heyyyy. Thank you all so much for reading. I already have the next part done, and it was supposed to be an entire chapter from ep6 to 8 but the length was too much for Tumblr apparently. So, I will be posting it soon.

Also once again thank you all for reading, like seriously, thank you fro the support. <3<3<3<3<3<3

Also, tell me if you want to get tagged.

Divider by @cafekitsune

Tags:

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kitsunetori

cantbecreative

silveritydreams

vrsin

thekatisspooky

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sailor-croft

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ghouldump · 10 months ago

Note

Your fics are amazing!

Lestat and y/n remind me of a scene on what we do in the shadows:

Lestat: i would like to say that i think all marriage is a sham except mine with my darling wife y/n

Reader: ☺️👋

Btw do NOT feel pressured to put out content, this is suppose to be a safe space for creators and i am sure that the rest of the readers feel that way.

Kisses 💋

001

thank you 🥰 your words of encouragement mean so much to me 🩷 i prefer lengthy fics myself and so naturally i like to make my stories a bit long. i know that a few of you guys enjoy my writing and are wondering what is taking so long, so i really appreciate the understanding. i am also posting the requests at the same time, so you guys can have a few new posts to read instead of one. anyways, that so seems like him 😂 i literally came up with a tiny imagine for this 😙

“and what about you two, are you married?” the young woman asked you.

she and her husband were tourists in new orleans, choosing the city for their honeymoon. you spotted the newly wedded couple in the restaurant, they were the perfect meal for the night. although, you found them slightly interesting, forcing lestat to sit through the dull conversation.

“yes, lestat took longer than most, but we’ve been married for what feels like an eternity,” you laughed.

it had been only a few decades since you’d become mrs. de lioncourt, compared to your century of love.

“forgive me, ma chèrie,” lestat said lowly, as he kissed your hand.

“i didn’t grow up with the best example of marriage,” he said, a sly grin on his face.

“that’s a shame, my pa married my mama after only a month of knowing her, they’ve been together for over 30 years,” the husband bragged. you resisted the urge to laugh, watching as lestat went from grinning to frowning in disgust.

“you know what i find shameful? humans and their boresome matrimonies. you have no real reason other than legality burdens and for misogynistic idiots like yourself to have an at-home womb and servant,” lestat told the man, his nose turned up to him.

“that’s quite a harsh thing to say when you’re married yourself,” the young bride told him, furrowing her eyebrows.

“exactly, miss…y/n, was it? you sure have a handful on your hands,” the groomsman laughed, awkwardly.

slowly looking over at you, you smiled as you met his eyes, his fingertips softly brushing against your jaw.

“our marriage is beyond anything you've experienced in your short life, or your insufficient parents, the epitome of all things neither of your insolent brains could ever understand. your marriage is useless, nothing more than a piece of paper, and if you permit her beautiful name to even slip from your thoughts, let alone your tongue again, i will rip out your spine from-

“lestat,” you called his name, he stopped instantly, facing you.

“yes love?” he asked, his eyes softened. over the years, despite being your maker, he found himself willingly under your command, doing any and everything in his power to please you.

“don’t scare them too badly, honey, the blood will change its course, and taste funny,” you told him, your usual soft smile in place.

the couple was by now confused and disturbed, looking around for the safest exit.

“my apologies, ma chèrie,” he shook his head.

“you don't have to apologize, shall we eat?”

“ladies first,” he nodded, as you both bare your teeth, to plunge into your meals.

#lestat de lioncourt x reader #lestat x reader #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv

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blackknight-kai · 8 months ago

Note

Let me start saying I love your blog, reblogs and headcanons, truly, all of the above🩷🩷

If you’re comfortable with the question, do you have any for the Destined One with a female virgin reader?

So I wanna say thank you 🫶🫶🫶🫶 I haven’t quite shared my own head canons much but I don’t have any issue sharing them 🫶 others do a much better job of it so I’ve left it to them. But! Your ask comes at a wonderful time as I needed a break from writing a fic 💀 (kill me im up to 20k)

Let’s get after it! Destined One & a female virgin head canons? I’ll give it a shot! There will be a nsfw section below sorry if that’s not your thing. I wasn’t super explicit on body parts etc but let me know if you guys want a Sun Wukong one? I’d try.

If you’re NOT in a relationship yet and he finds out? (Be it you told him outright or it comes out in passing conversation)

He’d would remain expressionless and quiet as usual. Not wanting to make a big deal out of it and remain respectful

But if you look closely you can see him swallowing thickly at the new information

Will NOT treat you differently

He has a LOT of feelings for you and knowing you haven’t shared yourself with someone else, while not a huge deal he’s never really cared one way or another, it’s something he finds himself thinking about often.

It makes him a little hot under the collar sometimes when he looks at you and remembers what you’d said.

NSFW - on the very rare occasions that he takes some time to himself or you’re not around, in the quiet he puts his goal to the side for just a moment and allows himself to think about his wishes and whims. Specially how he’d touch you and make it good for you because you deserve to be treated like you’re special and HE wants to be the one to do it.

If you’re in a relationship and it either came up naturally or during a more…heated moment.

Would absolutely freeze. Like body full on screenshot kinda freeze - only his tail would flick and twitch as he processes

Because honestly it hadn’t occurred to him before but it is NOW. He’s thought of you and making love with you but first or not first hadn’t been a topic of thought

He’d probably internally get flustered and his heart would race ridiculously but on the outside his expression would appear stoic or mildly surprised

Wouldn’t try to pressure you or make a big deal out of it, as though it doesn’t matter one way or another besides making extra sure you’re comfortable

His tail would eventually give him away though as it would be swishing behind him happy and interested as the information settles in his brain

Dude would be first and foremost HONORED If you shared that news with him and were giving him your first

Probably a first for him too ngl. I see him as someone who was so focused on his path that warming another’s bed wasn’t something he was willing to spare time on.

If it’s not a first for him too then it’s not something he’s done often and isn’t an expert

Would definitely thank you for trusting him with sweet reassuring kisses (if they are a little heated don’t blame him too much)

He is respectful! As I said no pressure. No rush. But would the information please him? Yes.

Definitely adds fire to his belly because HE will be your first

Sends a note of possession through him not because he’d “own” you but because regardless of being a first or not you’d be his and he yours.

NSFW:

Regardless of if you’re shy or ready to get the show on the road he’d be so gentle and would be careful, really careful.

Probably a bit unsure and might move a little too fast accidentally in his own lust but would immediately sooth you as soon as he realizes

Looks to your expressions and sounds to make sure you’re feeling good and safe

He wants to treat you WELL views it as HIS duty to make sure you’re happy

It’s a lot of pressure but he’d do his best and set his mind to it being nothing but perfect for you

I imagine at first his hands would be so feather light letting you get used to him and his touch as he undresses you piece by piece- he’d watch his claws unless he finds out you enjoy them grazing across your skin

He’d brush his lips across every piece of new skin revealed to his eyes unable to help himself

Finds out he really loves your chest, both feeling you & tasting you. as well as napping on you later

But over time as the act went on he’d be more confident, still tender but less unsure

He’d be enamored every time he got you to sigh or make a pleased sound

It’s his goal to hears those often

When he discovers how turned on he’s made you it would send waves of pride crashing over him, he had done THAT

Overall though he’d take his time

He probably won’t speak much if at all, but he’d make sure you’re ready every step of the way. If he does speak it’s not more than a few words here or there, low and only for you to hear as he nips your ear

Multiple check ins

He’s a giver, and while he isn’t practiced whatsoever he’d use his mouth and fingers to bring you pleasure, finding out exactly how you like it by listening to the way you moan or the way your body shivers and trembles with specific movements

He 100% will become VERY VERY good with his hands and mouth

His tail is sneaky, he’d use it as a way to hold on to your leg (holding you open while one of his hands is occupied) or would brush the the furry appendage across your skin just to see goosebumps rise in its wake

When you’re finally connected, after time spent letting you get used to him (and him you because let’s be real he’d be overwhelmed by the feel of tightly wrapped around him too) he’d roll his hips gently

He would make sounds, sighs and groans in your ear.

He’d love it if you cling on to him and tell him he’s doing something good

Full on shudders if you scratch his back or dig your nails into him - he loves it and he might accidentally thrust too hard when you do it

Wants to hear you 👏👏

Would keep control for as long as he could but would listen to your requests almost instantly if you asked him to move faster

Would love it if you moved his hand exactly where you wanted him to touch you

Would suck marks on your skin - thighs and neck, wherever he absentmindedly ran his lips. Would be shy about it later but would touch them possessively or when you’re dressed his eyes would stray to where his marks are on your skin.

Afterwards he’d silently but tenderly wipe you down and then pull you into his arms

Would nuzzle his face against you and breathe your scent as you both relax and come down from your high

Would massage any soreness you have that he could and feel pride at wearing you out, although his face wouldn’t show it

His tail would be like a vice around your thigh all night and trying to get out of his hold in the morning is a chore

He’d 100% take care of you especially for a first time is basically what I’m saying. After, he may be a bit rougher with his movements or may be impatient at times especially after a tough fight and adrenaline is still kicking but will always treat you tenderly as you guys build confidence together.

#black myth wukong #black myth wukong x reader #destined one x reader #sun wukong x reader #I tried 💀🤣#back to the ol fic grind now #thank you anon 🫶#BK Kai Writes

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

Cool for the Summer 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren’t as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: love u guys.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The night creeps by in ripples of moonlight and anxiety. You drift in and out of sleep, flinching at ever rustle of the tree outside, every creak in the house. You expect him to knock on your door. To open it. That’s why the dresser’s in front of it.

Paranoid. You think so. But no, not really. Overreacting but not without reason.

You’re so twisted up about the intruder in your house, in your family, that you barely think of your mom’s big news. A date? Technically your first real date. That movie night with that boy in high school was a celibate, silent penance.

You hear your mom get ready for work. She said after, you’ll go out. You’re looking forward to it even if you don’t care much about the reason. Any chance to get away, you’ll take.

The front door shuts and her car chirps as it unlocks. You listen in dread. You’re awake now. It’s four in the morning and you’re not going back to the sleep. You can’t.

You wallow in the lull that overtakes the house. Your eyelids are heavy, your head full, but even your fatigue can’t override your fear. You can hear your breaths as they fill your chest to bursting and you force them out in slow draws.

Then it begins. A low groan. At first, you think it’s nothing but the wind outside. Then it rises. Grunting peaking at the end of every prolonged sigh. Then your name.

Bucky’s voice swirls down the hall as you can only imagine what he’s doing. To himself.

“That’s it, baby girl. That’s... exactly... how I like it...” His voice gets clearer as his footfalls slap over the floor. You hold your breath and wrap the blanket around you, up to your chin.

“That’s how I want you--” He stomps up to your door and slaps his hand against the outside. “Be a good girl, open the door...”

His harried huffs bluster just outside. He moans as the door shakes with his unseen efforts. But you hear it all.

“I just need a little—help--” he snarls. “Oh, just... if you smile at me, I think--” he grunts and thumps on the door. The handle jolts and jiggles. The door hits the dresser but does not open. You squeal. “Ah, you got me, baby—girl—you---”

His voice fizzles out and his palms drags buck up the door. The friction is like a jet engine in the stillness of the house. You whimper and tuck your head under the blanket.

“You gone an made another mess, why don’t you come out and help clean it up?” He growls.

You don’t move. You can’t breathe. Your tears trickle out and roll over your nose and round your temple. They plummet onto the blanket as you recede into yourself.

Will you make it until your mom gets home?

☀️

You relent to the day and sit up. You need to use the bathroom but you’re too afraid to go out. Bucky is bold in making his presence known. You hear him making his coffee, whistling in the hall, blaring the television.

You hole up until noon, fractured by the rude awakening and the building pressure in your pelvis. You have to go so bad but moving the dresser would give you away. You stare at the window, wondering if you could sneak down the tree. Going on the lawn is a sane option in this insane situation.

Your phone lights up and draws your attention. It’s your mom. You answer. You cough before you find your voice.

“Mom?” You sputter.

“Hey, sweetie,” she chimes. “You sound tired. You're not still sleeping, are you?”

“No, I’m just... sorting out my room,” you lie.

“Ah, okay, well, I have some bad news,” she sniffs. “They need me to stay tonight. We have clinical students coming this evening and it’s my job to oversee all training.”

You hesitate. You nearly forgot about the date, let alone her proposed shopping trip. You really don’t need a new outfit.

“Um, alright, well... I’m sure I have something--”

“Oh, but sweetie, you should get something new,” she insists, “I talked to Bucky a few minutes ago. He said he’ll be happy to take you.”

“Bucky?” You echo.

“Oh, sure. It'll be good for you two to bond a bit more.” She trills. “He says you’ve been hiding all day. I don’t like that, sweetie.”

“But-- tomorrow we could--”

“The date’s tomorrow and I just don’t know if this will happen again,” she interrupts. “I’m so sorry but I’m so busy. I have to go. Bucky said he’ll take you. I can’t wait to see what you choose.”

“Mom--”

“Love you,” she talks over you and hangs up.

You stare at the phone. Oh no. You should’ve at least tried to tell her. It’s your fault. If you said something, she would listen. But you didn’t and now it feels too late.

A knock jolts the door. You hold back a yelp and look at the wood. You quiver and put your phone down.

“Hey, Baby Girl, did your mom call?” He taps his fingers on the door.

You get up and drag your feet across the room, “uh, yeah, she said we’ll go tomorrow.”

He chuckles, “that’s not what she said to me.”

“I... I’m not feeling well,” you argue.

“Of course you don’t. You’ve been holed up inside all day. It’s nice out,” he turns the handle and pushes the door into the dresser. “Hey, baby girl, what’s going on? Something's wrong with your door.”

You gulp and put your hands on the dresser.

“I’m not ready.”

“Well, I can wait,” he intones. “I have been, haven’t I?”

You shiver. You know exactly what he means.

“I’ll...I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Oh, sure, you probably need a coffee. How about I make you one? Be good for you, huh?” He shakes the door handle. “You know, I can be good, if I get a treat.”

You brace the edge of the dresser. Your eyes round at the door. You close your dry mouth. You take a breath and peel your lips apart.

“Fine,” you agree.

“Alright, I’ll be waiting. Patiently,” he lets go of the handle. “Just don’t let the coffee get cold or I’ll have to come find you.”

You don’t move until you hear him on the stairs. You slowly drag away the dresser and turn it to get into the drawers. You pull out a pair of jeans and a loose tee with Tweety Bird on it. It’s completely plain.

You inch open the door and peer out. You watch for him or his shadow. You step out and your foot meets something sticky. You look at the floor and the splatter there; stringy with a few droplets. That’s not...

You cringe and tiptoe down to the bathroom. You wipe off your foot with a wet wad of tissue. You use the toilet next, a painful clench before the release. Then you do your best to clean up. You grab a cloth and run it under the tap. You clean up the mess in front of your door.

You bury the cloth down in the bathroom bin. As you come back out, you press yourself to the wall and shuffle to your room. You find a pair of sunglasses to hide behind.

You go to the top of the stairs and peer down. As if sensing you, Bucky appears at the base. You flinch. He has a mug in his hands. It’s not a coincidence, he’s been listening.

You descend, step by step. His eyes crawl up your body. His gaze makes you feel naked. How can he do that? The tee shirt is so baggy, you can barely tell there’s a body under it.

“Here ya go,” he hands you the travel mug; porcelain with a silicone top. “Just for my baby girl.”

You accept it and look past him. You say thanks but can’t hear your own voice. He touches your cheek and you wince.

“Are we gonna find you something cute? Something sexy?” He purrs as he pets your chin.

You shy away and try to step past him. He blocks you with his arm. He grips your chin more firmly and brings your head up. Your eyes flick to his.

“You might be wearing it for that boy, but you’ll be taking it off for me,” he snarls. “Make mommy happy first, but you don’t wanna piss me off.”

His grip makes you tremble. You whine and bat your lashes. He eases up and snickers as he strokes your cheek and rescinds his hand.

“Baby girl, I just wanna treat you right,” he eases from his momentary lapse. That stone in his voice sticks in your skill. “You know he can’t do that. Not like I can.”

You cradle the cup and stare at him. Your insides are on fire. You pout and his eyes fixate on your lip. His tongue pokes out.

“Why...” you eke out.

He grins. “Why not, baby girl? You deserve it. To be taken care of. You’re so wound up,” he drawls. “I can tell you need it.”

“My mom--”

He hisses and shushes you with a finger to your lips. He taps meanly and drops his hand.

“Don’t,” he warns. “You say a word to her, if she believe you, you don’t want to see what happens.” He takes a breath. “And can you imagine how hurt she’d be? Everything was perfect til you got home.”

You search his face. Your lashes flutter. He’s right. It wouldn’t look like his fault, would it? Especially after yesterday.

“Can we go?” You croak.

“I guess we should,” he sighs. “Even if I’d rather stay... get to know you, baby girl.” He slowly moves out of your way. You step down and he turns, brush your ass with his hand. “Think we’ll find something real nice... something to show this off.”

☀️

As Bucky drives past the mall, your heart stutters. Where is he going? Your mom would only ever take you to Old Navy or some department store.

What if he isn't taking you shopping? Why didn't you think of that before? Why are you going along with this?

You latch onto your thighs with your sweaty hands and push back into the seat. He reaches over and you lean away. He taps the touchscreen to skip the song.

"Not my favourite," he comments.

You swallow dryly. You look at him. He doesn't seem to notice the shift. Or he doesn't let on.

The grey hairs catch the light, the lines in his face add definition to his already sharp feature, and his blue eyes absorb all brightness. You face forward and your jaw locks. He wouldn't do anything. Your mom knows you're with him.

"Got a friend, she recommended the place," he interrupts your panic. "If you're looking for something special... well, you don't wanna go to the mall."

You sniff and nod. "Sure," you agree hoarsely.

He clucks and drives on. Your eyes drift to his hands, thick knuckles, thick fingers. Strong hands. Strong enough to choke.

He turns onto a street in the centre of town. You watch the storefronts, calmed by the number of witnesses, but not completely. He slides into a paralell spot and taps the button to quiet the engine.

He gets out first. You follow reluctantly.

He leads you to a store and opens the door ahead of you. You enter and look around at the expertly dressed mannequins. A feather red dress has you intimidated but the simple blue dress across from it isn't too bad.

A shop associate approaches, "hello, how are you doing today? Anything you're looking for?"

"Ummmm." You chew your lip as Bucky catches up to you.

"Special day," he speaks for you as his hand settles on your lower back, "anniversary. I'm taking her out on the town."

The woman looks between you. You choke in embarrassment as you read her name tag; Darcy.

"Oh, wow, how long?" Her voice is crisp.

"How long... two years now. I know, a bit much but you gotta celebrate the little things," he responds coolly. You almost believe him. "I'm not really a fashion guy, but you sell panties? Gotta plan for the whole night."

Her brow twitches and her dimples deepen, "yes.... there's an intimate section near the back. Hun," she looks at you, "do you want to surprise him? I can show you around."

"I think we can figure it out," Bucky insists with a bristle. "I know what looks best on her."

She blinks and pushes her tongue into her cheek. You avert your gaze as you swelter. Bucky curls his hand around your hip.

"Uh huh, well you just let me know if you need anything," she chirps sharply.

"Alright, hun," Bucky hurls the epithet back at her before he guides you away. He scoffs as he takes you past a table of denim. "Cunt," he utters under his breath and reaches for a hanger with his other hand, "now, just remember," he pulls a red dress free, "you keep those legs together with that little punk." He holds the dress in front of you. "And I'll get them nice and loose when you get home."

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #cool for the summer #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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emma23 · 3 months ago

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Ohhgg Steven Grant getting baby fever... Reading that little drabble, I can only imagine it getting worse. He sees little clothes, children at a park, even nursery builds in an IKEA catalog and gives you those puppy dog eyes. He isn't pressuring you intentionally but God if he isn't the king of getting what he wants

Marc feels like he would be in the "we are not ready for a baby absolutely not" category. There are too many uncertain factors, so much can go wrong and he doesn't want his love or their child to get put in harms way because of his moon knighting so to speak

Jake could probably be convinced, but still would see the dangers and still tell you that it's something that they should really be on the same page and be extremely prepared for (don't get it wrong he would be ecstatic to be a papa)

Steven.... Baby fever is contagious.. he wants that taste of domestic bliss and all the hardships that come with it. I don't even want children, but I think Steven could convince me with little effort,,

Omg love the idea !!! 💕

Steven/ Marc/ Jake x reader

You weren’t expecting it when it started.

It was subtle at first—Steven’s eyes lingering a little longer than usual when you passed a baby stroller on the street, his lips parting in quiet awe when a toddler giggled at him in the grocery store. You noticed the way he hesitated in the baby aisle at Target, fingers brushing over the tiny socks like they were made of gold, and how he always seemed to pause when flipping through a magazine that happened to have an article about parenting.

At first, you thought it was nothing.

But then, you caught him staring at an IKEA catalog, completely ignoring the ‘practical storage solutions’ section he usually obsessed over. His focus? A nursery setup, all soft blues and yellows, tiny bookshelves filled with plush animals, and a crib that looked like it had been handcrafted by angels.

“Oh, no,” you muttered under your breath.

Steven Grant had baby fever.

And Steven Grant was very, very good at getting what he wanted.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before. The idea of a little one running around, a mix of you and them, was… sweet. But this was not something you could decide on impulse.

And Marc? Marc was a hard no.

"We are absolutely not ready for a baby," he told you one night, arms crossed over his chest like a barrier between him and the conversation. "We have too much going on. Too many risks. Too much shit we still need to work through."

His voice was firm, but there was something in his eyes—fear. Not of being a father, necessarily, but of bringing a child into his world, a world that was dangerous, unpredictable.

Jake? Well.

"¿Un bebé, huh?" He tilted his head, assessing you with that sharp, knowing look. "I mean… It’s a big thing, mi vida. We’d have to be sure. Really sure. But…" A slow smirk spread across his face. "I'd be lying if I said I didn’t like the idea of a little one calling me ‘papá’ someday."

That left you in the middle of a tug-of-war you weren’t prepared for.

On one side, Steven and his dangerously persuasive pout.

On the other, Marc’s logic and fear.

And in between? Jake, who was probably enjoying this chaos a little too much.

It all came to a head one Saturday afternoon when you and Steven went to the park.

It was meant to be a simple outing—fresh air, a walk, maybe some ice cream. But then, Steven saw them.

The kids.

Toddlers chasing after bubbles, little ones waddling unsteadily across the grass, tiny hands reaching for their parents’ fingers. A dad lifted his giggling daughter into the air, spinning her around before settling her onto his shoulders.

Steven didn’t say anything.

He just looked.

And when you turned to him, his eyes were soft, filled with something deep and yearning.

"Love," he murmured, barely audible. "Can you imagine it? A little one. Someone to love, to protect… to teach about ancient Egypt and proper museum cataloging, of course."

You snorted, nudging him. "Because that's exactly what kids want to learn about."

"They should," he huffed playfully, but then, more seriously, "I just… I think about it a lot, yeah? I know it’s not simple, but I want that with you. I do."

You exhaled slowly, heart squeezing at the way he looked at you—like you were the whole damn universe.

"Steven…"

And then—

"Absolutely not."

Marc’s voice. Sharp. Unyielding. He was at the front now, pulling Steven back like a parent snatching a kid away from the edge of a cliff.

Steven groaned, rolling his eyes. "Marc—"

"No."

"Marc, c'mon, mate, it’s not like I’m asking for one right this second—"

"You're looking at car seats like you're about to shove one in our shopping cart."

Steven huffed. "That's exaggerating."

"It's not. Y/N, back me up here." Marc turned to you, arms crossed.

You hesitated. "Well… I mean…"

Steven’s eyes snapped to you, hopeful.

Marc’s narrowed.

You sighed. "Marc, I get it. I do. But…" You glanced at Steven, the sheer want in his expression making your stomach flip. "It’s not crazy to think about, is it?"

Marc groaned, rubbing his face. "Christ."

"See?" Steven beamed. "Not crazy."

"Not crazy," Marc muttered. "Just—fuck, okay, hypothetically—"

Steven’s eyes lit up.

"—if we ever did this, we’d need to be prepared. We’d need to think about safety. Logistics. The reality of it."

"Of course," Steven agreed immediately.

"And—"

"Ah, mierda, just give in already."

Jake.

"Jake." Marc’s voice was warning.

Jake just laughed, low and easy. "C’mon, hermano. You know you’re picturing it now."

"I’m not," Marc snapped, then scowled. "Okay, maybe a little."

Jake smirked.

Steven grinned.

Marc sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Fuck."

That night, you and Steven curled up together on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket, his arms snug around you.

"You really want this, don’t you?" you murmured, fingers threading through his curls.

Steven pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. "More than anything, love."

You swallowed hard, leaning into him. Maybe… maybe this was something you could want.

Much later, when things turned heated—when Steven had you pressed against the mattress, murmuring sweet, desperate things against your skin—he whispered, "Y'know, practice makes perfect."

You flicked his forehead.

"Ow!"

"You're impossible."

"Yeah, but you love me."

You rolled your eyes, laughing breathlessly. "God help me, I do."

#steven grant x reader #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight #marc spector x reader #Jake Lockley #jake lockley x reader #oscar isaac #oscar isaac character #oscar isaac characters

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stararch4ngelqueen · 2 years ago

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For the Jason drabbles, what about Jason conforting/taking care of reader while they are sick or even on their period?

We love a supportive man. What he receives he gives back tenfold.

“Show me where, baby.”

His hand roamed along your lower abdomen, imagining the soreness in your tense muscles. The spikes of pain that riddled you bedridden during your most heavy days.

“Here?” He applies pressure, fingers rubbing circles down just under your stomach, along the spot near your hip bone.

“Oww, yes,” you whine, wincing from the pain before being soothed by his massage.

Jason knew what periods were. He knew it’s a natural thing women dealt with. He’s worked with women for years, alongside doing his own research on it during one time you hadn’t left your bed for a while, thinking you were sick at first. It was an.. interesting conversation with Babs over what more he could do to help that the internet didn’t tell him about those relentlessly heavy cycles.

Pain like this took a lot longer to be rid of than a heating pad would allow. Especially the good quality ones with different settings.

Or, if you want something different, something fun that he wouldn’t mind shoving into the microwave for a minute, he’d get you a heatable, plush teddy bear. Or a duck. Or a menstruation crustacean.

He had no idea what the hell that was until you showed him on the site. You received whatever you chose in a box nearly three days later from Prime shipping.

Don’t freak out about blood. Accidents happen. If you got some on the sheets, along his lap when he held you, or on the couch, he could’ve cared less.

He wouldn’t even point it out, if you didn’t know. If you did notice it, he’d immediately shush you in an consolation attack, hiding your shameful expression in the crook of his shoulder.

“Shh, baby,” he’d murmur in your ear. “Easy. Nothin’ I haven’t seen before. S’alright, it’s okay.”

With advice from Babs, he cooks a lot more iron rich meals for you a lot more during this time. Usually, it’s been a team effort. You cook, he cleans up, you wash dishes together. Vice versa.

This week, regardless if you suffer from irregular periods, he does it all. He’ll do it even if he was a walking zombie, he doesn’t care.

Jason will not, no matter what you say, let you lift a finger if he knows you’re in pain. He’s an expert of masking his own, he can tell when you do it.

This even goes if you’re not used to being babied, get used to it. You tend to him for weeks at a time in a single month alone, this is his way of saying thank you for it all.

“Bed.” Jason demands, not even having to turn around from his attention on the stove to hear your shuffling to the kitchen.

“But I’m—“

“I brought you a drink,” he replies. A cup of warm raspberry leaf tea sitting on your bedside.

“No, I mean—“

“I know it hurts, but you can’t take anything until after you eat,” Jason peers over his shoulder, seeing his olive green shirt loosely draped over your body. “Go back to bed, Princess.”

“Can I stay here?” You plea, making his shoulders slump with a sigh. Try as he may, your weakened state makes him more pliable to your every request.

Might as well, since you’re already up. Stubborn girl.

“Go sit on the couch,” he sighs, knowing a few comforters were folded up on the cushions. “Get comfortable, an’ stay there. Dinner’s almost done.”

Jason has pills, plenty of them. From plain Tylenol, ibuprofen, to doctor prescribed muscle relaxers, morphine, etc. All thanks to Alfred.

Broken bones or severe, suture required injuries would be the only times Jason felt complied to take them. He knew addiction, watching it first hand and being involved in it at one point himself. He only took them when he absolutely, positively needed it.

For you, if you needed something stronger, he’d give you half of one pill, or a full, single pill at most. No way would you ever fall victim to such a cruel, toxic routine. He’d keep them locked up, for both your safety and his.

After your said hearty, iron rich meal, you remained on the couch snuggled up together like true lovers.

His guilty pleasure during your period of vulnerability was how much you relied on him for comfort. Positions varied, but his most favorite would be your body laying in his lap as he lounged on his reading recliner.

A gray comforter over your shoulders, some fuzzy socks on your feet. The furnace you called your boyfriend leaving you nice and toasty, his hands settling along your hair and back, preparing to soothe and massage when needed.

He adored when you needed him, he loved catering to you. You were his woman, his little nurse turned patient.

This also sort of gave him an excuse to skip out on patrols, but he never voiced the reasons why he’s gotten calls about it. He just didn’t feel like it, refusing the idea of abandoning you late at night, leaving him tense and unfocused on his routine on if you needed something, and he wasn’t there.

The others, with their detective mindsets could figure it out for themselves as to why Jason didn’t show up on a Saturday night. Or a Sunday, and definitely not a Monday.

He had important priorities, after all.

Just him, you; snuggly comfortable and content, and your herbal scented, menstruation crustacean.

#jason todd x y/n #Jason Todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #gotham knights jason todd #jason todd x female!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd dc

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anorlondo00 · 4 months ago

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I do not care at all about sports and the sum total of my knowledge about American football is what I remember from reading Eyeshield 21 fifteen plus years ago, BUT. I am now invested in the football AU. Ace and Luffy are the mascots of the team and everyone loves them. They can do no wrong in Oyaji's eyes and he will let them get away with murder. In return, both of them are seriously devoted to making the team The Best EverTM. The first time the Whitebeards saw Ace throw a hail mary pass they swore it was going way too wide until Luffy tore down the whole length of the field, leapt like the monkey he is higher than anyone thought possible and slammed that ball down. Now the Whitebeards know to expect anything.

Also in my head Ace is the canon 2-3 years older than Luffy, and while he only became his legal guardian upon turning 18, he has helped raised him and the Whitebeards do a double-take every time responsible Ace comes out. Before Luffy joins the team Ace has to beg early off practice to go to a parent-teacher conference. After they're both on the team Ace still makes him PB&J sandwiches after practice, unruffled by doing it in front of everyone in the locker room.

Bootleg Marineford is a game where everyone (and especially Ace, under a lot of pressure) has been physically and mentally wrung out. The Marines team keep trying to sack Ace and get closer and closer, but Marco digs in his heels and makes an impassable barrier of himself. Until there's a crack in the line... And a small opening forms where Teach, who has been fighting with everyone recently, but especially Whitebeard and Ace, stands. Offensive player Akainu, who probably weighs twice what Ace does, hits him like an avalanche. Ace goes down. When Akainu is finally dragged off him, he stays down.

Luffy and Whitebeard are sprinting across the field toward Ace, but Marco's mind has hit the blue screen of death. There's nothing but static behind his eyes as he stares at his fallen quarterback.

The game is suspended and put up for a rematch. Neither Ace nor Marco, who did his level best to murder Akainu right there on the field, play.

(Ace is eventually fine, but now knows up front and personal the effects of a long-term concussion).

Claims not to know that much about American football, proceeds to clearly and accurately describe the exact plot I was also imagining—

YES! Are you KIDDING ME? This is perfect, I’ve got more

They don’t call him ‘Fire Fist’ for nothing, the kid throws missiles. The way Ace and Luffy find each other across an entire football field drops most people’s jaws.

Luffy will track the ball wherever Aces throws it. If Luffy get’s hurt in a collision catching the ball, Ace firmly believes that’s his fault.

That being said, Luffy is notoriously indestructible.

Bootleg Marineford: (That’s a hilarious thing to call it btw)

There was a flag thrown the second Ace got hit. Yes, it was Teach’s fault for leaving an open window. And. Akainu was needlessly brutal. Whitebeard was cursing him out before they even hit the ground.

Luffy was incredibly protective over Ace while he was unconscious. There were cameras everywhere.

Marco needed three people to pull him off Akainu. Instead of apologizing, he later told the media he’d gladly do it again.

Ace is out for the rest of the season. He’s absolutely devastated. That being said, he stood on the sidelines for every game.

Physical and neurological therapy were a bitch. Lots of ‘long talks’ with Pops.

Of course, Ace comes back to the field as soon as he’s better. Now, playing with the most overprotective offensive line you’ve ever seen in your life.

Thank you for writing this, it was so much fun to read!! And there’s a lot I didn't even mention like the adjusted age gap (perfect for this) and parent teacher conferences— I love it all!

#onepiecefootballau #portgas d ace #marco the phoenix #marace #marco x ace #opfootballau #one piece au #one piece headcanons #asks

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whatt-the · 8 months ago

Text

Gift for @uno-san

College Stanford x milf reader

Content warnings: age gap obviously, stanford is a warning because I am tired of people pretending he isn't odd as hell, fem reader

Author's note: this takes place in an AU where Stanley never ruined ford's project and he got into his dream college. He is taken under the wing of an esteemed scientist, shenanigans (cheating on ur husband in a loveless marriage) ensue.

devious devious art about this coming soon! Both targeted and about the ambiguous "reader".

This is also only part 1 and there will definetly be more to come

Imagine how Stanford felt when first being invited to his mentor's house, after a particularly lengthy discussion on whatever topic the lecture his mentor gave happened to be about. I can imagine all sorts of emotions running through his mind... anxiety, excitement, a bit of shock- he knew he was smart, but he never thought his theories were reasonable enough to challenge his mentor's views: you see, he really idolized that man. Continuing their discussions would be an honor, and the mere mention of publishing multiple papers with him had stanford's mind racing, he could barely contain his joy!

Now, understand that he had plans for the unexpected visit: he'd prove his worth, his technical prowess, anything to get more of that sweet, sweet approval. We both know he didn't have much of that in his youth, neither did he get much of it now... it seems he is always the single oddest character in any given room, even amongst other well educated, motivated students. "Teacher's pet", "tryhard", he couldn't believe it at first- such childish insults at such an esteemed institution? He thought those got left behind in high school. How innocent he is. Regardless:

His plans were to prove himself.

Well, like I said, were.

Right now? His mind couldn't be further from his studies.

He'd made it to the house alongside the professor, the discussion now spanning multiple topics- he was having fun. Rare, considering any of his other interactions with quite literally anyone else.

(Truly the outcomes are deplorable. His social skills are lacking to an astronomical degree, to the point where it is borderline comical how little he knows about human interaction. It is a cliché, the nerd who doesn't know how to socialize, but it wouldn't be so popular of a trope if it didn't often get reflected in reality. Not like he knew it was very popular to begin with: even the claim that he learned to interact with others through books would be false, since he strayed from any sort of romantic narrative. It was out of a feeling of inadequacy, really.)

Then, the door was opened.

And that's when he met you for the first time.

"You! You're Stanford right? I've heard good things from my husband here-"

"Come on, don't flatter the kid yet." Your husband spoke with a chuckle

"Hey! He deserves to hear how good he's doing! Come here." You walked forward and hugged him, it was your way of greeting people. It was warmer and more welcoming- both things the world lacked severely.

(Stanford found himself paralyzed where he stood for a few moments. He'd already found your personality endearing -your appearence even moreso-, and now you're pressed up against him? He simply must be dreaming. You felt so soft against him-- heavens, how long had it been since he'd received a hug? Far too long, clearly, but he doesn't remember them ever feeling this good)

The societal pressure to reply to this action in some way caught up to him fast, however. He was quick to place a hand on your waist, his range of motion being limited from your arms wrapping around his own. He may experience the social pressure, but he really has no clue what's appropriate and what isn't, huh? Cute.

(Had he a modicum of self control, he'd most definetly have had a much more timely and well adjusted response to your touch, but amidst the smell of your perfume, your soft arms around him, your hair tickling against his face, the feeling of your hands on his back... nothing carried the same weight as your presence did, who could blame him for doing what his mind instructed him to do and touch you back somehow? He'll come to find that he will blame himself very much for this interaction. No one more judgemental on his behaviors than the one responsible for them)

Once you pulled back from him, you were quick to usher them inside and offer them snacks, reasoning that they'd deserved something nice after studying and debating so much on so many topics. Your husband eagerly agreed and impatiently waited for your food through busying himself by unearthing blueprints and all sorts of different research papers so there would be grounds for his and ford's endless theorizing.

And thus, as you left, Stanford was left with his own thoughts. He made note of the fact that those very same thoughts were entirely consumed by you: how you dressed, how you looked, how soft your hair was, how lovely your voice sounded; all things that brought him much joy to think about, but equal parts of shame. He didn't necessarily want to have any such invasive thoughts about his professor's wife, yet there he is, with his thoughts growing more wretched by the minute. It's almost like his brain was against him: guiding thoughts that had him blushing at the very visage into his mind's eye. He wanted your hands on his back again- he wanted you to drag your nails across it-- he wanted to feel your lips on his, he wanted to feel your breath grow shaky against him--

"Here it is!! Sorry for the wait"

Papers getting dropped on the table and a thankful sigh were the next things he heard. His professor turned to him, instructing him to sit at the table, since "if you don't come quick, there won't be any left for you!"

Your food was great, simply regarded as the usual to your husband, but seen as the world's 8th wonder by Stanford. When asked if he was enjoying the food, he quickly assured you that he was absolutely enjoying it, making sure to remark that it is "the best thing he's had since he entered college", which was not at all a lie, considering he was surviving off of microwaved cup noodles and the occasional granola bar- but even he knew that was too pathetic for him to mention at all.

Your husband and Stanford made quick work of the snacks and promptly got back to... spewing big pompous words and numbers at eachother... at least it seems they were having fun, considering they'd laugh toguether on occasion. That must be a good sign? You weren't entirely sure what was happening with those 2, and you took to not interrupting them in lest you break their chain of thought.

The afternoon went by in the blink of an eye to them. Discussions on various theories followed by reading research papers followed by sketching on blueprints followed by more reading research papers. It was their passion, it seems. However, ford was greatly saddened that it was already so late- he knew full well that if he stayed any longer he'd end up spending the night on your couch, so both him and his professor agreed that it was very much time for him to go back to campus snd consequently to the dorms.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen before he got to say goodbye to you. Even if he was embarrassed to look you in the eye after a full day of... various thoughts about you, he couldn't seem to get enough of your presence. Making his way towards the front door, you were the only one who accompanied him, since your husband was quite busy organizing the mess him and his pupil had created throughout the day.

As you stood at the doorway, you saw yourself growing quite sorrowful that he'd be leaving already, he was quite interesting to you. However, nothing could have prepared neither you nor him for what he did next. He turned around to face you once more, seemingly debating something in his mind for an instant. But, just as quickly as his uncertainty was noticed, it vanished, being replaced by a conviction and fervor he didn't expect from himself -his self control seemed to disappear when he was with you- .Thus, he gently took a hold of your hand and brought it up to his height, kissing the back of it lightly. You could feel your heart skip a beat; you hadn't experienced any such romantic gestures in... god knows how long. As he pulled back, you spoke.

"I-it was... lovely meeting you Stanford." You squeezed his hand as you took a step forward. As soon as he returned your sentiment, he was gone. Though, in the look you both shared during those brief moments, you both knew this wasn't going to be the last time he'd be in this house.

You'd both make sure of it.

Stanford's professor after ford practically begged to go back to his house again: "did you really like her cooking that much?"

Stanford, sweating profusely: "yeah.. her.. . Cooking......"

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #this LOSER is about to get his world ROCKED #can ya'll tell that I actually wish I could punch stanford?? no???#good. you shouldn't

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unhingedpolycule · 4 months ago

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Haiii ! Love what you do and had two questions :

Do you think any of them would cry at the others burial (if they even want that ? Cremation ?)

And do you think one of them would wear glasses once they age a bit more ?

Thank you 🩵

Haiiiii! First of all, thank you for your ask! It made me think and it was a really cool concept to work with! You can find the (long) answer under the cut!

If the body is recovered from the warzone where they died, they would have a small service I think. Not because the other would particularly want or need it, but because the team would more or less insist and it is simply the social convention. It doesn’t really bother them either. That being said… they would not cry. Nikto would probably get pretty gruff, outwardly pretending that their relationship was not as deep as it actually was, so he isn’t too sad. Mostly because people keep giving him condolences. He does not like it, handling Sebastian‘s death is hard enough on its own. Krueger would just get… like very silent in my mind. Not directly pretending that it doesn’t bother him, but he would let his mask slip a bit. Instead of being detached on purpose, he just sits and reminiscence about Nikto and what he is missing right now. His voice, having someone to concentrate on and to care for as to make his life less eventless. He was Nikto’s caretaker and partner for years and he was used to being joint at the hip, always having an interesting and stimulating person around.

Both feel the urge to be alone. Krueger would go missing soon after, probably searching out Blaustein without telling him what is going on. Of course, Blaustein understands that something bad must have happened and he is smart enough to count two and two together. Krueger would find a new PMC, maybe he would even stay with Coalition (Blaustein’s faction) for a bit. But he is a wanderer at heart, so it wouldnt last longer than a year. Nikto was the only thing tying him to a specific faction, so he starts moving again, with regular visits to Hans though. As for Nikto… he would be pursued by Nikodim, who thinks that he is helping. Their relationship might very well break under that pressure, leaving Nikto much worse off, just because his stability and his support system is gone. He eventually rebuilds routine on his own, but before that, he would probably burn himself out in an attempt not to grief too much.

To make it short: Krueger would let himself feel what he feels, accepting it for what it is and seek the support that he might need. Nikto would very much do the opposite and repress in order to continue being functional, even if this ruins a lot of things for him. Both would be incredibly affected. I don’t know if they would actually cry. If they do, it comes over them in the middle of the night without any warning. They want to turn around to hug the other and they find themselves alone. For Krueger, it’s a few tears. Nikto is angry ugly crying, clutching the pillow and staring at nothing.

Krueger keeps Nikto’s last pill bottle in his pack, using it for his own drugs. Nikto keeps Krueger’s net on his bedpost. Both store the other’s gear. Nikto in his room, Krueger with Blaustein, since Hans has a more steady lifestyle.

BUUUUUUUT since Krueger is an unkillable cockroach (derogatory) and Nikto is very capable and has a second pair of eyes attached to a man which would go to length to safe him… they are fine. Very fine. VERY FINE AND HAPPY. (I can’t do mcd unless it’s a “growing old” setting. I am weak.)

As for the glasses: very easy. Nikto is used to taking medication and having to subsidise for things his body is not able to do anymore (mostly because of his mental illness, but I also imagine him to have issues with mild erectile dysfunction/maintaining an erection if he is not actively having sex right in that moment.) so he would wear some cheap old man glasses. He has like three pairs, all various stages of scratched/disrepair.

Krueger on the other hand would not like it. At all. He has lived his life being able to do everything without aid, running into an active warzone without proper protection and coming out mostly unscathed. It would take some time until he could accept glasses properly. Not because of pride or of others seeing him like this, but because he has to admit that he is no longer fully “self-sufficient”. Especially because he has above average eyesight! Nikto would tease him a bit until he notices that Sebastian does not wear his glasses. They might have a gruff, short talk about it after Nikto sees Krueger holding his phone very far away from himself, squinting in annoyance while trying to read his messages. Krueger wears the damn thing after that. At home. Sometimes.

#call of duty #krueger cod #krueger x nikto #nikto x krueger #nikto cod #cod krueger #sebastian krueger #sebastian krueger x nikto #cod nikto #call of duty krueger

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clownakai · 15 days ago

Text

Hi! It's me again! Let's talk about: Shiho's trauma and how Gosho's portrayal of it comes as a pleasant surprise within Detco's rather abysmal landscape of in-depth representation

Very important disclaimer(s): I am not a licensed professional yet, and I am not diagnosed with any kind of trauma-related disorder. I nonetheless hold this topic dearly and wish to gather in one place at least a few of the things that made me truly appreciate the portrayal of Shiho's trauma in a way others haven't. Lastly, this remains of course a personal opinion first and foremost, so keep that in mind if you decide to dive into it!

P.S. - While I always try to start from canon material, we lack a lot of details re: Shiho's backstory. I will generally attempt to hypothesize what could have transpired in the past considering the repercussions we can observe in Shiho's attitude and behaviors, but my own speculations cannot compare to canon actually filling in those blanks (which I highly doubt we'll ever get in the first place).

P.P.S. - this thing got long. Like. Really long. And because of tumblr’s newfound habit of flagging random things as nsfw, I couldn't add any manga screenshots. Get ready for a wall of text, gamers

The Roots of Shiho's Trauma

Trauma is in itself an incredibly complex topic— even the mere fact that a set threshold past which events can begin to be considered traumatic doesn't actually exist on the grounds that individuals tend to react differently to the same stimuli (e.g. I once had to watch my father get the shit beaten out of him by a man twice his size to the point he had to go to the hospital, but neither I nor my dad ended up developing any sort of trauma response afterwards— I'm no warier of strangers than I'd been prior to what happened, and my father is as polite and non-threatening around really tall strangers as ever. This isn't to say that the event itself didn't have an impact on us, of course, but it didn't significantly affect our day-to-day functioning in distressing ways either. I do however know of people who, after experiencing this type of assault, developed an all-consuming agoraphobia— among other trauma-related symptoms—, for example) renders things all the more nuanced from the get-go.

With that said there is of course a point to be made about the kind of trauma Shiho herself has been subjected to. In her case, the very environment she grew up in was traumatic: from a very young age— as soon as her giftedness was identified—, she's been pressured to excel, and while studying in the States, although I imagine she hadn't been strictly beholden to furthering the Organization's goals just yet, there must have been BO members or at least affiliates watching her every move.

Later on, she is constantly required to produce results via researching something we can't even be sure she was truly interested in: being a child prodigy and yet leading the research on the "wonder drug" means she was thrust in yet another environment full of adults that likely didn't much appreciate having to listen to a literal teenager, and on top of that her social life was considerably stunted in favor of the job she'd been assigned. At any and all times she'd been under scrutiny, and her own sister was made into an incentive for her to behave herself and stick to her duties. After Rye was outed as a NOC, the situation could only have degenerated— Akemi being most likely compromised meant there was a chance Sherry was as well, which would have translated into stricter regulations and increasingly more controlling behavior from the Organization.

Considering her backstory and how it's presented to us, we also know Shiho didn't have a childhood complete with stable parental figures, and she was separated from her much less useful sister very early on. That too is a kind of instability that deeply affects the developing individual, and if unaddressed it has a high chance of leading to widespread issues later in life.

So, we already have three pretty relevant points to start with: prolonged exposure to stress, perceived (but also very real) threats and instability that spans a decade at the very least. But fear not, for we can add more.

While I think this is somewhat of a point of contention within the fandom, I myself believe that there has been some sort of abuse perpetrated towards Shiho from within the BO's ranks. Her panic reaction extends to any and all members, yes, but Gin (and for some reason Vermouth) gets the biggest externalizations of it (let us never forget that he canonically stars in Shiho's nightmares).

Now, regardless of whether we're going to find out what kind of abuse Shiho went through (psychological, physical, sexual), and considering that we most likely never will, the implications on Gin's part abound in the early manga (and one can even posit that a few specific remarks made by Shiho are a direct consequence of her own experiences, expressed through dry humor and snark as a way of feeling more "in control" of the situation). I understand that Gin is literally "guy who will hunt you down and kill you with a smile", but so are basically all the other BO members, and Shiho only ever reacts so strongly to Gin. To me this means she either directly experienced some form of abuse at his hand, or that she projected well over a decade of stress and fear of the Organization onto Gin, thus turning him into a sort of boogeyman— a herald of every horrifying thing the BO is capable of.

Lastly, the impact of Akemi's death should also be taken into consideration, above all in relation to the role Shiho is firmly convinced she herself had in it. Considering how attached Shiho was to Akemi, and how her older sister's continued safety had been the biggest incentive for Shiho to have behaved herself especially in the past few years, her execution (delivered by Gin himself, once again cementing him as a big player in Shiho's trauma) definitely "breaks" her for good.

It's worth noting that the way Shiho breaks leads her to rebel against the system that's been suffocating her all along, but doing so is insanely hard and given the lack of a solid support system to fall back on, it doesn't go far: her actions aren't even that explosive— she announces that she will no longer work on the APTX until someone tells her the truth behind her sister's death— but they nonetheless elicit an extreme reaction from the Organization, thus further confirming its status as a massive threat to Shiho in her mind. Before the BO she is entirely powerless: they decide whether she's useful or not, they decide whether she's worth keeping alive, they decide what she should do, they decide that she's expendable the moment she displays independent wishes.

We have therefore unspecified abuse and grief accentuated by strong feelings of perceived responsibility re: the loss that transpired in addition to our first three big stars in the constellation behind most, if not all, of Shiho's trauma responses.

While frustrating to my perfectionist mind (everything must have a specific cause and if I do not make an effort to clarify or at least imply what it is in my work I perish; it definitely shines through via my poorly restrained desire to compensate for the chunks and details of Shiho's backstory we're missing), the fact that a great deal of what caused Shiho's trauma in the first place is quite nondescript at first glance, almost as if Shiho were trying to convince herself and others that "it's not a big deal" by rarely— if ever— bringing it up (and when she does she recounts the events matter-of-factly, as if she were largely unaffected by them), is something I've found myself appreciating more and more as the story progressed. Not because it truly isn't important, but because it can actually be pieced together through Shiho's every action, time and time again. At long last, a character whose trauma doesn't only make itself known when a specific trigger is at play, but rather pervades every single aspect of the survivor's life whether they're conscious of it or not.

Now, one thing I won't be doing is attempting to put a clinical label on what Shiho is experiencing: this is because her position in the manga is quite complex, and seeing as the plot itself isn't centered around her and her trauma, things aren't necessarily clear-cut. For example, Shiho did indeed get out of a stressful and traumatizing environment, but that doesn't mean she's out of danger for good just yet— if we were to attempt to categorize the symptoms she displays with the goal of making a diagnosis, we just wouldn't be able to do so due to the very much still present stressors and traumatic elements.

Applying a label to Shiho's experiences is also not the point of this post in the first place, and so I decided not to. I wanted to focus on the visible effects of her trauma, and how she's shown to be willing to at least try to break away from the mechanisms and mentality she's developed.

Which is how we get to the next section of this bad boy:

Haibara Ai And Living With Trauma

From the very moment we begin to learn about Sherry's backstory, her words and behaviors indicate a deeply rooted pessimistic outlook on her predicament— and quite possibly life itself. The very name she picked for her new identity specifically includes the Japanese character for 'sorrow', as opposed to that of 'love' suggested by Agasa. Even with said choice being played off as Shiho— now Ai— intentionally trying to unsettle Conan in every way she can, I can't help but read way too much into it and see a young woman who genuinely sees herself in that Kanji. Pain is all she is. Pain is all the world offers. It's inescapable the way a name is, and she made it into a reminder she's going to hear daily from now on.

It's also interesting how Ai brings up time and time again how Conan is the only one who can understand (and therefore help) her, with specific references to their shared predicament: Conan knows about the Organization, ended up shrunk because of the APTX, and has to constantly hide from them by playing the part of a grade schooler. While a freshly shrunk Shiho's options were insanely limited from the start, she still opted to head for Kudou Shinichi's house because in her mind he was the only person who could ever understand her situation by virtue of sharing the same experience.

As the plot slowly moves forward and we get to see more of Ai interacting with the world around her, multiple other things become very clear: an especially pronounced trait of hers is that she struggles to hold on to positive emotions and trains of thought, most notably very early on in the manga. She always finds a sour note even in the happiest of situations, because her thinking patterns cannot break out of that constant negative spiral— she is effectively still trapped, at least mentally.

As an additional example of this, even though she's been away from the traumatic environment for months, Ai cannot stop thinking about it (this can technically be countered by the fact that the danger itself isn't entirely gone. Shiho is safe for the time being, but the danger is always lurking somewhere. The problem is that she sees it everywhere instead, and cannot let go of the notion that she's going to get got if she relaxes even for a moment, which is what actually makes this kind of reaction encroach into unhealthy territory).

There's a also very obvious disconnect between her and her peers (both perceived— the Detective Boys— and real— other teenagers). To Ai, all these people are too naive for this world, and they aren't ready to handle its cruelty. She is quite defeatist in her outlook on life and has difficulties understanding how the people around her can be so optimistic, which in turn makes forming new bonds much harder for everyone involved: by keeping others at arm's length, Ai acts on the fear of having to experience a loss as devastating as her sister's ever again— here we have the avoidant aspect of her trauma reactions.

Speaking of: she also projects Akemi on Ran multiple times in canon, and always in contexts where danger and death are at the very least in the background. She's just like Akemi in that she decides to protect Shiho by putting her own life on the line. She's just like Akemi and like her she's going to die. Ai's reluctance to even introduce herself to Ran, and especially her shark-dolphin metaphor, is in my opinion pretty indicative of yet another tendency that can be found in trauma survivors, and that is the belief that there is something about yourself that is inherently dirty and shameful (traumatic event(s)), that sets you apart from normal, even good people, and it is a gap that can never be filled because you're now irreversibly damaged.

Dipping our toes into a more cliché detail re: the portrayal of trauma in media, let's not forget that Ai has nightmares featuring one of the sources of her trauma (and while Gosho kind of actually uses the Gin one as a "prophetic" dream, Conan does canonically comment on the fact that Ai is a night owl/doesn't sleep nearly enough, and we could interpret that as her being unwilling to fall asleep and risk yet more nightmares).

A considerable portion of Reunion With The Black Organization is dedicated to showing us just how much of an effect a single nightmare about Gin has on Ai. She's even more withdrawn than usual, prone to getting lost in her head (possibly even dissociating), receptive to the tiniest details that inevitably rouse her memory of the nightmare to the point she fails to assess the non-existent risk factor of her current situation and has a panicked outburst towards a very confused Ayumi, who did nothing apart from touching Ai's arm. Her emotional dysregulation in these panels shows us a clear see-saw between numbness, then mounting fear up to her breaking point (startle reaction), then an unfiltered externalization of her anguish that is ultimately played off as a joke so as to avoid further scrutiny from the Detective Boys.

We also get to see Ai's reaction to the mere sight of a black Porsche 356A, Gin's favorite car. The interesting part is that said man isn't even around at the time— this could be anyone's car. But it's still enough to trigger Ai's freeze response and put her on high alert. Later on, in The Four Porsches, we find out that said car doesn't even need to be a specific color for Ai to start spiraling, which is a pretty good example of how something innocuous and only vaguely analogous to past events can be more than enough to remind a survivor of their trauma.

Even with what little we are given, it's also laughably easy to tell how utterly terrified of "going back" or otherwise re-experiencing the effects of the environment she grew up in Ai is, which naturally includes an abject fear of the people that used to be around her. Ai's "sixth sense", although specifically primed to hone in on Organization operatives, feels to me like a magnified version of the hypervigilance that trauma survivors experience.

Surprisingly enough, as that isn't something I see often in media, we even see her considering (and attempting not once but twice) the ultimate escape as an option: killing herself (or letting herself be killed) would definitely solve all of Ai's problems. It'd free her from the constant fear and misery that characterize her every waking hour— and undoubtedly her sleep as well. It'd even rid all the wonderful, untainted people she somehow managed to surround herself with of the most dangerous burden they could have ever found themselves dragging around.

This constant devaluation of her person plays such a big part in selling Shiho's trauma, at least to me. It doesn't come off as edgy or disingenuous because it has solid roots in her past, in the things she's done and what she's been through. Sherry's value lied in her brain, her genius: in a way, even Ai's working on an antidote, producing prototype after prototype at a frankly insane rate for a person who's working alone and with fragmented data to start with, can be traced back to the unhealthy notions that have been drilled into her by the Organization. She actively relives her day-to-day life as Sherry after she's gotten out, and it's fine because it's familiar. She knows how this works much better than she knows how to hold a friendly conversation with a peer: she's back under pressure, but at least she's in control. And this way she can prove that she's good, that she's useful, that she's worth keeping around.

Truly, having reached this point, the question comes naturally: can it get better? The answer? Yes. Yes, it can.

The Ups And Downs Of Recovery, Between Healing And Fighting Back

Let's not kid ourselves: recovery is hardly a straight line. There's no magical fix-all cure that entirely erases someone's trauma and associated triggers in the blink of an eye simply because the current situation requires it, or because “it's been long enough” and other people just want them to get over it already. Trauma doesn't just “go away” because you really need it to. It doesn't stop affecting you, but there are ways to ensure it no longer takes over every moment of your life.

For Shiho, the first step towards recovery consists in acknowledging that 1) she is not alone anymore, and 2) she may be deathly afraid, but letting herself drown in that fear, only ever running away from it, isn't going to make things better.

Still, “fighting back” isn't all about acting like Conan. Ai is hardly expected to hunt down the Organization the way Conan does, and she honestly shouldn't be. Her experiences with the BO largely differ from Conan's, and even without taking that into consideration, different people may react very differently to traumatic events.

Ai's abject fear and general unwillingness to confront the Organization face to face (or investigating it in general) aren't a sign of weakness on her part, nor is it necessarily bad writing on Gosho's end. I am actually elated to see how consistent Ai is in her avoidance of those massive triggers. She rightfully wants to know when they're around, wants updates on their movements, but she loathes the idea of actively interacting or facing off against them even after Sherry's supposed death on the Mystery Train. Everything about the BO is bad news and bearer of bad memories, and she wants those reminders as far away from her as possible— which is an absolutely valid position for her to maintain.

However, in the eventuality that Ai decides to start facing her fears in a healthy, constructive way rather than as a way to get herself killed (which is in fact what eventually happens in canon), starting small is key— and it's to my delight that Gosho made a point of having Ai do just that. It takes her so, so long, but she decides to stop running because she's reached the conclusion that even if she does, she's never going to be truly safe and free (which is, coincidentally, what happens if trauma goes unaddressed); by refusing to go into Witness Protection, she acknowledges her fears but also the fact that she's not alone in facing them, and that she can't ever expect to find peace if she doesn't start doing just that.

Later on, during Black Impact, we see Ai being proactive and helping out in a small way by providing Jodie with the number she needs to call. Albeit tiny, the action doesn't go unnoticed by Conan, who comments on how unlike Ai that was, nor by Jodie, who shoots her a thumbs up. And here's the thing: of all people, Jodie is maybe the one who actually comes the closest to understanding at least some of Shiho's feelings, especially in regards to the abject isolation of having your family ripped away from you all at once (only to immediately find yourself in danger in return) and consequently the Witness Protection Program.

I'm definitely more than a little biased when I say I'm sad that Gosho didn't explore their parallels further, especially when Jodie herself canonically acknowledges their similarities as well as what sets them apart: unlike her, Ai refused to go into Witness Protection, because she's already found more than enough reasons to keep her in one place, and those reasons— those people— give her courage. It's pretty simplified, of course, because this isn't what the manga itself is about, but it is nonetheless a heartwarming moment that showcases how building meaningful relationships anew can literally be life-changing in the face of trauma. Regardless, I immensely appreciate the fact that these scenes exist at all.

Now, is this all there is to Ai’s path to recovery? Of course not. The Organization itself isn't the only thing weighing her down, after all: her grief and feelings of responsibility regarding Akemi's death play a big part in her day-to-day problems as well. To put one of my earlier observations about the visible consequences of Shiho's trauma to good use, let's jump back to The Mystery In The Net, where we see Ran initially remark on how Ai refuses to even look at her when they're near each other; at the tail end of the case, seemingly out of nowhere, Ai surprises the other girl by willingly introducing herself and offering a handshake. It's genuinely touching to see, most notably because we as readers are privy to information Ran doesn't have— she doesn't know how Ai sees her, nor how the little girl sees herself. She has no idea that what makes her a lovely person to interact with is exactly what's causing Ai to keep her distance, but we do, and Ai managing to put aside her fear and shame in order to reach out to someone like Ran is definitely a massive step forward as far as her interpersonal relationships go.

Along with all this progress, however, come many relapses— usually due to a close encounter with a member of the Organization. In these cases, but most importantly in their aftermath, we're shown just how debilitating Ai's trauma responses are. After The Mysterious Passenger, wherein Ai “only” spent her time in freeze mode because of how close she was to an Organization operative and then proceeded to try to stay behind on a bus that was about to explode because she'd convinced herself that only by dying could she do the right thing, we're plunged into a relatively low-stakes case where a small dog disappears. More than anything else, it's Ai's attitude, her words, and the things we find out through the Detective Boys and Agasa that paint the true haunting picture of the day. Ai has retreated into herself, unable to escape the vicious cycle of her negative mindset, and it's a wonder Agasa even managed to get her to step foot outside— all of this from a girl who was teasing the old inventor for catching a cold right before having to go skiing just a few days ago, seemingly completely at ease in her skin and with the world around her.

I'm not going to lie: this is the kind of up and down that only brings me closer to Ai. It is frustrating to see it happen, and that's good! That's exactly right! Because imagine if, instead of just witnessing it, you were the person this is happening to: opening up the tiniest bit, daring to stick your head outside because you think that maybe, just maybe, today is going to be a nice day, only to be sent spiraling right back into fight/flight/freeze mode and having to start the process of loosening up all over again. Rinse and repeat. It's infuriating. It's maddening. It's despair-inducing. Will it ever end?

That's what I love about Shiho, Sherry, Ai. This feels so real in a way I don't see often, and it's the reason why, despite all my gripes with Gosho's writing (particularly that of these last few years), I actually think he's done a pretty damn good job with Ai. Yes, even now that she's “so annoying”. Even now that she snaps and snarks and externalizes her emotions in a way that clearly doesn't appeal to everyone. Because that, too, can be what it looks like when someone starts taking their life back piece by piece: their personality, if carefully repressed in the past, begins to unfurl. And it's not always one-hundred percent pleasant, but honestly? I wouldn't expect it to be, especially not from someone like Shiho, and especially considering that yes, she's beginning to heal, but it's not a monitored process. She isn't actively being helped nor taught about ways to manage her trauma, and it's amazing that she's made so much progress on her own. It's amazing that she wants to live now (most days).

And it's going to get better. It's going to get better, and she's going to be there for it.

#Hhhhhi. I am. Normal about this :)#I definitely didn't include everything I wanted to. The evolution of Ai's attitude towards Okiya didn't make it in for example #Or how Ai constantly attempting to sacrifice herself post-Reunion With The BO could be seen as reenactment of her trauma re: almost dying #But man. MAN. Does it feel good to put my thoughts in order. Now I have them in a neat little gdoc for when I want to cry abt Shiho /silly #Anyway!!!! If any of yall decide to read this: whoops (there were supposed to be manga panels but tumblr flagged those as nsfw?? Rip) hehe #iiii love Shiho. I love Ai. I loveeee herrrrr :3:3:3:3:3:3:3:333 #dcmk #detco #detective conan #yapping time #miyano shiho #haibara ai #character analysis

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