#hypothetical him with pupils | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

i-drop-level-one-loot · 5 months

Text

*NSFW* The Wishing Hole (Yandere x GN!Reader)

Warning!! This is not a romance, read at your own risk CW: LONG, Dead Dove, abuse, murder, trauma, manipulation, masturbation, mutilation, unhealthy relationships, obsession

"Have you heard about the hole?"

Part I

"It's right over here!" Miranda theater-whispered to her friends as she led them through the black woods. Their flashlights bobbed in the darkness, the only light visible to the trio of twelve year olds as they trekked through the thicket. (Reader) gripped onto their envelope tightly, fearful of leaving sweat marks on it.

They had been staying the night at Brian's house when Miranda brought up the hole. A local urban legend by that point, the story of a hole that granted wishes. Brian had chastised Miranda for believing a story so stupid, but still followed her and (Reader) when they snuck out to grant their wishes.

"How do you know where it is?" He nervously hissed.

"Abby's sister Rebecca has a friend who found it. Over here." Miranda spoke as though it should have been obvious why she knew where it was.

(Reader) could do nothing but hope. They hoped hard, over and over again, wrinkling the papers in their fist as the yellow light led them to their future. All they could do was beg the universe to grant their wish. For the hole to be real.

The trees thinned and opened, revealing a small clearing with a very deep hole dug out of the earth. It was a normal looking hole, but in the dark of a moonless night to a group of children, it was ominous.

Their muddy boots all stopped a good foot away from the edge. The ground didn't look stable.

After taking a shaky breath, Miranda threw her envelope into the hole, squeezing her eyes shut as she focused all her energy on the wish written inside the letter she tossed. Brian thought about arguing, calling out his friends for littering, but instead copied Miranda, throwing his wish in as well. (Reader) felt adrenaline shoot to their finger tips as the anxiety tried to rip through their veins and escape their skin. Their packet was thicker than either of their friends', and fell harder as they chucked it in with all their strength.

The only future (Reader) wanted was nearly impossible. It would take divine intervention to get that happiness. "What did you wish for?" Miranda asked Brian behind (Reader).

"I want to know what I want to do."

"That's it?"

"What'd you wish for?"

"A hot boyfriend, who's gonna love me, and marry me."

"Well, when you're trapped in a marriage with three kids, I'll be doing what I love every day."

Miranda groaned loudly, refusing to get into another argument with her best friend. She instead looked at (Reader) who was still focusing on the hole. "What did you wish for, (Reader)?"

Their eyes seemed to be seeing something the other two couldn't see. Large pupils fixated on nothing, still filled with enough anxiety to cripple an adult.

"Someone who loves me.."

"Ugh, not you too.." Brian's voice melted into the background, almost unintelligible in the dense air. The contents of the wish filled (Reader's) head to the point that nothing else could be heard.

• 15 years later •

Another failed date.

Dark rings permanently decorated the underneath of (Reader's) tired eyes. The perpetually single adult slid down against the wall, too exhausted to continue standing. There was nothing particularly wrong with the guy, but he just wasn't "the one" for (Reader). He was boring and awkward, rambling about his job and future plans, bragging about his hypothetical future fortune. Nothing he did was bad enough for (Reader) to guiltlessly label him a douche, but nothing about him was their type.

They pulled out their phone, looking at the dark haired man on their wallpaper for a second too long before opening up their messages with their date. (Reader) typed up a quick message to thank Rich for the date, but that they didn't see it going any further.

The phone was tossed to the side as (Reader) struggled to stand, grabbing a beer from their fridge as the phone began chiming from the linoleum. Texts rapidly coming in were ignored by (Reader) as they cracked open their first drink for the night.

His unread messages echoed through (Reader's) shoebox apartment.

The weary adult wondered how their therapist would react next week at their appointment. It wasn't realistic for an adult to fixate on a wish they had made as a child, but just like all those years ago, (Reader) knew deep in their bones that there was no happiness for them if they couldn't have that wish come true. Rich was attractive, in an average sort of way, with straight brown hair cut a little too short for the shape of his brow. He had nice lips, (Reader) thought, but couldn't imagine kissing them.

The beer tasted like lightly bitter water. Not a promising sign; it tasted like they would need something stronger. On the way to the living room (Reader) noticed their bedroom door had some dirt on the white paint, like someone had pushed it open with filthy hands.

(Reader) felt an anxious jolt to their system. A familiar pain they hadn't felt in a long time. They pushed open the door, timidly entering their own room like a stranger nervous to be caught. But the room was empty.

"So, how'd your date with Rich go?" Adam asked hopefully. The same trio of friends since primary school sat in their local diner. It was a monthly ritual, gathering for brunch to force themselves to keep in touch. They tried to hold the meeting every week, but with work scheduling it was impossible. Adam sat with his husband, Jon, across from Brian and (Reader). Everyone had changed so much as they got older, but that was to be expected. No one can stay a child forever.

(Reader) sighed before sipping on their milkshake. Adam knew exactly what that meant, and groaned, just as dramatically as when he was a child. His hair may be shorter, but some things stayed consistent.

"What was wrong with this guy?"

"Nothing!" (Reader) replied defensively. "He just... wasn't my type."

Brian pushed up his glasses. "Maybe you should lower your standards."

"Brian!"

"-I mean, it's good to have standards, obviously, but people are real people, not characters in a book. No one is going to match your description of a perfect partner, because people aren't perfect, ya know?"

(Reader) stole a glance at their phone, admiring the black haired man behind the time. "You can say that, because your wish already came true. Both of yours."

Both Brian and Adam looked ashamed and a little uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact and fixating on their meals. Jon almost went cross-eyed trying to understand what (Reader) was implying.

(Reader) stood, tossing a couple bills onto the table. "I have to go, I'll talk to you guys later."

"Okay, have a good day! Text me when you get home." Adam said warmly, hugging his dear friend tightly while trying to shape his face into a happier expression.

"I will. Bye."

Brian gave up a small side hug, grimacing.

Jon waited until (Reader) was out of sight before asking "Were they talking about that wish you guys made as kids?"

The bespectacled young man rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

"I know what Adam wished for, but what did you and (Reader) wish for?" When he mentioned Adam's wish, Adam rolled his eyes playfully and they nudged each other lightly. Their whole relationship was practically diabetic for Brian, who still after all these years didn't get the appeal in romance.

Brian adjusted his glasses again, clearing his throat. "I wanted to know what to do with my life." And he had found that calling. The summer before high school he discovered a YouTube channel centered around ornithology and sent him on a strange spiral of bird mania. His friends and family thought it was a temporary fixation that he would lose interest in after a year or so, but his newfound fascination guided him all the way through college, landing him in an animal husbandry profession taking care of cranes at (what Brian considered to be) a humane zoo. "(Reader) wished for someone to love them."

"Well, I believe there's someone for everyone. It takes some people longer to find 'the one' than it does for others, and (Reader) seems like a great person, so I'm sure they'll meet someone that fits their childhood ideal."

Although Jon meant well with his words he could see the discomfort on his husband's and Brian's faces, their eyes either focused on their drink or plate.

They never read (Reader's) wish.

But over the years the two friends had begun to piece together a picture of the kind of man (Reader) wanted.

It was a complete breach of trust, looking into a friend's past, going full internet stalker mode to investigate into the secrets (Reader) wouldn't divulge. And what they found...

Was a lot.

They didn't know how to open the conversation with their third musketeer, since the facts and speculations were all obtained without (Reader's) knowledge or permission, but if Brian and Adam were correct in their understanding of what (Reader's) wish was, they genuinely wanted to help (Reader).

They also knew where (Reader) was going. But even that was impossible to confess.

Because at that moment, (Reader) was in their car for their monthly four hour visit with the greatest man (Reader) had ever known. It was unfortunate scheduling, but (Reader) couldn't compromise the day for either party. Keeping in contact with their friends was important for their mental health (according to their therapist) but this meeting was more important to (Reader) than practically anything else in their life.

Metal fencing and high beige walls appeared through the trees like a fairy tale castle. Instead of an evil dragon guarding the entrance, however, there were armed guards. Still every bit of evil in (Reader's) eyes.

"Welcome back, Mx. (Reader)." The usual security officer greeted grimly. Before he could ask for identification, (Reader) already had it out. Although they had met many times throughout the past decade, it was still a formality required by law. The two filled out the necessary paperwork while only offering tight smiles. He opened the gate for (Reader) to drive in and park in the visitor's lot. (Reader) always felt the cameras on them whenever they entered this "castle".

Officers emptied (Reader's) pockets and scanned their body for metal. There would be no physical connection at all, but they still needed to take precautions.

(Reader) was led through the lifeless grey halls towards visitation. Each step made their heart race and fostered the smile on their lips. Approaching the room with squeaky broken stools and bulletproof glass relaxed their faux grin for a genuine tranquility. There were no other visitors at the time.

The stool creaked under (Reader) as they gently eased into the old thing, staring at the window. Shortly after they sat down, the man from their phone's wallpaper, now with more silver hair than black, shuffled in on the other side, smiling softly as he sat across from (Reader). They both grabbed the phones.

"Hi Dad."

His dark eyes with pupils so large that without direct light made them look black had deeply etched wrinkles decorating them that folded deeper as he smiled. When Donavon McElroy was arrested, the news outlets focused on his eyes like some kind of Kubrick film, fixating on how you could just see the evil in some people. It felt as though the only person in the entire country who could see how loving Donavon's eyes were was (Reader).

"Hey kiddo. I've missed you."

"I missed you too." There were only four hours of visitation allowed per month. "Have you been getting my letters?"

Greasy ringlets of hair tumbled to the side as he cocked his head. "They're still the highlight of each week." Donavon didn't blink often. Even though the lights always hurt his eyes, no matter how dim they were, he seemed like a mannequin, refusing to blink and miss a second of his precious child's face. "How have you been since our last visit? I know you said in your letters that you're still going to therapy, which is good, very good.. how's that going for you?"

(Reader) felt their smile dip a little. "Well, it's going. I don't really like my therapist, but I know it's just because I don't like what she has to say. Even if I change doctors, they'll still say the same things."

Donavon nodded understandingly. It was like that at first for him as well, receiving psychiatric treatment while in prison. "I didn't like being told that my line of thinking was.. wrong. I knew that logically my thinking was, of course, obviously wrong, but it didn't feel wrong, so having a.. professional tell me that was upsetting."

"But it's important that you continue with it. And I'm very proud of you for continuing with it."

(Reader) laughed. It was a sharp scoff of a laugh, but not spiteful. It filled their chest with hot lava to hear someone praise them for doing what they've been doing since they were ten years old. Because it was difficult. Even if (Reader) continuously told themselves that this was the bare minimum. It was still difficult.

"She has me out in the dating world." (Reader) slumped a little, only slightly enough that no one but Donavon could tell the change in their posture. "Which is.. not fun."

"It can be fun. Does that carnival still come? There used to be a traveling carnival, a pop up fair, that would set up in a parking lot of a small store in our home town, really cheap. That could be a fun first date. Tiny ferris wheel and gravitron. Elephant ears." The two adults smiled widely thinking about it, but neither of them were picturing it as a date. His smile melted when he realized this. "I wish I could have taken you there."

(Reader) imagined a different life, one where they were in his care instead of their mother's, eating pastries the size of their head and getting sick on possibly dangerous attractions in a small parking lot. Their mother never took them, but they knew which pop up fair he was talking about, riding past it on the bus many times in their life. "That sounds like it would have been fun.."

".. but like I said, dating can be fun. As long as your being safe." (Reader's) dad's smile bounced back. "What have you done so far that hasn't been fun?"

"Well, I went out for dinner. Guy named Rich. He was, uh, decent. Talked a lot. Mostly about his job, and goals."

"Sounds career focused, that's good."

"Eh.." They shrugged, eyes drifting.

"What was wrong with him?"

(Reader) sighed. "Nothing. He was.. competent. Seemed like a regular guy. He just.. wasn't my type."

Guilt began to crawl through the folds of Donavon's brain like bugs infesting his conscious. He knew it was all his fault. Everything. But if he said that out loud, (Reader) would deny it, argue and fight it. "Well, there are plenty of fish in the sea."

"There's also plenty of trash."

Donavon pointed a finger at his kid warningly. "There's also sunken treasure. Don't give up hope."

"I don't need someone to be happy.."

"That's true.. but something tells me that when you weren't actively dating around, you weren't being content with the single life, and that's why your therapist is having you go out there. That.. maybe you were still waiting around for something that you shouldn't have, instead of living life to the fullest while alone."

The two became uncomfortably silent. This happened nearly every month. "I just want someone who loves me."

Donavon swore he could cry at that moment. "I'm sorry for-"

"Don't apologize." (Reader) cut him off. "Don't apologize for being a great dad."

"I wasn't. I wasn't a great dad. I'm-"

"-don't-"

"-a monster, (Reader). Kiddo, please, just listen to me. I'm sorry for the things I've done. The way I went about.. I wasn't in my right mind.. what I put you through was not okay. It was not, and will never be okay." He leaned forward, wishing to break through the glass dividing them and hug his kid. "I'm so sorry."

(Reader) softly responded "You're the only person who ever loved me."

"And you deserve better than that."

'No', (Reader) thought, 'there is no better than that.'

"Let's change the subject, please." (Reader) closed their eyes, forcing away the tears. "We never have enough time, and I don't want to spend the entire day focusing on sad shit."

Donavon took a shaky breath. "Okay, kiddo.." he mulled over for a second what to talk about before cracking a smile, one wide enough to show off his missing canine. "Remember Eddy?"

"Your old bunk mate?"

"Yep."

"What about him?"

"He got stabbed."

The sentence was so short and sudden that it shocked (Reader) into snorting, bringing back their genuine smile. "What? When? What happened?"

From the door an older guard smiled sadly, away from view. Donavon was liked by nearly everyone, both by the guards and the other prisoners. It was always a shame, getting to know someone who was supposed to be an evil bastard, and learning that they were just a great man who needed help. Plenty of the older guards understood that (Reader) would forever look at them with disgust and mildly veiled hatred. Because Donavon was (Reader's) hero, and the guards were just wardens unjustly holding him captive.

Their conversation continued without pause, filling the empty room with sounds of parental love and warmth. The guard at the door loved being there whenever it was time for (Reader's) visit with their dad, because it really was an incredibly beautiful and emotional scene every time he was present, but he also hated being the one on duty whenever (Reader) came, because he had to be the villain to say "Time's up" when their four hours were over.

"Mx. (Reader). Donavon."

(Reader's) eyes drooped, darkening under the shadow of their eyelashes. "Already?"

"Unfortunately."

The guard had been there so long, he remembered when (Reader) was a child, and would cry and scream whenever it was time to leave, begging him to let their daddy out.

Donavon smiled comfortingly. "Thank you for visiting me, kiddo."

"Of course."

"Maybe in another decade they'll let me have physical contact visitation." Donavon chuckled, only half serious with his hopeful statement. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Dad. I love you."

"I love you too. Don't forget to write."

"I never do."

They both stood up, hanging up their phones painfully. It was the worst time of the day. His chains shook around his wrists as he waved goodbye. He never hurt a single guard in his time incarcerated, but it was a formality, a requirement, due to the nature of his crime. It didn't seem to matter how good his behavior was. Even though the guards trusted him, according to the law Donovan was still to be treated as a monster.

After being guided back out of the room, through the halls, and out to the parking lot, (Reader) finally felt like they could breathe. The air that was stolen when the guard ended their visit with their dad was greedily sucked up outside the stifling building. They finally looked at their silent phone, seeing a dozen messages from Rich. Or, who's number (Reader) assumed was Rich, since they had deleted his contact as soon as they woke up that morning.

Most of the texts were pleas for a second date, or an explanation for what he did wrong. Some of them were insults.

(Reader) sighed, deleting the conversation and blocking his number before getting into their car, allowing tears to silently fall down their warm cheeks. All that they wished for was for someone to love them, and no one would ever love them like their dad did.

The drive back was just as miserable as it was every month.

And just like every month, the tears didn't stop until (Reader) pulled up to their apartment. It was a long day, where the good moments weren't long enough, and (Reader) was ready for another beer. It wasn't Sunday, but it was their Sunday, which meant that they couldn't stay up drinking all night.

But it felt as though they had just popped open their can when someone started pounding on their door, angrily and frantically. (Reader) cursed not being able to afford to live in an apartment that had a controlled door to the building, living in a cheap one that had the stairs on the outside of the building. Which meant that there were no security measures to prevent just anyone from coming straight to (Reader's) unit.

They set the alcohol to the side and made their way to the door. The banging only stopped when the person on the other side heard (Reader) unlocking the deadbolt. A slightly sweaty man with brown hair too short to be messy stood impatiently.

"Rich?"

The slightly younger man shrugged sharply, jutting his head to the side with an attitude as if to say 'No shit, who else?'

"Are you going to let me in?" He asked impatiently.

"Uh, no?" (Reader) furrowed their brow. "How'd you find where I live?" They were too confused to even be mad or scared.

"It wasn't difficult; literally everything is online." Rich responded as though (Reader) was a fucking idiot for even asking. The disrespect was shocking, a severe shift from how he acted during their date. He shifted abruptly as though he was going to charge (Reader), so they tightened their muscles, holding the door closer to their side, which earned an aggravated huff.

"What are you doing here, Rich?"

"Well, you owe me an explanation after you ghosted me after our date the other day." His tone made it sound so obvious.

(Reader) scoffed, almost amused. "No I fucking don't."

"I was the perfect gentleman on our date considering the circumstances, you and I had a good time, but then you ghosted me? And I just want to know why." The emphasis on the 'considering the circumstances' included a wave, motioning to (Reader's) body. (Reader) didn't know if he was insinuating that their body was a problem, or if it was their gender expression, or if he just had high fashion expectations that (Reader) didn't live up to, but the little hand movement finally ticked them off.

"Okay, you're done." (Reader) tried to close the door, but Rich was stronger than he looked, and effortlessly pushed them back into their apartment and entered. (Reader) didn't fall, only stumbled, wobbling to regain balance as Rich casually closed the door behind him, pacing his hands on his hips.

"So, what did I do wrong?"

"You mean before you broke into my home?"

"I did- don't be fucking dramatic, I did not break in. I just want to know, I just want to know what I did wrong."

(Reader) slowly backed up, mentally picturing the apartment behind them to figure out where their closest form of defense was. "Nothing. It just didn't work out-"

"BULL SHIT."

"-you weren't my type."

Rich stuck out his jaw, clicking his tongue. "That isn't a reason."

"Yes, it is-"

"That isn't a reason to be a fucking dick."

'How far behind me is my knife block?'

Before (Reader) could make a move their front door violently flew open again, slamming loudly into the wall. Both Rich and (Reader) whipped around at the jarring noise.

A man stood in the doorway.

His skin was so caked in dirt and muck that his yellowish skin was almost completely painted over. Long, black hair curled due to the oil, hanging down and sticking to his gaunt face. Between the shaggy locks black eyes glared unblinkingly.

"Who the fuck is that?!" Rich nearly hollered, retreating closer to (Reader) out of fear, unable to tear his eyes away from the modified weapon in the intruder's hand.

Warmth spread throughout (Reader's) entire body; the god of love releasing a cage of butterflies into their body.

"He's here to kill me."

Part 0

Eight year old (Reader) tugged on their oversized long sleeve shirt. It was rubbing against the bruises uncomfortably. Everything about their body felt uncomfortable lately.

Their mother was late again.

Mr. Haley sighed loudly for the umpteenth time, looking at his watch as though it was (Reader's) fault their mother hadn't picked them up yet. It was warm and humid, and the sleeves of (Reader's) shirt were sticking to their arms. Despite the heat, Mr. Haley wouldn't allow (Reader) to wait inside, instead standing at the entrance of the school under a tree. (Reader) was the last child at pickup, aside from the children outside on the field for after school sports.

"Is your mom working late again?"

(Reader) didn't answer, instead watching the man walking into the nearly empty parking lot who seemed to be staring at (Reader) and their teacher. They couldn't tell exactly from how far away he was, but he didn't get any closer, keeping to the entrance, partially hidden behind a sign.

"Do you have anyone else I can call? Grandparents?" His kind voice was strained, exhaustion melting his patience.

The man suddenly ducked away from view, and shortly after (Reader's) frazzled mother sped walked into the lot, storming closer to the building. (Reader) left to meet her half way in an attempt to calm her down, but their teacher followed.

"Good afternoon, Ms. (Name)-"

"(Reader), c'mon." As soon as (Reader's) mother was close enough she immediately spun on her heel to leave again, ignoring the teacher.

"Ms. (Name), this is the third time-"

"I know!" The woman snapped, stopping abruptly, causing (Reader) to bump into her side. "I'm sorry."

"-the third time this month."

"I said I know!" She whined, throwing up her hands. "I couldn't get out of work, it wasn't that long!"

"After school activities are almost over. It's been almost an hour-"

"Don't be a dick, okay, I'm twenty minutes late."

"School ended forty minutes ago."

She crossed her arms. "So not an hour."

"Almost an hour-"

"So not an hour."

Mr. Haley sighed in defeat. He tried again, however, he was interrupted by the woman grabbing (Reader) by the arm and dragging them out of the parking lot. Her nails dug into the scabs on (Reader's) arm.

She spat out curses towards the teacher as she dragged her kid down the road towards the bus stop.

"Fucking asshole- and I told you that I was working late!" She turned her frustrations on (Reader), squeezing their arm painfully before releasing them, making (Reader) lose their balance.

"I'm sorry, Mom.." (Reader) quietly apologized, already shrinking in on themselves, head hunching into their tiny shoulders.

"Jesus, stop flinching like that. You look like I beat you or something.."

It was true, she never hit (Reader).

She just grabbed them.

Grabbed them by the back of the shirt, the front of their collar, the arms, wrists, and all parents smack their kids on the back of their heads, that's not hitting. It wasn't her fault that (Reader) bruised so easily. She didn't even hit them.

The city bus pulled up to the stop.

"Kevin's coming over for date night, so when we get home, make sure to do all your homework in your room. I'll bring you dinner and some snacks, but the adults need some alone time, okay?"

"Okay?"

"Okay!" (Reader) loudly responded, wringing their shirt in frustration.

(Reader) liked their mom when they had popcorn nights, when they made a bowl of popcorn and sat down to watch a rented movie together. But most of the time? (Reader) hated their mother.

They hated the way she dismissed them. (Reader) never seemed to be a priority in the woman's life. It didn't even feel like she hated (Reader). (Reader) was just nothing. They didn't receive hugs when they were scared, didn't get kisses when they were sick. And it wasn't one of those cases where you can't remember a single good memory because you're mad; (Reader) couldn't recall a single time their mother ever said the words 'I love you' to them.

She said it to Kevin though.

When they arrived home, (Reader) immediately went to their room, closing the door and flopping onto their mattress on the floor. They didn't feel like doing their homework, and decided instead on a quick nap. It wasn't like their mother was going to check in on them and see how they were doing anyway.

Maybe their dreams would bring a nice family for them.

CRASH!

A loud smash of glass and something heavy falling onto the thin apartment floor woke (Reader) up. They didn't know how long they were out for, but the sun was still up. (Reader) nervously bolted off the mattress and onto their feet, teetering in the middle of the room.

There was a quiet choking sound that liquefied into a gurgle before silencing.

(Reader's) handle slowly turned and their door was softly opened. A terrified looking man drenched in blood stood in front of (Reader), gazing down at them with inhuman eyes. His eyes were wide, panicked, but glassy, red, and with pupils so enlarged that he reminded (Reader) of the ghost woman from a scary movie their mother had been watching. He tried to brush his black hair out of his eyes, never looking away from (Reader's). It was the most intense staring contest (Reader) had ever been in.

He was timid in his approach, crouching down to his knees as he got closer to (Reader).

"..Hi." His voice was shaky and breathy. The man seemed to be overcome with an emotion that (Reader) didn't recognize. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes, yet he still didn't blink. He swallowed hard before continuing. "My name is Donavon."

(Reader) was in an odd trance, halfway between petrified and numb. "My name is (Reader)." They didn't know why they answered.

"I know." For the first time since entering, Donavon glanced away from (Reader), searching the room for something. There were no toys in (Reader's) room. "Are you a-" His face broke trying to find the words he needed for his question. "Are you a b-?" A- a-.."

"I'm a kid." (Reader) tugged on their uncomfortable long sleeve shirt.

Donavon smiled so wide that his face looked like it completely split in half. Tears ran down his face shamelessly. The pure joy startled (Reader). "You're a kid." He sniffed back his snot and wiped away some tears, still smiling so hard that his face was turning red and he looked like he was going to laugh. "You're my kid."

He pulled (Reader) into a hug.

It wasn't like the quick hug the school nurse gave them, or the hugs their friends at school gave them; it was desperate.

He squeezed them almost too tightly, his fingers digging painfully into their ribs as he breathed in their hair. But (Reader) didn't cry out or ask him to stop. Tears had begun to fall from their eyes as well.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo. I should have been here. I should have been here." He started rocking (Reader) as he apologized into their scalp. "I didn't know about you, but I do now, and I'm here now."

(Reader) felt him kiss the side of their head quickly before he went back to whispering.

"I didn't know. But I do now. I'm so sorry."

It was too much, and it made (Reader) cry. They sobbed loudly, wailing into his chest as they returned the hug.

"I love you, (Reader). I love you so much. I don't know you yet, but I still love you. I should have been here for you, but I am now. And I am never letting you go. Okay? No one is ever taking you away from me."

Police sirens approached, screaming outside the building. (Reader) felt Donavon quickly reach into his back pocket, but he never let go from their right embrace.

"I never knew your mom. When I saw you with her last year, I - I tried to get into contact, but, but.. No one would listen to me, I had no proof.. I.. got a DNA test.. I -I'm your dad! I'm a father!" He started rambling, trying to explain things to (Reader), but they couldn't understand anything he was saying. And it didn't matter to them. He said he loved them.

(Reader) heard heavy boot steps and an officer loudly announce his presence.

"No one is ever taking you away from me again."

He was still only hugging (Reader) with one arm.

Someone entered the room, and a really loud sound hurt (Reader's) ears.

An officer shot Donovan in the shoulder, causing the knife he was holding to clatter onto the floor. He fell, releasing (Reader). They saw the knife and quickly put two and two together. But something happened in (Reader's) underdeveloped brain. It didn't matter that they had just met him. That man the police just shot was their dad. And he loved them.

"No!" (Reader) tried to launch themselves at Donovan to protect him, but their tiny body was caught by an officer.

"Don't worry, I've got ya!" The man tried to console (Reader), easily subduing their thrashing limbs, but his soothing voice didn't ease the pain in their heart, nor did it dampen the volume of their shrieks.

"DADDY!!"

The cop carried (Reader) out past the bodies of their mother and Kevin. Both were mutilated, lying naked near the couch in a pool of blood and spilt vodka.

Donavon was sentenced to life without parole.

He testified in court that the only thing he regretted was almost hurting his child. (Reader's) mother had taken advantage of him at a party years ago. Donavon had passed out drunk in the master's bedroom and woken up with his pants and underwear around his ankles. He told the court he didn't remember anything that happened, so although he suspected that someone had assaulted him, he had no proof and records showed that the police refused to help him when he went to report it.

It was a one in a million chance that Donavon saw (Reader) and their mother grocery shopping over a year ago, and nearly had a heart attack seeing a little kid who had his father's ears. Ears are just as unique as fingerprints, and to see a little kid with badly cut hair looking like a mixture of his father's baby photos and the woman walking beside them gave Donavon a sense of confidence that was borderline disturbing. He told the jury that he approached the woman with the intent of making polite conversation about how much alike her kiddo looked like his late father, but knew immediately that (Reader) was his, because when their mother looked Donavon in the eyes she recognized him.

"Before I could even say 'Hi', she grabbed (Reader's) arm and said 'Stay away from my child, Donavon.' I didn't even remember her face."

On the witness stand, Donavon admitted to breaking into their home so he could get access to (Reader's) DNA, stealing their hair brush. He also admitted to stalking the family, watching them as (Reader) openly showed signs of abuse. He called CPS multiple times, but nothing ever came of it.

Donavon repeated how time and time again law enforcement failed to help him get custody of his 'alleged' child, and that he had "snapped".

"I told (Reader) that no one would take them away from me again. Please, please I know I was wrong." Donavon pleaded the jury, looking past the lawyers and staring with his horrifying, never ending gaze. "Please don't put me away forever. I can get better, with help! I needed help! But my baby, my kiddo, they deserve better, please don't separate us again!"

Despite going to a decent foster family and receiving regular therapy sessions with child services, (Reader) had learned what true love was. The smiles their foster family gave them felt fake. No one could hug (Reader) tight enough to press their way into (Reader's) heart. Love was tears streaming down from the black coal eyes of a desperate father who just killed his kiddo's abusers. That was heroic. That was good. Just.

(Reader's) foster parents smiled at each other all the time, and said I love you multiple times a day. Then they divorced. Love was (Reader's) daddy, ready to kill (Reader) so they never had to be apart again.

The therapist with child services watched with a broken heart as (Reader) refused her homemade cookies. "Have you made any friends at school?"

(Reader) shrugged. They didn't see much of a point in friends. "There are these two kids I eat lunch with." Two kids who wouldn't leave them alone, no matter how much (Reader) ignored them.

"That's good! What are their names?"

"Miranda and Brian."

"Are they good kids?"

"They're weird. Brian wears glasses that make his eyes look super big, and Miranda wears a fedora."

"Well, I'll let you in on a secret. The weird kids are usually more fun to hang out with than the normal kids!" She winked while smiling, but it didn't phase (Reader).

"When can I see my dad?"

The therapist leaned back, looking up at the ceiling to control her inner turmoil before shutting her eyes. "I'm working on that, but it's very difficult. Mr. McElroy is in a lot of trouble for what he did."

(Reader) looked down at the drawing they had been making of them playing outside with Donavon. "I wish he killed me."

Part II

Warren had run away from home, again.

His left eye was swollen shut, and blood speckled the front of his t-shirt. The ten year old hadn't even done anything yet, but his father had had a bad day at work, and been drinking for a couple of hours by the time Warren was dropped off by the Saturday babysitter.

He ran into the woods, blinded by his tears and the swelling.

Because of the crying and injury to his eye, Warren couldn't see very well, and kept running even when he emerged from the trees into a clearing; running into a very deep hole.

There was a pain as his ankle popped, crashing at the bottom into the mud. Everything hurt, so he allowed himself to scream and cry as loudly as he needed. No one was going to come for him anyway.

And so he stayed in the hole and watched as the sun went down and the world went black. Even though he knew his father wouldn't come looking for him, he still wished he would. He wished someone needed him as badly as he needed them.

There was no moon that night, leaving Warren completely blind after the purple sunset left the sky. With his unusually dilated pupils Warren typically preferred the dark over the sun, but without the moon there wasn't enough light for him to see.

'Maybe, I should just spend the night in here.' The sad thought made him sniffle, threatening to release the floodgates again.

"It's right over here!" A loud whisper followed by feet tripping over branches echoed through the trees. Warren held his breath, suddenly afraid of being discovered. It wasn't logical to be frightened, but he was. There were strangers in the woods, and he was in pain and blind and alone. His heart beat in his chest like a war drum as people drew near.

"How do you know where it is?"

The voices belonged to children, probably around Warren's age, but he didn't recognize any of them. Most of what they said was too quiet to hear, until they arrived at the clearing.

"Over here."

The strangers stopped near the hole, but too far away to see Warren covered in mud at the bottom. Lights were illuminating the air, and Warren figured that they must have had flashlights with them. His eyes finally had enough light to adjust to the pitch black, and he watched a letter flutter into the hole, followed shortly by another letter, gracefully drifting in.

Then a thick envelope was chucked in, hitting Warren in the head, who had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from accidentally making a startled sound.

"What did you wish for?" Someone asked.

With that question, Warren realized where he was.

He grabbed the letter that had hit him, quietly opening it up as two of the strangers above him bickered. In the faint light he saw a lot of words, too many to read before they left, so he quickly scanned the page out of curiosity. His breath hitched when he saw a drawing of himself.

Black eyes and shaggy black hair.

Warren put the papers back in the envelope and stuck it in his pants. Someone approached the edge, and Warren caught a glimpse of hair and eyes. They didn't see him, but he certainly saw them.

"What did you wish for, (Reader)?"

"Someone who loves me.."

And at that moment, Warren believed in the hole that grants wishes.

He had no proof that the child looking down at him was the same child who threw the wish practically into his lap, but he knew that it was. Like fate, or magic.

After the trio left, Warren pulled his sore little body out of the muck, repeating (Reader's) name to himself over and over again as to not forget it. He didn't know how, but he knew that (Reader) was the one who's wish he had stolen. Warren limped home, easily sneaking in past his father passed out on the couch and up the stairs to the bathroom, where he locked the door.

He quickly pulled out the letter, opening it up in the light to read the wish in full.

"I wish someone would love me." Warren read quietly out loud, sounding out each word as his finger followed the sentence.

"He has to be just like my dad. Be - cause my dad is the only person who loves me."

"He has to have black hair and black eyes.."

Warren looked at his dirty face in the mirror, ignoring the purple around his left eye and focusing on his natural features. A proud smile crept onto his lips.

He went back to reading. "And his eyes should be deep.." Warren's own eyes were also deep set, making it look like he had bags under his eyes even after a full night's sleep. His ears started to turn pink. The picture was of the kid he saw at the hole with a tall man with black hair and eyes and a little guy who looked the same. He pointed at each person. "That's (Reader).. that's (Reader's) daddy... And that's.." he looked at himself in the mirror, tearing up with how hard he was smiling.

Someone needed him.

He turned the page over and his smile instantly fell, his blood freezing.

Pictures of bloody bodies covered the pages.

Page after page of dead people with the most intense things Warren had ever read followed the seemingly innocent wish. He hadn't been exposed to video games yet, his father didn't let him watch TV, and Warren ignored the other kids at his school, so he had never known violence outside of the terrible things his father did to him. And the words he read in that envelope were violent.

"True love is keeping me."

"If he loves me, he'll kill me."

"Don't let them take me away again."

"Together forever."

(Reader) was worried about the limitations of the wishing hole, so they felt they had to be very specific about their ideal boy. Which meant that they had to explain what love was. And to explain what love was, meant that they had to explain to the hole what their dad had done to their mother and Kevin.

It scared Warren.

But only for a moment.

He thought about the joy (Reader) would feel when they saw him for the first time, how their eyes would light up with love and adoration. In his mind, they would recognize him instantly, like their drawing come to life. Warren was their wish come true. And, in a way, (Reader) was his.

He slowly went back to his bedroom and hid the letter in his underwear drawer. The wish was like his most prized possession. Knowing that there was someone out there who needed Warren made him, for the first time in a very long time, feel hopeful for the future.

The next few years of Warren's life, however, were not pleasant in the slightest.

An anatomy book flew at Warren's face, connecting with his thin nose. He was now in highschool, and the abuse had only worsened.

"What the fuck is this?!" His father threw another medical book, terrified. In the past he used to throw and break things even though Warren's only crime was existing, but now even Warren could understand his father's disgust.

A rat laid on Warren's table, split open.

"I'm practicing.." Warren smiled, blood dripping from his nostrils.

"I should kick you out of the goddamn house!" The drunk man kicked a wall, leaving a dent in the drywall.

"If you do that, I'll go to the police."

His father's eyes widened. "The fuck you just say, you little psychopath?!"

The man was very nimble for someone so swollen from years of alcohol consumption, closing the distance between himself and his son before Warren had a chance to put up his hands in defense. Large, yellowed fingers grabbed a fistful of Warren's greasy hair and lifted his dangerously underweight body off the ground; high enough where Warren couldn't touch the floor with his toes.

"Think about it. You have no proof for the cops that I killed this rat, but I have all the proof that you hit me." To emphasize his point, Warren didn't wipe away the blood that was now dripping onto the rat carcass.

Black eyes that held no light stared wide and unblinking at the disgusting excuse of a man before Warren. His father looked about the room, which was now covered in articles about some murderer from years ago and medical texts printed off at the local library.

Warren was dropped onto his ass. "Fucking freak." His father mumbled before stumbling out of the room.

It wasn't until Warren heard the drunkard smash though the hall towards the staircase that he finally grabbed some tissue to shove up his nose. It had taken him years and years of hard thinking, but Warren had finally found a way to be (Reader's) perfect husband. It was difficult, but the solution was finally discovered, a way to make (Reader's) wish come true without killing them.

He thought he would probably drop out of school, but that didn't really matter to Warren. The young man already had a part time job, and his future career as a manager for a small corner store was practically set.

Candid shots of (Reader) laid under the box of tissues. While (Reader) had continued growing into an attractive young adult, Warren was stunted. A lack of nutrition gave his unnaturally pale skin a yellow tint, and he was so thin that some of his teeth were becoming loose. But it felt as though he couldn't waste even a second thought on anything that wasn't (Reader).

"I'm sorry, Mr. Whiskers.." Warren apologized quietly to the dead rat. "I didn't mean to kill you. I'll do better next time."

Every time Warren saw (Reader) out and about, he wanted to drag them behind a dumpster and fuck them till they bled. It took incredible restraint to stick to his plan and keep to the shadows.

Their wish, laminated, hung above his bed like a prayer, one that he read and worshipped every night before bed.

Warren's father didn't notice when he stopped going to his classes.

He also didn't notice the muffled screaming from the basement, when Warren evolved his experiments from rats to people.

It wasn't until the smell became unbearable that he finally sobered up enough to go down and investigate.

As he searched the house for the cause of the smell, the aging, dying man briefly wondered when the last time he had been down in basement was. Or, when he last saw his good for nothing son.

The stairs to the lowest level creaked under his shoes, and an anxiety he had never before known trickled up through his bones.

At the bottom of the stairs, a door held back the stench like a leaking flood gate. Opening the squealing door wafted a wave of nausea inducing gas right into the man's face.

"Hey, ew what the- hey freak! You down here?! What's that smell..?" His eyes didn't have time to adjust to the dusty basement light before Warren swung a wooden baseball bat with spikes towards his father's face. One spike went through his skull near his nose and another popped open one of his eyes. But his death was due to the blunt force, cracking his head open as easily as smashing a watermelon. The junkie strapped and gagged to the table silently screamed as their one hope for salvation died in front of them.

"I'm sorry about the interruption." Warren smiled, his eyes still and unwavering. The man who had destroyed his childhood and stolen his happiness laid bleeding out on the floor, and Warren didn't feel a single thing. It was strange, part of him thought that he would feel satisfaction watching his abuser die, but he felt nothing at all. Warren only killed his father because he had interrupted his experiment with the homeless person who looked amazingly like (Reader). The young man held up a belt. "Let's continue."

Warren didn't consider himself to be a murderer. What he was doing to the people he abducted was for love. There was no evil or hatred, and if he looked at it in a certain light, he wasn't really trying to kill them at all.

Moving to the night shift gave Warren more time to stalk (Reader) during the day. Just as he had predicted, Warren became a higher member of management, and even 'owned his own home' now that his father had tragically passed. Everything was progressing perfectly, because his entire existence was a wish come true.

It hurt, hiding in the booth behind (Reader) and their friends, hearing about how they had started dating at the suggestion of their bitch therapist, but Warren decided that it was good for their relationship. It proved to him that even after all this time, (Reader) still loved him and needed him. Every time a date failed to live up to (Reader's) expectations it further fueled Warren's fantasy of how (Reader) would react when he finally revealed himself to them.

The dates also provided Warren ample opportunity to look around their apartment. Like when they went on a date with some whiny loser his age. He wasn't even (Reader's) type. Their home was small and quaint, and taking pictures of it in extreme detail helped Warren learn how to decorate the room (Reader) would be staying in once they finally started dating.

Dating.

The idea of merely "dating" caused a painful strain in Warren's chest, but he knew that it was only logical to date before he proposed. At least for a month or so. Maybe a week.

Well, whenever he did propose, Warren knew (Reader) would accept, because Warren was their wish come true. There was nothing he could do wrong, because his entire existence was due to (Reader's) will.

He didn't even bother cleaning off the dirt when he scuffed up the bedroom door. There was no point, because (Reader) wouldn't ever fear or hate anything he did, even if they didn't know he was the one responsible. Because that was fate.

(Reader's) undergarments rested on top of the dirty clothes basket.

Even that was fate.

Because why would they leave their worn underwear in plain view, if not for him? His hands with dirt crusted nails stroked the garment, imaging that he could still feel the heat of (Reader's) body on them. Warren imagined how happy (Reader) would be to learn what he did with their underwear, in their bed. He imagined their eyes glowing like an angel's as their smile graced his filthy presence.

Because this was (Reader's) wish.

And soon, Warren would finally give them their happily ever after.

Warren had put in for a week of vacation at his work; their shared bedroom was decorated; and his supplies were hidden in a backpack in the dirt behind (Reader's) complex. It was like a fairytale, when the knight came to save the dragon from the prince.

Rich approached (Reader's) front door as Warren dug up his hidden tools. Mud covered his face and gloves, but he didn't mind. In fact, it was like a mask, where only his true love would recognize him. Warren knew that his dream would come true that day, but it was even better than he had hoped for. Prince Rich was there to harass his dragon.

He had hoped it would be this easy, and the universe provided. Fate was always on Warren's side when it came to making (Reader's) wish come true. All those lives lost to Warren's experiments were not wasted.

The annoying voice of Rich was audible from outside the building, but it was difficult to feel anything negative towards to poor bastard. In Warren's mind, it wasn't Rich's fault that he was born to be such a loser; it was fate's design for the man to be sacrificed.

Warren threw open the front door, scaring the shit out of the stronger looking man. "Who the fuck is that?!"

Then, the sands of time were fused into glass by the electricity between Warren and (Reader). Their expression looked relieved, just as Warren had always hoped it would. A smile stretched across the beautiful lips Warren often fantasized about kissing. Their cheeks pulled up in the most honest grin Warren had ever seen.

Tears of joy decorated their bottom lashes like glitter.

"He's here to kill me."

Rich put up his arm as though to protect (Reader) from Warren. Again, Warren felt no anger towards the man and his silly reaction.

The bat used to kill Warren's father restarted time as it aimed for Rich's skull.

(Reader) looked up endearingly at Warren, now sitting on their knees in a pool of Rich's blood. The man before them was everything they had ever dreamt of. His black eyes never left (Reader's), even as he bludgeoned their date to death.

It took all of (Reader's) will power to not shake in their seat. Excitement flowed through their veins so quickly that it sent involuntary quivers through their muscles. Everything that they had ever wanted was finally coming true.

"I've been waiting for you." (Reader) felt their chest tighten as Warren approached.

But then he dropped his bat.

Their smile twitched a little, but (Reader) tried to not let anxiety ruin their happiest moment. The dirty man slid a backpack off and started rifling through it.

"I've been waiting for you too.." A voice that sounded oddly chipper finally responded, echoing from a wide grin that showed off yellowing teeth with a few missing on the bottom row.

(Reader) smiled harder. "You're going to kill me?" It was phrased like a question, but it was more of a plea.

"No."

"What?"

(Reader's) smile cracked in half. The adrenaline in their system turned deadly.

Warren's smile didn't fade.

"But, you have to." (Reader) began to panic. This had to be the man they wished to life. He had to be there to kill them. It was fate. He had to! "Aren't you here for me?"

"Of course I am."

"Then you have to kill me! If you love me, you have to-!"

Warren dropped his bag, revealing a hacksaw. He held it relaxed in one hand, and held a belt in the other. "Do you know how selfish you are, (Reader)?"

(Reader's) mind went numb with confusion.

"I've loved you for so long, and now that I finally have you, you think I'm going to kill you?"

"I'm not going to let anyone have you."

"Not even death."

The End

The two story house was full of trash bags. Every room in the building was full of clutter and filth, except the master bedroom.

Warren came home from a long shift, excited to have his precious spouse in his arms.

None of the guards at the prison would listen to Donavon when he tried to convince them all that something was wrong. A child suddenly not visiting their murderer of a parent in prison was not reason to go to the police and open a missing person's case. Even the officers that liked Donavon couldn't do anything.

The bedroom decorated to (Reader's) taste was unlocked by Warren as he finally climbed through all the shit. He entered their shared home with a warm expression of pure love on his face.

"(Reader), I'm home!"

In the middle of the room watching television was a wheelchair bound (Reader). Their arms and legs amputated, sitting helplessly in a soiled diaper. A drugged up, lopsided smiled sleepily tugged the corners of their mouth up.

"Welcome home, baby.."

A/N: Sorry it took so long, happy to start writing again ❤️

#yandere #yandere x reader #dead dove do not eat #not a romance #cw death #cw dead animal #cw blo0d #cw trauma #thank you for waiting so patiently #i know it isn't my usual #dark #cw abuse #abduction #yandere stalker #cw rap3 #male yandere #yandere oc

513 notes · View notes

jiminrings · 1 year

Text

478 drabble: babymaking

alternatively, you and jungkook step towards the next stage.

[ 98% smut, unprotected sex, oral, typical 478!jk cockiness, he’s a little mean but he makes up for it, hints of possessiveness, one (1) impulsive insecure thought making a cameo, jungkook wants to be loved ]

[ 478 masterlist ]

For the past month, Jungkook can’t be around you without tensing up.

He’s positive that he loves you so much to the point that he’s going crazy, yearning for you even if you were only an arm’s reach away. Both your knees could already be pressed together with how he crams your space even in a huge couch, but it still wouldn’t be enough.

Jungkook doesn’t know when enough is enough when it comes to you. He’s entirely sure that there’s an adjective yet to be coined with how he’s beyond smitten with you, the itch in his palms to just be close to you growing tenfold the past month alone.

There’s no alarm in his brain when he’s making your lunches to remind him that he’s made you too much side dishes. He doesn’t hear any beeping in his subconscious when he becomes your shadow the second you come home, instantly becoming your yes man to everything, simply because he feels like he just can’t get enough of you.

Even from your side of the equation, there’s no exact explanation you can pin behind your husband’s newfound and intensified attachment to you. Whatever it was though, you’re fully in on it.

Jungkook feels like the walls would cave in if he doesn’t latch to you the moment his eyes land on your figure, hugging you from behind with a yearning that would have his arms wrap around your tummy. He thinks the world would end if he doesn’t bury his face in the crook of your neck, nosing a particular spot before he lets out a ghost of a whine and the most longing of kisses on it.

Jungkook’s longing for you, more of you, so much so that he can’t even go to sleep with the desire that keeps him tossing and turning until he builds enough of the crazed desperation to bring it up to you.

Your husband shakes you awake in the middle of the night, full-on knowing that you have an early shoot in the morning but he was just that desperate to ask you that he can swallow the tiny guilt of interrupting your sleep.

You don’t have to turn the big light on because even with the dim pink glow of your lamp, you could see this desperately committed look on Jungkook’s face that has his eyes dilated. He’s trying his hardest to look and sound casual, propped up by a pillow that does little to cushion the fact that he’s literally trembling just at the prospect of popping the question.

“Hypothetically asking,” he coughs, swallowing the lump on his throat that’s been there unsatiated for the past month. “We’ve had this conversation even before we got married, by the way.”

The gears in your head turn immediately but they don’t dare to cross into the worst possible scenarios because Jungkook immediately adds to his thought process, the words spilling out with a kind of fervor that’s unmistakeable.

“Do you want a baby with me?”

The fuzz in his brain turns quiet the moment he finally relieved what was weighing on his chest for the longest time, the nervousness detaching from his voice but never fully.

He’s unguarded but it’s okay because it’s with you anyways, the stunned look on your face highlighting the fact that your pupils are blown but you don’t look the least bit unpleasant.

Your husband is unguarded even with his hair tousled from tossing and turning and his glasses perched haphazardly on his nosebridge, but you don’t mind. You’re unguarded and yet it doesn’t matter because the moment Jungkook had finally let on what was unfolding in his mind, you’ve never felt more secure.

“It’s up to you, of course. But I really, really want to add to our family,” he murmurs, briefly interrupted by the cat who’s taking her sweet time to stretch (only to go back to loafing into her sleep) between the two of you. “I know you think you birthed Miso, but I mean really our baby this time.”

In the most unguarded and rawest of contexts for your husband to propose trying for a baby, Jungkook has never been more of your forever soulmate than now.

“I wanna put a baby in you,” Jungkook makes clear, the grin on his face steadily turning into a smirk when he sees you build up into a knowing smile. “You want that too? Wanna let me make you a mommy?”

The nod that you give almost gives you a headache but it does pry out a laugh from him, pulling you closer to him before you could put your agreement into words.

“Of course I do,” you hum, the warmth and sense of belonging you feel all over your body coming into full bloom. “I’d want nothing more.”

Jungkook’s on top of the world even if he’s only sharing a bed with you right now, pecking little kisses to your cheek so somberly that you forget there was even a flash of this primal, urgent desire on his eyes just awhile ago. “Let’s talk about it more in the morning.”

The thing is that you do talk in the morning, in between you just barely dressing yourself from the shower and Jungkook barely just saving your meal from being burnt. Nothing happened last night except for the needy yet sleepy makeout session that knocked out the both of you already, the prior conversation enough to make you sleep with a smile on your face.

You’re ready, your situation’s ideal, and the most important factor of them all is that you’re secure. You’re at the edge of your seat just thinking about your future, which who knows could be exactly nine months from now, and yet —

Your husband flipped a switch once again.

It’s only barely noticeable but you know that something’s off and you know he notices that you’re catching on. He’s doing it on purpose, something to slowly weasel his way into your nerves with a buildup that you can’t even grasp.

Jungkook, against his raw and impassioned promises of getting you pregnant a few weeks ago, has barely been giving you the time of day.

In the fairest and most unbiased way you see the situation, you admit that you haven’t been as present as much as you’d like because of work. Jungkook’s used to you being swamped with work and he’s already grasped long ago that barely anything could keep you from being a workaholic. You’re used to Jungkook being accustomed to your departure at godforsaken hours of the morning and your arrival at equally as wretched hours of the evening.

Perhaps it’s the overwhelming nature of your career that drives you to dwell in your thoughts. You weren’t hallucinating when Jungkook shook you awake at midnight to ask if you wanted a baby, and you certainly weren’t daydreaming when he became too ecstatic to your response to the point that instead of snoring, he fell asleep humming.

Neither of you needed to breathe in through your nose for four seconds, hold it for seven, and exhale through your mouth for eight in order to rest. While you fell asleep to Jungkook’s warmth from embracing you like his life depended on it, your husband fell asleep from making lists in his head of the shared experiences you’ll go through once you’re pregnant.

You’ve never been more sure of having a child with Jungkook than now, and you haven’t been more certain either of the fact that your conversation did happen.

How come it’s only you that keeps repeating the conversation in your head over and over again, waiting for something to finally happen?

“Hi, baby,” Jungkook greets you from the couch when you come home instead of doing his usual routine of getting to his feet and barraging you with kisses the moment you walk through the door. You let it pass thinking that the show he was watching was just too good, rationalizing that if the tables were turned, you would’ve done the same thing.

“Wearing my shirts again?” your husband questions you nowadays when he didn’t even use to point it out. Before, he would only hide his face acting as if it hadn’t affected him in the first place, silently moving more of his clothes to your side of the closet.

You try to remind yourself that they’re just silly little things you shouldn’t get worked up on. You shouldn’t be offended when you see a container haphazardly strewn out the kitchen counter, with the traces of the chocolate ends of ice cream cones on it that Jungkook ate without leaving some for you, the wrappers shining bright as day in the trashcan.

Of course you shouldn’t get pissed when you come home to Jungkook and Miso chasing each other around the house, their playing ceasing as soon as you want to join in. Even your cat looks disinterested at you while your husband remains perturbingly “indifferent”, the thoughts behind his eyes unreadable.

Most importantly, you should keep it in when you’ve had a long day at work and all you want is for your husband to be in your peripheral, calling for him from the bedroom while he was out watching his show to come and give you a kiss… right?

Wrong.

You can’t keep your internalized frustration from bubbling over because it literally gets you to your feet, making you march out of the bedroom with so much desperation that it makes Miso yowl and drive away from your path.

“What the hell is up with you?” you seethe the moment your eyes land on the back of Jungkook’s head, your irritation towards him having grown enough to the point that even the shape of his skull annoys you.

Your husband turns to look at you wide-eyed, but if only you weren’t simmering in frustration, you would know that his show’s been paused long ago before you even marched out. Jungkook was waiting for you and you’re right where and how he wants you.

“Aw. Is someone getting worked up?” he cloyingly drawls out, the furrow in your brows out of anger being no match for the cockiness that drips out of him endlessly. He knows what you’re getting at and it’s starting to hit you little by little, the positive trepidation that’s steadily turning into loving desperation being apparent. “Good. I wanted you to.”

Jungkook stands tall, hovering above you with provocation lingering in his tone. He tuts, frowning incessantly when he takes it a step further by putting his face closer to you to the point that your noses touch.

“My silly girl,” he sighs. “Do you think I wouldn’t deliver on my promises?” Jungkook scoffs in faux disappointment yet the both of you know that his arrogance only keeps the two of you closer. “You really assumed that I think so lightly of you?”

He’s had his fun the past few weeks. You could only bet that your husband took a liking to how you’d frown and be pissed with him from the sidelines.

You’ve been frustrated for weeks on end — you suppose Jungkook could take it even for just a few minutes.

“Yeah, pretty much. You think you’re all that, Jungkook, but trust me-…” you retort, being interrupted almost instantly.

“Someone’s really huffy, huh?” he tilts his head, nosing along your cheek until he reaches the shell of your ear. “No, baby, trust me.”

In one swift move, you unlatch yourself from his hold, and although it physically pains you to be even a centimeter away from him when you’re this needy for him, it ticks Jungkook even more.

“You took your sweet time provoking me. What would you know about trust?”

“I trust myself to fix that attitude of yours,” Jungkook grits, having you back in his arms before you could even register it. His hands cup your cheeks with the most determined, desperate gaze in his eyes. He enunciates his words as if you couldn’t understand them, a sickeningly sweet smirk accompanying his face afterwards. “I trust myself to have you filled up by tonight.”

He’s arrogant in a way that you haven’t ever seen before. Sure, he does puff his chest every now and then when he comes to your sets and he has to make it known to your co-star that he’s your husband in real life, but nothing to this degree.

The arrogance that drips right out of Jungkook is intimidating, addictive even. He’s so sure of himself and his passioned promise to you to fuck you senseless that you try not to quiver on the spot.

“Is that it?” your voice remains stable even if there’s a shakiness underneath it, an attempt of a huff following your words.

“Is that it?” Jungkook echoes, bordering into a scoff the longer he looks at the unimpressed look on your face. You’re only playing, of course, but your husband doesn’t seem to catch on. He thought he was teeming with self-control when he managed to tamp down his desires to breed you for the past few weeks, but now — now when it’s you who attempts to play the game with him, he’s the least bit impressed. “I think you’re forgetting what your husband’s capable of.”

Jungkook can talk himself up but so can you, the faint idea that crosses your head coming into fruition. You’re only playing, except at such a crucial point of him yearning for you in more ways than one, you’re unknowingly treading into a dangerous territory.

“He knows how to diligently wait for me by the door. You know, like a-…”

“A househusband?” he interjects, taking the sweet smile on your face as your way of making up for underestimating him. He’s mistaken though because as soon as you open your mouth, he only feels himself falling in deeper.

“I was gonna say pet, but househusband works too.”

The way that Jungkook looks down on you with a cloying smile puts shudders in your spine, the warmth in your stomach fluttering downwards intensely when he looks at you from head to toe.

“Charming,” he hums nonchalantly, running his large hands up and down your arms before settling on the small of your back. He holds you so tightly that you’re pressed to him directly, the pressure so large that you’re gonna be squeezed if you don’t jump. The squeak that leaves you immediately turns into a contented sigh when Jungkook catches you snugly, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear all the way to your lips.

Your eyes cross just by how close he is to you and Jungkook’s arrogant when he sees the sheer need in your face to kiss him, indulging you deeply with his tongue down your throat. He kisses you like he’s parched; akin to an overeager husband who wants to give you everything that you want, except he’s exactly the model for it at the moment.

There’s always been desperation to how Jungkook loves you through his touches but this time you can trace it and yet whatever you do, the passion he’s rooting from is endless. He chases your lips until he’s certain your short of breath, his lips red and puffy pulling into a mocking frown.

“I don’t give you a hundred percent of my attention for just one second and now you’re being all mean,” he drawls, your brain turning into mush for a second to even remember that you were just likening him to a pet before he made you quiet.

“You’re mean,” you huff pathetically, threatening to come out of his hold with your eyes but you both know that it’s the last thing you want to do, especially now that he opened the door to your room and set you down on the bed.

Jungkook’s certain that you don’t know exactly what you do to him, your genuine obliviousness at times kickstarting this urge in him to show you precisely.

“This is mean to you?” he laughs, his voice dropping down a notch that it makes you sink further down to the bed. “I haven’t even showed you what rude looks like.”

The thing with your husband is that he’s infuriating. He’s infuriating now that he takes off his shirt and he lets you know how exactly he puts in the work when you aren’t home, his body broad and toned. He’s infuriating when his inked arms flex even if he doesn’t do it intentionally. He’s even more infuriating when he’s laughing at you, the cockiness in his persona so loud that you ache just at the thought of it.

“Should I be rude and rip out your clothes?” he hums, getting you out of your shirt and your pants swiftly. He’s calm yet he’s quick, and if you aren’t consumed with the thought of your husband devouring you alive right now, you’d notice the way his fingers tremble at anticipation when he unlatches your bra. “Or should I be mean and make you wait?”

Jungkook pulls down your panty with his initials on it, his tongue swiping the bottom of his teeth in gloating. One night, he had the idea of stitching JJK on atleast half of your panties, the waistbands of them being adorned with pink thread. It goes straight to his head (and his cock) at the thought of you wearing his initials, hidden with only the intention of him being able to see.

Despite already being naked fully, Jungkook’s lips goes straight to the column of your neck, kissing down and down until you realize that he lingers at the skin, mouth biting and suckling.

“I-I have work tomorrow,” you weakly remind, the lump in your throat dissolving to a moan when he sucks at a sensitive spot right under your ear.

“No you don’t,” he chuckles, the sound going straight to your core. He’s hovering above you in only his sweatpants yet there’s already a bulging clue that he’s dying to touch you already. At this point, he’s only prolonging the aching desperation between the two of you. “Two weeks ago, I called Jimin to tell him that you’re going on a week-long break.”

“What?” you murmur, back arching when Jungkook gets to your chest, his tongue licking a bold stripe right on your cleavage. He squeezes your boobs together and it’s a lewd sight the way he moans at the picture, lips frantically alternating between your nipples. Your voice is strained already, your attempt at keeping your pride shattered when he nips at you.

“Mhmm. I have you all to myself,” he confirms, eyes lulling closed when he sucks at your bud. He’s salivating at the thought that your boobs would soon be full, even fuller than they are now and he’ll get to bury his face between them. He lifts his head begrudgingly, the chuckle that leaves him being gargled. He can’t get enough of you — he just can’t. “Not bad for a pet waiting around for you, hm?”

“Baby, please,” you moan when Jungkook’s lips ghost over your midriff all the way to your pussy, his back arched in the air to have his mouth on your core yet his palms squeezing your boobs tightly. He rubs the soft pads of his fingers against your nipples roughly, tugging at the last minute when he pulls away that you tangle your fingers with his long hair.

It’s an infuriatingly warm sight to see your husband looking up at you with such a desperate and demanding gaze on his eyes, framed even more by the way his hair curls around his visage. You ought to tug at them if only he didn’t have the upper hand on you now, hands quite literally prying your legs open so he’s head-on with your pussy.

“You’ve been so patient too. You tell me you hate me for ignoring you but you haven’t even touched yourself,” he snickers, licking his lips when he looks at your pretty core underneath this light. You’re pulsating around nothing and just dying to be touched, setting a lump on his throat when he follows your wetness trickling down your thighs. “It’s like you know that you can’t cum without me.”

“I-I can cum without you,” you argue, breath hitching when Jungkook comes closer to lick at the wetness that’s gathered on your thighs, the graze of his teeth tearing out a moan from you.

“You do?” he pouts, eyes mocking you even at this angle. They’re wide and they’re burning right through you, the derisive tone behind his words just fueling you more and more to have him in you. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I go to sleep right now?”

“Jungkook,” you whine, eyes glossing at frustration. You’re so close to throwing a tantrum, he figures. Your torso slightly lifts just for you to show you’re upset at him, plopping back down the mattress in annoyance. “You’re mean.”

“That’s what I thought,” he hums, the smile on his face accentuated with his lips that are bitten red and wet from the amount of times he’s gnawed on them. “Of course I’ll take care of you, baby. Who’s gonna get you pregnant if I’m leaving you to it alone?”

Jungkook takes off his sweatpants, his thick thighs unconsciously flexing from his position to kiss you. Without further warning, Jungkook laps right at your pussy, his doe eyes looking up at you in close attention. His nose nudges your clit, and being deprived of your husband’s touch for so long, you instantly jolt.

“You missed me so bad,” he lulls, diving in to take your clit to his mouth. He closes his eyes while he feasts on you and it’s almost pornographic the way his eyebrows scrunch in pleasure just by giving you it, sucking your clit tightly with no breaks in between.

It brings you close to tears the way he drinks you in and makes a loud show with it, his moans even louder than yours. His bare cock keeps brushing against the sheets and he’s already sensitive enough as it is, the furrow on his brows getting deeper the more that he moans into your hole.

Jungkook pacifies his mouth with your clit in bliss, drinking you in with his tongue languidly shifting to pleasure you right how you want it. He doesn’t let go even when your thighs keep lifting off the bed with how euphoric it feels, his hands locking them in place above his shoulders.

“I’m gonna— gonna cum already,” you stutter in between moans, the orgasm that courses right through you making you tremble. Jungkook holds you through it, and although he slows down, his tongue remains flicking at your clit that’s already become swollen at the attention.

The sight of your cum pooling on his fingers and his chin never gets old to you because with each passing time, Jungkook makes a way to amp it up to be more scandalous than the last time. He has your cum in his hands, gathering on his wedding band that glints even further at your essence.

Jungkook merely closes his eyes in absolute bliss, sucking only his ring finger and parts the rest of them right after, shoving them into your mouth without prior warning. There’s an instant groan that leaves him when you indulge him obediently, your stifled breaths making him clench his jaw harder.

He’s painfully hard but he doesn’t want to cum just yet, wanting to reserve all of his seed for you. He almost orgasms right then and there when you paw at him needily, bottom lip slightly jutted out in begging. He sees you look at him with such desperation, meeting your eyeline that’s just begging to reciprocate. He lets on just slightly, his thumb pressing against your lip.

“Wanna blow me?” he rasps, the question being met with an eager nod. You already have your tongue out before he finishes the sentence, his strained control leaving him little by little the moment he sets the heavy head of his cock on your tongue. “Suck the tip.”

In your gratitude, you disregard Jungkook’s command completely and take him in whole, sucking all the way until his cock reaches the back of your throat and tears prick your ears.

“F-fuck!” Jungkook gutturally groans, eyes rolling back to his skull when your warmth envelopes his dick all the way through. You’re sucking him so tightly and nicely that his resolve wavers momentarily, the moans that leave him getting louder in nature.

“Baby, I said-…” he shudders when you trace the vein on his cock with a pointed tongue, the sudden change giving him his bearings back. Your husband snaps out of it even if it pains him, pulling you back by your hair. “I said, just the tip.”

You’re pouting as you’re scolded but what really gets Jungkook is that you still look accomplished — you don’t even feel the least bit sorry for not heeding his warnings.

“You don’t even listen to me.” His hold on your hair detaches abruptly and for a moment, you miss his harshness on your scalp. You’re looking for his hand to atleast hold yet when you find it, he’s lining himself inside you. There’s not even a second left before you break out into a moan, the sudden yet welcome intrusion of his cock in your pussy giving you the greatest sense of overwhelm.

“All I ask is for you to just suck the fucking tip of my cock because I wanna cum inside you,” he grits, punctuating his words with each thrust. You’re so tight that he wants to be suffocated by you in the best way possible. “But you don’t like listening, huh?”

“I, I don’t. You’re right,” you concede, the words you’re hearing already ringing inside your head because you just can’t focus when you feel so eternal. “Jungkook, baby, please.”

“Please what? What do you want?” he airily chuckles, having to pause his cockiness when a loud moan tears right through his throat when you clench. “Come on, an actress like you should know her lines,” he snickers, his breath hitching as he quickens his pace. “Tell me what you want.”

“You-…” your eyes sting, the whines and moans stuck in your throat being continuous to the point that your attempt to swallowing them down makes them even louder. “You told me you’re gonna make me a mommy,” you blubber, shifting underneath his hold. You already have him in you but it’s not enough — it wouldn’t be until he fills you up.

“I did say that, baby. Kept you waiting long enough, I’m sorry,” Jungkook placates you, delicately kissing your cheek despite his harsh thrusts against your core. He’s momentarily soft at the reminder of the promise he made you, continuing to handle you silkily. The brief change of attitude in your husband dissipates the moment he sees the way your face scrunches in pleasure when he sinks his cock in you, deep in your pussy to the point you swear he could feel him in your stomach.

Jungkook goes back to his promise, whispering and moaning to your ear over and over again that he’ll deliver. He’s ramming into you at a ruthless pace, his thumb once again making its way to your clit to rub frantic circles.

“Isn’t is so cute that only I can do this to you?” he grunts, eyebrows furrowed while focusing on giving you the greatest possible orgasm he could ever give you. “Not one of your fucking co-stars can even dream of being with you like this when I’m in the picture. Not even Yoongi.”

You nod frantically in agreement, unable to answer verbally because it’s only your moans and cries that pry out of your throat.

“They’re jealous of me, pretty girl,” Jungkook chuckles, thighs starting to tremble at his impending release. “S-so— so bitter that I’m better than them without even having to lift a single finger.”

The arrogance that pours right out of your husband strikes your very own ego, the sleazy smile in your face reassuring him.

“I’m only yours, right?” Jungkook asks, thrusts threatening to slow down if you don’t answer him. “Just yours.”

It’s positively infuriating and heartwarming to see your husband want you to take possession of him, a stark difference even if he’s the one taking control of you right now.

You hum playfully, eyes half-lidded as you hold out your words for suspense.

“Say it,” he says pointedly, rolling his eyes before nipping at your jaw.

“I’m yours,” you drawl, brain once again going into mush when he resumes his ruthless pace. His cock’s made for you, making you squirm and melt to his hold at the same time.

“I already know that, baby,” Jungkook tuts, fishing out a different answer from you. “That’s not what I wanted you to say.”

The words finally click in your head this time, the pride in your chest growing to know that Jungkook’s so desperate for you to have him in your possession; merely declaring it would even send him to the edge.

“You’re mine.”

“Good,” he whimpers, almost seeing white with how euphoric and overstimulated he is. “One more time for me, huh? Say it again.”

“You’re mine, Jungkook,” you whisper right to his ear, your nails scratching red at his back that makes him arch further. “You’re only mine.”

“You’re so greedy,” he teases you even when you handed him on a silver platter exactly what he needed to hear, his thumb drawing deeper, faster circles on your clit. “Beg.”

Jungkook expects you to say please incessantly because the both of you know that neither can hold out for any longer, the orgasm that’s been building up in the pit of your stomach growing intense. His necklace with your initial on it dangles over your face, taunting you in anticipation.

“Love you,” you squeak, throwing your head back when you could practically feel the head of your climax appearing. Just a couple more thrusts that brush the deepest part of you and you’ll be there, your moans turning into cries.

“You’re so-…” Jungkook’s flustered for a second, his thrusts stuttering in response. Every part of his burns and it’s just this very release that’s gonna enable him to fill you up fully, the spent smile on your face egging him on.

“Say it back, come on.”

“I love you too,” he mutters, his shyness disappearing when you make the move of lifting your legs to hook them on his shoulders. Jungkook’s the deepest in you that he’s ever been, his vision getting blurry with how good he feels.

“My perfect girl,” he mutters over and over again to your ear when you finally break, following you right after. His cock twitches inside you, plugging up your pussy as he fills you for what seems like minutes. “My cum’s yours, you get that? Keep every single drop in.”

Jungkook takes meticulous care to not let a single drop of his cum drip out of you, angling himself to be lower than you when he nuzzles his face to the crook of your neck.

It feels like forever with the both of you catching your breaths, the dampness in your eyes already long dry yet when you look down on Jungkook to see the same wetness on his eyelashes, you’re tempted to tear up then and there.

“Are you crying?” you chuckle lightly, fingers carding through his hair. His head lifts up slightly with the emotion but he tucks his face back to your neck, making you giggle.

“I’m not,” he mutters. “Shut up.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say to the mother of your future children,” you playfully tease, making him groan in compliance. Your husband finally lifts his head to you, an automatic pout placed on his face.

“I just love you, that’s all,” Jungkook sniffles, none of the usual arrogance he possesses in a post-orgasm haze to be found in his tone. He’s somber, almost, deep into his thoughts as much as he was deep in pleasure moments ago.

“If you leave me,” he starts, eyes almost crossing from how closely he looks to you. Jungkook kisses your lips softly, the sincerity in his words unable to be duplicated by anyone else. “I hope I’m not around for it.”

It’s an unwelcome thought in his head that you want to quell right at its roots, your confession just as genuine.

“My silly boy,” you tut, leaving the softest of kisses on your husband’s forehead. “If I leave you, it’d be the end of me.”

#478 drabbles #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook smut imagine #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook imagine

2K notes · View notes

clusterbuck · 4 months

Text

melt your headaches (call it home)

what do you do when you might have a concussion? sleep in your best friend's bed about it, of course | T, 2k

read it on ao3

Well, Buck thinks, staring at his kitchen ceiling. This is an annoying way to die.

But the ceiling doesn’t go anywhere. He blinks, waiting for his vision to fade to black or maybe a bright light to appear and beckon him closer, but all he sees is the kitchen lamp, one bulb burnt out since before he can remember.

He blinks a couple more times for good measure, and when nothing continues to happen, he carefully eases himself up and takes stock.

His head hurts, but that’s unsurprising. He’s pretty sure he slammed it against the floor. His tailbone is a little sore, probably from being a step on his way down.

His shirt feels sticky against his skin. Buck’s hand flies to the back of his head, feeling for a wound, but his fingers find only hair.

Then he realises his shirt is cold.

He twists around, wincing at the movement, and finds a bright yellow sponge in the middle of a puddle of soapy water. The sponge’s carved face grins at him.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Buck mutters.

Now he’s really glad he didn’t die. Death by Scrub Daddy would be sure to make the headlines.

Slowly, carefully, Buck gets to his feet. He cleans up the mess first, drying the floor so he doesn’t end up flat on his back again, then sits down at the table. He probes his head again, more thoroughly now, but he can’t find anything other than soreness to the touch.

He’ll probably get a nice goose egg out of it.

Okay, concussion protocol, Buck thinks, running through the symptoms in his mind. Didn’t black out, my vision is fine, I’m not dizzy, not nauseous… Huh.

Briefly, he entertains the thought of going to the ER to get checked out, but he dismisses it almost immediately. He doesn’t have concussion symptoms, he just hit his head a little. He’s had way worse than this. It’s not worth taking up medical resources over, not when he knows the city’s been stretched thin recently.

He could call Chimney, or Hen, but—

They’d worry about him. And he’s fine. He just needs to rest, and he’ll be good to go for his shift tomorrow.

Buck settles in on his couch for a marathon of bad daytime TV.

—

He spends the rest of the day testing himself. He checks his pupils in the mirror every time he goes to the bathroom, making sure they’re equal and reactive. He closes one eye, then the other, checking for changes in his vision. He does the daily crossword, then looks up an archive of previous crosswords so he can make sure he’s still thinking clearly.

He gets the daily crossword done in less than five minutes. This is good, Buck thinks. Confusion is a concussion symptom. Couldn’t do a sub-five-minute crossword if I had a concussion.

He can barely get a foothold on the next one, and nearly freaks out and dials 9-1-1 until he realises he’d opened a Saturday puzzle.

It’s fine. Saturday puzzles are harder. Everything is fine.

Eventually, though, the day starts turning to night, and a voice in the back of Buck’s mind starts making itself known.

Nagging at him about sleeping and concussions.

It’s fine, Buck tells himself. Everything is fine. I probably don’t even have a concussion.

Probably.

But he’s been on far too many calls where someone hit their head, went to sleep, and never woke up again.

Before he’s fully decided to, Buck has his phone in his hand and open to his text thread with Eddie.

hypothetically, Buck types. if someone hit their head in the morning, they probably shouldn’t go to sleep alone, huh

The phone vibrates in his hand before he can even put it down, Eddie’s face flashing on the screen. Buck sighs and picks it up.

“What did you do?” Eddie asks immediately.

“Hi,” Buck says, pointed, but he can’t quite muster up actual annoyance.

“Hey,” Eddie says, softer. “What did you do?”

“Hypothetically, the Scrub Daddy tried to kill me.”

Eddie laughs. It’s muffled, like he’s trying to smother it, but he definitely laughs. “You slipped on your kitchen sponge?”

“Yeah,” Buck sighs. “I don’t think I have a concussion, but…”

“I’m assuming you didn’t go to the ER?”

“If I did I’d probably still be there, so no,” Buck says. “I didn’t black out, I don’t have any symptoms, but—”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Where’s Chris?”

“He’s here,” Eddie says. “He’ll be fine for half an hour. I’ll come pick you up.”

“I can drive—” Buck starts, and Eddie cuts him off.

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” he says again. “Meet you in the parking lot?”

“I—okay,” Buck says. “Okay.”

He tries not to think about how relieved he feels.

—

Eddie pulls into the parking lot twelve minutes later, and Buck tosses his work bag into the footwell and climbs in. They make it three whole blocks before Eddie turns to him, his face tinted orange in the glow of the streetlights, and frowns.

“How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Buck says. Eddie snorts, and Buck could have predicted his timing down to the microsecond.

“That why you texted?” he asks. “Because you’re fine?”

“I’m fine,” Buck says again. “Just… a little bonked.”

“Buck—”

“Eddie,” Buck says. “I’m like—ninety-nine percent sure it’s not a concussion and I’m just overreacting. It’s just—”

“Not something you want to risk,” Eddie says. “I know.” They drive in silence for a couple of blocks, and Eddie turns to look at him again. “I’m still going to check you over when we get home.”

Buck grins. “I’d expect nothing less.”

The house is dark when they pull up, and Buck turns to Eddie. “Thought you said Chris is home?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “He is. He’s just holed up in his room with the computer.”

“Kids these days,” Buck says, mock-disapproving, shaking his head like he hasn’t racked up more than his share of video game hours.

Eddie snorts. “Exactly.”

He leads the way into the house, and points to the sofa as soon as Buck closes the door behind them. “Okay, sit.”

“Yes, doctor,” Buck says, and sees Eddie’s eyebrows fly up in response.

Eddie gets them under control by the time he turns back to Buck, holding his first aid kit and a small penlight. “Okay, so what exactly happened?”

“Why do you need the first aid kit?” Buck asks, instead of answering.

“Seemed like the thing to do,” Eddie says. “What happened?”

“I told you,” Buck says. “The Scrub Daddy tried to kill me.”

Eddie laughs again, fond, and it sparks something deep in Buck’s chest. “Can you elaborate on that?”

“It fell. I slipped.”

“Slipped?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, you know, full cartoon, flat on my back, head hit the ground.”

“Ouch,” Eddie says. “Did you lose consciousness at any point?”

“No,” Buck says. “And I haven’t been dizzy, and I haven’t been sick, and my head doesn’t hurt. Or—the bit I bonked does, but not like concerning concussion symptom hurt.”

“Good,” Eddie says, sitting down on the coffee table in front of him. His knees slot between Buck’s, and he raises a hand in question. “Can I?”

Buck nods, and Eddie presses his fingers to the back of his skull. “Here?” he asks, the word barely a breath between them.

Buck nods again.

Eddie’s fingers move gently across Buck’s scalp, and the moment stretches out like taffy between them . Buck hardly realises he’s holding his breath until Eddie blinks, pulls his hands way, and leans back, and Buck exhales.

“Seems, uh—seems fine,” Eddie says, then takes a breath and reaches for the penlight. “I’m gonna check your pupils, okay?”

“They’ve been equal and reactive every time I’ve checked them,” Buck says, but Eddie rests his hand on his face, thumb carefully holding his eye open, and Buck leans into the touch.

“Just let me check,” Eddie says, holding up the light.

“Satisfied?” Buck asks when Eddie puts the light down.

“For now,” Eddie says. “What do you think, want to watch something, or—”

Buck yawns, cutting him off, and Eddie laughs. “Okay, that answers that. Come on.”

Buck gets off the sofa and reaches for the sheets he normally uses to make up a bed, and Eddie shakes his head.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says. “If I’m gonna be waking you up on concussion watch, I’m not coming all the way out here every time. Just come to bed with me.”

Buck raises his eyebrows, and Eddie flushes, then laughs. “You know what I mean,” he says. “Let’s go.”

—

He expects it to be awkward, the two of them getting ready for bed together, but they move around each other like they’ve been doing it their entire lives. Buck shucks his sweatpants and slips under the covers, settling against the unfamiliar pillows.

Eddie slides in next to him, holding his phone up and squinting at the bright light. “Okay, you think twice will be enough?”

“Twice what?”

“Concussion checks,” Eddie says. “I’ll wake you up twice to check everything is okay.”

“You gonna tell me to count to ten and ask me who the president is?” Buck asks.

“God, no,” Eddie says. “It’s an election year, I don’t even want to think about it.”

Buck snorts. “Fair enough.”

He expects to have a hard time falling asleep, in an unfamiliar bed with Eddie stretched out next to him, but it feels like he’s barely blinked before Eddie’s shaking him awake.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, and Buck mumbles something unintelligible in return.

Eddie’s fingers find Buck’s side, just above his hipbone, and dig in.

“Hey!” Buck mutters, twitching away. “What was that for?”

“I need you awake to check if you’re coherent,” Eddie says. “Okay, what’s seven times nine?”

“You know I don’t have the lightning math superpower anymore, right?”

“Buck,” Eddie says. “It’s times tables.”

Buck groans. ��Okay, what did you say?”

“Seven times nine.”

“Ugh,” Buck says. “Sixty-three.”

“What did we watch with Chris last week?”

Buck frowns. “I’m supposed to remember?”

“You remember the magnitude of every earthquake to ever hit Los Angeles, by year, but you can’t remember what we watched last week?”

“They’re different kinds of memory,” Buck says. “Was it Jaws?”

“Jaws was the week before,” Eddie says. “But that’s good enough.”

“Can I go back to sleep now?” Buck asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs. “See you in a couple of hours.”

Buck mumbles a response, but most of it is lost in his pillow.

The second time Eddie’s alarm goes off, Buck blinks his eyes open and finds his face pressed into Eddie’s arm. He’s more awake this time, awake enough to realise how much of his body is pressed against Eddie’s, how their legs are intertwined and Eddie’s arm is thrown over his waist.

“Eddie,” Buck murmurs, and Eddie shifts, groaning. “You need to ask me concussion questions.”

Eddie makes an uninterpretable noise that shifts into a yawn halfway through, then yawns again for good measure.

“Okay,” he mumbles, “Okay. What’s heavier, a pound of bricks or a pound of feathers?”

“They’re both a pound,” Buck says. “You’d need a hell of a lot of feathers, though.”

Eddie snorts. “We should test it. Tomorrow, when I’m more awake.”

“You’re on,” Buck says. “Come on, ask me something else.”

“I said I wouldn’t ask about the president,” Eddie says. “Uh, do you know what year it is?”

Under cover of darkness, Buck rolls his eyes. “It’s 2024,” he says. “Which doesn’t feel real, but I’m pretty sure that’s because it’s January, not because my brain is broken.”

“Pretty sure you’re right, unless my brain is broken, too,” Eddie says.

Buck doesn’t so much decide not to say anything else as they fall into silence, shrouded by the darkness of Eddie’s bedroom in the early hours of the morning. Beside him, Eddie’s breathing slows into the steady rhythm of sleep, and slowly, Buck too starts to drift off.

The last thing he’s aware of before falling asleep is that Eddie is still wrapped around him.

—

When dawn breaks, and Eddie’s alarm goes off for the third time, Buck opens his eyes with Eddie’s back tucked against his chest, his arm around Eddie’s waist and his forehead against the back of Eddie’s neck, Eddie’s leg tucked between his. Eddie’s skin is warm, and Buck can feel the steady thrum of his pulse.

Eddie silences the alarm, but he doesn’t move. Buck shifts, just enough so Eddie knows he’s awake, but neither of them move.

He’ll blame it on the concussion that wasn’t, Buck thinks, if Eddie questions it. He’ll say he wasn’t fully awake yet. He’ll say he dreamt he was wrestling a shark, and didn’t realise the warm mass in his arms was Eddie.

Sharks are cold-blooded, a voice in his head whispers, and Buck pushes it away. That isn’t the point.

The point is that he’ll find some way to explain it away if Eddie ever asks, but for now—

He’s awake, and Eddie’s awake, and neither of them moves.

#911fic #buddie #buddie fic #shush emma #emma writes

291 notes · View notes

babygirldabi · 5 months

Note

can I get Dabi and hawks threesome headcanons or a fic 🌚 Srry I’m horny

LMAOOOOOOO aren't we all

Anyways hope you like daddy kinks and stuff

CW: Daddy kink, threesome, multiple creampies, degradation, praise, female reader, use of alcohol, let me know if I've missed anything x

There is nothing in this world that Dabi wouldn’t do for you. Nothing.

So when he asks you what you want for your birthday, you do not hesitate to tell him the truth.

The silence is heavy, and at first you think he’s pissed, so you can’t look him in the eye. Why did I say that Why did I say that Why did I say that

“For real?” He asks, in a voice so soft you’re forced to look up. His pupils are dilated. You can’t help the laugh that escapes your mouth, he’s practically panting.

“Is that weird?”

“No,” he answers, almost too quickly, then seems to collect himself. “No,” he says more slowly. You nod.

“I know we’ve talked about it…”

And you have. Hypothetically. A while back.

He nods. “This is what you really want?” The low gravel of his voice, deeper, somehow, when he’s aroused, makes you shiver.

You nod, decisively. “This is what I want.”

And so, when he makes the call, he’s prepared to ask nicely.

“I’m thinking about having whiskey tonight.” Hawks always answers Dabi’s calls as though they’re mid-conversation.

Dabi takes a drag of his cigarette before answering, leaning against the brickwork of your apartment building, lazily surveying the street. “Yeah? What kind?”

“That’s why I’m glad you called.” On the other end of the line, Hawks considers the store shelf in front of him. “Macallan or WhistlePig?”

Dabi snorts. “I drink Jack Daniels, man. Fuck if I know.”

“WhistlePig it is.” Hawks seizes the bottle from the shelf and begins to stroll to the register. “Nice talking to you, man. See you around.”

“Hey- where the fuck are you goin’?” Dabi’s muted voice demands as Hawks pulls the phone from his ear. “Get the fuck back here.”

Hawks obliges. “What’s up?”

“I called you.”

“Ah, yeah. Okay. Why?”

Dabi rubs one temple with his free hand, eyes closed. “You’re a fuckin idiot.”

“I was on patrol late last night,” Hawks complains. “Spit it out.”

So Dabi does.

Hawks stops dead in his tracks, nearly dropping his bottle on the tile floor. “Excuse me?”

“For her birthday. That’s what she wants.”

Silence.

“Pick your jaw up offa the floor, bird brain.”

Hawks closes his mouth sheepishly. “Now how the fuck did you know-”

“Because I know you. So what do you think.”

“You-she- I-she…WHAT?”

“I’m not the one making the request. I’m the messenger.” Dabi smirks. “And participant.”

“Is this a joke?”

“How I wish it were,” Dabi sighs wistfully, enjoying this shocked, stuttering version of the winged Hero so much he can’t help but prolong it. “But this is what she wants.”

In reality, for all the shit he gives Hawks, Dabi trusts him implicitly. Not that he’d ever admit that. Which is why such a request had to go directly to Hawks. Dabi doesn’t necessarily like to share, but if he must, Hawks is his go-to.

Hawks pretends to hesitate long after he’s mentally agreed. “Shit, yeah, okay. As long as you don’t get jealous and burn my wings off or anything.”

Dabi laughs wryly. “I’m not makin’ any promises.”

One week later, your birthday has come and very nearly gone, it being 9 pm on the holy day itself. You’ve been brunched, presented with gifts, had cake (ice cream, your favorite), and drank more wine than Dabi secretly thinks is safe for you, but who is he to regulate the birthday girl. Now, everyone has gone home, the apartment has been tidied, and you are in the shower, washing the festivity out of your hair. It’s been a good day. So good, in fact, that you’ve mostly forgotten the request you made to Dabi a few weeks ago. This morning he had presented you with a beautiful necklace, silver with a blue crystal (Lapis Lazuli, if you remember correctly) carved into a flame. It twinkles at the base of your throat now, in the low light. You hum absentmindedly as you rinse conditioner from your hair, exhausted and perfectly content.

A low knock sounds at the bathroom door. “Come in,” you sing, shutting off the water and wringing your hair out. Dabi steps in.

“So. Good day?”

“Good day,” you confirm, stepping out of the shower and allowing him to wrap you in a towel. “Great day. Thank you for making it so great.”

He smiles at you, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Got one more gift for ya.”

Your head jerks up in surprise. “You do?”

He nods, smug as ever. “C’mon.” Taking your hand, he leads you out of the bathroom, through your bedroom, and into the living room.

“Keigo?”

“Hey, darlin’.” The winged Hero is seated on the couch, but stands and swaggers over to you as Dabi leads you into the room. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, but what are you doing he-”

And then it hits you.

“Oh.” You turn to stare at Dabi, who’s watching you carefully, making sure you’re okay with this. “OH.”

Dabi shrugs. “Far be it from me to deny the birthday girl.”

A smile spreads across your face, slowly, then all at once. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Really,” Hawks echoes, reaching for your hand. “Why don’t we sit down, talk about the rules.”

You let Hawks lead you to the couch and sit down beside him, Dabi not far behind.

“Alright.” For just a second, Hawks assumes his Serious Hero Face. “Let’s talk limits and boundaries.”

“Uh…” it’s hard to collect your thoughts. Flustered, you press your hands to your burning cheeks and try to focus. “Uhm….no wax play, no piss, no fisting.” You peek at Dabi to make sure you’re not missing anything, and he nods in silent confirmation. You can’t believe this is happening. “ Degradation is okay, and-" Your face is bright red by now, you can feel it. "I kinda....have a Daddy kink?" Hawks nods seriously. “Praise?”

“Praise is good,” you nearly squeak. Dabi hides a smile.

“Safe word?”

Oh, god. You have to say it out loud.

“Bonfire,” you whisper, mortified. Hawks raises his eyes to Dabi in disbelief. Dabi nods infinitesimally.

“That’s….That’s good. Okay. Yeah. That’s good.” Hawks is trying like hell to hold in his laughter. You can’t raise your eyes from the floor.

Dabi rises. “I’m gonna go get some wine. Help us relax.” He disappears into the kitchen, leaving you and Hawks to your own devices.

Hawks smiles at you. “Are you good? Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“I’m good,” you half whisper. “I’m, uh…I get a little…shy…”

“That’s okay. We’ll take good care of you.” The Winged Hero stands and stretches, flaunting his toned stomach under his black tank top, riding high above his joggers. “What helps you relax?”

“Crack the windows,” Dabi calls from the kitchen, over the sounds of glasses clinking as they’re set on the counter. “She likes the sound of the rain. And light some of those candles.”

As you watch, Hawks flits easily around the room, lighting some of the candles you’ve scattered around the space, with scents like Banana Nut Bread and Bourbon Barrel Cake. As the warm, sweet smells begin to drift around the room, he cracks a couple windows on the far wall, and sure enough, the sounds of the rainstorm fill the room. You feel yourself begin to relax, leaning deeper into the plush folds of the couch.

“Yeah, I can see it on your face.” Hawks smiles gently at you as he rejoins you on the couch. “Starting to feel better?”

“Yeah. I’ve never… uh, done this.”

“Really? Never?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know many…people. And none of my exes ever would've...Well, they weren't as trusting in me as Dabi is."

“Well, I’m honored to be the first.” Hawks puts an arm around you. “C’mon.” Obediently, you lean back against him, just as Dabi breezes back into the room, balancing three wine glasses and a bottle.

“Told ya.” He addresses Hawks. “I know what helps.” Handing out the glasses, he sinks down on your other side, sliding a hand down your thigh. “Drink up, birthday girl.”

And so, you do.

As you drink- careful to not drink enough to get really drunk, just enough to feel it and relax- you just talk. Except words are accompanied by soft touches; a squeeze of the thigh, a light brushing of fingers against your bare shoulder. It occurs to you that you’re still just wrapped in your towel, and though you’re nearly embarrassed you also acknowledge that really, it’ll just save time.

In minutes, you’ve melted like butter between the two men. The towel is looser now; most of your thighs are exposed, your wet hair has been twisted into a bun to allow more access to your neck, which Hawks is currently buried in. You sigh, contentedly, as Dabi loosens the towel and gently pulls it away, kneeling on the carpeted floor to kiss his way up your thighs.

“How are you feeling, baby?” he rasps, pushing your thighs apart. “You wanna keep goin’?”

You nod, and Hawks cups your cheek, brushing his thumb across your lips.

“Answer him out loud, sweetheart. We need to hear it.”

“Yes,” you bleat, as Hawks trails a hand down to your chest and tweaks at a nipple. “Yes, I want to keep going.”

“Such a good girl,” Hawks hums, reaching for your other breast to tweak it as well. “She’s such a good girl, Dabi.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dabi smirks, then delves between your thighs, unleashing his tongue on your clit.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, twisting in Hawks’ grasp. “Oh, fuck-”

“Loud, too,” Hawks remarks, amused. “Gimme a kiss, sweetheart.”

You obey, practically throwing yourself against his plush lips, whimpering as he sweeps a tongue against yours, forcing your mouth open. His hand grasps yours, leading it to the tent in his joggers. Without breaking the kiss, he carefully sits up far enough to pull his pants down, freeing his erection. “Touch me, baby,” he orders hoarsely, and sighs as your hand wraps around him and begins to pump. As you jerk him off, he pulls and pinches at your nipples, eliciting small whimpers from you. Dabi watches all of this from below, his tongue circling your clit as he jerks himself off.

This is so much. It’s nearly too much, and before you know it, the familiar tightening in your stomach is threatening to snap.

“Oh god,” you pant, breaking free from Hawks’ mouth as you look down at Dabi. “baby- baby i’m g-gonna cum-!”

“Give it to me, baby,” Dabi urges, and Hawks groans against your neck.

“Let us see you, sweetheart. Be a good girl.”

That does it.

Wailing, you writhe against Dabi’s mouth as everything in you breaks. Dabi holds on to your thighs, continuing his onslaught against your clit, while Hawks strokes your hair and praises you.

“So good, baby, so pretty,” he coos, as your breath stutters and then slows. “Just a good little slut, hmmm?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, reaching for him and winding your arms around his neck. Hawks chuckles and pulls you into his lap, his erection pressed against your stomach. “C’mon, good girl,” he whispers. “Sit on my dick.”

You oblige, rising yourself up and settling back down as he pushes inside you, little by little, working your way down.

“‘S big,” you slur, only opening your eyes to locate Dabi, who has relocated to behind the couch, pumping himself as he watches you lower yourself onto another man’s dick. His pupils are dilated, his face awed.

“Wanna suck your dick,” you gasp as Hawks bottoms out in you and begins to guide your hips back and forth against him.

Dabi lets out a chuckle. “Nobody’s stopping you, baby.”

Carefully, grinding back and forth on Hawks, you lean forward enough so that you can wrap your lips around the tip of Dabi’s pierced dick. He rewards you with a harsh grunt, then begins to gently fuck your mouth.

The sounds of panting and skin slapping against skin fills the room; it occurs to you, vaguely, that you are nothing but a toy, a bunch of available, fuckable holes in this moment, and for some reason, that spurns you on further. Dabi lets you take him deep into your throat, muttering appreciation at your enthusiasm. Below you, Hawks takes your hips and roughly begins to lift you up and drop you back down against him, distracting you.

“Oh, oh my god,” you choke, pulling yourself off of Dabi and pumping him instead as Hawks fucks you.

“Yeah? You like it, baby?” Hawks pants, tilting his head back to see yours.

“So-so fucking good,” is all you can make out, the way he’s dropping you back down on him is making you see stars, you can barely breathe. Dabi grins widely down at you, taking in the way your breasts bounce, your fucked-out expression.

“Who’s my good little whore?” he croons, leaning down to stroke your face as his best friend fucks the intelligence out of you. “Who’s my dumb little baby?”

“I am, I am, Daddy,” you cry out, the familiar tightening in your tummy threatening to snap. “I’m your good little whore-”

“You gonna cum, baby?”

Your answering “yes” is echoed by Hawks, who has abandoned the premise of making you ride him and instead has begun thrusting up into you as hard as he can at this angle. Dabi watches in awe and faint amusement as you both implode, you, shaking and crying out, reaching for Dabi as you break, and Hawks whimpering into your neck, panting as he cums inside you.

Dabi stands to the side of the couch, heating his palms and rubbing soothing circles into your back as you and Hawks both come down from your high.

“So good,” Dabi croons. “So good, baby. You already made Hawks cum, that pussy is so good.”

Hawks doesn’t look remotely abashed as he lifts his head from your neck, peppering your cheek with little kisses. “I want to die in this pussy, baby.”

You laugh, still shaking a little from the aftermath of your second orgasm, then reach for Dabi once more. This time he obliges, lifting you up off of Hawks effortlessly and holding you to him, your legs wrapped against his waist. “Why don’t we give Hawks a little show, baby?”

You know exactly what he means, and you’re nodding before he finishes his sentence. Dabi briefly cups your face and kisses you, once, chastely, on the lips. “Gonna fuck his cum right outta you, sweetheart,” he promises, and then easily lowers you onto him, still standing beside the couch.

Easily, almost nonchalantly, Dabi begins fucking you, holding you against him and pushing up into you. You tuck your head into his shoulder, panting as he holds to his word. You can feel yourself leaking, dripping with Hawks’ cum as Dabi’s dick fills you to the brim. Hawks jerks off, his erection restored as he stares, almost in awe, at the poetry of Dabi fucking you.

This, to be honest, is your favorite way for Dabi to fuck you. To feel like a rag doll as he easily lifts and lowers you against his cock, the spot he hits at this angle, the way it completely makes you lose control. You stop thinking somewhere around thirty seconds in and let yourself become his personal toy, devoid of thought. You are nothing but nerve endings and pliable holes for this man in these moments and you are more than happy to fulfill that role for him.

You don’t know how long its been or what you’ve said- you are vaguely away that you’re babbling as he fucks you, saying god knows what as you cling to his shoulders, letting him use you, when you feel it again.

“D-Daddy,” your voice wobbles. “I’m- i’m gonna-”

“You gonna cum again, baby?” Even his voice affects you- you clench down on him involuntarily, and he groans. “Fuck, sweetheart-”

“I’m-I think i’m gonna squirt,” you gasp, and Hawks breathes in sharply behind you. “Oh god, daddy don’t stop, dont stop dont stop-”

“Come on, baby. Make a mess.” And you do.

Dabi pulls you off of him just in time; you squirt against his abdomen, rubbing furiously at yourself to prolong it, completely aware that the way you’re moving could cause you to fall, and not even remotely caring. When it’s over, you more or less collapse, curling into his chest as he carries you to the couch. Hawks helps him lay you down against the cushions, your head in Dabi’s lap while Hawks gently stretches your legs out against his lap. Dabi’s warm fingers sift through your hair.

“You’ve done such a good job, baby.” Dabi’s fingers move from your hair to your cheek, and you nuzzle into his palm.

“So good,” Hawks agrees, stroking your ankles. “You’re so pretty, baby.”

“Think you can do just a little more for us?”

You’re spent, exhausted, but you nod, anyway. Dabi chuckles. “That’s my good girl. Sit up for me, baby.”

You obey, and Dabi gently helps you onto all fours, facing you on hands and knees to Hawks, who is still languidly stroking himself.

“Think you can suck his dick while I fuck your pretty pussy, sweetheart?”

Anything, anything, anything for you.

Hawks straightens himself out on the couch, so that you’re able to lean down to run your tongue over his tip without any trouble. As you take him deeper into your mouth, Dabi begins to sink into you, little thrusts that pull him deeper and deeper into your greedy pussy, swallowing him whole.

“You’re so good, baby,” Hawks groans, as you take him into the back of your throat. “So obedient, so pretty, so wet…”

“She’s- she’s a good girl,” Dabi pants, his thrusts quicker now, more urgent. “Aren’t you, honey? Tell us you’re a good girl.”

You lift your head briefly. “I’m a good girl,” you mumble, blushing- how you can blush over words after being in such compromising position escapes you, but here you are, anyway.

Both men groan.

“Yeah,” Dabi sighs, then seizes your hips and begins to fuck you in earnest. You cry out, and Hawks begins to stroke himself, holding eye contact with you as Dabi pounds into you from behind.

“Tell me you love it,” Hawks orders, suddenly brusque.

“I-i love it,” you pant, eyes practically crossing as Dabi’s thrusts turn to an unforgiving pounding. “It’s so good, it’s so hard, i love it i love it i love it-”

“Say thank you,” Dabi pants. “Thank us for fucking you so good.”

“Thank you, thank you Hawks, thank you, Daddy, thank you, I want this all the time, I want you both, I wan- I wan cum, I-” before you know what’s happening, your orgasm hits you like a train; crying out, you push back against Dabi, your entire body shaking.

“Oh, shit- f-f-fuck- FUCK,” Dabi moans, loudly, and you feel him pumping his cum into you. Your shared orgasm triggers Hawks, who shoots his load onto your face, panting and murmuring praise.

All three of you slump against the couch, and against each other, a tangle of limbs. Finally, Dabi pulls you upright and back against his chest. Hawks goes to the kitchen and comes back with a rag, wiping your face clean before delivering a soft kiss to your forehead.

“So,” Dabi chuckles, “Good birthday?”

“Good birthday,” you agree.

Great birthday.

#dabi smut #dabi #mha smut #hotwings #dabihawks #dabixhawksxreader #hawks smut #hawks x reader

199 notes · View notes

meowzfordayz · 4 months

Text

helplessly-in-love

Author’s Note: thanks for embarking on this lil helpless-friends-to-lovers journey w/ me. 🤗

helplessly-in-love

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

Word Count: ~900

CW: none

they’re-both-so-helpless, emphasis-on-helpless

~faqs~

“Hey…”

“... hi!”

You can’t help but chuckle, an awkward smile that reminds Kyojuro of Home brightening your eyes. He sticks out his hand, a solemn expression on his face when you shake it, voice as serious as ever as he declares:

“Just so you are aware, you have officially agreed to be my romantic partner.”

“Kyojuro!” you exclaim, jaw dropping, cheeks hot, “I didn’t- You didn’t- We can’t-”

“-but we can! And we are!” he interrupts cheerfully, gaze twinkling mischievously, “Or is that not why you agreed to meet me?”

“I dunno,” you stammer, blinking quickly, hand burning as you realize you’re still clutching his fingers, snatching it away with an apologetic grimace, “I thought maybe this was the part where you tell me Haha so funny or Sorry, I was drunk when I snapped you or I changed my mind?! or-”

“Sweetheart,” Kyojuro murmurs, a husky, adoring title that halts you in your tracks, already missing the familiarity of his hand in yours, “I would never offer my sentiments flippantly.”

Your pulse stutters, head tilting with confusion. He watches you carefully, resisting the tender urge to cup your hands in his palms and press them to his chest. You swallow thickly, clearing your throat once. Twice. The corner of Kyojuro’s mouth twitches. You scowl, playful distraction scattering the haze in your vision as you huff.

“Oh nice Kyojuro,” arms crossing teasingly, “How kind of you to giggle at me after short circuiting my brain.”

“I am capable of such a feat?” he asks, smug grin informing you that his question is very hypothetical, “Do you remember your first impression of me?”

You nod slowly, gears struggling to shift at his unexpected tangent.

“I remember mine of you. Whenever I get to see you, I feel like I am simultaneously discovering something wonderfully new while also feeling a gentle sense of solace. You are the crackling embers I return to at the end of a weary, darkened day. And I love you.’

“Kyojuro… is the cafe really exhausting you that much?” you blurt, both concerned and stepsiding his explicit confession, “I can come and buy all of your baked goods or something. Whatever helps. So you don’t have to work as hard and worry about not selling enough stuff.”

Kyojuro laughs. A hearty, enraptured sound of devotion and exasperation. You narrowly avoid gasping when he swiftly grabs and covers your hands with his own, tugging them sweaty and nervous to his sternum. His eyes peer steadily into yours, your favorite color of sunset framed by unfairly long lashes, gleaming more fervently than you thought possible. You feel his breath as he raises your knuckles to his lips, kissing them lightly, smoothing the slightest tremor in your grip.

“They said I should tell you,” you admit, a rushed revelation as you melt in the fruition of your fantasy-becoming-reality.

“Oh?” his brow quirks, delighted in your acceptance of his touch, “Tell me what?”

“Mitsuri and Shinobu,” you squeak, “They said I should tell you that Iloveyou.”

“Tengen gave me a similar earful,” Kyojuro hums knowingly, “Although,” volume lowering as he rasps, “I did not catch your last word.”

You gulp, the extent of his affection and your flustered demeanor finally registering. Rengoku Kyojuro loves me you inhale deeply, allowing yourself to perceive the roughness of his callouses against the backs of your hands, jolting from your daze into the present tension as you notice the subtle doubt lingering in his pupils. And I…

“I love you.”

Your reciprocation is soft. Feathery. Grounded in the delicate caress of your fingertips stroking over his heart, matching the relieved exhale of fear from his shoulders.

“You love me!” Kyojuro beams, “I love you!”

With a happy squeal, you give into gravity, arms hugging tightly around him as he promptly lifts and spins you. We’re helpless you think, months of waiting and wanting obvious in how eagerly he holds you; in how resolutely he embraces you. Helplessly in love he thinks, the racing of your heartbeat almost audible; the shine in your eyes illuminating his heart on your sleeve.

“Your friend stopped by yesterday,” Kyojuro remarks. “[y/n]?” Mitsuri perks up, contriving glint in her stare. Uh oh Kyojuro freezes, recognizing his error too little too late. “Do you like them?” Mitsuri chirps—demands—excited now. “Pardon?” Kyojuro’s attempt at innocence is abysmal at best. “They aren’t my number one friend on Snapchat anymore… I think you might like each other!!!!!” “Huh…?” Even as his ears redden, turning swiftly to the espresso machine, feigning oblivion to the careful manner with which Mitsuri watches him. — Winter settles in, as does the yearning, Mitsuri’s prying at the forefront of his mind every time the bell on his cafe’s door jingles, your welcomed presence filling his lungs as he greets you. Again. And again.

5:02PM Kyojuro: I love you.

5:08PM [y/n]: ???

5:08PM Kyojuro: I apologize.

5:09PM [y/n]: DON’T DO THAT 🤯😖😭

5:11PM Kyojuro: Do not love you, or do not apologize for loving you?

5:11PM [y/n]: bgriludhgou;sbjgs

5:11PM [y/n]: KYOJURO 🥴

5:12PM [y/n]: meet me 2mro? we can go for a walk

5:13PM [y/n]: hullooooo??

5:25PM Kyojuro: Alright. ❤️

5:26PM [y/n]: it’s a date 😉

#kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #rengoku x reader #flame hashira #one shot #modern au #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

109 notes · View notes

z0mibite · 4 months

Text

gif by @prusetch

To be continued...? Let me know 🫠

pairing – nikolai (beyond the rave) x gn!reader

warnings – general vampire stuff, blood/blood drinking, no explicit sexual tension, but cmon, we know why we're reading this, gassing (like in the movie), readers skin is described as 'paling' due to blood loss but not pale.

word count – roughly under 600

n/a – got random inspiration for nikolai after a comment from the lovely @astarions-bride. You all can thank them for this masterpiece. Also, hypothetically, if I continued this, the title would be oddities and curiosities.

You shivered as the temperature within you plummeted, contrasting with the warmth of the firelight from the metal bin nearby. Despite the heated atmosphere, you felt your nerves begin to feel like a grainy tv screen at the oncoming numbness, which was alleviated only by the pain in your neck—your life force surrendered to the vampire. Each lap of his tongue against the wound was punctuated by guttural gulps as he drank your essence. His demeanor bordered on feral, growling and twitching like a starved beast.

Considering he technically was non-human, his animalistic instincts shouldn't surprise you. With each pulse of your blood, moments lingered in the stillness. His consumption is punctuated by ragged breaths, despite the unneed to breathe. He withdrew from your artery after taking notice of your body's cue, the shallow of your breath, the speeding cadence of your heart, and the paling, chilled skin rivaled only by his own.

As he withdrew, a haunting stillness settled over the chamber. In the flickering firelight, shadows danced upon his pronounced features, casting light upon his face, now blushed with your blood. The rosy tint was not merely a visual change; he felt the pulsating warmth coursing through him. Every heartbeat, every surge of life that originated from your veins, manifested as an internal warmth. The heat of your blood became a living caress.

Silence lingered, pregnant with the weight of unspoken desires. His feral demeanor softened, replaced by a contemplative gaze that hinted at centuries of existence. As you lay there, the vampire's voice, resonant and velvety, pierced the quiet.

“You taste different from the others…” Nikolai's words, almost a question rather than a statement, a revelation. From the beginning, he had noticed an oddity with you, a nuance that set you apart. It was this oddity that guided his fangs directly to your neck, unable to wait for the others to drain you dry.

Nikolai confessed to the uniqueness he had sensed in you. A scent, an intoxicating aroma, had wafted from underneath your skin. As his fangs pierced your neck, it wasn't merely a physical need that drove him, but an insatiable craving for the flavor that danced within your essence.

He stared you down, his gaze flickering around your face and body as he inhaled your scent deeply once more. His pupils made his eyes appear almost completely black, only a small ring of blue visible to you with the close proximity. He guided his hand to the side of your neck, his thumb pushing your jawline up as he admired the crimson dripping from the punctures.

Heavy eyelids try to succumb to the combined effects of the gas and the loss of blood, coaxing your body to rest and recover. Each blink became a strenuous effort, it was exhausting just to reopen your eyes. Yet, with each strained effort to lift the veil of fatigue, your gaze persisted, meeting his, full of vulnerability and resilience.

Without clear reason, you wanted to show your strength, to prove your worthiness to him. Worthy of what, you weren't sure. Whether fueled by delirium or the ambiguity of your state, the only certainty that anchored you was the persistent thread of curiosity that connected your gaze to his.

In the windows where a soul should be, a faint trace lingers, revealing a shadow of the one who once was. A vampire, forbidden the warmth of a soul yet touched by a distant, delicate presence. As your eyes meet, you contemplate if the faint trace of a soul in his eyes is merely a reflection of your own.

#neil newbon #neil newbon x reader #astarion x reader #nikolai beyond the rave #neil newbon nikolai #nikolai x reader #vampire #vampire x reader

96 notes · View notes

tmagpposting · 3 months

Text

So, about TMAGP Ep 4

Some theories based on this newest episode. Major spoilers under the cut, so please go listen to it first.

I know there have been a lot of popular theories up to this point that Augustus would be Jonah Magnus, and episode 4 puts a lot more evidence out there that would seem to support this idea.

Here's what I thought was relevant to this theory after listening through the episode twice this morning:

Augustus is voiced by an older man who I don't think we've ever heard before, and we've never heard Jonah's actual voice either, since he's using Elias's voice throughout all of TMA as far as I'm aware. He sounded vaguely like Jurgen Leitner to me, although I think this is just on account of the fact that the VAs sound similar and not indicative of them being the same person or being meant to voice the same character (I didn't catch who voiced him in the credits and I couldn't find it online, if you all know please tell me and I'll update this)*

The incident report is a very old document, with a writing style and tone reminiscent of the old statements/letters to Jonah in the early days of the institute. It seems like it'd be right up Jonah's alley.

The episode revolves around a man succumbing to a dark power and eventually dedicating himself to it (the freaky bloodlust violin vs the Eye) and recruiting a younger man, in this case his relative, to serve this violent power (though probably after his death in this case, unlike with Jonah), which has some parallels to Jonah's recruitment of Jon and the rest of the staff in TMA.

We don't know much about the universe of TMAGP yet, but we know there is a Magnus institute that has aldready been linked to Eye-esque characteristics like paranoia, suspicion, (fatal) curiosity, and eyes as of Ep 1. It is possible that Augustus could be a version of Jonah from the TMAGP universe, rather than the same Jonah we dealt with in TMA.

.JMJ error could stand for some combination of Jon, Martin, and Jonah's initials, given that Chester and Norris also have Jon and Martin's voices.

In the TMA finale, Jon, Martin, and Jonah (though I assumed he was dead at that time) were close to where the fears were sucked out of the world and sent somewhere else, and Jon and Martin may also have ended up in the OIAR's computers in some form.

On the other hand, here's some evidence against Jonah being Augustus:

The other Jonah theory I've seen posits that Jonah took over RedCanary's body when they went down to investigate the ruins of the magnus institute, assuming that "canaries should stay above ground" and the gory photo of eyes was meant to represent RedCanary's eyes having been ripped out and presumably replaced with Jonah's. If you interpret things this way, it makes it less likely that Jonah is in the computers, unless you think both TMA Jonah and a hypothetical TMAGP Jonah are both around at the same time, though this theory is also a little shaky itself since it seems to be based on only a couple pieces of evidence so far. I first saw a post about this from @thermodynamic-comedian though that post says she saw other people discussing it, so please lmk if you know any major contributors to this theory and I will add them in here too.**

The fact that, to take over as the Eye's pupil, it was implied that Jon had to actually kill Jonah, and he was seemingly dead as of the TMA finale. Death was usually a very hard line in TMA except for a few avatars of the End and near-deaths where characters lost some of their agency (and/or humanity depending on your interpretation) to become an avatar instead (which Jonah already was), so him being back after seemingly already having been killed off isn't super plausible unless it's revealed that he didn't actually die in the first place.

It seems like there's enough evidence at this point that this theory definitely feels viable, though there is nothing definitive that I'm aware of, and there are some things that point to other explanations.

I personally (this is now entering pure opinion territory, tread lightly) don't love the idea of Augustus being Jonah, because I'd prefer it to be someone or something new to the series or something otherwise more surprising, rather than the same central antagonist as last time. There certainly are ways they could pull this off well, and bringing him back definitely doesn't tarnish the story on its own, especially since he was a pretty great villain with a lot of his character left more or less ambiguous or untouched by TMA, but it still feels a bit like relying on nostalgia for TMA to flesh out TMAGP's plot and conflict, at least to me. However, all the evidence pointing to it being Jonah could be some kind of red herring to specifically mislead past fans of TMA and set up for a later twist, or we could just be running our minds in circles and drawing conclusions that won't turn out to be relevant to TMAGP so early on. Only time will actually tell, and regardless, I'm really eager to see what happens.

* UPDATE: Augustus is voiced by Tim Fearon, thank you to @lokicat5 for finding that out! We haven't heard him before on this podcast, so he could be either Jonah Magnus's original voice, or a new character entirely.

** UPDATE: I found and reblogged what seems to be the original theory that Jonah killed and took over RedCanary, it's by @vertigala and @doomatix, check out their post it's pretty cool.

#tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp spoilers #the magnus protocol spoilers #the magnus archives #tma #the magnus archives spoilers #magpod #tma spoilers #tmagp speculation #tmagp theories #tmagp 04

46 notes · View notes

welcome-to-green-hills · 6 months

Note

So what do you think happened in between the time that Shadow was ejected from the ark and to earth after the ark raid fifty years ago? I really hope that is explored a bit more in the third film. On top of that, I think that you should treat yourself and go all sciencey with this post well. Mainly because I want to know your thoughts on the matter and I love reading your science posts and whatnot

Hello, my dear!❤️✨

I completely agree. I do hope that this is explored a bit more in the film. It wasn't entirely clear as to what happened within that time-frame in the games. I'm sure that many of us have an idea as to what happened with Shadow as he crashed to Earth from the ARK in Sonic Adventure 2. From my perspective, it seemed like Shadow had a bit of time on Earth before GUN Soldiers came to retrieve him from the escape pod.

Onto to your last bit, are you asking me what would happen to Shadow as he crashed to Earth? Like... in a real world perspective? Something realistic? Uh, I can try and go all science-y like you've asked. Please keep in mind that my background in science is anthropological rather than astronomy and such.

The first thing that I should address is that most of my comparisons are in a modern-day setting. Yes, we can see that everything in the Sonic universe is technologically advanced, but we can't begin to fathom HOW advance they really are. We're only going on the notion that they're incredibly advanced. My logic and retelling of the situation is hypothetical. It should not be taken as a hard fact.

Let’s establish Shadow’s setting before diving into the intensity of the situation. Applying logic of modern day technology to the situation, we know that a shuttle from the earth to the moon is roughly three days (Dobrijevic, 2023). This is made with the assumption of using 21st century aerospace engineering/dynamics. We, as the audience, see that science and technology in Sonic's universe is highly advanced. The problem with this is that we don't necessarily have a strong understanding of how advanced it truly is. We can assume that it's drastically different from ours, but can't place a marker in time how how many years into the future it truly is. The best that we can say is that it's highly advanced. For the sake of my sanity and yours, we'll say that the escape pod's projection from the ARK to earth is in three days or less. (This is based upon the assumption that the escape pod cannot be piloted on Shadow's end).

What we need to realize is that Shadow is in a state of shock. Everything that happened on the ARK is still fresh in mind. That moment replays over and over again. When someone is in a state of shock, your entire body in sensory overload. Blood flow drops and resorts in a plethora of symptoms. Symptoms like irregular and labored breathing, cold and clammy skin, enlarged pupils, changes in mental behavior, and so forth (Mayo Clinic, 2023). These symptoms can vary depending on the intensity of the situation. And if anything, the ability to think rationally dwindles. The popular thought that the fandom has was why Shadow couldn’t teleport back to the ARK when ejected into space. While this may have seen like a logical idea, even if he bypasses his mental state of shock, there is a problem with canon rule. Before the rule change, Shadow could only use chaos control to teleport unless he possessed an emerald (Takashi lizuka, 2013). Chaos Control is different than a Chaos Snap, meaning that distance is a factor. This was the canon rule for when SA2 was released in 2001. Even if he were to rationally think and formulate a plan, he wouldn't get very far. He’s completely trapped in the escape pod.

Other than going through a state of shock, he learns how to quickly adapt to the void of space. These are physical changes. A few queries that are stressed from astronauts is how they must relearn to adjustment to earth's gravity, natural lighting, and sound after space travel. These assumptions could be implied with Shadow as well.

In space, Shadow learns to adjust to the light intake that's around him. There isn’t a lot of light, but there's enough for him to see stars, planets, and the ARK. Since the ARK functions as a space station, we can conclude that he exposed to select adaptations of light cycles is present (Guo et. al, 2014). This means that he's adapted a circadian (biological) clock and sleep cycles. His natural habitat is space; his circadian clock matches space time. Entering into a new habitat with a different volume of light intake may mess with him completely. Other than affecting his sleep cycle, it will affect how he's able to see in a brighter setting. This could potentially result in temporary blindness. So even landing on earth, he wouldn't be able to get very far due to lack of vision problems.

Another factor to mention is his adaptation to earth's gravity. We must assume that the ARK has his own gravitation field and one similar to earth. I stress the word "similar" because it's not a complete replica. It's artificial. We cannot make the assumption that the escape pod possesses a gravitational field like the ARK—we lack that detail in SA2. Therefore, we must conclude that Shadow is subjected to weightlessness. We've learned from physiological study that extended periods of time in space will result a change in how the body adapts to earth's atmosphere (Cranford & Turner, 2021). Since Shadow is isolated in an enclosed environment for a specific amount of time, his perception of spacial orientation, head-eye/hand-eye coordination, general locomotion, and balance might be minimal. There would still be difficulties of adjusting to earth, but he wouldn't spend countless years of his lift trying to adapt.

Finally, there's the adjustment to sound. The unit of sound is measured in a decibel. The decibel value can increase and decrease depending on the environment. Typically, we hear a sound frequency at a decibel of 70 in every day activity (Editor, 2018). This is the equivalent of hearing car horns or a crowd of people talking in a store. Compared to everyday life on the ARK, Shadow is thrown into the void of space. The lack of sound—other than his own breathing (which can be measured at a decibel of 10 in sound frequency)—will be what he’s used to hearing. Once welcomed to earth, the frequency of sound that he’s used to is quickly forgotten. The natural and human sounds that come from earth may be too loud for him to comprehend at first. This could result in ringing of the ears and muffled noises. Since he was not trapped in space for a prolonged period of time in the escape pod, he will adjust eventually.

If Shadow was able to land on earth safely before GUN Soldiers came to retrieve him, then realistically he'd spend some time recovering from his escape. He wouldn't be moving around a lot. Then again, I'm not entirely sure of his recovery rate in order to say this with confidence. It would only be a matter of time before he was found and imprisoned with his creator by the United Federation. As I've said before, this is all hypothetical.

Jesus Christ this turned really dark... I hope this answers your question.

#sonic movie #sonic movie 3 #movie!shadow #shadow the hedgehog #mystery anon #off topic #Well this depressed the hell outta me. Anyone else need a hug?

24 notes · View notes

q-talations · 1 year

Text

How to Eat Life LN Chapter 1-2 Translation (2/2)

1-2 Imaginary Borderline (Part 2 of 2.)

Read Part 1 of this chapter before continuing this part!

When Tobi went to school on little to no sleep, a teacher wearing glasses with black frames eyed him in front of the gate. This person always wore a suit that fit him as if it was tailor-made. He really didn’t want the neat black-glasses man to call out to him this morning, so he decided to make the first move and dropped his head in a small bow.

“Good morning, Sensei.”

“…Um, right. Good morning.” The black glasses-wearing teacher looked noticeably daunted. Ever since freshman year, this man had bothered Tobi almost every morning, but then he receives a simple greeting and suddenly nothing happens. Just saying ‘good morning.’ Was this enough all along?

“Where did the wind blow from?”* Baku asked as Tobi was changing his shoes by the lockers.

*It is a common Japanese phrase used when something unexpected happens

“I dunno. I guess there’s no wind at all.”

“You’re having a change of heart? That is what caused it, isn’t it?”

“You’re making things up…” His slippers felt a little tight. Did his feet grow? When you’re going through a growth spurt, clothes stop fitting you, but having to buy new ones would hurt his finances a lot.

When he started walking towards the classroom, feeling slightly gloomier than before, a girl with long hair suddenly appeared from behind the lockers. Tobi stepped back on instinct.

“…Shi-Shiratama-san.”

“Good morning, Otogiri-kun.” Those eyes again. Shiratama was staring directly at Tobi.

“…Wh, what?” Tobi covered the lower part of his face with his arm and looked at the floor. “You want something? It’s still really early…”

“Actually, I was waiting here for you.”

“Huh? …W, why?”

“I told you yesterday, did I not?”

“Oh…”

“I would like to hear your answer.”

“A—”

“A?”

“About…”

The phrase “eyes flashing white and black”* popped into Tobi’s head. He had seen it in a dictionary some time ago. The situation he’d found himself in then wasn’t one to make his pupils switch colors, rather, it made his eyeballs spin violently in their sockets. Tobi’s eyes kept moving restlessly. It was making him feel sick. Many of their classmates were coming to the lockers and whispering amongst themselves while changing shoes. They’re probably starting to suspect there’s something between him and Shiratama. They’re wondering “What’s going on? What are the two of them doing?” without a doubt. In all honesty, despite being one of the people in question, Tobi himself didn’t know the answer.

*A Japanese phrase meaning being astonished, surprised, or shocked

“Hi,” If that wasn’t enough, a passing janitor just had to approach them and further amplify this predicament, turning it from complicated to chaotic.

“Good morning, Otogiri-kun. What are you doing here, Shiratama-san?”

“Haizaki-san.” Shiratama turned around, and when she recognized who was speaking to them, she bowed politely. “Good morning to you too. Thank you for your work even at these early hours.”

“It’s nothing.” Haizaki beamed brightly. He was carrying cardboard boxes. Tobi couldn’t see what was inside, but whatever it might be, he didn’t give a damn.

It seemed to be different in Shiratama’s case, though.

“They look heavy. Shall I assist you?”

“No, no, no, there’s no need!” Haizaki shook his head vigorously. His almond-shaped eyes became almost perfectly round. “Don’t trouble yourself. It is a part of my job, after all. I come to this school to work, and you come here to get your education.”

“I may not look like it, but I am pretty strong.”

Shiratama raised her right arm and flexed it. A thin arm. Very, very thin. Was there really any strength in it? Tobi sincerely doubted so, but he felt they weren’t quite on the same page. It wouldn’t matter even if, hypothetically, she had some sort of superhuman strength. Haizaki was carrying the boxes as part of his duties. A middle schooler like Shiratama wasn’t obligated to help him with it. That’s what he was trying to tell her. Even Tobi, who Baku calls antisocial, understood that much.

Shiratama Ryuuko might bring him trouble.

Tobi realized that last night.

An ordinary middle schooler wouldn’t go about asking classmates of the Otogiri Tobi sort to be their friend.

Tobi was aware of the fact that he’s not the type of person others can feel close to. He’s not happy. He’s not nice. Not even funny. His past was difficult to explain. He also carries around Baku, with whom only he can talk.

And despite all that, it seemed that there were things he notices that other people don’t.

What would Tobi think if there was someone else that’s just like him?

He would probably consider them a freak.

That’s likely what everyone sees Otogiri Tobi as — a freak.

Shiratama Ryuuko’s probably not much better if she wants to befriend this kind of person.

He wants to run. Get out of there as quickly as possible. Shiratama is talking with Haizaki. That’s his chance! He’s going to run while he still can!

Tobi tried to get away from them. Unfortunately, even though he made sure to tread especially lightly, he was noticed.

“No,” Shiratama grabbed his right arm dangerously close to his wrist. “Don’t go, Otogiri-kun. At least give me an answer.”

“Oh no,” Haizaki had a perplexed expression, as if he was feeling guilty. “Did I interrupt you by any chance? I’m sorry. Forgive me. I should be kicked by a horse, or however that goes…”

What would a horse be doing here? He’s read that in a book before. There was a saying that went somewhat along those lines.

‘Those who interfere with other people’s love lives should be eaten by dogs.’

The dogs can also be replaced with kicking horses.

Haizaki seems to be misunderstanding something here. It would be best to correct him. Eh, it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not the time for that. Shiratama was still holding Tobi’s arm.

Will you let go already?

Tobi tried to express it with his eyes.

It’s not getting through. Shiratama just tilted her head curiously. He should be the one feeling curious.

Nothing to do about it now. Careful not to put too much strength into it, Tobi shook off Shiratama’s hand.

“So… About that, um, I’ll tell you when we’re walking, or something…” When Tobi timidly made this offer, Shiratama nodded. Should I start running at full speed? That idea came into his head, but he chose to ignore it. Shiratama was walking along on his left.

“I would like to hear your reply.”

“…Already? Isn’t it too early?”

“Are you still considering it?”

“Well… Considering, and, um…”

“He’s the indecisive type,” Baku said with a sigh.

“Does he have a hard time making decisions?” Shiratama asked.

“It’s more like he’s not used to expressing his thoughts or feelings with words. Never has been. Doesn’t talk to people.”

“What about you?”

“I’m different. And even so, he still tells me to ‘figure it out’ or ‘guess’ and stuff!”

“He expects you to understand him?”

“Something like that.”

“……Hey,” Tobi was knocking on his forehead with his fist. It started to hurt. “Can’t you talk normally? To others, it sounds like Shiratama-san is just murmuring to herself…”

“I apologize, I was careless,” Shiratama lowered her head a bit. “But would they not think that I am talking to you, Otogiri-kun? Or that I am trying to get your attention?”

“That’s just plain weird in itself…”

“Then talk back to me, please. Everything will be sorted this way.”

“……I’m talking to you right now.”

“So using this occasion, what is your answer?”

“I’m telling you I don’t know yet…” Tobi realized he was slouching. He couldn’t help but think he was attracting attention from the students passing by them in the corridor. “Besides…” Wait, they’re definitely staring at him. It’s because of Shiratama, clear as day. “Why?”

Shiratama’s eyes flashed when he asked that.

“Could you elaborate?”

“…Why do you want to be my friend? What’s the reason? Your motive?”

“It is because you are you.”

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you need me to explain?”

“If possible. If you can tell me in a way I’ll be able to understand…”

“To understand.” Shiratama nodded in agreement, and after thinking for a short moment with her eyebrows furrowed, she stopped walking.

In the middle of a staircase.

Tobi climbed one step farther than her and halted there.

Shiratama was looking at Tobi. She captured him in her gaze and wouldn’t let go.

“May I have some of your time? Preferably during today’s lunch break. This is a matter we will need to discuss in a place where people scarcely come.”

Those eyes were Tobi’s weakness. They’re impossible to ignore. He can’t look away from them.

“…Fine. Whatever.”

That was the only reply he could give. What else was there to do?

Right after lunchtime ended, the special classroom wing was empty. Tobi arranged to meet Shiratama on its outside emergency staircase.

He was waiting at the landing between the second and third floor, leaning against the railing when Shiratama opened the door and started climbing up the stairs.

Tobi had a strange inkling. It was because she was carrying a bag on her shoulder. Not the kind that’s normally used for school purposes. This one is small. Pretty sure they’re called pochettes.

“Hello.” Shiratama went up to the landing and gave a polite greeting.

“Yeah…” Tobi nodded back vaguely. Shiratama is so well mannered it takes him aback every time. “So… what is it? That motive? The reason why you asked to be my friend.”

“You know what they say, it is more suitable to present a proof rather than a theory.”

“…I guess. There was something like that.”

“With that being said, we came here together.”

“Together…?” Tobi frowned. From what he could see, Shiratama came alone. Didn’t bring anyone with her. She raised her pochette and opened it.

“Come out, Chinurasha.”

Did Shiratama just call out to someone while looking at the bag? If so, then she was presenting some eccentric behavior, to say the least. Tobi had always considered her to be quite the character, but not to this extent. He even started to worry about her. Was she alright? That question went for more than just this situation. Maybe there was a small pet, some sort of a rodent, hiding inside of the pochette? That would mean an entirely different issue with irrationality. You’re not allowed to bring animals to school. Even Tobi’s aware of that, and yet, it looks like that’s exactly what’s going on.

Something crawled out of the pouch

“Mmm…” Baku let out a small moan.

See?

It’s a tiny pet.

The little guy must’ve felt very cramped sitting inside that bag. Considering its size, it must have had to really squeeze in there to even just barely fit. Although, it looked like there was more fluff to it than most actual living creatures, so it was likely able to get into spaces much smaller than one might assume at first glance.

Is it a cat? A kitten? Probably not. Even saying ‘probably’ is a mistake in itself.

This creature has horns. It’s obvious that cats don’t have horns.

A small animal with two horns on its head—

Does something like that exist?

He hadn’t seen it in the animal atlas at the facility. The facility had also organized many field trips to the local zoo, and Tobi couldn’t remember seeing anything this size that grew horns during any of those. On the other hand, there might actually be a species like this living somewhere in this vast world that Tobi just doesn’t know about. Maybe it’s a horned animal’s young?

The creature left the pochette and started climbing up Shiratama’s body. It wasn’t particularly nimble but didn’t pause once on its way. It must do this regularly. When it reached Shiratama’s right shoulder, it turned its head towards Tobi.

It’s hard to tell if it has eyes or not. They might be buried under all that fur.

In spite of that, Tobi could feel its gaze upon him.

“Chinu, say your greetings.” The creature moved its head at Shiratama’s command, making a gesture resembling lowering it diagonally. Then, a teeny tiny mouth showed from within the fluffy fur.

Yuu—

Uyuu—

Kchuu—

That was what Tobi could hear coming out of it. Is this how this thing cries?

“……Hi.” Tobi bowed out of habit.

Shiratama scratched Chinu— or Chinurasha, whichever one it is— under its chin with her pointer finger.

“Good job.”

“Oi, Tobi—” Baku whispered, “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“…Notice what?”

“This thing isn’t normal!”

“Well, it’s a… unique creature. Has horns and all.”

“That’s not what I mean!” Baku seemed quite irritated. Save for the fact that he can speak with Tobi, he’s nothing short of a regular big backpack. However, he can open himself at will when mad. It’s different from a zipper getting loose. Tobi is the only one who can see it, but it’s as if a part of his zipper opens just like a mouth does.

It’s doing it right now.

“Are you STUPID, Tobi?! Dumb as a doorknob, for goodness’ sake!” Baku’s speaking, flapping his mouth. He’s shaken rather than irritated.

“I am,” Shiratama drew her shoulders back and touched cheeks with Chinu. “the only one who can see Chinu.”

“……But—”

He can see it.

Tobi can see it clearly.

It seemed that Chinu had a soft spot for Shiratama. In response to her action, it rubbed its face against her cheek and closed its eyes in delight. It let out low-pitched cries, though they sounded more like noises it wanted to hold in but couldn’t than its actual voice. Its horns dig into Shiratama’s skin, but it doesn’t look painful. At least, she isn’t feeling any pain. They must not be hard enough to pierce through.

“It’s the same as me!” Baku spat out, almost like he didn’t want to. Could he not stand it anymore? “Up until now, you were the only one who could hear me. And only Shiratama Ryuuko could see Chinurasha, or whatever its name was. It’s not exactly the same, but really FREAKIN’ close!”

“…So, Shiratama-san can hear you, and I can see Chinu.”

“That’s it.”

“Huh?” Tobi’s shoulders dropped. He knocked his fist on his forehead. “…Then what— what does it mean? H-how did it… happen…?”

“Frankly, I am also clueless.” Shiratama said nonchalantly. “I noticed you were talking with Baku-chan a while ago because I could hear his voice. It appeared that I was the only one. Only you and I can hear him, Otogiri-kun. I thought it had to have a special meaning.”

“……Special—” Tobi shook his head, barely putting in any strength. “It could be some kind of a disorder…”

“Do we have mental problems?”

“Well… It’s more likely than thinking that only the two of us are sane…”

“Oh right, Shiratama Ryuuko!” This time, Baku threw in a proper reluctant interruption, “Quit adding chan to my name!

Shiratama’s expression was puzzled.

“Baku-chan?”

“THAT! It makes me all itchy. Can’t really find the words. It’s disgusting!”

“I apologize.” Shiratama shrugged and lowered her head in a gesture that was all but apologetic. Chinu mimicked her.

That’s adorable.

Tobi startled himself by having that thought.

For the record, he only thought that Chinu was ‘adorable.’ That it and Shiratama did the same thing at the same time, yes.

“How about Baku-san?” When Shiratama asked this, Baku cleared his throat.

“That ain’t really feelin’ right either. Why not just drop honorifics altogether?”

“You’re putting on airs…” Tobi wanted to fling Baku to the ground. Baku got back at him immediately.

“I’m not putting on anything! Just sayin’ she can be casual with me! I’m being humble! Isn’t that right, Shiratama Ryuuko?”

Shiratama nodded. Chinu followed through.

“I will start calling you ‘Baku’ from now on.”

“Sure. That’s great. I’m real bad with all that ‘formal’ stuff anyway.”

“I have no issues with you calling me by my first name either.”

“That’s a given! Something like ‘Oryuu’* could also be nice. Yeah, not bad at all. Whaddya think?”

*Baku makes up a pet name by adding a hiragana character for “O” before the first and taking away the last syllable of the name.

“I do not dislike it, so you can call me whatever you wish.”

“Then I’m settling on ‘Oryuu’! Oryuu.”

“Yes.”

“……You’ve started to get along really fast.” Maybe Tobi should throw Baku towards Shiratama instead of smacking him to the ground.

“Ou? What’s thaaat? Are you jealous, Tobiii?” Baku giggled, “Worry not! Our relationship won’t change just because Oryuu’s here now.”

“The one where you’re… stuck with me?”

“Don’t call it that!”

“So what kind of relationship is it?”

“If you force words into it it’ll lose all its magic! But if you have to, then probably partners?”

“Chinurasha and I are also like partners,” Shiratama smiled brightly and turned to Chinu, adding ‘Right?’ as she did it. “It cannot speak like you, Baku, but it is always by my side. We have been together as long as I can remember.”

“…I want to ask something. What would you have done if I couldn’t see Chinu?”

“If that had happened, I would have—” Shiratama made all sorts of grimaces with her lips and puffed out her cheeks. “I would have been put in a difficult situation, to say the least. A pitiful middle school girl who claims to be seeing an invisible little creature, furthermore, behaves as if it were there with her…”

“It’s good that I can see Chinu then…”

“Honestly, I took a risk. Although I was quite convinced already that you could see them too, Otogiri-kun.”

“So you can say the results were alright?” Baku asked that incredibly lightly, but if Tobi were in Shiratama’s place, he wouldn’t have taken that risk.

Is there something wrong with me?

Tobi has had those thoughts a number of times. However you look at it, being able to talk with your backpack isn’t normal.

He can hear sounds other people can’t.

He can see things he’s not supposed to see.

Are those illusions? Is there something wrong with his brain? Is it some kind of mental illness? Maybe he should go see a doctor about it. He’s considered all of those options.

Tobi was so exhausted he might just fall off the railing. What had tired him out so much? One thing came to mind.

He’s not the only one. It’s relief he’s feeling. Those weren’t just products of his imagination.

Baku is there.

He’s not an illusion Tobi created.

He actually exists.

“…You can hear Baku just as I can, and I can see Chinu, just like you do. The things that other people can’t see…”

If that’s the case, maybe those ones as well?

Tobi decided to ask Shiratama.

“Does it mean you can see them too, Shiratama-san? Those… weird creatures other students bring here sometimes…”

Shiratama looked Tobi in the eye so that their gazes met.

After that, she nodded slowly.

Translated by Q-talations

Find us on other socials: https://linktr.ee/qtalations

#Eve #how to eat life #light novel #inochi no tabekata #translation #q-talations #eve utaite #otogiri tobi

62 notes · View notes