#tw suicidal ideation (not me shared with me) /

[star-dust-shark]

Mmh~ ah~ uh- unhhh- a-ah! Su-suicidal th-thoughts~! S-stop~ mhm~

[the-amber-droid-dreams]

its so fucking hard to imagine what a future for someone like me could even look like. noone i know or have heard of is like me. being alive is already really fucking hard and exhausting but especially so when i cant even imagine a future for myself lmao

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

moved into new room. rain is pattering on my new window. feeling super alive. & grateful.

[pengillys]

💔

[dystopyx-blog]

Stuck in TWST without meds

and also they're yandere or something

@shironakuronatasa here you go pookie <3

Because everyone is different, I'm gonna be focusing on the meds I take and the things I experience! If you're inspired to write one of your own based on your types of meds, go for it! I'd love to see others' takes on this :3

I'm still writing in 2nd person, but you/mc is heavily based off of me!

(And if you still want a personalized one but don't want to write it, my commissions are open/hj)

Tw for one mention of suicidal ideation.

Imagine...

You don't quite have a clusterfuck of things going on in your head, but sometimes it can feel like it. Autism, Anxiety, depression, and ADD. Thankfully, you have access to medication, and they work well for you.

Although you can't keep the downward spiraling from the depression and anxiety away completely, it is far more manageable with your medication. You've found that when off them, you are far more prone to completely fall apart at even the slightest inconvenience. It feels like constant stormy waters, with stormclouds that only make the waves worse. But when on them, the storm disappears. Yes, the waves still get rocky and tip your boat from side to side, but you're emotionally stable enough to handle them.

Then the meds for your ADD. With them you have the razor sharp focus to not only take care of projects and work, but also to simply take care of yourself. When off of those, even simple tasks like taking out the trash can take hours, especially since you so easily forget steps, and will stop the chore in the middle, genuinely thinking it's complete.

But you have your meds, so you manage just fine.

Until you're sucked into Twisted Wonderland.

First of all, even if you had already taken the meds for anxiety/depression, there's not much they could do in the face of being transported and consequently trapped in a different dimension. But they do still help, and instead of bawling, you manage to keep a cool (enough) head and get yourself settled into Ramshackle.

But they don't last you long. They had built up in your system enough to last you a few days, but time and circumstances were not on your side.

Even though Grim is by no means an emotional support pet, and is by all means a little shit, he manages to push his pride aside when he can tell you really need it.

Especially the days where you wonder if death is what will bring you back home...

Grim will act as if he helps you for his own purposes, but he is genuinely there for you.

The others, however...

First of all, quite a few of them don't completely understand... you're extra sad and spacey, but you had some kind of magic to help with it back home, but you don't have them here, and without them you get... sad and spacey?

Riddle probably sees it as some pathetic excuse. It's not until after his overblot that his tune completely changes and he is giving you all the special treatment. Even if you mess up on purpose, even if it's something that really frustrates him, he'll justify it as you not knowing any better. Which is patronizing as hell.

Ace will use it to his advantage. Getting into trouble and having you take the brunt. And you play along with it, because, again, Riddle is treating you like an incompetent child, so you are all for raising Cain with Ace. What Ace really loves about this, though, is that it makes you more willing to hang out with him, and more likely to dislike Riddle.

I imagine Deuce has something going as well, though I don't quite know what, and neither does he. But he finds a kindred spirit in you. Study sessions with him are a MUST, and you share your different study and coping tactics, while he stares at your lovely face.

Trey relishes in caring for you. If you're having any kind of sudden increase in stress or sorrow, he is fucking there. He will scoop you up and take you to the kitchen and treat you with his home baked goodies right then and there. Same with your academics, if you need help with academics, it's to the kitchen for tutoring. And as bad as it is, he finds himself wishing you'd give in and lean on him completely.

Leona will also be there for you in depressive episodes. He sees how you always go to Grim when your upset, notices the little things that Grimm does that helps, and starts subtly using them whenever you're upset. Not even just if it's depression/anxiety related, if you're upset with him specifically he'll start purring in that low register that has your heart slowing. He'll rest his body on your chest as a weighted blanket. He'll let you pet him and comb through his hair. All until all you associate Leona with is safety and comfort–as you should from a mate.

Ruggie is SUCH a little meanie at first! Specifically regarding your ADD. Once he sees how much it genuinely upsets you, though, he'll back off. He does have a manipulative streak, though, and will use your anxiety against you. Any way he can get you to distrust others and seek him out is a good way.

Jack is one who does not fuckin understand at first, but once he does, he's supportive. He asks if there's anyway he can help and you offhandedly tell him about emotional support dogs, and he is locked on. He's embarrassed by it at first, of course, but he can tell how safe it makes you feel, and like Leona he is completely fucking for that. Though he won't just be emotional support, no, he'll be the guard dog chasing away anything that could possibly trigger you.

School is very difficult for you without your ADD meds. You can manage, but it is far more stressful and difficult than it needs to be. So, of course, you have those generously offering to help you–specifically Azul, who's more than willing to help... at a price, of course.

Floyd really likes when you daze off in class... When you're staring blankly, mind thinking about so many things except whatever the professor is droning on about. The way your eyes glaze over, the way you're so focused on whatever the fuck is going on in your head, the way your lips part ever so slightly... All your idle habits are endlessly entrancing to him. And, goes without saying, every single time you're especially depressed, he offers a good squeeze session.

Jade, the manipulative bastard, will purposely set you up for failure so that you feel like you need to go to him for help. Because lord knows Azul will make you pay for it, but not your good friend Jade. Plus, if you ever mention how hiking can help with mood, lord save your soul...

Jamil is such a DICK. He will be degrading you at every second, completely taking over whatever it is you try to do. Even if it has nothing to do with him. God, you remind him of Kalim, but at least you don't have the nerve to be so fucking happy all the time. A sick part of him likes when you're sad. You're less annoying when you're depressed, specifically, without little energy or motivation to do or be anything else. He'd happily take care of you then. He'll do whatever you need done. You'd probably do it wrong anyway.

Kalim feels so fucking seen and understood. He honestly felt like some kind of freak for so much of his life, but you... you're kinda like him! A lot sadder though. Your very existence brightens his life, so he's made it his mission to brighten yours. He also really can't stand it when you're with others. It's so obvious you two are meant for each other! He views your shared ADD symptoms as evidence of soulmateship.

Vil is another case of not fully understanding. You're making excuses. Until he takes it a bit too far, pushes even more than what you can handle, and you fully break down in front of him. You're so completely and utterly vulnerable in that moment. He doesn't know if it's a very dedicated manipulation tactic to get out of his nitpicking, but... he becomes a little more sympathetic with you. Vil recognizes that, for whatever reason, you do in fact seem to struggle more with certain things. And yet, despite that, you still try. You continue push yourself, even if what youre pushing towards is, by other people's standards, the norm/mediocrity/minimum. And in you he starts to see a bit of himself. Especially since, let's face it, with depression, anxiety, and add, it is very likely you relate more to Vil than you do Niege. He helps you, and in turn you help him, though you don't even realize it. Helping you be happier with yourself helps him be happy with himself. And he'll fucking slaughter anyone who takes you away from him.

Rook, like Vil, is easily able to recognize how much you not only struggle, but how much you try. And he finds that incredibly beautiful. Needless to say, he is often watching you. Everything you do is enchanting. He memorizes every. single. stim. and habit. Sometimes when you get frustrated, he just wants to scoop you up in his arms and shower you in kisses, but then you'd realize he broke into your room...

Epel will see how much you get pushed around, and takes it upon himself to defend you. He also sees a bit of himself in you. Sometimes he purposely waits around you, and at the first sign of trouble, he'll attack.

Sometimes you just get too fucking overstimulated and you need a break. And in those times, you've found Idia to be the best person to go to. You both started off pretty distant. You approached him, upset, and asked for a quiet place. You put in headphones and just laid down right there. The two of you just sat in silence, with headphones in, doing your own things, blocking out the world. And, oh, how Idia came to crave those moments. He began to depend on you for comfort, ans hoping that you would similarly come to depend on him. You're different from those other normies, you're the only one who gets him so please just stay with him! He will start to modify his room to be the perfect sensory room, the only place in the school you can go to fully regulate yourself. He starts going out with you, acting as if you're really helping him step out of his shell, when really he just wants to spend more time with you, and will continue to shy away from everyone else and hide behind you. This man desperately needs you to need him as desperately as he needs you.

You are so. Fucking. Cute. Malleus finds your every single quirk so fucking attractive. He doesnt like, however, seeing you so upset. So sad. And the kind of sad where he is helpless to help you. He also really doesn't like it when you're upset at yourself. Don't you realize you're perfect? And who cares if you're not good at any of the school stuff? Malleus doesn't. You don't need any of those skills anyway, with Malleus Draconia here to always take care of you.

if you want the rest of diasomnia or the secret character I subtly didn't include lmk

part two out now!!

[quillandrapier]

You could be having the most harrowing mental health episode and you just have to clean and be present.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, domestic violence, abuse, suicidal ideations, suicide attempts, accidental murder, death

gn reader

You should have never fallen in love with someone so brash, but you like seeing the good in people much to the abuse of your own. Still, rough around the edges as he was, you’d never thought he’d become such a monster.

The first time he slapped you, you were so shocked you’d ended up the one who apologized—all the way convinced you must have deserved it. And ever since then, you’ve only accumulated more bruises in areas you can’t explain.

You’re in the bathroom now. The door’s locked, but you don’t think it’ll keep him out for long.

“Open the door, babe—I didn’t mean it.”

You don’t even know if he has himself convinced of that or if he’s just saying it to soothe you. Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that your wrist and rib are broken. You’re so terrified you think you might end up dying from the fear alone, sitting in the bathtub just waiting for the inevitable.

You don’t have a phone—it was taken when an old boyfriend had texted. You’d share his from then on, he said—better that way so he can keep track of you. It’s strange, but somehow, you believed it was rather romantic. 

You were going to leave this time. It would be so simple. He was at work, and you’d just leave everything and walk right out the door. But there was an incident at the office which made him come home early only to catch you red-handed heading out the door you know you’re not supposed to open without him.

You’d been so panicked you’d tried running—but there was really no chance. His arms caught you hard, and the floor he threw you back on met you even harder—hence the snapped bones.

Still, you’d managed to scramble to the bathroom with just enough time to lock it behind you.

And now you were left all out of options.

“Open the door, we’ll talk. Maybe I misunderstood.” His voice had calmed down now. He’d been at it for a while—he sounded more airy, teetering on frantic, and it only served to scare you even more. “I know it can get pretty cramped in ‘ere all alone. Maybe you were just getting some fresh air, is all?” He left the question a couple of seconds worth of breath before sending his fist into the door. “Come on, answer me!”

You were sobbing. He might actually kill you this time. God knows you’ve thought he would other times with both his hands wrapped tight around your throat, stringing you up, making you lose voice for days.

You thought about it—the razor blades in the drawer. It seemed like the only option left. Better you than him, right? He’d make it painful. Or worse, he might not go through with it at all, and you’d be stuck living with him forever.

That really did seem worse than death, you thought, sitting on the floor while holding the shiny metal piece to your wrist. Which way was best to cut again? Right. It’ll be quick, and then it’ll be over.

You don’t even hear the door breaking down before he’s on you. You don’t even realize you’ve cut before you see the red. You don’t even know whose blood it is before he gags on it—before it splutters from his mouth upon your face and the slice on his neck splits upon and gushes out like a waterfall all over your clothes.

He drops to the floor with a heavy thud a moment later.

The blood is so warm you don’t even understand how he’s dead.

You even think about stopping the bleeding for a moment, but then it suddenly settles. And then along, shortly after, the understanding that you’d killed him.

The razor hits the bloody tiles with no sound—it’s all so thick it splats before sinking, disappearing slowly. You swallow once, but you’re throat is all but dry. Even the tears had stopped in the shock.

You spot the phone on the floor, having slid from his pocket—moments away from drowning in the blood that seems to just continue seeping and spreading forever. Something within you grabs it before it can.

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

“Hi! Uhm… I’ve just killed my boyfriend.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Enji, Aizawa ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ DS – Akaza, Inosuke, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! Crazy ex boyfriend

tw: female reader, non - con, heavy degradation, slut-shaming, abuse/violence, mockery of depression, suicidal ideation, obsessive behavior, death threats, dark

It's 2 a.m. and you can't sleep - you keep turning and burying your head into the soft, warm pillow, but something is off. The moon is too bright, coming in from the gap between your heavy curtains. The crickets outside are too loud, playing around and singing the same old melody over and over again. The static silence of the old radio tucked under the drawers is too repetitive, too predictable. All in all, you can feel it in your bones; something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

You hear the steps next. That sinister laughter - getting louder and louder, someone screaming at the top of their lungs, the echo flooding through the thin walls of your small shared flat. Someone's fist is gripping the lock with uneccessary cruelty as if trying to knock it out of the handle. The key falls down in one sharp motion, and your heart stops completely once the door opens with a squeaky, familiar bang - it still makes you jump even after all those months.

"Aww, baby!" The man exclaims, leaning against the door. You're not sure if you are hallucinating due to the countless hours of lost sleep, or there is actually smoke coming out of his old black trenchcoat. You're not even sure if he's trully here, or if this is yet another nightmare. "You didn't bother with locks this time!" He continues, smiling with childlike glee - but you know him too well. He's never peaceful. He's never cheerful. Any indication of happiness the monster exhibits is meant to confuse and trick his prey, and you're not falling for his tricks again. You already got burnt one too many times.

"Does that mean you missed me?" He tilts his head, almost pouting at you. He's all disheveled - a total wreck. The curly, unruly hair you once loved to caress and play with now just seems shaggy and unkept, sticking out like an explosion. His eyes are dark, well, darker, bloodshot, barely recognizable from the warm pots of honey that used to make you melt against him. He's lost weight, yet weirdly enough seems to have gained some muscle. You can't help, but think that it simply looks weird, unnatural even. Adam, the one you remember, was never strong - he was never threatening, never even raised his voice at you. But that was years ago in the sweet, distant dreams of the past, and that boy had died the moment you two moved in together. That's when your hell trully began.

"Were you trying to give me easy access, baby? Hm?" He smirks, interrupting your stream of consciousness. If you were unsure of his physicallity, of his existence, it's bright clear now - because you can never mistake that taunting, humiliating curve to his voice, the one he only uses when he's mad. Really, really mad. "Knew I would be back?"

You take a deep breath, slowly nodding along - maybe if you play nice, he'd just go away. Maybe this time you won't end up in cuts and bruises, all memories, good or bad, completely wiped off your drugged out hazy brain.

"Of course you did." Your ex boyfriend humms in satisfaction, taking a single step towards you - and it makes you tremble all over, no matter how much you wish you could remain calm and collected at the face of Death himself. "Because I told you so, no?" He clenches his teeth, raising his head so his eyes would meet yours. You feel like a deer caught before a trigger guard with an unstable trigger, one second away from being shot in the heart. "I told you-" He steps closer. "That I'll be back-" Another step. "Didn't I, princess?"

You nod again, unable to produce a sound. You almost wish he brought his gun so this little torture session would end quicker. Almost.

"Aww, look at you trying so hard to please me. It's adorable, baby." The man coos, his knee sliding across the edge of your bed. Fear takes a hold of your lungs, squeezing them in until you feel like you're seeing stars - and then Adam climbs on top of you. It all happens so quickly - one moment he's far away, and then he's towering over you, his hot breath ghosting over your sweaty neck, baby hairs sticking out with shivers. You can't shake the terrifying, unescapable feeling that you've been here before. That you somehow always end up underneath him, begging for your life - for mercy he won't ever grant you.

"I wonder where all that enthusiasm was when you decided to run on me." The white part of his eyes suddenly illuminates, brows raised together - he looks deranged. "Huh?" He looks at you, expecting an answer, yet you can't think of one. Your brain is turning to mush, consumed by raw panic - but why does it matter? Whatever you say he'll find a way to use against you. "Answer me, you fucking bitch!" He hisses, voice dropping to a diabolical whisper as his fist snaps around your throat like a metal collar. This seems to break off your stupor, and you open your mouth, ready to yell at whoever is still awake.

"Don't you dare fucking scream, cunt." Adam grips your jaw with one hand, crushing your cheeks into each other. "If I hear a single word come out of that filthy little mouth of yours, I am going to slit your fucking throat." His lips twist in a big sadistic grin you would have wanted to punch had you had the strength to move your arm around. Instead you whimper, defeated. Even after everything, your stupid self preservation instinct won't let you die - so it sacrifices the only thing you have left, your dignity. "And then in the morning your little friends will find you drowning in your own blood." He lowers his face, cold dead lips tracing the rough lines of your collarbone.

"A pretty picture for sure." He bites his lower lip, imagining it for just a second. "Bu-ut I know that even a depressed, suicidal little attention whore like you wouldn't want her friends to be sad." The man adds teasingly, and you can feel the bile back up into your stomach, burning and acidic. You may actually throw up all over him if you're not careful. And then he'd kill you for sure. "I mean, you seem to care for these pesky bugs oh-so much. It'd be a pity to force them to clean up your remains-"

"N-no, that's not true. I don't care about them, I only care about you!" You lie through your teeth, hot, salty tears pricking your eyes as you deny the love you have for the only people who care about you - the ones who basically saved you from a life of abuse and suffering. But apparently nothing good lasts, not when it comes to you. "Adam, I only love y-"

He backhands you - the slap echoes through the roof. Ouch.

"Don't say-" Your ex boyfriend grunts, roughly shoving you down. You take a shallow breath, letting the sting settle in. It's going to leave a red ugly handprint all over your cheek - and yet you stupidly thought your little confession was going to make him happy. Your anchors, the straws that used to buy you time, howerer rare and far in between, are all gone now. You used them up. You've run out of time, out of trick, out of will to keep fighting.

But you know he'll never make good on his threats. He'd never actually kill you - he doesn't love you enough to rid you of this miserable obsession that ties you together. And yet you tremble every time you feel the graze of his knife against your skin - you cower whenever he raises his hand. And you break down when he holds you close, hoping, praying that this time his embrace would prove just suffocating enough for you to stop breathing all together. It never does.

"Don't say you love me. You don't love me." Adam hisses in your ear, venom dripping off each word. "And I don't even care if you love me." He turns you around, pushing your face into your pillow - muffling your cries into weak, hiccuping sobs. "You're nothing." He swallows, averting his gaze to your lower body - yanking your shorts down with little concern as to whether they'd rip or not. "You amount to nothing, you're lower than dirt. You're just a fucked up little bitch." The man keeps mouthing off, and you can't decide what hurts more - his nails digging into your hips, or the razor sharp insults. " I never want you to forget that you deserve everything I give you."

You cry out as his massive length enters you with absolutely no preparation. It hurts - you're dry and it chaffs against your walls with nothing to make it slide freely, bruising your cervix. Your muscles are trying to push the foregin object out, but it keeps pushing in and out of you in forceful uniform thrusts. Between the waves of sharp and stinging-hot pain you manage to form a coherent thought - and you're surprised. Surprised that the man is even able to stay hard when all he feels right now is anger. Not love or affection, not even lust. Just anger. Surprised your body is still going even after your mind has given up. Surprised that, even despite all your protests and agony, you are growing used to this.

"I gave you everything." Adam start off again, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "Everything - but you're too much of a selfish whore to see." He pulls your hair back so you'd face him from beneath - then he slaps you with all force. "I want to mess up that pretty little face of yours." His hand connects to your cheek once again. You know you'll wake up all puffy and blue tomorrow morning - if you even wake up. "I want you so goddamn ugly no one wants you anymore." He pulls you in by your shirt, smashing his lips against yours with a brutal force - as if he's trying to become one with you, and break your face at the same time. "I want you so ruined-" He kisses you again, teeth running into teeth - yet he's the one to bite you first. "And lonely that you have no one else to turn to."

"I want you broken." He pulls away just to stare into your empty eyes, voice now back to a whisper. "As broken as me."

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Not to Me

Christian Yu/Mito x Y/N - drabble - 861 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: TW! mention of suicidal ideation, depression, fear, fluff, comfort, jealousy, hugs and kisses for the special bb boy, so much love its almost gross

-----------------------------------

Christian watched from across the room as you spoke to Da-bin. You laughed, hard. You playfully shoved him, almost spilling your champagne. Christian sat in the shadows, the party for the Dream Reborn World Tour was in full swing and had been for hours. Christian was exhausted and defeated. His whole heart had gone into getting the tour going. He had rarely seen you over the past two months and you were nothing but understanding. Yet he couldn’t help but feel like the long hours had put a wedge in your relationship and it was all his fault. So there he sat, watching you and his band member talk. He knew in his soul you would never cheat on him, but that didn’t make him any less jealous. Didn’t make him want to somehow fix it all and beg for you to stay. He could feel Mito inside, aching to take over. He fought so hard to be himself while all this was going on, to be normal. But he was losing the fight; he stood up slinking out of the venue. He lit a cigarette as he walked through the city, wandering back towards your shared apartment. At some point during the walk it wasn’t Christian moving, it was Mito. He had no idea how he ended up at the Han River but he did. Even worse, he was looking over the edge of the bridge into the deep blue below. He leaned in, closer to the edge. His foot slipped, a shoe coming off and pulling him back into reality. He stepped away from the edge, stumbling backwards before deciding to run home. Even Mito was scared of the hasty decision he might make. Once home he collapsed in your shared bed, wanting to escape his own mind.

--------------------------------------

“Christian?!” you screamed as you bolted through the front door.

Mito woke up with a start; why did you sound so panicked? He sat up, stretching a bit before the bedroom door flew open and startled him. 

“Oh my god…” you sobbed, running to him and engulfing him in a bone crushing hug. 

He felt confused but hugged you back instantly, “Baby? What’s wrong?” 

You leaned back, your voice sounding angry but also pained, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Are you kidding me??” you said searching his face.

He looked genuinely confused.

“I have been calling you since I saw you slip out for a smoke at the party. I thought you might want some space so I didn’t follow you but then… then you didn’t come back.” you said, eyes becoming big and round. “I called you so many times… you never answered. I got nervous and left the party. I walked home just in case. And what do I find at the fucking Han River? Your fucking shoe!” you said, hitting him in the chest as your tears pick back up. 

Oh. He understood now. “You… you thought I…” he gulped.

“I thought you jumped!” you yelled at him. You weren’t angry and he knew that, you were worried to death. “The only reason there isn’t a S.W.A.T. team searching for your ass is because I checked your location!” you hit his chest once again.

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I thought… I thought you were dead.” you cried, holding his face in your hands just to confirm to yourself that he was real and there with you, not at the bottom of a river. 

Mito kissed over your cheeks, catching your tears on his lips. He felt himself crying. Not only because of the fear he instilled in you but the fact that your nightmare had crossed his mind as an idea just hours previously. He felt ashamed and the question of why you were with him drowned his mind. “I’m ok…” was all he could think to say - over and over again until your sobs turned into sniffles. 

“I love you,” you said, “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.” you said in all seriousness. The way your heart dropped when you saw his shoe on the side of the bridge. It felt like your soul was ripped out. You had never rushed home so fast after picking up his distinct shoe (the one you painted red hearts on). You felt some relief when his location was current and said your shared address but that didn’t stop your mind from racing with all the other horrible things that could be happening to him. 

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, “I love you too… I don’t understand…” you could barely hear the last part. 

“Don’t understand what?” you said, thumbing over his cheeks. 

“Why do you love me?” he asked. His eyes looked so pained, so full of fear. 

You smiled at him softly, “You are my happiness. My sun, moon, and stars. Everything fades into background noise with you. You’re all I want and all I’ll ever need.” you said, sounding so sure of yourself and the decision to love him.

“It’s rotten work loving me,” he said.

“Not to me.” you assured him, kissing him so passionately it took his breath away.

-----------------------------

Naboo's Note:

Two requests in one fic! Hello all, sorry for the little break, life was life-ing and got very busy very fast. I hope to post more but there will be another community update soon that I think would be helpful to read so I don't get anyones hopes up too high. Thanks for sticking around, XOXOXOXOXOXO!!!!!!!!!

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TW: PAST SUICIDAL IDEATION, attempts of physical abuse (throwing objects), basically reader's mother being a really horrible narcissistic abusive person.

[Please read while listening to this.]

Listen to that. The opening strains of that old Elvis classic began to swell; a hush fell over the assembled guests. All eyes were drawn to the dance floor where Sabrina now stood, radiant in her lovely gown, and Andrew looked at her with such veneration, as if she had hung the very moon in the sky. In the arms of her now-husband for their first dance as a married couple, the newlyweds shone brighter than the stars outside the manor.

Sabrina’s cheeks flushed rosier than any wine—joy, adoration, and yes, a little champagne too—had left her glowing in a way you’d never seen before this man came into her life, and your heart swelled with happiness for her.

When at last the song ended and they shared a lingering kiss, you joined the room in applause. Someone handed them a mic, and the two tried to pass the mic to each other until Sabrina was the first to give a speech. Andrew squeezed her hand, gave her an encouraging smile, and nodded.

Clearing her throat, Sabrina spoke into the mic. “Hi, everyone,” she began, voice ringing out sweet and clear through the speakers. “I just want to say thank you all for being here on this special day. Sharing it with my family and friends who mean so much to me has made it truly magical.” Another applause returned her gratitude before receding again when she was about to continue.

With misty eyes, Sabrina then turned to her step-father. “I want to thank Jim, for raising me as your own since I was little. You’ve always been the best dad a girl could ask for.”

Then, you watched her smile at her mother. “And Mom, where do I even begin? You've been my rock since day one. From keeping me sane while wedding planning to celebrating with me every step, you know I wouldn't be here without you. I wouldn't be the strong, independent woman I am today without you and Jim. I love you both so much.”

When Sabrina's parents—Jim and Joyce—approached her and gave the couple a big hug, another round of applause arose from the guests. But as Joyce placed a final kiss on Sabrina's cheek before stepping back, the world seemed to dim around you.

Suddenly, everything is so foreign—the image in front of you was never presented to you. Aunt Joyce looks genuinely happy for her daughter, and Sabrina hugs her like she cannot imagine life without her mother—which, at some point in your life, you did believe too. Mother’s words, “You won’t survive without me,” ring like angry bees.

Yet now, the thought of sharing a roof with her again feels unbearable.

Joyce and Sabrina look... uncomplicated, despite your mother's statements about how your aunt wasn't prepared for motherhood. And suddenly, everything feels numb, and you're disconnected.

In your reverie, you missed some of the speeches, only blinking back to reality when Sabrina and Andrew’s enthusiastic cheers echoed through the room. The crowd roared as the romantic notes of the new music played, “Until I Found You” inviting guests to join in the dancing.

As you do at the few parties you’ve been invited to in your entire life, you stay away from the dance floor and become a loyal wallflower. However, this time, with a companion—a better people-watcher than you, Simon. The man sweeps his brown irises around, examining people before one makes him chuckle under his mask.

“Look at that old man, still got it in ‘im, eh?” He commented, his tone tinged with amusement.

Your gaze trails Simon's. Among the dancing couples were your other uncle and aunt, their smiles highlighting the lines on their seventy-something faces, clearly having more life in them than many of the younger ones. You chuckled to yourself.

“Actually, that’s Uncle Mick and Aunt Sarah,” you reply, watching the old couple share a laugh amidst the music. “They’ve been married longer than I’ve been alive. Slow dancing is kind of their forte.”

More people-watching, but you fail to notice how often Simon steals glances at you between his own. And by the luminosity of your eyes, he is drawn like an insect in a blazing fire. His slow, "near-dying" heart has yet to realize the change in him. Simon plays on the edges of the rotting wood.

Straightening his gaze, he strikes up a question: “If that old bugger can still cut a rug, why ain’t the famous ballerina ‘avin’ a spin, eh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Simon’s gruff invitation, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest with a foreign carefree ring that you didn’t recognize. Meeting his eyes, you saw amusement there but also something that told you he was serious. Heart tiptoeing at the edges of your ribs, your fingers busying themselves with their own bustle.

Biting your lip, you gazed up at him through your lashes, feeling a smile curling the corners of your mouth. "I don't know," you shrugged your shoulders. “I might suck at slow dancing.”

Simon scoffed. “Absolute bollocks.”

At his disapproval, your smile widened, teeth peeking out from behind those pretty lips. You gazed up at him, searching for something intently.

Somehow in that moment, the noisy celebration around you seemed to fade into a blur, narrowing your world until it was just Simon standing before you. Your chest warmed, as if caressed by the sun on a lush spring day. Capillaries rushed, painting your bones pink. Pink.

Gathering your courage, you mimicked Simon's invitation. “Unless... you're willing to be the judge of that yourself?”

The question came out just above a whisper, heavy with promise. With your heart dangling at the tip of your throat, anticipation mixed with anxiety gnawed at you faster than any termite. Simon gave a subtle nod towards the dance floor with his chin.

“Come on then,” he rumbled.

As Simon led you, you couldn’t help but feel like Cinderella herself; this room made a fairytale for you. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you close so your bodies swayed as one. You shyly wrapped your free hands around his neck.

The romantic music continues to flow, caressing your ears with the singer's warm voice, Stephen Sanchez, if your memory serves you right. The merciless thumping in your ribcage persists, and you wonder if Simon feels it, if he has his own version resonating in the hollow of his chest. Settling into a slow sway, you feel his shoulders relax.

“You’re not gonna turn into a swan on me now, are ya? Would be a right shame to ruin such a lovely dance.” Simon asked, tone lighthearted. After mentioning your upcoming ballet performance, he doesn’t slow down his series of jokes about it.

You threw your head back in laughter. “You know that’s not how the story goes.”

Simon's grin grew wide beneath his mask. Cocking a brow, he said, “Oh yeah? Enlighten me then, love.” He challenged.

Taking a deep breath that lifted the smile still on your face, you began the long story of Swan Lake—about what happened to Odette and her flock by the sparkling lake and mostly things you had memorized many times. "So when Siegfried finally learns the truth, it’s too late—Odette ends her life by jumping from a cliff.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he reacts, and you let out a girlish laugh. “That’s tragic.”

You shrug. “I always thought it was kind of romantic.” You giggle again—God, the way this man can make you giggle like a silly schoolgirl—when you see the reaction reflected in his eyes.

“You’re a right bloody psycho, you know that?”

You deadpanned. “I’m not a psycho.” Your tone was flat, trying to be serious but the stubborn grin that followed ruined it.

“She should’ve just gone for another bloke.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, she can’t. She’s been cursed to be a swan forever.”

“Then she should’ve just lived out ‘er days as a swan then,” he said with pragmatism, very much lacking the charm of a fairy tale with all those logics. “Should’ve chased that arse’ole prince all over kingdom for revenge instead. Give ‘im a good peckin’.”

You exhaled in exasperation, but your lips held back a smile. “Please just stop talking.”

Simon chuckled, and fortunately, for his own good, he did. The music was nearing its end, but you were still swaying. Something caught his gaze over your shoulder. He looked back at you, raising a brow to make a suggestion.

“Should we do a spin?” he asked.

“What?”

He nods his chin behind you, and you follow suit—a young couple laughing as they twirl. “Should we give it a go?”

It's somewhat whimsical, somewhat absurd, that not only is this hulking man dancing with you, but he also wished to twirl you like you were partners in some grand ballroom. Yet, as you stare into his smiling eyes, you swear there’s a hint of excitement in them. And what good is a ballerina without a performative twirl?

“Okay,” you accepted his offer.

You placed your hand in his, feeling the rough calluses of his fingers but somehow right against your skin. At your subtle cue, Simon raised your joined palms, spinning you outward in elegance and then back into the solid wall of his chest.

“One more time.” You said, and he did as you asked.

You cup his mask-hidden jaw, feeling for each woven polypropylene against your fingers. The plum of your smiling lips swells with desire, and without thinking, you press your lips to his cheek. Your heart skips a beat, gripped by a jolt of trepidation, fear, and regret that perhaps you have crossed a line, that you might drive him away.

But Simon doesn't.

Instead, he seized your waist and drew you close, eliminating any distance between you. The air was snatched from your lungs in a stolen gasp with the force of his possessive move. Like a lover accompanied by passion as he reaps longing.

(I swell with hope, in the sweet desire of a girl seeking love.)

“I’m dyin’ for a smoke.” He confessed.

You glanced around at the lively party still swirling around you. Turning back to him, you suggested, “Should we slip out the back then?”

“Sure.”

Smiling up at him, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze before untangling them from your waist. “You go on ahead—I just need to swap to flats real quick.” You gestured to the high heels that had been enveloping your throbbing toes for hours.

As Simon nodded and turned to go, you hurried off the floor, limping just slightly. The celebratory noise faded as you stepped to the left side of the manor, where the hallway to your room stretched in silence. You turned the doorknob, and the old wood swung with a low creak.

Walking to your suitcase, you flipped it open, took out your Mary Janes, and replaced your high heels with them with a sigh of relief.

Just as you moved to stand, you heard footsteps approaching, then a shadow fell across the open door. Too small to be Simon. Looking up with a start, your heart nearly dropped when you found your mother standing there, arms crossed in a frown full of distaste.

“I've been watching you all night with that… man. You're getting far too comfortable, are you?”

That tone—that same tone that you had heard countless times growing up, signaling the beginnings of an argument. Your shoulders tensed. The pulse inside you quickened as your defenses began to rise, readying themselves in anticipation of the barrage of barbed words that might come next.

The oceans dividing San Francisco and London were supposed to end whatever connection existed between you both—to pretend that it didn’t exist. It should have been a clean finale, allowing you to simply live as a normal girl with normal reactions to everything, as if nothing bad had ever happened to you.

Yet, look, your traitor body is gearing up for battle just the same. Your mind may lie, you may lie, but the wound bearer presents the results of years of being forged beneath her. 5,351 miles stretched, but you are still the same sixteen-year-old girl who bit her tongue, holding her words like a criminal about to be executed on the spot.

What a mother-daughter relationship you have.

You watch warily as Mother begins circling the room, her high heels clicking ominously, slightly showing the red soles beneath them. Louboutins, you remember. You also remember all too well how much those had cost—the very shoes you had “helped” fund years ago when you foolishly still let her access your bank account, even after you turned nineteen.

“Do you know why he’s here?” Mother tries the first question, testing the waters.

Like a frightened little girl—that same little girl from that sunny day so many years ago—you deflect the real question, “Because I invited him.”

Mother, unimpressed, casts you a sharp look, as if daring you to dare her. “You know what I mean. Do you know why he’s here?”

You bit your lip, grasping at straws. “He’s… my boyfriend.”

Mother scoffed mockingly. She turned to you, face contorted in amusement as if you had just told the funniest joke. “Boyfriend? Please. Is that what you think?”

You flinched back as Mother suddenly whirled to face you, her sculpted features twisting into a reflection of pure, unbridled rage. The similar pair of eyes glared at you wide. She buried her nails deep into your epidermis, and you gasped from the sting.

“The only reason a man would want you is between your legs. You think you found love, but really he's with you only because you're easy. You’re just a cheap fuck to him, (Y/N).”

The hot, stinging droplets gathered and spilled over without your permission. You hated yourself for fueling her twisted satisfaction. Hating that she still knew exactly where to aim her barbs to find their mark after all these years.

But nothing compares to the fact that she is your mother. She is your mother, and yet, how could those words come out of her mouth so easily? As if her criticisms had festered within her mind and she was finally allowing them to escape. There's a small, broken part of you that can't help but wonder—and why do you even wonder? You know yourself better than she does, surely.

Or do you?

Or is it true that there really is nothing to take beyond your body like the unloveable, worthless child she always says you are?

You felt a spark of anger flare. “How could you say that to me?” you choked out, baring your wounded heart. Wrong move—you know this, proved many times that showing emotion had never gotten anywhere with Mother before.

But the younger, wounded teenager in you would always crave some kind of validation, some sign she truly cared. Perhaps hidden beneath the person she's become, she still holds a flicker of the warmth she once felt for you. You’re her daughter, and she’s your mother—shouldn’t that be enough for her to finally treat you like one?

“I’m only telling you the truth so you won’t be naive. Do you think he’ll love you when there are so many girls out there who are much prettier than you?”

At times, the wiser you knew not to take Mother’s words to heart—your survival instincts, born of too many experiences, told you not to let her poison seep into your skin. But more often than not, you didn’t know better. Right now, you don’t know better.

(Prying my mouth open, she dripped her bitter blood until we were indistinguishable.)

Clenching your fist, you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t know him.”

Mother’s features bent in hate at your rebellion. The young daughter no more, grown into someone who dared to talk back rather than just gulping down her every word raw.

“And you do?” she spat. “How long have you known this man? Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s none of your business,” you retorted, but not convinced enough for her to see the gap in your expression.

“Not my business? Of course it’s my business – I’m your mother!”

Summoning the last of your courage, you mumbled, “You’re not… my mother.”

Her neat eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What did you just say to me?”

It was a second chance, one she rarely gave. For a moment, you considered taking it back—rewording your reply to something less confrontational, something safer. But you were sick of it—years of carrying her wounds you hadn’t even caused, weighing your body down and sinking them deeper into pitless hell. Of always looking past her anger and ego, finding justifications and reasons to tolerate her. Of being under her control when the young girl inside you needed her anger represented.

And you repeated it without rewording: “You’re not my mother. Not anymore.”

As it left your lips, you saw a flicker of change in Mother’s expression—was that hurt in her eyes? So foreign was her expression that you almost doubted yourself. Regret seized you along with the guilt and self-loathing that gripped your heart.

Then, the hurt blinked away as if it was never there. “Look at you,” she hissed, “throwing away your mother, the woman who birthed and raised you with great difficulty, all for some worthless man. I'm not even surprised if you end up pregnant in a few months, or maybe you already are. Don't say I didn't warn you when he leaves you with a bastard child.”

And they were right when they said that anger is the most effective key.

Moments ago, you can still find the shadow of that sixteen-year-old girl remains within, with pieces of her innocence—a bit of a child’s grin. Her body is still in fear, yet her eyes are always yearning for praise from her mother’s voice.

However, as the grown woman you are ignites in a seething cauldron of fury—disagreement with Mother’s treatment—the little girl begins to fade, reduced to ashes amidst the fire. The “why” question echoes loudly with demands. I'm your baby—you made me; why do you hurt me?

“Why? Why are you so sure only bad things will happen? Why can’t you believe I can find happiness?” Warm tears welled up, tasting salty on your lips as you asked.

Mother raised a warning finger. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

But you’ve passed the point of backing down. “Why? Why are you so convinced I’ll always be unhappy? WHY?!”

(As if it had been written long before my creation.)

Taking a sharp, short breath, you feel self-control slipping away. Your lungs hitched with condemnation, constricting you, trying to escape the hell Mother handmade just for you. You’re crossing the line; something scolds (the same voice your mother planted early on) inside your head, but you refuse to give in.

The dim red light between the cracks in your skull grows brighter, and the next thing you say are the words you've been holding back for so long:

“I’m not you! And what happened with Dad was not my fault!”

And finally, silence fills the small space between you, followed by the faint echo of your voice. As the last syllable faded, the words that had been spoken left you feeling conflicted. That little girl would consider this disobedience—the result of the doctrine your mother spat at her every day—but all you know now is the strange lightness in your heart, as if shedding a massive burden that you didn’t realize you had been carrying your whole life.

Mother took a sharp, hissing breath, and you saw the subtle quiver in her clenched jaw. “You're out of line,” she said.

“I'm out of line?! You were the first one to cross that line, over and over, hurting me for years, but now that I finally do it to you, now I'm the one who's out of line?!” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush, all the pain and anger that you had piled up erupting to the surface. “You've always hurt me, said awful things, made me feel like nothing! But the second I did it to you, suddenly I'm the bad one? That's not fair!"

In the blink of an eye, she extends her perfectly manicured hand to grasp the first object within her reach—a heavy crystal paperweight on the table. Your eyes are glued to it, feet ready to flee when she hurls it at you.

“You fucking ungrateful bitch!” she screamed.

Some distant, rational part of you knows you should dodge. But a darker impulse held you frozen, as if welcoming the blunt object to damage your epidermis and even more so to become evidence of her abuse. And perhaps, once the crimson drips from your split temple, it will be enough to reveal the true identity she has been hiding—to destroy the loving mother image she has carefully built for years.

You will make a spectacle of the wound, perhaps even exaggerating it a bit like Mother always did.

It came so close when it landed on the floor next to you. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Mother’s face flushed like the devil as she shouted, “I should never have given birth to you!”

Strange, that relief is what washes over you when her words land in your ears. Because for the first time, the two of you agreed on something – she wished you had never been born, just as you had so often wished the same.

Those “precious” teenage years were filled with alternating fantasies—some days hoping she might die, others wishing it was you instead. But you were never able to go through with killing her, or yourself. Because being without Mother meant being utterly lost and alone, and you were too cowardly to cut your wrist open. More days though, you regretted it—how it might have all ended sooner if only you had been braver.

You wonder who's to blame to just make sense of it—perhaps Mother's mother had been cruel, and she thought she had broken the cycle. Perhaps Joyce, for always being the golden child despite everything. Perhaps Dad. Perhaps you.

All those long, drawn-out years, you stayed, you suffered for her. Because the little girl in the bright pink shoes—the color that matched Mother's favorite dress before she threw it away—loved her mother so much. Always making excuses for her. Maybe she didn't know how to love me, or I didn't understand her way of loving me. Maybe somewhere in her anger were kisses in her own language.

You stood frozen as hollowness spread through your chest, as if the eruption had cleansed you until nothing but an empty clarity remained. Even when Simon entered the room, you didn't notice his presence until he spoke.

“Fuck’s all this?” His question didn’t really wait for an answer as he rushed to your side.

Mother smoothed her hair imperiously, then said: “We were just having a talk.”

Simon’s brown eyes scan the scene: the shattered paperweight, Mother’s suspicious fist. He then turns to examine you carefully, searching for any injuries and only letting out a slight sigh when he finds none.

“Go wait in the car. I’ll sort our things.” Simon orders, and without argument, you nod, walking out of the bedroom.

The room felt heavier with tension after you departed, leaving Simon alone with your seething mother. He moved with purpose, in a quick and efficient mind, as he gathered your things—a toothbrush and hairbrush from the bathroom, dresses from the closet, pulling out drawers for any other items. After throwing them into your suitcase, he tidied up his own things with even more haste and less care.

As he picked up his abandoned tie, Mother cleared her throat. “You don’t need to do this, you know. I know my daughter better than anyone, and she’s not what you really need.”

For a moment, Simon paused, jaw working as he reined his temper. Mother thought she had his attention—finally getting him to listen to her. But soon enough, he resumed his task as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

Undeterred, she pressed on. “There are prettier, worthier girls than her. Ones who won’t cause you so much trouble.”

Simon’s hands stilled at that, Mother thought she had succeeded in making him consider. Slowly, he turned to face the older woman. But what she read in his eyes was not a realization or even a spark of curiosity. No, it was a look that suggested he knew a lot about people like her, had seen a lot despite him being a decade her junior.

“That what you tell ‘er then?” He began, hate raining down like hail in his voice. “That she ain’t good enough, or pretty enough? That she’s nothin’ but trouble?”

The woman met his gaze, and Simon noticed how her eyes were shaped like yours, except colder, full of twisted conviction whenever she talked about you. “I only speak the truth, for her own good. Someone has to keep that headstrong girl in line before she comes to ruin.”

At that, he let out an impolite scoff, but Simon gave zero fucks. “Yeah? Cause all I see is you tryin’ to keep ‘er under yer thumb.”

Simon watched as the woman's face contorted into an ugly frown of dislike; her mask had been abandoned somewhere. He wondered how you survived all those years at home, how you could still say you “love her to bits” on your first meeting.

But he supposes that’s how children are. Misplaced unconditional love for their lifegivers. Sometimes, his critical mind thinks it’s a shame for the Man in the Sky to give little humans to people who don’t deserve them—to abusers, addicts, snakes like this one right here. But then again, Simon had no right to complain when he stopped believing in any of all that years ago—after he lost everyone that mattered.

"I'm her mother." She repeated.

“And she’s yer daughter. Not yer pet or yer little dog to order about.”

As Simon returned to tending to the bags, the woman took a slow, deep breath. "I know men like you," she replied. “You think you're protecting her—you think you're saving her, but all you want is a girl to use and toss aside once you've grown bored.”

Simon’s tedious task came to a halt, the zipper of the bag half-open. He furrowed his blond brows, brown eyes focused on nothing. Before long, he gathered the bags and shouldered them, his free hand dragging the suitcase as he walked through the gaping door. That woman spoke again, but he turned a deaf ear to her venomous spit.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23 @pastel-devil-06 @rroseskull

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION. SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS HERE.

[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfic - Azkaban

Words: 993

@wolfstarmicrofic

TW: suicidal ideation in a hyperbolic way

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

The first night that Sirius spent at Remus’ cottage after being ordered to ‘lie low’ there wasn’t ideal. Nobody wanted to wake up their ex-boyfriend with their night terrors. Nobody sane, anyway. Sirius wasn’t entirely sure which side of that line he fell on anymore, but when he woke up to Remus holding him to his chest and reminding him where he was, he hated himself.

By the time they moved to Grimmauld Place, it was established that Remus would tell Sirius a story about their time at Hogwarts as he fell asleep. This helped Sirius to remember, but it also helped with the night terrors, which they both suspected were some kind of lingering effect of the dementors.

Remus had his own room at Grimmauld Place, and he usually retreated to it once Sirius had fallen asleep, even though they’d shared a bed for months before that. It helped him to keep things separate. Telling Sirius stories about their teenage selves was hard at times. Remembering James and Lily, remembering Peter and remembering how in love they’d been. He didn’t know how much Sirius remembered of their relationship, but as most of his positive memories were taken, he probably remembered a lot of the last few months and not much else. He mostly stuck to stories about James and Sirius, or the four of them.

“Tell me about us.” Sirius had whispered after a few weeks, as Remus got comfortable next to him. “I know you’ve been avoiding those stories.”

“I didn’t know if you’d want to hear them,” Remus said. “Or what you remember.”

“I remember shouting at you in the shack and there was blood, but I don’t remember why.” Sirius said, “That seems like an important one but I can’t get to most of it. Tell me that one?”

Remus chuckled, knowing the exact memory he meant. “Alright. So, this was about a month after Lily agreed to go out with James.”

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

“Moony!” Sirius sounded frantic as Remus struggled to open his eyes. “Can you hear me?”

“Unfortunately.” Remus groaned. Sirius was shirtless, and covered in blood. He looked up at Sirius, panicked. “The fuck did I do? Are you ok?”

“I can’t stop your shoulder from bleeding. What do I do? James has gone to get Madam Pomfrey but you’re —”

“Oh, it’s mine? Just leave it.” Remus’ eyes shut again, “I’ll sleep it off. It’ll be alright.”

“You can’t sleep off blood loss you unbelievable prick. Wake up!” Sirius shook his uninjured shoulder slightly, pressing his shirt against the wound on the other.

“Sirius.” Remus growled, “Shake me again and you’ll wish you were dealing with the wolf.”

“Sit up!” Sirius ignored him. “You can’t go back to sleep.”

“It’s fine.” Remus’ eyes closed again.

Sirius snapped, “It’s not fucking fine, Remus! Sit up and open your eyes.” Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus’ waist and hauled him into a sitting position before reapplying pressure to his shoulder. He felt Remus smile against his shoulder.

“If you wanted to wrap your arms around me, all you had to do is ask, Padfoot.” He said, and Sirius swore that Remus’ teeth grazed his shoulder. “I think all you can do is apply pressure and hope for the best. I’ve got a lot of blood.”

“Moony, I love you, but when you’re not bleeding profusely in my arms, I’m going to be so fucking angry with you. ‘I’ve got a lot of blood’ is not— No, you don’t. You have the same amount of blood as anyone else, you wanker. Sometimes it’s like you don’t value your life.”

Remus, half-conscious as he was, felt very called out. “My life doesn’t have much value, to be fair.”

Sirius inhaled sharply, “No. Because you don’t have people around you that would do anything for you. You’re not a fucking wizard. Your life has no value.” He said sarcastically.

“Didn’t mean it like that, Pads.” He mumbled. “Don’t.”

“Then how did you mean it?” He shouted. He would have walked out if he didn’t know that Remus wouldn’t be able to hold the shirt on his shoulder.

“Well, I love you too, by the way.” Sirius almost dropped the shirt as Remus’ eyes closed again. “When you have no choice but to turn into a monster once a month and repeatedly take chunks out of yourself, you can judge the way I cope with it. I’m in a lot of fucking pain and I just want to sleep. Thank you for helping, as always, I appreciate it. I’m just so tired.”

“No.” Sirius poked his cheek until his eyes opened again. He looked mutinous. “You're going to stay awake. I think I can hear them in the passage. Once you’re patched up, you can sleep.”

“You’re going to make me talk about this later aren’t you?” His eyes almost closed again, but he managed to open them and blink a few times.

“Of course I am.” Sirius could feel his heart pounding in his head.

"You could just focus on the love part, and not the hyperbolically suicidal part, if you wanted.”

“We’ll see.” Sirius tried so hard not to smile. “If you tell me again when I’m not covered in your blood, I’ll think about it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Remus said as Madam Pomfrey burst through the door, followed by James, who took one look at Sirius and almost threw up.

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

“So when I got out of the hospital wing, I couldn’t wait, I pulled you behind a tapestry on the way to Charms and told you I loved you again. You were still pissed off, but I convinced you that I was pretty determined to stay alive.” He looked down at Sirius who was asleep. “You don’t know how much you’ve always helped with that.”

He considered going back to his room, but eventually slipped beneath Sirius’ duvet and curled up against his back, wrapping an arm around his waist.

[reaperlight]

The Beginning

[Post Venom 3, tw: suicidal ideation]

[Eddie in a depression spiral after the (alleged) death of his spouse when the door to his shoddy apartment bursts open...]

Frances: Yoohoo, Brockilicious~

Carnage: Hello, father.

Cletus: Guess what--we lived bitch.

Eddie: ...Oh thank God.

Cletus: Huh?

Eddie: I've been so lonely.

Cletus: ...You know we came here to kill you right?

Eddie [*grinning madly*]: Well then... when do we start?

Cletus: Eddie, you are honestly freaking me out here.

Eddie: So, are you going to kill me, or what?

Cletus: Well, if you insist.

Cletus: [*Stabs him*]

Cletus [alarmed]: You're not healing.

Carnage: He's not here. Venom. He's not here.

Eddie: [*Weeping silently, not scared for his life but the reminder of the raw wound of Venom's loss*]

[*Shared looks between the murder crew*]

[Cletus sits down next to him]

Eddie [impatiently]: Well are you gonna get on with it? C'mon already. Just do it!

[Eddie shivers, feels a deep want and self-hatred when Carnage heals the stab wound, for a moment they're connected tantalizing, the feeling of being a host again but it's gone again in the next instant]

Eddie: Oh got to go for torture first, of course. It's only what I deserve, treating him like a burden in his final moments--

[*Cletus puts the knife away*]

Eddie: Wait, what are you doing... [*Frances walks away*] hey, where are you going?

Cletus: Well... now we don't feel like it.

Eddie: Oh fuck you.

Cletus: Yeah, fuck me. Do you want to talk about it?

Eddie: No. ...yes.... I can't.

Cletus: Okay.

Eddie: I'm not supposed to talk about it. It's illegal.

Cletus: Oh yes, I'd never do something illegal. And I'm sure you wouldn't either which is why I don't have this massive hickey you left on my neck--

[Has obvious bite mark scar from being beheaded via Venom, making Eddie all the more nostalgic for the good old days]

[*Frances looking around in his kitchen*]

Frances: You got any soup here? Let's make soup.

Cletus: Yes, that's a great idea, honey.

Eddie: It's in the... yeah.

Cletus: Hey Eddie, do you mind if we like... stay here? You see we were just planning on killing you and taking your place tonight--

Eddie: Like, you can still do that if you want. Take it, whatever. Do whatever you like, I don't give a fuck.

Carnage [cheerfully]: From what I understand they were going to enjoy their marital relations on your bed too.

Eddie: I seriously do not care.

Cletus: Cool. Still not killing you though.

Eddie: Asshole.

Cletus: We're right here if you wanna tell us your story, Eddie. No judging, honest.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

It was only supposed to be a one night stand part 2

Tw: mostly smut, yandere, self harm implications, suicidal ideation, gross underwear stealing

Part 3

Never did it occur to you to ask about his name. You thought he left you alone after that day, but he actually just had to go to work. Only after you punched your time card out for the day, you found this man waiting right at the entrance with his shitbox of a car. It's a white sedan with chipping paint, and rust spots everywhere. There is a roof box attached to it, and there are numerous scuff marks visible even though it's completely black.

You were about to bolt for it when he got out of the driver's seat. But he managed to block your way, shadow engulfing your form. You stood still and stared down (or in your case, up) at him, waiting for his next move. He seems to do the same thing to you, sharing a quiet yet intense moment for a minute.

Finally, he slowly moved his hands up until it reached your torso. The man pulled you into a hesitant hug, he's being so gentle with you as if you're going to break. You shuddered when you heard him take a deep sniff of your hair.

You protested, firmly pushing him away, he's noticeably fresher and cleaner than how you remembered him. You asked what his intentions are.

"It's late. Let me drive you home." He muttered, latching his hands onto yours. "Please." He continued, a twinge of desperation can be detected in his voice.

You took a deep breath and declined. God knows where is he taking you, and you're not keen on jumping out of a moving car. You said thanks through gritted teeth, yanked your hands back, and walked away.

As expected, he followed you. Stopping whenever you stopped to yell at him to go away. But he never budged, once you move he moves.

Finally, you reached the station. Where the both of you met mere days ago. His puddle of vomit is cleared away and the booze bottle is presumably recycled.

The man waited with you. Feeling burnt out and irritated, you kept your lips sealed and your eyes glued to the screen of your phone, ignoring the existence of the man sitting beside you on the bench. You felt a looming presence over your shoulder, so you turned your head slightly to the right to see that he was also staring at the screen of your gadget as well.

Feeling uncomfortable with him seeing what you're watching, you shift in such a way that the back of your phone is facing him. But that also means that you're pushing your shoes against the side of his thigh.

Once his source of entertainment was removed, he brought his attention elsewhere. It looks like he's just blankly staring into the void, looking at nothing in particular.

The train has arrived, you untangled yourself from your position and picked your suitcase up. He stood up and followed closely behind, leaving very little space between your back and his front.

Nothing of note happened during the ride. It's just a normal commute back home except you have an unwanted companion who tried to rest his arm around your shoulders multiple times, and you had to swat him away, multiple times. He finally got the hint when you physically moved away from him, sitting in another seat far away from the man. You are surprised that he didn't try to claim the spot next to you, though.

Reaching back home, you told him to stand on the sidewalk. He listened to you, seemingly curious as to why you made that request of him.

You entered your house and shut the door behind you.

It's time for you to unwind, you drew the curtains to a close so you don't have to see him trying to claw his way in. But his silhouette can be seen though, as he knocked on the glass multiple times before giving up. He stood there, very still.

And... you reached for your vices, good ol' alcohol. Downing multiple cans or bottles to try and relieve stress from having him in your life now.

And, seeing how he managed to worm into your life with alcohol (intoxication on his part and horniness on yours), it all feels like a sense of deja vu, where you swing the front door open, get all sexually aggressive towards him, and have him fuck you all night.

Tonight, he is showing what that mouth can do. He has a voracious appetite for both street food and the thing between your legs, lapping at your fluids and pumping his fist on his own cock, he's getting off of this too. He may not have the longest tongue, but his mouth is on the larger side, so you feel the warmth and sliminess covering the entirety of your groin.

You remembered being in bliss as he tongue fucked you in your ass while he fondles your front, your back arched back as your face is pressed against your pillow.

You would let out a tipsy moan as his hips thrust into yours, your legs hanging over his shoulders for easy access to paradise. He left numerous bite marks and hickeys all over your body, and you left him extreme scratch marks on his back in return, drawing some blood and staining the bed red.

It really isn't easy to take him in, he is big. You're so thankful that he's considerate to go slow even though you can tell that he wanted you so badly, the 'controlled' thrusts weren't really all that controlled. It was erratic as if he was trying to contain a powerful beast.

You and he would go at it for hours, cumming numerous times and not noticing the complaints from your neighbors about the embarrassing noise and headboard slamming.

You would wake up, realizing that you used him as a body pillow, throw his clothes at him, reject any further advances, or affection, act all cold and mean, rush to work, come back from work, drink your booze, open the door to let him in, and repeat. Only breaking the cycle when you momentarily ran out of beer or wine.

It really is impressive that you kept it up for months without even knowing his initials. You're more impressed that your liver can handle all those toxins you're chugging every day. In the end, you trusted him enough to drive you back home, so you could get drunk faster and enjoy orgasming.

As the days pass by, he would be a lot bolder with his presence. Spending his break buying a meal for two, having the employees pack it to go, and rushing to your workplace. Requesting to see you at the receptionist in a high-vis vest, often covered in either paint, sawdust, dirt, or splotches of cement. He had the decency to wipe his shoes on the carpet outside and take off his hard hat. He learned your name somehow, hearing what your coworkers call you and using that knowledge to his advantage; summoning you for lunch.

He didn't know what you liked. So he experimented, a lot. He would come each day with a takeout box containing a different dish, it was hard to gather data on you because most of the time you would go out to eat with your peers. He had to eat both meals himself, even those he didn't like.

Rare, but it is possible, that you would accept his meal offerings. Usually, it's because none of your friends are available for lunch and you don't feel like eating at a restaurant alone. You just ate his takeaway out of convenience, it doesn't necessarily mean you like them. But that was what he had to go on, he assumed the ones you took were the ones you liked.

So, I'd invite you to imagine the confusion and upset when you rejected it the next time he brought the same one. He would offer his own order instead, which is always chicken fried rice that's greasier than that you were used to. You had no idea where he gets his food, but you deduced that his usual spot is primarily a Chinese takeout place.

If you somehow managed to reject every dish he presented to you, he would move on to different food categories. Donuts, pizzas, hamburgers, tacos, sushi, curries, lobsters, seafood boils, fresh oysters... one time he handed you a wedge of aged cheese and a packet of expensive 'organic' crackers to see what you would do with it. Maybe you find it fun, you enjoyed the randomness of it all because you refused to tell him the foods that you liked. Even if you did, when he brought that exact meal that you claimed you liked, you would baffle him by pushing it away in disgust.

He's a simple man. He likes his rice fried with chunks of seasoned chicken and hotdogs with relish, he doesn't really like deviating away from his usual choices. So he disliked eating most of the foods that you rejected, but he had to because he wouldn't want it to go to waste.

He resorted to asking your coworkers what you liked. They told him what they saw, what you usually eat. But maybe out of sadistic pleasure or suspicion, you wouldn't accept the things he brings. Leaving him saddened and uncomfortable, and a bit more tired and poorer than yesterday.

His method of figuring out what you like is costly and inefficient most of the time. On days when you don't go to work or fuck him, he would still visit you in hopes of bringing you out on proper dates. The man is romantic, always bringing a bouquet of red roses and a small gift whenever he visits. The small gift could be a box of chocolates, a stuffed bear holding a plush heart with "I LOVE YOU" embroidered onto it, another takeout meal, some jewelry, a drink that is popular with the masses now (i.e., bubble tea, soda, energy drinks) or booze.

It's mostly booze. Because he knows that is the ticket to heaven in your bed. And it seems like it's something you rejected the least.

It's 50/50 whether you let him in and take advantage of him, or you slam the door in his face. But it's a 100% probability rate that he will come back with flowers and gifts. Or he would leave packages containing what he thinks you would like in front of your door during days when he has to work.

He hands his gifts to the receptionist, asking to take them to your cubicle on days when he knows he cannot see you due to approaching renovation deadlines. Your coworkers and friends would swoon at first, saying how lucky you are to have him. But soon after, they were unsure, you didn't even know his name? You met him, how?

Some tried to talk sense into you, he could be dangerous and one day he's going to do something you will have to live with for the rest of your life. He is obviously not all there in the head, you should call it quits while you still can. But you don't, it's fun. Something to give you a break from your monotonous salary person lifestyle.

Some tried to talk some sense into him, telling him that he deserved better, and pointing out the imbalance in affection. They would also offer resources that can help him better his mental health. He would just pretend that he's deaf and walk away without saying a word, clearly too deep into his own delusions. He knows to avoid them though, and none of your coworkers know his name either.

You know that he's stealing your underwear, its numbers are dwindling down and there is only a decrease when he comes in. You confronted him about it multiple times, even hitting him with your fist as you screamed in his face. All he did was stay silent, shielding himself with his arms as he took your blows. To be fair, it's probably too weak to do any damage.

The next package that came to your doorstep contained a brand-new set of underwear, to replace the ones he stole.

You one time saw your favorite underwear on his back seat, poorly hidden by his pillow and blanket. It was covered in crusts of off-white and translucent goop that looked freshly produced, and it also smelled atrocious. You had to keep the windows open while you berated him for being disgusting, he looked ashamed, and uneasy as you stuck your head out of the window.

He installed an air freshener in his air conditioning vents and you never saw any of your old underwear ever again. Well, at least he handles criticism decently.

You thought he earned your phone number. So one day, you blurted out all the digits once. Not bothering to repeat it while he desperately tried to get you to say it again.

He only managed to contact you a few days after that, you were surprised that he remembered. But actually he only remembered parts of it. He went on a texting and calling marathon, contacting close to hundreds of numbers trying to find you.

Since he has a car, you thought you would extend his use to other parts of your life.

You ran out of milk? Just text him, and he will arrive with a brand new jug. You can simply take it off his hands and close the door, or you can choose to accept his other gifts. Need something to be picked up? He is your personal delivery man. Need to go somewhere? He can call in sick and be your chauffeur.

He saved your contact as "My baby" whereas you didn't care enough to save his number.

The downside to this is that he calls you whenever he's free and he can't see you. At first, you would answer and ask what he wanted. You stopped answering his calls when most of the time all he wanted was to hear your voice.

All is well and normal, as normal as this could be. Until one day, you caught a nasty cold.

You were having high fevers and you couldn't even get out of bed. It was rare for you to call in sick, because work was a distraction to you from the horrors of reality. So for you to not come in, it means whatever you're being infected with was serious.

You didn't answer calls from him, nor did you get up to open the door. You heard him knock and call for your name for two evenings now.

And two evenings was the limit, you deduced. Because he went ahead and broke into your house. He didn't do it peacefully either, he hurled a brick through your window and hopped in. The sound of glass shattering jolted you awake, followed by frantic shouts from him. He was desperately and hysterically calling your name, thudding from his combat boots resonated throughout the house.

You were too exhausted to even defend yourself when he comes barrelling in with his hair even messier, bags under his eyes and stubble darkening. Or maybe deep down, you know that he cares and wouldn't hurt you ever.

You coughed and weakly told him to get the fuck out of your house, he ignored that and went on to straddle your hips. His large, calloused hands cupping your cheeks as fat droplets of tears and snot drip onto your face. The man sobbed noisily, begging you to please tell him that you're okay. He was worried that you weren't showing up at your usual places, your coworkers gave him a vague response about you being unavailable.

He held you in his arms for a long while as he cried and cried. Rambling on about how he cannot afford to lose you, the light of his life, albeit incoherently.

You tried to push him off, but to no avail. So you waited until he calmed down, his head is still buried in the crook of your neck. Periodically kissing the sensitive skin.

Finally, he's composed enough to get him off you. He still sniffles as he lies next to you, holding you securely in his strong arms which seem to have more scars than usual.

Eventually though, you heard snoring. Whipping your head to see the source, he actually got knocked out cold and fell asleep in your bed again.

You pity him a bit. He must have been sleep deprived in the past 48 hours, dreading the worst that might have happened to you while you go no contact. Moreover, he reeks of alcohol. He must have not drunk that much or else you would have been covered in his vomit by now.

But you're no angel. You shook him awake, he let out an exclamation as he registered that you're in front of him, real and physical. He could touch you, smell you and see you again.

You gently slapped his cheek, trying to get him to sober up.

The man grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing your palm feverishly and soon resorted to licking your fingers.

You whacked him on the head and wiped his saliva off on his face. This seem to bring him back to reality as he stared at you with his mouth slightly open.

You spoke too soon, because a split second later, he lunged at you and connected his lips with yours. Exploring your mouth with his tongue and roaming his hands all over your body, he seem to take note that it is warmer than usual. But he went ahead and fondled you anyways.

Maybe it's the vapors in his breath that's making you drunk each time his tongue caresses yours, maybe you're as touch deprived as he is. Because you're welcoming his fingers to play with your south, eventually having them in and out of your hole.

Even when you're sick, his dick is as amazing as ever. You are a mess when he enters you after preparing you for it, he bit and sucked your neck, you can't move because he is just too damn heavy and his hands are holding your wrists down. The wet slapping, smooching, smacking and moaning can be heard even more since the window near the front door is broken.

He nibbled the shell of your ear and whispered that he misses you. He doesn't know what he would do if he went on another day without you in his embrace. He doesn't want to know either, he just wants to be here with you.

"I love you." He whispered before planting a kiss on your temple. "I love you." He kissed your jaw. "I love you." He kissed your forehead, his lips are noticeably colder than your skin. "I love you." He pressed a passionate kiss on your lips, silencing himself by continuing his french kisses.

The bedframe creaks as he rocks his hips against yours, your legs jerk back and forth as he thrusts into you.

He released your mouth to let you breathe and for him to gasp for air too. But he returns to your ears.

"I owe you my life." He licked the shell of your ear. "I belong to you, only you." He lets go one of your wrists to cradle your face. "You're the reason why I'm still here." He panted. "You're my only will to live." He continued.

"So, promise me, baby." You struggled to breathe as he shoved his tongue back down to your throat momentarily. He pulled back with one of many strings of saliva connecting your lips. "Promise that you'll never leave me." He went on to stroke your hair, giving you tingles of pleasure on top of the stimulation you're receiving from his cock.

"Because if you do," Another deep kiss. "I will die."

"And I will take the world down with me."

He gave one last powerful ram into the right spot, making you scream in unbelievable pleasure as a flash of white blinds all thoughts in your head. He moaned as well as he reached his climax too.

He dropped himself beside you, but he didn't remove his cock out of your orifice. He panted along with you.

You're so fucked out of your mind that you couldn't open your eyes properly. He smiled and pecked your cheek.

"I will follow you wherever you go. I will do anything for you." He shifted around your limp body to make it more comfortable, warming his dick inside of you and enjoying the pulsating flesh around it. "Just... please pick up my calls." He brushed stray hairs away from your sweaty face.

"I was worried." He tucked your head under his chin. The man sighed as he ran his fingers through your hair.

"I'm glad you're alright. I love you, baby." He cooed at your now unconscious form.

[horeformilfs]

Save me

WandaNat x Fem!Avenger Reader

TW: Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, Drowning

Translations:

любимая = Beloved

Дорогой = Darling

Моя любовь = My Love

мой ангел = My Angel

------------------------------------------

The quinjet rumbled as it soared through the evening sky, the aftermath of a mission lingering heavily in the air. Y/N sat in silence, staring out of the window, her thoughts drowning in a tempest of self-doubt and frustration. Despite the mission's success, Steve's reproach echoed in her mind, each word carving deeper into the wounds they'd been hiding.

Wanda Maximoff, sensing the heaviness in the air, slid closer to Y/N, intertwining their fingers. "Hey," she whispered, her voice a soft caress. "You know Steve can be harsh sometimes. Don't let it get to you."

Y/N managed a faint smile, appreciating Wanda's attempt to console her, but the darkness within remained unspoken. Natasha Romanoff, seated across from the two, shot a concerned glance her way. Y/N averted her gaze, unwilling to let anyone see the turmoil within.

As the jet continued its journey back to the compound, Steve, unable to let the matter rest, confronted Y/N again. "This is a team, Y/N! We depend on each other. You can't afford to make reckless decisions like that."

Natasha, always protective, stepped in, "Steve, ease up. We all made it out fine."

Ignoring Natasha's plea, Steve continued his admonishment. Y/N, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders, fought to hold back tears. Wanda squeezed her hand, offering silent support, but Y/N abruptly withdrew.

Natasha, observing the sudden change, leaned toward Wanda and asked in a hushed tone, "Is Y/N okay?"

Wanda shook her head subtly, her concern mirroring Natasha's. She glanced at Y/N, who had moved to a different part of the quinjet, staring into the distance. Natasha excused herself and approached Y/N cautiously.

"Hey," Natasha said softly, concern etched in her eyes. "You can't keep everything bottled up. What's going on?"

Y/N hesitated, the weight of her unspoken struggles threatening to spill over. "It's nothing, Nat. Just tired."

Natasha saw through the facade, but before she could press further, Wanda joined them. "Everything alright?" she asked, her eyes flickering between Y/N and Natasha.

Y/N forced a smile, avoiding eye contact. "Yeah, just tired."

Wanda, sensing the evasion, decided not to push, but the worry lingered in her gaze. As the quinjet descended towards the Avengers' compound, the unspoken tension within the team remained, a storm waiting to be weathered.

The compound's landing pad greeted the quinjet with a soft hum as it touched down. Y/N, still grappling with the emotional fallout of the mission and Steve's stern words, stepped off the aircraft, leaving the conversation suspended in the air.

Nick Fury, a stern expression etched on his face, awaited Y/N. "Agent Y/L/N, my office. Now."

Y/N exchanged a quick, worried glance with Nat and Wanda before nodding and following Fury. The redheads shared an anxious look, their concern growing as Y/N disappeared from view.

In Fury's office, the atmosphere was heavy with tension. Nick wasted no time in listing every perceived mistake during the mission. Y/N listened in silence, internalizing the criticism, each word adding another layer to the self-doubt she was trying so desperately to conceal. When the reprimand concluded, Fury dismissed Y/N with a curt nod, leaving her alone to grapple with the weight of her perceived failures.

Returning to her shared room, Y/N found Nat and Wanda sitting on the bed, a palpable worry etched across their faces. Without a word, Y/N moved towards the bathroom, needing a moment to collect herself.

Natasha, her gaze following Y/N, sighed, "дорогой, what's going on? You're not fine."

Wanda, leaning against Natasha, added, "Моя любовь, we can see something's bothering you. Talk to us."

Y/N emerged from the bathroom, the facade still intact. "It's nothing, really. Just a rough day."

Natasha frowned, concern deepening. "Don't shut us out, дорогой. We're here for you."

Wanda nodded, her eyes pleading. "Моя любовь, we care about you. Whatever it is, we can face it together."

Y/N hesitated, the weight of her struggles conflicting with the desire to protect the ones she cared about. "It's just... a lot. I'll be okay, I promise."

Natasha and Wanda exchanged glances, unconvinced but respecting Y/N's choice for now. Y/N offered a weak smile, attempting to reassure them. "I just need some time to clear my head. Thanks for understanding."

The aroma of pizza wafted through the Avengers' common room, where the team had gathered for their weekly pizza and game night. Natasha and Wanda, dressed casually for the occasion, approached Y/N, who seemed lost in thought.

"Hey, Y/N, pizza's here. Game night's starting soon. You coming?" Natasha asked with a playful smile.

Y/N looked up, weariness evident in her eyes. "Nah, I think I'll pass tonight. Just really tired and could use some sleep."

Wanda exchanged a concerned glance with Natasha, but they respected Y/N's decision. "Alright, if you need anything, we'll be downstairs. Take care," Wanda said, leaning in to kiss Y/N gently on the cheek. Natasha followed suit, leaving a lingering kiss on Y/N's forehead.

As the hour passed, laughter and the clatter of board game pieces echoed from below. Y/N, lying in bed, couldn't shake the sense of isolation that gripped her. Faint strains of joy reached her ears, intensifying the ache of loneliness within.

Unable to resist the curiosity, Y/N decided to check on the festivities. Slipping out of bed, she quietly descended the stairs and peeked around the corner. The sight of the team sharing laughter and camaraderie only deepened Y/N's sense of alienation.

A heavy sigh escaped Y/N as she turned to leave, footsteps echoing her retreat. Unbeknownst to Y/N, Natasha noticed their departure, nudging Wanda to glance in the direction of Y/N's retreating figure.

"Something's not right," Natasha murmured, concern etching her features.

Wanda nodded, her eyes following Y/N. "Let's check on her."

The two redheads hurriedly excused themselves, making their way to catch up with Y/N. However, by the time they reached the compound's entrance, Y/N was nowhere in sight.

"Y/N!" Wanda called out, but the night swallowed their words.

Natasha scanned the surroundings, worry etched on her face. "She couldn't have gone far. Let's split up and find her."

Unbeknownst to Natasha and Wanda, Y/N, grappling with a storm of emotions, had ventured into the quiet darkness outside the compound, feeling like a solitary star in a vast, lonely sky.

The night enveloped the compound in a somber embrace as Y/N walked the familiar trail to the lake. The water, usually a source of solace, reflected the moon's gentle glow. Y/N's footsteps echoed in the quiet, each step heavy with the burden she carried.

As Y/N reached the lake, dark thoughts clawed at the edges of her mind, whispering lies of inadequacy and isolation. The water's surface mirrored the turmoil within, rippling with each conflicting emotion.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Wanda, attuned to the depths of her thoughts, felt a sudden jolt of concern. She sought out Natasha, urgency etched in her expression. "Nat, something's wrong with Y/N. I can hear her thoughts, and it's not good."

Natasha, instantly alert, nodded. "Let's find her. Fast."

Together, they traversed the compound, their search fueled by a shared determination to reach Y/N before it was too late.

Meanwhile, Y/N, standing at the water's edge, contemplated the dark abyss within and beyond. The weight of her struggles pushed her toward a perilous decision. In the solitude of the night, the lake seemed to beckon, offering an escape from the storm within.

Wanda and Natasha, guided by an unsettling intuition, pressed on. Natasha's voice broke the silence as they moved with purpose. "We have to find Y/N before..."

Wanda finished the thought, her worry evident. "Before it's too late."

As Y/N waded into the water, fully clothed, the coldness biting at her skin, the gravity of her actions began to sink in. Yet, the relentless darkness within urged her forward, drowning out reason and hope.

Wanda's eyes widened as the echoes of Y/N's thoughts intensified. "Nat, we're running out of time."

Natasha quickened her pace, fear gnawing at her. "We have to find her now."

At the water's edge, Y/N ventured further, oblivious to the silent urgency echoing through the night. With each step, the water's embrace grew colder, and the depths seemed to welcome her into a haunting embrace.

The water closed in around Y/N, reaching her neck as fatigue weighed heavily on her limbs. The struggle to stay afloat became a losing battle, and the haunting depths of the lake seemed to embrace her with a chilling finality.

Meanwhile, Natasha and Wanda combed through the woods, searching for any sign of Y/N. Wanda's eyes widened in realization. "I remember. There's a lake Y/N used to go to when things got tough. She has to be there."

Natasha, fueled by a surge of concern, urged Wanda to lead the way. "Let's go. We need to find her."

In the dark waters, Y/N's final reserves of strength gave out. She surrendered to the depths, letting the cold water seep into her lungs. Consciousness waned, and the world faded to a surreal blur.

As Natasha and Wanda reached the lake, the sight of Y/N's abandoned shoes on the edge sent shivers down their spines. Wanda's eyes scanned the water's surface, catching a subtle disruption near the middle of the lake.

"There," she pointed to Natasha, urgency in her voice. Without hesitation, both women plunged into the water, swimming with determined strokes toward the disturbance in the otherwise tranquil lake.

Natasha's voice broke the silence, her concern palpable. "Y/N!"

Wanda echoed the call, her desperation fuelling her movements. "Y/N, where are you?"

The moonlight danced on the water's surface as they searched, driven by the fear of losing their girlfriend. The lake, once a haven for Y/N, now held a silent secret beneath its depths, as Natasha and Wanda raced against time to bring Y/N back from the edge.

Wanda dove beneath the surface, the cold water enveloping her as she searched for any sign of Y/N. Her senses heightened, she felt a faint brush against her, and her heart leaped. She moved swiftly, hand extended, until her fingers closed around something solid. As she pulled it towards her, relief surged through her when she realized it was Y/N's hand.

Breaking through the surface, Wanda clutched Y/N to her chest. Natasha, seeing the distress on Wanda's face, swam over to assist. Wanda struggled to keep Y/N afloat, her arms wrapped protectively around the younger woman.

Natasha's expression mirrored the urgency of the situation. "Wanda, fly Y/N back to the shore. Start CPR. I'll swim back and meet you there."

Wanda nodded, determination in her eyes. With a burst of energy, she levitated herself and Y/N out of the water, flying towards the shore as fast as she could. Natasha propelled herself through the water, a powerful swimmer on a mission.

As Wanda landed on the shore, she cradled Y/N in her arms, laying her gently on the ground. Panic and relief mingled in her eyes as she started CPR, each compression accompanied by whispered words of encouragement.

Natasha emerged from the water, swiftly joining Wanda. " I'll take over."

Wanda, tears streaming down her face, nodded and stepped back. Natasha seamlessly continued the lifesaving efforts, the rhythmic compressions and breaths punctuating the tense silence. The fate of their girlfriend hung in the balance, and as Natasha worked to revive Y/N, the night seemed to hold its breath.

Natasha continued the lifesaving measures, the rhythm of compressions and breaths a desperate cadence against the quiet backdrop of the night. Wanda, her voice steady despite the urgency, dialed Bruce Banner, urgency lacing her words. "Banner, we need the med bay ready. It's Y/N. Hurry."

Y/N, caught between the realms of consciousness and oblivion, finally expelled water from her lungs. Wanda and Natasha, relief etched on their faces, surrounded her, coaxing her back to the present.

Natasha whispered, her voice a gentle reassurance, "Дорогой, stay with us. You're gonna be okay."

Y/N, seeking solace in the familiar, inched closer to Wanda, the redhead's presence a comforting anchor. Wanda, her arms encircling Y/N, whispered sweet nothings, her words a balm to the turmoil within. "Моя любовь, you're safe now. We've got you."

As Wanda lifted Y/N into her arms, carrying her like a precious burden, Natasha draped her jacket over Y/N's shivering form. They embarked on the hurried journey back to the compound, the weight of Y/N's quiet apologies hanging in the air.

Y/N, struggling to stay awake, murmured softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Wanda tightened her hold, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N's forehead. "Shh, любимая, it's okay. We're here for you."

Natasha added, her voice firm yet soothing, "No apologies, мой ангел. We've got you, and we're going to take care of you."

The night held their collective breath as they rushed towards the compound, the echoes of the lake's silent secret gradually giving way to a glimmer of hope.

Upon reaching the compound, Natasha and Wanda hurriedly carried Y/N to the med bay, where Bruce Banner awaited their arrival. The atmosphere in the room shifted, tense yet focused, as the two redheads gently laid Y/N on the examination table.

Bruce, his usual calm demeanor replaced by concern, immediately started assessing Y/N's condition. "What happened?"

Wanda, her voice trembling slightly, explained, "Y/N went to the lake, and we found her in the water. We need to make sure she's okay."

Bruce nodded, directing the medical team to assist. "I'll take it from here. Give us some space, but stay close. We might need you."

Natasha and Wanda exchanged a worried glance before reluctantly stepping back, their eyes never leaving Y/N's unconscious form. As the medical team worked, the room buzzed with tension, each passing moment intensifying the weight of the night's events.

Wanda's fingers interlaced with Natasha's, the silent communication between them reflecting shared concern. Natasha pulled Wanda into a reassuring hug, their unspoken support a lifeline amidst the uncertainty.

After what felt like an eternity, Bruce finally turned towards them. "Y/N will be okay. She expelled most of the water, but we'll keep Her under observation for a while. She need rest."

Relief washed over Natasha and Wanda, the gravity of the situation slowly lifting. They entered the recovery room where Y/N lay, pale yet breathing steadily. Wanda took a seat by Y/N's side, and Natasha joined her, the unspoken bond between them palpable.

As Y/N began to stir, Natasha brushed a strand of hair from her face, whispering, "Hey there, мой ангел. You gave us a scare."

Y/N's eyes met Wanda's, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. "I'm sorry," she whispered, the weight of her earlier apologies lingering.

Wanda leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N's forehead. "No need for apologies, любимая. We're just glad you're back with us."

Natasha and Wanda sat on either side of the bed, their eyes filled with concern and love as Y/N recounted the harrowing events at the lake.

Wanda spoke first, her voice soft yet firm, "Y/N, we care about you. You're not a burden, and your problems are never 'stupid.' We're your girlfriends, and we want to be there for you, no matter what."

Natasha added, her gaze steady, "You don't have to face everything alone. We're a team, remember? Lean on us when you need to."

Y/N looked down, her fingers nervously playing with the sheets. "I just didn't want to bother you. It felt like I was drowning in my own thoughts, and I didn't want to drag you down with me."

Wanda reached for Y/N's hand, squeezing it gently. "Your thoughts and feelings matter to us. You're not a burden, and we want to help carry the weight together."

Y/N nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and vulnerability. "I understand. Thank you both."

Natasha, always pragmatic, stood up. "Alright, enough serious talk for now. I'm going to get us some coffee and soup. You two stay put."

As Natasha left the room, Wanda shifted to lie next to Y/N. She tenderly ran her fingers through Y/N's hair, placing soft kisses on their forehead. "You're safe now, любимая. We're here for you, always."

Y/N let out a sigh, leaning into Wanda's touch. "Can... can you cuddle with me?"

Wanda smiled, her eyes full of warmth. "Of course, моя любовь."

Natasha returned with a tray, placing it on a nearby table. "Coffee for us, soup for you. Eat something, alright?"

Y/N nodded, and as Wanda curled up with them on the bed, Natasha took a seat nearby. The room was filled with the soothing aroma of coffee, the gentle murmur of their voices, and the unspoken assurance that, in each other's company, they could weather any storm.

[noahsresources]

HURT / COMFORT STATEMENTS THAT HIT ME RIGHT IN THE FEELS

pardon me please, i'm just having a moment. possible tw for suicidal ideation and references to death and loss. bonus points for specifying a scenario!

from those who are struggling. ❝ i never thought i'd ever make it this far. ❞ ❝ ... when were you going to tell me about this? ❞ ❝ i don't ever want you to die. please ... don't die ... ❞ ❝ we had our whole lives planned out. ❞ ❝ i just can't, it's too much. it's too fucking much. ❞ ❝ losing him/her/them was the cruelest thing i've ever experienced. ❞ ❝ people say things like, 'you're going green with envy', or 'there's smoke coming out of your ears'. you think they'd come up with a statement like that that describes someone who's in constant pain like this ... ? ❞ ❝ sometimes you need to make room for grief. make time for it. embrace it. it's all i've been doing as of late. ❞ ❝ how is it possible to hurt this much when nothing's wrong? ❞ ❝ drowning in sadness is more fulfilling than drowning in pleasure these days. ❞ ❝ it's hard to let go of the fact that i'm probably going to outlive everyone else in my life. ❞ ❝ i've already lost everything near and dear to my heart. everything except for you. ❞ ❝ i'm just so tired. i just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. ❞ ❝ i was so close to giving up once. ❞ ❝ i don't want him/her/them to die alone. i'd never forgive myself. ❞ ❝ please, don't go ... i just need to feel your arms around me ... ❞ ❝ there's a reason why i hide my emotions locked in a metal cage so deep in my heart. it's so i won't get hurt like this again. ❞ ❝ i've always had to deal with these kinds of things alone. i don't need your help. ❞ ❝ it was my fault. i did this to him/her/them ... ❞ ❝ i can't even see my future anymore. i don't want to. ❞ ❝ there's no way i could possibly be this important to you. ❞ ❝ if i lose him/her/them, then there'll be nothing else for me to live for. ❞ ❝ i don't see a point anymore. in going on, i mean. ❞ ❝ time won't slow down. it never does. i had to learn that the hard way early on. ❞ ❝ go away ... please, just go away. ❞

from those offering support. ❝ ... i'm sorry. i'm so, so fucking sorry that you had to lose him/her/them. ❞ ❝ it wasn't your fault. you did everything you could. ❞ ❝ just remember they'll always be in your heart. ❞ ❝ i don't know what to say to make you feel better, but ... i'm here for you, if that means anything. ❞ ❝ believe it or not ... i know how you feel. i've been through this exact same thing. ❞ ❝ he/she/they loved you. he/she/they loved you so much. trust me ... i know. ❞ ❝ you're not alone. i promise you, you're not alone. ❞ ❝ don't worry, i'll stay. i'm not going anywhere. ❞ ❝ you've been through so much ... be kind to yourself. please. ❞ ❝ it's okay to cry. you don't have to hide your emotions around me. ❞ ❝ you don't have to talk to me. hell, you don't even have to look at me. but, please ... give me a sign that you're hearing what i have to say. ❞ ❝ please ... don't tell me that you'd choose to spend eternity up there with him/her/them over an eternity with me ... ❞ ❝ you're grieving. it's an understandable reaction. but you should rest. you've been overexerting yourself far too much lately. ❞ ❝ the man/woman/person who you lost, who loved you ... he/she/they wouldn't want to see you doing this to yourself. ❞ ❝ crying is your body's way of telling you that you've been keeping everything in for way too long. so let it out. you're safe here. ❞ ❝ sadness is like an ocean. sometimes we drown in it, but other times, we're forced to swim in it. ❞ ❝ as long as i'm here, you'll never not have anyone ever again. ❞ ❝ i hope you know that you can talk to me about anything at all. share anything you need to get off your chest. i'm here for you. ❞ ❝ love is often felt the most in your favorite memories. honor him/her/them by remembering all the happiness he/she/they gave you. ❞ ❝ if you don't feel strong right now, then you don't have to be strong. it's okay to be vulnerable, weak, scared, and sad. ❞

[keepmeinmind-01]

theseus & newt one-shots

hello everyone! i was travelling and couldn't really work on my main fics, so i did a few one-shots i've been thinking about instead. they are a little more relaxed than my usual as i am trying to be more free about sharing the experimental writing i do that i usually keep to myself LOL. (TW - self harm - for the first fic!)

click on the underlined titles to see the fics :)

white button-down (6289 words) by kashi_akarsaka1 Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Newt Scamander & Theseus Scamander Characters: Theseus Scamander, Newt Scamander Additional Tags: Angst, sibling angst, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, (tw as discussed/depicted), guilt and grief, Theseus Scamander Needs a Hug, referenced suicidal ideation, 1928, not “keep me in mind” universe — AU Summary: "Show me!" The shout burst out of Newt with such force that Theseus actually flinched. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Theseus set down his papers. “Little brother," he started, his voice carefully measured. "I don't know what you think you saw—" "Roll up your sleeves." or: Theseus isn’t coping very well, and Newt only finds out by chance.

pockets full of stones (2756 words) by kashi_akarsaka1 Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Newt Scamander & Theseus Scamander Characters: Theseus Scamander Additional Tags: Character Study, Trauma, anxiety/self-worth issues, Estrangement, sibling angst, is it hangxiety or c-ptsd, theseus misses newt but keeps fucking up, 1912, “keep me in mind” universe Summary: Theseus, I received your last letter. I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. Hogwarts is fine. Please don't write again unless it's an emergency. —Newt or: the Auror Academy fixes less than Theseus had hoped.

fire drill (2776 words) by kashi_akarsaka1 Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Newt Scamander & Theseus Scamander Characters: Newt Scamander, Theseus Scamander, Bunty Broadacre (mentioned) Additional Tags: Brother Feels, sibling angst, Dysfunctional Family, Trust Issues, Autistic Newt Scamander, Emotional Hurt, 1924, “keep me in mind” universe

Summary: "I want your insight," Theseus corrected, and something in his voice made Newt look up. "You see things others miss, Newt. You understand…" "The monsters?" Newt suggested, a bitter edge to his voice. "The victims," Theseus said quietly. or: a brief interaction between Newt and Theseus makes Newt realise how difficult it all is.