#and acted as if their hard work was not enough and imply that they’re ‘boring’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fishstyx · 3 years ago

Text

monopoly.

featuring. possessive!kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader

wc. 1.6k

genre. dark/taboo, smut

tw. 18+ nsfw, non/dubcon, toxic relationship, manipulation, daddy kink, oral, penetration, creampie, implied breeding

synopsis. you’re kuroo’s, now and forever, one way or another.

“I—god, for crying out loud!”

Deft fingers find his temples and rub, but it does little to mitigate the tension in his body. Stomach clenched, hands drilling holes into his skull, Kuroo’s eyes finally go from sweeping the floor to meeting your gaze. His brows collect in the middle of his forehead, dark pupils boring into your core, and silence ensues.

You take it as a chance to snatch your phone away.

His eyebrows twitch, but it’s the huff and puff of air you notice first. It’s a heavy sound, followed by a raising of his arms in defeat. He lets them fall to his sides, palms outstretched with all the melodramatic flourish in the world, hard thud preceding a new torrent of lashback.

“So it’s a crime now?” Your lips flatten, grip tightening on the device. “To check up on my girlfriend like a loving boyfriend should?” He says it with a snarl, that cool, sly persona of his all but abandoned, as the edge in his tone morphs to something less explosive and more calculated.

“Last I checked, ‘checking up on your girlfriend’ doesn’t mean going through my fucking phone.”

You stand your ground against six feet of lanky legs and toned muscle as best you can, chest puffed, hackles raised. The worst thing about your boyfriend—if you should even call him that now—is his uncanny ability to read the mental state of anyone and everyone. Especially when they’re at odds with him.

“You know you’re way overreacting, right? I just—you know I just want to help.”

“And you can manage just fine without invading my privacy,” you say, steeling yourself. He can’t keep getting his way. He can’t keep cornering you, trapping you, whatever it is that he’s playing at when he talks you out of your so-called ‘moods.’

But it’s all too easy to falter under the piercing eye of a scheming bastard.

“Everything I do is for us, and yet all that’s on your mind is how to act out? Give me a break.” One foot in front of the other is all it takes for the tilt of your head to slant at dangerous angles. He looks down upon you, features in shadow but eyes in full gleam, expectant palm open and outreached.

You know what he wants.

Your neck hurts from craning.

You won’t hand it over.

You can’t help but choke the words out.

“You do it, you do it for yourself.”

It’s but a mutter but he hears you clearly. His face nears and you startle.

“You say it’s for us but you—you don’t even share anything about yourself! You do all these things to figure me out, but when I ask a simple question like—like what are you afraid of, or what’s your family like, or, or how the fuck are you feel, feeling,” you run yourself out of words as he hovers dangerously close, watching, waiting. The pause feels like a kick to the stomach, like you’re sinking in cement.

“Are you done yet?”

Your jaw clenches and unclenches but no noises come out. The fire in your gut quells but you still try to rekindle it. By the time you have anything to say his arms wrap around you, slowly, methodically, a boa come to squeeze you dry of fight.

“You don’t need to act so tough around me.” He rocks your body—stiff with unease—side to side, balls of your feet scrambling to absorb the brunt of your stress. “You get worked up so easily. You’re more sensitive, temperamental. That’s why I keep it away from you.” The reasoning seems logical enough but the pit in your stomach drops further. Your shoulders find the sense to knock against his iron hold but he pulls you tighter, voice dropping as he leans into your ear.

“I take good care of you, don’t I?”

When he holds you so closely it takes everything in you not to go limp and ragdoll. You’re supposed to be walking out the door right about now, but he has that loathsome, horrible, wonderful ability to make you feel like home is right in the crook of his elbows. No matter. He’s used to abusing your soft spots, but this time—

Oh.

You stupid, stupid girl.

When you’re pressed up against him like this, it’s impossible not to feel what’s growing in his boxer briefs. It doesn’t take his hands snaking down your waist to know what’s at stake, and all those embers of anger turn to fright.

“K-Kuroo, not now.”

He just kisses you on the cheek and hauls you to the nearest piece of furniture. You push at his chest, hands forming loose imitations of fists, feeling cheated and tricked, and that’s when you realize you’re empty-handed.

“Yes, now. Baby girl, you need me.”

You fall back into the couch and he crawls atop of you. His fingers find the hitch in your panties and knead, tracing spirals that cause your nerves to shatter and your thighs to clench. You will yourself to rise but he pushes you back with ease, single-handedly, literally, pads of his fingers forcing you down by the chest. When did he even take your phone? And where did he put it? He lifts your shirt and pushes your bra up in your confusion, turning you on your stomach as he laces an arm across your chest.

“Look how much your body loves me.” He fondles a pert nipple while his mouth finds its way to your neck, kissing his way up to your chin. Hot breath reaches your ear and he’s licking up its shell, a soft shudder his reward. He bites your earlobe and this time he gets a little whimper. “See how well I know it?” You can hear the shape of his mouth, with its upturned corners and cheshire cat teeth. Taunting you. Flaunting his control.

And you melt.

“Kuroo…” you whimper, column of your neck flush against the cushions, throat seizing up as your body loses reasons to struggle. He strokes your hair, steadily, knowingly.

“It’s better this way, isn’t it? Just leave things to me, babydoll.”

You flinch as warm kisses dot the length of your back, hands trailing down your sides, exposed and bared to the cold. For need of warmth, for need of skin on skin, you arch into his touch as his fingers hook your panties and pull. You think to swing your legs but they don’t move; a captive to his hold. He handles your body like it’s his own, hand on the small of your back as he parts your slit with his tongue. He knows your sweet spot well but his movements are treacherous, sliding in between your folds but barely grazing that bundle of nerves, encircling but not quite brushing it.

When he finally bumps it, a little flick that has your thighs crushing his head, he has you right where he wants you. He’s quick to draw back, the whine that bubbles up your throat like music to his ears. He slides a finger in on his next downward stroke, a second following soon after, smooth, even motions that scissor your insides open. Prepping you. Readying you for his cock.

It takes a throaty chuckle for you to realize you’re bucking your hips to his steady movements. Pacify your clit, pump his fingers, lick you up and down, repeat. His head pulls away as his fingers curl inside you, hint of a smile as he says, “Daddy’s cunt looks so happy.” Soiled digits come to prod at your lips until you part them open, the taste of sex violating your mouth as they converge down your tongue. You gag a little, unable to jerk away so long as his body cages you like this. It’s bitter. And it’s dirtying the couch. You struggle to catch your breath when his weight finally lets up, head spinning as his fingers retract from the base of your tongue.

There’s two faint thuds of soft material hitting the ground, and then he’s forcing himself between your legs, engorged cock sliding down the snug of your ass. Your head whips back to confirm it, a girthy cock laving itself in your pussy juices, unwrapped… raw.

“Daddy needs his special girl to remember this moment.” You shake your head and have the thought to thrash, but he holds you down with ease, stuffing the side of your face into the cushions as he lines his cock with your dripping hole. “You belong to me, and you’ll come to understand that”—the motions to resist snuffed before you could even start.

The pressure knocks the wind out of you. He sinks inside you in his entirety, hips slamming into yours in a single motion. With quick succession he pumps away, flat against your frame as he practically humps you, groaning in little spurts that tickle your nape. He fills you to the hilt each time, moaning something about how great you are together, how obvious it is that you’re made for him. You lay numb with panic, walls clutching him tighter as he curses something under his breath, taking your pussy faster despite the vacancy of your gaze.

The haze hits you like a curtain. Your eyes gloss over and it feels like you really are his baby doll, sucking him in even when you’re being forced. Passive snivels wrack your body and it takes all your being just to focus on the fibers of the upholstery fabric. Tightly woven. Probably soaked with your slick. He reaches his climax in a frenzy, filling you up as the last of your thoughts empty. A sick warmth spreads inside your swollen pussy with those last few snaps of his hips, cock twitching out every last drop of his seed, your body as fucked-out as fucked-out can be.

Kuroo has no intention of letting you in. But that doesn’t mean he’ll ever let you go.

🏷 @hqintheclub

#haikyuu smut #kuroo smut #kuroo x reader #nekoma x reader #kuroo oneshot #🍣.food #tw. penetration.#tw. noncon.#tw. dark.#tw. daddy.#tw. breeding.#tw. oral.#tw. toxic.#fishstyx.hq

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angry-geese · 3 years ago

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For Myself

Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: nsfw mention. mention of violence, blood, injury, and cannibalism. implied murder. starts off kind of dark but gets fluffier towards the end. gn!reader.

obligatory warning for my poor editing skills. if theres any egregious errors i'll get to them when i get home from work

Summary: some fluff where Sukuna comforts the reader while they're sick

Word Count: 2.4k

He's certain you would be more comfortable in his lap than on the floor. Even as he beckons you to sit, you refuse, turning your gaze away. You adjust your position to a more comfortable spot on your knees. The floor is hard and cold, but you don't have much longer to wait anyway. Sukuna has grown bored of the man standing in front of him. A peace offering, in exchange for not razing their village. A young woman, brought here against her own will. Her life to replace yours. It's nothing Sukuna wants, nor can he make use of her. She’s no sorcerer, likely no good in a fight, and too frail to be worth eating.

Worst of all, it insults you.

An insult to you, is an insult to Sukuna himself.

The man was only delaying the inevitable. Humans have a habit of doing that. They’re resilient, like cockroaches. You can squash, poison, trap, or drop a nuke on as many as you want to, but they’ll always come back.

He planned on killing him from the moment he stepped foot in the door.

And when he kills him, he makes sure to have the woman watch. She lays curled at your feet as you regard them both with cold eyes. Not a scream passes her lips. She’s either frozen with fear, or knows that moving is the worst thing she can do.

She begs for her life.

Sukuna leaves it up to you to decide.

It was an insult to you, after all. In a past life you could see yourself letting her go. There's many things in life you used to do that are no longer habits of yours. You were in her shoes years ago. Time has hardened you, made you cruel. If a past version of you could look at you now, you don't know if you’d recognize yourself. Not all change is bad. People are meant to change, and they’re going to do so.

You give her a minute to start running. After that, it's up to Sukuna with what he wants to do with her.

She takes the opportunity, thinking she has a chance to survive, and flees. The guards and servants let her. Your word is second to Sukuna’s. The only person who could overturn an order put in place by you is Sukuna himself. He usually doesn't. The resulting chaos from anything you do is good entertainment. And he has all the time in the world. Being immortal leads to a lot of boredom.

Sukuna would hunt her down before she could escape the estate.

Nobody got away from him. Not even you. Nowadays you’re much less serious about leaving but you still threaten it if he dares piss you off.

He'd never let you go. You know that. Try as you will, you're never getting free.

Not that you have anything to go back to. And you're rather comfortable here. Comfortable may be a bit of a stretch, but you're housed, fed, and protected. The basic human needs are taken care of. Sukuna cares about you in his own, twisted way. You may have first been just a plaything to keep his stomach full and his balls empty—a toy to be discarded after a day or two—but you've earned a place by his side. He wakes up next to you, he goes to sleep next to you. He's grown used to having you around. And you to him.

You're just as much his, as he is yours.

Everything about the man is selfish, and all-consuming. But when he is with you, he finds himself giving for the first time in his life.

He gets a servant to draw him a bath. He has the decency to scrub the blood off before finding you, and asking you to join him. His bloodied kimono is replaced with a clean one. It's black, the sleeves are wide enough to accommodate his four arms. Blood doesn't bother you, but he doesn't want to track it all over his house.

Something is wrong.

He doesn't remember you getting hurt, but you’re acting like you’re injured. He thinks back to this morning, how he had to drag you out of bed. How sluggish you acted.

Worry creases itself between his eyebrows.

Your mortality was something he knew of, but never gave much thought. There was no need to. The mortality of others was something he didn't care about. You weren't supposed to be kept long. You were merely a sacrifice, meant to appease Sukuna, and in turn he wouldn't raze your village. While young, and pretty, not good enough to save your people. He planned on fucking you, burning your village to the ground, then eating you. Not necessarily in that order, but that was the plan.

He's taken everything from you. Your home, your life, your family. Even as you were forced to face your fate, you never gave in, never lost your bite. You defied him and lived. You had a malicious streak in you. You were never as sweet and as innocent as the people of your village first played you up to be. Years later you still put up the same fight. It's a constant back and forth between you two.

You’d never be able to hurt him. As much as you'd scratch and bite, you'd never so much as draw blood. Harming the King of Curses was not an easy task.

His 'love' was much more material at first. As you got settled down, survived more than a week, gifts appeared. Jeweled hair pins and beautiful, expensive kimonos appeared. All made just for you. He'd never admit to being behind it. You were not complacent, but you were comfortable. You were his spoiled pet. That didn't stop you from clawing at his eyes whenever he picked you up when you didn't want to be touched. Being spoiled didn't make you nice.

None of his pets have lasted quite as long as you have. At least eight times the trees of his estate have shriveled and turned brown in winter, and the ground has hardened with frost. At least eight times they've bloomed and have had the life of spring breathed back into them, and the ground has thawed and turned muddy. You just did what you had to in order to survive. You've more than just survived. Some would say you’ve thrived. You would beg to differ. If you were the begging type.

He still views you as a pet. You’re human after all. Though sometimes it feels like you’re becoming more curse than human. Being viewed as an equal to him is impossible, but he values you. You're not something that can easily be replaced.

His hand touches your shoulder from behind. You don't flinch. You used to flinch. Then you started swinging. You're never able to hurt him. You're strong, but not that strong.

"She was far too frail to eat," you say, "I assumed you didn't want to keep her for that."

You don't eat human meat. Or try not to. Early on in your stay, before you knew better… It wasn't pork. Uraume was a wonderful cook, but not for anything you ate. Personally it's not your thing. Non-human meat is hard to come by around here, so you’ve stopped eating the stuff altogether. If you wanted it, Sukuna would make a servant get it for you, but you are content without it.

"You made the right call." He says. You always do.

He slips beside you, watching as you remove the intricate pins from your hair. You always loved your hair. Even at your darkest moment you took great care of it. It was a source of pride for you.

A wave of nausea rolls over you. Sweat beads in your hairline, rolling down your back, under the thin fabric of your—his—robe. You have little need for clothes. It doesn't get that cold here. Sukuna tears them off you anyway. Covering yourself up isn't necessary, but you do it out of modesty, and a sense of normalcy. You protest as he pulls at the fastenings of your robe, the flimsy fabric pooling at your feet. You have no plans on getting wet, you’d much rather go to bed. You’re tired, and you don't want to be bothered.

The tub is large enough to fit several of you. You guess it's fitting. The man is huge. He settles into the water behind you, pulling you to his chest. Try as you will, you’re not going to be able to struggle out of his grip. You’re too tired to put up much of a fight, though you do complain.

One of his sets of arms wraps around you, effectively trapping you in place. The other pulls a washcloth from the side of the tub, into the water with you. As much as you hate to admit it, the warm water feels nice against your sore muscles.

Sukuna is not a sentimental man. But with the way his hands trace across your skin, soft, lovingly, like he’s reading a book of braille, makes you think otherwise. He doesn't leer at the curves of your body like he normally does. His eyes scan across your body, looking for any sign of injury.

When he deems you clean enough, and your skin has turned a nice shade of pink from the hot water, he lets you go. You're the first to get out, drying yourself off. You never realized how cold the room was before.

He hauls you into his arms. You do little to protest, which worries him.

The King of Curses has no need for sleep. The bed mostly serves for asthetic purposes, though he's not opposed to fucking you across any flat surface, you seem to favor softer ones.

Much like the tub, his bed is large enough to fit several of you. You feel dwarfed by its size. The man is huge, he needs a bed to fit. You could sprawl out as wide as possible and never have any of your limbs hanging over the sides.

He follows you, silent.

He can't recall ever letting any of his pets share his bed before. Some have tried. Tried. He can't recall any of them surviving as long as you have, either. He finds himself irritated at the thought of anything bad ever happening to you.

He doesn't join you in bed.

He doesn't need sleep the same way humans do. He can, but if he were to decide not to, it would bring no harm to him. He used to never dream. It was something he did, back when he was human, but that time has long passed. But whenever he dreamed, he’d wake up next to you. Experiences like that made him realize just why humans like to sleep so much. Before he never woke up rested; he was never tired in the first place.

You shove the covers aside and crawl underneath. They smell like him. He snubs out the candle burning on the side table with his index finger and thumb. Though it's dark, there’s enough light in the room to make out his much-larger form.

You shiver, although sweat forms along your skin in a thin sheen. Sukuna knows it's not cold. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The back of his hand presses to your forehead. You’re burning up.

You were warm before, but he thought it was because of the bath. He’s not really sure what to do. It's rare moments like these that he's forced to face your mortality. He knows you're fragile—compared to him—but he can't bear the thought of something bad happening to you.

One of his large hands moves to cup your cheek. It's just as warm as your forehead. The pad of his thumb runs across your cheekbone.

"Stay with me." You say. You stretch your arms out towards him, making grabbing motions with your hands.

You’re not one to beg. Even when faced with death, you look it straight in the eyes. Call it bravery, or lack of self preservation. He admired that about you. You ignored your mortality because it did not matter to you.

“What's the matter, pet?”

“I don't feel too good.” You say.

Though he doesn't say it, he can tell.

“I’ll get Uraume-”

“No,” your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him back towards your chest, “no. I’m okay.”

He settles down beside you in bed, on top of the covers. When he opens his arms, you go right into them. He makes sure to keep the blankets tucked around you. Sukuna runs warm naturally. You huddle close to him, trying to steal his warmth. Though your face feels abnormally warm, you shiver. His much larger body lays partially on top of yours, his head resting on your chest, ear pressed to your skin. He can hear your heartbeat. Steady, and alive. Something low in your chest rattles when you breathe.

He should get a servant to bring you water, or some tea. It occurs to him how little he knows about the mundane things humans do to make themselves feel better. Not that he ever needed to care. In all the years you’ve been by his side, he’s never seen anything like this happen. He can't decide, and instead calls for both. If you need medicine, he’ll get that too, but you don't seem to be at that point. Uraume knows more about humans than he does. He’s no doctor, but he’ll work. If he asks you, you’ll just say you’re fine.

He holds the cup up to you, beckoning you to drink. The glass is cold against your lips. Even as your hands wrap around it, he doesn't let it go. He sets the empty glass on the side table with a soft thunk.

His large hand smoothes over your head, brushing your hair out of your eyes. His nails feel nice against your scalp. Nothing about the man is soft, but when he’s left alone with you, moments like this are bound to happen. You allow yourself to be pet. The heat, combined with the weight of his body, threatens to lull you off to sleep. The ache in your joints keeps you from doing so.

When he kisses you, you taste like a curse.

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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drrutherford · 2 years ago

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hasan-demir:

Hasan laughed openly giving Gideon’s back another pat.

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t be as boring as the rest. I have found regardless of position or circumstance, most people I’ve met have been so.. humorless. So base just crude insults at best and horrible at taking the gentlest of barbs. It’s frustrating to have to walk on eggshells or risk getting stabbed, and I guess you can see which side I landed on.”

Hasan chuckled a little less now.

“It’s so hard not to push a reaction out of people when they ignore you especially, or if they’re bad at it, or you know all of the above and fooling around with your sister, though I doubt I would try anything like that with Ayaz. I’m fairly sure he’s still looking for any excuse to how did he put it ‘break my spine’, I’ve taken to avoiding him, it’s worked for me so far. I don’t think I’ve angered anyone enough to have your particular group of assassins sent after me, but I’ve been wrong before.”

He gave a casual shrug as if he had dealt with hitmen on a regular basis, it wasn’t too far off lately, but he didn’t need to get into the specifics of that with Gideon.

“I’m sure you’ve chatted with your share of angry simpletons, you do work with people after all. I have the luxury of not appearing in public from time to time, though it’s not a good practice to stay in hiding for too long at least I have an excuse now.”

Hasan held up the hand in question.

“You wouldn’t believe what kind of sharks come to the waters when it’s heard that you’re in any kind of recovery, or maybe you would. Never make a bet with a Russian who is bigger than you, especially if they’re drunk.”

Gideon gives the man a sidelong glance, trying – failing – to mask his amusement at the other’s almost existential soliloquy on the people he’s met and his own fallible human nature. “I’m not exactly a One-Man Comedy Act, but I can appreciate your desire for a little more wit in the world these days... Not sure I’d be so willing to risk getting stabbed in order to achieve it, though.” He adds with a grimace, and another glance at Hasan’s injured hand. “That’s, uh... Some commitment to the art.”

It’s easier to keep the conversation light, although he feels the Turk beating around that same, thorn-littered bush relating to Ayda and Ayaz; in a way that suggests he’s struggling to cope with it a lot more than he’s willing to let on outside the boundaries of humour... Or at least, than he’s willing to let on to a Rutherford.

Not that Gideon blames him for it... Not in the slightest.

It’s still early days in a tentative, unlikely acquaintance between two men who might have been better-suited as enemies. Two men the world might still turn into enemies, if it pits their families against each other as mercilessly as is common in mafia wars.

“I’ll take your word for it when it comes to placing bets with inebriated Russians... Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, can say I think I’ll be able to resist that one.” It’s said facetiously enough to imply it isn’t a temptation at all, in fact. Gideon strolls over to the chair and picks up his satchel, throwing the strap over one shoulder. “As for ‘our particular group of assassins’, don’t worry, Hasan...” He shoots the man a parting smile. “I’ll only resort to such measures if I hear you’ve squandered good NHS money by punching people out with your bad hand and failed to stem that infection.”

It’s a joke, but only partially. He moves to the door, but glances over his shoulder and nods towards the limb in question. “Take care of that, yea?... See you around, Demir.”

— End.

#G x Hasan #February '23 #flashback #q #th.#wrapping this baby up in time for the event :))

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wallflowerimagines · 3 years ago

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Hi! I looove your posts! Thank you so much for sharing your writing!

I was wondering… could you maybe write about the Four Lords with a shy S/O that gets bold and defensive when someone insults the lords? or calls them names? And the Lord’s reaction to the S/O acting different? Dk if im explaining myself >.<

Again! Love your work! Have a great day!

We stan protective partners on this blog!!

Warnings: uh...insults? They're pretty over the top😅 Also swearing.

Alcina Dimitrescu

Honestly, Alcina is more than able to defend herself.

She's got a tongue like a viper, and the thickest skin imaginable. If you really want to hurt her feelings, you have to be someone whom she already respects to a certain degree, or she won't even be phased.

Still, when she leaves a room, there's always some idiot that thinks it's a smart idea to talk shit.

Maybe it's a maid, maybe it's a guest in the Castle, but either way you're not having it.

"God, you're annoying." There was a pause before they opened their mouth again, and you rolled your eyes. "No please, by all means, continue to share your lack of taste with the rest of us."

You disassemble this dumbass, starting small with comments about their personality (trying to keep it classy), but escalating the more they choose to double down on the comments.

Alcina comes back into the room to find you practically screaming at this asshole.

"Look, all you have accomplished here today is revealing that you are a fundamental disappointment on every possible level. My life is worse now that I've heard you open your mouth, you disrespectful, shit licking worm fucker."

Alcina is stunned. You do not give off "aggressive guard dog" vibes at all, yet here you are defending her tooth and nail. While she had seen brief moments of your inner strength and protective streak (mostly towards her daughters) she just...never thought you would do the same for her.

It's not because she doesn't trust you or love you! But nobody has ever done something like this for her before? Ever? She's never had anyone try to protect her--not physically, and not even verbally. She's been so independent for so long that it's... Strange to see you support her so openly.

She doesn't need you to do this for her, she doesn't even expect it, but you do it anyway for no other reason than the fact that you love her. You want people to give her the respect she deserves.

I'm going to be real here: Alcina has never been closer to swooning before in her life. You're overcoming your shyness because you believe in her so much-- it's not a gesture meant to be romantic, but Alcina can't help but see this as a massive statement of your commitment to her.

Seriously. This is such a massive thing for her that if proposals weren't already on her mind, she is mentally picking out a ring for you the minute this happens.

Then, of course, she glides into the room, kisses you until you're breathless and babbling, and smirks at the unfortunate peon who thought they could get away with insulting House Dimitrescu.

She's in such a good mood that she's considering going easy on the idiot. Maybe removing their tongue would be enough of a warning?

Donna Dimitrescu

You don't really know how it's possible but apparently some people don't like Donna Beneviento? Some people think she's scary and unpleasant????

Wild. Can't imagine what that's like.

The two of you are honestly the sweetest, most toothrottingly adorable couple-- blushing when you hold each other's hands, sneaking glances at each other across rooms, giving each other kisses and forgetting whatever was on your mind...

Honestly, anybody who's critical of your relationship with your girlfriend is just a hater. Fuckers can pound sand😤

Still, you are pretty shy, so it takes a lot for you to defend yourself if someone comments about you. It can take a lot of courage to stand up against rude remarks, and sometimes it's easier to walk away.

Defending Donna, on the other hand?

The minute someone even thinks about dismissing her, you are ready to throw hands.

"My lovely girlfriend already said no, meaning you're either deaf or too stupid to pick up on simple social cues," you purse your lips and give the rude and pushy Villager a patronizing once over. "You and your opinion are equally useless. Get the fuck away from us."

Donna blinks.

She... Was not expecting this??? At all?? You're so nice! You always tell her about your attempts to avoid confrontation! What's going on??? How did you get the guts to say what she's always wanted to say?

Meanwhile, Angie is LIVING.

The little doll chimes in to assist you with the verbal homicide, working as a tag team to absolutely murder this moron. She's half partner, half hype man, and is so excited to do this with you. Normally, she has to protect Donna all by herself, but she's relieved and reassured that you stepped in first.

'USELESS IS TOO NICE, THOUGH! THAT IMPLIES THEY AREN'T A POINTLESS, RANCID, LONELY FREAK. THEY LOOK LIKE THEY CRY WHEN THEY MASTURBATE.'

You high five Angie, still glaring daggers at the unfortunate villager.

The two of you continue to ream into the villager, while Donna hovers nearby.

As surprised as she is, she's also grateful. She's only really ever had Angie to help shield her from insults and disrespect (and occasionally inducing horrifying hallucinations that make people claw off their own skin), but having you in her corner makes her feel safe.

Not to get totally sappy, but you're like her knight in shining armor in a lot of ways. And the fact you two are so similar is really motivating-- She wants to one day be confident enough to return the favor. Until then, she's happy to watch her two favorite people have fun insulting some stranger ❤️

Salvatore Moreau

With you being so shy, Salvatore is surprised how often he takes the lead in your relationship.

He's not normally all that outgoing, but you seem to bring out a side of him that's very protective. Whenever you have a bad day he wants to bundle you up and keep you safe from the world.

If he so much as holds your hand you start stuttering and avert your gaze. It creates a feedback loop where you both get flustered, but Moreau has never felt steadier. Despite your shyness, you make sure he knows how much you love him.

You're sweet as pie and twice as kind--Salvatore is the luckiest man in the world, nobody can convince him otherwise 💕💕

So it comes as a total shock that when a passing fisherman spits in your path and calls him a freak, your entire demeanor does a 180.

Your posture straightens and you look the villager dead in the eye, "I don't believe anyone asked your opinion."

Salvatore: 😳

This is not the time, and he totally knows it, but, uh, something about your tone??? Really does it for him???

While he's attempting to process why exactly he's starting to short circuit, you proceed to verbally shred this person to bits with clinical efficiency-- nothing is off limits.

They might try to defend themselves, but it's useless. You do not let up.

"Ugly? Monster? Bitch your teeth are throwing gang signs, don't throw stones from your shining glass house."

You insult their appearance, what they're holding, their smell-- you get so fucking mean that you might even make them cry.

Moreau is just lost right now, trying hard to figure out how exactly you were able to gain all of this confidence so quickly.

He's not upset! In fact he's very flattered! But, he also doesn't want you to get into a fight with some unimportant stranger. (After all, if they so much as throw a punch, they're straight up dead. Moreau is a patient man, but he's not that patient. You do not hurt his partner and live to tell the tale.)

He may a healer but...

Eventually he steps between you and the fisherman in an attempt to deescalate the situation, but you just kiss him on the cheek and step around him, determined to make your point.

Blushing hard, Moreau lets you do what you want. What can he say? Fish man likes himself a protective partner 💞

Karl Heisenberg

Magnet Man is not the most social guy to begin with, so any opportunities you have to stick up for him are already pretty slim.

He mostly knows you as the shy, sweet, easily flustered partner that lets out a cute squeak every time he sneaks up to hug you from behind.

Karl's honestly happy just to spend time with you all alone in the Factory. It's not the best or healthiest mindset, but he'd be perfectly content to only ever see you for the rest of his life. Spending time with anybody else feels like a boring waste in comparison.

But occasionally, you do head out into town with him. Heisenberg wants you to be safe so he doesn't do it often, but running errands with you is a weakness of his. It's domestic in a way that he's never experienced before.

He likes it ❤️

What he does not like is the shopkeeper starting to give their opinions on the quality of your relationship with him.

Most insults Karl will let slide because he doesn't particularly care. However if anyone makes a comment on how scared (shy) you look around him, how you must be being threatened into being with him, how poorly Lord Heisenberg is treating you...he won't stand for it.

But before his fingers can even twitch towards his hammer, you snap.

"You're clearly the blindest cocksucker I've ever met--so wipe the cum out of eyes and mind your own fucking business."

Karl does a double take.

He's heard you curse before, but quietly. The words coming out of your mouth are WILD right now, he has NEVER seen you so angry. You're defending him with the aggression of a wild animal, and it's simultaneously HILARIOUS, but for some reason he's also getting a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest?

He doesn't need you to protect him like this, but seeing you blatantly argue how much you love and cherish him in public reassures him in a way he didn't know he needed.

Still, hearing you call the shopkeeper "shit for brains" is the funniest thing that's happened in years.

Heisenberg starts laughing, and the more you shout at the idiot, the harder he laughs. Is it weird how hard he wants to kiss you right now?

Eventually, he just has to drag you away, cackling as you continue to shout insults at the unfortunate shopkeep. There's got to be an alley around here for some good old fashioned privacy 💕

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #donna beneviento x reader #salvatore moreau x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #resident evil village #re8 #resident evil 8 #resident evil #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #angie beneviento #karl heisenberg #angie the doll #swearing #insults

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shig-a-shig-ah · 3 years ago

Text

FULL CIRCLE

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader

» contains: poc!reader, soft Dabi, implied/referenced domestic abuse, implied/referenced child abuse, handjobs, fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: a commission for @xshinigamikittenx. Thanks so much for the fun idea! And please note there are some specific descriptions of reader since it was a comm.

» wc: 6.9k

» AO3 Mirror

"Before we get started, we have a new member joining us today. Would you like to introduce yourself, Touya?"

You hadn't noticed the stranger sitting three seats away from you, not when you try to pay as little attention as possible during this court-ordered charade that passes for healing. But those words draw your attention to the therapist, an older woman greying at the temples, and when you follow her gaze it's hard to imagine how you could have missed the newcomer, with his jet-black hair and ruined jaw and face full of metal. You wonder if the piercings were there before the scars, or if they're meant to draw attention from them.

"It's Dabi," he says flatly, and it's then you see there are scars under his eyes, too, ones that could pass for nothing more than the aftermath of exhaustion without careful examination. You didn't see them for what they really were until that purple-ish skin was crinkling in displeasure.

"Okay, Dabi, would you care to introduce yourself to the group?"

"I just did, didn't I?"

You laugh as the placating smile slips from the group leader's face. It's a small sound, no more than the start of a chuckle quickly covered with a feigned cough, but it's enough to draw a quick, curious glance from him.

That's the first time those turquoise eyes land on you.

You normally ignore the other group members. Disappear into your head while they talk about problems you can't bring yourself to care about, and cry over breakthroughs you can't imagine matter. You know you're lucky to be here, at least in some ways—group therapy twice a week is far better than jail, after all—but that does little to help you invest yourself in this sham. You don't really belong here, don't really need it.

You'd never hurt anybody who didn't deserve it.

So mostly you tune out. And when you can't do that—a problem you seem to have more and more lately—you watch Touya, or Dabi, or whoever he is. Count yourself lucky when you manage to get a good seat, and spend far too much time working out the geometry of what actually counts as a good seat in this circle meant to foster intimacy and vulnerability.

Directly across from him is no good. Too conspicuous, and too likely to put you in danger of a reciprocating gaze. Adjacent at 90 degrees or less is too close—makes the turn of your head to put him in your line of sight too obvious. You work it out eventually, that 135-degree ideal. Just off-center enough to not draw attention when you cast frequent glances at him from under your lashes.

You watch, and you wonder about him.

Anger issues, the therapist mentioned, and you can see it. He tries to act nonchalant, posing slouched in his seat with one booted foot propped over his knee, but his constant fidgeting betrays some turbulent emotion barely kept in check. His face lives in a bored expression and when he speaks his voice is a matching drawl, but his half-scarred hands can never decide what they want to do. They're tight fists stuffed in his pockets one second and long fingers combing through his hair the next. They pluck the unlit cigarette from behind his ear and roll it between two fingers until flakes of tobacco litter his worn jeans, and then he's moving on just as quickly to picking at loose threads in the denim.

He refuses to speak unless spoken to, too, and never comes close to actually sharing anything. Every probing question from the group leader yields the briefest possible answer.

Would you like to share anything today, Touya? "It's Dabi. And no."

How do you feel, being here? A scoff, and then, "Annoyed, mostly."

Can you tell us one thing you want to work on? "Nah, nothing comes to mind."

You like to think you're subtle in your attentions as you take it all in. You watch when he's speaking but never stare too long otherwise. Force your eyes to wander to some of the other attendees, as though you could hide your interest under the pretense of a restless gaze.

Apparently you're not as subtle as you think.

"You, with the braids," Dabi says one day as you pass by him in search of a good seat. His fingers snap. Point to the empty chair beside him. "Sit here."

He should know your name by now. The group leader uses everyone's, and often—some therapy technique meant to disarm, you're sure—so you don't bother trying to introduce yourself properly. Only freeze because you can't quite believe he's speaking to you.

"Why?" Your cheeks are already heating up, and that burning in your face only worsens when he answers.

"Because. I'm sick of you fucking staring from across the room."

You take the seat next to him, and it takes all your willpower to not look over at him again as the hour passes.

It's the same thing next session, and the session after. He doesn't say another word to you after commenting on your voyeuristic habit, but every day when you move to sit down, he guides you to the seat on his left with nothing more than a moment's eye contact and a tip of his head.

One evening, when you pause to fill a flimsy paper cup with burnt coffee and too many sugar packets before sitting down, someone else drops into that empty chair at Dabi's side.

He turns to them. Glares until they leave.

The group meets in the evening. It's meant to be more convenient, more accessible to the ones who work real jobs—the kinds in offices where they grind nine to five and pretend they aren't barely clinging to a respectable life.

It's less convenient for you. Your ride is already distracted and unreliable when the time comes to deliver you here. This late in the day and without the benefit of your reminders about a pick-up, they're just as likely to forget you entirely as to show up on time, or even twenty minutes late.

Today, it's a gamble between being late and entirely absent. After sitting outside after group and waiting for far longer than you probably should have, you finally call. The high-pitched ring on the other end of the line graces your ear a handful of times before you get the voicemail you'd been dreading.

You hang up without leaving a message.

"Somebody forget about you?"

There's a hint of schadenfreude in that recognizable voice, and when you turn you see Dabi leaning against the side of the low building, a cigarette in one hand. You can smell it now that you see it, don't know how you missed it before.

"No." The word sounds unconvincing even to your own ears. "Have you just been standing there watching me?"

"Don't flatter yourself." His cigarette drops to the concrete to be crushed under the toe of his boot. "If no one forgot you, I guess there's no point offering you a ride." He's already heading into the parking lot, towards a black coupe that looks as nice as he does ragged. He stops halfway there and turns back to look at you, one eyebrow raised. "Well?"

After a moment of deliberation, you rise. You follow.

The inside of Dabi's car is a stark contrast to the sleek outside. There's an overflowing ashtray in the center console and crumpled cigarette packs littering the floor, neighbored by fast food wrappers and the occasional empty can of coffee.

"Am I taking you home?" he asks as he pulls out of the parking lot, not bothering with a blinker.

"Where else would you take me?"

"Someplace you actually want to go. What, you think I haven't been listening?" he snorts when you give him a surprised look. "If it's any consolation," he adds a second later, "I know a thing or two about living with a bunch of assholes."

You don't know what to say to that. So, you don't say anything and he drives you to an industrial part of town. Parks behind some abandoned warehouse and keys off the ignition, slumping back a little in his seat and tipping his head to look at you.

You fidget with a lock of your hair. "What now?"

He shrugs, cranking the window down and lighting a cigarette. You watch the smoke curl from his lips as he exhales. "We sit here. Or we go climb through one of those windows and break some shit, if that's your thing." Another drag, another exhale. "Or we could fool around."

"Okay." It's not like you haven't thought about it. All that time staring at him, and then trying not to. Wondering about the texture of his scars and how they'd feel beneath your fingers, or about what it would feel like to kiss him. You've seen the stud that glints in his tongue when he talks.

"Yeah?" He raises a brow. Flicks his barely-smoked cigarette out the window instead of snuffing it out in the ashtray, and then leans over to release your seatbelt. He'd never bothered with his own.

This close you can smell him. The lingering aroma of tobacco, cedar and citrus beneath that. You wonder if he does things like this much. He's not unattractive, not to you, but his scarred face is intimidating if nothing else.

But he doesn't act inexperienced. Doesn't nervously procrastinate or shove his lips impatiently against yours like he's overly eager. Instead he lifts one hand to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your lower lip as he brings his face closer to yours. Your breath catches with anticipation.

His hand drops to your hip when his mouth finally presses to yours. It's a teasing, unhurried kiss, his lips hardly moving, at least at first. He pulls back once, cerulean eyes scanning your face from behind heavy lids, and when he leans back in it's with more intensity.

The center console between you must make it awkward, but he doesn't seem to mind. His tongue darts out to taste you, lapping over the seam of your lips before working its way languidly into your mouth. He tastes like smoke, and like the metal that decorates his tongue. When you lean into him a little more, his hand slides up to cup your breasts through your shirt.

It doesn't linger there long. He tweaks your nipple once, twice, and then his fingertips drag down your arm, long fingers tangling with yours and guiding your hand to his thigh. Upward from there.

He's half-hard when he presses your palm against his crotch, grinding himself against it just a little. You take it from there, fumbling one-handedly with his belt and the button on his jeans, bending your wrist awkwardly to reach beneath the band of his boxers and take him in hand.

The feel of more cool metal has a small, surprised sound slipping from your lips, and Dabi pulls back just long enough to chuckle before kissing you again, the faintest groan escaping his throat when you let your fingers explore the ring at his tip and the row of barbells running down the underside of his length, the distance between them increasing slightly as he continues to stiffen with each curious stoke of your thumb.

He groans again when your fingers wrap around him properly, pumping his shaft with rhythmic strokes, trying to memorize every detail of how he feels. Of the piercings there, and the thickness of him, and just how hard he is. His own hand slides under your shirt, your bra. Kneads at your breasts and then pinches lightly at your stiffening nipple. His hands feel unnaturally warm.

You can hear his breath starting to catch, too, gasping exhales and tiny grunts climbing up from his throat that only worsen when you work your wrist a little faster.

"Fuck, babygirl," he murmurs against your lips, "fuck, that's gonna—" You jerk more firmly, thumb pressing against his leaking slit, and he cuts himself off. His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging roughly as he gives a sharp exhale and fills your hand with a rush of warmth.

His face is slightly flushed when he pulls back, his eyes bright. You take a moment to appreciate the sight before glancing down at your sullied hand.

"Shit," he mutters, following your gaze. He reaches over you to pop open the glove compartment, rooting around until he emerges with a fistful of flimsy paper napkins. "Here."

You don't know what to do with them once you've cleaned the last remnants of spunk from your palm, and after a moment of deliberation you drop them on the floor amidst the other trash. He doesn't complain, only leans in to kiss you again. It's soft. Quick.

"Do you want me to..." He tips his head, and you shake yours.

"I should be getting home."

He doesn't protest, or try to insist on returning the favor. Just lights another cigarette and starts the car.

"Whatever you want, babygirl."

"Touya, do you have anything you'd like to share today?"

"It's Dabi." He'd been patient with that correction the first few times. Now he practically snaps it. He'd known this therapy thing was going to be nothing but bullshit, and the therapist's determination to avoid using his name only confirms that.

"Right," she smiles. "Do you have anything you want to share?"

"No, thanks."

The therapist frowns. She does that a lot, only to him. Dabi's pretty sure that has to violate some therapeutic principle.

"No one asks to be here, Tou— Dabi. But many of your peers have found it quite helpful." She pauses, forces the placating smile back on her face, lest that caring mask slip for too long. "But in order for it to help, you have to make an effort."

Dabi snorts. "Yeah, well, maybe the rest of my 'peers' have problems. But in my case, I'm not the issue. Trust me."

Maybe he's being uncharitable, but he doesn't care. Doesn't owe these people anything—not his sympathy, or his understanding. And it rankles him, being surrounded by old men for whom it's a revelation to learn that their tempers have consequences, or by women who seem to want to excuse the shitty behavior of everyone in their life. Who buy into forgiveness and the idea that mastery of the self is the remedy for dealing with selfish pricks who'll only allow you in their lives if you make yourself small for them.

You're the exception. It was why he'd noticed you in the first place, even before you'd taken to staring at him when you thought he wasn't looking.

Well. It was the second reason he'd noticed you. The first reason was simply because it would have been hard not to, with the bright red hair and full lips, and the fact that you were the only person here even close to his own age. But then to boot you turned out to be the only one who wasn't a fucking whiner, who didn't exude that faint sense of self-pity when you talked about your challenges. (Because that's how it is here—no problems allowed, no language permitted that might suggest people aren't inevitably responsible for their own difficulties. Only challenges that you're all meant to take ownership of, whether they're your own fault or not.)

Dabi's been trying to avoid playing that game, but apparently the clock is ticking, because the therapist gives him a stern look when he once again declines to indulge in that farce.

"I won't be able to continue signing your court forms if you don't contribute to the group, Dabi."

Dabi shrugs. Keeps his outsides calm even though that threat has his stomach clenching. "Don't, then."

"Can you believe that bitch?"

You're sitting in Dabi's passenger seat again. He drives you home now, your other ride relieved to not have to remember you. And yeah, you stop along the way. Meet above the center console to tangle lips and tongues and let hands wander.

You like his hands. They're always warm against your skin. And nimble, you'd learned when you finally let them venture to probe between your thighs.

"It's not so bad, once you get used to it. Talking, I mean. Especially if you just tell her what she wants to hear."

He exhales a plume of smoke out the open window. "Is that what you do?"

"Mostly. She just wants you to act like you're the problem even if you're not."

"And you're not?"

"No." You pause. Chew at your lip. "I'd never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it."

Dabi arches one brow. "And if they did deserve it?"

You lift your gaze to look into his eyes. Shrug. "We're all there for a reason, right?"

"We should—fuck—we should be getting out there."

You're not wrong. Group was slated to start five minutes from when he'd tugged you into this supply closet, and it's probably been twice that long since you entered. But Dabi doesn't want to go out there. Not yet.

"You want me to stop?" He punctuates the question by grinding the heel of his hand against your mound, the fingers buried inside you thrusting a little deeper. You have to lift your hand to muffle the moan that draws, and Dabi considers that a victory. "That's what I thought."

Your brown eyes roll back when he curls those fingers a little, another one of those moans escaping you. He tugs your hand from your mouth, replaces it with his lips so he can swallow those sounds. Ruts his hard-on against your thigh as he speeds up his efforts.

He can feel your walls starting to tighten as high-pitched whines work their way up from your throat.

"That's it, babygirl," he purrs. His mouth abandons yours, their job muffling those noises forgotten as he runs his tongue along the column of your throat, savoring the taste of your smooth skin. "Show me how good I make you feel."

"D-dabi," you whimper, and then your palm is slapping itself over your mouth again, your insides gushing and clenching impossibly tight around his fingers. It has his cock twitching in his pants, dangerously close to spilling over from nothing more than this bit of dry humping on his end, but he can't help it.

He wants to feel it for real—your cunt convulsing around his length—but the logistics of that are harder than fingering you in this closet, or his car, and he hasn't figured out what to do about that yet. He sure as hell doesn't want to invite you to his place, and yours doesn't sound any better. He knows that, because unlike him you talk during group. Not more than you have to, but enough for him to get the general idea—tumultuous life circumstances and a loss of restraint and then a move back home. Both of you suffering that indignity together.

One more thing you have in common.

The two of you stumble into group ten minutes late, your knees still weak from Dabi's attentions, and the therapist casts you both an unamused look as you drop into the last of the empty seats. You avert your gaze when her eyes scan over you, but they don't linger. Thankfully.

"Touya, would you—"

"It's Dabi."

Your dark-haired not-quite-lover casts you a curious look, because for once the correction came from your lips and not his own. The therapist shifts uncomfortably in her seat, glancing from him to you and back again.

"Dabi," she corrects, "why don't you start us off today?" There's a pointed edge to the question, clearly meant as punishment for delaying the start of this biweekly ritual.

"I'll pass."

That earns him a long, hard look. "I told you last time that if you don't contribute, I won't be able to sign your court papers. I'd prefer not to do that, so why don't you at least share with the group why you're here?"

Dabi glowers. You nudge him with your foot, silent encouragement, and after a long moment he eventually says, "I'm here because my dad's a real prick."

"And?"

"And I torched his car. 'S not that big a deal, he wasn't even in it." After a moment, he adds, "And the asshole had it coming."

You believe it. You don't know Dabi that well, but you recognize it all the same. That he wouldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it.

"I'm surprised you only got group therapy."

Dabi pauses with his cigarette lifted halfway to his lips. It's been two sessions since he started begrudgingly following your advice. More or less, anyway. The therapist doesn't want to hear that his dad is a raging asshole who'd only reaped what he'd sown. But she seems satisfied that he's talking, at least for now.

"I didn't only get group therapy." Dabi kicks at an empty bottle, sending a plume of dust rising through the abandoned warehouse. He'd been feeling restless when the two of you parked in the usual spot, and you'd seemed like you felt the same. He'd led you out of the car and through a broken window, and you hadn't complained about hanging out with the trash instead of fooling around.

"Really?"

He nods. "Sixty days in jail. It was supposed to be twice that, but the old man pulled some strings." Dabi takes a drag from his cigarette. "He likes to do shit like that. Act forgiving. Pretend to take care of his family so he can feel like less of a bastard."

"That's bullshit."

Dabi knew you'd get it. He drops his cigarette, backs you against the wall with his forehead resting against yours. He likes that—the way you're even with him so he can look you in the eye. He spent his whole life being looked down on. Never stopped being uncomfortable doing that to anyone else.

"Yeah," he murmurs. Feels a strange surge of your gratitude for your company as one hand slides down your back to cup the curve of your ass, "it is."

You're upset.

You never talk more than you have to in group, but this time when the therapist asks you to share, you only shake your head.

Unlike Dabi, you get a pass. One privilege that comes with being generally cooperative, he supposes.

It's distracting to him, though. The agitation that bloomed in his chest when you came in late with puffy eyes isn't fading, and he can't stop looking you over. Scanning your face and arms in search of marks or bruises. He doesn't know if your family is shitty in that particular way, but old habits die hard and looking for the evidence of Enji's temper was always his first move when Rei retreated into one of her morose episodes. And god knows Dabi's own bruises were responsible for his surliness on one or two occasions.

The deep ocher of your skin seems unblemished from where he's sitting, but that doesn't relieve him as much as he'd like. The evidence of his own shitty childhood might be publicly displayed in the scars on his faces and his arms, but he still knows how easy it is to hide that kind of thing.

But he also doesn't know how to ask.

You're on him faster than usual when he parks in the normal spot near the edge of town. Kissing him hard and fumbling with his belt, only worsening that impression that something's off.

He still doesn't know how to ask. Doesn't want to hit on a sore spot. Doesn't want to show more of his own hand that he means to, though he already knows he's dangerously close to doing just that.

It's not a time for conversation anyway. You're kissing down his neck, teeth sinking into the scarred skin there as your hand reaches into his jeans to stroke his cock to life. With embarrassingly little effort you have him rock hard, and then your mouth is working its way lower. Your teeth sink into his pec, breath hot even through the fabric of his shirt.

He wishes, not for the first time, that you weren't constrained to the tiny space of his car. That he could lay you down, undress you properly. Do more than what you can manage contorted around the steering wheel or gearshift or glove box. And this time it's not just because he wants to really feel you, even if he wants that too; even more, though, he wants the reassurance of you laid bare before him where he can ensure every inch of you is unharmed.

"Fuck," he swears when your full lips wrap around his cock. Your warm tongue circles his tip before laving over the row of barbells lining his shaft, and he lets one hand move. Gathers your loose braids and wraps them around his fist. Gently, just to give himself a part of you to hold onto, but you moan at the slight tug against your scalp. The hum of it echoes through his cock, sending a shiver racing up his spine. "Fuck, feels good, babygirl."

It feels even better when you hollow your cheeks and swallow him deeper, bobbing your head and moaning again, eyes peering up at him from behind your lashes with obvious satisfaction. Dabi can't quite help bucking his hips a little, helping you along as you work him over with your mouth, and far too soon he's spilling down your throat.

By the time he's finished tucking himself back into his pants, you're right back to looking troubled.

"You wanna talk about it?" he offers, words mumbled around the filter pressed between his lips as he lights a cigarette.

"No." You stare out the window. It's raining, the tink tink tink of raindrops audible against the steel of the roof. You look back to Dabi. "But I don't want to go home either."

Dabi considers that for a moment. Lets out a heavy sigh as his desire to get you someplace safe and more comfortable wins out, and he resigns himself to doing the thing he really didn't want to do. "Don't worry," he says as he starts the car, "I got you."

The big house fits with the nice car, but you're still surprised to see it. You pause when you climb out of the passenger seat, taking in the slatted shutters and perfectly manicured grounds, heedless of the rain dampening your skin.

Dabi slots his fingers with your own before he tugs you inside, and you don't miss the care in those movements. The way he eases the front door open, and moves carefully as he toes off his loose-laced boots, nodding for you to remove your own shoes. In another situation, with someone else—someone less like yourself—you might find that stealth offensive. Here and now, you understand.

He leads you down a long hall, and you follow his lead in trying to keep your feet light on the floorboards. Apparently not light enough, though. Dabi tenses as a voice echoes in from the other room.

"Oh, is that company, Touya?"

You don't miss the way he grimaces, his fingers tightening around your own just a little. Then he's casting you an apologetic glance and tugging you off course.

The living room is as traditional as the rest of the home. Tatami mats and a low coffee table surrounded by cushions. Large picture windows that would flood the room with natural light if it weren't already so late in the day. There's a chair by the window where a slip of a woman is sitting, watching the rain with a blanket in her lap and a cup of tea in one hand.

"Hey, mom," Dabi mumbles. He casts another sheepish look your way as he introduces you, and then his mother.

"It's nice to meet you, Todoroki-san," you say.

"And you," Rei says. "I'm glad to see Touya making a friend."

Her smile is small. Fragile and tenuous even though it seems genuine. And her grey stare is strange—glassy and vacant. It has you uneasy for a moment, and then Dabi's nervous fingers are tightening around yours again as Rei reaches up to tuck a lock of pure white hair behind her ear, and her sleeve slips just enough to reveal fading bruises on her wrist.

Dabi clears his throat, already tugging you from the room. "I'll see you later, mom."

Dabi's bedroom is a chaotic contrast to the sparse order of the rest of the house. Black clothing strewn across the rug, rumpled sheets on the beds. Books and papers piled haphazardly on the desk, and a half-full ashtray on the windowsill. The window looks out to a garden, flowers in bloom dimly illuminated by path lights scattered throughout. You stand staring out at the scene while Dabi stands watching you.

He looks more uncertain than you've seen him before, his jaw set and his eyes not quite meeting yours.

After a prolonged silence, you say, "Thank you. For bringing me here. I just really needed to get away for a while."

"Yeah." He swallows hard. Shifts uneasily on his feet.

You think again about the bruise on his mother's wrist. About the handful of things he's said about his father. It's not the exact same dysfunction your own family suffers from, but it's not all that different either.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he answers immediately, his voice flat. One scarred hand lifts to run through his hair; he's nervous, you realize. You wonder if he's ever brought a girl here before.

You move away from the window. Walk over to the bed, chewing at your lip for a moment before peeling off your shirt, then your jeans. Dabi watches, taking in the sight of you. You see the hitch in the rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes soften with what looks like some strange combination of want and relief.

You crawl beneath the blankets. They're soft—brushed cotton that smells faintly of him. It's soothing.

You wait.

Dabi takes a moment. Tries to commit this sight to memory—you in his bed with the covers tucked up to your chin as you watch him with expectant eyes. Somehow it's a more endearing sight than even the brief moment when you'd stood before him in only your underwear, the relievingly unmarred expanse of your skin on display for him.

It might actually make bringing you here worth it, though that remains to be seen. Who knows what you'll encounter on your way out. His siblings or, even worse, Enji himself.

He can worry about that later.

For now, he lets his fingers hook at the edge of his own shirt. Hesitates there. You've dipped your hands beneath his clothes more than once, but feeling the scars that stripe his torso is different from confronting them with your eyes.

But you don't gawk when he finally yanks that fabric over his head in one fluid motion. Instead, you trace your tongue over your lower lip, teeth sinking into that plump skin when he fumbles with the button on his jeans and tugs those off too.

Then he's climbing into bed with you, pressing the length of his body against your and relishing the feel of skin on skin, and the last of his unexpected nerves are fading away.

It's slow, at least to start. Dabi joins you beneath the sheets and tugs you close to him, warm fingertips tracing lines up your back. His mouth captures yours, nibbling and sucking languidly at your lower lip as his hands explore you. Journey down your spine and over your curves. Up your stomach to cup your breasts.

It's only then that he finally deepens that kiss, tongue moving to circle yours one moment and lick at the back of your teeth the next. One leg slots itself between your thighs, that first faint hint of friction sending your hips grinding.

His mouth journeys over your jaw and down your neck, open-mouthed kisses littering your skin, growing more and more heated as nimble fingers reach to make quick work of the clasp on your bra. You sit up just long enough to let Dabi peel it off entirely, and then he's shoving you onto your back and ducking his head to mouth at your breast. His teeth sink into that soft flesh before latching around one puckered nipple, tugging gently.

He doesn't linger there long, even as the touch has you gasping. Before you know it he's kissing his way lower, down your sternum and over your stomach, pausing occasionally to lick or nibble wherever he's tempted—at your ribs or hips or the soft skin of your lower belly. His hands massage your thighs when he comes to rest between them, his breath hot against your mound through the lace of your underwear.

His eyes lock onto yours, the faintest grin on his face. It only widens when his tongue snakes out to press against the fabric, teasing at your center and drawing a whimper from you.

"Fuck, babygirl," he murmurs, lips working over your thigh, doing his best to suck a mark there. "Do you know how long I've been wanting to taste you?"

Dabi's fingers hook around the elastic of your panties, tugging them down as a low groan rises up from his chest at the sight of your cunt. He's seen you exposed before, more or less but mostly less, and the lusty look on his face makes clear that he likes this unrestricted view.

Your fingers comb through his inky locks at the first swipe of his tongue along your bare folds, a small cry slipping past your lips. It's barely more than a whine, but you know it's only the start. You're suddenly glad his room is tucked at the back of the house, far away from much of anything so far as you could tell. That gratitude only increases when he slips one finger inside, curling against your walls and making you moan outright.

"Feel good, babygirl?" he breathes against your sex, and you nod, one hand lifting to cover your mouth as he starts to pleasure you in earnest. He reaches up to pull it away just as quickly. "Wanna hear you. And all those cute little noises."

You let your hand fist at the sheets instead. Your face is growing hot, but you can't tell if it's embarrassment at the thought of being overheard, or simply because every inch of your skin is coming alight under his efforts. A wave of tingles washes over your every time he curls his fingers just right, your walls already tightening as his tongue circles your clit. Small chuckles of satisfaction vibrate against your sex every time another lewd sound falls from your lips.

His own hips are grinding against the mattress beneath him, seeking some shred of stimulation, and you suddenly find yourself impatient. Desperate to feel more of him, all of him in a way you hadn't really been able to consider in the cramped interior of his car or in a supply closet two precarious feet from discovery.

"Dabi," you choke out, using your grip on his hair to tug his head back. You can tell by the way his expression slackens that he understands your ineloquent plea.

The taste of yourself is bright on his lips when he rises to kiss you. Your hands tremble a little as you work to shove his boxers down over the jut of his hips, his own legs fidgeting impatiently to help you work the last of his clothing off entirely. Matching groans rise from both your lips when he ruts his length against your soaked center, the ridges of his pierced shaft grinding into you.

Then he's teasing at your entrance. Your hips buck in response, and Dabi smirks. "Eager for me, huh?"

The words are taunting but you can hear the hitch in his breath. Feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest pressed against yours. So you don't answer, only wrap one leg around his hip to coax him onward.

"Oh, fuck," he groans again as he starts to sink himself into you. His mouth finds yours, a heated kiss that's all teeth and tongue. It muffles your whines at being stretched open, ones that only worsen when you feel the metal ring at his tip brushing against that sensitive spot inside.

He pauses once his hips are flush with your own. Mouths at your jaw and your neck, giving you time to adjust before he starts to roll his hips. It's a heady sensation, being of full of him. Has you whimpering—small noises that only grow louder as his pace increases. This time when you move to cover your mouth, he's quicker to intervene; warm fingers catch your wrist, pinning it above your head.

"Told you I wanna hear you," he pants. As though to prove his point, his other hand snakes between you, fingers brushing over your clit. His lips quirk up into a satisfied smile at the choked cry that draws. "That's right, babygirl. Fuck," he swears at the way that light touch has your walls tightening around him. "You have any idea how good you feel?

You shake your head, but you're barely cognizant of the question. Lost in a haze as he works himself in and out, each stroke sending your belly tightening and pleasant shivers racing up your spine. The hand not pinned against the pillow grips tightly at Dabi's back as he continues with that stream of praise.

"Been thinking about this for a long—f-fuck—a long fuckin' time," he pants. Feelin' you for real. Makin' you mine." The last word is a low growl, followed by his lips catching yours roughly. "Say it."

"Y-yours," you gasp. His words have your cunt fluttering, your leg tightening around his waist as though you could actually draw him any closer.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right." His fingers draw quick circles at your apex, turquoise eyes fixed greedily on your face as he watches your expression contorting with pleasure. "My girl going to be good and come for me?"

"Mm-hm," you whimper, nodding eagerly, that coil in your gut hovering on the edge of snapping. "Don't stop," you manage to slur out.

Dabi's lips twist lasciviously, his eyes burning fervently into yours as he cants his hips just right, and then he's groaning, swearing and pistoning his hips faster as your walls clench around him, your insides throbbing exquisitely as you come undone. Dabi's only a moment behind you—his hips stutter and his tongue laps over your pulse, and then his cock is twitching as he spills over inside you with a groan.

The two of you lie naked together for a long time before Dabi rises. Slips his boxers and cracks the window, perching himself on the sill as he lights a cigarette. He's surprised when you follow him, picking his shirt up from the floor to cover yourself. He's surprised again when you extend your hand, motioning for him to pass you the cigarette. You take a drag, pass it back.

"I only have a few weeks left," you say.

He inhales. Blows smoke out the open window and hopes the knotting in his gut doesn't show on his face. The math makes sense since you started this group therapy nonsense before him, but that doesn't make him like it any better.

"You know—" he swallows hard, forces himself to spit the words out "—you know I meant it, right?"

"I know. I meant it, too."

He's glad you take his meaning. That you didn't ask him to elaborate. Confessing that he wants you—really wants you—wouldn't be quite so easy when he's not buried inside you.

You're both quiet for a while after that, no audible sounds beyond the rain still pattering outside and the faint hiss of burning tobacco every time one of you takes a drag.

Eventually, Dabi says, "So if we're all official, or whatever—" he waves a hand "—does that mean you're finally going to tell me what you did to end up there in the first place?"

"No." Your face scrunches as you seem to reconsider. "Maybe. Someday."

"Should I be worried?" He keeps his voice light. Teasing. He can tell you catch it, because you roll your eyes even as you shake your head.

"I wouldn't—"

"I know," Dabi interrupts, voice softening in spite of himself.

He stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray and leans forward to catch your lips gently. When he pulls away, his lips curl into a small half-smile and he reaches for your hand, lacing his warm fingers through your own.

"I know. You wouldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it."

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #soft dabi #dabi smut #bnha dabi #mha dabi #touya x reader #touya todoroki #bnha reader insert #bnha reader smut #poc!reader #black!reader #ghuleh.writes #nsft

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yanderes-of-inkwell · 3 years ago

Note

could i please have the moon, temperance, and the magician for king dice, please?

King Dice - The Magician, Temperance & The Moon

Note: Yeah, sure thing! Hope you enjoy your request! Word Count: 0.6k Warnings: Controlling behaviour, delusional mindsets, implied Stockholm syndrome, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of manipulation, obsessive behaviour. Prompts: Can be found here.

The Magician - How would this yandere use their abilities/status on their darling?

The answer to that changes depending on their relationships status.

If it’s before he and his darling begin dating, King Dice will be much more hesitant to use his connections in order to get them. While it would certainly speed up the process, it also just wouldn’t be satisfying for him. He would much rather win them over with his own skills and charisma than use his status as the manager of the Devil’s Casino to, say, kidnap or blackmail them.

However, if it’s after the two of them begin dating, his tune completely changes. For one, he’ll be sure to have them sign their soul over to him; even if the chances of them trying to leave are slim to none, a little extra precaution never hurt. He’s also not above scaring them into staying should they ever show signs of wanting to end the relationship, and if they’re foolish enough to try escaping, he’ll make sure to always have at least two imps guarding them when he’s unable to from then on.

Temperance - What made this person yandere for their darling?

Odd as it may sound, their lack of interest in him.

Prior to his darling, King Dice never had any trouble getting a partner before; if he wanted someone, it was almost guaranteed that he would get them. It seemed that no one was immune to his charm, and while that fact certainly boosted his ego and confidence, it also left him feeling frustrated.

While being handed whatever he wants on a silver platter is nice, King Dice would much rather earn his prize than have it be given to him. He wants something he can work towards, and none of his past lovers were able to give him that. All of them, even the more emotionally distant ones or those who played hard to get, inevitably fell for him within, at most, a few days. Because of this, he ended up becoming bored with most of his relationships, and even briefly considered giving up on romance entirely.

That’s why, when his darling, with all their wit and pluck in tow, comes along and shuts down his advances, they immediately catch his interest. Finally, the challenge he’s been waiting for.

Though he treats his pursuit of them like a game at first, it’s not long before King Dice’s mere fascination becomes an infatuation. The longer they continue to reject him, the more smitten he becomes, his efforts to win them over ever-increasing. It takes a lot of time but eventually, his supposed crush on his darling develops into a full-blown obsession, and he becomes nigh desperate to have them by the time he finally snaps and abduction becomes his only option.

The Moon - Is this yandere sensitive to what their darling says or does? If not, why don’t they care?

It depends on what exactly they say and do. If his darling is affectionate towards him with their words and/or actions, King Dice will accept it without complaint. Not only does it feed his already large ego, but it also eases his worries about possibly having a difficult time keeping them in check. Although, that’s not to say he’s susceptible to manipulation; quite the contrary, he’s almost always able to discern when his darling’s words/actions are genuine, and when they’re yet another poor attempt at buttering him up so that he lowers his guard.

If his darling acts hostile towards him instead, be it verbally or physically, he will simply dismiss it by telling them that such behaviour isn’t doing them any favours. He’s become quite thick-skinned as a result of his job, so their harsh words have no affect on him, and he can easily overpower them if they ever resort to violence.

As for why he doesn’t care, the answer is simple: he knows they’ll give in eventually. They belong to him, whether they like it or not, and he’s certain that once they realise this, they’ll come to accept their fate as his lover and make the situation much easier for both of them. The only thing they need is time, and King Dice is a very patient man.

#cw yandere #cuphead #yandere cuphead #king dice #yandere king dice #king dice x reader #yandere tarot

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realcube · 4 years ago

Text

haikyuu!! boys’ reactions to you speaking 💗 uwu💗

characters: tsukishima, ushijima, yaku, kenma & iwazumi

thank you anon for this cute request 💕 idk what i just wrote but i had fun 👍

IWAIZUMI & KENMA’S ARE AGED UP! MUTURE THEMES - MINORS DNI

tw// fluff, swearing, uwu language, cwinge

kenma’s hcs tw// sexual themes, implied switch!reader, phone sex(?), mentions of a blowjob, mentions of punishment

iwaizumi’s hcs tw// breeding kink, fem!reader, orgasm denial

Kei Tsukishima

you realised he didn’t like it so you did it just to annoy him LMFAO

he was scrolling through tiktok and a girl popped up on his fyp talking like that, so he snarled and immediately flicked it away, muttering something along the lines of ‘why do people speak like that? do they think it’s cute? ‘cause it’s really not; it’s just embarrassing.’

so you wasted no time in responding, ‘sowwy? what was that?’

HELL 👏 FIRE

his blood literally ran cold, he was aware that you liked taking the piss but he didn’t expect you to do it to this extent

‘what did you just say?’ he murmured, silently praying that he had just misheard you

you rolled your eyes before scoffing ‘nothing.’ you deepened your voice, just playing around at this point tbh

tsukishima hummed in agreement, deciding not to inquire further as he figured that he must’ve heard the echo of the girl’s voice in his head rather than yours

so he was just about go back to scrolling until he heard you coo in a high-pitched from behind him, ‘tsukishima is a lil’ bitch.’

‘(Y/N), FUCKING STOP!’ he let a throaty scream at you

‘you’re so boring, tsukki-’ you spoke, quickly cutting yourself off so you could switch to your uwu voice, ‘or should I say; bowing.’

you said, hopeful that your voice would make it clearing that you meant ‘boring’ rather than the act of playing an instrument with a bow

‘go to hell.’ he grumbled, trying his best to tune you out by pulling his headphones over his ears

‘babe~’ you purred, shuffling over to him and peppering kisses along the nape of his neck as you were feeling extra evil today, ‘wuv you~’

‘jail.’ tsukishima simply stated as he switched over to Spotify so he could blare some Mother Mother to drown out the sound of your voice

the worst part was that he couldn’t even tell if he liked it or not PFFT

like it was cute but the fact you weaponised it against him annoyed him

but you were also giving him kithes so he couldn’t exactly complain 💞

Morisuke Yaku

ok don’t even lie yaku does a variant of the uwu voice whenever he’s trying to insult kuroo IUGBEIGVA

it’s something like ‘aww, kuwoo, does your lil’ undewdeveloped bwain not undewstand algebwa?’ but in a mocking way yk?

so when a he watches a lil’ tabby cat approach you on the street, then you busted out the uwu voice that he had never heard before- he was taken aback

at first he was like ‘woah why are you making fun of that cat?’ bc he always associated that voice with ridicule LMFAO

but when he processed all the nice things you were saying he realised that you were being nice lol

so then he was like ‘awwww 🥺 (y/n) + cat = SO FKN CUTE!! 💕💗💖’ *click click* and he just starts taking photos

he probably puts them on his private story with the caption ‘their an angel 😍’

(then kuroo probably replies with ‘they’re*’) (don’t ask why yaku put him on his private story ✋)

anyway, he’s probably so fond of the voice too like ofc he thinks it’s cute

bc it’s a lil’ kitten and you’re talking to it in a high-pitched voice as if it can understand you SO FKN CUTE

he’s not too effected by it tho- it’s mostly how well you get on with the cat that he really admires

then he couched down beside you to talk to the cat too and y’all had a whole conversation with it in uwu

‘aww, look! are you hungwy, baby?’ you asked the cat as it licked the back of it’s paw

‘i think, it is!’ yaku continued, aware that if anybody from school caught him doing this, he’d pass away on the spot but what can he say? he’s soft for you (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

‘i have some blueberries in my bag, you can have some if you say please.’ he told the cat

you were both met by the cat’s blank - but adorable - stare, accompanied by silence until the kitten let out a faint, ‘mew’

‘AWWWWWW!!! 💞💕💖🥺👏 ’ you both squealed in unison, impressed by the kitten’s response

‘it understands us!’ you gasped while applauding the cat for it’s excellent communication skills

‘the voice must work!’ yaku concluded as he scrambled to throw his bag off his back and rummage through it in search of the tub of blueberries

you nodded, watching in awe as yaku pulled out the tub to carefully pick out the plumpest berries and feed them to the cat

yaku noticed your expression out of the corner of his eye and chuckled, ‘what?’

‘you’re so cute.’ you snickered, lighting bopping his nose with your index finger as he continued to allow the cat to feed out of the palm of his hand

a furious blush immediately covered his cheeks as he hastily turned his head away to hide it - in a typical anime fashion, ‘be quiet.’

Kenma Kuzome

it’s a sex thing-- it’s 100% a sex thing

a kink perhaps?

ngl he loves it when you do the voice in bed

like don’t ask why it turns him on so much

he’s weak for you whenever you do the voice tbh

BUT it’s only hot when you do it

when any other person does it - especially if it’s over text - he literally gags 🤢🤢🤢

when a streamer he watches does the voice, he’s just thinks ‘ew ✋ that isn’t cute. pls stop.’

but when you do it- boner alert pfft

especially when you moan in that voice yES HE LOVES THAT

you just execute it in a way these other bitches just can’t, okay? 💅 IUERBGFERIBG

he doesn’t mind putting the voice on sometimes if you like it when he does it but he’s really embarrassed by it 🙈

he’ll try to say something in the voice while you’re rearranging his guts for a change and you’re praising him like 👏👏👏 ‘awh, precious kenma bb.i love that voice on you, i might just let you cum early--’

and he’s fucking groaning from pain, pleasure and humiliation

‘never again.’ was the single coherent thought he could form

you’re only giving like 20% of the time but if you happen to giving on a day that you’re feeling especially evil, you might make him do the voice in exchange for orgasm privileges

but he gets you back for it though

you’d call him, whining and pleading for him to help you with the throbbing between your legs or at the very least, give you permission to touch yourself

but considering that the day prior, you had tortured his ass to the point were he was now struggling to sit down, ofc he was just like ‘no ❤’ when you ask for his assistance

even after your continuous begging, he didn’t budge

‘don’t you dare put your hands on yourself until i get home. i’m leaving right now so i should be back in half an hour but if you keep pestering me like a little bitch, then i’ll be sure to go extra slow on the highway.’

although, for kenma ‘extra slow’ is probably the speed limit lmao

(istg he drives like he’s in mario kart)

however, half an hour was just too long 😩 i mean, you had probably been on call with him for 5 minutes already and it took you 20 minutes to get him to pick up the phone so by now, you were clearly on the brink of madness

‘kitten~’ you whined, desperately trying to think of a way to convince kenma to aid you

then you remembered; his weak spot

‘pwease, baby?’ you softened and raised the pitch of your voice

kenma perked up as he realised what you were trying to do, the tips of his ears burning, ‘don’t bother to try that with me, (y/--’

‘i’ll suck you off when you come back.’ you promised, keeping the voice on, the aching getting worse and worse by the second

kenma was now partially able to relate to your circumstance as he began to feel a straining of his own, between his legs at your cutesy tone along with the image of the last time you blew him tormenting his mind

‘whatever. but only use your hands. i can tell when you use a toy so don’t even try; or else i’ll dick you down ‘til the sun rises- okay bye.’

atm the moment, that hardly sounded like a punishment but then you reflected back on how you’d be crying for a mercy after the fourth round with kenma so- yeah

anyway, moral of the story, if you perform the voice well enough, it’s basically kenma’s weakness so use it wisely

Hajime Iwaizumi

you first did the voice in front of him while you had a friend’s baby in your arms and you were trying to communicate with it

it kinda looked like

you: hewwo babyy~ who’s the most precious thing? you are!

the baby: 🤠

the parent: 🙂

iwa: 😶

iwa ON THE INSIDE: breeding kink go brrrr 😩 i want to put a baby in her so bad- she’ll scream my name in that fucking voice tonight

and he was right

cut to him pounding you while demanding that you say his name in ✨the voice✨ or else you won’t be allowed to cum

ofc you had too much pride for that so you just let him dick you down and cum whether he likes it or not but he could tell that was the plan you had in mind so he suddenly pulled out just as you were about to reach your high

he looked at you with a mean scowl, ‘fucking say it or i’ll stop right now.’

if he were to stop, it would kinda be a punishment for him too but he didn’t care- anything to see his lovely gf suffer tbh 😇

also he could get off to you fingering yourself, struggling to orgasm- he’s done it before and he’ll gladly do it again if you don’t say his damn name

‘iwa..’ you groaned, gripping at the sheets as you anticipated him sliding his cock back into you

‘in the voice.’ iwaizumi reiterated, delivering a hard smack to the side of your thigh out of annoyance

you hissed at the sharp impact , gulping to lubricate your dry throat before choking out in your best imitation of the voice he desired, ‘iwa~’

he was only half-satisfied with what you uttered but i mean, it got the job done

his dick was throbbing, practically begging for the comfort of your warm cunt once again so he hastily slipped back in, letting out a low groan as he did so

so he’d continue hammer you from behind, probably muttering incoherent things about your babies and your voice while doing so but you chose to pay little attention to it as you couldn’t help but focus on your own intense pleasure

once he finally climaxed, he did it inside you which you wasn’t surprising as y’all had already established that you love being being filled up and he loves filling you up 💕

but then he insisted that y’all go for another few rounds to increase the chance of pregnancy

like- sir-

you didn’t have the heart to tell him that you were on birth control

bc surely......he would’ve known

but he didn’t

you eventually told him that you had no interest in coming off birth control and he wasn’t mad LMAO he didn’t even want a baby tbh he was just caught up in the moment

yeah no but if you do the voice again, the cycle will continue

Wakatoshi Ushijima

you were both hanging out in your bedroom, doing your own things, and you were sending your friend a (video) snap so you ironically used the uwu voice

ofc this caught his attention so he shifted his gaze off of his revision sheets and onto you, shooting you a weird look

you couldn’t help but snicker, turning to him and continuing with your little impression, ‘can i hewp you?’ you tried to ask in all seriousness but you couldn’t suppress the smile that was tugging on the corners of your lip

were you a little high? yes

ushijima just blinked rapidly, wondering why you sound like a cuter version of mickey mouse all of a sudden

was it a trend?

or maybe it was for one of those ‘tiktoks’?

either way, ushijima couldn’t help what he said next

‘no. i’m fiwne.’

IUERSBGTOHAROHSGBGFRO

HE SAID IT LIKE ‘fi - whine’ THO

you passed away 💀⚰

‘TOSHI!!!’ you screamed, feeling your soul leave your body

ushijima gasped, thinking that you had just been possessed or sumn, ‘hm?’

once he realised that you were in fact sane, he figured that your reaction must have something to do with his response

‘did i say something wrong?’ his lips curling into the tiniest of smiles, simply because you looked so joyous so ofc he was he was happy seeing you happy

‘nope! please say it again, toshi! i’m beggin’ ya’

‘no.’

although he loved hearing you laugh more than anything, the man had his limits

ngl he doesn’t mind when you do it - it just doesn’t especially effect him, that’s all

you could just randomly start talking like that during a conversation and he’ll just go from 😐 to 😐

but he gets butterflies when you call him ‘baby’ which is something you usually pickup whenever you put on the voice lol <3

pls call him ‘baby’ or ‘babe’ more he just wants to feel cared for and loved for a change instead of always having to constantly put on a front of ‘big, stoic man with no feeling that you can push around to your hearts content’ around literally everyone. sometimes he just wants to come home and feel like he can actually express himself and be soft without getting ridiculed

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h0rnyshakespeare · 3 years ago

Note

could you do a fantasy au with bakugou as a kitsune? you’ve just recently moved into a cottage in the woods to get away from your previous life, when you stubble across baku in a trap surrounded by hunters! you of course aren’t going to let some assholes hurt an innocent creature, so you devise a plan to get him free. you draw the hunter’s attention away from the caged baku, causing them to run off. you then get to baku, and are able to free him. though a slight problem, the hunters are coming back, and they see you messing with their ‘find.’ while you’re frozen in place, baku literally picks you up, and jumps into the trees, evading gunshots. he keeps you there until the hunters go away.

after all this drama, you start hanging out with the kitsune more and more. you two get closer as time goes on, and bakugou becomes more and more infatuated and protective of you. he’s touchier, softer, and overall more gentle with you. he even lets you touch his ears and tail. everything is all well and good when oh no, the hunters are back, and they’re out for revenge. while you’re at the cottage, they ransack your home, chasing you out into the woods. you’re sprinting, calling for bakugou as the hunters are gaining. just then, none other than the fox himself jumps in and beats the absolute shit outta the hunters. he then turns to you, worry as well as rage in his eyes. he sees they’ve hurt you, and that’s the final nail in the coffin for what he’s about to do. “Stay with me.” he pleads. “you don’t have a safe home anymore, and even if you did, i can’t promise your safety. i NEED you to be safe, okay. stay with me as my mate. i’ll hunt for you. i’ll protect you. anything, and you’ve got it.” you’re stunned. eyes wide, you ask him why. why does he care so much? nobody else ever did, so why does he, as powerful and as beautiful as he is. the answer isn’t as hard as you would think “it’s because i fucking love you...”

OKAY this is definitely long and more of a vent than anything but i think it’s so cute! just imagine cuddling with him as soft and as cute as he would be, hanging over you like a jungle cat. very nice, very nice indeed

kitsune!Bakugou x gn!reader (I couldn't think of a title, sorry)

Genre: Fantasy

Warnings: Swearing caz Bakugou, brief mentions of gunshots (that’s it I think?? But if there’s anything I missed please let me know)

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Tysm for requesting, this was such a cute idea! I’m sorry this took some time, exams are coming so my writing’s a little slow haha. I wrote this to be gn!reader but if anywhere implies otherwise please let me know :) And to everyone else who requested, I’m working on them!

Y/N: Your name

L/N: Last name

You had recently moved into a little cottage in the woods, not too far away from the main city, but enough to be away from the busy, commercial life you once lived. Others might disagree, but you felt more at peace among nature, like you were truly satisfied. You had never enjoyed living among many people, so you were excited to start your new life, out here in the woods. As you walked back to your cottage after taking a walk to familiarize yourself with your new surroundings, you heard a few voices up ahead. You groaned, not wanting to socialize with anyone, but before you could turn to take a different route to avoid whoever was there, you overheard one of the voices say, “We’re gonna get a fine amount of money for this creature’s fur, ya hear me? So make sure the trap is secure.” A couple of other voices mumbled in agreement. You frowned. Although you could not really make out what animal they had caught, you did know that whatever they were doing, it sounded illegal. You sighed. You did not want to confront anyone, but you made your way towards the voices. You saw three men surrounding a cage, holding… guns? “What have I gotten myself into?” you internally groaned, but it was too late to turn back now. “Um, excuse me?” you called out hesitantly. They turned at the sound of your voice, looking displeased. You smiled nervously. “Hi, um, it’s actually illegal to hunt in this area…” you trailed off, seeing their annoyance. “How would you know, you little punk? Go braid daisy crowns or whatever you do in this dump,” one of them sneered at you. You were slowly growing irritated, but you kept the smile on your face, determining to help whatever animal they had imprisoned. “Ok, well, I was going to let you know that if you walk a few miles from here, there is a hunting area. You guys aren’t the first hunters I’ve seen around here,” you lied through your teeth, trying to distract them to give you enough time to release the trapped creature. “If you check it out, I’ll forget I even saw you guys here, and no one will know that y’all were hunting illegally, ok? Plus, I’ve seen a lot of finer animals in that area.” “Maybe we should listen to her, boss,” one of the hunters said to the one who had spoken to you first. “I mean, it is just a fox, and if we’re caught…” he whispered the rest of his sentence to their leader, who in turn frowned. “Fuck, whatever. How far is the hunting area, kid?” he asked, the question directed to you. “Oh, um, about… 10 miles from here? In that direction,” you said, pointing. “You better not be lying to us,” the hunter glared at you, making you gulp. You tried to act nonchalant until they were out of sight, then immediately rushed to the trap. You gasped when you saw a beautiful fox with… tan, almost golden fur. You had never even heard of foxes that colour. The hunters were idiotic to listen to you and leave this amazing creature, but you were glad they did. The fox made a low, growling noise, snapping you out of your trance. “Ah, right, I’m sorry, I’ll let you out now, don’t worry,” you said, suddenly feeling stupid that you were conversing with an animal. You quickly set your attention onto setting it free. The trap looked complicated to deactivate, but you realized it was actually quite simple, and you managed to free the fox in no time. “There you go,” you smiled, “You’re free now.” Surprisingly, the fox lingered, studying you with beautiful carmine eyes. First tan fur, now red eyes? “You’re like something outta a fairy tale, huh? So pretty,” you said softly, gazing at it at wonder, when you heard distant voices shouting.

Crap. The hunters.

“You really thought you could fool us! There were no animals in that area!” “Ahaha fuck, I’m in trouble,” you murmured, thinking of a way to escape, when you remembered the fox was still here! “Hey uh, you really should get outta here-” you said, turning to find not a fox, but a man with fox ears and a- no wait, nine tails. Your eyes widened, freezing as you tried to process what just happened.

“Oi, dumbass, if you’re not gonna run they’re gonna get you, you know.”

“I- uhhh… well this is a weird dream,” you chuckled nervously. “Tch, idiot,” was all he said before picking you up bridal-style and running faster than the hunters could catch up. You felt something whizz past your ear. “HOLY FU- THEY’RE SHOOTING AT US!” you yelled, grabbing at the man’s collar. “Thanks for stating the obvious, dumbass!” he yelled back. “Now would you shut up so I can focus on not dying?” You quickly turned silent after that statement. Without warning the… man? fox? man fox?? suddenly took a huge leap into the trees, landing on a branch that somehow held his weight. You yelped, then quickly covered your mouth in order to keep quiet as you saw the hunters running past from underneath. “They’re gone now,” you heard the man speak as he set you down on the branch. The tree you both were on was sturdy, giving you a secure foothold. You turned to face him. “Uh, thanks for saving me back there, but I’m pretty sure you were a fox when I first saw you…?” “Tch. Humans really have gotten dumber over the past few years haven’t they. I’m a kitsune. Ya know what that is?” Your eyes widened. “A-a kitsune as in the ones in the fairy tales? The foxes who can shapeshift to humans, and have many tails…” you trailed off, feeling stupid that you had not noticed earlier. The kitsune smirked in response. “Yeah, and I have nine, meaning I’m the most powerful. You’re lucky I was there to save you.” “You saved me? Who was trapped in a cage, huh? If anything, you should be thanking me,” you huffed, annoyed. Who did he think he was? He said nothing, simply gazing at you with interest written all over the flaming pools of scarlet that were his eyes. You tried not to feel intimidated by them, not knowing what powers this creature possessed. You could not deny that he was beautiful as a human, alluring even, with blonde hair similar to his fox fur, and his body looked as if it were sculpted by gods. You gulped, forcing yourself to stop staring at all the scars scattering his bare chest. He smirked as if he knew exactly what you were thinking of, causing your face to heat up. “Where do you live, dumbass? I’m sure you can’t climb down trees.” You rolled your eyes, embarrassed that he was right. “Not far from here, I’ll manage.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” was all he said before he lifted you in his arms again, leaping to the ground and taking you home in no time. “I didn’t even give you directions,” you said, confused. He sighed. “I could smell your scent from here. Why do you live in the middle of the forest?” “Caz I want to??” you said. “That’s weird,” he responded. “Don’t you live here too though?” you retorted. You saw a smirk flicker briefly on his face before being replaced again with his bored expression. “I’ll see you around then, dumbass.” He said, turning to leave. “Wait!” you called out, immediately regretting it. Why’d I do that? But there was no time to question your actions as he looked at you, eyebrow raised. “Uh, I-I just wanted to know your name,” you said a little breathlessly. “Katsuki Bakugou,” he said, never breaking eye contact. “Bakugou, huh? Well, I’m Y/N L/N,” you replied. Bakugou shrugged. “I’ll be leaving then dumbass.” You huffed. “I literally just told you my name!” “And?” was all he said, before vanishing through the foliage of trees. You exhaled slowly, feeling a little disoriented. You had so many questions but decided not to think too much of the day’s events, instead opting for relaxing in your new home.

The next day, you decided to just hang out at home, yet you could not get the kitsune out of your mind, making you frustrated. “Ah, fuck it,” you mumbled, before heading out. You were not sure where you were going, but you walked in the same direction you did yesterday. “What are you doing this you idiot? What if the hunters find you again?” you thought, yet your body did not listen, continuing to walk in the same path. You did not run into anyone on the way. Unfortunately, that included Bakugou. You decided to just sit down under a tree and read the book you had brought with you. You had been peacefully reading for a while, the sounds of the forest soothing to you ears.

“Well fancy seeing you here.” You whipped your head at the sound of his voice. You saw the fox with tan fur you rescued yesterday. “Bakugou?” He transformed into his human form, grinning as he did so. “So, what’re you doing here, dumbass? Missed me?” You rolled your eyes. “You wish. I came here to relax for a bit.” “Whatever you say, dumbass. What’re you reading?” You showed him your book, causing him to snort. “What?” you asked, slightly irritated. What was his deal? “Your taste is so bland, I’m not surprised.” “Fuck off,” you responded. “As if you’ve ever even touched a book before.” “I have,” Bakugou said, raising his eyebrows. “Didn’t peg you as the type to read,” you said, getting back to your book. “Is that all modern-day kitsunes do these days?” Bakugou shrugged. “I’ve never met any others here.” You looked back at him, surprised. “So… you’re alone?” “Tch. I just prefer to be by myself.” You nodded. “Me too.” “Pfft, you? You look like someone who would love being around people, with how much you talk and all.” You glared at him. “And this is exactly why I like being on my own.” He raised his arms. “I guess I’ll leave then. Since you seem to really hate company, right dumbass?” “My name is not dumbass, it’s Y/N. Why’re you so rude?” you hissed. You were met with silence when you realized he had left. You could not believe you actually came out all this way just to talk to him, only for him to randomly leave mid-conversation. You huffed, shifting your position to get more comfortable. “I’m still here you know.” You jumped, hearing his voice from above you. “What the hell?” He snorted in amusement. “You really think you could get rid of me that easily, dumbass?” You rolled your eyes, but inside you felt secretly happy that he had stayed, and you hated it. “You’re so annoying,” you retorted, turning a page in your book, yet somehow not really seeing the words. It was quiet for a while, before Bakugou jumped back down to the ground, sitting next to you. “Read that for me,” he said in a tone unlike his usual one. “What?” “You seem to like this trash so much, so read it,” he said, making himself comfortable. You sighed. “Fine.”

And so began the afternoons you would spend with him. Every day, you would meet him under the same tree and read. Sometimes he would fall asleep next to you, exposing a more soft and vulnerable side of him, contrasting to his normally brash and rough personality. It was pretty sweet, and over time, your feelings for him only grew. You were not sure, but you felt that he too had become softer and gentler around you as time went on. He even let you pet his ears, blushing whenever you did so, trying to hide his flusteredness behind his colourful words. He even went as far as falling asleep on your lap in wolf-form, making you happy he could trust you with the more vulnerable side of him.

You were at home, about to leave to meet Bakugou, when you heard some commotion outside. You were about to check when you heard the door break open. “Find them!” you heard a loud voice say. Your blood ran cold. The hunters? Why were they so set on revenge? You heard something break as they stormed through your house. Before you could grab something to defend yourself, one of them burst into your room, causing you to freeze. “There you fucking are,” he said moving towards you, blocking the exit. Thinking fast, you opened the window next to you and jumped out. Thankfully, it was close to the ground, so you easily picked yourself up and you ran, not daring to look back, but you heard them shouting and running after you. You sprinted down the familiar path, calling for Bakugou as you did. “Goddammit, where are you Bakugou?” you yelled as the hunters gained on you, when-

“The HELL you fuckers think you’re doing, HAH?”

You had never felt so relieved to hear his voice. “Bakugou!” “Stay behind me,” was all he said before going absolutely feral. He beat them up in no time, then watched as they ran away in terror. When he made sure they were gone, he turned to you, anger dissipating, his eyes filled with worry. “You ok?” You nodded weakly, then raised your arm, showing him the wound you had gotten when one of the hunters had shot at you. “It’s not bad, don’t worry. The bullet didn’t hit me, just grazed my skin.” “Shit,” Bakugou cursed as he took your arm in his hand, examining it. “That’s definitely more than a fucking graze.” “It’ll heal, I’m good at first aid,” you said. Bakugou looked at you, incredulous. “Dumbass, this needs more than first aid, are you really that stupid? Don’t move,” he said as his hands began to glow. He positioned them above your wound, using his power to heal you. “Thanks, Bakugou,” you said when he was done. “Really, I appreciate everything.” “Katsuki,” he said, not looking at you. “Huh?” you said, confused. “Call me Katsuki, dumbass.” A playful smile made its way on your lips. “Sure, when you call me Y/N.” He chuckled, then looked at you with a serious gaze. “I want you to stay with me.” You looked at him, dumbfounded. “W-What? What do you mean?” “Your home isn’t safe anymore. Those hunters could come back anytime, I went easy on them. I need you to be safe, Y/N, I-” he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “What would’ve happened to you if I wasn’t there? Just… please, become my mate Y/N. I’ll do anything for you, I’ll hunt for you, protect you, anything you want.” You were stunned, trying to process what he had just asked. “Y-You want me to be your… your mate? Why? And why would someone like you care so much about someone like me when no one really ever has?” He blushed, looking away to glare at the grass. “Fuck, I don’t know, maybe it’s caz I fucking love you, dumbass.”

#kitsune!bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #anime #bnha oneshots #mha oneshots #mha #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #bnha fics #mha fics #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bnha fantasy au

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waka-chan-out · 3 years ago

Text

Mine - June 6

minors dni

post-timeskip, obviously.

word count: 2.3k

content warnings: fem!reader (they/them pronouns used), dom!kindaichi, implied past relationships with mattsun and makki, oral (f. receiving), exhibitionism, hair pulling, lots of dirty talk, praise, some teasing, lots of pet names, “good girl,” one (1) spank, masturbation, not really edging but brief orgasm control if you want to call it that(??), finger sucking, cream pie, technically cum play?

welcome to project gemini, where we’re celebrating the birthdays of our lovely haikyuu boys born between may 20th and june 21st. first up is kindaichi yūtarō, whose hair and demeanor have completely changed since high school. your former classmates have decided to share you for one night.

another shoutout to my darling @kitastowel for the banners because oh my god i love them

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Kindaichi asked, stroking his thumb over your cheek. You raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“I’m not gonna back out now.” You inhaled heavily as his fingers trailed down to your throat, lightly squeezing. There was an intense possessiveness in his eyes, one you would have never expected to see from him.

“Are you two sure?” he asked, lifting his gaze from you to the men lounging on chairs against the wall. Hanamaki shrugged and Matsukawa rolled his eyes. Their faces were settled in a neutral expression, almost bored. Like their former underclassman wasn’t about to have his way with their best friend.

It was honestly a joke at first. Makki had asked Kindaichi if he was still a virgin, and the poor boy had turned bright red, the same way he did back in high school. He wasn’t able to answer before Matsukawa cackled and offered you to him.

“They’re good in bed. You’d have a great time.” You smacked him, but the subtle, almost hungry expression on Kindaichi’s face made you want to take him up on the offer. You had the sneaking suspicion that he was a completely different person than he had been in high school.

“Just get on with it,” Matsukawa said. Kindaichi leaned closer to you, grip shifting to your jaw.

“Let me know if you need me to be gentler,” he said. Hanamaki and Matsukawa burst out laughing.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll need to. Come on, Kindaichi, we’ve got shit to do.”

Kindaichi didn’t seem to even hear them, leaning in and pressing a firm kiss to your lips. You were surprised by the aggression. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, moving like he already knew everything you wanted and needed. Without thinking, your hands fisted in the front of his shirt and you pulled him down on top of you. He followed you easily, bracing one arm over your head and wrapping the other around your waist. He nipped at your lower lip and you gasped. He swallowed the breath and deepened the kiss. Heat rushed through your body and you wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting him as close as he could possibly get.

It was . . . good. So good. You could feel the kiss in every inch of your body, coursing through you like electricity. You couldn’t believe this was the man that had stumbled over his words every time you offered to toss for him during late night practices and barely looked at you when he took water bottles from you during games.

“Man, I’m glad I invited you in here, Kindaichi. Are you just gonna kiss them the whole time?”

You broke the kiss and glared at Matsukawa.

“Are you gonna shut up? You set this up.”

“Geez, you’re defensive. He’s that good, huh? Better than me?”

“Miles.” Matsukawa rolled his eyes. Kindaichi chuckled and leaned down, moving his lips to your neck. You gasped as he left open mouth kisses along your jawline and stopped right under your chin, sucking harshly. You tugged on his hair and he hummed, nipping lightly at your neck.

“Kindaichi, let’s go,” Makki snapped. Kindaichi lifted a middle finger at the men and tugged at your pants. You helped him work them and your underwear down and he readjusted, pushing your knees apart with firm hands.

“Kindaichi, you don’t—“

You lost your train of thought as he buried his face between your legs and closed his eyes. He pushed your leg up and wrapped his arm around it, lapping and sucking at your clit with the aggression of a man starved. Your back arched and you buried a hand in his hair. The feeling was overwhelming, coursing through your entire body in the same way his kisses did. You couldn’t sit still, legs shifting and head tipping back as he hummed in satisfaction.

“Fuck, Yūtarō,” you breathed, carding your fingers through his hair. You felt him smile against you and he glanced up, hungrily meeting your eyes. The sight made you smile, letting out a shaky breath as you tipped your head back and leaned into the feeling. You were already close. You could feel your heart racing and your breathing picking up.

There was laughter coming from the other side of the room. Matsukawa and Makki were talking quietly, only offering you two the occasional glance. You rolled your eyes. This was their idea, so what the hell was the deal.

Kindaichi’s tongue circled your clit and his arms gripped you tighter. His mouth somehow knew exactly where you needed him, chasing your release with every movement of his mouth. Something about the way he glanced up at you, the way he hummed in pleasure at seeing you falling apart on his tongue, the way his lips moved even more enthusiastically, it all combined to send you over, back arching and legs shaking as you exhaled a groan. You could feel Kindaichi smiling against you as he rode it out, not slowing until your hand was jerking at his hair. He sucked on your clit one last time before sitting up and leaning close to your face.

“If they aren’t going to pay attention, I’m just going to fuck you now.” You smiled and he pushed up your shirt, warm hands sending shivers down your spine. As you scrambled to get it the rest of the way off, he shrugged off his. He leaned back down the kiss you and you fumbled with his belt, eventually getting his pants undone and palming him through his briefs. He captured your lips in a heated kiss and ground down against your hand. You whimpered and grasped at his clothes, trying to pull them down. He huffed a laugh and stilled your hands with his own.

“Shh,” he muttered. “Good girls are patient, right? You want to show them you’re a good girl?” You swallowed and nodded. He smiled, tugging his waistband down. “Good. Now let me take care of you.” You wrapped your legs tight around him once more and tried to pull him close to you, but he grabbed one knee and pushed it back against the bed. He glanced between his legs and dragged his cock against you, making you whimper. A sadistic smile crept onto his face.

“Louder, sweetheart,” he said. You looked up at him in surprise before he sunk into you. Your head tipped back and you let out a breathy moan. His smile grew. “That’s my girl.” He gripped your hips and rolled his forward, drawing another noise from your throat. You could see him glance over at Makki and Matsukawa, who were still whispering.

“I thought you guys wanted to watch me fuck them?” Kindaichi said. Matsukawa laughed.

“Well, you aren’t making much of a scene, are you?”

Kindaichi huffed in annoyance and looked down at you, still slowly shifting his hips. The look in your eyes seemed to make him smile, so he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. He whispered in your ear, quiet enough that only you could hear.

“Flip over for me, love.” He withdrew from you quickly and you sighed at the loss. You readjusted quickly, settling face down on the bed. Kindaichi shifted behind you so he was facing your two former classmates and patted your ass, seemingly encouraging you to do the same. You moved and looked up at the men, who raised their eyebrows at the new position. Kindaichi’s grip was gentle, but the movements asserted a dominance you wouldn’t have ever expected from him—at least, not before you had kissed him for the first time.

The pads of Kindaichi’s fingers sunk deeper into your skin as he sheathed himself inside of you again. He groaned and you buried your face in the mattress, bracing yourself from the sensitivity. You were still coming down from your previous orgasm, body humming with heat. He was so deep inside of you, so close to where you needed him that you couldn’t resist tipping back onto him a bit. He hissed and landed a sharp slap on your ass.

“What did I say about being patient?” You huffed a breath and dug your hands into the sheets. “Tell me what I said.”

“Good girls are patient.” Your voice came out much weaker than you wanted it to.

“Are you a good girl?”

You nodded.

“Then act like one.”

You looked back at him and saw his eyes were deadly serious. He held you flush against his hips with a bruising grip.

“Do you want my cock or not?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Please,” you begged. Kindaichi tugged on your hair, pulling you back against his chest.

“Don’t ask the ground. Let them see,” he said, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up. Matsukawa and Makki seemed bored earlier, but the look in their eyes was nothing like that now. There was surprise, arousal, and a little bit of unease. They weren’t expecting this. None of you were.

“There you go.” Kindaichi’s mouth was right against your ear. You could feel every syllable to the tips of your toes. “Now ask nicely.”

“Please fuck me.” The words sounded pathetic coming from your lips. Your voice was strained and the very sound of it made the other two men sit up straighter. You felt Kindaichi smile.

“Good girl.”

He ground his cock into you, pressing against a spot inside you that made a sob leave your lips. It hurt, and felt so good, and you couldn’t believe that it was him, the little first year that Makki and Mattsun had teased for being shy.

“Look at them. See how hard they are?” You glanced down at their laps and, sure enough, Kindaichi was right. Each had a noticeable bulge in their pants and looked almost dizzy from the lack of stimulation. Kindaichi smiled against your ear. “You want them to stroke their cocks for you? Want them to get off watching you get fucked?”

You choked out a groan and nodded.

“Ask nicely,” he snapped. You swallowed and fixed your gaze on the other men.

“Please,” you said, voice unsteady. “Wanna watch you come.”

Matsukawa let out a shaky breath and Makki was undoing his pants before you finished your sentence. As quickly as you had spoken they had their hands wrapped around themselves, pumping at the same pace Kindaichi’s hips were snapping.

“There we go. Look at that. Three men getting off because of you. How’s it feel?”

Before you could respond, Kindaichi reached around you and began circling your still over-sensitive clit. You let out a strangled sound and your head tipped back against his. His breath came heavy and hot in your ear, harder now with the desperate sounds he was pulling from you.

“God, what a good girl. You’re gonna make me come. Do you wanna come with me?”

You nodded and Kindaichi immediately stopped moving, holding you close. You whined, but he shoved two fingers in your mouth and pressed down on your tongue.

“Use your words.”

You shook your head and closed your lips around his fingers. He shoved them deeper into your mouth, making your eyes water.

“Use. Your words.”

“Please. Please make me come.” The words were slurred and sloppy, almost embarrassingly so. Kindaichi laughed and slowly rolled his hips again, keeping his fingers hooked in your mouth.

“You asked so nicely,” he muttered. You could see him turn to the other men from the corner of your eye. “I want them to watch me come inside you. Do you want that?”

His thrusts found a new, steady pace, dragging all the breath from your lungs. You moaned around his fingers and attempted to nod.

“Yes,” you stammered, eyes closing as his other hand returned to your clit.

“Come here,” Kindaichi said. Your brows furrowed, but you heard shifting fabric and a handful of footsteps before Kindaichi’s fingers withdrew from your mouth. You opened your eyes to find Makki and Matsukawa standing over you, cocks in hand. They continued stroking themselves, looking tired and out of breath. Matsukawa reached out to run a hand through your hair, but Kindaichi smacked him away.

“No,” he said. “They’re mine. You can watch.”

“Are you serious?”

“Who’s the one with their hand around their dick and who’s fucking them?”

Matsukawa’s lips pinched together, but not before he let out a quiet groan.

“Fuck,” Kindaichi breathed, burying his face against your neck. “I’m gonna come. Ask me to come inside of you.”

“Please,” you whimpered. “Please come inside of me. I’ll be good.”

“You are good, aren’t you? My good girl. You’re gonna let them come on you too, right?”

You nodded furiously and bucked against Kindaichi’s hand. The hand on your clit was too much, but just enough at the same time. You were close, so close. You were sure when he came off push you right over, leave you shaking, make you—

“Oh, fuck,” Kindaichi groaned, arm wrapping tight around your chest as his hips stuttered and he spilled inside of you. He was hot and felt dizzyingly good, and it made you follow right after him, moaning in a way you didn’t realize you could. Your eyes squeezed shut and your hands flew to his arm, trying your best to steady yourself. Matsukawa came next, and Makki close behind, spilling over your face and chest, strained groans ringing in your ears.

When your body relaxed, Kindaichi’s grip softened and he withdrew from you, hissing a bit as he did. The only sound in the room was panting and you opened your eyes to see Kindaichi holding your shoulders, gazing carefully at your face.

“You okay?” he asked. He ran a thumb over your bottom lip, through the mess the other men had made, and slipped the finger between your lips. You wanna tongue over the digit as you nodded, gazing at him with watery eyes. He smiled and withdrew his hand, pressing a firm, affectionate kiss to your lips. When he broke the kiss he glanced up at Matsukawa and Makki, whose chests were still heaving. A grin spread across his face as he absentmindedly stroked a hand through your hair.

“Virgin, my ass.”

⋆☆⋆✦⋆☆⋆✦⋆☆⋆✦⋆☆⋆✦⋆☆⋆✦⋆☆⋆✦⋆☆⋆✦⋆☆⋆

tag list: @ohno-otome @curapiikt @antiqueremains @stationery-store @tanzaniiite @imbearlythere @kitastowel @vminelove (it wouldn’t let me tag you darling :( i think you need to change something in your settings) @yougivemeglobalwarming

want to be added? send me an ask!

#yes it’s iwaizum i’d birthday. y’all can deal.#she’s late but she’s got the spirit #y’all will only ever catch me writing dom characters on my own time lmao #kindaichi smut #kindaichi x reader #kindaichi x you #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #kindaichi yutaro smut #kindaichi yutaro x reader #cw: cream pie

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recurring-polynya · 3 years ago

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Writing/Art Update 3/4/2022

So, I think I am going to stop doing word counts for a bit. My lizard brain gets extremely motivated by numbers going up, so when I am in nose-to-the-grindstone mode, they are very helpful, but when I’m not, they are actually counterproductive. A fun story about me is that when I was pregnant the second time, I tried to use a food tracker app to make sure I was getting enough vegetables and iron and stuff. It also tracked calories. I never really gained enough weight with my first pregnancy so I knew, logically, that calories were good and important, but if I had to look at how many calories I had eaten each day, I could not stop trying to make that number as small as possible, and anyway, I had to delete the app.

I was trying to explain this last week, and I didn’t do a very good job because I was also depressed, but I saw this diagram once (I googled, but I couldn’t find exactly what I was looking for), that said that an actual and real part of the creative process is, for lack of a better word, feeding yourself-- reading, watching movies, getting inspired. I have been working so hard at just ever having any time to get anything down on the page for maybe the last two years that I gotten out of the habit of doing any of this.

I really rebelled against the idea of saying I am taking a break from writing, because I’m not. a) of all, any time I want to write, I am going to write, I’m just not going to prioritize writing as something I make myself do when I don’t feel inspired to. b) “Taking a break” implies I am relaxing, and I’m not, I am intentionally trying to do things to get my creativity flowing. I am also just trying to get back on making writing a side thing I do and not, like, my job that I work at 40 hours a week and don’t get paid for, so I am trying to do more household stuff. I always get sort of torpid in the winter, so it would be good to do a little more cleaning and then yard work when the weather permits. (also taxes)

I actually feel like I had a pretty good week in this regard, in that I was actually able to think about some of my stories this week and come up with a few scenes I am excited about, and I even did an outline for the last two acts of a little in love (I hate outlining, so this was An Achievement). I did a teensy bit of writing, because I felt like it, and as soon as I counted it up (it was like 450 words) and I immediately felt guilty for not writing more which was not the point, so I am just not doing word counts for now. I do wish my brain would settle on one story to work on instead of bopping between three different ones (not counting the one that is 95% done that I would really like to just finish and get off my plate, except that I don’t particularly feel like thinking about it) but maybe that’s too much to ask at the moment.

I did read two volumes of Battle Angel Alita, which one of the first manga I ever read. (Mr. P loaned them to me when we were first dating) It is incredibly violent and gory, but the story is also very thoughtful and introspective, and I can see a lot of themes in it that I still incorporate into my writing today. The way I write Rukia has a non-zero amount of Alita in her, and I’ve been thinking quite a bit about the Scrapyard/Tiphares (I think the elite city is Zalem in later translations, but mine are so old that they’re printed left to right) and how it relates to Rukongai/the Seireitei. It’s also kind of fun because we’ve been rewatching Trigun, which has a lot of the same ideas, but comes at them from a very different angle.

I had also kinda got into a place with our tv watching where we had gotten kinda bored-- we both hate season 2 of the Witcher after loving season 1, which was disappointing, and we were stuck in the absolutely interminable Dark Tournament arc of Yu Yu Hakushou. We picked up a few new things, and I am now looking forward to tv time again. Here’s our current lineup:

Touch Your Heart - this is a kdrama about a scandal-marked kdrama actress who takes a job as a secretary at a law firm in the hopes that it will land her the role that will get back into acting, except that she has to work for an extremely straight-laced defense attorney. It stars the actors who played the Grim Reaper and Sunny in Goblin, and it is delightful. I also really enjoy dissecting the way the romance is set up and whether or not the characters are good for one another-- kdramas are really good for romance writers if you enjoy thinking about the mechanics of stuff. Also words cannot describe how much I am in love with Kwon Jung-rok, the lawyer character, he is extremely My Type. (Oh Soon-yeo is fine, she’s extremely cute and the fact that she cares for Jung-rok says a lot for her, but I am just trash for a hard-working autistic lawyer man who everyone says is cold but actually feels too much)

Trigun, as mentioned, we are about halfway thru, it’s time to get into the part where it Gets Weird.

Fruits Basket. Neither of us has seen any version of this show before; we are extremely mystified by everything about it. The sad guy who turns into a seahorse is my favorite.

Revolutionary Girl Utena. I watched part of this about twenty years ago and definitely did not get it at the time. My husband had never even heard of it, but he loves Weird Shit like prog rock and French animation. I mostly wanted to watch it because I am sure, in my bones, that The Locked Tomb was influenced by this show, and I am trying to build my case. Anyway, this show is so weird, we are having a fabulous time with it.

Anyway, so that’s what I’m into this week. I am trying to finish up another illustration for the last chapter of What We Do with Our Hearts (I meant to do more, but it looks like it’s just gonna be the two... I can always do more later if I feel like it, I suppose). It’s been ages since I did a tutorial, and doing straight-up learning stuff is still really important for me with my art, so I will probably try to do that next. I am toying with the idea of maybe taking some sketch requests? I do nearly all finished pieces these days, which are so much work, and I think it might be good for my brain to do some things quickly, like as an exercise. I dunno. I am trying to weigh in my mind whether that would be Fun or just Stressful.

Oh, and the last thing I did this week was make a fish pie, which was good for me, mentally, I think. I have not done much baking lately, and it was nice to have a success.

#writing update #art update

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wh6res · 4 years ago

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taeyong — part of the my bloody valentine collection.

prompt. when your soulmate gets a wound or cut, flowers bloom on the same spot in your body.

synopsis. you’re desperate to meet your soulmate. maybe you can put a stop to the flowers stubbornly blooming on your wrists.

warnings. tread cautiously. mentions of mental illness (depression, attempted suicide), swearing, manipulation, implied self-harm, dubious content, forced relationship, unconsensual touching near the end, ty pulling the sadboi agenda

disclaimer. a friendly reminder that i do not, under any circumstance, condone or support any acts like this. this is not love and this is not how a normal relationship should be like. the things i write are all fiction and should be treated as such and if you don’t like it, please do not read it and waste your time hating on it. the 9 members of nct 127 do not act like this in real life and shouldn’t act like this in real life.

by the time you’re graduating high school, you’re used to the sorry glances people sent your way.

for someone so young, you have more flowers blooming on your skin than any adult. a few small pieces of it blooming in the corner of your cheek, near the jawline. a few of them on your thighs.

but the most concerning piece is the one on your wrists that are fully covered by the flowers, your skin nowhere to be seen with all the lilies of the valley tainting your skin.

yet the worse has got to be the summer before senior year. you had been halfway done with the college entrance examination for a local university. your parents said the pain you felt the first time will turn into a mild itch whenever the flowers form on your skin.

it started small, absentmindedly scratching at something on your neck. initially, you thought it was the heat, your sweat, and the fabric of your clothes irritating the sensitive skin. but when you walked up to the proctor to turn in your exam, you knew that apologetic stare like nothing else—but his eyes had flickered down to your neck.

when your friends blew up your phone, asking where you are to celebrate, you lied and headed straight back home, head ducked, collars upturned, hiding the lilies of the valley wrapped around your throat like some insignia.

a year later, you end up studying soulmate theory in university. they say it’s a useless course as there can be no scientific explanation to soulmates. you like thinking you chose the course because of sheer interest but really, you’re just finding an explanation, some external reason that probably bore no results but you trudged forward anyway.

you’re restless in the pursuit of finding him—or her, you couldn’t care less. the hurt you feel weighs heavy in your heart each time you feel them blooming on your wrist, mind plagued with worry.

your roommate interrupts your deep thinking as she practically throws herself onto your bed. “i have an idea!” she cheers, determined. “why not part-time in the school clinic? that way if people come in, you can compare their cuts to your flowers.”

“now, you just might be onto something there.”

the hunt for your soulmate still wasn’t easy despite working in the university’s clinic and it only got worse each day. your schedule is killing you, you’re slightly getting behind in some subjects, and you practically live in the library.

contrary to popular opinions, soulmate theory can be a fucking bitch to study about. what with learning psychology, astrology, and botany all together. it was interesting how all these things can be factors in how people are paired to become soulmates. interesting, but rather complicated in a sense, too.

they say psychology and astrology dealt with two people’s compatibility. while botany, the meanings of the flowers themselves, was theorized to predict how the soulmate connection will affect their relationship—ultimately, roses were a really, really good sign.

you have been busy messing up your hair, utterly frustrated and irate—astronomy’s messing with your head and you can’t go a minute without scratching your wrists as the flowers bloomed after the other.

then something unexpected happened.

a lanky guy dressed in an all-black ensemble walked into the clinic. well, it was more of a being carried between two guys by the arms rather than walked in. everything about his clothes looked way too big to fit his delicate frame and it hardly looked like it was for fashion style purposes. his skin hugged his body to the bone, eyes sunken, and he looked so frail that a tiny shove would’ve sent him sprawled on the floor.

his name was taeyong and he lied on the bed unconscious, with handkerchiefs wrapped around his wrists like bandages—courtesy of his friends, who looked deathly worried for the fate of their poor friend. if he had lost any more blood, he would’ve died. you had never seen the clinic in such chaos, people running around, anxious. your leg muscles were sore from going back and forth from the nurse’s side to the cabinets storing all the medical supplies she needed.

it had been a whirlwind, and after your superior had patched and properly bandaged his cuts, you were left to look after him in the meantime as nurse jung tried contacting his guardian.

his friends—who you learned were named yuta and jaehyun, were snoozing outside on the bench across the hall, parallel with the clinic’s double-glass door, as they waited for their friend to wake up.

depression. suicidal. taeyong has been like that for his whole life, jaehyun stated earlier. you can only shoot a sorry look at the unconscious boy lying on the hospital bed.

it had already been dark outside when you came in to switch out his bandages for new ones—only to realize that his cut is exactly where you had been scratching earlier before he showed up.

you retracted, unbelieving of what that possibly entails. along the way, you’ve pieced together that your soulmate is probably struggling through something heavy, something that weighed him down so much that it made him believe hurting himself is the only solution, what with all the flowers on your skin.

“it’s him…” you mumble, wide eyed as you eyed the faded scars around his wrists, eerily aligned to the flowers blooming on your own.

you didn’t want to overwhelm him, that much was sure. you didn’t want to chase him away if he gets uncomfortable. so for weeks you started leaving anonymous notes in his locker. not the sappy love letter types, just little words of encouragement that could make his day better.

when their friend breaks out into the tiniest of smiles, yuta and jaehyun’s thankful eyes would scour around the halls. sneakily looking for you behind taeyong’s back. they understood where you’re coming from and hadn’t spoken a word of disagreement when you told them you didn’t plan to make yourself known as his soulmate yet.

and as if the notes were not enough, you start giving him his favorite starbucks drink every now and then—on days the flowers didn’t bloom as much as it normally would. you turn up half an hour early before lectures so you can place it on the table where he usually sits with his two best friends. even if his class is on the other side of campus, you’d still go.

but it only took three weeks of creeping around until you’re caught by your soulmate himself.

“do you want something from me?”

you didn’t know what to say, cat got your tongue as you stood before him holding the drink. you couldn’t weasel your way out and say the drink’s yours, not when he caught you standing before his usual seat, not when you were already leaning forward to place it on his desk.

“uhm… i…” you stutter pathetically, not being able to meet the intensity of his eyes.

“jaehyun and yuta aren’t exactly the most lowkey, especially with how much their eyes wander when i open my locker. so, do you want something from me? what are you playing at, stalker?”

the name he called you stung like a bitch but you can’t blame him for it. you knew him, he doesn’t know you. you’re giving him gifts anonymously. even if they were all from the goodness of your heart, from an outsider’s view, your actions still appeared sketchy.

“soulmate,” you correct him.

you watch his features twist into confusion, only for it to morph into shock once he’s digested what you just said. eventually, he schools his expression back to indifference. his stoic face is so intimidating, you thought, biting your bottom lip and fidgeting on your toes.

“what?”

“i’m your—i’m your soulmate.”

his eyes flicker downwards to peak a glance at the bouquet of flowers painted on your skin. colors as beautiful and vibrant as the day you got them, the stems of the bell-shaped flowers intricately woven into each other. for a split second, you even twist your arms a little, showing him the rock hard proof of your claim.

ever since you found him, you’ve always contemplated for the better part of your limited free time about what his reaction will be when he finds out you two are soulmates. will he accept you? or worse case scenario, pretend you didn’t exist? the possibilities are unknown especially with someone who seems to be going through so much that the last thing they wanted is this person who thinks they’re entitled to be part of their lives because the universe made it be that way.

not that you feel entitled… taeyong can reject you all he wants and you’ll give him the space he needs—

he’s crying.

and not the simple, small tears slowly streaming down his face one by one type of crying, no, his tears were an onslaught. full-on sobbing as he threw himself onto you, wrapping his arms tight around your shoulders as he buried his face into your neck, words heavily muffled by your coat.

“is it—” he hiccups. “true?”

you blink, from all the reactions you’ve gone through in your head, crying was the very last thing you expected from him—crying and hugging you like you’re the last person on earth and he’s been touch-starved until he found you.

maybe that was the case.

you wonder what jaehyun and yuta felt whenever taeyong ditched them to spend time with you—and that was pretty much all the time since he’s found you. he’s like a puppy, following you around wherever you go (unless he has classes) and had been neglecting his friends. whether it was intentional or not, whether his two friends were cool with it or not, you don’t know.

you try your best to smile every time he runs up to you on the other end of the hall, spotting you coming out of your own respective classroom after lectures are done.

he’s beaming like a child, inviting you to this cafe he wants to take you to—and pathetic ‘lil ‘ol you just can’t seem to say no to those huge expecting eyes.

but you’re not blind to the slight scowl on yuta’s face nor the razor sharp smile on jaehyun’s features. they want to hang out together, just boys, but now there’s this soulmate who’s suddenly more important than them—what happened to bros before hoes?

but they knew taeyong needed you. heck, he never once smiled like the way he did before he met you. it was like he’s become this whole new person with a child-like innocence reflecting his eyes.

“so?” your soulmate prompts just as his two friends came over, flanking him.

taeyong deflates the moment he sees the hesitance in your eyes. “uhm… i actually have a shift in the clinic, and nurse jung said the clinic isn’t some hang out place, so you can’t, uhh…” you trail, not wanting to finish the sentence.

a little white lie can’t hurt anyone, right?

taeyong shouldn’t depend on you all the time, not when he also has friends who care about his well-being and mental health just as much as you do. being soulmates didn’t mean he has to spend every waking moment with you and the faster he realizes, the better.

when you dashed away before he could even mutter out a reply, you miss the frown on his face, his eyes never once leaving your frame until you turned the corner.

people often favor the underdog. they have this gnawing urge in their gut to sympathize and unknowingly root for their own plot twist or happy ending.

people look at you and your soulmate and think you have poor, suicidal and depressed and sad taeyong eating at the palm of your hand, following you around like a lonely duckling—the undeniable underdog in a coming-of-age movie, the person shoved around until some bigger, more capable person comes to their rescue (in this case you, unfortunately).

but appearances have always been deceiving.

your little 3-week head start with getting to know your soulmate had only been on surface-level. you just wanted to help him but taeyong’s obvious attraction—can you even call it that? you’d like to think it’s more of infatuation—is off-putting for you. from standing way too close to putting an arm around you, from walking you to your lectures to walking you home, from the light headpats to having the guts to kiss your cheeks.

it’s too much and it wasn’t as if you basked in the public display of affection. whenever you tried telling him off in the most gentlest of ways, taeyong would frown and curl in on himself, eyes glossy, darting around, and looking like a kicked puppy.

you couldn’t leave him like that just because of some harmless skinship, right? he’s just excited and happy he’s found you. weren’t you also the first one to initiate? with all those notes and gifts you’ve given him? and now you’re backing away just because of a few touches?

“you know,” your roommate plops herself on the couch next to you, netflix movie playing as background. “you’re not obligated to fix him. you’re his soulmate, not his psychiatrist.”

you sigh, head diving into the couch pillows. “i’m not trying to fix him, i’m just…”

she raises a prodding eyebrow.

“…i’m just trying to be there for him.”

taeyong likes to think that he wasn’t doing it on purpose. but the sense of rush and sick pleasure running up and down his spine whenever you force a smile and give in to his wishes proves otherwise.

all his life he’s been pushed around. tasked to buy his old man beer and cigarettes and an assortment of drugs. if he turns up empty handed, guess who becomes a punching bag? and he has always been alienated throughout his school life. immature elementary kids aren’t exactly the kindest and would’ve picked on every single thing to appear cool to their friend groups. and poor little scrawny taeyong who didn’t speak and didn’t defend himself was just too easy of a target.

“uhm… you don’t—don’t need to walk me home all the time.” do you think so low of him that you believe he doesn’t sense your fake little giggle?

“but i like walking you home,” he pouts, jutting his lips just a wee bit more for extra measure. he makes sure his eyes are as round and glossy as can be, he noticed those puppy eyes are what gets to you the most.

he can tell by your tense shoulders, the clear hesitance in your face, that smile that looked too sweet to be real, and your averting eyes. you needn’t say anything for taeyong to figure you out. he isn’t blind to the lack of comfort you’ve developed by being with him.

he has to think of something or else you’ll be slipping through the gaps of his fingers.

he asked you out on valentine’s day. it wasn’t the simple, forgettable act of popping out the “hey, do you want to go out on a date with me?” question while holding a bouquet of flowers. taeyong made sure you’ll never forget this certain day that he had laid his claim on you—not that it needed to be vocalized, it was his wounds that made flowers bloom on your skin. the soulmate connection should be enough.

but taeyong wanted to go the extra mile.

with the help of his friends (yuta’s popular and jaehyun can be very persuasive), he’s got people handing you lilies of the valley every ten feet until you reach the auditorium in the main building. despite it blooming on your skin you’ve never really seen them in the flesh. they’re like dew drops, bell-like flowers growing in an elegant dip from it’s main stem and appearing no bigger than your thumb.

you were awed, but skeptical.

you meet taeyong by the end of your little journey, standing on a decorated stage with a bouquet of the flowers nestled delicately in his hands. the natural sunlight bleeding through the open windows giving him such a beautiful glow that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. he had smiled and timidly gave you the flowers while asking.

“will you be my girlfriend?”

if only you’d look close enough, that sugar coated smile contrasted greatly to the sly flickers in his eyes. he knows how your actions are dictated by the reputation you’ve built. taeyong knows you'll say yes, because if you didn't, how could you have rejected your own soulmate who has made you the light of his life? he’s been nothing but kind to you and you’ve only pushed him away! you’re a monster! you should’ve saved him!

if him alone can’t make you say yes, maybe the pressure-induced stare of the whole student body can.

and as you shivered amidst taeyong’s suffocating hug, feeling the triumphant smirk against your head and his prodding nose as he sniffed your hair, you now understood why your body bloomed this specific woodland flower.

lilies of the valley are beautiful.

but lilies of the valley are poisonous, too.

the flowers remind you of taeyong.

making things official has only made things worse. taeyong has promised you that after being together he won’t try hurting himself anymore and that he’s a big boy and he can attend his therapy sessions alone. but the itching in your skin is as constant as ever and you just got off the phone with the receptionist of the clinic he goes to.

“are things alright? i haven’t seen taeyong since three weeks ago.”

if there’s one thing you absolutely hate doing with your soulmate, it’s confrontations. for the three months you’ve been together, taeyong has always, always spiraled out whenever you confront him about something. be it the mildest or the most superficial thing, what started out small will turn into a complete whirlwind and he’d be in a fit of tears by the end of it.

every single time.

you prefer happy taeyong than sad taeyong—if you can avoid it for as long as you can, you will. but you’re at your breaking point. him lying to you about his therapy sessions is the pin that popped the little balloon of security you’ve been protecting.

when you arrive home, he’s already there, crouched and sifting through your bookshelf. it wasn’t a surprise or anything out of the ordinary, he possesses the key to invite himself into your apartment any time. “hey, you’re home!” he immediately stands, barreling towards you.

he encircles his arms around you protectively as he pulls you flush against his body. you feel the tip of his nose prodding against your neck, hearing him inhaling your scent like cannabis.

you learned to ignore it, this habit of his—but just because you do doesn’t make you any less uncomfortable than the first time he did it.

you don’t bother hugging him back.

you were too pissed off to keep up with pretenses.

“the clinic called, said you weren’t attending your sessions. why were you lying to me?”

when pushed into a corner, you were never one to beat around the bush.

“i don’t like going alone, i told you that, remember?” he quickly replied, shoving you away. “i wouldn’t have to lie to you if you would just come with me for my sessions, don’t you think? you’re blowing this out of proportion when it’s all your fault.”

you wanted to pull at your hair. scratch that, you wanted to pull at his hair—no, not in that kind of way.

“how the fuck—” you stop. taeyong hates it when you curse. cursing will do you more harm than good. you inhale through your nostrils, willing yourself to calm down. “how is this my fault? i told you i have to run errands for professor kim!”

“then quit working there! they’re not even paying you, it’s just for extra credit! which you wouldn’t even fucking need if you weren’t flunking astronomy so bad.” taeyong must’ve seen your features twisting into that of betrayal. he was there when you were crying your eyes out because you failed the exam. he knew the subject was taking such a big toll on you.

how could he…

“don’t fucking look at me like that, kitten. you know it’s the truth.”

what is the point of this, some form of payback he’s subjecting you to? just because you didn’t come with him to his sessions? six months in this relationship and you already feel so drained, how would the universe expect you to keep up for a whole fucking lifetime together with him?

“why…” you choke, the tears building up in your eyes as your voice breaks. “so what do you want me to do, then?” you ask, because you genuinely don’t know.

does he want you to choose? is that it? you didn’t want to lose the credits, but you didn’t want to lose this relationship either, no matter how much you’re drowning in the toxicity of it all.

because this is your soulmate.

certainly, the universe wouldn’t destine you to each other if it would only bring forth chaos, right? taeyong has mentioned time and time again that this is his first relationship. of course, he’s depending on you to show him the ropes.

but it seems he isn’t really a big fan of how you do things.

“quit.”

you shake your head defeatedly. “you know i can’t. i’d have to take the whole subject again next semester and—”

“i said quit, dollface.” the finality in his tone renders you speechless. “then fucking take the subject again next semester! i don’t care. that’s your consequence for neglecting your major. why the fuck do i have to suffer, too, if my soulmate is such a failure?”

his words cut deep, deeper than flesh, cutting through bone as your knees the urge to buckle and collapse before him. “taeyong, please—”

“honestly, i don’t even know what you’re doing with that professor. you always brush it off whenever i ask you!” the glare he sends could kill. “is this… is this why you’re so adamant about not quitting? then again… what kind of professor is willing to pass his students just by interning for him? i can’t believe i’m only realizing this now!”

this is bad. this is very, very bad.

“whatever you’re thinking about is not true! trust me—”

but as if he can’t hear you, he dawdles on, trying to connect the dots when there is absolutely nothing to connect.

“you suck dick for grades? how could you do this to me? how can you do that to yourself?”

you don’t understand exactly why he’s crying again so you don’t say anything. not because his fierce accusations were right but because even if you try hard to convince him that nothing is going on with your astronomy professor, he’d still cry and whine and paint you to be the bad guy.

“what… what use do i have in this world if my soulmate thinks i’m not enough? and i lost you to some guy who smelled like prunes of all people!” you would have laughed if the situation had been different, but taeyong was dead serious. “i’m useless. i’ve been useless with my family, my friends, and now you. i can never do anything right, can i? i can never make anyone stay. i can’t even make you stay!”

and like a switch that has been flicked off, your conflicted emotions vanish in thin air. gone are every trickle of anger, confusion, and irritation you felt as he makes a beeline to the coffee table, smashing the little ornamental fish bowl and pointing a shard against his dainty wrists.

“no!” you tackle him to the ground, groaning when you feel the shard dig into your side yet you made no effort to get off of him. blindly, you reach, twisting his wrist to drop the piece of glass. “you promised!” you wail, clutching the collars of his shirt as you pull him close to you. “stop, stop hurting yourself.”

you feel him shaking his head, his own onslaught of tears staining your shirt as the negativity he’s been bottling pours over like a tsunami, dragging you under the currents with him. “no, no, no…” you splutter, snot running disgustingly down your nostrils. “it’s not true, none of that is true. you’re my love, my moonlight, i’d never betray you for anyone or anything!”

“but—but your professor, the internship—”

“i’ll quit. i’ll take the subject again next semester, it’s not a big deal, okay? don’t worry, i’m here. i’m so sorry!”

it was all too easy.

the thing with noble people like you is the foolish sense of responsibility lying underneath your skin, it’s gravitational pull so strong that you don’t bother to think before you speak, to think before you act, to think before you make promises, because what’s important isn’t yourself, it’s the person lying meek and helpless before you.

quit, you say? taeyong wants something more.

the evil lying inside pandora’s box can never remain dormant, not when meddlesome people like you who think with a one-track mind pull the lid off its hinges, preaching how every evil can have their own redemption.

a hand finds purchase around your waist as an eerie blissful smile stretches on his lips, eyes clouded over. “really? i’m your moonlight?”

“yes—”

“would you prove it to me?”

he doesn’t make room for your hesitance to settle, he lunges, hands wrapping around your face to pull you into a kiss. it wasn’t like all the other kisses you’ve shared with him, no, this one had a dark, underlying purpose. his hands digging into your open wound to make it bleed, tongue sliding into your mouth the moment you gasped in pain.

your hands press on his chest, trying to push him away but taeyong’s thoughts are running wild. you blush in sheer humiliation when he lets out an almost pornographic moan. with a sinking realization, you’ve become hyper aware of something poking at your abdomen.

no, not yet. you weren’t ready yet!

“taeyong, wait—i’m not—”

“you said you love me, didn’t you?”

#nct imagines #taeyong imagines #nct scenarios #taeyong scenarios #yandere taeyong #yandere kpop #yandere nct #yandere nct 127 #idk how to tag stuff geez

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years ago

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Stalker X Stalker, Part 13

First

Perma taglist: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo @khneltea @raeuberprinzessin

Tim was in the middle of a particularly boring meeting when a tiny buzz in his pocket alerted him that Marinette had left the house.

He blinked a little and, after mumbling a quick apology, pulled out his phone to silence it.

He couldn’t tell where she was going right then, it was too early to tell, but he noted absently that she was walking a little faster than normal. He shook his head to himself and resolved to check again once the meeting was over.

But he didn’t have to!

His secretary rushed in just as his last business partner left. She looked frazzled. “I tried to keep them out but they insisted and --!”

“Who? What? Janet, what’s wrong --?”

His attention was quickly pulled away from her, though, because Marinette was stumbling through the threshold.

He rushed forward to catch her on instinct, slipping his arms around her tightly. “Bean?”

She pulled her face out of his chest and smiled awkwardly at him. “Uh… hi, darling. Hate to disturb you during work, but...”

Tim frowned, concerned. He didn’t think she was clumsy (and he would have noticed by now if she was) and, now that he was looking, she looked a little pale. Was she sick? Did she even get sick?

And then he noticed someone standing in the doorway she had stumbled through -- no, she had been pushed through it, he thought as he took in the blond’s cold expression. Tim’s frown deepened and his grip tightened on his girlfriend.

Then, the blond sighed. “I’m Adrien, her friend from Paris. Don’t know if she’s told you about me, though.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed just a little. “Janet, it’s my lunchtime, right?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, looking between the three of them with barely concealed interest.

“Great. Lock the door behind yourself, please.”

Janet seemed a little put out but nodded and went to do what he asked without complaint. He made a mental note to give the poor girl a raise.

He waited until he heard the familiar click of the lock before turning his gaze back onto Adrien. The blond’s scowl had deepened. Tim bit his lip anxiously, considering what deescalation method would be best, but he didn’t know enough yet. He decided to just wait a little longer before doing anything. Marinette was safe in his arms and Adrien was still a little away so there wasn’t any immediate danger as far as he was aware.

“So, you do know his schedule, then?” Adrien asked.

Marinette wouldn’t quite look at the man. “We live in the same house.”

“Did you know before you were living in the same house?” He pressed.

She didn’t answer.

Adrien scoffed a little, shaking his head. “Of course. I knew I should have kept you in Paris where I could see you.”

Well, that’s a little controlling, a tiny part of Tim piped up. He would have said it aloud, too, but there was something bugging him about the blond. He couldn’t place it, but he was pretty sure he recognized him from somewhere...

It clicked and he took a half-step back with Marinette still silent in his arms. “Agreste, right?”

The blond winced. “Dupain-Cheng now,” Adrien said carefully. “In everything but name, at least, I’m still waiting to see if I can get a name change.”

Tim glanced down at Marinette for confirmation and she quirked her lips upward, which was bat for ‘yes’.

He relaxed just a little and let her go now that he knew it was safe. Okay. So, this was just her friend -- no, her brother -- and apparently he was annoyed about something. Their relationship, maybe, since he had brought her to Tim’s work.

… oh, shit, maybe this was Chat Noir. Tim’s eyes flicked down to where the ring usually was in pictures and, yep, that was the same ring but in white. That explained how he’d gotten there quickly despite the fact that he had to be on the no-fly list with a father like that.

But his anger seemed focused on Marinette, which was odd. Tim had figured it would be pretty even.

Tim cracked a grin. “Nice to meet you. You could have just called, though.”

Adrien looked a little sheepish, now, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “What I need to tell you isn’t really the kind of thing you can tell someone over the phone.”

“I meant a call for an appointment. You’re my girlfriend’s brother, I obviously would have wanted to meet you in person.”

He snickered. “You’d be the first. Most people don’t want to meet the family for a good long while.”

Tim shrugged. “I would have liked to know when you’d appear. Easier to prepare that way.”

“I see.”

There was a beat as the two men sized each other up before Adrien sighed and leaned back against the door. “I guess it’s easier to show you than explain it to you.”

Tim watched with interest as Adrien pulled an object from his ear and tossed it over. He caught it easily and turned the object in his fingers. It was like his comm but it was red with black polka-dots.

Oh. He knew what this was.

He handed it over to Marinette without even bothering to listen (Who wants to hear their own voice? No one. Ew.).

“Yeah, she listens in on all of my conversations, I know.”

Marinette and Adrien both froze up, then turned their gazes on him in shock. Tim might have laughed if Adrien’s expression didn’t morph into a horrified look.

“You… you know I planted bugs on you?” Asked Marinette tentatively.

“I’ve known since day one -- I think. Or, at least, near day one,” said Tim with a shrug. He pointed over at the flower on his desk, the bug hidden in the petals. “I don’t mind, though, that’s just part of being a vigilante, in my opinion.”

“You’re a --? Nevermind, that’s not the point here.” He sighed and shook his head. “No, it’s not. She does this to all her crushes.”

“I do it to anyone I care about.”

Adrien seemed to think he was insane.

Marinette, however, was nodding vigorously. “See?! I told you! It’s a thing!”

“It’s a thing,” agreed Tim. “Everyone in my family does it, too, though we tend to prefer trackers and following people to auditory bugs…”

“What the heck?” Muttered Adrien.

Tim continued on despite this: “Even Duke does it sometimes, and he’s the closest thing we have to sane, so it’s probably okay.”

Adrien pinched the bridge of his nose and glared at nothing for a while, clearly thinking hard about how to approach this. Tikki floated out of Marinette’s purse to go over and pet his hair in an attempt at comfort. It wasn’t working, but at least someone tried. Eventually, he pulled out his phone.

“Stalking: the act or crime of willfully and repeatedly following or harassing another person in circumstances that would cause a reasonable person to fear injury or death especially because of express or implied threats.”

“... I haven’t followed or harassed him,” said Marinette.

“And I’m trying to prevent injury or death. Have you met Marinette? Leave her alone for too long and she will find a new way to get herself killed.”

Marinette huffed. “Like you’re any different. I can already count at least three major villains that you regularly piss off and I’ve only lived here a few months.”

“One of the first things you said to any of us was that you had broken your leg but it was fine. I have reason to be concerned.”

Adrien groaned. “We’re getting off topic here, guys. The point is that this is the textbook definition of stalking --.”

“But neither of us feel even a little bit uncomfortable about it,” Marinette argued.

“That would cause a reasonable person to fear injury or death. Clearly, neither of you are reasonable.”

Tim shook his head. “That’s not really what the reasonable person clause is for. It’s for people that are trying to get money over nothing.”

“It still applies!”

Tikki shook her head. “Adrien, they’re not going to get it.”

“But they need to.”

“We’re still here, y’know,” said Tim. Marinette waved her arms in the air to see if they had somehow gone invisible.

“They don’t want to,” Tikki explained gently, ignoring them.

Alright, they were going around in circles it seemed and Adrien and Tikki weren’t responding well to their current arguments… so, new arguments were needed. A short recess was called so the two teams could discuss their rebuttals in opposite corners of the room. When had this turned into a debate? Who knows.

They decided to go after morality first (it seemed like the best bet since they were all vigilantes): “Bean, you’re happy, right?”

“Yep. You?”

“Of course. Happier than I was when I was single, that’s for sure.”

Marinette blushed a little and laced her fingers with his. “Great. Me too. Now, Adrien, don’t you want us to be happy?”

Adrien scoffed. “Okay, no, you don’t get to do that. I obviously want you to be happy but I don’t want you to be in an unhealthy relationship. Because that’s what this is: unhealthy.”

“Unusual doesn’t necessarily mean unhealthy,” said Marinette with a frown.

“No, it doesn’t, but… listening in on his private conversations? Following and tracking her? Don’t you think that maybe you should be setting more firm boundaries with each other?”

“... nah,” said Tim.

“How about this: if he crosses a line I’ll tell him.”

“You don’t have lines and that’s the problem!”

Tim shook his head. “Adrien, I can tell you’re trying to help but, really, it’s fine.”

… fine. Time for their last real argument.

“Would you prefer we ‘stalk’ some random civilian?” Asked Tim. “Or you? Don’t you think it’s best we’re together rather than with some person who wouldn’t be able to deal with ‘stalkers’?”

“Sure, but it would be better if you worked on yourselves before getting into relationships,” said Tikki with a sigh.

Marinette groaned. “Gods, this is never going to work. It’s a love language, Adrien, why can’t you just understand that?”

“Love?!” Tim and Adrien said in unison, though the expressions on their faces couldn’t be more different.

“You love me?” Asked Tim.

Marinette’s face flared red. “I -- uh -- um --... yeah…?”

Holy shit, he's won at life.

“I love you, too,” he said quietly.

“It’s only been a few months, what the heck?” Adrien whisper-yelled. They ignored him.

Marinette pulled him down by the front of his shirt for a short kiss. Then, she split into a grin. “I said it first.”

“Not really, I did,” said Tim, smiling fondly.

“No no no I did. I have two witnesses to testify. You said ‘too’, I win.”

“Hm. Nope.”

“You can’t just --!” She huffed. “Stop smiling like that, it's hard to argue with you.”

He only smiled wider. She pouted until he pecked her lips.

Adrien dropped into one of the business chairs and hung his head.

“... I think I made it worse, somehow.”

Tikki patted his hair again.

Adrien ended up accepting them, albeit a little reluctantly. Marinette and Tim were right, after all: it was better that they ‘stalked’ each other rather than some random person who could/would take it worse.

Now, apparently, it was time for the shovel talk.

“Her parents are huge softies so this falls to me. You’d better not hurt her. She may be an idiot and a stalker --”

“Hey!”

“-- but she is still my sister.”

Tim gave a tiny smile. “Yeah, I get it. You’ll kill me if I hurt her and, since you have the power of destruction, there won’t be any way to bring me back.”

“Oh, not quite. I’m going to ‘randomly misplace my ring’ and whatever happens while my ring is ‘missing’ is up to whoever happens to find it. You’d better hope that whatever you did was small enough that Mari would be merciful.”

Tim swallowed thickly. “Ah. I see.”

Adrien smiled a smile worthy of the model that he was and clapped Tim on the back. “Welcome to the family!”

“Yeah… yay…”

Marinette crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you done threatening my boyfriend?”

“No. If she --.” Adrien cut himself off with a laugh at the glare she sent him. “Kidding, kidding. Do you want some of Pere’s food.”

“Obviously. Tim, do you want some?”

Tim hesitated. Marinette tried not to laugh at how carefully he considered the question, as if he thought it was some kind of test and not two people trying to make up for taking up his lunch period.

“... sure?”

“Cool. Macaroons?”

Marinette scowled. “If you get us passionfruit macaroons I swear to the kwamis --.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll implement a systematic takedown of both me and everything I love, I get it. I’ll grab the tea ones you like.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “You have contingencies for your friends? What’s mine?”

“... you do realize you have no powers, right?”

“Can’t believe even my own girlfriend underestimates me --.”

“I could drop an elephant on you and call it a day if I really felt like it.”

Tim paled. “I regret asking.”

Tim was sick the next day. That was kind of on him for forgetting that America has weirdly intense food safety standards, which meant food from other countries would likely mess him up. Also, he had no spleen. Wild that he had forgotten that but, nonetheless, there he was.

He groaned and buried his face in the pillow. How was it possible to feel cold and hot at the same time?

He heard the quiet creak of the floorboards and carefully opened one eye.

Marinette stood at the end of the bed, frown on her face, glass of water and a bowl of soup in each of her hands.

He reached a shaky hand for her and she handed him the water. He grumbled a little but his mouth was pretty dry, so he took it.

Once she was satisfied with his water-drinking, she took a seat beside him with the soup. When he made no move to eat it she rolled her eyes and set it aside temporarily in favor of pulling him on top of her. He smiled and rested his head on her stomach.

“You’re cute when you’re sick, maybe Adrien should bring over Pere’s food more often.”

He frowned. “But... work.”

“Don’t give me more reasons to do it,” she teased lightly.

When he pouted she leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. He stopped her with a hand.

“I’m sick.”

“And I’m a meta with an enhanced immune system that wants to kiss her dumbass boyfriend.”

He huffed a little but he didn’t try to stop her when she tried to kiss him a second time. He smiled and buried his face in her stomach, looping his arms around her like she was a pillow.

“How’d you know I was sick?” He asked after a few moments.

She snickered. “Well, I woke up and you were really warm instead of cold.”

“I’m cold?” Tim asked and, despite knowing that it was just a fact, he felt extremely insulted. Damian’s insults had nothing on the fact that his skin was, apparently, cold.

She smiled a little and pet his hair despite the fact that it was probably pretty gross at the moment. “It’s fine. I’m usually pretty warm so it balances out.”

“Awwwww, we reach thermodynamic equilibrium together,” he joked quietly. He let himself sink into her, closing his eyes.

She gave a tiny laugh. “Wow. Romance.”

He smiled. “It is.”

“Hm.” She pet his hair for a few moments longer before pulling them away. “Right, c’mon, get up. I made Alfred teach me to make your favorite kind of soup.”

He blinked an eye open. “Alfred? He knows?”

“Alfred knows everything, I think,” Marinette half-joked. She handed him the bowl and he sat up to eat some. “But I’m pretty sure everyone else at least suspects it, too. I followed all of you bats on Twitter, after all, and I only know a few of you out of costume.”

He nodded his understanding. “So all the secrets are out.”

“Yep. Now I don’t have to worry about accidentally calling people the wrong names when we’re all just hanging out. Still don’t know how you keep it all straight.”

“Nicknames, mostly. Less likely to slip up. Also Dick’s name works for both.”

Her lips twitched. “Yeah. I’m sure that’s why he uses the name Dick.”

“He never answered, y’know, when I said he had a degradation kink. You might be onto something,” he joked.

She grinned now. “I’m always right.”

“Hm. Sure.”

“Glad you agree. Now eat your soup.”

His grin dropped into a pout. “But my stomach hurts.”

“You’re sick, you need your energy to heal. Eat.”

He groaned but reluctantly took the soup when she pushed it into his hands.

She glanced over at the kid that they had taken in. They liked to stick around while Marinette made the food and, if possible, make it herself. She was pretty sure she was checking to make sure they didn’t drug her but Marinette didn’t mind. If it made the kid feel safer then she didn’t see why she wouldn’t allow it.

Now, the kid was mumbling curses in Russian.

She tipped her head to the side. She could chide her about her language but, considering the fact that it was in a language that she couldn’t conceivably understand, she let it go in favor of asking: “What’s wrong?”

“… I can still smell jalapeño on my fingers but my eye itches.”

“Oh.” Marinette handed her a towel. “Alright, Rordan, rub your eye with the side your hand hasn’t touched.”

Rordan wasn’t their actual name, obviously. It was actually Robin (it wasn’t an uncommon name in Gotham or anything, but she and Tim had both had to fight back their amused grins when they had… magically figured it out through completely legal means).

“Yeah, obviously, I’m not stupid.”

She grinned. “I can never be too sure anymore. I’ve cooked with rich kids before and you would be stunned at how little self-preservation instincts they have.”

The kid rolled her eyes. “Can’t be that stupid.”

Tim chose that moment to get off work. He stepped through the door, blinked at the second person in his house, then split into a grin.

“Hey, R...Ronda?” He greeted.

Robin smiled. “Still no.”

“Darn, maybe next time,” he said as if he wasn’t getting it wrong on purpose. He set his scarf on the coat rack and then walked over. “What’s for dinner?”

“For you? A microwaved meal that I’m going to try and pass off as my own cooking.”

Tim huffed. “Bean, come on, it was one time --.”

“And that ‘one time’ is enough to never let you in the kitchen again. C’mon, darling, three steps back.”

Tim groaned but stepped back until he was sitting on the kitchen island.

Robin turned off the burner. “Fajitas are done.”

He pouted playfully. “Can’t believe the kid is allowed to cook and I’m not. I’m an adult!”

“A hazard, that’s what you are,” Marinette teased, smiling. She let Robin set half of the food in her tupperware. “Want to eat with us this time?”

“No thanks.”

Tim nodded. “Alright. See you later?”

Robin glanced back at them from the windowsill. She gave a two finger salute, grinning. “Sure. Bye.”

They watched tiny fingers shut the window behind her before slipping out of view.

She reminded Marinette of an outdoor cat. Kinda just does what she wants and then drops by for food every once in a while; might want affection but probably not, do not approach unless approached; gets in a lot of dumb fights and then comes back with a messed up nose but acts like nothing happened and you’re insane for bringing it up…

Yeah. So, they now have another cat. At least they were both cat people?

Tim grinned as she handed him a plate. “Thanks, Bean. Any progress?”

“Nope,” Marinette said, taking a seat beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. “But she’ll see that we’re safe eventually. I can wait for that.”

He hummed his understanding. “Can’t wait until we make enough progress to be able to eat with her.”

She grinned. “Your bar is too high, darling. It’d be nice if she gave us her actual name.”

“Yeah… I’m still holding out for it, though. She has, what, six years before she is able to legally get a job and won’t need us? We should be able to have food with her once in six years, don’t you think?”

Marinette smiled. “Kwami, I sure hope so.”

Tim rested his head on the windowsill, a tiny frown on his face.

They were on a stakeout. According to Sources there was supposed to be a handoff within the next week.

Marinette sat down beside him and pushed himself up some to send her an awkward grin.

She offered him some Oreos from the packet she held.

There was a long silence as they sat there, listening to the warehouse through their comms. The most interesting thing so far had been the fly buzzing past one of their bugs.

“This feels like cheating,” she said with a sigh.

“I know, right?”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Also you guys’ bugs are better quality than mine and I hate that.”

He snickered. “I can… ‘lose’ some bugs for you if you want.”

“You’d end up ‘losing’ too many.”

He thought for a minute, then shook his head. “Not if we put it in my watch.”

“Doesn’t it get stolen every other week?”

“Sure, but B replaces it all the time. Still more sustainable than bugging every item I wear.”

She thought about it for a minute before smiling at him. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Marinette sat in a coffee shop, sipping a cup of coffee as she tried to explain to Kagami Tsurugi that, no, a full ball gown wasn’t possible in three days and that she should have given more warning. The power in their apartment building had gone out while she was talking to a client and her phone had low power so… nearest coffee shop. There was free wifi, places to plug in her phone, and, of course, coffee.

A glance at the time showed that Tim would be off work in about half an hour. Hm. She went alone. She figured she’d see him there, anyways.

She blinked as a hand tapped her on the shoulder, expecting to see Tim, only to find the friendly barista that had given her her coffee. She whispered to Kagami that she needed to hold and lowered the phone a little.

“Here, ma’am, I’m sorry I forgot this earlier. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Marinette stared at the new drink that had been shoved in her hand. There was some writing on the label.

Dont look now but theres a man watching you.

And an arrow pointing to her right.

Marinette smiled up at the woman. “It’s alright. Thank you.”

The woman didn’t seem all that convinced, so Marinette spun around in her seat. “Darling, you’re being a creep, get over here.”

“I’m not a creep! You were on the phone!” He complained, but he walked over and took a seat across from her.

“Excuses, excuses.”

The poor barista looked so confused.

She sent her a smile. “Thanks for looking out for me.” She handed over a twenty. “For the drink. Keep the change.”

The woman left and Tim pulled out his computer to do some extra work while Marinette finished up her phone call. Then, she smiled at him.

“A random lady found you. You’re off your game.”

He pouted. “I was being obvious on purpose. Wanted to see if you could find me.”

“Maybe I just think you’re cute when you don’t know people are watching you.”

He did little more than raise an eyebrow at her disbelievingly. She grinned and leaned across the table to kiss him on the nose.

After a few second’s thought she pulled out her phone and changed Tim’s name to Spy-derman.

He snickered at the tiny notification, rolling his eyes. “Great.” Then he squinted at the name. “I never asked: why Spiderman?”

She grinned. “Well, the first time we met we met on the roof of a super tall building… but the door was super creaky and loud so all I could imagine was you swinging up there like Spiderman… wait, actually, did you?”

He rolled his eyes again. “You were just too concentrated on your work to hear me.”

“... oh. Well. that’s less fun. I’m choosing to ignore that.” She grinned. “Still can’t believe you called me Frenchie of all things. Did you use all two of your brain cells for that one?”

He gasped as if offended. “It was a reference to that character from The Boys.”

“Of course it was. Fucking nerd.”

He pecked her on the lips. “You love me, though.”

“Hm. Yeah. I do.”

#i almost feel bad for ending it without getting them professional help #but like #they were never going to do that as characters #and there wasn't a natural way to change it #so...#happy?? ending #stalker x stalker #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin

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