#with anxiety and flashbacks bad enough other alters felt that shit

[bstroobery]

Hi. I’m a David Leatherhoff introject. Just call me David.

Drove for the first time in awhile… actually, from what I can remember, for the first time since forming.

Flashbacks and anxiety from when I hit Simon with my car. :)

Source trauma is a bitch isn’t it?

-💊

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (7)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 4.8k warnings: ✨kissin✨ 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“I can't believe this happened,” Natasha groaned, sinking further into her couch cushions as if it could swallow her whole. She held a bottle of cheap vodka in her right hand, her left digging through a bag of sour cream and onion chips. Her red hair was untamed for the first time since you’d known her with strands sticking out at the sides and pieces falling out of her braid. She took another swig from the bottle.  

“Maybe it’s not that bad?” you offered, though the slight alteration of your pitch gave way to your doubt.  

Natasha had been hired through her new security firm to work the art rooms at MOMA. You’d walked her through the hiring process and sat through hours' worth of practice interviews and resume building and anxiously bouncing your knee as you both huddled around the library computer and waited for the email to come through confirming her hire.  

She’d worked so hard for this job. She’d held it for almost six months without incident.  

Nat deadpanned as she wiped the excess droplet of vodka from her lips with the wrist of her sweatshirt. “I tackled a civilian, Y/n.”

“You said he was acting suspicious! Isn’t that enough of a defense?” you tried, betrayed again by your tone. You winced.  

“He was staring at me with those beady little eyes of his,” Nat grumbled, shoving a few more chips in her mouth, continuing before she had a chance to swallow. “He kept looking over his shoulder toward me like he was checking the surveillance of the exhibit, like he might be staging a robbery in his head or coming up with methods to blow it all to shit.”  

She huffed the hair from her eyes, only for it to fall down exactly back into place at the center of her forehead. “Turns out the only plotting he was doing was to get my phone number. Didn’t know that, of course, until I’d had him pinned to the ground and his hands behind his back.”

You sighed. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for veterans like Natasha to struggle in maintaining steady employment. Adjusting to civilian life never came easy. It was why so many soldiers chose to reenlist again and again. Even after years of PTSD and the fractured relationships their distance left behind, they boarded that plane. You’d witnessed it firsthand.  

“They fired me,” Nat admitted, sinking further into the couch.  

She was one at the VA the others feared. With her strong features and deep voice, intimidating glare and the aura of a woman twice her size, no one took to her be anything but the stone-cold persona she amplified. You were one of the few she let her guard down around long enough to see the fragile, loving person underneath.  

“I’m sorry, Nat,” you told her. You reached for her hand, squeezing it in your own.  

She shrugged. “It’s fine. Move on to the next one, right?”

You nodded. Keep moving forward. It was the most she could do.  

“But enough about me,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “What’s going on with you and the broody amputee?”  

“Nat!” You swatted her hard on the arm.

She was unbothered, shoving another handful of chips into her mouth. “Don’t pretend like it's not completely obvious how much the two of you are into each other. Every time I look up to take a sip of coffee at book club, one of you is making heart eyes at the other. Spill.”

You didn’t know where to begin. It felt like you’d known Bucky your whole life. But you started with the moment Sam introduced you at the VA. You told her about the moments at the library and how eagerly he read through every book you placed in his hand. You told her about the coffee trips to Luciana’s and the extra time he spent helping you set up for book club and cleaning up when it ended. You told her about the walks in the park and surprise visits at the library. 

There were a few moments you left out, like Bucky’s panic attack on the crowded streets and the flashback episode the fireworks created, but you told her about the good parts. The holding hands. The comfort you felt when he walked into the room. The kiss you’d shared just a few hours earlier.  

“Shit, we’re talking about James Barnes, right?” Natasha laughed as you told her he’d been the one to press forward to kiss you first. “Sam used to talk about him all the time before he started showing his face around the VA. I’d gotten the impression that he was barely keeping it together after what happened over there, like he was a ghost or something. Sounds like he’s got some game back though.”  

You nodded, a laugh on your lips though it felt a little drained. You thought of the picture on Sam’s desk and the vibrance in Bucky’s smile with his arms thrown over the shoulders of his closest friends. You thought of the version of the man Natasha described, the same one Sam referenced in the library the day before when he thanked you for helping Bucky find himself again.  

Curiosity crept it. It was more than that, though. You wanted to understand how a man so full of life and charm and energy could be wiped clean so quickly. You wanted to know, not for your own selfish indulgences, but so you could better understand the man you were falling for. A man who lost himself for so long and was only now starting to pick up the pieces again.  

“Do you know what happened to him?” you asked, a bitter taste of shame lingering in your mouth.

“I don’t.” Natasha shook her head and you sighed, nodding. You resigned to let the inquiry go entirely – it wasn’t something you’d ever ask Bucky about directly, but then Natasha cleared her throat. “I do know he came home with a Bronze Star, though. Sam said he won't even look at it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A what?”

“A Bronze Star. It’s awarded for exceptional bravery in combat,” Natasha explained. “My guess is it’s got something to do with how he lost his arm.”

You suspected as much. He carried himself with such distain, as if he couldn’t stand the body he was in. You’d felt the sharp cringe in his back whenever your hand drew too close to his left side, how he’d often stare at you in disbelief whenever you so willingly reached out to touch him. He’d never once removed his jacket in front of you and sometimes you wondered if he made careful avoidance of the mirrors in his own home, too.  

***

The first time you saw Bucky again, you’d kissed him on the sidewalk. Rushed up to him as you skipped steps descending outside the doors of the Brooklyn Library, hands pressed firmly to the sides of his face, and just... kissed him.

It startled him at first, enough for his arm to hold out at his side, frozen, for just a second too long before it settled on your spine. Your fingers gently traced along the stubble on his cheeks, smiling bright against his lips, and he’d kissed you back as tourists and locals filtered through the busy walkway as if they were little more than a blur around you.  

It became routine, it seemed, for Bucky to be waiting at the steps of the library for you. He didn’t shy away when you raced towards him, didn’t flinch when you reached for his hand, didn’t hold his breath so tight he could hardly focus.  

Instead, he was full of laughter. He made jokes that would put Sam’s cheesy one-liners to shame. He walked with you on empty residential side streets even when his anxiety had started to ease only so could take his time with you, dragging his feet along the pavement to stay by your side as long as possible. It was what he told you, anyway, and your heart just about leapt from your chest. 

You began to see glimpses of the man in the framed picture upon Sam’s desk. Outgoing. Flirtatious. Charming.  

Sam noticed the difference almost instantly. The way his eyes flickered over to the two of you, narrowed upon the absence of space between you both as you leaned against Bucky on the couch, books nestled in your hands. Sam had been standing in the doorway to book club, peering in through the window, when you noticed him staring. His smile grew wide upon his face, a very unsubtle and enthusiastic thumbs-up followed, and you waved him off before Bucky noticed he was there.  

No one in book club asked questions when after another meeting, you’d taken to resting your head on Bucky’s lap as you read, his own book settling on your shoulder. Tony peered over the top of his binding a few times with a curious stare the time Bucky had finished his book early and spend the remainder of the time reading yours over your shoulder, his finger drawing patterns on the top of your thigh, a kiss pressed to your shoulder here and there. Natasha smirked from her seat on the floor.  

It happened so quickly, how easily you’d fallen for him.  

Always in the smallest moments, in the sweetness of his smile, in the way he glanced over at you every so often as if he were checking to make sure you were still there. He opened up pieces of himself to you, set them gently into your hands and waited to see whether you’d keep them safe or throw them to the fire. It was agonizing for him – the vulnerability of trust – but you’d hoped that by protecting the pieces he showed you, he’d feel safe enough to give you more. You wanted it all. You wanted all of him.  

Sam insisted he’d never seen Bucky smile as much as he has been since he met you, including in the time before the war. It surprised you at first, until you remembered the photo on Sam’s desk. It was the same smile Bucky flashed you just moments before when he swiped a bite from your donut while you were talking to Tony. Teasing. Lighthearted. The weight of mere feathers on his back.  

“Y/n? You alright?”

Bucky’s voice drew your attention away from the tourists wandering around the park, taking photographs of the ducks at the edge of the pond and the old oak trees with leaves of fallen red and orange at their roots, the open branches giving way to a view of the Manhattan skyline.  

You blinked a few times, turning to Bucky as he sat on your left, his brows furrowed in concern. You must have been quiet for too long, which was unusual for you, so you pushed out a smile for him, a slight squeeze in his hand.  

“Just thinking,” you told him.

“What about?”

You pulled his hand into your lap, tracing over the lines in his palm absentmindedly. A distant pulse of his heartbeat could be felt in the tips of his fingers.  

“You.”  

He smiled at that, the corners of his mouth curving high up into his cheeks. A twinge of pink rested on the tips of his ears. He chuckled in an effort to hide his nervousness, though it lingered into his voice. “Me? I’m sitting right here.”

“What? I can’t think about you?” you teased, bringing his hand up to your lips as you pressed a kiss to his knuckles. He watched you with the kind of awe that left him speechless for a moment. It was your favorite look on him; how his lips parted ever so slightly, the blue of his eyes shading into something softer, the muscles in his face slacking.  

He cleared his throat. “Uh, I guess that’s okay.”

“Good,” you smirked, setting in against his side. You rested your head on his shoulder, playing with his hand in your lap as you watched two little boys chasing the ducks around the pond, flapping their arms and trying to encourage the ducks to fly.  

You’d been sitting on the old, wooden bench under the tallest oak tree for nearly two hours when you glanced up to find a series of dark clouds rolling in and obstructing the cast of red and oranges filtering along the horizon. They hung heavy and ominous as a shadow lingered over the park.  

“Hey Bucky?” you started, sitting up straight as you gestured to the clouds. He had a sort of sleepy look in his eyes like he could have been content to sit there with you all night long. “We should probably get out of here before—”  

You felt the first raindrop on your cheek. Wiping it away, you looked up into the sky just in time as sheets of rain poured out from the clouds. You gasped, grabbing a firm hold of Bucky’s hand and yanking him up to his feet.  

“Come on!” you yelled over the rush of rain as it slammed onto the cobblestones in the park and shook the trees. Bursting into laughter, you threw the hood of your jacket up over your head in a half-ditched effort to stay dry. Bucky’s hand secure in your own, you took off running, only for his laughter to follow you as he chased you down the streets.

Rain drenched into your hair and ran in droplets down your spine, clothes soaked through to the bone by the time you realized where you were running. Luciana’s was just around the corner, calling to you like trumpets at the golden gates. Hot chocolate nestled between your palms, the warm hum of the radiator, nibbling on leftover pastries from the day. Truly, Heaven.  

By the time you reached Luciana’s, you’d nearly slammed into the door trying to get inside. The canopy was incredibly small, no bigger than space for a single person, but you reached out and gripped Bucky by the lapel of his jacket and tugged him beside you to pull him from the rain. You could feel the heat of his breath through his labored pants, the small puffs of warm air pressing out into the cold, and you laughed nervously at how close you were standing.  

“Her daughter has a dance recital tonight,” Bucky read from the sign posted on the inside of the door. “It’s closed.”

Sure enough, as you looked inside, the lights were out, chairs flipped upside down and resting on the tops of the tables. Rain poured against the windows, the mist of it still catching your spine and you pressed up closer to Bucky, nearly against his chest. You tried to control how fast your heart was beating, but you were almost certain he could feel it.  

“Okay, let me think,” you said, more so to yourself, as you looked out into the streets. They were empty, save for a few cars going about ten under the speed limit and a few teenagers sprinting by in backpacks and school uniforms. Your apartment wasn’t too far from here...

“Follow me!” you shouted over the rainfall, grabbing a hold of his hand.  

***

Bucky didn’t have much time to ask questions, because your hand was in his again and suddenly you were dragging him back out into the streets. You took him down the block, through a few back streets, and along a series of brownstones with fallen leaves littering the streets and the high arch of tree branches shading the sidewalk in small relief from the rain.

You skipped up a few stairs, shouldering open the door and pushed Bucky inside. He waiting in the small doorway as you dug through your bag for a pair of keys, wiping a line of rain from your forehead. You exhaled in relief as the door unlatched and you reached for Bucky’s hand again, guiding him inside.

One floor up and the first door on the left, you stepped inside of your apartment and quickly began rushing around to rid yourself of your jacket and the soaking wet shoes on your feet. Bucky stood planted on the doormat, the door closing slowly behind him.

Rain tapped against the outside windows, a dark cloud of grey hanging in the sky and casting a shadow into your living room. A single lamp illuminated the space in a soft yellow tone, touching over dozens of blankets hanging over the couch and bundled up in a basket on the floor, books piled high on the coffee table, newspapers with highlighter marks folded neatly on the kitchen table, and a few cardigans draped over the chairs.

“Can I make you coffee? Tea?” you asked from the kitchen as you wrung out your hair in the sink, shaking off the excess droplets from your hands. Bucky glanced down at the floor, realizing he was carrying water through the hardwoods in your apartment. He winced, quickly making his way back to the doormat.

“I’m alright, thanks,” he said, keeping himself as small as he could on the mat.

“Take your shoes off,” you instructed, pointing to the series of boots lined up by the door. “I’ll go find you some dry clothes.”

With that, you disappeared into your bedroom.  

Bucky stepped out of his shoes, wandering further inside. He’d been too out of it the last time he was inside your apartment, too unfocused with one foot across the ocean to really look around.  

He found himself drawn to the hallway leading up to your bedroom, with pictures hanging along the wall in old, wooden frames. Some from what looked to be your childhood, with softer features upon your face and dressed in overalls and bright pink sneakers. Then, a few from high school with your arms hung around the shoulders of your friends, mid-laugh. But there was one in particular that caught his attention. 

At the very end of the line, hung a photograph of you standing in front of a couple who looked to be your parents. You seemed to be a few years younger, judging by the cut of your hair and the softness in your features. On your left was a man dressed in an air force uniform, hands clasped behind his back. You were standing on an airbase, smiling, but your eyes were red, reflective. Like you’d been saying goodbye and were desperately pretending otherwise.

“This was all I could find,” you said, emerging back from the bedroom with t-shirt and sweatpants in hand. They were too large for you, men’s sizes, and Bucky felt his heart clench as he saw the faded air force logo on top corner of the shirt. He wondered if it belonged to the man in the photo.

“Thank you,” he nodded as you placed them on the counter.  

You were wringing out your hair with a towel when he realized you’d changed, too. The dampness on your skin clung to the fresh cotton of your t-shirt, pulling it tight against your chest. He exhaled a tense breath.  

"God, look at you,” you laughed, a hand reaching up to touch the tips of his hair as they dripped excess water down onto his shoulders. You pushed it to rest behind his ear, brushing the lingering rain from his cheeks. “It’s unfair, you know?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, confused. “What is?”

“That you look this handsome soaking wet.”

His instinct was to laugh, but the way you were looking at him made his breaths a little shallow, his stomach twisting into knots. You weren’t teasing as you said it, no lingering joke in its wake. He swallowed.  

“I... uh... what? No.” He tried to brush it off, but your hands had slid along his waist behind the hem of his jacket and it stopped him dead in his tracks.  

He held his breath as you flattened your palms against his stomach, running your fingers over what once had been hardened muscle before he let himself fall into darkness that took over his life for months. Now, his body favored something softer. You didn’t seem to mind though as you bit down on the fullest part of your lip, hands sliding around to his spine.  

“Let me take this off? Please?” you asked, voice low, with the kind of inflections laced within your tone that made Bucky shift uncomfortably in his stance. Your hands slipped up along his chest, lingering by his shoulders and you gripped onto the lapel. It was soaking wet.  

“You must be freezing,” you tried again, a little lighter this time, offering him a sweet smile. You must have noticed his apprehension because you softened a bit, letting your hands rest against his cheeks as you drew his attention to you. “It’s alright, Bucky. It’s just me.”

He searched your eyes as you gazed up at him and though he tried, he found no reason to turn you away. His heart was pounding in his chest, his right hand shaking a bit, but then, you leaned forward and captured his lips against your own, and suddenly, he was at ease again.

You kissed him and his right hand found its way to rest against your lower back, pressed flat against your spine; it clenched into the fabric, seeking more, and his fingertips brushed over a sliver of bare skin. He felt your hands slid down along his neck, to his collar, until they slipped under the fabric of his jacket against, resting on his shoulders. You were waiting for his permission.  

Then, as you pulled away from his lips for only a second, he nodded. Your lips returned to his almost instantly, and he wondered if maybe you were trying to distract him, or help to ease him as the fabric draped down off his shoulders. His heart was thunderous in his chest, louder than the press of rainfall against the windows outside, but there was a sense of calm in it, a nervousness certainly, but a comfort, too.  

He felt the weight of the jacket lift from his shoulders as you set it to hang over the chair. He felt instantly lighter, like you’d removed an anvil from his back, and he suspected it had less to do with the rain-soaked fabric than he cared to admit. He kept his eyes closed as your hands roamed along his shoulders, focusing on the feel of your lips as they traveled from the corner of his mouth along his jaw line.  

“Bucky?” you called so sweetly it nearly made his knees buckle.  

“Mmm?” He felt a little dizzy, high on the touch of your lips to his skin.  

He heard the soft ruffle of fabric as you grabbed the clean clothes you brought for him on the counter. Then, your hand slipped into his and he let his eyes flutter open. You were watching him with more affection than he was prepared for. His heart lurched forward, aching to jump right into your arms.

“Come this way.”  

He nodded, trailing behind you as you led him into your bedroom. The lighting was dim, barely casting in a soft orange glow from the lamp at your bedside. The clouds were still dark and heavy as they hung outside the windows, the rain obstructing the view of the brownstones across the street.  

“Here,” you set the clothes on the bed. “Get changed alright? I don’t want you catching a cold.”

You smiled for him and his heart just about burst. Then, you disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.  

Bucky stepped forward, running his hand over the Air Force logo in the top corner of the t-shirt. He picked up the shirt, and held it against his nose. It smelled like you, like maybe you’d been wearing it for years now, but there was a name written in sharpie on the inside tag. It was barely legible, but it didn’t look like your own. He tried not to think about who gave you this shirt and who wore it before him, and he quickly removed the damp one soaked to his skin in favor of the one you’d given him.  

He changed his pants, too, and a wash of relief came over his body as the chill faded from his skin. The clothes were warm, soft, and he raked his fingers through his hair, thankful it had dried enough to stop from dripping down onto the fabric.

“Hey,” you called, emerging from the bathroom. Your eyes paused on him for a moment, taking him in with the fresh clothes on and something unrecognizable flashed over your features – something that resembled sadness. You shook it off quickly, pushing out a smile as you walked toward him. “Better?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to your hairline as you wrapped your arms around his waist. “Thank you.”

You leaned up to kiss him again and he swore everything around him came to a sudden stop. You tugged him down onto the bed, sliding in behind him as you threw the covers over you. Bucky kept his back pressed to the mattress as you climbed over his waist, settling with just enough of your weight compressing against him that he found a relief in it.  

His right hand slipped along your waist line, sliding flat over bare skin, warm to the touch. You smiled against his lips and he found himself laughing as you peppered kisses along his cheekbones, his nose, his hairline, down along his jaw, and then finally – back to his lips again.

So lost in you, in the moment, he felt his left hand slid along the underside of your shirt, fabric brushing over the top of his hand as he touched over your ribs and inching closer to your chest. He stifled a moan as he cupped at your breast, swiping his thumb along the pebbled nipple. It wasn’t until he felt an echo of a muscle spasm at his left shoulder that he realized he wasn’t feeling anything at all.  

His eyes snapped open and he found his right hand at the base of your spine, your shirt untouched. Reluctantly he glanced down at his left side; the open sleeve of the t-shirt leaving no pretenses in its wake. He was empty there. A piece of him missing. He tried to swallow back the frustrated groan before it passed through his lips, but you heard it. You felt it, too.

“Bucky?” you questioned, concern littering your eyes as you pulled away. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, of course not,” he replied quickly, brushing his hand along the side of your face until it drew a smile back to your lips. The way you were watching him, like maybe he could entrust you with the darkest parts of himself, if only for glimpse, and it pushed him to say more. “I just... I hate that I can’t hold you the way I want. There’s more that I would—” He groaned, head sinking back into the pillows. “I’m not used to... I don’t— I don’t know how to with only one... um...I haven’t— Not since before—”  

He bit down on the inside of his cheek, his ears flushing red. You seemed to understand what he was saying as you nodded ever so slightly; the fact that he’d barely learned how to manage his life again with only one arm – everything from washing his hair to getting dressed in the morning, to chopping vegetables and reading a book. He hadn’t even attempted to consider what it was like to be with a woman like this; to want to hold her and please her and touch as much of her as he could. It never crossed his mind before you.  

“I’m in no rush,” you said simply, like maybe you were implying you’d wait around long enough for him to figure it out. Or maybe, you’d be willing to help him learn again. You leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “It’s late. You’ll stay tonight, won’t you? I don’t want you out in that storm.”

Bucky nodded, feeling a little dizzy as he stared up at you. Backlit from the soft glow of the lamp illuminating around you like a halo, Bucky would have said yes to just about anything you could have asked of him. Relief pressed over your features and you sank down onto the bed beside him, curling up against his right side.  

Your arm draped across his waist as his circled around your shoulders, fingertips drawing patterns along your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Then, you reached over him to turn off the lamp and a comfortable darkness blanketed the room, the only break from the silence the gentle tap of the rain against the windowpane.  

For the first night in months, he welcomed the kind embrace of a dreamless sleep.  

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Fixed: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 4 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 3: Love So Soft

Main Masterlist

A/N: It’s shorter than my usual updates but I’m busy so sorry for the delay. My final exam dates have come and all I can do is pray right now lol. Please pray for me if you can, this sis is out here writing fanfics for yall instead of studying so, haha. ANyways, enjoy babies! Shit happens in this chapter.

Warning: Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, a mild mental breakdown, Cheap Tricks.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can’t ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can’t get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Word count: 5K

Chapter 4: Fixed

You didn’t sleep that night. Or the next few. Your hands shook every time you got a flashback and even though you were numb to emotions that entire day, tears threatened to spill whenever your mind took to you to that overpriced kitchen again.

Now that he had gone to a dangerous and unnerved assaulter from a Dad trying to take care of his daughter, your mind wouldn’t put anything past him. You knew that in the back of your mind that he was a mobster and your ‘friendship’ was alarming to say the least, but now there was no denying his resources and power and the very obvious threat to your life lingering in the air.

At least before you had the luxury to be oblivious and ignorant, not anymore though. Steve felt even more unhinged and liberal now, even messaging you daily, greeting texts that you obviously ignored. He knew you both were aware that you never handed him your number and he felt no need to hide his pursuit.

You read most of the messages, not bothering with a single reply though. You tried to block him but somehow your phone would still receive messages from his number, even though his contact would always peek back at you from the otherwise empty blacklist.

As if his torment wasn’t ample, another message thread from a different number would forward you alarming images, photos of Grace in her daycare, on a class trip to the park and even her playing in your backyard. You had no doubt that this was another game of his to show you his resources.

You skipped daycare for a few days, your mental health worse than it was after the carnival attack, because now you had a personal tormentor and you cursed yourself for falling into this mess. At times, you believed it wasn’t your fault really, you just helped a kid and this situation spiraled itself but what would pointing fingers now get you? The harsh truth was you were in a calamitous situation now and every step from now on had to be thought out.

So, you let Grace attend her daycare and acted if nothing was amiss or altered, after the few initial breakdown days of course, kept going to your job and earning the bread. You considered your options, you really wanted to go to the cops or a higher fair power but those were few these days, almost non existent in your city. You also vaguely recalled meeting three of the Captains of the PD at Sarah’s birthday, all smiley and doe eyed for Steve. You knew they wouldn’t help, fucking kiss-asses.

Maybe you would have to move somewhere else, perhaps to your hometown, at least till things cooled down or better yet were forgotten? But that trail was very predictable and you didn’t want your parents in this mess.  

You also came to know that Steve had inserted himself in the other spheres of your life. You were sure your location was always being sent to him, the knowledge a courtesy of the black car following you while you travelled to home at some late day’s end.

Aiden told you whereabouts were easy to track, when you inquired ambiguously. Another instance was when you went to the bank to deposit cash for your debit card, you came face to face with an enormous amount already there. Somehow, the limit on your credit card was also extended. How, you knew. The clerk told you about an email you must have gotten in regards to it, you dismissed that justification away and told them to not accept the cash. To sum the discussion, they weren’t helpful and had no policy against anonymous donors.

Aiden, your trusted coworker cum pal, sensed the shift in your aura and fidgety form very easily, pestering you with questions and you decided to turn to him, stressed and tired and ready to do something. His questioning eyebrows made you confess vaguely but you refused to tell him the extent of it. Just that his prediction came true and you needed help. Let’s just say, Aiden was a good man.

With time, Steve’s ‘affectionate’ messages became deranged, and you found it harder to act nonchalant in your daily life. You were thankful he didn’t come to visit you, possibly occupied with the rumored war between the mobs. You just prayed for a few more days of ignorance, just enough time to think and do something.

“What do you mean someone collected her?!” You had a hard time controlling your voice, you were about to burst, in tears or with anger, you didn’t know.

“The man was verified in the emergency contacts and we got a letter signed and approved by you to skip the day an hour into the first activity.”

“A man? Emergen-, wait no! What fucking approved letter?”

You had three emergency contacts, your mom in another state, Aiden, and one of the other kid’s mom you had grown close to. Aiden was with you at work all day, so did someone disguise themselves as him? And what was the deal with the letter signed by you? You surely didn’t remember writing and authorizing one.

The boy, Pietro, who had been the receptionist for as long as you could remember, shuffled through the chaotic piles of paper and presented a letter to you, and your blood froze as your eyes skimmed the font.

Your beautiful cursive stared right back at you and you knew that no one would ever be able to distinguish between this penmanship and the one in the pocketbook in your clutch. No one but you. Even though you knew you had not written it, the slightly different ‘f’ and ‘g’ told you everything.

Your signature at the bottom though, was done quite perfectly and that made you even more scared.

“I did-, I didn’t write this! What the-” Your widened eyes met Pietro’s from above the paper but all he offered you was a meek smile. Your hands shook with rage and for the first time in your life, you had the urge to slap someone really bad.

“Maybe your family had an emergency to take he-”

“No, you don’t get it!” You stopped yourself from getting frantic, willing yourself to take deep breaths and think rationally. Today of all days, things had to mess up.

He didn’t know you had no family in this city, that you had a mobster after you or the subtle threats that his hired spy sent to you.

Was going to the police an option? Aiden already told you that the cops were as good as Steve’s men. But this was about your missing kid! You’d never forgive yourself if something happened to her. And you were giving Steve way too much credit, what if he wasn’t behind this all? Come to think of it, what if the other number wasn’t his?

Relax yourself! Thinking of disturbing theories wouldn’t help anyone. You thought you should go to the cops, just in case. No mentioning of Steve, just a woman with a ‘missing child’ report.

‘Missing Child’ left an acrid taste behind and you were too close to a breakdown, but your whole journey of single-parenthood taught you to kick vulnerability aside, well most of the times.

You turned and were about to leave, but Pietro stopped you. “If you are going to the cops Ma’am, they require 8 hours of inactivity or disappearance time for kids under 5.”

Well look who just read your mind.

You huffed and kept the tears at bay, your mind thinking of what to do then? Grace was obviously taken-

“How could you let a toddler leave without informing the parents?” You knew your anger was channeling out at the wrong man but didn’t he all but hand Grace to the stranger?

You beat him answering and inquired, “What did the man look like? Do you have any footage? Anything?” The wrinkles in your forehead and stress creases on your face paired with the eyebags betrayed your age surely. You were sure you had aged more this week than an entire decade, juggling your normal life with the hovering threat.

“You shouldn’t be this worried Ma’am.”

The fucking audacity.

“Your daughter recognized him, she all but ran to him and this other little girl he came with. You should maybe ask your parent-friends around? A blonde family perhaps?”

As all the emotions drained from your face and terror took over, the young lad in front of you looked smug. You wondered as if you imagined the faintest of smirks on his face.

You crumpled the letter in your hands, seething with rage as you stepped in your car. Oh, you were mad, more wrathful than ever. You could take any hits on you, any threat but not on Grace, never on her.

You were stupid, you had already decided you wouldn’t put anything past him but unknowingly, you did put this past him. You thought this man had a shred of decency to not use your kid in this adult war, being a parent himself and all but what a surprise! You were wrong.

You drove to your home, your thoughts a mix of trepidation, anxiety and fury. You were scared of him and his reach and resources but if he put Grace in any type of danger; whether to teach you a lesson or use her as bait or both, there’d be consequences.

Lord knows you killed a man a month ago Grace was threatened.

You had one thing to do before contacting Steve about Grace but you never got to do it because unexpectedly the bastard was in your home. In your home.

The black sports car outside was a huge giveaway but your suspicions were confirmed when you opened the door with your house key. The banter and giggles from inside alarmed yet calmed you; the dread of confrontation and the assurance of Grace’s safety reigned your mind.

As the door opened painfully slow like a horror movie, the sight that met your eyes made you sick with a feeling of failure. It wasn’t gore or blood or grunge, it was Steve bouncing Grace in the air and catching her while Sarah twirled around in the living room.  

This man was craftier than you thought, every action of his was calculated, each a refined step. You had been so preoccupied to avoid direct encounters with him in your little family’s life that you didn’t think he had other ways. He was always looming around with Sarah and as Grace began to trust Sarah, she consequently began to trust her blonde guardian too.

As you slammed the door behind you, Steve’s eyes snapped to yours and his smirk made you want to punch him so hard. The smugness on his face while he let Grace down without breaking eye contact told you he had no regret, no remorse. In fact, he was loving every second of this cat and mouse chase between you two.

You were a millimeter close to losing your shit, the only check being the kids in the room. But you were mad and he was going to know it.

“What the hell, Steve? Messing with my kid?” You threw your clutch onto the couch, Steve haughty by the reception of his sent message but still holding back because of the kids. He called Wanda and you didn’t really notice where she came from but you did register Steve asking to take the girls to the park for a ‘private discussion’.

As Grace passed by you, you grabbed her arm lightly, making her look at you with doe eyes resembling yours. You gave her a smile trying to ease her, but you knew she was smart enough to sense the change in the atmosphere.

Apparently, the whining Sarah wasn’t.

You looked back to Steve, your hold still on Grace and continued with a frown and raised eyebrows, “She isn’t going anywhere, not out of my sight and obviously not with you or your goons.”

Wanda had the audacity to look offended and you scoffed at her, eyes staring Steve’s down.

“Honey, I don’t think the kids should hear what I think you have to say right now.” He said nodding to Wanda to take Grace.

“You must be deranged to think I trust Grace near anyone even remotely related to you! Take your people and get out.” You held your hand up to stop Wanda and pointed towards the door with the most menacing glare you could form.

Grace looked incomprehensibly between you two, concern and confusion on her face. That might have been the first time such a tone was used in your household. The grumbling Sarah was close to throwing a tantrum, irritated by the change in the playful air or the lack of attention to her, you didn’t know. She was hanging on Wanda’s forearm, her feet slipping on your printed rug. Wanda was trying to not look hurt still by your previous statement, distracting herself by the blonde kid and you were baffled by her obliviousness to all this.

Steve, the beefy blonde Lucifer, was furious and seething. His white knuckles and ticking jaw were the most obvious giveaways, the fingers just itching to beat the shit out of someone no doubt.

Was he imagining striking you into compliance into his weird playhouse game complex? You wouldn’t be surprised given the extent of his attempt to ‘win’ you over.

The ‘get out’ tone and blatant disrespect was a bruise to his ego for sure, and by you, a middle-class woman nonetheless was a worse injury. Steve was the deadly boss to armored men in the vicinity, the kids’ father figure, according to him, and Wanda’s stern yet kind employer.

People had been killed for less and there you were, standing in all your glory, being the only person alive to reject Steve Rogers and now, the only to raise your voice at him.

You almost scoffed at his impudence to look offended, what did he expect? For you to submit to him after the stunt he pulled? His reach was scary he proved today and that any future with him in your life in any way, was a fearsome possibility to entertain but you’d be damned if you went down without a fight.  

“You can’t make me leave; we both know. You don’t have the physical edge nor the mental one. I have no problem drawing out G-U-N-S in front of the kids or to throw the warnings around, although I would prefer not to.”

Your free hand itched to slap him, like how his did minutes ago. It wasn’t a mankind problem about men thinking they were entitled to everything; it was a Steve Rogers’s problem. Of course, with him consent didn’t matter. If he had a ‘housewife, kids and fences’ fixation, he’d make it come true.

“Do you even listen to what I say? Or your own words even? Please, go ahead! Traumatise my kid and also yours in your wooing process! Why are you so obsessed? Leave us alone, you freak! I just ignored few messages!” You had a hard time maintaining your cool, if there was any left. You were sure you were scaring Grace and no matter what happened next, you knew she was already traumatized by this entire ordeal already. You were so sorry, so, so, so sorry to your poor baby caught in this mess.

You knew, no, you hoped, he wouldn’t pull out the gun, his actions at the carnival a proof, you remembered how he hid his gun on finding Sarah. That threat was empty but the next one wasn’t, his words making you freeze in your spot.

“I think you keep on misunderstanding me, sweetheart. I don’t make empty promises,”

Posh word for threats.

“For starters, maybe I should pay my future in-laws a visit in their blue duplex. They might need help with the vast garden they have, it is the season for ‘violets’, isn’t it?”

As you froze with your parents being brought up, he also cooled, albeit differently, smirking once again gaining the upper hand, not that he lost it if you were being honest.

“Isn’t threatening my kid enough for you, Steve?” You hated how your loud voice almost broke, your anger slowly subsiding into helplessness and you hated that. You hated his guts, his entitlement, his claim; everything about him.

“You still don’t see it, do you? Our family of four is the most important thing to me right now and I’m not above doing anything to save it.”

“There is no family of four Steve! I keep explaining and you keep coming back to square one with all this bullshit!” The curse word did tick Steve off but he would correct that later, when bigger things weren’t at ploy.

“Your ignorance makes me a little mad sometimes sweetheart and that is why I have to do all I do. You haven’t realized we need each other yet, but I’m staying until you do and even after that, I promise. You know how much it pissed me off to see your tickets and the packed suitcases after I’ve been nothing but nice? I was so generous to spoil you with my riches but instead I find that in your finances.”

This fucker knew. Of course, he did!

You were wondering in the back of your head what had prompted this visit with so many threats and warnings and anguish. He was pissed even before you ‘acted out’, he tracked the tickets and the plan and that meant he even tracked-

“You have so much to learn, but luckily you interact with quite a few people. I am most tempted to start out with this Aiden guy, trying to be the hero and giving you all the ideas. Maybe I should visit him?” Steve wondered out loud, and you flinched at his suggestion, hating how you were trapped by this man.

You couldn’t live with yourself if anyone got hurt because of you, be it your parents or Aiden or any other possibility Steve would come up with. Of course, Grace was your peak priority but you doubted he would hurt her as he threatened to harm them.

“Steve, please.” The fire was almost out, your hands trembling, Grace worried and Steve smug.

“Let the kids go and I think we can come to a conclusion.”

“Steve this needs to stop.” You said, your breaths heavy and helplessness clawing away at you.

“I won’t repeat myself.” He voiced out with a threatening edge, gesturing to Grace and Wanda, clearly telling you to first get the kids out.

For a deranged fucktard, he sure cared about the kids a lot.

You loosened your hold on Grace, patting her arm softly and nudged her to Wanda. Wanda received her little hand and enticed the kids with the promise of ice-cream. Sarah clapped her hands and as the trio left, Grace did look over her shoulders at you in concern and for permission, majorly in concern though. You nodded and waved, a tear dropping as soon as the door clicked shut.

You were still staring at the door, not wanting to meet Steve’s stormy blue orbs when he began, “Today was a slip up that I won’t tolerate again. Neither the cursing nor the dramatics.”

We aren’t in a fucking play, what the fuck is he labelling as dramatics?

Your eyes slowly flickered to his, and you had a hard time not letting the tears escape except the one traitorous one earlier. The fatigue, the worry of Grace’s disappearance, the threats to your friends and family were all catching up to you. It took all in you to stay strong and not fall down right now.

“Steve this isn’t funny anymore. It’s sick and you know it! I just said no! Was that so inexcusable that you had to follow up with this? You have violated me for that, broken into my home and now kidnapped my daughter! At what extent will you stop?” You broke down finally, arms a flailing mess as fat tears rolled down. Nothing scared more than the helplessness this moment. He won and he knew it. The carnival incident was nothing in comparison to this. The only good thing you could hope in all this was a safe Grace but that too only if you complied, which seemed like what you would do now given your attempts at fighting back and scampering have failed laughably.

“Gosh, I forgot how theatrical women are. You are smart darling; you know what I want from day one, just a happy family. Nothing that horrendous has happened and especially not as badly as put it. I’m just looking out for you and me in the long run.” Steve slowly treaded towards you, his hand extended to pat your arm comfortingly but you involuntarily flinched at contact and stepped back. Steve clearly didn’t like that as he caught your arm in a bruising grip and jerked you towards him. Manhandling you as your wet hands rushed to ease his grip was not a tough task for Steve, a surprise to none.

“Stop trembling like I’ve actually done something to harm you!”

Steve clearly didn’t know how to comfort women and it showed.

You stopped with the cowering away, even though it disgusted you to be this much in close proximity with your assaulter. He clearly had anger issues and no clue how to solve them. You needed to steer the conversation right and get him out. You could see your hands visibly shake as you put them on his chest, just to create some distance and in a way of surrendering to not fight. The tears slowed but you don’t think they stopped; it was hard to tell with a million other things on your mind.

As your eyes made contact, Steve loosened his grip, clearly a bit satisfied by your submission, as he began counting to help you breathe. As much as you hated to admit, it helped you and you got a flashback to the time when you freaked out on him about Grace at that extravagant dinner date. That was a sweet gesture then, not so sweet now. Funny how drastically things change with time.

It wasn’t so much Steve’s help as it was your own mind telling you to be fucking smart about the whole ordeal right now.

“Good. Better. Now let’s talk. Why were you planning to run away? I’ve been busy and coming home to find out that wasn’t joyful, you know.” His smile suggested a better mood than before but his voice, his husky voice always had this daring edge that almost challenged you to defy him but at the same time warned you of unpleasant consequences if you did.

“Steve, I’m scared.” You spoke with utmost honesty. “The part of the world you associate yourself with scares me. You can’t blame me for not wanting that life for Grace, I mean you have a kid of your own. Wasn’t the carnival attack specifically on Sarah?”

The reasoning was right but you knew you triggered him the moment his smile evaporated. He either felt insulted as a parent or disrespected in his profession or probably both.

He was fighting his inner demons already and you pointing it out was a slap to his face, a hit he didn’t want to take.

“That was a slip up, I admit. Never again. I’m only human, okay?” He convinced himself and you, his grip tightening a bit again.

Oh no, not the right direction to take.

You reckoned he still had nightmares about it like you, he really did love Sarah a lot, all things aside.

“Besides, I am looking out for you! Out for you and Grace and Sarah. I remember my promise of never putting either of them in harm’s way ever again.”

You definitely didn’t trust his security or his people because what sort of a mobster let his daughter get targeted and possibly abducted? You definitely didn’t know the whole story or if it was just a bad day but he wasn’t a person that deserved some slack. Despite all this, you knew what all he held above you, above a common man. He might not be ‘Kingpin’ skilled but a threat to you nonetheless.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “Is that what you call following me around, huh?” which you immediately regretted.

“Trust the process, baby. Everything is just to protect you.”

Is that what he called stalking even Grace around and twistedly enough, sending you proof of that? The anonymous thread of photos was another nightmare of yours, thanks to him. The last being a candid photo inside Grace’s room, her sleeping in her bed this morning and that’s when you decided you needed to get out. Of course, that didn’t go as planned.

“How am I supposed to do that when you have cameras in my house?!” You scoffed and he reeled back at the accusation, having the nerve to look impressed at being uncovered and caught red-handed.

“Oh my fucking God, it was you! You sick pervert!” You jumped out of his grip, your eyes wide and horrified. “I wasn’t aware of what to make of it but of course, it was you! Who else would be sick enough to do that?” You let out a humorless chuckle. You always put things past him even when you keep telling yourself you shouldn’t. When will you ever learn huh?  

You were full on panicking yet again, this man was an assaulter, a stalker and a creep too. It would have made a good dark, psychological thriller for you to watch if you weren’t the protagonist about to suffer his obsession.

He reached out to steady you again, but you whipped and stumbled back, realizing too late that you elbowed Steve’s nose so bad that there was a crunch. That, right there, was the look a man real-fucking-furious on Steve’s face and now you could see the feared mobster, the man who was personally terrorizing you under the beautiful, Greek God façade.

Steve reacted so fast even with an injury that in a split second, your view of his face turned into a view of his crotch.

“You do realize that there are others ways for me to teach you obedience? I think it’s fucking time you show me your gratitude for my care and attention and apologize for your misconduct and unkind response.” Steve spoke with a hoarse voice, a voice running out of patience and just about done with defiance.

His hand fisted your hair, maintaining eye contact while he nodded between you and his crotch. You knew what he wanted, what he was expecting as ‘thanks’.

“Steve, please no, you don’t-”

His other hand grabbed your jaw, stopping you from speaking as he warned, “I think you have done just enough talking for today, so why don’t you put that tongue to a better use and show me how sorry you are. Better make it convincing because I’d hate to pay one of your friends a visit and then bitch about a nasty blowjob.” He smirked at the end of his monologue, eyes shining with triumph and amusement.

You wouldn’t let him harm anyone else, you couldn’t. You and your daughter were already knee-deep in a pit and at this point, it’d just be cruel to drag someone else in. With shaky hands opening his pants, you just hoped you could get Grace out before you eventually were buried in it.

“Now that’s a good girl. Submissive is a sexy look on you.” His hands patted your hair, playing with your tresses while yours pulled his pants and then briefs down.

His member jerked out, almost slapping you in the face as you recoiled at his insolence to get hard and erect at your torment. Your disdain must have shown which he took as admiration and derision to take his affluent cock in.

“No need to get shy, I have faith you’ll be able take it just as well in your pretty pussy as you will right now. Open up-”

“Steve, I beg you-”

Just as you had cut him off, he interrupted your pleading. Your gag reflex was probably the most efficient in the world but that turned this narcissist on. It had been years since you had done it, never with a man as beefy as Steve.

His taste was salty and if you had to put it into better words, it was the like overpriced sea salt flakes that you never bought. High and pricey and for the entitled.

Your hands clutched at his thighs as you blacked out multiple times; your jaw aching, uvula swaying and tears escaping. Him forcing himself on you brough a new sense of vulnerability as your body trembled. Steve relished like a sadist, practically rutting into you all by himself as you just sat there with your jaw unnaturally open.

His obscene moans and groans were crass and nauseating and you just prayed for this to be over soon and for no one to walk in on this, especially your kid.

It seemed like it would never end, your body dehydrating with all the spit it produced, the drool dribbling and landing just beside your knees on your printed rug. You would have to throw that out.

The tears stooped after some point, the sobbing an unnecessary action that just tired you out more on this eventful day. You moved your tongue around to prevent your teeth from scratching him when he shifted angles. If this was what he did on slightly mad, you didn’t want to find what he did for a more serious punishment.

Apparently, that action was something that turned him on even more, his breath hitching as neared closure. In broken whispers he demanded that again and you complied, wanting to get done with it.

He growled in the moment of his release and you tried to lean back but his grip didn’t relent. “Swallow.” His grainy, exasperated voice said out loud and you knew better than to defy.

He released you and you fell on to the rug, hip bruising by knocking into some furniture and tears coming back again after being hydrated by his seed. He packed himself, his smile smug and content as his expressions truly resembled ecstasy being personified.

“You be a good fiancée from now on and maybe you’ll have all your friends alive and present at our wedding. No cheeky business from now on, got it?” Steve hummed then and strutted out, not even bothering to listen to your reply.

As soon as the door slammed, your eyes closed and your demons danced again.

There was no right direction to take when you were stuck in a loop.  

[borderline-vent]

So I know this is a vent blog but honestly like

I'm really grateful to my fp for helping me learn how to handle not only my bpd, but my other personality disorders, too. Whether it's avpd or avpd traits is a little up in the air w my therapist right now- at this point the list is kind of long and we're focusing on managing symptoms rather than what precise label goes where - but npd is a definite. When I met my fp I was mostly just questioning npd traits; I realized as I learned more about it and talked more to my therapist that I have, like, The Whole Thing. You know how it goes.

I'm determined not to be my mother who I suspect has bpd and npd traits -probably not the whole disorder, but some of our thought patterns and perceptions have been pretty similar in that regard -and kind of ruins everyone's life she touches, including mine. She's badly fucked her own self over, her husband I really don't think she abuses but he also seems uninvolved in some pretty significant ways; he just kind of let her do whatever she wanted to us, believed her over us, and she hides some of her worst abuse from him- like hitting me with a hanger, and choking my sibling and throwing them to the floor to scream at them and not letting us tell him what happened. She's also just manipulative and controlling and blames everyone else for her negative feelings and anything that goes wrong, even (especially) when it's her fault (sort of how her throwing me into a wall as a teenager was my fault somehow... lol). So that's oart of my motivation to work hard with therapy and learn to manage all this stuff, but really put some focus into managing my narcissism. It's not going to benefit me, or anybody else, if I'm unselfaware and I just treat people like shit all the time -which I don't, but I don't ever want to, and there are always places I can improce as a person.

It's hard to be honest and fucking excruciating to be vulnerable. I have a huge ego and a massive rift in self-esteem, I can't confront shame (so I use other mechanisms to motivate me to adjust problematic behavior) and I'm incapable of self-compassion, which apparently is essential for healing your inner child or something. I guess my inner child is just going to have to stay broken, but I can work on other things.

Fp has aspd and npd, which I think I've mentioned here before; and he's conscientious enough and makes me feel comfortable enough to talk to him about new things in my life, even things that make me feel vulnerable. We don't have all the same symptoms of course, but we share several, and he's got a lot of experience learning how to manage comorbid personality disorders, and when I'm really struggling he's extremely helpful in clearing my perception- and often he's the only person I feel comfortable enough to talk to about it, given that childhood abuse gave me such trouble with trust. I've known him for nearly 2 years now, and he's only ever demonstrated more commitment to treating me well, and so I trust him. I mean, I don't /really/ trust anybody. But I trust him more than anyone else, and he's made me feel more comfortable being secure and he's never been malicious or gaslit me or been cruel to me or put me down or any of the shit some other people have done.

I've also learned a lot about how dysfunctional my family is- for instance, defensiveness to the point of making an ass of yourself instead of correcting your mistakes, seems to be a family trait. Stuff like that is pretty frustating, given I'm (still) too sick to work and I have to live with them (but with therapy and a purse full of medicine I'm getting there). I isolate here a lot, because communication breaks down so easily, and then I get frustrated, and I don't want to snap at people and I want to try to identify what I could do to smooth interactions; and some things I'm oversensitive to because they remind me of my abusive mother (but apparently I'm not allowed to say "hey please don't do this because I have a history with it happening to me in greater degree and it's bad" because then I get accused of comparing people to my mother... anyway I spend a lot of time by myself.

Recently I've been deep in a ptsd swing because an alter got a (shiny!new!) flashback to our csa and so we had a bad couple of weeks tbh but it seems like that's smoothing out now. I haven't had a flashback or a panic attack in a couple of days and the nightmares are better too.

And I've realized that a lot of what I was so worried about before -a lot of what I yelled about on this blog actually- was just... not all an inaccurate perception on my part, but that I noticed changes in communication with fp and reacted to them in a characteristically borderline way. I correctly registered that he seemed more withdrawn, was less warm, etc. And when we talked about it, he told me he still liked me just as much as ever, but he was depressed, like we'd been talking about, and he had less energy and he just hadn't been expressing it the way he had when he'd felt better. And that's something I'm familiar with, because it's super common with depression and I've withdrawn like that, too.

He told me this friendship, and his being my fp, is important to him and he wants to maintain it, and he was glad I shared my feelings with him, because he wants to know if there's a issue. I told him that while I didn't want to make him feel taxed while he's depressed (or at all), more expression would ameliorate my anxiety and make me feel more secure. He didn't blame me for feeling the way I did, didn't try to make it my fault (it wasn't anyone's fault; I have my symptoms and he has his and we communicate out limitations and work on issues together) just told me he appreciated me, my friendship, and my communicating with him, and he'd adjust his behavior to help remind me I was liked and valued. And he has, and his depression has gotten better with meds, and I feel better (and the fact he was so receptive and so willing to put in the effort also made me feel better) and he's helped me as I've been stressed over family drama (my mother having some drama with other family members- I need to figure out somehow who's telling the truth but it's gonna be uhhh stressful) and over the new piece of trauma we remembered (not good) and the worsening of ptsd symptoms.

I feel stable in our friendship, and have done for several weeks now, and that's been the defining trend of our friendship over two years. It's fucking hard for me to feel stable or secure in friendships, especially with fps and especially when I have strong romantic feelings for them, but he puts in a lot of effort to help me feel that way, /and to help me improve my baseline ability to feel that way./

Our friendship is predicated in many ways on what's most useful; for instance, it's beneficial to him to put in that effort because I feel better, and so there's less maintenance work he needs to do. That's not a drawback; we genuinely like each other and enjoy one another's company, and help each other a lot, and while it's not an empathetic friendship from his side, it's a kind ans supportive one, a safe one, a sheltering one, a comfortable and profoundly important one. It's the strongest and healthiest relationship I've ever had, and it's done as much or maybe even more than therapy has to get me through struggling times and improve the way I feel about myself and other people.

This is a long fucking post right now but like. I'm really grateful for this man. I always have been. I have strong emotional reactions to real or percieved abandonment, and I see it everywhere, but he never tries to make me feel bad for it, just helps me feel better. I yell a lot on this blog but there's a reason I haven't really posted here in a while (and other things go wrong elsewhere but I usually post about that on my other blog. That's where my ptsd and family vents went.) I have an as-soon-as-possible goal to get myself well enough to work, and save enough money to move so that I can live where he lives. I'll finally be away from toxic family (telecontact, I'm sure, but still a meaningful distance) and regularly able to see the most important person in my life, and I think that has a lot of potential to help with my mental health.

[fanfictionized]

Help Me Help You - The Tingle In My Bones (12/?)

Character: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader / OFC

Chapter summary: Annabelle gets to meet Bruce and they take her blood sample to get closer to answering the question as to what had happened to her.

Meanwhile Anna relives the same flashbacks from when she woke up in the lab.

Warnings: None, description of wounds?

Words: 3.1k

Previous Chapter // Help Me Help You - Masterlist

Bucky and Annabelle stayed up until the sun rose, just watching TV and enjoying each other’s company. They didn’t talk much after, only some occasional questions from Annabelle, asking him to change the channel or some coming from him, asking her to explain some pop culture references to him, which she did gladly and overexcitedly.

They both saw the house beginning to show life, Steve being the first one to greet them as he entered the living room. “Well, hello there.” The corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk, his brows raised at both of them. “I see you’re doing alright.” He stated and strolled into the kitchen. Bucky huffed and Annabelle smiled before she yawned. “You know you can go back to bed, right?” Bucky asked her with a gentle voice. She shook her head as tears formed in her tired eyes. “It’s better if I don’t…” They both knew what she meant “But I also want to have some sort of a sleep pattern, you know?” She stood up from the couch and stretched her limbs. “I think I’ll have to meet the rest of the group eventually.” She sighed and let the joints in her back pop. “I probably have a lot of their questions to answer.”

“You wont have to say anything you don’t feel comfortable with.” He assured her and she laid her hands on each of her shoulders, bending her head back, yet still looking at him through her lashes. “I’m only afraid that I’ll be useless. I don’t know shit about anything that happened back there.” “Then you’ll just tell them that.” She suppressed a smirk of her own. “Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.” She started walking backwards, still holding eyes contact and pointing her thumb at the stairs behind her. “I’ll go take a shower…okay. Yes.” She answered her own thought and walked off.

He continued to stare back onto the screen.

Bucky was glad about what he had said to her back in the kitchen. He needed her to know she had someone to talk to if she wanted to. He hadn’t expected her to remember him, though. She had already stared at his metal arm various, numerous times. For so long, he had projected his fears onto those stares. Because he felt like she knew about all the horrible things he had done. The things he had done for Hydra. But the way she had talked to him and the little information he gave her to make her feel a little better about herself, didn’t give her enough to paint the whole picture. It made him feel like she only knew half of the story, that he had been their victim, too.

Which was right, after all. Still, he felt like he was lying right into her face. And the crazy thing about it was that he felt the need not to do that. He cared. Because he let her down one time and after that his only mission left would be making sure that it would never happen again.

Of cause he was curious about what had actually happened in the lab upstairs and what the new serum had done to her entirely, but first; she seemed normal to him and second; he was convinced that she wouldn’t know or remember more than him as well.

He would be there if she needed him to be, but until then he would keep his distance for her own good. He couldn’t have her knowing that he had worked for the enemy for over seventy years. She couldn’t know that such a man was living under the same roof as her. He couldn’t do that to her.

She’d find out eventually, but they all knew that she had enough to deal with at the moment as it is.

So he’d just linger in the shadows behind her like a fucking creep. The thought crawled through the back of his head and a blush crept up his neck.

The bad side of his brain always had to get a word in. Be it in the form of crippled anxiety or self-degradation.

But he still believed in good intentions and those were the thoughts he wanted to keep.

***

The shower had felt good on her abused skin. Her hair had already been greasy as fuck and she had no longer endured her own smell. It had fallen from her mind and her attention for a long while until she sat on the couch for more than a few minutes, sitting in her own stew. Sounds more disgusting than it actually was. She was mostly still crusty with blood in some places. Dirt as well. She watched the pink-colored water flow down the drain. And yes, sure, she had begun to sweat wildly again during her “sleep”, but thank god that had been all. Her injuries that included cuts and puncture wounds with bruises around them which had mostly healed and faded. She was still a little discolored altogether, too pale as her body was still adjusting to not only the environmental change but her guess was the internal one as well.

She still didn’t feel it though. The only strange thing until now had been the scene in the lab, although it had felt more like a panic attack or an adrenaline rush. Her instincts taking over instead of real, actual conscious actions.

She had stepped out of the shower and wiped her palm over the fogged mirror. She looked so drained of everything. Her collarbones stuck out like they never had before and her cheekbones and defined jawline were shaping her face dramatically. Her belly had gotten flatter and even her tits had shrunken.

To her it felt like she had been gone for way longer than just five weeks. She couldn’t believe all of that had happened in so little time.

She sighed and looked away from her reflection, draping a fluffy towel over her wet skin.

She remembered as they cut her hair. Her second day after her abduction and one man had come up to her with a blade. She had never been more afraid, more convinced that this was how she was gonna go. But he just walked up behind her and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back. She had been screaming throughout the whole process. Then she heard the sound and felt the sensation that made her realize he had just cut it all of. Well, most of it anyway.

Remove any inconvenience, she realized that after.

It still felt weird, not having it hang down her back and it still looked like someone had cut it off for her. Longer there, shorter on other ends and altogether aggressively shaped.

She actually didn’t mind the length. Just the way it reminded her of how for five whole weeks her life and body had not belonged to her.

Can’t think about it, Anna.

She reminded herself and walked out of the bathroom, the chilly air there rising goose-bumps on her skin. The closet was fully equipped with clothes. She let out a sigh of relief before she pulled out a sports-bra, panties, a t-shirt, jeans and socks. With each item of clothing she put on she felt her weight-loss even more, the clothes all a size too big which would have normally fitted her just fine, but now she just looked like a sad potato sack.

Stop pitying yourself, the voice in her head snapped back at her. Just eat a few pizzas more and you’ll be right back to normal, if that’s what you want to call it…

She shook her head as she aggressively brushed her wet and knotty hair. Out of all things, this would be the last to be dealt with. She sure as hell had more important things on her plate.

She stormed out of her room and whirled around, observing the rest of the hallway. Last time she checked it was just after eight. She didn’t know when the rest of the Avengers would get up and start their day, but she had already heard more voices coming from downstairs behind the closed door of her room. She stepped back downstairs and immediately locked eyes with another man.

“Hello.” She spoke and approached the man in his forties who was sitting at the table, eating breakfast, surprisingly sitting there all by himself. He looked at her almost comically timidly, yet his eyes were kind and he pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “Good morning.” He stammered in a soft voice and managed a hesitant smile. His face looked familiar. Well, he was an Avenger after all, but which one…

She sat down on the opposite seat of him. He looked at her like a puppy. Pretty lost, with big eyes and messy curls of dark hair on his head.

He cleared his throat “Are- I mean, how, how are you doing?” He finally managed. “I’m… good. Thank you.” Considering… “So” She squirmed in her seat, watching him wipe his hands on his pants “Which one are you again? I’m sorry for asking, I’m really bad at remembering faces.” She chuckled. “Oh, no worries. It happens all the time actually. I guess my green and big alter ego is perhaps more popular than I am, huh?” He smiled nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the sad truth. Of cause.

“You’re-“ “Bruce Banner.” He reached out his hand across the table and she shook it. She was astonished by how similar their facial features were despite looking completely different once he had changed into this Hulk-man…

“It’s very nice to meet you, Annabelle.” He said and she wasn’t surprised that he knew her name. They all had to know after all. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” She smiled and sat back into her chair. “So, when do they usually get up?” She looked around. Bucky had vanished from his previous position on the couch and wasn’t in the kitchen either.

“The others? I don’t know, Steve is usually the first one to get out of the house to take a jog in the park or something…” He looked over his shoulder as well. “But the others should’ve been here already I think. I- I don’t know, really…” He muttered. “Okay.” She sighed “I just hoped I could-“ “Finally get it over with?” He chuckled. “Oh, no. It’s not-“ “Don’t worry, I get it.” He reassured her. “It can be strange, coming to a place like this. Seeing all the others and thinking; why am I even here?” She scrunched up her nose and smiled back “Yeah. Sort of.” “Well, then. Welcome to the club.” He ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Hm. Is this what this is, though.” She mumbled more to herself than to anybody else, but he still heard her question. “I don’t… I’m not sure, really.” He sighed, looked almost guilty. “We are here to help you; I don’t know what comes after that.” “So you don’t know what will happen to me?” “Well, that’s” He shook his head, looking down at his plate and letting out a desperate laugh “That’s difficult to answer. They- we don’t know what Hydra did to you and… it’s kind of a priority to figuring out the next step. We need to know what they did, what it did to you and what their next approach to this is.” Her mind began to drift away. “What they were planning on doing or the advantage you might’ve given them.”

She sort of figured.

Hydra.

She had heard it on numerous occasions. Bound to a chair, while floating in and out of consciousness, singing in the back of her head like a mantra. Soldiers raising their fists above their heads while screaming that same word as a salute. It all had seemed very Third-Reich-ish.

Her tormenter’s face finally had an unmistaken name.

“Annabelle?” Dr. Banner’s gentle voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Yes?” She didn’t realize her eyes had begun to fill with water until she blinked at him and tears rolled over her face. “Hey, uhm. I- I’m sorry. Gosh, I knew I shouldn’t have said it like that, I mean they just got you out-“ “It’s fine.” She rushed and wiped a hand over her face. “I just, uh…” She looked back at him, the gears inside her head turning. “You’re… the doctor around here, right?” He nodded hesitantly, folding his hands together in front of him. “Well, yes…” “How would you tell what happened to me? Exactly?” He raised his eyebrows at her and shifted in his seat. “Uhm, well. I would start with a blood test, I assume.” “Good.” She nodded and let out a deep breath through her nose. “Then we’ll start with that.”

***

She sat on a treatment couch. Her legs were swinging in the air nervously since she couldn’t bounce them and her hands were gripping onto the leather underneath her. Her heart rate had begun to pick up the minute she had entered the lab. His lab, presumably. It was a different one from when she had woken up the first time in this place. She assumed it was because there were still too many reminders of the places of her captivity. High ceilings, medical equipment, fluorescent light that penetrated her retina… Although everything was way more spacious and the walls were not white and cold, but glass and see-though.

“I guess it’s a lot to get used to at first.” He said, his back turned to her as he gathered a swab and splashed some anti-bacterial, clear liquid onto it.

“The real fun begins once you meet all of them.” He smiled sheepishly to himself “They can be a handful, but I’m sure you will grow to love them.” He turned around and took her left arm into his hand and she bent it to display the crook of her arm to him. He momentarily stopped talking as he saw the partly faded bruises in the whole area that came from the multiple punctures and pricks of the needles, accompanied by a few tiny, tiny wounds where those needles had actually gone under her skin.

He swallowed and pushed his glasses back onto his nose. It truly seemed to be a nervous tick with him. He looked her into the eyes.

“I, uhm… I think it’s better if we take the other arm for now.” He muttered, his voice suddenly very quiet. She nodded.

The right one wasn’t unscathed, but certainly in better condition and he rubbed the pad over her sensitive skin there.

Her heart beat was in her ears by the time she saw the needle and she turned her head as her breathing faltered, then picked up.

“We don’t have to do this right now, Annabelle.” She heard him say, but didn’t look back, just squeezed her eyes shut.

“Anna is fine. Or Annie or something.” She let out a shaky breath “Please just- I want to get this over with.” I need to know what they’ve put inside me.

Bruce heard her unspoken plea and nodded, lining up the needle.

She let out a hiss at the all too familiar pinch. She imagined the blood running out of her in a steady stream and she almost felt like she was going to puke with everything she was holding back. With all those memories wanting to replay themselves in that moment.

Her eyes were closed, yet she suddenly saw a different kind of black filling her vision. The kind she had only felt once before, in the other lab. Before, her eyes were closed, but she still saw the source of light from above her through her eyelids, but suddenly there was a deeper, opaque shade to it and she tore her eyes wide open at the feeling rushing through her veins and into the needle. She was gaping down at it, at Bruce who was still focused on it, but not her. She didn’t know exactly why but she was grateful for that, because something felt off and she had a feeling that if he’d been looking, he would’ve seen it too.

The whole room had changed another shade, but not in color. Something else. The way she perceived things was different. Everything was. The adrenaline made her heart jump and she groaned as she squeezed her eyes shut, covering her hand with them to keep them that way.

“Are you okay?” She felt Bruce’s eyes on her but she couldn’t look at him just yet. “Fine.” She gasped, trying her best not to act out the rush that was coursing through her limbs, making them vibrate with needed action and the tips of her finger tingle almost painfully. She had to keep it in, suppress it, whatever it was.

And just as it subsided, settling back into her unshakable bones she heard his calming voice.

“All done.”

She peeked one eye open. It seemed as if everything was back to normal. He was holding a tissue onto it, putting on a Band-Aid immediately after. Her fingers were still shaking, she realized, so she dug them back into the leather seat.

“You’re pretty pale, should I bring you something? Do you want a glass of water- “? “I’m okay, really.” She smiled at him and he eyed her for another moment before he let go of it and her smile dropped again.

“You’ll tell me if you feel or notice any changes, okay? Any whatsoever.” He looked at her earnestly. “I will.” She replied and jumped off the table onto shaky legs. She played it of by swaying her body to an imaginary tune inside her head.

“I will tell you if I see any changes to your system.” He smiled. “Thank you, Doctor Banner.” She tried raising her arm to shake his hand, but she hissed when she still felt the sting.

“I guess a fist bump will have to do.” She muttered and used her other hand to bump fists with him. He raised a brow at this, but eventually laughed.

“Alright, Anna. You can call me Bruce, by the way.” She smiled back. “Thanks, Bruce. For doing this. I’ll… see you around?” She scratched the back of her head. He nodded and sat into his office chair.

“I’ll see you around.”

.

.

.

Next Chapter

Taglist: 

@humanexile

[handgunz]

Also, no hate from that. I just like debating. You're argument actually made me go rewatch a few pieces of some episodes.

I’m going to go through each of your arguments that you submitted. 

I’m going to go with the stereotypical answer of “Everyone reacts to trauma differently”, but hear me out. This argument is based on the assumption that Killua viewed his upbringing as “traumatic”. From what we have seen, this is far from the case. Yes, he is aware that it’s messed up and not the “norm” for other families, but it was the “norm” for him.

When it comes to trauma it doesn’t matter whether you think it was traumatic or not (when we’re talking about the long-run and subliminal/subconscious behaviors). Your behavior will be affected regardless. 

There are many, many people with PTSD or battered person syndrome who downplay their experiences or don’t even acknowledge them as traumatic whatsoever. Recognizing that trauma was, well, trauma is the first step to recovery. But knowing that what you went through is traumatic isn’t a requirement for the symptoms linked to the trauma itself. Part of the reason why people actually end up going to a therapist is because they have signs of those symptoms even if they haven’t acknowledged the event that caused them was traumatic: flashbacks, self destructive behavior, nightmares, etc. 

Also, there is a certain threshold of pain that pushes your sanity in general and electrocution can definitely take you to that point whether you acknowledge it as normal or not. Even if Killua believes on a conscious level that it was the norm, on a subconscious/primal level people have reflexes or intrusive thoughts that would be stationed there after being tortured to that type of extent. You know when people talk about how their parents used to hit them, so whenever someone would raise their hand for a high-five they would cower or suddenly flinch, jump, or they would seem a little panicked? It’s the exact same thing. Still, there was no effort put into these types of small details when it comes to Killua’s character. 

We see in the Zoldyk Family arc that despite being trained to not feel empathy, Killua is trying to make to make friends (specifically in the flashback with Canary). He differs from his siblings because he has the natural inclination to actually want friends (specifically his own age). When he meets Gon, it comes off as passive curiosity (perhaps a little bit of envy as well) at first. Here’s this kid that’s not only his age, but can also keep up with him during the exam. This kid also is like a ray of sunshine and has friends surrounding him.

No offense but if you are literally trained from birth to feel zero empathy and you’re forced to murder people then it’s pretty damn ooc to try and make friends and empathize with other people. I don’t think you’re really understanding how heavy the weight of killing other people is as well as what that can do to you as a person, it doesn’t even matter if it’s normalized. That kind of radical behavior instilled in you as a child changes you. It alters you. You, and the rest of the fandom, aren’t understanding that you don’t come out of a childhood as brutal and violent as Killua’s with the desire to “make friends.” It just doesn’t work that way.  

Killua was a killer, a murderer. In that type of environment, the empathy is literally cut out of you. There is also no real given reason as to why Killua is the only person in his family who differs and has empathy which doesn’t make sense. If he’s the heir and if his family wanted to make him cold-blooded and ruthless, they would’ve done it. Your point is great when we’re putting all realism aside but we aren’t. The whole point of the post that I wrote was “hey if things were actually realistic for 2 seconds in Hunter x Hunter then how would Killua have really been impacted by his past?”

The case with Bodoro was not due to dissociation. Killua was under Illumi’s control at the time, which also makes sense as to why we don’t see anything similar throughout the story. Killua doesn’t interact with him until he returns for Alluka (at this point, Illumi can’t manipulate him anymore).

Dude… Bodoro’s death was like a single tiny example of how dissociation could look like and how the show would have been better if Killua had more scenes resembling that one where he’s dissociated. It wasn’t even one of my points.

I went on to say: “if Killua did have issues with dissociation, he should have had more times when he would have dissociated to that level during certain times of stress (perhaps feeling trapped against stronger enemies would have been a perfect time to trigger that type of dissociation).” There was no argument that you gave for that. 

On the contrary, I think this shows who Killua is under the control of Illumi vs who is he without being controlled by Illumi. Bisky points out that Killua’s anxiety was a product of overbearing love, which isn’t wrong. Illumi placed the needle in Killua to protect him (good intentions, poor execution). Which leads me to believe that Killua did not have thehesitation when facing stronger opponents, despite the years and years of training and conditioning that taught otherwise.

Also, after removing the needle, while he does gain much more confidence, he doesn’t quite do a complete 180. He still has enough common sense to knock Gon out and get the hell out of dodge when they’re faced with Pitou.

You are completely missing the entire point. 

I never said the needle scene was a bad scene in general. I never said any of the panicked scenes with Killua were bad. The topic of the whole post was as follows: “My problem with Killua Zoldyck is that I personally believe that his response to the trauma from his family isn’t portrayed as significantly as it should be.” The reason why the needle scene with Illumi fucking sucks is because Killua’s insecurity…had nothing to do with his upbringing…it was a result of the needle that was taken out and suddenly it was all better and he felt no anxiety like before when it came to challenging stronger opponents. 

Instead of his self esteem and terror regarding larger foes being a problem that could be worked through, it was taken away in an instant and like I said, it had nothing to do with his upbringing. That’s the main problem. 

I don’t even know what you’re trying to say or what you’re trying to counter because I’m pretty sure you misunderstood what I said. 

Also saying he “didn’t really do a 180″ is absolute nitpicking. Obviously he didn’t become the literal opposite of what he was before, a 180 is a figure of speech. I was trying to say that there was no linear or visual progression between: 

> losing his fucking shit while going against Rammot

> and being completely confident against every single damn Chimera Ant fight after Rammot 

Also, full offense but “He still has enough common sense to knock Gon out and get the hell out of dodge when they’re faced with Pitou” is a trash point considering Killua knocked Gon out in Episode 85 and Killua actually tore the needle out in Episode 94. 

So. 

Yeah. 

This goes back to my point stating that there are points in Killua’s past that show his training (at least the emotional side of it) didn’t take as well as his family wanted it too. Him running away from home in the first place is a prime example of this. He even says that he didn’t want his entire life planned out for him. Problem child? Absolutely.

Reread what I said in response to your second point. It’s pretty much the same response and I don’t feel like copy-pasting it again just to make this post longer. 

However, if you look at the timeline of these things occurring, you’ll notice that Killua still hadn’t completely acknowledged that he wanted to be Gon’s friend. At this point, it was still kind of a “Oh, you’re neat. I’m going to see how this plays out” type of thing. The more he is around Gon, the more he wants to be “worthy” of his friendship.

In conclusion, it all comes down to the fact that despite how many of us would react to growing up as Killua did, there are plenty of situations that one person would see as traumatic, but the one actually living it is completely adjusted to the situation. It’s just how things are. Just because it is pointed out by several other characters in HxH how horrible Killua’s upbringing must’ve been, doesn’t mean Killua is scarred from it.

I think I’m frustrated now that I’m at the end of this because you completely missed almost all the points I was trying to say. Also I think “Just because it is pointed out by several other characters in HxH how horrible Killua’s upbringing must’ve been doesn’t mean Killua is scarred from it” might be the saddest thing I’ve read all day. 

Because I literally never ever said that Killua is scarred from his past. 

In fact the entire point of the damn post was that Killua wasn’t scarred and he should have been because realistically if you’re raised in a household full of a bunch of assassins who force you to murder people and torture you with electrocution, beatings, and God knows what else for over a decade then you would be scarred. Killua was clearly not as scarred as any actual human being would have been after coming out of that situation. 

You can’t be like “well it’s debatable if you would get scarred or not haha” because that’s complete and utter BS. It’s just not realistic in any aspect? Like I said, even if you completely dismiss everything else that happened to Killua and just settle on the fact that he was electrocuted for years during his childhood you can’t say that someone wouldn’t be traumatized from that. 

Do yall even do research on electrocution torture? 

Do yall even know how numbingly painful that is? 

Electrocution torture alone has the capacity to give you brain damage, and straight from Killua’s wiki it says: “As a child, Killua was trained to endure large amounts of electricity. His older brother Milluki often electrocuted him for training and punishment. As a result, he is able to withstand high-voltage electrical currents while retaining his full mental and physical faculties.” It says “high-voltage” and in the first sentence it says “trained to endure large amounts of electricity.” 

I can’t believe yall are gonna tell me with a straight face that a human child being electrocuted and tortured wouldn’t be mentally scarring. That’s so wild.