#then with how useless n empty n just snapping at everything to go away i get when im lost those bad things

[tamagotchikgs]

my mom keeps listing off things i need to do and accusatorily asking why i never do anything like art anymore n i am just. so exhausted. ive never been more tired i just want to burrow myself in the earth n disappear in the cold dirt

[chococolte]

☼ — pietas maris

♱ : my take on sagau childe

including ☆! — him as a worshiper, and his reaction to being your lover ⛧

word count. 5.6k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, cult au, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl. ୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. now time for me to disappear back into the aether for another 6 months

The abyss is cold.

It is unfeeling, lacking warmth and passion. It is relentless, cruel, and unkind. It corrupts, ruins, and does so freely, without remorse or thought. It leaves you clinging to the hot blood in your veins, curled up and hidden in the dark reaches of its void.

Childe had always been versatile; quick to adapt, even at such a young age. He grew used to the emptiness, the swelling numbness, and the eventual gnawing loneliness left in his abdomen. They became a part of him as his lungs, as integral as air; to be without felt odd, foreign.

The glimmer of your existence kept Childe company. He did not know who you were, or how lucky he was— only that you brought him comfort, like an old lullaby, or a blanket worn from overuse. He reached for you when the darkness grew too much, too heavy a burden on his small shoulders.

He came to you with little offerings; small trinkets, tomes of unreadable text. Useless to him, but perhaps you would take pity on him in exchange, and let him take comfort in your presence for another day. Childe came to you with rubble shaped in hearts, the gentle breath of his voice as he spoke of his anxieties. He did not think of them as offerings then, merely gifts— pleadings for you to stay a little longer.

His hands, then unruined and soft, made you a makeshift altar crafted out of whatever he could find. He made sure to build it where he felt your whispers were strongest, where your light entirely overwhelmed the darkness overhead. Childe didn't think of it as an altar then, just a place to settle his findings, where he could pretend his sad, little effigy made of you was actually you.

The idol didn't look much like a person at all, and at the time, he didn't think of his behavior as odd. He desperately clung to you for survival, and with no other warm body besides his own, you were the only one he could talk too.

At times, he thought he was going insane. There was a pleasant buzzing in his ears whenever he neared your doll, as if it were calling him. Despite the fact that he had made it, proven by the tiny scars on his palms, he still felt as if it was yours.

In the darkness, Childe whispered to you. He said everything his mind could think, childishly exaggerated tales in hopes of impressing you. A foolish endeavor, considering you were a God— but he still hoped that maybe you'd think of him kindly, and let him bask in your protective glow for just one more moment.

He couldn't hear your words, but he could feel them. The twinkle of your laughter was like a soft whistle in his ears. When you were pleased, the air would lightly ruffle his hair. Despite how agonizing his loneliness was, at least he had you by his side.

Childe's innocence, as all things do, eventually withered away in that malevolent black.

He thought of you as his teacher; a guiding hand that trained him, molded him to fit against your palm. When he struggled against the abyssal beasts, he could feel you— a soft brush against his hand, a firm hold on his back, keeping him focused. You taught him when to still his blade and when to strike.

In the arches of his sword and polearm, in the taut and tense pull of his bow, in the whirlwind of his catalyst— you were there, shining from beyond the thin veil separating you.

When Childe was ripped out of the abyss, so was his connection to you. Like a thread snapping, he could no longer feel you; not in the darkness overhead, not in the grip of his blade, of the depths of his soul. You were gone, and he was once again nothing but a boy, lost and alone. Friends and family surround him, thankful for his return, but his mind is still reeling, still stuck in the abyss and the sudden emptiness left in your wake.

Despite himself, Childe had hoped you would have stayed, even once he was out. He thought he was done with being naïve, but that clearly wasn't the case.

He can’t feel you anymore. Where did you go? Why did you leave? What did he do wrong? Questions swirl in his head like whirlpools of thought. Childe feels like he's drowning, suffocating in the mess of his mind. His breaths come out short, quick and sharp. His throat squeezes, constricting his airways, as he realizes what's unfolded.

You left him.

He should've known better. On that first day, all you had done was take pity on him by letting him linger in your light. It was his fault for ever believing that he would never have to be alone again. That even if he had no one else, at least he had you.

This was the result of his own failure. If only he had proven himself worthy.

When his family found him, they found him gripping a small, rudimentary doll. Even when they reached their home, Childe was still clutching the thing as if possessed. When they tried tugging it out of his hands, saying it would help him eat better, he ripped it from their grasp, holding it to his chest.

Childe couldn't accept that you had left him so easily. At night, back in his warm bed, Childe tries to whisper to you again. The familiar warmth sinks into his pores, but it's nothing like yours. He nuzzles closer to the doll, ignoring how it tears into his skin.

"I'm here," he whispers.

Maybe you got confused. He knows you're a God, but even the Seven are not omniscient. When he was torn from the abyss, it was possible you hadn't meant to so cruelly cut the connection between you. Maybe you couldn't find him, and so he just has to tell you where he is.

So he whispers to you in the dark, just as he has so many times before.

Only this time, he's met with silence.

In the years that pass, you linger at the forefront of his mind, haunting him like a wraith. Childe can't bring himself to be rid of you, despite how it hurts every time he thinks about you for a little too long. He's still stuck, perpetually waiting for your return, despite how he knows you've long given him up.

Childe becomes Tartaglia, the 11th Harbinger under the Tsaritsa. He takes a new name, a new mask— he executes her orders dutifully, and he does his role perfectly. He acts as if she's you, despite how desperately he wants to believe otherwise. If he closes his eyes for long enough, he can pretend that the cold that seeps into his bones in her presence is yours.

But no matter how many names and identities he takes, he'll always just be your Ajax; the boy who still misses you, despite how short your time together was. And that fact is what burns him the most.

Maybe he should be angry. He knows he has every right to be. Angry that you left him, that you discarded him as if he was nothing. Maybe he should hate you— hate you for leaving him alone, as if you weren't the only thing keeping him sane. Hate you for leaving as if his love didn't matter to you.

He comforts himself by thinking of the time dilation he experienced in the abyss. You cared for him so much that you spun three days into three months. He likes to believe he meant something to you; he must've, because why else would you lengthen your time spent together?

Childe knows it isn't true. He didn't matter enough for you to stay, after all.

At night, Childe finds himself listlessly thinking of you. It's a silent mourning. Quiet tears fall down his cheeks, soaking the pillow beneath his head. He chokes down every heaving sob that threatens to break from his throat; clenches his jaw when they claw too close to his lips. He slaps a hand over his mouth when he's too loud, biting his fingers until they're bloody and marred by his teeth. What would you think if you saw him this weak? Saw the boy you built up crumble, all because he can't feel even the softest traces of your presence anymore?

You would find him pathetic. All he's done is prove that you were right in abandoning him.

When the memory of you is too much to bear, he clutches the effigy in his arms, squeezing it against his chest until it's sharp edges dig into his skin. Even after all these years, he's still kept it close. He tries to feel the visage of you that was once attached to its bearings, whispering for you under the night sky, hoping it'll remind you of your time in the abyss— hoping that tonight he will feel you again, ruffling his hair with tendrils of wind.

He never does.

Childe barely sleeps, but when he does, he dreams of you. You have no body, no face— he can't even begin to imagine what you look like, and he doesn't dare too, even when he knows he has nothing to lose.

He's back in the dark, but you're still there with him, providing him light and comfort. If he knew that leaving would entail being without you, he never would have left at all. Better to be with you than to die without.

Sometimes, he dreams of you staying with him even after he escapes. Your warmth is ever-present. He gifts you riches, now. You have a voice in his dreams, and he can hear you speaking to him. You're kind, and gentle, and he wants for nothing. He has you, and there is nothing more to want.

He dreams he never lost you at all. It makes reality all the more painful.

In a way he knows is pathetic, Childe hopes you at least found him fun. He hopes you found him entertaining, despite how the thought twists his heart and guts into little knots, until he feels vaguely nauseous at the notion. At least then you would have reason to remember him. At least he could say he meant something to you.

In a hidden corner of his room, there sits an altar for you. His wealth as a Harbinger means he has no lack of resources, and so he bejewels the altar until it glimmers even without light. It's obnoxious and opulent to the point of vanity, but he figures that if you like it, he'll earn another whisper of warmth from you— in the vain hope that you hear him at all anymore.

With his hands, now calloused and worn, he carves sigils into whalebone. He doesn't know what they mean, but they were numerous in the abyss; and so he etches them into bone, hoping that whatever they mean, it reaches you.

Childe pushes himself more than he should. His back aches from all the weight he carries on his shoulders, but he trudges forward despite how it hurts. He is more fervent in conflicts, and spectacular scenes of blood and viscera follow him every time he walks onto a battlefield.

His tongue forms words of devotion for the Tsaritsa as he slays another enemy, blood staining his fingers, but in his heart, he only ever speaks of you.

When he fights, Childe can lose himself. He can focus entirely on the movement of his feet, the precision of his blade. He can ignore how badly he misses you, and how in the back of his mind, he desperately hopes that the more blood he sheds with your teachings, you'll find him satisfactory.

Adrenaline rushes through his veins, and once again he lets himself be drowned by the rush, letting himself forget all of his pain.

Childe is proud of the way that no one can recognize his style of fighting. It is exact and sharp— every strike hitting its target with ease, filled with vigor and intensity. He enjoys the gazes of jealousy, but remains silent when asked. My teacher taught me, he says. He sheds no further light on the matter, and any instance someone shows interest in learning from him, he instantly refuses. Childe wishes to keep you close to his chest, a guarded secret known only to him.

Childish, perhaps. He knows it is. But if he can't have you, then he will have the knowledge of you. He will keep it to himself, and there it will stay, safe in his tight grip. 

It drives him insane, the way sees you in everything. When night falls, covering the sky in a blanket of stars, he wonders if you're staring at him from above. When the tides of the sea brush against the shore, he finds himself thinking of you as the moon— you are what anchors him, despite the fact that he hasn't felt you in so long. In his eyes, there is nothing you could not be, and with every breath, he only ever misses you more.

It's during his mission in Liyue that he feels you again. Childe is unable to breathe when he meets the Traveler, sensing you watching from their eyes. His heart thunders in his chest, tempestuous as a storm over the sea.

For a moment, he's happy. You're finally back. He wants nothing more than to run to you, to ask you why you left for so long, to ask how he can make you stay, but then he feels you— a familiar pressure bearing down on him, forcing him to say anything but what he wants to.

Childe watches the Traveler's back fade as it finally clicks for him.

You abandoned him for someone else. You left him... for this. The thought sends him reeling. You left him, just to go spend time with someone else— to give them the same company you gave him, to give them the same guidance you gave him— was he merely replaceable to you?

Was he just a test for you?

He should be angry. And he is, but the heartbreak overwhelms him. He's left choking, battling for air. The agony of having been tossed to the side, of having it be affirmed in front of his eyes. He wants to scream and cry, beg for you to return; but his throat squeezes every time he meets the Traveler, and the words die on his tongue.

You don't want him to speak. He's meant to play along.

Childe had waited for you for so long. Even after all this time, he couldn't get rid of the painful hope that you'd return. He had done his best to bottle his emotions, to keep them shut and locked inside, so that you wouldn't be disappointed in him upon your arrival. Proud that he never doubted you for a moment.

But he had. He had doubted you, cried at the lack of your comfort. Afraid of what it meant to be without you. Fearful of living, never getting to gleam your existence for a second time— and now you want him to pretend as if he never knew you.

As if he can't see the slight smugness in the Traveler's eyes.

His fight with the Traveler is personal. He bares his teeth, snarling like a rabid dog. His every strike is fast, precise with the intent to kill and maim. Childe hopes his emotions reach you, that you know of his bitterness and acrimony. That you know of how long he wished for you, how long he yearned for you to come back— how his frustration has twisted into pure rage, turned into a fine point. 

He just has to simply show you how he's better. He has to show you that he's superior in every way to your choice. That you should've chosen him over them. 

They are undeserving; watch how he rips through them like they are nothing, slicing through them like they are mist over sea. They are unworthy; see how easily he beats them into submission, how easily they crumble at his feet. The matter of the Gnosis is nothing to him, now— only whether you see how he should be the one you prefer. 

It's then that he feels it. Your rage. Your anger at having been battered and bruised. The Traveler stands back up, but something is different now. Their strikes are fluid, prowess and skill increased by an outside force. 

You. 

Do you hate him that badly? Detest him so much, to go so far as to bless another with your strength so they can prove themselves to be his better? Even in his Foul Legacy form, Childe is forced to retreat; forced to bow his head in defeat, weakened by the burden of his transformation.

The realization leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He's done the exact opposite of what he set out to do. All he's proven is that your right.

Childe feels your crushing weight bearing down on him. He spits the words out, calls them 'friend' through clenched teeth. He dances to your whims, just as he had previously. Unnatural, stiff movements and words that speak the opposite of what he means. 

And then you're gone, left along with them. He stares at their fading back. He can almost imagine you beside them, walking by their side just as you once did his. 

It hurts.

The next time he feels you, there is no sign of the Traveler. Only a tight pulling in his chest. 

He doesn't know what it means, or what it entails. But he follows, sensing you at the end, waiting for him. Childe doesn't allow himself to hope; that maybe, you have come around. That maybe you do care. That maybe, you never hated him— not truly. That you missed him just as he missed you. 

Maybe he meant something, after all.

When he reaches you, he feels it. You're happy. You're happy with him. He feels you reaching out, tickling him with strands of your will. You brush against his skin, burrow deep inside. Childe lets you, still unable to breathe.

He wonders if this is really happening. Have you come back to him, truly? Have you finally realized how much better he is? He feels you graze his soul, reaching deep within. Childe feels you envelop him, swathing him in warmth and comfort. 

You're home, you whisper. 

He only hears the ghost of your voice, a chime in the wind; but he hears the intent, the meaning behind your unintelligible words, even though he can't understand them. 

Childe breaks. 

SANGUINE NATUS ; first meeting/as a worshiper

If even just your breath could leave him weak, then seeing you for the first time makes his knees give out underneath him.

It's a foolishly embarrassing display, but Childe can't find it in himself to care. He falls to his knees quicker than his mind can catch up, unconsciously posturing himself to make himself seem as small and harmless as possible— anything to make you stay, even if it means sabotaging his image.

He tucks his shoulders inward, struggling between looking at you until his eyes burn and your image is seared into the back of his eyelids, or averting his gaze because just touching you with them feels like he's sullying you somehow.

His breath comes out short and sharp, his entire chest heaving with each shuddering, raspy exhale. Before he can even manage a sound, he's sobbing, crumpling to the floor— there's no care taken to your perception of him now, only the wailful cries of one lost in the weight of your eyes. Childe knows he's being pathetic, a mess of airy desperation and red eyes; everything he was when he felt the ghost of you leave him, and everything he wished you'd never see. But it's you, and for the first time, he can truly feel your eyes on him.

It's all too much to bear.

"I-It's you, it's you—!" Childe manages to choke, wet tears caking the apples of his face. His eyes strain, burning to see the visage of you through the blur of his vision. Nausea bites at him, his abdomen a sudden storm from the tears that lick at his cheeks.

Childe has always been austere in his worship; strict, solemn in how he acts out every religious rite. There is an icy silence unlike him as he moves, particularly whenever your sanctity is involved. His fingers still tremble despite his stiffness, the desperation loud in every twitch of his limbs. The desire to see you, after all is said and done.

Seeing you for the first time feels as though a wave has overtaken him, drowning him in brine and the cerulean of muddy waters. There is no hiding what he could barely contain before— jerky movements filled with need and the dolor of one disappointed before.

Childe no longer finds himself able to veil it by lies and rushing fights of adrenaline; now, it lies bare, and there's no burning ache to keep it hidden.

His fervor is relentless; a feverish desire to please you coalescing until it's unbearable for his skin. Your reaction to his cries could have been cruel or kind, and it wouldn't have bothered him; all that matters is whether he has finally proven himself worthy of standing by your side.

His worship is eager words spilling from his lips at night, the echo of your name a murmur from his mouth like the sigh of the ocean's waves-- his blades stained red, limp at his sides-- the burning in the back of his throat that comes from years of pleading.

You're here now, even if he can't be with you at all times; and that knowledge leaves him whispering to you, uttering every thought without a moment of reconsideration. It is a ceaseless endeavor, as every word is listless praise and endless adoration. There isn't a moment where he isn't thinking of you in some way, and the mere thought of the opposite leaves him feeling vaguely sick.

He wants to think of you all the time. Though it's such a small thing, in his mind, he has you all to himself— in the sense that there is no one else to take your eyes off of him— there, he can make you happy; there, he can make you proud of him. In that world, you have no reason to be rid of him.

Childe's always kept his habit of crafting you makeshift gifts. They're rugged, imperfect things, but laden with his fingerprints and the palms of his hands. Before, he could only set them still on his altar for you, and hope that it pleased you somehow. He was only ever met with silence, but he could pretend you were happy with him, and the idea alone was enough.

When he catches sight of a sea conch, its pale marks swirled across its smooth surface, he can only think of handing it to you. It's a beautiful thing, and so simple and crude a gift; but maybe you will find worth in such a thing, the simplicity of its nature, and praise him for it.

He gives them to you physically now, unable to shake the urge to do so. His hands always tremble when he hands them over, his knees threatening to buckle underneath him whenever your fingers brush against his. He will never fail to drown in the sensation, allowing everything that he is to become thoughts of you.

Childe has always worshiped you in bloodshed. In the past, he hoped it would leave you satisfied enough to come back; now, it's to prove how much better he is than everyone else. His fear runs deep, like cracks in the earth far below the water's surface, and the sickening feeling of dread whenever you praise someone else suffocates him.

It's unreasonable, he knows, and he has no reason to fear, not anymore— but his heart still quickens at the thought, and his stomach still twists.

It's an all too familiar feeling. When he was first torn from you, he felt as though his heart had been ripped right out of him; and the panic he feels only reminds him of it.

When he's inevitably forced away from you on another mission, he deals with it as quickly as possible, no matter how bloodied or bruised he leaves it. He is brutally unkind in his workings, his words always terse and clipped; a slight edge that never really seems to go away until he knows you're somewhere nearby.

It's when he's forced to stay away from you for a longer period of time that he breaks completely. Upon his return, he is instantly back at your side, heaving sobs and ugly tears running down his face. He can barely think, and a flurry of slurred words leaves his lips— begging to never leave your side again.

Childe knows better than to think he is deserving of your kindness, but he’s desperate to at least stay in your shadow. There, he could stay near you, even if he was swathed in black— even if his only glimpse of you was your back, he would be in bliss. To be near you in some form is all he could ever ask of you.

For all of the power you have granted him, it's only right that he use it for you. A mere word from anyone that isn't pure praise has his grip on his weapon tightening, the tendons on his hand taut and his knuckles pale. He remains entirely oblivious to any moral ambiguity in your actions— whatever you do is right and just; as you are the only one worthy of judging yourself, he does not dare too.

Instead, Childe draws his blade in judgement of others— he will act as your hand and executioner, the arbiter of your faith; it's with only vigor that he hands out punishment, a ferocity bold and true.

AMANS IN SPINIS IACET ; as your lover

Childe's dreams have begun to take a sudden turn.

It's not anything he can control, despite how hard he tries too. They pleased him at first, even though he still couldn't help the way his heart tightened at the idea of you somehow knowing. At that time, they weren't occurring enough for him to be worried, and the content themselves were innocent enough for him to think nothing of it.

You held him close to you, pressing benign kisses across his freckled cheeks, playing with his hair with soft fingers; little things that he could believe meant nothing at all, just a desire to feel your affection in the only way his mortal heart knew how.

The dreams turn nightly, and Childe finally realizes it's much more than that.

It begins at signs of your favoritism. Glances that last more than they should, summoning him to your chambers more frequently; Childe does not deny you, and he can't help the faint giddiness that clouds his mind every time he feels your gaze linger on him. It's a euphoric sensation to know that he is the one you are looking at; no one else. Only barely does he manage to rein in his emotions every time.

You speak much softer to him, and your touch is more affectionate. He turns drunk on your approval, willingly dancing to your whims if it meant having your fingers coiled in his hair for another moment. Before he can stop himself for even daring to think it, Childe lets himself believe he's special to you— and that is where the problem arises.

The thoughts don't stop. Even if he screams to drown out the noise, they still manage to be so loud. The dreams are relentless, more loving, more vivid. He can feel the warmth of your palms as you caress his cheeks, the weight of your breath when you draw your head near; they feel so real, that for a moment, he thinks you're the one sending them to him.

He feels as though he's dirtying you in some form, as if he is the one committing an unforgivable sin against you; somehow managing to desecrate you with just his thoughts alone. The idea sends him into a panic-induced frenzy, kneeling before his altar with rushed, unintelligible apologies on his lips.

Despite his self-hatred, whenever he wakes from one, Childe is left blissfully dazed, nuzzling into his pillow with hazy clarity— pretending that it's you, instead. He wonders what it would be like if his dreams were real, if he could really be so special to you in such a way; entirely irreplaceable, entirely yours.

It doesn't take long for his will to be eroded by his desperation. His desire to resist was already hanging by a thread, and as the dreams persist, any resistance on his end is lost. He falls ever deeper into an abyss of his own making, allowing himself to be undone by his own creation.

Childe has always been needy, but as his feelings rear their ugly head, it only grows worse. He has always loved you— and he had been struggling to choke his own feelings down for as long as he could, fooling himself into believing that they didn't exist in the first place. In his eyes, it's only right that you be the one to shake the foundation he lay; making him crumble until every dark part of himself is laid bare in front of you, only for your eyes.

There's a drastic increase in his desperation to be near you, and any lack of refusal on your part only exacerbates it. He neglects his duties entirely in favor of staying by you in some way or another, be it either by your side, or following you from a distance like a lost puppy.

Your admittance of feelings only makes Childe more fervent. He can barely hear himself speak, his heart fluttering against his ribcage like a caged canary. He can barely believe anything you're saying, and for a moment, he wonders if he's lost in another dream of his.

At your assurance, Childe doesn't dare to doubt you any longer. He falls entirely into you, allowing you to consume his every thought. He doesn't think to fight back, letting you envelop him until his every breath is coated in your name. He is yours, and he has no desire for anything more.

His desire for your approval now emboldens him. Childe's always acted out of an interest in garnering your attention, and though he now knows of your feelings, it does nothing to satiate him; instead, it leaves him hungrier, greedy with an eagerness to please.

He doesn't take from you without asking, but he asks enough for it to be a nuisance. Your affection is everything to him, and he can't bear to go a moment without it. He asks to lay his head in your lap, for you to play with his hair— the loss of your touch is the loss of himself, and sends him reeling back to memories of when he was without you.

The first time you kiss him, his legs instantly give out underneath him, a small groan leaving his lips. Childe doesn't bother to dull his reactions; you deserve to know how easily weakened he is by your touch, with even a brush of your fingers enough to leave him breathless and wanting.

As your favorite, Childe is quick to be rid of any competition. Whether or not you see them as possible suitors doesn't even cross his mind— the fear that snakes around his heart is ever-present, and if they're better than him in some form, it only grows in persistence. He doesn't hurt them, because surely that would upset you, and any devotee of you is worthy of respect— but he is quick to showcase his superiority, and to do so broadly without shame.

Childe grows used to his new status, and uses it to stay by your side constantly. Any attention you give to others is met with instant jealousy, seething glares sent to whoever stole your gaze, even if they only preoccupied a second of your mind.

He could never be mad at you, as clearly the fault lies within himself.

Any signs of your likes and dislikes are instantly noted. If you compliment someone for their behavior, he begins to emulate it, or at least he tries too. If you like Zhongli for how well he executes your orders, then Childe will be the same; only he will do it better, quicker, and prove himself still deserving of your love.

If he were perfect, then you would have no need for anyone else. If he were perfect, he would never have to worry about whether you'll grow bored of him the moment he stops being entertaining enough.

The thought of you with another leaves Childe sick without fail. He knows he has no control over you, and that if you wished to be rid of him, he would willingly walk into whatever punishment awaited him— but now that he has tasted what it feels like to be so utterly yours, he can't bear to imagine another sharing the same treatment.

You kissing another, holding another, letting someone else lay against you; all of it only serves to further blur his vision. Even if it is sinful of him to feel, he can't stop the emotions from swirling in his chest.

You are everything; the earth laid beneath his feet, the foundation of which he relies on. To be without you is to fall, to be without you means death; and if he must carve his skin and bone to fit the picture you want him to be, then he shall.

[angelyuji]

OKAY SO this one has been cooking in my noggin for a while. you’re dating ford and he lets bill possess him but bill fucking hates you and wants to destroy everything about the relationship so he makes ford do some noncon to you if ykwim 👀💦

RICYTP_O)(+*_&)*Y&T THIS IS SO HNNGGG

tw // noncon, somno, implied billford, bill cipher sucks, ford pines fluff at the beginning thoo

bill most defintely did not get the appeal about you. ford is sooo obsessed with you and he loves egging his bad behavior on, but at the same time, he didn't get why ford likes you so much.

you giggle, sitting on ford's lap, watching him journal his findings. "why write that in invisible ink? it seems pretty important."

he kisses your shoulder, "to keep important information out of the wrong hands." you hum in understanding. the two of you sit in silence, letting your hearts beat together.

"i don't get it." you had just left and bill had decided that it was the right time to question ford.

ford continued working as bill sat on his shoulder, "get what."

"them! your little," he waves his hands. "toy? plaything?"

"partner." ford interjects, annoyed. "they're my partner. i don't take kindly to anyone calling (y/n) names."

bill raises his hands in mock surrender, "fine. fine. i just don't see what you see, sixer." he shrugs.

"(y/n) is.... someone who understands me. they're patient, kind, open, and loyal to a fault." he laughs a little to himself and bill frowns, feeling a surge of jealousy. ford's voice was full of love, every word he speaks of you felt honest and true.

"whatever you say, fordsy. a warm hole is a warm hole" bill shrugs and disappears before ford can retort.

ford is gonna spend all night thinking of ways to convince bill about you and urethra🤓! he's got it!!

"would you like to meet them?" ford moves his queen, looking up to see bill's eye wide in surprise.

"you sure you want to introduce me to your "partner", my muse?" bill mocks, but ford only smiles, continuing the chess match. silence fills the room, but bill's interest in you won, "how would we do this?"

they'll decide to let bill posses ford and meet you, not tell you about bill of course. ford didn't want you to freak out and leave him and bill was happy to play along with ford's lies.

repetitive knocks wake you up from your sleep. you look over to your alarm clock, blearily reading 1:22 AM. "what the hell." you mumble, rubbing your eyes. the knocks don't stop and you're forced out of bed. you look through the peephole and see a very familiar face.

"gooooood morning, cutie!" his voice was loud, echoing through the empty street. you shush him and pull him inside.

"stanford, it's 2 in the morning. what're you doing here." you fight a yawn, trying to sound stern.

"baby, come on, is it a crime to want to see my angel?" he takes a seat at your dining table, looking around your home like it's brand new.

you raise an eyebrow at the new nicknames, "are you okay? you're acting... weird." ford grins, abnormally.

"i think you're just tired." he waves off your concern, "let me stay over, baby. we'll have some fun." his grin stretches across his face, unnaturally. he stalks towards you and you slowly back away.

"ford, i think you should go." your voice wavers as you point to the door.

"noooo, i don't think so." his arm snaps out, grabbing you by the throat. you choke, digging your nails into his hand, "this is the thing sixer was impressed by? you?!?" he laughs, loud and manic. "a weak, useless, human." he spits, anger coursing through bill's mind.

hes soooo sillyyy. you're gonna end up passing out from the lack of airrr and then his original goal was to kill you, but... i mean a warm hole is a warm hole.

you could feel yourself getting stretched, legs held above and pressed against your chest. you hear a familar voice grunting above you. "h-hurts..." you moan, eyes slowly opening. ford's wide smile comes into view.

"sixer was right, you're realll open." he grinds against you. you feel tears stream down your face. he grins, bending over and dragging his tongue up your face. he licked up your tears, giggling. "you'll never forget this face ever again."

afterwards, you're laying there unconscious and bill's like.... damn.... you're kinda fun :))) he gets ford now

[tripleyeeet]

AND HER MIND WAS ON ME

SUMMARY: Yuki decides to let Choso come and play with her girlfriend. PAIRING: Choso Kamo/Yuki Tsukumo/Female Reader WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, voyeurism, penetrative sex, use of a strap, orgasm denial (if you squint), basically just Choso being a desperate mess wanting to fuck reader. A/N: Originally this was supposed to be for Kinktober but due to the insane schedule I just got from my work that's probably not happening anymore. So, I figured I'd post this so it doesn't go to waste. :') Title inspired by Voyeur by James Blake :) WC: 750

MASTERLIST

-

“You okay, Cho?”

The sound of your voice cuts through him like a knife. The soft coo of breathless lungs pulling him out of his own stupor as he pants. 

Laid before him are both you and Yuki. The image of bare chests and legs creating a heat throughout his body he can’t sweat out. The kind that already has him squirming on the edge of the bed; digits twitching to grip the sheets beneath him so tight he swears he hears the sound of them crack.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

He doesn’t know how he manages to speak, but he does. The sound of his own voice muffling in his mind as his gaze shifts from body to body, eventually trailing up to see thick silicone pushing through your folds. Both of you are lying on your sides, back to front while Yuki’s arm —toned and heavy-handed—wraps around your neck as she nips at your ear and laughs. 

“You like when Choso watches, baby?” she asks, and truthfully, it takes everything Choso has not to slip in between and take his fill in that moment. The temptation nearly breaking him, especially when he watches your lips start to part slowly; the sensations you feel taking over your mind as you let out a hearty breath. 

It makes his chest ache, witnessing such a sudden pull of air mixed with the push of the strap entering your cunt —rendering you useless until you find it in yourself to nod. The vulgar sight causing Choso’s hands to start to fiddle with the fabric. Each of his fingers rubbing the texture of silk between each pad, pretending they’re you. Imagining that instead of Yuki gently fucking you with that god-awful piece of plastic it’s him instead; fingers and all providing you with the pleasure you need. The feel of your back pressed roughly against his chest filling him with an intense need for more. 

At which point, he hears you whimper from the impact. Each shift of the strap making you squirm beneath the blonde’s touch. Visions of arms and legs struggling to get away from the brutalizing pace she quickly sets appearing in Choso’s view. 

With a huff, it forces him to throw all caution to the wind and move one hand to cup his cock, gently rubbing it through his clothes. Allowing the tension you’ve built to ever so slightly subside when he feels that initial pressure release. The presence of something to grind against as he tries to remember to breathe.

Unfortunately, though, it’s not enough. Not when he can see Yuki violently snapping her hips while saying his name; reminding you to put on a good show for him. No, at that point he has to go a bit further and slip beneath his waistband to properly touch himself. The feel of his already hard cock twitching before he even has the chance to wrap himself around the base.

Which is an act that proves almost futile when he hears Yuki laugh, prompting his eyes to flicker up and see the arm that’s wrapped around her neck move to grip your jaw. The sheer force of her fingers jutting it over to catch his eye, making you whimper. 

“Look,” she says then, smirking as she watches your gazes line up. Both of you staring each other down as she fucks you while he fucks himself. Your respective pleasures building when he catches the rhythm of your breath and starts to match it. “Already so desperate for you. Can’t even wait until I’m finished.”

Swallowing hard, he feels his chest begin to gradually empty. Each pass of air within his lungs failing to return when he rubs his thumb over his head, already feeling the warm stick of pre-come collecting on the very flesh he wants to put inside you. 

“Cho?”

This time, Yuki addresses him. Unlike before though, he doesn’t look at her. Instead, he just stares at your face, memorizing each moment of tension that builds as he hums in response, hoping that’s enough. 

“Cho, sweetheart, I need you to wait, okay? You’ll get your turn, I promise.”

All he does is nod, keeping hold of himself but doing nothing else, knowing he can’t. Not when the promise of you all spread apart for him to fuck is waiting in the wings. Or when he can see that faint flicker of desire in your eye when you ultimately come, knowing you’re in for another round.

[alexusonfire]

Warmth of Your Doorways - Chapter Eight

Jane Murdstone x dressmaker!Reader

A/n: In collaboration with my dearest @daydream-cement , who never fails to amaze me with her Big Brain 🧡

Warnings: Talk of eating issues related to heartbreak, overall hurt with very little comfort

Summary: Living without eachother.

A gentle breeze whipped your hair from your face as you made your way down the bustling, cobbled streets. You were still getting used to Paris, how busy and alive it always seemed to be compared to your little town. While there was always something to see or do or smell, you sometimes felt a deep ache in the pit of your chest, longing for the familiarity and quiet of home.

That, and Jane of course.

You'd summoned every ounce of strength you had to leave her behind, to not go rushing back into her arms and begging her to take you back. She'd pushed you away time and time again, nearly to the point you almost believed what she was saying. Stepping onto the train, with only your most important belongings and best clothes tucked into your suitcases beside you, felt like a knife to the gut; wrong, it felt so very wrong, to end everything like this.

But you'd tried. You'd given it everything you had to keep her, and she'd turned her back on you too many times.

You'd been restless since you stepped foot in Paris, eager to get to work and distract yourself from the gaping hole Jane Murdstone had left. Not even allowing yourself time to get fully unpacked and settled in, you started at the prestigious shop the day after you arrived, putting on your best dress and swiping on some blush in the hopes of hiding just how exhausted you were. Despite not having a proper sleep in weeks, your fingers remained steady, the familiar motions coming naturally to them, and your new employer remained impressed; the praise of both the Matron and the ladies you dressed felt nice most days, and sometimes even managed to bring a smile to your face.

The evenings, however, were the worst. You came to dread them, often staying much longer than necessary at the shop, sometimes working into the wee hours of the morning if only to avoid how empty your apartment felt. You'd tried decorating it, hoping that perhaps a more homely feel would help, but every picture, every ornament, felt wrong and useless and silly. Your walls remained blank, as did the mantle above your small fireplace. Three weeks in and even your suitcase still wasn't fully unpacked. No matter how you tried to fill that damn hole inside you, you began to suspect nothing ever could.

——

Jane’s despair only grew during the weeks in which she was separated from you. She knew that she was the only person to blame for the way she treated you, and due to this, she spent many a day confined to her bed, unable to eat or write. Lady Marjory had taken to writing for Jane in her journal so the ravenette wouldn’t miss a day. 

The day before Jane’s arranged marriage to Lord Barclay, Marjory ascended the staircase for a final time, needing to plead with Jane to snap out of her depression. There was only one way for Jane to save herself and her love, and that was for her to follow you to Paris.

She knocked softly on the door before letting herself in, quietly approaching the bedside and seating herself at Jane’s side. The ravenette’s eyes studied the painting on the wall. It depicted a cottage and a field of violets, a setting Jane had always pictured her little seamstress and herself growing old together. Marjory had thought of taking it down to save Jane from the heartache, but there was a softness to her gaze as she looked over the violets that prevented the Lady from doing so.

“Janey… Jane…” Marjory shook Jane’s arm with gentle pressure. The ravenette felt so fragile having lost so much weight in her despair, her face looking gaunt from the way she starved herself. 

Jane craned her head to look at Marjory, the hollowness in her face also present in her eyes. 

“I got you a little present. A surprise actually. You could call it a wedding gift.” The Lady held out a few small slips of paper to Jane, but when the ravenette made no attempt to take them, Marjory snuggled into Jane’s side. She held them high for Jane to look at as she read, “A train ticket… and a boat ticket… and another train ticket… You see that, Janey? They will take you to Paris. To find your little violet… I’ve had Mr. Smith pack your bags, dearie. The carriage is being readied as we speak to take you to the train. We need to get you ready.” 

For the first time in weeks, there was a sparkle in Jane’s eyes. Her hands reached up and took the tickets from Marjory, reading them over and over again. Her voice was hoarse from not speaking in days, “Truly, Marjory? This will take me to Paris?”

“Yes. You can find her. Mary says she is working in the heart of Paris at a little dress shop. She said that your little seamstress is in the same despair as you. You must find her.”

Jane felt a new sense of urgency, crawling from bed at a speed her energy levels would allow. Marjory clung to Jane’s side, gripping her forearm as she helped her from bed. The Lady helped Jane into the bath, combing out her hair and scrubbing at her skin as she retold the contents of your letters that Mary had shared with her. Reminding Jane to make sure she wore her best dress and had flowers in hand when she saw you again. 

After a quick bath, Marjory helped Jane into one of her usual black dresses and helped her friend pin back her hair. As Jane stared at her reflection in the mirror, Marjory pressed a kiss to the ravenette’s temple, providing a last bit of advice before she would shoo Jane out the door, “And for the love of all things holy, Janey, please don’t muck this up again.”

The carriage had pulled around the back of the house, which Jane was thankful for as it was hidden from Edward's ever present gaze. She quickly climbed inside, and before she could give it another thought, it took off. She briefly looked out the window to wave goodbye to Marjory, her dearest friend, and couldn't help the smug grin when she spotted Edward absolutely seething in one of the upper windows.

She'd done it. She'd escaped him and Lord Barclay and whatever life they'd plotted out for her. It felt like a small weight had been lifted from her shoulders, one that had kept her pressed into her pillows for who knows how long. For a moment, Jane enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her cheeks, the wind caressing her face, fresh air in her lungs. She felt… alive again. Refreshed. Determined.

She didn't care what it took, or how long, she'd win your heart again like she had all those months ago, and spend the rest of her life on her knees apologizing to get you back. She'd make it up to you, she would. She had to.

The train station was busier than normal, and she found herself packed like a sardine once boarded. Squished to the window, she distracted herself with the sights outside, enjoying the rolling fields and the animals, all the things she was sure you'd point out with glee if you were here. Pulling out her journal, she made to take notes of everything she was seeing, thinking you might like to read about them; her pen was held mid-air as she noticed writing that wasn't her own.

Marjory.

She'd kept Jane's journal updated, faithfully writing out each and every day as Jane had done since she was a little girl. Jane couldn't help the tears forming in her eyes as she read her friends' entries, how much Marjory cared for her and her well-being. She'd find a proper way to thank her, once she'd sorted out this mess with you. Hastily wiping at the wet on her cheek, she proceeded to begin writing, telling you all about how stuffy the train was, how it felt to be on an adventure (the first in her life by herself) and pages and pages of how much she wished you were here with her to see it all. 

The boat ride was much worse. It seemed many people had also bought last minute tickets, and the ticket master had overbooked. Jane found herself curled up on the floor, back pressed to the wall of the ship, no spare bed to be found. She'd run her pen nearly dry writing about it all, trying to ignore the pains in her limbs from the hard floor beneath her. This was worth it, you were worth it, and if she had to endure a hundred ship floors she would.

She could do without the seasickness however. That tiny detail she decided to omit from her journal.

Days blended into each other, day turning to night and night turning to day. She wondered what you were up to, if you liked your new job. Did you live by yourself, in your own apartment, or did you board in the shop like you had at Matron Mary's? Were the customers nice to you? How did you fill your days outside of work? Could you stomach the sight of flowers still, like she hadn't been able to since you'd left?

Had you found happiness in your new home, or did you feel as lost and desolate as she did?

——

You woke when the sun did. Months ago you would have made the bed and tidied up your living space, throwing open the curtains and enjoying the morning. But most mornings in Paris felt dreary, the thought of your lost love hanging over your head in the worst way. 

You would wonder where Jane was, what she was doing, if she were happy. In one of her letters, Mary had mentioned Jane looking for you, perhaps finally coming to her senses. How silly. Her cold words were ever-present in your mind - a constant reminder of her rejection. Yet, stupidly it seemed, you loved her. 

This morning you once again ignored the pretty lilac dress you would wear for Jane hanging in the closet, opting for a dull gray instead. As you brushed your hair, you thought of her lovely black locks and those thoughts faded to the night you spent in her rooms, kissing and dancing. Jane was so relaxed and gentle with you… There was no possible way she didn’t love you in return.

Thoughts of Jane carried you through breakfast: a slice of buttered bread. What you wouldn’t give to share a meal of fruit and bread accompanied by tea with Jane again.

You covered your head with a scarf to maintain the tight bun that kept hair from coming loose and falling in your face. Pulling your bag onto your shoulder, you step from your apartment, locking the door behind yourself. Daydreams of Jane filled your head as you descended the stairs.

Jane would look so beautiful in a deep blue dress. How you would love to walk with her through the city streets and try the various cafes or look through the shops with her. You would share discreet looks of admiration across a table and look away with little smirks. In the evenings you could retire to your apartment, or better yet the one you shared with her. You would make dinner or read poetry. Jane could keep flowers on the balcony as you make her new dresses in shades of dark blue that would make her eyes shine.

As you lay in bed, Jane would hold you close and talk about literature. Her hands would stroke your back or tease through your hair, every few minutes she would tell you how much she loved you and how she would never let you go. 

But these were all dreams…

Jane wouldn’t come for you, nor did she love you. She had made that abundantly clear. 

You tried to shake the thoughts of her as you entered the dress shop, needing to be focused in order to have a productive day’s work. 

Only if you could have seen Jane stop dead in her tracks on the other side of the street as she spotted you. Only if you could have seen Jane Murdstone smile for the first time in weeks. Only if you could have seen how she still loved you.

--

@weemssapphic @bitch-we-have-a-hulk @yourlocaldisneyvillain @renravens @thegoddamnfeels @dvrkhcld @blessmysouljessisonaroll @opheliauniverse @ahsfan05 @ness029 @carnivorousflowers @willowshadenox @mysaviorfalsegod @myzzjolanda @bigolgay @pluied-ete @h-doodles @pro-weems-places

[specialagentlokitty]

Rosa x reader - because I love you

can you write a rosa diaz x non binary reader? Something angsty please - Anon 💜

Sitting on the couch, you sighed as you rested your head against the back of it, just staring up at the ceiling.

She had just left, no explanation, no nothing.

You were trying to figure out if you had done something wrong, did you do the wrong thing? Say the wrong thing?

You had no idea.

And Rosa offered you no explanation.

Every attempt to contact her went unanswered and you didn’t just want to turn up at her work.

It had been a month since you last saw or heard from her, and you felt like you should be moving in but you just couldn’t no matter how much you wanted to.

So you went to work and stayed at home.

That’s about as much as you did, you didn’t go anywhere in case you found yourself somewhere where you both loved to hang out.

Everything felt absolutely useless now, so empty and alone.

Getting up, you pushed yourself of the couch, and grabbed your jacket and keys.

You needed to try and clear your head so you decided to just take a walk around.

It was pretty late, and you had no real destination in mind, you just wondered aimlessly.

You had wondered a few streets from home when you heard a motorbike and you slowly reached into your pocket for your phone.

“You shouldn’t be out this late (Y/N).”

Removing your hand from your pocket you looked at the woman kick the stand down and climb from the motorbike and take her helmet off.

“Why’re you down this way?” You frowned.

“I was just driving.”

You rose a brow at her.

“You live on the other end of the city Rosa.”

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair as she looked away from you.

“I drive past every night.” She admitted.

“Why? You made it perfectly clear we’re done. So you don’t need to be here.”

You started to walk again and she took your hand in hers and you slapped it away.

“Don’t.”

“Just listen to me.”

“Why? You left Rosa! You just up and left! No word, no text, no call!”

“I know! Just let me explain!” She snapped.

You shook your head, taking a few steps back the way you had come from.

“I’ve been waiting for you to explain. I don’t think I want to hear what you have to say anymore.”

Rosa threw her arms in the air with an annoyed huff.

“I left because I realised I love you and I didn’t want too!”

You laughed a bitter laugh.

“Nice. Great thanks for that Rosa. Just what everyone wants to hear. Thanks.”

You spun around and ignored her as she called out your name and she just watched you leave because she didn’t know what to do.

She wasn’t good at this.

She didn’t know if she should leave you alone or chase you or call you.

She didn’t know.

Because usually you would tell her what to do, but she screwed that up, and now she didn’t have your guidance on how to handle this situation.

You had angry tears falling from you face because you had no clue what she meant but you didn’t want to talk to her anymore.

The way you saw it was she made herself pretty clear and you were better putting her in the past with everything else

[hydrangeyes]

Snowball Fight

So if you don't know, Yes this already existed, my old account was deleted (accident but I can tell I won't be getting it back), and am reposting my old x male reader works!

I don't know if I saved all of them but here is one that was saved to my AO3 account.

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

This is a barely edited rambly cliché, empty brain hrs, I’ll edit this out if there isn’t any. Anyway, I’ve been called in early for work so this will be hella late.

Hawks x Male reader, demon quirk (it’s not that important)

headcanon that keigo does not like cold weather, that yeah cool air on his wings are great but ice cold about to make icicles cold? hard pass.

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

It was a crisp freezing cold Christmas week. Monday to be exact. Everything was covered in snow and the few brave (or stupid) souls out that afternoon were running about last minute Christmas shopping. It was this upcoming  thursday after all.

And thank whoever up there Keigo found himself off for the holidays, because he did not like the cold weather. See his wings can keep him warm but his wings themselves couldn’t take how harsh the winter air gets in the sky. So he’s been dubbed “useless unless it’s an emergency”. After all, it’s not like there’s gloves for every individual feather.

Letting out a bored sigh, he thinks about what he can do right now, not going to his apartment was one. Days off were a blessing but how empty his place was around this time made him antsy. A thought to call- no. Just pick up a bucket of chicken and go home, not think about- a dull wack to the back of his head sends him tumbling forward.

“P-pfft!! Hahahaha!!!” A familiar laugh coming from behind him. Keigo straightens turning with a fake smile. There behind him was his current avoidance. Y/n L/n, a good friend turned benefits that well…He was catching feelings for.  They started out as work buddies, Enji asking him to test a new recruit with a ‘demon’ like quirk.

And boy was he a beast. A tall 6’0, tight but soft muscles, hooded f/c eyes, and black hair styled up to reveal an undershave. Y/n’ whole look fit his sharp teeth, horned head, magic quirk. To be honest, hawks was a little bit surprised that y/n was a hero. Given he looked more on the villain side, he was surprised y/n got this far.

But after the test it didn’t take long for them to start up a casual friendship. Keigo smiled a little at the thought. Y/n was easy going and fun to be around. He didn’t expect anything from him and that just broke down a lot of the reservation keigo had. To say it took long for him to catch some type of feelings from their fuck friends arrangement, would be a fat lie.

It was fun and had him dazed easily. But it was the softness after and the hang outs that felt like dates that made him feel like he needed to run.

Which was his current problem. Having all avoided the man for a few weeks now to figure out what to do with these new emotions. Keigo felt guilty about it but well he was never taught how to handle these types of emotions…. In a good, healthy way at least.

“So much for being the quickest baby bird.” Y/n teases once he’s close enough. Snapping back to the present Keigo huffs pretending to be annoyed, his growing blush at the closeness kind of giving him away. “Mah, what has you so distracted?” Y/n asks, chuckling as Keigo gets redder. Scowling slightly, Keigo picks up a handful of snow and quickly packs it with a swing.

Y/n yelps as it hits his face. And seeing Y/n with such a surprised expression sends Keigo into a snort of laughter. Y/n blinks looking at his friend laughing up a storm, his wings drooping in the release of tension and grins. Good, he missed his idiot.

“Oh it’s on.” Y/n said, starting a mini snowball fight war, that grew as fans and kids joined in. Keigo can’t exactly say when he’s felt this light and happy (outside of learning he was gonna meet endeavor as an equal). As it got darker, things started to slow and with some pictures taken and left alone to catch their breaths.  It ended with just him and Y/n.

Let out one more breath before slinging an arm over Keigo’s shoulders, this was not where he was trying to go with looking for Keigo but- Y/n hums as Keigo presses into him freely as the wind starts to pick up. -This was perfect.

“Hey. My place?” Y/n mumbles hopefully

Suddenly Keigo couldn’t help but want to be working rather than having to answer that.  Adrenaline came back and he pulled away a bit unsure. Y/n sighs feeling the tension come back.

“What did I do?” Keigo quickly looks up at in confused “Wha-”

“Look I know when someone is avoiding me. So I’m guessing you want to break this whole arrangement off or something?” Y/n say as calmly as he could, but there was an edge of defeat in his tone. Keigo felt his wings ruffle and try to curl around the both of them. It was old, dark, and too public (they were in a park the back of his mind whispered). 

He would at least have this conversation somewhere warm and private. “Can we talk…at your place?” his eyes focused on y/n’s shoulder. “Yeah.” Y/n mumbles back, with a flick of his hand opening a portal to his living room and shuffling them in. Keigo shivers at the shift in temperatures kicking off his boots and plopping onto the couch, as y/n does the same with his shoes following after.

“Than-”

Y/n leans down pressing a kiss to keigo’s lips. Balancing himself with one hand on the couch a bit hunched over. He kept his body relaxed just in case keigo wanted to push him away. But he didn’t, instead gripping his coat and using it to tug him closer, deepening the kiss.

(Watch as my writing changes now that I found mood music, at least to me it does)

“I love you. I fell in love with you and I’m terrified” Keigo whispers softly, the words ringing through the nearly empty apartment. Keigo chuckles wetly as he felt himself tremble but he held on and nipped at y/n’s bottom lip. Y/n stares down at him, eyes unmoving breath escalating. 

“Heh…heheheh-” Y/n sucks in a breath as euphoria courses through him in a wave and he knocks keigo back full onto the couch kissing him recklessly. “My sweet, beautiful keigo.. I love you too. And there is nothing you need to be scared of.” Y/n whispers back at a startled keigo.

Both gave each other shaky smiles, neither able to articulate the sheer happiness they were feeling. So with another boost of adrenaline, Y/n leans down to start his journey loving every bit of Keigo freely.

[bluerosethornrp]

Spicy side : Kanato sakamaki

Rosey/ Kanato fanfiction. art by the drawables on Etsy.

I’m lost in lavender haze,

Amongst the sweets you graze.

Devouring is what you do.

Sweetest dessert, lovely gaze

You’ll devour me to my grave.

Licking lips and something slips

Swallow me whole, until nothing remains.”

It was nine in the afternoon. Rosey’s eyes were the size of the moon as she looked over the table set up in this empty classroom. It was lined with desserts of all kinds, from sweet frothing whips to the classical cakes.

Rosey looked around, finding Kanato at one end of the table; she approached him.

“Kanato, it’s the middle of the class period, a teacher sent me to find you.” Rosey says. Kanato rolls his eyes.

“And they sent you? Don’t they know, you’re pathetic and couldn’t convince me of anything if you tried.” Kanato remarks back, readjusting his teddy to grab another plate of sweets.

Rosey flinches at the literary burn, but moves to the side down to the seat left of him. “Kanato, please.” Rosey asks.

“How dare you interrupt me while I eat! You’re annoying enough at home..” Kanato snaps.

Kanato looks down at his teddy, and smiles. “What’s that, teddy?” Kanato pauses for a moment. “ Heh, I agree.”

Rosey stays quiet, unsure what to do. Kanato translates with a wicked grin. “ I agree teddy; nosy trespassers should be punished.”

Kanato licks his Lips slowly after saying so, a feral lust in his eyes as he grabs Rosey’s wrist before she could run off. His breathing became shallow with anticipation. Rosey pries at Kanato’s hand.

“Kanato, please! I’m sorry…” Rosey’s voice warbles.

Kanat stares at Rosey and thinks for a moment.

“If you’re sorry, open your mouth for me.”

“Excuse me?!” Rosey exclaims faster than she can stop herself. Then she bites her tongue as Kanato pulls her into his lap, her front to his front.

Kanato growls, tilting Rosey’s face to meet his own. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Open. Your. Mouth.”

With little other choice, Rosey opens her mouth a sliver; just enough for Kanato’s tongue to slip inside her mouth. Kanato holds her head still, locking her jaw in place.

Mercilessly, his tongue dominated her mouth. The sweet sugars Kanato had been eating were processed to her taste buds and Rosey let out a pathetic whine.

Her head started swimming from the lack of oxygen.

“K-Kanato, I can’t—“ Rosey tries to say between kisses.

Kanato pulls away, laughing. “As if I care what you can or can’t do, toy. If you can’t now, I’ll break you until you can,”

Rosey freezes.

“But you’re a god toy, right?” Kanato continues. “If you’re sorry, you’ll do whatever I want, right?”

Kanato looks at Rosey expectantly.

“…Yes, Kanato.”

Kanato grins, his incisor canines out on full display.

“You’re being so obedient now.” He praises, eyes lidded and blushing.

Kanato takes a moment, sliding his hand into Rosey’s mussed hair and yanks her head away, exposing her neck. Kanato laughs at Rosey’s cries.

“Doesn’t it feel best when you’re my toy?” Kanato asks. “That high pitched screaming…while annoying, is a testament to your pleasure isn’t it?”

Rosey only whimpers, tears forming in her eyes.

Kanato takes a long, slow lick from the base of Rosey’s neck to the tip of her ear. Kanato giggles.

“ Ah, you taste so sweet; though not as good as these desserts. I suppose it'll have to do.”

“N-no! Please! Kanato!”

Kanato hushes Rosey, cupping her cheek with his free hand.

“I'll give you everything you want…” kanato insists.

And with that, kanato bites.

Kanato, despite his cruel words, moans into the bite as he gulps down mouthfuls of Rosey’s blood.

Sweet as sugar, and everything nice.

“Mmmm, that reminds me why I keep such an airheaded toy like you around…” kanato breathes.

Rosey was pale. Weakly, she goes to cover her neck.

Kanato releases her, and Rosey falls to her knees.

Kanato laughs at this. “ While I enjoy you on your knees I'm still hungry. Go tell those useless teachers I'm too busy to attend their boring class.”

Stumbling to her feet, Rosey nods.

[berberriescorner]

"Are You Listening?"

Part Two: "The Breakdown"

Characters: Rio x Black!Reader.

Summary: It's part two, so I’m not tellin’🙈😏!

Warnings: You’re about to experience a plethora of emotions. Profanity, you all know I got a mouthpiece on me, especially when I’m passionate 😂. There is a brief mention of fertility troubles.

Word Count: 5,000+.

A/N: I just wanted to thank my lovelies again for showing this story so much love. I had no idea people would love it this much. Thank you for all the sweet, hilarious comments and asks💓. I hope you all enjoy the roller coaster you’re about to take a ride on 😂😏😈.

Read Part One Here.

Inspired By:

“Listen, no more talkin’. That clown had enough time to come up with all of it. Find his ass, let him know all my money better be ready by the close of business tomorrow. If not, he’ll be a dead man walking.”

Mick took his orders and turned to leave. Rio stopped him before he could turn the knob on his office door. 

“Take those other two useless idiots with you. Everybody else can get back to work. I’m not paying them to stand around looking stupid,” Rio snapped.

Waiting for Mick to leave, he swaggered back to his chair. He plopped down, plucking his glass off the table, gulping the amber-colored liquid. Rio was on his third drink of the night. Slamming the empty whiskey tumbler on his desk, he leaned his head back, running his hand down his face. Alone in his office, wallowing in self-pity. Rio stared at his phone as he contemplated sending another text or calling you again. Thinking about how you had left him on read and sent him to voicemail was eating at him.

“Can’t Keep On Loving You One Foot Outside The Door.”

-Brandy.

Glancing at his iPhone, he mumbled, “fuck it.” Snatching up the cell phone, he tried your number. Ringing twice, it went straight to voicemail. With the sound of the beep, he pleaded his case.

“Come on, ma. Answer my call. Y/N, hear me out. You got this all wrong. Please talk to me.  I’m worried about you, baby. I need to know you’re safe. Call me back.”

“Can’t Keep On Trying If You’re Looking For More.”

-Brandy.

He’d started to tell you that he missed and loved you. The thought quickly pushed out of his mind. He closed off his feelings and left the message as is. Ending the call, Rio Tossed the phone down, making his way to the liquor cabinet. Pouring another drink, he made his way back to his seat. Elbows propped on the oak desk, Rio placed his head in his hands. Trying to rub the stress and tension away, he massaged his temples as the last conversation between you two replayed in his mind.

Four Days Ago

Rio had called your phone twice, but it went unanswered. He figured he had stayed out too late, and you had turned in for the night. His mind kept replaying images of him taking you apart. In all honesty, he was hoping that he could wake you once he made it home. Rio was in the mood for another round. He had been missing the feeling of you, tightly wrapped around him. He mentally cursed himself for being so busy that both of your needs had gone unsatisfied for so long. Taking a break just hadn't been in the cards lately. All his rivals had been itching to take over his business. One wrong move and everything he worked so hard for could be gone. They were starting to play dirty, going as far as to try and harm you. He had spent the past several months sending warnings throughout other territories. The warning? Touch my wife, and I’ll make your whole family feel it. He brushed all that from his mind as he pulled into the driveway. Having been up for nearly two days, Rio didn’t bother parking in the garage. All he wanted to do was shower and lay up under you.

“Every Time You Build Me Up, You Only Let Me Down.”

-Brandy.

Entering the house, he quickly keyed the code into the security system. He noticed that there were still dishes on the dining room floor. Flipping the lights on, he strolled into the kitchen to retrieve a broom and dustpan from the pantry. An envelope lying atop the counter caught his eye.

“I left a note in the hallway. By the time you read it, I’ll be far away.”

-Beyoncé.

“Christopher” was written in bold letters in your handwriting. The words “Hope it was worth it” were printed underneath. Next to it, we’re your engagement ring and wedding band. Rio's eyebrows furrowed, and it felt like his heart stopped beating. He convinced himself that this had to be some kind of joke. He snatched the envelope from the marbled countertop, spinning on heels. He made his way through the house and bolted up the stairs, climbing them two at a time. He froze halfway in the middle of the hallway leading to your bedroom. With the door wide open, he could see broken glass on the floor. He forced himself to make the rest of the journey. Rio entered the room. Hangers were strewn all over the place. Your drawers were left open, and the comforter was slung backward on the king-sized bed.

“What the fuck?”

He knew you weren’t there, but Rio called out for you, hoping he was wrong.

“Y/N?”

Left unanswered, he stepped over all the broken picture frames that once housed your wedding photos. All those memories were mixed in the broken glass on the floor. Dropping down onto the foot of the bed, he instructed Alexa to turn on the remaining lights. Ripping open the Manila envelope, he pulled out several large print photos and a note. His eyes scanned the message.

“Almost Convinced Me Your Gonna Stick Around, But Everybody Knows Almost Doesn’t Count.”

-Brandy.

“May you regret every single fucking time you decided to play with my heart. I must say, I have to applaud you for such a great performance. Here a bitch thought you were committed and holding me down. Come to find out, you been lying this whole time. It was all just a great fucking performance. Why not lie and pretend? You were living it up, having your cake and eating it too. Congratulations, by the way. Tell red she might want to keep her day job. I plan to empty your fucking pockets before the ink can dry on the divorce papers. I never wanted to be this kind of woman. Since you want to play with my heart, I’m going to play with the thing that matters most to you, money. I hope you liked the photos. They sure did shock the fuck out of me. They're the only thing saving you and your bitch from getting lit up like a damn Christmas tree. Haven’t I always told you not to play with me? Bitch, I am not one of them dusty ass hoes you used to fuck with.”

-your heartbroken, savage, and soon-to-be ex-wife.

Rio sat there with anger and confusion written on his face. What the fuck is going on? He thought to himself. Rio tossed the note aside and snatched up the photos you mentioned. His face fell, and it became clear why you left in the middle of the night. You had printed out copies of the text and photos you received earlier that night. He couldn’t make out whose number it was. There was no way you were sticking around after seeing these.

“Fuck,” he shouted, flinging the photos across the room. He bent forward, resting his elbows on his lap. His hands crossed and settled under his chin as he sat there furious.

“How the fuck…who the fuck?” Quickly realizing who might be capable of sending you such bullshit, he growled, “I’ma kill this bitch. Better count her fucking days. As if I didn’t have enough reason to take her out already.”

Rio dug his cell out of his pocket and frantically dialed your number. His calls went to voicemail several times before you finally gave in and answered.

“What, Rio,” you barked.

“Where are you? Come home so we can talk-.”

“Talk? Now you want to talk? Fuck that and fuck you, Rio,” you retorted as your voice started to crack.

His heart ached to hear the pain in your voice. He sensed that you had been crying.

“Y/N, please. You don’t understand. Please, ma. Come back to the house.”

“No! I’m not coming home, don’t look for me.”

“Don’t look for you? You’re my wife! What the fuck do you think this is? You can’t just up and walk out on me.”

“Don’t even try to play the proud husband card. You don’t care about me. Do you even understand the damage you’ve caused? You broke me, Christopher. My heart feels like it’s in a million pieces. I loved you more than my own life,” you sobbed.

“Baby, please don’t cry. Can you please just pull over and talk to me? I don’t want anything to happen to you. Just please pull over.”

“I’m pulling over. Hear me loud and clear I’m not coming back to that house. I’m done with you, Rio. The last thing you should want me to do is to come home. Did you forget that I have a gun?”

“No! Come home, damn it! Hear what I have to say. If you still want to leave after, I won’t stop you. Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you, mama, please.”

“This isn’t going to be fixed. You’ve ruined this for good now. I’m beginning to wonder if any of it was real. Thinking of how many lies you’ve told sends chills throughout my body. Who are you? You’re not the man I thought you were. Ain’t no coming back from this,” you cried.

“I’m trying to get you to understand that it’s not what you think it is. Fuck, mama! Just listen to me.”

“What can you possibly say to justify those pictures? You were super fucking cozy with that red-headed bitch! How can you explain the damn ultrasound pictures, Rio? Those photos are the only thing saving your lives right now! That baby won’t be inside her forever, though. I’ma catch that bitch when the baby drops. It’s one thing to cheat on me, but you knocked this desperate housewife-looking-ass bitch up! You gave her the one thing I’d been hoping and praying on. Tell me, is it because of the miscarriage last year? Is that why you stepped outside the marriage? Am I not good enough? Was I not a good wife? A good bonus-mom to Marcus? Tell me what I did to deserve this foul-ass shit,” you questioned as your voice continued to crack.

At this point, you were bawling so hard it made it difficult to breathe. Rio hung his head as he pleaded with you to take a moment to catch your breath. The only thing he could do was apologize, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, mama.” Over and over again. “I wish you would believe me when I tell you things aren’t what they appear to be, but I know all the odds stacked against me. Not with these photos. Nothing I say is going to change your mind. All I can do is tell you I’m sorry this is happening.” For the first time since Marcus was born, his eyes became glossy as he fought the urge to shed a tear.

The line went quiet for the longest fifteen minutes. Rio was relieved to hear you finally take a deep breath. Your voice was scratchy and raw. You no longer wanted to listen to his broken promises and lies as you spoke with finality.

“I hope you know just how much I loved you. I pray that you know how much I’ll always love you, but this is something I can’t get past,” you whispered. “Never did I think I could hate and love you this much.”

Not interested in giving Rio another moment to waste your time, you ended the call. Knowing how his mind worked, you turned off the location on your phone. You knew he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. Taking a few moments to pull yourself together, you dried your eyes and continued your journey. You headed to the place you hoped he wouldn’t think to look for you.

Having no control of the situation, Rio was becoming more desperate to find you. You were out there, all by yourself. No one was watching over and keeping you safe. He had no one to blame but himself. All this was happening on account of his actions. If only he could find you and get you to listen. Even if that were to occur, how could he get you to understand what was happening? In all honesty, even if he were to explain it, there would still be repercussions. Sadly, in a twisted way, he had fucked up.

Rio had checked your location before the call had ended that night. He spent hours trying to find you, but even with the help of his crew, the search was unsuccessful. It was back to the grind that morning, resuming the search after wrapping up any urgent business matters. Rio tried everything he could think to do. He had one of his men trying to track the GPS on your truck. Only you were a step ahead of him. They had found your vehicle parked at your best friend's house. Y/B/N came stomping outside, lashing out at Rio for breaking your heart. The two of them had exchanged a few harsh words. He bit the bullet and called his mother-in-law. The only thing that had come of that experience was a heated exchange between Rio, your father, and two older brothers. Realizing no one wanted to give him any information, Rio focused on your checking activity. He looked to see if you had used your bank or credit cards. He damn near blew a vein when he saw you’d made a large cash withdrawal. It was enough money to keep from having to use your cards. He had no idea if you’d hopped on a plane. If you had gotten a rental and we’re driving across the country. Three of your close friends each lived in a different state. You could’ve been anywhere by now.

The past four days consisted of long sleepless nights and endless searching. Not knowing how else to find you, Rio decided to deal with something else that needed handling. Pushing away from his workspace, he threw back the rest of his drink. Setting the empty glass on the table, he exited his office. Mick had returned from his errand and met up with Rio in the parking lot. He could tell that his boss was running off very little sleep. Mick could sense that Rio had been drinking dark liquor and knew it was on an empty stomach. Pure anger and rage were evident on Rio’s face and in his eyes. Which only meant one thing. Rio pulled out his weapon, checking the weight and safety.

“I think you should let me drive, boss. I’ll keep an eye on things from the car.”

The gesture was one of the many reasons Mick was his go-to. He never had to explain anything, and Mick was a certified trained-to-go shooter. They hopped into the car and sped off towards their destination. It was time for Rio to get some answers. Someone was going to pay for being dumb enough to send that text and those photos. There was only one person he could think of that would be that damn stupid. Surely she knew this little stunt would be the end of her. He just wanted to know what exactly she was trying to prove.

Rio was halfway out of the car before Mick could finish parking. She had mentioned some sob stories about her husband taking the kids out of town, which meant she was home alone. He had found her lights out on the couch with an empty tequila bottle sprawled out on the coffee table. Seeing her sleep so peacefully pissed him off. Here she was getting a nice rest while he had gone the last four days without sleep on account of her, or so he thought. His anger bubbled to the surface. Rio lunged toward her, yanking her by the hair and pulling her into a seated position.

“We need to have a little chat, Elizabeth,” his voice was cold and calculated.

Still not fully awake and a little drunk, Beth blinked a few times. Her eyes were like giant saucers when her brain fully registered what was happening.

“R-Rio, what are you doing here? What is happening? You’re hurting me.”

“Trust me. It’s going to hurt a lot more, Elizabeth. You’ve been pretty busy, haven’t you?”

“I have? W-what are you talking about?”

“You seriously want to play stupid? Come on, ma. That’s only going to make it worse. Why’d you send it?”

“Send what, Rio?”

He pressed the gun into her chin harder. His eyes were dark as his jaw ticked.

“The text? The pictures of the ultrasound? You’re lucky you got pregnant just in time to spare your life. I’m confused as to why you took it upon yourself to share this information with my wife. What’s it to do with her?”

Rio's face fell at the sight of the confusion in Elizabeth’s eyes. She was telling the truth. Beth was clueless about the entire ordeal. If she wasn’t the one that sent them, who did? Her eyes filled with tears as she was shaking. He could see her playing their conversation back in her mind, trying to comprehend what he was saying. He removed the gun from under her chin, putting it back on safety.

“I can see from your reaction that it wasn’t you. You’re still not completely off the hook. There’s a chance that one of your ditzy friends is responsible, maybe that bitter husband of yours. Someone that knows you did it. When I find out, and trust me, I will. We’ll circle back to this moment, yeah?” Rio’s signature crooked smile played on his lips as he tapped her cheek with the barrel of his gun. You're going to help me figure this shit out. Better find a way to get that beautiful wife of mine to return to me safe and sound. If you don't, all three of you bitches gon’ feel it. Get some rest, ma. You got a lot of work to get to tomorrow, yeah?” He stood straightening his shirt and tucking his gun in his jeans. Beth hadn’t said another word and continued to stare at him in fear. Rio brushed the hair from her face and eerily stated, “sweet dreams, darlin’.” With that, he made his departure.

Rio had Mick take him home. Not sleeping and running off of alcohol had taken its toll. He managed to eat half a bowl of ramen before dumping the rest. After taking a quick shower, he got into bed. Though his eyes were heavy, sleep evaded him. Rio’s brain was preoccupied with thoughts of you. He wondered where you were and If you were doing okay. He was also racking his brain, trying to figure out who outside Beth would be ignorant enough to blow up his life. Reaching for his mobile device, he made one last attempt to call you for the night. It went straight to voicemail, and Rio slammed his phone on the nightstand. Almost immediately, a notification came through. It was a text from Marcus’ mom reminding him to pick him up from practice. Guilt and stress coursed through his body. Rio had to prepare for the sadness your absence would cause in his son's life. How could he explain that he was the reason behind your abrupt departure? Marcus loved you just as much as Rio. Unable to fight the exhaustion, his thoughts led him into a slumber.

The conversation about your absence had been difficult, and Marcus handled it as best he could. Rio had explained to his baby boy that although you left, it had nothing to do with him. He clarified that it wouldn’t change the love you two had for him.

“So is she never coming back, dad?”

The sadness in Marcus' voice nearly gutted Rio.

“I honestly can’t say, but this is all on me. I should’ve handled ma’s heart better. I could’ve tried harder to protect her from outside influences. I just want you to know that she didn’t leave you. She needs time apart from me to think. I’m doing my best to fix it, little man.”

“Do you still love her, dad?”

“Of course I do. Always will.”

Marcus smiled at his father and walked over to him. He gave Rio a tight hug.

“Hope that makes you feel better.”

Rio hugged his son back, kissing the top of his head, “it does, baby boy. Thank you.”

“Hey, dad, would it be okay to call mama Y/N sometime?”

That very question had been like a spark of hope for Rio. You had been ignoring his calls, but he knew you would never refuse Marcus’ precious face. Rio knew it would only make you angrier, but it was the only way he could get you to talk to him.

“She wouldn’t mind at all. She’d probably love to hear from you right now.”

Marcus sped off to retrieve the phone Rio and Rhea (his mom) had gifted him on his last birthday. He ran to the couch, phone in hand, and bounced onto the cushions. Marcus excitedly sent you a FaceTime request. As it rang, the sweet boy crawled onto his dad’s lap to wait for an answer. Only letting it ring twice, you accepted. Your eyes focused on Marcus, and you completely ignored Rio.

“Hi, my sweet baby! I miss you so much, bud! How’s school and soccer going for you?”

“Pretty good. I scored two goals in practice today!”

“That’s awesome. Listen, sweetie pie, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to kiss that cute handsome face goodbye. Hope you’re not too upset with me, my little love.”

You were doing your best to mask the pain in your voice, but Rio heard it as it made his stomach twist.

“That’s okay, ma. Dad told me you had to take some time to yourself. I’m going to miss you. I hope I see you soon.”

Marcus was on the same page as his father. He sneakily finished saying what he wanted and handed the phone to Rio. You could hear Marcus shout, “love you, ma! Gotta go do my homework. You should talk to daddy for a bit, please,” he begged. With that, the adorable little devil made his exit.

“I don’t have shit to say to you. That’s pretty fucked up for you to use Marcus to force me to speak with you. What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

“You left me no choice, mama. When are you going to stop playing games and come home love?”

“You’re such a narcissist. Get the fuck off my line, Rio.”

“You can’t even take ten minutes to hear what I have to say?”

“He only want me when I’m not there. He better call Becky with the good hair.”

-Beyoncé.

“No, I cannot. It’s funny that you suddenly have so much time for me. Now that I’m not sitting around waiting on you and believing your lies. You’ve got all the time in the world. Fucking ass. Stop calling me,” you growled, ending the call.

At this point, Rio was starting to become agitated. He understood that he’d fucked up, but you weren’t even trying to have one final discussion about it all. Don’t bitches crave closure? There was so much more to the situation that you didn’t know. He wanted to explain everything, but you wouldn’t allow him to have even an ounce of your time. Rio took a moment to gather himself. Scooping his phone from the end table, he FaceTimed Mick.

“Yo?”

“She answered a FaceTime call from Marcus. We managed to get her to stay on long enough to take screen grabs. Find out if the screenshots can give any information on where the fuck my wife is. I’m not playing this cat and mouse shit anymore. Find her by any means necessary.”

“Got you. I’m on it, boss.”

Ending his call with Mick, he was startled by the doorbell. Glancing at the security camera left him confused. Rio approached the door, his hand behind his back, settling on the base of his gun. He opened the door, and his eyes fixated on a man dressed in slacks and a button-up. The stranger addressed Rio by his full name. He eyed the man cautiously, replying, “who wants to know? Do we know each other?” The man smiled, giving Rio a quick head nod. “You’ve been served.”

Rio barely had time to process what was happening. The papers were in his hand, and the process server was already in his vehicle, leaving by the time it clicked. He didn’t even have to look at them to know they were divorce papers. Not wanting to scare or upset Marcus, he closed the door softly. He did the only thing he could to release his anger with his son present. He went to his workout room and took all his frustrations out on his punching bag. Half an hour later and he was still so full of emotion. He took a swig of water before snapping and launching it across the room. Alone in his thoughts, he pressed his back against the wall and slid down. Burying his head in his hands, he tried his hardest not to spiral, but it was unsuccessful. Rio’s emotions bubbled over as he called you again. It rang once, going to voicemail.

“You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m giving up that easily. You can keep ignoring my calls but check this out. I’ll never stop looking for you. I can promise you that. Do us both a favor and just bring your beautiful ass home, ma. Sending me papers, I am not Usher, sweetheart, I ain’t ready to sign shit. Never will be. You are my wife. We in this thing for life, baby. I thought you knew. I know it’s hard for you to believe right now, but I fucking love you, mama. How you groan and complain about my lack of communication, yet here you are doing exactly that. Get your head on straight. As soon as daddy can figure it out, I’m coming to get you, darlin’.” Ending the call, he went to do a little searching of his own.

You had only been at your destination for a few hours. Not only had it been a long drive, but being an emotional mess made it impossible to focus on the road. You had to stop to rest and force yourself to eat something. Every hotel you slept in was as low-key as you could get. Your last conversation with Rio had you constantly looking over your shoulder. The desperation and determination in his voice were too hard to ignore. You knew that he was on a mission to find you. That’s why you had spent longer than expected at the stop before. Your mind flickered back to the previous night.

Holed up in the quaint little hotel room, you drowned your sorrows in a bottle of Casamigos. You Swallowed a copious amount of alcohol as your face scrunched at the burning sensation in your chest. You sat on the bed, legs folded with your MacBook in your lap. Fingertips furiously pecked at the keys as you filed for separation. Summer Walker’s “Throw It Away” flowed through the speakers. Earlier, your best friend had called you while driving to check in on you. She had done a little research after you had adamantly declared you wanted to end your marriage. Your friend felt that you were being impulsive. She had taken it upon herself to explain that you could file online. Halfway through the conversation, Y/B/N convinced you to file for a separation. She argued that you didn’t know the whole story, and you agreed. Filling out the proper documents lasted a while. Having completed your task, you took one last swig of liquor and curled into a ball, crying yourself to sleep.

Sitting at the counter of a cute little diner, you listened to the last message your soon-to-be ex-husband left you. Rio’s voicemail made you so angry that your mouth formed a scowl. He was begging for a response, and that’s just what you gave him. Not giving him the satisfaction of calling him back, you opted to shoot him a biting text.

“If you had bothered to open the damn envelope, you’d know they’re separation papers. I was going to take time to clear my head and make a proper decision. Judging by your stalkerish, obsessive, possessive attitude, ain’t shit I need to think over. The papers you’re bitching about now? Go ahead and tear them up. New documents are on the way, my boy! Save us both the hassle and sign them whenever you fucking get them. No need to send a response. I won’t be responding to anything else you have to say. Let this be the LAST time we have to contact each other.”

Rio responded to your text with a photo. It was an image of the papers burning in the kitchen sink. “Did this as soon as I received them. Any other papers coming to this address will meet the same fate, my love.” You thought about responding but were interrupted by someone sliding into the stool next to you. Ignoring the unwanted lunch companion, you tried turning your focus back to your phone. Only the sound of the lunch companion’s voice sent a chill down your spine.

“I must say it’s odd bumping into you so far from home. What are you doing in California? Are you hiding from someone, darlin’?”

Yes, another cliffhanger. Sorry my babies, but I got to keep the suspense going 😜. I know, I ain’t shit 😆😈. Part three is in progress, but I’m working on several different WIP. Be patient with your girl. I hope this lived up to your expectations. It was a struggle to post part two. I tend to be overly critical of my work. Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated. Ask box is open as well💓.

Divider Credit: @firefly-graphics

Prompt Credit: @a-cure-for-writers-block

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**Due to some of you guys' profile restrictions, I was unable to tag a few people.

[suna-reversed]

Jujutsu Kaisen hcs- “please don’t leave”

alt. title- needy late night moments

Characters- Yuji, Gojo, Sukuna, Megumi

Tags- angst if you squint but mainly fluff

Yuji- 

- You fell asleep on him while watching a horror movie late night. 

- His one hand clutched the popcorn bowl, the other coming around to cradle your head subconsciously as your body slumped over into his side. 

- His main task for the next hour was to not move a single muscle in fear you’d wake up and go inside the bedroom to sleep.

- He’s just been a little touch starved and liked the warmth you were radiating.

- His task proves to be quite difficult considering he was watching a horror movie with jump-scares every two minutes. 

- It takes 5 failed attempts at Yuji trying not to jolt up whenever something pops up for you to finally stir awake, and you find your eyes meeting with the absolutely terror filled ones of your lover.

- “Please don’t leave” he whispers in a voice that makes your heart break. You end up taking that as him being scared of the movie

- Still in a sleepy daze, you crawl over into his lap, affectionately nosing at his neck while his strong arms come around to hold you tightly, 

- “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here mmkay?” A smile of pure tenderness forms across Yuji’s face, soon enough turning into choking laughter as you sleepily mumble, “I’m ready to throw hands with them dead people”

- “Zombies, babe. They’re zombies.”

- “The only thing they’ll be once I’m done with them is...dead” You slur out that last part, falling back into slumber with a small smile on your face as you feel Yuji shake with silent laughter, his hand coming up to gently pat the back of your head,

- “Thank you baby, I’d throw hands with zombies for you any-day too.”

Gojo Satoru 

- You rolled over in the empty bed for the thousandth time that night. You had learned long before that on most nights you’ll be sleeping without your Satoru.

- So what was different today? Maybe it was the fact that he had informed you of his return. But it had been 2 days since then, and Gojo had never not shown up the same day that he’d told you he was coming back.

- Despite knowing the man you loved was practically undefeatable by most, your mind had considered every single possibility, from him getting captured by a curse to him tripping over and falling into an abandoned sewage line.

- Your stomach churned with anxiety as you considered whether calling Nanami this late to check on Gojo would be a good idea.

- You were halfway into typing his number when you heard the familiar click of the door unlocking, your feet carrying you to the front door faster than your mind could process it.

- And there he was. The bag of sweets he gets you each time in his left hand as he apprehended you with a raised brow and cocky look, 

- “Couldn’t sleep without me sweetheart?”

- He was met with eerie silence as you continued to stare at him. Your sleep deprived mind still processing that he was home. He was safe. 

- Gojo immediately sensed that something was wrong, but before he could react, you were walking towards him, crashing into his arms as he brought his hands around you when-

Thump! 

- Did you just...punch his chest? 

- “I was- I was so scared” you sniffed into his chest. “...you idiot.”

- Gojo’s heart twisted in pain as he heard a sob escape you, his arms tightening around you as he rested his chin on your head. He let you cry it out, gently picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom in midst of you murmuring various swear words at him 

- He finally felt you beginning to calm down as he tucked you in the on your side of the bed. But, as he pulled away, he felt a hand clutch onto his wrist, 

- “Please don’t leave” you said, your voice quivering. 

- “Baby...” he said with a gentle voice, “I’m just going to go change, okay? I’m not going anywhere”

- Even as Gojo changed, he felt your eyes digging into his back like he’d disappear if you let him out of sight for even a moment. 

- He quickly pulled on a pair of sweats, opting to not wear a shirt as he moved into bed with you, your limbs immediately coming to wrap around him. 

- You laid in silence for a while 

- “y/n?” You hummed in acknowledgement, face still buried in his chest

- “I’m always going to come back home to you my love. That’s a promise okay?” 

- You nodded in response, eyes turning glassy once more as Gojo leaned forward to pepper kisses all over your forehead, cheeks, and nose. 

- Gojo lifted his blindfold as he felt your breathing slow down, his ocean eyes filled with utmost adoration as he simply let himself admire your sleeping form. 

Sukuna

- The curse found itself being stuck in its vessel at the most useless of times. - 

- After a late night mission when the brat crashed at your surveillanced apartment, while you completed the formalities and paperwork to submit to Nanami the next morning. 

- Walking out of the guest room, Sukuna found himself amused by your ability to fall asleep in the weirdest of places

- Currently, you sat hunched over the kitchen table, head resting sideways in your arms, tiny snores leaving your mouth as your eyes remained shut. 

- The curse looked back to a few days ago when it had found itself in it’s vessel’s body unwillingly again, a strange warmth curled in his left side. Looking down, he had realised that the strange warmth came from your huddled up body. 

- You had immediately snapped open your eyes and moved away as soon as he had let out a low chuckle. 

- So this time, he approached you carefully. But even then, he had expected you to sense someone’s presence so close next to you. 

- But there was no reaction from you, even as he pulled the chair right next to you and sat down on it.

- “Oi brat”

- Still no response.

- Oh, had you finally let your guard down?

- A dozen different malicious ideas filled Sukuna’s mind, but he found himself simply sitting there, awaiting for a reaction from you. 

- He wondered how you could sleep so comfortably on what was practically a wooden slab. And he found his answer questioned as he curiously leaned down on his own arms, facing you, your noses merely an inch away as he regarded your calm face with a raised brow. 

- He had imagined you to be snarky and biting at him even in your sleep. 

- Why had he imagined you sleeping at all?

- He found himself avoiding the question.

- He stilled as your eyes fluttered open, a cocky smile making it’s way on his lips as he awaited your fear filled eyes. 

- Instead, he found you simply staring back at him, the most of a reaction being you furrowing your brows slightly 

- He didn’t know whether he was a little offended by your lack of response or highly unsettled by your piercing gaze. Nonetheless, he found himself turning his head away, almost in a petty childlike manner. 

- Why did he not get up and leave?

- He felt a hand come to the back of his head, and his senses instantly got ready to go into offensive mode. 

- But this was something much much worse than an attack.

- He found your fingers gently brush over his hair, almost like you were absorbing it’s softness into your fingertips. The breaking point was you gently scratching his head with your nails. He almost purred. 

- But he also found his own hand coming up to grip your wrist, stilling your hand in place.

- “What-are-you-doing?” He emphasised each word as he turned his towards you again, hand still holding yours above his head.

- You continued to stare at him with a look he didn’t quite understand,

- “Your hair is...soft” You slurred your words a little, wiggling your fingers that were trapped in his hand. He let go, only to find you entangling your hand back into his hair, quite shamelessly this time as you closed your eyes once again.

- He didn’t know whether it was the tiredness of that night or simply your sleepiness, but you didn’t acknowledge it the next day. He chose not to either even though he had spent all night thinking of how he’d get to tease you with this.

- But, the king of curses did find himself leaning more towards you whenever you were in his presence. Your hand brushing with his every now and then. Him gently tugging on a strand of hair before tucking it behind your ear and you letting him. Staying right there if he woke up with you on his shoulder while on the train back from a mission. 

- Eventually, you show up to Yuji’s room on a day much similar to the night where you first touched the curse, eyes sunken and shoulders slumped, desperate for any sort of comfort and almost relieved at the fact that he was there. 

- He was taken back as you climbed into the bed, arms wrapping around him, hands going straight to tangle themselves in his hair as you buried your face in his chest.

- “Please don’t leave” 

- He found his own arms pulling you further into him because who was he to deny you when your touch felt so divine? 

Megumi

- Getting a call from Megumi at 2 am after you had just returned from a mission was the last thing you had expected

- Megumi had grown considerably close to you for a boy who didn’t always wear his emotions on his sleeve.

- However, perhaps it was the fact that you had ended up giving him a tiny huge scare by going missing for a few hours on the mission

- It wasn’t anything major, you had gotten injured and accidentally strayed off the path you were ordered to follow

- Nonetheless, the news had reached the school, particularly Megumi, who was halfway out, ready to go and save you from whatever had taken you when the message had come that they had found you unconscious in some corner of the forest. He had only left the infirmary after being assured countless times that you were fine and being pulled away by Yuji.

- Still, he found his mind running and all he wanted was to hear your voice to make sure you were okay.

- He honestly hadn’t expected you to pick up, but he hadn’t known that the nurse had allowed you to go back to your dorm once you woke up.

- So he found himself speechless as he heard your voice

- “...Megumi? Is everything okay?”

- “Yes” he murmured.

- “The nurse told me you were there with me for quite a while…”

- There was a beat of silence before he said,

- “You scared me”

- He immediately hung up after that.

- You knew that it was difficult for him to express such emotions and so you found your feet carrying you to the front of his door

- You weren’t exactly sure of what you were going to do, but you didn’t have to figure that out as the door opened in your face, Megumi gesturing for you to come in.

- As soon as you shut the door, you felt your body being pulled into his warm embrace. You sighed, taking in his familiar scent of night-chilled mist and cedar as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

- You eventually ended up on his bed, limbs tangled with each other under the sheets as he traced random patterns onto your arm to convey the words he couldn’t say, till he fell asleep.

- You found yourself noticing the time, sighing as you got ready to go back to your dorm, but Megumi noticed the slight movement,

- “Angel...” he murmured sleepily, nuzzling his head into your neck, “Please don’t leave.”

- Your heart melted at his words and the consequences of sleeping in another student’s room seemed to fade from your mind as you tightened your grip on him,

- “Never”

[neoncrowpen]

Hi there! I love your works! I was just wondering if requests were still open if I could please request an imagine where reader is grateful for Love and Joe protecting her, their new "friend", from her stalker, not knowing that they do the same thing.

“I really can’t thank you guys enough,” you sighed in relief. You handed over the handmade baby blanket. “I know it’s not much, but I hope Henry loves it.” Love cooed over the soft colors and feel of the blanket.

“It’s nothing,” Joe waved off his hand. You couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lingered on yours. Your heart quickened for a moment. Love placed the blanket down and untied her baking apron. As she approached you, her arms wrapped around you. For another fleeting moment, you thought she wanted to kill you. Her palm rubbed against your back in circles. She still smelled of everything wonderful about a bakery.

“It’s what we do for the people we love.” She smiled at you with all of her perfect teeth. You somehow wished you could lock that smile away and keep it to yourself. A sense of guilt washed over you when you thought of being selfish with her. You shook it off. Being the Goldbergs' new friend was still new to you. Love’s fingers lingered on your arm. “Did you end up filing a police report after we left?”

You shook your head. “They told me it would be useless. Basically, he wasn’t doing anything illegal. So, he’s getting away with it.”

“Unbelievable,” Joe rolled his eyes. Love and Joe shared a look between them.

“Well, just call us if that guy shows up around your apartment again or if you feel uncomfortable, ok? You can always crash at our house,” Love said. She squeezed your hand twice in the same way a heartbeat would feel. You pushed the door to leave A Fresh Tart. Love and Joe’s eyes followed you as you grew further and further away from their careful gazes. The empty bakery was theirs to cherish.

Love’s eyes snapped to her husband’s face. “Did you take care of him?”

“No, we weren’t alone,” Joe said. “But, I did threaten him. I have a feeling he’s not the type of guy to listen.” Love hummed, returning to her spot behind the bakery counter.

“Today’s Tuesday, she’ll be at the knitting circle tonight.”

“I thought it was your turn to—

“It is,” Love’s eyes darkened. “If that guy isn’t going to listen to you, you need to take care of him. He’s going to be a problem.”

“When did we agree that killing people was going to solve all of our problems? Besides, we have the box.” Joe said. “We’ll lock him in there. Negotiate with him and he’ll leave Y/N alone.” Love picked up a knife and waved the blade in the air.

“It’s too late for that,” Love said. “That asshole threw our kindness away when he almost outed us for following her back to her apartment. As long as he’s around, our secret isn’t safe with him.”

Joe leaned on the bakery counter, looking over the perfect stitches in the baby blanket you made for his baby. “You’re right. We need to protect what’s ours.”

[fandom-smut-shots]

Striker x Reader - Picking Up Trash and Calling It Treasure 5

Chapter 4 

        The motel room was musty and cramped, the floorplan barely offering enough space to squeeze in a bed between the walls. The bathroom didn’t have a door, and every appliance in the wannabe kitchen was rusted and smelled of decay. Dim yellow lighting hung from the ceiling, exposed wires threatening to snap at any moment, and there were so many stains in the carpet that it was anyone’s guess what the original color had been.

         Striker sat atop the tattered blanket that draped over the bed, one leg bent with the other crossed overtop of it. His tail twitched in irritation as he listened to the voice coming through the other end of the phone, his claws tightening around the device with the desire to smash it to pieces if only so that this particular client no longer had a way to contact him. His yellow eyes glowed in the shitty light of the room, and his free hand picked at stray threads protruding from the surface of the blanket.

         “I understand,” he confirmed for the umpteenth time, his client seeming to refuse the rattlesnake’s grasp of the assignment. It was an easy kill, on what sounded to be an easy target. Striker could have pulled this job in his sleep if the fucker that hired him would just hang up the goddamn phone and let him work.

         “The bitch should be easy enough to find,” the client repeated. “And she’s got a temper, but I don’t think she’ll put up much of a fight. She always was a pathetic mouse. I’ll text you the details.”

         “I’ll be waitin’,” Striker replied, exhaling a loud sigh of relief upon finally being able to end the call and toss the phone to the foot of the bed. His client had rambled on and on about his personal relationship with the target, how they had been lovers once upon a time, how she’d threaten to take everything he’d worked for and how she’d tried to kill him. Why he didn’t just take the bitch out himself, Striker didn’t care to ask. If she was as useless as his client proclaimed, he should have easily been able to do his own dirty work. But money was money, and Striker never bothered to question why. He was an assassin for hire, not a therapist.

         His phone vibrated with news of the target, and he groaned before using his tail to swipe it from where he’d thrown it. Clicking open the text, he rolled his eyes at the paragraph of useless information that preceded the part he actually needed. His thumb scrolled down to the bottom of the page, grunting in relief upon finally discovering the client’s name, location, and occupation.

         Oh, fuck.

         Striker stared at the words on his screen, ringed eyes widening in disbelief. There was no fucking way.

         (y/n) (l/n)

         Last located in Imp City.

         Works for Immediate Murder Professionals.

         Highly dangerous.

         His tail rattled loudly, the sound vibrating off of the empty motel room walls. He hissed as he closed the message, wondering exactly what the fuck you’d done to warrant yourself an assassination.

           Your back popped as you jumped through the portal, landing back in the I.M.P. office. The last job had been more physically taxing than any of you had anticipated – your client had failed to inform you of the sheer size of the hit, and humans already hilariously outweighed imps. You’d almost been suffocated when Blitzø had struck the human over the head with a crowbar, his large body toppling to the ground where you’d stood. You managed to scramble away just in time, though your tail had been trapped for a moment.

         Now that you and your crew were back in Hell, you were ready to go home and enjoy a long, scalding bath, preferably with a bottle of wine and some chrysanthemum candles.

         “Great job today, crew!” Blitzø beamed as though the mission had been smooth sailing.

         “Thanks for nearly getting me killed,” you barked back at him, rubbing your shoulder.

         “You’re still here though!” he countered, waving a hand dismissively. “Who wants to celebrate?”

         “With all due respect, sir,” Moxxie sighed, running a hand through his hair and pulling out a chunk of bloodied skin, “I think Millie and I are going to go home. We’re exhausted.”

         “Me fucking too,” you nodded.

         “Quitters!” Blitzø pouted childishly, crossing his arms over his chest.

         “Shut your face,” you groaned. “Go see if your boy toy wants to spend the night with you.”

         “That’s… actually not a bad idea!” your boss beamed, whipping his phone out of his pocket and dialing Stolas’s number.

         “And that’s my cue to leave,” you commented, picking up your bag full of weapons. “No fucking way am I sticking around to listen to the vocal foreplay.”

         Millie cackled as she and Moxxie walked outside beside you. You waved them goodbye as they climbed into their car and sped away before turning to approach your own.

         Before you could reach it, a presence crept up behind you, taking you by the wrist and spinning you around. Your back was slammed into a brick wall, and you growled at the contact. Your claws struggled to sink into the flesh of the hand that had pinned you, but the angle was wrong, and you couldn’t quite reach. You’d dropped your weaponry in surprise, and before you could even consider reaching for it, your other hand had been pinned by your head.

         “Don’t move, darlin’,” a gravelly voice hissed in your ear, and your eyes widened in surprise.

         “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” you demanded, turning your head in an attempt to get a look at your attacker’s face. Your ears had not deceived you – Striker stood before you, brows narrowed darkly, lips split into a snarl, revealing his razor-sharp fangs. This was a completely different cowboy than the one you’d taunted at the bar. You’d almost wondered if he’d been possessed.

         “What the fuck is this?” you inquired again. “Is this payback for something? Did I piss you off?”

         “This ain’t about me,” he countered quietly, and you’d never heard his voice sound so low or serious. It filled your core with a chill of dread.

         “Someone’s taken a hit out on you,” he confessed, lifting his gaze to meet your eyes. “I’ve been hired for the job.”

         “You’ve been hired to kill me?” you repeated in disbelief before anger flooded your heart. “And you fucking took it?!”

         “Settle down, sweetheart,” he scoffed as though he were offended by the accusation of what he’d already admitted to doing. “I didn’t know it was you. My client didn’t specify shit until after I’d accepted the deal.”

         “What fucking deal?” you demanded with a growl, struggling against his iron grip. “How much is my head worth, huh? Who the fuck hired you?!”

         “A demon named Calcifer,” he replied. “I don’t know much about his personal life, just that he’s made millions for himself and he’s usin’ the money to remove anyone he deems a threat to his livelihood. You’re pretty high up on that list.”

         Your blood turned to ice in your veins at the name, and you immediately ceased your thrashing. Striker noticed the change in your demeanor, and he raised a brow. Out of curiosity or concern, he didn’t want to know. But he did want to know the story.

         “Do you want to know why?” you questioned, not meeting his gaze. Your voice sounded far away, like you were talking to the air rather than to Striker. “Or would you rather just get it over with?”

         That upset him. He released one of your hands, using his own to take hold of your chin. He turned your face back to his, nudging your forehead with his hat until you met his gaze.

         “I wanna know why he wants you dead,” he replied, not letting you look away. “I also wanna know why just hearin’ his name turned you into a whole ‘nother imp. You’re not even fightin’ me, darlin’. I got a problem with that.”

         “What, you don’t like easy prey?” you scoffed, feeling the swell of hot tears bubbling behind your eyes.

         “Not when it’s you,” he admitted, though he wasn’t going to take even a second to contemplate what he meant by that. “You’re not easy prey, little lady. You’ve proven that much. Why does this asshole think you are?”

         You hesitated. Your eyes bore into Striker’s, and his widened upon seeing the pain and fear swirling in yours. He quickly decided that he hated that expression on you – another thing he didn’t want to think too deeply about.

         You broke the stare, casting your gaze down towards the cowboy’s boots. “We were engaged,” you began softly. “We were together for five years. Five fucking years. And he never treated me like an imp. He treated me like a demon, like a higher class being, like we were on the same level. It was maybe a week until the wedding when I found out he’d been cheating on me. And it wasn’t just some side hoe he couldn’t get rid of – he really cheated on me. I still don’t know who ratted him out; all I know is that an envelope arrived at our doorstep one night while he was out. He told me he was working, but after opening the envelope, I doubt he was ever working when he claimed to be.”

         You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes. You hadn’t even noticed that Striker had released your other hand and was now standing before you, arms crossed over his chest, silently waiting for you to continue.

         “Inside the envelope were dozens of photos. Hundreds maybe. Every single one was him and a different bitch. Men, women, demons, imps, sinners. He even had one of those robotic Fizzarolli rip-offs. Anything was better than actually being with me, I guess.” You hugged yourself, claws digging softly into the sleeves of your top. “I confronted him when he came home. He didn’t deny it, he didn’t even get mad. He acted like it was no big deal, like I’d accused him of not doing the fucking dishes. He wanted to continue on with the wedding, so I asked him why. Why would he want to marry me when he’d been sleazing around with half of Hell?”

         You barely registered Striker’s tail rattling behind him, though whether it was with intrigue or anger, you didn’t know.

         “For the status, that was his excuse,” you laughed humorlessly. “His family didn’t look down on imps the way most of society does. They didn’t think me too beneath him to be a viable mate. They though of me like a stray hellhound; a poor helpless creature that wouldn’t even be alive if it hadn’t been for his generosity. I don’t know what he’s built his empire on, but he was always a trust fund bitch. His parents were loaded, and they had a hefty paycheck signed over to him for our wedding. If he didn’t marry me, he didn’t get that check.”

         The rattling grew louder, but you were too lost in unpleasant memories to notice. You hugged your arms tighter around yourself, claws poking holes into your sleeves, slicing into the skin of your biceps.

         “I told him I’d kill him. I said if we went through with the marriage, I’d kill him, and as his widow I’d take everything he had. Threatening to expose him wouldn’t have mattered – I’m an imp. His family would have applauded him for finding his pleasures elsewhere, rather than fucking me and risk us spawning a child. But threatening his money was the thing that got to him. He exploded. He attacked me,” you paused to lift the hem of your shirt, revealing old scars tracked across your torso. “I nearly bled out. He left me unconscious on the living room floor, thinking he’d killed me, and I haven’t heard from him since.”

         Striker had opened his arms and stepped forward before his brain could even catch up with his body. Toned, slender arms curled around you, pulling you tightly to his broad chest. Your senses were immediately swathed by the cowboy – the low rattle of his tail in your ears, the scent of spiced cider infiltrating your nose, well-worn leather between your fingers. You closed your eyes as he pressed your face into the crook of his neck with surprising tenderness, a shuddering breath falling from your lips as you melted against him.

         You hadn’t expected to cry. Sure, you’d never forget how Calcifer treated you, but it had been years since the damage had been done, and you’d sworn that it had been pushed deep enough into your mind that it no longer affected you. But as you stood there, wrapped up in Striker’s arms, the dam you’d built around your heart broke, and a sob ripped through your lips before you could stifle it. Before too long, you were trembling in his grasp, tears soaking into the handkerchief he had tied around his neck. His arms only tightened around you urging more sobs from your throat as you were encompassed in the comfort you hadn’t realized you so desperately needed.

         The rattlesnake may be an asshat, and you had no idea why he’d ghosted you. And this little private display of affection certainly didn’t erase his lack of contact, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to be mad at him now, not with his tail gently caressing your back and his smooth whiskey voice whispering words of reassurance in your ear.

         This was definitely the start of something. What, you had no idea. But definitely something.

[emeraldenha]

chapter 37 | “bad night”

w/c: +1.4k

“Riki,” you call out his name, looking over your shoulder to where he was walking a couple steps behind, “how are you feeling?”

Silence.

You reach for his hand, but he deliberately shoves them both inside his jacket pockets. The obviousness of his actions leaves an awkward shift in the air.

Spinning on your heel, you still go out of your way to weave your hand in his, and luckily, he doesn't fight it this time.

“Am I late?” you voice your guilt as you enter the diner, watching Yeonjun finish wiping down the last table.

“Nope, you're right on time.” Yeonjun smiles softly. “I still have to reorganize supplies and do inventory; you can help with those.”

You nod. “Great, I’ll be right on it.”

You leave your loose belongings with Riki and motion for him to sit down while you work.

“Wait here, okay?” you say to Riki once he seats himself in an empty booth. He nods without saying a word, and you sigh as you kiss his temple before heading to the back kitchen.

“Bad night?” Yeonjun asks, already starting on his share of the work when you tiredly enter the room.

“Bad night,” you confirm.

“Thanks for taking the time to help out even though this was supposed to be your shift off,” Yeonjun says with a relieved and grateful expression.

“Of course,” you hum nonchalantly. “I know it's not much, but I get how tiring it must be to do all this by yourself.”

The both of you shift from one miscellaneous topic to another while doing your respective tasks. Talking about simple and lighthearted things with Yeonjun puts your mind at ease.

“Is everything okay with your boyfriend by the way?” he questions you cautiously. “I don’t really know Riki outside of Heeseung’s own descriptions, but I could tell that he didn’t look like himself back there.”

“I’m worried about him,” you admit earnestly. “It’s so hard to gauge what he’s thinking lately. I just want him to be alright.”

“You got this,” Yeonjun softly encourages you. “I know you. You’re mature for your age. Let him open up to you and fix everything from there.”

“Thanks.” A sigh of relief escapes your lips, your mood slightly lifting. “I mean it.”

“It’s no big deal,” he brushes it off cooly. “I feel like you’re boasting my ego too much. You keep thanking me for things.”

“I still can’t thank you enough for what you did to help Heeseung when I couldn’t,” you emphasize, remembering your conversation from the first time he took you home after getting you a job at the diner. “I can’t help but feel sort of useless to the people I care about sometimes.”

“I don’t know, breaking his nose at graduation was quite something,” Yeonjun jokes, “and it was the least I could do. I don’t really care about popularity and all that, but I’m glad it did some good. Who knew my reputation could give me enough leverage to get that douche to lay off Heeseung? I was so pissed at that guy, I swear. I should’ve done more than just threaten him. I should've exposed his ass or something.”

You shake your head and smile. “You’re pretty fucking amazing, you know that?”

“Oh, I know.” He laughs.

You laugh with him as he gently pats the top of your head.

“Hey, are you ready to go?” Riki leans against the doorframe of the back room. You could detect the anxiousness and impatience in his voice, the not-so-subtle glances he takes at Yeonjun. “Unless you’re not done yet.”

Yeonjun clears his throat before moving his hand from your hair and taking a step back.

“No, we’re done,” Yeonjun clarifies, “you two go ahead. I’ll lock up in a second.”

Riki walks away without a word, leaving you to chase after him as you uncomfortably wave Yeonjun goodbye.

“Bye, Jun!”

He waves back even though you’re now out of sight. “Take care, Y/n!”

You feel an aching twist in your arm with the way Riki starts pulling at your wrist, the weight of your body lunging forward.

“Riki.”

No response.

“Hey, Riki.”

No response.

“Nishimura Riki, let go of me!” Your yelling finally grabs his attention.

He snaps his head at you, slipping his hand off your wrist. “What’s the deal with him?”

“Yeonjun? we were just talking,” you reason genuinely.

“He likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“I can see it.”

“I don’t know what exactly you’re seeing, but you’re wrong. It’s not like that at all.”

“Why are you defending him?” Riki argues, “do you like him or something?”

“Are you shitting me?”

“No, I'm being serious,” he replies, his demeanor unwavering. “Yeonjun could pass off as your boyfriend considering he’s the one you’ve been spending all your time with lately.”

“And whose fault is that? You’re the one always making yourself unavailable.” You poke at his chest. “And for your information, I’m defending him as a friend. I’m defending him because you’re being an asshole over someone I rejected three years ago.”

“Oh, so you took the part-time job knowing he used to like you?”

“Because as I said, that was years ago!” You shut your eyes tightly, upset that Riki was being so difficult. “There's no way you actually believe that he still has feelings for me or whatever. You're just projecting your anger from losing the competition to act jealous.”

“This isn't about the stupid competition.” Riki tugs at a fistful of his hair. “Can't you see that I'm afraid of losing you? With Jungwon, it was already hard to believe that I could ever even have you in the first place.”

“Don't bring Jungwon fucking into this!”

“Well, how can I not when there's a piece of your heart that Jungwon still has! That he'll always still have.”

“So what? No matter what I do, you'll keep holding Jungwon against me as if I was never allowed to have feelings for someone other than you before?”

“He was your first love!”

“And you’re my first boyfriend!” you shout back at him, blood boiling. “My first date, my first kiss, my first everything fucking else!”

“Y/n.” He comes closer and rests a hand on your forearm. “Please, just listen to me—”

“No.” You forcefully pull your arm away from his grasp. “You’re being immature.”

“I just want you to understand how I feel.”

You firmly stare into his eyes, your breaths uneven and shaky.

“You know.” Tears begin to cascade down your face like light rain. “All I could do when we first started dating was be paranoid about not being good enough for you, but I see what the problem is now, this relationship isn’t good enough for you. It proves nothing about how much I care, how much time, and how much effort I give. Not in your eyes.”

“That's not true—”

“Oh, really?” You laugh in a bitter tone. “Because you accusing me of liking Yeonjun—as if these four months have meant absolutely nothing to me—doesn't speak volumes enough, huh? You make our relationship sound like a joke. Keep telling yourself it's Yeonjun you don't trust; think that all you want. It doesn't change the fact that deep down, the person you've never fully trusted is me.”

You harshly wipe the tears clouding your eyes with the back of your hand, your feet beginning to move past him.

“Are you…?” He can’t bring himself to say it.

He can’t bring himself to say, ‘Are you breaking up with me?’

“I don't know,” you say exhaustedly, not bothering to turn around. For a moment, a still frame in time, the two of your elbows gently brush each other's as you stand facing opposite directions. “I just... I can't even look at you right now.”

You continue walking. You're not quite sure of where you're going, but that doesn't phase you until an hour later when there are fewer people crowding the city streets and the dull sky furthers into pitch black.

Taking a deep breath, you retrieve your phone from your bag and call the first contact that comes to mind. It only takes a couple rings for the person to answer.

“Y/n?” Sunoo’s voice appears. “Is everything okay? It's late; what’s going on?”

“Sunoo,” you sniffle into the phone, an overwhelming sense of emotions resurfacing. “Can you please pick me up? Riki and I got into a fight, and everything hurts. It's really dark out, and I don’t know where I am.”

“Y/n, that’s fucking dangerous,” Sunoo hisses in panic. You can hear the rustling of his bedsheets later followed by the various sounds of shoes shuffling and keys rattling. “Send me your location and stay on the phone. I’ll be there as soon as I can, wherever you are.”

prev || masterlist || next

✰ BREAKING ME IN TWO ✰

summary: after all your years of pining for your best friend, Yang Jungwon, you suddenly catch him with his secret girlfriend… which happens to be your other best friend. deciding to forgive and forget, you heartbrokenly cut all ties and fall back into your habits of self isolation. however, that doesn’t go as planned when Nishimura Riki approaches you with an almost-confession and a stolen keychain.

taglist: @pebbypenny @hoodiebangtan @jakes-tummy @ncityy04 @clear-color-hair @hrtattcker @anuisamazing @desitr98 @a-vian @urresidentdrugdealer @studioreader @aria-grace-scott @s0ngk4ng @httpsoa @sunvishine @lomlyeonjun @haechans-sunflower @unipanda1006 @angel-ishere @hyuckslytherin @pixyseeun @minyoongisbigassfeet @giyyuzz @ncthpen @rikisnotforsale @uhhalexwashere @renjunvibes @meiiiwa @acciomylove @wiltingdaisies @xetherealbeautyx @tomorrowbymoa-together @leeis @mildlystupid @ryumiko221 @kyleeanne @iamnotgrootforiamthor @soobnny @ddeonubaby @ohmy-fandoms @c0nvers3h1gh @av3z @yeonjunsleftboob @junhyukiscute @nvm @justanotherimaginesaccount @pixisvng bolded accounts couldn’t be tagged!

[bellesowl]

kiss and make up

- multiple characters 

⤷ atsumu, sakusa

genre: (an attempt at) angst to fluff ; established relationship, timeskip 

synopsis: in which you have an almost relationship-ending argument

word count: 2.1k total - about 1k each

warnings: fighting (obv), being called a burden, the boys are kinda mean but they make up for it i swear

- a/n: tbh i was kinda getting sick of writing just fluff so i wanted to spice it up a lil! if this sucks i’m probably going to stick to fluff fics but i think it should be fine? this one also only has 2 characs cause idk how i would be at writing angst LMAO if this does well enough i’ll post the one i have written w kuroo and iwa <3 but i feel like this kinda sucks so oh well

- thank u @kybabi for beta-ing <3

- miya atsumu

you n atsumu have been together since high school which is why you’ve always been inseparable

you went to the same college & moved in together right after, but once he got his job with the jackals, he insisted that you didn’t work and focused on getting your master’s degree

you reluctantly agreed, if only to be able finish & earn your phd soon after

because atsumu is always busy, it’s kinda become commonplace for you to do the chores around the house- like doing the laundry or washing the dishes or cooking dinner for him

but it’s gotten to the point where he expects it

atsumu sighs, unlocking the door to your shared apartment. today’s practice was rough, it was a day of hard conditioning and bad sets and he wanted nothing more than a good meal and to cuddle. the first thing he noticed when he walked in was the mess. instant ramen bowls were scattered everywhere, empty coke cans and dirty napkins were all over the floor, and there you were, in the eye of the hurricane. the second thing he noticed was that there was no homecooked meal.

surprised, he walks into the dining room to see you, furiously typing away at your laptop with four different books surrounding you. you hear his footsteps and look up.

“hey baby! how was practice?” you ask with a smile

atsumu grunts in reply and gestures toward the kitchen, “so.. what’s for dinner babe?”

your eyes widen, “oh shoot! i’m sorry, i was so busy studying for this final that i forgot to cook. do you mind-“ you stop when you see him roll his eyes and head out.

“um, where are you going? you just got home?” you ask, following him.

“out. i have to get food somehow” he replies, “especially because my useless s/o can’t cook a goddamn meal for me” he mutters under his breath

you stop in shock because did he really just say that?

“i’m sorry, i don’t think i heard you right.” you start but he interrupts you

“i said, i have to go get food because someone is too busy to cook a goddamn meal. what do you even do anyways- well, besides spend my money? the least you can do is cook for me, god.” he finally turns to look at you but he feels his heart stop at the look on your face.

not wanting to escalate the situation any further, you try to calm him down, “tsum, hey, i’m sorry i forgot to cook okay? this is my last final before the year ends and i just can’t afford to fail it, so i’ve been studying all day. if you come back to the kitchen, i’ll make you something, okay?”

“i don’t want to eat your half assed attempt at a meal, y/n. the whole point is that you couldn’t get off your ass for an hour to cook when i make the money, i paid for the apartment, hell, i’m even paying for your school! is it really too much to ask for you to stop being such a burden and cook and clean everyday?” he fumed.

you gape at him, shocked that he would even say that. to hell with not escalating things

“at least i want to do something more with my life than hit balls around and retire at 35” you hiss, “and i do everything in this house! i do the laundry, i clean the bathroom, i cook - i do all the things you refuse to. and do i complain? no. i offered to get a job but you refused.”

you turn around to grab your laptop and your textbooks, “just- just do whatever the hell you want to, atsumu.” and with that you walk out the door.

atsumu’s heart drops when he realizes that you actually left. sure, you’ve had arguments here and there, but you’ve never left. he pulls out his phone to call you when he sees you’ve left yours on the counter. knowing there’s nothing to do but wait at this point, he begins to clean up and calls osamu over.

-

it’s already 3 am when you walk back into your apartment, and you blink multiple times when you open the door. it’s ... clean? you’re sure it was a mess when you left, so how would it be clean? you sigh, too tired to think about it more and walk into the kitchen. your eyes widen at the sight. not only is your favorite food on the stove, but there your boyfriend is, asleep on the dining table. you smile slightly, well that explains things.

“ ‘’mu, hey, wake up babe.” you kiss him lightly and shake him.

he grunts and sits up, “baby! i’m so so sorry for what i said. you are in no way, shape, or form a burden, i have no clue why i said that. today’s practice was just really tiring, but i know i shouldn’t have taken it out on you. just please-” he sighs, “just please don’t leave me again.”

your heart breaks your teary eyed boyfriend. “shh, of course baby. i’ll never leave you again okay?” you say, tugging on his arm, “cmon babe, let’s go to bed, okay?”

“mm okay my love.” he replies and practically pulls you into bed. “i love you, okay?”

“i love you too baby.” you reply

“to the moon and back?” he asks

“yeah, and to infinity and beyond.” you reply, your lack of sleep hitting you hard

“oh, i didn’t know i was dating buzz lightyear”

you let out a loud laugh and just like that you both fall into the same routine, love radiating off both of you in waves.

- sakusa kiyoomi

dating sakusa was,, challenging

it definitely took him a while to get comfortable with you

so you guys have been dating for a couple years now, and at this point he’s def clingy

however there still moments when he reverts to his old self

this just happened to be one of those times

“OUT! AND JUST LIKE THAT, EJP RAIJIN TAKES THE WIN AGAINST THE BLACK JACKALS!”

the stadium is silent before the ejp cheering section erupts in cheers. you stay silent, watching your team below. you watch as sakusa stills, still in disbelief. you make your way down, practically sprinting to your boyfriend.

he sees you on the sideline and makes his way over to you. you put on your biggest smile and attempt to make him feel better.

“you did great, kiyo! you’ll get them next time, yeah?” you beam, knowing how hard he’s been training to beat his cousin

he eyes you warily, not knowing what to say.

usually, sakusa gets pretty clingy after games, so you you move to give him a hug.

“don’t touch me” he barked, jerking away from you. “if you hadn’t been distracting me, we would’ve won.”

you stare at him, refusing to let the tears flow. you both turn when you hear a certain setter yelling at the opposing middle and you sigh.

“um, okay then. i’ll see you at home, yeah?” you ask

sakusa merely nods and makes his way over to his teammates. you look around to see if anyone saw what just happened and you lock eyes with your boyfriend’s cousin, who walks over.

“congrats on the win komori! you guys did so well!” you cheered

“thanks, y/n! and i’m sorry about kiyoomi. i’m sure you know he gets that way sometimes.” he explains

you smile and shake your head, saying that you’re used to it and you both bid your farewells. as you walk out of the stadium, you think back to how your boyfriend, the one person you loved with everything you had in you, utterly embarrassed you in front of his whole team. before you know it, silent tears start streaming down your face. 

you enter your home and immediately rush to the bathroom. you draw yourself a bath and make some dinner while waiting. you assume that kiyoomi wouldn’t be home to have dinner with you anyways- and now that you think about it, you can’t remember the last time you had dinner together. after you finish your bath and eat your dinner, you decide to wait up for boyfriend and watch a couple episodes of your favorite show to pass the time. 

-

kiyoomi walks into his apartment at around 1 am, completely and utterly exhausted. he kicks his shoes off and drops his bag on the floor. The rustling rouses you from sleep and you sit up.

“hey kiyo” you say with a yawn, “where’ve you been all night?” 

sakusa ignores you in favor of getting ready for bed and you frown when he brushes past you. 

“kiyo, babe, what’s wrong? you’ve been ignoring me all night and i-” you start but he interrupts you before you can finish. 

“god, just shut up, y/n. can’t you tell i don’t want to talk to you right now? i’ve already had the worst day, i don’t need you making it any worse.” he snaps

"kiyoomi, look, i understand you’re upset but you shouldn’t take it out on me.” you reason, reaching out towards him, “listen, i’m here if you wanna-” 

“i said, do not touch me.” he seethes. “you are so fucking clingy y/n, lord, let me breathe a little.”

with those words, you explode. “you know what, sakusa,” he flinches when he hears his last name come out of your mouth, “i think i have the right to want to spend some time with my boyfriend! i haven’t seen you in god knows how long- you leave before i wake up and i fall asleep in an empty bed. i’ve been working my ass off to get some time off to watch your stupid volleyball game and what do you do? you embarrass me in front of your whole team!”

you sigh, wiping away the tears that continue that continue to fall. “listen, i don’t want to fight right now. i’m going to go stay at a friend’s house for the night, alright? i’ll see you tomorrow” you say, grabbing your purse. “if you’re even home tomorrow,” you add under your breath.

sakusa is in shock. the moment he saw your tears start to spill, he felt an undeniable and unrelenting ache in his chest that only seemed to grow with every work that came out of your mouth. and when the door shut? sakusa fell on his knees, his heart dropping. he truly couldn’t believe he said that to you. now all he had to do was wait till you got home.

-

2:38 pm - you check the time on your phone before pulling out your keys. you hope you made the right move, choosing to come back home while kiyoomi was still at practice. you open the door and the sight causes your eyes to widen.

there, on the couch with your favorite flowers in hand, is your boyfriend. he hears the door open and stands up abruptly.

“y/n, my love, i am so sorry. i truly cannot express how horrible i feel, and i cannot begin to understand how you feel.” he takes a deep breath, seemingly holding back tears. “i- i do love you. i love you more than i’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life. i know i’m not the best at expressing it, but you mean the world to me- no, you are my world. without you, i don’t know what i would do. so please-” his voice cracks, “just, please give me another chance?”

you run towards your boyfriend, practically tackling him. “kiyo, baby, of course. i love you too, you know? you just can’t do that anymore, yeah? you shouldn’t feel like you have the right to embarrass me just because you had a bad day. and please, don’t call me clingy? i know i do stick to you like glue sometimes, but that’s just because i never see you anymore.” you reply.

“that will all change, darling.” he answers sincerely, “i’ll make more time for you, i swear. in fact, i’ll take the week off, how does that sound?” at the sight of your smile, he relaxes.

“that sounds wonderful, yoomi.” you answer

sakusa feels the weight that’s been dragging him down lift and he realizes the effect you have on him- you’re his breath of fresh air. he also realizes how utterly idiotic it was to push away the one person who could make him feel better.

it’s fine, he reasons, he’ll just never make that mistake again. he swears it.

[mrs-march-ahs]

Kai Impregnating You As a Punishment

Summary- When Kai finds out you’re planning to avoid pregnancy behind his back, he acts immediately to make sure his plan for a new and better future isn’t ruined.

Warnings- Dub-con (I think), breeding/impregnating, car sex, unprotected sex, sexual punishment, daddy kink, arousal from crying, Kai Anderson. Words- 1.6k

This was a left over idea from Kai Week that I had planned based on a request, and I wanted to do it! Returning to car sex, fun! :D

Enjoy<3

--

“What is it Y/N?”, Kai forcefully asks.

“No honestly nothing”. You try your best to lie, but Kai always knew when you were nervous or worried. He also knew when you were keeping secrets from him, which is why right now you were completely screwed. Kai often looks through your belongings and does regular pinky power meetings to ensure that he knows absolutely everything about you. You know how some people say a little mystery is good in a relationship? He was certainly not one of those people.

With you now moved into Kai’s parent’s house with him and Winter, there is no place for you to hide your belongings. Not that you need to, usually. But sometimes when you get him a gift or have something to hide temporarily, you put it in your car, knowing he wont think to search it. But what you were hiding was no gift, but a stab in the chest.

He started being suspicious right away, when he walked past your car to get to his and your heart started pounding. He must’ve heard your heart almost escaping your chest and he instantly knew there was a reason you’d prefer to drive in his car instead of yours.

Kai sits in the passenger seat of your car, letting you drive for once, and stares at you as you start up the car, pretending nothing’s happening.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to force it out of you?”

You look at Kai and shake your head timidly, but try to look and sound confident.

“No honestly I’m not hiding anything”

You mentally slap yourself the second those words come out of your mouth, revealing drips of information to Kai, knowing he’ll keep going after the truth no matter the cost. You look in front of you and put your foot on the acceleration for just a second, before Kai snaps at you to stop.

“Stop. Get in the back”. He unbuckles his seatbelt and puts his foot to the side, ready to climb in the back, but stops when he looks at you frozen.

“Kai’s there’s nothin-”

“Now Y/N”, he yells, making you flinch, and hops into the back middle seat. You quickly unbuckle your own seatbelt and follow him, wanting to sit by his side but instead being immediately bend in half over his lap. Kai grabs your face forcefully.

“Since you’re having so much trouble being honest with me”. Kai pulls your jaw down.

“I’ll help you spit it out”. With that warning said, Kai shoves two fingers deep in your mouth, making your lips wrap around the cold metal ring on his middle finger. After one quick thrust to the back of your throat, he takes his fingers out when you gag and keeps them on your chin.

“Are we gonna speak yet?”. You take a few deep breaths, taken back by his sudden, and new, actions.

“Kai everything’s fi-”

Not even letting you finish your words, he plunges his fingers back in your mouth, or throat, rather, and keeps them there for a few seconds. Your eyes begin to water as you accept your fate, knowing that Kai has a thousand different ways to get things out of you, and you must accept whatever punishment you get for making decisions behind his back.

“When I take my fingers out, you’re gonna tell me”. You cry out in response and he pulls his fingers out, holding your face and twisting it to look at him. He raises his eyebrow at you, making you speak.

“Glove compartment”, you manage to choke out, still slightly shaken from the brutal throat invasion. Kai pushes you off his lap, making you squish on the floor of the car, not daring to get up on the seat if Kai doesn’t want it. He stands up and leans towards the front of the car, opening the glove compartment and shoving out all documents in there onto the floor and seat, without a single care in the world. He rummages through your things, noticing your driving license and car documents, nothing too suspicious, before looking at a small green pharmacy prescription. He takes it and plops back down in the middle seat, reading it closely. Your stomach churns and your previous tears return as you’re torn between looking away from Kai, scared to make eye contact, and not wanting to peel your eyes off him to know his reaction. After a few seconds of angry reading, he rips the paper up and throws it around like confetti. Without even an angry word, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you up on the back seats, laying you down. He climbs over you, and watches your tears fall closely, completely captivated and aroused at the sight of you in distress.

“Oh, so you don’t want to get pregnant?”, he barks in your face, enjoying the way you flinch every time. “You don’t want to make a Messiah? And contribute to the fucking cause? You want to be useless?!”, he yells. You’re left under him, whimpering at his harsh words and shaking your head manically, hoping to make your situation better in any way you can. Even if it meant you had to agree with him.

Kai clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath before speaking again, calmer this time.

“Have you taken any contraceptives yet?”. You immediately shake your head no, and try to blink all of your tears away. Kai whips his belt open and unzips his pants.

“I just got a prescription to buy them… I hadn’t even got them yet”, you whimper out quietly, not sure whether more details will make him calmer or even angrier. He lowers his pants before grabbing your legs and pulling you closer to him, and undoing yours silently and ripping them off. Crying always awoke something inside of Kai, but this was different, like a mixture of a punishment for you and a treat for him.

He leaned down and moved your head to the side, attaching himself to your neck and sucking on it harshly. Although the rough side of Kai scared you beyond words, his tough love still made you feel special, and him sucking hickeys on your neck, no matter how unaffectionately, made you feel like he was marking you as his. Therefore, he must’ve cared about you, even if he chose to show it in an unusual way.

He puts his arms on either side of your head, towering over you, making you feel both intimidated and protected by him, before sliding your underwear to the side. He pushes himself against your crotch and groans in your neck.

“This… this is really special”. He groans, as he lines up with you, putting his tip inside of you without warning.

“Daddy’s never done this with anybody”. A rush of arousal runs through your body as a strong reaction to the new nickname. Kai wasn’t new to nicknames, Sir, Divine Ruler, even Master. But he never called himself daddy, and he could feel the affect it had on you immediately, as he slid in you with ease. Although he pushes in slowly, the charade of softness and love quickly fades away as he slithers his cold hand under your shirt and grabs your boob, kneading it and squeezing it in his hand.

You gasp at the action, making Kai smile and kiss you, just once. He continues to talk to you with his lewd words as he begins to thrust. You submit yourself completely to him, wrapping your legs around his waist, and your arms around his chest, bringing him as close as possible to you so you can feel his warmth. He gracefully accepts your invite and puts his chest to yours, still with a tight grasp on your boob, rubbing your nipple with his thumb.

“Daddy’s gonna massage them so much when they’re all full of milk”, he whispers in your ear. You open your eyes and look at Kai with a blank expression, expecting an explanation to the weird statement, but he doesn’t provide one. Instead, he looks at you with a smirk and speeds up, keeping up the pace of the thrust and the roughness of his touch on you equal. Involuntarily you gulp, accepting the very appropriate punishment.

“God, I haven’t masturbated in- oh fuck… - in days… this is perfect”, he speeds up his thrusts, and closes his eyes, no longer caring about watching you tear up or orgasm. His sole focus shifts to fucking you as deep as possible, and ensuring he can empty as much of his balls as possible, filling you up to the brim. To guarantee your Messiah.

The new pace makes you clench, and panting and gasping as he fucks you restlessly, going deeper than ever before. He pulls your legs up higher and folds you in half, so he can fit his whole cock in, hitting your cervix with every single thrust. Just as the grip on your legs gets tighter and his moans get louder, you’re overcome with pleasure, your first orgasm coming over you and completely distracting you from how uncomfortable of a position you are in. The feeling of you clenching and cumming around him brings Kai over the edge, settling in the first load of the night deep inside of you.

Kai groans as he cums and rests with his cock deep in you, and you wrap your arms back around him and try to pull him closer for a quick kiss before he pulls out. But instead, after a few stationary seconds, he puts his leg on the ground and thrusts again, at a different angle. You whimper at the sensitivity and as does Kai, but he doesn’t hault and instead looks down at you cockily.

“I hope you’re not tired yet, there’s many more where that came from”

--

taglist, dm or comment to be added or taken away, it’s no issue to me:)

@milly-louise  @amourtentiaa  @kitwalker02  @tatestripedsweater  @therenlover  @maria-akira         @tatesimper  @thxc0untessesgl0ve  @mossybank  @ahsxual  @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess  @mrs-march-ahs-biggest-fan  @kitwalkerangel  @kitisagoldenretrieverboy @darlingkitt  @blackbat2020  @elaineygrace  @kaiandersonskoolaid  @undeadcortez @whiiiiplaaaaash

[ichorai]

pearls and pastries ; j.jk

pairing ; pirate!jungkook x baker!reader (gender-neutral)

summary ; a crew of pirates have been pilfering your village for several weeks now and one particularly keen buccaneer has stopped by your bakery practically every visit; whether it be for the delectable pastries or for the sweet baker he's taken an interest to, jungkook couldn’t say. but there’s a catch - the baker doesn’t know that he’s a pirate.

themes ; fantasy, angst, fluff, pining, slight action, pirate au, baker au, medieval au

words ; 3.6k

warnings / includes ; descriptions of weaponry, stealing (from the rich), jungkook being a sad lovesick sap, pirate!bts, poetic sadness but when do i not do angst lmfao everything i touch turns into written sorrow </3

a/n ; written for the @ficscafe fic exchange event for @sunshinerainbowsbts !! i hope you like it <3 i'm definitely considering writing a part two to this :D

Jungkook wasn’t quite fond of parrots. Well, his mislike wasn’t necessarily directed towards the multi-hued rotund bird itself, but the fact that the wretched thing was squawking out a poor rendition of what Jungkook had announced earlier whilst clambering down the crow’s nest.

“I’m going to the bakery! I’m going to the bakery! I’m going to the bakery!” the winged devil screeched from atop Jimin’s shoulder, ruffling its bright feathers as if taunting him.

Shooting it the nastiest of scowls, Jungkook reached behind his head to untie the vermilion bandana holding his overgrown locks away from his narrowed eyes. “You better shut that bird up before I toss it to the sharks, Jimin.”

“If I let you do that, I’d also have to throw you overboard. The both of you are equally annoying,” the other pirate snorted in contempt, glancing up at his younger friend striding across the ship before moving his gaze back to the knapsack he was emptying for the pilfer. Out fell several empty bottles of rum, a few gold pieces glinting in the harsh midday sun, two jewel-encrusted daggers, and a worn eyepatch that suspiciously looked to be the same as the one Yoongi always wore over his left eye. “You seem to forget that we’re here to steal from the rich, not buy fancy breads! You’re lucky that Namjoon has half the decency not to kick you off the boat. Jin, however fond he is of you, still calls you a moocher.”

Rouge faintly dusted across Jungkook’s cheekbones as he coughed into his fist, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. “I steal stuff sometimes,” he muttered under his breath. It was useless to defend himself against someone who saw straight through him.

“Sometimes, my foot!” Jimin scoffed, hiking the bag over his shoulders. “Bringing back a goblet you found rolling down the street doesn’t count, you know that, right?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes to the cloudless sky, far too stubborn to admit that Jimin was right. With not another word, the young pirate clambered off of the large vessel and onto the rickety docks, grunting upon landing. It didn’t bother him much that Jimin was irked at his lack of contribution. They were rich enough as it is; what was the rush?

The air was tangy with sea salt and damp wood as he inhaled a deep breath, setting off for your bakery. Walking there took exactly three hundred and seventy two steps. Jungkook had memorized the shortest route to your little shop, mumbling the numbers under his breath with a growing grin blossoming across his lips. He subconsciously rolled the sleeves of his white tunic down, the fabric concealing the pirate tattoos inked all over his arms.

When the youthful sea wolf stepped foot into your store, a familiar chiming of the bell hooked atop the door echoed across the cream-walled room. At the reverberating sound, your head peeked out from the kitchen situated in the back. An illuminating beam danced on your features, eyes lighting up with mirth at the sight of Jungkook.

It made the muscle within his chest slam against his ribcage, desperate to be freed from its confines because it belonged to you, and only you. He wasn’t quite sure when the sudden fixation for the village baker his crew was stealing from started, but he had acclimated to his own change of heart by visiting you as often as he could.

“Fancy seeing you here today. Are you coming in or are you now my human door stopper?” Your heavenly voice floated towards Jungkook, snapping him out of his thoughts. Sheepish, he shuffled inside, engulfed by the warm scents of chocolate cakes, powdered pastries, caramelized fruits, and toasted almonds. His stomach gave an impatient snarl at the sight of tempting desserts. You had also walked to the front of the counter, dusting your flour covered hands on an apron. Some of the white powder had managed to smudge on your cheek, and Jungkook had to resist the urge to reach over and thumb it away.

“Hi,” he said with the brightest of grins. “I’ve missed you.”

At his bold statement, you suppressed a chortle. “I think you missed those chocolate cream puffs you like so much, not me. What’ve you been up to while you were gone?”

Jungkook hesitated at that. For the short amount of time he’d been visiting you, not once had he mustered the courage to tell you of his true origins. A savage pirate like him shouldn’t even be around the likes of you. You had no idea that he was part of the crew that was robbing your village, and the very thought of you finding out had him terrified. You were a taste of all the goodness in the world, and Jungkook was afraid you’d crumble into ash if he dared touch you. The sinner had no rights touching an angel, after all.

“Visiting family,” he hummed, quick to move on. If you noticed his strange demeanor, you didn’t say anything. For that, Jungkook was grateful. “I brought something for you.”

There was something about your smile that seemed to expel any and all feelings of gloom in a room. Jungkook was no exception to this feat, his knees almost buckling against the soft pink counters. He righted himself by leaning his elbows on top and propping his chin up with a palm. Gods, he didn’t know he was in this deep.

“Oh?” you set your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the side. “To what do I owe such pleasures?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “For those cream cheese tarts you made me last time I visited. Thought I’d repay you.” Whilst saying this, he used his free hand to reach into his back pocket, fishing out a string of authentic pearls, adorned with a glimmering clasp of gold the same hue as the sun.

Your smile melted into a confused pucker, brows knitting together in a muted painting of hesitance, yet you ogled the expensive necklace dangling by one of his spindly fingers nonetheless. Where on earth had he gotten such a valuable treasure? “But you already paid me with money. I really can’t take that, Jungkook.”

Disappointment was easily detected as he slanted his lips to the side. “Alright, then.” He tucked the pearls back into his pocket. It surprised you how easily he had complied.

The worrisome atmosphere was quick to dissolve when the bell jangled once more. A small child meandered in with a toothy beam, holding a small pouch of clattering coins in their palm. They were no taller than Jungkook’s midriff, and he liked it a little more than he should have watching a certain softness adorn your features at the sight of the kid.

“I recommend the cinnamon apple pie. Or maybe the brown sugar crepes if you’re looking for something sweeter,” Jungkook said, gesturing to the treat behind the display glass. The child angled their head to stare at the taller man with wonder. “Anything Y/N makes is to die for, though.”

The child excitedly babbled something in return, but you didn’t quite pick up what they had said. You were far too focused on Jungkook’s animated features when he kneeled down to point at some more desserts. Sure, he was a handsome man, you’ve known that since day one. You’ve never really looked at him in this light. It was as if he were carved from pure luminosity, whittled by the hand of the most skilled sculptor. Everything about him was practically perfect; the gentle slope of his nose, the angles of his raised eyebrows, the dappled rouge of his lips, the beauty marks mottling his dewy skin, the dangerous cuts of his jaw, the twinkle of gaiety you found in his irises. With the sunlight filtering through the windows, it basked Jungkook within a golden radiance, the shadows casted along his face only highlighting his best features, doing nothing to aid your fluttering pulse. Has he always been this beautiful?

“I’ll have a slice of apple pie!”

The sudden clinking of coins being dumped onto the counter snapped you out of your trance, and you kindly wrapped up what the child ordered and handed them the paper bag. Both you and Jungkook watched as they smiled in thanks and trotted out of the bakery. Curse his handsome physique.

A little flustered by your earlier thoughts, you busied your hands by sorting the coins the kid had coughed up. Jungkook, ever the kind soul, merely stood with you as you worked, engaging you in entertaining conversations to keep you occupied while your store was empty. Where did the sun go once it disappeared down the horizon? Why did everybody else seem to enjoy the bitter taste of coffee except him? Why did his heart beat so quickly when around you? The last question he couldn’t muster the courage to ask, and much to his perturbation, he already knew the answer. You enjoyed Jungkook’s company very much; to the point where you couldn’t quite remember what it was like before he had sauntered into your life.

Before the both of you knew it, the sun was already setting. Jungkook noticed the way you deflated just slightly when red kissed the sky. It was a telltale sign that Jungkook was long overdue to go back to his ship. Yoongi would have his ass if he was late again. The whole situation was ridiculous, really. He felt like a fairy tale princess running away from the ball before his clothes grew into tatters. Well, in his case, he supposed it’d be pirate-wear.

Your smile betrayed only the gentlest hint of disappointment as you thrusted a bag of warm cookies into his arms. “Take this for the road,” you had said.

And so Jungkook did, smiling like an idiot the whole way back. A part of him absentmindedly wondered what your face would look like when you noticed that he had left the pearls on the countertop for you.

The ship rocked as the young pirate scampered across the deck at a startling speed, flinging the doors to the cabins open. Six older pirates stared at his panting form, a few looking on with unsurprised indifference, most glaring at him in disappointment. Jimin merely stuck his tongue out, his childish way of saying I told you so. There was expectancy in the captain’s eyes, but it waned away at an instant upon seeing that Jungkook carried nothing of value. Namjoon pinched the space between his brows in mild frustration.

Stiffly, Jungkook jerked his arm to thrust the bag in his hand forward. “Cookie?” he asked. Nobody said anything. Jungkook slowly brought his appendage back down, guilt roiling in his abdomen. “I take it you guys don’t want the cookies?”

With a huff, Namjoon stalked forward. “Of course we want the cookies, give me that.” He snatched the bag out of Jungkook’s hands and tossed it to Taehyung, who caught it with eagerness vividly splayed across his ruffled features. “I do have to admit, we’re getting tired of you bringing back nothing but sweets every time we go on raids, Jungkook. C’mon, kid, this is a team effort here. Look, just today Yoongi managed to steal a dozen coffers from a nobleman. The least you can do is try.” True to the captain’s word, there was a mountain of chests and boxes full to the brim with gold coins and shimmering jewels piled to the side of the cabin.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jungkook nodded in understanding, though not without a miniscule frown twinging his lips. What was a pirate without his treasure, right?

Taking note of his glum demeanor, Namjoon clapped a hand to the younger man’s shoulder. “We’re not mad at you—”

Yoongi snorted at that.

“We just… want to help you help us,” Namjoon finished, ignoring the salty pirate’s quip from behind him.

The youngest man on deck raised his hand to his forehead in an awkward salute. “Yes cap’n!” Shame prowled within his chest; just thinking about the dishonor he brought to the pirate reputation by loitering in a bakery all day, ogling at sugary treats (and the sweet baker, but Jungkook digresses).

A part of him felt even worse knowing that he’d see you less and less, what with the other pirates breathing down his neck. He could only hope that you’d still look forward to his visits, though few and far in between.

Authentic bottles of expensive wines were shoved into his knapsack by Taehyung, lacing chains of aureate crammed into his hands by Hoseok, bars of cold silver wedged into the pits of his arms by Jimin, and more treasures thrown at the youngest pirate to hold as they lithely ran across the village. Being one of the stronger and more agile ones of the group had its downfalls, after all. He was being treated like a pack mule, hauling all the treasure for them. Not that he was going to complain; Jungkook knew that he deserved the rough-housing.

“Hold onto these for me, will you?” Yoongi gruffly uttered as he slid the thick hilts of gem-encrusted daggers into his belt. Jungkook complied hesitantly, but not without a suppressed groan of annoyance. “They’ll sell for more than a pretty penny, so don’t lose them.” The older pirate seemed to be in a grumpier than usual mood, considering he lost his eyepatch and the mottled scar crossing over his eye was on display for anybody to gawk at. It would’ve been worrying to Jungkook if he wasn’t aware of the fact that Jimin was merely prolonging his juvenile game of ‘keep away’, attempting to dance away from Yoongi’s inevitable wrath.

Perhaps being a pirate wasn’t his true calling, because Jungkook found that his mind kept wandering off to the matters at hand—running away from the guards. Though it was a relatively easy task (the guards were quite thick-headed in this village), he thought about the pretty plants dangling from the balconies of a building they jogged by, or the scents of exotic spices carried by the souq market not far from where they were. Most of all, much to his expectancy, his thoughts were centered around you. Had you gotten many customers for lunch rush? Were you lonely without him? How many times have you smiled today? Jungkook was all too fond of your smile.

Blinded by his unsaid affectionate ramblings, he only barely caught on to Namjoon’s quiet, “We shook the guards off for now. Be careful next time, Seokjin. The sun’s about to set soon; we should head back to the ship before it gets dark.”

Jungkook hissed out a small sigh of relief, bending over to catch his breath. Jogging across the village would have been no problem, but running with treasures twice his weight draped all over him was a different story.

When he righted himself back to standing, the sudden pit of shocked trepidation unfurled within his abdomen. There you were, beautiful as ever, but a terrifying sight to see. Normally you’d be the only person he would want to see, but as of this moment, you were the absolute last person he fancied bumping into.

Why now? He had the most rotten of luck.

Today you weren’t wearing your regular apron, but a pair of fitted grey trousers and a soft beige blouse far too large for you, hanging off of one of your shoulders as you cradled a basket of breads and cheeses and other groceries in your arms. It was a simple outfit, but one that made his heart clench nonetheless. The glinting of iridescent pearls draped over your décolletage had his breath stolen away from him as raw sentiment overtook his form. You were wearing the pearls he left for you and you never looked more beautiful. Jungkook, on the other hand, was clad in clothes that practically screamed pirate; a golden-clasped corset tightened about the small of his waist, a tattered white button-up tucked into his dark trousers, worn sea boots covering his feet. A large gun was also slung over the belt cinched around his hips, along with multiple daggers of the like, and not to mention all the riches and jewelry the other boys had thrown at him.

You couldn’t see him. No, it would absolutely ruin Jungkook.

Perhaps dropping everything he was holding in a panicked effort to dash away as quickly as he could was the worst possible thing he could have done to not warrant any attention.

The concerned and confused questions erupting from the other pirates as they whipped their heads towards their youngest comrade went completely ignored. He scampered away from them, lunging towards a shadowed alley and hiding behind a teetering pile of musty boxes. A stray cat nuzzled against his leg, but Jungkook merely shooed it away with a frustrated glare and not-so-subtle shushing gestures.

What a fool I am, the young buccaneer berated himself, pressing a knuckle against his temple in frustration. He waited for another minute, before slinking out from the shadows, peering around the corner to see if you were still there.

No sign of you. Relief seized his chest, but not without the gentlest flower of disappointment staining whatever solace he felt, a weed amongst the roses. Jungkook’s mind was still reeling from the fact that you were wearing his pearls.

Treading carefully, he strode out of the alley, turning the other direction before halting in his tracks completely. A queer, garbled noise tumbled past his lips.

It was you, a confused smile gracing your features, and all Jungkook could think about was how the sunlight was made for you, how you glowed in front of him, how he wanted to cradle you into his chest and murmur confessions of his pure, unadulterated love into your ear. But Jungkook didn’t do any of that. Instead, he merely stood there, as if he was imitating a statue in all of his pirate glory. Terrified, regretful, and ever so angry at himself.

Fate was a cruel game.

The pearls shone prettily on your skin. A reminder of the best mistake he’s ever made.

Your eyes had yet to wander down to fully take in his appearance, for your expression still held fondness for the man that’s visited your bakery so often, still having no idea that he was a filthy pirate, locked into his molten gaze. “I think you dropped something…?” The golden chains dangled loose between your fingers as you held them out to him. Jungkook didn’t take them, frozen on the spot.

It was as if he could pinpoint the exact moment you found out his true origins. Your brows furrowed upon seeing the weaponry strapped onto him, one of his pirate tattoos on display (Jungkook cursed himself for not thinking of rolling his sleeve back down), and the six other men watching in silent despondency behind them. You had always been a sharp one, far too smart for your own good.

Or, perhaps, it's always been obvious. Jungkook was only wishing for the impossible.

“You’re a pirate.”

The statement wedged a stake into his chest, splintering his heart into pieces. When you stepped away from him, confused horror marring your beautiful features, Jungkook knew that it was over.

He lost you.

A flurry of emotions, overwhelming and tumultuous, evidently took over you at his lack of denial. You looked to be just as heartbroken as he was.

“You’re a pirate,” you repeated, dazed. You wanted him to say something, anything. Much to his surprise, you didn’t sound angry. You took several steps back this time. The weight of pearls around your neck suddenly felt choking.

The sudden calling of his name had his head whipping around to look at his captain, watching the brutal exchange with gentle sternness. “We have to go.” The guards’ll be coming soon, no doubt.

Jungkook looked back to you, any and all words lodged in his throat. Despite the fear in your irises, a soft expression of acceptance folded over your visage, for under all his pirate exterior, he was still the same man that you thought so fondly of from your bakery. The look was short-lived however, quick to fade away when Jungkook reached out for you hesitantly. A part of him pondered how a simple baker managed to steal from the stealer. You had robbed him of his heart, and Jungkook didn’t even try to stop you.

Upon seeing you inch away in mortification at your new revelation, Jungkook retracted his arm and pursed his lips. The agony clawing at his stomach was begging to be set free. He wanted nothing more than to get onto his knees and plead for your forgiveness.

I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I’m not the man you thought I was. I’m sorry I fell in love with you.

His name came out again, this time from Yoongi. That meant it was serious.

“I’ll come back,” Jungkook said, tears rimming the bottom of his warm doe eyes. You watched him start to trek backwards. “I promise.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, like he was swallowing down a knot of thorned ivy.

Before you had the chance to say anything back, he was gone, bounding back to his ship with his comrades. Not long after, the distant barks of guards pursuing them rang throughout the village. You took that as your cue to leave. Swallowing down the urge to cry, you forced your eyes away.

You hoped he wouldn’t uphold his promise, for the both of your sakes.