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2-dsimp · 4 months ago

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The Gardener who became the Keeper of the yandere Plantweed Pt.1

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You were a gardener working at a humble witches flower shop. And today the Madam witch decided to fully welcome her trustees into her dwelling. Allowing everyone to freely choose a plant being to take special care of as it’ll grow to be their faithful companion. Or so the witch told her employees.

There was a vast selection full of beautiful and unique variations to choose from. Each of the flower beings had their own unique charms chittering and humming tunes to attract their select Keepers.

But at the sight of a plant weed many of your fellow colleagues voiced their concern and utter contempt for the baby weed being that was huddled inside its pot his one big eye peeking out from his shrubbery of leaves as if ashamed to fully show itself.

“Plantweeds are so vile! Why would Madam even have it in selection?”

“Shh! Don’t say such things out loud you idiot! just ignore it and hope it’ll die off on its own”

“Yeah it’s not like anyone sane here would ever think to take care of an ugly weed like that.”

Well it appears that everyone but you were sane. As You believed that even weeds should get the chance to grow. So of course assigned yourself as the plant weeds Keeper. Despite the constant backlash you received for doing such an inconceivable thing.

You found yourself naming the poor thing Ganja, finding it endearing how shy it was. Often times you’d have to gently coax it into moving himself from his pot to another. Just so you could seed some nutrients into his cracked up soil within his original plot.

That was obviously left unattended for so long it amazed you how resilient he was. Cuz despite being a plant weed he should’ve long ago perished from neglect. Since he was half the size of his peers who were already waist up from the pot.

Which was why said plant weed found it nerve wracking to suddenly have someone take care of him. As if he was meant to be cherished just like his other plant brethren (the flowers) who were being catered to.

At first he was wary, thinking you’d just abandon him after seeing how hard it was to take care of him. Having to frequently switch the type of tending methods you’d use as his caretaker.

Due to the amalgamation of weeds ranging from poisonous to hallucinogenic to harmless all growing rampant within his cryptic vessel. That each call for a specific itinerary in mind to tame them. So it wouldn’t cause the greenhouse to become overrun with Ganja’s overgrowth.

But seeing how dedicated you were to genuinely caring for him. Day by day, Ganja became less skittish and more open to gaining every bit of affection you sought to pour into him. You even taught him how to express himself by using colors that would give you insight into how he’s feeling.

“Yellow. Keeper…story?”

Ganja the plantweed chittered one day, practicing on speaking more after a couple months pass by. While his other peers were like chatter boxes in the first few weeks after selection. He held a book you gave him in hand shyly poking at the passage where it discussed the feelings of love.

“Hey there Gan, I’m glad you’re happy to see me! So this is what you want me to read to you for today?”

The plantweed nodded frantically his eyes squeezed shut as he timidly bowed his head. Pleading to hear your voice read him such a concept he found himself drawn to like a moth to a flame. You chuckled and lightly patted his leafy head with a gloved hand.

Like a cautious cat he leaned into your touch, being slightly startled when you carried his pot. To bring it between your legs so you could read it to him while having the pages fully out for him to read alongside with you.

The feeling he had in his cluster of cells within his chest resembled that of a beating heart. As he continued losing himself in your melodic voice the more he began to realize that the love passage. Clearly reflected what he’d grown to feel for you over the ample time you two have spent together.

“And here’s the famous old saying ‘if you love someone, let them go’ Which means that—!”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, as the page you were reading from. Was abruptly ripped from the book by a branched out prickly vine. That ripped the offensive writing to shreds, in a speed so fast and precise that you couldn’t register it happening at all.

“Lies… Don’t like. Hate. Red.”

His voice, sounded like it doubled in three different pitches almost like a glitch. And you were abruptly enshrouded within an enclave of vines that fully encompassed your body and his from the outside world. You’ve never seen him this distraught and furious. Not even when your colleagues would come and pick on him when you weren’t around.

“Red? Gan you’re angry? It’s okay it’s just an interpretation! You don’t have to take it to heart.”

Ganja’s neck did a 360 to fully lock his eyes on you. His expression now unreadable due to the shrubbery covering his features. The space he trapped y’all within was dark save from the light glowing from his eyes.

“Love… No letting go?”

“Yup you can love someone without needing to let go Gan.”

“…Yellow”

You exhaled a sigh of relief knowing that he was now happy. A major upgrade from being in the dangerous color mark. But Little did you know that your answer would seal your fate. As he’d just been affirmed that it was still considered love. Even if he should never let you go. No matter how much you begged.

This plantweed was growing up to be your faithful companion alright. He’d make sure that he’d be the only one you’d ever need.

———————————

A/n: And this is how you meet your plant husband lmao. Let me know if I should make more parts XD kinda debating on leaving it as a one shot.

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ectologia · 1 year ago

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I don't know how to explain this but bear with me! Reader and Tomura have a dynamic of a popular girl who is secretly a total masochist and a nerdy incel guy who is a degenerate freak and gets off humiliating and degrading the reader. Not sure if that was coherent but it's been rotting my brain and I needed to share

♱ ˖ ࣪࿐ 𝒟𝐼𝒞𝐻𝒪𝒯𝒪𝑀𝒴 ؛ 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝓊𝓇𝒶 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓀𝒾

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 ؛ dubcon ﾉ noncon ﾉ quirkless au ﾉ college au ﾉ bullying ﾉ abuse ﾉ graphic violence ﾉ unhealthy relationship ﾉ blood ﾉ profanity

“Hey, Tomura.”

Blood-reds peer up at you through fluttery, moth-like lashes. Pale and silken like an angel’s. He tugs his headphones down to rest around his neck before setting his phone in his lap. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” You thumb a lock of hair behind your ear.

He’s dubious by the way your friends chitter behind you. Petite hands and manicured nails swat at each-other, hissing between smirks. His ankles uncross, planting themselves firmly on the ground as though in preparation. He winces through his response. “Yeah.”

“What’s wrong with your skin?”

You’ve barely finished your sentence before you’re doubling over with witchy cackles, the girls behind you following suite.

Tomura doesn’t find it funny at all, in-fact, he doesn’t even understand the joke. Dull nails rake at his protruding collarbone before sinking further into the pool of his hoodie, swimming nose deep in the black fabric. “I have a skin condition..”

A piggish voice squeals from behind you. “What’s it called? Not washing?”

He scowls, biting a scabbed-over chunk of blood from his lip, shrinking further into his hunched position in an attempt to make himself as small as possible, or as small as you can be after being picked apart by a bunch of snot-nosed bitches.

You get the last laugh as you strut off with your group, leaving him boiling with rage. Clutching his phone between a set of white knuckles and wringing the strap of his bag in the other. His palms split inside his fists, wretched and shaking with ire.

Of course, that was only the first of many instances.

He remembers on another account, when you’d pulled his hood down in-front of everyone and sneered in disgust at the powdered nest of matted white hidden beneath. Or when you and your gaggle of other titless twats thought it would be fun to fling food at him during lunch, sealing the deal by dumping a fresh load of apple juice into his lap. He’d waddled home that evening, quivering at the sticky feeling of liquid squelching in the pocket of his underwear. Or another time, when you’d tripped him up on the way to his seat, howling with laughter along with everybody else as he laid face down in the middle of the classroom, snivelling with a scuffed chin and bruised cheek.

But, despite everything.. all these things added up — just makes it that much more delicious when he finally gets to face you alone.

Tomura’s palm collides with your face, once on the left side and then on the right, knocking you about with a heavy hand bludgeoning you to the brink of death.

Your whimpers only spur him on as he kicks your heels in, sending you flying, knees splitting atop the sharp gravel coating the ground. “Tomu—”

“Shut the fuck up.” A rubber sole plants itself onto your cheek, imprinting it’s swirled pattern into your skin in a heap of dust. He stands above you, stoic and proud, uncaring of the sickening crunch that erupts from your broken cartilage. “You shut your fuckin’ mouth, I can’t be asked to listen to your whinin’ right now. I’ve already got a fuckin’ headache.”

You heave through the stream of bubbling crimson pooling on your tongue. “I’m sorry, Tomur—”

“Oi, what’d I just say?” He kicks you again, digging the tip of his red sneakers into your stomach. Swinging his leg back, he clobbers you, battering your, no doubt, already bruised body further. “Stupid — fucking — dumb — ass — bitch.”

A spill of blood accompanies your gasps, left retching and writhing and clutching at the ground, clawing at the loose stones dotted about the pavement.

“You like that, huh?” He crushes your fingers, twisting and grating them into the concrete as you scream, clinging to his shins in prayer. “Yeah, you do. You fuckin’ love it.”

He squats down to cradle your chin in his palm, craning your neck back into a painful arch. “Who’s my little bitch? — That’s right you are.” He coos at you through grit-teeth, pressing down on your popped lip with the pad of his thumb. “You are..” He whispers before letting the weight of your head fall again.

“I hope you’re thirsty.”

The zip of a fly has your ears perking, squinting through your lashes at the pale length throbbing in his palm, slit already frothing with pre. “Get that fucking tongue out.”

“Wait, Tomura, please!—”

“What? — I don’t think I asked you, you cock-sucking little bitch.” He brandishes his cock like a weapon, squeezing it between dangerous fingers. “Get that tongue out now, before I do it myself.”

You comply with a whimper. Statuesque as you point your tongue out wide, leaking thick globs of drool over your chin and onto your shirt.

“Better.”

It wouldn’t be uncommon to expect the plush velvety feel of a salty tip prodding at your mouth, snaking its sweaty shaft down your gullet. But this time, you’ve been particularly naughty.

“You think it’s fuckin’ funny, huh? Gettin’ your little boyfriends to jump me in the bathroom?” He clutches your neck in a vice grip, jostling your spooked form. “Well, since you seem to like playin’ around toilets so much — I’ve got you a little gift.”

His fat dick jumps while a stream of urine accompanies his harsh jerking. “Yeah, get it down ya’.” He whistles, shooting the acidic stream of piss straight to the back of your throat, making a game of it as you gag and cack at the air.

“Had enough?” He angles his cock down, allowing you a burst of air but soiling your clothes in the process.

You nod frantically, gurgling with bubbles foaming.

“That’s cute.”

He sprays the last few acrid droplets over your forehead, letting it drench your hair to the root and then some.

Your nose wrinkles at the smell, putrid and pungent and most likely undiluted by the amount of water you know he drinks, or lack of.

You’re hoisted onto your feet by a pair of hands. Looking down, you see how the curve of his cock slaps against your hip. Propped up against the wall, he hikes your legs up over his elbows, pinning you into a tight hold where you’d have no chance at escape. He only peels the crotch of your underwear to the side, letting your chubby folds do the rest of the work by holding it in place while sliding his uncut prick up and down the little triangle placed between your thighs.

“Preparation isn’t needed when you don’t deserve it”, Is what he whispers into your ear, stale breath warm and ticklish against your canal as he begins to sheath himself inside, chunky mushroom tip popping through the first ring of muscle before feeding the rest through. It’s akin to being impaled in the awkward position, sat without a centre of gravity on a hot, girthy pole, just twitching to tear you through the middle and come out the other end.

Tomura’s eager to hurt you, already humping you against the bricks, bouncing you up and down with guttural and down-right animalistic grunts. The noises are purposeful, he doesn’t need to make such strange sounds but he much prefers the curl between your brows to the foggy look in your eyes.

“I’m fuckin’ you.” It’s an odd but factual statement. “I’m fuckin’ your pussy. My dick is inside you. You get that? Raw.”

“Uh, huh.” Your jaw whips up and down, soft as your tongue hangs out.

He’s unsure whether to scowl or smirk — so he settles for a bit of both, catching a lip between his stained teeth. “You’re a freak.“ Forehead to forehead, he puffs into your mouth, loving you down with a thumb digging into your crack “What would all your friends say, hm? That you like gettin’ your ass beat and raped after school everyday.”

Sharpened fingernails dig into the flesh of his striped neck, crying out with dewy eyes falling, rolling behind sunken eyelids. “Ngh.. I’m.. I — gonna’..”

He smacks your face for the umpteenth time, a litter lighter than the others. Perhaps even a tap. “Don’t you dare.”

“Ca..”

Your toes curl inside your socks and your pussy tightens, twisting and pulling on his engorged manhood despite his obvious protests. He drops you on your rear, startling your spinal cord as you hit the concrete with a thud, legs still shivering and clitty still pulsing with the shattered remains of your ruined orgasm.

Tomura growls with a livid expression as his cock spurts, still throbbing with the remembrance of your gummy hole massaging him. His balls tighten and he throws his head back, canines bared as he lets the white darts shoot out onto your face.

“God — shit — wasn’t meant to fucking cum..” He murmurs, dabbing a knuckle over the damp sheen across his forehead.

He cracks his neck, then zips up his pants, shaking off the tension held between his shoulders before snapping his fingers, nudging your crouched form with the toe of his shoe. “Come on then, hand it over.” He demands with an almost exasperated sigh.

Panting, you turn to rummage through your bag. With two $20 notes crumpled in your palm, you offer them to the man with timid, shaking hands.

Enthusiastic as he snatches the paper from you, he eyes the green with scrunched carmines before clicking his tongue. “Seriously, $40 bucks? That’s it? I even made you cum you stingy cunt.” He looms over you with a menacing glare.

“Uhm.. I.. there’s..” You search through your pockets in a frenzy. “I don’t have any more on me..”

“Well, that’s gonna’ be a problem then, isn’t it?”

“I.. I can give it to you tomorrow! I’ll get you another 20!”

He tuts, narrowing his eyes at you before turning on his heel. “Make it 30.”

As he moves to make his leave, you begin to crawl with desperation, reaching out for him with an outstretched arm. “Wait!”

“What.”

“..Do.. Do you want to hang out this weekend?..” He thinks you resemble a love-sick puppy with the way you blink up at him. “..Please?.. Tomu-kun?..”

There’s a hint of a smile that plays on his cracked lips as he looks down at you, still thumbing the creased bills in his pocket. “Hm.. Actually—”

“Make it another 40.”

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