kitsunb

[kitsunb]

(WIP. pregame fem ouma gets to take her in-game outfit home for a quick test run. pregame fem saihara absolutely intends to take advantage of that. fem ouma's called kokonoe; fem saihara is sarina)

*

Girl in a frilly skirt and baby, ain't she sweet? Got darlin' all dolled up in her lap, stocking's up to seventh heaven as she dips her fingers into sin-sweet lace, draws one white crime down to just beyond the knee. Bends her back, kisses  a thigh. Milky-white, leaves spit just to spite, her girl squirming back and forth and Sarina's got all six in the lottery, won silver and gold, diamonds an' rubies and the stars up above.

Feels her breath fog up her own mouth and she exhales sharply, hands hovering all over Kokonoe, the munchkin pigtails, tightly wrapped in chequered cotton. Pulls on one, draws it loose, got Kokonoe whining in an instant; no, Sari-chan, no no, you can't, did all this for you, got my heart laid bare in front of you—

Shuts her up with a kiss meant to bruise, teeth a reprimand, tongue a one-word warning. Kokonoe sighs into Sarina's mouth and this, too, is another piece she's gonna take with her, won't remember much when Danganronpa blasts her brain wide open, but—

Moves Kokonoe from her lap to a single knee, bites her own lip. Can't control the grin threatening to consume her face so she's gotta—ah, perfect, situated just right, ignores Kokonoe's confused noise and rocks one knee up with absolution. Got her moaning in an instant, stuttered Ri—Sa—Rina-cha-a-an, an angel's whisper to her ears, a declaration of love all on its own.

Feels like she's going mental. Always does, with Kokonoe moaning her name so gosh-darn sweet, like rosy-pink fondant slowly melting around her brain, leaving behind a gooey glob of nothing to be split apart by a metal bat.

Tries to be slow, tries to be sweet to match the fit, the innocent magical girl look, mahou shoujo kokonoe-chan! ❤️, but she's always been more about utena than precure so she twists her fingers into the waistband of Kokonoe's panties, dressed to impress even down here, and Sarina's not allowed to wonder why that is when the show's meant to be pg16 or whatever, 'cause she won't let Kokonoe wake up ever at all otherwise, none allowed to spy with their little eyes what's meant for hers alone.

[kitsunb]

Hello!! I see it's been a while since you've written anything, but I'm desperate for more beecest tbh. Do you by chance take commissions or anything? (on anon because I'm a normie blog by day)

Not paid commissions, no, but I definitely do take requests!! So if you've got one or even just a prompt, go ahead and hit me with it ❤️

[kitsunb]

1.

A two-finger-touch of the wrist. Rosy tips pressed against protruding blue, a tap right over the pulse point. Nails dragging over the soft skin stretched above, white lines coming to life on human-warm canvas. 

Rodney makes it seem so casual, innocuous gesture no one would ever bother registering in the first place. 

The skin under John's wristband suddenly itches, bitingly hot, a sense of longing buzzing in his fingers.

2.

Ring finger bent so it's down against the palm, thumb on the knuckle securing the position. John's face is hot as he thinks gold, and from Rodney's knowing smirk John knows he saw. 

3.

Says buddy because he's no Shakespear, and lightning running through my veins would be entirely too embarrassing.

4.

A clap against a shoulder, fingers exerting just a tad too much pressure. Nails discernible even through two layers of cloth as John casually drawls, "Bit of a close call, huh?" 

Inconspicuous as Rodney takes a step back, presses into the worry carefully concealed under the perfectly studied Texas charm. 

"Don't know what you're talking about, I only almost got killed, oh, about seven times today. I don't know about you but that's  definite improvement to the usual quota." 

That second too long of contact and Rodney dips his head as John removes his hands to brush past him, sighs as something in him settles down when John's elbow knocks against his own on the way down the corridor. 

[kitsunb]

[Shuichi is married to Kaede. Kokichi's the local crime lord.]

Unknown, that sweet chirping sound he still hasn’t gotten around to changing after his last visit. (Doesn’t know how Kokichi keeps guessing the correct code to Shuichi's phone when he changes it once a week.)

He doesn’t want to take it. Coffee stored in the skin cells falling off his flesh and the fifth victim of the Mikuba murderer just landed on his desk this morning. Staples of folders boxing him in, a worn mug on the left. A cold paste stuck at the bottom, sticky stains dotting the brim, brown and creamy, hours old, perfect worry-bitten lip imitations.

Doesn’t want to take it, so he won’t. 

(But it could be important, but Kokichi could be hurt, but Kokichi could be dea—)

“Yes?” 

Two minutes later. He’s out the precinct with an absent, “Be back in a bit,” barely registers Chiaki-chan’s questioning, “Taking an early lunch break, boss?”

[...........]

"Not exactly what i expected when Mikan-san told me my presence was required due an emergency of utmost direness.'" 

[...........]

Chiaki-san’s still at her desk when he comes back in at almost midnight. Pink backpack at her feet, the rabbit ears drooping sadly. She only spares him a fleeting glance when he bypasses her. 

“Quite the lunch break, boss,” she says. 

He doesn’t meet her gaze as he continues toward his office. Licks his lips, murmurs, “Yeah,” phone in his hand as he opens the door. New message from Kaede ❤️; The concert went well!!! Hope you also had a breakthrough with your case <3

Sent 16:34. He didn't check his phone at all, not in-between—all that, then falling asleep, waking up sluggish and panicked and with come sticky-dried on his fingers.

Shit, should have been back at the precinct hours ago—why didn’t you wake me up, Kokichi?

Leans against the closed door, lets his head fall back, eyes slip closed. Phone in a lose hold of his fingers as the screen goes black, message left unanswered. 

She's probably already asleep. Don't wanna wake her up. Gotta let her be well-rested for tomorrow.

Words he thinks with concern when really it's selfishness rearing its ugly head.

[kitsunb]

Morty knows some people have their soulmark around the wrist. A fateful loop, a destined twist; he's not surprised his own curls around his upper arm, soft and unremarkable.

(A snake lying in wait, dozing until days yet to come)

He didn't know shackles could be around something other than wrists.

[kitsunb]

A prince a king an emperor, a knave a fiend a villain—they call him many things, none that bear meaning when he lies safe in your arms, vines snaking up your hands your legs your heart as devil lips whisper, I'm yours, Hajime, I'm yours, sweet poison disguised as candy-sugar and all that more potent in its veracity.

Addiction's so easy to fall into.

You don't remember what it's like being abstinent, don't think you ever were to begin with.

(You don't want to, either.)

[kitsunb]

When she was six-and-three-fourths old, her mother climbed up a tree. A big one, a mighty one, especially to a child barely three feet four tall. But her mother climbed and climbed, bare feet on rough bark and her palms on twigs that looked like they could barely hold her weight, and she didn't show fear or pain, all to get down the neighbour's kid's pet cat. 

"No need to get the fire station two villages over involved," she had said, since their own small one didn't have one of their own, "I'll just do it myself.

Her mother never reached the top, but Jennifer will never forget the moment her mother's body touched the ground. 

(So, no, she isn't afraid of falling. 

She's afraid of who she'll leave behind if she doesn't survive the fall.)

[kitsunb]

Pulls the suit up her legs, over her waist. Slips her hands into the arms, the gloves fitting perfectly. Slips on the skirt, the frilly inside soft against her thighs. Grips the brim of the hat, hides the pink strand underneath. 

Same height, same size. Like this, they could almost pass as twins. Hair might be a shade too dark, eyes not as vibrant, (stop being so ridiuclousoy happy, my god, is that an american thing?) but— 

She does a twirl, poses, legs crossed at the knees. Digs her fingers into the corners of her mouth, horribly forced, oh, yeah, sure, of course I love you, papa, of course I do, I—

Inhalex, exhales. Goes boneless for a moment, shakes off the emotion. Raises her chin, defiant little princess. "Hmpf," she tells her image, and yeah, that's more like it.

Pulls the collar of the suit up to her nose. Sweet vanilla, the barest hint of Chloé's favorite perfume. She bets if she were to take off the hat and smell her hair, it would smell of mango-coconut, the half-empty bottle of Chloé's favorite shampoo.

Door slams open, a sudden intrusion; Zoe accidentally bites her tongue, hisses, tangy blood pooling under her teeth. No time to hide, to come up with excuses. 

Not necessary, though, not with Chloé's wrinkled button nose, the deprecating twist of her lips. 

"Ugh, ew. I mean, I know you went to boarding school, but really, to be so desperate as to wear my clothes instead of your hideous own…." 

Has to bite back a smile. Dips her head so Chloé won't see. It's simply a bonus that Chloé will take it as an act of embarrassment. 

(You know what they say about assumptions, sister dear.)

André was right. She does love her new room. 

The fact that Chloé constantly seems to forget it no longer functions as her spare closet just makes it all the sweeter. 

[kitsunb]

Osamu grabs him, pulls him close enough that Atsumu can count his stupid lashes one by one. Then puts his mouth over Atsumu's, just like that, no fucking preamble; one minute he's a kiss-virgin and the next he's not, and he can't believe that his twin's his first one in this, too.

"There," Osamu says, lets go of Atsumu. "Now we both lost our first kiss at the same time an' we can stop this stupid bet."

Atsumu stares, barely restrains himself from fluttering his fingers over his lips like ooh and aah and is this a dream? 'cause he's not a fucking shoujo heroine who's finally been kissed by her long-time crush after fourty-five and a half chapters. 

(Well, ah, well—)

Instead he grabs Osamu by the collar of his jacket, pulls him close enough that he can hiss against his mouth, "What, ya think that counts? Yer kissin' me? Ya really believe I'll let ya lord that one over me for the rest of our lives?" before he kisses Osamu.

And he's not a pussy like 'Samu, so, yeah, he uses tongue. What about it. If you do things, don't do 'em half-assed and shit.

Once satisfied, he pushes Osamu away, wipes his lips with the back of his hand. "There," he declairs, pointedly looks at Osamu, rakes his eyes over the uncharacteristic blush and the wide eyes. Actually got his twin to drop the devil-may-care attitude, huh. "Now that's a kiss, not whatever you were tryna do. What am I, a five year old with a fever who needs momma to kiss his booboo better? Don't confuse me with yerself."

Turns on his heel, about to stalk away, but that would be like—running away, which is stupid, what's he got to run away from? It was just a bet and clearly he won, because Osamu's stupid kiddy-peck definitely doesn't count. 

He turns back and grabs Osamu's wrist, his twin still stunned into silence. Makes a grin crawl over his face. "What, did my obviously superior kissing skills kiss the braincells right oughta ya? Well, not that you had any left to begin with," he mocks, pulls on the wrist still trapped inside his grip. The taunt seems to shake Oamu out of his stupor, though, and he makes a disgruntled noise. 

"Yeah, sure. More like I almost choked on ya tongue. Were ya tryin' to lick my tonsils or somethin'? If ya do that with a girl, she'll run away screamin', you know."

With a girl, he thinks, immediately shoos the mental image away because the one he sees sucking face with some pretty girl isn't him but Osamu, and he's not really keen on examining why that thought makes his stomach turn.

"Yer just jealous 'cause of your pathetic attempt."

Fingers slipping between his own, all twisted up, no idea where one ends and the other begins, feeling so damn right and Atsumu would've tripped down the sidewalk border if it wasn't for Osamu pulling him back just in time. 

"Looks like yer the one who lost all his braincells. 'N cause of a single kiss, too. Ain'tcha pathetic." 

Haah, probably, he thinks, then hits Osamu with his free hand. 

[kitsunb]

And Jennifer's just a girl, and she admits to having had the most embarrassing crush on Xena when she watched the show at something shy of eleven, because c'mon, who didn't dream of that kind of unconditional, devoted love as a girlie pre-teen?

She knows that, despite all the superficial similarities, Teyla's not actually Xena. 

Because Xena's a fantasy caught on film, but Teyla is real, warm skin and a beating heart and flesh Jennifer wishes to explore, and it's so unfair, isn't it, having her younger self's biggest wet dream come to life but finding herself forbidden from touching.

(And Jennifer's, well, she's sure as hell no Gabrielle, because Gabrielle is everything to Xena, and Jennifer is nothing at all, not to Teyla or anyone else bar her dad, who doesn't count because he will forever see her as his little girl, my precious baby, and how embarrassing is that. Ah, yes, yep, if I die out here in the unexplored space-wilderness with a beautiful space amazon warrior I will absolutely be missed. By my dad, for example, or the Vogue subscription I forgot to cancel before I signed 400 pages worth of government sanctioned red tape and got shipped off to another galaxy.

Pathetic is what she knows someone like her is called, but she can't even bear thinking it because it makes her heart constrict and eyes sting and that, that is pathetic, too.