#reader with a panic attack

[jodoesnew]

On the other end

A small dcaXy/n idea I had

Premis: Y/N works part time in the daycare but doesn't really interact with the dca which doesn't mean the dca didn't notice them there.

Start of the story

Y/N gets messages from an unknown number and decides to answer

They start messaging thinking that they don't know each other at all

They notice that the tone and wording in the messages switches completely throughout the day but get used to it way too fast

Y/N's life is a complete mess right now so Unknown is a pleasant distraction

They never tell each other their real names but use nicknames instead

Both share how they feel often and text about life and just anything that they think of

Someday y/n just calls their unknown friend to share some great news because they have no one else they want to share it with

They don't pick up but call back later

A male voice they have never heard answers. A pleasant one. They talk for hours.

But the voice tells them to only call at night bc he can't talk on the phone while working. But texting is fine

Y/N falls in love over late night phone calls and long text convos

They ask if they could meet up and hang out

He doesn't answer

The connection goes silent

The last thing he sent is "I'm so sorry. But I can't" written only a few minutes after their question (in the middle of the day)

Hours go by and they get no answer from him anymore

Hurt and worried Y/N is in a daze of crying and starring at nothing for the rest of the week

This is when Y/N misses their break bc they stayed in the daycare closet to cry

As they step out the daycare is dark sth that Y/N was never there to see

Then they hear it. The voice of the person they love singing from where the kids are sleeping.

Y/N stumbles through the dark until they reach the kids and lock eyes with the daycare attendant

Moon goes quiet and his eyes betray him and show his shock

Y/N is stunned

"It's you?"

Awkward

P2, P3

[girlsworldillusion]

Scream for me little lamb

Ghostface!Aemond x Fem!Reader

Summary: You don't know him, you haven't even seen him before. Yet this cruel killer is in your mind, entangled like a parasite. For just one night you want to get rid of this feeling - to get rid of him. What's the worst that could happen?

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Dividers: @cafekitsune

Word count: 5k

Author's Note: This story contains themes that may be disturbing or triggering for some, such as: DETAILED DESCRIPTIONS OF PANIC ATTACKS, BLOOD, MURDER, OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, THREATS, AND SEX. Your health (mental and physical) should always be your priority, if any of these themes are too heavy for you to handle I beg that you ignore this post. To those who choose stay, I wish you a good read!

The reader suffers from some emotional issues. But who doesn't, right?

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

Come on, it’ll be fun, she said.

You urgently need to relax, she said.

It’s just a quiet night, what’s the worst that could happen? She said.

Quiet night my ass, you think.

“Come on, pumpkin, you’re not even trying!” Your roommate scolds you, shouting too close to your ear, causing you to flinch with a uncomfortable grimace. “There’s life outside the dorms, you know? Is it really that much of a challenge to just enjoy the party?” Her pout is exaggerated enough for anyone in the room to see, even with the shitty stereoscopic lighting in the place.

“Hey, just try, okay? Smile, drink more, find someone cool to flirt with a little. I don’t know, do something other than just studying nonstop! Please try to have fun!” The liquid in the red cup clutched between your fingers nearly spills onto your clothes with the not-so-subtle push she gives you, her shrill, excited voice echoing louder and louder in your ear, managing to accomplish the impressive feat of overcoming the already criminally loud volume of the music playing on the speakers.

"Your idea of ​​fun is very different from my idea of ​​fun." You say, a good few decibels below her tone, grudgingly sipping another sip of your sickly sweet drink. "Ugh, this is horrible!" You wince at the syrupy, artificial taste of alcohol on your tongue, the bridge of your nose wrinkling in disgust - the exact same reaction as the last four times you've had a drink. Mako notices it too, if the wry laugh that leaves her lips is anything to go by. But what in the world is this anyway? And why in the hell do you keep drinking?

"Here I am, just trying to be a good friend by getting you out of that depressing cave you call a dorm to bring some action and joy into your life to, you know, expand your horizons, and you pay me back with complaints and boredom? That hurts, pumpkin, really hurts!" She's a total drama queen and your completely unimpressed expression makes it clear.

"Seriously, gaslighting now?" You roll your eyes so hard you think you can feel them in the back of your head.

"Don't blame a girl for trying!" She holds up her hand in a peace sign, another unrepentant smile on her lips.

You shake your head in denial.

"Anyway, I still find it really weird that they're throwing a party so soon after those students were killed." Your voice drops lower, looking out at the noisy crowd with a frown of disgust.

She snorts, knowing full well that something like this was coming.

"Look, I'm sad about what happened too. But it's okay to relax once in a while, okay? Shit, you're young, single, and hot as hell. You should be enjoying your life. We can't let some weirdo with a death god complex stop us from having the best time of our lives!" Your friend gestures wildly with the hand that isn't holding her glass, the alcohol in her system making her even more giggly and reckless than usual.

She exchanges 'Rated: M' glances with a buff guy across the room - a popular member of the football team and one of the hosts of the party, you recognize - winking provocatively as she shrugs her shoulders to show off her breasts, being completely and embarrassingly open about her naughty intentions toward him tonight.

"Come on, you can't honestly tell me you don't think any of these frat guys are good enough to eat in one bite."

There’s a hint of reprimand dancing on the tip of your tongue, an almost natural instinct to tell Mako exactly how selfish she’s being right now, insensitive even, with everything that’s happened recently. You weren’t close or even knew those students directly, it’s true. But they were still students at your college, faces you saw every day among the masses. They were people who had been around for a short time, walking and breathing. And then they weren’t anymore. Their young lives were taken away before they could know exactly what they wanted to do with their futures, who they were going to be in the grand, merciless scheme of things.

You don’t feel comfortable celebrating when there are parents at home crying over their children whose bodies have barely cooled underground.

But Mako was right about one thing.

The idea of ​​living in daily fear of a man you had never seen in your life was draining every bit of spare energy from you. This mysterious killer had managed to disturb you, making you constantly paranoid, scared, and fearful. You spent your days looking around, suspicious of everything and everyone, with the electrifying feeling that at any moment he could jump in front of you and make you his newest victim. He even controlled your schedule. Because of him, you barely left the dorms anymore, always declining your friends' invitations with lame excuses. Not that you were a social butterfly before this, but this was a completely different level of seclusion - high even by your standards.

The thought that this man, who probably didn't even know you existed, was dictating the way you lived your own life was disturbing, to say the least.

You looked around, uncomfortable at how everyone was shouting, dancing, smoking, laughing, singing loudly - acting as if nothing had happened. As if three college friends hadn’t been brutally murdered a few days ago. It’s wrong, and your whole body screams it. It’s not respectful, it’s not safe. And yet, for some reason beyond explanation, you seem to be the only one terrified; the only one who’s actually having your life changed to avoid becoming a statistic.

And in that moment, with that realization in mind, Mako’s words make some sense. You don’t want to give this psychopath that kind of power.

“God, is sex all you think about?” That’s what you choose to say after a long pause, sighing in boredom at the nothing less than shameless winks your friend is giving the guy through her eyelashes. The guy, surrounded by his usual horde of friends who are just as scoundrels as he is, is returning Mako’s advances with double the intensity and lack of decorum; splaying a large hand over his jeans, right where the bulge of an admittedly sizable erection is, grinning at her like a mediocre porn star. Any more obvious than that and they’d be fucking right here on the floor, in front of all these people.

That, coupled with the creeping onset of a growing headache with each deafening beat of the speaker and the unstoppable chatter of the students around you, is making you more anxious than usual. The mass of bodies squeezing against each other to the rhythm of the music is so thick that you can barely tell one person from another; the smell of alcohol, shared sweat, sex, and cheap weed makes you wrinkle your nose every few minutes.

For socially stunted people like you, there were few things as overwhelming as a frat party roaring at the top of its lungs.

“Hey! Don’t blame me for this, blame those thirsty youthful hormones.” She shrugs as she speaks, tilting her head to slyly wrap the straw between her lips and suck on some more of her drink, her catlike gaze dancing indecisively between you and the guy from the football team.

You roll your eyes, but can’t help but feel a bit tinge of envy at her easy, playful attitude, the way she could just tune out her problems and enjoy the ride. She’s at home here, you notice; a natural in her habitat. This is normal for her — just another night amidst the noise and blatant flirting, playing with lewd looks that by itself carry more sexual activity than you’ve experienced in months.

Mako has always been your antithesis; bold and vibrant, seeing a bright and fun side to every situation — no matter how fucked up it was. Always trying to color the monochromatic palette of the world with the eccentric catastrophe that is her personality.

You, on the other hand…

Suffice it to say, your way of seeing the world is far less optimistic.

You pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation for a second, already knowing that you’re going to regret your next decision.

But you were already here, right? And she said it would be fun. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try and enjoy it.

You sigh deeply before changing your expression, looking up at an expectant and anxious Mako, practically bouncing on her feet as she awaits your decision.

"So...you think I'm hot, um? Tell me more about it." Your lips stretch into a forced smile as you awkwardly shake your hips in that stupid Sailor Moon costume she forced you to wear, trying to have even a fraction of the blissful ignorance that naturally flows from your friend. You want to enjoy the ride. Even if the base boost of the music is threatening to tear down not only the walls of the frat house, but also the ones in your skull.

Mako's loud laugh assures you that you've managed to make her happy.

It's like she said...

What's the worst that could happen?

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

"No, no, no, not now..." You get your answer about two hours later, with your hands resting on the bathroom counter of a random suite upstairs, staring at your helpless reflection in the mirror.

There is some kind of purple LED in place of the conventional bulbs, flooding the entire bathroom with low lighting typical of a gaming room or something, a fact that only serves to make you even more distressed. The nuances in light and dark shades of violet almost mockingly highlight your blatant desperation in the mirror's reflection.

It is true that the intense blush on your cheeks and the bridge of your nose and the skin damp with sweat could easily be justified by those drinks and every attempt at electrifying dance and involuntary contact with countless heat bodies in the cramped party room, as well as your unstable breathing and disheveled hair.

But the way your hands are shaking violently where they’re flat on the granite, or the way your heart trapped in your ribcage seems to swell until it threatens to burst, and how your throat is tightening to the point where you’re choking on tiny, fragile wheezes…

These symptoms speak of something else…

You’re about to have a panic attack on irrefutable evidence.

God, how long has it been since you’ve had one of these? A year? Maybe longer?

It doesn’t matter. Fuck, it doesn’t matter now!

You sigh a thin, impatient sound between your teeth, the strands of hair on the side of your face trembling along with your entire body, your hand letting go of the edge of the sink to palm in anguish the space between your breasts beneath the garish purple lace of your costume — where your heart feels like it’s being crushed in a tight fist.

Could it have been the deafening beat of the music? Has your seclusion for so long left you so unprepared to deal with something like this? Or could it have been the incessant chatter of the students? Maybe the sheer number of people crammed into this godforsaken frat house that was clearly not designed to hold so many at once? Could it just be a consequence of your obsessive neurosis about him?

"97..."

You're falling. Or maybe flying?

"89..."

Floating in time and space. Deaf to anything but the terrors of your own mind. Reciting decreasing prime numbers like your therapist had taught you, a conscious effort to control and distract your collapsing nerves and the painful pounding of your heart.

"Fuck...fuck...83 -, ugh!"

Your eyes squeeze tightly together, unwilling to face your ravaged reflection in the mirror any longer, your head spinning in denial. The walls are too close, the floor too far beneath your feet, your own skin too tight around your flesh.

"79," you force the number from your lips, force your breath out in shallow puffs, cold sweat trickling down the back of your neck.

The thumping music downstairs is a bit muffled now, though the party is as lively as ever - but up here you feel your world shudder and crumble beneath your feet. 

But you'll survive. You always survive.

Keep breathing...just keep breathing -

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

"7..."

You've been counting prime numbers for longer than you can keep track of right now, but somewhere along the grueling hell that is imploding in your own mind, your voice has regained a bit of strength. Your fingers are also shaking less, you notice distantly.

With a pained sniff, you look up at the mirror as you feel you've regained a fraction of control of yourself, taking in the humiliating image before you.

Your gaze is dull and tired. Your nose and cheeks are redder than before, your skin sticky with sweat that's now almost dried. Your whole body still trembles slightly in the aftermath of the panic attack, and the hair around your face is messier than before from all the times you pulled it in the middle of the crisis. You're a mess, undeniably. But you feel less like shit now than you did a few minutes ago, and that should count as some kind of bittersweet victory in your book of failures.

With a tug, you pull the long white gloves off your hands to turn on the faucet, letting the water run down your cupped palms to spray a little on your face. The cold water on your overheated skin makes you sigh.

This is the kind of person you had become, isn't it? Someone incapable of going to a simple frat party without having a damn panic attack. How pathetic.

"That's it, no more parties for you, young lady." You mumble as you dry your hands and cheeks on the fluffy towel hanging next to the sink, silently praying that your shaky legs will cooperate on the walk to your dorm on the other side of campus.

Mako wouldn't much like knowing that you were already leaving, but you'd like it even less for her or any of your friends to know about your little meltdown in the upstairs bathroom. It was bad enough that you had no control over it, you didn't need to see the pity reflected in her eyes when she found out, only adding to your humiliation.

Poor little broken thing, she would think.

Maybe you could just slip away without being seen and text her when you got dorms to say you were okay, leaving her questions to deal with later. You had already handled more than you could handle tonight, she would understand eventually. Not that she would notice your absence for a while, busy as she was swapping saliva and other bodily fluids with that guy.

Your phone vibrates abruptly on the counter and you jump at the unexpected noise, blinking rapidly at the letters on the screen.

Unknown Number.

With a eye roll and a still-racing heartbeat, you decide to just ignore the call, as you usually do every time an 'unknown number' pops up. Honestly, who still makes calls these days when you have a messaging app that works just fine, thank you very much? But whoever is behind that call doesn't feel the same way, and soon your iPhone's screen flashes again, bright as a beacon in the purple bathroom lighting, the device moving a few inches across the counter with the vibrations. You sigh and ignore it once more until you're done, but it vibrates again on a third try. And a fourth, when the last one doesn't work.

On the fifth try, you pick up your phone and answer with an exasperated huff, summing up your mood perfectly.

"Hello?"

The person on the other end of the line has the audacity to let out a sigh of relief - dramatic even, you might say, upon hearing your voice.

"There she is. For a moment there I thought you weren't going to answer, princess." The voice that greets you is soft, laughing, a satisfied and calm masculine purr.

"I tried. What do you want?" You answer sullenly, not in the mood to deal with this probable pervert who has nothing better to do with his life than to disturb random people late at night. You were never the brightest star when it came to social chess, and you certainly wouldn't start being so soon after your first panic attack after so long without any episodes. You were out of practice. Your head throbs, your nerves are frayed, your voice is fragile, the muscles in your body ache from the time you spent tense and trembling during the crisis. You just want to go bed.

"Easy now, little girl. I just want to know if you're okay." He hums, oblivious to your irritation.

You know he clearly hears the disdainful snort that leaves your lips. Before you can respond, however, he continues with the sentence that would change your life forever.

"That was really bad...are you sure you're better now?"

You blink at the mirror, your brows furrowed in irritation and headache. You know you should just end the call, not entertain any malicious intentions from this stranger. Yet, you find yourself answering before you even realize it.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your panic attack, love. That was a big one, hm? I thought it would never end." He hums nonchalantly, as if discussing his favorite ice cream flavor, and you part your lips at your reflection, a warning shiver settling at the base of your neck and slowly making its way down your spine.

"Um," you swallow uncomfortably, subtly glancing up at the walls and tight corners of the bathroom, looking for possible openings or hidden cameras. You had the bad luck to walk into some weird, perverted frat nerd's room, is that it? "So you're at the party too. Having fun time?" You shrug in the mirror, trying to sound blasé about what he said, but your voice is noticeably shakier than you’d like.

There’s no reason to be nervous, you try to reason with yourself when your visual scan doesn’t point to any apparent cameras. This guy probably just saw you hurrying up the stairs and is curious about your delay in returning to the party, that’s all. Although it’s still weird, since you made sure to hide in the privacy of the bathroom before your meltdown was actually noticeable to any prying eyes.

And how the hell did he have your number anyway?

"Oh yeah. Having a great time." The man answers, the lightheartedness in his voice fading to a deeper, darker tone at the end, though the smile in his voice is clear - mocking, even through the call line.

"By the way, I loved your costume. Which Sailor are you?" He prompts, returning to his airy tone, and you entertain once again the urge to just hang up on him, your already severely damaged nerves not quite able to handle the load of honest, and pointless, curiosity in the stranger's husky voice. The abrupt change in intonation makes your headache throb more by the second.

"Uh, Sailor...Mars...I guess?" You shrug, unsure why exactly you bother answering, the tip of your index and middle finger on your other hand coming up to massage your temple in slow circles, eyelashes resting on the top of your cheeks as you squint tiredly. Honestly, you're not sure if your answer is right. Having barely time (or interest, to be honest) to assess the costume before tonight - when it was shoved rudely in your face by a Mako determined to bring you to this party. You don't trust your knowledge of Sailor Moon, or any anime for that matter, to confidently answer the man's question. But...yeah...you think you might be right.

"It looks so cute on you, sweetie." He purrs on the other side; sickeningly sweet, sweet as molasses. And that's what makes you straighten up in front of the mirror - his voice suddenly sweet. Your eyes become fixed, a small hitch in your breath; suspended, alert, waiting for his next words. "I've thought so since you arrived at the party. So cute and so fucking pretty. Tiny and pretty in that silly costume."

"W-what? Who's...?" You swallow uncomfortably, but he interrupts you.

"So pretty, and so lonely too. Always lonely, aren't you sweet girl?" The way he says it, confident and calm, as if he’s absolutely certain of what he’s saying, as if he knows you. You squirm, agitated and raw, but you clench your fist at your side.

“And how would you know that?” You want to sound sharp, but you know your voice betrays how much he’s upsetting you.

“Oh, I can see that, princess.” He breathes, followed by a low hum, stretching out an enigmatic pause until your fingers are trembling around the phone. “I see how you’re always alone; misfit and scared, like a little deer hiding from the glare of headlights to avoid being caught. Isn’t that what you do, love? Trying everything to get away from that airheaded friend of yours and others equally idiotic, burying your nose in some book in the quietest part of the library so you don’t have to talk to anyone. Your hiding place, isn’t it?” He laughs with clear disdain and you feel your vision blurring, the discomfort in your stomach worsening with each word he utters.

But he doesn't stop there.

"I see how those beautiful eyes are always brimming with emotions, emotions that you deliberately refuse to share with anyone, no matter how much they insist that you open up. It's interesting how you have social options, but you choose solitude every single time. Not that that's a complaint, of course. Solitude suits you well, sweet thing."

Your breathing is faster now, loud enough for the stranger on the other side to hear, but you don't care about that. All you can think about is the information the man spewed into your ear.

He knows where you retreat to escape the incessant noise of the world around you, he knows the walls you've built around yourself, the emotional blockage in opening up to anyone - your complete unwillingness to do so. He’s not just talking about the color of clothes that you usually wear around campus — a quirk that anyone could notice and use to scare you at a time like this. No, it’s not that simple. He’s talking about intimate things, about feelings; things that only someone who lives with you could say.

The thing is, you’re not an idiot. A self-imposed hermit with anxiety issues? Of course yes. But not an idiot. You understand enough about human psychology to know that every word that comes out of this stranger’s mouth is a threat cloaked in a teasing, sugar-coated tone. And the fact that he’s telling you personal things isn’t coming from some bizarre attempt to initiate a social interaction with you, but a demonstration that he knows exactly who you are. The game is blatantly in his favor, because he knows you, but you have no idea who he is. He holds the power here, and he’s making that clear to you.

"Are you okay there, princess? You've gone so quiet on me sudden." His voice snaps you out of your trance once more, eyes flickering rapidly to your horrified reflection in the mirror.

"W-who are you, a fucking stalker? How the hell do you know this things about me?" He laughs at the false bravado in your voice, your discomfort obvious and clear to him, no matter how much you don't want it to be.

"Nah, more like a secret admirer, I'd say." He answers you matter of factly, the acidic smile on his lips bleeding through the line. "Secret not for long, of course." There's a hint of suspense in it, something ominous that lingers in the silence that follows, as if he's purposefully fermenting you in his dark insinuation.

That's it, you need to hang up.

"Don't call me again or I swear I'll report you to the police, idiot." You threaten with a venomous sigh. A bluff, of course. There was no way you could make a minimally consistent complaint when you not only had no information about who this crazy man could be, but there wasn't even a real number registered for that call that could serve as evidence in a future police report. Unknown Number, that was all you had to work with. He knew that too, judging by the amused laughter buzzing on the other side of the line. You still hear it clearly when you pull the phone away from your ear to click the red icon on the screen, ending the call.

You're shaking when you look up at your reflection in the mirror, the woman in front of you staring at you with wide eyes and a scared face, the rush of raw adrenaline in your veins making your body vibrate like a power cable.

She said it would be fun.

Mako said it would be fun.

You shouldn't be here tonight if it weren't for that damned promise.

The prospect of change wasn't appealing to you; safety was appealing. Habits and routine were appealing. Habits and routine kept you healthy, safe. Nothing outlandish ever happened in your life, and you almost preferred it that way — if there were no surprises, there would be no disappointments, no risks, no panic attacks.

You weren’t supposed to be here tonight, and there was no other explanation than the folish notion that some cosmic misalignment had occurred and you were stuck right in the middle of an anomaly.

You try to take a deep breath, the discomfort in your chest indicating a possible second wave of panic approaching. No, no, not again. You just want to leave, you want to get out of this damn house and back to the safe confines of your dorm room before any more horribly improbable things happen to you tonight.

Rationally, you know that leaving the bathroom doesn’t seem like the most sensible option, especially when the stranger on the phone has offered you clues that he’s lurking outside. But all your scared, adrenaline-fueled mind can process at the moment is the urgent desire to get away from this place as quickly as possible. And that’s why you take one last deep breath, offering one more look at the forlorn woman in the mirror before quickly grabbing your gloves from the counter and turning to open the bathroom door, walking out without looking up as you unlock your phone with trembling fingers to text Mako.

"Ouch!" You gasp as you hit your forehead on something solid as soon as you step out, your phone dancing between your hands with the impact until it falls to the floor with a loud thud, along with your white gloves. Your instinctive reaction is to bend down to pick it up, already fearing possible damage to the screen, a damage that you certainly couldn't pay at the moment, but the tip of a black boot immediately appears in your line of vision, kicking your phone into the bathroom with a rough blow.

"Hey, what's your problem?!" You growl, looking up, your neck craning to glare at the rude idiot in front of you.

However, the indignation dies on your tongue and your heart sinks in your chest when the empty eyes of a masked figure stare back at you.

It's a costume party, of course, and the guy is in costume. There's nothing really suspicious about it. Nothing you should think twice about.

But when your eyes slide to what he holds between his fingers; the blade of an intimidatingly large kitchen knife, dripping thick liquid in fat crimson drops onto the floor, the smell is ferrous and acrid and so unmistakable; so strong that not even the smell of cheap weed and wet sex that seems to be embedded in every square inch of this frat house is enough to cover up that odor. Blood. Human blood. Dripping and heated.

And you just know.

You know it's him.

God knows how many days (fucking weeks) your hyperfocus has been on this man. The search bar of your browser and social media was full of questions about him, hunting like a detective in the safe solitude of your dorm room, eagerly searching for any clues to his identity. Nothing but "tall masked man" was what you came up with, no matter how hard you tried. His victims didn't live to tell the tale and the few, rare glimpses of him were too vague to confirm anything.

It’s insane the idea that you could tell it was him when there was barely any information about who he might be or what he looked like, but you know — you just know.

He stands there, relaxed and unfazed as you study him with growing horror, as if it were the natural thing to do — as if he’d been waiting all along for you to open the door so he could enter. And then the masked figure takes a casual step into the bathroom, the easy confidence in this simple act foreshadowing his ease in overpowering his victims.

You swallow hard, backing away slowly as you lock eyes with the killer’s empty mask holes. The notion that there’s no way out of the room becoming painfully obvious to you. The man takes up the entire space of the exit; the width of his shoulders spanning almost from one side of the doorframe to the other, his long legs slightly apart to fill any gaps.

The only way out of here would be if you stepped over him; and that wasn’t going to happen.

So much for a fun night.

(Part II in progress, if you are interested.)

[animeomegas]

Warnings: non-consensual neck grabbing from enemy nin, non-sexual subspace, panic attacks, hurt/comfort galore

Necks are sensitive and delicate areas, but this is extra true for omegas. Being grabbed near or on the neck spooks them on an instinctual level that can be difficult to settle.

So imagine your omega comes back from a mission with his eyes wide, tinged with a feral tinge. He's shaking a little, on edge and hypervigilant. There's a bruise on his neck that gives away what must have happened during his mission.

Rage bubbles up inside you at the thought of someone hurting him like that, touching him like that. You're tempted to hunt down the perpetrator and make them pay, threaten his teammates too, for letting this happen.

But you can't leave him. Not your omega, not now.

Neji:

And if you were angry, then Neji was furious.

"They just- I didn't- How dare-" he had furious tears in his eyes as he approached you. You didn't hesitate to wrap him in your embrace. He didn't embrace you back but instead tucked his arms between your chests like he was trying to fold himself into you. You held him tighter.

"Are they dead?"

Neji growled a horrible growl into your shoulder. You waited for him to finish, trying to encircle him even more in your arms to protect him from the world.

"Yes," he finally pushed out. He tried to force himself closer to you, although there was no more space to occupy.

"Good." You pressed a kiss to his head. "I've got you."

And that was all Neji needed to hear before the tears bubbled over.

Kakashi:

"Do you need your collar, baby?" you asked, gently holding his face in your hands. He had crashed to your feet the second he had walked through the door, and was now breathing harshly, his eyes cloudy with panic.

A whine violently ripped out of him. You weren't the only one who jumped at the sound, and Kakashi looked equally shocked that such a noise had escaped him.

"Okay, okay, hold still," you swallowed your rage and tried not to fumble as you fastened the familiar collar around his throat.

As soon as you were done, he collapsed forward onto your lap, and you spent the next hour gently stroking the skin around the collar until your Kakashi could come back to you.

Itachi:

"What happened?" you demanded, storming your way over to him, you hands flittering over the vibrant purple bruise.

Itachi blinked at you, as though he wasn't quite sure why you were behaving like this. You waited for his response, but none came. He just blinked at you again, his eyes suspiciously foggy.

You lowered your voice and tried to remove any anger from your voice, even though it was impossible to remove it from veins. "Itachi?"

"Alpha?" he asked, voice slightly slurred. "Please- please don't be angry."

"I'm not angry at you, darling." You stepped closer, watching him intently for signs of discomfort. Ever so gently, you ran you thumb on the underside of his jaw. He let out a shuddering sigh, but no more recognition seemed to emerge. "Why don't we get you all cleaned up and safe in your nest, does that sound good?"

His foggy eyes jumped to yours for the first time, and he immediately nodded. "Please."

Naruto:

"It's-It's not as bad as it looks," Naruto laughed, entirely at odds with the way his whole body was still shaking with adrenaline. "They just, caught me off guard, that's all."

The anger was buried under the heartbreak at his reaction. Did he think you would brush him off? Tell him to get over it? You wordlessly opened your arms to him, and for a second you caught the way his fake smile fell and his face screwed up with emotion before he collided with you and buried his face in your chest.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I didn't mean to cry. I'm fine, I just-"

"You're just in my arms right now, and there is nothing in this world that would get me to let go of you, I promise."

Shikamaru:

"Mark me again, you have to- you have to bite me." His eyes were almost manic as he grabbed you and pushed you down onto the sofa before climbing on your lap. "Fuck! Please, you have to."

"Shikamaru!" You grabbed his face and tried to hold him still, but he wrenched it away in favour of shoving the juncture of his neck, bruised in blue and black, in front of your mouth. "Hold on a second-"

"No! They, they defiled it, you need to fix it!"

"It's going to hurt you-"

"I don't care! Just do it!"

Throwing caution to the wind, you indulged both him and your baseline instincts, still furious that someone had dared to touch his mating mark at all, let alone with such aggression. You sunk your teeth into his shoulder, over his previous mark, refreshing it in a small wave of red.

Shikamaru hissed at the pain, but as the endorphins flooded in, his eyes closed and he collapsed completely on top of you, breathing harshly. You lapped at the bite soothingly, and only then did some of the oppressive scent of manic omega clear from the air.

[uhhhj13iguess]

kiss it better

stiles x reader

wc: ~1k

like the stydia kiss in season three when stiles is having a panic attack, except you're the one panicking and he kisses you!

obviously details a panic attack so trigger warning for that

masterlist

"(y/n)?"

stiles knocked softly on your door, frowning at the lack of response. he called your name a few more times to no avail, slowly opening the bedroom door with a deep breath. he called out your name again, sounding his presence before even looking in the room. was he concerned you were unresponsive because you were dead? yes. but he was still a man of respect.

his heart grew heavy in his chest as his eyes fell on your frame. you sat on your window sill, legs curled to your chest and a heavy blanket wrapped around your figure as you balanced on the ledge of the open window. not in a concerning way, stiles decided. you didn't appear ready to jump, but rather more... pensive. he couldn't see much of your face, as you overlooked the activity on the street below, but he could hear you crying. the entire scene was gut-wrenching to him.

you, on the other hand, considered it pathetic.

you didn't hear stiles entering your room, lost in your own world as tears stained your cheeks. your once racing thoughts had been numbed by feelings of dissociation, no longer having the energy to even ruminate anymore. you pulled your weighted blanket tighter around your body, hoping at this point it would just crush you and swallow you whole. you nearly fell out the window at the sound of stiles calling out your name.

"... (y/n)?

you turned to face him, and you swore he almost looked as sad as you did.

he stepped hesitantly into the room. "i'm sorry, i, we just, we haven't h-heard from you all day. are you... are you okay?"

the fatal question.

as soon as the words came out of his mouth, you choked out a sob. the emotions you had detached yourself from came flooding back into your system, and you lost control.

you couldn't breathe. you couldn't think, yet that was somehow all you were able to do — no words would come out no matter how hard you tried. stiles ran to your side immediately, pulling you from the window and onto the ground.

"shit, hey hey, okay hey, stay with me (y/n)," he tugged you against his chest, holding you as tight as he possibly could as if he was afraid you'd run. as if you had that kind of control over your body in this moment.

you felt yourself beginning to hyperventilate, no longer feeling like you could get any oxygen into your lungs. it made you panic more, and while you knew stiles was talking to you, begging for your attention, you just couldn't seem to pull out of it.

"hey, everything's okay. j-just, uh just try to slow down your breathing, come on,"

everything was overwhelming again. you felt like you were in a trance — and it was absolute hell. you needed to snap out of it. you screamed in your head, begging, pleading with your brain to think rationally.

it's no use, you thought. i'm fucking stuck like this forever.

stiles didn't know what to do. he'd dealt with his own panic attacks before, but seeing you in one short-circuited his brain. he was panicking himself, the thought of you hurting this badly physically bringing him pain. he pulled you off his chest, trying to get you to look in his eyes. trying to pull you out of it.

"(y/n), please, i need you to listen to me,"

"please, just please look at me,"

"i need you to breathe, please, i need you to listen to me. you're right here with me, you're safe. whatever this is, i, i-it's okay, i promise, just, please,"

there was nothing you wanted more than to cooperate, but you weren't in control anymore. you sobbed harder, feeling defeated.

stiles' breathing was getting quicker too, feeling helpless. he just needed you to hear him, to come back to the present. he needed you to breathe, he really needed you to breathe, he just —

his lips hit yours with a force, silencing your mind in an instant. your eyes widened as you felt him against you, his hands pressing on either side of your face, holding you close to him. you saw his eyes squeezed shut tightly. you felt his choppy exhale against your face. you could smell his cologne. you could hear your stereo playing softly in the background. suddenly, you were here again — present.

your eyes fluttered closed and stiles let out a sigh into your mouth as he finally felt you relax against him. he held there for a moment, his soft lips on your chapped and swollen ones, lightly running his fingers through your hair as he felt your body begin to calm down. you let out a shaky exhale through your nose as you laid a hand against his chest, and he knew you had come back down to earth.

he pulled back slowly, his eyes opening to lock with yours. your lips remained slightly parted, shaky breaths coming out at a much slower pace than just moments before. you both just sat there, inches from one another, and your eyebrows furrowed as you took in what just happened. his eyes flickered down to your lips, causing him to lick his own subconsciously.

stiles spoke first. "i, um,"

"i read somewhere once, that, holding your breath can help stop a panic attack,"

he paused for a moment to clear his throat. "so, when I kissed you, you, uh, you held your breath."

"oh,"

"yeah,"

"i did?"

he nodded slowly with pursed lips, shaky breath escaping his mouth. "yeah,"

you nodded slowly, feeling your heart rate return to normal for what felt like the first time in days. you leaned back slightly, taking in his whole frame. you took a deep breath, butterflies beginning to replace the sickly feeling in your stomach. "thank you,"

"no problem,"

[bluerosefox]

Saying Sorry Will Never Be Enough

Feeling a bit angsty so I had this idea.

Danny is dating one of the Bats/Birds, and everything is going great, amazing even! They know each other secrets (from powers to everything etc), they have a wonderful place to live (even if its in Gotham), Danny is in college on the way to becoming a space engineer (and he does side jobs for unrestful ghosts), he's actually getting sleep again since leaving Amity Park, gets along with their friends and family (those who Danny or his partner still talk to, up to the writer), there is even talk about marriage and perhaps adoption/kids in the future between Danny and the Bat/Bird he's dating!

Everything is setting up for a good life in his future, something Danny didn't think could have after his accident. He was happy finally, and currently packing up his old apartment because he's moving in with his partner in a few days.

So he felt like his core was being pulled out of him when he opens his apartment door one day receiving a knock to find his parents, who had hadn't seen since they kicked him out of the house after coming clean about being Phantom (their words of anger and denial that their son was 'dead' and now a monster, still hurt)

Sure they didn't attack him or proclaim he's dead but still their last words and anger HURT.

Danny didn't give them a chance to open their mouths, both looking nervous and guilty, before he slams the door close and turns invisible, grabs his phone, and fly's out of his apartment to his partner's place in a panic attack.

His partner, isn't happy.

[eeerrrrewsd]

Stay

Jason Todd x Reader- Angst/Comfort

It started with his breathing. Shallow, erratic, unsteady.

You’d been sitting on the couch with him, curled up beside him while a movie played in the background. It was one of those rare nights where Jason had actually let himself relax, where the weight of his past wasn’t pressing so heavily on his shoulders. But something had changed. You felt it before you even saw it. The way his body tensed, the way his fingers curled into fists against his thighs.

Then he sucked in a breath—sharp, uneven. Too fast.

“Jason?”

No response. His chest rose and fell too quickly, his shoulders shaking, fingers trembling. His pupils were blown wide, darting around the room as if he wasn’t there with you anymore.

“Jason,” you tried again, sitting up. Your hand brushed against his, but he flinched.

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t the first time. He’d had nightmares before, flashbacks that pulled him under until he barely knew where he was. You’d helped before, but this—this was worse. He wasn’t moving, just stuck there, breathing like he was drowning on air, like the walls were closing in on him.

Your heart clenched when you realized—he was mouthing something.

You leaned in, and your stomach turned cold at the barely audible whispers leaving his lips.

“Joker… he—he—”

He couldn’t even finish. He just shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut like he could will the memory away. But it was still there, wasn’t it? You knew it never really left. The nightmares, the pain, the echo of cruel laughter that haunted him like a ghost.

And worst of all—he thought you couldn’t handle it.

You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw, in the way his whole body screamed don’t look at me, don’t see me like this.

But you did. And you weren’t going anywhere.

“Jason,” you said, firmer this time.

Still nothing. His breath hitched, his hands trembling harder.

He was spiraling. Fast.

You had to get him out of it.

You reached for him again, but this time, you took his hands in yours, grounding him. You squeezed gently, just enough to let him feel you there.

“I’m here,” you said softly. “I’ve got you.”

Jason tensed like he wanted to pull away, but you didn’t let him.

“Breathe with me.”

He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut again. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you insisted, voice steady. You lifted one of his hands and pressed it against your chest, right over your heart. “Feel that?”

Jason’s fingers twitched.

“That’s me,” you whispered. “I’m right here, Jason. You’re not alone.”

His breath hitched again, but this time, it was different. He was still trembling, still on the edge of breaking, but he wasn’t pulling away anymore. His fingers curled against your shirt, gripping like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

You guided him, breathing slow and deep. “In… and out.”

It took a few tries. His breath was still uneven, still sharp around the edges. But eventually, he followed. In… out. Again. And again.

Minutes passed, and the shaking lessened. His grip on you didn’t loosen, but his breathing wasn’t as ragged anymore.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

You frowned, heart aching.

“Jason, I love you.” Your voice was soft, but firm. “That means I’m here for the good and the bad. You don’t have to hide from me.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, like he was waiting for the moment you’d flinch, or turn away, or look at him differently.

But you didn’t.

You just stared back, steady, unwavering.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes burning with something raw, something vulnerable. Then, slowly, his forehead dipped against your shoulder.

You let him.

You held him as his breathing evened out, as the storm inside him settled into something quieter. And even when he finally whispered, “Thank you,” like he still didn’t understand how you could love him like this—

You just held him tighter.

Because you weren’t going anywhere.

Not now. Not ever.

[justastraymoa]

3racha vs Panic or Anxiety Attack

Warnings for descriptions of panic and anxiety and their attacks, hurt, comfort

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl.

BangChan

Han

Changbin

General Taglist @stellasays45 @beebee18 @weird-bookworm @velvetmoonlght

[snowballseal]

Breathe

Zayne X Reader

Summary: Trying to cope with losing Caleb and your grandmother, you throw yourself into work and push yourself to the very limit, only to break at the end of a particularly bad day. Thankfully, Zayne is there to get you through it.

Word Count: 2953

Warnings: dealing poorly with grief, depression, anxiety, what could be considered a panic attack, this is all hurt comfort folks, Zayne calls you good girl cause it's CANON and I can't get over it

Enjoy

---

One person can only take so much before they break. And the harder they try not to, the worse it gets.

Your day sucked. First you were late to the team meeting because you spilled coffee - piping hot you might add - on yourself right before leaving. Then, you and Xavier got into a stupid fight - he thought you were pushing yourself too hard. A part of you knew he was just concerned, they all were, but as soon as those pitying eyes turned on you, you could feel yourself bristling like an angry street cat.

You were fine.

Was it that wrong that you just wanted to work? You hate being home alone, which happens often since Zayne has to work extra hours, what with the increase in wanderer attacks. Not seeing him has already made you a little grumpy. But even worse, is the deafening silence of that apartment. Every time you’re alone, every time it gets just a little to quiet, you can’t stop your thoughts from drifting to Caleb and Gran- 

So you work. You take extra hours, cover shifts, field the reports nobody wants to do, even if it means you stay up all night, even if it means you skip a few meals. At least then you don’t have to think about it, you don’t have to deal with the nightmares. Maybe if you throw yourself into work, you might be able to outrun the storm creeping on your horizon.

And that’s how you ended up messing up on a mission. Pushed to your limits, your mind was foggy and your body just. wouldn’t. move.

You hadn’t gotten out of the way fast enough. A stray energy blast narrowly caught your shoulder, sending you careening into the nearest wall. The impact sent your head spinning, your vision going blurry for a second too long. You could hardly make out Xavier’s face when he kneeled beside you, telling you to stay down, that he could handle it.

A bitter taste had filled your mouth when he said those words.

You were utterly and completely useless. And that thought seeded itself somewhere in your chest, wrapping tight around your ribs until you couldn’t breathe.

Jenna sent you home after that, with a stern command to rest. You wanted to argue, tell them you’re fine, but your shoulder was screaming and the look she gave you when you opened your mouth was seering enough to shut down the most experienced hunter.

So you threw your jacket over your shoulders and stormed out of the office, trying to ignore the way your team’s gaze followed you, not even bothering to hide their concern. You could feel it burning on your skin all the way home. And that was only the beginning.

Now you find yourself laying on your couch, staring blankly at the television, the volume turned up too loud, just to drown out the thoughts swirling like a storm in your head.

You hate it. This feeling. Like you’re stuck underwater, trying so hard to reach the surface, but everything you do just drags you deeper and deeper. Your muscles are burning for any relief, but you can’t let yourself stop. You’re too scared to let yourself stop. Because if you do-

“Are you aware that listening to the television at this volume could cause damage to your hearing?”

You jump at the sudden calm voice that speaks behind you, flipping around to come face to face with a rather unamused Zayne. Quickly, you snatch the tv remote, turning it down until it’s barely a whisper in the background.

“Zayne! I thought you were working late tonight,” you chirp, the waver in your voice almost unnoticeable.

Almost.

Zayne’s eyes narrow, making you shift uncomfortably. Sometimes it feels like he can see right through you, right to the very core of your being.

“Things were not as busy as expected, so I decided to come home early and make sure you eat a full meal,” he explains, voice calm despite the way his gaze burns through you.

Skin prickling with unease, you jump from the couch, forcing a playful laugh, “What are you, my doctor?”

“Yes.”

Right. You awkwardly shift around him, heading towards the kitchen, “Well, then I guess we should start dinner, huh? What do you want?”

“You are also home early.” It’s not a question, merely an observation, but it makes your throat go dry.

Sometimes having such an observant boyfriend is amazing. You love Zayne more than anything, love how attentive he is, but in moments like this, you feel like a creature under a microscope. Every single flaw and action under his sharp scrutiny. There’s nowhere to hide, and all you want to do is run.

“We have some leftover moo shoo pork,” you hum shakily, hands unsteady as you pull it from the fridge. “And I could make some rice, I think it’s up he-”

Forgetting about your shoulder, you reach up to one of the cupboards. Pain shoots up to your fingers like electricity, searing back down your spine. You inhale sharply, momentarily paralyzed as you clutch it to your chest, eyes squeezing shut.

Zayne is there in an instant. His fingers ease over your taut jaw, his skin cool to the touch. He doesn’t say a word, but you can practically feel his concern in the way he barely touches you, like he’s scared you’ll break. It makes your chest tighten.

“I’m fine,” you breathe, gritting your teeth.

“You’re injured,” he counters, voice still irritatingly calm, “Why don’t you let me-”

“I said I’m fine,” you bite out again, this time with a little more force, “I’m perfectly capable of making dinner. I’m not useless.”

Zayne pauses, partially taken aback by your words. They feel out of place, and he can tell you didn’t mean to say them when you glance away, cheeks burning a vicious pink. His brow furrows, confusion flickering over his features.

“I wasn’t suggesting you are,” he says, each word measured carefully, like the wrong ones could set you off.

And now you feel guilty. God, you can’t do anything right today.

Biting your tongue, you grab the rice with your good arm, stepping around him to busy yourself at the counter. Not that setting up the rice cooker takes up much time. Soon enough you've nothing more to do, bracing yourself against the counter just to stay upright. The silence that creeps between you is unbearable, thick enough to cut, especially when you can still feel Zayne’s eyes following you so closely.

“God, this is so stupid,” you huff out, false bravado broken as your voice warbles, “I’m fine. I can handle it. I’m a hunter. I’m supposed to handle it. I’m supposed to- I’m supposed to help people. Not-”

You bite off the rest, fingers digging into the counter. The pain in your shoulder distracts you, keeps the tears at bay. You can’t cry. Not now. Not-

A hand traces lightly against your waist. You tremble at the gentle touch, a lump forming in your throat as his arm circles around you. Zayne pauses for only a moment before pulling you back into a rare embrace when you show no signs of moving away. He presses his face against your hair and holds you like you’re the most fragile thing in the world, like you’re made of the thinnest ice, which is how you feel.

Tears blur your vision. You take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to hold it all together. Until-

“It wasn’t your fault, (Y/n).”

His voice is so quiet, so certain.

And you break.

You don’t know what sound leaves your body at that moment, but you’re sure it’s ugly and broken. Your entire body trembles in his hold, but he doesn’t waver, simply holds you tighter as everything spills out.

It’s so much. So much weight, so much grief, your throat is raw in seconds from crying. Every breath is like knives, until suddenly, you can’t breathe.

It’s like your lungs are full of sand, your chest spasming as you fail to take in air. It hurts. It all hurts.

“Darling, I need you to breathe,” Zayne’s voice speaks urgently at your ear, and you want to, you need to, but all you can muster is a pathetic whimper and shake your head. Before you can blink, Zayne has you turned around and lifted onto the counter, slotting himself between your legs. He catches one of your hands, pressing it firmly against his chest as his green eyes bore into yours, a hint of desperation pulling at his features. “I know you can. Be a good girl and copy me, alright? Can you do that?”

You nod shakily, trying to focus on him and not the burning in your chest. Zayne takes a deep, exaggerated breath, his chest rising against your hand. You try to do the same, your body shaking with the effort.

“Now breathe out.”

His chest falls and you once again copy him, the breath leaving you shakily. It takes a few repetitions until your breathing comes to any normal pattern, and Zayne silently tracks the time in his head. He traces your wrist gently, subtly checking your pulse to see how your heart is doing. It’s racing, but still within a normal range, which is enough to ease his firing nerves a little.

Not that this is over.

“‘m sorry,” you hiccup softly, gasping down breathes, fresh tears spilling over your cheeks. “God I’m sorry, Zayne. I didn’t mean, I didn’t mean to snap at you, and I just, I-”

The doctor hums, tone stern, making you fall silent. He traces his fingers against your cheek, the cold of his touch welcome against your overheated skin. He carefully wipes your tears away.

“I accept your apology. It is very common for people dealing with grief to lash out at those closest to them. I am merely thankful you trusted me enough to let me help you through it.”

You sag into his touch, lips wobbling. To most, that wouldn’t be comforting. But for you, knowing Zayne, it’s like finally having a hand to hold you above the water. He’s unmoving, unyielding in the way he loves you, all of you. Even like this.

“I trust you with my life, Zayne,” you whisper and lean forward to press your forehead against his chest.

“Then I assume you’ll allow me to examine your shoulder.” It’s not really a question, but you nod anyway. Zayne leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to your hair. “I will go get the first aid kit. Please take off your shirt if you feel comfortable doing so. If not, I ask that you change into something that will give me access to do a thorough exam.”

“Yes, doctor.”

“That’s my good girl,” he hums approvingly, a ghost of a smile in his voice.

Your heart jumps a little at that and you’re thankful for the curtain of hair hiding your face. It’s not often Zayne indulges you with such soft praise and you can’t help but soak it in, especially now. Your eyes flicker shut when he presses another kiss to your head, the touch lingering before he disappears to go retrieve the kit.

Sighing softly, you set to work on trying to get your shirt off. The nerves have settled back in your chest, not sure what to expect. You haven’t looked at your shoulder once since the fight, dead set on ignoring it as long as you could. Which was stupid. If the pain tells you anything, it’s probably pretty bad.

Bad enough that you can’t actually get your shirt off. You’re able to slip one arm out, but wince when you try to lift your bad one. So you're stuck like that, half undressed. Which is how Zayne finds you when he comes back, medical kit in hand.

He glances at you, dark brow raising a fraction. If he’s amused, his face doesn’t give it away.

“Will you um, will you help me?” You ask, voice quiet, “I can’t…I can’t lift my arm.”

Zayne’s lips press into a thin line. He nods, setting the kit aside. You can’t help but hold your breath as his fingers brush against your knee, slowly tracing up your thigh, jumping to your waist and brushing against your ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His touch is unbearably soft, and your heart squeezes as you watch his face, noticing the way his brows twitch as he works, and how focused his gaze is. Every movement is calm, self-assured. You hardly have to move as he lifts the shirt over your head, sliding it down your injured arm.

 And once it’s off, his hand returns to your waist, thumb brushing tenderly over your ribs. His eyes stay focused on your shoulder, and yours stay glued to his expression, catching the smallest flicker of shock.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” You ask, biting your cheek.

Zayne carefully schools his expression, but you can still see his disapproval in the tight set of his jaw, “You should have gone to the hospital immediately. I am surprised your team let you walk away with such an injury.”

“They didn’t know,” you mumble, trying to defend them at least a little bit. It really was your fault.

“So you hid this injury from your team?” He doesn’t hide his disapproval this time. You flush, looking down at your lap again, though that’s hard with him settled right between your legs.

“I didn’t…” The words get caught in your mouth. It’s so silly now, you know that. Your team would never look down on you for being injured, but- “I didn’t want them to think I couldn’t handle it. I just, I didn’t want to seem…useless.”

Zayne clicks his tongue, but he doesn’t say anything else. His fingers graze lightly against your shoulder and you wince, a low hiss passing between your teeth. Murmuring an apology, he moves to grab a few things from the kit. The silence returns as he sets to work, though this time, it’s not so uncomfortable.

Your head feels a little clearer now. You’re not through it, that’s for sure, but the pain from losing Caleb and your grandmother lingers a little less sharply. Zayne’s words from before repeat like a mantra in your head, and for once, you can feel yourself almost accepting them.

It wasn’t your fault.

There’s nothing you could have done. You can’t change the outcome of that day in the same way that you can’t change the color of the sky. That doesn’t stop how deeply you feel their absence, though.

“I miss them so much,” you admit, mostly to yourself.

Zayne pauses, already wrapping your shoulder after applying some medicine and deciding that the hospital could wait until tomorrow. He finishes pinning the bandage down before shifting back, eyes trailing over your face. You look up at him, exhaustion gleaming in your wide, (e/c) eyes. It’s like looking at a sad, little puppy. He breathes out a low sigh, brushing a few rogue hairs from your face.

“Your grandmother and Caleb were kind, caring people,” he says slowly, thoughtful, “It is right that you should miss them. It is not a sign of weakness to feel grief.”

“I know.” You reach for his hand, desperate for some form of contact. He gives in without hesitation, fingers brushing against your jaw to hold your face. You turn, nuzzling into his palm with a sigh. His touch gives you the comfort to continue, “Sometimes it just feels like if I let myself sit with it too long, I’ll be swallowed whole. And that…scares me. A lot.”

A pause. You keep your face tucked against his palm, enjoying the way he pets you as he thinks. Zayne has never been the strongest when it comes to emotions. With everything else he likes to distance himself from them to stay objective, so you know he needs the time to figure out what he wants to say. 

“I suppose…” he starts, and you glance back up at his face, catching the serious gleam in his eyes, “if it gives you any comfort, I would like to remind you that I will always be here to bring you back from whatever depths you fall to. Even if risking your life is your choice of coping mechanism.”

He pinches your cheek ever so lightly, and finally, finally, a smile pulls at your lips.

“I’ll work on it, I promise.”

He doesn’t look like he truly believes you, but Zayne nods.

“As your doctor, I would deeply appreciate it if you would.”

Eyes dancing with a bit of mirth, you lean forward, pressing a loving kiss to his cheek. Zayne catches you before you can pull back, fingers curling along your jaw as he draws you into a deeper kiss. It’s slow, his lips slanting perfectly over your own, like a well-rehearsed dance. When he pulls away, you can’t help but sigh, leaning your forehead against his chest again.

“What on earth would I do without you, Zayne?”

He presses another kiss to your hair, voice a low, teasing murmur, “You would likely die from an untreated wound.”

And just like that, you’re laughing. Zayne smiles, relief washing over him at the sound. 

You’ll be alright. He knows that today was just the first step, that grief is complex and differs from person to person, and you might have another bad day like this, but he doesn’t mind that. Not now that he’s finally by your side and can take care of you.

Nothing could drive him away.

---

I literally started this game 11 days ago and I'm so down bad for these characters, it's shameful. Anyways! Hope y'all enjoyed!

Feel free to send requests!

[amiaclone]

hiii can u pretty pretty pretty please make something about reader comforting daeho after his panic attack (fluff) 😣😣😣🙏🙏🙏

YES IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS!

I’ll base this off how i handle my panic attacks incase I’m disrespectful 😭

“Daeho? “Daeho?!” *You noticed him giving the aminos to Hyun ju* “Im sorry i…can’t do it.”

*He was leaning behind the beds*

*It all clicked to you the shaky voice shaky heartbeat and ran over immediately*

*There was the boy who you’ve loved for awhile shook in terror you aren’t a therapist but even you know stuff like this*

“Daeho..”

*He turned and seemed shameful and guilty*

“Im sorry…”

*You kneeled down to him placing a hand on his forehead rubbing it soothly*

“It’s alright….Im here….”

*It only calmed him down a tiny bit he still seemed shook however you knew how to handle situations like this*

“Count to seven…” *He nodded barely* “One…” “Two….” “T-Three…”

*As he counted to seven he seemed to get calmer by seven he seemed tense but a lot calmer which relieved you.*

“Thank you….for everything.”

*He leaned on your shoulder while your fingers strolled through his hair*

“You don’t need to…”

“No i mean…..you’re always so kind to me….im lucky to have you in my life…”

*Your heart warmed at that*

“You’re welcome then….how long has it been since we knew each other….seven years?”

*He nodded* “Im glad i met you that day…..you dont deserve to be in a game like this..”

*You smiled*

“Neither do you…”

*After a while it seemed he went to sleep you turned to him and whispered softly “I love you..”

*Unknowist to you he heard that*

Hope you liked iittt it was originally gonna be written different but it restarted 💀

[alastor-simp]

Panic Attack😰 - Alastor x Female Reader

📻Pairings- Alastor X Female Reader

📻Genre- Comfort and Fluff

📻Tags- Panic Attack, Alastor Comforts Reader, Anxiety Attack, Comfort, Alastor is not used to stuff like this, Alastor tries his best, Fluff, Hugs, Episode 1 of Hazbin Hotel Series

📻Notes- Sorry for the lack of Alastor x Reader stories, been busy with work also wanted to write for my other favorite fandoms like Twisted Wonderland and Love and Deep space. Hope you guys like this chapter.

📻Credit- Divider by @wetandtiny

**Key- [ ] indicates the inner thoughts the reader is having, so you don't get confused**

["Loud, Loud, ITS TOO LOUD!!!!!"] Your thoughts spiraled out of control, as you sat in the corner, voices muffled coming from other parts of the room. Charlie and the others were watching the TV, eyes widen in shock at seeing the news broadcast, showcasing the recent update to the changes to the next extermination, arriving in 6 months instead of a full year. Everyone's voice sprung out, some in anger and others in shock, minus Alastors, watching the whole ordeal with a smile on his face. Oh how he delighted seeing the utter panic in everyone's eyes, until his eyes snapped to yours, those feelings of glee drawing to a massive halt, oh dear.

The pupils in your eyes had dilated, tears starting to form. Your breathing was painful, almost like someone was suffocating you. Claws scratched at your chest, wanting the tightness to disappear. Your head felt like it was underwater, everything sounding muffled, yet only the voice in your head was clear. ["Why? Why is this happening? You had found sanctuary here when you arrived in Hell, having missed the recent extermination, feeling somewhat at ease that it was only going to come happened again next year, and now? Now its going to come again in 176 days!!! No NO!!].

Body shaking, you continued to claw against your chest, breaking the skin, blood coating your fingers. You needed to get away, away from everyone, they don't need to see you like this. Getting up with shaky legs, you slowly walked away from everyone as they continued to talk about what had just happened. The fact you could even move was shocking, considering how much you were shaking, as you still felt like your body was begging for air, lungs constricting with every step you took. Multiple voices spoke inside your mind, swirling around like a tornado, as you hurried to your room. A black portal had opened up in front of you, not spotting it as your vision was fading in and out, as your body fell into it, letting out a scream.

One second you were in the hallway and the next you were in a forest, surrounded by large trees and a massive river flowing. "W-what?" You could barely speak as you tried to figure out where the heck you were. "Ahh the little darling has arrived." A static voice called out from behind you, making you turn around, seeing Alastor walking towards you, hands behind his back. "A-Al? W-w." You whispered, hand clutching your chest even tighter, causing Al's eyes to narrow. "Well, my dear, I noticed your predicament in the lobby and decided to bring you to my room, preferably away from the other residents."

His mouth was moving, but you could barely pick up what he was saying as the dreading feeling was getting worse, causing you to drop to your knees. Alastor had not predicted this, eyes widen in shock having seen you fall to the ground, as he rushed over, getting on his knees, "Darling! Are you alright?" He placed his hands on your shoulder, peering down at you, observing you take gasping breaths, hands clutching your chest to the point your knuckles turned white. "It...it hurts. I-I can't breathe." Gasping out, you clutched your eyes shut, heart beating out of your chest. Alastor, for the first time, didn't know what his next move should be, he had hoped the ambience of his room would be enough to calm you down, but it apparently was ineffective. His hands continued to rub at your shoulders, hoping that would work, but you remained the same.

The smile on his face had almost dropped, for he was actually beginning to worry about your well-being, something that stunned him and irked him. He was not one to provide comfort to someone, but the sight of you was making his black heart clench. Moving his arms from your shoulders, he had position them to your head, pushing it down, allowing your head to hit his chest. Letting out a gasp, you didn't expect Alastor to do that, opening your mouth to say something, until your ears picked up on the soft sound coming from the radio demon. It was muffled, but there was a soft beating sound coming from his chest, laced with a bit of static due to his nature, "Bumbum.....bumbum......bumbum." Alastor remained silent, clawed hand rubbing your head softly, while the other went to your back, holding you closer.

Little by little, the suffocating feeling was diminishing, the loud voices slowly going away, allowing to focus more on his static heartbeat. Your lungs became lest restricted, finally able to breath as you took in a few deep breaths. You pushed your head closer towards his chest, nuzzling into the warm soothing feeling he was giving you. "Shhhh...its alright now, my dear." His voice was soft, no hint of static, as he continued to hold you. After a couple minutes, you slowly removed your head from his chest, looking up at him smiling, eyes still watery from your crying, "Thank you, Alastor." His crimson eyes were warm as he pulled away, yet he kept his hand on your back, keeping you steady. "Seeing that you now have a smile on your face, I presume you have managed to calm down." Alastor continued to observe you, noticing the blood scratches on your chest, due to you scratching it during your episode. Placing his hand on your chest, he whispered some voodoo chant, as he soon removed it, wounds fully healed.

Noticing what he did, you widened your eyes, muttering another thank you. Tilting his head, Alastor asked as to what had happened to cause such a reaction. Looking down, you began to explain everything, "I..I had just arrived here, having met all of you and developed close friendships. The extermination being the last thing on my mind, and now that whole announcement." Your hand grasped his own, rubbing it gently "I just...thought about losing this, losing everyone, you....it just....everything began to bubble up and it just felt like too much that I had that attack. I'm sorry that you had to go out of your comfort zone to help me." Alastor sat there, listening calmly, a bit shocked that you had that episode due to your fear of the exterminators and losing him? Part of him wanted to laugh boisterously, yet he didn't.

His hands went to your cheeks, rubbing them affectionately. "It is quite alright, my dear. But, there is no need to worry about that now. That day is still far out, so there will be time to prepare. And as for losing everyone as well as me, that will never come to pass. I swore to offer my services here, and that includes protecting this hotel and all of you." His voice was laced with honey, as he continued to rub your cheeks, like a parent would to a child. "However, if there is ever a time that you are suffering from this again, please seek me out or call my name. Placing your hands on top of his, caressing them, your lips drew up into a kind smile, "Okay."

The two of you stay like that, until you looked away, focusing back on where you were. "This is your room?" Alastor brightened up at you mentioning it, smile expanding, "Ah yes! During my youth, I had always admired the bayous in my hometown. I often times when there to calm me down after an eventful day. I assumed bringing you here would offer the same assurance that it gave me." Your heart picked up at that statement, seeing as how he almost never showed this side of himself to anyone, and he had offered to show it to you, evening mentioning his past, which he NEVER revealed to anyone. "I think I was too far into my attack to realize what was going on, sorry. Since we are here now, mind showing me around this part of your room, does it continue forever or?"

Chuckling at your questions, Alastor stood back up, hand grasping yours to lift you up. "It goes as far as I want it to. Let's take a little stroll, my dear." Hooking his arm with yours, he led you further into his dimensional room, allowing the two of you to explore, enjoying each others company, the panic attack being a thing of the past.

-END-

Sinners:

@alastorsgoldie @91062854-ka , @delectableworm , @iiotic

@cookiekyo , @demoarah , @danveration , @beebsbea ,

@veethewriter , @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @luujjvi ,

@unholycheesesnack , @saturnhas82moons , @jyoongim ,

@aceofcards0-0 , @ghostdoodlen , @yourdoorisunlocked ,

@starshipcookie , @ainsliemac , @aria-tempest , @nobuharashinyao

, @sweet06tart , @blakedbeanss , @ihyperfixatedagain , @ktssstuff ,

@yakultt-art , @mooniee123 , @nightmarenaya , @darischerry ,

@sadnessiscoldtea , @alastorssimp , @imacollasaltitan ,

@dilucragnvindr-my-beloved , @batmanmonstarr , @felice-jaganshi ,

@justchillaine , @crazed-flower , @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog ,

@akiooshizuka , @lokis-imaginary-friend ,

@themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @futureittomainn ,

@christinaatyourservice92 , , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it ,

@angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 ,

@mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow ,

@madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel ,

@artemisandhunters , @thereeallink

[moonlight-records]

Rich Boys Don't Have Hearts | LN4 (PT. III)

pairing: Jock!Lando Norris x Nerd!Reader

summary: Formula Ivy Academy, or FIA for short, is the most renowned private in the world who takes such a select few. Usually those from wealth with status and secrets and so much to lose. Yet, you are selected to join the FIA on a full scholarship. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain scares a lot students, especially their star athlete who will do anything to protect those he cares about. Though, he didn't expect you to have as much of a...bite to you for a little nobody.

warning: description of panic attack, partying, alcohol consumption, bestie franco, jack a cutie, y/n feeling themselves, lando is PISSED. jealous!lando if you squint!!

fc: none!

wc: 4.5K

a/n: so would y'all hate me if the next few parts are taken from maxton hall??

part 1 | part 2 | current | part 4

You didn’t know a lot about musical theater but in high school you did follow the crowd by finding and listening to the cult classic Heathers and suddenly you felt like you were living ‘Dead Girl Walking’ but only in reverse. Instead of a demon queen deciding to ruin your life socially because you made her look like a fool at a party so you venture out to get fucked by your crush before that happens, instead you get laid by your not crush crush and THEN the demon king decrees what you can assume is your social reputation all because you made a fool of him for trying to bribe you. The only difference between Heathers and you, Heathers is a fictional cult classic where the characters were in a small town while you’re attending the most elite school in the world so one bad word from someone attending and you would actually be done for life. 

God, don’t you just love Fridays?

Your hands start to shake as you look down at your phone. Your stomach twists and your heart is now in your throat. You aren’t sure if you’re going to cry or scream or vomit or all three. You try to take a few deep breaths but you can’t focus on your breathing while your mind runs with so many different scenarios about talking to Lando and none of them end well. Your breathing continues to pick up speed and you feel hot. Your heart is pounding and you think that you’re going down. You gasp for air as you sit up back against your headboard, trying your hardest to calm down but it’s impossible with the impending doom looming in your head. You're shaking violently and you can feel tears rolling down your face as you gasp again for air and a choked sob escapes you so you pull your knees to your chest and hug them tightly, riding out your first panic attack.

After what felt like forever, you finally come down from your panic attack. You take a few deep breaths and now you feel exhausted from the adrenaline drop. Closing your eyes you sniffle before staring at the ceiling and wondering how the hell your life took such a weird turn. Then you remember that you have free will and are not obligated at all to meet with Lando. You silently curse at the ceiling as if Lando could see or hear you before finally making the slow effort to get off the bed. Your legs wobble but you manage to limp your way to the bathroom so you could look decent for Franco’s return. The last thing you need is for Franco to see you like this after the wonderful date you two had. You wash your face before patting your face dry as you look at your face. Your eyes are red and puffy but you could at least pass that off as recovering from the very welcoming overstimulation Franco put you through.

Limping out, you start back to your bed before there’s a knock at your door. You look over your shoulder as fear digs its dagger of ice into your heart and you feel so cold. Your breathing starts to become shorter before you take a deep breath. There is no reason to freak out. There is no reason that Lando should have this effect on you. He was nothing more than the school’s demon king. A demon king that is egotistical, rude, cocky, good for nothing stupid asshole of a player that just needed to leave you alone and let you focus on your studies and– 

“Y/N?”

You feel relief flood through your body when you hear Franco’s voice. Limping over, you crack the door open and smile as you open it enough for Franco to slip in, using the door as a cover, before closing it. “Sorry,” you laugh gently, “kind of hard to walk right now.” You blush when Franco smirks at you. Cheeky bastard, knows exactly what he did. You squeak when Franco swiftly grabs you by your legs and tosses you over his shoulder. “Franco!” You laugh and kick your feet slightly as he carries you back to your bed before carefully putting you down before sitting next to you and grabbing the TV remote, flipping through the apps on your tv to find something to turn on.

“Where’d you go?” You ask as the realization hits you that you never actually knew where he went. “Hm? Oh, I forgot I promised Liam I’d help him with his Spanish homework so I had him meet me in the lobby so we could work on it. He did most of it and honestly doesn’t give himself enough credit so it was pretty short.” Smiling sheepishly at you, “apologies. I thought I told you before I left but it seems you were still a bit dazed. I should’ve stayed to make sure you were much more present.” Your heart melts as Franco talks and you gently nudge his shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up. You went above and beyond during the aftercare. Truly, I just zoned out and completely missed that bit of information. That was on me.” You smile up at Franco leaning onto his shoulder for a moment before leaning back, “but I’m glad it went well! Did you find anything…interesting while talking to Liam?” You glance at Franco with your eyebrow raised.

Franco glances at you and breaks out into a grin. “Put something on.” Franco passes you the remote and you end up putting Spotify on and letting your playlist be a shield. Shifting, you and Franco face each other as you grab a pillow, pulling your knees up to your chest hugging your pillow with a grin. “So? What did you find out??” You see Franco shifting to get comfortable and how he was taking his sweet time and you groan, “Come on Franco! The suspense is killing me!”

“Sorry! I’m trying to figure out where I want to start,” Franco finally gets comfortable as you lean forward. “Let’s start with the biggest lore I found.” Franco takes a deep breath as he puts his hands together, “I have to take Lewis Hamilton off of my roster.” You gasp loudly and lean back in utter shock at this revelation. “What?! Are you serious???” You watch Franco nod mutely and dramatically pretend to wipe an invisible tear away. “Just yesterday you were so stressed about being near him and now he’s off the roster? What changed? What does Liam know that would take Sir Lewis Hamilton of all people off the roster?” You tilt your head as Franco leans forward and reaches for your hands. “Let me hold your hands while I tell you this.” Gently squeezing your hands, “...Charles has a date with Lewis–”

“CHARLES WHAT?!”

“Y/N!” Franco chides playfully at the sudden raise in volume. You let go of Franco’s hand to cover your mouth, “sorry! Sorry! I’m just–I was just texting Charles! He never fucking told me he got a date with Lewis Hamilton.” You reveal. “Oh? Were you talking about…me?” Franco grins as you blush and huff, laughing while you shake your head and speak, “that’s not important right now! We’re on Lewis having a date with Charles and that in turn having you take Lewis off your roster! Stay focused.” 

Holding his hands up, “right.” Franco says. He sighs softly as his shoulder deflates and leans back against your headboard, “I like Charles. I do, I have so much respect for him as a person and a student and especially as a teammate so it feels…wrong almost to keep Lewis on my roster since Charles seems so happy to have this date. I was already pushing it by keeping Lewis on knowing Charles has the biggest crush on him,” Franco murmurs. Which makes sense. You nod slowly, “so you took Lewis off since you suspect that he’ll be off the market?” Franco nods as he leans forward, “yes. That is exactly why. Also, before you ask, Liam found out because he overheard Charles talking to Carlos about it while they were in English together.” You shake your head and laugh because oh dear Charles. Horrible at keeping his mouth shut. 

“I can’t believe him. Such a chatterbox but I’m proud of him! Can’t believe he didn’t fucking tell me–” you grab your phone and see about 20+ messages from Charles and reading the preview, you put your lips together. “False alarm, he texted me about it I just didn’t answer.” That gets Franco to laugh and you join in the laughter. “Oh Y/N, please never change.” Franco grins at you while you giggle. “Also, do you want to come with me tonight to Beta Kappa Alpine? Liam said they’re throwing a party tonight and it should be fun but not wild since it’s Alpine throwing the party. Most people are going to head to Alpha Delta Red Bull’s party tonight.”

You stare at Franco and blink. A party. A party at Alpine’s frat house. Tonight. While Red Bull is having their own frat party and everybody who was anybody was going to go to Red Bull and party like rockstars or try to anyway. You weren’t really the one to party or go out but tonight would be different.

“Sure!” You smile happily at Franco, “I would love to go to Alpine’s party with you.”

“Wonderful! I can show you what a fun night looks like and you can actually enjoy a night that’s not studying and homework,” Franco grins clapping his hands together, “oh! In honor of it being October, they’re doing themed parties leading up to Halloween. Tonight is sports themed so,” Franco is climbing off the bed and gathering his things as he says, “I can lend you one of my jersey’s for tonight when we pregame?”

“...Pregame?” You question.

Franco looks at you like you’ve grown ten heads. “Y/N. Do you not know what pregaming is?” He laughs out of shock as you shake your head. “Oh my dear sweet Y/N. Don’t worry. I’ll teach you all about pregaming tonight when I come over with my jersey for the party. I’ll be back here around 7. Then we can get ready and pregame and head over to the party, is that okay with you?”

“Perfect.”

“Wonderful, I’ll see you at 7.” Before he leaves, Franco gives you a quick forehead kiss before he’s out the door. 

You let the door shut before falling back into your bed with a sigh. Your first and probably last frat party. At Formula Ivy Academy no less. Picking your phone up, you see that you have about 2 hours to go down a rabbit hole. You think for a moment and decide that you’re going to spend going down the rabbit hole then the second hour calling Charles and demanding answers about his date with Lewis. 

Well, this is certainly one way to go out from a place like this, you guess.

“Oh god, this is horrible.” You cough and gag slightly as the after taste of the cheap vodka Franco bought hits you full force. Putting the glass down, you make a face and gently push it away before turning back to finish your makeup. “Is this the type of alcohol that is going to be at the party tonight?” You look at Franco through your mirror and your face falls into slight horror when he just nods as he fastens his jeans. You look back at your glass and take a deep breath before downing the rest of it and gagging again, “so, is that why you pregame? At least for frat parties? So by the time you arrive you’re already buzzed and won’t have to taste how shitty the alcohol is?” Franco laughs while nodding which is all you need to know that this is exactly the reason why. “Could you pour me another glass? Maybe with a bit more Sprite instead of vodka? I would like to keep my taste buds intact by the end of the night.”

“Oh my dear Y/N, you’ll be lucky to wake up not feeling like death but what’s this?” Franco asks as he comes over and refills your cup. Thankfully, Franco isn’t that much of a psycho and pours more Sprite than vodka into your cup as your request, “asking for seconds. Y/N, could it be that you’re going to get drunk tonight?” He jokes as he gently hooks his chin over your shoulder as you tickle his nose with your brush before returning to your makeup. “What are you doing and what is that stuff?” 

“It's a shimmer I’m putting on my cheeks.” You explain as you continue. “Make me pop under the lights. You want something?” You tap your brush against the lid of the container before making room on your makeup bench as Franco sits and turns to look at you ready to be shimmery. You smile and put some shimmer on Franco’s cheeks before cleaning up your makeup station. “Perfect.” 

You two take another 45 minutes to yap and drink till both of you are feeling a nice buzz. You then double check you have everything. Phone, wallet, keys, and portable charger. Then checking yourself over in the mirror you take a moment to fix your hair before tying Franco’s away jersey, tucking the excess inward. “Are you sure you won’t be upset if this gets makeup on or messy?” You turn to Franco who simply waves you off because ‘it can be washed’. You shrug before grabbing your jacket and putting it on before the two of you head off to Alpine’s frat.

The walk to the frat house was about 15 minutes from your dorm just a bit off of campus which is filled with chatter between you and Franco. Though, the closer you two get to the frat house the louder the music gets. You typically don’t go out so this is all new to you and you keep losing your train of thought but thankfully, Franco is the least judgemental person. When the house comes into view, you blink at the small line that formed to get inside. “There’s a line?” You ask. 

“Oh, yeah. Almost every frat has one. Same with sororities. Some of the houses aren’t cool with each other or like–a sorority girl slept with her sister’s man or ex so now they’re blacklisted. Sometimes people who have been kicked out try to sneak in so they usually have someone stationed at the door to basically play bouncer.” Franco looks over at you and laughs at the expression on your face. “I know. I know. It’s wild.” 

“Damn…so high school really is neverending,” you murmur and shake your head, “do they have a list?” Franco thinks as he peers around, “it seems so. Though again, Alpine isn’t one of the more popular frats so it’s probably just a small list of who’s blacklisted from all the frats on campus along with their own.” He shrugs a shoulder as you two move up, “besides that they’ll let about anybody in. Even the overflow from Red Bull.” “Really?” The chance of running into Lando went from 90/10 to a solid 50/50 and that makes your stomach turn. “Yeah. It’s a Friday night. College kids are looking for parties, especially with fraternities and sororities.” Franco explains, “so whoever Red Bull rejects will end up here or try to sneak in at Red Bull since they always throw ragers.” Glancing at you, he grins, “those most people haven’t been successful in doing that but there are a few cases.”

Raising a brow, “Yeah?” You ask. “Mr. Colapinto, are you admitting to me that you’ve snuck into Red Bulls raging frat parties before?” You tease softly and grin seeing him blush slightly. “You totally have! Franco!” You giggle as Franco laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender. “You’ve caught me. Though this was prior to me officially joining the lacrosse team and getting the fast pass into their parties. It does pay to know people around campus though.” He admits with a wink as you two step to the front door. “Which was me just offering to go as a plus one to the pretty sororities girls or offer to play wingman for the frat bros.”

“Well?” You tilt your head. “I haven’t gotten a single negative review.” Franco grins as you two step onto the porch and see Jack is at the door. Jack was in your and Franco’s graduating class and even though you and Jack didn’t really talk, you two were familiar and friendly with each other. Jack pulls Franco into a “bro hug” as they greet each other before Jack offers an arm and you happily accept the side hug. “Y/N! Hey!” Jack grins as you pull away. “Hey Jack. How’s manning the door?” 

“Good! It’s good. I should be done in about ten minutes. It’ll probably get busy in about an hour or two but one of the older brothers will man the door then when all the people who got turned away from Red Bull show up. Most of them will probably be let in but there are a few that might cause issues. They’re more familiar with the history of all the frat drama and stuff than I am, which is fine by me. After the week I had, I would like to drink my week away.” Jack leans in and points. “Drinks and snacks are in the kitchen. Soda’s in the fridge and outside in the cooler along with more drinks. Door to the backyard is in the kitchen. There’s a beer pong table outside as well so head in and have a fun time! I’ll see you soon.”

You nod and smile, thanking Jack before following Franco inside. You watch Franco become a social butterfly by saying hi to everyone (because of course he knew everyone) so you make your way to the kitchen. You make a plate of snacks and a drink for yourself and wow. Maybe you should drop out and become a bartender because you can’t even taste the alcohol in your drink. You enjoy your snacks and drink as the music is playing, glancing up seeing the small DJ station set up on the balcony which surprises you but hey. The music is good, drinks are flowing, and food is great so you have no complaints.

You head outside to play beer pong for the first time when Franco finally makes his way over to you with Jack. The first time you were not the best which resulted in you and Franco losing. Determined to win one game, you played again and again. By the fourth time, you were locked in. Everyone was surprised at how good you were but also cheering you on or teasing their friends about losing to you which had you laughing and joining in with the teasing and very playful trash talking which delightfully surprised everyone.

As the night went on, more people arrived as if on cue. Everyone who didn’t make it into Red Bull was coming to Alpine which meant the party was now in full swing. You always had a drink in your hand while also accepting shots from Franco and/or Jack. You would be pulled back to the beer pong table once in a while when someone needed a last minute partner since word had spread around that you were a killer beer pong player but when you weren’t there, you found yourself on the dance floor not giving a single care in the world. You actually talked to people who you never thought you’d talk to in a million years and for once, it wasn’t awkward. All social standings seemed to have disappeared in Alpine’s frat house. In here, you all were a bunch of young adults partying after a week of classes and stress. 

You don’t remember when you went from buzzed to tipsy but you were thankful for that transition because by 11:30, Alpine was packed. The house became so unbearably hot while everyone was packed together as sardines. It was near fucking impossible to move but by some miracle, you manage to make your way outside. You sip your drink as you enjoy the cool air while glancing. People at the beer pong table, others sitting around and talking at a table. A few walked to the further part of the backyard and you assume it's because they were going to smoke which is confirmed when someone slips past you, saying a soft ‘excuse me’ and you get a whiff of the weed clinging to their clothes. You scrunch your nose as you shift and wow, the world is so dizzy suddenly. You brace yourself on the nearest surface trying to will the world to settle down and it does.

Yet, people come in and out and say hi to you. There’s no weird looks or second glances. Everyone smiles and is friendly to you. Some even stop and chat with you for a few moments. There’s no malice in their words or some malicious intent. For fuck sakes, some of the frat guys actually pass you and smile at you or tell you that you look “really good”. One or two get bold enough to actually flirt with you. All this positive attention is so new to you that it makes your head spin in confusion though you’re still convinced it was mostly the alcohol making the world spin. Still, you soak it all up while standing outside before you finish your drink and deem that you’re done with drinking alcohol for the night. 

Giving yourself a moment, you venture back inside. You try to find Franco, who is currently cozied up with some girl and you squint. It’s hard to make out who exactly he’s with given the dark lighting but when the flashing lights pass over them, you realize it’s the girl he’s been talking nonstop about. When Franco meets your eyes, you give him a bright grin and two thumbs up because yes, you had a small crush on Franco, but he was your best friend first and foremost. Because of that, you wanted nothing but the best for him and if that meant being his cheerleader and keeping yourself entertained while he wooed his crush then so be it. Turning, you make your way into the sea of people to keep yourself entertained when the urge to pee hits. Peeling off into the hallway, you see the line to the bathroom. “Fucking hell.” You murmur.

Glancing back, you think before entering the sea of people to see if you could find Jack and ask if you could use the bathroom upstairs since upstairs was only for the frat members, those sleeping with the frat members, or explicit permission. As you wiggle through the crowd you swear you see Oscar. Looking over, you blink since you don’t see him and think that the alcohol was playing tricks with your head and feeding into your paranoia. Still, your gut twists and you think it’s warning you to leave but you just chalk it up to the alcohol not agreeing with your rising anxiety so you push the thought away. You finally find Jack on the dance floor and make your way over, grabbing his sleeve. “Hey!” You shout over the music to get Jack’s attention. “Can I use the bathroom upstairs? I really gotta pee and I won’t make it on the line!”

“Yeah of course! Do you want me to go with you?”

Your gut says yes Jack should go with you. “No! I’m okay! Just tell me where to go!” You listen to Jack explain when you get upstairs it’s the third door on the left and you thank him before wiggling your way out of the crowd. You stumble slightly when you’re finally free before climbing the stairs slowly but surely. You count the doors before gently knocking and going into the bathroom and see yourself in the mirror and damn. You always thought people were being dramatic when they explain ‘alcohol never hits you till you either stand up or see yourself in the mirror’ but they weren’t kidding. The alcohol really does hit you then as you stare at your reflection and giggle at yourself before turning to the task at hand.

“Someone’s in here!” You shout when there’s a knock on the door as you flush. Washing your hands, you hum gently before turning and trying to find a towel to realize there is no towel. How the hell did the guys survive like this? You shake your hands out slightly into the sink before deciding to grab some toilet paper to dry your hands. Throwing it out, you check yourself over in the mirror once more as the knock on the door sounds like someone pounding. Damn, they must really have to pee. “Okay! Okay!” You say as you fumble to unlock the door before opening it and stopping short when you almost run into the figure. 

The figure is standing there in jeans and a black hoodie with a jacket over it but you can tell by the build that it’s a male for sure. Maybe a frat brother who was coming upstairs to skip the line which was understandable. Your breath catches in your throat when you get a whiff of his cologne and he smells so…sweet. Vanilla, buttercream, and cookies. “Oh I’m so sorry!” You look up at the mysterious figure with a smile. Suddenly you are cold stone sober and your smile falls. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Red Bull was having a party tonight. Everyone was there partying. All the big frats and sororities, all the sports kids and those who deemed popular on campus. The only people at Alpine’s right now were Williams, Haas, Martin, the other smaller frats and sororities, you and Franco and whoever Red Bull turned away. 

Or, these are the only people that should be here tonight.

Yet, green eyes are looking right at you and you try to leave. Though Lando is faster as he easily cages you against the doorframe. “Well. Well. Well.” Lando murmurs slowly as he tilts his head slightly to study you. He looks you once over and his gaze hardens and his face contorts into disgust when it lands on Franco’s jersey but drops the facial expression when his eyes meet yours again. “There you are. You had me on a little hunt for you when you didn’t show up for our chat. I’ll admit, I was…entertained trying to find you. Luckily for me,” he pauses, “and unluckily for you, I have eyes and ears everywhere on this campus.” Bending down, Lando’s face is so painfully close to yours. You can feel his breath on your lips as he speaks.

“Now. Let’s chat. Okay, bunny?”

tags: @norrisleclercf1, @dripostsstuff, @tinyhrry, @formulaho, @green--beanie, @brekkers-whore,

@taliya8346282844eliviahgdajs, @fat-meh, @landossainz, @jaydensluv, @carpediem241108,

@rayaharper, @bookishnerd1132, @asmoothoperator, @loloekie, @kawaiifurychaos,

@st0rmzi3, @eclipsedcherry, @linnygirl09, @ln4-cl16-world, @poppymelonz,

@katiascraft, @fangirl125reader, @hadesnumber1daughter, @annispamz, @su0aveee,

@strawberryy-kiwii, @landorris, @oikarma, @formula1-motogpfan, @plotpal,

@amalialeclerc, @spikershoyo

[downbadf0rficppl]

someone's there

Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: When you walk home from the office, someone seems to be following you home. Your best friend is not happy about that.

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Stalking/Stalker-Ex BF, Domestic Abuse, Anxiety, Angry!Bucky, Protective!Bucky, Panic Attack

Repost

You stepped out of the office, pulling your coat tighter around you against the night. It was mid-November and New York was getting colder and colder every day that passed by. You were excited about Christmas - it was one of your favourite times of the year. The lights that went up from apartment to apartment, the tree and ice rink in Rockefeller center that you and your boyfriend - Nathan - visited every year, you and Nathan driving up to Boston to meet your family. Well, your ex-boyfriend.

You'd broken up a month ago. He'd been laid off about a year ago and taken up drinking to fill the time. Nathan was not a very nice drunk. He'd yell and throw things when he was angry, which was most of the time when he was drunk, and then beg you to come back, saying that he needed you and that he'd clean up his act as soon as he got a job. You had a well-paying job - secretary to the Avengers - but Nathan was always the higher earner of the two of you. You could hardly sustain his lifestyle on your job, but you stayed. Why? You had no idea.

Nathan was a smart guy, he got picked up by some major firm headquartered in Manhattan just over a month after he got laid off. He was back to his old routine of leaving the house at 6 and coming back by 8 - you hardly saw him anymore.

And much to your dismay, the drinking didn't stop. Sure, he slowed down. He couldn't risk ruining his reputation at his new workplace. So he limited the drinking to after work. But he never stopped.

The throwing vases became throwing punches, the yelling became constant threats, consoling words became consoling sex.

You did well to hide the new bruises from your colleagues, although your act was not good enough to fool everybody. You'd let your guard down in the toilet, rolling your sleeves up to wash your hands, just as Natasha Romanoff. Yes, Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow aka the world's best assassin.

She didn't mention it there, but you were called to a meeting with her soon after. She sat you down with a glass of water and asked you a simple question: "Are you safe?"

Your wide eyes and trembling figure gave you away.

Nat implored you to break up with him or to at least come and live at the compound for a while - just until you figured out what you wanted to do.

You turned her offer down, stating that you were fine. You'd be fine. She fixed you with a stern glance, but even Natasha Romanoff couldn't force you to do something you didn't want.

Bucky, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He'd noticed the bruises long before Nat had, and gone out of his way to try and make your life easier. He sent you less paperwork to file, fewer menial tasks to do, and even put in a request for you to be moved to the New York office. In his eyes that meant you'd be further away from Nathan.

The next week, you both moved to Manhattan.

The bruises started to get darker, and more visible around your body. You dropped the short-sleeved dresses and low necklines in favour of long-sleeved turtlenecks with trousers.

Bucky worried for you. The dark rings around your eyes, the ghostly pallor of your skin. He was determined to save you. The only issue was he had no idea where you lived. New York was a big enough place that he'd never run into you. He knew you didn't live in Brooklyn, but that was about it.

The night where it all came to a head was after a Stark Gala. There was a group photo, where Bucky's arm rested on your hip while your arm rested on his. Nathan was pissed. He'd been sitting on the sofa when you came home, the photo open on his phone and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in his hand. He pushed you into a wall and slapped you, his rings cutting into your face. He yelled every manner of words in your direction, calling you a 'slut' and a 'whore', and telling you that you were worthless. You cried, fresh bruises forming on your neck where he gripped you and blood dripping down your face.

You took his berating for the next few hours until Nathan retreated onto the sofa, sitting down and muttering under his breath. You opened your mouth, trying to defend yourself. Wrong move. Nathan stood up, even more agitated than before. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was almost finished and brought it down on your head.

The next thing you remember was waking up to 4 white walls. You were in a hospital, your hand being gripped tightly by someone. You tried to escape from the vice-like grip when a thumb ran over your knuckles. You knew those hands.

"Bucky." You whispered, your eyes still adjusting to the light. Your voice was sore from disuse, but the way that Bucky's eyes lit up, you would have thought that you were singing a love song just to him.

The calmness in your heart faded as soon as your brain caught up with you. You tried to convince Bucky that he needed to go but he shushed you gently.

"Shh. Don't stress yourself out. You're safe. I promise." The red rings around his eyes gave him away. Bucky had been crying. Over you.

You held his hand tightly that day. And the day after. And even the day after that. You weren't sure if you would ever find the strength to let go.

By the time you were out of the hospital, you'd moved back to Upstate New York - Bucky had made sure that you would never have to set foot in the city again if you didn't want to.

You returned back to work as normal - the restraining order you had filed against Nathan made your mind rest easier. The whole team was happy to have you back and smiling again, but they made sure to check in with you a hell of a lot more than they used to. Clint would swing by with an apple, and accidentally leave it at your desk - the first time, you'd felt bad and tried to return it, but you quickly caught on to his tactics. Nat would bring up game nights and movie nights, begging you to come, even if it was just you both.

But most of all, Bucky. Every day, you'd wake up to a text from him, wishing you a wonderful morning and spewing some inspirational affirmations for the start of the day. He'd bring you coffee, made just how you like it, as soon as he was back from his morning run. He'd spent a while perfecting the drink - making sure it was exactly to your standard. He'd walk you to your apartment for your biweekly 2pm therapy sessions (that he'd set you up with after he had realised how much difficulty you were having sleeping), and then off to lunch at some random hole-in-the-wall spot that he knew you would love. He'd call you as you got home, making sure you got home safe, and then a goodnight text to fall asleep to.

To others, his persistent need to be around you would be stifling. But after 4 years of having your needs be put lower than the damn cockroaches in the walls, it was nice to feel wanted.

You set your life up - personal bank accounts, new social media - anything to separate that part of your life from your new one. You got a new phone (courtesy of Tony, who insisted on buying you the latest iPhone, no matter how hard you tried to convince him that he didn't need to do that because 'where on earth would you find the money to pay him back?' He scoffed at that, "I'm a billionaire hun, I think I can afford to buy my secretary a new phone). You went to get your haircut, the shorter length was something you knew Nathan would have hated.

You'd walked into the compound the day after you got it cut, worried that no one would like it as much as you did.

As soon as you made it to the kitchen, you heard a loud wolf whistle. Nat was sitting on the sofa with Sam, and they both cheered loudly as you posed for them.

Bucky's jaw dropped as he walked into the kitchen. You were still showing off for Nat and Sam - you hadn't seen him walk in.

He walked over, reaching behind you to get a pod for the coffee machine, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "Looking good, Doll." His hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine.

You smiled up at him, before grabbing an apple and heading back toward your desk. You glanced back at Bucky and your eyes drifted downwards to a very large and very prominent issue. You stifled a giggle before getting back to work.

You'd continued to tease Bucky for a while, inconspicuous brushes and a few comments here and there. Enough to make him flustered, but not enough to make him suspicious.

He continued being the perfect gentleman. Helping you when you needed him to, being there when no one else was.

You started your normal journey back home, getting out of the compound was sometimes a tedious affair because of the thousands of security gates between the compound and the outermost gate. Given that this is where the Avengers live and train, it's justified. Still tedious though.

It was a quarter mile from the compound to the bus stop that took you home - you didn't like driving, especially in the frost and the dark. You put your headphones in, picking back up on the podcast you started this morning. It was an interesting one - some new True Crime podcast that your best friend had recommended to you.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you walked through a dark and lonely street. You gripped your bag tighter around you and sped up. There was someone following you.

You glanced behind you, your eyes catching sight of brown hair and a blue t-shirt. It had Palm Springs emblazoned on it. Funny. You'd bought Nathan a similar t-shirt a few years ago.

You fished your phone out of your pocket, quickly dialing the one person you felt safest with.

"Doll?" Bucky picked after the first ring.

"Bucky, cred că cineva mă urmărește." You said, your voice loud enough that the other person could hear you were on the phone.

"Tell me where you are, Doll, I'll come and get you." You could hear Bucky pulling on a jacket and grabbing his keys.

"Umm, cred că sunt aproape de Joey's."

"The pizza place?"

"Da, îl văd de unde sunt." The footsteps behind you seem to be getting louder, but you forced yourself to remain calm, "Am să te aștept acolo. Vă rog să veniți repede."

You ducked into the pizza place, walking straight up to the counter. By now, you were sure of who it was - but Nathan didn't follow you into the pizza place. Maybe you were just overreacting. Joey's was mostly empty, with a few teenagers here and there - probably camping out after some house party that got shut down.

"Same as always, kiddo?" Joey asked, and you nodded with a slight grin. You and Bucky came to Joey's Pizza Place a lot - Bucky used to say that it felt like home. You were inclined to agree.

"No metal man with you today?" Joey enjoyed teasing Bucky. His dad, also named Joey, had fought alongside Bucky in the war. Joey had grown up on stories of the greatness of the Howling Commandoes and it had been one of his greatest pleasures to serve him pizza every time they came.

"He's coming - got caught up in traffic."

"Busy men, huh?" You giggled at that.

The door opened again. You turned around to find yourself face-to-face with someone you hoped you'd never see again. Nathan's sister.

"Thought I'd find you here, bitch."

June stalked over to you, her face filled with rage. She had been good friends with you before Nathan and your relationship started going wrong, but when you had confided your pains with her, she'd turned her back on you. Blood is thicker than water. She'd called you names before - filling your comments with every vile comment she could think of, texting and emailing you death threats, anything to remind you of just how broken and damaged you were.

Before you knew what was happening, her hand collided with your cheek. The whole place burst into action.

Joey jumped around the side of the counter as June hurled insults at your face.

You tried to push her away as she swung at you again, but her hand hit your shoulder.

Joey pushed you behind him, as one of the kitchen hands stepped out to pull June back.

A teenager was on the phone with the police.

You tried to cover your ears as the noise built in your head.

The door swung open, letting in a draft.

Boots on the linoleum floor. Familiar boots.

Sirens.

"We were in the neighbourhood, Sergeant." Something about a noise complaint.

A hand pulling you into a firm chest. Tears streaming down your face. Your favourite voice whispering sweet nothings, stroking your hair, begging you to calm down.

"You're doing so good for me, Doll, just keep breathing." Bucky's pulse was steady under your hand. Slowly, your breathing evened out and you lifted your head to meet Bucky's eyes. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around you to stop you from collapsing.

You stayed in Bucky's embrace while the police wrapped up - June was being taken to the local PD for the altercation and also driving under the influence. Bucky told you that Nathan had also been arrested for violating the restraining order. Your heart sunk.

"I'll never escape him, will I?" You whispered to Bucky, as you sat down in your favourite booth to eat.

"You can, and you will," Bucky reassured you, squeezing your hand in his.

You ate your pizza in relative silence after that - most of the shop had cleared out with the police. Joey gave you your pizza for free, along with a tight hug on the side. He told you that you'd always be safe in here, "although metal man seems to have that covered." Bucky glared at the nickname, making you both laugh.

You walked hand-in-hand to Bucky's motorbike - his fingers ghosted over the bruise on your cheekbone from the slap as he fastened your helmet on your head.

"It's nothing, Buck. I've had worse." Bucky gave you a pointed look, "Too soon?"

He threw his leg over the bike and you settled behind him, resting your cheek on his spine. "Forever is too soon for my liking."

You smiled at that and nuzzled further into his back.

"Where to madam?" He said, putting on an exaggerated British accent. You leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"Take me home, Buck."

fin.

buy me a coffee

[pxstelmxsings]

Their hugs bring you back to reality when nothing else can. The perfect tightness against your restless soul. For the first time in what feels like eternity, you breathe; every breath is laborious, but you can breathe.

They do let go of you, only losing their embrace so you can shift. How could they possibly let you go while trembling so fiercely the ground below you might crack. The only sound either of you can hear is birds in the distance and your breathing. They know their voice can't reach you right now.

Like this they will stay with you for as long as you need. No one can pull them away from you. The very sun in the sky could crash to the ground, and they would not let you go.

To them, you feeling loved and safe is the most important possible.

♡ Kyojuro, Choso, Nanami, Mirko (rumi), Hawks (Keigo), Maggie, Daryl, Sakura, Rock Lee, Gai, Spirit, Shiro, Chrom, Camilla, Claude, Seteth

[jolapeno]

in, and out

francisco “frankie” morales x f!reader

summary: battling a rising panic attack in a crowded space, she is anchored only by the steady presence of the man who refuses to let her slip away.

wc: 1.3k

warnings: panic attack/anxiety attack. calmness. gentle!frankie.

an: I don’t usually post things longer than 1k on here anymore, but this felt like something I wanted and needed to cross post. this won’t be for everyone, but if it brings comfort to even one person it’s done its job. I don’t share too much of my daily struggles but the other day visiting the Louvre I had a really bad panic attack. I had my friend there, she was great and amazing and I’m doing as okay as one can be in a panic attack hangover. but this was the outcome of it, and I wanted to share. for as broken as we may feel in those moments, I promise you we’re stronger than we think.

READ ON AO3

Shallow, quick. Breath slipping in, slipping out—too fast, too sharp.

She blinks back tears as sweat beads at her temple, her chest too tight, too small, ribs pressing in. Lungs barely keeping up.

But she smiles. Stands tall. Keeps moving. The crowd presses around her, bodies shifting, shoulders finding hers, a blur of sound and movement, and she refuses to fold. Refuses to give in.

Yet, she’s shaking. Hands clenched. Heart hammering so hard it threatens to crack through her ribs, raw and red and beating, spilling onto the stone floor. Her knees want to follow. To buckle. To crash and become dust. She sways, a gust of movement knocking her sideways, and then—coolness. A reprieve. The brush of air against her cheek, the ground steady beneath her feet, and yet—

Her top, once effortless, now suffocates. Fabric clings, cinches. Digging into the bend of her elbows, the curve of her ribs. The raincoat, meant for the downpour, only smothers. The heat unbearable. The air thick, pressing in. Sweat pools at the small of her back, slipping beneath the band of her jeans, damp and cloying.

Too much. Too much noise, too many bodies, too many faces shifting past, and his—his, somewhere in the distance. The back of his head, no hat, not allowed, showcasing the familiar curl of brown, a thread of silver catching the light. His back broad, strong shoulders she wishes she could grip onto are just out of reach. Too far, too far—

“Baby.”

Not a question. A tether.

A hand, firm at her arm, another at her jaw. Suddenly in front of her, tilting her up, steering her away. She finds brown, deep and steady, a breath catching in her throat. Her feet follow his lead, until her spine meets stone, a solid press grounding her, a barrier at her back.

“Breathe for me.”

She tries. Nails curling into his sleeve, digging through layers—fabric, then skin, then something solid, something real. Him.

“In, and out.”

She nods, but it’s hard. Hard to slow, hard to catch the breath that keeps slipping away, hard to keep the panic from swallowing her whole. A sob catches, breaks apart—small, sharp. Her cheeks are wet. Her chest burns.

But his voice is steady. His hands are warm. And she breathes.

Not well, not fully, but enough. A stuttering inhale, shallow and sharp, ribs trembling with the effort. Eyes locked on his, on the unwavering brown, the flicker of something steady in them—something anchoring. His eyes watch her, tracking the rise and fall of her chest as her nails dig deeper, a silent plea. Don’t let go.

“Slower,” he murmurs.

Close, too close, or maybe not close enough. The crowd shifts around them, a tide of movement and noise, but his hands don’t move. His voice doesn’t waver. His gaze not leaving hers for a second.

She hears him swallow, worry dotted in his eyes.

“You’re alright.”

She doesn’t believe him yet. Can’t.

The air is still thick, still pressing in, still clawing at her throat, but his thumb brushes her cheek, wipes something wet away, and she focuses on that. On the warmth of his palm against her jaw. On the solid weight of his arm beneath her grip.

“In, and out, baby,” he reminds, her breath slowing just like he says. “That’s it, there you go.”

The wall behind her is cool, grounding, the stone seeping through layers of fabric. Her shoulder blades press against it, her head tips back, and she gasps through the tightness in her ribs.

His hand moves, fingers brushing down, slipping around the back of her neck, thumb pressing lightly into the curve where her pulse races wild beneath the skin. His other takes her hand, presses it to his heart—flattens it, forces his pulse against her palm.

“Feel that?” Soft, steady, coaxing.

Eyes clenching shut, fresh tears raining down her cheeks, she nods. “I-I’m s-sorry.”

“Shh, none of that, baby. Keep breathing for me.”

She swallows hard, forces the lump down, even as her chest shudders. Her fingers unfurl, just slightly, the ache in them easing. Frankie adjusts his stance, not allowing her to tip, be exposed. His coat is rough against the edge of her hand, the sweater beneath softer, worn-in and warm. A thread of comfort in the chaos.

Another inhale. A little deeper this time.

The air still feels heavy, but he’s speaking again, voice low, something familiar in the cadence of it. Maybe a story. Maybe nothing at all, just words to fill the space, to keep her tethered.

She listens. Feels. Holds on.

And breathes.

“Do you want to go?”

She shakes her head, tears blurring her vision when she opens them—it almost sealing her lashes together. No, she thinks, shouts—if only in her mind.

“We can. I don’t m—“

“No, Frankie. I’ll b-be fine. Can c-continue.”

His brow creases, just slightly. Barely a flicker, a ghost of concern tightening the corners of his eyes. She can feel it in the way his hand stays firm against her back, in the way his thumb still moves in slow, grounding strokes against the nape of her neck.

“You sure?” Low, careful, a thread of hesitation woven through the words. Not doubt, not disbelief—just him, making sure.

She nods, shaky but certain.

Even if the crowd hasn’t thinned, even if the space around them is still tight, bodies shifting, voices layered over one another, she can’t let him down. Not him, especially. She lets down so many, makes things awkward. Breaks them. Fails. So she can’t do it to him too.

Frankie who is kind, gentle. Who is solid in front of her. A barrier between her and the worst of it. Protective. Willing to do anything and everything. His fingers squeeze gently over hers where they rest against his chest, pressing her palm tighter, as if willing it to steady hers.

She exhales, eyes slipping shut for a moment. It’s still there—that awful, raw tightness in her ribs, the heaviness in her limbs—but she’s here. Upright. Not on the floor. There’s no spit up on her dress, no dizziness that makes her wish to curl up—she hasn’t embarrassed him. Not yet, anywah. Not yet, not yet, not yet.

His thumb brushes away another tear before it has the chance to fall.

“Alright,” he says, softer now. “We go when you’re ready.”

She nods again, swallowing past the last tremor in her throat, breath still uneven but no longer unravelling.

A deep inhale.

A deeper exhale.

And then—her fingers squeeze his.

A wordless answer.

He doesn’t let go. Just shifts, just turns slightly, keeping himself between her and the swell of movement as they step forward together, slow and steady. The air still thick, the weight of it pressing against her skin, but his touch is there. His voice, low in her ear, asking if she’s alright.

And she thinks she will be.

Not perfect, not fully there yet—but will be.

She hopes. Prays.

Curling into him at the next knock of a shoulder, flinching, wanting to scream. It rises up in her like a storm, electric, thick and powerful. It claws at her throat as it wishes to explode, rip from her, be free.

She swallows it, smiles. Forces it, paints it with the same forcible paint strokes as the brushes that painted the art around them.

I want to go, she thinks. I want to leave. But she looks at him, sees his eyes lit up at something as her mouth opens to speak it.

“Fancy some fries and a burger, baby?”

It’s light, his tone. Not full of judgement or anger, no hint of disappointment.

Her head turns to see the noticeable Golden Arches through the glass of the museum. Windows rain speckled, trying to blur lights and traffic. She smiles, for real, not forced or spread on like lip balm.

“Yeah. Food’ll be nice.”

“Come on then.”

[lostinlovingrevery]

Quiet Morning

Cowboy! Logan X Reader

You get a visitor

A/N: Literally wrote this as I was having a breakdown over coursework lol. VERY short. but sweet <3

Warnings: None, just cowboy fluff <3

Heavy footsteps creaked through the quiet and dim house.

There’s a slight chill in the air from the early spring morning, the grass outside dewy, and mourning doves cooing their sad song.

A black cat enters the hall, tail rising as she watches the visitor approach the room she just left. 

He groaned, the jingle of his belt and spurs filled the hall, as he leaned down to pet the little cats head,

“How you doing lil lady?” He coos softly, a small weariness in his voice. She blinks slowly at him, before brushing up against the wall and then trotting away. He watched the feline disappear down the hall, before turning back to the bedroom door she came from.

He peered in, observing the figure lying asleep in bed. Quilts pulled over, cuddled against multiple pillows. Hair mussed, and lips slightly parted. The sight softened the tired cowboy’s eyes, as he took off his hat, setting it on the small table nearby. 

He walked across the room to the side of the bed, tilting his head and admiring the details of your face while you were sound asleep. He brought a hand up, a knuckle softly brushing over your cheek. 

You stirred at his touch, beginning to slowly open your eyes. You felt a weight behind you, the mattress groaning in protest, and you turned your head- graced by a familiar and welcome figure.

“Logan?” You whispered, a sleepy edge to your voice. He braced an arm around you, a faint smile as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. 

“Morning sweetheart. Didn’t mean to wake you.” His voice low, a small grumble that makes your heart flutter over the sound. You reached out to cup his cheek, your hand brushing over the thick stubble of his beard, your thumb softly stroked the space under his tired eyes. You moved your hand down to his neck, brushing to the back of it to urge him back down to meet your lips. 

There was no rush, as he pressed his lips softly back on yours. Gentle, careful, as if he was afraid his touch would break you. He parted, resting his forehead on yours.

“I’ll make us some breakfast.” He says, beginning to move from the bed, but you grabbed his vest, shaking your head.

“No, come lay with me. You look tired.” 

He looked at you, then a small nod of his head. Turning his body away from you, he leaned down to pull off his boots, discarding them to the side. He stood up, removing his holsters, his belt, and his vest, letting them drop to the floor. You watched him, and watched how his body moved with an ache and weary that you hadn’t seen from him before. 

He turned back around to you and climbed over you to the other side of the mattress. He plopped onto his back with a groan, and opened his arm and inviting you into his side. You happily curled into him, his body warming you more than the layers of quilts on your bed ever could. You brought your leg around his hip, and a hand slid underneath his shirt, softly brushing over his chest, right where his heart was. 

His arm wrapped around you, a deep content sigh escaping him as he melted into the bed. Noticing how warm it was, how the mattress seemed to sink and fit him perfectly like a puzzle. He’s once again reminded how right you felt in his side. 

First the first time in his life, he felt like he belonged, right there. A deep part of him knew that he belonged wherever you were. 

“So I was thinking.” He breaks the quiet silence. “Maybe I’ll stick around for a little bit. Help out with the barn, look like it needed fixing up out there. That front door got stuck on me too when I came in.”

You opened your eyes. Looking at the window across from your bed. You took in Logan's words. He never said that before, never suggested he stay for awhile. He came and went and you never knew for how long. 

“That would be nice.” You say softly, curling yourself in closer to him, and nuzzling into his neck. His hand began to softly brush up and down your arm. He turned his head to look out the window, same as you, spotting two mourning doves, sitting on a branch together outside, on the old oak tree.

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

jjk men: panic attack comfort

Satoru Gojo carries sour candy in his pocket at all times because you once told him it can help snap you out of an attack. (He even manages not to eat it all himself.) He attempts to trick your brain out of fight-or-flight with incredibly specific questions, and as silly as it is, you find yourself breathing a little slower as you try to decide on your sixth-least-favorite Pokemon for him.

Suguru Geto knows how you feel, having been through panic attacks himself. He quietly comforts you, reassures you that it will pass, and never judges your reactions in the moment. He understands that it’s just as frightening every time, and his steadiness soothes you.

Kento Nanami spent hours researching panic disorder after you had an attack at his place, wanting to understand what you felt and how to fix it. He comes back to you armed with all kinds of techniques: vagus nerve stimulation, progressive muscle relaxation…you sometimes need to remind him in the moment to just be there for you, but he always reigns it in after that and gives you the comfort you need.

Choso Kamo freaked out the first time you had a panic attack in front of him. When you were able to explain what was happening, he was both amazed and horrified that human minds have so much power. The next time it happens, he does his best to make you feel safe, taking deep breaths with you and letting you run your hands through his hair.

Toji Fushiguro isn’t exactly an expert on mental health, but he learns how to recognize the signs that an attack is coming on and will drop what he’s doing to hold you until it passes. He’s not fazed if you cry or vomit, quietly passing you tissues and holding your hair back.

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an: this is shamelessly self-indulgent bc panic disorder is currently kicking my ass