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thebettybook · 2 years ago

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💙 Earth to Optimus? Somebot’s got a crush 💙

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Characters: TFA Optimus Prime x human!fem!reader. Other characters mentioned are Sari Sumdac, Ratchet, Prowl, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee.

Synopsis: Fluff headcanons of TFA Optimus Prime having a crush on you with him being a hopeless, utter romantic + mini scenarios of Team Prime finding out about his crush on you

Warning: Reader is mentioned to get a teeny paper cut that Optimus fusses over. Other than that, all fluff, enjoy~

Strawbetty’s note: First official post for TFA Optimus Prime! I love him :’) (he’s just so kissable) (also we’re not gonna question why I wanna kiss a robot alien)

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💙 When it comes to romance, Optimus Prime is truly a hopeless romantic. Everything, from the faintest of song lyrics to even the smallest of petals from your favorite flowers, reminds him of you.

💙 Every time Optimus comes home to the base from patrol, he always brings back your favorite snacks or flowers that he bought at the local flower shop Detroit Daisies. By now, he’s good friends with the elderly lady who runs the flower shop and at this point she can’t wait for Optimus to confess to you already.

💙 Optimus is also pretty traditional. Since he doesn’t have much experience in the romance department, he goes by what he knows best: the book. Even though he doesn’t fully understand human customs, he does extensive research and courts you with your favorite things.

💙 However, romantic feelings sometimes encourage one to follow their instincts and throw caution to the wind. While he could read every book on Earth or search through every Internet database on how to act around a crush, Optimus knows deep down in his spark that he just wants to continue being himself around you. Especially since you make him feel so safe in doing so.

💙 Optimus is always the first to open doors for you and offers to drive you to places (and he’s been doing this even before he realized he had a crush on you). He’s a gentlebot through and through. Truly the bot next door. One could argue that he’s the eligible bachelor of Cybertron.

💙 Optimus will also show the sides of him to you that he doesn’t show much to anyone—the more goofy and dorky sides of him. He cracks a lot of jokes only you and him find funny, while Sari and Bumblebee just groan at his attempts at dad jokes.

💙 The leader of Team Prime is usually good at keeping his cool, and while Optimus feels safe to be himself around you, having a crush on you feels like he’s keeping a secret from you. And one thing to know about Optimus Prime is that he is terrible at lying and keeping secrets. Thus, he can be super shy when he’s around you sometimes despite the two of you already being close.

💙 He trips over his words and his stabilizing servos whenever he’s around you because you look so beautiful to him just by simply existing. It doesn’t take long before everyone on the team (Sari first, Ratchet second, Prowl third, Bulkhead fourth, and Bumblebee dead last) figures out that Optimus has a crush on you.

💙 Sari knew from the way Optimus would ask her more questions, such as when he came into her room at the base to ask her this: “Sari, could you…what’s that word again? Ah, Google. Could you please Google ‘How to play it cool around your crush’ for me?”.

💙 The young girl comically crossed her arms and grinned like a cat who swallowed a bird. “Why do you wanna know?” Sari had an inkling as to who Optimus’s crush could be—you. “Is this about Y/N?”.

💙 Her second question was enough to make Optimus heat up from the tip of his audio fins to the cheeks of his faceplate. The leader of Team Prime, despite his large frame, backed out of Sari’s room quicker than Bumblebee on the road and with repeated “Nope! Not at all!”’s. Sari snickered; maybe she could meddle later.

💙 Ratchet figured it out when Optimus rushed you to the med bay simply because you got a teeny paper cut on your finger from turning a page of a book you were reading. The older bot grumbled at Optimus for fussing over a paper cut, while you reassured Optimus that you were fine.

💙 Ratchet handed a bandage to you, raising his optical ridge when Optimus still towered over you in the med bay. Optimus watched as you simply wrapped the bandage (a pink Hello Kitty one, Sari’s favorite kind of bandages) over your teeny finger cut. When you placed a hand on Optimus’s servo and thanked him for worrying about you, Ratchet saw Optimus’s flustered expression and lit-up faceplate as clear as day. Oh, for Primus’s sake, he’s got what the humans call a “crush.” Ratchet rolled his optics despite a small smile growing on his own faceplate.

💙 Prowl, who loved to study human life and customs, also learned about human romance customs. He noted the way Optimus’s optics lingered on you if only for the teeniest of cycles, or the way Optimus would talk about something random you did that he found cute during his patrols with Prowl. Optimus’s optics and tone whenever he talked about you always conveyed what Prowl identified from what he saw from human romantic partners as yearning for something more than just being friends.

💙 Bulkhead found out when Optimus went to him for advice on which human movies to watch with you. Optimus listed a bunch of romance movies, from Titanic to Grease. Bulkhead told Optimus that Grease is a classic, and Titanic could make one cry for hours. Optimus took literal notes from Bulkhead’s advice. Bulkhead, ever the sensitive artist, scratched the back of his helm, wondering why Optimus was only listing romance movies to watch with you…UNLESS….

💙 Bumblebee, munching on his energon chips one Friday night, was oblivious, not even batting an optic when you and Optimus softly sang “Hopelessly Devoted to You” while watching Grease together in the living room. Optimus gazed down at you the entire time while singing the lyrics, his optics conveying his hopeless devotion to you, while your eyes were fixed on the screen.

💙 Bumblebee, who was talking about some upcoming car race with Sari, Bulkhead, Prowl, and Ratchet in the kitchen, finally noticed that all of their attention was fixed at the back of your head and Optimus’s helm. Bumblebee also noted the knowing smiles and smirks on their faces.

💙 “What? Why’s everyone staring at Y/N and Optimus?” The younger bot waved a servo in front of Prowl’s face.

💙 Prowl simply took Bumblebee’s servo in his and guided Bumblebee’s servo to the direction of you and Optimus. “Take a look, Bumblebee, and tell me what you see.”

💙 You and Optimus erupted into laughter at a scene in the movie before the two of you snuggled closer together. “Uhhh, I see Boss Bot and Y/N watching a movie together like they usually do?” Bumblebee raised an optical ridge.

💙 Sari shook her head, her crimson pigtails swishing from side to side. She raised her arms, and Bumblebee picked her up to let her sit on his shoulder. “If you look closely, you’ll notice that somebot has a crush?”

💙 Bumblebee narrowed his optics in concentration, before turning his optics back to Sari. “Who, Ratchet?”.

💙 “No, Prime does!” The older bot groaned. “Prime has a crush on Y/N! Tch, young bots these days are so clueless.”

💙 Before Bumblebee could let out an “Ohhhhh” of realization, Optimus interrupted him as he came up to the kitchen to fetch a snack for you. “I have a what on Y/N?” The team could practically see the hearts in Optimus’s optics.

💙 “You have a crush on Y/N,” Sari answered, all smug. “I figured it out first. Don’t worry, we won’t tell.”

💙 “Yeah, we won’t tell!” Bulkhead made a show of zipping his mouthplate and locking it with an imaginary key.

💙 Optimus wasn’t listening, simply grabbing your snack off the counter as if by nature and turning his back to the team to stumble back into the living room and rejoin you. “I…have a crush on Y/N,” Optimus’s voice trailed off, his smile adding to his lovesick daze.

💙 “Earth to Optimus?” Bumblebee called after him, before scratching the back of his helm and lowering his voice to whisper to the rest of the team. “Dang, somebot’s got a crush!” The latter sentence earned Bumblebee a collective eye roll from Sari, Bulkhead, Prowl, and Ratchet.

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Important:

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

🍓 All content on this blog is created by me, @thebettybook (excluding posts I reblog that aren’t my own posts and unless I state otherwise). Do not modify, claim, repost, or translate my work onto this platform and any other platform.

🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :). Check out my TFA masterlist

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#optimus prime #optimus prime x reader #transformers #transformers animated #transformers fanfiction #tf animated #tfa #tfa fanfic #tfa optimus prime #tfa optimus prime x reader #maccadam

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runariya · 4 months ago

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My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 4

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn fic rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, fluff, inner conflicts between good and bad, thoughts about murder, lies, date night, fluff, Jungkook is a hopeless romantic (let me live, I can't write him any other way), detailed description of assass!nation and fighting, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 7.3K

a/n: not edited - sorry 🥺

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • masterlist • 05

Like morning dew burning off beneath the warmth of the sun, the anticipation for your upcoming date with Jungkook became a soothing balm, easing the sting of your failed plans as they fade into insignificance. The thought of it has been with you all day yesterday, lurking at the corners of your mind, filling you with an unfamiliar, innocent lightness. There is something about the idea of being with him—outside of your daily routines, in a space where you can allow yourself to relax, just for a moment—that makes everything else seem distant and irrelevant.

And as the hours of the day passed in a series of shared classes, the world shrunk to just the two of you, a comfortable rhythm that left you both physically drained but somehow still energised by the sheer presence of one another. His attentiveness, the way he slid a snack bar onto your desk just when your energy had begun to wane in the afternoon, made you feel like a simple girl worth of care. And though you don’t often let yourself indulge in such sweet feelings, you couldn’t help but hope that you’ll find a way to return his kindness tenfold.

Now, in your very first class of the next day, you sit side by side in the lecture hall, fingers quietly tapping at your laptops as you take notes on the professor’s monotonous ramblings. It’s the same droning voice you’ve been subjected to since the class started an hour ago, and the coffee that once kept you alert is losing its grip quicker than you hoped it will, leaving you teetering on the edge of exhaustion and resignation before the day even started. Every word of his feels like it's passing through a fog, and you find yourself struggling to focus as the professor drones on and on and on.

It’s only when an incoming email notification pops up in the lower-right corner of your screen, and, almost in perfect synchronicity, you notice the same alert flash on Jungkook’s laptop beside you, that the fog barely lifts. The click of typing halts as you and Jungkook pause, exchanging brief glances with raised eyebrows before turning your attention back to the notification.

The subject line catches your attention first, sent from the university’s secretariat. The body of the email, however, is harder to grasp in its entirety, your eyes skimming the opening lines, as you catch only fragments—words like visit, top-students, and mayor. A deep sense of unease begins to build in your chest, even before the loud rap of knuckles against the lecture hall door interrupts the class.

Instinctively, you look up as the door creaks open, revealing the dean standing in the entranceway. His gaze sweeps over the room, disinterested in most of the students until it lands on you and Jungkook. His face splits into a smile so fake it looks like it was sculpted by hand, each muscle strained into place where you know they’ve never been there before. He exchanges a few words with the professor—empty pleasantries at best—before addressing the room in a louder voice.

“Jungkook, Y/N,” he calls over all the heads sitting in front of you, “you’re dismissed for the rest of the day. Please, follow me immediately.”

The wild noise of your inner darkness roars to life, a deafness that fills your ears and clouds your senses. The discomfort ripples through your body, tightening your grip on your laptop, but you can’t focus on anything other than the way your heartbeat has quickened. You don’t trust this sudden summons, don’t trust in you not having the control. Not at all.

“Come on, let’s go,” Jungkook whispers, nudging you lightly with his elbow as he begins to pack up his things. His smile is small but proud, as though this is a reward, a recognition of his hard work.

You follow him on autopilot, closing your laptop with a dull *thud* that echoes across the silent lecture hall. You barely notice the eyes on you as you both rise from your seats, barely register the beginning of curious murmurs or the professor’s lackluster attempt to regain control of the room. The only thing that barely grounds you is the presence of Jungkook beside you, his excitement not affecting you in the slightest.

When you step outside, you’re met by your friends, the rest of the group classified as “top students”. Yoongi and Jennie stand with bored indifference, neither seeming particularly interested in the sudden shift in the day’s events. Hoseok, on the other hand, mirrors Jungkook’s enthusiasm, his smile wide and full of good-natured anticipation. But it’s Taehyung who catches your eyes. He throws you a glance—concerned, questioning if you’re okay—but you shake your head subtly, silently willing him to stay calm. Whatever is happening, you’ll figure it out soon enough.

The dean doesn’t give you much time to think, as he’s already moving, expecting you all to follow like obedient ducklings. “Mayor Park will be arriving in half an hour,” he explains hurriedly, his voice clipped with stress. It’s only now that you notice the small sweat beads on his temple and neck, his white dress shirt turning translucent under his arms. “The press will be here as well, so be prepared for a spectacle. Mayor Park is here to meet you all, give some motivational speech, and for the usual PR. It’s crucial that you present yourselves well. You’ll be representing the university, so do not embarrass us! Go grab your lab coats and make yourselves look respectable. We’ll meet back at the main building in twenty minutes. Twenty minutes, you hear me—no later!”

“Yes, Dean Yoon,” comes the collective response, though it’s more out of habit than genuine respect.

As the dean disappears down the hallway, the group begins heading towards the autopsy building to retrieve your lab coats. There’s some tension hanging over the group, though everyone seems to handle it differently.

“This is such a waste of time,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walks beside you. “Like any of us care about some politician showing up to stroke his own ego.”

Jennie chuckles softly, flicking her hair over her shoulder, grazing your face as she walks before you. “It’s all for show. He doesn’t care about us either. We’re just props to make him look good in front of the press.”

“Props in lab coats,” Hoseok adds with a laugh. “But hey, free publicity, right?”

Jungkook is still smiling, his steps lighter than usual as he walks beside you as well. “I think it’s kinda cool. It’s not every day you get to meet Mayor Park, right? Maybe it’ll be fun.”

Yoongi gives him a pointed side-eye but doesn’t argue. Jennie just shrugs, her expression one of mild amusement as she looks over her shoulder, while Hoseok just grins, clearly not as bothered by the situation as Yoongi is. Taehyung, however, remains quiet, his usual playfulness subdued as he walks close behind you. You can feel his concern on your back, even though he says nothing, which you’re grateful for.

The enthusiastic conversation between Hoseok and Jungkook resumes all the way to the lab and while retreating your coats, but you stay quiet, lost in your own thoughts as you make your way to the autopsy building. The upcoming meeting with the mayor sits truly and utterly wrong with you, it disturbs your mind and peace, an unease that you can’t shake, making you restless, jumpy even. You hate not having control, especially when he’s involved, but you try to focus on the present, on the normalcy of walking with your friends, and preparing for nothing other than yet another tedious formality in your academic life. But it’s hard, the discomfort remains and clings to you like fluff to an old sweater.

The others still continue their conversation, Hoseok teasing Jungkook about his excitement, while Yoongi mutters something sarcastic about politics, but still, you just can’t seem to pay attention as the words fly over your head, your mind too preoccupied with the ominous feeling that’s been growing inside you since the dean’s arrival.

The walk back to the main building feels longer than it should, each step weighted down by the knowledge of what’s, or rather who’s waiting for you. As you near the entrance, the sight of the press setting up their cameras and microphones inside only heightens your unease. The dean is already there, waiting for you with a forced smile plastered on his face, his eyes darting between the clock and the approaching figure of Mayor Park’s entourage.

You all line up in a neat row inside the grand lobby of the main building, the sterile scent of freshly cleaned floors filling your senses, while the cameras are being prepped before you. The silence among you as you stand there doesn’t do much to make your thoughts clearer, every train of thought again and again broken off by the occasional shuffle of feet or the rustling of lab coats as you adjust yourselves into position. The others stand with varying degrees of interest and boredom, but you can’t seem to focus on yourself, can’t shake the consuming tension that’s been knotting tighter in your intestines since this fuss began.

Just as you get your breathing to even out, the grand doors swing open, and Mayor Park enters with a flourish, his well-tailored suit pristine under the lobby lights. He walks with a politician’s disgustingly practiced grace, his smile wide and calculated for the cameras now running. But your focus isn’t on the cameras. No—your gaze locks onto the three figures walking your way, your inner demon waking as if never slept to begin with.

The darkness spreads within you in milliseconds, making your skin prickle as your focus settles into one of a sniper. You’re eyes lock on Sangwook, his presence reminding you bitterly of the night you almost had part of your revenge, the night Pulse interrupted, the reason you’re still fighting this war at its beginning, still caught at the beginning of the shadows, still haunted by unfinished business. You can feel the darkness rising even more within you, clawing at your insides, hungry, restless like you’ve been the past half an hour.

But you force it down. Not here. Not now. Not with Jungkook standing beside you, not with your friends all around you, and certainly not with the press before you, cameras poised to capture every moment of this charade. You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms as you bite back the urge to confront the devil and his companions. This isn’t the time for vengeance. You have to regain and stay in control. You have to keep up the act.

As Mayor Park steps forward to greet each of you in turn, offering hollow words of encouragement and praise, you school your expression into something neutral, something polite. But inside, the storm rages on, a battle between the light you’ve been trying so desperately to embrace and the darkness that has been your constant companion for so long. And when it’s your turn to shake Mayor Park’s hand, you can feel everyone's eyes on you, as if watching, waiting.

His hand lingers before you, PR-smile still fixed on his face, but his eyes—they are as empty as they were on that fateful night, void of anything possibly human. For a moment, you consider leaving him there, hand outstretched and waiting, watching the false warmth fade from his expression. But against your instincts, against your demon raging inside you, you reach out.

You clasp his hand strongly, calculating your movement, as your grip tightens deliberately around the base of his hand. And when for a millisecond his eyes flicker down to where your hands are joined, you know you’ve pressed the Ulnar nerve just right, sending sharp jolts of pain shooting through his pinky and ring finger, showing him that you did not break, that you rose from the ashes of the very flame he set to your family.

“It’s good to finally meet after all these years,” he says, his voice dripping with saccharine mockery. “Your father was such a loyal employee.”

The words, the false description of your father’s job, are poison, seeping into your veins, igniting the fury into a massive fireball that explodes under your skin. Loyal. A word meant to twist the knife deeper. You hold your smile, hollow and cold, a ghost of something real. Jungkook stands beside you, his confusion barely concealed as his gaze shifts between you, the mayor, and the tension between your clasped hands.

Dojin leans closer, tightening his grip, voice dropping to a near whisper as his disgusting perfume engulfs you. “You know, you look just like your mother. Truly angelic.”

Something inside you snaps. But the smile on your lips only widens, growing more hollow, more sinister. The words slither through your clenched teeth. “Funny, isn't it? It almost sounds like you’re seeking absolution in my resemblance to her. How quaint.” Your voice is laced with venom so sweet it almost passes as kindness.

For the briefest of moments, his smile falters, and beneath it, the rage—the same rage that lit up his eyes all those years ago—flares up, hot and visceral. But he masks it quickly, releasing your hand, and turns away to spout his lies to the press, painting the air with rehearsed phrases that drip with insincerity.

Jungkook leans in then, his voice soft but still filled with honest concern. "What was that?" His words are gentle, but his eyes are searching, trying to piece together the puzzle of your interaction.

You tilt your head slowly towards him, the smile still lingering on your lips, twisted and lunatic. “Just what it looked like,” you murmur, offering no more. The truth is buried too deep, and even if you tried, you know he wouldn’t understand the whole expanse of it all without disclosing everything. Sensing the wall you’ve built, or realising for the first time that there is one, Jungkook says nothing more, though you feel his eyes linger on you.

As the circus of an event winds down, the room empties, leaving behind nothing but the fading echoes of empty speeches. You drift with your friends towards the door, slipping back into the flow of meaningless chatter, though your mind remains miles away. Right before you step outside, you catch a fragment of the faint conversation of Dojin and his bodyguards, but it’s Jungkook who draws you back, his body shifting into your line of sight, blocking your view of the men who ruined you.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” you ask, your voice distant, as if you’ve just returned from some far-off place.

Jungkook repeats himself, his tone gentle, patient. “I was asking if you’re okay.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you reply, the lie slipping easily off your tongue, though your mind screams otherwise. 'Save me,' you think, but Jungkook doesn’t hear what you cannot say, and instead, he watches you again for a beat longer, blinking in his concern. But eventually, he lets it go, leaving the darkness surrounding your mind in peace.

Standing before your closet, your fingers linger over hangers as you wrestle with a rising panic. The wardrobe, once a reliable collection of your well maintained comfort, now seems to mock you with its lack of options. It feels absurd, really—the way you’ve spent nearly an hour staring at clothes that have never failed you before. But this time, the stakes are higher. This isn’t just another day, another class, or another mindless hangout with friends. This is a date with Jungkook, and not just any date—your first real date. The thought sends your mind spinning in circles, reexamining every outfit with a critical eye that never seems satisfied.

You keep telling yourself you’re overthinking it, and maybe you are, but as the minutes slip by, your nerves cling tighter around your brain. A decision must be made, and eventually, as time conspires against you as well and forcing your hand to make a forsaken choice, you settle on something that has always made you feel like the best version of yourself—simple yet chic. The outfit flatters your silhouette just enough to remind you that beauty can be effortless when it’s honest, so you pull it on, check yourself in the mirror, and despite the chaos in your head, you can’t help but feel a spark of confidence. You might have just overthought your way into something that actually works—yey!

Makeup follows, the ritual of it calming your frayed nerves, brushstrokes turning anxious energy into something delicate and intentional. By the time you’re done, you hardly recognise the reflection staring back at you, though you’re not sure if that’s because of the makeup or the sight of yourself as you once were.

A knock at your door pulls you from your thoughts, and you take a deep breath, smoothing your outfit one last time before going to open the door. But when you pull it open, you’re not met with Jungkook's familiar face, not at first. Instead, an enormous bouquet of white hydrangeas and roses takes up most of the doorway, its sheer size almost comical in its grandeur.

Jungkook is barely visible behind it, but he leans to the side, a soft, tentative smile on his face, his eyes gleaming with a brightness that catches your breath so painfully good, you have to suppress a choke. You’ve seen him look at you countless times, but this time, there’s something different in his gaze—something that makes the air between you crackle with emotions never spoken of.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice light, almost playful.

Your face splits into a wide grin, the sight of him nearly lost behind the monstrous bouquet sending a ripple of giggles through you. “Kook, you really didn’t have to.” But even as you say it, you know how much it means. He always knows how to surprise you, how to make you feel cherished in ways that words sometimes fail to capture.

His smile softens, eyes sparkling as he steps forward, handing you the bouquet which you barely can engulf. “I wanted to,” he says simply, and there’s an earnestness in his voice that makes your heart beat just a little bit stronger. “You deserve the world and more.”

You stare at the flowers, your heart swelling as a few tears threaten to blur your vision. “I… I’m speechless, Kook. This is…” you laugh, your voice shaking just enough to betray the emotion within you. “But why this size? That’s so expensive!”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he watches you cradle the bouquet in your short arms. “I’ve seen you scrolling through Pinterest enough times to know what you like,” he teases.

The flush that creeps up your neck feels like a deep red now, your face burning as you attempt to play it off. You turn towards the kitchen, the flowers still balanced poorly in your arms. “I’m going to need a bigger vase for these,” you joke, though you’re already searching for a bucket, anything large enough to hold them.

Jungkook follows behind, his presence filling the small space of the dorm with warmth you didn’t know was missing. As you find a suitable bucket and begin filling it with water, you steal a glance at him from the corner of your eye. His cheeks are flushed now, too, but it’s the way his eyes never stray from you that makes your heart flip. There’s something different about him tonight. He’s always been kind, always attentive, but now it feels like every glance carries weight, like there’s a depth to his affection that wasn’t there before, or maybe you just never noticed it as clearly until now.

And it’s true—you’ve had a fondness for oversized bouquets ever since that one evening, deep into Dojin’s election campaign, when your father came home later than promised. He had been swept up in the political race and, in the chaos, forgot to call ahead. Your mother, of course, wasn’t angry. She knew him well enough to recognise that his silence wasn’t intentional. Still, despite his exhaustion, your father returned the night after with a massive bouquet, much like the one Jungkook had just given you, though your father’s was overflowing with red roses.

“Here, let me help.” Jungkook steps up behind you, effortlessly lifting the now full bucket from the sink as though it weighs nothing. “Where should I put it?”

“My room,” you answer softly, already reaching for some wrapping paper to wrap around the bucket’s base. “I need to dress this up. I don’t want to ruin the aesthetic.”

Jungkook follows you to your room, heaving the bucket and flowers onto your desk while you immediately start wrapping around it. He spins lazily in your desk chair, making you giggle despite the nerves that still flutter within you. As you carefully tie a ribbon around the makeshift vase, your voice, hesitant and quiet, resonates through the silence and small space between you.

“So… why hydrangeas and roses?” you ask, casting a glance at him, curious to hear his reasoning.

Jungkook stops swirling, his feet grounding him as his cheeks flush with again with faint colour. “Ah, well… they reminded me of you,” he admits, his voice growing quieter with each word while his hands run up and down his thighs. “I mean, their meanings reminded me of you.”

Your fingers still against the ribbon as you turn to face him more fully, the question evident in your gaze. “Their meanings?” you repeat softly, not sure what to make of his answer.

Jungkook doesn’t look down, still his shyness intensifies. “White hydrangeas symbolise grace… and heartfelt emotions,” he murmurs, his voice cracking slightly. “And white roses… they represent purity, innocence… and new beginnings.”

You think you might faint at his words, your innocent self celebrating deep within you at the thought of a new beginning. Could this—what’s happening between you and Jungkook—be more than just a first date? Could it be the start of something new, something untouched by the darkness that has followed you for so long? You’ve spent so much time buried under the burden of your past, so much time chasing shadows and vengeance, that the idea of starting fresh feels almost foreign and too soon. But with Jungkook… maybe, just maybe, you could find a new way forward.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion as you reach for him. Jungkook takes your hand without hesitation, his thumb tracing gentle patterns over your knuckles. His eyes never leave yours, and in their depths, you find something you never thought you’d feel again—hope.

“Let’s go,” Jungkook says quietly, pulling himself to his feet, his fingers still entwined with yours as you leave your dorm and walk off into the early night.

The restaurant Jungkook has chosen is familiar, a cozy little Italian place you’ve visited before with your friend group. But tonight, it feels different from all the times spent here. There’s a quiet intimacy to the way the lights cast an amber glow over the tables, and the soft strains of music seem to weave around the two of you, creating a cocoon that shields you from the rest of the world and everything that haunts you.

Jungkook pulls out your chair for you, a small gesture that makes your heart explode into confetti, making you fall for him deeper and deeper. His kindness isn’t new, but tonight, it feels magnified, every little thing he does carrying more weight than usual. As you both settle in, you can’t help but feel the shift in the air between you—the way it softly hums with something more than just friendship, something deeper and sweeter.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier,” Jungkook begins as he picks up the menu, his eyes scanning the options but his attention clearly divided. “About how… you don’t always feel like you deserve nice things.”

You freeze for a moment, the words catching you off guard. You weren’t expecting him to bring it up again, especially not tonight. You’d mentioned it just this once, offhandedly, in a situation that felt light at the time, but apparently, Jungkook hadn’t forgotten.

“I just… I want you to know that you do,” he continues, his voice settling around you like a warm blanket. “You deserve so much more than you give yourself credit for.”

You smile, though it’s small, tentative, as you look down at the menu in your hands. It’s not easy to accept his words, not with the weight of your past still clinging to you like tar, but his sincerity makes it harder to dismiss them outright. He means what he’s saying—he truly believes you deserve more than the shadows you’ve been living in.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice quiet as you meet his loving gaze.

Jungkook nods, smile widening as he reaches across the table to take your hand. His touch is warm, grounding you in a way that makes you feel more present, more here. You’re not sure when you started feeling this way about him—when his presence became something that could chase away the darkness. But sitting here with him now, with his hand in yours, it feels like maybe this was meant to be all along.

The conversation flows easily after that, the two of you slipping into the familiar rhythm you’ve always shared, but there’s something new underneath it all, a current of something stronger, something that feels a little like the beginning of love. It’s in the way he smiles at you when you laugh, the way his fingers linger against yours when he hands you the bread basket, the way his eyes soften into puddles of shining stars when you catch him staring at you across the table.

"It does feel different, doesn’t it?" you ask, fingers playing with the edge of your napkin.

"Yeah," he says, leaning forward slightly. "But good different."

You nod, letting your gaze fall to the candle flickering between you. "It does. We’ve been here so many times. But it—" You pause, smiling softly. "It feels special tonight."

Jungkook grins, cheeks flushed as he glances at the menu. "So, tell me something I don’t know about you."

You bite your lip, thinking. "Well, my childhood was... complicated." You choose your words carefully, keeping the truth buried beneath layers of vague recollections. "My parents, they passed away when I was a teen."

He looks up from the menu, his expression gentle. "I read about that fire. I didn’t want to bring it up... I’m really sorry."

You offer him a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. "It’s okay. My mom was cooking dinner that night... things just went wrong." The words are light, brushed off like the remnants of a distant memory. You’re careful not to let him see the truth that festers beneath.

He nods slowly, his gaze searching yours. "And after... you lived with Taehyung?"

"Yes," you say, exhaling a soft breath. "His family took me in. We’ve been close ever since childhood." You lift your glass, taking a small sip before continuing. "And now... here I am, med school and all."

Jungkook chuckles lightly. "You're amazing, you know that? Everything you've been through... and you're still standing strong."

You meet his eyes, feeling a warmth spread through you, something fragile but blooming despite the faul soil. "Thank you. How about you?"

“My childhood? It was… pretty normal, I guess. My parents were always around, super protective. Especially my mom. She used to hover a lot,” he says with a soft laugh, a warm, nostalgic smile spreading across his face. “She’d always pack me lunch, even in high school. And not just a sandwich or something small. I’m talking full-on bento boxes, with little designs in the food. It was kind of embarrassing back then, but now I look back and miss it, you know?”

“Oh, I can tell, you’re still eating like a bottomless pit.” You joke, knowing he likes it when you’re this playful.

He glances at you then, you expect him to laugh with you, but his smile is dimming a little as he continues. “My dad… he was strict, but he just wanted the best for me. Pushed me hard, made sure I always had something to work towards. But… I was a bit of a handful,” he admits with a grin. “I think I drove them crazy sometimes, always running around, never sitting still. My older brother had it together, but me? I just wanted to do everything at once.”

“That’s totally normal, Kook, don’t beat yourself up for this.” You reach for his hand, cradling it to soothe any doubt he has in himself.

His gaze softens as he shrugs, almost shy. “They gave me a lot, though. Support, love… I was really lucky.” He hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking up to meet yours after staring at your joint hands. “But I didn’t always appreciate it back then. You know how it is when you’re young… you don’t really see everything they do for you until you’re older.”

“Yeah.” You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to stir the conversation away from this heavy topic. You appreciate his honesty, you really do, but it’s the bitter taste of you holding back the truth, that blocks your thoughts from forming.

Thankfully, Jungkook leans back in his chair, his expression softening as he studies you. "So, what do you like? I mean, aside from making everyone in class jealous with your grades?"

You laugh, a genuine sound that cuts through your mind’s fog. "I like simple things, really. Music, books, late-night walks... And you?"

"I’m pretty much the same. Music, of course... and working out, boxing. But I’m guessing you already know that," he adds with a sheepish grin. "It helps me clear my mind, you know?"

"Yeah, I get that," you reply, nodding. "Sometimes, you need something to take the edge off. For me, it’s those cute kitten videos."

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow. "I didn’t know that."

You shrug. "Well, now you do."

He smiles, a tender smile that makes you want to capture it like a polaroid. "I like learning things about you."

You return his smile without a beat, your heart light and singing as you say "And I like sharing them with you." And the conversation doesn’t seem to crease after that.

By the time the meal is over, you’re both lingering in your seats, reluctant to let the night end. You know you’ll have to return to your dorm eventually, but for now, you’re content to stay in this moment a little longer, to savour the warmth that fills the space between you.

As Jungkook walks you back to your dorm, the night cool against your flushed skin, you can’t help but feel a sense of contentment settle over you. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this way—since you’ve allowed yourself to feel this way. And as you reach your door, turning to face him, you realise that maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something good.

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence swirls around you, but it’s not uncomfortable, filled with all the things you want to say but don’t quite know how to express. He steps closer, his hand finding yours once again, and for a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. But instead, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, the gesture so sweet, so tender, that it makes your heart ache in the best possible way.

“Goodnight, ___,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, your voice barely more than a breath.

As you watch him take a step back, your heart feels light, full in a way it hasn’t been in years. There’s still so much you don’t know—so much uncertainty about what the future holds—but for the first time in a long time, you feel hopeful. Maybe this is just the beginning, but it feels like a good one.

As Jungkook walks away backwards, still smiling at you, still reluctant to let the night end, something shifts within you, and it’s like the light that forced your brightness within you to shine in its full force, dims with every step he takes, taking it and all the warmth with him as if it always was his to begin with. The smile on your face turns brittle, plastic, and a hollow sensation settles in your chest. Behind the mask of sweetness and light that you’ve worn for the evening, the impatience of the demon within you grows, gnawing forcefully at the edges of your control. The demon magnifies, stretching and clawing, until all remnants of joy and happiness dissolve into the endless void aching for revenge.

You step inside your dorm, and as the door clicks shut, the smile falls from your lips like a discarded veil at a wedding. You waste no time, and strip off the clothes that made you feel beautiful just moments ago and replace them with the black gear you’ve come to associate with your truth and fate.

Something inside you flips, like a switch toggled into place, and just like that, you’re gone—no longer the person who had been with Jungkook at dinner, no longer the person who basked in his warmth. You’re someone else now. Someone darker. Someone deadly. There’s no joy left. No happiness. Only a singular, burning purpose that consumes everything else. The void inside you aches for release, for the satisfaction of revenge, and it’s all you can feel now.

You begin to prepare methodically, stretching your muscles and joints, warming your body for what the night demands from you. You remember the conversation you overheard between Dojin and his stupid bodyguards—Chulsoo will be alone tonight. The thought lingers. You wanted to start with Sangwook, to make him the first, but maybe fate is offering you a different path. Maybe this is a sign that Chulsoo, taller and stronger though he may be, is meant to go first. It doesn’t matter in the end; they will all fall. Every last one of them.

You slip out of your dorm and move through the neighbourhood, undetected, a shadow among shadows. It’s a path you know well, the routine of it bringing you a twisted kind of joy. The city’s pulse begins to pick up as you near the bustling nightlife, where buildings stretch higher into the sky and people crowd the streets, oblivious to the darkness lurking in their midst. You stick to the alleyways, your steps light, your movements fluid, until you reach the first landmark—an alley beside a Chinese restaurant.

You pull yourself up onto the trash bins outside, the narrowness of the space making it easier to scale the walls like you’ve done countless times before. From there, it’s a series of practiced motions—small leaps from one rooftop to the next, each building taller than the last as you make your way toward your destination.

At last, you arrive at the balcony of Chulsoo’s office, your landing soft and graceful, almost feline in its silence. The city buzzes far below, but up here on this skyscraper, it’s eerily quiet. The office is dark except for the dim night lighting of the building, casting long shadows across the room as if painted with charcoal. You glance around to make sure no one is near, your senses tuned to the slightest disturbance. The night is lonely, just as you’d hoped.

You slip behind one of the balcony posts, peering inside through the glass. The office’s low lighting is enough to spot what you came for. There, seated at Dojin’s desk, is Chulsoo. He’s lounging in the chair with his feet propped up on the desk, watching a football game on his phone. The back of him faces you, his attention completely absorbed in the small screen.

You test the sliding door’s lock silently, and to your satisfaction, it moves without resistance. Unlocked. Another careless mistake on his part, another beautiful wrapped gift to you. The door opens just enough for you to slip inside, the noise of the city creeping in faintly, but he doesn’t hear it. He’s wearing earphones—his second mistake. It feels like luck is on your side tonight, but you know better than to trust in fortune. You’ve come too far for that.

The demon inside you snarls in anticipation, laughing menacingly as you creep up behind Chulsoo. You catch your reflection in the darkened screen of Dojin’s computer—the mask you wear, its smile wide and empty, mirroring the cold emptiness and lunacy within you. Childhood remains oblivious, lost in the game playing on his phone, unaware of the storm about to descend upon him.

In one swift motion, you lock your arms around his throat, pulling him into a headlock. His phone slips from his hand, clattering to the floor with a broken screen. His body reacts instinctively, muscles straining against yours as he thrashes. But it’s his feet—still propped on the desk—that give him the leverage he needs. With a powerful push, he throws himself backward, sending both of you tumbling to the ground. You hit the floor hard, the weight of his body crashing into yours, pinning your legs awkwardly beneath the chair.

But you only grit your teeth against it, refusing to let it slow you down. Chulsoo wrestles to free himself from your grip, and you dig your elbow into his front, trying to regain the upper hand. He’s taller than you, stronger, and he uses his size to his advantage, rolling over in your hold to straddle you, his hands finding your throat in an instant. You twist beneath him, trying to slip free, your body burning with the effort as your vision starts to blur.

You manage to kick the chair out from between you, throwing his balance off just enough to create an opening. In a flash, you’re on your feet again, lunging for him. The fight spills out of the office, your bodies colliding with walls and furniture as you grapple for control. Everything happening all at once—punches and kicks, blocks and dodges, the sound of grunts and gasps echoing through the empty office space. Chulsoo grabs a heavy glass ashtray from the desk, swinging it wildly at your head. You duck just in time, the ashtray shattering against the wall behind you.

He’s relentless, coming at you with the kind of brute force that could only come from someone used to winning fights by sheer size and strength alone. But you’re quicker, more agile. Every time he lands a blow, you counter it with something sharper, something faster. The office transforms into a battlefield, chaos reigning as desks are overturned, chairs sent crashing to the floor, papers swirling in the air like torn shreds of white flags that will never be surrendered. The metallic tang of blood fills your mouth where one of his punches grazed your lip, but you taste it with satisfaction, the pain fuelling your determination even further.

Chulsoo grabs you by the collar, throwing you towards the door that leads to the staircase. You crash into it with a heavy thud, the impact sending the door flying open, while feeling your joints blocking through your back and ribs. A low “Uff” escapes your lips as you hit the railing behind you, the cold metal biting into your spine. But there’s no time to catch your breath—Chulsoo charges at you, full force, his eyes wild with the intent to finish you off.

At the last second, you spin out of his path, and he crashes into the railing with a sickening thud. He staggers, dazed, and you seize the opportunity, wrapping your arm around his throat from behind yet again, pulling him into another chokehold. You tighten your grip, feeling the demon within you thrashing against the cage of your control, hungry for the kill. You could end him right here, with your bare hands. It would be easy. It would be satisfying. But something goes wrong.

Chulsoo’s foot slips against the slick floor, his balance faltering. Before you can tighten your hold, he stumbles backward, his body teetering dangerously over the edge of the railing. His eyes widen in panic as he tries to grab hold of something, anything, to stop his fall. But there’s nothing to hold onto.

With a final scream, he tips over the railing, his body plummeting into the abyss below. The sound of his fall echoes through the stairwell, punctuated by the sickening thud of his body hitting the railings on the way down. You watch, frozen, as his limp form finally crashes to the ground below, a twisted heap of flesh, bone and blood.

This isn’t how you wanted it to end.

The rage that fills you is immediate and scorching. The demon inside you roars, seething with frustration, its hunger again left unsatisfied. This was supposed to be precise, fucking controlled. You were supposed to kill him with your own hands, not let him fall like some clumsy idiot. This… this is unsatisfying to all end. Again.

You grip the cold metal of the railing with white-knuckled fury, your mind spinning with barely contained rage that courses through your veins. Every inch of you aches for release, for some way to expel the unforgiving heat that burns beneath your skin. But there’s no outlet. There’s only the hollow victory of Chulsoo’s broken body far below.

The door behind you creaks open, and you feel him before you even turn around.

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to school your expression. When you finally turn, your face masks, twisted into a smile that never reaches your eyes—a smile that could only belong to someone who no longer cares.

Pulse stands there, his eyes wide with shock as he surveys the scene. He knows immediately that he’s too late. His shoulders slump, the weight of his failure settling over him like a shroud. You can see the realisation dawning in his eyes—he’s failed to stop you this time.

Without a care, you walk towards him, your steps slow and. Graceful where no grace is found. He watches you approach, his gaze searching for something—an explanation, perhaps, or a hint of remorse. But there’s nothing for him to find. You’re empty. The void inside you yawns wider.

As you pass him, you glance up at him with that same twisted smile, teeth painted in your own blood and murmur, “You’re too late, Dulls. Try harder next time, yeah?” You give his chest a light pat, a condescending gesture that only deepens the devastation in his eyes.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t react. He just watches you disappear into the night, unsatisfied and unseen as you came, leaving nothing behind but the wreckage of your vengeance.

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • masterlist • 05

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like! And to spice things up even more, we'll do a little game through the story:

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @jksusawife, @jayhoneybeecomb, @kookienooki, @hagridshaircare

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ynscrazylife · 2 years ago

Text

Us against the World

Summary: It’s one of those days where everything feels utterly hopeless. Joel reminds you that you’re not alone.

Disclaimer: Set post-outbreak, before the show starts.

Warnings: Talk of depression, hopelessness, reference to suicidal talk but not explicit

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

Safe-house. Safe-house. Safe-house.

You repeat those words like a chant, a mantra, in your head as you keep on forcing your feet along the dirt and pebble-filled path. A couple days ago, you and Joe had found a miraculously abandoned building that seemed like it used to be a Firefly safe-house. There wasn’t any electricity, but there was some water and heat. You had gone on a simple supply run only to be ambushed by FEDRA officers. Now — you were going home.

You weren’t foolish enough to think of the safe-house as home. No — you and Joel would be moving on in a few days, probably. So when you said home, you meant him. The love of your life. Your reason for living: Joel Miller himself.

You manage to smile at the thought of him and that allows you to go a little faster. When you finally look up to see the rusted door, you nearly collapse in relief right then and there.

Stumbling against the door, you have just enough strength to do the rhythmic knock that you had decided upon with Joel as your signal. Then, you simply rest, limp until he opens the door and you quite literally fall into his arms.

“Oh, shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Joel mutters as he quickly reacts and tries to catch you. You can hardly support your own weight at this point and can only flail in his arms. Your legs fail you as Joel’s arms wrap around your torso — him having to essentially drag you inside until he can set you down on the wood floor as gently as possible. His heart is pounding with alarm and concern, but he tries not to let that overwhelm him. First and foremost, you have to be stable.

“Stay here,” he grunts, wasting no time in stepping over you to close the door and lock it. Once he is sure it’s secure, he turns back around, only to see you curled up on your side.

“Y/N!” He yells, dropping to his knees and pulling you close. His eyes scan you over for injuries and he doesn’t like what he finds: multiple bruises and open wounds. Your knee is bent in a way it definitely shouldn’t be and the most concerning wound is a gash reaching from your stomach all the way to your hip.

He scoops you up in his arms, trying not to worry even more at your limp-ness and the way your head just rolls against him like a rag doll. He carries you to the tattered couch and sets you down, leaving for a second to grab the med-kit which thankfully wasn’t far. It was by no means enough, but he’ll make it work. He always does.

“What the hell happened?” Joel grumbles, anger seeping through his tone — but not at you, never at you, just at this goddamned world. It would never stop finding ways to hurt the two of you, would it? He makes quick work of assessing the med kit but when you don’t answer, a glance your way made him feel like he’ll explode.

You’re barely conscious. The only indication of it is that your eyes aren’t fully closed, but not fully open either. He can still see how dazed you were, staring off into space and showing no sign that you had heard, much less understood, him.

Don’t push it, he tells himself. It takes all his will to follow his own words. He gets to work, first cleaning up the big gash. But you quickly begin to flinch and whine at how it stung and hearing that, seeing it, brings out a softer side to him that he only shows to the people that he cherishes.

“Shh, honey, shh,” he soothes. trying to continue to work but he soon realizes that it isn’t working when you begin kicking, and then cry out when it aggravates the pain in your knee. Joel sighs, the guilt raining inside him. “Baby, please.”

He knows he’ll have to hold you down somehow if you don’t stop soon. In his head, he’s willing for you to break through the pain and exhaustion that’s clouding your judgement and realize that he needs to do this. But you don’t, and honestly, he can’t blame you. He can’t imagine what happened — he doesn’t really want to. And if he can’t stomach it, how are you doing it?

You twist and turn — nearly hitting Joel. He has to almost manhandle you, pulling your legs into his lap and being mindful of your knee as he pins down your legs with one of his own over yours. You squirm. but don’t seem to have the energy to fight him. He gently keeps you against the couch with his right arm and with his left, is able to clean the wound. Then, he stitches it and finally bandages it up. When that’s finished, he turns his attention to your knee and mutters curses.

It’s definitely dislocated, which means he’ll need to set it. Taking a second to look at your face, already scrunched up as if some part of you knows what’s about to happen, he whispers, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He gently pressed his hands to your knee and quickly sets it.

You quickly shoot up with a strangled yelp, tears springing to your eyes. Joel moves to sit down on the couch and pulls you into his lap, holding you and allowing you to cry and let it all out. You don’t cry often, so he knows that something’s really wrong, and it almost makes him cry but he closes his eyes and peppers you with kisses.

It takes a while, but eventually you calm down enough to be able to talk. “Joel, I can’t—I can’t—” you pause, struggling to breathe for a second. You sniffle and Joel waits patiently for you to swallow and continue. “I’m so tired of this.”

Unfortunately, Joel knows exactly what you’re talking about. The two of you have had moments like this before, you’ve had conversations about it — the moments of depression, where it all feels hopeless and pointless and you start wondering what you’re even doing. But it’s never gotten as bad or as overwhelming like this, not when one of you is injured. Joel doesn’t know what happened, but he can tell that it was all too much.

You press your head against Joel’s chest, tired. It takes a few more minutes for you to begin telling your tale. “It was those stupid FEDRA officers,” you say, venom lacing your words. Joel bites his lip — that’s what he suspected when he saw your injuries. They weren’t made by any of the infected and you didn’t usually get into fights. “They started to question me, thought I was stealing. I didn’t get the supplies, I’m so sorry.”

A fresh round of tears spill. You hide your face in Joel’s shirt. “I’m sorry,” you whimper, shaking. Joel holds you closer, pressing a kiss to your head and resting his chin on your head after.

“It’s not your fault,” he assures you. He doesn’t say he’s not mad, because that would be a lie. Once again — not mad at you. He’s mad at FEDRA, at the entire goddamned world.

You quiet down and continue. “They roughed me up real good. Even tased me. The only reason I got away is cause a couple of the infected came out of nowhere. One tackled me to the ground, FEDRA shot ‘em and I ran away while they handled the other ones. I made it all the way here but when I woke up . . . It’s all getting to be too much. It’s so much. I’m so tired of this. All the running, the hiding, the crappy food and the crappy water and the constant fear.” You begin sniffling and Joel wipes your tears, nodding.

He doesn’t say anything for a bit. At first, he doesn’t have anything to say because you’re right. It’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to live like this. No one should. And you both know it won’t stop anytime soon — it might not ever stop.

He wants to have the right words to say, but he’s just not that kind of guy. For you, though, he’ll try. He hates subjecting you to silence, but as his mind conjures up words, he tries to believe that they’re not sappy or poetry. “It’s us against the world, sweetheart,” is what he finally lands on. “And I know sometimes it doesn’t feel worth it, but I refuse to give up if I still have you. I’ll do this every day until I die just to see you smile, just to hold you and kiss you, just to hug you. You’re what keeps me going. You’re worth it.”

You take some shaky breaths, leaning into him. “You know the same goes for you, babe. It’s just—it’s so hard sometimes . . .” You trail off.

He nods. He knows. “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this — but you gotta have some hope. That we’ll survive and we’ll be happy and the Fireflies will kick FEDRA’s ass and someday, we’ll start to rebuild things. We’ll be apart of history. There will be a future,” he says.

You sigh. It’s a long sigh. “You know as well as I do that there’s a pretty good chance that stuff will never happen,” you point out, tone dull. Any other day, you’d be the one telling Joel all the things he’s telling you but it’s too much right now.

That breaks Joel’s heart. It’s like the two of you have completely switched roles. He’s not good at expressing it, but he needs you. He loves you.

“I love you.”

“I know,” you say softly.

“No, I don’t think you do. I love you. So much. More than anything in the world. I know you know but you gotta really know, let your brain fully get it. I love you.”

You blink, truly thinking about it. Remembering your times with him. How he makes you smile and laugh and forget about all the chaos around. It’s enough to give you a little hope. His love is enough. To convince you that you guys can do this. And you can be happy, too. Together.

“And we’ve known that things are shit for years now and you haven’t stopped. Even before you had me and I had you, you did it. You survived. So you’re not gonna stop now. I know you’re not saying fuck it all or anything, I know you need to get it out — so do it, cry. I’ll hold you. But I want you to know that I’m not giving up on you. I’m not giving up on anything while I have you,” Joel continues, letting his heart pour out for once.

You sit up and twist around in his arms, heart thumping wildly in your chest. “You’re not just saying this to make me feel better?” You asked, hoping and praying that that wasn’t the case.

He stares into your eyes, cupping your face in his hands. “No, darling. I really fucking love you and you know what, now’s as good as time as any to remind you of that,” he said. He has trouble saying it as often as he wants to, but he’s saying it now. He’ll say it everyday.

A grin breaks out on your face. He’s right — it doesn’t make everything better. But it’s a start. And it definitely made you listen. His words seep into your skin, start to heal your invisible wounds. He’s right. He’s got you and you’ve got him. It’s the two of you against the world, and that’s enough. “I really fucking love you, too,” you say, and with that you’re leaning in to kiss him.

The kiss is sweet and calm, but the passion is there. When you pull apart, you’re leaning into his chest, your eyes starting to droop. Joel looks down at you and laughs. “You’re really cute, honey, you know that?” He teases.

“Stop,” you whine, lightly hitting his chest which only makes him laugh more. You and he are well aware of how much he loves to tease you and see you blush, which he is convinced is adorable.

“Aww, that’s too much for you?” He teases even more. He can’t help it.

You groan and shut your eyes, which makes him shift you a little bit. “C’mon, let’s go take a shower,” Joel says, swinging his legs down.

You groan again. “I can’t even stand, J,” you remind him with a small huff annoyance that yes, Joel finds so cute (sometimes he starts small arguments just to see you get a little frustrated).

“I’ll help you,” he says. Before you can answer, he’s lifting you up with the gentlest touch he’s used in decades. You let him, because you know you need it. He tucks your legs around his waist and your arms loop around his neck.

Joel carries you to the bathroom and sets you down on the counter. He turns on the shower, getting it to the best temperature he can before helping you out of your clothes and changing into just a pair of shorts himself. Joel picks you up again, helping you into the shower. You let out a breath as the warm water hits you, Joel allowing you to lean against him and get the weight off your leg that has the dislocated knee.

After simply standing in the water for a few minutes and holding each other, Joel props you up against the wall. He grabs some soap but you let out a whine. “I can do it myself,” you mumble, reaching out your arm limply for the soap.

Joel can’t help but let out a small chuckle. You’re half asleep as it is and he honestly thinks that it’s adorable that you’re still trying to be independent. “Let me help you. I want to,” he says.

You pout at him, but ultimately give in with a nod. You have to admit, you like when he takes care of you, and you have a feeling he knows that, too. Joel helps you wash yourself and then washes your hair for you. At the feeling of his fingers in your hair, that nearly sent you to sleep. By the time he was done, you were leaning heavily against him, Joel supporting your weight.

He sets you down on the floor of the shower while he steps away to turn off the water. Then, he ties a towel around himself before grabbing one and wrapping it around you. As he helps you stand up, you can’t help but wonder what life would be like with Joel before the outbreak. What life would be like while things are normal. Perhaps this was a little glimpse into that alternate world. A peek.

Joel’s arm is wrapped around you as he leads you into the bedroom, helping you into bed. You roll over, intent on just falling asleep, but Joel returns a moment later. You must’ve dozed off for a bit, because now he’s dressed and holding out some clothes for you. You go to whine at not being allowed to sleep yet, but stop when you spot that Joel brought you his clothes. He wears a knowing smirk when you shut your mouth.

Joel helps you put the clothes on and then climbs into bed beside you. He pulls you close to him and you smile, liking that he’s initiating it. The bed isn’t too comfortable but it’s okay, because you’d rather be in his arms. You’re not quite sure when you fall asleep but when Joel sees that you have, his smile just grows bigger. He kisses your forehead and runs his fingers through your hair, watching over you until he falls asleep, too.

And just like that, things feel like they’re getting a little better.

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sunshine-for-serotonin · 2 years ago

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NSFW alphabet eyeless jackk. Plsss im begging

But of course darlin’ ;)

NSFW Alphabet: Eyeless Jack

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex):

VERY ATTENTIVE! Jack is waiting on you hand and foot. He has water and your favorite snacks, and yes, you will be eating and drinking something! Jacks a former med student (Y/N), he knows what is needed for you to replenish yourself.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jacks favorite body part of himself is his mouth. He has pretty lips and he knows it, in-fact, it’s one of the few things he’s not self conscious about. Besides, what’s better than making you scream his name while he tastes every intimate inch of you?

His favorite body part of yours is your stomach. It doesn’t matter if you’re skinny, chubby, buff, or even midsize, Jack has a hand on your stomach at almost all times. It’s one of the best places for leaving hickeys in his opinion, with the addition he often daydreams about you becoming pregnant, if you’re able too. In fact, when he’s feeling clingy he often presses his head to your stomach as soft and content demonic purring emanates from him.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Jack likes cuming inside you more than anything, but if he has to elsewhere, his second favorite place is on your stomach.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Clothing stealer, no, you cannot change my mind. Jack takes dirty clothes from your laundry basket and will scatter them on his bed whenever he can’t be with you (Rarely, but still). Probably someone who will cut up your clothes to make them fit if he’s really desperate. Jack also scent marks your clothes, and sometimes seeing you wear his clothes is enough for his more demonic instincts to take over. Translation: wearing his clothes is going to get you fucked within an inch of your life, and him wearing your clothes is an invitation to do the same to him.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Little to no experience. Jack was always too busy with his studies to really pursue a relation ship, and look what happened to him when he finally found the time. However, that doesn’t mean he’s completely clueless. Let’s just say he knows how to put those anatomy classes to work~

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Any position where he can see your face, though Jack often defaults to missionary, or cowgirl when he wants you to lead.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Jack is definitely serious about everything, the closest to humor you will get out of him is gentle teasing, or lightly taunting you when he’s subbing.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He has an average amount of hair down there, but he shaves or trims regularly. Jack has a surprisingly light happy trail though.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect��)

A hopeless romantic through and through, Jack wants to make your experience like something out of a movie. The only exception to this rule is when his demonic side takes over, but even then there’s a surplus of heartfelt kisses and closeness.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Surprisingly mild sex drive, unless he’s in rut, so he’s usually able to hold off touching himself until you’re ready to actually have sex with him. But if he can’t, he’s in your room and buried in your blankets and scent, craving your presence while he fucks his hand.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Breeding kink all the way, it’s his way of marking you up and making sure any other creature can smell him on you so they know your his.

On that note, marking kink. Jack loves to give as well as receive hickeys.

He loves it when you bite him!!!! Jack has a high pain tolerance, so don’t be afraid of being rough with him.

Finally, and maybe most shocking, hair pulling kink. Not for you though, for him. It doesn’t matter if he’s dominating or subbing, pulling his hair is a one way ticket to getting him riled up for you.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His bedroom, Jacks possessive by nature, so to have you in his room, in his bed, completely surrounded by him, is all he could ever want and more.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

WEARING HIS CLOTHES

showing your stomach

thigh highs (especially on bigger girls)

you just in general tbh

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Will not degrade you, does

not want degradation,

do not tie him up, it triggers flashbacks!!!!

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Prefers to give, he has three tongues for a reason, darling. Jack’s not that good at it at first, but he’s very observant towards your body language and verbal reactions, so he learns quick.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

If he’s in rut? You’re not walking for days.

Anytime outside of that? So soft and romantic it almost hurts.

If you’re in charge he likes it rough though-

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Jack likes true sex much more than quickies, once again, the only exception is when he’s in rut, and even then he still always takes the proper time to prep you.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

No risks, he doesn’t want to even think about accidentally hurting you, and the thought of another being seeing you like this makes him bloodthirsty.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Jack can go for about twelve rounds at a normal time, and he can go for an entire day when in rut. He lasts about as long as an average adult male, but his stamina makes up for it.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Jack owns toys for you, but not for him. He likes to watch you use them to tease him and test his self restraint.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Surprisingly very little, and it usually only happens when you get him worked up.

He does have quite the mouth when he’s subbing though, but you can shut him up with kisses so it’s okay.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Kind of quiet in volume, but he makes an ungodly amount of noises. Moaning, grunting, purring? He’s got all the bases covered and he’s not afraid to let you hear them.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Definitely has watched you sleep several times, but the knowledge that you trust him and feel so relaxed around him makes him horny, so a lot of the time he masturbates while your asleep next to him.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

BIG. At least ten inches and he’s girthy. Jacks testicles are a slightly darker grey than the rest of his body, and his shaft is the same color. His head is lighter than his body tone though, and has a more pronounced mushroom shape than most. He has prominent veins too.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pretty mild usually, but when he’s aroused he’s aroused.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jack usually stays up watching you actually, if he sleeps he’ll probably drift off in about an hour.

#yandere creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #eyeless jack #ej #creepypasta smut #eyeless jack smut

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thewhumpcaretaker · 4 months ago

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♥︎ Whump Dating Sim: Longing for Flight - Part 1 ♥︎

Current Heart Level: ♡♡♡♡♡ (0/5)

Masterlist | Image Source

CW: dead bodies, gunshot wound

It’s an uneasy evening for you. Working undercover is always difficult. But this is a unique opportunity. There’s reason to believe that The Operator plans to take out a rival tonight. If that’s true, his best sniper will be at a business conference in an office tower across from that rival's hotel room. So that’s where you are too, in uncomfortable dress clothes, mingling with financiers and scrutinizing their faces for any sign that this one could be the assassin.

The assassin will have seen The Operator face to face. They'll know how the business works and maybe even where the top dog can be found. They're your best chance at taking this asshole out once and for all, so you have to take them in. Alive.

It’s shortly past midnight when the screaming starts. Shots have been heard, on the 20th floor. You get a text that the target in the adjacent building is already dead.

Security guards swarmed the sniper immediately, but it’s mostly over when you get there. The hallway is eerily quiet. Deserted. You follow a trail of bodies towards a lounge lined with picture windows, overlooking the city. They must have taken out every security guard in the whole place. There will surely be backup coming, but for now, you two are alone. And you have the upper hand. Based on the amount of blood trailing through the doorway, they're in bad shape.

Before you reach the doorway, you hear ragged breathing. Best not to surprise someone with a gun.

You lean against the side of the doorway, out of sight, and speak loud and clear. “There’s a friendly on the other side of this wall. I’m unarmed.”

The breathing hitches and you hear a gun cock in response. They'll need a little more convincing than that.

“I’m coming in,” you say. “I’m going to help you. Is that okay?”

“…No.” Their voice is deep and gruff, but it sounds very small right now.

You laugh quietly in spite of yourself. “Alright, um…How do I make it okay?”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then, “Hands over your head. Move slowly.”

You walk out with hands over your head. Now you can see him - a muscular figure, silhouetted against the pulsing red-orange glow of city nightlife. It sets his long golden hair on fire with light. You weren’t expecting him to be this beat up. Taking him in might be the easy part. “Alive” might be the hard part. And you weren’t expecting them to have this…look about them. Not the hardened eyes of a killer, but something scared and miserable. Too hopeless even to plead.

He must know how close to death he is. He’s collapsed on the floor with a rifle discarded next to him (probably empty of rounds) in favor of a handgun. He’s just barely propping himself up against the window a little, leaving a horrific red smear behind his back. He must have multiple bullet wounds. Blood is pooling rapidly around him. In a better state, he might be able to do first aid on himself, but you can see that he was trying to tie a tourniquet over his leg before you distracted him and he hadn’t succeeded yet. Probably shaking too badly. Their face is bloodless and their eyes are utterly wild with terror. Every part of him is shaking except the gun. That’s a steady, trained arm if ever you’ve seen one, the kind of training that teaches a person how to put aside everything else they’re feeling and focus on the weapon. Attack is the best defense, after all.

“Don’t come any closer.”

“I’ll get straight to the point. You’re dying and I need you alive. I have medical supplies – “

“I SAID DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!” A warning shot chips the black marble of the column to your left, making you jump and drop the med kit. It hits the floor with a bang.

“Please. I’m your only chance and we’re running out of time.” He doesn’t answer.

Tag List (comment/contact me to be added!): @bluelolblue

#🖤 longing for flight 🖤#whump dating sim #whump cyoa #oc allister price #interactive whump #whump polls

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eva-knits12 · 1 year ago

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CE characters discovering you have depression and anxiety

Trigger warning: depression and anxiety. If you feel the need to commit suicide, contact 988 (previously 1-877-273-8255, this will work for some time), or call 911 immediately! Trust me, there is help out there, and there is no shame in asking for help. Things might seem hopeless now, and you feel helpless, and devoid of all energy and life, and you feel like everything hurts, everyone has abandoned you, everyone has turned on you, etc., please know that you are not alone. As I've explained, there is help out there, and there's no shame in asking for help.

Colin Shea:

Colin sees you crying, curled up in a ball.

"I just can't do this...I just can't do this..."

Colin puts his arms around you, and holds you, and rocks you.

Colin tells you everything will be okay, and that you'll get through this.

Colin serenades you with his own songs, and some of his favorites.

Later, he creates a playlist for you.

A few days later, you have an anxiety attack.

Colin tries to help, but he doesn't know how.

He encourages you to see a therapist.

Your doctor and your therapist put you on an antidepressant.

You start seeing your therapist regularly, and take your medicine every day.

You slowly start becoming the old you.

Colin and you spend time together, as you've both been neglecting things lately.

Colin also sees a therapist in order to help you with your depression.

Colin has helped you get better.

Ransom Drysdale:

Ransom has never dealt with this before.

He sees you upset, crying, and shaking.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

You explain that you lost your job, and you're not sure if you can go on anymore.

Ransom doesn't know what to do here.

He looks like a lost puppy.

He tries to help you.

He calls 911 and gets you to the hospital.

You're put in psychiatric care.

Ransom calls you every day, and comes on visiting day during visiting hours.

He brings you a stuffed teddy bear.

He even brings you some clothes, making sure that none of them have strings, and he even brings you a pair of slippers, making sure that they don't have strings.

(Trust me, when you're undergoing a psych eval., the people in the psych ward aren't screwing around with this! No strings, no keys, no razors. I wasn't even allowed to have my knitting because the knitting needles were considered weapons.)

You start to get better, because you're not only getting help, talking, and taking an antidepressant and antianxiety meds,

Ransom helps find you one of the best therapists in the area.

You start getting better because you're finally opening up about what you've been through.

Ransom holds you every night and every morning.

He can't let you go, and he knows that you're still fragile right now.

"You're getting so much better and so much stronger every day."

"I'm proud of you."

Ransom starts seeing a therapist, too as a way to help you and to talk about his past, and as a way to help deal with his crazy family.

Andy Barber:

Andy sees that you're breaking down, and crying.

"Honey, baby, what's wrong?"

You cry some more.

Andy wraps his arms around you, and you just keep sobbing.

Two of your co-workers are not only bullying you at work, they are making it difficult for you to even function.

You've had an anxiety attack already.

You have to escape somewhere else, close the door, and cry every day.

You need to release this.

Andy's lawyer training is kicking in.

He drops you off the next day, and he talks with your boss.

You have everything documented.

Andy threatens to sue for creating a hostile work environment if your boss doesn't get rid of these two.

Later that day, those two are gone.

You're still upset.

It's hard for you to get up in the morning, even on the best of days.

Andy notices, and encourages you to get help.

You see your docs, and he starts you on an antidepressant.

You start seeing a therapist.

You are slowly getting better.

Andy treats you to a date night, and it's the best.

You and Andy start to spend more time together.

A few weeks later, you give your two weeks notice.

You decide to put your mental health first.

Steve Rogers:

Steve sees that you haven't been yourself lately.

The days are taking a toll on you.

You are crying one morning, and Steve hears you.

"Doll, what's wrong?"

You explain that you feel like everything is falling apart.

You feel like you can't do anything right lately.

Tony's new receptionist is not only lazy, she's bullying you.

You have an anxiety attack.

Steve encourages you to get help.

You start seeing the therapist.

Tony fires his receptionist and hires a new one.

You and the new one get along.

Steve and you go for a walk, go for a run, or go to the gym every day.

You also take your antidepressants and your antianxiety meds.

Steve is proud of you.

He sees that the old you is slowly coming back.

He sees that you're putting in the work.

Steve sees that you are more like yourself.

Steve takes you on a nice, weekend getaway.

You come back, and you've been glowing even more.

#chris evans #ransom drysdale #andy barber #steve rogers #colin shea #depression and anxiety #therapy #mental health #treatment #antidepressants

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lastoneout · 8 months ago

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So my nerve pain that I was in the ER for the other day was improving but now seems to just be like, plateauing? and not really getting any better, and like when I called my shitty neurologist about it she basically just told me to take ibuprofen, and the last time I talked to her about what to do re: my opccipital nerve pain she told me to talk to my pain specialist, so like yeah calling her again seems kinda beyond pointless even if I didn't hate her.

But today I do have an appointment I forgot to cancel with my shitty pain specialist who put me in the ER back in March, and like I do NOT want to see him again AT ALL, but I also am starting to get really freaked out by this nerve pain not getting better and nothing really helping, and I know this is outside my primary's wheelhouse, and idk if the ER or urgent care are going to really be able to do much outside of make sure I'm not dying(which they already did last time I was there, they ran a bunch of tests and did a CT scan and legit said it's just my opccipital nurlasia flaring up) so I'm like....do I go and just see if there's anything he can do? Cuz like I don't trust him but I feel like I basically have no other option here and I can't keep being in pain like this forever, I have stuff to do, and the only meds that help fuck with my other meds and make me too high to function so like....

The only downside is this office is like, WAY on the other side of town, and we're broke rn and my fiance is too busy at work to take time off to give me a ride, so I just barely have enough money to get me up to the appointment, not enough to get back so I'd have to just hang out until my fiance gets off and can come get me, and I don't know that anyone can give me a ride this short notice. But this also kinda feels like my only chance to talk to a doctor about this outside of the ER and tbh I really just don't want to go to the ER again anyway....

Eugh on top of it all I think something I ate last night was a little off bcs my stomach has been bothering me all night and I feel super nauseous. I just have no idea what to do, I don't know who can help me or what's wrong or if I need to be worried, and my only option is someone who put me in the Fucking ER with his incompetence. God I feel so hopeless rn, everything was looking up for a while there and now it's falling apart and I feel so alone and confused and scared. I don't know what to do. There aren't good options.

#personal #negative #vent #medical stuff

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bandedbulbussnarfblat · 4 months ago

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I had to ask my mom for money today. And ask my brother if we can transfer all the bills to his name, bc my mind feels like swiss cheese, and I just don't think I can manage it rn. We usually go halfsies on bills, but it's my bank account everything is under. So I was constantly having to put cash in the bank, then go online to pay bills, and I just can't. I can't handle it. I go back to my psychiatrist tomorrow, not that it fucking matters. I've been seeing her over a decade and I'm still fucked up. She prescribed me meds that made me worse. Like, the side effects were awful. And I've had to stop taking other meds before bc of the side effects. it all just feels so hopeless. i thought i was getting better for awhile, but that didn't last. I thought the TMS was gonna fix me, but now instead of sad I just fell scared all the time and that's so much worse. I can handle sad. I've been dealing with it my whole life. I was a sad, lonely kid. Then I made friends and it helped, but I was still depressed as a teenager. I was suicidal by 16; I literally only stayed alive through high school and college bc I had people that loved me who would feel bad if I was gone. Then there kept being reasons to put off, like my bff getting married and wanting me to be the maid of honor, and how I couldn't do it during her honeymoon bc that would kill the mood. And then my other best friend got married, then pregnant, and I couldn't do it then, bc what if the shock triggered a miscarriage or something? I've lived the first 25 years of my life just waiting to die. And the anxiety has always, always been there. The adhd too, and sometimes i hate my parents for not getting me the help i needed, just bc one doctor said i didn't have it after the school suggested testing. There was no actual testing, he dismissed it out of hand as my behavior just 'kids being kids'. He probably didn't believe adhd existed, bc he was old af and set in his ways. And kept prescribing meds that were no longer being made, bc the FDA found them unsafe. so i've always been fucked up. since i was a kid i felt like there was this wall of glass between me and the rest of the world. i could look inside and I could see it and hear it, but I never felt part of it. Like I was something else, this other thing that couldn't connect. And it's never went away. I still don't understand all of these unspoken rules everyone picks up on. I've spent so long, trying to contort myself into something not normal, but acceptable. Something people could love. So I default to being polite, and using the 'right' answers to get by. And keeping everyone at an arm's length. Bc the social anxiety I get from just having to talk to another person who isn't one of my people is so bad that I'll start shaking while talking to them, and become more and more uncomfortable until it's finally over and I go in the bathroom and cry. I don't know how to be vulnerable around people unless they already know and love me, or I'm on the internet where there's no connection to my government name, and no one i know irl will ever see it.

#personal #rambling #tw suicidal ideation #mental illness #the demons are winning #you are witnessing: my mental breakdown!

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mikelogan · 2 months ago

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apologies in advance for the following rant that you really don't have to read if you don't want to.

my parents have been raising my nephew since he was just over a year old and he'll be 7 in march. i had to move back in with them in early 2023 bc of my medical and financial issues. as he gets older, the more violent, disobedient, mean he gets, and his outbursts and tantrums are nightmarish at home and at school.

a couple weeks ago, they were finally able to meet with a doctor (he already has a good pcp and has recently established with a psychiatrist) and he had a full day of testing. he's already been diagnosed with ADHD. they got the results today, which confirmed that. in addition, he's also on the autism spectrum, though i don't really know to what degree yet. but he also has dmdd and after checking it out on nimh, it fits him to a t. but jesus christ, don't read the treatment section unless you want to feel hopeless.

it's a newer disorder, first in the dsm in 2013, and listed is cbt or medications, none of which are specifically for dmdd. i looked at a few reddit posts from parents of children with the disorder and it's exactly what we're dealing with and the outlook feels so bleak. his frontal lobe is underdeveloped, so he's unable to regulate emotions the same way other kids of his age are.

and the real kicker? my sister tricked her boyfriend of 3 months at the time into getting her pregnant, telling him she was taking her birth control when she wasn't. she has borderline personality disorder but won't seek treatment for it and every direct result of her actions is always someone else's fault in her eyes, so she refuses to take accountability for anything. and she smoked pot for the entire duration of her pregnancy, claiming that it HELPS brain development 🙃

in summary, if i 1) wasn't dealing with multiple chronic illnesses, 2) wasn't so close with my parents and grandparents, and 3) didn't have severe anxiety, i would pick up and move so far away from all of this. i'm sure a lot of this sounds insensitive from the outside, but i don't mean it to. i know none of this is his fault, but the fact of the matter is that his behavior takes a massive toll on my own mental health because it's quite literally constant. loud, violent outbursts, one right after another over the most miniscule triggers. yelling, screaming, swearing, hitting, throwing, kicking, etc. if he doesn't get precisely his way. and my parents are trying and they love him dearly, but they're also not very consistent, which makes me fucking nuts.

i just. i don't know what to do and it doesn't look like there's a ton that can be done. he's tried so many meds already and the one that seemed to help for a while is starting not to and he's gotten even worse. i dread him coming home from school each day and literally count down the hours until bed time. and even then, he'll get up multiple times after they put him to bed for no reason and then throws a tantrum when they tell him to go back to bed.

however bad you think it might be, i can guarantee you it's worse living with it. i'm not being dramatic. he's a nightmare to be around and he's hurt teachers and other students, not to mention how rough he is with my parents. he has an iep and hopefully this testing and results will open more doors for help at school, but apart from math, he couldn't be less interested. all he wants to do is play on the playground and then disrupts the classroom when he doesn't get his way. he's thrown chairs, hit other children, made them bleed, etc. and again, i feel like i have to state that i know this isn't his fault, that he's not doing these things on purpose, but something's gotta give, right? i'm exhausted and miserable and i can only spend so much time holed up in my bedroom, and even then, my door has to stay open enough for my cats to get in and out, and you can hear everything downstairs even at a normal volume, let alone screaming. we only have one vehicle because mine got repo-ed after i lost my job and before my long-term disability got approved, so i can't just leave the house any time i want, plus that'll be even less of an option once winter comes.

i hate it here, basically.

#ramblings #does this make me seem like a terrible person? 😭

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teine-mallaichte · 5 months ago

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OK my prompt fill for day 28 of @whumpmasinjuly-archive got inside my head...

so here's part 2

part 1

authors note: I was that person during both my bio med degree and graduate medicine. The one who struggled to make ends meet, who never socialised - what was the point I couldn’t go on the night's out anyway, I was at work. The one with the out of date textbooks, who was always late to class but somehow still got good grades. The one who would watch the other students, the ones who were not the first in their family to go to uni, the ones who's parents sent them money, the ones who - from my limited perspective - have everything simply given to them.

I got over it eventually... mainly.

And spoiler alert I am not a doctor 😅 as it's pointed out in this fic "med school is hard when you're struggling to even afford food."

CW - captive whumpee, doctor whumpee, sadistic whumper, revenge whump.

Jake stared at the sutures he had so painstakingly stitched. A few days had passed, and despite his efforts, the signs of infection were unmistakable. The skin around the wounds was reddening, swelling, and beginning to emit a faint, foul odour.

"You don't look well, doctor," the man's voice seemed to echo slightly.

Jake looked up at the man, unsure exactly when he had arrived.

"An infection?" The man shook his head disapprovingly. "It seems even the best of us can fall victim to such simple ailments," he continued, his tone mocking. He crouched down, bringing his face level with Jake's. "Tell me, doctor, how does it feel to be on the other side of the table?"

"You know damn well how it feels," Jake shot back.

The man’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. "You still don't remember who I am, do you?"

Jake's brow furrowed in confusion. Something about the man's voice, the mocking tone, felt hauntingly familiar. He struggled to piece together fragments of memory, but they slipped through his grasp like sand.

The man’s eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction. "Fitting that you would not remember..." The man stood and walked to a table, moving items with a metallic click. "For years, we studied together. You just breezed through—popular, smart, rich," the man paused, taking a few deep breaths. "Do you know how hard med school is when you can barely afford to eat? I had two jobs," he yelled his voice echoing in the small space.

Jake's mind raced, trying to recall the details of his med school days. Faces and names flashed through his memory, but none matched the man before him. The man’s bitterness and anger, however, were unmistakable. Then, a memory surfaced—a student always on the edge of exhaustion, his face drawn with fatigue. The student has seemed to be a loner, never joining the rest of them on nights out, rarely socialising outside if the mandated group assignments.

"You were always the golden boy," the man continued, his voice now a low, dangerous whisper. "Everyone admired you, envied you. I desperately tried to keep up, and when I made one mistake—a small error that you could have easily ignored—what did you do?"

Jake's heart pounded as the pieces began to fall into place. A vague memory of a minor mistake in a lab that Jake had reported. At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do—a way to ensure standards were met. He hadn't considered the consequences for the student involved.

"You reported me," the man spat, confirming Jake's recollection. "And now look at us. You are a doctor... because of course you are. And me? Well, not many people are looking to hire a guy with 90% of a medical degree."

The man turned away, rummaging through the medical supplies on the table. Jake's eyes darted around the room, seeking anything that could help him, any potential weapon or tool. But there was nothing within reach, nothing that could turn the tide in his favor.

"You never had to struggle for anything in your life," the man said, his back still turned. "The hunger, the exhaustion, the hopelessness. You've never known what it is like to have your dreams torn away."

Jake's breath came in shallow, painful gasps as he absorbed the man's words. The overwhelming guilt and fear coiled tightly within him, making it hard to think clearly. He could see now how his actions, which he had thought were justified and necessary, had shattered this man's life.

"I'm sorry," Jake managed to say, his voice cracking. "I never meant to—"

"Save your apologies," the man interrupted, turning back to face Jake, a scalpel now glinting in his hand.

Jake’s pulse quickened at the sight of the scalpel, the cold metal reflecting the dim light of the basement. The man approached slowly, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"Sorry doesn’t change anything," he said softly, the blade gliding through the air with a deadly grace. "It doesn't undo the years I lost, the opportunities that slipped through my fingers because of you."

"What do you want?" Jake's voice trembled slightly.

The man grinned. "I want you to feel what I did." He stopped mere inches from Jake, the blade hovering dangerously close to his face. "I want balance," the man whispered. "I want the golden boy to know what it's like to feel hunger, exhaustion, despair... hopelessness."

The man pressed the scalpel lightly against Jake's cheek, not enough to cut, but enough to send a clear message. "I could have been a great doctor, you know," he said, his voice laced with bitterness.

Whumpmas In July 2024 posts

#whump fic #whumpmasinjuly2024 #wij24day28 #captive whumpee #doctor whumpee

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in-sufficientdata · 1 year ago

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The worst time in my life was when I was still in the cult and I had 4 little kids ages 6 and under. The church taught me to deal with my mental health issues by prayer, not meds, so I was not treated for my bipolar II and what was probably pretty severe PPD.

I was never diagnosed as having PPD, so I don't really know if it was that or a severe downswing on my bipolar caused by the hormones + my situation, but really, it doesn't matter. It just matters that I was barely hanging on by a thread.

When my 4th child was born, it was in the summer between the two years of my husband attending college for his associate's degree. Since I had to leave work to have the baby he was working as much as he could. I had to take all 4 kids with me grocery shopping and everything else.

One day I was doing my paper route and I could only think about how much I hated everything that was happening to me. I felt incredible despair. I pulled my van up to an intersection and realized a box truck was trying to turn left where I was pulled up.

I put the van in reverse and backed up to make room. I didn't think to look in my rearview. I almost never saw other vehicles on that street, and this was in 4 years of having that paper route. I backed into the car behind me rather abruptly and rather hard.

A woman came out of the car screaming that I was careless and a bad driver. She mentioned having children in her car. She cursed at me. But there was no visible damage, so we got in our vehicles and drove away. I don't remember saying much. I could barely hold myself together.

Reader, if someone could will themselves to die on the spot, I would have died that day. I have never felt such hopelessness and despair. I'm trying to find better words because these seem inadequate. I hated the paper route, I hated that I had so many kids, I hated being poor.

This period of my life is rather blank in my memory. I continued pushing on somehow. I don't know how. Thankfully we eventually got to a place, not long after, where we didn't need that $50 a week I got from that paper route so desperately anymore.

I can only think I have some kind of tenacity I don't even fathom in myself because, and this is no exaggeration, I thought about death and/or suicide on a daily basis from the age of 8 until I was around 35. But this was when it was the very worst.

I made a tweet yesterday that people found amusing about being the mother of 6. It's got way more likes than anything else I've ever posted on Twitter.

Every time it alerts me I think about being poor and being in a cult and being taught I shouldn't medicate for my mental illnesses. I think about being depressed and being suicidal and being unable to concentrate on anything but the next 5 minutes.

I don't know why I'm rambling about this except that someone I follow here just got a diagnosis of autism. When I saw her tweet I just burst into tears because my psych won't look at screening me for that, even though I presented him with my reasons for wanting to pursue it.

Because the thing is that he is the one who helped me get out of that hell pit of not being diagnosed or treated for bipolar II until I was 31, nor ADHD until I was 36. He has been a huge part of my life and now it feels like when I was in the cult and was taught I should just pray.

And now I have to just go find another psych who will listen to my concerns and my reasons for wanting to pursue this.

This hurts.

#mine #exvangelical #suicidal ideation cw #actually autistic #i am no longer pursuing an autism diagnosis but i'm putting this here for posterity #reposting everything from my twitter feed #i'm about to delete everything so get it while it's hot #tweet: 2018 #marti's mad life

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dungeonmastersconsortium · 2 years ago

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TW: Mental Health

I struggled a lot with deciding whether or not to make this post. At various times while writing it, I have thought that it was (either separately, some simultaneously, or all together) vain, self-deprecating, self-indulgent, selfish, attention seeking, or too depressing for anyone else to read. And if you continue past this point, heads up: it probably is these things at various times.

For those of you that don't know, I have Bipolar 1 and Borderline personality disorder. I have been actively putting in the work for a few years to get myself toward a better place mentally. Therapy, psych, meds, you name it, I've been doing it. I firmly believe it's important to do the work. (Honestly, you should go to therapy too.) I need to start off by saying this because it's an important foundation for the rest of this post.

My pair of SWEET mental illnesses manifest together in various ways. Individually, they're kind of what you might expect. Take the Bipolar 1. If you've known me for a long time and we interact in person, socially, I GUARANTEE you have experienced one of my manic episodes, and possibly benefitted from it in some way. I'm "lucky" in that the way my manic/hypomanic episodes manifest is mostly in ways that don't directly harm people, especially physically. I get VERY charismatic and outgoing. Very impulsive. WAY more social. I get very generous with my friends, moreso than normal. These also have some really bad downsides, but they aren't the things that would get me hospitalized. (Except for a couple instances of auditory hallucination back in my younger days. Hasn't happened in over a decade, though.) But my impulsivity has hurt people's feelings when I do something careless. I've developed coping mechanisms for this that allow me to more responsibly indulge in mania (which DOES feel great, unfortunately) without harming anyone usually.

Y'all also definitely know I can get pretty depressed. It happens. It happened a LOT in the past. A little less often now. Part of the bipolar thing too.

In short, I feel things much more strongly than neurotypical folks. This applies to all emotional states. While not everything I feel is extreme, the strength at which I feel things has a greater capacity for highs and lows. I guess the best way to explain it would be that most neurotypical folks have an emotional capacity from 1-10, and it's a pretty even scale, proportional to events that occur to trigger that emotional state. I would characterize myself as having a 1-20 scale. One problem is that my emotional scale isn't exactly EVEN. The higher the initial emotional reaction, the more likely it is to slide up the scale if left unchecked. If I'm not careful, something that solicits a reaction of, say, 7, will work its way up higher and higher.

You've heard of people being "overcome by emotion," and I can tell you that it's… SOMETHING. My previous therapist described it as not just a negative thing, he referred to it as a kind of superpower. While yes, I can feel sadness, despair, anger, hopelessness, and outrage at incredibly strong levels, I also experience joy, love, excitement, and passionate at similarly high levels. This can be VERY dangerous if left unchecked for me. A strong "active" emotion like excitement, joy, or anger can trigger a full manic episode.

Every day is work for me, mentally. One of the things 3 separate therapists and 2 psychologists have told me is that I'm very good at metacognition. Metacognition is, in short, thinking about thinking. I'm pretty good at tracking my own thought patterns and examining root causes of present emotions. I'm pretty dang good at this point especially at pointing out to my partners when I can feel the mania or depression coming on. (Which I think they're pretty grateful for lmao) It helps me regulate my emotions, as I can usually backtrack something and figure out when/why it is that way. My last therapist told me it makes his job both easier and harder, because most people have trouble identifying their own thought patterns and processes in therapy, which is why they're in therapy.

I have, both inadvertently and on purpose, developed a lot of tools to help manage my behaviors. In general terms, the best metaphor I can think of is a sheepdog trying to herd a particularly unruly herd of sheep, with no fence. Part of me is just trying to get out, even though it'll objectively be bad for me. The other part of me is constantly running circles around the herd, doing its best to keep everything within safe boundaries. There's a problem with this, though, that the metaphor is also handy for.

A dog can't run forever. At some point, it's going to get tired. It's going to need a break, to rest. Even when the sheep aren't actively trying to get away, just remaining vigilant in place can be tiring. Because it KNOWS they're gonna try to get away again.

My biggest problem over the last couple years is… Hard to talk about. I've trained myself to be able to regulate, but it's a LOT of work. It can be VERY frustrating even when great things are happening, because I can't just let go and enjoy something, as if I let it go too far, it might be bad news. I keep myself in check because I don't want to hurt other people. In my deepest, most authentic self, I don't want to hurt anyone. But it's TIRING.

I think it's why one of my love languages is acts of service and gift giving. (Both giving and receiving.) Someone taking something off my plate without me having to ask is VERY meaningful to me, especially since I have a hard time asking for help. (Part of the whole 'not wanting to make my mental health other people's problem thing.) Gifts also show me concrete proof that other people think about me and care about me during the times I can't remember that any other way. If you've ever been in my office/game room, I'm surrounded by tokens of my friends'/partners'/former students' affection.

The big problem is that… This is kinda the rest of my life. It's a lot of work, with no end in sight if I want to be the person I want to be. Looking out over the horizon of years that I have remaining, however many that might be… The task seems daunting and despair inducing. A prior therapist suggested DBT, but I HAVE the tools to cope, which is what DBT offers. DBT involves twice weekly sessions, one individually and one group, where you learn the skills to deal with your strong emotions, your relationship with attachment, (whether you actively avoid, push away, or attach too strongly,) and develop the tools to handle it. And there's a lot of homework. A LOT. And diary work. And that's why it was never going to work for me. I ALREADY do the mental lists, the metacognition, the identification. The thought of duplicating that work only made the despair worse.

Sometimes I just want to let everything go and be truly reckless for a little while. (No, not like in a stupid "my jokerification moment" kind of way.) Not because I want to hurt other people, but because.. Well, selfishly, it's not fair to have to be this vigilant all the time. It's constant work that I have to do that others don't have to do. It's exhausting and tiring, and there's no therapy that can really address that part of my brain. The frustrating part of therapy and psychiatry is that there's a focus on bringing the patient/client to as close they can to functioning in society, and I put in a LOT of work. There's a lot that I can say about how much it sucks that the SOCIETY we're supposed to be a part of (USA + Capitalism) says, "get on board or fucking die," and does not do any work to accommodate us. But that's a whole other conversation, and this post is already REALLY long.

There's not much of a point here. There's no moral. I guess I just wanted to share my struggle. Maybe someone else will see this and relate. I know it's difficult to find. If you google, "why didn't DBT work for me," you'll get mostly articles talking about how it works for 70-77% of people with BPD, or forum posts telling those asking this question (usually asked in frustrated, despairing tones) that they just didn't work hard enough. Or buy in to the program enough.

I find that insulting. I do work hard, because I think the work is WORTH it. But a lifetime of work like this is daunting when you consider it as a whole, not just as the present. So I try to take it a moment at a time. A day at a time. A week, maybe.

I guess I'll close with a quote from The Good Place. Because I just binge watched it again last weekend.

“I argue that we choose to be good because of our bonds with other people and our innate desire to treat them with dignity. Simply put, we are not in this alone.”

-Chid Anagonye

#bipolar #bpd #borderline personality disorder #dbt

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