#HE LOOKS SO FUCKING UGLY *DESTROYS EVERYTHING

[caramelldansenu]

Happy birthday to the anti-christ

[meliciousmel13]

➛ K I L L A

paring: killer!bsf!billie x reader

warnings: smut, mentions of blood (duh), kiddnaping, cheating, mesionary, doggy, billie calls r names (slut, like a few times), mean billie, mentions of alchool, kind of angst(?), strap-on sex, fingering, r has a bf, smut written by a minor. i think that's it, please comment if you find any more! ty

wc: 4,413

SYNOPSIS: billie kills, billie heals.

taglist: @chrissv4mp, @billiesguitar, @ilovebillieeilish2000, @d14n4ol, @raspberrymacaroon if your not a part of this list but want to be comment under my tag list post, which is on my masterlist.

an: so sorry this took so long, i had exams and was also busy irl with things, after finishing i feel so fucking tired and literally everything discusts me idk what tf is wrong with me.

he was sweet at first. you swore it. he was the type to give you flowers everyday. and used to send you good morning and goodnight texts everyday. until he didn’t. you don’t know when you detected that change in him. you don’t know if he just decided to be cruel one day.

he doesn’t even hit you. is what he says. it’s true. he doesn’t. but what he does do, is manipulate and completely destroy your ego with just words.

like when he pointed out that it looked like you were gaining wight. he didn’t even have to tell you. you were like his trained dog. his trophy wife—girlfriend. like you had no use beyond your looks.

he’d always let his “friends” touch you, always try to impress them with you. point out that you were his pretty, submissive, pet girlfriend. most of them were ugly too.

was what billie says. she said that you should leave the asshole or maybe break into his house kill him in his sleep. she suggested doing it, but you always laughed it off. saying he treats you completely fine.

she always came over at your house when she knew he was there. intruding on your weekly dates and sitting on your couch like it was hers. he’d always glare at her. and you understood she could be a little infuriating sometimes and a little possessive but if henry wanted you, then he’d have to deal with your best friend too.

you met billie in 3rd grade. when you were small and new to the huge school. she approached you, and asked you to play with her in recces. you had so much in common. she loved to run, and you loved to run…

you were good together. you balanced each other out.

but she scares you sometimes—considering she has a gun, she’d always pretend to be dead. but you were immune to her little pranks now. she did them too often. you were too used to them.

you went to the bar just to get a drink or two. to get a break from your annoying boyfriend and equally annoying best friend, you loved her. really, you did. but she tires you out.

until you saw an incredibly hot boy walk toward you.

“hey,” he said, with a pretty smile, he was beautiful, you knew boys weren’t supposed to be beautiful, but he was.

“hi,” you said back, slightly looking up at him, tall too.

“think i can buy you a drink?”

you bit your lip, didn’t even think about henry, didn’t even think about your boyfriend.

you nodded, “i’m quinn, and you are..?” he asked, waiting for you to say your name.

“y/n.” you answered.

he was sweet and polite—talked with you a little to see if you were interested, not the intrusive, even-if-you-say-no-i-still-wanna-annoy-you type. told you he could drive you home, even asked for your number

you listened. found yourself in his jacked up car. didn’t even question why it smelled so awful in there (billie’s pranks made you not even question it). or why he had a shady duffle bag in his back seat.

“you want some water?” he asked you, driving away from the bar, and to the main road.

“yeah,” you nodded, taking a few sips and recapped it, placing it in the cup holder in the dashboard, “thank you.” you mumbled.

“you’re welcome.”

you don’t know exactly when you blacked out. it happened all at once almost. his hands on your body tying you to a wooden chair. when you woke up you were in a big warehouse. drowsy, quinn. on your phone, scrolling.

“what?” you say, looking up, and looking around. trying to find out why you were tied to a chair. when your gaze fell on him.

“your awake.” he smiled, “i think i used too much powder.” what the fuck?“you slept for too long.”

how. how the hell. did you get kidnapped. it was infuriating. all you wanted was to relax and have a drink. but you get into even more annoying bullshit.

he stayed on your phone for at least 30 minutes, or at least that’s how much it felt like. quinn groaned, massaging his temples and looking up at you.

“you got a charger?” he said, and you shake your head. which made him sigh even louder.

it took a while but he found a charger in his duffle bag. found a plug and sat down on the dirty floors continuing to scroll through your phone. also a creep. why was everyone you were remotely attracted to either 34 years old or a complete weirdo?

you heard the warehouse door creek, and see a dark figure creep inside. wearing all black clothes and—they were walking towards you.

they were in front of you now, looking up, you say a black mask and sunglasses with the hood of the hoodie covering almost everything. you wondered how he(?) could see.

you let out a small “mhph” and the figure tilted it’s head, going behind you and waiting for quinn to notice. he didn’t. so he hit the corner of the wooden chair, emitting a loud “THUMP” through out the large warehouse.

quinn finally looked behind him. “hey— uh, are you..?” he stood up, probably thinking the figure was also a killer? kidnapper? whatever. maybe he was his sidekick or something. you didn’t know. all you knew was that the person behind you had a knife. and it was currently on your neck.

“hey! whoaa, calm down dude. you don’t need to do that. we’re friends right?” for a kidnapper, he was pathetic. really fucking pathetic.

you couldn’t see behind you, but considering quinn’s smile, it was good. “yeah! yeah.. your nodding so we’re friends. we’re friends.” he repeated. seeing the man? woman? person? you didn’t know, walk towards him, with the knife hanging off his right hand.

you never would’ve seen it coming. all you saw was blood splattering across the walls and dripping onto the floors. you wanted to scream. but you closed your eyes instead. the scene of the knife slitting quinn’s throat. how he tried dropped to the floor and coughed blood.

the scene kept repeating in your brain and you saw it when you closed your eyes. you finally open your eyes. and saw the figure walking towards you, dropping the bloody knife to the floor and bending to your eye level.

it was sort of intimate. how his bloody gloved hands removed your gag. you breathed through your mouth for a while. swallowing and licking your dry lips. “thank you.” you mumble-whisper, he was untying you now and you didn’t know whether to be scared of him, or thankful that he just killed your kidnapper.

he untied you, took your hand and walked towards the seemingly dead body of quinn. there was a body of blood around him, he bent down and took the car keys from quinn’s dead body.

you felt safe. it was scary because you felt safe. a killer was holding your hand and leading you to a car and you felt safe.

he opened the door to quinn’s car. and you realized that he hasn’t spoken a word ever since he walked into the doors of that warehouse.

you didn’t know what to say. all you wanted to do was go home. or go to billie. anywhere that’s not here.

his driving was that to billie’s. you didn’t notice, maybe you did, your was brain too messy to think logically. of why you were in a killer’s car, and why you felt safe.

you arrived at the nearest building. a gas station. just staring at the gas station. did he expect you to get off? you couldn’t. your knees were too weak. so you just stared at him. and he stared at you. just holding the wheel and looking out his side of the window, waiting for you to leave. like he’d done his part or something.

“what?” you said dryly, “i’ll go— just gimme a little.” you sigh, and lay back on the seat. you could hear him sigh too. he bucked his hips and slid half way down the seat. just like billie did.

you both breathed for a while. until you gained the courage to leave. he drove off the second you got out. you walked to the gas station. there were 2 other cars behind you and you had blood on your cheeks.

the bell ringed at your entrance. and the part-timer didn’t spare a glance at you. you felt small. you kind of wanted to be small, you wanted to be like, six or something.

“um—” you wanted to go home. all you could think of was home, home, home and billie.

“what.” she said, still not looking up from her phone. you wanted her to see you. thinking your appearance would explain your situation without you having to move your mouth.

she sighed, and looked up. closing her phone and looking. her eyes skimmed past your skirt and hoodie and stared at your face.

she helped. gave you her phone so you could call someone to pick you up and you called billie. you knew if you called your henry he’d take two hours to get here. she helped clean up your bloody face and you finally talked.

“i ran away.” you explained, and kathryn listened intently, “i— i um—” you stutter, and she rubbed your arms reassuringly, you were struggling to find a good excuse, you couldn’t. so you told her the half-truth.

billie came to pick you up in record time, it took her 25 minutes. which was fast because the ride to here would take at least 33 minutes. probably sped up.

billie was concerned when she came, she hugged you tightly when you got out the station, mumbling “thank fuck your safe.” and “i don’t know what i’d do without you.” it was the first time you’ve seen her so scared. she wasn’t the type to panic, if she did she would hide it.

you were still shook. your back was stiff and your usual laid back position in her car turned all polite with your hands on your lap and your head towards the window. whenever billie asked something you’d reply dryly, you felt bad but what did she expect?

at first she wanted to take you home. to your own house that you own. but you couldn’t stay alone after that. it was too traumatizing. so she drove you to her house.

when you entered your nose was filled with billie. her musky cologne and her.

she took you to her room, and it was a mess. you didn’t care though, collapsed onto her queen sized bed. and tried to not pay attention to the smell, it reminded you of his car. the water, the bag. everything reminded you of him.

“do you wanna change?” she asked, and you nodded. looking around her room like it was the first time you’ve seen it.

she was holding the clothes now, expecting you to get up and wear them. you didn’t. just stared up at her.

“come on,” she mumbled, taking your arm and helping you get up. you didn’t know what happened, maybe your brain finally processed the entire situation. maybe you expecting felt safe enough to just cry. you did, you felt tears welling up in your eyes when billie tried taking your shirt off, you cried in her arms and she held you.

you let out small whimpers and hiccups of her name and while trying to calm you down she put your head on her shoulder, turning your head you saw a pile of black clothes in the corner, probably thrown in a hurry. ignoring it, you dig your head in her neck and breathe her in. her scent calmed you down.

its been 3 minutes now and billie has been rubbing you back and kissing your shoulders the whole time.

all you wanted to do was curl up in her lap and not think. you just wanted to not think for once. maybe she could run her hands through your hair while doing it. you didn’t have to ask. she took you to lay your head on her lap. and your heart ached with something you’ve never felt before, something indescribable and immensely painful. you curled up, half in her lap, half in your own, in desperate need of comfort from someone other than him yourself. for a moment, her gentle touch helped you forget.

it was peaceful. it was so damn peaceful and you wanted to cry because you’ve never felt so safe before. your knees hurt. and the way your legs were positioned on her lap actually hurt. but you couldn’t get away. you couldn’t think—you couldn’t do anything. it was like you were frozen.

but you liked it. you liked not thinking and not doing anything—it felt good. like for once you didn’t have to do anything. billie ran her hands through your hair and slowly undressed you with her eyes. she rubbed your hips and kissed your arms. it felt good and you wanted more.

“can i take this off?” she asked.

“yes.” you replied, turning around slightly to see her pulling your hoodie above your arms and off. she laid it down next to her and she gazed upon you like you were the moon and stars and her savior. you felt needed. in that moment you felt like someone wanted you, beyond just as friends or girlfriends or boyfriends.

billie finally touched you. she touched your belly first. rubbing your sides and looked at you. you felt kind of shy? her eyes made you shy. you wanted to look away. but you couldn’t. gasping, once her roaming hands touched your breasts.

“fuck.” she mumbled, and you didn’t even think of what you were doing. just focused on how good it felt, to have her on top of you—touching you. it was the sort of thing you dream of and never expect it to actually happen. but it did. it was happening right now.

“billie.” you whine-gasp as her hand slips under your skirt and lifting it up. it was a pornographic scean really. literally the things you’d see in porn. this was different though—heavenly.

the skirt was laying above your hips, revealing your pink underwear, and billie looked stuck in a haze. she sighed. it wasn’t an annoyed sigh or anything, she was in awe. you could see it all over her face—you could see what she was thinking.

one hand was playing with your nipples, tweaking and pinching. the other was just rubbing up and down your thigh. she spread your legs and your head was near the edge of the bed.

billie stopped the movements on your nipples and fully focused on your underwear, pulling them to the side and biting her lip, “you’re fuckin’ dripping f’me.” she breathed out, running her thumb up your pussy and collecting your arousal, “all this for me? hm?” you were flushed, if the room wasn’t already hot she was making it hot.

“billie.” you whined, and she tilted her head, “touch—”

“touch you?” she interrupted, “you want me to touch you? huh? my slut wants me to touch her,” she chuckled bending down your your legs at the side of her hips, she kissed and nipped at your neck, “c’mon, tell me how i should touch you.” she pulled away and grinned as you bit your lip, looking away and gripping her messy sheets.

“if you can’t say anything then how do i know where to touch you? so fuckin’ whiny.” she groaned, gripped your underwear with her whole fist and dragged her middle finger through your folds, slipping it half and inch in and pulled away before you could beg for more.

“billie.” you whined, bucking your hips and looking up at her with the most pitiful expression, pouty lips and eyebrows furrowed.

“billie,” she mimicked your whine, “can’t wait ny’ longer please js’ fuck me already.” she laughed, imitating you. she was so mean. by now you were ruining her bed sheets, your thighs were stained and her dark jeans were a mess, because of you.

she was sitting with her knees bent under your thighs, your legs were laid by her hips and your pussy had a perfect angle to grind on her stomach, you didn’t, she gave you a perfect opportunity to get the pleasure you wanted but you didn’t. you had this burning desire to be good for her. you just wanted to be good for her.

her hand was still gripping you underwear and you were wondering what she was thinking about, “billie?” you called out her name, looking up at her innocently like you weren’t spread out beneath her.

“yeah?

“need you.” you breathed out, and that seemed to wake her up. she got up from the bed and walked towards her dresser, “where are you going?” she didn’t answer. only digging through her dresser, she pulled out a box and took something from it, you just sighed and laid your head back on the bed.

“c’mere.” she said, taking your hips to her hands and dragging you to lay back on her pillows, taking one and putting it under your back, you smiled, for no reason at all, “what?” she asked.

“what, what?

“why are you smiling?” she kissed your neck, it was sweet, how she cared about you.

“nothing.” you shook your head, and looked down to find something poking your entrance, “billie.” you looked back up.

“what?” she smirked.

“it won’t fit.” you gripped the sheets.

“i’ll make it fit.” she said, and dragged the silicone across your pussy, entering her middle finger to get you ready for her. you moaned, it was embarrassing almost. she didn’t even do anything yet, “my pretty girl.” she breathed out, adding another finger and pumping into you slowly—she started to kiss your neck, and mumble filth into your ear.

“ffuck— billie!” you moaned—loudly, right in her ear. you didn’t mean to. really, you didn’t. but she added another digit in you, your brain was already a mess.

she pulled away from your neck, groaning. looking frustrated. but not at you, “you did that on purpose didn’t you” she asked and you looked up at her, before you could reply she dragged your thighs closer to her and pumped her fingers faster.

“billie— can’t—”

“can’t what? hm? slut.”

“m’ gonna cum—” you whined, feeling her fingers brush your g-spot. your swore you heard her mumble something but it was too quiet for you to hear. all you could think of was billie billie billie. it felt so good. your mind was fuzzy and you were seeing stars.

rolling your eyes back you could feel her gaze on you. you didn’t even think, just gripped her wrist and whined, “want me to stop?” she smirked.

“no! no, don’t stop. please please— billie.”

“you can’t cum until i say so angel.” she said, cruel. you whimpered as she took her fingers out of you, taking the silicone cock and angling it to your pussy, you bit your lip, feeling her rub circles on clit and rubbing her cock up and down on your pussy.

“hurry up.” you said.

“bossy.” she mumbled, didn’t even say anything back, just laid your head back on the bed and felt the tip go into you, instead of gripping the sheets you grip her biceps, “oh.” you gasp, and billie slowed down, so you could get used to the feeling to of the strap.

“ready?” she asked, and you nodded, she filled you up and you could feel the ridges of the strap against your walls, it was almost too big, you were scared at first but she took your hand and looked down at you with an almost sweet expression, you knew what she was thinking about though.

“who said it wouldn’t fit?” she said, and you looked up at her with your mouth agape, feeling her rub up and down your thighs while waiting for you to adjust. at least she was waiting. she was better than him.

you imagined your boyfriend walking into her room, seeing billie fucking you with her strap, you imagined his angry face, how you’d whimper moan into her ear, while staring at him. you wanted him to see.

billie was moving her hips and you gripped her biceps, it hurt, almost. you felt bad for her neighbors. but that was the least of your worries.

“wish you could see yourself.” billie mumbled, and pulled out, before you could even protest she turned you around, taking your hips and lifting them up.

oh, you felt filthy. she was angling the strap to your entrance and you laid your head on the pillow, turning so you could see her. you hated that you couldn’t see her.

“billie—” before you could even whine you felt her thrust into you harshly, “oh— fuck.” you moan.

“yeah? what do you wanna say angel? can’t say—” she gripped your hips and slammed into you roughly, “can’t say a thing, hm baby?” mean. she was so mean.

“wanna’ see you.” you whine, digging your head into the pillow, billie started to kiss up your back, you didn’t even have to see her you could feel the smirk on her face. every time she drives into you, your juices squelch, drenching both of you in a mix of sweat and slick.

“wanna’ see you.” she mocked, looking down, seeing a white substance cover the end of her strap, “fuck—” billie hissed, your moans and whimpers were driving her insane. your walls cling to her, squeezing her tighter with every thrust. her pace became erratic, desperate, hips snapping harder and faster.

“so fuckin’ tight,” she sighed, letting go of your hips and gripped the pillow under your stomach, “nd’ perfect.” she plowing into you and you were so close. you could feel it, brewing in your lower stomach, you didn’t want to tell billie, scared if you did she’d take it all away and make you beg to come.

“billie— can’t hold it.” you whine, feeling her hand grip your hips so tight you knew it would bruise the next morning.

“just a little more sweetheart.” she said, and you wanted to listen, you wanted to be a good girl, for her. but you couldn’t. clenching around her and gripping the pillow in a vice grip, s hard you were scared it was going to rip. you didn’t want to ruin her pillow so you let go. holding the sheets softly.

billie saw your hesitation and sighed, “you can hold the pillow angel, i won’t be—” she licked her lips, “won’t be mad.” she reassured, and you put your hands back on the pillow.

“can i come?” you were so cute. whimpering and moaning under her. she almost said yes. wanted to say yes, but she wanted to show you how much better she was making you come, than your asshole boyfriend with a micro dick and massive ego.

“no.” she replied, and you whined.

“why not.” you had to hold back a moan, just to speak.

“cause’.”

you waited, bit your lip and closed your eyes and hoped she would finally allow you to come.

“billie.” your hands clutch onto the pillow desperately trying to hold it in. it hasn’t even been a minute yet.

“you can hold it a little more, can’t you angel?” you could’ve came right there. could’ve. it was a choice, she gave you a choice. you could come, or you could wait, just a little longer.

you held it in, feeling the strap hit deeper and deeper each thrust, it hit your g-spot every time. she already knew your body like that back of her hand and he didn’t even know what a clit was.

“how would henry think about this?” billie said, hinting to what your boyfriend would think if he saw you, “seeing you like this— hm?” you hated how she made you think of him while she was literally pounding into you.

“billie.” you warn—try to, at least. but the moan right after made it really hard to be intimidating, plus the fact that you couldn’t be intimidating to save your life. having billie trail after you where ever you go was enough scary-dog privilege. she did the intimidating, you were always smiling.

“yeah? have somethin’ to say?’ she mocked. you wanted to be mad at her, you wanted to turn around and teach her a lesson—you wanted. you never did a thing.

by this point the knot in your lower belly was hard to ignore, every time you moaned, or whined and whimpered you felt it throbbing. you squeezed around the silicone tightly feeling billie struggle to keep up the same fast pace. and you finally felt like you were winning, she was getting tired.

“can i come?” you whimpered, again, praying for her to say yes.

“you can come now angel.” billie bit her lip, holding your hips and you finally let go.

“i’m cumming!” you whimpered in between moans, screams filling her room as it finally hit you, your ears ringing and vision faltering as she helped you ride it out.

you whined when she pulled the strap out of you, leaving you empty and needy. “fuck, would you look at that.” there was a pleased smirk on her face as she looked at the soaked, creamy white strap.

“how’d that feel?” she asked, like she didn’t just give you the longest and best orgasm of your life, he’s never made you come before so you don’t even have anything to compare her to.

“s’ good.” you mumble drowsily, collapsing on your stomach to the pillow she placed there when she let go of her hold on your hips.

“so fucked out.” she smiled, and your head was turned to her bedside table, seeing some blood? red paint? something—stained on it, you ignore it, it was probably because of how old the thing was.

you heard her mumble something like, “fuck, i need to clean that” when seeing where your head was directioned, she was talking about the strap, right?

[phyrestartr]

If We Had Lived (Divine Favour) | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader

W/C: 3k #SFW, fluff, mentions of past abuse, heian sukuna, typical kitsune shapeshifting, jp mythology, morally grey reader, DRABBLE

tags: @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah @memedealer-exe @f0th3rr @boretheral @cicithemess @paastaboi @someone0vx

--

“Sit still.”

“I'm sitting fucking still, fox.”

Sukuna did not sit still. He shifted and huffed, not unlike an annoyed, restless bull locked up in a pen–only, he was far from being in a pen and could leave whenever he so wished. 

Yet, he stayed. He endured the torture you, his prized possession, put him through for the sake of making good impressions or whatever. But the harvest festival was hardly a big deal–the last time the king was bestowed a gift of any value was when he found himself the owner of a beautifully annoying fox that hid in his garden for a fucking eternity. A prize like that was unlikely to be given again. What else could possibly excite the man who had everything?

Your tails swished behind you dramatically as you shifted on your knees, tilting your head to look over the work you'd done with cleaning and manicuring his nails and hands. Thankfully, you left callouses in place. Not that he thought you'd be so cruel as to remove them, but you certainly had the ability to, considering how soft your own hands were. 

“How much more?” Sukuna grumbled.

Your eyes flicked up to his for a moment before returning to your task. “I've hardly finished one hand.” 

The king scowled as a child might as you continued gently pushing at his cuticles with the slim, soft stick of an orange tree, carved specially for this occasion. Sure, he was the one who demanded you to turn your self-preening onto him, but still--

Your soft, warm touch cupped under his jaw and lifted his pouty gaze to meet yours. “You asked this of me,” you reminded. “If you've changed your mind, I've other tasks to attend to.” 

Sukuna’s lip twitched in an ugly, childish snarl. “You'll stay here and finish your job.” 

“Very well.” You leaned up toward him and kissed the spot between his brows before sitting again. But Sukuna followed you, bowing his head to chase a proper kiss that you gave freely, the kind spirit you were. “Then you will have to sit still.” 

“Tch.” But he obliged to the best of his abilities. “Already gonna have to sit still for hours while those damn peasants show up and dump scraps at my feet,” he sighed, pulling up a knee and resting an elbow on it. 

“My, a kingly thing is complaining about fealty?” You wondered, sarcastic yet cripplingly honest. “While I understand your unwillingness to do anything but fight and kill, you must remind those beneath you of your status.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “Yeah? Then why isn't my kyuubi doing just that?” 

“I am no king,” you said. “I am simply the servant of one, no? Given to him as a mere offering, yet kept alive for his amusement.” 

“Huh. Guess you know your place.” Sukuna shifted, and he noticed you pick up the pace, tending to him a bit quicker lest the restless beast lose his patience and leave with the job incomplete. He wouldn’t leave, not when he hungered for your attention and touch more than anything else the pathetic world could offer him–only something from the divine plane could satiate him. 

“Mh.” You raised his hand and pressed his knuckles to your lips, then against the soft plushness of your cheek. “My place is by my king’s side. It will forever remain that way.” 

–

You left his side. You left him, your pious saviour, your sworn king, your chosen mate, in favour of–what? Freedom? Adventure? Men? Women? What was it? 

Thunder echoed in Sukuna’s chest as he paced. He’d swept through towns, destroyed any houses you might have been sequestered in, searched vacant shrines and the like, but never caught a glimpse of your ebony tails nor your decorated kimono. It drove him mad. How had he not noticed? Did the harvest festivities really engulf his mind? Sure, they were more eventful this year, what with clansmen attempting revenge in the name of their fallen brethren, but it���d only been a week of problems–nothing challenging, nothing that really, truly required his full attention. And still–

“Sukuna-sama,” Uraume called, interrupting his buzzing thoughts. 

“What?” The king snapped, turning on his heel to face Uraume standing at his chamber door. “If this is about anything other than my fucking fox, then–”

“Please, come,” they said. “I believe I’ve found an explanation.” 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. Uraume sounded calm, not that they ever sounded particularly frantic, but they seemed…happy, maybe? Some weird kind of content, perhaps. It wasn’t something Sukuna was used to seeing on their placid face, though it’d become more common ever since you entered their lives and made yourself at home. The frost sorcerer had a soft spot for you. Sukuna couldn’t blame them. 

“Pray tell what the fuck the explanation is,” Sukuna grumbled as he followed his subordinate, arms all crossed and tensed. 

“I’m certain I’ve found the whereabouts of your beloved.” Uraume slid open the door leading to the gardens in the back and walked on. “In the absence of (Name), I decided to tend to the gardens myself. In doing so, I found something quite peculiar–a hidden grove of sorts.” 

Sukuna’s fury morphed into prickling, fiery intrigue. “Bullshit. I’ve been all over this fucking garden with that fox. I know the ins and outs.”

“Then it would not surprise me if he indeed kept this a secret from you.” 

Sukuna grumbled. “He knows better.”

“I don’t believe it’d be intentional,” Uraume said, “but I believe his instincts may have influenced him to secure a quiet, safe place for the future.”

The king relaxed. Electricity sparked weakly in his fingertips first,then throughout the rest of his body when everything started falling into place–you wanted all eyes to be on him, you didn’t want anyone to look at you during the festival. Your cheeks had grown fuller, your body more plush, your desire to snuggle and snooze went through the roof. Could you have been–?

Uraume stepped toward a thicket of trees in the far corner of the garden–one that Sukuna indeed had never bothered with, considering it looked full of trees and foliage and definitely not a spot to meander on your shared morning walks–before ducking under thick branches and pushing aside flimsy bushes. 

Sukuna followed with a little more brute force, nearly ripping the pesky foliage out of the way and half-considering decimating the trees that dare whip him in the face with a cluster of leaves. But you’d probably get pissy if he did that. A pissy fox was fun, but also withheld sex, and that was a no-go for Sukuna these days, considering his concubines just weren’t doing it for him as of late. 

Sure enough, Uraume’s words rang true. The grove was small and cozy, letting in warm dappling sunlight while shielding itself from the prying eyes of the outside world. In the very corner of the garden and the evident centrepiece of the grove, stood an immense weeping willow, one with a formidable trunk and thick, gnarled branches reaching up to drape long curtains of green like cascading waterfalls around itself. Truly, it felt like a separate little world would be hidden in there, behind swaying vines and rustling leaves. 

“You gotta be shitting me,” Sukuna muttered, stepping past his right hand to push aside the foliage, revealing a black fox curled up in the hollowed trunk of that very tree. 

You didn’t stir when he approached. Something uneasy curled in Sukuna’s gut, but once he sat himself in front of the mouth to your little den, he spied the steady breathing shifting your small form, and calmed–until he saw something else wiggling against you, chirping and squeaking with pathetic, fragile voices. At first, he thought it was some sort of parasite sucking you of your lifeforce, but he realized too quickly that what he beheld were two, tiny kits, both covered in fluffy brown-black fur, both keenly aware of the presence of a curious new man sitting before them. 

Sukuna tensed when they approached him. Their chubby bellies knocked their weak, stubby legs off balance, but they persevered best they could, bumbling their way through trampled leaves and grass, and finally reaching the crossed legs of the king. Tiny paws papped at his pant legs before they hazarded climbing the formidable mountain before them And despite Sukuna’s hesitation, he hastily held their butts before they fell off of him like the stupid, dumb babies they were. They were his stupid, dumb babies, after all. Best to take care of them. 

“It appears he went somewhere quiet to nest,” Uraume hummed, sounding far too pleased as they watched the king handle fox kits. “Perhaps the festival was too stressful.”

“Tch. Could’ve shot the runts out inside,” Sukuna mumbled, half-heartedly annoyed. “Coulda said somethin’.” 

“He could have,” Uraume agreed, an air of ‘but what’s done is done’ clinging to their words. 

Sukuna sighed. “What a pain in the ass.” His eyes flicked to you again. He expected you to wake up, to snap at him like the feral thing you were. He expected you to calm after recognizing him. Maybe he expected you to curl up in his lap, too. Or did he just want that?

But you stayed sleeping. Content and safe under the shelter of your lover and the stalwart embrace of a weeping willow. Perhaps it was thanking you for your kind care with the way it soothed your soul and kept you hidden away. Sukuna wouldn't doubt it for a second. The garden acted differently ever since you claimed it as your own. 

“Shall we take them back?” Uraume asked.

The king thought for a long moment, sifting through selfish desires and rational decisions before coming to his conclusion: “Leave ‘em. He'll probably throw a damn fit if we interfere. You know how gods are–annoying and irrational as hell when they don't get their way.”

His subordinate smiled. “Very well.”

–

Winter’s first frost came, and you returned to his side. 

You woke him with a classic move–standing on his chest and staring at him expectantly until he woke up and gave you attention. You didn’t do it as much anymore, not ever since you found yourself in the midst of a thousand responsibilities and daily quests, but every once in a while, like when your lover would return from long journeys, you’d pester him endlessly for pets, scritches and kisses. 

But this time, once his heavy eyes opened, he not only saw you standing atop his chest, but a chubby pup caught in your maw, too. 

Sukuna blinked away his grogginess just as you gingerly placed the babe on his collarbone, tucking him underneath the king's chin. One of his large hands flew up to ensure the kit (his kit) didn't slip off when you let go and trotted away with purpose. 

“Fox,” Sukuna grumbled, displeased with your hasty retreat. Thankfully, you trotted back up to him a handful of moments later and placed a second ball of fluff on his chest before settling down beside him and watching. 

“Tch. Took you long enough,” the king huffed as he tried his damndest to be careful and gentle with the little ones. “Was about to drag your sorry ass in here myself.” 

I see. If you were so desperate for my company, you could have simply requested it, you countered. 

Sukuna sucked his teeth and huffed. “Like it woulda been that easy.” Nothing was that easy with you–and Sukuna liked it. If you gave in, if you tended to his every fleeting want and need, you'd be too boring, frankly. 

It is unlike you to not try. You shifted and wormed your way into his arms and half onto his chest, right beside the two snoozing kits you'd worked hard to bring up while Sukuna was off fighting, killing and maiming. But that was expected; servants and bedded beasts were to stay and make a home, weren't they? 

“Tch. I let you have your way for once and this is how you act?” Your partner admired your foxen features and traced his fingertips along your snout, between your eyes, to the top of your little skull before scritching behind your ears. You leaned into the touch, eyes falling closed with the meagerest offering of affection.

Shall I praise you and bow at your feet once I am able? You teased. 

“Bending over'll do the trick.” Sukuna smirked when you huffed. “How long you gotta stay as a shitty mutt anyway?” 

Until they wean. I'm not certain as to how long that will take.

“Not even a guess?” 

Perhaps another week or so. You turned your nose to the two small fluffs and groomed the tops of their heads. They're becoming more independent. More willing to explore. I take that as a good sign for their development. 

“Huh. Good.” A strange coil relaxed in Sukuna's chest, and he braved petting them with a single finger again. “‘N how long ‘til these two learn to play human?” 

Not for some time, but I will help them until they master it themselves. You nipped at Sukuna's hand as a third rose to come pester you. You should not pray for them to be human too soon. They will terrorize you. I have seen such chaos before. 

Sukuna grinned. “Ho? You forget who their father is?” Your sigh echoed in his mind, and his smile split wider. “I can handle anything.”

–

Kazuya and Genji took too much after you and your mischievous heritage. 

Too often Uraume would find them in baskets of produce, happily munching away like they were supposed to be in there. Other times, they'd be caught stealing shiny jewelry or knick knacks from the king's concubines and servants. They'd sometimes even take Sukuna's clothes and run amok with them, using them as toys or completely shredding them. 

You, he who had birthed and raised them, were swift when it came to correcting them. You were, of course, the prime example of a kitsune, and therefore found their treasure stashes, foretold of their destructive crimes, and knew when they'd be off to steal food. You were like them, once, after all. 

And maybe that's why you had a peculiar pep to your step. Once the boys found their devious personalities, you bothered lifting your tails from the floor. No longer did you let them drag and droop like limp noodles hanging from chopsticks. You seemed…prouder. Livelier. Perhaps being amongst your own gave you a sense of belonging, of hope. 

Belonging, huh? Tch, what a load of shit. Sukuna mused as he rested his cheek against his fist, lounging while he watched you wrangle the twins from his spot under a shady tree. Spring was here, and that meant the runts were now terrorizing the great outdoors. 

More accurately, they were following you around like two tiny shadows, too eager to waddle after you as you moved along the paths, sowing seeds and pruning withered leaves as you went. The tots picked up whatever your tending cast to the ground, and they held each thistle, leaf and twig close in tiny, pudgy hands like they were rabbit's feet. Strange little things.

He lost sight of you and the bumbling babies eventually, but your light chatter flitted through the brush and kept him company for a time. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot accompanied your walk as you came back around, closer and closer and–through the garden itself? Wait–

“RAH!” A little voice cried before a littler body launched onto Sukuna. 

“Ha?” The king quirked a brow and looked at the little thing biting and kicking at his arm like a spastic cat. “What the hell is this?” 

“He's trying to play with you,” you said as you wandered back into view, voice airy and light. “They wrestle.” 

Sukuna held his arm up to get a better look at the runt nibbling on him. “This is supposed to be playing? Damn thing's acting feral.” 

“Because he's young.” You settled down beside your lover, adjusting your robes and such to ensure they cascaded and pooled around you attractively. “One day, he'll ask you to teach him how to fight. How to use cursed techniques.” 

Sukuna's expression almost softened. “Huh. That so?” 

“Mh.” You smoothed Kazuya's hair back as he settled in your lap, choosing peace over violence, unlike Genji. “They are yours. I've no doubt they'll have the same hunger for strife and knowledge.” 

They are yours. The words nearly made Sukuna sick; they weren't his per sè, they were a result of his relentless attempts to tie you down and make you stay with him no matter the cost. They only shared half of his genetics, they didn't rule his every thought nor own half of his heart. That all belonged to you.

But then why did he feel…trepidatious? The way he once felt too long ago when he knew nothing of the world and met too many cruel hands from the moment he opened his eyes. Maybe because these little ones were that age, able to run around and cause problems where they ought to not. Maybe because messing with the wrong person might not end with them slaughtering he who had the audacity to harm them, but with their young lives being lost. 

Ah. That must have been it–the petulance of his own kind pissed Sukuna off to no end. The thought of extensions of himself being looked down on brought about creeping waves of disgust and distaste. Humans were the ones who thought themselves godly enough to kill Sukuna. Humans were the ones who thought themselves mighty enough to enslave and breed a divine beast. The little ones were destined to share humanity's ire, and it pissed him off. It really pissed him off.

“Yeah,” Sukuna decided, shaking his arm to test Genji's ability to cling onto him. “I'll show ‘em a thing or two. Can't have humans beating the shit outta some godlings just for fun.”

“Well, if one were to try, I'd kill them myself,” you cooed like it was the most romantic thing in the world. “Level their village, light the sky ablaze.” 

“Now you're speakin’ my language,” Sukuna said, grinning. 

[chrissv4mp]

- I COULD CHANGE YOUR LIFE —

chap 3 , come visit me in jail — | — ...back — | — next...

summary: the morning after you and chris bond, he just seems to fall deeper in love with you and your amazing personality. he falls so deep that when he sees a negative comment on your recent instagram post, he feels he has no choice but to do something about it.

pairing: stalker!chris × singer!reader

warnings + topics: cursing, stalking, weapons, murder, blood, obsessive behavior, breaking & entering, crying, chris is crazy, choking, drowning, etc. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS.

author's note: here's where it starts to get intense.....👀

author's note 2: series title mention in this one has me floating🗣🗣

word count: 6.6k

"bet i could change your life."

y/nwhosthat

liked by nicolassturniolo, oliviarodrigo and others

y/nwhosthat you're never gonna believe it

view all 678 comments

mysteriousman no tag in the first photo i see....

-> y/nwhosthat didn't even know there were tags on this app??

-> y/nsonlylove says the girl who uses them in every single one of her posts🙁 u got them searching for answers now

hearts4chrissy i know my man's hands when i see them chris honey come home💔

latinosfory/n they are reaching omg😭

matthew.sturniolo all these rumors and im still focused on the frank ocean lyrics🤷‍♂️

-> y/nwhosthat everyone should be focused on his inspiring lyrics

-> wishingherwell MATT???

theyenvy.michael ugly ass girl tf get off this app👎

chris feels a sudden anger wash over him as he reads the most recent comment on y/n's post, and his hand wraps even tighter around his phone before he clicks on the guy's profile.

he's 20, and he's also in boston. chris scrolls down, cringing at his weird objectifying comment in his bio, "ho's are only useful in the kitchen, i stand by my statement🤷‍♂️"

fucking douchebag, chris thinks as he scrolls down on his page. he clicks on michael's recent post and is met with a mirror picture of the boy in his messy bedroom. there's posters of half-naked girls and polaroids of him and his friends on the white walls behind him.

he scrolls left, and there's a video. chris doesn't even need to watch it because when he sees the first frame, he already knows he might lose it. the first frame shows off michaels blurry foot only inches away from a small puppy on the side of the road. the brunette feels sick already. how many red flags did this guy have?

another scroll and chris finds himself looking at a blurred picture of michael and his friend hugging. only one normal photo in this entire dump. chris doesn't even want to scroll down further on his page.

as he turns off his phone and throws it to the side, his free hand clenches into a fist. chris has never felt this angry before, and just the thought of michaels comment makes him even angrier.

before getting up, he grabs his phone. he runs up the stairs, heading straight for nicks room as he barges in. he stands at the doorway and watches as his brother jumps in shock.

his hair is still messy, not having time to do it before chris came in, "chris, what the fuck!"

"oh my god, you almost gave me a heart attack. fuck you," the older boy grumbles before walking over to his bed and sitting at the edge, "what'd you need?"

nick's tone is softer now, and he pats the side of his bed in a motion for chris to come over and sit. chris does just that, taking a few deep breaths before he throws himself back against his brothers bed.

"i don't know. i wanted to ask if you've ever felt so angry that you just wanna destroy everything around you." chris sighs, propping himself up on his elbows to look at the dark-haired boy beside him.

he just laughs softly, nodding, "yeah, almost always. why, what's going on?" there's a subtle look of concern on his face, and chris frowns.

chris shrugs, eyes trailing off to look at the wall across from him, "i was... reading comments, and i saw one that infuriated me like nothing did before. and, nick, i know you've told me not to let 'em get to me, but..." he takes his lower lip between his teeth, "this time it was on a loved-ones post, and i can't control it anymore."

nick frowns, his concern rising as his eyes meet his brothers, "okay. just talk to me, i don't want you doing anything... bad this time. remember what matt and i have told you to do when you feel that way. take deep breaths, yeah?"

chris' eyes widen at his brother's first words, his chest feeling tighter as he suddenly finds it harder to breathe. his mind wanders back to that night.

"hey!" a man's voice is heard from behind chris and his brothers, and the younger boy is the first to turn. he recognizes that voice, and it only ticks him off further.

chris waves his hand, a small gesture that even makes him cringe. why was he wasting his energy on this dick? the guy doesn't wave back, only scoffing as he stomps in chris' direction.

"what's up?" there's a faux look of happiness on the brunettes face as he steps forward, now right in front of the much taller guy, "c'mon, talk that shit you were spitting all over madi's posts, you weren't scared when you posted it."

the brown-eyed man laughs, tilting his head as he squints his eyes at chris, "i'm not scared now, either. the fuck? i said she was a dumb bitch who can't even—"

chris doesn't even let him finish, his head filling with so many thoughts he couldn't even comprehend. his entire body felt hot, like he was on fire. the one thought that was screaming out to him finally pushed it's way in front, kill him.

he lands the first hit on the guys cheek, and it's not soft. he doesn't stop either, his free hand coming up to punch the man in the stomach. his motions are quick, and he doesn't give the man time to think before punching him right in the nose.

the blond stumbles back, coughing as his nose leaks red down to his lip. his head turns back up, looking right as chris before he stomps up to him and swings right at his face.

nick gasps as he watches chris fall to the ground, his lip and nose already bleeding red. matt comes up to the guy, standing between his brother and the infuriated man in front of him, "hey, hey, let's calm down, yeah? this was a misunderstanding."

"misunderstanding? no, i don't think it is. i know what i said, and i'm not gonna take it back. who even are you, you look like a fuckin' mamas boy."

matt inhales sharply, looking back up at the man before he begins to speak again, "listen, we don't want this to get any more violent than it's already become. let's just talk about it?"

the taller man laughs, wiping his bloodied nose with the back of his hand as he looks down at matt, "nah, you're little boyfriend over there can speak for himself. wait, he can't, can he? pussy ass bitch."

chris groans as he stands to his feet, nick hurrying to grab him before he does anything worse and possibly get sent to the hospital.

matt only sighs, his skin starting to crawl slightly at the man's words, "we're not doing this, sir. my brother didn't mean anything, and we're sorry, okay? let's just leave it at that."

he feels himself get pushed back, and only then does he look up at the brown-eyed boy.

"matt, let's go." nick calls from behind him, eyes moving to the beaten-up guy in front of his two brothers, "we're leaving, it's over now!" he yells to the guy, dragging chris by his shoulders in the opposite direction.

chris struggles against his older brothers grip, and when he digs his nails into nicks skin, he finally lets go. matt is pushed out of the way as chris lunges toward the man.

his hands go for his neck, squeezing tightly as they both stumble to the ground. chris' fall is shielded by the body under him, but the older man's fall isn't. chris doesn't hear the crack as they fall to the floor, his head pounding so loudly he can barely even hear his brothers screaming at him to stop.

but he doesn't, tears brimming in his eyes as he remembers the look on his best friends face as she showed him. chris never wanted madi to feel that way ever again, and he was gonna make sure she never did.

"chris, get the fuck off of him!" matt almost screams, his voice low as to not alert anybody around the area.

nick stands there in shock, the empty parking lot now feeling much bigger than it was. he felt like if he ran he would never be able to escape.

chris sobs as matt drags his weak body off the unconscious guy, holding his brother in his arms as they fall to the floor softly. matts grip is tight on his younger brothers waist as he holds him close, his eyes wide in fear as he watches blood pool around the blonds head.

"fuck. i'm sorry, matt," chris doesn't know what else to say, he doesn't even know why he's apologizing to his brother, "'m sorry, i—i didn't mean to.."

matt drowns out the sound of nick gagging behind him as he tries to reassure the brunette in his arms, shushing his softly as he looks around for any passerby who maybe saw what happened.

nick is hunched over, his back facing both of his brothers as he throws up. this wasn't the type of night he was expecting, and it sure as hell was the one he's experienced, "oh my god, chris."

"did you fucking kill him..?" nick gags again at the thought, not even being able to turn around to look at the body.

"chris." the brunette jumps at the sudden voice, his eyes snapping towards his brother as he finally comes back to reality, "were you listening? i said that—"

"yeah, yeah. i was... listening." chris smiles sweetly before jumping off the bed and going to leave, "thanks, nick. seriously."

the taller boy smiles, and chris gives him an awkward wave before closing the door and making his way down the stairs.

his fingers run across the handrail as he descends down the stairs, the smooth texture soothing him in the slightest but then being taken away as he turns the corner to the kitchen.

eating would get his mind off things. plus, he hasn't eaten since lunch yesterday, going straight to bed after he got home from y/ns house. he felt like he had the world in his hands and he didn't want anybody to ruin that, so he just slept.

sleeping always made him feel better, more energized, and somehow even happier. but when he woke up and had to face the real world, he just felt weaker, smaller. he felt like all eyes were on him and everybody around him was judging him.

as chris reaches for a cabinet, his phone buzzes in his back pocket. great, just what he needed. grabbing it, he unlocks it with his face and then swipes down for his notifications. his face lights up, and his lips curve into a smile as he sees y/ns username at the top.

he quickly taps on the text, holding the device with both hands as he leans against the corner of the counter, now too focused on his phone to even remember what he came in here to do.

chris' demeanor changes quickly at the new information that michael is y/ns ex-boyfriend. he hasn't let her go, and that was gonna be a huge obstacle in his plan.

he'd need to get rid of him, and he'd need to do it quickly. they always sooner than later, right? it's better to get the job done first than to set it aside and maybe even forget about the task.

chris also wasn't interested in seeing michaels comments on y/ns posts any longer. sure, this was the first time he's seen them, but the boy definitely wasn't gonna stop and chris never wanted to see that fucking profile picture again.

so, that's how he found himself running down the second flight of stairs and down the hallway to his room. he knew what he needed, he thought about this entire thing before he'd even met michael. he was planning on using this for jamie, but then he wouldn't be able to hear your beautiful voice for way longer.

michael was the perfect victim as well. he wasn't well known, and he sure as hell wasn't a likable person, so who would miss him or even notice his sudden disappearance? fuck, even chris wouldn't and he was gonna be the one doing the job.

the door to his room swung open, and chris immediately headed for his walk-in closet, shutting the door as to make sure no one would see him. he couldn't have his brothers knowing, they'd probably put him in a mental institution this time.

chris turned around, back facing the door as he moved his shirts, spreading them apart to reveal the small shelf behind the clothing articles. there was another black box, but this time it was wooden and a little bigger than the one he kept for y/n.

he wasn't careful when opening the box, throwing the lid behind him and hearing the small thud as it landed on the carpet. he reached into the box, pulling out a safety pin to unlock the doors. the last thing he pulled out was a lengthy knife, the handle fitting perfectly in his grip.

chris didn't know anything about actual murderers, but he definitely got a good knife to do the job. maybe he wouldn't even have to use it, he didn't really want to, either. he wanted his hands around that boys neck while he begged for chris to take mercy on him.

he wanted to see tears brimming in his eyes as the life was being squeezed out of him, slowly. chris knew that he wanted michael to have a slow death, a painful one, and suffocating was definitely up on his list.

before rearranging his closet again, chris placed the lid back on and grabbed his items. he took his backpack as well, storing the 2 small items in there along with some binders to cover them up. he was sure someone would recognize him out here, and he wasn't gonna risk anything.

he slipped on a dark grey hoodie along with a black jacket, finishing off the outfit with some black jeans and a pair of black air forces. it was a sketchy outfit, but who cared? chris was breaking into someone's house. he didn't need to be stylish right now.

all that was on his mind was michael and the many options of how he could do this. chris paced back and forth in the empty space of his room, rubbing his temples in an effort to soothe the growing headache that he was facing. his mind was screaming with every possible thought imaginable, some of them telling him to back out and others telling him to man up and stop being a pussy.

chris would hold off a little longer, though. it was still bright out and he wasn't gonna do this in the daylight, he wasn't that uneducated in things like this. he'd watched some serial killer documentaries, so he'd say he knew... stuff.

it was 2:55 when he stopped thinking about the entire thing, his head going elsewhere as hunger overcame him. now he remembered what he was in the kitchen for earlier, a snack.

as chris walks up the stairs, he sees matt leaning against the kitchen counter on his phone. there's a smirk on his face as he chuckles softly at whatever he was watching.

the microwave is on, the buzz being the only sound other than matts quiet breathing and chris' footsteps entering the kitchen. he's still dressed in his black outfit, and matt puts his phone to the side just to look his brother up and down.

"are you on your way to a funeral or..?" matt questioned with a smile on his face, cocking an eyebrow at chris as he finally stepped foot into the kitchen. the first thing he did was grab a pepsi, setting it on the dining table before leaning down to open the freezer.

"no, just decided to wear whatever i first saw. i'm going out with sam tonight, so i probably won't be back until late." chris hums as he pulls out a mini pizza before walking over to where matt is standing.

matt moves over slightly, looking up to check the timer on the microwave only to see it's been just a few seconds. he groans as his head turns back to chris, watching as he takes the frozen pizza out of the box and sets it on a metal pan.

he preheats the oven and then lets the pizza sit on the stove as he goes over to sit at the table. matt joins him soon after, deciding to chat with his brother to pass the time.

"where are you goin'?" the older brunette asks, picking at the hang nails that stood out on his fingers. he winced as he pulled one off, shaking his hand by his side in an effort to stop the pain.

chris looks over at his brother, emotion unreadable as he stares at his brother with nothing behind his eyes, "oh. we're gonna.. meet up with this guy. he says he's got somethin' to show us."

matt nods, confusion washing over him as he sees chris' dilated pupils. it couldn't be the lighting, they just replaced the bulbs and it wasn't even dark yet. what was he thinking about?

"cool...? just be safe, i don't want anything bad happening to you." matt huffs, patting his brothers shoulder before getting up to check on his food.

chris turns in his seat, watching as matt stops the microwave and takes out his bowl of ramen, "i'm always safe, don't worry about me, matt. we're the same age, and you treat me like a baby."

matt raises both of his eyebrows in an exasperated manner, grabbing a fork out of a cabinet as he blows on the steaming bowl, "yeah, i wonder why."

chris laughs, "fuck off, matt." his brother chuckles as he walks past chris and back up the stairs to his room, leaving chris alone with his thoughts. again.

the brunette made a quiet beat on the table, tapping it and nodding his head as he recreated the beat to one of his favorite songs. once the oven beeped, chris got up and placed the metal tray into the oven and set a timer.

chris went to sit back down, stopping when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket again. this time, it wasn't a text from y/n, but a dm from her ex. michael.

theyenvy.michael — the fuck is you trying to steal my girl for?

you — im not? y/n is just my friend, kid. also aren't u her ex? ong ur trying too hard

theyenvy.michael — nah, she's my bitch fr. stay tf away from her, aight?

you — right. bcuz she's totally okay with u calling her a bitch. get tf off my dick....

you — she fr dodged a bullet when breaking up w you. ur profile is not it.

theyenvy.michael — ur not bouta dodge my bullet👎 watch out bro

chris scoffed, cracking open the lid of his pepsi as he took a sip. who did this kid think he was? chris wasn't scared of him. if anything, michael should be afraid. he should be terrified of what's about to happen tonight.

but he's not gonna be because he's not gonna know. chris loved taking people by surprise, jumping out at the perfect moment, and having a good laugh about it. only tonight, chris would be the only one laughing. chris would be the only one still alive to laugh.

the brunette glanced at the time again, 3:20. he didn't want to wait but he had to, nobody could see him. if anybody did, he would be the main suspect in the murder. chris couldn't even have a single thing that would point at him. chris couldn't even have y/—

"chris!" nick's voice breaks chris out of his trance, his head snapping towards the staircase that nick basically flies down, "oh my gosh, you're never gonna believe me!"

the brunettes eyes widen in terror, his mind racing with endless ideas as he looks to his brother for answers, the same expression on his face, "what? nick, what happened?!"

nick squealed, gripping onto chris' shoulders as he shook him violently, "there's a track on y/ns new album featuring melanie!"

chris' face drops, and he almost shoves his brother to the floor as he stands to his feet, "you are by far the worst person to announce news ever." he scowls, turning around to check on his mini pizza.

"come on, it's huge news! i seriously didn't know that y/n and melanie knew each other and oh my gosh! the song title just makes me even more excited—" nick trails off as he stares at chris, who is taking the metal tray out of the oven and placing it on the stove.

"and you're not listening." nick frowns, and chris parts his lips to speak.

"oh, no, i am. i just don't find this topic interesting, seeing as you're the only person in this house who cares about melanie martinez." chris shrugs, and nick raises an eyebrow at the boy as he leans against the dining table.

"what's up your your ass? you were just all happy-go-lucky, and now you're acting like a dick. did someone say something or...?" nick asks, head tilting in confusion as he watches chris transfer his pizza to a paper plate.

the younger brunette sighs, letting his shoulders relax as he shuts his eyes softly, "sorry. i'm just stressed, there's a bunch of things on my mind right now."

"like what?" nick pushes quietly, taking chris' previous seat the table.

chris stays silent, eyes opening again as he holds his breath. once his face begins to turn red, he speaks, "uh, work. social media, stuff like that."

nick sighs, nodding, "we can always take a break, you know?"

a break, seriously? chris thinks to himself. how could chris ever catch a break and let himself relax while all this was happening around him? he had to keep y/n safe, he had to get rid of anything and anyone who bothered her, and he had to film videos with his brothers. he just couldn't find time to let himself rest.

"i can't." he finally mutters, staring down at the marble counter as his fingers tap against it. he hears nick get up behind him.

then, he feels a hand on his shoulder, "you can, chris. just take things slow, focus on yourself for a little while. i promise you'll feel better." his voice is soft, calming, reassuring.

but chris doesn't know if he can trust that little change of tone. it wasn't that easy to just let everything go, not for him at least.

he couldn't even let a simple comment go past him. chris just always needed to do something about it and he hated it. he hated that he was like this. why was he like this?

chris didn't even know he crying until nick started to pat his back, muttering, "it's okay, i got you. let it out."

what was happening to him?

christophersturniolo

liked by ysbtril, matthew.sturniolo and others

christophersturniolo impulse

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matthew.sturniolo kids off his meds

-> christophersturniolo kid is alive

y/nwhosthat u said u were going to sleep, ur really breaking my heart christopher💔

*liked by creator*

-> trevssturn these secret relationship rumors are starting to become a lil believable...

-> matthewslovee babe the rumors are based off one post😭 let's settle down

nicolassturniolo oh brother what's he on about now

-> christophersturniolo shhh im plotting👀

xx4mygf notice how the only comment he hasn't replied to is y/ns

theyenvy.michael im ong coming for you lil boy

-> christophersturniolo stop meat riding bru

8:45, chris stood on the sidewalk across from michaels house. he turned his head down, looking at the picture he had screenshotted of a car, michaels car in his driveway.

he found it when scrolling deeper, almost throwing up at all the horrific things he found on the page. he was surprised nobody had reported him yet, he was sick. michael had also been stupid enough to take a picture of himself right in front of the 4 numbers on his house.

as for the street, well chris didn't need to search much for that either. again, michael led him right to it, posting a video of himself walking down the sidewalk with his friends as they laughed about something stupid.

chris was waiting here for a few minutes, pacing up and down the sidewalk so as not to seem suspicious and get caught by michaels neighbors. he didn't want to get asked any questions today, especially not when he was right in front of his first victims house.

as he started to get impatient, chris looked around before running across the street and quickly jumping the fence. he landed on his feet perfectly and quietly snuck to the back door of the house, looking around the house through the sliding glass door.

sliding his backpack off his shoulders, he kneeled in front of the lock, grabbing the safety pin before sticking it into the key-hole and twisting it around. he took his bottom lip between his teeth in concentration as he continued to try and pick at the lock, smiling when he heard the click.

as he stood up, throwing the safety pin somewhere behind him in the grass and throwing his backpack on his shoulders again, he slid the door open carefully. he listened to the soft sounds of the neighborhood, trying to pick up any sound of talking or footsteps coming closer.

when he didn't, he threw the door open and stepped in before shutting the door again. his fingertips slid across the dusty frame of the door carelessly before he shut it again and traveled deeper into the house.

his eyes landed on the freezer first before roaming all around the kitchen. it was trashed, like nobody had lived here in ages and rats had taken over, but there were none, only open chip bags and splatters of unknown sauce. crumbs adorned the floor, crunching under chris' feet as he took steps toward the fridge.

what's the harm in getting a little snack? he was hungry due to walking here all the way from his house, and michael wouldn't mind. he would he gone, so who would care?

chris grabbed an orange popsicle from the freezer before closing it and making his way to the living room. he took a seat at the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table as he licked at the frozen treat.

when the brunette had finished it, he threw the damp stick into the garbage by the entertainment center before walking to the window at the front of the house. he kneeled in front of his, elbows resting on the windowsill as he waited for michael.

as he waited, his backpack suddenly felt heavier on his shoulders, the feeling of guilt and regret starting to wear on him. was he seriously gonna do this? it wasn't like he didn't want to. it was just that... he didn't even know, honestly.

he knew he was doing it for him and y/ns relationship, so they could live happily with no distractions or obstacles. but, then again, they would still have to face arguments, the publics opinion, and the many rumors that would start to spread. that's why, when chris finally gets you, you'll both flee the city and live somewhere together. alone where nobody could find you guys.

sure, chris would have to explain why, but it didn't matter. if you really loved him, you wouldn't care the things he's done to get there. or maybe you will. maybe you'll hate him and turn him into the cops. if that's the case, then chris might just have to get rid of—

"hey!" chris jumped at the muffled sound of a mans voice, and he turned his head to look in the direction of it, "come on, oscar."

it was michael, tugging roughly on the leash of his dog so as to get him to follow michael. the dog did follow him, his head hung low as his paws patted the concrete below them with quiet thuds.

chris just wanted to rush him right now, but he couldn't. he had to wait until he was inside, catch him off guard in the safety of his own home where he thought everything was normal. he would take care of the dog later in a... better way than what he'd do with his owner.

he jumped back as he heard the brown-eyed boys' footsteps, leaving the windowsill as he made his way further into the house. he hid in a closet down the hallway, shutting the door with a quiet thud as he stayed as still as he possibly could.

the door opened, and chris heard the click of the leash being undone, followed by the footsteps of both michael and oscar. chris watched through the blinds of the closet as michael put his dog into the metal kennel before shrugging his own backpack off and placing it on top of the kennel.

he walked down the hallway, and chris swore he felt michaels eyes staring right into his. he shuddered at the feeling, tensing up when michael neared and round the corner to his room.

chris heard a door open, and then rummaging. the brunette quickly jumped out of the closet and turned the corner, walking into michaels room and seeing his back turned as he faced his own closet. chris' eyes flickered between his bathroom and michael before he stepped closer.

when michael began to turn, chris threw his backpack off and grabbed the black-haired boy by the hood of his jacket, tugging him backward and hearing him gag.

"what the f—" chris quickly shut him up by throwing him against his wall harshly, hearing michael gasp as the wind was knocked out of him.

his eyes widened as chris stomped toward him, his hands going straight for the neck as he began to squeeze. the brunette felt another cold pair of hands on his as he stared michael in the eyes, his brown ones wide and filled with terror as he recognized chris.

chris' just stared, a smile creeping onto his face as he pressed michael harder against the wall. the shorter boy strained against him, choked noises falling from his lips with the little air he had.

"help—" a strangled cry left him, eyes brimming with tears as his vision became blurry. chris noticed, and he almost felt guilty. almost, "plea—sorry! i.."

this wasn't enough for chris. sure, michael would die in his hands, slowly and painfully, but chris wanted him to really feel it. when michaels eyes started to flutter shut, chris let go of him, letting the boy stumble to the ground.

the brown-eyed boy gasped for air, grasping his neck softly and rubbing the area where chris had squeezed. there was anger slowly creeping into him, the fear now long gone as his eyes darted around the messy room.

michael began to crawl, and chris let him. the brunette didn't let the boy go far, grabbing him by the hair and dragging him toward the hallway. michael kicked his feet, grunting but not even trying to yell. he was still confident he could win the fight, and chris gave him credit for that.

"let me go you fuckin' freak!" he struggled, and chris just ignored him as he continued to drag him down the hallway and to the bathroom, "bark, you useless piece of shit!" michael yelled at his dog, and oscar only looked at him sadly.

chris kicked the boy in the back, making him cry out before throwing him further into the small bathroom. the brunette shut the door, locking it before turning around to grab michael again.

he grabbed him by his hair again before throwing him against the wall just for the fun of it, smiling as he saw the hurt look on the shorter boys face. chris stepped further into the bathroom, leaning over the tub as he went to turn the water on. he reached his hand in, plugging the drain and watching as the water began to fill up.

michaels eyes widened in terror, his hopes going down as he watched chris turn back to him. more tears fell from his eyes as his body began to tremble. he felt pain everywhere, and he couldn't even move an inch without feeling a sharp sting. chris squatted in front of the boy, tilting his head as his hoodie fell off his head.

"where did that tough boy on the internet go, huh? or are you seriously just a poser." chris scoffed, taunting the boy with a sadistic smile on his face. when michael didn't answer, chris began to yell, "answer me!"

michael winced, sniffling as he listened to the water in the tub, "i don't have to answer to you, asshole. you're not gonna fuckin' do anything. you're scared."

chris raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly as he moved closer. he watched as michael flinched, and only then did a pang of guilt hit him. his smile dropped, and he just stared michael in the eyes. his gaze was dark, full of anger, guilt, sadness, and so many more emotions he couldn't even comprehend.

"i'm not scared, michael. you're shaking, look at you. you should be absolutely terrified of what's to come. nobody will notice you're gone because you're a fucking maniac that nobody loves. not even y/n still loves you, kid, you're trying too hard." chris masks his feelings with a smile, patting michaels cheek in a teasing manner before standing up to check on the tub again.

he turns the handle, stopping the water from flowing out before his turns back to the brown-eyed boy on the floor, "never said i was a nice guy, did i?" chris laughs at the scared expression on his face, walking over to him and watching as he tries to crawl away.

chris only grabs him by the hair again, dragging him harshly toward the tub as he hears michael scream and cry for mercy, begging chris to let him go. chris ignores him, resting his free hand on the edge of the tub as he drags michael toward him.

his knees are on the tiled floors, and chris gives him a soft wave before dunking his head into the cold water and watching as bubbles erupt from the boys nose and up to the surface. chris only watches with a blank expression, his stomach twisting as he feels the shorter boys hands trying to push him away but slipping and falling to his sides.

chris holds his ground, his grip on michaels hair tight as he pushes him deeper. his entire upper half is almost over the edge now, and chris doesn't realize until he feels water splash onto his cheek. his eyes move to michaels arms, flailing in the water and making a mess of the bathroom. his head turns to look at the bathroom door, taking deep breaths as he feels tears prick in his eyes.

he chokes on his spit, eyes closing as he tries to drown out the noises of splashing water and endless gurgling. chris' knuckles turn white as he grips tighter on both the tub and michaels black hair, finally starting to sniffle as tears begin to run down his face. he didn't know what he was doing, but there was no going back now. chris couldn't let michael go because if he did, the boy would only go to the cops and snitch on him. chris was past the point of no return, so he just let the whole thing happen.

the brunette begins to sob as the sounds of splashing die down, his grip on michaels hair finally loosening as he lets his entire body fall into the tub full of water. chris holds his face in his hands as he stays in a squat, his left hand soaking half of his face.

"shit, shit, shit. god, you're such an idiot, chris!" he scolds himself quietly, wiping his tears before he gets to his feet and takes even deeper breaths.

he's still not put together fully, but he pushes through it, looking back to michaels lifeless body before he leans over and grabs his hand. his fingers are still adorned with rings, and chris just takes the first one he sees and stuffs it into the back pocket of his jeans. chris quickly unlocks the door before walking back to the bedroom, taking careful steps as he looks around for his backpack.

when he spots it, he throws it over his shoulder, slipping into the straps hurriedly before leaving the room and walking down the hallway towards the kitchen. he takes the leash off the top of oscars kennel before he unlocks the metal crate, letting the dog out.

"hey, buddy," chris coos, petting his head softly as he sniffles once again, "i'm gonna find a better home for you, i promise. i'm so sorry."

oscar only whines, and chris just latches the leash onto his collar before guiding him through the living room. he takes another long look around, a millions feelings eating him up inside all at once. he doesn't feel regret... he doesn't even know what he feels.

chris freezes when he finally hears it. sirens. sirens coming closer and closer to the house that he stood in, "fuck. fuck, fuck, what—"

the brunette looks around, turning back quickly before sprinting through the kitchen and darting towards the backdoor. chris throws the door open, not even caring about the loud banging sound as he runs out of the house, the leash tightly wrapped around his hand.

"come on, boy!" chris yells as quietly as he can, and oscar continues to gallop behind him. he continues to make his way through the backyard, trying not to focus on the sirens that grow increasingly louder. how hasn't he realized the silent alarm? he was too caught up in his plan to see the red alarm above the backdoor.

chris opens the metal gate, running down the back alleyway and deeper into the neighborhood, not stopping even when he crosses the road. he loosens his grip on the leash as he makes it far enough from the house, hunching over as he tries to catch his breath.

he turns to check on oscar, giving him a few gentle pets before he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans. his hands find the small ring, and he pulls it out with a smile.

this ring would be on your finger someday, and chris wouldn't feel even a small amount of guilt for what he had done. he hoped you wouldn't resent him for it, either. that would just mess the entire thing up, and he didn't want to hurt you.

but for now, he'd just have to live with the memory.

"you could be my wife."

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@chrissfawn

[lastoneout]

As much as my ADHD has made my life absolute hell at times and I truly wish I had been diagnosed sooner...as I unpack my past in therapy I've realized my undiagnosed ADHD actually did do me one HUGE favor.

Bcs without getting too into it my response to the specific way I was raised and the trauma that came with it was to make myself smaller. A lot of kids in my situation would have just lashed out, but I just started cutting bigger and bigger bits of myself off because I thought if I wanted attention or affection then I needed to be perfect and normal and not even the smallest burden or inconvenience to the people around me, and I fell so hard into that mentality that part of healing has legit been trying to like get back in contact with who I was before all that made me into someone I wasn't.

Which is hard, but not impossible, because during all that trauma no matter how hard I tried to shove everything "ugly" and "imperfect" about myself into a tiny little box where no one would ever see it until I was the perfect daughter, I couldn't quite manage to get all of me in there, because my ADHD wouldn't let me.

And as I was growing up I saw this as a bad thing, obviously. Like I didn't know it was ADHD at the time ofc but I knew that my impulsiveness and loud ass laugh and distractability and habit of talking too much to fast and struggle to shut the fuck up about whatever weird thing I was into were parts of me I could never seem to fully change. No matter how hard I tried to be quiet and have normal interests and stop doing impulsive shit like talking really loud or going off about an interest I know no one around me shared, I couldn't actually do it.

So now, looking back with a healthier frame of mind, with a fiancé who became interested in me bcs we shared one of my "weird" interests, who smiles and laughs and tells me he loves me when I get loud and passionate about things I care about, who loves my loud ass laugh so much that once after I was sick and didn't laugh for like a week the first time I did went "oh good, I missed that sound", I can see at least a bit of good in the ways my ADHD stopped me from being able to destroy myself completely for the sake of others.

More often than not my ADHD was a huge rock tying me down, but it turns out deep inside that rock was a geode protecting the things about myself that I used to hate but now love more than anything, and now that the rock is smaller and easier to carry I can be thankful for that.

[holybibly]

I will be sharing my thoughts with you during a week filled with hard hours. 

We always talk about how jealous and possessive Hongjoong is, but darlings, I am going to share with you three of the most toxic and jealous bombshells, in my opinion. 

San is an absolute gentleman, a whole bloody "forest,"  not your ordinary green flag. But behind this perfect facade, there is a monster that he hides very well. San is clingy and possessive to the point of impossibility; you call Wooyoung clingy. Hold my champagne; San is a million times worse than him. At first, it's easy; you'd never notice how smoothly and exquisitely he begins to brainwash you. 

"Let's stay at home, Chagi, just the two of us."

"I can take care of you, I don't think you need to go to work."

"I love the time we spend together, I never want to let you go."

"I'm so in love with you."

Step by step, he draws you into a trap and completely monopolizes your attention. It's just you and him. The sex has always been so amazing. In the beginning, San would be so careful and gentle, so attentive. The more your relationship develops, the more violent he becomes. He treats you possessively and roughly, literally fucking you into oblivion. 

"You belong only to me."

"I own that fucking pussy."

"No one will ever be able to fuck you like me."

But worst of all, you believe him. You believe every word he says. You quit your job. You wait for him at home, obedient and beautiful, in his soft sweatshirts, smelling of his perfume, covered with the marks of his passionate kisses and bites. And yes, San does bite to the point of blood and bruises. 

Everyone around him thinks he's such a nice guy, but look closely. There's a darkness in those feline eyes, and if you look long enough, you'll see it. But be careful. You might just get his full attention.

Seonghwa is handsome. He is too handsome for his own good, and he uses it all the time. A real prince who will win your heart is polite, attentive, a real dream boy. 

It's hard for you to believe that someone like him could love a simple and ordinary girl like you; you don't think of yourself as ugly. Just ordinary, there are millions like you, but Seonghwa. Seonghwa is one-of-a-kind.

When you start dating, he keeps saying how lucky he is to have you. How happy he is that he has found someone so special. And he means it. Just not the way you think he means it.

For him, you're an endless source of self-gratification. He'll do anything to get you to praise him, to talk about how beautiful he is, how talented he is, how damned perfect he is. Once Seonghwa realises you're head over heels in love with him, you'll never run away again and your sweet boyfriend will become a real demon.

You have your attention on someone else, he'll fuck you in front of the mirror as punishment, constantly taunting, mocking and humiliating, so you can have a look at his gorgeous face in the reflection while he's doing this.

"You are so worthless, you should be fucking grateful to have such a gorgeous guy like me in your life. Or do you have the idea that anyone else could have a pickup a bitch like you?"

"You pathetic whore, look who's fucking you.

"Aren't I enough for you? Look into my eyes while I pulling you down on my dick."

He will destroy everything you've ever dreamed of, and everything you love, until there is nothing left in your head but him. Glorify him, glorify him incessantly, talk about how wonderful he is, and Seonghwa will give you heaven. "Because you're so beautiful" should accompany every "I love you". Every "thank you" should be followed by: "Because I have you, how could I want more?"

You're just going to stop being aware of the whole world outside of Seonghwa. That's why, my dear, you should be careful when you give a compliment to someone. You might just find yourself one-to-one with a demonic hunger of a gentle prince charming.

Mingi's in love with you. Or rather, he's in love with the idea that he's in love with you. Can't you see that? He's a puppy in love, but on closer inspection, he's more like a hungry wolf on the hunt for his sweet little prey.

The universe's softest boy. Endless hugs, cute nicknames, long kisses and a never-ending stream of words of love. He'll shower you with presents, flowers so many they'll make your flat look like a greenhouse.

"I love to love you, baby."

"Can you feel this, babe? Can you feel how much I am in love with you?" He whispers in your ear. Your whole body trembles at the powerful, rigid thrust of his thighs.

His rhythm is brutal, the bed is pounding against the wall, with such tangible force that the paint on it starts to crack.

He holds you to the bed with one hand, the other tucks his fingers into the soft curve of your thigh, his rings scratching the skin to the point of blood, his nails digging into the flesh, leaving deep blue marks.

"I'm going to love you until I die."

"l will never let you go, babe."

"No one will ever be able to love you as much as I do."

We've all heard that story about wolves wearing sheepskins. So think twice before you fall in love with that shiny puppy look - maybe it's just a clever disguise for a terrifying wolf who's on the prowl.

[grapementos]

ugly truth

pt 2 of this. pt 3 here.

aged up bakugo x reader

cw: descriptions of a panic attack, hospitals

a month had passed since you walked out on katsuki, walked out on your life, your home--everything you knew.

a number of your friends, along with plenty of katsuki's (who were mutual friends at this point), had reached out to you, offering a place to stay.

mina, kirishima, denki, and sero in particular were constantly checking on you and shooting you texts in case you needed to talk.

you knew they meant well, for they were bakugo's closest friends and knew how mean he could be. occasionally, you spent a night with them, the five of you coming together to watch a movie or play a game.

however, you knew they talked to bakugo too, so you remained cautious and never overshared--especially to kirishima. he was bakugo's right hand, his best friend since u.a.

there was no way you were going to show any semblance of missing bakugo, not around him.

once you found your own place, you'd distanced yourself from them, avoiding overstaying your welcome.

after they helped you move into your apartment and yet again reminded you, "if you need anything, we're here! really, anything at all!" you settled into your new space, suddenly feeling so alone.

for the first time in what felt like eternity, there was pure silence.

and then there wasn't.

the loudness, the static in your mind overpowered everything, several emotions washing over you like tidal waves. each wave was bigger than the last, merciless as it dragged you under, filling your nose and lungs with doubt, regret, sadness, anger.

"fuck," you whispered, pulling a pillow to your chest, "fuck."

you sobbed into the pillow, draining yourself of every ounce of strength and independence you thought you had.

you and bakugo had been together for three years--three years that you spent falling asleep, knowing you'd wake up to his face in the morning, three years of cooking meals large enough for two people, three years of habitually closing the shower curtain after your shower because it irked him when it was left open, three years of keeping the sodas on the left side of the fridge and water on the right.

three years. how can you unlearn three years worth of habits? let go of three years worth of comfort?

i can't do this, i can't. i can't be alone.

your subconscious was destroying you, and you hated that you felt like it was right. how could you survive alone?

your chest tightened, and the room spun and spun as the oxygen left your lungs too quick, overworking your circulatory and respiratory system.

"i need him-" you choked out, grasping desperately at nothing, nothing that could help you ground yourself.

a wave of dread rolled through you, sending your body into complete and total panic. just as you moved to stand, to grab your phone and call whoever, you felt a sense of airiness before your body tapped out, sending you straight back down to the floor.

-

"yeah, they're okay." a pause, "no, i just found them like this. i didn't know what else to do."

you groaned quietly, slowly blinking your eyes open to a stark, off-white ceiling. the blinding light made you regret it immediately, not to mention the pounding headache, swollen eyes, and nasty-feeling skin.

"y/n? you awake?" you recognized mina's voice from right beside you.

"yeah, god," you mumbled, hesitantly cracking an eye open, "hospital?"

"yeah. sorry, i just.." she trailed off, looking down at her shoes, "i found a pair of shoes you left at my place and wanted to give them back. then i found you just.. out cold."

you scrunched your eyes as you tried to remember anything before the onyx pit you were dropped into but thinking just hurt your head more.

"kirishima's on his way. he's super worried, you know." she chuckled, grabbing your hand, "he hates hospitals."

you squeezed her hand, finally managing to open your eyes fully, "me too. they stink."

she laughed, scooting her chair closer to your bed, "do you remember what happened?"

you tried to concentrate, pondering what you were doing. obviously, you had just moved in and..

"oh." you sighed, suddenly feeling stupid. of course, you'd been crying like the damn baby katsuki said you were, "i think i was just anxious. you know, new place and all."

"you could've stayed living with me, you know. i don't mind your company at all."

you shook your head, "i have to," your voice cracked a little, but you hid it with a cough, "i have to move past this. get on with my life."

"but there's no rush, y/n, you know--"

"where are they?" your body stiffened at the voice echoing off the linoleum and into your ears, triggering the code red alarm inside your head.

suddenly, the door slammed open and in walked a terrified looking katsuki and a guilty kirishima.

you scooted yourself back into the plastic barrier of the bed, clenching the bars, "what the hell is he doing here?"

"y/n, are you okay? what happened?" katsuki approached the bed, inspecting you for any injuries.

"get the hell away from me!" you winced at the pull on the iv in your arm as you moved impossibly farther away from him.

the heart monitor beside you was picking up, your blood pressure climbing higher and higher the closer he got.

mina stepped between the two of you before he could say anything, "kiri, what the hell? why would you bring him?"

"you were on speaker in my car when you told me, and we were together!" he explained frantically, "he didn't listen to me."

she shook her head, pushing katsuki towards the door, "you shouldn't be here. they don't wanna see you."

he looked past her, pleading at you with his eyes, "please, y/n, i'm so sorry, okay? i need you, okay? i need you, and i need to know that you're okay."

"y/n?" mina looked back at you, silently asking what she should do.

"i don't want to see him." you looked away, unable to look in his eyes for fear of falling victim to their lure.

without hesitation, mina ushered him to the exit despite his protests, almost getting him completely out when there was a thud on the linoleum.

katsuki was on his knees, his arm outstretched above his head as he clutched something in his fist.

for a moment, you expected him to set off an explosion or anything of the crazy sort.

you flinched as he opened his fist, fully expecting to be blown to bits.

instead, the fluorescent lights bounced off the shine of what you were 101% sure was an engagement band.

the other two in the room gasped, kirishima releasing his quirk that had instinctively taken over the front of his body.

"i was gonna ask you," he choked out, "before i quit the agency. but then everything went south and, and i--i just, i lost sight, y/n, and i'm so sorry. i'll be better, i swear it."

your hand covered your mouth, though you were speechless anyways. instinctively, you felt anger. how could he do this to you? here? now? after you'd wound up in the hospital because of him?

"how dare you," you spat, tears welling up in your eyes, "how dare you do this to me? do you enjoy hurting me, huh? tearing me apart just to build me back up again? do you get off on that--that glory?"

he was crying too, his eyes pleading, "i don't wanna hurt you. i'll go to therapy, i'll change, i swear. whatever you want me to do, i'll do it right now."

you swallowed hard around the ball in your throat, "leave. leave me alone and stay the hell out of my life."

hospital staff came flooding into the room before katsuki could respond, ushering the three of them out, "i'm sorry, this hospital has low tolerance for commotion like this. security will see you out."

you had never been more grateful that you were in a hospital, relief flooding your body as you turned onto your side, letting the tears run down your cheeks.

it wasn't fair. he knocked you about a hundred tiny steps back, considering you'd only taken a hundred tiny steps in the past month. your heart was throbbing, and a large part of you couldn't help but question your decision.

what if he really would change, get better? he was the love of your life. no one had ever loved you better.

extremely stressed, you found yourself questioning whether you'd made the right decision.

wow, i was super surprised by the amount of support. it was meant to be a standalone, but now i’m pretty sure there will be a 3rd part. thank you so much for the support! 🩷

tags: @blackout-ice-biohazard @survivorofmath @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @odessa-is-my-queen @firesmokeandashes @tsukikoxo @valentineshiftz

[syrupfog]

Hmmmm Sanji keeps his dress from Kambakka but one day when he’s looking for something deep in his locker the dress falls out and the crew get ahold of it. 

They think he’s stolen it from some poor girl and they scold him for it, how dare he actually act on his perv tendencies?

And Sanji like. Feels real weird and sad and upset and doesn’t understand why. Just grabs the dress and throws it overboard in a huff. Doesn’t explain to them where it came from because why would he. 

But he. He dwells on it. He’d kept the dress because he liked it.

Well. The dress was ugly. But he liked what it did to him. Made him feel… soft inside. 

But he can’t buy another one, not now. He knows, intrinsically, that it would be soul destroying for the crew to find a second dress and connect the dots— that they would realise that the dress is for him. That they would call him perverted for wanting to actually wear the dress. 

It’s one thing to yell at him for stealing a dress. It’s another thing entirely for them to yell at him for owning it for himself.

He doesn’t know why. Just knows that it would hurt. So badly. For them to associate perverted actions with his desire to feel that… softness again.

So he doesn’t. He doesn’t dare buy anything like that again, buries that self down deep for years. 

Maybe it’s after Luffy’s become pirate king. Maybe it’s after everything has settled down a bit. The crew meets with the Revolutionary Army and Iva is there.

And damn him, Iva just KNOWS things he shouldn’t, can strip someone bare with just a look. But when he looks to Sanji his expression is so SAD and it makes Sanji angry. How dare he be disappointed in him? Sanji’d never promised him anything, any change.

Maybe Iva takes him aside and Sanji’s ready for a lecture or a fight but all Iva does is say that if Sanji wants, he can raid Iva’s closet anytime. He’s welcome to anything in it. 

Sanji knows that there’s a lot of fishnets and leotards in there, but also… those dresses.

And maybe, I mean, they’re in a public place, maybe Zoro overhears. 

And he’s close enough to clock Sanji’s expression. He’s known the cook long enough to know what yearning looks like on him.

I dunno! I dunno what happens next! Probably that Zoro watches Sanji a lot because that’s what he does! Probably that he reevaluates small things like the way Sanji gazes in shop windows! Probably he does something really stupid like makes brazen comments at dinner

About how the revolutionaries could probably teach Nami a thing or two about clothes and even the guys look good in those romper things and skirts or whatever. 

He’s probably real bad at it!! He’s saying dumb shit and Nami gets mad because she dresses just how she wants shut up!

Man. I dunno it prob still takes a while. But this is still before Sanji and Zoro are together. Because I think that Zoro supporting Sanji as a member of the crew is nice, that Sanji never worries that this is Zoro being blinded by love and willing say do things he doesn’t mean.

Like this is gruff annoying Zoro who fights with him and argues with him but Sanji sees the openings he gives. 

Maybe the next time, another 6 months or a year down the line, that they see Iva, Zoro drags Sanji to her closet. Says “come on cook she could teach you some lessons in fashion, the suits are getting old.” 

And maybe that’s the first time in three or four years that Sanji considers it. Puts on a dress that’s tight around the waist and it’s not tailored well— all his suits are tailored perfectly— but he gets that soft feeling again.

And it’s so fucking embarrassing to cry in front of Zoro so he doesn’t. 

Or at least Zoro doesn’t comment on it. 

And Zoro insists that Sanji takes it. He grabs a few others and throws them into Sanji’s arms and he’s somehow managed to pick out the most hideous ones that Sanji can imagine, but he’s overwhelmed and touched. 

And maybe he starts small, back on the ship, but Zoro acts as a guard dog against the idea of anyone saying anything. Only has to actually snap at someone once (it’s Brook. Come on, man.) about how it’s not a perv thing get your eyes fixed (yohoho I don’t have eyes!) and Sanji takes a bit to recover from that but he does. Eventually. 

And dresses aren’t an all the time thing they’re impractical and sometimes just not what his brain wants.

But maybe an extra bit of lace on his suits is good sometimes. Or a bodice under his collared shirt, just for the shape it gives him. 

Or, on very rare occasions (when most of the crew is off exploring for the day) a miniskirt. 

Maybe some days it’s nothing.

It’s fine. It’s all fine. It just gives him that soft feeling inside, that settled, good feeling. 

It’s just, you know, a quiet happy ending.

(Also yeah he and Zoro start hooking up and then get together and all of that is messy as HELL and full of fights and crying and two day breakups and getting back together but that’s a different thing. Totally unrelated).

[girlwithadragonheart]

I need to yap desperately about one single gripe I have with this game. MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD read at your own discretion

The first half is me ranting about how much certain things mean to me and how impacted I was, and the actual gripe comes closer to the end.

I'll preface this by saying this post is about Varric's death and my rage and despair regarding it, but more so about my Rook's.

I've seen people who said they picked up on the hints about whatnot, who knew before the Fade Prison. I was not one of those people. I was so relieved when I saw him after the Prologue that I didn't think twice, because I knew that it would destroy me the second shit started going wrong.

I was already not having a good time when I started the game simply because Varric was getting older. I don't handle aging well or death, and his design showing his age, and the comments he would make about "getting too old for this" just made my heart break.

And then shit got worse. I sobbed disgustingly when that knife went into Varric's chest.

After Rook woke up from talking to Solas and she heard Varric, I was so gods damned relieved. And my Rook was better taken care of by Varric in that year she spent with him than she was in the rest of her entire life.

I cried from the end of Ghilan'nain's fight until the romance scene and on and off after that. I got so used to visiting Varric just to be comforted by his presence. Inquisition was the biggest part of my life for a year and a half when I was just a kid.

I did really bad middle school age writing for it but regardless of the quality, those characters were built up in my head becoming even more than they were in the game. Varric was my biggest support character through everything I was going through at the time.

I don't talk about it much, but I didn't have a great childhood, and I know a lot of people didn't, but I coped with it through writing and video games. Varric was the one supporting me through the abuse I suffered and writing was the way I processed how bad things really were.

When Rook was in the prison she said "What am I going to find here?" And Varric said "I think you already know, kid." I DIDN'T until he said that. The second he said that my entire chest tightened and I just said "No" out loud as I watched Rook find his body.

Now for my real complaint!!!

Rook never gets the chance to grieve Varric. They go from talking to him every day to finding out he's dead and it was all a lie. I have personally never been more fucking pissed at Solas than I am now. But Rook comes back and they have that kind of "closing off" scene with Varric's empty bed (which was so hard to go through btw). And then they fuck their pookie LIKE I CANNOT BE THE ONLY ONE UPSET ABT THAT

FYM I gotta find out my dad is dead and then Rook is up for boning like there's no fucking way unless it's to cope. And at least pertaining to the Lucanis romance, Rook is processing everything that happened and they can say "So much has happened, I just don't know how to feel."

And rather than getting to process that in some kind of way, the devs said nah this scene serves one singular purpose, and Lucanis says "I do" and then dicks them down.

Personally, I felt very dismissed despite being overjoyed about finally having the romance scene, I couldn't even enjoy it with everything that happened prior.

Rook deserved the chance to completely break down after everything they went through. Tbh i don't know how they kept it together. Varric said "don't get all misty eyed" and i thought to myself that's way too delicate a term for what's happening here, I was fully ugly crying.

Fuck your "I had a good run" I still need you bitch.

All this to say I'm very upset, and I'm running my second playthrough and every time I look at, hear, or talk to Varric I tear up again. Wtf Bioware.

Rook should've gotten the chance to actually talk about what Solas did to them, especially in the sense that he made them believe Varric was still there. Or at least get to properly grieve the person who was their closest friend for a long time.

I have very strong feelings about this obviously

[threepandas]

Bad End: Soldier A

I'm pretty sure you know the story. Everybody does. Chosen Hero, Demon King, they fight, save the day, yada yada. Everybody supposedly lives happily ever after. Everything sunshine and roses. Puppies and farting rainbows. But... but it's NOT.

It's really fucking NOT.

I used to love reading stories like that. They were escapism. Grand adventures in a terrible, grey, slowly crushing hellscape of a world. But... but, FUCK. At least there weren't drauger! No demon wolves or skeleton soldiers! Or the FUCKING little flying bastards. God. I HATE those ones the most.

They have sharp, needle-y little claws and teeth like a SHARK fucked a TREE THRESHER. And they scream. Just... yowl and yowl in this ear splitting high pitch like they're trying to DEAFEN you ON TOP of trying to rip you apart.

That life was peaceful.

I was a fool to wish for anything else.

I am not the Chosen One. I'm not even a supporting character. I remember this bullshit little yarn, and I? Am NO WHERE fucking in it. I am just... just some rando, in this struggle of demons and Gods. The child of Some Dude. We... we had chickens. Fat, happy, lil hens.

I remember being ENTRANCED. I had lived all my life, before, in suburban sprawl. So chickens? Strutting around and chasing bugs? Tiny me was hypnotized.

It saved my life.

I half wish it didn't, some days.

That I died, sudden and without the chance to truely comprehend, along side my family. That my neighbors eldest hadn't seen me by the coop. Grabbed me desperately as he ran for his life. Our entire FUCKING village...

There were six survivors.

I was one of them.

And it's... it's all just? FLAVOR TEXT for the Chosen One's tale of Glory. A reason for why she's so NEEDED. So BELOVED. Look how AWESOME she is! Saintess, because when are they NOT? Hero, because it's all about HER. A god damned LOVE STORY thrown in, because THAT'S important, while people are suffering! Dying!

Are? You? KIDDING ME!?

Legends speak of a "Hero's Party". I know damn well it's true. That it WILL succeed. But FUCK that. FUCK waiting for her to "be ready"! To gather allies and turn from some sheltered little rose, into the warrior we ACTUALLY NEED. It's my world too. I was the one who had to help dig out survivors! Tend to the wounded! Fight off swarms! Hold back the dead!

I...! I was the one who had to LOOK PEOPLE IN THE EYE and... AND-!

B-Because sometimes? SOMETIMES?! Those bites DON'T HEAL. Can't heal! They are filled with so much demonic power, that the only thing they CAN do is corrupt. Fester. Poison. Sometimes you're already DEAD and nothing short of the oh so precious SAINTESS could possibly save you.

But she's not HERE... is she?

So you have a choice.

If you're lucky? It's JUST a limb. A chunk of flesh. But more often then not... well... The lucky ones have time to say goodbye. The unlucky ones get to be twisted and used against their friends. Their family's. And if you care. If you CARE AT ALL? You put them down before that happens.

Because they wouldn't want that.

It... it feeds a HATE in me. An ANGER.

No, that's not right... it's more like? It feeds...

A RAGE.

An ugly, burning thing. That's hollowed out my chest. Wrapped around my bones. Fueled by the memories of every innocent I failed to save. By the fear and the suffering, that just keeps dragging on and on and ON. An endless slog that seems designed to break men down. Destroy us.

I feel like it's killing the humanity in me. The kindness I once had. Like I am burning away everything but purpose. And will have nothing left when I am done. IF I am ever done. It... it used to scare me.

Now I am to angry, too tired, to be afraid.

Let me die. I do not CARE. So long as I TAKE THEM WITH ME. Burn them ALL. My brothers in arms, my sisters of war, those that fight and fight and FIGHT? They feel the same. We didn't fucking WAIT. Refused to watch the slaughter. Gaining ground only to lose it, losing ground only to claw it back.

Holding the line.

We can't actually KILL him. We know that. Only the Saintess can actually fucking END this nightmare. But his monsters? Those still fall too steel. And if we are to die regardless, why NOT in defense of our homes?

We've managed to push a path, deep into the Demonic lands. A spear point to stab the heart of HIS damned empire. We... we can hold it. MUST hold it. At all costs. For that flimsy, weak willed, half trained NITWIT of a child. So when she FINALLY gets off her ass and stops making goo-goo eyes at her trainers? She can come and finish the job.

Then get crowned queen of forever or something.

I don't know, I don't CARE. I'm going to buy some damn chickens. Fill a yard with them. Honor my parents and be the best damn farmer this world has ever SEEN.

Another crash against our shields. Screams as someone's arm breaks. As someone else is savaged through a crack in our barrier, as something probably gives. I slam my spear forward. Vital point. Vital point. Ignore the strain. The way your arm feels like a giant is stepping on it. Like some is trying to rip the shield from your grip. Hold... HOOOOLD!

Go for the eyes. Aim for the throat. Kidneys. Arteries, arteries, heart! The spear is wretched from my grip. I shout for another. Reach blindly, trusting my countrymen. I feel the grip of another one pressed into my hand. I slam my spear forward.

The fight goes on.

For hours.

It was some sort of ape-bear chimera things this time. But bigger and with spikes. No ones quite sure if they're in the "fucked up monstrosities" book yet. I'M certainly too dead on my feet to check. I sit an eat some fucking soup. Mmmmm, rations soup. Technically edible! My favorite flavor.

In the distance, sits the Demon King's fancy ass doom castle.

Any closer? And HE might be inspired to actually "deal" with us. I can't wait for the day it-An explosion of noise from the command tent. Everyone's heads whip around to stare, alarmed. But... but that didn't sound... BAD shouting. It takes us a long, long moment. It had honestly been YEARS since some of us had HEARD such a noise. But...?

W...was that?

Excitement?

I passed off my soup to a newbie. He honestly needed it more anyway. Told him to eat. Then got up and headed for command. Something was happening. As I got close, the flap was all but ripped open. A commander, actually? Smiling!? What the fresh hell?

A commander looking for someone. Spots me. Waves me over and in. I jog over. The tent is practically HUMMING with excitement. And there, on the tabke with the war map? Is an old, OLD dagger. Very... magical girl, in design. Flourishes, sparkling, and lovely dispite being what must be... what, centuries old? Worn to hell and back? What IS that?

It's the weapon of a previous Chosen One.

A Holy Blade.

Holy Shit. HOW. Where?! Where AND HOW!? I thought the royal family snapped all those fuckers up too show off! If not them, the Temple! I'm met with seni-hysterical laughs of disbelief.

A PRIEST stole it.

Nearly DIED doing so. Temple's probably FURIOUS. Gonna come to get it BACK, most likely. We're gonna have to move FAST. We're gonna only get ONE chance at this. I nod. Ready for whatever command needs me to do. Hold off some holy knights? Punch a priest? I'll get... SUPER excommunicated, but? Fuck it. If it saves lives.

No.

No they need me to wield the blade. I'm sorry?? WHAT.

It's apparently Maiden Locked. Fucking... Maidens Only! Got lucky? No holy weapon for you! Married but a virgin? Weaponless! Oh, fffffuck yooooou, creepy perv deities. There are LIVES ON THE LINE, in this, a GOD DAMNED WAR, and you LOCK the import weapons behind "mint condition pu-"!!!

The commander cuts of my, frankly, VERY understandable rant.

Hands on my shoulders. Looks me in the eyes. Will I Do This? I would have to take the knife and sneak behind enemy lines. Into the demon kings castle. And try to get the jump on him. NO ONE would be able to go after me. Help WOULD NOT be coming. If I fail... that's it. Game over. The demons would have me.

I laugh.

It is... not a cheerful sound. Not like it once was.

Is it even a choice? Of course I am. Frankly? I hope it hurts. I hope it's slow. Hurts every second and feels like eons. That he BURNS from the inside out. I'm gonna make him EAT IT.

Waiting until night would be suicide. They get stronger at night. Can blend in to the shadows. But they're cocky. They won't expect an attack just before that. So twilight is when I'll strike. Afternoon, when I head out. I... I leave my gear behind. Say my goodbyes.

I'm not the Chosen One.

Just some farmer's daughter with a grudge.

It don't think I'll be making it back. Don't really expect to even succeed. But by the gods... I plan to HURT him. Every piece we chip away, is one the soul behind us doesn't have to fight. I do this not for me. But for the child who will never know the FEAR that I did.

I will die so they don't have too.

The castle is dark. Humming with power I can FEEL but can not understand. Grand and sweeping architecture. Great windows that should let in far more light then they do. A blood red carpet upon bone white floors. The walls are black. It... some how merely stepping inside, seems to suck all color but red from the world. All heat.

I see no one here.

But I hear whispers.

I tighten my grip around the weapon. The only thing that feels WARM. These hallways are designed to make you feel small, I can tell at a glance. I refuse to give in. I am a farmer. A soldier. I do not CARE about your damn castle! I dig deep into my memories, keeping to the walls, and try to remember where the hero found her foe.

I trace the path in my head. Cut out the lost wandering as best I can. Right slightly, then forward, I think. If I am wrong, I can double back. Follow the book's path exactly. I move slow. As quite as I can.

Still... I find no one.

No servants, no gaurds, no resistance of any kind. Something like fear sighs like a specter down my spine, cold and vague. Something is not right. I do not let down my gaurd... but the longer it persists? The worse my paranoia grows.

Finally. The throne room. Magnificent beyond measure, in blood red and monochrome. Rare touches of gold glint and catch the eye. Stained glass giving it all a surreal scene from high above. The runner at my feet plush enough to render my foot steps silent. It is red... so very, very red.

The Demon King leans against one fist, resting on his throne, magnificent and beautiful like a statue brought to life. Carved of pale ivory and obsidian. Just as feeling as stone. A monster. Living testament that what's inside counts most of all. For inside him? Is nothing but a void. A malicious PIT.

I will see him dead.

On silent feet, I sneak forward. Only to freeze at the foot of the stairs to his dais, my eyes locked on his face. Horror seeps through me.

An amused smirk.

"Oh don't stop NOW, you're so close." Breaks the silence. Golden eyes open, lazy and entertained. "By all means. Try."

My grip on the dagger felt almost painful, for how hard I was gripping it. He... he wasn't even bothering to move. Didn't even see me as a threat. F..Fine. Fine then! If it was a mistake on his part or NOT, I would TAKE IT. Any chance. Any chance at ALL.

The pressure of that gaze felt immense. But I tilted my head up, put my shoulders back, and moved. One step. Then another. Up the stairs. Onto the dais. Forward, slowly. I paused, just beyond his immediate reach. Not that it was anything like real safety. I stared. Shaking. Knowing I was shaking and unable to stop.

He sat splayed. Reclined and leaning against his fist, robes rich and arranged just so. The very picture of indolent decadence. It was deceptive. I KNEW it was. A trap. But to get too him... I had to step closer. My eyes moved from the splay of his legs back up to his face. His smirk had grown teeth. I... I refused to run. I would finish this.

I stepped forward. Between his long legs, feeling distinctly like I was balanced over a bear trap, and lifted the dagger. I refused to hesitate. Wait to see if he changed his mind. I slammed it forward. Right through his heart. Glaring, as I looked him right in the eyes. The blade HISSED. Like acid meeting stone.

He laughed.

Grin full of unhinged glee, a vice in the shape of a hand clamped around my wrist, and the world SPUN. I slammed against the floor, the Demon King straddling me, at the foot of his thrown. He loomed. Behind him, above me, shown a magnificent window the lit him from behind. Like a halo.

"You didn't even HESITATE. You'd rip my heart out, if you could. Wouldn't you?" He says. Almost an whisper, nearly a groan, filthy with something that terrifies me and shouldn't BE there. "I KNEW I sensed something. KNEW you were out there."

I desperately try to push the knife deeper. Use everything I can to... to just-!

All I want... All I NEED? Is to see it come out the fucking OTHER SIDE. Please. Gods, PLEASE! End this! I'm gritting my teeth. Snarling. This BASTARD. I HATE him! I HATE HIM!

"Ah~ That's it, little one." He groans. Not even bothering to hide that he's apparently getting off on this. I'll kill him. I'll FUCKING KILL HIM! "Good~, that's right. Just like that. Give IN~♡ I'll take SUCH good care of you. I've always wanted a little pet. Focus it all on me. Give it ALL to me~"

My brain feels like it's on fire. My lungs filled with ash and flame. I hate. I hate and hate and HATE! I can't think. Something is... wrong? Wrong! The blade hurts to hold. Like it's rejecting me. No. NO! I HAVE TO KILL HIM! I may not be the Chosen One but-!

It finally becomes too much. The pain of holding the blade out weighing my hate. It's like ACID. My hand spasming away like I was trying to touch a hot stove. My palm is an ugly red. Wounded.

In one fluid movement, my wrist is released, the blade pulled free, tossed aside, and my wrist recaptured, before I can claw his fucking eyes out. I grit my teeth. Fangs grinding togeth-... wait.... what?

I stare at my hand.

At the black talon like nails where normal nails were, just this morning. And feel... horror. My... my teeth feel weird. My eyes hurt. Sides of my head too.

"Got you~"

He throws his head back in a triumphant laugh. The sound echoing like a nightmare. Even as I watch, the pigment of my skin is changing. Draining away to something even. Something almost too pale. Unnatural.

"I'm so glad you've decided to join me, darling." My hands are slammed down on either side of my head. His face inches from my. Eyes burning with something terrible. "I haven't had a bride in SO long~ following your progress has been FASCINATING. And now! Oh little thing, I get to KEEP you all to myself. Make you GOOD for me. Learn every inch of you. You should be excited, darling~"

"I'm going to make you a Queen."

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): crime scene clean-up, swearing, grief & difficult conversations, discussions around canon-typical violence, smoking, brief suggestive themes, brief drinking, angst

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Part Twenty-Three of Ink & Needle

Price and Simon make a pact. Simon talks to Evie and Amelia. Walsh dispenses a clue.

Chapter Twenty-Two // Chapter Twenty-Four

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Come and find her. – KW.

Come and find her.

Come. And find her.

Find her.

Simon stares at the little piece of paper in his hands. It’s so small. Confetti in his palm. Something that could be easily overlooked like trash that collects near a storm drain.

But it’s not trash.

It’s a taunt. A warning.

And it’s all for Simon.

Instinct tells him to crumple the note in his fist—to dismantle by destroying. Burn it. Maybe. Shred it into even smaller pieces until it truly resembles confetti.

But what party would he throw to sprinkle the remains? There will be no cake or gifts. No sunshine or clear skies. It will be a funeral, and the shredded paper is the dirt tossed by the mourners.

Dust, really. Like the soul. Smaller than dust. Insignificant.

“You need to go home, Simon.”

Captain Price’s voice used to be a balm to Simon—a place of safety. The words from Price’s mouth do nothing but drag Simon back to reality even as Simon attempts to claw back to the darkness that are his thoughts.

“Go home and do what?” replies Simon, not looking in Price’s direction.

Come and find her.

“It’s not healthy to stay here,” sighs Price.

Simon snorts. “What part of my life as ever been healthy.”

Price flinches, and Simon immediately regrets his words. Captain knows every horrific detail, every open hand and closed fist, of the fangs and masks and gore and screams that are Simon’s history.

It is ugly and foul.

Price used to fuss over it, trying to drive Simon to talk to someone about it all. He did—once. More than once, but it didn’t do much but reaffirm everything Simon already knew.

That life can be cruel, and we are only defined by our choices.

And Simon has always chosen to be different.

“Staring at that note won’t help things. It won’t help us find her faster,” says Price, his voice low and soothing like it always is when he’s trying to be gentle.

Simon takes a deep inhalation, calming the raging desperation thudding around in his chest.

It’s a torrent. A downpour.

“I want to help,” is all Simon says in reply.

Price takes a step closer, and leans in a bit, lowering his voice. “I know you do, Simon. And I value that help. But trying to figure shit out here isn’t the place.”

Simon stares into Price’s face, frowning. He lingers there a moment before glancing over Price’s shoulder.

There are new people in the room. Price called them up after Johnny found the note and presented it to Simon. They move about the space like phantoms, their eyes cast downward, minds geared toward the task of cleaning up the mess that is Evie’s home.

Evie, who came to Simon’s door rain-drenched and desperate. Simon is glad she didn’t try to seek out the authorities. What the fuck are police going to do about this? Nothing. That’s what.

But Price will do something. And so will Johnny and Kyle.

They have his back. They fucking care about you because they care about Simon. He has people in his corner.

“Excuse me.”

Simon and Price glance toward the man addressing the two of them. He’s a little younger than Simon. In his hands are a broom and dustpan. Beside him stands another man holding a trash bag. Simon scowls and the man blanches slightly.

“The glass,” he mutters, nodding at Simon’s feet.

The glass. The broken patio door. Blood.

Simon clears his throat and steps back, glass crunching under his boots even as he and Price move to a different part of the room. The two men start sweeping it up while two others lift and deposit the bodies of the estate agent and her assistant into body bags.

All the color from their faces have melted away, leaving behind a grayness that only comes when there is nothing left to salvage. While neither of the women currently being placed in body bags are you, Simon is grateful that you’re not one of them. That is enough to hope even if everything inside him doubts.

Positivity isn’t Simon’s thing. But the fact that you’re not here could only mean that Walsh wants you elsewhere. He wants Simon to come seeking. He wants Simon to have hope, and for that reason alone, Simon still clings to the idea that you’re not gone.

But maybe you are.

Time is crucial. It is scare and fleeting and slipping away as the seconds tick by.

“This is my fault.”

“Simon,” chides Price, ready to defend him.

“I don’t want to hear it,” growls Simon. “Walsh is after me, and I know that. I kept—” Simon stops, his unoccupied hand forming a fist.

Price frowns. “You kept what?”

Instead of shutting down, Simon trudges forward. “I kept seeing him. Or thought I did.” He glances down at the note and then at the darkening pool of drying blood. “Should have trusted my gut.”

“You can’t linger in the past, Simon. It happened. You made choices. Walsh made choices. That control is gone. We can only move forward.”

Simon remains silent. Price is right, even if Simon doesn’t want to admit it out loud. Shit happens. Plans go wrong. You can’t always predict what the enemy will do or how they might deviate from the information you have. You have to go in with the knowledge that things might change at the last second.

Adjustment is crucial.

Adjust and survive or stay stagnant and die.

“By moving forward, that means I go home,” says Simon slowly.

Price inclines his head. “It is.”

Simon shakes his head. “I don’t accept it.”

“And what will you do, Simon? Search every building in the country? And what will you do after? Head for the continent?”

“I’d destroy everything and everyone if that means I get her back safely.”

Price’s jaw twitches. “Or you might just get her killed.”

Simon’s head snaps in Price’s direction, venom on his tongue, but it’s Price’s glare that stays his harshness. Even though he’s no longer under Price’s command, the training doesn’t leave. Instead of lashing out, Simon takes a calming breath, but it does little except settle the sharpness that wants to emerge from his lips.

“I’m helping with this. I won’t budge,” affirms Simon.

Price nods. “I know, Simon. Didn’t say you wouldn’t be.”

Simon turns toward him fully, lowering his voice. “You told me to go home.”

“For now,” corrects Price. “We need to clean up here, and then we can talk. This isn’t the place.” Price shrugs. “Not like I have all the information in front of me.”

True, but Simon isn’t happy. His body desires movement. It desires action. The storm inside him wants to be released, and its target is Walsh.

“I have to talk to Evie,” murmurs Simon, almost absently.

Price clasps Simon’s shoulder. “Want someone to go with you?”

“I can.” Simon and Price glance up as Johnny comes to a stop in front of them. “I’ll go with you, Lt.”

Simon nods as Kyle approaches with a couple of binders. “She might want this. It’s all paperwork.”

Kyle holds the stack out to Simon but Price reaches for it. “We should make copies. Take a look just in case.”

“I’ll do that now,” nods Kyle. He turns toward Simon and lightly punches his arm. “We’ll find her. Bring her home.”

Kyle departs with a brief nod toward Johnny.

Price clears his throat. “Go home. Take Soap with you. I’ll call when we’re ready to meet.”

“You got it, Captain,” says Johnny, all confidence.

Simon appreciates it. He does, but his heart is close to exploding—a volcano in his chest that he isn’t sure is heartburn or an incoming heart attack.

Price says goodbye by giving Simon’s shoulder another squeeze before walking away to chat quietly with the woman supervising the cleanup.

“Come on, Lt.”

Simon used to correct Johnny after retirement, but he no longer has the heart to. It almost feels normal—like Simon is back in the field and not a tattoo artist with awards and accolades. It is a strange sensation, and Simon is surprised by how his mind and body are at odds with the feeling.

They step around shattered glass and overturned furniture. They walk around the darkening blood that’s starting to congeal. Simon doesn’t even glance at the hammer or the gloved hand that lifts it from the floor.

And it’s not Simon who drives. All the control he likes to have his gone, and it is Johnny that takes the wheel, guiding them back to London as if they’re just two mates on a weekend holiday.

It’s not until Simon is stepping into his flat and Bravo greets him that reality comes crashing into him like a hollow point on impact.

Johnny sighs heavily and drops onto the sofa. Bravo doesn’t go to jump into Johnny’s lap or to seek belly rubs. The German Shepard takes up post next to Simon. He sits rigidly, one paw tapping at Simon’s thigh as the dog tries to get his attention.

“I’m ace, Bravo,” he murmurs, reaching out to scratch between Bravo’s ears.

The dog whines softly but he drops his paw, accepting the scratches before padding over to Johnny. He jumps onto the couch and starts stomping all over Soap until Johnny is laughing and aggressively rubbing Bravo’s belly.

As Bravo settles, Johnny turns his attention to Simon. “You good, Lt?”

Simon shifts in Soap’s direction. He glances around, realizing that he hasn’t moved away from the door. He lingers like a ghost who can see everyone but no one sees them.

“Yeah. I’m good,” coughs Simon, his legs moving mechanically. He plops down onto the sofa next to Johnny and then sighs heavily. “I need a smoke.”

“Have some sitting around?” asks Johnny.

“Nope.”

Soap nods. Keeps nodding. “I’ll go grab some. There a shop around here?”

“On the corner,” answers Simon, eyes closed as his head tips back to rest against the top of the sofa.

“Up for a walk, Bravo?” asks Johnny.

Bravo barks and then jumps out of Soap’s lap, padding over to his leash.

When Johnny returns, the two of them sit on Simon’s balcony facing the back street between the buildings. Bravo is below them, sniffing the little stretch of grass there. He’s a dark spot amongst the green, moving back and forth as if he smells something interesting.

Johnny bought enough packs to give them both lung cancer. Soap isn’t one for smoking, but he joins Simon in it anyway. The two of them sit in the cold silence, the chilly air unable to penetrate the inferno that burns within Simon.

“When do you want to talk to the friend?” asks Johnny, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“Tomorrow,” sighs Simon.

He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to say to Evie. Looking her in the face is going to be difficult enough, but explain? No. Fucking no. That shit is a mess.

Johnny’s foot taps absently like he’s listening to a song in his head. “You want me to talk? Or you want to do it?”

“I’ll do it,” replies Simon immediately.

This is his mess. You are his woman. And you are Evie’s friend. This has to come from Simon or no one at all.

Johnny inclines his head and takes another drag on his cigarette. He grimaces. “These are fucking nasty, Lt. How do you do it?”

“Rage,” replies Simon dryly.

Johnny cocks an eyebrow and then bursts out laughing, falling onto his back as he clutches his stomach. The corner of Simon’s mouth twitches with amusement.

Coughing, Johnny turns on his side in Simon’s direction. Bravo comes to a stop in the grass, his noise pushed into the dirt like he’s stumbled upon a scent.

“What is it, Johnny?” asks Simon as Soap stares at him but doesn’t speak.

“She cute?”

Simon blinks. “Who?”

“The friend.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“I’m only asking,” replies Johnny, all innocence.

Simon shakes his head, this time smiling naturally. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You know I like a pretty face,” says Johnny, ashing his cigarette.

“Don’t make me blush, Johnny,” teases Simon.

The fire beneath his skin dims from an inferno to a small campfire. This banter is comforting to him—a reminder that there are people out there who care for Simon as more than just a previous coworker. Johnny cares. Kyle cares. And fuck—Price cares to the point that sometimes Simon thinks he has a loving father.

“Oh, aye, Lt. Been lusting after you for ages.” Simon glances at Johnny before snatching his cigarette from his fingers. “I’m smoking that!”

“You hate cigarettes, Johnny,” chides Simon, taking a long drag and finishing it off. “And you’ll have it off with anything that moves.”

“Not anything,” mutters Soap, sitting up fully.

Simon puts out the cigarette and takes another from the pack. “When did you last get your dick wet?”

Johnny’s lips purse, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Johnny,” says Simon, almost sing-song.

Soap mutters something and Simon punches him in the arm.

“Fuck, Lt. Yesterday.”

Simon shrugs. “Knew it.”

“If you’re gonna fucking ask about it, you’ll listen.”

“I’m good, Johnny,” replies Simon, holding up a hand for silence as he goes to light the new cigarette.

“Kyle and I were—”

“Not interested.”

“This beautiful blonde cornered me and I couldn’t say no. Lips like that—”

“Shut up, Johnny.”

“She pushed me up against the wall. Dropped to her knees—”

“Johnny—”

“Never finished so fast in my—fucking hell Simon!”

Johnny clutches the back of his head where Simon lightly swatted him. “Said I didn’t want to know.”

“Then why’d you bloody ask!” exclaims Johnny, this time grabbing Simon’s cigarette from his fingers. He tries to puff on it but promptly grimaces, offering it right back to Simon.

“Absolute wanker,” mutters Simon.

“Favorite wanker, Lt.”

Simon snorts and reaches behind him, grabbing the whiskey bottle and setting it down between them. There are no glasses, but it’s not necessary. Johnny grabs the bottle and removes the screw lid, taking a swig directly from the bottle before holding it out to Simon. He takes the offered whiskey and Simon gulps down more than he should in one go.

He offers it back to Johnny. “Don’t fucking flirt with the friend, Johnny.”

Soap inclines his head and raises the bottle in salute. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Simon.”

The two of them sit on the balcony until the whiskey is gone and the sun has long since dipped below the horizon. Bravo stays in the living room, curling up on the sofa with Johnny.

Simon stares at his empty bed. It’s still unmade from when he hastily got out and answered the door.

Sighing, Simon heads into the bathroom, turning on the shower. He cranks it until it’s scalding. The heat is a nice distraction, and for a while, Simon pretends that you’re not gone. That you’re with him underneath the spray.

From memory, Simon plucks out his favorite moments, lingering in your sweetness. It’s not just the physical Simon smolders in. Everything about you is like a drop of lifeblood. Simon lingers on your smile, and on the calmness you bring him when you’re nearby. He dreams of your touch and the way you wrap your arms around him. The scent of your shampoo fills his nostrils.

That only leads to lustier thoughts, and Simon has to pull back before he goes too far.

When the water grows cold, and your hands are not there to warm his skin, that is when Simon breaks.

Everything is a flood. Everything fractures.

What are dying stars but beautiful confetti. Dust. Specks bursting outward to settle in forgotten places.

Simon is dust.

No—less than dust.

Atoms.

But lesser than that.

Nothing.

Infinite nothing.

His tears become one with the cold water. His shaking becomes one with the icy chill that makes his skin shiver. Simon’s nails dig into his skin. Blood blossoms in the moons. Drip onto the tile.

Simon sits on the floor of the shower until every tear is down the drain.

He doesn’t recall falling into bed. Or when he drifts to sleep.

It isn’t until Simon wakes that he’s realized he slept at all.

There were no dreams. Just blackness. Hardness.

But he hears Johnny, and Bravo’s nails against the wood floor.

It is reluctant duty that drags Simon from bed.

“Made breakfast. And tea. And coffee,” shrugs Johnny, offering a greasy piece of bacon to Bravo.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see that,” sighs Simon, loading his plate with a little bit of everything.

Johnny ignores Simon and talks to Bravo like the dog is human baby. Bravo eats it up like it’s the best thing that has ever happened to him.

Simon drops into a chair. His stomach grumbles and then he’s eating. The eggs are still warm, and the coffee is still hot. He zones out, grabbing seconds and then thirds.

“Have appointments today?” asks Johnny.

Simon shakes his head. “I rescheduled everything back a week. Wasn’t sure how long I’d be gone.”

Usually, Simon hates leaving his shop and moving bookings around, but it can’t be helped.

Johnny nods and inspects the empty skillet that held scrambled eggs. “Still planning on chatting with the friend today?”

Simon swallows down a half-chewed piece of toast. “That’s what I said.”

“Just checking, Lt.”

Simon’s fork pauses. His tone was harsh. “You still coming with me?” asks Simon, softening his tone this time.

“Aye. I’ve got your back.”

Simon clears his plate and finishes off the last of the coffee before he and Johnny head over to Amelia’s. They decide to walk, bringing Bravo with them. Simon fiddles with a cigarette the entire way but never lights it.

“You still want to do this today?” asks Johnny, lingering at Amelia’s door.

No. He’d rather turn tail. Be a coward in this.

Instead of answering Johnny’s question verbally, Simon knocks three times on the door. It’s mid-morning, and Evie’s daughter should hopefully be up by now.

For a moment, there is no sound on the other side, but then Simon hears footsteps—then the turning of a deadbolt.

The door opens, and Simon’s heart falls into his stomach.

Evie stands there, Lillian in her arms. When she sees Simon, her expression changes from neutrality to hopefulness. Her gaze lingers on Simon before shifting to Johnny. That brightness—that joy—fades as time passes.

She is looking for you. And you are not there.

The whites of Evie’s eyes redden, and Simon knows what comes next. As if sensing her mother’s changing mood, Lillian begins to squirm, her own tiny face bunching with a coming tantrum.

“Oh shit,” mutters Johnny, reaching for the baby just as fat tears begin to slide down Evie’s face.

Evie surrenders Lillian to Soap immediately as if all the wind has been knocked from her lungs. She deflates, one hand grasping the doorframe like she’s about to faint. The baby starts to whine, and Johnny panics, holding the infant out before him like he’s never held one before.

“Fucking hell, Johnny. Support the head,” mutters Simon as Evie takes a step back, her other hand pressing to her chest.

“Evie?”

It’s Amelia. She comes rushing forward, grasping the woman’s shoulders. She glances at Simon. Then Johnny. Then little Lillian.

“Give her here,” instructs Amelia, reaching for the infant.

Johnny passes Lillian off and sighs with relief. Amelia cradles the child in one arm and uses the other to support Evie.

Evie is gasping for breath. Chest heaving. Nearing a panic attack.

“Is she…” but Amelia trails off.

Simon understands.

“We don’t know,” replies Simon, because it’s true. And the truth is best, even if it cuts deep like sharpened steel.

Evie chokes and Simon continues on, wanting to crush the rising panic on Evie’s face. “She wasn’t there. Which means that she’s probably still alive.”

Evie is shaking her head. Amelia’s face reveals nothing.

“Go on,” prompts Amelia.

Lillian still wiggles and whines but she’s not nearly so loud now.

“Your estate agent and her assistant are dead. Nothing appears stolen.”

Except you.

“But she’s gone?” asks Evie. Her voice is so strained Simon is surprised the woman can talk at all.

Yes, is what Simon wants to say. It’s what he should say. But all of his words are stuck in his throat.

“Yes,” answers Johnny for him, and Simon could sigh with relief on not having to say the words out loud. “But we’re looking for her.”

“She’s alive?” asks Amelia. She places a hand on Evie’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Until we know otherwise,” replies Johnny. “Yes.”

Amelia and Evie both relax even if the tears remain. Johnny was always better at talking to people than him. It’s why Simon rarely did it. He was either too blunt or didn’t know how to comfort. Johnny knew how. He always has.

“We should tell them,” murmurs Amelia to Evie.

“Tell us what?” asks Simon, curious.

Evie shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Then I will.” Amelia steps back and gestures for them to come inside.

Bravo stays next to Evie’s side all the way to the couch. When the woman sinks down on it, Bravo rests his head on her knee. Soap remains standing, as does Simon.

“British Intelligence came,” begins Amelia, and Soap’s eyes widen.

Simon doesn’t look at Johnny, but from his peripheral, he notices the slight turn of Johnny’s head as his friend glances at him. Price has to know by now. Simon didn’t tell him, but he’s likely putting all the pieces together once he looks at the documents Kyle is making copies of. Archie’s name is probably all over them.

There isn’t any hiding now.

Amelia sighs. “They were asking about Archibald. The circumstances around his death.”

“When did they arrive?” asks Simon.

Johnny remains quiet, his gaze still darting between Simon and Amelia.

“Yesterday,” answers Amelia.

Evie slouches forward, dropping her head into her hands.

“Is that it?” asks Simon, cautiously.

Amelia glances at Evie, her mouth turned downward into a frown. It’s not one of disappoint. It’s stress that’s creeping into her features. With a sigh, Amelia places Lillian into a rocker. Amelia grabs the edge and lightly presses down, the contraption moving in a slow bounce that quickly soothes Lillian’s irritation.

“Asked about potential enemies.” This time, Amelia’s sigh is much deeper. “It’s a strange question. Archie is incredibly kind. There isn’t anyone I know of that holds any ill will toward him. Everyone liked him. Everyone admired him.”

She chews on her lip. “I don’t understand.”

Evie sniffles. Rubs her hands over her face. Glances up. “Why her?” she rasps. “What did she ever do to anyone?”

She didn’t. It’s all me.

The muscles in Simon’s shoulder tense. Walsh likely killed Archie because it suited his goals. If anything, Walsh executed him and moved on without another thought to the bloke. Walsh might have no idea that you are Evie’s friend or that Evie is Archie’s widow. The connection might not be there for Walsh at all.

The only person Walsh cares about is himself. The man has goals, and he fulfills them to whatever ends necessary. If that means taking out one or many, Walsh will do it without thinking twice. Evie might not even be on his radar.

But you?

You are.

All because of Simon. Not because of Archie and his connection to Evie. Walsh wants revenge. He wants Simon to suffer.

It is Simon that betrayed Walsh. Because of Simon’s actions—because of everything he did to take the man down—Walsh only wants you to for the simple goal of getting back at Simon.

When Johnny says nothing, and Simon remains silent, fresh tears fall from Evie’s eyes. “Maybe we should call the police, Amelia. We can’t handle this.”

“The police—” interjects Johnny but Evie continues on like he didn’t say anything at all.

“Thank you, Simon. Thank you for going. But we need to get the authorities involved.” Her hands are shaking even though she tries to hide it.

“No,” says Johnny sharply, one hand slightly raised.

Amelia and Evie both jump, turning toward him.

Johnny closes his eyes and sighs, dropping his hand. When he opens them again, his tone is softer. “Simon called the right people to handle this. Local police can’t do anything.”

Both women frown, but Johnny continues.

“Simon,” begins Johnny, lingering for a moment before continuing, “used to be military.”

Amelia nods. “I’m aware. Known for years.”

Johnny frowns. “Do you know what he did?”

Amelia blinks. Shrugs. “A bit.”

She doesn’t know much. In fact, Amelia knows very little. What she does know is that Simon sustained a bad enough injury for them to force his retirement. Amelia doesn’t know why or how.

“Johnny here used to be on the same team as me. We were sent all over the world on international missions. Our targets weren’t grunts on the ground. We went after those who wanted to do terrible things to a lot of people in the worst ways possible.”

Simon doesn’t elaborate. Amelia and Evie don’t ask for clarification.

“I’m no longer in, but Johnny is. I called our captain, and he’s the one handling this.”

“Why?” asks Evie. “Why would you need to call someone like that for this?”

“Does this have to do with Archibald?” asks Amelia.

“No,” says Simon sharply before Johnny can answer.

He has to put this right. He needs to speak the truth even if it pains him. “It’s someone from my past. Someone I made an enemy of.” And then, quietly, “I’m sorry.”

An apology is all Simon can offer. He has no comforting words for them because he has none for himself.

Evie glances away, her hand a fist that she presses against her mouth. There are no words spoken after that. She places her head on Amelia’s shoulder and the four of them lapse into silence.

It is Johnny that eventually wanders into the kitchen. He makes tea—poorly—but Simon accepts it anyway. He sits in an armchair, staring out the window as Bravo comforts Evie.

The two women don’t ask or tell Simon and Johnny to leave. Simon doesn’t know if Evie blames him. He wouldn’t mind. It’s deserved. But Amelia? That might hurt. Simon is loath to ask so he stays quiet.

Johnny carries the conversation. He speaks quietly to Evie and Amelia, asking them all sorts of questions that he’ll take back to Captain Price. Simon wants to suck it all in, to absorb the questions and trauma and hold it in his stomach to digest.

He’s seen worse. Done worse.

It is late by the time Simon and Johnny depart. It’s not true night but the sun is lowering, the sky awash with a reddish-purply glow. The walk back is utterly silent. Johnny and Simon linger with the sounds of passing cars and the occasional bark of a nearby dog.

Simon’s thoughts are elsewhere. Everywhere but his own head. His mind is there—processing, but there are no connections. It’s spinning static.

But Johnny is present. He is a solid presence beside Simon.

And it is Johnny that grabs Simon’s upper arm, bringing him to a halt before they reach the exterior door to Simon’s building.

Frowning, Simon glances up, scanning the street, muscles poised for action. He expects someone to fall from the sky or for Walsh to appear with weapon in hand. Simon will take that if it means getting you back.

“Stay here, Lt,” murmurs Johnny from the corner of his mouth.

The crease in Simon’s brow deepens but Johnny is already moving, leaving Simon on the pavement as he approaches the door. Simon’s gaze follows every step, and when Johnny reaches out to grab something white off the door, Simon doesn’t know he’s moving until Johnny turns toward him, a bit startled.

“I told you to stay,” snaps Johnny but there’s no venom in it. Only concern. Pity. And Simon hates that.

Simon’s response is not to speak but to snatch the thing out of Soap’s fist.

It’s another envelope. White like the last one. No postage like the last one. And there on the front in handwritten scrawl is Simon’s full name.

It’s exactly the same. A twin from the one found at Evie’s home.

Was Walsh here? Has he been watching Simon all this time? Is he here even now, lingering in a nearby building to watch Simon’s reaction to whatever is inside?

“Simon,” warns Johnny, but he’s not listening.

He needs to know—to fucking know.

Simon tears open the envelope and withdraws the small piece of paper.

It is thin. Wispy. Almost translucent.

The words are even thinner—as if the paper was kissed by smoke.

There are seeds that cannot sprout unless they are burned first. A friend told me that.

Simon told Walsh that—when Walsh thought Simon was an ally and not an enemy. When Simon was a plant and gaining information that would turn Walsh’s entire operation upside down.

I think of it often. I think of you. Isn’t it interesting that some living things must first burn before they can grow? What a gift that friend gave me. What a garden you and I are.

“Simon,” comes Johnny’s voice, but he’s not listening.

Everything is narrowing down to a point. He is fracturing all over again.

It rained that night. I burned like the seed. The sky watered my skin. I germinated. I flowered. I grew. What a gift. We are gardens now. The two of us.

“Call Price,” whispers Simon.

“Lt?”

“Call Price, Johnny.”

Simon knows.

He knows.

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[luciferanalyzestar]

NOT STOLAS WHINNING ABOUT BEING A NORMAL FUCKING PERSON LMAOOOO

And we are supposed to feel bad for his ass? Oh no, he has to eat eggs! Even though birds eat their own eggs in real life. That is POOR PEOPLE FOOD compared to his fancy diet.

He did not even say "Thank you" to Blitz for making him breakfast, he got grossed out by it instead and Blitz tosses out his plate. Stolas should have eaten the pancakes and bacon. He did not even TRY too.

Blitz is taking him out the apartment, taking him to a diner and defending his "honor", taking him clothes shopping, and catching rats for his ugly ass. I know he does not have his meds and is worried about Via but there should have been moments in this montage of him giving a weak smile to Blitz or something! They are in love, right??

Stolas looks horrified because he has to do a job now! He is crying like a little bitch, with tears in his eyes. See Loona, that is your future stepfather!

Becoming less fortunate broke his mind! This scene comes off as funny than sad. It so dramatic like come down, you are only going to hanging out with the lower class for 100 years. You will be able to go back to your posh lifestyle while the lower class will stay poor forever and be use as servants and pets.

Viv is obviously going with the "Riches to Rag" storyline with Stolas. I mean he is one of the examples on the TV tropes page. It is a common writing tactic for rich characters to go like it is crazy how many examples there are.

Stolas is coming off as ungrateful for what Blitz is doing for him, and he comes off as whiny. If Stolas was a child or teenager, his reactions of crying that he is poor now and him destroying stuff would be fine. This is a grown ass man with a whole ass daughter. Via is 17 and she is more mature than her father.

I took a Sociology class recently and learn about more about class and castes systems. From how a lot of Americans do not think America has a class system to how Japanese's abolished caste system stills harm Burakumin in modern times.

I would love a storyline of a someone from the higher class unlearning their classist beliefs and learning how the lower class has to live from losing everything. They learn how harmful the class or caste system truly is.

Maybe another writer can handle this topic better, I do think this topic will be handle with care. Viv is from a middle-class background, growing up in a fancy part of Maryland, and she likes to go on fancy vacations every month. At the same time, some artists on her crew have to open emergency commissions because they got bills to pay.

[aryxchse]

hello!

i see ur requests are open so i have one (potentially) if ur willing to write it!!

yk how we get some glimpses into a dark percy jackson in the HoO series when he’s protecting annabeth… what if we got some of that for jason grace? potentially like the reader, she’s threatened by a minor god or monster or anything, so jason kinda goes unhinged? maybe like, he takes the air out of the opposing party’s lungs or anything else kinda unhinged?

i hope any of this makes sense lol thank uuuuu

🫶🫶🫶

dangerous storms / jason grace x female! reader.

a / n : I WAS THINKING THE EXACT SAME THING BECAUSE WHY THIS MAN HASN'T BEND SOMEONES OXYGEN ALREADY???

warnings : jason grace's angry self, airbending type of shit, cursing, DANGEROUS JASON I REPEAT DANGEROUS JASON!!

jason grace was a calm man.

he was rational, he would think before he act and he never made a move with his feelings. call it him being roman, or his father being literally the king of the gods, or maybe him growing up with a wolf raising him. jason grace was always the type to show his powers through strategic thinking.

well, everyone has boundries right?

he had a thin line in between destroying one thing or everything when it camed to you. if you're fine, then no one has to fear for anything. if you're okay, safe and healthy, no one has to panic.

but if it's the other way, than everyone should pray. even the non-believers. because jason grace can be scary and intimidating when he wants to. and he's so damn good at it.

things weren't supposed to go this way. you weren't supposed to get kidnapped by some giant. the plan wasn't this way, then why, why we're you in danger?

jason stopped being rational. his brain only said 'why, why, why' for like, an hour now. jason wasn't thinking straight. jason wasn't thinking.

"jason, we're gonna save her," piper tried to charmspeak him, but it didn't worked. the girl who put gaia back in sleep, couldn't calm down the son of jupiter.

percy jackson, who was feared by most monsters, demigods and even gods, was afraid how jason acted at the moment. but he didn't judged, he knew he would act the exact same way if something happened to annabeth. which, he did.

he was the only one who would go down with him if he asked. boundries we're boundries, and percy knew that very well.

"jason, we can make a plan." piper tried again. she was trying from the moment they got you. but it wasn't working and she started to get anxious.

"yeah, man. she's strong, she could be on her way back here even-" leo tried his best too. he couldn't recognise his best friend right now. he should've been like percy, who wasn't judging jason's madness and ready to go down with him. but he couldn't—it was like leo meeting jason for the first time, again.

"i already have a fucking plan." jason snapped, but he was quiet. which, it didn't help with the gang's fear. "and you guys are not involved."

"you sure?" percy asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. "my hands been itchy these days, and riptide is no better."

jason wanted to smile, but his situation didn't allowed. instead, he softened his gaze, just a bit. "thanks, but i'll handle it myself. it's my war now."

percy nodded, giving a look at the team. 'if someone wants to stop him, they have to go through me.'

"go get em', tiger." he joked. and jason flied away, not answering.

‎ ⚡️

you would fight for your life if you weren't hanging up by the chains on your wrists. your feet we're dangling in the air, and arms hurting from carrying all your weight. the sick giants put some fancy greek dress on you, making your hair prettier while you were unconscious.

the giant fucking fell in love with you, and it certainly did not liked jason.

jason. we're was he? what happened to him?

well, you we're about to find out.

"oh dear," the ugly beast purred, his big hands finding your tiny body. you disgusted, squirming under his touch to get away. but it was no use.

"you'll be all mine once i make the potion." he rambled, drool on his chin that showed you how hungry he was for you.

"in your fucking dreams." you spat, eyes shooting daggers. you we're jason's girl, and your own person, most importantly. "i'm already taken."

the giant growled, mixing the sound with his sick laugh. "that jupiter boy? he got nothing compared to me sweetheart!" he yelled and his voice echoed through the big cave. where we're you, even? "he has to kill me to get you!"

"be careful what you wish for." the sound made you melt instantly. how was he able to find you? well, you didn't cared to be honest. he was here.

jason's eyes we're nothing like before. it was like his own eyes had their storms and thunders. one part of you we're amazed, while the other got scared. you knew he wouldn't even touch you if it ever hurt you, but you we're scared for him. not from him. for him doing something he'll regret for the rest of his life in order to protect you.

but, jason seemed to not give a damn.

"you tiny little demigod! you have no chance against me, you don't even have a god next to you to kill me!" he yelled, leaving you dangling in the air again. you wanted to call jason's name, but your voice muffled through the lightning.

"i don't fucking need a god," jason hissed, taking position. "i'll send you tartarus myself."

it all happened quickly. jason was so fast, unlike the big giant trying to capture and kill him. he was like a lightning himself, moving in light speed. there was a blonde thing moving, and you couldn't understand if it was his hair or sword. also there was little lightning sparkles that helped you figure him better.

then, the next thing you knew, jason was on top of the beast's face. he quickly called a lightning before stabbing his sword into the giants eye. it growled, but didn't falled.

"this is what you take for hurting my girl. my loved ones." jason said, his free hand going up in the air. you thought he was gonna make the giant eat some lightning, but it didn't go that way.

"remember my name in tartarus," he flied up again, taking a large air with him. the beast suddenly started to choke, holding it's neck desperately. "and make sure your friends does too."

it was the last thing giant heard before falling down, his oxygen flying in the air and dissapearing. jason immediatly flied towards you, cutting your chainst and holding you by the waist before you fall.

"jason," you breathed out, crying. you couldn't believe what you just have witnesses, but you figured it was the best to not mention. you we're happy that you we're safe now, in his arms.

"baby," he panted, hugging you so tight. you guys slowly landed on the ground, jason still clinging on you. "thank gods you're alive."

"i got scared," you admitted. normally, you would rather die than admit someone you're scare. but it was your jason, who could you tell if you're not gonna tell him? "he was gonna- jason, he was gonna make me one of them."

"shh baby it's okay," he cupped your face, his own tears matching you. but he had a smile, a smile that appeared once you we're in his arms. "i'm here. no one's touching you ever again okay? i'm here." he gently wiped your tears away, kissing you after.

you relaxed the moment your lips met, but it wasn't very long until you both heard footsteps again. jason quickly picked you up in bridal style, flying away from the little crack of the cave.

later that day, you both layed together in his quarters at argo ii. everyone decided that they shouldn't ask questions, like they didn't asked percy and annabeth after they got back from the tartarus.

even coach hedge let you snuggle eachother, because he saw how hurt jason was. he needed you for his own sake, to stay sane.

jason was the child of storm after all, he knew how to be scary when he wanted to. he kept it all inside when you we're near and safe. but if something slightly happened to you, he knew how to show them real power.

[ludinusdaleth]

one of the most fascinating parts of imogen & ludinus's dynamic is that, despite everything, and how much righteous hatred imogen has of him, and how ludinus is the one who led her down this path: ludinus is the literal only person imogen can act like a child to.

she talks to relvin distantly. she talks to liliana, her own mother, like shes the parent and her mother is the child. id say keyleth is the closest she actually has to a mother figure but it is so circumstantial, and imogen is hyperaware she needs to be on her best behavior or else be treated as a threat. shes the face of the bells as a party, and even if theyre silly and emotional together, she feels she must always pull them together and speak on their behalf, and she knows she will be put down if she turns "bad" by them. her own party.

she can fucking yell at ludinus. she can tease and mock him incessantly. because no one can judge her for it. in the moments shes in his vacinity she acts as though hes a shitty step dad who fucks her mom badly and she mocks aeor in front of him and she mocks that he isnt ruidisborn and shes ugly about it (correctly so). and it is release. she cant do that, she cant rant, she cant break, not to the bells, not to her mother, not to fucking anyone. so she'll throw a (completely justified) tantrum at him so much deeper than any current conflict, it's blood deep, how dare he steal her life and her moms life and how dare he destroy exandria for his plan and how fucking dare he-

ludinus, seeing the visage of liliana's likeness exactly in her child, takes the hits. as far back as c2 we see him able to lower his head at his actions. he at least has enough humanity somewhere that he has capacity for shame even if he will not fix it. he yaps to the high heavens but he allows others to batter him all the same when it comes to how he's hurt them, which i find a very unique trait among his kind of villain. and i think that awareness compounded with seeing the kin of this woman he clearly "loves" (even if insanely badly) is oddly a perfect conduit to imogens rage. he occasionally talks back but he never expresses anger with her - she merely considers predathos for a millisecond and is threatened by the world, but when she mocks the deepest worst fears of ludinus, he holds fast. they are an unstoppable force & immovable object of words thrown as shards of glass. ludinus who claims himself the child and who stole imogens parent is oddly the most parent-like in stoicism against a rebellious childs words, as she descends into being the child she couldnt be . he doesnt even chastise her. he can only look at her despairingly when she wont treat her mother with reverence, not him.

just. theyre so interesting. ludinus and the temults everybody

[burningcheese-merchant]

Sooo, I have a thought from an ask i saw about yandere beasts towards the ancients...

What if the Beasts became yandere towards YOU instead?

Although, the Ancients have the same feeling too, which may lead to high tensions in the air.

What would YOU in that scenario?

-A Self-Aware/Yandere lover Anon

Wait, me? Me specifically? Merchant? The person answering this ask? That's certainly an interesting thought...

If the Beasts became yanderes towards me, then I would fucking panic lol. I don't condone this kind of behavior irl, it's fun to write fictional crazy people but nobody wants to endure ACTUAL crazy people. Stalkers are sick and dangerous and need to be put away, and it's a damn shame it's not taken seriously by law enforcement anywhere (not until it escalates to violence, anyway, unfortunately)

With that said, let's terrorize Merchant for a little bit

IF THE BEASTS ARE STILL JUST COOKIES:

Step on them immediately, they're like 3 inches tall wait, would that work? They have powers and are crazy strong. What can they actually do against humans? Would stepping on them just break my fucking foot?

Send my dog after them no wait, I don't want them to hurt my dog. I love my dog very much. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to him. I'd never forgive myself if I let him try to eat them and he just got turned into flour or something

Pour milk on them ONE OF THEM IS MADE OF MILK ALREADY GODDAMN IT

Hide the box of cookies I like to get from the store, because they probably wouldn't appreciate the fact that I love to eat cookies (they're just like this 🍪 but still)

Try to trap them in the fridge momentarily, hope they don't destroy my nice fridge

Make a deal where they are allowed to live in and explore my house provided they damage nothing and hurt no one

Give them head scratches (especially Spice, his head looks Very Scratchable)

Give them tiny little kisses if they behave themselves (however, if I give one a kiss, I have to give them ALL kisses, or else the other 4 will retaliate against me out of jealousy)

I will also allow them to sit on my shoulders if they behave themselves and don't try to yank on my hair or my ears or something

Wait, do cookies know what sex is? Are they capable of sexual feelings? If so, how do they deal with them? Do they have the... equipment for that? WHAT IF THEY TRY TO HUMP MY FINGERS OR SOMETHING OH GOD-

Contact federal authorities and hope that they believe me when I say superpowered talking cookies are in my house, so they can come take them away and perhaps experiment on them

Probably never sleep again because there's a batch of little satanic cookies in my house that all want to fuck me for some reason (I'm ugly and a normie, wtf did I do to deserve this 💀)

IF THE BEASTS ARE HUMAN:

immediate death

panic x10000000000

I hc Spice as being at least 6'5''/198cm and 200+/90+ lbs/kg so I'm cooked 7 ways to Sunday just with him

Seriously I'm just a short nerd irl. Assuming they still have their powers, my life is literally over

Do everything in my power to convince them all my loved ones are dead so they don't go harm them out of jealousy (ESPECIALLY my SO, God have mercy, I'll probably have to tell him to go hide in his home country for a while)

Try to barricade myself in a church, hope that the "demons cannot set foot on hallowed ground/in God's house" rule applies to them, beg God to save my sorry ass while they try to break in and drag me back out

Can't call the cops because A) stalking and harassment are not taken seriously by police, B) they won't believe me when I say that 5 supervillains are trying to kidnap and marry me, C) by the time they realize I'm telling the truth, they will already have been hanged/put into a coma/beheaded/turned to flour/cut up into salt cubes

I actually only like men irl so I am in deep trouble with Flour and Sugar especially

Try to flee the country (probably won't work but I'll try anyway and hope they don't get too mad about it), hide out in the Yukon or some bumfuck nowhere village in Russia, I'd rather face a polar bear than these guys

Probably still be forced to let them live in my house in exchange for peace and obedience

...I don't know if tiny head scratches and kisses would cover it this time

Hope that they're all possessive enough to only harass me one at a time, instead of... more than one at a time, because that counts as sharing and yanderes don't really like doing that

Try to pit them against each other constantly. If they're too focused on arguing about who I belong to or whatever, then they can't focus on tormenting me

Would like to try to stab or shoot them but idk if conventional weaponry works on them at all

If I HAD TO pick one to say yes to, it would be Burning Spice. He is sexy af. Then, hopefully, I can weaponize this and get him to defend me from the others

IF THE ANCIENTS LIKED ME TOO, BUT WERE NORMAL:

Yay, sanity. I'll tell them to PLEASE get the Beasts away from me. They can sort out whatever they feel towards me later, we've got a bigger problem on our hands than that

COOKIES: I will keep them safe in my house under the same conditions as the Beasts: behave and do not harm anyone or anything

HUMANS: Look, can I just... send them back? How did any of these guys get here, anyway? Can I please just shove them back through the portal or whatever they used to get here? Even if I wasn't taken, I don't think I'd have the strength or patience to put up with anyone's shit. Can we just be friends? I'd love to be friends. I need a mom friend like Hollyberry in my life

If necessary, I am picking Dark Cacao. Seriously, I love my big, strong men. Merchant is a basic bitch at heart lol

IF THE ANCIENTS WERE YANDERES TOO:

Are you fucking kidding me

Am still picking Cacao, fuck all of you

[imyourbratzdoll]

Hiya!💗 my request, is about Lloyd Hansen, where like the reader accidentally does something to make him mad, and it kind of like flips a switch in him and they fight and he says something really mean, it can be about maybe the reader does something to make him mad, maybe he points out something about her and makes the reader insecure and then the reader becomes distant then Lloyd notices and realizes he messed up and tries to fix it?? Love your work btw 💗

hey! thank you so much! I hope you like it!

summary - the reader does something that causes lloyd to snap, he says some words he doesn't mean, and she becomes distant. do they fix their relationship?

warning - angst, thoughts of cheating, insults, slight fluff, self-hate.

the gif I use isn't mine, the divider by @firefly-graphics and @newlips

You were a smart girl. Why had you done something so stupid?

You had decided to clean the house while Lloyd was away, wanting him to come home to a clean house. You didn’t mean to knock liquid over vital documents. It was an honest mistake. You didn’t know they were the only copy, you had tried so hard to fix your error before Lloyd came home, but unfortunately, you didn’t do it in time.

“What the fuck is this?” Your eyes shoot up, and you stare wide-eyed at Lloyd. His eyes dart down to the destroyed papers. His brows furrow as a sneer appears on his face. “Are those the fucking papers I needed?!” He storms over, ripping the drenched papers out of your hands and glaring down at you. 

“I–’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I was just trying to–” 

“Trying to what? Ruin everything?” He growls, chucking the papers into the trash and looking around the room. “You couldn’t just leave shit alone? You had to be annoying and ruin everything like you always do!” You blink as tears blind your vision, Lloyd’s frown deepens, and he grips your arm before dragging you to the door. “Oh, are you going to cry now? Of course, you are! Because that’s all, you know how to do! I don’t even know why I’m with you! You’re not even my fucking type! So fucking ugly and useless.” He growls, the words just spewing out of his mouth now without thought.

You gulp back the sob that’s trying to make its way out. You nod your head slowly, freeing yourself from his grip, before running out of the room and to your and Lloyd’s room. You grab some of your clothes and move them to the guest room, not feeling comfortable staying in the same room as Lloyd. You spent the night crying into your pillow. What made it worse was that you could hear Lloyd inside the house, having the time of his life. 

A stabbing pain made its way to your heart when you heard the sound of a female laughing. You slowly got up and began to get ready. You didn’t want to be here if Lloyd was going to cheat on you, which hurt the most because you never thought he’d go that far, but you guess you really disappointed him. 

You slither into tight black pants, pulling on a tight black mesh corset covered in flowers and gold. You slide on your black-heeled boots and mess your hair up slightly before applying light makeup to your face, finishing it off with a dark red lip. You decide to spray Lloyd’s favourite perfume onto your skin, loving the musky scent of vanilla.

You open the door and begin to walk out of the room, making sure to grab your bag and phone before walking through the hallway and past the lounge room where Lloyd and the mystery woman sit. You keep your head up, not wanting to see who your replacement will be because you know it will break you even more. 

“Baby! There you are! Where are you going?” You hear his voice but decide to ignore him. You continue to walk down the steps and toward the front door. You are so zoned out that you don’t hear him calling out to you or running to catch up to you. You are only brought out of the zone when he seems to grab your arm, and Lloyd frowns when you flinch from his touch. 

“What, Lloyd? What could you possibly want now? Don’t you have a whore waiting for you upstairs? Couldn’t have waited till you broke up with me to fuck someone else?” You glare at him, not wanting to be around him. 

His brows furrow, wondering why you are acting like this or why you’d think he’d cheat on you. His eyes drift down your body and take in your outfit, wondering where you could be going wearing something like that without him by your side. Before he can open his mouth to say something, you rip your arm out of his grasp and swiftly exit. 

It’s been a few days since the fight, and Lloyd has noticed you’ve been avoiding him. You become distant whenever he manages to be in the same room as you— A shell of yourself. You’d flinch whenever Lloyd touched you, causing his heart to break. He couldn’t put his finger on why you were acting like this.

He’s sitting at his desk in his office, going through some paperwork. His phone goes off, causing him to groan as he answers it. “What?!” You do not mean to eavesdrop on his phone call as you walk past his office. “What do you mean you can’t get rid of her?! Didn’t I pay you enough?! I told you that she’s useless to me! So what the fuck are you waiting for?!” You jump slightly, feeling detached more as you realise this is over. You should’ve left that night. You knew he slept with her when you came home. How else could you explain the destroyed lounge and his messy clothes? 

You gulp, head back to your room, and sit on the uncomfortable mattress. Your head goes into your hands as sobs escape your body. “Why do I have to ruin everything? Why am I so fucking ugly and useless?!” You sob, tears flowing down your face as you realise you’ve lost the one person you’ve ever loved. You are so lost in your pain that you don’t see Lloyd standing at the door, his eyes tearing up as he listens to your words. He finally realises why you’ve been so distant. “I’m so fucking pathetic that he goes and fucks someone after a fight. Why me?” 

Lloyd quickly launches forward, his arms wrapping tightly around you and holding your shaking body against his, rocking you gently as he whispers into your hair. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” He presses a kiss into your hair, tears flowing down his face. “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean any of it. You’re my one. My only.”

Your body leans into him as he continues to hold you. “I never cheated on you, Pumpkin. She was the target, but the men I hired screwed up, and she got away.” You slowly turn, looking at him through blurry eyes. Lloyd’s heart breaks at how broken you look. He leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead. “You don’t have to forgive me now. I will do anything and everything to make this up to you. Whatever you want is yours.” He stares into your eyes before he stands and lifts you.

Your arms wrap around his neck, about to ask where he’s taking you until you realise he’s heading toward your room. “You’ve been sleeping on that awful mattress, and it’s time for you to stay in our bed,” Lloyd demands, lying down on the bed and wrapping you into his arms, making a promise in his head that he will never hurt you again.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.