RED - YANDERE ! DSMP + CHILD ! READER

- basements and regret -

trigger warnings :: death, cursing, arguing, blood, mentions of obsessive behavior, fighting, mentions of kidnapping, yelling, panic attacks, choking(?)

" it could be worse "

" this is the worst it can be "

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I again stared at blank ceilings, the crumbling cobblestone and moss bringing nothing but pain to me. I sat up, pushing myself into the corner of the familiar bed.

I looked to the entrance, eyes darting around as my breath quickened with realization.

My chest tightened, airways feeling like they were being tied shut with heavy ropes as I curled around myself, heaving out heavy sobs into my shaking knees.

My spine shook my entire body, mind shaken up

I felt so dizzy, head pounding as my hands pulled on thick locks of blood-matted hair. My head had bashed against the wall, fresh blood spilling from my head and nose.

Honestly, all of these injuries were unhealthy.

The iron door opened, my panicked crying becoming choking as my heavy lungs shut. The sleeved arms that pulled me close made me claw at my throat and their arms, Wilbur simply lulling me as he tried to get me to breathe.

I turned my anger onto him, flipping around and slamming my hands against his throat. He coughed out the air in his lungs, falling backwards and onto the floor as I climbed atop him and began to strangle the bastard.

He choked out pleas of mercy, hoof-tipped fingers squeezing his neck as his arms swung for air, clocking me in the face.

I fell to his side, spitting and coughing out crimson blood onto the greenish-gray floors of stone. He pushed himself up, arms buckling and almost making him fall.

But I made him fall. I kicked out my legs into his wrists, a sickening 'crack'' making him scream louder than I thought he even could.

The fox burst into the room from Wilbur's screaming, crossbow pointed at me. Wilbur put an uninjured hand up in some sort of defense, the trigger pushed in fear as I shut my eyes.

The tip of the crossbow bolt flew through the air easily, time seeming to stop as it hit skin and bone.

And so I screamed this time. Not willingly.

My eyes felt like they were popping out of their sockets, eyes looking up to the bolt lodged in my forehead. Wilbur and the fox screeched at eachother, ignoring the gruesome sight of the violet-tinted red flowing down my head.

My knees gave out on me, torso dropping to the floor as my head gave a muted 'thump' to echo into the room.

Wilbur crawled over to me, my arms unable to push his away from me.

Die.

Die. DIE.

DIE.

Why wont you just fucking die? I would be so happy, so, so mind-numbingly happy if you just died. That is the least you could ever do to make me happy, Wilbur. That is the only thing I want from you.

I want to see your grave. I want to watch your body be lowered into the earth by whatever means necessary.

Whatever means necessary.

third person pov

Wilbur screamed at his son, Fundy's eyes wide in horror at what he had done. The bolt in their forehead had gone deep enough to kill them quickly-

Well, not quickly enough.

Their body twitched, Wilbur cradling them in his arms like a baby. Even with his broken wrist, he held them close to his chest tightly.

Fundy dropped the crossbow, running out of the room as his father yelled after him.

Oh my god. Oh my god, he shot them.

He shot them. He shot THEM.

He ran out of the house, out of the house and back to Manburg. He wouldn't be talking to Wilbur in a while- That's no father of his.

Wilbur got up with struggle, limping out of the basement and outside.

He dropped their body, the lifeless corpse of the child hitting the grass as he began to dig a shabby grave for them temporarily as well as he could.

He pushed their body into the hole, burying them until all you could see were withering alliums poking out of the dirt that once crowned their head.

He couldn't cry, unable to when he was so angry. Angry at his son, angry at himself, angry at Y/n.

Why couldn't they make things easy? Just cooperate? All he has done is love them and the first thing they do is choke him?

He stomped the dirt with his black boots, eyes pooling with tears of frustration. He threw his hat down, stomping it into the grass until it was soot and dirt stained.

Why. Why did his child do what they did? Why cant things be so simple? He's been nothing but a good man to them, and this is what he gets?

Wilbur sat down and just began to talk to their buried body, talking angrily of his lost country. God, he wanted them to see what it would become.

What his stolen symphony would soon become.

He talked, talked late into the night and into the early morning. Tommy and Technoblade continued to try and message him through his communicator, putting it on silent.

He thought back to Fundy.

That fucking traitor.

He killed them. He shot them, shot them in the head and ran like a fucking coward. He didn't raise a murderer, nor a coward. Wilbur stood up, dusting off his dirt and blood stained uniform with a painful hiss at his tender wounds.

His neck had began to bruise at the force of how tightly Y/n had attempted to strangle him, the brunette simply wrapping bandages around it and calling it a day.

He traded out his L'manburg uniform for a yellow sweater and brown trench-coat, accompanied by tall black boots and black torn jeans.

He turned back on the communicator, making up the excuse that it had ran out of charge- He eyed the grave once more, watching as the second largest allium withered down to a black rose-like shape.

He'd get his child back,

By whatever means necessary.

- 1025 words -