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dearest-kibble · 9 months

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Atlas

A part one (the second is in the works and I'm going insane because i have a lotta ideas) Read on A03 here!

Tw: Stalking, (kind of?) suggestive content, general yandere-ness. It is slow to get to but very much there. Kinda goes from 1-100. Miguel is so sane he swears. I'm back to my dialogue loving ways. (If you think I've forgotten any tags please let me know!)

“Are — Are you okay?” There is a man bleeding in the alley behind your apartment. Profusely might you add. He doesn’t speak, just grunts at you and you notice — Spider-man. That’s Spider-man. He’s bleeding out in the alley. Without a single other thought you make your way towards him and rid yourself of your jacket. Spiderman cocks his head at you. “It’s not much. I know-” You tie it as tightly as you can around the wound. “But until I can get something better-” He shakes his head. “No?” He coughs. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.” He painfully rasps and starts to push himself off the damp pavement. Immediately your hands are outstretched and willing to help support. A large shaky hand takes them and you try your best to pull him gently from the ground.

He doesn’t offer any thanks as he staggers out of the alleyway, just a small nod but you feel compelled - “Thank you Spider-Man.” You think he turns at that.

———————————-

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

“What, had a good night?” You don't have to look to see Phil's stupid smug face.

“Interesting night maybe.” You were still tired, worried and a little high on meeting Spider-man.

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” You love your co-worker, he's nice. Really truly he is. But what you wouldn't do to give him a good punch.

“I had an interesting night, take it as you will.” No way in hell you're ever telling him about Spider-Man.

“So you totally fu-” You've never been more relieved for a potential rush.

“Hello! We’ve got a menu on the wall above the counter whenever you’re ready to order just let one of us up here know!” You turn around to smile at your customer only to realize you have to look up. And up and up, until you finally meet his gaze. His eyes meet yours and he quickly turns his gaze up towards the menu.

“Just let us know whenever you’re ready to order.” Your co-worker tacks on. He stands with posture that cannot be comfortable, not speaking a word. He’s the only customer and both you and your coworker share a glance. He has this undeniably defeated look in his eye, but he still stands tall - as if he’s forced to.

“-ato.” He finally mumbles

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t quite hear that.” You give him a smile as best you can and wait while he just… stands there,

“I said macchiato.” It is then that he stares you down. You can see so much so clearly. His piercing brown eyes, you’d thought they were defeated before but maybe that was just the bags around them. Now that he’s looking at you he seems… much less sad. Though placing that emotion is not something you’re up to the challenge of. They seem to lighten a little as he asks, “Are you going to ring me up?” He speaks flatly, not a single hint of inflection and his teeth seem to glint in the light strangely. Briefly you wonder if maybe it’s some sort of body modification that he got, you don’t see a terrible amount of fangs. He clears his throat and suddenly you realize you’ve just been standing there.

“Oh gosh - yes yes. Let me just-” You move to the POS “Right over here!” You chirp. “One final question, do you mean a traditional macchiato? Or one of the Stellarbucks ones?” He huffs a small chuckle from his nose and his lips twitch upwards, not quite into a smile but a ghost of one.

“Those aren’t macchiatos. Traditional.” You should've figured, he seems like a straight espresso, black coffee kinda guy.

“Alright we’ll bring it out when it’s ready.” He goes to sit in the corner, away from any windows and from a bag pulls a computer.

“Did he tip?” A whisper as your co-worker grabs one of the macchiato cups from atop the espresso machine.

“Don’t think so.” You whisper back.

“Asshole.” You can’t help but giggle a little.

“Oh c'mon, he doesn’t seem completely awful, He just seems a little awkward is all.”

“You’re just saying that cause you think he’s hot.”

“Where do you get your ideas? First it’s my ‘fun night’ and then it’s this.”

“And where do you find the time to flirt so much?” Phil smirks.

“I absolutely was not flirting.” You make sure to say it with authority.

“I mean he is hot.” Phil says this rather loudly, and gives you the shittiest grin to ever eat. “You seemed to be staring at him.”

“Eye contact is common courtesy!!” You hiss.

“And his macchiato is done and I’m not dealing with him, go get him, lovebird.” You roll your eyes and take a doily and the cup. You make it quickly to his seat where he is comically large compared to the table and chair. He’s spilling over the edges of his seat and his arms are so large they take up what little space his computer doesn’t.

“Alright, I’ve got your traditional macchiato, let me just…” You look for a spot to place it, and find nothing with everything on his table. “I don’t want to throw a wrench in your work. Where would you like for me to place it?”

“Here is fine.” He shifts awkwardly, shoving his arm to his side so you have space. He watches you place the doily first and as you gently set down his cup. Before you can turn and tell him to “enjoy!” he exhales and mumbles softly, “You’re good at your job. No one knows what a real macchiato is these days.”

“Thank you.” You say politely. “We serve both, enjoy!”

“Can I ask your name?” You turn, just to see his eyes on you, a little softer, just as sunken and he’s got that same smile, almost knowing. He takes a sip of his coffee. “You don’t need to answer.” His mouth opens again as if he’s about to speak and you see it again, his elongated canines scraping against the edge of his cup when he downs his macchiato. He gulps it down quickly and takes your wrist, placing the cup in your palm and curls your fingers around it. Eyes so fixated on your hand in his that when he finally looks up, they widen and he pulls away quicker than you’d’ve thought possible. He sits down immediately and focuses pointedly onto his screen. He mumbles again - a quick, “Thank you again. Good espresso.” He can’t bring himself to look at you anymore, but you nod as if he’s looking anyway.

“Thanks, it's Peruvian!” He stares ahead just at his screen. Nods. “Just let us know if you need anything else.” He nods again and you walk back to the counter.

“So, how was it?”

“He’s-”

“You like him don’t you?”

“Would you stop with that? He’s strange,” You think back to his hand under yours, take a deep breath because even he was clearly surprised by his behavior. “But that’s all.”

“F’you say so.” Phil shrugs.

The rest of the day is painfully slow. Just an occasional latte or cappuccino. Nothing interesting. It’s as you’re closing that you see him again. Just as tall, just as weighed down. He still cannot bring himself to look at you when he murmurs “My name is Miguel. Have a good evening.” And he briskly walks out the door, bell ringing behind him. When you clean his table you find five dollars cash and a note in neat handwriting. “Best espresso I’ve had in a while. Will be back.” You pocket the money with a small smile, and take a second - you should split it with Phil, shouldn’t you. You sigh when you walk back and put it in the tip jar, and smile when you tuck it into the envelope labeled “tips”. You finish cleaning quickly, and start your trek back to your apartment. It’s a quick, brisk walk - chilly in the fall. You’d’ve thought after Spider-Man’s visit last night that maybe, your block would’ve been quieter. But the outskirts of Nueva York are never really quiet as you near your building, petty thieves run out of the grocers’ and it’s all you can do to pass by - who knows what could happen if you got involved. They scurry away with their money and goods and you come face to face with your door.

Held tightly to the metal with faint red webs and a note that reads “thanks again, S. M.”, is your jacket. You tug at the webbing, noting the slight warmth and strange pulse that it seems to have. Thrumming softly as you pull it away. Your jacket has clearly been cleaned, impressively might you add as for the amount of blood that seemed to be on it, there isn’t a single stain. You press your palm to your door and put your jacket on as it verifies your identity. You catch a glimpse of the blue and red suit from your kitchen window, he must’ve caught those thieves too!

The next day is bright and early, you put on your jacket for a brisk morning walk, spending your time before work amongst the carefully manicured trees with a sandwich for breakfast. Phil isn’t there when you clock in, and a quick check of your schedule tells you he won’t be there - you’re on your own today (and apparently the rest of the week). So you buckle down, set up the portafilters and check the espresso for the day - (light almond flavoring, all natural - the bean is kind).The morning is steady, different drinks, no terrible customers. Midday slows, no lunch rush today. Your evening is interesting. It gets busy around three o’clock, an entire line that on a Thursday, isn’t common. They’re asking for cortados, specialty drinks, modified with oat, soy and coconut - a never ending onslaught of everything you serve. The pastries you had set out that morning were all gone not even fifteen minutes after three and the line only grew and grew and grew. But you keep your composure. Deep breaths and glances to the tip jar have gotten you through rushes before, it’ll get you through one now. The line starts to dwindle around four thirty. Slowly, slowly thinning and exiting the shop. You are almost completely sold out of pastries and your coffee supply is running a little higher than your energy; not very. That’s when he finally enters again. Miguel(?), from yesterday. With the macchiato.

“Welcome back in,” You try your best to sound enthusiastic for a returning customer but you can’t help the exasperation seeping through. “What can we get you today?”

“Black-eye.” His eyes flit to you. “Please.” And back to the ground as they had been when he entered.

“That’s easy enough, we’ve got good espresso today.” You give him a nod.

“It was good yesterday.”

“But it’s better today, trust me.” You punch his order into the POS, “Oh, preference on single origin?” You smile at him again.

“What’s your lightest roast?” He tilts his head and the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Oh you need caffeine that badly? It’s our Ethiopia.” He shakes his head in amusement.

“No I,” He catches himself, “Yes I need the caffeine.” You start setting up the pour over, 21 grams and a gooseneck.

“What, you have late shifts or something?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Think I can imagine. I have to deal with Phil half the time. Love that kid but god-” He exhales out his nose again, “So anyway, what do you do? Miguel, right?” You're halfway through, one eye on the coffee another on him. At the mention of his name his face drops. His face goes blank, eyes closed and he starts to turn.

“Same place as yesterday.”

“Alright.” Well so much for conversation. You turn as you make your last pour, and switch the espresso machine on, pour the shots and then the coffee. You take the mug and start over to the same table he was hunched over yesterday.

“Your black-eye.” He takes the cup from you this time, pulls it from your hand and doesn’t place it down.

“Do you…” His eyes dart to the side as he trails off, seems to stop himself.

“Oh?”

“Was just going to ask about coffee cake.”

“Oh yes! There is a single one left in the back, would you like it?”

“No.”

“Well, let me know if you need anything else.” He hums in response, sipping at his coffee and turning to his screen. You walk back to continue cleaning up the shop - with the rush of the day it’ll take longer to have it all cleaned and fixed. Your boss was born in 2037, and liked to do things the old fashioned way. No automated cleaning, no voice activated espresso, everything you did was done by hand in this shop. You supposed that maybe that’s what makes your cafe unique or popular, the antiquity of it. You knock the remaining pucks, cringing at the sound as you do, mop the floor, restock just about everything in the shop and even then you still have more to do it seems.

“What time do you close?” He puts a hand on your shoulder, stopping you on your way to check the table and chair positions.

“We close in,” You look to your shoulder, and immediately his hand is merely hovering, no longer resting on your shoulder. You continue slowly. “About ten minutes.”

“You’re an incredibly hard worker.” He stands, collecting his screens and pushing in his chair.

“Thanks,”

“It’s -” He cuts himself off again, wincing to himself and pinching his nose. “Nevermind.”

“Have a nice evening!” He bobs his head and doesn’t look back. The next day is slow. Rainy, dreary, cloudy - all of it. And the people willing to come out in this weather… well they all live in the undercity. Y’know - where the weather never changes. It’s a good day for the old jazz music on “Bluetooth” speakers, cozying up with some tea or coffee and setting up to do some computer work yourself. It’s cozy, you alone in the shop at seven in the morning, pastries put on display, coffee by your side and non-work related work set up on the counter. Eventually after sorting your affairs, you turn to check the state of the shop - maybe that Miguel guy would come again today, you might’ve gained a painfully awkward customer these past two days. Maybe it’ll be a different regular, someone seeking shelter from the pouring rain that refuses to drizzle. Maybe you won’t have any customers and you’re forced to go home and catch up on all the things you’ve been meaning to - ever since Spider-Man returned your jacket your door seems to have had some slight issues. You suppose the lock being a kind of genetics based lock (or something? Your landlady would know,) had some strange reaction to Spider-Man’s webs. Which makes perfect sense if you’re honest, if they’re any kind of biological creation they’d have to be a little strange to a door meant to scan a palm. Make it malfunction maybe. So yeah, if it’s a slow day you’d love to make it back and make sure your door isn’t going haywire and that you haven’t been robbed. The rain continues to pound against the windows, showing no sign of stopping. You decide to make yourself a drink and watch the day. The jazz is soft and the rain is loud, the view out the windows is limited, only showing the faint glow of signs reflected in puddles and the occasional passerby.

About two hours in you settle into working on your own thing. The rule is three hours no customers, and you can close. Just one more to go. You’re doing your fourth patrol of the shop when you look out the window again. It’s too rainy to tell exactly who it is, but from a distance you see a silhouette. They seem to be facing the shop, but it is a silhouette, maybe their back is facing the shop. They aren’t holding an umbrella, though maybe it was one of those less affordable nanotechnology devices to keep rain off, and they stand as you watch them (really this is the most interesting thing in hours, the fact that the rain has cleared enough to see the outline). The sign across the street flickers slightly and they flinch at the burst of light amidst the gloom. Eventually you realize how creepy it is of you to stare at someone who’s probably got their back turned to the shop and you go back to pacing. You can’t help but look on your fifth round though, to see if they’re still there.

They stay there for an hour in fact, get a little closer too, so you can tell that the body is masculine. He absolutely is facing the shop, looming closer and closer to the window. He lingers for not even a minute before you see him shake his head, finally take a step to the left and continue away from the shop. You’re left standing and still staring out the window, already possessing the idea to call and report the strange occurrence. You’re stalking your way over even, towards the counter to make a call when the bell finally rings.

“Hello good mornin-” You’re interrupted by a tiny little laugh and take a closer look at the customer in front of you. “And good morning to you too!” You give his daughter a smile and wave gently. She opens and closes her fist in response.

“Hey hey! Would you mind,” Her father gives you a nod and digs around in a large pocket of a pink bathrobe and pulls out some outdated cell phone. “Getting just a few pictures of us? It’s her first time in a coffee shop and I wanna capture the moment.” He holds the brick out to you over the counter and gives you a lazy - but winning, smile. “Thank you, thank you - oh her mother is gonna love this,”

“What’s her name?” You snap a picture.

“Oh this little angel? Mayday!” She coos adorably at her name. “Yep that’s you kid!” He ruffles her hair and you snap another picture.

“Isn’t she just the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen?”

“She’s adorable! You, her father and Mayday all agree with a round of laughter.

“Names Peter, by the way!” He holds his daughter up like that ancient, animated classic with lions and you grab another photo.

“Nice to meet you.”

“My good friend has been stopping in the past few days, mumbling about a good cup of coffee.” The man sets down a drenched umbrella in the stand you keep near the door as he speaks.

“Good friend, do you mea-'' It's right then that the bell rings again. Mayday coos gently at the noise and a sopping wet regular of three days stands on your welcome mat.

“There you are! Miguel, buddy!” Peter claps a hand on his back and Mayday reaches her chubby hand forward.

“I don’t recall telling you about this place.”

“Didn’t have to, s’nice little joint.” He gives you a smile to ignore Miguel’s glare. “And I mean, buddy! You gotta admit you’ve been a little happier these past few days. Wanted to check and see how good this coffee is myself.”

“Do you even drink coffee?” Miguel raises an eyebrow at the man and looks at his very evident lack of coffee.

“Ah,” the man sighs good-naturedly, “Right uh… cappuccino?” You pass back his old phone as you nod.

“Yep, can do! For you?” You turn to Miguel to discover he’s already looking at you.

“Macchiato.” He looks at the child who found her way onto his shoulders and scowls lightly; clearly with no real malice.

“Sure!” Their drinks are simple and Peter wrangles his daughter away from Miguel and they make their way to a slightly larger table. When you bring their drinks, they are mid conversation and you notice that either the man is oblivious or just doesn’t care because Miguel obviously isn’t very interested in what he has to say.

“I’m a geneticist.” He says exasperatedly as you place down each cup. Peter nods at you as you place his coffee and pats a third chair with another winning smile that Mayday echoes. You take a look at the door and then the window. The rain has only gotten worse. You sit and hope for riveting conversation. Miguel gives you a hum of acknowledgement and you join the tables’ conversation and Peter jumps to include you.

“You’re a — see isn’t that great? You know someone for so long and you just,” He gives Miguel a hearty clap on the back and Mayday giggles at the scoff that the larger man gives. “You keep learning things about ‘em. Isn’t that amazing? You can know someone for so long and never know enough huh.” Peter takes a sip of his cappuccino. “Oh my, oh that - that really is fantastic. Miguel buddy, you really know your coffee.” Miguel rolls his eyes and looks towards you. “See he’s always like this! Always this deep broody guy with the weight of the world on his shoulders and he just keeps piling more and more on — that’s why they’re so big y’know — and he just keeps pushing away any relief.” Mayday babbles a little at this as if she’s very wisely agreeing and no one at the table seems to notice the chord that appears to have struck Miguel. “Mhm yep that’s right Daddy’s right about that one, isn’t he!” He presses a kiss to his daughter’s head and Miguel seems to cheer up a little at the laughter that rises. “See if he just took some time for himself-”

“That’s why I’m at a coffee shop.” He mutters to himself, and you know enough Spanish to catch ‘idiot’ “This was time for myself.” He looks to you like he can’t believe he has to put up with this man.

“Yes but you’re always working!” And you think about that for a second because if Miguel is always working, how didn’t Peter know that he was a geneticist. They were close friends after all.

“So Peter, what do you do?”

“Oh I’m a house husband.” He stretches his arms and postures himself proudly. “Yep.” He elongates the word, pops the p for emphasis. “That’s all I ever do. Nothin else.”

“That is all you do. Yes.” Miguel deadpans.

“If you’re a geneticist, mind if I ask?” You speak up and less ill tempered than you thought he might be, Miguel turns to you. “My apartment door has been having a few issues, it’s one of those genetic locks, put a hand on it and it’ll open for you.”

“A little outdated.” He comments.

“Don’t live in a very new apartment, but anyway - very recently it seems to be having some issues?” He seems to sit up as you say this, Peter is playing with Mayday and half paying attention.

“What kinds of issues?” There’s a hard edge to his voice that it almost seems he had tried to shave off. “If you are,” he coughs.

“Comfortable sharing.” You look at him for a bit, both Mayday and Peter have stopped to pay attention.

“Well, recently my door has been malfunctioning a little. I think my neighbor’s kid is getting in because my chairs or tables have moved.”

“M’not gonna have to worry about that with you will I?” Peter pokes his daughter’s cheek gently and smiles. “No I'm not! No I’m not!” Miguel seems to contemplate his response deeply before,

“Are you sure it’s not just old?” He raises a stern eyebrow at you.

“I mean it is, but this is the only issue I've ever had with it; only issue anyone in the building has reported. And we’ve got a classic elevator.” Miguel grumbles at this and doesn’t say anymore. You sit in silence for a little bit, the only sound being the rain and Mayday’s warbles.

“Well, thank you for allowing me to sit-” You almost excuse yourself before Miguel speaks again. There’s something in the way that his hands seem to scrabble at the table and how his eyes seem to widen as you stand from your chair.

“I want to,” Peter and you both turn to look at him as he stares at the cup in front of him. Peter’s eyes widen very unsubtly, “I want to ask you your favorite kind of coffee.” His fingers tap against his biceps.

“Working here made me try a lot of it, and made me realize I like all of it. So I don’t really have a favorite.”

“That’s a good outlook! What’s not to like?” Peter stops abruptly to check his phone. He looks back up frantically. “I gotta get goin though, it’s Miss May’s nap time and she gets real cranky when she misses it. See you later Miguel,” he raises his cup towards you, “Excellent coffee. Really, just exquisite.” He sets his cup down on the table, looks between you and Miguel and puts Mayday back into her little carrier before pulling his umbrella from the holder by the door and exiting into the pouring rain. You see him dash into the street away and dart to the right.

“I,” Miguel starts but the words seem to catch in his throat like they always do.

“You,” You give him a smile “C’mon, talk to me! You’re a regular now,” You take a second to formulate your thoughts. What Peter said explains a lot about his more awkward behaviors. “And probably need someone to talk to if Peter’s right. Don’t keep depriving yourself of joy.” Unlike the previous days where he had avoided your eyes, suddenly he stares into them. You have to wonder, were they always tinged with that red? You had thought they were brown when he first came in, now they're flecked with a ring of maroon. He takes a small sip of his previously untouched coffee and takes a second before responding.

“I was going to ask if you think you’ll be open all day today.” He keeps a straight face, you’re pretty sure there's a hint of warmth in his voice though. “The rain.” He taps the window pane with a large finger.

“Well Miguel,” You don’t notice the way his hand clutches the table, the tense of his shoulders or the lurch in his seat at his name. “I think I’ll be closing early today. Gonna get home, see if I can get that door issue fixed.” You grab Peter’s empty cup and hold it with both hands, offering Miguel a polite smile and nod.

“You’re a hard worker.” He smiles and stands, placing his tiny cup on the table. “It’s refreshing to see. Also very kind.” He pauses before taking a breath and continuing to mutter, “Stupidly kind.” He approaches you slowly. Hands on his hips looking down at you with red eyes. He reaches a hand out, close enough to your cheek that you can feel the warmth radiating from it. He leans down so that your foreheads almost touch, and gently speaks, “Are you sure you’re safe by yourself?” You take a second to process that. Blink as he still looks into your eyes. “You smell good, by the way. Noticed it when I first came in, better than I imagined.” And everything seems to speed up, the rain is louder, your heartbeat palpitates uncomfortably and you hear the blood rushing through your body. He’s been a regular for three days. He’s taken your hand, pat your shoulder and asked your name. He stood outside your shop for an hour this very morning.

“I’m sorry sir, we closed ten minutes ago.” You blink away the tears in your eyes, and try to compose yourself as you say the words.

“What happened to Miguel?” He whispers the words so gently, so strangely vulnerable. His hand lingers by your cheek, fingers twitching. He groans. He shakes his head violently as if it'll make him stop whatever he’s doing. He turns and stands to his full height, eyes leaving yours again. He doesn’t say a word to you as he leaves the shop. You watch him walk slowly into the rain as he leaves and you make sure he doesn’t turn. Immediately you lock the door to the shop, flip the sign to ‘closed’ and pull the blinds. You contact your boss telling them you're closing early and set your sights on getting in touch with law enforcement. The hurdles you have to jump just to get a safe ride home are astounding. Calling the local P.D proves to be useless as all you have are ‘Miguel’ with no last name and ‘abnormally tall’ and those two descriptors don’t get you anywhere. But your distress does seem to affect the other end of the line with some amount of pity, as they dispatch a vehicle to take you home. All it took was a stalker, sobbing your eyes out to a cop and bang, safe ride home with someone comforting you and a shock blanket. Simple really. Oh the joys of being stalked.

“This is where Spider-Man has been hanging out these last few days!” The cop says as you reach your complex. It’s clearly meant to comfort you. “That guy makes the whole city safer, but I don’t gotta tell you that,” They sound like they’re giving you a smile. “Well best be on your way, stay safe and contact us if anything happens, okay?” They point towards the lapel of your jacket, to the Spider-Man pin you got just last week. “Tell ya what, we’ll put in a word with him when we see him next, have him look out for ya.” The cop will probably forget about this in the next few hours and it’ll probably never get back to him, but it’s a kind gesture.

“Thank you.” You exit the vehicle, looking every which way in the rain, checking for shadows along the walls of your complex. You all but run to your apartment and look desperately around for anything taken or misplaced, when you find nothing you turn to your chairs. You’re careful when you stack them against the door. You forgo food and drink in favor of grabbing the emergency metal pipe and decide to sit on your bed to wait for the other shoe to drop. It doesn’t. For hours and hours and hours. The stormy weather never lets up even as it grows darker.

Absolutely nothing seems to happen, save the loud cacophony from outside as Neuva York wakes for the second time of the day, nightlife not being stopped even for the rainstorm. You hear the shouting, the screeches, the loud music that you’ve grown accustomed to sleeping through and like that old classically conditioned dog, it makes you yawn. You look at your malfunctioning door and the small — hopefully effective — barricade and clench your fist tighter around the pipe. Falling asleep now would mean missing if anything were to happen, you try to drill this into your mind, bash it in like it’s a window. No glass shatters to keep you awake however and uneasily you’re lulled to sleep by the sounds of the city.

You wake up to Spider-Man (suddenly you’re able to identify that broad frame, the shocking height and burdened shoulders of Spider-Man who you’d seen three days ago.) leering over your sleeping body. Even if you can’t see his eyes he’s clearly staring at you. For a second you don’t move, try not to breathe as your heart hammers against your ribs. He doesn’t move for what feels like hours as he stares, he must know by now that you’re awake. The neon glow from the window is dull in the night and the rain has finally stopped, no more clubs blast their music. It’s just you and Spider-Man - Miguel.

You take a deep breath and your heart races and suddenly you can feel the metal pipe in your hand. You tighten your grip and immediately swing your wrist as hard as you can.

He stops it with a hand and tears it from your hand. He gives a disappointed growl, and bends the pipe with ease between his two hands.

“I was,” He sighs deeply. “Impulsive today. I had meant to be slow about it. Meant to be patient.” You cannot bring yourself to move as he continues to speak. “Because I am,” His voice spikes suddenly and he sees you flinch. Spider-Man softens his voice, “Patient.” He groans, turns away from staring at you - finally you can breathe again - and bashes his hand against your wall. “It was going to be weeks,” He cannot seem to help himself now, voice raising slowly as he sweeps back to where you are unable to move on your bed. “Until I would talk to you,” You cannot see him from behind the mask. You imagine him with the same stern eyes, haggard and a sneer if his tone is anything to go on. “But you,” His body heaves and before you can throw yourself from the bed and make a break for the door, a monstrous hand finds the back of your head. Fingers card tenderly through your hair before another hand appears on your hip and wrenches your entire body up, face forcibly made to look at his mask as it gives way to blindingly red eyes, iris sclera and pupil all flooded with the sickening red that blood often starts as. “You wanted this.” He softens, as he looks at you, “You wanted my impatience, didn’t you?” His eyes dart to your Spider-Man pin and he gently moves the hand on your hip so that it’s his forearm beneath your thighs and presses you closer to his chest so that you feel his lips drag on the top of your head. “If I had known I would’ve just taken you with me three nights ago.” He releases your grasp on your hair, and you pull away to see the red of his eyes recede like the beach before a tsunami. “See what you do?” He pats your cheek softly, “I’ll make it up to you. You’ve been nothing but foolish and kind. I’ll make this easier, stay still for me.” He offers you that same small smile, and pushes your head upwards to his cheek. You can feel his erratic heartbeat against your chest as Miguel nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck once more before taking a deep whiff of you and while you’re too busy trying to hold back the bile in your throat, he crumples into you and sighs as if this was the happiest he'd been in years. You feel his lips part against your skin and it feels like bugs crawling on you when he rumbles against your neck. You try your best to block out the tender mutterings of “You’re sweeter than….” and “Made for me,” before you feel his fangs sink delicately into your skin.

You pass out from the shock and pain before you feel the warmth of his venom.

#yandere x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel x reader #yandere atsv #miguel o'hara #dark miguel o'hara #yandere spiderman 2099 #atsv x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel

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dearest-kibble · 9 months

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From the dead I return. Miguel o hara incoming.

#I’m back babey #darling speaks

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dearest-kibble · 3 years

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i wanna write this so bad let me know your thoughts and if its a good idea

WARNING; yandere reiner braun, sex and nsfw, stalking, getting high, unprotective sex, only talk of like getting someone pregnant against their will, it doesn't actually happen, everything is kinda pure in a way since there is no noncon or murder or whatever lmfao, this is absolute filth and just me ranting about it and everything that pops into my head, oh also brief mention of jean almost getting beat up. almost. Also female reader btw

Lastly for the warnings, I show two photos of foot ball Reiner as reference to my inspiration, one of them is Reiner x Porco where they are holding each other. It's completely sfw but if you aren't comfortable with that thing then avoid the very end. That's where it's at btw and I do put a warning.

anyway yeah please read with caution. i don't even know what this is. let me know your thoughts <3

also sorry this is so random, and this might be weird. if you don't want to see sexual content, please block the tag nsfw. this is kind of embarrassing lol I don't know why I'm posting this omg

yandere reiner, alright?

university au where hes a big dumb himbo jock with tons of muscles and a huge cock and youre just a normal student.

you guys hook up at a party once, it was a fun time, you guys were both a little high, but over all it was awesome. great, you move on.

he however becomes vry clingy and needy. you thought the party was the first time you guys met, but you were wrong. he saw you in classes or at a football game and instantly became interested in you. slowly starts falling in love with you while he finds out more about you through mutual friends or his buddies.

he does silly little stalker things but nothing too major (stalks your social media, watches you go out to your car to make sure you get there safe, gets giddy over seeing photos of you, prints them all out, hangs them up maybe, stalks you home sometimes, tries to color coordinate your clothing so you guys can wear the same colors the next day and look like a couple, tries to become friends with your friends to learn more about you and make them like him, note: not manipulative at all like seriously nothing goes on in his brain but y/n, y/n, y/n, y/n., etc, etc) and he is so happy when he finally gets you in bed at a party and gets to make love with you fuck you just like hes always wanted and has been fantasizing about for the past month. however, he takes this as a sign that you like him

starts following you around like a golden retiever, happy and wagging his tail whenever you'd just look at him. asks over and over to go on dates and start a relationship with you. you aren't really interested in anything serious and get annoyed at him but over all you don't mind him hanging around cause he is relatively harmless, he scares off the even weirder creeps and he's funny and cute. good arm candy too. you give in to sex with him a few times cause his cock is big and he really knows the motion of the ocean and how to make you feel good lmfao.

overall, head over heels in love with you. adorable, wants to have a serious relationship and get married (he already planned out the entirety of your future together, though he is open to suggestions). just a big dumb lovesick jock who follows you around and shows cute photos of you to his friends. everyone thinks he's just so in love and an adorable guy (although he is those things), but they have no idea how obsessed and crazy he is over you.

his friends tease him about it. they joke around about how in love he is, but they did get a sneak peek into his crazy side when jean had made a sex joke about how hot your tits are and how reiner knows how to pick them and reiner had freaked out and almost beat the shit out of jean, so they don't talk about you like that anymore. he's just needy and texts and calls you a bunch, constantly showing up at your apartment to hang out. he definitely loves the sex and having you in his arms but also really wants to take things further. definitely the type to spout "I love yous" while he's fucking into you and filling your womb with his hot sticky cum.

side note: definitely has a big breeding kink and a praise kink. wants to be told he's doing good and making you feel good and that you love him while he's pumping a baby into you to make sure that you guys really do get together. he's definitely considered getting you pregnant on purpose in order to make you his but he has too much of a concisous and feels too bad about it to actually go through with it. he also really hates the idea of you being with him cause he "trapped you" and is really praying that you get there on your own so he doesn't have to do stuff like that

gets jealous easily and doesn't like when you hang out with other guys. he's not the type to attack people randomly for just looking at you, but he'll definitely shoulder-check the guy that was checking you out earlier. loves walking down the halls and in public with his arm around your shoulder or your waist, really likes the idea of people seeing you and immediately thinking you guys are dating

really wholesome and a sweet puppy who will cook you dinner and bring over ice cream (and other sweets) and anything you want when you text him that you're on your period (no doubt earlier on he just showed up cause he keeps a track of your period, at first it was to see the best time to cum in you but eventually it leads to him being able to have everything prepared for when you start hurting)

he hates the thought of you in pain or hurting and will give you belly rubs while calling you a good girl and telling you how well you are doing. reiner is definitely such a switch like he can be the ultimate dom who will spank you and tie you up while calling you a bad girl or the sweetest submissive boy ever who calls you mommy (or not lmfao) and just wants to serve you and make you feel good while you bounce on his cock. It all depends on what you want him to be. all he really cares about is the fact that what he is doing is with you. he doesn't really care how it happens.

Oh and he is the BEST at after care. He's so big and loves how tiny you are compared to him (even if you're only an inch smaller, you're still tiny to him). He'll wrap you up in his arms after wiping you clean and telling you how good of a girl you are and how awesome you were and how good you made him feel.

looks at you with big love hearts in his eyes and always compliments you. talks about you a lot out of the blue to his friends cause you're on his mind 24/7. day dreams about holding your hand and hearing you say you love him.

overall, really wholesome in some ways. he's just a big, jealous, over protective puppy who loves you a bit way too much. pretty much willing to do anything to please you and make you like him.

Here's some photos to get an idea. I don't ship Reiner and Porco but these are really the only good photos I can find of him in a football outfit so yeah <3 I guess gay warning?? Idk lmfao. And real quick; Porco look hella fine in a football jersey too holy fuck

thoughts?

(can you tell I like golden retriever yanderes? lmfao I'm sorry this is so random)

#PLEASE THIS IS SO GOOD #also I am uhhhh h on main so I’m so sorry #thank you so much OP I love you for this I #perfection #Reiner is such a good boy and I love him so much #and oh to let him breed me but we don’t talk about that #anyway anyway oh my gosh this is wonderful I literally cannot thank you enough op #hhhhhhhhh him

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dearest-kibble · 3 years

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Strings like a noose

Im back babyyyyyyy (and considering moving to A03 cause i cannot run a blog) but have a quick little yandere toshinori! More will be coming either on my A03 or here. Thank you all for bearing with me!

Tw: Stalking (i think that's it but if you see anything else please let me know!)

Without a doubt, you have the worst quirk in the world. Sure other people might have something equally as mediocre; like small sound amplification or the ability to perfect cooking ratios or something like that. But at least those were useful - they did something. But no, your quirk had to get you kidnapped.

Your kidnapper’s honeyed voice likes to tell you how the strings hang like a noose ‘round his neck; beautiful scarlet - satin and silk, intricately laced. His voice sounds familiar but you can’t place it. Why couldn’t your quirk have been something about memory? The bag around your head isn’t uncomfortable, neither is the blindfold and your captor promised to take them both off some day but you don’t think it’s really all that true.

He talks to you sometimes, about other things than his love for you and your quirk. About his day mostly. About how he doesn’t want to blind you so you’re allowed to see sometimes. The only view you ever get is a clean, luxurious bathroom. It smells like the lilac shampoo he uses on your hair.

“I think the kids would like you.” As soon as the door opens the voice begins to speak. The cover is lifted from your head, blindfold still wrapped around your eyes. He starts rubbing your head with a large hand. He does this sometimes.

“I don’t think they’d like you much if I told them what you’re doing.”

“Don’t be like that sweet; they’d love the two of us.” The rubbing turns into affectionate knuckles digging into your skull not nearly enough to hurt but you can tell there's a measure of strength behind it. “They’d love you so much - they must be tired of me.”

“I’m tired of you.” The snarl in your voice elicits a laugh from the voice. It’s a little self deprecating. “Stupid useless quirk. Wish I was never born with it.”

“Seeing other’s connections is a beautiful thing darling! I bet you can help so many with it.”

“It’s so helpful it got me kidnapped.” Oh, that one stung.

“I’m just protecting you, you don’t know what’s out there, even I can’t say for sure and I’m-” “Spit it out already. I’m fucking tired of you being all mysterious. You what, stalked me, hunted me down or whatever? Just tell me who you are. It’s not like I can hate you any more than I already do.” He sighs, lower than you thought possible and you feel your hair suddenly stands on end and the electricity in the air. A meatier hand grazes your cheek for a second - he coughs and it’s back to the boney fingers you're more familiar with. You feel the nails, cut short on your skin as he tugs the blindfold and for the first time, you look upon the face of the man who kidnapped you. Mouth stretched thin, Shaggy golden hair limply framing a gaunt skeleton face with sunken bright blue electrifying eyes. He bears the strongest resemblance to someone you’ve seen and still you can’t place it. He’s malnourished looking as you take more of him in oversized shirts and baggy pants that clearly don’t fit right. He looks homeless quite honestly. Yet your surroundings are anything but. Well furnished, imported goods and very very comfortable looking.

“I was wrong. I think I hate you more now.” And that rings a little hollow to you because even if he kidnapped you, you feel a little sorry for him and his clearly malnourished body.

“Please; don’t be like that. Your quirk sees connections and if I am connected to you than-” All the sympathy you gave him dissipates as he brings up this tired old rhetoric.

“I don’t care. It’s a useless quirk anyway and you took me here against my will. Who are you, the phantom of the opera?” He chuckles at that one.

“No no, I want to protect you; the phantom wanted to own Christine. I could never own you; but protection? I can give you that.”

“In that shrink-wrapped body of yours? I could blow on you and you’d fall over.”

“You can do anything you want to me and I’d crumble.” He puts a hand around his neck. “Even if you don’t know it you need me, that’s why I’m connected to you.” He squeezes and steps closer.

“Stop getting closer.” You sound more panicked than you should, he’s had you for so long and done nothing to you. But you’d never seen how large he was; how wealthy he must be. He stops dead in his tracks.

“Whatever you want, love.” He smiles unthreateningly with blood in his teeth and his thin lips part to show a severely perfect smile before he covers his mouth with a hand and swallows. “I-I’ll get you some food.”

“Get my hands undone then. You’re not going to spoon feed me again. It’s humiliating.”

“Young Bakugou would really take a shine to you I think.”

“I hope he hates you too. You deserve it.”

“Quite the opposite in fact, they all look up to me - or used to. I was quite the charismatic teacher.” More self deprecation. You wondered a long time ago if it was a manipulation technique; but it seems far too ingrained in how he speaks.

“Stop bringing up how “likable” you are. It’s not gonna make me like you. I hate you more than I hate this useless quirk.”

“It doesn’t matter if you hate me.” He shuffles around his kitchen, “Normally I eat out, so you’ll have to forgive my lack of food.” He starts to cobble something together and starts again in his voice. “One of my other students would think your quirk is amazing, please don’t bring yourself down my love; your quirk is why we’re together.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” He ignores you.

“Once I undo your bindings, you’ll be free to go wherever you want, it was just after the… relocation… I needed to make sure no one could find you. Not that they could keep me from you, I‘ll always know where you are.” He turns on the stove. “It’s such a beautiful quirk, made for love, my love.” He turns, eyes staring into you with blank kindness and shambles towards you on emaciated legs.

“Sto-” The smile on his face widens and widens as you try to speak but fail. “Please..” Another almost breath you let escape. He stands in front of you, hunching so his spine pushes against the back of his shirt, sharp chin digging into the crown of your head. His arms snake around your waist clammy and jutting into your side like rocks. You feel like they weigh you down — into an early grave where someone has already been buried. With that strength that was present earlier he takes a hold of your wrists and pulls. The tape snaps but you hardly feel free.

“You're free to go wherever you want now. Just so long as you come back every night. I’ll get you whatever you need and do whatever you need me too.” It takes you a while to compose your breath but you're sure he’s felt you struggle to catch your breath. So many times.

“But I’m not free to go wherever I want! You always know where I am.” Your hands find their way to your head, digging into your scalp. “How do I know you won’t follow me. You stalked me before you’re gonna do it again.” He’s still hugging you - frozen in place growing colder by the second and coughs. One hand leaves your back and up to his mouth. Pulling away he speaks.

“I’m not always going to be here,” He holds up his hand, mouth open - it never closes - in a grimace. His hand and chin are dripping with blood. “But while I am, I want to do the best I can for you. And what better way than knowing where you always are? I am here. Fear not for anything.” The other hand from your back works it’s way up gently to your head once again petting you. “You can’t see the strings connected to you, right?” You can’t respond anymore, you feel like he’s just smashed your guts. You want to vomit. “They’re beautiful. It’s because you’re beautiful and so is your quirk. I love everything about you.” He sighs deeply and tries to pull your hand from your head “Maybe it’s because I’m supposed to. Maybe I just have the need to protect or help.” He whispers a small ‘I want to save someone again.’ You pretend for your own sake that you don’t hear it. “But whatever the reason, never doubt,” He presses a kiss to your forehead and his fingers filter through your hair, pressing your head to his lips.

“A-all Mi-” He pulls away and rests a finger gently over your lips.

“Shh. I am here.”

#yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere toshinori yagi #yandere bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yagi toshinori #all might #all might x reader #yandere all might #Yandere all might x reader #tw stalking

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dearest-kibble · 3 years

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Dabi burning a ring into your neck as he chokes you<3 Dabi’s own handmade collar,,,, just for you!

#hhhhhhh choke me sir #I wanna write this #so uhhhb another onto the list of steadily growing things that I am slow to write #please I am simply horny

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dearest-kibble · 3 years

Note

What happend to the ushijima breeding kink one shot? I’m sorry I was just looking for it 😅

No you’re fine! Here’s the link (looking back on it I kinda hate it but I’m glad you like it enough to look for it!)

https://professional-darling.tumblr.com/post/626810098689409024/yan-ushijima-with-breeding-kink-please

#anon asks

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dearest-kibble · 3 years

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WELLL GANG IT TOOK FOR FUCKIN EVER BUT HEY HERE IT IS ABOUT 7,000 WORDS OF KAGEYAMA. THANK YOU ALL FOR STICKING WITH ME IT REALLY MEANS A LOT THAT Y’ALL WERE STILL HERE EVEN THOUGH I WAS TAKING FOREVER LIKE HOLY FUCK MAN I APPRECIATE YOU ALL SO SO SO MUCH FOR THIS AND HOPE IT’S ALRIGHT!!

tw: noncon dacryphilia breathplay(choking) kidnapping general shady-ness very blink and you’ll miss religious symbolism. Abuse

Keep reading

#reblogging cause I’m proud of it. also not dead!#just a very slow writer

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dearest-kibble · 3 years

Note

When you said scary stalker ex boyfriend I immediately thought of your ‘Lucky’ Yakuza!Kageyama fic. Zero thoughts just oyabun.

Tbh yakuza kageyama lives rent free in my brain 24/7

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dearest-kibble · 3 years

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I said Suna would be next but i have.... so many ideassssss

#darling speaks

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dearest-kibble · 3 years

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tw: noncon dacryphilia breathplay(choking) kidnapping general shady-ness very blink and you’ll miss religious symbolism. Abuse

“Don’t mess this up Kageyama.” You wake up in an old building, seven men stand above you, head to toe in suits. And you distinctly remember reading something someday, about how the yakuza always cover their body. And about how the yakuza have a hand in human trafficking.

“Damn Kageyama, we don’t do any of that Oikawa-Gumi shit here!” The Man who's speaking is shirtless and his hair is buzzed short. He’s got a red dragon winding up his stomach and a red koi on his sternum.

“So many women were brought to Oikawa I just thought-” The man - Kageyama you assume - has black hair and blue eyes. You think he’s staring at you.

“You thought? I find that hard to believe.” A guy with glasses (do yakuza wear glasses?) sniffs and turns his nose at Kageyama. “I thought you only thought about being Oyabun.”

“Shittykawa is a liar and you all know it!”

“Still more honorable than a guy who deserted his family and has a samurai tattoo!” A considerably smaller redhead speaks up with a defiant voice.

“They betrayed me!!” His attention (if it was on you, is not anymore.) shifts as Kageyama raises his voice, flails his hands a little and starts to pace.

“Kageyama, be quiet!” A man behind you talks. The man with blue eyes immediately stops talking, the man with glasses and blonde hair laughs.

“All of you shut up!” A louder voice bounces off the walls, all five men stop talking and look to the man behind you. He’s got brown hair, short, militant and an angry-looking scowl on his face. The man next to him has silver hair, but you don’t think it’s from age. A chorus of “sorry Oyabun” echoes through the room, large, dark and empty.

“Kageyama, you will not mess this up.” Intense coal eyes stare into blue.

“No Oyabun, I will not.”

“Good because she’s under your care.” You almost expect the man with brown hair to offer you a smile, it’s the silver haired one who does.

“What?!” You turn around quickly as the voice sounds much closer than you remember it being. “I’m-” The man takes a few seconds looking at his fingers. (His left pinky is a stub) Before continuing. “Oikawa never had me do anything like that. Girls just talked to me.”

“Girls talked to you!?” A newer person, short, standing next to the shirtless one - has an energetic voice. “Why’d you ever leave?”

“Because Oikawa treats his family like shit!” And like that, the talking erupts into furious voices trying to get a word in edgewise until once more, the two behind you speak up.

“Everyone shut up!”

Once again they all fall silent.

“Kageyama, get her where she needs to go. You know what to do right?”

“Yes Oyabun.”

“Good.” His gaze is away from you, glaring at someone else as silence splits the room.

“C’mon.” He makes a show of not looking at you when he gruffly gestures for you to move to his side. Try as you might to seem calm, your joints are cold and stiff as you march to his left.

“Don’t cause a fuss okay?” He sends a sharp glare your way.

“She’s terrified Kageyama, you don’t need to scare her more.” The man with silver hair looks at you more apologetically than you’d thought a yakuza could. But as his hands rest on his hips you can see the gun holstered on his side. You look away quickly after smiling quickly.

“Yeah! Be nicer to her!” Kageyama shrugs off what the redhead says and walks towards the singular door and opens it to walk through. It leads to an empty, grey hallway - chilled and complete with flickering light. About fifteen paces ahead, there's a flight of stairs with the much-needed railing that rusts and peels in the flickering, damp hallway. There's the faint sound of city pop coming from the top of the stairs, through a bleak door with peeling paint. There are no other places of entry or exit, simply the one large, looming, decrepit door at the top of steep steps. Still begrudgingly silent, Kageyama starts up the stairs, feet falling hard on each step like drops of a guillotine. You follow numbly after him. What other choice is there really? Go back to the room with so many others? Die in a hallway while muffled music plays from a door? Your legs ache by the time you stand near the door. It’s not a high climb. Kageyama opens the door and you expect to hear nails on a chalkboard but are greeted by the soft melody of plastic love and the smell of cigarettes. The beeps of slot machines punctuate loud cheers and disappointments around a roulette table, the thwap of cards hitting the table and laughter at a bar does little to distract from the fact that Kageyama who had barely looked at you before — (Was it on purpose?) — was staring directly at you. Pressing a hand to your face, you feel a drop of wetness on your cheek. A tear. You wipe it quickly and Kageyama turns away slowly. Eyes lingering a second after he turns his head.

“You’re slow, move quicker!” You nod in his direction though he’s already moving ahead again. The casino is loud and boisterous and though you’re sure it’s actually an illegal gambling den, many well known wealthies sit around a roulette table with a man in a suit, typical of a yakuza.

“You want a drink?” You expect it to come from a sleazy, older man wearing an old baggy suit, not the man who’s been leading you through this mess of tables and smoke and glitz. It’s fine, there are so many people around you.

“Why are you offering me a drink?” He’s turned to face you, still not smiling but eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion.

“O-Oikawa said to offer women drinks. I-” Oikawa? He might not be so bad. Still, a yakuza who didn’t run with the good kind any more so-

“No thanks.” The confusion displayed earlier on his face, deepens into a frown that forms on his lips and lines that appear in between his brows.

“What, why?” He’s actually confused somehow.

“I don’t know you, you’re a yakuza - you might drug my drink - the list could go on?”

“I'm not going to drug you" He sounds angry and mutters "Just trying to be nice, fuck." And you've stopped for only one moment but the sleazy men you thought would hound you start to crowd, either unknowing or uncaring that you are in the custody of organized crime.

"Pretty lady want a drink? Got a margarita with your name on it." It's unsurprisingly a man with cigarettes' smoke on his breath and intoxication in his step. You note he's already holding the drink in question.

"No thank you-" You begin to answer, in a politely exasperated tone that you think is quite amicable for someone whose arm is practically around your waist.

"Listen - she's with me, alright?" Kageyama doesn't stop there, despite that in your opinion, he should. "She's mine." The words send a pang of anxiety straight through your spine and into your brain before they reach your feet and as they itch to step away into a crowd, another man speaks up someone much less intoxicated, still - with a drink in hand.

"She in trouble with the Daichi-Gumi then?" They're much more informed. And Kageyama nods to the asker.

"Guess he's still got his Oikawa roots then, huh?" And that doesn't make any sense at all because he's nothing like the man you talked to and who gave you a handsome wink and made small conversation.

"Don't compare me to that bastard." And instead of the usual anger, you think it's a note of exhaustion in his voice. And the conversation ends right there, "mine" being a forgotten word in the mix of much more confusing sentences. It's relatively peaceful after that, the scowl on your captors face scaring many others away. You continue down the luxurious gambling hall and into much quieter corridors with soft sounds passing through doors as you walk down a carpeted hallway, well lit and warmer. Once again, Kageyama opens a door and walks through. For a long, fleeting, whirlwind of a moment, you are alone before remembering that if you walk out without Kageyama, you run the risk of having a yakuza family hunting for you. Hell, they'd hunt your family, you've heard about what they do to screamers. Twisted fingers, bloody stomachs and scarred backs - missing eyes if the they’re lucky. You step through the open door and into the room. It's low-lit, casting a pleasant glow on the furniture.

Kageyama is already sitting down on an expensive - looking sofa no —loveseat. He picks up a remote from the side armrest and turns on a TV installed into the wall. Loud moans and the sound of flesh on flesh boom from the speakers before he switches to the sounds of shoes squeaking as they run across a floor. He pulls a nail clipper from his pocket to trim already short fingernails. There's a large bed with lights hanging above it on one side of the room, a wardrobe - open - full of thin clothing you wouldn't be caught dead in outside of your house. There's a small table, a bottle of wine and two glasses on mahogany wood, next to a singular unlit candle. Though the sound is gone you can’t help but linger on the moans that came from the TV and how Kageyama has led you into a room with such a large bed and a shower that has no door and is only walled with glass. You forcibly relax your jaw just before you speak.

"I'm here to-" You gulp down air, trying not to look at the silk sheeted bed. "Pay a debt."

"Yeah dumbass, what else would you be here for?" If he doesn't bring up any other possibility, neither will you.

"How?" The way that he instantly looks at you, blue eyes ever intense when he speaks makes your stomach flip unpleasantly. You know exactly how. He’s led you to this room, what else could he be expecting?

"Daichi put me in charge of you, you'll do what I say." Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"I'm not going to do what you tell me. I'll work off my debt in this casino, but I'm not doing everything you tell me to do!” Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He blinks at you, brow once again furrowed in confusion. He puts his nail clippers down on the arm of his seat, and stands, taking off his jacket in the process. You knew it - you fucking knew it.

You shuffle backwards as quickly as possible, spine hitting the round doorknob.

You can’t go any further.

Kageyama creeps forwards, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal raging water delicately inked into the toned muscle of his right forearm, chrysanthemum petals drifting downstream from a skull at his shoulder. Down his left, where his elbow meets his forearm stands a samurai, maple leaves falling gently from the mouth of a black koi that flounders to appear just over the edge of his shoulder. On the front of his chest there is only a solitary demon - red and standing amongst black clouds which dig deep - over his nipples as the Oni stands on the cool blue with its fiery feet. He walks over to you, shirt off and tugging at his belt. With a decorated arm, he sets the white shirt on your head, careful not to touch you. What flees from your lips is a very audible sigh expressing your relief that he doesn’t seem to want to violate you.

“I’m going to take a shower. Put that away for me.” You don’t even attempt to retort as you quickly move it off your head and turn away from wherever Kageyama sounded like he was. You conveniently face towards the wardrobe and walking towards it, you notice all the clothing you had neglected to think about. Short schoolgirl uniforms, a pair of fluffy handcuffs, all sorts of exposing clothing that you think for the second time, you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in. You push sets of clothing aside to find an empty hanger, not finding one, you kneel down to check the bottom of the cabinet. You find a box full of something, flat squares that are easily torn, and one empty hanger with a leather suit that probably went on it beforehand. You instinctually turn at the sound of water hitting the tiled shower. He’s standing still, body naked through the glass and quickly you avert your eyes from him. The loud crash of falling water on the tile makes you turn, despite your knowledge of where it comes from. You can see Kageyama’s naked back through the clear glass, koi and cherry blossoms disappearing in rapidly forming fog that covers the rest of his body. Watching the glass fog with the softening sound of water on tile in the dim light of the room, a dry sob of relief releases from your throat. He isn’t going to do anything. It’s just one large scare tactic. With the realization that Kageyama is just going to unorthodox lengths to make sure you don’t run, your knees buckle and you crumple to the floor, back stable against the side of the wardrobe - and you let the tears fall.

Each bone, muscle and thought eases with the knowledge that this yakuza is just taking a shower. He’s still the good kind of yakuza - Oikawa taught him well. He just happens to be a little strange. While he showers, your face is bathed with your own free tears. Your hands cup your cheeks and you smile softly into your palms, feeling so much steadier as your breathing returns to its normal steady in and out. Picking yourself up from the carpeted floor and feeling you back crack you bring yourself in front of the TV watching as people toss a volleyball into the air. It’s awfully methodical as they toss it to each side over and over, you almost forget about the pitter-patter of water behind you. You don’t even notice as it stops and the man comes out to watch you watching the game. You barely hear the zipper on his pants - just dismissing it as some sound from the game. It’s not until he’s directly behind the couch and he asks you a question that you remember where you are.

“Where’d you put my shirt?” You turn and tilt your head to look at his dripping hair, wet pants and wetter jacket.

“It’s in the closet.”

“What?”

“It’s the only place to put a shirt.” He grumbles at your words but it’s not hostile.

“You have the bed, that’s where I normally put my stuff.” You glance at the bed again and then back to him.

“Who doesn’t use a closet?”

“Next time you’re going to put it on the bed. No point in using that shitty closet - can’t find anything in there,”

“Hopefully there won’t be a next time.” His eyes squint face lowering to yours. He blinks twice before his blues widen.

“Have you… been crying?” Your eyes must still be puffy red.

“No?” His nose is just a hairs’ width away from yours.

“You better not be lying. Lying to your Oyabun has serious consequences.” Abruptly he stands up. “And you’re mine now. You can’t lie to me.” His hair bobs as he nods and removes his dripping suit jacket. Once again the black koi surfaces across the spanse of his muscular back.

“I’m…” You shouldn’t be asking, but he must mean this in some other way, right? “Yours?”

“Daichi told me to watch you,” He says dumbly. Well, If that’s all he means, it shouldn’t be bad. You’re going to ignore how his head turns slightly to look and that the lights that glint off his eyes menacingly. “You're part of the family now. My family” A slimy feeling crawls up your back at his words, not for the first time.

“What does that mean?”

“Talking back to your Oyabun has consequences.” It hangs over your head, his words and your next ones clashing in your mind before deciding on,

“Same can be said for thinking you’re Oyabun.” It’s a much less dangerous thing to say, now that you know you’re safe and he’s just a strange person.

“I will be Oyabun, and you’re part of my family. You already have to do what I say.” He’s scared you enough, he’s not going to do anything and you’re not even sure he can with patrons of the gambling den so near. You take a breath and steady yourself though you aren’t even nervous and without thinking-

“I’m not some part of your fucking yakuza family!” Your palm makes harsh contact on his cheek. He was just trying to scare you earlier. You turn aside as he stands still as a leaf in water. Clasping your hands together you wait trying not to think about the fact that you just slapped a yakuza. He turns slowly, wide eyes a lighter blue than you had originally thought.

“Do it again.” A large hand rubs at his red cheek. “Please?” Kageyama cocks his head to the side, hand still over his red cheek. You’re rooted to the ground, standing still, you're not going to move even if he said he wants you to hit him again.

“If you won’t do it, I will.” He removes his hand from his cheek, and makes a fist before stopping. “You had an open palm.” All four fingers of his left hand splay open as he inches towards you with confident steps. “It felt so nice to be touched by someone again.” Eyes like the Starry Night glare down while his face holds the least unsettling smile you’ve seen from him. You can’t do anything against a member of the yakuza, and the important thing about the yakuza floods back into your mind: the man with silver hair had a gun, why shouldn’t he?. You stand still as a statue, you will not flinch, you will not cry. He’s right in front of you, and you stare defiantly into his eyes as he stares right back. There is nothing to say and both of you are waiting for the first blow.

It lands.

Hard, right on your cheek and the sting is so much but so little compared to the gun that could’ve put a hole in your head. Your head is pushed to the side by force before you snap it back to look into his eyes.

“It doesn’t feel the same…” He mutters the words. “Maybe if you-”

“I’m not going to do anything you want me to.”

“Fine. I’ll try again.” And the hand connects with your cheek once again. If the first stung, the second was like a stab. Cold and sharp and the feeling staying much longer than you’d hope. Kageyama looks at you, whose face is still utterly defiant and pointed towards him. Though the red welt on your cheek is far more noticeable, he seems to be looking at your eyes.

“Shit.” It’s a quiet utterance, but he sounds mildly put out. “It’s not gonna work unless you touch me.”

“No.”

“Either you touch me and I figure out why I get this weird pit around you. Or,” And he seems to have to think for a second about his phrasing. You think you hear a ‘can’t blow her brains out.’ “Or I give you to Oikawa.”

“Oikawa?” And you know this is a bad idea, you’re standing up to a Yakuza for fucks sake. “Oikawa just gets people to pay their protection tax. Hell, he’d clear my debt.”

“He’s the guy who has the top joint of my pinky, you don’t wanna be given to him, trust me.”

“Oikawa has a soft spot for women, he’d clear my debt and let me go.”

“He had me bring in any woman I found.” Oh. “A lot of them lived where he used to spend a lot of time. Called them prostitutes?” Oh no. “I think Oikawa would be happy to see you. Suga always says to try and make things better between our families.” He’s not going to get to you like this, you’ve seen Oikawa around - talked to him. The most harm he’d ever cause is when someone harassed a woman. Knowing this yakuza, he’s probably trying to scare you again.

“You’re lying. Oikawa helps women on the streets. I heard he even set up a safe house!” Oikawa would never do anything like what Kageyama said he would. He wouldn't!

“He called it a brothel.” He wouldn’t he wouldn’t. Oikawa always said to go to him if you needed help - he did.

“Oikawa wouldn’t do that! Not to me, not to anyone!” He wouldn’t he wouldn’t he wouldn’t.

“Shut up!” Deep unexplored, ocean blue eyes churn as the yell falls upon your ears..

“Oikawa wouldn’t do that! He’s kind and he’s helpful!” You’re advancing so much closer to him, letting your guard fall.

“You’ll shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you.” His hand is gathering in a fist again, skin straining against his rapidly whitening knuckles

“No I won’t! Because Oikawa would only ever take care of a woman and treat her much better! You’re making up blatant lies to ma-” The blow lands hard on your stomach, and you stumble back on shaky feet, tripping over themselves as you try to stay upright.

“He called your “Safehouse” a brothel. He kept women there, they smiled after enough time. I won’t fucking hesitate to give you to him too.” You fall over as he speaks, air being beat from your lungs as you fall flat on your back. Even while you’re gasping for breath he continues.

“The guys call it a horrible, shitty place and I don’t wanna send you to Oikawa, he’s a shitheel. But you’ve gotta fucking learn to listen - and Oikawa always made sure they did.” But Oikawa wouldn’t - he told you that you were safe with him and his people, that they were the good kind of yakuza.

“He’s not like that.” It sounds hollow to the both of you.

“Just listen to me dammit!” His large hand is tangled in your hair, threatening to beat your head into the floor. “I’m trying not to send-” The agonizing feeling of hairs being pulled from your scalp forces you to blink back tears. You yell at him again anyway.

“You just wanna see me as a prostitute!” And your voice doesn’t break but you can feel the tug of your vocal chords pulling on your eyes.

“Maybe.” It’s strange that his eyebrows furrow at your words but his grip on your hair tightens. “I wouldn’t have to threaten if you listen and touch me.”

“I shouldn’t have to if I don’t want to!” The wet tears that might’ve shed earlier are replaced with dry anger.

“It doesn’t matter what you want. Your Oyabun told you, that should be enough.” He yanks your head up by your hair, a few strands ripping right out of your scalp with a sharp pain. “Touch me.” The pain is splitting in your head, on your cheeks, in the breath that you're still trying to regain. “I said, touch me!” And he drops you. Weight held up by Kageyama comes crashing down onto the carpeted floor and you with it. He growls, sound deep in his throat as he makes another threat.

“Fuck, I’ll even give you to the Ushijimas’ to use as target practice if you aren’t obedient. How’d you like to be shot full of holes? That better than touching me?” The words come out in a harsh jumble, spilling from his mouth like a bitter wine. “Do it. Touch me before I stop being nice and kill you myself.” This time it's a kick to your back. “Then someone from your precious family will pay your debt.”

“How do you-”

“I make it a point to know my future family members.” He gives you an uncomfortable smile, mouth curling up as eyes don’t shift from their stoic glare. He steps even closer, hand rising once again to make you flinch but it doesn’t stop rising as he squeezes your neck harshly. “C’mon, get my hands off your neck! Pry me off of you!”

“N..” Air is fleeing your collapsing lungs, “O” It takes all the willpower in your body to fight against the muscles in your shoulders that want to lift your arm and the tendons that control your fingers to curl around his wrist and tug. Kageyama snarls as he frees your throat. His hands reach behind him and he must have a gun. He’s threatened to shoot. His hand moves so slowly, fingers curling around something behind his back. The black of his suit jacket reflects the all too bright light, cheers and beeps of the slots muffled by thick walls. The blunt pain throbbing in your face, on your stomach. The sharp intakes of breath sending stabs of pain to your lungs and the man with dark black hair and dark blue eyes keeps his hand behind his back, his left hand tugging on his suit jacket. He’s getting the gun, it’s in the back of his pants. You feel the familiar, cold prick of tears at the back of your eyes, that only intensifies as you he squats down and you flinch softly.

“C’mon,” His hand is still behind his back “Touch me.” You don’t want to die. You don’t want anyone to bear your debt. You suck in a deep breath, heavy weight forming in your chest as you reach out your hand towards his face. He inhales a tight breath, cheek twitching as your palm inches closer and closer. When just a finger finally grazes his cheek he flinches away from it and the weight inside you gets heavier. You didn’t do what he wanted.

You fucked it up.

You clamp your eyes shut. Slowly - what’ll he do if you move too quickly - you begin to drag your fingers from his cheek, rough with the smallest starts of stubble. He raises his hand with four fingers to keep yours on his cheek, trapping your palm against his clammy hand and rough chin. He exhales a shaky breath, his black-blue eyes closing and head nuzzling into your hand.

Softly feeding from the hand that bit.

“Thank you,” Your eyes are wide open as you stare at his features seeming so soft in comparison to his sharp, metallic anger. He murmurs softly into your palm. “It feels... nice when you touch me.” It’s such a stark contrast from the roaring, growling man threatening to force you into prostitution. The Kageyama who’s in front of you is smiling gently while his hand - though chilled and rough - is gentle against the back of your hand. It’s too much, one blink and tears start to fall. A hiccup erupts from your mouth which you shut as soon as he pokes an eye open. Whimpers based in the bottom of your sore throat start to strain against your closed mouth. His smile widens, growing into that uncomfortable smirk with lips stretched too thin.

“Fuck, you’re such a pretty crier, y’know that?” Kageyama groans the words staring at your face, still in the palm of your hand. “It makes me hard.” As if to emphasize his point, he jerks your hand downward, to the bulge in his suit pants.

“I - Kageyama I’m here to pay off a debt,”

“Yeah, you are.” He grinds his clothed hard-on into your palm. “You’re here to do whatever I tell you to. And I said-” The back of his hand brushes against your palm as it reaches to pull at the zipper of his pants. The grip around your wrist tightens as he drags your hand down. “Touch me.” and slowly your fingers curl around the length that was pulled from his pants.

“Good girl.” He snarls the words as his fingers ghost over your clothed sex, thin panties doing little to dull the strangely gentle caress of his four fingers. He pushes the fabric aside quickly and though you’re completely dry, shoves a finger into your tight cunny.

“Haven’t touched… anyone,” He groans as your hand stays deathly still on his cock. “Like this.” He thrusts his finger into you again. Beads of precum drip from his cock onto the back of your hand.

“Stop… please,” He smiles at your watery eyes. “It doesn’t feel good…” It feels like someone breaking your trust. How could you have trusted a yakuza?

“I’ll make it feel good.” He was going to leave you alone. He was going to leave you alone. A fat tear rolls down your face. Kageyama’s lips curl into another smirk as he pumps his fingers just a little faster.

“Is this what Oikawa meant when he said I’d have trouble ‘fingering’?” He says it to himself more than to you. “Cause I don’t think I’m having much trouble.” He wasn’t going to do anything. A small scream falls from your mouth as you think — you did this to yourself. You slapped him and now… Your hold on his cock tightens. You wish you could say it was in anger rather than for the sparks flying through your body. “Stop closing your eyes.” He huffs. “Makes it seem like you’re not enjoying it.”

You aren’t. You aren’t fucking enjoying it. The way he stares at you, leering at your misty eyes and dripping nose. The way he’s got his fingers stuffed inside you. The way he has your hand wrapped around his dick. It’s much easier to think this is some dream. To pretend your breath isn’t quickening or this is just some fucked up fantasy you’d never want to be real. But it is. And the gasp you let out when you feel your pussy clench - that’s real too.

“Sounds like you do. Feels like you do. Tightening around my fingers like that?” He chuckles darkly to himself before barking, “Dumb whore! Move your hand!” Immediately you release your grip on his cock.

“Not like that.” He glares at you and uses his free hand to grab your wrist once more. Harshly, he tugs it to his mouth and spits onto your palm. “Stroke my cock.” Once more, he shoves your hand down, saliva dripping from your palm to the couch and his bare legs. He hisses at the feeling of your hand, moans as you pump your fist. “Keep doing that.” You nod, mouth parting to gasp only for tears to fall in.

“Holy shit.” His fingers curl inside you, his cock twitches harshly in your hand. His arms woven with ink, flex as his right hand curls into a fist slowly unclenching - rising. All too late, do you notice his fingers lacing themselves around your neck pushing you down, down into the cushions. You can still breathe, he’s not meaning to choke you yet. Your head is still, and that is enough, his face inching ever closer, blue eyes blown wide - mouth parting just so slightly. His face growing closer with each second that makes your brain tick with dread.

“So fuckin pretty….” He sighs quietly. “Bet your tears even taste good.” His mouth presses to yours. He wastes no time shoving his tongue inside. It’s sloppy - like you’d’ve expected, salty saliva spilling from the corners of your lips as he drags his long, rough fingers slowly from your cunt. You whine through spit and sob as the feeling of fullness is taken from you. (though you’ve felt empty this whole time) Your hips roll on their own, grazing against his knuckle. Your cunt weeps at one final touch before you're stuck humping nothing.

“You're wet enough right?” Breathless, he pulls away from your mouth, lips pink, swollen and parted, his cheeks flushed a dark shade of cherry. He looks from your eyes to his fingers to the hand around your neck. “You better be after all that crying. My pathetic little crybaby, so wet for my cock.”

You wish you could spit in his face, wish you could scream. But all that can escape your lips are soft moans, little whines at the loss of his fingers. “Please” dances on the tip of your tongue, pirouetting its way through your teeth and tapping at your lips.

“God…” His cock pokes at your entrance. “You’re so warm…” It’s hard to ignore as he presses in, pushing against your walls so firmly, warmth making your hips roll to meet his cock as it buries deeper inside you. Your hand had been moved a long time ago - or just recently, it’s hard to tell, hard to remember. Or have you already forgotten? Still coated in spit and precum, it rests on his chest, over one of his many tattoos, you slide it upwards to his shoulder. Watching as the spit leaves a trail over his body. Pretending like it’s just water. Your eyes gloss over the forced extravagance of your prison. The ceiling is in between - the sky. Some say heaven. And your sullied hand raises to pull for the sky. When was the last time you’d seen the moon. Surely only hours ago. A rough thrust and something loud echoes in the room. You can barely hear it over the dry crust on your hand. Reaching for the above as your beaten body is defiled. For a second you can feel it, the clouds of the sky.

The sky disappears too as you’re dragged back down to earth by long fingers that squeeze more harshly at your neck. Suddenly only the constricting of his fingers on your windpipe and your pussy on his fat cock are present in your mind. Pleasure and fear hazing together in your mind to create nothing more than blank sight in your eyes and sparks running from your legs to your brain. Your hands continue to tighten around his wrist, pulling harshly as he continues to squeeze and squeeze at your throat.

“You gonna cum?” He continues, picking up his pace and pushing you further into the sofa. You try to shake your head, despite the tightening in your stomach,

“No Kagey-” He looks up from where he’d been pounding into your sloppy cunt, cock shoved right against your cervix, throbbing hashly while he raises his other hand to give a harsh slap to your cheek.

“What do you call me?”

“O-o” You can barely breath and the cock inside of you is so hot. The stinging against your cheek feels so good in the fog of shallow breath and fullness that you can’t help but moan at - when he adjusts his angle and turns you around, pushing your face into the cushions and ass in the air.

“Oyabun,” You can’t help the way your voice breaks as you sob and Kageyama once again starts to move.

“Fuck I feel powerful when you cry.” If only every word didn’t make you wail even louder.

“That’s a good girl, keep crying.” You shove your face further into the cushions, tears soaking into the fabric.

“Please,” You don’t sound like yourself. You already sound broken and halfway gone. “Just cum.” Anything — fucking anything to just end this.

Kageyama just groans behind you as the nauseating pleasure continues. Balls slapping against your clit, friction building slowly as you moan through every thrust unable to keep from feeling every tiny twitch of his cock, every vein sliding against the walls of your cunt.

“Fuck fuck fuck! I want you—” He lets out a loud shaky breath as years of frustration paint your walls.

Breathing heavily with his hands planted firmly on your hips bruisingly tight, he holds you against him. Even fuller than before — with your womb filled with his cum. His hold on your hips releases so gently before he puts a hand on your ass, rubbing it softly, stopping occasionally to squeeze lightly at the flesh. You whimper softly, “Please, no more.” He ignores you, or perhaps he didn’t hear, coming off of his first orgasm. His hands find your hips once more, far gentler than before as he speaks with labored breath.

“Everyone better’ve heard you moaning.” Slowly he begins to pull out, inch after painful inch slowly exiting your sore cunt. He slaps you again, right on your ass. You’re too sore, too used to the point of breakage to cry at the pain (or is it pleasure?) “I’m your Oyabun, they better know that.” The zip of his pants coincides with the cheering for a point in the game that’s still playing. He sits next to your fucked out body on the sofa, and rubs one hand over the still sensitive part of your ass before quickly running his hand over your spine, shoulder blades and neck, settling in your hair. His fingers stay there, nails grazing gently against your scalp. His fingers linger for a minute before he pulls your body up and into his side, propping your head against his shoulder. You stare blankly ahead, eyes glazed with tears and cum dripping from your abused pussy onto the sofa. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you as close as he can, both of you breathing heavily. Kageyama seems to recover his breath quicker than you, as his slows and steadies — head falling against your crown with tiny, quiet snores coming from his chest. Half clothed, sore and exhausted you breath in the smell of the room, barely registering the feeling of cum dripping from your cunt. Hardly noticeable with the sound of snores and the feel of a body pressed against yours. Fat, raindropped tears roll down your cheeks. And instead of your wish to pull away, to leave this room — you cannot. What would happen to your family, to you? Would the man who beat you really let you pull away from him even in his sleep?

No.

So you settle into his side, raise a hand to rest over his tattoos and wait. Eyes wide open.

---

He wakes up about thirty minutes later - pats your head - dresses and runs out of the door without a word. You're too catatonic, still on the couch, still watching men play volleyball on the television. You watch him leave, tension held in your shoulders melting — unlike the candle on the table. Realistically, it's probably thirty minutes that he’s out of the room but it feels like only a few seconds. Time flies when you're having fun. He returns with a bottle of water and a bowl of something that smells wonderfully of spices and cooked pork. He sets both water and bowl on the glass coffee table. He’s gotten one spoon and he sits next to you on the sofa, pulling your legs onto his lap, jerkily giving a message to your thighs that only serves to renew tension in your body. He continues for a few seconds, delicate hands hardened with callouses knead into the flesh before abruptly stopping and leaning forward. He picks up the bowl and lifts the spoon, a small drop of liquid spills.

“I don’t know your favorite yet so I got you mine.” He waits, watching your lips tremble. Your jaw falls and even if you were to speak, you're not allowed to. He shoves the spoon in and waits for your mouth to close. He sits there for a minute. He’s staring at you again and instead of wiping a tear from your cheek, closes your mouth with a delicate touch. You begin to chew slowly, staring straight ahead of you. The sound of volleyball fills your ears and Kageyama doesn’t speak for ten whole minutes, only feeding you curry and closing your mouth when you cannot. It’s peaceful. Even as you're naked and Kageyama is shirtless again. He takes his time making you finish your meal. Only watching set after set of volleyball on the screen.

“You like volleyball?” The hand that has settled back onto your thigh rests softly - so different to the way he was beating you before - moves to where your neck meets your shoulder. “My grandfather was a coach.” One more bite and you’re done. “I think he was gonna teach me before he died.” The match on the screen ends, shifting to commentary and Kageyama opens the bottle of water. “Let me know what you like to eat, okay? I’ll make sure to get it next time.” He brings the bottle to your lips without any sudden movements and steady hands, and with his other he takes your chin and holds you in the most gentle grip you’ve ever felt. He rubs the bottom of your jaw line, easing your mouth open once more and presses his lips softly to your temple before tilting the water back.

“You’re such a pretty crier,” He pulls the bottle away and kisses the corner of your mouth, the slight stubble on his cheek grazing against your cheek. “When I’m Oyabun, I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of, okay?” He sets the plastic water bottle down and pushes your legs from his lap. He rises from the cushions only to sink between your thighs. “Just do what you’re told and I won’t have to do - this -” He presses two fingers onto the forming bruise at your stomach. “again.” He parts your sore legs.

“So will you be my good little crybaby?”

#tw noncon #yakuza!au #yakuza!haikyuu #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio #yandere kageyama #yandere kageyama tobio #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yakuza AU #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu kageyama #yandere kageyama tobio x reader

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dearest-kibble · 3 years

Text

The vampire appeared wearing a costume of normalcy, tricking you into believing the lies he spewed. But when you got closer, you questioned whether what you saw was the truth.

Was that blood in the corner of his lips, fangs that glimmered in the moonlight, a devilish gaze filled with hunger…

Or were your eyes just playing tricks on you? That’s what Tobio insisted was happening, at least.

And why would he ever lie?

An anon requested “wholesome smiling tobio”… and this happened instead. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless, anon! 🖤

Keep reading

#HEAVY FUCKING BREATHING I-#ONNGKEKF #HOLY FUCK #h-hhhe #thank you for the good as hell food #the fangs just #this is so so so good

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dearest-kibble · 4 years

Text

Something I whipped up today cause I’m softtttt (also I hope it’s alright,,,) also anyone wants to learn more about my yhhh OC lad lemme know I’ll put a thing out about himmmm

There’s some very slight possessiveness but it’s not a whole lot literally blink and you’ll miss it. This is mainly just wholesome,,,,

- -

The rain pounds on the roof of the car, music softly fading into the back of your mind as the two of you sit in the car. Silently, watching the road in peaceful bliss. Elliot sits next to you, eyes on the road, crinkled with contentment. Small flashes of light flash through the windows every time you pass a streetlight in the dark. The book in your hands has been long forgotten, instead the music from your playlist has taken over your mind and the rain is so calmingly soft to think about anything but him. The way he holds you when you feel sad, or the way he makes you laugh doing nothing in particular. How he’ll send you stupid little things that he knows you’ll like when he’s out. His arms that so casually dangle from hands that hold the wheel. The same arms that held you when the night was young, wrapped around your waist as he pulls you into his chest. Subtle breaths as he gently rocks you to sleep. The same lull before you fall asleep, like his mumbles of “You’ve got such a cute laugh” or “What was your favorite thing today?”or just soft humming. Like the way he gently nods along to the rhythm now and smiles at just the feeling of being alone with you. He gave you a sweater before you left, as you sit snugly with the petrichor and the faint strawberries left on his sweater from the cake he made. All you want to do is to look at him, his face in the light of a streetlamp and watch him blink slowly and softly. Slowly you reach your hand out, and place it on his forearm and rest it on the slight muscle, delicately wrapping chilled hands around his arm and lightly pull his right arm from the wheel. You drag your fingers down, intertwining gracefully to the sounds of droplets on glass and the speaker's soft bass thumping in your ears. He whispers a soft,

“I’m sorry I got angry about your clothing. You’re allowed to wear what you want - I just,” His voice is even quieter as he mumbles with his breathy voice. “You’re so pretty, and you know the guys, I worry about them… being weird around you, they’re sexist - some are fine, but you know… You’re just so, so pretty. Besides,” His smile is like poetry in physical form. “You look really good in my sweater.” His grasp on your hand tightens slightly, like it always does when he wants to express something better.

“I know - I know Elliot. Some of them scare me a bit too -” And It makes sense for Elliot to be concerned, it was a party with people you only talk to over the internet. “Hey Elliot?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,”

“Of course.” He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. “I can turn around if you don’t want to go?”

“No! No! I’m good, I just-”

“If you want to go home, I’ll make Moussaka and turn on something?”

“And then you can cuddle me?” You lean in your seat, towards his shoulder that your head cannot rest on. “Or I can read to you if you want?”

“Anything you want. Don’t feel uncomfortable, you will be fine.” His hand constricts on the wheel.

“Thank you Elliot. Let’s go home.” The music still beating gently, with the sweater smelling so sweetly of strawberry and Elliot’s cinnamon overtones. You sigh, and in the most soothing voice you can, “I love you Elliot.” His grip on the steering wheel releases.

“I love you too. I’ll talk to some of them, try to get the ones who don’t scare you together?”

“Thank you Elliot.”

“Of course Honey.”

#yandere oc #my ocs #yandere x reader #x reader #oc x reader #oc #yandere imagines #oc imagines

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dearest-kibble · 4 years

Text

I- I am just a whore,,,, for uhhh Dabi but like,..,, ghbhbb I’ll let him do whatever he wants to meeee

Touya Todoroki ghost writ this. Not responsible for whatever whorish thoughts you have after reading.

warnings: injury (bruises, bites), public sex, dacryphilia, corruption kink, old man tomato geezer is in love with you, fellatio, one (1) biblical reference, daddy, creampie.

You’ve always been the meek type, don’t quite manage to do anything more than squeak out a little pathetic “no”.

It’s an awful terrible thing that you met Touya then, a lamb stumbling across a big bad hungry wolf. It’s like a match made in heaven or hell, depending on who you’re asking. (Obviously Enji thinks that the whole thing is terrible, but, that’s for his own selfish reasons. He’s not so morally squeaky-goody-good as you might think he is. The whole Number One Pro-Hero speil is just a spiel to cover up for the fact that the man is into some fucked up shit.)

Keep reading

#I just #wanna call him daddy while he leaves a little burn around my neck cause he was chokin me #he’d force me to pierce my nipples and I’d say yes #Dabi just #yes please

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dearest-kibble · 4 years

Text

SO IVE BEEN A LITTLE BIT INACTIVE LATELY

I’m so sorry about that y’all! I’ve been staring at my wips and making slow progress but I’m going! School is also being a little bit of a pain but I’m trying to finish yakuza kags (if anyone wants to beta read or something hmu,,,,,,,) n e way hopefully kags will be out within the next week or so! (Also if anyone wanna thirst on main with me 👀👀👀)

#darling speaks #thirst time with darling #hhhhhh time is irrelevant #I need to write #damn

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dearest-kibble · 4 years

Note

i rlly rlly rlly love ur writing sm, especially ur zuko writings🥺🥺 is it possible to see what zuko would do if his darling was hurt by someone else?? whether on purpose or accident

Oh boy oh boy oh boy~ I am,,, so ready for Zuko to just get hella angry,,, of course that’s only if you’re wounded on purpose. (Im so sorry this took so long ive been a little swamped with life stuff atm) This also,,, took on its own little like,,, life and stuff so,,, (Haikyuu stuff is getting done,, fist yakuza thing will hopefully be done soon and i have so many ideas for other yakuza!shots.)

So let’s say you’re just minding your own business when someone (They’re an ambassador from the Earth Kingdom) “accidentally” trips you.

Zuko who’s by your side always by your side Kneels down to check over you so quick you’d think he’d get whiplash. He makes sure to check every single part of you.

It doesn’t even matter where you are - in a corridor - the great hall - in a war meeting - Zuko stops the entire thing if he thinks you might even have a Headache.

So of course, when you are tripped on purpose by an Earth Kingdom ambassador... Zuko doesn’t take it well at all.

He coos over you for the normal five minutes, no one daring to twitch a finger. He has servants bring you a pillow and something to eat to put your mind off of it he kisses any bruise you might’ve received and stands back up.

You’re sure the whole of the Caldera can feel the blazing heat emitting off of Zuko as he walks slowly over (his rage is barely contained and you’ve only seen him like this after you tried to run oh spirits are those flames jutting from the bottom of his fists?) and snarls to the Ambassador.

“Do you have an explanation Ambassador” Spirits, you’ve only heard that tone when he was talking to Zhao years ago - back when the most prominent emotion he felt was rage. The mouthful of fruit tart turns too ash as you chew, silk pillow beneath you looses the stuffing inside.

“They were seen with you before you were instated as Fire Lord. Do they support Ozai?” The man speaks with a oily voice. All the easier for Zuko to set aflame

You’ve learned not to listen when Zuko gets angry. It’ll only upset you. And that’s no good for anyone. You try to focus on anything but the scene before you.

Still - you can’t help but stay at attention when nothing else happens. Your body feels slow with ringing in your ears and heartbeat so loud.

It feels almost like you're at the theater that Zuko loves so much as you watch the ambassador get backed into a wall in what looks like a rehearsed movement has Zuko done this before?

“Forgive me Fire Lord!” And the man who tripped you begs against a wooden pillar as Zuko stares him down.

Still you cannot move, the ash in your mouth coating your throat.

The mass of red robes starts to move slowly closer to green and brown, small flame in hand.

The close proximity of flame to the man’s body is what makes you try to move.

You want to move your arms, but they are glued to your body. You want to stand but your legs feel like they’re on fire. You want to shout but ash fills your mouth.

All there is left to do is shake because you cannot move.

Zuko looks at you with uneasy eyes and frowning face, the flame is snuffed and his hands drop to his sides.

“Are you alright my Love?” He drops to his knees by your side, and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s alright, it’’s okay - breath with me.” He places a stiff hand on his chest and his diaphragm expands with air as he takes and deep breath. “Close your eyes and listen to me breath okay?” It’s such a soft and gentle rasp - voice only meant for you. “I’ll get to this tomorrow,” Zuko speaks much louder, for the rest of his entourage. “I’ll see you later Ambassador” It’s not a cleverly concealed threat but neither of you think to appease him.

All but a few servants trickle from the hall.

“We’ll stay here unless you’d like to go somewhere else okay?” It’s barely a whisper.

“Okay Zuko.” It barely comes from your throat.

Zuko pulls you from the unstuffed pillow and onto his lap, his chest rising and falling against your back now and his hand rests on yours.

“Let your stomach fill my Love, pretend you're pregnant” Both of you immediately pause. Zuko’s strong breaths into his stomach become much more shallow and come much quicker as he realizes what he’s said.

“W-wait- no,” He flounders over words for a second, sputtering little pieces of words before deciding on, “Only if you want to?” His breathing steadies very quickly as he rubs circles on the fabric covering your belly. “Because I do.”

You want to say something very very bold.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to - it’s just,” But you know it isn’t alright. “I want to make sure everyone knows I love you.”

The grey taste of ash still lingers on your tongue. Before you speak you swallow twice. Even that doesn’t get rid of the weight that keeps your lips from parting.

“Only if you..” He buries his face into the back of your hair and his nose hits your scalp. “If you stop getting so angry at anyone who accidentally hurts me.”

“That man did it on purpose. He admitted to it!” Zuko’s growl reverberates through your skin and you stiffen quickly at the display of anger.

“It was justified Zuko-” Something snatches your voice and pulls it into the back of your throat. You turn on his lap slowly to face him and push your face into his collarbone. “They’re worried about you. What if I was an assassin?”

“You wouldn’t kill me.” He pets your hair with one hand. “You love me and I love you.”

You just wish it wasn't so one sided.

#yandere zuko #yandere zuko x reader #yandere fiction #yandere x reader #prince zuko #Zuko x reader #atla zuko #Zuko #yandere atla #yandere atla x reader #Zuko ATLA #atla x reader #Zuko atla x reader

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dearest-kibble · 4 years

Text

Choking Point

TW: Noncon, choking (via dick) oral. Noncon oral (male receiving) Glass shards, Facefucking

Little pops and the smell of burning caramel permeate the room. The sound of his voice, rough from screaming but not letting up in ferocity. You know you’re flinching, over and over. It gets even worse when Bakugo smacks over a vase on the floor. Glass shatters on the soft, carpeted floor. His face gets especially close to yours, teeth bared in a grimace and voice as acidic as the taste of the drugs he gives you. In a blind moment of unthinking panic, you scrabble back on the carpet. Mind only on the monster in front of you. Your palm splits, porcelain digging into flesh Bakugo made sure was soft and unblemished. He’s not going to be happy today.

“Fuckin pathetic. Look at you, crying your eyes out over a little vase.” He rolls his eyes, sneering as the harsh words roll over his tongue and into the air.

“It hurts Bakugo…”

“The fuck did you just say?” His red eyes snap to your mouth, hands curl into fists before releasing little pops of explosions. You flinch and shut your mouth. “C’mon, out with it you cow.”

“Y-you hurt me.” His eyes widen slightly, and you can hear his labored breathing shallow slightly at your admittance.

“Stand up” The room isn’t quiet - breaths short and sharp punctuate your whimpers and Bakugo is barely containing the little explosions you know are as much a nervous habit as anger. As his red eyes stare into you, you’re not sure who’s more scared.

“I said, stand the fuck up!” A loud “boom” sounds from his left palm as the scent of smokey sugar seeps into your nose, suffocating you.

“Yes sir.” You quickly stand, pain in your palm still throbbing. He grunts and circles round you once. Seeing no problem with your front or back, he gives an order.

“Be a good little pet and hold out your hands.”

“Y-yes Bakugo.” Stiff as a board, you lift your hands, keeping them straight and postured for easy access.

“Your palm.” The gruff tone of his voice drops. “It’s bleeding, open it.” His fingers needlessly pry gently at your already open hand, a cloth he always has on him starts to absorb the blood that was dripping from your palm.

“The vase, y-you-”

“Use your words.”

“You broke the vase a-and” He’s removed the glass and is carefully - gently wrapping the cloth around your palm. “And you hurt me.” Breath stops flowing as Bakugo’s hand - gentle hand - wraps around your neck.

“You fuckin cow.” He’s smirking as he lifts you off the ground. Your hands, though one has been bandaged, are clawing at Bakugo’s wrist, you’re kicking and fighting and you can’t breathe and he’d never hurt you. “You know I’d never hurt you.”

“B-bu-”

“Shut the fuck up, sweetheart.” The edge in his tone is mocking and the squeeze to your throat leaves you with tunnel vision. “It looks to me like you wanna get hurt.” He drops you and immediately you begin to cough on air that comes rushing back to your lungs.

“N-no-”

“Why’d you poke yourself with a stupid ass piece of glass then, huh?! Got any fucking idea how many arteries are in your palm?”

“Bakugou I didn’t know-”

“Of course you knew. How the fuck didn’t you hear a vase shatter? Your cow brain affecting those ears of yours?”

“I can hear your bullshit about not wanting me to be hurt.” Bakugo growls as you speak. “You just want to be the only person who can hurt me!” The air in your lungs has barely returned and this is the first time in months you’ve raised your voice.

“You such a little bitch that you think I'd hurt you?” You gasp for air, maybe if your lungs are full, you can talk him out of this, tell him you're fine - go back to your room - anything but be on the floor looking up at his red - boiling over like lava, threatening to melt you - eyes. “Fine. I’ll hurt you if you really want me too, you painslut.” Air doesn’t come quickly enough and you are still trying to breathe to speak when he roughly takes hold of your wrists. The sweaty hands feel rough around them as you shake your arms desperately to try and free yourself from Bakugo’s grasp.

“Too bad I don’t have any rope.” His eyes are so stern and his smirk a little forced. “You’ll just have to be good for me.” Once the words escape his mouth, his grin is a little more natural as he tightens his grip. “C’mon now, look at me! You wanna be hurt so bad and baby, I fuckin live to serve you.”

You're still surrounded by shards of glass that normally would've been cleaned up while you were forced to sit in your overly padded room. A rough hand collides with your cheek and finds its way into your hair to give a harsh tug up.

“I said look at me slut!” You look at the ground, uncaring of the pain in your scalp. “Fuck, you really wanna be hurt.” He laughs mockingingly. “I’ve been treating you all wrong, I shoulda known a whore like you wants to be hurt.” His hand leaves your hair only to grab your chin roughly and push up. Muscles strain in your neck as you fight to keep your head down. “Fucking look at me!” His voice roars and as you flinch his fingers lighten their grip for just a millisecond. The roar floods your ears as you look up at his other hand, slowly moving down to his zipper.

“Open wide sweetheart.” You glance up at his face with apprehensive eyes, met with darkened crimson and a tongue dragging along his lips. “Open those cocksucking lips for me baby. I know you like it rough.” Fingers pull at your bottom lip, and the taste is sweet and acidic, like caramel dipped pineapple. He prys softly at first and when your teeth still grind he yanks harshly at your chin and shoves a finger in your mouth. His other hand reaches down, palm resting on your cheek as he keeps your teeth from meeting.

“Be a good little slut and don’t bite, got that?” You blink twice, unable to move your head as he removes his finger from your mouth and moves it down below his waistline. You can hear a groan as he pumps his cock. His hand stays there and you almost try through open teeth to murmur a “Stop” before the salty taste of precum mixes with the sweet acidity of nitroglycerine. Your nose pressed flush against bushy blonde hair and the burning caramel smell mixes with a more pungent musk. He removes his thumb from your mouth and positions his hand firmly in your hair, getting a solid grip. He lets his cock sit in your dripping mouth for roughly thirty seconds before he takes his first thrust. His cock hits the back of your throat. The feeling makes you want to vomit and you move to pull away from him immediately. If not for the tight grip on your head, you’re sure you would’ve gotten away but instead he speaks in a rough, low voice.

“Slut can’t take my cock? Too bad.” And he gives another sharp thrust as the slap of skin fills the room. “Your little throat just-” He lets out a hushed groan as he fucks your mouth again. “Tightens so good baby.” Another thrust and his dick lingers in your throat as you heave slightly, mouth frothing with saliva. “Fuck - what if I just pinched your nose shut and you passed out with my cock in your mouth?” You try not to look at him, really try. But your eyes must flit up for a small second. “You’ve got such cute eyes baby, just begging me to fuck that tight little throat like I mean it!” He picks up his speed, already swollen lips feeling stretched too wide around his thrusting in and out. In and out of your throat, but never leaving your mouth. You look into his eyes, and hope he knows what you mean with the biggest doe eyes you can make.

“Yeah yeah-” His voice isn’t as calm as it might’ve been a minute ago, it’s strained, taught like a string about to snap. His thrusts, which were already erratic, speed up with small growls and groans of “Like that baby-” “Gonna fucing- yeah.” and “You take my cock so good.” He lets out a loud groan that reverberates on the walls as he finally pulls from your mouth, however slowly it is. There's hot, salty cum in your mouth and he’s still coming on your face, ruining your clothes.

“S-shit sweetheart- look so good covered in my cum.” He finally drops your arms which are sore and feel like they’ve been bruised and with his hand, thumbs over your cheek softly. “Can you say ‘I love you?’” Your tongue is still coated with thick white liquid that you just know he wants swallowed. You gulp it down quickly, acrid tang of salt and sugar mixing and slowly it passes down your sore throat and open your mouth, lips still painted the same white. You try to speak, yet all that comes from your throat are small rasps of “I” but you smile - if he thinks you enjoyed it, he wouldn’t do it again right?

“I knew you’d love it, you slut. Next time, you will pass out on my cock, like that baby? Wanna pass out with your mouth full of daddy’s cock?”

#katsuki bakugo x reader #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha katsuki #bnha #bnha x reader #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw facefucking #yandere x reader #yandere fiction #bakugo x reader

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