#tw cleaner drinking(??????)

[puffycloud2]

FUCK FUCKING FUCK FUCK ;-;

@fluffygiraffe @unibeartoon @cloudxxiii @comicmaker

the reason i haven't been online is because you know.

GETTING REPETADEDLY GROUNDED OVER AND OVER AGAIN (im like goanimate caillou bitch >:'l)

also it was kinda tied to my grades and... well... im kinda failing a bit.

(also forgive me but the same day when i was about to get it back my stepdad found my grades and i cant have it back unless i get Cs on my grades ((im this close)) also i was about to say i had a fucking breakdown and my ass deiced to drink cleaner ((it tasted nasty af but it was mostly water and toxic free so im okay now)

I HABVNT GONE OUT ON MY OWN IN DSAYS AND I HAVE TO RESORT USING PROXIE WEBSITES TO SEE OATD CONTENT ON TUMBLR HELP ;-;

anyway happy valentines day, cya guys probably never again :')

[paterday]

The most frustrating thing to me. Is that my art could be miles better. If i did not spend 3 years being actively suicidal everyday. Like i know i did not control that but man.

[vagabond-umlaut]

for love is flesh, it is a flower flooded with blood

you're ravishing while gojo is ravenous— rabidly so.

gojo x fem!reader; everyone is 18+ here; somewhat one-sided enemies to lovers; the summary explains more than any no. of tags can ever; tw: cannibalistic tendencies & blood & violence [nothing of the like happens tho!!]; tw: mentions of throwing up and being sick; SATORU IS PINING HERE, AND IT AIN'T A PRETTY SIGHT TO GAZE ON; he seriously needs to go to therapy; unestablished relationship; there's fluff too, dw; 2.5k wc

belongs to the series 'fictitious force' but can be read as a stand-alone if you wanna

fic title from 'poem of the end' by marina tsvetaeva // header from pinterest // divider by @/adornedwithlight // jjk isn't mine

gojo wants to eat you whole.

too ridiculous, even for him— is it not?

maybe... maybe not... the man does not know. he decidedly does not care— not when you're there beside him. seeming this delectable. an alluring treat for his palate— he's surer of this than of the ridges in his palms.

you stir in your sleep.

something gnaws at his heart. shifts in the hollow of his stomach.

strengthening when your features relax. worsening when your mouth twitches, its shape pleased. settling down when your mien flattens in its wonted neutrality.

gojo bites back a groan. only to sigh noisily when you shuffle closer.

years ago, were anyone to tell him that one day he would be seconds away from dying from pangs of an indescribable hunger— agonising, antagonising— for someone catnapping in the seat next to his. in an overcrowded train, sickeningly so, at 10 on a monday morning—

he would have punched the informer. perhaps sent them into a coma if the day wasn't treating him very well... but then again.

you're not just someone, are you?

a bite of candy: so crunchy. refreshing. sweet. when his brain is a bit too tired. a bit too sluggish. a bite of mango: its addicting sweetness dancing on his taste buds. trickling down the corner of his lips. more than welcome after a year of wait. a sip of hot chocolate: the warmth of the drink, homely and sweet. lulling him into a dreamless sleep as he nestles in his childhood blanket. a sip of water: supposed to taste bland, but tastes so sweet. sweeter than nectar, after training—

it's confusing, even for gojo.

but the man believes you'll taste akin a mix of all these he has listed—

he stops. and wonders. will this hunger of his be satiated if he steals away only a small taste of yours? it won't be anything much!! maybe not even a taste, now that he thinks about it... just a touch.

yeah.

yeah, yeah, yeah. it'll be one and only one touch. and nothing more—

can he reach out and caress your cheek once?

he can... obviously, he can. there is nothing he, the strongest, cannot! but... what if his need manifests claws.

what if his need tears at the delicate skin. gouges the soft flesh there — deriving an animalistic, depraved pleasure from the rivers of blood which would be flowing—

no sooner does the image flutter into gojo's mind, than he screws his eyes shut and resolutely burns it. brain already whirring with the next possible course of action. something better. something cleaner—

can he intertwine his fingers with you then?

they look so small. they look so pretty. just so perfect. as if they have always been meant to slip into the gaps between his fingers. erasing the emptiness from there. and from within the fissures formed in his self, for once and for all time— ah.

but what if he squeezes your hand too hard.

what if he bruises you and breaks your bones, in his attempts to allay his craving for you. to mitigate his madness for you. the violet colour blooming on your unblemished skin. the following crack! and crunch! of your frail bones beneath his unyielding grasp. beneath the teeth of his hunger—

no, no, never, never, never!

a wave of something bitter, something bilious rolls through the man.

he draws in a deep breath— and pauses.

gojo can't touch you without hurting you, but he definitely can lean in a little closer... and get a whiff of your perfume, right?

not anything much, it'll be nothing at all. and it isn't like, the moment he tilts himself towards you, he's going to grow fangs— fangs, all too ready to sink into the column of your neck. thirsty for the feel of your blood. the tiny beads of it on his tongue, sweet. yes, addictively so— and maybe, since he's already there... he can leave a loving sign from his side on your skin. dark red. enticing, but defintely not as much as the taste of you. certain to linger in his mouth. persist in his thoughts— conscious and everything not. even after it's been eons—

the train lurches to a sudden stop.

and with it, does gojo's vivid daydream as well— but he doesn't care.

not when the resulting clamour in the compartment has awoken you. not when your face is gaining a shade of upset. pretty cute, he thinks. but the man also believes such a sight isn't meant for these unworthy souls in this place, so...

how bad then, is it not? that he can do nothing about it. he can't blind these people. nor can he ask you to not make such a face. you simply won't take kindly to either of those—

thus leaving him helplessly watching. shamelessly staring.

the way your eyebrows scrunch closer. lips dip into a small pout, then break apart in a yawn. finally followed by your eyes blinking open. too bleary for such a bright morning, but to gojo, they appear to outshine the sun itself.

it takes you a beat to find your bearings. he waits patiently, keen eyes watching your every movement. every minuscule expression. another yawn spills past your lips, noisier than the previous. making the man's cheeks twinge from the growing stretch of his grin. ribs ache from his swelling heart.

you take another moment to focus your foggy mind on him. frowning as you do. gaze flitting from him to your loud fellow passengers, then back to him.

your frown worsens. gathers a pinch of concern.

"is... everything okay, senpai? you don't look too alright out there."

he doesn't!?!?

no. of-fucking-course, no.

he's the strongest sorcerer in the world, yes. there's no doubt about it— but even he is a little too weak to not grow weary when fighting his irrepressible urges to gorge himself on you...

realising he has been silent for a tad too long, gojo struggles to drag back his fading grin. before deciding to just let go of it. dropping his mouth into the most pitiful shape he can, he grumbles. sounding so aggrieved and in such a terrible pain.

"you seeing this compartment, darling? it's so cramped, so noisy, so very under-ventilated— it's making me wanna puke, babyyy!"

features crumpling up— he chooses not to probe why— you exhale a rather heavy sigh. and retort, "i never asked you to accompany me to work, senpai. you were the one who insisted. who invited himself— 's not my problem if you bite off more than you c— wait a second," you cut yourself off abruptly, eyes becoming rounder and tone turning an awful lot panicked, "you aren't really feeling nauseous, are you? i have few candies and a packet of crackers— you wanna munch on those??— or wait a sec, you can drink some water from my bottle— or... wait. i'll just get up and tell these people to move away. you need some air to breathe freely—"

"will you let me eat you?"

lights flickering, the train shudders into a sudden start.

but gojo's heart stumbles into a stop. when he realises he has spoken something he must have never let see the light of day. something the man must have never let reach you— you might always be wearing an awful tough exterior, but you're rather sensitive beneath it... innocent and sweet, the lamb to his wolf.

the man probably shouldn't, yeah. yet he allows his insides to twist in glee at the face you make— bathed in warm hues as you gape at him.

those brilliant eyes, wide and unblinking. lips parted, not-too-slightly. the rest of your body, so perturbed not one whole minute back, but a little too still now in that uncomfortable seat— gojo wants to... but he decides not to jerk you away from a state as this. it isn't everyday you let him drink the sight of you in a state as this.

it takes you much longer than he expected you to borrow to recover. thirteen seconds versus your usual three.

the train picks up speed in the backdrop.

your face slips behind its mask of placidity. but the concern wrinkling your forehead and furrowing your brows is clear as day for him to see. loud as bells for him to hear when you speak, tone quiet and adorably soft.

"i think you need some rest, senpai. we'll get down at the next station and i'll call ijichi-san to pick you up then drop you home, okay?— i will also ask ieiri-san to check you once— think you've caught some virus, or maybe it's just fatigue. that's why you're looking and feeling so sick— definitely why you're asking me such a question."

gojo doesn't need any foresight to know he will regret his next course of action. very much, if not more than that ask which slipped past the cracks in his defenses— but now? in this specific instant? he reckons he'll regret even more if he doesn't do what he wants to do.

what that hunger within him wants him to do— fuelled by your worry for him. care for him. disbelief for him. the impending doom wherein you'll leave him behind, leave him suffering—

a voice floats through the air, announcing the train to be approaching the next station.

slipping the bag onto your shoulder, you move to stand up. a precious urgency highlighting your actions as you do— only for him to encircle your wrist in his fingers. yanking you back into the seat, before you've even left it entirely. a noise akin a gasp, a stifled gasp, spills past your lips. pinching him, helped by the startled look offered alongside. gojo wills himself to ignore the pain, however.

every sense zeroing in on you. only you. as he tugs you even closer to himself. and murmurs, words uttered, slowly and carefully. meant for you and him only, and not for anyone else outside this bubble he has been building around you both.

"but what if i say you are why i'm so ill, and eating you is the only way i can get cured— will you let me eat you then, darling?"

"i..." you start. but then stop. you look a little breathless, gojo thinks. a little too weak perhaps. your placid mask, a little too close to cracking open, falling to the floor in pieces...

the signs are all gone albeit, before the man can etch any of them to his brain. before he can even know if he was just seeing things.

"senpai," you reply evenly, calmly, "we are deboarding the train at the next station for sure. i'll book a cab there and personally drop you off at the school, yeah? ieiri-san needs to—"

gojo whispers your name.

its syllables, too piercing. too pleading. too foreign on a tongue which has only ever called you by terms of endearment. utterly uncaring for how much you complain. uncaring for the rumors, you've always said his antics will give rise to, when there's actually no fire to give birth to the smoke.

hah, if you only saw the fire melting him from within.

he makes a move to call you by your name yet again. but you cut him off before he can. the pieces of your mask crumble into dust, turning into nothing before he can even register what is happening.

your lower lip trembles. just once. barely noticeably so. "you're crazy. stupidly, unbelievably, insanely crazy— you need to get help, senpai."

you're insulting him. lowkey, highkey, it doesn't matter. nothing does, except the fact you're insulting him.

he doesn't even think before he decides it too doesn't matter.

tightening his grasp on your wrist, he leans towards you. shaping his lips in a grin. maybe a bit too predatory, but eh. if you have read him well enough to suggest needing help, he trusts you to know the kind of reaction he will return.

grin wavering for a beat, when your blood gives a frantic push against his thumb pressing onto your artery, he retorts, "what if i say i'm in no need of any help? what if u say i need you— just you— will you permit me then, huh?"

you probably won't, few voices in his head state. studying the utterly stricken look you're offering him in answer. the man doesn't hesitate to choke them into an eternal silence.

you ask, "will i be okay if i say 'no', senpai?"

"i'm hurt you think you won't be," gojo snaps back with a frown. soft but biting, a pretty intentional action of his. you wince a little. words not even taking one whole second to from before bubbling out.

"okay, yeah— 'm sorry. i know you'll never force me— i'm really sorry," you repeat, features more distressed than he would ever like them to be— he lets his frown smoothen out.

face lightening, he notes your shoulders slump a little— before seeing the way your eyebrows huddle together. he acutely registers you shift closer to him. voice ringing in his ears when you state rather than ask, "but you won't be okay if i say 'no', will you?"

"no," the word escapes him, as quiet as a breath the moment the last syllable leaves you—

sucking in a staggering breath, he shakes his head. and repeats, "no. i won't be. i really need you to live at this point, baby. i know you will be thinking how i'm love-bombing you right now, but trust me— i cannot survive without you. i need—"

"— me. yeah, i get it," you interrupt him. as rudely as always, but gojo doesn't find himself offended. too lost in the breathless chuckles tied into your tone. you lean back away from him, an amused glint in your eyes, in your tenor as you hum, "i don't know if this was you flattering me enough to make me cave into your demands... but it's okay. yeah. fine— i'll let you eat me. devour me. or whatever poetic shit you're on about— just don't forget to slice my carotids before you do that, yes?— don't really wanna go through the pain or the mess of being eaten while alive, you see."

[agreeing to be eaten by him is not the same as agreeing to date him.

gojo knows this. tough to believe, but he does. he really, really does—

but who the hell cares.

definitely not him, as he scribbles both of your initials on his mission reports later in the day. a big plus sign linking the two pairs of letters, an even bigger heart encompassing them—

pen stilling over the paper, gojo pauses. and grins.

sure. agreeing to be eaten by him is not the same as agreeing to date him— the former's far more intimate. entails much firmer trust, much greater love—

after marriage, will he take your surname, or will you take his?]

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[blarshwritezz]

Yandere Ex x Reader

M yan x AFAB reader

TW - general yandere behavior, implied NSFW, somnophilia, drugging, pregnancy/baby trapping, stalking

Things have been...strange since you broke up with your now ex boyfriend. Things in your house were moved, and sometimes cleaner than how you left them. Not only that, you've been feeling sleepier and sleepier. Especially after all your meals. You swear you'd fall asleep at the table only to wake up in your bed...

And worse, for the last month or two, you've been feeling really sick. And not only that, you've missed your last two periods.

So naturally, you went to your doctor in hopes of finding an answer. And well...you certainly found one.

"Pregnant?! But- but that's impossible! I haven't had sex in months!" You haven't exactly been sleeping with many people since your breakup 6 months ago. Well, any people, actually.

"Ma'am, don't you think you're a little old to be acting like this? If you haven't been sexually active, there would be no baby." The doctor talked down to you, as if you didn't know how babies happen.

That night, you laid in bed thinking about how the hell this could have happened. Sure, you randomly woke up some mornings with a sticky mess between your legs, but you thought you'd just had an increase in wet dreams or something.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sound in your walls. Damn mice. You needed to get rid of them. No matter how many traps you set out, they never seemed to go away.

You sighed and got up. You couldn't sleep. Maybe a snack would help, or a cup of water. Arriving at your kitchen, you opened the fridge. Now what did you want? You actually weren't that hungry.

You spotted a little bottle of water and grabbed it. You just liked the taste a bit better than tap water. You opened it and took a swig, taking it with you back to bed.

Laying back down, covering yourself with the blankets and closing your eyes, you thought about your breakup oddly enough. It was so weird. You told him you never wanted to see or hear from him again, and he just...agreed. He had been acting extra possessive and you couldn't take it. You expected to have to fight tooth and nail to get away from. You thought you must have just gotten lucky as sleep finally took you.

And he stuck to his word, really he did. You hadn't seen him. You couldn't, not from inside your walls. Thanks to the total lack of security cameras in your house, he was able to sneak out whenever he wanted to drug your food and drinks while you weren't looking. You would never notice how he tapped your phone to listen to you wherever you went.

He was elated at the news from today. You had to be his again now that you were having his baby! Maybe soon, he'd come out of hiding and you three would be a happy family! And it'd be a lot easier to give that child siblings. As many as possible, preferably.

Until then, he'd be content with watching you from a distance, only able to get close when you were asleep. And after a few months, he'd be able to start taking proper care of you.

This would have been better if I finished it closer to when I started it lol

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Unexpected Appearances of Softness

Just a silly little drabble about Summoned!König bringing you some things back from home. He's nice, I swear. He's just also a bit out of touch.

Tws: Mentions of your mother having a heart condition

Story below the cut.

Unexpected Appearances of Softness

The dark hallways were pockmarked by shafts of light from the potlights in the ceiling, casting godrays that showered down onto the empty floors. Walking through, doors lined the halls, standing bravely at attention like the summoners that slept behind them. At the farthest end of the hallway, your door sat waiting for you. Open.

As soon as you saw the open door you felt your stomach drop. You wanted to run, but at this hour you risked waking up some irate summoners. Instead, you trained your eyes on the grey linoleum floors as you skirted down towards your open hell. With each footstep, you could feel your bpm rising steadily, your heart drumming in your ears like a marching band as you walked.

When you got to your doorway, you took a moment to settle yourself. Just from the doorway, nothing looked off. Taking a breath, you stepped through the door.

Your room was perfectly intact. Nothing seemed off in the slightest. You checked your washroom, and all your belongings were in place and untouched. Your room was similarly pristine, almost to clinical state. It was bizarre. Did you forget to close your door? No, you locked it when you left. So why was it so clean? In fact, now that you got a better look under the moonlight, it looked cleaner than before. Clothing you’d thrown into drawers had been neatly folded and set inside the cabinet with care. Your shoes were neatly lined up by the front door with military precision you’d never been able to drill into your head. It was eerily perfect in a way that seemed almost unnatural.

You looked around the room again and nearly spat out your drink when you saw your bed. It was perfect. What was disturbing though was the fact that the stuffies you left at home were now sitting at the top of the bed.

You picked up one such stuffy and examined it carefully. Who the hell would bring up these old relics? Who even had the ability to go all the way back home and come back to base, simply for the sole purpose of getting your childhood mementos back to you?

The lights flickered.

Ah.

“König,” you called out to the room behind you, “why did you get my stuffies from back home?”

A heavy scaled hand planted itself firmly on your shoulder as the thin cloth of the being’s dark hood drifted over you.

“Are these not to your standards, Summoner?” König’s pitchy yet guttural voice thrummed through his chest into your back.

You held up the stuffy by its arms.

“Did you see my parents?” you asked, ever so slightly hopeful.

“Your mother is well,” König patted your head, “your father screamed when he saw me.”

You snorted as you put the stuffy down, “You actually let them see you?”

“Their summons demanded that I make myself known,” König explained with a hint of bitterness to his tone, “and, seeing as I am a benevolent being, I simply followed their orders. Apparently, they thought I’d wait until your father had finished his shower.”

You knew you’d be getting a phone call soon for that. You could already hear your father ranting about how you needed to keep your summon under control, already knowing full well that controlling an avatar of chaos was a laughable thought. You wondered what he thought of your summon, considering how renowned your father's name was among the old brass he used to run with.

“Your mother passed out when she saw me,” König continued, “but she came to fairly quickly. Then fainted again. The second time she came back I ensured that she was in a comfortable chair and well cared for, I assure you.”

“You know my mother has a heart condition, right?” you sighed as you put your beloved plush bear back onto the bed.

“Of course I know,” König scoffed, “anyways, we were able to settle our difference once she was able to stay conscious,” König prattled on as he examined his iridescent claws, “she seemed uncomfortable knowing that you’re mated to me for eternity, but she did say that it was better than having your bones torn from your body and keeping your flesh alive.”

You turned to look up at your summon with a blank look. At this point, you were about to develop a heart condition too.

“Please don’t tell me you said that to my mother,” you glared up at your summon with as much ferocity as a wet kitten could muster.

König stared into the distance before he slowly met your eyes.

“I apologize, Summoner.”

You looked at him, then back at the stuffies.

“Why?” you sighed.

“Not all is wrong, Summoner. After she finished her insufferable wailing, she thanked me for not harming you. I’m surprised a human understood her place so well,” König took a half step back, “I will add for your peace of mind, she suggested I bring your stuffed animals to you.”

You paused, then nodded slowly.

“So what were you doing at my place if you weren’t getting my stuffies?” you asked.

“You left your entertainment device underneath your bedding when you last visited.”

You scrunched your face for a moment before understanding opened your features.

“You got my gameboy back?” you asked hopefully.

König simply took the ‘entertainment device’ from a pocket in his robe and passed it to you. You tried to turn it on, but it was out of charge. You supposed beggars can’t be choosers.

“So, my mom told you to bring me my stuffies?” you asked as you set the gameboy on your night table.

“She also asked me to bring you some ‘cookies’,” König held out a bag of smooshed crumbs and molten chocolate, “I forgot how delicate human treats are.”

You took the bag into your own hands and took a close look. If nothing else, you could probably mix this up with some icecream or something. They at the very least seemed to still be edible (a far cry better than the pizza you’d asked König to pick up for you last week, only to be presented a cardboard box full of ashes and embers. König had tried to bring another back, but that had gone even worse). If nothing else, König was learning how to transport baked goods a bit better.

“So, was that everything? You brought my gameboy, some of my stuffies and some cookies from my mom?” you looked up at König.

König sniffed indignantly, “Your superiors did not seem to believe a controlled black hole in your dormitory was an appropriate idol to chaos.”

For once in your life, you thanked the heavens above for the dorm standards.

König furrowed his brows, evidently displeased by the look on your face. You looked back at your gameboy and sat on your bed. You noticed the mattress was a fair bit more comfortable, another sign of König’s intervention. You picked up your stuffed bear again with a smile.

“Thanks König.”

The avatar faltered momentarily before regaining his stoic composure.

“Your comfort is paramount, Summoner,” he replied tersely.

You noticed that he seemed to be unable to meet your eyes, instead focussed on the posters plastered on your walls. You would’ve laughed, but you figured his ego wouldn’t be able to handle a weak summoner such as yourself laughing at him. At least, not out loud.

Your figured he knew, anyways.

AU Masterlist

[thewirewitch]

Forbidden Mtn. Dew

Lord help me, I literally cannot carry cups of muddy water it's going in my mouth.

Literally looks so tasty I can't. It looks like hot chocolate it's going in my mouth. I have no self-control whatsoever

[sins0fthefather]

Wrath.

Jeff the Killer HCs:

General HCs:

Full Name: Jeffrey Alexander Woods (Only responds to Jeff though. Best case scenario if you call him his full name is he’ll ignore you, worst case scenario is him flipping his shit on you)

Age: 22-25 (Based on where in the story a character study/fic takes place)

Birthday: September 22 (Older than Liu by 2 years)

Wasian— Father is Chinese, mother is a born n’ raised Texan

Biromantic, Demisexual

Has autism, C-PTSD, BPD (contributor to his auditory hallucinations), NPD, ASPD, and BDD

Right Handed

6’1 (185~ cm)

Covered in burn scars, most noticeably on his chest, forearms, and back

He uses white facepaint, it makes his face’s silhouette look “cleaner” in his eyes

His cuts have healed up for the most part, although he’ll have moments where he relapses and cuts at them again. The ends will also sometimes tear if he does something like laugh too hard.

Very touchy with other people, but he despises being touched first. He prefers to initiate physical contact- both because of the control aspect of it and because of his general distrust of others.

His sense of humor waxes and wanes from extreme condescension to the most morbid sentences you’ve ever heard. Half of the time it doesn’t even sound like a joke.

Reckless driver, cursed with terrible road rage

Smokes cigarettes, his brand of choice is Marlboro

Drinks vodka straight as if it were water

I feel like his favorite band would be Tool or Slipknot. His music taste is just metal and dad rock.

Was brought up in a Catholic school for most of his life, although he obviously doesn’t keep up with the practice anymore. This is a big catalyst for why he develops a god complex however since he “has authority over life and death”— something unique only to gods from what he was taught.

Very observant of the people around him. He memorizes speech patterns, demeanors, even the way people walk. He’s gotten to the point where he can read people and their intentions well before they’re explicitly stated, making it much easier for him to spot a lie. However this also makes it much easier for him to tell when he’s truly pushing somebody’s buttons, and there’s nothing he loves more than pushing people past their limit.

Always stealing glances of himself in any mirror he walks past

He’s an opportunistic killer. Limiting himself to patterns clashes with the creativity and the thrill of the moment to him. However, there are specific elements of a kill he will often repeat if the mood strikes him. An example of this would be often including strangulation (albeit usually not the direct cause of death) to reflect his acquired need for control in all moments of his life. Sometimes he will also pose bodies in a “prayer” position to call back that god complex I mentioned.

He doesn’t always kill people immediately. If someone catches his eye, usually because he finds them beautiful in some aspect, he’ll take it a step further. He has no problem with being patient when the situation arises for it- stalking the person, learning their habits and schedules, the whole shebang. He’ll then slowly start to ruin said person’s life, isolating them through the slaughter of those closest to them and destroying any sense of peace and security they once had. He’s the sound that goes -bump- in the night. He’ll toy with his food until he eventually grows bored, disposing them like all the rest. After all, how dare someone else try to be beautiful in his presence- a punishment of the highest order is necessary.

His anger can be very… explosive. He doesn’t stick around very long for enough people besides victims to see it, but it can be as unpredictable as his own kills. It’s worse when he’s silent in his anger however, since with the former you at least have enough of a warning to brace yourself.

Backstory-Centric HCs:

(TW: csa, murder, mutilation, religious trauma, general stuff)

Takes place in college. Jeff is 22 at the start while Liu is 20.

Instead of being a one-off instance, Jeff and Liu have been subjected to bullying/borderline harassment since middle school. This builds up Jeff’s gradual distrust of others and leads to him shutting himself off from his peers.

Most of said bullying revolved around their mixed race situation. It only got worse as Jeff shut himself off and Liu became a people pleaser.

The two didn’t even have peace at home, since their parents were sexually abusive and excused it through their religion. It was “all apart of god’s love” as they said. This + the bullying leads Liu to develop DID and kickstarts Jeff’s resentment towards their parents. It also led Jeff to develop a twisted belief on what love and beauty is since god apparently “favored” the beauty of his parent’s form of “love.”

On one particular instance of bullying/harassment, a small group of people he grew up with planned on jumping and mugging Jeff behind a bar. Things escalated when Jeff retaliated in self defense, beating his aggressors with a nearby pipe found laying against a dumpster. He didn’t leave unscathed however, since one of the attackers dropped a lighter into the flammable materials (alcohol, trash, etc) that had been scattered in the fight, planning on making everyone go down in that moment. Jeff managed to survive (albeit with severe burns along his body) after being found by an employee who went to go check out the noise/smell of smoke, but the others succumbed to their wounds.

While in a heavy state of shock and psychosis (paired with being drugged up out the wazoo at the hospital) his usual unchecked auditory hallucinations worsened, leading his mind to trick him into believing this situation was a sign from god- that he was supposed to survive while his tormentors burned. Paired with his already twisted concepts of love and beauty, he began to believe that his burns were part of god’s plan to make him more beautiful- because he was favored.

This only gets worse when he’s released from the hospital’s custody due to a neglect in checking his mental state. After being sent home with his family and therefore being thrown back into the abusive environment he hoped to escape when going to college he ends up experiencing a psychotic break, mutilating himself in the process.

When his parents catch him, they attack him. In their eyes he had disgraced them, no longer upholding the “beauty” of heaven that they enforced. He ends up killing them in self defense, but furthers it by mutilating their bodies in an act of defiance induced by his break. He believes he’s outdone god in this moment, deluding himself into thinking he’s on the same level (or even better) than god.

While overcome by his psychotic break, he ends up severely wounding Liu after he wakes up to check out the noise. It becomes a conspiracy on if Liu survived or not since his body was never found by authorities.

The reason why Jeff continues on his spree after these instances is the feel of control he gets. After being forced into submission by those around him for so long, he finally feels a stable sense of power over those he deems as less than him.

He ends up wandering throughout the states after this, hopping from town to town. He never stays in one place for long, although sometimes he’ll revisit his home town to give the urban legend fanatics something to fear again.

[vigilante-3073]

Figure You Out

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

John Winchester x Female Reader (Platonic)

PART 2

Summary: A glimpse into Y/N's past and how she learned about the existence of the supernatural.

TW: Mentions of violence and death, implied smut.

Dean walked out of the motel room he was sharing with his brother, slamming the door behind himself as a final display of his anger. He shook his head, walking across the cracked pavement of the parking lot towards the Impala. Dean got in, starting the car and pulling out of the lot with no particular destination in mind.

He knew that this argument didn't need to blow up like it had and he needed some time away to cool off. Dean drove around for a bit before he pulled into the crowded parking lot of a bar. He parked the Impala and went inside, desperately needing a drink to settle himself down.

Dean looked around the crowded room before his eyes settled on a familiar figure at the bar. Dean made his way over to her, "I guess Sam and I should just hit the road if you're in town, huh?" Dean questioned.

Y/N smiled, "Nice to see you too, Dean," She said.

"Mind if I join you?" He asked, tilting his head towards the empty barstool beside her.

"Go for it," Y/N said.

Dean sat down on the stool beside her, "What are you drinkin', sweetheart?" He asked, nodding to her almost empty glass.

"Whiskey," Y/N replied.

"Two more and make them doubles, please," Dean said to bartender. The man nodded, moving off to prepare their drinks.

"Doubles, huh? Rough night?" Y/N questioned.

"You have no idea," Dean huffed.

The bartender set two more glasses of whiskey on the bartop. Dean passed the man a few bills, "Keep the change," He said. The man nodded and moved away to the register.

"You fighting with Sam?" Y/N asked, taking a sip from her glass.

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Looking to talk or drink?" She asked.

"Drink," He stated, taking a large gulp from his own glass.

"I can work with that," Y/N nodded.

The pair spent hours sitting at the bar and drinking in silence. Dean looked over at her as she flagged down the bartender for another round. He prepared them quickly, setting their drinks on the bartop and accepting the bill that Y/N held out between manicured fingers.

"Keep the change, honey," She said dismissively, sliding her glass closer to herself.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean questioned.

"Thought you just wanted to drink," She teased with a smirk.

"Yeah, you got me there," He nodded, spinning his glass on the bartop.

"Ask your question, Dean," Y/N said.

"When we first met, you recognized our names... Did you know my dad?" Dean asked.

"I did," She stated.

"How'd you meet him?" Dean questioned.

"I used to be a bounty hunter and I was sent to Tennessee to catch a perp who escaped police custody... I originally thought it was a network because we had security footage of at least five different people. The guy turned out to be a shifter and I killed him before he could hurt anyone else," Y/N started, taking a sip from her glass.

"I saw him transform and it really messed me up... I fell down a rabbit hole of research into shapeshifters and skinwalkers, but I had no fuckin' clue what was real. I decided that I needed to find a specialist on the matter," She said.

"That's when you met my dad?" Dean asked.

She nodded, "I watched the news in surrounding states for anything out of the ordinary and went to the crime scenes when a case stuck out to me. I knew that there had to be people out there who worked as cleaners for this sort of thing. Originally I was thinking FBI or private agencies but then your dad showed up and I knew he was my guy... An old leather jacket, a fake FBI badge and an 'I'm the boss' attitude that had people telling him whatever he needed to know. I tailed him out to a bar and basically begged him to tell me what the hell was really out there," Y/N said.

"And he told you? Willingly?" Dean asked.

"I think he was impressed by how hard I worked to pin someone like him down," Y/N said.

"That sounds like him," Dean nodded.

"Yeah," Y/N muttered.

....

Eight Years Earlier

John Winchester sat at the bar, scribbling notes down in his notebook. A half-empty bottle of beer sat on the bartop beside his journal as he worked.

"This seat taken?" Y/N asked.

"I'm not in the mood for company, kid," John stated.

Y/N sat down in the chair beside him, "Two more of whatever the gentleman is having, please," She said.

The bartender nodded, moving to the other end of the bar to prepare their drinks.

"You really don't take no for an answer, huh?" John asked.

"I've been looking for someone in your line of work for some time now and I think it'd be best if we just cut the chitchat and got right to it," Y/N said.

John shifted discreetly, hand settling on the handle of his gun.

"I'm not looking for a fight, I'm just looking for some answers," Y/N said.

"Answers about what?" John asked, thumb settling on the hammer of his gun.

"Well, for starters, I'd like you to take your hand off the gun in your left inside jacket pocket because it's feeling a little adversarial," Y/N said.

John clenched his jaw, slowly removing his hand from the gun and shifting to rest it on the bartop.

"Atta boy," Y/N smiled, not breaking eye contact as she held out a twenty dollar bill to the bartender.

He set two beers on the bartop, "Keep the change," Y/N said dismissively, folding her hands on the bartop.

The bartender took the money from her hand, John watched him move over to the register.

"I'd like you to tell me about everything that goes bump in the night," Y/N said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," John muttered, shaking his head.

"Well, lucky for you, I did my research. I've been watching you for a few days now and I even went to your motel... You weren't there, but I found some rather interesting reading materials about something called a Rugaru," Y/N said, pulling a newspaper clipping from the pocket of her coat and sliding it across the bartop to him.

John glanced at it, he definitely had that pinned on his wall at the motel, "What the hell is this?" He questioned.

"I had to make sure you were legit," Y/N shrugged.

"Why?" John asked, clearly beginning to lose patience with the woman.

Y/N pulled a file from her bag, setting it on the bartop and sliding it over to him. John glanced at her, flipping open the manilla folder and looking over the pictures she had provided.

Y/N took a drink of her beer before returning it to the bartop.

"Shapeshifter," John stated, examining the security camera image of a woman with lense flared eyes.

"Yep, I was sent to Tennessee to collect a bounty on someone who'd broken into some houses and killed the families. The guy was selling off their stuff but no one could pin him down until he got sloppy. He doubled back to the same shop and the owner called the police," Y/N started, looking over at him.

"He was arrested and barely spent a night in jail before somehow managing to escape police custody. Families kept dying so there was no question that he was still in Tennessee. Security camera footage showed at least nine different people selling stolen items to local pawnshops, which had me thinking it was a network. I managed to find one of the guys and tailed him to a barn on the outskirts of town. I thought he was using it to stash the stolen items, but then he just started peeling his skin off... That guy walked out of the barn as a completely different person and suddenly everything got a hell of a lot more confusing," Y/N continued.

"Did you kill him?" John asked.

"I did, but not before I asked him what the hell he was. The guy was happy to tell me whatever I needed to know when he thought I was gonna let him walk," Y/N replied.

"And what exactly do you need from me?" John asked, closing the folder.

"I've been conducting some research of my own, but I don't know my ass from my elbow when it comes to this shit. I want you to tell me what else is really out there," Y/N requested calmly.

"You sure you really wanna know?" John asked.

"Tell me everything," Y/N stated.

John and Y/N talked at the bar for hours, he told her as much as she was willing to hear about all the things that go bump in the night.

"Is that everything?" Y/N asked after he had finished.

"Everything I know about so far," He said.

Y/N nodded, "Next few are on me. Thanks for your help," She said, setting a hundred dollar bill on the bartop.

Y/N hopped off her chair, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she wordlessly made her way out of the bar. She walked over to her motorcycle, grabbing her helmet from on top of the seat.

"Hey, kid!" Someone called, she turned to see the man from the bar jogging over to her.

"I want you to give me a call if you ever need a second opinion," He said, quickly scribbling his name and number on the back of a business card before passing it to her.

"Will do," Y/N paused, eyes flickering down to the coffee-stained card, "John Winchester," She said, looking back up at him. He nodded, making his way back into the bar.

...

"Did you ever call him?" Dean asked, Y/N shook her head.

"I probably should have though, he was a good hunter... Awful person, but a good hunter," She said.

Dean huffed as a small smile broke out across his face, "No kidding," Dean muttered.

"That's probably why you're so screwed up, huh?" Y/N questioned.

"Can we just go back to drinking?" He asked.

"Absolutely not, you wanted to talk," She said, he sighed.

"There's a lot of reasons I'm screwed up, but he was probably one of them... Care to tell me why you're such a pleasure to be around?" Dean questioned.

"Orphan. No family to screw me up, I did it all on my own," Y/N said, picking up her glass.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, watching her as she took a sip from her drink.

"Don't be. It is what it is," She shrugged, looking over at him.

"Do you ever wonder what your life would've been like if you hadn't found out about everything?" He asked.

"No... I get to protect people and kick ass, there isn't anything better," Y/N stated.

"Yeah, I don't really see you as a mini-van driving soccer mom," Dean said with a smile.

"No, I'm not exactly the nurturing type," Y/N said with a smirk.

"That would be one badass kid though," He said.

Y/N chuckled, "Definitely," She nodded, "So, what does the great Dean Winchester think his life would be like without hunting?" Y/N asked.

"I haven't thought about it much," He said dismissively, picking up his glass and finishing his drink.

"Well, I can definitely see you as a dad with a cute little wife and a house in the suburbs," Y/N said.

"Really?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah," Y/N nodded, taking a sip of her drink, "And you'd definitely be the hot dad that all the single moms would drool over," Y/N said.

"Didn't realize you thought so highly of me, sweetheart," Dean stated.

"Don't let it inflate your ego too much," Y/N said.

"I'll try," He chuckled.

Y/N studied him for a moment, turning on her barstool to face him, "I think subtlety is a waste of everybody's time so I'm just going to say that I want you to come back to my motel with me tonight," She said.

"Seriously?" Dean asked.

"Unless you have something better to do," Y/N replied.

"Nothing comes to mind," Dean said.

"Good, let's go," Y/N said, finishing her drink before sliding off her barstool.

Dean followed her through the crowd and out of the bar. She started walking to the right, "I parked over here," Dean said, gesturing to the left.

"I'll drive," Y/N said, Dean nodded and followed her towards her vehicle. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her pick up the helmet from on top of the motorcycle.

"Sweetheart, maybe we should just take my car tonight," He offered.

"Why? You scared?" She asked with a smirk, holding out the helmet.

"No, of course not," Dean scoffed, making his way over to her. He took the helmet from her hand, watching her flip her leg over the motorcycle and pull her hair up into a ponytail.

He sighed before reluctantly putting on the helmet and getting onto the bike behind her. She reached behind herself and grabbed his hands, wrapping his arms snugly around her waist.

"Hold on tight, baby," Y/N instructed, kicking up the kickstand and starting the bike. She pulled out of the parking lot before speeding off down the road in the direction of her motel.

...

Dean's eyes fluttered open, he squinted at the bright morning sunlight flooding in through the window as he rolled onto his other side. His arm stretched out across the sheets, fingertips connecting with a folded scrap of paper sitting on the mattress. Dean grabbed the paper and brought it closer to himself, flipping it open with his thumb.

'Last night was fun. See you soon. XO -Y/N'

A soft smile broke out across his face, the tip of his thumb brushing over Y/N's handwriting. He turned onto his back, slowly becoming aware of how sore his body was.

Dean sighed, reaching out to set the paper on the nightstand beside the bed before getting up and making his way into the bathroom.

He paused when he caught his reflection in the mirror, his body was littered with colorful love bites and his lips were still slightly swollen from the night before. Dean leaned closer to the mirror, tilting his head to study the array of colors lining the skin along the side of his neck.

He could get used to seeing himself like that.

Dean smiled, reaching up to touch the marks before moving over to the shower. He washed quickly, redressing in his clothing from the night before and grabbing the note from the nighstand. Dean walked back to the bar, getting into the Impala and driving to the motel where Sam was waiting for him.

Dean had never felt better, the smile wouldn't leave his face and he knew that he probably looked like an idiot driving around by himself with a huge grin, but he didn't care.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the motel, parking the car and making his way over to his room. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, closing the door behind himself.

Sam looked up from his laptop, "Hey, Dean, listen, I'm really sorry about last night," He said.

"Yeah, me too," Dean replied.

"That argument didn't need to happen, but I think we should just forget about it and move on," Sam said.

"Yeah, anyway, guess what I did last night," Dean said.

"Dude, I don't wanna know," Sam said, shaking his head.

"Oh, you're gonna want to hear this," Dean nodded.

"Fine, what?" Sam asked.

"I slept with her," Dean said.

"With who?" Sam questioned.

"Y/N," Dean grinned.

Sam scoffed, "If you're going to lie, at least make it believable," He said, eyes returning to the screen of his laptop.

"I'm serious," Dean said.

Sam looked up from his screen, staring at his brother for a second before a look of shock settled on his face, "You're not kidding," Sam stated.

"Nope and it was amazing. Changed my life," Dean said happily.

"Are you two dating now?" Sam asked.

"What? No. Why would you ask that?" Dean questioned.

"You just seemed really happy, that's all," Sam shrugged.

"Whatever... I need to change then we can get on the road," Dean said, picking up his duffle bag and unzipping it.

"What? What about the hunt?" Sam questioned.

"Oh, Y/N already took care of it," Dean said dismissively, pulling out a change of clothes.

"And you're not pissed? Wow, must have been a really good night," Sam said, closing his laptop and moving to gather his things.

"Best night of my life," Dean stated, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 17: Sweetheart

Ao3 | 2.9k Words | Sweetheart's POV

Milo and Colm have a word. Sweetheart said ACAB. Porter has his teeth around the problem. Quinn performs surgery. Milo is pissed.

TW: Medical talk, discussions of surgery, discussions of injuries, discussions of gambling, alcohol use.

You weren’t exactly awake when you started hearing him, but you were fairly convinced that, the second Milo was near, you were aware of him. His hands, his long, rough fingers, brushing against your face, through your curls, pressing into the juncture of your throat, as if to prove to himself that you were alive. His voice, high and strained with panic, demanding to know what was going on, cooing your name, asking you to open your eyes, to look at him. 

You knew when he was gone again. You heard him fight it as his hands disappeared. 

“Don’t you touch me,” he snarled, voice growing distant, “don’t you touch me, you bastard, what the fuck were you doing there, huh?” 

You were somewhere else for a long time. Everything twisted up and down and around itself, tying knots in your concept of time and space. 

You knew when he came back. His hand was in yours and the world righted itself again. 

“Why did they call you?” Milo’s voice had gone tired and dark, tinged with a dangerous edge. The room was quiet around his question, save for the quiet breath and heartbeat of the machines that surrounded you. You counted the seconds before he got his answer. 

“We had a conversation in November.” Colm replied. He was somewhere off to your left, deeper in whatever room you had been stuck in. “I provided some information surrounding a figure of interest in their ongoing investigation.” 

“Cut the bullshit, please.” It had the bite of an admonishment, but you knew better. Milo was exhausted. 

“I made them promise to be safe.” Colm obliged. He sighed. You heard him scrub a hand over his stubble, the pops that rang up his back as he stretched in his stiff, rubbery chair. Milo’s thumb trailed over your knuckles, stung across the abrasions and bruises that dotted the delicate skin. You could feel his fingers shake in your limp hold. 

“Should’a called me.” Milo murmured. 

“They didn’t want to scare ya.” Colm replied. 

“What the fuck do you know about it, huh?” Milo snapped. His voice went sour and loud, too loud to be appropriate for a hospital. “You don’t know shit about us.”

The room was silent again, breathing gently around you. An alarm blared somewhere far off. A group of people ran by your room’s door, their sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. 

“You remember those nights that I wouldn’t come home until you were getting up for school?” Colm’s voice was low and harsh, barely audible over your own heartbeat echoing around the room. 

“‘Cause you were out gambling.” Milo had gone quiet. He didn’t sound afraid, not exactly. There was just a familiar trepidation in his voice that made you want to cry. You wanted to open your eyes. You wanted to wake up, to get out of this bed, to put an end to this conversation. Your body wouldn’t move. 

“No.” Colm snapped. “‘Cause I was at the overnight dry cleaner trying to get blood out of my suit.” Milo’s breath stuttered. You fought to grip his hand back, to let him know that he wasn’t alone in this moment. “I got hurt on the job. I saw people die. I killed people. And I didn’t want to bring that home to your mother. I didn’t want to scare her. Or you. I relied on people… on things besides you two to see me through that. Maybe it wasn’t the right choice. But you never saw me covered in somebody else’s blood, so I’ll call that a win for my parenting.” 

Something metal spun and clanked. A harsh swallow. You could hear the lace of Milo’s boot clanging against the frame of your bed as he bounced his leg a mile a minute. 

“You could have the decency not to drink in front of me.” Milo replied coldly. “Maybe then we could talk about wins for your parenting.” 

Colm started to respond, his voice gone harsh and mean. You felt the bolt of movement run down each muscle in your arm, through your fingers, so painful and strong that you thought you’d break MIlo’s hand when you gripped it back. Instead, your fingers barely twitched in his hold. 

It was enough, even with his father beginning to yell, to draw Milo’s attention back to you. 

“Sweetheart?” He asked softly. You heard his chair scrape the floor, tumble back, and fall as he stood. “Baby, are you with me?”

“Shit,” Colm breathed. Something metal hit the floor. Another hand slipped into your free one. “Come on, open your eyes, kid.” 

You tried to say Milo’s name, but all that came out was a rasping groan. You had been intubated. You could tell from the terrible, knee scrape sting that lined your vocal chords as they hummed back to life. 

“Come on, baby,” Milo cooed softly. You felt as one of his calloused hands slid up your cheek, tapping fingers bringing you back to life. “Lemme see those pretty eyes.” 

He asked so sweetly, and so you obliged. 

Your vision was dulled and fuzzy, and the scant lights of your dim hospital room burned across your eyes. As soon as they cracked open, you squeezed them closed again, but before you did, you caught sight of Milo’s beaming face. 

“Go get Ma.” Milo said, breathless. You heard Colm’s footsteps retreat without argument. 

Between the three Greers, you were fussed and primped over for the next hour or so, offered extra pillows and ice chips and more painkillers than you reasonably thought one person should be on. Marie recounted your arrival to the ER animatedly, somehow twisting humor in with the horror that still clung to the three of them. 

“I swear to God, when I saw my husband walk through those doors covered in blood, I was ready to kill him.” She laughed, retying the shoulder of your gown for the tenth time since she’d rushed into your room, calling doctors and nurses and a whole armada of medical professionals in behind her. You thought you’d probably been examined by everybody in the hospital at this point, from the surgeons to the janitors. Now, in the very wee hours of the morning, you were waiting for word from your surgeons to see how long you’d be trapped in this room. 

You had asked for David as soon as you got your voice back in your chest. Milo’s face had screwed up at that, confused, but acquiesced. You’d given David the run down over the phone, just the bullet points, promising to give him all of the details in person. The captain was getting off shift in an hour or so. He’d gone from his day shift to Milo’s night shift so he could be here with you. He’d been running on no sleep anyway, if his spouse was to be believed. You were sure that your report wouldn’t do anything to help him sleep at night. 

Colm had taken down your official statement despite your offer to wait for another detective. He was Homicide, not Violent Crime, and he had been drinking, but from what you could tell, his tolerance was working in his favor in this instance. He didn’t seem to be touched by the swigs he had been taking from his silver flask. 

Milo had to step out when you started describing the fight. His hands shook as he made for the door, Marie following quickly after him. 

“That’s what he said exactly?” Colm asked, his face gone stern with concentration. He had that look in his eyes, the same one that you got about you. He had his teeth around the throat of the problem. He was just waiting for the right time to clamp down. 

“Tell them that the next time they send somebody else to do their dirty work, they won’t walk away from me.” You repeated, eyes slipping closed. You could picture the words falling off of Quinn’s curved lips, the bright burn of his blue eyes. 

Colm whistled low, shaking his head. 

“This guy is a grade A freak.” He sighed. “I’m throwing some police resources your way. You’re officially consulting on a full fledged investigation.” 

“You know how I feel about cops, Colm.” You said. Your experience with the Police Department had been less than sweet, and Colm was quite familiar with your grievances with its practices. The deep rooted corruption in Dahlia’s Police Department was too much for you to overlook, and despite good people like Ansel trying to make a change, those good apples did very little to lessen the rot in the barrel. More often than not, good apples ended up like Colm; poisoned by the bad ones as the years went on.  

You’d given it the old college try, but you’d only managed to put a target on your own back in the process. 

“Then it’s a good thing it’ll just be me.” Colm smiled. “Besides, you’ll be doing most of your consulting from a hospital bed.” 

“If you think they’re going to keep me in this bed for more than a day you’re out of your mind.” You snapped back. 

“Oh, I think we’ll manage a bit longer.” 

You turned towards the door to your room as a tall, slender man stepped inside. He was clad in a navy button up shirt and tie, a pristine white lab coat announcing him as the Chief of Surgery in tight, hunter green embroidery. His shoulder length blonde hair was dotted with silver strands at his temples, tied back into a ponytail at the base of his skull. When he smiled, you watched as crows feet and laugh lines flashed across his features, lining his face handsomely. He was flanked by Marie, Milo, and another doctor in maroon scrubs. 

“It is good to see you awake and talking.” The chief said as he crossed the room, extending his hand to shake yours. “I am Dr. Solaire, but please, call me William. I performed your abdominal surgery late last night.” 

“Thanks for that.” You shook his hand, fucking freezing, and motioned towards your stomach. “Can I survey the damage? What’s the prognosis?” 

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” William snagged a pair of gloves from the dispenser on the wall and moved your bedsheets. Marie helped to move your gown aside, revealing a large patch of gauze that covered your entire stomach. “The initial puncture wound was not difficult to repair. Your attacker missed any major organs. It was merely a flesh wound. In time, it should leave minimal scarring both internally and externally.” You winced as the gauze was pulled back from your battered skin, and cast your eyes up to the fluorescent lights on the ceiling at the last moment. Milo’s hand slipped into yours, squeezing tight. Marie stifled a cry. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, muffled behind her hand. “I see stuff like this all the time, I shouldn’t…”

“It’s alright.” William reassured. “It is different when it’s the people we love.” 

Slowly, your heart in your throat, you glanced down at your stomach. 

You expected it to be Quinn’s name. That was what you were imagining, or at least a bunch of Q’s. That’s what he had carved into Ben’s chest, tattooed onto Trouble’s fucking face. But when you put your mind to it, this made more sense. This would certainly torture them more, which was his real goal at the end of the day. He had told you it was their mark, after all. 

In blocky, large letters, cutting from one side of your stomach to the other, Quinn had carved Tanker’s name– their real name– into you. 

You swallowed harshly. The cuts weren’t even stitched, left open and exposed. 

“The knife was dull,” the other doctor spoke up from his perch across the room, “and so the cuts are more akin to tears. The skin is uneven and ragged, notoriously difficult to stitch. The intention was to create as much scar tissue as possible.” 

“My colleague,” William waved his hand, “also Dr. Solaire.” 

“Family affair.” Your voice was absent of any joke. “I can handle a few scars.” You tried to sound certain, but your voice wavered slightly. Marie’s hand fell to your shoulder, squeezing it tightly. 

“You won’t have to.” The other Dr. Solaire said. He glanced at your stomach with that same look in his eyes that you and Colm got. Teeth around the problem, it seemed. “Not if you choose to follow my course of treatment.” 

“What would that entail?” You asked softly. Truly, you weren’t interested in any sort of experimental therapies or skin treatments. If you were going to scar, you would scar. Quinn had seemed to perfect the art of it, of carving his mark into people. You were no expert on scar tissue, but you had plenty of it scattered around. What was a bit more? 

“Two surgeries.” Dr. Solaire said. “And three pigment laser treatments. Including healing time, between a year and a year and a half of your life.” 

“That’s a lot of life.” You said. “And a lot of time for you to spend playing around in my guts.” 

“Please,” William said softly, “let Dr. Solaire walk you through the process. He is an expert on scar tissue.” You met his grey eyes steadily for a moment before nodding. 

“We would wait for the cuts to heal on their own, supported by suture glue and very careful attention.” Solaire bent to examine the cuts a bit closer before rising again. “Once the scar tissue sets, we could begin to work it out via surgery. I would split it into two separate surgeries, working from left to right. That way, you’d only be healing half of your stomach at a time. It is a very mobile area. We want to limit reopening as much as possible. Once we’ve removed the scar tissue, I’ll refer you to a pigmentation specialist who will focus on the changes of skin tone. The end result could, unless under very careful inspection, make your stomach appear completely normal.” 

You sighed softly. 

“That’s a lot of work.” You said. “Lot of time and surgery for a few cuts.” 

“Sweetheart…” Milo whispered. His dark eyes were brimmed with something heavy. 

“It’s worth it.” Dr. Solaire said. His accent, clipped and prim, rang in your ears. “The scarring will limit your movement. It’ll likely get worse and more painful over time. And besides all of the medical reasons, it’s just not fair, is it? Some bastard with a knife shouldn’t get to mark you up for life.” 

You blinked up at him. You were so tired. 

“There’s no reason to decide now.” William said amicably. He began to replace the gauze, taping it lightly over your stomach before realigning your gown and tucking in your blankets to boot. “You should rest, recover, talk it over with your family. It is your treatment, my dear. It will be here when you’re ready.” 

David arrived as the sun rose. You ran him through the attack again, beat by beat, detail by detail. His face went pale and slack when you peeled back your gauze to show him the cuts. 

“You can’t tell them.” You said softly. “I mean it. This will destroy them.” 

“How am I supposed to keep this from them?” He hissed. He turned away, pressed his face into his hands. You tapped the gauze back down. 

“If you tell them he carved their name into me, they’ll run right back to him.” You said. “You’ll give him exactly what he wants.” 

“He tried to kill you.” 

“No.” You shook your head. “He didn’t.” You’d had a few hours to think it through, and you were sure. “If he wanted to kill me, he could have done it in a second flat. My back was to him, David, he…” you swallowed, cutting that line of thinking off. “But he chose to stab me in my abdomen, by some miracle missing any of the number of internal organs he could have hit that would have killed me before the ambulance got there.” David’s face twisted, like the train of thought was making him sick. “He needed me alive to pass on his message. This wasn’t murder, David, it was surgery.” 

“He said next time, it would be.” David snapped. When he turned, you expected anger on his features. Instead, you were met with stark, plain terror. “Next time, he’ll kill you. Or me. Or-” his voice failed him. You reached a hand out to him, and he took it, big hand surrounding yours in heat. Everything hurt. You were so tired. David’s fear was heavy in your hands. You held on anyway. 

“I’m gonna catch him.” You spoke that solemn promise into the quiet of your hospital room. “I’m gonna put him away.” 

David didn’t say anything else. He held on until MIlo came back from the cafeteria, bearing food you couldn’t eat and coffee you couldn’t drink. The three of you talked, joked like you were on a double date and not in a fucking hospital room. David fell asleep, back bent awkwardly in a stiff, hospital arm chair. 

“He’s running himself into the ground.” You sighed as his breathing evened out. Milo hummed, perched at the foot of your bed, eyes flicking over David. “You’re pissed at me.” 

You’d known since before you’d even properly woken up, but this was the first time the two of you had been even halfway alone. 

Milo was quiet for a really long time. 

“Sometimes I wish…” he paused, as though he were choosing his words carefully, “I wish, when you needed help, you would run to me.” 

“I’m sorry.” You said. You didn’t know what else you could say. 

“I know.” Milo replied. He didn’t look relieved or resolved. “I know you are.”

[kkcauseway]

Caring Hand

Summary: You're going on a trip with Joel, which means driving to the destination and it’s hours away… to make matters worse your morning sickness is at its worst. So Joel does his best to look after you. Content and warnings: TW: vomiting -morning sickness. So much fluff. Talks of pregnancy, protective!Joel, caring!Joel. No use of y/n, no outbreak. Word count: 1.8k

Caring husband Joel Miller x F!reader

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You and Joel are travelling to a lodge you have booked for the next week. Your first proper time away in months. Joel booked it as a surprise after your promotion, he’s so thoughtful and compassionate like that.

However, you’ve not been feeling good all morning, morning sickness is at its worst again, this pregnancy so far really hasn’t been kind to you. You’ve been throwing up throughout the day for the past week straight, and the temperature outside reaching record highs means there’s no helping you to feel even slightly better. The heat makes you sicker.

This trip has been planned for months, obviously not with pregnancy in mind. (Not that you’d change it for the world.) But even with you feeling so ill, hardly able to keep food down, you’re not about to let that ruin your trip. It’s very much needed, and you do think it will help to make you feel better. The air’s cleaner where you’re going. It will be nice to breathe in really fresh air, and there’s a lake, god you could just about strip naked and jump in there right this second. You’ve been on the road about an hour when you begin to feel really sick and hot, you’re feeling the heat a lot more than usual today. Having already stripped down as much as is possible there’s not much else you can do. Wearing the bare minimum before it would be classed as ‘indecent exposure’ or more to the point where Joel would get too excited by the sight that he would absolutely ‘need’ to have his way with you. Although he knows better than to joke with you right now.

Keeping your eyes closed and trying to keep your breathing calm is about all you can do to try to relax; Joel can tell you really don’t feel well though. He’s got to learn when you get bad because you aren’t always vocal about it, not wanting to worry him, although he begs you to ‘worry him’, so he can share the burden and try his best to make it better.

“You want some more water baby?” he asks sincerely.

“Please” you say wiping your forehead, not even thinking about the fact Joel’s driving and it means he’s reaching into the back to get it for you whilst he’s supposed to be watching the road.

With thanks you take the bottle from him. Taking a large, heavenly swig. The water isn’t warm yet thankfully, but you know it won’t be long till it is, so you savour every second of the ice-cold water as it makes its way down. That definitely helps. You opt to roll the bottle on either side of your neck before doing the same to your cheeks. It feels amazing and you can’t help the little satisfied moan that falls from your lips.

Joel smirks as he shakes his head at you. You lightly laugh back at him through the discomfort beginning to feel better then. Finding it easier to enjoy the trip, even finding the energy to sing along to certain songs.

But then it suddenly hits you again and you go quiet. As expected, the heat has turned the water almost hot, and it’s not at all satisfying to drink. But you grin and bear it to keep yourself hydrated, breathing through the sick feeling. Not allowing anything to put a dampener on the start of your trip.

☀️☀️☀️☀️

You need air, proper air not just the air-con blowing in your face and soon, you need out of the car to fully breathe. “Babe, can we stop at the next services please? I really need to get out for a bit.”

Joel looks to you briefly “Sure, we can, you really not feeling good still?”

“No, I’m not. This baby’s really playing me up” you sink into your seat, rubbing a palm over your stomach, hoping to alleviate the feeling.

“Okay baby” he sighs deeply, hating seeing you in this much discomfort without being able to do anything to help. “The next services aren’t too far out we can stop have something to eat too if you’re up for it?”

“Let’s see how we go” you let out a heavy breath. The thought of eating food physically repulsing you.

Joel has the aircon blasting in your face, and it’s by far the best thing ever, but it’s not enough. You try your best to focus on the cool air coming at you and for a short time it does the job, but then you hit traffic. And you go from speeding away to 10mph if you’re lucky.

“Fuck Joel, you need to pull over as soon as you can, I can’t wait till we get to the services. Fuck, I need to get out. Feel like I can’t breathe” you huff.

“Okay darlin’ I promise soon as I can I’ll pull over, so you can get some air okay. Promise baby, don’t panic okay?” Joel’s worried, it takes a lot for you to moan about feeling unwell.

“I feel so sick” you whimper sounding so small.

“I know baby m’sorry, hopefully won’t be long and you’ll start feelin’ better. I know y’hate feelin’ like this.”

“I do, I hate it so much” you utter sounding so deflated.

As the car begins slowly moving once more, you feel heat rise from your feet to your face and you’re overcome with this nasty unbearably hot feeling. And then before you can say or do anything you throw up all over yourself, a choke like cough following afterwards. It genuinely came from nowhere you didn’t feel it rise; it just came out. There was no way to prevent it from getting all over you and the car seat.

Joel looks over at you and uses his hand closest to you to hold your hair out of your face “you’re okay baby just breathe” his other hand quickly grabs a plastic bag from his car door storage.

As you breathe incredibly heavy you take the bag from him, “just in case” he whispers before he puts that hand back on the wheel. You’re so uncomfortable as vomit slowly seeps into your shorts and a smell of stomach acid fills the air.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry Joel, it just, just came out” you pant, eyes stinging, and heart racing.

He’s indicating now to a point on the road he can pull over in. “Honey don’t be sorry y’couldn’t help it” he’s still holding the hair out of your face, but you thankfully haven’t been sick since.

When he parks safely, he quickly jumps out of the car, goes into the boot to retrieve some tissues and wipes before he comes around to your side opening your car door.

“I’m so sorry you feel this shit baby” he utters beginning to clean away the sick from your lap, using the currently unsoiled bag he gave you to discard the tissues in.

As much as you feel like shit, you still can’t believe how much he’s helping you, especially considering you’ve just thrown up in his car, all over his seat. He didn’t even think about it before jumping into action, not showing any signs of repulsion.

When it’s okay for you to get out of the car, you slowly jump down using Joel’s hand to steady you. He quickly cleans the seat as you take a wipe and start to clean your hands and arms. Once finished Joel doesn’t even hesitate to get onto his knees to clean off your shorts and legs properly. He can see your breathing is still very uneven and you look on the verge of tears. “Shhh, you’re okay baby” he reassures softly as he uses delicate strokes with the wipe.

“I’m sorry I really didn’t mean it.” You try to hold the tears back, but to no avail.

“Hey, you don’t need to be sorry baby, s’okay” he reassures whilst continuing to clean your shorts.

“I’m so embarrassed. I'm so disgusting.”

He stands up then, finally done with cleaning your lower half and you’ve finished cleaning your top half. Joel looks into your eyes “baby you’re living through all of this so you can bring our baby into the world, trust me, watching you embrace all the shit this pregnancy is throwing at you. S’sexy regardless of what happens okay? Not disgusting”. You stay silent, hanging your head low in shame. “Hey” he grabs your chin gently, so you have no choice but to look up at him. “I mean it; would I ever say anything I didn’t mean?”

“No” you whisper before sniffling.

“No, I wouldn’t, so stop feeling embarrassed, I’ll always adore you no matter what”. He strokes your cheek, and you lean into his palm as he does so.

“I love you Joel, I really do” you say through your slowing whimpers.

“I love you too baby. How y’feelin’ now?”

“Sick again, which is just perfect.”

“Well, there’s no rush for us to get back onto the road Baby we can stay here as long as y’need us to.”

He puts his arm around you then, stroking at your back.

“You’re so good to me Miller, I do honestly love you so much.” You turn into his side placing an arm either side of his body before squeezing him to prove your affection. He continues his stroking whilst leaning so his lips rest on the top of your head speaking loud into your hair as he replies, “I love you so much too, and this lil baby of ours, even if they’re just a teeny tiny dot right now.” He kisses the top of your head, and you stay stood in that embrace for a little while.

☀️☀️☀️☀️

“Not to ruin the moment, but I’m definitely gonna be sick again.”

You bring a hand to your mouth, and you move away from him slightly then, but he runs after you to hold your hair back. Rubbing your back as you throw up once more.

“Fuck baby m’so sorry you feel like this” he says to you between your bouts of retching. “S’it you get it all out”.

Eventually you spit for one final time and stand up straight again then, Joel pulls out a tissue from his pocket and you wipe your mouth “ugh I hate this”, Joel looks at you sympathetically before passing you some gum, which you’re eternally grateful for. “I hate it so fucking much” you say between chews “but, it’s all worth it for her” you rest a hand on your still flat stomach.

“Her?” he questions.

“Just a feeling that’s all.”

He smiles at you then and you smile back. “My girls” he utters softly through a wide grin placing his palm above yours.

How does he manage to make you feel so good even in your worst moments?

With the sickness feeling finally completely gone (at least for today- you hope) you can get back on the road. A week away full of fun, food, sex, and sun. God you’ve been longing for this for months. Just you and Joel. Though it means even more now than it did before. You’re soaking up all the time you have left before you lives are forever changed.

Changed for the better…

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[pokemon117]

To anyone who takes requests I got another idea. Please tag me if you do it.

Alastor x assistant reader

TW: drinking

They were alastors assistant before and after hell.

 As long as alastor knew them, they always refused a drink, even wine or champagne they have always refused. So today out of boredom and with the help of husker and a pull of his chain alastor finally get to see what kind of drunk they are. Then they started talking, and talking, and talking, and they wouldn't shut up. Alastor was going to stop them until their past came up, how they broke alastor's favorite stapler, and never told him. He knew. He was going to see how long they lied until he forgot about it. How they threw out one of his bow ties that looked awful on him, and said the dry cleaners destroyed it. He didn't know that one. At one point Y/N was going to say the nickname alastor mother gave him in front of husk, but he quickly stopped them and started walking them to their room. Before they said too much. On the way Y/N mentioned a promise they made to alastor’s mom. Alastor’s mom made Y/N promise to take care of him and to make sure he is o.k, even though how stubborn and prideful he can be, to please look after him.

[hxpel3s5-slxxt]

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧

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TW:

A/n: Not all characters will be dated/developing relationships in the first book/season. You may have to wait until the second book/season if you are waiting for a specific character.

X Table Of Contents

Chapter 3: 𝙿𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡'𝚜 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚣𝚎

《𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟 》𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝

"Sung-" Where am I?

"Skimmi-" What time is it? I was supposed to be meeting up with Raedyn and Annaztazja after helping Hanma.

Noticing the soft vibration of my body, I open my eyes to find myself lying in the back of a limo.

"-Kokonoi to call the cleaners."

I noticed that my legs were hanging across Hanma's lap while my head lay in Haitani's lap. In the front seat, the guy from before was still driving, and the one with the pink mullet was the passenger.

While sitting up, a sharp pain causes me to wince and clutch my head.

Hanma's index finger taps my cheek. "Papers."

My head is still foggy from all the pain. "Huh?"

Haitani sucks his teeth. "For fucks sake, the papers I told you to get from the shed." He glares at me through the rear view mirror.

"I literally just woke up. I don't know who you think you're taking to-" Hanma snaps his fingers at me, cutting me off.

"I'm talking to you. Not him. Papers."

Begrudgingly, I take the papers out of my waistband and hand them to Hanma. He briefly looks over the documents before meeting my gaze.

"That's it?" He asks, raising a brow. I nod my head; it looks like he doesn't believe me, but dropped the subject anyway.

The man whose lap my head was lying on speaks up. "Kisaki, take her home. Hanma, the boss wants me, you, and Rindou to make preparations for the—" the man pauses mid-sentence to look at me skeptically. "Meeting. For tomorrow." He finishes.

The driver, Kisaki, makes a detour to my house. Which I am eternally grateful for considering the fact that I need some kind of painkillers for this excruciating headache.

It only took about 30 minutes for us to pull up to my apartment complex. Me and Hanma hop out of the car, and surprisingly, Hanma starts to walk me to my apartment.

Once we reach my apartment, we say our goodbyes, and I step into my apartment. Pulling my phone out of my skirt pocket, I notice that my screen is damn near shattered. To make matters worse, Annaztazja and Raedyn blew up my phone, demanding to know where I was.

We have this system set up in which we would tell each other where we were going, what time we planned on going and arriving, and who would be there just in case something happened to us. Considering the fact that I did none of those things, let alone on a night we were supposed to be spending together, they were more than worried.

I texted them briefly to let them know I was fine and had been occupied assisting a friend. I groan to myself and set my phone down. I'll need to get a new phone, for sure. This is irreparable.

As my migraine worsened by the second, I abandoned the idea of having a shower and stripped down to my underwear instead.

I wanted to abandon the idea that I was a part of a drug and arms exchange. I wanted to abandon the idea that I was possibly responsible for those men dying. I mean, if I hadn't gotten caught, they wouldn't have had to die, right? We could've gone on our merry way, and I would be out drinking with Raedyn and Annaztazja right now.

Sadly, sleep is only a small escape from the large reality I have to face tomorrow.

I wake up to excessive banging on my front door. The little voice told me not to open it due to the fear of it being Haitani, or worse, Hanma.

Begrudgingly, I roll myself out of bed, making sure to grab the knife from under my pillow just in case. After finding out what Hanma has gotten himself into? I want nothing to do with him or his business.

Clutching the knife in my right hand, I slowly approach the door despite the knocking. Looking through the peephole, I find Raedyn and Annaztazja standing outside my door.

Raedyn is 4"10 with beautiful brown skin. Her red passion twists fall over her shoulders, and her dark blue dress hugs her frame. Annaztazja is 4"11 with box braids adorning her head. She wears a tight black dress that accentuates her curves.

I open the door and am bombarded with both hugs and punches. It's hard to tell if they're upset or not when I'm being both lectured and told that they're glad I'm okay.

I blink, "What are y'all doing here?" I question, being tortured by their bone crushing hugs.

Raedyn is the first to pull back. "At first we was like, 'oh, maybe we shouldn't bring her with us, cause she acts like she can't read a message!'"

Ouch.

"But then, we was like, 'nah, let's still take her with us, because this was already a plan.' And blah, blah, blah." She trails off, smiling at me while rolling her eyes and waving her hand in a dismissive manner.

My head swirls with her words and I shake my head. "Okay, but where are we going?"

Annaztazja finally pulls back. "Girl, we literally said we was going out drinking!" She exclaimed as if it was common sense.

I let out a dry groan, still fatigued. "Girl, I'm tire-"

"Okay, let's go get ready!" Annaztazja cuts me off and grabs my wrist, marching to my room. "I don't know why you have that knife, but just know that if you cut me, I'm gon' beat 'cho ass." She says, looking down at the knife with raised eyebrows.

"But yeah, my boss said he's gonna have to cut our pay." Annaztazja sighs while sipping a margarita. I could barely hear her over the loud music at Club Andersons. Despite being a small club, the beverages were delicious. "What? Why?" I question.

Annaztazja shrugged. "It's just a rumor, but everyone at my job believes that another industry cut connections with my company. Now there is less income, and so on." She waves her hand in a bored fashion.

Raedyn beams: "Same here!" We turn and face her. "I believe small firms are beginning to make less income. I'm going to quit my job at the café. They're pushing to bring down my salary far too low."

I feel a hand on my upper back. "I doubt you need to be concerned, though. Gynja is a fairly big firm, right?" Annaztazja reassures me by patting my back.

I give a weary smile. "Yeah, but that still sucks for you. You'll have to look for other jobs."

Raedyn snapped her fingers. "Phoenix trades! That company that operates the docks! I believe that's the name of the building that has been cutting off small businesses."

Annaztazja scoffed. "Their loss. I might understand if they became cocky as the money rolled in, but the more ties, the better."

I place my hand on my chin. "Hmm, not really. Most businesspeople are competitive. They wouldn't like it if Phoenix made deals with a rival company. You might as well cut off the one you know isn't going to benefit you."

"Okayy, businesswoman!" Raedyn shakes me by the shoulders. I laugh.

"Then again, we're all just assuming this is true. Phoenix Trades' owner may have just been forced out of business."

Annaztazja's loud groan interrupts the rest of the discussion. "What's the point of going out if all we're gonna talk about is our jobs?!" She shoves a drink into my hand.

I shook my head. "You know I don't drink."

A tap on my shoulder draws me away from my friends. I turn around and come face to face with Baji. "Jiji!" I beam and pull him into a close hug. He hugs me back, albeit briefly.

"Where have you been? You haven't texted me, Chifuyu, or Kazutora since that small argument!" He proceeds to lecture me, analyzing my face.

I pull his hands away from me. "I've been busy. I have yet to had time to text Annaztazja or Raedyn." I spoke softly, brushing my thumbs across his knuckles.

He exhales calmly. "As long as everything's okay." I turn to look at Annaztazja and Raedyn.

"Actually.." I turn to face Baji, who is immediately looking worried. "Do you know someone who'll let them crash at their place?"

Annaztazja and Raedyn burst with objections. I get that I am in the wrong for airing out their dirty laundry like that, but a chance had to be taken.

Baji thinks for a moment. "Yeah, actually. There's this chick I'm staying with. I'm sure she won't mind, but I'll ask just in case." A smile makes way to my face.

"Thanks, Kazu! If she says yes, let her know it's only until they find new jobs." I'm more than positive the rent at their apartment is going to kick their ass in the meantime.

"Yeah, of course!" His smile is blindingly sweet. "Should we go dance?" He motions towards the center of the club, simultaneously dragging me towards the sweaty, drunken crowd.

Normally, I would be against such a predicament, but as Annaztazja said, what's the point of going out if all we're thinking about is being adults?

Thinking was proven fruitless as Baji's tongue traced down my neck. My nails claw down his back, and our bodies meet the mattress. Baji trailed kisses down to my breasts, his teeth grazing over my right nipple. I push his shoulders, motioning for him to lie down. I take his cock in my hands and straddle him. Baji's hands find their way to my knees, rubbing soft circles on them. I press my finger down onto the head of his dick, using his precum as lube. I bend down and lick from his balls to the tip, forcing Baji to let out a guttural moan.

I bring my head up a bit, letting my saliva drip off of my tongue and onto his member. Lowering my head to the tip of his cock, I gently suck on the head. Baji grunted impatiently. I raise my head with a smile, jerking him off with my hand instead.

I arch my back in a taunting manner, but Baji seems either unimpressed or aggravated judging by the scoff he let out. Sitting up, Baji runs his right hand through my tresses, grabbing at my roots. Baji arches into my mouth, his seed flooding into my mouth. I gag, causing cum to leak from my mouth.

Baji untangles his hand from my hair, picking me up and throwing me on the bed.

"Don't run from me. Understand?" Baji asks, stroking his cock.

I can't utter a response as I feel his cock enter me, hitting my G-spot. My eyes roll back, and my hand flies to cover my mouth. Baji's dick hits unreachable angles inside me. His right hand grabs at my chin, a silent command to uncover my mouth. His thumb attacks my clit, and I lose it. My hands grip the sheets, moans and squeals escape from my mouth, my thighs squeeze together, yet it does not stop Baji's merciless pace.

I feel Baji bite my thigh, and my orgasm floods through me, squirting onto his abdomen.

"Fuuuuck, yeaaaa" he drags. His fingers never stop their rapid rubbing despite my juices coating him.

"Theeeere you go, mama.." He slurs, "yeayeayeayea." He mumbles into the crook of my neck, his fingers finally leaving my clit, settling on my tongue instead.

I fervently suck my juices off his fingers, my eyes rolling back from the taste. Baji chuckles lightheartedly, removing his fingers from my mouth. He lifts me bridal style, bringing me to the bathroom. The smell of wet wood fills my nose as I doze off in the bathtub.

Despite spending the night with Baji, I wake up in my own bed. In my own house. Alone. I'm not sure what I expected.

No, actually, I do. But I can't really expect men to live up to my expectations, now can I?

Constant ringing from my phone drives me away from my disappointment. Even if it's only for a few minutes. I'll even take a few seconds. Turning my phone over, I look to see that the person calling me is Hanma. The average person would decline a call from a person who put them in a near death-situation. But I felt like I needed an explanation.

"Hello?"

He says my name in a singsong voice, "Party too hard? Ya sound like shit."

I groan, my finger hovering over the red button, "Go fuck yourself, Hanma-"

"Right, right. We'll get to your pissy attitude later. What I need you to do is hop your angry ass in that shower and put on somethin' nice, yea?" I hear a chair creak on his end, likely from leaning back.

"No. What I need you to do is—" A loud laugh from Hanma interrupts me.

"My bad, that must've sounded like a suggestion. What you are going to do is get your ass dressed—shower or no shower—and meet Ran downstairs at exactly 9:45."

This time his voice was stern. It left no room for negotiation. Even if I did plan on negotiating, Hanma continued.

"I don't care what plans you thought you had, but you can go ahead and cancel 'em. You wanna be helpful, right? Doin' me favors 'n shit. Do me another by listenin'."

I take in a deep breath. Mainly to prevent myself from cussing him out. Which would likely end in my death.

"That "favor" you had me run," The word "favor" dripping with sarcasm, "Was a one-time thing. You and I both know I had no idea what I was getting myself into. So whatever little plan you've thought up this time, I don't wanna be a part of it anymore."

Hanma busts out laughing. Frankly, I didn't see shit funny.

"Oh, you think I'm the one coming up with these missions, huh? Trust me, I would've done it myself, but I thought you'd be less obvious. I was wrong." He sighs dramatically.

"Even if you're not the one thinking up these stupid ass plans, you were told to find someone who fit the role. And you chose me. Surprise!" I throw my arms in the air, despite him not being able to see me.

Hanma lets out a long groan, likely pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll tell you what. You wanna get out of this mess? It just so happens that the thing I've been telling you to get ready for is a meeting."

Just as I open my mouth, he continues.

"A meeting with whom, you ask? My boss. The one who thinks of the so called 'stupid ass plans', I believe you called them?"

He must've found my stunned silence amusing, because he would not hang up the damn phone.

"So, like I said, get your ass up and ready."

[nocturnesmoon]

Chapter 3: Ghosts Of The Past

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series:The Divine Violence - Chapter 3: Ghosts Of The Past

Wordcount: 5.5K

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Implied eating disorders, Jealousy, Past abuse, Underage drinking, vomiting

Description: Soap approaches you to eat lunch with him, you begrudgingly accept.

A/N: Wooo another chapter done! Finally getting into some of the angsty bits that's gonna be a gateway to things we're going to expand upon later in the story. Everybody stay hydrated and I hope you enjoy it!

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

The night is young and beautiful. Stars would cover the sky above you if it wasn't from the pollution of the city lights. You can still count a few, one, two, three, even four. They're bright here, one even seems to be blinking at you before you realize it's a plane.

It feels almost too ceremonial with the full moon in the sky, and Simon standing by the little makeshift fire in the pile of trash. It reminds you a little of your confirmation, years past by now. Though the church was a lot cleaner, the people like minded. Clothing of white making you shine in the sun, your proud mother with her uptight smile, and your father who had never before seemed proud of anything you did, now smiled warm toned at you.

You can still remember each word the priest spoke to you. Etched so deep in your brain it might as well have been carved into the back of your palm.

Thinking back to it, you realize it's different to this, so much different. The grittiness has a charm to it, but the real reason your nerves have skyrocketed is because of him. You take a step closer to the fire, watch him pop open the bottle of vodka. The one he had stolen from his father’s cabinet. Easier now that he wasn't home as much.

"Nervous?"

He grins at you, grabbing your fidgeting hand in his own. "We can still leave it be?" he offers kindly, but you quickly shake your head no. You had asked for this, you wanted to try it, because you knew the closest way you'd ever come to alcohol otherwise was the wine (Which wasn't even wine, it was grape juice) at the communion in church.

Simon had so graciously offered when you mentioned your want in passing. The curious nature in your soul wanting to try it at least once, even if you turned out to dislike it. You squeeze his hand, as if to jitter out your nerves. Being this far from home never felt good to you, a festering anxiety in your mind that your parents would find out and punish you.

There was a lot of things Simon could help you with, even take the fall for you should the situation call for it, but not this. No, this would be on you, and it would not feel good.

The fire crackles in front of you, something sharp snaps and brings your focus away from the bottle. You had no clue what was burning in there, but it provided a warm place for you to be so you didn't have much to complain about.

"Whenever you're ready Little Spider," he teases and brings the bottle to your hand.

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Does it really burn that bad?" you take the bottle with a small grimace. Your eyes nervously flicking from the liquid to him and back again.

"You seem very determined that this is what you want to do, so why don't you take a sip and find out?"

Another moments hesitance, and you bring the bottle to your lips. In the first second it doesn't burn, just so that the little thought of relief can enter your brain, before being squashed by the lit fire in your throat.

He quickly grabs the bottle away from you, when you start coughing and spurting. The sounds of your distress drowned out by his roaring laughter. His hand comes to pat you on the back, his eyes almost filled with tears from his laughter.

"Oh my oh my oh my, why why why did I do this."

"Oh c'mon, it wasn't that bad, was it?" he looks down at the bottle experimentally. Acting as if he hadn't tasted it countless times before. He brings it to his lips when your outburst calms down, taking a sip seamlessly, taking the burn proud and easy.

"How in the world," you sound astonished by his display. He tries to keep a straight face, but fails very quickly when he sees how you look at him like he's crazy. "Hey don't laugh!" you swat his arm, but soon fall into the laughter along with him.

The fire illuminates his face, casting shadows of you both behind on the wall. The soft orange glow makes some of his features stand out more than normal. His little scars close to his mouth that's normally almost invisible, now almost makes him look scary if it wasn't for how his face was lit up with joy.

"Oh wow," you grab the bottle back to read the inscription as if that would give you more clarity. "I don't understand how people drink stuff like this daily...I mean it's not that good."

His smile falls a little, his breathing catching up from the fit of laughter. "Well, drink enough of it and you'll start to feel funny," he explains simply instead of doing in-depth.

"Huh..." you look at the little alcohol percentage on the bottle, "have you been drunk before?"

He doesn't respond immediately, almost as if he seems ashamed of it. "A few times," he admits and trails closer to the wall, "with a few other guys from school." He leans on it, crossing his arms over his chest. It makes him look edgy, his dark attire and the illumination of a dumpster fire. He looks older than he is like that.

You come closer, tilting your head to the side slightly. He looks at you tentatively, taking in all that is you, the way you look, the way you move, the way you position yourself in front of him, so very close.

"What else have you done?" you ask in a knowing tone that didn't know much at all, "that you haven't had the heart to tell me about yet?" His eyes widen slightly panicked for a moment. You already know how he's compiling an excuse in his brain, or some way to explain himself away from anger, but you aren't angry.

"I just didn't think it was your thing...didn't want to bother you with it...make you feel like you had to," he explains quickly. You shake your head, making sure to give him a small smile as reassurance. His shoulders sag more.

"It wasn't..." you tell him, “But now I’m curious."

"Are you now?" his voice turns back to teasing. How you'd love to smear that smug smile off him, one way or another.

You bring the bottle to your lips, drinking way more than you probably should.

"Yeah, so let's find out."

Your throat burns whenever you throw up. It's become a much more frequent occurrence. The stress of your problems taking wear on your mind. You're no more surprised to find a singular grey hair protrude from your scalp, than you are from the blood mixed with bile in the sink.

That had been your breakfast most likely. The only meal you had found yourself able to sneak away to eat in peace of your assigned room. It left your stomach empty again, the pained hollow feeling you despised despite how much of your life was spent in it.

You'd take anything over this. Oh, how you wished you could be like anyone else, the majority of the reasons to throw up being a hangover, or being sick. Though alcohol hasn't touched your lips in years.

The fluorescent lights blink above you, the little buzzing drowned out by your heavy breathing. The space is better than what you've had the past while, but you did miss the privacy of the motel. People had a tendency to stare here.

You turn on the water, guiding it along with your hands to wash away the bile. Blood trickles down from your knuckles, the split ends of flesh flaking off the bone. You can see the white underneath. The sound of the door opening brings your attention away from it. You avoid the mirror despite its desperate pleas.

No what you can't just leave me here! Please you can't be serious! You're just going to let him keep me in here?! Please just look at me, don't go.

You look towards the mohawk showing itself first.

When you first met Soap, you had been taken aback. He had a very intense personality, a fire within that outshined in his actions. You have yet to determine your own disposition on him. He's friendly enough towards you, all things considered.

"Ah there ye are." He's been standing outside that door for who knows how long. He likely heard the wretched sound as your stomach gave in on itself. Why he chose now to step in, eludes you.

You clear your throat, the hunch in your back stretching out after you turn off the running water. Your fingers run over your knuckles; the wounds gone. "Do you need something?" keeping your voice steady and polite proves a more difficult task than you'd like it to.

"Have ye had lunch yet...?" he's being careful with you. It's a revelation you didn't expect to have for him, did he figure something out he shouldn't have? Does he know?

"Ah was gonna invite ye to join us this mornin' for breakfast, but ah couldn't find ye." Good that had been the intention. A part of you did recognize you couldn't hole yourself away forever though. You were already the odd one out in the group of four.

"Oh.."

Your voice is too weak

The mirror echoes.

"Right...I..."

You clear your throat again, it feels too constricted, the air in here is not enough for you.

You catch yourself in his vibrant blue eyes. You could see an ocean in them, the beautiful waves at sea, the smell of salt in the air. You can feel the surgent winds ghosting over your skin, the sting and burn as water enters your lungs, a warm hand on the back of your neck holding you down. A faraway chanting of prayer echoes muffled in your ears.

"No...I haven't" you try to muster a smile.

"Good," he says pleased "ye're with me then."

The sea is faraway.

The mess hall is the exact kind of hell you expected it to be. Loud, obnoxious, filled with potential social threats and unnecessary questions on the verge from the man sitting in front of you. The only bit of luck you seem to have kept, shows itself in the lack of soldiers here at all. Most of them had likely already eaten.

The meal Infront of you looked anything but appetizing. Yet Soap seemed all the more happy to devour it with no complaints. He's been talking your head off ever since you sat down, clueing you in on things at base. Most of it is useful information you manage to retain, but after awhile your ears goes deaf despite how much you want to listen.

Though you have to admit that it sounds like they're a tight knit group. The 141 formed quite awhile ago, managing to take out several high-level threats. It made sense to put them up against the divine principle, but you couldn't help the doubt in your mind that anything would come of it. Even if you managed to take the group down once more, they would just resurface years later until you took out the root of the problem.

You had failed to do it once.

"...are ye listening?"

Your eyes flicker up from your murky food, locking eyes with Soap. What the hell kind of name was that anyway. Was he good at cleaning dishes? A lot of code names tend to be teasing or insults, so maybe he got teased for it?

"Yeah," you reassure him by briefly giving him your undivided attention. You'd quickly trail out again.

"Ye can tell me to shut up, ah know ah talk a lot" he doesn't sound ashamed of it, but you can hear the hint of self deprecation. Someone's definitely shamed him in the past. You had no intention to do so, you quite preferred people who talk a lot. They talk fast, easy, and typically give way more information than they should which paints you a better picture. A bonus point that it fills out the silence you bring.

"No... it’s nice," you mutter and pick up your fork. You might as well try to fight some of it down, you hadn't even touched any of it yet, and Soap was practically done even with his rambling.

You didn't know whether the lack of people in a typically populated space made you more or less anxious.

"So, ye used to hunt these people a few years ago?"

You meet his eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. You're not sure what you were supposed to find in them, but definitely not the curiosity that shines. This entire taskforce is playing with a hellfire they do not understand. It's practically impossible to take it down, even from within, lord knows you've tried.

"Yeah."

You could bite your lip bloody trying to think of ways to continue the conversation from here. He goes wildly quiet for you. Is he expecting for you to elaborate? What does he even want you to say? What were you allowed to say? What did they know? How much information is appropriate over a lunch in a very public area?

You were starting to regret your decision of agreeing to all of this. You hadn't even started and the stress was pulling you down under.

"They're hard to find, even with a full team" he shakes his head amused, "ah can't even imagine what it must've been like hunting them practically all alone."

"I wasn't alone."

He seems surprised. Good.

Kate hadn't told them every detail.

"They were tenacious then; I don't doubt the group wont behave much different this time around. They always end up with the same values, the same goal." You ramble on, catching yourself by biting your tongue.

"What's the goal?" he asks.

"Doomsday preppers in a nutshell, just add a slimy layer of misguided religion on top of it." You finally take a big bite of your food. It slides down your throat slowly, the dryness, or size catching you off-guard.

Soap slides your glass closer to you. "Not new, but also not every day ye see it to this large of an extent."

"It's been organized for years now, they're not likely to stop from a threat from the authorities. Only way is to take out the roots." You mumble on after getting your throat cleared. There were quite a few ways to go about doing that, all of them left an acidic taste in your mouth.

You could see the way he wanted to ask more. He should refrain, wait for it all to be revealed in proper time instead of probing you for information in an informal interrogation. A quite nice one at that.

You had yet to decide on how close you wanted to get to him.

John MacTavish, Soap.

He was a sergeant, chatty nature, one for jokes, witty, smart. A person worthy to note, despite rebellious appearances.

The captain had yet to earn your respect, and likewise yours his. He was impressive on all accounts. He would also be the first person to throw you off this mission at a sign of weakness. Valuable in its own right.

Kyle was indifferent towards you, a bit cold perhaps, though he seemed a gentleman when it came down to it.

Ghost was......Simon.

You didn't know what you expected when you met Simon again. He's a lot more different than you thought he would be. Taking on the persona of Ghost, you suppose you can't blame him for needing an escape, but the motif still stirs something awful in your chest. Neither of you really got over it.

Maybe you'd have preferred it if he wasn't so aloof with you, a bit more direct in your long-awaited reunion. Perhaps it would have been better if it had mimicked TV, the rain and yelling and screaming in a scenic location to make it more meaningful to you. Unfortunately, reality tends to be far more boring.

"So did he always wear that mask?"

"Ghost? Aye, as long as I've known the bastard," he chuckles "can ask Price about before that, he's known 'im the longest."

There's a pang in your heart, something that feels an awful lot like a drop jealousy, but you can't allow that. It wouldn't be one bit fair. If you were the one to walk away from him then, were you really allowed to feel anything at all for him? Certainly not jealousy over the new relationships he'd build. You should be happy, you really should.

But how dare he abandon you so fast.

You shake your head free of the feeling. Wrongful, wishful, thinking wouldn't change the truth nor the fact he was supposedly better off here.

"Known him long?"

"Ever since we got assigned on this taskforce, give or take a few years now. And Ye?"

"Old acquaintances."

There's another sting in your heart that burns something fierce. All the nights you had spent wishing you were still in contact with him coming back to you. Times when it felt like a single word from him would make life worth living again. A single glance from him could make it worth anything.

You tried to ignore that bit.

But the mask had a symbolism you didn't like any better. You'd only be arrogant to think or claim that you still knew him and his thoughts, but it was still distasteful. Had he forgotten? You had both ran from it, difference was he now wore it on his face and you watched it creep in the shadows.

You had always hated the cold streaks in first signs of winter. When the temperature went freezing, the trees losing their colour, the sun hiding more often now behind threatening clouds. However still no snow. All the unfortunate parts with none of the benefits.

And standing on Simon's freezing front porch didn't help. He was taking too long. It had been half a minute since you rung the doorbell. Where the hell was he? His parents were supposed to be out, and despite his little brother still being home, the two of you would take any opportunity you could take.

You wrap your jacket closer around you. The biting frost nipping at your cheeks and nose. For a moment you debate whether you should ring the bell again, but you remember his words clear, he had told you to just go in, even if it felt wrong to do that without a formal invitation straight from the door.

You hadn't been here too many times. Some part of yourself too scared that the smell of smoke would sting your clothes, and that your parents would know exactly where you had been. You needed to be careful, one wrong decision and they'd forbid you from seeing him again.

You aren't sure if you could handle that.

The door creeks when you open it, too loud for your taste. It makes you grimace. You try calling out for him, to no response. There's a smell of freshly baked bread, likely at the hands of his mum.

A smile tugs on your lips, your stomach twisting hungrily in your body. Hurriedly you kick off your shoes, and hang up your jacket, emerging in the home's living room. For a moment you wonder if anyone is even home, it feels cold from the lack of interaction.

"Simon?" it's not like him to leave you alone like that. Was he even home?

You tiptoe towards the hallway peeking down the dark way. When you stare too long, the shadows move occasionally, takes shape like moving smoke. Another time you softly call his name, slowly coming up to Simon's and his brother’s bedroom.

It's cracked open very slightly, the shine of light coming from the slit. It illuminates the dying flowers placed neatly on a bookshelf. You move to open the door, but before you can get there, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

The hairs on the back of your neck rise, the subtle warm breath from someone else hitting your skin. It felt wrong, and in the back of your mind you knew who it was, what he was doing. You whipped around, the fear having already seeped into your eyes. You were ready to shield yourself, stare into the tall figure that looked like the personification of death.

The scream that erupted from your lungs, weren't only of fear but also from genuine shock. The figure wasn't tall like you had expected, instead you had to glance downwards to meet the eyes behind a white skull mask. You stumble backwards, crashing your body against the door and falling all the way down to the floor.

The boy stands above you, a fit of psychotic little giggles come from him which make your stomach churn with disgust. He holds a butterknife in his hand. It's the only reason you haven't gotten up yet as you stare at his display, trying to mimic his father.

"Tommy what are you doing!" you shout out offended. You hope it covers the tinge of fear you carry. In no universe should Simon's little brother look like this, in no world should he be able to scare you this badly.

The antsy sensation isn't just from the initial surprise, it swirls in your blood at the sight of a raised knife. It doesn't matter that it isn't sharp, it doesn't even matter that it's not directly pointed at you.

It makes you remember. The late nights, the early mornings, the fights that took place within your own home. The list of threats you'd heard, you could recite them as clear as your favourite quote from your favourite book.

"Tommy...put down the knife." You don't hear the tremble in your voice but he does. He tilts his head; a line of light falls over the skull mask. His eyes are illuminated beneath it, they carry nothing but distaste for you.

He's never liked you. You were fine with that, but this is just too far. Where was Simon anyway!? If Tommy was home then he should be as well, maybe even his mother if anything at all.

Like a saving grace, an angel sent from the heavens, you hear his uncertain voice call out shakily.

"Tommy what are you doing, give that to me."

Simon pulls you even closer to his form, your legs shift from how you're sitting halfway into his lap. He had practically forced you this close when you started to complain about the cold. Not that you minded the proximity itself.

"Are you sure we can't just lock a room, so he won't disturb us?" You nuzzle closer into his side. A big breath exits your lungs, it rises upwards like a little cloud. His arm pulls your jacket closer around, his hand settling on your waist to give you a little squeeze.

"We're fine here," he mumbles into your hair "got you all to myself."

"I know," you say exasperated "it's just why would he do that...it's not...its..."

You don't know how to formulate your words right. It's hard to explain exactly what you saw from your perspective on the floor. A terrifying display you never want to see on Tommy's innocent face again. That look was reserved for his father, not that you were any happier seeing it on him either.

"He's been acting up...mood swings and all that" Simon sighs and shakes his head. "He's done it to me too a few times when mom and dad are fighting...I... don’t understand it. Even when dad brought that snake in, he was all giddy...I don't think he really understands," Simon confesses.

"Wait, what snake?!" you manage to pull yourself away from his arms. You stay close in his hold to keep sharing body heat, but you raise yourself on your knees so you're looking down at his face. "Your dad brought a snake into your home, to you, and he just laughed?" you sounded pissed off, and rightfully so you were. He'd never told you this before now.

"Yeah, were years ago now but..." he raises a hand, his thumb brushing over to dull marks above his lips "it bit me."

Your eyebrows furrow and you have to hold yourself back from not yelling out in frustration. You bite down on your own lip hard, and reach a hand up to gently run your fingers over the two scars in the form of dots. He closes his eyes as he feels your skin on his, let's out a shuddering breath. He always gets like this now at your touch, he always seems so affected, always positively.

In the beginning you thought it was just hormones, puberty for him now that you're both well into your teenage years. A round of "Boys will be boys," as your mother would keep saying whenever you told her how you saw the boys at school pick on the girls in the most horrendous ways.

Simon's a boy but you've never seen him be that cruel. And then you started to think it might just be you he's like this with, that to anyone else, any other girl or boy that gets close never gets to see him have this kind of reaction.

He opens his eyes and your breath catches in your throat with an ugly little sound. It makes you snort, giggling into your hand as you listen to his rumble of a chuckle. His arms snake around your waist, bring you in closer, pressing your bodies up against each other as much as can be.

He looks up at you like you're the only person in the world.

Like you're everything to him, as if you were to go his world would collapse around him. And you know it's true because you feel the same way. If he were to ever leave, you wouldn't know how to function, you wouldn't have an escape from the abuse, a person to keep you afloat when you're drowning.

You lean down a little to place a soft peck just above his lips, on the dotted scars.

You're not sure what true love is, but if you'll ever have a chance at it, it has to be this. There can be no other explanation for that glint in his eye reserved only for you.

He looks at you with pure love.

Soap looks at you expectantly. The dull sounds of the mess hall fill your ears again, you didn't even realize you zoned out. You only pray it wasn't for an unusually long time.

"We knew each other way back, before he joined the military I think." You try your best to play it off as not a big deal. As if you hadn't been in deep with him once upon an easier time. You doubted Simon would want to bring more attention to it than necessary when it came to his teammates.

"Before? Woah, can finally say ah know someone who knew the legendary ghost before he became ghost." He sounds pleased with himself. You don't understand the difference.

Like speaking of the devil himself, the tall dark figure with a mask you wanted to rip off him, emerged into the hall. It didn't turn many heads, but the way you whipped your head dramatically brought Soap's attention to him as well.

"Well...speak of the devil..." he mumbled. You could hear the smile on his lips without looking.

It's a bit late to come in for lunch, but when you think about it you didn't see him go eat with the others, while you were actively avoiding them. He would always retreat into his own room or office, like you would do.

Both you and Soap watches as he goes up to select what his lunch will be. Occasionally you glance towards Soap, observing his interest in Simon, you try to gouge at their relationship. They'd likely be good friends, having a soldier camaraderie for years now. It made you wonder if Soap would now qualify as one to know more about the boy you used to be so close with, than you do yourself.

You look back to Simon, trying to get a proper glimpse of his mask again. You have to bite back an annoyed groan when they flood your vision again.

The shadows encompass his mask all around. They block out the once dirty white with a coal black. It moves around like a mass, obscuring his face, his head taking on spiky ends, then blocky, then smooth. It makes him look like the creatures in the mirrors, the only thing left being the uncanny clear view of his eyes.

They're so visible to you that they freak you out more than the moving shadows, looking straight out of an uncomfortable picture you'd find on the internet. When he finally picks up his food and turns to your direction, your breath catches in your throat with an ugly little sound.

Soap looks at you concerned, but you wave him off quickly taking a big gulp of your water.

You look back to see exactly what you thought it was. You'd recognize that look on him anywhere from just his eyes. People say eyes are the windows to someone's soul, you don't know if you believe it for everyone else or even yourself, your eyes look so dull in the mirror, but for Simon it's the truest statement you've heard.

Despite the time apart, that look is burned into your retinas. It's been an image you clung to over the years, you last remnant of him, something to remind you of what you once had.

And he's looking towards you, like he used to do.

He's looking towards you with an expression you haven't seen in person in years.

He's looking towards you with a look of love you'd never think you'd see on his face again.

He's looking towards you with such devotion that someone like you doesn't deserve from someone like him.

You realize it too late. You glance away from Simon and look to the man sitting in front of you

He looks at you with pure love.

He's not looking at you.

Are you seriously jealous over a man you haven't seen in years?

You know it's pathetic. You know it's nonsensical. You know you shouldn't.

Yet you pace back and forth in your room, the shadows louder than they've ever been in months. They corner you in on every side, lunge out at you when you get too close to the walls. Their thousand little voices overlap in a chorus of insults.

Vile, pathetic, weak, useless, killer.

Your hands raise up to cover your ears but it does nothing to dampen the intensity. Your clothes feel too tight on your body, the air too humid, a certain place in the room burning hot with agony and shame. The little space under your bed. The bag with the letters that once brought you comfort.

They burn hot even from a distance. A rush of hot and cold going through your bloodstream. Ice beneath your skin one moment and boiling blood the next.

Did he ever even look at you like that? Wasn't it different back then? He had the dumb puppy love for you none of that was real.

"Shut up," your voices breaks in your throat and comes out a meek whisper.

Just take a look at those pathetic letters.

"No..."

Each one of them so much later than the next. Spaced out perfectly to leave you in the dark, first a week then two then a month then two months then...

"Shut it!" you shout out with the animalistic ferocity you've been taught. The shadows retract slightly, giving you more room to breathe. Normally you try to ignore the voices that go through your head, you've found answering them only encourage their absurd bait. They could taunt you all they wanted. Voices instilled by vile men in your life, repeated over and over and over and over and over.

Until they manifested themselves within your skull and refused to leave.

In a way you know the things you are seeing aren't real, but it feels so solid. All of it just your fragmented mind trying to make sense of what you were forced to see. None of it could be real.

Sometimes you think that you could actually reach out and touch them, but anytime you've tried they just retract further away from you. You've always hated how it swims in your vision, distracts you from what's actually important.

You look towards the bed, under it, the bag, the letters that almost flood out of it from where you've thrown it. They call to you, scream at you so silently. Your legs are sluggish like walking through water as they carry you there. Your fingers touching what feels like knives as you pull out the nearest letter.

The little piece of paper he left on your bed before he left for the military.

To my love, my dear little spider

You read quietly, the whisper barely even audible on your lips.

I'm sorry that I have to go. Don't fall apart without me, okay?

See you soon, your Simon

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @islnd-vybz @spicyspicyliving @kaoyamamegami

[banabiohazard]

(DDLC four hearts au, all 4, celebration, hangover)

*tw for drunkenness, hangovers,*

11:00 PM

Monika had invited all her partners over right when she had arrived home after graduation, she had finished university and couldn't be more proud. When they had all arrived at her home she had them sat around the dinner table with a large selection of grocery bags sitting in the center,

"Okay girls, Aunt Willow has given us the house for the weekend, I am officially a university graduate-"

"Congrats!!"

Sayori squealed for what had to be the three hundredth time that day, "Thank you Say, anyway I've decided we should celebrate!" She reached into the bags and pulled out three large wine bottles, quickly getting up and running to the kitchen nearly tripping on her way back with four fancy glasses, Natsuki sighed and rolled her eyes while Sayori's eyes lit up, "Okay first off, Say we're cutting you off at four glasses-" "WHAT!? That's not fair!" Sayori turned to Yuri, "Yuriiii!! Tell her that's unfair!" Yuri hummed,

"Well dear, you do have problems with self control and overconsumption."

Sayori sighed and pouted, "You're both asses..." Natsuki patted Say's back a few times, "Oh! And for Natsuki," Monika pulled out a fourth bottle, "Grape cider, non alcoholic." Natsuki smiled and breathed a laugh through her nose, 

"Thanks Monika."

"Always! Okay okay," she bounced a little on her heels before she sat back down, "I got some snacks and a lot of water and rented a couple movies! This is gonna be so fun!!"

4:21 AM

Adam Sandler's 50 first dates played on the tv while Yuri and Sayori watched a compilation of Pokémon nuzlock rage outs on Sayori's laptop in the corner, laughing like children, Natsuki sat on the couch actually watching the movie with Monika laid across her lap on the couch, the four bottles on the coffee table where all half empty, she glanced at her partner's in the corner as she popped a chip in her mouth silently wondering if she was the one who was supposed limit Sayori's drinks. But the thought didn't last long as Monika's hand reached her cheek, she had a small giggle fit, the way Monika snorted when she laughed made Natsuki struggle not to join her. "Youre so prettyy~" Monika cooed, Natsuki leaned into her hand, "Gimme a kkiss~" Monika leaned up but Nat pushed her back down, "No way, your breath smells like cleaner."

Monika groaned pitifully as she sank into the couch, Sayori leaned backwards out of the corner and called out, "I volgunteer! I want, kisses.." she scuttled over to the couch and Nat grabbed the remote to overpower the sounds of them enjoying each other and Yuri's snoring from the corner as she leaned against the wall.

12:53 PM

Natsuki groggily made her way out of Monika's bedroom to see that her partners were all already awake, she leaned in the doorframes to simple observe them, Yuri held both sides of her head in the for with Sayori clinging to her chest, "Sayori set me on fire I'm ready to die." Sayori's head went slack, "Only if you set me on fire first.." Monika laid on the couch wrapped tightly in a blanket running her hands through her hair. Natsuki sighed and made her way over to Monika, squatting by the couch, "Hey babygirl where's your phone?" Monika scrunched her face hard, "Uhhh, kitchen." Nat placed a kiss on her forehead and went to check.

She found Monika's phone face down on the kitchen counter, she quickly entered her girlfriend's password and began scrolling though her contacts before landing on 'loud asshole' she stepped out onto the back patio as it rang,

"Yo Red what's good?"

An aggravating male voice chimed through the phone, "Hey, is this Morgan?" Natsuki asked, "The one and only! You don't sound like Monika." Natsuki leaned over the rail, "Yeah I'm Natsuki look-"

Morgan cut her off, "Oh you're one of Red's lady friends! You and the other two!" Natsuki sighed, "Yeah, speaking of the other two you're an alcoholic right?" After a moment of silence Morgan answered, "Are you a cop?" "Just answer the fucking question dude." "Yeah a little I guess why?" Natsuki peered back in through the screen door, "Monika and them are all down and hungover, wondering if you know any fixes for that." Morgan practically yelled, “Only like a million! You at Monika’s? I’m in town at my uncles I can be there in like ten minutes.” Natsuki stepped back inside, “Great thanks.”

1:36 PM

Morgan stood in the front door, a huge silhouette compared to Natsuki, “Oh this. This is hilarious.” Monika groaned at the sound of his voice, “Go fuck yourself.” Morgan Stretched as he stepped inside, “Would if I could Red I have the body of a god, anyway!” He turned to Natsuki, “Natalie-“

“Natsuki.” “Weird name! Anyway! We need to get them situated and as comfy as possible, letting you do that because I’m scared if I touch red or them she’ll try to bite my fingers off.” “Wise.” Natsuki shot back, “Epic, so I’ll go raid the pantry to see if you’ve got Alka-Seltzer and the stuff to make Miso soup, if not I’ll hit the shops!” He started to walk away but swiveled around on one foot, “Anything I should watch out for? Food preferences, allergies, diets?” Natsuki thought for a moment, “Yuri doesn’t do well with cinnamon.” She responded and Morgan snapped his fingers, which made the whole room groan. “Noted!” And off he went.

[misstycloud]

Can you do a yandere firefighter if that’s possible??

GN reader x Firefighter

TW- thoughts about jumping through a window. Burning inside building.

——————-

Was this it? you thought. Were you really going to die in an apartment fire, and so young as well? You hadn’t even had time to start collecting that crazy amount of cats into your home. All because your dumbass neighbour left the stove on.

You had been catching up on some TV shows in your bedroom with headphones on, so you didn’t perceive any danger until the burning smell attacked your senses. You connected the dots and rushed for the door and threw it open, but the fire had already spread through your floors hallway and blocked your exit.

Loud sirens screamed in the distance and pierced the ears of everyone unfortunate to be close. You backed away from the flaming hall and closed the door to separate you and the inferno for as long as possible. You needed to find another way out.

The windows! But when you looked down you only saw stone hard concrete 100 feet away. Right, you lived on the highest floor. How could you forget that? You certainly couldn’t jump, if you did you’d turn into mush for sure. But what choice did you have? It was that or burn to death, being turned into a pancake sounded less painful in a way.

You cringed at the thought. Perhaps you should make sure there was absolutely no other escape before resorting to that. But before you could start searching for other possible exits, the roof collapsed and spread ashened rubble on the floor. The fire was now licking at your walls and furniture, devouring it.

The suddenness of it shocked you and had you fall backwards to avoid being crushed. Coughing you tried to make your way to the window. It was getting hard to breathe. The smoke infiltrated your lungs and irritated them.

“Ah!” You cried.

Something hit you in the back and brought you down. It was heavy and you couldn’t get it off you no matter how much you tried. No, you thought. If you were stuck how were you supposed to pancake your way outside? There you laid wheezing on the ground as the different moments of life passed through your thoughts.

Your vision was getting hazy and the world around you was starting to disappear more and more. It was painful, the smoke. It was stinging your throat and made it sore. In your delirious state you could do nothing except call for help. Just as everything turned dark, you thought you heard the sound of footsteps and a voice scream something. If it wasn’t for the smoke and the fact you were going to die, you might’ve taken it for your name.

—————

A beeping noise awoke you. You tried to open your eyes, which were still groggy from sleep. There was a particular smell hanging in the air. It was a mix between a bunch of different things. Mostly noticeable a little bitter, with undertones of the artificial fragrance contained in soaps and cleaners. Definitively a kind of treatment facility. Must be a hospital, you thought.

Your throat killing you and felt like you hadn’t had an ounce of water in weeks, while travelling through the desert. The inner walls were scraping each other like sandpaper. You desperately needed something to drink. As on cue, a tan hand reached forward with a cup in its grasp. Your still adjusting gaze landed on a new figure you hadn’t realised were a simple three feet away.

The sight startled you somewhat and you would’ve moved back if your body would listen to you, you were completely won out. The man was a stranger, but there was something slightly familiar with him. Although you couldn’t put your finger on it. At least he let out a comforting aura through the warm smile, signaling he meant no harm.

He wasn’t bad looking, honestly. Though he was no model he sure had his good traits. The soft-looking curly dark hair being one of them.

“How are you feeling?” He asked gently.

You drank the water he’d offered you and coughed a few times before answering,“Um….fine..”

“I’m glad. The doctors told me you would be okay after they gave you all those medical stuff and rest, but I couldn’t keep myself from worrying y’know. Although you do have a sprained shoulder-“

As he said so, you realised the right side did feel a little funny. Shifting it you quickly accepted it really was sprained and you held in an uncomfortable hiss.

“-but it’ll heal within a few weeks since it wasn’t too serious. It’s lucky I found you and managed to get you out in time or your condition could’ve been worse than this and that would be awful.”

His everlasting rant about you and you well-being would’ve went on seemingly forever if you hadn’t cut him short. You put up a finger to halt him.

“Yes, yes, thanks for caring but did you say that you got me out? Like from the burning building I was stuck in?” You asked with furrowed brows.

The man sighed softly, almost a little regretfully and moved his eyes to the floor and then back to you. “Ehm, yes, it was me. Though there’s nothing to thank me for. Just doing my part. And besides, it’s you so...hehe” the last part he whispered quietly to himself.

You blinked in silence and stared emotionally at him. “Wow, thank you for saving me. I-I don’t know what I would’ve done if it wasn’t for you…” Actually meeting your saviour was more overwhelming than you ever thought it would be. Now it finally hit you properly what could’ve gone down less than 24 hours ago. You believed you could come to terms with your death; that was a lie.

Who could do that? Especially if it was in the way you thought you’d go. You lived however, and it was all because of the same young man seated next to you. You didn’t even know his name, so you asked. “Well, I’ll continue to thank you no matter what you say. So thanks again Mr-…?”

“Oh, you don’t have to use any formality with me.” The dark-haired man waved off any attempt of custom. Then he continued, cheeks turning a little red this time, “You can just call me by my name.”

“For real? I don’t know your name though.”

Your saviour bashfully ran his fingers through the thick waves on his head and nervously licked his slightly chapped lips. “Eh, I don’t think you remember, but we have met before.”

“We have?” You spurred your brain to let you recall any meeting with this guy that you forgot. Sadly your mind was not cooperating today and left you blank.

“Yeah, we actually went to middle school together.” He revealed and gave you a dopey smile.

You and him went to the same school? You didn’t think so. Someone like him would not be easy for many to forget and that applied to you too. Scanning his strong muscular frame, you were certain there was no one who fit that description. Did he mistake you for someone else? That could explain it. Once more looking at his brown hair and eyes, you said “Are you sure? I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered you in that case.”

“You probably wouldn’t.” He chuckled and gestured to his body, “I didn’t exactly look like this back then.”

“What, you weren’t one of those soccer or basket boys taking up the entire room?” You snickered at the thought of him being one of the schools meatheads. Despite him definitely having a lot of meat he didn’t come across as the stereotypical asshole type.

“No, I was quite the opposite actually. More like the silent shy type.”

You hummed in response, adding a nod to it. “I still haven’t gotten your name though.”

“Benny.”

‘What? Did he say Benny? Like the same Benny that got a boner during a PowerPoint presentation??’ You honestly couldn’t believe your eyes. Could the man in front of you truly be the same as the tiny boy you’d seen in your youth. If so, then shit has changed a great deal under all the years since then. The Benny from the past was but a small fragment of the one currently facing you.

You awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of your head stiffly, “Ahhh, now I remember. How have you been, it’s been so long?”

Benny smiled at your interest towards him and the fact you still knew who he was. It would hurt if you didn’t. He started feeling giddy inside as he began revealing what he was doing for the last decade.

“I’m good, not been up to much except work. Takes up time since you have to be ready and in shape too. I don’t have many hobbies either, hehe.”

While he explains, you notice that his gaze never strays away from you. Not even for a second. Most people tend to avert their eyes when in a conversation simply because it’s uncomfortable after some time, but it appeared that he was not like most people.

“Right, you’re a firefighter of course!” You did a little applaud to congratulate him on his success.

“Thank you, (Y/n), your praise is all I need.”

“Huh?”

Before you could inquire more about what he meant a doctor had swung open the door. He greeted the two of you and proceeded to ask you the normal questions; how you were feeling and such. Then he explained your condition and what happens to people who experience smoke inhalation. Thankfully with the right treatment and time you’d be as good as new. Therefore they saw no reason to keep you there, giving a paper containing a prescription to…Benny..?

“Make sure they get the rest they need and fresh air. Avoid anything that may cause an irritation to their lungs.” The doctor ordered before turning to you. “You got a good boyfriend there, kid. He’s a keeper I’ll tell you, completely out of his mind when he brought you here, cares a lot for you.” With those words, the medic parted with you and closed the door behind him firmly.

You immediately confronted your saviour, “Why’d he think you were my boyfriend, did you say that or something?”

Benny put his hands up in surrender, “No no, of course I didn’t say anything like that! They must’ve assumed it.” He defended himself.

You sighed, admitting it could easily just be them who put a label on your relation to each other. It wasn’t his fault. Yeah, why would he even claim to be your part enter to begin with? That didn’t make any sense. It’s not as if you were close back then and like hell there were any benefit from it.

Grabbing the sheet of paper from the brown-haired man, you sped read the words. “How am I supposed to heal at home if I don’t have one.” You scoffed. Now you had to find a place to stay, that was easier said than done. You could potentially stay at a friends but you didn’t want to dump all the healthcare stuff on them.

Apart from the lung coughing, you also couldn’t use your arm for a while. Not until your sprained shoulder has healed which would mean they’d be forced to help you out with different things. A deep voice woke you from your thoughts.

“If you don’t have a place to stay you can stay at my apartment!” Benny offered a little too fast, his tone made him sound like he was feeling bad for you but his face betrayed him. The expression on it was way too bright; it creeped you out somewhat.

“A-are you sure? I don’t have any money left so I can’t pay you, and you heard what the doc said, you’d have to take care of me-“

“- I don’t mind.” He stated firmly. “Really, I wouldn’t.”

You stared at him in shock. “No, you can’t actually mean that. We barely know each other, there is no-“

“(Y/n), please.” Grabbing you mildly by the shoulders, the young man spoke “Let me take care of you. It’s no biggie, I promise. And you don’t have to pay me, I want to do this for you. So please don’t resist, okay?”

Damn. What other choice did you have? Your apartment along with all your stuff was burnt to a crisp. You had no money and couldn’t work in your state. You didn’t wish to admit it but Benny was the best alternative; if not the only one.

That paired with the assures look he was giving you, there seemed to be no option than to yield and that’s how you found yourself nodding along to his proposal. You pursed your lips and turned your eyes to your clasped hands, at the same time the firefighter lit up with joy and laughed. “Thank you for giving me a chance. You won’t regret it, I’ll make sure of it.”

—————

Sorry this is shitty, Just tried to whip up something.

I’ve been bombarded with exams and it never seems to stop, it’s the reason I haven’t been able to post lately.

Can’t say when the next post is going to be but I’ll try to come up with something!

[pianocat939]

I'm kinda not feeling any creativity going through, so have this instead. Also, disclaimer, both parties are undefined in both name and gender so if the pronouns get confusing, I apologize.

Have some Blind Yan because I have no creative juice

Tw: murder (not super descriptive), entrapment, implications of abandonment or disowning of (not MC),

Additional disclaimer: This is an accurate depiction of a certain type of blindness, specifically someone who retains a small amount of their vision. (And I can say accurate because one of my parents is blind so aha- you can't tell me it's wrong.)

Imagine MC being like a fugitive, literally running away for some kind of crime.

And of course, they encounter some terrible weather on their never ending journey. So their miserable selves end up trying to look for a shelter. (It’s giving “food for the poor”)

They find a fairly-sized mansion on the outskirts of a town. It’s so dead and silent, they assume it was abandoned. Even if the mansion seemed so exquisite.

It’s quite dim. They notice the mansion is spotless, with not a single problem in the building at all. Until they notice a lit room down the hall.

Usually they would never approach any possible humans, but in that moment, the curiosity was too much.

In that said lit room, is a person sitting in a chair. Seemingly a library full of…odd books. Books without a proper cover, and held together by rings.

They notice the person is reading…with their fingers. Sliding their fingertips across each line.

MC realizes that the person is blind. Of course, given their current state, they’re going to take advantage of that. Just as they were stepping away from the door frame, a sudden thunder crackles, causing them to flinch and lightly bump into the wall.

Well shit.

“Hello? Is someone here?”

MC is frozen. The person stands up, their arms stretched outwards as they guided themselves through the doorway. A bit faster than MC would have liked.

MC is quick to speed walk away, until the person speaks once more.

“You’ll get sick if you go back out there. You should stay while you’re here…Even just for a few hours.”

MC paused. Does this person not fear the possible dangers? They don’t even know a fugitive is within their home.

.

.

.

And so MC finds themselves drinking tea with this blind one. Oddly not minding their little rambles.

It doesn’t surprise MC that the mansion was bought by their parents. No wonder there were so many expensive braille books. But they found it odd not a single helper was around.

"Oh I only have a cleaner come around twice a week. Everything else is managed by me."

After a few hours, the rain didn't stop at all. If anything, it got worse. MC was deciding whether or not to just suffer through the shivering wetness. Just as they were about to excuse themselves, the blind one stops them, standing up from their chair to face them...Well, trying to.

"Don't leave, just stay. You could get terribly sick from the cold.'

MC just books it. They have nowhere better to go anyway. They reveal a bit about themselves, who they were really. Except saying "wanderer" instead of fugitive. The government can't catch this fucker yet-

In the morning, the rain has stopped. MC was not only woken up by the blind one, but served a plate of food as well. Surprisingly not burnt or too much salt. It looked like a typical dish that anybody could make.

Before MC could even repack their things to leave, the blind one asks, almost begging for them to stay. It seems the loneliness bothers this person. MC is hesitant, but decides to stay.

Over the days, MC notices something. The blind one always seems to be shuffling close by, every spoken word from them making the blind one to smile and hesitantly approach in the direction of sound. It seems the person is a lot more clingy than one would assume.

They are a little amazed the blind one is able to live mostly on their own, even recognizing the light or dark spaces. Even if their movements are hesitant.

.

.

.

Ah but inevitably, the government comes knocking on the mansion door. They're quick to panic, packing up everything they could and about to bolt- until they hear a strangled scream.

They know they should run, but curiosity and maybe even worry for the blind one is too overpowering. They glance down the stairs, and witness something all too shocking.

There's three bloody bodies, their black suits tainted with a slight red. Stab wounds and ripped shirts accompanying the already horrifying scene. In the middle, stands the blind one, huffing a little. They held a kitchen knife in hand. The blind one looks around, outstretching their arms in front of them, stepping forward slowly.

"Dearie? Where are you? No need to run off now, those intruders are gone."

MC, horrified and literally so confused, tries to open the door- but it’s completely locked. Someone hugs them so tight from behind, the bloodied knife still in their hands. MC is more terrified than the time they committed crime all those months ago.

"Don't go. Don't leave me. I made sure they'll never find you. I'm useful, right?" The blind one's voice is desperate, as if they were about to cry. They drop the knife, pinging against the marble floor. "I know I can't see- but I can still do most things just fine. Don't throw me away like everyone else, don't coup me up in this cage like they did. You can stay, and I can pardon your crime."

Tears started to flow from their eyes, as they clutch MC's clothes tightly, their nails digging into the fabric. "Just stay with me. I don't want to be alone and broken anymore. I'm not helpless."

The blind one can cook, cook well it seemed.

-

(I felt like doing a bit of angst and a tiny sprinkle of violence. Bro having both parties with undefined gender or names is HARD to write. But then again this was like last minute scramble typing)

- Celina