#Thanks to the dissociation every time I look back on it I see it as like. An outsider almost.

[astral-catastrophe]

I hate how this girl said I was her best friend.

Her best fucking friend in the whole fucking world.

Then the next I know. My simple question about her coming to a thing after class turned into an hours long argument over Snapchat because she was too much of a coward to say it in person. Or over text. A phone call. Snapchat. A place where her messages would be gone the second I saw them.

Then the way she switched between “you did nothing wrong” and. The “you did everything wrong”.

Then the. “Okay maybe I should have done a b and c.” But the phrasing and her perfectly posed self was a grab for me to immediately assure her she’s fine and did nothing wrong. I’ve seen her do it to others and explain it to me.

So I answered with a simple. “Yea. You should have.”

And so I stopped reaching out. It was always me who would reach out in the first place. So seeing that she won’t do the same and is clearly fine with her entire damned “friend group” angry with her over how she treated me? Everyone I showed her messages too said that no, I wasn’t crazy for seeing manipulation in her words. Because I was being actively manipulated through her sympathy pulls.

So. I was her best friend. But now that I told her how I felt about the crap she’s pulled, that’s five years down the drain.

Five years. Five whole years??

I meant so little to her that she would rather hang out with exclusively her boyfriend and not her actual friends, just because I’m me.

Just because I am who I am. Just because I decided I wouldn’t stand for any shit from anyone.

All because I asked if she was coming to something after school.

I hate the whole victim mentality stuff. Like. I can see. Did I say things I should not have? Oh probably, but did I say it in defense? Did I say it because I’ve been trying to live by my brutal honesty? Did I say it because I was tired of being treated like that? Did I say it because I’ve had too many awful friends?

Did I say all that because I hadn’t talked to someone who claimed to be my best friend in over a month because she wouldn’t make efforts to meet me halfway?

I spoke from a position of someone who wanted their friend back and only tried to defend themself.

Should I have told her that it’s upsetting that she never makes the effort to be around any of us anymore? I’m not sure.

But she shouldn’t have blown up on me for a simple question. She created a problem, singled herself out, then took out all her issues on me. We were best friends, as you claimed. So fucking explain why I haven’t properly seen or talked to you since the beginning of November, which was three ish weeks before this all went to hell. If we were best friends, you wouldn’t have abandoned me for a boy you’ve known for nine months now.

Nine months, verses five years. She wanted me as her maid of honor to her wedding with this guy. She wanted me to help wedding plan.

We’re still kids. I refuse to take part in that.

Especially since the last time I saw her it was in the hallway between classes. She excitedly came up to me, acting like nothing was wrong. My fight or flight kicked in and I booked it because the anxiety was so so high from an out of character moment.

But I hate myself for wondering if I want her back. I hate myself because no matter what I said the outcome would have been the same. Because no matter what I’ll do or could have done it’s always gonna be her boyfriend over me. I’m the second choice. The fallback.

Do I really want her back over the nights I’ve spent near hysterics. It’s almost five am and I’ve been up for hours anxiety ridden and thinking through so much.

Do I want her back after her manipulating me? Would I be able to look her in the eye without seeing the “I have an issue with you acting like I'm the bad person” and the “I know you do care. But I haven't heard a single fucking word until today” and the “And then you blowing up on me for not communicating. I stopped trying to communicate because when I do I barely get a response” ?

I communicated more to her than I did to anyone else. Anyone else. I dropped things I wanted to do to see her. I didn’t blow up. I only asked a simple question.

Am I horrible for asking a question, then defending myself when being accused of stuff that’s not true? Because oh man. I shouldn’t have said a word. Next time I’ll keep my silence because my words are too sharp and too true for people to handle.

#Thanks to the dissociation every time I look back on it I see it as like. An outsider almost. #Like there’s no way on earth that I lost the girl who called me her best friend like that. What happened to the girl I used to know. #The one who messed with my hair and helped me through anxiety attacks. The one who would tell me anything because she trusted me #And because she wanted my opinions and input. #It’s like. I am not a victim here and don’t want to make myself out to be one. #I made poor choices in responding so defensively. #But I didn’t deserve that. #If it happened to a friend of mine instead of me. Id rule the same. #It’s her fault. Because no matter who I put in my place. In my shoes. No matter who it is. #I’m still feeling angry for what she said. Even when I’ve derealized the situation to a point that it doesn’t feel like it happened to me. #So I can see how my irls are angry with her. While I’m just. Indifferent. Numb. And hating myself for it.

[charliemwrites]

Still thinking about Nikto, and that anon ask I answered just a bit ago.

CW for dissociation/depersonalization, unhealthy (but not harmful) coping mechanisms, codependence, Nikto is a very traumatized man

After the hallway incident you’re a bit shaken. A life of a heavy burden, but your shoulders are used to the weight; you’re a medic. But what Nikto offered you in the hallway — no, not offered, but gave, devoted. It makes it hard to breathe.

You’re not sure if what he’s seeking (or perhaps found?) is solace or penance. You don’t think you have much say in the matter really. If God asked His disciples to stop worshipping, would they?

The comparison feels too bold, even in the privacy of your own mind. Smacks of narcissism and ego. You don’t feel powerful. You feel scared. Of what it means to hold this broken, burdened man in the palm of your hand, trying to keep all the pieces together without cutting yourself on them.

Don’t be so careless with your life, you told him.

He’s taken those words as religious creed. He doesn’t storm around corners, guns blazing anymore. Doesn’t drop from heart-stopping heights to stamp-sized targets. Hes not the first one out nor the last one in anymore — though he never lets you get out first or hop in transport last either.

Suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise.

He cares for his wounds now, too. Cleans and changes them regularly, doesn’t over exert them before they’ve healed. You’re so dizzy on pride in him that you kiss the front of his mask one day, telling him “thank you”.

He grunts in something that sounds almost like shock and shakes his head at you. You figure he doesn’t feel he deserves praise for doing as you’ve told him. You do it anyway.

Things start to settle into this new normal.

Until you can’t find him anywhere. He’s become your new shadow, another limb, and suddenly he’s gone like so much smoke. You’re both fresh off a rough, but successful mission. You’ve just finished a stint in the infirmary and your debrief. Usually hed take that time to clean off and change in privacy, back before you could miss him.

Where is he?

You find him bleeding in his room, trying to care for his own wounds. Mask off, shirt gone, a new knife wound added to his macabre collection. You scramble to his side and collapse at his feet, snatching the needle from his shaky, slippery hand.

“Don’t you ever—” you choke on the words, unusual tears welling. You’re a medic; you’re not allowed to cry during treatment. But all you see if Nikto and blood and—

“I am okay,” he says in that low, crackly voice. Gravel in a blender. “It is not bad.”

You swallow and don’t answer, can’t because you’ll start weeping into his wound. Just stitch him up, hands steady even as you sniffle and the rest of you trembles.

When it’s done, you start wiping away the excess, prepping a bandage. He’s so silent you can even hear him breathing, but you feel his eyes like a physical touch. Finally make yourself look up at him meet his piercing eyes.

“You come back to me from now on,” you say. Quiet, firm, fervent. “I don’t care what it is, you return to my side always.”

The silence stretches and stretches, and he just stares with that unfathomable gaze.

“Understand?” you insist.

“Yes.”

Those two commandments become that basis of his new existence. Nikto once thought he survived it all because he still had work to do. He was wrong; it was because he still hadn’t found his purpose at all.

He’s found you now though, and you are a demanding god. But not a cruel one

Your first commandment is atonement. This vessel requires so much work. Food and water and rest. Maintenance for every abrasion, upkeep to stay strong enough to stand at your side, to protect you. It is endless, bitter work. He doesn’t care for the labor itself, but it must be done.

It is made bearable with you.

Your second commandment is salvation. Your quiet chatter during meals, the lingering taste of your mouth on his water canteen. Your kind hands mending tears and holes, keeping whatever he is now whole and hale. Your company in the gym, on sparring mats, at his side at the gun range. The smell of your sweat past the mask, your laughter goading him into another round.

You let him sleep in your bed. Let him wake you with nightmares or memories. Keep him warm because this thing he inhabits doesn’t always remember it’s not dying anymore. You are so very alive, the realest thing in any room. Your touch is the only thing he can feel sometimes.

It takes him a long time to realize that his body (because it is a body you tell him, a living one that needs care) reacts to you.

That some mornings the press of you against him is especially sweet. That there’s more than relief and pride when you pin him down. That, at most points of the day, his body wants your touch for more than just grounding.

He’s hard most times that he’s with you, simply for the fact that you are there. And he is with you almost always.

(That it is not actually always grinds at him, niggles in the back of his mind. A sticking point. He wants it to be always, you with him at all times. Like when he used to wear a cross pendant.)

You notice, of course you do, sensitive to your most loyal devotee. He can’t tell if you’re offended, but you haven’t sent him away. Sometimes you flush and he thinks he’s certainly upset you, but for all he’s survived it would kill him to break your second commandment. And so he stays, even if he waits to be told to leave.

“Nikto?”

You never need to call his name, he is always listening. He likes the sound of it anyway. These syllables and sounds that have a meaning, that you use for him.

“Do you… want to do something about that?” you nod to his crotch. There’s a blatant bulge pressing at his tac pants. At some other time, he would probably would have found it uncomfortable.

“Do what?” he asks.

You shrug. “Get off? I could leave—“

“No.”

You blink but don’t seem surprised. “Do you want to just ignore it then?”

He shrugs a bit. There’s a flicker of amusement in your eyes. You like when he makes gestures. He tries to remember common ones, and when to do them, and tries them out for you. Though you never seem to mind his stillness either.

“It does not bother me.”

You hum, look like you’re going to go back to your tv show.

“Does it bother you?”

Your eyes dart up, mouth parting in surprise. You didn’t expect him to continue the topic. Neither did he.

“It doesn’t bother me,” you reply, tilting your head. “But if you want to do something about it, we can.”

We.

“We?”

“If… if you want me to do something… I would.”

He couldn’t ask that of you. Not ever. He’s not allowed to want anything of you when you’ve given him everything.

“No,” he says quietly finally. “Just ignore it.”

“Okay.” You smile at him, touch his hand. It is bare, mangled tattoos on display. He wishes he could feel it more. “Come snuggle in?”

Snuggle in.

Such a quaint turn of a phrase for a creature in your room, wearing a man’s face. He climbs in, shoes gone, mask gone. You wedge yourself against his side and he stares absently at the screen as you continue your show.

#thoughts™️ #cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #nikto x reader #cod nikto

[lendeah]

Happy Memories

Also on AO3

Summary: Based on this line from the epilogue- One night he tells you that these six months of happy memories are the counterweight to two hundred years of misery.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader.

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags:  Fluff and Smut, 6 months post-finale, Lovemaking, Domestic Fluff, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Love Confessions, it's so soft really, Soft Astarion, they have just been through so much, Tooth-Rotting Fluff.

WARNING: +18, minors DNI

The past few months had been a trying time, both of you struggling to come to terms with the events that had transpired. The weight of it all hung heavy in the air, leaving you to navigate through nightmares and Astarion's bouts of dissociation. Yet, somehow, you were making progress. Together.

You had taken it upon yourself to find a cure for Astarion's condition, a challenging task made even more difficult by his returned aversion to sunlight. But it gave you both a purpose, something to look forward to - a brighter tomorrow. The greatest source of joy in your present life was the simple act of lying down next to him every night, enveloped in each other's arms with the comforting knowledge that tomorrow you would once again wake up without the constant fear of losing him.

Together, you had found solace in a serene cottage by Riverbend, settling into a comfortable routine. You delighted in gardening and cooking, while he took care of household chores and lovingly mended and sewed your clothes. On lazy afternoons, you would paint alongside him as he engrossed himself in endless books. It was pure bliss, and you were content with your perfectly imperfect life together.

As the two of you prepared for bed, Astarion wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. In the past, such an intimate gesture would have caught you off guard, but he has since learned to let his guard down and embrace moments of tenderness. Though he still struggles at times, he relishes in this display of affection.

"Everything alright, my love?" you asked, resting your head against his.

Astarion's arms tightened around you as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. "Alright would be an understatement," he murmured, his voice low and warm against your skin. "I am absolutely enchanted, my dear."

You turned around in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I'm glad to hear that, because I am enchanted too," you said softly.

Astarion leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a delicate kiss. You hummed against his mouth, savoring the familiar feeling of his soft lips moving against yours. He pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours as he whispered, "I have something I want to show you."

Curiosity sparked within you, but you simply nodded and followed him as he led you outside. The moon was high in the sky, casting its soft glow over everything. Astarion took your hand and led you toward the nearby meadow. And that's when you see it: he has prepared the scenery around to look like the one from the first night you shared together, back at the Grove.

"What is this?" You say, with a huge grin decorating your face.

Astarion's crimson eyes shone with excitement as he turned to you. "This, my love, is a recreation of the night we first shared at the Grove," he said proudly.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you took in the scene before you. The soft grass beneath your feet, the gentle rustling of trees in the distance, and a small basket filled with wine and various snacks, right next to a small blanket.

"I thought we could relive that enchanted evening, but this time we'll make it truly unforgettable." His fingers caressed your cheek, gently wiping away a stray tear, as he added with a cheeky smile, "Because let's be honest, the first time was... underwhelming."

You smiled at him, grateful beyond words for his thoughtfulness. "Thank you, my love, this is incredible," you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Astarion's smile widened and he pulled you into a tight embrace. "Anything for you," he whispered into your ear.

You stayed wrapped in each other's arms for a while, just enjoying the peacefulness of the moment. Eventually, Astarion led you over to the basket and poured some wine for both of you. As the night went on, the two of you talked and laughed, reminiscing about your early days together and all the adventures you had been on since then. And with each passing moment, it felt as if the world had paused just for the two of you, as if all the events of the previous months were leading up to this one perfect moment.

As midnight approached, Astarion stood and held out his hand. "Shall we dance under the moonlight?" he asked with a playful glint in his eyes.

You raised a teasing eyebrow, "Has the spirit of Wyll possessed you?"

Astarion chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, my dear, you wound me! I assure you, this idea is entirely my own. Besides, who needs Wyll's spirit when I have enough charisma to ignite the heavens themselves?" He flourished a grand gesture, pretending to adjust an imaginary top hat atop his head.

You couldn't help but giggle at his theatrics. "How could I resist such an offer from the ever-enchanting Astarion?" you teased, accepting his outstretched hand.

He pulled you close, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back as he led you in a slow and graceful waltz beneath the soft glow of the moon. The world around you seemed to fade away as you slowly swayed in each other's arms.

"I don't remember this happening on our first night," you murmured against his ear, remembering how different that moment had been compared to this one.

A low, seductive chuckle escaped Astarion's lips as they brushed against your skin. "And pray tell, darling, what do you recall?"

"I remember you trying to seduce me and then almost draining me dry," you teased, a mischievous glint in your eye.

Astarion let out a dramatic gasp. "Such slander! I would never do such a thing!" He pressed his hand to his chest in mock offense.

You both laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet night. It was a stark contrast to the fake seducing words and lack of feelings of that first night. Now, he was completely at ease, his true self shining through without any pretense or hunger clouding his mind.

"But it was still special," Astarion whispered, stopping the dance to pull you closer to him. "It's what brought us to be here now, and I wouldn't trade that for anything."

You smiled up at him, your heart fluttering at his words, as you leaned in to kiss him. It was a gentle and sweet kiss at first but soon turned more passionate as Astarion deepened it. His hands grabbed your thighs and picked you up to press you up against a nearby tree, lips trailing down your neck.

"This is bringing back memories," You say breathlessly.

You could feel him smirk against your skin "Do you really think so? Perhaps I should refresh them even more."

His declaration sent a wave of warmth through your body and you leaned in to kiss him again, eager to lose yourself in the moment. His hands were now unbuttoning your shirt and you gasped as they reached your bare skin. You looked at his hooded eyes, and with a playful smile, offered your neck to him.

However, Astarion pulled away slightly and looked into your eyes, with something like doubt swimming in them. "I want this to be real," he said earnestly. "Not like last time."

You nodded in understanding and smiled softly at him. "It already is," you reassured him, cupping his cheek with your hand.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned in to kiss you again, but this time it was slow and tender – an exchange of affection rather than something laced with hunger or deception. Astarion picked you up again and gently set you down on the soft blanket that he had laid out earlier. He leaned in to kiss you once more, his body hovering over yours.

As you entwined your fingers in his soft, white locks, you pulled him towards you, deepening the kiss. His hands explored every curve and dip of your body, sending pleasurable shivers down your spine with each touch.

As his lips trailed from yours, they left a tingling sensation in their wake. Your hands eagerly reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. Astarion's hungry gaze followed every movement as you unbuttoned your jeans and let them fall to the ground. With a grin, he helped you out of your remaining clothes before stepping back to fully appreciate your naked form glistening under the moonlight. His eyes traced every curve and dip of your body before meeting your gaze once again, a hunger evident in his expression.

"You are breathtaking," he murmured, and then pulled you into another passionate kiss. Your fingers traced the lines of his bare chest, feeling the softness of his skin. You tugged at his shirt, silently urging him to remove it, and he obliged with a sly smile. His pants soon followed, revealing the chiseled contours of his body. Your hands traced over every ridge and dip of his body, feeling the coolness of his skin against your fingertips.

"I want you to bite me," you whispered urgently.

Astarion leaned down to press his lips against the nape of your neck, making you gasp and arch into him as he traced his fangs along your pulse point. Your skin tingled with excitement as his hands eagerly explored your body before gripping your hips, sending shivers of desire through you.

"Tell me if it becomes too much," he whispered against your skin before sinking his teeth into your neck gently.

You gasped at the sensation – a mix of pleasure and pain that sent sparks flying through your body. Astarion's grip on your hips tightened as he drank from you, his other hand reaching up to cup one of your breasts. You moaned as he continued to drink from you, feeling the pleasure building up inside of you.

After a few minutes, Astarion pulled away and licked the wound on your neck before kissing it gently. His red eyes met yours and they were glowing with a mix of emotions – desire, love, and something else that you couldn't quite pinpoint.

"I'll never grow weary of that," he murmurs, before leaning in for another kiss. Astarion's lips trailed down your neck and onto your chest, leaving a trail of kisses as he made his way towards your breasts, taking a nipple between his lips. Every touch of his tongue sent sparks of pleasure through your body and you arched your back in response.

"Astarion..." you panted.

The sound of his name on your lips only spurred him on, and he began to suckle harder, moving to tease the other nipple with his fingers. His hand moved from your breast to between your legs, and you gasped as his fingers found your wetness. He slipped his fingers between your soaking folds, skillfully rubbing and circling your clit. The combination of his mouth and fingers sent waves of pleasure through you, making you whimper and writhe beneath him.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to hold back any longer.

Astarion smirked against your skin before moving down your body, his lips leaving a trail of kisses until he reached the apex of your thighs. He looked up at you with hunger in his eyes before diving in with his tongue, causing you to cry out in pleasure.

His tongue flicked against your clit, sending waves of ecstasy through your body. You tangled your fingers in his hair, urging him on as he continued to please you.

"Astarion...oh gods..." you cried out, your voice thick with need. His fingers thrusted into you relentlessly, syncing perfectly with the skilled movements of his tongue on your swollen clit. Your body arched and trembled with each wave of pleasure, every muscle tensed in anticipation.

"Inside...now..." you begged, unable to find the words to express the ache for him to fill you completely.

Astarion looked up at you from between your legs, his eyes filled with lust and desire, "Whatever you wish, dearest."

With a swift movement, he withdrew his fingers from your slick entrance and aligned himself at your dripping core. He pushed in slowly, savoring the tightness and heat engulfing him. A moan escaped your lips as you were filled to the hilt, waves of pleasure washing over you. Your bodies melted together, panting and trembling with pleasure. He then leaned in close, and gently rested his forehead against yours, breaths mingling as you held each other.

"I never envisioned discovering someone like you," Astarion said softly, "You have made these six months of happy memories counterweight two hundred years of misery."

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes at his words. The weight of his words, the realization that you have brought true joy to someone who has known nothing but misery, crushes you in the most beautiful way.

"I...I love you," you managed to choke out, your heart overflowing with emotion as you reached up to touch his face, tracing the lines of his cheekbone with trembling fingers. "More than anything."

Astarion's eyes softened at your words, a small smile tugging at his lips. He leaned down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, pouring all of his emotions into it. You both stayed like that for a few moments, just lost in each other.

"I love you more than my own existence," he whispered against your lips, his voice raw with emotion. "You are my everything."

Without hesitation, he leaned down to capture your lips in a desperate kiss, and you savored the feeling of his lips against yours. Eventually, he starts slowly moving inside of you, each thrust calculated and precise as he intertwines his fingers with yours. You moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist, still lazily kissing him. Astarion continued to move inside of you with slow, deliberate strokes, making love to you in the most intimate way. Every movement is filled with intense desire and tenderness, eliciting uncontrollable moans of pleasure from your lips.

"You feel so good," he whispered against your lips, his voice filled with adoration.

Your legs wrapped around his toned waist, your fingers tightly gripping his as he moved inside you. Each thrust was met with a moan from your lips, the heat and friction between your bodies igniting a passionate fire within you. He held you close, his lips eagerly finding yours in between each deepening thrust. The intensity and intimacy of the moment had you lost in a sea of pleasure, feeling every inch of him as he poured his love into every movement. Your body trembled as you neared your climax, unable to contain the overwhelming sensation any longer. Sensing this, he shifted his hand between your bodies, his fingers finding their way to your clit once again.

"Oh gods," you cried out as the pleasure intensified. Your body trembled and your breath quickened as Astarion's fingers moved expertly over your skin. You dug your nails into his back, desperately trying to hold on as he brought you closer to the edge.

"I'm close," Astarion grunted, his own body trembling with need.

"I am too," you whimpered.

Astarion's movements became faster and more urgent, his own moans mixing with yours in the stillness of the night.

"Look at me when you come," he demanded, and you obeyed.

Your eyes locked with Astarion's, the intensity of his gaze sending chills down your spine. As you reached the peak of pleasure, your body trembled and your walls pulsed around him. You couldn't hold back any longer and cried out his name, drowning in waves of pure ecstasy, and Astarion followed suit with a guttural moan. As you both lay there, breathless and entwined, every cell in your body buzzed with contentment and fulfillment.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice raw with emotion.

"I love you too," Astarion replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead before rolling off of you and pulling you close to his chest. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling content and complete in his arms.

You both lay there for a while, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking, until eventually, Astarion spoke up.

"Even if we don't find the cure, being here with you is enough," he said softly, his voice filled with emotion. He paused for a moment, his eyes on yours, searching for the right words. "This is all I ever wanted," he says softly, placing his hand on your cheek.

You looked up at him, a small smile on your lips as you traced your fingers along his chest.

"I feel the same way," you replied, resting your head back on his chest. "But we can't give up hope just yet."

Astarion nodded, his arms tightening around you. "We won't" Astarion replies. He pulls you in close to him, squeezing you tightly. "We'll find the cure. I know we will." A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "And I will spend the rest of eternity making it up to you."

#astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic

[wonysugar]

sorry | yoo jimin

synopsis : her hands were always warm.

pairing : childhoodbff!karina x fem!reader

genre : all of us are dead au, angst (i’m sorry), childhood friends to lovers (?), high school au?

tags : zombie apocalypse, spoilers to the show?? it’s better if you watched it, so you get the refs ykyk, flashbacks, the entirety of aespa are in this, only karina is relevant tho

warnings : blood is mentioned, injuries are mentioned, implied dissociating i think, gross zombies, eating humans and stuff, you get it

word count : 2.4k

a/n : this was so self indulgent LOOK I FINISHED THE SHOW TODAY AND I SOBBED I NEEDED TO GET IT OUT ONE WAY OR ANOTHER💔💔also not proofread uhm looks around if you see any mistakes no you don’t! :]

“y/n, barricade the door.”

you stared at aeri as she yelled from across the classroom, fighting off another braindead zombie, barely winning and almost getting bitten. as a result, ning groaned, gathered up her courage and threw a chair at the walking dead that lunged at her friend. then, she stabbed the being’s neck before it got the chance to get up.

eventually, once she was spared a few moments to inhale and exhale, the japanese girl’s gaze met yours, eyebrows immediately furrowing afterwards.

“what are you staring at— barricade the fucking door, you dumbass?” she yelled, somehow louder this time, before having to stab another zombie in the neck with her pocket knife.

as if snapping out of a trance, you mentally slapped yourself, quickly looked around and rushed to grab the nearest desk, despite struggling to pick it up. then, you pushed it towards the sliding doors of the classroom afterwards. minjeong, the incredibly athletic girl she is, while also having heard the dozens of zombies running towards your location, quickly slid the other door shut and stacked another desk on top of the one you put.

you both reluctantly backed away, glancing at each other as if to seek reassurance from the other’s stare. you both listened closely for the sound of the impact from the zombies hitting the door, then unconsciously sighed from relief when you did hear it.

“thanks, sports girl.” you teased the short girl, snickering when she hit your shoulder playfully (which kinda hurt considering the strength she had, despite being seemingly petite.)

you felt the tension in your body fade away with each breath that was taken, you crumbled to the ground and allowed your body to get rest.

“also,” minjeong turns to look at aeri before addressing her, “you didn’t tell me you knew how to fight, who taught you?”

the girl in question runs her fingers through her hair as she groans, seemingly annoyed by the stupid question, before cheekily smiling, “i guess when you have to fight bitches every once in a while, you end up learning a few things.” 

you all laughed, glad to be finally able to breathe and take a break from the constant amount of attacks you’ve endured up until this point.

“wait—“ placed ning before any of you said anything, readjusting her glasses nervously as she stumbled on her words, 

“where’s jimin?” 

-

“fuck fuck fuck fuck—“ she mumbled to herself in panic as she ran at full speed through the different hallways of the school, carrying the hard metal rod she found on the ground as a weapon whilst also escaping the army of things chasing after her, occasionally hitting unexpected obstacles left and right as hard as she could. 

she felt her legs slightly giving out on her as she sprinted, the numerous injuries on her body bringing her a clear and not at all appreciated disadvantage. in a normal situation? she’d probably be limping and be annoying about it, asking her friends to carry her to class and whatnot,

however, this was a life or death situation, about 15 different zombies were behind her trying to devour her and half of her friends were probably a part of that same pile,

limping and being annoying to her friends wasn’t really an option right now.

-

“what do you mean she’s still out there???” you shot up, your blood running cold upon hearing that your best friend might’ve ended up being a 5 star course meal for the zombies, “you couldn’t have made sure she was with us before closing the door??”

“i couldn’t have done anything, genius, calling out to her while she’s trying to draw the attention of those fuckers from the other side of the school would just defeat the whole purpose.” sternly said the japanese girl, giving you back the same energy, also panicking for jimin in the process.

you walked back and forth in the room, pacing and trying to figure out where she possibly could have went, eventually groaning and stopping in front of the mean girl again, grabbing her shoulders, “so what?? she’s just dead now?”

“look, y/n, she’s probably just hiding in some classroom safe and sou—“

“i’m going after her. i’ll bring her back, you guys stay here.” you declared, immediately rushing to the backdoor.

“no, y-y/n—“ is what ning said, stuttering, before you bolted out of the classroom at full speed.

“okay well.. she’s definitely dying.” concluded minjeong before getting hit by a worried ning. “don’t say that—“ responded the latter.

-

“die you stupid fucking bitch diediediedie—“ exclaimed jimin, hitting the zombie that was clinging onto her foot and hissing at her with the same metal rod that she was carrying for what felt like several hours, grunting desperately with each hit, using every fibre of her body to kill it, until all of its blood splattered onto her. 

after a while of it being unresponsive, she shakes its hand off of her shoe and watches its lifeless hand hit the ground. then gripping onto her femur injury trying to stop it from abundantly bleeding, shutting her eyes closed in hopes of making it somehow less painful. somebody on the level below her was screaming for their life, so all those braindead whores were away for a while. she was contemplating on how to run if they ever came back faster than expected, now that her brain has actually acknowledged the pain in her limbs, it was gonna be harder. 

during that time, jimin couldn’t help but think about you, wondering if she was gonna be able to see you again, wondering if you were even alive. wondering if—

“jimin?” 

that was your voice.

she recognized it better than her own.

“y/n.”

she immediately turned her head to look at the source of the noise, not being able to keep her flinch contained upon hearing it. then, upon realizing that you seemed fine, she couldn’t help sighing from relief. 

but then she noticed that you were crying.

and you noticed that she was hurt.

rushing towards her, you quickly put your arm under hers for support and help her walk to near safety before the undead figured out you were here. you could think about the rest later, all that mattered was that she was okay. 

walking into a seemingly empty classroom, you waited until something potentially jumped at you. after watching out for a couple of seconds, you set jimin down onto the ground carefully as you closed the door behind you. before you could even turn around, the older girl spoke,

“how did you even know where i was?” she asked, still huffing from the sprinting she’s been doing while trying to survive.

“your shoes are covered in blood, footsteps are not hard to follo—“

her nose.

blood.. was dripping from it.

it was bleeding.

her nose was bleeding.

she curiously raised her eyebrow at your sudden change in expression, “what happened? did a zombie scare you or something? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” she giggled.

“j-jimin?” 

“what? seriously y/n, you’re scaring me. what is it?” she continued giggling only nervously, this time, in hopes of making you feel better, whatever it was that suddenly got you like this.

“y-your.. your n-nose..” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, 

“it’s.. bleeding.”

-

“oh come on.. tell mee. your secrets are safe with me, i promiseee—” she pleaded with you, making a joking hand rubbing motion as you subtly laughed at her unfunny attempts to try and win you over. you could never let her know that she was funny; her ego would be too flattered.

“we’re in the middle of some sort of a zombie apocalypse and you’re still somehow managing to be annoying.” you joked with her, to which she pouted in response.

“ugh you’re no fun..“

“sorry that i’m trying to survive, jimin??” you said back using a sarcastic tone. she groaned and rolled her eyes before speaking again,

“look y/n, we’re probably gonna die anyway, okay? might as well die knowing everything about the other, don’t you think?” she tried reasoning with you, and yeah, while it did make a little bit of sense why she’d think that way, just in case you did survive, you had a dignity to keep.

you couldn’t just tell her that you’ve had a crush on her ever since you were kids.

-

“…what?” she said, her voice suddenly matching the volume of yours. blinking at you as her smile drops, distraught from the piece of information you just gave her, you can see a small nervous smile forming again as she approached her hand to her nose. “come on, you can’t make jokes like that they’re not funny at all man—“

red.

was that blood? 

no, no, it couldn’t be. of course it wasn’t.

right?

right?

when she looked back up at you, she noticed that you slightly backed away from her, still staring at her with nothing but pure fear in your eyes.

you weren’t scared of her, were you?

why would you be?

-

“man that doesn’t even taste that bad.” you affirmed, still not done chewing the fresh bibimbap, the taste of the absurd amount of wasabi you put on it not having fully hit you yet. she simply looked at you with hooded eyes, nodding at your claims like they completely made sense. she was patiently waiting for it, she was waiting for you to jolt at the actual taste.

and god was it funny when you did.

“f-fuck?? jimin oh mai fuck— jimin wawer— path me the wawer oh my—“ 

the sound of her own laughter resonating in the food court, everybody was staring at you two like you were crazy, and it was fortunate you physically weren’t able to laugh.

cause your two laughs mixed together sounded like one incredibly loud laugh, people knew you for it.

“next time, maybe don’t claim to tolerate something spicy when you’ve never even tasted it, got it?” she advised you, digging her hand into her bag as she looked for her water bottle, watching you eagerly nod. at that point? you needed to consume something that wasn’t wasabi.

-

“y/n i swear i didn’t get bitten i promise you it’s— it’s probably my blood pressure. yeah! m-maybe it’s too high or something i’m— i’m sure running was the c-cause.“ 

you quickly grabbed her hand as she was still sitting down.

cold.

it was cold.

-

“why are your hands always so fucking warm all the time? like— it could be -10 degrees celsius outside and your hands would still be warm.. i just don’t get it.” you questioned, holding onto her hand and observing it like it was some sort of rare object that needed to be analyzed.

your hands were always cold, it was no fair.

“maybe it’s just cause i have a really warm heart.” she said in a dramatic manner, naturally making you roll your eyes at her. then, when your eyes went back on her, you noticed something.

“hey jimin?” she hums in response, indicating you to continue, “where’d your name tag go?” 

she chuckles, “oh, i was supposed to give it to someone, but then i ended up just losing it somewhere.” 

you giggled as a reply, “fucking idiot.”

-

you choked back tears as she tried justifying herself, backing away further as she eventually got up from her seat on the ground. you heard the bones in her limbs slightly crack in the process, and you know she heard it too,

she just wanted to pretend like she didn’t.

tears rolled down her face as she stumbled on her words and her steps, the struggle to get air in her lungs growing bigger by the second, “y/n i swear— please listen to me i— i’m fine i-i just—”

how did she get infected? she didn’t even get bit.

“i-it’s impossible.” she thought aloud, “i didn’t—“

then she remembered,

the blood that splattered.

the injury on her leg. 

fuck.

“jimin.” you whispered, the tears that you were holding back finally dripping down your face as you saw her. her veins slowly popping out as blood came out of her mouth, slightly drooping.

you saw her turn right in front of your eyes, and there was nothing you could do.

you just had to leave her there. 

her eyes were bloodshot by this point, and she was fighting back only god knows what to not let her neck crack in front of you. she couldn’t see anything anymore, the only thing she thought to do at that moment, before anything was too late, was to reach into her skirt pocket, grabbing something small, you couldn’t tell what it was. you didn’t know what it was,

until she deployed it onto your palms. 

-

“oh stop it.. not my fault nametags are so small, it’s a pain in the ass trying to find something so tiny, so i kinda just stopped looking for it.” she tried justifying, but you just kept laughing at her.

“who were you even planning to give it to, anyway?” you added, trying not to seem too hurt about her having a crush. you had to be supportive, because jimin wasn’t just the person you loved,

she was also your best friend.

“now you’re doing a little too much.. i’m so obviously not telling you that.” 

-

“w-what are you..?” 

yoo jimin.

“m-my nametag. it’s yours n-now.” she said, eyes twitching from the pain she felt, her bones cracking with each movement she made.

what?

her nametag?

what?

“i’m s-sorry i couldn’t— t-tell you sooner.” she stuttered, clutching onto her bloodied up shirt like it was gonna help her feel better. “i p-pussied out.” she giggled, still sobbing.

“sorry.” was the last word she could muster up.

you stared at her.

and she stared at you back, smiling before leaving the room and sliding the door shut behind her.

it all went by so quick.

you didn’t even get to say goodbye.

wasn’t this all just a bad dream?

you were gonna wake up right? 

the zombies running, they weren’t running.

the screams in the hallways, they weren’t hers.

they weren’t even real to begin with, right?

the zombies weren’t eating her.

you stared at her bloody nametag, tears falling down onto it.

yoo jimin.

yoo jimin.

the zombies don’t even exist either, do they? 

you made all of it up, right?

right?

-

“ugh lame.. i’m your best friend, you should be telling me.. booo tomato tomato..” 

she laughed, hitting your shoulder playfully before laying her eyes on you, smiling tenderly as she watched you pout. 

“sorry.”

#kpop gg #female reader #aespa #aespa karina #karina aespa #aespa angst #all of us are dead #all of us are dead au #karina x female reader #karina aespa x female reader #yoo jimin #yoo jimin aespa #yoo jimin x female reader #i’m gonna cry #i felt so fidksodkkwdk #writing this

[reiding-writing]

mistletoe [ s.r ]

Summary:

Spencer accidentally slips to the team that he doesn’t like Christmas, and you take it upon yourself to try and change his mind during one of your bi-weekly movie nights.

WARNINGS: mentions of schizophrenic episodes, mentions of divorce, slight miscommunication

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: 99% fluff, tiny bit of angst, two oblivious idiots in love

wc: 4.6k

masterlist!!

a/n: watch someone who doesn’t like christmas, write about a reader who does like christmas 😭 thanks to ml @flowersfromautumn for beta reading this for me 🫶🫶

Spencer Reid was not a Christmas person.

The rest of the team found it a little ironic, especially considering his overwhelming love for halloween, but he wasn’t going to tell them that the reason he hated the holiday season was because his mother’s paranoia spiked during them. He wasn’t going to tell them that the last time he’d tried to do something with his family for the holidays it ended with his mother locking herself in her bedroom for three straight days and Spencer finding a copy of divorce papers half-hidden under his father’s work files.

He wasn’t going to tell the team that the whole month of December felt like a massive dissociation for him every single year to the point where - despite his eidetic memory - he couldn’t remember most of the Christmases of his childhood.

His younger years were enjoyable, at least, he thinks so; Filled with festivities and family-bonding. But as his growth was overshadowed by his mother's battle with schizophrenia, the jingling bells and festive lights brought memories of unpredictable episodes, turning what should have been joyful celebrations into overwhelming anxiety and stress.

The only Christmas he had a clear memory of was the one in 1990, the day he found out that his family was no longer a family at all. That’s a lot for a nine year old to handle, even if his mind preceded his age twice over.

“Spencer?” You knock - kick - at the front door of Spencer’s apartment, right on time for your bi-weekly movie session. “Spencer Reid? Hellooo?”

It takes a minute for Spencer to open the door, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses as he does so. “Sorry I was just-“

Spencer cuts himself off as his eyes meet the large cardboard box in your hand, noting how you’re leaning it on top of your thigh with your leg balanced in the air so you don’t drop it. “What’s that for?”

“You’ll see,” You give him a half-smug smile as you push your way past him into his apartment, dumping the box on his coffee table and shaking out your arms to relive them of the ache of carrying its weight for the last several minutes.

Spencer follows soon after you, pushing the door closed and tilting his head at the box like a puppy who’d just been presented with a ball for the first time.

Its oddly endearing, and you find yourself getting distracted from the box as you take in the way the warm lighting of his apartment cascades over the side of his face, leaving a soft shadow that accentuates his jawline in the most perfect way to make your stomach do a flip in your torso and stir a kaleidoscope of butterflies awry in its wake.

You’re thrust back into reality by Spencer speaking your name, his tone so sweet you’re sure it could give you cavities. “What’s in the box?”

“Oh- right, right yeah uh-“ You peel the tape off of one side of the box, peeling it open to let the two flaps at the top of the box loose. “Okay don’t be mad at me-“

You slowly open the box up to let Spencer look inside it properly. It was completely filled to the brim with a collection of miscellaneous decorations fit for the Christmas season, all neatly packed into smaller boxes and plastic containers, separated with labels on each.

Spencer says your name again as his eyes scan the contents of the box, this time with much less sweetness and much more apprehension.

“Why did you—“

Reid cuts himself off for a second time in the last five minutes as he reads the labels on the smaller boxes, getting caught on one lining the main box’s long side. “You brought a tree?”

It’s a small one,”

Spencer looks at you like you’ve just released a mischief of rats into his apartment.

He was expecting to be sat on his couch with you at his side, devouring cheap take-away pizza whilst indulging in multiple hours of re-runs of Doctor Who. Instead, you’d dumped a box of Christmas decorations on his coffee table which he can only assume you’ll hound him into putting up.

He’d been ambushed.

“You know I’m not really fond of the whole Christmas thing,” Spencer says, running a hand through the fluffy mess of brown hair that you would gladly spend hours with your fingers in if he’d let you.

“I know you aren’t Spencer, but this is the time of year where people are supposed to spend time with the people they care about, I’m not going to let you spend it hauled up in an undecorated apartment by yourself,” You begin to unload the boxes onto his coffee table with a soft sigh.

“It’s just another day,” Spencer’s voice is soft, appreciative of you going out of your way to do something like this for him but also not entirely sure of the point of it. “Besides, don’t you have plans with your family?”

“They’re on the other side of the country Spence, and as much as I love them i’m not taking that trip down, just in case something comes up with the team,” You unbox the artificial tree first, pulling it out of its box and tugging the flattened branches outwards to make it look more tree-like. “So i’m saddled up here for the holidays,”

You move the tree over to a side table next to one of the walls of Spencer’s apartment, the dark green complimenting the olive of his walls.

“Do we really have to do this?” Spencer’s voice is non-confrontational, not wanting to fight with you.

“It’ll be fun I promise,” You blink up at him with those eyes of yours and there’s no way in hell he’s going to be able to say no to you.

Spencer sighs softly, dragging his fingers over his closed eyelids under his glasses before reluctantly opening a plastic container labelled ‘lights’, beginning to untangle one of the strings of lights from the others. “I don’t think I’ve put up a tree since I was around eight or nine,”

“You don’t think?” You raise an eyebrow at him as you continue to adjust the faux branches of the tabletop tree.

“I- don’t actually remember most of my Christmases…” Spencer’s pursed smile fills you with an overwhelming amount of upset sympathy that he can immediately read all over your face. “I was never exactly ‘enraptured’ with it anyway,”

That was a total lie.

Spencer tries to shrug off your concern as he successfully manages to untangle the lights. “Did you know that the first ever rendition of ‘Christmas’ as we know it happened roughly 5000 years ago?”

And there goes Spencer’s distraction technique. He’d always manage to turn the attention away from himself and towards something academic when he was becoming uncomfortable with his own vulnerability.

“It was originally actually celebrated on December 21st as a celebration of the mid-winter solstice, and the Neolithics, or new stone age people, would gather around Stonehenge to have feasts and exchange gifts with each other, even playing music associated with the holiday on bone flutes from the cattle used for the feast.”

A part of you wants to stop Spencer’s tangent, to bring the topic back to why Christmas was such a bad time of the year for him as a child that it caused gaps in his memory despite him remembering the rest of his life down to the most minor of details. But another part of you knows that if it’s that bad, maybe it’s best to leave it be. He’ll tell you when he’s ready to.

“So-“ Spencer rummages around for a few seconds in one of his drawers to pull out some batteries for the lights, then turning a warm yellow once they’re powered, twinkling on and off intermittently. “How do we know what goes where?”

He begins to carefully wrap the lights around the length of the tree down in a spiral, leaving the battery box in the small fake pot underneath the tree. He at least knows where to put the lights.

“We vibe it,” You shrug your shoulders softly at his question as you go back over to the coffee table to retrieve your box of baubles, a mix of red and off white, with a few of them covered in glitter.

“We- Vibe it?” Spencer furrows his expression slightly as he watches you arbitrarily place one of the baubles on the tree.

That was one of the things he remembered about decorating with his parents when he was younger. The tree was organised. And he remembers the arguments that spanned from what should have been a family-bonding activity.

The end result always looked more like one of those display Christmas trees in department stores than a Christmas tree put together by a loving family. But he supposes it makes sense considering the dynamic of his parents.

“Yep, we vibe it,” You pick up a second bauble to hang from the tree. “Just try not to put too many of the same colour in one area otherwise it can look a little dodgy,”

“Right- Okay…” It doesn’t take long for him to get a feel for where the baubles should be going, and he follows your lead in hanging them on the branches.

He’s a lot less stressed than the fragmented memories of his show him he should be as he decorates the small tree with you, and he’s sure it’s because the soft smile adorning your features as you pass him baubles of different colours and sizes houses some sort of black magic that just erases all semblance of negativity from his mind.

After a few minutes, Spencer takes a step back from the tree to look over his work, feeling pretty satisfied with himself, a small smile gracing his features that the warm light of the fairy lights only accentuates, casting a soft glow over his face. “Not bad,”

“Ah-” You hold up a hand as you rifle through the box, pulling out a very obviously handmade tree topper in the vague appearance of a fairy. “One more thing,”

“A fairy?” Spencer takes the topper from your hand carefully, as if he’s afraid of breaking it if he were to hold onto it too tightly. “Who made this?”

“I did-“ An almost unnoticeable flush covers your cheeks as you watch him examine the cone of white card with a painted styrofoam head and yarn for hair, wings cut out of translucent iridescent lining and haphazardly folded into shape over jeweller’s wire. “When i was a kid-“

“It’s adorable,” Spencer’s voice proves his genuinity. He feels somewhat touched by the fact that you still had it. “You’ve been holding on to this for years?”

“Yeah- I usually put it on top of my tree at home but I figured that you’d benefit more from it this year than I would-“ Spencer almost melts at your thoughtfulness. It’s honestly one of the sweetest things he thinks anyone has ever done for him. It obviously meant a lot to you, and yet here you were, surrendering it into Spencer’s care to try and make his holiday season more festive.

“That’s- really sweet of you…” He smiles fondly, gently placing the topper on top of the tree, rotating it slightly so it faces into the main portion of his living room. "It looks like you,"

You laugh softly at the statement, “Vaguely,”

The fairy-topped tree now radiates a cozy warmth in Spencer's living room. The soft glow from the lights and the sentimental touch of the handmade topper seem to transform the atmosphere, creating a space that feels more like a home than just a place to reside.

As you both step back to admire the decorated tree, a sense of accomplishment fills the room. Spencer's eyes linger on the fairy topper, appreciating the connection it holds to your childhood and the kindness behind your gesture.

"We’re not done yet,” You grasp both of his shoulders in your hands for a second, giving them a soft squeeze before heading back over to the box to continue decorating around his apartment.

He smiles at the sight of your enthusiasm. “You’re getting carried away,” Spencer’s tone borders a laugh as you start to scatter decorations around his living room.

You hang a line of gold tinsel along the mantle of his faux fireplace, drape a string of fairy lights over his bookshelf, and hand him small festive table toppers for him to scatter into spaces on his home office, and slowly but surely, his apartment radiates that festive energy associated with the Christmas season.

“You can never have too many decorations,” You shake your head softly at Spencer as he glances over the decorations you’d shoved into his hands.

“But do I really need any decorations?” Spencer sighs softly, slowly putting down the decorations flooding his arms down on his dining table, trying not to sound unappreciative of your efforts.

A little part of him wants to tell you that all of these decorations weren’t really making him feel any better about the holiday season; But he wants to see you happy, even if he has no desire to decorate the place himself.

“It’s just me here,” he adds softly.

“That doesn’t matter,” you tilt your head at him slightly as you retreat back to the cardboard box to retrieve more decorations. “Besides,”

Your eyes catch on a small sprig of mistletoe, and you adjust the wiring to flatten it out properly as you pull it out of the box. “You never know,”

“You expect me to bring someone over here?” Spencer laughs in a mix of astonishment and embarrassment. “Who would I even bring over?”

You respond only with a shrug of your shoulders as you pick up one of Spencer’s dining chairs, carrying it over to the front door so that you can stand on it to comfortably reach the door frame.

“This is way too extra,” he says, looking at the mistletoe that’s now being fastened above his front door as he stands at your side, one hand braced on the back of the dining chair to make sure that you don’t accidentally tip yourself over. “What if I bring someone back and it’s all awkward?”

“You just have an excuse to kiss anyone you think is attractive when they walk into your apartment, sounds like a win win to me,” You hop off of the dining chair once you’re finished, bringing it back to its rightful place under his dining table.

Spencer flushes slightly. “You do realize what you’re saying, right?” he asks. “Like you’re insinuating me going out of my apartment, bringing a random person in here, and kissing them immediately upon entry.”

You give him a pointed look that silently tells him that he’s reading too much into it as you pack up the rest of the box, satisfied with your work. “It’s about time you got some lovin’ Spence,”

It’s not like he doesn’t agree with your sentiment, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not extremely flustered.

“I’m not sure anyone is interested,” He says that like he hadn’t almost had a fling with a hollywood actress a few years ago, like he didn’t constantly have women fawning over him during cases, like you weren’t completely head over heels for him to the point where you’d gone out of your way to spend your saturday night decorating his apartment for Christmas to try and make his holiday season a little more enjoyable.

This man had to be the most oblivious profiler in the FBI; And it made you want to cup those beautiful cheeks in your hands and kiss those beautiful pink lips until his beautiful brain understood just how wrong he was.

Spencer clears his throat at his own awkwardness as he tries to move the topic of conversation away from his love life, his eyes flickering around the main room of his apartment. “I uh, you did a good job with the decor,”

“Thank you, thank you,” You oblige to his change of subject with a dramatic bow, fearing you’ll implode if you think about how obliviously attractive Spencer is any longer.

“Now we can watch a movie,” You move the, now thankfully much lighter, box off of the coffee table to give a clear view of the television from Spencer’s couch. “A Christmas movie.”

Spencer’s eyes widen a little bit as you mention watching a Christmas movie. “Is that something I can opt out of?”

“No?” You give him a look of mock offense as you push him over to the couch to sit down, and he reluctantly obliges with a sigh. “It’s a movie night, and it’s the middle of December, we have to watch a Christmas movie, it’s a rite of passage,”

He’s never been a fan of any of the cliche christmas movies, even if they’re supposed to be cheesy and fun.

He’s willing to compromise, though. For your sake.

“Can it at least be a good Christmas movie and not something that has a plot that was clearly written by the Hallmark Channel?”

“We’re watching the Grinch duh,” You furrow your expression as if the movie choice is obvious, handing him the remote as you grab your satchel bag and hurry off into the kitchen.

“I will be back in like two minutes, don’t even think of trying to escape from this,”

“I’m not going anywhere don’t worry,” Spencer sighs with a soft smile as he watches you disappear around the corner. Even if the Grinch movie doesn’t sound like his cup of tea, he’d do just about anything for you.

He scours through Netflix as you busy yourself in his kitchen, and you waltz back out a few minutes later with a small tray housing two steaming mugs and two plastic wrapped candy canes, placing it on the coffee table in front of him. “Et voila,”

Spencer doesn’t have to ask to know what the mugs hold, he can smell the chocolate from his seat. “Alrighty then, christmas movie time it is,”

Spencer watches as you make yourself comfortable next to him, crossing your legs and draping a throw blanket from the arm of the couch over your legs, and it’s hard not to look at you and think about how comfortable it would be for him to lie with his head in his lap with your hands running through his hair. The idea makes him all flustered, and he hides his flush behind his mug as he takes a sip of his drink.

“You’re sure that we can’t just watch Doctor Who like we were supposed to?”

All it takes is a small slump of your shoulders at his question and Spencer’s resolve quickly melts like snow in the sun.

“Alright, you win,” he sighs. “I’ll watch the Grinch.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to Spence,” You concede defeat at Spencer’s disinterest in watching the film. You’d already forced him into decorating and you were starting to feel guilty for forcing all of this onto him.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Spencer shakes his head softly at you. You’re sharing something that you enjoy with him, who is he to shut you down? Especially considering how many times he’d over shared about his own interests. “It’s only two hours,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Why did the Grinch’s heart grow three sizes?” Spencer asks, his eyebrow raised as the credits play. “I don’t get it.”

“it’s a metaphor Spence, it doesn’t actually grow three sizes,”

“I know it’s not literally growing,” Spencer dead-pans. “I’m just wondering if there’s a reason why they put three specifically.” He seems to be looking for some deeper meaning in watching this movie, even if he’s not really engaged with it.

“Like is the Grinch’s heart growing meant to be a sign of him becoming a better person?”

“Yeah, because at the beginning it was two sizes too small, so if it grows three sizes, now he has a ‘big heart’ that’s full of love and empathy and all that stuff,”

Spencer’s gaze burns into you as you explain the metaphor to him. It’s not an ‘i’m trying to really understand this‘ gaze, but rather a ‘I’m engaging in something you enjoy and trying to understand and you’re so perfect when you talk’ gaze.

“Like, he’s realising ‘hey Christmas isn’t so bad when you have people who love and care about you to spend it with’,”

“Is that what Christmas is to you?” Spencer asks, his tone genuinely intrigued. “A way of spending time with the people you love?”

“Yeah-“ You give him a small nod, joined with a yawn as you stretch your arms up above your head. “That’s the whole point of Christmas,”

Spencer smiles warmly at you, although he’s not entirely sure whether it’s because of how you describe what Christmas means to you, or because when you stretch you scrunch up your nose like a cat would. “What now?”

“I should probably head home and stop bothering you with my overwhelming desire for christmas to just happen,” You let your arms fall back to your sides with a satisfied sigh, glancing at the grandfather clock Spencer has against his wall. 12:25. Looks like you spent longer decorating than you thought.

“It’s pretty late,”

“Yeah, it is,” Spencer follows your eyes over to the clock, hiding his subconscious disappointment over your inevitable departure as you retreat to his front door to put your shoes on.

“Let me escort you to your car,” he says quietly, following after you. “It’s dark outside.”

You chuckle softly at his offer, leaning your shoulder against his apartment door and lifting up your legs one at a time to tie your shoelaces. “You really don’t have to Spence it’s alright,”

“I want to,” His tone is soft, and you can’t help but notice that he cuts off his sentence abnormally quickly as if his words got stuck in his throat, and as you drop your left leg back down to the floor and turn your head to him, you notice he’s not looking at you, but above you.

Your eyes follow his up to what he’s looking at, catching on the mix of white and green fauna directly above your head.

Oh-

You’d royally screwed yourself over. God damn it. The night was going so well.

As you follow Spencer’s gaze, he immediately becomes distracted by the way your eyes are looking up at the mistletoe above you, glistening softly under the warm lighting in his apartment, and he almost implodes because god damn is your face gorgeous when you’re all flustered.

“Did you know that mistletoe was originally used by ancient celtic druids as a symbol of good luck to protect against evil spirits?”

There’s that distraction technique again. Although, his tangent is much more of a ramble as his eyes examine the mistletoe above the door as if it’s an exhibit in a museum.

“The Greeks also used mistletoe as a medicine for almost every ailment you can think of, from cramping to epilepsy and even poisonings. The custom of kissing underneath mistletoe wasn’t developed until the 1700s when victorians-“

“Spencer stop.”

He does ask you ask immediately, blinking at you as his eyes snap downwards towards your face, his expression a mix of hurt and embarrassment. “Oh- I- I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“Just-“ You put your hand up in front you effectively halting his attempt at an apology. “Stop speaking,”

“Right… I’m sorry…” Spencer purses his lips together, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he’s sure it’ll bleed.

He didn’t want to make the situation uncomfortable. That was quite literally the last thing he wanted to do. God, what was he thinking? Why did he let you hang that god damn plant above his door?

“I’ll- you-“ He takes a sharp breath in, closing his eyes for a second. “I’ll see you on Monda-“

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence as you again stop him from speaking, but not with a raised hand or a verbal signal.

No. Instead, his words are ripped of the chance to be spoken by a tug on the collar of his t-shirt and a gentle pressure against his lips.

Spencer can’t help the widening of his eyes as your lips press against his, nor can he stop the gasp that escapes his mouth as you effectively swallow his apology with your lips.

Those soft, perfect lips that Spencer had been dreaming about for god knows how long.

No, he knows exactly how long. 1,472 days, 6 hours and 15 minutes.

The sharp tick of the grandfather clock cuts through the soft silence between you.

1,472 days, 6 hours and sixteen minutes.

He effectively melts in your affection, the feeling of your hands sliding into his hair at his temples, the subtle taste of mint on your lips from the candy cane you’d been eating whilst watching the movie.

And the heat, oh, the heat.

He never knew one person could be this hot, this warm.

Spencer’s hands go to your waist as he gently pulls you further against him, his eyelashes fluttering softly as they fall closed.

You're kissing the man of your dreams. And enjoying every second of it.

And the best part? He's enjoying it just as much.

“Merry Christmas Spencer…” Your words are little more than a whisper as you mumble them against his lips, your thumbs tracing slow lines in front of his ears.

Spencer can’t help but gasp softly at the weight of your words, and this time not because you’d caught him by surprise, but because he's completely lost in you.

He’s starting to understand the Grinch metaphor you were explaining to him earlier, although his heart doesn’t feel like it’s growing three times over. It feels as though it’s growing ten times over. A hundred times over. That it might burst out of his chest with just how much he was feeling in this moment.

"Merry Christmas..."

He whispers your name softly, barely able to get it out over the slight quiver in his breathing.

This was the best Christmas present he’d ever gotten.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #erotomania #mgg #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff

[heavensgxte]

Besieged part II

part one

tw - noncon, forced marriage, pregnancy mentions, breeding kink, blowjobs, naoya being naoya and being an asshole. naoyas shitty excuse of foreplay. not beta read

wc- 2.1k

by clicking read more you are agreeing to consume and read dark content.

a/n- hey…how y’all doin. don’t hate me for posting this over two years later lolol i honestly didn’t think i’d ever get back to this but. i have had been on a writing kick lately. i hope my skills haven’t completely disappeared. thank you for all the love for part one.

You wake up the next morning, covered in dry cum. You feel its presence still very much so stuffed into your cunt. You also feel a warm body draped over yours, looking over at the table you do see a glass of water. You also feel a flaccid cock you must have been warming all night long.

Did he really fuck you until he passed out? You reason he probably did. You look towards the window to find the sun just beginning to rise, not being able to stop the few tears that escape your eyes, a true moment to yourself, sort of. For the last week, the weight of your situation settles, is this really how you’re going to spend the rest of your life?

Eventually, you reckon you had silently cried yourself back to sleep. It was the fact that when you had come to again, your now husband wasn't sprawled out on top of you. But a maid with a worried look on her face gently tapping you awake. Telling you it was time to change the bedding, her skittish voice starting to pull away the curtains of grogginess out of your system.

You make sure to give her a warm smile, nodding and giving a soft thank you. Making a mental note to treat the staff nicely, showing them you are nothing like that vile man you have been legally bound to.

The maid turns away to give you privacy as you move your sore body to plant your feet on the cold floor. Seeing a note laying on your bedside table, picking it up you read it over. “I will be attending my own duties until mid-day, don’t bother me, I shall come find you when I deem it is time. Don’t miss me too much <3” You scoff crumpling the note and tossing it where you found it.

Shivering you pull on the robe nearby, letting the soft fabric hug your frame, giving another smile to the maid, you make your way to the washroom and out of her way. You spot the shower and take a better look at the elegant room. The ofuro and shower separated, traditional yet modern touches adjourning the room. Both bathing options are definitely big enough for two, you mentally note that he had done that on purpose. Looking between the two options, a soak in the ofuro seemed more tempting, something to soothe your aching body from the rough treatment you had taken last night.

Taking a good look in the mirror as you begin to fill up the bath, your eyes widen at the state of your body. Darkened marks adorn your neck and chest, accompanied by bite and scratch marks decorating your thighs and waist. Is he even human? You surely don’t remember the sex being this animalistic, but your fucked out brain probably drifted off after your second or third orgasm you presume.

Hopefully he isn’t this insatiable every night. The thought sends shivers down your spine, keeping yourself distracted by adding salts and herbs you had found sitting out into the steaming water.

Carefully stepping in and letting the warmth consume you, you close your eyes and lean your head back, letting daydreams run through your weary head as you lean it against the edge of the appliance. Near dissociation when.

The brash opening of the door rips you out of your thoughts, you hear his footsteps before you see him round the corner quickly. Ripping you out of your dream-like state, sending your nervous system into fight or flight mode, a shrill gasp emitting from you.

“Ah ha there you are. I was wondering if you were going to wake up or not before the sun went down.” Naoya says as if it was a matter of fact. Cat like eyes trying to peer beneath. “I was looking all over for my little wife.” The man poses with a faux stretch. “I got done with my duties early, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of the evening playing with my new toy.” He begins to shed his daily attire.

Sighing, but not quite in defeat you close your eyes and begin to mutter “well excuse me for trying to take even a bath by my-”

Before you could even finish the sentence, you heard it before you felt it. A smack resounding in the room before your hand flies to your face to soothe the stinging pain. Shocked with wide eyes you avert your profile to him.

You are met with a stern look to his amber eyes, face unreadable. “I will tolerate little from you. I knew choosing you there would be some pushback, a stubborn woman such as yourself. However,  you are smart enough to know and follow expectations regarding being my wife. I do not tolerate back talk. The rumors surrounding my clan are indeed true. We expect traditional wives. You will be absolutely no different.”

Flabbergasted you cannot control your rising emotions as they burst through the seams. “Expectations?! Guidelines?! I didn’t even want this!” No, you will not cry. Not in front of him.

A strong hand grips your face, a force even pulling you from the ofuro. “This. Isn’t. About. You.” Venom laced in his words as he shook your head back and forth. “I don’t care what you want. Surprise wife! You are here for me and me alone. That is your purpose in your pathetic life. Serve me. Warm my bed. Be my personal fuckhole. And bare me an heir. Speaking of fuckholes….” Naoya mumbles. Fumbling around with the cloth on his body. Slipping all of it off, the light illuminating off of his body, accentuated by the steam.

You’d be lying to yourself as to say he did not have a nice body. He did, and a nice cock, 7 and a half inches or so with decent girth and a perfect curve. You would know, the entire night the damn thing was inside of you, you are now very much so used to it.

To add on to his earlier statement, you are being gripped by the nape of the neck, Naoya standing on the stool you use to step into the tub, but he’s not stepping on.

“Open that whore mouth my dear beloved.” How can someone’s words be so venomous yet patronizing?

Taking a moment to process you don’t even see his hand come down to pinch your left nipple, the gasp parting your lips is all he needs to shove it in between your parted lips. Going slow and taking your time is not your dear husband's forte, obviously. As he is instantly gripping the sides of your slippery cheeks and moving his hips to fuck his cock farther and farther down your throat. Your gags, and spluttering echo to and fro through the bathroom, along with the sound of his balls, slapping your chin, pulsing with the need for release.

Though the man above you is groaning, face scrunched up in concentration and pleasure. He protests a moment. “No, no no, fuck, no, need your cunt. Gimme…” Naoya begins to mumble, pulling you up by your arm from the ofuro. “Bend over the edge, yeah, yeah just like that.”

You know it’s futile to argue, and you can’t deny, that he does feel good, is that why your body is betraying you when you arch yourself over the edge of the bathroom appliance? Why you don’t kick and scream when you feel him spread your cheeks to get an adequate view of your cunt glistening with bath water, slightly covered in suds from your attempt of relaxation? Is it that deep down you know that submitting to him is your best option right now? Can you really do this for the rest of your life? In such a compromising position, your thoughts run wild.

All thoughts stop racing through your mind when you feel the head of his cock push in through your tight hole. Shaky trembling hands gripping your hips tightly. Naoya’s head is also whirring in pleasure, just like yours.

“Fuck fuck it’s just as tight as last night.” A sigh emits his mouth. As if his cock in your pussy could melt all his stresses and worries away. Fuck. Is all that he can formulate. Using his hands to bring you back and forth on his erection. A moan threatens to emit from your mouth before you cover it with your hand, no you cannot give him that satisfaction. Biting down on your hand for some semblance of control.

A semi cold hand finds its way to your warm slick breast, a hardy squeeze as he brings up his tempo. “Y-yeah” he groans. “Take it, like you’re meant to. All you’ll ever be good for anyways.” Naoya growls, speeding up his thrusts. Biting down on your shoulder. Angling his hips to hit deep inside your cunt over and over your G-spot. You swear you can feel him in your chest at this point.

Your hand falls to the edge of the tub squeezing the edge in an attempt to ground yourself from the new found angle. You do not want to give him the satisfaction of his use of your body as his own personal fuck-hole, that he could make you cum from the treatment as well.

“Fu- shit. You’re milking me you bitch!” His teeth detach from your shoulder, his hand gathering at the crown of your head to hold onto your hair and bring his body towards him. “Look at me.” The blond demands. Pace never falters. “A fucking mess from a little fucking.” He hisses. “Who owns you?”

As if he can talk, he’s practically panting and drooling like an animal in heat. The latter question sparks a flood of defiance in you, moving your head side to side.

“Tell me who you belong to if you wanna cum. Otherwise, you can just suck me off and I'll finish all over that pretty face. I don’t fucking care.”

You jolt in surprise as you feel his hand on your clit, lithe fingers swirling the bud. Teasingly coming and going each time you tighten around him. The itch that needs to be scratched is becoming a far bigger problem. Your inhibitions going out the window.

I mean, it's four words, it can't hurt right? Just this once you reason.

“I belong to…” You muster the reward of Naoya’s fingers rubbing your bundle slightly faster. The sounds of your moans and his hips slapping yours echoing in the bathroom.

“G-go on I can’t hold out much longer, stupid cunt feels too good.”

“I-I Belong to y-you! Na-Naoya!” You finally snap at the same time your husband increases the pace of both his fingers and thrusts. Your cunt squeezing him so tight he can barely pull out to go back in, your release exiting out of your spent pussy, splashing on Naoya’s pelvis.

“Too tight, too tight SHIT!” The man curses, pushing himself practically against your womb as you hear him growl, squeezing your body to him so tightly not even paper could come between.

You feel the final twitch as you come down from your high. Warm spurts of cum filling you to the brim.

Naoya pulls out slightly wincing as his spent cock falls out. Mesmerized seeing his pearly cum in your thoroughly abused pussy. Two fingers wasting no time to push it deeper. “I-it has to take. You need to be knocked up.” He pants, as you turn your head worried eyes widening. “Need to make sure you can’t leave. Even if you tried.” The latter part of the sentence comes out more dark as the former.

As you sit and lament over what just happened. Naoya steps beside you to drain the tub, leaving half the water before he fills it again with warm water. You look at him quizzically, he pays no mind, checking the water. Adding some salt and soap to the bath.  Before lifting you up and setting you in without a word. “I have one more errand to attend to.” He exclaims redressing himself. “I will be eating dinner with you. Your husband says before leaving the bathroom. Not waiting for a response from you.

Shock leaves your system. Did he just… Do something nice for you? You won’t say it’s the best aftercare, but honestly you thought he was just going to leave you on the cold tiled floor. Warmth creeps up to your heart at the gesture. You shake your head, scolding yourself. You cannot fall for crumbs. Never for him, anyone but him.

You can figure something out, you reason. Find a way to leave and keep your family safe at the same time. Change your names, move out of the country, something! You cannot stay here, if you don’t leave now. You will be stuck under his heel forever.

#tw.noncon #naoya zenin #naoya zenin x reader #jjk smut #naoya x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere jjk #yandere naoya #tw.yandere #tw.forced marriage #tw.breeding #tw.breeding kink #tw.oral #tw.pregnancy

[callofdudes]

Don't go there.

Summary: When you and your friends take a summer trip out to the woods you are unaware of just what you've disturbed from it's slumber deep inside.

Cw: Serial Killer Simon, gore, blood, wounds, angst, death, childhood trauma. Mention of dissociation, abuse. Dark themes, animal death, Simon has a bit of a psychotic obsession over you in the end.

Word count: 6.8K+

A/N: Please don't let this flop, I spent way too much time staying up and writing this. So I do apologize for my dry-eye editing mistakes. I didn't want to super edit it all but I worked so hard on this. I was tempted to make the end kinky, but he just really, really likes chasing. Italics means a flashback/something in the past.

"How much longer until we get there??" You asked, looking out the window of the car, seeing the long road of trees. Stretching out for miles deep into the unknown where shadows lingered.

"Shouldn't be much longer." Your friend, Adam replied, checking the gas level in the truck.

You had stopped at a gas station nearly an hour ago. You had been going down this road for almost half an hour with nothing to see for miles.

Two of your other friends sat in the back, distracted by their boredom. You look in the rearview mirror, seeing them making out.

Crystal and Peter couldn't get off each other for five minutes... You had to be in the car with them. Why couldn't you have been with the others following in the car behind you?

You sigh softly in exhaustion, fixing your headphones again.

You all had taken up the opportunity for a summer job out at a camp for the extra money. Having just gotten out of school, you were looking for somewhere to start fresh, away from your parents' clings. And this felt right.

"Hey, looks like we've got something," Adam points out.

You look up, clicking off your phone to see the road split off. An old sign at the crossroads directs you down another road.

"That's the camp's name." You sit up, your whole body feeling relief that you are almost there.

"Thank goodness."

You looked at the backseat, leaning over to gently hit Peter. "Hey, stop it, there are others in the car you two."

"Sorry y/n."

Hah, you knew they weren't. At least you'd be at the camp soon...

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

You arrived at the camp, pulling up on the road to the large cabins just across from a lake spanning out into the thick forest grove.

You got out, stretching your limbs. Hands high above your head, yawning and working your legs.

"Finally."

You grabbed your bags from the car, meeting up with your other two friends Phillip and Stacy, pulling up in the car behind you.

"Geez, I'd have to make that trip every summer." Phillip fixed his hat, slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder.

"Well, hopefully, the drive back won't be as painful." You playfully glared at Peter and Crystal, taking your bags up the walk to the cabin lodge.

The warm late afternoon sun came through the trees, the breeze blowing softly across the open land. Seeing some of the other campers and counsellors wandering about.

The main office was where you met up with the head counsellor. He smiled upon seeing you. "Y/n, glad you made it."

"Thanks, it was quite the trip."

"Well, we're glad to have you here. Sign your name, and we'll get you all the keys to your cabins."

You nod, write down your name on the paper, and then take the cabin key from him, "Thanks!"

He nods, setting up your friends as well.

Taking your bags, you head down to your cabin. You walk through the main grounds, across the road and over to the thick backwooded area. You paused, looking out into the woods.

The trees were growing and darkening as you looked in, hiding the other side from what lay there.

You shook it off, heading to the cabin and unlocking it. You were sharing your room with Adam, two beds set up and a window at the back of the cabin wall as well.

"Not bad..." You muttered.

As you and Adam start to unpack, you couldn't help but feel a little excited about spending the summer here. The camp was beautiful, with its lake and surrounded by lush forest. It was going to be the perfect escape from the stress of school and family drama.

As you were unpacking, you noticed that Adam had left the cabin without saying anything. You shrugged, thinking he had gone to explore as well.

After organizing your clothes and items in the drawers, you grab your sunglasses and head out to explore the camp. The sun was setting, casting a beautiful golden hue on the entire area. You walked towards the lake, admiring the serene beauty of the water.

As you sit on the dock, dipping your feet in the water, you feel off. Feeling that weird sense that someone was watching you.

You looked out across the lake, attempting to spot anyone, but the forest looked all the same. You were startled a little when you heard footsteps approaching. You look up to see Adam walking towards you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Hey there," he says, sitting beside you on the dock. "Enjoying the view?"

You roll your eyes but can't help but laugh at his antics. "Yeah, it's beautiful."

"Well, I was talking with some others and we're setting up dinner for everyone, then it's swimsuit time~"

You scoffed, shoving him away. "We're to relax, not stick our pieces in random places."

"Oh, say you," He grinned, but you just shrugged him off.

"Meet you at the cabin then?"

You hummed in agreement, and Adam left you alone to join some of the others. You looked back out at the lake, sighing before getting up and following after him.

As you walk back towards the main grounds, you can't shake off the feeling of being watched. The shadows of the trees seemed to elongate and twist, as though they were reaching out to grab you. You shivered, feeling as though you were being watched by something lurking in the forest.

But you shook it off, reassuring yourself that it was just your imagination running wild in unfamiliar territory. You arrive at the campfire just as dinner is being served, the smell of grilled meat and vegetables making your mouth water. You grab a plate and sit down next to Philip, who was chatting animatedly with one of the other counsellors.

You laughed at the funny stories and jokes that were shared, feeling yourself relaxed for the first time in a long while.

But as the night wore on, the atmosphere changed. You noticed the people around you becoming louder, more intoxicated. The crude jokes turned into innuendos and the flirting became more aggressive.

Your typical night with a bunch of people barely older than the drinking age and taking it to their advantage to flirt with any young mind like themselves.

After dinner, you all head back to your cabins to change into your swimsuits. You grab your towel and head towards the lake, joining the others who are already swimming and playing around in the water. You dip your toes into the cool water and shiver slightly, but soon adjust to the temperature and join in the fun.

As you were swimming around, you suddenly felt someone grab your waist from behind. You gasp and turn around to see Adam, grinning cheekily at you. "Gotcha."

You continued to splash around in the water as the sunset. Across the dock, dark eyes stared into the stirring waters. Watching from behind the darkness of the tree line Peter and Crystal made out against one of the firm dock legs. Others laugh and touch too closely to not be called flirtatious.

Their laughter stung his ears. The sounds of shrill joy twisting his stomach in a way that made him angry. One more year where he'd have to do all the dirty work. Where these kids would have to learn.

He'd hear their screams and see the looks of horror on their faces. That's what he wanted.

He moved back into the shadows, slinking down the old house of a family doomed from the start...

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

"Simon! Get your ass down here right now you little shit!!"

"Hang on." The young boy looked in the mirror, whining as he fiddled with his belt, desperately pulling it and looping it back through. Shaky hands working hard when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

His father angrily pushed through the bathroom door, grabbing his wrist. "I said get over here. You're going to make us late again and I don't want your excuses."

Simon wriggled, whining again as he was pulled down the stairs.

His older brother sat with his bags on the couch, chuckling. "Hah, look who got caught with his pants down again." He smirked.

"Shut up Tommy!" Simon retorted, his father yanking him forward and slapping him across the face.

"He's right. Now you shut your mouth."

Simon looked over at his mother who remained quiet as the boys' father led them to the door, getting them into the car.

"If I hear any shit from your counsellors' I'm going to be through with you. You understand me!?"

Simon looked out the window, watching the trees blur by in a mess of green as they drove. He saw his brother look over at him and smirk.

"Don't be a pussy, Simon. You're going to love it."

Simon shook his head and looked away, thinking about all the wonderful things he could be doing if his brother was the one going away to camp.

Simon couldn't help but feel the knot of worry in his stomach. He wasn't looking forward to the summer camp, but his father threatened him with more than was needed to scare the young guy.

"Simon. Simon! What the fuck are you whining about?" His brother punched his arm, and Simon looked over at him.

"Nothing."

"Don't try to lie to me. I can hear it in your fucking voice."

"I'm just nervous is all."

"Yeah, about that..." Tommy laughed, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a small tin. "I got you something to take the edge off."

Simon looked at him, eyes wide. "What the fuck is that?" He asked, Tommy, grinning and popping open the lid, a snake popping out and making Simon jump.

"Tommy, stop!!"

Tommy laughed, tucking the fake snake away.

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

The stairs of the old house creaked. He took it to the bathroom where the mirror took in his frame, eyes showing out from behind the skull mask he wore. Something he'd taken on after his brother's death.

He bent down, opening the sink drawer doors and grabbing his set of knives and his hatchet. Tracing his gloved fingers over the sharp edge, a twist of evil excitement stirred inside him.

Another year of spilling blood. All for himself.

You were back at your cabin at the end of the night, slipping into a sweater as the chill of the summer air set through the interior.

"What's up, y/n?" Adam asked as he noticed you staring out the window for the hundredth time.

"I don't know, I just have this weird feeling like we're being watched." You turn from the window to face him.

Adam let out a chuckle. "Don't tell me you believe in all those ghost stories they tell around the campfire?"

"No, it's not that. It's just a feeling. Nothing more." You tried to brush it off, but you were unconvinced.

"Yeah, but it can be fun to believe you know? Peace of mind." He offered his hand, and you took it.

Adam pulled you outside, and the two of you walked to the cabins beside yours.

"Do you believe in ghosts or spirits?" You asked, feeling a little braver around him.

"Not really. I've seen some crazy shit and it's hard to believe there's more out there. But why not? I'll believe anything if it's from you."

"You're uncontrollable."

"I know." He grinned but then stopped in his tracks. "Wait, hold up. What was that?"

You stop, cocking your head to the side to listen. "I don't hear anything."

"Shh. Listen."

You sit there for a tense moment, scanning the dark tree line, fists clenching in your pockets.

You listened closer, and what you heard was a heavy thumping from one of the cabins. You both seemed to exhale softly upon realizing it wasn't anything to be scared of.

"Whatever, I'm going to the bathroom." You kept walking, heading down the path to the bathrooms. Heading inside and flicking on the small light, locking the door.

Adam smirked, hearing you as you left down the path. He's been trying to get into your pants for months. And yet you brushed him off every time. He partly hoped that this time around, the summer camp and the alcohol will loosen you, literally.

He waits around for you to be done, looking out down toward the dock and the cool waters. Hearing footsteps behind him, he chuckled. "That was quick." He turned, facing someone who definitely wasn't you.

His eyes widened, looking up at the imposing figure.

The mask bore holes into his skin, the darkness hiding the grotesque glint in his eyes.

"Woah man, easy." Adam backed up, but it did little to save him as the large man's hand clasped tightly around his throat, his hatchet slashing into his abdomen.

He had to die first.

Adam's eyes went wide. He attempted to scream, heels digging into the dirt as the blade retracted from his stomach and he was dragged across the open grounds. Blood splattered from the torn skin and clothes onto the rocks and dirt. Dragged back into the woods, trying to scream or scramble for anything to help him.

"Help!" His words were mumbled and barely made it out as he was dragged back into the darkness behind the cabins. Thrust into a tree, the knife sinking back into his flesh. Adam choked, blood spilling from his mouth as the knife carved up through him. Blood splattered into the dirt and leaves.

His eyes stared upward; his face twisted in fright as the man began to brutal him with the knife. The blade tore into his flesh, slicing open as the man took his time to toy with the young man.

Adam's struggles weakened by the minute. Until the knife dug into his throat, and life escaped his body.

He dropped Adam, flicking the blood from his knife and tucked it back into his vest.

The man turned back to the cabin, the sound of footsteps approaching.

Adam was left slumped on the ground, blood oozing from his wounds.

The man slipped back behind the cabin, his hand grasping the hilt of his knife as he listened intently for your return.

You were coming out of the bathrooms, heading back to your cabin when you noticed Adam wasn't around. "Adam?" You looked around, watching the darkness. When you heard nothing, you shrugged. He probably just headed back to the cabin then. So, with that you headed back, but when you returned, still no Adam.

"Alright then."

You left the cabin door unlocked, just in case he'd take a while to get back. Setting up your bed and crawling in, flicking out your lamp. You lay in the darkness, snuggling into the bed and closing your eyes.

You listened to the sounds of the cricket outside and the occasional small rustle of a critter along the wilderness edge. Your breathing slows, exhaling softly as you feel yourself slipping away into sleep.

Footsteps crunch against the pebbled ground. You aren't entirely sure how long you've been asleep when you feel your eyelids fluttering open again. Not moving when you hear the heavy footfalls coming up the side of the cabin. They come around the front of the cabin, stopping at the door.

Silence.

"Adam?" You finally whisper, shifting a little in your bed, squinting into the darkness.

Still silent.

You sat up slowly, looking out the window to see if the coast was clear. You couldn't see anything. You listened for a few moments more, and when you still didn't hear anything, you laid back down.

You watched the door, your heart picking up in pace slightly. The door handle of the cabin finally twists. Your heart leaps as the door opens with an ominous creak.

The steps follow into the cabin, and in the moonlight, you can clearly see that the figure is not Adam.

Your heart spasms in your chest. Your body goes into freeze mode. You try to keep your breathing low in the darkness. The figure shifts its weight slightly, and you feel a pair of eyes on you. Whatever or whoever it was said nothing.

Boots moving across the cabin floor. You close your eyes, feeling fear overtake you when the person reaches your bedside. The glint of the moonlight revealed the sharp hatchet, yet your eyes were closed. Unaware of just what danger you were in.

The figure leans over, warm breath fanning from the mask, leaning down near your cheek, the blade caressing over the skin of your shoulder. You can't stop your whimper, feeling another hot puff of air against your skin, the tip of the blade digging into your shoulder.

You flinch, gasping. The figure stops, the blade drawing away from your skin. Your eyes finally open, wide with fear.

The figure is looming over you, and you can't make out their features in the dark, but the knife glints in the moonlight.

"Please." You whimpered. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"Shhh..." The figure shushed, bringing the knife down slowly, trailing the cold metal across your exposed stomach.

Your bottom lip quivers, shying away, whimpering. "Please- Please I won't-" Your voice dies out with another small whimper as he toys with you. Your body is a nervous wreck.

The blade drags across your skin, slowly sinking into your flesh. Your body throbbing in pain, your eyes so wide that they sting.

You try to look down to see the blade, but the figure moves away, and your eyes follow the figure. You see the glint of the moonlight upon the blade as it comes into view. Your body is trembling violently, your skin stained with a light coating of sweat.

You're going to die. You're fully prepared for whatever is happening to end you.

"Oh, Crystal, come on!" You hear Peter's voice in the darkness. The thick silence pierced like shards of glass. Their breathing pauses, blade stilling against your skin.

"No! I told you not to look!" Crystal hollered back. You could hear her coming closer, walking down toward the docks probably.

The figure leans away from you. You feel your heart throbbing inside your chest. The blade leaves your skin, boots heavily walking back across the floorboards. You remain there, hearing the stride stop, eyes back on you. Then the door creaks shut, and the steps are moving away.

You exhale shakily, opening your eyes, half expecting him to still be there.

You thought he was going to kill you. And then it hit you. Crystal... He must have been going after one of them. You were about to rush out of bed on adrenaline, but the fear immediately had you lying back down. You couldn't move, pulling your blankets back up.

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

It was morning when you got up, finding Adam not at the cabin. You were surprised. You thought he'd come back eventually, but it seems he'd disappeared. You tried to clear your head. Getting dressed and stepping outside to brush your teeth. You looked around, trying to see any signs of what had happened last night. But it seemed all was still. You spat into the dirt, shrugging on your camp sweater and headed over to the main cabin.

There you saw everyone, Peter sitting alone and looking a little bummed out. "Hey." You walked over, getting his attention. "Hey... sleep ok?"

"Yeah, you? Heard a scuffle last night."

Peter sighed, looking into his half-full cup of iced tea. "Found some old photos in a bag she brought with her... Her and her ex."

You cringed a little, but nodded, hearing him out.

"She stormed off and didn't come back last night."

"She did seem the type to be dramatic." You shrugged but gave him a side hug. "Look, it'll be alright. I'm sure she'll come back, and you can sort this out."

Breakfast was passed around and you slowly got to thinking about Crystal. She had no ride back unless she were to take Adam's car or Phil's truck... And where was Adam? Oh well... She was probably off brooding about how she would have to come back and apologize. She was always a tad dramatic for your type.

But the day shifted on, afternoon setting and you all headed to get changed into your swimsuits.

Grabbing your towel you headed outside to meet up with Phil who was chatting up one of the other male counsellors. He had that sly look in his eyes. You patted his arm, motioning him to go get it somewhere else and you headed for the dock.

Some others were already talking and breaking out the kayaks to take on the lake.

You once again sat down, dipping your toes into the water. You looked down into the water, noticing it seemed slightly darker than you remember. Playing it off to be the sunlight and you continued to gently swish your toes through.

One of the girls waved off as she pushed her kayak out into the lake. Rowing out a small bit enough that she comfortably floated along. Until her paddle hit something in the water, rippling up the lake.

You raised an eyebrow, looking down, noticing a chain tied to the leg of the dock. That hadn't been there the other day. The girl seemed to come to the same conclusion, pulling on the chain, something scraping along the bottom floor of the lake bed.

She grunted, pulling a little harder, one of the guys swimming out to steady the kayak.

You all watched as she pulled the chain up, struggling with it until finally. She screamed. You were startled, immediately pulling your feet out of the water. The girl dropped the chain and started desperately attempting to get out of the water and out of the kayak. There wasn't any mistaking her blonde hair, Crystal's body tied by the neck around the chain, her body gutted and hollowed so she'd sink.

You were horrified. Everyone was horrified. Peter and Phillip grab the chain and tug it, dragging her back to shore. They pulled her body onto the dock, seeing her lifeless eyes. The chain digging into her throat, stomach and chest completely hollowed out, her rib cage sticking up like fangs from her peeling, mutilated skin.

You backed up, hitting Phillip's arms. Covering your mouth as you saw what it was. Someone had murdered Crystal. And he was in your cabin last night. You hadn't imagined it.

Someone was hunting you...

"What do we do??" Phillip asked.

"We call the police!" Stacy cried.

"No! They'll shut us down. We'll be responsible."

"What if he comes after the rest of us?"

Your heart pounded a million miles an hour. What were you going to do!?

Some of the boys simply pushed her body back into the water. Vouching that they should just keep a lookout for anything that comes up. They wanted to make the rescue that it was probably just animals. Yeah, because animals were the ones to skillfully skin the organs and carve out around the sharp bone of her ribcage.

But no one could convince them otherwise, so you let it go. It still terrifies you, keeping an eye out as you walk the grounds. Every noise around you sounds like aggression.

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

Dark eyes watched from the cabin door as Crystal stalked across the camp. Muttering angrily to herself, pulling her shirt fully on, and heading for the docks to get some fresh air. He watched her head down, footsteps following after her once she was far enough away.

The twisted sense of hunting prey filled his mind. Smelling the blood before it was spilt and the delicious scream he'd tear from her lungs.

She sat on the dock, huddled against the small sloshes of the lake against the dock legs. Staring out into the starry night. Footfalls make her brow wrinkle. "Peter, I told you to leave me alone."

He stared down at her, his hatchet glinting in the light, hand tightening on the blade in anticipation. He could almost get off to it. Grabbing her by the throat, hearing her gasp and choke, feet scraping against the wood of the dock. She tried to scream, grabbing his forearm, and looking up at him.

He stared down at her, eyes glimmering with excitement as he watched her thrash. A predator toying with its prey. She squirmed desperately, attempting to kick or bite her way out. Her nails dug into his forearm, drawing a light trickle of blood from his skin.

He frowned, gripping the hatchet and piercing it up through her back, the blade squelching through organs and blood, spilling across the dock and flicking into the cool water.

Her face was frozen in an endless scream, bloodletting out across the wood, falling limp after a moment.

He dropped her body, walked back up the dock and grabbed one of the boat chains from the grass. Unthreading it from the post, he came back over. He tied the chain around her throat, making sure it stayed.

The blade tore into her stomach and gutted her before picking up her organless body and throwing her into the lake. Blood seeps into the water like a bleeding-out animal. Like she'd just been mauled by a shark and was left as scraps.

Seeing blood flood and bubble along her flesh as she sank down to the bottom, the current moving her slightly, throat tugging on the chain that kept her secure to the dock.

He flicked out his blade, looking down at his forearm, wiping the blood from the scratches away. And he left silently.

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

Simon stood at the edge of the tree line. His brother sneered from the porch, watching him investigate the noise that had rustled the bushes. He stood there, looking down at the small fox, blood splattered across the leaves, stomach torn open, caught in the barbed wire fence of the property and ultimately caught by whatever it had been running from.

Simon reached out to touch it but quickly pulled away and backed up. He walked back over to the porch, nose scrunching when he smelled the putrid smell of cigarette smoke from his brother.

"Go tell Dad, he'll want someone to pick the guts out of the fence." He sneers.

Simon kept his head down, heading inside where his father was muttering away angrily about his mother again, another bottle in his hand. Drinking it back while he went on and on over the phone.

Simon hesitantly went over to him, standing there patiently and waiting. His father noticed him and frowned angrily. "What do you want, boy!?"

Simon gulped, finding his voice. "There's a fox in the fence..."

"Is it dead?"

Simon nodded. "It's dead."

His father huffed, chugging back more alcohol. "Get the tools and go clean it then. You know what to do."

Simon felt his stomach twist painfully, digging under the sink in the kitchen to grab the gloves and cleaner, heading back outside onto the porch.

As he worked to remove the fox from the fence, Simon couldn't help but think about how much death he had been exposed to lately.

He finished cleaning the fence, but his mind was elsewhere.

As he buries the fox gently, Simon can't help but feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knows that there are cruel people out there who are capable of senseless violence, and it makes him angry. He wants to do something, to make a difference, but he doesn't know how.

As he walked back towards the house, he heard his father's voice. "You know, Simon, you can't be a sissy your whole life. You gotta learn to face things head-on. That's what real men do."

Simon felt his blood boil with anger. His father had no idea what he had gone through, the trauma he had endured. And yet, he was still expected to be a "man". He was only twelve by that point.

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

You sat around the fire with a blanket over your shoulders. The warm afternoon was rather quiet as you all attempted to get over what you'd seen earlier. Why the hell were you sitting here instead of calling the cops? Someone was murdered and you just had to be stuck with the people worried about the camp's reputation.

The boys continued to work, trying to forget about the corpse in the lake and the ramifications that would come with it. The girls all sat in the cabin, trying to distract the younger campers from the grim day.

Phillips came over, handing you a flask of scotch. "Drink this. It'll help."

You took it from him, looking away. "Why'd she have to die?"

"I don't know."

"Where's Peter?"

"He's outside, making s'mores with the other kids."

You nodded, taking a sip of the liquor. It warmed you up and you sighed in relief.

Phillips sat down beside you, looking like his mind was miles away. "You seen that prick, Adam?"

You shake your head. "Nope. Disappeared last night hasn't come back." Saying it out loud really solidifies it for you and Phil. Looking at each other, simultaneously coming to one conclusion.

He was probably dead too...

"We need to get the fuck out of here. We can take his car, leave and go get help."

You agreed, nodding your head. "Yeah, yeah. We should leave now."

Phil wasn't gonna fight it. He may like to do his own thing but the idea of getting killed wasn't on his MO. Not this pretty boy face, no, no.

So, you packed back up, Phil convincing Stacy to go back with you. With your bags, you loaded into Phil's truck. Some of the counsellors seemed a little upset at the idea of you leaving so early. Or going to the cops at all.

But you weren't going to sit there and wait to be next.

Within another hour or so you were all packed up and getting in the truck. Phil pulled you out of the road, clicking his tongue as he turned the truck around.

You stared out the window, looking at the trees and the stretch of empty road as if they were watching back. Mocking you, laughing.

It was silent for a large portion of the drive, your foot tapping along the car.

"What of the others?" Stacy asked from the backseat. "Their fault for being stupid. Although that one counsellor was pretty cute..."

You remain quiet, watching the road as you drive. Tires picking up down the road. You looked down at your phone, distracting yourself with one of your games, Phil eventually filling the silence with the sound of the radio.

The thick tension in the air was palpable through the drive.

There was a thunk under the truck. You looked up, eyes widening as Phil brought the truck to a stop.

"What was that?" You looked out the side mirror but couldn't see anything.

"It's probably some dumb rocks." Phil takes off his seatbelt and opens the door. "Phil-" You reached out for him, and he shrugged it off. "I'm just gonna check it."

He left the door open, heading back around the truck, seeing something lying in the road. A clump of fur stuck on the tread of his tire, a fox in the road.

Phil approached it, looking around. "Geez... talk about dumb." He mutters, spitting into the dirt and scuffing his shoe. Looked like there wasn't any damage done to his truck though. That's what mattered.

He bent down to look at the fox again, hearing footsteps. Just as he looked up the sharp glint of a blade glared into his eyes. His heart lurched, backing up as the blade retracted, swinging again.

Phil gasped, continuing to dodge and trying to move, the large skull-masked figure intending to strike good with the hatchet.

You heard the scrape and thunk when the blade hit the side of the truck, seeing the large figure.

"Phil!" You cried, Stacy getting out of the car before you could stop her.

Your eyes widened, seeing the figure. He dwarfed both Stacy and Phil.

How did he get out here!?

The figure turns towards Stacy, raising the hatchet. She screams, but before he can strike, Phil tackles the figure from behind, knocking him down onto the ground.

You quickly get out of the car, running towards them. "Phil, are you okay?!"

"I'm alright, but we need to get out of here!" Phil grabs your arm, pulling you back to the truck.

The figure stands up, body looming in the dim light. You get a good look at him now. He was wearing a skull mask, with the rest of his face hidden in shadow. He was wearing a black jacket with a hood, and black gloves. You couldn't see anything else.

He starts coming towards you, but Phil quickly gets back into the truck, starting its engine. You all drive away quickly, leaving the figure behind.

You're breathing heavily, heart pounding as you look out the back window. The figure is standing in the same spot, watching as you drive away.

"We're getting the police..." You whisper, unable to take your eyes off the man as he gets smaller in the mirror.

"Agreed," Phil says, continuing down the open road.

Ghost lifts his mask, putting a lit cigarette between his scarred lips, exhaling smoke out into the open road. Turning back toward the camp. He'd gone too far anyway, back to his stomping grounds.

He takes another drag of smoke, dropping the cigarette and shoving his heel into it.

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

Tommy smeared the dirt with his shoe, exhaling the last of the smoke from his lungs, spitting into the freshly shuffled dirt.

Simon watched him, holding the shotgun his father had shoved in his arms. "Tommy-"

"Shut it. You'll scare 'em off." He looks around, scanning the forest grounds, into the darker parts of the trees and across the bushes.

"They always run back to where they think they're safe." Tommy picks up a rock and throws it at the lake. Birds stir in the water, flicking and scattering, some rushing back toward the trees.

Simon gulps, raising the shotgun, and aiming upward at one of the birds. He shot, missing the thing by a mile.

Tommy scoffs, shaking his head. "You're not gonna hit anything like that, kid."

Simon lowers the gun, feeling embarrassed. He had never shot a gun before, let alone at a moving target. "Sorry, I-I didn't mean to-"

Simon can feel his cheeks flushing. He hates it when Tommy treats him like a little kid. But he knows better than to argue. Tommy's been doing this for years, and Simon's only been brought into this recently.

"What are we even doing out here?" Simon asks, shifting the gun in his hands.

Tommy turns to him, squinting in the sunlight. "We're hunting, Simon. Hunting for something that's been bothering the camp for too damn long."

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

A couple days later you and the others returned. It was only you and Phil this time, along with a couple officers and a K9 unit. You'd been nervous about returning for the entire time up until finally going back.

Getting there you open the door, looking around. The camp was quiet, the trees still, bushes bristling as the breeze flowed steadily.

Some officers looked around, the K9 sniffing along the ground as you headed into the camp.

It was completely dead. Abandoned beer cans, a filled pool, and Kayaks still down at the beach unchained.

You latched onto Phil nervously as you followed the officers. Searching everywhere. The main office was empty, and cabins were abandoned. You gulped, the officers scratching their heads, but you knew it was too late. He had gotten to them.

"And what did you say he looked like again?"

"Tall- over six feet, skull mask, wore all black?"

The officer nodded, looking around. The K9's ears perked up, staring into the bushes. Barking into the darkness.

Your insides tensed up, watching the officer with the K9 move forward, others readying their guns in case.

You were shaking and your knees felt weak. the officer moved the K9 forward, waving it further in.

The K9 stopped, barking as it tugged on its leash. The officer stepped forward, pointing his gun into the woods.

The noise quieted, and the dog calmed down. The officer sighed, walking back over. "It's a deer. Want us to keep searching?"

You look around, sighing. "No, nobody's here. Nobody was here."

"Alright, well, we're going to be here for a while still. You can head back to town, we'll keep searching." The officer shrugged. You pocketed your hands, heading back to the car with Phil.

You get into the passenger seat; Phil leans forward and turns on the radio. You look in the rearview mirror and your body freezes. You look back, going cold in horror, a silent scream building in your throat. The hatchet reached up between the seats, grabbing Phil and choking him.

You attempt to tear the man off but he's too strong, blood slashing through Phil's throat as he angrily fights.

You finally manage to scream, getting the door open quickly getting out of the truck, your heart hammering in your chest. The figure turned towards you, his mask hiding any emotion he may have felt. You couldn't make out any details in the darkness, but you could tell that he was tall, muscular, and had a menacing aura about him.

Your feet carry you, thudding across the ground, the back door of the car opening and heavier footsteps following.

You try to call for help, bloody glove wrapping around your mouth, pulling you back, back pressed to the strong chest of a bloody killer.

You wanted to thrash but thought better, remaining still. His hand tightened over your mouth, leaning in so his warm breath fanned over your face. You whimpered, feeling weak, shaking as the edge of his weapon grazed your stomach. Tracing up your sternum, across your chest. Edge of the blade nipping your clothes.

You breathe in heavily through your nose, hands clasping on his forearm, wriggling around.

He enjoyed it. Seeing the pure fear in your eyes, watching you struggle and shake.

Your eyes water, looking into the bushes, knowing the officers were just right there...

He leaned closer to you, whispering into your ear, "Now, now." He was right up against your ear, breath hot and damp.

You try to kick him in the knee, but he's too strong. He grabs your leg, squeezing, bruising as he pulls it up, causing you to fall to your knees.

He moans in your ear, lips pulling into a smirk against the shell of your ear.

You gag, struggling, hearing the heavy thunk of his hatchet against the ground.

His hands were big enough to cover your face. One wrapped around your throat, the other on your mouth, thumb and fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks, squeezing.

Your hands scrambled against his arm, nails digging into his flesh as you desperately tried to claw him away.

There's barking and a sharp whine of the K9. You struggle, attempting to wriggle away as you hear the officers yelling. There's another loud bark, claws digging into the ground, the man letting you go.

You don't have a moment to think longer, taking off down the old road. The canine returns to Simon's side, a tussle of fur in her mouth, and he gives her the signal to wait. He smirks under the mask, watching you run as fast as you can. His stomach twisted in excitement. He couldn't wait to watch your blood spill…

He wants to watch the anguish before the pain. He wants to see your insides. Do they look as good as you do? He swings the blade wiping some of the blood off, running it along the white truck stopped along the road.

Tears fill your eyes, your heart pounding. Your legs shake as you run with everything you have in you. He could have just killed you, but you couldn’t give up. You had to get out. You had to run. You had to survive. This twisted game of cat and mouse, feeling the cats claws ready to sink into your tail and drag you back for a meal.

For now, you were prey, and he was predator.

(Please do let me know what you thought if you read this. I worked hard and haven't a true slasher fic before. I tried my best and want to give you guys more of this.)

#classic slaughter fic #definitely not making this after watching friday the 13th #Jason my baby 👉👈 #simon ghost riley #call of duty #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #serial killer simon #angst #gore #cw: gore #halloween #late halloween I assume #ghost x male reader #readers gender not specified #pronouns for reader arent used #slashers #simon ghost riley x you #serial killer simon ghost riley #slasher simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x gender neutral reader

[cassiopeiasdaughter]

Hi darling,

I hope you’re good. Honestly, I’m astounded by the loveliness of your work. Your writing is so seamless and beautiful, and your ideas are alluring.

I hope you’re okay if I flood your inbox with requests soon.

I’d love to see what you can concoct for a Draco fic in my head. It’s such a shame we never got to deeply explore this character and his potential. So, here’s a hypothetical scenario: the reader is a muggleborn Gryffindor and a member of Golden Trio (or in this case, quartet). When she’s captured by the Snatchers and tortured by Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor, will Draco step up against his family to protect her?

I would love to see your take on this🤍

all too well

Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of torture and dissociation, swearing !not proofread! (Obvi), English isn't my first language so excuse the mistakes 🤍

thank you for this idea, I tried my best ❤️

"What else did you take?", the woman shouts.

She has been screaming like this for minutes, hours, days. You don't remember how long you have been laying on the marble floor, how many times the cruciatus curse has hit you.

You don't remember where you are or who the woman is.

She has black curly hair and an angry face that resembles Andromedas if you look close enough.

She points her knife at you, plays with it in front of you to scare you; when she gets bored or annoyed she hits you, with curses that make your whole body tremble and burn.

The room is spinning, the tall walls seem to keep growing taller and you constantly have to fight to keep your eyes open and search for the light.

The floor hurts your head as the woman throws you around; "How did you get it" she keeps asking," what else" , she shouts.

Your brain can't form the answer she demands, and your eyes can't help but let tears fall.

As you look away you make out more faces.

Three people, two of them looking at you with a strict face, you deserve this, the say without having to speak, it is written all over their eyes.

One of them however looks at you with a scared face, his eyes tremble as they scan your body, not entirely sure what he is looking for. He knows you are hurt, he knows he can't help you, but he keeps looking, doesn't let you go, he stays with you.

You stare into his eyes, cold and silver, burning you with one look. His hands hold his wand with a tight grip, turning his knuckles white.

Who are you, you wonder. You must be important, you think to yourself; you feel important.

Please remember him, you beg yourself. The woman keeps screaming, keeps hurting you but you can only focus on him.

"Draco", the other woman whispers.

Draco.

And with that you remember everything.

Many years ago, when you didn't have to run for your life and survive in the woods;

When home was the red and golden common room, and your three best friends;

When the only things that bothered you were Ron stealing food from your plate and History of Magic class lasting way too long;

you had fallen in love

It was doomed from the start, you knew that of course. You were a muggleborn witch and he was a Malfoy, a pureblooded purist Slytherin; how could it ever work out between the two of you?

You remember the first few years, how his constant insults at you and your friends left you fuming and screaming.

You relive quidditch matches, how sure of himself he was before every match and how he would look at you with a sneer after losing to you.

You can still hear his annoying comments during class or before duels. Shut up Malfoy, you used to shout at him

"Shut up.", you mumble as you remember your past and the woman hits you with another curse.

Then your thoughts take you back to last year.

Draco Malfoy had gotten taller over the summer, his hair had also grown he had dropped his usual sleeked-back look that you mocked. You always knew he was handsome, like you also knew he was a shallow asshole. He was more quiet though, didn't seem to pay attention to his friends or to his teachers.

You would often find him alone; walking in the corridors with a skeptical look on his face.

One particular night you caught yourself tossing and turning in your bed. You were afraid; afraid that you wouldn't be able to save your parents or your friends from Death Eaters. You felt sorry for Harry, you wanted to help him carry the burden that was forced on him all those years ago.

School was also stressing you out, and all these thoughts formed a heavy burden that sat on your chest every night. So you decided to give up hopes of sleep and dreaming and let your feet carry you down the dark and quiet corridors.

That same night you spotted Draco Malfoy rushing somewhere on his own.

You don't remember why but you decided to follow him; maybe it wasn't exactly a decision that you made, but more of a pull that you felt.

You recall walking and turning, going up stairs and getting lost in the hallways.

As you turned one more time, you were met with two angry gray eyes looking at you intensely.

"Why are you following me?", he said.

"Where are you going?", you replied as you raised your wand.

Quickly accuses started flying out of your mouth, "Harry was right, you are with them.", you remember screaming at him and then flying backwards from a spell he cast on you.

“Shut up.” He shouts “You have no idea what is happening.”

"Are you helping them? Do you have any idea what you are doing?" you continued screaming as you stood up.

You remember then how he dropped to the floor and caged his face with his hands.

"I don't know what to do. I don't have another choice." he kept repeating more to himself than to you.

Up to that point Draco Malfoy was to you a spoiled rich wizard, who couldn't see past his privilege and his family's name.

He was cruel to your friends and a blood purist. He was a Death Eater.

But the way he looked now; like a helpless boy made you realize how little say he had in his life.

You knelt down next to him and said softly "Why don't you tell Dumbledore, maybe he can help?".

He laughed mockingly at that and replied "Dumbledore can't save anyone, let alone me."

You stayed in silence kneeling next to him for minutes, trying to think of a way out.

"Malfoy" you broke the silence "Whatever you are doing for them, delay it."

He raised his head and looked at you.

"Delay it, until we find a way to fix this.", you finished

"Why would you even bother and help me? They want to kill people like you; they-", he said but didn't finish

they are killing people like me you finished in your head for him.

For a few moments you couldn't say anything; he was right. You should just go to Dumbledore and tell him everything; let him deal with that, but you couldn't leave him alone.

You couldn't refuse help to the person who needed it the most. Even if he would never ask for it; perhaps that was precisely why.

"It's the right thing, isn't it? Someone has to do it.", you exclaimed

"How very Gryffindor of you." he said with a roll of his eyes and then out of nowhere "Thank you."

"You have to work with me, trust me; in order for this work.", you said and he agreed.

With that began secret meetups and words of comfort.

You weren't enemies or friends. You were a team.

You were the person that helped him through everything, the one who listened when he cried and offered him a shoulder to lean on when everything broke down.

It was strange at first; but it was the right thing to do, and you were brought up to do just that.

You quickly learned that his company was nice; he was nice.

He could be funny when he wanted to and you found out that you had a lot in common.

“Why do you act so different in front of everyone?”, you asked him once.

“Different how?”, he asked back

“Like an emotionless selfish dick” you replied easily “When in reality, you care and protect those you love.”

“Sod off” he said and then “Even if that were true, I suck miserably at it.”

“The protecting or the caring part?”, you asked with a calm voice

He looked at you then with a curious look before turning away and sighing “Both.”

"Both." you whisper now and he can barely hear it.

"What?" the woman shouts, thinking you have an answer to her questions.

"What?", you remember shouting at him when he revealed his plan to you; their plan to kill Dumbledore and attack the school.

"Be quiet!.", he insisted, you could tell by his eyes he was distraught too; he didn't want this- didn't want any of it.

"I did everything I could to slow it down, I shouldn't even be telling you this; they will kill us both.", he muttered as every flicker of hope inside him was dying out.

"I am telling you this to protect you, win you some time, go.", his eyes were ice cold, piercing through you and his hands were griping your arms tightly; almost shaking you.

You couldn't say anything; you remember feeling as if everything he had just told you was fake. Dumbledore couldn't die, Draco wouldn't kill him, he couldn't.

And Hogwarts, your home for all those years, couldn't be attacked by them. It was the safest place on Earth.

Until it wasn't.

That was the last conversation you had with him. After that you weren't sure you would ever see him again.

You followed Harry; of course you did, you couldn't leave him alone, not after everything he'd been through and everything you witnessed together.

You thought about Draco often; mostly at night when everyone was asleep and nature kept you company; you stared into the night sky and tried to find his constellation.

You thought you could talk to him that way; "I am alright" you would say "Are you?" you always asked.

But no answer came.

You would replay every interaction, every conversation. You tried to remember his features; the exact grey of his eyes and his blonde hair. His look when he smiled (which wasn't often) and the way he played with his wand when he wanted to avoid your eyes.

Nothing ever happened between the two of you; nothing physical at least. Because the safe haven you two built had to have meant something.

Everything fell apart when you were caught.

You were alone and hurting; your friends were at best locked up somewhere and you couldn't think of a way out.

You couldn't think.

All you could feel was pain; everywhere

And then you saw Draco and every interaction; every feeling started playing again inside your head. You began living every moment from when you met him up to your last conversation.

"Go!" that is what he said to you then.

It was unbearable; you kept losing him over and over again, the story kept replaying and you couldn't pause it.

You couldn't stop and marvel at the good moments.

The way he held your hand when he needed comfort but didn't know how to ask for it;

Or his laugh when you both remembered your early years; how you both knew nothing, weren't prepared for the nightmare that would follow.

"Make it stop.", you heard his voice say and it took you back to third year and his constant complaining during Care of Magical Creatures.

"Stop.", his voice said again, closer now. “She clearly doesn’t know anything, we are wasting our time.” He kept repeating.

It is real, you realized, it isn't your memories or your fantasy, it is him.

As you move your head to get a closer look at him you hear footsteps getting close.

You hear your friends and then realize they aren’t alone, they’ve got help. We might survive this, a voice inside tells you.

All that hope crumbles down as the woman, Bellatrix you remember, grabs you and points her wand at you.

“No one moves.” She says slowly; her eyes wide open scanning the faces of everyone.

She doesn’t see Draco though, who shoots a Bombarda at her and quickly runs to your side.

His parents stand still and shocked, his fathers eyes darkening as time passes.

“What have you done?” He asks him and then Bellatrix gets up to start running towards you.

It’s chaos; what happens next. Spells shooting everywhere, wands flying out of hands. You can’t keep your eyes open for a long time, can't keep yourself up, you feel hands; his hands holding you tightly, never letting you fall.

And then you all land somewhere before the world darkens.

You can hear waves crashing into the shore and the smell of salt air fills your lungs.

You open your eyes slowly and let out a hiss as you feel pain everywhere.

Sprawled out and asleep on a chair in the corner of the room you see Draco and then your eyes land on Harry sleeping next to you.

You wake him up with a gentle nudge on his head and he smiles.

“What happened?” You ask.

He needs a few minutes to fully wake up and grasp the fact that you really are awake and alright.

“It was a bloody nightmare, but you’re awake now. I’ll go get Ron and Hermione. We have been taking turns watching you.” He says in a rush and gets up

“Wait, what is he doing here?” You asked

“He helped, hasn’t left your side since, didn’t bother with his injury without healing you first.”, Harry said not amused at first but then a sincere look painted his face.

“You have a lot of explaining to do” he warned “but later”

You just watched him exit the room and tried to process what he had just said to you.

“Potter is always loud then”, said Draco sarcastically and his voice made you jump a little. “Sorry.”

You couldn’t say anything back to him, you couldn’t even believe he was there.

He stood up and made slow strides to get close to you, until he reached your bed and sat at the spot near your feet.

You saw then the injury Harry was talking about, he had bandages starting from his shoulder tightly wrapped around it and ending down to his chest.

“What happened?” You say softly and point at the white bandages.

He let out a laugh at that “Unbelievable.” He exclaimed.

“What” you said annoyed, your eyebrows raised in a funny way that reminds him of arguments in classes and loud corridors.

“It’s” he stammered “You” and as he stared at your face with a look filled with adoration he said “Nothing.”

He swallowed loudly and explained with an amused look on his face “Got stabbed with a knife, by lovely aunty Bella.”, he pointed at the spot under his shoulder, close to his heart.

And then you remember the Manor, his aunt; Bellatrix and the questions.

Your face darkened at that and your body started shaking lightly- you hadn’t realized until you felt Draco’s hand on your shoulder rubbing lightly “You are okay, we are safe here.”

“We?” You asked and felt tears running down your cheeks “How- why are you here? What have you done?”

He smiled at you and replied “You said so yourself. I protect the ones I love.”

“I just wish I was better at it. Fix my timing and all.” He joked at the end

You really started crying then and felt him getting closer “I am sorry I didn’t do anything sooner, I should have stopped her. I am sorry.”

You felt yourself staining his shirt with your tears but couldn’t bring yourself to stop or talk; couldn’t say anything to comfort him. So you only shook your head it’s fine now, you are here.

You felt his tears falling on your head and held him closer.

The past didn't matter right now; your friends reaction could wait and the War would be won, you were sure of it.

Now, you would figure it out together; just like before.

bonus:

-So, how much longer do we have to stand here and watch- that?

-As long as we have to Ronald, be quiet now!

fin

So, um as usual I am deeply sorry for any mistakes!

Also, this was very out of my comfort zone and I am not mad about it at all, I just hope it lives up to your expectations a tiny bit and I also hope you enjoyed it.

Till next time

xx

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy angst

[cozage]

Aaaaa, Cozage, I'm thrilled with your post about "Panic Attacks"! I fucking love it when people take care of me or show attention to me, so for me it's just wonderful. But at the same time, I like to help people myself. So, if it's not too much trouble, could you write about how the reader calms Sanji, Zoro, Ace and Lo when they have a panic attack? We can say: the opposite of what was written earlier) Have a nice day ❤

Sorry for my English, it's not my native language 😔

Friend!!! This was such a fabulous idea!! Our boys deserve love :)  And I must say, your profile pic?!?! DELIGHTFUL! I’m such a big fan of Chuuya :) he’s one of my favs in BSD <3

Characters: gn reader x Sanji, Zoro, Luffy, Law CW: panic attack descriptions, Marineford Spoilers Wordcount:1.4k

Helping Them Through Panic Attacks

Sanji

Sanji is a big scent guy, so certain smells trigger him. Iron and rust are the big ones, but sometimes the salty breeze blows just the right way and reminds him of when he almost starved to death on that rock. Sometimes he just disassociates, sometimes he goes into a full blown panic attack.

Sanji needs to be grounded during panic attacks or dissociative episodes. Talking doesn’t do much for him, he needs to feel people next to him to be brought back to the moment. 

When you're in public and you feel him slipping away, you grab his hand and interlace his fingers with your own. Occasionally he needs a little squeeze of reassurance to bring him back. 

Sometimes you’ll put your hand on his knee or his arm. You try not to do anything surprising, just little gentle touches to remind him where he is, and that you’re close by. 

When he gets a panic attack, you’ve found the best thing to do is get as close to him as possible. Just as a scent triggered him, your scent brings him back to the present. 

Sometimes you have to cup his face in your hands and force his eyes to look at you. You’re one of the few people who can do this when he's in such a panicked state. If other people try, he usually fights back. Even Nami and Robin can’t help him.  

His eyes are so full of fear, but you only show him your adoration and love in return. That’s all you want him to see in those moments.

As he calms down, he likes to rest his head against your chest and listen to your heart beat as you stroke his hair. Most of the time he falls asleep, and you always let him lay there as long as he needs.

Zoro

There’s nothing particular that really sets him off. Sometimes it’s a smell from his past, sometimes it's this weird deja vu that he can’t place. Sometimes he’s just thinking about how to be better and he starts to spiral. There’s not really any specific thing, it’s usually a lot of little things. 

Zoro is a prideful bastard. He doesn’t like people knowing that he’s suffering. So it took you a few episodes to realize what was happening with him.

When you see him starting to panic, you’ll ask him to follow you to a private, quiet room. At first he was skeptical of your methods, but after a few times, he started seeking you out and letting you lead you to a room to help.

You try not to touch him much or talk to him during it, but the two of you have created a pretty good method over a few trials and errors. You place your hand on his chest, and he places his hand on your chest. He feels your heart beat, feels your chest fall and rise, and he focuses on those movements. He shuts off his brain and brings his attention to matching your rhythm.

When he finally matches your heart rate and breathing pattern, he mutters out a quiet “thanks” and returns to whatever he was doing. The first time it hurt your feelings, but Zoro doesn’t like to mull over the fact he needs help. 

After a few hours (usually that night, when you are in bed), you’ll ask him if he’s okay or wants to talk. Most of the time he says he’s fine, but sometimes he’ll talk about what was bothering him. But every time he’ll pull you in closer to him and thank you with a little kiss on the forehead. 

Luffy

Blood had never bothered Luffy before, so he didn’t understand why his ears started to ring whenever he saw it after Marineford. He didn’t understand why holes in things like  trees or concrete structures bothered him so much now. He didn’t understand why he wanted to vomit when he saw an orange hat or a large back tattoo. 

Most of the time, you’re able to, quite literally, snap him out of it. Snapping your fingers in front of his face is usually enough to have him step back from the edge of a panic attack, but you also go a bit further by redirecting him to focus on something else. Food, some cool attraction on an island, or a game you know he likes to play.

If you don’t get him in those first few moments, though, his chest becomes tight and he feels like he can’t get enough air into his lungs. He wants to scream out, but his voice is gone too. So he’s left clutching his chest and gasping for air. He doesn’t have enough energy to find you at this point, so he lays into a ball and curls up into a ball and waits for someone to find him.

When you find him or another crewmember directs you to him, you keep your voice low and calm, as if you were talking to an injured animal. You always start the same way: “Luffy, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

You pull his head into your lap and you’ll run your finger through his hair to brush it out, and then start braiding little pieces. 

You tell him stories of your life in a soft, even voice. If you can’t think of stories, you make them up. You ignore the tears falling from his eyes and the soft sobs that escape his lips. 

Eventually, he falls asleep. But you don’t move. You keep twirling his hair in your fingers, waiting for him to wake up. After a very short nap, he wakes up a new person. He gives you a big kiss and bounds off, his energetic self returning like nothing ever happened.

Law

You didn’t understand why Shachi’s prank made Law so scared. It was just a harmless joke. Shachi had spent hours taping up hundreds of pieces of string all across the common room so people would have to jump over, duck under, and crawl around to get through it all. But when Law had turned the corner and saw you all sitting in the mess of string, you only saw one emotion in his eyes: Fear. 

After that you started to notice it more. Whenever he walked into spider webs unexpectedly, or saw those fun feathery boa necklaces at festivals, or heard the sound of a gunshot, panic set into his eyes. 

“Everything okay?” you’d ask every time, but he’d always give you one quick nod in response. You started taking that as your cue to intervene. 

Law hates making a big deal about things. So when you’re in public, you subtly grab his hand. It’s one of the few times he doesn’t mind PDA, and he grips your hand so tight you have to clench your teeth. But you never complain. 

When you can finally get away from others, you’ll take him somewhere quiet and sit on the ground with him. You keep holding his hand, and use your free hand to trace over his tattooed fingers. 

You always ask him questions about his crew, trying to redirect his brain. “What do you think Bepo is doing right now?” “How did you meet Shachi?” “Remember last week when Penguin and Ikkaku almost caught the kitchen on fire?” He doesn’t usually respond, but you always say what you think the answer is. You’re not sure if it helps, but after a while his grip starts to loosen on your hand.

Law is a silent sufferer. He doesn’t have many indications when his panic attacks start, or when they end. So you sit with him, answering your own questions until he finally takes a deep breath and says “Okay, I’m ready to go back.” He keeps holding your hand though, for as long as he can.

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece x you #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x y/n #sanji x reader #sanji x you #zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #luffy #monkey d. luffy #monkey d luffy #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #law x y/n #law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law x reader #cozage #✧˚sanji✧˚ #✧˚zoro✧˚ #✧˚ luffy✧˚

[ma1dita]

my love, mine, all mine

based on this drabble : mean!remus

words: 2.8k

summary: Sometimes is not enough for someone who loves Remus this much. 

warnings: mean!remus x fem!reader !!!! mentions of sex; much angst they both cry, a lot of kisses & a very open ending, situationship blues, remus is a self-deprecating piece of shit!! 

a/n: thank you for the request anon!  i watched the eras tour movie and thought of mean!remus and reader during ‘tolerate it’.... sooo don’t blame me for what you’re about to read. title is from a song by mitski <3 always down to flesh out mean!remus and lovely!reader more if yall want--feel free to send in more requests and comments <3

(posted & edited: 10/15/23)

—

Sometimes he lets you down easy. You’ve memorized his face by now, every minuscule detail and the way it hardens when he makes up his mind. Remus is very deep set in his ways, a creature of habit forced by the resolution of hiding in the nighttime, waiting for the darkness within himself to find him under the light of the full moon. You know the whisper of a smile that dances across his face when he sees you, the way a scar kisses his brow when you surprise him, the mechanical tightness of his jaw when he dissociates himself from your embrace.

There’s a particular way his eyes drop that resembles falling snow and it tells you that he’s about to let you down again, buried under him and his excuses. It’s heavy. You wonder how someone so gentle, so fragile can leave you feeling cold, but you bare yourself to him anyway, trudging through the hope that whatever is between you can be more than sometimes. You know him intimately, wholeheartedly. But does he know you? Sometimes is the keyword here, and yet it is tiring, all of the time.

Your breaking point had to have been something big, something explosive. It had to, or why else would this facade have lasted so long? Why did you let him? Perhaps it was when he kissed your neck after Potions, asking to meet up after dinner. He moved away before you could follow him out into the corridor and joined his friends instead. The boys looked back at you, wanting to wait but Remus kept walking on. Or maybe it was when you woke up in his bed again, his side cold and your clothes folded properly at the edge. Remus was propped against his desk, mumbling that he had a very busy day ahead, and the silence that followed was enough to make you leave. Always good enough to bed, but never wanted by morning. It’s best to act like he wasn’t the one who asked you to stay.

—

None of those moments ruined your perception of him though. It was the lightest feather touch of a reaction that shattered the glass. He was walking you back to your common room after prefect duties, and you squeezed his hand gently, swinging it back and forth.

“D’you want to study for midterms tomorrow in the library? We could try to get that little table in the corner you like…” you said nudging his shoulder. He sighed, and his breath was hot against the crisp winter air as it landed on your cheek. Remus’s silence was your answer, and of course, it hurt. You’d do anything for a half-assed utterance to fill the shrill noise of your hope filling the space between you right about now. But this time was different though. This time he truly didn’t care. Remus looked at you with dead eyes, his mind somewhere far from where you were standing with him.

“Not this time, lovely.” The boy was tired, and so were you. The physicality of it was apparent in the way his posture hung low, and the way your shoulders fell from the emotional avalanche that his lack of effort pushed down on you.

“It’s okay. I hope you get some rest then.” Your eyes study his face, gliding from the crinkle of his temples to the scar on his nose and the freckles across his cheeks. He grimaces at your response. You wonder if any part of him hurts like this too. 

“Will I see you before we leave for winter break? Maybe you have time during the holiday.” Remus speaks quietly as if he’s the one being inconvenienced.

“Maybe,” you say. He makes a noise in recognition of that, nodding with his eyes closed. Stepping away from him, you turn to walk away before he’s behind you, lips against your hair.

“M’sorry.” He mumbles, breathing you in like wafting amorentia. His hands are shuffling through his pocket before he pulls out the wool mittens his mother knit for him the year prior. 

“Shouldn’t let your pretty fingers freeze in the cold.” He puts them on you daintily snapping the buttons closed, his nose against your ear. The corridor is silent alongside the slow thud of your heart. You walk away wordlessly, shoulders pinched like a chill has traveled down your spine.

—

Remus doesn’t see much of you in the days before winter break. Between studying for exams and his monthly run-in with the moon, there isn’t much time to catch his breath. He knows the hold he has on your heart is a devastatingly gory scene. You’ve let him in deeply as he burrows in every fang and claw he has to offer you. And in turn, he takes what he can grab with his razor-sharp touch. He tries earnestly to be gentle but the more of you he caresses, the more blood he has to mop up. 

His fingers are tapping on his forearm methodically as he waits for you outside of Transfiguration. Sorting through his thoughts as he waits for the rest of the class to finish the exam, Remus’ mind always falls back to you. Love is difficult, like many other aspects of his life, you see. He knows he loves his parents and his friends, but it makes him uncomfortable, much like someone undergoing anaphylaxis, to be honest with you. To lay himself out vulnerably to someone like you…He’s worried he’ll scare you off.

Students trickle out of McGonagall’s classroom, and you step out with your friends in tow, babbling about the exam. The feeling crawls up his throat as he tries to say something, but air and any coherent thought escapes him. What he feels for you has been making him do that a lot lately.

“Hey lovely.” he blurts out, body turning as he pushes off the wall in an attempt to catch your eye. But you keep rambling with your friends, throwing an arm over your roommate as you hardly spare him a glance. It’s not until your group reaches the end of the corridor that you look back at him for half a second, lashes fluttering as you turn back to your friends. And his heart is growing desperate, swelling, sighing as you continue to walk away.

—

You left for winter break without saying goodbye. The letters that he made his owl Nougat deliver to your bedroom window almost every day had you running out of treats to give her when she’d try to nip you for sending her back emptyhanded. Poor thing is getting fat. 

Your mother is so intrigued by your behavior that one night as you feed your baby brother a spoonful of mashed potatoes, she asks you something you’ve been wondering yourself.

“Honey, do you have a boyfriend?” The silverware clinks against your plate as you contemplate the answer. How do you explain this to your mother? How do you explain him? Has he hurt you so much that you bare your soul to her in hopes that she’ll put her work away and listen? Yes, but you let him, the little voice in your head says, so the guilt inside you keeps your response prompt.

“I don’t think so,” you say, your lips drawn tightly. Your brother spits out some mash and it dribbles down his chubby cheek as he laughs at the sight of you making faces at him. 

“What a mess, darling. Best clean it up.” You watch your mother’s eyes flit across your face instead of his before she says no more and goes back to cutting into her roast chicken. The napkin across your lap is wiped across his tiny face as you swallow hard.

What a mess, indeed.

After washing the dishes and excusing yourself, you crawl into bed staring at the ceiling. The moonlight shines brightly, a beam of light reflecting on the pile of unopened letters on your nightstand. Turning towards the wall, you shut your eyes and try to fall asleep.

You dream of him often. And in your dreams, he’s always just a little bit out of reach, always running away as you trip over snow-covered cobblestone, arms extended toward him. Though these dreams plague you, the realization hits that dreaming of him is better than your reality. In your dreams, your love is still pure and untouched. When you close your eyes you let yourself be the girl who was hoping at the beginning of it all. 

—-

The day after Christmas a pair of tiny hands shake you awake. Your eyes shift open to see your three-year-old brother peering up at you, hands tangled in your duvet.

“Your fwend is outside,” he whispers almost comically loud as you rub the sleep from your eyelids.

“What?”

“Your fwend is outside. I saw him in the window. He looks cold, sissy.”

You scoop him in your arms, carrying him back into his room and tucking him under the covers before you shuffle out front, watching Remus lean against his beat-up car. Throwing your coat on, you walk down your driveway, meeting him in a flurry of hot breath and cautious smiles.

“You’re not Nougat,” you say, raising an eyebrow at him as you stop short at his feet, crossing your arms.

“She’s almost too fat to fly now. Thought I’d get a message to you myself.” he chuckles, and it makes you remember why you liked him in the first place.

“Fancy a ride?”

He props the door open for you, hand ghosting the curve of your back. As you step past him to take a seat, he pulls you in for a kiss. It makes your knees tremble, having deprived yourself of everything about him for the past few weeks. The kiss sucks you in deeper as you anchor yourself onto the nape of his neck, and he’s moaning into your mouth. You hope your little brother isn’t watching through the window.

He drives you around in silence, neither of you knowing what to say. The heat is on high as he finally stops at the park, and he looks over at you. This time last year, he taught you how to drive here, both of you anxious for two different reasons—you trying not to crash and him discerning if you like him back. You both had sex in the backseat after you got the hang of it, windows fogged up and steamy. 

“Did you read my letters?” he starts, and you sigh before the end of his question. “No,” you mutter, looking out the window.

“Hey…What’s on your mind?” His fingers pull at your chin for you to look back at him, and you jolt back like he hurt you. You lean forward, pressing your palms into your eyes, breathing hard. He’s looking at you like he knows what’s coming, but he still hopes it’s not true. A boy made from Hope and of hope, that’s all he is. But it hurts to hope though. It hurts to hope for more when he knows he’s pushed you past your limits.

“There’s only so much you can expect of me, Remus. I’m just not sure I can do this anymore,” you whisper.

“Do what?” His voice is desperate and he’s hoping you won’t end this, even though you’re well in your right to do so.

“This. Whatever this is. Sometimes it feels like we’re together, but I know we’re not, and um… I’ve lost the plot. You’ve cut me too deep, Remus.” Your bottom lip is trembling as you croak out the words feeling sorry for yourself.

Remus leans his head against the window, knuckles white as he clutches the steering wheel. He’s going to lose you, and he’s petrified. 

“Look, if this is because I haven’t spent time with you at sch–”

“It is. But not just that. There are many reasons,” you cut in, your head tilting as you look at him. “You don’t make time for me, you’re embarrassed to be seen with me half the time. You act like I’m your girlfriend and Remus, you lie, constantly. I can’t keep up with what you throw at me and it’s too much, okay? I’ve let you hurt me for too long.” You get through most of it without hiccupping, but he can’t do anything but watch as you wipe your tears away.

“Do you love me?” he pleads, and if he’s ruined it all by asking that, he can’t tell. His hands run through his hair and he thinks he’s ripped to you pieces at this point. The carnage of the truth sits in his passenger seat as you sit there motionless, staring out the windshield.

“That doesn’t make me yours, Remus. It never has. My love is mine. That’s the only thing you can’t take away from me.”

Remus chokes on a sob as he watches your resolve harden. The windows are fogging up and it’s getting hard for him to breathe.

“I’m so sorry…I just don’t even know how to tell you th—”

“That you have lycanthropy?” Somehow hearing it from your mouth doesn’t scare him. This confession and your candor makes the shame he’s carried with him all these years feel lighter.

“You can say it how it is, lovely. I’m a werewolf. I– The moon shows me who I really am. A monster. I-shouldn’t…I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”

Your hand brushes against his cheek, pressing the tears into the indents of your fingertips as you wipe away his sorrow. He does hurt like you do. And you’d take it all away if you could. 

“A monster doesn’t worry about if they hurt people they love. You didn’t mean to hurt me, did you?”

He sniffs, wiping his nose with his sweater as he shakes his head. Both of you brush over the notion of love. There is a time and place for that, and it sure as hell isn’t right now. He’s being vulnerable to you for once, so you tell him what he needs to hear. 

“You’re not a monster, Remus. You have a big heart, and you’re wonderfully sweet, but sometimes your actions hurt. I know….everything about you. And from the reasons I can’t do this anymore, lycanthropy isn’t even in the top 10.” You lean towards him, noses touching.

“But I never said I regret it.”

You wish you could find better words to tell him he’s not as damned as he thinks he is. That anyone is deserving of love, especially him, but it’s hard to convince him that. Remus surges the small distance to meet your lips, and you can’t help but indulge, because if he’s damned then so are you, pulling him over the console as he sighs in relief. 

—-

Later, he drives you home, one hand on your thigh rubbing circles as you watch his side profile, less taut, but without a smile. The secret’s out, and there’s not much left to do but navigate the bloodbath. He hopes that he’s able to pick up the pieces and do you right. Remus pulls into your driveway and the car engine rumbles lowly as you sit, unmoving.

The door unlocks and he waits for you to make a move. Your hand glides over the door handle before you turn instead to look at him and his hand is extended towards you, a millimeter away from yours.

“I really am sorry. For treating you like shit.” he sighs.

“I know.” A smile graces your lips as you lean in and you kiss him again tenderly, once, then twice. It soothes the tightness of his jaw and he hopes you don’t hate him after all of this. The passenger door opens, and you climb out and look at the sky. It’s snowing. He watches you standing there, snowflakes sticking to your hair. 

“I do love you, Remus,” you admit, biting your lip. “Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?” The laugh that follows is humorless, his eyes wide as you shut the door. Trudging your boots through the snow, a shiver wracks your body. You peek back at the car once you get in the house and give him a kind smile before you step in.

Remus sits there with the weight of your devotion. Brave in all aspects but love, he hopes you can wait a little longer for him to catch up. For now, his eyes fall to the passenger seat as he shifts the gear into reverse. His wool mittens occupy the seat. Your hands must be cold again.

—-

“Sometimes, home is not a home, but a claw lodged inside you. A river you step into because it holds light. You are waist deep, wading in what mauls you.”

-Athena Nassar

love me some tunes! i listened to this while writing: my love, mine, all mine by mitski & sleep tight by holly humberstone

taglist: @jsjcue

#made by ma1dita ♥︎ #remus lupin x reader #marauders era #remus lupin is a self deprecating mf!!! #remus lupin x you #marauders x reader

[adore-laur]

COME HOME TO MY HEART

— an angsty continuation of home is a feeling that takes place months after ☕️

——

Standing under a bleak sky copious with death, Harry is just another person in a black ensemble of mourning that rivals the white winter scene. Snowdrifts heap over inscribed gravestones, and willow trees weep frigid tears along with everyone else at the street-corner cemetery. It's a sorrowful evening, not even the pastel pink wisps of a brumal sunset being able to lift spirits. 

As the coffin is lowered into the ground, its sleek wood collecting flurries from above, the surrounding air grows colder in lamentation. 

A departure from life is impossible to prepare for, isn't it? 

Harry hangs back from the crowd by a bare maple tree. He wears a long black coat with deep pockets for his hands. To anyone else, he's an intruding spectator, but in actuality, you personally invited him to be a crutch of support since your parents can't be that right now. 

He promised you he would be here, yet the way you've been gazing up at him with indecipherable eyes every now and then tells him you didn't quite believe him. 

When you had called him out of the blue and relayed the upsetting news about your grandfather's passing, his heart had ached in a way it hadn't ever before. It ached for you, his grief-stricken girl, and also your family, who were always generous throughout the years. In the week since he arrived back in his hometown, he gave you time to deal with the initial grief independently. There was no need to barge into his ex-girlfriend's life and attempt to be your saving grace. If you needed a shoulder to cry on, he'd wait for you to ask and then lend it without a second thought. Your level of comfort with him isn't something to be presumed. 

Nonetheless, it's an unfortunate circumstance just to be able to see your face again. 

The crowd disperses once the loose dirt is shoveled back into the ground. Crumpled tissues in hands and hushed chatter signify the end of the funeral burial. It didn't feel right for Harry to attend the service, as it was for close family and friends only. Even now, a nagging feeling inside his gut tells him he doesn't belong in such a sensitive area. 

He pushes himself off the tree trunk and searches for your familiar figure that has suddenly disappeared. He mentally prepares what he'll say to you and is highly aware that there's no right way to go about condolences. He just needs to be as gentle as possible. 

Eventually, you emerge from a huddled group and lock eyes with him again, with a slight smile that mends his aching heart for the time being. 

"You look like a spy," you say, your boots crunching in the snow as you walk toward him. 

He laughs softly but doesn't say anything. Instead, his empathetic side takes in every part of your face, looking for an emotion to pinpoint so he can comfort you in the most chivalrous way possible. He notices your dissociative eyes with prominent bags under them, your tinted nose from the cold, and your chapped lips that make him yearn to kiss the rawness away. 

He's so close to you again. Has your hair gotten darker due to the seasons changing? Why do you have such beautiful eyes, even on a dreary day? Does the eyeliner you have on come from the pencil stub you've owned since high school? 

Knowing his own boundaries, Harry thumbs a quick swipe across your shivering chin and then wraps you in a tight hug. You instantly melt into him, your arms looping around his torso—just like that one night on the rooftop. 

"Your hair is so long," you mumble into his coat. 

He releases you before the intimacy starts to hurt too much, but he keeps a protective hold on your upper arms. "Do you hate it?" 

"No, it suits you." You swallow and look at him, your teeth chattering a bit. "Thank you for coming." 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he replies sincerely. "Gramps was a great man." 

"He liked you a lot." 

"Did he?" 

You give him an almost scolding expression and say, "Of course he did. When I brought you home for Christmas the year we started dating, he took me into the kitchen and told me you were a keeper." 

Harry's posture stiffens. "I didn't know that." 

"It was our little secret," you say quietly, snowflakes falling onto your eyelashes. "Um, have you had a chance to talk to my parents yet?" 

"I don't think they'd want to see me," he says while removing his hands from you. He tucks them back into his pockets since they're becoming numb. 

"Why not?" 

"I just have a feeling." He's been having a lot of those lately. "Not often that an ex-boyfriend shows up at a funeral, you know?" 

Frowning, you glance around and say, "It's not like they hate you or anything." 

God, he hopes not. Although, he wouldn't necessarily blame them, considering he broke their precious daughter's heart. 

"Where are you going after this?" he asks, not wanting to delve into his regrets. 

"My parents' house," you reply, your breath visible in the frosty air. "To my childhood bedroom. Hopefully to get some sleep for once." 

You haven't been sleeping? He could've guessed, but he didn't want to assume. He wonders if you still light vanilla candles and turn on salt lamps to rejuvenate your energy, according to you. 

"Did you drive here?" 

"No, I rode with my mom and dad." 

Harry shifts his footing and clears his throat. "Would they mind if I stole you for a bit?" 

You blink quickly. "What do you mean?" 

"I just want to talk," he elaborates, scratching under his nose. "Catch up. That's all." 

There's an apparent hesitance when you nibble on your bottom lip. "What do you want to talk about?" 

"Anything you want." Truthfully, he just misses hearing your voice. "I'm staying here with my mom for a while since my winter break starts soon. And, well, you're the only person in this town I enjoy talking to." 

"Are you kidnapping me from a funeral?" 

"Maybe don't put it like that." 

A genuine laugh escapes you, and Harry's knees almost give out. "Sure, let's go," you say with a smile and a lighthearted shrug. "Being here is making me sad." 

"Okay. Let me say hello to your parents really quick." 

You scan the cemetery, then ask, "Do you need me to come with you?" 

He scrunches his nose and toes the snowy ground with the front of his boot. "Please?" 

After he politely shakes hands with your dad and gives your mom a long hug, he walks you to his black Jeep parked on the side of the road by the first row of graves, his elbow hooked with yours so you don't slip on the pavement slush. The first thing he sees is that his windshield has iced over from the bitter cold. 

He sighs and fishes for his keys, then unlocks the doors. "Here, start it for me and turn the heat on. I need to scrape the ice off." 

You take his keys and slide into the passenger seat. Harry makes sure you're situated and then grabs his ice scraper from under the backseat. After a few minutes of manual labor, he gets behind the wheel and shakes snow flurries out of his hair. 

"Where on earth are your mittens?" he asks when he notices your hands are tucked under your legs. 

"I didn't bring any," you reply defensively. 

"Love," he stresses as he pushes his hair back. "It's bloody freezing out. Give me your hands." 

"Maybe if your stupid Jeep didn't take forever to warm up." 

Harry doesn't make a snarky remark since he knows you're sensitive right now. He just cups your hands between his and blows warm air on them to increase your circulation. They're soft and fit so well between his palms like they were molded to be held by only him. 

"Ready to go?" he asks between blowing breaths, focusing his gaze on you. 

You study the snowflakes sticking on the windshield. "Where?" 

He gently sets your hands in your lap and then reaches across to buckle your seatbelt before fastening his own. "Is Edge of Town still your favorite café?" 

"Yeah," you say bemusedly, turning toward him with widened eyes of innocence. "Why?" 

Putting his car in reverse, he places one hand on your headrest and smiles at you. "Let's get some coffee there, yeah? For old times' sake." 

                                           ——

Sitting across from Harry at a corner table in the dimly lit café, you can't believe you almost forgot how handsome he is as you both sip from cinnamon lattes, careful not to disrupt the intricate art made from steamed milk on the surface. 

All the slight changes since you last saw him become your focal point, his hair being the most staggering. It's now tied up into a bun, and you're not sure why, but it makes him look different. His facial features have gotten slightly older; the high school baby face you fell in love with now showcases physical maturity. 

He's different but somehow all the same. 

You've spent the last half hour catching up with him, which has proved easy since college is a relevant topic in both of your lives. You learned that he's getting his degree in the spring of next year, and then he's going to find a job somewhere in Europe to start the next chapter of his life. You're proud of him. He's always had a good head on his shoulders. 

"Have you ever had marshmallows in your coffee?" Harry asks, tapping his foot against yours under the table. 

You set your cup down and blankly stare at him. "No, you freak." 

"It's good," he claims, wiping his lips with a napkin. "You should try it." 

"You know, your taste in beverages hasn't improved over the years. Don't even think for a second that I forgot about the ginger ale." 

"Excuse me," he says offendedly, "it helps fight the common cold and digestion problems. It's the perfect drink to have in the wintertime." 

"Absolutely rancid," you mutter, taking another sip of your coffee. 

As you continue your subtle ogling, your eyes catch on brown leather peeking out from his coat pocket. The familiar journal of his catapults you back in time, flashbacks playing in your head from all the vivid occasions you've seen him carry it around or write in it. He had never let you look at his entries, always making a show of hiding his secret words from you. Looking at it now, you see that a page toward the end has some sort of bookmark sticking out. 

"You still have that?"

Harry looks confused. "What, digestion problems?" 

"No, oh my God," you say with a burst of laughter. "I meant your journal. You've had that thing for ages." 

"Ah." He pulls it out and sets it next to his coffee cup. "Yeah, I still have it." 

You admire how worn the cover is, decorated with permanent marker scribbles on the cracked material. "Are my terrible drawings still in there?" 

Nodding, he smirks and leans back into the booth, stretching his arms over his head. "I'll show you later. They're quite abstract." 

The space fills with comfortable silence for a while, and before you know it, you're walking out the door with him and into the night. You don't remember ever getting up, but the numbness in your brain might have caused it. The past week has felt like a fuzzy dream you've been stuck in. Grief is a peculiar thing.

Under the snowy sky, hometown nostalgia in the dead of winter creeps under your skin. When you look around at the sidewalks you used to walk with your grandpa, everything suddenly hits you hard. Your lips wobble as you try to blink back the tears, but they fall without warning. 

Harry quickly wraps both arms around your shoulders, resting his cheek on the top of your head. "It's okay to cry," he whispers, kissing your hair. "I promise you it's okay." 

You sniffle and say, "Whenever we see each other, I always end up crying." 

He hums. "Sorry. I don't mean to." 

"No, it's not you this time." You bury your nose in his coat and let the woodsy scent of his cologne distract you. "I just always realize how lonely I am when winter comes around. It gets harder as I get older." Swallowing and shaking your head, you continue, "I used to adore winter as a kid. I would play outside in the snow for hours and then come inside to drink hot chocolate. I wouldn't care if the sky was grey or if my fingers would freeze. Nowadays, I just stay in my room when it's gloomy unless I need to go to work. Growing up isn't as fun as I thought it'd be." 

"You still have my number," Harry replies softly, pulling you closer. "You can always call or text me when you're feeling lonely." 

"I had to pay by the minute when I called you about my grandpa since you were in the Netherlands." 

"And is that so bad?" 

You smile and sniffle again. "No, it isn't. To be here on an empty street in the freezing cold, crying and joking around with you... I've missed it. Not the crying, but you know what I mean." 

"I know," he murmurs. "I've missed it too." 

"Will you be celebrating Christmas with your mom?" you ask, hearing a car drive by. "She's still living here, right?" 

"Yeah, I'll be at her house." He cradles the back of your head and gently pulls it away from his coat. "You should stop by. She always thinks of you." 

You look at him and say, "All good things, I hope." 

"Always." Taking your hand, he starts walking further down the sidewalk. "Follow me." 

Harry stops at a streetlight and releases his hand to pull his journal out again. He flips through the pages until he gets to one toward the end. "When we said goodbye in the summer," he says, "I walked around town and wrote about all the places we used to go to—places where we had good memories. You can read what I wrote if you want." 

"Really?" you ask. Harry nods, so you take his journal from him and read the black ink that fills half the page. 

The streetlight on the corner of Lawton Avenue. I kissed you under it on New Year's when the clock on my phone turned to midnight. Your lips were cold, but they lit a fire inside of me. What I would do to feel them again, even if just pressed against my cheek like you did when we said goodbye. 

"Lawton Avenue..." you trail off, your eyes dancing around the area where you stand. "Isn't that—" 

"This is the same streetlight," Harry interrupts quietly. 

You exhale incredulously, gazing up at the familiar light. "It is. I remember now." 

"This feels right, doesn't it?" He steps closer until his boots touch the tip of yours. "Me and you being here. It's like something keeps bringing us back to one another. Does that sound crazy?" 

"Gramps," you choke out. 

He tilts your chin up with his knuckle. "Hmm?" 

You take a deep, shaky breath. "I almost wasn't going to tell you that he passed, but then I thought about how much he liked you. He always went on and on about how nice of a boy you were. How he could see the love in your eyes." 

"He loved you. I only saw him a few times, but I know that he loved you so much." 

"I know. I think he brought us back together." 

"Well, he was right about the love in my eyes," he says, his gaze piercing your soul. "I don't think it's ever completely gone away." 

Logical thinking goes out the window when you tell him, "I love you. I shouldn't anymore, but I do. 

Harry cups your cold cheeks. "Stop. You don't get to say that." 

"I love you," you repeat, your voice becoming thick with emotion. "You still mean so much to me. Just like what you said to me back in July." 

"Right person, wrong time. That's what we decided on the rooftop." 

"But I didn't mean what I said." 

That night was five months ago. It's wild how one day, one look at him can change all your feelings. The love you thought you lost with him is coming back as an unraveling epiphany. 

Sighing, Harry looks down at the sidewalk blanketed in snow. "You told me it would never work," he says. 

"I didn't know what I was saying," you reply hastily. "It was so overwhelming seeing you again after two years." 

"I don't understand," he says, slightly frustrated. "You made it seem like we were better off never seeing each other again." 

You wipe your tears that are either from the brisk air or your own misery. "I'll be your friend, I'll be a one-night stand, I'll be anything. I just want to be someone to you again." 

He glimpses at your lips. "You are. You're everything to me." 

"But the distance—" 

"Fuck the distance." 

It was the only thing that broke the relationship. 

"You were so good, Harry." Resting your forehead against his, you breathe out a landslide of emotions. "Such a good boyfriend. You loved me better than anyone." 

"I still love you," he says, placing both palms on your neck. "Years ago, it was high school love that I didn't fully understand. This... hey, look at me." Your chin is tilted back up with his thumb. "This right here is even more real to me. This is why I asked if we could try again." 

"So, what now?" you ask, looking into his eyes. "We try again?" 

"We try again." 

"How?" 

"If the distance fucks everything up," he says with his warm breath hitting your lips, "then we know we aren't right for each other. But I'll go through that possibility if it means I don't have to love you from afar anymore." 

"Just come home," you plead desperately. 

"I am home. Technically, right?" 

"No, you don't get it." You grip onto his shoulders. "Come home to me. To my heart." 

He kisses your cheek twice, the first quick and the second longer. "I'm right here, baby. I'll stay for as long as you need me to." 

"I want you to stay here." Your own voice sounds distant. "I miss you all the time." 

"I will," he affirms, his eyes fluttering shut and his voice fading. "I'll come home to you." 

Just as you're about to kiss his lips, something taps the back of your hand. The streetlight you're under goes dark, and the vision in front of you fizzles out as you blink rapidly to find yourself back in the café, staring at your latte. 

"Hey," Harry says tentatively, squeezing your fingers with his. "You all right?" 

Snapping your head up to him, you blurt, "Sorry. I zoned out for a bit." You shake your head and repeat, "Sorry."

"That's okay." He looks out the window, the snow falling harder than it has been all day. "I was just saying that your parents will probably want you to get home soon since the roads will be getting bad. I can drop you off." 

Your throat tightens. "Um, sure. Yeah, I'm ready to head out if you are." 

"Okay," he says while standing. "Stay here. I'll start my car since it takes forever to heat up." 

You just weakly smile as he walks out the glass doors. Sinking in your seat, you try not to think about where your mind drifted. It felt so real, so wildly vivid. His voice, his words, his touch; all of it made sense. In your head, you do everything right. You let him in, not push him away. You talk it through, not avoid the burden you carry. You keep your chin up, not give up at the first sign of doubt. 

After lightly slapping your cheeks, you sigh and put your coat back on. When you get up to shove your arms in the sleeves, you see that Harry left his journal on the table. It sits vulnerably next to his empty coffee cup, the string tied loosely around the cover. 

You shouldn't, but you do. 

Quickly opening it and flipping to the page with the bookmark, you skim the messy ink on the damp page. It looks fresh. Dried dots from snow darken the paper in various places, but you only focus on what the words spell out. 

She's under the willow tree, more beautiful than the weeping branches crystallized with icicles. I sit here in my car, wishing there was a way to let her know that I would do anything she wants me to. 

My love for her warmly courses in my blood, protecting me from the brutal winter. If she opened her heart to me, I could make her my home again. Light those vanilla candles and kiss her like I used to. Tell her all about how she makes me a lovesick fool with no cure. Give her my time and apologize for ever walking away from the best thing that slipped through my fingers. 

Where she goes, I follow. There's some powerful force that refuses to keep us apart. Why can't she see it? I can't be with her if she doesn't yearn for me like I do for her. I understand the distance and why, in retrospect, she sees the potential downfall. However, I see the beauty that could flourish from it if we just try. 

I want to come home to her every day, but how do I even begin to tell that to a girl who doesn't feel the same? 

Fuck the distance. 

The café door suddenly opens with a chime, making you slam his journal shut. Thankfully, Harry doesn't notice since he's too busy looking down and stomping his snow-covered boots on the welcome mat. 

You pretend you're picking up his journal for the first time and say, "Don't forget this." 

He glances up, eyeing what you hold. "Shit, thank you." He strides over and takes it. "Wait, I never got to show you your drawings." 

"It's fine," you tell him. "They're probably really embarrassing." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Positive. I'm pretty tired." 

His gaze dances around your face, then falls to your hands fidgeting with the zipper on your coat. "Let's get you home," he says softly. "You can try to sleep on the way there." 

You end up doing just that until he pulls into your parents' driveway. Opening your eyes, you squint at the bright beams of the headlights reflecting off the house's windows. You look over at Harry and find him staring at you, his face barely visible in the dark. 

"We're here," he whispers. 

You nod sleepily and unbuckle your seatbelt. "Thank you for… for making today a little easier." 

"Of course." He rubs the back of his neck, not knowing where to look. "I hope you get some sleep tonight." 

A chasmic pang. A searing sting. A residual twinge. 

Why? 

Because the words you tearily whispered to him before shutting the car door cause you to fall into bed and clutch the blanket until sleep overtakes your heartache. 

You're a good man, Harry.  

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #come home to my heart

[yelenasdiary]

Hi !

I have a request, you don't have to write it :)

But, Like Nataha was sa her whole childhood by Dreykov [and his men], and when she confronts him in his office she breakdown and stabs him repeatedly to death and after. After that she sobs in a corner then dissociate. She is later comforted. Like there is angst feels despair but fluff you know ?

Thanks 😊

It's Okay, I've Got You

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: After helping Yelena & Nat take down Red Room, you find Natasha in a state you’ve never seen before.    

Heavy Angst | Fluff | Mentions of Sexual Assault | Disassociation | PTSD | Mentions of Blood | 1.1K | 

AC: Please only read this if you are comfortable, I will not be mad or offended if you don’t feel like reading this. With every SA related fic I write, please make sure to double check the warnings before continuing and of course, if you ever need a friend to talk to for whatever reason, my DMs or asks are always open! 

"Lena, where's Nat?!" you asked as Yelena came running out of the damaged building. She shrugged, "she said she was going after Dreykov" she replied. Worry quickly filled your mind as you knew that Natasha would've been done by now if she had won the fight. "Stay with the others! I'm going to go get her!" you said in a hurry before racing off into what used to be Red Room. 

"Natasha?!" you called out serval times but no answer, you checked every room you passed just to be sure, still calling out her name. "Nat! Can you hear me?!" You called once more but still, no answer. You walked the long hall, opening every door until finally you found her, and it wasn't a scene you expected to see. 

Natasha was sat in the corner, covered in blood with Dreykov's lifeless body only meters away from her. Her combat knife still in her hand as she looked miles away from where she was. You'd never seen her like this, she doesn't notice you standing in the doorway or how you slowly walked up to her and kneeled in front of her. "Nat?" You spoke softly but she wasn't there. 

Gently, you placed your hand over her shaking hand that still held the knife that clearly killed Dreykov. You took the knife from her carefully and placed it besides you before looking back at her. It was obvious to you that she was disassociated and had no idea that you were even kneeling right in front of her, and you didn't want to frighten her by any means. 

"Nat, it's me, it's Y/n. I'm just going to check to make sure you're not hurt, okay?" you spoke before you gave her a check over and to your relief none of the blood on her seemed to be coming from her. Your heart broke at the scene in front of you, there wasn't much time to waste but you didn't care about that right now, all you cared about was Natasha and her wellbeing. "If you can hear me Nat, I'm here" you spoke softly before you kindly wrapped your arms around her and pulled her into you. 

Instantly the redhead broke into a sob as she clung to you, "he's gone now, he can't hurt you" you spoke softly as you comforted the assassin you proudly call your girlfriend but you knew that right now and in this moment, she wasn't the girlfriend you knew and loved so deeply but instead she was a scared little girl who needed know everything was okay, that she was loved, protected and most importantly, safe. 

You knew little about the things that went on in Red Room but you knew of the sexual assault Natasha endured from the hands of Dreykov so you let her cry into your arms as much as she needed too until Yelena came looking for the two of you. 

"Y/n, we have to get o-" Yelena came running into the room, stopping her words when she saw the state of her crying sister in your arms. "Natasha" she spoke softly as she took a few small steps towards the two of you. "Lena, she's okay, I promise. Get the jet started, we'll be there in a moment" you looked at the blonde when you felt Natasha's grip on you tighten. She needed space and you knew as much as she loved Yelena, she didn't want her to see her big sister like this. 

There was no argument from Yelena, she simply nodded and made her way back to the jet. It only took a few more moments before you were able to walk Natasha to the jet, keeping an eye on her the entire flight home. 

----

Once back at the compound, you ran Natasha a shower which she sat on the ground letting the water run over her as she stared into space. You told Yelena to let the team know that Nat will be taking some time off and that you'd explain things at a better time but for now, your focus was solely on Natasha and making sure she was okay. 

While she was in the shower you grabbed her favorite Pjs and laid them out on the bed before you made sure you had other essentials like fruit and bottled water to make sure Natasha would eat. You didn't want to push her in any form to talk to do anything she didn't want too, you promised yourself that you'd be whatever she needed. 

Nat came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Even with a wet face you could tell she had been crying as she looked over to you. "It's over" she spoke before sitting down on the end of the bed, "it's really over, he's dead" she added as you sat down beside her. You placed a hand on top of her knee, your thumb stroking her skin with care as you nodded at her words. 

"What do you need love? Whatever you need, I'm here for you. If you want to talk, I'm here to listen, if you need to cry, I'll hold you, if you need to scream, I'll join you" 

Natasha smiled softly at your offer, thankful to have somebody love her for her, somebody who wasn't scared of her or ever held her to her past. "I don't want to do what I always do, I don't want to push this down anymore" she spoke, placing a hand on top of the hand you had on her knee. "I thought killing him would make me feel better, that somehow it would free me from the memories I have but honestly, it just brought it all back and I felt like I remember more than I've ever remembered. I want help" she explained as tears built up in her eyes once again.

"I want professional help. This isn't something I can play off anymore, I know that now" Natasha added. Gently, you cupped her face, wiping the tears that broke free from her eyes, "I promise you Natasha, you're not alone. You are the strongest woman I know, and I'll be here to hold your hand through all of this, all will. We'll get through this together, no matter how dark the days get or how hard the storm comes crashing down, we're in this together" 

Tears uncontrollably streamed from Natasha's eyes as she crashed into you, wrapped her arms around you tightly, as you wrapped your own arms around her and placed a kiss on the top of her head. She sobbed once again in your arms and no matter how long she needed to let out her emotions, you held her until she was ready to get into her pjs and even after when she curled up into a ball in bed, you were there to assure her she was never alone. Not now, not ever.

Taglist: @red1culous | @sayah13 | @charl-lally | @when-wolves-howl | @bentleywolf29 | @fxckmiup | @natasha-belova | @blackwidow-3 | @lissaaaa145 | @high--power | @parkerdaramitzzzz | @mmmmokdok | @wackymcstupid | @kiwiana145 | @observeowl | @nattyolw | @ripofflizzie | @goofy-goonie | @makegoodchoices | @apollo2907 | @wandaroman0ff | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @lovelyy-moonlight | @santana1437 | @ahintofchaos | @fluffyblanketgecko | @puta1 | @inluvwithfictionalwomen | @tintedrose12 | @jaymieflorissssssss | @tita001 | @youralphawolf72 | @donnietarantino | @randomnessbecausewhynot | @natashamaximoff69 | @hehehehannahthings | @pandaemonium111 | @imnotslouching | @secrettoallofyou | @romantic-slaps-on-the-asss | @marvel-fan-2021 | @mmmmokdok | @riveramorylunar | @ripofflizzie | @marvel-madnessx | @scarsw1fe | @toldthatdevil | @itsmv3 | @natashaswife4125 | @katiemay-025 | @aphrcdtes | @romanoffs-widow | @natsxwife | @maria-403 | 

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #fanfiction #black widow #marvel

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 20

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Andrew is back.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

“I want you to take this,” Dr. Kemp turns back to you, holding a spiral notebook with black and white cover, “and I want you to use it.”

You stare, uncertain as he crosses the room. Use it? How?

“You can write down your feelings, you can make lists for yourself, you can track the days…” he explains, “but I want you to put something in it every day. Can you do that for me?”

You look at the notebook as he holds it out. You slowly take it with both hands, lowering it to your lap as you run your thumbs up and down the cover. It’s brand new. You can smell the freshness of the paper.

“Can I draw in it?” You ask.

“Sure, if that’s what works for you,” he affirms, “that’s for you. You can bring it with you to our next appointment, but you don’t need to show me anything. It’s just there so you can record your moods and anything that might be a trigger for you.

“Oh,” you look up at him shyly, meeting his bold blue eyes for only a second before dropping your head.

“This is a safe place, alright? I want you to think of it like that. Everything within these walls stays between us. Our little secret.”

“Okay,” you hug the notebook to your chest.

“And I want you to set yourself a little goal every day. Nothing big, alright? It could be a shower, it could be reading a chapter of a book, it could be as simple as walking around the house,” he continues, “but you can’t stay in bed all the time. You gotta take care of yourself. You have to give yourself love and those things are the best sort of love.”

You nod and rock slightly, “yes, doctor. Are we… done now?”

“Are we?” He bends and crosses his arms over the back of the empty chair, “that’s up to you.”

“I… I think. I don’t wanna waste any more of your time.”

“Waste? No. See? Don’t talk about yourself like that. You didn’t waste my time, you enriched it,” he smiles, you see only a glimpse of how it brightens his features. “I think you should go home and get some rest. You came all the way here and you did a really good job.”

He pushes himself straight, “I’ll have my receptionist schedule a follow-up.”

“Thank you, doctor,” you stand and pick at the corner of the notebook.

“You let Andy take care of you too, huh? He’s worried,” he extends his arm, directing you to the door, “he’s a good friend of mine.”

“Uh, alright,” you murmur as he walks with you to the door. He rests his hand on the handle and you smell his cologne, rich but overwhelming. 

“It was really nice meeting you,” he turns the handle slowly.

“You too,” you squeak.

“See ya around,” he opens the door, “and remember, take care of you.”

“Thanks,” you keep your chin down as you exit.

Andy sits in the waiting room at the edge of his seat. He grips his knees and stands swiftly as he sees you. He must’ve been waiting a very long time. That felt like it lasted forever. The tension in his forehead slackens as you approach.

“How was it, honey? You okay?” He asks, his tone slightly addled.

“Yes, er, maybe,” you answer, “I don’t know.”

“What’s that?” He taps the top of the notebook.

“Um, a journal.”

“Steve gave that to you?”

You nod.

“That’s very nice of him. Well, how about we stop and buy you some nice pens to write in it?”

“You don’t have to…”

“I have to grab a few things,” he interjects, “I kind of… fell behind. I haven’t been out of the house, you know? I couldn’t leave you, I was so worried.”

“Oh? What about work?” You wonder tremulously.

“I had some time banked, it’s really not a big deal, but I gotta grab some groceries and we can look at some cute pens…”

“Can’t… can’t you do it later?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He rubs his beard and exhales. “Well, I’d have to drop you off and then come all the way back–”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you blurt out as you hear his disappointment, “I’m sorry, no, we can go, I just… I’m tired, is all.”

“It’s okay, honey. We’ll try to be fast, how about that?”

You nod and hide behind your lashes. Your guilt flows over and chokes you tightly. He brought you all the way here and missed work and it’s all your fault. Because you’re broken and useless.

“I’ll… I’ll try to make dinner,” you suggest, “Dr. Kemp says I should set goals.”

“Alright, sounds good,” Andy softens, “we should get going before it’s too busy.”

🕊️

You sit in the car, fluttering through the blank pages as Andy drives. You should write about your appointment. Put down everything that Dr. Kemp said before you forget. That’s a good plan. He’s right, it’s easy to set small goals.

“Hey, uh, I uh, can I talk to you?” Andy turns down the music.

“Er sure,” you shrug.

“Right, um, I wasn’t sure when to– or how to– I don’t wanna upset you, you know that, right? That I wouldn’t hurt you?” He begins, fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

You blink and stare at the dashboard, “I know, Andy. You’ve… done a lot for me.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that. It’s not… I don’t consider it a task, but er, the other day, I wanted to say sorry,” he clears his throat, squirming in his seat, “I should’ve knocked.”

Your throat tightens and you sit back stiffly. Your whole body locks up as the memory enshrines you. The damp air, the hot water, him staring at you, at your naked body.

“No,” you utter, “no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

He’s quiet as he turns the wheel, “sorry, sweetie, like I said, I don’t want to upset you. I just want… I’m just sorry for bursting in like that. I never want you to feel unsafe. Especially with me.”

“I… don’t,” you sniff, “it was just… a mistake. Can we forget it?”

“Sure,” he accepts, “yeah, let’s just forget it.”

“Thanks,” you lean into the door, watching the traffic through the window. 

Your body is covered in goosebumps. You feel like he’s seeing it all again. Just talking about it makes you feel exposed. What he must have thought about you. Hideous and gross.

“Here we are,” Andy says as the blinker clicks loudly.

He steers into a large lot and you peer up at the mall marquee. What are you doing here? You thought he was going to the grocery store?

“I got coupons for the place in here,” he explains as if reading your mind, “they just opened it, put it where the Target was.”

“Oh… I… never come here…”

“I think you’ll like it. They have everything– damn, not a lot of spots left. We’ll have to walk a bit.” He rolls into a space, “might be good for you to stretch your legs. We can always sit if you need to.”

You don’t argue. You feel bad enough. You won’t get in his way again.

“Sure.”

You get out and leave the notebook on the seat. Andy waits for you by the bumper and you follow him up the row of cars. You stop and wait to cross to the nearest entrance. The place is vast and makes your heart pound. There’s so many people coming and going through the many doors.

Inside, you feel a greater sense of doom. Shoppers brushing too close, teens speaking loudly in large groups, children screaming and mothers with strollers. Unthinkingly you grab onto Andy’s arm, keeping close to him.

“Hey,” he looks down at you as he leads you through the wide walkway.

“Just… don’t wanna get lost,” you cling to him tighter at the thought.

“That’s alright,” he smiles and looks around, “oh, hey…” He pulls you over to a shop window, “look at that.”

He points to the dress on the mannequin. It’s a nice shade of blue with the silhouette of birds patterned across it. Very pretty but you don’t wear dresses.

“Cute, huh?”

“Yeah.”

He stares, unmoving. You glance around. Where is the grocery store? You just want to leave this place.

“Come on,” he tugs you towards the entrance of the shop, “we can see if they have it in your size.”

“What? No. Andy. That’s okay. I don’t… I don’t need a dress.”

He stops just inside, “maybe, but do you want it?”

You chew your cheek, “I don’t know…”

“Look, you really don’t have that many clothes. I didn’t want to embarrass you but I spoke with Steve and he said… maybe it would be good to get you some new things. Like a refresh. Start new–”

“You said. You said we came to get groceries.”

“We did, honey, but I left this out. I was trying to surprise you. I thought– I thought it was a nice surprise.”

You see his expression fall. Oh no. You feel awful. You’re not trying to complain or be ungrateful, you just hate crowds and all these strangers.

“I… okay, it is nice. Andy,” you let go of him, “really, it’s so nice. No one ever… Amber always got me handmedowns, but I never…” you put your hands behind you and bounce on your toes, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, I know it’s all very new. I wasn’t trying to upset you or scare you,” he says, “maybe we could just look online.”

It’s clear he’s disappointed, if not agitated. You feel rotten. You remind yourself of all that he’s done and every time, you just whine like a baby.

“No, we can look around…” you try to smile.

He gives you a thoughtful look then peeks around the shop, “alright… well, you wanna try the dress on?”

You wince. You typically didn’t try things on at the thrift shop. You just picked things that looked like they would fit. The idea of getting undressed here, even in a private stall, is scary. Don’t be a baby.

“Okay,” you acquiesce, “I could do that.”

“Great,” he says and claps his hands.

He spins on his heel and you trail him as he confidently weaves between the tables and other shoppers. He stops before the dresses hung behind the window and sifts through the hangers. He slips one of the blue ones off the rod and holds it up.

“I think this is your size? I’m not sure.”

“Looks like,” you mutter, “um, I’ll… try it.”

“We can look at a few other things,” he offers.

“Maybe after?”

“Alright,” he searches around and flags down one of the employees, “excuse me, she wants to try this one.”

“Wonderful,” the woman chimes and takes the hanger from him, “just the one?”

“For now,” Andy smiles.

“This way, sweetheart,” the woman says as she beckons you with her long acrylic nails.

You follow her and Andy brings up the rear. She takes you around the counter and through a doorway. A row of stalls line the wall and she unlocks one with a key, hanging the dress inside. She steps back and leaves the door open for you.

“It’s all yours. Let me know if I can get you anything else. My name’s Isa.”

“Thanks,” you murmur mousily and she grins before strutting off.

“I’ll be out here,” Andy says as he sits on the bench.

You enter the changing room and close the door, certain to slide the bar through the loop. You turn and see yourself in the mirror. You flinch. You look down at your feet, refusing to acknowledge your reflection.

You undress then grab the dress. You pull down the zipper and shimmy it on. You strain to pull the zipper back up and fix the skirt so it hangs down properly. The skirt ends above your knees.

“Everything okay?” Andy calls from outside.

“Good,” you squeak and turn to face the door. You grab the side of the skirt, holding it firmly as you slide open the lock. You open the door reluctantly and reveal yourself. You clutch the other seam, “I think it’s a bit short.”

Andy looks at you. His cheek twitches as he sits up and smiles, “really? Looks fine to me…” he stares, making you squirm, “looks really nice on you, dove.”

“I don’t know…”

He nods and bites his lower lip, “it’s whatever you want.”

There it is again. Disappointed. You look down. It’s not that short and it is pretty. You could put a sweater over it and maybe some leggings underneath.

“I’ll get it,” you raise your head, “thanks, Andy.”

“Of course,” he says brightly.

You retreat into the dressing room and change back into your own clothes. You slip the dress back onto the hanger and bring it out with you. He takes it from you and guides you back into the shop. He stops you at a rack of jewelry.

“Look,” he grabs a silver necklace with a bird charm, “it’ll go with the dress.”

“Oh, sure,” you agree. Whatever he wants, you’ll get. You’d hate to overstep and you don’t exactly have a good sense of style. “Very pretty.”

“Let’s just have a look around, you never know… maybe find some nice shoes too?”

You nod and let him lead the way. As you progress through the shop, he picks out more things; some skirts, a sweater, some shirts, more jewelry, even some belts. He has an armful by the time you approach the checkout. You wring your hands. That’s a whole lot of stuff.

“Someone’s birthday?” Isa asks as she greets you at the counter.

“Uh, no, just… shopping,” Andy answers, “she needed a few things.”

“A few?” Isa scoffs, “I wish I had a husband who would spoil me with just a few things.”

“Husband?” You blanch.

Andy chuckles, “she deserves it.”

You notice how he doesn’t correct her. Maybe he feels too awkward. Like you.

“Sir, would you like to buy one of our membership cards? It’ll get you twenty percent off today’s purchase.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” he pulls out his wallet, “how much?”

“It’s twenty dollars annually, gets you ten percent off every purchase.”

“Not bad, sure, why not? We might be back.”

“Andy,” you say softly.

He ignores you as he gets his card free. You watch the total mount as Isa scans each item. Somehow, this doesn’t feel like a favour. It’s just another number to add to the tally of what you owe him.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #don't speak #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #library au #defending jacob

[lotanxiety]

You’re not alone

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean and Sam notice you aren’t taking good care of yourself and they are worried about you. Dean talks you through it and offers support.

Warnings: mentions of ED, SH, and depression, this has some seriously heavy shit so if this triggers you PLS don’t read, fluff with dean

——————————————————

You have lived in the bunker with the boys for 3 years. Lately, your mental health has been really bad, but you were trying to hide it from Sam and Dean. With everything they dealt with on a daily basis, the last thing you wanted them to worry about was you.

It all started 4 months ago when you started having nightmares and flashbacks of the times you almost died. You were pretty sure you had PTSD, but with your lifestyle, therapy wasn’t really an option. You grew up with abusive parents which didn’t help with the accumulating trauma. The body keeps score and it seemed to all be catching up with you now. First, it was the nightmares, then the dissociating. The only times you felt alive were when you would fight monsters which led to your newest bad habit.

Whenever you didn’t feel real or got angry with yourself for whatever reason, you would take it out on your hips. It was something you could control. It reminded you that you’re real and it’s served as a punishment when you felt you deserved it. Seeing the red lines across your hips made you happy when everything else seemed grey.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, it was increasingly more difficult to get out of bed each morning. You would forget basic human necessities like eating, drinking, or bathing. You were able to hide your struggles before, but now it’s becoming noticeable. On the days the boys were home, you would fake it the best you could so they wouldn’t pick up on anything wrong, but not anymore. Maybe you want someone to notice. Maybe you finally want to be saved and cared for the way you save others.

———————-

*around noon*

“Hey, have you seen Y/N?” Dean asked Sam walking into the kitchen.

“No, I haven’t seen her all day.” Sam said. “Have you noticed.. she seems a little quiet lately. I also noticed she’s been having more nightmares lately.”

“I noticed that too, I can hear her scream out sometimes. I mean we all get nightmares, but these seem bad. Have you not talked to her about it at all?” Dean questioned.

“No, I thought you would’ve mentioned it.” Sam said.

“Dude, she’s obviously going through something and neither of us have checked up on her? Way to go.” Dean scoffed as he headed in the direction of your room.

—————————

You were laying on your bed, staring at the wall thinking of all the ways you have messed up lately. The last hunt you were out on, you made a mistake that almost got Sammy killed. Now, you opt to stay back and reference the lore. You replayed every mistake over and over in your head. Suddenly a knock interrupts your ‘greatest hits’.

You clear your throat, “um, who is it?” you ask.

“It’s Dean, can i come in.”

You look around to the mess of your room, random items taking up space on your bed with you. Suddenly, you become embarrassed and ashamed. “I- uh, do you need something?” You shout to the man on the other side of the door.

“I haven’t seen you all day, I just wanted to check up on you. Are you feeling okay?” Dean asks with concern.

*coughing loudly* “No I think I’ve come down with something, you should stay away.” You say, trying to sound sickly.

“Oh, ok. I can bring you some soup if you like” Dean asks, knowing you’re lying but trying to get through to you.

“I’m not hungry, thanks though” You say, pushing any kind of help away. You didn’t understand why you do this. You want help but then it comes and you resist at all costs. Maybe because this mess you’re feeling is comfortable, familiar. You’ve always been messed up, but now it’s just manifesting on the outside. When it was bottled up, it was easy to hide from everyone, but this is much harder and every lie you tell drains you more and more.

“You need to eat” Dean contested.

“I said no, now can you please go” The words felt like knives being thrown at the closed door. You didn’t mean to be so aggressive, but Deans pushing set off a nerve. Immediately you felt bad, but knew you couldn’t look at his face so you sat still in your bed as you heard hushed footsteps fade away. Feeling hot tears burn in your eyes, you walked over to your bathroom, and grabbed your razor. Anger towards yourself coursed through your veins, into your hands, as you unleashed hell onto your body. Saying to yourself, “You deserve this for being mean to Dean, he was just trying to be nice. He doesn’t deserve that. What’s wrong with you, etc.”

When you’re satisfied, your hips are stained red. You clean up and go back to laying in your bed, as you cry yourself to sleep.

——————-

That evening

“I don’t know Sammy, I think there’s something really wrong. Earlier- the way she spoke to me. It wasn’t her. I need to talk to her, to see her face, but she keeps pushing me away. I don’t know what to do. I’m worried… I’m worried it’s worse than just nightmares.” Dean confides to his brother.

“Yeah, I’m worried too. Maybe we can set up a movie night in the Dean cave and coax her out of her room. I think having some quality time, not worried about monsters could help.” Sam suggested.

“Okay, yeah. You run to the store and get some supplies and I’ll break out blankets and pillows. Meet back here in 30.” Dean says hopeful. He hated knowing that you were upset, but he wanted this to help so badly. He worked hard at getting his Dean cave set up perfectly. He even made a blanket fort. Once Sam and Dean finished setting everything up, the came to knock on your door.

You had just woken up from your restless nap. Unfortunately, the day wasn’t even over so you were back to laying in misery. You heard another knock on your door.

“Hey uh, we need your help in the Dean cave” Dean said from behind the door, you could almost hear the smile in his voice even though you couldn’t see him. While most other times you would decline, your curiosity got the best of you.

“Uhh okay, let me use the bathroom and I’ll be right there.” You said, getting up from your bed, ignoring the terrible headache. It stemmed from a combination of lack of food, water, good sleep, and crying so much. You looked in the mirror, repulsed by the face staring back at you, so you got to work making yourself as presentable as possible. After a much need brush through your hair (and teeth), a change of clothes, and some light makeup, you felt okay enough to make your public appearance. You left your bedroom, quickly shutting the door behind you to hide the mess, and headed towards the Dean cave.

When Dean and Sam laid their eyes on you for the first time in days, their mouths dropped. You looked awful. Bags under your eyes and barely skin and bone. You were always skinny, but this- this was bad. Both of the brothers concern immediately sky rocketed, but being as smart as they are, they knew to play it off. They knew if they outright said anything, you’d get defensive and shut down. So they quickly glanced at each other and greeted you like any other day. You were too busy looking at the scene in front of you to notice the boys faces.

“What- what is all this” you say surveying the room in awe.

“We thought you could use a little pick me up movie night.” Sam said with a soft smile on his face. Dean turned away from you to face the tv. It was too hard to look at you. He blamed himself for not checking on you sooner. For not immediately knowing there was something deeper going on. The cases had distracted him from the problem right under his nose and he was so angry at himself. You instantly noticed the change in his demeanor, making you uneasy. You thought he was still mad at you for the way you spoke to him earlier in the day. You made a mental note to apologize later. Sam opened up the blanket to let you sit beside him and so you did. In front of you, there was a whole display of food. Burgers, fries, popcorn, candy, you name it. The sight instantly made you nauseous.

You thought that you didn’t deserve food. Your mind = your greatest enemy. You pretended not to notice the food and encouraged them to start the movie. It was Alice In Wonderland- your favorite childhood movie you let slip one night with Dean after a beer too many. You glance across Sam to Dean who is staring at the TV but not actually watching. Sam nudges some fries in your direction, to which you shake your head.

“No thanks” you whisper over the beginning scene of the movie.

“Cmon Y/N, you haven’t eaten all day.” Sam said.

“Oh no, I had some granola bars in my room. I’ve been snacking on those-“ You lied.

“No you haven’t” Dean said finally speaking to you.

“What-“ you say looking at him confused, trying to play this off quickly.

“I’m not sure you’ve eaten anything in days” Dean starts.

“Dean-“ Sam interjects, trying to keep his brother from pushing you away.

“No, Sammy. She’s sick. Look at her.” Dean states.

Immediately, tears well up in your eyes. You knew you didn’t look your best but hearing Dean say that. It was too much. You wanted to head straight to your room to cut again, but Dean wasn’t finished talking.

“Y/N, I can’t walk on eggshells about this- you look terrible. What is going on?” Dean says in a much softer tone than before, his anger fading into worry.

“Nothings… going on.” you say.

“That’s not true and we all know it, can you just talk to us?” Sam asks.

Suddenly, that defense mechanism hits you strong and you attack the boys you love more than anything. You can’t help it. “I SAID I’M FINE. WOULD YOU BOTH JUST LEAVE ME ALONE AND GO BACK TO WORRYING ABOUT MONSTERS OR WHATEVER” you shout, exiting the room and heading straight for your bedroom.

You close the door behind you, still crying. The scene that just played out was one of your worst nightmares and partially why you have started staying locked in your room. You beeline for the bathroom to pick up the razor for a second time that day. You roll down your pants to the hidden canvas. Right before you can move, Dean bursts through your door.

You both freeze. Time stops for a couple seconds. Every mirage and illusion you’ve built over the past few months is shattered. The ugly, dirty truth is exposed. Your walls crumble to the ground. You refuse to lift your eyes from the ground as he approaches you. He takes the razor from your hands without saying a word and throws it to the other side of the bathroom and grabs you into his arms. You both crash to the floor, as you sob into chest. Dean hold you patiently while you let it all out. Everything you’ve been holding inside. There are a million thoughts going through Dean’s head, questions he has, but his main objective is just to be there for you. You needed him, and he wasn’t there. All the warning signs, ignored. He secretly blamed himself for letting it get this bad.

You both sit in the floor of your bathroom for a while. Your sobs slowly turned into quiet hiccups for air. You nervously lifted off of his chest, anxiously awaiting the conversation to follow the events that have just transpired. You finally make eye contact with Dean, his eyes are glassy and red.

“I’m sorry Y/N” Dean said barely above a whisper dragging his hand over your hair to brush it out of your tear soaked face.

You open and close your mouth, not expecting his response. “What are you sorry for?” you ask confused.

“I- I wasn’t there for you. I mean I knew something was off, but- but this. This is all my fault.” Dean says moving his hand to hold your cheek, a singular tear falling down his right cheek.

“No, no this isn’t your fault at all. I- I don’t know what to say.” You say, feeling the weight of the situation.

“You don’t have to say anything. We are going to get you some help. You’re not alone in this. You have Sam. You have me. This- this work is hard and I know you’ve had it rough, but you can and will get through this.” Dean says, as more tears begin to fall from your eyes, though you thought you couldn’t cry anymore.

“I need you to get better. I need my Y/N. Can you do that for me?” Dean asks, gently stroking your cheek and wiping the tears as they fall. You nod.

That night, the three of you work on tidying up your room. Dean filled Sam in privately and he wanted to help you in anyway he could. You guys went back to the Dean cave after your room was clean, and ate dinner. Dean even drank water with you instead of his normal beer so you would be more inclined to drink it.

Finally, it was time for bed. Dean walked to your room with you. “I wish you would’ve told me what has been going on with you, but I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t” Dean said.

“You didn’t- I just didn’t want you to worry about me when you’ve got a whole world and billions of people to worry about.” You say in response.

“I will always worry about you first. I care about you Y/N. I am here for you no matter what.” Dean says firmly, pulling you in for a hug. His chin rests on your head as you two stand in an embrace mid hallway.

“Dean, could you maybe- um stay with me tonight?” You ask.

“Of course”

Dean grabs your hand and pulls you towards your bed. He strips down to his boxers and climbs in, holding a spot next to him for you. You curl up next to him, feeling the heat radiate off his body, comforting you. “Thank you” you whisper as you quickly drift off into a much needed, nightmare free, deep sleep. Dean leans over to kiss your head as he whispers, “I love you Y/N”.

#dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #fanfic #sam winchester #supernatural

[royboyfanpage]

What are your favorite Roy moments?

Thank You! 😃

Oooh there are so many

Favourite moment in terms of badassery is 100% his monologue in the 1996 Arsenal special

Literal chills every time I read it. It's the epitome of an action hero scene and I love it sm. Maybe that's part of why I love Roy so much, I grew up on those 90s action movies and Roy's like them but with added sides of dad energy, unconditional love, and angst.

In terms of "holy shit he's a dad"/ most loveable moment, it's his comforting Grant in the desert.

I already made a post about these exact pages yesterday but holy shit they mean so much. It's just, the understanding that Grant doesn't need meaningless condolences. He's a teenager, and he deserves the right to be angry, and Roy lets him take it out on him because Roy's an adult and Grant needed an adult he was allowed to yell at in that moment.

Favourite moment in terms of intelligence is him being the first one to figure out he's in purgatory, and being able to manipulate it in order to get to Dick.

Plus the mum monologue will always kill me, it's so well written. "I may look like I've been searching all this time, but I've always been damn sure I wasn't gonna find anything" is one of my favourite lines in general.

Aaaand then in terms of Angst. While the flashback in Arsenal #1 is a very strong contender for top angst moment, my actual favourite is his PTSD from guns in Outsiders #11. Specifically-

This. I just. The way his eyes are completely focused, fully 100% into the sparring, UNTIL the moment the gun's pulled on him. You can see him just completely dissociate the second he's staring down the barrel of the gun and it kills me. Like it's very, very rare to see Roy actually shut off in response to fear. Usually you see him in an adrenaline rush, or you see his internal monologue spiralling. But this time? Nothing. Complete silence, just backs away from Dick, until-

And if that doesn't just rip your heart out I don't know what will.

#thank you for the ask!! #roy harper #arsenal #speedy #red arrow

[bruciemilf]

this concept that won't leave my brain. It's like a little gremlin banging to be let out.

Particularly, - Batman is Gotham's hero; He's not like any other baby faced, squeaky clean, popular good guy. He's scarred and brutal and violent in his service.

But it's fine, because Gotham is like that, too.

It's never peaceful, but it's standing strong, and there's an unanimous agreement they have Batman to thank for that.

The thing about Bruce is that he gives. He bleeds for Gotham, dies little by little every night protecting it, sacrifices everything he can and a little bit more so it won't be swallowed up by the evil that took his parents.

He doesn't expect parades, or celebrations, or gratitude because in his mind, it's just the decent thing to do.

Goodness isn't a chore. It's a choice. It's a sword you pick up again and again until your hands spill red and then pick it up some more.

And there's a collective fear in Gotham City. that one day, Batman would get tired of bleeding. When the GCPD gangs up on him, for refusing to let them gun down an Arkham escapee, they watched.

" He's not presenting a danger right now. His healthcare isn't enough to cover medication and he was dissociating. Let me take him back."

" For what? So he could escape again and rob another bank, like all the others?! Why are you protecting this psycho?!"

" He needs help."

" I don't care. His 'needs' aren't our damn problem. He wouldn't be anyone's problem if you just stepped aside and let us do the job you're too chicken shit to do. Who's side are you on, anyway?"

Batman's jaw is screwed tight, but he doesn't move. If he did, that guy hiding behind him would paint the streets red with a bullet hole in his head.

" We're supposed to work together, Batman."

" I work with people. Not pigs."

Commissioner Gordon tried to be fast, but he was pushed back as nearly half the police force swarm Gotham's knight; Kicking, stomping, punching, attacking because they know he can't attack back.

Because he's Batman, and they're just people. And the crowd watches, eyes wide and limbs frozen, until they can't. Until they won't.

There's a purse flying between the two crowds, hitting one of the officers square in the face.

" Hands off our Bat!"

There's pushing; That's what Bruce can see. Bodies on bodies, but it's easier to breathe again without a forearm pressing on his windpipe. He can't tell what's happening, but he's pulled back, handled almost... Carefully.

" Hey," he knows this voice, this face; It's the mailman, probably the one guy brave enough to deliver to the Waynes, who wonks for Damian three times as he drives away, elping him stand on a bad leg. " You alright, Batman?"

Someone else picks up his weight, - It's the owner of the grocery store his boys like to shop at.

She's glaring at police man currently sharing punches with an angry mob of people. " Bastards roughed you up, huh? Jim! Get your car!"

The people make way for Jim until he safely unlocks his car, threatening to fire anyone who even touches a trigger before he wheels over to where they're at. " Take care of him, will you?"

Jim nods, " I'll try."

They drive away, Jim locking the car because he knows Batman. But the people here are tough. They're just as angry and vengeful as their city is.

" Why?"Bruce is speaking outloud, watching a dozen, hundred people fight; For him.

Jim thinks it's very simple. " Gotham's fucked up. But we take care of our own," and he looks at Batman, eyes gleaming and grateful and relived, just like the runaway in the back-seat. " You may not be one of them, but you're one of us. Hope that's enough."

There's quiet.

" Thank you. For fighting for us."

"... Thank you for letting me."

Batman says nothing, but he doesn't need to. Jim doesn't say anything to his glassy eyes, or the temple of his lip.

Hope isn't permanent, but it's not lost. Not if they're reminded to find it.

#i am so goddam soft for heroes being helped by people. just - humanity is NOT inherently cruel or evil. love is humanity and humanity heals #dc #dc universe #batman #the batman #bruce wayne #jim gordon #writing #my writing #hurt/comfort #meta #anti police and unapologetic abt it #angst #the people in gotham love bruce god damn it #dc comics #battinson