#Hurt/no comfort

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ too late to speak .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Azul Ashengrotto x gn! reader

𓏵 879 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, unestablished relationship with reader, angst, hurt/no comfort

might give this a part 2 with a happy ending if I feel like it or anyone asks (-ω-；) feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Azul always knew you were kind.

Not just polite or charming, but truly, genuinely kind. The kind of person who greeted everyone by name, who asked how their day was and actually listened to the answer. The kind of person who saw past his sharp businessman’s smile, his smooth-talking arrogance, and treated him as if he was worth more than just a contract.

But that was just how you were with everyone.

He told himself that, over and over again. That you were just friendly. That there was nothing special about the way you spoke to him, that he was foolish for thinking he meant anything more to you than the next student you happened to befriend.

So he waited.

Waited for a sign. For proof that you might see him the way he saw you. Because Azul Ashengrotto didn’t take risks he couldn’t afford to lose, and losing you—the idea of you rejecting him, looking at him with pity—was something he could never gamble on.

So he said nothing.

And in turn, neither did you.

You used to think Azul would be the one to confess first.

He was strategic, after all—always had a plan, always thought five steps ahead. If he wanted something, he found a way to get it. And for a while, you let yourself believe that maybe, maybe, you were something he wanted, too.

You caught the way he lingered whenever you spoke, how his usually quick-witted tongue tripped over itself when you leaned a little too close. The way his gaze softened when he thought no one was looking.

You noticed it all. And it made your heart race, made your stomach twist in that agonizing, hopeful way.

But Azul never acted. Never said a word.

So, eventually, you convinced yourself you had imagined it.

That if he truly wanted you, he would have done something by now.

That maybe, despite the way you thought he looked at you, despite the way you wanted him to look at you—he never actually felt the same.

But you had to be sure.

So you tested him.

"Azul, I need your help."

He looked up from his ledger, barely registering your words at first. He had spent the past hour going over the Lounge’s weekly earnings, making adjustments, analyzing profit margins—but all of that became meaningless the moment you stepped into his office.

You were smiling. You always smiled.

"Of course," he said smoothly, placing his pen down. "What can I do for you?"

You hesitated, shifting on your feet. That wasn’t like you. You were usually so confident when asking him for favors, teasing him about his endless contracts and over-the-top business plans.

This time, though, you looked... nervous.

"I... well, you know I’ve been spending a lot of time with—" you said a name. Azul barely heard it. His mind had already started ringing, a dull roar drowning out the sound of your voice.

No. No, no, no.

Not that name. Not them.

"I think I like them, Azul," you admitted, fingers gripping the hem of your uniform. "And I—I want to tell them. But I don’t know how to do it without making a fool of myself."

Your heart was pounding. It was humiliating, really, standing here, asking him of all people for help with this.

Because you weren’t just asking for advice. You were waiting. Watching.

For the slightest change in his expression. A flicker of something—anything—that might prove you hadn’t been wrong.

That all those moments weren’t just in your head.

That Azul wanted you.

But Azul didn’t react.

He blinked once, his expression unreadable, and then—he smiled.

The same careful, practiced smile you had seen him use a hundred times before.

"I see," he said, voice perfectly even. "Well, that is quite the dilemma."

A laugh escaped you—light, relieved. That was that, then.

It was never real, was it?

Azul had never liked you the way you liked him.

His throat closed up. His hands curled into fists beneath his desk.

You—you were asking him for advice on how to confess to someone else.

He should’ve seen this coming. He did see this coming, deep down. But he had been too much of a coward to act. Too afraid of rejection to reach for the one thing he wanted more than anything.

And now?

Now you were asking him to help you love someone else.

He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

"Azul?" Your voice was so soft, so sweet. So unfair.

He forced himself to smile. To laugh.

To play the part of the perfect, unaffected friend.

And when you beamed at him, oblivious, he knew—he had already lost.

You had your answer.

It stung. More than you wanted to admit.

But at least now you knew.

At least now, you wouldn’t spend another second waiting for something that was never going to come.

You smiled at Azul, one final test, but he didn’t hesitate. He launched into his usual confident spiel, offering you advice like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t crushing your chest with every word.

And for the first time, you really believed him.

Azul didn’t want you.

Not like that.

And if that was the case, then maybe moving on really was the right choice.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

okay you said you like angst so a ominis x mc x sebastian where she ends up breaking down because to pick one would be to hurt the other and neither deserves that. they both have been through so much

An Impossible Choice | Sebastian x Reader x Ominis

UGH okay this was TOUGH, so many directions I could have taken this, but I think it turned out good (and angsty ahah) enjoy!!

Words: ~2,800

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Angst, Emotional Turmoil, Hurt/No Comfort

You never expected to find yourself here—trapped between two people who mean the world to you, each step forward feeling like a betrayal of the other. But lately, that’s all your friendship with Sebastian and Ominis has felt like: a careful balancing act, an impossible equation with no solution.

The three of you have been inseparable since fifth year, bound by shared secrets, whispered laughter in candlelit corridors, and the safety of knowing that, no matter what, you’d always have each other. But something changed. And you don’t know when, or how, or why, only that the weight of it presses down on you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It’s in the way Sebastian’s gaze lingers too long when you speak, as if memorizing the shape of your lips. It’s in the way Ominis’s voice softens when he says your name, something reverent and unspoken curling around the syllables. It’s in the sharpness of Sebastian’s posture whenever Ominis leans too close, the flicker of something dangerous in his brown eyes. And it’s in the way Ominis stiffens when Sebastian’s hand brushes yours, his grip tightening on his wand like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

Neither of them has said anything outright, but they don’t have to. You feel it in every stolen glance, every tense silence. And the worst part is, you love them both.

Not in the way a friend loves, but in the way that keeps you up at night, staring at the ceiling, your heart aching with the knowledge that no matter what you do, someone is going to get hurt.

So you try to ignore it.

You pretend that everything is fine, that nothing has changed, even as the moments between you grow heavier, thick with things unsaid. But ignoring it doesn’t stop the way your stomach knots whenever Sebastian throws an arm around your shoulders, his touch possessive in a way that makes your skin burn. It doesn’t stop the way your breath catches when Ominis murmurs your name, tilting his head toward you as if you’re the only thing in the world worth listening to. It doesn’t stop the guilt that coils inside you like a living thing, twisting and writhing every time you laugh too easily with one of them while the other watches in silence.

You tell yourself it will pass—that they’ll move on, that you’ll somehow find your way back to the friendship you once had. But deep down, you know better.

Because you can feel it. The tension, the inevitable breaking point, pressing against your ribs like a warning as you sit between them, a book open on your lap. You haven’t turned a page in ages—not with the way Sebastian and Ominis keep shifting, the air between them drawn tight as a bowstring, poised to snap.

They’ve been like this all night. Every glance between them is sharp-edged, every word that passes their lips too carefully measured. It’s not a fight. Not yet. But it’s something close, something simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the wrong word, the wrong move, to send it all spilling over.

You pretend not to notice. You keep your eyes on the book, fingers gripping the pages a little too tightly. If you acknowledge it, if you so much as breathe wrong, everything will collapse.

Then Sebastian shifts beside you, leaning in, his arm brushing yours as he points at a passage in the book.

“You’ve been staring at the same page for minutes,” he murmurs, voice low, amused. “Need me to read it for you?”

You barely have time to react before Ominis snaps.

“Do you ever give her any space?”

The words lash through the air, cold and cutting. Sebastian stills, his expression darkening as he turns to face Ominis.

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Ominis lets out a humorless laugh, standing to his full height. “Is you, Sebastian. You can’t go five bloody minutes without draping yourself over her like she belongs to you.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenches. “And you can’t go two bloody minutes without acting like you know what’s best for her.”

Ominis scoffs. “Someone has to.”

It’s spiraling too fast. You sit up straighter, reaching out. “Can we not—”

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy hovering, you’d realize she doesn’t need you to control everything she does,” Sebastian bites out, ignoring you entirely.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Ominis sneers as he gets to his feet. “Coming from you. The man who never knows when to stop.”

Sebastian’s hands curl into fists. “You want to say that again?”

“I’d love to.” Ominis tilts his head, voice sharp as glass. “You’ve always been selfish, Sebastian. Always taking, never thinking. And now you can’t stand the idea that you might not be the only one she cares about.”

Sebastian rises, and for a moment, you think he might actually swing at Ominis. You shove yourself up between them, pressing a hand to each of their chests.

“Enough,” you say, breathless, desperate. “Both of you. Just—stop.”

But neither of them are looking at you. They’re locked onto each other, eyes burning with something raw, something ugly, something that has been coming for a long time, creeping in at the edges of their friendship, poisoning it from the inside out.

And you? You’re the catalyst. The excuse they need to finally let it all unravel.

The thought makes you sick.

“You really think you’re the better man, Ominis? That you’re any less selfish?” Sebastian laughs. “At least I don’t hide behind self-righteous bullshit and pretend I don’t want her.”

Ominis' expression flickers—just for a second—but the crack is there, sharp as a splinter. His lips part, then press into a thin line as if he’s forcing something down, something dangerous. When he speaks, his voice is quieter now, but no less venomous.

“And yet, you act as though she’s already yours.” His head tilts, eerily precise. “Like you have some unspoken claim on her.”

Sebastian’s laughter is sharp, humorless. “Oh, I’m sorry—am I supposed to sit back and watch while you play the noble, brooding protector? While you pretend you aren’t thinking the same damn things I am?” He steps closer, pressing up against your hand. “At least I’m honest about it.”

“This isn’t a competition,” you snap, your voice cutting through the rising tension. “I’m not—”

But Ominis speaks over you, his voice razor-sharp. “Honest?” He laughs, a brittle, scathing sound. “You think she doesn’t see through you, Sebastian? That she doesn’t know how you manipulate everyone around you when you don’t get your way?”

Sebastian’s eyes darken. “And what about you? Hm? You stand there, acting like you have some moral high ground, pretending you’re her protector, her friend—but you’re nothing more than a coward. At least I have the nerve to fight for what I want.”

Ominis’ lips curl, but there’s something restrained in his stance, something barely held back. His next words come slow, deliberate. “No, Sebastian. You don’t fight for what you want. You take. You push. And you never think about the consequences.”

Sebastian scoffs, stepping even closer, his breath warm against your skin as he looms just inches from Ominis now. “You’re so full of shit.”

Ominis doesn’t flinch, but you feel it—the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his throat bobs, the sharp intake of breath like he’s fighting to hold something down.

“Tell me,” Ominis says suddenly, turning toward you. His voice isn’t cruel, but it’s raw, pained. “Are you just going to stand there and

let him decide everything for you? Let him pull you into whatever game he’s playing?” His head tilts, the weight of his words pressing into you, sharp and insistent. “Or do you have something to say?”

Sebastian’s hand twitches at his side. “Don’t put this on her.”

“I’m not putting anything on her,” Ominis counters, voice low, controlled—but there’s something beneath it, something breaking. “I’m giving her the chance to speak for herself. Which is more than you’ve ever done.”

The air is thick with tension, suffocating. Your heart pounds against your ribs, loud enough that you swear they must hear it, too. Your mouth feels dry, your fingers curled into fists at your sides as their gazes burn into you from both angles.

And the truth is—you don’t know what to say.

Because every word you could give them feels like a betrayal to one of them. Every choice, every step, every breath feels like tipping the scales in a way you can’t undo.

Sebastian’s eyes are locked onto yours now, something desperate, something pleading flickering behind the frustration in his gaze. “Just tell him,” he murmurs, voice softer now, edged with something dangerously close to vulnerability. “Tell him that you—”

“Don’t,” Ominis interrupts, and his expression is unreadable, his hands trembling just slightly at his sides. “Don’t try to put words in her mouth.”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of both of them, the history, the heartbreak that you haven’t even let yourself acknowledge until now. This is it. The moment where everything shatters.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

It’s barely a sound, but it’s enough.

Sebastian’s face falls, just slightly, just enough for you to see the hurt flash through his features before he masks it behind a clenched jaw. Ominis exhales sharply, sounding almost relieved, before he schools his expression into something carefully composed. His shoulders loosen, and there’s the briefest flicker of something in his posture—hope, maybe, or something close to it.

Before you can speak, Sebastian brushes past you, his hand shooting out to grip the front of Ominis’s shirt.

“Don’t look so fucking smug,” Sebastian snaps, his voice low and dangerous. “She hasn’t said anything yet.”

Ominis doesn’t flinch. He stands his ground, lips pressed together in a thin, unreadable line. His hands remain at his sides, but you see the faintest tremor in his fingers. His voice, however, is steady when he replies.

“Does it scare you, Sebastian?” he murmurs, his head tilting just slightly. “The idea that, maybe, for once, you’re not the only one who matters?”

Sebastian’s grip tightens on Ominis’s shirt, and for a moment, neither of them moves. The air is taut, stretched thin like a wire about to snap. Ominis is taller, his presence sharp and imposing, but Sebastian is the one with strength on his side, his stance coiled tight like a drawn bowstring.

“Say that again,” Sebastian growls, his voice dropping even lower, roughened by barely restrained fury.

Ominis doesn’t hesitate. “You heard me.”

And then, to your horror, Ominis reaches for Sebastian’s shirt in return. His fingers, slender but firm, curl into the fabric, mirroring the grip Sebastian has on him. It’s not quite a shove, but the tension between them spikes, raw and volatile. Your breath catches, panic clawing at your chest.

“Ominis,” you breathe, stepping forward, but neither of them acknowledges you.

Sebastian’s fingers flex against Ominis’s collar, his jaw locked tight. “You think this is about me?” he spits. “You think I don’t care what she wants?”

“Do you?” Ominis presses. His grip tightens. “Because all I’ve ever seen you do is pull and pull and pull until she’s too caught up in your orbit to break free.”

Sebastian’s whole body goes rigid, like Ominis just landed a direct hit where it hurts most. You see it in his expression—that flicker of something deep and wounded before it twists into anger.

“She’s not yours to defend, Ominis,” Sebastian bites out, voice shaking with barely contained frustration. “And she’s sure as hell not yours to decide for.”

“And yet, here you are,” Ominis returns, unyielding. “Acting like the only person who gets to have a say is you.”

The muscles in Sebastian’s arms flex, his fingers trembling against the fabric of Ominis’s shirt, as though he’s on the verge of pushing, of shoving, of—

“Stop it!”

Your voice cuts through the space between them, raw and desperate.

They freeze.

The silence that follows is deafening.

You take a step back, breath shuddering, hands curling into fists at your sides. You feel the heat rising up your throat, the sharp sting of frustration prickling behind your eyes.

"You—" Your voice shakes with something raw, something close to fury. "Do either of you even hear yourselves right now?"

Sebastian's gaze snaps to you, still burning with frustration, but something else flickers beneath it—something hesitant.

Ominis’s lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something, but he doesn't.

"You’re both acting like children," you spit, your voice rising. "Like this is some petty fight over who gets the last fucking piece of cake instead of a real, human person standing right in front of you!"

Sebastian tenses. "That’s not—"

"Don’t," you snap, cutting him off, chest heaving. "Don’t you dare try telling me this isn’t exactly what it looks like. Like I haven’t just stood here and listened to you two rip each other apart over me."

You shake your head, anger curling hot in your chest, almost unbearable. "Neither of you are fucking listening. Neither of you are stopping for one second to actually ask me what I want. You’re both just deciding, making assumptions, thinking you know what’s best, thinking you have any right to—"

Your voice catches, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

"Did it ever occur to you—either of you—that if you wanted to know how I felt, you could have just asked?! And if you had, then you'd know—" You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking your head. "You'd know I can't choose!"

The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel the weight of them settle into the space between you. You don't even know if you mean won’t or can’t. You just know it’s the truth, and you want them to hear it, to feel it, to finally understand the weight they’ve been forcing you to carry.

Sebastian’s mouth opens, but you cut him off before he can even start.

"Because if you had asked," Your voice wavers, and you hate it, hate the way your throat tightens, the way tears burn at the edges of your vision. "You’d know that every time I’m with one of you, I feel like I’m hurting the other. That my heart is breaking constantly because I see it, I see the way it destroys you both. And I don’t know how to fix it."

Your breath is unsteady, fists clenching at your sides. "You think this is easy for me? That I like feeling like I’m being torn in two? Like no matter what I do, I’m going to end up hurting someone I love?"

You shake your head, feeling heat creep up your neck, anger and grief colliding in a whirlwind you can’t stop. "I am so tired. Tired of feeling guilty just for existing in the space between you. Tired of knowing that no matter what I do, I’ll never be enough for either of you because you both want me to be something I can’t be!"

The silence is suffocating, but you don’t stop.

"You think he pulls me into his orbit?" you snap at Ominis, eyes blazing. "Then what the hell do you think you do? You sit there, self-righteous and brooding, waiting for me to prove something to you, like I have to earn your permission to exist between the two of you!"

Ominis swallows hard, and for finally, his composure cracks.

"And you," you turn on Sebastian, breathing hard. "You think he’s the only one who makes decisions for me? You do it all the time. You assume what I want, what I need, what I’m thinking, and you don’t even ask before making a choice for me!"

Sebastian’s expression shatters, his hands flexing like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t dare.

You take a step back, throat thick with everything you’ve held inside for too long. "You both act like you know what’s best for me. But you never once stopped to listen—to really listen—to me."

The words hang heavy between you, and in their silence, you finally hear it. The sound of your own breaking heart.

You exhale shakily, swallowing hard before whispering, "I love you both."

Sebastian lets out a quiet, almost pained breath. Ominis turns his face slightly away, as if the words physically struck him.

"And I hate it," you continue, voice barely above a whisper. "I hate that it’s not enough. That no matter how much I love you both, it's destined to end like this. With fighting. With pain. With one of you walking away while the other pretends they’ve won something."

A pause. A silence so thick it almost drowns you.

And then you take another step back.

"I can’t do this anymore."

Sebastian inhales sharply. Ominis’s hands twitch.

You shake your head one last time, voice hoarse, empty. "If you really cared about me, you wouldn’t put me in this position at all."

With that, you turn and walk away.

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 loml : sirius black

▰▰ pairing(s): past sirius black x fem!reader, platonic remus lupin x fem!reader.

going back to his life after spending all those years in azkaban proves to be difficult for sirius when he has to look back on what he lost.

warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of past relationship, mentions of war, lowkey dumbledore slander.

She has been on edge the entire meeting. Sirius knows it, because he still knows about her nervous habits even after all those years apart from her. He also knows it is most likely about Harry, being apart from him for so long had clearly taken a toll on her, but it had been Dumbledore's request that Harry spent the summer with her aunt to keep him away from everything.

As soon as the meeting comes to an end, Sirius sees how she almost jumps from her seat, Remus standing up a few seconds later. And since Sirius is also excited about seeing Harry again, he follows them.

He stops near the kitchen doorway just in time to catch a glimpse of dark, messy hair running down the stairs and then, Harry is throwing himself at her arms.

"I missed you so much!" she tells him, pulling back a little just to cup the teenager's face, her eyes examining it. "Are you okay? they better have treated you well! I won't let you go back to that house, Harry. I don't care what that senile bat has to say about it."

She starts rambling and Harry can only smile and nod, his eyes shining with amusement as he lets her fuss over him. He moves to Remus next, hugging him with the same excitement he used with y/n. "We missed having you around the house, Harry" Remus tells him, ruffling the young boy's already messy hair.

When he finally turns to Sirius, he looks so much like James that it takes everything in him not to break down crying right there. Thankfully, Harry doesn’t seem to notice because he's already hugging him. And it's exactly the kind of hug Sirius needed, comforting, grounding.

"Do you want me to prepare you something to eat? I'll cook whatever you want." y/n offers as soon as Harry pulls back from the hug, and when he nods, she takes him away immediately, leading him to the kitchen.

Remus and Sirius follow while Molly said her goodbyes and ushered her redhead twins out of the kitchen, muttering something about leaving harry some time to spend with his family. Family. That was a word Sirius has not heard in a long time.

Though as he sits on the table again, it doesn’t take him too long to realize that he doesn't feel like part of said family. it only takes one look at them to feel like he doesn’t belong the way he used to.

He watches as she fusses over Harry, hurrying to make enough food for him while she scolds him for being too thin, worry pouring out on her every action: the way she sets down the plate of food in front of him, the way she brushes Harry's hair out of his face and listens to him talking about his summer with so much attention.

And Remus— Remus fits in perfectly. He jokes with Harry about something from school, knows exactly what to say to stop y/n from worrying too much, makes them smile in a way Sirius doesn’t know how to anymore.

He knows, deep down, that there's nothing going on between Remus and her. They have always been close, but in a way that seems purely platonic. But still, he can't help but feel jealous of the way they seem to understand eachother in ways Sirius can't even begin to comprehend. It all feels so domestic. So easy. And Sirius? he can only sit back and watch.

Watch as y/n talks to Harry, her voice lighter than a few moments earlier, full of fondness, something Sirius recognizes but no longer belongs to. Remus smirks into his glass, adding something that makes Harry's laugh. And that laugh— it sounds so much like James, that Sirius is helplessly dragged into the past.

To what was taken from him.

He remembers Harry's first birthday: The smell of the cake James was baking, Lily chasing Remus around the Potter's living room, a birthday hat on her hat. "You have to wear this for the photo, everyone has one"

Sirius, sprawled on the couch, laughs as he points at the pointy hat on his head. "Come on, Moony."

In the middle of the room, y/n is laying on the floor, her own hat tilted as she tries to balance harry on her feet, holding his arms and making airplane noises for him. Harry is absolutely delighted, his laugh carefree. He loves her.

And, Merlin, Sirius is so in love with her. He loves the way she can make Harry laugh so easily, the way she treats him with so much care and love. He loves the way she fits here, in his life, in his future.

She catches him staring and smiles, her expression soft, fond. "What?"

Sirius grins at her, his heart beating fast against his chest. "Marry me"

She snorts, but her expression softens when she realizes he's not kidding. "One day, when this is all over—"

He knows. She doesn’t have to say more. That's enough for him. For now.

One day, when this war is over and they can go back to their lives— maybe he could have this too. A house filled with laughter, with warmth. A family with her. A child with her smile and his hair, something good after all the darkness.

Something he never got to have.

Because when Sirius blinks, he's back at the present. Where y/n is talking to teenage Harry about going to Diagon Alley soon to buy everything he needs for his new year at hogwarts. "And don't even worry about that ministry nonsense, I told Dumbledore he better fix that because it's his fault for sending you with those— those people for the summer."

"She was not very nice about it, let me tell you." Remus tells Harry. "Called him a walking library of bad ideas." and Harry's laughing again.

And Sirius' heart aches, looking at Harry so grown up and happy despite everything. Looking at her and knowing that she went on without him. They all did. And he can't even blame them. They had to. It was what was best for Harry.

Still, he has to clench his hands under the table because— fuck. This is what he had dreamed for, even all those years in azkaban, he had allowed himself to dream about her waiting for him. About a life outside those dementor infested walls. Those fantasies had kept him alive for so long.

And now here he was, looking at what once was his— what could've been his.

After dinner, Harry goes to sleep and Remus follows after he makes sure y/n doesn’t need help with anything. She ushers him out, but she stays behind cleaning up. And Sirius is still there, looking at her. He can't help it. He wants to ask her so many things but the words die on his mouth before he can even gather the courage to mutter them.

As she passes by him though, she probably sees the tension in his face because she pauses for a second and squeezes his shoulders. Sirius stiffens for a second, but then it's like muscle memory and he can only relax under her touch, that lingers a little more than expected.

Before he knows it, he's leaning against her touch. It's for just a second, he can't deny it to himself. It reminds him of what they used to be, of how easy everything seemed to fit between them back then. But then, it's also a reminder that this isn't his anymore. This warmth, this comfort—

He pulls away and she seems surprised but doesn’t comment on it, only gives him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her tired eyes. He knows it's supposed to be comforting, but it only leaves his heart completely shattered while she's already moving on.

And he knew it then.

It was the loss of his life. She was the loss of his life. And he knew the what ifs would follow him until the day he died. Perhaps even beyond that.

[spectrallydistracted]

Prologue to a Breakdown (A Good Omens After Dark "Nightingale Challenge" Fic)

Rating: T

TW: Hurt/No Comfort

Summary: Crowley had tried to be patient with Aziraphale. He didn’t know what had happened in the years since he had Ascended because Aziraphale wouldn’t talk about it. But his decision to confront the angel was made out of desperation. He should have learned from that terrible kiss that those sort of moves don’t end well. This one went no better. 

Continue read on AO3

@goodomensafterdark

[phantomwithbreakfast]

~ 𝐀𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 ~

⟢ One-shot Danny Phantom — Genre: Angst / Hurt — TW: Emotional Distress — Rating: T — AU? — First Person’s POV

———————

There he was—there it was.

My reflection stared back, the green glow of my eyes erratic, flickering like a faulty lightbulb. I wasn’t just looking at myself—I was looking through myself, and I hated what I saw. Not just the face staring back, but the endless spiral behind it—pulling me deeper into some unknowable abyss.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the battle. That one battle. Not with a ghost, not with some lurking threat—but with myself.

The dark part of… me.

The part that had escaped.

Again.

I’d won, of course—I had to believe that. I was the good side of myself, wasn’t I?

The hero.

But winning didn’t feel like triumph. It felt like a delay. Some whispers of the future lingering behind me, leaning over my shoulders, suffocating me with their burden.

I was afraid of becoming him.

That dangerous, older me. That monstrous version of myself that had been waiting all along.

All the—what ifs—it claws at the edges of my thoughts, unraveling my already frayed mind.

What if I couldn’t stop it? What if I was already becoming that monster? What if it was inevitable?

I stared deeper into the mirror, my fists tightening until my nails bit into my palms through my white gloves. I thought about my family, my friends—the people who had always been there. I’d already pushed them away, hadn’t I?

Maybe they aren’t even my friends anymore. Maybe I don’t deserve them.

Sam and Tucker had gone to college, following their dreams like normal people. Jazz was too busy carving her own path to stay. And me? I had stayed behind in the crumbling town I couldn’t abandon, giving up my dream of going to space. Protecting people was my purpose now. At least, that’s what I told myself. But deep down, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

Was it a noble choice—or a coward’s excuse?

You could still go. You could leave. You could be an astronaut. Fly into space. Fulfill the dream. Your dream.

But it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing ever would.

I gritted my teeth, my reflection rippling in the glass like a warped painting.

Happy thoughts, I told myself. But they didn’t come. They never did anymore. It was always easier to sink into the darker ones, to let them drag myself down into the undertow.

The mocking voices of ghosts, the weight of battles fought and won—none of it mattered in the face of the gnawing feeling in my chest.

My core.

It purred softly, a dissonant hum, both comforting and sinister.

It felt… so freaking wrong.

As if it didn’t belong to me anymore. As if Phantom—him was bleeding into me, hollowing me out from the inside.

My breath hitched. My fingers trembled as I gripped the edges of the sink. My eyes clenched shut, but it didn’t block out the image of myself—the warped, flickering, monstrous reflection staring back. I felt like a glass that was about to shatter, cracks spidering across my soul.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

I punched my palms tighter until the pain jolted me back. But the ache in my chest was worse. Phantom wasn’t just part of me. Phantom was me.

My breath staggered in my throat—a sob trembling on the edge of release. My knuckles ached, my chest burned, and that pressure—that suffocating pressure—kept building on.

“Get out of my head!” I screamed, my voice raw, ripping through the suffocating silence.

The sound reverberated in the tiny room, crashing into the walls and returning to me like a ghostly echo. My reflection flickered again—glowing red of Phantom’s eyes overtaking my own for the briefest moment before fading back into green.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Leave me alone!” I shouted again, this time so forcefully that my throat hurt, as though I was tearing myself apart. The sound cracked into a wail—an uncontrollable, heart-shattering release.

Green tears left cold trails down my cheeks as I screamed again, and again, and again… until the room seemed to quake.

The mirror shattered.

Shards exploded outward, raining onto the counter, the floor, my arms. A jagged piece nicked my cheek, drawing a thin line of green that dripped down onto my trembling hand.

I didn’t care.

My reflection was gone—splintered into a thousand fractured pieces scattered at my feet.

My knees buckled, and I barely caught myself against the sink. My hands shivered, slipping on the porcelain.

I sank to the floor, my back pressed against the cold tile, knees pulled to my chest. My hands tangled in my snow-white hair as sobs wracked my body. Every shuddering breath felt like it might break me further.

The shards of glass caught the dim light, a kaleidoscope of chaos surrounding me, reflecting parts of me I couldn’t escape from.

I clutched my chest, my core still purring that discordant frequency—like a faint, mocking laugh echoing from deep within.

“I’m scared,” I whispered to—no one. My voice cracked. “I don’t want to become… him.”

My words dissolved into another sob as I curled tighter, the shattered mirror fragments glinting like stars against the dark void I felt, pulling me under.

“I will never turn into you.”

———————

Okay. First time I drew Dan. I was scared. Scared of those eyes. Those eyes that pierced the whole time into mine—no, through mine. I should’ve waited with his eyes until the end, but of course, I didn’t.

———————

⟢ You can find my Phan fics here.

[avaliferous]

some more empurata jazz prowl instead of work because @keferon ‘s angst has a hold on me and it wont let go

[defire]

As someone with a few years experience in martial arts with sparring, I would like to explain some

Realistic reactions to being struck

Punched in the gut:

yelp of pain--like "ah!" And then a groan like "ohh" as the nausea hits

Curl protectively over their gut

Arms out to stop any incoming punches

After expelling air from the impact, they may not be able to breathe in. They may just lose some of their wind, or all of it.

If whumpee is trained (or used to it!) they may know to breathe out a little on impact, softening the blow and reducing the amount of air they lose

It hurts, so victim is going to be at least grimacing and guarding their stomach

Losing your wind is disorienting and panic-inducing, even for someone with training

A hard enough punch may be enough to drop whumpee, especially if: they are skinny (less padding), their body is trying to conserve oxygen (like they lost ALL their wind at once), they are panicked/outmatched (to protect themselves), or they're going to puke

Puking can also happen a bit afterward

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited) simon's punishment [connected with this!]

“congratulations on your beautiful baby girl.”

simon's gaze remains fixed on the swaddled, wriggling pink bundle held by the nurse, until his focus shifts to your motionless form lying amidst a sea of medical professionals. your stillness is haunting, your body devoid of life as you lay in the hospital bed, with sweat-soaked hair clinging to your forehead and parched lips cracked and dry.

he wonders briefly if this was some sort of punishment, karma for thinking he could have a dash of normalcy after a life of killing. he couldn't breathe, couldn’t move, he could hardly think or process what was happening. this wasn't real, it couldn't be; you were just sleeping— tired from pushing out an infant for hours on end. but the monotonous sound of the heart monitor flat-lining, tells a different story. gone, you were gone. what now? where are you?

“sir?”

simon jolts and pans his gaze to face the nurse who still holds his child. she softly thrusts the newborn in his direction, countenance grim- and it ages her young, round face even more than it already was from working at a hospital. simon had hardly looked at the child since she’d been born, couldn't bring himself to— not while you were laying there, dead. it was his fault.

eyebrows furrowing and moving robotically, simon lets the nurse position his arms properly before she places the wailing baby into them; the infant quiets almost immediately. in that moment, simon's world narrows down to just two things - the fragile bundle of life in his arms, and the lifeless figure lying before him. the contrast between the beginning and the end, the hope and the despair, is almost too much to bear.

he reluctantly flits his eyes down to finally catch a glimpse of the newborn, and as his gaze lands on the tiny face, an overwhelming wave of sorrow engulfs him as he weeps, witnessing the uncanny resemblance the baby bears to you.

i cried writing this one.😓

[zyafics]

rafe removes your makeup after a party

enemies to lovers, childhood history, one remembers / one doesn't

zya's notes: this is a (draft) snippet from my book, where the fmc hates the mmc but he doesn't know why. i've been writing blurbs for them, and wanted to share it with the rafe cameron fandom using reader insert. enjoy <3

“Come here,” Rafe taps the countertop of your sink. You lift your heavy gaze at his instruction; brows furrowed, eyes narrowed. Your first instinct is to roll a sharp-witted response off your tongue, to counter that he doesn’t deserve to order you around, but something in his expression dulls all animosity.

A pleading look behind his gentle command, one that’s asking you to be agreeable for once. It suddenly takes you back. To the boy who asked the same thing before; in another time, another place. Stripped of all arrogance and ego, is someone who just wants to take care of you.

It moves something in you, causing you to drunkenly stumble towards him, nearly tripping on your own two feet.

Rafe catches your waist. Normally, you’ve never been so uncoordinated but the amount of liquor in your system tells a different story. Your breath is unsteady, your heart hammering, and his gaze drops to yours.

“Okay?” He asks softly, and you don’t have the power to answer. Instead, you nod thickly, and Rafe takes it as consent. His free hand glides over your ribcage, exposed by a rode-up top, before finding grip on your hip. With one swift tug, he hauls you up the counter and sets you down.

You tilt your head to the side, uncertainty building behind your stare, before he mechanically moves to your cabinet, grabbing a handful of cotton pads and your makeup remover.

You don’t understand what’s happening. Why he’s being so nice to you. Why he’s helping you. Especially when you’ve been nothing but cold. Sending him away with venomous insults. Scowling whenever he’s in proximity. He doesn’t understand why. You don’t tell him, believing it would be enough for him to leave you alone. But he doesn’t. And in moments in these, he acts like the boy you once knew.

You once loved.

You say nothing as he grabs your chin, raising it skywards, and slowly drags the soaked pad across your skin, peeling away layers upon layers. His gaze is intensely focused on the task—delicately swiping the cotton across your waterline, to the corner of your eyes, to the slope of your nose. All done without a word until you’re nothing but bare.

When he drops the final used pad into the trash, Rafe draws his gaze back to you and smiles softly. Softer than you ever deserved. “There. All good now.”

You should show gratitude. Thank him for taking care of you. Thank him for driving you home when you were alone, drunk, and nothing short of a mess. This can be an invitation to turn over a new leaf, an extension of an olive branch.

But after all the anger and hate you’ve spewed at him, all the verbal threats and cruel mockery, you can’t seem to find the kindness you once owned. And, because your mouth runs much faster than your mind ever does, your first words are: “What bitch taught you this?”

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ actions and dialogue for forbidden kisses 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ “… that shouldn’t have happened.”

²⁾ holding onto their shoulders/waist for the duration of the kiss, and making no move to separate even after it’s ended

³⁾ “stop telling me that we can’t be together and then pulling shit like this!”

⁴⁾ “[name], i’m sorry.”

⁵⁾ pressing the pads of their fingers into their lips in the aftermath, like they’re either trying to capture the feeling or banish it from memory

⁶⁾ foreheads pressed together as the kiss breaks, eyes guilty but so so full of want

⁷⁾ “this can’t be all there is. a half-dozen kisses every year that we pretend don’t happen and pretentious conversations about ourselves, is that what we’re clinging so hard to? what i’m clinging so hard to?!”

⁸⁾ having begun to trail impassioned kisses down their jaw and neck before the harsh reality kicks back in

⁹⁾ “i shouldn’t have let this happen. it’s not fair on either of us.”

¹⁰⁾ “we sh- “ “no, please. just- just let me have this. just for a minute.”

¹¹⁾ breathing in their scent because they know that this is as close as they’ll get to it for a long, long time

¹²⁾ “why are we doing this to ourselves?”

¹³⁾ using every ounce of strength they have to not lean into the hand cupping their cheek or cradling their head

¹⁴⁾ “that was an accident.” “yeah, you always seem to say that.”

¹⁵⁾ “no matter how cruel it is that you keep giving me hope like this, it’s still never enough to stop me from loving you as much as i do.”

¹⁶⁾ “i don’t want to let go of you.” “and i don’t want to let you.”

¹⁷⁾ feeling tears welling up in their eyes as the hurt and longing burns in their chest

¹⁸⁾ holding the face of their would-be lover tenderly in the palm of their hand, silently apologising for putting them both through this again

¹⁹⁾ “i love y- “ “no, no. please, i can’t. i can’t hear this, not again.”

²⁰⁾ breaking the kiss but still holding them close, hiding their face in the other’s neck to try and recover the moment

²¹⁾ “would now be a bad time to tell you you’re a really good kisser?”

²²⁾ calling them a petname to try and comfort them, but only succeeding in upsetting them more at the reminder of what they can’t have

²³⁾ pushing them away, knowing exactly how cruel it is but favouring it over hurting them both by letting things go further

²⁴⁾ “how do we keep letting this happen?”

²⁵⁾ “this is killing me, [name].”

[bread4innie]

me: i love reading angst

me reading angst:

[spinzolliii]

People forget that recovering from an injury takes so much energy. It’s not just pain, but a constant exhaustion as your body dedicates all of its resources to repairing itself. This can last weeks or months.

The same is true in the aftermath of a severe illness. You’re not necessarily “well” after the infection passes. Your body has to recover from the damage done by the infection. It leaves a person weak and lethargic well after they’ve “recovered” from their illness.

So, imagine a Whumpee being forced to work again immediately after an illness or injury.

[starrysillhoutte]

“you don’t even know me”

but it’s regulus only being able to transition after sirius runs away and the black family needs an heir. it’s walburga forbidding any communication between the two brothers. it’s sirius running around in desperation to try and find his ‘sister’ once school starts. it’s him believing that his parents sent his ‘sister’ to beauxbatons like they always said they would. it’s sirius meeting regulus in the astronomy tower, finally realising that he now had a brother and he wasn’t even aware.

[nekronyancer]

To loathe oneself is the harshest prison one can inhabit

Get on the angst train everyone, choo choo motherfuckers 🚂 /aff

[ink-stainedkiss]

Doomed to Fall Apart - Jjk Men Smau

Synopsis: After things didn’t go according to plan when you announced your pregnancy, some of the men try and fight for you back, while the others watch as you slip from their grasp. *Intended for Female!Reader*

A/N: Thank you guys so much for the love on this series! The final part will hopefully be out by tonight or tmr morning.

Part 1 / Part 1.5 / Part 2 / Part 2.5

Taglist:

@gigiiiiislife @furinaslays @tartartagliaboo @kidd3ath @viatorem-maris @shokosbunny @imoutofpot