#because its a lot of emotional labor and its too much go expect of anyone to deal with my bad brain

[arrow-guy]

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[schrodingersauthorii]

Fanfic idea: Matoba gets deaged, experiences the healing power of the Fujiwara’s parenting kicking and screaming

Hnnng, brain just spat out the best Natsume Yujincho fic idea. I have peaked, nothing will ever top this theoretical fic. I will labor in vain for YEARS trying to squeeze out a fraction of its potential.

Context: I am a believer in Animal Transformation Fic supremacy, of course I gotta figure out how to turn SOMEBODY into a cat, and Matoba is target #1 since it’d be funny because a) he likes cats and b) he has a canonically acknowledged sweet tooth and cats can’t taste sweet. Okay. Whatever: I have an incredibly hand wavy premise about a failed magical assassination attempt and cat hair, and a somewhat shaky logic to put cat! Matoba in the Fujiwara house.

Then, I realize: what if I had the same exact plot, except Matoba got deaged instead?

*slaps roof* You can fit so much angst and exposition in here.

Things I could put in this bad boy:

+ Older Natori, teenage Matoba interaction- My take would be Matoba remembering the one (1) meeting with the kimono, and then adult Natori swooping in to save his ass after the attempted assassination. So a total role reversal, where Natori is suddenly leagues ahead of Matoba. And Matoba can’t conceptualize the fact that *he* should also have seven more years of experience, so he naturally assumes that Natori was just A Really Good Exorcist Prodigy that quickly outstripped him because he’s so much better than deaged! him. Natori is, of course, squigged the hell out about that. It is completely unnatural for him to be idolized by *Matoba.* And also why didn’t he notice all these red flags for trauma before. He is a *baby,* why did anyone let them near exorcism at that age?

+ The eye stealing yokai still sees deaged! Matoba as clan head, and attacks him at Natori’s apartment. This has a lot of political ramifications, but also a lot of emotional ramifications, since Matoba *knows* that if he’s clan head, then his father and likely several other older relatives are dead. My take on the Matoba clan head is that, due to the extreme risk and probable high turnover rate, much of the actual political power is actually somewhere else in the clan. I get the impression that Matoba is a bit of a mover and shaker- more active than this theoretical body would probably like. Whether they were involved in the assassination plot or not, they’d benefit from an even younger and less experienced clan head. So Natori is highly motivated to keep Matoba’s survival and deaging a secret until they change him back.

+ Of course Matoba is injured. This is *fanfiction,* is it not? So we have fifteen year old Matoba suddenly seven years in the future- people have just tried to kill him, the eye stealing yokai came after his eye- therefore his father is dead, he has no contacts besides Natori because of the known conspiracy to kill him and being seven years younger than everyone expects, and now he’s (temporarily) half blind and with disabling injuries. (For plot convince, just bad enough to limit mobility and require assistance but not for hospitalization or to be too difficult to explain.)

+ Because Hiragi needs to be able to drop him off at the Fujiwara’s because someone broke into Natori’s apartment and she didn’t know where else to go.

+ Natori and Natsume don’t like it, but Madara’s much stronger than most shiki or exorcists, and nobody would think to look for Matoba there. They take the gamble that the Fujiwara’s will let Natsume’s friend stay without much explanation, and they do.

+ Matoba: he’s not my friend, he just feels obligated to help. Touko: oh, so this kid is TRAUMATIZED traumatized, just on the other end of the spectrum. And possibly on the other spectrum.

+ Same age Matoba and Natsume interaction- Matoba’s inability to communicate and befriend anyone like a human being vs Natsume’s inhuman inability to not befriend everyone, fight. Natsume would feel rather conflicted about it, but ultimately decide that he can’t hold things Matoba hasn’t done yet against him. I think that Natsume would tolerate a lot of the things that drove teenage Natori away for longer, and that he’d pick up on the cues Natori missed because he never looked pass the surface. They’d get down to their core differences a lot more quickly, and I think that deaged! Matoba would concede much more quickly than later series Natsume under the circumstances. What’s he going to do, when Natsume, Natori, and the Fujiwara’s- the only people he’s interacting with, the people helping him at his most vulnerable- are all telling him the same thing?

+ Fujiwara Shigeru and Touko and teenage Matoba: I have absolutely no doubt that they read every book on the psychology of troubled teens they could get their hands on, and they are READY. There’s nothing Matoba can do to shake them, and he has try his absolute hardest or else his entire worldview will shatter. But biting wit and rudeness doesn’t phase them, nor do admissions to cross dressing (canon! The chapter isn’t translated yet, but apparently that’s a thing!) and liking the male actor Natori Shuuichi. They. Are. Unflappable. He has to drop the ayakashi bomb to prove that The Unsighted Can Never Understand, and He Is Fundamentally Unlikable. Does not work: the Fujiwara’s tell him that they already knew, but not to tell Takashi since they want him to come to them when he felt ready.

+ One last hurdle: the whole assassination, deaging thing? *22 is still a baby.* There will always be room at the Fujiwara’s house for traumatized babies forced to grow up too soon.

+ (Takashi is Not Happy. But he can’t make a big deal about it because Matoba’s having an actual breakdown because There Are Truly Good People In This World After All and technically the results are all things that he wanted. But there IS a reckoning eventually. Cool motive: still a massive breach of boundaries.)

+ Nyanko-sensei and Matoba: Matoba absolutely *loves* him- he’s one of the ceramic cats that he literally obsessed over, and he enjoys the fighting. He just fundamentally doesn’t understand why Nyanko-sensei and Natsume haven’t gotten a ring and made it official. This is actually one of those core values differences: Natsume and Nyanko-sensei see not having a contract as a sign of trust and respect, while Matoba is a “tell the gravedigger that he better dig two” kind of person. This is an… interesting combination with the Matoba clan’s history, and helps explain part of why he’s Like That. You’ll never break a promise if you set people’s expectations low enough. + Natori gets roped into the revelations party; exposes the conspiracy; and tracks down the spell that went wrong. There’s a heartfelt conversation about how Natori isn’t the person Matoba thinks he is because he’s fifteen. Matoba resolutely Does Not Believe Him. Natori (accurately) comes away thinking that Matoba has a teenage crush, and resolves to ignore it. He’ll get Matoba back to normal, and he probably wouldn’t even remember anything so it’s not worth worrying about.

+ Gonna have to see where the manga goes, but if canonical events favor it, this is where Matoba would get kidnapped by Ban and his sister. Either to further their political agenda, or out of twisted familial duty a la ‘we can’t trust these outsiders to keep you safe, so we’ll abduct you ourselves.”

+ Spellbreaking! Butt kicking! Politics!

+ Matoba does, in fact, remember everything when the deaging is fixed. He has Conversations with Natori, with Natsume, with the Fujiwara’s about it. He’s genuinely regretful about his actions against them, but he exists within a Horrible Exorcist Society and he’s realistic about that. He offers Natsume instructions on self-defense techniques AGAINST exorcists, no recruitment offer attached. + It takes much longer for Matoba to tell Natori that he still likes him- has always liked him. Natori’s ready to throw him in the lake by the time he gets through all the disclaimers and caveats about what their status and duties would allow them to do about it. “Have you ever seen a conflict of interest statement from an exorcist? No? It’s because nobody cares! Make out in a sealed closet or secluded worksite like a normal person!”

+ My head canon is that the Matoba clan head can’t just break the cycle by giving up an eye: the eye stealing ayakashi would just kill him, and go after the next person in line’s eye as long as the Matoba clan exists. There are very big limits to what Matoba can do, but he does make an effort to tone down the cut throat pragmatism. Small ripples are already forming in the world of exorcists. Happyish ever after?

[sonicasura]

Thats not even half of it. One wild night together and the next thing everyone knows Kafka is stuck in his kaiju form being a moody, snippy and emotional wreck throughout the months it takes for the eggs to finally pop out. With Tiny feeling everything and then some.

Painfully at that as thanks to his very human and kaiju mixed heritage, the eggs quite different than want everyone expects. Being bigger than ostrich eggs so the little ones actually have the space to grow since the babies are both human baby sized and looking as such.

Until a few years later that is. Boy are everyone in for some interesting years to come when 5 to 7 year olds suddenly gain their kaiju forms.

The trio and Tiny are unsure if they should be proud and happy about that.

And Kafka of course makes sure that the eggs are in a secured and warm nest. And is not leaving that room unless absolute needed. Both Mina and Soshiro is well aware its a lost cause to even try and instead tries to make sure Kafka is not neglecting himself. And keep anyone too curious for their own good as far away from Kafka and the nest as possible.

Though Mina is both glad and guilty that it was not her given birth to the quintuplets. Which is very understanable really.

But aside from this though its not much else. Though once again I'm struggling to find names for these little ones but I still got a lot to work with before I can even think of any names for them yet.

Oh and in the looks department its a pretty even mix. Two of them share features of Kafka and Soshiro solely, and another two share the features of just Kafka and Mina. While the last has the mix of all three parents.

You can bet when the quintuplets are school age, the teachers are in for a trip and a half when it comes to parent meetings and the like.

And of course theres what the kids call their parents. Kafka is papa, Mina is mom or mama and Soshiro gets dad or dada depending on their age.

Everyone has to deal with a broody extra hungry kaiju stalking around base. The first thing that popped in my mind when you mentioned the eggs were ostrich size is the labor pain punishment Q had to endure on Impractical Jokers. Kafka feels so sorry for everyone who has to go through this kind of pain once the quintuplets decide they're ready.

It's going to be difficult to even get a sonogram on those eggs since the himbo is even more aggressive. Everyone's faces upon noticing it's a human fetus inside the shells rather than a kaiju. I'm flashing back to the beginning of that old ass live action Mario Brothers' movie where both bros hatched from an egg, lol. Although the quintuplets probably grew temporary claws to get out.

I can only imagine the shenanigans in both school and when they get their kaiju forms. At least there wasn't an early shifter because imagine having to handle a baby or toddler in that state. The tantrums would be astronomical.

[bwoahtastic]

oh pls the kings au has my entire heart!!!

just jenson and nico not really getting along because nico doesn‘t let him close even if he‘d need him during the pregnancy🥺 and pls nico going into labour in the middle of the night and he‘s so scared and he knows he hasn‘t been nice to jenson lately, hasn‘t been nice to anyone at all really but he also did not expect for the staff to just abandon him when he stumbles out into the hallway and tells them he has gone into labor. like he probably is more far along too because he was too stubborn to get help at first until it hurt too much and he knows he can‘t handle this alone. he still tries to make his way to jenson‘s chambers, just slowly shuffling along the walls but then he just collapses at some point because the contractions are too strong. so he just resorts to sending everything he has into his and jensons mating bond although its weak and he just desperately hopes it‘s enough. pls jenson goes sprinting the instant he recognizes that the distress he feels is nico‘s and finding his queen in a miserable heap on the cold floor in one of the hallways. it scares him to see nico, who has never really let any emotions show let alone let himself be perceived as vulnerable by anyone, so scared and helpless, whining for jenson and letting the alpha take him into his arms 😫🥺

i‘m living for the angst of these two!

and jenson carefully cradling nico close and carrying him back into his chambers while nico sobs against his shoulder and is apologizing and begging for jenson to not abandon him too. jenson would be absolutely livid when he hears that the staff just left nico when he asked for help. and town physician seb for the rescue!!

pls, maybe jensons wants to leave once seb is there for the birth because it‘s be more ‚proper‘ (idk if that‘s correct for that time period or if i‘m confusing it with something else oops) for the king to not be there during the birth because, well, it‘s not very pretty? but seb goes nope, you stay right where the fuck you are and that‘s beside nico. no one dares to argue with seb lol

Plss Nico not even daring to be close to Jenson during his pregnancy. He wants it, but he doesn't know how to ask for attention and every single one of their interactions ends in a fight.

The poor poor Queen going into labour all alone and stumbling outside trying to find help but he is simply ignored. He tries to shuffle in direction of the throne room to find jenson, the only person feeling remotely safe in the castle. Maybe he is even worried Jenson won't help him? Because he has been so rude to him! But he hopes Jenson will help for the pup's sake at least.

Jenson being shocked to see Nico so small and vulnerable, only in a simple slip dress and barefoot, shivering from the cold and pain and desperately holding his arms out to jenson while looking like he is sure Jenson will refuse to help him too. Jenson instantly lifting him up, cradling him close and soothing him while rushing back to their chambers. Nico just begging Jenson not to abandon him and saying he is so so sorry! Jenson staying with Nico and holding his hand and being so confused whencthe physicians just won't show up, until he realises his staff is refusing to help his queen.

Doctor seb coming up from the town and he is such a calming presence to Nico! Jenson reluctantly heading to the door because husbands are usually not allowed to stay, it isn't proper, but Seb has him stay because Nico desperately needs him ans Seb needs help as there is no one else wanting to help out.

Plss nico being restless and moving a lot and needing to be close to Jenson so bad! He is so relieved Seb let's him follow his instinct and do what he wants ans Nico gives birth to the little Prince on his knees, with his face buried in Jenson's shoulder and his Alpha's arms so comforting around him!

[24mirrorshards]

fuggit, I'm elaborating right now (sort of. please don't expect much more than disjointed thoughts right now, I am tired and in pain.)

I saw a post earlier today about how peoples' unwillingness to help a depressed friend directly stems from cultural individualism. I rolled my eyes so hard at the sheer level of ignorance a person would have to have in order to say something like that. Do they know how depressed, or other mentally ill/neurodivergent people are treated in collectivist cultures? They're not really treated any better! Sure, in the US, we might tell a depressed friend to take a walk rather than offering to take a walk with them when we are perfectly capable of extending that offer, and that's shitty. But, in a collectivist culture, that hypothetical depressed friend would be expected to simply stuff their negative feelings altogether lest they bring others down with them. Or, perhaps they would be told something along the lines of "you are depressed because you are focusing too much on your own life." (source: I have had several friends who either lived in or were from collectivist cultures and every single one has told me that, in those societies, their mental struggles are expected to simply not be brought up as they are considered "disruptive" or "selfish".) Also, I've never seen anyone whine more about "emotional labor" than Western collectivists.

Honestly, when it comes to mental issues, there's really no society on Earth that handles it particularly well. Psychology is just a little over a century old. The world at large simply doesn't get it yet, so factors like collectivism vs. individualism have no noteworthy impact on how the mentally ill are treated right now. It's basically just same shit, different asshole for us at this point in time (though, thankfully, it has visibly improved within the almost-40 years I've been alive on this planet.) However, I believe that, out of the two (unfairly dichotomized) cultural values, individualism lays a slightly better foundation for the inclusion of mentally ill/ND people than collectivism, because individualism does not expect everyone to act or react the same way to situations or follow the same "formulas" or "stages" in life while collectivist cultures often do expect these things.

Of course, individualism isn't without fault. We absolutely should offer substantive support to the people around us rather than "oh, sorry to hear you're going through a period of immense grief, go have a bubble bath about it" or whatever. Teamwork is essential in most life situations, from the everyday modern workplace to a hypothetical apocalypse scenario and then some. The US is particularly weird with its current brand of "individualism" - it's this annoying selective individualism where a lot of people are simultaneously looking out for #1 and totally unable to mind their own business.

Pure individualism leaves us out in the cold in our times of need and blinds us to the bigger picture that we're contributing to. Pure collectivism robs us of the agency to build a life that is personally meaningful to us and to avoid people we're not compatible with. What humans actually need is a blend of these two cultural elements, not a dichotomy - we need to both allow one another the space for self-determination and personal preference and be willing to cooperate and to prioritize those in need when we have the resources to help them.

absolute individualism and absolute collectivism are both equally unnatural

I may or may not elaborate on this later

[sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw]

The Bet (Bakugou x reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x female reader Word count: 2,653 Warnings: 18+, orgasm denial, over stimulation Notes: An excellent idea I had one day. I was originally going to send this idea in an ask to @lady-bakuhoe (especially since the idea came from something she said once), but I never got around to it and then realized I could write it for Bakugou’s birthday bash. I hope this is good, this is my second 18+ fic and the first one to actually have vaginal penetration, so I hope I did it justice.

 ~~~

"Bakugou's hot, but he's probably terrible at sex," you said to a friend once.

You were in your workshop. And your friend was free and decided to come around. She was an old classmate from U.A.’s support course. You rarely saw each other since graduating. But whenever you did see her, it was always an enjoyable experience. So it was decided that you would catch up while you were working.

The conversation somehow led to the point where she started pondering how the pro heroes could do the deed. Of course, she mainly mentioned the popular ones. Which led her to mention Bakugou.

"What was that!?" Bakugou came barreling into the room. A vein bulging from his forehead.

Perhaps it would have been best if you remembered that you were finishing up a project for Bakugou. And that he was in the next room waiting for it to be done. You didn’t know him well the first two years in U.A., but the last year you were given the task of inventing something for him. Ever since then, you had taken more jobs for him and became friends of a sort.

It was too late to take your words back now, and you just had to roll with it. Plus, it was the truth.

"I said you'd be terrible at sex."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you could be! How do you know? Last I checked, you still had your v-card."

"Does he really?" Your friend asked, her emotions a combination of shock and amusement.

"Yeah." You laughed.

"Shut up! I'd be the best at it, and you know it!"

"No, I bet you wouldn’t."

"I bet would!"

"Prove it!"

"Fine! Let's settle this right now!"

His words catch you off guard, but you aren't losing to him. "O-okay! As long as you're paying for the hotel room."

You and Bakugou left the room. You looking up a good place on your phone. And your friend sat there, wide eyed, with her mouth gaping.

It went how you expected.

You asked for a room, after having Bakugou’s promise that he'd pay you back. You texted him the room number so he could sneak in from the back without being noticed. Lord knew the media internet would go crazy if they saw pro-hero Dynamite enter a hotel room with some girl. Especially if anyone happened to notice condoms in his pocket. You also made sure to text your friend later and make her promise not to tell anyone.

He was very clearly inexperienced. Jackhammering into you, not even pay attention to your clit. Eventually he did remember that you had to please the other person to be good at sex. But his attempts were clumsy.

You had to remind him to stay quiet several times when his growls got too loud. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, he came and struggled to hide his exhaustion. It ended there.

"See, you're terrible at it. Not even close to cumming." You told him. And with that, you left to go get your vibrator.

It was a while until you saw him again. You were called into another city for work, and was just getting back. And it just so happened that you were back when it was Bakugou’s birthday.

Kirishima and a few other classmates from his U.A. days arranged a party at his place, one you were doubtful that Bakugou had agreed to. You were invited, which surprised you, but you accepted. You did your best to converse, but it was difficult when you didn’t know most of them particularly well. You mostly hung around Bakugou.

As evening bled into night, people slowly began leaving. You hadn’t left yet because you, quite frankly, had nothing better to do. Though, you thought it would be nice if you could catch up with Bakugou alone.

The conversation was fairly mundane. Work, news. At least both of your workplaces were fairly interesting. He had the usual angry bite to his voice, but you expected it of him at this point. You were asking him about how the improvement you finished for him was working out, when he had a faraway look in his eyes. His cheeks had turned a red color. You asked him what he was thinking about.

"We still haven't settled our bet!" He said.

"What?"

"Our bet! You said I was bad at sex!"

"This again? I thought we settled it. And, as I said, you were bad at it."

"No! That was just a fluke! We're gonna do it again!"

You let out a sigh. "Nothing's going to change. We already did it once and know the answer."

"You're just saying that because you're afraid you're going to lose." He pointed at you.

That was it.

"No," you glared, "I'm not."

"Then what's stopping you!?"

"Nothing!" You stood up. "Where’s the bedroom?"

With a smirk, he pointed with his thumb.

How did you get yourself into this? Well, you said you didn’t have anything better to do.

You confidently strode over to the bed. Throwing the bottom half of your clothes off, you got onto the mattress and waited. He wasted no time in undoing his belt with a quick jingle, and climbed over you. You felt the bed dip under your combined weight as he ran a finger against your folds.

He pushed one finger into your hole. Last time he had just tried to shove his length in, which is why his new behavior confused you. Though you didn’t dwell on it. Your tight walls clamped down on his finger as he added a second one. You hissed at the stretch. He shoved them in and out of you, knuckles deep. His fingers brushed against your sensitive spot. You bit your lip in an attempt to not buck into his fingers.

"Everything alright?"

The words alone would have made you believe he was genuinely concerned. But you saw his face, his smirk. His words dripped with sarcasm.

"Yeah, of course. Just waiting for you to actually be good at this," you retorted.

Your comment didn’t seem to have any effect on his ego. He twisted his digits around, until they brushed against a spot that almost made you lose your composure.

You hoped he didn't notice, but he must have, because he applied more pressure to it. The sheets bunched up in your hands as you grasped at anything to stop the moan that threatened to escape from your throat.

Your breaths became labored and inconsistent. To your embarrassment, you could hear the wet slide of his finger that came out only to hit the spot once more. A pressure built up inside of you, begging to be released the more intense it became.

A long whine escaped from you, still heard even with your mouth closed. Your thoughts blurred. You were close. You tried to resist at first, but was slowly surrendering.

Almost as soon as you had come to accept it, it stopped. Your heart rate quickened as if facing a fatal misfortune.

"What? You weren’t going to cum if I'm bad at sex, right? Or do you want to be wrong?"

No. Your pride was on the line and you weren’t losing.

He got on top of you. You sunk further into the mattress with his arms caging you in. You could smell yourself on his fingers. He tugged down his pants and boxers, finally releasing his cock from its confines.

You pursed your lips at seeing how large it was. You didn’t think you'd see it again after the first time. The blond ripped a condom out of the crinkling plastic and put it on.

He ran the tip along your slit. It pushed against your clit. You grasped the covers and bit your lip to conceal a whine. Collecting your arousal. This was different from last time. He just stuck it in.

He was taking so long to just stick it in! Your hole clenched around nothing in anticipation. It was almost like he was being slow on purpose. Making you desperate for him after you challenged him.

You must have accidentally shown some of your frustration on your face. He leaned in with a smirk. His breath fanning your warm face as his tip pushed even harder against your sensitive bud. You let out a gasp.

"What's wrong, princess?" He said mockingly. Enjoying your pain. God, you wished you could punch him.

"Nothing, just wonder when y--" he suddenly pushed into you, not even letting you finish.

Your mouth gaped open and eyes widened, feeling him invade your pussy. His smirk grew and he repositioned himself. His mouth was at your neck. You could feel his sharp breaths on you.

"You can't handle my cock when I haven't even moved yet?" His growls vibrated against your skin. "Need me to stay still even longer?"

You couldn't let him win. You were never going to give him that satisfaction. "No," you lied.

You regretted it immediately. His length started pistoning in and out of you. So fast you almost lost yourself.

His hips slightly adjusted their thrusts. Confusion began to show on your face until it twisted back into shocked pleasure when he hit that perfect spot. You couldn’t stop a moan from tumbling out of your mouth. That little ba-

"Ah-hh!" He kept hitting it at an unforgiving pace.

“Heh. You’re enjoying it this much already?”

“No--” you were cut off by a moan escaping your throat. “God, right there.”

You could feel him grin as he began biting your neck. Licking, and teasing where you were most sensitive. All the while, he moved a hand down to your neglected clit. He rubbed circular motions into it. A small moan tumbled out of you.

You could feel it, a heat intensifying again. A lot faster after being edged the first time. It was coming. You were going to cum. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you were so close.

He must have been able to tell. Because he slowed. Oh, he slowed to a painful pace. Your eyes went wide in panic.

"What are you doing?! Why did you--?" One quick thrust interrupted you before slowing again. You were hating this new habit of his.

"Nothing. Just not letting you cum until you beg for it. So beg."

You shook your head. You were dripping. Your primal instincts screaming at you. But you had enough wits about you to not sacrifice your dignity.

He shrugged, the slightest bit of irritation in his face. "Suit yourself."

He continued at the same, slow, painful pace. You withheld a whine of quickly losing the promise of a release. Gradually he began going faster. Consistent, quick claps filled the room once more. You twisted the soft sheets in your hand. Trying to hide how quickly the pressure was built up again.

He was making an absolute mess out of your pussy and of you.

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to get fucked real good.” His pace was relentless. Words couldn’t even form in your head from the overstimulation.

Almost there. Almost- then any sort of stimulation stopped again.

You felt like crying. No, you were crying. Desperate to meet your end. Your attempts to be subtle while helpless grinding on his cock was pathetic. And you knew it.

He let you fall from your high, only to build you back up again. Your body writhing, feeling every cell in your body overheating.

"What's wrong? Need me to make you feel good? Need me to finish you off? That's right! You need me right now. Me and my cock."

Your mind was too clouded to even create a witty response. He wasn't this good last time! What happened?

Your eyes went wide at this realization. "How are you--?"

"I did my research."

"I thought Midoriya was the only one who would- ah-h!"

"Don't," he gave an extra hard thrust, hitting your cervix, "say his name. I should be," he pounded into you at every word like a punctuation, "the only person you can even think of right now."

You frantically nodded, completely forgetting about the competition you had made this out to be.

A strong arm wrapped around you, holding you against him. He grinned while staring at your face, contorting in pleasure.

You let out a long whine, combined with a sob. "Please," you said, forgetting everything. Screw your dignity and pride. You couldn’t take this anymore.

"Please what?" He teased, savoring the victory on his tongue.

"Please," you mindlessly babbled. Tears rolled down your face as your resolve shattered, "please let me cum. Please. Please. Please."

"Well, all you had to do was ask." He hit the perfect spot in you. Over and over again, while rolling your clit between his fingers.

Almost instantly, it all returned and you felt yourself gushing all over him. Relief and euphoria flooding through you. He kept thrusting into you during your orgasm, making your brain spark and sputter.

As you started to come down from your high, was when he came undone. He grunted and gave one shove to the hilt, creating a large wet slap.

He slumped over somewhat, having lost his rigid energy from before. He pulled out of you. Your own liquid running out and making your skin sensitive to the air. Your breaths were still deep. You tried to pull yourself together as quickly as you could and started to sit up.

"No way, sister." He pushed you back down by your shoulders. He threw the used condom to the side and put a new one on in a fluid motion. He was already hard again… "We're not done yet."

He pushed calculated thrusts into your sopping pussy. Continuing at a pace only a hero could so short after cummimg. His strong hands clamped down on your hip, letting him roll into you more easily. Constant pressure to your g-spot made your eyelids flutter.

It built up and snapped all over again. You moaned out gibberish deliriously. Waves of pleasure washing over you becoming harder to stand.

He showed no sign of stopping. Angling himself to ram into that spot mercilessly. He adjusts his hand to allow his thumb access to your clit. He lifted up your shirt and bra and leaned down to lick and nibble at your breasts. You tried to pull away, the overstimulation being too much, but he held you down.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Body heating up so much you thought you would catch fire. He shoved you over the edge once again. And again. Reminding you of a computer stalling, only to perform the action you wanted far too many times.

His face was twisted in a determined concentration before it finally relaxed in a groan. Finally he came again. He let out a long sigh before letting himself fall on the bed next to you, sweat glistening on his toned body.

You both lay there. Recovering your energy, trying not to give into exhaustion demands to fall asleep. Apparently it took more out of him than he let on. You tried to ignore how wet you felt.

You breathed heavily. Trying to catch your breath. "That was… better."

"Better? Do you know how many times you came?"

"Yeah. But, just," you took a deep breath every word, "not sure. I would have to try again, to really know. It could have been a fluke." You were too tired to even acknowledge your pathetic argument.

"There’s no way it could have been a fluke!"

"It was the last time, according to you. Why can't it be one again." Trying to remember you schedule was getting easier as you came down, but was still hard. "I'm busy tomorrow. Next week?"

"Three days from now."

"Deal."

But you would only have to wait for two.

[aminiatureworld]

Burden

Characters: Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,261

Warnings: None

Premise: Xiao fell in love with your goodness, with your selflessness and generosity towards others. Perhaps, however, in doing so he had misunderstood your own complexities.

In which the reader feels they are a burden.

Author’s Note: I feel like I should note that there are going to be some relatively extreme emotions, mostly negative. I don’t feel like it’s enough or specific enough to be given a warning, but if anyone wants to tell me to tag it for something I will gladly. That being said I’m pretty proud of this one

Xiao

Ever since your first interaction you had been helping Xiao. It had seemed so natural, even then, even when nothing seemed natural about interacting with a human, those strange people from who Xiao must always be separated. Yet there you were, asking if this perfect stranger was alright. And there Xiao was, suddenly seeing his world opening up before him.

Perhaps it was for this reason that your relationship had developed in the way it had. To Xiao your selflessness, your never ending kindness, the fact that you would stop to help someone regardless of circumstance, all of that was normal. It was innate in your personality, and perhaps that was why Xiao never questioned what effect having that kind of personality might have on you. It is easy to assume that a kind and selfless person is also one with a short memory. After all, how could they stand it otherwise?

So when the first, barely noticeable, traces of that burden which Xiao saw so often began to swirl around you the yaksha’s initial reaction was that of utter panic. Was this not the exact reason that Xiao had chosen to disconnect himself from humanity? Was this not proof, right before him, that the chains he carried could not be contained. Though Xiao generally thought of humans as vaguely useless, deserving of protection because Rex Lapis proclaimed it be so, the idea of harming any one of them with the legacy of his own sins, it was something that he could never stomach, no matter how many times he feigned apathy. That you should be the person upon who his burdens should be transferred, how could he bear it?

Of course a small, more logical, part of him urged the adeptus to stop and think. The miasma that Xiao attracted in such high concentration was everywhere, and humans were not exempt from this burden by themselves. After all, did humanity not channel great evil as well as good? Did not the most ordinary human, dejected by their lot in life, become swarmed by little wisps of evil? Yet those were other, ordinary humans. Ordinary humans couldn’t understand the sheer capability to love that you seemed to possess. No, if Xiao could sense such a miasma around you then it was surely his fault.

Still the idea of leaving you was something quite painful to Xiao, to the adeptus who had so recently learned what it meant to love someone wholeheartedly. He told himself that it was best to leave immediately, best to disappear with the wind and never look back. Yet a part of him couldn’t seem to bear the idea; and that was the part that won out as Xiao approached you later in the day, as if in a desperate last attempt to prove himself wrong.

“Are you alright?”

“Xiao!” You jumped slightly, having evidently been lost in thought. Smiling widely you shook your head. “Of course I’m alright! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I…” Xiao paused for a moment as the idea of telling you what was going on flitted through his head. Almost immediately the thought was squashed. After all, would the knowledge not worry you more? “I was just asking.”

“Well thank you Xiao, it’s very kind of you to think of me.”

“It’s my duty.”

“Still,” your smile never faltered. “You deserve thanks for what you do nonetheless.”

Xiao tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, tried to block out the emotions that crashed over him like great waves as you leaned in to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Was this not a good thing? After all, if Xiao was what cause this miasma to float around you, then was that not your salvation? Xiao knew how easy it was to drown in the burdens that one must shoulder. He knew how easy it was for humans to sink to the bottom of their despair and never once more emerge for water. Why should it not be a blessing that you would never have to fight to keep your head up, to keep yourself from a life full of burdens? Why, why did it hurt so much?

During the night, Xiao would leave during the night. After all, you deserved one last evening of happiness, if the yaksha could even believe that he brought you happiness. Or maybe it was for his sake that he refused to leave before the world was plunged into darkness. Maybe it was simply that Xiao could no longer imagine a world without you, and that such nightmares came out easier at night. Lying on top of the roof, eyes closed, ears focused on the familiar tread of your feet, Xiao willed himself not to think. He could regret when he was far away from you, when you were once more safe. For now he could only follow that ritual which had so long kept him sane, kept him from joining his brethren. For now he thought only of the contract he had once made.

The sound of your feet on the ground below came all too soon, as the sun finally began its descent across the heavens in earnest. Keeping his eyes closed, as if to stall the darkness for a little longer, Xiao took a deep breath in. He needed to steel himself for this evening; if not, well, Xiao had no wish to cry for the first time in a millennia.

Only once these thoughts finished flitting around in his head did the yaksha finally recognize the change in your footfall. Usually you were very light on your feet, dashing this way and that, stopping to ask Goldet or Yanxiao some mundane question, inquiring after the old lady who had basically set up permanent residence on the bottom floor of the Inn. This time, however, you seemed to drag, as if you were indeed carrying something very heavy. Alarm flashing through him, Xiao willed himself into perfect stillness. He wished to hear more, wished to understand what had caused such a change in you.

What he certainly hadn’t expected was the labored breathing of someone seconds away from tears.

The moment Xiao heard the door to your room close the sobbing began in earnest. Though you certainly seemed to be trying your hardest to hide your tears the sound of your muffled sobs rang through Xiao like a siren, flaring up every bit of alarm he had to offer. Jumping off of the roof Xiao catapulted his way through the hallways of the Inn, not bothering to hide his presence to the few, very confused, residents that were out. Reaching your room he didn’t allow himself a moment’s hesitation before grabbing the knob and opening the door.

Your head snapped up, eyes a mixture of dark emotions as you stared at him. For a moment you seemed ready to flee, to run and hide somewhere, or perhaps to throw him out. However almost immediately you seemed to sink back into yourself, and though Xiao could still sense your distress, at least the initial shock of his arrival seemed to have passed as quickly as it would otherwise.

“Xiao! I, I didn’t expect you. I, could, could you leave? I don’t, I don’t want, I don’t want to be seen right now.” It was all you could get out before another round of sobs wracked through your body.

Trying to remember what you had done for so many people, for himself, Xiao grabbed the pitcher that sat at one of the tables in the room. Pouring some water into a glass he crept towards you as softly as possible, hoping that he could convey his worries in these odd, brusque actions. He knew that he didn’t have the talent you had to comfort people, knew that all his gestures of kindness inevitably came out cramped and awkward. Nevertheless he shoved the glass into your hands, staring just past you as you tentatively downed the water. Taking the glass from you Xiao then reached out one of his palms to you. His relief when you placed your own palm on top of his was indescribable.

“I guess you probably would like an explanation,” you rasped out.

Xiao said nothing, waiting for you to act on your own. If he knew anything the yaksha knew that attempting to force the truth out of anyone would never worked. Hadn’t his own years as a pariah taught him that.

“It’s just,” you finally continued, taking in deep, labored breaths. “It’s just so hard. It’s so hard Xiao, I can’t stand it anymore!”

“Stand it?”

“Stand the… the hurt!”

Your eyes filled with tears, and you went to grab the handkerchief that you left on your nightstand. You always needed one with you, as your eyes stung terribly whenever you began to cry. Xiao said nothing as you sobbed once more, only moving to draw small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

“It hurts so much, to see other people. To hear their problems. Not that it’s their fault, or that I don’t want to help them. I do, I really do. I look at all the people suffering near me and I just want to take all their burdens and give it to myself, after all they don’t deserve all their sufferings. But it’s so hard Xiao, it’s so hard to take on people’s burdens, even a little bit. And I feel so selfish when I think that, so selfish and so worthless. How can I say that? But it’s true, it’s really, really true. And when I think about that, when I think about all the other people suffering worse than me, it just makes me feel so horribly selfish. Like, like all my problems are so stupid and selfish and telling others would only hurt them, and didn’t I want to take everyone else’s burdens away? I’m so stupid. And it just, it hurts.”

Xiao sat there quietly once more, waiting as you cried. At one point you seemed to collapse in on yourself, leaning against his shoulder as if to support yourself. Only then did Xiao allow himself to move. Carding his hands through your hair he said nothing, he merely waited.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. You already have enough burdens, I know. I shouldn’t be complaining to you of all people. I, if you want you can tell me if something is wrong. I mean, you always can, I, just. I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“My burdens are my own,” Xiao replied softly, finally letting the emotions swirling through him try to string together as words. “It has nothing to do with you. It never will. You, you should come to me when you feel burdened.”

“But then I’m only passing my problems onto you!”

“I told you, my chains are my own. They are the payment for my contract. They aren’t what you tell me or push on me. If you feel these burdens then give to me. That is my duty.”

“But Xiao, I, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be a problem.”

“How can you say something so stupid,” Xiao scoffed. Bringing his hand to your cheek he sighed softly. “You will never be a problem. You will always be dear to me. Let me help you. You help so many humans. I want to help you.”

“I, I don’t know,” you spoke, voice faltering.

Though Xiao could still feel the tension in the air, could still see the miasma which swirled around you, there was something fragile about it. It was as if Xiao could reach through the tangled threads and pull them away, if only he could find a way to do so. Stroking your cheek softly Xiao pressed his forehead to yours. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath in. After a few moments he heard you do the same.

The rest of the evening Xiao stayed vigilant by your side, listening as you finally let yourself say all the things that had been weighing down upon you. It was painful, listening to you. Xiao constantly had to fight the urge to tell you how wrong you were, how much you mattered and how far he would go to bring you all the happiness he could possible gather in his stained hands. Still he said nothing, for if you had taught him anything it was that simply listening could do infinitely more than promising to fight or trying to shoulder each burden as you lay them out in the daylight.

Eventually you grew exhausted, a combination of the crying and the talking and the reliving. As Xiao listened to your breath even out, softly shifting your head from leaning on his shoulder to resting in his lap, the yaksha thought about all that had happened.

Xiao had assumed that you were somehow above all the humans around you. Purer, gentler, kinder. He hadn’t stopped to think how that might have affected you. Now that he knew that wasn’t true, now that Xiao knew how deeply you felt, how sometimes your mind too chased after darkness or found itself struggling to keep above water, he couldn’t help but feel as if he’d missed something before. Perhaps you shouldered these burdens and perhaps you were just as human as the rest. You were still kind, kind and selfless and utterly beautiful. And Xiao still loved you in a way that continued to burn brightly through his soul.

[the-ghost-king]

About the cupid scene, Nico was forced to come out, but its also made very clear that Cupid is the bad guy. So is Aphrodite to an extent. They have a twisted and fundamental misunderstanding of love and how it works for mortals. I get that people could be mad about how Nico was forced to come out and putting him through more emotional trauma, but I also think its very realistic in showing how callous and cruel the gods understanding of love is.

I am reminded of the quote by Madeline Miller, "There is no law that gods must be fair..."

I also understand why the scene might be traumatic for other young LGBTQ+ readers, I've seen a lot of people talk about the fear of being outed in regards to them reading that scene as a kid. I completely respect their feelings on that, and I understand that as well. However, as someone who had been forcibly outed once before reading that scene, that scene really helped heal me. I don't think the Cupid scene is inherently homophobic, and I'm often bothered by the lack of nuance regarding around how it's handled.

I recognize it's a very emotional scene, and that people may have a hard time fully separating their emotions from that scene, but at the same time if there's a group of people saying "hey I understand why you disliked this scene but it was really helpful to me as a child because of the different experiences I had" maybe slow the breaks and hear what others also in the community have to say before determining if the scene is homophobic. You don't have to like the scene, and yeah maybe the scene did hurt you but that doesn't make it homophobic.

I want to specify on my word choice there a little closer, because of course outing someone is an act of homophobia, and the scene is homophobic in that sense. However often times the conversation about homophobia in this scene goes to "Rick was homophobic for writing this" where personally I would say this scene toes the line at being too far without ever crossing it. Some people may think this depiction crosses the line into "Rick was homophobic for writing this" which is fine, but just because something depicted homophobia and hurt you doesn't mean it was homophobic. Something doesn't have to out rightly be stated to be bad, in order to be read as bad*, and the Cupid scene does a wonderful job of depicting this.

I talk here about how Nico is shown what love is, and how love is treated by Nico, and how it affects his character. I think it's important to note that Nico's entire storyline can essentially be encompassed in an Orpheus-like or Odyssey-like tale. Nico's undergone this huge emotional and physical labor all in the name of having some form of unconditional love. I think that post is a really important read in the context of this one because I very carefully outline how love shapes Nico and how Nico shape and chooses his own definition of love, but I want to specifically dig into the Cupid scene on this post.

The big criticism often seen is "it's homophobic" which I covered above, and I want to clarify I'm not upset with or mad at or trying to tell anyone they can't dislike it or even say you can't say it's homophobic (my words on my one post are a bit off I'll admit) but the problem I have is when people believe they hold a moral high ground for thinking it's homophobic, or they remove all nuance from the discussion with "it's homophobic". Which is frustrating and annoying because it's a very complex scene, and it really changes Nico's arc and personality and it does help characterize him.

The big reason it shapes him so much is because of the other largest reason the scene is criticized, Cupid's behavior. What often fails to be recognized in those scenes is that Cupid is intentionally painted as the villain, this is very important to the scene.

In the context of this scene Nico makes an unspoken choice, a choice of "what is love to me?". I talk about how Nico claims his narrative in BoTL when he overcomes Minos, and he partially peaks that arc by convincing Gods to join the final battle of TLO. Following that arc however, Nico falls into his second arc, his crush on Percy was important in PJO, but not as important as it is in HoO.

By HoO Nico's entire character revolves around Percy, how to help Percy, how to aid Percy, etc. All of this has to do with Nico's crush on Percy, but also as an act of repayment because Nico hurt Percy- Nico lied to him about knowing him at New Rome in SoN, and he goes to Tartarus shortly after... This mirrors what Percy did after Hades tricked Nico... Percy choked Nico because he was upset with him, so Nico tried to win back Percy's affection by bathing him in the river.

The Cupid Scene is the resolution of Nico's arc, he is essentially given a choice- Cupid or Jason?

For this reason, we do see Nico recognize love for what it has been vs how it could be.

Cupid is there to represent what love is, to Nico love is brutal, and painful, and a lot of hard work... Nico has made himself utilitarian in love simply because it is the only way he can find any affection. Love to Nico is about flaying yourself for the benefit of others, to trample any and all parts of yourself simply to appease those you care for, because you want them to love you so much as you love them. The parallels I could draw between Nico and Orpheus, or Nico and Odysseus... I'd be here a long while...

In that scene Jason represents the alternative form of love which Nico chooses after his interaction with Cupid.

Jason says during the scene that he "preferred Piper's idea of love" which has to do with kindness and caring, etc, and then Jason becomes the embodiment of that idea during the scene- which showcases the alternative of what love can be, thus making Jason a personification of love in the context of that scene.

Jason looks to Nico, he doesn't ask for more, he simply looks to Nico with understanding and acknowledges him for who he is, and he does the exact opposite of what Nico expects:

Jason loves Nico where he is, without conditions, without forcing Nico to become something more. Jason didn’t force Nico to say more than what was necessary for him to understand, Jason looked at Nico and he called Nico brave.

Cupid is a more volatile form of love than Aphrodite, Cupid shoots arrows that makes people animals, that can make a god grow insane, but Aphrodite's form of love is about acceptance and humanity (think to how she picked Ares over Hephaestus even if it was perhaps "wrong")- both are about truth but one is about force and the other about acceptance.

When Nico walks out of there, he makes his choice- he is forced to come out yes, Cupid is wrong for doing this, but Jason again stays a figure of love in Nico's life. Jason basically says, "Good job, I know that was hard, thank you for sharing and let me know if you need anything, people will care about you and understand you," again and again and again to Nico, he doesn't tell Nico he has to come out, and he agrees to keep it between them for now. Jason is love as acceptance, Jason is the first person who unconditionally loves Nico, and that's the choice.

Will Nico accept unconditional love? If the answer is no, then Cupid wins and Nico is denying himself. If the answer is yes, then Jason and Nico win, and Nico no longer needs to make himself utilitarian in love in order to be loved.

The choice is made with Reyna and Hedge, most specifically Reyna.

When he accidentally comes out to them, and they accept him without making a big deal of it, without show, just that acknowledgement and "thank you for sharing" and Nico accepts their words and friendship still- Nico made his choice then to accept the love he was being freely given.

“He carried so much sadness and loneliness, so much heartache. Yet he put his mission first. He persevered. Reyna respected that. She understood that. She'd never been a touchy-feely person, but she had the strangest desire to drape her cloak over Nico's shoulders and tuck him in. She mentally chided herself. He was a comrade, not her little brother. He wouldn't appreciate the gesture.”

This is where we see the slow and steady, and healthy, end to Nico's arc in regards to love really grow into itself, and he begins to heal. He no longer sees such an intense need to make himself utilitarian for love, and he begins to heal from his internalized homophobia too.

(Internalized homophobia discussions with Nico also bother me too often times, people too often assume you can't date while struggling with internalized homophobia or at least very heavy handedly imply that which is just not true... You may have some issues in your relationship, but you can work through the internalized homophobia while building a new relationship and be just fine. Also to assume someone has an unhealthy relationship because of internalized homophobia is weird and lowkey reinforces the idea that "broken" people don't need love, but also does a huge disservice to so many LGBTQ+ people who are happily married/themselves but still struggle with these feelings, and to see a healthy relationship depiction despite someone in that relationship struggling with internalized homophobia is fine and good actually. As long as the individual can recognize what they're dealing with, and work through it in a healthy and constructive manner, then there's nothing wrong there...)

When I started this post to be honest I thought I would have a lot more to say, it's a scene that touched and changed me so deeply as a person, and beyond that in a more objective experience it completely changes Nico's character, by turning his arc around and beginning his healing process. To be honest, there probably is more to be said on it, I just haven't found the words yet... I know parts of this post are clunky and in a year I'm going to read this and see all the places it could be better but for now I'm content with it.

Whether or not someone considers the scene homophobic is a subjective experience, but I think this is a very well written scene purely for the characterization and symbolism, intentional or otherwise. I don't really care that much to debate if it's truly a homophobic scene or not, I can see both why people say it is and why people say it isn't and that can be culminated into "people have different needs" and "minorities aren't a monolith". Personally my much larger complaint is the complete lack of nuance and insight scenes like this are handled with, not the matter of personal opinion an individual reaches on the scene.

*the post uses the word "adult audience" and yes, fair point, children should not be able to decipher symbolism to the extent adults can. But older children and young teens, which the RRverse series are sold for, is when critical thinking skills and media analysis do begin to become parts of classroom curriculum. The scene does an excellent job of not outright stating Cupid is evil, but of depicting that in a very clear cut way.

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Independent and Easy

PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG THIS

The main reason I'm even here is to work through the things causing me anxiety. I'm not going to try very hard to make things brief. Maybe I'll post some one liners or one paragraph things occasionally, but most of what shows up here is going to be long text. If I can figure out how to reblog from others here, I might do that too, as long as I'm not found by anyone I don't want to find me. So here it goes.

I’ve worked a lot in the past decade, especially the past few years, really especially the last year, to improve my relationship with my mom. And it has improved greatly from its historical situation and definitely from its low point in 2011. But damned if she can’t still hurt my feelings without putting any effort into it. At least I hope and want to believe she’s not putting any effort into it.

When she was my mom and wasn’t anyone else’s mom or grandmother, she made it very clear to me that to be the most pleasing, to get the most love, to get what I needed, I had to be easy. I had to not need or want much of anything, and definitely not demand it; attention, money, time, stuff, emotional labor, practical help. I had to not cause her any trouble, which meant I had to not cause anyone who would go to her about me any trouble either (teachers at school, doctors, other family members, anyone else she perceived in charge of me). I had to happily accept any responsibility and expectations placed on me, no matter how extreme or irrational they might be. No complaining. No crying. No getting angry or resentful. If any of that flared up, remind yourself (so she doesn’t have to) that you’re selfish and you don’t matter as much as other people/she does, or that you don’t matter at all. Remind yourself (so she doesn’t have to) that you’re lucky you have a roof over your head and food to eat and you aren’t getting beaten or thrown in the closet/basement or forced to sit on the front step and read the Bible out loud with your stutter and dyslexia until your parent was satisfied with your shame and humiliation, or kicked out of the house (and you knew kids who suffered some, most, or all of that). Be easy, Jennifer, and be glad and grateful you don’t have it worse (the implied and unspoken message there was always...I could always make it worse).

So I was easy. I literally never had one disciplinary measure taken by any authority figure through preschool and 13 years of public schools. I never got in fights with mean and selfish and loud cousins at family gatherings, even when they definitely were pushing me around. I got straight A’s. I got high test scores. I took care of my baby (literal baby) brother as a middle and high school student, without dropping the high test scores or grades, or getting into any disciplinary trouble. I got a job and worked every shift I was scheduled for minimum wage. I didn’t do any social anything unless I could pay for it myself with the money I earned from my job (the childcare I provided for 11 years for my mom was always totally free). I didn’t ask for (even) a (used) car; didn’t even get my driver’s license until I was 17 because Mom and Dad didn’t have the time or desire to teach me to drive one of the family cars. I signed myself up for driver’s training (it wasn’t offered through my poor public high school, like countless movies about high school led me to believe.) I took 3 lessons and the road test in cars I’d never drive again, and passed...with 3 lessons from strange people in strange cars. And then didn’t dare ask for a family car, even with a license, unless it was to drive to work or local college classes (had to stay home for school to take care of my brother...so I could be ‘easy’).

The one time I actually expressed any displeasure to my mom, she threw a hot pan of gravy at me. She’d made gravy that was supposed to be savory, but mistook powdered sugar for flour, so it was incorrectly and cloyingly sweet, which I (I thought) diplomatically pointed out, and she shoved and slammed down the hot skillet onto the table and told me I never appreciated anything she did for me and I was just being difficult. My dad then tasted the gravy and agreed with me. She took the pan back and remade the gravy, but she never said she was sorry. I learned to never point out one of her mistakes and make sure to gratuitously fawn over what she did for me then. To be easy.

My mom when she was working was late for every appointment she made with me when I became an adult. ‘Let’s have lunch, Jennifer,’ and she’d leave me sitting at a restaurant table alone for up to my entire lunch hour, waiting for her, without calling or even answering her phone. If I brought up that she was late (with what I thought was obvious concern for her safety and wellbeing), she always told me she was very important and needed at work. I should understand that. I learned to never expect anything from her but to always fulfill her shifting and sometimes conflicting expectations of me. To be easy.

I learned to handle shit myself and if anything bothered me, including panic attacks, I learned to keep it to myself. To be easy. I was good at shit. To be easy. I was good. To be easy.

When I moved out, I bought my own place and didn’t ask them for any money. I bought my own furniture and appliances. Didn’t ask them for any money and was certainly never offered any without asking. In fact, they told me it was the stupidest thing I ever did (“You used to be smart, Jennifer.”) and they were not going to make a mortgage or a utility payment for me and ‘don’t think you’re coming back here when you can’t do it by yourself.’ But I did do it by myself, because I was raised to be independent and easy.

She complained about me asking her to take a half day off work the day before our wedding so she wouldn’t be late to our rehearsal dinner. I hired the caterer, booked the venue, and the DJ, made the flowers myself, made the favors myself, made the invitations myself...you know...to be EASY.

When J and I had our son (after losing my first pregnancy in a traumatic way), my mom and dad were happy, I guess, but she didn’t really care that much. She told me to stop giving her new pictures of the baby because they were ‘cluttering up her house.’ When we asked her to babysit so J and I could go on dates, we would only go to a meal (lunches during weekend afternoons before the boy was potty trained and sleeping through the night) for some minimal alone time together; we never even went to a movie. To be EASY. Once we asked for two weekends in a row, and she said, ‘I’m not doing THIS SHIT every weekend, Jennifer.’ So we made sure to only ask once a month or less. To be independent and easy. We didn’t need her to help us ‘too much.’ We weren’t being selfish and demanding and lazy and entitled to her time and attention for our son (her only grandchild). We wanted make sure we were easy.

She told me I shouldn’t have any more kids because I couldn’t handle any more by myself. I worry too much. My anxiety gets in the way. It was maybe overly hopeful for J and I to have more kids based on my first pregnancy, and we made a decision as a couple to not try for any more after the boy turned 4 regardless of my mom’s unsolicited input on the situation, but it still hurt that she pointed out that me having even one kid, in her eyes, made me less independent and easy. It kind of put expectations on her and I was now sort of failing to meet the expectations she had of me. Being a mom made me less independent and easy. And she probably resented me for making her a mom and making her less independent; putting any expectations on her. Me staying home with my son was lazy and entitled and spoiled, things she’d taught me over and over again were bad. In fact, she didn’t like watching my son because if I ‘get to just stay home’ every day, why would I ever even need a babysitter for any reason? I can’t even handle sitting on my ass doing nothing all day? I need a break from that?

The biggest fight I ever had with my mom was when my son was 4. J and I had gone to a Halloween party and I told my son to please eat what my mom made him for breakfast and not demand something special (to be easy) and to not ask to go to the toy store (to be easy). When I called my mom to check on him before we picked him up the following morning, she cheerfully told me he had both demanded a special breakfast my dad had to go out for and she took him to the toy store the night before. I asked to speak to my son and I calmly said, ‘Buddy, I thought we talked about these things last night,’ and he started to cry. My mom then snapped the phone away from him and said, ‘All you do is make him cry. He was a perfect angel until you called.’ When we got there to pick up my son, she called me an asshole and a bad mother in front of both my son and J. I asked J to take our son to the car and told my mom, ‘I’m done,’ once they were outside. I was just trying to train my son to be independent and easy to be pleasing to her. I was trying to stay independent and easy and pleasing to her.

I thought being easy was what would earn me love and connection, because that’s what I was very deliberately led to believe with her my whole life. I took responsibility for being a bad mom, a bad daughter, a bad person, unworthy of attention and love and care and respect, because I wasn’t independent and easy enough.

But that’s all horseshit. Because now my mom goes and cleans my brother’s and his wife’s apartment for them semi-regularly. They are double income, no kids. They’re fully capable of doing their own housework. My parents gave my brother a car when he turned 16 without him having to even ask for one. Then he totaled it. And they gave him ANOTHER car and bought a new one for themselves. My brother got Saturday school in high school once for shouting, ‘Where’s the fuckin’ call?!’ to a high school basketball referee. He didn’t get in any trouble at home. My mom helped my brother’s wife plan a wedding shower and a wedding...with glee. She cried at his wedding...the ceremony and the reception. She sat there stone faced at mine.

And I used to write a lot of shit shit off as internalized misogyny (which she does have a lot of) because of the obvious preferential treatment she afforded my brother and my son. And ‘he’s the baby’ for my brother and ‘he’s the grandchild’ for my son, too. But that’s not it, really. It’s more personal to me. Because now, my mom devotes entire days of her time to my aunt’s daughter. She’s younger than me, but she’s the oldest of her siblings, just like me; she’s a woman, not a boy or a man, just like me. My mom can’t stop talking about how cute my cousin’s kids are; she babysits joyfully...is honored to be asked...teaches the little girl how to make brownies from boxed mix...shares all kinds of photos of them whether I want to look at them or not. This woman isn’t my mom’s daughter OR grandchild. It hurts me that she makes them a priority and not me.

So at 44, I’ve finally seen the error of my ways, although going back through my life and history with my mom, I can’t possibly see how things could be different now. It was either end up here, or end up even more estranged because I wasn’t ever independent and easy. It’s me. It’s me she has never been able or willing or desirous to connect to. The curse of independence and ease is that she raised me to not need her, on purpose. And she doesn’t want me to need her. She still wants independent and easy. The curse of competence is that you don’t need anyone, so they just don’t show up for you. It never matters that you want them. My mom sees my brother and my cousin as sort of incompetent and dependent and difficult. So she feels like she HAS to help them. Which I know she doesn’t like. But she’s connected to them; she seems to be connected to them the way I’ve always wanted to be connected to her. But I also know she resents and complains about that connection. There’s just so much conflicting feeling about the situation for me right now. Competence and independence and ease cost you connection, but I’ve never wanted to be an obligatory connection to anyone, even my mom. Maybe especially my mom. So I’ve always just stayed trying to be independent and easy, but being independent and easy and keeping all your own needs and desires inside only ever ends up in lopsided, often abusive relationships, and it always hurts you.

I can see the same thing happening to my son now. J and I very intentionally raised him to know we love him regardless of our own visions and whether or not he matches them. We don’t put pressure on him to hide feelings and perform. We don’t expect too much of him; we try to let him be a kid. But despite all that, there are a lot of folks out there like my mom who place heavy expectations on people but demand those people have no expectations of them. He feels that pressure from teachers and friendships and other peers. He feels that pressure from just growing up in America; in growing up a boy. Expectation to handle shit yourself. Expectation to not ever express any feeling and need. Expectation to be independent and easy. I can see it. I can feel it. And I notice my son trying to be independent and easy. And it hurts me. I wonder why it never hurt my mom. Probably because she didn’t watch me.

[harryspet]

secret service | bucky barnes

[Warnings] secret service!bucky x reader, reader is vp’s daughter, bodyguard!bucky, agegap, noncon/dubcon sex, brat tamer bucky, dominant x submissive, rough sex (wear protection kids!!)

A/N: this is for @nsfwsebbie​ ‘s dream fic challenge. Happy b-day sab! this is @mypoisonedvine​ ‘s dream fic and the prompt was “I would love anything dark bucky, especially if he starts out all nice and stuff but then he's all manipulative and it gets worse and worse until we're in heavy dub con/non con territory”. hope you enjoy bb!

In which a political trip to London allows you to be reunited with your favorite secret service member, Bucky Barnes. 

taglist: @peterztinglez @lovelynerdytraveler @buckybarney @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything​ @saharzek​ @lovemassivelybeautifulbouquet​ @what-is-your-wish​ @marvelslut-musicalnerd​ @brattypeony​ @hermayone​ @buckysugar​ @mandiiblanche​ @cherienymphe​

word count: 3.9k 

main masterlist

“You’ll need to be on your best behavior this weekend. We can’t have an incident like last year.”

You didn’t meet your mother’s eyes as you looked out the window of the private plane. Surprising to most, this time you spent watching her read her millions of paperwork was the most time you spent with her. Your mother cared for you but she was not warm. You didn’t believe a warm person could make it so high in the government. Being the daughter of the Vice President, you saw the kinds of dirty, manipulative politics that went on behind the scene. 

You wanted little part of it but, here you were, about to land in London for an important public event. 

“Y/N? Are you listening?” She continued to talk despite your lack of an answer, “That means you tell your agents when you’re going somewhere. I don’t care if you’re only walking down the hall to the ice machine, you tell them. You’ve known this since you were a little girl, I don’t know why you always give me a hard time.”

“I’m already here alone, Mom. Must you torture me further by suffocating me?”

“I know you must think it’s fun to rendezvous with some foreign prince but I must ask you to keep your legs closed for this trip and listen to your security.”

Your mouth parted. She thought of you as some whore but the truth was that you were far from the persona she forced upon you, “You don’t know me at all. And Alden isn’t a prince, his father is a prince. He’s just a duke,” You faked a smile and she scowled at you. 

You weren’t expecting her next words, “I have a surprise for you when we land.”

You paused for a moment, trying to read her face. She was perfect at disguising her true emotions and, as her daughter, the thought that you didn’t really know your mother was saddening, “A surprise? I thought you were lecturing me.”

“You won’t listen unless I bribe you, Y/N,” Just as the words left her mouth, the pilot spoke on the intercom. The plane was beginning its descent and in a moment you’d be landing. One of your mother's assistants had to approve all your outfits for this trip. After some discourse, you decided on a light pink dress for your arrival look. It hugged your curves the way you liked but it reached down to your knees modestly as your mother preferred. 

When you were finally stepping down the stairs to the plane, watching your mother wave to the press, and the diplomats ready to greet her, you realized what your surprise was. Two sleek, black cars waited at the end of the red carpet and the sight of the man standing in front of the second one made your heart race. 

It took everything in you not to run to him. His dark hair was styled neatly, his arms folded over his nicely pressed black suit and a soft look of happiness was displayed on his strong face. He was just like you remembered him, the earpiece in his ear and the gold pin on his lapel reminded you of his position. 

“This is my surprise?” Your mother turned to you with a grin. 

“I know how much you like Agent Barnes, maybe you’ll actually listen to him. You’re going straight to your hotel room, I will see you later tonight.”

“Of course, my beloved mother.  Like all teenagers, I love sitting in my hotel room and doing nothing while I’m on a trip.”

You watched your mother walk away from you, going to the first car while you approached the second car. Your speed picked up as you neared him. He opened the door for you, winking, “Girl Scout is in the Stage Coach. I repeat, Girl Scout is in the Stage Coach.”

Everyone the secret service protected had a codename. You’d been a proud girl scout for most of elementary school and then middle school when your mother went from Senator to Vice President. The name stuck and you thought it was annoying now that you’d grown out of that phase but you liked the name on his lips. 

As you carefully slipped inside the car, you were beaming and, as Bucky slipped in beside you, you had to wait to pounce. You attacked him with a hug as soon as the doors closed and none of the crowd could see you through the tinted windows. You felt his hand against your back, hugging you tightly and it was then that you realized how touch starved you had been. 

Everyone you came in contact had to go through your guards and that was often an intimidating process for most guys. Even though you had started college, you decided to avoid boys altogether because of this. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Your eyes were wide even as you pulled away from him, “How?”

Bucky gave you a soft smile, “Well I can’t tell you all the details since they’re top secret but, let’s say, my mission didn’t take as long as predicted.”

Your eyes narrowed at him in curiosity, “So you killed the bad guys and they let you come back to play babysitter?”

Bucky shook his head, giving you an amused look, “So crass. I see nothing has changed,” He leaned over and, for the briefest second, you thought his face was leaning into yours. Instead, he had reached over to grab your seatbelt as he safely secured it around your waist. Your cheeks heated up and you found yourself looking into the rearview mirror where you could see the two agents sitting in the front seat, “I apologize for being gone so long.”

“You didn’t miss much,” You said to console him, “Just senior year which was nothing special.”

Seeing him now made you think about meeting him those six years ago. He was so young then, just having served in the Army, but somehow aging had made him look even better. You had a feeling he was just as king and loyal as before. You were just a middle schooler at the time, hormonal, and constantly fighting with your parents about your lack of freedom. Maybe you hadn’t changed much either. 

You watched him fasten his own seatbelt as the car began to take off, “Nothing special, hmm?” He cocked his eyebrow, “What about prom? Graduation?”

“Oh, it was effectively ruined by my arch-nemesis. He stole my spot as Salutatorian, my prom date wouldn’t stop talking to him about nanotech for the entire evening, and guess who got into Stanford for early admission just like yours truly?”

“Little Peter Parker?” Bucky chuckled. 

“He’s not so little anymore,” You crossed your arms, pouting, “He’s only jealous that my mother was chosen as Vice President and his uncle was chosen for the lousy Secretary of Labor position.”

“Seems he must like you a lot to follow you to Stanford. To move all the way across the country,” You gave him an incredulous look, “C’mon, princess, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Of course I’ve noticed,” You rushed out your words, trying to ignore that feeling you got when he called you princess. If anyone else had said that, you’d probably feel disgusted but … you couldn’t help but think that term of endearment had changed its meaning. The truth was that you never thought Peter liked you and now you were worrying that your lack of social awareness had caused you to ignore the warning signs, “The last person I want to talk about is Peter Parker, Bucky.”

“Fine,” He folded his hands in front of him, sighing. 

“Besides,” You side-eyed him mischievously, “I have someone far more important who feigns for my attention.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky leaned in. 

“A duke,” You finished.

Bucky’s face seemed to fall, “I can’t imagine you as a duchess,” You couldn’t imagine yourself as one either but you liked the excitement that Alden brought you, “And your mother informed me of what happened last year. I’ll probably lose my job if something like that occurs again.”

“You’d tattle on me? I thought we were friends, Bucky.”

“That was when you were a harmless little girl. Now, you’re …” His eyes seemed to roam over your face then they fell to your neck but they moved back to your eyes before they could travel any lower, “You’re going to make this hard on me, aren’t you?”

You reached out to tap his cheek playfully and smirked, “I missed you.”

+

You weren’t sure exactly what holier-than-thou charity that these rich people had gathered in ball gowns to donate to. It was probably a minuscule fraction of their wealth and they most likely were only here to keep up appearances. Still, you enjoyed a chance to dress up. 

You moved through the historical museum in a red ball gown, admiring all the expensive artifacts, as Bucky escorted you. You expected your mother to be with you during the event she’d forced you to attend but it seemed that she was once again too busy. You would’ve felt lonely if Bucky hadn’t been there. The other agents kept their distance, wearing tuxedos to blend into the rest of the crowd as they watched you from a distance. 

Every now and then your conversation with Bucky would be interrupted by a message coming through his squiggly earpiece. 

He looked quite handsome tonight and by the outline of his biceps against the fabric of his tuxedo jacket, you could tell he had bulked up over the last year. 

“Madam Vice President had a run-in with the Prime Minister's wife. Turns out they’ve been dying to talk. She’ll meet you once the auction begins.”

“Oh, an auction, is that what this is? What endangered species are we saving tonight?”

“Funny,” Bucky added sarcastically, “... I don’t see your prince around. Perhaps he found another famous daughter to entertain for the night.”

You gave him a venomous look, “That cannot be possible when I look like this,” You emphasized your glamorous look that had taken nearly five hours to get on, “Now, would you please escort me to my table? I’m sure he’ll come and find me once you’re not standing beside me like a big tree.”

The truth was that you had no idea if Alden even remembered you from last year. He did make out with you but who knows how many famous daughters he had tried to entertain before. You hated how right Bucky seemed. 

Bucky didn’t add anything to your harsh words as he escorted you into a large ballroom. It was so elegantly decorated that the room smelled like money. Blue stripes of light wavered through the room making it feel like you were in the middle of the ocean. You couldn’t help that the feeling of drowning that she experienced was a bad touch on the organizer's part. 

Of course, your mother’s table was right near the front of the room. As Bucky pulled back the white chair, you took a seat, not meeting his eyes, “You’re dismissed, Mr. Barnes,” You spoke over your shoulder. 

To your surprise, he leaned down to whisper into your ear, “You cause any problems tonight, princess, and you deal with me.”

Your mouth pinched into a thin line as you were left speechless. When you looked back, he was already walking away, taking his position by the far wall. You looked away quickly, mentally cursing. So much for having the upper-hand. You slouched in your seat, looking around the hall which was now flooding with people. 

A few people you vaguely remembered having a conversation with approached you to talk. Hollywood celebrities, European politicians, and even famous designers hoping to get you to wear some of their designs. Lately, the paparazzi loved to follow you as you walked to class and gossip sites loved to talk about what you wore. 

Everyone was so busy trying to get your attention that you hadn’t noticed someone slip in the seat beside you, “You look like you need something to drink,” You were a bit startled but you immediately recognized his voice. It seemed a year had made him more handsome as well. With one hand he grabbed yours and kissed it and with the other he handed you a glass of champagne. 

“Your grace,” You greeted him, accepting the glass. You had almost forgotten that you could legally drink here. Despite that, you knew it would be improper to your mother. That’s why you took a sip, “Thank you so much-” You winced at the bitter taste but continued to sip. 

The young duke was tall and red-headed, his face peppered with adorable freckles. His royal get-up was even more attractive. 

You looked back at Bucky who was staring intently, “Is a night of fun in the cards for us?” You turned back to the Prince. 

“I’m not supposed to rendezvous with royalty anymore. My Mom was not happy with me.”

He leaned back casually in his chair, his leisurely nature was surprising to you, “Is she usually happy with you?”

“Touche,” You took another painful sip, “Still, I’m not supposed to leave this table and I’m supposed to go straight back to my hotel room. No funny business.”

“No shenanigans whatsoever?” He frowned and you wondered why the British accent was so heavenly, “You must, at the very least, keep me entertained through whatever ceremony this is-”

“An auction, your grace.”

“What endangered species are we trying to save this time? It won’t be enough money anyways since they decorated this place with literal diamonds,” You smiled as you saw him reach into his jacket pocket and pulled out a flask, “Something stronger, perhaps?”

+

Bucky tapped his foot, starting to tune out the voice in his ear. 

The room was now full of socialites, Madam Vice President had been escorted to her seat, and now the auction was beginning. The Vice President hadn’t so much as hugged her daughter so Bucky doubted she had noticed you were drinking yet. The young Duke would refill your glass with a clear liquid every time it ran low. 

You were now giggling and laughing with him as a serious speech was given. You had to be at least six shots in. You played with his hand in your lap, leaning over to whisper in his ear, as you had the time of your life. 

Bucky didn’t panic, only made a quick decision, “Girl Scout is in need of some rescuing. Clear the exit.” 

Bucky scanned the room and his men began to follow his orders, as he approached your table. Before you could take another sip of your drink, his hand was on your shoulder. Your mother flashed him a concerned look but Bucky gave her a look to tell her not to worry. Luckily, she hadn’t noticed yet that you were about to go off the rails. 

“Want some?” You smiled lazily as you lifted your glass. Bucky took it from you, setting back on the table. 

“I think you need to use the bathroom, Miss Y/L/N,” You gave him a confused look. You wondered why he was being so stern with you. 

“Nooo, I think you have the wrong woman, officer,” Bucky grabbed onto your hand, urging you up from your seat, “Let me deal with this rude man, your grace, I’ll be back soon.”

It seemed the Duke was in a similar, drunk state and simply replied with, “Return soon, my darling. I shall wait for your return-” You couldn’t respond because Bucky was trying to pull you away. Luckily, Bucky hadn’t managed to cause a scene but he knew you’d end up getting blackout drunk and embarrassing your mother if you continued. 

Agents flocked around the two of you as you were guided out of the room. You almost tripped on the long skirt of your dress though Bucky easily caught you. You held onto him, giggling, “You couldn’t make it one night, could you?” You walked through a long hallway, staff carrying large plates of food passed and stared. 

He brought you to the bathroom which was ginormous in itself, chandeliers hanging across the length of it, and completely empty, “I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here, officer.”

He leaned against the wall, “Walk around. Splash water on your face. Sober up.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the sink counter, as you stared at your makeup. As if you would ruin your makeup to “sober up”. 

You pouted, staring at him through the mirror, “I didn’t mean to make you mad, Bucky. Only my mother.”

“Your mother is my boss. When you upset her, she’s upset with me,” Bucky was terse, and you wondered where that soft side was starting to disappear to, “You shouldn’t be drinking anyway.”

You huffed, hating that this conversation was starting to ruin your buzz, “I’m not a child. Don’t tell me you never had a sip of alcohol before you were twenty-one.”

“You think you’re more mature than you actually are,” You couldn’t help the scowl that formed on your face, “You’re not drinking for fun. You’re drinking to spite your mother.” 

He moved closer, his hands behind his back as he sunk his words into you like a knife. You turned to him, taking a challenging step toward him. He towered over you but you clung to that anger and turned it to what you thought was confidence. 

You grinned up at him, reaching out to play with the buttons of his jacket, “I thought you knew me better, Bucky,” You looked up at him with longing eyes, “I’m not a little girl anymore and you know that. You look at me differently. Your eyes linger on places you shouldn’t even be watching.”

Bucky grabbed your wrist tightly, suddenly, “Stop,” You knew you had touched a nerve. 

“See, I know these things now,” You teased, “You like it when you can swoop me up and save me.”

“It’s my job, Y/N,” He spoke sternly. He was still holding you despite his words. 

“What is it that you really want from me?” You pressed yourself closer to him, “A kiss maybe? Or something more forbidden?”

His eyes were dark with lust and you watched them linger on your lips at the mention of a kiss. What exactly did you want from him and what hole had you just dug for yourself? The alcohol was giving you courage but you weren’t actually sure how to finish what you started. 

Bucky decided for you. He turned your body quickly, pressing your back into him, as a hand tightened around your throat. He faced you toward the mirror and the two of you were illuminated with bright lights. Your eyes widened as you watched him lean into your ear, “You’re such a brat ….”

Maybe part of him wanted you to mess up. Maybe he wanted a reason to get you alone with him and away from the royal douche that you were talking to. Maybe he let you get to this point ... 

“Bucky, what are you-” His hand tightened around your throat and you felt your knees go weak. 

He shushed you, “You asked what I really wanted. I want to punish you, princess,” Shivers went through your body as his warm breath tickled your ear, “I want to fuck you speechless so you can’t talk back with that smart little mouth of yours anymore.”

You started to struggle against you but you felt his fingers tighten around the sides of your throat. His hands were so big that they wrapped perfectly around your neck, “Hands on the counter,” He loosened his grip but only so he could push you forward. Like instinct, your hands held the sink counter. You turned your head to look back at him but he grabbed your hair, forcing your face forward, “Look forward, I want you to be able to see your pretty face while I fuck you.”

“Bucky, I’m sorry,” You forced out shakily as you felt the back of your dress being slowly unzipped. Through the mirror, you watched as he carefully took in the view of your body, “Please don’t hurt me-”

“Have I ever hurt you before?” He interrupted you, his hands traveling over your bareback, “I’ll always protect you, princess. I just think, if I’m going to keep doing my job, we need some new rules.”

The straps of your dress fell down your shoulder, exposing your breast. Again, as you tried to look away, he forced your face towards the mirror again, “Don’t be shy now,” He pulled down your panties, slapping your now exposed bottom, sending a stinging pain through your skin. 

There was aching between your legs and part of you feared what he’d discover when he took a closer look. As you watched him undo his belt, a dark look in his eyes, you knew that he was going to push you all the way. He slapped your ass again, watching your body convulse as you tried to run from the pain. Surprisingly, his intimate touch only made that aching grow. 

Upon closer examination, Bucky did discover the wetness between your legs. You bit down on your lip as his fingers roamed over your sweet spot, rubbing your sensitive bulb. You bent over further, allowing him more access which caused Bucky to smirk. 

Something switched in him once again because suddenly he was pouncing again, positioning himself behind you as he pushed you further against the counter. He wanted you to see his face as he entered you, roughly grabbing your hair as he teased you entrance with his hard, throbbing cock. 

“Please…” 

“Please what? You want me to fuck you?” You closed your eyes, unwilling to answer, only to receive another smack to your bottom, “Don’t worry about what you want, princess, I’m making the decisions here.”

He stretched you as he slowly entered you and you tightly wrapped around his member, “Fuck, Y/N,” He cursed, moving deeper inside of you. At that moment, he was all that could feel, and all that consumed your thoughts. He moved torturously slow in and out of you and you gasped every time he sunk his entire length within you. 

“Bucky!” You cried out, your mouth wide as you gripped the counter for dear life, “Ah, t-t-too big … p-please. Ah!”

He moved faster now, reaching around to grab ahold of your breast as he thrust inside of you. You called his name again and that only made him speed up his pace. He was torturing with his ferocity and now you wished he’d go back to taking it easy on you. You watched in the mirror as he split you apart, taking whatever innocence you had left within you, “Good girl, princess,” He praised you, “Taking my cock. So. Good.”

He was moving too fast now. With each thrust, he was hitting the right spot and sending pleasure in cascading waves through your body. You couldn’t take it, already tightening around his cock as you orgasm. You tried to run from it, trying to pull your body forward but he grabbed your arms, forcing you back onto his cock. Tears stung your eyes as he went even deeper. 

When he finally came, he grunted hard, his moaning deep and heavy. You were defeated, conquered, though you didn’t understand why being violated could feel so good. 

You leaned against the counter as you tried to catch your breath. Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily, before pulling up his pants and tightening his belt again. He adjusted his earpiece before looking at you over again. Shaking, you were pulling up the straps of your dress.

“Sober now?” He asked, a wicked smile on his face. “Let’s try yes sir and no sir from now on. Understand?”

“Yes… Sir.”

+

i love the whole secret service concept so i hope you enjoyed it too!

[stanknotstark]

Odinson M.D. (Loki x reader) Pt. 1

I’m excited for this series honestly. I’m doing a lot of research so I write this medically correct tho, if yall see anything wrong don’t be afraid to tell me ^^

Summary: Y’all wanted a House AU so here it is. Loki is a doctor who keeps most people at bay with his sharp wit and sarcasm. He doesn’t understand the need for romantic ploys and casual human discussion. He thrives in the hospital, trying to figure out the unknown, even if his methods turn a bit morally ambiguous at times. That’s why he has Thor and Frigga to keep him in line although he would argue he has no need for it. You just happen to be a doctor on tenure under Loki’s tutelage along with Steve Rogers and Peter Parker. Can you convince the jaded doctor you’re just what he needs to keep him on his toes? 

Loki feels the, what had started as pin pricks now, full blown boredom eating away at his overactive mind. He folds sticky notes, from his rolling chair, into small balls and flicks them over to his brother, Thor, who stands fiddling with a broken, plastic Santa sitting on the desk they hang around. Thor proudly wears his white lab coat on top of a nice plaid button down and brown, pressed slacks. Loki prefers to stick to his more casual clothes, if not a bit fashionable for casual, for a doctor. He wears a black cashmere sweater with gray, pressed slacks, a nice pair of oxfords to finish his style. It’s enough to keep him warm during the winter season.

Christmas, such a mainstream holiday. Loki abhors this season what with all the festive cheer and decorations that litter NYC. You can’t walk two feet without being guilted into giving money to the people who stand on corners with bells for the Salvation Army. You can’t buy something nice without a cashier smiling at you, as if all knowing, and asking who you’re giving this gift to with cheerfulness in their high pitched voices. What he especially hates is that Odin expects him to show up to the family dinner every Christmas, seeing as Thor has a wife and has to spend half his time with her family. Loki is the black sheep that’s expected to pick up where his brother has neglected. All in all, Loki would demolish this one holiday from existence if he had the even the slightest chance.

The only good thing about being a doctor was that meant he could get away from most of the holiday by working through it. He couldn’t always escape the dinners seeing as his mother, Frigga, was of administration and Dean of Medicine on his floor. Not only did that hinder him but his father owned the hospital, so he was at a disadvantage, if only by a bit. 

“We are condemned to useless labor.” Loki sighs out, his fingers playing with another yellow sticky note, crushing it into a ball. 

“Fourth circle of hell,” Thor replies with a roll of his eyes as a paper ball launches towards him, hitting him in the cheek before falling to the ground. “Charting goes a lot faster when you eliminate all classic poetry, brother.” Thor says lightly. A suggestive twitch of his lips all Thor gives to a bored Loki.

Loki takes time from making paper balls to look over at the pile of charts next to him, sitting on the clinic’s lobby desk, waiting for his attention. He’s sure if the charts came to life they would resemble a dog, desperate for attention, wagging its tail with excitement when he finally looks at it. “Writing down what we already know to be read by nobody,” Loki brings his attention back to making another paper ball, completely ignoring the fact that Thor had rolled his eyes so hard he probably has a headache. “Pretty sure Dante would qualify that as useless,” Loki says lightly, a frown on his lips.

“You’re two weeks behind on your charting!” Thor says with exasperation, stopping his fiddling with the Santa to look at Loki as if he had offended Thor personally. 

Loki flicks another ball at Thor, however he misses his target and, it sails past Thor, hits Frigga on the chest whom had just walked into the clinic. She watches the paper fall to the ground, giving Loki a look of disappointment. The man gives his mother an innocent smile from his seat. “Oops! I missed.” 

“Are you eight years old?” The poised woman asks with a squint in her eyes as she walks over to the side of the desk Loki and Thor reside at. She picks up one of Loki’s charts and reads it with flickering eyes.

“Could an eight year old do this?” Loki asks, catching Frigga’s eyes, and sticks his tongue out at his mother who rolls her eyes. What is it about Loki that causes everyone to roll their eyes? Something he’ll never get the answer to, not because he can’t but because he doesn’t care enough to find the answer when it’s so painfully obvious. 

Loki’s mother lifts Loki’s chart, she had picked up, a little higher as if trying to garner Loki’s attention, after she had finished reading through it, and looks at him with frustration. “You have a patient in exam one, Loki.” 

Loki settles further into the rolling chair, throwing the pad of sticky notes on the desk, bringing his hands together over his stomach and lacing his fingers. Loki embodies the epitome of comfort and relaxation. He shrugs. “Yes but see I’m off at twelve and it’s already five off...” He shakes his head minutely with a look that says ‘Not much I can do’. He’s rather hoping his mother will let him off the hook this one time. He knows she has a soft spot for him and takes full advantage of that. Thor remains quiet on the matter, playing with the plastic Santa that’s supposed to sing when you press its button.

“She’s been waiting for you since eleven.” Frigga says with finality. Setting his chart down, Loki swears he could hear a gravel slamming down, and then she leaves but not without a pointed look at Loki. This meant Loki isn’t getting away this time. He sits there with his lips pursed and a frown etched into his eyebrows as he watches her retreating form.

“Melancholy without hope, which circle is that?” Loki pointedly asks Thor who looks at him with a sympathetic look only causing Loki to scoff and rolls his eyes as he stands, grabs his cane, and makes his way towards exam room one. 

Loki limps into the room, already conscientious about his gold and green cane, making sure it doesn’t hit the wall as he slips into the exam room. 

Looking back Loki doesn’t regret the choices his made on the cane. The man liked attention from the right people. He hates most casual people seeing as he usually finds them boring, predictable, and the need for small talk not something he takes much joy from. The cane definitely stood out and was the starter of conversation for common man that passed him by, unfortunately. This wasn’t enough to make Loki regret his ostentatious picks on his cane though.

The cane itself is light but durable. The stabilizer at the bottom had four anti-slip feet, covered by a wide quad base, all black and shiny. The cane, in all its glory, was emerald green, specifically requested by Loki, and had snakes engraved in the metal base. The snake outline, repeated around the entire cane, were then dusted in gold and, shined pretty and proper when in the sun. The snakes that run from the bottom to the top, run up the cane with open mouths as if devouring the brethren that followed up the last snake. When they reach the top of the cane, the handle’s edge, they stopped. The handle itself was covered in pure gold. The inside of it was carbon so it was lighter to carry but still very durable. The handle was fashioned after the head of a Black Mamba. Sleek and slim but one of the deadliest, most venomous snakes in the world. A symbol of Loki’s true power, or at least that’s what he told anyone that asks. In all honesty, Loki had picked the Black Mamba head because he thought it looked cute. He had a reputation to uphold, however.

Loki pushes his way into the exam room to find three nuns, one on the medical bed with two nuns on each side. As he closes the door he turns his head so he may let his eyes go wide without the women seeing his exasperated look. He turns his head back after the door is closed and he reins in his emotions.

“Hi, I’m doctor Odinson,” Loki supplies the three women, setting his cane aside in the room and looking up at the women with a small tilt of his lips. “What seems to be the problem?” He asks the woman sitting on the bed. 

“Show him your hands, Augustine,” One of the sisters demands of Augustine, the woman on the bed Loki tabs in his head. 

As the woman shifts the cloth covering her hands Loki takes the time to pop a pain pill into his mouth, swallowing without water if only because he’s been taking them for years for his disability. The use of the word disability is new, seeing how he didn’t take to the word too kindly in the beginning. As of now, he has accepted it for what it is and calls it as it should be, a disability. Something that may hinder him but does not define who he is or ever shall be. 

Sister Augustine lifts her hands in front of her and they shake a bit as she holds them out for Loki to examine. They look raw, red, and as if they’re wet but in reality it’s because they’re covered in an ointment and severe rash. They’re pruned as if they spent too much time in water. When she turns over her hands to show him the palms he notes that they’re also raw and red, but more so and bleeding probably from scratching.

“It looks like stigmata.” The sister on the right of Augustine needlessly announces to Loki, or possibly to no one in particular. The other sister on the left shushes at her. Loki has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at her remark. Of course this ignorant nun would condemn her sister for something as simple as an allergic reaction. She finds the rash to be a form of disgrace on her sister. Typical. 

Loki steps forwards, his eyes on her hands, “Must be all the talk around the holy water cooler.” He lightly supplies the three sisters with a joke to break the tension that had risen from the sister’s remark of stigmata. His eyes come to rest on her hands and as he reaches up to hold them in his own says, “You been washing a lot of dishes lately?” Loki glances up at sister Augustine’s aloof face.

“I help out in the kitchen.” Augustine replies. 

“Anything new in the kitchen?” Loki asks, trying to pinpoint what’s causing the rash.

“We just got a donation of pots and pans this week.” The nameless nun tells Loki which supplies Loki with an answer for her reaction. Dish soap, pots and pans wouldn’t have caused such a reaction. 

“I unpacked and washed them.” Augustin gives Loki, trying to help him out.

“Should have spent your time saving souls,” Loki says, his natural sarcasm coming over him, “It’s easier on the hands.” He says with a face that could be taken as contrite but is actually irony. “This is contact dermatitis. You’re allergic to dish soap.” Loki tells the nuns, his mind bored with how easy this diagnoses is. 

As Loki turns to write down his report in the chart one of the nameless nuns speaks up. “Nonsense! We’ve always used that soap, why would it be a problem now?” She asks Loki.

Loki lets his head tilt back as he looks at the ceiling with a playful look on his face. “I’ve been a doctor for years,” He looks at the nun who spoke up, “Why do I have to keep assuring people I know what I’m doing?” He asks rhetorically. Not only talking about the nuns, Loki thinks of the many times where he has had to convince his own mother, and brother, that he knew what he was doing, going so far as to proving it. 

“A person can become allergic to substances they’ve had repeated and prolonged exposure to.” Loki explains, his eyebrow raising perfectly, as if asking if the sisters had any other remarks to make before he looks down at the chart for Augustine to write his report real quick. 

Loki then makes his way to the cabinet and picks out a small box inside of it. “Good news is, free samples!” He gives a fake smile, and excited tone, to the nuns. “I’m giving you an antihistamine to stop the allergic reaction,” He explains his process. “Take one every eight hours, might make you sleepy, and get some over the counter Cortisone cream, for the itchiness.” Loki looks at sister Augustine to make sure she understood his words, nodding at her when she gives an understanding nod, then handing her two pills from the box he had pulled from the cabinet. 

“Thank you, doctor.” Augustine says with a small smile and nod.

“Want me to get some water?” Loki asks the women. 

“I have some tea!” A nameless nun says, grabbing her thermos and giving it to Augustine.

Loki nods at the nun and backs up to pick up the chart. “Relax for a minute, the pills work pretty fast.” Then he leaves the room thinking he is done for the day in the clinic, thank god. 

Loki throws the chart on top of his other charts he had left on the desk with Thor, in the lobby, and sighs as he limps around the desk and to Thor’s side.

“Still out by twelve.” Thor says, more so to grate on Loki’s nerves than anything. 

Loki lets it go but replies, “How do you solve the problem of dermatitis.” 

“Doctor? I want to thank you for your patience.” A sister says interrupting the conversation Loki was about to have with Thor. One of the sisters from Augustine’s side now stands in the clinic’s lobby with Loki and Thor. Her face showing she genuinely means it.

Loki manages to give Thor a disparaging look when he asks, “She talking to you?” As if shocked Loki was getting any kind of compliment. Loki can’t fault him there, he isn’t used to getting compliments either. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t bask in it but it is a little uncomfortable.

“I don’t know, she’s certainly looking at me...” Loki says back to Thor, shifting his weight from foot to foot in discomfort. He turns, watches, as the sister makes her way over to him, standing a little over a foot away. Enough distance to be comfortable since she is a stranger but a little too close for Loki’s comfort anyways. He hates people, so physical, so sentimental. 

“It’s so good to get a secular diagnosis.” The nun offers Loki with a gratified look on her face, her body swaying with her words like she really means them. 

Loki feels the frown come over his face and he tilts his head down at the sister. 

“The sisters tend to interpret their diagnosis as divine intervention.” The nun explains to a bewildered Loki. 

“And you don’t?” Loki asks, his voice not betraying his confusion but it’s definitely there. This sister is very...different from regular nuns, he can already tell. Her ideologies being promulgated so plainly are leaving Loki in an almost disoriented state. “Then you’re wearing an awfully funny hat.” Loki says, his sarcasm coming out to hide his true feelings on this whole conversation. The sister merely tilts her head with a look that says ‘Very funny’. 

“Oh boy.” Thor whispers behind Loki. Loki can feel him shifting as if he wants to escape this situation just as much as Loki. “Excuse me.” Thor says grabbing all his charts and reports so he may make a swift exit. Loki glances back at Thor, his face now shifting from its usual neutrality to a look of perplexity and a hint of longing as he wants to leave too. Loki looks back to the sister, hiding his emotions again as she speaks.

“If I break my leg I believe it happened for a reason. I believe God wanted me to break my leg,” The sister says, her face showing nothing short than utter earnestness that almost makes Loki gag. “I also believe he wants me to put a cast on it.” The sister finishes causing Loki’s lips to twitch upwards and forget his brief nausea. He likes her, something no one that truly knew him would take lightly. 

“Doctor! Something’s wrong!” The other sister says loudly as she races into the lobby. This breaks the little moment the sister was having with Loki and he stands at attention. 

They all make their way back to exam room one with hast in their steps and Loki’s limp. 

When Loki enters the room he finds Augustine to be hunched over, rapidly breathing but the air is filled with wheezes as if she can’t get breath into her lungs. Loki quickly tabs this as an asthmatic attack but grabs his stethoscope and brings it up to her chest. “Lift up your chin.” He demands softly, letting the stethoscope land on her chest when she does and moves it from the left to the right side listening to her lungs and heart as she panically breathes in faster. 

“Sister you’re having an asthma attack, I need you to relax,” Loki drops the stethoscope from her chest, taking it from his ears, and turns to the drawers in the room, “Roll up her sleeve, please.” He demands of the sister next to him. He quickly picks up an syringe from the drawer he opened and turns back to sister Augustine. “I’m going to give you epinephrine,” He explains. “It will open your lungs and help you breathe.” 

Loki uncaps the shot, by mouth, and quickly sticks the sister’s arm, injecting the liquid components of the epinephrine into her upper arm with fluid movements as if he’s done this a thousand times before, because he has. 

Loki looks up at sister Augustine to assess the situation. The cap of the needle still in his mouth which he lightly grinds around with his teeth, almost nervous but not quite.

Everything is quiet for a moment. Loki takes this time to remove the needle from the sister’s arm and replace it with a cotton ball which he presses to her skin with moderate strength to stop any blood flow that may have followed the intrusion. 

“What happened?” One of the sisters ask. 

Loki foregoes the answer to that question to ask his own, “Did she take the pill?” He looks at the sister next to him, the one that had warned him of the situation and had stayed behind with sister Augustine. The one that had called it stigmata.

“Yes.” She says in a tone that betrays confusion and defensiveness.

“It’s an allergic reaction.” Loki explains ignoring the sister’s emotions at his question. 

“She’s allergic to an anti-allergy medicine?” The same sister asks in an incredulous tone now. 

Sister Augustine sits there taking in small mouthfuls of air, as if she now understands breathing is a commodity. Her body is still hunched over as she grabs at the medical bed with a white knuckled grip. Loki looks at her sympathetically. “How are you feeling?” He asks thinking about what variations he can use to treat her allergic reaction on her hands now that the blood rushing experience is over. “I’ll put you on some steroids instead.” He decides out loud, capping the syringe he used and throwing it away in the designated red safety box.

“Is my heart supposed to be feeling so funny?” Sister Augustine asks breathlessly, Loki watching as she brings a hand up to grab at her chest. 

“It’s called adrenaline, makes the heart beat fast.” Loki says flippantly but puts two fingers on her pulse point on her wrist just to check if it’s something worth looking into. Loki looks at Augustine with concern, his eyes flitting around the room in thought, “But not this fast.” 

Sister Augustine takes in a deep breath, wheezing again.

“Get a nurse, please.” He tells one of the sisters in a calm but pressing tone.

Sister Augustine leans into Loki’s body with a whimper and he grabs her so he may lightly rest her on the bed in a supine position. He leans over her watching her and trying to figure out what’s wrong, what could possibly be causing this, and how to fix it, fast. 

“Somebody help!” Loki hears the nun call outside the room. 

His attention is diverted when sister Augustine passes out. He quickly puts the stethoscope in his ears and puts the diaphragm on her chest, checking for her heart beat first, then her lungs. There is no comforting beat to be heard and her breathing has completely stopped as if it never existed, pulling this situation from a simple allergic reaction to something far, far more serious than Loki had anticipated. 

“Somebody get in here!” Loki yells out frustrated no one has answered their calls for help. Finally a nurse in blue scrubs comes in, realizing the situation is of immediate emergency and looks at Loki so she may help. 

“Call a code and charge up the defibrillator, she’s got no pulse.” He says speedily, starting to perform CPR on sister Augustine. The nurse flees from the room in record time to grab a defibrillator and yell at someone to call a code blue. 

Loki manages CPR for a few minutes until the defib team comes in and takes over. They only barely manage to bring sister Augustine back to life. 

Loki stands at the doorway, the two other sister next to him praying, he bites at his thumb. His mind is racing with the need for an answer. What caused this? What was he missing? It’s an allergic reaction, there’s no doubt about that, nonetheless he can’t figure out why everything he tried sent her into further shock. She couldn’t possibly have been allergic to everything he gave her, antihistamine and epinephrine. There is a factor here that he doesn’t know about, something is missing, and he would figure it out if it was the last thing he did. 

Loki barely glances at one of the sisters as they take a drink from a thermos before going back to saying their Hail Mary’s. 

Tagging (because they showed interest for this series): @rosaline-black​ @blueberrynonnie​ 

I won’t tag yall in any other posts unless you specify you’d like that! i just wanted you both to know i started it and if you’d still be interested 😊

[kywaslost]

Levi Comforts Anxious Sister Reader

Warnings: anxiety, anxiety attack

Requests are possibly open?? I don’t really know yet if I’m honest lol

Being the younger sister of humanity’s last hope isn’t easy. You worried constantly, whether it be what people thought of you or if your brother would make it back from the latest expedition. You were only 16 and you felt like the world was resting on your shoulders. With Lance Corporal Levi as your brother, people expected you to be just like him; cold, heartless, and an amazing warrior. 

In reality, you were just another soldier. There wasn’t even anything special about you. You couldn’t turn into a titan like Eren, be quick on your feet like Mikasa, or be smart like Arwin. You were just like anyone else. You didn’t have much in common with your older brother either. You had his hair color and facial structure, but that was as far as it goes. Levi never showed his emotions whereas you could never mask your own. He knew how to lead an army and take down a titan without a second thought. Your social anxiety kept you from trying to take charge and you considered every possibility that a titan could do to kill you and that distracted you from your main goal.

There was an expedition a few weeks ago that scarred you. It wasn’t your first, but it sure made your heart stop beating. You were a part of Levi’s squad. Just because you were another soldier doesn’t mean you weren’t good enough to be with your brother. Levi would never admit it but he fought hard and well to make sure you were on his squad when you had to go out on expeditions.

There were more titans than you thought there would be. You were swarmed, alone. Three titans were closing in on you and there was no one around to help you kill them. You let out a shrill scream as one of the titans enclosed you in its grip. You panicked, trying to free your arms. You were lifted closer to the titans mouth. In a final attempt to save your life, you screamed, “Levi!” You closed your eyes, accepting defeat. In a split second, you hit the ground and the air was knocked out of you. You winced in pain as your right shoulder took most of the impact. The ground shook as the three titans hit the ground, dead.

“Y/N!” Next thing you knew you were in someone’s arms and flying through the air. You opened your eyes slowly to see your older brother looking down at you. You then closed your eyes, unconscious.

Levi cursed to himself when he felt you fall limp. “Do not close your eyes,” he screamed. “Don’t die on me!” Levi landed on one of the medical carts retreating back to HQ. Eren lay still in the center, weakly looking up at the sky above them. Arwin sat beside him and Mikasa rode her horse along the cart.

“Captain?” Eren called hoarsely.

“Arwin, help me,” Levi ordered. Arwin quickly pulled off his cloak and folded it to use as a pillow. He helped Levi lay you flat on the cart next to Eren and he started to press part of your own cloak against your head.

“She’s bleeding, Captain,” Arwin informed the man.

“How bad is it?” Levi asked as he inspected your shoulder. It was obviously dislocated and broken.

“I can’t quite tell but she has a head injury, most definitely a concussion.”

“Mikasa,” Levi called. “Give me your cloak.” The girl ripped it off and passed it to the captain. He then popped your shoulder back in place and used the cloak as a sling. Taking off his own green cover Levi layed it over you in an attempt to keep you warm.

“Is Y/N ok?” Eren asked quietly, reaching over to grab her hand.

“Don’t touch her!” Levi ordered, taking her hand instead.

That was a few weeks ago. Since then, you’ve been ordered by your brother and Erwen himself to take it easy. You were to sit out of training and for chores you were to stay with your brother and do as he told you to do. You were bummed you had to sit out but were beyond grateful that you got to spend so much time with your brother. Ever since that day, you started to panic whenever you were by yourself. Your breath would quicken and your heart rate would pick up. It never got terrible though, since someone would find you rather quickly. You didn’t bother telling anyone about this, since you thought it was just a temporary thing.

Today you were with Levi in his office. He noticed how you winced in pain whenever you moved so he ordered you to sit on the couch in his office and rest.

“But Levi--” you started to protest but he glared at you.

“That’s Captain Levi to you,” he corrected. You looked away, suddenly upset. He never ordered you to call him Captain when it was just the two of you, let alone ever glare at you like that. You heard the man sigh and felt the couch dip beside you. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He pulled your head to rest on his shoulder. “I know this is hard for you and I’m sorry I’m making things worse. I’ve just had a lot of paperwork and I know that’s no excuse.” You closed your eyes and leaned into your brother’s touch.

“It’s alright,” you said quietly. “I understand.” You shifted to get more comfortable but winced in pain. Your head was killing you. Armin was right, you did have a pretty bad concussion. Levi took notice of your pain and frowned slightly. He never was one to show his emotions. He gently lifted you off of him and laid you down on the couch.

“Where are you going?” you asked as you sat up quickly. Levi gently pushed you back down onto the couch.

“Lay down brat,” he said. Although there was no emotion showing on his face, you could see the concern in his eyes. “I’m going to go find something to help you with the pain.” Levi turned around and left the room. Your eyes widened in panic.

“But--”

“I’ll be back.” With that, your brother left. Your breath quickened and you started to panic. Ever since the day you got injured, you couldn’t stand being alone. You squeezed your eyes shut, the tension causing your head to hurt even more. Letting out a choked sob you started to shake. I can’t do this, you thought to yourself. I can’t be alone. You attempted to stand and walk, wanting to find at least someone to stay with you until Levi got back, but you were too far gone. You stumbled down to the ground as the pain in your head caused your legs to give out from beneath you. You gripped and pulled your hair with your one good hand, breath labored.

“Levi,” you gasped quietly. Tears stream down your face, leaving small streams on your cheeks and dripping from your chin. Your vision became blurry, colors being distorted and black dots appearing every now and then.

You’re all alone, just like that day.

You can never be as great as your perfect brother if you can’t even stand being alone for a few minutes.

It took you a few moments to realize that you were trying to scream despite the fact you were gasping for air. 

“I found some--” You couldn’t even hear the voice of the man that had entered the room.

Levi’s heart nearly stopped beating when he saw you a mess on the floor in his office. The small bottle of pills that were in his hands clattered to the floor, rolling under a chair. The man dropped down beside you and quickly wrapped his arms around you. You let out an ear piercing scream, not knowing what was going on around you. Levi jumped back. His hands hovered over you as the man panicked on what he should do. He’s never seen you this vulnerable before, let alone packing like this. He debated yelling for help, wondering if your friends would be able to handle the situation.

This wasn’t the first time he had dealt with someone having a panic attack. With him being a leader, his soldiers always asked for his help when they were this vulnerable but he had never seen an attack this bad before. Heck, he had attacks himself but they weren’t nearly as severe as this.

“Captain, what’s--” Levi looked to the doorway to see a few cadets standing in the doorway. 

“Leave,” he growled. The cadets nodded and quickly closed the door, slamming it in the process. You jumped, screaming even louder. Levi’s eyes pricked with tears as he took in your state. He started to try and talk you down since you obviously didn’t want to be touched.

“Hey princess,” he soothed as he tried to keep his voice steady and calm. It would be of no help if you heard him panicking as well. “I’m here, ok? You need to calm down.” He saw that this wasn’t working and remembered how you would never disobey an order, even if it came from your brother. “Breathe, Y/N. That’s an order.”

You heard your brother beside you. You were no longer alone. Despite hearing his order, you could not escape the prison that was your mind. You continued to gasp for air as your body trembled.

“Breathe,” Levi said again. “Slow. Take it slow. In and out.” He started to breathe loud and slow to try to get you to do it with him.

“I can’t!” you sobbed. “I can’t breathe!” Levi watched as the color drained from your face slowly and how you slowly moved to lay on the floor.

“No,” he said sternly, going to touch you before remembering that could make it all worse. “Do not pass out on me.” You were laying on your back now, still gripping your hair with one hand.

“It hurts!” you cried out. You started to feel yourself drift off due to the lack of oxygen your body was getting. “Levi.” The words barely made it past your lips as your eyes drooped closed. Levi’s eyes widened.

“No! Do not pass out!” It was too late, you were out. Your breath quickly even out as your body relaxed. Quickly, Levi placed your head in his lap. He gripped your good hand with one of his and pressed a kiss to it as his other hand ran through your hair. He wiped the remaining tears from your face. “Please,” he begged silently, “wake up Y/N.” The two of you stayed like that for several moments before your head lulled to the side and a quiet groan left your lips. Levi smiled softly, bending down to kiss your head.

“Hey sis,” he whispered as he moved the hair from your forehead. “It’s ok, I’ve got you.” You slowly opened your eyes, looking around the room. Your eyes connected with his and it took you a second to process who you were looking at.

“It’s alright,” Levi cooed softly. “You need a moment for your head to kick back into the right gear, and that’s alright.” You attempted to sit up but Levi pulled you back down into his lap. He tapped your nose gently with his pointer finger. “What are you doing brat? You are in no condition to be moving around.”

“Levi?” you whispered slowly. He gave you a small smile.

“Yeah,” he answered. “It’s me.” You sighed softly, leaning into Levi’s leg. The two of you sat like that with Levi staring down at you, afraid to take his eyes off of you.

“Bubby?” you muttered, looking up at his worried gaze. Levi’s eyes softened. You only ever called him that when you were upset or something was wrong.

“What is it baby?” Words were the only way Levi knew how to provide comfort and even then he still couldn’t do it well.

“Can we move to the couch?” Nodding slightly, Levi picked you up and laid you down on the couch. He sat down near your head as you sat up and leaned against his shoulder.

“What happened?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t know you struggled with attacks like that.” You let out a shaky breath and buried your face in Levi’s arm. “It’s ok if you don’t want to talk about it but I would greatly appreciate it if you told me.”

“Please don’t leave,” you muttered silently. Levi pulled you onto his lap and hugged you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered in your hair. “I promise.”

Without looking up to meet your brother’s eyes, you started to explain, “Ever since that expedition I can’t stand being alone. I can’t breathe very well and speaking is hard.” Levi’s eyes widened in realization. “I’m guessing it was because I was alone when the titan attacked.” If it were even possible, Levi held you tighter.

“Has this happened before?” he whispered. You simply shrugged.

“Yeah, but it’s never gotten this bad. I usually can’t breathe very well for a minute or two before someone comes back. Then I’m fine.”

“I’m so sorry,” Levi said with tears in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think that much of it,” you responded.

“Come to me the next time this happens, ok?” Levi commanded. “That’s an order.” You give a small giggle.

“Yes, sir.”

“Does your head still hurt?” you nodded as your brother slowly set you on the couch and picked up the bottle that had fallen from his hand moments ago. He placed two pills in your hand and handed you his cup of tea. Once you had taken the pills and settled down on your brother’s shoulder again, you started to drift off to sleep.

From that day on, Levi made sure you were never alone. He would always command another cadet to be with you when he could not be and was always there to talk you down when you were left alone. Let’s just say that whoever left you alone would later be seen unconscious with a bloody nose before being carried off to the medical wing.

[briefinquiries]

Luke Alvez x Reader: Premature

Request: ‘can i request an imagine where the reader is pregnant and luke’s away on a case when she goes into labor? and garcia has to call luke to get him home?’  

Tagged: @ssaic-jareau​ , @alvezstan​ , @saintd0lce​ , @ogmilkis​ , @reidswords​, @ssa-morgan​, @garcias-batcave​ ,  @akimagies​, @zhangyixingxing1​ , @pinkdiamond1016​

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: none

A/N: idk why i always picture luke with a daughter??? but anyway another DAD luke fic like yes pls, enjoy!

The worst part about being pregnant had to be the lower back aches.  Or maybe the way your swollen ankles prevented you from fitting into any of your cute shoes.  It could also be the tender breasts, the mood swings, or how food didn’t taste as good, yet somehow you were still always hungry.  Come to think of it, being pregnant, in general, was the worst. 

Currently, you were seven and a half months along.  You had 6 weeks until your daughter would be born.  6 weeks somehow felt both impossibly long and just around the corner.  On one hand, you really couldn’t wait to get your body back.  You missed wearing pants that didn’t have an elastic waistband, and the freedom of being able to get out of bed without Luke’s help.  

On the other hand, you and Luke were going to be first time parents.  This brought about a lot of anxiety and uncertainty.  There was still so much to get done before the baby arrived, that at times you couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. 

“You worry too much,” Luke had told you one afternoon.  

But you disagreed.  “Luke, she’s gonna be here in less than two months and her room isn’t even close to being finished.  We still have to paint, and put together the crib-”

“We have six weeks, baby.  I’ll get it done, I promise.” 

His reassuring words did little to calm your mind or your nerves.  One thing that did keep the anxious thoughts at bay, was work.  Focusing your attention on BAU cases was the perfect distraction… until that was taken away from you too.  

“I don’t want you in the field,” Luke had stated that night.  

“You’re joking, right?”

Luke’s pressed lips and slightly flared nostril told you that no, he was not joking. 

“Luke,” you’d groaned, throwing your head back against the pillow.  “I’m fine.”

“You can barely walk, let alone chase after anyone,” he stated, his arms folding across his chest.  He always did that when he wanted you to take him seriously.  “And I know for a fact that you can’t fit into a bulletproof vest.”

You threw him your best glare.  “Okay, first off, that was mean.  Second, you can’t expect me to just sit here all day doing nothing.  I’ll go insane, you know I will.”

“Baby, you’re seven months pregnant.  You need to relax.”

“Relax?  Seriously, Luke?”  you felt a wave of frustration wash over you.  Lately you've been finding it so hard to control your emotions, so you’re not entirely surprised when you feel the burning of tears in your eyes. “I can’t relax! I’m uncomfortable all the time.  I’m fat and I’m hot and I’m sweaty. My boobs feel like they’re going to explode any second.  I’m nauseous and I’m tired and I’m hungry.  And if I stay home all day that’s all I’m going to think about.  I’m going to just sit and dwell on the fact that I am miserable.”

Luke’s face softens when he sees that you’re crying.  That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence lately, but he felt guilty for being the one to cause it this time around. 

“C’mere,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.  

And even though you’re angry with him, you don’t hesitate before scooting up the mattress and sliding into his arms.  You lay your head on his shoulder, Luke’s hand finding its way down to your lower back, where he rubs gentle circles into the sore muscles.  Being in his arms had a way of making you feel better. 

“I’m sorry you’re so uncomfortable, baby. I just- I worry about you. All I want is for you and the baby to be okay.”

You sniffle into his chest, his sweet words making your voice soften.  “I can’t sit here all day, Luke.  I really can’t.”

“I know.” He rests his cheek on top of your head and sighs.  “How about we meet in the middle?”

Looking up at him, you skeptically ask,  “How?”

“You could work the cases from the BAU,” he suggests. 

You scrunch your nose, secretly hoping that his compromise meant just giving in to what you wanted entirely.  But, as you think about it for a moment, you had to admit you didn’t completely hate the idea.  Things were getting challenging in the field.  And as much as you hated him for saying it, Luke was right- the bulletproof vests no longer fit you, and you couldn’t chase down any perps.  You were relatively useless, at least physically, at this point.  

“I’m sure Garcia would love an extra hand,” he adds. 

“Fine,” you mutter quietly. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, pressing a light peck against the top of your head.  

But, as Luke would soon find, just because you agreed to be stationed at the BAU did not mean you weren’t going to complain about it.   

The two of you walked, hand-in-hand, into the building the next morning.  Emily had called, about fifteen minutes prior, to let you both know that you had a case in Boston. 

“What if I just stay at the police precinct?”

Luke rolled his eyes.  “No.”

“Why not? I could help Reid with the geological profile- or interview the families.  There’s a lot I can do-”

“We already agreed that you’d stay here.”

You scoffed in frustration before trying another tactic. 

“You know,” you drawled, using the hand he wasn’t already holding to reach around and grip his arm.  “I’m worried about you, too.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you state, matter-of-factly.  “Just because I’m carrying the baby doesn’t mean I’m the only one that needs to stay safe.  It would be equally devastating if something happened to you.  You let your hand trail down the length of his arm and over to your belly.  “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”  

Luke swiped his ID badge to get inside the building before holding the door open for you, you hesitate, waiting for his response.  Luke’s lips were parted into a soft grin. “I know you’re just trying to make me feel guilty, but that was really sweet.”  He leans forward and pecks your lips lightly.  

You roll your eyes and storm into the building.  

…

“So I hear we’re going to be lab partners!” Garcia drums her fingers against the round table.  

You shrug, “Looks like it.”

“I know you’re bummed to not be in the field, but I’m so excited that you’ll be here.”

Luke’s hand reaches for yours underneath the table.  You let your fingers lace together with his before you smile back at Garcia.  Maybe being sidelined wouldn’t be all bad.  “I’m excited too, Pen,” you tell her.  

“Alright guys listen up,” Emily enters the briefing room.  “Police need our help in Boston.  Two college students have gone missing the past month, and one of the bodies was just found dumped off of I-95.  Y/N will be working the case from here, so we’ll be down a body in the field.”

Garcia hits a few buttons on the remote, making a gruesome image project onto the screen in front of the team.  She presents a few more details about the case before Emily declares, “Wheels up in 20.”

Luke’s shifting through his go bag at his desk when you approach him from behind.  You rest your hand on his back and rub up and down his soft, maroon shirt.  

“Be safe, okay?” you tell him.  You felt guilty knowing he was going into the field without you.  

Luke sighs, turning his body so that he was facing you.  His big hands rest on your hips as he holds you out in front of him.  “You know I will.”

You nod, and you believed his words, but that didn’t mean you’d be any less worried about him while he was away.  

Luke could sense the uneasiness on your face, so he leaned in and kissed your cheek lightly before whispering,  “There is nothing that could ever keep me from coming back home to you and our baby, do you hear me?” 

Leaning into his touch, you sigh.  “Good.  Because I meant what I said; I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“We’re going to miss you out there, kid.” Rossi states as he passes your desk.  

“Keep me updated,” you respond sadly.  He pats you on the shoulder before nodding with a smile.  

With a final kiss and promises to call, Luke and the rest of the team load onto the jet to head for Boston. 

At first, you stay in the bullpen seated at your desk, running through the casefile.  You were the only one in the entire room.  By habit, you kept looking up at Luke’s desk.  Instead of his warm smile, you’re met by his empty chair.  Your eyes linger for a moment before you feel a sharp pain shoot across your stomach, making you wince.  

“Woah,” you whisper, your hand falling on your bump.  “Was that a kick?” you ask her out loud.

It didn’t take long before the silence became deafening, so after a few minutes, you stand up and waddle down the hallway to Garcia’s leir.  You knock at her door before entering. 

“Hey,” you say, your hand supporting your sore back.  “It’s like, creepy quiet out there, do you mind if I work with you, in here?”

Her face lights up.  “Of course!” Immediately, she begins clearing off a space on her desk for you to set up. 

“Thanks,” you smile, taking a seat in her spare office chair.  You try your best to sit up straight as your insides begin to cramp.  Garica turns to see your eyes squeezed shut. 

“What’s wrong?” her voice is filled with concern. 

“Nothing,” you sigh in relief when the cramp passes. “She’s kicking a lot today.”

Garcia’s face breaks out into a large grin.  “Oh! My Goddaughter’s gonna be a spunky one, isn’t she?”

…

As it turned out, there wasn’t much for you to do from the BAU.  Garcia worked tirelessly, delving into files and uncovering helpful information for the team.  But you weren’t even close to being as tech savvy as her, and besides the casefile you’d already read through four times, you didn’t have many resources to work off of.  

Whenever the team would call with questions, you’d listen intently, and try to figure out some way that you could help them.  But, by that evening, you were starting to feel pretty useless.  

“Why don’t you just head home?” Garcia suggested kindly.  “You look tired.”

You were tired.  You were tired and hungry and sore from all your baby’s kicking.  But you shook your head.  “I don’t want to be in the house alone,” you admit to her.  “It’s too quiet there without Luke.”

Garcia, of course, understands.  “Do you want to take a walk?  Just around the building?”

At first, you want to say no.  But as you consider her offer, you can’t help but admit that stretching your legs sounded pretty nice, so you agree. 

“I think I’m most excited for coffee,” you tell Garcia.  The two of you had walked the entire floor of the BAU a couple of times now and were about to head back to her office.  

“God, I can’t even imagine going nine months without coffee.  I think that would break me,” she admits.  

You start to laugh, but you’re quickly interrupted by a sudden, sharp pain in your abdomen.  

“Woah,” you gasp, grabbing your stomach.  You hunch over, desperate to alleviate some of the pain, but it only grows with intensity.  It takes your breath away for a moment, and all you can do is focus on the tiled floor beneath you as you attempt to muscle through it.  

But then you feel something burst inside of you, followed by a warm liquid rushing down your leg.

With wide, terrified eyes, you look up to Garcia. 

“Pen,” you whisper, barely recognizing your own voice.  “I th-think my water just broke...”

“Oh my god,” she says, her voice higher than usual. “Oh my god, okay, okay. You’re okay.” 

She hurries to your side and wraps an arm around your waist.  You and your shaky legs are grateful for her support.  She guides you to a chair stationed in the hallway, where she helps you sit.  

The panic really starts to set in once your eyes land on your dampened pants.  

“No,” you start to shake your head rapidly.  “Pen, no I can’t- it’s too early-”

You’re amazed by how calm Garcia remains.  “It’s okay,” she tells you.  “We’re gonna get you to the hospital and everything’s gonna be fine.”

But you keep shaking your head.  “No, she’s early.  She’s too early- I need Luke, please- I can’t do this.”

“I’m gonna call Luke right now, everything’s going to be okay.”

Garcia pulls out her phone and dials your husband. She frowns when it goes to voicemail after a few rings.  

By now, there’s a steady influx of tears spilling down your cheeks. You ask softly, “Why isn’t he answering?” 

“Let me try Emily.”

You sigh a breath of relief when you hear Emily’s voice on the other end of the line.  

“Emily-” Garcia gasps. “Where’s Luke?”

You overhear her, “He’s interrogating the Unsub- why? What’s the matter?”

“Y/N’s in labor, we need him.”

“Oh my god,” Emily says.  There’s a brief pause before she tells Garcia,  “I’ll be right back.”

“Pen-” you groan, another contraction washing over you.  You hunch over in the chair and grab at the air, desperate for something to clamp down on.  

She quickly extends her hand, letting you squeeze it tightly. 

“Garcia?” you hear Luke’s sweet voice over the line.  You want to call out for him, but you can’t form the words.  

“Luke!” she exclaims, her concerned eyes never leaving you.  “Luke, Y/N’s in labor- her water just broke. You have to come home.”

You gasp and bite down on your lip as the pain suddenly intensifies.

“Breathe,” she instructs you calmly.  “Just breathe with me-”

“What?” you can hear the disbelief in his voice.  “But- she’s only seven months pregnant- that's too early-” 

The contraction passes, leaving you breathless, but you hold your hand out.  Garcia picks up on your gesture and hands you the phone. 

“Luke-” you’re on the verge of bursting into terrified tears.  “I’m so scared.”

“Baby, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.” You can hear the worry in his voice as he soothes you.  “I’m on my way, okay? I’m gonna take the jet, I’ll be there soon.”

“I don’t know if I can do this-”

“No, baby- of course you can, you’re so strong.  You’re gonna be okay.”

“Please hurry,” you whimper.  

“I will, I love you.”

You pass the phone to Garcia reluctantly.  You wished you could stay on the line with him.  Something about hearing his voice made you feel calmer. 

You’re shaky and weak, but Garcia helps you all the way into the elevator and down into the parking garage.  You hesitate before climbing into the front seat of her car. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her hand gently placed on your elbow. 

“I don’t want to get your seat all gross-”

You’re referring to the amniotic sac fluid currently soaking your pants.

“Are you serious?” she asks in disbelief.  “If we don’t hurry you’re going to be giving birth in my car, so I think I’ll take my chances with the water.”

You nod quickly and climb into the front seat.  While Garcia hurries around to the front, you clutch onto your baby bump tightly, wondering why the hell she was coming so early. 

Garcia winds through traffic hurriedly, every so often she glances in your direction, trying to make sure you’re okay.  “I guess they weren’t kicks,” you groan, as another contraction washes over you.  You grip the door handle until your knuckles turn white and squeeze your eyes shut.  

“Keep breathing,” Garcia soothes.  She lets you take her hand across the console and doesn’t even wince when you squish it tightly in yours.  

“I’m really scared, Penelope,” you whimper quietly, falling back against the seat when the contraction passes.  

“I know,” Garcia clicks her tongue empathetically.  

“Nothing’s ready.  Not her room- we haven’t even set up her crib yet  I’m not ready. I was supposed to have another 6 weeks to get ready-”

But Penelope is shaking her head. “You, right now, as you are, are going to be a great mother, okay? You’re ready.”

She sounded so sure, so confident in you- maybe she was right.  

…

“Where is he?” 

You’re sweating, exposed in a delivery room, and in more pain than you ever have been in your entire life.  

Garcia’s stayed by your side the entire time, holding your hand and talking you through the pain.  You’d been at the hospital about two hours now.  

Currently, Garcia was dabbing your forehead with a wet washcloth.  Your contractions were about 6 minutes apart.  According to the doctor, you’d have to start pushing soon.    

“I can’t do this without him. He should be here..”

“He’ll be here.”

You look up at her, exhausted and with fear in your eyes. 

Garcia squeezes your shoulder.  “And if he’s not here, then we’ll do this together, okay? You and me.”

“Promise you won’t leave?”

She nods.  “I promise.”

…

Luke’s sprinting through the maze of a hospital trying desperately to find the delivery room number that Garcia texted him.  He’s already been redirected by a couple of nurses, but every floor looked the same. 

The door number came into sight when he turned the corner.  He doesn’t hesitate before running the final distance between the two of you. 

Luke swings the door open, only able to exhale when his eyes finally land on you.  

You’re sitting up in your bed, hair tied up messily and cheeks flushed.  

As soon as you see him, he sees your shoulder slump, like you’ve exhaled a breath of relief.

“Luke-” 

His name is barely audible, but it’s enough.  

“I’m here, baby,” he assures you, crossing the room in just two, large strides. 

Garcia’s on the opposite side of your bed, clutching your hand tightly.  After pressing his lips against your sweaty forehead, he looks at her and mouths, ‘thank you’.  

She nods, “Of course, it was nothing.”  She says it casually, like she didn’t just spend the last three hours comforting you through labor, doing his job for him, making sure you were safe.  

It was everything. 

Minutes after Luke arrives, the doctor tells you it’s time to push.  

You flash Luke a scared glance, but he wraps an arm around your shoulder and kissed your temple, his lips feel comforting.  “You can do this.” 

You sigh, because like you said, being in his arms had a way of making you feel better.  

...

When her soft cries fill the air, you’re finally able to breathe again.  You collapse back against your pillow, exhausted and sweaty.  

Luke’s still cupping your hand in his, his much larger fingers wrapping themselves around your skin.  He’s looking towards the doctor, who’s holding in his arms, your baby girl. 

“Is she okay?” you ask weakly.  

Luke nods.  “She’s small, but she’s so beautiful.” 

Because she’s premature, you’re not able to hold her right away.  Instead, she’s bundled up and taken to the NICU.  

“No-” you protest pathetically.  “I want her with me-”

“I know,” Luke whispers.  “But they gotta keep her warm.  They’re gonna put her in an isolette.  They said we can visit as soon as you’re ready.”

Without hesitating, you attempt to sit up in bed. “I’m ready,” you declare weakly.  

Luke’s hand pushes against your shoulder lightly in protest.  “No, baby. You need rest-”

You found yourself growing angrier and angrier.  You wanted to see your baby- wanted to hold her.  But your body betrays you.  You’re just so exhausted that you can’t even fight against him.  Instead, you fall back against the pillow and huff out a choppy, frustrated sob.

“I know,” he says.  He sits on the edge of your bed and reaches his hand out to brush some of the loose strands of hair away from your face.  He leans forward and presses his lips to your sweaty forehead. “You did so good.” He whispers against your skin.  “So, so good.”

You close your eyes against his touch, letting it wash over you. 

“How small is she?” you ask when he finally breaks away. 

Luke’s lips pressed together in a thin line and he didn't answer immediately.  After a moment he sighs.  “She’s small.” 

“She’s gonna be okay though, right?” You look to Luke for all the answers.  And he wants to give them to you.  He wants to give everything to you. 

He nods.  “She’s gonna be okay.  She’s a fighter, like her mom.”

…

Your daughter has to stay in the NICU for two, agonizingly long weeks.  After a couple of days, you start to get some energy back.  But seeing her in that box, and not being able to hold your baby when you wanted was taking its toll emotionally. 

You and Luke stayed at the hospital for the entirety of the two weeks, never wanting to leave her alone.  

It was painful and hard and exhausting, but together, it almost seemed bearable.  

The team visited in shifts.  Garcia arrived first with a giant bundle of pink balloons.  Spencer and JJ brought magazines and books to keep you busy.  Tara has a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Matt and Kristy brought you clothes to change into.  Rossi and Emily brought various dishes for the two of you to eat.  By the end of your two weeks, you felt incredibly grateful for your BAU family. 

On the day that you and Luke were finally given the okay to take your daughter home, you found your nerves inching their way back into the forefront of your mind. It was an absolute relief that your premature daughter turned out to be healthy and safe and as beautiful as ever.  But you thought about the unfinished room at home and your stomach twisted into knots. 

“Where are we gonna put her?” you asked, imagining the crib you’d bought and never put together.  

“I’ll put it together when we get home,” Luke assures you.  “Can’t be that hard.”

You nodded, pushing the thought away.  It didn’t matter.  Not when you had this miracle of a baby in your arms. 

When Luke pulled the car into the driveway of your house, you both stared at your home, hesitating before getting out of the car, as if it was just now hitting you how much everything was about to change.  

Luke gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

You nod, everything was changing for the better.  “Ready.”

You keep her cradled to your chest as you make your way through your home.  The first order of business for Luke was to put together the crib, so your daughter would at least have a place to sleep.  

You’d worry about the rest later.  

But when you climb the stairs, you’re startled to see Garcia standing in your hallway, a cheeky grin on her face.  

“Pen, hi,” you smile.  You’d given her a key to take care of Roxy and water your plants while you were away at the hospital, you assume that was what she was here for.  

“Hi,” she smiles wide.  “Oh my goodness, is that my little bundle of joy! Let me see!” 

You pass Penelope your daughter, watching adoringly as the two interact. 

“Is someone else here?” Luke asks, peering down the hall when he hears voices. 

Garcia nods, her signature, ear to ear smile spreading across her face.  “Yeah, actually we have a surprise for you guys.” She passes your daughter back to you before turning.  

“Who’s ‘we’?” Luke asks skeptically. 

“Oh, just shut up and follow me,” she says.  Her heels click as she walks down the hall towards the bedrooms.  

When you turn the corner into your daughter's room, you can’t help but let out a loud gasp.  Your jaw practically falls to the floor, surprised to see the entire team piled inside.  

Two walls of the room were painted a beautiful shade of pink, while the other two were a soft gray.  There were various decoratives hanging on the walls, tying everything together perfectly.  There were also numerous shelves filled with an assortment of stuffed animals, toys, and books.  And in the corner stood the hardwood crib that Luke and you had bought, completely put together and accented with a beautiful mobile hanging above it.  

“Oh my god,” Luke gawks, clearly just as surprised as you. 

“You guys-” you start, but you before you can finish your sentence you start to cry.  “You guys did all this?”

The smiling faces of the rest of your team answer your question.  

“How?” Is all you can manage to say.  

“Well, I picked out the colors and the decor,” Garcia says, like it’s obvious. “Emily and Tara both helped paint.”

“And I've put my fair share of cribs together,” Matt chuckles, patting the edge of the darkwood.  “It took no time at all.”

“JJ and Spencer got together the books and the stuffed animals,” Garcia motions towards the corner of toys.  

“And I supervised,” Rossi smirked, making everyone laugh. 

“Guys, this is too much.” Luke shakes his head in disbelief before exhaling and saying sincerely,  “thank you.”

You nod in agreement.  “This is… amazing.  This is more than I could have ever dreamed of.  I love it.  She’s gonna love it,” you motion towards your now sleeping baby, mouth open and drooling on your chest.  

The team knows how exhausted you and Luke are from being at the hospital for the past two weeks, so they don’t stay long.  Slowly, they begin filing out of your house, offering both you and the new BAU baby with hugs and kisses goodbye.  

Garcia’s the last to leave as she gathers her coat from your entryway chair.  

“Pen, I know this was your idea,” you mumble.  “You didn’t have to do all this.  Thank you.” 

She shakes her head, her eyes rolling as she hugs you gently.  When she pulls away, she smirks,  “If you thought I was going to let my Goddaughter come home to an unfinished room, you are underestimating how much I am going to spoil her.”  

With that, she's out the door, leaving you and Luke and your newborn baby alone in the house for the first time as a family of three. Luke wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side securely.  You sigh, all of your anxiety and fears melting away.  Being in his arms had a way of making you feel better.  

[roo-bastmoon]

Jungkook is a very sweet person, he's kind and really sweet but I think that the group, the members and him being the youngest may have clouded his judgement on some things. He's very protected, I always thought bangtan babied him a lot (in a positive way, I don't mean it negatively) and they shower him with attention and praise at everything he does, Jimin especially so I feel like the possibility of going solo may have put in him in a different kind of mentality where his career means more than a lot of other things. Ever since they got instagrams I've felt he has been showing himself very differently, with all the flirting and stuff with fans. Particularly I don't think it's odd that he didn't comment on jimin being sick, because that's just not how he is. He usually doesn't get online to comment on other members actions (although funnily enough he was the only one to congratulate hobi on lollapalooza), what I think it's odd is how he's changing the way he presents himself, maybe odd is not the word per se but it's interesting to watch it happen. All of this to say it seems like his priorities are different now, I would have never in my life expected jungkook to go to a festival, that man hated going outside but here we are, and he was alone. Meeting with Jay Park, that's so weird to me too. But, I guess he's taking steps on his career and his public image.

Okay you're also raising good points to consider. JK is growing up and finding himself. I love that sweet kid who crushed on my bias and adored all his hyungs with a full heart. But he's also a bit of a brat and a rogue. If he wants tattoos, doesn't matter if it's taboo. If he wants to collab with Jay Park or Charlie Puth and everyone around his like "ummm?" doesn't matter. I have to realize that him getting Jimin a birthday present once was the OUTLIER not the new norm. That he just doesn't demonstrate his inner landscape much or do much emotional labor. Like, he clearly loves the hell out of Yoongi's That That. But it's like he's never heard of With You in his life. How much to read into that? Maybe not at all. Sometimes I think JK thinks very very carefully about everything. Other times I think he just suits himself without much thought. He's definitely repositioning himself in this transition. Gone are the random insta stories and Q&As with fans. Now it's a carefully curated, polished aesthetic. Gone are the declarations of affection for Jimin and all things Jimin-related. Now it's pleasant on-camera interaction and intense moments on stage. I think JK's set his sights on breaking into the West. No easy feat, considering the way the American music industry is hostile to any threats to its chokehold on the global market. But if anyone can do it, it's him. Jimin however... I think Jimin would be content to stay in Korea and collaborate with artists from all over the world from time to time. Maybe the distance we're seeing isn't because they don't like each other any more, but the both want different things. I just sit here in my own brain wondering how anyone can NOT be in love with Park Jimin? Like, how you gonna do better, JK? ;-) But everyone needs room to grow up before they can truly grow together, right?

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 2.2K~

Summary: A series of shorts detailing what might’ve happened in the moments after I Am My Monster, told from six different points of view.

Greg apparently had a LOT on his mind, because this was supposed to be short and instead it’s over 2000 words, ahah. Final chapter!

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

Chapter warning: Allusions to past non-canon character suicide.

____

Chapter 6: Greg

Hours pass.

Bismuth makes quick and quiet work of replacing the cracked slider door in Steven’s room while he sleeps, and secures a thick tarp over the open front of the house to keep the coastal breeze somewhat at bay until she can finish her repairs to the windows and siding. She warns that might take a day or two. Garnet, meanwhile, busies herself the rest of the afternoon and evening fielding all of the Diamonds’ frazzled calls, and reassuring them of the boy’s current stability. Pooling their knowledge, Dr. Maheswaran and Peridot make sure to confirm that. Beyond some minor scarring, neither his organic or Gem half seems to exhibit any serious physical health conditions in consequence of what happened today, news which works to ever so slightly lift the air of the household. With no other concrete tasks to complete, Pearl, Amethyst, Lapis, Connie, and Greg all rotate between sweeping debris off the floor, wandering the beach to mentally recuperate, and dutifully sitting at Steven’s side as he rests. It may not sound like a lot, but alas the level of emotional labor demanded by such a situation is immense.

All in all, the sun’s long since dipped below the horizon by the time Greg finally collapses onto the mattress laid out in the back of his van, craving if but a moment of privacy and respite from all the chaos. It’s been... an insufferably long day, to put it lightly. Busy. Tons of cleaning, and intercepting nosy neighbors, and bedside monitoring...

He offered to take the first night shift watching Steven a few minutes ago, but Pearl must’ve noticed the dark circles creeping ever wider under his eyes, because she proceeded to gently overturn his offer and remind him of humanity’s daily sleep requirement. And she’s right, of course. He can’t stay up as long as he used to in his twenties anymore. Plus, he probably deserves some time to himself after everything that’s transpired. There’s plenty of Gems left in the house who can keep watch, after all. Steven will be fine for a few hours. Surely nothing else can happen when he’s asleep, right?

 Right??

Exhaustedly slumping against the side wall, Greg offers a glassy, vacant stare at the contacts list of his phone, roughly wiping the damp from his cheeks with his other hand as his thumb hovers over one of the numbers. Does he dare drag someone else into this whole situation? Surely the kinder solution would be to refrain from widening the circle any more, from letting anyone else learn about today’s harrowing events. And yet if he fails to find a proper outlet for the raw emotions all of this has violently hauled to the surface, he fears he just may suffer a mental break himself, repressed memories bursting like a vicious flood through the dam he desperately tried to seal them behind all those years back. Much of this is just... far too familiar.

His phone slips right through his trembling hands as the cruel reality of what he witnessed today finally begins to carve its indelible presence in his mind. A strained sob leaking from between his tightly pursed lips, he buries his head between his knees, clutching at the worn bottom hem of his jean shorts like an infant to a parent’s finger. Small. Vulnerable.

Helpless.

His son... oh stars, his only son, he—

He can’t talk about any of this to the Gems; they wouldn’t wholly grasp the uniquely human nature of his concerns. And he doesn’t feel comfortable discussing these matters with Dr. Maheswaran, especially not after the stern words she dealt to him back at the hospital. He’s burdened her enough already, by this point. No, there’s only one fellow human he feels close enough with to engage in this sort of conversation.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he reaches for the phone he dropped on the mattress. Turns it on. Nervously clamps down on his bottom lip as he selects his cousin’s contact and dials.

The passing heartbeats slamming against his ribs are almost nauseating in their needy clamor as he waits, his calloused fingers tapping against the thick rubber of his phone case. Andy’s never been a particularly tech savvy guy, so honestly, it’s well within reason he might not even carry his phone on his person to answer. And that’d be fine, really. In fact, he might even prefer it, since he’s still not confident he’s emotionally prepared to discuss any of this at this precise moment, anyways. But just as he’s beginning to undergo mental preparations for what on Earth he might leave as a voicemail message, his older family member finally picks up.

“Greg?” Andy’s gravelly voice rings through, sounding somewhat tinny through their connection. “Hey, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? How’s the ol’ Universe family unit doin’?”

“Not great, honestly,” he narrowly manages in response, his throat constricting tight. “That’s kinda why I’m calling, if you have the time to listen?”

“Heh. I’m a drifter, you know I ain’t got no schedule. Carry on.”

“Well... geeze, how do I put this. There was, uh... a bit of an incident today. With Steven.”

“An incident?” his cousin questions, marked worry immediately painting his tone. “The kid okay??”

He falls silent for a few seconds upon this question, threading his hyperactive digits through the split ends in his hair on automatic, a stress-induced habit. “Unclear,” he says, a slight quiver making itself intimately known in his words. “I mean, physically, at the moment, yes, but—“

He cuts off once more. It suddenly occurs to him that little of today’s events would make sense to Andy without providing the appropriate context. Or, at least, what little context he’s capable of giving as a father. It’s still terrifying to admit the truth to himself— that he doesn’t possess the full story. That he hasn’t been paying close enough attention. That, in many ways, he willfully blinded himself to all the troubling events transpiring around his son throughout the years, foolishly believing that if he didn’t involve himself... that if he simply stayed out of the Gems’ hair... everything would go to plan, and Steven would finally receive the training he needed. He didn’t expect things would grow so complicated.

He didn’t expect that his teenage son would have to march into battle carrying nothing but his wits and a shield time and time again.

With a weary sigh and a quick apology, to which Andy brushes off, Greg begins to weave a verbal picture of everything that’s transpired across the last few days. First, the hospital call. Rushing home from tour, only to find his son giant and flushed pink, literally filling an entire room with the sheer volume of his trauma. The shattered x-ray in his chart, hinting towards hidden hurts that— before all this— even Steven seemingly hadn’t processed or quantified. Then, the road trip. The unwanted reminders of his childhood. That blasted CD. His expression sobers as he describes the fateful argument they had on the road home, one which lead to his son accidentally breaking the steering wheel and flipping the van. Next... his disappearance. No texts for four whole days, which is so unlike him. He was worried sick. And the next time he saw him, he was eight feet tall, glowing, and painfully manic in behavior, with each new sentence spilling from his mouth revealing an even more heartbreaking picture of the sort of poor mental state he’d spiraled into. It was nothing short of a father’s worst nightmare, propelled into horrifying, vivid reality.

Nothing in this corner of the galaxy could’ve prepared him for the primal surge of terror and anguish he was engulfed within when that nightmare distorted and transformed even further.  

His only son... colossal and coated in thick scales and spines, sclera black as night... roughly clawing at this unfamiliar form, smashing his skull against the cliffside, roaring with an inner pain so primal that the sound now haunts the depths of his very soul—

“I- you remember what happened with cousin Jo, back when we were young?” Greg says softly once he’s caught Andy up with the details of situation, his voice frail and unsteady, the tone of a man helplessly marooned amidst his anxieties. “Before she was sent to that mental rehab place? Well, I’m... with the addition of Gem magic, it almost felt like that. I mean, h-he’s fine for now, we have him resting, but... but I’m just so scared he won’t come out of this, like her, a-a-and that one day he’ll—“

A mewling sob bubbles up in his throat, swiftly severing that train of thought. N-no. No, he refuses to even utter that horrible idea out loud! After all, a world without Steven in it isn’t worth envisioning.

Andy’s eventual response— albeit tinged with a justified shade of awkwardness, given the emotionally charged nature of this conversation— is filled with genuine compassion, and for that he’s dearly thankful.

“Aw, hell... Greg, I’m- I’m so sorry. I, uh- I could fly over, if any of ya’ need me? For emotional support, or whatever?”

Upon this kind offer, he inhales deep to steady his breath, and wipes away dewy beads of moisture from the corner of his eyes, desperately hoping that he can mitigate the pitiful wavering of his voice over the phone. He’s gotta fight to reliably keep some form of composure in front of other people, damnit. His kid can’t have his dad breaking down around him too, of course.

“No, you’ve got places to be,” he replies evenly, pressing his thumb and pointer against one of his aching temples. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You ain’t asking,” he retorts, the eye-roll evident in his tone. “I’m offering. Listen- family takes care of family, y’hear? And I’m only about a day’s flight away, anyways. It’s really the least I could do.”

He sighs. Absentmindedly tugs at a thick strand of his hair. Offers a long, contemplative stare at the rickety age-worn handle affixed to the inside of the van’s back doors. Truth be told— ignoring his deep-seated guilt at dragging Andy into all this to begin with— he’d love having another family member around to embrace, especially a human one who can more deeply understand the crux of his anxieties about this delicate situation. But in the end, he shouldn’t be prioritizing his own feelings and comfort. He’s not the one in crisis, his son is.

Desperately hoping he’s making the right choice, Greg flexes his fingers, and acquiesces to the offer, on one condition: only if Steven consents to having visitors, once he’s awake.

Andy hums in approval. “Understood. Don’t wanna overload the poor guy with any surprise visits, or whatever.”

“Yeah. The last thing I want to do is push him too hard, too fast.”

He pauses, braving waves of parental grief to spend a moment to reflect on Steven’s emotional progression over the past few months... a stray negative comment here, an unusually forlorn mannerism there... All of them events that, in isolation, wouldn’t point to anything more than your standard ‘teenage angst,’ but when observed in strong, unceasing patterns, begin to reveal deeply harrowing truths about the state of an individual’s self-image. How did he never notice? Why wasn’t he there to catch him in his fall?

“I think he hates himself,” he says quietly, his voice hitching up at the end. “He didn’t say so directly, but- but I can sense it. And I don’t know how to help him, I-I... I don’t know if I can.”

“Nonsense,” his cousin scoffs, “‘course ya’ know what to do! What does any good father worth their salt give their sons?”

Unable to evade the momentary temptation of feeling miserable and sorry for himself, he slumps back against the wall, giving a weak shrug that his current audience would never see.

“I dunno, maybe a stable, safe childhood? Not growing up poor as dirt in a van?”

“No, you numbskull,” Andy immediately cuts back, “you love on ‘em and support ‘em just as much as you always have! Y’ show him that you’re always gonna be there for him, and that he can trust you with anything.”

“But I haven’t always been there for him,” he exclaims petulantly. “That’s the whole problem! That’s one of the reasons he ended up like this.”

“Greg,” he says, his voice softer this time. “Listen to me, ain’t nobody perfect, okay? We’ve all made our mistakes with people. Me? More than most. But what we can’t do is let those mistakes cloud what’s happening right now. Y’know, that’s one of the hard lessons I’ve had to learn over the past two years, that you can’t always make things about you. Because right now, it’s about him. He’s dealin’ with some hard feelings, and he needs all of our help. So, let’s help him. Together. We’ll start with one foot in front of us, and we can take it from there. All right?”

Closing his weary, exhausted eyes and pressing his thumb firm against his still-aching temple, Greg Universe gives a long sigh and finally concedes to the reality that— just as he’s not solely responsible for the decline of his son’s mental state— no man should be an island when it comes to the task of supporting one’s journey towards recovery. As with everything, the extended Universe family unit will face the future together, hand-in-hand. Step-by-step.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I think that’s do-able.”

[cruelfeline]

(1) "[H]is needs, physical, emotional, and mental, must likewise be addressed and comfortably handled. I do not accept the idea of something being done specifically to 'punish' him..." Sure, I guess. Hordak should have medical care and mental heath care if needed. He shouldn't be physically hurt or put in jail, Entrapta can help him, etc. And he'll probably be in a lab most of the time anyways. Treating him with humanity will help him be a good person. (Insert swedish prison studies here).

I... ah... Well. Yes. It will.

Though. I guess, for me, treating him with humanity doesn’t have anything to do with helping him be a good person. It’s just a thing that I feel should happen. Whether it makes him a good person or not.

Ensuring that he is safe and comfortable and well isn’t something that I’d want to do in order to help him be a good person. It’s something I’d want to do to ensure that his safe and comfortable and well. For its own sake.

Like... to look at it from the opposite direction: I wouldn’t withhold care or comfort from him if he wasn’t being a good person. Y’know? Like... I wouldn’t deny him a comfortable sleep or medication that helps him feel well because he wasn’t hitting someone’s moral goals. If that makes sense?

(2) So that leaves this: How much freedom should he have? If there was an event where princesses could invite someone, like with princess prom, could Entrapta invite him? On one hand, all the bad stuff he did, his rebuilding/renovation sentence, and the fact that his presence might make people uncomfortable. But on the other hand, saying “you can’t sit with us” punishes Entrapta for something she didn't do. (Entrapta's war crimes and extenuating circumstances are an ask for another day).

I would venture to say he should have as much freedom as is safe for him to have. I suppose I don’t see the point in limiting it? He’s not dangerous. His motivation for taking over Etheria is literally dead and gone. I don’t see a point to imprisoning him. 

As far as the specific scenario you mention (Princess Prom), well... remember that the Princess Prom seemed to have specific rules to encourage socialization and harmony in times of conflict (weapons and quarrels left at the door, so to speak). It’s very likely that enemies regularly met at the Princess Prom and were expected to treat one another with civility; I’d expect the same courtesy to be extended to Hordak.

And in terms of him making people uncomfortable... this is a difficult thing to address. On the one hand, yes: people will likely be afraid of him. And rightfully so, considering what he did. And people should not be forced to interact with him if they do not want to.

But on the other hand: such people are likely to be afraid of all of the clones, seeing as they all look the same. And sound roughly the same. And were part of a much more damaging war on Etheria. 

Is it “fair” to segregate all clones, Hordak included, forever, to keep other people comfortable? Is Hordak to be kept out of society for the rest of his life, because people are afraid of him? Or should he be kept out of it until... well, when? When he reaches some arbitrary level of “penance performed?” If he finishes rebuilding Etheria, are people automatically going to not be afraid of him now? Yes? No? If they still are, does that mean that he still needs to be kept locked away? 

One can go around in circles like this all day because there is no real answer. This is all entirely subjective. The level of segregation, of penance, of restriction, is entirely subjective. And that’s why I don’t really believe in it. I don’t believe in limiting freedom or inflicting suffering due to someone’s subjective opinion.

Rather, I try to ask how further harm can be minimized or prevented. And whether a restrictive measure is actually necessary to prevent said harm.

In terms of Hordak being restricted in some way: I don’t see a reason that he has to be locked away or forbidden from socializing. Do I think that he should be forced onto people? No. I don’t think anyone should be forced onto anyone else, former warlord or no. But I also don’t think that he should be sequestered away from the community that he is supposed to be working to join. 

(3) Also, should Hordak have to work constantly on the rebuilding/renovation, save for sleeping and medical leave? Or should he get to take breaks? It wouldn’t be fair for him to take a vacation while villages are still in ruins. Humans and Etherians need rest to have good mental health and be productive, but Hordak is a Prime clone, and the clones are probably designed to work without much rest. So would that be okay for him or no? Do you have any posts that explore this sort of thing?

Absolutely he should be allowed to take breaks. No question. None. For multiple reasons.

First: I do not view Hordak helping to rebuild Etheria as a punishment. And I feel that viewing it that way is... I’m not sure that “mistake” is the right word. Inaccuracy, perhaps? I’m not sure. Whatever one wishes to call it, the point is that Hordak fixing what he broke should not be considered a punishment. Any more than me cleaning up a vase I knocked over should be considered a punishment. It should be considered... well, “fixing what one broke.”

Etheria is Hordak’s home now. The Etherian community is his community. Helping repair the parts of it that he broke isn’t something that should make him suffer; it should be something that he does in order to be a contributing, responsible member of the community he belongs to. If he wishes to stay on Etheria, then it is only logical that he contributes to its successful functioning. Not because he has to “pay for what he’s done,” but because that’s what a responsible community member does.

Keeping him from having breaks or... I guess “enjoying himself” as he does this is, in my mind. an actual mistake. 

Something that I always have at the forefront of my mind when considering these things, anon, is that Hordak is healing. Whatever damage he caused, whatever traumas he is responsible for, he is just as damaged and traumatized. He did what he did not out of greed or genuine malice but out of a form of emotional sickness. He did it out of a need to be loved and welcomed and wanted. He did it because he wanted to belong.

Denying him those things until he reaches a certain level of “punishment complete” is... well. In my opinion, it’s another form of what Prime was doing. Another form of “you’re not worthy of happiness or love until you’ve done XYZ.” And I don’t like that. I don’t like that because it disregards the fact that, though Hordak should strive to fix what he broke, he is still an individual who underwent a severe amount of trauma and needs time and support in order to heal. If he does not get that time and support, chances are he will be further harmed. Chances are, he won’t become that well-adjusted member of society. Chances are he will remain emotionally sick and bitter and self-loathing. And those are not chances that I think are worth taking in the name of chasing an arbitrary sense of “fairness.”

Second, though just as important: I take significant umbrage with the idea that it would be acceptable to work clones harder because they’re “designed to work without much rest.” 

The clones were “designed” to be brainswashed slaves. They were “designed” to labor and glorify and sacrifice themselves for their god. That absolutely does not mean that they should be exploited as such. To do so would be vulgar.

The clones are people; they should be treated as such, not as the tools their slavemaster indoctrinated them into being. Now, if a clone wishes to work hard because he is comfortable doing so, then so be it. But he should not be expected to do so and be denied rest and relaxation because he was “designed” to go without. That... I’m not sure how to accurately convey how much such a concept disturbs me. A lot. It disturbs me a lot. 

Horde clones were purpose-bred as livestock. This was horrific. It is not something that should be taken advantage of by their new Etherian neighbors. 

And while I do see that you specify “medical leave” and thus may have taken this into account, I still wish to mention: it is generally understood in this portion of the fandom that, despite the show not really going into detail regarding it come season five, Hordak still suffers from his defect. He is still chronically ill. He is disabled. Demanding that he work at a certain level because he was technically “designed to” is ableist and cruel and can only contribute to his already-deep self-loathing. And this applies to any other clones who might be disabled and hiding it.

Finally: I do actually have a post addressing some of this! And as a bonus, it’s not just about Hordak. It includes Catra, too. It was written in response to some of the complaints I saw regarding both Catra and Hordak being forgiven “too easily.” Specifically, about Catra being so quickly invited into the group, if that means anything. It goes into my distaste at the concept of denying someone a sense of belonging until they achieve a certain level of “redemption.”

Here is that post. A quick warning: it’s a little sassy. I was annoyed when I wrote it. Should be read at one’s own risk, if one is uncomfortable with me being sassy.

I also have an older post about the importance of emotional support in the healing process. I feel like it’s also relevant, as it addresses things like providing companionship to people who may be considered as “not deserving it.”

Here is that post.

Let’s see... what else...

Oh! I also have this post about Hordak being forgiven without being redeemed. 

And I think those are the most relevant.

Anyway, anon, I hope that this provided some sort of useful answers for you! If, at any point, I came off as too sassy, I apologize for it. It is not my intention to sound rude, but sometimes I don’t realize when I do. Especially when I write about things that stir emotion in me. 

So! Thanks for the questions, anon. Have a lovely evening!