"she plays guitar?" wilbur soot x reader

recipe for death

tw: extremely explicit sh

read at your own risk

As I head home from the drug store, I feel tears roll down my cheeks. I feel disgusting.

I left my phone and keys in Will's studio. That feel like it happened ages ago, but oh well. I know there's a spare key under the carpet. I'm still incredibly cold. Going outside in this weather with a crop-top and thin hoodie isn't the best choice, but again, oh well, again.

I go to grab the key under the carpet and take it. I unlock the door and enter. It's warm. It's so good to be home. Alone, but home. I close and lock the door and immediately go to the bathroom. I lock the door to there as well, just in case. I know Tom will get worried eventually. He'll look in the house first.

I grab a razor from the cupboards. Funny how they know my addictions and yet keep a bag of fresh razors in the most obvious place ever, huh? I sit down on the cold tiles. Taking off Wilbur's jacket, I feel guilt wash over me. Tom is going to be disappointed. Wilbur as well. Niki will be empathetic. She's fighting this as well. The only person to get me.

I push the razor into my arm. It's already covered in scars, so these just kind of blend in, really. I pull a straight line from my palm to my elbow. I wince a bit at the pain when I get to my inner elbow. I pull the razor away and look at the damage I've done. Minimal blood. I've gone a bit deeper than usual, hm?

Oh well. No visual indications of a relapse is exactly what I need. Although, it doesn't feel like I've relapsed now. I have to see blood. I have to have results, otherwise my pain is for nothing. I go over the line again, this time much more pain than before. Now that's what I'm talking about. Blood spilling everywhere. Nice.

I laugh at myself. What an idiotic way to cope with feelings.

I go in a few more times, this time getting other parts of my arm, but it's not enough. I need a lot more.

I think I need alcohol.

No, I promised to Tom I wouldn't.

Fuck this fucking shit.

Fuck my fucking life.

Fuck.

I get up, still not sure if I'm drinking or not. I know I shouldn't, but I've always known I shouldn't've.

But Tom. I've rebuilt some of the trust I broke. I don't wanna break all of it, I really don't. I love my baby brother more than myself, but for once in my life, I wanna do what's "best" for me.

Get stupidly drunk.

-

I'm laying on the kitchen floor, hammered, as I hear the door open. I see Tom rush over to me. "Y/n..." he says. He's been crying. "Tom! Oh, my baby brother!" I say, slurring my words. "You promised." he says, clearly upset. I simply rub my neck a bit to reveal what's under my foundation.

"Wha- WHAT HAPPENED?" Tom asks, observing my neck closely. "He did it again. Fucking Jared did it again." I say. I feel my eyes close and I can hear Tom talking faintly. I can hear another man.

Ash? Joe? Will? I'm too tired to tell, but it sounds like a much deeper voice.

Wait,

Techno?

Nope.

I must be too hammered for my own good.

-

I wake up, surprisingly not in a hospital. I'm in Tom's room. There's a cold cloth on my forehead and there's a person sitting on the bed. "Tom!" I say, still drunk and elongating the o. "Not Tommy, hun."

A guy with short brown hair and a well taken care of beard turns around to face me. My eyes focus on him and I recognise him in an instant. "Alexander the Great." I say, smiling. I'm still drunk, so my thoughts kind of just spew out of my mouth without further thought. "I like that nickname." he says with a smile.

"Why is Mr. America in Nottingham?" I ask. "I could ask the same about Tommy. He moved to Brighton a while ago, why is he here?" he asks. "Oh, cause his office thingy is doing a little thingy. I actually don't know shit about renting offices but I think it's not Tom's fault."

"Not sure. He seems like the kind of guy to get kicked out of an office." he says. I laugh a bit and repeat my earlier question. "But why are you here? For real."

"I came here for New Year's." he says. "Oh, but it's in like a month?" I say, confused and still drunk. "Y/n, it's in two days!" Techno says in his signature high-pitched voice. "Oh is it? I hate that. January is the worst." I say. "Why's that?" Techno asks. "Shh, no one wants to hear your voice." I say, feeling my eyes close on their own and drifting into a nice sleep.

I have a feeling that something bad is coming. New Year's, my birthday, Jared, relapses, hospitals.

This is a recipe for my death.

——————
tommy got to meet technoblade :')