#WAILING SOBBING GROVELING

[baeshijima]

just need me a man *hem hem* dAN HENG OR JING YUAN *hem* to tell me I'm the prettiest most amazing hardworking girl ever is that too much to ask i just need the validation I lack ☹☹☹ EVERY TIME I LOOK AT THEM IM LIKE WHERES MINEEEE

nonnie u are so valid for that and theyre giving u all the validation u could ever want and need as we speak 😌 (<- real bc i heard them !!!)

[maryangelex]

Please, please, please.

I am requesting an Ex!husband John price/ Fem!reader, where they divorce and he’s absolutely devastated by it, grovels and upset that he lost the love of his life, and then years later by circumstances are in force proximity with each other and have to deal with communicating all their grievances and then bam heated smut and pent up frustrations at each other, and then get back together.

Thank you so much and I really appreciate you! But it’s also okay if you skip my request :)

a/n: anon how could i possibly leave this delectable prompt unanswered!!?!?!?! i have literally been saving this one for almost last because i need to use 110% of my prune brain its so amazing. one thing about me is...im a whore for ex-husband!price *clutches pearls* im sorry for making ya wait, i hope you love it!!!

this is gonna be a long one!

c/w: ex-husband!price, make-up sex, forced proximity, quickie, against a wall, p in v, creampie, john price yearns for his pretty wife

It hadn't been easy, no divorce is easy, really. Much less when it was something you didn't really want to do, but more so saw yourself as needing to do. The nights without John had gotten too lonely, his side of the bed had gotten too cold. You thought the times he was back would make up for the times he wasn't. When John came back from deployment it felt like a coin toss: sometimes it was your honeymoon all over again, but other times he was cold and distant.

You had two kids in tow; two kids that needed their father. You were a wife that needed her husband just as much. You don't blame him for not being there of course. After all, you owed it all to him; all you ever wanted he got for you, he provided you a house to raise your children in, to grow old in. He gave you nothing but unconditional love. That's what made everything harder when you decided you couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep hoping he'd come home to be his normal self every time just to be met with the shell of the man you fell in love with.

You knew it wasn't his fault, you knew his line of work. But having to be alone the majority of the year plus having to still be alone when he was around had gotten to you, it had become too much. And John knew this. When you told him through sobs and wails that you couldn't do this anymore, that you felt hopeless and alone and like this was the only remedy, he understood. He had packed his things and left without a fuss, leaving you the house and renting an apartment barely a drive away. He tried to make it as simple as possible, arranging to stay with the kids every weekend and more if you needed time for yourself. His silence and compliance to separate felt like more of a dagger in your chest than the reason to separate to begin with. You wished he had fought for you, that he had yelled at you and argued with you to stay and fix this.

Little did you know that when he found himself in the empty single-bedroom apartment he rented himself he did nothing but cry like a neglected child for hours until his eyes stung and couldn't physically push out any more tears. John Price was a man made of stone and yet he found himself clutching his chest as he sobbed for his wife nearly every night and every lonesome morning. He kicked himself for not fighting for you, as well. He blamed himself for having to come to this in the first place, for leaving you alone and not knowing how to cope well enough to be the very best of himself when he came back from grueling missions. For not being able to look you in the eyes after losing a man, for not being able to open up to you and cry like this in front of you when he needed to let it out of his chest, for not making love to you like a tending husband should at his wife's every whim.

He felt like the consequences of choosing his career had finally caught up to him, and losing you was his penance.

The two of you finalized your divorce quietly and without struggle, feeling like it only drove the knife deeper into your chest. You settled on the kids seeing John every other weekend and he'd be more than welcome back home to be present as their father. Because that was the thing about John: he may have not seen himself as a good man (not good enough for you, for sure) but you both knew he was the best father your kids (and you) could ever ask for.

It's been a year since your divorce; John had been living in his separate flat whilst you and the kids stayed home. He'd come every week, and take the kids every other weekend. Now your oldest's birthday was a few days away and who were you to deprive him of coming? After he had been doing such a good job at not crossing your boundaries, at being a loving father and giving you every bit of warmth and kindness and love that he gave you when you were still together...the more you listed these things the more your heart ached and you doubted yourself. The more you realized you still loved him.

On the day of your kid's birthday, he made sure to get there extra early to help you set up the place. He bought the necessary supplies, picked up the cake from the bakery, and set up the chairs and balloons. Hell, you barely lifted a finger. And of course, he was more than happy to do everything and anything for you with that cheek-pulling smile of his. As the party went on and the house filled with guests and wild kids running about, you scrambled around the house to make sure no one needed anything. That's when John intervened.

"Everythin' alright, hon? Been runnin' round the house like mad," his voice was sweet like honey as he entered the garage, where you were taking out can after can of soda from the spare fridge and into the cooler with ice you brought with you. You didn't turn to look at him as you sighed in exasperation, but you could feel John just a few steps behind you.

"Just making sure everyone's got something to drink...the sodas've run out in the cooler outside and--"

"Everyone's havin' a good time, love," John cut off your rambling with a light chuckle, the rumbling of his voice making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He interjected by taking the cooler from your hands "Let me get that for you," he said, lifting the heavy plastic for you. You sighed again and brought the back of your hand to rub your forehead. You finally looked up to meet his eyes, which were gazing at you with so much adoration it made your stomach twist.

"John..." you started, and he responded with a furrow of his brows and a silent question. "Please don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like you still love me," you blurted, and the beat your heart skipped let you know you physically regretted saying that, instantly.

John's lips pressed into a thin line as he paused for a moment in silence.

"I do still love you," he confessed. You shook your head in disbelief and scoffed.

"John, please, it's our kid's birthday," you dismissed as you turned on your heel and made your way to the door except-

Right, you now remembered why it was a rule in your house this past year to not close the garage door: the lock was busted. You gripped the knob firmly and gave it one, two, three harsh tugs, hoping to somehow force the door open. You banged the door with your fist in frustration, hoping maybe someone heard it on the other side but all you heard was the music playing on the other side.

"Let me have a go," John said, placing the cooler down and tugging just as harshly, even slamming his shoulder against it to see if it would budge, but nothing. You and John were trapped in your garage. You let out a groan and a quiet curse as you pinched the bridge of your nose with a hand on your hip.

John placed a hand on your bicep. They were cold from the ice but the squeeze and rubbing of his thumb on your skin was filled with warmth.

"S'alright, take a breather, hon," he said tenderly, "they'll miss us soon enough to come lookin' in here."

You nodded as you stepped away from his touch. You never stopped John from still using terms of endearment for you, it never felt like a big deal. You were frustrated from the party, the perfectionist in you wanting nothing but to give your kids the best party, and now you were locked up in the garage. To make matters worse, you were locked up in here with your ex-husband who just said he still loves you.

"I meant what I said, love," his voice was barely a whisper but it still brought you out of your thoughts.

"John..." you warned.

"No, I mean it," his tone rose, firmer this time, "I still fuckin' love you, baby."

"Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it? You're gonna make an effort now, John, a year later?"

John was silent, pleading blue eyes gazing at you, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

"You didn't fight for us, John. You didn't fight for me." your finger pointed to your chest firmly as you looked back at him with tear-filled eyes.

"I know, baby, I know," his voice shook in his throat, "I should've fought for us... I should've been a better husband to you, better dad for the kids I-- I should've just been there."

You were quiet as you choked on a quiet sob, the tears escaping down your cheeks.

"I haven't stopped loving you for a second, my only regret in life is not having fought harder for you, having let go of you so easily - fuck," you watched the tears prick his eyes as he stepped closer to you. His palm came to cup your cheek and his thumb wiped away the tear staining your cheeks.

"I failed you. I just...please, baby, I just want one more chance to be a better man for you... I just want my girl back." His tone was soft as if he was reciting a prayer kneeling at a pew. His other hand came to the other side of your face, tucking your hair behind your ear before it cupped your other cheek alike.

You sobbed and brought your hands up to his wrists, shaking your head lightly, knowing all you really wanted was to forgive him despite your denial.

His forehead pressed against you as he whispered once more, "Please, baby..."

"John..." you tried

The tip of his nose rubbed against yours, "Please," he repeated, "be my pretty wife again...be mine again, yeah?" His lips brushed against yours and his hands were firm on your cheeks. You sobbed one more time before his lips pressed against yours, slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle. And fuck, you melted as your lips met.

His lips against yours just felt so right; they were your husband's lips, after all. They were made for yours and yours were made for his, that's why you knew you were so perfect for each other. The way he kissed you made your chest break into a million pieces because you just missed him so much.

The hold on his wrists became limp and you didn't resist - you couldn't resist his kiss because you wanted it so desperately, you've wanted it for this entire past year.

Your mouth moved with his, lips clashing and caressing against each other, teeth clicking together with the force of your desperate kisses, your tongues hungrily pressing their way into each others' mouths. John's hand slid to the back of your head, fingers snaking into your hair and raking through your scalp. You hummed into his mouth at the feeling.

Your hands slid up his back, balling into fists over his shoulder blades and gripping the fabric of his shirt as if you'd lose him again if you didn't hold him firm enough. You held him impossibly close to you as he did the same, your bodies familiarly molded to each other.

You felt John step forward as he still kissed you, backing you up into the nearest wall and it made the heat in your core ignite like a bonfire. When you felt the cold wall against your body, you pried your mouth away from his to gasp a breath but it wasn't half a second later before he captured your lips again. His hands slid down the frame of your body, pawing at your chest and curves before eagerly bunching up the skirt of your dress around your hips. You scrambled to his belt, clumsily and hurriedly doing your best to unbuckle it and undo his pants.

He scoured under your dress to tug your underwear down your thighs with messy urgency. His lips sloppily and wetly trailed up and down your chest and neck before finding their way back to your mouth.

Your hand palmed his hardened length through his boxers and he groaned into your mouth. One of his hands took hold of yours and stuffed it in his boxers to stroke his aching cock as you both panted between kisses.

"All yours, darling," he groaned as he guided your hand stroking his cock, "forever fuckin' will be yours."

And you whined at his words, or maybe at the way his other hand snaked between your legs, fingers wetting themselves with the slick pooled between your folds before pressing into your hole. He pumped his fingers in and out, making you reminisce on how those thick digits have made you feel so good in the past.

You moaned his name like a prayer, pleading for him to fuck you because you needed him. You've needed him for a fucking year and couldn't wait a second longer.

John would give you anything and everything, he always has. So he wasted no time in removing his fingers from your pussy, coating his cock in the slick they collected, and using his other hand to hike your leg up around his waist.

You braced yourself against the wall and with your hands against his shoulders as he practically lifted you off your feet and insert his girthy, swollen cock inside of you. You moaned unabashedly at the way he split you open as he bottomed out.

"So perfect...my perfect wife," he breathed, "made just for me, baby." His fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh and you were sure it would bruise the same way your nails clawing through his shirt were sure to leave crescents on his skin.

John pumped his cock in and out of you slowly but firmly for a few strokes before picking up the pace. His rhythm was relentless as he fucked up into you, pistoning his hips and making your skin clap against each other.

You threw your head back as you whined and moaned at the feeling of the head of his cock bullying against your cervix. Thank god for the music outside.

John hiked up your other leg, wrapping both around his waist as he fucked you against the wall hard and needy. His eyes looked deep into your teary ones, not breaking away to not miss the gorgeous sight of his pretty wife getting fucked by him after so long. He moaned at just the look on your face, at the way your walls gripped him like a vice.

"Look at you... never lettin' go of somethin' so beautiful," he practically slurred, his rhythm becoming sloppy and desperate as he chased his high, and he knew you were close too.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and took his mouth into another starved kiss. Your hands tugged at the hair on the back of his head and you let him fuck you with the same longing and desire as the first time.

You chanted his name between breathy moans as you climbed up to your climax. John was a mumbling mess of endearments and sweet nothings as he kept thrusting hard and sloppy into your squelching pussy.

"I love you, John," you choked out through tears, not knowing if it was from the pleasure he was giving you or from the overwhelming emotion being with your husband again was making you feel.

"I fuckin' love you more, dove," he accentuated his words with thrusts until he felt your walls clamp around his length and watched as you wailed and sobbed out more moans, sending him into his own climax with just a few more pumps shortly after. You were sure you'd bear him a third child with the way his cum seeped out of you.

He rested his sweat-coated forehead against yours as you both panted. You were a flushed mess against the wall, limbs liquefied and throat raw. John slowly let you down with the utmost care in the world, gently holding you up on your feet like you were a delicate porcelain doll.

You held each other close as he peppered soft kisses on your face, the same way he'd always done after sex when you were married. John Price, always the gentleman.

You basked in the afterglow as you gazed at each other, love filling John's wide dark pupils. It was hard for you to hide the smile that tugged at your lips and it made John chuckle, thumb rubbing your cheek lovingly.

Then, you heard the rattling of the door and you quickly stood up straight and collected yourself up on your feet the best you could. Kyle, or Uncle Gaz as your kids coined him, and the other two men had burst through the lodged garage door.

"Oi, how long you two been locked here?" he questioned.

"Aye, we been callin' youse for half 'n hour," the Scott quipped behind him.

John scolded them for not acting quicker if they were so worried, and scowled at the way the younger two had shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. He dismissed them as he picked up the cooler, which was now more full of water than ice, and shot you a look.

You chided at his smirk with your bright red cheeks.

"This mean I can move back in?" he teased.

"We'll see, John" you fought back a smile.

[ghostboneswrites2]

I FINISHED TWD AGAIN AND 💔💔SPOILER 🚨 💔💔💔 daryls wife reader is rositas bestfriend everyone is content then rosita reveals to her that she got bit she crumbles screaming crying while daryl just holds her and later she goodbyes rosita

At Peace

Warnings: sad, grief, TWD typical content, character death, spoiler

Masterlist

  It was a long day full of death, carnage, and the not-so-rare running for your life shebang you had all grown used to in this new world. The dinner, though, that was nice. It was convivial and bright, even in the dimly lit dining room. People laughed, joked, conversed, passed happy grins between each other as if nothing could go wrong. 

        You were the first to notice something was off with Rosita. She masked it well, smiling and pitching in, planting sweet kisses on Gabriel’s cheek every so often. Still, something in her eyes was reserved, sad, sentimental. There was a peacefulness about her, though, like whatever it was, she accepted it. 

        It seemed to go unnoticed by the others. For you, though, it was plain as daylight beaming down on you. That was the thing about best friends; nothing went unnoticed. Except, something had gone unnoticed, much earlier in the day. Something you could have never seen coming. Something you’d never stop grieving over for all your years of life to come.

       You were painfully aware of Gabriel squeezing her hand and mouthing to her, ‘What’s wrong?’

        You watched with scrutiny as she leaned in and whispered something to him, unable to read her lips regardless of how hard you concentrated on them. 

        Whatever it was, Gabriel was mortified. The worry that washed over his features quickly caught the attention of the others. That was when she announced it.

        “All things considered, I’ve had a good life. Kicked lots of ass. I’m glad I got that. Not a lot of people did, and they all deserved it just as much as any of us.” 

        Everyone looked confused at this sudden outburst of sentimentality, until she stood and revealed her bite. A hideously neat and perfect double crescent of teeth, already turning the flesh around it all sorts of unnatural hues. Time froze for you. Daryl was the only one to look your way and scan your features for a reaction. You were close to her. Real close. Inseparable. You were there for years by her side, during the birth of her children, through the losses she felt. And there you were, experiencing the loss of her, and it took you longer than most to allow that to set in. 

        From the moment you laid eyes on that horrible, rotten imprint of even more horrible and rotten teeth, time froze, but only for you. People moved and spoke around you, Rosita was taken to her bed, and the world kept spinning, while you sat frozen in place. Daryl saw all of that, and he understood it. Your eyes were empty and wide, glued to a random flaw in the fabric of the tablecloth.

        By the time it had really registered, you were outside, clutching your chest, hyperventilating.  You heard a door open and shut from behind you, but it felt too distant to pay it any mind. You collapsed, fully expecting the impact of the ground beneath you, but instead you were gripped tightly by a strong pair of arms. You didn’t care to see who it was. You just let it go, sobbing and coughing and wailing out inhumane sounds. You’d hear the occasional hush from behind you, soft and sweet like a mother cooing her child to sleep on a fussy night.

        You were overwhelmed, breaking down, falling apart. All these years by her side and you’d forgot how to function without you witty, sarcastic, drop-dead gorgeous, downright badass best friend. You admired her, went to her for guidance, centered a large part of your life around her. That’s what best friends did. 

        Somewhere along the way, in your sniffling, groveling mess, you did realize it was Daryl behind you. Your relationship with the man was complex and largely unspoken. A few drunken nights alone in the woods, naked against each other, sweaty and carefree. Otherwise, it was usually a passing glance or a lingering gaze, a simple nod communicating all that needed to be said. In that moment, though, he held you together and let you melt into him until you could control your heart a little bit. 

        Eventually you pushed yourself to your feet and dusted yourself off, wiping tears away from your flustered cheeks with haste. 

        “I have to say goodbye.” You reasoned. He agreed, silently, with the aforementioned nod. He led you inside to where she laid comfortably in white sheets with fluffy pillows underneath the cascade of her dark silky hair. Gabriel looked at you when you came in with dad, tired eyes. He smiled at you and squeezed her hand, needing to offer no explanation when he left the room to allow you your final moments alone with her. 

        At first it felt like your shoes had been welded to the floor. You had to break your legs out of the invisible steel bindings in order to move them forward and plant yourself in the chair beside her bed. She smiled at you with knowing eyes. Anything you came to say didn’t need to be said, at least, not for her to know the truth behind it. You needed to say it, though, for closure, if that was even a real thing anymore.

        “I’m gonna miss you.” You choked out. She reached over and took your hand in hers. 

        “Yeah. I’m hard to live without.” She joked. You uttered something like laughter and a sob. “You got this, girl. You’re too strong to fall apart.”

        “You make me strong.” You insisted. She shook her head. She still looked so beautiful, even as pale as she was, with those dark circles around her eyes and thin sheen of sweat caking her cheeks.

        “No, we all make each other strong. They’ll make you strong enough to get through this, just like we all have for each other all these years.” She assured you. You shook your head. 

        “Who the fuck am I gonna talk to every day? Nobody knows me like you.” Your lip quivered. 

        Rosita glanced to a looming figure in the doorway, stuff and awkward and brooding. Messy hair swept over his eyes, dark clothes, muddy boots. He smirked. 

        “I can think of somebody who wouldn’t mind listening to your voice all day, every day.” She soothed. In your state of grief, the comment flew over your head. Later, though, you’d surely figure it out, Rosita figured. 

        “I just can’t believe it.” You went on.

        “You can.” She insisted. “You have to. And you have to know that I’m okay. I’m at peace.”

        Her health seemed to drastically decline after that statement. It was like she had to say it, that she was at peace, before her soul was willing to let go of her body. Gabriel rushed in with her babies and made sure they got that last bit of time with her. Daryl gently ushered you out of the room, so that whoever had to make that final call wouldn’t be doing it in front of you. 

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix

[hahaifolded]

The Siren, the Cook, and the Sister (13)

Sanji x PirateHunter!Fem Reader (Masterlist) Chapter 13: Family Secrets (Previous) (Next) Summary: Your sister and the Strawhats learn a secret you were hiding. Warnings: Angst! WCI Spoilers, Medical Emergency

Your heart was racing. Bile rose in your throat. Your body felt hot. Your entire world was about to crash and burn right in front of your eyes.

"Please, drop that book," you begged your sister. Your gaze was locked on her and your body was stiff. Your sister's eyes were glued to your bounty booklet, her body tense.

The Strawhats kept glancing between you and your sister. They weren't exactly sure what was happening. One minute, the atmosphere was warm and hopeful and now it was tense and devoid of all joy. Why did it matter so much that your sister held your bounty booklet?

"What's wrong?" Sanji was the first to break the tension. Whatever was going on, you two could figure it out. You were sisters.

That seemed to break your sister out of her trance as she snapped her head up violently. "How could you!" your sister cried out, finally looking up at you. You visibly stepped back as if her gaze physically hurt you.

"Please let me explain... I promise--" Despite the grovel that your mask usually emits, your voice came out soft, broken.

"You promised!" Her voice raw with betrayal. Visible tears streamed down your sister's face. Sanji couldn't even fathom what you could have done to earn such a reaction.

"I know... I know, but let me explain," you begged. You left your seat and slowly made your way to your sister.

In a full out sob, your sister wailed, "you promised! You promised you'd kill them all. You promised that if you ever crossed paths with a Vinsmoke, you'd kill the monsters that killed mom and dad." Everyone stilled. Sanji felt his knees get weak. What... Vinsmoke... kill... monster.

You ignored everyone's pointed stares at you. All that mattered right now was your sister. "I know I did, and I promise that I will. But he's not one of them," you tried to reason.

Your sister tore a poster from the Strawhats page and yelled, "LIAR! I know he is. It says right here!" She flung the poster to towards everyone. The poster slowly made its way to the floor, eventually landing face up where the letters VINSMOKE could be visibly read.

With the way your step faltered, it was clear to everyone in the room that you were at a loss. There was no denying it. You befriended Sanji, a Vinsmoke that you had vowed vengeance against.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Just this morning you were excited for your future and now it was crumbling before your eyes.

Now face to face with your sister, you struggled to find an answer. Pain was evident in her face. You never thought you would be the source of such pain in her life. You called out her name.

"NO, don't you dare. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," she repeated. She lunged at you and repeatedly hit your torso. You allowed her punches to reach you as you instead pulled her closer. You deserved this.

Sanji was at a loss of words. Everything began to click. Your unfounded hatred for the man when you first met. Your hesitation whenever you spoke about your family and destruction of your island. Your certainty that Sani wasn't a Vinsmoke. Since he didn't destroy your family... but he did. Just now. He just destroyed your relationship with your sister, just by existing.

"I hate you, I hate you... You're the worst sister ever!" Your sister's onslaught continued. What do I do? Please, what do I do? you pleaded internally to whoever or whatever would listen.

Suddenly, your sister's wailing began to quiet down. Her hits got lighter. You looked down to see your sister's eyes roll back, her body crumpling to the floor.

"NO!" you yelled. You grabbed her by the shoulders and began to shake her. You begged her to wake up, to move, to keep hitting you, to hate you, but to just wake up.

Robin immediately rushed to your side. "You need to take her to the hospital. I think this was too much for her body." Without any hesitation, you grabbed your sister and ran out of the house, leaving the Strawhats alone.

-- -- --

As the wind swung the front door back and forth, an uncomfortable silence filled the dining room. Usopp looked at Nami. Chopper looked at Zoro. Brook looked at Franky. Luffy looked at Jimbei. And Sanji looked at Robin.

"What just happened?" Brook asked. The question was redundant as everyone knew was happened.

"Robin," Sanji feebly called out, "did you know?" His eyes were glued on the archeologist. Immediately, everyone turned to Robin, also curious to see how much she already knew about the pirate hunter.

Knowing that beating around the bush would not be helpful at the moment, Robin shared everything she knew. "Yes, when I met (Y/N) all those years ago, she told me about her vendetta against the Vinsmoke family." She paused as she knew the truth would kill her crew mate. "I looked into why during my time with the Revolutionary Army and I found that the first mission that your siblings ever partook on was the pirate hunter's island. Germa 66 was contracted destroy it from the face of the world. They did just that after wiping out the entire population with their hands. (Y/N) and her sister were the only survivors." Sanji couldn't believe it. Despite not having anything to do with his family for so long, they were still haunting him.

"Why didn't she just attack me when we first met?" Sanji mumbled out, not necessarily for anyone to answer.

"Because I asked her not too," Robin immediately answered. She rushed to sit in your empty seat, right next to Sanji.

"When we went up to her room that night, she asked me how I could trust you despite your family name. And I, like anyone else on this crew, defended you because you are nothing like them." Your words came back to the cook's mind. "So she didn't." She grabbed Sanji's hand in an effort to comfort the man.

"And during the first night on the Sunny, she was glad that she didn't because she realized what we all know... that you are kind and a loyal friend. And that's why she also never told you, because why blame you for the sins of another?"

Nami suddenly spoke up, speaking to the entire crew. "And that's why she hadn't updated her sister's collection of our bounties in a while. She didn't want her sister to get a bad idea on Robin without hearing her side."

While it all made sense, none of this made Sanji feel better. It doesn't change the fact that he is a Vinsmoke that hurt your family. Maybe not back then, but what about today?

-- -- --

You did't think you would be back at the hospital. You thought it was over. You sat in the waiting room as your sister was admitted for emergency surgery. No one could tell you exactly what was happening. All they could tell you was that it was serious. Now you sat alone with just your thoughts.

I'm so stupid. How could I, you thought as you banged your head against the wall. It's been an hour and still no update on your sister. During that hour, you oscillated between blaming yourself and coming up with ways to make it up to your sister.

I'll let her punch me, kick me, do whatever she wants to me, that's only fair... I'll... I'll show her that he's not them. Yeah, I'll show her that he's a good man. And if that's enough, I'll... I guess I'll--

"Siren?" A doctor in a pristine white coat broke you out of your thoughts.

You jumped up. Once she wakes up, I'll make it up to her. Yeah, I'll do anything to make this right.

"How is she?"

"I'm so sorry."

Word Count: 1330

Previous - Masterlist - Next

Author's Notes: I knew this was gonna happen but this still broke my heart. Writing angst is pretty new to me still so please let me know what you think.

Also did anyone predict this? Cause I tried foreshadowing it without giving too much away so I would love to know if I managed to do that!

Also I'm not going to this this but I literally had the most toxic thought... what if I just end it here? Like I'm not but that would be so mean.

[makethemhoesmad]

skip this part?

pazzi…

loosely based off of skip this part by Alexandra Kay

Tw: angst, drug/alcohol abuse

…

Sometimes things can get a little too much. Sometimes it’s hard to keep a relationship private when your whole life is public, and your person is your whole life. 

Paige found that out. She didn’t want to tell Azzi that they couldn’t be together, she didn’t want the girl that had become her everything to have to be hidden away like she was a skeleton in the closet of a room no one entered.

Azzi didn’t care. She didn’t want to listen to the logic of it being better for both of them. She didn’t want to listen as Paige gave her one last hug, then got into her car and pulled away, tears in both of their eyes.

Azzi didn’t know what to do. She watched the taillights of Paige’s car fade and disappear, still wearing Paige’s sweater. 

In the coming days, Paige would ask herself over and over again why she did it. And each time, she never knew. She didn’t sleep, she barely ate. She just sat and stared, stared at the empty side of her bed that she hadn’t touched since Azzi was there last. Stared at the single light in the bedroom of Azzi’s apartment when she drove by, just to see if she could accidentally get a glimpse of her.

Azzi tried to forget. She went out almost every night, stayed out too late, did too many drugs, then went home with a last call stranger and tried to lose herself in them. She tried to feel bad when she called a ride to take her home once they fell asleep, and she tried to feel bad when she told the driver to take her past Paige’s apartment.

One night, Azzi didn’t go out. She stayed home for one night, not wanting to have to choose which drunk stranger at the bar grinding on her would be her escape for the night. When it got dark, she went outside to the lot near the road, to just sit. She sat on the asphalt where Paige had left her, in the same hoodie with the same scene playing in her mind.

Paige wasn’t planning on driving by that night. She had finally went out to get a few things, then turned down Azzi’s road like it was muscle memory. She almost didn’t realize the shadow of a certain girl in the lot.

Azzi noticed. She noticed the lights on a car,  the headlights this time, not the taillights she regretted not chasing. Then all the light turned off and the car stopped. Azzi stood.

Paige got out of her car. 

She didn’t know what she was going to say, she had too many thoughts and not enough words in the world to express them. She ran to Azzi, just for her to step back at the last moment. Paige fell to her knees, tears starting to stream down her face. Blubbering, she told Azzi how she hasn’t slept in weeks, she can’t do anything but miss her. She’s sobbing on the ground at Azzi’s feet and Azzi isn’t saying anything. She’s just thinking that she’s going to have to stay there, wailing and groveling for a scrap of forgiveness, when she feels someone’s arms around her. She’s hearing Azzi tell her how she couldn’t do anything without being high, how this was the first time she’s been sober since she drove away that night. 

And then, through tears and sweat, then kissed, kissed like they’d been separated for years and didn’t know if they would ever see the other alive again.

Because, it turns out, if someone is your whole life, you can’t live it without them.

[beesandhoney1219]

TW: Death, Blood, Murder, Assassination. My interpretation of Riju’s mother’s death :) /

Riju was only a little girl when her mother died. Her memory was fuzzy, but she could still picture the moments before her death crystal clear.

Like most little kids, Riju had a fight with her mother. It was something so trivial that the reason was completely gone from her memory.

But she remembered storming into the desert, her sneakers leaving deep marks into the sand, as she muttered and groveled under her breath. Waving her hands around frantically.

Riju didn’t mean to get lost that day. She was still young, and didn’t know the desert like she does now. It all looked the same to her back then. Big, sandy hills and hot wind that whipped at her cheeks.

By the time she realized that she was lost, the sun had set and the cold was creeping in. She looked around, confused, feeling tears weld up in her eyes. All she saw was yellow and orange, and the endless sea of sand.

“Mama?”

Her words were hoarse, on the verge of breaking, as her bottom lip began to quiver.

“Mama?”

She repeated, louder this time. But all she received was dead silence.

Until she heard the sound of chuckling behind her.

The girl wiped around, coming face-to-face with a group of Yiga Clan members. Riju didn’t know who the Yiga Clan were back then. To her, they were just scary masked people.

To them, she was a highly valuable asset. But it was up to their leader to decide if she would die, or be used as a hostage. But they needed to get her to the hideout first.

A gloved hand as big as Riju’s entire arm reached down to grab the small child, and she let out a loud scream.

The scream was enough to cause the group to shrink back and cover their ears, but only for a moment. The girl didn’t wait any more time, and spun on her heels, running in a random direction.

She screamed, sobbed, begged for help.

“Mama!! Mama!!!”

She wailed, her vision becoming blurry. Her legs ached but she didn’t stop running. In the distance, she could see small flames dotting across the horizon. Torches?

With no other choice, she ran towards them.

“Mama! Mama!!”

She screeched, coughing and choking on sand as the flames grew bigger and bigger. Until she could finally see who was holding them.

It was a group of Gerudo guards and her mother, the leader of the town. She looked beyond herself in worry, but she turned around so fast when she heard Riju’s voice, that she almost hit a guard with one of the torches.

“Riju!”

She ran towards her daughter, relieved, but it quickly turned to horror. Riju could see the guards running right behind her, shouting, waving their weapons.

But the child didn’t understand. Why were they telling her to run?

The leader could see what Riju couldn’t. A Yiga bowman, who had just released an arrow, aiming right at her precious daughter.

They weren’t going to make it on time. The arrow wasn’t going to be stopped.

Unless…

Without a second thought, the woman threw herself at her young daughter, grabbing her in her arms and twisting their bodies.

The arrow entered a lung, but not the lung of the target.

The two bodies crashed to the ground as the guards formed a protective circle around them.

Riju was confused. When she looked down at her hands, she noticed red. Paint? Why did her mother have paint? The woman gasped, finding breathing suddenly ten times more difficult. But that didn’t matter. She saved her daughter. She saved Riju.

She cupped the girl’s face in her hands, wiping tears and sand off her skin.

“Riju…”

She croaked.

“My little thunderstorm. I’m…so sorry that I yelled at you. I’m so sorry that we couldn’t find you earlier.”

A tear of her own traced down her cheek as she stared into her daughter’s big eyes.

“I’m so *proud* of you, vehvi. You’re going to be a great leader for our people. I’m…sorry I won’t be there to witness it.”

“Mama?”

“I love you, Riju. And I’m…sorry…”

With a thud, the woman collapsed, still. The guards began shouting in concern, shaking her. One, Buliara, scooped up the shaken Riju in her arms and ran back towards town.

“I’m so sorry Riju. I’m so so sorry.”

[cactusboil]

Huge feysand rant

I made a post previously about how I feel sjm could still redeem Rhysand, this post is kinda related to that.

Everything in book 1 is fine I guess but I wish at some point in book 2, it was shown that Amarantha forced Rhysand to do what he did to Feyre because number 1: Rhys and tam are enemies, number 2: Amarantha wants to hurt tam so she’s gonna make Feyre, who was Tamlin’s lover, be a “pet” for someone Tamlin hates. That would stop the whole “MMC SAs his lover because” thing. Flashbacks of Rhysand feeling horrible and disgusted and throwing up each time after he had to make Feyre do all that. Flashbacks of him mentally preparing and damn near losing his mind before he has to go get her from her cell.

I wish the first thing he did after utm, especially after he and Feyre got together, he would’ve given her a heartfelt apology (at her feet, grovelling and begging for hours, crying, sobbing, wailing, being downright pathetic loser). I wish he’d struggled to be even remotely intimate with her not only because of his guilt over what he did to Feyre but also due to his own trauma of what he went through utm.

It woudve been much better if his backstory about how his court works and stuff was different. No one outside of night court knows that centuries ago, Illyria, hewn city and velaris were separated and liberated as their own individual courts. But still remain under the pretence of a single court for the rest of Prythian for protection. And during the time before Feyre, Rhysand turned velaris from a city of starlight into a military-esq city, highly trained warriors (men and women), advanced and good weaponry and relentless discipline and training, all conducted by his two Illyrian besties-Cass and Az. Now, this is what I wish azriel was like. So the purpose of rhysand turning Velaris into that is because he cannot stand by like his ancestors and watch his own people get butchered so he wants to infiltrate and at least rescue those who are suffering. so he makes the citizens of Velaris forcefully serve a few years in military instead of enforcing tax or tithe (this could be a point to show his questionable values and morals and how he would go for the greater good, as sjm like to portray him as) and basically lives off his ancestors wealth while putting all his might into saving Illyria and hewn city. They mostly focus on spy networks so Azriel has a humongous role in coordinating all of that since they use their spies to infiltrate those territories and rescue people and only keep the rest of military as back up in case of a war.

THIS IS WHERE FEYRE’S ARC AS A NEWLY CROWNED HL comes in. The first thing Feyre does as soon as she becomes high lady is get on the work with rhysand to unify and save CoN and Illyria. She makes a few breakthrough and the beginning of her reign marks the beginning of the salvation of Night court. During this time, the Nesta stuff happens. Instead of locking her up for “her own good”, Rhysand makes it happen because they need her to help them in unifying night court so he’s like fuck it imma lock her up until she listens (once again, questionable morals). And then the whole Nesta getting kidnapped along with Emerie and all that happens and the Valkyries form, let that be a huge change to night court as well.

Eventually, they’re able to unify night court- that would solidify feysand’s potential as HK and HQ of the entirety of Prythian for sim’s future book foreshadowing.

For the whole rhsyand and tamlin part, I wish Rhysand would’ve thanked Tamlin for saving Feyre and himself BUT firmly let him know that he doesn’t believe that he deserves Feyre’s forgiveness. It could end on a softer note where Rhysand is telling Tamlin that he could never forgive Tamlin for what he did to both his family and to Feyre becasue he’s like “I can’t even forgive myself for what I did to Feyre utm, how could I ever even fathom the mere idea of forgiving you for what you did to Feyre” kind of thing, instead of the whole “kys” crap.

No idea how, but I wish Rhysand and Tamlin reconciled and that would mean Night court not only has allies in Day court and Autumn court but also a very important court that borders the human lands and is at the other end of Prythian- once again, good foundation for the whole HK and HQ thing.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Chapter 4 - Magic Flower

The little, ugly devil remembers the day when he defended his benefactor and he ended up in jail, beaten and abused as he got interrogated, only to be rescued by some man calling himself a warlock. He was brought to this magic school to learn how to control his powers, and he smiled, thinking of his beloved angel. Was he making progress, catching up to her wonderous presence? Will he be able to impress her with his powers, the same as she always did for him? Oh, how he misses her so dearly.

To this day, he recalls the assessment test he took, to be assigned a level of competence, after a single month of studying. First, was Scrying, the ability of seeing things in a reflective surface - Messages, visions, prophecies. He was told to divine where a book was hidden, but he could see even the title and its author, and even the edition! He looked deep into the mirror, and his hand reached inside it, going as far as to fetch the book itself. All but one of the teachers was impressed. Next was Salire per spatium, or teleportation, and he remembered his sweet angel playing tag with him and appearing and disappearing here and there at will, her lovely giggles echoing from every corners and behind every tree. The teacher, as 'motivation', threw a book and a knife at him - And he simply played around, teleporting casually on the ceiling, where he called out to them.

The last test was Stricidium - He had to make it snow inside the room by turning the water molecules in the environment, frozen.  He made it snow to gently, like pure and beautiful Spring snow where the lambs play - He remembered his dear fairy, making flower petals fall around him and dance in the breeze, all to make him happy. But he was different. He turned the snow into a blizzard, and the warmth of the room turned into the freezing Siberian cold, to the point that the teachers couldn't breath. He had no idea how strong his powers were, and they took over, to the point of getting a nosebleed.

He was the most powerful warlock that ever lived. When the Witch council came over, as the warlocks wanted him to become their Alpha, he was denied - But he perfectly sketched the name of the hotel where the Supreme's greatest failure took place. The Voodoo witch, Queenie, who was trapped with James Patrick March in Hotel Cortez, was now able to freely walk the earth once more, to her leisure. He did the impossible, and he was going to do it again, twice more. 

First, he was going to save Madison Montgomery from hell - Her hell, being a retail employer for eternity, what a shame. He didn't care for her, but he had to prove his worth to the Supreme Witch Bitch who dared deny him even a chance. She flirted so shamelessly with him that he almost felt like puking - She even dared touch him. He should have skinned her alive. Only his Princess was allowed to touch him. 

Last, but not least, he entered the personal hell of his most beloved angel, his sweet, sweet girl, trapped in a shed and forced to watch animals being tortured to death, times and times again, on repeat, over and over - Their squeals and shrieks and cries will forever be embedded into her brain, forever to torment her every moment awake or sleeping. His heart broke, watching her groveling to the ground, screaming loud, and raw, hoping that her own sounds would drown out the torturous wails of the poor souls.

With a flick of his hand, the sounds stopped, save for the sobs coming from the girl. He stepped in front of her and knelt to the ground, though he was afraid of touching her. "My sweet angel, your torment is over. You are free to leave this awful place." she seemed to not have heard him. "My love. My love, look at me. I'm here. Your darling devil is here to rescue you." he placed his hand on top of her head - Her hair was as velvety soft as always, he noticed. "Look at me, honey." his other hand reached through the scarlet curtain to touch her face, tilting her head upwards to see him. "It is me. Can you see me? " "... You're not real." her voice was broken and he needed to strain his ears to hear her. "You can't be. He can't be in this awful place, he should be happy at home, away from this God Forsaken place!" she stumbled pitifully over her words. "It is my, my darling. I'm here to get you out of here." once the girl peered into his eyes, he realised that she knew it was him. She knew.  "D-Devil...?" she was breathless, she felt like death was finally taking over her, claiming her forever. "No way..." she tackled him to the ground, crying in his chest so desperately, yet so relieved and happy. "I missed you so much, my sweet devil! I can't believe I have the luck of seeing you one more time before death claims my very soul." "I wouldn't let death claim you, my love. We're leaving." and instead of being trapped by that bloody shed anymore, they were sitting on soft green grass, surrounded by a myriad of flowers of every flower and kind. Her eyes went wide with wonder, and she looked around, like a blind woman gaining her sight for the first time in the world. She rolled to the ground, feeling the blades, before turning on her back and watching the cloudless sky. She was laughing and crying, like a mad woman runaway from the mental hospital. "The sky - It is the same colour of yours eyes." she said, creating even more flowers all around the whole field. "I never thought I would see you again." after she's regained a little of her strength, she dragged herself back to him and pulled him into a deep kiss, grabbing his hands and squeezing them so tightly. "You're my saviour. My guardian. My King." she made a beautiful flower crown made of glowing baby blue flowers, and she put it on his head. "I owe you my life, sweet Devil." "You owe me nothing, my beloved angel. There is no life without you in it. I will protect you even when the end of the world comes and takes us all." he caressed her face dearly, looking into her eyes as though she was the whole universe - And she was. With the way she was embracing and leaning her weight over him, he found himself toppled to the ground, with her over him. The beautiful ribbons of scarlet locks were hanging over him, tickling at his face and making him giggle like a little  boy kissed by his crush. Even so, he couldn't ignore the sudden and unfamiliar heat that engulfed his body from the proximity he felt with her, her bosom glued to his own chest, her thigh perfectly placed over his nether regions, as though she knew how she was teasing him, and her delicate hands placed over his own, fingers intertwined. He could feel his cheeks redden, and his lungs were suffocated. He had no clue what this foreign emotion was, but he loved the feeling of it. He wanted more. He wanted to explore more and find more. With her in his arms, and a bed of flowers, none more beautiful than her

He remembers now too, the beautiful black dress that she wore when he confronted Cordelia, along with the other two that he saved - She looked absolutely stunning, with the way the dress hugged her silhouette and all the gracious curves of her body - Though, to this day, he still believes that white suits her best, a pure and innocent power, for an angel such as her, but witches want their own to wear only black, though they claim to draw their powers from the light. No matter, he can see her wearing any colour of the rainbow, on any other day, and when he becomes the next Supreme, the Alpha, he will do as he pleases without anyone hindering him.

When the two other witches went to embrace their Supreme, he didn't let go of his own angel. He didn't care whether the warlock teachers thought of him fraternising with the enemy witch-kind. Why should he care, when he was above all, not only in magical skill and talent, but everything else too. And thus, he was acknowledged by the Supreme Bitch, and on the night of the Blood Moon, he was to take the Seven Wonders test. No man has ever taken such a test, and should he succeed, he shall become the next Supreme, and in turn, radically change the course of the world and its flow.

The warlocks were incapable and weak, they were pathetic. To think mankind would relay on him, for they were too stupid to do anything for themselves. Still, he couldn't deny, not all witches were all that great either - His angel told him of the new comer, and her special power. She was a gluten and calorie detector - How could that even be considered a power? How pathetic - Was the Coven so desperate, that they would accept anything? Ridiculous.

His congratulation ceremony was so amusing, even more so when he gave off a little scare to that one teacher who so rightfully suspected him of being the man of Cordelia's prophecy, the white-faced demon. How hilarious, he thought, though he was mildly impressed that he was suspected to begin with. No matter, his dear Miss Mead was all but ready to get rid of any kind of evidence. That night, he snuck out of the school to embrace his benefactor - More, she was able to convince one of the teachers to aid his cause, though he was unaware of his... Lineage. It was pathetic, to think all his ambitions revolved around his wish to step out of a woman's shadow. He was a pathetic weakling who needed to cling onto another with a higher power to be brought up - But the Devil couldn't care less about this battle of sexes, it mattered little to him. It was a woman who took care of him and protected him for so long, and it was a woman, an angel, a witch no less, who loved him genuinely, so selflessly, and did everything in her power to make him happy. How could he wish the demise and oppression of all women, when it was women who saved and cared for him?

No. The Devil didn't care for such superficial, petty ambitions, borne of inferiority, weakness, jealousy and lack of any kind of self-esteem. He was going to bring forth the end of the world, and he didn't differentiate between woman or man, elderly or youth - He was going to bring the demise of humankind.

Guided by ancient tradition, witches survive only if united under a strong, singular authority. Every generation needs its leader, The Supreme. No simple test could EVER determine the sovereign among us, thus, we rely upon seven. The 'Seven Wonders' - Seven acts of magic, so advanced, each pushes the boundaries of craft into art. 

The little Devil was brought to a barn - The first Wonder he performed, with ease and lightness, was Telekinesis - And he called into his hand, a riding crop. The three warlocks loudly cheered and applauded for him, whilst the four witches looked desolated by his success. The sweet Angel was looking at him with pride and tenderness. Control of the mind, also known as Concilium, made his sweet Angel dance for him, a pretty dance, with the long skirt flowing around her ankles and shins so gracefully - She was truly a work of art, and though he smiled sweetly at her, he wished he could dance with her now. Next came Transmutation, and the little Devil was hidden behind a long stack of hay, stifling a boyish giggle, looking at his amused Angel. Once he felt a tap on his shoulder, he teleported behind one of the witches, and tapped her back. The Supreme looked at her right hand, and already fear tainted her heart. Divination was performed so facile, as the witches hid a pendant. The eldest witch threw some stones to the ground, and the Devil crouched down to look upon them. He smiled, and got up, quickly burying his hand inside a hay stack and walking behind his sweet Angel. With his hand extended in front of her face, he released the pendant, dangling by the chain, and he put it around her neck. She giggled at him so cutely, that he couldn't help himself and kissed her cheek. Pyrokinesis was, by far, his favourite wonder to perform, for he loved both fire and blood, though his darling Angel never could stand seeing him cut his palm and draw his own blood. It took a single drop of his magical blood to make the candle fire into a complete hazard. The Angel rushed to grab at his hand, and kissed his wound, healing it as if it never was.

Vitalum Vitalis, the balancing of scales between one life force and another - That one, he knew best, was his Angel's favourite test, for in his palm he cradled a small dead mouse, only for it later so step around his hands, curious and wishing to explore. Whilst the Supreme and her right hand shared concerned looks, the ugly Devil and the beautiful Angel played around with the adorable little critter that nuzzled into her cheeks, as though it was kissing her.

And thus, they arrived at the final test, a perilous descent into the nether worlds of after life, Descensum, the most dreadful of the wonders, and the one that brought the greatest torment imaginable to his beloved Angel. He already went twice in hell to rescue the two witches, what was another more? After all, it was a trip home, nothing that could bother him. He felt best. Though he wasn't asked to perform, but to outright conquer it. To retrieve the Supreme's dear friend, Misty Day, the same he did with her other two students.  Funny enough, one of the warlocks protested, saying those who failed Descensum were gone forever, property of the underworld - But were the witch and angel returned not proof enough of his ability to conquer everything that stood in his way to glory? Whilst the Supreme and the Grand Chancellor of the Warlocks were arguing, the Devil went to stop this silly charade. He laid his head down on his beautiful Angel's lap, who looked down at him with such worry that she was battling tears falling in cascades. He smiled at her, reassuringly, and held her hand, as he recited the incantation.

Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum, ut salutaret inferi. Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum, ut salutaret inferi. Descensum.

He felt himself descending into the ground, dematerialising, shadows and dark smoke engulfing his very being and his vision - His gaze, glued to the gorgeous, sparkling emeralds of her eyes, until he allowed himself to lose himself in the hazy feeling of vertigo. He found himself walking casually down the black corridors of hell, the heels of his shoes clicking with every step, until he found the exact door of Misty Day's torment. It was a biology laboratory, filled with live frogs, ready to be dissected. The teacher was forcing her hand to scalpel the live frog brutally, only for her to bring it back to life, and the cycle repeats endlessly. Her shrieks of agony went on and on, reminding the Devil of his sweet Angel and her own anguish. 

The Devil made Misty Day watch as he dissected the teacher, the same as he did with the frog, eviscerating him. He took a deep breath as he was brought back to reality, and he felt strong, slender arms brought him into a tight embrace, and he felt a myriad of kisses and sweet words whispered into his ear, as the other witches and warlocks gathered around them. Everyone thought that he had been defeated, that hell was able to reject its conquest - Only for a grey smoke to materialise in the shape of a woman, and Misty Day breathed into the human world once more. The Supreme fell to her knees, her hands on the witch's face, calling out her name again and again, whilst the Angel helped the Devil stand up to his feet, though she looked territorial, holding him in her arms, not allowing the warlocks to step in between them, nor tear them apart. He loved how clingy she was.

He felt weak, and he leaned his weight on her, but she didn't mind. She watched as the Supreme cradled her friend's face and cried. It almost reminded him of his sweet reunion with his beloved Angel. She was in complete disbelief that she was able to escape that awful suffering. Back from perdition, she was truly back, and safe.

With the Supreme bleeding from her nose, and a short amount of quarreling, she declared the Devil as the Supreme Leader, before falling faint. He grinned, smug, victorious, as his Angel threw her arms around his neck and brought him into a passionate kiss. She didn't care about the witches or warlocks, nor of anything else - She only cared about him and her own self, and their own happiness.

But Cordelia knew there was something dark and dangerous about him, and Misty Day sniffed the perfume of death - He brought all the witches back to her, and her army was armed and ready to fight him. Misty was too weak to fight however, and she was told to rest and heal - And as a reward for surviving and living, Cordelia brought Stevie Nicks, her favourite person alive, to sing for her - The great witch herself, as one of the warlocks played the piano to accompany her. The Devil and the Angel looked down, from the balcony, and they danced together to the melody sung. Though her voice was nowhere as lovely as the Angel's, it was fine enough to swing together, and sway, their hearts beating together as one, their souls bound to one another.

That was not the beginning of their story however, and Katrina knew it. She asked him to remind her of the time spent together as children, before she was sent away to become a proper witch. Back then, when fate brought them together, when the Angel and the Devil first embraced one another, and Hell and Heaven became one single realm.

Born in the Murder House, to dead father and a mother destined to die in childbirth - A family dead before he was born into a House of a thousand corpses and spirits, a jail for the dead and the tormented souls that shalt never escape - He was a child unwanted, born out of wedlock, to a mother unwilling and a father unknown to her, wearing a leather suit that veiled him whole. It was the dead nurses and doctors that helped with the delivery, and it was then that the mother's husband had to see her fade away into nothingness.

When his mother died, pushing him out into the world, another, a foster mother, gladly assumed the burden of raising him - Her, a childless mother, for she had to bury all of her own, four times over. Why would she assume such a burden? Perhaps because she felt responsibility over the orphan child who also happened to be her own grandson. There were plenty of mistakes, raising her son Tate, the handsome young man who thought it appropriate to spread his seed and impregnate his lover's own mother, though Constance now knew better, and the little Devil was going to be her sweet, sweet bundle of love. He was going to be different.

Michael Langdon was such a perfect little angel of light. She thought that he would be her own chance at redemption, to prove that she was worthy of her title of mother. She was born to be a mother, and to raise a great young man was the most admirable and selfless act a woman could aspire to. He was her destiny, her beautiful child, with such a cheerful disposition... Even when he was committing unspeakable acts... Trivial at first, of course, some dead flies in the crib with their wings shorn off, and small rodents as he got older. Just like Bundy and Dahmer, and many others who started with small animals, only to graduate, and their perversions escalate to grander things. If only his darling Angel had known him during his infancy days, she would be terrified of him and his cruelty towards inoffensive animals - But that was only as a child, of course, it wasn't as though he was doing it on purpose! He'd much rather dismember humans, than bring harm to those sweet animals that his beloved is so fond of.

He called them a present for his mother, the same way a cat gifts its dead prey to their owner, and O, his love did flow, and enjoyable as it was to have a child so committed to expressing his love for his mother... She did try to encourage him to find another avenue of expression... Still, nothing she said was capable of making him cease his deranged acts. Each time, she would dutifully bury one of those gifts, along with a little piece of her soul, and planted a bush of roses over them. She did try to find a silver lining and make lemonade out of the lemons she was handed - And thus, her garden flourished with beautiful flowers. From death springs life eternal.

It was the little angel of light, turned ugly devil of darkness, that made her realise, the reason for her existing in this world was to raise the monsters. 

She never thought she would tire of the smell of roses, nor did she ever think she would get used to seeing skinned and eviscerated critters hanging by their neck, all over the house. Roses had always been her favourite flowers... Alas, not anymore, and they soon made her only retch.   And then, the little devil became stronger, when he killed his baby-sitter... He couldn't have been older than two or three years old at most, and he was swinging in his small rocking chair, white and painted crimson with the young lady's blood. She was able to convince the authorities that she had taken her own life by slitting her throat - After all, how could a child of three, so giggly and happy, be capable of such a heinous sin?

But this little devil somehow aged a whole decade overnight - How, she would never be able to tell, after all, it was as nonsensical as everything surrounding this devil spawn. That was possibly the most outlandish thing, far outside the natural realm. He almost felt as though he was in a hurry to get somewhere, age-wise. And it was that night that she found him over her, strangling her to death. His beautiful blue eyes were glaring at her murderously... Only to immediately turn to realisation of his deeds, and he started crying pitifully. She was so terrified, but so was he. His own mind and body were acting in discordance. When you look at men of significance, such as artists or world leaders, or inventors - They all had their particular peccadilloes on their road to the top, haven't they? But growing ten years overnight... That called for sacred intervention.

From that night forwards, Constance Langdon's relationship with her beautiful grandson deteriorated, and the little devil knew that. He was desperately seeking some kind of redemption, some honeyed ailment to sooth his woes, and wipe his tears the way his caretaker refused to anymore. He ran into the forest to weep his heart away. He looked pathetic, wearing only a dirty Tshirt and a pair of shorts, and sitting by the foot of a large wisteria tree, looking like a hot mess. Even his beautiful golden locks were tangled and ugly, just like him. An ugly little demon castaway.

"What do we have here? A little weeping devil?" a delicate voice called out, as soft footsteps crunching over the fallen leaves alerted him of a girl's presence, though he daren't raise his head and look at her. He was far too ashamed of the way he looked, and of what his heart felt. "Why is it that you're weeping so, little devil?" she asked, but his sobs were the only reply. The girl looked around, analysing the decay. Everything surrounding the young man was dying and wilting gradually, as if proportional with the misery of his own heart. "Poor little devil and his poor broken heart. Will you allow me to mend it for you?" the little devil felt her kneeling in front of him, her hands so gentle over his own. He wanted to jump and spring away, he wanted to push her away from him, he wanted to be left alone - But somehow, the tenderness of her voice, and her warm touch, made him melt. He shily looked at her, his eyes pink and puffy from all the crying. "C-Can you really... Do that?" she was so beautiful, his heart stop. A gorgeous smile on her face, and her green eyes were sparkling with kindness. She was wearing a pretty, white summer dress, and her scarlet hair fell over her shoulders and chest in cascades of soft velvet. She looked innocent, and her soul was bright and benevolent. She was glowing with purity and innocence. She was an angel. How could he stay around her, when he was nothing but an ugly devil? He wasn't worthy of her - He was beneath her in every way. Worthless, useless, a killer, with a malevolent heart and soul, incapable of controlling his inner power and strength, and especially his dreadful emotions. "I can try." her smile widened, and she helped him stand up. She was so small compared to him... So precious... He wanted to protect her and that beautiful smile of hers, and yet, it seemed as though it was her trying to protect him and his heart. "Let's see... Hmm... You've made quite the mess, haven't you? You must be really upset." he hung his head in shame, only to feel her hand on his face, raising it back. His eyes were wide with shock and he could only stare at the way she twirled so cutesy, and all around her, the once ashened nature was brought back to life, a vibrant green, with so many strong colours. "How... How did you do that...?! Everything was dead! Everything was -- Everything was wilted!" her sweet giggle made his head spin.

"Well, if you must know, I suppose I can tell you. Ah, but of course, this must be our little secret, alright?" he nodded vigorously. "You're so lovely." his eyes widened so much, and his cheeks were as red as her hair. It only seemed to amuse her more, as she stepped in front of him and held his hands in her own, approaching his palms together. "You've got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, little devil." she told him. "Even the skies are jealous on them." his bottom lip was quivering, feeling himself ready to cry once again. In his hands, a flower bloomed, light blue, and glowing. It was the most beautiful flower he's ever seen in his... Rather short life. "A beautiful flower for a beautiful man." she said, placing the flower behind his ear. "It suits you. Highlights your eyes." "Are you an angel?!" he found himself blurting out. "An angel?" she mused. "No, I don't think so. Rather, I am a witch." she grinned. "I can do many things already... But I never show my friends. They'd freak out." "But your magic is so... Beautiful... And innocent. Why would they freak out?" the boy frowned. "People fear what they don't understand." she explained. "But you're special. I can sense it - You have magical blood too." she said, placing her hand over his heart, feeling the anxiously rapid beating. "Aww, forgive me, have I made you nervous?" "Will you be my friend?" he asked, desperately. "I can be anything you want me to be." she smiled at the beautiful young man who looked at her with confusion. "You don't know what I mean, do you?" he shook his head. "I can show you. I can take your pain away. If you want me to." "Yes." he exhaled breathlessly. "Yes, I do. Please, show me." he eagerly asked her, earning another sweet smile from her. "Close your eyes." he did as instructed. "And now... Lose yourself in the feeling." he felt a pressure over his lips. He couldn't comprehend the complexity of her charm, but his body acted all on his own. One of his arms was wrapped around her body, pulling her closer, whilst the other was buried in her hair, holding her dearly. His lips were moving all on their own, to the rhythm dictated by her own soft, sweet ones. She tasted like caramel. He loved caramel. He wanted to kiss her every day and every night, without stop. Even when his lungs were failing from the lack of air, he still didn't want to let go of the pleasure he felt, and the sensation of his head going hazy and getting transported into another universe, safe and sound. "Did I succeed?" she whispered against his lips. "Can we do that again?" she let out an amused exhale. "Any time you wish." and she kissed him again.

From then one, every day without fail, they would meet by the purple tree, and he would lay his head on her lap, letting her play with his soft locks of hair whilst she read him whatever story she was feeling like at the time - Or sometimes, she would sing for him, or simply, they would chat about whatever things they felt like. He felt safe in her presence. He felt... Good, as though there was no more evil attempting to take over his body and mind anymore. He wanted nothing more but to succumb to her ocean of love and let fate guide them on.

He told her of the day his grandma abandoned him, killing herself in the Murder House, never wanting to see him again, and she kissed him, making it fall with pink flower petals over him, and dancing with him, as the petals in the breeze. He told her how he found her, how he wept her, how he embraced her... Only for a man to tell her that she became a spirit, but didn't want him to see her. The man wanted to counsel him, help him, and he agreed. He became the father he never had. He was brilliant, and his mind was always at least five steps ahead of the average man. Everything in that house was dead... With the exception of him - The only light that came out of all that mess. He solved a rubik's cube in a matter of seconds, and beat his ghost father at chess and checkers, they'd play catch with a baseball glove...

And then, he told her of the time he met his real father, another ghost that looked perfectly his age, blond hair like his own, and dark eyes. He was so hostile and aggressive with him. He denied him, saying he was fucked up. He cried, and cried in her embrace, and he felt himself turning to the dark side, all because of this rejection. The man who tried to save him was losing him... And the house got sold. The two women didn't even have the time to settle in. They stepped just a few feet, and he, dressed in the leather suit of his own father, stabbed them to death. Their ghosts rose up, looking confused, but in his rage, he burnt them. Burnt their souls, turning them to ashes, denying them any rest... And he fell to his knees. The man who tried to save him realised he could never be saved, and the little Devil wept again.

Everyone he ever loved, everyone he thought loved him, every bit of connection he had with any living being - They all left him. All, but one - His sweet, beloved little angel, who made him feel the snow on his face for the first time, and showed him the beauty of a smile, and the tenderness of love. He destroyed everything he touched, but with her, he was capable of gentleness and vulnerability. It felt... Right. It felt natural.

'Then I saw a beast with ten horns and seven heads rising out of the sea and all who dwell on the Earth will worship Him.' he made a murder of crows encircle the house every day... And then they came, the worshippers of Satan. 'And the son became black as sackcloth with hair, and the whole moon became as blood, and the stars fell from the Heaven to the Earth, for the great day of wrath is come.' the worshippers bowed to a drowsy little devil, who was sleeping in a scorching hot room.

And then the Black Mass happened... These worshippers drugged and kidnapped an innocent girl, garbing her in a white dress and laying her on a sacrificial table. The little Devil stared at her, his heart aching - His mind imagined not the blonde girl, but his sweet angel, with the red hair draped all over the table, and her green eyes wet with tears, looking confused all around, like an innocent lamb. He heard 'HAIL SATAN' being shouted, and a dagger was brought down on the girl's chest with such force, that he jumped in fright. The girl was shrieking with such agony as the Black Pope shoved his hand inside the wound, ripping her heart out. But his vision cleared, and his fright wiped away. That wasn't his beloved angel, just some girl. He took the heart in his own hand, and bit into it as though it was a ripe, sweet apple. 'Ave Satanas' he heard, and from his shadow formed a demonic silhouette. "Father. I'm with you now." he felt the darkest presence embracing him.

The next day, he went to his sweet Angel to tell her the good news - Finally, someone was accepting him for who he was, and they were believing in him. He found a new family... For once, it wasn't him crying anymore, but her. Why was his most beloved person in the world crying? Who did he have to burn alive and torture for eternity? "My Devil... My dear little Devil... They are taking me away. They're taking me away!" she wept into his arms. "They say I need to learn how to control my powers, and they're taking me to New Orleans, to learn from a Coven of Witches." she said. His grip on her tightened, and he, too, teared up. "But... But I haven't learnt how to make a flower for you... Or... Or... How to make it rain petals on you... Or make it snow for you! You can't go yet, I... What-- What will I do without you?" he asked in disbelief, unable to breathe properly anymore. "I don't know... I don't know... I don't know..." she cried and cried.  "I will miss you... I can't live without you! My sweet Angel, what will I do without you? How will we ever meet again?" he asked, more afraid now than he's ever been. "We can... Text each other? Or send mail? I don't ever want to lose you from my life." the way she looked up at him, so sincerely, so dearly... The Devil kissed his dear Angel goodbye. "And we will speak every day - No, every hour, okay? You can't leave me alone! You and I - We will be together forever, okay?" The Angel gave him a nostalgic, melancholic smile. "Yes, my love. Together, forever. Just the two of us - You and I."

Whilst the sweet Angel was being sent to the Witch school to learn her craft, the little Devil's own mother tried to kill him that night, with a knife, in the bed where he lay asleep... Or so she thought. She was set aflame. His father saved the mother, and he fled. Whilst he was on the run with his new caretaker, a woman who truly believed in him, who truly cared about him, his sweet Angel was in mortal danger every day, all because of the careless actions of the Coven and their sick Supreme. Whilst he was being revered and worshipped, she was forced to take the Seven Wonders test... And after that day, the little Devil never heard from his sweet Angel again... And he knew... He even warned her not to take the test! He knew, a pure soul like her would never be able to escape the clutches of hell... But she was not allowed to back down. She was forced to take all the tests.

'When I was a child, I spoke like a child. I understood like a child, I thought like a child. But when I became a woman, I put aside childish things.' Childhood was over, and they had to put aside any petty fear or reservation.

First, the five witches were tasked to perform the Telekinesis wonder. One by one, they all succeeded in bringing the lit candle into their grasp, and blow into the fire. The Concilium test, otherwise known as Mind Control, was next, and Misty made Queenie slap herself thrice, whilst she reversed by making Misty grab her hair roughly. Katrina made Myrtle dance around the room; Madison made Kyle walk over and kiss her, whilst also making Zoe slap herself; whilst Zoe stopped him from kissing her, and made him kiss her back... Only to end up chocking her. Cordelia had to swat him away.

The third test was Transmutation, and the girls played a game of tag all around the academy and the gardens. They were really having fun, for once, all together. They truly needed a god damn break... And it was all great, until Zoe ended up impaled on the spikes of the gate and needed to be rescued. It was Katrina who hugged her body and whispered 'Vitalum vitalis' over and over again, her hand over her wound - And she was in perfect condition, and though nothing happened. Queenie was unable to do it. Madison refused, though she demonstrated the wonder on a fly she killed. Misty, too, with tears in her eyes saved a fallen critter she found.

Next, they lit up fires, but Cordelia was now in the game too - All of them were able to light fires, and during the Divination test, Cordelia and Katrina were able to find the objects, but Madison failed. The lovely red haired witch was never thought as a candidate, but Zoe, whose life she had saved, and Queenie were cheering for her, Misty or Cordelia. 

In the end, all of them took to the last test - Descensum - The worst of them all. Cordelia was the first to awaken, who saw herself trying to get Fiona's approval, only to get bitch-slapped for it. Next came Madison, who was stuck in a musical network, Queenie who was selling fried chicken, and Zoe, who saw herself breaking up with Kyle over and over again. The hourglass sand was already done falling, yet Katrina and Misty never woke up. They were stuck in hell, with the other witches mourning them. Cordelia tried, and tried to call to them, to help them, to guide them back to the real life... But it failed. They were forever trapped in hell.

And Michael new. The moment his darling flower stopped answering, he swore revenge on the witches who dared force her hand and threw her in hell. She was an Angel, no way should she have gone to hell, willingly or otherwise! Who knew what suffering she was facing, or the woes that were braking her heart and sanity. The worst of the worst. The witches were going to pay for this.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Katrina remembered all this. She knew all this, and now, her past self was beginning to regain a sense of truth. Everything Michael was telling her, was true. It was then that she told him that, although he never wanted to tell her about being the Antichrist, she knew. Though she wasn't a traitor for the Coven like Dinah was, she knew. From Cordelia, and the warlock aiding their cause, and the stories from the Murder House - But she wasn't scared of him. She knew he would protect her - After all, why bring her back from Hell, if that was where he was going to throw her, anyway? She now remembered bringing back the warlock that Miss Mead burnt to ashes, and how the Grand Chancellor, and the other warlock teacher, along with Miss Mead were burnt at the stake, whilst the one she resurrected lit the fire.

He remembers Cordelia taunting him after realising he cannot bring back his caretaker... But she also told him there is humanity in him... And she can see it. His sweet Angel told him that too, long ago, when they met. No matter how much he tried to find his evil-doing from her, she knew. It was as though she could read him to perfection - Perhaps she could read him, after all. She could read his soul and his agony, which she turned to euphoric bliss with a single caress. She could read his mind whenever he was too hesitant to tell him what worried or ailed him, and though she never commented on it, she reassured him just as well. She was always there for him, his beloved.  The Supreme extended her hand for him to take, and bring him on the path of redemption. For a second there, he was tempted into agreeing - He wanted to stay with his sweet Kat and never let her go... But then, he recalled every single person who messed with him, and betrayed him. He recalled the burning of his caretaker, and he saw red. He threatened each and every one of them. He will kill them all - Oh, he will.

For four days, he wept in the forest, all alone, with no water and no food, and no sleep. He was desperate, and his father wasn't answering. He stumbled upon some supposedly Satanic service, which only made him want to smash his head against the wall and end himself. He wanted his Angel. He needed his Angel. He was hallucinating and going crazy, but she wasn't there - How could she? He ran away, aimlessly into the forest... And he was nicely brought in by an old lady who was fine with feeding him some warm food. She kept speaking ridiculously, and at first, he thought she was senile. 'Satan is carnal pleasure' he told her, as he remembers the heat scorching him every time his darling touched him. The believer tried to kill him for daring to speak ill of her faith... Only to see the mark of the Antichirst behind his ear, and she fell into worship.

'Semper crescis, Aut decrescis, Vita, Detestabilis. Nunc obdurat et tunc curat. Ludo mentis aciem!' they all chanted for him. 'Sors salutis et virtutis michi nunc contraria!' he felt stronger. 'Quod per sortem sternit fortem mecum omnes plangite!' what gorgeous hymn, all for him.

They brought forth two sacrifices for the Black Mass. One was Letitia, a social worker... An innocent soul who dedicated her life to aiding others who were suffering. The man was a lifelong member of Doctors without borders. Both of them were innocent and pure. Good people. There was something satisfying about tainting and corrupting innocent, pure souls, making them grow ink black, from their glowing white. But in every single innocent soul, he could see the beautiful Angel, and for a single second, he flinched, as the little Devil was killing the beautiful Angel.

They all fell to their knees before him, chanting 'Hail Satan' and singing for him. 'O Fortuna Velut luna Statu Variabilis' Michael slashed their throats at once, at the same time, letting the blood fall like ribbons. He felt empowered, as though finally, he had his father blessing him.  The worshippers brought him with him to dinner, and they wouldn't stop towering over him, watching him like a specimen. He felt angry. He couldn't stand these people, and all their continuous questions, never letting him forget he was the Antichrist - He had no idea what he was supposed to do - He never received an instruction manual on how to bring the end of the world! This woman brought him to this robotics corporation, where Miss Venable was HR. Kat scowled, hearing about the bitch who tortured her and tried to kill her. He met two ridiculous men who didn't believe him, and to prove he was truly the spawn of Satan, he made a woman spontaneously combust, and turned off the lights. They brought him to eat... Sushi, and they kept talking and talking - Idiots. That's what they were - Complete idiots... Who supposedly sold their souls to Satan and now are billionaires and all that. They were tasked with making an android in Miss Mead's figure, and personality also, based on everything he described her as. And they perfectly created her - Michael had his caretaker back.

The Supreme was continuing to train all the witches, the Academy being protected by Cordelia's power, and everyone else's. But they were betrayed. The witches were betrayed by one they considered maybe not an ally, but at least neutral. The new Voodoo Queen, Dinah, sabotaged them, destroying their barrier and allowing Michael and Miss Mead to intrude inside the school. Zoe used the cutlery to attack Michael, but he diverted it, and he killed them all. Miss Mead and her robotic weapons killed Zoe and Queenie, and everyone else. Satan greenlit Dinah's talk show for 13 episodes, she should be feeling proud for betraying the whole lot of humanity.

Cordelia and Myrtle saved Kat and Mallory, and not only was he pissed off that he couldn't save his Angel, but he couldn't kill all witches. He returned to the Cooperative, and though he couldn't stand those two cocked-up nerds, they were part of the Illuminati. He needn't magic, but science and nuclear weapons to bring about the end of the world. He just needed three people in the right places, and Armageddon was assured.

The witches hid in Misty's cabin in the swamp... All the few that remained of them. Cordelia, in her dream state, could see Zoe and Queenie dead, as well as all the others. She was convulsing in her comatose state. She couldn't feel their souls... They were erased. They could never be brought back to life. Katrina was shuddering, thinking about everything going on. How could such a catastrophe happen? Her dear little Devil, doing so much evil... She was so confused, so afraid... What was she supposed to do? She didn't want the end of the world, but she didn't want Michael to die either. She loved him too much to allow him to die. Was there nothing she could do? She might not be the Supreme, but was she truly powerless? Was she truly so dumb that she couldn't cook up a plan that would save everything she held dear to he heart?

She watched Mallory getting inside the bathtub and going to save the Romanovs from their demise, but she wasn't yet strong enough to succeed. Returning a hundred years into the past and alerting their fate was too great, even for her... Not yet. She was crying blood, and she was disoriented and frightened. Michael barged in the Illuminati meeting of the world leaders, and brought forth the Apocalypse - And they couldn't decline, for they sold their souls to his Father. On their lands, they'll make Outposts, with the admission price of $100 million. Only the worthy will be allowed permission.

Myrtle infiltrated the Cooperative and she found out that Outpost 3 will be in the place of the Warlock academy, at Hawthorne. She made those two dunderheads make sure her witches had their spots sure there, no matter what. Coco's father was rich, he was going to buy four tickets for the family - Coco, Mallory, Katrina... They were going to be fine there, together, while the others lay in rest, until their powers manifest, and they awaken. It was the only chance to attempt Tempus Infinituum. The three were going to be placed under an identity spell - They will forget everything and gain new personalities. Coco was going to be the supreme bitch, with Madison's personality as her own, and she was going to emotionally torture Mallory and Katrina, so their powers won't be detected. It was a huge risk, knowing Katrina's involvement with Michael, and his own obsession with her, but if his mind is occupied with her, perhaps they can attempt everything, right under his nose. It was a painful goodbye, not only to their own selves, but to their witch family - All for the Coven to live on. For the World to live on. Tears were shed, and regrets and confesses were spoken... If the world was going to end, at least they'll be together.

Everything they every knew completely disappeared, and this was the point where Katrina forgot all about Michael Langdon and his love for him. Coco was going to Mr. Gallant for a hair styling, whilst Mallory and Kat were there as assistants... Or slaves rather. Mallory stuck by her side even during the Outpost, whilst Katrina was diverted to other jobs, some personal to other Purples, some that instilled cleaning around and such. No wonder she became such a crybaby, being tormented like that. But it was fine, he was going to make everyone pay for what they've done to her. They were all going to pay so dearly.

Nobody was going to take away the beautiful Angel from the ugly Devil's arms ever again.

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[soldieronbarnes]

Kinktober #3 - edging over the edge

#obikin kinktober fic, <1k When Anakin was younger, when he’d just come to the Temple, he’d thought Obi-Wan was the kindest person in the galaxy. He’d smiled at him a lot, and answered all his questions with a patience Anakin was unused to, and given him all his attention while his Master was busy running errands; back then, running errands had meant annoying the Council repeatedly until they allowed him to toss Obi-Wan aside as his apprentice and take on Anakin as his new Padawan learner, a fact that Anakin as a child had been unaware of – but Obi-Wan certainly hadn’t, based on the heavy thrum always weighing down the force around him at the time, always hastily concealed once Anakin entered a room. He hadn’t known enough about the Force to identify the feeling then. Once he did understand, it had only increased his awe and respect for his newly appointed Master. 

His Master was a deep, endless well of kindness and patience. The kindest in the galaxy.

Fifteen years later, Anakin is willing to amend that statement. 

Oh, his Master is patient indeed. Too patient to be called kind, in this scenario, at least if one deigned to ask Anakin. 

They’d been separated for several weeks, torn apart by battlefields and missions and responsibilities, sent to different ends of the galaxy with limited means of communication; that alone would be enough to drive anyone mad, and Obi-Wan had asked him not to come, not without him. That alone had been torture. And when they’d finally reconvened on Coruscant – well, Anakin had made the grave mistake of mouthing off in front of the Council, and Obi-Wan had summarily decided that, as punishment, he wouldn’t allow Anakin any pleasures of the flesh.

And now, finally, after two weeks of grovelling, he’s in Obi-Wan’s bed at last, hands tied to the headboard, because he cannot be trusted not to touch, apparently, and feet tied spread-eagle to the bedposts, because he’d been squirming too much, trying to buck into the pleasure Obi-Wan’s hands offered, too greedy, too desperate for it. 

So now he can’t move at all, and he’d been in this bed for two hours and he still hasn’t been allowed to come. 

So maybe his Master isn’t kind after all. Just patient. Too patient. 

The ghost of a touch sweeps up his left flank, making Anakin tremble. It’s so, so hard to hold himself still, to not arch into it. He has to bite his lip so hard they’re nearly bloodless, so hard the delicate skin breaks, to avoid any sound escaping him. 

As a reward,the hand moves to pinch and twist his left nipple harshly. Anakin cries out, and this time he cannot keep his spine from bending, cannot help the desperate curve of his body seeking out the touch. His cock, so hard and dark red it’s almost purple, jerks and spills more precome over his twitching abdomen. 

Immediately, the hand retreats.

Anakin wants to weep.

“Please,” he whispers, “please.”

Sat beside him on the bed, Obi-Wan hums contemplatively. He hasn’t even taken off his robes, looking cool and composed and perfectly put together, as a Jedi should, while Anakin falls apart next to him. It’s a special kind of torture. 

“I suppose you have been trying to be good,” Obi-Wan muses idly, stroking his beard. “So maybe you do deserve a reward.”

His fingers slide over Anakin’s stomach, gathering the precome pooled there to slick up his hand before his fist wraps around Anakin’s cock loosely, lazily spreading the moisture. Anakin can hear himself cry out; the touch is a relief, but it also hurts – Obi-Wan has kept him on the edge for hours now, and he’s been hard for so long and it’s so much. He feels his balls draw even tighter to his body, ready to shake apart at the lightest of touches and – 

He bucks his hips, and immediately, Obi-Wan’s hand disappears.

“No,” he wails, “no, please, I can’t, Matser, I need, please, I can’t, it hurts –”

“Oh darling,” Obi-Wan says, pressing sweet kisses along his cheek, his temple, as desperate sobs wreck his body, “it’s alright. I’ll give you what you need, I promise. You’ve been so good for me, holding on for so long. It’s alright now.”

And then there’s a fist wrapped around his length again, tighter this time, actually jerking him, and a single finger breaching his hole and teasing his prostate. His entire focus narrows down to the lower part of his body, and it only takes four, maybe five strokes of Obi-Wan’s broad, calloused hands before Anakin is shouting loud enough for the entire Temple to hear as he’s coming, balanced on a knife’s edge of pleasure and pain. 

Obi-Wan’s hands never stop moving, working him through his orgasm and beyond, relentless and unforgiving even as Anakin is shivering and thrashing from the overstimulation, beyond words as tears stream down his face. He’s not even grown soft, and it shouldn’t even be possible when he comes again a couple of minutes later, right on the tail of his first orgasm, but he does, cock spurting in Obi-Wan’s grasp. This time the wave crashing over him is both softer and more overwhelming – there’s no air to be punched out of his lungs, so all he manages is a wet gasp, before he collapses on the bedspread, utterly spent, his body limp. 

“Good boy,” he hears Obi-Wan murmur distantly, reverently, alongside a rustle of clothes. Maybe the night isn’t over for him yet, after all.

[artsycervidae]

Day 3: Path

Gyutaro Shabana from Demon Slayer

Misogyny and violence abound. I appreciate a slimy Gyu

The night air was noxious to him. Gyutaro's nails raked over his collarbone with an absent-minded repetition as he seethed and simmered. It was Daki's fault that he was miserable, as usual. He loved his sister to pieces, but she'd fucked him over to an unforgivable degree.

There was only one way to get rid of this feeling, and he didn't want to be around Daki. So he took for the path, outside the lights and noise of the entertainment district. Let her deal with things at home herself, if she thought she was so competent. And despite the intention to hunt, he found himself too far in the silence, too pissed NOT to mope and feel sorry for himself.

He was the one who dealt the killing blow on the hashira that had infiltrated their cover. He had cut the human down to mincemeat before it could even process that Daki's beheading did nothing. Gyutaro had enacted his revenge with vicious speed, and Daki had been so grateful. The blubbering, sobbing girl clung at his legs like a child as she wailed her failures at him, insisting she had tried her HARDEST and even her BEST wasn't enough. As usual, he cooed and petted her hair, reminding her that she could only do so much after all. He would never raise a hand against her, because it wasn't her fault that she was so stupid and weak sometimes.

The thanks he received was to be erased from his own accomplishment. Muzan himself had arrived. He wasn't pleased, but he was certainly interested in the siblings whose only saving grace in death was having been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Until then, they had been brats benefiting from the sympathy of a more competent demon. Daki could have woken Gyutaro, let him bask in the bloodcurdling fear and awe that Muzan's venomous stare deigned to offer. She could have even just told Muzan the truth.

But she didn't. The reminder of her treachery made his sharp teeth sheath into his lips. She was swept away by her own emotions, eager as a bitch to wag her stupid ass and make herself look good. She said it worked.

No shit it worked, Gyutaro had snarled at her: she groveled like a whore, and so there was no doubt in his mind that Muzan only viewed them as such. Entertaining. Wasn't she supposed to be classy? Wasn't she one of the most talented girls in this rotting district?

She cried. She called him a hypocrite. And called him ugly. Among various other things.

Gyutaro had to remove himself from the premises, lest he lose his nerve and fuck up everything, like Daki might have in his position. He had to be better than her, as the older brother. She couldn't help being stupid, easy, trusting, and of so low-self value that she had to lie and cheat for any substitute for respect. All she had was her beauty, and though that alone unlocked potential in this line of work, it wasn't enough for her. She was squandering a learning opportunity and getting high and mighty, as though she were any better than him. As though she would be anything but a feeble, dead human without him.

He hated this. He hated being angry at her, he hated feeling pathetic, but he hated even more that she made him feel angry and pathetic. Probably because she was so unhappy being as stupid as she was that she just couldn't help lashing out sometimes.

"It's not fair!"

Gyutaro had been still, but his ear pricked at the far-off raised voice. A second person was trying to shush them. Too late.

Gyutaro moved quicker than the human eye could possibly track him; he may as well have been a trick of shadow or a breeze. He had been upwind of them, but now that he knew the direction of his targets, he could smell two thundering hearts and the reak of fear already. The idea that not one but two humans could have simply walked into his territory irritated him. His nails ripped the skin from the side of his throat. Scratch, scratch scratch.

Even from within the dense trees on a cloudy night, he could still see them, clear as glass. A man and a woman, standing in the middle of the path. So stupid. They were making a scene out in the open, at night, no less! Hadn't they ever traveled before? Had they never heeded the bedtime stories of demons pouring out from the mountains and forests at night to feast on the weak?

"Let's just go," the woman, kneeling on the ground, beseeched. To say she was kneeling wasn't quite accurate, and it took Gyutaro a moment to realize the garments draped over her shoulders were sizes too big. She was tiny-- not like a child, but like someone who was shrinking away into nothing, an optical illusion of something whirling around the drain.

The man was glaring at the ground with tears clenched as hard as his jaw. Opposite to her, he stood tall and broad as a wall, facing Gyutaro's direction as though to block this path from the district. His fists sank by his sides and trembled. Both of them were angry, but the man's body temperature spiked with a particular, familiar tang. "You mean run away?"

The shrinking woman shrank more. Now she was kneeling. "Why not?" she cried softly, and Gyutaro also realized the wheezing was her typical volume. The holler from earlier must have been a result of all the rage she could muster. "You don't deserve this. I don't deserve this!" With every retort, she deflated, as if losing her power. And she was. Gyutaro could smell their sweat, breaths, organs, and saliva. The girl was poisoned-- maybe she would survive it, but maybe not, especially if she went untreated for a day more. A current thrilled his nerves alive and he shot a grin to the scythes in his fists. Poison, he thought, would be something Daki hadn't considered.

He imagined briefly the next time Daki tried to take credit for his kill. How all Gyutaro would have to do is ask the dose she used for that hashira corpse there, and smile as she floundered. Then he would pat her head, like the good sport he was. She couldn't lie her way out of that one.

"That's how you would repay them," the man sounded hollow. "When they took us in, they gave us what little they had. And you refuse to do even this, for us, to help earn money."

"No, that's not what this is," she argued, and the sharp breath she drew was rattling. "He's hurt you too... if I'm here, you still have to go back to them. She won't stop him from--"

"If you're here," he interrupted, changing tactics abruptly, "then you can make money. And maybe... maybe someone good will find you."

The familiar taste of his panic struck home, and Gyutaro was aloft with pleasure. It was guilt, the kind that any decent swordsman would feel upon stumbling across Gyutaro midmeal. The helplessness of knowing someone's life lay on the line, and you couldn't do shit about it.

"I don't want--"

"And they'll take care of you!" the man urged, talking over her now. His palms were sweating. "You're such a beautiful woman--"

"Brother--" her lower lip wobbled as he continued, as if he hadn't heard her.

"You have a kind heart, Ayame. I know the girls will take care of you," his voice hitched and his mouth trembled. "And you'll get better. Someone will--"

Gyutaro had taken advantage of the spat to move in a wobbly pattern, mimicking the wind through the leaves and the shivering of branches. It would have been more efficient to circle behind the man, cutting off their escape and slicing them both into pieces. His need for relief had outweighed his sense-- his raw skin stung against the rush of wind as he surged forward and sank both his blades into her torso.

Killing had become something of an art to him. Daki had her own hobbies-- theater, dancing, music-making, tea-steeping-- girly things. It had a place in her work. His interests were more refined and necessary in the real world, where humans were just meat.

He had lofted the body above the ground with ease, as if pushing her out to her companion. He allowed the briefest pause: enough for their eyes to widen and their mouths to drop open in horror. And before the high note of her ghostly yelp, Gyutaro ripped her apart, her two halves divorcing like brute-forcing through a sliding door. Her blood splattered and her insides smeared across the path. The scream wafted out through shredded lung matter.

The man screamed-- he had fast reflexes for a human. Most would have still been standing there in shock over what happened. He had ran to the side of the road and hauled up a fallen bough-- a sword?-- that had served as a walking stick. Gyutaro didn't hesitate: despite the intrusive worrying, he knew that Corps warriors weren't so sluggish. The bough shattered on Gyutaro's shoulder, which tickled, and Gyutaro barreled the human down and pinned him to the ground with a scythe through each shoulder.

"Hey now," Gyutaro 'cheerily' spoke, and when the human wouldn't stop hollering, he simply put his hand over the man's mouth. Bite as a desperate animal may, Gyutaro's skin was like leather and wouldn't break. "What's going on here?"

The man shouted, muffled and incoherent, and Gyutaro rolled his eyes. "Oh," he commiserated, "yeah. About that. I know I should mind my own business. But, really, what would a silly girl like her know? Then again," he feigned confliction with a furrow of his brow, "Maybe she had a point... you were kind of throwing her to the wolves, huh? Leaving her all alone, as if that was the right thing to do."

The man howled into the offending palm again, bucking and thrashing and kicking Gyutaro in the legs. Annoyed, Gyutaro reached back with his free hand. With each snap of the bone and crush of muscle, the man screamed and seized in silent agony.

Gyutaro continued chatting. "Siblings are always supposed to look out for each other. You should know better, being oldest and all. And imagine: the last words she heard from you were your shitty excuses to shrug her off."

Somewhere in his animal brain, the man seemed to comprehend. Or maybe he was crying from the pain of having broken legs now. At this point, Gyutaro didn't care. The reactions he was getting were satisfying regardless. "Maybe you really didn't care. She wasn't your real sister anyway... what? You didn't know?!" Gyutaro's face split from ear to ear as the brother's eyes glazed over. "Hahah! Idiot! What kind of guy doesn't even know who his family is? No wonder you were so bad at taking care of her. You just didn't have it in you. I guess you have potential, though. I could give you pointers. Oh, we would have to find you a new sister though. You don't have an issue with replacing family members, clearly, so--"

Gyutaro stopped when he realized that he was talking to himself. The man's heart had jerked and stammered and stopped. Gyutaro sneered and grabbed the man's face more forcibly. "Hey," he drawled, rotten loathing dripping from his maw. "Hey, I was TALKING to you."

No reply. Gyutaro leaned forward and crushed the man's head in. It gave like a thumb through an egg shell.

It brought him no relief. Suddenly, Gyutaro didn't have an appetite.

[wowa-bublord]

ｓｏ，　ｂｕｄｄｙ

ｙｏｕ　ｋｎｏｗ　ｗｈａｔ　ｉ＇ｍ　ｇｏｎｎａ　ａｓｋ

COWERING UNDER MY BED. I'M SORRY I'M STILL POOR I HAVE NO STYLUS. GROVELLING AT YOUR FEET TEARS IN MY EYES BAWLING SOBBING WAILING. I PROMISE I WILL DRAW MAD MEW MEW

[overelegantstranger]

self harm, ocd talk, and fear of death both immediate and cosmic, under cut

it's fucked up the extent to which i was responsible for my mum's feelings the whole time I lived with her. it's fucked up that i had to mould my own personality to match hers as closely as I could just to make her not feel judged for things like "not wanting to leave the house" and "not liking people" and "eating only a wafer bar for breakfast" (as well as all the other bigger stuff. but the point is as an eleven year old I somehow had the power to make her feel judged for being introverted and having food issues).

and it's fucked up that I was her main support for losing weight when I was fifteen, sixteen, and fucked up specifically that she sat me down and told me that she would die in three years if she didn't lose weight.

(and fucked up that when i'm twenty two and continually panicking that my parents will die in their sleep and I have to check on them every single night, she thinks this comes out of nowhere)

and it's fucked up that from when I was a small child, everything I did wrong was answered with the silent treatment, a thing which would make me start begging and grovelling and wailing just to be loved again, because every single time I had no idea what I did wrong.

Why would they do that? does it make them feel big and strong to have a five year old, ten year old, eighteen year old, hysterically sobbing and panicking because noone will tell them why parental love has been snatched away?

Do they think they're teaching emotional awareness in forcing a ten year old to comb over his own past actions to figure out how he might have upset or triggered his own parents because they won't tell him unless he breaks down sobbing and begging and pleading at their feet?

And then they expect him to believe them when they say they love him unconditionally. (They don't. because "sounding pissed off" is enough of a reason to not speak to him for six straight hours and not respond when he speaks to you).

It's fucked up that the rules in my parents house were so incredibly strict and yet variably enforced that I was developing symptoms of ocd by the age of twelve.

It's fucked up that I, at twelve or thirteen, was so scared of taking tablets in case I choked that my mum decided in her infinite wisdom to crowd me in a doorway and put her hands around my throat while trembling with rage, "to force me to swallow it like a dog".

When that happened I ran to my room and barricaded the door because I thought she would kill me for spitting the tablet onto her shirt.

but she only "made mistakes" while parenting me. and every time I react to her with any negative emotion whatsoever, i "need to go to therapy".

and then when I began self harming, it was a surprise. when I started having panic attacks, it was because of a genetic predisposition to "nerves". when my fear of choking got so bad I could only comfortably eat soup and pasta, love and understanding were withdrawn until i could eat anything and everything again.

when I tried to express that the phone ringing caused panic attacks in case something bad had happened to my dad, I got screamed at because "if you panic you won't be any help to ME".

and now my brain and personhood are fractured into pieces but it's never going to be believable because my mum just "made mistakes" and "we always loved you so much"

[dari-ede]

In the Middle of the Night: Chapter 24

Chapter 24: "Si lo forzás se marchita"

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30

MASTERLIST

AN: And it’s back! Thank you everyone for your patience. It’s been quite the 2 months. Hopefully, I’ll be able to come back to a regular weekly, or at least Bi-weekly, posting. Happy reading! 🥰

Summary: As Bangtan prepares for a new chapter in their lives, they head to their private property in the forest for a songwriting workshop. As a songwriter and producer they have worked with for years, I’m asked to tag along. I was ready for the heavy workload and small amount of sleep during the workshop week. However, I wasn’t ready for the storm that came that changed my friendship with Namjoon forever.

Pairing: Idol!RM/Namjoon x OFC

Genre: Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Smut

Rating: M (mention of sexual assault, explicit language, sexual scenes in prior chapters)

Status: COMPLETE

Trigger warnings: hurt, heartache, anxiety (there are a lot of feels in this one)

Warnings: a BRIEF description of sexual assault (look for ***)

*****************

I don’t think I have ever cried as much as I did on that first day. There was a tightness in my chest like I was trying to breathe underwater. My ribs felt cracked from the numerous attempts of taking in a full breath. My lungs weren’t getting enough oxygen, the sobbing made it hard to. When my mouth would open, at first I thought it was to absorb the colorless gas my body needed to survive but instead, it was to let out sounds I had never heard myself make. It was a siren-type wail. I felt like La Llorona, searching for the person I cared most for but couldn’t find. Couldn’t find him because the monster inside me had caused him to leave. I had caused the destruction. I had murdered what I treasured most. I was the reason for my own pain.

I wanted nothing more than to call him. I would grovel and beg—whatever he wanted, I would do. Whatever demands he had, I would obediently follow. I would do it all just to have him back. To have him close.

I didn’t care how pathetic I sounded. Didn’t care how wrecked I looked.

I just wanted to breathe again. And he was the source of it.

It was in those first hours of crying out in agony that I realized the truth of what Namjoon had become for me. He had become the most vital chemical element to keep my body alive: oxygen. The little air I was able to inhale felt so wrong, almost poisonous. Rather than healing me, it was slowly killing me.

Fuck, I was so pitiful.

I was in pieces for a guy who didn’t feel the same for me as I did for him. Didn’t see a proper woman he wanted to be with. Didn’t recognize me as a person to respect.

“You’ve given it up easy before.”

Fresh, boiling tears made their way down my overheated face as the words echoed over and over and over. The siren came back out.

My stomach began to cramp from the shaking. My body automatically curled up, trying to ease the pain.

I think that’s how my tia found me.

At first, I didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded too high, too screechy. Tia Jia was normally so calm and sweet sounding. Had it not been for the familiar smell of orange blossom, I wouldn’t have known it was her.

I’m not sure where she found me, but I was certain it wasn’t in my room. I don’t know how I managed to drive myself home that night, but I remember parking. I recall entering my house. I think I might have sat on the couch? The living room was the last thing I remembered physically seeing. Everything after was a blur—literally. The tears made it difficult to see anything.

The next time I recognized my surroundings, I was in my bed.

My head felt like it was splitting into pieces, but I was aware of my aunt holding me. Her scent and embrace sent a bit of warmth through me. When I realized she was there, I only cried harder. It was like I was a toddler and the only way I would feel better was through her touch and words. That’s what moms are for, right? To erase all the pain and make everything better?

I clutched her desperately. Praying she would be able to eradicate the ache.

But after what seemed an eternity, it was still there. The fucking pain was still present. It was the first time in my memory that my tia Jia couldn’t make it better. And this made my chest shatter. The siren in me wailed until my vocals gave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sweetheart, you have to eat.”

My tia Jia was sitting next to me in my bed, a tray on her lap.

The motherly strokes on my hair were comforting, but still not enough. It had been a while since my body exhausted itself. Tears were still coming out and my stomach, chest, and head still felt like they had gone through a car crash, but at least the wailing and shaking stopped. I could take normal breaths now, even though it still felt wrong.

“Sweetheart?” Tia Jia’s voice sounded strained, like in pain. I was alert enough to detect it.

There was another kick to the stomach. I felt guilty for my state. It must be tough on her. I could at least answer her. “No, thank you,” I let out. It hurt to speak.

My aunt heard the scratchiness in my voice. ��At least have some water. Please.”

She sounded so desperate. I couldn’t say no. I lifted my hand, motioning for the water.

She quickly handed me the flask, which thankfully had a straw attached to it. I wouldn’t have to sit up to drink from it. Bringing the straw to my lips, I took a sip. My throat and dehydrated skin welcomed it. I was about to put it back down, but my logical mind forced my mouth to take at least one more long sip.

Closing the straw, I set down the flask next to me.

There was silence for a while again. The only thing I could feel was my tia’s touch on my hair and face.

Finally, she spoke up. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Warm, new tears flowed down my cheeks.

“Did something happen with Namjoon?” she asked, gently.

I sniffed. “He broke it off.”

She let out a pained sigh. “Why?”

“I can’t do this, Maya. I can’t be in a relationship where it’s just about sex. I want more.”

New sobs began to make their way through my chest and traveled up my throat and down my eyes. “I’m not what he wants.”

It felt like a knife cut into my chest again. My old wounds still had not healed, so they quickly reopened.

Many years ago I developed a crush on Namjoon. I was quick to recognize it. However, for many reasons, I suppressed those emotions. One of those reasons had been that I knew I wasn’t his type. Physically or emotionally. Sure, he had eventually found me attractive and he started to develop a crush on me back. But he had realized last night I wasn’t built to be someone he could have a relationship with.

Namjoon was someone who loved to talk about philosophy and the human condition. We shared plenty of deep conversations, but I had never been able to fully let him in. There would always be a wall that prevented him from fully entering. And I just couldn’t take it down.

I explained little bits to my tia Jia about what Namjoon had said. I mentioned how my mother had called about the fucker. I admitted that I was still unable to talk to Namjoon about the incident and I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted to tell him about it. It was because of all my issues that made Namjoon not want me.

I curled into a ball as I finished my story to my tia. My stomach aches were starting again and my heart was racing pretty fast.

My tia applied some pressure on my chest. “Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.”

I followed her instructions. It took a few minutes but I had settled down again.

When my aunt felt safe to speak again, she did. “Sweetheart…what is keeping you from being fully transparent with Namjoon?”

I gave a pathetic shrug and didn’t answer. I knew it was a childish response.

“Well, I think it would be a good thing to figure out, don’t you think so?” she lightly pressed.

“Even if I did open up, I’m not what he wants, tia,” I mumbled.

“Now what would make you say that?” There was a bit of chiding in her tone.

“Because he’s known me for how long and I just now started catching his eye? He only became interested in me because I was the only girl around him who was available. After his bad break up, he’s been looking for a rebound.” I was finally voicing fleeting thoughts I had had in the starting part of my relationship with Namjoon. These thoughts had never lingered for too long, but in a state of complete low, my self-pity was scrapping for any negativity it could find.

My aunt wasn’t about to let me swim in that self-pity, though. “That breakup happened two years ago. His rebound was that girl he dated briefly earlier in the year. You are not his rebound.”

There was silence again.

My brain internally battled with my broken heart. Logically, I believed my tia Jia’s words, but the ache in my chest was marinading in the words that had shattered me.

“You’ve given it up easily before, whatever. I’m not that way.”

“The fact that…you did that with me…. I just don’t know how to feel about that.”

“We started this wrong. But like a fucking horndog, I gave in.”

“I can’t even say we can go back to being friends because I can’t. I can’t and won’t go back to that. I respect myself too much.”

“He still doesn’t want to be with me,” I said as my throat tightened. “It doesn’t matter if I tell him what he wants to hear. At the end of the day, my self-respect apparently doesn’t align with his. I’ll always be the girl who took it up the ass.”

“What?” Tia Jia asked, thrown off.

I hadn’t shared this piece of information with my aunt. The detail was a little too intimate for me to have shared with her. But I had spilled the beans; she couldn’t unhear it and I couldn’t unsay it.

“We had sex before the fight—before my mother called. It was anal.” I felt a flush of embarrassment hit my cheeks and neck, but I continued speaking. “During the fight, he brought up how he valued the act we had committed and I didn’t. I'm just a slut in his eyes.”

“He did not call you that,” my tia said with conviction. But then a beat later, she doubted herself. “Did he?”

“He might as well have,” I said in a small voice.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said simply. She didn’t say anything else, though. This time, she let me cry and wallow in my self-pity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I honestly couldn’t remember how that night went. I mostly stayed in my room. My tia stayed the night with me. I caught her a couple of times on my phone. I was sure she was taking care of things for me, not that I had a lot of meetings. I might have had one, but I honestly couldn’t care less about it.

I was grateful she was there to handle it.

I had never felt this vulnerable before. Never been so pathetic. The last time I felt this low had been many years ago when my cousin died. But that had been a different kind of heartache. I dealt with the death mostly in anger. This time, there was no one but me to be angry at.

And as much as I wanted to bathe in self-anger, I couldn’t. Sorrow was all I could feel.

My tia eventually had to leave. “Your Uncle John has an appointment, sweetheart. If you want, I can come right after.”

I shook my head at her. “I’m good.”

She stared at the food next to me on the bed. “At least eat the vegetables, please. You didn’t eat dinner last night and this morning, you only had a few grapes. Lunch was left completely untouched. The least you can do is eat the vegetables.”

I reached out to my plate and grabbed a celery, taking a bite without a word.

“Thank you,” she said genuinely. She began to gather her things. “If you need anything, just go downstairs. Someone’s here to keep an eye on you.”

I wanted to argue with her and tell her I didn’t need looking after. I was positive she had called Jenny, her daughter and my best friend from childhood, to come look after me. However, I knew my tia well enough to know it would do no good.

She came around and gave me a soft kiss. “I’m only a phone call away. Do you want your cell with you?” she asked as she motioned towards my night table.

I shook my head. It was getting close to it being 48 hours since I touched that thing. I wanted to stay away from it for as long as possible.

“Love you,” she said as she disappeared into the hall.

I rolled over and closed my eyes, hoping sleep would come fast.

It did manage to come for several hours but my body had had enough of it. When I woke up, the stars had replaced the sun in the sky. There was a sudden sharp pain in my head. My body was angry at me for neglecting it. I pushed off the bed and felt an immediate cold.

I put on some pajama bottoms and put on thick socks. I think I had showered sometime yesterday because I surprisingly didn’t feel crusty. I touched my hair, feeling it damp. It was the confirmation I needed that I had, in fact showered sometime in the last 24 hours. Sometimes, I tended to put my hair up in a bun right after showering. This only prolonged my thick hair from fully drying.

After applying more layers of clothes and being grateful for not smelling, I took the plate of food that was still on my bed and took my water flask. Maybe I could microwave the food.

As I made my way down the hall, I adjusted the thermostat to warm up the house and went to get my food reheated.

Coming closer to the kitchen, I noticed the lights were on. After entering, I quickly saw the refrigerator open and a person standing behind it. Jenny must be up for a late-night snack.

“Don’t eat the cake; it’s gone bad,” I warned.

“I’m not craving sweets anyway,” came a deep and husky voice.

My heart stopped, panicking. I didn’t recognize the voice right away, so I acted on instinct. I placed down my food and took hold of the nearest, heavy object.

Before I could demand who was in my house, Yoongi’s head popped out from the other side of the fridge.

I let out a heavy and relieved sigh. “Son of a bitch, Yoongi. You scared the shit out of me.” I set down the heavy object, which turned out to be a rather pricey jar. Thank god I hadn’t used it. That would have been an expensive mistake.

He frowned. “I thought eomeonim told you I was here.”

I had completely forgotten I had invited Yoongi and his team to stay at my house. I had mentioned it to my Tia Jia after Yoongi agreed to stay over. The day we decided on Yoongi coming over, I was set to have a meeting. Tia Jia was going to be here to let Yoongi and the two guys in. That must have been last night. Or this morning. Shit, what day were we on?

I rubbed my head, feeling the sharp pain in my head again.

“Hungry?” Yoongi asked, a small hint of concern in his voice.

I nodded. “I was going to heat this up,” I said, motioning to the food.

He stared at the plate for a moment, no emotion given. Then reached over, took it, and placed it away from me. “Want a sandwich?” he asked as he turned around to the refrigerator again.

“It’s fine. I can just heat up the plate.”

“It’s gone bad.”

“Since when are you picky?” I asked, feeling irritated all of a sudden. “I’ve eaten pizza that’s been sitting out for 2 days.”

“Bet your stomach didn’t feel proud about that,” he muttered, taking out ingredients.

“I’m alive still, aren’t I?” I shot back.

He turned to me and did a once-over on me. He shook his head in disbelief. “Have you looked in the mirror? You look like death.”

I flipped him off.

That made him crack a smile. He reached for my water flask and filled it up.

I gladly took it, drinking a long sip.

We were quiet for a while as he put together a sandwich for me. Yoongi and I had eaten together plenty of times, not to mention cooked alongside one another. He knew my preferences.

After a long moment, he finally spoke up. “How you feeling?”

I took a breath, starting to feel my stomach get queasy. “Like shit,” I said genuinely.

I felt his eyes on me. He went still for a long moment, probably assessing what he could and should say.

There was a yearning in me that wanted to ask Yoongi about Namjoon. Fuck, just thinking of his name squeezed at my chest. An image of his beautiful dimples crossed my mind. The cluster of freckles across his nose and eyes would turn into a constellation whenever he smiled a certain way. But then the red eyes that were so full of hurt that night replaced the image, breaking my heart all over again.

The sound of a plate being placed down made me snap to the present. In front of me was a very good-looking sandwich. I knew Yoongi’s skills enough to know it was delicious. Yet, I had little interest in eating it. I knew my body needed to eat, so I took a few bites. I tasted the flavors of the ingredients and knew they were a perfect fusion, but I still felt zero enthusiasm for it. I managed to eat half of it, my stomach somewhat satisfied. After a few more sips of water, I felt the headache start to wear off.

When Yoongi noticed I was done eating, he finally spoke up. “Want to talk about it?”

It was strange because I did and I didn’t. I didn’t want to relive that night. But I also knew I needed to let out my emotions.

I took a breath and tried to control the tears that started to form in my eyes. “I can’t give him what he wants.” Saying the truth out loud hurt a lot more than just thinking about it.

He was silent for a moment before he spoke. “And what does he want?”

The warm tears made their way down. “Not me.”

There was silence for a long moment. The truth lingered in the air and pressed down on me.

After a long moment, Yoongi finally spoke. “Namjoon very rarely goes after something he is not sure about.”

There was almost a somber look on his face. He wasn’t looking at me, but in so many ways, it certainly felt like he was looking right into my eyes.

“He wants you, Maya.”

Conflicting emotions ran through me at hearing this. I knew Yoongi well enough to know that he was always honest. He would never say something he didn’t mean just to spare my feelings or make me feel better. But then Namjoon’s words the other night echoed in my head, telling me that I wasn’t what Namjoon wanted. It was so hard to think clearly.

“You don’t think he does.” Yoongi’s voice was soft and certain.

I gave a short nod, not trusting myself to speak without becoming a sobbing mess.

Yoongi let out a heavy sigh. “Sad.”

I was confused about what he meant by that. But, again, I was too scared to use words at the moment.

He stayed in the kitchen with me as I picked through my food. Eventually, we made our way over to the backyard where he drank his whisky into the night and I curled on the outside couch and looked up into the dark sky. I searched through the constellations, trying to find the freckles that would hopefully give me some solace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next couple of days passed slowly. My tia called several times, checking on me. I didn’t stay long with her on the phone, finding my throat too sore to speak for too long.

She didn’t push it. For a brief moment, I was a little confused why she wasn’t calling more often or insisting I stay on the phone with her longer. However, I noticed how closely Yoongi observed me. He usually was in the room with me or in the next room. I caught him texting a lot.

He used his phone for researching random facts, watching movies, documentaries, and playing odd mobile games. He had plenty of friends he messaged. Yes, he was usually glued to his phone, but I still noticed he was on it more than usual. I was certain he was keeping Tia Jia up to date about me.

Had his staff been around, I would have felt embarrassed about being treated like some fragile kid, but thankfully, Yoongi had sent them away insisting they explore the city on their own. A part of me wondered if they had heard about my walk of shame. Did they hear about how I had left Namjoon’s hotel room looking like some cheap whore?

The sting lingered throughout my chest, cracking my ribs.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Yoongi asked, pulling me away from my heartache.

It was night and I lived in a secluded area. Even if we came across other people, they wouldn’t be able to see us clearly. They wouldn’t notice Yoongi. I thought for a moment, debating with myself. I hadn’t left my house in days; hadn’t seen other faces. I had been bathing in my self-pity for many nights. Maybe it was time I snapped out of it. A walk would be good.

After nodding, we got ourselves ready and headed toward the beach.

We walked along the sand for a long while, and no words were said.

Eventually, Yoongi spoke. “How you feeling?”

Since the first night he had arrived, he asked me this towards the end of the day.

I gave a shrug. “A little better.”

He gave a nod. “Have you gone through your messages yet?” he asked carefully.

I had confessed to him yesterday morning I hadn’t looked through my messages since that night. I was scared to see Namjoon’s name on it—I couldn’t deal with reading through his words. Would they cut deeper? Bury me lower than I already was?

But what if he hadn’t written me? Somehow, his sending me nothing would be much worse.

Looking through my messages right now wouldn’t do me any good. I shook my head.

Yoongi let out a heavy sigh, similar to the one he had given the other night.

The scene replayed in my head and I remembered my unspoken question. I couldn’t ask it that night, but I could tonight. “What did you mean when you said ‘sad’ the other night?”

Yoongi was quiet for a moment. It was like he was thinking about his words carefully before speaking to them out loud. “I find it sad that you’re not allowing someone to truly see you.”

I was too stunned by his words to give a vocal response. My head turned to him, wondering if he was going to further elaborate.

He did. Keeping his eyes ahead, he continued his walk and I kept up. “As a friend of yours, I’ve seen parts of you—some of them aren’t great qualities—and still, I love you.”

Tears came to my eyes. It was rare to hear Yoongi tell me he loved me. Any time he did, it would move me because I knew it wasn't easy for him.

“You’ve been around Namjoon during some of his bad moments; moments that would paint him negatively. Do you feel differently about him—knowing and witnessing his bad qualities?”

Shaking I said softly but strongly, “No.”

“How do you feel after seeing him make mistakes and show his flaws?”

Moments of bad decisions Namjoon had made in his past crossed my mind. Yoongi’s question lingered throughout the memories. And all I could feel was my heart grow warm and expand.

I could feel Yoongi’s eyes on me. I hadn’t said a thing but seemed to be hearing my thoughts. “That’s what it means to care about someone—to accept the good and the bad. Whatever shit you’re afraid of in your past, fuck it. Don’t let it keep you from allowing someone amazing like Namjoon in.”

Suddenly, the face of the fucker entered my mind.

******His hands on me. I sat frozen, feeling my body lit up in flames.*******

Was the fucker the reason why I had this goddamn wall up? I thought I had moved on from him. Had he crept back into my subconscious and made me vulnerable again? Was he the reason why a wall existed that prevented me from allowing Namjoon in?

These last few days I thought it was just the way I was built. I could never be what Namjoon needed. I wasn’t made to let someone fully in. Having gone through therapy years ago I thought that I had grown as much as I could have.

I felt the arms around me before the tears. It wasn’t until Yoongi was hugging me that I noticed I had been crying. My face was wet, my nose was runny.

“It’s not just Namjoon that would like to break down that wall,” Yoongi said softly as he held me. “We all notice it. Some of us understand on a more personal level than others, unfortunately."

We shared a knowing look. He was meaning himself. Yoongi also had his wall. 

"You feel it's easier to keep people at a distance," he said, holding eye contact. "The guys taught me differently."

I looked away, feeling a bit of shame for having my faults.

Yoongi kept talking. "The guys and I normally never push—Namjoon especially. He respects boundaries. He allows everyone to open up at their own pace. But it's different with you. He needs more. And I believe you need more, too.”

Suddenly, my heartache grew. It was no longer just about a breakup. It was about learning that I was broken.

I needed fixing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I picked up my phone. My finger hovered over my KakaoTalk app. Dozens of notifications were still unread. Were any of them from Namjoon?

As much as I wanted to look through them, I knew deep down I shouldn’t click on them.

Not yet.

My finger moved over to Contacts, selecting and calling the person I was needing the most.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My eyes were focused on the assistant’s desk. Since walking through the door, the feeling of déjà vu had been lingering through the air.

The lobby had remained the same. The portraits on the walls hadn’t changed. The couch I was sitting on was the same one as years ago.

I clutched my phone, this time having no one on the other end that was cheering me on for being where I was.

The urge to turn my phone on and go directly to my messages was strong. But like I had the other million times, I ignored it.

In my deluded, damaged mind I saw him sitting next to me. His dimples were deep and beautiful. That proud look was written all over his face.

“Hi, Maya. Come on in,” Dr. Rob said gently with a kind smile.

I returned the smile and got to my feet. As I made my way into his office, I could clearly hear Namjoon’s deep, timber voice behind me.

“hwaiting!”

As pathetic as it appeared, it worked. I felt a sudden burst of courage.

---------------

MASTERLIST

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30

[obstinaterixatrix]

god I could go for a crematorium-ish romance right now. but like not the ones I’ve already read something new. I’ve reread my bias so many times I wanna see a different guy stepping on rakes and getting kicked down flights of stairs and wailing sobbing throwing himself to the ground groveling for forgiveness. and being hit by a car

[sunarinss]

oh i want him on his hands and knees grovelling. i want him crying sobbing snot running out his nose wailing when he wakes up and realises he loves the reader.

❝ LONG SHOT ! ❞

OFFICIAL 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

❝ PROFESSIONAL BASKETBALL PLAYER!GOJO SATORU X PHYSICAL THERAPIST!READER. ❞

SYNOPSIS: After an unexpected encounter with the infamous Gojo Satoru at a local convenience store at 3 A.M. You're given the opportunity to worm your way into his life, but not without a personal invitation from Gojo himself. One thing leads to another, and you're the first person they call when he gets a career-threatening injury, forcing both of you to spend day and night together, but without some obstacles of course: your cousin.

FAN FIC WORD COUNT: 20K+

WARNING TAGS: Modern!AU, no cursed magic, small age gap, Gojo is 30-31, reader is 24-25, hurt/comfort, angst, SLOW-BURN, torn PCL injury (not gojover), gojo lore, alcohol, dumb/clueless gojo, self-assured reader, groveling, nameless reader, nameless cousin, playboy gojo (he has a reputation), SMUT 18+, oral, penetrative sex, hand jobs, blow jobs, nipple play, pussy eating, fingering, semi-public sex (locker room), vanilla/soft sex, make-up sex, tension, cum eating, squirting, semi-manhandling (consensual), hair pulling, vocal gojo (whimpers/groans/moans), prone-bone position, missionary, doggy, and standing up sex.

STATUS: Ongoing

001 — LONG SHOT : 8K.

↳ 05/02/2024.

002 — 10K

↳ TBA

003 — ENDING : ?K

↳ TBA

TAGLIST : @luvwithau : @sugacor3 : @seajunie : @woahguy278 : @4townn : @miiyaaswrld : @forest4bee : @fadingpalacebonkpsychic : @usercpat : @rainzelenia : @bloopsstuff : @purplegemadventures : @cowsforkenji : @wateronlyhaha : @poet-dae : @fushitoru : @serenityfauna : @luna-v-roiya : @thvamour : @gojocupid : @julsssssss : @ssleepycenzi : @ri-sa20 : @3lliesrifle : @a-trashbag : @mjsnightmares : @forever-war : @en40p : @aishies-stuff : @allofffmypeaches : @laviefantasie : @ritsatoru : @ssleepycenzi : @roscpctals99 : @noyaskneepad : @dearneverland : @platrom : @jaegersity : @rjswrld

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 ᥫ᭡ join my taglist:

©2024 bnpd. All rights reserved to the copyrights owner. Do not share, plagiarize, or translate.

[z3nitsusgf]

Blaze down his way

Scaramouche x reader

Warnings: sadism, edging, overstim, shibari, clit play, rough sex

Tags: @diamond-3 @amosthirst @euphorica

You’re absolutely divine, Scaramouche thinks. You’ve got glittery wet tears trailing down the corners of your eyes, body bare and presented just for him. Wobbly lips that are bitten raw from his ministrations. Arms laced behind you, tied behind with pretty purple rope. It digs into your soft skin, hands itching to be touch him. Tits pushed out for him to play with, tweak and tug at your nipples till they ache and are puffy. Squeezing each mound in his hand till you yelp.

You’re crying already, legs unable to close and clit twitchy. You’re fucking desperate and he hasn’t done anything. Scaramouche has a salacious grin on his face, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your neck, “You know why I’m punishing you, right my pretty slut?” Swiping a few fingers over your drippy cunt, makes you shudder. Snapping a hand over your pussy, stinging all the way up your spine making you cry out. “Yes- ah-! B-bothered you while you were working,” You whine, feeling the rough pass of his fingertips caress your soft thighs and plushy hips.

He grins, baring his fangs. “That’s right, so you do have a brain in that silly little skull of yours.” He mocks, tone mean and so sweet it’s rotten. You pout at his words, and he chuckles. Smacks his hand down swiftly and harshly on your bare cunt. Hitting your pearly peeking clit and you grit your teeth. Does it again, harder. You cry, throwing your head back with weak twitches and jolting away. Does it over and over till your pussy is puffy and you’re sobbing, “please! Scaramouche, M’sorry m’sorry-“ you slur, tongue loopy and eyes dazed.

You’re wetter than before, practically pooling onto the silk sheets and glistening, and Scaramouche is beaming, “yeah? You’re sorry, that’s too bad. Good girls don’t interrupt their masters while they work. Bad girls do, and you know that means?” You gulp, watery gaze focusing on the man looming over you. Batting your wet eyelashes at him, and he roams his eyes over your face and looks for your reaction as he says, “Means that bad girls don’t get to cum.” He seethes, feral smile peeking out and the sinister shine in his eyes makes you clench around absolutely nothing.

He teases you, cruel and unending. Pushing in three fingers and stretching you out, wiggling them and feeling your silken ribbed walls, purposefully dragging the pads against that little button inside your cunt that makes you arch and squirm underneath him. He does it till you’re close, pulsing rapidly around his fingers and then he’s pulling away and you choke. Hips chasing his hand as he laughs and pulls away, slapping a slick covered hand against your bruised thigh.

Pinched your nipples and smacks your breadts, shudders at the way they jiggle and you groan. And Scaramouche doesn’t stop there, yanking his leaky red cock out of his pants and pushing into you with one brutal thrust. Grinds his pelvis against your hips, flushed against your pushed up thighs, swirls his cock inside you and watches you sob.

“S’ too deep, feels-“ you shudder and clamp around him, and Scaramouche is pulling out before you can cum, and you wail. “You don’t get to cum.” He says flat and mean, makes more tears well in your eyes, and he loves it. Pushes in again and pounds into you, grabbing onto your thighs that look so pretty wrapped in rope that digs into your skin, chest heaving as your toes curl at his thrusts. Digging his nails into your exposed flesh as he tries not to bust at the feeling of your wet plushy cunt sucking him in.

And he pulls out again and again every time you almost tip over that edge, head delirious with need as you beg and grovel underneath for release. “Please, master- I’ll be good, I’ll be good just please please please lemme cum-!” You practically scream, he’s sure the others can hear you and that sends shivers down his spine. “Fine. I’ll let you cum, greedy whore.” He spits like he hates it, but he’s brimming. Bringing a hand down to tug and rub tight circles on your needy pulsing clit, let’s you clamp down on him and cum with a cry.

Keeps pounding until you’re begging him to stop, “was’ wrong? Thought you wanted to cum?” He mocks, and you just keep tightening around him, creaming down his hips and dripping down his balls. And he groans looking down at the slick wet cum that’s coating in a white halo on his cock. Watches you go brain dead on his cock, thinking only of him and how much he’s letting you cum.

And he’s got your right where he wants you.