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jungkoode · 17 days ago

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𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 24

⋆｡°✩ mirrors ✩°｡⋆

"When you're dealing with Jason, who talks about literature like it matters and opens car doors, the friendship bracelet feels like something from a different version of you. One that's messier, pettier, still half-formed."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8k

content: coffee dates with intelectual men (jason derulooooo), friendship bracelet anxiety, protective!yoongi, mia aftermath discussions, tessa planning

✧ author's note ✧

Okay. Before you all start side-eyeing Jason for breathing, let's set something straight—you're biased. And you're totally valid for that.

This is a Jungkook x Reader fanfic. Obviously, we're all rooting for the emotionally constipated trauma boy who talks with his eyes and stores all his feelings behind gym towels and granola bars. I get it. I'm rooting for him too. But Jason is not here to steal your man. He's here to teach. To nudge. To trigger reflection. He's not necessarily here to stay—but he is important. For Y/N. For her growth. For us to see what it looks like when she's treated decently on surface level, so we can question what actually feels good, and what merely feels safe.

Jason, like every man I write, is not perfect. (You'd think I'd spare at least one of them but alas, I'm God here and a mean one.) Y/N is looking at him through rose-colored glasses—yes, that's intentional. But this is not your cue to dissect him like a frog and declare "something about him rubs me wrong, Kiki please kill him." Let's calm down, Hannibal. Not every man who isn't Jungkook is a villain in this story.

And speaking of bias—let's talk about Y/N. I want to gently remind you all: this story is told through her perspective. That means the narration is not omniscient. It's filtered through a lens of impulsivity, self-sabotage, and defense mechanisms. She's in her 20s and emotionally immature in ways that mirror her environment, her upbringing, her trauma. So yes—you'll read lines where she praises Jason and drags Jungkook through the mud like he owes her money. That's part of her architecture. Not mine. I don't write self-insert. I write character. And Y/N is doing what a lot of us do—projecting simplicity onto what's new and shiny, and demonizing what's familiar and complicated.

Because when you're operating from trauma, you fixate on the flaws that allow you to detach. On the safe narrative. Jungkook is socks on the couch. Jungkook is dumb. Jungkook is the roommate who yells too loudly when he's playing CoD. Not Jungkook who didn't burst into his bedroom during her panic attack because he knew she wouldn't want to be seen. Not Jungkook who's messy, perhaps not attentive when it comes to mugs in the sink—but attentive in the things that matter.

So yes. Y/N is unfair toward Jungkook in this chapter. And Jungkook is unfair toward her, too. And they will keep on being unfair and you'll want to scream and you'll say 'they're stupid' and yes they are. That's the point. That's humanity. That's how we cope—through flawed logic and messy defenses. It's ugly and real and mine.

Tessa. Let's go there. I've said it before, but I'll reiterate it loud enough for the back rows: Tessa is not the villain. She's not here to be the hot girl we all collectively throw into a fictional toilet. She's kind. She's respectful. She shares common interests with Jungkook. She's doing her thing. And that's exactly why she throws Y/N off. Because it would be easier to hate her if she were rude. If she were smug. But she's not. And that's the dissonance. That's the discomfort. Tessa would probably be a friend if the circumstances were different. But she's not. She's interested in Jungkook. And Y/N is sleeping with Jungkook. So while jealousy isn't the correct word, there's still that… gut feeling. That primal "mine" that you don't have to be in love to feel. Especially when someone's the only person who's ever made you feel wanted and safe in your body. (She did say he knows where the clit is. Let's not forget that.)

And Jungkook—again, for all his confusion and emotional hoarding—does not make fun of her for liking things. He forces her to confront her wants, to allow herself to enjoy things without guilt. Encourages them. Creates space for them. And she doesn't consciously realize that. But subconsciously? It's why she's defensive. Why she's scared of losing it.

Last thing I'll touch on: Yoongi. Because I love the way he shows up here—not loud, not meddling, but present. I made a point of explaining his schedule (beyond just plot convenience lmao) because I think it's important to portray him realistically. He's a producer. He's constantly working. And yet, when he is home, he doesn't overstep. He doesn't offer gossip. He doesn't reveal Jungkook's mess. He respects Jungkook's boundaries. He gives Y/N a branch. A little nudge. And if you know Yoongi, you know that's massive. That's someone who sees pain but respects the privacy of it. That's how love shows up in quiet friendships.

So yeah. That's Chapter 24. Not a love story. Not yet. It's a story about mirrors. About coping. About not knowing what you want until someone else tries to hand it to you, and you flinch.

Enjoy Jason while he's here. He's the first of some.

Now go read. Come back messy.

Love, Kiki (who writes enemies-to-lovers and then gets mad when they don't like each other yet) (ಥ﹏ಥ)

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Turns out seventy-something grandmothers also read vampire and werewolf books.

Sunday shifts at Barnes & Noble are usually dead—just you, the books, and the occasional lost tourist looking for the bathroom.

But today feels off-kilter, like everything's been shifted two inches to the left.

You keep catching yourself touching the bracelet on your wrist, the beads spelling "ROGUE" pressed against your skin, a constant reminder of last night's decisions.

You still haven't taken it off. Haven't even considered it, really, which is weird because it's just a stupid tacky bracelet. Wearing it shouldn't mean anything. It's not like you and Jungkook are actually friends.

Are you?

…No. Definitely not. Just roommates who occasionally don't want to murder each other. Roommates who sometimes have really good sex. Roommates who made matching bracelets in a moment of insanity.

Fuck, that does sound like friendship.

"Excuse me, dear?"

The voice pulls you from your spiral, and you realize you've been staring at the same page of inventory for at least two minutes.

The woman standing at your register is tiny, maybe five feet tall on a good day, with perfectly coiffed silver hair and pearl earrings that are definitely not fake.

"Sorry," you mutter, quickly scanning the five hardcover books she's placed on the counter. The entire Twilight saga, special edition with gold-edged pages. "Did you find everything okay?"

"Oh yes, thank you," she says, pulling out a wallet that looks expensive in that understated way rich people prefer. "My book club is doing a throwback month. We're revisiting our guilty pleasures."

You nod absently, focusing on bagging the books without making eye contact. Just get through this transaction and then you can go back to questioning your life choices in peace.

"So," she says as you process her credit card, "Team Edward or Team Jacob?"

Your head snaps up, certain you've misheard.

"I'm sorry?"

"The eternal question," she says with a wink. "Which supernatural suitor would you choose? The brooding vampire or the hot-headed werewolf?"

Is this happening? Is this actually happening right now?

You stare at her, completely dumbfounded.

She's got to be at least seventy, wearing a cashmere cardigan and sensible heels, asking you about fictional teen heart-throbs like you're at a middle school sleepover.

You open your mouth to give some non-committal answer, but then you remember Dora from the laundry room. How quickly you'd dismissed her as a cranky old lady, only to discover she was just a widow feeling lonely.

Maybe this woman is the same—just looking for a moment of connection in her day.

"I'm honestly Team Alice," you say, surprising yourself with the genuine smile that forms. "She was probably a better choice than either of those two drama queens."

The woman's face lights up with delight.

"Oh! Bold choice. I like that." She leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. "I'm Team Edward, myself. I guess I like old men after all."

A startled laugh escapes before you can stop it. "He is like a hundred years old in a teenager's body. Very problematic."

"Precisely why it's a guilty pleasure, my dear," she says, accepting the bag you hand her. "The best kind of fiction lets us enjoy things we'd find appalling in real life."

There's something weirdly profound about that statement coming from a pearl-wearing grandmother buying vampire romance novels on a Sunday afternoon.

"Enjoy your book club," you say, meaning it.

"I will. And you enjoy whatever team you're on," she replies with a wink, nodding toward your wrist where the friendship bracelet sits.

Before you can respond, she's walking away, her heels clicking rhythmically against the floor.

You stare after her, feeling like you've just had some kind of surreal encounter with a Twilight-loving fairy godmother.

The rest of your shift passes in a blur of restocking shelves and helping lost customers find the bathroom.

By the time you clock out, the Twilight grandma feels like a fever dream—something your brain made up to break the monotony. But the conversation stays with you, an unexpected bright spot in an otherwise tedious day.

You're still thinking about it when you unlock the apartment door three hours later.

"Hello?" you call out, dropping your keys on the entry table with a clatter.

Nothing.

The apartment is empty, the silence confirming what you already knew—you've got the place to yourself.

No Yoongi with his silent judgment. No Griffin with his judgmental silence. And no Jungkook with his...

…

Whatever.

You check your phone.

An hour and a half until you're supposed to meet Jason for coffee.

Plenty of time to shower away the retail grime and maybe even put on something that doesn't scream ‘I've been folding books for eight hours.’

As if sensing your thoughts, your phone pings with a text.

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧: 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 4? 𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚙?

You bite back a smile.

He's offering to pick you up? So he remembers where he dropped you off that one time after class?

That's... actually kind of sweet. A guy who actually pays attention to details.

It's refreshing after dealing with Jungkook, who once put an empty milk carton back in the fridge and claimed he ‘didn't notice’ it was empty. Like someone just happened to drink all the milk and then carefully put the empty container back exactly where they found it.

Idiot.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜! 𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚝 𝟺 ❤️

You don’t know why you’re using proper caps now, or why you add the heart emoji. It’s all without thinking, and you stare at it for a solid five seconds wondering if it's too much.

But it's already sent, and honestly, it's just an emoji. Not like you're proposing marriage.

As you scroll back through your messages, another unread text catches your eye. From last night. When your phone pinged during the bracelet exchange with Jungkook.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚑𝚎𝚢! 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝! 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞! 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎? 𝚒'𝚖 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎! 🥰

Oh.

Oh right.

Tessa from last night. The literal goddess with perfect hair who wanted your advice about dating Jungkook. The girl you told to go for it because, why not? He could do a lot worse than someone genuinely nice and put-together.

You stare at the text for a long moment, trying to figure out what to say to that. Because it’s weird. It feels weird.

No, the weird feeling is probably just that you're not sure you want to get involved in Jungkook's love life. It's one thing to suggest Tessa make a move, but playing matchmaker? Giving ongoing advice? That's crossing into territory that feels uncomfortably personal.

Plus, you're kind of sleeping with him. Would be weird to help another girl date your fuck buddy. Not because you care who else he sleeps with—you don't. Obviously. But it would just be... awkward.

And what would you even say? ‘Hey Tessa, here's how to seduce my roommate: play hard to get, argue with him constantly, then jump his bones when he least expects it. Works for me!’

Yeah, no.

You set your phone down without replying. You'll deal with Tessa later. After your coffee with Jason. After you've had a shower and maybe some time to think about how to navigate this bizarre social situation you've somehow landed in.

As you head to the bathroom, you catch your reflection in the hallway mirror. You look tired, a little rumpled from your shift, but not terrible. Your eyes drift down to the colorful beads circling your wrist. ROGUE, spelled out in childish letter beads.

You could take it off. Probably should, honestly. It's not like you're twelve, wearing friendship bracelets with your BFF.

But your fingers don't move toward the clasp.

Instead, you just turn away from the mirror and continue toward the bathroom.

It's just a bracelet. It doesn't mean anything.

You'll take it off tomorrow.

Funny how a look can make you remember what it’s like to feel beautiful.

Jason’s car is clean. Not serial killer clean, but neat in a way that feels vaguely impressive for a guy who’s in grad school and not living off a diet of ramen and emotional repression.

When you slide into the passenger seat, your dress rides up just a little, and you catch him glance—brief, polite, but definitely there.

You don’t blame him. You look good.

Hair curled. Lip gloss strawberry-slick. Earrings you almost forgot you owned. The black dress is simple but it fits just right, hugging the curve of your waist like it was designed to hold you together when you forget how.

You’d like to pretend you don’t care what Jason thinks, but you shaved above the knee and sprayed perfume behind your knees, so.

He smiles when he sees you, soft and almost surprised. “Hey. Wow.”

‘Wow’. Not ‘you look nice’, not ‘I like your dress’.

Just wow, like he wasn’t prepared for this version of you.

Like he’s seeing you, not the outfit.

You kind of love that.

“Hey yourself.”

You buckle in and feel the nerves pull tighter in your chest. You’re not used to being nervous anymore. You’ve fucked your way through worse situations than this.

But this isn’t sex. This is coffee.

Somehow infinitely more exposing.

The drive is short, music low—Jason puts on some indie playlist that’s equal parts folky and hipster, and you catch lyrics about moons and bones and the way someone smells in spring. He doesn’t talk much on the way, but it’s not awkward. Just quiet. Thoughtful. There’s a kind of comfort in that, in not having to fill every second with chatter.

When you arrive, you wonder if you’ve accidentally agreed to a second location with a man who might bankrupt you.

Because this coffee shop? It is sleek and minimalist, all marble tables and matte-black finishes, the kind of place where the baristas wear aprons and pour water like they’re performing surgery.

And holy shit, it smells amazing. Not in the burnt hazelnut way you’re used to from campus cafés, but rich, deep—vanilla and cinnamon and fresh grounds that probably cost more per ounce than your soul.

Jason holds the door open for you. Doesn’t make a big deal of it. Just does it like it’s second nature. And okay, fine, you notice that. You’re not made of stone.

You order the strawberry latte on a whim, mostly because the flavor name makes you smile—‘blushberry blossom’ (c’mon that’s such a cute name)—and partly because the idea of something pink and ridiculous feels like rebellion in a place this serious. Jason, for his part, gets a cortado.

You sit by the window, where light slants in gold and sharp across the marble, catching on the rim of your cup and your collarbone.

Here, the world outside feels very far away—no Griffin knocking shit over, no roommates stomping around the apartment like emotional hurricanes. Just soft jazz and clinking spoons and the man across from you who keeps doing this thing where he leans in slightly when you talk, like he doesn’t want to miss anything you say.

“You really think that about Bishop?” he asks, eyebrows up.

You nod. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not that I think she hated women, but there’s definitely an internalized thing going on in the way she writes about domesticity. Like she’s performing detachment because that’s the only way to survive inside it.”

Jason exhales, a quiet sound of admiration. “That’s really smart.”

You shrug, suddenly a little too warm.

Compliments on your appearance are easy to swat away.

This kind—the you’re actually intelligent and I’m listening to you kind—sticks in your chest like static.

Your latte arrives, delicate as hell. Pale pink with foamy swirls and a single edible flower floating on top. Instagram bait. You take a sip, expecting something syrupy and fake, but it’s…

Huh.

You pause. Purse your lips. The taste is sweet, but not in a candy way. More like… too smooth. Like it’s missing bitterness. But it’s fine. Just—off, somehow.

Not bad, just… not what you were expecting.

You take another sip.

Still weird. Still fine.

You say nothing. Just keep talking, keep leaning into the conversation, because Jason’s eyes are lit up and he’s asking you questions like he actually cares about the answers.

You talk about poetry, about undergrad nonsense, about that one professor who only teaches in metaphors and might actually be a tree in disguise. Jason laughs at your jokes and adds his own and it’s easy. Like, actually easy. Like your brain isn’t doing somersaults trying to predict the next emotional landmine.

Halfway through the drink, he glances down at your wrist and tilts his head.

“Is that… a friendship bracelet?”

You glance at it before you remember it’s there.

Your hand had been resting on the table, fingers curled lightly around your cup, the ROGUE beads facing up like they want to be seen.

Shit.

You forgot you were still wearing it. In fact, haven’t you been wearing it all day? All shift. Through your shower. Through putting on perfume. Through curling your hair. Through walking out the door knowing someone might see it.

You pull your wrist back instinctively. Not fast enough to be defensive, just enough to make it clear you hadn’t meant for it to be a conversation piece.

Jason doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease. Just raises his eyebrows, curious but not unkind.

“Oh,” you say, pretending it’s nothing. “Yeah. It’s—stupid. A joke, kind of.”

Jason’s brow furrows. “No, it’s cool. I mean, it’s cute. Just wasn’t expecting that from you.”

You laugh, a little too fast. “Yeah, me neither.”

“It’s not a bad look,” he offers. “Very… I don’t know. Vintage, maybe?”

He says it in the tone of someone trying to offer reassurance, not judgment.

And that’s the thing, because he hasn’t said anything bad about it.

It’s you.

You feel it. That quiet little itch of self-consciousness blooming under your skin.

And suddenly you are twelve years old, and someone just caught you doodling hearts in your notebook.

You feel… silly.

Not because it’s a dumb bracelet—it is—but because it’s on your wrist in this place, with this person.

With Jason, who talks about literature like it matters, who picked you up on time, who smells like sandalwood and books, who looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your mouth.

The bracelet feels like something from a different version of you. One that’s messier, pettier, still half-formed. The version that knocks Jungkook’s protein powder off the counter just to watch him flinch. The one who keeps secrets in locked journals under the bed.

You press your wrist lightly against your thigh under the table, hiding it without really hiding it. Jason doesn’t press. He just sips his coffee and asks what you think about Rainer Maria Rilke.

You tell him. You talk about how Letters to a Young Poet changed the way you understood loneliness. About how writing doesn’t have to be for anyone else. About how maybe there’s something holy about solitude when it’s chosen.

He listens like the world’s on mute.

And maybe, just maybe, you start to believe the things you’re saying. Maybe you start to feel like someone worth listening to.

“You should read this essay by Gilbert and Gubar,” he says, pulling out his phone to make a note. “I’ll send you the link. It’s about the madwoman in the attic as a feminist symbol. Might give you some interesting perspectives.”

“That would be great,” you say, soft smile tugging at your lips.

It’s been ages since you’ve had a conversation like this—someone who not only gets your academic interests but actively engages with them.

“You’re really smart, you know that?” he says suddenly, setting down his mug. “Like, genuinely insightful. You should consider applying to graduate programs.”

The compliment catches you off guard, warmth spreading through your chest.

“I’ve thought about it,” you admit. “But it’s competitive. And expensive.”

“True,” he nods. “But there are fellowships. And based on what I’ve heard from you in class and now, I think you’d have a shot.”

You take another sip of your too-sweet latte to hide how pleased you are. It’s not that you need validation, but… okay, maybe you do, a little. Who doesn’t?

“I could help you look into programs, if you want,” he offers. “No pressure, just… I know the landscape pretty well.”

“That would be amazing, actually,” you say, meaning it.

By the time you’ve both finished your drinks, the afternoon light has shifted. You’ve been talking for over two hours, and it’s only when you check your phone that you realize how much time has passed.

“I should probably get you home,” Jason says, checking his watch reluctantly. “I’ve got a stack of papers to grade before tomorrow.”

“Right,” you nod, equally reluctant to end the afternoon. “Teaching assistant duties call.”

“Unfortunately,” he sighs, then brightens. “But I’d love to do this again. Maybe dinner next time?”

“I’d like that,” you say, and you really would.

After 10 minutes in his car, you think he’s turning toward your apartment.

You’re wrong.

Jason’s blinker flicks left instead of right, merging smoothly into traffic like this isn’t a diversion. Like it’s part of the plan.

You glance over, raising an eyebrow. “Um. Home’s the other way.”

He smiles, eyes still on the road. “I know. I wanted to show you something first.”

Your chest flutters—nothing dramatic, just a soft little hum, like the opening notes of a song you don’t recognize but already like. You sink back into the seat and let yourself be curious.

The drive winds west, toward the river, buildings falling away into stretches of old brick warehouses and glass condo towers that look like they belong in an entirely different version of your life. One where you probably own a milk frother and know what saffron tastes like.

Jason doesn’t say much, just tunes the radio to some local jazz station and hums softly along. The golden hour light cuts sideways through the windshield, warm and syrupy, painting the world in blush and amber.

He pulls over near a quiet overlook, where the road widens into a shoulder and the guardrail curls just enough to frame the view. The Hudson stretches wide in front of you, molasses-slow and glittering under a sky that’s all pinks and orange melt, the kind of sunset you always say you’ll watch more often but never do.

He doesn’t make it a thing. Just kills the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt, and nods toward the passenger side.

“Come on.”

You follow, caught in that half-stunned, half-swoony state that makes your steps feel floaty.

The air outside is cooler than you expect, touched with that river dampness that curls around your ankles and lifts the hair on your arms. The water looks like glass, rippling only when the wind brushes across it.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, stepping closer to the edge.

The view is stupid. Like, actually unfair. The sky’s a cliché in real time—cotton candy pink and tangerine and just the faintest smear of lavender toward the edges.

You pull out your phone without thinking, framing the scene like muscle memory.

One shot.

Then another.

Then one with your shoulder in the corner, just to prove you were here.

Jason stands a little off to the side, hands in the pockets of his coat.

He’s not watching the view—he’s watching you look at the view, which somehow makes it feel even more unreal.

“I didn’t want the date to end in a parking lot,” he says quietly.

You smile down at your phone, thumbs already moving. You pick the best one, swipe through a filter, drop the saturation just a little. Caption: this sky is a lie and I’m letting it.

You post without thinking. It’s just a sunset. It’s just a moment. But it feels worth remembering.

A notification pops up a few seconds later. Like.

Then another.

Then—

35mmghost liked your photo.

You blink.

Snort.

Okay. What?

You don’t say anything, just stare at the name for a beat longer than necessary.

35mmghost.

That is… not what you expected Jason’s Instagram handle to be. If it is Jason’s. Which would be hilarious. And weirdly endearing.

You flick a glance toward him. He’s smiling to you, with his phone between his fingers. Like you just caught him.

He just pockets it and gazes out at the river like he’s trying to memorize it.

You file it away. Not important. Probably. Just… cute.

Jason, apparently, has a secret artsy side.

And a dramatic username.

Ghost, really?

You like it. Quietly. Silently. The same way he let you have the view.

He doesn’t know you noticed. Doesn’t try to impress you with it.

And for once, you don’t overanalyze. You just let yourself stand there, cheeks a little pink from the wind and the compliment still buzzing somewhere behind your ribs, watching the sky slide into dusk like it’s not even trying to be beautiful.

Like it just is.

When he finally drives you home, you find yourself feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

There’s something refreshingly straightforward about Jason.

No games, no cryptic comments, no emotional whiplash.

Just a smart, mature guy who seems genuinely interested in you.

When he pulls up to your building, he gets out to open your door again—which still feels like something from a movie rather than real life.

“Thanks for today,” you say, standing awkwardly on the sidewalk.

Is this the part where you kiss? You’re not sure what the protocol is here.

Jason solves the dilemma with a warm smile and a slight step back—respecting your space in that careful way that somehow makes him even more attractive.

"Thank you for making my Sunday exponentially better," he says.

It's such a nerdy, earnest thing to say that you can't help but smile.

"Exponentially, huh?"

"At least by a factor of ten," he confirms with a grin. "I'll text you about dinner?"

"Sounds good."

You watch him drive away, a pleasant buzz of anticipation tingling in your chest about seeing him again.

For once, your love life seems straightforward and uncomplicated.

A mature guy who's exactly what he appears to be. What a fucking novelty.

When you finally make it upstairs, the apartment is still quiet. Still empty.

You kick your shoes off at the door and shrug off your coat, fingers catching on the thin leather strap of your bag. You leave it on the couch and walk straight to your room, not bothering to turn on any lights.

There’s enough spill from the windows to see by—blue-gray and soft, the city humming faint in the background like a lullaby that never really ends.

You catch your reflection in the mirror again.

Dress still hugging you right, lip gloss faded but not completely gone. Your cheeks are flushed in that way that feels natural, earned.

You look good. You feel good.

But your gaze drifts. Down to your wrist.

There it is. Bright and stupid and clunky against the sleek black of your dress.

ROGUE.

It looks even more ridiculous now than it did in the café. Like a tacky souvenir trying to pass in a room full of doctoral candidates.

You sigh.

It’s not that you’re ashamed of it, exactly.

Just… aware of it.

In a way you weren’t before.

Aware of what it signals—about you, about the you that exists in here, in this apartment.

The one who fights over fridge space and burns frozen pizza and still hides snacks under the bed like you’re prepping for an apocalypse Jungkook might eat through.

Jason didn’t make you feel bad about it. Not at all.

But there was that little jolt of being seen in a way you didn’t mean to be. Like wearing pajamas to class by mistake.

You run your thumb over the beads. They’re slightly warm from your skin, the elastic stretched just enough to make a faint indent on your wrist.

It’s silly.

So fucking silly.

You shouldn’t have even worn it out. It doesn’t belong in cafés with marble tables and edible flowers. Doesn’t belong with guys who talk about Rilke and open your door and make you feel like your brain is the most interesting thing about you.

It belongs here. Inside these walls. In the shared chaos of mismatched mugs and territorial coffee wars and Griffin sleeping on your face.

It belongs in the version of you that forgets to do laundry and screams at reality TV and gets off with your roommate like it’s just another way to burn through stress.

Maybe it’s time to choose. Or at least… edit.

You slide the bracelet off. Slowly. Carefully. Set it down on your dresser, next to the copy of The Bell Jar you’ve been meaning to reread and a half-burnt candle that smells like peaches and something faintly smoky.

You’ll still wear it sometimes. Just not… when you go out with Jason. Not when you want to feel sleek and composed and like maybe, just maybe, you’re building something a little more deliberate than chaos.

Maybe that’s okay.

You leave it where it is.

And you don’t stop to think whether Jungkook is even wearing it at all.

“You’re alive?”

The words slip out before you can stop them, a bit too loud for a quiet apartment and a bit too sarcastic for someone who just walked through the front door.

But it’s Yoongi. You’re pretty sure he came out of the womb with a glare and noise-cancelling headphones.

He gives you a flat look, keys jingling as he kicks the door shut behind him.

No hello, no how was your day, just a flick of his eyes from your face to your bare legs stretched across the coffee table, one foot propped up like you’re posing for a toenail polish ad no one asked for.

“Didn’t expect you home,” you add, waving your freshly painted big toe in his direction. “Figured you were off ghosting the apartment all weekend like usual.”

He drops his messenger bag by the door with a soft thud, shrugs like the weight of being perceived is too much.

“Didn’t have that much work today,” he says, deadpan, already halfway to the kitchen. “Been overworking all week. Even I get tired of being productive.”

You blink. “Wait—you work on Sundays?”

“I work always,” he calls back, grabbing a mug from the cabinet like it personally offended him. “What’s your point?”

You roll your eyes, adjusting your foot on the arm of the couch so the polish doesn’t smudge.

“My point is, maybe stop pretending you’re not a person and do something degenerate for once. Watch trash TV. Go outside.”

“I went outside,” he mutters, reaching for the coffee grounds. “Regret it.”

“You’re making coffee now?” You glance at the clock. “You’ll be awake all night.”

“Mm,” Yoongi says, which is less a response and more a vibe. “Not like I’ve slept properly in a week anyway.”

“That sounds healthy,” you sing, flicking the cap back onto the nail polish bottle.

You don’t know when this stopped being weird—talking to him like this.

It’s not friendship, exactly, but it’s not not that either.

Comfortable-ish. Low maintenance. The kind of dynamic that doesn’t need checking in.

Griffin trots out from wherever he was napping, tail flicking with that ‘where the fuck is my dinner, peasants’ energy.

You lean over and scratch behind his ear. “Still no sign of your boy?”.

Yoongi shrugs —his primary form of communication—then cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “JUNGKOOK!”

The silence that follows is answer enough.

“Nah, he’s not home,” Yoongi confirms unnecessarily.

You roll your eyes, screwing the cap back on your nail polish. “Thanks for the thorough investigation.”

You go back to focusing on your second foot, tongue poking out slightly as you try not to smear the top coat.

Then—

“Hey,” he says, casual but not. “By the way…”

You pause, brush hovering mid-air.

“…I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

Your stomach drops.

Those words never precede anything good.

Is he kicking you out? Did you do something wrong? Is the rent going up? Did he find your secret stash of chocolate-covered pretzels hidden behind the rice?

“Okay…” you say cautiously, sitting up straighter. “What’s up?”

Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee, still not meeting your eyes. The silence stretches just long enough to make your anxiety spike before he finally speaks.

“It’s about Jungkook.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Did Jungkook complain about you? Is Yoongi about to give you some weird roommate intervention? Does he know about the… arrangement you and Jungkook have?

God, that would be mortifying.

“What about him?” you ask, aiming for casual but landing somewhere closer to defensive.

Yoongi presses his lips together like he’s trying to decide if speaking is worth the effort. Spoiler: it usually isn’t.

Then—quiet, low:

“Back at the karaoke place… you met Mia, right?”

You freeze mid-swipe, the brush hovering just above your toenail. There’s a split second where your brain tries to play dumb. Pretend you didn’t. Pretend you forgot. But your body answers before your mouth does—shoulders tensing, breath pulling tight behind your ribs.

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “I remember.”

And you do. Perfectly. Chanel and Louboutins and weaponized perfume. Voice like saccharine venom and teeth too white to be trustworthy.

You remember the grip on your arm. The way Jungkook looked—vacant, off, like someone unplugged him at the base of the spine.

Yoongi nods once, eyes fixed on his coffee like it might offer divine clarity.

“I need to know what happened.”

His voice isn’t demanding, not exactly. Just… steady. Firm in a way you’ve never heard from him before.

“What did she say to him?”

You shift on the couch, pulling your knees up to make room for Griffin, who hops beside you with zero regard for the wet polish on your toes.

You don’t answer right away. Not because you’re trying to avoid it—it’s just that you’re not sure how to answer.

Yoongi doesn’t push. Just waits.

You glance toward the kitchen, then back at him.

“I didn’t hear everything,” you start. “She was already talking to him when I found them. I didn’t even know who she was at first, just thought—some random girl, y’know?”

He nods once. Still waiting.

“She was dressed like she had three bodyguards waiting outside,” you add, because you can’t help yourself. “Total Upper East Side vibes. Like she was slumming it for the night.”

That earns a dry little huff from Yoongi. Almost a laugh. Almost.

Your fingers twitch against your thigh.

“She knew it was his birthday,” you say, softer now. “Said it all sweet but—like. Fake sweet, you know? Like she was performing nice but wanted him to feel like shit for not inviting her.”

Yoongi’s jaw ticks as he listens. He’s still holding the coffee mug, but you can tell he’s not really drinking anymore. Just holding it like a prop.

“She said…” Your voice trails off. You swallow. “She said, ‘Try not to have too much fun without me.’ And something about his dad. I didn’t catch all of it. But her tone—it was like… she wanted to rattle him.”

Now Yoongi finally looks at you. Not full on, not probing, but enough to catch your face in his periphery.

“She mentioned his dad?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “Just—like, she knew it’d hit a nerve. She said something about ‘not replacing her’ or whatever. I don’t know the full context, but... whatever it was, it fucked with him. He looked—”

You pause.

The image flashes in your head: Jungkook standing in the hallway, motionless. His face locked down, shoulders tight. Like something inside him had short-circuited.

“He looked small,” you say quietly. “Scared. Not like himself.”

Yoongi takes that in. Doesn’t react right away. He just huffs out a breath through his nose and leans back against the edge of the kitchen counter.

Another pause.

Then: “She’s good at that.”

He says it flatly. No inflection. No explanation.

You tilt your head. “You know her?”

“Not much. But I know exactly what he looked like after her.”

You’re quiet, sensing the line. The invisible perimeter Yoongi keeps between what’s his to share and what isn’t.

“I’m not asking for his secrets,” you say, meaning it.

“Good,” he replies instantly. “Because they’re not mine to give.”

That makes you like him more. Irritatingly so.

You don’t push. But your gaze stays on him, curious.

Yoongi shrugs, finally setting his mug down on the counter. “I’ve only known him for a year and a half, so I wasn’t around back then. Not for most of it. But she left damage.”

You stay quiet.

“She knows his pressure points. Knows when to act like she’s joking and when to twist the knife.” He rubs the back of his neck like he hates even saying this out loud. “Jungkook’s got a... hard time with boundaries. Especially when it comes to people he used to love.”

Used to. Interesting phrasing.

Your lips part slightly, but Yoongi’s already waving a hand like he regrets going this far. “Anyway. Not my drama. Just wanted to know what she said. He didn’t tell us much.”

“Us?”

Yoongi shrugs again, folding his arms. “Me, Taehyung, Hobi. The ones that showed up when she blew everything up.”

You blink. “Blew everything up?”

He gives you a look. Not mean. Not angry. Just—measured. Like he’s deciding how much to trust you.

“I said too much already,” he mutters. “But yeah. That hallway thing? That wasn’t nothing. I just needed to hear it from someone who saw it up close.”

You nod slowly. “Makes sense.”

Silence again. Not uncomfortable exactly. But heavy.

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair and glances down at Griffin, who’s now making biscuits into a throw pillow like he pays rent.

“He didn’t tell you anything, huh?”

“No.” The word comes out before you can stop it. Then, quieter: “He just said he needed air.”

Yoongi exhales. “Figures.”

You want to ask more. About Mia. About Jungkook. About what the hell happened that’s got Yoongi this protective over someone he’s known for less than two years. But something in his expression makes you hold your tongue.

So you just nod, brushing your fingers lightly over Griffin’s back.

After a beat, you say, “Thanks for telling me. Even if it was just a little.”

Yoongi lifts his coffee mug in a half-toast. “Don’t read into it. You were there. I needed intel. That’s all.”

You smirk. “Sure.”

But you both know that’s not all.

Not even close.

"Wait," you call out just as Yoongi's about to disappear completely.

You're not sure why you feel compelled to say this—it's not like you owe Tessa anything—but after everything you've just learned about Mia, it feels important somehow.

Yoongi pauses, hand on his doorknob, eyebrows raised in silent question.

"That girl at the birthday party," you say, the words tumbling out before you can overthink them. "Tessa? I think she genuinely likes him. Like, in a normal way."

You don't know why you're telling him this.

Maybe because after hearing about Mia's toxicity, the idea of someone simple and sweet being interested in Jungkook feels like information worth sharing.

Yoongi tilts his head slightly. "The ginger one? Sat next to him?"

"Yeah," you nod, surprised he noticed. "She asked for my advice, actually. About him. She wants to get coffee with me to talk about it."

"Huh." Yoongi leans against his doorframe, considering this. "She seemed... nice."

The way he says ‘nice’ makes it sound like he's describing an alien species he's only read about in textbooks.

"She is nice," you confirm. "Like, genuinely nice. Soft. Girly. Probably doesn't have any emotional baggage or toxic exes lurking around corners."

You're babbling now, but you can't seem to stop.

Because you feel guilty.

Because you told this nice beautiful girl to go for an emotionally stunted dude who apparently has way too much baggage.

Because maybe Jungkook is not even ready for any of this.

"I told her to go for it. With Jungkook, I mean. Before I knew about... all this Mia stuff."

Yoongi's expression shifts subtly—a slight narrowing of the eyes. "You're playing matchmaker now?"

There's no judgment in his voice, just curiosity, but you feel defensive anyway.

"Not matchmaking," you clarify. "Just... I don't know. Being supportive? She asked, I answered. It's not a big deal."

"Right," Yoongi says, in a tone that suggests he thinks it might actually be a big deal. "And how does Jungkook feel about Tessa?"

You shrug, suddenly realizing you have no idea. "I don't know. They're in some classes together I think. He hasn't mentioned her."

"Jungkook doesn't mention a lot of things," Yoongi points out.

"True." You fiddle with the cap of your nail polish, avoiding his gaze. "I just thought... she’s nice. And so pretty. I just thought… maybe it could do him some good—before I even knew about this, I mean.”

Yoongi makes a noncommittal sound. "Maybe."

"You don't think so?"

He shrugs. "It's not about what I think. It's about whether Jungkook's ready for someone new. Especially someone... nice."

The way he says it makes you wonder if ‘nice’ is a liability in Jungkook's world.

If after someone like Mia, ‘nice’ feels too foreign, too simple.

"Well, I already told her to go for it," you say, feeling suddenly uncertain. "Should I... un-tell her?"

Yoongi actually smiles at that—a small, fleeting thing, but definitely a smile. "No. Let it play out. Who knows? Maybe you're right. Maybe nice is exactly what he needs."

He doesn't sound convinced, but he doesn't sound dismissive either.

"Okay," you say, relieved. "I just... wanted you to know. Since we're apparently on Team Jungkook now."

Yoongi snorts. "I've always been on Team Jungkook. You're the new recruit."

"I didn't exactly volunteer," you point out.

"And yet here you are," he says, "worrying about his love life."

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again.

He's not wrong.

"Anyway," Yoongi continues, "thanks for telling me about Tessa. And about what happened with Mia."

You nod, feeling like you've passed some kind of test you didn't know you were taking.

Yoongi gives you one last unreadable look before finally retreating into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

You sit there for a moment, processing the entire bizarre conversation.

In the span of fifteen minutes, you've gone from painting your toenails in peaceful solitude to being drafted into some kind of Protect Jungkook squad with Yoongi, of all people.

Life in Apartment 6B just keeps getting weirder.

Thirty-seven minutes later, you're sprawled on your bed, hair still damp from the shower, staring at Tessa's unanswered text like it's a bomb you need to defuse.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚑𝚎𝚢! 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚢𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢? 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎? 🙂

You’re second-guessing everything after that conversation with Yoongi.

Should you really be encouraging Tessa to pursue Jungkook when you know he's still dealing with Mia-shaped emotional shrapnel? Is it fair to either of them?

But then again, who are you to play gatekeeper to Jungkook's love life? Maybe Tessa is exactly what he needs—someone sweet and uncomplicated. Someone who doesn't have the baggage of a toxic ex or whatever the hell happened with his father.

You groan and flop back against your pillows.

Why do you even care?

It's not like you and Jungkook are anything to each other. You're just roommates who occasionally fuck.

You’re barely even… friends.

The word acquires a weird shape in your mind.

You pick up your phone again, determined to respond to Tessa without overthinking it.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚎𝚢𝚊! 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚢. 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝 2 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎. 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝?

You hit send before you can change your mind.

It's just coffee. It's not like you're arranging a marriage.

Truth is, next week’s already packed—Yeji’s gallery prep, that shift you picked up for someone who ‘owes you one’ but never actually pays up, and whatever Jungkook’s been muttering about needing help with but refusing to ask.

It’s easier to just skip ahead. Two weeks. Feels safer. Less chance of Tessa becoming something to manage short-term.

Her response comes almost immediately.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚊𝚑𝚑𝚑 𝚢𝚊𝚢𝚢𝚢 🥰! 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚂𝚢𝚛𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝙴. 𝟷𝚜𝚝 𝚂𝚝. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛, 𝚠𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞!

You know Syrup—it's one of those Instagram-bait cafés with latte art and avocado toast that costs more than your hourly wage. Not exactly your usual haunt, but it's not too far from campus.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚢𝚛𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜! 𝚒’𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚝 2 💕

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝! 𝚒’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚞𝚙!

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜!!!

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚:𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠? 🤗

You stare at the message, a knot forming in your stomach.

Because you don't ‘get’ Jungkook. Not really.

You didn't know about his dad, or the full extent of the Mia situation, or why he disappeared to the rooftop that night.

You know he likes John Mayer and makes good coffee and his favorite position is cowgirl.

You know he smells like rain and his hands are always warm and he secretly carries cat treats around.

But those are just details, not understanding.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚖𝚎��𝚗 𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚒 ’𝚐𝚎𝚝’ 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚎 𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚒𝚏 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚗 :)

That feels safer.

Better to lower her expectations now than have her think you're some Jungkook whisperer with all the answers.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚊𝚑, 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢!

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠? 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗'𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕!!

Intimidated by Jungkook?

The idea is almost laughable.

How could you be intimidated by someone who once spent twenty minutes trying to coax Griffin out from under the couch with a piece of string cheese?

But then you remember how other people see him—the sharp jawline, the tattoos, the way he carries himself like he’s not actually dumb as hell.

You can see how someone like Tessa might find him intimidating.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚏𝚏𝚏𝚏𝚏

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚡, 𝚜𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖

You hesitate, then add:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠

It feels important to add that caveat, even if you're not sure why.

Maybe because of what Yoongi told you.

Maybe because you've seen glimpses of that complication yourself.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚑𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚑𝚊 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠!!

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚞𝚛 𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚞𝚢

You frown at the screen. There's something about her response that doesn't sit right with you. Like she's romanticizing the very things that make Jungkook difficult—the walls he puts up, the emotional distance, the complications Yoongi hinted at.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝… 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚌𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚔? 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚘𝚕

You hit send, then immediately regret your tone. That came off way harsher than you meant it to. You're about to type a follow-up when Tessa's reply appears.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚘𝚑 𝚐𝚘𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 🙈 𝚒'𝚖 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚛𝚗

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚒 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚒'𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝... 𝚠𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗-𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚜? 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚋𝚘𝚢 😣

Oh. That's actually... kind of sweet. Seems like Jungkook really does have a thing for Korean cinema.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚘 𝚗𝚘 𝚒 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝! 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎... 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚎��𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚢𝚔?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚖. 𝚒 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘!

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚠/ 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚖 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎! 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚔

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚕 🙈

Your heart softens a little. There's something vulnerable about the way she just shared that personal detail, then immediately apologized for it.

It reminds you of how you sometimes overshare when you're nervous, then backpedal frantically.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚣𝚎! 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚍. 𝚒'𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚘 :(

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 💕 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚘. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚒'𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚖!

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚒 𝚍𝚘? 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚜 😔

That actually makes a lot of sense. You can see why she'd be drawn to Jungkook if they share this interest.

And you know from experience how rare it is to find someone who genuinely cares about the things you're passionate about.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗!

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 🙄

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?? 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚔𝚊𝚛-𝚠𝚊𝚒 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚕

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚒 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖?

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 🥺

You can't help but smile a little. She’s clearly excited she is to have found someone who shares her interests. You remember feeling that way with Jason today, when he actually engaged with your thoughts on literature instead of just nodding along.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎!

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚝𝚠 𝚒 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛. 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚛𝚗

Tessa takes a moment to reply, the ellipses blinking thoughtfully.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚘𝚑 :( 𝚒 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘 💕

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚎!! 𝚒'𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚑𝚊 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛? 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏?

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚞𝚙!! 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 🤞

Okay, that feels reasonable. She's acknowledging your concern without getting defensive, and clarifying her own expectations.

Maybe she's more level-headed than you initially gave her credit for.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢 ��𝚘𝚘𝚍!! 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 <3

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚜𝚘 𝚒'𝚖 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 😴

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚌 𝚞 𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚢𝚛𝚞𝚙! :)

Time to bow out before you accidentally become her relationship coach.

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕!! 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐!! 🥺✨

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊ｙ!! 💖

You put your phone down, feeling a sense of closure on that front, at least for tonight.

Tessa seems sweet, if a little naive about the potential complications involved with Jungkook.

But she's also genuinely interested in him for reasons that make sense, and she seems aware enough to proceed with caution.

You roll over, pulling the covers tighter.

It's weird, offering dating advice about your roommate who you're also sleeping with to a girl you barely know.

Weirder still that you actually kind of... like her? And want things to work out okay for her?

Maybe you're growing up. Or maybe you're just tired.

Either way, Tuesday is going to be interesting.

goal: 750 notes

if you liked this chapter, please consider buying me a coffee!! ♡'･ᴗ･'♡ https://ko-fi.com/jungkoode

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 2 months ago

Text

Leaving You Not

Pairing: Dark Katsuki Bakugo x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Your relationship with Bakugo has long turned sour and bitter and you’re more than ready to put an end to it. Bakugo heavily disagrees with you .

WARNINGS: Toxic/Unhealthy Relationship; Abuse/Violence.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊 The last Bnha work I have in my drafts, gonna have to work on it, but meanwhile hope you guys enjoy this!

Dating Bakugo had always been a one-way ticket to ruin your mental health. As your relationship comes to an end, you recognize that.

Bakugo loves you, you're quite sure of it.

But his love consists in derogatory comments and mean insults that hit your confidence in the most destructive possible way.

At first, every flaw of Bakugo's was heavily diluted by the red-tinted glasses love had put over your eyes. You blame yourself for that, always so quick to dismiss every flaw of his, instantly brushing them under the rug like they didn't mean anything.

Time - however - forced your eyes wide open and to recognize the awful truth: that Bakugo wasn't a good boyfriend.

Initially, you remember walking into the kitchen - tying the apron around your front, washed hands and ready to help out with cooking - only to be met with a nasty side-eye and a "Don't need your help. You're a shit cook."

You wouldn't take the comment to heart, merely hugging the back of your incredible cook of a boyfriend with a fleeting cheek kiss and the promise to help out with cleaning the table and the dishes.

But no matter how much effort you placed into cooking - no matter how many different recipes you tried out, no matter how many times your friends tried your food and praised it, no matter how much and how hard you tried, at the end of the day Bakugo only ever directed those cruel short dismissive words.

"You're a shit cook."

But as you reach closer to celebrating the first anniversary of your relationship, with 7 of those months being living together, the appalling and unpleasant reality of Bakugo's toxic traits got clearer by the day.

Driving with Bakugo was a whole different nightmare - one that always left you in a sour mood, close to a panic attack and a demolished self-esteem everytime you tried driving.

Your boyfriend was good at almost everything, including driving, however his speciality was no doubt the ability to be disrespectful.

The few times you drove him around in your car were tense and explosive, to say the least. Your boyfriend complained about everything - from the size, color and comfort of your small but useful car up until your driving skills.

For Bakugo, you’re too slow, you don’t drive well, your parking technique is pathetic, you drive too close to the lines, … every possible insult is rudely thrown your way until he finally declares what you already knew was in the way. “You’re a shitty driver.”

It crushed your heart and soul to receive such humiliating remarks.

Everything you did had to be criticized by him. Always.

“You’re shitty at choosing house decoration.”

“You’re shitty at doing finances and home budget.”

“You’re shitty when it comes to cleaning duty on the house.”

“Your makeup looks shitty as hell.”

“Your sleeping schedule is all shitty.”

“That’s something a shitty friend would do.”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Bakugo has always had a brash and crude personality, you were perfectly aware of that when you started dating him.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. And yet it does.

You never expected him to fully turn around his personality for you, but expecting basic decency and respect wasn’t an exaggerated expectation.

It grew worse and worse to the point that you now hate to admit how much it thrills you everytime Bakugo, with a big scowl on his face, announces about some shitty Pro-Hero conference or a quirk-development workshop he'll have to attend in a different city or a different country.

You hate how upset he looks over leaving you for a few days while you're internally leaping of joy, barely able to shut down the excited smile that threatens to come out.

That’s how you realize that love was long out of your relationship’s equation.

And now…

“Huh, the hell you talking about?” Bakugo's crimson eyes glare at you, arms crossed as he remains unfazed by the rehearsed speech you just breathlessly dumped.

“Did you even listen to what I just said?” you question him, exasperation seeping through your best attempt to keep a calm and collected composure. “No, of course you didn’t. You never listen to me anyways.”

“Bullshit.” he says, “I listen to you, but what you just said is total garbage. Doesn´t make fucking sense.”

Your nails dig deeper into your palms, so deep that it’ll leave marks.

“I mean it, Katsuki. This - our relationship - isn’t healthy anymore.” you continue, ignoring his huff. “I just want to be happy. For you to be happy too. And I don’t think right now we can be happy together.”

“We’re fine.” he dismissively declares, pushing his palms against the table to push himself up. “You’re overreacting, like you always do. The only problem here is you watching too many of those shitty movies you like so much, that crap’s filling your head with all that stupid nonsense.”

And just like that he leaves the table, saying something about cooking dinner.

Your body stays glued to the chair, empty gaze and slumped shoulders.

It was supposed to be a serious conversation, your mind screams. And just like always, Katsuki ignored you - and your feelings. He didn’t even get upset, just dismissive.

Your legs carry you to your bedroom before you even realize it, ignoring as the blonde man stares at you from the kitchen.

You hesitate for a moment, hands hovering over the open suitcase, doubt quickly spreading its sticky root in your mind. Should you do this? Is this even right?

Katsuki is your boyfriend. You shouldn’t leave him, should you.

It’s wrong.

Your legs give up, unceremoniously dropping you at the edge of the bed. Allowing your head to fall into your hands, it becomes increasingly hard to breathe.

You should leave - you have to leave - and yet there are emotional strings that attempt to curl around you and keep you.

Guilt. Love. Empathy.

An insidious little voice in the back of your mind points out that you are giving up on him, ditching him for your own sake. Abandoning him. Leaving to fend for himself.

Maybe you really are, but what else can you do?

The next morning both of you behave as if nothing happened, promptly ignoring the dense tension that persists in the air since the previous night.

You behave cordially enough and in return, Bakugo offers you his usual scowl when you hand him a bento box for lunch, muttering something about your deplorable cooking skills - something you turn a blind eye to.

With a bitter cramp to the heart, you realize that he clearly forgot about last night’s argument.

When, at last, Bakugo announces his departure for morning patrol you softly kiss him on the cheek, before watching the blonde man leave the apartment with heavy steps.

That’s when you rush back to the shared bedroom, almost slipping on the wooden floor before dropping on your knees to retrieve the small black trolley hidden underneath the bed.

Pulling it to the bed, you open it, quickly examining the essential items you’ll need for the next few days.

A few clothes, some underwear, a pair of sneakers, hygiene products, your wallet, credit card. It’s not much but it’s the best you can do right now, given your prudent desire to avoid Katsuki.

Maybe once he calms down, you can return to pack the rest of your things. Preferably with the company of a friend - that is if Bakugo won’t have angrily destroyed all of your belongings by then. You’re highly doubtful of the calm stoic act he put up last night, that surely won’t last much.

You zip the trolley, putting it on the floor, ready to take off when a glint of light catches your eye. Peacefully sitting in Bakugo’s nightstand is a framed photo of the two of you, happy and in love, and your lips curl into a soft smile before you know it.

It was taken during the first month of dating. A fair, where he won way too many plushies for you. The memory seems like a lifetime ago, back when he was somehow sweeter and nicer to you.

If you ask him today to take you to a fair he’ll just brush it off and yell that he’s busy doing actual important hero work, unlike you. That’s an angle he’s been pushing lately, fully aware that your job can’t compete against his.

What is the value of insignificant office work when compared to the heroic job of saving lives?

The thought has your nerves flaring up, tension and pressure reigniting. With a last fleeting look to the photo, you leave the room, dragging your trolley behind you.

You’re only halfway through the living room when the front door abruptly opens, leaving you frozen mid-strad.

“Hey, I think I left my phone here, did you-” Bakugo’s voice slowly dies down, leaving empty words floating in the air.

You only watch, helpless as Bakugo’s crimson eyes trail around and discover the small trolley that stands by your side and his confusion starts melting into rage.

Fuck. And that’s how your grandiose plan to avoid a confrontation goes down the drain.

“The hell is that? You going somewhere?” his deep voice booms in the quiet area and it takes everything in your power not to back down a few steps away from him.

“I’m…” you sharply inhale, trying to ignore when Bakugo reaches closer to you. “I’m leaving for a few days. You didn’t listen to me last night… so it’s best if we give it some time. To think.”

His brows furrow as a look of livid rage appears on his face.

“Gimme that shit, you’re not going anywhere.” he declares, lurching towards your luggage but you reflexively push your body to protect it.

“Katsuki, stop!”

A yelp escapes you when his body collides against yours, momentarily causing your balance to be lost but your grip on the suitcase only tightens as the infuriated blonde aims for it.

“Damnit, stop struggling.” he growls, hand squeezing around your own to release it from the trolley while you attempt to push him away using your body as a shield.

You’re uncharacteristically stubborn today, determined to fight back for your freedom, and Bakugo must’ve realized that too as he changes his tactic in lightning speed, his heavy combat boot landing a brute kick to the luggage.

It flies out of your hand, away from you, and there’s barely any time for you to react before Bakugo aggressively shoves you back. Your feet get tangled and you trip, landing on your ass with a pained gasp.

“You can’t do this. You can’t stop me from leaving.” you attempt to bring some sense into the situation until Bakugo reaches over and grabs a handful of your hair, twisting it in his hand. You scream, hand trying to scratch him away but with no avail.

“Katsuki, ple-”

“Shut up, damnit!” he snarls, anger boiling until it falls out and burns you. “The hell you think you’re doing? I’ve told you we’re fine. Then why are you turning this into something it's fucking not?”

“We’re not fine!” you deny, tears kissing your eyes. Bakugo only squints his eyes at you. “Why can’t you understand? Katsuki, just listen to me, please, this is not –”

A violent tug at your hair has you crying out, blazing pain searing through your scalp.

“No, you listen up. And open your stupid ears this time cause I swear to god if I have to repeat this once more, I might fuck up your face…” the dangerous glint of his eyes and the hard tone of his voice is more than enough to prove the realism of the threat.

“You’re not leaving me. Not now. Not ever.”

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aliumfungus · 14 days ago

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I just wanna make a note here in response to some of the reactions to SE01 E06. People have said things like: 1. Mensah shouldn't have her panic attacks this early. and 2. MB wouldn't say it enjoys killing.

I honestly wonder if y'all have read the books. I have read the books in the past few weeks because I liked the show so much, so they're all very fresh in my mind. MB definitely enjoys killing in certain circumstances--and why wouldn't it? It was trained to do that, and MB is (to put it mildly) a control freak. When killing allows it to take control of a situation, it kills with relish. Not even quickly. There are scenes in the books where it breaks limbs, inflicts pain/humiliation, or cripples targets just because it wants to. Not for any tactical reason, but because doing so is what it desires and what feels good.

MB is vengeful, sadistic, and cruel. It is also wounded, sweet, gentle and kind. It is a person. People contain multitudes.

As for Mensah's panic attacks, they're present from the very first book and get systematically worse until she's required to attend treatment. I also find it very... sad, that people think that a capable leader can't have such a weakness.

As someone who struggled with CPTSD for years, I am very capable and intelligent and emotionally aware. I also had flashbacks and panic attacks and once I was so triggered by fireworks that I literally got up and fled the room I was in and ended up shaking in a stairwell hyperventilating. It happens. It happens to even intelligent, capable people, because PTSD is not a moral or personal weakness, it is a disease.

And if you don't believe my story, how about another famous media depiction: Captain Picard in ST:TNG. He is tortured for weeks and suffers long-term effects, including flashbacks and panic attacks--but no one thinks he's a less capable leader, and no one thinks he's been done dirty. Instead, people applaud his journey and say, "Oh, what a complex and wonderful character!" Why isn't this same courtesy extended to Mensah? Because she's a woman? Because she's black? You tell me.

#murderbot tv #murderbot reaction #personal #murderbot

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dreamweave01 · 26 days ago

Note

I need Raph being insecure about his Krang half and doubting Kendra’s love for him because of it. (”how could she love a monster like me? I dont deserve her…”)

I need Raph accidentally harming Kendra when he has a panic attack or something.

I need Raph being afraid and certain that Kendra os gonna be scared of him because of it; hate him, be mad at him, cut ties with him. (Donnie is ready to attack Kendra if she breaks Raph’s heart.)

But Kendra isn't mad. She's only worried (and a bit shaken).

Im a sucker for angst 😭

(no pressure, Do whatever you want; this is your au and I have no say in it)

- Paranormal Anon

And this is why the turtles have to be careful what they watch for movie night. Dang those triggers.

I'm completely unashamed to admit that I just spent several hours working on this instead of working on anything else I was supposed to. Who woulda thought Kendrael angst would hold me in a death-grip?

I think timeline-wise this would happen some time after the next arc. I like how I tell myself I'll stop jumping ahead of where I'm at in the story, and then ideas like this get thrown at me from out of the blue and suddenly I'm incapable of thinking about anything else /pos

Aaand now it's time for rambles ->

What I really liked about this thought was that it allows me to show a side of Raph that he absolutely hates about himself.

Everyone has this side to them that they bury deep inside, never to see the light of day, and for big Red over here, it's his natural tendency to lean towards 'fight' in a fight-or-flight response.

Really, it has nothing to do with the Kraang and everything to do with the ninja training as a kid. He and his brothers were born with the intent to be soldiers, and while yes, Splinter did everything in his power to give them a wonderful childhood - and did a darn good job too might I add - learning how to defend yourself led the turtles to trust their abilities to fight.

Now you could say, "But DW, what about in the movie when Raph told them to retreat blah blah blah-" That was a specific situation that called for specific actions. If there had been any chance they could've won that fight and if Splinter hadn't been injured, I'm willing to bet Raphael wouldn't have called for a retreat.

My point is, these boys are fighters. They take on a problem head-on, and unfortunately, that natural tendency is center stage of Raph's trauma.

The Kraang turned him into a soldier, their personal pet that didn't hesitate to follow orders.

None of it was Raph's doing, none of it was even close to being his fault, but the thing that terrifies him the most is that he'll lose control and hurt the people he loves. Again.

That 'again' makes it even worse, because he knows he's capable of it. He knows he could kill them because he has before, there's no doubt about it in his mind. Yes, he's the sweetest most gentlest giant in the world, but that doesn't take away the fact that he's a mountain of battle-trained muscle and has the power of a freight train, if not more. So he does everything he can to keep that fighter inside of him under wraps at all times, refuses to even risk letting that side of him see a glimmer of the light of day.

But he's not perfect, and there are moments like the one above where he's so heavily triggered into that fight-or-flight response, he goes into a tunnel-vision and doesn't even realize what he's doing because at this point, it's instinctual for him to defend himself. It always has been.

And when he snaps out of it, that's when the fear takes him, that overwhelming guilt that feels like it'll swallow him up whole.

And poor Kendra! She knows that Raph and his brothers have been through a lot - Mikey's mentioned things here and there to the rest of the friend group - but seeing in person just how hard it was? Exactly what Raph's experiences have done to him?

It's really hard to see someone you love and care so deeply about going through something so unbelievably horrible.

But she knows a thing or two about guilt, the fear of hurting people again, and you better believe she's going to do everything in her power to show Raph that nothing, and I mean NOTHING, could ever push her away from him.

She will always love him, no matter what he looks like, what he's been through, what he does.

Guys, this is why I love them, agh, they're so precious-

#rottmnt #rottmnt separated au #rottmnt au #woven ties au #rottmnt wt!au #rottmnt raph #rise raph #wt!raph #rottmnt kendra #rise kendra #wt!kendra #rottmnt kendrael #rise kendrael #wt!kendrael

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sweatyracoon · 10 months ago

Text

How Skz Reacts to your Anxious Ticks

A/n: I have a lot of anxious energy, and many ticks, so why not do a Skz react? Should I do more Skz reacts?

Warnings: Lots of anxiety, blood (not a lot), pet names(baby), talk about getting sick, stress eating, implied panic attacks

Bangchan: Foot tapping

You would be sitting with the guys in the changing room before a concert. Even though you wouldn't be going anywhere near the stage, you were a nervous reck.

Your worries started when Chan slipped on stage, faceplanting right before his verse, triggering something in you. Ever since then, you always worried.

There was a small ambiance, the staff and group members talking, offering a noise buffer, but it wasn't enough.

You didn't realize your foot was tapping until you caught Chan's stare. He looked between you and your foot, motioning for you to calm down.

All you could do was pause your movements until his attention drifted to Hyunjin.

You kept tapping.

It wasn't long before Chan made his way to you, ten minutes before the show.

"Y/n. You're doing it again," He told you with a smile.

"I can't help it, Channie," you responded, looking at him. "What if you fall again?"

He looked surprised. "Y/n, that was two years ago," he said softly, sitting next to you.

"So? It could happen again," You were being stubborn. It wasn't like you.

"How about I promise you that I won't fall," he reached out with his pinky, waiting for you to take it in your own.

"But you don't know that," you whined, making him smile.

"Okay, okay. Fine. How about...I promise to be careful?" Now he was just trying to make you happy.

And it worked.

You nodded, slotting your pinky into his, sealing the deal. He ruffled you hair before saying a quick good luck, and left to the stage.

Lee Know: Finger nail biting

You hadn't known the boys long, but you all were incredibly close. Bangchan being your brother, he invited you with him everywhere.

You were particularly fond of Lee know, but he seemed indifferent. He cared about you, but he was expressionless all the same.

He had started picking up on random habits you began to aquire, one of them bring fingernail biting.

It wasn't safe, nor was it healthy, so anytime be caught you biting a nail, he was there, a scolding ready.

Or at least, that was his plan. But when he came up next to you, ready to interfere, you would look up at him, pausing your mission, your finger still in your mouth. His heart nearly stopped.

Instead of saying anything, he would gently remove your fingers by grasping your wrist slightly, moving it your side.

He would do this whenever he had to.

Cooking? He would stop everything, washing his hands before and after touching you. Who care about the food?

If he's doing an interview and sees you chewing behind the camera? He'll find a moment he isn't needed just to halt your habit.

If he isn't anywhere near you, but Felix snitched through text? He would call you just to make sure you weren't really biting your nails.

"Are you biting, y/n?"

"No..."

"I'm checking your nails tomorrow. You better not be lying, jagi,"

Instead of punishing you, however, when he sees your shortened nails, all he does is look at you, your hand still in his.

"You got to stop, jagi," he whispers, massaging your hand.

"I'm sorry, Lee know. It's just hard,"

"I know, baby,"

Changbin: Stress eating

You were a known eater in the group along side Changbin and Bangchan. The three of you? Eatracha(lol).

But when Changbin noticed you eating twice as much, he assumed it was stress. You looked sad while you ate, which was new.

He took it upon himself to eat with you, the same amount, and he felt sick. But he didn't want you to feel alone.

It was when you started to physically get sick that he decided to intervene.

"Y/n? Maybe you should stop..." he told you, rubbing your shoulders.

In tears, you said, "But I can't, Bin. I've tried. It's like my body needs me to eat, but it can't take that much," you sniffled, leaning into his touch.

"Oh, honey. It's okay. We can just lower your portion slowly. That way, you can get used to eating less, but at a healthy pace, okay? Sound good?" He asked, moving up to your neck.

Feeling the pleasure from his rubs made your head loll back.

"Yeah..."

Hyunjin: Finger tapping

He thought it was cute at first. You tapping the table gently, hearing the soft thuds of your dull fingers. You had just cut your nails, so it didn’t seem so bad. In fact, it gave him ideas for music, not that you would notice. Hearing the same beat you had recently tapped yourself, you weren’t focused on it.

A few days went by, and you were still doing it. If your hands weren’t busy, tap. Tap. Tap. Hyunjin wasn’t the only one that noticed. Bangchan and Changbin both noticed as well, and Jeonjin later. They all told you what was going on, but you just played it off as a habit from childhood, despite them knowing you for years and not once had you had this issue.

As your nails grew, so did the tune of the taps. They seemed more aggressive, more painful. You hit the table harder.

One of your nails broke, causing your finger to bleed. You didn’t notice. You kept tapping.

It was just you and Han in the room. He was on his phone, distracted. He became used to the tapping. It didn’t bother him. You stared at the wall, still moving your fingers through the bloody table, while Hyunjin walked in.

A small gasp, and rushed footsteps caught your attention.

“Hyunjin? What’s wrong?” You asked, oblivious.

“Y/n! Your hands!” He was struggling to sit still at the sight of your blood smeared on the table. You finally stopped tapping, at least.

“Oh…” Was all you could say before you heard a scuttling in one of the drawers. It was Han. He had finally noticed, grabbing some bandages. “I didn’t..I wasn’t…”

“What the hell, y/n? Do you not notice what you’re doing?” Hyunjin muttered, grabbing the bandages from Han, moving towards your hand. He gently pulled your hands towards his own, quickly wrapping it to stop the bleeding.

“Han?” Hyunjin said, but Han only nodded. You watched as we went to go get disinfectant and towels to clean up the table. “Y/n? Look at me,”

You did, embarrassed that this happened in front of him. “I’m sorry,” you started tearing up, your shoulders shaking. You were so anxious, but you had no idea why.

His gaze softened, pulling you into a hug.

“I’m here,”

Han: Hair twirling

You hair want too long, so it didn’t really get in the way. But you liked hair, even your own. After touching Hans for the first time a few months ago, you were hooked. But you knew you couldn’t bother him all the time just to mess with his hair, so you started playing with your own. It wasn’t the same, but it was different, in a good way.

Every day, the boys would eye your hands in your hair, and they never questioned it. They thought it was a girl thing. Right?

Three months later, you were anxious. Immediately, your hands went to your hair. Whenever you were upset? Hair. It was so comforting. Even when you were angry. Scared? Cover your face with your hair, and mess with the dead ends. It cured everything.

Han tripped and fell one day right in front of you, and it scared you. It was so sudden. You knew he was clumsy, but the way he squealed reached your ears at full volume. It was too much.

You jumped back a little, bringing both of your hands to pull your hair in front of your eyes, using your thumb to mess with the tips.

“Jisung? You okay?” You asked from behind your makeshift shield.

“Yeah…? Are you?” You heard him giggle, patting himself down. He shouldn’t be too dirty, we were only in the kitchen, after all.

“Yeah…” you responded. You dropped your curtain, but kept your hand in your hair, twirling it quickly.

Han noticed this and his smile slowly dropped, replaying every moment similar to this one. And one thing was the same in each. Your hair. He was always confused on what started it, but it didn’t seem to harm you, so he was fine with it. But now, he wanted to know.

“Why are your hands always in your hair?” He finally asked, not really meaning to.

“Oh? I just like the way it feels. It’s soothing, I guess,” you responded, shrugging your shoulders.

He got an idea, one that will hopefully change your habit. “Wanna feel mine?” He raised a brow, sending a smile to you.

Your eyes brightened, making his heart flutter. “Really?” You asked, both of your hands now free from the prison that is your hair.

Han nodded.

You both ended up on the couch, his head in your lap as you played with his hair, massaging his scalp.

“I need this to last forever,” Han whispered as you rubbed a sore spot on his lower neck.

“Isn’t forever a long time?” You giggled. However, your heart dropped at his next words.

“Perhaps it isn’t long enough,”

Felix: Lip biting

It started really quick into the friendship. They wanted you with them for every show, and every event. That’s how close you were. But the random photos from strangers and invading fans were just too much. Your privacy was no longer private, and it worried you. It started to affect your sleeping, your eating, and your patience.

You became extremely anxious, which didn’t go unnoticed by the guys. They were always trying to comfort you with something, but it never seemed to last. But you smiled, not wanting to worry them.

The lip biting started at night. You couldn’t sleep, and was bored. You didn’t touch your phone, not wanting to see what people say about you and your friends. It was an accident at first. You bit your lip, wincing at the sudden pain. But then your teeth grazed them again, catching on dry skin. It was annoying you, so you just bit it. And kept going.

You stopped drinking as much water just so your lips could dry out, wanting to bite them again.

While in the dance room with the boys, you were biting, starting off gently. You didn’t want to bleed in front of the boys. They weren’t dancing, but just hanging out. They had to shoot an m/v later in the day, so they wanted to relax.

Bite. Seungmin was messing with Jeonjin, making him form a fist. Bite. Chan was talking to Lee know about the choreo. Bite. Han, Changbin and Hyunjin were sitting in a circle, playing a game. Bite. Wait…

You felt something warm slide down your chin. Then you smelt it. Blood.

“Y/n? Oh my god!” You were grateful Felix whispered, not catching anyone’s attention.

He stood quickly, grabbing your hand and taking you to the restroom. He walked into the girls bathroom without a care in the world, which would have made you giggle if it weren’t for this situation.

“Are you okay? Is the cut deep? What happened?” He ran the water, grabbed a paper towel, wet it, and brought it to your lip.

“Mm ‘Kay,” you muffled, the towel hindering your speech. You saw the ghost of a smile form on his own, making you feel better.

When he moved the now red towel, the bleeding had slowed, making you lick them every so often. You looked at Felix and his sad expression.

“It was an accident. I promise. It won’t happen again,” you promised.

“You sure?”you nodded.

After seeing his worry, and how he took care of you, you knew you would never bite your lip again.

Seungmin: Finger popping

Seungmin popped his knuckles, so why did he feel yours was unnecessary and annoying? Were you copying him? Or mocking him? He didn’t know. But when he walked into Hans room, he didn’t expect to see you on the floor, desperately trying to pop your back.

When you felt the need to pop a bone, doesn’t matter which one, you must pop it quickly, or else you start to get anxious. This was one of those moments. You had popped your elbows, your knees, fingers and neck. Lastly was your back, but you couldn’t get this part. It was too low, so turning on the ground wouldn’t work. And neither was pushing your weight down from a higher surface. You were starting to panic.

“Y/n? What are you doing?” You ignored his words, desperately trying to relieve your growing stress.

“Y/n?” He said a bit louder, seeing you glance at him as you started breathing heavier. “Hey! Hey? What the matter?” Now he was starting to worry.

“My back..”

He looked you up and down before asking, “Does it hurt?” He went to place his hand where you were holding, applying soft pressure.

“No. Needs to pop,” You whimpered, making his eyes widen.

“What?” He went to remove his hand, but you stopped him.

“Could you pop it please? I don’t like it,” You pleaded with him.

You two weren’t close, so seeing this side from you shocked him. Still, the sound of your uncomfortable plead was enough to break him.

“Okay. Show me where,” you did, waiting for him to apply pressure. “Ready?” You nodded, and gasped when he pushed down. The loud pop echoed through the room, making him flinch, pulling his arm from you.

Sitting for a moment to feel the relief, you then turned to him. Your eyes shined and you had a soft smile.

“Thanks, Seungmin. I really appreciate it,”

His heart felt like it would burst. He didn’t know what exactly he was feeling, but he knew that if you ever needed him to pop something, he’d be there. So that’s exactly what he said, making you feel the same way.

“Thank you, Minnie,”

“Your welcome, y/n,”

Jeonjin: Rapid blinking

You were a fan in the audience, not jumping like the rest, but paying the same amount of attention. You were an introvert, no doubt, and didn’t show excitement despite feeling it very much. You had a front row ticket, and was right in front of the eight boys you came to love. Your bias, Jeonjin, was right in front of you, singing his part for ‘I Lose my Breath’, literally making you lose yours.

You started blinking, thinking it was the fog machines effecting you, but it was something else. You didn’t know what until it was too late. The crowd pushing behind you, you felt pressure building inside your chest. No one was touching you, thank god, but you felt the presence of the fans. It was suffocating.

You fell into a blinking fit, unable to keep them open, and unable to keep them closed. This had never happened before, but you weren’t surprised. It was a tic. It would take a while to stop it. So, as to not disturb anyone next to you, you tilted your head, looking at your shoes, or at least, trying to.

You kept blinking, not fighting it, knowing it will make it worse. It started to slow when you felt a tap on your shoulder. It came from in front of you. A security guard? You slowly looked back up, your vision fighting the bright lights. Then you stopped breathing.

Jeonjin?

He was standing in front of you with a worried expression. On stage, it was now dance break, meaning he didn’t need to sing. He was making sure you were okay.

Since he saw you, he felt a pull from that stage, making him linger near your area. He saw that you didn’t even have your phone out like the rest, not jumping or anything. Just swaying lightly on your feet while smiling every time he looked at you. You were a calm in the storm. He liked that. And when he saw you staring at the floor for fifteen minutes, he got worried. Did you not like the show? Did he do something wrong? Did his pants rip?

But when he got to you, he noticed your eyes were watery. He didn’t know why, and didn’t need to either. He motioned for your phone from your front pocket, and you slowly gave it to him, thinking he was going to take a selfie, instead, he was typing. Why? You didn’t know. He came close to your ear after giving it back, and said,

“After the show. Don’t look until then,” was all he said before winking, and walking back to his members.

You stood there confused, but focused on the rest of the show.

After you made it to your hotel after thee show, you checked your phone, wondering what he could have possibly left you. Everything looked normal. You were confused. But when you opened your messages, you saw his name as one of the contacts. What?

You opened it, seeing he already texted himself. You gasped, not sure what to make of it. You slowly typed out something, but didn’t send it, unsure if this was real. Thirty minutes later, you saw his bubbles. He’s texting you?!

“You going to send it or just let it sit?”

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catssluvr · 2 months ago

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sensitive, natalie scatorccio

natalie scatorccio x fem!reader (1k words) (request)

in which you go out hunting with nat and have to kill an animal for the first time

warnings: panic attack(?), killing an animal, soft nat, too many kisses, fluff <3

⭑.ᐟ ⭑.ᐟ

Your hands shake slightly as you zip up the backpack in front of you, regretting your earlier choice by the second.

The reason is appealing, you want to spend more time with Nat and it’s something that’s getting harder and harder.

But hunting is anything but appealing to you. It was a bad idea, you know it for sure now. All this time you’ve doing all the things the other chores available, not being able to stomach the thought of taking an animal’s life.

Nat’s fingers slide up your arms, pulling a gasp from you at her sudden appearance. They slide up to your hair, pulling it away from your neck to give access to her lips.

“Hey. Ready to go, doll?” She asks, smiling against your warm skin.

Natalie had been the first to be reluctant about letting you come with her, having observed the way you avoided the sensitive topic. But the confusion had quickly turned into excitement at the opportunity to be alone with you.

“Sure.” You answer with a tight smile, thanking the fact that she can’t see your face properly.

She turns you in her arms, humming lazily. “If we’re quick to find dinner we can… i don’t know, maybe find a nice spot and hang there.”

You nod approvingly, pressing a quick kiss to her nose before pulling the backpack to your shoulders.

“Let’s not waste another second, then.” She smiles teasingly, pulling your hand to drag you into the forest.

You both walk for a while, chatting about whatever comes to mind. You speak a bit louder than you usually would, feeling bad for sabotaging the hunt on purpose. You're glad Nat probably doesn't have the heart to tell you to tune down.

At the point you've settled that you are not coming again, thinking of a good excuse to tell to Nat as to why you wouldn't want more time alone with her.

Suddenly her palm presses to your mouth, "Shh, look."

She points ahead silently, your eyes landing on the rabbit nibbling on some plants a few feet ahead. And fuck, you might actually tumble to the ground.

"Want to do the honours?" She asks in a whisper that you hope is loud enough for the sweet animal to hear. It isn't.

She's just trying to be nice, you know it. Showing you she thinks you're capable of doing it and definitely not aware of the anxiety creeping up your chest at the sight of the gun in her hands.

"I guess so." You reply shakily, accepting the gun into your hands. "Of course." You repeat as reassurance.

You point it up, pulling the safety trigger with fingers slippery from the sweat building up in your hands. You angle it carelessly, silently hoping the training was no good to you and that it runs as soon as the shoot misses.

"Here, grab it a bit more firmly." Nat reaches to steady your arms, helping you settle your finger against the trigger.

She knows your nervous, you realize. Just doesn't notice what the real motive for it is.

You pull it, stomach sinking as you do the perfect shot. The rabbit squeaks quietly before falling the ground, but it’s enough for the sound to be engraved in your head.

You try not to hyperventilate, adverting your eyes from to the rest of the surroundings in hope of forgetting it.

"Good job. Fast learner, huh?" Nat squeezes your arm before brushing past you, picking up the rabbit.

"Yeah." Your voice feels chocked as you speak, like at any moment the words will get stuck in your throat.

"Come on, maybe we'll be lucky enough to find a deer soon." She says, the idea of having to help her carry a deer makes your stomach do flips.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to tell your legs to move as Nat starts walking. But you seem to take too long as her steps falter quickly.

"Baby?" She asks, confused. "What's going on?"

You turn to her, eyes filling up with distressed tears and chin wobbling as your lips move into a pout. You try to say something but even your own breath feels stuck, air not enough to fill your lungs.

"Hey, hey. Look at me." She drops everything, holding your cheeks between her hands as she helps you concentrate in her. "You did great." She repeats.

Nat tries to look calm, eyes searching for an expression that will help her understand what you're feeling.

She pulls one of your hands to her chest, right above her heart. Her breath guides your, taking deep exhales to make it easy for you to speak.

"I killed it, Nat." It comes out as a sob, your frightened face finally making sense to her.

The tears fall freely down your face, but it's now more of a post scare than the anxious feeling from before speaking up.

"Sweetheart." She breathes, tucking your face into her neck as her arms wrap around your frame. You feel bad for the tears (and probably snot) that sweep to her shirt, but Nat doesn't seem to mind, pulling you as close as possible.

"It's okay, i got you." Her own breath fans your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your cheek.

"'M sorry." You croak, starting to feel embarrassed for what feels like an outburst.

"Don't apologize." She asserts, "You don't have to do this, you know?"

"I want to- i mean i don't." You huff, rubbing at your cheek frustratedly, "I wish i wanted to." You decide.

"It's not a problem if you don't. I'm right here, baby." Natalie smiles, helping your troubled mind calm down.

"Just wanted to spend time with you." You mumble honestly, making her smile turn giddy.

"Well, no one has to know i'm the one getting the job done. It's not usually a problem." She jokes, successfully making you giggle as you lightly punch her shoulder.

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think you'll ever catch me wanting to not spend time with you." Nat speaks, tucking your hair behind your ear and wiping the stray tears left on your cheek.

"Come on, i think they can manage with doing something else for dinner tonight." She intertwines your fingers as you start walking. "Besides, we have a lot of kissing to catch up on."

"Dork." You shake your head with a smile, the heavy weight on your chest completely dissipated.

#natalie scatorccio x self insert #natalie scatorccio x you #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio #natalie yellowjackets #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets

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affectionatecorpse · 1 year ago

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I'm once again getting overly philosophical over horror movies, so here's a study of the death angels from A Quiet Place as observed by a very enthusiastic animal loving veterinarian.

Every time people talk about death angels, it is, understandably, about how violent they are. These creatures are brutal and merciless, and will tear apart anything that makes too much noise. Hence the title of the movie.

Death angels are frankly terrifying, and show no empathy towards the creatures of the planet they invaded. No living thing is safe from them.

... so here's why they COULD be--

Look. Death angels are simply not suited for our planet. It's a noisy, chaotic place full of noisy, chaotic animals. From humans, to raccoons, to birds, to cats, nearly everything in our world is a potential trigger for a noise sensitive animal such as these.

But that's exactly what they are. Animals. And no one seems to remember that fact. People talk about them as though they themselves are sentient, anthropomorphic monsters, but the way these creatures act mimic many real life animals. Animals that don't belong here, but are trying to survive here. On a noisy planet covered in water, which they despise and cannot swim in.

Death angels are completely blind by nature, as seen in many other creatures such as cavefish, moles, and my personal favourite, the olm. Due to a lack of sight, they very clearly use echolocation in the film, to scan their surroundings and... well, not get dead. But echolocation is far from their only tool, as their ears are the strongest asset they have.

Their ears are INCREDIBLY sensitive. Just the slight ticking of an egg timer when heard from their perspective in the first film, is like a pounding drum in their ear. This is fine in a naturally quiet planet, but if a very subtle tick is that loud, then imagine the rest of the noise. Screaming. Explosions. Crashing. Little toy planes. Holy CRAP, that's gotta hurt.

Sounds that loud would definitely cause extreme hearing problems from pressure over time, and easily result in lifelong illnesses and disabilities such as deafness, infection, and so forth, if not stopped. It's going to be painful. It's literally bursting their ear drums inside their heads, and you can't explain to an animal why it hurts. You cannot rationalise with wildlife about treatment and self care. An injured and scared animal is always going to turn hostile, no matter how docile they may be normally. You can't explain to a lion with a knife in it's belly that you can stop the pain if it just doesn't attack you. You can't explain to a death angel that it needs to go somewhere more isolated instead of just destroying the source of the noise to shut it up.

Going to backtrack here a sec. Remember how I mentioned echolocation being another asset this creature has? Which means the slightest movement, the tiniest breath, can immediately allow you to be seen by it. With ears that good, too? It can see you from ages away. It knows you're there. Which means they DON'T attack for sport.

'Evil' is a concept rarely seen in nature. Yes, a lot of humans can be evil. And yes, many creatures can be too. Animals hunt for sport as well. Cats, for example! Although even then, I wouldn't describe it as evil. Calling the death angels evil implies they're attacking out of malicious intent, which just isn't true. In moments of panic, they'll destroy. But they are fully aware of humans around them.

Humans need to breathe, and can't stay perfectly still very easily. The death angels would be able to see our main cast at several points, even when they're being quiet. They don't attack whenever they locate a sign of life. For example, the scene in the basement. Being that close, whether the water was running or not, that alien absolutely would've heard Evelyn and the baby's sharp breaths. It didn't care. It was clicking at them almost curiously before it heard the bang of the silo, to which it ditched them to stop the sound.

This scene is a great example of why they don't kill for sport. Injured and young animals are especially easy prey for a creature built so strong and nimble. Evelyn is shown to be terrified of the mere presence of this thing, but it never actually does anything in the scene. It moves about. Ignores her movements in the flooding water. Investigates the baby. Clicks curiously at her while she backs away. It moves slowly and on all fours, when we know while aggressive, they will stand up on their hind legs (unless sprinting) and move very fast.

This implies it was in... well, not a submissive position, but a nonthreatening one. It wasn't baring it's teeth (as best it could), it had it's claws tucked up and unused, and was in no way in a primed-to-attack mentality. Until the silo made a loud bang. And even then, it could've quickly sliced up the two in the basement before running off, but it DIDN'T. It just left, without a moment of hesitation.

Let's also acknowledge the anatomy.

This is a carnivore. With sharp teeth for ripping apart prey, sharp claws for defence, and thick armour for protection from it's natural climate, as well as strong, long legs for running, this is absolutely a meat eater. The fact it's so well equipped makes me wonder if their natural prey is just as dangerous as them, which is why they have such tough skin. Or if they themselves have something above them in the food chain.

They seem to be pack animals, as usually others aren't far behind when one is about. Such as the trio by the Abbott house, the few at the docks, the ones by Emet's hideout, and even that group sliding down the building in the Day One clip I keep seeing as a gif. With their knack for running included, I wonder if they function like lions? Blending into their environment back home, clicking to hear prey, then the whole pack going on the chase when their target is vulnerable, in a way.

I got distracted. My point was, in a year, all the bodies from past victims vanished. All those people in the town who were swiped left and right just vanished from the town. They couldn't have decomposed in such short time, which means something moved them when it was safe. Something like a carnivore needing food after it felt comfortable in the silent aftermath. The argument that they do it for sport is one I see all the time, and it's just not true.

Everything needs to eat. Carnivores need to eat. Animals need to protect themselves from suspected danger. They never eat on screen because whenever they're on screen, they're surrounded by noise and are DISTRESSED. Have you ever had a sick pet? Most of the time, it won't eat when it's ill because it's too stressed, uncomfortable or in too much pain. When having their ear drums assaulted, a death angel isn't going to sit down with a cup of tea and a grilled cheese. Also, I won't add it because there's blood, but in the scene with the old man screaming in the woods, after it attacks, you can actually see it go back on all fours and sniff about the aftermath, like a hungry predator catching prey to eat. This was probably the first and currently only on screen proof of my claim.

By all means, not all animals are meant to be tamed. Jordan Peele's Nope said that best. Yet I can't help but wonder about the individual. Every animal is completely unique. Some will tolerate more than others. Due to their realistic nature and the similarities to actual animals, in specific circumstances, could they be befriended?

Anyway keep an eye out for A Quiet Place 4 where someone has a pet one that wears doggy ear protectors and accepts meat in exchange for pets-- /j

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sundrop-writes · 11 months ago

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Claustrophobia

Isaac Lahey x GN!Reader

Word Count: 800

Teen Wolf Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of the abuse Isaac experienced from his father, mentions of that abuse having a last psychological effect on him (in the form of claustrophobia); Isaac having a panic attack due to his claustrophobia being unexpectedly triggered; this is more of a hurt/comfort fic because the reader helps him calm down. Implications that the reader doesn't know about the existence of werewolves and the supernatural. The reader's gender is not described in any way. Also, I don't know if this is at all sound advice about how to treat someone during a panic attack - not something I am versed in. I think that's it? Not proofread cause I'm on a mental hiatus babey

A/N: I just watched Season 3, Episode 4 (I've been watching two episodes a day and really enjoying the pace of it) and naturally the moment where Isaac gets stuck in the closet called to me like a beacon of whump. So here's this. Also highly recommend pairing this with Claustrophobia by 3OH! 3

...

"Did it have to be a closet?"

Isaac let out a dry chuckle, a seemingly nervous laugh as he eyed up the space apprehensively before stepping inside, putting some of the supplies on one of the shelves.

The two of you began gathering supplies off the cart and loading them into the janitor's closet, carrying out the punishment you had been given. You had been fifteen minutes late to class that morning, and you had heard that Isaac was in detention for fighting - beating up one of the new kids. You knew that since his father died, he had taken on somewhat of a new persona - more bold, more unafraid to get in trouble. But you had a feeling that violence didn't suit him.

It made you wonder what the other guy did to provoke the fight, or what the truth really was. But you felt that it wasn't your place to ask.

"It's not so bad." You remarked, sensing his general anxiety about this activity, but having no clue why.

He seemed fairly confident in every other area of life - he took down guys on the field in lacrosse without even flinching, he walked tall in the halls with confidence (not that you had noticed, not that you stared at him or anything) - it did make you wonder what was so intimidating to him about a closet full of spray bottles and napkins.

"I'm... not so good with small spaces." He remarked quietly, shyly, grabbing some more of the supplies off the cart and stepping inside beside you to begin organzing everything.

Ah. He was claustrophobic. That made sense.

You had heard rumours floating around the school after his father died - you had even heard whispers between Scott and Stiles when they were trying to be subtle in their conversations but had a poor sense of tact. Isaac's father used to lock him in a freezer as punishment, among other things. It was a horror you couldn't imagine.

"You-"

You were about to offer for him to leave, offering to finish up the rest of the work by yourself so that he wouldn't have to be burdened by his anxiety, when the closet door swung shut, slamming closed in a strangely violent manner. Isaac rushed to the door, furiously ripping on the handle, trying to get it open.

"It - it won't open-" He gasped, suddenly sounding terribly out of breath.

He was panicking, likely overtaken by horrible memories that you couldn't even imagine.

"It's okay, it's probably just stuck, I can call someone-" You took your phone out of your pocket, trying to reassure him, but his panicked flailing in the small space, now shouldering against the door, trying to ram it down, knocked your phone out of your hand and cracked the screen.

You didn't know if it was still in working order or not, but you knew it would be wiser to calm him down first.

"Something - something is blocking it from the other side!" He said, his breaths becoming more panicked and frantic as he kept trying to charge the door down - how was he not hurting himself?

He was sweating and shaking, and you ached with sympathy for him.

In Isaac's mind, he was right back there. Locked in darkness, clawing against the tiny, enclosed walls, desperate to get out. He was suffocating, he was running out of air, he was gonna die. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't-

Suddenly, your hand moved against his shoulders, a flat, firm palm rubbing his back, trying to comfort him. The pure gentleness of the touch startled his senses back to reality - there had been nobody to comfort him back then. He collapsed against the door, pressing his forehead into the metal, and deeply against his will, he let out a sob.

"Hey, shh, it's okay." You told him, trying to be as soothing as possible. "You're being so brave-"

"I'm not brave." Isaac choked out. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Don't apologize." You told him firmly, fighting back your own tears of empathy had how distraught he was. "Come on, sit down. Let's take a minute to calm down and breathe and then we'll find a way out of here."

You helped him onto the floor - he practically collapsed into a sitting position against one of the shelves, his entire body shuddering and shaking. Though he wasn't the most naturally affectionate person in the world, he didn't deny your touches when you cradled his head onto your shoulder and continued to soothingly rub his back.

After a few minutes of silence, save for his whimpers as his tears died down, he spoke up.

"I'm sorry," He apologized again. "I just - my dad..." He trailed off, barely able to voice it.

"It's okay," You told him, and for once in his life - he actually felt okay, here with you, in your arms. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"Thank you." He sighed.

When Scott came and got the two of you out of the closet (after Isaac had apologized a dozen more times for cracking your phone screen) - he could sense something in the way Isaac looked at you now, but he didn't say anything about it. Not yet.

#sundrop writes #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey x y/n #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf

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lazyneonrabbitt · 2 months ago

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Missing pieces

Bucky Barnes x Reader

After settling back into society, Bucky finds himself a new family.

Descriptions of night terrors forced upon Bucky. PTSD struggles. I'm uneducated about the mentioned medications and their effects. Not beta'd I finished this at 1am last night so I apologize for any missed typos.

After Wakanda Bucky had finally started to reinsert himself into society. With help from Sam, annoyingly frequent therapy sessions and his own amend-making he felt like he was doing well enough if he said so himself.

Getting rid of his long hair with help from Sarah took a huge weight off his shoulders as well. The long locks no longer shadowed his face and had him jump in panic at the sight of his own reflection.

He did still hide his arm from view, unsure how people would respond to it. Even though he himself didn't associate the new sleek black and gold arm with his past, he wasn't comfortable enough to have it on display.

Not even now, as he sat at the diningtable with with the woman he now dared to call his partner, or girlfriend, and her three judgemental teenage kids.

Triplets, he had learned. Two girls and a boy.

They all liked him now, all four people he shared the table with, and he felt welcome. Something he had only ever felt in Wakanda and eventually with Sam's family as well. It felt good.

It felt so good, he wanted to stay with her and stay happy forever. Because he did feel genuinely happy.

Until the nightmares came back.

Bucky had blamed them on a variety of things, none of them really making sense on second thought but he ignored those thoughts.

What he couldn't ignore was the clawing at the back of his eyes and the voice in his head trying to talk to him. He could never seem to make out the words.

He sat at the diningtable again, his phome laid out in front of him after having stayed in bed for so long he missed everyone leaving for work or school.

His phone sat ready for the call button to be pressed, Shuri's picture staring back at him as he smiled fondly at the memory for a second before the dread of having to admit to her that something was wrong with him took over once more.

With a deep, grounding breath he pressed call. The line rang as the timer counted the seconds until she answered.

"Barnes, friend, what can I do for you? It's been a while!" She knew Bucky wouldn't call just to see how she was doing. He wasn't that kind of person. Besides, if he did want to, he'd text.

It was best to just rip the bandaid off.

"Something's wrong with me." The line fell quiet for a moment before Shuri spoke up.

"Words, Bucky. I can't read your mind through the phone. Even Wakandan tech isn't that advanced." God, he loved her for always having some smart comment ready to lighten his anxiety.

"You said you freed me from him.. He's trying to talk to me, I keep hearing him in thr back of my mind. It feels like he's clawing at the back of my eyeballs but I can't figure out what he's saying. The nightmares are back, too. Always the same one.."

Shuri listened, giving an occasional hum to let Bucky know she was getting everything he shared.

Bucky told her about the Winter Soldier's tone, what was around him when he'd show up to maybe figure out a trigger. Bucky also shared about his nigntmare aa well as he could without talking himself into a panic attack. He shared how he felt like he was back in the Soldier's body, not his own but still entirely aware. The wires going into his prosthetic and the heavy shock collar that woke him up whenever his dream-self would disobey orders.

He shared how he was forced to watch something. A woman in labor, he never saw her face. She was restrained on a medical bed surrounded by doctors and equipment, straining as she was having her baby. Babies, sometimes. It differed, depening if his body behaved. Whenever he'd do as much as flinch or pull his chains too harsh he'd get shocked and woke up from the torment.

His voice trembled as he recalled the nightmares returning the second he fell asleep whenever he hadn't made it to a certsin part. It felt like his mind needed him to remember, for whatever reason it was.

Bucky was so lost in thought he hadn't even realized he had company.

"I can offer you some meds, for your head."

The sudden third voice coming from behind him almost sent him over the edge of the already impending panic attack.

"H.. how much did you hear?" Bucky sat half turned in the chair, staring wide eyed at Gabriel, your oldest son, who was holding out a strip of pills for the older man.

"Enough to know you will absolutely benefit from those." Gabe could see the lingering shock in Bucky's eyes and decided to not yet drop the other obvious thing in the room and instead keep on rambling to distract him.

"Trust me, these may kick in a bit slow, but at least they help you fall asleep with a quiet mind instead of your brain wondering if snails have feelings the second you lie down." He watched Bucky face scrunch in confusion. "They also make sure you wake up without the urge to stick a fork in the electrical outlet."

"You deal with all of that?" Bucky's initial worry had left the building at how Gabriel described his issues. Gabriel only shrugged, it was all normal for him.

"I can't just take anyone's meds whenever my head acts weird. Besides, I don't think our issues come from the same place." Bucky had turned back to sit in his chair properly while Gabriel rummaged around the kitchen, making coffe for them both, entirely unphazed by the very old man staying in his home.

It was Gabriel's casualness around Bucky's accidental identity reveal though a phonecall and shortsleeved shirt that he decided his own apartment could survive one more day without him in it.

The two spent the whole day talking. Bucky truthfully answered questions, and Gabriel shared the struggles of his family that he believed the older man could relate to.

Struggles like his sister Ava, who barely spoke and once threw a guy agross a room without breaking a sweat after bullying her for months. Or their youngest brother Michael who to everyone else seemed like the most normal of the bunch, a simple, easily bored guy, who was really the smartest of the bunch. No need for books after one quick read and in every advanced placement class the school had to offer. But all of that was came with the worst social life. No friends besides his siblings and the occasional stranger to chat about topics with online.

Gabriel kept some details to himself, in the end there were things not his place to share. Intel he had and kept hidden from his siblings because he was just too curious one day and dug too deep into the wrong end after one too many emotional breakdowns at his mother talking through her night terrors. It wasn't something they should be worrying about either.

Time passed and eventually the two were so deep into conversarion they barely registered the remainder of the household coming home, starting with the two siblings who darted to their rooms in an instant, followed by her.

Mom, girlfriend, who entered wordlessly and strolled into the livingroom expecting to find it empty but instead rounding the corner and seeing Gabriel, and "Bucky?"

Both turned to face her direction. Bucky turning to look over his left shoulder, arm casually slung over the backrest to get a better look at his girlfriend coming home. He was all sweet smiles excited to see her again, until he realized his mistake. The sheer panic in her eyes broke his heart as he quickly retracted his arm, trying to hide it behind the couch but the damage was already done and Gabriel was on his feet and on his way to support his mother.

Except she swatted his hand away without a second thought, backing up into the dining table and almost tripping on her own feet. "Why didn't you text me? Gabe?"

The wide eyed stare did nothing to hide her fear. Fear that faded into emptiness.

It was that same emptiness she fell into sometimes when she just got her new medication and forgot to take it in time.

'Falling back into memories.' was what the doctors had called it when they explained how people with PTSD would sometimes have episodes of reliving traumatic experiences inside their head. That was the clearest description they could give to a bunch of scared kids who had to watch their mom become this shell of a person out of nowhere.

"Gabe, talk to me. What's going on with her? Why does she disappear like that?" Bucky was on his feet, ready to lead her to the couch and sit her down but his moves were quickly shut down.

"Look, I think I know where she is right now, and it's a bad memory. I'll get her back, I used to be the one doing it all the time before until she finally got taking her medication into her routine. Just.. don't look her in the eyes. She's probably gonna be terrified of you."

"Sorry.." Gabriel quicky added before he set into his routine of getting his mother back like clockwork.

In the meantime two curious heads had shown up near the entryway, dead silent as they watched and observed. Neither knew why their mom went quiet after so long of doing fine. They knew to keep quiet so they watched as she slowly came back and started mumbling at their older brother.

Without looking in her direction Bucky focused on her words.

Soft pleas to make it stop, calling out for nurses, pain and tiredness until she went quiet again for a minute.

"Hey mom, what's for dinner?" Gabriel's voice called out not as loud as he usually would but still mimicing the simple tone of the daily annoying question of every teenager ever. The most normal everyday sentence that would always have her snap right back.

And she did, with a deep intake of breath she blinked rapidly and turned to face her son. "Oh! Eh.. Didn't I take food out of the freezer this morning?" She turned to face the kitchen and passed two curious faces in the process that immediately informed her of what had happened. With a sigh she turned back in her seat, catching something in the corner of her eye and settling once more on Bucky. This time without falling into a panic, but she still stiffened in her chair. While he wasn't looking at her, she still saw enough of him. His eyes, that were just a little too blue to be natural.

His hair. It was short and clean but it matched. And the arm. It was no longer silver and missing the red star but it was still there out in the open now instead of hidden under many layers of clothing.

He had succesfully hidden it from her for so long. Not sleeping in bed with her, never taking up the offers to shower.

"Soldier.."

That was Gabriel's que. He nodded over his siblings to come sit with their mom while he scurried off and came back with a blue file folder in his hands. He apologized as he handed it off, letting their mother see things she never knew about herself. Or, more about her children.

The stamps in the corner of the copied and reprinted documents sent a chill down her spine.

"Where did you get this? How, why?" With every word read more questions bubbled up, down to the second she had turned two, three pages over and slammed the whole thing shut. Papers dropped and scattered over the floor as she stared back at the man on her couch with--

Bucky couldn't make out the look on her face. She didn't speak either but at least she was still breathing evenly now.

"Here." A single piece of paper was held in front of Bucky's face. The only one needed to suddenly clear up a whole lot of confusion.

It wasn't that Gabriel knew from the second their mom brought Bucky home, he had no clue either. It wasn't until earlier this morning when he walked in on him and saw his arm that it all clicked and he suddenly understood why this guy was the one she was so sure about.

'I don't know what it is, really. It feels natural, you know? The other guys were all dating apps and forced evenings at the bar. With Bucky it was like a neon sign that screamed YES and he's so sweet he has to like me the same way, I won't believe any other explaination.'

Gabriel kept his eyes on Bucky who read every word on the page out loud with trembling hands and voice.

"Your head's all fucked because of me?" Bucky looked from Gabriel to Ava. "You have traces of my serum. Your strenght and anger issues are mine. And you," Michael crossed his arms, still partially hidden behind his sister. "I guess you got lucky getting the fast learning side effects."

Despite the bomb that was just dropped he smiled, not that his other half could see him. At least he now knew what the Soldier had tried to tell him. He knew the woman but the connection between him and Bucky was so weak these days he couldn't let him know, but it seemed his feelings were strong enough to go through.

Carefully he raised his head to look at the woman he prayed still considered them partners.

"I.. I swear I didn't know it was you they--" She didn't dare to finish her sentence.

"Neither did I. I'm missing a lot of memories. Turns out that, he," Bucky wiggled the fingers of his vibranium hand to make his point. "does remember you and tried to tell me."

Gabriel had by now plucked the paper from Bucky's hand and offered it to Ava and Michael, knowing it was easier for now to have them read it for themselves than to have either parent say the words out loud.

With news shared amd hunger on no one's minds the evening faded into night quietly. All kids retreated to their rooms as well as mom while Bucky opted for the couch. He had offered to leave but none of the kids let him. They all believed their mom just needed to sleep on the revelation and she'd be more open to talk in the morning.

Bucky woke up to the sound of her voice the next day. He listened to her calling in sick before waving off the kids leaving for school.

The second the door closed he sat up, carefully looking her way as she gave him the smallest wave of her hand while walking out of view into the kitchen. Against his better judgement Bucky moved and met her by the coffeemaker where, to his surprise, she was preparing two mugs.

"I'm happy, for them." were the first words that she shared with him. "They need a dad, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still head over heels for you. I needed a moment to think and last night I realized that I didn't care that I never got a choice. I love my kids and I--" She paused right on time to catch the words on her tounge before they slipped out.

She handed her his coffee, her fingers brushing his metal ones. "No I- I love my kids, and I love you, Bucky."

Bucky lowered his drink before he had a chance to take a sip. "Even after all of this?" He held up his prosthetic arm once again and watched her nod in agreement. Excited even, if he had to admit.

It all still felt weird to him. A family and people telling him they loved him in a way that wasn't how his friends said it.

"I love you too. And eh, so does he. He has for a while aparently. Turns out that's where the new nightmares came from." He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, trying to hide his face behind the mug in his hand but failing miserably.

"So, you're moving in now, right?" She started all nonchalant. "And you're officially banned from sleeping on the couch."

He couldn't keep the awkward smile off his face that was now turning darker shades of red at each of her words.

Yeah, there was no way he was going back to his apartment anymore after he went and moved over his minimal amount of possessions.

#sometimes i write #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #catfa #catws #cacw #fatws #thunderbolts #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot

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polarisjisung · 9 months ago

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LOVE ON THE COURT | 29 NOT AGAIN

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | sexual innuendos, swearing, mentions + pretty detailed description of a panic attack, lwk abandonment issues

NOTES | the girls are fighting... you didn't think I'd let them make up this fast did you?? a much shorter chapter today I'm sorry 😓

15:27pm , after the game

Y/n knew ningning inside out, they'd been friends for their whole life, best friends for a number of years, they'd spent longer together than apart.

Y/n and ningning were practically sisters. They'd fought over stupid things like if apple juice was better than orange juice, they'd stolen each others clothes, done each others nails as post breakup therapy— they'd experienced love and loss, and they'd always experienced it together.

It was and always had been them against the world.

Personal problems had always existed, but they'd face them head on and, most importantly, together.

So y/n knew what ningning was feeling, maybe not exactly, but she certainly knew why ningning felt the way she did.

And sure, Ningning's words had hurt y/n too, but that was the thing, they'd said the best and worst things to one another.

Being so close to someone can be a double-edged sword. Knowing their triggers and insecurities so well that in the heat of the moment, it’s almost too easy to throw those daggers. The intimacy shared can turn into a weapon of knowing exactly what to say to hit them where it hurts. In those moments, it’s like being caught in a toxic cycle, where love and pain intertwine.

Regret sets in as soon as the words leave the mouth, but the damage is done, leaving both people feeling raw and vulnerable. It's a harsh reminder that knowing someone deeply can sometimes mean knowing how to wound them just as easily. So y/n knew that Ningning was showing nothing but her concern.

But equally, she understood she deserved somewhat of an apology as well, even if Ningning's words had come from a good place, they'd hurt, and perhaps they hurt even more so coming from her.

It seemed a simple explanation why this argument of theirs had rested at the forefront of her mind for so long too, because Ningning was the only person in her life who Y/n couldn't imagine losing. And after everything that she'd been through, after the people she'd lost, and the relationships she'd seen go with them, she knew she wouldn't let herself be to blame. She wouldn't let herself lose a friend, least of all Ningning, just because she didn't communicate.

Or at least that was her plan, as she made her way down the hallway of the hotel, her hair still dripping from the shower she'd just taken, gripping way too many snacks for the two of them to share. Minjun followed after her, still gushing about having seen his older sister play for the first time, begging her to teach him how to dribble the ball like her, a grin plastered across his face. It was endearing, really.

And Y/n swore she only turned to smile at him for a second, but in the next, she felt her heart drop and her blood run cold. It felt like the ground shifted beneath her feet, and suddenly, she was trapped in a whirlwind of way too many thoughts, coming way too fast.

There, stood across the hallway, was a man she had made many desperate attempts to forget. To no avail, of course.

She blinked, rubbing her fists against her eyes hurriedly, as if he was nothing but a figment of her imagination, that when she looked up again he'd disappear and this would be nothing but a bad dream. But there he was, struggling to open the door to his room, angrily staring down at the key card with furrowed brows.

He seemed older. His hairs greying and wrinkles setting in across the feafures she recognised so well, his smile lines deeper than the last time she'd seen him.

The last time she'd seen him.

Her breaths quickened at the sight of him, becoming deeper yet each inhale felt shallower than the last, and her chest tightened like a vice. This wasn't happening, it couldn't, not here, not now.

She could hear the muffled voice beside her asking why they'd stopped walking, she could feel minjun's grip tighten around her, she could see the way the man turned his head at the realisation he was no longer alone in the haway, but it all felt distant, like she was underwater. Unsure how to answer, she stood silently, gaze locked on the man, blinking rapidly, questioning if he was really, truly stood in front of her at all. As soon as he locked eyes with her, she felt the bile rush up her throat and a distant ringing in her ears, her hands beginning to shake against the smaller ones that held hers. Y/n felt like she was drowning. But she knew she couldn't. It was a luxury she couldn't afford, and the soft skin brushing against her hand was a reminder of that.

Panic surged through her, and y/n fought the urge to break down, feeling the walls closing in on her. The bright lights overhead felt too harsh, illuminating the doubts swirling in her head, making it hard to focus. Calm down. She thought, but she couldn't. She couldn't think she couldn't move, and worst of all, she couldn't calm down. She convinced herself this was nothing, voiced out lies in her mind that echoed with uncertainty. Breathe, she thought. But she couldn't. It was as if every unresolved feeling crashed over her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping for air and desperate for an escape. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ground herself, but the memories flooded back faster, unrelenting and unforgiving.

Y/n found herself tugging harshly against the smaller wrist that was still loosely resting in her grip, making a sharp 180 and jetting off down the hallway, with shaky steps and ragged breaths.

She had to go, she had to leave, she had to do it now. Her phone vibrated in her hands only seconds later, a painfully familiar contact flashing across the screen, and all y/n could do was throw the device into the bottom of her bag, stuffing her belongings in on top, making no effort to answer the questions coming from the confused young boy who watched her. The blood rushed to her head so quickly, too quickly, in fact, and she swore the room in front of her begun to spin.

Her dad hadn't called her in years, not a single message, not a single word, so why now was he calling? Why was he reaching out now? Just because he'd seen her? Did some sort of shitty parental guilt kick in at the sight of his now grown children? Did he feel inadequate, maybe even jealous that they were doing just fine without him? Y/n didn't know, and she didn't care, but seeing him was still enough for her to take an unwanted trip down memory lane, reliving every moment since he'd left. Her chest tightened, the lump in her throat growing to the point that she couldn't breathe no matter how hard she tried. Still, she kept going, scanning the room to make sure she hadn't left anything behind.

Minjun had never seen his sister like this, so close to breaking down, and y/n didn't plan on letting that change today, sucking in deep breaths and wiping her teary eyes as she pulled his jacket around him. It was getting cold outside now, and she wouldn't let one careless mistake from her because of something so trivial, leading to him becoming sick.

Y/n could barely function, struggling to pull the zipper loop up and through the jacket, still she kept going. Her body ran on autopilot, muscle memory taking full control as she silently pulled the bags through the door and held a hand out for minjun to follow. Too occupied in her own thoughts she rushed out of the hotel with urgency, taking long strides towards the cabs that waited outside, only realising she was moving way too fast for Minjun to keep up when his small rushed breaths filled the air. She needed to calm down, she wasn't alone and she had to act like it. Minjun was her responsibility, and she needed to take care of him.

She muttered out an apology, quick, sincere, but short and found herself falling back into the cycle of her own thoughts again. Comfort was a thought far away, but the surety of heading home, caused the racing of her heart to ease just slightly, a dull ache developing in her arm now that she'd finally set down all her bags inside the cab, a cramp settling in.

In that moment, y/n felt the overwhelming feeling of solitude press down in her, honing in from all sides, and the ache of abandonment crept into each corner of her heart. The pain was bitter and fuck, it ran deep.

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#nct jaemin smau #jaemin smau #nct dream smau #nct smau #jaemin fake texts #nct dream fake texts #kpop smau #love on the court 🏀

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thequietkid-moonie · 7 months ago

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Hello! May i request the Yandere Prompt “Abused Darling Feels at Peace with Them” with Kafka, Silver Wolf, and Firefly?

Abused darling feels at peace with them

[ YANDERE HEADCANONS ] [ Kafka, Silver Wolf, Firefly ]

[ Honkai Star Rail ]

⚠️ Yandere, I don't support nor try to romanticize this toxic behaivor, is just for entretaiment

Thank you so much for requesting this prompt! I being wanting to write it but I had no idea with who

Kafka

Despite being a wanted criminal and wouldn't doubt on killing others if she has to Kafka is incredibly caring and gentle towards her darling, for her you are like the most precious treasure she could ever find, someone so beautiful and valuable that she most take good care of!

Kafka is not really going to take a no from your part, once she knows she wants you then she will take you with her and drag you to her side, however she is incredibly good with words and makes everything in her power to make sure you understand that you will be safe and completely loved at her side, wich is not a lie

Knowing that you have a past of suffering any kind of abuse trigger a protective side of Kafka, she doesn't really want to take away from you your freedom (specially if you already accepted her willingly) but she will try even more to make you feel safe and will become even more gentle, holding you close or always having an arm around you, even admiting what she is capable of without a shame just because she wants to show you how sincere and open she will be with you, her beloved darling, take advantage of you and become abusive like those jerks in the past did is the last thing you can expect from her

To go even further she even tell a bit of your backstory to the other sellaron hunters because all of them are like a big family, you must trust then too (even if you don't want to spent much time with them) because knowing how much you mean to Kafka then they will welcome you and protect you just like Kafka does

Getting to know that you feel safe and comfortable at Kafka's side is not a surprise in the slighest, it has being her biggest goal since she fell in love with you, however is something that make her feel prideful and happy, if you trust her then that means you love her too, you want to be with her just as much as she wants to be with you, so of course she will make sure to never betray that trust and make sure you never have to feel fear again, she will always be there for you

Kafka is quite interested on your backstory, she will ask once she knows you are comfortable enough to share it and will insist on hearing the details, she doesn't intent on trigger any kind of bad memory or even push you to a panic attack but she wants to know towards who and why is directed the anger and hate she is feeling right now, besides she wants to replaced the bad memories with good ones of your new life with her, doing similar things but with love and respect so when you look back the only thing you can remember is her and the love she has for you

Despite the anger she feels she will not try to go against the people who treat you bad in the past, she may send a warning leaving clear that is Kafka, the wanted criminal, the sellaron hunter, the merciless murderer, who has them in her sight and is ready to attack when they less expected, but at the end she doesn't directly attack them unless destiny leads her to where that people is, if she has a mision in a planet where those people are the she will take a moment of a blanket space on the scrip to pay them a visit, besides a few more deaths won't really make a diference in the plan

Silver Wolf

For Silver Wolf to fall in love is a tricky situation, since everything is a simple game for her for being the amazing hacker she is then you have to catch her attention, she either ignore your existance or put her full attention on you, there is no other way for Silver Wolf to grow to love you

Then again, for her everything is a simple game, once you manage to catch her attention enough for her to develop an interest that grow more and more over time then she will spend some time tracking down even the smallest details about you she can find just because she can, wich at the end is what lead her to grow obsessed

At first she didn't thought much about your past as a victim of abuse, she was annoyed by what people could do to other just for their selfish desires, but at the end it would be her own selfish desires what will lead her towards you (not that she cares but she admits it with ease, she is not hypocrite)

Silver Wolf always finds a way to get what she wants so having her darling at her side will not be diferent, however, even when the process to take you as hers may be sudden and even invasive once you are with her she takes things more easy on you, she understand that you may still be frighten (specially with knowing your past) so she will give you time to adjust and will actually take time to try and win your trust, she tries to always be honest with you and sincerily invite you over to hang out, you two can play videogames or simply watch something together

Since there is no way you can escape from her, Silver Wolf has no reason to don't give you some freedom and give you time alone, she actually respect your bounduries (but just physicaly, she is always connected to your phone and keep and eye on you), she waits until you are ready to open up personally and show or at least accept the affection, so when you finally feel comfortable enough to even say that you are at peace at her side she takes it as a personal victory, she is so proud of herself and this will lead her to just be more friendly and affectionate towards you

Silver Wolf has no shame on admiting that she already knows everything about your past but also is quick to let you know that she doesn't think less of you, she understands that you are the victim and even assure you that you shouldn't be ashame of it, it wasn't your fault after all. She is not good at providing comfort but she is incredibly good at reasuring you, she treats you with respect and is actually so attentive to don't trigger any bad memory, she pays a lot of attention to you and your reactions to make sure you are feeling safe and yet she insist that is just the normal thing to do (she even makes sure the other sellaron hunters don't cross your bounduries when hanging out with them but doesn't really give an explanation not that they will need it, they somehow understand)

When it comes to the people who have hurt you in the past is a tricky situation, she hates and despise that people and even make sure to know where they are and what are doing all the time but will not do anything unless the aftermath and scars of that abuse is getting in the way of her and her love for you, she is quite selfish in this because unless this trauma messes with your way to relate with her then she will not do nothing to them, but if she does then she will make sure to first make sure every single person knows what kind of monsters they are before ruining completely their lifes, leaving them without any other oportunity in life

Firefly

Now that Firefly has get another chance to live she is determinated to fight for that life, fight to be able to enjoy that same life and find a meaning of life and getting to know her darling is like if she has found the very reason of why is she alive, the reason why she should keep up with life. Firefly wants nothing more than be able to feel alive, to enjoy life, and now that you are in her life what she wants the most is be able to enjoy that same life with you!

Firefly is observant and smart, she is designed to detecta even the smallest details and be wary of her surroundings since she was born during a war, so it won't really take her a long time to notice the small hints of an abusive past, if you dont tell her directly then she will find out herself (besides, she doesn't really want to pry on your privacy, she wants to believe that you will eventually warm up with her and tell her everything about you), even if she noticed the hints quick Firefly will take a while to accept this fact, she is just too scare of accept it that she just tries to deny that someone has dare to do even just look down at you, you mean too much for her to process the idea of someone being physicaly or psychologically abusive towards you

One way of another a abusive past always affects the person and thats the same reason why she feels in rage when she finds out that you suffered from abuse in the past, more than hating what happen in the past Firefly hates how it affects your present, she wants to enjoy life at your side but how she can be at peace when she knows part of you still suffer and hold you back for what you have suffered?

Firefly alone is already caring and affectionate, she keeps her past and details about herself as a secret as long as posible because she want you to love her true self but always make sure to remind you that you are safe with her, she wants you to be happy and to make you happy, she is completely ready to get into a fight if it is to protect you, even if she has to reveal her true identity and get in her armor she doesn't care as long as you are safe

Firefly makes a lot of efforts to make you feel comfortable and safe around her and yet when she noticed that you do feel at peace with her despite the fact that she is a criminal and despite your past, even despite being her whole goal make you feel safe she still feel surprised when noticing that you feel at complete peace with her, that you can let your guard down and put your worries aside to simply enjoy life she feels her heart melting

Forgive her if she start crying when she notice it but she is just too happy of being alive right now, seeing you happy and comfortable at her side makes all those years of suffering all worthy and will lead her to vow to herself to keep protecting you with fer life, she will do everything in her power to make sure no one dares to even look down at you again, she will find a way to save you even from nightmares! Just wait and see

Although, the fact that you feel more at peace doesn't makes her rage dissapear, her feelings are things completely apart, she loves you just as much as she hates the people who have made you suffer and she will make sure to track down that people, nothing will stop her from using her strenght to destroy that people with one single merciless attack

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #kafka #kafka x reader #yandere kafka x reader #silver wolf #silver wolf x reader #yandere silver wolf x reader #firefly #firefly x reader #yandere firefly x reader #x reader #x gn reader #video game x reader

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liketwoswansinbalance · 3 months ago

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What would Rhian do if Rafal started having a panic attack and just could not calm down?

The scenario seems unlikely, given Rafal's relatively unflappable, impassive temperament and how he doesn't seem to exhibit PTSD symptoms, but this scenario is also very interesting, and I would really like to know what could possibly trigger a panic attack of that intensity in him. It'd probably have to be something unimaginably horrible? (Literally, I don't have a good answer at the moment for possible hair-raising stimuli to him, as much as we joke about Rafal vs. pirates.)

If he did have a panic attack, I feel like it would be most in character of him to dissociate/undergo depersonalization and feel like a third party observer to his life or a singular event, whether it's unfolding or oncoming. And he would only stand still with bated breath in abject dread at some kind of figurative tidal wave he's about to be bombarded with.

It would probably be a silent panic attack, not an outburst or a weepy/breathy one—and he might have the blue-screen-of-death type of feeling/expression, during which nothing new on the outside is being registered and processed because he's gone numb and detached. Like, his eyes would be open, and he'd look, but he wouldn't see or comprehend. He may as well have been gazing at the backs of his lids, or at a blur, or feel dark/reddish pulsing.

Ok, brace yourselves—

This is the worst-case scenario in relation to this fascinating ask:

Rafal falls into a fugue state and wanders away from home (and Rhian doesn't stop him or think to stop him because Rafal's left without any prior notice before. He has a history of it. And, he literally just disappears and reappears at will, seemingly well mentally, like it's a magic trick. So, whatever Rafal does, wherever he goes, if action is needed at all, it must be some practice of self-regulation, given his unwillingness to rely on anyone else. And most unsettling of all: again, no one would be able to distinguish the panic attack from every other time Rafal's casually left.)

And while I'm sure this isn't canon, we could make the leap that he could have been hurt enough by Rhian's jab at his pride at the start of Rise that there is, I suppose, a non-zero chance of this having happened when he first struck out on his own (during the time gap, pre-meeting Hook).

Actually, a lot of Rafal's behaviors align with schizoid personality disorder, antisocial personality disorder, autism, paranoid personality disorder, anhedonia, and obsessive compulsive personality disorder—I don't necessarily think he's affected by any one of these conditions alone. Any kind of comorbidity is possible. And yet, oddly enough, I can't see PTSD as likely because: either his trauma is invisible or he's more likely to be the one inflicting trauma on others than ever experiencing it or irrational fears himself.

Anyway, as for my answer—first, Rhian would probably try to ground Rafal in the world and keep Rafal responsive.

In the case of Rhian not knowing how to deal with panic attacks, perhaps, he could try to shake/slap some sense into Rafal.

If both of these tactics were to fail, the "kindest" solution would probably be to sedate or safely render Rafal unconscious with magic before his feelings escalated any further or he lost consciousness due to hyperventilation. So, if Rhian could keep a clear head while all this were going on, I suspect that's what he would do.

And let's face it: This is entirely conditional—it would only be so if Rhian were even there, as, the possibility of Rafal just up and leaving, (and not accepting any help, if anyone even notices anything off about him) is still firmly on the table.

However, Rhian's anxious tendencies could interfere with taking an appropriate or any course of action for that matter. He could freeze up at the sight of Rafal in this state as it could very well be a novel occurrence. And, if he didn't know what to do, his mind could go blank out of stress, fear, and/or shock. At best though, he could get Rafal medical assistance/psychological attention, whichever services exist in the Woods.

In fact, I think Rhian would try to "fix" the feeling/reaction itself, only what's being presented to him, that's observable, not the situation or root cause of Rafal's panic attack. And, ordinary words/gestures of reassurance would not be enough, if he can't be calmed.

There's even a chance Rhian could be afraid of touching or attempting to hug Rafal in a state like that, due to a fear of disturbing Rafal(?), even if he could hold the instinct to do so.

I'm not sure it would ever cross Rhian's mind to deal with Rafal's panic from the outside, as in, directly removing the distressing stimuli or dealing head-on with some source of trauma or approximation of trauma, if the stimulus is adjacent to but not the exact thing which would set off Rafal's response, or "under-response," knowing him.

There's also an off-chance that certain behaviors of Rhian's are triggers to Rafal, but that neither of them know it. The opposite is also probably true, considering Rhian was set off, in a way, at the end of Fall by the weighty/selfish but relatively innocuous offer Rafal extended to him.

Thus, I think there's a definite, non-zero chance they've each traumatized the other and cannot recognize it because they're so entrenched in their relationship and cannot view it objectively.

Lastly, keep in mind that I am not an expert or an actual psychologist. I have only tried to not misinform. I invite you to correct me if anything is wrong.

Thoughts or reactions, anyone?! I'm not sure whether my answer is predictable or provocative.

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aayakashii · 11 months ago

Text

Part three to the story! You can read part 1 here, and part 2 here.

Warnings: SFW, gender neutral reader, angst and depiction of a panic attack. If you feel triggered by that, please avoid it and take care of yourself first!!!

Author's note: this derailed into Alan going through it so I'm not sure how I feel about it,,,, I feel like the story took a sharp turn into another direction that is detached from chapter 1. anyway, I would really appreciate your comments if you liked it!

touch starved – ch. 3

Are you available to go through that mission right now?

Alan watched as a typing bubble suddenly appeared on his chat with them, mildly pleased at how fast they visualized his message.

It almost made him feel stupid after stalling to send them a message for so long. Although he would never admit it, because admitting it would be acknowledging his anxiety to talk to them.

Right now?

Hm...

Yes.

I had to go finish some errands for Jin...

He didn't have the right to feel jealous over them, much less over something innocuous like that. It was just their job. And even if it wasn't, he still has no right to feel anything for them at all.

Alan narrowed his eyes at the message, his fist clenching unconsciously around his phone. He stopped himself before could actually crush it into bits. It wouldn't be the first time, actually.

I believe missions are a priority.

Darkwick policy.

Jin has Tohma.

He'll live.

He pursed his lips, mouth forming a thin line as he tried to get rid of that green feeling forming inside his chest, while he thought about typing all the other reasons why they should ditch Jin.

He needed to get rid of it.

I know he will live, it's about MY survival though hahaha

Alan managed to suck in a deep breath. Okay. So they were hesitating just because it was their job, and not because they favored Jin.

Don't wanna lose my head, you know?

Good, good.

Don't worry

I'll keep you safe

Alan cringed at his own corny message, but it was too late. He had no clue on how to delete something after it was sent, so he sat with his embarrassment, nibbling on his own bottom lip as he looked at the "Seen" under his texts that appeared as soon as his messages were successfully sent. A typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again.

...

10 seconds feel more like 10 hours.

You there?

He allowed a little bit of his anxiety flow through the message, his right leg bouncing up and down, restlessly, as the heel of his shoe made a loud tap tap tap sound in his room.

Soeey

Sorry*

I got a bit distracted

But okay

I'll see you in a few minutes

I'll let Tohma know I can't see Jin rn and go straight to Vagastrom

Okay.

Alan pursed his lips again, that time to suppress the smile that threatened to creep into his face.

His right leg rested, finally.

No big deal. He knew you were coming just because missions are, indeed, a priority. He knew that.

Deep inside his chest, however, he felt a bubbling pride come to the surface of his feelings.

You chose him over Jin.

He breathed in deeply and rubbed his face with his hands, trying to calm himself down befored you arrived. He had no right to act giddy like that, not him, not ever. He had to wipe that small smile from his face.

A soft knock sounded on his door as Alan finished organizing all the paperwork for the mission. Two cans of iced coffee and a few bags of chips also rested right beside the documents – it was the best he could get with the little time he had.

“Hey, I'm here” your head peeked inside his room, and Alan had to keep himself from flinching. It wasn't characteristic of him to feel jumpy since he was constantly aware of his surroundings, but he had found this new side of himself after the mission regarding Takeru's ghost.

Ever since he saw your body being dragged down by that anomaly, his nightmares seemed to be filled with images of you almost succumbing to that monster. Reminding himself that you were safe, at least for now, was a conscious effort he had to do most days.

He wondered if you had nightmares about him being bloodied from head to toe after he lost control.

“Thanks for coming after such a short notice. You can come in.” he opened the door, ushering you inside.

“It's no problem. Did you take a look at it already?” you walked towards his coffee table, where all papers seemed to be organized and sat on his floor, eyes scanning the pile of documents.

“Mhm, I did.” Alan joined you and slid one of the cans towards your direction “I'm pretty sure they only categorized this as a mission because of the amount of documents with omitted information. It's a lot of work.”

You took a sharp breath through your teeth.

“Yeah, I can see that…”

Alan stared at the troubled expression on your face and suddenly felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over his body.

Working with him must be a chore. Now that he was thinking things through, you didn't need to go through this after all. At least, not again, not when he could handle things on his own this time, even if it was a lot of work. He could just let you leave–

“Actually, you don't really need to worry about this. You are free to go if you have other businesses.” he blurted out, without much thought, his uncertainty getting the best of him.

Alan was everything except a man who was tuned into his emotions. And sometimes, they caught him by surprise when they took over his body and acted on their own.

It was the reason why he was so afraid of his own anger. He didn't know when or if it could take control over him.

You stared at Alan, who sat across from you on the table, and lifted an eyebrow.

“But you called me here.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking apologetic.

Truthfully, he felt conflicted.

A big, loud part of his mind wanted you there, with him. He wanted the comfort of your company, the normalcy and gentleness of being with you; someone so different from the Vagastrom House's students, and from the surroundings that were familiar to him – because he hadn’t known tranquility for most of his life.

Another part of him, however, wanted to push you away because he didn’t feel like he deserved said tranquility.

“Yeah, however–” he was interrupted by the loud sound of a can's lid being snapped open.

“Of course I'm not leaving, Alan. It's my job as an inspector and I want to help you.”

Alan's gaze towards you softened and he took a deep breath, nodding.

Of course you wouldn't up and leave, no matter how much he tried to push you away.

It was one of the things that shook him to his core while he was working with you – not once did you express feeling uncomfortable, but most importantly, you never seemed to be afraid of him, which was unprecedented for Alan.

He knew what the other students said about his past, and he was sure that you were aware of every rumor, of every story people passed on regarding his life. Yet, never once did their fear seem to rub off on you. Each time, you chose to stay beside him, trusting him instead.

He knew that pushing you away was never going to be that simple.

You worked diligently through the first few documents on your pile, laser focused on the task at hand. Your hands moved fast, peppering the paper in red ink as you circled the information that needed to change and the numbers that needed to be input.

Meanwhile, Alan was lost in his thoughts as he looked at you, his hand loosely holding a red pen against the paper, the pen's tip making a small stain on it.

His own lack of movement made you slowly lift your gaze towards him and he flinched again, putting his finger against the red puddle of ink to dry it out faster, and quickly moving the papers to pretend he was just as focused as you.

Your very presence, however, seemed to make it impossible for Alan to concentrate.

He frowned, trying to understand what was printed on that paper right in front of him, but his eyes wandered again from his papers to rest on you, so, so near him.

Looking at your hands, he still felt the faint ghost of your touch on his head. Despite digging his nails into his scalp that whole afternoon, he still couldn't remove the memory of your skin against his hair and it haunted him. He kept on banishing time and time again every greedy thought that merely implied he wanted more of that.

He scribbled random numbers down onto his paper, mind totally focused on the fact that you were right in front of him. He would definitely need to review each and every single document he pretended to correct, because, at that moment, the sound of his heartbeat thumping loud in his eardrums prevented him from concentrating.

He glanced sideways towards you as you moved to grab your coffee. Alan swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, as he observed the way your lips pressed against the can and one stray drop of coffee trailed down your chin, your neck and entered the confines of your uniform.

He licked his lips and gritted his teeth.

How he wished he could taste your skin – but no, no. He couldn't entertain thoughts like that, not when he felt so unworthy of your touch.

He shook his head, trying to chase his thoughts away.

His mind flashed to Dante and the purple and black bruises littering his body and a cloud of guilt immediately hid his desires under its gloomy shadow.

How could he ever think of touching you with the same hands that killed a man? The same hands that held weapons, the same hands that landed him in juvie.

Alan tried to hide all the blood under grease and car oil, but it was still there – and he would rather be damned than cause the same pain on you by cursing you with his attention.

He didn’t deserve you. Not your company, not your friendship, much less your affection.

His heartbeat kept on drumming loudly on his ears, every part of his body seemed to be pulsing in the same rhythm as his thoughts snowballed into a pit of self-hatred.

He felt heat emanate from his skin, even though his room’s air conditioner was blasting the same way it had always been. Alan tried swallowing through the sudden nausea, but his throat felt like it was closing up and his tongue felt heavy on his dry mouth.

He rested his head against his trembling hands, trying his best to breathe even though it felt like his lungs weren’t working. He felt like he was dying. Was he dying? But why? Did something curse him too? Or maybe he was just ill, he never really had any health checks done by Mortkranken anyway, maybe he had been sick already.

He felt like he was going to throw up, but he didn’t even remember where he was. Where was he? He couldn’t see. His vision seemed to have darkened and his chest hurt so, so much. He gasped, trying to force the air inside his lungs.

He wished he could have at least held your hand before he died. Oh, speaking of it, weren’t you working with him just a few moments ago?

“–lan. Alan. Can you hear me? Alan, focus on my voice if you can hear me, please.”

In between the clouds in his mind, he suddenly heard your voice, muffled and distant.

“I’m right here, Alan. Please focus on my voice, I’m right here.”

His head snapped towards you, breathing still erratic. His tunnel vision seemed to expand a little and he managed to make out your face. You were right beside him, an extremely worried expression on you.

Why did you look so worried? Oh, right, he was dying.

“I know it must be hard to focus right now, but I’m gonna keep talking so you can try to come back first.”

He managed to suck in a shaky breath through his nose, the feeling of salty water hitting the back of his throat. His trembling hands moved to touch his own face - it was wet with his own tears. When did he start crying?

This seemed to bring him back a bit more, so you kept on talking.

“Can you hear me better now? Let’s try breathing together?”

He looked at you, thoughts still hazy as his heartbeat kept on drumming loudly.

“Alan.” you called him and he tried to focus on your face.

“I’m going to touch your arm, is that okay?”

You seemed to have said something about touching him and he nodded, confused.

He suddenly felt your hands wrap around his wrists.

“Focus on my hands and on my voice. Okay?”

He nodded again, still unable to speak.

“Let’s try breathing together. I’m gonna count and you’re gonna follow me, okay?”

Your thumbs gently rubbed against his quickened pulse and he felt the fog dissipate a bit more.

“Breathe in deeply for 4 seconds. 1, 2, 3, 4.”

He followed your instructions, trying to open up his own airways.

“Hold for 7 seconds. Don’t exhale yet, okay? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.”

He moved his wrists, allowing you to hold his hands instead and you squeezed them, reassuringly.

“Now let go for 8 seconds. Exhale. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.”

He felt his chest hurt a little bit less and cringed at the damp feeling of his tears wetting his face.

You guided him through his breathing for a few more minutes, until Alan felt like he could speak again.

“I thought I was dying.” he confessed, voice raspy and low. You looked at him, sympathetically.

“You were going through a really bad panic attack.” you said, and he widened his eyes in surprise “You’ve never gone through one?”

He shook his head. So he wasn’t dying. Good. But also, he felt like running away from his mind even more after he that.

“It can happen to anyone. I’ve been through some as well, especially if I’m too trapped inside my own bad thoughts. That’s why I knew that breathing technique.” you grabbed a napkin on his table and kneeled closer to him, motioning with your hands towards his face. “Can I?”

"Okay" he managed to say and hesitantly closed his eyes as he felt you dry his tear-striken face with the napkin.

It was the closest you have ever been to him. He breathed deeply, basking on the scent of lavender fabric softener that came from your clothes, and leaned against your touch unconsciously.

Your eyes softened as you observed him in such a vulnerable state. You didn’t know what was it that plagued him so much that sent him spiraling so horribly, but nothing could beat the certainty that you wished you could protect him from those demons just as much as you wanted to keep touching him.

“Alan.” you murmured and he opened his eyes, suddenly embarrassed as he realized he was resting his cheek on your hand.

He quickly leaned away from you, gaze moving everywhere but your face.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice I wa-”

“Alan” you said, once again, louder. He looked at you, silencing himself.

“Would you let me hug you?”

Alan's eyes widened and, for a moment, his thoughts seemed to halt for the first time in that afternoon.

Your question echoed inside of his skull and all he managed to do in response was lean forward again, allowing you to wrap your arms around him.

You leaned your cheek against the back of his head and made sure to keep breathing deeply and evenly so he could follow your example. His arms were hesitant, and looped awkwardly around your waist, afraid of holding you too tight.

Your hands pulled his arms closer and he froze, his already tensed up muscles feeling even tighter. You moved your hands to his back again and began rubbing circles against the fabric of his vest.

Alan tried his best not to allow himself to melt against your touch, but after a while, he failed to keep himself from indulging in the feeling of peace that you gave him. It was something he only found in you and he felt like he could happily drown in it.

Your head moved, and you leaned back in order to be able to look at his tired eyes.

“I hope you know you can count on me if you ever need to talk about something. You don’t have to deal with your thoughts alone.” you murmured, arms still keeping his locked in your embrace.

Alan avoided your gaze, looking down at the documents you two still had to write, long forgotten.

The persistent voice in his head still tried to claim he wasn’t worthy of anything you were offering him, but in your arms, your voice was much louder than any insecurity he could have.

He chose to listen to you, even if just for that moment.

He nodded, arms steadying around your waist.

“Thank you.”

Masterlist link

#tokyo debunker #alan mido #tokyo debunker alan mido

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piano-hoarder · 2 months ago

Text

Mirror | Chapter 1

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Premise: Former HYDRA fem reader. 2018 post-Civil War (around when Homecoming would happen). The Avengers have all finally moved into the Tower again. Bucky has recently returned from Wakanda, where he got therapy and had his triggers removed. Former HYDRA y/n isn't taking it well.

TW: Anxiety, panic attacks, PTSD, trauma

Word Count: 3K

Chapter 1 - Panic

I couldn't sleep.

He came back a month ago.

A year was too long— and not long enough. I forgot about him. That was good. It was also the problem.

Of course, I didn't really ever forget. I can't forget anything. But he was gone long enough that I could pretend I had.

Now I couldn't pretend, and it was driving me mad.

I gave up trying to sleep hours ago. Then I gave up reading. Now I was pacing, hands in my hair, breath too light, heart too fast. I hadn't been this unraveled since... since I ran away.

My walls were closing in. I couldn't take it. I pace faster, fingers tapping against my thigh. I needed to do something— something productive. Get away...away from him...away from these horrid thoughts— Snatching a cardigan off the back of my desk chair, I left my room and headed down the hall.

The Tower was dark— at least the residential floors were, anyway. Some floors were never inactive. But they could have been on the moon for how silent and ghostly I felt now. Footsteps quick, but silent. I made my way to the elevator, pushed the button. The doors slid open.

Then I froze.

Silhouetted by the window at the end of the hall, a shadow exited one of the bedrooms. Silent, careful. Like a ghost.

His bedroom. It was him.

He turned, as though to walk towards the elevator himself, then stilled as he spotted me. His face was emotionless, gaze haunting. Terror seized my chest. We locked eyes, and for a moment, I was back in Siberia. The hall was cold stone. His arm glinted in the low light. A threat. He's after me.

He didn't move. I stole my chance, suddenly regaining control of my limbs. I fled into the elevator. The doors closed, sealing me away from him. I sagged against the wall, able to breathe again, and pressed a hand to my chest. My heart threatened to jump out of my throat.

The elevator lowered, doors slid open. I took a deep breath, straightening, regaining my composure, then walked across the hall. I punched in the code into the keypad next to the door and entered the room.

The lab was dark, save for dim light from the full-length windows on the far wall, but lights flickered on as I entered.

"Welcome, Private Y/L/N. Bad night?" F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice spoke over the intercom.

"You could say that." I walked over to my workstation and slumped into my chair. My fingers found the wires of my most recent project, immediately picking up where I'd left off the day before. "I see Stark is actually getting some sleep tonight."

"He left about an hour ago."

"Never mind, then." I pulled up the holodisplay and began typing. I closed my eyes, code spilling out from under my fingers. I couldn't remember when I stopped needing to look. Probably after the serum.

I finished the code, sent it, then moved back to my machines. My thoughts began to calm as my fingers danced across the hundreds of tiny wires. I didn't forget him, but he didn't matter anymore. He wouldn't come here; I knew he wouldn't— he'd be too afraid. I was safe in the lab.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., pull up a wireframe of Peter's suit, I want to make sure this matches."

"Sure thing."

A hologram of Peter's spider suit appeared in the air in front of me. "Remove fabric layer, leave just the wiring please." I resumed working. Line of code, to wire, to hologram, to line of code, and back again in a comfortable rhythm. I rubbed my eyes, wishing I had eyedrops. Sleep was unnecessary. Code, wire, hologram code, wire, hologram, code, wire... I just needed to—

"Y/N."

I jolted awake, face peeling away from the tangle of wires on the table before me. Tony stood over me, looking concerned. I groaned, pushing hair out of my face.

"Fourth time this month, kid." He moved away once he saw I was awake, but there was a cup of coffee on the table next to me that hadn't been there before. My name was scrawled across the side. I picked it up, inhaling the steam.

"I'm fine." I took a sip. Extra cream. I smiled—barely.

"Beg to differ. I'd guess you've got... three days before total burnout. Maybe four."

"Very funny. F.R.I.D.A.Y. tattled. You were up almost as late."

He pointed a screwdriver at me, a superior look on his face. "My lab, my rules. I'll change the passcodes if I have to."

I sighed, drinking more of my coffee. "I'm trying."

"I've seen better."

"What do you want? I can't change anything. Unless you want me to move out of the Tower—"

"Out of the question. You'd die seconds after leaving the property." He squints, holding up a tiny device to the light.

I snorted. "Surely I'd have at least ten minutes."

"Mm... I'd give you three before you collapsed. And I don't have time to collect bodies off the sidewalk." He didn't look up from his work. "You need to be grounded?"

"You know I'm older than you, right?"

"You use that line on all the guys?"

"Nah, I just show them my knives."

"Careful—you might catch one that way." He pushed across the floor, rolling his chair to another table. "So. Grounded or not?"

I sighed again. "I'll...find something else."

"I'd prefer you didn't."

Tony didn't elaborate, but I knew. He'd rather I were in bed. Sleeping. The thought made me nauseous. I looked down at my coffee, feeling guilty just at the sight of it. He was trying so hard.

"I could talk to Wanda, I guess."

His hands darted across his holodisplay. "Good. I don't want to see your sorry face here until you do."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Dad." I stood, stretching and grimaced at the way my back cracked. "Tell Peter I say hi."

——

He han't moved. It was unnerving.

I watched when he wasn’t looking, occasionally glancing to the corner where he sat, hunched in his seat. Back to the wall. Doors in sight. His eyes were the only part of him that moved— constantly watching everything. If that wasn’t a familiar sight.

Apparently, he was doing a lot better, now that his triggers were gone; more sure of himself. He didn’t look more sure of himself. He just looked like a statue. A terrifying statue.

I unsuccessfully ignored his presence as I moved to the table. I sat next to Nat, staring down at my plate and cursing myself for getting so much food. I usually looked forward to these weekly dinners. Stark called them "family time." Sam called them “Avengers Anonymous”. It was one of the only times we were all together and not in danger, so I should’ve enjoyed it. Thor was even there today. His boisterous laughter filled the room, louder than the chatter from everyone else. It was a small comfort. My leg bounced violently beneath the table.

Someone poked my knee. I looked over. Peter, who'd been invited to today's dinner, was sitting next to me. He gave me a look. I rolled my eyes.

"It's because he's back, isn't it?" he asked softly.

I gave a sharp nod. “Ran into him last night.”

Peter grimaced sympathetically. "Anything I can do?"

I shook my head, pushing rice around my plate mindlessly. He glanced down at my free hand. I stopped tracing the scar on the back of my thumb. I hated that he always noticed.

"Wanna see an idea I had?"

I nodded.

Peter fished in his pocket, pulling out a swatch of silky fabric. The entire thing was strangely metallic— reflective in a way that made it look almost invisible. I reached toward it, fascinated. "You're working on a holosuit?"

Peter nodded eagerly. "Mr. Stark asked me to design an invisibility feature for his suits, like the quinjet— which wasn't hard. But I wanted something that I could wear, too, that didn't have to be rigid. It's vibranium weave."

"Where'd you get vibranium thread?"

Peter looked a little embarrassed. "Mr. Stark gave me a sample of vibranium to play with. I was trying to incorporate it into my web fluid— but I thought this would probably be a better application."

I nodded, fascinated. The fabric was almost cold, and felt like water on my fingers. "I don't think your web fluid needs much help. It's fantastic already."

He shrugged. "I was just playing around. It didn't work out— but I got this, so I figured it's a win-win."

"Yeah." I handed the cloth back, giving him a grateful smile. "Let me know when you finish a full suit. I'd love to try it out."

He grinned. "You got it," he said, returning the cloth to his pocket.

I was left with nothing but to return to my meal. Maybe I didn't hate him for noticing. My leg bounced a little slower now. I forced myself to eat a few bites. Nat nudged me.

"You good?" she signed.

"No," I signed back. "Talk later?" She nods.

I forced down a few more bites, washing them down quickly. My stomach cramps in protest. I push my plate toward Peter, and he eagerly scraped the rest of my food onto his own plate. I ignored the worried looks from everyone else—especially Steve—and leave, practically running to my room once I was out of the common room.

I didn't miss the way Bucky's eyes followed me as I did.

—

The wall didn't have answers. It never did. I hunched over, pulling my knees to my chest. I glanced toward the chair beside my bed, wishing Wanda were there.

Three nights she'd sat there, taking my nightmares as I slept. It worked. Too well. Her powers left a—a void in my mind almost worse than the nightmares themselves. One that was far too familiar. He wasn't there, but I'd still wake up gasping, clutching at my limbs. I'd almost expected to find frost on my skin.

So last night, I’d begged her to stop.

And anyway— I hated knowing that she was watching inside my head. When I'd moved into the Tower, she helped me with nightmares then, too. I threw up the first night.

I tapped my fingers restlessly against my leg, hating Tony for keeping me from the lab. I'd considered bringing a project down to my room. The thought made me feel sick, so I discarded it. I needed to be in the lab. He was keeping me out and—and it was too much.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to control my breathing. I had to get out. Even if it wasn't the lab— just not here. I stood up, pacing the length of my room. I idly wondered if there was a groove worn in the carpet yet.

What to do? Don't dare bother Steve or Nat. Peter's out. Tony wouldn't be happy. No one else— no one else. And what if I ran into him? My breath speeds up with my footsteps. Not the roof—not Bruce's lab—not the basement—not the garage—can't leave—can't let someone see me like this—

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?" I said, voice shaky.

"Yes, Y/N?"

"Can you tell me— where is Sergeant Barnes?"

"Bucky's in his room. He appears to be asleep."

Breathe slow. Slow down, for heaven's sake. "Thank you. I'm— going for a walk. Please alert me if he leaves."

"Will do."

"And—monitor my panic attacks, please," I added, voice small.

"Of course."

God help us all. It's a miracle anything got done in that Tower. We were all a mess.

—

Three more nights away from the lab. A full week— Tony would be proud. I hated it.

I left my room again. Wander. That was all I could do. I barely noticed where I went anymore. Just as long as it was away from him.

I usually found myself in the training room by the end of the night. Normally I avoided it. Too many memories. Too many familiar sights. But I had to get my energy out somehow.

Not bothering to turn on the lights, I went for the punching bag tonight. Why not? Simple. Mindless. Not too familiar. I grabbed some tape and wrapped my hands before laying into it.

The first few minutes were fine, but as I settled into a rhythm, my mind took over. Red flashed in the corners of my vision. Cruel hands groped my skin. Russian echoed in my ears. I punched harder. Fists on leather. Nothing else. Drown them out. I closed my eyes.

Then I froze. I'd heard a sound— something real. Not a memory. My eyes flicked open, but I didn't move. Someone had found me. I held my breath, watching as a grey figure stepped into the room.

Oh, no.. It was him.

His eyes panned the training room, stopping on me. No point trying to hide. There was never any point. Not when it was him.

He didn't move. Just stood there, eyes locked on my terrified, ashen face. Why didn't he do something? I couldn't run. Heavens help me, I couldn't run. My eyes darted across his face, his features shadowed by the room, by his hair, by memories. It felt too familiar. Everything was too familiar. I felt made of fear.

He stepped toward me. I jumped back slightly, breath trembling between my lips. I felt like a hare caught in a wolf's gaze. He stopped, watching me carefully.

"Couldn't sleep?"

His voice was all wrong. Familiar. Bucky. It was Bucky— not him. But heavens, they wore the same face. It was like he was taunting me.

I didn't take my eyes off him. "No," I replied, my voice short. What does he want?

He just nodded. Why did his face have to be so... blank? It was horrifying. Was he even human?

Had he ever been?

"What do you want?" I whispered.

He looked down, something unreadable flickering across his expression. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"What do you want?"

He looked ashamed. He shook his head, turning a little. "Nothing— nothing. I'm sorry. I'll go."

My lips parted. Some of me—too much of me—wanted to ask. Did he remember?

But I just watched. I didn't move. I waited, breath trapped in my chest, heart pulsing in my ears. I counted the beats to a hundred, and when he didn't return, sagged to the floor. Finally able to breathe again, I began to hyperventilate. Every inch of me was trembling.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.," I gasped, "get Steve—please."

After a moment, her voice answered. "Captain Rogers is on his way."

Curling up on my side, I pulled my knees into my chest. Smaller. Be smaller—closer—disappear—things are be better that way. Press in—squeeze out the fear— I began to detach, watching myself shake violently with short gasps, tears running down my cheeks. He's there—he's coming for me—watching—stalking—dolzhen bezhat'—closer—shadow always looming—slishkom blizko——

"Y/N."

I jumped violently, gasping. I stared up at Steve, eyes wild. I watched vaguely as he scooped me into his lap. My arms darted around his waist, burying my face in his chest as sobs tore from my throat. It's Steve—not him—just Steve—safe now—can't breathe—

"Breathe with me, y/n. Come on. You've gotta breathe." His voice is far away.

Can't breathe—can't see—can't run—too close—ne v bezopasnosti—he's coming— With effort, I forced myself to match the rise and fall of his chest. Not safe—have to hide... My hands tightened around Steve. Come on...breathe...closer...not safe...he's...gone...

A shuddering breath escaped me. Steve... Steve was rubbing my back. My lips felt numb, face cold.

"There you go... keep it up..."

Slowly…too slowly… my vision cleared. Breath still shaky, but slow. I pulled back, revealing a snotty mess on Steve's shirt. I hiccupped slightly, wiping at my nose. "Sorry," I muttered.

He brushed hair from my sticky face. "Don't worry about it. You good now?"

I pulled my arms into my chest. "Better— I guess." I sniffed, brushing my eyes, wishing I had a tissue. Or five. "Thanks."

Steve just nodded, watching me with that concerned look of his. "You wanna talk about it?"

I looked down. "I can't do this, Steve. I can't— not with him around. And I don't want to be afraid of him. I know he's probably...going through the same thing..." The words hurt. "I can’t stand this— I don’t want to be scared anymore.” My voice was small. “I don’t know what to do.”

Bucky stood outside the training room, back to the wall. He was used to the darkness, but it felt particularly suffocating tonight. A red light blinked next to a security camera near the ceiling.

As he listened to y/n’s soft, tearful voice from inside, every word was a needle between his ribs. He wished— he wished too many things.

That he wasn’t a nightmare.

That she wasn’t afraid of him.

That he weren’t jealous of Steve.

That the memories would just leave, instead of resurging every time he looked at her.

He couldn’t help it. He saw how terrified she was. Like a deer in headlights. How many times had he seen that look before? Why did it hurt worse coming from her?

Trapped—that’s what he was. Just out of reach. Like there was something…a solution…a way out of all this. But his fingers kept closing on air.

There had to be a way to fix things. That was why he’d come here, why he’d followed her to the training room. A stupid, crummy little hope. That was why he was still here in the hall, why he couldn’t just leave her like this. But she seemed just as hopeless as he was. He knew he shouldn’t have listened.

The glove on his left hand creaked slightly as he clenched his fists. His eyes darted toward the window as a bird flew across, temporarily casting shadow over the hall. He should leave. He was being… well. He was being like the Soldier. Hiding. Listening. It made him feel sick.

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and retreated back down the hall, head lowered, eyes downcast. She wasn’t going to change. He wouldn’t, either, so why did it matter? It wasn’t worth trying.

He decided it never would be.

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