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many-but-one · 3 months

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Satanic Panic, The False Memory Foundation’s Shaky Origins, and Why You Should Believe RAMCOA Survivors

(TW: mentions of RAMCOA, False Memory Foundation, child torture & death, cults, trafficking)

Pretty disappointed to see a fairly popular and well known blog on tumblr is encouraging the idea that RAMCOA doesn’t exist. Just came across this post and was pretty bummed to see the comments too.

For those that agree with them (most of my followers won’t but who knows who will stumble across this), please know that RAMCOA has been going on for much longer than the Satanic Panic. The Satanic Panic was fabricated in an effort to discredit RAMCOA survivors. It was supported by the False Memory Foundation, which was created by a man (and his wife) trying to prove his daughter’s repressed memories of trauma involving him did not really happen. [Explained further in the third article further down in this post]

For the record, false memory/planting false memories has been disproven, it’s not possible to fully plant false memories in patients. Some memories can be altered to an extent because memories can be disjointed and influence from others can cause memories to shift slightly, which is why it’s not encouraged for trauma patients to share exact detailed memories with each other. For example, if two trauma patients were abused by their father and had a similar situation happen and patient A spoke about their experience in detail, if both fathers wore glasses and patient A describes their father to have black rimmed glasses, patient B’s memory might shift to believe that their father also had black rimmed glasses, even though his glasses were gold rimmed. However, it’s not possible to fully plant memories that do not exist in a patient’s memory. The “base memory” so to speak has to be there in order for any alterations to occur, and those alterations that are possible are often rather minuscule, such as glasses or whether or not their abuser had facial hair or not, or the color of the person’s eyes. Not an entire scene of RA. [Again, explained well by the third article below.]

Repressed memory has been proven to exist. (Though it’s more accurately called dissociated memories by clinicians) It can even exist in people who have traumas that happen in adulthood. Pieces of a traumatic event may go missing in a patient’s working memory, and they may not retrieve it until they are ready to process the memory and all the emotions and information that comes with it. However, it still exists stored in the brain, just in a different area than working memory. It’s why triggers to the traumatic event (that the patient may not even realize are triggers until they occur) can cause flashbacks and memory resurfacing during said flashbacks.

Some sources explaining the False Memory Foundation and the harm they’ve caused: [a good overview of a woman who was major in the development of the idea of repressed memory being a myth, by a researcher of child psychiatry], [while this is a psychology today article, I think this explains well how misused the idea of FMS - false memory syndrome - is.] [A comprehensive article explaining the roots of the FMF and how the studies used to “prove” false memory are terrible and easily debunked, with several assertions from professionals in the field.] I want to add that while the FMF has dissolved and rightfully so, the British False Memory Society is still alive and well, as well as the Satanic Temple’s Grey Faction, and both groups still cite False Memory Syndrome as being real and claim that RAMCOA survivors have false memories of their abuse.

However, before Satanic Panic happened, people were starting to actually believe in the existence of RAMCOA and the concept of DID was brought into the mainstream. A survivor on tiktok has a very good video on this situation. And that scared people, especially the abusers themselves who didn’t want to get caught. That’s when the False Memory Foundation stepped in on the heels of Satanic Panic and literally rewrote the textbooks therapists learned from, and basically taught everyone that repressed memory doesn’t exist. Any therapists that spoke about their patients’ experiences with RAMCOA were sued. Therapists stopped wanting to treat RAMCOA patients for fear of being sued and/or losing their license or being told they planted these memories in their patients’ heads and possibly losing their licenses. It led to generations of old therapists not treating RAMCOA patients and generations of new therapists learning it doesn’t exist.

But it does exist. To outright deny that child torture cannot exist is absurd. 1-2% of reported child abuse falls under the definition of child torture. [source, TW: photos of children with serious injuries from torture included on page 7 of this document] For the record, my abuse was never and has never been reported, and most survivors—RAMCOA and non-RAMCOA, whose trauma falls under the definition of torture—never reported or plan to report.

Even if you find the mind control aspect to be far-fetched, ritual abuse most certainly does exist. I’ve seen videos on the surface web on fucking tiktok of all places of child torture and ritual abuse. Organized abuse such as sex trafficking and labor trafficking does exist. Two out of those three things in the acronym are well documented to exist. And for the record, ritual abuse and cult abuse even in adults can cause extreme mind and identity alteration, upwards to the point of nearly being mind control. Look up OSDD-2 in the DSM-V. Look up just about any cult survivors testimonies and hear how they talk about how they nearly became a different person within their cult, how the cult uses torture and mind altering drugs to get their initiates to commit terrible acts of violence to each other. Now imagine if that same stuff were happening to a child whose mind is significantly easier to mold and change. Even if the child RAMCOA survivor does not develop DID, it can cause extreme conditioned responses in which the child (or now grown adult or teen) will still do the responses even now because as a child they were threatened with torture or death if they didn’t do it.

Mind control is essentially an extreme form of conditioning, and with the plethoras of research on DID and how it functions, it’s not even a difficult concept to grasp that a cult member might learn how to split new alters in a child via torture and then manipulate those alters to do what they want individually. Anyone who knows fuck all about DID knows that alters can be triggered out via positive and negative triggers. All mind control programming is, is creating a specific trigger for a specific alter and then when that child is exposed to that trigger, that alter comes out and does the task it was taught to do—usually via torture, manipulation, and threats of harm to the child or those the child loves. It’s not a difficult concept to grasp, and with how long TBMC (torture based mind control) programmers have had to perfect their work, it’s no surprise that they’ve learned how to make alters do extremely complex tasks or hold onto specific functions, always at the ready for their specific trigger.

RAMCOA research doesn’t exist in mainstream spaces because it’s nearly impossible to be taken seriously because of people who claim it doesn’t exist when it’s not even a complex topic to understand. They just don’t want to accept that it exists. The concept is terrifying, harrowing, and at some times almost absurd—and that combination makes it easier for people to put their blinders up and decide it doesn’t exist. [Edited to add: On top of this, what little research is done on it is steeped in conspiracy theories that often have roots in antisemitism. While I’ve asserted that Miller’s deprogramming books are good reads for RAMCOA survivors, she does often sound conspiratorial, and quotes Svali, a known antisemite. While I don’t think RAMCOA is exclusively related to the Illuminati stuff she often talks about, Miller’s work cannot be completely discounted because of her beliefs of where the abuse originated. Where it originates matters much less than the fact that it happens. However, not from dark, underground, secret societies—but from normal places like churches, children’s own homes (yes, RAMCOA can be done by a single parent to a single child, it just may look different than say, a trafficking ring), trafficking rings, militaristic groups, political cults, etc. I wanted to put the above put there because I know someone is going to come at me and try to say the researchers who talk about it were conspiracy theorists. Yeah, they were. Maybe they were the only ones willing to talk openly about it because of the fact they’re conspiracy theorists? I don’t know. However, I think it should also be noted that just because the researchers sucked doesn’t mean the information taken from them isn’t useful when you weed out the conspiracy stuff. For example, a LOT of modern understanding of medicine was taken from Nazi and Japanese experiments during WWII. Arguably some of the worst doctors on earth. Do we discount everything we learned because they were horrible, evil, people? No. While those who studied RAMCOA went about it in shit ways, that doesn’t discount the information learned completely. Likewise, much of modern psych understanding came from roots that included incredibly unethical experiments that would never be allowed today. Do we throw out all of that info too? No, we don’t. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t hold these people accountable, I’m saying we cannot throw out all discussion of RAMCOA because the doctors who talked about it were shitty people.]

I wish I could decide it doesn’t exist. I have permanent scarring that proves what happened did happen. I have doctor’s visits that prove I am disabled because of the traumas I went through. I have a DID specialist who didn’t even know programming to our extent even existed before our parts started telling her what they went through and she heard it from our own mouth. She had to learn how to deprogram us on the fly because she’d never done so before. So fuck off with your “oh, RAMCOA patients only have RAMCOA because they’ve been influenced by their therapist to believe they do” bullshit.

I relive my traumas in flashbacks and nightmares daily. There have been periods in my healing process where I couldn’t leave the house without someone with me for months. I couldn’t hold a job for nearly a year. I didn’t know any of this happened to me until I was in my 20s. I thought my memory was just bad and the only parts of my childhood I remembered were little blips of good things, usually involving my parent that was not involved with the cult or memories with friends at school or when I was hanging out with my sports teammates. Living with this stuff is hell. You think I want to live with this stuff? If I could permanently erase it all from my memory forever I would. But I can’t. I don’t have that luxury.

It happened. And I’m not the only child it happened to, both in the area of my country I live in and in areas all over my country and the world. This is not an isolated phenomenon. It is more common than anyone tends to realize (though still rarer than most DID cases, thank fuck). I was lucky to survive. I survived because they wanted me to. I saw a lot of children, teens, and adults who were not as “lucky” as I was. If you won’t respect survivors and their stories, at least respect the ones who didn’t survive. They didn’t deserve their final moments to be so full of pain. All of the children in these groups deserved to be loved and cared for and treated with softness and compassion. So do adult survivors like me and many others.

If I could end on one thing, it would be to urge the doubters to have some fucking compassion and empathy for people who have been through things they cannot even begin to understand. My past feels like a nightmare I will never be able to escape. I cannot erase it. I can only try to heal from it. So heal I will do, and in the process I will continue to speak the truth of my experience as safely as I can.

You want proof it’s real? Survivors are your proof.

WE are the proof.

[Edit: changed some wording for clarification + added a section after rereading a couple hours later]

[Edit 2: I realized I said my abuse has never been reported, I meant my RAMCOA related abuse. Want to make that clear. I reported sexual abuse done by my church to CPS and nothing came of it. CPS actually wrongfully claimed that since they had no reports existing of that church harming kids they wouldn’t pursue it since it happened so long ago, when a cursory google search of said location shows they’ve been reported multiple times and all reports were dropped. Why, I’m not sure.]

#ramcoa tw #torture tw #cult tw #death tw #trafficking tw #ramcoa survivor #false memory foundation #ramcoa #tbmc survivor #tbmc tw

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wherethefireliliesgrow · 10 months

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Make Me Happy

Huh Yunjin x Reader

GENRE: fluff

TYPE: One Shot, Long Fic

INSPIRED BY: Make Me Happy-WheeIn

"And Zeus, with his mighty thunder in hand, ruled the sky and Olympus," you read, flipping to the next page of the storybook and showcasing the colorful pictures of Zeus.

It was a Saturday morning, and you were immersed in reading stories for the children at the hospital. As a child psychology major, you relished the opportunity to connect with different children each Saturday. Your love for children made spending time with them while earning extra credit a win-win situation.

"Zeus has a wife named Hera, the Queen of Gods," you continued, pointing to the illustrated photo of Hera on her throne.

"Sometimes Zeus made mistakes, like having other friends. Hera didn't like that, but they still ruled together on Mount Olympus."

“Ms. Y/N?” a cute voice squeaked from the circle of kids in front of you. It was a small girl with short blonde hair and thick glasses.

“Yes, Kayla?” you smiled at her.

“What is M-I-S-T-R-E-S-S-E-S?” Kayla squinted, trying to read from the book you were showing. The rest of the kids leaned forward, curious about the illustrations.

“M-I-S-T-R…” The word clicked in your head, and you looked at the little girl in shock. “Where did you learn that word?”

“There,” Kayla pointed at the bottom corner of the book with her small finger.

You quickly turned the book around to check the illustration. There, at the bottom, was a scribble of words written in black marker.

Friends? More like mistresses. LOL

“What the fuck?” you muttered under your breath.

This was one of the children’s books you brought from your department’s lounge, where they keep all materials used in class.

A chorus of oohs broke out around you at the sound of your mild exclamation.

“I mean, what the fuzz?” you hastily changed your choice of words, hoping the hospital staff didn’t hear what you just said. “What the fuzzballs.”

Luckily, the children giggled at that, immediately distracted when a boy named Jake decided to share the story about how he swallowed his cat’s fuzzballs and ended up in the hospital.

The storybook took you longer to finish reading as you made sure to check every page before showing the kids the illustrations. Thankfully, there wasn’t any more writing in the rest of the book. You covered the words with a Post-It before returning it to the lounge.

It happened again after a few weeks. You were reading a Dora the Explorer book to the children, and there it was, in the smack middle of the book, a sentence scribbled in the same scrawly, obnoxiously bolded handwriting.

“Can you find the chocolate tree?” you read before staring at the page in horror.

This chick is blind, FR.

The kids whispered, trying to understand what the handwriting meant.

“C-H-I-C-K…chick!” Carter, a red-haired boy, exclaimed loudly, proud of himself for being able to read it.

“There aren’t any chickens in Dora,” Kayla chastised him, shaking her head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“There is too,” he huffed, pressing a smudgy finger onto the page. “It says here! C-H-I-C-K. Chick.”

“Well, there’s only the big red hen. No chicks,” Kayla insisted, standing up to grab the book from your hands. The situation was about to get worse in a few seconds as you saw Carter’s face redden in frustration.

“Okay! That’s enough story time for today,” you quickly stood up, snapping the book shut. “Who wants to play Monopoly?”

“ME! ME! ME!” The kids screamed in excitement, forgetting the book altogether. It was a relief that kids forget about things so easily.

You, on the other hand, did not forget about this.

“Someone keeps leaving nasty comments in the children's books,” you huffed, dropping the Dora book in front of your best friend, Chaeryeong.

You had found her sitting in front of one of the long tables, peacefully eating her lunch in your department’s lounge. The room was slightly crowded, filled with students doing their projects or chatting with each other before classes.

Narrowing her eyes at your rude entrance, Chaeryeong slowly took off her headphones and dropped her chopsticks.

“No hello beautiful?” she asked, rolling her eyes playfully. “Why are you reading children's books anyway? Are you seven years old or something?”

“I’m reading them for the kids at the hospital,” you said impatiently, flipping open to the page where the messy handwriting was located.

“See? This person keeps writing in these books! The kids keep reading them out!”

“This chick blind, for real?” Chaeryeong snickered after reading it aloud. “Well, this person has a good point. Dora IS blind as fuck.”

You huffed, annoyed at how unserious the raven-haired girl was. But before you could open your mouth, a soft chuckle came from the table next to yours. You turned your head to come face to face with the queen bee and the captain of the volleyball team, Huh Yunjin. She grinned at you as she casually leaned on her elbows, not hiding the fact that she was eavesdropping on your conversation as the rest of her friends were engrossed in another conversation.

“See? Even Yunjin unnie agrees,” Chaeryeong said, slyly bringing Yunjin into the conversation.

She knew about your little crush on the captain ever since freshman year. You were just too chicken to strike up a conversation with her, and she was flirty by default, breaking hearts left and right. You just didn’t want to go through the heartbreak, after seeing so many girls crying in the bathroom over her.

Your eyes met Yunjin’s chocolate ones, her bright gaze felt like it was penetrating your soul. People weren’t kidding about her beauty; she really was a sight to look at. You felt your face flush as her gaze never left yours.

“Yeah, she definitely needs to get herself some glasses,” Yunjin pushed her headband a bit higher to keep her orange hair out of her face. “But I support an unbothered queen.”

Yunjin let out a little laugh, her nose scrunching adorably. You couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by the way her full lips pulled back to show her glistening white teeth.

“Stop being gay,” Chaeryeong whispered, nudging you with her legs to wake you out of the trance.

Huffing in embarrassment and annoyance, you grabbed the Dora book and the rest of your stuff and started to put them into your bag.

“Where are you going?” Chaeryeong asked.

You could see the volleyball captain staring at you from the corner of your eye, and your ears flushed a deeper red.

“I’m going to find someone who understands how serious this situation is,” you ignored the soft snickers coming from both of the girls and turned around to walk out of the lounge.

“Let me know if you found someone who managed to get that chick a pair of glasses,” Chaeryeong called from behind you, laughter in her voice.

Cute. That was the first thing Yunjin thought when she saw you during the freshman orientation.

She was there to recruit people into the volleyball team when she noticed you, sitting in the second row, eyes barely open, mouth slightly agape as a few wisps of hair fell into your face when you started to doze off.

Ignoring the knowing looks of her teammates, she intentionally tried to get close to you, all but failing drastically. She ended up recruiting all of your close friends into the volleyball team, all but you. You were definitely not a land animal; that was all that Yunjin could say after watching you fall face-first onto the ground at any given chance.

But at least her efforts weren’t all gone to waste. Having recruited Chaeryeong and your roommate Yeji onto the team meant that she could see you in the bleachers in every game and often see you swing by during practice. Her delusional self convinced her that you were there to see her, but deep down she knew that you never even spared her a second glance.

Like today, you had once again rushed away from her as if she was the most menacing thing in the room, and you wanted nothing but to end the conversation with her. Was she really this scary? Or had you found out about her obsession with you?

“You should try to talk to her more, you know?” Chaeryeong said, raising her eyebrows as she watched her captain gaze after you leaving the room.

“Huh?” Yunjin quickly composed herself, leaning back in her chair. “With who?”

“Y/N. I know you like her.” The raven-haired girl said with a grin. “And I approve.”

“Pfft, I don’t even know her that well.” Yunjin whispered, lowering her voice to make sure her friends didn’t hear this conversation.

“I’m not Dora. I see how you look at her,” Chaeryeong pushed.

“I—I don’t look at her differently.”

Yunjin stood her ground, staring at Chaeryeong, ready to deny everything that came out of the younger girl’s mouth. But Chaeryeong wasn’t intimidated, shrugging nonchalantly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“She finds your jokes in the books funny. Don’t let her reaction fool you.”

Laughing at Yunjin’s expression, Chaeryeon added, “I know your ugly handwriting.”

With that, the slender girl slipped her bag onto her shoulder and stood up, smiling mischievously at the blushing captain in front of her.

“Can’t believe it took you two years to make a move.”

Unconvincingly as it sounded, it really started with boredom.

Yunjin was alone in the student lounge last semester, skipping her least favorite class from Professor “Dead-Eye” Yoo and taking the liberty of finally having some alone time. Yunjin knew she was quite popular, being the captain and all, but sometimes she just wanted to go back to being that shy gamer girl she once was.

The lounge was deserted, and Yunjin flopped onto the sofa she sometimes saw you sitting on in the far-right corner. A couple of bookshelves were situated next to the sofa, completely filled with children’s books.

Scrunching her eyes in confusion about why there were so many books for kids when it was a university department lounge, Yunjin decided not to question it and got to read to kill time. But being attentive was not her strongest trait, so she soon relented to her immaturity and boredom.

Grabbing a sharpie from her bag, she started to leave dumb comments here and there in different books, as if she was the biggest book reviewer in the world. It was an immature and stupid thing to do, she knows. But at least it somehow managed to catch your attention, albeit months later.

God must’ve taken pity on her, watching her suffer through countless blind dates that her friends had arranged her to through her first two years of college, finally giving her the chance to know you better.

It was a few days after her encounter with you at the lounge with Chaeryeong, and she found you scribbling down in a brown notebook on the sofa next to the bookshelves again, this time alone. Deciding to brave herself just once, she took her breath and mustered all of her confidence before making her way towards you and flopped down onto the empty space next to you. She was going to take a chance and take Chaeyeong’s words as advice.

“Hey Y/N.” Yunjin gave you a boyish charming grin, her orange hair tousled perfectly across her leather jacket. She was effortlessly cool, and her sudden close proximity made your face heat up.

“Uh, hi, Yunjin-ssi.” You quickly bowed in respect.

“Please drop the honorifics.” The captain waved her hand, giving you a wink. “Just Yunjin is fine.”

You nodded, eyes flittering from Yunjin’s mesmerizing large ones to the record book in your hand. Unsure of what to do, you decided to awkwardly continue writing.

“What are you doing?” Yunjin slightly leaned towards you, her vanilla perfume invading your senses.

“Um... I-” You shook your head to gather your thoughts, “I’m keeping track of the books that were written on. We would have to replace them.”

“Ahh… the Dora book?”

“Yeah. I also found a new one this week, in the Ice Age books.”

“Really? What did it say?” Yunjin asked, trying to keep her face casual.

“It simply just wrote LIA next to Sid’s face.” You said, biting your lip to hold in your smile.

Yunjin, on the other hand, let out a booming laugh, enjoying the joke way too much.

“I’ll let Lia know she’s famous.” Yunjin said, after taking a few minutes to finally come down from her laughter.

Even though she was the one who wrote it, she still found it funny that her roommate, Lia, looked exactly like Sid the sloth when she was sleeping.

Trying to hide your grin, you said, “It’s not funny. The kids keep reading out the comments.”

The sight of your smiling made Yunjin’s heart soar. She was proud of herself for succeeding in making you smile, despite you not knowing it was her who left the comments. With this affirmation, Yunjin continued to make jokes with you as you talked for a bit. She would do anything to charm you, and she already had a plan hatched in her brain, something to do with your notebook.

“I’ll talk to you later, Y/N.” The captain squeezed your hand as she saw her friends calling for her.

You were disappointed to see her go, but you knew that she had better things to do than talk to you. She was, after all, one of the most popular and busiest students in your major.

“See you.” You muttered, ears red at the feeling of her hand on yours.

The captain walked towards the door, before turning back and raising her hand as a goodbye in a goofy boyish way that made your heart flutter.

It happened again, but this time, it was in your record book. Again, in obnoxiously bolded and capitalized letters, the mystery person managed to annoy the hell out of you, but you couldn’t help but find a bit of amusement in them.

HI :)

They had written this in the smack middle of a new page in your notebook, wasting the entire page. Deciding to write back for the first time, you took out your pen and wrote a small line under their loud greeting.

Don’t write in my notebook :)

Thinking this was able to stop the culprit from writing anything else, you shut the book satisfied. Oh, how wrong you were.

The next day, you found a light pink post-it stuck on top of the original page.

BUT I WANT TO BE FRIENDS :(

Annoyed at the culprit, but also at yourself for finding them cute for using a post-it instead of just writing on your book.

No.

You wrote back, slightly hesitating before slamming shut the notebook altogether. Although intrigued and wanting to know who was behind the writing, it was probably best that you don’t encourage them.

“Getting ready to dive deep into another children’s book of yours?” A familiar voice broke you out of your thoughts.

Your heart couldn't help but lurch at the sight of the orange-haired captain smiling at you, her nose scrunched adorably.

“Yeah, any recommendations? I know you love these books.” You teased back, already comfortable with her presence.

Despite not really getting the chance to talk to her that much, she had this aura that made you feel calm and relaxed, as if you could trust her with anything.

“I’ll recommend one only if you read it to me.” Yunjin flirted easily, giving you a charming grin and wink.

Caught off guard at her response, your face turned a slight shade of pink. “I-”

“I’m just kidding, Y/N.” The taller girl laughed at your flustered state. “I used to read ‘The Jungle Book’ to my sister when she was a kid, and she loved it. Maybe the kids at the hospital would love it too.”

"You have a younger sister?” You asked. This was new information to you, but then again, you and Yunjin never really talked before this semester.

“Yeah, we have a really big age difference though. She’s 10 years younger than me.” Yunjin’s eyes glinted at the mention of her sister.

“She must be really happy to have you as a sister.”

“I hope so." Yunjin said with a sad smile, “I haven’t seen her in a couple of years. She’s still in the US with the rest of my family.”

“It must’ve been hard for you to move here all alone.” You hesitantly reached out your hand to squeeze the Captain’s forearm in comfort.

She gave you a grin at your touch, and your heart fluttered at how her eyes seem to twinkle whenever she met yours.

“I’m fine now.” She said, putting her other hand on top of yours. “I made a lot of friends, and also, I got the chance to meet you.”

The flirty queen-bee you knew was back. You cleared your throat to shake off the nerves she managed to give you and pulled back from the trance she pulled you into.

Quickly checking your watch as an excuse to avoid looking into her eyes again, you noticed it was almost five p.m., the time Chaeryeon left for practice.

“Don’t you have practice?” You asked.

“Nope.” Yunjin made a pop sound at the P, which you found adorable. “We have a game next week, so I gave the girls a two-day break.”

“You’ll be watching us, right?” She asked, her eyes hopeful.

You nodded, “I never missed a game. I’m Chaeryeon’s and Yeji’s number one fan.” You grinned, proud of yourself.

Yunjin merely pouted at this, “You should cheer for me sometime. I’m playing too, you know.” She nudged you.

You laughed, trying to shake off your nervousness at her blatant flirting. “You already have a lot of fangirls.”

Yunjin whined, begging, “I don’t know them, but I know you. None of my friends wear my number because they’re on the court with me.“

“I’ll think about it.“ you laughed at her antics. Although she was a year older than you, she managed to act like a little kid sometimes.

After talking (more like flirting on Yunjin’s side) for another while, Yunjin left to go to her part-time job at the diner, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The feeling she gave you messed up your thoughts, and you were worried that your old crush on her will be reignited.

She was just friendly. She thought of you as a friend. You convinced yourself. You needed to see her as a friend too, before you get your heart broken.

“Maybe I need other friends than Yunjin.“ you muttered to yourself before opening the notebook once more.

No.

You crossed out the word and wrote.

Fine. What’s your name?

Turns out, the person behind the obnoxious block letters was worth talking to. You’ve been texting the mysterious person for the past few weeks, and they managed to entertain you and connect on a deeper level. Never getting a reply to their name, only with a doodle of a snake, you exchanged numbers without knowing each other's names, and it was better like that. To talk about your day anonymously.

You were, however, curious about the person behind the texts and writing. They were considerate, easy to talk to, and extremely funny. You honestly felt that you could be really good friends with them. From books to life goals, you could talk to them about anything and everything.

It was a bit unnerving how someone in your major knew all this about you, but at the same time, you felt that they were someone you could trust, and they felt the same way about you after sharing some of their family problems with you.

You noticed you were developing a sort of attachment to this person, as if they were your soulmate. You found yourself instantly texting back whenever the snake contact popped up on your phone, and when you were texting, you were re-reading your past conversations. They were a great way for you to get Yunjin off your mind, which you found to get harder every time she stopped by to say hello.

“You’re late, Shin.” Chaewon, the co-captain of the volleyball team, chastised a wind-swept Yuna as she slammed open the door to the locker room and hurried to change into her team uniform.

Yuna was the newest addition to the team and was also the cousin of Y/N. (As soon as Yunjin heard of this, she immediately treated Yuna with patience and additional care, not that she liked you or anything, just her showing affection to her juniors).

The volleyball team was getting ready for the final match before the semi-finals. They had an away game with a nearby school, and Yuna, being Yuna, had overslept and missed the bus to the game. Yuna quickly bowed her head in apology, and Chaewon simply patted her head in assurance and ushered everyone to warm up.

“What took you so long?” Yeji asked, “I thought Y/N said she would drive you instead.”

"She did. But it took her half an hour to get ready because she was busy giggling at her phone like a love-sick schoolgirl.” Yuna said, exasperation in her voice.

At that, Chaeryeon, who was standing near the two girls tying her hair, let out a laugh. “Yeah, she’s been doing that pretty often. She must have a crush or something.”

“You think so?” Eunchae, one of the tallest yet youngest players, chimed in, exposing the fact that she was eavesdropping.

“That’s new; I thought she would just end up being a single woman and adopt all of the kids in the hospital.” Yeji mused, happy that her roommate is finally interested in someone. Throughout the two years she lived with you, you seemed to show zero interest in love.

“Must be nice to be liked by unnie.” Eunchae said dreamily, causing the rest of the girls around her to fake gag and give a round of protest.

“Wish it was me instead.”

“Who are you dreaming about dating?” Yunjin suddenly appeared, wrapping her hands around the tall girl. “My baby manchae is off limits until she’s 40.”

The captain had returned from a quick discussion with their coach and had gone into the locker room to usher the girls out for warm-up.

“40? Do you want me to die single?” Eunchae furrowed her brows and pouted, “And besides, we were talking about Y/N unnie’s love life, not mine.“

“Y/N? What about Y/N?” Yunjin tried to ask nonchalantly, leading the girls out of the locker room.

“She has a crush on someone.” Chaeryeon said slyly, paying close attention to Yunjin’s reaction.

The orange-haired girl kept her face composed, but in reality, her heart was beating at the thought of you liking someone, that wasn’t her. A sense of hollowness and jealousy crept into her skin.

“That’s nice. Do you know who?”

The girls shrugged, and Yunjin decided not to push anymore. The way Chaeryeon looked at her was obvious enough to blow off her cover and reveal her affection towards you, and she was not keen on letting others know.

Putting on a smile so bright that could make any of the people in the crowd swoon, Yunjin tried to push back her thoughts and jealousy, waving to the people in the stand as the team entered the court.

Cheers came from all around her, cheering her name every time she sent the ball flying at deadly speed toward her rivals. She wasn’t called the Ace of SNU for nothing. Yet, as she scanned the crowds after every point earned, she hoped you would also be there yelling her name.

“Good game.” Chaeryeon whispered in Yunjin’s ear as they gathered together in a group hug to celebrate another victory.

The crowds were wild around them, chanting their names as they celebrated their ticket to the semi-finals.

“But you better step up your other game before it’s too late, captain.” The raven-haired girl gave Yunjin a grin before sauntering off to the stands, where you were hugging Yeji in celebration.

You were wearing Chaeryeon’s spare uniform, proudly displaying the Lee on your back, while waving a self-made Yeji and Yuna flag. You looked so cute with your hair in a ponytail, with two lines of blue drawn horizontally across your cheeks to represent SNU.

At that moment, Yunjin wished nothing more than to see you wearing her uniform instead.

She better step up her game.

So…have you ever been in love before?

You were late at night studying in the school library a few days after the game when your phone buzzed, indicating a text message. It was from your mystery friend.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at their sudden question, before typing out a quick response.

No, I don’t think so. Have you?

As their text bubble indicated typing, a full minute passed before their response came through.

No.

Followed by another long pause.

But I wish I did.

Biting your lip in thought, you were unsure of what to make of this sudden confession from your friend. You were developing an attachment to them, which seemed foolish when you didn't even know what they looked like, let alone their name.

It was truly pathetic; the two people in college for whom you had feelings were the queen bee of the school, with a long line of admirers, and the other was some random faceless stranger about whom you knew everything and nothing.

What got you thinking about this? You typed back.

A girl. But she has feelings for someone else.

So your little mystery friend does have someone on their mind. You tried to push down your disappointment and the slight burn of rejection as you replied.

Have you tried telling her how you feel about her?

No, I would probably scare her off or something.

I’m sure you won’t.

It took them another five minutes before they finally responded back.

What about you? Is there anyone on your mind?

Yunjin, the fiery-haired girl, instantly came to mind. Recent interactions with her had given the impression of growing closeness. She took the time to chat with you in the student lounge, held your bag, walked you back to your dorm after study sessions, and even brought treats from the diner when her shift ended. Though it felt like more to you, the realization struck that she viewed you simply as a friend.

Yeah, this girl. But she sees me as a friend.

Yunjin's heart skipped a beat upon reading your reply. It confirmed Chaeryeon's statement – you had your eyes set on someone else. She pondered the possibilities, considering potential candidates. Was it the charming Shin Ryujin from the softball team? Perhaps someone from the hospital where you volunteered? Or could it be one of your close friends, like Chaeryeon or Yeji? The uncertainty left Yunjin feeling a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Did you tell them how you feel?

No, I would probably scare them off or something.

Despite her heartbreak, your text made her smile a bit. There you were again, teasing her by copying her sentence.

I’m sure you won’t, pretty girl.

How do you know if I’m pretty or not?

I just do.

You couldn’t help but blush at their compliment. They always managed to say something earnestly that made your heart flutter, similar to the way Yunjin always seemed to have an effect on you.

You should take this confidence and confess to the girl you like before it’s too late. What’s there to lose?

You have a valid point…

I’ll work on confessing to them before the end of the year, but only if you be my wingwoman.

Your wingwoman? How? I don’t know anything about them.

Just share with me the little things you like as advice.

Deal.

So…better start listing.

Hmm, I’d say start with flowers.

Oh, and little notes are pretty cute, too.

"The Ultimate Checklist to How to Get That Girl? Seriously?" Chaewon read over Yunjin's shoulder incredulously.

Flushing a deep red, the captain quickly slammed shut her notebook and pushed the short-haired girl away.

"Stop snooping!"

"You know you can just ask her out, right? Y/N." The shorter girl reached over to snatch the book from Yunjin, quickly scanning over the checklists.

Yunjin had managed to devise a checklist incorporating all the things you mentioned in your previous text conversations with her about your preference as her 'wingwoman’. She had compiled recommendations on what someone should do to win over someone's heart, hoping to win over yours.

"I can't. She likes someone else." Yunjin said defeatedly, her shoulders sagging.

"Who can resist the Huh Yunjin charms? I'm pretty sure everyone would love to date you." Chaewon snorted, amused by how her seemingly always confident friend was so hung up on you. This was a first.

"Not Y/N."

Although teasing her friends was in her DNA, Chaewon couldn't help but feel bad for her friend. Yunjin looked lost (kind of like a kicked puppy, but she wasn't going to say that to her face), and as co-captain of the team, it was a rule that she would need to support their captain whenever they needed help.

"Find, I'll help you." Chaewon sighed, looking at the long list and preparing herself mentally. It was going to be a long few months.

"Let me call the girls for backup."

“Another gift from your secret admirer?” Yeji teased when she saw you enter the shared dorm with a tray of hot coffee.

You had just returned from the library, preparing for your final exams, and found yet another gift waiting in front of your door.

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but your ears betrayed you by reddening. “There’s one for you.”

Yeji jumped up in excitement and went straight for the coffee, sighing contentedly as she sipped on it. “I’d just date them already.”

You had been receiving these little gifts for the past few weeks, and it was driving you crazy. Initially sweet, the mystery person never revealed themselves, making you suspicious of everyone. Additionally, you were concerned about how much they were spending on you. Although seemingly insignificant, the little gifts added up.

The first gift was a single rose and a typed note in front of your dorm room, a bit like a ransom note. The note included a cheesy pick-up line that you found endearing, despite yourself. Soon after came cute accessories, a new hair tie, and even a cute hippo plushie. Your admirer seemed to know a lot about you, even the things you lost.

They gifted you things you had listed out to your mystery friend. Could your admirer and your friend possibly be the same person?

“Oh, by the way, Yunjin and the team are coming over to discuss our strategies for the championship game, is that okay?” Yeji mentioned casually, trying to hide her grin.

Chaewon had called her earlier, letting her in on Yunjin’s huge crush on you and the plan to sweep you off your feet.

Panic filled your eyes as you looked up from your phone. You were still dressed in your "bum outfit," as Yeji would call it, consisting of old sweatpants and an oversized Nike hoodie – definitely not presentable.

“What? When?” You quickly surveyed the room, noticing a small pile of clothes and rushing to stuff them in the laundry basket.

“In about…”

Knock, knock, knock.

“Now.”

At that moment, you pulled your hair out of its messy bun and ran your fingers through it in a rush. Leave it to Yeji to embarrass you in front of Yunjin.

Before Yeji could open the door, it was slammed open, revealing a snow-covered Chaeryeon with her cheshire grin, followed by Chaewon, Lia, Yuna, and Yunjin. Your eyes met hers, and you got lost once again in her warm brown hues.

She looked particularly good today, with her fiery orange hair tucked into a gray woolen hat and dressed in a red leather jacket. She gave you a toothy smile before closing the door behind her.

“Hey, stranger, it’s been a while,” Yunjin said, pulling you into a hug, engulfing you in her sweet lavender perfume. “I missed you.”

You immediately blushed at this, still not used to her flirty nature.

“We had lunch together last Saturday.”

“Yeah, three days is way too long,” she sighed dramatically, her arms still wrapped around your shoulders. Her eyes scanned your features, as if she was trying to memorize every freckle and blemish.

“If you two are done flirting, we would like to start discussing tactics,” Chaewon said, her lips curled into a teasing smile as she saw Yunjin immediately pull her arm off of yours and turn beet red in embarrassment.

“I…” Yunjin muttered, before giving up coming up with an explanation and plopped down onto the sofa.

You busied yourself with schoolwork as the girls squeezed into the makeshift living room and focused on their strategy plan for the upcoming games. You watched them with adoration; it wasn’t often that you saw them together except for their games, and you loved how sweet their dynamic was. Chaewon was the one who kept everyone focused, Lia and Yeji were the encouraging ones, and Yunjin was the planner. She led the gameplays and tactics, ensuring everything was on track. The older girls also babied Yuna and Chaeryeon, making sure they understood everything.

You didn’t know Chaewon and Lia that well; they were Yunjin’s friends. Still, you could tell that they were just as sweet and caring as the captain was. However, you couldn’t help but think of the comment your mystery friend left in the Ice Age book whenever you looked at Lia. She did look a bit like a sloth, but the cutest one ever.

Hence, you decided to text your mystery friend.

Lia does kind of look like a sloth. But cuter.

As you sent out the text, a small buzz came from the living room.

Cuter as in your type?

No. But you did her dirty by writing her name next to Sid.

Another buzz. You furrowed your brows and looked toward the direction of the living room.

Who IS your type then?

Someone funny, I guess. Goofy but smart.

Buzz. It felt too coincidental. Your palms started sweating at the thought that you might finally discover who was behind those texts that accompanied you through long nights and motivated you.

Hmm…is there someone like that in our school?

Yeah, there is.

As soon as you sent out a text, another buzz came from the living room. At that moment, you were convinced that your friend was one of the girls in the room.

Is it the person you mentioned you liked?

You silently leaned forward on your bed to peek at the girls obscured by the sofa, lying on their stomachs in front of a strategy board. You froze at the sight of Yunjin biting her full lip and looking at her phone, engrossed in whatever she was reading. The rest of the girls were talking with each other, none of them looking at their phones.

Could it possibly be the orange-haired girl all along? The girl you've been texting about was the one receiving your texts. If they were Yunjin, then she would possibly be the one sending you your gifts.

The pounding in your heart was so loud, engulfing you in erratic thumps. You couldn’t even hear the girls talking; all you could focus on was the possibility that Yunjin was the person behind the texts.

Deciding to leap in faith just this once, you texted back.

Yes. The captain of the volleyball team, do you know her?

Another buzz followed by the screen of Yunjin’s phone was enough to prove that she was indeed the person all along. Eyes scanning through the sentence you sent to her, Yunjin’s brown eyes widened, and she immediately threw her phone to the side, covering her face with her arms. She let out a muffled scream and kicked her legs in excitement, startling the rest of the girls.

You couldn't help but laugh at her adorableness. Putting on your headphones, you pretended to be studying while trying to calm your erratic heart. Muffled shouts and laughter could be heard from the girls, probably picking on their captain.

For the first time in her life, it seemed that fate had taken favor in Yunjin. Having dedicated all of her time to school and volleyball, she never had the privilege of starting a relationship with someone. Volleyball itself took up most of her time, with her parents and her personal coach insisting on her becoming the best player in the league and eventually joining the national team of South Korea. She wasn’t unhappy with her life, but she wouldn’t call herself happy.

Sure, her friends set her up on several blind dates, but she never liked them enough to want something more. She was only interested in being the best at volleyball and being the best captain for the girls, nothing more.

That was, until, she met you.

She was enamored by you right from the start, with your shy smile and soft features. She wanted nothing more than to get to know you. After finally getting the chance to talk to you after two years, she had fallen for you, deep. All those late-night talks through text made her understand that you were more than a mere crush, more than any of the girls on those blind dates. The way you viewed the world made her want to become something more to you. She wanted to be included in your world.

Life started to mean more than just volleyball, and she noticed that you made her happy, actually happy.

She hoped that you would give her the chance to do the same for you. Now, with the revelation that the person she worried so much about you liking was her, she was beyond the moon. She just hoped you wouldn’t be disappointed that she was the one behind the texts.

It was the Saturday after the eventful day, and Yunjin was nervous. She blamed it on the finals game they had tomorrow, but in reality, it was the first time she was alone with you after knowing that you liked her.

After running to you during her lunch break from her shift at the diner two months ago, she had established a weekly routine of getting lunch with you every Saturday. The diner she worked at was near the hospital she volunteered at, so grabbing lunch together before visiting the kids was another highlight of your week.

"Did something happen?" You asked as you sat across the captain.

You had arrived at the booth a while ago, and the captain hadn’t said much but to order. She was fidgeting with the straw of her iced coffee, bending it over repeatedly as she looked at anywhere but you.

"What? No!" Yunjin’s eyes flitted to yours, before quickly looking away again.

"Nothing’s wrong."

"Then how come you’re avoiding me?" You asked, slightly pouting.

Yunjin nearly kissed you on the spot at the sight of you pouting cutely.

She had been refusing to meet your eyes because she knew that the second she did, all defenses would fall, and she would just confess her love to you. It has been like that for the last few days, ever since she knew that you liked her back; she wanted nothing more than to have you in her arms. But she hadn’t thought of a plan on how to ask you out yet; she also had to confess to you that she was the one behind the texts. This scared her, worried that you would hate her for lying to you about not knowing who you were.

"I-I’m not." Yunjin stuttered, still refusing to look at you in the eye.

Before you could reply, the waitress brought over your food. You always got the same thing, blueberry pancakes with scrambled eggs on the side, while Yunjin always had her protein lunch filled with eggs, chicken, and tofu. It didn’t really look good, but Yunjin made sure her body was in the best shape for volleyball.

Today’s meal was slightly different. The waitress had also brought in a plate with two gingerbread cookies, both with cute red buttons and frosty smiles.

"We give out gingerbread cookies to our customers every year around Christmas time," the waitress explained, her eyes twinkling mischievously, "Enjoy!"

Yunjin watched you from the corner of her eyes as you excitedly took a few photos of the cookies.

"Look Yunjinnie, they’re holding hands!"

Yunjin wished she could hold hands with you.

"This one looks more like you." You giggled, moving the plate forward to show her.

The restaurant workers seemingly did not put their heart into decoration because the one you insisted that looked like Yunjin had lopsided eyes and a way out of proportion mouth, so wide that it went higher than the eyes.

"Are you saying I look ugly?" She said, pretending to be offended.

"What? No!" You interjected, blushing a deep red and pulling back the plate to inspect the cookies. "I meant that you always have a big smile like this, meeting your eyes."

That’s because I only smile like this when I’m with you, Yunjin thought.

"Here, try one." You broke the cookies apart and raised one of the cookies towards Yunjin’s face.

"I can’t. I have to stay in shape for tomorrow's game." Yunjin was taken aback at your forwardness. She was normally the one flirting, and you were the shy one. It seems that the roles have reversed today.

"C’mon. Just one bite wouldn’t hurt." You wheedled. "Please?"

Yunjin’s eyes finally met yours. Big mistake.

Your eyes, every so bright, were staring at her pleadingly, with a hint of something that Yunjin couldn't quite put a finger on. Was it affection? Adoration?

Nevertheless, the captain immediately gave in and took a bite of the cookie in your hands. She would always do anything for you.

"It’s…It’s good." Yunjin managed to say, her gaze still locked with yours.

You let out a satisfied grin and brought the same cookie to your lips, pausing slightly before taking a bite.

Yunjin’s brain went into a full system shutdown. YOU JUST ATE THE COOKIE SHE HAD. IT WAS AN INDIRECT KISS. I REPEAT. INDIRECT KISS.

“Mhmmm… It’s so good. Tastes like Christmas.” You said, finally breaking eye contact and looking at the rest of the cookies in front of you.

“It’s almost the end of the year.” You said softly, before looking up again at the flustered girl.

End of the year.

Yunjin’s heart went into rapid speed, and her blood went cold. Could you have possibly known that she was the one texting you? How else would you know the importance of the end of the year to her? She had promised you that she would confess to her crush before the end of the year if only you would become her wingwoman.

Shaking her head slightly to push out the possibility, she tried to forget about her ‘delusions’. You didn’t know. There was no way.

Thankfully, you changed the topic to her games tomorrow, saving her from embarrassing herself.

“Will you be at the game tomorrow?” Yunjin asked as she walked you to the hospital after lunch.

“Of course.” You said, gently holding onto her arm to keep yourself from slipping on the icy roads. (Yunjin’s heart still stuttered whenever you did that).

“I never miss a game, remember?”

“Will you-Will you be cheering for me?” Yunjin asked hesitantly.

“Hmm? I always cheer for you girls, pabo.” You laughed, nudging the taller girl.

“No, I mean,” Yunjin looked at your hands clutching tightly on her arm. Deciding to brave herself for the first time today, she asked, “Will you wear my number?”

She watched as your cheeks turn pink at her words.

“I don’t know…you have quite a lot of fangirls already.” You answered, hitting both of you with déjà vu.

“But none of them are you.” The orange-haired girl stopped walking, gently pulling you around to look at her.

To say you were in deep was an understatement. You had fallen hard for the captain, in love even. Her beauty and confidence were what had drawn you to her at first, but after getting to really know her through those texts, you had started to fall in love with her. Her mind, the way she thought, and her endless patience… she was something that was too good to be true.

“What are you trying to say?” You asked, searching her eyes for any hint of hesitation. You found none, only determination and softness in those honey-brown hues.

“I’m saying…” Yunjin paused, composing herself before she stared back into your eyes, “I like you, Y/N, a lot.”

“And it would be nice if I can take you out on a date.” She continued, her eyes gleaming hopefully.

“But only if you want to.” She hastily added.

You laughed at the last sentence. She was always so considerate, worried that she would be doing something without your consent. And that was what you loved about her.

“I would love to.” You said, before standing on your tiptoes to kiss the tip of her frozen nose. Yunjin froze at the feeling of your soft lips on her skin.

“But only if you win the game tomorrow.”

Yunjin let out a sigh of relief before gently wrapping her arms around your waist, pulling you closer. All those sleepless nights dreaming of you were worth it.

“Easy.”

As the captain got ready for bed, a familiar buzz came from her phone. It was from you.

I better see your jersey in front of my door tomorrow, Huh Yunjin.

Yunjin let out a scream, scaring Lia, who was already passed out, and causing her to fall off her own bed.

"What the hell?" Lia groaned from the floor, looking up at her roommate.

"She knows it’s me. And she’s okay with it!" Yunjin said, giggling like a schoolgirl and dancing around. "She likes me back!"

Sighing, Lia slowly dragged herself up from the floor and laid horizontally back on her bed, too tired to crawl back under the covers.

"Go to bed, Yunjin."

Giggling to herself, the captain quickly texted you goodnight, receiving another sweet message from you.

As she went to turn off the lights, she looked at her roommate, sleeping with her mouth open and dressed in her greenish-grey fuzzy pajamas.

Lia did indeed look like a sloth. A cute one.

“Why does Yunjin-unnie have a sunburn?” Eunchae whispered, not so quietly.

“That’s not a sunburn, that’s the glow of love, manchae.” Yeji laughed, patting the taller girl’s head affectionately.

“Love? What?” Eunchae furrowed her brows, clearly out of the loop.

"Someone in the stands is rocking her jersey," Chaeryeon added, grinning mischievously, despite Yunjin shooting her a disapproving look as they continued warming up for the game.

“One-third of the crowd is wearing her number,” Eunchae whined, scanning the crowd again for Yunjin’s possible lover.

You waved shyly to the girls (mostly to Yunjin) as you moved to sit on the bleachers with your friends. You had found a box containing Yunjin’s jersey and a light blue bandana, along with a single rose in front of your dorm room when you woke up in the morning.

You had put on the jersey and decided to tie your hair with the silky bandana, and adding a dash of sparkling highlighter. You wanted to look your best for the captain.

Unable to resist herself, Yunjin made her way towards the railings near the bleachers, ignoring the teasing hoots coming from her members. You walked down a few levels to meet her at the other side of the railing.

“Hi,” she said cutely, her eyes sparkling in happiness as she checked you out. You looked so good in her jersey.

“Hi, Yunjinnie.”

“You look good.” She bit her lip and reached over to hold your hands in hers.

“You better win this game, Yunjin. I’m looking forward to our date.”

“Of course. I play better when I’m in a good mood.” Yunjin leaned over and pressed her lips on your forehead.

“And you make me happy.”

“Aw man...” Eunchae said sadly, watching her captain and you cuddling up together. “I wanted to date Y/N-unnie.”

“You’re too young for dating, Hong Eunchae.” The rest of the girls said in unison, before grabbing the maknae away from the scene.

It's a long one!

A bit of fluff for Christmas :)

Thoughts?

#huh yunjin #huh yunjin x reader #yunjin x reader #le sserafim #le sserafim x reader #gxg #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #wlw #kpop #kpop fic #le sserafim x you #le sserafim x y/n #fluff oneshot #fem reader #huh jennifer #wherethefireliliesgrow #long reads

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merakiui · 1 year

Text

his blueberry eyes (anagapesis in paradise).

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, death/murder of reader, obsession, codependency, emotional manipulation, psychological abuse, mentions of self-harm/suicide attempt, brief mention of pregnancy + loss of baby, vague mentions of binge-eating/disordered eating, angst, characters written as 18+ note - the color blue haunts azul. // loosely based on clingy, codependent bf azul.

the prelude - forever lost in cerulean paradise.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, surfaces from the numbing sweetness of an all-consuming slumber and finds the tops of his hands are littered with deep, dark, desperate scratches. They’re furious and distinct, standing out like pearly teeth on black tile, spotting his pale, paper-thin skin like a child’s poor attempt at proper handwriting. Carefully, he runs a trembling finger over the length of one as it travels from ring finger to the delicate bone of his wrist. A wet laugh bubbles out of him, ink-stained and heartbreakingly pained. He wipes tar-colored saliva from the edge of his mouth, smearing it, and shudders through another laugh. The sound wavers as if caught in his esophagus, pronounced choked and raw.

“Ah… I did it again.”

He sits back on his haunches, small and scared like the squishy thing he once was all those years ago, and inhales a steadying breath. His vision, once narrowed so scarily slim, widens to encapsulate the rest of the sitting room, which is cast in a cool glow from the crystalline cityscape beyond. He spies his haunted reflection in the glass, his hair mussed and matted. From sweat, most likely. It’s unsightly, his unkempt, ugly appearance, but it’s him staring back.

Looking on with those bewitching blueberry eyes.

Swallowing thickly, he pushes a swoop of silver hair out of his face and whispers, “I fell asleep…again. Right. Again. That makes it—what is it now? Four times in a week? No, not quite… I fell asleep, but then I…”

His gaze slides from the windows to the floor. Lying sprawled and stiff, amidst shattered glass and crumpled, lemon-hued tulips, is the love of his life.

“Ah, I see now.” He runs two fingers over the injuries on his hand. His nose wrinkles once and then twice. His throat is set aflame, constricting like a python coiled around its prey. Blueberry eyes sink in a rising tide, overtaken by tears spotting a weary lash line. “My world… My angelfish…”

He forces himself to stand on rubbery legs. He stumbles once, reaches for the coffee table’s reliable support like a newborn grasping their mother’s outstretched finger, and peers at a shattered portrait splayed on the floor. It’s you on your wedding day, flashing a toothy grin at the camera, while he holds you close, an arm secured around your waist. Clinging to you like you were the only buoy in a rocky sea. Planting parasitic roots by way of attraction, and you were simply too blinded by the charms of shimmering, sparkling cheer to realize. So was he in that regard—struck dumb with a too-large love, unable to handle the full capacity of what it meant to fall into a sugary-sweet romance.

It’s a happy picture, one of many, but then the memories of the many elude him at this moment. He, the brilliant, benevolent actor, struggles to differentiate the real from the fake. What is a smile if not another foggy reflection of something far sadder? What is laughter if not the sounds of a hollowed sweetheart howling joyous tunes to placate?

His fingers curl around the wooden table. It’s too familiar and, as if having touched something hot, he jerks away. Azul turns his hands over, searching for imperfections he’s already found. Slowly, he pivots to confront the body.

“My darling angelfish, please wake up. It’s not… It’s not very nice of you to play pretend. We’ve been over this.” He shakes his head and steps around the overturned vase and puddle of flower-spotted water. He lowers to your height, offering a hand you don’t take. “Please, my love. I’m sorry for scaring you. I won’t do it again. I… I’m getting better, you see. I’m doing it for us. I want to get better. I promised I would, didn’t I? Aren’t I a man of my word?”

You remain there, eyes shut in blissful permanence. Azul sucks in a breath through grit teeth. You’re always so…difficult. Sometimes. Not always. And even when you act like this, he still cherishes you. But fighting is not something he loves, and he wants this feud to end sooner rather than later.

Azul Ashengrotto hates the sharp, bitter sides to his marriage.

“I can be patient,” he says, though it’s more of a consolation than a promise. “I’ll be patient. But, really, being vindictive will get you nowhere, my dear. Haven’t we been over this?”

Still, no matter what he says, you don’t stir.

He allows silence to fill the room to a suffocating degree.

One minute passes. Then two. He drums his fingers along a newly forming bruise on his arm.

Now it’s three.

Four.

Five.

It’s too quiet without your pretty voice filling the empty room, filling the hollow in his heart, filling the gaps in his brain to snuff any other self-destructive thoughts from pushing through.

“I love you,” he whispers, less forceful this time. “And… And I’m sorry. Truly, I mean it. I’ll never put my hands on you again. Never. And I’ll go back to therapy. I won’t skip my sessions. I’ll even take my meds!” A crooked smile stretches across his lips. “I promise. I won’t lie to you. I’ll leave the cooking to you. I won’t touch sharp objects. I’ll stop hiding knives from you. I’ll be honest from now on. So please…” His voice cracks, weak and raspy. “P-Please… Please don’t ignore me…”

Azul reaches out to you, fitting his trembling hand in yours. It’s cold. He brings it to his face, kisses the top of it, and then cradles it close. His shoulders shake, wracked with silent sobs.

It’s cold.

His breath hitches.

You’re cold.

“Angelfish, please…” He sniffles. The tears are already falling in thick, salty rivulets. He’s always been an ugly crier. “Please don’t leave me. Without you I…”

His untrimmed nails dig into your palm, and a great sob shudders through his body when he presses his thumb into your wrist to check your pulse.

It’s stopped.

He scrubs his face with his free hand. A fruitless effort. The tears won’t cease.

Without you, I’m nothing.

He gathers you, stiff, cold you, in his arms and holds you like you’re a treasured childhood plushy who’s lost its stuffing. His reflection blinks back at him, blueberry eyes awash in watery tragedy.

Without you, I’m all alone.

He spies the markings on your neck and his throat closes up. He grabs your face between both hands, searching it for any indication of life. A lie, surely. You’re just pretending. You’ve always done that, putting on acts to keep him and everyone else pleased. You, the best actor, knew him better than he knows himself. Because, in spite of the loose, fraying seams, you took them, poured remnants of your heart into each tear, and stitched them up until they were better again. You’ve sewn him anew when he thought all hope was lost.

So it’s impossible. A lie, definitely.

You’re a pretender, and he’s the captivated audience member. Soon you’ll open your beautiful eyes and shout, “I got you! You should have seen the look on your face!” And the cycle will repeat itself. He’ll pretend to be okay and you’ll follow along with a sweet smile, chopping vegetables with the same knife he used to threaten his own life days prior.

You can’t fool him.

Only you do. And you have.

He peels your eyelids open. Your listless stare pierces something in his brain, wires the circuitry correctly so that Point A and Point B can connect.

With a horrified gasp, Azul drops your limp corpse. Your head smacks against the floorboards, but you don’t groan in pain. Because there isn’t any pain to be felt. Because you’re not going to wake up. Because this is the final act and the curtain has closed on your skillful pretending.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, has lost the very person who once made him feel so whole.

the first vow - to have and to hold.

“We should make a baby.”

In the first month of being newlyweds, you’d told him that. He leaned over to nudge you with his hip while you painted swirling designs on a blank kitchen wall. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

You pulled away from your canvas and grinned. “Neither am I.”

“Sooo,” he encouraged, nodding, unable to curb the glee in his curling smile. “What? Should we make one?”

“Can we?”

“This conversation feels rather circular, my dear.”

“You’re circular.” You stuck your tongue out at him and dipped your brush in a bright blue. “I’m gonna paint an entire field of cornflowers on this wall.”

Azul hesitated at the sudden change in subject, considered the meaning of a cornflower, and snorted in amusement. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “If you want a baby, just say so and I’ll give you one.” He nosed your neck, humming into your skin. Sneaky hands slipped under your loose cotton T-shirt to cradle your stomach. “I once read a statistic that claimed marriage improves the outcome of a pregnancy. Shall we see if it’s true?”

You rested your free hand over his. “If you help me paint.”

“You know I’m no good at art.”

“Anyone can be an artist.”

“Angelfish—”

You shifted in his arms and held up a clean paintbrush. “Anyone, Zul. That includes you.”

He stared at the brush, frowning. “I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

“I’ll have none of that talk.” You rested your head against his chest and peered up at him through your lashes. A pleasant smile softened your face. “I don’t want this wall to be my masterpiece. I want it to be ours.”

“Yes… Yes, I’m aware. But even so—”

“The best things come in two, don’t they? Come on. You won’t know if you’ll enjoy something until you’ve tried it.”

“But I have, dear.”

“Not with me you haven’t.”

Azul laugh-scoffed. “Stubborn,” he chided, pinching your side and shaking his head in disbelief. One hand slid out from beneath your shirt to grasp the brush. “I suppose I can try. An entire field of cornflowers won’t paint itself now, will it?” He winked.

“That’s the spirit! I think blue suits this room, don’t you?”

“I’m struggling to see your vision, darling.”

“It’s a nice color. One of my favorites. And…” You turned in his arms to press your lips to his cheek. “Blue is you.”

He was smiling; he could feel it—the tug of toothy jubilance. “Is that right?”

“It is! I thought that the moment we met. If it weren’t for your pretty eyes, I don’t think I’d have approached you.”

“Ah, right. You thought they were rather lovely, didn’t you?” His hold on you tightened as he recalled the memory. “How did you say it? ‘Sir, I just had to come up to you to compliment your eyes! They’re the nicest shade of bewitching blueberry blue I’ve ever seen.’ You said it like that, yes? And it was the first time I’d ever heard such a strangely specific compliment. Normally, most go for the outfit or the hair.”

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” you say, singing the question like a pansophical siren.

“I did. I…really did. I still do, in fact.”

Your body shook with your laughter. “Then it’s not so strange after all.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His fingers brushed your navel, a fleeting touch that turned giggles into shivers. You put your brush to the wall, but no designs bloomed. He did much the same, meeting your brush halfway, bristles dipped in friendly yellow. Only after he’d marred the wall with it did he realize his error.

You always ruin everything, he thought, resenting his clumsy ways. Everything you’ve ever touched, you ruin.

“Ooh, yellow and blue. That’s pretty. Like sunflowers and cornflowers!”

“But I… Your blue—I completely tarnished it.” He couldn’t help it; the words rushed out.

“What? No way! I like it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, it’s true. It adds something to the blue. Makes it come together, you know?”

Azul stared at the wall, his face scrunched with poorly veiled vitriol. “I fail to see how that logic tracks.”

You gathered both brushes and set them down on the countertop before turning fully in his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. We can paint over it if you want. But… Well, personally, I think we should keep it.”

“Why?” It came out hushed, a broken murmur.

“Because it’s like happiness amidst sadness.” Like the angel you’ve always been, you reached up to cradle his face between your warm, gentle hands. He melted in your hold, weak to the ways in which you often lifted him up. “Too much of anything in abnormal amounts is unhealthy, so we need happiness to balance the sadness. Plus, if this room was solely blue, I might go crazy.”

He wanted to reject your explanation, gripe and groan about how it was much too fluffy and foolish, but you were right. You have always been right with emotions, reading him well enough to pick apart his tells.

It’s your lips on his that brought him back to himself. He blinked when you separated.

“You’re not perfect. No one is. Not even me, and this wall definitely isn’t going to be perfect either. But it’ll be special because we made it. Because it’s a unique combination of us.”

Azul felt himself nodding along.

“So don’t worry. Sometimes mishaps like these are for the best. They help put things into perspective—to show us something we might not have seen before.”

“Like painting a new picture.”

“Exactly!” You squeezed his hand. “So no pity parties, got it? Not unless we’re going to throw one together and have snacks and tea.”

He exhaled shakily, reciprocating your affectionate touch. “Thank you, my love.”

You smiled so beautifully that he was compelled to enshroud you entirely and keep you with him in a cage of limbs. To ensure you’d never leave. To keep you backdropped by a work-in-progress wall forever.

And for the first two years of your new life with him, you remained in that cozy, quaint house, adding details to the wall when you could. The kitchen shaped itself nicely, embroidered in an array of blue hues, accompanied by sunny yellows and frilly whites. Every morning, you’d stand at the counter and cook, ever the early riser, and he’d drag himself in just after the sun had peaked in the sky; and together you would eat in front of that wall, tied together by the bright, beautiful wonders of young love.

Sometimes it was the yummy temptations of good food that brought you together. Other times it was each other, bodies pressed flush. Clothes wrinkling and coming off in heaps. Windows left open in the aftermath to bring in sweet spring breezes. Gathering each other and sitting in the bath, giggling about something silly. More kissing and touching; playful squeezing while washing the other. If Azul’s life had been a tragedy before, then this was certainly something far better. A new chapter in a new book with crisp, unturned pages, each one ripe and ready to receive love in loads.

You fell pregnant just as the changing winds ushered summer in, and suddenly that storybook blossomed considerably, pages stained with all things good. He had pinched himself before just to ensure this wasn’t a delusion or a dream, and finding that it was neither proved that there was indeed tenderness in his world. It was destiny that you two would meet by pure chance, fall for the other’s quirks and charms, and agree to a whirlwind marriage, so swept up in the authenticity of redamancy.

Azul thought his life couldn’t get any sweeter. A perfect wife, a perfect job, a perfect house, a perfect paradise built for two. It was a future he’d only ever fantasized about, an illusion he imagined to be forever out of his reach. But he had attained it, miraculously grasped it with both hands, and from here it would only be days and days of wonder and whimsy.

Thirty-one weeks into a perfect, pretty pregnancy, you fell again. Down the stairs, crumpled in a heap of limbs and broken promises. He stood at the top of the stairs, his chest heaving with the remnants of some animalistic emotion. You shattered like porcelain, a marionette cut free from her strings. The baby fell with you.

Then came the darkness: creeping, encroaching, all-consuming.

Then came the lies.

Then came the obsession with omniscience.

And all throughout it, you’d continue to imprison yourself in his eyes.

the second vow - to love and to cherish.

“You shouldn’t work so much.”

By the fourth year, he had told you that.

You looked up from your plate, which you’d spent most of dinner pushing the food around rather than actually eating. Meals carried out in this fashion, a cyclical routine you dreaded. Ever since he’d purchased a penthouse suite and moved you to the city, abandoning the life you had built in the tiny, two-story house with its friendly neighborhood of faces, your world became the sky: sad and cloudy. Always rainy. It was empty up there, and the luxuries he provided did nothing to fill the holes in your shattering heart.

You couldn’t paint any walls here, for they had already been colored in boring monochromes.

“But I like the coffee shop. Everyone’s really nice to me, and the hours are reasonable. I’m paid well, too.”

“It’s minimum wage, (Name).”

“Still…”

“I make enough to support the both of us.”

And it was true. He’d just opened the first branch of the Mostro franchise, an elegant, high-end eatery stuck right in the heart of the city. Money has never been an issue, not when he was so determined to see each of his dreams through to the very end. You were dragged along through the wild currents of those ambitions. Simple luxuries were no longer sleeping in on weekends or watching the sun rise and set in the garden. Now it was extreme excess and opulence, devouring you with designer brands.

“I’d rather not be home all day. It’s lonely.”

“Jade or Floyd can provide company should you need it.”

You stared at him, your mouth agape. “I don’t need babysitters. I’m an adult, Azul.”

“They wouldn’t babysit—” He sighed, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re welcome to accompany me to the office instead.”

“But I like my job. I like talking to customers and taking orders and making drinks. If I quit, I wouldn’t have anything else.”

“That’s not true. You’d have me.”

“The regulars would miss me. So would my coworkers.”

“Darling… Angelfish, I don’t quite care for them and I don’t think they care for you either. At the end of the day, all of you are working a dead-end job, putting up with nonsense from rude, impatient customers who never bother to tip despite having full pockets. You’re not working.” Azul smiled, his blueberry eyes ripe with a strange sort of light. “You’re surviving, and that’s not a quality of life you should shackle yourself to.”

You pushed food around on your plate, unconvinced. “I just don’t feel right about lazing around and doing nothing. It’s not very fair if you’re the one doing everything while I just sit back and reap the benefits.”

“Why not? I hardly mind. Besides, I enjoy spoiling you. You deserve this and so much more.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “If I could, I’d package the world in a little box and give it to you, my dear.”

“We had that once and you broke it.”

His body stiffened, eyes flicking to your mouth. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He’s never been able to—not since that day. Neither of you can figure out whether it was intentional or an accident, or maybe it was something more: an intentional accident.

“P-Pardon?”

“I had the world and you broke it.” You set your fork and knife on your plate, perfectly vertical in accordance with proper etiquette. “Back at the old house.”

“Darling, you know we couldn’t stay… We were due for a change of scenery.”

Furiously, you opened your mouth, tears springing forth, but no words came. Instead, you clamped your jaw and stood from your chair, turning away from the table in a hurry.

“(Name), sweetheart, please wait!” He stood as well, nearly stumbling over himself as he moved to intercept you. “My love, you know I never meant for that to happen. If I could, I’d go back and I’d fix everything so that we’d never have to experience such sorrow again.”

He reached for your hands, but you slapped them away and took a grand step back. “You knew we were at the top of the stairs. You knew, Azul. You knew it was wrong because you moved me away so no one could question it!”

His face contorted with offense, nose scrunching as if he had just smelled something foul. “I did not.”

“You did! You pushed me down those stairs and you watched me. Watched me cry and groan because it hurt and the baby was hurt. You watched and you waited because you knew.”

“I did not!” he said, louder this time, his face blue with rising frustration. “I was in shock, (Name). You can’t possibly expect me to jump into action when I was frozen stiff and horrified. And it was an accident. We’ve been over this before. I’ve apologized numerous times.”

“Sorry, but words aren’t gonna fix anything. See? I’ve said it and nothing’s changed. It’s not words that fix broken things, Azul. It’s action.”

You stomped out of the room in a huff, blinded with tears and rage. You weren’t sure if you were more frustrated with the circumstances or Azul himself, but it might have been the latter when he pursued, insistent like the worst kind of thorn. One that’s wedged itself so deep you couldn’t possibly pluck it free with your fingertips.

You’re not sure tweezers would work either, for the hold he has on you was and still is a nasty vise.

“I… (Name), love, darling, I’ll do better. I’m trying.”

Though he made these claims, he expressed them rather pathetically—his arms outstretched, palms up, as if to show you he was no longer a threat to your mental and physical well-being. His face was in poor shape; he was blue all over, flushed from the rush of emotions, his eyes much too small. He looked almost deranged in a desperate, animalistic way. As if someone was cutting him into meticulous slivers with a precision so painful it would leave him to bleed out for hours.

You inhaled a deep, shaky breath, freezing the red-hot anger for a moment. I have to be the bigger, better person. Fighting isn’t going to accomplish anything.

“Look, if you want to make a conscious effort to be better I’m all here for it. But you have to actually try, Azul.”

“I am—I… I will!”

“I’m serious.”

“As am I.”

“Then please let me do things for myself. Marriage is about fairness. It’s you and me. We have to work together. And if that’s you supporting us with your business and me working part-time for extra cash, then let it be that way. That’s togetherness, not forcing the twins to babysit me like I’m senile or convincing me to quit a job I enjoy doing. Money shouldn’t matter if we’re both making it and we both trust each other to be responsible about it. So, while I appreciate surprise purchases, I’d much rather we do things together like before. That’s more meaningful and priceless to me than materialistic ploys meant to win me over.”

He swallowed thickly. Blue bled into the rest of his scleras. You watched him gradually inflate with relief. “I… I understand. I’m sorry. Truly, I am…”

“Stop telling me that. Show me. Please. And mean it.” You held your hands out. Hesitating, he fidgeted on his feet before gingerly placing his palms in yours. They were ice-cold. “Every relationship has its faults. Ours is no different. I’m forgiving you for the past, but I’m not going to forget and I’m not giving you a free pass either. I want to trust you, Zul, and I want you to trust me.”

“I do…” he began, only to curb himself. “I… Well, you know I worry. I know you have good friends, but when you’re out so late… O-Or when you don’t text me back… I’m always worrying.”

“Don’t.” You smiled and squeezed his hands. “I can take care of myself.”

His face darkened at that, a slew of stormy emotions brewing behind blue eyes. “Still.”

“I don’t worry about you when you’re at work or flying out for business trips. I trust that you’ll be okay because you know what you’re doing.”

“That’s different… That’s—”

“I’m happy that you care so much, but I promise I’m always safe when I’m out. You know this.”

“Yes. But… Well…” He sighed and shook his head. “At the very least, please let one of the twins drive you to and from your destinations.”

You fixed your lips into a moue. “Azul.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning softly. “Yes, I know how that sounds. I know.”

“I’m not asking you to change overnight. No one can. It takes time. Everything does. I understand that you worry, but I’ve proven to you more than once that I’m plenty capable on my own.”

“All right.” His eyes flicked open at that, and without warning he tugged you into his chest. The embrace was constrictive with an alarming tightness that seemed to mean: I can’t lose you, so I’ll never let go. He buried his face in your hair, clinging to you out of sheer need. “All right. From now on, let’s be together.”

You nodded, slow to reciprocate. “No more gloomy dinners?”

He shook with awkward laughter. “No more gloomy dinners.”

You thought you had it under control. You thought you could reel him in and sculpt him from the shards—take all of the hateful, broken parts he harbored and glue them whole. You thought it’d be safer to organize his medication with encouraging notes each morning in hopes that he wouldn’t neglect it. You thought you’d ease into discussions with a gentle approach, if only to avoid stoking the flames of something monstrous. If only to ensure neither of you would scream at each other until your voices were spent.

You thought you were making progress when he showed you all of the secret spaces in the penthouse, admitting to squirreling things away out of weakness, out of greed, out of some tangle of complicated feelings. The majority of his stash was comfort foods, each one more unhealthy than the last, accompanied with a tiny notebook he’d used to scribble calorie counts. The pages were brittle and stained when you flipped through them; he had been crying each time he documented the amounts. Pieces were beginning to fit themselves together. On days when he surpassed his recommended calorie intake, he hardly indulged in dinner, preferring to pick at his plate. Instead, he would feast on empty conversations with you and those would be enough to sustain him.

Throughout all of this, Azul kept his gaze firmly glued to the floor and tore at the skin near his nails. The tips of his ears were flushed blue with humiliation.

“I hate eating,” he muttered, tapping his foot in quick, anxious rhythms. “I hate it so much.”

“Azul,” you said, soft like linen, “do you really mean that?”

His eyes found yours, glossy and defeated. “I… I…” He shook his head, the truth spilling free like paint dripping from a slain canvas. His arms, trembling and twitching, rose to his face. “No, I don’t,” he wailed into his hands, the sound echoing in the hall. “I really, really don’t.”

You shut the diary. It’s because you love food so much that you hate it, you thought, pitying him and the self-deprecating notes he’d scribbled alongside columns of calculations. Because when you eat, you don’t want to stop. Because if you aren’t thinking about numbers, you enjoy it. It makes you happy. And you restrict yourself and this happiness because it hurts to have any more than the bare minimum. Because the bare minimum also hurts, but it feels better when you have less in your stomach so you can eat the rest in secret.

“Let’s start small,” you offered, placing your hand on his arm. He lowered it to reveal a snotty, teary face, blueberry eyes darting to and fro. “Let’s plan our meals together. If we know what we’re eating in advance, we can avoid falling into bad habits. And meal plans are a good way to budget.”

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he sniffled. “I’m…not opposed to the idea.”

You had it under control.

But then the knives would go missing, later turning up when it was most convenient. When he needed a clever way to get you to stay.

You had it under control.

But then you would forsake plans with friends and family in order to help him through another spiral.

You had it under control.

But then it felt like he was breaking himself into pieces nearly every day, at every hour, over the smallest of inconveniences. Working a minute too late. Eating dinner before he could get home to join you at the table. Going out on your own without supervision from Jade or Floyd.

You had it under control.

But then his shadow was stretching too far and too wide, swallowing you in a portrait of possession.

You had it under control.

But then that was at the cost of your sanity.

the third vow - till death do us part.

“Hypothetically speaking, if I were to die tomorrow, would you grieve me forever? Or would you simply get over it and remarry?”

By the sixth year, just a few hours ago, he’d asked you that.

You looked up at him from the notebook in your lap, where you’d been aimlessly scribbling in circles. The lines overlapped, ink blotting together in manic patterns. Originally, you were going to write a grocery list. But now all you had were jagged lines and not-quite-right geometry.

As if you had rehearsed it prior, you answered smoothly, albeit with an edge to your voice, “But you’re not going to die tomorrow.”

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

Azul slumped back against the sofa and pulled his knees into his chest. “Maybe not. I have a clean bill of health.”

Not mentally, you thought, morbidly wry.

“You shouldn’t sound so disappointed. It’s good to be healthy.”

“You won’t care for me as much if I’m healthy,” he mumbled, gazing out the window at the sparkling cityscape with those dull, dreary blueberry eyes of his. “I wish I was sick. Then I could take a week off from work and just…exist.”

You frowned at him from where you sat opposite in a comfortable chair. It was the only piece of furniture he took from the old house. For sentimental reasons, of course. Sometimes you thought it still smelled like home, even if the scent of home was so warped and far-off now.

“You’re the boss, aren’t you? If you need to rest, take some time off and recuperate.”

“I want to, but my schedule can’t afford any interruptions. Not now.”

“Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I’m not.”

The conversation flatlined, only to soon breathe again when he suddenly added, “We should go on a trip.”

“A trip?”

“New scenery would do us a world of good.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Where should we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere is too broad. Plus, we’d have to plan it in advance. Make sure everything’s covered. Expenses and whatnot.”

Azul’s expression soured. “Ah. Right.” He hummed his contemplation, drumming his fingers along the sofa’s armrest. “We could go somewhere nearby. Hospital food sounds good.”

You speared him with a sharp, stern look. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not!”

You set your notebook and pen on the coffee table, aware of his powdery hues tracking your every move. “Azul?”

“Mhm?”

Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Relentless, the sound skyrocketed into your eardrums and joined in chorus with rushing blood. But you had to tell him. You had to broach this subject. It had been gathering dust and cobwebs, aged by many tiresome years. You couldn’t do this anymore.

“Azul, I think—” You swallowed hard, your fingers curling up into tight fists. “I think we… I think we should get a divorce.”

His head snapped up from where it had previously rested on his knees. He stared at you for a long, silent time.

And then, sucking in a breath, he asked in a fragile, breathless whisper: “What?”

“Um… I… We…” Your chest heaved with your exhalation. “We’re not happy.”

“We are.” He blinked at you, owlish and unwilling to look past the gilded lie. Unable to stop playing pretend. “We’ve always been.”

“No… No, we haven’t. Azul, it’s—really, it’s so exhausting. I’m so tired.”

“Then let’s sleep.” He lowered his feet onto the floor, intending to stand.

“Mentally, Azul. I… Fuck, I’m so tired. I really can’t do this anymore.”

Color seeped from his eyes. His pupils widened and shrunk, and then a wobbly smile overtook his gaunt features. “Angelfish, that’s not a very pleasant joke…”

You could only offer him your most forlorn look, finally defeated after six years. Six years of pushing a stone up a hill, never to advance and never to succeed. This conversation was well overdue.

Azul rose to his feet, his apparent horror dawning. It molded his features into something wrong and fearsome. Something panicked and cornered. “Darling, you’re not serious about this, right? You… We’re just going through a bit of a rough patch, but we’re okay. I’m okay. Yesterday’s session went so well. I’m getting better. I… I’ve done all of this for you—for us! So we don’t need to do anything rash. We don’t need to get divorced. We just need to—”

“You’re not okay. Azul, I’ve tried so hard. I really have. I’ve done everything, but I just can’t keep exhausting the same tricks.” You heaved a dry, tearless sob. “I can’t keep doing this anymore. I want to go back to work, but I can’t because I never know if you’ll be okay on your own. I want to trust you, but I can’t. We’re not communicating. We’re just—we’re playing the same delusional game and it’s getting us nowhere. You and I both know we’re not working. We stopped working the day you pushed me down those stairs.”

He froze, his lip quivering. “Darling, please… Please don’t say that. You don’t mean that.”

“I want you to get better—genuinely get better—but I’m not the help you need.”

“That’s not true. You’re all I need—all I’ve ever needed. With you here, I’m whole. I’m happy. What was it you told me? That marriage is togetherness? That it’s you and me? So as long as we’re together—no matter what may come between us—we’ll always be happy. We have our disagreements, yes, but every relationship is like that. It’s normal, my dear. So please don’t say those things. I am better, and I’ll continue to be better until my final breath.”

“Azul, you’re not listening.” Now you were standing from your chair. “Togetherness is not this. This—” you gestured to yourself, to the way your clothes hung from your body, a size too large, before pointing at him— “isn’t healthy. We’re not healthy. Every day I’m with you is hell. I need a break as much as you do. We can’t keep doing this. Let’s save ourselves the insanity and misery, and let’s be sensible adults. A divorce is the only—”

“You’re wrong.”

The rest of your tirade stuck in your throat. “W-What?”

“Divorce is an expensive, lengthy process.” Azul stepped around the coffee table, his stare blank and haunted. Twin pools of the darkest ocean bored into your skull. “I can easily afford it, but it’s a price I’m not willing to pay.”

Despite what little confidence you had before, it’s all but diminished now. You shrunk away from him. “A-Azul, calm down. You… You’re scaring me.”

“Well, that’s nothing new now, is it?”

“Azul—”

“You want sensible adults? Very well. Let’s have an actual discussion instead of picking each other apart like this.” He peered down at you from where he stood, his head angled in such a way that his acknowledgement of you appeared contemptuous. “So sit back down in your chair and talk like a sensible, mature adult.”

Opening your mouth, you intended to respond. But the words wouldn’t come. They were lodged in your throat, coagulating with raw, rich fear.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

I can’t say anything, you thought, your body petrifying with every passing second. I’m scared…

“If you put just a little more thought into your brainless idea, you’ll find it’s quite…lacking. Divorce ruins our togetherness, splits us apart and condemns us to two different worlds. And if I’m no longer able to cross into your world—if you forbid it and leave my world—I’ll truly die. I refuse to let that happen. So, no, darling, we won’t be getting a divorce. I won’t agree to it.”

Perhaps it was the hopelessness in your heart that forced fresh tears from your ducts, or maybe it was the final straw in your weakening defenses, but the words came bursting out in a hurry.

“I don’t care anymore! I want you to die!”

You slapped your hands over your mouth. Azul stared at you, stupefied.

“I… I want to be rid of you,” you continued, your words muffled and distraught. “I’ve always thought… Always hoped you might just disappear one day and I’d finally know peace… Please, Azul. Let’s end this. I don’t want to be stuck in this cycle. I don’t even love you anymore. I’m just…done.”

“You don’t mean that…” He made a strange sound, a hybrid between a gasp and a laugh. “Y-You’re just saying that. You still love me. You don’t actually want me gone. You love me… R-Right? Please say you do. Please, angelfish. My love… Please…”

“You’re not well, Azul. I think… I think this is for the best.” You turned away from him. “I’m going to stay in a hotel tonight. Please take some time to calm down and then we’ll talk more in the morning. I… I’m sorry. I really do want you to get help, but I can’t be around you any longer than I already have. It’s draining. You’re draining.”

You took one step further and something inside him splintered.

His power was cut, a line between consciousness and reality severed.

You did not love him. You wanted a divorce. You did not love him. You wanted a divorce.

Did not love him. Divorce. Did not love him. Divorce.

Did not love did not love did not love did not love not love not love not love.

Divorce divorce divorce divorce divorce.

Not love not love not love.

All alone.

Alone like before.

Back to the disgusting creature he once was.

You were walking away, your back turned on him.

He was going to lose his world. It was slipping through his fingers, fleeting and frail.

He couldn’t lose his world, for it’s all he’s ever had.

Azul lunged, seizing your wrist and dragging you down.

Your scream was cut short when his hands clung to your throat.

From then on, everything was a blur.

Two blueberry eyes swallowed you whole, entrapping you in cerulean paradise.

the epilogue - there will never be two without you.

“They used to call me all manner of cruel things when I was a child,” Azul admits to the desolate quiet of his penthouse suite. “I was ridiculed every day. I couldn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. Isn’t that just terrible?” He leans against the sofa and exhales slowly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But then you told me I was pretty and suddenly the mirrors blinked back at me. Suddenly the world looked just a little wider and…brighter. So bright! The sea swallows so much color, my dear, and so you’ll never know just how vibrant the surface is to us merfolk.”

He deflates with a wet, wheezing laugh. “No one’s ever told me I was pretty. No one’s ever loved me. Not in the way that you did.” Sighing, he runs a hand down his face. Tears track his cheeks; his blueberry eyes exist in a field of splotchy red. “You were such an angel. To love a filthy, hideous thing like me… Only an angel could do that. Only an angel could look beyond every flaw of mine and love so gently.”

Azul lowers his arm and peers at the knife clutched tightly in his other hand. “I never deserved you. I’ve treated you so horribly. I—” He chokes on a rising sob and shakily lifts the blade to his wrist. It presses against his skin for a moment before he’s yanking it away.

“Fuck,” he spits, his voice trembling. “I… I can’t do it.”

You’re a coward, his inner critic berates. A cowardly, clumsy fool of an octopus.

Gritting his teeth, he steels himself and tries again. The blade digs deeper into his flesh, enough to draw the tiniest pinprick of blood. Pain flashes through his nerves, prey instincts firing off commands. He attempts to push past the curtain veiling his thoughts—Stop before you hurt yourself! Stop before you kill yourself!—but then he spies the blue rising to the surface, pooling under the blade, and he retreats immediately. Horrified, he discards the knife at once. It soars across the room in an imperfect arc before settling on the floor with a clatter, just inches from your body.

“Fuck,” he whispers, closing his hand around his wrist to halt the bleeding. “Fuck. Fuck!”

I really can’t bring myself to do it…

He throws his head back against the cushions, eyeing the ceiling. “I’ve done such an unforgivable thing to you and yet I… I can’t do it to myself. I just can’t.” He shuts his eyes, inhales deeply, and opens them again. “I so selfishly took your life, but I’m clinging to mine like a spineless loser.”

Azul lowers himself onto the floor, curling into a fetal position. He grips his wrist in a tighter hold. His glasses are somewhere in the room, likely cracked or worse. He can’t be bothered to seek them out.

“Did you ever believe in soulmates? Ah, what am I saying? Stupid… But I truly think we were soulmates. Perhaps not in this lifetime. But somewhere on a distant horizon…” He smiles dreamily, pressing his cheek against the cool floorboards. “I wonder if we’ll ever meet again. It’s a matter of luck and fate. Sea Witch below, I hate those odds.” Another noisy sob bubbles up in his throat. He shakes with the force of it, his throat raw and ruined. Another onslaught of tears pours from his eyes. “I was r-really happy that day you approached me. I was so happy… More… More happy than you’ll ever know. Thank you for looking at me and seeing me and opening your heart to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t cherish you more than this.”

He forces himself up onto his arms and then, as if just learning how to walk again, rises to his feet on wobbling legs to cross the slim distance to arrive at your body. Like a sinner on trial, he drops to his knees and gathers you in his arms as if you are his Madonna della Pietà.

“Without you, there is no world,” he murmurs, holding you close for a moment longer before lowering you to the floor. His tears dot your cheeks like somber rainfall. He reaches for the knife next, his mind made up. “Thank you for loving me. Sincerely. Truly. You’re the only one I’ll ever love. For that, I’m grateful. Because of you, I was able to know the taste of romance. And…” He hiccups through his bawling. “And it’s so very sweet.”

Blue blood spatters the floor, spilling from a messy gash in his abdomen. The knife is sharper than he thought.

Azul flops onto his stomach beside you, reaching out to run his fingers over your cheek. He inhales a weary breath and agony fills his lungs.

The world is dyed a brilliant, burdensome blue.

Azul Ashengrotto wakes in captivity. Bandaged, dressed in a plain gown, and cuffed to the bed, he is alive.

He moves his wrist, each of his senses filtering in at once. His other arm is turned over and pierced with an IV. Groggily, he lifts his gaze to the machines humming around him. Blue blood sits heavy in a bag, and he watches the liquid travel down, down, down through the tube. He blinks. His eyes are crusty. Has he been crying?

Assessing the handcuff once more, he turns up empty.

Why is he here?

Why does it hurt to move?

Why are there so many bandages around his stomach?

Most of all, where is his world?

What is this place?

It’s a hospital, yes, but why is he here? He has a clean bill of health.

Where is his world?

It’s when he starts actively struggling against the restraint, his breath coming in terrified huffs, that the nurses file in to tend to him. They check his vitals, run some harmless tests, ask him a few questions—it’s a lot all at once. He goes through the process as if stuck in sludge.

“My… My wife,” he croaks, unable to think of anything else. His heart tightens in his chest. “Where is she? What happened? Is she okay?”

Nervously, the nurses skirt around his questions until, eventually, he loses patience and tries to tear himself free from the bed that confines him.

“Where is she?!” he’s screaming, thrashing on the bed like he’s Frankenstein’s monster—a haunted reanimation shocked with electricity. “Answer me! Where is she?! She has to be here. Please… Please tell me she’s safe. I need to see her—need her here right now.”

They hurry out just as he curses at them.

“You can’t keep her away from me! She’s my wife—mine! If you lay a hand on her—”

A new face appears in the doorway; it’s a man dressed in striking attire. A police officer. Azul stares at him, his nostrils flaring wildly. For a short beat, they simply watch one another. Eventually, the officer nods towards a chair.

“May I?”

“What do you want?” He narrows his blueberry eyes, immediately suspicious.

“I’m here to have a chat with you. It’s about your wife. Is that okay?”

At the mention of you, Azul’s thoughts stall out. “Do you know where she is? Is… Is everything okay?”

The officer lowers into the chair and casually crosses one leg over the other. Casual in the friendly sense, Azul realizes. He really doesn’t like this man. Any longer here and he’ll start trying to build rapport.

“We’ll get there in a second. First, I’d like to introduce myself.” He goes through the motions; Azul is only half-listening, replying when it’s beneficial.

(Name). She’s safe, right? She must be. She has to be. Everything’s okay.

(Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name).

Where are you? Do you realize how worried I am? Oh, this must be my fault. I did something foolish again.

I must have tried to hurt myself. Angelfish, please wait for me. I’ll be okay. You’re safe and so am I.

Safe. Yes. Right. Safe. Safe. Safe.

Safe… Right?

Right.

Right?

“Had your friends not called in, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

That brings Azul back to the world. He blinks at the officer, one eye at a time. “What?”

“You were on the verge of bleeding out.”

“Friends?” He’s slow on the uptake. “Jade and Floyd?”

The officer nods. Silence fills the space. Azul wonders when he’s going to open his mouth again.

“What about them?” he asks instead.

The officer frowns. “Do you not recall anything?”

Azul thinks long and hard about this. “I… I was having a discussion with my wife. It was something about a trip. No, not that. Um… Something…important. Something else, perhaps?” He shakes his head, unable to turn up anything useful. “I haven’t a clue. Why? Is something the matter? Where’s my wife?”

Silence is his only reply.

Somehow that tells him everything and nothing all at once.

Somehow he suspects it. His body knows. His fingers twitch with phantom spasms, curling inwards to cut off airflow. The puzzle is scrambled and the image is fuzzy, but he knows.

He knows because he’s already crying, and there’s only ever been one thing that can bring out the inner crybaby he despises so.

It’s always been you.

Azul Ashengrotto is the sole speck of blue in this white hospital room.

And he certainly feels it.

He’s right back where he began: alone and clumsy, an octopus out of water, viewing the cramped, compact, colorless world with his bewitching blueberry hues.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: self harm #tw: suicide

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nztsume · 26 days

Text

• waiting for the big twenty-five •

homelander x you

{“Only one more year till the big 25. Aren’t you excited?”

This piqued at his curiosity. “What’s the big 25?”

Even if you’re just kind of a glorified baby-sitter, you just want to see him happy - instead, you accidentally make him worse.

read on ao3

------

Hi yall!!! The voices won and I finally ended up starting to write the young homelander fic of my dreams where we find out how he ended up being the deranged insecure insane man we know and love!!

In this one, you're Madelyn Stilwell's niece who works at Vought- and have striken an unexpected soft spot for the company’s latest investment- this insecure, shy but sweet young hero called Homelander.

Enjoy!

• 1 •

July, 2005

Every single day, at exactly 5.30 a.m., Homelander was to be awoken by the smell of coffee on his kitchen table. The coffee had to be fresh, beans grinded that same morning, no sugar, no milk, no exceptions. To accompany it, he was to have his pills: two of creatin– for muscle growth, three of protein- to feed them, a weight gainer– so he would stop being so lanky, and an extra dose of vitamin D, to fight those pesky pimples guys his age still got sometimes. All of them should be in a small container, so he could swallow them at once with his first gulp.

Next to his coffee and his pills, he was to have a folder with any relevant document for the day- interviewer’s questions and the answers he was to give, profiles of important people he would meet, scripts for any ad he was to film. All of that, including his schedule for the day- except that was to be read to him by you. This is how Maddie had told you it had to be done, and how you’d done it since day one.

You looked at your wrist watch, holding his coffee on your hand- piping hot, just how you knew he liked it- and you yawned, watching the thinnest clock hand go round it, as the last minute before you could walk into his apartment went by.

Finally, it was 5.25, and you could already walk in- so you did.

You weren’t exactly his maid- he had several of those, but none of them were to do anything to his apartment whenever he was around. He wasn’t to have much contact with the normal civilians, the normies- as Maddie called them. You preferred to reserve your opinions at that- your aunt had changed a lot since she had started working here.

What you were was Maddie’s secretary- and Maddie was Mr. Edgar’s secretary- or something. There was a fancier title for that, but you couldn’t recall it. All you knew was that she was aiming for vice-CEO or something, as it was the only thing she talked about whenever she dragged you to a bar after office hours, and insisted on drinking glass after glass of whisky.

As you finished setting things up, you appreciated the result- his cup of coffee, his pills, his documents and ah, a special surprise. One big, obscene chocolate cupcake, the kind where the chocolate topping is so rich that it spills and drips all over, with one beautiful strawberry on top, and next to it, one single candle. You weren’t sure if chocolate was his favorite, but you knew he had a bit of a sweet tooth- so he’d appreciate it, at least some.

Finally, you took out your red lighter and lit the candle- and less than twenty seconds later, you looked up- and there he was.

"Good morning, John.”, you put the lighter back on your blazer’s pocket, smiling at him.

He blinked- eyes still not fully alert, as he scratched them. They were boring holes into the chocolate cupcake, and you couldn’t help to smirk a little- you knew he’d be interested in it.

“Is that for me?”, he asked, surprised, almost like a child- and you laughed. Ever since you’d met him, about five or six months ago now, you’d felt like he was younger than his actual age- there was something about the way he stood in the middle of his own massive penthouse, like a kid lost in a big, elegant furniture showroom. Alone, quiet and shy, even when wearing his own super suit. It didn’t help that it was actually way too big for one person, with its tall, tall roofs, marble everything and sleek furniture- much less for an overworked twenty-something with no time for a social life.

“Of course.”, you assured him. “It’s your birthday after all, right? Happy 24th!”

He pressed his lips awkwardly, trying to contain a smile- but that didn’t work, as he let out a laugh, and finally came to the kitchen island, almost a skip on his step. You couldn’t help to be glad- finally this kid was getting some happiness in him.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome.”, you said, sarcastically, as he went to town on the cupcake, taking big bites out of it. He stopped for a second mid-bite, mouth full of chocolate, to look at you with a smile- and there was a gleeful glint in his eyes. Actually, that was enough of a thank for you. Anything that made that perpetual sadness that he always seemed to hold go away, even for just a few minutes, was worth it. You laughed at him. “Okay- just go for it. But don’t forget your pills!”

“I can’t believe it- this tastes so good!”, he finally said, after taking another bite- in less than thirty seconds he had eaten half of it. Unbelievable! “Best birthday gift ever!”

“Oh- shush.”, you crossed your arms, leaning back against the counter, watching him take a big gulp of coffee. “Just wait until you see what Maddie has gotten you- it’ll blow your mind.”

“I don’t think it’ll be better than having chocolate as breakfast.”- he set the last bite of the cupcake aside, finally taking the pill container, and eyeing them with disgust. You sighed- perhaps if they let the kid eat his breakfast he wouldn’t need those nasty pills- it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to burn it off in the training center literally thirty minutes later. You didn’t know much about supe genetics, but they couldn’t be too different from normal people’s, right?

You yawned again, this time covering your mouth to the side, as you let him have the rest of the cupcake and his coffee. You liked to give him some minutes of silence so he could enjoy it properly- you knew that that’s how you liked it when you had yours.

This morning in particular, you just wished you had gotten to drink your coffee alone- but your fiance was just arriving from a shift at the E.R., and you had to deal with his graphic description of a dick that had been cut in half by a broken wine glass. You were still trying to forget about it. At least you lived close enough to Vought- just a ten minute subway trip away - so you didn’t have to wake up much earlier than that. It was just lucky you knew how to do your make-up on the move, another time-saving skill you’d learnt in your college years.

You heard him drinking the last of his coffee- doing that big slurp noise he always did, and you finally decided to take the document with his schedule- ready to tell him about his day.

He was tired -he always was, but today he seemed particularly so, even behind the hint of a smile the cupcake had left him with. You could tell by his posture under those cheesy button up burgundy silk pajamas, shoulders too slumped, hips rested against the counter. You weren’t surprised- according to Maddie, ever since they’d debuted him close to two years ago to the public, he’d been worked non-stop. It was only time until he broke, you thought- but you could never say it to her. Your aunt had always been too good at pushing people further than they could reach, and too good at seeing only ahead of her; John was just another one of her subjects.

“Alright”, you finally said, seeing the subtle move of his shoulders straightening at your voice, “Ready to hear about your day, birthday boy?”

He groaned in response, the hint of his smile completely being wiped away, “I guess…”

You pressed a smile for him, but mentally frowned reading over his schedule- he was packed, of course. “What’s that? Not excited about being 24?”, they’d even put an interview right after his birthday celebration- his 1 hour long birthday celebration. They as in Maddie and Mr. Edgar. “Only one more year till the big 25. Aren’t you excited?”

This piqued at his curiosity. “What’s the big 25?”

“It’s when your brain finishes developing.”, you replied, remembering the information from back in the day, when you were still trying to get your Psychology’s degree. “Your frontal cortex- the one in charge of your personality and all- it stops growing at around 25 years old. So you get only one more year of acting like a dumbass without people holding it against you.”, you added that last one joke to make him laugh- it worked. He wasn’t used to people throwing curse words around him. “Congrats!”

“Just one more year, huh?”, he said, more seriously than you expected. “That’s kind of sad.”

“No way- it’s great.” you shook your head, “After 25… it’s like your brain rewires. You’re not embarrassed anymore, you get some self-esteem back from when you were a kid.”, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, remembering how stupidly shy you were back when you were his age. It wasn’t that long ago, really, just four years- but it felt like another lifetime, somehow. “10 out of 10, if you ask me. Anyway–”, you gave one more sigh, before turning your attention back to him, “Let me tell you about your day. So- it officially starts at 9.10 where you- oh. I didn’t know this. You’re getting a new suit!”

His eyebrows rose, “I thought that wasn’t until September.”

“Hmm, maybe they wanted to launch it at today’s park inauguration for your birthday- which is at around 11.30, by the way. So you get your suit fitted and all, then it’s an one hour drive, and then the inauguration. After that, lunch, and after…”, she frowned. “You have to have tea with- with Margaret Pataki and her friends ...?” , no way they were making the kid spend his birthday with a bunch of rich old ladies that wanted to get in his pants. You couldn’t believe Maddie. What in the world could have they offered your aunt to get the privilege of The Homelander’ s time on his birthday? Unbelievable. You huffed. “Well… too bad you have your weekly marketing meeting. You’ll have to miss it.”

“I thought that wasn’t until Thursday.”, he frowned, but there was a hint of relief behind his confusion.

“It’s not-”, you shot a look at him, “But you should get to rest for a couple hours on your birthday, don’t ya?”, you winked at him- and then moved on, before he could protest any further. Better not to think about it too much, or you’d get extremely mad at your aunt. “And then… your birthday celebration!”

“You’re coming, right?”

You looked up from the paper, surprised at his sudden intensity as he cut you off. You found those crystal blue eyes boring at you- like you were another cupcake, expectating of your reply.

“ ‘Course.”, you simply smiled- surprisingly secretly pleased. You liked him- he was a nice guy, behind all the pizzazz that Vought put him through in front of the cameras. Perhaps too nice, in your opinion- there was some trauma somewhere in there, you could tell. But you didn’t weren’t close enough to him to recommend therapy or something, although you had suggested it to Maddie… who obviously shrieked at the thought of their golden child going to the shrink. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Johnny.”

“Thank god-”, he sighed, rolling his eyes in sass, “If I have to deal with Stan or Madelyn or any of the other old farts there by myself, I’ll laser my own foot.”

This made you laugh. It always surprised you whenever he showed a bit of bite, as it seemed like whenever he was with Maddie or Edgar, he seemed like the best behaved pupil in the boarding school- and whenever he was in front of the public, he was an absolute boy-scout. “Oh- come on. I’m sure Noir’s gonna be there too. I’m not your only friend here, you know?” She hoped so, at least. John seemed to like Black Noir, although his presence in the Vought building was far and apart, since they hadn’t officially re-debuted him under the company’s name yet.

He shot you one last skeptical look before taking the folder with the rest of the documents- this was your dismissal, and you took it. It was ten to six, and he had to be in the training center soon.

“Anyway- I’ll take my leave. Maddie’s probably sent me my tasks for the day already.”, you heard a low distracted hum coming from him, already walking to the door. Before you left, you peeked at him one last time, before saying: “Happy birthday.”

He looked up just as you waved, and there was a hint of a smile in his face- good. You smiled back, and finally, slammed the door closed.

When you worked at Vought- more specifically, in their superhero division, every single day felt like standing in the middle of the sea during a storm- wave after wave of issues and tasks coming at you, suffocating you at times. Truth be told, you weren’t supposed to be working there- you were far too unqualified, both emotionally and academically.

When your aunt Maddie had found out about your mother’s disease, she, of course, had refused to help her. She had always been resentful at how resentful your mom had been of her, at how she had chosen a professional life path while your mom chose to have you at just seventeen, dropping out of school to form a family. Just your average sisters’ feud, splashed with just a bit of new wave feminism and abandonment issues. However, knowing you had dropped out of college, Maddie was kind enough to offer you a job in her workplace- none other than Vought Enterprises. Big shot shit.

She had told you that she wouldn’t make any promises, she wouldn’t work with you, and she wouldn’t slide you in with the big supes, where she worked. She had hustled her ass off to be where she was- she wouldn’t let your wormy little self run on the path she had so laboriously paved. You were okay with that- any corporation job would pay more than what you were doing in the dingy bar downtown where you’d been working since you dropped off college. Besides, you knew your aunt had never been all there- the love-hate she always showed you wasn’t personal, it was just a thing she did.

It didn’t help that you weren’t even more than seven years younger than her, so a lot of your childhood memories involved playing with her teen self. She was more a cousin than an aunt, to be fair. So there were a lot of things you could easily let slide- her insane mood swings was one of them. You knew she meant well- behind all of her power plays and degradation.

Either way, that didn’t end up happening- you working for a less important division, like pharmacy. As soon as she suggested Mr. Edgar to give you a job he was into the idea- he liked to keep things between family. And in hindsight, it was understandable. The things that happened behind the scenes for supes weren’t half as glamorous or exciting as they seemed to be on camera.

This morning had been particularly busy, the waves of work slowly turning into a tsunami, as Homelander’s birthday was a top priority for the entire department. He was the star, after all- had been for almost three years now. He was Vought’s face and voice, their personality. The bright eyed, all-american, charming, strongest to ever exist superhero. America turned into the shape of a man. Everything they’d ever dreamed, they were training into this twenty-something-year-old. Any excuse to celebrate him was good enough for them- because it was as if they were celebrating Vought itself.

That’s why you’d been running all over New York the entire morning. The tailor had managed to mismeasure John’s shoulders, somehow, and they needed two more of the handmade eagle feather golden shapes that went… well, you didn’t know where they went. You had only gotten the gist of it, along with a brown envelope to take to the goldsmith- any goldsmith that would get them done before 11.30 a.m., when Homelander was supposed to debut his new suit to the world, to mark a new era or something.

Luckily, it was 11 sharp as you ran through Vought’s main hall’s doors, and 11.04 as you knocked the costume division’s door on the 45th floor. You were breathless, knowing that he had to be on the other side of the city, to Fort Lee in less than half an hour- although seeing how tight they were, he was probably going to fly to the inauguration. The city council had granted him his very own children’s park after he’d saved a school bus from sinking into the Hudson a month ago, and they had chosen to inaugurate it the very day of his birthday. As if he had nothing else to do on that day.

Maddie opened the door, blonde waves all over the place, breath ragged. You knew the signs, she had been yelling at someone- and you were lucky it wasn’t you. You saw a flash of dark blue somewhere in the background and you knew it was John- and your curiosity was piqued. Would the new suit be too different? At least it seemed they’d keep his colors.

“Where are they?”, your aunt demanded.

Wordlessly, you took out a fancy necklace case out of the bag you were holding, “I had to find a different place- our goldsmith was taking too long to decide whether he could do them or in time or not.”, you explained, as she snatched it off your hands and opened to inspect them. While she did that, you subtly went on your tippy-toes, trying to catch the new suit without her knowing. “I think they look just like the mold-so…”

“Perfect.”, she concluded, slamming it closed, and she took one look at you, with those severe eyes of hers. “Go to the 72th. They need help with the party.”

After that, she slammed the door on your face. Oh well- you’d see it later, hopefully.

—

The 72th was a mess- as it always was, since it was the floor where most Vought only parties were held, the ones no outsiders should know about. Before, you would have thought that that meant something sexual- perhaps some sort of massive over the top superhero and congressmen orgy, the kind conspiracy theorists would talk about- but soon you found out it was not the case. Rather- it was the kind of party where millionaires would get drunk and discuss whether bombing another South Asian country would make them profits or not. You didn’t know which of the two types of parties were worse.

This time, though, at least the purpose of the preparations was much more innocent- just a small party for every person in Homelander’s life to celebrate him and his birthday. It was kind of impressive so many people showed up, in your opinion. It was the 4th of July, after all- most everyone would choose to celebrate it with their families at the park- or even just watch the fireworks from their TV at home. Instead, about twenty or more people were there, running around with you- decorating, inflating balloons, making every cookie in the dish look beautiful and photogenic. All for him- everyone wanted him to be pleased. You were sure that as long as he was allowed to eat enough of them, he’d be just as happy.

One thing you ended up noticing about the attendees was the variety, or more like, the lack of thereof. Most people there were some of Vought’s scientists, the ones you only knew of by their pictures on the Vought’s Best wall. You wondered what they had to do with Homelander, or if they were there just for protocol. Maybe these were the kind of people Edgar wanted him to surround himself with. Important people- people who did good for humanity.

And no, no Black Noir to be found.

Interestingly enough, even they were helping with the organization. Perhaps they were close, you wouldn’t know. You didn’t know much about John’s past aside from what you’d figured out by yourself- and what the public knew.

Either way, he was about to arrive, and you were to get Maddie’s gift ready for him. The box was a bit too big for it- but it needed the space, you guessed. You just wondered if the box was necessary at all.

Somebody heard the elevator sound starting to ding up- and began shushing everyone, as they started crowding around the room, hiding the big table with the cake and different foods that they had set up in the middle of the room behind them. You, of course, didn’t want to steal any spotlight from someone who could actually be important to him, so you placed yourself to the side, excited for him to arrive. You knew he was going to love this; he loved attention- even affection, as much as he tried to hide it.

The elevator finally dinged on their floor, and the doors opened, and-...

“Happy birthday!”, everyone shouted- only for Maddie to come out, her heels clicking as she saw on her that particular face she made when she scolded someone- her words drowned by their scream. Everyone made a confused noise- wasn’t it supposed to be…?

Then- a massive spot of blue walked in- a young man with wide shoulders, an unhesitant stroll and perfectly coiffed blonde hair- clad in an imposing red and blue suit. Homelander.

You began singing Happy Birthday- loudly, completely drowning everyone’s confusion and whatever Maddie was nagging the young supe about- and everyone was super quick to join. And you had the pleasure to see John’s face go from a slight frown to a bright expression- as everyone sang for him- claps and even stomps to go with it.

But… there was something off in his smile as he started recognizing the faces around him. You saw his eyes go through every person in the room with a strange restraint- like he was holding back something. Then- they fell on you, and they stayed there, somehow, it seemed that it made that off feeling fade off. You clapped and sang more excitedly.

“Happy birthday, dear… John-Homelan-Johnny !”, everyone laughed, as nobody quite knew how to address him, “Happy birthday to you!”

You saw him laugh- eyes looking around in surprise at the decorations. Everything was red, white and blue- with lots of golden details, that had been your touch. They were the expensive kind, but anyone could tell they weren’t set by professionals. You thought it added a homey touch that he’d enjoy- and he did, as he quite didn’t know what to do with himself, with his hands, as everyone clapped and whistled for him.

“Oh-!”, he finally said, “Thank you- thank you, guys!”, he was trying to play it cool, calming them awkwardly.

After that, the short event officially started. The attendees started mingling amongst each other, coming up in groups at times to talk to John, who seemed more interested on whatever was going on on the food table. You had caught him eyeing it from time to time whenever he was left alone for a second or two, as if he was deciding whether he could have a treat or not .

Meanwhile, you were busy guarding Maddie’s gift- which was secretly the only reason you were here at all. Not by your own volition, of course- you’d obviously come to John’s party if it was up to you. But… somehow, you felt that without your aunt’s express invitation it would have created problems for you. Sometimes it felt like Maddie got insanely possessive of the kid- as if anyone could come and snatch him away from under her management and steal her progress doing that. You didn’t quite know- all you really knew is that whenever you made a small observation, offered a small detail you’d noticed about him, she responded incredibly bad.

It wasn’t too bad, though. At least you were saving yourself from awkward conversations with strangers- plus, sometimes John caught your eyes and smiled at you. He had even tried to make his way to you a couple times, always interrupted by a new group of people who called for his attention.

He looked good in his new suit, you had to admit. A far cry from the leotardish one-piece he had before- that only worked to accentuate his still teensy physique, still too skinny and lanky for what he was supposed to be Edgar’s final vision of him- this new suit was magnificent. It looked like it was a two piece, for once- which he was probably thankful for- held by a strong golden (gold?) belt, and a high collar, covering just enough of his neck to draw attention to the slight v line it formed. He had some padding, she knew that- but it was just enough, not to transform his actual size, but to accentuate it. He looked more mature, more secure in his skin, and it showed - even if just a little bit.

Either way, you could hear her gift getting more and more agitated by the minute- so it was a relief when you heard her voice loud, commanding everyone’s attention.

“Let’s open your gifts, John.” Maddie said, coming up from behind and slapping a hand on his shoulder, making him jump a little.

The party moved to the gifts table, where a small pile laid. You dutifully took the box you’d been guarding on the corner of the room and started walking it by it with a bit of difficulty, mostly because it kept moving all over the surface- but also because it was making your nose itch.

By the time you had gotten there, John had already started opening some of his gifts. Someone got him an insanely expensive wine you knew he wasn’t even going to try, and someone else a piece of pottery. It was hard to make someone like him a gift- what could you even get someone who could have anything? Not that John ever asked for anything, though. But he could- and everyone was aware of that. Vought made sure they were.

As soon as Maddie saw you with the box, she took it from your hands and walked up to him- and the second he turned to it, his face illuminated.

“A dog?!”, he took it from her almost immediately, sitting on the floor with it on his lap- hands fighting to open the wrapping as soon as he was settled.

“Oh John!”, Maddie scoffed, annoyed, “You spoiled it for everyone else!”

He didn’t seem to hear her though- entranced on the unwrapping, and you couldn’t help to hold your hands together on your chest, excited with anticipation. You were sure he was going to love it.

And as soon as the little guy jumped from inside the box- you know he did.

“Oh, lord!”, he exclaimed, as the small dog started barking and twisting in his grasp- as excited to see him as he was, its tiny tail wagging so hard it was moving its entire little body with it. “Oh, my god!”

The dog, a small Jack Russel with a big, brown spot over one of his eyes, barked excitedly, and you were sure you could see John’s eyes shining with tears, sat on the floor while everyone else aww’d at them. You could tell that- for once- he had forgotten about the people around him, as he let the puppy jump on his legs, on his chest, licking his face, sat back on his hands, as if he was stopping himself from squeezing the little thing. He was happy, so happy , and the dog was too.

“I can’t believe it!”, he gasped, again, as he finally decided he needed to pet it, getting rid of the thick gloves that his new suit had, grabbing it with both hands. The puppy barked at him, tongue out, and a laugh escaped from his mouth. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve seen in my life !”

The puppy wriggled its way out of his grasp, and jumped at his face again, licking him- and everyone aww’d once again and clapped. You finally unglued your eyes from the adorable scene to your aunt- and she looked incredibly pleased with herself. You would be too, this was probably the first time you’ve seen him actively elated.

Suddenly, she was startled by something- and you saw her hand going to her blazer’s pocket, picking her cellphone in a second. As she walked away with it, you took a step closer to him- and he turned to you.

“Did you know about this!?”, he asked, incredulous, fighting against the dog’s excited licks, “I can’t believe it!”

You couldn’t help the smile on your lips as you saw him. “Obviously. I went to pick him with her!” you crossed your arms over your chest- still remembering the horrors of the testing lab you’d gone get the poor dog from. It had been a month ago, and the dog had stayed with Maddie until now, “He was not the youngest puppy in the uh- adoption center but…”

“Shush, he’s perfect.”, he interrupted you, holding it to his chest, and turning to you, “What’s his name?”

“I’m not sure actually-”, you turned towards where your aunt had left- and you saw her smiling into the phone, a small skip on her step- and you knew that body language. She was sucking up to someone on the other end of the line. “We could ask Maddie if she named him when she comes back.”

But as you said that, Maddie actually came back- almost running in the short steps her heels allowed.

“Let's get this over with”, she whispered to you, as she walked by you taking over the center of the small round that Had formed around him, “Hey, everyone! Let's cut the cake!”

Everyone agreed happily- but you frowned, running to follow her as she went to the food table, already starting to make space for it. You knew that this was supposed to come at the end of the party, but not even half an hour had gone by yet- what was she doing?

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw John's eyes shoot from you to her to Edgar, as he as well tried to figure out what was going on.

“Maddie-”

“Seems like his birthday interview got delayed a couple hours”, she whispered to you excitedly, almost like a secret, “Guess who'll get to make up for his fatal mistake of not seeing Mrs. Pataki and her friends!”

A sense of disgust immediately took over your stomach, as you realized why she was so happy. She was making John spend time with those women after all- she was going to get him to butter them up for Vought On his own fucking birthday.

“Go help with the cake.”

You felt sick.

Behind you, you heard John approach and Madelyn’s arm immediately shoot to get a hold of his forearm and guide him to the center of the table, the dog still in his arms.

Suddenly, a lot of things started happening simultaneously. Edgar was on the scene now, - a cameraman that you’d seen wandering about the event next to him - finally caring about this party at all, as he seemed to be giving him directions about how to encapsulate the happy event.

Maddie, on the other hand, stood next to Homelander- whose eyes seemed far, as he heard whatever she was telling him, his lips pressing in some sort of emotion you didn’t have time to figure out, eyes looking far away from the scene unfolding. You got closer, as you started fixing the cake decorations, and got to hear some of it.

“And you'll show off your fucking new suit and tell her ‘ You like it, Margie?’ like she's the woman of your dreams, okay? She needs to go home and tell Pataki that Vought's doing great things while she considers divorcing his ass. You need to make up for the time you made her lose, John.” she was instructing right next to his ear, and he seemed more out of it by the second, “You'll be so fucking sorry to her she won't doubt for a second that you made a honest mistake with your schedule.”

People started gathering as well- their loud chatter surrounding them like a massive beehive, buzzing so close to the table it was even starting to make you dizzy and desperate, as you fought to make one of the star decorations stay up. One of the scientists came up to you with a lighter, offering to turn the single candle on and you nodded, mindlessly as your focus kept shifting to him, and the way his gaze dissociated more and more- and you were actually worried now. You’d never seen him like this, not this badly.

“Homelander!”, Edgar called, his serious nasal voice adding a new layer to the buzz, just like the scientist's lighter he couldn't get lit on. “Move one step to the left and turn a little, the lighting's bad there!”

“Seriously - apologize like a fucking dog, you hear?”

“Fuck”, you cursed under your breath- snatching the lighter yourself and trying- getting to turn on.

The camera started snapping- and it added another layer. A group laughed loudly in the background. Edgar kept giving needless instruction. The dog started wriggling, running out of his grasp. Madelyn kept barking into his ear.

“You'll lick her feet- and…”

And you could almost hear it before it happened.

“Madelyn, I fucking GET it !”

The loud high sound- the sound his lasers made.

The crowd gasped, shocked- but more importantly, the dog started fucking screaming in pain.

“Oh- no!”

Someone screamed- and all hell broke loose. John ran from the table to the side- where his laser had left a dark, charred line that ended with… with the poor puppy laying on the floor, bleeding and crying. You ran after him.

“Oh no- no, no, no, no…”, he was on his knees, and you fell next to him as he whispered the words to himself, holding the poor thing as it wriggled, its loud shrieks vibrating in your ears. His hands were starting to get covered in blood, and its fur was so bloody- flesh so mangled you couldn't make sense of any of it. “No- please !”

You were speechless, shocked, and the blood was draining from your face by the second. “It was an accident!”, you were immediate to comfort him, but his eyes were glued to the animal- unable to think, to do anything, “It was an accident, John, and-and…”

You looked around- but nobody thought like you- nobody else was stepping up to comfort him. Instead, everyone stared in… fright , taking fearful steps away from the scene like he was a monster- and that made you so insanely mad.

“I-I killed him!”, he exclaimed in horror. “Oh, God, I fucking killed him!”

“ No, you didn't! ”, your hands went to his shoulders, shaking him a little as his eyes filled up with tears- and your heart was going a mile a minute, “He's crying ! He's still alive!”

“N-no, no, I-”

“John!”, Maddie’s voice shouted- and you looked up to see her walking to you, angry, as she got out of her shock, “What the hell was that?! Are you insane?! Are you retarded ?!”

He turned slightly to her, eyes full of tears and remorse and pain- and you couldn't take it anymore.

You stood up like a spring and took a step between them.

“Madelyn!”, you looked at her in the eyes, heart still drumming, “ Are you fucking serious?!”

You saw her eyes widen and her mouth fall open.

She started sputtering your name, visibly shaken. You'd never ever had spoken like this to her. She was always the one that was right, the one whose decisions just weren't questioned.

“Y-you stay out of this!”, she finally managed, and tried to push you to the side- but you slapped her hand away.

“No, I won't! Not this fucking time, Aunt Maddie.” you stood your ground, stomping a foot.

There was a rage in you burning- and you instantly realized this wasn't just about this, right now. This was a rage that had been slowly burning- building up these last six months as you'd witnessed how they treated this kid, how they exploited every single second of his time. How tight his leash was. How simply sad and alone he looked all the time.

It had been burning since your mother had been diagnosed with that heart condition- and how ironically heartless her sister had been to her. How she'd offered you the job the same way someone offers leftovers to a starving stray dog, and how you had to swallow your dignity and take them.

It had been burning, you'd even say, after the first day Maddie had started this fucking job, and how she blew you off when you went to her apartment with a cake you'd made her to celebrate it- saying she had coworkers over and she couldn't deal with a child like you here, too, as if they were too important for you to even see them.

She growled your name one last time, “You're about to lose your job.”

“Then fucking do it, Maddie.”, you hissed back, feeling venom in your voice, “Fire me. Fire me! Who wants to work in a company that depends on how much they can exploit some twenty-year-old, anyway? Oh, but the second he makes one mistake you all look at him like he's a monster, right?!”

You couldn't help to turn around, including everyone in your rant now- every single person that was important in John’s life, who was looking at him like he was going to laser them next. Him, who was still holding onto the crying puppy, hands drenched in his blood.

“Don't look at him like that! God- look at him ! He didn't do it on purpose! You all pushed him to do it!”

You felt frustration building in you- as your eyes started to burn as well, angry. No, you couldn't let yourself cry, you needed to speak up!

You saw Maddie about to say something else when someone took a step forward- Mr. Edgar.

“Okay, okay everyone…” he had his hands raised up, voice infuriatingly calming and imposing. “Let’s calm down. You-”, he pointed at a random woman, who jumped at his calling, “Take the dog to the fifteenth, there must be a vet somewhere there.”

The woman quickly stepped forward- a middle aged with a messy bun hanging off of her head- arms in front of her, ready to take the still wailing dog from John while putting the most distance from him she could. Your eyes followed the movement as he extended the creature to her- his hands still shaking. For some reason, as this happened, you felt absolutely insane- like you were some schizoid character In a movie, and everyone else was just watching your crazy rants unfold.

“And you- miss… Stilwell?”, he continued, turning to you- and as you shook your head (you didn't share your aunt’s last name, thank you ), he held a hand up, like he didn't actually care about that, “Why don't you take Homelander here home? He's still a bit shaken.”

And you're the only one here not afraid of his lasers, seemed to be the tacit rest of his request.

At that, you stood straighter, facing him as a bitter bile pooled in your throat - desperate to keep jawing off about all you've been keeping, seeing these last months, about every single thing that they'd knowingly been doing to him- but you held back for him. Edgar was right, he needed to get away from this, he needed some peace- and perhaps not to have to spend his birthday with some old lady who would be pawing at him all night.

You swallowed it and nodded at him, chest still out and shoulders squared, like you were a shield and shot one last look at Maddie.

She was boring holes into you- mouth in a thin line, dark blue eyes unblinking in anger, hands fisted to her sides. You knew that look, your mother had been the end of it one too many times. But unlike her, you did not relent- and Maddie should better get used to it.

Then, you simply turned, falling to a kneel once again, as you grabbed his shoulder. His eyes were on you as well, those clear blue eyes, still watery, still shaking. His hands were drenched in blood, as was the rest of his new suit- he looked so small in that moment, so scared.

“John?”, you let your voice fall into a soft tone. At your call, his eyes tuned into an emotion you couldn't quite decipher- aside from intense gratefulness, “Let’s go home.”

#homelander #homelander the boys #homelander x you #homelander x oc #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #homelander fic #john x you #vought #madelyn stilwell #writing #my writing #my fics #fics

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latenightreadingpdf · 6 months

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Between the Pages - Spencer Reid

Summary: In the university library, shy PhD student Spencer Reid has an unexpected encounter with Y/N, a popular classmate. Despite their differences, a shared interest in neuroscience sparks a captivating conversation, leading them from strangers to friends (and possibly more…).

The university library was always a sanctuary for Spencer Reid, a place where the overwhelming noise of the world faded to a hushed whisper, allowing him to lose himself among the stacks of books and journals. As a child prodigy , he was no stranger to the pressures of academia, often engrossed in his research and studies. With his signature mop of messy hair and glasses perched precariously on his nose, Spencer was the epitome of the dedicated scholar.

It was a Tuesday afternoon when the serenity of his beloved library was disrupted. The usual ambient noise was replaced by a slightly louder, distinctly feminine laughter that seemed out of place amidst the studious atmosphere.

Curiosity piqued, Spencer looked up from his book and noticed a group of students huddled together a few tables away. Among them was Y/N, a classmate whose name Spencer had often heard whispered in hushed, admiring tones around the campus corridors. She was effortlessly charming, her charisma drawing people in like moths to a flame. Spencer had never spoken to her before; he doubted she even knew he existed.

Returning his attention to his work, Spencer tried to drown out the unfamiliar noise. Yet, despite his best efforts, his mind kept wandering, intrigued by the unfamiliarity of Y/N’s presence in the usually quiet library. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself discreetly observing her from behind the pages of his book.

He was mesmerized by the way she interacted with her friends, her laughter infectious and her smile radiant. Despite being surrounded by people, she seemed completely at ease, effortlessly commanding the attention of everyone around her. It was a stark contrast to Spencer's own introverted nature, his shyness often making social interactions a daunting prospect.

Lost in his thoughts, Spencer failed to notice when Y/N's gaze wandered in his direction. When he finally looked up, he found himself locked in a pair of curious eyes. Flushing slightly, he quickly averted his gaze, his heart pounding in his chest.

A few minutes passed in awkward silence before a soft voice broke the stillness. "Hey, you're Spencer, right? We're in Dr. Harrison's seminar together."

Startled, Spencer looked up to find Y/N standing in front of him, her smile warm and inviting. "Um, yes, that's me," he stammered, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... uh, I mean, hi."

Y/N chuckled softly, her laughter putting Spencer at ease. "No need to apologize. I couldn't help but notice you sitting here all by yourself. Mind if I join you?"

Swallowing nervously, Spencer nodded, gesturing to the empty seat opposite him. "Of course, please, have a seat."

As Y/N settled herself across from him, Spencer couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and anxiety. He had never been this close to her before, and the proximity only heightened his awareness of her presence. He could smell the faint scent of her perfume, a delicate floral fragrance that was both intoxicating and comforting.

"Working on your thesis?" Y/N asked, nodding towards the screen of his laptop.

"Yes, I'm researching the neurobiological basis of memory retrieval," Spencer replied, his passion for his work shining through despite his nervousness.

"That sounds fascinating," Y/N said sincerely, her interest genuine. "I'm majoring in psychology, but I have to admit, neuroscience has always been a bit daunting for me."

Spencer's eyes lit up at her words, his confidence growing. "Well, if you ever need any help or want to learn more, I'd be happy to explain it to you."

Y/N smiled appreciatively, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I might just take you up on that offer."

As the afternoon went on, the initial awkwardness between them melted away, replaced by a comfortable closeness. They discussed everything from their shared academic interests to their favorite books and movies, discovering unexpected common ground along the way.

By the time the library began to empty, the two of them were so engrossed in conversation that they hardly noticed the passing time. As they gathered their belongings, Y/N turned to Spencer with a smile.

"Thanks for today, Spencer. I had a great time getting to know you."

Spencer's heart soared at her words, a warm glow spreading through him. "The pleasure was all mine," he replied, his shyness momentarily forgotten.

As they walked out of the library together, Spencer couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of connection with Y/N. Though they had started the day as strangers, their chance meeting in the library had blossomed into the beginnings of a friendship - and perhaps, just maybe, something more.

#college!spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #criminal minds imagine #fluff #spencer

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whygalaxy · 4 months

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Poor bunny in a golden cage

♡⃕ Relationship} Yandere! Abusive! C!Quackity x Bunny Hybrid! Fem! Reader

♡⃕ Summary} "Quackity was obsessed with you. Your greedy parents beat you to him… What could go wrong?"

♡⃕ TW.} Abusive relationship; Mention of abuse (Physical and Psychological); Non Con explicit; Choking; Sadism; threats; Your parents being jerks; Quackity being extremely abusive; False imprisonment; Mention of stalker; possessive; Dacryphilia; Rough sex; dumbfication; Mild Stockholm syndrome; Mild Size Kink.

♡⃕ Notes} English is not my first language, there may be mistakes. I'm sorry for anything. Not reviewed (Please, it's two in the morning)

This fanfic may not be suitable for sensitive people

You and your parents, a small family of hybrid bunnys, move to Las Nevadas, hoping to find a better living condition. Your parents were constantly arguing recently, as they were poor and wanted to find a new way to earn money.

You sold some carrot cupcakes that you made, in the poorest part of Luxurious City, but it didn't bring in as much profit as your parents would have liked - “300 Dollars a month is a pittance! You can’t buy anything!” Your father screamed, invalidating all your efforts.

୭ 🩹 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🩸

It was a silent night, and you were here, trying to sell at least half of your carrot cupcakes. You could hear some laughter in the distance, you look around, finding two silhouettes walking towards you.

They keep walking, walking straight past you. "Hang on!" You shout. The men turn to look at you, they were both wearing luxurious clothes, they didn't look like they were from here… The man with long black hair caught your attention.

“W-Wouldn’t you guys.. want to buy a carrot cupcake?… it’s only 10 dollars…” You stutter shyly, looking down, your ears flat against your head. The smaller one seemed excited, dirty with green goo. He runs to the stall, grabs one and quickly hands over the money. He takes a bite, savoring the flavor - “it’s very good, Mrs. Bunny!” He says, sounding like a child, you laugh, finding him adorable.

You could feel the other man's gaze on you, you look at him from the corner of your eye. He had a strange gleam in his eyes… Almost… Scary…

The small man waves at you, walking away. The taller man looked at you for a moment longer, before turning and walking away, without saying a word.

୭ 🩹 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🩸

It's been a week since you saw the strange man. Your parents were fighting more and more, and this time, they were cursing you too, saying how useless you were and how you didn't make money for them.

But one day… You come home after a long day of selling cupcakes, your parents were strangely quiet… no fighting…

You see them sitting on the couch, a big smile on their faces. How strange… “Honey! My lovely girl!” Your mother says, getting up to hug you, you thought this was strange, your parents weren't that affectionate… Your father gets up too, hugging you - “You will bring great profit to our family!” he says with an awkward smile.

You were confused, I didn't understand what was happening. What were they referring to? You look at both of them confused - “W-What’s going on?…” You ask, completely confused by the situation.

“The President liked you! Then we sell you for 1.5 million!” His mother screams in joy, making his eyes widen. They… Sold you?! What do you mean, how was that possible? They were your parents, they were supposed to love you, not discard you. You could feel your eyes filling with tears.

“I-I… I can’t accept this… I…” You say, trying to move away. But your parents stop you, they couldn't let your merchandise go out like that. Your mother grabs a glass of water, you were too shaken to notice anything. “Drink, darling.. it will help you” She says, handing you the glass, helping you sit on the couch. You drink, but you feel strangely drowsy, your eyes meeting a black blur, and then you collapse onto the couch.

୭ 🩹 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🩸

You wake up lying down in a comfortable place, your eyes were still blurry, but they quickly adjusted to the light of the place. You sit up, realizing you were on a bed, you look around the room. It was an extremely luxurious room, with shades of gold and red, your eyes widen and shine at the luxurious place you had never seen before.

The room seemed to have some childish tones, with some pink and white touches scattered throughout the room, the bed was full of stuffed animals, mainly rabbits. You get out of bed, trying to explore the room. But as soon as you stand up and take two steps forward, you fall onto the fluffy rug that surrounded the bed. It felt like something was making it impossible for you to walk freely.

You turn around to look at what had made you fall. Your eyes widened, a chain stuck around your ankle, maybe it was the drugs that were in your drink, but you hadn't noticed it before, and it was pretty tight apparently…

You get up, sit on the bed, staring at the big door that was in front of it, your ears pressed against your head, waiting for something to happen… Suddenly, the door opens, your ears quickly perk up.

Your eyes widened when you saw who it was. It was the strange man from that day… Wait, he was the president of this country? He walks up to you, a smile on his face, highlighting the gold tooth he had. You pull away, bumping into the headboard in the process.

He sits on the bed, next to you. He reaches out to caress your cheek, with a gentle smile on his face - “My little bunny… so adorable… you're mine now” He says, his face getting closer to yours, you could feel his breath.

After your first meeting, Quackity felt strangely attracted to you. A shy, small, adorable little thing. So sweet and submissive…it seemed extremely fun to break you.

Quackity chased you for that week, and the more and more he found out about you… the more obsessed he was.

Now you were in this place, totally trapped with this maniac… you didn't know what he had in store for you, and you were afraid of it.

He pulls you closer, stroking your hair. You could hear him whisper - “So beautiful… So small… So… mine”

୭ 🩹 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🩸

One month… one month you were with this maniac, and the feeling was the same as being in hell.

Cuts and purple marks spread all over your body, Quackity took out all his anger on you. He would hit you and cut you, just for his sadistic pleasure, he loved seeing you crying and screaming. Watching you break down little by little, only to become an empty mind completely submissive to him.

It was currently almost two in the morning, the ticking clock noise could be heard. You were trying to sleep but you couldn't, you had a feeling something bad was going to happen… You were currently lying in bed, wearing only a Quackity shirt that was much bigger than you.

Suddenly, the door opens, revealing Quackity. His white blouse had the first three buttons open, his tie was untied. You could smell alcohol and cigarettes coming from him.

He walks towards you, crooked steps indicating he was drunk. You look at him, completely scared, not knowing what he could do to you, trying to move away, but the chain on your ankle stopped you from going that far.

He sits on the bed, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer to him, your head against his chest. You could feel him smelling your hair - “So sweet…” He whispers in his slightly drunken tone of voice.

You could feel their hands moving over your body. You let out a slight scream when you feel their hands squeezing your ass, you try to move away. He wouldn't do that to you… would he?

He spanks your ass - “Be quiet, be a good girl and accept this. I don’t want to hurt you” His tone of voice was threatening, you were shaking with fear. He pushes you, laying you down on the bed.

He lifts your big shirt that you were wearing, exposing your small breasts, he smiles… You were so cute. He bends down, taking one nipple into his mouth, starting to suck while playing with the other. You moan as his tongue grazes your hard nipple. You scream when you feel him bite your nipple hard, causing tears to run down your eyes.

You could feel him smile, you try to stay quiet, knowing that if you stayed quiet, it would be less worse. He leaves hickey marks on his chest, red and that would probably turn purple later. He forcefully opens your legs, ripping off your panties, clearly out of patience.

He lets out an irritated sigh when he feels that you're not wet for him at all - “I can't believe you're going to make me do this…” He says in a growl. You start to moan softly when you feel his thumb start to rub your clit, and soon one of his fingers enters you, preparing you for his cock.

He was out of patience, trying to finish this as quickly as possible so he could get his cock inside you. One finger soon becomes two, two fingers soon become three. His pace was relentless, you could feel yourself getting closer and closer. You were extremely sensitive, the stimulation on your clit combined with the relentless rhythm of his fingers inside you dragged you closer and closer to your limit.

You scream as you cum, your juices running down his fingers. He smiles, removing his fingers from inside you, taking them to his mouth to taste your juices - “So sweet… So sensitive…” He whispers, starting to take off his clothes. He completely unbuttons his white shirt, the red tie at the sides, he pulls his pants and underwear down. His hard cock springs out, its reddened tip oozing precum.

Your eyes widened, heavens… He was big! He holds your hips tightly, positioning his cock in front of your throbbing entrance. You scream as he thrusts inside you, even though you were prepared, it still hurt.

You cry as he pushes his cock all the way inside you, the tip hitting your cervix. He at least had the decency to wait for you to adjust. But soon he starts moving, his pace is never slow, but strong and fast. Hitting your cervix hard, leaving it bruised.

You screamed with each thrust, tears streaming down your rosy cheeks. You hated yourself for this, hated yourself for enjoying this. You scream too loudly when his tip hits your G-spot, making you cum hard. He laughs, laughs at how pathetic you are.

He reaches out with both hands, his big hands wrap around your small neck, squeezing lightly. You wrap your small hands around his wrist. trying to push him away? or pull him closer? you don't know anymore.

He continued to fuck you hard, making you more and more stupid. His thrusts soon began to become sloppy, indicating that he was getting closer as well. He soon stops brutally, his grip on your neck tightens, leaving you gasping for air, your nails scratching his wrists as he fills you with hot cum.

You cum again, squeezing his cock as your pussy sucks up his cum. He soon lets go of your neck, red handprints around your neck as you start to breathe again. He pulls his soft cock out of you, laying down next to you as he pulls you closer.

He kisses your forehead and lips, smelling your hair - “My bunny… My good girl… My everything… Mine, just mine..." He says breathlessly, hugging you tightly as he started to sleep. You sit there thinking, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be a good girl for him… In this beautiful luxurious room, like a golden cage…

#quackity x reader #quackity smut #quackity x you #las nevadas #tw abuse #tw noncon #tw abusive relationship #tw yandere #yandere male #yandere male x reader #yandere male x you #tw sadism #tw choking #tw dumbification #tw stockholm syndrome #bunny hybrid

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muzzlemouths · 9 months

Text

Hello hello, @chaoticgouda! It is I, your very very (very) late Secret Santa! Terribly sorry for keeping you waiting as long as I did — the story got away from me, and by that I mean I went slightly over the necessary wordcount.

You mentioned a love for horror, angst, and hurt/comfort, which I consider myself quite versed in, so I pulled out all the stops for this one. Hope you enjoy it! But, uh...do heed the warnings.

Dream-Eater!Moon x Insomniac!Y/N

Word Count: 8,540 Warnings: Fear and anxiety, isolation trauma, unreality, eye and mouth horror, body horror, (brief) gore, psychological horror

Three days, now. Three days since you’ve slept. Three days since that unblinking stare first crawled through the gap beneath your bedroom door, eyes like scarlet diamonds in a deep pool of nothingness and narrowed with an ire you couldn’t explain. Three days since you showed some spine and told it to go away. You’ve never suffered with sleep paralysis before, and you saw no reason for it to start now, yet you failed to come up with any better explanation for the thing at the foot of your bed.

A flicker of motion draws your eyes to the far side of the room. The sweetgum outside waves with the breeze, gnarled branches contorting like ugly, knotted limbs, their shadow dancing across your wall under the full moon.

You’re acting like a child. No one else would flinch at a tree tapping its spindly fingers against the glass, or feel their shoulders tense in the stillness of an otherwise too-quiet room, the perpetuation of which is immediately interrupted by the softest ting of a bell. This brief distraction is all it takes. Your gaze snaps again toward the familiar set of eyes as if on cue only to find them missing. A bleak, damning emptiness in their place.

Three days since the eyes first appeared to watch you strife with a good night’s rest.

Not once, in that time, have they ever moved.

It isn’t as though they possessed a body to carry them between positions, after all. The eyes were discarnate. Incorporeal. They had appeared in the darkness and in the darkness is where they stayed, with not head nor tail of any proper frame.

Yet you are unequivocally aware of the hands that draw from the darkest part of your room to flatten against the foot of your bed — painted in a blue so deep it challenges the very night itself — and the gangly wrists that follow, knuckles sharp like jutting bone under stretched skin. Narrow shoulders that taper into a waist almost skeletal, pinched around a ribcage that doesn’t exist, digitigrade legs that go on for longer than they should. A ghastly body that wafts between tangible and formless, its crude excuse for flesh coming away like smoke and fading into the surrounding darkness of your bedroom. It is a struggle to see the ghoulish thing among the shadows, even as it climbs ever higher along your mattress, yet you find yourself incapable of looking away.

Perhaps this demon has you paralyzed, after all.

It certainly feels that way as the creature looms closer and closer, still, ascending your body where it lies frozen, scarlet eyes fixated ahead, until its smooth, expressionless face comes to rest dangerously close to your own. Again, that foreign bell rings out as it goes still.

You swallow your tongue and taste nothing but dread. Words collect uselessly behind your teeth as it raises a hand from beside your torso and brings it against your jaw, claws — carved into a needlelike point and inky blue as the fingers they’re attached to — trace a path along your cheek. A whisper on the skin, and only that. The strange sensation might even tickle if your heart weren’t threatening to squeeze between the bars of your ribcage and burst through your chest altogether.

This creature, whatever it is, awkwardly thumbs against the skin beside your eye and back down again. A bizarre hush, “Shhh shh,” spills between lips that aren’t there.

The tenderness it performs is decisively unpracticed. Even still, at the third and final ring of an invisible bell you suddenly find it entirely too difficult to keep your eyes open. Time appears to slow, a warm grogginess seeping between your bones as you continue to fight a losing battle, the siren call of sleep luring you in. Lower and lower do your eyelids fall, heavy with exhaustion, until you are able to convince yourself that the cold and unfamiliar weight against your chest is nothing more than a dream.

Then its maw comes open with silent resolve.

You aren’t sure how you missed them before; the teeth. Two rows of jagged canines that grin impossibly wide, its poor excuse for skin stretching upwards, eyes rolling to sit at the back of its scalp to accommodate a mouth that opens like a serpent’s unhinged jaw.

Adrenaline surges through your spine like thunder and ripples along the skin of your palm as it rushes through the shadow’s body and bashes into the switch of your nearest lamp. Yellow light floods your room in a blink, shooing darkness back into the corners as you look frantically for a demon that isn’t there.

You are unbearably alone.

The following evening starts with the last cup in the coffee pot — it falls from the pot’s mouth with a sluggish dribble that heralds the emptied bottom, four mugs worth of the stuff with three chugged down already over the course of the afternoon.

It has been four days since you last slept.

This self inflicted torture is not without reason; regardless of how ridiculous said reason is. Nevertheless it had you doing everything in your power to stay awake. Currently, that meant surviving on a frankly excessive amount of caffeine and running circles through your apartment, desperate for any task that stimulated the brain and kept you from giving in to the sweet embrace of your bed.

These tribulations are not meant to be endured alone. The companionship of someone — anyone, be it friend or family — surely eases the burden of such a daunting task, but it isn’t that simple.

And you aren’t sure where to look for the camaraderie you so desperately seek.

The sun has already begun its downward path when you finish washing out the emptied pot and set it in the rack to dry, your drink forgotten save for the one gulp you savored before deciding that dishes needed to be done. The water runs too hot as you bow the head of a fork under the spout and scrub it clean between the bars. Even now you remember the static which paraded down your fingers the night before, rushing through your skin until it singed, the taste of fear so thick on your tongue that not even the coffee could outrun it.

You dreaded the thought of returning to your bedroom later in the night and contesting with the thing that tried to devour you whole only a matter of hours prior. Maybe you could keep to the couch tonight, instead. Or, better yet, not let yourself rest your feet in any way to begin with.

Rest led to idleness and idleness led to sleep and sleep led to—

Thwack!

Your head snaps upward from the sink where your hands have begun to prune, watching through half-lidded eyes as the steller's jay outside your kitchen window throws a second twig against the glass.

It’s a pretty little thing. A head and beak black as onyx, vibrant blue blooms proudly across its chest and down its back to the very base of its tail, which extends further than the average. Actually, the longer you look, the more it seems…off, somehow. Wrong. Its body is too large, its beak far sharper than necessary, and the eyes—

You break away from the window with a fierce shake of your head and firmly reprimand yourself for thinking that the eyes which stared back were scarlet. That isn’t possible. You’re sorely in need of a full night’s rest and it is this fact alone that prevents you from thinking clearly, already jeopardizing your ability to tell what is and isn’t real, apparently. You needed to get a grip.

The faucet bleeds money down the drain as you turn from it and find your beloved mug on the counter again, hands tender from the scalding water and trembling slightly as they bring the ceramic to your lips.

But your coffee returns cold.

You’re confident that no more than a minute or two had passed since you last abandoned the mug — certainly not a lengthy enough time that your coffee should feel like ice against your lips.

Just another delusion brought on by fatigue, you decide. Time begins to lose its meaning when you refuse to keep your internal clock on track. You’re lucky this is the worst your symptoms have become with the strain that’s been collecting in the bags under your eyes already.

Nothing the microwave can’t fix, at least. It’ll lose the wonderful bite of a freshly poured cup, which is always unfortunate, but it’s better than trying to doctor this thing into a proper iced latte.

You turn on your heel, narrowly brushing the sharp divide between your illuminated kitchen and the dark room beyond it, shadowed furniture staring back at you — dusty from a lack of guests — and make for the small radioactive box on your kitchen counter.

Narrowed eyes watch your back. A shred of the night comprised of knobbly joints and a starving mouth hung slightly ajar, scarlet gaze unblinking. It remains in place as you walk past it, just out of reach, keeping still like a wandering corpse in the corner of your livingroom.

It’s better that you don’t immediately sense its presence beyond a shudder at the base of your spine.

The microwave door opens with a pop, the slide of your mug along the plate grating against your already strained nerves. You slam the door shut harder than you mean to and see a scarlet glow staring back at you in the reflection.

Twisting on your heel exposes nothing but a dark, empty room.

You are unbearably alone.

The microwave screams at your back, announcing the completion of its task — beep, beep, beep

beep

beng

ting

Silverware on a wine glass; a toast. The hurried look over your shoulder reveals an extravagant ballroom where your kitchen once stood. Mahogany furniture carved with intricate detail that stands over a polished floor, radiant and brilliantly gold under the eyes of an enormous chandelier. A crowd in lavish gowns, masks adorning each stranger’s face. Their waltzes slow to a stop as a glass of chardonnay lifts into the air.

Startling, you blink in rapid succession and peer from side to side in an effort to find the subject of this beautiful tribute, only to see all eyes turning in your direction. The stranger congratulates you to the sound of an uproarious applause — for what, you aren’t sure.

A familiar pair of eyes stares at you from the reflection in the glass.

Your heel swivels for the umpteenth time, neck snapping to catch a glimpse of the figure you know is there, now, refusing to be fooled a second time.

For whatever reason, the creature does not bother hiding itself from your stare. Perhaps because, despite its inherent familiarity, the form it takes now is nothing like the nightmarish frame it boasts in the shadows.

Rather, it — he? — dresses in regalia akin to the rest of the masquerading crowd; sleek trousers and a poet's blouse, deep blue, cinched neatly under a bone-white corset at his waist. An enormous cloak hangs over their shoulders, bridged with silver chain, black as night on the outside with the promise of vibrant color hidden underneath.

A silvery mask carved into the shape of a crescent moon is fitted atop their face, and blue silks flow from behind it, spilling down his shoulders and tapering into a point like a vibrant comet, its end adorned in a large, pearlescent bell.

His scarlet eyes are damning on their own, but the ring of that bell is all you need to confirm his identity — you could recognize its song in your sleep.

The irony of it all is lost on you.

The orchestra continues, the stranger's waltz continuing with seamless fluidity around you. A spinning pair blocks your line of sight for only a moment and just like that, he is gone.

Nevertheless, the bell persists. Louder than boisterous laughter, sharper than the click of heels and clinking glasses, it echoes from every angle until you're made dizzy from spinning yourself in circles. Round and round you go, following each chime and always finding him just a second too late. Your effort to hunt him out of the crowd becomes desperate until you drive yourself mad with the sound, until its formerly pleasant ring becomes overwhelming.

You throw yourself into the thick of the party at the barest whisper of its silvery voice and run yourself directly into a guest, their mask coming loose from the impact and falling with an ear-shattering clatter, harsher than it ought to be.

The instruments halt their song, heralding a pin-drop silence.

You're quick to stutter an apology and quicker, still, to crouch and pluck the thin decorative wood from the floor. It is light as a feather between your fingers, hardly weighing a whisper for the violent sound that pours through the room a second time as your eyes raise to meet the guest's and the mask falls again from your hand.

A smooth face stares back. Barren, colors bleeding together where the eyes, nose, and mouth are meant to be, like an oil painting — but the artist forgot to draw up the features, or there was an accident and their hand smudged through where the face normally goes.

You shake another apology from your tongue and stumble backwards, your back meeting with the shoulder of another guest. The incessant thump thump thump of your heartbeat quickens still as you turn around to face the stranger, who shares the same fate. So, too, do the remaining guests lose their masks, each and every one of them falling away in comparative silence to reveal nothing behind them but stretches of empty flesh.

A scream climbs up your throat and rattles your teeth, trapped behind tight lips. You swallow around it like bitter liquor and squeeze your eyes shut, blocking everything out as best you can despite still feeling their voiceless stares burning into you, pleading for mercy between shaking breaths as realization strikes. You need to wake up. Wake up.

WAKE UP.

Your eyes snap open to the chime of a bell.

Scarlet eyes watch you from the back of the room. The figure turns, seemingly indifferent to what is happening around you, and makes for a door that hadn't been there a moment ago, disappearing through it without so much as a secondary glance in your direction.

A way out. Perhaps your only way out. You had no choice but to follow him.

Your knees threaten to buckle as they take you through the faceless crowd, idle bodies who turn to follow your escape but thankfully make no move to stop you even as you burst through the door and spill out the other side.

A single room greets you, empty of furniture and only half as bright. No bell accompanies it, the masked figure having disappeared already, and that remains true until you tiptoe forward and hear the click of the door shutting behind you.

The figure — Moon, you decide —stands before it, scarlet eyes wide and hungry as they settle on your trembling frame. He narrows the space between you with one smooth step and you respond in kind by replacing the distance with one step back, so on and so forth with increasing persistence to bridge the gap until he's walked you against the wall.

“That was almost too easy,” they hum.

The voice that answers you isn’t the one you were expecting. Actually, you weren’t expecting a voice at all. Thus far this creature has been nothing but growls and metallic rings. They’ve never encouraged the idea that they are capable of words.

“Why are you following me?” You swallow the quiver in your voice to demand.

“You followed me through the door, did you not?” He asks, and you can feel the way his grin splits behind the mask. “Come, now, don’t give me that look. I’m only trying to help.”

You can’t help the scoff that cuts from your throat. “In what way is this helping?” You exclaim. Then, thinking better of it, you shake your head, “Actually, don’t answer that. If you’re so willing to talk, suddenly, then I think I deserve to ask some questions myself.”

He stops in place where he had been encroaching on what small distance remained between you, the click of his heel lapsing into silence, as though the notion actually surprised him. Then, inevitably, the smile returns. He offers you a slow nod and gestures wordlessly for you to continue.

“Who—” your cheeks puff out in frustration, “what are you?”

His eyes light up, an expression that twists your gut in the face of his excitement. “I am a star,” he answers easily, “extraterrestrial dust, or something akin to it. A collection of atoms. Memories, thoughts, and concerns. A construct which underlines that which has happened, will happen, and is never meant to be.” He takes a bow, extending the cloak’s wing in his right hand to expose the whirling galaxy that shifts and stirs on the underside. “Somnium devorator, as your kind call me.”

The edge of your fear is replaced with the barest notion of curiosity — and beyond that, anger. This guy is talking straight nonsense as far as you’re concerned, and it doesn’t provide the answer you’re looking for, it’s only created more questions.

“Why should I believe you?” your eyes flicker between him and the remaining three walls, hopeful for another escape route — you don’t miss the way he moves forward each time you aren’t busy with words, “Better yet, why decide you’re going to take on an appearance like this,” you gesture vaguely towards him, “when you’ve been all too content with imitating a walking shadow until this point?”

Their head tilts sloooooow to the side, fingers twitching. The resemblance to a cat stalking prey is almost uncanny. “Thought this form might be less frightening,” he answers, notably skipping right over your first question, “are you not charmed?”

You dislike his choice of wording. More than that, you hate the laziness in his gestures, as though he has all day to play with you. If you were to believe him even in the slightest it would mean you were running around in his mise en scène — he has every reason to take his time.

It’s your turn to refuse him an answer, instead swiftly moving on with your long list of questions. “Alright, let’s say you’re telling the truth. Why go through all of this effort?” Your search for an alternative door returns with terrible news. Only the one exists. Effectively, you are trapped between two nightmares. You need to keep him talking. “What is it you want from me?”

Their mask begins to splinter, a sharp cheshire smile shining through the cracks. Moon’s voice lowers into a pitch that makes your stomach curdle. “I’m hungry, little dreamer,” shrill laughter escapes between his teeth, “and I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

Alright, screw talking.

You break past him and shoulder your way through the door, more than willing to relive the horrors on the other side if it meant getting away from a creature that would have you for dinner if you stuck around any longer. Only when you’re past the threshold do you spare a glance behind you to see him stood in place, only those same, scarlet eyes following your path as the door shuts again. Turning around, you are met with the presence of an entirely different room.

Rather, a hallway. Bright and vibrant as the ballroom itself, it stretches on endlessly with no clear escape in sight, offering a parade of doors on either side, each door no different from the last as you pace forward.

The door you first came from opens with an audible click, and you need not waste time looking behind you to know who enters through it. The chime of a silver bell sings to you outright.

Your brisk walk turns into a run.

The hall goes on for miles, still, offering you no relief in the form of escape when you enter through a door at random only to end up on the other side. An endless maze that leads you no further away from the masked creature, who follows you down the hall at an easy, nonchalant pace, happy to let you run yourself ragged like this.

Behind him, the room begins to crumble. As though the strings of reality were being snapped one by one, step by heel-toed step, the dream is devoured in his wake — it leaves nothing behind.

The small flame which started in your chest has crept between the gaps in your ribcage and set fire to every limb, now impossible to ignore, it burns and burns and burns. Your lungs spasm in a desperate attempt to suck in air as though every breath will be your last. Your legs plead for relief as they carry you through another door and this one, against all odds, leads to a room most familiar to you.

You’re right back where you started.

The empty room is different this time if only by the secondary door across from you, and although you are just plain sick of doors, by now, you aren’t going to curse a gift when it’s given. Instead, you march forward, pausing at the door you exited from only briefly to lock it in place. You aren’t hopeful that it will stop a reality devouring demon, but you can buy yourself some time at the very least.

Or maybe not. The doorknob twitches when you’re not two steps away from it, a low and frustrated growl slipping through the gaps, and suddenly you can’t get across the room and to the other door fast enough.

Your hand catches on the knob and gives it an earnest twist. Nothing. It refuses to be turned more than half an inch, evidently locked from the other side, and in a brief moment of outright hysteria you wonder if you’re struggling uselessly with the same door that stands behind you, having just locked it yourself only a moment ago. How cruel, in that case, to give you a false sense of hope.

The door at your back rattles and splinters at its sides as Moon rages just beyond it. Then it stills, all at once, and everything falls silent.

You dare not allow yourself to think they would give up so soon, your sigh of relief held hostage until you know for sure that you're in the clear only to hear the telltale ring of a bell echo through the gap beneath the door. So, too, does the shadow follow. A misty presence that you're more familiar with which pries its way into the bright room and recollects itself once its through, mask and all, and you are left trapped for what is likely the last time.

"Silly, silly me, thinking you might make this easy for me," Moon tuts, "are you quite done running now?"

“I wouldn’t be running if you weren’t chasing me,” you retort, nose wrinkling at the accusation. Your back presses up against the door as he ventures a step closer, but only that. You don’t bother trying to hide the noise you’re making as your hand wrestles fruitlessly with the doorknob behind you.

“You’re being ridiculous,” the demon sighs, “this could all go away if you would only let me help you.”

Back and forth, back and forth, the metal twists in your palm like your life depends on it. “Sure, I’ll just lie down and let you eat me, then,” you scoff, “I’m not stupid!”

Scarlet eyes blink behind the mask, quick with surprise. He stares at you with a look as though maybe you are a little stupid. If he believes it, he has no intentions of vocalizing the thought. Instead he deflates at the shoulders with another long, tired sigh and moves the cape aside so he can better reach for you — that is, he extends a hand in your direction, palm side up. Fitted in masquerade regalia like he is, it almost looks like he’s asking you to dance.

“Don’t be scared,” their voice lowers into a murmur, small and harmless when compared to the sharp grin that splits their cheeks. “I need you to trust me.”

You hardly have the time to consider it.

The silver knob finally gives in with a violent crack of metal screws and the door flies open behind you, pulling you back that final step into the embrace of nothingness — not a hall nor a ballroom nor anything at all catches you, rather, an endless abyss carries you down, down, down.

Moon watches your plummet from the illuminated doorway until you fall out of sight.

Your body jolts awake with a start. You’re back in your house again, sitting on your kitchen floor and slumped against the cabinets. Just a dream. Just a really, really weird dream.

Looking up, you notice the microwave still awaiting your input. The cup remains cold where it sits on the other side. Despite hearing its digital response clear as day — and the rhythmic beep beep beep that follows — you evidently never even got around to punching the numbers in.

When had you fallen asleep?

You rub the remnants of shock and crusted sleep away with the heel of your palm and then use the counter for support to force yourself back to your feet, fitfully ignoring the way your muscles groan with a soreness that has no sane reason to be there.

A quick glance at your microwave lets you know that you were out for just under an hour. An alarming discovery, really, because at the time it felt as though you had been trapped in that hallway for years, and plunging through darkness for centuries.

You can’t risk falling asleep a second time.

You decide against drinking that last cup of joe, thinking better of it, since it’s bound to be stale by now and, anyway, all that caffeine might have been what gave you such vivid dreams in the first place.

Still, you can’t help but wonder just how real any of it was, and the first thing you do upon picking yourself up from the floor is warily check around the corners for any signs of the shadowy figure…finding nothing and no one. How silly; it really was just a dream.

You make your way out of the kitchen and into the livingroom, instead, turning on the lamp beside the wall on your way in so it basks the small room in light. The couch springs bounce as you slump against them, eyes already scanning the area for the television remote after deciding that you need some kind of distraction from whatever the hell all of that was.

The feeling of its eyes on you still lingers.

Determined to ignore it, you continue digging along the seams until you find the remote between two cushions, and bring it forward with an exhausted sigh, hopping through channels one by one with no clear intent in mind and for only a few seconds before the screen abruptly cuts to black.

Confused, you try again, digging your thumb into the power button and getting about as far as you had the first time before the power cuts. Again, you turn it on, and again, the same thing happens. You’re less patient with the third attempt and must remind yourself that throwing the remote into your screen won’t solve the issue when it inevitably fizzles out before your eyes.

Irritated, you spring from your couch on borrowed energy and pace forward to look behind the television, just to see if maybe the cord is hanging halfway out of the outlet, seeing as that’s the only conclusion you can think to come to. Everything looks to be in its place, though, and this does nothing but frustrate you further. You just wanted to relax, damn it.

Behind you, the familiar ring of a bell.

You turn around to find nothing there at all (a party trick that doesn’t exactly surprise you, anymore) and march back to the couch on tired legs, adamant to pretend the creature isn’t watching you from somewhere as you slump against the cushions again and reach for the remote. But it’s gone — of course it is — and you search everywhere for it; between the cushions, on the floor, even peering across the room to see if you brought it with you to check out the television, but no. Nothing.

It is with a great and mighty sigh that you leave the couch for a third time, lowering yourself to the floor and climbing onto your hands and knees, deciding to check the space under your couch as a last ditch attempt at finding the damned thing.

A pair of scarlet eyes stares back.

You scramble backwards with an ear splitting shriek, narrowly avoiding the shadowy claws that swipe at your retreating form and tear a stripe through the hem of your pant leg when they catch.

From a safe yard away you see the creature withdraw back into the darkness under the couch, its eyes narrowing in unmasked frustration. A thin line of shadow paces behind it like a metronome, left, right, left, right, the chime of its bell following suit.

A cat lashing its tail in agitation. Charming — cute, even, if this thing weren’t trying to eat you.

Perhaps it is the delirium from lack of sleep or perhaps only spite that drives you to do what you do next, which is to laugh. A noise that has the demon’s eyes losing their beautiful scarlet color, pupils dilating into pinpricks and leaving behind empty pools of black.

“Look who’s trapped now,” you sneer. “Can’t get me in the light outside of in dreams, can you?”

Thoroughly invested in your patronizing, you're much too distracted to notice the way he slinks further into the darkness, disappearing entirely only to resurface a moment later in the extended shadow of your lamp.

The laughter dies in your throat, replaced with a wary silence as you watch the demon slink formlessly around the light's base and up its long neck, careful to stay on the side bathed in darkness. A spindly body peels itself from the shadows and clings to the wall by the palm of its hands, then — with one smooth kick from half-formed legs — your only source of light meets the floor with an enormous clatter…plunging the room into darkness.

Well, shit.

Moon is at your throat before you can think to crawl away, a towering presence that pins your back to the floor and snarls low into your ear. Strings of inky drool collecting between his teeth are the last thing you see before your head turns away, eyes squeezing shut, resigned to becoming the dreaded beast's next meal.

Until the presence of its hand at your cheek brings you to look again.

A noise not dissimilar to a purr dribbles from his throat as long, disjointed fingers comb through your hair, razor-sharp nails kept at bay with each slow, careful stroke.

"I nnnne—" Moon's head shakes from side to side, words drawn with a sharp and tedious hiss, as if each one requires effort to form, different from the ease with which he spoke in your dream — after all, a shadow isn’t meant to talk. "Need you to trussssst me."

That was easier said than done. Still, they make no move to lash out at you, keeping, instead, to brushing his knuckles along the roof of your scalp and down the other side. If you didn’t know any better you would think he was attempting to soothe you, like a parent might comfort a child after a nightmare. And then it dawns on you.

That's exactly what he's doing. Or trying to do, anyway, as awkward and unpracticed as it is. You wonder how many times he watched humans perform this song and dance — if maybe he considered it a ritual, or just something that made the tears go away.

You search his eyes for anything trustworthy, and find the smallest twinkle of light within. "You...you aren't here to eat me, are you?"

Again, Moon shakes his head. "Jussst the nightmare," he promises, "I will not hhharm you."

Swallowing around what small amount of fear you can, opting to trust him, if only for now, you answer the demon with a slow and wary nod. "A-And you’ll leave, after? When you’re finished, um—”

“Devouring, yesss,” His mouth parts to make room for a wetted tongue. It protrudes from the back of his throat to swipe over hungry teeth — glistening like stars in a midnight sky — drips of sticky black crawling down his jaw to land soundlessly against your skin.

You resist the urge to close your eyes again, decisively holding firm, even if your voice is anything but. “I — I can’t be the only one having dreams, even nightmares, around here. Why not move on to someone else?” You watch them pause, considering. It’s hard to keep the chastizing tone out of your voice. Demon or not, this thing is acting ridiculous, if not a little childish. “You could easily find someone else to hunt, right?” A grimace pulls on your face at the poor choice of words but, well, that’s basically what this whole week has been. Endurance hunting. They’ve only been waiting for you to tire yourself out — while exhausting themselves in the process. “I just don’t understand. Why are you starving yourself of a meal?”

An annoyed chitter clicks from between their teeth. “Why are you starving yourself of sleep?”

You bite the inside of your cheek hard, not wanting to let the ‘touche’ be spoken aloud. “You know why,” you say instead. “You saw the nightmare too, didn’t you? It’s worse than anything my brain has come up with in years. Worse than the ballroom, and the faceless strangers, and the endless hallway. Worse than—” your teeth clack painfully under the force with which your mouth snaps shut, decisively keeping that thought tucked behind you, but it’s obvious by his flinch that Moon knows what you were going to say, regardless.

The nightmare that crept into your mind four days prior was worse than even him.

Silence answers you. You aren’t sure what you expected, really. Why would a demon, even the tailed, belled, poor-attempts-at-comfort kind, have any sympathy for a bad dream? If anything, you’re sure he encouraged its existence.

“What about it scares you so much?”

His voice jolts you from your thoughts, catching you off guard. Your answer is interrupted by the quiet voice of a newscaster as your television roars back to life and blue light pours from the screen — forcing him back under the couch with a weak hiss. Evidently, his strength to mess with your electronics is finally all used up.

“It’s…stupid,” you begin, attempting to sound bored as you lift yourself by the elbows and shrug. You consider twisting around to power off your television manually, but the short length of distance between you isn’t terrible. It allows you some breathing room — and an excuse to not look him in the eyes as you continue.

“There’s no monsters or faceless crowds. It’s just me in this big, empty space, and I’m…alone. Unbearably alone.” You smile; a wry and pathetic attempt at pretending even as your own words betray you, hushed into a whisper. “That scares me more than anything.”

Your eyes search his own for any sign of empathy. You’re sure the implications are not lost on him; the single pillow on your bed, the absence of texts from friends or calls from family, your furniture left to grow dusty with no one around to impress. The lack of evidence that you aren’t already living the nightmare you’re so desperately trying to avoid.

The bell rings through their continued silence, tapping gently against the floor where their tail sways, his expression unreadable from under the couch. You fidget awkwardly with the torn hem of your pants and decide to continue, if only to fill the silence. “I don’t expect you to understand,” you admit, “it’s natural for you to be alone — hazards of your line of work, right?”

The words come off as a joke — lighthearted, even if the laugh that follows is dry — but his bell falls silent.

“...It can get lonely, sssometimes.”

Your mouth goes dry, all attempts at humor dying in your throat at once, and you frown. Their awkward form of comfort immediately comes to mind. How long have they been watching humanity from the sidelines, you wonder. Curious if not hopeful for a glimpse of that life. What it might feel like to be comforted, or to hold someone’s hand, or even just have someone to talk to. Even in the crowd — even in your dreams — he kept his back against the wall, entirely alone.

Maybe he understands more than you think.

“You know why, then. Why I don’t want to risk falling asleep and— and going back to that.” Your eyes betray you. Despite your best efforts you can not stop the tears that brim at the corners, thick with frustration and a bone-deep exhaustion, they burn hot against the dark circles beneath your eyes. You swipe at them with the bottom of your shirt, refusing to let them carry down your cheeks. “Even if you promised to get rid of the nightmare for good, I— I cant. I don’t want to experience it again.”

More silence answers you. God, this is humiliating. You begin to wonder if it was childish of you to assume the monster under your bed would pay your worries any mind. Those scarlet eyes only stare, apathetic and cold as the day you first saw them. You decide he isn’t going to give you the answer you want and so move to stand, but his throat offers a whine, halting your retreat, and his eyes are suddenly wide with thought.

“What if I show you something scarier?”

A funny noise slips between your teeth; something between a laugh, and a scoff. You crawl forward to lie down beside the couch, stomach to the floor, placing your head on your arms so you can stare him down at eye level. “Scarier than my nightmare?” You ask, “I doubt even you would be able to pull that off. I’m desensitized to all of your tricks, already.”

The creature’s grin is wide and sharp, that of a truly frightful thing. You wonder, then, why his eyes look so terribly sad. “Not all of them,” he tells you. “How about we ssstrike a deal?”

Your mother had always warned you about making deals with demons. Well, she hadn’t, but it’s common sense not to. That said, your common sense left the stage three nights ago, at minimum, and your curiosity currently ruled the intermission. You wanted to see where they were going with this. “What did you have in mind?”

There it is, again — that shrill laughter. “If I scare you, mmmore than even the nightmare,” Moon begins, “you will sleep for me.”

Your brow creases, eyebrows pinching together. “And if you can’t?” You ask, “If my nightmare is still worse than whatever you manage to come up with?”

“Then I’ll leave,” he promises, “and I won’t return.”

Oh. Well, that certainly sweetened the deal, didn’t it? Especially since you’re completely sure he’s just talking out of his ass. He might have scared you a few days ago — and admittedly, he still does, now — but nothing compares to the dark recesses that have kept you up for three straight nights, of that you are certain. With this confidence in mind, your answer comes easily.

Your hand extends toward them, disappearing into the shadow beneath your couch, and cool, boney fingers snake around your palm in turn.

“You have a deal.”

The curtains in your bedroom are pulled shut, the door closed, and the overhead light turned off. Moon crouches like a stone-still gargoyle in the far corner of your room where the soft light of your bedside table lamp can’t get to him.

Lastly, you climb into bed. “Remind me again why I’m doing this?” The covers are pulled back, but you don’t yet get under them. “I don’t like the idea of being a sitting duck, you know. When you told me to turn the lights off I didn’t think you meant all of them. Silly me, I guess.”

“Hushhh,” Moon hisses. They nod towards the bedside lamp. “That one too.” Seeing your eyes narrow with suspicion, they have the gall to sneer, showing their teeth as they finally stands to full height. Even slouched as he is, his shadowed head brushes along your ceiling, too-long limbs hanging limply at his boney sides. They watch your hand reach for the light and hesitate, still, only risking one step forward to plead their case, scarlet eyes aglow. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You very much do not trust him, though you want to. In fact, in order for this to work, you need to. He knows this as well as you do, and you believe he is hoping you’ll cut him some slack, maybe. It’s fortunate, then, that you’re too deep into this mess to turn back now.

“Just this once,” you tell him, and with the flick of a switch your bedroom lapses into darkness.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, and it is for this reason that you hear the transformation before you see it.

A sound like stretched wires and loosened, plucked seams carries through the room, his shadowed form beginning to lose its shape all at once. Scarlet eyes liquify cartoonishly, dripping like candle wax down his cheeks, mouth sagging in tow like a burlap sack coming undone. The space between their eyes purses open with ease, a gap just wide enough for tapered claws to snag against the flesh on either end and—

Their skin is split open and shred like a viscous cocoon, peeled away to reveal something inchoate, a grotesque assembly of viscera, blackened entrails wrapping around a wiry frame of jagged, mismatched teeth, thin like cords and cables, bleeding together into a blistering excuse of a carcass that drips and oozes and spills along your floor, and it is alive, pulsing along his anatomy like winged insects smothering the bark of a tree

— and from every bend there is a humanesque face, featureless as the masked strangers and protruding as though they are trapped behind skin, and between each shallow crevice there grows an eye, swollen and frantically looking in all directions, the veined tissue stretched thin across the expanse of their chassis, each a vibrant red like the blood pounding in your ears. His macabre torso swings forward on backwards legs, crawling forward on all fours, the remaining six limbs dragged behind like deadweight as he reaches the foot of your bed.

You are not winning this bet.

The mere sound they make — a long, suffocated groan — is enough to make your blood run cold. Goosebumps swarm your arms, every hair standing on end. You retreat against the frame of your bed and face them with a whimper as the tears begin to pour, you can do nothing but sit there, knees tucked to your chest, confused and pitifully lost for what to say for fear that you’ll simply open your mouth and gag. A cold sweat builds along your skin and soaks into the sheets that are pulled taut under daggered claws as this—this thing ambles onto your mattress.

A pleading, vehement shake of your head makes them freeze in place. Your heart hammers out of your chest as all eyes twist forward to meet you with a hideous squelch, and suddenly the very act of breathing feels impossible.

Moon — or whatever has become of them — extends a single hand in your direction. Throbbing bone meets your cheek and brushes away the tears, stilling only when you flinch, and though his ever changing face gives nothing away you can tell, near-immediately, that you’ve wounded him.

You finally understand the careful wording behind his proposal. ‘If I scare you’, they had said. Indeed — worse than even the nightmares, Moon was a terrifying, monstrous thing.

Again does that familiar, shrill laughter fill your ears. "I wwwin."

It's bitter. There is no victory in his voice. He knew the odds and played them well in his favor even at the cost of exposing the uglier side, and now you’re here, pressed against the headboard and faced with a dripping maw that is just ghoulish enough to make you forget about the way he smiled at you only a short while ago.

Your head shakes for another reason entirely, this time. “I—I’m not scared,” you insist, desperate to ignore the tremble lining your throat, “I’m not.”

Admitting it would mean losing and losing meant having to face another nightmare all together, but more than that, you force the lie between chattering teeth because the way he looks at you is devastating, as though he’s realized only now the damage that’s been done. You will never look at him the same way again.

Yet he remains firm, answering you with a murmur. "Come nnnow, firefly, a deal is a deal,” he tells you, “it’s time for bed."

The demon in your bedroom, heinous and ugly and towering, guides you softly beneath your many covers. He fluffs your pillow. He tucks you in. He considers another stroke through your hair, a kiss to your forehead as he’s seen time and time again — he decides against it. Instead, Moon draws himself away from you, imagining that you can’t bear to look at him for a moment longer. Prepared to wait by the empty corner of your room, instead.

You reach out — catch him by the hand. One of many. Viscous muscle dribbles over your fingers, cold to the touch, but your hold remains steadfast.

The sight he is met with when he turns around is that of you propped up on one elbow, eyes wide with fear of another kind, and he can’t help but return to your side.

"Stay here?" You ask. "...I don't want to be alone."

His motley of eyes blink in perfect unison, though he says nothing, at first, thoroughly shocked to silence. Why call a nightmare to the foot of your bed? Was it a trick? An excuse to smother your guilt? They can’t imagine another reason. Yet, undeniably, they watch as you lower yourself against the mattress again and use your other hand to raise the covers, inviting him inside.

And he nods too eagerly — climbs onto the bed in a hurry as if scared you will change your mind, and only then does he squeeze your hand back.

“You’re not,” they promise, “I’m right hhhere.”

Inky puddles trickle against your sheets as they tuck themselves under your offering of blankets, disappearing to the space at your feet if only for a moment, and returning, again, with familiar scarlet eyes that blink at you from the darkness.

Smooth shadow fits against your palm and curls between your fingers, refusing to let go, and as you hold hands with this strange creature — who has brought himself to the very brink of starvation for your sake — you begin to wonder if your nightmare isn’t so impossible to face after all.

“Promise me,” you cram the words around a yawn, “you have to swear to me that you won’t let the nightmare go on for long.”

Moon smiles with both sets of teeth, extending a shadowed hand to you, and offering his pinky. “I won’t leave a crumb behind,” he says, “you have my word.”

Your laughter is wary, but there all the same, a weak and hopeful smile playing on your lips. You want to believe him. You have to believe him.

An unavoidable weight tugs at your eyelids as your pinky curls around his own, four days of exhaustion catching up with you at last, and finally, tucked against shadow, your eyes fall shut. And everything

goes

quiet.

This abyss is dreadfully familiar. The expanse around you is black as the night without any stars to offer relief, and when you cast your voice into the darkness, looking for someone — anyone — to call back, not even your own voice returns.

You are unbearably alone.

A cold chill runs through you, aching within your chest like a broken heart. Your body makes itself terribly small, arms tucking around themselves as tears threaten to spill over your cheeks once more, the feeling of isolation too much, already. It eats away at you until even the darkness feels like a comfort, and you want nothing more than to be swallowed up by it, so that you might never have to feel this loneliness again.

How wonderful it is, then, to hear the chime of bell.

Your whirl on your heel to see Moon before you, dressed again in masquerade regalia, bent at the waist and with his arm outstretched, a charming grin splitting his cheeks behind the mask. His offer to dance is left unspoken, and he will wait as long as you need, but you hardly hesitate for even a moment this time before accepting with a smile of your own.

He sweeps you into a dance immediately, humming the tune of a familiar waltz and he carries you around the dark expanse, hand braced against the small of your back, whisking you this way and that until laughter builds in your throat and the room doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

The stars beneath his cloak escape from the fabric to dance overhead. Galaxies of purple and blue and orange, nebulas that are red and brilliant gold, constellations which illuminate the darkness until the surrounding color reflects underfoot, and you dance across a sky of stained glass.

He dips you with a flourish, cloak tails soaring above their shoulders like wings pulled straight from the night sky, and as his chin tilts to look your way you want nothing more than to draw the mask from his face and see the smile that lies beneath.

He is visibly wary as your hand reaches for its silvery frame, though he makes no move to stop you. Perhaps he is scared that you will hate what you find on the other side — scared that he is too frightening, too monstrous without something to cover his face.

But as it comes away, and you are met again with those scarlet eyes, you think of nothing more than how happy they’ve made you. Your hand frames their cheek with another bout of laughter as you mind the many eyes and teeth under your thumb, and when his smile widens so, too, does your own, because for the first time in forever you don’t feel so alone.

And you think that maybe, just maybe, you never want this dream to end.

#DCAH2023 #moon x reader #I hope you enjoy it! sorry again for being so tardy #I really really enjoyed playing with this concept/au #might toy with it some more in the future #merry christmas and happy new year!#dream eater au

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