#i ended up hiding alone the bathroom having a panic attack

[fancassticfiction]

Okay, so having a panic attack because I was caught at a Mexican restaurant in a storm that led to a fucking tornado warning and 80 mph winds with my teacher besties on a teachers only day was not the vibe.

[badnoahmens]

Sweep Me Off My Feet

Noah Sebastian x Reader

A/N: this was an anon request - I hope I did you proud! “Reader and him are bffs and she gets really depressed staying alone during the shutdown, so Noah picks her up and she ends up living with him during it all. So everyone else in the band quickly realizes that they are more than besties, just in the way they act with each other.”

42 days into this ‘lockdown’, you think. 42 days since it was all over the news, ‘stay in your house, don’t leave unless it's for a medical reason. Blah blah blah’. The panic has started to subside, people are somewhat used to the idea now, despite how upsidedown the world is seeming. The days were just so long, and the nights seemed to drag on forever. There wasn’t really an end in sight, just more and more delays of the inevitable. “Lockdown extended another week…month… the rest of our lives”.

There was only one thing helping you get through this, and that was Noah. He would be the one who always answered the phone, answered the messages, sent you hilarious videos or photos of himself. It was this connection that was what was stopping you from going insane.

Your house was otherwise empty. You lived on your own, along with your dying house plants. A blanket of darkness was getting ever so comfortable to live in, and it was becoming dangerous. You would go days without showering, the house was a mess, and the food you were eating could barely even be called edible.

It was 4pm, and you still hadn’t left the couch. Staring mind-numbingly at the TV as a show that auto-played in front of you. It was like your brain was paralyzing you, stopping from being alive. Instead, just existing; taking up space.

The only light in the room came from the TV as figures from an unknown show ran about their lives. The curtains were shut and all the doors and windows closed. A sudden brrrrrrrr from your phone drew you out of the shroud you were in, the phone screen lighting up with a new message.

Noah: Have you drank any water today?

You scoff. Was this man stalking you?

You reply: since when are you tracking my vitals?

You stand, bones creaking and cracking as you finally show some sign of life, and then saunter over to the kitchen. A cup that looks relatively clean sits by the sink, so you fill it up with water and drink it as quickly as you can.

Your phone lights up again.

Noah: You just drank some, didn’t you?

Your response? Nothing. He knows he’s right. You won’t even need to say anything.

Noah: knew it.

You: shut up.

You look down at your phone, and then around at the house. It was embarrassing. The smell was suddenly becoming apparent, and it was a concoction of body sweat, dampness and something else that might have been the dead plant.

You sigh. Knowing this wasn’t any way to live. Leaving the TV playing, you walk upstairs and to the bathroom, twisting the handles in the shower so the water comes pouring down. The steam begins to hollow out and you strip from your clothes, tossing them to the side. The waterfall feels clean, it envelopes you and you close your eyes in bliss. Why has this been so hard to do? The scent of your shampoo brings a slight smile to your face when you wash your hair, and it may just be because you were proud of yourself just for doing that. As you rinse your hair, there was a noise from outside the bathroom. A bang. Then a crash. Then a… clink?

Your heartbeat rises. Someone else was there, it wasn’t from the tv and you knew it. With shaking hands you shut off the shower and grasp your towel, wrapping your body in it roughly. Your mind starts to race. Will they leave without knowing you were there? Will they find you? What will they do if they do? Looking around the room, you panic when your phone is missing. It’s still downstairs. Fuck.

The footfalls grow louder as they climb the stairs, slowly. And then, as though he knows you would be hiding, Noah calls out.

“Are you home? It’s just me! Please don't attack me!”

The breath you were holding onto finally is let out, and you stomp over to the door, swinging it open aggressively.

“What the fuck, Noah!” You yell at him, hair dripping onto the floor as he stares at you like a deer caught in headlights. His hair was longer now, coming close to sitting on his shoulders. His dark brown eyes were wide as they stared at you, in a towel, in the middle of the hallway, with an angry expression twisted in your face. “I thought you were coming to kill me!”

It was then that you noticed a bag in his hand, a garbage bag, full of the rubbish that has been littering your house for weeks. “Are you cleaning?”

He still is looking at you, “I thought it would help…” he says sheepishly.

“Why are you cleaning?” you ask, quite literally dumbfounded.

“I know what you’re like. This isn’t healthy. I’m cleaning and you’re going to pack a bag and come live with us” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Come live with you?”

He nods his head, then turns and walks into your bedroom. You see the light in the room shift as he slides the curtains and opens the window, letting a light breeze slowly waft into the room and down towards you. You’re still confused as you see him rummaging around in your bedroom, throwing rubbish into a bag, then looking up to meet your confused stare.

“I can pack a bag for you if you’re just going to stand there” he remarks, and you respond quickly.

“I’ll pack myself, thank you very much. I’ve seen your fashion sense and I don’t trust you”

“What do you mean!” Noah calls back in disbelief.

“Grass shoes!” You yell back.

He stands in silence for a moment. “Enough said,” he states finally in defeat.

As you walk into your room, you start to feel overwhelmed watching Noah already having a full bag of trash. He was here all of 5 minutes and had done more around the house than you had in a month. Guilt started to eat away at the pit of your stomach, and Noah noticed the energy shift in the room. When he looked at you tears started to form.

“Hey…. Hey hey hey hey” he says, dropping the bag and coming to your side, wrapping his long arms around you. You bury your head in his chest and loop your arms around him. Breathing in his scent helped, but it didn’t stop the tears completely.

“I can stop if it’s not helping”

“No, please, I’m just sorry. It’s a lot. I haven’t seen you in so long”

“I know, but I knew I had to do something.”

It took all of a few hours to get the house into a relatively clean state. With bags of rubbish out of the way, clothes and dishes put back into their place, weeks of dirt and grime finally cleaned, you started to feel alive again. There was something about spending time with Noah that made you feel better. When the sun was starting to set, your house looked normal, bags were packed, and you were closing the door behind you as you left and walked towards Noah’s car.

The drive back to his house was quiet. You watched out the window as the view zoomed past. It seemed odd being outside, to be moving somewhere especially when you were not supposed to be leaving your house. But this was essential. This was for a medical reason. If Noah had not come to help you, who knows how long it would have taken to start completely falling apart.

When you finally pulled into the driveway, Noah stepped out and collected your bags, then headed straight inside having you follow him in. Although it was early, you were exhausted.

“I think I might just go straight to bed,” you murmur to Noah. He nods, then leads you to a bedroom. It was mostly bare, but it would be perfect. After how much clutter you had been surrounded with lately, the minimalism was refreshing.

You drop your bags on the bed, then turn to see Noah at the door.

“If you need anything, you know to come find me” he speaks softly. You nod in response. He then closes the door leaving you with nothing but yourself.

You look around the room. A bed was pushed up against the wall. A painting hung opposite it, and a plant stood tall in the corner by the door. The view out of the window showed the tall tree that stood in the backyard by the timber fence, and it looked like there were a few small birds taking up residence in a nest off one of the branches. You smiled at the birds, admiring their own peacefulness. They were content. Happy. Living with what they had. You were determined to get there yourself.

After a restless night’s sleep, you awoke to the sun shining through the window. The birds had left for the morning, possibly to get their food, and you decided you needed to do the same.

As you exit out of your new bedroom, the house is quiet aside from the muffled sounds of the tv from around the corner. You come around to see the animated faces of unknown characters playing out. It was an anime, and you were unfamiliar, but you did recognise the back of 2 heads facing the screen with their back to you. Noah and Jolly were sitting down on a couch lost in the adventure they were watching. You rounded the couch and slumped next to them. Nothing needed to be said, and nothing was said. They just shifted over to give you more room and continued on with their show.

This is what you needed. This new normal. With people around you. People that made you smile, made you actually want to get up in the morning, and to watch funny shows with.

As the anime continued, you started to ask some questions. “So who’s side are we supposed to be on?” “Aren’t they supposed to be the bad guy?” “What do you mean they just died?” “How old are these characters supposed to be?”

Noah and Jolly answered every single one of them, explaining plot points, theories and sometimes even loopholes in the storytelling.

After an hour, Jolly left to retreat to the kitchen, leaving yourself and Noah sitting side by side. He looked over at you, sharing a smile, and threw his arm over your shoulder. The action made you fall onto his side, a strangely comforting feeling after being so distant for so long. But a feeling that you knew you could get used to pretty quick.

2 months have passed now. You were still living with Noah and the boys. He still made you laugh and smile like you never had before. The days were simple, spending time with each other, watching shows, writing music, and playing games. But tonight it was another night on the couch. It became a tradition these days to all be sprawled out, limbs over limbs, invading personal space, all in an effort to spend quality time together and work as a close unit of friends. It felt so natural with them, they were beyond welcoming, and made you feel like a part of the family.

Just like all the nights that had passed previously, Nick was the first to go, standing with a sigh, rubbing his belly, and sauntering off into his room. Next to follow was Jolly, after many arguments about his falling asleep during the show, he finally admitted defeat and retreated back to his bedroom.

This left you and Noah alone. The growing haze of sleepiness was creeping ever so close to taking over. Your eyelids felt so heavy that it was impossible to keep them open. I’ll just rest my eyes for a minute, you say to yourself, knowing full well this was the biggest lie. It was mere seconds until the dream state took you under.

You were abruptly awoken by the feeling of rummaging coming from beneath you. Lifting your head from its place, you peer between the slits of your open eyes. You’re met with Noah’s face looking at you, perplexed and a little worried.

“Go back to sleep, I’m sorry I woke you” he whispers in a soft tone, a little raspy and sleepy himself.

Twisting your head you can see you laying by his side, squished between his body and the back of the couch pillows. Noah was laying on his back, dangling close to the edge, one leg hanging off at the knee to stop from slipping off altogether. His hands rested on your back, gliding up and down in a soothing motion. His arm was twisted around your side, with you nestled comfortably and quite perfectly fitted under his arm with head resting on his chest.

A hand of yours was tucked under your head, and it takes a second to realize how you got here. When you fell asleep, you must have slipped down onto Noah, and him being the gentleman he is, didn’t want to wake you. Was he asleep himself? By the look of his hair, spread across the beige pillow in a tangled mess, it’d be a good guess to say that he was.

You lay your head down once more, gazing drizzly up at Noah, who tenderly brushed some of the loose strands of hair away from your face.

“You know you talk in your sleep” he uttered quietly, as if not to disturb the peacefulness of the moment.

Still half asleep, you close your eyes and sigh.

“I was afraid of that” you whisper.

“It was adorable,” he says, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Noah leans his head down, straining it at an almost awkward angle, to meet your face. Suddenly, you weren’t so sleepy anymore. He was so close. His breath washed over your face and wafted down past your neck. He was lingering, slow, questioningly. Did he want this? Did you? Shivers were running down your spine, possibly from the surge of butterflies in your stomach. Noah was your friend, your closest friend, and would this ruin it? Thoughts were running wild in your head, dancing dangerously close to ruining what was about to happen.

Noah notices, he sees you hesitate, and he pulls back. Your stomach drops.

“I’m sorry, I-“ he starts.

You interrupt him by leaning up and meeting his lips with yours. He flinched at the impact, but didn't pull back. Instead, his lips move like yours, mimicking the motion you create, parting slightly to allow just that tiny bit more of a connection. You slide up, straddling Noah so that your thighs are at the sides of his torso, moving your hands so they are on either side of his face, fingers tangling with his long hair in a feeble attempt to ground yourself in the moment. His hands move too, gingerly griping at your hips, but not as to hold, but to caress. You feel a tremor of anticipation across your body, the light pressure that he creates between you two, rolling his body to be closer to yours, makes the sensation even more intimate.

You’re still kissing him, heavily. His mouth parts more, flicking the tip of his tongue over your lips as though to ask for more. You respond with the same motion, with tongues now intertwining as you begin to taste him. The fears and worries from before are long gone, and all that you could think of now was him, was that he wants this just as much as you do.

The intensity between you and Noah grows more. It's as if the universe has narrowed down to this singular moment, where every touch, every sensation, becomes heightened and electrifying. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the softness of his skin — it all consumes your senses.

With each passing second, the kiss deepens, evolving into something more profound and passionate. Your tongues dance together, exploring the uncharted territory of each other's mouths. It's a delicate balance between fervor and tenderness, a beautiful symphony of desire and affection, orchestrated perfectly just for the two of you.

Noah's hands glide up your sides, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. As his hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers gently caress your skin, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body and intensifying the sensation. Time becomes irrelevant as you revel in this newfound closeness. The outside world ceases to exist, and it's just the two of you, entwined in an embrace that speaks volumes without uttering a single word. In this intimate dance, you feel a profound sense of trust and vulnerability, knowing that you are sharing something special and rare.

You can feel him begin to writhe beneath you, legs shifting and pressing against the space between yours. You pause momentarily, letting the moment linger, before reciprocating the same passion, grinding down with your hips to create friction between your clothes. The moan that elicits from Noah echoes into your mouth, the feeling of pleasure taking over him for a moment. As the kiss lingers, your hands wander, discovering the contours of each other's bodies. His hands now gripping desperately at your body, one cinched below your thigh, pulling it up closer to him, the other hooked around the back of your neck, thumb rubbing delicate shapes into your skin. Every touch, every caress, elicits a gasp or a sigh from both of you, like a plea for more.

But eventually, the need for air becomes undeniable, and you reluctantly break the kiss, your lips still tingling from the connection. Breathless and flushed, you meet Noah's gaze, searching for reassurance and affirmation. He looks back at you, with the same search in his eyes. Almost like he’s looking for answers too, like he’s asking if he could continue. You lean your forehead against Noah's, your breaths intermingling as you revel in the afterglow of that passionate kiss. Both of you are out of breath, panting in an effort to regain some kind of consciousness. Time seems to stand still, as if the universe itself is holding its breath, acknowledging the significance of this shared moment. That is, until the rattle of the fridge door, and the flood of its light tears you from the moment, violently throwing you back to the reality around you. With a jolt, your head darts towards the source, the silhouette of Jolly in the fridge gives you your answer.

“Bout time you guys kiss and make up” he says, with such a carefree nature, a hint of humor playing in his last words. “Nick, you owe me 20!” He calls, exiting the room and around the corner.

“We’re they fucking, or just making out?” You hear Nick call from another room.

“Just making out. Thank Christ” Jolly answers to himself, leaving you and Noah to giggle, flushed red with embarrassment. Despite being caught in the act, it didn’t dampen the mood. You were still straddling Noah, but sitting more upright now. He sits up, readjusting so you sit atop his lap. He brushes a loose strand behind your ear, and looks at you tenderly.

It might be the lack of oxygen, but the way the colorful light from the tv dances on Noah’s face makes him seem more beautiful, like something you’ve never seen in him before.

In the room's shifting shadows, the illustrations decorating his neck come alive, dancing in the changing colors that starkly contrast with the white of his shirt. His hair was a mess, tangled and knitted from your fingers, but it was his eyes, and the way they looked into your soul, that made you feel at home. With your hands draped around his neck, you lean in once more, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He closes his eyes and leans into you again, pushing his hands against your back to make you closer to him as you both revel in the fleeting moment. Even if it did change things in the future, you didn’t care.

[sanguineterrain]

Hii so for the requests if this is too dark please just ignore 💜 how about jason x reader with "[ BACKUP ]   sender calls receiver panicking after committing a crime" where maybe reader gets assaulted and in self-defense kills the criminal and is panicking and calling jason because she knows he can help her and is the only one who won't judge her. Thank you for considering 💖

hey anon! i really liked this prompt, not to worry. it reminded me of that scene in the punisher when amy shoots the guy, but frank "kills" him, so i ended up incorporating that here 😅 thanks for requesting!

i also combined this with another request i got for the prompt "hide. hide now." with jason bc i felt they went well together :)

jason todd x gn!reader | tw: gun violence. reader shoots a man whose intention is to harm them. panic attack, blood. you are in charge of the media you consume! | 843 words

prompt lists are here! i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

You don't know how you get back to your apartment. All you can hear is your pounding heartbeat and the footsteps of one of Two Face's men.

You shouldn't have been out this late. You shouldn't have been out alone. So many shouldn'ts run through your mind.

"Run all you want! I know where you live now, snitch! You ain't making it out tonight!"

You take the stairs two at a time, tripping over your feet. Sweat pours down your face. Your chest is tight with fear.

"Yoo-hoo," the goon sing-songs. "Where are ya, birdie?"

You unlock your phone and duck into the laundry room. Quickly, you pull out your phone and tap on your first contact.

"Todd."

"Jason," you whisper. The phone shakes in your grip.

"What's wrong?" he asks, instantly on alert.

"There's a—I was—I'm at home. I-I didn't know where else to go. Two Face's guy saw me, he chased me—"

"I'm on my way. Are you inside?"

"In... in the laundry room... Jay, I'm so scared."

"I know, I know, it's okay. I'll be there in two minutes. Go to your apartment and lock it. There's a gun taped behind the pantry cabinet. Don't hang up."

"I don't remember buying a—"

"I put it there. Go."

You don't even have the thought to be mad; Jason has always been protective of you, and right now, it might be the only thing that'll keep you alive.

"You there?" he asks as you stumble on your feet to your apartment.

"Al-almost—"

"I know you're up here, snitch!" the goon shouts from two floors below.

You gasp and nearly break your key in the lock. But you manage to get it open and lock it behind you, just how Jason ingrained in you to do. You find the gun exactly where he said it is.

"Okay. I have it. Jason, I've never—"

"I know. Listen to me—shit—okay, you see the safety? You remember what I taught you about taking the safety off?"

"Yeah, y-yeah." You take the safety off. The gun is heavy, way heavier than you remember it being when Jason had shown you how to fire it in a field outside of town.

"Alright. Now take the gun and hide. Hide now."

"Where? Jason, he's coming—" You're crying now, face slick with sweat and tears.

"Listen to me. I'm three blocks away. I will be there, okay? I won't let him do shit to you. Go to the bathroom and lock it. Be careful with the gun. Finger off the trigger."

You walk on jellied legs, half-stumbling to the bathroom. You do what he says and press yourself against the tub, gun under your palm. Your phone is on your other side.

"You still there?" he asks. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

"I'm here. I think he's—"

You flinch hard as your apartment door splinters. You cover your mouth to hide your cries. The light is off, but you doubt this is the first time this guy's hunted someone in their apartment.

You hear the squeal of tires through the phone. Jason's close; he'll be here soon, he'll—

The bathroom door tears from its hinges. The doorknob makes a hole in the wall.

You don't think.

The shot is louder than you expect, and your ears ring from the sound. Blood splatters on your bathroom tiles. The goon hits the floor with a shout.

"Oh my God, oh my God," you babble, still squished against the tub.

"You bitch!" the goon shouts, blood bubbling from his mouth.

Jason runs in then. He quickly kicks the goon's gun away and steps on his chest when the goon tries to get up. Jason cocks his gun in warning.

"Stay down, shithead," he snarls.

"I killed him," you say, tears flooding your eyes. "I didn't mean to—I didn't—"

Jason kneels in front of you and gently takes the gun from you. You look at him, stomach rolling.

"I killed him," you say again, cringing as the goon yells in pain.

Jason shakes his head. "No. Hey, you didn't kill him. You defended yourself. You just shot him, okay? See, look—"

He fires a single bullet without looking. The goon is instantly silent. You wince.

"Okay? You didn't kill him. I killed him. Me. Not you."

You whimper, face falling into Jason's chest. He holds you tightly.

"I was so scared, but I didn't want to—I thought he was gonna—"

"Shh, shh. You didn't do anything wrong. Okay? I got you. You did good. You defended yourself. It was you or him and you made the right choice."

"Don't leave," you cry, clinging to Jason's tactical vest.

He squeezes you tighter, shielding you from the body.

"I'm not going anywhere. I got you, sweetheart. Don't worry. Nothing's gonna happen to you."

You sit like that for a long time, Jason whispering gentle reassurances in your ear as you cry into his chest.

"I promise you'll never be in this situation again," he whispers when your cries have become sniffles. "I swear."

[lucyandalexiafan]

It’s Lucy | Lucy Bronze x reader

Summary: reader has a panic attack and Lucy tries to comfort her.

Warnings: angst; allusion to past violent/abusive relationship with family/partner.

Words: 1.9k

I sit against the radiator of the bathroom.

Same place where I sat as a child, when I cried hiding myself in the same type of room and behind that door.

That door that I was forced to close in silence so that no one would know I was inside, leaving only the small light on the cabinet.

I always ended up in the same position.

Back against the radiator.

Head on knees.

Arms holding the legs to the chest, the calves against the thighs.

It's the same position I have now.

And, like then, the chest twists on itself due to the sobs.

Tears running down my cheeks.

I bite my lip until it bleeds in an attempt to hold back the laments, the noises.

Like when I was a kid and didn't want to disturb anyone.

But now I'm alone, at home.

In another city.

In another country.

But that anxiety never goes away.

That fear of being heard.

That fear of being discovered.

That fear of making the situation worse.

Lucy isn't there.

She is at the Barcelona camp, somewhere around Portugal.

Jona had allowed me not to go.

He had seen how bad I was, how badly I was playing, and he had asserted that my mental health was more important.

He had insisted that I was supposed to stay in Barcelona, at home.

So why do I feel so guilty?

I had put my phone on not disturb mode and the only thing I have done during these days as an attempt to communicate was reply to his text every night.

I'm okay.

No more words, no less.

It didn't matter what he wrote to me.

It didn't matter what he was talking about.

It didn't matter what photo he sent me of the team.

I didn't answer anything other than I'm okay.

It didn't matter if it was a lie.

I hadn't checked the messages and calls from Lucy, from Alexia, from the team.

I was, and am, too scared to read them.

To confront the disappointment they feel about me not being with them.

For my having stayed at home.

For my not being enough.

The fear of finding out that Lucy is mad at me makes me nauseous every time.

So I can't look at them.

Read them.

Answer to the calls.

And also because I hadn't heard my voice since she left and it wouldn't surprise me to know that it's gone.

Since Lucy had left I had spent the days at home, alternating between the living room and the bedroom.

A sense of nausea, fear, discomfort pervaded my body since the first second that I was alone.

Preventing me from eating.

Preventing me from going out.

Preventing me from doing anything other than lying still.

Lucy had left, she was forced to leave, having no justification not to.

Mapi was injured, so she was in Barcelona.

She had tried to convince me to open the door of the house: she had camped out on the landing of the floor all the first night, until the next morning the old woman from the flat next to mine had threatened to call the police if she didn't leave.

Three days had passed.

I didn't expect her to come back.

I love her, we are friends, but I never thought I deserved that treatment, that attention, that try one more time.

And, in the end, she had only confirmed my idea, my feeling of not being enough.

My nails penetrate the flesh of my calves.

My hands crush the skin.

I feel dirty.

Useless.

How is it possible that I can't even do my job anymore?

The house lock clicks.

I gasp in fright.

I hold my body even tighter as if this could protect me.

I will not move.

I don't know who they are, but it's not important.

I'm not important.

I hear footsteps.

The sound of an object being thrown to the ground.

The sounds of some doors being opened.

Are they thieves?

It does not make sense, it's still evening.

Maybe it's Lucy.

But why didn't she call me?

I bite my lip.

Then I hear the bathroom door open.

“Amor”

I huddle in on myself.

I try to disappear, to merge with the radiator.

Is she angry?

Does she want to hurt me?

I close my eyes.

“Amor”

I whine.

The pain in the chest increases more and more.

I hear her sit on the floor.

“Don't hurt me, please”

I hear her holding her breath.

“Amor, look at me”

I shake my head.

“I'm sorry Lucy… I'm sorry, I really am - I moan, blood dripping down my calves - I swear… it wasn't enough, but I tried”

There is silence.

Why doesn't she scream?

Why doesn't she hit me?

I feel arms hugging me.

I squirm.

I try to move her away, to push her away.

I don't deserve this affection.

I can't even do my job.

Study.

Leave the house.

Why doesn't she hit me?

Her hair touches my nose.

My forehead against the crook of her neck.

She says something to me but I can't hear it.

The noise in my head is too loud.

The noise of the beats, of the tachycardia, invades the ears.

A dull, constant, fast sound.

I tell her that I can't hear, that I can't understand.

I hold her tight.

My nails dug into the sleeve of her arm.

My tears wet her shirt.

She asks me if she can medicate me.

The worried, sweet voice.

I don't answer, scared at the idea that it's an excuse to leave.

To hurt me.

She asks it again, telling me that she would like to treat my calves.

I swallow saliva.

I grip her forearm tightly.

Two of her fingers rest against my chin.

They force it upwards.

Her eyes fixed on mine.

“Everything will be fine, you just have to cooperate with me, okay?”

I look at her scared.

“Please… Please don't hurt me”

Her gaze softens even more.

She tells me that the only thing she will do to me is medicate me, that she won't hurt me.

She then walks away towards the medicine cabinet.

She opens it and takes out a first aid kit.

The one where there are gauzes, disinfectant, plasters and everything else.

She approaches again.

“Now, every time I do something I'll tell you, so you know what's going on and you can stop me if you need to, okay?”

Will she stop or is she lying?

I nod slightly, too weak to protest, to oppose her.

She opens the kit and I flinch at the sound of the zipper opening.

She soaks a piece of cotton with some disinfectant.

“Amor, can you stretch your legs a little? This will make it easier to disinfect the cuts"

I don't respond, I just execute.

She asks me to leave them slightly bent, so that they don't touch the ground.

I feel the sting of disinfectant on a cut.

I groan in pain, sucking air between my teeth.

Her other hand touches my knee, the thumb caressing the skin.

“I'm sorry, I swear - I whisper, scared, hesitating when her eyes look into mine - I didn't think... I'm so sorry”

“Amor, don't worry” she whispers before chastely kissing my knee.

Then she continues, wound by wound, to disinfect me.

Why does she disinfect them?

Why is she so caring?

I don't deserve it.

I know it, and I bet she knows it too.

If she wants to hurt me why does she medicate me?

“I think it's better to not cover them, so they'll dry quickly, okay?”

I nod.

I no longer look into her eyes.

I look at her hands.

They are stained with my blood.

They smell of disinfectant.

The air smells of disinfectant.

Is she angry?

Why is she so sweet?

So loving?

I bite my lip.

Her shirt is stained with disinfectant.

Or maybe it's blood?

The spot is dark, small.

“Can you get up? So we can go to bed."

I plant a hand against the floor, but as soon as I try to get up I feel my strength fail.

I shake my head moaning softly.

I curl up in fear that she will hit me.

That she will start screaming.

Will she hurt me for this?

I close my eyes in terror as she approaches me, her arms raised towards me.

“Can I pick you up so I can take you to bed?”

I watch her.

Eyes widening.

She-

That's why she is so caring.

Of course.

Why did I believe there was no ulterior motive?

How could I be so stupid?

How long was she at the camp?

A week?

Is that why she medicated me?

Because then we can go to bed and-

I push myself towards the radiator

The fear that it will happen again, that she will hurt me too, invades my body.

The memories that come back to mind.

My hands hold my legs, my back pressed against the radiator.

“Please… don't hurt me - she looks at me confused, her lips parted - We-we will do it, I swear - I gasp in terror - but not now, I beg you. I-I don't feel I can do it."

She looks at me.

The confusion in her eyes.

She hesitates, pulling her arms back against her body.

“I just want to make you lie down, you can't stay on the floor all evening” her voice worried.

Maybe scared of my reaction.

“We won't do anything, I promise - I look at her - I just wish you were in a more comfortable place”

I look at her trying to figure out if she's lying about herself.

Maybe she really just meant-

“You won't hurt me?” I ask hesitantly.

She shakes her head.

Her lips parted.

“I would never hurt you, amor”

A hint of urgency in her voice.

Can I trust her?

It's Lucy.

I can trust Lucy.

Right?

It's Lucy.

The sweet girl who gave me Lego flowers because she had seen them in a store and she had thought of me.

The loving girl who always hugs me because she knows that physical contact is the only thing that calms my anxiety.

The caring girl who always orders my favorite pizza when she understands that I'm having a bad day.

It's Lucy.

With her transparent glasses, nose piercing and freckles.

I bite my lip.

The tears welling up in my eyes.

Why do I always ruin everything?

She'll dump me after this.

She won't want to deal with me anymore.

I look at her again.

I know that if she tries to hurt me I won't stop her.

I will cry, but I won't fight her.

I don't have the force to do it.

Ever since I ran away from that house I promised myself I wouldn't let anyone hurt me or hit me, but the reality is that now it is so difficult to fight, to oppose, her.

I nod.

She's right, I can't spend all night on the floor.

In one way or another, we will end up in that bed together.

In one way or another, if she wants, she will find the opportunity to hurt me.

Her arms lift me up.

One under the crook of the knees, one under the middle of the back.

I instinctively push myself against her chest.

My hands clutching the fabric of her t-shirt.

The tears that wet it.

“I-I'm sorry Lucy”

She places me on the bed.

She kisses my forehead, then my nose.

“Don't think about it now, - she kisses my nose again - Whatever happened, it doesn't matter. I love you” she whispers, before lying down next to me, covering us with the blankets and hugging me.

It's Lucy.

I'm not sure that the way I wrote the allusions to Reader's past life is correct: in my native language they work, but I'm not familiar enough with English to know 100/100 if the way I wrote them is correct. If they are wrong please point it out to me, explain me what is the correct way and I will change them (so I can learn for the next time too). Thank you so much:)

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Can we please get a scenario to how the main three proxies (Masky/Tim, Hoodie/Brian, and Toby) act if they have an anxiety or panic attack? I just want to see your thought on them, because I’ve noticed many people act entirely different, and I find it interesting.

I didn't include Masky/Hoodie specifically because I really don't think either of them have panic attacks, but the other three are here. Sometimes I include the two of them in these sorts of things but they don't fit here for me.

Also, I included if they do or don't have a s/o in this as well. One of the boys ended up being a lot like me in terms of symptoms and only I know which one.

Tim:

Tim doesn't often get panic attacks, I think honestly in the mansion he gets them the least amount of anyone. I think Tim can mostly fly under the radar with his panic attacks unless it's a really bad one. He'll get sweaty, shaky hands, tremble a bit, but he can usually get control over himself and he'll just excuse himself to the bathroom for a moment so he can catch his breath and shake off whatever's got him so panicked. However, if it's a much larger panic attack, things are different for Tim. Usually, these panic attacks occur because of stress from their job, or because of Tim having to deal with Masky being inside of him. Tim gets hit pretty hard; sense of doom, chest pain, dizziness, nausea, detachment, shortness of breath, and shaking. 

Tim gets incredibly scared during these times, as though he's fully shutting down, and he tends to try to run away and hide from people, sometimes collapsing where he is on the way to do so. If he has you, you're the person he immediately tries to find in times like this, all but crumbling into your arms, into his safety net. He calms down much easier in your presence, clinging onto you in ways only you've seen, apologizing and crying, weeping because he feels so guilty in his anxiety for letting his fears get to him, and only your calming words and gentle touch are able to relax him. If he doesn't have you, he tries with all his might to get to his bedroom, to be alone. He'll stay in there, isolated from everyone else as he spends what could be minutes or hours trying to calm himself down, as not even Brian is allowed to see him like this. 

Brian:

Brian I think is second after Tim in terms of least likely to have a panic attack, as I think Brian tends to be good at managing his stress and anxiety, but I think his anxiety actually gets to him more often than it does Tim. I think Brian's panic attacks tend to escalate to the same level each time because when he realizes he's going to have one it causes his fear and anxiety to greatly spiral. It starts with hot flashes for Brian, sweatiness, and headaches. After that, he starts to realize what's happening, and he starts to get shaky and his voice starts to tremble, and he'll try and excuse himself from whatever he's doing. If he has you, he'll have you try and help him upstairs so he doesn't have to be alone because he hates being alone during a panic attack. 

He'll curl into you, hugging you and trying to do breathing exercises with you to calm down before the brunt of it hits him. He'll start to get nauseous, choking on his breath and swaying back and forth in dizziness, so he often likes to lay down beside you. He often breaks down in tears, clinging to you because he feels terrified that something is really wrong with him, and he gets an impending feeling that he's going to die, that he's going to disappear. His panic attacks are very scary for him. If he doesn't have you, he'll go through a similar process with Tim or Slender, one of them being the one to keep him company, although Brian will instead be laying down under a blanket, curled up and hugging a pillow as he tries to calm himself while they comforting rub his back and assure him he'll be okay, that he can get through this, but it usually takes him about an hour to get through one.

Toby:

Toby, on the other hand, has panic attacks on a very regular basis because of his trauma and the very high level of stress and anxiety that I think he feels on a very regular basis. I'd say Toby has a panic attack at least once or twice a week, but some weeks he could be having them every other day when he's going through a very rough patch, although Toby's panic attacks can tend to vary on how they show up for him. Sometimes he feels physically sick, he'll have nausea, and dizziness, and have an extremely rapidly pounding heart rate, with sweat coating his body, breaking down in tears, and unable to stop crying. Sometimes he has an extreme sense of fear, with the impending doom that he's going to lose control of his life, that his dad will come back and take him away, that he's going to die, that he's going to lose control of his life, and he'll start shaking incredibly bad, almost unable to walk, unable to breathe properly and dizziness overtaking him as he finds himself nearly paralyzed and unable to move. 

Sometimes he finds himself growing silent, unable to communicate, his vision blurry, his mind in a sense of detachment so strong he can't even tell he's conscious anymore, his body swaying back and forth, his breathing slowed and shallow, a numb sense of fear humming inside of him. If he has you by his side during any of these, he tends to cling to you, silently asking you not to leave him alone. He won't be talkative at all, in fact, other than his iron grip on you he might seem as though he's avoidant and doesn't want you there, but he's just lost in the confusion of it and unable to communicate what he wants. He just knows that he trusts you, and he wants you to remain by his side so he can have a glimpse of feeling safe. If he doesn't have you, he tends to isolate himself and go through them alone, although sometimes he might prefer to have Slender by his side, comforting him and just being around him so he can know he's not alone or in danger anymore.

[violetsaffron5]

In Another Life (5)

Chapter 4 • series masterlist

5 | This Life

Pairing: Gojo x f!Reader and Geto x f!Reader

Satoru comes home and a decision is made

Words: 2.3k

cw: descriptions of panic attack/anxiety

AN: Thank you to everyone who has liked and reblogged this little series, the love means so much, and is really appreciated!

AN2.0: The ending was actually voted on by my twitter followers. Every once in a while I'll post an obscure poll asking something incredibly vague. In this case, I asked people to vote on 1 or 2, and then did a wheel picker to choose if Gojo or Geto was the one who won. So the choice was randomly selected because I couldn't choose.

Taglist • Ao3 • Discord 18+ • Social Media • Series Masterlists

Suguru is the boy who said he loved you in high school. You’re the girl who kissed him and said you love him too.

He’s the boy who defected, killed a village full of people, and you’re the girl who ran to his shattered best friend seeking comfort.

He’s the man who betrayed everything he stood for, you’re the woman who betrayed her betrothed.

Those thoughts stay with you as you enter your penthouse apartment, walk to your room, and stare blankly at your bed. A place that holds so many happy memories from the past several years.

Your mind races with memories of all of the intimate moments you’ve shared with one another in this spot. The times you’ve made love, the times of jealousy or anger - no matter what it’s been, the two of you have always been brought back to one another.

Waking up each day next to Satoru, the soft morning kisses he would place on your lips, running his nose up and down the length of yours until you woke up. 

Building a little fort with your sheets to hide from the golden rays of the early morning sun, giggling about something silly he said, or swapping stories about your students and how proud you are of them.

There are so many things over the past several weeks that could have been handled differently since you received the letter. You could have chosen to ignore it, stay in your blissful life with your fiancé, and have a wonderful wedding ceremony, and life together.

But you didn’t, and now you have to face the consequences of your actions.

With a heavy sigh, you tear your eyes away from the bed and walk into the large bathroom, turning on the shower. There’s an overwhelming desire to wash away the events of what happened tonight.

What you saw.

What you didn’t stop.

The water is warm, cascading down your back as you lean your head against the cool tile of the shower wall.

Other thoughts plague your mind as well; how you’ve missed Suguru more than you’ve let yourself admit these past several years. How your heart fluttered when you went to visit him in his temple.

How he killed an innocent man tonight without a second thought.

Thoughts of how even then, you’re not afraid of Suguru like you should be. How your heart still yearns to be by his side even after tonight.

Time is supposed to heal all wounds - that’s what you’re told at least. But this is more than that.

It’s a hurt in the deepest parts of your soul that doesn’t seem like it’s ever going to go away. No matter how much time you’ve given it. No matter the new love you’ve found.

It’s clear the universe isn’t planning to give you more time to make your decision and sort out your feelings as you sense Satoru walking into your apartment after having been gone for so long.

Of course, he would come home tonight of all nights. When you need to be alone. To think.

You know the reason why he chose to come back tonight. There’s no way he doesn’t know, no way Tokyo Tech wasn’t dispatched to the scene to investigate. Your residuals would have been present, and you’ll have a myriad of questions to answer.

You’ll easily lose your job, the life you have.

Panic begins to set in again and you gasp for air, running your hands over your face and turning the water colder to help try and mitigate the anxiety coursing through your veins.

Before you’ve realized he’s undressed and joined you in the shower, you feel Satoru gently wrap his arms around your waist, pressing his forehead to the back of your head, pulling himself close to you.

You sniffle, taking deep shaky breaths before you’re able to speak, “Satoru, I-”

“Shhh,” He hums quietly next to your ear before pressing kisses to your shoulder, neck, and back.

Satoru turns you around, pressing his soft lips to yours, letting his fingers gently graze over the still peaks of your nipples before you pull away abruptly. He furrows his brows, looking over your features quickly.

“Satoru, I-” Your voice is shaky, hoarse from crying, “I’m a mess right now.”

“I know,” He answers quietly, thumb tracing your jaw and lips, moving hair away from your face, “We’ll figure it out. All of it.”

Your heart breaks at his words, knowing he chose to come home to you despite your recent decisions and betrayals.

Because Satoru does love you. You gave him a life he never thought possible, a love he never thought possible because of who and what he is.

Several tears well in your eyes as he leans down and kisses you again. This time you let him, because this is how he’s always shown his love for you, and because you do love him too.

His hands run down your sides, squeezing your ass before lifting you, carrying you out of the shower, and laying you on the bed gently.

You leave your arms wrapped around his neck while he focuses on massaging your waist, hips, and thighs. It takes hardly anything at all for Satoru’s touch to work its magic.

No matter your mood, how upset or angry, the slightest touch of his nimble fingers always sends a shiver down your spine and straight to your core.

He kisses a few spots along your jaw before turning your head, slotting his lips between your own, tongue swiping along your bottom lip for access - you grant it, you always have.

Before long, you’re on top of him, rocking your hips as he watches you in pure awe, appreciation, and adoration.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly moves his hands around your body, feeling every inch of exposed skin in his large hands before leaning up, ghosting his lips against your neck, shoulders, and chest, his thumbs gently brushing past your hardened nipples.

You gasp when he pinches them between his fingers harder than expected and he watches, drinking you in like it’s the first time all over again.

He alternates, between pinching and licking each of your breasts as you continue to leisurely rock your hips against him. The two of you have made love before, but never like this.

It’s beautiful and slow, sensual in a way you’ve never experienced with him before. Like he’s giving you a part of himself that he’s never shown before. You’re speaking with your bodies, listening to each other’s heartbeats and labored breaths each time you take each other in.

Leaning back on one arm, he grabs your hip with the other, helping you move just slightly faster as his gaze trails down to where you’re connected; butterflies form in your stomach as he drags his knuckle over your abdomen, soaking in the sight of you, encircling your clit. 

Your eyes are locked together, half-lidded, full of love, but he doesn’t dare break away, even as he tenderly presses his lips to yours, expressions drunk with desire and gratification for one another.

You press your foreheads together, sharing breaths, bodies glistening in sweat, hips flowing and ebbing into one another. You thread your fingers through his soft pale hair, as he thrusts his hips, diving deeper.

Your thighs begin to tremble, and he groans when you clench around him and he knows you're close, rolling his hips until he’s hitting the spot that has you whimpering into him with each thrust.

“Satoru,” you murmur, “I’m s-so close.”

He takes a deep breath, sharpening his movements, “Me too, baby.”

The intimate exchange is enough to push you both over the edge, unraveling into each other’s arms at the same time. He peppers your face with little kisses as he pulls out with a wince, rolling over and pulling you into his chest.

“I used to daydream about this,” Satoru admits quietly, holding you close, like he never wants to let go, “About being with you.”

“Oh,” You answer surprised, “I had no idea.”

Satoru chuckles, lacing his fingers with yours, “I never told you or anyone, really. Never thought I would need to.”

You take in his words as the two of you lay in comfortable silence, listening to each other's heartbeats and shallow breaths until you feel the twitching of Satoru’s hand, indicating he’s fallen asleep.

Satoru breaths slowly, and steadily as you watch his soft, snow-like lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You’ll always be grateful for the love you’ve shared, and the time you’ve been able to spend together.

You know what life with him will be like. Safe, committed, filled with love, laughter, and adventure. The letter told you precisely what to expect. A beautiful life anyone would dream of with a man who has done nothing but love you through all of your ups and downs.

But the letter never mentioned Suguru. What came of him, where did he go?

You swallow thickly because deep down, in the depths of your heart, you know. And the thought brings tears to the corner of your eyes that you quickly and quietly wipe away.

If you and Satoru were able to have such a beautiful life together, Suguru didn’t make it.

Did he try to bring the world to its knees, to have a world where Sorcerers are no longer living in plain sight but are the only ones remaining?

You don’t know and that hurts more than anything.

But you can.

2017 

You’re back in a place you haven’t been to or seen in years. A place that used to be a second home.

You’re watching from a distance as Suguru declares war on Kyoto and Shinjuku. A decision you tried your hardest to talk him out of, only to land on deaf ears.

Satoru stands listening, but you can feel his gaze shift to you. He’s changed his look. No longer wearing the little black sunglasses you used to love on him, but rather choosing to cover his eyes with white bandages.

You wonder what the reason for the change was but know you’ll never get the pleasure of finding out.

“You’re both going to die,” Satoru says, just loud enough for you to hear him once Suguru turns his back to the crowd that’s gathered. “You do realize that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” You answer quietly, pursing your lips and nodding your head, taking several steps toward him.

Satoru stays quiet, but you can feel the intensity of his eyes on you. Not with hatred, but a longing for understanding, on why you left and chose Suguru, a criminal, a murderer, over him.

“It was always going to be him,” You say just as Satoru opens his mouth to speak. “From the moment I saw the envelope, the moment I read what was said- I,” you take a breath, trying to find the right words, “I’m sorry. I never apologized to you for leaving, and I just want it to be known now. Before all of this comes to an end.”

The last night you spent with Satoru, you made beautiful love, telling each other how much you mean to one another and showing it in a way you never had before, but once he fell asleep, you crawled out of his grasp leaving behind the life you’ve created and everything you stood for.

After packing a bag, you left your engagement ring and the letter on your nightstand, hoping it would serve to answer his questions. On why you had been acting strangely, why things had been so difficult for you, and ultimately why you left.

Because you didn’t have the courage to tell him on your own.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Satoru chuckles, thumb scratching his eyebrow as he sighs heavily. “Do you regret leaving behind the life we were building?”

Satoru questioned if the letter was really from yourself, or if it was an elaborate plan to lead you astray until he spent some time inspecting the letter. There were traces of residual energy that looked like yours, just older, along with another sorcerer he didn’t recognize.

What he didn’t expect was to find his own.

And the realization dawned on him that despite the love the two of you shared, your hurt would never go away, no matter how hard he fought to get you back.

So he let you go.

“It was a hard adjustment at first. Having to set aside the morals and values I held so close to me- that we shared- but it got easier. I’ve laid awake at night for hours wondering this same exact thing but I can never bring myself to regret choosing Suguru.”

Taking a deep breath, you take a few steps toward Satoru. You know he won’t harm you and that he’ll have his infinity off. He watches from beneath his bandages and you find yourself wishing you could see his eyes one last time while you press a tender kiss to his cheek, “Goodbye, Satoru.”

You give him a wistful smile before walking away to join Suguru’s side, knowing the next time you see your ex-fiance, a man you once loved, it’ll be your last.

Satoru watches as you make your way back to Suguru, who offers his hand, helping you climb the back of his curse before taking off, flying high in the sky. You know Satoru can see you from the distance and you can just make out his figure below as you give him one last tender smile.

Life with Satoru would have been grand and adventurous. He wouldn’t let any moment between the two of you go dull. You’ve loved him and you still do.

After you left, you found yourself wondering what life would have been like if you stayed. Would you have found yourself writing the same letter to send to your past? Would you have moved on with less regret knowing you put your past behind you and looking to the future?

You’ll never know.

All you can do now is accept your choices and spend as much time with Suguru as possible before your inevitable demise.

You’ll spend your last remaining moments taking your girls shopping and to Takeshita Street to get crepes like they want. Order pizza, watch TV, holding the little family you chose close each and every night.

There’s only one thing you’re certain of during these times:

You would make the same choices all over again if it led you here.

@s-witch-bitch @watyousayin @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @ritsatoru @faewithsnakes @lex-dear @hvziers @babybae-shisui @saiewithakatana @yihona-san06 @shartnart1 @lilith412426 @ambersea7 @ikilledsparky2 @creolequeen11210 @ichigojamjam @simpfully-heartbroken @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @shan-nein @witchbybirth @myabae @lilacsinjuly @mshope16

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wallflower 44 (Ending 2)

Warnings: age gap, creepin’, slow burn, stepdad-adjacent, possible noncon/dubcon, abuse, violence, self-harm, manipulation, panic attack, dissociation, gaslighting, miscarriage.

Character: silverfox!Thor

Your mother meets a new man, but he doesn’t seem very interested in her.

Note: let me know if you want a loki ending and I'lldo one if I get a decent response.

<3 Another erratic drabble series. Appreciate any and all feedback. Love you all. And I didn’t expect this chapter to go this way or to be a bit longer than usual.

You stare at the bottle of the pills. 'Take these until they're all done, until it passes.' When the doctor told you what was happening to you, you didn't belive him.

It couldn't be. It. A baby. Was anyhow. Now, a miscarriage. There's no way you could be pregnant. Or could have been.

You stand in the sterile hallways. The bustle of the hospital rushes around you. The doctors and nurses are onto their next patients. You're forgotten, just like you always were.

A shiver runs through you as your mind echoes the soft noise of water, the ripples rolling from the plunge of his hand, his fingers between your legs, the sensation bubbling in you. What he told you never happened. What you never knew he did.

You take a breath and hide the pills you have to go. You want it to end. You want to leave this place and act like you were never here.

You follow the signs to the waiting room and find Thrud in a chair, elbow on the armrest, head tilted against it. As you approach she looks up and yawns. She gives a gentle smile.

"You're okay?" She stands. 

You nod. She stares at you. Expectant. Waiting for you to say more.

"So?" She prompts.

"We can go."

Her face falls, "that it? You're not going to tell what's wrong?"

"Anemic," you lie, "it's why I'm bleeding so heavy. Said I have to take pills are whatever."

"Oh. Okay, my mom had that after she got her IUD out," she says, reaching to gently touch your shoulder, "I'm glad it wasn't anything serious."

"Me too," you force a smile, "I just wanna get home and sleep."

"Yeah, mood," she sighs and jingles her keys, "we'll take it easy tomorrow."

"Sounds good to me," you walk with her towards the doors.

You can't tell her the truth. It doesn't matter. Even if she believed you, even if you could prove any of it. It's not a big deal. Besides, you should tell him first. The father. Her father.

🌻

Thrud falls asleep first. You knew she would. You're wide awake despite the frailness in your bones, the draining suck on your energy as you feel the life bleeding from you. You wait until she's snoring to move, slowly, watching her closely.

You get out of the bed and cross the room on your toes. You go into the bathroom and take out the bottle of pills from behind the toilet where you hid them. You put them back in your pocket and sidle you.

You slip on your sandals and creep through the shadows. You let yourself out the front door, shutting it carefully behind you. It's eerily dark as you descend the steps to even ground.

You watch the moon, finding your way to the villa not far from Thrud's. Your stomach churns as you look at the dark windows. You're not their for a fight, you have none left. You're there for the truth. For an end.

Your mother was always right. You're nothing more than a burden, but Thor was the only person to ever make you feel like you weren't. 

You climb onto the porch and knock. You wait out there, alone, a breeze swirling around you. You raise your hand to knock again but the door opens, just a crack as an umbrous figure looks out at you.

"Kitten," Thor's voice grits in his throat as he flicks on the indoor light, illuminating his large figure as he lets the door open further, "what are you–"

You hold up a finger against your lips. His brow furrows and he snaps his mouth shut. His confusion is obvious as he watches you speechlessly.

He nods and steps back, waving you inside. You trake the wordless invitation and enter. He shuts the door and trails you. 

You glance around. Theres is no good place to do this. There is no good way to say it.

You face him and take a breath.

"I just got back from the hospital," you state flatly.

"The hosp–"

You show your palm, begging. You need him to let you speak. He quiets and bows his head, eyes boring into you.

You pick your lip, searching for an explanation. You don't want to go over it all again; the bleeding, the pain, the fear, the exam, the doctor.

"I lost our baby," the words tumble out and stiff silence rises between you.

"That– that isn't–"

"I'm not mad."

"Kitten, I didn't."

"Thor," you say crisply, "I said I'm not mad. I'll only be mad if you keep lying to me."

He presses his lips together. His throat constricts. A tinge of red touches his cheeks. He drops his head and pushes back his silver hair from his face.

He comes close and offers his hand. You take it and let him guide you through the archway to the sitting room. He leads you to the couch and lowers you with him.

"I… it is only because I love you," he says, "I never meant to hurt you–"

Your throat locks up so tight and your eyes sting. You put your other hand over his knuckles and squeeze. You suck in a breath sharply. 

You can't go back to your mother and you never could be on your own. 

"If…" you begin. "If I hadn't lost it…" you choke, grip tightening on his hand as you tremble, "would you have taken care of it? The baby?"

"Of course, kitten, of course," he chants as he lifts his head, "I would. I would. I only ever wanted to take care of you. It's all I've ever done."

You meet his gaze. His eyes are blue and misty. You're not really sad about the baby but he is. You see the pain in him. You feel it.

"Promise?"

"I swear," he quavers.

"Okay."

"Okay?" His eyes are wide and afraid.  

He's scared of losing you. Someone like him, someone so big, so strong, is scared. Because of you. He wants you. No one's ever wanted you.

"Next time," your voice rises thin and quaky, "I want to be awake. I want to… feel you. I want to feel your love."

He brings his hand to your chin, "I should've never…"

"You never asked," you whisper.

He quiets. He dips his chin and slides his hand around your neck and pulls you into his embrace. He nestles you against his chest. You grab onto his shirt, clinging tight, and let the world roll over you.

You sob as his other hand untangles from yours. He rubs your back as your tears spill out. Tears you can't hold back or claim. Tears of anger, grief, fear, helplessness. Tears of surrender.

"You're okay, kitten," he coos, "we will know next time. We will be better, won't we?"

You clasp onto him. Next time? If that's what he wants. If that's what you have to do. You'll be whatever he wants you be, as long as he wants you.

[sweetsmollthings]

Ok so with my post about external shrinking triggers I did keep thinking on it more and wrote something……

Contains: shrinking in spurts, triggered by keywords; shrinking to about 5’3”; shrinking to about 3’6”; shrinking to 3”; an almost-kidnapping; a rescue; fear and angst; probably inaccurate grocery store things (because the author has never worked in customer service jobs)

“Ah—!”

Paige jolted, then looked towards the neighboring cashier. “Val? Are you—?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Val snapped, yanking out her earbuds much too fast (which she clearly regretted, judging from how she winced) and fumbling with her phone. Paige faintly heard a snippet of whatever she was listening to (something about miniatures?) before she finally managed to turn it off.

Paige frowned. The brusque attitude wasn’t unexpected—in all the time they had worked together, Val had always avoided talking to coworkers and customers alike, pointedly keeping her earbuds on to drown out everybody else. She probably took the late night shift to interact with as few people as possible (which, fair); even so, Paige would have liked some appreciation. She considered leaving her alone as requested.

…But the way that Val curled up, clutching her phone tight, breathing much too fast, was too concerning to ignore.

“Hey,” Paige said softly, moving closer. “Deep breaths, alright? Let’s calm down—wait, why are you so short??”

Maybe that was a strange thing to focus on for what was clearly a panic attack, but when someone was a whole head shorter than they should be, how could you not comment on it?

And, when someone got even shorter right before your eyes, could you blame a person for getting derailed? “Wha— huh??? What??? You—“

“Shut up,” Val hissed, shooting out a hand to presumably cover Paige’s mouth, but clearly misjudging the distance because she ended up bopping Paige on the chin instead. Her short sleeves billowed with the movement. Her other hand held a now too-big shirt to her chest. “Just—go away! I’m taking a break—“ Val suddenly grabbed her pants in the middle of turning around, stopping them from falling. Paige saw her ears go red.

“I, um,” Paige stuttered, then wordlessly retreated to her cash register and tried to be normal about this. Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare…

It was impossible. Paige snuck a glance and startled, at first thinking that Val had gotten even smaller, but no. She was just crouching down. Hiding, probably.

Paige hesitated, then reached over to turn off Val’s checkstand light.

After a very quiet half hour, Val stood up again. Full height, this time. She glared at Paige. “Don’t say a word. To anyone.”

Paige nodded. (Not like anybody would believe her.) “So…about all that…”

But Val was already plugging in her earbuds, back to tuning out the world.

…Well. Probably best not to pry.

-

After that incident, Val seemed to put extra effort into avoiding Paige at all costs. Which wasn’t difficult, especially since Paige decided to not pursue the many questions she had. Whatever happened, it wasn’t any of her business. Maybe it never happened in the first place. Maybe she had been dreaming or delirious—never mind that she had felt totally awake—after all, shrinking was obviously impossible.

The unspoken arrangement worked out well. At least until one day, passing by the bathroom door, someone grabbed Paige’s arm.

Screeching, she swung a fist towards the offender and only hit the door (ow). As she nursed her hand, she actually looked at the door and saw Val peeking from behind it. At a much lower angle than she should be. Like, way lower. “Change the song,” she begged, which was…sorta creepy, actually.

“Huh?” Paige said, still trying to reconcile Val’s current impossible height and shift in demeanor.

“On the PA, stupid!” she hissed. (Ah, there we go.) But it turned into a whimper as, all of a sudden, she shot down a few inches. Above them, the speakers cheerfully sang, “a little bit of Monica in my life, a little bit of Erica by my side…”

“R-right! Hang on,” Paige said, running to the office. Somehow, she managed to make it before the chorus ended.

When she ran back, the bathroom door was closed again. She knocked. “It’s me. Are you…okay?”

The only answer was a clumsy click as the door opened again. Val peeked out, definitely much shorter. Child-sized, even. She clearly had to reach up for the door handle and looked miserable about that fact. “Thanks,” she mumbled. Then, “I need you to help me home.”

Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, Paige crouched down. “Can’t you just grow back? You did last time.”

“It’s past midnight,” Val explained bitterly. “I’m stuck like this for now. Just get me home. You have a car, don’t you? It’s just a…quick drive.”

“But my shift isn’t over,” Paige said, then realized how ridiculous that was in this context. “Um. Okay. Just…follow me, I guess.”

Val opened the door a little wider and waddled out, hefting a bundle of what seemed to be almost all her clothes—thankfully, she still had a dress on. That is, her shirt, which was long enough to be a dress. Or rather, she was small enough for it to be a dress. The bundle looked like it would explode out of her arms and Paige briefly considered offering to hold it for her, but then decided that would be too weird.

“I’m gonna just quickly check the carts,” Paige told the manager, who just waved her off, not even looking up from his phone. Val padded behind her on bare feet, ducking her head even though she really didn’t need to. She couldn’t be seen over the register even if she stood up straight.

It was as quick a drive as Val said, just across the street and around the corner. Completely walkable, under normal circumstances. But under abnormal circumstances, Val needed to be helped in and out of the car and escorted to the steps. She couldn’t even unlock the door on her own. Val didn’t say a word the whole time, not even a thank you before shutting the door in Paige’s face.

-

So clearly, for whatever reason, Val shrunk any time she heard any word that meant “small” and grew back at midnight, like some sort of bizarre Cinderella. Her general demeanor made a lot more sense now. Why be friendly with people if conversations were a landmine for triggering a…curse? Probably a curse. This seemed pretty curse-like.

Being privy to this secret didn’t afford Paige any exemption to Val’s antipathy, though. It did afford her a lot more requests for help, and while she did understand that she was probably the only one who could help (since the cat was out of the bag anyways), it was sort of getting stressful, considering that most of the requests involved sneaking her out of work. Sometimes when she wasn’t even that small.

“Can’t you get noise-cancelling headphones or something?” Paige asked tersely on one of their secret drives.

Val looked at her, surprised. Even after their arrangement began, they never really exchanged words during the drives. It was just a given that they should be done in silence. After a long pause, she tugged at her shirt (which wasn’t even that baggy this time) and replied, “They hurt after a while. And it’s not like they work perfectly.”

“It’s better than nothing. I can’t keep doing this for you, I’ll lose my job.”

Val glared hard at the glovebox. “Okay. Got it,” she said coldly, sending a twinge of guilt through Paige. But really, it was unreasonable to ask her to do this. She wasn’t in the wrong here. Val should be figuring out how to handle this herself.

-

“Who’s that?”

Paige blinked, coming out of her automatic check-out mode, and looked at where the shopper pointed. “Huh? Val?”

The shopper nodded. “Thanks. I don’t need a receipt.”

“Alright,” Paige said slowly. That…was a little weird, right? Should she tell Val? But it’s been pretty awkward ever since their last conversation. And she could handle herself. She should handle herself, really. Paige wasn’t her keeper.

When their shift ended, Paige got into her car and headed home—her home, not Val’s. Which, of course, was how it should be. It was late. She needed some sleep before class. They weren’t friends.

…

Sighing heavily, Paige turned around and drove back to the road she had grown so familiar with, peering ahead for any sign of a person on the empty sidewalks. As she approached Val’s house, her headlights caught a lone figure, crouching close to the ground, over a pile of clothes—

Paige quickly parked, launched herself out of her car, and punched the shopper from before in the solar plexus. In one fluid motion, she scooped up the clothes and retreated, jumping back in (and knocking her head on the top of her car, ow), and slamming the door behind her—wait, was Val even in the clothes? She couldn’t feel her weight, did she drop her? Paige tore at the bundle of clothes in her lap and yes, she could see a small form squirming around, thank god—

The shopper suddenly slammed a hand on her window and she screamed, dropping Val in the cupholder and slamming on the gas. She didn’t stop until fifteen minutes later, when it was pretty clear there was no car following her. She pulled to the side of the road. “Okay, pretty sure we’re good,” she announced. “Let’s get you out of—“

The tiny hand that slapped at her fingers when she reached into the cupholder barely registered, but Paige flinched back anyways. As the adrenaline wore off, she became aware of soft crying.

And with that came the extra awareness of how…small Val was at the moment, the smallest she’d ever seen her. So small that she fit in a cupholder. So small, she could easily be whisked away.

“I-I’ve never—it’s never been th-this bad before,” Val managed between sobs, tripping over her self-censorship. “Wh-what if I don’t grow back this time?”

“I mean, you always grow back, right? No reason that’ll change. You’ll be normal again in…” …twenty-two hours.

Paige flinched as the wailing just grew louder. Not by much. Being just a few inches tall affected your volume, as it turns out.

“…Want to go to my place?” Paige offered meekly. Neither of them brought up the obvious fact that Val couldn’t stay at her own place. Possibly couldn’t ever go back, considering that her would-be kidnapper knew where she lived.

The cupholder gave no answer other than more weeping. So Paige just quietly drove home.

[jjsmaybank20]

Heyy I am so happy that your requests are open! Your work is genuinely amazing. I wanted to request an elizabeth olsen x reader where the reader is super famous and gets attacked by the paparazzi. Lizzie hears about it and is pissed off and super protective. Thank you!

Paparazzi

Elizabeth Olsen x GN!Reader

Summary: The paparazzi attack you, and your girlfriend gets protective.

Warnings: Reader has a panic attack (not in specific detail but still there), otherwise fluff

Word Count: 1k

A/N: I am so happy that you like my writing! Please guys, keep the requests coming. Love to receive them, love you guys.

navigation  celebrities (romantic) masterlist

---

You didn’t mind being famous. Honestly, you were happy that your films were well known, because you probably wouldn’t have met your wonderful girlfriend if they hadn’t blown up. For a lot of celebrities, relationships are fast and plentiful. That’s how it was for you until you met the amazing Elizabeth Olsen. Now, the two of you had been in a relationship for the past two years, and you couldn’t be happier.

Your most recent movie, ‘Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery’, Took you all over the world on press tours, which meant you were away from home for quite some time. Finally, as the promos came to an end, you were ready to head home and see your girlfriend for the first time in months.

You had flown home, trying to be as incognito as possible on the plane so that no one would be aware of where you were landing. Your bodyguard, Leo, escorted you the whole way. Both of you were dressed in sunglasses and baseball caps, and he was wearing a tight muscle shirt and cargo shorts. The two of you make small talk as you wait for your luggage, and you continue to chat as you walk towards the airport exit.

Leo pauses for a second in front of the restrooms before saying, “Hey, I gotta go to the bathroom. Will you be okay out here for a second?” You nod and he gives you a grateful smile before speed-walking through the entryway. You lean against the wall, watching people go past.

One man catches your eye from where he is sitting. To any other person, he would look like a normal man sitting and reading the newspaper. To you and your celebrity trained eye, you can clearly see that he is a paparazzo. 

You pull the hat on your head lower, hoping to hide your face, even if it is in vain. He gets up and comes closer to you before pausing, looking around, and then sprinting. Before you can even move, you are surrounded by paparazzi yelling at you and shoving cameras in your face.

“Y/N! Look over here!”

“Y/N! What was it like working with greats such as Daniel Craig and Kathryn Haghn?”

“Y/N! How is Elizabeth?” 

You try to stammer out a response but the surprise of the sudden attack makes your anxiety run wild. Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you can barely breath, let alone complete a sentence. Everything goes blurry and the yelling voices seem to get further and further away. Suddenly, a big shape that you slightly recognize as Leo comes into view and begins to yell at the paparazzi. 

He shoos them off with the help of approaching airport security, and as they deal with the situation, he comes over to help you. You realize that you have slid to the ground, and tears are leaking out of your eyes. 

Leo wraps one of your arms around his broad shoulders, and he hoists you off of the floor. You try to control your breathing as he helps you hobble to the waiting car outside. He helps you into the back seat and tells the driver where to go before turning to you and putting his large hands on your shoulders.

“Y/N. Look at me, breathe. Come on. Follow my lead. In, out. In, out. In, out.” You do as he says, and soon your vision begins to clear up and you feel as if you can breathe again. You wipe away the tears on your cheeks before pulling Leo into a hug. For once you were happy that you had insisted that your bodyguards had to be trained in dealing with various mental illnesses, as they affected both you and your girlfriend.

---

As soon as you walk in the door, a figure slams into your body. You let out a shocked laugh, wrapping your arms around your girlfriend. She pulls back and looks into your eyes, smiling, but her smile quickly melts off of her face as soon as she sees the tear tracks on your cheeks.

She cups your face tenderly, inquiring, “What happened, baby?” You shake your head and try to turn away, but she forces you to make eye contact. You shrug it off as if it was nothing, mumbling, “It was nothing, babe. Just a run in with the paparazzi. Had a tiny panic attack. Leo helped me out.” You try to say the last part quietly so that she doesn’t hear you, but she catches it.

She immediately gets a stormy look on her face, and she brings her arms down so that her hands are clenched by her sides. “Call Leo up here. I want names. The fucking paparazzi has gone to fucking far.” You quickly put your hands on her arms and rub up and down so that she might calm down. 

“Baby, please. It’s all done now. I just want to relax with my girlfriend who I haven’t seen in months. Please just come sit down and cuddle with me,” you say to her in a pleading voice. She holds her angry facade for a second before sighing and giving in. 

The two of you walk into the living room and sit down on the couch, Elizabeth curling up in your arms as you turn on Ted Lasso. After a couple of episodes, you hear a light snoring. You look down at the beautiful woman in your arms and realize that she has fallen asleep. You turn off the TV as quietly as you can and carefully lift her up so that you can carry her to your guys’ bed.

After she is tucked in, you climb in right next to her and snuggle up as close as you can. You love your girlfriend so much, and you are always glad when you are reminded of how much she loves you. Even if it’s under unfortunate circumstances. You feel her tuck her head underneath your chin, and you close your eyes with a smile on your face.

---

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[marilynthornhilllover]

Larissa weems x fem!reader

Name: " when the pain cuts you deep"

Warning: indecent language, depression, insecurities, self hatred,panic attacks, childhood trauma, low self esteem, FLUFF.

Request: hey darling! Can I request a sad reader x larissa please! Also can it be based off the song remedy from adele, including some stuff like depression, insecurities, self hatred,childhood trauma, anxiety, panic attacks, low self esteem etc rissa comes home to r crying in the bathroom saying shes not good enough and no one cares about her. BUTS LOTS OF FLUFF FROM RISSA!! I kbow that you would use your imagination and make this into art BTW i love your fanfics keeping working magic and have a good day!!

A/n: thank you darling!! And I hope your doing well just know that your gonna be ok :)

○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○☆○

Growing up you had a pretty fucked up childhood. While other kids were busy being happy and playing with toys you were busy being miserable and suffering. Depression is something everyone can relate to. Either it be serious or not.

We all faced a time when we once questioned our existence on earth. You've been a broken child growing up. And because of that it destroyed many of your relationships. Because people didn't know how to cope and relate to you mentally.

But when you met larissa that all changed. You first met her at a conference meeting. That's when she helped you with through your first panic attack in public. After that the both of you got really close.

Larissa was always gentle with you. Never pressured you. Never belittle you, underestimated you, made you feel scared, lonely, hurt, nothing that people would normally make you feel.

You always thought that you weren't capable of loving. But the day larissa proposed to you would forever be a eternal memory to you. It's been 5 years now, and you haven't regret a thing.

♧

Larissa knew when you didn't come to hug her at the door when she came home something was wrong. Big time. Fear rushed over her as panic filled her body, as she called your name once and didn't get a response. " darling? Where are you, I'm home" she said running up the stairs to the second floor.

She heard you. Your quiet sobs of pain. Her heart immediately shattered. She hated seeing you hurt so much. Especially when she knows sometimes she can't help. You just have to get over it yourself in your own time. In your own space. Which she highly respected.

She gently knocked on the door causing you to jump from inside. You were so lost in yourself you didn't even hear her come home. " baby you ok?" She asked voice dripping with care and love but hasten with worry. You sniffed as you pulled in a cold long breath.

" Yes but I'll be out soon" you said barely getting it out before you broke down into tears again. As much as you wanted to be alone in your shit you wanted to be in her embrace. With her soothing words of affection. Her soft touch, her kisses. Oh you wanted it all.

You always hated physical touch but larissa was different. Far different. Her touch was magical. And you hated pushing her away when she so desperately wanted to help you.

" my love you can't hide forever, dont do this to yourself please" she whispered the last word coming painfully. She sat on the ground on the other end of the door. You pulled your knees closer to your chest and placed your head on them. You couldn't face yourself and now you couldn't face her. You've been here a million times before.

And she was always there every step of the way. So why are you shutting her out now? Why the distancing. It was the self doubt again. The little demon in your head telling you no one loves or care about you. That's what it was, larissa thought to her self.

" What's troubling my dove?" She asked voice soft as ever. She really was meant for you. You couldn't help the sobs. When she asked you the question your heart suddenly gaved out. You suddenly had the urge to tell your lover everything.

You slowly opened the door. Larissa immediately stood to her feet taking a good look at you. Puffy eyes, messed up mascara, messy hair. Her heart ached at the sight of you. It seriously broke her heart to see you in such state.

" I don't feel like I'm good enough for anything or anyone rissa, not even for you. I hate myself, I'm always messing things up. I dont wanna hurt anyone. I wanna let go riss" you said voice breaking. Soon the tears came flooding your eyes and cheeks again.

"Oh honey" she cooed as she pulled you into her arms. "Let it out" she whispered, placing your face into her neck. You cried harder. Her grip around tighten as she was trying to get you as close to her as possible. She allowed you to cry and cry til you couldn't anymore.

You became numb to the pain.

♧

After larissa gaved you a bath she placed you in bed. She got dressed into something more comfortable and took her place beside you on the bed. For a while there was completely silence. You stared into the room avoiding eye contact with her.

You could feel her staring at you. "Baby" she whispered cupping your face in her hands. You melted into her touch, whimpering at the sensation.

" look up" she whispered and you did just so, as soon as your eyes met her gaze she kissed you softly. You didn't have the energy to kiss back so you just let her do all the love and affection. Her soft lips against yours was always a feeling you would never get tired of.

You moaned into her mouth as she deepened the kiss. This is what you loved most about larissa. She could take all your pain away in a instant. Make you feel safe. Important.

" why didn't you tell me the feelings were coming back?" She asked proceeding to leave kisses all over your face. You pulled away from her eyes meeting her gaze. " I didn't want to burden you with unnecessary things" you whispered looking away from her.

She immediately brought your gaze back to hers. " y/n you are not a burden and your feelings and mental health is not unnecessary, my love" she said smiling softly. Her eyes were filled with hope and love.

" I love you beyond stars, do you know what I'd do for you?" You sniffed and barley was able to look at her because your eyes were hurting so bad. " I'd jump off a cliff for you. Get hit by a train for you. Die for you" she said, kissing your cheek.

Suddenly your chest started to feel tight. Your breathing became more erratic. It was a panic attack. Larissa noticed immediately. She pulled you closer to her and placed your head on her shoulder. " remember what we participated darling" she whispered, she slowly inhaled and you followed.

Then she slowly exhaled. You followed her breathing steps for a good while before you were ok again. You pulled away from larissa and looked up at her.

" thank you for being so patient with me, rissa" you whispered looking down at the sheets and slightly pulling them. Larissa used her hand to rise up your chin. She took both your hands in hers. She kissed you on your forehead softly. " I meant what I said in our wedding vows" she whispered.

" that'd you be by my side forever?" You asked low laying your head into her lap.

She slowly Bagan to run her fingers through your messy hair. Fingernails brushing your scalp lightly. Soon you started to fall asleep. Larissa fixed you probably so that you were comfortable, by placing your head on a pillow and your blanket over you.

You were completely asleep now. Larissa looked at your sleeping body and smiled. She loved you beyond stars. She smiled at your before kissing your forehead.

" that I'll be your remedy" she whispered softly. That was her vows to you. To understand you. Help you. Stay be yourside and most importantly to be your cured for your sadness and broken heart.

☆

The next morning you woke up with kisses being placed all over your face. during your sleepy state you heard. " love yourself today, you deserve it" it was below the average tone of how a person spoke but above a whisper. There was a soft kiss to your cheek before she left for work.

[lolsonic-idk-man]

Talk to Me: part 3

I'VE FINALLY DONE IT! like a week ago

Part 1, Part 2, part 4, part 5, part 6

It has around 3650 words so definitely the shortest chapter. Anyway, I've made my sister cry and I have some trigger warnings :D

TW: Suicidal idealization, Attempted self-harm, panic attacks.

How was Nightmare meant to feel?

Dream was crying, wailing the following day, sometimes sobbing words of discouragement to himself.

Nightmare would normally relish the idea of hearing Dream suffer, but…

No. Maybe the horrible turning in his chest was because he hadn't gotten the chance to see Dream's suffering. Yes, that had to be it, he wanted the true satisfaction of seeing Dream's suffering, not just hearing it.

Sci would more likely than not have some cameras that would do, somewhere in his lab. He would be sending Dust to pick up at least ten, he has had quite enough of Sci for a month.

In the meanwhile he and the rest of his men would survey Dream's hiding place after he made his return to the Omega Timeline.

Nightmare knew that Dream's place was probably massive,(Why wouldn't Dream pamper himself? He's the oh-so-loved guardian of positivity.) It was going to take a time to properly comb his house.

The sooner the better he supposed.

A quick study of the tracker's precise location before it went offline was all Nightmare needed for a portal of swirling negativity to open in front of him.

" So this is where the banana comes to be alone huh? " Nightmare's right hand said as they entered the small apartment. " Would have thought he would choose somewhere nicer, ya know, being the Guardian and all. " 

Horror granted an affirmative to Killer's note.

The apartment had only one room and a tiny bathroom that sat right next to an even smaller closet with three sets of Dream's usual drapings hanging and black strapless jumpsuits folded on the ground. A twin-sized mattress lay on the ground opposite the closet. A counter, sink, mirror that could be opened, and cupboard sat on the same wall as the door, facing the end of the mattress. 

Frankly, the worst part had to be the smell of mold that had wrenched itself into everything. (How did Dream not reak of mold? HE'S SLEPT HERE.)

Was this what Dream had let himself fall into? Did he truly live in such squalor? He came here to cry? Pity himself? Hide.

Didn't matter. All this did was make Nightmare's life easier. He could ambush Dream here, watch to find more weaknesses of his.

See? Nightmare could work with this. It's not like he cared about Dream's well-being, and it's not like Dream cared for him, regardless of the lies he spewed during their battles.

He supposed the only problem with this was that there were very few places a camera could go without being noticed, if any at all. He could always hope that Sci would come in with a somehow perfect device for the situation.

Actually, who needs hope, it's Sci, he always has something.

On the topic of the coffee addict and cameras, he should probably get Dust before he agrees to be a test dummy for one of Sci's experiments.

A portal grew from the shadows as Nightmare instructed his boys, " Find somewhere to place video equipment, I will retrieve them and Dust. " He walked through the swirling negativity as he finished.

Fuck, he was too late.

Dust was seated in a cheap office with one of his arms strapped to a metal table by him as he scrolled through his phone with his other hand, with Sci ready to inject Dust's arm with some unknown subsistence.

Nightmare's tentacles were quick to yank the needle out of Sci's hands grabbing his attention, " What was that for!? "

" You were about to inject my subordinate with something, and for all I knew it could kill him. " Nightmare snarled

" Oh please like I'd give him something like that, " Sci rolled his eye-lights. " It's just enough amino amides to knock out his ulna and radius so that I can get a proper sample. "

" And what do you plan on doing with it? " Nightmare crossed his arms, his tentacles twitching like a cat's tail.

" Figure out the density of magic that makes up his body. "

" Why would you want to know this? "

" Don't know, " Sci shrugged. " Thought it'd be interesting. Maybe useful in a medical field of some sort. "

" How large would this sample be? "

The scientist turned his head back to Dust's arm and studied it for a moment. He placed his hand on its side like a knife at the start of Dust's forearm, turned back to Nightmare, and shrugged.

" No, you can't have Dust's forearm. " Was he going to have to scold Sci like a child?

" Why not? He agreed to it. "

" I am his guardian, and I will not be giving you my consent. " Nightmare growled.

" So you admit you see us like your kids? " Dust piped up, still scrolling through his phone.

" I never said such a thing. "

" You said you're our guardian. "

" That is my title, and with how I have to look after you all I may as well be. "

" So you admit being like a father figure? "

" Do not put words in my mouth Dust. "

" I'm telling the Horror and Killer. "

" You will not. "

" Too late. "

The Guardian of Negativity rubbed the rig of his nasal cavity and groaned, already done with the next week. " We’re setting up so get your duff off that chair and grab the supplies. "

Dust shrugged and waited for Sci to finish grumbling about how Nightmare couldn't understand as he removed the straps holding his arm down and handed him the box with all of the supplies.

With the cameras in hand, Nightmare pulled Dust through the still-open cut in reality back to Dream's run-down apartment. Nightmare would not adjust to seeing that this was the type of person he hated so.

" Have you figured out where to place them Killer? "

" Cours' Boss, " His right hand gestured to a corner of the mostly empty closet, and the now open cupboard that only had a cup and plate. " And we could tempt underneath the mattress, but I don't think any of us want to touch it. Don't know what's growing on that… Maybe Horror would! "

A firm slap to the back of his skull that made him wobble and a growl from Horror was the only thing he got from the statement.

" Well damn, okay, just a growl would have been fine, " He turned to Horror in fake annoyance. " Who am I kiddin', it was well deserved. BUT! Onto more pressing matters, " Killer turned to stare Nightmare down with his non-existent eye-lights. " You admitted to being the fatherly figure none of us had/remember having? "

" No. "

" HE DIDN'T STAB ME! WE HAVE A CONFIRMED FATHER FIGURE! "

Oh for fucks sake.

~~~~🌕~~~~

Luckily after his subordinate's celebration, the rest of the setup went without a hitch. The cameras were smaller than they had thought, making it easier to hide them, and considering how little space there was, it was quick.

Dream didn't return to his hole that day or the day after, he came back after the Bad Sanses next supply run.

" It's fine Dream, you're fine, he says it every time, nothing has changed, nothing has changed, nothing. Has. Changed. " Dream was leaning over the sink staring at his reflection. " And… it won't ever change… he'll always hate me. " Dream looked like he was slowly reaching a tipping point.

" Did he always hate me? Was I just that terrible of a brother? How many times have I asked myself that, far more than I should have that's for sure. " Tears flow from his eye sockets. " He may as well have done it out of spite. I wish I could tell myself how wrong I am, how he wouldn't have done it just because he hates me, b- but it's clear that I never knew him. " A smile that didn't match his quivering eye-lights tightened its thread.

" Why can't I let go? "

The dim glow of Dream's tears fell in silence, filling the sink's shitty plumbing.

What was the sting in Nightmare's chest? Why wouldn't it go away!?

Why did his anger only make it worse?

Dream ended up sleeping on the mold-ridden mattress that night and arose with dark bags that challenged Nightmare's corruption underneath his sockets.

He struggled to even sit up and used the wall to force himself to stand so that he could wobble his mostly asleep legs to the mirror and open it.

Inside were a few bottles and pellets of white creams or compacted dust, Dreamed reached for one of them without thinking and applied it underneath his eye sockets in an attempt to hide the bags that had formed.

Once finished he placed it back, closed the mirror, and looked himself in the socket.

Why were Dream's eye-lights so dim? So dull. He looked so tired like he had pulled three all-nighters and run a marathon every day. Where was the blinding light that Nightmare was forced to adjust to so that he could fight him?

Dream let out a shaky breath after a few moments and attempted to sew on a smile, only for the stitching to be wired. " Come on Dream, you've been doing this for the past… all, your life… " His eye-lights dimmed as he sank into thought.

" NO! No, no. New idea, I stop thinking and get back to smiling, go to the Omega Timeline, and act like I never came here! " A strained smile forced its way to Dream's face. " yeah… I never went through that… "

Dream stayed quiet, still trying to make his smile seem natural and forcing his eye-lights to be brighter before opening the bathroom door and walking into a world that was not there before.

Well now Nightmare knew how people got into the Omega Timeline, but it probably wasn't that simple.

Anger swirled in Nightmare. At whom? He didn't know. But it didn't matter his frustration would just be let loose whenever he deemed the positive side of the spectrum grows too large.

To which it did.

Dream had barely gotten the word " brother " out of his teeth and Nightmare lashed out. His tentacles were lanced with the intent to kill and his words to scar.

And it seems that his words succeeded. The Guardian of Positivity entered his tattered apartment a little more than an hour later and immediately fell to the ground, pulling his legs to his chest and burying his skull in them. His breathing started to quicken and become strained as he started to choke on his sobs.

" I'm a moron. I'm stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! " Dream started to murmur into his arms that curled around him. " I'm a selfish prick! I'm useless! So useless and so fucking dumb! I'm an asshole! He said so many times before! He's not my brother! He's not my brother, he's not my brother, not my brother, not my brother, not my brother, he's not, he's not, HE'S NOT! " A few ragged breaths, " I lost him a long time ago, I lost the right to call him my brother when I ran away like the useless selfish asshole I am. I just stood there, I just watched, I JUST FUCKING WATCHED. I ran away, I ran away from him, I ran away from everything instead of facing it like I'm supposed to. I let them hurt him when I was supposed to protect him because I'm useless, useless, useless useless useless! And I had the guts to cry about being overworked! I didn't work enough! The villagers were angry because I couldn't do enough! It's my fault, it's my fault, it's my fault, my fault, my fault… "

He continued the loop for a few more minutes, slowing down till the only sound left in the room was the once-a-while hick in his breath as he slowly went limp, falling into sleep in the same spot on the floor that he started.

The black apple in Nightmare's chest stung. It wanted to go to its twin and comfort it, but it also wanted to hide. Run away from the pain that he caused.

But he didn't know why.

Normally his soul would sing to the idea of anyone's misery and especially loud at the idea of his brother's. After all, Dream neglected them for the villagers.

But Dream blamed everything on himself. Nightmare didn't even blame Dream that much. He couldn't blame Dream for the villagers' actions. They were not his.

In the past, he wanted to and did. The only reason he didn't now, was because his boys had questioned why he blamed Dream for what the villagers had done. (They also jammed the fact that Nightmare was much younger at the time and was no longer allowed to call his past form weak. BUT IT WAS!)

He admitted that he was a terrible sibling at least. He wasn't. So far that was one of the only good things to come from this venture, and with how it was going there was no point in having his boys waste their time watching this with him. He didn't want them to see his weakness.

Dream came back multiple times while Nightmare planned the next attack. Nothing new was said in his brother's latest cries for peace, the same guilty pleas as before. The only thing that was new were the stings of guilt from his soul and how they got worse every time he saw Dream's dim eye-lights.

His men had also grown worried for him as he locked himself in a room to watch and listen to his brother, but today was the first time any of them said anything.

" … Nightmare? " Horror was the first one to say anything.

" Is there something you need, boys? " The Guardian of Negativity looked up from his latest draft of a deal that should get them some new chemicals for Dust to play with and sell to Sci.

Killer, Dust, and Horror stood in the opened door of his office, each with varying levels of concern. " Not much, " his right hand continued. " Just wondering if you're okay, ya know, considering the Dream situation. "

Nightmare sighed knowing fully well that was what the question was going to be. " I am fine, just struggling to figure out what to do with the information we have. "

" Yeah, figuring out that you still care for someone is hard lol. "

" What did you say, Killer? " Nightmare's eye-light stared him down.

The sadist looked over to his coworkers, " See told you he hadn't figured it out! "

" Killer, what is the meaning of this? "

Killer chuckled a little, " Come on Boss, no one looks at someone who they say they hate having a panic attack so uncomfortable unless they cared to some extent~ "

" Out. "

A kackle, " Mmmkay, see ya Boss. "

That was a concept that Nightmare did not like. He had spent centuries with a hatred of Dream. How in all of the world could he care for him?

The statement that he hated oh so ended up being what he couldn't stop thinking about. Even during his latest battle with Dream. He was silent. Dream made a few attempts to talk to him, not once calling him brother, why did that hurt? All failed.

In all honesty, Nightmare was barely paying any mind to the fight, it was still in debate. And it seemed that his turmoil only stirred Dream's own.

" He didn't say anything… " Dream stood stunned and confused, to say the least. " Is that good? N-no, it can't be good, he was so angry last time. Is he planning something big? " He let out a singular huff of air. " Of course, he is, he always has something ready. But why was he so quiet? Was he trying to shut me up? That wouldn't be shocking, I doubt he's ever enjoyed listening to me blabber about things, even then. So what!? " Dream rubbed his face. " Am I just not worth talking to… Of course, I'm not worth talking to. When have I ever been? " He groaned, walked to his bed, and sat in the corner with his head hidden in his legs as he continued to question Nightmare's intentions.

Why? Why does it hurt Nightmare so? Why does Dream thinking he is only capable of causing pain, hurt his soul? Why in the name of Toby Fox would he care what Dream thought about him? Why would he care at all!?

Why does he want to hate the one being that has done nothing wrong to him? Why did he hurt Dream? Why did attempt to injure his brother? 

Why did Dream still care for him? Nightmare had done nothing but torture him since he had been freed of his stone prison. What was wrong with Dream!? Maybe something was wrong with Nightmare?

Dream definitely had something wrong with him, (Didn't everyone in this multiverse?) He returned to the small apartment a few days later with a small purple cupcake with a candle. He placed it on the tiny counter and opened the middle drawer, hesitating before reaching in, grabbing a lighter, and placing it by the cupcake with his hand still around it.

He stared the dessert down, letting out a sigh as his eyebrow creased. " It's gonna be seven years tomorrow. Well, I guess 507 years. It doesn't feel like that though. It doesn't even feel like one… " Letting go of the lighter Dream makes his way to his bed and sits in the corner. " I should be 19 tomorrow, not 507. "

How did Nightmare forget such a thing? The following day was the day Nightmare gained his freedom, the day the villagers regretted their actions, the day Dream was trapped in stone, the day Dream was freed from stone, and the day they were created.

" What are you going to do tomorrow? What big event is going to push the balance to its limit this time? "

Silence.

" Why am I even doing this? Why would you want me to celebrate your birthday? " 

Something shattered.

Dream's skull wiped to the source of the sound, the bathroom. Removing himself from his mold-ridden mattress and into the room of origin.

Glass was scattered across the room, when Dream opened the door – Yes, Nightmare had the decency to let his brother have the privacy of the bathroom. – A rock sat in the walk-in shower. Dream looked up at the small foggy window above the shower head that was now forever open.

" O-oh… " Dream's skull dropped. " Well, I guess that answers that… "

He sighs, " Why am I still doing this? Why am I doing any of this!? Why am I still fighting Nightmare!? Why am I trying to make sure the multiverse stays balanced when I couldn't even take care of a single village!? Or Protect my brother! I was the worst choice for this fucking job, also I never asked for it universe! " 

Dream grabbed his golden cerite off his head and threw it across the room hitting the mirror, making glass spray all around the small apartment. " I never wanted to be your damned Guardian of Positivity! I just wanted to sit under a damn tree and listen to my brother! " Tears prick out of the corners of his eye-sockets as he screamed angrily at the multiverse. " Why can't I have that!? My entire life has been centered around making everyone else happy! But I can't be?

" I could've been a normal person! Nightmare could've been normal! No one would've hurt him, neither of us would have been so stressed, we could have just been happy!

" I could just stop, what would you think of that universe!? Mmmm? Mmmm? What would you do then? What would you do if I stopped working!? Mmmmm!? " A few heavy breaths. " I could… I could stop… I could just quit. " A crooked smile crawled onto Dream's face. " The multiverse would be thrown into chaos, but who cares? I could be selfish for once! Would it be that selfish though? The multiverse would probably be better off if someone else took the responsibility, and Nightmare would like that! He wouldn't have to put up with me anymore! And I won't have to do anything anymore! "

Dream rushed to the counter where he left the cupcake and opened the same drow that he got the lighter from, but this time pulling out a box cutter.

Was he?

His brother pulled out his soul, staring down at it wordlessly as he held the box cutter.

The once soft golden glow his soul held was gone, in the apple's stead was a brown rotting mush of what should be.

Had Nightmare pushed Dream to this?

He did, didn't he? Nightmare had done nothing but torture, someone who had tried their best for everyone, had their childhood stripped away from them, had a larger responsibility than anyone should bear thrown at them when they were young, and his brother.

Dream had done nothing but try to understand, try to fix whatever the problem was, and Nightmare only pushed him away and blamed him for feeling scared of his abusers.

A sound pulled Nightmare from his realization. 

" No…  " Dream pushed his rotting soul back into his ribs. " I can wait till tomorrow. That way it's a birthday present for both of us, I can be free and he can do it himself. Like he's always wanted. It should be easy enough, I can slow down a bit. Maybe I'll trip. I've been fairly tired lately after all. "

Nightmare's original plan for their birthday was to attack the Omega Timeline, hence why he was trying to find a way in. Now though it was definitely too late to attempt that and Nightmare had lost the will to after all he'd seen.

But he was going to have to do something, or Dream would probably kill himself.

[betweenthings2]

because i couldn’t choose between the cuddle prompts i went to the other list, the general prompts, and i would love to read 8 (the best friend one) for m&g if you would like to write it! <3

Thank you for the ask!! I don't actually know how this got so long or so angsty, but such is life, I suppose.

8. "You were my best friend before you were anything else, love."

As a rule, Matty tries not to be too nostalgic about things. The therapists he's had over the years have encouraged him to live in the present and his life is good now. He wants to enjoy it, not get caught in the past, in hazy memories that are largely a mixed bag in terms of positivity. There are a lot of things that Matty could be nostalgic about, though, which makes it hard sometimes. There are two things Matty does allow himself to be a little bit nostalgic about: the band and his relationship with George. Still, he tries to frame those as fond memories, rather than nostalgia.

Today, though, it's legitimate nostalgia. He's seeing the past in washes of pink. He's not strung out and petrified that someone will find out or that he'll kill himself, he's having fun, exploring. George isn't begging him to get help, isn't terrified that he won't wake up, but relaxed and happy. There's no sense of impending doom in these memories, no sense of futility, no desperation, no terror, just happiness, excitement.

The past year, too, gets washed in shades of pink in Matty's mind. His memories leave out the panic attacks, the sudden struggle to eat, the seemingly endless bad days, the tabloid articles accusing him of being every horrible thing under the sun, the hate on social media. Instead, he has the sold-out, critically acclaimed shows, the accolades, the love. He has George, in expensive hotel rooms, wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets. He has George, smoking out the window because they're too lazy to go outside, George, sneaking quiet moments together in empty dressing rooms and bathrooms, George, walking next to him to explore mostly unfamiliar cities on days off. The wash of pink hide the fact that those soft sheets saw more tears than sex, that they smoked out the window because Matty couldn't calm down enough to go outside, that the empty dressing rooms were venues for panic attacks, not quickies, and George stayed by his side to explore wherever they were because there was an unspoken agreement that Matty shouldn't be alone.

Matty knows all of those bad things are there, under the wash of pink, which makes it all the more upsetting that he remembers things that way. He tries to be a realist, generally, though he knows he's prone to both idealism and pessimism, sometimes in the same breath. Matty kind of hates that about himself. Actually, he kind of hates a lot of things about himself, and he has the sneaking suspicion that he's not a very good person, especially after the year he's had.

But there's George, sitting on the other end of the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, occasionally glancing at Matty like a lovesick fool. Matty isn't entirely sure when he and George crossed the line from friends to lovers. A long time ago, yeah, but when exactly, Matty isn't sure. What he is sure of is that he loves George and that he's pretty sure he doesn't say it often enough.

"I love you," Matty says quietly, glancing up from the book he's been staring at but not reading so he can look at George. "I don't think I say that often enough. I'm trying to do better. I'm always trying to do better." Matty pauses, then, "Sometimes I worry that if I don't do better you'll realize I’m actually awful."

"Matthew, love," George murmurs. "That's not at all true."

Matty shrugs. "Sometimes I think it is. I got ripped to fuckin' shreds in the press this year. I ran a lot of people off. People didn't want to associate with us because they didn't want to associate with me because I can't think before I say things."

"The press is unreliable," George tries, setting his laptop on the coffee table. "They takes things out of context and publish whatever gives them a good headline."

Matty shrugs. "I'm just saying.

"Matty," George murmurs. "I know you. I love you."

"Yeah, but there's a difference between knowing someone as a partner and knowing someone as a friend. People who get to know me as a friend leave because I'm awful."

"You were my best friend before you were anything else, love," George says. "You are my best friend. I know exactly who you are."

"'s not the same," Matty argues.

"I know you, Matthew," George repeats. "I've loved you for fifteen years. You've been my best friend for twenty years."

"I don't think I'm a very good person," Matty admits, gaze fixed on his own knees. There's a hole in his sweatpants. "I keep trying to do better, to be better, and then I fuck it up."

"That's not true. You and I both know that's not true."

"I think it is," Matty argues, standing firm. Really, every time he has this conversation with George, and they have it with relative regularity, his resolve doesn't last long and he lets George convince him, but he also hates relenting.

"Matty," George starts, "look at me, Matthew." When Matty glances up, he continues, "You are beloved. I adore you. You're so kind and wonderful and open to all of our fans. You care about people and believe in people. You give. You help. You want to help. You want to make a difference. Bad people don't do any of those things."

Matty shrugs and drops his gaze back to his knees. He feels naked. No, more than naked, he feels flayed, like the very core of his being is on display. Nothing George has said is untrue, but it doesn't dispel the lingering feeling that he's wrong.

"What're you thinking about?" George asks.

"Everything," Matty admits. "But I leave out all the shitty things I've done, but I know the shitty things I've done, I know the times I've made you cry and you don't cry and I think I must be awful if I've done that to someone I love."

George lets out a long breath, then admits, "I have cried more over you than anything else, but that doesn't make you awful. You were unwell. That's not your fault. Would you blame me if the roles were reversed?"

Matty shakes his head.

"I adore you, no matter what," George adds. "You're my best friend. You've always been my best friend. I don't want anyone who isn't you."

Matty glances up and in a wet voice asks, "Even if I'm kinda shit sometimes?"

George nods. "No matter what," he says. "I promise."

[agooberscanons]

Sayori whimpers and cries quietly to herself in the bathroom stall she managed to hide herself away in. Her brain is all abuzz from past trauma rearing its head from somewhere she least expected it. She had no way to prepare for it, so it hit her like a sucker punch to the gut. She's nearly ready to heave like she did get one, honestly.

Only about ten minutes ago, she was called to the front office by the principal to meet with a parent suddenly. This isn't unheard of, as she's met with plenty of parents of the students to get to know them better and let them know how their child was doing in a safe and calming environment. To her, children are equal to the adults she sees for her job, they just have trouble expressing their thoughts and feelings because they don't have the life experience yet. And neither do some of the parents. This seems to be one of those cases here, too.

A simple and courteous greeting to someone who clearly didn't want to be here, escorted back to her office where they could talk in private. A seat across from the coral-pinkette as they address the cause of this meeting: That the parent didn't appreciate what Sayori was doing for their child and probably more children here. That she should be ashamed of herself. Of course, she asks them to elaborate. That sets off a bomb, apparently.

They accuse her of brainwashing children to question authority and seek out answers from other adults that aren't their parents. That parents can't be trusted to answer all of their kid's questions because they say so and know everything and are always right? She moves to object, but they object her objection. How she was so stupid to ruin a good thing that they had going with their kid, who always said 'yes' and never talked back to them or questioned anything they said.

Sayori lets them know that it doesn't sound like a very good relationship and that it sounds more like controlling their kid with fear and repercussions for the simplest things when they're just children. Allow them to grow and find information and help elsewhere when that parent isn't around. Wouldn't it be better to then share that experience with them and then answer any questions they bring back from others and work it out together? Wouldn't that be such a good thing? To see your child as an equal who just needs a little extra help in some areas that they could come to you fo-?

"I didn't ask you for help, I came to tell you how horrible you are and that I'll be making sure you are removed from this position with the children."

"....Excuse me?"

"You heard me, you sow. If you are doing this to my child, let alone other children, I can't imagine what other parents would see in you or your teachings. You are a danger to these young minds and I'm going to the highest authority here to have you fired or removed or whatever is possible!"

"B-But why? Please, this is such a sudden jump to conclusions! We can just talk it ove-?"

"No! You will not brainwash me like you have the children! Your days here are numbered, you pink elephant! When I'm through with your boss, you'll be fired! You'll be removed!"

"But I-?"

"Gone in an instant!"

Suddenly, the room starts spinning for the young woman. Something in the way they said that and their screaming at her finally breaks her composure. She can't utter a single word to save her life right now, as she starts to tear up and shuffle back away from them. They assume they have won this and will be expecting her gone by the end of the week, smug as can be as they slam her office door behind them.

Sayori is left in the middle of a panic attack as she starts feeling everything close in on her. During a moment that it lets up, she struggles for the door and cries out for anyone to help her. No one can hear her back there as she eventually stumbles out, running in a panic to get somewhere, anywhere away to be alone for the moment that isn't her office. It was the scene of the trigger, so now she wants to be far away.

Running through the halls is so exhausting for her and all her heft, but her brain isn't thinking about that right now. It's about the bathroom on the other end of the school. She needs to hole herself up somewhere that no one will see her have her complete breakdown.

Back to where we started, Sayori finally lets it all out. She cries out in absolute terror and anguish as her trauma was triggered. Gone in an instant, she remembers. She forgave Monika, but that experience from then still makes her skin crawl and her soul fearful. It was just that, too. Total erasure of even her soul. There was nothing. Just a void.

She's struggling to breathe properly as she relives the experience. The memory of the experience and the feelings are washing over her entire body as she feels like she's going through it all over again. When will it stop? She's not one to have these nightmares when awake, so this is especially agonizing. She can't just wake up from this one.

Eventually, after realizing she was missing, someone finds her sobbing and having made a mess of herself on the bathroom floor when they get her carried to the nurse's office. She's cleaned up and helped to relax with the current nurse there, being asked if they need to call anyone for her or if she wants to go to the hospital. She refuses both, for now, saying she just needs time to think and lie down.

They'll have her removed, they said. Fired, gotten rid of. Her job she worked so hard to get and start the schooling for. A job where she helped other kids not become like her or what she was back then, either. Gone. In an instant. She starts crying again right there in the nurse's office, but it's now a cry of sadness and not fear. The nurse simply hugs it out with her and lets the woman get it all out. She clearly needs the support, right now.

Sayori finally gets home for the day, disheveled and a shell of herself at the moment. That person is going to spin some sort of lie and ruin her entire career, just because she was a good counselor. Just because she did her job well. Just because she did her job right. She flips right onto her couch and groans loudly, clearly done with today. There's absolutely nothing she can do, she feels. Parents always have such sway, especially those heavily involved with the higher ups or so.

After an hour or two of crying it out some more and finally napping, she gets up and trudges for the refrigerator. Something easy and simple and not experimental to eat, while she gets up the courage to call her friends about this and see if she can use any of them as references on redoing her resumé...?

[dyns33]

Private life

I wanted to do another Javi G. story but it’s not as good as I wanted... I can’t focus at all, the ending is so rush. 

Javi Gutierrez was not happy.

Not happy at all.

Everything finally seemed to be going well in his life for some time. After the death of his father, he had to take over the family business, and even if he had been prepared for it, he had had some difficulty managing the empire he had inherited.

He had to put his cousin in his place, showing him clearly that they could work together, but that he was the boss. Show partners, customers, enemies, that you shouldn't joke with him. Manage the budget, purchases, bodyguards.

That didn't leave much room for recreation. Oh, he threw parties, but the people he met weren't really that interesting, or they were trying to use him. His previous love affairs hadn't lasted long, and Javi had tried to convince himself that it didn't matter, that he was happy, alone in his big house, watching movies.

Then he had met Y/N.

Completely by accident. While he was walking around town, to clear his head before an important meeting, she had asked him for directions. The poor girl had heard of the region, she wanted to visit it, but she was a little lost.

She wasn't part of the same world as him at all, she didn't know who he was, what his activities were. She was beautiful, funny, charming. Almost immediately, Javi had known that she was the woman of his life.

He had cancelled his appointment to serve as her guide, then he had invited her to the restaurant. They had spent the rest of the week together, and after many tears, kisses, pleas, he had managed to convince her to stay.

Of course, Y/N was not a prisoner. Javi understood that family and friends were important. She sometimes went to visit them, and they were all welcome in their house.

It had been almost a year now, a full year without the slightest problem, perfect, with his sweet lover.

And that had to be taken from him.

Frankly, he hadn't deserved this. Maybe he wasn't perfect, maybe his job wasn't ideal, but he wasn't bad. And Y/N had nothing to do with it.

He had explained it well to everyone, when he could no longer hide their relationship. If anyone dared approach her, they would bitterly regret it.

Despite this, he had taken all his precautions, assigning several bodyguards to Y/N. To reassure her, he had told her that his family was well known here, that some people might try to attack him, and therefore her. But she had no reason to be afraid, he would never let anything bad happen to her.

Not for a single second had he considered what was about to happen.

Since she wasn't locked up, and he wanted her to be totally happy, Y/N sometimes went out for walks without him. Nothing weird ever happened during her walks, and the guards who accompanied her made sure that no one tried to take her from him. It would have been better if no one ever spoke to her, but Y/N was polite and sociable, she needed to interact with others, and therefore it was not possible.

When told that a woman had been talking for a while with his sweetheart, Javi didn't panic. It hadn't seemed abnormal. Even less dangerous.

Y/N hadn't spoken to him about it, indicating that it hadn't really marked her. But she had wanted to go out the next day, which was not her habit. Javi could have wondered, but he was madly in love, he wanted her to feel good more than anything, so he didn't stop her.

When she returned from her walk, the bodyguards said that everything had gone well, except that she had spent a lot of time in the bathroom. He wondered if she was sick. She had a funny expression when he found her in the bedroom, looking at him like she didn't know him, but he didn't care about that, putting his hand on her forehead to see if she had a fever and asking her if she was feeling well.

           "... Yes."

           "Are you sure ? You can tell me if you have a problem. I can fetch a doctor. I'll make you some tea, and a bath, and I'll massage your feet."

           "That's nice, Javi, but I'm fine. I'm just tired."

           "Oh mi amor, let's go to bed. I'll rock you."

She let him, but she still seemed absent, a little distant. In the night, Javi was awakened by what sounded like little sobs, and Y/N clinging to him. He thought she had had a nightmare and was surprised to find that she wasn't sleeping.

           "What's going on ?"

           "You would tell me, if there was anything important." she whispered into his neck. "You would tell me."

           "Of course, querida. It's okay, don't worry. I'm here."

           "... You really have nothing to tell me ?"

Javi didn't understand at all what she was talking about, because everything was going perfectly well in his life, especially since they were together. His business was going perfectly, he had more and more customers, no worries with his enemies, nothing could disturb their happiness.

He didn't make the connection to the woman who had spoken to her and the time she had spent in the bathroom, as she fell asleep against him again.

Fucking CIA.

They had been trying to pin him down for years and they had never found anything against him.

So those motherfuckers decided to take his Y/N from him.

They had approached her innocently, whispering to her that they knew things about him, and that if she wanted to know more, she had to come back to see them the next day. She had then seen reports, photos, heard recordings. She had cried a lot, not knowing what to think.

But all that, Javi did not know. And he still wasn't worried when she went out again a few days later. He probably should have, seeing her sad look, with the long kiss she gave him.

A goodbye kiss.

He had never cried so much as when his henchmen came home alone, saying they didn't know where Y/N was. She had disappeared suddenly, without them being able to do anything.

First he thought of a kidnapping. He contacted everyone for help. Then his cousin brought him the terrible news.

Y/N had not been taken. She was gone. The CIA had exfiltrated her from the country.

           "Sorry, primo. It wasn't the right one after all."

           "Shut up ! I don't understand. Why ? Why ?!"

Well, Javi could understand why. When Lucas scoffed that she was just a profiteer, he broke his nose.

It was perfectly normal that Y/N left. Even though she loved him and trusted him, he had lied to her, he had hidden many things from her. It was normal that all these revelations had disturbed her, and when she had given him a chance to confess everything, he had not taken it.

For several weeks, Javi was alone in his room, drinking and watching movies. His favourite activity. Before.

It wasn't the same without Y/N. It had no more flavor, no more sense.

He missed her laugh. Her little startles in front of the frightening scenes. The long discussions they had. Her head resting on his shoulder, her hand holding his.

He had to find her. Talk to her. At least to apologize and explain everything to her.

The CIA should never have involved her in these professional matters, she had nothing to do with it.

It was easier than expected to locate her.

Not to scare her, Javi phoned her first. It was hard for you to hear her voice after all this time, without being able to see her.

           " Mi querida ! It's me !"

           "... Javi ?"

           "Yes ! Wait ! Don't be afraid, don't hang up. I'm so sorry, mi amor. I can't live without you, mi cielo, mi vida. I miss you so much !"

           "... I miss you too." she said sincerely. "But what you're doing..."

           "You don't need to worry about that. You don't need to know. It's details. You can be happy, with me, at home, safe."

           "They say you killed a lot of people. That you killed your previous girlfriends."

           "Well, first of all, I didn't kill a lot of people. It's very rare that I kill someone, it's often my men who do it. And for my exes, yes, some are dead, but they deserved it, they threatened me. You are different. You would never do this to me, and I would never hurt you. You know that, right ? I love you so much, come home. Te quiero mucho. Por favor, ven a casa."

That didn't really seem to reassure her. Javi didn't understand why. He had been perfectly honest. From now on, there would be no more secrets between them and they could be happy as before.

If Y/N agreed to listen to him.

He could try to understand that she had doubts. He had lied to her before, so she was suspicious, it was normal, clever. But if she gave him a chance to prove to her that he was sincere, that he loved her to death, then there would be no more problem.

           "And... if you stop ?" she asked shyly, with her soft voice. "I'm not asking you to go to the authorities. I don't want you to go to jail. But you could stop and we could forget about all this, have a normal life."

           "But our life is already normal and wonderful, hermosa !"

           "Javi... You are a criminal. A gang leader, who sells drugs, weapons, who threatens, who injures, who kills..."

           "Not when I'm with you. I separate my work from my private life, something the CIA needs to understand."

           "I... I don't know if I want to accept this. I'm sorry."

           "But I can't stop. It's the family legacy and without protection, everyone will try to kill me." he reasoned. "We really can just do like we used to. I beg you. I'm not sleeping anymore, I'm not eating anymore... I'm not watching movies anymore !"

This time it seemed to touch her. Y/N knew what movies meant to him. But she apologized again, crying, saying it wasn't a good idea. She was being watched anyway, she couldn't come back.

Javi was even more angry after that. Not only had the CIA taken his Y/N, they were preventing him from coming back.

That didn't mean they could stop him from going after her. He would love to see them try.

He called his cousin, all his henchmen and partners, to get inside the horrible place where they had locked up his poor Y/N, and when he got her back, they would watch Paddington 2, huddled in their bed, without any hassle.

[xxxdrummysdaughterxxx]

i opened up. about everything (sorta). for the first time in years the other day

i was talking to an old friend about a tattoo i’m getting to cover old sh scars and i told him i was a fucking mess. and he asked me what happened that fucked me up. SO I TOLD HIM. only my husband and therapist ever knew anything about it.

i’ve decided to open up about it here… so be nice.

when i was 13, 2 weeks before starting my freshman year in august, i was raped. this ruined all of my future relationships. i said no, but it didn’t matter. i started cutting to help numb the pain. i told my friends it was consensual. it wasn’t.

i turned 14 in september and in october one of my best friends committed suicide. i was devastated. i stopped eating and developed an eating disorder and starting cutting more. i didn’t recognize myself anymore.

personal hygiene was nonexistent to me. i didn’t want attention, i didn’t want to be touched again. other kids complained (OBVIOUSLY.) so i took more time on hygiene-just enough to go to school.

a few months later i was assaulted on a school bus. i told my best friend and opened up about the first time and being raped. she told my mom. my mom called the school and I WAS BLAMED. i should have gotten help when it happened, i should have made it a big deal. i was on an elementary bus, with tiny humans. but i should have made a scene. it was never “he shouldn’t have done that to you. i’m so sorry”

i started taking pills on top of everything else. i just wanted an escape. i attempted suicide. i wanted it to end.

then i met the first boy i fell in love with. the boy who ruined me. i started acting out sexually since i couldn’t be invisible. we started sleeping together. it went on for 2 years.

i wasn’t getting better, i was just hiding. i wasn’t eating, i was cutting, i was smoking and taking pills. anything i could to escape, to feel nothing.

i pushed everyone away. i didn’t need help, i was fine! i could control it.

i never dated in high school because my trust was completely gone. i didn’t want to be alone with another boy. until i started dating my husband.

after we graduated, he left with the military for a few months. the best guy friends i had all 4 years had also turned their backs on me. whoever said guy friends are less drama fucking lied. so i started getting really good at hiding everything. i was working-i didn’t need to eat at home. i was getting high more and more, hardly ever sober.

when my grandfather died (october after i graduated. literally on the 4th anniversary of my best friends suicide) i realized i needed help. i wasn’t okay. i went into therapy. finally someone could help me!! wrong.

my mother (who thinks she knows everything) was called into a session where my dr diagnosed me with BPD. my moms exact words were “everyone’s borderline as a teenager” but i believed my mom!! i started lying to my therapist. to my family. to my boyfriend. I WAS FINE!

until i wasn’t fine.

i cut too deep one morning. i was fighting with my boyfriend over something stupid and told him i wasn’t okay. i was having a mental breakdown or panic attack or something.

when i was cutting i would black out. i couldn’t feel anything so i’d end up with a ton of cuts. i didn’t stop til i could feel it again. but this time was different. i wanted to die. in that moment i just wanted everything i was feeling for so long to just end.

i cut too deep. i sunk to my bathroom floor. i started passing out from the blood loss. something in me told me to stay awake. fix this. i tried calling my boyfriend (yes i married him, he’s better now) and told him i need to go to the hospital and he ignored me. he said he was busy. i was drifting in and out so i called my best friend and told her. she rushed to my house (this was like 730am) in her pajamas and spent the entire day with me, took me to the hospital to get stitches. helped me. that night my boyfriend called me and apologized. i could have died and he didn’t care. it took a long time for us to get better after this.

i didn’t get better until i was 19 and found out i was pregnant with my son. i started going back to therapy to keep us both alive. she explained what BPD was and it made so much sense. the self harm, manipulation, unstable relationships etc etc. everything i felt finally explained.

my son saved my life. had i not gotten pregnant with him, i’d probably be dead. i wouldn’t have him or my 2 amazing girls. i wouldn’t have fixed my relationship and been with him for almost 10 years.

after 14 years i am finally covering my past.

[monthofsick]

Fault Lines

Nov(emeto)ber 2022, Day 20: Panic/anxiety

Characters: Alex Krycek, Fox Mulder (The X-Files)

Growing up in the 90's, I was obsessed with The X-Files. Mulder/Krycek was probably my very first OTP and I will forever go down with this ship. Honestly, this incredible series is worth watching for their chemistry alone (just skip season 8). I tried to give enough details and background information to make the story work even if you don't know the series. It's set during the episode Tunguska (S4E8) when Mulder and Krycek are about to fly to Siberia and references the episodes Piper Maru (S3E15) and Apocrypha (S3E16), especially that missile silo scene. Other than that, it's about how everyday things can give you the most horrible of flashbacks and how having panic attacks in public (and trying to hide them) is one of the worst possible feelings. Also, it gave me feels and lots of them.

TW: Vomit, panic attack, flashbacks

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Everything was fine until they passed the restrooms.

As usual, Alex was busy planning ten steps ahead, creating a mindmap of possible obstacles and mishaps. It was probably one of the reasons he was commonly seen as a manipulative, opportunistic bastard. He prefered to call it being in total control.

Alex had long understood that every person was on their own side. What was the use of blind allegiance if it only ended in slavery, death or worse? If the other party wouldn't hesitate a second to sacrifice you for their own benefit? He knew he always needed a valuable leverage, foresight and several loopholes to stay on top. To stay alive. In the last few days, Alex had once again dodged several bullets, almost froze to death twice, but was now right back on track.

Then he saw that tiny little bathroom sign and shattered completely.

The mundane sight hit Alex like a gut punch, making him feel sick to his stomach. For a second, he was certain he would throw up right there in the terminal, in front of everybody including Mulder. Needless to say, the mortifying thought only made things worse. Even though every fiber of his body resisted, the only way to avoid complete and utter humiliation was to head straight for the toilets without letting the urgency show.

"If you'd kindly excuse me for a second", Alex declared in the most casual tone he could possibly fabricate, with just the slightest hint of confrontional sarcasm to match Mulder's expectations. He tried to switch into his functional depersonalization mode – don't think, don't feel, just do what is required. What you were taught to do. It probably wasn't a healthy skill and Alex definitely didn't want to know what a self-righteous profiler like Mulder would read into this habit. The fact that he now struggled to accomplish a behavior that had become second nature to him was alarming enough.

"If this is an attempt to pull any of those dirty tricks of yours, it's a pathetic one, even for you, Krycek." And there it was again, the inevitable contempt in Mulder's every interaction with Alex. It had probably become an involuntary reflex at this point, like yawning when he was tired. So what, it could only benefit Alex at the moment. If stubborn old Mulder expected some kind of scheme, maybe he wouldn't notice the cold sweat forming on Alex' skin. The slight tremble of his frame. The rapid, shallow breathing that barely lifted his chest.

"I didn't think you wanted to know the details about how dirty it's going to get in there", Alex sneered. Somehow, the oh so typical conversation with Mulder made it easier to slip back into his persona. Like he wasn't about to enter the room that had hit him in the face with an unexpected flashback. With memories he thought he had processed and moved past, like he had gotten over anything else in life.

"Five minutes, then I'll come in and drag you out." Another deja vu, of course.

"Give me ten." Somehow, Alex managed to turn around and walk towards the restroom door in a way that seemed neither rushed nor reluctant. His vision was blurred and distorted by static like an old TV. A buzzing in his ears muffled the soundscape of the busy airport, making Alex feel even more disconnected from his surroundings. Like he was moving through his very own bubble with a slightly distorted passage of time. It was something he had experienced before, but never this bad.

The first thing Alex noticed when he opened the door was the distinct smell of a public restroom – loads of cheap cleaning products, desperately trying to mask the lingering stench of urine. It was familiar enough to instantly force a gag out of him. He hurried into the very first bathroom stall, fell on his knees and bent over the toilet.

Nothing happened. The flood of puke Alex had expected to burst out of him at the first opportunity kept on pushing towards his esophagus, but it didn't come up. It left him nauseous and shivering and tense all over. Ten minutes. Why couldn't his body just get it all out and wash away the anxiety with a post-vomit endorphine rush? Instead, Alex was hovering over a porcelain bowl that had been used by who knows how many strangers, drooling like a hungry dog.

This was pathetic. Alex knew it, but he couldn't help it either. He was here and not here. Not now. He was at the Hong Kong airport, almost exactly a year ago, waiting for a plane back to Washington. Just when he thought he had gotten away, Mulder, being the annoyingly persistent bloodhound that he was, had blindsided him with a sudden attack. Which somehow turned out to be one of the most horrifying moments of his life.

Not because of that ridiculous bloody nose Mulder had given him. Not even because the anger-issue on legs was violently pinning him against the payphones, shoving Alex' own gun into his stomach. Yes, Alex had assassinated the man Mulder thought to be his father, so there was a certain possibility that even an upstanding FBI agent would resort to vigilante justice. But Alex didn't believe for a second that Mulder would actually pull the trigger. Even at his worse, Mulder wasn't a cold blooded killer like Alex himself. And his boundless curiosity still demanded too many answers and informations to dry up the source.

The actual frightening part was that Alex didn't fight back. He just couldn't. Even though it went against the very core of who he was, Alex let Mulder beat himself up and threaten like the rookie he had pretended to be during their very first encounter. A miserable part of him wanted to become the wide-eyed, ambitious yet clueless freshman again, at least in his ex-partner's eyes. But he would forever be Alex Krycek, the man who shot Mulder's father. The traitor. The rat. Mulder would never look at him again and see anything but vermin.

Not that it mattered. What did matter was, however, that Mulder attacked and Alex let it happen. Mulder was so blinded by rage that it didn't seem wrong to him. He took his ability to overpower the younger man for granted, even though Alex had probably killed more people than Mulder and the rest of his fellow FBI agents combined. And still, the thought of Alex being able to defend himself didn't even seem to cross Mulder's mind. Which would have been an advantage on Alex' side if it hadn't been for a certain Mulder-shaped flaw in his code.

Alex, who had been programmed to value survival over anything else, allowed another person to threaten his life. He just stared at Mulder with pleading puppy dog eyes like some helpless victim he certaintly wasn't. Alex was a triple agent, an assassin, a perfect self-preserving weapon. Until he came across this neurotic, egocentric, obsessive mess of an FBI agent. Mulder's fire burned way too bright for his own good, and it sparked something in Alex he didn't even know he was capable of feeling. Something electric and dangerous and painful that he tried to get rid of, just to fail time and time again.

The airport encounter forced Alex to face the ugly truth that Mulder could easily destroy him in every way possible. Alex knew he should have killed the man the very second he noticed that he hesitated to do so. He had allowed spooky Mulder to matter to him, but why? Because of his laser‑focused expression when he picked up a trail? His intensity and resolution to hold on to even the most outrageous of theories? Those indefinable hazel eyes that seemed to change from green to blue to grey with each of his unpredictable mood swings? That ridiculous red speedo he had so flippantly sported in front of his new partner? The brilliant mind that somehow always ended up torturing him more than it served him?

Mulder was everything Alex was not. And still, the expert profiler remained painfully and willfully blind when it came to Alex. It probably was for the best.

After Alex had convinced Mulder that he was still valuable enough to not let him bleed out from an abdominal gunshot, he had been sent to the restroom to clean himself up. With an even more generous time limit of three minutes before Mulder would come in and kill him. If only he had followed up on the threat. His intention had been to execute Alex, but maybe he could have saved him from the nightmare that followed instead.

The moment of confusion when Alex saw a woman standing next to him at the urinals. Then, before he had any chance to react, her hand grabbing him by the neck, lifting him up with inhuman strength. Her lips pressing against his. Something slick and oily pouring into his mouth and down his throat, seeping into every cell of his body…

The all too vivid memory of the viscous goo crawling down his esophagus was enough to send up his stomach contents in the opposite direction. Alex winced as he threw up a measly spatter of milky liquid. While his abdominal muscles kept on clenching harshly, the rest of his body shivered like he was freezing. He still felt his mind drowning in that pitch black fluid, reducing him to a helpless observer. Alex wasn't Alex anymore, his shell and eyes and voice had been fully controlled by the sentient alien virus. And he hadn't known where the black oil would eventually take him back then, but he knew it now, and he didn't want to go there, anywhere, but not there.

Alex jerked with a juddering heave and desperately clung to the toilet while a thick stream of vomit gushed from his mouth. The coffee and bagel Mulder had so generously allowed him to consume at one of the airport bistros spilled from his lips, barely digested. Alex trembled as he felt the soggy lumps coming up. This forceful, uncontrollable act of his stomach emptying itself overwhelmed him with the most horrible body memory of expelling an entirely different substance…

No. No, no, no. Alex couldn't change the past, but that didn't mean he had to relive it. It took all of his usually perfect control to keep himself from hyperventilating, possibly inhaling the chunks of dough, avocado and fried egg he kept on bringing up. The mess he spewed into the porcelain bowl flickered before his eyes.

Why hadn't Mulder noticed that it wasn't him who had returned from the restroom? The agent hated him with a passion, but he also knew him, probably better than anyone else. Was there something inherently faulty about him that made it so easy for the oil to take over his persona? Unlike the former hosts, the parasite moved Alex in such a natural, effortless way – even greeting Mulder with a snarky remark. But something had to be different, right? Alex wanted to scream at Mulder to look at him, just this one time. Like he didn't know exactly that Mulder only saw what he wanted to see once he had made up his mind.

And so it all ended in the abandoned missile silo.

Alex on top of a giant triangular structure that had pulled him closer like a magnet. Waiting for something, anything to happen, now that the virus had reached its destination. Then, suddenly, an overpowering nausea crashing at him him like a tidal wave. For a moment, Alex' half-stifled consciousness was certain that the thing inside of him had given him radiation sickness. Like the people it had fried with blinding flashes through his eyes. Alex was used to killing people, but he wasn't used to cause – and witness – severe radiation burns. This was not how he wanted to die. And he didn't die, but what happened next wasn't that much better.

Shaken by retch after retch, Alex doubled over and violently puked up the black oil. It oozed out of his mouth, his nose, his eyes. Alex couldn't stop gagging as the viscid fluid kept on coming up from God-knows-where. It hurt, it burned, it made him feel sick to his very core, but most of all, it was terrifying. With his eyes wide open in sheer panic, mouth agape, Alex vaguely saw the shiny dark puddle he had just vomited out of every facial orifice. It slipped over the stone-like surface of the object – the UFO – and somehow melted into the spiral shape on top.

Alex collapsed and curled up into a ball, shuddering, panting, sobbing. He was covered in an oily residue, his skin slick with the remains of the alien virus that had used, left and discarded him. The repulsive taste remained on his tongue and it didn't go away, no matter how often Alex spat out and gagged weakly. Then he realized he was still lying on the vessel that now contained the black oil and scrambled away. Disoriented and struggling to control his body again, Alex slid down the UFO and crawled towards the massive door – just to find it shut tight.

He was locked in. Trapped in silo 1013, buried alive with that thing. Panicking, Alex banged against the steel door. He screamed and cried and begged and slammed his hands against the metal until they bled. Someone had to find him and let him out and get him away from the creature that had possessed him. But no one came and he kept on screaming and punching and-

With a sharp jolt, Alex lurched towards the toilet bowl again and hurled up whatever murky liquid was left inside of him. He clutched at the seat to prevent his quivering body from falling over while his spasming muscles forced his stomach to empty itself completely. Ironically, Alex almost wished to taste the vomit he brought up. Anything was better than the abrasive, sulfury rotten-egg flavor of the oil that would probably stay with him until his dying day.

Alex almost choked on the bile he retched out as the door behind him swang open. Shit. Even in his pitiful state, he should have never forgotten to lock himself in. And still, a miserable little part of him instantly spiraled back into blind anxiety just at the thought of a locked door. Which was ridiculous, considering the fact that the closing mechanism would have been on his side, but Alex' high-strung nervous system didn't care. His stomach churned again, rocking his body with dry heaves until he managed to bring up a mouthful of bitter liquid.

"You're throwing up, Krycek?" Mulder said it like it was the most absurd, yet amusing sight ever.

"Sorry, you already missed the best part", Alex rasped and quickly flushed the toilet. This was humiliating enough without Mulder inspecting the remains of his regurgitated meal. He could only hope the agent wouldn't notice how shaky his hand still was. Get a grip, Alex, he scolded himself. You've been through this before, it will go away, you know perfectly well it can't actually hurt you.

"I didn't expect you to have weak stomach." Instead of the usual anger and contempt, Mulder choked out a laugh. "Good to know your weakness is greasy airport food. Remind me to make a note of it."

"Glad you're having a good time", Alex snapped. He was tired. Couldn't Mulder stick to his beloved little beatings instead of trying to be witty? Alex felt too worn out to come up with an appropriate response. Mulder was paid to read the mind of suspects, unveil their hidden motives and predict their next move. Was it so hard to connect the dots and figure out that Alex had been infected with the oil-alien in the Hong Kong airport toilet? Well, Alex could hardly blame him. With Mulder's justified sense of betrayal and desire for revenge, his mind probably refused to acknowledge that Alex was even capable of having human emotional reactions.

It was probably for the best that Mulder didn't get a chance to answer. A middle-aged man with a shiny bald head and a ridiculously expensive looking suit entered the restroom. He cast a sceptical glance at Alex who was still hugging the porcelain throne.

"He's acrophobic", Mulder explained with slightly crooked, yet therefore even more disarming smile. "Fear of flying. It's always the same before departure. Don't worry, it's not contagious – only during severe turbulences."

The business man responded with a sympathetic nod. To keep up the facade, Mulder held out his hand to help Alex back on his feet. For a moment, he put an arm around Alex' shoulders to lead him to the sinks. Maybe as part of the act, maybe to prevent him from doing anything stupid; to keep his enemy close, so to speak. Clueless, unsuspecting Mulder. He didn't have the slightest idea what he was doing.

Alex knew that Mulder would be his downfall. The one person he'd always want, even though he could never have him. It couldn't go on like this. But still… it wouldn't hurt to pretend, just for a moment. He was still shaky, dizzy, cold, probably the aftermath of all that adrenaline flooding his body. Mulder's presence, his touch, was everything Alex could have asked for, even if it was just as unreal as the memories that had come back to haunt him. Just to calm his nerves, Alex deluded himself into thinking they were still partners on their way home from something like an office party. Maybe a little drunk, so who knew how this would end?

Of course, it ended at the basin with Alex washing the sheen of cold sweat from his pallid face and rinsing his mouth several times. They had a plane to Siberia to catch. For a brief moment, the glimpse of another memory flickered in the back of Alex' mind. Little Alyosha on the tip of his toes, staring at the northern lights with big eyes, oblivious of the biting cold that even froze the breath coming out of his mouth. But that was another person in a another life and the door leading back there was permanently shut.

It was time for Alex to get his act together and look ahead. No more delusions of things that would never be. He had to end this, once and for all.

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In case someone's interested: Because we never learn about Krycek's backstory in the series, my personal version is heavily influenced by Sylvia's The Gift of an Enemy, probably my all time favorite fanfiction. It's beautifully written, perfectly portrays the complex characters and their relationship and features a legit X-Files case.

Needless to say, I had a massive crush on Krycek as a kid and the scene where he throws up the black oil had quite the impression on me. I remember reading an interview with the actor Nicholas Lea where he said that he doesn't care about looking good on screen, but prefers doing something interesting. He said: “Did you see 'Apocrypha'? At the end of that episode, in the missile silo, it was not attractive at all, but I loved doing it.” Any my very confused ten-year-old self was like: Uuuuuhm... I'd like to disagree, that's definitely not what I saw. I guess most of us had those revealing moments while discovering their love for emeto.

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Archive of our own: Up all night to get Bucky

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