#like as much as i love to imagine a world where dick heals

[pisswizard420]

as we speak i am in fact writing part of my special little guy's backstory, that goes a little bit into his family's history

[naeverse]

Tangled in his Webs

Art generated by: Niji • Journey Request from: @migueloharacumslut Ask: And I have a request I forgot rather I submitted or not. Mad scientist Miguel x therapist reader Miguel gets put in a psych ward because he got caught experimenting on people and himself trying to turned them in to spider people. He’s been in the psych ward for five years and he needs to be cleared to go back in the world. That’s where the reader comes in to clear him only he manipulates her into thinking he is sane. During their session Miguel becomes obsessed with the reader and little does he know she is obsessed with him too. At night she touched herself to the thought of him. When Miguel get out he finds her. Make the sex nastyyy, hard and rough little choking wouldn’t hurt either. Please and thank you ! 😊 A/N: I really loved this idea and enjoyed writing Scientist Miguel so much. Might write him more lol, but thank you @migueloharacumslut for the idea. Also this is the first part and a second one will be following this one, hope you enjoy!

💉staring: Scientist!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Therapist Reader

      🩵preview:  “I imagine I must seem like a puzzle that’s meant to be solved by you, don’t I, dear?” He asked, his gaze never letting up and keeping its intensity. Due to his closeness, you almost missed his inquiry, but upon detecting it, it surprised you. Hastily, you shook your head, dismissing his ideology and rejecting his notion. “N-No, I wouldn’t exactly describe you in that way, Dr. O’Hara.” You swiftly replied. 

“You wouldn’t?” He asked, his voice low and slow. “So, how would you describe me, Doctor?” 

🔬summary:  As an evaluation therapist at Nueva York’s Sanctuary for Mental Healing, you are assigned a new patient—one who is complex, captivating, and dangerously drawing you in more than you ever expected.

⚗️tw/cw (Just for this part): Big Dick Miguel, Bondage, Fingering, Masturbation, Psychopathy, Restraints, Sadism, Size Difference, Restraints

🔭Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Querida (Dear)

     🩵Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🥼Word Count: 7.7k 

**This fanfiction is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real-life individuals or events is purely coincidental. It does not intend to diagnose or represent any real mental health conditions. Thank you for understanding, and I hope you enjoy the story.**

Your eyes fluttered open, consciousness slowly returning. You felt a dull ache and soreness in your throat, accompanied by a pervasive feeling of weakness throughout your body. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights overhead and adjusting to the suffocating sterile scent of antiseptic, you noticed that you were lying on your back against a hard, cold surface.

With furrowed eyebrows, you attempted to sit up, only to be thwarted back by the metal restraints tightly bound around your wrists and ankles.

‘What the heck!?’ 

You thought, panic and fear beginning to grip you. Your eyes darted down to discover yourself clad only in your undergarments—a delicate white, laced satin set—leaving you exposed to the chilling breeze that consistently swept through the well-lit space.

You couldn't remember how you got here; your groggy mind unable to piece together the events that led to your presence upon the metal table. The faint hum of machinery echoed from far away, punctuated by distant murmurs that made your heart drop.

With dazed eyes, you looked around your surroundings to be met with the overbearing shade of a bright white that covered the walls of what looked to be a lab of some sorts. Countertops were lined with an array of perfectly arranged scientific instruments, machines, and beakers.

Shelves held neatly labeled containers, each housing an assortment of chemicals and biological specimens. Despite being well-lit, there were little to no windows present, intensifying the feeling of isolation within the controlled environment. 

The place seemed devoid of humanity, replaced by a location where experimentation and analysis were handled freely without compassion or warmth.

But one thing about the lab really stood out to you: two jars sitting upon the shelves—one full of bloody red eyes and the other with abnormally sharp canines.

The sight almost made you vomit, hastily turning to look away. Your heart and breath were picking up, fear clawing at your being. Although how morbid the otherworldly body parts were, they triggered something in your head.

The more you thought upon it, awareness seeped in like an unwelcome guest; slowly, you began to remember.

The mental facility...

Red eyes...

The flowers...

Sharp canines...

Black glasses...

His release...

Him.

The wine...

Then darkness...

The memories came rushing back so quickly that you weren’t able to keep up, until it all came back to...

Him...

A wave of regret and stupidity overwhelmed you. Never in your life had you felt so worthless.

You should have known...

You should have fucking known...

‘He wasn’t well. He wasn’t fine. You were wrong, so wrong-’

“Good… You are awake.”

The bone-chilling voice of your captor filled the room, sending a familiar chill down your back. With trembling lips, you turned your head to see the backside of a massive male entering the room. His coffee-brown locks styled neatly upon his head, a white lab coat adorning his huge build along with black dress pants and oxfords.

The scientist wore clean attire, perfect for working in the lab, but his outfit was beyond your concern. 

You knew who he was, but you didn’t want to believe it.

You gulped, watching him slap on a pair of white latex gloves upon his large, calloused palms before beginning to inspect the scientific tools that sat upon the nearby counter.

"And here I thought you would have been excited to see me again..." he said in a husky voice, responding to your silence—his Latino accent unmistakable, along with a hint of amusement found in his tone. You felt like an idiot for falling for him, for becoming so fascinated with a madman like him...

But you were still in denial.

You weren’t going to believe it was him until you saw his face...

“T-T-Turn around…” You said hoarsely, the pain in your throat distant underneath the layers of fear and anxiety coursing through your body. At your demand, the large scientist laughed. “Turn around?” He asked slowly, silence following his inquiry, making your body run cold.

Suddenly, he spun around, slamming his palms onto the metal table you laid upon. The abruptness and loud noise made you jump, and a gasp erupted from your lips. His eyes stared directly into yours, holding the same madness that you believed he had cured when you initially met him. But, like before, it wasn’t the insanity in his gaze that made your heart drop to the pit of your stomach...

It was his eyes... 

His teeth...

The scientist’s crimson eyes looked down at you, taking in your discolored skin and half-lidded eyes that were still under a drowsy spell. “I turned around now, are you happy?” He asked with a playful smirk. “Do you recognize me now, dear?” 

Your eyes widened, the look upon your face enough to show the mad scientist that you did, in fact, remember who he was— but you were too speechless to respond, causing the male to chuckle.

“Do I need to give you any more proof that it is I?”

His snickering seemed to reverberate off the walls of your mind as the fluorescent lights of his lab bounced off his razor sharp canines.

With trembling lips and dilated pupils, you looked over his face, your heart breaking more and more because…

It was, indeed, him...

The mad scientist... 

The sexy patient... 

Dr. Miguel O’Hara…

The man you fell for…

White, close-toed wedges clicked upon the mental facility's aged linoleum tiles, the floor's once-bright patterns now a faded, discolored mosaic covered with scuff marks and indistinct stains that revealed the struggles of all who shuffled through the dimly lit corridor. The mental facility, unintentionally, gave off an eerie atmosphere with walls clad in faded, peeling paint and ceilings with bright, flickering fluorescent lights that cast irregular shadows along the cold institutional floor, further giving anyone who traversed the halls the creeps.

You, a therapist meant to evaluate patients for release, were given a new challenge—a patient that held a sadistic background coupled with a remarkable intellect that made many wonders how he found himself inside 'Nueva York’s Sanctuary for Mental Healing.'

Dr. Miguel O’Hara was your new patient's name, an intelligent scientist who became a little twisted after his discovery of gene splicing. In his pursuit of advancing the human race, he became obsessed with the idea and creation of spider-human hybrids. After many experimentations of creating what is referred to as mutates, he was unsuccessful. Before he could continue with his study, he was arrested and sentenced to seven years here at the institution where it seems he’d made progress.

Whilst you walked towards his cell, taking the seemingly endless halls of the asylum, you looked over his file. Inside were documents containing his personal information, such as full name, date of birth, emergency contact, and next of kin. In the brown folder were also his medical history, psychiatric assessment, diagnostic evaluations, and much more information collected during his time at the institution; however, there were four pieces of his folder that piqued your interest:

Observation logs, Treatment plan, Risk assessment, and lastly, incident reports.

You studied each of the documents to discover the important details that needed to be surveyed before seeing the scientist in person.

_____________________________________ 

Miguel O’Hara - Mental Health File

Patient Information:

Full name: Miguel O’Hara

Date of Birth: 10/13/2070

Appointed into: Nueva York’s Sanctuary for Mental Healing

Admission Date: 11/10/2099

Emergency Contact: N/A

Next Of Kin: N/A

**The patient has explicitly communicated a desire for their next of kin not to be associated with their mental health treatment, and no detailed information about family members was recorded to respect the patient’s privacy.**

Diagnosis:

Primary Diagnosis: Psychopathy

Secondary Diagnosis: Antisocial Personality Disorder

Treatment Team:

Primary Therapist: Dr. Jessica Owens, Licensed Clinical Psychologist

Psychiatrist: Dr. Peter B. Parker, MD

Nursing Staff: Nurse Mary Jane Watson, RN

_____________________________________ 

Treatment Plan: 

Medications 

Fluoxetine (Prozac) 

Dosage: 20 mg daily

Purpose: Miguel O’Hara is prescribed Fluoxetine to address symptoms of irritability that derives from his disorder of Antisocial Personality. 

Lorazepam (Ativan)

Dosage: 0.5 mg as needed (PRN) for anxiety

Purpose: Miguel O’Hara is given Lorazepam on an as-needed basis to manage anxiety-related symptoms or impulsivity.

**Its used closely monitored due to the risk of misuse**

Lamotrigine (Lamictal) 

Dosage: Gradual titration starting at 25 mg, with adjustments based on response. 

Purpose: Miguel O’Hara’s treatment plan included Lamotrigine to help stabilize mood swings or emotional dysregulation. 

_____________________________________ 

Incident reports 

Date: 2/3/2100

Incident: Verbal altercation with another patient during group therapy 

Action Taken: Immediate de-escalation and one-on-one session with Dr. Peter B. Parker. 

Date: 6/21/2100

Incident: Refusal to take prescribed medication 

Action Taken: Nursing staff provided additional support and education 

Date: 10/3/2100

Incident: Refused to attend scheduled group therapy and became verbally aggressive towards staff members

Action Taken: Security staff was called to ensure the safety of other patients and staff. Miguel was later engaged in a one-on-one session to explore the reasons behind his resistance to group participation. 

Date: 1/4/2101

Incident: 2nd occurence of refusal to take prescribed medication 

Action Taken: Nursing staff provided additional support and education and therapeutic engagement by Dr. Jessica Owens to address any fears or misconceptions related to his prescribed medications. 

Date: 4/18/2101

Incident: Observed by Nurse Mary Jane Watson of the patient hoarding various items in his room, including non-permissible objects. 

Action taken: Staff conducted a room check, confiscated unauthorized items, and discussed appropriate belongings with Miguel. A follow-up session with his therapist, Dr. Jessica Owens was scheduled to explore any underlying concern. 

Date: 3/21/2102

Incident:  Engaged in a physical altercation with another patient during a recreational activity 

Action taken: Immediate intervention by staff to separate the individuals involved. Both parties were assessed for injuries, and a report was filed. Increased monitoring and a review of Miguel’s treatment plan were conducted to address potential triggers for aggressive behavior

_____________________________________

Risk Assessments: 

Current Risk level: Moderate 

Factors: History of aggression, resistance to treatment, potential for manipulative behavior 

Interventions: Increased monitoring, ongoing assessment for potential triggers 

_____________________________________

Observation Logs: 

Date/Time: 8/16/2102, 2:30 PM

Observation: Miguel exhibited signs of increased irritability during the group mindfulness session. Requested to leave the session prematurely. 

Staff comments: Noted Miguel’s discomfort during mindfulness exercises. Alternative relaxation techniques were explored for future sessions. 

Date/Time: 12/2/2103, 10:00 AM

Observation: Miguel was observed engaging in a one-on-one conversation with staff during morning indoor activities. Discussed personal interests and aspirations. 

Staff comments: Encouraged Miguel’s open communication. Noted his ability to articulate personal interest, fostering a sense of connection with staff. 

Date/Time: 2/15/2104, 6:45 PM 

Observations: Spends most of his time in the facility’s library, engrossed in reading.

Staff Comments: Positive use of leisure time observed. Reading contributed to a sense of routine and engagement. 

Date/Time: 6/23/2104, 8:30 PM 

Observations: Attended the evening group therapy, contributing to discussions on coping strategies. Demonstrated empathy towards a fellow patient sharing personal challenges.

Staff Comments: Noted Miguel’s willingness to engage in group discussions and support peers. Positive progress in developing empathy and interpersonal skills. 

**Miguel O’Hara has exhibited excellent improvement and staff believes he can be released in 2105, instead of 2107.**

_____________________________________

You closed his folder, taking a look at the photo that decorated the front. Like many patients at Nueva York’s Sanctuary for Mental Healing (NYS-MH), Miguel O’Hara didn’t look like a dangerous individual; he was actually quite handsome—with dark, wavy locks that framed his olive, chiseled face and amber eyes shielded by a pair of black eyeglasses; Dr. O’Hara wasn’t a bad-looking guy.

To ponder upon the atrocities, he could have committed for the sake of science was baffling as you gazed at the photo. The more you inspected the image, the happier you became at the fact he was doing better - better enough to be released back into society.

It was why you were here, anyway…

You tucked the folder under your arm and continued your walk towards his room, passing steel doors that lined the corridor, each secured with heavy bolts and reinforced locks to keep the patients contained and prevent them from harming themselves or others. Occasionally, muffled echoes of distant cries and disjointed whispers seeped through the cracks, adding to the unsettling symphony of the troubled minds that dwelled within.

You've walked these halls many times, but there was something about today that really made your skin crawl. So, it was relieving when you finally found Miguel O’Hara’s room, number 209.

Two guards stood on either side of his door, present only for emergencies. With a deep breath and slight adjustments to the white top, black blazer, and bodycon skirt that covered you, you gave each of them a nod and unlocked his door with a key, entering Miguel’s room…

Upon stepping inside, you instantly took notice of the soft, muted tones of blues and greens dominating the color palette, bringing a sense of serenity to the room. The patient's sleeping area contained the normal necessities—a comfortable bed with crisp, clean linens and a modest seating area. The furniture was arranged in an open and uncluttered manner, with personal touches here and there by the patient himself or for safety precautions. 

For his adoration for reading and science, a small shelf was placed inside his room, displaying a few books and a potted plant, offering familiarity to the scientist.

Your eyes shifted to the large, muscular male who sat upon his bed, dressed in a white t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and slip-on shoes. His massive backside faced you as it seemed he was engrossed in writing, his huge hand moving gracefully upon the page he was working on.

You cast a glance at the camera positioned in the corner of the ceiling in his room, placed there for monitoring and to ensure the patient, and others remain safe. After making sure the camera blinks red twice, showing its activity, you approach him with light steps.

"Miguel O’Hara?" you called out to him in a soft voice, not wishing to disrupt him. All of his movements came to a halt, his body rigid as his large hand placed the pen he was using into the open journal before slowly closing it. You watched him set the book down beside him on the bed, wondering if the handsome male you saw on the photo would be the same seated before you.

It seemed you were watching with batted breath for him to turn around and when he did, the sight of him shocked you and made your heart skip a beat.

You knew from his photo, the male would be gorgeous—so attractive that if he weren't your patient, you'd probably gush over him from afar. But it wasn't his attractiveness that made your breath hitch.

He looked completely different.

He looked…

Otherworldly.

With a cold expression, you stared back at a pair of crimson eyes covered with black eyeglasses, a small smile spreading across his tanned lips, revealing a set of sharp canines. “You must be the therapist that is to evaluate me. Right, Querida?” He inquired with a hum, his deep voice holding a Latino accent. 

You gulped at the intensity of his abnormal scarlet orbs, subconsciously clenching his brown folder in your hands and giving him a nod. “Y-Yes, I am,” you replied, stepping back to give the large male room to stand, and when he did…

He was like a giant…

The bed creaked at his ascent as his massive being towered over you, your head tilting up to maintain eye contact. Choking back how intimidated you were, you gestured over to the small seating area of two white cushioned chairs and a table in the corner of his room. “L-Let’s sit over here to talk,” you proposed, and for a moment, he just stood there, gazing down at you like a mere ant before his tight-lipped smile returned.

With an approving grunt, he stepped in front of you; with his powerful, long legs, it took him little to no time to reach the comfort area and settle down into the white chair, the seat creaking under his heavy weight. You followed behind him, moving to sit across from your new patient and shifting into a comfortable position.

When your eyes met the male's, his crimson eyes were already staring at you, lingering upon your body in a way that made you feel like a microbe under a telescope. You gave him a polite smile, shaking off the unsettling feeling that always rose within you when speaking with the patients. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Dr. Miguel O’Hara. My name is Dr. Y/LN, and as you’ve been informed, I am the therapist here to evaluate you for your release.” You explained sweetly, watching every part of the patient, who remained completely motionless, simply continuing to stare back at you with an expression devoid of all emotion.

“It’s nice to see a new face, doctor. It can get rather boring here,” he uttered, using his middle finger to push his black eyeglasses up the bridge of his broad nose.

You placed his folder down upon the table, turning it to not reveal his photo on the front; you've learned from past experiences that the sight tended to worry them. Bringing your legs to cross over each other, you clasped your hands, placing them on your lap. “Boring?” you asked with furrowed brows. “Why don’t we speak about your time here first, Dr. O’Hara? Is that okay with you?” The inquiry left your lips in a soothing tone, one that calmed most patients upon hearing it; but with this patient, you couldn’t quite tell—he hid his emotions too well.

“Well, maybe not boring…repetitive is a better word,” he corrected himself. “But, dear, I’m fine with speaking of my time here.” He replied with a smile, placing his hands upon the armrests and widening his stance. Your eyes drifted to run along his inviting toned thighs adorned by a pair of gray sweatpants that did little to conceal the curves of the muscles underneath. 

You also took notice of his posture; taking a mental note of openness from the patient before you asked your question, “Well then, may I ask how you are doing during morning activities? It's stated that you prefer Creative Arts Therapy in the mornings, correct?”

He nodded, his sharp canines peeking out from between his lips as he spoke. “Indeed, mostly during Creative Arts Therapy, I write,” he explained in a deep voice. “I’ve grown to learn that to better settle my thoughts is to put them on paper.”

“And that is an excellent form of therapy that you’ve discovered for yourself, Dr. O’Hara. May I ask, what exactly do you write?” You asked, trying to ignore the faint sight of madness in his crimson orbs. “I write down my thoughts, ideas, and aspirations,” he simply said. 

You hummed, giving him a smile. “How about future plans? Do you write about those?” At your question, he snickered, giving you a wry, dismissive head shake. “I…don’t write much on that,” he replied. “I’ll hate to get my hopes up,” he added in an amused, yet somewhat disheartened tone.

“Get your hopes up?” you inquired, eyebrows creasing in confusion. “May you elaborate, Dr. O’Hara?” The male nodded, his large fingers stroking the armrest of his chair in a deep caress. “I do not wish to anticipate that I will be released early,” his caresses of the chair never ceasing, and his eyes trained on his moving fingers.

You studied him, taking in his deflated voice and how he spoke in a slow manner. Your gaze shifted to take in the intricate motion his fingers moved upon the armrest as there were multiple reasons a patient would do such a thing.

He could be nervous, frustrated, impatient, or simply doing it to comfort himself. Recalling his mannerisms from previously, you could cross out your thought of him being nervous; the way the scientist carried himself was in a way of confidence that couldn’t be faked, so it left you with the last three—frustration, impatience, or comfort.

Without further observation, you couldn’t pinpoint his reasoning for his odd gesture, instead giving him a soft grin and replying to his previous words of anticipation. “I understand your concerns about getting your hopes up, especially considering that you were rewarded with an early release date based on your wonderful behavior as of late,” you sympathized, “So it’s completely normal to feel cautious about expectations,” you said, taking in the abnormally muscular male before you. 

“But let’s explore these feelings, shall we? Let’s say you are released in the next two weeks; what would your life look like, Dr. O’Hara?” you asked, deeply intrigued by his answer.

A moment of silence filled the room after your inquiry, the doctor continuing to make intricate patterns upon the armrest with his finger before his red eyes returned back to you. A nervous chuckle rumbled from his chest—the sound restoring life back into the room. “Ahh, I always get stumped on that question. It's another reason I haven’t written much about it in my journal.”

You nodded, placing your hands upon your legs. “Well, let’s start small,” you proposed with a grin. “You seem to have taken a liking to the hobby of writing while staying here at NYS-MH. Would you like to expand on that?” Miguel gave you a thoughtful hum, his pointer finger continuing to glide against the armrest of his chair. 

“I’ve…always wanted to write a book.” Your eyes snapped from his fingers to rest upon his chiseled face, surprise and amazement present upon your facial features at his desire. “Oh really? And what would that book be about?”

“Genetics, of course.” He chuckled, the mention of his past interest that caused his descent into madness making your heart skip a beat. Your eyes narrowed, the amazement fading from your being. You leaned back into your chair, keeping your composure.

“Are you still interested in Genetics, Dr. O’Hara?” Your inquiry being met with a nod from the patient, one that he didn’t hesitate on responding with. “I’ve worked in the field for almost my entire life and I’m exceptionally good at it.” He explained with a voice of knowledge in a low, deep whisper. “So why would I abandon my hard-earned skills and education?” 

His reasoning on his maintained attachment to the field was an excellent one, but like many things, it could be a trigger; causing the once cured doctor to revert back to his old ways of sadism and horrendous acts for the sake of science. This potential trigger would not only bring harm to everyone once more but erase the hard work that Miguel had achieved at the mental institution to fix. 

You cleared your throat before speaking. “I…understand your desire to write a book about Genetics. It’s an intriguing subject.” You said, preparing yourself to ask a question that would surely strike the doctor. “But considering the circumstance of your past experiments and the impact they had, how do you plan to approach the topic responsibly?” You asked, watching his reaction closely in anticipation. 

After your question it seemed as if everything stopped—froze even… 

You gazed at Miguel taking in his tanned face that stared back at you. His crimson eyes were empty behind his black frames and his posture was completely still in his seat. 

You’ll think he was a statue…

“Dr. O’Hara?” You called out to him which seemed to snap him from his thoughts. His red eyes slowly shifted to you, his tanned lips pulling into a small smile. 

“Responsibility, my dear therapist, is such a heavy word…” He said with a smirk. “But I wish to ask, what compelled you to work with the mental? It’s a challenging profession for those with weaker minds.” Miguel said, casting an odd aura upon the room with his every word. “I should know…many say they are for the discovery of science and when the time presents itself, they get cold feet.” He stated, his finger ceasing its movement upon the armrest. 

It wasn't unusual for a patient to desire to ask you a question, but the way he gazed at you with his intense eyes and how his gravelly voice caused a shiver to run down your spine made you hesitant, which the patient seemed to have noticed. “I only ask since you handle your job so beautifully.” He complimented, his eyes taking in your seated position. “I only wish to know what led you here before me.” The words left the patient’s lips in an ominous manner, however, upon saying such a thing his olive face held a smile that could melt anyone’s heart.

His fanged grin, oddly, sent a wave of warmth through your being and caused you to forget your reply to his question. You shifted in your seat, trying to keep your composure and recall your departed answer. “W-well, I…umm… entered this field by the simple fact of being interested in psychology a-and the way the mind works.” You replied once you found the words, unable to hide the stammering of your voice due to how unnerving everything was becoming. Miguel nodded slowly, running his tongue along the tip of his fang, the action drawing your attention. 

“Your interest in the subject of the mind is rather…fascinating.” Abruptly, he leaned up in his seat, resting his elbows upon his knees and invading your personal space. Your heart skipped a beat at his suddenness and at being able to see just how abnormal and captivating his scarlet eyes and sharp fangs were; it caused goosebumps to rise upon your skin at the mere sight. 

“I imagine I must seem like a puzzle that’s meant to be solved by you, don’t I, dear?” He asked, his gaze never letting up and keeping its intensity. Due to his closeness, you almost missed his inquiry, but upon detecting it, it surprised you. Hastily, you shook your head, dismissing his ideology and rejecting his notion. “N-No, I wouldn’t exactly describe you in that way, Dr. O’Hara.” You swiftly replied. 

“You wouldn’t?” He asked, his voice low and slow. “So, how would you describe me, Doctor?” He grinned, the fluorescent lights of his room bouncing off his sharp fangs as his eyes were filled with a hint of amusement, though it was impossible to ignore how it seemed he was toying with you. 

“I…see individuals, like you, as people who have become lost in the darkness and just need assistance in finding the light once more.” You stated, his eyebrow raising and a chuckle escaping him at your answer. “A bold claim…” He said, his eyes tracing your figure and lingering upon how tightly you were now grasping your skirt.  

“For a little thing like you…” 

Miguel muttered imperceptibly that you almost didn't hear him. “E-Excuse me?” You asked in shock and with furrowed eyebrows causing the patient to snicker, shaking his head. “Just that your view is a unique way of thinking and a…intriguing one, in fact.” He said, leaning back in his chair and adopting a relaxed position once more. 

“It’s really fascinating how intellectual you are, doctor.” He grinned. “Few possess the ability to navigate the labyrinth of thoughts of the mental. I applaud you on that.” Miguel praised, returning back to running his palm along the white armrest whilst giving you his undivided attention. 

In your gut, you knew his recalling of the statement said previously was false, you were certain he said something that was out of the norm. 

But could you have mistaken? 

You took in his face, taking note of how he gazed at you. The scientist was attractive, and normally during your job you were able to ignore that appealing quality and complete the task at hand, but right now, it seems impossible. 

The way his red eyes ran along your body like he was undressing you, made you blush. You couldn’t explain it, but you were stuck between your desires and your sense of reason. 

You were aware of Miguel’s sadistic mannerisms and how there could be a chance he wasn’t fully well as he lets on, it was why you were here, but the longer you spoke with him, the more the task at hand was leaving you. 

However, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease he gave you at times. 

“M-May I ask how have you been feeling lately? Any changes?” You asked, changing the topic and settling your eyes upon Miguel once more to see him smirking. “It’s all been the same, doctor.” He began. “We have group therapies on Wednesday, daily morning activities and indoor activities…” He said, wetting his lips with the swipe of his tongue, the sight causing the tips of your ears to burn red. 

Sometime while he was speaking, you shamefully zoned out to taking in how sexy he looked. 

His white shirt tightly hugged his body, giving one a view of his hardened nipples, defined pecs, and washboard abs. Every curve of muscle was accentuated under the white fabric that teased anyone who saw. The muscles of his legs pressed against his gray sweatpants, and your eyes widened slightly at being able to make out the enormity that rested against his thigh.  The sight causing you to bite your lip…

“Querida?” 

The sexy patient called out to you, snapping you from your trance. “Y-Yes!?” You inquired, clearing your throat and taking a more assertive and relaxed position to try and dismiss your previous lack of professionalism. Miguel snickered. “It seemed you were off somewhere else…and here I thought that was my job.” He joked, causing you to chuckle nervously. 

“M-My apologies. You may continue.” You replied, wishing to proceed as if none of that happened. Miguel smirked, his crimson eyes roaming along your body before his finger began to tap upon the armrest.

“In my leisure, I write in my journal, read, or tend to my plant.” He finished, keeping it short and gesturing to the bookshelf in the room that held a pot of beautiful flowers. You smiled seeing how the black flowers bloomed upon the shelf. 

“May I ask, what is it that you write in your journal?” You asked, looking back at him to see his eyebrows furrowed. “It wouldn’t be ethical if I asked what you write in your diary, would it, doctor?” He inquired, causing you to instantly become regretful of your words. You casted him an apologetic look. “M-My apologies, I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“No…it’s fine. Your fascination is interesting…” He trailed off, a tap of his finger following your words. You glanced back over at his plant once more, the flower really captivating you. “The plant is family to the Calla Lilies.” Miguel answered before you could even ask, looking over at you as you continued to inspect the plant from your seat. “Hmm…I’ve never seen a plant like this.” 

“Because this plant, in particular, is very rare.” He explained. “Native to South Africa, Escape, is a very rare find.” Miguel said with a fanged grin. “It’s why I made it mandatory that it was brought with me when I was assigned at NYS-MH.” 

You stared in awe at the abnormally black flower. This was your first time seeing a plant of pitch blackness that hadn’t already withered away, but Miguel’s next words grabbed your attention. 

“But one day while tending to my flowers, I hit an…epiphany of sorts.”  Miguel told you, causing you to cock your head in puzzlement. 

His words intrigued you…

“May I ask what epiphany you reached, Dr. O’Hara?” At your question, Miguel gave you a look of appreciation and sincerity. “I understand that upon my arrival, I wasn’t…in the best state of mind.” He said with a sigh. “But after being here, I feel like I’m ready.” 

“Ready for what?” You asked, bringing a small smile to his lips. “I…believe I’m ready to see the world again.” He answered, giving you a genuine look of certainty. 

His realization filled you with gratification. You reached for his brown folder, believing he had, indeed, improved. The first major step for the patient was seeing that they were initially unwell, which the patient had achieved. 

“I’m greatly pleased with your recognition of this epiphany of yours, Dr. O’Hara.” You said, holding his folder in your hands. “But I believe you are ready to answer some more serious questions.” You said, glancing up at him. “Are you ready?” You asked, seeking permission of his state of mind before proceeding. 

With a nod from Miguel, you opened his folder, pulling out a few of his documents to begin asking more serious questions regarding them. “I’ve noticed in your next of kin that you asked for them to not be aware of your mental treatment.” You began, looking up at Miguel to see him already gazing back at you, his crimson orbs trained on you. The sight made your heart flutter. “M-May I ask how you would cope on the outside without your familial relations knowing of t-the treatments and necessary tools you've learned whilst being here?” At your inquiry, Miguel’s face hardened, his crimson eyes darkening.

“Well, you see, my dear therapist, family can be a bit…overwhelming.” He uttered, tapping his finger against the armrest once more like a metronome; his eye contact never breaking. “I’ve decided to take a more independent route for now.” He explained in a deep, slow voice. “But friends, colleagues—people who don't burden me with unnecessary questions about the past are who I seek.” He said, his voice holding a hint of coldness as his jaw clenched. 

“Because, it’s important to focus on the present and the future, rather than the past, don’t you think…

Doctor?” 

You gulped, his words seeming to have you in a vice. It was as if he had some kind of control over you, all of the rules and regulations you learned whilst being an evaluation therapist at NYS-MH faded from your mind. You couldn’t figure out what you found so enticing about him. 

Was it the way he looked or behaved? How he seemed to speak with such intellect in a tone of voice that could lull one to sleep?   

You were puzzled…

But you were certain something was happening, and it was greatly affecting you and your ability to think clearly. 

You hesitantly nodded, clenching his folder and feeling your cheeks redden once again.  “T-That is correct.” You agreed, not believing what you were saying. “I would understand your desire to look past your previous mistakes and move forward.” You uttered, trying to keep your attention on the patient. 

“Indeed…Mistakes.” He smirked, a small chuckle passing his lips, his finger seeming to tap against the armchair after your words. Your eyes looked from his hand and to his face, studying how his coffee-brown locks blowned gently in the breeze from the vent overhead, and to his defined cheekbones and broad nose that made him even more captivating… 

 “Have any more questions for me, doctor?” 

You jumped at his inqury, noticing you were just staring at him. 

What the hell was wrong with you?!

A little disheveled, you fumbled through the folder for the next pages of information you sought, picking up his documents on his treatment plan of medications and his incident reports. “Umm…I-I wanted to ask about your medications.” You began, wetting your lips and holding the papers up to hide behind them. “T-There were two occurrences where you refused to take your medication. M-may I ask why you refused?” You asked, peeking around the paper to see the patient adjust his black eyeglasses upon his face along with the repeated thudding of his finger upon the chair. 

“I must ask, how would you feel if someone took away your identity?” 

“W-what?!” You asked in surprise, lowering the pages hastily. A laugh rumbled from his broad chest, giving you a clear view of his otherworldly fangs that made the pit of your stomach twist into knots. “You heard me, doctor.” He stated in a manner that was to be amusing but only made one disturbed. 

“What if someone was trying to force you to be someone else? Someone you are not?” He asked, causing you to chew your inner cheek and ponder his question. “I…I guess I wouldn’t like that.” 

“Indeed…” He replied. “Any creature would despise the fact of forced transformation of oneself. It’s the reason you cannot simply change a savage tiger to being a tamed kitten in your home.” The dark-haired male explained. “It’s because a tiger would always cling to its savage ways, it's what keeps them alive—it’s what they enjoy.”  

“That’s…a great analogy, Dr. O’Hara.” 

“Why thank you, dear.” Miguel replied with a smirk before his old expression shifted to hold furrowed eyebrows and a frown—a set of facial features that instantly tugged at your heart. “But…the true reason I refused my medication was because…” He heaved a deep sigh, biting his lip. “The depressants make me sleepy and tired all the time, and…the idea of having to depend on medicine to stabilize my irritability and emotions is rather disheartening to me.” He said in a sorrowful voice. “I refused them because I believe I can be better without them.” 

You listened closely to his words, taking note of his concerns and feeling rather empathetic. “In all honesty, how would you explain your current mental health condition?” You asked, placing your compassionate eyes upon him. 

He gave you a heartfelt smile, one that made your heart soar. “Like I said previously, I feel better, Doctor.” Miguel said in genuinely. “I’ve seen the errors in my ways and am deeply disgusted by what I’ve done to innocent individuals…t-too myself.” He said, looking away at the ground in shame. 

“I wish to return back into society and start anew.” He replied. “Be the man that I’ve wanted to be—not some madman who allowed his idea to get too out of hand that led to the deaths of innocence.” Miguel professed to you with an emotional and hearty voice. 

You nodded slowly as you noticed his scarlet eyes flicker down to your hands that held the brown folder. “Doctor…

May I?” 

Dr. O’Hara asked, extending his large, calloused hand to you, seeking your palm. Your eyes widened, thickly gulping and looking back up to meet his red orbs that seemed to suck you in—enticing you to take it. 

Physical connection with patients were strictly forbidden, but the sadden look of desperation upon his face led you to take his hand. You placed the brown folder upon the table before resting your hand in his large palm, and instantly yours looked to have shrunken in size. With a fluttering heart and belly, you met his eyes and instantly melted under his crimson eyes. 

“Please, Cariño. I assure you, I’ll be on my best behavior.”  

The patient affirmed, giving your hand an affectionate squeeze, following his heartfelt promise. Your breath caught in your throat at his genuine gaze and words. 

From his evaluation, you couldn’t help but agree that he was ready…

He didn’t utter a word of sadism or show signs of insanity, revealing his first diagnosis of Psychopathy was treated or can be suppressed. He exhibited signs of sympathy for his victims, and also didn’t become angry at triggering questions, displaying that his second diagnosis of antisocial personality disorder was also cured or treated. 

Like he said…

Dr. Miguel O’Hara was ready. 

You gave him a small smile, placing your free hand atop of his as Miguel’s eyes shifted down to your kind gesture and back onto your face. “Okay…I believe you.” You said, caressing his knuckles with your thumb. “I’ll be sure to send in your evaluation report that you are good to go.” You told him, but as an evaluation therapist you weren’t supposed to say, but you couldn’t stop the words from spilling from your mouth. 

Giving him a departed smile, you released his hands and collected your things. His touch still burned into your skin and left you yearning for more of him. 

You felt his abnormal eyes on you as you went to the door. Suddenly, upon putting your hand on the doorknob, a cold shiver ran down your back—one that instantly made you come to a halt. Your eyebrows furrowed at the unsettling sensation, causing you to bite your lip in nervousness.

“And Miguel…” You called out to him, using his name and looking over your shoulder at the dark-haired male. His tanned, chiseled face held an expression of hidden joy and interest as he turned towards you, his attention captured by your call whilst he remained seated in his chair

You clenched the folder tightly, hastily shifting your gaze to meet his scarlet eyes—the previous feeling of discomfort and unease vanishing.

“I-I hope you keep your word.” You said in a voice full of reverence. Miguel returned your words with a reassuring smirk, his sharp canines poking from over his bottom lip. 

“You have my word, Doctor.  I’ll be on my best behavior.” 

After turning in Dr. Miguel O'Hara’s evaluation report and going home, the scientist was still on your mind.

The way the doctor looked at you with his beautiful red eyes from behind his black spectacles, with a gaze of interest, to the fanged smiles and smirks he gave you—merely thinking about it made your cheeks redden.

You bit your lip, feeling a need to cure this desire for him, but you decided to push it away. You couldn’t feel this way about him…

You couldn’t…

…

..

But you did…

Extremely…

You lay under the blankets of your bed, tossing and turning as every time you closed your eyes to sleep, he would fill your mind. 

Especially the glimpse you got of his package. 

How his massive member was accentuated underneath the gray fabric of his sweatpants, revealing how thick and long he was. 

The remembrance made you drool… 

It had been forever since you’d touched yourself. Being a therapist at a mental facility was a rather time-consuming job, and you weren’t really interested in the many men who tried to get your attention.

Until him… 

Why did it have to be him of all people? 

It was a guilty pleasure, that was for sure—to have fallen so hard for this doctor, your patient who had many wounds that still needed healing.

But oddly, his wounds only pulled you in even more…

You bit your lip, allowing your hands to begin roaming along your body, imagining they were his calloused ones—remembering how his large hands practically engulfed yours when holding his hand, and how rough they felt.

Oh, how good it would feel if they were the ones touching you. 

Giving your clothed breasts a squeeze through your shirt, you moaned softly. Despite his past of being sadistic and cruel to others, you imagined him being gentle with you—caressing your body and touching you in a way that stole your breath every time. You arched your back as your thumb barely flicked over your pebbled nipples, drawing a whimper from your lips.

Your panties were heavily drenched in your juices due to your core's insistent pleas for stimulation and touch. Finally satisfying yourself, with a sharp tug, you pulled your panties down, freeing your pulsating pussy. 

You breathed a sigh of relief, hastily getting into a comfortable position on your back and allowing your legs to fall apart. With closed eyes, you allowed thoughts of Dr. O'Hara to guide your movements. 

His massive hand ran along your abdomen, teasing you with his skilled fingertips and trailing lower. A gasp escaped your lips as your fingers brushed softly along your throbbing bud and soppy folds, spreading your juices along the sensitive area.

You imagined Dr. O'Hara above you, his red eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he smirked down at you, pressing his large middle finger into your entrance. You moaned, feeling his finger filling your tight walls. 

Whimpers escaped your lips at how good his finger felt inside of you, your back arching in desire for more of him. His smirk broadened at your eagerness, as he slowly drew his finger out to the tip before pushing back in, quickly finding a rhythm and keeping at it with each thrust.

Your toes curled, burying your face in your inner elbow as you continued to finger your wet pussy, wishing Dr. O'Hara was here, but imagining would have to do. It wasnt long before a heat began to pool in your lower belly, your breathing picking up. 

"Taking my fingers so well, dear," Dr. O'Hara whispered into your ear, gently nipping along your lobe and throat, his fangs grazing your skin. You whined into your arm, his fingers picking up speed and hooking just right inside your pussy, bringing you to your blissful end. 

With a loud cry, your thighs trembled horribly as your juices spilled in hot spurts, soaking your hand and the sheets underneath. 

Your eyes fluttered close, trying to overcome the buzz that overwhelmed your body after your release. It took a moment, but when you caught your breath and your vision settled, you withdrew your fingers from your pussy, casting your eyes upon them to see that they, not Dr. O'Hara's, were covered in your juices. You exhaled in disappointment. 

Despite how good it felt imagining it was him, you couldn't help wanting Dr. O'Hara in the physical…

"I imagine I must seem like a puzzle that’s meant to be solved by you, don’t I, dear?" 

As you lay there, still tinglinh from your pleasurable moment, his words filled your head, leaving you to ponder his question once more. 

Did you believe him to be a puzzle that only you could solve? In the moment, you said no, but deep down, you wanted nothing more than to thoroughly fix him.

Like many patients upon being released, they still faced numerous challenges, including reentering society, finding a job, and avoiding triggers, after departing from NYS-MH.

He was going to need help, and with all your heart, you wanted to be there for him. 

And you were going to. 

No matter what…

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the first part of 'Tangled in his Webs.' 😆I really enjoyed writing Miguel in this persona as it was different and honestly fun, especially with him being a darker character. It was rather new for me writing in this manner, despite some challenges here and there, I'm overall proud of the outcome and I hope you are too!

@migueloharacumslut, thanks so much for the request, and I hope you are even more happier that it's to be more than one part, lol. But once again, thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!

Make sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! If you'd like to add a request to the kink series, Entangled Desire, or have an idea in general, just message me or submit an ask. I hope you all have a wonderful day and stay safe! 💙💙

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[d1s1ntegrated]

helloo!! can you do hcs of shigaraki x civilian reader please?

thank youu <333

shigaraki x civilian!reader (slight nsfw!)

»» ──────ஓ๑♥๑ஓ ────── ««

he had first caught sight of you months ago, and since then his obsession only grew.

yeah, he knew he was being a stalker, but he couldn't help it

you were just so beautiful, how could a stranger be so perfect?

he wondered what it would be like to have you, to hold you, to steal you away from this broken world and heal you

he memorized your routine, he knew your social media, he even knew where you lived now cause he followed you home from the mall a few days ago.

he'd sit outside your apartment, sometimes climbing the fire escape late at night to watch you sleep, palming at his erection through his jeans to the rhythm of your breaths.

he knew he couldn't have you, but he still vowed to turn hell cold for you.

everyone in the league noticed his change, but no one dared speak out against him. he was way more aggressive than usual, spoke less, even spent less time gaming. he was absent more, as well, which was nerve-wracking for them.

he knew they wouldn't understand. maybe toga would, but he'd rather not share his newfound delight with anyone else anyways.

he'd sit alone in his room late at night, crying and whimpering into his pillows, calling out your name. begging for some miracle that you'd notice him, his gestures of love for you (anonymous tear-streaked love letters, flowers, the ominous stain outside your bedroom window).

he'd cry, rub his dick raw, and cry again.

if you noticed him, it'd be different. he knew it. he couldn't approach you, but if you approached him, maybe he could win.

but you did notice him. somehow, you weren't scared, but flattered. you kept his letters, you hung the flowers to dry. you were just a normal, regular person. what about you captivated this mystery man so much?

you felt obligated to respond one day, desperate for an answer. you left a small note in the mailbox, signed "for my admirer".

his heart nearly fell out of his ass when he noticed it, he yanked it away and read it in an alley, too anxious to wait to get back to base.

the note was simply, short, sweet. just like he'd imagined.

"i appreciate all you've given me. give me a call sometime so i can show my thanks in person. (xxx-xxxx-xxxx)."

he hastily, shakily added your contact to his phone and ran off with the paper shoved in his pocket.

he came so violently that night his nose bled, and for a second, he felt healed. like his prayers had been answered, like the world wasn't as rotten as he previously assumed.

[numberonecodwomenfan]

ok yall heres my thoughts for a potential olympics au.

price boxes. 100 percent. no clue why but he just has the Vibes. it’s definitely not his first olympics. he’s getting close to retiring from the olympics (which no is not an old man joke, they genuinely just have a very small age window to be like in their prime to compete. simone biles is 27 and she’s considered on the older side for olympic athletes).

gaz does gymnastics. look at him man he just looks like a gymnast. it’s his first olympics and while he’s not really an underdog he’s not very well known. he is however definitely getting the stephen nedoroscik treatment (immediately becoming the country’s sweetheart, having tons of fan edits, etc).

soap plays soccer (IT’S CALLED SOCCER 🦅🦅🇺🇸🇺🇸) as a goalie and again, scotland’s sweetheart. they eat him UP. i mean look at him why wouldn’t they. he and gaz become immediate friends in the village and post online together. they make jokes on tiktok about getting freaky on the cardboard beds (ilona maher and nicole heavirland style) and no one ever shuts up about it. he’s new to the olympics as well.

ghost plays rugby because he’s massive and angry. i feel like this is his second olympics and he’s lowkey still mad his team lost last time but he’s pretending not to be 😭 he doesnt participate much in the dicking around, but since he, price, and gaz are all team england he gets spotted in some of the online shenanigans (can u tell i pay more attention to the athletes goofing off online than the actual games)

farah i feel does beach volleyball. shes tall (5’8” which is crazy because she looks SHORT next to some of the other characters) so good for volleyball, and i’d imagine urzikstan’s team would unfortunately be pretty small considering. yk. so they might only have enough athletes for beach volleyball since it only requires 2 players. im imagining this to be set in a world where farah wasn’t leading the ulf but the occupation and stuff still happened, but it’s over and urzikstan is slowly healing again. throughout the competition farah is very vocal about her pride for her country and she talks about her brother and parents, and says that she’s competing in honor of them. she also becomes one of those athletes that everyone roots for no matter where theyre from, simply because of a) how good she is, and b) the way she speaks about her family and her country, and how emotional it makes people.

alex surfs. look at that man and tell me he doesnt surf. i know we agreed he’s from some podunk midwest town but i can also totally imagine him being from like socal and being the most doofy surfer dude. he meets farah in the olympic village and is immediately infatuated. also i feel like he would have an obsession with one of the foods there like that norwegian swimmer with his chocolate muffins and post about it online.

(again can yall tell i pay more attention to the athletes dicking around on tiktok than the sports)

i wanna say rudy and alejandro both do equestrian because yk. vaqueros. but i cant tell if it’s too on the nose. let me know ur thoughts.

laswell does archery. i believe its one of the sports that is more likely to have “older” athletes (although i could be wrong) and i imagine laswell is like 45 ish. lesbians love her. this is not her first rodeo she has olympic’d before. people see her talking to alex on the boat during the opening ceremony and theyre like “is she his mom or smth wtf???” bc they look similar and they eventually just lean into it. like yeah this is my mom she’s like 7 years older than me. dont think about it too hard the numbers make sense. i swear.

könig wrestles because he’s massive. i fear booktok gooners would obsess over him and it would simultaneously give him a huge ego boost but also make him deeply uncomfortable. he’s a good wrestler tho so he toughs it out 😭 the gooners see him without the doofy little wrestler cap for the first time, realize he’s fugly, and move on. he can live in peace again.

horangi does shooting because i keep seeing that hot korean shooter kim yeji everywhere and shes so cool. also bc horangi is in the military in game so um. yeah. dude is cool as fuck and he knows it.

[codenamesazanka]

Why do you think hori decided to make decay one part of overhaul? I know many fans believe its so he can awaken the reconstruct part later but that sounds too contrived

hmmm, my take is... it's to make the world more boring, making AFO a super dick who's responsible for everything wrong in the world, and so relieve a burden from the Heroes.

It is my belief that people are too caught up in the Overhaul part (while also too dismissive of Overhaul the guy), and part of that is the need for copium for Shigaraki to come back and save his League/redeem himself. They need a miracle for the League to survive, and they need an excuse for Shigaraki to not be treated badly by the Heroes afterwards. If Shigaraki has 'Overhaul' quirk, and proves himself by having the ability to 'heal', then Shigaraki can justify his existence to the Heroes as useful/less lethal/benevolent-due-to-healing-power. I know that's not what's intended, but that's what it comes off as. Shigaraki with 'Decay' gets killed by a Hero; but Shigaraki who comes back (especially as Tenko) with a different quirk can stay? It's a bad look, even if coincidental.

(But who knows! Maybe he will do exactly that. We're at Horikoshi's mercy.)

I think the derived-from-Overhaul thing is just to make AFO a super asshole who went out of his way to make A Very Dangerous And Scary Quirk, one that will guarantee ostracizing status for Tenko because society already discriminates against 'villainous' quirks - and by doing so, actually gives Hero an easy out of doing something about their quirk society.

Decay - a five-finger automatic touch disintegration quirk - is a highly, easily destructive and lethal power. If it's naturally existing, if a five-year-old can randomly awaken this ability, it spells out trouble for the world. How would parents respond to their child having such a quirk? How to treat this child with the full love and respect they deserve - because all children deserve full love and respect! - without alienating and hurting them? How would one raise this child to be mindful and careful and responsible, without also overburdening them or making them feel like they're a dangerous monster?

Is the solution to make Shigaraki/Tenko wear gloves? That seems simple at first, what if Shigaraki/Tenko doesn't want to? What if gloves are annoying and gives him rashes from wearing them all the time or it interferes with his hygiene? What if he simply wants his hands free? But when his gloves are off, people get antsy and nervous around him, worrying about that 'what if'? How do you balance personal autonomy and other people's safety? How do you balance "what is convenient for other people" with "what is right for me?"

Decay is a really interesting quirk to exist in a world where quirks can be anything and in a story that asks what it means to live in a superpowered society. We've seen that HeroAcaLand is not very kind to people with quirks that gives them trouble fitting in with a norm. Quirks that violate taboos like Toga's; quirks that give people 'scary' or 'gross' appearances like heteromorphic quirks ; quirks that are seen as 'villainous' - the people holding these quirks (which is their innate ability, a natural part of themselves as much as their eye color and limbs!) get mistreated because society lets their prejudices and preconceived ideas take over and taint their treatment of such individuals. This is a problem in the world of bnha, but it's rarely ever touched upon besides a general lesson of basically "tough luck, mind yourself and suck it up until things get better".

People have pointed out that Toga's quirks and heteromorph quirks has got this covered, but Decay is unique in its seemingly mutation manifestation and its extreme aspects. It's automatic except for a few conditions; it's immediately lethal. It would be been so good to see how Heroes handle that.

Deku stops Decay only because he's in the dreamscape and can just imagine himself not getting disintegrated. How convenient! If it had taken place in real life, how would he have dealt with Decay in a way that wouldn't have scared Tenko off yet also protected Deku's and the Shimura's safety? Would Deku tie the five-year-old up with black whip? Would Deku hold (and break) his wrists like he did with Shigaraki in reality? Would Deku have to evacuated the Shimuras, leaving poor Tenko to watch a Hero save people *from him*, and then remain alone for however many agonizing minutes? Would Deku be forced to stay far away and yell encouragements while waiting for backup, for the right Hero with the right quirk to come (essentially mimicking what Heroes made Bakugou go through in the first chapter?) It's good for Deku to want to rush in and save people without a thought, but what to do in situations where he cannot get lucky and cannot do that without dying? When the 'trouble' he's facing is the very victim themself?

If Decay was naturally occurring, these are questions Heroes must deal with, these are incidents and emergencies Heroes must be ready to face. Hell, these are things parents must be prepared for and have drills and plans set aside if it ends up being their child with such a quirk. (Like, it's awful that Kotarou's instinct when faced with an unexpected and scary quirk being 'whack your son with garden shears' instead of 'calmly assess the situation, remember what the parenting book said about quirk manifestation, and comfort your child'??? And no, I will not take 'Kotarou's just a dick, nvm him' as an answer. It's not about him specifically anymore, I'm talking about what a parent should have done in this situation in general. Because Nao just died! She loved her son and tried to go to him and died!) These are questions society must find solutions for. Otherwise, tragedies will happen; fear sets in; people don't get saved.

BUT as it turns out, Decay is not naturally occurring. AFO created a quirk like this for the ultimate tragedy, meaning tragedies like this don't actually happen. At worst we get Eri's case - her dad disappears but without too much mess, and there's a wind-up time until the next incident, and we even get a visual warning in her horn growth. And thankfully we have Aizawa, an adult, already a licensed Hero, there to keep her in check. And if tragedies like this don't actually happen, that is not a thing Heroes have to lose sleep over. Quirk accident resulting in multiple casualties? A quirk that kills so easily? A quirk that appears in a suffering child and interacts with their background in the worst way? A quirk that would've subjected the holder to a hard and isolating life (largely due to other people's attitudes towards it!) and if Deku's a Hero who wants to save people, what will he do?

Well. Not a thing Deku has to think about. Wasn't real. What a relief.

[hannahbarberra162]

She must be the person who most cheers for the death of Whitebeard, a man she doesn't even know, because this is one of the few scenarios that she can maybe be free again and return home.

If she spends 6 hours donating blood and has 8 hours of sleep (considering that she has a regulated sleep), what does she do in the remaining 10 hours? Can she leave the room? Does she sleep in the dorm with the others? Can she walk freely?

Does Whitebeard know of her existence (and that she is in Moby Dick against her will)? Does the whole crew know, or just the commanders?

Does Marco feel the slightest bit guilty? Knowing he's holding someone in the boat against her will? Would he really be able to keep up his threats?

Sorry for the questionnaire, I'm just curious :'D I have so many thoughts about the last one-shot

Hi Luarsunny!! I know this isn't your cup of tea haha. I'm writing a short one shot in your honor that's light and fluffy featuring a normal Marco. To answer some questions:

Marco would absolutely keep up his threats. He’d probably just start by breaking your ankle again, but he'd be willing to do whatever he needs to ensure Pops’s health. You are nothing to him compared to his father / Captain. 

I’d imagine some of the crew knows, but there’s so many people on board and you’re not very noticeable. It’s not a secret but you’re not that important to most people’s daily lives. 

“You’re done for today yoi,” Marco said, pulling the IV out of your arm. You’d been healed by him already, as you always were. Even though he replenished your blood, it always took a lot out of you to give platelets for six hours a day. You felt weak and lethargic, even though Marco had confirmed there was no biological reason for it. You were free to go where you wanted for the next few hours until you were confined to your room for bedtime. Marco locked you in a private room near his own for ten hours at a time, wanting you to get undisturbed sleep and rest away from the rest of the crew. He was neurotic, counting how many hours you slept and if you got up in the night. You were sure he was watching you, but you hadn’t figured out how yet. 

Lately you’d taken to spending time on the top deck when you were free, enjoying the weather outside. Before sailing with the Whitebeard Pirates, you’d never seen snow before. You were from a summer island and enjoyed watching the changes in the weather as the ship sailed through the Grand Line. Marco had banned you from going up to the crow’s nests, where you had originally loved spending time watching the skies. You’d almost fallen once on your climb up and Marco had since forbidden it. So you sat near the figurehead of the whale, thinking about nothing. Or, trying not to. 

Some pirates talked to you, trying to get you to socialize. You’d made a couple of friends, if kidnapping enablers could be considered friends. You were closest to Masked Deuce, who worked in the medical division under Marco. He was around a lot, checking in on you during your long days. You’d discovered he was a writer and loved the same kinds of literature you did, and he would read books to you while you sat immobilized. With Deuce came Ace, another Commander. You didn’t like Ace as much, he didn’t seem to understand the bind you were in. According to him, you should be overjoyed to be providing your platelets to someone as amazing as Whitebeard. But he was kind and charming and would tell you funny stories sometimes, so you let him hang out with you when you had time.

You resented Whitebeard and his crew immensely. You’d met Whitebeard himself once, when Marco had brought you up to meet him at the Captain’s insistence. 

“Thank you child,” the old man said simply, nodding his head in thanks. You had fantasized about this moment many times, imagining how you’d spew your vitriol at the Captain, telling him you hated his ship, his crew, Marco, and most of all, him. But in the face of the World’s Strongest Man, you were unable to do anything except cower, clinging to Marco as if he were your lifeline. “I owe you my good health, which is more precious than any treasure.” You stared at the man four times your size, your words dying in your throat. Marco nudged you.

“You’re welcome.” You didn’t have anything else to say - what could you say? Please let me go home to the detriment of your own health? Your son kidnapped me and I’m here against my will? Marco knew how you felt, he knew you were homesick and cried often at night. If he wanted to let Whitebeard know, he would. Part of you wished Whitebeard would die already, then you might get to go home. But you also thought they might abandon you on some island if you were no longer useful. You would have no money and no way to get home - a perfect set up to be captured by slavers. So for the time being, you were stuck on this godforsaken ship, used as a living blood supply to an Emperor.

Marco had started leaving things in your room without asking - better pillows, softer blankets, warmer clothes, pleasant smelling shampoo, books he thought you might like. You couldn’t be sure if he was trying to assuage his own guilt or if it just helped his goal of keeping you mentally healthy. The other crew tried to be kind in their own ways, offering to teach you how to fight (Marco didn’t allow it), the basics of sailing, how to cook, skills that might be helpful in the future. But it all felt like velvet wrapped around a steel fist. You could enjoy yourself, but ultimately you’d be in that room for six hours a day, no matter how much you cried and begged Marco for a day off.

[mamamittens]

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 2)

Masterpost, Part 1

Platonic Whitebeard Pirates & Reader-Insert (with glasses)

Warnings: Platonic Yandere behavior and yes, the kidnapping is still actively occurring. If yandere content disturbs or otherwise unsettles you, I deeply suggest you do not read this series and block the tag "oh sweet child of mine" as well as "one piece yandere". Though mostly framed in a humorous way, it is still very toxic and problematic behavior that you should, in no way, entertain in real life from anyone.

Stay safe and enjoy.

Word Count: 1,540 (would be longer, but I didn't want to have this transitionary chapter be squished in with meeting Whitebeard and settling in)

When you became a marine, you had considered what you would do if you ran afoul of pirates. Assuming they didn’t kill you outright, that is.

In none of these imagined scenarios did you picture yourself awkwardly curled up in a med bay on one of the ‘junior’ Moby Dicks. As it turns out, Fire Fist and The Phoenix were running a small supply run simultaneously to another junior vessel since none of the surrounding islands could accommodate the Moby Dick herself—the Yonko ship being so absolutely massive for her crew and captain. A young man with a blue mask over his eyes ‘Masked Deuce’ was wiping your face and inspecting your nose for any damage that hadn’t been healed with a critical eye. Fire Fist was somewhere else—likely getting food for himself if his gluttonous behavior was any indication—while The Phoenix appeared to be starting your medical file.

That… was probably not good. The slim possibility that you were going to just be ransomed seemed to dissolve with every scratch of ink he added.

“Well, aside from some possible malnutrition and exhaustion, you seem in good shape. Not what I’d expect of a marine in these parts, though I guess they didn’t care too much about your physical condition.” Deuce placed a firm hand on your shoulder and smiled. “If you’re interested, we can get you into good shape in no time! Or maybe you’re interested in pursuing something else? Oyaji has plenty of resources we can use.” You couldn’t help but grimace and tug on your hat.

“I uh… I’m a marine?” You said, wincing at the questioning tone. “I didn’t enlist for the uniform, you know… I… I’m supposed to try and arrest pirates. Not… join them.” You explained awkwardly. Deuce just laughed while The Phoenix snorted softly.

“Everyone adjusts differently. You’ll love it here eventually.” Deuce winked before handing you a set of clothes to change into. The shirt was emblazoned with Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger.

You were rather at a loss for words. You… well, you couldn’t exactly fight them. You knew that. But you felt rather like the world had tilted dramatically the other way on it’s axis while you weren’t looking. The only way this could get more bizarre is if Fleet Admiral Sengoku called you and congratulated you for the successful adoption and your new, very criminal, pirate-Yonko family.

“Bring-ring. Bring-ring. Bring-ring.”

Oh god, you weren’t ready!? Please no?!

Horrified, you scrambled to pull the snail from your pocket, The Phoenix sliding up and leaning on the bed as you answered.

“Ensign—”

“Where the hell are you?! Ensign Williams was found, thoroughly beaten mind you, on the ground! You were assigned to be his partner!” You almost wept with relief that you were just getting torn a new one.

“A-Ah—W-Well, I-I attempted to flee with Ensign Williams when The Phoenix was spotted with Fire Fist but was… very unsuccessful.” You admitted lamely as one of the men responsible for your plight gave a placid smile, his eyes fixed on you with a horrifying intensity. Though you had no idea what for. If he was pissed you answered, he was more than welcome to take the call himself at this point.

“And why not, Ensign?! Your orders were quite clear!”

“Because I was captured instead?” The snail sputtered.

“Then escape and return to base!” The operator screamed. You were nearly in tears, your day successfully having gone from bad to absolutely the fucking worst.

“How?!” You whispered in horror, practically seeing the dry response in The Phoenix’s eyes.

Run and I will scoop you up with my talons and fly you all the way to Oyaji myself.

The receiver was plucked from your hands and you were torn between thanking your captor or trying to get it back. In the end, you did neither.

“I’m afraid that won’t be happening. Feel free to mail us their last paycheck because they won’t be returning. Consider this their resignation.” The snail blanched.

“On who’s authority, you filthy pirate!”

The Phoenix grinned, all teeth and eyes narrow, sapphire slits.

“Their new big brother.”

It would almost be inspiring how confident he sounded if he didn’t say it like he was declaring that your kidney would taste delightfully delicious.

Any response was cut off by him lifting up the transceiver shell and crushing it with his bare hands.

His smile turned much more friendly as he set the traumatized snail down, but the edges still seemed… feral. He ruffled your hair, knocking off your marine cap in the process.

“Get changed and wash up properly before dinner. It’ll be a few more hours before we meet up with Oyaji. Ace will make sure it’s burned.” Overwhelmed and horrified, you couldn’t help the slight whimper.

“…but I like my uniform.”

The Phoenix paused, giving you a slightly pitying smile as he gave you a side hug, blue fire flickering over the both of you. Any other circumstances, it would feel warm and reassuring.

“I know it’s a lot, kid. But you’ll be fine, I promise.” He paused looking down at you. “The hat’s gotta go, but, I tell you what, how about you keep this, yoi?” He tugged the blue neckerchief loose and placed it on top of your ‘new’ clothes.

Against your better judgment, you were a little touched at the suggestion.

What is your life now? You’ve been kidnapped, forcibly made to join a Yonko crew, and now you feel touched because one of the commanders is letting you keep a token of your job?!

Whatever.

You’d just get issued a new uniform later.

If you ever get away from this crazy ass band of pirates.

“I do like the color…” You added lamely, unwilling to push the argument considering how laughably easy it would be for him to force the issue. And then you’d have nothing left of your own.

“I like the color blue, too, yoi.” You looked at him with a frown. Glancing at his shirt.

“Not purple?” The Phoenix blinked, surprised at your dry response before chuckling.

“Alright, sassy pants. Get marching.” He smirked, shooing you to the bathroom to get changed. Flush and embarrassed, you escaped before he could say anything else.

Now… did your new pants even have pockets big enough for your animal treats?

--*--

Surprisingly, the new clothes fit well. Roomy enough that you didn’t get weirded out that they had your exact size but small enough that it wasn’t going to fall off of you anytime soon.

Your marine blue neckerchief was tied around your right wrist. The only part of your uniform you got to keep besides your shoes.

Any blood was gone from your hands or face but Fire Fist still felt the need to inspect them, playfully pinching your nose to see if it hurt still. Upon seeing that you were in perfectly fine shape, and freshly clean, he beamed.

“I can’t wait for you to meet Oyaji, he’s going to be happy to have a new kid running around. It’ll be a while before you get assigned to a division, but don’t worry, they’re all pretty great! Well, not as great as mine, but still!” Fire Fist laughed boisterously as The Phoenix rolled his eyes, lightly smacking Fire Fist’s head.

“They gotta get used to the crew first, Ace. Don’t jump the gun so quickly or you’ll hurt their feelings.”

Ah yes. Their biggest concern in this whole debacle.

Your feelings.

Cause fuck the law, that’s why. And everything else for good measure.

But also your feelings, because if that was actually a concern they would have left you with your asshat partner and a bloody nose.

… your previous circumstances does not, in fact, justify kidnapping and forced recruitment.

You are a marine damnit! Maybe not a strong one, or even a great one (yet), but there has to be a line somewhere!

“Ahah~! Right, sorry! Here, we’re having soup! It’s not as good as Thatch’s food, but we’re getting back too late for dinner so it’ll have to do. He’ll want a little more warning to pull out all the stops anyway.” Fire Fist laughed, handing you a bowl of hot soup. It smelled good, but despite your hunger, you were still a little thrown.

“…Does he often want to impress captives?” You whispered, more to yourself than anything. Fire Fist paused and actually flushed, laughing to himself.

“Sort of, yeah. He kept trying to feed me while I tried to kill Oyaji for over a hundred days, you know!” You blanched, horrified.

You had forgotten that little tidbit, although most of Fire Fist’s recruitment into the Yonko crew was a mystery, you had overheard that bit.

Suddenly, your prospects of getting out of this scot-free seemed… unlikely.

If being a marine isn’t a deterrent, and neither is many murder attempts, then what the hell could get you out of this? Fire Fist kept laughing as you caught The Phoenix’s eye.

He seemed darkly amused and very much aware of your predicament.

He clapped your shoulder reassuringly.

“Don’t worry about it so much. You’ll figure it out.”

Somehow, you don’t think he was talking about escaping.

[charmercharm3r]

so I was reading sharing is caring (again) and it got me thinking about how that Jisung would feel if MC got a clot piercing. Man is already so damn pussy whipped I think he would Die

as someone with many piercings myself, I LOVE LOVE LOVEEEEEE THIS IDEAAAAA. I feel like he'd be too scared to get anything crazy other than his lobes, maybe a second or third if he's feeling funky-- irl and in this story.

I can see mc having to hold out on sex for a while as it heals and make up an array of excuses as to why she won't put out, but makes it up to him in the mean time. I imagine her not being able to hide it for very long though cus Jisung would insist on showering together cus he misses her so much.

and all hell breaks loose when he sees the shiny little piece of metal on the most private part of his baby. first comes the curiosity where he's lifting your leg and getting down on his knees to get a closer look, maybe lightly touching it just to see how you'd react. ohhhh he'd go to town when a slight moan falls from mc cus even though she's been avoiding sex, every thought is still just Jisung, Jisung, Jisung. he wouldn't even get his dick wet the first night he's allowed to go down, spending the entire time with his face full of pussy and doing nothing but letting his tongue play with it as much as he's allowed.

maybe when it's while after the piercing is fully healed, that's when he gets a bit more devious and delves into the world of pussy slapping. the little glimmer is too cute not to use to get you to squirm and cry his name.

OH! and he'd buy such cute jewelry for it too! he'd purposely go into piercing shops and browse their selection cus he's so so so obsessed with the clit piercing. liiiiike how could he not? it's like his own private crown he gets to dress up and decorate however he wants.

[neptunesenceladus]

What I think each robin should do after robin (please argue these with me cause I love hearing opinions and thoughts that usually know more than me) (also this is just the mainstream 5, I know there are others but idk any of them):

Dick: I love him as Nightwing and would love him to have a focus on neighbourhood crime (friendly neighbourhood spider-man type of stuff) as he gets older, while also showing up to save the world once in awhile. I do also love Tom Taylor’s Nightwing and feel like Dick would do a lot of philanthropy and long term projects in the public eye while the superheroing is smaller.

Jason: Again love him Red Hooding and want to see more of the Prince of Gotham type of stuff. But also him healing and spending time working with the outlaws in Gotham (he just works on a team so well and that’s where I want to see him go honestly).

Tim: Someone please give this kid a break. Firstly I want to see him turn 21. And then either retire or do more tech based work like oracle does. I would love for him to branch out further from Robin and find an identity that isn’t in extenuating circumstances or to survive.

Steph: I can’t imagine Steph ever not being a vigilante and would love her to find her own space and city, maybe through moving for uni or work after she graduates. I also loved her as both Batgirl and Spoiler and am not sure what identity she would take on other than those.

Damian: I really want this kid to retire, he’s been through so much and needs some sort of teenage-hood that gives him his own space to find who he is outside of duty. Him eventually working as a Vet as an adult would be awesome to see. He would still keep up with the superhero community due to having been robin and having friends and family in it but I don’t feel like it’s right for him because he never had a choice in it.

[elodieunderglass]

Firstly, I wanted to say thank you for finally making Moby Dick comprehensible to me over a decade after I attempted to read it and bounced aggressively off it! But the thing I actually wanted to ask and boggle about is, you get a full year of maternity leave??? I think literally the company with the most mind-bogglingly generous policy I ever worked for (I'm in the US) only gave 7 months, and the place I'm at now only gives I think 3 or so.

You're very welcome! It's very exciting to me that a line by line translation of Moby Dick can make it so much more accessible.

On your second point - yeah! I'm always happy to talk about parental leave policies etc and how different countries handle them, not in a smug "Well, in the UK..." way but in a, "here's very concrete examples of how policies can work, and the material impact they have on people" sort of way, because that's genuinely something that needs to be communicated. Just like with the environmental crises, we are all limited by our ability to imagine the Healed World and what we need to do to get there. So what are some policies that are a bit more Healed-World-ish than the reality that many people live in, and how do they actually work? You are welcome to send me asks! Rumination below the cut.

I wouldn't have had kids if I'd stayed in the USA. I've chosen to have 3 in the UK. This is directly because of maternity leave, free childcare hours for toddlers, quality of childcare, accessibility of school/daycare, flexible working policies, generous holiday leave, and other factors like that. Does that seem weird to say? Should I have moped about in floods of divine baby-desire and universal mother-yearnings and stuff, and sacrificed everything to have squidgy babies? IDK, I've never felt any of those things: I love the children a lot as people and I'm obviously terrifically glad they're here, but I wouldn't have had any desire to have them in the first place if I hadn't been sure they'd have decent childhoods. And a childhood where a parent resents them because that parent had UNFULFILLED INTELLECTUAL GOALS, or where there's always stress because of MATERIAL DIFFICULTIES, wouldn't be decent. My desire to acquire the children has been very much based in the knowledge that I can afford them (financially, emotionally, socially, career-wise, mentally) without sacrificing or martyring myself. So, literally: even though I have 2 life-defining children and one more on the way, even though I'm considered in my immediate social circles to be a real earth-mother crunchy-type, even though I work part-time to spend time with the kids and so on: if I didn't live THIS life, I wouldn't want the children. So I think it’s interesting to see how a simple piece of policy, a difference between nations, so totally impacts and directs the course of an individual’s life.

RE: the actual practicalities, it breaks down a funny way. In the UK, they hold your job for you for up to a year, usually hiring a temporary maternity cover: if they can't give you the same job back, they have to give you a similar one. If you return in 6 months it’s like you didn’t leave at all and get the exact job back. Maternity leave is usually taken for about 9 months, with paternity leave often adding an additional 3 months, and children usually entering childcare at the age of 1.

The actual way that this gets calculated is pretty complicated. My job offers 6 months on full pay, which is a "benefit" - otherwise the default is only 6 weeks on full pay. After the full pay runs out, you're on SMP - Statutory Maternity Pay - which is £156.66 per week. SMP runs out at nine months. If you want more time than that, your job gets held for a full year, but you'll be on 3 months unpaid. -> HOWEVER, you've been accruing annual leave the whole time you've been off, so when the baby is 9 months old, you might expect to have about 6 weeks of holiday that built up. Holiday is taken at full pay rates. So depending on how much holiday you have, you just return to work while on vacation and get paid again.

If you return to work at 6 months, which is sort of the minimum normal time to take off, you get your exact same job back. If you take longer than 6 months, you get that "offer of an equivalent job" but no promise of having your job back - which can worry people. So sometimes people happily choose to take only 6 months off, because they want their exact same projects back.

So what will happen with me is

6 months off on full pay, Dr Glass takes about 1 month off on full pay parental leave at the beginning to provide support

(Child2 enters age where they get 30 hours/week free childcare, daycare bills drop to basically just Child1's afterschool programs from here until last bullet point. As Dr Glass and I both work part time, this means that each day of the week will have a mix of different children, activities and work. We will hopefully be able to bank a little bit of childcare-budget to coast on for the next bits.)

3 months off where I'll only make £624 a month SMP: it’s not nothing and so should be grateful, except for the relentlessness of life. I also get £150/month from the government for having two children - nothing for the third because that would be encouraging families to rely on benefits and have children for money, or something, naturally. Dr Glass will be working, but no family can really lose almost half a wage and be cheerful about it, so we'll have to coast on savings banked from the room freed up in the childcare budget. (we thought it would just about work before the cost-of-living crisis, when we filed our plan paperwork, and gotta say, it’s looking pretty scary now.) we’ll prioritise the mortgage and utilities in cash, and should be able to coast it.

2-ish months off but "on holiday," i.e. back on full pay

Dr Glass overlaps one month off on full pay (holiday + shared parental leave) plus two months totally unpaid, i.e. Unpaid Leave, i.e. Dr Glass keeps his job and simply takes two months off, making £0 a month. Again, this will be hard to get through, but as we know it's coming, we have time to make SOME savings to live on. This allows Dr Glass to have time with his last child, which is a priority for us over debt, and gets the baby comfortably to the age that our nursery accepts.

Both parents return to work. Baby will enter daycare aged 1 (Child2 remains on free hours, daycare bills go back up to mortgage-level payments, finances return to exactly where they were before Baby3.) hopefully we’ll be able to quickly pay down any debts incurred with two full wages.

You can see it's doable, but there are some scary flippin' periods and a tremendous amount of footwork. We've somehow managed during harder times; with Child1 I was the sole breadwinner for the household and was at a job where I only got SMP, so I went back to work at 6 months and Dr Glass was a SAHP for a long time; with Child2 it was pandemic and lockdown etc, and no childcare was available, so we all ricocheted around the house together for a year. So clearly something absolutely bonkers is going to happen in 2023, but if it doesn't, we might actually have one (1) normal baby-leave.

As you can see, it's NOT the Healed World, but it has aspects that you'll want to include in the Healed World. You can see the impacts on things like family design - the kids all being 3 years apart for affordability, as that's when the free childcare hours kick in - and the way that fathers are still sort of wedging themselves in. You can see how it gets cobbled together and stressful, and the bits where you have to coast over patches that could just as easily destroy a family (watch this space! We might go completely fucking broke! We’re about £200 away from it at all times as it it!) You can see that there are some privileges (having a partner, partner having a job) that materially affect the experience people have. You can see how sometimes people can take a year and others return to work at 6 months (I've done both! Both can be great and both can suck, but it's MUCH better when you choose it for yourself, rather than being forced financially.) you can see that some cruel and stupid policy decisions are meant to punish poor people in the UK for having children despite the lack of internal logic (no child benefit for over 2 kids, when child benefit is meant to help you raise citizens.) You can see places where a conservative politician could shit on one vulnerable place (like the UK’s free childcare hours for three year olds! Liz Truss was thinking about killing it!) and entirely destroy my family at a stroke. You can see that for all my stance of “I am not a martyr” for my children, I’m expecting to have spent several years of my life flippantly being marginally-waged for the sake of having them: but also, you can see the difference between the support the UK gives my stance, and the support a 20-year-old military wife in the American heartland gets with her first baby: you can see how eased the paths of my children are, how isolated hers will be. You can step back from the worldwide generational immolation of mothers, their narratives of sacrifice and drudgery, and unpack how much of that is truly necessary, and how much damage could have been resolved by simply rinsing off the TERF shit, offering a few scraps of healthcare, and giving them a few fucking months off work.

We are all worldbuilding the Healed World: it makes sense to understand the different ways it could work. I’ll longpost about any policy you guys would like until then.

[002yb]

Current thoughts: Dick and Jay and the intricacies of their aggressions. Because they're not hostile (not anymore) but there's still a bite to each smile and nails in each hold, and it's not because they don't feel safe but they're just so overwhelmed and overstimulated in each other that they just have to have some sort of grounding. 

It comes with Dick saying "ill take care of you" and it stays when the older man presses in, spreading himself everywhere until hes all that Jason can see and feel. Dick presses into Jason's space, soft touches - almost healing - reverently smoothing his hands over his bruises and holding him tight - tight - tight and Jason thinks he might just turn into electricity with all the tingling under his skin so he bites. Not hard but enough to startle Dick for a while and he just watches Jason who has a flushed face - spreading ear to neck and further - sink teeth into his forearm in an almost adorable display of vulnerability with a wicked grin. 

Or when Jason tries to take care of Dick in his “your the world” way, because seeing Dick in that loving light is just so easy for Jason- as easy as breathing - it takes Dicks own breath away. The way he follows without a thought, pushes gently at his cheek, his foot, his hands - not quite a hold but enough to say i'm here- never far -always for you. It makes something warm envelop him until because Jason is so soft- and he might melt out of his skin and cling onto whatever Jason gives him so he has to gain SOME sort of control and he just sort of manhandles Jason. He’s not harmful but it's enough to have Jason grasping at air and anything he can get his hands on to try and settle himself and Dick just sorta treats him like he's pocket sized. 

And maybe Dick grows fond of pushing Jason until his boy has to bite down and leave his little marks on his skin - and maybe Jason chases the thrill of the safety he never knew in being overpowered by his Robin- but they don't have to tell.

askjherofntfewo this one got so long im so sorry :,,,)

This is the epitome of indulgence; I've been so thoroughly spoiled. Anon~ you write so beautifully ahhhhhhh this is an actual gift, a masterpiece; I want to read it forever (along with your other ask(s), honestly LOL). Ffffffff I've never felt so understood in my dickjay preferences, but Anon you get me. ( ॢ ´ U `͈ॢ)･*♡ Thank you so much for sharing these lovely thoughts ahhhhhhhh I can't wait for everyone else to read them and bask in the glory; amazing!!

Ybb's two cents under the cut (jk everything got moved beneath a cut?) because all I've got is scattered imaginings inspired by the above I'm a;oifja;woiejfaiowejf !! Fair warning that it's not nearly as eloquent as the above lol. Idk if I kept with the beautiful theme of the intricacies of aggressions, but there is...

°₊·ˈ∗♡ s a u c y s o f t n e s s ♡∗ˈ‧₊°

Overwhelmed!Jason is my everything (next to maiden!Jason). Just the way his breath would catch in his lungs, an audible stutter that he would bite back behind clenched teeth and try to swallow down only for it to claw its way back out of him - almost a sob for how broken it sounds. And Dick - it does more than take his breath away to hear something so vulnerable and wanton; it makes his heart race and stutter and skip. It makes him feel too warm, too endeared, too much. He would smile though, all teeth and bite. Sometimes playfully ornery about it or impishly teasing and always, always bewitched. There's nothing more alluring than the rise and fall of Jason's chest, that sign of life.

Only that's a lie, because just as captivating is the way Jason falls apart just by being touched (by him - by Dick alone), the way Jason taunts and challenges and torments Dick until Dick pushes back and then Jason smiles. Wicked and devastating and wonderful.

For as blunt as Jason's nails are, Dick's skin is all raised welts from the drag of them; moon-shaped crescents from where Jason's nails dig in. And to match, Jason's body is a constellation of bruises - the black and blue of fingertips, the wine-color of open-mouthed kisses.

They would both shudder at the residual ache of it all, those phantom sensations. Jason with mapping out where Dick's hands fell on him, held him, loved and adored and revered him. And Dick, marveling raised lines that fade too soon. Scratching over them with a sort of fond affection before covering them, hiding them away (or purposefully showing them off, oh my).

The manhandling, the biting; the thrill of overpowering and being overpowered. It's flirtatious, sure. More than that - it's trusting. It's fun. It's connecting in a way that lets them understand each other better than they've ever understood one another before. Raw and honest; terrifying, only not. It's addicting.

Offhand thoughts: the graze of Dick's teeth over Jason's nape as Jason bites down on Dick's hand. Jason (big, small; it doesn't matter) so overwhelmed by too many points of contact that he digs his teeth in, breath catching in that way that makes Dick's heart race, his blood sing.

That's all I got for now, anon~ I'll get to your other ask when I have some more time (I love it!!). Thank you again for spoiling me with such indulgent thoughts; they're ~ s t u n n i n g ~ ( ∩ˇωˇ∩)♡

[clarajohnson]

the magicians s2e4

i would apologize for being this late on this but one this is for funsies and two i was just in hell (two weeks of law school finals) so i'm catching up

close up on q's nasty fucking wound to start things is like... it's such a choice

i know we're being serious right now but that surgeon has the biggest dick.

ah it's so nice to see the start of responsible monarchs el and margo

ABIGAIL APPEARANCE !!!!!!

"blow all our cash on sappy nonsense" and "since when are you fillory quentin? SINCE I'M ME" are both really gonna get me. margo is so interesting AS ALWAYS but also you ever think about how we don't really delve into her backstory that much? she is pure characterization it's so fucking good. not that i don't want to know more about her backstory because dude i really fucking do but i find it impressive what they can do for her even without it.

aw "i don't belong here" el is so soon going to be "fillory is my home" el

the best bitches era begins

i love how much of this show, The Magicians, is about how hard it is for them to get and use magic

reallllllly good look on margo here in the classroom

i think it's interesting that they characterize niffining out as dying. this world would have a field day with vampires. wait are there vampires in this show? am i forgetting?

what the fuck is el wearing in bed

oh fen i'm sorry your husband is hung but also gay

YOU FREEZE-DRIED HER CORPSE?

i love q's wooden shoulder i wish we talked about it more

frankly i am extremely intrigued by the nurse who was so grateful for the centaurs' help that she swore fealty to them and their healing project. and kind of q should have done that. like immediately after waking up.

your benevolent overlord high king eliot

q is so defensive and territorial he's such a little terrier

sawbones ?????

"doing your clone is more like ap-level masturbation" fascinating take from eliot and that is exactly what i would have expected from him

BEST BITCHES !!!!!!! absolutely my favorite little piece of magic in this show for functionality and for darling sentimentality

party king todd it's what you deserve

your actual kingdom is actually at stake!

i guess idk how niffins work because why did they bury alice

i'm sorry... white lady?

not to be surprised every time this show is great with characterization but penny calling them bronies... yeah

who loves blood? woman standing emoji

q chopping penny's hands off is such a funny scene this show man

javier you little minx

god the el/javier el/fen scene is so good. also i want to know how el does his eye makeup because it's so sexy.

i have to say q and penny's relationship is one of the most intriguing in this show i wish they'd had more time

plover was constantly naming fillory things different things like a settler on native lands this dude SUX

q and penny going on a quest in their little footy pajamas

WHERE ARE MY STUFF TOUCHERS !!!!!!

just to circle back it's insane that julia is just hiding out in brakebills copying an entire fucking book

not enough said about the tragedy of el being tethered to fillory... having nothing left on earth but never getting the chance to resolve what hurt him there, a man whose greatest fear is that he's unapproachable and unlovable and he has to perform to get people to stay and now he has to pray that people come to him. you know. like. ahhhhhhhhh.

"they more, like, gave it to us" common colonizer sentiment sorry el i love you BUT

you have no one and you deserve no one is so raw. i love julia and i love margo and i hate when they fight because they should be kissing but frankly? margo is right on this. NOT on her having no one just on the julia why did you do all that.

god i love the fucking books.

ooh. it's a girl's.

you know this show is good because everybody wants everybody. or at least you can imagine they do. yes penny just told q he needs him.

margo leaving her conversation with julia to develop the position of "we owe it to her because we weren't her friends"

god this is so dumb but using the book as an ingredient in spellwork is so fun what a fun little thought

MARINA I'M SO SORRY WAAAHHHHHHH I'M SO SORRY MARINA

also really good piece of acting from kacey rohl talk about having a whole character inside you like whew

yeah calling it "rebuilding" q is a fascinating through-line that gets dropped

god these people and wanting to bring people back to life. the magicians never ever lets things go. it's soooooooo. there are walls that technology and talent and ability will always butt up against and they aren't surmountable and you just have to accept it. but you can't. because what's the point of those things if they can't do that.

i'd like to be happy can you do that :-(

jason ralph's read of "well that's comforting" is gonna get to me

[raccoonfallsharder]

Hello, dear friend. I’d be interested in hearing your take on any of these questions. I always love hearing your thoughts.

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favorite and why?

E: What character do you identify with most?  Is there a certain fic of yours that captures these qualities particularly well?

F: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

H: How would you describe your writing style?

K:  Do you have a guilty pleasures in fic (reading or writing)?

L:  Which of your fanfics was the most emotionally challenging to write?

Q: Do you like getting prompts from your readers?

R: Which writers (fanfic or otherwise) do you consider the biggest influence on you and your writing?

X: How would you categorize your fanfic reading?  Are you a voracious reader?  Do you carefully pick and choose?  Something in between?

so many questions!!! you sure do know how to indulge a girl ♡ thank you, dear friend. you are my favorite daffodil full of sunshine.

A. window across the galaxy and adorations are my favorites. i think window’s the best longform piece i’ve ever written (and probably ever will) and i poured so much of myself into it. it was everything i wanted for rocket and it was healing for me, and i love and identify with jo so much. and adorations just makes me happy. ohhh you know what? i also really like ugly sweater and traditions. and machinery from prompt week. and triptych, sunshine, sweatshirt girl, and reconnaissance for beginners. and some of headcanons & imagines. shit.

E. i put a lot of myself in every oc and reader tbh. sweatshirt girl and jo are probably the most transparent self-inserts so far and came from places where they were 100% what i wanted to give rocket + the comfort i needed (sweatshirt girl was very much a reflection on my life at the time). well, and reader from tomorrow, which was 100% my attempt at self-comfort after a bad day at work. i reflected a lot of my real-life experiences through those characters, and i based the way they interact with others almost entirely on how i try to move through the world. i also expect to identify with noa at least as much as jo (oc from other duties as assigned, which might be why it’s so hard to write it). and honestly? i identify with rocket a lot. he wears his pain differently than i do but we both have skeletons that are not doing what we want them to do, chronic pain, and buckets of survivor’s guilt. plus i headcanon rocket has a sequencing disorder like me (ꈍᴗꈍ) i allude to it a lot in cicatrix and certain headcanons (like the sudoku one!) and some other things and i'm trying to write a fanfic about it lol

F. the only fic i have a mental playlist for is the very boring adventures of space pilot & sweatshirt girl, and it’s mostly chillhop essentials winter 2019 and aviino’s plush and cocoon albums but the thing is it HAS to be on vinyl because that’s the whole sweatshirt girl vibe

H. my writing style is chaotic, exists entirely outside the bounds of space & time (mostly because of the sequencing disorder) and is more about feeling than making sense. my word choice is self-indulgent and erratic and based more on what tastes right to me than anything else. emotions are way easier to write than plot. (huh. maybe that’s the sequencing disorder too.)

K. do i have any guilty pleasures in fic-writing or -reading?? girl i write raccoon porn. it would all be a guilty pleasure if i believed in guilty pleasures. but i don’t. i try really hard not to feel guilt about any of my pleasures. life is short. capitalism sucks. write about raccoon dick

L. it’s hard to say which piece of fanfiction was the most emotionally challenging for me to write because i think writing is actually a way of organizing and processing emotions for me. if anything, writing emotional scenes feels cathartic — a relief. but finishing things always feels risky. endings rarely satisfy people. so the more people like a piece of mind (blackmail material, window, windfall), the harder it is to end. it's more about trying to manage imposter syndrome than anything else i guess

Q. GIVE ME ALL THE PROMPTS

R. markus zusak has been one of the most influential writers for me. i love that every character in his books has their own story, their own value and journey, independent of the main narrative. jonathan safran foer writes the sentences i want to write. the read like a gut-punch. (he gets quoted a lot in other duties.) both of these writers would probably be horrified by this because im fairly certain they do not write smut, especially not featuring raccoons

X. how do i characterize my fanfic reading? it really depends on what is going on in life. we all have to ration our time and i hate having to choose between reading and writing and drawing, but here we are. if it’s a fic by an author i like, i prioritize it. it can be really hard for me to read things that are released chapter-by-chapter over an extended period, so i am more apt to read things that are short-run or that are close to being finished. but i especially like to support writers i know — which is why i always ask folks to add me if they have a taglist ♡

[cryptometaphor]

Me: These niggas say the dumbest shit. You see this trending where like, "would you step on a puppy for 18b?" And they acting like they wouldn't.

Sarah: I'd want too, but don't think I could bring myself too. Like I know animals die for us to eat them. But I didn't kill them, I didn't even see them die.

Me: Well I know you're a good person Sarah. But what I'm saying is, is these niggas out here doing war-crimes over coworkers stealing their yogurt, or telling incels "yeah goyim die alone hehehe!" But can't step on a puppy for Jeff Besos money? I'd do it guilt-free. And use that money to fuck EVERYBODY and recreate the world in my image.

Sarah: Ok calm down there Light Yagami. Do you need your dick sucked? lol

Me: NO... Ok maybe lol. BUT STILL I mean it confirms what I say, people choose their hell. They want and crave suffering. Even in the midst of an opportunity, they put on the vinear of morality, when they have none. I hate them. With every fiber of my being...

Sarah: Oh trust me I get it. Like, everyone just gives me condescending attitude of "awwww you have cerebral palsy? Oh you poor thing" meanwhile if I ever step out of like "stfu retard, DUUUR DUUUR speak up loud mouth, say what you gotta say" like people are mean spirited animals.

Me: If anyone spoke to you like that in my presence, I might actually take a brick to their head lol.

Sarah: You'd do that anyway Me: I would lol

Sarah: Like I imagine you just carry a brick around with you in case

Me: Maybe a hammer. A brick isn't exactly concealable

Sarah: I was gonna rewatch that anime Inuyashiki. You remind me of Hiro and I'm like that girl who gets all moist for him lol

Me: Oh we should watch it other. That nigga out here killing puppies and babies as cyborg Jesus, tbf that's too edgy for me. He can heal people too. People are simplistic little goblins "ohhhh he killed duh baby, how evil" (pulls eyes) let's gooooo

Sarah: DA BABY LOL but I get what you mean. How would the real Hiro sociopath maxx?

Me: Well he can cure cancer and shit right? Like I imagine YOU KNOW WHO comes crying to me about how her mom has duh cancer. And I could cure it, I show her I can cure it, and than just... don't. The opportunity of a lifetime in her grasp, and let it just skip away, poof, gone.

Sarah: Damn, that is pretty cruel.

Me: Yeah well, she deserves it. You don't have to do anything blatantly illegal to be evil. In fact evil is actually really hard to criminalize. What we end up doing is criminalizing the responses TOO evil than wonder why everything is fucked.

Sarah: I could see you doing the "bang" Hiro thing to me in an argument, healing me, than I don't have my disabilities anymore lol.

Me: Actually I wouldn't heal your disabilities.

Sarah: The fuck? Why not?!

Me: They made you who you are. The person I fell in love with. Maybe I'm being selfish here. But the hurt you've experienced through life made you... just perfect. My job is to make sure you don't hurt again. Not erase the past.

Me: Nigga are you crying lol

Sarah: YES I'M CRYING that's beautiful Me: Tank-U

Sarah: Stop ruining it by being sarcastic lol

Me: It's an instinct, sorry.

Sarah: No no, it's why you are the way you are too. Hurting all the time, and nobody gives a fuck. I feel like a burden, you feel like everyone else is a burden.

Me: Sarah there is not a single thing about you that's a burden shutup. I don't let other people talk that way about you, I won't let you do it to yourself either.

Sarah: See that's real love right there. You care so much about people and they just abandon you like a dog. And you try and you try and you try, and they just...

Me: I feel like there's a little bit of projection here lol

Sarah: YA THINK?! LOL

Me: Hon, you're not a burden. Like at all. What's the point of anything if you're not around? I'd say I'd kill myself if ya weren't but we know that I don't have the guts to do. I'd make it everybody else's problem. Don't leave me...

Sarah: And I don't have it in me to just hurt others to make myself feel better. I'd make it my problem carrying that weight if not just outright killing myself, stress myself to an early grave. Don't leave me either.

Axel: You guys know I was here the entire time right?

Me: Honestly I forgot lol

Sarah: Why didn't you say anything?!

Axel: Why didn't YOU take this shit to DMs?

Me: Ohhhh it's not like it was anything bad.

Axel: I swear, you two would fuck in the middle of traffic

Sarah: That'd be based but I'd be too embarrassed lol

Me: It would be based, but at the same time some coomers would enjoy it and ruin it lol

Axel: DON'T EVEN DENY IT JESUS CHRIST

[malibuhearts]

 tthis...was a lot to unpack. i’m getting started on finishing the better man series and then rr it for comments with a further like...understanding of the series. but yeah, this was- it was a lot to take in.

first of all, domestic abuse is one of the most unreported forms of abuse in the us and around the world, more prevalent in other countries than ours but still very high. and it’s completely horrifying to witness and watch and know is happening and i can’t imagine how awful it must be to be a parent in a situation where its you or your child.

and it just proves how strong she is. to get out and raise her son and be as strong as she is and manage to keep going even when she was scared.

furthermore.

adam is a dick who i hope rots in hell and doesn’t even get the chance of life with the possibility for parole after everything he’s done. he deserved everything jake was willing to give him and more.

anyways i’m putting this under a cut bc it’s a lot of words and words are hard

It’s not you… It’s not you... Breathe… It’s not you… Breathe…

IT CAN BE YOU

god that made me just. i shivered. i felt my spine tingle.

It’s quick, the flash of a tattoo crossing your line of sight as your breath is ripped from your chest, in a fraction of a second.  You should have noticed the signs, the way he always pulls back his hand before he swings.  You would have before, though you’ve healed in the past six years and your response time has slowed.

i’m- wow.

Punch after punch, the overwhelming need to see the asshole in pain drove Jake, and has a gasp falling from his lips. Jake is positive that tears are dripping from his eyes. It was as if his chest was on fire, the bastard had done this to you. Had ripped you apart and Jake wasn’t there to protect you. He should have checked on you sooner. He shouldn’t have let Mathew check on you. It was his fault that you were bleeding out.

jake. sweet sweet jake. oh how much i love you. this, ladies, gents, and the androgenous, is the man you need. one who loves you and protects you and knows you deserve so much better than the cards you’ve been dealt

“Why does he get to live.” Another sob eased with clenched teeth. “The bastard has assaulted, raped, mentally, and emotionally abused my wife, tried to kill her, traumatized my son, and admitted to planning to kill my unborn baby, but he gets to be let go.” The gun slowly falls from Adam's forehead, as Jake turns around to look at the people that had become his family. The tears rolling down his cheeks weren’t something anyone, but you saw. Though now as his lips and body tremble, it’s clear how much Jacob Seresin held in. “She may never be the same.” The fractured yell echoes, across the night, and falls into a whisper. “How is that fair?”

oh. oh. oh god. i swear- the emotion. i want to cry i sob

“You, my beautiful, amazing, strong, loving wife, are not broken.” You lean farther to the hand resting against your cheek, as his thumb rubs small circles against your cheekbone. “And even if you were, I would find every single piece and put you back together, no matter how long it took.” A gentle kiss is placed over each tear-stained cheek. “You amaze me every single day, and I couldn’t ask for a better wife or mother for my children.”

i love him. that’s all i have to say. i love him.

woah.

okay so that was a whirlwind and i loved it and i swear that nothing, nothing, can compare to how beautifully written-and how real it felt-that this was. the pain, the anger, the grief, the fear, the love that was encompassed in this chapter that i felt alone was out of this world. i loved it and i love this series.

🤍🤍🤍

Something That Will Haunt Me When You're Not Around

✦ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Better Man Universe

✦Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Single!Mother

✦Word Count: 13.1 K

✦Warnings: Angst, Assault, Past Abuse (including rape), Knife and Gun, Blood, Panic Attack, Bruises and Cuts, Miscarriage, Pre-Mediated Homicide, Protective! Jake, Emotional! Jake, Protective! Bradley (it's a lot, but let me know if I missed anything)

✦A/n: Oh boy, she's intense... it has a fluff ending. Not as fluffy as I was hoping, so there will be a third part to this specific set

✦Library (Follow for updates! I no longer have a taglist.)

You rifle through the extra diaper bag, not finding the candles in the back seat. Your form is tucked in the side of the pickup as you lean over to reach on the opposite side of the cab. The breeze washes over the back of your thighs, and you silently curse Jake for stealing your panties earlier.

A small giggle falls from your lips as you think about the little romp the two of you had only moments ago, you would never be able to look at those pool tables the same way. A harsh sigh falls from your lips as you push yourself up, and yet remain halfway in the truck hoping that they only slid under Jake’s seat.

“You always did look better from behind.”

The voice stills whatever searching you were doing, encasing you in the memory of the last time those words were uttered to you. The buckle of your knees has you falling farther into the truck, grasping onto the only sense of support for your frozen body. Your eyes blink rapidly as the air seems to be ripped from your chest, and you quietly wonder when the ringing in your ears started.

…

The tightness in your throat only increases, as you swallow, and no words form. Yet tears can form. The tears that stream down your face only increase as your shaky hand rises to brush against your swollen eye. The touch makes you hiss, as a harsh laugh rings through the room and your eyes focus back on Adam.

The grit of your teeth, as you force back the small cries, cause your jaw to ache and you wonder if the cracking of your teeth could replace your current pain. Your sight remains blurry through the tears, though you can still see his menacing form as he stands above you.

You glance at the bedroom door and find it shut. You don’t remember Adam locking the door, but the flip of the nob proves that it is. A breath releases from you in relief, with the door, locked there was no way for Maty to get into the room.

Your sweet 12-month-old had just started trying to walk, and you knew that he would be trying to get to you. He was a momma’s boy, always had been, but he was safer in the hallway. Everything was child locked and he couldn’t hurt himself. He was safer out there than he was in the room, he shouldn’t witness what was about to happen.

The quick movement of Adam crouching down to you, has you spiraling back, pushing as far away from him as you can until your back meets the bedroom wall. Your eyes track around the room, looking for anything to grasp onto, though you find nothing and the only form of defense you can take is when you wrap your arms around your knees. Clutching onto yourself, you dip your head down to cower away from the next hit.

“You shouldn’t have fought it, Angel.” His hand rises to clasp onto your cheek and pulls your face up, so you can’t hide. The soft stroke of his thumb against your cheek does nothing to calm you. “If you would have listened, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Your face jolts away from Adam, though the action only ends with him grasping the back of your hair and yanking you. Your figure tumbles forward as he drags you back towards the bed, and you don’t notice the small cuts that litter your fingers as you claw at the old hardwood floors.

Your lips shake as muffled cries fall from your lips. With each push you make away from him, the harder he pulls on your hair, and you wonder if it’s going to be enough to rip it from your scalp.

You miss the action, as the world around you moves in slow motion, though the harsh swing of your head to the side and the sting in your lip, confirm the hit. You can only taste metal, the harsh flavor coats your tongue and you silently pray to whichever gods may be listening.

The moments in time flash before your eyes and it feels like you’ve been pulled from your own body. Like every action happening to you, isn’t actually you.

It’s not you that’s being thrown against the white comforter. Not you that can’t breathe, from your face being pushed so far into a pillow that you consider suffocation. It’s not your body that’s being used and manipulated, clothes ripped in ways you never considered a possibility, torn from your body, and yet all you can do is cry into the pillow. It’s not your head that has a harsh hand against it, pushing it down farther.

It’s not you… It’s not you.. Breathe… It’s not you… Breathe…

IT CAN BE YOU

Then why is his voice ringing through your ears, “You always did look better from behind.”

It’s numb, everything is numb. The push and pull of your body against the sheets should hurt, the red marks that litter your body will prove it in the morning. Though for now, it’s numb.

…

The crack of gravel behind you has your back straightening and flipping around on instinct alone. Though you had recognized the voice, seeing Adam in front of you sends a chill down your spine and your idle hand remains wrapped around behind you, grasping onto Josephine’s car seat.

You do your best to hide the small tremble in your body as your eyes make contact with his dark brown ones, though the haunted smirk on his face lets you know that he’s noticed. You’re not sure how your mouth had gotten so dry, though the pain with swallowing is evident as your ears pop.

You want to stare him down, to show him that you weren’t the same girl that he had so easily pushed around. Though with him now in front of you, you’re surprised that you haven’t collapsed. The lock in your knees is your only support, other than the truck, though your likeliness of fainting from having your knees locked has you bending them.

“What are you doing here?”

You’re surprised that your voice doesn’t tremble nearly as much as you thought it would. A harsh laugh releases from him and you flinch slightly when it looks like he’s going to step toward you. The clenched fist at your side is starting to ache, and you’re sure that you will have crescent-shaped cuts in your palm from your nails.

“I’m here to see my son.”

His voice holds a certain questioning, yet authoritative tone in it and has you immediately looking past him to the beach. Jake hadn’t been able to park right up against the sand, and a parking lot that once seemed small now looks daunting and endless.

“He isn’t yours; you signed your rights away.”

Your eyes remain on the horizon. The sunset no longer has a calming effect on your body, as darkness settles over the California landscape. Creating a blanket of disguise for the things that go bump in the night.

“He’s still mi–”

“No, he’s not!”

You had never been able to lash out at Adam before and the stunned look on his face is proof enough of how much you’ve changed.

“He has a father, and it’s not you.”

The statement is ballsy, you knew how easily upset Adam could get, but he had no right to claim Mathew as his. Jake was his father and you’d be damned before anyone tried to take or ignore the title.

You don’t miss the anger that flashes in Adam’s eyes as he looks at your left hand hanging by your side and takes in the sight of your engagement ring and wedding band.

It’s quick, the flash of a tattoo crossing your line of sight as your breath is ripped from your chest, in a fraction of a second.  You should have noticed the signs, the way he always pulls back his hand before he swings.  You would have before, though you’ve healed in the past six years and your response time has slowed.

The harsh slap rings through your ears and sends you tumbling to the side. Your unsteady hands barely catch yourself in time and as your vision clears, you stare at the metal door frame littered is specks of blood. A shaky breath falls from your chest as you rise to face Adam and ignore the blooming pain that radiates across your face.

The taste of nickel burns in your lungs, as a line of deep red falls from your lips and coats the yellow sun dress. The lace now ruined, as a stream of dripping blood falls, and taints the gift from Jake.

You can’t bring yourself to lift your hand and wipe the blood from your face. You can’t bring yourself to do anything other than stare at the monster from your past. The stream of blood coats your mouth and as you spit in the gravel, the bright red splatter spreads across the gravel. The amount of blood coating the ground is unsettling, and you wonder if your nose is now bleeding as well.

Your stare remains on Adam, though you can’t really see him as black spots fade in and out of your vision, making the world look distorted. A cloudy fog settles over your mind, and you can’t think of anything other than the pulsing ache that covers the left side of your face.

“Not so mouthy now are you, Angel?”

The name makes you recoil back into the pickup, and a small form of comfort holds you, as Josephine’s car seat digs into your back. Your babies weren’t here, they were safe. The small mantra plays on a loop in your mind, a minuscule but still present lifeline, that keeps you from slipping and crumbling into the girl you once were.

You hated the nickname, and not just because of the way it spilled from his tongue.

…

You’d grown numb to the cold spray of water cascading over your shivering form. The water had started hot with steam boiling over, and it had initially helped the tightness in your throat, though as the water cooled, your body had re-stiffened with it.

A shuddered gasp falls from your lips, as a sharp kick is felt in your middle and the small croak of air has you winching in pain. You move your shaking hand up over the spans of your neck and flinch as you make contact with the skin. You can feel a ghost of pressure still grasping at your neck; the weight of his hand closing around your throat as light black spots coated your vision.

The weight of the light t-shirt you wore drastically increased as it soaked up the water. Whether it was the events of the day, the fact that you were 7 months pregnant, or that your shirt actually did weigh a million pounds, didn’t matter.

You had still ended up in the same place, with a new set of bruises forming. You didn’t remember crawling to the shower, one minute you were against the hallway wall, and the next you were under the stream of water. Your lashes flutter as the weight of life rests on your shoulders, and for a moment you wish that you could slip into the abyss.

The crash of the bathroom door has your eyes flying open and your body pressing up against the shower wall, clinging to the white tile as Adam appears. The shaking in your body increases ten-fold and you no longer wonder if it is the freezing water.

Your hair hangs across your face as the water washes through it making it hard to see Adam, though you make no effort in clearing your line of sight. You can see his form enough to see the way he kneels down next to you and reaches out with a hand to touch your face. You can’t pull back any farther, no matter how hard you push into the wall in hopes of falling through, it doesn’t budge.

“You finally coherent, Angel?”

His tone is anything but worried and the name is one you haven’t heard before. A small nod and quiet ‘yes’ is all you give him, it was painful to talk, but you knew the consequences for not answering would hurt worse.

“You like the new name?” the hand against your cheek dips and pulls your head up to face him. “You just wouldn’t stop mumbling, begging for someone, something, to save you.”

You couldn’t remember any of what he was saying, sure you had begged before for it to be over, but you couldn’t remember doing it earlier.

Your bewildered expression, has him laying a slap against your face and the clatter of your teeth against the tile wall rings through the bathroom. You wince as Adam laughs, the sound pulses through your mind and eggs on the migraine that’s already formed.

“I can’t believe you don’t remember.” There’s a humor in his black eyes as he watches you, though your memory doesn’t recall anything. “Your little screams were music to my fucking ears. You just couldn’t stop begging to be saved. Angel, no one’s coming for you.”

The open-ended sentence catches your attention and causes you to look up at him, needing to know what happened in the span of time that’s missing from your memory.

“God doesn’t save fallen angels, y/n.”

You watch as he rises back up, away from you, and turns to head back out the bathroom door. Though before he closes it, he peers back over his shoulder at your shaking form.

“He leaves them to pay for their sins.”

…

The ache in your head only increases with every memory that flashes before your eyes, the rapid-fire succession of every gut-wrenching moment. The streetlights surrounding the lot start flashing to life and though it’s still daylight, the summer sun is quickly fading.

You hadn’t brought your phone with you, and you can only hope that someone comes looking for you. You were sure that it had been at least ten minutes, though the current state of your mind hinders you from believing in the accuracy of time.

Your eyes had remained on Adam, but unfocused and blurred. The movement of your head from side to side is slow, and you’re unsure if it’s the world or yourself that has fallen into a frozen moment of time.

Your world feels like it’s underwater, as only muffled voices pass through your ears. With every blink you take, your eyelids drop lower and beg to fall shut. Your mind only clears when your head is ripped up from its dipped position against the glass window of the pickup door.

Your vision centers on Adam as the hand grasping your chin slides down to tighten around your neck. You want to scream, to yell and fight back, but the only sounds you can make are mumbled pleas.

The hand grasping your neck tightens and finally you react, both of your hands fly up to clutch at Adam’s forearm. You claw at the skin and try to get him to release you. Though as your feet kick out, he slowly lifts you from the ground. Higher and higher, until you can’t support your body and the weight is focused directly on your throat, cutting off oxygen.

Your breath fails you, as small desperate puffs of air make their way past your lips. Its only when your head starts to lull to the side, and the flutter in your eyes slows drastically, that Adam finally drops you back to the ground.

You don’t catch yourself this time and the gravel of the lot digs into your knees, as your head falls forward just barely missing Adam’s body. Harsh gasps fall from you as your chest heaves, trying to drag in as much air as possible and gain back your sight. Your lashes flutter, though the black takes ages to disappear. The palm of your hands dig into the gravel, pleading for anything to ground you.

The blood surrounding your nose makes it so you have to gasp for air, and with each wheeze, the nickel taste in your mouth grows stronger. As your vision clears, you lift your head though it falls once again as your neck gives out under its weight. A curtain of hair falls around your face and moves ever so slightly with every shutter your body makes.

“You thought a new name and a pretty ring would change who you are.” A hand rakes through your hair as Adam pulls your trembling face up.  “No Angel, I still own you and I don’t appreciate your little disappearing act.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, no matter how much he yanks on your hair. It was too much. His presence suffocated you and pushed you into back into that hole of darkness. With no light, not for you at least.

“I know all about your little life, Angel. Your big happy family, the adorable little house he bought you, and how Mathew now has a sweet baby sister.”  

Your head instantly snaps up at the mention of your family, of your babies, only to find a twisted smile watching you. The sick look has you spitting at him and a small laugh falls from you, as your blood and saliva drips down his cheek. The snap of the back of Adam's hand against your cheek no longer phases you. He could hit you, spew words laced with venom, and threaten you in every way, but he wasn’t allowed to mention your family.

“Fuck you.” The words fall from your lips with a rasp and a small chuckle leaves you. “I’ll die before I let you near them.”

Specs of blood fall from your mouth with each word and the consistent drip from your nose has you lifting a hand finally to wipe at your face. The wet warmth covers your hands and a small glance at your hands has you wiping them off on your dress. It was already ruined, what were a few more handprints added to the soiled fabric.

Your eyes settle on Adam, waiting for the expected out lash from him, though he only holds your gaze. You catch the slight twitch of his hand at his belt, though he doesn’t make a move for you. When he dropped you earlier, your form had landed farther from the truck and provided you with more space. You both remain watching each other, eyes never faltering and waiting to see who would make the first move.

Though your gaze quickly shifts to the side of Adam, as you hear a call for you. Both your gazes find Mathew, standing still at the front of the truck and staring in silent horror. Quickly your eyes shift to Adam, whose face hasn’t left Maty. The look on his face has your gut twisting, the depth of his eyes only seems to darken as he watches Mathew.

“Run.”

Your eyes connect with Mathew’s and you silently plea for him to listen to you, to get as far away from Adam as possible. The crunch of gravel has Adam’s eyes flying to you, your eyes hadn’t left Mathew until he had turned to run and in an instant, your blood-coated hand flies up without a second thought. The crack of bone against bone pierces your ears as Adam stumbles back slightly. Your form springs forward, and your sandals fall from your feet as you move to follow Mathew.

Though the moment of relief is quickly taken from you, as a sharp pain radiates through the back of your head. You don’t have the time to regain your balance, as another sharp pull sends you tumbling to the ground.

There is no saving your falling figure as the gravel embraces your body, and your head smacks down. The pain from Adam ripping is completely forgotten, as another takes its place. A small whine emits from your lips as your hand grazes the back of your head, only to be met with the sticky wet feeling of blood.

Your head falls to the side, hoping to get the pressure off the open wound and stop any gravel from further embedment in your skin. Your eyes just barely catch the sight of Mathew’s running form, and you think he’s screaming, but you can’t tell.  Everything hurts, and the prospect of darkness is welcomed.

You barely register the feeling of Adam clambering on top of your still form, your dress raises slightly, and you almost laugh at the fact that Jake stole your panties. The nudge of his leg between your thighs holds no weight, and the cool blade pressed against the column of your throat barely fazes you.

“You know, I am sad that you lost the baby.”

The words ring through your mind, and your lips silently tremble. The tears forming along your water line beg to fall, as your vision catches sight of a figure running towards you.

“I had planned to kill it myse–”

...

“Daddy!”

The scream echoed across the beach, and as if time had slowed each of your family members turned with Jake’s sprinting figure. He could feel it, Jake could feel it deep within his gut that whatever waited for him at the top of the hill was going to change everything.

His legs trembled as the sand slipped from under his feet, and his hands reached out to grasp Mathew’s shaking body. What felt like hours, was only seconds, and the sight of Mathew's tear-stained face made him Jake’s first priority. Mathew was shaking as words failed him and the mumbled sentence was barely auditable through his harsh sobs. Jake had crouched down and ran a hand throw the hair they’d both worked so hard on, calming the boy with each stroke.

“Momma. Momm–”

The mention of you had Jake’s eyes looking across the parking lot, only to find you, unmoving, with a man on top of you, and blood covering your face. Jake would have cried, and screamed at the world for what stood before his eyes, though the only thing that filled his body was white-hot rage.

“Jake wh–”

It was Rooster that had filled in the space behind him, having not seen you yet, he was still confused about what was happening.

“Get him out of here.”

Jake had made sure that Rooster had Mathew in his arms before he took off across the parking lot. The sight of you becoming clearer the closer Jake got, and the slight mumble on your lips was the only relief he found. You were still breathing; he hadn’t lost you yet.

The overhead light of the streetlamps cast a dull light over your blank face, and the glimmering flicker of a knife held against your neck. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything other than protecting you.

The man hadn’t anticipated Jake, or the impact of his body crashing into him, activity ripping him from your still body. His body and mind hadn’t caught up with each other, and Jake was running on pure rage and instinct alone.

The gravel digs into Jake’s legs, the shorts not protecting him at all, though the pain was minimal in comparison to the agony that consumed his heart. He’d gotten the man on the ground, and the two of them tumbled until Jake was straddling his waist.

And finally, Jake saw his face. You had shown Jake pictures of Adam before, and he knew what the bastard looked like. Even with the blood, your blood, spattered on his clothes and face, Jake knew him.

The bastard that had hurt you so much in the past was right in front of him, and without a second thought, his fist crashed into Adam’s waiting face. The crack of Adam’s nose does nothing to calm his anger, as the picture of your vacant face flashes across his mind.

Jake lays another hit into his face, though Adam finally reacts and the knife laying idle in the gravel is quickly back in his hand and aimed for Jake. Whether it was anger, adrenalin, or a mix of the two, Jake couldn’t feel the slice of the blade across his torso.

Adam moves the knife again, this time aiming to stab at Jake’s chest. But before it can make contact, Jake’s own hand snaps out to grasp onto the wrist holding the knife. Then with the other hand, he’s ripping it from Adam’s hold and throwing the blade under the pickup.

“You fucking bastard.”

Punch after punch, the overwhelming need to see the asshole in pain drove Jake, and has a gasp falling from his lips. Jake is positive that tears are dripping from his eyes. It was as if his chest was on fire, the bastard had done this to you. Had ripped you apart and Jake wasn’t there to protect you. He should have checked on you sooner. He shouldn’t have let Mathew check on you. It was his fault that you were bleeding out.

Jake hadn’t realized that with every swing of his fist, small mumbles fell from his lips. Quiet pleas that you would be okay. He only stops for a moment to grasp at the bastard’s shirt and lift his head off the ground.

The smile that crosses Adam’s face makes Jake’s blood run cold. It’s pure reaction, with no thought, as Jake brings his fist back and lays into the man once again. Though this time the smile falls from Adam’s face, as his body goes limp in Jake’s hold. The blood coating his face wasn’t enough, it would never be enough.

Jake’s bleeding knuckles do nothing to ease the pain in his chest or the rage, that runs ramped through his veins. Whatever Jake did to the bastard, would never heal how much his heart had broken at the sight of you.

A loud gasp of breath has Jake’s head on a swivel looking back towards you, only to find Phoenix and Penny surrounding you. The pair of them work together in hopes of getting the bleeding to stop, changing out towels, no they had been using Josephine’s burp rages, and the blood had completely covered the baby pink towel his mother had given you.  

Jake must release a sound of pain while looking at you because your eyes snap to him instantly and cause you to wince slightly. You find his gaze and focus in on him, his own eyes focusing on the rise and fall of your chest.

He had never seen your eyes look so lifeless. Your body was depleted of your soul, of the light that normally surrounded you, and left was a shell of the woman that he loved. Your lips move, though nothing comes out and with one last punch to the barely moving man under him, Jake is crawling towards you. The gravel is unnoticeable as it digs into his skin, as he settles next to you unsure if you want him to touch you. Though it’s your hand that releases Penny’s and grasps onto Jake’s like it was the anchor that kept you alive.

He had somehow missed the fact that your friends and family surrounded you, but with a glance at Rooster and Javy, the pair grab onto Adam’s motionless body and drag him behind the truck.

Jake knew he wasn’t dead; Jake hadn’t done that yet.

But once he woke up, Jake wasn’t sure that anyone could stop him from ending the asshole’s life.

…

You gasp for a breath of air, chest heaving to take in as much as possible. You can’t will your head to move, you knew that it was Jake who pulled Adam off you, but the ache in the back of your head was enough to hold you in place. To keep you from looking for your husband.

Your eyes flutter shut for a moment and play a countdown in your mind as numbers from 10 to 1 flash across your mind. You needed to breathe and slow your racing heart, though the task was easier said than done with the fire spreading through your chest.

You were sure you were going into shock, as your surroundings grew unnaturally quiet. Slowly you raise your hand to your throat, needing to feel if any damage was done. Though before your hand can make contact, someone’s hand is grasping onto your own and stopping you. Your eyes fly open again in panic, but the sight of your sister has you calming again.

Your eyes try and track the rush of bodies surrounding you, though it only makes your head hurt worse with each quick pass. Another body stops on the left side of you, placing a cloth against the back of your head, and bends to kiss your temple. You spot the flash of dark hair out the side of your eye before Nat comes into full view.

She looks at you with such pain and the silver along her waterline begs to fall. You squeeze Pen’s hand that is wrapped around your right one and flinch as your knuckles ache. Your mouth moves, though words won’t process, and your throat feels drier than the dessert. Your lip trembles, jumping with every shuttered breath you take.

“My babies?”

“Lacey has them. Don’t worry, they’re safe.”

The words barely make it out of Penny’s mouth before you gasp in relief as tears pool against your cheek. Your tears are unrelenting, though the broken sob to the left of you has you turning to look. Nat helps you turn your head, keeping the cloth against the back of your head and using enough pressure to stop the bleeding but not hurt you worse.

Your eyes instantly find Jake’s green one, and the sight of him makes another sob release from your chest causing it to heave. He does nothing to wipe the tears from his cheek, and before you know it, he’s clambering to you. You catch sight of his bleeding torso and the gravel burns on his knees, though neither seems to faze him.

He stops by your head but doesn’t reach out to you. He doesn’t look directly at your eyes, instead, his eyes remain on the middle of your chest that heaves with every breath. You can’t take the distance anymore; you needed Jake like you needed air.

You suck in a sharp breath of air as you release Penny’s and grasp onto Jake. The flash of pain that moves through your chest feels minimal in comparison to the need that you had for Jake. Your hair lays matted against the back of your head, but as Jake moves your head to rest in his lap, his fingers gently comb through it. He avoids the gash in the back of your and moves the rag that is slowly working to stop the bleeding. Instead, he focuses on the hair covering your face, brushing it gently to the side away from your eyes.

Jake’s eyes move across your body and take in every bruise that’s forming, the clear hand marks around your neck, and each speck of blood that litters your face. He has to force himself not to get up and start in on Adam again, wanting nothing more than to see him in just as much pain. Though he couldn’t be pissed right now, no matter how much he wanted to kill the bastard, he couldn’t. Not with you in such a fragile state still. Jake would make sure that you were okay, and then he would figure out his next move.

…

The Hard Deck was closed for the night, though from the outside it looked like it was up and running. The light from the bar looked like a beacon in the dark Californian night, mirroring the late nights of drinking and laughing that the squad had every Friday night. Though the shadows tonight, are those of your frantic family that works to clear a space for Jake to set you down. The late night at Hard Deck was anything but cheerful and happy.

Jake had checked with you outside, to see if you thought that you could be carried, and you had given a quiet ‘yes.’ He had scooped you up without a second thought and carried you into the bar bridal style, just like he had the night of your wedding.

Everything moved in slow motion, though you’re sure what seemed like hours to you was only minutes. Your eyes remained on Jake, his face provided a central focal point to watch and focus your hazy mind on. You could hear the voices of your family echoing off the walls, though everything slipped in one ear and out the other. Your head remains pressed up against Jake’s chest, as he whispers sweet nothings into your hair. His foot taps away as you wait for Nat to get the pool sticks and balls off the table before sitting you down.

The anxiety is unrelating as it courses through his body and each scenario that flashes through his mind gets increasingly worse. Jake’s hands never leave your body after he sits you down, moving to the side only when Penny or Nat appear with water and a blanket.

“We need to call an ambulance or take her to the hospital; we don’t know the full existe–”

“No.”

Your voice cracks, but it's loud enough that it stops Maverick from talking. You had yet to talk after they got you inside. Only releasing quiet whispers of ‘yes’ when asked, though the crack of your voice echoes across the bar and encases the room in a silence that has everyone looking at you.

“Y/n.”

This time it’s Penny that is trying to get you to agree, but your eyes stay focused on Jake. Begging for him to listen to you, to think of the effects that taking you to the hospital could cause.

“Sweets, we need to take you in. You don’t need to be scared; I’ll be with you the whole time.”

You almost laugh that your husband. You weren’t scared for yourself, far from it.

“Baby, you just got Lieutenant Commander.” Your voice cracks slightly and your release a broken cough. “I would be putting you in a position for someone to claim, disorderedly conduct.”

“Y/n that's highly unlikely.”

Your eyes cut from Jake to Mav as he says it, “But it’s a possibility?” He doesn’t make any move to correct you. “Exactly, and I won’t let it happen.”

“Sweets, my position doesn’t matter, as long as you’re okay.”

The hand resting in your lap rises to rest against Jake’s cheek, and your thumb gently strokes across the hidden dimple. You move forward slightly and lean up to place a kiss on his lips. Pulling back after your nose bumps into his and causes you to wince in pain.

“I’m saying no.” The protest is on the tip of his tongue, though you stop him before he can. “Jacob, you have never and will never make me do something I don’t want to. That’s one of the many ways you're different from him.”

The room sits in silence as everyone watches Jake. Each of them waits for Jake to tell you that you had to go in and that there was no decision to be made. Though your eyes remain focused on each other, and you slowly see his resolve chip away.

A stiff nod is all your get in answer, as he brushes a broken kiss across your brow. The harsh breath he releases is all the more proof of how much he disagrees and how he wishes he could tell you no. He wishes that he could make you listen, to demand you go in. No matter how terrified of losing you he was, he couldn’t push you. He wouldn’t force you to do something, even if his whole body begged him to.

“I’m going to listen to you, but that means you don’t protest what I do next.”

His voice is hard and chipped as he looks at you. His green eyes slowly track over your body and a sigh is released from his chest. You know that it’s just stress towards the situation and not aimed at you, but you can’t help be to feel horrible for putting him through this. You nod your head in answer, as you try and push yourself back farther on the pool table. Though the easy task proves to be difficult as a curse falls from your lips, and causes Jake to grasp your hips to lift you farther back. Jake’s hands rest on your hips and you give him a small grateful smile, before nodding along to his statement.

“Javy, call Monica and tell her to get down here.” The comment is thrown over his shoulder and you see Javy tense slightly before muttering an okay and going to make the call. If you hadn’t been in so much pain, you would have laughed at his shocked look.

Monica was a doctor on base, who Javy had been “seeing.” He claimed that they weren’t serious, but the message that showed up on his lock screen, while he was in the bathroom the other day, said differently. You hadn’t been snooping, he left his phone on the couch next to you and when a text showed up from “Baby” stating she loved him, you were quick to pull Jake to the kitchen and gossip.

“She needs to bring her med bag, Jav.”

He nods in understanding before heading outside to make the call. Penny brings over a warm wet cloth and the three of you work to wipe the blood from your face and body. The process is slow and makes you flinch when they ghost over a particularly sensitive spot. Occasion curses fall from Jake’s lips as he helps you. Though each swipe of the rag across your body seems to hurt him more than it does you.

He is quick to notice you watching him and a soft smile covers his frown, though your heart still aches to see him in pain. You had never been more thankful for Jake than you did at that moment. He protected you and made sure that the kids were safe, you would never be able to repay him for what he granted you. Though you hoped that your love for him would be enough of a thank you.

“He – Maty, he saw me.” The words bubble from your lips, and you can’t stop the way your lip quivers at the thought of your baby seeing you like that. “Is he okay?”

Your head falls to rest against Jake’s chest, as your tears finally break. He wraps a gentle hand around the back of your neck, and his thumb traces the base of your skull as he presses a kiss against the crown of your head.

“He’s okay sweetheart, they both are.” Your release a pained breath that causes Jake to tighten his hold on you slightly. “Lacey and Bob have them. The only thing you need to worry about is healing.”

You give a small nod, though you can’t help but feel bad that Mathew saw you like that. So broken and small, near lifeless. Everything you had been protecting him from for so long, was thrown out to lay in front of his feet. You hadn’t protected him from seeing it, just prolonged the inevitable.

…

Before long you're as clean as you’re going to get without a shower, and your shoulders finally relax as you release a tight breath. Penny moves to grab the pile of blood-stained bar rags from beside you on the pool table and goes to throw them in the wash. Your eyes finally track around the room and see everyone from the Dagger Squad still present, except Bob and Lacey.

You were thankful that they had taken the kids, they shouldn’t have to see you like this. Though the thought of a pregnant Lacey having to take care of your babies, makes you feel slightly guilty. She might have only been four months, but you knew that she was still having trouble with her nausea.

Almost everyone had dispersed around the bar after making sure that you were somewhat stable. But without everyone fluttering around you, your mind is left to wander. And wander it did. To the rasp of Adam’s words just before Jake ripped him off you, and what those words implied.

Jake had left you with Nat, to go talk with Javy about how long Monica would be, considering it was late at night and she was just getting off her shift on base. Though you’d tunned her voice out, even when she promised she’d be right back, you hadn’t heard. Not as your mind trailed off, each second leading you deeper, waiting to tip over the edge.

“I had planned to kill it myse–”

Adam hadn’t finished the sentence, but you knew what that final word was. You knew what he planned to do if you hadn’t miscarried. He wanted to rip your baby from your body. He hated you so much that he would have killed your sweet baby boy.

You miss it, the way that your body starts to rock back and forth, while your knees come up to tuck under your chin. The blanket in your lap drapes off the pool table, though your death grip on it keeps it from falling. Your eyes might have been open, but you couldn’t see anything other than your baby boy left to lay out in the gravel.

It would have been your fault because you couldn’t protect him. You hadn’t protected him anyway, and you lost him. Your baby boy was still dead, and it was your fault. You hadn’t stopped it then, and you wouldn’t have been able to stop it now.

You’re not sure when the tears started tracking down your face, but with each rock back and forth, your gasps for air only get more desperate. It’s the shaking that has you gripping onto the table, the green fabric doing nothing to ground you.

The words morph and distort with each loop around your mind. He planned to do it. To kill him. But he couldn’t because you’d already lost him.

You lost your baby.

You lost Elliot.

It was no one’s fault, but your own.

A scream rips from your chest, broken and full of agony. Though you’re not sure if it's real or if it was the constant screaming in your head, and you were finally hearing things. Had you finally tipped over the edge?

You couldn’t breathe, not when every breath ended with you screaming. The hands working against your arms feel like fire on you, and even with the silent pleas begging you to breathe it didn’t matter. You couldn’t see them, not anymore.

You couldn’t see anything but him.

Your eyes clench shut, as you beg and plea for the images to go away. You had been so numb, Adam wanted to kill you and yet you were numb to it. You would have done anything to be numb again. To have the pain that bloomed in your chest, be numb. To be able to cure the ache of losing him. You would have given anything, prayed to any god.

But Adam had been right, God wouldn’t save you.

Losing Elliot would be your punishment.

How had you screwed up in life so much that the universe hated you? That it deemed you such a horrible person, that you had to live with a gaping hole in your chest. 

…

It’s the final scream that echoes across the Hard Deck, and out onto the deck that gains Jake's attention. He’d only left you for a moment to figure out how to handle Adam with Javy, though as he comes through the twin doors, he hates himself for leaving you.   

Nat and Bradley grasp at your arms and try to pry them from your hair, to stop any further damage to your scalp. Jake is quick to knock their hands away and push them away from you. Panic attacks were rare for you, but when they happened it was never easy. Never small.

Your rocking form doesn’t still, though the delicate hand Jake places on your cheek make your back-and-forth movement stutter slightly.

“Sweetheart. Baby. Darlin’.”

The names fall from his lips broken and full of pain, and yet through the fog they reach you somehow. It always amazed and scared Jake how easily he could get through to you. He loved it because he was always able to help you. Though it terrified him, because he didn’t know what would happen if he died. If he wasn’t there to pull you back.

“Y/n. Sweets, breath for me baby.”

…

The comforting hand against your cheek pulls you, and his voice echoes over the ones in your head. Soothing and drawing you from the depths of your mind. Pulling you slowly from the hell that encased your mind and soul.

The sight of Jake’s emerald eyes staring into your own has a choked plea falling from you, as the world around you is forgotten. Anything that wasn’t Jake or the delicate words that fell from his lips disappeared. He was the anchor that held you in place, even during the worst storms.

Your lip only trembles slightly and though tears won’t stop falling, your breath slowly starts to even out. Your face leans farther into the hand resting on your cheek, and even though the pain in your chest is eased, it won’t leave.

Your voice is barely a whisper, though the words are clear as day for Jake.

“He wanted to kill Elliot.”

You hadn’t told your friend and family the name of your baby boy, you both wanted to keep it tucked away, only for the pair of you. Though as the name of his son plays through his mind, Jake couldn’t care if his family found out.

“Sweets?”

The name is question enough for you, as Jake’s lip trembles, and his eyes never drift from your own. Your breath had finally calmed and the hand grasping your own gives a small squeeze in question.

“Adam knew about him.” Your eyes fall shut and the words sit on the tip of your tongue. “He was going to kill Elliot if I hadn’t lost him.”

A shuttered breath leaves Jake and it’s your hand squeezing his in comfort. Losing your baby boy was like you had lost a piece of your soul, but anyone that said that a miscarriage wasn't as hard on fathers as it was on the mother, didn't know Jake.

“He said he was going to kill him; the bastard was going to kill my son?”

The question is choked and has Jake stepping back from you, as Penny reaches for you. You can only nod your head, as you slowly watch your husband break all over again. A hard gasp leaves his chest, and the hands resting on his knees threaten to give out.

The words fall from his mouth on repeat. You knew you had to tell him but to see Jake in pain all over again, made you wish you hadn’t. I was like the both of you were losing Elliot all over again. The wound had been ripped open and you didn’t know how to or even if it could be closed again.  

…

It’s Bradley’s hand resting against his back, that has Jake standing up again. His tear-stained eyes look at you and find that you’ve calmed, that you were okay in Penny and Nat’s embrace. A harsh breath is sucked in through his nose and released out of the mouth. The deep breath does nothing to calm him and without a second thought, Jake places a gentle kiss on your brow, before heading out to the parking lot.

He can hear the guys behind him, Javy and Rooster calling out to him to slow down, but he couldn’t. The streetlights are the only thing that lights the pavement as Jake makes his way to the truck. They had thrown Adam in the bed of the truck and tied his wrists together, so they could figure out what they were going to do. Though the new information already has Jake’s mind made.

Jake moves without any hesitation as he cuts through the lot and looks up momentarily when the lamp post above him flickers. He rips open the front door of the trunk and grabs the keys from his pocket to start it up. With a flick of his wrist, the headlights beam across the lot and light the deserted area.

Jake doesn’t bother with shutting the door before he moves towards the back of the truck. The cool bite of the metal is harsh as his hand finds the latch on the tailgate and yanks it down. Jake knocks a hand into the base of Adam’s foot, waiting to see if he came to, before grasping onto the bastard’s boot and pulling him out. Adam’s body collides with the gravel and the man releases a deep moan. Rooster and Javy stand at the front of the truck, silently watching as the scene unfold, neither of them willing to step between Jake and the man.

The harsh landing doesn’t faze Jake, he doesn’t care if it hurt Adam. Hell, Jake wanted him to be in pain. He would be in pain; Jake would make sure of it. Instantly Jake’s hand is grasping onto the back of Adam’s shirt and dragging the man past Javy and Rooster, to throw him out in front of the headlights.

It was as if his skin had been set alight, and the only way to calm the flame would be through the bastard's misery. Jake watches Adam and takes in every shift or movement he made, as he slowly evaluates how he chooses to proceed. His hands were tied behind his back, meaning there wouldn’t be much of a fight, but a fight is exactly what Jake was looking for. To be able to hurt the bastard just as much, if not more, than he had hurt you.

“Knife, Rooster.”

His wingman watches him, unsure if he was willing to give Jake the knife. Bradley wasn’t sure how far Jake was planning to go, and he would rather not get yelled at by you for not stopping him. The knife rests in Bradley's hand, though he makes no move to give it to Jake and causes a deep groan to fall from Jake's lips, before walking to Bradley and ripping the blade from him.

Javy is quick to throw a hand against Bradley’s chest and stop him from following Jake. Javy had seen Jake like this before and he knew better than to get in his way. Unless you wanted to be the one that the knife was used against, you stayed out of Jake’s way.

A sharp kick to the ribs has Adam rolling from the force alone and Jake watches as he withers around, working to release the zip ties from his wrists. Though the movement only causes Adam’s face to press farther into the gravel, and he releases a deep groan in discomfort.  Jake watches for a moment and enjoys the look of terror that crosses Adam’s face as he catches a glimpse of the blade.

Though the image of you breaks through the barrier Jake had put up and he can’t see anything, other than you laid out lifelessly. A round of feet scuffing against the gravel lets him know that the rest of the guys had come out, though he doesn’t glance back at any of them, not even Maverick.

 A heavy foot is placed on Adam’s back and causes the man to jolt, though Jake only focuses on cutting the zip ties from his wrists. The push and pull of the blade across the plastic is rough and hurried, leaving Jake to hope that the knife would “accidentally” cut the asshole in the process. The snap of the plastic has Jake pulling back from the man, and moving to hand the knife back to Rooster. The group of guys look at Jake in question, though a blank stare is the only reaction he gives them.

“Get up.” It’s a demand and the kick laid against Adam’s side plays as motivation. “You might be a piece of shit, but I’m not.”

He’s pacing, circling the bastard as if he was on the hunt and maybe he was. Jake Seresin wasn’t a man that anyone fucked with, he didn’t believe in new-aged laws. No, Jacob Grant Seresin believe in an eye for an eye, and he was out for blood.

“If we’re going to fight, it’s going to be real and not me taking cheap shots like you. When I’m finished with you, I want you to know that you couldn’t win, not because I fucked you over, but because you are a worthless piece of shit.” The crunch of gravel echoes through the silent lot as Jake crouches down and leans close to Adam’s ear, before uttering words specifically meant for him. “You are a fucking spoiled child, that only preys on people that are more vulnerable than you, and I can’t wait to turn the fucking tables.” 

Jake watches as Adam gets up to stand, pushing off the ground himself and a small smirk crosses his face when he sees the black eye forming on Adam’s face already. Though the dried blood around his nose is only slightly rewarding, given the fact that it looks like Jake hadn’t broken his nose after all.

Jake waits for the man to acknowledge what he said, though he wasn’t excepting a smile to break out across the bastard’s face. The look has Jake clenching his fist, more than ready to move on Adam without a reply.

“Is it because you pity her? She has nothing else to offer, why else would you be with her.”

Jake’s breath catches in his throat, completely stunned that the asshole had brought you up. He not only brought you up but degraded you and acted as if you were nothing. Was he stupid enough to think that Jake wouldn’t react or was that the exact thing Adam wanted.

Jake doesn’t bother with replying, instead his fist makes contact with the side of Adam’s face and causes the man to stumble back. The naval ring resting on his hand catches Adam’s lip just right and splits it open, and the trickle of blood that falls from his lip has Jake smiling.

Adam bobs slightly, before grounding his feet in the gravel and moving towards Jake. His feet push forward, though they’re slow and uncalculated as if they held twenty-pound weights. With each step Adam makes towards Jake, Jake bounces lightly on his feet. Skirting around the ring of light as if the fight was only a game.

He pays no mind to the group of pilots surrounding them and remains focused on Adam, waiting for him to make a move. Adam’s hands move as slowly as his feet, and Jake easily steps back, dodging the blow.

Jake’s quick movement catches Adam by surprise and he falls forward, past Jake’s shoulder and nearly landing in the group of pilots. Adam’s anger only rises with each movement Jake uses to evade him, and the broken snarl he releases has Jake scoffing.  

“I really expected more from you, thought that you would put up some form of fight.”

That signature smirk rests upon Jake’s lips, taunting the asshole in front of him and waiting for him to break. The words pull the wanted action from Adam, and an array of movements are aimed at Jake. Most fail to make contact, though a blow to Jake’s side has him wincing. Adam had taken the cheap shot, just like Jake said he would, and inflicted the blow on the cut he’d given Jake earlier.

The sharp intake of air has Adam laughing and pushing forward toward Jake. The green in Jake’s eyes only darkens with each step Adam takes closer and he’s quick to right his form.

“You really are only getting my scraps; y/n and the boy.”

If looks could kill, Adam would be 6 ft under. Left to rot with the Earthworms and fossils. Though Jake can’t seem to stop him, not yet. He needed to see just how far Adam would go if he could only spew venom at you.

“Even had one with her, a little girl. Yeah, she sure is cute. Miss Josephine.”

This time it’s not Jake stepping forward, but Rooster. He moves before anyone has time to react and lands a blow to Adam’s nose. Blood sprays from impact and coats the gravel, if it wasn’t broken before it was now.

“You don’t fucking talk about them.” Rooster jabs a sharp finger into Adam’s chest, as he stands chest to chest, more than ready to deliver another blow.

Though Adam pays no mind to Rooster and looks around him at Jake. The surrounding group is eerily quiet and waits in hope that the fight might finally be over. Jake was sure that Adam had a death wish, no person in their right mind would utter the words that he does next.

“Then there’s the fact that she lost your baby. Y/n got the job done before I had the chance.”

Time seemed to stop, Rooster might have delivered a second blow, though for Jake time stopped. The group watches as Jake moves, ready to cut in if he goes for Adam. Though Jake avoids Adam completely and goes to the open door of the pickup.

The words settled any doubt that Jake might have had about how worthy Adam was to live. He had sealed his own fate and Jake would be happy to play the grim reaper in Adam’s ending. Jake’s hand meets the cool metal handle that sits under the driver's seat and pulls a lock box from the small space.

Jake doesn’t have to look as he enters the code, flipping the lid open and grasping onto the handgun. You had known that Jake had a license to carry and while you weren’t one to handle firearms, you both decided that as long as it stayed in a locked box, Jake could have the gun in the pickup for safety reasons.

The gun remains unloaded, and Jake has to reach over into the glove compartment to grab the box of bullets.  It’s second nature as Jake loads the gun and moves back out to join the group. Javy catches sight of the gun before any of the others and moves to rest his hand on Jake’s shoulder.

“Jake, you do this and there’s no coming back.”

“There was on coming back after the bastard threaten the lives of the people I love.”

…

Penny and Nat had helped you move to a group of couches in the back corner, settling you in the worn leather with the blanket Penny always had in her office. Your sister had disappeared just after she got you settled, and Nat had kept you talking to keep your mind from wandering again.

“I still never found the candles.”

A smile crosses your face and has Nat instantly laughing along with you. Though your laughing is cut short as sharp pain cuts through your head. Your hands gently rise to rub at your temples, before glancing at Penny as she comes out of the back room.

“Pen, do you have any Tylenol? I hurt all over, but my head feels like been beaten in.” The two other women slightly grimace at your choice of words. “I mean it was technically.”

Their wide eyes watch you, unsure how to react. You can’t stop the smile that breaks out on your face as you start laughing and fall back against the couch. Your laughing slowly fades, and the smile on your face falls as your eyes slightly glaze over and fall to stare at the coffee table.

“Y/n, honey talk to us.”

Both of their hands rub up and down your arms, though you sit quietly. You had almost lost everything, if Jake came 5 seconds later and you would be dead. Your eyes flutter up to look at Nat and Penny, both sets of eyes look at you with tears in their eyes. All you can do is hum as you nod your head and your lips twist into a grimace.

“How about I go ask Javy how long Monica is going to be?” Your eyes stay cast to the ground, missing the way Pen and Nat look at each other. Defeated gazes that don’t know how to fix everything, from women that lived in control their whole lives.

“I’m just going to pop outside; you stay with her?”

Penny gives Nat and small ‘yes’ before leaning over to you and placing a kiss upon your brow. Her arms wrap around you, to hold you like she did when you were a child and you easily sink into her embrace.

…

He was seconds away from pulling the trigger. Jake had made his peace, he knew the consequences if he pulled it, but it felt like the only option. Adam didn’t deserve to live not after what happened in the past, and certainly not after what he did tonight.

“Jake, I want to kill him as much as you. Y/n’s like my little sister, but she needs you more than she needs him dead.”

Jake couldn’t take his eyes off Adam’s bleeding face, not even as his lip trembled, and tears threatened to fall. The night air had gone completely silent as if nature knew about the disturbing acts that had taken place in the last few hours. Every good piece of nature had scurried away, to hide from the broken man. Who was willing to lose everything, as long as it meant the people he loved were safe.

Jake hadn’t heard Nat show up to the circle, hadn’t heard the gasp that fell from her lips as she took in the scene. The headlights were blinding, though the sight of Jake with a gun in his hand, aiming directly for Adam’s forehead, wasn’t something she could miss.

The small tremble in Jake’s hand caused the gun to brush harshly against Adam’s forehead, and another choked sob falls from his lips.

“Why does he get to live.” Another sob eased with clenched teeth. “The bastard has assaulted, raped, mentally, and emotionally abused my wife, tried to kill her, traumatized my son, and admitted to planning to kill my unborn baby, but he gets to be let go.” The gun slowly falls from Adam's forehead, as Jake turns around to look at the people that had become his family. The tears rolling down his cheeks weren’t something anyone, but you saw. Though now as his lips and body tremble, it’s clear how much Jacob Seresin held in. “She may never be the same.” The fractured yell echoes, across the night, and falls into a whisper. “How is that fair?”

He was a broken man, that would never have enough time to grieve what he had lost, what you all lost.

It's Nat that steps forward from the group and moves towards Jake, slowly getting closer until she is right in front of him. Tears fill her eyes as she lays a hand to rest upon Jake’s cheek, and a defeated smile crosses her face.

“It’s not fair, I know, and I am so sorry.” A gentle hand slowly reaches out to Jake’s side and nudges the gun from his grasp. “But it will hurt them more if they lose you.”

The gun drops from Jake’s hand and Nat is quick to hand it over to Mav, who begins unloading it. Without a second thought, Nat pulls Jake into a tight hug, as sobs rack through the man’s body. She slowly pulls back, as her hands trace up and down Jake’s arms before giving his shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

“Here’s what’s going to happen; we are calling Y/n’s mom and dad, I know they are at a conference, but Admiral Benjamin needs to know. Then we are calling Cyclone, he loves Y/n like a daughter and even though we piss him off regularly, he will listen to what happened.” Nat’s eyes track around the group making sure that everyone was listening, they would all need to be on the same page if they wanted the plan to work without a hitch.

“Adam assaulted Y/n and Jake, as well as admitted to premeditated plans for murder. Every single one of you heard it, Coyote said Adam said it in front of you guys. Correct?” A round of nods come from the group before Nat steps away from Jake. “Adam can and will be tried in military court, and we are also filing for a restraining order.”

“What about the gun, Nix.”

“Bradley, my chicken, that’s easy. Adam had a knife, he cut Jake and had it against Y/n’s throat. Jake having the gun is the same level of confrontation, and he was reacting out of fear for his life.”

The tension seems to leave the group with the new plan in place. Though before they can disperse Nat, slowly walks toward Adam. “And if he tries to tell anyone different, he’s going to be going against nine of us. They won’t listen to anything he has to say.”

“Don’t tell Y/n right now, about what we’re doing. She’s already stressed.”

The last sentence falls off the tip of Jake’s tongue, just as Monica pulls into the open lot. A final look around the group confirms the decision and Jake already has his phone to call your father, while Javy and Nat take Monica to you.

…

Monica hadn’t asked any questions about what happened, her sole focus stayed on you and helping in any way she could without going to the hospital. She checked you for a concussion and said you had a minor one, and to expect blurry vision as well as avoid things that required your eyes to work. She promised that you would be fine, but it you started throwing up or your headaches worsened you had to come into the hospital immediately. Checking your cuts and bruise had been easy, while you would be sore, there was no apparent permanent damage done.

Four staples were added to the back of your head, but they were easily hidden by your hair. Jake also got ten stitches across his torso and was scolded for not placing a compression on it. The final piece to look at was the bruises that had been forming on your throat and face. Monica told you that you were lucky, that the line across your neck should have been a cut and you should thank whoever was watching over you. Your throat would be sore for a while and swelling was expected, but it could have been much worse.

You had given her a quiet thank you, before exchanging numbers. You both told Javy it was for medical needs, though in reality, it was so you could plan a get-together.

Throughout Monica looking you over, the Dagger Squad constantly bounced back and forth between coming inside and going outside. Though as each of them made rounds, they each stopped every time to check on you. You had no energy to question what was going on and just wanted to get to your bed, you could worry about their scheming tomorrow.

Finally, you were able to head home, Bob and Lacey texted and said they were keeping the kids for the night. While Nat and Bradley had already gone down and cleaned up the beach, putting everything in their car to be worried about later. The last thing was getting you in the pick-up, to which Jake insisted on carrying you.

On the way out, your eyes fell on Cyclone and Warlock who were talking to Mav while a group of naval personnel surrounded them. Cyclone had caught your eye and gave you a small smile as well as a wink before his attention was back on the jeep at the side of him. Your eyes followed the direction and found Adam cuffed in the backseat.

“Jake wh–”

Your words are quickly silenced, as Jake cuts you off and places you in the truck. He reaches across your waist to buckle you in, before placing a soft kiss on your lips, then each cheek, and finally your brow.

“I will explain everything in the morning, Sweets.”

You would protest, but you couldn’t remember the last time you were this tired and instead nod your head as you mutter ‘okay.’ The night drive lulls you into a peaceful sleep, with your head resting against the window while you track the condensation.  The 20-minute drive slips passed you, one minute Jake was buckling you in, and the next he was carrying you to your shared bedroom.

The push of the front door against the wall echoes through the quiet house. The silence in your home is eerie and slightly unsettling. The house was never quiet, not with two kids and the ensue of pilots that were always coming and going. Jake shuffles you slightly in his hold as he kicks his shoe off at the front door, causing a momentary disturbance through the house. You never liked a silent house, silent homes were for when the kids were sick, Jake was deployed, or at bedtime and even then, the house was never this quiet.

Jake easily carries you to your shared room, while avoiding anything that may bump into you and cause you any more discomfort. He settles you on the bed slowly and you grimace at the way your blood-stained dress stands out against the pristine sheets and comforter.

Getting out of your dress proved to be difficult, while it would have normally slipped over your head and off, each movement you make has some part of your body aching. Though with Jake’s help, the two of you were able to get it off you without too much hassle.

“Come on Sweets, let’s get you showered and ready for bed.”

A hand is placed against your bare back and the two of you slowly make your way to the ensuite. Though your head spins in the short distance to the bathroom, and after you stumble the second time, Jake scopes you up to set you on the vanity.

“Sorry.” Your voice is meek as you say it and your eyes stay cast down looking at the tile. The small catch in your throat makes Jake’s heart clench, as your voice trembles. “Everything is still swaying.”

A small scoff falls from Jake’s lips before he is tipping your head back to look at him.

“You have no reason to be sorry.” A tear falls and Jake’s thumb is quick to catch it and wipe it away. “Nothing that happened today or in the past is your fault. Okay?”

Your lips tremble as you nod once. Jake might have said it wasn’t your fault, but that didn’t make it feel any less like your fault. Your eyes move from Jake’s eyes and the look of pity it feels like he’s giving you. You knew that he wasn’t, Jake never looked at you like that. Though Adam had reopened boxes that you had buried away and ways of thinking that revolved around self-destruction.

You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror behind you, and a harsh gasp falls from your lips as a new onset of tears fall. You hadn’t seen yourself all night, though now looking at yourself you don’t know how to feel.

Jake brushes his lips against your cheek, as your opposite hand comes to trace along the bruise that’s marring your face. You flinch slightly as you barely touch the dark purple and red that’s focused around your eye socket. You hadn’t noticed it before, but now looking at your face you can see the blood vessels in your eye that popped from impact. Your stomach rolls at the sight, though you can’t bring yourself to look away.

It’s when your eyes travel down to your neck that you have to look away. A loud sob falls from your lips as you bury yourself in Jake’s chest. A clear line sat across the front of your neck, and you can’t help but wonder how you hadn’t been cut. Monica’s words echo in your mind and you silently wonder. There’s an array of bruising that wraps around your throat and collarbones, though you can’t bring yourself to look at them. The small glance was more than enough.

You shake as tears fall and gasp quietly into Jake’s chest. Both of his arms wrap around you, to create a blanket of security as his fingers trace up and down your spine. One of his hands gently catch in your hair and you wince as a tiny whimper falls from you. Jake gently undoes the tangles in your hair, but your sobs only get louder.

He hadn’t meant to, but the slight tug of your hair only triggered memories of what happened today. You had ended up cutting your hair just after you moved to Florida with Adam, it had been after a bad fight when he had ripped a chunk of your hair out, from pulling it so hard. From then on you had short hair, and it stay at shoulder length up until the point you moved home.

It had been freeing to be able to grow it out again and over the last 6 years, you had never been worried about your hair getting in the way or how it could be used against you again. That was until tonight, and now the thought of it made you sick.

In such a short time period, all of the progress you had made was thrown into the wash. He had ruined something that you loved so much and made it into this heavy reminder. Another physical carrier of your trauma, bruises would fade, and cuts would heal. Though if you didn’t take the step, it would be a permanent reminder.

A quiet nagging voice every time you look at it; with his hands running through it, as the whites of his knuckles light up with each strand that wraps around his hand.

“I want it off.”

Jake’s hand drops from your back immediately as you start you shake and cry, his hand instead moves to hold onto your tear-stricken face. He brushes the stray strands of hair on your face back easily, so he can look at you as mumbled words continue falling from your lips. He watches silently as your eyes flutter around the room, and never stay focused on one place.

“I need it gone. I can feel his hands, Jake.”

Both of his hands grasp onto your cheeks lightly, but steady enough that you can’t look away from him. The tears cloud your eyes, as one of your hands comes to wrap around the back of your scalp, cradling the area that the pressure radiates from.

“Darlin’ look at me, what do you need to be gone?”

A broken sob racks through your chest, as it heaves to gain any sort of air, and stop the looming feeling of suffocation.

“My hair, Jake. I can’t stop feeling his hands in it, how he wrapped it around his knuckle. He used it against me, used it to pull me back from Maty.”

Your words are broken and desperate as Jake wraps you tightly in his arms and kisses the top of your head. You try to pull away, disgusted with yourself and what happened. Though Jake doesn’t let you and as your crying amplifies, your fists work against Jake’s chest.

An on slay of emotions and thoughts; hatred, panic, heartbreak, anger, confusion, anxiety, and hatred, at yourself, at the world, at Adam. Haunted sobs of the past push passed your lips and with each one, you pound into Jake’s chest. Though he doesn’t let go; he won’t let you pull away to face this on your own.

Sweet nothings are whispered into your hair, and finally your tire yourself out. To the point that the small shutters that encase your body are the only movement, you’re capable of. You pull back from Jake and you had never felt such defeat in yourself, to see how strong of a hold Adam still has on you.

“He broke me.”

The words are dull and lifeless as they ring through Jake’s ears and for a moment, he wishes Nat wouldn’t have stopped him. That Jake would have been able to pull the trigger and tell you that you would never see the bastard again.

“You, my beautiful, amazing, strong, loving wife, are not broken.” You lean farther to the hand resting against your cheek, as his thumb rubs small circles against your cheekbone. “And even if you were, I would find every single piece and put you back together, no matter how long it took.” A gentle kiss is placed over each tear-stained cheek. “You amaze me every single day, and I couldn’t ask for a better wife or mother for my children.”

You sniffle slightly, as your tears slow and your nose becomes overly stuffy from the amount that you’ve cried. Your lips tremble and the small ‘really’ that you release in question, cracks Jake’s heart a little more.

“Yes, my Sweets. I hate that you can’t see how extraordinary you are.” Your eyes fall shut as you lean into Jake’s chest and place a kiss on the spot where his heart rests. “Though if we need to cut off some or all of your hair, to feel free, then we are doing it.”

A true genuine smile crosses your lips, and you wonder how you had gotten such an amazing man. You’re unsure of who you tricked because you most defiantly didn’t deserve Jake, not with all your baggage. But somehow, he had come into your life and decided that your baggage was his.

“I love you.”

“Darlin’ I love you so much more.”

[plaggioclase]

young dadrien

Adrien adopts a 5 year old boy when he’s 18

some years later he and marinette get together,they have only girls

With the daughters it’d be sunshine and rainbows and fluffy hearts and unicorns, you can’t tell me adrien wouldn’t be the girl dad ever

With the son it’d be much heavier than that because gabriel, but that makes it more interesting to explore. And also to me , for him to have a son first before the daughters

his son would be almost like a little brother in ways, just a little buddy. But also a sponge for all his love, with troubles and needs but also joys and desires of his own, who makes Adrien’s world bigger and deeper,and pushes him to grow in ways he always wanted but couldn’t imagine, can hardly believe .. I think adrien could learn a lot about how to love himself from loving this kid. It would be a very healing thing

Adrien acting a fool playing with the girls on the floor of the nursery. teenage son leaning on the doorframe, watching: “I’m proud of you, dad” … within seconds they are both sobbing , play timeout for tears of gratitude

dis: Some real bruce wayne and dick grayson type bond You weren't quiet a dad but you we're a safe guardian and guide when i needed one akari: Where’s the fic, Lettuce? Tyrannosaurus Bex: Lmao agreed I need this fic