#thanku dear | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ravensmadreads · 11 months ago

Text

OHMYGOD-

Denim on Denim

A Seams x Grays crossover

Summary: Joel tries to get a haircut - but it turns out he can’t do anything in the QZ without getting into a fistfight, and you’re lucky enough to be in the audience.

Warnings: Mildly spicy thoughts, two sexy men fighting, language, reader was a hairdresser prior to the outbreak and has a nickname related to her job, no use of Y/N, no physical descriptions of reader, very lightly edited.

This oneshot can be read independently of the two series, but for the full experience, I recommend reading at least Grays. This is a post-outbreak AU of Grays, and is set before Seams Joel leaves the QZ. Part of the Shiv's salon drabbles.

Word count: 2.7k

Notes: A whole year after my random thoughts about how Joel's hair looks that good in an apocalypse and a random notif on this post that reminded of it, we finally get Joel to Shiv's salon... or do we? 🤷🏻‍♀️ I had a blast writing this oneshot - it's a bit silly, a bit spicy, I hope you enjoy it ❤️

‘Goddamnit.’

Joel swipes viciously at the curl hanging over eyes, like a boxer at a punchbag. Try as he might to slick it back, every time his shovel hits the dirt, the hair uncoils, bouncing obnoxiously in his field of vision.

He needs a fucking haircut. Tess usually does it for him every month or so, but she’s been in a mood - snapping at him, keeping him at arm’s length, she hasn’t even been to his apartment for two whole weeks.

This time of the year is hard for her. He knows all too well that he’s the same every September. They’re in each of their own time loops, a cage within the trappings of the QZ.

‘You look like you need a trim, bro.’

Joel barely glances up. He knows the guy, they share a surname after all. People call him Ben, or Benny, and even an old man like him knows he’s a good-looking son of a bitch.

They work the same shifts sometimes, and he knows Tess has crossed paths with him at the illegal fight nights. Joel has also seen him a few times at the bar, where he’s usually surrounded by even more good-looking motherfuckers.

Joel knows he’s a damn flirt too. He always has pretty words for Tess when he sees her. He’s harmless though, and he supposes that she deserves sweet nothings from at least one Miller since he’s no good at them.

Realising he hasn’t responded, Joel grunts noncommittally, self-consciousness prickling the back of his neck.

‘I know someone, she was a professional hairdresser before all this.’

Joel ignores him and keeps shovelling.

‘If you tell her you know me, she’ll give you a good rate.’

More shovelling.

‘Alright man, my shift’s up. See you ‘round.’

Five steps, and Joel sighs, digging the shovel into the dirt.

‘Wait.’

Joel stands on the doorway, and stares.

There’s an actual backwash in the corner of the dingy living room - well, living space. There are no doors in the tenement apartments.

‘You waiting for it to say hello back, or what?’

His eyes snap to yours, a scowl drawing his brows together.

Not that you look at all intimidated, one eyebrow arched high and an amused smile sitting lopsided on your lips, which he will admit throws him just a bit. He’s not used to having to work for it.

Giving you a tight nod, he takes two steps into the apartment. He recognises the layout, a mirror of his own, which is a few blocks away.

Closing the door with a flourish behind him, you ask brightly, ‘You’re here for a haircut?’

He’s about to answer when something winks at him, and he looks up, momentarily blinded by the reflection of afternoon light in the cracked mirror that hangs over a battered styling station.

Your apartment has windows that don’t look directly onto the next building, and sun floods the space. Even light is a real rarity in the shithole of a QZ, where everything indoors is dingy. He idly wonders if you had to bribe someone -

Distracted, he catches the sliver of a shadow moving from the corner of his eye a split second later than he would if he was on high alert. On reflex, his fingers find the hilt of his knife and he whips it out in a wide arc, swinging to his left where gunmetal catches the afternoon light.

‘Drop it!’ he barks, the same moment as the other man growls, ‘The fuck are you doing in my home with a knife?’

To Joel’s bewilderment, you chuckle somewhere to his right, amused. ‘C’mon guys. Dramatic, much?’

‘He snuck up on me,’ Joel growls defensively.

‘Frankie, put your gun away, dude’s just here for a haircut - I’m assuming anyway, he never did answer my question.’

‘Yes, I’m here for a haircut,’ he snaps, resheathing his knife. ‘Fuck would I be doin’ here if not?’

‘Fuck should I know, dipshit?’ retorts Frankie, tucking his gun in the back of his jeans. ‘You always bring a knife to your haircuts?’

‘D’ya always threaten to shoot paying customers?’

‘No, we definitely do not.’ You step into the space between the two men in case they get snippy with each other again. ‘Who sent you?’

Your customer crosses his arms, and you can’t help noticing the fabric of his shirt stretching across those broad shoulders. ‘Blondie.’

‘Blondie?’ you frown, confused. ‘Oh wait, you mean Ben? I thought I recognised you. I’ve seen you at one of his fights, with your wife? What’s her name now -’

‘Tess,’ he replies, then promptly looks like he wishes he’d stopped himself before he answered. ‘She’s not my -’ he trails off, and it’s clear he doesn’t like how you’re reading him at the moment, grumbling, ‘None of your damn business.’

‘Hey, you watch your mouth around my lady, old man,’ warns Frankie, ratcheting up the tension again.

Squaring his shoulders, the man seems to grow two inches. ‘Or what?’

Suddenly aware of being caught in the crossfire between your protective husband on one side, and this gruff, silvered stranger on the other, heat bubbles unbidden under your skin, the unexpected reaction from your body catching you off guard.

Biting your lower lip, you clear your throat, and somehow you sound steadier than you feel when you dispense the orders.

‘Ok, this is enough. Frankie, sit down over there,’ you say, pointing him in the direction of the couch on the other side of the room. ‘And you - since you’re Benny’s friend, two ration cards.’

‘’M not his friend,’ he almost spits out that last word, as if it tastes weird.

You give him a pointed look. ‘Three ration cards, then.’

He huffs, and hands you two from his back pocket. ‘Fine, I’m Benny’s friend.’

You grin. ‘If you’re besties, it’s one.’

‘Don’t push it.’

You back off with a chuckle. ‘Fine, not besties. Maybe next time. Now sit.’

Joel does as he’s told, awkwardly, in the styling chair, a relic from the pre-outbreak days. It creaks dangerously under his weight, and it wobbles, slightly off-kilter. The cracked leather is warm from the sun, which seeps into his skin, and he finds himself wondering when was the last time he went to a hair salon.

Sarah used to love cutting his hair. She always made an afternoon out of it on one of his rare days not working overtime, putting the music on, setting up her Barbie mirror on the dining room table, and having him pick out a hairstyle from a magazine (it never looked anywhere near like the photos). She’d even put a disposable raincoat over him like a hairdresser’s cape. She really wasn’t any good, there’s a reason why Tommy didn’t let her anywhere near his curls, but he always wore her handiwork with pride -

So lost in his thoughts, he reacts purely on instinct when, for the first time in decades, fingers other than his own find his hair.

Swivelling around, he’s out of the chair in a split second, fingers wrapped tight around your wrists. You yelp as he pushes you back against the wall, which he sees from the shape of your lips but doesn’t hear over the blood pounding in his ears.

Joel barely holds you there for a second before he’s yanked backwards by a hand on the back of his collar, and he stumbles, crashing into the adjacent wall. He barely misses the fist heading towards his face, ducking just in time to save himself what would undoubtedly have been a broken nose.

He barrels into the younger man with his shoulder, expecting him to tumble back, and is surprised when he doesn’t budge. Joel’s aware he’s got a few years on him, but he more than holds his own against punks that age on the daily. This guy clearly has a background in combat, and it’s taking Joel everything to stay on his feet.

In the meantime, you’re still plastered against the wall, dazed by your customer’s reaction. Heck, you haven’t even gotten his name yet before he literally jumped you. He’s a skittish one, that’s for sure.

You smile at the memory of Frankie’s first time with you at the salon - he’d give this guy a good run for his money. Lucky for him, you’ve always been good at wrangling the nervous ones.

Speaking of, the two men are now literally wrestling in front of you. If you had to venture a guess by the grays in the hair, you reckon your customer is pushing fifty. He’s built like a fucking tank though, and he’s giving everything he’s got.

So you decide to watch for a little while. Boys will be boys, best leave them to let off some steam. Leaning against the wall, you get comfortable, and you think wistfully to yourself that Ashton would have loved this view.

You’re not sure how you missed that they’re both wearing denim on denim, and you would struggle to pick out which is your husband if not for the hat on his head. Yes, the damn cap survived the apocalypse with him.

They are remarkably similar in build, though your customer seems to stand just a couple of inches taller. His biceps flex and bulge through the shirt sleeves as he scuffles with Frankie, teeth bared; meanwhile, your husband plants his feet, jeans stretched tight over his adorable little ass, trying to hold the man back long enough to throw a punch.

If the room was warm when they were trading barbs, it’s positively sweltering right now.

All you can see are broad shoulders and fabric bursting at the seams, grappling fingers and clenched fists. Back muscles rippling through denim, teasing slivers of skin and soft bellies when shirttails ride up and jeans fall low. The cheerful afternoon sun kisses their skin golden, casting long shadows across the creaking wooden floor.

And they’re not quiet. Throaty grunts as they jostle, panted breath peppered with cusses, fuck’s and sons of bitches as they wrestle for control.

Suddenly, you’re the one who’s out of breath despite not moving a muscle.

As much as you would’ve loved to stand and watch, you can tell both men are starting to get winded. You don’t exactly want the show to end, entertainment is hard to come by in the QZ, let alone of such a visually stimulating variety, in your own living room. But you think you hear the older man wheeze, their shirts are now stained with sweat, and the frantic energy they started with turns heavy with lethargy.

With a rueful sigh, you speak up, ‘Frankie, come on, that’s enough now.’

He growls, ‘No fucking way. He tried to hurt you!’

‘He barely touched me. It was just his PTSD acting out.’

‘I don’t have PTSD,’ the man protests, shooting you a glare before dodging an elbow.

‘There’s no shame in having PTSD,’ you admonish him. ‘Or in getting help.’

‘Why don’t you give me a hand then?’ he scoffs, tipping his head at Frankie.

‘Yeah, looks like you can use it,’ your husband taunts him.

‘Sure you can’t, asshole? Can’t even take down an old man on your own?’

‘I hope you're hungry, 'cause you're gonna eat your words, asshole -’

Hands on hips, you roll your eyes at the exceedingly average trash talk. ‘You know what? I tried asking nicely - I’m going in.’

It’s a tight squeeze, but somehow, you find a space between the elbows and shoulders and knees, and you wedge yourself in. It’s hot and humid between the two men, who are still trying to get at each other, despite the fact that you now have one hand on each of their chests, trying to pry them apart. Trapped between the two solid walls of chest, their raw strength vibrates through you, through harsh panting breath, the musk of sweat and man, and denim rubs rough on your bare skin where you’re pressed up against them.

It’s not hard to imagine being in this position in an entirely different situation, with the axis tilted, on a softer surface. Heat prickles all over you like needles, and unbeknownst to you, your thighs press together, and your panties start to feel sticky -

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ asks Frankie, incredulous as he looms over you, still grabbing onto the other guy’s shirt.

You bat your eyelashes at him, then crane your neck over your shoulder to wink at the other man. A little spiral of a curl dangles over his eyes as he glares at you, puffs of warm air hitting the shell of your ear.

Knowing that your best chance of breaking off this nonsense is to wildly offend both men, you purr, ‘Making a delicious sandwich ‘cause I’m famished -’

Frankie flushes bright red instantly, and he roars, ‘Get your filthy hands off my wife, son of a bitch!’

Not that his hands are anywhere near you (a trategy), nonetheless, the man jumps five feet back, as if you burned him. He may deny Tess being his wife, but the look of absolute horror of being accused of touching you speaks volumes.

You can tell he would have doubled over catching his breath, hands on his knees, if not for his pride. Stubbornly, he stands tall, hands on hips, chest heaving.

‘Bit jumpy, are we?’ you quip.

‘You always that handsy?’ he retorts.

‘Can’t help myself with beautiful curls like yours,’ you wink, and your smile widens when he flushes.

Frankie throws up his hands in disbelief. ‘Shiv, I’m standing right here.’

‘You always are,’ you tease, pressing a kiss to his pinched lips. ‘Now, go take a walk, you've made enough of a scene.’

‘I’m not leaving you here with him -’

The older man scoffs. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not interested in your woman.’

You feign indignation. ‘Hey! That’s hurtful.’

‘You should be, jackass!’ Frankie gripes, and promptly looks as confused as the other man at his own pronouncement.

Taking his hand, you pull him towards the door. ‘Go on babe, you were going to have a drink with Pope anyway. I got everything under control.’

‘Alright,’ Frankie relents, but not before he points a menacing finger at your customer. ‘If he tries anything -’

‘I know where the gun is,’ you finish his sentence.

Pressing one final kiss to your lips and throwing a glare over your shoulder, Frankie turns and leaves - and you preen at the knowledge that he trusts you can take care of yourself.

Once the door closes, you smile. ‘So… should we start over?’

The man snorts. ‘I’d say.’

‘I’m Shiv,’ you say, but you don’t offer him your hand. He doesn’t seem to be the handshaking type.

He picks up on your perception, studying you with curious eyes. ‘Joel.’

Pushing the swivel chair back to the styling station, you gesture at him to retake his seat, and this time, you make sure his eyes are on yours in the mirror while you stand over his shoulder.

‘Hair’s a bit long, huh?’ you remark, eyeing the ringlet over his eyes.

‘It’s drivin’ me nuts,’ he admits.

You hold up your hands this time, giving him plenty of notice. ‘May I?’

He nods, and you start small, wrapping the spiral around your index finger with a grin. ‘I wasn’t just saying it, y’know. You do have beautiful hair.’

He shifts awkwardly, the chair squeaking, obviously uncomfortable with compliments. ‘Dunno. I’m all gray and shit.’

‘As someone wise once said, grays are sexy as fuck,’ you assure him. Running your fingers through his curls, you study the texture critically, noting the blunt ends and uneven thickness. Nothing a professional haircut can’t fix. ‘Trust me, I’m very wise.’

He hums, unconvinced, but you can see the lines around his eyes crease in amusement. ‘If you say so.’

You wink at him in the mirror. ‘When I’m done with you, Tess will have the hardest time keeping her hands to herself.’

‘What makes you think she doesn’t already?’

It takes you a moment to unfreeze, stunned by his retort. At his arched eyebrow, you burst into laughter. ‘You’re a sassy one, aren’t you, Joel?’

He huffs, half-amused, and shakes his head. ‘It’s a haircut, not a miracle.’

You squeeze his shoulder, grinning when he doesn’t jump at the contact. ‘Trust me, I’m just that good at my job.’

More notes: If you enjoyed this oneshot, I wrote a series of drabbles of Shiv giving other Pedro boys haircuts - you can find them in the Grays masterlist 🩶 I may write more for this universe and some point if inspiration strikes again, thank you for reading!

And if you wanted an inspo shot of Joel's hair, here you go ❤️

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

#CEE!!!!!#THIS WAS SO GOOD!!#i dont even know what to tag because im honestly all over the place!#lowkey wanna just copy paste entire fic and be like: ILOVEIT #i was having THE SHITTIEST day and right after i had a breakdown because my laptop got stuck refreshing this popped up on my phone #istg it was like a sign from the universe #SHIV TO SAVE THE DAY #- ugh shes living all of our lives though what wouldnt i give to he sandwiched between frankie and joel #hmmmm damn #and also this is so touching???#the small snippets of joels ptsd and his denial #the way you talk about sarah and her barbie mirror and haircuts and tommy being so vain :p #that moment about tess and yet joel immediately denying because of course he would!!#the little tidbits about bennys and tess's fight nights #the bad burn September gives both joel and tess #YOU MAKE IT SO BEAUTIFUL AND FUNNY AND YET POIGNANT! HOW DO U DO THAT??? IM IN AWE OF YOUUUUU #and also you're so right its so SUS that joel has such fab hair in the apocalypse! it must be investigated!#ALSO YOU GAVE JOEL HIS SASS AND IM SO GRATEFUL T_T NOT ENOUGH FICS HAVE JOEL SASS T_T #AND THE BIT WITH THEM FIGHTING DEAR LORD 🫠🫠 I AM BUT A VICTORIAN WOMAN WITH THAT PEAK A BOO HINT OF BELLY 🫠🫠#sorry im totally losing it in the tags but honestly i just wanna thanku because it was a shit n i havent felt like doing insane tags forever #and you made me do both AND THATS THE POWER OF BEAUTIFUL FUCKING FANFICTION PEOPLE #IT MAKES U FEEL BETTER IN A WORLD OF PAIN #(ok thank u im done and also ily and this was fantastic and i hope ur doing great)#*gestures to all of this will smith style:*#THIS IS ADORABLE AND SO FUNNY AND HEART WARMING #ILOVEIT

348 notes · View notes

educatedsimps · 6 months ago

Note

Ahh I'm so in love with the idea of timeskip!Kenma as a dad 🥺 You've really made me even more in love with your blog 😘 Can I please request timeskip!Kenma x fem reader where he introduces our son to his followers on his stream? Baby Kodzuken ❤️ I'd love it if his followers were a gushing in the comments about how cute the baby is and how happy Kenma is when he talks about his baby boy and us (his wife)? I love Kenma and the thought of him as a dad is just the cutest to me. Thank you so much! Take care 🫶🏻

≪ back to fics masterlist

kozume kenma x f!reader

a/n: OH MY GODSHKKAFYSYVUDNGUSYRGUKSYKS THIS IS LITERALLY THE CUTEST IDEA EVERRR OMG thanku for requesting my dear kenma anon ❤️ i'm so sorry this took WAY longer to publish than expected so THANK YOU for having the patience of an angel 😭 i really hope this was worth the wait so pls enjoy! lots of love and u take care too <33

cw: TIMESKIP SPOILERS, parenting au, domestic fluff, slice of life kinda thing, chat gg crazy bc kenma is an amazing dad. GREEN FLAG DAD KENMA

"Hey guys, welcome back. I've got a very special announcement to make today, so here we are," Kenma adjusted his camera, smiling slightly.

It was a regular Tuesday evening and you were taking the time to do some self-care, which left Kenma with his second favourite thing in the world - his son.

As a YouTuber, professional gamer, stock trader, streamer and CEO of his own company, Kenma's work schedule was extremely flexible, and both of you were grateful for that. Not only did he have various sources of income, but he could be home as much as he wanted. And being home meant being able to spend time with his precious son, Kozume Kaito.

Kaito was your six month old bundle of joy - literally. If you had told Kenma a decade ago that he'd be a dad one day, he would have never believed you. Until, that is, you had Kaito.

Even before Kaito's birth, Kenma had no idea how he was supposed to take care of and raise a whole child. He just knew that he wanted to be the best father you and Kaito could've ever asked for. And so, you saw how stressed he could got about even the tiniest of things.

"What size clothes do we buy for him? Will S or M be better? What if he's a huge baby? Let's just get one of each size... Wait, what about pacifiers? A-and bottle hoods? What shape will he prefer? Longer ones? Shorter ones? Softer or slightly tougher ones? Ugh forget it, we'll get one of each type too."

However, all his worries disappeared the moment he held little baby Kaito in his arms. Kenma had never really been a crier, but the second he laid eyes on your beautiful son, he couldn't help but let it all out in the hospital ward.

"Can you guys see me clearly?" Kenma asked. The excited responses of "YESSS" "what's the surprise??" "OMG YOU'RE SO PRETTY" "yes i can see your handsome face" confirmed that his camera was indeed working just fine. Amused, he chuckled lightly. "Great. I'll be right back."

As he left the frame, his viewers were left staring at the background screen in his office, a big logo of Bouncing Ball Corp. After a few seconds of silence, some shuffling could be heard as Kenma returned with a chubby ball of energy in his arms. The moment he stepped back into frame with his beloved son in hand, the chat exploded.

kodzukenner: NO WAY IS THAT YOUR BABY??? riceballzzz: CUTIEEEEEEEEE AHHHH nek0mab1tch: omg he has a kid ?? ADORABLE miyamiya07: hawajhjchdjvhhfjhfrsjkhfdhasjhjchjfhjvhkrh lookattheclouds: since when?! vballer1208: HE HAS A CHILD??????????????

Kenma proudly held up his son like he had won an Olympic trophy - he simply adored Kaito. Meanwhile, Kaito watched, enamoured, as comments flooded the chat. Among those comments were also questions about Kaito and even you.

He knew the news of his son would be a major surprise to his online community, especially since the two of you had very successfully hidden your pregnancy from the public. Neither of you wanted to deal with all the pressure from netizens, media and the public.

"'He has Y/n's smile'," Kenma read one comment aloud. Chuckling, he agreed, "He does, doesn't he? He's lucky to inherit the most beautiful smile on earth."

Another comment asked where you were, and when Kenma simply replied with "Doing her own stuff." some commenters gushed about how cute it was that Kenma was on "babysitting duties".

With a scrunch of his face, Kenma retorted, "It's not babysitting. He's literally my child. Y/n's just doing her own stuff, what's the big deal? Come on, y'all gotta delete those gender role stereotypes from your heads, that's so 1950s." He huffed.

"'What's his name?'" Kenma read. "Hm. Y/n and I have actually decided not to reveal his name, so we hope you'll respect our decision."

kodzukenner: omg i wonder what his name is he's so cute i'm sure his name is as cute as him! nek0mab1tch: what if they named him kodzuken bouncingballer: baby kodzuken HAHA miyamiya07: OMG BABY KODZUKEN ??

Kenma chuckled as he read the comments guessing his child's name.

"'Is he joining today's stream?'" Kenma read aloud. Turning to his son with a gentle smile on his face, he replied, "You bet. Aren'tcha, big guy?"

In response, Kaito burst into a fit of giggles, excitedly babbling and pointing at the big screen in front of him.

The comments once again exploded into cheers of happiness as Kenma sat down in his usual gaming position, but this time, with his beloved son in his lap.

a/n: i'm so sorry this is really short 😭😭 but i hope it's okay :,) tysm for requestingg! hope you liked it bae <3

#educated.simps #haikyuu x reader #lyssa.writes #simps.write #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #hq x reader #hq kenma #kenma kozume #kozume kenma #kenma x reader #kenma x reader fluff

318 notes · View notes

miyamoratsumuu · 6 months ago

Note

congrats on 400!!!

for the follower event; still into u by Paramore, hcs w kenma kozume !!/nf tysm <3

STILL INTO YOU

Still into You by Paramore, deluxe edition, ft. Kenma Kozume

⋆ after all this time, kenma was still into you as much as he was in the beginning of your relationship

⋆ kozume kenma x reader (no pronouns were used) ⋆ written in 2nd pov ⋆ this request is from the 400 followers event!! haikyuu masterlist

⋆ there was almost never a dull moment in your relationship with kenma.

⋆ because despite his quiet and composed personality, he has his own ways to keep your relationship interesting.

⋆ he wouldn’t still be with you after all these years if things got boring, after all.

⋆ in his own ways, kenma made sure that the both of you enjoyed each other’s interests and hobbies!

⋆ for example, every friday night, the two of you would be huddled together on his living room couch. repeating rounds of mario cart would be played on the tv, or on nights that you preferred more relaxing games, animal crossing’s your second option! and on times the two of you were feeling a bit more competitive, super smash bros is just there waiting to be played.

⋆ as for your hobbies, if you like reading, kenma isn’t really the book type. so, he gladly listens to you talk about the latest book you read as you laid your head on his lap.

⋆ if you’re more of the cooking or baking type, your boyfriend would almost always be in the kitchen to accompany you whenever you cooked or baked. ever so often, he would be of assistance to you too! he’s more than willing to pour the cake batter into its mold, or cut up the vegetables you needed for tonight’s dinner.

⋆ though if you liked to try out new hobbies from time to time, kenma’s willing to oblige too! well, maybe as long as it isn’t a hobby that required too much physical movement. like hiking, he’d love to go on hikes with you, though maybe just not too often. twice a month would be great!

⋆ despite being together for so long now, kenma’s feelings toward you never changed. the urge in him to be of comfort to you, and the desire to be by your side for as long as he can still feels like a fresh feeling to him every day.

⋆ the night after meeting kenma’s mom for the first time, his shoulders felt heavy. he didn’t know why, he thought he would’ve been happy that the love of his life finally got to meet someone from his family that was special to him too.

but when the words “I love you” left your lips as he was driving you home, he felt the heavy weight of his shoulders leave. maybe that confession was just the reassurance he needed to hear that night.

⋆ your relationship was never a smooth sailing one though. arguments happen, words that can’t be taken back are said, and tears are shed. even so, it was a no-brainer for kenma to mend things with you over and over again no matter how much energy it took out of him.

⋆ “you know I’m always up for a challenge, babe. and you’re worth every single challenge there is.”

⋆ regardless of your misunderstandings as lovers, kenma still always felt like the two of you just made sense. he’s never been a believer of soulmates. though the fact that the two of you just felt so fit for each other, like you were two final pieces of a puzzle might have been enough proof for him to believe in soulmates. just a little bit.

⋆ the ever so present thrill in your romance with kenma was something that he held dear to his heart. he nurtured that spark between the two of you with your help, of course.

⋆ he didn’t pay mind to what others thought of your relationship. what’s important to him was the butterflies he still constantly got whenever he was with you, and the way your eyes sparkled whenever you met his eyes.

⋆ kenma plans to grow old with you, until your hair turned white, and wrinkles began to form on your faces. no matter how long the two of you last, no matter what others thought, he’s still into you.

a/n: I hope this was to your liking, anon! thanku so much for requesting!!<3

#♫ frans' 400 event!!!#🖇️[ haikyuu ]#🖇️[ headcanons ]#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #kenma kozume #kozume kenma #kenma x reader #kozume kenma x reader #kenma headcanons

155 notes · View notes

jellitchi · 1 month ago

Note

Hello hi just wanted to say that I REALLY like your art, every piece is cute and I LOVE your memes lmao very proud to be your mutual for 125 days have a great day dear Jellitchi!!!

<3<3<3 (heartsheartsHEARTS)

Omg hai Hai THANKU ur so kind 🙇... A HUNDRED DAYS crazy insane even heres a blessed grian i scribbled real quick... hope u have a good day too dear Soonysy<3333

#lizzyasks

108 notes · View notes

enden-k · 8 months ago

Note

first off, love your oc’s, they all look adorable and chaotic little gremlins (/pos), i think they’d be fun to hang out with

secondly, can i ask who the person in the long coat (??) with the red on the inside is? for some reason they struck my interest 👉👈

- 🍁

thanku aaa 😭💕

depending on who youre hanging out with it could be fun ye.....some other characters should be avoided at all costs hhhfhdb (like the one youre speaking of)

his name is youri, he (and his beloved rat) are lit the first proper characters i ever created. i remade this story like 4 times over 10 years and they were the only ones who always stayed the same !! (he was always my fave and everyone who read it, so its funny u ask abt him now)

anw hes not the antagonist behind everything but he does belong to the bad guys if u wanna call them that. constantly on the hunt after his dear rat bc its his task in the game and not one easy to be around. basically the kinda guy you should run from when you see him, if its not too late

#keeping it short and trying not to lore dump HHVSHSHS #reply #grimms game stuff #own art #own OCs #🍁 anon

157 notes · View notes

personasintro · 4 months ago

Note

Dear mimi, I’m a silent reader & I enjoy ur stories so much. They give me a new perspective about our lives and makes me more understanding towards others. Thanku for all ur time & effort.

We all love you. Hope you are taking care of urself♥️

Ps- hope ur fur babies are doing well🥹

Awww this is such a sweet message! 🥹 thank you so much, I’m so thankful when you guys take something from my stories. It means so much!!! 💗

(Also you thinking of my fur babies 🥹🥹🥹 love you!!! 🫰)

#💜

92 notes · View notes

cirqosmos · 7 months ago

Text

a taste of cotton candy. n.yuma

PROMPT #90: sadistic protector

DIALOGUE #63: “it’s like you were made for me.”

WORDCOUNT: 4k

WARNING: yandere, noncon kissing, gore.

AUTHOR'S NOTE, it was suppose to be a 1k oneshot random prompt while working on jungwon's corpse bride but i got carried away lol. haven't written for like months, doing it on and off so my writing might be pretty crusty lol. there might be plenty of grammar errors but i still hope you enjoy it 🫶 thanku for reading ^^ also there will be no part 2s for my oneshots :)

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄? If that was the case then the thing is, you weren't so sure of who you are anymore---was what they often say. You had no idea, why.

"Who are you, even?"

"You are not you anymore."

"Do you still know who you are?"

"Think again, who were you—before you met him?"

Those are the words and questions often repeated by your dear friends and even acquaintances on random occasions, but you find their questions rather odd, weird and sometimes it comes off as plain rude in your opinion.

Why do they keep repeating the same thing over and over again. Aren't they tired?

You assume that must be the case. They must be, they must have been. They must've finally gotten tired of you by how they've inevitably left your side and from your life, even their phones was out of reach. It was as if they've disappeared with little to no trace.

Having no idea of what went wrong, it felt as if you've done nothing. But it's fine, it's totally fine, he says. You don't need them anyways. Friends never leave you, but they did. And that's what you only need to think about.

However you can't just help it wondering what went wrong. Everything was going perfectly fine till—

"You're overthinking again, aren't you? Those friends?"

A hand waves back and forth before your eyes, pulling you out of your world—looking down at your lap to see your boyfriend, Yuma laying on your lap cozily.

You shrugged, smiling a little before responding, "Nothing, it's just. . It's just too bad, isn't?"

Yuma's eyebrow furrowed in annoyance, emitting a slight scoff before pulling the blankets over his frame. "Friends don't leave you, and they did. You know that right?"

"I know." A forceful smile crept up your lips.

Yuma seems not be satisfied with your answer judging by the furrow between his eyebrow deepens. He huffs, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips which caught you off guard.

"What was that!" You let out a brief chuckle, covering your lips abashedly.

"Quit thinking about them already, they don't deserve a place in your mind so now why don't you just—" With a toothy grin, he placed your hand on his head. "Pat my hair? You like it, don't you?"

A light-hearted giggle escapes your lips, as you caressed his luscious pink hair. "Alright, alright."

"And, let's get some cotton candies later, yeah?"

You agreed giddily, concentrating on how his hair had now grown a tad bit longer just like when you met him for the first time. His hair was your favourite, you’ve grown used to ruffle his hair with into a mess, as it puts you in a state of peace, hushing away every thought that wears down your mental health.

It was like you were pulling a cotton candy apart; it reminded you of those days as a child when you ran off to the candy stand, being all giddy and bouncing off your feet as your father handed you the fluff ball resembling a cloud, and it tasted exactly like it; tickling your taste buds, divinely sweet—you almost feel this was the closest to heaven you could ever be, its fluffiness hugging your lips before collapsing on your tongue, melting away on your saliva and down your throat—inducing a huge surge of dopamine as it enters your soul.

Sheer bliss filled your little soul with its first taste.

It’s like cotton candy was always made for you, you’d like to believe it was, ever since.

So when you met the boy with the shade of his hair being all your favourite colour all while eating a cotton candy, you knew somehow that you two might became good friends, at least you thought so. The colours of cotton candy ranges from numerous variety of colours and flavours; often reminding you of the prismatic rainbow—yet the hue of soft pink and its distinctive vanilla flavour was more strongly embedded in your memories.

The chill breeze of summer illustrating his soft bouncy hair into the image you held dearly, and everything about him as he took a bit of it was all so childish; remnants of your precious childhood memories.

You had a silly brief debate in your own world that he might look like one but you'd rather him having the 'taste' of sugar. Looks aren't everything despite it being the very fact that intrigues you about him and you were so right, sickly sweet—paired with playful mischievousness that brings the very same giddiness that once washed over your little soul.

His overall personality and character was akin to the summer sun complementing the shade of his hair; his piercing cat eyes imbued in vibrance—complementing his outspoken character, yet it can be oddly warm and affectionate.

It's so stupid finding yourself giggling at such a silly thought. Maybe that was probably a silly, silly crush at first sight; with everything about him bringing the word 'sugar' into life—you almost feel like you could get a cavity spending all day and night thinking about him.

But you two grew a tad bit closer than you ever think it would be and sure it did—it was really like he was made for you. A believer of fate, strange as it may seem, perhaps there was a predetermined fate written across the stars that may have formed such a coincidence, you’d like to think so once in awhile.

Perhaps you’ve grown too much closer with him, too fond with the entirety of him.

That's why you didn't find it peculiar when his pink hair that you adore was blotched with a much darker shade of pink one day, but it was just little too dark to your taste, you were afraid too admit.

“Huh?" You felt the tips of the tainted strands between your index finger and thumb, "What is this? Where did you got this from?”

It doesn’t feel right nor does it complement his hair. It even had that metallic scent you couldn’t put right into your mouth.

Yuma opens his eyes, pupils darting over his fringe. "Oh, that? It's just paint, you know those school projects, my cousin had an art project and wanted me to help with it. But that little brat decided to ruin my hair. I just forgot to wash it."

You let out a chuckle imagining the scene of him going all pikachu face after finding out, shortly adding a brief, "I see."

He sat up, pulling a mischievious look as he leans closer, brushing his nose against yours. "Care to help me with it then?"

"Of course."

Hovering the shower hose above his head as he does all the work in scrubbing the paint off his hair, your eyes were pulled on the washed off residues flowing down the bathtub. Paint? You are aware that paints has this particular chemical smell to them, but the way it smudged over the tips of your fingers just gives you the ick. This vile pungence smothers your sense of smell and suffocates your throat.

This can't be a paint, right?

Observing the way he dry off his hair with a towel in front of the mirror was your favourite thing to do, but there was something that bugs you more than anything else, that same dirty dark shade on his back—right above the neckline of his shirt.

"Hey, your shirt." you pointed out, brushing your finger against it. There it was again, that very same pungence that crawls down your spine. It reeks of blood. Your eyes searched for any injuries across his skin but to no avail, there was none. Was there a car accident on the way home, leading him to help the victims and he just didn't find it of great importance to tell you? Right, it could be that.

But why did he have to lie then?

Yuma's groans reaches the insides of your piled up thoughts, whining about he have to take a shower again.

"Hey, are you drifting off again?"

You stuttered, "Oh, no—its n-nothing."

"Hm, why don't you join me in the shower then?" He pulls out a toothy grin, your cheeks heated up almost immediately at his suggestions.

"Pervert! Just get on with it!" You pushed him off, I'll wait outside."

A couple of giggles escapes Yuma's lips, filling up the room as you stormed out, slamming the door close. You let out a huge exhale as you leaned against the door, slapping your cheeks lightly.

Right. Who cares if he lies? It's all for your own good anyways. It has always been for your good.

Right?

You may have been proven wrong by your initial assumption though.

Judging by how that reeking smell keeps surfacing back on his hair, his skin, and on the clothes he wore. A car accident, an art project, or could it be that he kept injuring himself for no reason? Or was he going through a rough patch, not telling you because he doesn't want to worry you?

It must be!

No. You can't let that happen.

Filled with immense concern, you somehow found yourself trailing behind him. It felt wrong —invading his privacy and all that, it was stupid even but with all this growing dread and fear, maybe you just need to take a little look. Getting all suspicious of him and probing him with all sorts of questions might hurt his feelings, so a little look won't hurt right?

It was too unrealistic to even think of that kind of scenario, so you'll just go back home after all this ends. But if you were proven right, then, it pains you to just imagine him doing all that to himself.

What was he even thinking? You are his girlfriend, so why wouldn't he just pour himself out to you and go through it together?

You often said it yourself, I only had you and you only had me! Clenching your fists as tight as you can to appease yourself down as you were getting close to the residential area, atleast---you can't let Yuma get all worked up to see you like this. If anything, you had to be strong for him.

Yet your feet was glued on the asphalt. What is this, this odd feeling washing over your soul? Fear? What are you even scared for? What are you even trembling about?

Right.

It's there again.

From the distance, right where the alley was at—carried away by the nightsky breeze; the same vile pungence that drowns your soul.

That smell you once encountered on the way to school; the victims in a hit-and-run accident, where that red fluid leaking out down their face, pooling on the asphalt. It was weird now that you think back of it again, your pulses didn't accelerate nor you were filled with panic seeing all the graphic sight, but if anything, it was definitely the smell.

The breeze on that day of autumn didn't help either, bringing the coppery smell into your nostrils which had you nauseous almost instantly, clutching your tummy as you bend down, kneeling down as you threw all up on the asphalt.

The image of a melting cotton candy under the luminous summer sun hanging above the marmalade expanses, that damned ice cream in the background—dripping down their forearms in the heated dazed state was replaced instead with the inky sky deciding to pour powders of white cottons into your line of vision, you splayed your hands to catch one.

Like a paradise of white cottons you can throw yourself on to make snow angels—was however an avalanche of red fluid.

A sight that never bothers you ever since but this—this scene now, this very image before you is truly a downright terror to your eyes.

It sums it all up, like a piece in a puzzle—fitted like an answer to the lost wonder of a child's mind.

And its so fucking stupid, really. To stand over there like an idiot, before him, before the completed puzzle of carnage that imbued every nerve inside you with aghast. You tell yourself to run, eyes frantically darting at every single object in your line of vision—screaming at yourself to lift your damn foot and the other, away from everything.

His fringe that you oh so adore to feel against the tips of your finger, deeply awe at its tender innocence was now contorted into a dripping mess of grotesque. That face and pair of eyes was no longer of a vibrant sun but one that you are no longer familiar of; a gaping void that terrifies your soul.

It was not peace that it brings you anymore, but a hysterical fight-and-flight response going rampant inside your head.

“Ah, you caught me.”

Your pulse accelerates at the way those words left his mouth in such a playful manner. It was just like him, but at the same it was not. He was not the boy that strives to play pranks you at every way possible when he's in the mood for it, this was not the version of him you've grown accustomed to.

Or did you really know him all this time?

That's when Yuma can't help the delightful grin that aches to surfaces in his feline features, observing how your expressions undergoing the stages of horror and disbelief yet he finds it all too adorable that he couldn't help but makes his way towards you, dropping the decapitated arm on the drenched asphalt with little to no care.

Everything smells utterly horrendous in this alleyway; the growing pile of garbage in the dumpster and the smell of rotting corpse beneath him. Yet the moment you appeared seems to cover or better yet in his words, washed away all the stench.

Pretty, he thought—but that would he an understatement. But he has another idea, one that would make you a hell lot more prettier.

Yuma held your face in his blood-soaked palms, cupping your cheeks with profound affection all written across his eyes, "You often told me I look pretty in pink, now I think," he caresses your cheek, tainting your skin with every bit of its shade. "You look prettier in red."

You wanted to go home and crawl to the tiles of your bathroom, aching to rub off this nauseous thing all over your skin.

“It's like you were made for me.”

The urge to pull you closer to him grew immense, the sheer contrast of your skin from the ones he hold just a min ago was incomparable, as always he thought. Going back home at dawn, after everything was finished—back to your arms was his bed of solace. "And you are."

Him cupping your cheeks affectionately was no longer a fond memory—imbuing your insides with the sheer sweetness you used to love, one you've always find the comfort of the clouds, and the sensation of heaven. Now it's only infiltrating each corner, twisting and contorting your insides in a mess.

You asked yourself; was it melting or was it simply a mould? In any case, your only mistake was leaving it a plenty time of its own enough for it to come to it's ultimate aftermath.

No.

Perhaps it was all way before back then, with that picturesque of cotton tinted image in your head—you illustrated a bed of cottons around him, with his portrait as the centre of it all. Cottons now shred apart in bizarre contorted fleshes, once a bed of tenderness and kindness now only seem to only drive sheer numbers of claws into your tummy.

Who knew cottons could hide a wolf beneath it Deranged, an image of dread and lost souls on their way to the underworld was all that was left.

Those pretty tongue of yours were unable to form coherent words, he almost finds it stupidly adorable that he instead answers it for you, confirming all the questions in your hand with one sentence.

“Hm, it is. It is me.” Yuma looks over his shoulder, his fringe felling apart from his usual neat slicked back hair—to the middle of his forehead, a look of madness. “You just have no idea how they were all yapping all senseless, so fucking dumb---I just have to shut them up for awhile. But no need to fret anymore. No one's going to separate us anymore. He's the last one anyways."

"You! You monster! How could you? They've--" You swallowed a sore lump down your throat, the imaginary clouds you've been floating on all along was a false sense of security. "They've done nothing to you! So why? Why?"

"But I was still right, wasn't I?" Yuma raises his brow in pure mockery, "Friends don't leave you, I make them. But they were just so full of themselves, so sure of themselves that they,"

His grip tightens around your wrist, prompting you to yelp in pain.

"—Could make you leave me, but guess what?" He lets out a grin, letting out a spine-chilling laughter at himself. “They're all gone, and i'll do it all over again.”

Hot tears surfaces and your lips trembles at the revelation, releasing a hysterical scream. Your cries were amplified further with cold air on your cheek was replaced with wet slimy slick down your jaw, repeating in arbitrary motions.

The sugary bed of a cotton candy, melting into your tongue now replaced with a stench; his thumb now digging deeper into the cavern of your mouth to the bed of your tongue, causing you to writh in pain, an intense scream blew out of your throat as you try to pry his hands and arms off yet he didn't budge one inch.

The all too familiar metallic taste now engulfed your mouth, sending you into a rampant state. Flesh and blood, your very own. Now how does it taste? His eyes scream those very question, not giving you a chance to escape those piercing pupils.

"Swallow it all up, I'll help you with your phobia. Don't worry, i'm here with you, through all of it."

"I-it h-hurts! Y-ma!" Shutting your eyes as tight as you can, fingers trembling at the sheer strength he displays before you. "St-stop! Pl—"

A side of him you never knew existed.

“You often say that you like cotton candy, now drink it all up. Am I not your precious cotton candy?” Yuma held you closer, his other hand curling on your back and slowly going up your scalp, twisting your hair in between his digits.

A purr that sends waves of electrifying shivers to your neck as he presses a following tender kiss, reaching a painful seconds.

"This is good, though. You finding out." Yuma says, and before you knew it, his lips captures yours—colliding and fitting perfectly like a piece of puzzles together. his eyelashes fluttering like a cat's tail, swaying in hypnotizing motion.

He nipped down your lower lip in playful motions, a series of mumbles escapes your mouth however he presses them down by deepening his lips against yours. It fits so perfectly, tastes like slight caramel and fluffy—it tastes just like when you had your first kiss together; warm and kind—but the languid pace soon picks up–sending alarms to your head that this was not it—turning into something you were unable comprehend.

He briefly pulls away, saying, "Because I'm tired—fed up of acting like a part of your sweetened perception on me."

Reality surges right back up; the heavy pungent taste of copper flooded on your tongue and his, hitting so deep in your throat—you were choking so bad.

Your eyes blew open trying to push him off but the grip in your neck strengthens, and the other tangles your hair deeper in its claws causing you to whine from the throbbing pain on your scalp, and the muscle on your nape grew numb in fatigue trying to escape. Forced to relish in such state, your eyes were forced to met with the ghastly sight from behind him once again; downright shivers washed over your soul, its too comical—it resembles your very own favourite activity.

Ripping and shredding each cottons rather than swallowing them whole, you relished in the idea of savouring each taste. However this was too much, more than you can take. He tastes like cotton candy, but its flavour dipped in a pond full of corpse and carcasses. A heaven you once assumed, now it gazes at you back—devouring every piece of you and melting you away into its den.

Now ain't you the one being savoured right now—with every last bit and drop of your sanity ceasing to exist?

His tongue infiltrated the depths of your mouth, forcing it wide open with his fingers digging your jaw. Invading each corner with an avalanche of greed, it was all unlike the tender fluffy memories you had; a sloppy mess with the stench of blood tainting your face deeper as he explores your mouth with frantic movements. Gentle love was out of the question but rather that of intense impatience, he grins into the kiss pulling away for a moment—relishing in the taste of you and the blood altogether, licking it like a maniac in its world of craze.

"You taste like cotton candy." He says before capturing your lips in his once again.

A sweet confection dipped in heavens—to him, you are of an aphrodisiac flavour.

His pink fringe obscuring his line of vision was a heck of annoying thing and he didn't even like eating sweets—downright despise was much of a better definition to describe it whenever his eyes fell on one. Being forced by his parents to look after his little cousin right after school ends was already a mood-wrecker and now he had to force himself to eat a goddamn sweet just to keep those boba eyes from pouring out an avalanche of waterfall.

Yuma lets out a long and heavy sigh, what else could go wrong today? He asked himself as he holds the cotton candy in his hands, dreading so much just by the entire look of it. He shuts his eyes tight as he tries to gobble it all up in one bite, chewing and swallowing it an immense speed—melting it all away on his tongue as fast as he could.

Yet the taste still hits right after much to his sheer displeasure.

It tasted sweet, and it was so fucking horrible that his face contorted into an immense cringe—he could spit it out at any moment if the little boy ever rips his sticky boba eyes on him, and the goddamn breeze ruining his hair only brings a newfound irritation. Yuma was about to throw the miserable fluff in the bin when the boy wasn't looking, distracted by a bunch of balloons—when he caught you gazing at him. Somehow, someway, the taste of cotton candy on the bed of his tongue doesn't seem to taste any sweeter any more, it was surprisingly bland.

He doesn't even like sweets, but now he wanted something sweeter.

And when you came around, striking a casual conversation much to his surprise—approaching him with all that stupidly funny words that he resembles a cotton candy because of his hair. Maybe it won't be too that bad to try sweets once in awhile.

Your presence itself invites him to take a look as well in what lies beyond in this delicacy called 'sweets' that people seems to relish on. What is it—the kind of ingredients blended in these sweets that pulls people deeper and closer?

Yuma always had that question for awhile now. But now he thinks he understands why, he can't seem to rip himself away from you too.

This urge to take a little more look, a little more taste; to savour every second your presence graces him with, how your words seem to glazed in sugar, inviting him to stay a bit more. He might have even grew selfish, a stark contrast of what his parents used to teach him about—share; your food, your clothes, your belongings to those in need—and he did exactly what he was told to, always had been.

Since he was a child, he never threw a tantrum when he had to give his toys away or when it was rip apart from him. Birthday cakes, sweets, gifts, pastries, every single thing his memories could reach—all he was willing to share, just because.

However, you were different.

Like a child greedy for sweets and candies, now he felt like one. So this is what it feels like—to be insatiable—to never get fed up, to savour each bite, to never let go, and hold on tight.

Yet your friends were just such a sore in the eye, sticking with you like a super glue—spewing all those words to separate you away from him. Can't they just shut the fuck up?

He needs you more than they do, and you definitely don't need them. The more Yuma gets a taste of your delicacy, the more he grew to despises the word 'share'.

So what better way than to shut them up for good?

"I know what you're thinking, but I won't let you spare such a stupid, stupid thought."

Carnal desires. Sheer obsession. Sweet tooth. You're going to be the death of him, the sole reason of his sanity and morality slipping away into nothing.

"But it's okay, you'll be good right? We'll get cotton candies later, hm? Now open your mouth wide."

Now that he have all of you to himself—he's going to make sure of it—to savour every last bit of you till you can no longer think of anything but him.

illustration created by me, yuan.

JULY 12, 2024.

#&team smut #&team imagines #&team x reader #nakakita yuma #&team yuma #&team #andteam x reader #andteam

61 notes · View notes