kmiuu1

[kmiuu1]

the insane experience of missing a fictional character . like you can always go back and reread the book , replay the game , rewatch the show or movie , you can always go back & see them , but you can never experience them & their story for the first time again . its absurd to miss them because they'll always be there , but you'll miss when there were still new things for them to say .

for a small time they were real & growing and changing and you hung onto every new word, but now all they can do is repeat the same story forever&ever & they're not real anymore because you know everything they're going to do. & you miss them. its fucked man...

[kmiuu1]

[kmiuu1]

know my creativity has no limits, mortal 🫶

Ronin x reader who is a cannibal but hid it from everyone including Ronin 🤭

WORDS :7729

PROMPT : SICKENING SWEETNESS

TRIGGER WARNING : Graphic Violence, Gore, Murder, Obsession, Manipulation, Death, Cannibal Themes, Dark Themes

CHARACTER USED : Ronin from Killer Chat!

SUMMARY : You were the sweetest person ever, How did you end up with Ronin, Maybe it takes a mess to understand a mess... Ronin walks in, when you're chewing the shiny bone.

HOW DELIGHTFULLY SWEET YOU ARE:

You're the very essence of sweetness—like a burst of sunshine and a cloud of warmth all in one. A heart dipped in honey, every word you utter feels like it’s been dusted with sugar, and your presence is as comforting as the softest blanket. You exude an undeniable charm, effortlessly weaving love and kindness into every moment. You’re a living, breathing masterpiece of warmth, kindness, and beauty, and if sweetness were a currency, you'd be the wealthiest person alive.

Someone as pure and gentle as you… it’s almost unreal that you’d end up with Ronin Beaufort. But here you are, in his world, where sweetness meets chaos. How perfectly twisted, don't you think?

Being in a relationship with Ronin? It’s something you never could’ve predicted. You walked in with the belief that he would never captivate you—how could he? His whole aura screamed danger, chaos, and unpredictability. He wasn’t the type to get under anyone’s skin. He was the one who did the damage. You were too kind, too soft, too… sweet for someone like him.

But then, little by little, something shifted. You started seeing the cracks in that devilish mask, and underneath, you found a deeper, more complicated person than anyone ever expected. His flirtations became a twisted kind of affection, his threats, strangely, a form of intimacy. And somewhere, somehow, without even realizing it, you fell into his world—his chaotic, dark, yet strangely magnetic world.

The more you fought him, the more you were drawn in. He pushed you to your limits, but in doing so, he peeled back layers of yourself you never knew existed. And when you realized it—when you understood how far you'd fallen—it was almost like a sick joke. You? Falling for someone like him?

But here you are, tangled in his grip, willingly wrapped in the chaos and the thrill of his twisted love. It’s dangerous, yes. But there’s no denying it: you wouldn’t have it any other way.

u. The table before you was set with a single plate, a fork, and a knife—neatly arranged, as if this were some normal, respectable meal. But it wasn’t.

Oh, it so wasn’t.

You sighed, staring at the piece of meat on your plate. Cooked to perfection, slightly charred at the edges, seared just enough to lock in the juices. The smell was rich, mouthwatering. You hated that part the most—the fact that it smelled good. That it tasted even better. That despite every ounce of shame that sat heavy in your chest, despite every promise you made to yourself that this is the last time, you knew deep down... it wouldn’t be.

Your fingers gripped the fork tightly, pressing the prongs into the tender flesh. You could hear it now, Ronin’s voice in your head, laughing, teasing:

"Really, sweetheart? All that sugar and spice, and this is your dirty little secret?"

No. No, no, no. He could never know.

Your serial killer friends didn’t even know. Which, honestly, was insane. They knew you were no saint, sure. You had your fun. But they all thought you were just… well, a little bloodthirsty, maybe. A sweet little thing with a bite, a killer, sure, but not like this. No one could ever know.

You sliced into the meat with practiced ease, lifting a piece to your lips, hesitating for just a moment.

This is the last time.

You popped it into your mouth.

…

Goddamn it, why was it so good?!

Your head hit the table with a dramatic thud, groaning into the wood as the taste flooded your senses. You hated this. You hated yourself for loving it. The texture, the richness, the way it melted just right on your tongue—like the best cut of steak you’d ever had. And the worst part? The worst, absolute worst part?

You knew exactly who this was.

You sat up, chewing slowly, staring at the remains on your plate.

"Sorry, Pastor Jim," you muttered around your bite. "You really should’ve stopped touching choir boys."

You stabbed another piece, eating with a little less guilt.

Because technically, you were still keeping to your moral code, right? You only went after the worst of the worst. And it’s not like you meant to start eating them! That had been an accident! A very unfortunate accident involving a freezer, a power outage, and a very poor sense of food preservation. But after that first taste? Yeah. Yeah, it became a problem.

You shoveled another bite into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Ronin would never let you live this down if he found out.

Oh, he’d love the murder part—he’d practically applaud you for it. Maybe even invite you on one of his little outings. But this? This would be his golden ticket to bullying you for eternity. He’d never shut up about it. You could already hear him.

"Oh, doll, you mean to tell me all this time you’ve been lookin’ at me like a snack, you meant it literally?"

You dropped your fork and groaned again. No. Nope. That was nightmare fuel.

You reached for a napkin, dabbing your lips as if you hadn’t just committed an unforgivable sin. The plate was almost clean now, the evidence disappearing bite by bite. As much as you hated yourself for it, at least it was practical. Waste not, want not, right?

Still. You needed to get out of this habit before you really fucked up. You’d been careful, so insanely careful, but all it took was one slip-up, one little mistake, and suddenly you’d go from ‘mysterious and deadly’ to ‘literal horror movie monster.’

You sighed, pushing your plate away, feeling full but entirely unsatisfied. The guilt was still there, coiling like a snake in your gut, whispering, This isn’t normal. You’re a freak.

Like that was news.

You stood, stretching, rolling out your shoulders as you walked over to the fridge. Opening it, you took a moment to survey the contents, lips pursing. You had normal food in there. You could just eat normal food. Maybe. Probably.

You shut the fridge.

Later problem.

For now, you needed to clean up and make sure no one ever found out about this.

And, more importantly, make sure Ronin never, ever found out.

Because one thing was certain: if he did…

You would never hear the end of it.

The clock read 2:47 AM. The server was quiet—everyone else had gone to sleep, the usual chatter of chaos and mayhem dying down for the night. Well, almost everyone.

One handle still glowed in the dark.

Goreboy.

You smirked, clicking on the voice chat. The moment it connected, his voice came through, low and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

"Hey, what’s up, darlin’? Can’t sleep? Or just missed my face too much?"

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. "It’s just… missing. And both."

He chuckled, the kind of sound that dripped with amusement, but also a little bit of something else—something that made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t ready to admit.

"So, what’d you wanna ask me for?"

You blinked. "For…?"

A dramatic sigh from the other end. "Idiot. Valentine’s."

Oh. Right. Last year had been a disaster. Mostly because he thought it’d be funny to leave you a gift-wrapped corpse—freshly skinned, because of course he’d go the extra mile. It had ended in a chase, a near-stabbing, and an impromptu rooftop knife fight that nearly landed both of you in jail.

Ah, memories.

But this year, you had both agreed—no killing each other for Valentine’s.

Which meant you had to get him something.

"So," you started, tapping your fingers on the desk, "what do you want?"

Ronin’s face—well, his emoji reaction—popped up on the server. A middle finger.

"Why would you ask for a goddamn gift?" he grumbled. "You’re supposed to surprise your lover. That’s, like, the whole point, sweetheart."

You huffed. "And yet, last year, I got a literal human hide on my doorstep."

"I thought it was romantic."

"You thought wrong."

A pause. Then, a laugh. "Fine. Flowers. That’ll do."

You blinked. "Flowers? Like… lilies or something?"

"Sure. Whatever. I’m not picky."

"Okay!" you chirped.

And for a second, just a second, there was silence. Something rare when it came to Ronin.

Then, in a tone so casual it made your blood run cold—"Midnight snack?"

Your heart stopped.

You sat up straight. "What?"

"You been eating, sweetheart? Kinda weird, this late at night. But, uh, mostly just wondering ‘cause you got ketchup on the end of your lips."*

…Oh.

OH.

Your hand shot up to your mouth, wiping at the corner.

You looked at your fingers.

That was not ketchup.

You shot up from your chair. "I’ll be right back!"

You rushed to the bathroom, practically tripping over your own feet as you scrambled to wash your hands. The blood—not ketchup—clung to your fingers, vivid and fresh. You were quick, but not quick enough to forget that Ronin had seen it.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and for a moment, you froze, staring at the sink, the sound of running water filling the silence. It was too close—the slip-up, the small hint of a mistake that could unravel everything. The last thing you wanted was for him to know.

He didn’t notice. He didn’t notice. He’s too busy being an idiot to notice.

You scrubbed your hands furiously, trying to erase any trace of it, the red staining the water swirling down the drain, just like the thoughts in your head. It’s fine. You’ve done worse.

You wiped your hands on a towel, your mind racing. He hadn’t called you out on it. Yet. And it wasn’t like he needed to know, right? Please, don't notice.

You shook your head, trying to brush off the paranoia creeping in. Of course, he'd notice. Ronin noticed everything.

But for now, you were in the clear.

You took a deep breath, checking your reflection in the mirror, making sure you didn’t look too guilty. You ran your tongue over your lips, still tasting the remnants of that awful little snack.

It was weird, you thought. You hated it, but also? It was surprisingly good.

You turned on your heel, heading back to the computer with a forced smile on your face, your pulse still thrumming in your ears.

"Everything okay, darling?" Ronin's voice came through, smooth and teasing, as if he hadn’t even noticed your brief disappearance.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine," you said, trying to act casual, even as your mind screamed at you.

"Mm. Good." His voice held that strange amusement, as if he was watching you. "Better not be hiding anything, sweetheart."

Both of you were uncharacteristically still—something had shifted, some unspoken tension that made everything feel… off.

Ronin’s voice had been teasing at first, but now, as the minutes passed, it felt like he was holding something back. And then, the blush hit. You weren’t sure if it was him or you who started it first, but it was unmistakable. His voice took on an almost shy edge when he spoke again.

"Kay… Better not let you be a not sleeper this time," he said, the words almost careful as if testing the waters. "That time your fucking manager almost made you... frickin’ not sleeper. We wouldn’t want that, right?"

You let out a soft chuckle, but even you knew it was a little too nervous. The memory of that incident was still too fresh—the way you’d almost been pushed to the edge by that workaholic manager, the constant pressure, the stress. It had taken everything in you to keep functioning, but Ronin’s comment seemed to shift the mood, the tension, and for a moment, your walls cracked.

"Yeah..." you said, your voice soft, almost a whisper. "But I wouldn’t mind speaking to you. You know? Speaking to you is enough."

You didn’t even know why you said it, why it felt so vulnerable all of a sudden, but there it was. You were falling deeper, and you couldn’t help it.

"Hah… I’m really a hopeless romantic, huh?" You sighed, the weight of your own words settling in. You hated how much you were giving away with every little thing you said, every little action. But somehow, with Ronin, it didn’t feel like weakness. It felt like… something else.

"Well, hit me up," Ronin’s voice came through again, but this time, it was softer—an almost teasing undercurrent that made your heart flutter. "We could spend Valentine’s at mine… or yours. Or hell, that alleyway we ran into each other in last time."

You flushed, unable to control the heat that rushed to your cheeks at the thought. The alleyway was a place you’d never forget—the smell of blood in the air, the thrill of the chase, the way everything had felt so… alive.

"I—I don’t know about the alleyway," you stammered, feeling the tips of your ears burn. "But, sure, we could… we could do something like that. I’m not picky."

Another laugh, low and dangerous. "Yeah, you’re always the one who’s not picky, huh?"

And then you heard it. The sound of him clearing his throat. Was he blushing, too?

"You’re really going to make me lose my shit over this, huh?"

You bit your lip to suppress a smile, but you couldn’t help it. Ronin was a lot of things—volatile, unpredictable, dark—but he was also fun. And somehow, against your better judgment, you liked that. You liked the dangerous little dance you two played.

"But," he continued, his voice now tinged with something almost sweet, "I don’t want to sleep deprive you again."

Your heart fluttered at the way he phrased it. Sleep deprivation… was that his way of caring? Of worrying about you? Or was it just his twisted way of showing affection? You couldn’t tell anymore.

You tilted your head, staring at the screen. The words you wanted to say got caught in your throat. Does he care, or is this all just part of the game?

"Well, I do have to work," you said, shifting uncomfortably in your chair, the weight of it all sinking in. "Manager said there’s more writing to do."

Ronin’s voice changed in an instant. You could hear the frustration, the tension rising as he cursed under his breath. "What the fuck? More writing? Are they insane?" He sounded genuinely pissed now, and it wasn’t the playful anger you were used to—it was something more serious.

You winced. "Yeah, I know. It’s a lot."

"Fucking hell," he growled, a rare tone of annoyance seeping into his voice. "You need a break. Don’t let them fucking work you to death. What are they thinking, pushing you like that?"

You chuckled nervously, trying to mask the heaviness that weighed on you. "It’s fine. I can handle it."

But Ronin wasn’t having it. "No, you can’t. Fuck that." The silence that followed felt almost too loud. "Do whatever you want, but don’t overwork yourself. I swear to God, if you doom yourself like.."

Your breath hitched.

"Ronin…" you whispered, barely audible. "I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me."

There was a long, heavy pause. Then, with a sigh, Ronin muttered under his breath, "I don’t want to hear about it if you end up like that. You hear me?"

You bit your lip, your eyes stinging. He wasn’t just angry anymore; he was worried. Maybe even protective. And you were terrified that you might like it.

"I hear you," you said softly, but it wasn’t enough.

You glanced at the clock. Valentine’s was approaching. And you? You had a lot of thinking to do.

The call ended abruptly, but you were still left staring at your screen for a few moments, lingering in the silence that filled the room. You hadn’t expected Ronin to hang up so soon, but maybe he wasn’t one for goodbyes. After all, when it came to Ronin, it was always about the moment rather than anything after.

Just as you were about to put your phone down, your screen flashed with a new message.

Goreboy: "Why not stay on the call until you fall asleep?"

Your lips curled into a smile as you quickly typed a reply. "I don't want you to worry." You meant it, but there was always a part of you that liked the idea of him sticking around, even if he didn’t seem to care about you quite the way you cared about him.

The response came almost instantly.

Goreboy: "I’m not worried, sweetheart. You’re just a rotten saint, too good for your own shit."

You chuckled at that. "Rotten saint, huh? Sounds about right." You sat back in your chair, feeling the comfort of the familiar exchange. Something about him being around always made the long hours of work seem more bearable. It was easy to get lost in the chaos of his teasing, and his dark sense of humor made the night seem... lighter.

You: "Well, I’d like that. Let’s do it then."

And so, you returned to typing, the soft clack of your keyboard the only sound between you and the quiet hum of the night. He didn’t say much at first, but you could hear the occasional rustle on his end, the shift of his posture or the sound of him stretching. You couldn’t see him, but you could almost picture it.

You laughed at something funny in the book, your fingers moving almost too quickly to keep up. You two chatted about anything and everything—his usual dark humor, your frustrations with the latest writing assignment. Every now and then, you’d get caught up in a tangent, bantering back and forth until the conversation felt easy and natural, like the two of you weren’t constantly circling each other in some game neither could win.

As the hours passed, the yawns began.

You felt a wave of exhaustion crashing over you. Your eyes drooped, your head growing heavy, but you fought it—if only for a little longer. It was nice, being able to laugh with him, to share the quiet moments that didn’t need words.

But as the minutes ticked by, it was clear your body wasn’t going to listen. Your words became slower, your typing more erratic, and before long, the yawns became impossible to hide.

"Shit…" you muttered, rubbing your eyes. "I think I’m falling asleep."

You heard Ronin’s voice through the speaker, low and almost playful. "You sure you’re not just bored of me already?"

You chuckled softly. "No... just tired, I guess."

There was another pause, but you could hear him shift in his seat, the slight rasp of his breath as he yawned, too.

"Yeah… I’m getting there too," he said, the words thick with exhaustion. "Guess you’ll have to deal with me being sleepy now. How’s that for fun?"

You smiled, your head sinking into your pillow. "It’s fine," you murmured, your voice soft, nearly a whisper. "I don’t mind."

He let out a quiet huff, but it was different from the usual playful smirk. It sounded… gentler, more like he was actually considering something, his usual sarcasm dulled by the exhaustion that hung heavy in his voice.

And then, just as you were slipping further into that comfortable, drowsy haze, you heard him sigh.

"It’s not that healthy," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "At least you're asleep now."

You barely registered the words before they faded into nothing, your eyes closing.

"Good night," he whispered softly, his voice low, almost tender in its quiet warmth.

You wanted to say something, to reply, but the words died on your lips as sleep finally claimed you, the exhaustion sweeping you away before you could even react.

The last thing you heard was the sound of Ronin’s breath on the other end of the line, as if he, too, had surrendered to the pull of sleep.

"Good night, sweetheart," he repeated, and then the call ended.

This is the last time, He talked with you. At least you didn't come online, Angel told him to check up on you before she uses her gun.

Your house was quiet. Peaceful, even.

Well, except for the fact that you were currently sitting on the kitchen floor, absentmindedly chewing on a cooked leg.

Not your leg, of course. That would be ridiculous. No, it belonged to your now ex-manager, who was currently in several pieces scattered across your apartment. You hadn’t planned on killing him, but he just wouldn’t shut up about your deadlines, your workload, how you weren’t being "grateful enough" for all the opportunities he gave you. He’d pushed you, and pushed you—until you pushed back.

And now? Now he was dinner.

You sighed, poking at a plate of slightly undercooked meat with a fork. You’d always hated this part of yourself, the part that craved something you shouldn’t. It was disgusting. It was wrong. And yet, the taste... well. You weren’t about to lie to yourself.

You took another bite.

And that was exactly when Ronin kicked open your front door.

"What the fu—"

You froze mid-bite, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Ronin, meanwhile, was standing in your doorway, expression torn between disbelief and absolute amusement. He scanned the scene before him—blood smeared across the floor, the half-butchered body slumped over the couch, you sitting there like a guilty puppy with a mouth full of human flesh.

You swallowed slowly. "...I can explain."

Ronin blinked. "Can you?"

You considered your options. "No."

A beat of silence.

Then, he cackled. Not just a chuckle, but a full-on, throw-your-head-back kind of laugh. "Holy shit," he gasped between laughs. "*I thought you were just some cute little killer, but this? This is—Oh my fucking God!"

"Listen!" you said, standing up and wiping your mouth as if that would somehow erase the crime. "It’s—okay, it’s exactly what it looks like, but—"

"YOU’RE A FUCKING CANNIBAL!" he howled, doubling over, hands on his knees. "Oh, this is the best thing I’ve ever seen. Fuck Valentine’s Day, this is my real gift!"

You scowled, crossing your arms. "You don’t have to be so loud about it."

"*Are you kidding? This is hilarious!" He wiped a fake tear from his eye. "Angel thought you were dead, and instead, you’re in here having a romantic dinner for one with your goddamn manager! Jesus, sweetheart, you could’ve told me you had a taste for this kind of thing."

You huffed. "Because you’d react so well?"

"*I’m reacting great!" he gestured wildly at the room. "This is the best fucking plot twist of my life! You’ve been holding out on me!"

You muttered under your breath, "I hate being like this."

Ronin grinned, stepping closer, his boots splashing in a puddle of blood. "But you still do it."

You didn’t answer. You just turned away, rubbing your temple. "Are you going to tell Angel?"

"Oh, absolutely," he said without hesitation.

"Ronin."

"Okay, fine," he smirked. "I won’t. But only because I wanna see how long it takes her to figure it out on her own. Could be fun!*"

You groaned, sinking back into a chair. "I can’t believe this is happening."

"*I can." He sat on the counter, kicking his legs like a child. "So, what’s the verdict? Tastes good?"

You stared at him for a long moment before muttering, "...Yeah."

Ronin was still laughing. How was he still laughing?

He was clutching his stomach, cackling like you’d just told him the funniest joke in the world instead of, you know, revealing that you were a literal serial cannibal.

"Angel is going to love this," he wheezed, wiping at his eyes. "I mean, fuck, I thought you were just some adorable little killer, but this? Oh, sweetheart, this is—this is something special."

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the blood-smeared counter. "Yeah, well, keep it to yourself," you muttered. "She’d have a heart attack if she knew."

"Oh, absolutely," he grinned, still catching his breath. "Which is exactly why I’m tempted to tell her."

"Ronin."

"Relax, relax," he smirked, waving a hand. "I won’t. But I will be thinking about it. Every time she nags me, I’m gonna remember that you are out here making gourmet fucking human dinners, and it’s gonna make my entire week."

You exhaled, dragging a hand down your face. "God, why did I let you into my house?"

"Because you secretly love my company," he said smugly, hopping off the counter. "Now, c’mon, you said you needed to clean up, right? Let’s do it."

"Wait," you smirked, a sudden idea sparking in your mind. "Actually, I was thinking… you could help me cook instead."

His laughter stopped. He blinked at you. Then his lips curled into a wild grin. "You are so fucked up, and I am so in love with that."

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at that. "So that’s a yes?"

"*That’s a *fuck yes.**"

Midnight Cooking Show: Cannibal Edition

The two of you stood over the kitchen counter, your manager’s remains laid out in a disturbingly organized manner. You had spent the last few minutes separating the best cuts, while Ronin was busy washing the parts that were, in his words, "too chewy for my taste, but hey, I’m not the one eating this sick shit."

"So, what’s the dish, Chef?" he grinned, leaning against the sink. "Please tell me we’re making something fancy. Like, I dunno, some five-star shit. Let’s turn this asshole into a delicacy."

You smirked, grabbing a knife. "Ever had Char Siu?"

Ronin’s eyebrows shot up. "Are you fucking kidding? That’s, like, the best thing ever. That sweet, sticky, roasted pork shit? That?"

You grinned wider. "That. Except, well… pork’s off the menu.*"

Ronin howled with laughter. "You’re insane. I love it. Let’s do it."

Cooking Instructions (as narrated by you and Ronin, because he wouldn’t shut up)

Step One: Choosing the Meat

"Alright, we’re looking for the tender stuff, right?" you said, eyeing the cuts. "Something fatty but not too fatty."

Ronin tilted his head, considering. "I feel like an asshole saying this, but our dear ex-manager here was kinda scrawny. Might be a bit tough."

"That’s what marinating is for," you hummed, grabbing a particularly meaty thigh. "This should work."

"God, I’m never looking at a butcher shop the same way again," Ronin snorted. "This is so fucked up and I am having the best time."

Step Two: The Marinade

"Alright," you said, pulling out the ingredients. "We’re gonna need honey, hoisin sauce, soy sauce, Chinese five-spice, Shaoxing wine, oyster sauce—"

"Okay, okay, wait a goddamn second," Ronin interrupted, pointing at you. "Are you telling me that your cannibal ass just had all this on hand? Like, you were prepared to make human Char Siu?"

You blinked. "I like cooking."

He doubled over. "Holy fuck, I can’t— You’re out here casually prepping for gourmet murder meals, and you want me to believe you’re ashamed of being a cannibal? Sweetheart, you are BUILT for this."

You huffed, shoving a bowl into his hands. "Shut up and mix the marinade."

"With pleasure."

Step Three: Marinate the Meat

Ronin watched as you coated the leg meat in the thick, dark-red sauce, the sweet-smoky aroma filling the kitchen.

"You know," he mused, propping his chin on his hand, "I’ve seen some fucked up shit. But watching you massage sauce into a man’s thigh like it’s a goddamn steak might just be my new favorite memory."

"I hate you," you said, completely void of heat.

"You love me," he grinned.

You ignored the way your face burned. "It needs to marinate for a few hours," you said instead. "Overnight would be best, but I doubt we have that kind of time."

"Booooo," he pouted. "Fine, what’s next?"

Step Four: Roasting

You slid the marinated human flesh onto a roasting rack, setting the oven to the perfect temperature.

Ronin leaned against the counter, watching you with too much amusement. "So, uh, just wondering…"

"What?" you asked without looking up.

"When do I get a taste?"

You froze. Then, slowly, you turned to him, smile too sharp. "You don’t."

His grin faltered. "…Huh?"

"You’re not eating this."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I said so." You leaned in slightly. "You’re mine, Ronin. I don’t share my food, and I don’t eat the things I like."

For the first time tonight, he was the one caught off guard. His smirk flickered, eyes scanning your face, looking for… something.

Then, he grinned. A slow, dangerous thing. "Oh, sweetheart." His voice was lower, sweeter. "That was the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me."

You rolled your eyes. "Just go set the table."

Dinner for One (Plus One Obsessed Serial Killer Boyfriend Watching You Eat)

The aroma that filled the kitchen was heavenly. The glazed, caramelized crust of the human-Char-Siu gleamed under the kitchen light, a perfect blend of smoky, sweet, and savory.

Ronin watched intensely as you took your first bite, his chin resting on his hands.

"Well?" he smirked. "How’s our dear ex-manager tasting?"

You chewed slowly, savoring the rich, perfectly seasoned meat. After a moment, you swallowed, licking your lips. "Mmmm… tender. The marinade really helped."

Ronin whistled. "Damn. Maybe I should take up cooking."

"You can help clean instead."

"Ew, no. That’s boring."

"Then sit there and shut up."

"Aye-aye, Captain Cannibal."

He grinned as you continued eating, watching you with something intense, fascinated, and a little dangerous.

And you?

You chewed, swallowed, and pretended you weren’t thinking about how Ronin would taste.

"You know, you look cute like that," Ronin murmured, propping his chin on his palm as he watched you scrape off the last bits of blood from the counter. "White clothes were a bold choice, though. Now you look like a bloodied lily."

You paused, glancing down at yourself. Your white button-up, once pristine, was now splattered with deep crimson. You were drenched in it—smudged across your sleeves, streaked along your cheek, staining your collar.

"Cute," you echoed dryly. "I look like a crime scene."

Ronin grinned. "Yeah. But a pretty one."

You sighed, tossing a rag at him. "Shut up and help me clean, lover boy."

He caught it easily but made no move to help. Instead, his grin widened, his eyes dark with amusement. "You know," he drawled, "since Valentine’s Day is coming up, I’ve been thinking…"

You raised an eyebrow, still scrubbing the floor. "Thinking about what?"

"Your gift."

That made you pause. You turned to him slowly. "Ronin."

"What?" He was way too smug.

"If this is a cannibal joke—"

"Oh, it absolutely is."

"Ronin."

He laughed, finally pushing himself off the counter. "Relax, sweetheart. No human meat in your chocolates. Probably."

"Probably?"

"No promises."

You groaned, turning back to your cleaning. "I swear to God, if I find even a hint of flesh in whatever you get me—"

"Then you’ll love me anyway, because you already do," he finished smoothly, flashing you that damn grin.

You scowled at him, pointedly ignoring the heat in your face. "What’s the actual gift, then?"

He hummed, tilting his head as if considering it. Then, suddenly, his gaze shifted. Lowered. Darkened.

And then he smiled.

Not his usual cocky, playful smirk.

Something softer. Deeper. Dangerous in a way that made your heart skip.

"I already saw my gift," he murmured.

You blinked. "…What?"

He didn’t elaborate. He just kept looking at you, as if you had already given him something he wasn’t willing to name.

You opened your mouth, about to demand an explanation, but he had already turned away, grabbing a sponge.

"C’mon, let’s finish cleaning up," he said casually, as if he hadn’t just dropped something on you and walked away.

You frowned, staring at him for a few seconds longer. But he didn’t look back.

You exhaled, shaking your head.

Fine.

You’d let it go. For now.

Valentine’s Day. The day of romance, devotion, and in your case—waiting in a corpse-themed purgatory for your unhinged serial killer boyfriend.

Because of course you were.

You weren’t in some cute little café, or at a fancy dinner with overpriced wine. No. You were sitting on an overturned crate in Ronin’s personal murder studio, a dingy, bloodstained alleyway that smelled like iron and bad decisions. A place where the pavement was practically screaming for an exorcism.

Romantic, right?

You sighed, adjusting the heart-shaped box in your hands. Inside was a batch of apple crumble chocolates, apple crumble brownies, and an apple crumble cheesecake, because Ronin—annoyingly—had mentioned once that he liked apple crumble ice cream, and your dumb, smitten heart had latched onto that information like a leech.

You glanced around at your surroundings, unimpressed.

A "Happy Valentine’s Day" banner would’ve really brightened this place up. Maybe some candles. Or bleach. Yeah. A lot of bleach.

But honestly, what the hell else did you expect? Candlelit dinners weren’t exactly Ronin’s vibe—unless the candles were being used to torture someone.

Still, you sighed. He was late. Typical.

You kicked a stray piece of… something. Meat. Maybe. You weren’t going to check.

Waiting here was a mistake.

Ten Ways Ronin Had Annoyed You This Week: He kept making cannibal jokes. Every damn conversation. No escape. Called you "Gourmet Hannibal" like it was a fucking title. Asked if your favorite song was “Eat Me Alive��� by Judas Priest. Claimed he was “checking his fingers just in case” whenever you looked at his hands too long. Said, “I’m a snack, but not like that,” at least five times. Every time you ate, he dramatically recoiled like you were about to rip his throat out. You bit into a steak, and he muttered, “Damn, there goes another one.” Started calling you “Tooth Fairy” because you had “a weirdly specific taste.” When you asked him to drop it, he said, “You first.” Brought you an actual human tooth in a jewelry box and asked if that was a ‘romantic gesture’ or a ‘fucking problem.’ (It was both.) (And Angel suggested him this. It takes a cannibal to fucking know another)

And despite all of that, you were still standing here. With chocolates.

God, you were down bad.

Instead, all you got were a few ominous puddles, some suspicious stains, and a crowbar leaning against the wall like it was waiting for its next victim. So romantic.

You checked the time on your phone. Ronin was late.

Oh, what, was he busy? Did he have better things to do on Valentine’s Day than see you? What, was he murdering someone else?

Cheating bastard.

You huffed and crossed your arms, scowling at the empty alleyway.

And then, because you were bored, you started making up excuses for him.

Maybe he was picking flowers. You doubted it. Last time someone handed him a bouquet, he used it to smother a guy.

Maybe he got distracted by something shiny. Likely. Ronin had the attention span of a caffeinated raccoon.

Maybe he got arrested. Again.

Maybe he was actually planning something really sweet and elaborate for you. HA. Yeah, no.

Maybe he was testing you to see if you’d get impatient and kill someone while waiting. Classic Ronin move.

You kicked a stray pebble, sighing dramatically. He was taking forever.

At this point, you were tempted to start leaving cryptic messages in blood just to pass the time. Maybe something poetic. Something that would make future detectives stare at the crime scene and go "What the hell does this mean?"

Maybe something simple, like:

"Men will literally commit murder instead of going to therapy."

Or, if you were feeling extra dramatic:

"My Valentine is LATE and I’m NOT MAD but if I WAS, there would be CONSEQUENCES."

You pulled out your phone and considered texting him something passive-aggressive, just to be a menace.

Maybe: "Are you cheating on me with your victims? :("

Or: "I swear to God, if you stood me up, I’m eating all this chocolate myself and then killing you for making me eat that much sugar."

Or, if you wanted to really get under his skin:

"Hey, I’m just gonna leave this box of sweets here, okay? Hope some random guy enjoys them! :D"

That one would definitely get a reaction.

You smirked to yourself, already typing.

But before you could hit send—

A voice drawled from behind you.

"Damn, sweetheart. You look so cute when you’re plotting."

You startled, whipping around.

And there he was.

Ronin Beaufort, in all his smug, late-ass glory, grinning at you like he hadn’t just made you sit in a bloodstained alleyway for an HOUR.

You narrowed your eyes. "You’re late."

"Fashionably."

"You don’t even have a watch."

"Exactly."

You huffed, shoving the box of chocolates into his hands. "Here. Happy Valentine’s, you menace."

His brows lifted slightly in surprise before he smirked. "A gift? For me? You shouldn’t have."

"I really shouldn’t have."

He snorted and popped open the box, blinking at the sheer excessive amount of apple crumble-themed sweets inside.

Then he looked at you.

Then back at the chocolates.

Then back at you.

And then—

The bastard laughed.

Like, full-on cackled.

"Oh, you’re OBSESSED with me," he teased, grinning like the absolute menace he was. "Damn, sweetheart, this is embarrassing for you."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up and eat."

"You love me SO much it’s ridiculous."

"Ronin."

"Like, imagine being this whipped—"

"RONIN."

"I feel so flattered—"

"RONIN, JUST EAT THE DAMN CHOCOLATES."

He snickered but finally picked one up, popping it into his mouth.

And then—

He froze.

You smirked. "Good?"

He chewed slowly, his expression unreadable.

Then he swallowed and looked at you.

And for once, Ronin was speechless.

You grinned. "Told you I was good at baking."

He blinked. "Sweetheart, I don’t know if I wanna kiss you or kill you right now."

"Romantic."

"No, seriously, what the hell?" He grabbed another one, taking a bigger bite. "Why is this actually amazing?"

"Because I have actual skills, unlike you."

"Wow. Bold of you to disrespect my artistic talent."

"Beating a guy to death with a crowbar is not artistic talent."

"SAYS YOU."

You laughed, shaking your head.

For a brief moment, there was silence.

Then, much softer, Ronin spoke. "Thanks, sweetheart. Really."

You blinked at him.

And there it was again.

That look.

That look he gave you sometimes, when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

The one that was too soft for him, too raw. The one that made your chest tighten and your stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling way too warm. "Yeah, yeah. Happy Valentine’s, loser."

Ronin grinned. "Happy Valentine’s, darling."

And, with zero warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

Oh.

OH.

Your brain short-circuited.

But you barely had a second to process it before he pulled away, smug as hell, licking a bit of apple crumble chocolate off his lips.

"Mmm. Sweet," he murmured, shooting you a wink.

And then, just to be a menace, he added—

"Kinda tastes like human flesh, though."

You smacked his arm. "RONIN!"

He cackled.

Valentine’s Day. A day of love, romance, and— apparently—receiving an actual human heart in a goddamn box.

You blinked down at it, tilting your head like a curious little puppy.

It was fresh. Still glistening. Still warm. Nestled inside a bed of black tissue paper, a stark contrast to the pale pink ribbon tied around the lid. There was a letter tucked neatly inside, pressed against the inner lining.

You didn’t open it. Not yet.

Instead, you just… stared at the heart.

And then you smiled.

Because oh—oh, this was so cute.

Your face practically lit up, your eyes shimmering with the kind of sickeningly sweet delight that could rot an entire dentist’s career. You clasped your hands together, a lovestruck little sigh slipping from your lips.

And then—

You picked up the heart.

With your bare hands.

And gently, lovingly, sweetly held it to your cheek.

Like a cherished stuffed animal.

Like it was the cutest thing anyone had ever given you.

Because to you—it was.

Your voice practically dripped with saccharine delight. "Ohhh, Ronin… you SHOULDN’T HAVE!"

Ronin, who was leaning oh-so-casually against the alley wall, just grinned. Like the absolute menace he was. "You like it, sweetheart?"

"LIKE it?" You gasped, offended by his lack of confidence in his own romantic gesture. "Ronin, I LOVE it."

You nuzzled the heart slightly, sighing in contentment.

Like it wasn’t a literal organ from a probably-still-warm corpse.

Like this was a plushie and not something that had been inside a human being ten minutes ago.

"You’re so thoughtful!" you cooed, holding the heart up like it was the most precious thing in the world. "Oh my God, my boyfriend is so romantic. He literally got me a heart for Valentine’s! What a sweetheart!"

Ronin cackled, "Sweetheart, you’re actually insane."

"Says the guy who just gave me a heart in a box," you shot back, giving him an adorably scolding little pout.

He snorted. "Okay, yeah, fair. But I mean… well, I thought you might appreciate it more than flowers.*"

"You THOUGHT RIGHT!"

You cradled the heart in your hands, your expression practically glowing with love and adoration.

Like someone had just gifted you the rarest diamond in existence.

Like you weren’t holding a fresh, dripping, human organ.

Ronin watched you, his eyes dancing with amusement.

He had expected a reaction.

Shock. Maybe a flustered little squeak. Possibly even an affectionate slap to the arm.

But this?

This was…

So. Much. Better.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re seriously hugging a heart right now."

"Because it’s sweet, Ronin! It’s so SWEET!" you insisted, gushing over it like a lovestruck schoolgirl. "You gave me something that symbolizes love in the most LITERAL way possible! It’s like saying ‘I love you with all my heart’—but PHYSICALLY! That’s so poetic!"

Ronin just stared at you, grinning like a lunatic. "You’re so damn cute, it’s ridiculous."

You beamed at him. "I KNOW!"

And then, like the sickeningly sweet thing you were, you held the heart close to your chest and sighed. "This is the best Valentine’s Day ever."

Ronin just laughed.

Because of COURSE this was your reaction.

Of course you, his hopelessly adorable, sickeningly sweet, horror movie protagonist of a lover, would treat a bloody human heart like it was a goddamn teddy bear.

HEARTFELT!

God. He was so obsessed with you.

You tilted your head, blinking up at him. "So? Where did you get it?"

Ronin raised an eyebrow, smirking. "What, you wanna know the sourcing? What are you, a food critic?*"

"I mean, a good gift comes with a story!" You twirled a strand of hair around your finger, genuinely eager. "Like, did you rip it out yourself? Was it a special kill? Was it from someone annoying? Is this a love rival’s heart? Did you monologue before taking it out? C’mon, tell meee!"

Ronin grinned. "Damn, sweetheart, you wanna know all the gory details?"

"Of course!"

"You’re adorable."

"I KNOW!"

Ronin laughed again, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, alright. If you MUST know—"

Before he could continue, your eyes sparkled as a thought hit you.

You gasped, clutching the heart tighter. "Oh my God—"

Ronin blinked. "What?"

Your entire face lit up. "I should PRESERVE it!"

Ronin… stared. "I’m sorry, what?"

"OHMYGOD, IT’LL BE LIKE A SENTIMENTAL KEEPSAKE!"

You spun around, practically twirling in excitement. "I can keep it in a jar! Oh! Or taxidermy it into a cute little display piece! Maybe put it in resin! OR! OR! I could make it into a necklace—"

"*SWEETHEART.**"

You whipped back around. "YES?"

Ronin was wheezing. "You are SO—" He choked on his own laughter, running a hand down his face. "I fucking LOVE you."

You giggled, hugging the heart closer. "I KNOW!"

Ronin shook his head, still grinning. "Damn. You really just accepted a human organ like it was a bouquet of roses."

"BETTER than roses!" you chirped. "Flowers wilt, but this? This is LOVE. This is COMMITMENT."

Ronin chuckled, watching you with that ridiculous fondness in his gaze. "You’re actually insane."

"I PREFER ADORABLY ECCENTRIC!"

"You’re both."

You grinned. "I KNOW!"

Ronin sighed, still grinning, before nodding towards the box. "You gonna read the letter, or just keep caressing the damn thing?"

Your eyes widened. "OH RIGHT, THE LETTER!"

You gently (and very reluctantly) set the heart back inside the box before snatching up the envelope.

It was sealed with red wax.

You gasped. "OHMYGOD, YOU SEALED IT WITH WAX?"

Ronin smirked. "Had to be fancy for my girl."

Your soul practically ascended. "OHMYGOD, YOU’RE SO ROMANTIC, WHAT THE HELL!"

Ronin snorted. "Open it already, sweetheart."

You ripped it open.

Inside was his messy, unmistakable handwriting.

It read:

Sweetheart, You’re probably grinning like a maniac right now, and if you’re not, I’ll be disappointed. Just so we’re clear: this was not easy to get. The bastard screamed a lot. He was annoying. So I made sure to take my time. But I figured—if I’m giving my heart to anyone, it’s you. Unfortunately, my heart is still in my chest (for now), so you’ll have to settle for this one instead. Happy Valentine’s Day, darling. —R.

Your stomach flipped.

Your heart melted.

And then—

You clutched the letter to your chest.

And let out the most lovesick, disgustingly sweet sigh in existence.

Ronin smirked. "Lemme guess. You love it."

You spun towards him, eyes SPARKLING. "I AM GOING TO MARRY YOU."

Ronin snorted. "Oh? Are you proposing?"

"I MIGHT!"

Ronin cackled. "Damn, sweetheart. Didn’t know a human heart was all it took to make you lose your mind over me."

"RONIN, I ALREADY LOST MY MIND OVER YOU MONTHS AGO."

"That’s fair."

You beamed. "Best Valentine’s Day EVER!"

And Ronin?

He just grinned.

Because really—

Who else but you could make being a serial killer this goddamn romantic?

You held the heart to your chest, rocking slightly on your heels like a child hugging their favorite plushie. But this wasn’t a plushie. This was Herny.

Yes. Herny.

"I’m gonna name him Herny!" you announced cheerfully.

Ronin blinked. "I’m sorry. What?"

You beamed up at him, all sickening sweetness and innocent delight. "The heart! Herny! It feels right, doesn’t it?" You tilted your head, gently patting the still-warm, blood-slick organ. "Herny the heart. He deserves a name. It’s what he would’ve wanted."

Ronin stared. Then, he grinned. "You’re actually insane."

"I PREFER ADORABLY ECCENTRIC!" you chirped, smearing a little more blood across your cheek.

Ronin just snorted, rubbing his temple. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Alright. Herny it is. So what’s the plan, sweetheart? You keeping him as a pet or something?"

You clasped your hands together. "Oh no, I’m gonna COOK him!"

Ronin choked. "I—what?"

"COOKING, Ronin! It’s an art! I have to do Herny justice! We have to send him off with STYLE!"

You spun around, your blood-streaked hands gesturing with dramatic flair. "Oh! Maybe braised in a red wine reduction? Or slow-roasted with garlic and rosemary? Or—OHH! CANTONESE STYLE!"

Ronin was wheezing. "You’re actually considering recipes right now?"

"OF COURSE!" You turned to him, eyes wide with mock betrayal. "I can’t just EAT Herny raw! That would be barbaric!"

Ronin just laughed. "You do realize you’re still a sweet little cannibal, right?"

"Sweetness is a STATE OF BEING!" you shot back, twirling a bloody strand of hair between your fingers. "One can be both elegant and a devourer of flesh!"

Ronin smirked, amused as hell. "You’re really about to start Gordon Ramsay-ing a dude’s heart, huh?"

"RONIN." You clapped your hands (which, again, were covered in blood). "I take my cooking VERY seriously."

A wet slap of blood hit your own face.

You blinked.

Looked at your hands.

Then at Ronin.

Then back at your hands.

And then—you started laughing.

Ronin watched you, his smirk softening slightly.

God. You were actually fucking adorable.

Here you were, covered in blood, cradling a human heart like a goddamn treasure, talking about cooking it like a five-star meal, and STILL, you managed to be the sweetest thing he’d ever seen.

Like a twisted little doll, dipped in crimson, giggling in the middle of an alleyway littered with corpses.

He was obsessed.

And then—you kissed him.

Without warning.

Without hesitation.

You grabbed his collar, pulled him down, and kissed him—deep and desperate.

And oh.

Oh, he tasted it immediately.

The sharp tang of blood.

Metallic. Warm. Iron and copper and something so unmistakably human.

You were practically smothered in it.

Your lips, your hands, your cheeks—all stained red.

And Ronin could taste it all.

You were laughing against his mouth, too.

A sweet, giggly, lovesick little laugh.

Like this wasn’t fucking insane.

Like this was normal.

And maybe it was.

For you. For him.

Ronin’s first instinct was to pull back.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t.

Because this?

This was so much better.

So he let you kiss him.

Let you pull him closer.

Let you smear more blood across his skin as your fingers curled into his hair.

This sweetest of all.

is a sick freak.

[kmiuu1]

i NEED a sequel.

Since we had that story of Y/N Cookie wanting to keep the Ancients from going out and getting themselves killed up against Dark Enchantress Cookie, how about something similar with the Beasts?

>The Beasts get corrupted

>Y/N Cookie, not corrupted, tries to fight them, and fails

>cue them starting to die

>Beasts start panicking, completely overestimating how much Y/N Cookie could take

>Y/N Cookie, in their last moments, wishes they could’ve done more to help the Beasts not get corrupted before finally going

>Witch(es) stumble upon this scene, seeing their greatest cookie having been crumbled, along with whatever other carnage is around

>cue literally everything else

Being sealed away with the guilt of spilling jam from the cookie you all loved the most fresh on your mind? They are NOT gonna be doing so hot in there.

The Tale of the Forced Hand (The Five Beasts)

Witch’s Castle witches are pretty neat.

“The story begins when this very Silver Tree was only a small sapling…When the World of Desserts was at its infancy.”

“The Witches baked six Cookies to help them in their creation of the world.”

“..harness the radiance bestowed upon you for the betterment of this world…”

“And the six Cookies imbued with absolute powers walked Earthbread as almighty envoys of the Great Creators.”

“Knowledge, Volition, Compassion, Happiness, Change, and Solidarity.”

“The Dessert World bound by these Five Virtues was nothing short of paradise.”

Gingerbrave and Wizard Cookie chimed in with their responses.

“So those six Cookies were the original owners of the Soul Jam?”

“Huh…Those “Six Virtues” are different from those of the Soul Jams. There’s six of them, yet only five today…”

“The Virtue of Compassion is what held the other Virtues so closely together, cherishing each of them equally as much.”

“Alas, for they and the perfect age were short-lived. Absolute power begets nothing but arrogance. It inevitably corrupts its wielder, bringing them to the most tragic of ends…A fate even the Witches were unable to foresee.”

“One by one, the Five, once regarded as saviors of the Cookie World, gradually turned to Darkness. And thus, the Five Virtues, too, became distorted, twisted…reduced to Deceit, Apathy, Sloth, Destruction, and Silence….”

Strawberry Cookie shuddered in worry at the mere mention of the fallen virtues.

“Deceit, Apathy, Sloth, Destruction, and Silence..that sounds really scary…

“Wait, what about the Virtue of Compassion? They weren’t evil too, were they?”

“The Virtue of Compassion was able to prevail against their descent into Darkness with their Soul Jam, whereas now the Five Beasts, the apostles of evil, began their dark crusade…”

“The Witches asked of Compassion to protect the Cookie World from the Beast Cookies, lending them what strength they could give.”

“Compassion fought bravely against the Beasts, blocking each of their blows and resisting their sickly whispers…But it was only a matter of time before Compassion slowly began to whittle…”

———————————————————————

“Come on, snap out of you all! This isn’t what you guys once were!”

“What’s the big deal, silly willy~ There isn’t anything wrong with dabbling yourself in a little bit of Darkness, you should try it with us!”

“No! This isn’t you! You were all my best friends! Come to your senses! Now!”

“It pains me to see you still cling onto false hope that you’re different than the rest of us, darling~ Can you just let go and become who you really are? For me~?”

“I can’t…I cannot forsake my oath to protect the Cookie World. You all know that! Cookies that want happy lives, don’t you want that?”

“They will all meet the same fate in the end, reduced to nothing…the futility of all this should be clear to you…”

“As if! It isn’t pointless to live life the way you want it to! It’s how you spend it and make the most of it!”

“They will all crumble in the end, so why not give them a little push! You’re starting to really aggravate me now, Y/N Cookie!”

“I won’t let you hurt them and I don’t want to hurt you all any more then I have to! Please, don’t do this…”

“……”

“Your silence says everything I need to hear from you. I tried…but I will put a stop you no matter if I’m reduced to bits!”

———————————————————————

“Woah….What happened to them?”

“The Virtue of Compassion fought for as long as they were able, their dough slowly whittling away with every blow that dealt to them. The Beasts have overestimated just how durable their former friend was…and they perished right in the middle of the circle….”

———————————————————————

“Ok, ya silly goose! You can stand right back up now! You put on a great show, let us give you a round of applause!”

“Darling, we know we haven’t hit you too hard. You can join us and we can all be together once more as Beasts…”

“Hmm…they don’t seem to be responding to us…”

“Hey, Y/N Cookie. Quit being soft and get up already, you’re..starting to worry me a bit here, you know.”

Silent Salt Cookie knelt down and placed their thumb on your wrist…jumping back when they feel nothing…

“Ahaha! Okay! This isn’t funny anymore, you softie! You win! Stand up on your two feet now! I’ll make you if you don’t!”

“D-Darling? P-Please get up. Look, I’m sorry for what I said earlier, I-WE just really wanted you to join us…”

“Burning Spice Cookie, just how hard were your strikes to their dough?

“D-Don’t put any type of blame on me! All of you were just as rough with them as I was!”

“….!”

The Beast Cookies rushed to their fallen friend in the center, clearly distraught on their faces…

“Y/N Cookie, if you don’t stop playing jokes with me right now, I’ll never forgive you!”

“Darling! Wake up! I-I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have hit you so hard! Please wake up! You have to! Don’t leave me alone!”

“It was pointless to try and stop us, Y/N Cookie. Yet…my heart cries and aches, why did you have to resist….please, wake up…”

“God DAMN IT. I-I went too far, I shouldn’t have been so brutal with my swings and now look at you, your dough..damaged and ruined….because of me….”

“….Hmph….”

Silent Salt just lowered their head to look at the ground, feeling nothing but shame and remorse for what they had done…for what they all had done….

“I wish…I could’ve done more for you all…I wished…that I had loved all of you more…to not…end up like this...”

“…..I’m sorry…..”

———————————————————————

“The Witches couldn’t bear to see what fate had befallen their creations, made even more distraught at the loss of their greatest creation among them all…they punished the Beasts by sealing them away deep within this land…”

“And planted the seed of the Silver Tree to ensure their evil power never sees the light of day again. Right where the Virtue of Compassion was laid to rest, so that at least a part of them can live on….From then on, this land where the Beasts were put to sleep, was called Beast Yeast.”

“The Witches then gathered the last vestiges of power bestowed upon the Beasts, untouched by their corruption. They further cleansed, purified it, and in the end…Soul Jam was created. The purest Soul Jam was meant to be earned by Cookies who had proven themselves worthy.”

“All, but Compassion. For their purity simply could not be remade again. The Witch who personally baked Compassion had locked herself away in grief after the loss of her cookie and took the knowledge of the recipe and baking of Compassion with her…”

“So, there can never be another cookie like Compassion?”

“It’s what they say, but all life powder returns to the earth. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility that the Virtue of Compassion may return in some form, someday…”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Y/N Cookie, who was casually eating some food offered to them by the Faeries.

“…..What?”

[kmiuu1]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Leads Sister-in-Law! 

1  2  3  4  5  6  7 9 10 11 12 13 14

Chapter 8

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader 

Arranged marriage AU

Warnings: panic attack, vomit, self-harm (biting thumb hard enough until it bleeds), slight blood, mention/allusions to murder, very slight suicide  ideation, one (1) suggestive line, implied child abuse, Maria being lowkey creepy (again), uncertainty about loving future kids, please tell me if I missed any.

NOTE: while I am happy that people enjoy this story, please stop blowing up my inbox about when the next chapter(s) will come out. Or telling me I should hurry up.  Thank you.

NOTE #2: there isn't going to be any romance involving Roxana or any of the other characters and the reader.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS/TOXIC ACTIONS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/ BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACTION WITH NOR REBLOG FANDOM STUFF DNI (MAYBE ANIMAL BLOGS ARE OKAY BECAUSE THEY’RE CUTE). PLEASE DO NO NOT SPAM LIKE MY POSTS.

= = = 

Roxana’s heels clack against the tiled hallway as she glides through, making way to her room. Blond waves gently bouncing with each step, the girl can’t hold back the scowl that tears at her lips. Brows furrowed, her thoughts were full of the recent events - the dinner. 

She didn’t mean to intrude. As a matter of fact, while curious, she had no intention of doing more than taking a quick glance - to see if what Jeremy said was true, that Dion Agriche was indeed having dinner with his poor, pitiful bride. 

Jeremy got there before her.

Hiding within the shadows, the boy was glaring daggers into the second eldest son. So engrossed with the scene presented to him, Jeremy didn’t notice Roxana as she got closer and closer. No, the brash boy had announced himself before she could even pat his shoulder. Like a wild boar, he interrupted your dinner, uncaring for how it made him look. Not that he ever did.

And perhaps out of pity on your behalf, or sick curiosity to see how everything pans out, she showed herself as well. 

An hour prior to the incident Roxana and Jeremy talked about you, the newest family member. She wasn’t the one who brought you up, but rather Jeremy. Her younger half-brother had asked her what she thought about the situation. It was the first time he asked. 

‘Well… It is strange. I thought that father would have waited longer before finding Dion a wife, much less holding the wedding.’

‘Yeah,’ Jeremy agrees, a borderline sneer on his face, ‘but it’s stupid. She won’t last long.’ 

‘Shorter than a month?’

‘No, longer. But I’m not sure how much longer. Still, to be married to that bastard… She's fucked. Pretty sure she’s begging God to kill her already, or to keep him away and indifferent.’ 

The blond beauty stared at her brother in question. ‘This isn’t like you, Jeremy. Did you meet her before or is it because Dion is the one involved?’ 

He doesn’t answer immediately, grumbling out words she didn’t catch. ‘Watch, she’s going to puke in disgust soon.’ Blue eyes narrowing in annoyance, Roxana only becomes more confused. What’s with this sudden interest with a sacrificial bride? 

‘Jeremy,’ she says, gingerly patting his head, ‘This is the first time you’ve shown interest in anyone. Why is that?’ Asking him directly, she hopes that she’ll easily draw answers from him. But, for once, he doesn’t budge. It’s concerning. 

‘Xana, I heard they’re going to have dinner together later today. Do you think that guy will show up?’ Ignoring her question, he asks his own. A frown tugs at her coral lips. But seeing how aggravated he is, she decides to humor him. Just this once. 

‘I’m not sure. If it was on father’s orders, then yes, of course. His word is law.’ 

‘What makes you so sure he’ll listen to all?’

She blinks at him, taken aback. It wasn’t often she gets rendered speechless, especially by her own younger brother. But his response also amuses her - hearing his resentment towards the twenty-year-old was always amusing.. 

‘Xana, he’s crazy. It’s only going to get worse.’

Before Roxana could respond, she got called away to Lant’s office, the butler bowing nervously after he brought the news. 

Returning to the present, the blond lets out a deep sigh, a headache forming the longer she thinks about it. This wasn’t how the story went. There wasn’t a grand wedding for any of the Agriche family members - the closest thing was when Jeremy kidnapped Sylvia, and even then, that couldn’t be considered romantic.  

Nothing in the story was romantic. 

…not like her brother’s marriage to you was either. 

Nothing made sense and it’s bothersome. Concerning even, for the moment you entered this play, she became unsure of when or if Cassis will show up - what if nothing follows the storyline at all, no matter how small? She knows he exists, she saw him at the wedding. Shining silver hair that reminds her of the moon and golden eyes that were filled to the brim with caution towards her family and the wedding, the male lead of this story exists. 

But you didn’t. 

Maybe in the original work, you did, as a nameless background character. Faith unknown and unimportant, you somehow stumbled across the stage, entangled in strings that now control your every move. It worries her - you worry her. Roxana can’t tell if you’re friend or foe, if you’ll survive and stay sane, if you’ll die soon, if she should consider taking you under her wing, seeing how you were nothing more than a victim. 

But she doesn’t have that luxury. Ensuring her own survival was hard enough - how could she take care of a second person? Why should she bother herself with you? 

You don’t serve any other purpose than being arm candy, a woman seen as nothing more than an incubator by your father-in-law. She doubts Dion cares for you; during the planning period he didn’t act out of character. He acted the same around her, still the annoying son of a bitch he’s always been. 

…but, a few days before the wedding he kept his distance. Unconcerned with her presence, he made a few last minute purchases. Away from the prying eyes of Lant, Dion also added a secret guest - the doctor known as Ash Katopodis. 

She heard a rumor that he also sent the redhead to you instead of the doctor Lant had appointed. The fifteen-year-old had found it strange once word reached her ears, brushing it to the side after concluding it was gossip for gossip sake. While it was bold of the servants to say such things, Roxana saw no point in punishing them for their senseless rumors - it had nothing to do with her. If they wanted to play with their lives with risky talk, then that was on them.

Upon reaching her room, she stops short of opening the door, manicured nails tapping against the door handle. She didn’t mean to intrude on your alone time with the brute. Yet she did and the sight of Dion in such a domestic setting made her sick. 

Disgust threatening to tip over the scale, it’s hard for her not to sneer at the mere memory of it. Domesticity does not suit Dion. He does not deserve it. Playing house with an unwilling girl, dressed in pure white as the veil hid her anxiety and fright laid within her eyes and painted on her lips. Scared and left hopeless as her family watched as she kissed the monster, powerless.

The holy church in which the wedding was held became corrupted when the second Lant Agriche picked it out, Maria fussing over the details. Who sits where, ‘gently’ probing your mother into agreeing with the dress the third wife had picked, your makeup and hairstyle, the fucking lingerie until Sierra pointed out how weird it was for the mother-in-law to pick out such an erotic and intimate thing for the girl who was to be her daughter-in-law. 

During the ceremony, Jeremy had kept mumbling to himself, clearly done with the whole ordeal. Obviously, Roxana was as well, but kept a pretty smile on, greeting you after the vows were said and said her goodbyes as you were dragged away to the bridal chamber. Only to find the morning after by Hana that you didn’t go there, instead led into the lion’s den that is Dion’s room.

How… odd. 

No… what was odder was that you didn’t have separate rooms. Emily had told her as such out of the blue, preparing her breakfast. She questioned it then, and it’s only weirder, more worrisome the longer she thinks about it.

She shakes the memories away. It wasn’t her life. She had enough trouble on her plate already - she couldn’t possibly add you to the list of her neverending responsibilities she’s forced to juggle. She could pity you, but never love you. Touch you but never hold you. Talk to you but never make a genuine connection as sisters should. 

She should stop with this foolish nonsense. 

Turning the handle, she glides right in, letting the door shut behind her. Emily had retired for the night, and the blond also ordered Hana to do the same. After all, Lant had given Dion another mission, and the favorite son had to prepare to leave in the morning, too busy to bother you. 

… why am I so focused on her…?

The moonlight lights up her room through the glass doors that lead to the terrace. With a huff, she sits in her vanity, and starts to remove her makeup with removal cream. It’s greasy as her dainty fingers spread it across her face, each action copied by the mirror. It’s quiet.

Her thoughts refuse to shut up, however. 

‘What’s going on with Lant…? Choosing a daughter-in-law from a nearly unheard of family? Do they have something he wants and only used this marriage  as a means to get closer? Most likely, but why?’

A frown tugs at her lips, face completely bare after she pats it down with a face towel. Ruby eyes stare into the reflection before her, and Roxana only sees frustration and confusion. She can’t rely on her memories of the story anymore. 

She won’t be sure until the faithful day when her father kidnaps Cassis Pedelian, the Blue Heir. And even then, how could she be sure that it would be the same Cassis Pedelain that was mentioned in the novel? The same goes for his sister, Sylvia. 

“...things are getting complicated.” Standing, her feet take her to the bed and she lays on it, back pressed against the mattress. The crystal chandelier sparkles in the moonlight. Ruby optics disappear behind her eyelids, blond lashes casting shadows on skin. The night is still young. 

A small smile of amusement forms on her lips when she remembers your earlier conversation. You had called her an interesting person - far from what others say. They called her lovely, a Goddess of beauty - and you? 

You called her interesting.

Still, you couldn’t hide the admiration for her in your eyes. You weren’t a stumbling fool and understood what her look meant when Jeremy went too far. But the most fascinating thing?

You listened to mental caution and drew a line, uncomfortable with her, with them, the gears turning in your head on what to do next. You even separated yourself from her without hesitation once the moment presented itself.

Regardless, you admired her in spite of your clear discomfort. 

“...I must be tired.” 

You called her an interesting person. In return, she’ll call you a fool. 

- - -

His side of the bed was cold, patting it as your bleary eyes and murky mind clear up. Still dressed in the half undone dress and corset, you ignore how uncomfortable it is. No, right now, what you are focused on is the way your beating heart is thrashing against your rib cage, how cold your body has become, beads of sweat building and rolling down your temples, on the verge of gasping for air. Did you just fuck yourself over? 

You don’t know what time it was - sun high in the bright, blue sky, birds singing their lovely tunes. The occasional footsteps passing by, the far off voices as the servants go about their business. None of them knock on the door. None come to ‘wake’ you up.

Or, if they had, it must have been a good while ago. Were you so deep asleep that they gave up?

“...He’s going to kill me, isn’t he… hah…” a humorless laugh passes through your chest, shoulders slumping as nothing but regret fills your head and chest. Are you going to be killed today? Or maybe tortured? Thrown out like disgusting leftovers? 

You don’t want to die. Ah, but what could you possibly do? Get on your hands and knees like a dog and beg for forgiveness? …no. You’re already pathetic enough, you don’t want to lower yourself even more. Fuck. 

“...Ah, fuck, what should I do?” Putting your thumb sideways in your mouth, your teeth clamp down on the poor digit. The taste of iron explodes in your mouth, teeth marks left behind on the now wounded and bleeding flesh. 

A throbbing headache decides to join, adding physical pain to the list of your suffering. You bite down on your thumb harder. It feels like it might just snap in two but your mind is too fried to realize this. The only thing you can think about is last night. 

Your husband was gone. Where did he go? Maybe he decided to leave you, seeing you as a broken toy he doesn’t want anymore. Does that mean he’ll give the least back to Lant? Is that why he isn’t here? To discuss how to dispose of you? 

The thought makes your stomach churn, saliva glands overfilling as bile starts to raise. You were given to them as a pet - as some twisted sacrifice, and for what? Did this family want nothing else but a new ‘toy,’ to see how long a normal person would last within these walls? What then?

If they decide to kill you, or if you kill yourself out of desperation, what would they tell your parents? No, they wouldn’t tell them anything to begin with. 

And your family wouldn’t be able to ask.

“Urk…” dry heaving, slapping your hand over your mouth, panicked tears forming. Your entire body shakes, blood staining the bed as your injured hand grasps at the sheets. “URK!” Without a thought you rush out of bed, slamming yourself down on your knees as you reach the trash can. All of your stomach continents come up, the foul taste of vomit coming forth. 

Hot tears run down your cheeks as you heave over the trash, blurring your vision. You’re breathing too heavily. You look at the door a few feet away from you. If anyone was right outside it, they would have heard you. 

“...” you wait for a knock or for someone to burst through the doors with bated breath, your eyes shaking in their sockets, knees throbbing after the harsh impact. No-one comes. It is only you - alone in this room, a sinner who is paying the price. Must you go through this for a sin you’ve forgotten until now? 

The answer is yes. 

The answer is yes as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. The answer is yes as you force yourself to stand, knees painfully throbbing as the flesh bruises. The answer is yes as your thumb still bleeds, teeth marks engraved into the skin. The answer is yes as your heart refuses to calm down, chest hurting. 

The answer is yes as you walk over to the vanity, the reflection of a face that doesn’t look like your own. 

You are a mess. 

The tears don’t stop flowing as the urge to vomit returns. Crystalline droplets catch on your lashes, ugly sobs and hiccups breaking out, your shoulders shaking as you collapse onto the leather stool seat. A sinner always pays the price. 

You bury your face into your hands, entire body jerking with each sob, each hiccup as anxiety for the future and present overtakes everything. This isn’t like you. But you were never strong enough to survive in an environment like this. You were pathetic. 

Seconds turn into minutes and maybe even into hours. Time is a concept that you don’t bother yourself with by the time you finally calm down, red puffy eyes staring into the mirror as the tear streaks dry on your cheeks. Some snot peeks out from your nostril, hair a mess, clothes crumbled and sliding down, showing more of your cleavage. Such an unsightly sight. 

Grabbing a face towel on the vanity desk, you wipe off the tears and snot.

“...Okay. Let’s… get cleaned up.” Your limbs feel heavy, dragging your feet towards the closet before finally, finally striping out of your clothes from yesterday. The articles of clothing pools at your feet. 

How much longer can I last here? 

Will there ever be a peaceful divorce? Can I divorce him? Would I be able to?

If the story events do take place and Roxana takes over the Agriche family… by then… would I have children…?

BAM!

Your poor knees-! At the thought of having children - his children - your body just gives up again, as always. That’s the only thing you’re capable of, as experience has shown. 

“...children… right, children… I have to give that man kids… kids that will go through the same thing he went through…” Will you be able to love them, if they come into existence? You have to, they would be yours.

Or would you end up just like Jeremy’s mother? Horrified at the sight of her own child, refusing to spend time with them. Seeing them as an irredeemable monster that you would do anything and everything to avoid?

Chomp. 

Your thumb once again becomes a victim to your teeth, the imprint becoming deeper and drawing more blood.  It hurts, it hurts, it hurts- but as the thought of starting a family with Dion Agriche deepens, the more you need to find something sturdy. Your thumb is enough to keep you grounded, yes, it is, and no, you’re not planning an early funeral, visualizing the area you want to hold it, or the dress your cold corpse would wear, or your family’s crying faces -

No, stop it. This isn’t - this isn’t… this isn’t what I want to be.

 Licking the flesh wound, accepting the taste and smell of iron, you are not met with clarity nor bravery; just, temporary acceptance. This is your life. This was what the Gods had planned for you. This is what you have become - a wife to the future Black Agriche Heir. 

His first wife.

Despite the blood and saliva, your mouth feels dry. Nausea builds back up, gagging and breath becoming short. It’s becoming hard to breathe. 

Your lungs are being squeezed, throat constricted with an invisible ball gag - vision blurred with what? What’s this hot liquid running down your cheeks? Are you crying ? Again?

Something is choking you. Your head is starting to feel fuzzy, a pounding in your chest you can’t get. Everything is warped, shapes turning into mush, black merging with white, a hammer bashing against your head. Only the sound of rushing blood and a running heart is heard. Only the thought of death remains. 

“No…no, I - I - this-!” you curl into yourself, kneeling as your forehead touches the floor, hands interlocked around your head as your lower arms and elbows rest on the tiles. Sobbing violently, your mind crashes again. You were never strong. 

Not then, not now. 

- - -

“Young Master Dion has been sent off on an errand; the dinner with Master Lant has been postponed until tomorrow, at six o’clock.” Hana informs you as she sets out your breakfast: oatmeal and water. Just what your now very sensitive stomach and nerves need. Did she overhear your little mental breakdown not even an hour ago? Or was this the usual breakfast for the residents of the Agriche compound? 

“I see.” You hoarsely reply, voice still recovering. This is a good thing - you don’t have to see the devil’s face for yet another day. Her news also answers your question; Dion is out on an errand and they weren’t planning to axe you. Yet. Hopefully never. 

Still, the curiosity of your husband’s duties lingers. You shouldn’t involve yourself anymore than what you currently are. Curiosity always kills the cat. So, you bite your tongue, deciding against asking her what your oh so lovely husband’s chore is… but, if you are to play the role as a wife, his wife, should you ask him once he returns? Like how one would greet their spouse once they return from work. 

Hello dear… ick, no. Hey, how was your day… no, next. Are you tired? Do you want a bath…?

Or maybe you should just ignore the subject all together. His business isn’t yours, so why bother?

Besides, what if he doesn’t like you ‘snooping’ in his business? But at the same time, he’s been acting so weird and unlike how he was portrayed in the story. So while that Dion would find your questions annoying or useless, this Dion may want you to ask about his day. Fuck, it’s all so confusing and irritating 

 “Hm. Hana, is there anything on today’s schedule?” 

“No, not yet my Lady.” 

Not yet. What does she mean by not yet? Does that mean she’s aware that someone will interrupt your tiny bit of peace at some point today? Her short dark brown hair slightly bounces as she shuffles her weight onto one leg. “However, my Lady, I could… tell them that you’re recovering from ‘last night.’”

Her suggestion makes your grip on the cup loose, dropping the glass onto your lap as water soaks it. 

“My Lady! Are you alright?” In a panic, Hana grabs some of the napkins on the table and pats your lap to soak up some of the water after removing the now empty glass. “My apologies - I shouldn’t have brought up such a vulgar suggestion…” Her once collected face and behavior shatters at the drop of a hat, ‘concerned’ about your safety. 

Or was it for hers? 

“I-it’s fine… no worries,” a tight lipped smile that only makes her brows furrow more and treats you gentler. Like you were made of glass. Well, that wouldn’t be too far from the truth… 

“No, really. I just need to change clothes…” Once she’s done with soaking most of the water up you stand and walk to the closet. Opening the doors you skim over the options. Hana’s footsteps stop right behind you. Why is it so hard to have personal space in this place…

Your gaze travels upwards and for the first time, do you notice the Agriche family's crest engraved into the wood. Bitterness explodes in your mouth. It seems that no matter where you are in this place, there will always be a physical reminder of where you are - of who you belong to. No matter, you tell yourself. Besides, this isn’t even your room - 

It was your husband’s. And maybe after a month, if not less, into your marriage, you’ll be assigned your own. …why were you sharing a room with him to begin with? Probably to increase the chances of conceiving a child sooner rather than later. 

“... does that even make sense?” you murmur in amusement. Lant wasn’t even dead yet. But, you think, maybe he wanted his son to have a child so he could start to shape them into this tainted and sadistic mold ahead of time before he kicks the bucket. To ensure that the child - your child - would follow in their father’s footsteps. 

To see if they would carry the same air and expectations as your husband does. 

How cruel. 

“Hana, I’ll let you choose it; they’re all so… beautiful that I can’t choose.” In reality you’re getting a headache from looking at the family crest. Which just became yours. 

“...yes, my Lady,” she follows your order without question, going through the options. 

Not even a few minutes later she pulls one out. 

It matches your husband’s eyes. A brilliant shade of scarlet, it practically glows. A sheer black neck piece that forms as a choker and covers your cleavage but leaves your shoulders bare. Black lace is on the hem, flowers engraved into the pattern. The body of the dress is a solid scarlet. 

“It’s beautiful.” You compliment her choice of style hiding how the beautiful piece of clothing makes your fingers twitch and brings the urge to vomit forward. Oh, how horrible it is, to not even be able to enjoy such a sight. 

How horrible it is, to be born into this world after a helpless first life only to repeat the cycle, but worse. 

[kmiuu1]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Leads Sister-in-Law!

1  2  3  4 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Chapter 5

'Slight' Yandere! Dion Agrichex Fem! Reader 

Arranged marriage AU

  Warnings: implied depression, guilt, implied coercion, implied toxic family (not yours), please tell me if I missed anything. 

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS BOTHY ARE EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS. 

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT REBLOG FANDOM STUFF/FICS/FANART DNI, AND PLEASE DO NOT SPAM LIKE MY POSTS

NOTE: The amount of time I spent on google to look up words is embarrassing.

Overall chapter summary: two memories that resurfaces and the odd, concerning actions and behaviors from two of your in-laws…  this night only gets stranger and stranger.

===

The fluorescent lights flicker above you, a sign that they needed to be changed. But it doesn't bother you as you look down at your phone, admiring the art of the new manhwa your friend recommended you. It was all you could do really, enduring the cold air filling the room. 

The T.V in the background also doesn’t catch your attention despite playing your favorite show.  Usually, you would abandon your phone in favor of watching the images that play on the screen, the volume just loud enough for you to hear. But the story of this novel-turned webtoon is more captivating, especially with the beautiful blond and cunning female lead scheming ways to free the silver haired male lead. 

Must be nice, to be rescued.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” your friend’s voice draws your attention, grinning as they sit on the chair they pulled up to your bed. “But remember, the content is dark.” They warn for the nth time. Like that would bother you. 

“Oh please, I’m not that sensitive,” you refute while rolling your eyes. “Besides, if I was, you wouldn’t have recommended it to me. We both know that.” A playful pout forms on your face as they ruffle your hair. 

“Yeah,” they say, “but sometimes people change their minds, you know?” 

“Like you?” 

“Hey! You can barely handle gore so good luck with it.” 

“Gore,” you snort. “Doesn’t bother me as much. But since I love you, I guess I’ll listen.” 

They hum, retreating their hand from your hair. “You should also read the novel once you’re done with the current episodes. It adds more context and includes the stuff the webtoon left out.” Yawning, they look at the clock on the way. A mumbled complaint rumbles in their chest. “Sorry, but I have work in the morning.” They linger on the uncomfortable bed before getting up to stretch. 

“Alright.” You hope they can’t hear the disappointment in your voice or the way your eyes become dull. “Make sure to text me once you get home, okay?” 

They reply with a thumbs up. 

It doesn’t take them long to gather their things and walk to the door, opening it. However, they don’t leave the room before looking at you. “I’ll bring your favorite snack tomorrow. As a gift.” You pretend that their grin is teasing. 

“Good. I would kick you out otherwise.” 

With a wave of their hand they disappear into the hallway, the door closing behind them. The room feels empty. Adjusting yourself to get comfortable, you lay on your side, leaving the T.V on.

The noise lulls you to sleep despite the gnawing loneliness pulling at your heart. Pulling the cover over your head, you close your eyes. 

- - -

The dream you had the day before your public engagement announcement was what made you realize you were stuck in a fictional series.

Everything was normal when you woke up a month before it. No drama, no unfortunate accidents. The cup of tea you were enjoying that day was the sweetest you ever had, rare tea leaves that were a pain in the ass to find. But your father searched long and hard, wanting to give them to you as a happy little sweet gift. It only made sense, since it was your birthday and all. 

Well, you wish it just that; a birthday gift. Instead, it was an apology gift, him refusing to look you in the eye. At the time you had just assumed he was embarrassed, not that he was being eaten away by guilt that threatened to swallow his entire being whole. The sad part was that he didn't tell you the plans for your future until after you sat down for teatime. 

“...How’s the tea?” his voice had trembled but you didn’t notice it. You should have, especially with how small his voice had become, nearly a whisper. You were too caught up in your jolly mood.

“Oh, it’s sweet - like honey!” placing your cup down you raise up from your seat to hug your father who sat across from you. He became stiff before returning it, his embrace tighter than usual. You thought it was out of adoration a father would hold for his daughter. Not of the father who was signing her death papers. 

“I’m glad.” When you stepped back he followed, bringing himself up to his feet. A heavy sigh that came from his chest before he finally looked into your eyes. You mistook the look of regret and horror in his for the uneasiness of your reaction towards the news. Still, he allowed himself to grab you by the shoulders. 

You misplaced the trembling for excitement instead of fear. 

“(Name), my daughter…” your father closed his mouth and shut his eyes tight. His grip on your shoulders tightens. Now you realize he did that so you wouldn’t run out. “I have some important news for you.” 

“Oh?” you cock your head, somewhat excited and somewhat worried. You wait for him to finish. 

“I…” opening his eyes he’s unable to meet your gaze. “I…found…a  fiance for you. He’s from an extremely well-off family.” He finishes but it sounds incomplete. You should have questioned him more. 

“A fiance?” you asked, blinking while your mind processes the information. “Did you find him recently?” truthfully, you didn’t like the news, but you knew it would happen eventually. But you can’t deny the slight bitterness you felt, the news slightly dampening your mood on your birthday. 

You got over it pretty quickly. Too quickly. 

“Well, yes? Kind of. His father would talk to me sometimes, insisting that the marriage would benefit us both." He left out the part where it only meant for your father-in-law and possibly yours, too. Not for the soon-to-be bride and groom. 

“I see.”

Your father looks at you in shock, asking “aren’t you upset?” 

You shrug your shoulders, hiding the annoyance. “Well,” your hands grab his wrists, squeezing them to comfort him - despite how it was your future married life and not his. “I knew it was going to happen eventually. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when.’"

He shakes his head, releasing a low and forced chuckle. At the time you just assumed it was from astonishment and not self-hatred. “You’re too forgiving,” he lets go of your shoulder and pulls his arms back. “But rest assured that the wedding and engagement party will be grand.” 

He never mentioned how your married life would be. That you would be in good hands. That your husband will take care of you and how you’ll grow fond of him as time passes. Or how your in-laws would be lovely. He couldn’t force himself to lie to you.

Your father couldn’t tell you how the marriage would chain you to your husband’s family. 

“Father, I don’t really care about that.” you laugh, softly hitting his shoulder. His expression didn’t become playful as usual. Instead it was grave and your heart painfully rattled at the sight. 

“I know you don’t - but they might.. Just endure it, okay? I promise the party and ceremony will be decent, at least.” 

You never thought to ask what he meant by that. Decent? Right after he called them grand? 

“I’ll trust you, then.” 

Little did you know that your trust would crumble away the moment you laid eyes on Dion Agriche, his face stoic and eyes glued to something past you. 

-----

….why were you remembering that now? While Jeremy is running his mouth about his brother and Roxana wiping your mouth with a rag. Hana had given her the rag once she returned, stepping to the side at her orders.

Roxana offers to bring you to her room to freshen up, and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest with bliss. “It’s fine, lady Roxana,” you reject the offer, knowing that you’ll be caught in her web. Seems she’s already thinking of ways to use you. That or she genuinely felt bad. 

You couldn't tell. Her facade was always perfect. 

“I insist,” she smiles sweetly but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Does anyone else ever notice this? Aside from Dion? 

“Just accept it already.” Jeremy cuts in, stretching his arms above his head. Odd. The boy was nearly codependent on his sister, not willing to share her attention. Yet he’s sharing it - her - with you. “Besides, it’ll give you more time to avoid that asshole.” 

His words should have sounded playful, teasing, but they were filled with pure venom instead. Dion’s number two hater truly worked hard for that spot. 

“I’m flattered that you’re considerate of me,” your hand raises to pat his hand only for you to swiftly bring it back down. What were you doing!? He wasn’t your brother. Nor a friend. Just someone who happened to be related to your husband. 

That and a little murderous punk. 

Though, you couldn’t miss the disappointment in those blue eyes. Why was he acting like this?

Jeremy stays quiet for a bit, lost in thought. Your legs start to become weak the longer he doesn’t say anything - was he going to mock you? Lash out? Turn to Roxana and say that you’re not worth anything after all? 

“You deserve better than him. That’s all.” Your mind blanks. To say that so bluntly and in the open… 

You just notice that Roxana stayed quiet in the background. Observing. Weighing the options. 

“I…” do you agree with him? You don’t want to be with him - that much was obvious. But you’re not sure if you deserved a happy ending. Maybe a slightly better one than this, though.

You stare at him like a deer in headlights. What answer would be the best one? Agree with him only to find out it was a test? Reject his view and say that he’s the one who deserves better? Wait, why was he so involved with this in the first place. 

And why did he look at you so sincerely?

You’ll get the answer for that later, or so you tell yourself. Frankly, you’re scared to find out. But curiosity always kills the cat.

“...it was a marriage arranged by our parents. If they saw that we were the best for each other, then we’ll listen. That’s how it is.” Indirectly saying you agree somewhat could be a bad idea. But you also don’t want him to think that Dion was your ideal husband.

“‘Best for each other,’ huh? Well sometimes they’re -" Roxana cuts him off. 

“Jeremy,” she says, “don’t you need to get ready for practice?” She lovingly pats his head. The boy beams at her before becoming petulant - not wanting to leave his sister’s side but was obligated to. 

“Right, right… it’s nothing more than free labor though.” He complains while starting to leave. If he lingered for even a bit he wouldn’t be able to drag his feet to his destination. “I’ll see you later?” 

“Tomorrow,” Roxana respondes. “I have something to do.” Jeremy reminds you of a puppy with the dejected look in his eyes and small frown. But with the promise of staying with him tomorrow, he brightly grins - you could almost forget his brutal personality. 

“Well then, I’ll be off.” he groans at the thought of the bothersome chore. 

But before leaving, he leaves you with ‘adivce’ :

“You should escape before this place digs its claws into you. Dion included.” You’re left speechless as his figure gets smaller and smaller, watching his back as he leaves. Why were you given advice anyway? First, by Dion, now Jeremy - was this a test?

Then, you realized that it’s only you and Roxana - without your noticing, Hana had left. Ordered by Roxana, perhaps?

What was she going to add to this strange night?

“Jeremy means well.”  She doesn’t acknowledge what he said.

“Yes. Of course.” You refrain from asking her why. “It’s… a bit cute.” for now you silently add, turning your head to look at your sister-in-law. 

“Mhm, he is, isn’t he?” The blond toys with a strand of her hair, dainty fingers twirling it. “Although, I must admit that he still has a lot of growing up to do.” Yes, yes he does. 

“I think it’s the same for everyone at that age; even for me.” she titters with you. It was faked on both ends. Yet it was mutually accepted. 

“My offer still stands.” 

“Oh, but I’m fine - I'm all cleaned up.” you lie. But her offer puzzles you - what would she gain from it? And while you would love to avoid your husband for a few extra minutes, you didn’t want to owe Roxana anything. Being in her debt was the same as signing a lifetime contract. 

You held no emotional importance to her. It’s only reasonable to think that she’s doing this for Jeremy’s sake. And you really, really need to find out why these characters - people were acting so weird. 

“Besides, I’m sure that your brother is waiting for me.” 

Her pointer finger taps against her chin in thought. Her ruby eyes look towards the side and you can’t read her expression. Beads of sweat threaten to slip down your face. You hope she doesn’t notice. 

“After some thought, I realized something.” She brings up once she looks at you again. You tilt your head, confused. 

“You never once referred to Dion as your husband.” 

[kmiuu1]

Would you fall in love with me again?

• Synopsis: he knew football changed him. That's why he couldn't help but be scared. Would you still love him the same?

• Characters: Kunigami Rensuke (post Wild Card), Sae Itoshi, Michael Kaiser

• TW: Kaiser had an episode, the f word like one time

• A/N: EPIC consumed my mind.

𝕂𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕚 ℝ𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖

He was different.

That was the first thing you noticed when Kunigami Rensuke, your boyfriend, knocked at your door on a random wednesday after disappearing for 7 months to go to some "Blue Lock" project.

"Is it really you?" You asked, voice dripping with doubt and love at the same time. Your knuckles were white from how strong your hold on the door was "Or am I dreaming once again?"

"I am not the man you feel in love with" he said, his deep voice wavering, not even giving you a proper 'Hello, how are you?' after so long "I am not your calm and gentle boyfriend. I've changed. For good"

You stayed silent, though it was not by choice. You were just so, so overwhelmed by emotions that it seemed like you had forgotten how to speak. Your tongue felt heavy inside your mouth, and your eyes were wide, unmoving, despite the tears threatning to spill from them, almost as if if you blinked, Kunigami, your house and everything else around you would disappear, and this would be nothing more than one of the countless dreams you had with him.

"Kuni" you started, getting closer. Your hand perfectly cupped his cheeks, as if it was meant to be there, and he instantly leaned in, almost like it was second nature. You caressed the dark circles under his eyes, and you were sure you had similar ones from the nights spent locked in your room, crying and missing him "What kind of things did you do?"

"I gave up on my hero ideology" he lifted one of his hands and put it right above yours, still on his cheeks "As I destroyed friends and teammates like they were objects I could use" he closed his eyes, basking in your warmth. Gently, he kissed the inner part of your wrist and sighed in relief, almost as if he was still convincing himself that you were, indeed, very real "And I am not the love you once knew"

The tears that were in your eyes finally fell. You could feel his hands trembling - if you were feeling scared, he was terrified. Terrified that you would reject him. Terrified to be cast away from your life. Terrified of who he became.

"Well, if that's true" you swallowed hard, blinking as more tears kept coming "Could you do me a favour? Just a moment of labour, I swear. Could you please pick up that flower over there?" You pointed to a Baby's breath, neatly arranged at the floor, beside the door "I think it's whitering. Could you carry it over? Take it far away from here, please"

Rensuke eyes suddenly shot opened, his own tears starting to appear

"How could you say this?" His voice got patheticay loud, and he despised himself for crying in front of you, but it couldn't be helped. What you asked him was ridiculous "I helped you plant that baby's breath on our first date. It's a simbol of everlasting love - our everlasting love." His voice grew louder, more desperate, like he was talking to someone kilometers away from him "I can't do that, you know it. The only way to move it is to cut it from it's roots."

You couldn't help but smile. You grabbed his free hand with your own one, looking directly at his eyes. It was like the world around you both had stopped, and even the birds' singing and cars noises ceased. You could only hear Kunigami's frantic breath in contrast to your calm one.

"Well, only my boyfriend knew when that flower was planted" you smiled, getting closer to him. You rested your forehead in his, closing your eyes. He followed your actions, sighing "So I guess that makes him you"

You pointed to his chest, right where his heart should be

"Don't tell me you're not the same person. It's still you, right here. And you know I've been waiting for you"

He opened his eyes, staring right at yours as both of you cried, ugly sobs coming from your mouths.

He was still your boyfriend, after all. Your lovely, amazing boyfriend who you loved so much it hurt.

And when he finally kissed you after months, trying to convey a love so raw and genuine through his actions, everything seemed to fall back into place again.

𝕊𝕒𝕖 𝕀𝕥𝕠𝕤𝕙𝕚

5 years.

That's how long you waited for Sae Itoshi to come back from Spain. To come back to Japan. To come back to you.

5 years of rejecting suitors. 5 years of dreaming of him every night. 5 years of suffering, yearning for your boyfriend who was all the way across the globe.

That's why, when he finally comes home looking even worse than you, you were not surprised.

"Are my eyes decieving me?" You smiled lightly, your nose already feeling stuffed - you knew you were about to cry

He muttered your name dreamily, staring at you intensely.

He's not sure how, but he managed to find the strength to smile your way. God, how long has it been since the last time he smiled? And yet, just by being next to you, he felt his lips stretching up.

Something was strange, though. You knew him. You knew Sae Itoshi, the boy who dreamed big and who you fell in love with. You knew him.

"Your eyes look tired" you frowned, getting closer and closer until your your knees were practically touching"Your smile's torn. You're different, Sae"

His smile fell, and you almost regretted what you had said. He grabbed your hands and caressed them with his thumbs, avoiding your gaze - something uncharacteristic of him

"Would you fall in love with me again?" He asked, sighing. His eyes finally met your gaze, and you could see the sadness in them - almost as if he was a young Atlas, carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. You wish you could help somehow, ease his burden, but it was clear you couldn't "If you knew all I've done. The things I can not change."

His eyes sparkled, and Sae Itoshi never cried, but you swore you saw them getting a bit glossy. You didn't know what he was talking about, but he clearly had a fight with someone - probably a teammate or something.

"And I know you've been waiting for me" Sae continued, not giving you a chance to answer "But I am not the love you knew before. I am not the man you adored. I'm no longer him" he let go of your hands, staring right at you like he could read your soul - even though you knew if he could, he wouldn't understand a single thing. You weren't understanding your own thoughts. How could he?

"So tell me, Amor" he said, his spanish pronunciation way better than you remembered it to be "Would you fall in love with me again?"

A gentle silence settled between you, which was strange. You've dreamed for so long about what you'd say to him once you saw him again, and yet when you saw him you were completely at a loss of words.

Sae took your silence as an answer. He began to walk away, head hung low and hands on his pockets.

He knew this would happen. He knew it. He was not that Sae Itoshi. He was not even human. He was a machine, made for playing soccer. He knew you wouldn't accept him.

He knew it. Yet it didn't hurt any less when he grabbed his travel bag and started distancing himself from you

"I..." he heard you saying, and even though he tried not to, he stopped. He needed to hear your answer. His brain and heart needed closure.

He could practically hear the gears on your head turning, trying to find the right words to convey your feelings

"I will fall in love with you over and over again" you answered, voice steady "Doesn't matter how long it's been, Sae, I will always love you. I've waited for you. And I will always wait for you. You're mine, Sae. And I'm yours. That's something no amount of time or distance is ever going to change"

A gentle silence settled between you both once again, as you stared at eachother's eyes. The 10 meters that separated you both suddenly felt like 10 kilometers.

The snow felt like quicksand while Sae made his way to you, first taking hesitant steps, and then almost running to get to you.

And when he hugged you and you fit perfectly into the crook of his shoulder, you knew you'd be alright.

You were not going to give up on each other. No matter how hard things were.

You both then kissed each other, sealing that silent promise.

𝕄𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕖𝕝 𝕂𝕒𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕣

Kaiser has always been a hard person to deal with, but he's been way worse after the Neo Egoist League.

He was screaming at the smallest inconveniences, spent days without even sparing you a glance, trained till he passed out from exhaustion and was making even more snarky remarks, if it was even possible. He was not fine, and you knew that. You knew him.

Your suspicions were confirmed during one of his episodes.

Kaiser usually had some episodes while remembering his childhood trauma, and he always confided in you to help him overcome them.

You were proud of this arrangement, actually: trust has always been what held your relationship together.

That's why you couldn't make sense as to why he was hiding from you during one of the worsts - if not the worst - episodes you've ever seen him had.

"Micha?" You asked, finding him curled up in the corner of your shared closet "Are you okay?"

"Don't come near me" He whispered. His eyes were red from crying, and you could swear you saw a purple bruise on his neck. Why didn't he call you?

"Okay" your voice was gentle, as if you were soothing a kid "Okay. I won't come closer. But I'm right here. Just focus on my breath, my love. Can you follow it for me, please?" You began breathing louder, hoping he'd follow your lead

Sadly, he began shaking his head, breathing growing even more frantic

"I-I can't" he muttered, shaking like a leaf

"Of course you can" you whispered "C'mon, breath in" you breathed in and held for a while "breath out" you repeated. Finally, he followed your commands

Luckily, after a while, his breath began to come back to normal, and you pondered just what was going through his head to make him act like that.

"Can I come closer now?" You asked, voice still gentle. When he nodded, you wasted no time in sitting right next to him, still not touching his body

Silence was loud between you too, and you wondered if he was even going to speak something about it

"W..." he began, voice breaking. He then took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was about to say "Would you fall in love with me again... if I lost all I had?" He asked. He gave you no time to think begore he continued "Would you have fallen in love with me if I was just a little kid with a fucked up, drunk dad? If I had no money, name or fame?" He looked at you, staring at your eyes like he would forget them the moment he looked elsewhere "Would you?"

Once again, silence enveloped the room.

"Forget it" he muttered, starting to get up "It was a stupid question"

He was almost standing when you put your hands on his knee, earning a confused "huh?" from him.

Just like he did earlier, you took a deep breath

"Michael, I don't care how, where, or when. You're mine. I love you for you. I don't care for your name, your value or your football abilities. I don't want to see Michael Kaiser, the emperor. I want to see Michael Kaiser, my boyfriend." You also got up, slowly reaching for his hands, like you were asking for permission. "I love you, Kaiser"

He tried really hard not to cry again. You could see it. The way he contorted his face before letting the tears fall freely.

One after the other, he began crying hard. Sobbing and hiccuping and all. He would never cry in front of anyone. Others would never see this version of him. But you would.

In a swift moment, you hugged him, feeling his arms hold you stronger as his cries got louder, uglier.

Strangely, he wasn't embarrassed. He was relieved.

Relieved he could be vulnerable in front of you. Relieved he could be himself.

He couldn't hide anything from you, could he? Well, he hoped he could at least hide that ring in his socks drawer.

But not for much longer, though. After what happened, he'll wife you up was soon as possible.

But for now, only the feeling of your arms grounding him was enough.

Masterlist

[kmiuu1]

Help, I reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

Chapter 4

Slight Yandere! Dion x Reader

Arranged marriage AU

SOME SPOILERS FROM THE NOVEL ABOUT JEREMY'S MOM

Warnings: possible slight yandere themes, slight incestual themes due to the content of “Roxana”, implied toxic marriage/relationship, slightly suggestive, implied suicide, slight themes of jealousy, mention of murder, vomit, Reader is a fangirl for Roxana, everyone is out of character I gave up in trying to keep them in character completely, Possible slight possessive themes, and maaayyybbee implied stalking. It’ll make more sense as the series goes on.

DISCLAMIER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT REBLOG FAN ART OR FANFICTION DNI. PLEASE DO NOT SPAM LIKE MY POSTS.

Overall chapter summary: Dinner with your husband felt suffocating… and why did Jeremy and Roxana show up? Why is your younger brother-in-law acting so weird all of a sudden…

Word count: 3086k

===

You didn’t dream about anything. You don’t even feel rested.

So, of course, Hana decided to cake your face in foundation to hide the dark circles under your eyes. How thoughtful, truly. Although, it would have been more thoughtful of her if she lied and said you were sick. But no, instead you’re grabbing onto the bed post as she tightens the corset.

Your organs are being squeezed to death and you bite your tongue, not willing to scream bloody murder. It wasn’t a pride thing, you promise – you just didn’t want to look too weak in front of anyone in this household. You didn’t want to be looked down on too much.

“Gah!”

“I’m sorry, my lady. Hm…” Hana ponders over something before saying, “I’ll loosen it. Just a bit.” And as she said she loosens the string. Just enough to where your organs weren’t squashed together. You release a breath once you gain some breathing room.

God, please, have some pity and let Dion stand me up… and for no-one else to join me. Please, please, please!

You beg internally. The best outcome would be for one-one to show up. The worst…Lant, Maria and or Fontaine decide to, antagonizing you. Yeah, you think. Maybe Dion showing up wasn’t the worst.

Hopefully, anyway. Otherwise, you might vomit on the spot. Everything sucks. Why can’t he just leave you be. But you start thinking about it. Maybe Lant ordered his favorite son to have dinner with you. To show dominance over you, maybe?

Sounds like something Lant would tell Dion. That bastard is unable to see past his ass.

“Hana, by any chance… do you know if it’s only Dion that’s showing up?” you ask, praying that her answer will be ‘yes.’ you could probably handle your husband. If he treats you with indifference, then you could. But Lant?

No, no way in hell.

“Well… yes.” she finishes fixing the corset before dressing you in the dress you picked out. It wasn’t anything flashy, just a simple design. Chest covered with long sleeves that end in small ruffles. The dress ends a bit above your feet. Dress black in color, Hana chose maroon heels to go with it.

But the material was softer than your usual dresses. Far more expensive, too – your family wasn’t poor by any means. However, this single dress just shows how much the Agrece family holds wealth in high regard. You guess it only makes sense – they didn’t play nice and fair.

Their money was dirty money. And that fact makes your skin crawl, feeling dirty just for wearing these clothes. Lant had all the clothes you brought with you thrown out. Most likely to say, ‘Hey! Look at me, taking care of my daughter-in-law! Can’t you see how thoughtful we are about spending so much money on her?’

How laughable.

How egotistical.

You want nothing more than to set fire to these clothes. They are nothing more than a show of ownership. Like you were a pet.

No. you are a pet. Lant’s to be specific – and he’s just letting Dion play with you. Your husband only took the leash because he was ordered to. Nothing more, nothing less.

But how long until he gives you back to his father? If he decides you’re nothing but a hassle? Found you to be so boring compared to Roxana? Until he grew tired of his mother questioning him about your every move, nagging him to show up with you?

What about public events? You know that Lant likes to bring Dion and Roxana with him – they are his ‘trophies’ after all. But you? Then again, people would start to talk if Dion Argece’s wife never made a public appearance. Word has traveled across the country by now, wondering how grand the wedding was.

How you looked. If you are love birds or if you are a victim of threats. If your parents sold you off to pay their debts.

…why did they marry you off?

“- lady?” Hana calls out, making you jump in your seat a bit. Wait. When did she start doing your hair? Hell, when did you even take a seat?

“My Lady?” she addresses you again, looking at you through the mirror. She doesn’t stop brushing your hair. She’s gentle with it. “Are you okay?”

Ah, right, you should reply.

“Y-yes… forgive me, I was just…” thinking about how Lant will kill you, “lost in my thoughts.”

“I see.”

The room goes quiet. You look at your reflection in the mirror. You don’t look like yourself. You look haggard, adorned in precious jewels that bring out the color in your eyes, only to be fearful. Your completion looks artificial due to the heavy layer of foundation that barely covers your dark circles.

You look like a lost, helpless lamb.

You practice smiling.

“Hana?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“How convincing does my smile look?”

She turns her attention from your hair to your reflection. She doesn’t answer at first. Rather, she stares hard, tilting her head only to shake it. “No. But it’s only going to be master Dion. Master Lant is on a business trip. So, rest assure; he won’t… um, care.”

She’s soft with her reply, like she didn’t want to offend you. Not like you cared – if he doesn’t look your way then it’s a good day. Even better if he keeps his mouth shut except for a greeting and a goodbye. If he bothers with it anyway.

“I see.” You shouldn’t get your hopes up, though. He gave you advice despite leaving after consummating your marriage. He was somewhat thoughtful during it too, and if you think about it harder, he almost seemed…possessive. And during the engagement party, he was mostly with Lant. And at your wedding he was, once again, with Lant. But… you did feel someone staring holes into your back during both events.

Was it him, you wonder.

“And with that, we are done, my lady.” Hana’s good with her hands – you look pretty. If you ignore your haggard face. And tired eyes.

“Thank you, Hana. It’s lovely.” You compliment her genuinely. And for once, a true sweet smile paints your lips. She looks away after seeing it through the reflection. You see the tips of her ears turn pink, however.

To think she had a cute side.

“Thank you, my lady. But I only enhanced your natural beauty.” Apparently, she’s also a charmer.

“Still,” you turn around to look at her, feeling some peace within you, “you did wonderfully.” You were never good at giving compliments, but hopefully she knows you mean it. This feels normal. You don’t want it to end. You don’t want to leave this room. You don’t want to see your husband.

---

Dion doesn’t even look flustered once he sees your figure walking towards the table. Hana called you beautiful – he makes you feel less. While he doesn’t look at you in disgust, he also doesn’t look at you in awe. Just indifferent. But maybe that’s for the best.

You glance around the room after greeting him – just you, him, and Hana. The good outcome. The best outcome would be that no-one showed up.

Okay, you tell yourself. You’re on the battlefield. Your opponent is Dion Argece. Not the worst enemy…probably, but a strong and brutal one regardless. As long as you don’t anger or annoy him, you should be fine. Hopefully.

You take your seat across from him, quiet as a mouse. Should you start a conversation? Wait for him to start one? Or just keep the heavy silence that’s suffocating you? How… how does he feel?

You’re curious but not suicidal.

No words are exchanged as a servant serves the food. Only clinking of your cutlery against your plates echoes in the room. Your stomach can’t stop churning and your mouth feels dry. Every piece of food you swallow feels like it’s choking you.

Even when you drink the water it doesn’t help. Even so, you push through – you had to. Show little to no weakness to your husband who holds no attachment to you. Not that you can talk, of course. He’s nothing more than a dangerous stranger to you.

… how much more of this damn silence can you take? Your eyes won’t leave your plate. And that’s when you notice, it’s a light meal. Chickpea pasta salad. Okay… a weird choice for dinner, but it’s better than having something heavy in your stomach.

You would have thrown up otherwise.

Out of curiosity you glance up at Dion to see if he had the same meal. He did and your shoulders relax. Maybe he liked it. Yeah, that’s it – why would he be considerate? Everything else that just so happened to be convenient for you? Maria’s words?

It was and meant nothing.

Your attention returns to your plate. It’s nearly gone. Good, even though you feel like you might choke on it. You need to ask Hana for more indigestion medicine after this. Oh, right.

You should probably ask him about… that.

“D-Dion, I was wondering- “

“Wow! The bastard is spending time with his victim?”

You wince at the sound of your younger brother-in-law, Jeremy. Your grip on your fork also becomes loose, dropping onto your plate. You didn’t expect him of all people to make a surprise appearance.

Still, he’s better than Lant. As long as he doesn't pick a fight with his older half-brother. And for your sake, you hope he doesn’t. Wait.

… at the wedding he could barely keep his mouth shut. Lant and Roxana had to shut it for him. Ah… is he going to pick a fight? Here in the dining room? Oh boy… I don’t want to be here…

Wait, did he just call you a victim?

“Jeremy.” Dion ‘greets’ him but it’s clear that his younger brother’s appearance annoys him. “I see that you’re loud as always.” After that, Dion goes back to eating. Like his number two hater didn’t crash the dinner. Hopefully his number one hater won’t show up –

“Jeremy, I thought we’ve been over this.” A soft, feminine yet firm voice calls out to the youngster. You recognize that voice anywhere.

Your heart rate picks up as butterflies soar in your chest. Your cheeks feel warm – a fluffy, sweet haze takes over your mind. It’s as lovely as when you first heard it at your engagement party. But you don’t feel worthy enough to view the beauty that is Roxana Argece.

Still, you can’t resist the urge to peek.

Long wavy golden hair that ends at mid back, her bangs framing her slightly pointy face. Big ruby eyes with golden lashes that see through you. One of her dainty hands rubs Jeremy’s head. It’d be a lie to say you weren’t slightly jealous.

But you know that you should keep her at arm’s length. She’s not necessary evil, but…

You don’t want to be caught up in her schemes, if she finds you useful. After all, being part of her plan doesn’t guarantee your safety. So, you’ll just admire her from afar, like a fangirl.

Heat crawls up from your neck to the tip of your ears when she returns your gaze. You think you might faint from happiness the moment she smiles at you sweetly. You greet your in-laws, but a hole is being burned into your person. Who’s staring?

“It’s been a while,” again you don’t know how to address your in-laws. But you do a curtsy after rising from your seat, hoping they don’t notice the shake in your voice. Beautiful or not, your favorite character is extremely dangerous. Still, it’s a dream come true to see her so soon.

“Hah! She has manners, unlike you, dickhead.” Jeremy exclaims. It’s funny. While you know he despises your husband, you do find it a bit surprising that he would bad mouth him in front of you. You’re also surprised to run into these two so early into your moving into this mansion.

Now, you should figure out a way to fade into the background. Maybe return to your room before things get out of hand.

“Jeremy, that’s not nice,” Roxana scolds without meaning it. If anything, she might find the show enjoyable. Unfortunately for you, it only makes you uneasy. She glances at you before turning her attention to the young boy. They’re not even that far apart in age – just a year.

Wait. No. Before being reincarnated Roxana was a college student.

You push that fact out of mind.

“But look at her! Does she look like she’s having the time of her life?” he points at you, unknowing of how rude it could come across. You keep your trap shut, only smiling awkwardly before rebutting his very true accusation gently.

“Young master Jeremy,” that’s probably the best way to address him, “I’m completely fine. But thank you for your concern.” To be fair, you think, Dion probably doesn’t want to be here either.

You want to add ‘you’re sweet’ to your sentence but decide against it. It’s too intimate. Too friendly and casual. And you have a feeling your husband wouldn’t like that.

His attention hasn’t left you since Roxana came. Was he… jealous? That his sister was paying attention to you instead of him? Or did he find you unworthy of talking to her? Oh! Maybe he’s upset that you and Jeremy are here with him and Roxana.

…if true, it’s creepy.

“Blink twice if you’re being held hostage.”

“Jeremy.” Roxana becomes sterner, her eyes narrowing at the said boy. “That’s enough.” He pouts, offering a small apology. But not before taking one last jab at Dion.

“Don’t be surprised if she jumps of the terrace.”

The room goes quiet. No one dares to speak. Even for Jeremy, that was too far. Although, you could understand where he was coming from… but you were not his mother. And hopefully, unlike her, you won’t completely break.

Not again.

Dion, as always, says nothing. In the series he would have. Sneer at him maybe. Or return the insult, but harsher. Was this Dion more mellow? You’re not sure. Rather, he hasn’t shown his brutal side around you the few times you’re together, even at the engagement party, the wedding, and your first night together. Even earlier today, he warned you about his mother.

Ignoring the sadistic looks from last night, Dion didn’t really… showed you his true personality.

Almost like he was hiding it.

You shake your head. That’s ridiculous. With a small huff, you respond to Jeremy’s jab. You shouldn’t, but he shouldn’t act like this.

“Master Jeremy,” you call him, not sure of what to say next. “…While I appreciate your concern, please do not jump to such conclusions.” You’re scared he’ll lash out at you. Honestly, you don’t know if he does worry about you or if he just wanted to rile his older brother up. Regardless, it’s probably best to draw a line.

Everyone needs one.

“She’s right, Jeremy,” Roxana takes your side, and you can’t help but swoon. Truly, she’s a goddess in some regards and devil in another. Hopefully, you pray, you’ll only see her sweet side, no matter how fake it is. “You should apologize – properly.”

The boy looks dejected that his favorite sister basically told him that Dion won’t be the worst husband. If anything, he most likely wanted Roxana to take you away from the favorite son – so that he won’t have anything. Not that it matters – Dion is only playing house until Lant tells him otherwise.

“I’m,” Jeremy forces the words out, unable to look you in the eye. It’s kind of cute, but you must remind yourself that murder means nothing to this fifteen-year-old boy. If Roxana were to tell him to kill you tomorrow, he would without second thought.

“I’m sorry. Really. I was… out of line. I shouldn’t have said that to you, (n-name).” he stutters out your name like it was his first time hearing it. “But” oh boy, you don’t like how the way he’s looking at Dion. And you don’t like how your husband glares at the boy, either.

Roxana shares a look with you, as if saying ‘get the bastard out, now.’ But how were you supposed to do that!? You barely talk as is!

What are you supposed to do!? Beg him to leave with the promise of… no, you can’t do that again. You like living with working reproductive parts.

But… how could you refuse Roxana?

Oh. You’re already falling for her traps. You’ll work on that later, when there isn’t a one-sided bashing session between the two half-brothers.

You breathe in before calling out Dion’s name. “Why don’t we… why don’t we walk around…” you squeak, drowning in embarrassment. You probably look like a mouse to them. “Why don’t we walk around the garden? I’ve been- “

“Hold up, do you really want to be alone with him- “

“Jeremy.” Your husband gets up from his seat and suddenly a knife cuts down the atmosphere. He sounds… pissed. He doesn’t raise his voice or anything; but that only makes it… worse. It’s hard to breathe and you can only watch as Dion stares at Jeremy.

You’re starting to fear for the boy’s safety.

Roxana looks like she was about to step in, clearly done with the entire situation until her older brother cuts her off. “At your age, acting out is just pathetic. Stop before you embarrass yourself further.”

Then, he looks at you with those fucking carmine eyes that gives off the impression that he knows more than he should. You feel naked, finally realizing something:

Dion Argece is hiding something from you.

You’ve only ‘known’ him for a few months and spoken only a handful of times. But somehow, someway, he knows you. You feel like throwing up.

“I’ll see you at our room later.”

The moment he’s out of view, your dinner decides to come up. It was horrifying, throwing up in front of your in-laws. Especially Roxana.

And…

“See? I told you, Xana!”

Jeremy is also acting weird. Fuck, what’s even going on anymore? Can’t the characters stay, well, in character?

But hey, at the very least, you have the privilege of the beautiful Roxana helping you clean up after ordering Hana – she was standing to the side the entire time but couldn’t do anything – to bring some towels. Hopefully, Lant won’t hear of this…

[kmiuu1]

Sorrow In Your Absence

Gojo Satoru x Reader

CW: MANGA SPOILERS, angst

( why do I do this to myself. this has been rotting in my drafts for some time, so i decided to just post as is instead )

You take a deep breathe in before sinking completely into the rounded surface of the tub, the stinging pain pricking at your skin submerged in the frigid water.

Your heart aches, a violent ache as you make futile attempts to forget what happened to your dearest.

It was hard for you to agree with the plan. The plan for Yuuta to enter his body, as a last resort. You couldn't take the plan off, either.

Because he said he wouldn't care what would happen to his body. Even after death. And of course, that had set you off.

──────────────

"Satoru!" You yell, an irk mark prominent on your face as your hand locked around his wrist. "You can't seriously be agreeing with that half-assed plan!"

Satoru sighed, as if it didn't matter at all, which pained you. He softly spoke your name, "I promise I'll win. Okay? I doubt they'll have to do it, angel." Your lover tries to reassure you, a hand now cupping your face as he frowns subtly.

"That doesn't mean you should just allow it as a last resort!" You gritted, frustrated at his insensitivity—especially how he has zero reluctance—with a backup plan revolving a body takeover.

Anger bubbling up like a volcano, you couldn't help but feel a migraine wrap around your head over this frustrating situation.

It's unfair. So unfair, that you can barely do anything about this predicament. Right after he was sealed, he was completely prepared to have a square off with Ryomen Sukuna—prepared to be used as a weapon. Used as a weapon, for presumably the last time ever.

"How long will you treat yourself like this . . . ?" Your tone dropped into that of a hush, voice cracking up as you feel a tear trickle down your face. "Satoru. You're losing your humanity. Why . . . –" You let out a disgruntled groan over being interrupted by a loud sniffle.

"Baby— Don't cry. ’m sorry, love. Please don't cry," his eyes go wide as he immediately tries to calm you down, while he still remains somewhat taken aback by your declaration.

". . . Please, don't leave, ’Toru." You plead, a futile attempt at one.

──────────────

no im still not over this man.

[kmiuu1]

reyal ngl

"should we tell authors on ao3 when we have discord conversations about their fics" i don't speak for everyone here but if y'all ever find a group chat discussing my fics you can should must and WILL send me screenshots of the whole damn thing. inflate my ego. gimme

[kmiuu1]

JELLO THIS MADE MY JAWDROP

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister in Law!

Re-upload due to complications.

Chapter 1

Dion x Fem! Reader

Warnings: possible yandere themes, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, slight incestual themes due to the content of “Roxana,” blood, mention of murder

Nsfw warnings: Lost of virginity (both parties?), fingering, oral (fem receiving), spit, reader does NOT get to finish, vaginal pain, HEAVY DUB/CON.

Disclaimer: I do NOT condone any of the harmful and dangerous actions/behaviors that takes place in this piece of fiction. These actions/behaviors should not be normalized or romanticized as they are extremely toxic and dangerous.

Minors/blank/blogs that don’t reblog fanfiction dni and don’t span like my posts or you will be blocked.

Overall story summary: you reincarnated into one of your favorite novel-turned-webtoons. However, you didn't want to become the female lead's sister-in-law...

Word count: 4542k

===

“The Way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother,” also known as “ROXANA” was a rather dark novel that was adapted into a webtoon. And as luck would have it, the webtoon wasn’t finished, and you don’t remember all the details of the fan translated web novel you found online.

Now, why would that be a problem? Simple:

You reincarnated into it. Not as a main character, or even a servant to one of the families. You weren’t a child of Lant’s or one of his many wives. You weren’t a friend to one of his children, either. Instead, it was worse than most of what was listed.

Whatever God you managed to piss off had a silly little, petty revenge plan that was straight out of a third-rate horror novel with teenage girls fawning over it. And truthfully, if written right, the non-existent novel would have been a banger – but no, instead it was anything but. Or maybe you only really think that because of your position in this world, where your birth was simple, but painful for your mother, and you were lucky enough to be born into a family that loved and cared for and about you.

It was a noble family, to boot. Wealthy enough to live a comfortable life. Two siblings – an older sister who was already married at the age of thirty with a child on the way. The other was a 12-year-old boy who made it his life mission to be the most annoying little piece of shit on earth.

But as you lay on your back, hands holding your nightgown in place, all you could think about was how small Dion Argece makes you feel. The wedding ceremony just finished up hours ago, and here you are, back pressed against silk sheets as your now-husband hovers over you.

(Name) Argece.

What a horrible name and cruel faith.

Inky black hair that falls into his carmine red eyes that held indifference. His wedding-tux was still on, even the outer jacket with the silly lone rose in his pocket. Oh, what a shame – to be married to such a handsome man only for him to be obsessed with his sister and emotionally unavailable.

God despises you.

“Close your eyes if you’re uncomfortable.”

He unbuttons his outer jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and tosses it to the side. You should close your eyes, you think, because his face was nothing but stone. Not even a condescending grin. He doesn’t comfort you, either – at least not in the typical sense.

“Keep still,” his gloved hands grab your thighs and you let him open them, creating space for him to get closer. You want to push him away and run. But what good would that do? Why couldn’t the man just slice something and claim that the blood on the sheets was from your first night?

“I’m scared.” You speak without thinking, becoming stiff as his hands traveled from your outer thigh to the inner, creeping underneath your nightgown. His gloves feel cold and uncomfortable, touch borderline rough. “I – I need a moment. Please?”

He tilts his head, giving it thought. After a moment he removes himself, but annoyance radiates off him. Your heart beats faster as the second’s pass. You remain on your back. The ceiling is painted white, no decorations and the room was bare saved for a dresser, closet, mirror and a random chair by the window.

You will be sleeping in here, from now on.

“Can’t do it? Then don’t.” he’s annoyed, surely, otherwise he wouldn’t look at you like you were an insect. What a wonderful way to start the newlywed life. But it’s not that easy to walk away, and while it sounds like he’s giving you a say-so, he isn’t; if you don’t consummate your marriage tonight, then…

“… I’m sorry. It’s my first time and I heard there would be pain.” You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. But Dion wasn’t exactly known for his… compassion. Or basic human emotions, either.

If this was someone else, would you be able to do it? Where did everything go wrong? This didn’t happen in the novel; Dion didn’t get married. There wasn’t a grand wedding with the Five Ruling Families in attendance. Nor was there a steamy scene with this man throughout the novel, not even in the side stories.

How did you end up here?

“Then relax.” If you weren’t scared of losing your life you would have run him over. It affects everything! Then again, it wouldn’t matter to him – this is a duty. Not something he wanted, you’re sure, and even if he did it would only have his best interests in mind.

“… I’m ready.” You don’t answer him, because it would only lead to a one-sided argument. Even a wall listens better. Despite your wishes, Dion does the same as last – settles in-between your legs, and this time, you close your eyes.

“Good. Try to relax or it won’t fit.” Your cheeks burn at that, mind already picturing how it would look. Many men say things like that, even in your old world. It’s just a thing they said, like with many things. It doesn’t really mean anything, because if it did then…

His gloves are still on, cold and grip tight on your thighs. You were hoping he would be gentler. But as his hands travel up and up until they’re pulling at the edges of your underwear to slide them down, you realize he won’t.

There’s no slickness down there, your underwear dry and vagina even drier. You peek through your eyelashes, watching as he inspects the article of clothing. He tosses it a few seconds later.

“I’m only going to ask once – would you rather keep your clothes on or off?” It seems that with every second reality just hits harder and harder. This was going to happen. Nothing could stop it. And if hypothetically, if he were to stop this, what then?

Even if he sliced an arm to fake the night, what about later? A baby, Lant wants Dion to have a child. No. You couldn’t do that to a child, especially yours.

“On. Please.” You expect him to just shove in a finger or two, watching as your body jerks in pain. Instead, he lifts your hips until your bottom was off the bed and flips the flimsy skirt up. And then there’s a glob of something wet and gooey, legs twitching as it lands on your bare cunt.

“D – did you just… spit?” steading yourself on your arms, you look on in disbelief as your husband just spat on your pussy. A string of saliva hangs from his tongue.

Instead of answering you, much less look at you, his thumb comes into play and spreads his saliva over the surface of your cunt. It’s only when his thumb swipes over your clit do you let out a shaky breath.

Maybe he was feeling generous or maybe he was curious. Dion decided to rub the twitching nub over and over until your legs twitch and cunt clenched around nothing. The glove made it uncomfortable, but even so, you just tried your best to focus on the pleasure. You weren’t sure if he would give you pleasure like this again.

“You’re enjoying this,” he retreats his hand leaving your twitching and needy clit lonely.

A pathetic whimper escapes as you watch your husband take his glove off with his teeth. This man is everything you fear and more, a character that you should have never met. Yet the sight of him lowering his head to lick a long stride against your slit has your legs shaking.

His tongue is warm and slimy, causing your hands to clench the sheets as your head falls back. Another lick and another until it’s flicking your clit back and forth, sending warmth throughout your body. However, despite the pleasure he’s giving you, his grip is still tight, almost painful on your hips.

Your heartbeat doesn’t slow down as he continues. Your fear barely dies down in your chest, even as the tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You shut your eyes tight, a breathless gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

“It feels – “a pause as you catch your breath, “weird, it feels really weird and – “

Dion repeats the action until you’re a trembling mess, sensitive from your mental state and the current oral sex you’re receiving. It’s hard to focus on either one, your mind constantly reminding you that you’re in a novel, about to fuck a man who’s jaded and possibly has a thing for his sister –

“Ah… wait, that’s a lot…” he decides to go further, bringing his thumb back and rubs loose circles into your clit. He’s still eating you out, but not like a man starved like you read in erotic novels.

Even so, your husband keeps at it. If it was a good or bad thing was up for debate – on one hand, while it does feel good, everything is moving too fast, your pleas for slowing down falling on deaf ears. It really is a lot, tongue fucking you while those loose circles on your clit become tighter, rougher. Should you just lay back and take what he gives?

Your mother would probably say so. Your sister would just pat your head and smile like it was expected. Normal. Take what he gives, especially if it benefits you in any way.

“…?” your eyes open at his tongue leaving your cunt with a saliva trail, his eyes glued to your twitching sex. His thumb also stops rubbing circles, instead going back to grip your hip as your back starts to become sore. Your ass is still off the bed and if he keeps you hosted up like this, then you really will snap in half.

But then he locks eyes with you.

“I thought you were scared.” Dion doesn’t let you respond, either because he doesn’t care or because it would ruin the ‘mood.’ He latches his mouth to your poor, abused nub instead. And sucks.

“H-hey!” one hand supporting you while the other grabs at his hair, you didn’t expect him to throw your legs over his shoulders. “That’s enough, really, no need to – ugh…” his mouth was warm and soft, but it sends your nerves on fire.

Good. Bad. Good. Bad.

Good, bad, does it matter anymore?

He sucks harder and your fingers tug harshly at his hair. You kick your legs but are unable to tell if it’s from pleasure or the flight or fight response he’s causing you. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t bat an eye, making it his life mission to suck you dry.

“Ah – wait, Dion – “

It’s at your whine of his name does he finally, finally stop, a ‘pop’ when he detaches his mouth from your sensitive and bullied clit. Your husband decides to lick one last long stripe from your entrance to your clit, all the while making eye contact with you. Your chest heaves as your mind settles, arousal overthrowing your thoughts.

“What is it?” Monotone, his voice is monotone and he’s not even out of breath. Your mother lied, there’s not even a hint of pink across those cheeks. It’s fine, though – no, it’s not, it’s baffling how steady he seems when your back is about to break, and you can’t even breathe.

Your eyes travel from his to his hair, where your hand is still grasping the strands. Mind still catching up to your body, you let go and draw your hand back, covering your eyes with it. Your entire body is shaky and legs sore. You’re not used to this position.

“It – it’s enough.” Your husband lets you pull your legs back, feet pressing against his broad shoulders as you bring them back down. The relief is almost immediate, a pleasurable and relief-filled sigh leaving your chest. You allow yourself to rest for a bit, your sensitive cunt and sore legs screaming for it.

“… O – okay, I think, I think that’s fine. Excuse me…” gently, you pull one leg up until your foot is flat against the bed. With a shudder, you trace your entrance timidly with two fingers, getting used to the touch. You’re not sure of how big he was, but you’ll use three fingers just in case.

You gape like a fish when his hand reaches out, grabbing yours roughly. You didn’t even notice the dip in the mattress as Dion got closer on his knees, face inches away from yours. Oh God, now what –

“What are you doing?” clearly annoyed, Dion doesn’t let you look away – not that you were going to – free hand grabbing your face, pointer finger and thumb on each cheek. It’s barely loose enough to leave no bruises. It hurts regardless.

“I – I was… prepping…” part of you wants to pretend that this man doesn’t know how to comfortably prepare you for pentation with his… but you know better. Because an inexperienced man wouldn’t know how to do things with his tongue like that, or where the clit was because –

“Are you still scared?” The hand that was holding yours releases it, opting to sneak its way to your cunt. His fingers were larger than yours, nimbler as they stroke your labia minora. Are the shivers washing over you from nervousness or arousal?

“… I’m scared of the pain.” By instinct, you knew he meant more than scared of sex – if you feared him. Still.

It doesn’t need to be said.

“Scared of the pain?” His eyes glow in the moonlight, bright red with absolutely no emotion. “Why?” he doesn’t break eye contact as his fingers inch closer to your entrance, stroking the opening, making your legs jolt. What a horrible man.

You remind yourself that this man only felt fear as a child – and even then, it probably wasn’t for very long. Nothing lasts for long, in this estate.

“Because I hate it.” You don’t break eye contact either, breathing in when one finger slowly sinks in, your walls now stretching uncomfortably. It’s not as painful as you thought it would be, your wetness mixed with his saliva making it easier. Your nails are about to rip holes in the silk sheets.

Like a curious animal, he tilts his head, curling his finger. It doesn’t feel good, it hurts, but you endure it even when you wince. Dion decides it would be a good idea to spread your legs a bit further, and like a bug, crawls between them even more. You hiccup when he adds a second finger.

They’re bigger than yours, they reach deeper. In your old world, did it feel like this too? You can’t remember.

“It’s going to hurt worse if you don’t let me finish this. Relax your legs before it hurts worse.” Pressure builds in your eyes, but you fight it off. “Save your tears for when it matters.”

You’re tired of him already.

He doesn’t move them, at first. It’s almost like he expects this, because as you adjust to something foreign inside you, he starts to rub at your clit, again. Softly this time, touch firm enough to feel but not hard enough to hurt. Or maybe you’re lying to yourself because you’re wincing, still.

When he starts to thrust them in and out, you force yourself to look at the ceiling, scared to see the expression on his face. You also don’t want to watch the show, scared it’ll already be bloody. Just a bit.

“It’s tight.” He states it like it’s the morning news. “And wet.” Your cheeks burn with both shame and embarrassment, shutting your eyes.

“… ugh…,” groaning, your hand reaches out to grab his wrist. “It hurts, a lot.” You sit up, back against the headboard, avoiding your husband’s gaze. Unfortunately, by doing this, your eyes land on your messy hole, light blood on his fingers as he pulls them out only to thrust them in again.

“It’s normal. The more you resist the worse it gets.” You give up, letting him do as he pleases, shutting your mouth.

The fingering still hurts as the minutes go by, but little by little the pressure eases down and when he arches his hand, he hits something soft and spongy. He’s rewarded the sight of your head banging against the headboard once, shoulder tense as you bite your bottom lip.

If only you could see that look in his eyes.

“Here?” He repeats the action, faster this time. You only nod your head, lips ajar, tongue swiping over them. Your hips have a mind of their own, raising as the heel of his hand rapidly smacks against your clit with his thrust of his hand.

You’re half there mentally and halfway in heaven, momently forgetting just who was here with you, who room this belonged to, and your entire situation to begin with. “Oh - wait, it’s a lot but – “

A third finger is added, and it starts to sting again. Another wince, another groan, but your arousal helps to keep the pain to minimum. All three fingers curl to hit that special spot that makes you see blacked out stars and pussy clench. All the while light blood coats his fingers, a sight he’s already used to due to his lifestyle.

It’s only when he pulls his hand away completely do you return from the skies, a small layer of sweet coating your forehead. Your hands are shaky as you look at him, only to be drowned back into reality when you’re met with those red, indifferent eyes that glow brighter than the moon.

“If you’re ready, lay on your back and spread your legs.” He undoes his pants while saying this, scooting back to give you some room.

With a heavy heart, you do so, laying on your back and spread your legs. You were fine just moments ago, so why is your heart leaping out of your throat rather than staying in your chest? Maybe it was because of the pleasure, or…

You’re scared, again.

You don’t look when something fat and heavy plops onto your pelvis. You don’t look when he brings you closer by your thighs. You don’t look as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds, catching on your clit.

“Relax or it won’t fit,” he reminds you before pushing the fat head in. At first, it’s a sting no bigger than an ant bite. But then another inch goes in, and you feel like a sword is cutting you straight up open, your legs tensing and hands grasping his forearms in a futile attempt to stop him.

Your nails dig into his sleeves, and you can feel the skin underneath. The tears build up as your face becomes hot, taking in deep breaths like it would soften the intruding body part.

“Big – it’s too big, it’s not going to fit – “

“… You look cute when you cry.” It’s sinister, teasing and everything that makes your stomach drop. His thumb wipes away your tears that’s already staining your skin. But he stops regardless, if only to shut you up if nothing else.

You think a few minutes pass but it’s hard to tell when he’s still inside, pulsing and you could feel every vein on his cock. It’s thick, it’s big and you don’t think you’re equipped to handle it, handle him. He’s everything that ruins your sense of self, that makes your dreams shatter and fear rot you from the inside out.

But he’s your husband…

But he’s your husband.

“Relax,” he inches in deeper, slower this time, but not letting you get a word in. Your nails dig deeper, and if it weren’t for his shirt, you would have drawn blood. Another inch, another gasp that leaves you breathless, grasping for anything that could keep you grounded. The only thing you could grab was him, however.

“Dion, Dion, you’re going to break me, I can’t – I can’t – “

“You can. You have to.” Was his voice raspy, just now? If so, it worries you, because you just remembered one very important detail – Dion Argece was, if nothing else, a sadist. Be it from his childhood trauma, or if he would be like this regardless of, he loved seeing Roxana cried.

It never occurred to you that he would love seeing you cry, too.

How deep was he? It feels you’re being speared open, his cock bullying its way into your virgin hole. You weren’t a virgin in your last life, but it didn’t hurt like this. It had hurt, felt like you were being ripped, but not enough to make you cry and breathless.

You think you can feel blood trickling down your ass crack. “Please tell me you’re almost there, please…” sniffling, you look up at your husband, the man taking your virginity in the name of ‘marriage.’ A mirror shatters in the back of your mind.

There was a flush across his cheeks. Pupils blown wide and a small grin on his lips. He was enjoying this. Your pain, your tears and perhaps even your fear – he was enjoying this.

It would have been better if he didn’t feel anything, you think. Just a stone statue that was performing its task. But even monsters had emotions, you guess.

“I’m not. Just endure it for a bit longer – I’ll stop once I’m at the hilt.” Was he a liar in the novel? You think he was, otherwise, the overtaking of the Argece family wouldn’t have happened. Lant wouldn't be dead. But things haven’t followed the novel to a T – this was proof enough.

“You’ll stop? Like, completely? You – you took my virginity, so that should be enough. Right?”

You hate it when he keeps wiping your tears away. Or when he slides in even more, your blood coating his stupid dick. You hate it when he brings one hand to toy with your clit, granting you pleasure that was just overthrown by the smothering pain traveling up to your belly.

He doesn’t answer. And that was enough for you to rake your nails down the back of neck, drawing blood in return. He’s making you bleed, so it was only fair if you could too, right?

Deeper and deeper until his balls rest against your bottom and pelvic meeting yours. Surprisingly, your husband keeps his word, letting you adjust to the new feeling. It feels heavy. It feels like a heartbeat, like a rod that was stuck. It felt awful.

How long did it take you to get used to it, in the past? No longer than fifteen minutes max, right? No, shorter than that. Then again, it didn’t hurt this much, but that partner was more loving, more caring, gentler –

“Who are you thinking about?”

The question breaks you out of your daze. You blink, once, before you question him back. He only glares in response.

Panic fills you when he pulls out, pain still there, blood still trickling down. “Wait, you’re – “

“I’m what?” he pulls out until only the head remained inside. You try your best to ignore the bruising grip he has on your hips. You’re going to be sore tomorrow. If you survive this, anyway.

God, if you’re listening, please let this night end peacefully.

“B-big. It’s going to hurt, please don’t…” dragging your hands down from his neck to his chest, your fingers dig into his shirt.

“Hm. A shame, really; you still must give birth, eventually. It’s better to get used to it now than later.” Your mind doesn’t catch up with your body, legs tensing when he slides oh so carefully back in, like he didn’t just push your worries aside like nothing. “Relax.”

“Dion,” hiccupping, you brace yourself, head nuzzling into his chest as your hold on his shirt tightens. When he pulls back out, you could feel every detail, every vein trail, his grith truly opening you. He graces you a mercy, going at a languid pace, minimizing the pain. His thumb never stopped rubbing your clit, either.

It goes like that, for a good while. Slow and steady, your hushed sobs dying on your lips, your husband careful with his thrusts, but not his grip. It was almost comforting, in a way. But you were still scared of him, and of what will happen after this.

“… I have a proposition.”

His hips stop and your ears perk up.

“You want me to stop, correct?” Dion pulls back until he’s on his heels, his cock dragging along your walls. You wince before breathing out. He doesn’t even try to hide the sadistic look in his eye as he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. He almost grins in glee.

“Y-yes…” You don’t let go of his shirt. “Why…?” there’s hope inside you, but dread starts to rot it away.

“Jerk it.”

“…what?”

He was different from the novel. Extremely so, because you doubt that Dion would suggest a thing, much less give you a choice in the matter. That Dion would have either ignored you and this night or take you as is, no mercy, no humanity granted if this took place at the beginning at the novel.

When he doesn’t repeat himself, you pull yourself up until you’re resting on your knees. The sight of blood both on his cock and the sheets make you gag and thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it. Hesitantly, you take him into your hands, fingers barely able to close around it.

It throbs in your hand.

Your blood is coating your hands now, too.

Only silence is between you, your hands working him. Your thumb swipes over his head, circling it before stroking his dick up and down. Your other hand plays with his balls, massaging them. You’re not sure how long it would take him to finish.

Your core throbs in pain, and you become worried over the thought of peeing. It would probably hurt.

You want to sleep.

Without giving it much thought, just like your husband, you spit on it, a glob of saliva falling onto the staff. It throbs harder. And when you look at him, tired eyes and drool still dripping down from your tongue, still jerking him off –

“…Ngh…”

It’s almost cute, the way sperm spurts out and makes a mess on your hands. The very small and fleeting look of embarrassment on his feature is almost enough to comfort you. But when there’s barely a sheen of sweat adoring his forehead, unlike you was still recovering, you’re reminded that your husband was different from you.

There are no kisses, no sweet nothings shared between lovers. No stroking your hair or comforting your trembling form as your legs shake. Or even an offer to warm a bath for you, the warm water soothing your body. There’s none of that.

Not even a smile.

“Welcome to the Argece family, wife.”

Instead, all that awaits you is a restless sleep on a bloodied mattress with a husband who left after cleaning himself up.

Which God despises you so much and why?

[kmiuu1]

EXCUSE ME WHAT?? 😭

Fyodor MIGHT gift his beloved a whole country on White Day if he feels like it?? 🤐 (Fyodor from the anime BSD btw, not the Author if you're someone who doesn't know the anime and is reading this!)

Source:

Hes so silly I love him 😫 (I love silly men with horrifying destructive capabilities <3)

[kmiuu1]

LATEST MANGA CHAP DISCUSSION.

( Those who do not wanna spoiled are recommended to scroll right after reading this. Text will be smaller to help prevent spoilers in a sense...haha?? )

I hate my life I'm literally going mental. The way Satoru is still used as a weapon even after death, I'm actually going insane I'm fucking sobbing fuck my life holy shit.

"I don't care" He answers Yuuta when Yuuta informs him of the last resort plan to enter HIS body. Good damn bye. The way theres a flashback of the KFC fall out scene too I'm about to tear my heart out YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS.

man wtf is even gonna be the ending for jjk atp

[kmiuu1]

Masterlist ？！

All about Gojo Satoru ;;

Imagines —— one, two. . .

Books —— one, two. . .

Nothing about other Characters... —–-· ( Will try to fulfill requests, however! )

[kmiuu1]

Just thinkin' bout Gojo Satoru.

Gojo x Reader, basically! :3

( Sorry about the small text thing!! I don't really use the small txt but it suits this style better, lol...! )

Satoru, the man who would gleefully get down on his knees and hands to worship you — his beloved, precious, endearing, gorgeous, and talented woman. The thing he finds best about that part is that you're his.

Satoru, who would prefer to be the little spoon as he loves your touch — the way you hold him so lovingly, how could he not be intoxicated by you and your warmth?

Satoru, thought he'd never have the time or chance to ever find the “love of his life” till he met you. Completely altering that thought, twisting and bending it a 180° degrees when you just randomly slipped into his life at one point.

Gojo Satoru.

Is the man that loves you. The man whose fallen heads over heels for you. Not the “strongest”, but Satoru — Your “baby”, your “man”.

If you were to ever say you liked “poetry”, he'd all of a sudden also be into it and conjure up the most corny yet breathtaking poems.

If you felt like homemade desserts, he'd scurry to get an apron and get to work. Hes good at everything he does, anyway... so of course anything he bakes will probably be the best thing you've ever had.

You ever accidentally blurt out a “Ugh, I kinda feel sick...”, and he'd be gone the second you finish that sentence — only to return with a plastic bag filled with prescribed medicine in SECONDS.

Of course, you'd do the same things for him even if it'd mostly end up as failures — but that's exactly why he loves you. Because you treat him as an equal, because you don't see him any less or more than the average human being. Hes just him, in your eyes.

Though, he knew the world of Jujutsu would eventually cause your seperation together. He'll be selfish, for a bit more — as long as you're the reason, as long it's you.

He loves you. You love him.

And that'll never change. Even if the world were to be thrown against the sun, even if the largest meteor ever recorded were to suddenly crash through the earth, even if a million natural disasters were to occur at once.

This may or may not be the first and last time he'll ever be so greedy for another person's love, touch, warmth, and joy. As long it's you until the end of time, his soul and heart belongs to you — and will never stop being greedy.

(*´▽｀)ﾉﾉ ( Did I cook guys?? Satoru gives me cuteness aggression sometimes, tbh. I wanna hug him so bad ugh. )

[kmiuu1]

Guess who just realized they have school tmrw and it's 12 am, almost 1!!!!!!!!!!!

[kmiuu1]

incorrect jjk quotes [42/?]