#and writing on here seems more like screaming to an empty void than ever. hard to think sb actually cares and why should they

[emotionalmessss]

Dead End Pt 3

A/N: I didn't think that I would be expanding on this anymore, but I got a few requests to, so here you go. :) (really quickly edited, sorry for any mistakes)

Synopsis: chrollo comes back for his ex-girlfriend who managed to escape his grasp. Non-canon. No spoilers.

Warnings: implied violence, implied murder, yandere, obsession, manipulation, chrollo is a piece of shit, reader is at her wits end, kidnapping, forced relationship, isolation. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Word count: 4.1K

It had been nearly three days since Chrollo and I were reunited. If you can even qualify kidnapping as being reunited. Three fucking days of being stuck in a singular hotel room with nothing to do. Luckily, Chrollo spent most of his time away from me, dealing with whatever business he wiggled himself into. While he was away, he granted me the privilege of being allowed to use the television. He even went as far as to bring me some books to occupy myself from his absence. 

But nothing could fill the void of emptiness that grew inside of me. The feeling only magnified when I would roll over from the soft sheets and see that there was a note on his side of the nightstand. 

I’ll be back by dinner. Make sure to eat. Enjoy and behave. 

Love, 

Chrollo.  

Love. It was a funny word to me now. I knew that this treatment was far from the act of being loved. The thought of It made the insides of my stomach knot up, clawing their way to the back of my throat. I couldn’t even fathom ever loving a man like Chrollo. I believe that in his own twisted way he does love me, but the feeling was not returned.

Everything that he did was just him attempting to prove that he had control over me. That was it .   

Even when he wasn’t here, he was always trying to show the power he held over me. Even in the most subtle of ways. I was brought food once a day by room service when he was absent, knowing that this was a show of it. He knew that I wouldn’t even think about trying to escape or ask for help, because he would kill every single person in this hotel if I tried. Chrollo knew that I would never put the lives of others in danger for my own. 

As much as I yearned for the freedom I had worked so hard for, I wasn’t ready to take that kind of leap. Yet . 

I rolled over slightly, tossing the note onto the ground after crumpling it. I often found myself doing petty things like this. Sometimes I wouldn’t even eat the food that Chrollo sent to our room, just to piss him off. He didn’t really seem to care, but it has only been a few times. That only pissed me off more. His stupid calm expression, that tiny smile that pulled at his lips whenever I would scream at him - I hated everything about him. 

The only times that I could escape him briefly were in my dreams. For those few short hours, I was at peace. I often found myself back at home. My real home. Surrounded by my friends and my family. I woke up crying, missing those small moments with my friends and family and dreading the present. I would give anything to go back to those times and re-write my future. I would have walked in the other direction as soon as I saw that raven haired monster, his real self concealed by a gentleman act. 

It would be a lie if I said I didn’t enjoy the beginning of our relationship. Chrollo showered me with affection and anything that I have ever desired. He made me feel safe, and protected. He brought security into my life when I had none. And he tore it all away from me all the same. 

There wasn’t much to do in here and I had gotten bored of reading and watching the TV after a few hours. 

I would kill to have my phone back in my possession, even only for a moment. I had managed to make a very few select friends during my time away from Chrollo. With my sudden and unexplained absence - they were probably worried about me, because I told them nothing about my past. It was better to say nothing than to try and explain the situation. It would only put them at risk. It would be nice to at least tell them that I was okay and not to worry. 

I sighed, checking the time on the analogue alarm clock next to me. 

4:35PM

It was only a matter of time before Chrollo came back and I hadn’t even moved a muscle, nor did I really want to. My body was weighed down heavily with mental fatigue. My bones felt like they were filled with lead, making me want to stay curled up in bed all day. I knew that I was starting to feel depressed, but I didn’t want to admit it. My thoughts needed to be clear if I ever wanted to escape. 

Just as my thoughts had predicted, I heard the front door opening and closing soon after.   

I shifted over in the direction of the sound, pulling the blankets down slightly as I watched Chrollo step inside. He was still wearing his suit and bandana, but he was carrying some bags alongside him. His eyes met mine for a moment before shifting towards the table in the corner. 

I moved my gaze away from him, flipping over and facing the wall instead. 

“You haven’t touched any of the food I’ve ordered for you.” He hummed in thought. “Why is that?” 

“No appetite.” I grumbled back, not really wanting to talk to him. I curled up further into the soft blankets, caccooning myself from his stare. 

“You need to eat, darling. Would you prefer I order you something else? I know that-” I cut him off before he could finish what he was saying. His voice was like nails on a chalkboard and I couldn’t handle it anymore. 

“I’m not fucking hungry. That’s usually what happens when you’re trapped in a fucking room with no human interaction for days.” I gritted, pushing myself up from my laying down position. 

Chrollo watched me from the end of the bed, his expression stoic and unnerving. His hands were still holding on the white bags that had tissue paper sticking out of it. His eyes were scanning over me, calculating his next moves carefully. 

“I see.” He said. “You’ll be happy to know that I have made plans for us tonight, so you won’t be trapped in this fucking room for much longer.” Chrollo shifted slightly, moving towards me as he placed the bag onto the edge of the bed. 

I glanced down at it. I could tell just by looking at the bag that whatever was inside of it was expensive and well beyond anything that I could ever dream to afford. This isn’t a surprise to me, as Chrollo often bought things that were way out of what I would ever think of purchasing for myself. I stopped asking why by the third time he spoiled me with a purse or piece of clothing that costed three times my rent. 

I wouldn’t lie, it did feel nice at first. 

“What plans?” I asked, genuinely curious at his proposition. 

“I booked us a reservation at the restaurant downstairs. You’ll feel much better after you eat.” His lips pulled into a small smile that never reached his eyes. 

Ignoring his last sentence, which clearly wasn’t true in the slightest, I adjusted myself against the headboard. “What if I don’t want to go?” 

Chrollo’s head tilted ever so slightly, like he was challenging my words silently. “You were just complaining about being stuck in this room, and now that you have the opportunity to go out, you don’t want to?” 

I clenched my teeth at him. “That wasn’t what I meant and you know that.” 

Chrollo pushed the bag towards me slowly. “No matter. We’re going. Tonight is a special night.” 

I gave him a quizzical look, my brows pulling together as I watched him go towards the sofa. He pulled up his dress pants slightly before he sat down, adjusting himself accordingly. 

Before I could ask what he meant by that, he was speaking up again. “Your clothes are in the bag. We don’t have much time.” He didn’t even glance up from his book that was now opened, instead he focused on the contents that looked to be in some different language. 

I found myself grabbing the bag and storming off towards the bathroom, grumbling to myself and slamming the door shut. I made sure that the door was locked before showering and doing everything that I needed to do. I put on a little bit of makeup and fixed my hair, which took me longer than I would’ve liked since I hadn’t done it in awhile. I couldn’t remember the last time that I had gotten all dressed up. 

My hands reached out for the bag, pulling out the tissue paper and dropping it onto the counter. I pulled out the dress, my eyes taking in every detail as I scoffed. It was beautiful. Of course it was fucking beautiful. I slipped on the smooth satin dress, looping my arms through the thin spaghetti straps. 

The fabric was incredibly soft, hugging the sides of my torso before flaring out slightly by my hips. There was a slit traveling half way up my left thigh, showing off my legs. If I moved too quickly I surely would flash somebody. The material left very little to the imagination as it hugged my figure tightly.  

“Bastard.” I hissed.

I pushed open the bathroom door, walking back over to where Chrollo sat. He must’ve heard my soft footsteps on the carpet because he finally looked up from his book. His eyes met mine for a moment before he slowly scanned over my body. I heard the soft snap of his book closing before he pushed himself off the couch. 

Something other than lack of interest crossed his features for once, his eyes narrowing on my body as he took a step forward. 

“I knew this would look great on you.” He reached out for my hand, bringing it up to his lips before placing a soft kiss on my pale skin. “You look stunning.” 

I pulled my hand away, not too fast, but quick enough to let him know that I didn’t want him touching me. 

“Thank you.” I looked away from his unrelenting stare, instead focusing on the ground. 

“We’re leaving now, I don’t want to be late.” Chrollo stepped closer to me again, his arm wrapping around my waist as he guided me towards the front door. 

I followed him closely, the rough material of his suit brushing up against my arms. His arm was tucked into the crook of my waist, pulling me along slowly. I carefully balanced on my feet, scared that I would fall on these ridiculously tall heels. Whether Chrollo picked these out because he thought they were nice, or because I wouldn’t be able to run in them - I had no idea. 

“I want you to behave tonight. No running. No screaming. No asking for help.” Chrollo broke the silence that floated in the air as we descended in the elevator. 

I rested my ass against the railing, giving my feet a small break from standing straight. I fiddled with my nails, choosing to ignore his words. Did he really think that I’d try running away from him while surrounded by hundreds of innocents? Obviously not. He was smarter than that. He wanted me to know that I couldn’t do anything. That I would have to be on my best behavior tonight for the safety of others.

“You’ve been good lately, let’s keep it that way.” His tone was firm and warning, his body turning slightly towards me. 

I held back a snarky remark at his words, reminding myself that this was not the time. 

“You don’t have to remind me.” I said, pushing myself off the rail as the doors opened. 

“Good girl.” He cooed, his arm finding my waist once again. 

We slowly made our way through the lobby, which was almost empty at this time. There were a few people hovering around the front desk, more than likely checking into their rooms. Another group of people occupied the couches near the front doors. I noticed a woman resting against the back of the couch, holding onto her child, rocking back and forth while cooing softly in his ear. She smiled as she swayed, kissing the top of his head. She must’ve felt me staring as we passed because she looked up for a moment. Her soft eyes found mine and she smiled, which I returned before glancing back forward. 

I moved my eyes up to glance at Chrollo’s expression, which hadn’t changed. His eyes were directed forward while his lips smiled slightly. I didn’t want him thinking that I was trying to signal for help, which I clearly wasn’t. 

We approached the entrance for the restaurant, it was located in the far left side of the lobby, near the sliding front doors. The lighting was dim, which was a complete difference between the brightness of the lobby. It took my eyes a few moments to adjust as we stepped inside, blinking my eyes rapidly to see better in the sudden darkness. 

I felt Chrollo’s hand drop from my waist as he approached the podium, leaning over and whispering something at the host. The man nodded and grabbed two menus, waiting for us to follow suit. 

My legs moved before my brain had time to process, planting myself back at Chrollo’s side as we made our way to our table. The restaurant wasn’t overly busy, but most of the patrons never glanced up from their tables as we crossed paths. I teetered on my heels slightly as Chrollo pulled out the small chair for me, his lips cracked with a genuine smile. 

The host passed us both menus before letting us know that our waiter would be with us soon. 

I perched myself awkwardly on the chair, not wanting to accidentally ride my dress up further than it already had. The ambience of the restaurant was perfect and I felt very out of place by being here. Luckily it was pretty dim in here, and nobody would be able to tell just how uncomfortable I looked from where we sat.  

Shifting my butt against the chair, I looked up at Chrollo, who was staring at me. He looked like he was admiring me, in his own sick way, but I couldn’t be sure. 

“It’s a shame that you haven’t been out in such a long time, darling. Someone as beautiful as you doesn’t deserve to be living the way you were.” Chrollo mused, opening his menu and flipping through the pages casually. 

My mouth parted slightly at his condescending words, feeling them sting at my heart slightly. He’s kidding, right? He is the reason I had to jump from place to place, living at the bare minimum for months on end. My face attempted to mask the irritability that etched across it. 

“It’s funny that you would say that, Chrollo.” I started, pushing myself closer to the table. “If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve been just fine.” I opened up my menu, distracting myself with the options of overpriced dishes. 

I heard Chrollo sigh slightly,  his eyes moved away from his menu and back up to mine as soon as the last sentence left my lips. I could tell that he was irritated just by the slightest shift in his eyes, but he easily masked the annoyance with another grin. 

“On the contrary darling, I’ve provided you with everything that you could ever want.” Chrollo grinned more, his annoyance hidden within his dark eyes. I could feel a small linger of hurt in his aura, but it was miniscule. Almost as if he was pricked by a small pin, causing nothing more than a pinch. 

He went to continue, only to be stopped by our waiter approaching our table. He smiled warmly at the two of us before speaking up, “Can I get you guys started with anything to drink?” 

Chrollo ordered a bottle of some fancy red that I wasn’t particularly interested in drinking, but it would help me get through his company. He also decided that he would order for both of us, more than enough appetizers and entrees for two people. His menu snapped closed and I felt mine disappear from my grip. Snapping out of my daze, Chrollo was smiling softly at me as the waiter disappeared towards the back with a thanks. 

“What if I didn’t want the steak?” I asked, deadpanned. 

Chrollo placed the small napkin across his lap and smiled. “You love steak.” 

“Maybe I don’t anymore.” I replied, childishly. 

“Don’t be so stubborn and ruin a special evening, darling.” There was a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

My eyes locked onto his and furrowed my brows. “You said that earlier. Why is tonight special?” 

Chrollo hummed, not giving me an answer. This annoyed me. There could be any explanation on why tonight was so special , and not knowing made me anxious. I remember him briefly mentioning that Feitan was in the city and helping him, but he said nothing more. I tried my best to avoid knowing about his business with the Troupe, mostly because I didn’t want to be involved in the sick things that they did. 

I pulled myself closer to the table and leaned down closer to him. “Chrollo.”

“Feitan and I finished our work here, so tomorrow we can go back home. I know you’ve been feeling isolated lately.” He smiled up at me, but I could tell that he wasn’t giving me the full truth. 

There was that hint of glimmer in his eyes that I had recognized months ago, that look of pleasure that only crossed his face in very few circumstances, and most of them were from unspeakable things. This was the second time that I had noticed it since our reunion. The first was in my apartment, when he caged me in. He knew that I had nowhere to go, and then there it was, that sick twisted expression morphing in place to mock me. My body clammed up at the thought and my mind started to reel. 

“That’s it?” I asked, tilting my head to the side as I tried to extract the missing information. “You know that I don’t want to go back there with you, I have my own home now.” Repeating myself for the hundredth time. 

“Oh yes, there's something else I forgot to mention.” Chrollo hummed. I watched as he turned slightly, pulling out a small box from the inside of his jacket pocket. “I picked this up earlier for you.” He carefully placed the box onto the table top in front of me. 

I glanced down at it, unsure of what to make of it. Cautiously, I reached for it, holding onto the small box between my shaky fingers. I stared at it for a few moments, debating on if I really did want to know what was inside. 

“Go on.” Chrollo edged, that same shit eating grin on his face. 

My lungs expanded as I breathed in deeply, pulling at the ribbon on the top of the box. The wrapping paper fell apart in my hands and I pulled open the box, closing my eyes for a moment. Light flooded back into my vision as my eyes dropped to the contents of the box. 

A phone? 

I looked back up to Chrollo in confusion. “It’s a phone? Why?” It was the same phone I had previously, but looked slightly different. I knew this was too good to be true and didn’t make much sense. 

“It’s the same one you had before, but this one is newer.” Chrollo explained softly, his voice lined with a small bit of amusement. 

I clicked open the phone, scanning through it quickly. Everything looked normal. Maybe he was being generous? My gut instincts told me otherwise, he would never be kind without some hidden motives behind his actions. I scrolled through, clicking on every app that was there in search of some hidden deception. 

“I managed to back up a few of your photos from your previous phone.” Chrollo and I made eye contact for a brief moment, noticing that he was smiling genuinely this time, I found my fingers navigating towards the camera roll. “I know how attached you are to your personal memories.” 

My jack slacked open as the app loaded up, revealing immediately new pictures that I did not recognize. My vision swam as my eyes tried to focus on the series of photos that appeared on that tiny screen that I held in my trembling fingers. The curiosity I felt moments ago replaced itself with utter disgust and fear as soon as I saw the pictures of the mutilated bodies. 

The phone slipped from my grip and my hand covered my mouth before a sound could escape. 

My… Friends. He…Killed them all. I shook my head, hand still over my lips as I leaned back against the chair. Tears stung at my eyes, my head swam with fear, making it hard to see straight. 

“What’s wrong, darling? You don’t like your present?” Chrollo cooed. “Maybe next time you should be more grateful for everything I’ve done for you, hm?” He taunted, making me squeak and shake my head faster. 

This is all my fault. He killed them because of me. Every single precaution that I took for them was in vain. I kept them sheltered, hidden from the truth, but it proved to be fruitless. Chrollo inevitably found them and killed them, because he could. This was his payback for me running away. My short lived escape dug me into an even deeper hole than I could have ever imagined. 

I choked back a sob, glancing around the restaurant. No one knew what was happening here, they were all too busy enjoying their food or deep into their conversations - while I sat, crying, shaking, furious. This is why Feitan was in town. His torture methods. He helped Chrollo. I gritted my teeth together so hard that I thought they’d shatter. 

“You- you- you fucking monster.” I hissed, my red eyes meeting his gaze. 

My fists clenched beneath the table, chest rising and falling in anger. “You fucking-” 

“My apologies for the wait.” The waiter interrupted me before I could spew out a slurry of curses at Chrollo. 

He set down the wine glasses, filling them up with the red liquid. I gagged slightly and tore my eyes away from the crimson liquid that looked a little bit too much like blood right now. My face flushed and I looked anywhere but at Chrollo, fearing that I wouldn’t be able to hold myself back. 

“Your food should be out soon, is there anything else I can get you both?” I refused to look up at the nice man, knowing that my expression would certainly have him concerned for my well being.   

“No, that should be good for now, thank you.” Chrollo nodded, smiling cheerfully. 

I remained glued to my seat, fighting the urge to run away, knowing that it would probably do no good. But I couldn’t fight off the strong desires my brain sent to my nerves to flee and never return. 

“Aren’t you going to have any wine? It might calm your nerves.” He spoke, his voice hidden with a small sense of faux concern. 

Tears flowed down my face as I looked back up at him. “You are a disgusting human, if you even qualify as human.” I seethed, teeth gritted together. “You’re sick in the head if you think I’ll ever be with yo-” 

“Enough.” Chrollo snapped, hushing my next words as he brought the glass of wine up to his lips. “You don’t want to make a scene, it would be a shame to have to kill an entire restaurant, but I’m not against it.” He warned, placing the glass down. 

My mouth hung open. “I’m also not opposed to killing a mother and an infant.” He continued, referring to the couple that I had smiled at in the lobby. 

A soft gasp left my lips and more tears of hate blurred my vision. I felt my entire body begin to tremble again, whether it was from the hate boiling up in my stomach or fear, I had no idea. 

“Now, be a good girl for me and let’s not spoil the rest of this evening.” My eyes once again met his. His hair loosely framed his dark eyes which seemed to read into my mind. 

There was no escaping him.

#yandere chrollo #yandere #chrollo hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #chrollo lucifer x reader #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x oc #long reads #obsession #kidnapped reader #phantom troupe #chrollo

[stalwart-spirit]

for the one word prompt list: "confusion" for soleil!

Okay, I thought the last one went out of control but this one REALLY did.

It's a long one, starting on confusion and spiralling from there. Not proofread, we die like men at almost 3am. Mature language, general bastardry and void stuff.

"I don't know how you slept through the night with what happened! Isn't House Delacroix not far from you?"

"It was only by morning when I saw all the guards posted up and down the street that I found out!"

--

The state of the room could only be described as utter chaos. Desk chair toppled, drawers pulled and contents scattered across the floor, it wouldn't be hard to believe if this was the result of a robbery.

But no, the culprit was there, haggard and exhausted. Nothing more than a noble man at his wits end.

Soleil grips his hair in his hands, normally so well kept and maintained, now a frazzled and near tangled mess. Through gritted teeth, he curses. Frustration based in raw, unfiltered confusion.

"Fuck! Who was last in here? The maids? No. They're forbidden from the study-"

It's cold, freezing, that pit of dread in his chest.

Normally there it laid, a filigree lockbox upon the desk. Once containing jewellery, probably some collection of honestly worthless gifts from some previous admirer he didn't bother remembering, now used to contain something that Soleil in his own eyes deemed of much more value.

Years of study, leveraging what good carrying his father's name as the only son to House Delacroix, to get what he needed. Worn tomes that at a glance would seem nothing more than textbooks well past their prime, written by some long dead and deluded scholar. A cluster of bewildering writing, honest to gods ramblings of a madman. To the young lord however, each was worth their weight in gold.

To be caught with such studies would be heresy. Thus, each would be committed to memory, put immediately to practise, before the tainted scriptures were burned on the pyre. All this, accumulating in a summoning from the void, the entity brought forth by the stench of blood-candles and swiftly contained in a crystaline vessel imbued with his own aether.

A vessel now missing.

No one else could enter here. A study passed down to him from his father, his to do as he pleased. Somewhere intended to work on the house's trades, though repurposed into his own refuge of void related studies. There were only two keys, his and-

It's a whirlwind. Door thrown fully open to its hinges to slam against the adjacent wall, hurried footsteps thumping on the buffed wooden floors.

Blind rage is what sends Soleil running to the parlour room.

--

"To think, the Lord of the house slain in the night and his son not in any better condition."

"Oh please, I really try and not think about it, it's just so ghastly!"

--

Muffled words through the rushing of blood in his ears.

"Should have kept you on a tight leash, knowing how much of an arrogant boy are."

Head hurts.

"To think my worry was placed in thinking you'd be off gallivanting and shirking off your duties to this house, spreading your seed in whatever peasant whore took interest in you that evening."

Nails digging into his palms.

"I'll be reporting this in the morning, I can at least show you a modicum of decency by letting you know. Far more than you've ever given me."

Something snaps.

It takes time until Soleil noticed the deafening sound was coming from him, voice tearing through his throat in an enraged scream as he lunged forward, going to grasp for the crystal only to send it toppling downward.

It's as if all light is sucked out of the room in an instant, removed of all warmth and life as both men are thrown to the other side of the parlor from a sudden force, the empty space previously between them now stood a figure; abnormal, oddly proportioned and tilted at an angle, draped in what appeared to be shifting fabric made from blackened, necrosed flesh. An eyeless face takes in its surroundings and finally lay on the two men gaining their bearings.

A hungry maw salivates.

One man stands, one hand rested against a toppled table, the other raised forward, palm bloody from deep gashes from his nails.

"Remember. I brought you here. I wasn't ready yet, but I am now. I can get you what you need."

Soleil's hand now gestures towards the petrified figure of his father, a man barely able to comprehend the sight before him.

"First with him, then more. I know how. If there's none to feed you, you are free to take some of my own aether."

The creature stays silent in contemplation, the passing seconds feeling like hours. Eternity. Until a voice of no discerning source breaks through, surprisingly warm, wrapping around the young lord like lush exotic silks.

"A veritable wellspring for me to drink from... For a lifetime."

--

"Look! There he is now!"

"My, what was it you were saying about him being no better off than his late father?"

"I'd imagine he afforded only the best chirurgeons to look after him!"

The young lord steps out into the snow covered streets, long hair blowing in the blustering wind. All things considered, it looked nothing more than him losing on a night's sleep.

Found unconscious, bleeding beside the body of his father. With the state of the study and parlour, it was assumed a theft gone wrong, nothing more.

In the passing days, he'd take up the mantle of Lord Delacroix, attending to assets left by the deceased, and not long after setting his sights to travel outside of the Holy See of Ishgard, to the adventuring lifestyle not befitting of a lord. Turbulent, necessitating violence at times.

A hunger for bloody battle, insatiable.

#Soleil is a freak with a ton of aether #probably renews it fast from his lavish lifestyle so he's a buffet for his reaper voidsent buddy #also i have a visual for the voidsent i gotta draw up one day lol #god i fear tagging this but whatever #ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv questions #please forgive the “oof ouch the edge” and my out of practise writing

[loumauve]

me.. simply taking out the trash when it is full. simply washing clothes when they need to be washed. simply taking a shower like a normal person.. it's more likely than you (I) think

#I mean I still struggled making it happen but I did it. only dishes and snail care left which I'll tackle in the morning #why is this still such a pain. why did I have to spend the entire day feeling slightly off kilter and hella sick - who knows #I just want to go back to being a responsible capable being but it's such a struggle to make even the smallest things happen #all I ate today was two kohlrabi and I didn't even think to make food it just didn't come to mind which is still pretty bad #I know I told the lady during the interview that I believe I can handle the six weeks with them but tbh I'm not so sure #could be I go there and fail on every level and they tell me to go back to more sick leave and recovery #it just feels like I haven't made a single bit of progress in the past year and a half and it fucking sucks #I don't want to be this person who can't even cope with life anymore. this isn't me #and writing on here seems more like screaming to an empty void than ever. hard to think sb actually cares and why should they #that's not their purpose in life. I need to just do this on my own somehow #like I used to for all these years before I pretty much just fell apart #sometimes therapy teaching you to feel things again just fucks you up beyond recognition #sometimes introspection and hope and wishing for connection just set you up for disappointment and failure #idk #I'm so tired. somehow this kind of depressed is worse than the one I dealt with for the previous decade and a half #somehow not dissociating actually did make it a lot worse to deal with. I mean I was advised this might happen #I guess I just didn't think this much bad shit would happen right after we made some progress with that #who could have known there would be three deaths in one year and mobbing at work and more stress than I thought possible at once #I thought getting through my exams was the hard part but nah it was everything that came after #what was supposed to be an achievement to be proud of (Vorarbeiter at 28) turned into absolute fucking hell #I just wanted an average normal fucking settled life working as a gardener for the city but this has been a fucking nightmare and a half #I miss being happy. it was only there for a few months but it was amazing. and those two weeks of absolute bliss.. would give anything #would give anything to feel that again #anyway. I know only like two people will read this and to them: thank you. I appreciate you #I guess I'd just rather not exist right now at least until things get better again #everything I had looked forward to. all the plans I'd make have kind of just burned away into ash and smoke and it makes me sad #but I don't blame anyone or the circumstances either. I just wish I could be more hopeful that things will happen again someday #but right now there isn't any hope left in this box of mine #I should go to bed. this is pointless ruminating and it's not helping me

[sunsents]

Empty - F.W (1/2)

Gah daym this was a JOURNEY to write. I swore to myself to never write angst because, well I suck at it. But here we are, I swear this has a good ending because my heart can't bear that. I could've written this much better, so I promise to bring my A GAME for chapter 2. Enjoy, also Lee in this is a hate crime. This is very story telling-esk so I hope it flows well.

I wouldn't have written this chapter without the help of my good friend @mochiixjimin she helped me edit and spice up this whole thing so thank you so much to her! She's an amazing writer, go check out her work and show her some big love right now or else!! her wattpad

Chapter 1 out of 2 (Backstory)

Summary —> Life has always been a cruel joke to you, yet you simply play along. Overshadowed by Eva Burke your whole life, watching from the sidelines while everyone flooded each other with love, it would always feel like a joke.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST (with a fluffy ending in the second part) / One mature scene (18+) and then it's angst again <3 / Some slander / Offensive language

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

You were a bright child.

Beaming bright enough to keep a tight lipped smile during flu-shots, and enough to put on a happy façade when your dad threw away the drawing you had done of your family dog, rather than hang it up on the fridge.

Children have foolish dreams, and that was yours. Your friends in preschool boasted about their pictures being hung like trophies on fridges, with decorative magnets and even bigger pink bow ties.

The fridge in the Y/L/N manor was empty. Always empty, just how Ms. Y/L/N liked it. Empty marble floors with empty rug designs, and empty rooms with even emptier people living in it. They were both empty people. Hollow and void of any emotion, at least towards you.

You were different though. You were filled to the brim with ambition and hope and so many positive emotions that your parents never seemed to reflect on you. You were like those Disney princesses. The princesses always had hope, and when you have hope good things happen.

Right?

Your dad never meant to give you false hope. He just wished you’d keep your mouth shut as he worked until late hours. Using big words and having big aspirations, you shouldn’t have.

Mr and Mrs Y/L/N weren't bad people per say, just busy. They didn't know how to raise a child, this was obvious, because the purpose of even having a child was to fix their marriage. But a temporary fix wouldn't do it, it never did. There was always that hole on the roof, leaking rain of despair into their falsely built home that no bucket big enough could hold back. Because it always found a way to overflow.

They didn't know how to show their love, so they did it with money, clothes, toys and crayons that you would later use to draw pictures of your family, only to have them end up in the dumpster once again.

They spoiled you rotten, bought you gifts you never even dreamed of asking. You just shut up and enjoyed it, what else could you do? Whine and demand attention? Risk losing their favor? There was no favor to lose.

You got yourself a fat A plus on your third grade math test. Star stickers on your chest, you entered through the glass double doors of your house with a crooked smile - two front teeth missing of course - making your joy all the more endearing. Your backpack strapped tightly over your narrow shoulders, hanging low with all the crammed books you pushed before leaving school because you were just so excited to show your parents.

You received a big sloppy kiss from your Nanny, who practically was like a second mom to you, and dashed right into your fathers office to show him your new accomplishment.

"Good job, I'm proud of you."

You froze. You found a way to actually get their attention. The attention you so craved, the recognition you would die for. This was revolutionary. Basically a new era for you.

Nanny made you a star shaped cake that night, and sat with you while gently stroking your hair and listening to you blabber about how easy the math questions were. It felt warm, motherly love. Even if it was false, it would never compare to the love of your own mother, a love you would never get.

You spent all your night studying, your eyes burning under the harsh light of your lamp in the early mornings and your pencil, ebbing away over sheets and sheets of blank paper. Writing away your little hands off until they ached, just to snatch another A and get a good job.

This was good, it worked out very well. You became that student who looked forward to class, just to get a good grade and have the validation of your parents. The sight of your father’s lips quirk up even in the slightest, and how your mother’s eyes shone briefly in appreciation of your hard work, even if it was for a quick second, it was worth it.

Until the new neighbors moved in.

Mr. Burke was a round, cheerful man with an even rounder belly, and a big fat pipe that always hung on his lips. Mrs Burke looked and acted like those fairy godmothers you adored. You couldn’t believe such people existed. Mr Y/L/N invited them over for dinner, for courtesy. He was not happy about said courtesy.

He ended up liking the couple, they had a little daughter called Eva, who was small and adorable with round red cheeks and big doe eyes. Not only Mr and Mrs Burke, but the Y/L/N’s adored Eva as well. She was happy, always smiling, and her teeth weren't nearly as crooked as yours, not to mention she had pretty long hair like a princess.

You liked her a lot, took her to pick flowers, showed her the drawings you had prepared for the empty fridge; in case Mr Y/L/N ever had a change of heart and hung them up, you had been trying for three years and weren't giving up any sooner.

Eva was nice, kind enough to share her M&M's and very used to compliments unlike you. She seemed to get a lot from her parents and yours. The adults were so kind to her, always smothering her with love and kisses. You were happy for Eva, happy that Eva somehow managed to gain the favor of your parents before you did.

Little girls tended to be jealous, you weren’t. You were just glad to have a friend so cool, she didn't blush and stutter under praise and apparently her drawings were pretty enough to go on a fridge.

It was a Thursday afternoon when your mom smiled at you for the first time since your last exam grade. "Look, Eva drew us a picture, isn't it pretty?"

The crayola stash under your bed was no longer needed, they appeared clumsily dumped in the neighborhood trash the next day, most of them stomped under the pressure of your little sneakers. And the bundle of drawings you hid under your pillow, wishing on fairy godmother that one day they would be hung up too, were ripped; clearly a struggle given. You had paper cuts on your hands, and your Nanny thankfully applied ointment before Ms and Mr Y/L/N noticed, or rather, stopped to care.

Though you knew that even if you paraded herself with bloody fingers dripping to your elbows, they wouldn't care.

Nanny did, she was there. There when you were haunted with nightmares when the moon was particularly dark, cooing at you and letting you sleep next to her in that small bed of hers. There when you tripped and fell, small scratch resulting in a screaming tantrum. She was gentle, sweet, paid well.

You decided to go and pick flowers with Eva, and make a pretty flower crown for yourself, months after your drawing incident. Of course, you didn't have such silly dreams anymore. You didn’t wish to have your pictures hung, to have your mother wear the flower crowns you made and frankly you didn’t care for the sight of the sparkle in your parents eyes. Nanny’s was enough.

Eva agreed, dressed in a pink tutu Mrs Y/L/N gifted. You didn't comment, though deep down you gazed at the skirt in sparkling envy. Your mother never bothered to get you such pretty things. The two of you gathered saturated petals and nice ribbons while giggling amongst yourselves. Until, you accidentally caused Eva’s flowers to levitate.

Eva ran home, crying and calling you a witch. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N’s dirty looks made her feel shameful, and even dirtier when a letter addressed to her was dropped by a pretty owl you insisted on petting. It was from a school called Hogwarts, in the faraway land of London, and it seemed, not only you but Eva got the same letter the next day.

Though the Y/L/N’s and Burke’s were proud of Eva’s letter. They weren’t with yours.

— — — —

The ride to Hogwarts was interesting to say the least. You had so many questions unanswered, were you a fairy godmother too? Was that your destiny? Was that the reason you never got any attention, because you were destined to give instead of receive?

Eva was cheerful as always, making fast friends in newly bought uniforms and holding a pretty, long and thin wand, with designs flowing across the premise. Your wand was...functional. You were sad you couldn't choose, and that the wand chose the owner. It didn't make sense, what if you didn't want this wand? What if you wanted something charming like Eva’s? It should have been mutual.

It was while trying to find your way to the bathroom that you met the Weasley twins. Quite handsome, a year older and absolute fucktards. A word you learned from the two. Though you always found yourself laughing more at Fred’s jokes, you liked them both equally.

“Hey George! Look.” Fred had exclaimed, clinging onto his brothers shoulder and dragging him across. “Who's that girl?”

You introduced yourself, happy façade on, gentle words slipping out of your mouth like nectar. They had to like you, you told yourself. Just this once, more than Eva.

When sorted into Gryffindor, Eva, you and the twins became inseparable. Your group grew in second year, when Katie, Lee and Alicia Spinnet joined the bunch. You would make fun of the ghastly Potions Professor Snape, and imitate Dumbledore in the hallways to mess with the older students.

You loved your time at Hogwarts, and the adventures that came every year. Especially when Harry Potter joined.

“Hey Fred.”

Fred, who was fiddling with his bracelet you had bought him hummed in response, not bothering to look up.

You sighed, “Do you think the flowers can feel it when we pluck them?”

Fred turned at that, his bracelet was now tightly secure after his struggles. “I hope not.” he smiled, a faraway look on his face whenever he gazed at you. “You know, some people like pain.” he winked.

You merely looked at him confused, clearly way too young for...whatever that is.

He started laughing loudly, slapping his knee and causing you to scoff and slap him on the shoulder.

Third year was when it bloomed. The slight girly attention you gave Fred grew. Fred was...Fred. A handsome ginger, beater for their house's Quidditch team, always charming and charismatic that somehow oozed out of him whenever he did anything really. It was not unusual, every girl in school had a crush on him. That wasn't the case, Fred was one of your best friends, and you refused to entertain the idea of a possible...relationship.

Yet sometimes, you'd find yourself thinking about hugging and kissing Fred like you’d seen couples in your favorite movies did and you’d fall asleep with reddened cheeks and a boy with even redder hair in your mind.

But feelings couldn’t be controlled, nor easily hidden. Eva found out in your fourth year after hearing you mumble his name in your dreams. Fred Weasley was getting more handsome as years passed, and you found it hard to contain your feelings. You were crushing, hard.

Eva was...Eva about it. Happy, but nothing changed. She didn't tease like George did when he found out, nor did she act any differently towards Fred.

“Hey ____!” Fred had sat next to you, shaking the entire couch because he grew that tall during summer. “Got a new girl after me.” he looked at you, almost expectantly, as if you wouldn’t react the way you always reacted.

“That’s great Fred.” you smiled, gulping whatever lump that was forming in your throat and struggling to come out as vulgar words you wished to yell.

“Yeah,” Fred sighed, “It’s...great.”

Fred Weasley was a ladies man, and he wasn't afraid to show it. It was okay, because you were happy enough to be one of his closest, and that was enough. He often boasted about getting girls, and how successful his jokes were, and you always loved snapping back to him cockily, even more cockily than him. Playful banter was easy, comforting between them and when he turned away you would love to shyly entertain the idea of being one of those girl’s Fred talked about.

Fifth year, you had a sudden growth spurt. That was also the year where you discovered Cosmopolitan, Vogue and of course Witch Weekly. Hair no longer in a ponytail, legs shaved and smooth, short skirts with no nylons, you were a new person. After getting your period in third year, your spurt came late, but sudden. Way too sudden in the time of three months. It was hard to handle the changes occurring to your body. It was all too much that you had to become a lady and the fact that you didn’t have your mother to help was a pain you hid deep within.

It was as if whichever god above decided to squeeze your entire life into a summer and call it a day, because it was simply too busy. How ironic. No one saw your growth except old Nanny Gladys. Not Eva, nor her parents considering they went on a getaway and the Burke's, who had gone to Brazil.

But you were over that, you discovered the great telephone, and the great Hermione Granger, package deal with Ginny Weasley. You guys would talk on the phone for hours upon hours, Ginny obscuring your personality and Hermione altering your view on your parents. And Hermione was right, they were assholes. You didn't give a flying fuck about empty praises anymore.

You had become almost too tall for your older clothes, and your breasts were way too big to fit in the training bra you bought not even a month ago. Your hips, now wide and swaying as you walk became graceful, were decorated with long gem bracelets.

You cursed like a sailor that summer, ran around fields with family - your family being your dog, Jambo - bare feet. You stomped on flowers you used to pick as a little girl, stomping on those silly fairytale dreams you used to nurse, and never felt freer. For the first time ever you felt that maybe being empty could be more freeing than having false hope weighing you down.

Returning to Hogwarts was a big deal to students. Who changed, who glowed up after what happened last year - nothing, it was all childish drama.

Before your parents could even see your new self, your escapade to the Granger household was successful. The Y/L/N's didn't care, nor did they write. You knew it should’ve hurt, but frankly, you didn’t think having the pain in your chest was worth it. Hermione was awestruck, of course, after laying her sights on you for the first time since May and insisted on walking into the Entrance Hall, arm in arm with her and Ginny to show you off like some sort of revelation.

It was a revelation all right, at least to the boys, and some girls. It seemed no one saw you as a girl before. George oogled, and Lee was so shocked to find out that you were actually a girl with a pretty figure and an even prettier smile that he stopped clapping you on the back like he always did. Not a girl, you have become a woman. It was far too sudden, new uniforms and a whole new wardrobe had to be bought.

"____? You were a girl?" Fred joked, ruffling your hair like nothing changed between you. And that's when you realized, no slutty skirt, how much pushup your bra, or no matter how pretty your hair looked, Fred would always see you as ____, the girl with crooked front teeth and who once ate a worm in second year. Your teeth weren't crooked at all anymore - thanks to a few years of braces - and finally clear of uncomfortable metals but you felt as if Fred would always see the ghost of them on your pearly whites when you smiled.

He had this view of you that blinded him, caused him to treat you as he treated Ginny while he flirted and played footsie with other girls, including Eva.

That did not stop Eva from giving you false hope, and you took the bait, naive like always. Hope, that's what ruined it all. "You're beautiful now, of course you have a chance!" she said, rubbing your shoulder reassuringly, as if she had warmth to begin with.

It was all false, yet you still believed. You always had. Like a fool.

Ginny didn't like Eva, and maybe that's why you gravitated towards her. She was the first person who had ever met Eva that wasn't charmed by her kind smile and attractive words. Eva was...displeased. She grew up having the attention of everyone around, so when Ginny Weasley told her straight to her face that she wasn't shit, Eva seethed. The attention of Ginny changed nothing though, because Eva was the main character. Everyone - except Ginny, and secretly Hermione (though she would never say it) - loved her, they followed her around like puppies and praised her on her wonky wand work.

The upcoming Yule Ball brought great upswing to Hogwarts.

You were far too busy with her classes to take interest in the tournament - even though the dragon race was the gnarliest sight you had ever seen. Your goal was set, become a badass Auror and move out as soon as possible, so you didn't have to face your parents (except Holidays, yuck.)

But the Yule Ball was your chance. A chance with Fred Weasley.

You could ask to go as friends and maybe, just maybe a little hope and the night would end much more romantic than you had anticipated.

Plucking up courage was the hardest part, you practiced with your bathroom mirror so long that Ginny had to blast through the door and drag you out of her dormitory.

Fred Weasley agreed, why wouldn't he? You, his closest friend, asking to go as a group and drink all night while gossiping? It was a win win. At least that's what you told herself.

That was a lie, it wasn't a win win.

You gave it your all getting ready, dress silk, makeup and expensive shoes. You took a long shower, scrubbing and shaving yourself to a smooth gliding porcelain, only for it all to be washed down with reddened eyes and a boy with even redder hair.

Fred greeted you the same, danced the same, and you chatted the same; you were reminded again, for the second time, that you stood no chance.

Fred told you that he was going to get drinks, a quick trip to the booth and mumbled I'll be back in a second. He was not back in a second. Several minutes passed, and your worries caused your feet to follow after Fred's footsteps.

You ran, trying to find him in the empty corridors of Hogwarts, tears welling in your eyes because he wouldn't. He wasn't that cruel, life wasn't that cruel.

But it was, and in a distant empty classroom you saw Fred Weasley, on his knees and between Eva's legs, groaning and praising her like a starved man. Worshipping her like everyone else had, burying himself in her and completely forgetting the drink he’d bring back in just a second. He’d left you thirsty and alone in the Great Hall and left you to drink from a cup he hadn’t known to be forbidden. Yet Eva did.

Eva's perfect dainty hands tangled in his ginger hair, thighs clamping shut while her high pitched moans flooded your mind and echoed around your head. They were so loud that she couldn’t even hear the loud echoes of your footsteps and the woeful cries that left your lips as you ran. It wouldn’t be the first time she had ignored your pain for her own selfish reasons.

Your heart shattered, and suddenly you were six again, watching your parents praise Eva, hang her drawing on the fridge. A soft breeze tickling your bare toes, dangling from the small cushioned seat you sat on while you watched Eva braid Mrs Y/L/N’s hair. Emotionless, silent, not asking for anything, knowing that you won't receive in return. Eva's small hands carefully placed the flower crown on Mrs Y/L/N’s pool of hair, and she smiled, heart warming and hopeful. Suddenly you remembered the feel of your own hands tangling in between your locks as you stood on your tiptoes, trying to imitate your mothers braid on yourself in the mirror you couldn't reach. You pretended, only for a moment before it twisted into knots.

What a cruel joke, you thought as you watched Eva receive the world from Fred, from your parents, from your friends and from every damn person you had met.

You cried on a big set of stairs that night, your wails echoing as you asked whoever, whatever what you had done. What you had done to deserve such treatment from the people around you. It was rather cliche - and maybe a bit too dramatic. It was an uncomfortable seat of course, and your body, as well as your heart, ached. Pain, misery, false hope and enough hair spray to melt the ozone.

The princesses always cried on big sets of stairs, uncomfortable stone floors causing them to shiver while they hid away their beautifully animated faces in their perfect hands. This was different, there was no fairy godmother to fix your makeup and clone a gentlemanly Fred Weasley, a perfect prince. You knew, because you cried, and prayed and cried and prayed until your throat was sore. There was no fairy godmother, it was all a lie. There was no happy ending. There would be none.

No one came to find you that night either, and you had to drag yourself back to the Gryffindor common room, feet bare, mascara, blush - anything else you put on in hopes of being able to become like Eva even only for one night - practically nonexistent from the way your tears washed them away.

You didn't sleep that night, and your head was unusually clear, pounding, but clear. You laid awake, eyes blood-shot and stinging while your dress shuffled uncomfortably between your sheets. You were too tired to change, and your dress was far too pretty to be worn so short.

Ginny's words replayed over and over again. "They're not worth it." her voice was so clear, and true. Mr and Mrs Burke weren't worth it. Your parents weren't worth it. Fred Weasley wasn't worth it. Eva wasn't worth it. The midnight chirping of bugs invited themselves in from your open window, and blue moonlight streaks beaming down in lines from the tulle curtain flowed with breeze, it was calming.

You felt calm, for the first time in sixteen years. You felt calm.

Fred and Eva started dating that week. Everyone acted like they expected it, and you realized just how blind you had been. Eva Burke and Fred Weasley, golden couple of Hogwarts.

You watched them, emotionless, as they embraced with love and so much passion that you felt embarrassed. Embarrassed at how you’d blushed and squeal over Fred in front of Eva and George and anyone who had found out because now you knew. Now you knew that their amused smiles were probably pitying grimaces because they knew that you two were never meant to be. It was always Fred and Eva.

Fred was an amazing boyfriend, making sure Eva was taken care of, lovingly staring at her whenever and wherever, arm looped around her waist at all times; you realized they were truly not worth it.

"You disgust me."

You didn't mean the words to escape so carelessly, but when you said them, you realized you didn't want to take them back. The growing pit in your stomach felt weightless. "Excuse me?" said Fred, stopping his nibbling on Eva's neck, who was just as shocked. You scoffed, Eva already had enough purple bruises to parade around so why did Fred have the need to add more?

"You heard me right," George, Lee, Ron, Harry, Katie and whoever sitting in their circle stared at you, wide-eyed, Ginny and Hermione, however, were grinning devilishly. Kind ____, wouldn't hurt a fly, quiet at times and didn't know how to stand up for herself. It was shocking, but you were done pretending. You didn't want to be like that anymore, you wanted to say whatever came to mind and not worry about the consequences. "You guys disgust me, I know I should be supportive but you don't match, at all."

You turned to George. "And you, no you can't talk about Katie like that." George went pink. "You're disgusting for sleeping around carelessly and telling girls you'd write, stop giving people false hope. Grow up. You’re nearly an adult and you can’t even treat a girl right."

"And you Lee," Lee went quiet. "What gives you the right to make fun of me like that. I'll wear whatever the fuck I want, just because you don't have the courage to wear a headband. If you can talk about my breasts, I'll talk about your shrimp."

"Ron, you take advantage of Hermione then lead her on. Open your eyes, asshole."

"Harry, you're not the main character. You're not always going to be the center of attention, nor do you have the right to yell at your friends."

"Alicia, god you're so stupid. I'm sorry, you're great but such an airhead. No, you can't ride a Thestral if you can't see them, and stop eating quill ink they're bad for you."

You stood up, grinning proudly, heart loud in your chest you feared someone might hear. "Frankly, I don't wanna be friends anymore. I'm done with this façade, except you two, 'Gin, Hermione. The rest of you are just so fake." she gestured to them. "Boys," she nodded again. "Don't talk to me anymore, and Lee, give me back the money, think it's about time don't you think? I've been paying for you since third year."

And with that, you left. You left Three Broomsticks, grin wide and chest heaving. Hermione and Ginny ran behind, whooping and cheering you on as they laughed.

The news of your outburst spread fast like wildfire caught in wind. That week was bliss, you no longer had to watch Fred and Eva, nor did you have to act sweet to anyone. You didn't have to laugh along Lee's sexist jokes and look away to wince, it was pure bliss. You realized that the feeling of being free didn’t have to be momentary.

Pansy Parkinson was surprisingly a good friend, she didn't have the same fakeness to her, the one Eva had where her smile was too kind. She spoke her mind, though every Slytherin did, and you liked that. Ginny wasn't happy with your new found friends, but she couldn't separate you. You made your own decisions from now on. It was refreshing.

You told your new friends everything, eager to get it off your chest and breathe, and they listened. For the first time, someone listened. You didn't have to get good grades, nor did you have to act like a sweet angel.

You teared up the first time Pansy said; "It's not your fault,". You knew it wasn't your fault, but hearing someone else say it with such genuine eyes made you believe. Actually believe.

It started off with you watching from the sidelines as Draco and Blaise pranked, insulted and shamed whatever your old friend group did. It wasn't unusual for Draco to act this way, but he got especially irritated after hearing what you told them. Blaise, someone usually quiet, had stepped up and decided to somehow release the pent up anger he had for the Gryffindor students.

The year ended, and you had started to sneak in an insult or two towards Fred and Eva. It felt nice, like finally, step by step you were clearing your years of hidden jealousy. But, there was no one to tell you that this simply wasn't the right way.

That summer, you stayed at the Burrow. Ginny had invited you and you were quick to say yes; obviously a fact forgotten. Fred, George and whoever you had insulted last year stayed in the same house. You simply didn't want to go home, and if this meant seeing Fred Weasley then you had to endure it.

Molly Weasley was the sweetest person you could ever meet, and it was genuine. It felt genuine, you feared your teeth might rot if the woman got another word in. Molly greeted you as if you were her own daughter she hadn't seen in years. You felt valued, seen.

Until Eva was there, Fred invited her. You had to watch the only person you were able to love, introduce the only person he was able to love to his mother. It wasn't you. It would never be you.

And you realized, even after everything, Eva had once again found a way to be more loved than you.

The grin Molly broke out was nothing short of beautiful, and you couldn't help but smile as well. The smile wasn't directed towards you of course, and you sat on that small kitchen chair, celebrating a relationship that caused your ruin.

Eva didn't care that your friendship was over, nothing budged in her life. She still got the same attention, still received the same love from Fred. The same affection, the same attention and the same everything. Or so it seemed.

Though unlike Eva, Fred merely watched you with sad eyes.

You stayed clear of the couple and the rest. You hung out with Ginny and Hermione only, ignoring the dirty looks Ron and Harry gave you. The secret, whispered insults Eva threw your way. George didn't say anything, but he didn't object either. This was enough to show how he felt. At this point you really didn't care. Why would you, when they didn’t either?

You held your head high just like Ginny and Hermione told you to, and you spoke in a loud and clear tone whenever asked something. Eva didn't, she stuttered when you spoke to her directly. Her words scrambled against each other when she tried to voice her insults in louder statements than a whisper. For the first time, you felt relief. You felt intimidating, protected by the barriers you had built around yourself.

Longest day of summer hit, and it boiled. Tanning became a distant dream, you would bake in this weather, and you were thankful to the big AC box you had brought from home. You couldn't sleep that night, sweat beads falling down your forehead that was already covered in a thin sheen. You had decided to get a cold glass of water, not sure how you ended up face to face with Fred Weasley. His wand tip shone with blue light, and his freckles were much darker because of the sun. It seemed the sun decided to be cruel to Fred Weasley back and wash Fred over with it's deathly heat. He was sunburnt, this was an understatement. He was burnt.

You couldn't help but start laughing when you met, ignoring the proximity, ignoring the sleeping house, dead silent and a big leap from the lively Burrow, ignoring Fred's soft breaths he let out every other second. You couldn't live off on false hope anymore.

Suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore, and your face quickly fell. You took a big step back and inhaled, ready to ignore him like you had been doing for the past year. But Fred Weasley was a persistent man, and he gripped your arm and looked at you with determined, doe-like eyes. "Tell me what I did wrong." he said, adamant on fixing this, whatever this was. You both didn't know.

You stood silent.

"Please flower,"

"Don't call me that." you said, stern and gaze sharp. Fred didn't react, he kept on insisting.

"Please, tell me how to fix this. I can fix it," he pleaded, a plethora of empty promises fell out of his lips like nothing. He lied like it was nothing, he was oblivious to everything he and everyone around them had put you through. It was infuriating.

You didn't say anything. You knew he would not fix anything but maybe staying silent would give him the false hope that spinned mockingly in your head for the past eighteen years.

"I'm sorry, just please. I can fix this, I promise, don't be like that." empty tears fell down from his eyes. He looked empty, tired. They lacked the charm they usually shined with and you wondered if it was only you that caused such dullness. Eye bags prominent that you never noticed before. It all felt like a lie, a cruel joke.

Fred Weasley was simply a cruel joke. His presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, especially when you down it like how Hagrid nurses a Firewhiskey filled pint glass. You never know how it will hit you. But in the end, you'd always find yourself curled next to the toilet, crying your eyes out because your headache was simply too much.

He was sobbing now, hanging onto your waist like you would simply vanish and you let him. The grip he had on was like steel vice - almost concerning - but you didn't touch him, didn't say anything. You just let him be, like he did to you. Allowed him to hopelessly hang off you before you would eventually leave him alone, like he did to you. "Where did I go wrong? How could we end up like this? What went wrong?"

‘You’, but your voice couldn’t be found.

Questions were useless when the answer was already right in front of his eyes. You didn’t let a single tear fall, you wouldn't forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

You blinked, and that night was over. Summer continued on like nothing happened, like it didn't leave you heart broken and in such shame yet again. You continued on ignoring Fred as he looked at you with sorrowful eyes. Looked at you more, with more than he did his own girlfriend.

You blinked and the school year started again with another terror looming around the corner. There was simply no need to keep up anymore, because school was easy. You attended classes, got good grades, a few scar here and there from Umbridge's torture chamber, a woman who stood at a whopping five foot three yet still teriffied an entire school.

You blinked and you had already become a proud member of Draco's insult the Gryffindor's club. You didn't even feel bad, being horrible to the people you hated for years felt like a breath of fresh air. You didn't go as far as physically hurting any of your old friends, but coming up with damaging insults was such fun. A lot more fun than sitting around with a fake smile.

You blinked, and you were already moving out from your childhood house. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N were unusually happy, this was a given. They would have a new empty room and make another office, like they didn't have enough already. You feared they would start getting rid of bathrooms once too into their work, and they would have to do their business in bushes or buckets. Scratch that, you didn't fear that, it would be fucking hilarious.

You blinked, and when had time passed too quickly? Where did all those empty childhood years had gone? You were already graduating, on your way to become an Auror. You had lost contact with all your old friends now, regretfully Ginny and Hermione too.

The war had hit too quickly, luckily you survived, so did your friends. Unluckily, it left you with a nasty scar right across your left brow. It looked sick, but the hit wasn't worth it. It hurt like a bitch. You could see, it was a close call but vision wasn't an issue. The trauma though, god did Bellatrix's breath smell bad.

When it was all over, you had seen Fred hugging his family tightly. It seemed the Weasley's all survived, and you gave them each tight lipped smiles while holding a bunched up rag to your head to stop the blood gushing out. This wasn't the reunion you wanted to have with Ginny, but hey, you take what you can get after a revolutionary Wizarding war you barely made out alive.

Before a franticly running Fred could reach you though, you apparated to your flat in Diagon Alley, ignoring the thrumming of your heart, and how you practiced in front of a mirror to congratulate their successful joke shop that morning.

#angst #hp angst #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley #fred weasley x y/n #weasley twins #fred weasley angst #fred weasley smut #fred weasley series #reader insert #harry potter fluff #harry potter fic #fred weasley imagine

[iovchlde]

Hiii can I request Kaeya hurt/comfort imagine? Thank uuuu

the light in the dark.

in which kaeya comforts you in a moment of weakness. he sees himself in you and vows that he’ll never let you feel whatever he’d gone through before.

pairing.

kaeya x gn!reader

genre.

angst, comfort/fluff

warnings.

mention of panic attacks

author’s note.

i didn’t really know how to go about it, since the prompt was vague, so i guess i went with what felt most fitting? if this wasn’t what you asked for, or if this makes you uncomfortable— feel free to ask for another one and i’d gladly write another, more suiting, fic!

“hey,” you hear a voice call out to you into what feels like a spiraling abyss; as if you’re sinking, and your senses are all muddled and hazy. all around you is dark, and seemingly void of anything, but in a distance you see a small glimpse of light. you reach out and you feel like screaming, to what seems like futile effort as it gets you nowhere. your voice comes out as nothing but mere silence, simply swallowed up by your surroundings. where were you? why are you here? “hey, i’m right here.” you hear the same voice call out— the one from before. it’s soothing, and it’s lulling, and you feel yourself gravitating towards it.

from the light in the distance you can see a gloved hand reaching out, to which you extend yours as well. it gets closer, and closer, and you strain yourself to reach it. your fingers ghost one another promptly, and the feeling of fabric against you is stark contrast to the dullness. you feel the hand firmly grab yours, and there’s the following sensation of getting pulled out of the dark, and you gasp.

it takes a second for you to gather slight consciousness of your surroundings, your eyes wincing into slivers as the dark harshly fades into a contrasting bright. the unnerving silence is now filled with distant chatters, and you let out a sigh of relief. though, it’s hard to shake off the stifling hold it has on you.

“can you hear me now?” you whip your head towards the direction of the voice, and you grimace at the slight throbbing in your head from the sudden movement. your sweat feels cold against your skin, and your breath is all haggard and rough. you’re propped up against an alleyway wall, away from the nosy eyes of any civilian. kaeya is right beside you, close and watchful. he analyzes you with careful eyes, crouching next to you and his hand rests lightly on your shoulder. “do you need anything? water, food— or do you want to go home?”

you shake your head, opting to sink further into the wall. your vision is still slightly blurry, reeling from the suffocating place you were in seconds ago. out of all days, you didn’t expect it to hit you so hard, in a place bustling full of people. the second the mutters of the people around you dissolved into nothing but incoherent babbles, it felt like you’d lost all your consciousness. and then came the feeling of you falling.

“i’m—,” you stutter out, feeling slightly abashed under his doting gaze. “i’m so sorry that you had to see me like that. i know today was supposed to be a fun day. i ruined it, i’m so sorry.” you apologize; your voice is quiet and weak, and there’s a slight tremble as you bite back the tears that prick at your eyes. he unnoticeably frowns at your words, and he shifts to be closer to you. his hands softly hold your face in his, wiping away at any lingering sweat. kaeya pulls you into a loose hug, his now gloveless hands falling down and rubbing soothing circles on the small of your back. he then presses a light kiss onto your forehead before bringing you in closer, your head now tucked comfortably into the crook of his shoulder.

“you don’t have to act so tough around me, you know,” he assures you, his voice lacking the sultry tone that it always holds. you fight hard against the overwhelming feelings that take over you, though ultimately failing. a hot tear slips from your eyes, and your resolve cracks bit-by-bit in his hold. he feels his heart crumble as his collar grows wet, and at the way your body shakes ever-so-slightly in his arms. it feels all-too-familiar to him. “and there’s no need to apologize to me. i know you have no control over this, and truthfully, i’m just glad that you’re okay now. your wellbeing matters more to me than a ‘fun day’.” he says honestly.

there was still a teasing smile on his face the moment it happened, thinking you were simply fooling around.

but the moment you stilled in the crowd, your gaze suddenly unfocused and empty, his heart had dropped. the idea of food vendors that swirled in his head were washed away in an instance, and all he could think about was you. the cool, calm, and collected knight had almost dropped his facade; but he holds the image as he rushes towards you. as he took your shoulders in his grasp, calling your name softly (to avoid any unwanted attention), the alarm would bubble up within him. seeing as you were unresponsive to his words, he had taken you to an alleyway, far away from the congregation.

as you had slipped in and out of your panic attack, his gloved hands would tenderly dab at the sweat that formed on your skin. the gloves were now discarded on the floor, serving no use to him; sweat slicked and useless. though, he guesses it was useful in a way.

“do you,” he pauses. “do you want me to hold your hand?” you nod meekly into his shoulder, and that was all the consent he needed. you liked the feel of his bare hands against yours, it comforted you. this was a fact that he had learned to know. one of his hands slipped from his hold on you, reaching for your limp arm at your side. he lets his fingers trail down your arm, his warmth ghosting over you, before they land at your hands. he takes his time intertwining your fingers, and he feels you visibly slack.

“thank you,” you whisper out, your voice cracking slightly. he squeezes your hand, to which you squeeze back. a faint smile appears on his lips as you make no move to peel yourself off of him, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

he’s glad that he can be there for you; he’s glad that he can be there to protect you from facing the loneliness that he’d felt, before you.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin kaeya #kaeya #kaeya angst #kaeya comfort #kaeya x reader

[shidoukanae]

This is from a Volo-centric WIP I abandoned because I realized I don’t know enough about Volo’s character from the two scenes we see of him to write anything that is remotely cohesive. 

Regardless, I like how this reads even if it’s clunky so here is a WIP Volo-centric fanfic chock full of ideas I doubt are in the actual game lol:

~~ ~~ ~~

There is a void in his mind. It is dark and empty, like a rotting abyss of things better left unsaid. There is no light to this place, nor is there truly any darkness. Instead there is only a knowing, one that burrows deep into his bones as he travels through this lonely place, arms cradling his body and a chill permeating his skin.

Volo has visited this place many times before. Has felt its strangeness in a way he’s felt nothing else. He is welcome here, but also an intruder. Though he knows himself as a guest to this place, one brought here by his own mind’s eye, he also realizes that the place he treads is sacred, like the stomping grounds for Noble Pokemon.

It is hard to explain this place. There is nothing to explain, and yet it exists all at once: a plane of emptiness that exists on the cusp of nowhere yet somewhere still. All he knows is that he must keep walking forward. If he doesn’t, he’ll feel those eyes upon him. He’ll feel the phantom breath of a ghost on his neck, see the glistening of a shadow just out of view, and then he’ll be wrapped in inky blackness, dragged into misery and torment long before he can awaken.

Step, step, step. He continues moving forward, approaching an end that is never coming. As he does so, a curious sight begins to manifest. Shapes formed from misty light emerge from the nothingness, screaming with a cry that goes beyond anything he’s ever heard before. Step, step, step. The beings move in a way that is incomprehensible, tossing and turning, contorting and writhing, and all he can think to do is keep his head down as he moves forward, knowing better than to look directly at them. Something glistens in front of him. He hears the echo of footsteps beside him, feels the touch of skin upon his own, as if he is accompanied by more than just himself. However, he cannot see them, nor can he dare to look at them. They are just mirages in this place, mere figments of his imagination meant to taunt him. He must not look at them. For, if he does, he’ll be dragged down with them, caught in the turmoil of the beasts shrieking before him. Blue and pink and yellow blink in his vision, swirling with desperation, as if calling to him. Some part of him yearns to heed the call of the colors, to turn his gaze up and to witness the spectacle taking place before him. But he keeps his head turned to the floor of this nothingness, expecting nothing more than to keep trekking forward. Step, step, ste- ~~~ Volo is tired of waking up fatigued as hell and tormented by incomprehension. It’s been five years since he’s immigrated to Hisui from his own region back home and five years still he’s found no answers to his problems. The dreams that haunt him continue to do so, plaguing his every dreaming moment to the point he’s certain it’s only a matter of time before he goes insane. Ginter doesn’t seem to appreciate his pouting, however. The man has already entered his tent without permission, staring down at the man with arms crossed and an expression that says he’s not ready to take any excuse Volo gives him. “You’re supposed to be guarding the camp today,” Ginter tells him. “Why are you still sleeping?” He rubs his eyes. Yawns. And then nestles back into his covers, Ginter be damned. “I don’t think you can consider my dreams sleep.” Ginter gives an aggravated sigh and Volo is not in the least surprised by the way the older man rips off his blankets and practically shoves him out of bed. It’s expected by now, but it doesn’t mean he hast to like it. He grumbles loudly, reluctantly coming to a stand as he dusts off his night clothes and gives the man a tired stare. “Oh come on now. You know what it’s like for me.” “With that attitude, you’ll never get an audience with Lady Cresselia,” Ginter tells him firmly. “You know she only-” “Appears before those who are good in heart and deed,” he finishes with a sigh, fingers combing through his already messy hair. “Yeah, yeah. We all know the legend. I don’t need reminding for how unfit I am for her, thank you very much.” The older man shakes his head, pats Volo’s shoulder, and then clutches it firmly. “Darkrai’s curse will stay with you for as long as Cresselia deems it. Unless you earn her mercy, she will not spread her wings for you.” He nods. He’s heard this talk so many times before and yet even still Ginter tells him about it. Volo knows the man he knows as his leader means well. But, that doesn’t mean he wants to be reminded of his own inadequacies in being unfit to meet the deity who can cure him of his troubles. “We’re heading to Jubilife Village tomorrow,” Ginter tells him. “When we get there, maybe we can ask the locals if they’ve sighted Her.” “You say that like we have a lead. We never have a lead.” “Cresselia is a flighty goddess. You never know where she might visit yet.” Volo once again nods, not wanting to argue any further. He’s tired and he’s got a patrol to do, he doesn’t need this nonsense. Ginter frowns at him, as if sensing his argumentative spirit, before the older man simply beckons him to the world outside. Volo obliges, leaving the tent. Jubilife Village, he thinks with a puff of misty air leaving his mouth. A shiver wracks his body: it’s much colder outside the tent. “There’s no way I’ll learn anything about her there,” he muses, knowing it to be the truth. After all, the goddess hasn’t been sighted for ten years now, not since Ginter last laid eyes on her in the glory of the golden plains of Eastern Hisui. He’s not likely to learn anything new about her now. ~~~ Well, as it turns out, Volo is completely and utterly wrong. According to Akari, one of the researchers under the control of the Galaxy Team, there’s been reports of a mysterious creature who fits Cresselia’s description. The reports are flimsy and vague, mostly suggesting that the goddess appears on nights of the full moon bathing in the waters of the nearby shores, and Volo knows he has to see her for himself. At first, he plans to approach the place of the hauntings by himself, calling upon his Rapidash to carry him to the destination. However, when he finds himself blocked by the advances of a herd of Wydeer, he finds himself helped by Rei, Akari’s traveling companion. The two of them approach the lake in question, curious to sight the legendary Pokemon for themselves. However, what Volo sees is something else entirely. From the waters of the shore they tread upon, a small creature the size of a Hisuian Growlithe emerges. It is a strange gray creature with a red gemstone glowing from its forehead. Twin tails fluttering behind it while eyes that seem to be snapped shut gaze upon them in a way that should be impossible. The creature looks upon Volo and he looks upon it. It’s beautiful yellow feathers glisten with water, glittering under the light of the moon, before it vanishes back into the water, melting into it like a Vaporeon as its disappearance leaves nary a ripple on the lake’s surface. Rei is impressed and beyond excited at their find. A new Pokemon, a new friend to capture. Volo, on the other hand, is stung by the disappointment of his high expectations. Lady Cresselia is not here and nor is his hope at a panacea for all his miseries. ~~~ The Pearl and Diamond Clans are fighting again. Somehow, his guild is caught up in this. The Ginkgo Guild is taking sides, sympathizing with one clan over the other and drawing the ire of their peers. While most of the guild is made of immigrants, a few have come from the snowy city of the Pearl Clan and others from the balmy seaside of the Diamond Clan. And each are stubbornly true to the ideals from their homeland, as argumentative as starving Starly’s every day and every night. Frankly, Volo doesn’t get the whole dispute. Each clan has territory of their own to lord over. Each clan has ideals that stick to that territory. Unlike his guild, who cares for little else but the information they can buy and the wares they can sell, the clans are confined to their arbitrary ideals, stuck in the lore of their land and people in a fit of desperation. Rei and Akari, the two trainers with whom he seems to cross paths with often (and whom he teases with the doting adoration of his own fervent curiosity), have been pulled into this fighting, picking sides of their own. Rei believes firmly in the ideals of the Diamond Clan, valuing the time he has left to live after a close encounter with Lord Kleavor. Akari, on the other hand, believes in the respecting of the land that has given her the blessing to savor the sights of a world that has yet to change any further. And Volo, who is fond of them both, can do nothing but nod his head to their ambitions, careless to their beliefs but respecting of their decisions.

#volo pokemon #volo #pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #Ginter #fanfic #i am very tired #when the game comes out and if Volo is Very Important to the story I will def write a better piece about him lol #but until then i've realizes any speculative fic I write sounds like it's coming from nowhere so fghjgfhj rip to my dreams of writing PLA #speculative fanfic centered around best boi Volo #*realized godammit

[meat--grindr]

I can request a story of Yandere Brahms with his reader, where Brahms kidnaps the reader by taking her inside the walls of the Mansion to be loved and protected. How did you come to this situation, maybe you can have a little NFSW?

Ahh, Brahms. How I love him so. I just wanted to let you know before we get into anything too serious, that this might be a little different than you were expecting, and for that I’m going to apologize right off the bat. I’ll admit I’m a massive weeb, but I never really saw the appeal of yanderes. Cringe, I know. So, I’m going to do my best here and take yandere more as ‘possessive’ if that’s alright? Also, I took some liberties with ‘kidnapping’ as you’ll see, just because I don’t want to walk too far into non-consensual territory when there’s NSFW involved. I don’t want to write anything explicitly non-consensual here, so it was a fine line to walk, but I think I found an okay solution. If this isn’t at all what you’re looking for, maybe drop me a PM and we can try to work something out? Anyway have like 5000-ish words of Brahms smut :)

Possessive (Yandere [?] Brahms (Female Reader) – NSFW

·       Standing at the foot of the stairs, you are struck, though certainly not for the first time, by the beauty of the house in which you find yourself. The golden hue of the wood which panels the walls reflect and amplify the soft glow emanating from beneath frosted glass lampshades. The diffused amber glow is cast about the room, throwing elongated shadows against the walls and into the far corners. From your place at the very bottom of the stairwell, the ceiling, now several floors above you, is lost to the early darkness of a winter evening.

·       Through the window, you can see the first soft flakes of snow drifting through the air. But here, inside, with your back braced against the newel post, you are warm. Tipping your head back, you gaze up into the yawning void above and cast your mind into it, losing yourself in daydreams of the beautiful rooms it conceals; your bedroom with its fourposter bed, all draped in velvet and silk—the dark, lacquered wood of the study, which still smells of cigar smoke, though as far as you can tell one hasn’t been lit in there for years—and, of course, the library.

·       Dark shelves line the walls, so tall they stretch from the wooden floor to the moulded ceiling. They stand, filled nearly past capacity with volumes of every shape and size, from encyclopedias so large you can lift only one at a time, to pocket novellas no bigger than your palm. Pages and spines alike, embossed with gold and silver shimmer from both the shelves and the tables set beside each of the overstuffed armchairs. The plush rug which lies beneath those tables and chairs makes even the floor a comfortable place to stretch out and lose oneself in a book. And the smell. Old leather and paper, printing ink and glue, dust and the very passage of time itself. It’s like every crooked old bookstore you’ve ever entered tucked away in a cozy corner of your own home. Whether or not you remember having dreamt of owning a private library, you were quite sure you could never go back to life without one and find yourself contented.

·       Even now, you long to curl up in one of those plush chairs and sink into another world until bedtime. You knew a soft blanket and a half-finished novel waited for you there, begging you to come back and see to them. And why shouldn’t you? What else was there to do on a chilly night such as this? The day’s chores were completed—the rat traps were checked (empty as always), the laundry was done, wood for the fire was stacked in the shed, and the supper dishes had been washed and put away. There is very little else that requires your attention. So why not?

·       Your socked feet sink into the plush, green carpeting as you mount the stairs. The banister is pleasantly cool and smooth beneath your fingertips. As you ascend, the light from below begins to dim, unable to reach any further into the darkness above. The difference made by the two flights of stairs between the lighted foyer and the dark second floor leaves you light-blinded and blinking in the shadows.

·       When again you regain your sight enough to behold it, even in partial darkness, the hallway that stretches before you is beautiful—the wooden paneling on the lower half of the walls takes on a sleek shine, while the deep green wallpaper above it fades into a stately and sober black. The paintings and portraits that line the walls are somber; muted without the proper lighting to show their colours, but they are no less impressive or imposing. A ship, barely visible, save for the canvas sails, is tossed on a rapidly darkening sea, lighting flashing far in the distance—a bright brushstroke of pure white, clear even in deep shadow. An old woman, her name rendered illegible in the gloom, stares down her nose at you in deep disapproval. Her eyes, like the rest of her, are severe and grey, and they seem, through either a trick of the light or the mastery of the painter, to follow you down the hall.

·       It is very dark. A thin, watery light filters through a small window at the end of the hall, but it does little to help guide you. You suppose you could turn on one of the many lamps that line the long and ponderous hall, but you know you can find your way just find without one. You’d spent several adventurous afternoons and many restless nights exploring the house and grounds. Though in the beginning you could barely follow the straight hall from the front door to the kitchen without getting lost, these days, you rarely, if ever, found yourself wandering the halls with no idea where you were.

·       You reach out, brushing the wallpaper with the tips of your fingers as you walk, grounding yourself in the darkness. It’s almost rough to the touch, stiff with age, though it’s clearly been well taken care of. In the daylight, there is little sign of aging at all - no scuffs or faded sections. You knew the house itself was well over a hundred years old, but it showed its age in astonishingly few places. Sure, the phones were ancient and the lack of wi-fi was irritating but—

·       Thump.

·       You freeze in place. You’re sure the sound had come from within the wall, just to the left of where you stood. There is something in there. The blood roars in your ear as you press it up against the wallpaper, straining to hear even a hint of movement, be it the shifting of the wood as the house settles, or the pitter-patter of something living. The seconds stretch on into minutes, but no further sounds come. You scrunch up your nose, feeling rather silly. It’s probably just a mouse…or maybe a rat. It sounded big. Perhaps those traps were good for something after all.

·       Your gaze lingers on the spot for a moment longer, but still, there is nothing but silence. Maybe it had been the house creaking in the wind. Old houses were prone to groaning after all. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to move some of the traps further up into the house for a little bit, just to be on the safe side.

·       You turn and continue down the hall, mind once again turning to the blanket, the book, and the comfy glow of the library. You press your palm flat against the wall as you walk, the whisper of your skin sliding over the wallpaper barely audible, even in the quiet that envelops the house at night.

·       Then your fingers catch against something—an indentation in the wallpaper. It’s subtle, but definitely there. You stop to inspect it closer, worried that perhaps your assessment about the house not showing its age may have come a little hastily. Your fingers explore the seam with care, and you decide it’s not a crack—it’s too regular, too straight. It feels intentional in its design. And it’s practically invisible in the darkness—likely just as difficult to spot in daylight considering how frequently you find yourself in this hall and your failure to take notice of it before now.

·       You crouch down, following the seam with your fingers. It stretches all the way down to the floor. Why…it’s almost like…a little door…

·       Almost at the same moment this thought trickles into your mind, the little section of wall gives way beneath your touch, swinging inward on silent hinges.

·       From within the inky darkness beyond, a pair of long, thin arms surge forth, snaking around your waist. The grip in which they envelop you is bruising as you are pulled back into the darkness beyond the secret door.

·       It slams behind you hard enough to rattle the picture frames in the hall. You scream, long and hard, struggling against the arms that cage you. You flail your limbs, lashing out blindly with fists and feet and nails, hoping desperately to strike your attacker, or at least wriggle enough to squirm from their crushing grasp. But the grip around your midsection only tightens, squeezing the very air from your lungs.

·       You lurch into motion, the figure in the darkness half-carrying, half-dragging you along a narrow passageway. You try to scream again but find you can’t get enough air to do so. Instead, you lash out, legs kicking against the walls, knees and shins colliding painfully with rough, wooden support beams and sharp corners.

·       While rounding a particularly tight corner, you manage to kick the opposite wall hard enough to throw your attacker off balance. A hissing shower of dust and plaster rains down on the pair of you. The figure stumbles, grip relaxing for only a moment, but it’s enough. You wriggle from their crushing grasp and dart back the way you came.

·       The figure recovers quickly, and you can hear them bolting after you in the darkness. It doesn’t take long before they’re on you again, one large hand fisted deep in your hair, wrenching your head back. You cry out in pain, stumbling back against the intruder. The hand in your hair doesn’t relinquish it’s hold as their other arm wraps around your chest, locking in place like an iron bar. You struggle uselessly, hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you’re dragged back the way you’d come, seemingly with even less regard for your physical well-being.

·       Not far beyond the corner where you’d made your escape, you’re shoved to the ground unceremoniously. As you make to crawl away, the figure circles around you, blocking your path of escape. Even as your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can’t see much more than an outline. Even so, you can tell they’re much bigger than you. You feel a large hand sliding beneath your knees, and another on the small of your back and suddenly, the floor beneath you drops away. Instinctively, your arms shoot out, fumbling in the darkness for something solid to grab hold of. Your grasping hands find a fist-full of the intruder’s shirt. It’s soft and well-worn in your hands, and you clutch so tightly to it that you can feel your fingers beginning to cramp almost immediately. A soft rumble rolls through the figure, and after a moment, you realize they’re laughing at you. You want to let go, but the fear of tumbling backward into the darkness stills your hands.

·       With the way you’re being jostled about, you get the distinct impression that you’re ascending a flight of stairs. Secret tunnels and staircases in the walls? Under any other circumstance, you would be ecstatic, ready to drop everything and explore them. But caught as you were, in the arms of a stranger, there is nothing but panic within you. Taking advantage of your new position, you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the intention to scream, though you’re sure there’s no one around to hear you.

·       “Don’t.” So, it’s a man? His voice is soft, a half-whisper that thrums through your body where it’s pressed up against his chest. There is a distinctly British tilt to his voice, and it’s oddly muffled, as though something was covering his mouth. You’re reminded of those old cartoon bandits who wore bandanas across their mouths. He doesn’t want to be identified. The though sends a cold chill through you. This isn’t good. “Scream and I’ll drop you.”

·       The scream dies in your throat. While you certainly don’t like being caught in a strange man’s grip, the thought of lying broken at the bottom of a secret staircase no one else seems to know about hammers a worse kind of fear into your gut. You could die…or not and that might be the worse option: injured and completely at a stranger’s mercy. No. As it stands, if you follow his instructions, you remain unharmed, and the longer you remain unharmed, the better your chances of finding a way out.

·       At the top of the steps, you find yourself in front of a rough wooden door. Here he readjusts his grip on you, bracing your weight against his hips as he taps the door open with a gentle kick.

·       Suddenly, you’re bathed in a soft, golden light cast by the dozens of candles that lay scattered about the room. After so much time spent in the dark, the burst of light dazzles your eyes. In spite of your fear, you curl up against the strange man’s chest, turning away from the light that blinds and burns your eyes. It’s too much too soon.

·       The man laughs again, bouncing you gently in his arms, like one would a small child, “No hiding.”

·       His tone is light, but it is still a command. Sensing scant room for disobedience, you turn your face up towards his, cracking one eye open, then the other. You had been told not to, but in the flickering light, as you blink up at the face of your kidnapper, you can do nothing to stop the scream that builds in your throat.

·       His face is hidden, not behind a bandana, but a porcelain mask. The pale white surface is littered with a spider’s web of thin cracks and what looks to be dried blood. Your eyes sweep over the soft curve of the mouth, the delicate nose which turns up at the end, and the empty spaces behind which dark, human eyes burn into your own.

·       The moment the scream leaves you, ringing loud in the enclosed space, the man snarls, striding into the room with purpose. As he weaves through the maze of dusty old furniture, you beat your fists against his chest, squirming in his grip, trying with renewed desperation to escape his clutches. “Let me go! Let me go!!”

·       Ignoring your pleas, he stalks to the far corner of the room, where a low-slung cot waits, tucked close against a rough brick wall. He dumps you none too gently onto it, and you scrabble backward, knocking your head against the wall behind you. Your ears ring with the force of the blow, but your eyes remain trained on the masked man as he clambers onto the cot with you.

·       You jam yourself back into the corner, as far from the menacing figure as possible. He comes toward you slowly, laughing, as though this were all some silly game the pair of you were enjoying. You kick at him, and he swats your leg away, his shoulders shaking with laughter. His eyes, however, aren’t laughing. Where they peak out from beneath the mask, they blaze with only one thing: hunger.

·       You kick out at him again, catching him, this time, on the jaw, just beneath the edge of his mask. And just like that he’s not laughing anymore. He goes frighteningly still, and there’s a change in the air. You know he’s done playing.

·       He lunges for you, and you shriek, cowering back against the wall, the rough bricks digging into the flesh of your arms. His hands close around your ankles and he pulls you down toward him.

·       He slots himself between your legs, pinning your thighs down with boney knees. You squirm beneath him, but he’s too heavy for you to shake off. He looms above you in the candlelight, breathing hard, his eyes flashing behind the mask. With a jolt, you realize he’s going to hurt you. You’re so sure, you flinch, cringing away from him as much as is possible, bracing for the pain that’s sure to come.

·       But, when his knuckles brush against your cheek, it’s not in anger. It’s a gentle caress that jolts through you like an electric current. You turn to look at him, as he brushes the damp hair back from your forehead. He stares at you for a long moment, drinking in your shock, before leaning down to press cool porcelain lips against yours.

·       The kindness of his gestures surprises you almost more than any blow he could have delivered. When he promised to play rough, he usually meant it. With shaking hands, you reach up to touch his face. Your fingers slip beneath the mask, brushing the hair and skin beneath with feather-light touches. You want to see his face, want kisses from his real lips, want—

·       But the man’s fingers curl around your wrists, wrenching your hands from his face. “No.” There is force behind the word equal to the force with which he pins your wrists against the sheets, indenting the mattress beneath them. His voice, in that same soft whisper from before, rasps in your ear, “Not even when we’re playing, Love.”

·       You swallow hard, all the pretenses of your little experiment dropping away in an instant. You realize you came dangerously close to crossing a line. “Okay. Brahms. I-I’m sorry.”

·       You expect that he’ll want to stop now, and you wouldn’t blame him if he did, but he surprises you by nuzzling against your neck, “Not ‘Brahms.’”

·       So, he still wants to play. You smile up at him. “Oh, right! Sorry.”

·       He bends over your neck again, pressing porcelain kisses against your neck. You crane your head back, eager to make up for your misstep with the mask. There’s something about these kisses that makes your heart flutter—perhaps it’s simply the rush of a new sensation against sensitive flesh, or maybe it’s the knowledge that his real lips lay just beneath that hard surface, so close and yet completely out of reach.

·       When he lets go of your left wrist, you’re so caught up in these kisses, that you barely register it. That is until you feel the mask slide in an unnatural direction against your skin, and you feel Brahms’ real lips against your neck for the first time. Your whole body jerks forward, pressing against him with a soft sigh on your lips. His mouth is softer and warmer than you ever could have imagined. Even his beard feels good where it scratches against you.

·       His teeth scrape over your pulse, drawing another sound from you. You throw your arms around his neck and pull him down on top of you. His laugh rasps out against your throat, as he stamps warm kisses all across your collarbone.

·       You roll your hips against his and he groans, the sound rumbling deep within his chest. He surges upward fixing his teeth into the meat of your neck as he grinds down against you, letting you feel just how badly he wants you. His name slips between your teeth as a hiss and you feel him smile against your neck. His tongue flickers over the mark he’s left, though it’s more to lay further claim than to soothe the ache his teeth pushed into your flesh.

·       When he pulls back, he’s already pushing the mask back into place, though you catch a quick flash of the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth.

·       He looks down at you, eyes sliding slow down your body, head cocked to the side like he’s thinking. He has that hungry look about him again and it lights a white-hot bolt of desire in your gut. You lift your hips, rolling them against his, relishing both the spark of pleasure that shoots through your stomach, and the shiver that rolls down his spine. A little whine escapes his lips, and you feel your heart leap. God, you’d do anything to hear that sound again. He meets the roll of your body with a stuttering jolt of his own.

·       You can’t help but beam up at him. “What are you thinking about Brah—Mister?”

·       He sighs deeply, running his hands down your chest, his fingers tracing along your ribs. “About all the things I could do to you…”

·       A breathless puff of laughter escapes you, “Oh, yeah?” You guide his hands down to your hips, hoping he’ll take the hint. “Like what?”

·       “Hm…let’s see. I could, hold you down,” His hands, still resting beneath yours tighten against your hips, pushing you down against the mattress. You try to buck up against him, but he holds you fast, “I don’t think so, Love.” He grips you hard, dipping his head to whisper into your ear, “I could just hold you here, and you’d have to take whatever I decide to give you.” His thumbs trace the seams of your hips. Even through your jeans it makes you shudder.

·       “Or, I could give you very little at all,” He lets go of your hips in favour of ghosting a hand down your thigh. His other hand presses gently against your zipper. His fingers trail down the seam, until you feel the pressure against your clit and jerk against his hand. He pulls away, “Just enough to keep you interested, but not enough to satisfy you.”

·       You whine, feeling a damp patch growing in your underwear. You know he’d get such a charge from dragging this out, teasing you until your arousal had soaked through the denim of your jeans. You could hear him now, ‘A few kisses and some dirty words…it’s that easy?' While you’d usually be willing to indulge him, you weren’t willing to give him that satisfaction today. He was already so uppity as it was. “Or you could just toss my legs over your shoulders and take what you want.” You toss an arm over your forehead in an attempt at playing toward his flair for the dramatic, “Look at me, baby. I’m defenseless.” You roll your hips against him again, nice and slow. You can tell by the hitch in his breathing that you’ve almost got him convinced. You can barely keep the smirk from your face as you arch your back, and whimper for him, “Please?”

·       That one word is all it takes to break him. In a flash he’s slipped out of his cardigan and tossed it off into the darkness of the attic. His suspenders follow suit with a metallic clinking. It isn’t until he’s unbuttoning his trousers that you realize you have mere seconds to undo your own before Brahms falls upon you and tears them off himself. You’ve lost more than one good pair of jeans this way and you don’t intend to lose another if you can help it.

·       Your shaking hands fumble with the button, managing to pop it only after a few tries. Taking them off from your position underneath Brahms is no small feat, especially considering his reluctance to move, now that his trousers rest about his knees and he’s rolling his hips against your still clothed thigh, his cock already leaking against the denim.

·       “Want you now.” His voice is rough, breaking in time with the thrusting of his hips.

·       “I know, baby. But you’ve gotta wait.”

·       Brahms huffs in irritation. ‘Wait’ is not a word he likes to hear at the best of times, let alone when his dick is this hard.

·       You tap his hip gently. “C’mon, up.”

·       He drops his head against your shoulder with a petulant whimper, his hips stuttering against your thigh.

·       “Brahms…” You sigh, half-frustrated, half-amused. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find it incredibly sexy when Brahms acted like a brat, but your pleasure was at stake here as well. “You can’t fuck me properly with my jeans on.”

·       His hips slow for a moment, and he whines again.

·       “C’mon, be a good boy for me.” You feel his cock pulse against your thigh, and he relents. He scoots back just enough for you to push your jeans and underwear down your thighs. Brahms takes care of the rest, tearing the offending fabric from your legs and tossing it from the bed to join his cardigan on the floor.

·       His hands are on your shoulders in an instant, shoving you back against the mattress, all patience spent. You feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and barely have a time to take a breath before he’s pushing inside with a single, smooth stroke.

·       “F-Fuuuck…”

·       “Yeah, that’s the idea, baby.” Your hands are fisted tightly in the sheets, your voice tight as your body grows accustomed to the stretch once again. You’ve taken Brahms with little preparation before. You know you can handle it, but somehow the girth of him almost always comes as a surprise.

·       To his credit, he does his best to keep still until you give him the ‘okay,’ though you can feel his hips shaking with the effort. He’s mouthy while he waits though, any trace of the gentleman within him his gone, replaced by a cursing, dirty-talking stranger, “Gonna pound you into this mattress, gonna fuck you like—fuck you’re so wet—like your my whore…mine, mine, ah fuck! Mine.”

·       You roll your hips, testing the water, and he bites back a string of curses. His hips stutter forward unbidden, and you moan low in your throat.

·       Behind the mask, you see his eyes roll back. He starts to beg then, changing his tune entirely, “Please, Love, let me fuck you, please, please, please. I promise I’ll be good. I will, just please!”

·       You reach up, carding your fingers through his hair, “Show me what a good boy you are, make us feel good, baby.”

·       Without missing a beat, Brahms’ hips take up a frantic rhythm, tearing a litany of pretty sounds from your throat. Your hands tangle themselves in his hair as he drops his head to press doll’s mouth kisses against your throat.

·       Your hand slips between your bodies, spreading your lips to circle your clit. You buck against him, gasping his name as the pleasure courses through you two-fold.

·       A strong hand grasps your wrist again pulling it away from your clit. “We mustn’t touch what isn’t ours.” You nearly whine in frustration, but your displeasure is quickly forgotten when you feel the soft pads of Brahms’ fingers against your sensitive flesh.

·       “You,” he groans in pleasure, angling his hips to push deeper inside of you, “You belong to me.” He punctuates the sentiment with a sharp snap of his hips. “That means I am the only one who can make you feel good.” He presses his fingers hard against your clit, and your thighs begin to shake. “Tell me who you belong to.”

·       It takes you a second to find your voice. “Y-You, Brahms.”

·       “Yesss,” the rhythm of his thrusts is beginning to fall by the wayside as his hips buck and stutter. “Say it again.” His fingers circle your clit faster, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm.

·       “Fuck, Brahms! I’m yours! A-All yours! You’re gonna make me cum.”

·       “Mine.” You feel the mask slide to the side again and his lips are on your neck. You feel his teeth graze the bite mark he’d left. His teeth are in your throat, his fingers on your clit, his cock in your cunt, and you’re cumming. His name tumbles from your lips, the only coherent thought in your mind.

·       He groans against your neck, trying to fuck you through it, but you’re too tight around him, forcing him into an agitated stillness. His fingers work your clit feverishly until you push his hand away, too oversensitive to stand another second of it.

·       You’re still almost painfully tight around him when the rhythmic pulsing of your own orgasm begins to push him over the edge. He thrusts into you once, twice, thrice more, before pulling out and shaking apart, his cum painting your thighs and stomach. He whimpers and trembles, fisting his cock through the aftershocks of his orgasm, desperate to chase every last ounce of pleasure.

·       Only when he’s well and truly spent, nearly sobbing from the agony of the overstimulation does he flop down on the cot beside you, panting heavily, cock still twitching against his thighs.

·       He kicks off his trousers, and curls up by your side, throwing an arm around you. For the longest time, the only sound in the room is that of your breathing slowing in tandem as you each come down from your high.

·       Brahms’ voice is small when he speaks up at last, “Did I do okay?”

·       You turn to face him, laying on your side. You reach out a hand and readjust his mask, before pressing a soft kiss against the delicate bow of his lips. “You were perfect. Thank you, Brahms.”

·       He nods once, but he doesn’t look convinced. There’s tension in his shoulders, and he won’t look you in the eyes.

·       “What’s wrong, honey?”

·       He shakes his head, burrowing against your side. “Nothing…”

·       “It doesn’t look like nothing to me. It’s okay to talk to me about things like this, you know.”

·       He’s silent for a little while longer, and you wonder if he needs a little more prodding to use his words. But then, he speaks, “I wasn’t…too rough? In the passages?”

·       “No, baby. No. It was exactly like we talked about.”

·       “Okay.” There’s a little touch of a frown in his voice, like he’s trying to puzzle something through in his mind. “I didn’t expect you to fight me so hard. It felt…real.”

·       “I wanted to make it seem real. Did I upset you?”

·       There’s a long pause, but when he speaks, he sounds genuine. “I don’t think so. It was a little…thrilling.”

·       You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your throat, “It was, wasn’t it? Where did you get an idea like that? Pretending to kidnap me and all that?”

·       He’s quiet for a moment, as he remembers a time not so long ago, when the idea was meant to be more reality than fantasy. He was supposed to have that girl. He should have done better, should have fought for her harder, should have killed her and buried her in the yard with the others. He should have done a lot of things. The scar on his stomach burns with the memory of all the things he should have done. But they don’t matter now. She doesn’t matter now. He has you.

·       He presses another kiss against your neck and lies, “Recreation of a scene from 'Jane Eyre.' You know how I adore that novel. And you being such a pretty lady, simply had to fill the role of the damsel in distress.”

·       “If you say so.” You snuggle closer against his chest. He really was a very strange man. A yawn blossoms in the base of your jaw, but you do your best to fight it off. You know you’ll be sore later, but for now you’re happy and sated and perfectly content to doze in the arms of the man you love.

·       Then a thought hits you, “Hold on, Jane Eyre doesn’t get kidnapped, Brahms.”

·       He chuckles softly against your shoulder, “So you have been reading my books after all.”

#brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #the boy 2016 #slasher x reader #im so sorry this is so late #i couldnt figure out how to wrote brahms in a way that i liked :/ #enjoy i hope #im off to bed #also ive never written het smut before so...i hope its alright #ripper fics

[bubsdolan]

hi angel, so i dont want to bother you bc im dure that you are writing s lot rn but i just wsnted to send this concept to u. Gray has been adking his girl to stay over a lot but she’s always saying no and giving him excuses until he confronts her abt it and she confesses how she had trouble sleeping and gray just reassures her that it will b fine and he helps her have a good night sleep<3 sorry if this is dumb, love you.

“i best head home, it’s getting dark out,” you cut through the comfortable slience with a sentence grayson will never get used to hearing you say. he hates ‘goodnight’, ‘i have to head home’, ‘ill see you tomorrow’. he wants nothing more than to take you up to bed and wrap you protectively in arms so he can fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat- happy and content.

it appears every time he asked you to stay over, not ready to end the night or part from you, you always made up some poor excuse that left him heartbroken and often surviving on approximately 3 hours of sleep a night. you loved to use the excuse that you had work early in the morning, even on your days off it was your number one, and being the gentleman he is, he never questions it. you leave before he gets the chance to. if not work, it’s you forgot your night wear, tooth brush and essentials, or you simply brush it off and say “maybe another time”. another time never came.

grayson spent his time laying awake in an empty bed and overthinking why you refused to stay over. were you not as committed to the relationship as he was? did you feel uncomfortable spending the night alone with him? did you snore? grayson always blamed himself for not making you feel welcome enough in his home, but he was unaware that your inability to stay over, had absolutely nothing to do with him.

“baby-“ grayson begins to plead with you, like he always did whenever you got up to leave. pulling gently at your wrist to prevent you from picking up your keys and abandoning him for more hours then he can bare to be apart. sure it was early days in your relationship, and grayson was known as the soulmate connoisseur, but with you it felt different. you were different.

“i’ll be back before you know it,” you send grayson a guilty smile, leaning over his body to kiss his tender lips that you’re now addicted to and found yourself drowning in whenever you got the chance. you hated leaving him as much as he did, you longed for the day you could get over your bad sleeping habits and bask in the safety and comfort of your boyfriend. tangled together beneath the sheets in a world of your own.

you’re about to head for the door, ready to make the dreadful lonely drive home, before grayson’s tone and harsh words stop you in your tracks. a frown to appear and a pit bubbling in your stomach that you hated the feeling of.

“y/n, if you don’t want to sleep in a bed with me, just tell me. i get it, you aren’t as into me as i am you- but fuck, please stop giving me shitty excuses.”

grayson huffed, turning his back towards you in order to head to his bedroom and try and cool down. he never meant to raise his voice, or for his words to come as harsh as they seemed, but he was quite frankly fed up. he never had to work this hard in any relationship before, and yes he was patient but you were making it difficult for progression.

“i have nightmares,” you blurt out, tears welling in your eyes as you finally admitted to something out loud in front of grayson, that you wished to keep quite for as long as you could. you needed him to trust you, to know you love him as much as he did- if not more. you needed him to know it wasn’t him, it was you and your own self doubt and you weren’t here to mess around and play with his emotions.

grayson says nothing, turning back sit on the couch and wait for you to continue. knowing in this moment you needed to do the talking more than he did. he patted the spot next to him, only for him to pull you into his lap when you get close enough and holding you tight. scared you would disappear if he didn’t.

“ever since i was little, i-ive had trouble sleeping. i toss and turn all night, i wake up every hour or so, and i have nightmares. bad- bad nightmares that sometimes causes me to wake up screaming, crying and sweating. it seems to have only got worse with age.”

grayson brings one hand up from your waist that was keeping you securely on his lap, and rubs it across the skin of the back of your neck. his own way of comforting you and telling you he understands what you’re telling him. he offers you a warm smile, eyes burning into yours deeply that you feel all your fears banish.

“it’s not you. i wish nothing more than to sleep over, to wake up next to you and your face be the first thing i see when i open my eyes. but im scared, i don’t want to spoil your sleep and ruin the night for you.” your voice cracks, eyes avoiding his gaze as you felt even more embarrassed then you did before. “im sorry i didn’t tell you sooner. i didn’t want you to ju-.”

“sweetheart,” grayson pulls your body deeper into his chest, needing to have you as close to him as possible. touch being his love language that he was going to use to his advantage to show you how much you mean to him.

“you don’t have to ashamed to hide that from me. im so fucking sorry you gotta suffer like that, but s’what im here for,” grayson brush’s the hair from your eyes and tucking it behind your ear. he’s turing your face towards him as he makes sure you can witness the sincerity in his eyes.

“why don’t we try it for one night. me, you in my our bed. i can’t promise it’ll be the best sleep you’ve ever had, but i can damn near try to make it as perfect for you as i can. i’ll protect you angel, always.”

you nod your head agreeing to finally spending the night, then you kiss him. a passionate, sensual kiss that has you pouring every ounce of emotion into it. the gratitude you had for him was like no other. you knew you never should have doubted him, you should have put your faith in him sooner and spent the night in his embrace that you had deprived yourself from for so long.

carrying you up to the bedroom, bridal style, grayson makes sure you’re nothing short of comfortable. providing you with his clothes to sleep in, helping you do your skin care routine that you do every night and helping to calm your nerves when the lights turned off and you were left in darkness and a void of slience.

grayson instantly brought you into his arms. your head on his chest as he squeeze your body as close to him as humanly possible. pressing kisses into your hair as he whispers words of reassurance- ‘you’re ok, baby’, ‘im right here’, ‘don’t be afraid to wake me up anytime, ok, we do this together.’

after all these years of staggered and broken sleep, sleeping in grayson’s arms would finally be the cure you needed for peace. in his bed, wrapped in his scent, his arms and the beat of his heart, was everything you neeeded to have the best night sleep you had in years.

#bubsdolan #grayson #grayson dolan #grayson dolan fluff #grayson fluff #grayson dolan blurb #grayson blurb #grayson imagine #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan concept #grayson concept #grayson dolan x reader #grayson x reader #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson fic #grayson dolan fic #dolan twins #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins fluff #dolan twins concept #dolan twins fanfic #dolan twins fic #dolan twins x reader

[firefly464]

Hello wonderful! I love your writing a ton!! For the Drabble fic on ao3, I was wondering if you could write about SBI, specifically Techno and Phil learning what happened? Ty have a lovely day!!

Oooooo i like this one 👀

lots of hurt/comfort potential :D

ok so in this one we’re gonna pretend that smp!tommy actually grew up with the sbi, and they are actually his family instead of him just showing up in the middle of the woods without any memory. He still probably just appeared in the woods, but he can remember. Also sam and tommy made communicators after tommy complained about the lack of phones because sam is just cool like that 

Original Story - Other Drabbles 

~~~

“Get the fuck away from me!” Tommy cried out, his voice filled with a mixture of fear and anger. He couldn’t help but press himself further into the corner behind him, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and the man in front of him. 

Techno held his hands out, trying to appear as harmless as possible. “Tommy, its ok. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know why you’re in my house.” 

"Oh, you’re not going to hurt me?” he scoffed slightly “Please. I don’t believe that for a second. What happened to ‘Blood for the blood god?’” 

The man froze, his eyes widening. He had never told anyone other than phil about the voices that haunted his every movement, the voices that were constantly screaming at him, calling for violence. “How... How do you know about that?” 

His younger brother didn’t respond, instead only pushed himself even further back. 

“Tommy, I need you to be honest with me. How do you know about that.” His mind was racing with different explanations, but it all came back to a single thought. 

His fear only grew as the silence stretched out. “Tommy, have you... have you been hearing the voices?” 

“The fuck are you on about?” he muttered quietly. It had none of the fire that used to fill his every word, and his eyes were no longer a vibrant blue. They were dull, void of life. 

Techno stepped closer, placing his hands on Tommy’s shoulders, making him flinch in fear. “Look at me.” He demanded. 

His brother slowly met his gaze. Techno frowned. There was no light of bloodlust in Tommy’s eyes, only a dull emptiness. He took a step back and pulled out his communicator, already typing out a message. The response was almost immediate. 

“What did you do...? Who are you texting?!” Tommy demanded, unable to keep the fear from creeping into his voice. “What the fuck did you say?!” 

“Tommy, take a deep breath. I just messaged phil, that’s it. He’s on his way.” 

“What the fuck?! Why?!” Techno couldn’t help but notice the way that Tommy’s words were now filled with fear and desperation, rather than energy and flame. 

“Because he knows more about this than I do, and I need to figure out what’s going on. We’ll figure this out, ok?” 

~~~

Tommy was still huddled in the corner of his small cave when he heard the door open above him. As voices began to float through the opening that led to the rest of the cottage, he pushed himself further back, trying to disappear.

He knew that he could easily just leave through the small tunnel he had made, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Maybe it was out of fear, maybe it was because he knew that he had no where else to go. If he tried to run away, he would be alone. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a chipper voice “Tommy! Tommy you- oh dear, you look very sad” 

He glanced up slightly, slightly surprised to find himself face to face with the ghost of his dead brother. “Hi Ghostbur...” he said solemnly. 

There were so many things that he wanted to say in that moment. ‘Why did you leave me. Why did you leave me alone again.’ The words got caught in his throat, leaving him unable to speak. He could only give an empty smile as the ghost handed him a small bottle, filled with powdered blue pigment. 

“Have some blue!” 

Tommy stared at the bottle for a moment, before glancing back up. “Thanks, Ghostbur...” 

“Alright, that’s all well and good, but we need to have a serious talk about this” Techno’s voice came from behind Ghostbur, though Tommy had already reverted his gaze back to the floor. “Tommy, how do you know about the Blood God?” 

He didn’t answer. Instead, he cursed himself for ever opening his mouth. How long had it been since he slipped up? Since he had caused someone to worry like this? 

God, he was so sick and tired of dealing with all of this shit. He just wanted to go home. To his real home. He wanted to see his family again, his parents. It had been years since he had last seen them, and it still felt like an open wound whenever he thought about it. For fuck’s sake, he was supposed to be in university right now, not trying to recover from weeks of exile and isolation. 

“Tommy, its ok. We can help you, I promise.” Phil’s voice could be heard from somewhere else in the small cave, but Tommy kept his gaze trained on the small bottle in his hands. “Just tell us what’s going on, we can help you through this” 

The boy couldn’t help but flinch as someone placed a hand on his shoulder. He hastily pulled back even further, trying to avoid the contact. He shut his eyes in a desperate attempt to keep tears from spilling over. 

“Tommy...” Phil’s voice dripped with pain and grief for his youngest son, “It’s ok, we’re your family. We can help.” 

“No you’re not...” the words escaped him before he could do anything, before he could think twice about what he was saying. 

A small gasp could be heard, though he couldn’t tell who it was from. “What? What are you talking about? Of course we are...” Phil asked softly, though Tommy could hear the hurt in his voice. 

Something snapped inside of him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but suddenly, he could feel as nearly 4 years of pent up pain and frustration came pouring out of him. “No you’re not! You’re not my fucking family, stop fucking acting like it!” The tears that he had tried so hard to keep hidden began to pour out. “My family is gone and I’m never going to fucking see them again” 

“What? Tommy, don’t be silly, we’re right here!” Ghostbur said, in his annoyingly chipper voice. “Here, you seem stressed. Have some more blue,” he said as he held out another small bottle. 

Blue pigment covered the floor as Tommy slapped the bottle away, his eyes alight with raw anger. “I don’t want some bullshit blue powder, I just want to go home!” Ghostbur’s expression filled with confusion, which only served to fuel his anger. “Don’t you fucking dare look at me like that, you already fucking know this shit” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Oh, that’s right, you don’t fucking remember, because you refused to admit that your little brother was gone, and he wasn’t fucking coming back!”  The room fell silent as Tommy took a deep breath, desperately trying to regain his composure. “Because you refused to admit that he chose to leave you, and you blamed me for it instead”

“What are you talking about.” Techno’s voice was low and quiet, the threat in his tone clear as day. “What do you mean he’s gone. What did you do to my brother.” 

Hearing the threat in Techno’s voice seemed to break the dam that Tommy had so carefully built up inside him. What had been pure anger and rage was quickly replaced with pain and sorrow. He could feel as the tears began to pour down his face in a rush, leaving him coughing and sputtering as he tried to breathe. 

Phil took one look at the sobbing boy and quickly rushed over, pulling him into a tight hug. In that moment, it didn’t matter to him what was going on. All he cared about was his son needed him. 

Desperately, Tommy hugged Phil back, his hands clutching the back of phil’s shirt, as if Phil would vanish the moment he let go. 

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, with him desperately trying to calm down, and Phil silently comforting him. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. He didn’t know. 

When he finally calmed down enough, he pulled back and wiped his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he said softly, “I’m so sorry. I never wanted any of this.” 

“Shh, it’s ok. Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Phil kept his voice calm and steady, silently offering his support. 

With a small nod, Tommy told everyone the story. He explained the swap, explained his old life. He talked about his parents, and his friends. He told them about how he had found himself in this world with no explanation, and how he had destroyed his only hope of ever returning home. He told them about how Wilbur had kicked him out of L’manberg when he had originally found out. 

By the time he was done, he was crying again. And based on the sniffles that he could hear, he was pretty sure Phil was crying as well. 

“So yeah. I’m not your son, or your brother. That Tommy is gone, he has been for years. I- I’m sorry...” 

Before he could even process what was happening, he was engulfed in another hug. However, this time he could feel the arms of not one person, but three. Three separate pairs of arms wrapped around him, offering their support. 

“Tommy, I don’t care what dimension you’re from, or if you don’t really consider us you’re family. You’re still my son, and I still love you unconditionally. Understood?” Phil said quietly. Tommy could only nod slightly in response. 

“You might not remember all the shit you did when we were little, but you’re still the same nerd that tried to steal my sword when you were ten,” Techno’s voice, which was normally deadpan, was now filled with affection for his younger brother. 

Ghostbur was the last one to speak. But when he did, he sounded sad, and filled with regret. “Tommy... I don’t know what Alivebur did to you, or how he treated you, but just know that I’m not him. I’m not going to hurt you, ok? You’re still my baby brother...” 

The four of them were quiet for a while, the only sounds coming from Tommy’s quiet sobs. 

Finally, a quiet voice cut through the silence. “Thank you...” 

~~~

Im gonna put the taglist in this one because im proud of it. Let me know if I should continue putting the taglist in drabbles, or if i should just keep it to the actual chapters themselves :D

@hismilw @violet--majesty @chiera99 @koi-boye @waffle-time-god @miss-oleum @porkgavor @crafted-dreams @harley-the-pancake @lemonaid-ruru @luminousart @g3rmpy @bee-tubbo @firepowder @boombahey @rayjayo @carry-on-my-wayward-why @echo-delta @star-fruit23

#Philza #ph1lza #tommyinnit #technoblade #Wilbur soot #wilbursoot #sleepyblr #sleepy bois inc #dream smp #mcyt #the real world #my writing

[purple-stuck]

I really adore your writing! Can I PLEASE request a purple Sollux drabble? Maybe interacting with gamzee?

hey, gz. wanna hang out?

Gamzee stared down at his phone, squinting his eyes at the purple text. Somewhere in his addled think pan he thought it was strange. Sollux hardly hung out with anyone in person. He was always a shut in, especially for Purple blood standards. Only clown who'd attended less church was probably Gamzee himself and that was only because Sollux sometimes made video calls. But, ever sense Aradia... it was a miracle he still answered texts.

Still, Gamzee wasn't gonna say no to his blood brother's company. Maybe Feferi helped him cope. Maybe he went pale for Karkat, those two had always been close. Hardly mattered.

WeLl, ShIt. SuRe MoThErFuCkEr. CaN't SaY nO tO a NiCe AnD pRoPeR hAnGiNg SeSsIoN. wAnT mE tO sWiNg By YoUr PlAcE, oR wHaT?

nah. ii'm at the door. ii wa2 iin the area and fiigured ii'd a2k.

Right on cue, there was indeed a knock at Gamzee's front door. Huh. Sollux must've been right at the door when he texted. Made sense. If Karkat was any indication, Sollux had a habit of just barging into a brother's hive like he lived there and playing all their video games. Probably remembered at the last second that he and Gamzee weren't that close.

When Gamzee open the front door, he found himself staring at Captor's chest. Even hunched over as he was, Sollux was still the tallest troll Gamzee knew. The boy managed to be both lankier and buffer than Gamzee somehow. Granted, that's not hard. It'd be a stretch to call any version of Sollux Captor buff, but any purple blood with a proper lusus was going to be thicker than Gamzee.

Gamzee stopped that thought dead before it sunk in any deeper.

"At least I know I'm not interrupting anything." Sollux said dryly. "That's not the hair of someone who had plans for the evening."

Gamzee snorted, appreciating that the ribbing was good natured. Sollux didn't regard him with the same contempt, say, Equius did, so it was hard to take anything he said as an actual insult. Same deal with Karkat, really. "So, what brings you around to my hive? Feferi finally convince you to go outside?"

Sollux's lips twitched into a smirk before he jutted his thumb behind him. "Nah. I'm just picking up an old hobby."

Gamzee's eyes trailed to the cart Sollux had parked at the bottom of the steps, a chill going down his spine at the sight of faintly blue blood trailing down it's side. "Oh..."

Gamzee's eyes twitched back to Sollux, who just sighed. "I'm on my second kill, so don't worry. I don't kill in odd numbers. Plus, I've seen you making diamond eyes at Karkat and I'm not that much of a dick."

Gamzee let go off a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Well, it's good to know I won't be adding to Aradia's fucking corpse collection-"

Sollux stiffened and Gamzee stopped dead. Shit. Fuck. He should know better. What was he doing bring up Aradia, fuck-

"It's... fine." Sollux sighed, bringing his hand to his temple as he steadied himself. "I'm fine. It's fine. She would've found it funny, anyways." Sollux forced a smile onto his face. "Besides, you're not wrong. She'd love to throw corpse parties for these motherfuckers in whatever rung of the Dark Carnival she wound up in."

Gamzee laughed politely and stepped aside to let Sollux in before the conversation got any more uncomfortable. Sollux plopped onto the couch, quickly propping his legs up on the table. "You got any video games? I somehow doubt you're much of a shooter fan."

Gamzee grunted, sliding him a faygo as he took his seat. "Nah. Tav got me into fiduspawn. You ever play that?"

Sollux snorted. "Funny story about that, actually. EQ got me into it. I was talking shit about it around him and he protested that NP was into it."

"Did he? Shit, man, good for him. He always kinda... rolls over around me. Motherfucker's always trying to please me."

"Well, yeah. It's NP we're talking about here. You'd complain is I started talking shit about Tavros."

Gamzee blinked. That was... oddly pointed coming from Sollux. Sure, every word sounded like a sarcastic insult when you put it in his mouth, but it sounded like he was trying to make a point. That suddenly serious stare wasn't helping, and it made Gamzee cough uncomfortably.

"Uh, yeah, I would." His eyes flickered towards the door. Towards the cart. "...Why?"

"You got any feelings for him?"

Now this was starting to get wildly out of character. Sollux was the last person to stick his nose into anyone's love life, unless it was to annoy Eridan somehow. Hell, people just being sappy around him annoyed him, which made this even more bizarre.

"Yeah, well, Tav, said he wasn't interested."

"He's not?"

"Look, bro, I appreciate it, but we don't need an auspistice. You can't mediate what ain't there."

"But you do feel something for him. You care about him, pitch, red, I don't care how." Sollux was almost looming over him now, even without standing up. Gamzee was beginning to wonder whether he should go for his clubs when Sollux sighed.

"Right, right. That.... probably doesn't make any sense to you. I'm sorry." He stood up, face not just sour like usual, but outright grim. "Let me show you what I'm talking about."

Sollux made his way to the door wheeled his cart inside, a chill went down Gamzee's spine.

"...Bro. Did you?"

"No. Gog no. Fucking Messiahs above, hell no! I cull trolls but I'm not a sick fuck who parades their corpses around in front of their friends."

Sollux looked down at the cart, at the body hidden beneath the crumpled sheet. He seemed far, far away for a moment, like his soul had been taken by the Messiahs themselves and his body was an empty shell they left behind.

"You... know Aradia's dead, right?"

Gamzee relaxed, more confused and sad now than afraid. "Yeah."

Sollux looked at him. "Do you know how she died?"

Sollux didn't need an answer and he didn't wait for one. The purple voids of his eyes showed behind his matching glasses. "It started... when Vriska abducted me."

"I was out doing my regular, bi-wipely rounds. Looking for two bodies for Aradia to preserve in a 'corpse party'. Or, more accurately, looking to make two bodies for her to preserve."

"I'd spotted a couple of burgundies, so I went to make my move. I'd barely seen Vriska's face by the time the bag was over my head and by then the needles were in my neck. My guess is she'd paid some FLARPers to help her. I know damn well she couldn't handle me alone."

"When I woke up, I was in Vriska's hive. She looked so... fucking smug when she had me all chained up. She explained what Aradia did to her. Talked about how she'd sent some ghosts her way... and she wanted to get even."

"So Vriska was going to have me kill Aradia."

"That's when the torture began. It was pretty amateurish, but that's all it needed to be. She just needed to distract me, make a crack for her to slip into... one opening was all she needed to grab my mind."

Sollux was staring down at nothing by the time he finished, bending the metal handles of his cart with his grip.

"I still remember the walk to Aradia's hive." He said, choking back something. "I could hear her scream in my mind before she even saw me."

Gamzee's hand landed on his shoulder, snapping Sollux back to reality. Sollux pushed the smaller clown back before clearing his throat. "So, the next time I left my hive, I decided to pay Serket a visit."

Sollux threw the tarp off to reveal Vriska's mangled body. Or, what was of it.

Gamzee took at a step back. The amount of patchwork Sollux had to do to get Vriska's upper torso back in one piece would be impressive if it didn't imply how grizzly the scene must've been before he started. Tellingly, Sollux didn't even try to put Vriska's legs back together. He just dumped the soupified slop into a box and put it on the bottom shelf of his cart.

"Jegus..."

"Yeah, I got carried away."

Gamzee backed up and fell onto the couch, mostly just to get away from the smell. Sollux pulled his two swords out of Vriska's head, wiping them clean in one quick stroke.

"So... why are you telling me this?" Gamzee asked.

Sollux seemed to think for a moment, staring at his reflection in the blades. "To try to understand." He waved his blades vaguely over Vriska's... "body" for lack of a better word. "Most of this was unnecessary. She died quickly but... it wasn't satisfying."

Sollux looked at Gamzee meaningfully. "I figured you could tell me why."

Gamzee's eyes widened. "Shit, man, you mean because..."

"Of Tavros. Yeah. Vriska killed him. The army won't take someone who can't walk and he has no where else to go. That's assuming someone like, well, me, doesn't just pick him up off the streets. He's living on borrowed time on a planet like this, and that's all her fault."

Sollux looked at Gamzee meaningfully. "So... is this satisfying to you?"

Gamzee sunk into the couch, staring up at the ceiling. "Fuck, man. You can't do this to a motherfucker. This is a lot to drop on me all at once." He looked at the corpse, trying not to curl his nose at the sight. "...I mean... no. Fuck, I'd hesitate to say anyone even deserves that, but mostly it just makes me feel... kinda sick."

Sollux slumped down. "I don't get it. This should be satisfying. We should be glad that she's dead, but we're not."

Again, Gamzee was there, suddenly resting a hand on Sollux's shoulder. "...Look, man. I'm sorry I'm not any help with this. Karbro is so much better at this shit than me, but..."

"...I guess it's not really her death that we're looking for. We're looking for a way to make it so all the problems she caused never happened. And... that's not gonna happen. I've accepted that Tav's not gonna get his legs back... and I think he's accepted that too. And, Aradia, wherever she might be now up in that Dark Carnival, knows that she's not coming back either. So... shit, maybe we should just... keep moving?"

Sollux stared at him blankly, before that default grouchy snarl crept back onto his face. "That's a really shitty way to end that spiel, you know that?"

Gamzee shrugged, that some color had bled back into Sollux's face. "Well, shit. I'm no Karkat and you know it."

"Yeah, you're not. I'd still be huddled up inside without that grouchy asshole."

Sollux sighed. Not tiredly, but like a weight had been lifted somewhat. With all that off his chest, Sollux tilted his head up. He nonchalantly lined up his swords and slid them down his throat, swallowing up his blades until only the hilts remained to dangled beneath his uvula. Gamzee squinted at him curiously.

"....What?"

"Shit, man, I have no idea how you manage to talk like that."

Sollux smirked, grabbing his faygo off the table and chugging it in two swigs. At this point, he was just showing off. "Very, very carefully. I'll teach you sometime."

Sollux threw the tarp back onto his cart and began peddling it out the door. "I'd better get going, the sun will rise soon." Gamzee waved him off as he opened the door, pausing just before he closed. "Oh, by the way. You owe me a game night. This one derailed."

Gamzee just nodded as Captor slammed the door, knowing that was Sollux-ese for "let's hang out sometime".

#bloodswaps #drabble #sollux captor #gamzee makara #aradia megido #vriska serket #tavros nitram #purple sollux

[jay-and-dean]

Worse

Dean x reader

Summary : Is it possible to love someone so much, you just wish you’re lucky enough to die first ?

Warnings : This is ANGST. I’m not kidding, this is panic attack, suicidal thoughts, grieving, light thought of murder, borderline domestic violence angst. This is kinda Dark and be careful that it’s not too triggering for you, please.

Wordcount : 1.8 k

Note : This is my fic for @negans-lucille-tblr​‘s 6k “roll the dice” writing challenge. My genre prompt was Angst (I think you got it by now) and my prompt was “I’ve been pulling you close but pushing me further”, it’s blod in the fic. 

December is a harsh month for me, so here is a harsh fic.

Jay’s Masterlist

_____________________

           Dean did it again.

           He swore on his life he wouldn't, you should have known that it meant nothing.

           How fucking ironic it is ? Dean Winchester swearing on his own life that he will try to protect it, that he won't shield every person on Earth with his soul and body.

           You're holding your painful chest, sitting on that stupid bed in this stupid motel room where nothing makes any sense anymore because your world is crumbling again. And your mind is going all the way down its own spiral of pain, the worst there is.

           Your breath is short and your thoughts go so fast, a super computer giving you all the details of the movie that will be your life once Dean is gone.

           The silence.

           The implacable silence in the bunker, the void left by the end of his voice, the kind of silence that hurts so much it could kill you, harassing cruelly, again and again, with no break at all until you're ready to open your skull on a wall to make it stop.

           That kind of silence.

           The empty bed back home, the empty room. Your mind makes emptiness rain on you : Empty kitchen and no bacon, no joy ever, no sex, no one holding you and telling it's going to be okay. No one really understanding you and no hero on Earth, no butterflies ever again. No reason to live. Empty heart. Empty life.

           Empty fucking world.

           In the middle of this chaotic din, you think of his toothbrush, of throwing it in the trash because he won't need to clean his cute, going slightly inward, teeth ever again. Of his clothes waiting on the closet forever, and how fast the smell on it will fade.

           You think of the nights spending screaming for him to come back because nothing is bearable without him, nothing... Screaming until you can't, strangling yourself with sobs, knowing it won't help because begging, threatening and bargaining won't change a thing.

           And the days being even worse.

           You think of the moment you will manage to forget the loss just enough to breathe, for a second, sitting on your bed, imagining he is just gone to the bathroom and that he will show up, pass this door again... Then remember he will never look back in your eyes again, fall even harder... And now you want to die.

           Right now.

           Even if all this is not real yet, even if Dean is still alive, you just want to die. You need to stop feeling anything forever now, just not exist because you don't want to be here when all of this happens.

           And it will happen.

           He just proved it. Your love for him doomed you and you're done praying that anyone listening would let you take his burdens...

           Your thoughts shatter when he opens the door of the motel room and walks in with his heart beating and his chest breathing, blood running through his veins... But seeing him is not a relief this time, not anymore, and the deafening fear is still compressing your ribs with its vise talons.

"Baby" he sighs and you whimper at the pain of thinking one day you won't hear it anymore.

           Everything hurts.

           Until now, you always managed to calm after Dean almost died. It always took a few days being extremely anxious, living in the shadow of fear, feeling like nothing had any meaning anymore, but he always managed to make you whole again. With empty promises that he won't leave you, that he will always be by your side...

           Bullshit.

           Last time, the unbearable despair of knowing he will go before you didn't leave you completely, and you still suffer this horrible void caused by the idea that nothing worth living, if it is not forever.

           This time, you know it, that horrible sorrow won't leave you. Not ever.

"Dean, it's over."

His big green eyes widen and his large body comes in front of you. His beloved body that you will have to burn one day, watching it as flames eat his freckled skin and flesh, as they turn to nothingness the man you love.

"Don't say that" he groans. "Baby, look at me. I didn't know for the metal thing."

You close your eyes, seeing the vampire impale him on this stupid bar again and again and it's like the spikes goes through you too.

"You know this one is not on me" he sighs. "It's not like I did it on purpose !"

"This one" you mutter his words in echo. "Maybe if you hadn't worn my heart out with all the times it was actually 'on purpose' like you say..."

He squats in front of you but you can't look at him. He was ready to say goodbye... Again. He was ready for you to lose him, who cares if you are ready or not.

"Don't say that..." he tries to touch your cheek with his fingers, the ones you held while performing that horrible spell to save him at Death's door.

To save him against his will.

           But you flinch away and repeat.

"It's over. I won't watch you die."

"I won't, Baby" he tries again but those lies are hollow and your soul burned out.

You get up and pace the ugly room, unable to bear his face so close after seeing it turn dead pale once more.

"You know how lucky you are ?" you say in a broken voice, way too sad to cry. "You're obviously ready to die, to leave me. You will be the one leaving first and th-that is the luckiest place..." he looks down and takes a loud inhale. "You're so fucking ready to quit."

"I'm not" he states but you ignore his words, they are just wind now.

"But I'm not" you continue, seeing tears fill his perfect eyes. "I can't... O-one day I will have to burn your body, Dean... How selfish is it ? Have you ever thought of what happens after your stupid blaze of glory ?" he keeps his eyes down without saying a word and you could hit him, you want to but instead you let out a desperate strangled scream of pain. "HOW FUCKING SELFISH ARE YOU ! YOU'RE WILLING TO SAVE EVERYBODY BUT ME !"

The burning rage rises in your soul, in your body, and it's like flames were consuming you too, like you were on a stake. Your skin is burning, blood boiling and your heart feels like ember.

"Y/n" he tries, paralyzed by his inability to face this paradox :

If he keeps trying to save you and everybody else with his life, it will kill you ; but if you die, he still burns.

           Is it possible to love someone too much ? Is it possible to actually die of love ? Is it possible that it is too late, that you're already dead...

"I CAN'T SLEEP BECAUSE YOU" you scream and a costumer of the motel yells for you to shut up behind the wall, you couldn't care less. "FUCK YOU DEAN WINCHESTER !"

He walks to you but the blazing pain is killing you, and you push him violently, making him step back in a huff.

"It's the job, Baby, you know that" he tries but it feels like gasoline on the pyre of your heart.

"Those suicidal shits to talk to Death ! Fucking OD on meds !" you feel tears roll on your face, down your chin and chest, but you don't think you're crying, or maybe you have been all this time... "Michael ! HELL ! THE MA'LAK BOX ! I NEVER FORGAVE YOU FOR THAT !"

"Y/n... I'm trying..."

"You should have tried harder ! I have been there, following you everywhere, accepting your stubbornness. I've been pulling you close but pushing me further. I'm dying of loving you Dean... I have to go."

You turn to put your clothes in your bag.

"You can't leave" he states, coming closer.

"WATCH ME !"

With hunter speed, he wraps his arms around you, hard and fast, with all his strength, preventing your every moves. All you can do is scream, and hit his arms to get free like they were enemies.

"You... You're not leaving me Y/n" he states through tears while you're fighting like you can. "You can't leave me... You're the meaning of my life... I love you more than anything in the world."

"LIAR !" you sob, hitting him with all you have, hitting him with your pain and your panic, with the despair that is consuming you.

You're fighting in a desperate last attempt to survive, like it was your last breath but when he squeezes your weak body harder, you hit and scratch every parts of him you can reach even more.

"I could die for you" he sobs.

"DON'T SAY THAT ! LET ME GO" you scream again, your voice hoarse and throat sore.

The neighbor knocks on the wall... And your eyes catch a glance at your gun at reach.

           You grab it with the speed of rage and point it to Dean's temple. Nothing matters anymore, and maybe if you both died in that dirty room, you would end up together in Hell...

           He doesn't move. You look at his tears soaked face, this face you love more than it is healthy to, to his tired wrinkled eyes, so red that the green seems greener... You cry at how beautiful he is, and press the barrel harder on his temple.

"I could kill you..." you mutter with clench teeth through your blurred mind.

"Do it" he orders. "DO IT !"

His shouting makes you flinch when his nose grazes yours at how close he is.

"WHY IN HELL WOULD YOU SAVE MY LIFE TO LEAVE ME AFTER ! I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU !" he screams and presses his head harder on the gun. "LEAVING OR PUTTING A BULLET IN ME ARE JUST THE SAME ! SO GO ON ! DO IT !"

           You fall.

           His arms catch you and keep you up, but every crumb of your will just fell. The gun slips from your hand...

           A few years ago, you swore to love Dean forever, even if it meant death or Hell or even worse... So you will stay here, just here in his trembling arms until you have to burn him, for you neither can face that cruel paradox.

           You know you will walk on that pyre, that day, and hold him until the end. You will burn, but you will stay...

           Because this is it.

           This is worse.

_________________________

FEEDBACK IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME

Tags : @parinarain​​​ @mogaruke​​​ @masterof-agony​​​ @rainflowermoon @tftumblin​​​ @deans-baby-momma​​​ @roonyxx​​​ @thefaithfulwriter​​​ @vicariouslythruspn​​​ @emeow1496​​​ @daryldixonandfrogs​​​ @holylulusworld​​​  @cocklesbelli @sandlee44​​​ @screenchingartisancashbailiff @donnaintx​​​ @stormchasingchick32-deactivated​​​ @akshi8278​​​ @magssteenkamp​​​ @sister-winchesters99​​​ @neii3n​​​  @lyss-dw79​​​ @im-a-shrub @sadwaywardkid​​​@hopelesslydevotedtoyou1912 @slyqueenj​​​ @i-love-superhero​​​ @waywardsisterandpie @sunsetsandbooks​​​ @mrspeacem1nusone​​​ @stylesismyhubs​​​ @deanwanddamons​​​ @jawritter​​​ @peridottea91​​​ @chelsea072498 @chocolateheart​​​ @vicmc624​​​ @teresa-67​​​ @jessie-michael​​​ @doctor-hp-mcu​​​ @hawkerz12​​​ @mariaenchanted​​​ @hobby27​​​ @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden​​​ @thoughts-and-funnies​​​ @suramyaa @yasreadsfics​ @brilovesdeanwinchester​

#bees6krollthedicechallenge #supernatural #Supernatural Dean Winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #SPN #SPNFamily #dean winchester #spn dean x reader #dean x reader #dean x y/n #angst #violence #panic #death talk #established relationship #jay and dean

[hornime]

hq as my discovery weekly | part one

warnings: this is completely sfw, combo of fluff and angst

characters included: kenma, akaashi, oikawa, suna, koganegawa, ushijima, bokuto, kuroo, hinata, kita, terushima, iwaizumi, osamu, kageyama, sakusa

a/n: this was a random idea i thought of but i think it’ll be really cute haha. maybe you guys’ll find some new songs in the process! totally encourage anyone to use this idea if they want cus this was super fun to write!

playing... one through fifteen / sixteen through thirty

↪ “cotton candy lemonade" by blu detiger: kenma kozume

i've been up too long, something's wrong / watch the rising sun / turning all my nights to days

i've been on my own, come find me now / i'm lonely to the bone / but I don't feel so low when you're around / let's run away from home

you'll bе my kaleidoscope, my color in this life / watching thе world fade away

kenma is not the most extroverted and he’s in his head a lot, so he’s someone that might not always see the ‘color’ in things that exist around him. but when it comes to you, well, you’re someone that makes him look up from his screen a little longer than usual.

↪ “love affair” by umi: akaashi keiji

don't overthink this is love / maybe it's just a crush

i hope what I feel is enough / maybe this is just lies

i wanna know how to feel, what to feel, what's right / i never know / 'cause when it gets real, I just run away / and hide from you

akaashi gets anxiety. he used to be certain about a lot of things—his intelligence, his skill, his happiness, but most important to him was his feelings for you. he’s overthinking again, he knows it, but he’s getting an uncontrollable itch that maybe this is all in his head; he doesn’t love you, he just think he does. but when you’re in his arms, breathing even and eyes fluttered shut, he remembers what you always told him: it doesn’t matter what he knows, it matters what he feels. and he feels like the luckiest man alive.

↪ “coke” by iii addicts, danice: oikawa tooru

come closer, i been eyeing you from way over / so it's time i come for some closure

had to let her know that you could lick this / shake it up, it's gonna probably gon' bust

why, tell me why / why am i not satisfied / every time i cross that line / i feel it, i feel it

oikawa feels like tantalus: a man constantly reaching for a goal just out of reach, straining his muscles and screaming his voice hoarse just for a glimpse of an unattainable destiny. he’s desperate to get ahead, and while he may be running at top speed at all times, the finish line doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. his worst fear is that, some time he’ll slow his pace and look back and realize he hasn’t gotten very far at all.

↪ “baby powder” by jenevieve: suna rintaro

i'll put up with you babe / there's somethings I won't take / baby don't feel me false / yeah that turns me off

you're making me so high now / you're everything I'd ever want / you're keeping me so dry now / you're everything I'd never want uh

plastic on the floor but it ain't for me / ima go up to the place that i'd rather be

suna is straightforward. he won’t deal with your bullshit, and he learns that you won’t deal with his either, which makes you so appealing. when he starts letting more and more of you in, he feels you slipping through his fingers. you wanted to be friends, so you treat him as one. he doesn’t remember when he started wanting more.

↪ “chandelier (instrumental version)” by paquin: koganegawa kanji

instrumental so no lyrics lol

koganegawa is bubbly. he’s a bouncer: he bounces between social circles, bounces colors behind his eyes, and bounces back after adversity. he’s an amiable guy, and it’s landed him plenty of friends and opportunities, but best of all, it’s landed him you.

↪ “l-over” by u.s. girls: ushijima wakatoshi

my lover has no heart / magic moving blood around that body / he's cool to the touch / i don't see him much / but when I do, he does nothing for me

can you imagine trying to get / some satisfaction out of a stone?

spare me any talk of your future life / i don't know what I'll do without you

ushijima is stubborn. he’s deadset on achieving his goals for the future, and if you can’t work with them, you better work around them. you’re tired of how he grounds you; you thought it was a blessing at first, having a guy that knew what he wanted and would always act as a constant in your life, but you’ve started to see that he’s not a lighthouse anymore, he’s an anchor. he’s an anchor that’s chaining you to the ocean floor and will drown you if you, even for a second, stop kicking your legs to stay afloat.

↪ “magic!” by リアムMAZE1981: bokuto koutarou

and when you smile at me that way / well you can warm the coldest day / it's magic

and all i have to do is think of you / to make the music start to play / then i dance down the street / and the people I meet stop and say hey hey

and when you want me you just clap your hands / and I'll be with you right away / then we'll float on a breeze / while the leaves in the trees softly say hey hey / magic ways, my friend / you love the girl with magic ways and it's true / i might as well give in

bokuto is bright. he tramps around the world with the light of the sun illuminating his face. there is nothing in the universe that could ever drag him down, especially not with you around. you’ve cast some kind of spell on him, he’s sure of it, because your very presence makes him certain that he’s immortal. he must be, because when he’s with you, he’s withstanding the heat of a thousand suns that erases the darkness in every shadow, corner, and crevice of his life. 

↪ “i hope that u think of me” by pity party (girls club): kuroo tetsuro

i hope that you dream of me baby / nightmares are what dreams are baby i-i-i / i think I'm fallin' out of love

you tell me that it's easy to be / you tell me that it's easy to be with me but you lie-i-i / why do you lie all the time?

kuroo is focused. he takes note of everything when he’s working on a task, down to dotting the ‘i’s and crossing the ‘t’s. he often finds himself with tunnel vision, unable to think of anything but the current responsibility at the top of his every-growing to-do list. somewhere along the way, he lost track of you—must’ve loosened his grip on your hand and your fingers fell through empty space. he’d look for you, back in the void, but he’s busy. he keeps moving, unaware that you’ve turned back, walking in the opposite direction as him to find the life before him that you barely remember.

↪ “the leanover” by life without buildings: hinata shoyo

kiss me, break my mind, close the door / black steel, break my mind, close the door

if i lose you in the street / i say, i say, i say, i say, i say, i say / wassup, wassup with you? / wassup with your friends?

hinata is unfazed. he knows that, when things go bad, there’ll always be something there to right them. so when your paths diverge—maybe your schedules don’t work out, your dates get canceled, your nights home become more and more sparse—he’s not worried. not one bit. because at the end of the night, he knows that you’ll always find your way back to one another, and you’ll always greet him with open arms. and he’ll always do the same.

↪ “ladyfingers - edit” by funding secured: kita shinsuke

instrumental so no lyrics lol

kita is polished. he works hard during the day to be with you at night, dancing in little circles in the small kitchen of your shared home. he looks at you with fondness and appreciation, thanking his stars a million times over for granting him with someone like you. he’s a tree, stable in the harshest of gales, but even trees like to sway with the wind sometimes.

↪ “black madonna” by cage the elephant: terushima yuuji

makes no difference here, so let's be real / black madonna, my black flower / nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide / you're not havin' fun, i think that you should ride

climb so high, don't hear a sound / don't you forget what goes around, comes around / climb so high, tell me how to feel

call me when you're ready to be real / black madonna, my hallelujah

terushima is hedonistic. he’s never concerned himself with thoughts of the future, or of the past, or of anything, really. all he can think about is making each moment as willing to be lived as possible. you, on the other hand, are practical, too practical in his opinion, and he wants you to let loose, lighten up a little bit. maybe in the long run, it won’t be the best idea to let him take you by the hand and on a midnight adventure, but you haven’t thought that far ahead yet. guess he’s already rubbing off on you.

↪ “mother nature’s bitch” by okay kaya: iwaizumi hajime

everybody / please give a warm welcome to / to this current mood

here i am / easy to please / here i am / okay with it

here i am / desperate for attention / here i am / being mother nature's bitch

iwaizumi is hardworking. he does the best he can with everything he tries; sometimes that amounts to something and sometimes it doesn’t. most times it doesn’t fulfill his expectations, as high as they are. when you’re around, his borderline hatred for himself disappears. when you’re there to tell him how great he’s doing, the tension in his shoulders dissipates. 

↪ “smithereens” by rasharn powell, ab001: miya osamu

found my power / and my brethren / in a tussle with the world itself

see if I’m david, you’re goliath / there’s some power in defiance / put my heart in a slingshot / we been cycling away for days

searching for freedom always / likeness of an orgasm been had / empty with a peace that just don’t last / petite mort, then born again

osamu is pioneering. he opened a small business and eventually branched out, managing chains of his restaurant across the nation. it may not be a flashy job, but it’s a solid one, and a draining one. there are days of back-to-back shifts, afternoons overwhelming catering orders, and nights spent sleeping over on a cot near the kitchen. when he dreams, curled up with the smell of onigri still lingering in the air, he can only think of ‘what if’ he’d chosen another path, a path with a more obvious end, a more obvious definition of glory. but he still wakes up at dawn, conquering his own corner of the sky, knowing that his life, while it may be small, is not insignificant.

↪ “must be” by lou phelps: kageyama tobio

must be the henny on the ice / must be the diamonds that I buy / might be the shit that I write / whatever a n**** do and say, that's what I like

i'm on the cloud as i walk the front door / that's a boost, that's true, that's loo

yeah, um, i'mma need my space / 'cause you's a bum-bum, can't be standing next to me, uh / forgive me for my sins / don't tell me this is wrong if it feels right

kageyama is cocky. he’s good at what he does, amazing, actually, and he sure as hell knows it. he’s surrounded by people that make him better, people that he makes better, and he can’t think of a place he’d rather be. he’s on his way to carve his way into the moon and he’s not going to tolerate anyone that wants to keep him on earth.

↪ “jealous” by eyedress: sakusa kiyoomi

you could have anyone you want / why would you want to be with me? / you know, I'm nothing special

don't tell me about your problems / if you're not trying to solve them / don't ask me for my help

sakusa is independent. he’s not one to see himself as part of someone else’s orbit, opting to act like a random rock, floating in space with no origin and no destination. he’s worried that, if he gets too close to you, he’ll end up getting drawn in by your gravity and either crash land or burn up. neither seems appealing, and the idea of a safe encounter hasn’t even crossed his mind, so he’s going to keep moving on an endless trek towards the stars.

#haikyuu!! #haikyu #hq #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #kenma #akaashi #oikawa #suna #koganegawa #ushijima #bokuto #kuroo #hinata

[shyneanon]

So I know almost nothing about Nightmare Sans but I decided I wanted to write something on the creepier side, so yeah! That’s what this is, something on the creepier side. I guess it’s technically “x reader” but it’s not particularly romantic....

---

You were in a marsh.

At least, that was what you thought at first. You were almost knee deep in what you had first assumed was water, and you could see trees. But when you attempted to move your legs, you discovered that the water was more like tar. Almost like there’d been some awful spill, so bad that the entire marsh was just filled with oil now. You looked around. Everything seemed very black; you could only assume it was nighttime.

Where am I? It looked almost like an empty void save for the trees and tar. You saw no night sky.

A dream, probably.

Well, nothing was really happening, so you began to wade through the marsh. It was gross, and very quickly you found yourself struggling to move. Not like quicksand, it just took a lot of effort to move and you were getting tired. You weren’t sure why but you were starting to get eerie vibes from this place.

Maybe it was the fact that there was no sound at all.

You hadn’t noticed that before. It was just… dead silence, besides the sound of you sloshing (or attempting to slosh) around in the tar. There didn’t appear to be any signs of life, despite this being presumably a marsh.

Just darkness, trees, and oil.

Nothing more.

Silence bothered you, so you observed, “There’s nobody here,” in an attempt to calm your nerves.

“I’m here.”

You froze in place and then looked around. It was a soft, polyphonic voice. You couldn’t pinpoint a single direction from which it could be coming.

“There’s no need to be afraid.”

Having the other voice talking at you made you feel a little helpless, so you decided to respond, but the best thing you could think of was, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I mean I was hoping for a longer answer,” you said. “Who are you?”

The voice answered with, “A friend.”

“A bit too vague for my liking, friend.” You looked down and observed just how difficult it was for you to move in the sticky black substance flooding the marsh, and you began to move towards a tree. If your new friend wasn’t really so friendly you could try climbing the tree to get away.

“Do you want a name?”

“I mean, I guess a name would be nice.” It was taking you ages to get to the tree.

“Tell me your name.”

Uh… sure, why not?

“My name’s (y/n),” you said as you finally got to the tree. You reached out to grab it--

The tree suddenly formed a ghastly face with sharp teeth that bit down into your hand.

Hard.

And it hurt.

It was so painful you let out a yell. Instinctively, you tried to tug away from it but its teeth only sank harder into your hand. You swore. Why is the pain so real? Why does it hurt so much?!

You managed to yank your hand away but at the expense of the teeth raking through your hand. You looked at what it had left behind; you could see bone and muscle. The flesh was completely ripped off in some places. You looked back at the tree and saw that it was devouring what it had torn off of you. Looking back at your hand, you noticed there was blood… So much blood…. Horrified, you stumbled backward…

And fell back into the tar. The sensation stung your mauled hand, and while you writhed to get out, its consistency was too thick, too sticky. Where was the bottom of the tar pit? You had been wading through it before but now it felt like you were sinking…

There was the feeling of a hand grabbing your uninjured arm and pulling you up from the tar as if it were mere water. When you surfaced, you doubled over and started to cough; you could feel some of the tar still clinging to you. Eventually you were able to look up from the ground to see who had rescued you, and if they looked like they were just here to inflict more pain.

It… looked like a person, someone about your height. Sort of. The shape did, anyway. They were wearing some… kind of hoodie, you thought? And shorts. And their head appeared to be round, but they were coated in that tar you were wading in. And they had these four massive tentacles coming from their back, that also looked like they were covered in the tar. Or were they made of tar? You weren’t sure. Thankfully, seeing as this was a dream and you were confused and frightened, seeing tentacles didn’t bring to your mind anything humorous.

Or maybe that’s a bad thing. At least if you had been laughing at the thought of hentai you wouldn’t have been feeling the stinging, piercing pain on the hand of yours that had been torn apart.

For some reason, you weren’t really afraid of the stranger. He had a bizarre appearance, yeah, but he had just saved you from drowning, he wasn’t attacking you, and… and you weren’t sure. You just felt really calm around him. More than anything, you were curious. Your eyes were drawn to this one teal eye he had.

Without thinking, you reached up to touch him, and then noticed your mangled hand. Seeing the gore startled you enough for you to yell and almost fall over backwards again, but the stranger grabbed your uninjured arm like before.

“It’s alright. You don’t need to be scared.”

It was the voice from before. This was its owner?

“I mean,” you said, “my hand has been destroyed, so…”

“I can heal it,” he said.

One of his tentacles slowly reached out, but not for your hand. It was aiming for your forehead. You didn’t pull away, just watched. You had the feeling you were both curious about each other, right?

This was going to be one of those awesome-in-hindsight dreams, wasn’t it?

The tentacle eventually touched you. It was gooey but you still couldn’t tell if it was made of tar or just covered in it.

It then turned itself around and slowly ran down your face. You blinked a little at the sensation-- it was still covered in goop, so ew, kinda-- but it wasn’t all that bad.

You saw a smile play at the stranger’s features. The smile was very toothy, and as he cocked his head, exposing more of his neck, you realized why he didn’t look quite normal.

Well, there were a lot of reasons why he didn’t look normal. But why his human-like figure didn’t seem quite like any other person’s.

You could see the vertebrae of his neck.

A skeleton.

Weird.

You lifted your uninjured hand a little. “Can I touch you?” you asked.

He looked at your hand.

“Of course.”

You reached out with your hand and touched his cheek. All of him felt gooey. Man, your brain came up with the weirdest things, didn’t it?

You felt two of his tentacles take your injured hand and the stinging sensation faded. When you looked back at it, it was completely healed, as if nothing had ever happened to it.

Well, this wasn’t really such a nightmare, it had its upsides.

You smiled at the stranger. “Thank y--”

There was a sloshing sound from behind you and you turned to see a harrowing figure of tar rising up from behind you. Before you could do so much as let out a sound it tackled you so that you were back in the tar, though this time you could feel a bottom.

You quickly wished there was no bottom.

Instead of drowning you felt the sensation of the figure’s hand tearing straight through your chest, shattering your ribs and tearing apart your insides.

It was agonizing.

You screamed (or, attempted to) and began to writhe in pain as you suddenly felt like you’d been stabbed in the stomach. Before you knew it you felt like your whole body was getting torn into pieces. Why does it feel so real? This is a dream! It shouldn’t feel so real!

Eventually the pain grew so overwhelming that your consciousness(? In a dream?) began to fade, and eventually everything went black.

You didn’t wake up.

---

Nightmare listened to the sounds of your screaming as the entities he’d summoned tore you to bits and pieces. They ripped your heart out, tore holes in your lungs, took off your limbs…. Nightmare closed his eyes.

Her screams are beautiful….

When you stopped screaming, and he realized you had passed out, he held out his hand and the figures melted back into the tar where they’d come from. He reached down and hauled you out of the tar before making his way to a tree. Unlike with you, the tree made no move to injure him, and he used his four extra limbs to climb up to the top with no problem.

He then began to heal you.

You barely resembled yourself after what the creatures in the tar had done to you. It pained Nightmare to see it. They had torn apart your beautiful face…

But he’d needed to feed. And besides… your screams… He let out a shuddering breath.

And in a few minutes, it would all be worth it.

It took a while before your body was able to reform and put itself back into place, but once it did, Nightmare smiled, taking you in his tentacles.

“So pretty,” he murmured to himself. He wasn’t used to… enjoying the sight of people. Usually his emotions didn’t leave much room for positive thinking. But he supposed you fulfilled certain criteria that fit his… personal tastes.

One tentacle curled around you possessively.

“M… Mine….”

He knew he couldn’t actually keep you here. While he was virtually godlike in his realm (if he weren’t, you would be dead from all that maiming earlier), keeping you here wasn’t feasible.

Right now, at least.

He waited for you to wake up, lovingly stroking you with his tentacles and watching your soft features.

To think he had come up with a perfect plan so quickly…

---

You eventually woke up.

Well, not really, it appeared you were still in the dream. Had you been having a nightmare in the dream? Was this a dream within a dream?

You noticed that you were being held by something odd, and as your vision focused you could see that it was the stranger from earlier holding you.

“You’re awake,” he said. This was the first time you’d seen him frowning. “I was worried I’d lost you….”

You looked at your hands, then felt your body. It was like nothing had touched you. “How…”

“I healed you again, after driving the creature off.”

You looked up at him in shock. “You could heal me from that?” You weren’t sure why you were questioning the logic of a dream, but here you were.

“This forest is a very dangerous place. If I didn’t have these capabilities, I would be dead. There is no one here to heal me.”

Wait.

“So you’re stuck here? All by yourself?”

A nod.

“That’s… horrible,” you told him.

“It’s alright.” He smiled. “You being here… makes it much less lonely.”

Your face warmed up. Why was it warming up? “Oh…. Thanks.” You smiled apologetically. “I can’t… stay here forever, though.”

“I know.”

One of his tentacles brushed aside some of your hair. You seemed to be held in two of them.

Huh. You didn’t see so many tree trunks. Were you still in the marsh?

You looked down and then instantly jumped, clinging to his neck. So high up we’re so high up--

The stranger let out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”

Well, he’d saved you from death twice now, so you’d trust him on that. You nodded. “Thanks… for saving me.”

He cupped your cheek with one hand.

“I have never seen anything as beautiful as you,” he said.

Your face got hot.

He pressed his teeth to your lips.

At first, you just didn’t know what to do. This was a little bit shocking. What was this dream?

But you felt so calm near him, and he was lonely, and he had saved your life… and it was just a dream, so...

You kissed back.

---

Nightmare felt a surge of emotion that he hadn’t felt in a long time as your lips returned his kiss.

Mine…. She loves me….

His tentacles wrapped firmly around you and he deepened the kiss. You reciprocated.

I’m her hero….

One of his tentacles stroked your thigh and he opened his one functioning eye, watching as your face flushed pink.

If only you were a being of darkness like him, able to withstand immense amounts of pain… How he could tear you apart, spill your blood, make you beg for mercy…

Only to have you beg for more….

He growled into the kiss and you seemed to pay no mind. In fact, you shifted in his hold so that it was easier to kiss you.

He wondered… was it possible to change a human into something like him…? He would have to look into that.

The things that he would do to you….

As he thought of it his tentacles began to encroach on slightly more sensitive areas of your body, and he raised a hand, bringing out your soul. He hoped you wouldn’t notice, and at first you didn’t, but when it began to shine brightly enough, you opened one eye and then broke the kiss.

“Wh… what’s that?”

“It is your soul,” Nightmare explained, hoping you wouldn’t ask how it got here. “The entirety of you, embodied in one small object.”

Curious, you blinked and reached out, tapping it.

“It’s warm,” you observed.

“It is.”

So warm…. So soft….

He gently ran a finger along it, watching your face.

You flushed red.

The things he would do….

He suddenly came to the realization that it was almost time for you to wake up.

Not fair….

But that was how things were. So he gently returned your soul (much to his dismay) and kissed your lips.

“I hope that I can see you again,” he told you.

You seemed to be aware that you were dreaming, so you probably thought you wouldn’t be seeing him again. Still, you responded, “I hope so too. Especially if I end up back here. I’m gonna need you around or I’ll die.”

His plan had worked out so perfectly. He was unused to playing the hero, but it had worked out so well….

He would keep being the hero for you.

“If you end up here I promise I’ll find you.”

You nodded.

And then you dissipated as you were awoken by the sound of your alarm.

Nightmare glared at the empty space where you’d been.

It’s not fair.

It’s not. Fair.

His brother had people who cared about him while Nightmare was stuck on his own. You were the only person who wanted him and now you were gone until the nighttime. Until you went to sleep. He clenched his fists.

No. No. There’s no need to be angry.

This was good. The fact that you were gone was good. During the time you were gone, he would eventually find a way to keep you here.

Not just keep you, but change you. So that he wouldn’t be alone.

He would make you into something cold and dark, like him.

And how he’d hurt you….

Such beautiful screams.

#I dunno I was like #how bout somethin' creepyyyyyy #fanfic #fanfiction #reader-insert #self-insert #x reader #sans x reader #nightmare sans

[backtothestart02]

Don’t Give Up On Me - 1/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Idk what this is. It was gonna be the next Muse chap with just a couple paragraphs of angst, but I managed to change it into nearly 2k of angst and I can’t bring myself to write the happy ending tonight, so it’s turned into a two-shot that I’ll hopefully finish later this week. Enjoy. Bring tissues.

...

Synopsis: Early S7 - Barry and Iris deal with the after effects of the Mirrorverse on Iris.

...

Chapter 1 -

It was a dark, dreary day in Central City.

Iris sat in a light sweater, jeans, and fuzzy socks by the window, her long hair cascading down her back, her forehead pressed to the chilled glass, and didn’t say a word. She’d been silent all morning, sipping her dark roast and forcing small smiles towards Barry whenever he approached her.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate him being near. Hell, she’d been without his presence for months, and it nearly killed her. Just being able to feel him nearby was a relief and soothing to her worn-down senses. But she was so lost in herself, still recovering from all that had happened, that on days like today with crime at a low and both she and Barry off work because of the weekend, she really let herself accept what had happened to her and how far she still had to go.

It had been three weeks since she escaped the mirror verse and together with Barry and team Flash defeated Eva McCulloch once and for all. It had given her a high at the time, and frankly she’d just been glad to be alive and sane and reunited with the people that she loved, especially Barry.

But as time passed she started to face the reality of all that she’d lost, the fact that her doppleganger had been able to convince everyone for so long that she was the real Iris. On the surface she didn’t blame anyone. Mirror Iris was a very good actress, because in a lot of ways she was her. She had the same memories, knowledge, emotions… But she wasn’t alive. She wasn’t human. She wasn’t Iris. And for months Iris had been screaming into the void, the ever-present mirror that occasionally let her see her family and friends, that they see the truth. And how could they not see it?

Especially Barry. Barry knew her so well…

Later she’d come to learn that he had suspected Mirror Iris right from the start. She had cooked better, spoken in a foreign language fluently, and hit some guy over the head with a glass bottle, a boundary Iris herself probably wouldn’t have crossed, even undercover. She’d spoken the truth about how she felt about Barry always putting her in a corner when it was time to fight the bad guys, but Iris would’ve never started an argument just for the sake of it. She wouldn’t have made her husband think they were growing apart or that he wasn’t proud of her. She wouldn’t have stormed off.

In the following weeks, she wouldn’t have shut down around him if he didn’t give her what she wanted. When he reassured her that he trusted her, she wouldn’t have merely smiled and thanked him and walked away. She wouldn’t have spent the night away from him while he merely sat reading in the dark. She wouldn’t have told him that it was for the best that the speed force was dead, and he’d lose his speed indefinitely. She knew how big a part of his identity being the Flash was. If he wanted to walk away from it, that was one thing. But to encourage it when he didn’t? She would have never done that.

The revelation that Mirror Iris had slept with her husband, both literally and sexually, hadn’t hit Iris hard at first, but in time it did. How could Barry not tell? In their most intimate moments, how was he not aware that it wasn’t really her?

But when she learned that at the same moment she had declared her undying love for him with her hand pressed to the mirror of another universe, so had he? She forgot all of that. How could she blame him, especially when he realized it was her after she did the most heinous thing? Mirror Iris had tried to fracture their marriage.

How dare she.

Iris would never. And Barry knew that. He knew it.

Everything started to align after that. In the end, Iris had saved herself, shocking everyone and slapping Barry with a burden of guilt unintentionally. Because she’d nearly gone mad, and he hadn’t connected the dots soon enough, and he should’ve been able to rescue her. He was her husband, the Flash. She might not be a damsel in distress, but she needed his help, and he failed her.

Her ever-constant need to be near him, to touch him, to make love to him helped ease his guilt. She was just so glad to be back and to be with him. She forgave him, she said. She loved him, she said. She never wanted to lose him again.

But that was the first week.

It had been two weeks since then, and Barry could feel them growing apart. Iris didn’t say it, but he wondered if she was starting to blame him for not figuring out she was gone sooner. They hadn’t made love in a week, and the last time they had, it had been the result of a fight. He had started it. He’d wanted to push her into admitting she hadn’t really forgiven him.

She hit him with the blow he hadn’t been expecting, even though his argument implied he should have.

“I have forgiven you,” she’d said, tears fresh in her eyes. “But forgiving and forgetting are two different things.”

And he’d felt so empty, he didn’t know what to do. Tears started to stream down his cheeks at the reality that she would never forget how he’d been with someone that wasn’t her, even if he’d been unaware of it at the time.

She approached him then and laid her hand over his heart.

“I blame her, not you. She manipulated you. She made you think I wasn’t your home.” Her voice cracked.

“Then why did you need to forgive me?” he asked sadly.

She kissed him, unwilling to answer his question, not really knowing how to. She walked backwards till she fell back on the bed and eagerly stripped him of his clothing, as he did hers. They made love that night with the intensity of a lightning storm. And in the morning, they were okay again; except they weren’t really. And Barry didn’t know how to fix it.

But he didn’t bring up the subject again. He didn’t want to fight. So instead he walked around her as if on eggshells. He did whatever he could to make her happy. But they didn’t make love since that night, and they rarely kissed, except for a peck here and there when leaving for work or arriving home. Barry still dropped off love letters at her work during her lunch hour, but she didn’t acknowledge them when she got home anymore like she used to. He wondered if there was any use writing them at all. For all he knew she was throwing them away.

His carefully written, poured from his soul love letters to his beautiful wife might be in the trash. And that worried him most of all.

“Want a refill?” he asked, now, in the present, forcing himself out of his morbid thoughts. Because the day itself looked morbid, and Iris looked sad, and all he could think of was to give her more dark roast, because hell, he knew she at least wouldn’t turn down that.

“Hmm?” she asked, turning away from the window to see him holding the coffee pot before her. “Oh.”

Her brows furrowed, then she looked down into her half-empty cup.

“No, I still have some.”

“Is it cold though?” he asked, before he could get down on himself.

She took a sip.

“Mm…lukewarm.” She wrinkled her nose and held out her mug, and he filled it up to the brim. “Thanks, babe,” she said and took a sip before settling in at the window again.

He nodded once, too afraid he’d say something he’d regret if he opened his mouth again, and returned the pot to its holder in the kitchen. He stood there for a while again, watching his wife. She didn’t seem to notice, and she noticed even less when he went upstairs to change and then sped out of the loft to take a run in the rain.

He needed to get away, to figure things out, to put his relationship, his wife, back together again. As fate would have it though, he was unable to come up with anything any more than the previous times he’d gone out for a run for this exact reason.

Realizing staying out any longer wouldn’t do any good, he sped and stopped abruptly once inside.

Iris wasn’t sitting by the window anymore. In fact, she was coming down the stairs when she stopped suddenly, spotting his sad-looking self standing in front of the door.

“Oh, my God, Barry, you’re dripping! Let me-”

She rushed to get some towels and help him dry off.

“I figured you’d left, but I didn’t realize it was to run in the rain. Of all the stupid-”

He tensed, and she stopped herself. She met his eyes and searched them with concern.

“Barry… Are you okay?”

And he hated himself. Because she’d been about to lash out, but she held back because she knew it would hurt him. He wished she’d just hurt him. This dancing around each other thing they were doing was only making things worse. He wished she’d just acknowledge it. If she couldn’t get over what he and Mirror Iris did, the least she could do was be upfront about it.

He didn’t answer, so she pressed forward as if she had.

“Why don’t you go take a shower?” she suggested softly. “I’ll order some take-out and we can watch a movie after.”

‘You’ll touch me?’ he almost said but held back. That would start a fight. He didn’t want to fight, but he didn’t know how to act anymore.

So, he just nodded and said, “Okay.”

Iris forced another smile and headed into the living room to retrieve her cell phone and make the call. Barry sped up the stairs, lightning crackling behind him, so she wouldn’t see him dragging his feet the way he wanted to.

Then he entered the bathroom, undressed and turned on the shower. The hot water should’ve been soothing, a relief to him after the cold rain that had nearly drowned him as he ran outside. But it only made him want to scream, want to yell, want to shout. He wanted to bang on the walls because how in the hell did he pull them out of this emptiness.

The evening would be fake, put on as a means of not fighting and because both of them were tired.

As it turned out, when Barry finished with his shower and dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, he came downstairs to the sight of Iris sleeping on the couch. He lifted her up and carried her to bed. When the delivery man came, Barry paid him and stuck the food in the fridge. He wasn’t feeling real hungry anyway.

...

*Will post on AO3 and FFnet when beta’d.

#westallen #fanfiction #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #don't give up on me #chapter 1

[sign-from-god-complex]

Self-Control

Summary: The sound of footsteps pad across the landing above and though Virgil has come all this way he’s suddenly struck with the feeling that he’s not ready. It’s been 15 years since they’ve seen each other—so much can change in 15 years; so much has changed in 15 years.

Though, maybe things haven’t changed quite as much as Virgil thinks.

(AKA, a past-punk moxiety AU)

Pairing: Moxiety!

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smoking, homophobia and nondescript injury. Vague allusions to past abuse (or at least mentions of terrible parental figures). Brief discussion of a parental figure having died.

AO3 Link

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It isn’t at all the place Virgil imagined for him. The flower pots all sit in a row on the steps, red ivy climbing up the fence like spider webs and a garden hose curled up on a perfectly manicured front lawn. Everything about it is picturesque—almost to the point of insanity—and as a butterfly floats by and lands delicately on a ladder leaning onto the fence from the backyard, Virgil wonders what in the world could have changed Patton so drastically to have led to this.

There’s an image, in his head, of teenage rebellion—of 2 am milkshakes and stolen bicycles, of broken glass and laughter, so much laughter, as they took advantage of what time they had left to live. It doesn’t fit in with this pastel blue sky in this pastel blue neighbourhood full of pastel blue people but he knew that it wouldn’t. He knew things would be different.

Though, that doesn’t make it all that much easier to comprehend.

Vaguely, Virgil hears the sound of excited squeals coming from the yard and he ducks his head over the fence just a bit, catching sight of a young girl flying off of a trampoline at a hundred miles an hour—hair a mess and grin bright.

The kid must be Patton’s—it’s unmistakable, that dark skin and reckless look, like she’s ready to take the world on at any moment—and Virgil can’t help but remember the nights the two of them spent drinking and talking and vowing to never tie themselves down to anyone or anything. 

He supposes no one really does know what they want when they’re young.

It takes Virgil a while to gather up the courage to knock—he’s all too aware of his leather jacket and patches, his dyed hair and piercings. He couldn’t feel more out of place in this suburban neighbourhood and he hadn’t thought that around Patton he could ever feel out of place.

In the end, though, the choice is taken out of his hands. The young girl throws open the door, clearly looking to haul ass across the street to the park—the kind of place he and Pat would have smoked, once upon a time—but is stopped short as she notices Virgil standing in her way. There’s a moment where he’s afraid she’s going to scream or cry or something else he would have no clue how to deal with but instead, she just grins cheekily.

“Dad!” she yells, barely turning her head to face the soft white interior of the house, “There’s a man here for you!”

The sound of footsteps pad across the landing above and for a moment Virgil is so afraid that he’s gotten the wrong house or that Patton won’t want to see him and though he’s come all this way he’s struck with the feeling that he’s not ready. It’s been 15 years since they’ve seen each other; so much can change in 15 years.

“Riley, what do you mean? What ma-”

And then, there he is.

His face is void of any of the makeup he used to wear, his hair faded from turquoise to its natural black and left curly in a way he wouldn’t have been caught dead with once. And, over the top of a graphic t-shirt displaying some characters Virgil doesn’t recognise and unripped light-wash jeans, Patton had thrown a familiar blue flannel.

Virgil remembers that flannel, worn under heavy coats to help fight the evening windchill, tied around Patton’s waist as they scaled fences just to see if they could and left in a pile on the floor in his room as they finally escaped back to comfort and warmth. Honestly, he’s just surprised it still fits.

Patton does nothing but stare at him for a moment, his lips parted in shock and his eyes big and wide and god, looking at him now is like falling in love all over again.

“Virge?” he breathes, a melody of disbelief in his voice. Virgil can’t exactly blame him—it isn’t as if he’s someone Patton was expecting to see.

Virgil rubs over the fabric of his jacket, a nervous tick he’d had even back then. “Hey, uh… surprise?”

And in an instant, has Patton pitched forward right into his arms. Virgil catches him—of course, he catches him, he’ll always catch him—and Patton laughs, displaying some level of joy Virgil hadn’t known he’d needed to hear until now. He can feel Patton breathing against his neck as they hold each other and, distantly, the sound of light footsteps echoes away and up the stairs.

They pull apart, eventually, the separation like trying to peel a sticker off of a concrete wall—the easiest kind of graffiti to enact while still being tricky to remove. The distance Patton puts between them seems almost reluctant and Virgil wishes he had the courage to tell him to stay.

“What are you doing here?” Patton asks. It’s soft, like the white fuzzy carpet of his new home and Virgil realises suddenly he’d been so caught up in him that he’d forgotten that this him wasn’t the same.

Patton had always been soft but not soft like this. He’d been soft in redirected conversation and distractions, in Virgil’s favourite TV show on in the background and stolen chocolate bars in his pocket, guiding hands mimicking steady breathing. This Patton seems soft around the edges—worn down, almost—and Virgil feels those 15 years as more of a lifetime.

He doesn’t answer the question—truthfully because he’s not sure how, not sure where to start with the mess of events and near-misses and regrets that finally brought him here to Patton’s doorstep—and instead replies with one of his own. 

“My mom died. Did you know that?” It’s a stupid thing to ask, they hadn’t spoken to each other in 15 years, there was no way he could have known. Virgil asks it all the same though. “I have her money now. Didn’t write me out of the will even after everything we went through. Guess she didn’t want how much she hated me and my “lifestyle” to come out even after she’d kicked it.”

Patton just looks at him. There’s something sad in his eyes, maybe, something regretful or sympathetic, something holding years worth of apologies and love confessions in not so many words that every night they'd pretended they hadn’t said.

Maybe not, he isn’t sure. He’s never been very good with stuff like that. 

“You owe me a party,” Virgil continues impulsively. Patton grins and shakes his head and the urge to kiss him is so strong for a moment Virgil can’t breathe. “You promised me when she was dead and I didn’t have to worry about her anymore we’d have a party. With cheerio sausages and expensive liquor and-”

“Sparkling juice and bad karaoke,” Patton interrupts, “I remember.”

Nobody speaks. Patton doesn’t invite him in and Virgil doesn’t ask for fear of being turned away. 

He knows there’s an element of worship in the way he looks at Patton. It’s worship like the way farmers pray for rain in a drought, worship like how sailors are drawn to the rough turn of the sea and worship like teens relishing in the night when they’re bored and alone and angry, yearning for freedom that only comes in years they feel they don’t have left.

But now, dark eyes gazing at him and breath catching in his throat, Virgil thinks maybe he isn’t the only one who feels it.

“I have a kid now, you know?” Patton asks and Virgil knows instantly that question isn’t about the party but everything that comes after it—all of the hundreds of possibilities that stem from this decision that neither of them can quite voice out loud, “Single parent. I made a lot of bad choices in those 15 years—gave myself away to a few people who didn’t deserve it, maybe—but she’s… helped. I want to be better for her.”

Virgil nods. It’s a little hard to reconcile teenage Patton with this one but he tries anyway. He has to; he owes him that much.

(In truth, he owes him so, so much more than that but right now this is all he feels he can give.)

“Yeah, uh, Riley, right? Seems like a sweet kid, if not a bit mischievous.” Virgil smirks slightly, somewhere between teasing and nostalgic. “Kind of like you were.” 

At that, Patton grins and he laughs and it feels right—feels like early morning rainfall and crackling log fires, like the burning in your lungs as you run and the way your eyes slowly drift shut against your will when you’re up too late, like every ending and beginning in just a moment. 

He shakes his head again, almost affectionately chastising and there’s a stuttering of Virgil’s hand as he goes to reach out, to brush a strand of hair away from Patton’s face but stops himself halfway through.

Patton doesn’t seem to notice. Virgil once thought Patton never noticed—never saw the longing in his eyes and the flushed red of his cheeks as they sat side-by-side on a park bench in the middle of winter, running from the heat of harsh words and high expectations.

He wonders if maybe that was naive. 

“Well, I’ve gotta make sure to raise her right,” Patton jokes and his smile is amused—fond and familiar like the worn leather of Virgil’s jacket between his fingers, “If she’s not questioning authority and getting me called down to the office at least once a term then I’m doing something wrong.”

With that, there’s a flash—just a moment—of principal visits and angry rants, of cutting class to sit with the other in the silence of the school office and knowing, that outside of the two of them, there was no one else to come. And he thinks of Patton—this Patton, not his Patton—taking up the empty space of that office with kind reassurances and defensive words, protecting and protecting and protecting, fighting for Riley the way he had Virgil.

Parenthood suits Patton more than he’d first thought, perhaps.

“Ah, office visits.” Virgil nods sagely and can’t resist the quirk of his lips as Patton giggles. “A hallmark of a punk child. Next thing you know she’ll be dyeing her hair, running off to the park in the middle of the night to meet up with boys.”

It’s obviously a joke but still, Patton quietens, taking on a more contemplative look. It seems as if he’s remembering something and Virgil needs, all at once, to make sure he’s more to Patton than simply that expression on his face in the midst of just another day.

“Yeah,” Patton finally says, “Yeah, she was thinking purple actually.”

Virgil doesn’t reach up and drag a hand through his own purple hair but it’s a near thing. He hums—soft and low. “Good taste.”

A heavy silence rings in his ears—an echo of all the memories they share and all the memories they don’t, a collision of black and pastel blue on a canvas already painted with teenage angst and first love—and Virgil can't stand the way it feels like it may be too much to overcome. It isn't; he won't let it be.

He takes a step closer and Patton doesn’t move away, just lets Virgil crowd him against the doorframe till their chests are pressed together and each shuddering breath is a joint effort.

“I’d like to get to know her. If you’ll let me,” he murmurs and he’s so close that he can hear Patton’s heartbeat pick up as he slides a hand up to brush at the strands of hair against Virgil’s neck.

The air between them is tense and pulled tight—gazes tracing over freckles and foundation, their skin warm with each point of contact and the rushing of blood in Virgil’s ears drowning out the pounding of his heart. Each second that goes by without comment feels to Virgil like sinking into quicksand, like fingers losing their grip on the edge of a building and threatening to let him fall.

But, before he can draw away, throw up his walls and stumble his way through apologies like they’re nothing more than kids again, Patton tugs him forward and, softly, he brings their lips together.

The kiss is a teenage fantasy come true, the culmination of every moment—under streetlights or under blankets or under nothing more than the cover of night itself—where Virgil longed to reach out and tell Patton that he wanted to kiss him until the world faded away and all that he could focus on was the taste of cherry red lipstick and the joy and love pounding in his chest like a second heartbeat.

It's the comfort in late-night knocking, Patton taking Virgil in and patching him up and holding him as he cries because he has a mother that doesn’t love him and a father that’s always absent and a world that doesn’t care, muttered reassurances a quiet backdrop to his sobs.

It's the warmth in drinking their way through meagre retail paychecks, Patton’s soft touches like fire against his skin and the thread of restraint holding Virgil back from blurting out a love confession worn down to something as thin as a spiderweb and just as delicate.

It's the exhilaration in grocery store runs with no money and bags filled with spray paint cans, their gloved hands clasped tight as they race against the biting evening wind, giving in to the urge to let out a cry of victory that bounces off the empty alley walls.

So, yes, it’s the culmination of years of pining but it’s more than that too. It’s an apology, it’s acceptance and it’s an offer of a future, to stay here with them. 

“I think I’d like that,” Patton gasps as he pulls away and Virgil’s so enamoured even after all these years that he barely knows what to say, “For you to know her, I mean. She’d like you. She’s like you, or at least the way you used to be—always a bit loose with self-control.”

Virgil doesn’t tell Patton that all his self-control had been going towards keeping himself from telling him he loved him. He doesn’t think he’d know how.

Slowly, Virgil blinks and he nods and it’s all he can do to keep himself standing as Patton beams up at him with a smile reminiscent of stars colliding—bright and beautiful enough to take his breath away. And suddenly Virgil feels like maybe he can fit in here, that maybe he can fit in anywhere he needs to if Patton keeps looking at him like that.

He smiles back, smaller than the one he’d received but the way Patton’s eyes light up makes Virgil feel like maybe that doesn’t really matter. “Okay, yeah. I want that; I want to stay.”

“Okay,” Patton parrots and he’s barely holding back giggles, Virgil can tell. It’s okay though because he feels it too—that sense of happiness and disbelief that has almost no other way to present itself—and giving in feels more like an inevitability.

So, laughing and hands joined together, Patton pulls Virgil inside to the soft white of his suburban home. And he closes the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @camcam774 @autism-goblin @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @welpweregonnadie @spirits-in-my-thoughts @hold-my-hat @goodandbadisallmadeupnonsense @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @poisonedapples @sanders-screams @another-sandersidesblog @do-not-just-see-observe @mychemicalpanicattheemo @harleyquinnamiright @localtransgrape @fandomsofrandom @gattonero17 @airiervessel @ollyollyoxinfree @tired-and-probably-crying .

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #moxiety #patton sanders #virgil sanders #lo can write #blease read this guys I worked really really hard on it #they're just. soft and in love #virgil has Many Feelings

[pepsi-beat]

chapter 1. the prey

pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

series title: The Way

word count: 2,8K

warnings: angst maybe?, The Mandalorian s2 finale spoilers, canon typical violence, blood and injuries, 3rd person pov, Din Djarin pov, lack of “Y/N”, reader is called “Girl”, amnesia, reader's species is unknown, a little ooc Din Djarin

summary: Greef Karga assured him it was an easy job. Find a woman. Get her to the husband she ran away from. And that's it. But... not exactly.

a/n: Hello there! I’m pretty new when it comes to writing and publishing here. I hope you like what I have for you. I write it so I could get away from my uni responsibilities. I don’t know if I can finish this, but I really liked idea. So we will see.

Chapter 1

THE PREY

Naboo. A sparsely populated planet located in the Mid Rim in the Chommell sector of the Naboo system. Occupied the third position in the system, provides a standard gravity and breathable atmosphere. It had three moons.

Naboo was known for its natural and cultural values. The inhabitants were famous for their beautiful, perfectly refined products that made an impression throughout the galaxy. People did well here, the place has always seemed completely cut off from the rest of the Galaxy. Slow, free, peaceful.

Din wasn’t used to chasing his victims in places like Naboo. Usually he had to wade through the Outer Rim Territories. Through inhospitable and harsh planets, where survival required quite a bit of cunning or a deep pocket stuffed with credits.

He landed a Dragonfly on a meadow covered with lush green grass and colorful flowers. He turned off the engines, put the computer to it hibernate mode, then he turned with a soft sigh to the co-pilot's seat. His heart tightened with fear as he found it empty. But before he could jump up from his seat and start searching, he painfully remembered that it didn't make sense. His throat tightened with regret, and he walked briskly through the cockpit and then through the hull to the stern, where he made his way out.

Two months have passed since the events on the Imperial cruiser. Two extremely long and surprisingly lonely months.

As the Jedi departed, taking Grogu with him, Din had to deal with the issue of the Darksaber. Bo-Katan refused to take it and Din refused to keep it. Finally, they decided to duel. Bo-Katan chose a time and place – some deserted rocky planet. Din knew that if he had given up the fight, the Mandalorian woman would have been offended and wouldn’t have taken that damned saber. On the other hand, he was reluctant to fight the woman, but he quickly realized that all his fears were baseless.

Bo-Katan was highly trained warrior, so the fight was levelised. It took a long time, but in the end the woman fairly won, becoming the new ruler of Mandalore. Before they finally departed, she asked him one more time to join her.

Din refused, but promised that if she needed his help, he would come back. Then Boba Fett left him and Cara on Nevarro, where the marshal kept her word. She called for New Republic, who took Moff Gideon and Din received his prize. Credits. Lots of credits. Suddenly, he became so rich that he could easilly to buy a ship, weapons, and substitute the equipment he had lost with the Razor Crest. And he still has some left.

The Dragonfly was a good ship. Pre-Empire, but was still newer than Razor Crest. After many modifications and modernizations, it could easily compete with newer models. Unlike the Crest, it was much more slender and more agile. The Dragonfly was oblong with a tiny but comfortable kitchenette, refresher, workshop, small armory, several bunks, couches, and a lot of space. The Dragonfly had so much space that Din was uncomfortable. However, he bought this ship, because of all the trouble Cara had gone to find it.

Then, he went back to work as a bounty hunter. He felt that he had to fill the void in his heart with something and returning to hunting seemed to be the best solution in his situation.

Of course, Din visited his tribe's old hideout, but found only useless equipment. The Armorer had left Nevarro some time ago and Din had no idea where she might have gone. So he promised to himself, he would find another Mandalorian’s hideout, but it was easier said than done. Especially after the long time he spent on the run with Grogu.

Din put the beskar spear in its place and returned to the hull. He reached for the control panel, the durasteel door swung open and the platform touched the ground.

Naboo was… different. Brighter, happier, more vivid than any other planet he had ever seen. The colors were more intense, the sun was warmer, the wind was kinder and gentler and the animals were fearless as if they never met a human before and never been hurt by their hands. Naboo was so different that he wanted to take off his helmet and take a deep breath. Get some fresh air, not the air he was breathing through the filters.

Din checked the tracker, the last coordinates of his target and compared it with his current position.

It didn't take long. An hour, maybe two. During this time, he managed to find the X-Wing with which his target had undoubtedly arrived. It was good news. The bad news was that there was another ship in the meadow besides the X-Wing. Din didn't recognize it, but he knew who it belongs anyway. To another bounty hunter. And that was bad news.

He analyzed the footprints. Those belonging to the target were a bit older, unlike those belonging to the bounty hunter.

Blaster shots. Female screams. Din's body reacted instinctively. In one quick move he pulled the blaster from his belt, then ran where the sounds were coming from. The direction coincided with the footprints.

He ran between the trees. The shots stopped, but the closer he got, the better he could hear the conversation. He distinguished between the frightened woman speaking in the basic and the squawk of a Rodian. Finally Din ran into a small clearing. He froze with a blaster aimed at the Rodian when the bounty hunter spotted him and shouted in Rodese.

"Calm down" said Din. ”I'm in the Guild.”

Suca Chodasso, the target by which Din had ventured as far as Naboo, knelt weeping among flowers. She was holding another woman's body in her arms, pressing her face against the hollow of her own neck. The target threaded herfingers into the deceased's disheveled hair. After each sentence she spoke, her mouth touched the top of the girl’s head.

The Rodian said something in Rodese again, but this time he was addressing Suca Chodasso. But he was so nervous that Din found it hard to understand him.

"I have nothing! I didn't steal anything! " Suca called back. Her voice was trembling and her hands were shaking.

It was uncomfortable situation. He tracked down his target, used a lot of fuel to reach Naboo and yet he wasn't the first. There were such situations, but he was still upset that someone else had received the puck.

As the Rodian addressed him urgently, Din sighed so softly that the vocoder couldn’t register it. He nodded, but his eyes went to the crying Suca. She must have felt his gaze as she tore her eyes away from her companion's face and turned her head toward him. Her eyes seemed to be begging him to do something, but Din's hands were tied.

He turned on his heel as there was a soft moan. Din stopped and looked over his shoulder. The girl he had considered to be dead before, moved slightly. She slowly raised one of her limp hands and touched her temples with her fingers. Suca Chodasso looked at her in horror. She leaned in slightly, possibly saying something in her companion's ear, but Din's attention was absorbed by the Radian's next words.

"Leave her! She has nothing to do with it! " Suca sobbed. She bent over the girl, covering her with her body as the Rodian was about to shoot.

Din's blaster smoked slightly as the Rodian's body fell onto the grass. The Mandalorian turned to the huddled women, but he already knew he was late.

Due to Suca's position, when she shielded her companion, the laser pierced the top of her head, passed through her neck and spine. Her body lay pitifully with a smoky, nasty wound that made even Din grimace.

Quick, shallow breaths, which the Mandalorian recognized as signs of an impending panic attack, brought him back. He walked over to Suca Chodasso's body and pushed her unceremoniously aside.

"Easy now," he said. "Take it easy, girl."

The girl didn't even look at him. Her wide eyes stared at the sky. She was gasping for air through her mouth in gusts like someone who was choking. Her face and chest were stained with red blood stains.

Din frowned at the large gash on the girl's temple and the bullet hole on her arm. Right above the heart. The blood that flowed from the wounds was very thick, silver and pearly.

"You’re safe now."

The girl stopped breathing. She froze in an unnatural stillness that worried Din, but as soon as his hand touched her shoulder, she moved again. The girl closed her mouth and eyes and began to breathe calmly. Very calmly. Way too slow.

"Girl?"

"Who are you?"

She looked at him… weirdly. Din couldn't tell what it was, but something was clearly wrong with her. She had pretty eyes, but at the same time they were cold, as if they belonged to a dead man.

The Mandalorian stepped back a bit. He helped the girl get to a sitting position, but he didn't say a word as she looked around. Din flexed all his muscles in preparation for what was to come. He expected screams, crying, and accusations. He had expected the girl to panic, attack him, but she… was calm.

She looked at the dead Suca Chodasso for a long time. She touched her face, then ran her fingers over her own temple as if looking for something there. But she found nothing. Even her wound was on the other side of her face.

"Girl?"

She looked reluctantly at Din. The bounty hunter held out three fingers.

"How many fingers do you see?"

"Three."

He repeated the test two more times and the girl answered well each time.

"What's your name?"

Girl opened her mouth, but said nothing. Only then did panic spread across her face.

She looked at something over Din's shoulder, but before the Mandalorian could say anything, he was thrown to the ground. He heard the sound of a blaster laser hitting a durasteel, so he rolled over, picked up his gun and aimed it. He aimed blindly at first, but as another shot bounced off his chestplate, he knew where to shoot. After a moment, he heard a heavy body fall to the ground, so he rose to his feet.

The girl groaned in pain or surprise. Din looked at her and saw her hand tighten on her arm, more of this weird thick silver blood leaking from between her fingers.

"Wait here," he said. Before the girl could reply, Din was already on his way to the shooting direction.

It was another bounty hunter. Din found the tracker in his pocket. Useless because the target was already dead. But still. The tracker.

The Mandalorian frowned. It was also suspicious. Greef Karga assured him it was an easy job. Find a woman. Get her to the husband she ran away from. And that's it. Even the prize offered for her screamed an easy going.

Din wasn’t interested in why Suca Chodasso was escaping at all, and he never thought about it. Only looking at his target holding this girl in her arms made begin to wonder if it was some kind of scandalous romance. He was willing to believe it.

If it werent for the Rodian's allegations or for the third bounty hunter. Another puck. Another tracker.

He had seen it once before. When he had pledged to track down Grog some time ago and then had bounty hunters on his tail. When he got involved in the affairs of the Jedi and the Empire. He was done. He didn't want to play it again, so a part of him was even glad that the target was no longer alive.

He trow the tracker away, then returned to the girl. She sat curled up where he had left her. Her face in her hands. She sobbed, shook. Hearing his footsteps, she sobbed a little softer, as if she was holding back. Then she wiped the tears with her hands, but that only smeared her silver blood over her skin. She watched as Din knelt beside her and reached a hand to her injured arm.

She must have been hit when she threw Din to the ground. She saved him even though she didn't have to.

"You're hurt…”

"I don't know who I am," she whispered at the same moment. There were even more tears in her eyes. Wide with fear. "I-I don't know. I don’t know. Who am I? My mind is blank.”

She gasped like a wounded animal and hid her face in her hands again. Din could only watch her silently and wonder.

Was she lying to protect herself? Did she know something about the Rodian's allegations, even though Suca Chodasso had clearly stated in her last words that it had nothing to do with her? So why was she protecting him from the shot, then? Wouldn't it have been better for her if Din had died?

Or maybe she really didn't remember? She had been hurt in the head, but it was just a scratch. Not life threatening and certainly not the cause of memory loss. On the other hand, Din knew that people fell ill. He was aware that some of the weak psyche displace more painful events from their memories. But…

He could only watch, bewildered, until he painfully realized the gravity of the situation he was in.

If there were three trackers, there could be more. More bounty hunters might be on the way.

He sighed heavily. He reached for the cape and touched with it the wound on the girl’s head. She jumped back and Din held his hands out in front of him as a sign of peace.

"You're hurt. I want to wipe your blood and see if it's serious.”

But the girl wouldn't let him. She grabbed his hands and squeezed tight. Din wouldn't expect such strength from her.

"Tell me ... W-Who am I? Who is she? Why is she d-dead? Who are you? A-Are you okay? Does anything hurt you? You were shot! Stars! Why were you being shot at?”

Din blinked quickly. He knew his face showed shock and disbelief, which was why he was so grateful for the helmet he had to wear.

"They didn't shoot at me," he said finally, when the girl's insistent gaze became unbearable. "You were.”

"M-Me?” She whispered, her voice breaking.

She released Din's hands and began to back away until she found Suca Chodasso's body. She started to breathe spasmodically, but Din didn't have time for that. He got up. He glanced at Suca Chodasso, thought for a moment what he should do and then walked toward his ship.

"Wait!" The panicked girl exclaimed. "Don’t leave me! Please!”

"I'm done with babysitting.”

"Please!”

Something in her voice made Din suddenly believe her. He stopped. Turned slowly until he came face her. She seemed lost, scared… As if she really didn't know what was going on.

Maybe she was just a victim? Maybe she was an ordinary inhabitant of Naboo and Suca Chodasso met her by chance? Maybe she asked for help and this poor girl agreed to help, not knowing what she write on? Maybe she really didn't know who she was? She was shocked. Suddenly she found herself in the middle of a shootout between three bounty hunters. Din could believe it was too much for her.

He made a decision.

He walked over to the girl and held out his hand. She stared at him with terrified eyes, but didn't hesitate. Din helped her up from the grass, then walked over to Suca Chodasso's body, which he slung over his shoulder. Then he began to head towards the ship again.

"Why… Why are you taking her?” The girl asked with panic in her voice.

Din suppressed a sigh.

"She's wanted. Alive or dead, you will receive a reward for her head.”

"Me?”

This time Din sighed loudly. He wasn't happy with the fact that he had to explain himself.

"I don't know what you remember about what happened. But I didn't get her. The bounty hunter who tracked her down is dead. You probably know her, so you will get money as compensation.”

It was cruel. Din knew this, but he had no idea what else to do. So far, this seemed to be the best solution.

He really couldn't take the money for Suca Chodasso. It wouldn't be fair, so he might as well give it to the girl who was definitely the first to deal with the target. And if she ever remembers that she knew her… well. Din hoped to be very far away from the girl then.

The girl fell silent. She really didn't make any sounds. She moved noiselessly, causing Din to keep checking to see if she was following him. But she was there. She walked, wrapping her arms around herself, staring at the toes of her shoes. She was dirty, beaten, wounded. She looked pathetic.

And to think that he should have learned long time ago to not take seemingly easy jobs. They are the most problematic ones.

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