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tummywrites · 1 month

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you had the life. happy family, good grades, star of the softball and cheer team, eventually picked for your favorite sorority. every frat bro flirted with you, and every one of your sisters was jealous of you. you were a size 0, no one was skinner than you in your whole house and you knew girls envied you for it, you took joy in watching the fatties you were supposed to consider "sisters" run to the bathroom after dinners at the sorority house, the sounds of their puke hitting the toilet as they tried to purge, desperate for a body as perfect as yours. you meet a hot guy at a frat party one night, and he pours a few too many drinks down your throat and for the first time you're bloated: an unnatural roundness on your otherwise stick thin figure. you notice this and when you get back to your dorm room, drunk and stumbling and just barely able to make it into your bed and grab your vibrator, rutting your hips helplessly into your bed. your belly was so swollen, so full, and you could feel the liquid sloshing around in there, trying to making you sick, but all it did was make you horny.

why?

the next time you felt that feeling, it was at a tailgate and you were there with all your sisters & and their boyfriends, waiting for the game to finish so you could go to the frats and party. you got drunk again and this time you got hungry, so you walked over to the guy's side of the area and grabbed a slice of pizza, trying to avoid eye contact with your sisters nearby who you had overheard complaining about how "fat" they were getting (as they went from 100 to 110 pounds after spending every night partying, not eating all day and drinking all night) you laughed at those girls in your mind as you stood there in your size 0 slip dress, flaunting your body to the girls who fought to look like you. you devoured the first slice of pizza with that on your mind, and couldn't help yourself as you grabbed a second one, and with that, a few bread bites. you eyed the snack tray on the table, with baggies of chips and a cooler full of sugary sodas, but then you saw your Big sister glaring at you from across the room and you glanced down, recoiling in horror (and clenching your legs in arousal) your stomach was rounded out, pulling your dress tight across your belly in an almost obscene way. without a word, you grabbed your bag and stumbled off, embarrassed and drunk and so full, but so turned on for seemingly no reason. why would you be turned on by being so bloated from countless beers and greasy pizza, then being caught by one of the other girls there while you made a pig of yourself?

what sealed your fate was over christmas break, when your high school friends wanted to get together again and have a dinner party. you were still as thin as you had always been, but it lately you did feel a little resistance as you went to tug up your lulu pants which was unusual. your friends from high school, however, were not so lucky. your high school best friend had gained at least 40, maybe 50 pounds--a once skinny girl with a flat chest and stomach, now spilling out of a crop top and skirt, a muffin top cascading over the waistband of a skirt. your other friend, a once sporty guy who hadn't gained a day in his life, now walked in with a shirt that clung uncomfortably to his gut, which brought back that hot feeling in your pussy, your clit throbbing as you saw him, pot belly absolutely obscene to you. everyone brought a dish to welcome you home, and they all insisted you try each dish, then seconds, and thirds of this dish, this that one, and then try this one again--

good thing you had drinks.

by the end of the night, you were so nauseous you were convinced were you going to spew. you had ate so much, potato dishes soaked in heavy cream, the thickest mac n cheese you had seen in your life, cheesecakes, and at least 48 chicken wings, you had lost count after the first two dozen you had shoved down your throat in between cans of beer. you were seeing double, but you saw clearly the face your best friend was making as you chugged down another beer and before you could stop, there was a deafening pop! and the button on your jeans fell to the floor, bouncing off the cabinet and landing square in the center of the kitchen. you were so embarrassed, tears welling to your eyes. in a rush, you screamed for your friends to leave, refusing to listen to them as they tried to reason with you. after you kicked them out, you walked back into the kitchen, still crying and hot with shame, staggering as you try to bend over and grab the button that taunted you from the floor. you held it in your palm, then looked down at your belly, which was rounded out further than it ever had, and obscured your view of your feet as you glanced down, the movement sloshing all the countless cans of beer in you. your crop top couldn't hide the actual belly you were forming now, and you looked up to your reflection in the black tv. fuck. you looked pregnant. you looked at the cheesecake on the counter as you wiped your tears, one hand grabbing and the round gut spilling out of your jeans. you reached out for the tray, and without pausing ate the rest, not even bothering with silverware as you glutted yourself. before you could stop yourself, you had finished the whole cheesecake, then the rest of the mac n cheese, and then stumbled over yourself to grab the last two cans of beer, pouring them into a big cup together, throwing your head back in desperation as you drank both in seconds. you fall over chairs and tables to get over to the couch, belly so distended you let out a whimper whenever its jostled, and pass out there.

ten years later, you're 29 years old and stepping off the scale in front of your fridge. your mark your weight on the fridge, and open up while reaching for the closest bottle of wine. despite your attempts to lose weight, you've gained 15 pounds in the past month. you're 302 pounds, you wear a 4XL and a 24 in jeans, which are barely hanging on. your ass barely fits in the drivers seat of your car and your bed creaks when you lay on it. you've broken your computer chair so you moved a dining chair into your bedroom, but your thighs spilled over the side, so you had to give up the computer. you hadn't talked to most of your friends in years, probably not since new years after that christmas, where you first fell into your gluttony and addiction. you spent the rest of that break stuffing your face to cope with your feelings, and by the time you were supposed to back to school you were 30 pounds heavier and not a single item of clothing fit your growing body. you were 140 pounds, and the moment you stepped out of your car on shaky legs in front of your sorority sisters, you knew it was over. they all began to laugh, heaving and pointing in malice at the inches of overhang you had falling over your skirt, which was only zipped up halfway, covered by a shirt that looked like it was painted on. you dropped out within a few days and spent the days partying, drinking, and stuffing your face at the end of the night, rubbing your pussy until you came. you couldn't resist the feeling food gave you.

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hqbaby · 4 months

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fifteen — maybe i do

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 2.2k content. profanity, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex

It was a Friday night and you were all absolutely plastered. It turned out that a surplus of alcohol, a couple of no-shows, and a group of stressed college kids could only result in something on the edge of a mass blackout.

“We should have a wedding!” Suguru suggested. Or maybe it was Yuta. You weren’t really sure anymore.

It didn’t matter of course, because the moment the thought was spoken aloud, everyone fell into unanimous agreement, and your living room was soon filled with an alcohol-induced haze of last minute wedding planning. There was talk about using a bundle of pens as a bouquet, creating a wedding cake with some of your leftover cupcakes in the fridge, Nobara designating herself as the wedding photographer armed with a random phone—not even hers—as a camera.

“Who’s getting married though?” Maki, still managing to ask the important questions even if she could barely stay upright, offered up to the room.

It was Satoru who answered, raising his hand as he used the other to hold you to his side. “We’ll do it!” he said, then he looked down at you. “Right, princess?”

You nodded, grabbing your boyfriend’s shoulder to balance yourself. “Yeah,” you said with a goofy grin on your face. “Let’s get married.”

The girls quickly ushered you to your bedroom, rampaging through your closet until you found a white dress. It was definitely too slutty for an actual bride to wear but it also just so happened to be the only one you had. With much difficulty, Nobara zipped you up and patted your back as you marched over to the door.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” she said, sniffling a little. “You’re so beautiful.”

You gave her a little twirl, giggling as you stumbled. “I’m gonna fall over.”

“We’ll catch you,” Maki assured you as she leaned on Nobara for stability. She produced the pen bouquet from the pocket of her jacket and placed it in your hands. “Let’s go.”

When you stepped outside your bedroom, you found that the boys had lined the path from your door to the kitchen with potato chips—probably intended to be petals. They had also rearranged your furniture into makeshift rows that they sat on, all leading to the fridge where Yuji—the chosen officiant—stood with Satoru at his side.

Your boyfriend dried nonexistent tears from his eyes as you teetered over to stand in front of him. He took your hands as soon as you reached your spot and grinned at you. His hair was a mess and his eyes were barely open, but he looked as happy as he could ever be.

“Do you—what’s the words?” Yuji asked only to be met by shrugs and “boo”s. “Okay, okay, whatever. Where are the rings?”

Suguru, the designated ringbearer, pulled two paper rings from his pocket. He handed one to you and the other to his best friend. As you looked at the thing in your hands, you realized that it looked like it had been made by a five year old. Still, you couldn’t help but think it was perfect.

“You may now, I dunno, exchange rings,” Yuji said unceremoniously, gesturing for Satoru to go first.

Your boyfriend, clearly having just as much fun as you, slid the ring onto your finger—the wrong finger, but it didn’t matter. He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed it before holding his own hand out.

You took the ring you were holding, twirling it between your fingers for a moment before you slipped it onto Satoru’s finger. You beamed at him and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him into a kiss.

Your friends all erupted into cheers, drowning out Yuji’s protests of, “Hold on! I was supposed to tell you to kiss,” as your boyfriend picked you up and twirled you around, lips never leaving yours.

You stare at the ring on your bedside table, where it’s been for months now. On the inside, you can see the faint scribble of “Satoru” in Yuta’s barely legible hand. You move your hand to touch it but you stop just inches away.

You’re lying on your bed, completely naked as far as you can tell, still adjusting to the morning light that slips through the curtains. Your blanket is pulled to your chin, covering your sore body as you stay there, completely motionless.

It takes you a moment to remember where you are. What happened last night. And who it all happened with.

Sukuna.

You bolt up and frantically turn to the space beside you on the bed. You find it empty, only the indent of a body left in your best friend’s wake.

You furrow your brows. Where could he—

And that’s when you notice them. The faint scent of food being cooked. The quiet cracking of something frying. The little movements on the other side of your bedroom door.

Carefully, you get out of bed and put your slippers on. You go over to your dresser, find some underwear, and put it on. You grab the sweater folded on your desk and slip it over your head before heading out of your room.

The sight that greets you is both familiar and alien at the same time. Sukuna in nothing but sweatpants with his back turned as he works on your kitchen stove.

“Are you making me breakfast?” you ask in a quiet voice. Your throat feels a little sore and your face heats up when you remember why.

Your best friend turns around with an amused look on his face. “Nope,” he tells you before looking back at the egg he’s frying. “This isn’t for you.”

With a frown, you sit at the kitchen table, noting the slight sting of your thighs as you move. “What?”

“I’m making lunch for the kids.”

“Kids,” you repeat slowly. That doesn’t help at all. “What?”

“Your tennis kids,” he says, laughter bubbling beneath his words. “You’re teaching them today, right? It’s Saturday.”

Your eyes widen in realization. “I totally forgot.”

He laughs now, turning the stove off and sliding the egg from the pan to a plate at his side. It’s then that you notice the little bento boxes laid out on the kitchen counter, all full of rice and sausages shaped to look like tiny squids. Sukuna places a fried egg in each box before he washes his hands and walks over to you.

He crouches in front of you and smiles, resting one of his hands on your leg. “You sleep well?”

You nod, still shocked by this whole situation. “You made them lunch?”

“Yeah, I figured you’d be too tired to do it, so I went out and got a few things,” he tells you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You lean in and kiss him, slow and soft. “I can’t believe you did all that,” you say when you pull back. You scrunch your nose up. “Who are you and what have you done with Sukuna?”

He guffaws, getting up and going to put lids on the bento boxes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Damn, my pussy must be real good to have domesticated you like this,” you muse, grinning now as you watch him scowls despite the growing redness of his cheeks.

“You’re so immature,” he tells you as he stacks the boxes and places them in a shopping bag. He sits in the chair across yours and huffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “I’m never doing anything nice for you ever again.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be embarrassed,” you say, reaching over to pinch his cheek. “I think it’s cute.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes, swatting your hand away. “Go get dressed or whatever,” he tells you.

You raise a brow. “Why?”

“Because I’m taking you out for breakfast, duh,” he says, holding up a hand to stop whatever teasing is about to spill from your mouth. “If you say another word, I’m gonna leave you to starve.”

You get up, still smiling, and sit on his lap, facing him as he avoids your gaze. “Thank you,” you say, pecking his lips. “This is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me.”

“It is not,” he tells you. “I recall having to go into the girl’s bathroom once because you had to take a shit and you forgot—”

You cut him off with a kiss, snaking your arms around his neck as he kisses back and grabs your waist. There’s just something about seeing him be so nice and thoughtful that’s turning you on right now, so you grind your hips, vaguely aware of the fact that his dick is directly beneath your ass.

His grip on you tightens as he stills your movements. “I’m not gonna fuck you right now,” he mumbles against your lips before he pulls away.

You blink at him, lips falling into an “oh.” You draw your arms away and clear your throat. “Right, sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Sukuna watches as your expression changes to self-consciousness. He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he clarifies. “I just—That’s what I do with all the other girls.”

You frown, defensive now. “Oh, right, because I don’t turn you on like other girls do.”

He shakes his head again, more fervent now. “No!” he says. “That’s not what I mean!”

“Then what do you mean?”

He looks at you sheepishly and sighs, running a nervous hand through his hair. “With everyone else, it’s always a rush to, you know, fuck as much as possible,” he explains, cringing when he realizes how terrible he sounds. “I mean, I don’t usually have plans to see them again afterwards, so I don’t—you know, it’s just—it’s different with you, okay? I just want us to take our time. Because, well, I was kinda hoping there would be more of it.”

Oh.

You nod, smiling at him softly as you place a hand on his cheek. Your heart flutters when he nuzzles into your touch. “I get it,” you tell him. “And, uh,” you clear your throat, a little shy now, “I got what you were trying to say. I do, well, I do want more of… this.”

His eyes light up. Like he hadn’t expected you to say that at all. “Yeah?”

You laugh. “Yeah,” you say. “This is… good. Right?”

He nods, smiling now too. “Yeah. This is really good.”

You’re walking out of the coffee shop when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You pull it out and check the message, sighing when you read it.

“I gotta stop by the club office,” you tell Sukuna. “I forgot to give them the financial reports.”

He takes your hand and squeezes it. “It’s fine,” he says. “We have some time before you have to be at the sports complex anyway.”

The two of you make your way through the campus hand in hand. You’re both clearly still adjusting to this new development in your relationship—as evidenced in the way Sukuna’s hand is clammy in yours and the way you keep thinking, “Am I walking too slow? Too fast? Should I let his hand go”—but you manage to make it to the office intact.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell him, pushing the office door open.

The room is mostly empty, save for the boxes of unsold t-shirts by the door and the desks littered with gum wrappers and empty soda cans. Utahime would throw a fit if she saw the mess.

“Hey!” Emiko, one of the other club members, says from the desk she’s sitting at. Her laptop is in front of her and there are a few spreadsheets laid out on the surface beside it. “You got the reports?”

“Yup,” you tell her, pulling the envelope from your bag. You hand it to her and she puts it in one of the drawers. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

She groans. “I know,” she says, resting her head on the desk. “I’ve been so busy with my other clubs, I haven’t really gotten to spend time here. That’s actually why Nanami put me on desk duty as soon as I ran into him in the hallway.”

You offer her a sympathetic smile. “That’s why I avoid him at all costs.”

“Good tip,” she says, chuckling. “Are you going on the trip?”

You nod. “Yeah! I heard you couldn’t make it.”

“You heard right.” She hums. “I’m heading back home for the break.”

“That a good thing?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. I miss my mom,” she says. “I saw on the list that you were going with someone. Boyfriend?”

“Yup,” you tell her, the answer coming to you immediately. Is Sukuna actually your boyfriend now though? You should really ask. “It’s… new.”

“Oh, to be in love,” she swoons. “You should really give me tips some time.”

“No luck in that department.”

“Nah, I’m afraid it’s just hookups for me.” She stretches back and looks at her laptop screen. “I gotta get back to these MOAs. It’s so good to see you though.”

“You too,” you tell her, waving as you make your way out the door.

Sukuna’s leaned against the wall outside, head bent as he scrolls through his phone. He looks up as soon as he notices you. “All good?”

“Yup,” you tell him, stopping right in front of him and tilting your head to the side. “Are you my actual boyfriend now?”

He burst into laughter, slinging an arm over your shoulder as he leads you back to the parking lot. “I dunno, tiger,” he says. “Do you want me to be?”

You lean into his hold and sigh. “I dunno. Maybe I do.”

notes. i’m refraining from leaving any incriminating author’s notes 🥰 CUTE CHAPTER THOUGH RIGHT????

#hqbaby.miu #hqbaby #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo #gojo x reader #sukuna #sukuna x reader

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 4 months

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5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie | Part 1: The Convenience Store

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Eijiro Kirishima x Femme Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Tension, Hero Situations, Eijiro Kirishima is a Pro Hero

Link to My Master List 😬

5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie

Part 1: The Convenience Store

It is a rainy Tuesday night and you are absolutely exhausted from work. On your way home to your apartment, you decide to stop by a local bodega for some junk food. You have been looking forward to binge watching a trashy reality TV show all day long, and some potato chips would be the perfect snack to munch on as you enjoy the juicy TV drama.

The bodega’s glass sliding door opens with a squeak as you hastily fold up your dripping umbrella. You shiver as the cool store AC hits your wet skin, and goose bumps flare across your bare arms. The day had started out deceptively warm, and you hadn’t dressed for the weather. You are deeply regretting the choice to wear the navy sleeveless dress that is now clinging to your body and dripping a puddle onto the dull bodega carpet. Oh well – you will be home in just a few minutes and will be able to step into a hot shower soon enough.

You grab a shopping basket and wander the aisles, eager to satiate your cravings for salty crisps. The store is unusually empty for the hour – the sudden rain must have kept most people inside. The only other people present are the elderly cashier, and a man pursuing the energy drinks in one of the freezers. The other patron is keenly focused on a bottle of purple Gatorade - intently reading the ingredient list on the drink’s packaging. You pay no attention to this other customer as you locate the snack aisle and load up your basket with chip bags boasting a variety of fun flavors (BBQ chips?? Yes please!). The aisles are tall – stacked ceiling high with boxes and bags containing every flavor of chip one could imagine.

SMASH! A loud crash reverberates throughout the tiny store, followed by the sound of small objects scattering across the vinyl floor. A deep voice booms out: “This is a hold up. Give me all the money in that register. And make it quick – I don’t think either of us wants any trouble.” You freeze; blood running cold in your veins as you quickly put the pieces of the situation together.

“I swear old man – I’ve got a special quirk that will make your life all kinds of painful unless you Hand. Over. The. Cash.”

You move slowly along the aisle, looking for a gap in the snack shelves so you can better assess the situation. Through a small space between cereal boxes, the situation comes into view – the man that you had seen shopping for sports drinks is now standing menacingly over the check out counter. He is around six feet tall with sharp features; a simple black domino mask obscured his eyes. Clad entirely in black, he stands with his right arm gripping the linoleum countertop, the other poised grotesquely above the cashier’s balding head. It takes you a moment to put together exactly what you were seeing – the villain’s right arm was a gigantic crab claw! If the situation weren’t so tense, you would have died from laughter. The scene is ridiculous – the man’s arm (claw) is twice the length of a typical human arm and had a bright, shiny red hue. This kind of mutation quirk always gives you a start – the unnatural way the man’s body blends seamlessly with the extra large claw is uncanny.

The shop cashier looks up at the villain with terror in his eyes. He seems absolutely frozen on the spot as the masked robber clicks his claw menacingly. With a start, you notice that the inside of the claw is wickedly sharp. The villain flashes it dangerously towards the cashier’s neck to drive a sense of urgency.

You assess your options. Your quirk isn’t particularly powerful, but it definitely has some use here. If you could just get a little bit closer to the situation, you could probably use it to distract the villain long enough to get the cashier out of harm’s way. You stretch out your hand to activate your quirk, but stopped dead when you feel a warm, rough hand clamp around your mouth from behind.

You try to scream, but the sound comes out muffled. Adrenaline floods your veins as you prepared to fight for your life. You hadn’t heard someone sneak up behind you, and you squirm in an effort to get away. An arm reaches out to steady you, and it’s owner whispers: “Sorry to startle you – I’m here to help.” The soft, gravely voice sends a fresh wave of goose bumps down your chilled skin. You turn to see one of the year’s top heroes - the Red Riot - crouched over you in the snack aisle. You’d recognize that trademark red spiky hair anywhere. Your body starts to relax a bit – things are under control and a hero is here!

Over the past few years, Red Riot has been making quite a name for himself in the media as a dependable, chivalrous hero. You’ve often watched his battles and rescues play out on the television – not only was he a skilled hero, but also he was kind and genuine. His interviews were your favorite – he always found such nice things to say about his teammates and the people he rescued. And he wasn’t bad to look at either.

He’s clearly not on duty – his usual simple costume has been traded in for a black t-shirt, jeans and a soft red hoodie. Your heart skips a beat. He’s so totally hot. When he realizes you’re not going to scream and give away his position to the villain, he releases you from his embrace. He smiles reassuringly, and the warmth of his grins reaches his eyes.

“I’m going to get you out of this.” He promises.

For a second there, you completely forgot about the convenience store hold up occurring feet away from where the two of you were crouched. Your senses are clouded by the closeness of Red Riot, who is still holding you steady with his muscular arms. When he realizes his touch is lingering a bit longer than necessary, he quickly pulls away. He shifts to peer over your shoulder through the small cereal box window. The movement brings him ever so slightly closer to you, and you find yourself inhaling the sweet scent of clean laundry. You lean the tiniest bit closer to him.

But back to the situation at hand – you can hear the crab clawed villain barking commands at the cashier. He wants all the money from the register as well as a roll of lotto tickets. He must be either extremely overconfident or incredibly good at crime – because this man is taking his time! Red Riot scowls as he watches the scene unfold. You can see his body tensing as he prepares for a confrontation. With a look of determination, he turns to you and whispers “stay quiet and out of sight. I’m going to go distract the villain and try to de-escalate the situation. If things get physical – run. There’s a dumpling shop across the street – get someone there to call the police.”

His red eyes bore into your own. There’s something so intense and hot about him. You feel a strange connection pulling you closer to this man, closer to the heat of his body.

“W-wait.” You whisper. “I can help!”

You point to the man with the crab claw – he still has the Gatorade bottle in the pocket of his pants. To his left you see a palette of energy drinks waiting to be restocked. “With my quirk I can control small amounts of liquid. I can distract him by levitating all those energy drinks at once. I’ll suspend them in the air and bring them all crashing down on top of him, giving you time to get the cashier out of harm’s way.”

Red Riot smiles appreciatively. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I can’t ask you to put yourself in danger like that. I’ll handle this on my own. Just keep quiet and get across the street, okay?”

You make a face. You don’t understand why he won’t let you help. After all, the villain seems untrained and unfocused. His claw hand can’t do much damage to a bunch of small, moving targets.

“Trust me.” Red Riot reaches for your hand. He places the pads of your fingers on his palm. You can feel him activating his hardening quirk beneath your fingers as his skin slowly becomes rougher. “I was built for this.”

You nod, unable to argue. His quirk makes his skin feel smooth and strong like the bark of an oak tree. You press your fingers lightly into the center of his hand, but there’s no give. Reflexively, he closes his fingers around your own, causing electricity to shoot through your hand at the intimate touch. Red Riot’s eyes widen, an apology already at his lips. You quickly slip your hand out from his grasp.

“Good luck, Red Riot.” You tap the hardened skin on his forearm. “You’re right – definitely built for this.”

He grins, seemingly basking in the compliment.

“That’s right – just leave this to me!” He whispers back. “Stay safe, okay?”

Red Riot army crawls down the aisle. You watch as he slowly steps out from behind the shelves and approaches the counter confidently, grabbing a bag of BBQ chips on the way. The poor cashier is now filling a grocery bag with money from the register as the crab armed villain hulks over him, sneering and clicking his claw. The villain doesn’t even seem to hear Red Riot approaching him from behind.

In two strides, Red Riot closes the distance and reaches out to tap the villain on his crabby shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the counter. Other people want to check out.” As he says this, he pointedly tosses his bag of chips onto the shiny linoleum counter.

The crab villain whirls around, face full of fury. His eyes widen and his face contorts in fury when he realizes whom he’s talking to. The villain wastes no time – he propels himself away from the counter, whirling his deadly sharp arm towards Red Riot.

Crack!

The arm makes contact with Red Riot’s rock hard skin. The hero smiles smugly, his right arm taking the brunt of the blow.

“Why don’t we take this down a notch, sir? I’m clearly a match for your quirk, and the police are already on their way. There’s no need to fight, we can just talk - ”

The villain moves surprisingly swiftly, shifting around Red Riot’s outstretched arm and reaching to position his claw around Red Riot’s neck. The hero’s facial expression shifts to surprise – he wasn’t expecting a villain with such a cumbersome quirk to be able to move so languidly. The crab villain slowly starts to press down his claw around the hero’s neck. Red Riot is making a face that clearly says “Oh, shit.”

You turn and desperately reach your hand through the gap in the cereal box display, pointing your fingertips at the villain and willing your Quirk to activate. Almost instantly, the Gatorade bottle resting half full in the villain’s back pocket lifts into the air as all of the liquid rushes towards the top of the container. You focus all of your concentration on the bottle.

Unfortunately, you never had a lot of opportunity to train and refine your quirk as you had pursued an educational track that prioritized tech and computer skills over quirk competence. However, you had a grasp on the fundamentals of how your quirk worked – and you figured if you could just distract the crab villain for a moment, you could give Red Riot a chance to regroup.

The villain pressed his sharp claw further around Red Riot’s neck. You could hear an ominous cracking notice – and you hoped desperately that the sound wasn’t the hero’s thick skin crumbling beneath his assailant’s grasp. You began to feel a sickening mix of adrenaline and fear coursing through your veins and you try to renew your concentration. The liquid inside the bottle begins to boil – the water fizzing and popping in the small confined space. You shakily will the bottle to float up and behind the villain’s head.

Red Riot uses his hardened hands to try to break the villain’s grasp, but the crabby grip holds fast. The villain is intensely focused on trying to crush Red Riot’s windpipe, and so he is completely taken by surprise when the bottle of Gatorade explodes and hits the back of his head with a splash of scalding purple liquid. The villain howls in pain – both hands reflexively flying to cradle the back of his burned head. In his pain and fury, he unwittingly releases Red Riot from his grasp. The red headed hero is quick to take advantage of the situation – dropping to the ground and sweeping a strong leg beneath the villain’s own. The crab-clawed villain comes crashing to the ground with a large “thud.”

Red Riot wastes no time, dropping on top of the villain to pin disproportionate arms to the ground.

“Sir, you’re under arrest for armed robbery and for engaging in combat with a licensed hero. The police will be here shortly to take your statement - but in the meantime please stop resisting.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as Red Riot continues to hold the villain tightly to the ground. Behind the counter’s register, the convenience store clerk still stands frozen, holding a wad of bills in bills in a vice-like grip.

You hear the metallic slide of the store’s automatic doors followed by several pairs of heavy boots off to your right. Within a few seconds, a team of police officers comes into view, their starched blue shirts bright in the florescent lighting.

At the sight of the police, the crab villain finally seems to give up fighting – his body sagging to the ground beneath Red Riot. The hero holds his position, eyeing the villain’s mutant arm warily. Even from a distance, you can tell his hardening quirk is still activated – he isn’t taking any chances.

“Great job, Red Riot! We’ll take it from here.” A tall officer with a glinting badge steps forward and uses a length of metal cord to bind the villain’s large clawed arm. “We’ve been after this guy for weeks!”

Red Riot smiles as he steps back and lets the police team capture his assailant. He turns and meets your eyes through the space in the cereal box wall. He grins at you, his dark eyes wink a quick “thanks” in your direction as he detectives whisk him away for questioning.

“Miss – are you alright?” You let out a small squeak of surprise, turning to find a short female officer with a tight bun of dark hair coming around the corner of the aisle. You look down at yourself – crouching like a wild animal in a soggy, rain-drenched dress.

“I’ve definitely had better days.” You laugh, allowing the policewoman to help you to your feet. You feel the adrenaline slowly start to melt away, leaving you feeling shaky and a bit lightheaded. You can’t think of the last time you used your quirk, so you’re sure the little stunt you pulled to save Red Riot has impacted your stamina.

“Mind if we ask you a few questions about what happened here?” The officer asks, motioning for you to follow her to the front of the store where the crab villain is being checked for weapons.

“No, not at all!” You wrap your arms around yourself and attempt to bring some warmth back into your body.

The police had a lot of questions. Apparently this villain had been evading them for quite sometime. He had been robbing convenience stores across several cities. He was quick, efficient, and sometimes even deadly – having injured half a dozen clerks and store patrons in his mad pursuit of cash.

“We heard that you used your quirk to get Red Riot out of a spot of trouble.” The policewoman with the bun taps a pen to a pad of paper thoughtfully. Her tone isn’t accusatory; she’s just stating facts. “The unsanctioned use of a quirk in combat is illegal, but since you were put in a potentially life threatening situation and you were in under the supervision of a pro hero, the Good Samaritan law should cover your actions today.”

You feel the last bit of energy absolutely drain out of you and you reach out to grab a nearby store shelf for support. Illegal? The thought of breaking the law hadn’t even crossed your mind. You had just acted on pure instinct when you saw Red Riot in trouble. You start to shiver more violently as the weight of what you’ve done fully sinks in. The policewoman quickly waves to another officer and you find yourself being guided to a chair.

“Miss - it seems like you’re in shock. Please take some deep breaths and we’ll get you to a hospital shortly to get checked out, alright?” The officer pats your hand kindly and pockets her notepad. She walks out of view to call a medical team with her colleagues and you are momentarily left alone in the corner of the store. You stare at the ground, your head feeling fuzzy and cold. It was so stupid to use your quirk so recklessly like that! You admonish yourself silently. You’re sure that Red Riot could have gotten himself out of that bad situation given time – he was a top hero after all! You were just so worried and eager to help…

A soft material engulfs your shoulders. “You’re freezing! Here – take my sweatshirt.” You turn and see Red Riot standing behind you, his strong hands pressing his large red hoodie around your shoulders. He smooths the plush material around you, and you shiver at the contact.

“I couldn’t possibly take this!” You said weakly despite your body hungrily leaning into the warmth of his touch and the offered piece of clothing.

“It’s too late – it’s already yours. Consider it a thank you for saving me back there.” Red Riot grins, showing off a row of pointed teeth. You gratefully accept the gift – tucking your arms into the floppy sleeves. You’re practically swimming in sweatshirt.

“I really shouldn’t have done that.” You look down, ashamed. “You had the situation under control, and it was irresponsible to use my quirk like that. You even told me not to help earlier.” You shake your head, and then blush when you realize you’re probably showering the chivalrous hero in raindrops.

“Don’t beat yourself up about that at all! While it’s true that a Pro can always break out of a tough spot, someone once told me that ‘meddling where you don’t need to is the essence of a hero.’ You moved without thinking to help me when I needed it. That took guts.” His grin widens. “I’m so lucky that such a strong person was looking out for me from the cereal section.”

You laugh, cheeks blushing at the compliment. He’s just so…handsome, grinning roguishly at you with his deep, dark eyes.

“Your quirk is really strong, too. What was that – liquid manipulation? Have you ever trained your quirk?” You’re taken aback by the sincerity of his interest in your small little quirk.

“Not really – I had the standard quirk class in elementary school where we are evaluated and learn how to control the basics of each of our quirks. Beyond that, I never had much interest in it. I can make small amounts of liquid float, boil and freeze. It’s not particularly powerful, but I can make a mean pot of soup with it.” You smile, appreciating the attention you’re receiving from the hero. “I went to a specialty high school focused on business and marketing, so I pretty much avoided any quirk training or hero-focused track. Exploding that little Gatorade bottle was probably the crux of my power.”

“Well it was incredible! I feel like you’re really underselling yourself – I see so much potential in you and your quirk. With just a little training, I think you could really do some damage.” Red Riot says excitedly, talking animatedly with his hands. You laugh, picturing yourself in some ridiculous hero suit parading around the city splashing boiling water on legions of seafood-themed villains.

“Surprisingly, the hero life is just not for me!” You grin before a wave of shivers wracks through your body. Is this from shock? Or is it the damp cold of your rain soaked dress finally catching your attention.

Red Riot instantly notices your discomfort and shakes his head thoughtfully before saying: “Stay here a minute, I have an idea.” He scampers away and you’re left alone again. You focus on taking a few deep, calming breaths as you zip the hoodie up to your chin. You inhale deeply and realize that the red fabric smells comforting and sweet – a combination of mint and cedar wood. You deeply breathe in the scent of Red Riot, and you feel your panic ebb away. You’re steeped in exhaustion as you slouch against the hard plastic chair.

A moment later, Red Riot re-appears, holding a steaming Styrofoam cup. “I made you some peppermint tea.” He says shyly, holding out the hot cup. “It always makes me feel better after a fight – I thought it might do the same for you.”

You take the cup gratefully and tip it back for a sip. He holds out a hand to stop you. “Careful, it’s hot. Give it a second to cool so you don’t burn your mouth.”

“Thank you so much, Red Riot. I really appreciate all you’ve done today.” You’re too tired to care that you sound like a fan girl.

“Hey, call me Eijiro. After what we’ve been through together, we should be on a first name basis.” To your surprise, his cheeks tint pink as he shares his first name. You smile softly and share your own nickname. He repeats it back to you, seeming to like the way your name rolls on his tongue.

“It’s nice to meet you Eijiro.” You feel the warmth of the tea sinking into your icy hands.

“So what were you buying here at the store anyway? Let me go get you a cart and – oh, hold on!” He absentmindedly leans in close to you, reaching out to pull a stray wet strand of hair away from your face. He tucks it gently behind your ear. “We should really get you a hair dryer or something!” He laughs, “You’re still soaking wet!” Despite just having met, the touch is so intimate and familiar. You lean towards him, wanting him to touch you again with his strong, capable hero fingertips.

“Red Riot – the press is outside waiting to interview you.” A police officer calls over, snapping you both back to reality. “They’re eager to hear about how you apprehended the villain. For the sake of her privacy, let’s leave this young lady’s roll in the capture out of it.”

Eijiro snaps to attention, his hand still hovering close to your face. He turns to give the officer a thumbs up. “Sounds good to me! I’ll be right there.”

He moves to look at you again. His eyes are wide and his expression intrigued. “They’re going to take you to the hospital to make sure everything looks okay. They’ll probably keep you overnight for observation until you’re out of shock. I’m sure they’ll take good care of you, cutie.” He stands to walk out of the store. “Thanks for saving my life – I hope to hear from you soon!”

And with a wave, he strides away towards the press team waiting outside. You look down into your tea, confused and quietly delighted at his hope to hear from you. You have absolutely no idea how you would ever contact him again, but the sentiment and the term of endearment he had used is sweet. Ever the chivalrous hero.

The next few hours are a whirlwind of tests and scans and interviews with police officers and doctors alike. Despite your protests, an ambulance whisks you away to the closest hospital and you are kept under observation just as Red Riot - Eijiro - had predicted. The staff is courteous and sweet, praising you for your roll in the incident when the police officers tip them off. You’re given comfortable clothes to borrow and access to a hot shower adjacent to your hospital room.

When you finally sink into the hospital bed, it’s pitch black outside. You flick on the grainy old TV that’s mounted above your bed and flick through the channels until you stop to see a familiar face on the local news.

Red Riot is smiling down at you from the TV set, his eyes warm as he answers the questions of various reporters.

“I was just shopping for some ramen when I noticed the villain. Weird coincidence that I just happened to be at the same store as him!” The hero laughs, rubbing his hand behind his head. “I’m thankful to the store patrons and the clerk who stayed calm as I handled the situation.”

“Red Riot – did you have any difficulty subduing the victim?”

Eijiro pauses to think for a moment before carefully saying “There was a moment that he had the drop on me, but a really cute shopper distracted him for me and allowed me to get the upper hand.”

“You’re so humble, Red Riot. I’m sure you had everything under control.”

Eijiro shakes his head. “I don’t want to encourage recklessness, but I do want to make it clear that you don’t need to be a Pro to be someone’s hero. The woman who helped me today – her bravery and willingness to act even when things were scary is what true heroism looks like. I’m grateful to her, and I hope that I’ll be able to see her again soon.”

The reporters continue to fawn over Red Riot for a few more minutes – peppering him with more questions that he cheekily answers. He avoids revealing any additional details about you despite the reporter’s needling and prodding. Soon the news broadcast ends, and the anchor appears on screen and starts discussing upcoming movie releases.

You sit with your mouth gaping open. Had you really made such a lasting impression on the sturdy hero? You feel your heartbeat increase at the thought, causing the heart monitors strapped to your chest to peep and whir. A nurse appears at your side in an instant, and you bashfully explain to her that you are fine – just a bit overexcited from the day’s events. Once she is assuaged, you return to flipping through channels before settling on reruns of The Bachelor. This wasn’t the soapy TV series you had been looking forward to all day, but it was as close as you are going to get at this point. You let the show run and before long you are dozing in the propped up hospital bed, dreaming of seafood villains and heroes with bright hair and dark, endless eyes.

When you’re finally ready to check out from the hospital the next day, the nurse at the front desk presents you with your belongings. Your wallet, your high heeled work shoes, and an extra large bright red hoodie. “Oh – I forgot about this.” You gratefully accept the sweatshirt and shrug it on. It swings around you like a trench coat, fluffy and warm. You can still smell traces of cedar wood on the collar.

You walk out of the hospital and into a surprisingly sunny day, metallic sliding doors parting for you as you exit. You sink your hands into the hoodie’s overlarge pockets and are surprised to feel a rectangular square object tucked into the deep right pocket. Had Eijiro left a piece of gum in his hoodie? You fish it out with your index and pointer fingers – it’s a small folded up piece of paper ripped from a notepad. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it’s branded with the convenience store’s faded logo. You guess it was ripped from the clerk’s register notepad.

Curious, you unfold the small wad of paper. Written hastily across the note is a messy scrawl of digits and the words: Would love to take you to dinner some time, cutie. Thanks for rescuing me. – Eijiro.

Oh my God. He gave you his number. A warm blush creeps up your face as your eyes run across the note over and over again. What a crazy 24 hours it has been! You reach into your purse to grab your phone. With shaky hands you add “Eijiro Kirishima” as a contact in your phone, adding a few rock emojis and a bright red crab emoji beside his name. He’d probably find that hilarious.

You draft up a fresh text to the red headed hero and type: “In need of rescuing tonight – the villain: hunger and boredom. In need of a hero who knows the perfect ramen spot.” You hit send and hold your breath. What if he’s on patrol tonight? You worry. What if he was just being nice and doesn’t actually see you again?

Your worries are totally baseless, because within seconds you have a reply: “I’m more than up for this mission – meet me in front of the convenience store at 8. Wear the sweatshirt so I’ll recognize you in the crowd?” He ends it with a winking emoji and your heartbeat quickens. You officially have a date set with Eijiro Kirishima – the Red Riot.

Your hero.

Thanks so much for reading!!!

---------------------------

Other Kirishima Stories:

Headcannon: Kirishima LOVES wearing Bakugo's clothes.

🦈❤️Boyfriend!Kirishima ❤️🦈

A Long, *Hard* Night with Eijiro Kirishima (A18+ - MDNI!!!) 💋

Link to My Master List 😬

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spaghettificationandpretzels · 4 months

Note

Hi darling! You' ve done incredible works! Could you please take a request for Raymond Smith with competency and size kinks?

Thank you for reading this 🩷🩷🩷

Thank you so much!

For once, I am so fucking happy with this but I really hope you like it. No pressure tags @yourwinchesterbros @rayslittlekitten @youflickedtooharddamnit

Masterlist

Roll Your Own

Contains: Cannabis use, competency kink, size kink, oral sex (f receiving) P in V, fluff.

1.6 K words

Ray is good at everything he does

You watched as Ray carefully picked the flower away from its stem, placing it in the grinder before sealing it and twisting the top with practised, precise movements. Seconds later, he was softly sprinkling the finely ground herb on the rolling paper. Meticulous fingers placed the filter at the end and finally rolled the joint tight before he slid it in front of you. "There you go, Love."

He made his with the same precision, with the added addition of tobacco from a cigarette, and you sighed. "That shit will kill you know?"

He chuckled warmly and shook his head. "There's plenty of stuff that's going to kill me, and a good, old fashion fifty fifty is not one of them." He reached out, squeezing your knee lovingly before flicking on his lighter and lighting your joint, then his own. His eyes remained on you as you inhaled, and he waited until you puffed out a lung full of smoke before speaking. "Good?"

You nodded. "You always rolled good joints, even if you complain about the new school nonsense I like."

The weather was warm enough that all you needed to be comfortable was a blanket over your lap and Ray sitting next to you. He slung his arm around the back of the bench and over your shoulder, pulling you close as the smoke blew away in the wind. "This is nice."

He smiled. "Yeah, it is." You leaned into him, somehow, whether it be the way he dressed or the way he carried himself, he managed to make himself look so much smaller than he was. In truth, he was broad and tall, with all lean muscles and coiled strength, and without all the trapping of high society dress, he was an intimidating large man. "You look lost in thought." He had pressed his nose to the side of your face, breathing in the scent of your shampoo as he spoke.

"I'm just thinking about how hot your are with your shirt off, and how I'd kill for some hot chips." It was getting close to dinner time, the lights around the barbeque turning on as the sun set over the hill.

He sighed and pressed his lips to your temple. "I can get you some hot chips, then we'll see about the other thing."

He stood up and stretched out his hand, pulling you to your feet before walking you to the kitchen and sitting you on a stool at the bench. Everything happened like a dance, the cutting board came out, then the knife out of its block and the potatoes from their bag in the cupboard. He liked showing off, a small smile gracing his face as he cut the potatoes into perfect, even lengths while the oven preheated, knowing you were watching with wrapped attention at every movement of his long fingers.

"See something you like?" He was a smug bastard when he wanted to be.

You nodded. "Yes, delicious carbohydrates."

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lip turning up into a smirk. "What did you call me?" There was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as the chips entered the oven, and he was walking over to you with a swagger in his step. "They'll be ready in forty minutes, how about I get some wagyu out of the freezer too?"

You nodded and placed your hand on his cheek. "I would like that." He leaned down and kissed you, his beard scratching your skin as his lips sealed on yours. He pulled away, brushing a stray hair from your face as he looked down at you lovingly. You craned your head and pecked his jaw. "You know what else I'd like?"

He smirked, his face lightening up as he shook his head. "Dinner before dessert, Love"

****

Dinner was lovely, Ray had once again outdone himself, everything was perfect. The quiet moments like this were the best parts of the day, with him stealing glances at you every time he thought you weren't looking. You talked about your day and Ray his, and with dinner done, you moved to the couch. It didn't take long for you to climb onto his lap, and he smiled into a kiss as you pushed his mustard yellow sweater off his broad shoulders. His hand found your face, and he fiddled with the buttons on your shirt, each one popping open with care.

He used his body weight to lift you off him and spin around, taking your hand and leading you up the staircase, stopping to press you into the railing so he could kiss you. It was only a short intermission, but it left you breathless nonetheless, and by the time you were through the threshold of your shared bedroom, you were ready to sink to your knees.

He stopped you with a smirk, and you raised your eyebrow. "What gives?"

He ran his finger down your sternum and leaned in close, his lips bumping yours as he spoke. "I want dessert."

You blinked. "But…"

He shook his head. "No buts, get on the bed."

You huffed, but you couldn't hide your smile. "You are a terrible husband, depriving me like this."

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed, lifting your hand to his chest to lay over his heart. "You wound me."

You use the excuse to remove his button down. "Yes, and you deny me."

He shook his head as he stripped off the rest of your clothes and walked you backwards towards the edge of the bed. "I could never deny you anything." He was gazing down at you with such deep affection that it almost hurt. "Can I put my mouth on you now?"

You nodded, laughing as you pulled back with you onto the bed. He kissed his way down your body, stopping at your breast to give each one attention before continuing on his journey. His massive hands ran down your legs, lifting them up on his solid back as he settled on his belly on the bed. He kissed the insides of your thighs, each kiss soft and reverent as he made his way closer to your core.

He licked you from entrance to clit, and you gasped out his name as your hips bucked. He stilled for a moment, throwing one forearm over your hips so you couldn't twitch away and wiggling down so he was keeping your legs apart with his shoulders. He began in earnest when he knew you couldn't shift away from his seeking mouth, closing his lips around your clit while his other hand reached up to play with your breast, and despite the lack of his weight on your body, you felt utterly covered by him.

He was moaning like you were the one getting him off, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you with each pass of his tongue. The edge inevitably appeared, and you lifted your hand from his hair to cover your mouth to avoid what would have been a wail, then everything stopped, and he was looking up at you with both expectation and concern. He lifted his arm off your hip and reached up, wrapping it around your wrist as he brought it downwards. He pressed his wet lips to the very centre of your palm before placing it flat on the bed and smiling softly. "Don't hide anything from me."

He didn't give you time to respond, returning right back to his mission with even more vigour this time. It didn't take long for the peak to crest again, and you found yourself falling into what seemed to be endless bliss as he licked you through it. He gave you a moment to catch your breath before pulling away and wiping his face with his hand. "Thank you, Love."

You reached out, rushing to free him from his pants, pushing them and his boxers down in one go before spreading your legs to accommodate him. His lips found yours and you wrapped your legs around his waist as you reached down to grab his cock so you could guide it inside you. Without the help of his fingers, it was a stretch, and you buried your face in his neck as he took over when you got too overwhelmed.

It must have been a lot for him too, because he was wrapping his arms around your body and lifting you up to sit in his lap, your chest pressed to his as he slowly rocked his hips upwards. He pressed his forehead to yours as you shared a breath, his eyes locked to yours as he picked up the pace. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on."

You felt so close to him like this, his considerable arms wrapped around you as he held you tight. You could feel his body rippling with each movement until he adjusted again and one hand left you back in favour of rubbing your clit. "Come on, my Darling, I can feel how close you are."

Your teeth latched on the meat of his shoulder as you came, pulling him with you as his rhythm faltered. You stayed like that for a time, catching your breath while his lips lay on your temple. Eventually, you parted and he pulled you with him as he laid down, brushing your sweat stuck hair from your face as you rested your head over his heart. "That was lovely."

He smiled lazily. "Yesn it was." He rubbed your nose with his, then kissed you. "I love you."

You took his face in your hand, and he fought the urge to nuzzle into your palm. "I love you too Ray."

Fin

#raymond smith x you #raymond smith x reader #raymond smith #charlie hunnam fanfiction #the gentleman #charlie hunnam #raymond smith smut #sp's kinkfest pick and mix

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xyrill · 4 months

Text

i ate an edible

so i made one piece admirals costco headcanons

have some doodles i made beforehand lolzies

bors

i feel like borsalino would obliberate a costco hot dog! they are literally $1.50 in the US! like wtf he would totally buy 5 or more, eat a few, and put some in the fridge.

he'd also buy a ton of snacks. maybe even $100 worth of dried nuts, fruits, and chips.... a junkie since i'd call him a stoner

he'd also buy ramen packs to stock; damn i feel like he would just eat ramen everyday-- restaurant ramen, home made ramen, and mf instant ramen

go to the optometrist section, try out sunglasses, but never buy them because he's attached to his yellow ass sunglasses

buy alcohol on sale

frequents costco with another admiral-- he goes by himself if he has to buy groceries

sak

sakazuki would totally fucking demolish a chicken bake. but honestly, like buy one to eat for lunch and buy a frozen pack from the freezer section of costco and reheat them for the next following lunches.

he would also sometimes buy the $5 rotisserie chicken. they have the best seasoning MMM

the karen of the admirals. complain to the manager if his rotisserie chicken is taking more than 15 MINUTES to cook

buys a pack of beer every week

he goes by himself and gets annoyed when someone asks to tag along

kuzan

kuzan? he would absolutely love to prepare dinners and buy bulk.

he'd eat up an entire potato salad.

buy fruit and fresh produce

even hit up the bakery

stock up on gift cards like a smart man

he stocks up on vitamins, probably even buys fish oil pills

fujitora

frequents the clothes section

he would dress up like a dad/uncle, buying the best flip flops/sandals

he'd always buy the 24 pack eggs or more

the very opposite of sakazuki, he'd be the most patient person with busy employees

self checkout but with the help of an employee

try out the occasional massage chairs

buy packs of melatonin gummies :)

aramaki

this fucker doesn't even have a costco card

he would sneak in with another admiral or pair up with some random person with a card to get in

he buys all the toys and cool looking comic books at the book section

he would only try samples and buy snacks

he gets a cart, not just to put his stuff in, but to have the right of way and be fast.

sengoku

would buy gift cards to restaurants -- he would definitely love olive garden

always asks an employee where stuff is

a bit impatient, especially if he's behind a slow person walking

looks at all the books

goes to the produce section just to find food for his goat :)

he buys ugly/cute stuffed animals

he'd be a fucking squishmallow collector omg...

garp

buys sweaters and clothes for koby from the clothes section

fuck, he probably loves koby more than asl >_> (probably not true)

would go to the headphones section and listen to the random songs that it plays

ACTUALLY, he would bring koby around in costco and be an absolute dad, embarrassing him with whatever chance he gets

frequents coscto with sengoku

he would go to costco with sengoku if he loses his costco card-- which is almost all the time maybe

edit: there are so many grammar mistakes oh my god HAHAHA

#ok im done #one piece #one piece headcanons #high thoughts #my headcanons #kizaru #borsalino #kizaru borsalino #borsalino kizaru #akainu #one piece admirals #sakazuki #sengoku #kuzan #garp #aramaki #ryokugyu

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 month

Text

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 5

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw.

one. two. three. four.

Five. 五

Donaka's house is beautiful, and it’s a pleasure to be in, even though you’re constantly working at this or that task to keep it immaculate. You don’t mind the honest work. It’s satisfying in a way working on a computer never was, more immediately gratifying than teaching, and certainly less heartbreaking than writing ever was.

Sometimes you take a moment to just sit and enjoy the ambiance in his rooms, but by far your favorite space in the house is the library. Built in bookshelves line the walls, an antique table sits in the center, and a circle of comfy leather chairs sit by the window. You’ve taken to spending some of your breaks in there, reading this or that for the fifteen minutes allotted.

You are reaching for a book on a high shelf, just out of your reach, when a much longer arm seemingly appears out of nowhere over your head, plucking down the volume easily.

You didn't even hear Mr. Mark enter the room. Usually, he’s at work at this time of day, though you’ve noticed he’s been home more lately. You gasp and turn, finding him standing close enough that you feel the warmth emanating from his body. He’s like a furnace.

He enjoys sneaking up on you. There’s nothing he wants more, than to push you back against the shelves and take you, but he is a patient predator. He settles for just handing you the book with a lifted eyebrow. You take it absently, wondering if you are in trouble. It’s impossible to tell, from his impassable expression.

"Hello, Mr. Mark," you say softly.

He smirks at your timid greeting, delighted with this development. He’s known for days, of course, that you were coming in here. He didn’t really mind–you were always careful with the books, reverent in the way you handled them, even the newer tomes that could be easily replaced.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks sardonically, implying that you should be cleaning something, rather than looking at his books on Chinese art.

"Yes. I'm...on my break," you are quick to explain.

Donaka lets his gaze slowly and openly travel over you. He can’t help but find you beautiful, even in your unassuming black dress and white apron, your hair swept back neatly.

He takes a half-step closer to you, leaning against the bookshelf, caging you in with his broad frame. “You should use this time to take refreshment. Why are you so unkind to your body?” he scolds, annoyed that you do not treat yourself as well as he thinks you should.

You frown a little, clutching the book to your chest like a shield. He inwardly scoffs at this, finding the thought that a book between you could save you from him.

"I...didn't want to risk getting food on your books," you admit, annoyed that he seems to think he can control what you eat and drink too. Chill out, man. Even you are smart enough to let that die unsaid on your tongue.

“Very kind of you,” he deadpans. You do not miss the dry sarcasm in his tone, and you realize you have made a mistake, thinking you could just come in here and be alone with the smell of old paper for a little while. But now you’re stuck with this book in your hands, which you can’t put away without his help. Your quick escape is thwarted.

“How about this,” he proposes, tilting his head. “You can come in here in the evening, any time you want. But right now, you should go have a cup of tea, and a healthy snack.” No potato chips, practically rings out unsaid between you.

“That’s very generous of you, Mr. Mark,” you say, not happy with this offer at all. Maybe you could do worse, than your handsome employer taking an interest in your health, and offering to share his books with you. But there’s more to it beneath the surface, something darker, controlling. You sense it more than you could prove it.

You wonder how often he would find his way in here, if you started spending your evenings in one of those oversized leather chairs, curled up with a book… You can’t help but look at the table next. That sturdy fucking table, such a debauchable surface, if he were to grab you up and pin you down there…

Stop stop stop.

You can’t stop. Not your thoughts, at least. Your feet, however, are ready to go.

He is searching your face with that sharp gaze that sees everything. He doesn’t look pleased, almost as though he knows you’re not going to come in here again unless you are cleaning.

Hoping to distract him before he can concoct something else, you hand him back the book to re-shelve, since you clearly can't reach it.

He accepts it, his eyes never leaving your face, but his fingers brushing yours. It feels like an electric shock, when he touches you, and that predictable rush of heat floods your body, from the tips of your fingers to your treacherous, aching, center.

It’s almost as though you have no sense of self-preservation at all.

"Thank you, Mr. Mark." You sidle around him, thinking about how you’re always fleeing the rooms he's in. It's almost becoming a comedic bit between you–but you’re not laughing, as you feel his hungry eyes on your back as you go.

“Y/n?”

You were so close to escaping.

“Sir?” you ask timidly, turning slowly in the doorway.

“Tell Mrs. Wong I’ll have my tea early today. Bring it to me on the terrace.”

There is a single beat during which you consider reminding him you’re on your break still, and that’s not usually your duty around the house. The impulse evaporates as he fixes you with that dark stare, and you dare not defy him further.

“As you like, sir.”

He inclines his head with a little smirk, as though to say, ‘See how it goes for you when you defy me?’ All in all…you feel like you got off pretty easily. That is, until you are bringing him the tray with his beautiful burnished earthenware yi xing teapot, and some little dishes filled with dried fruit and nuts. They do look tasty, you have to admit, but that’s neither here nor there for you now.

The terrace is cloistered by greenery, a pool beside it filled with flowing-finned koi carp. In the distance one can see the blue glitter of the sea. It really is a view fit for a king, and even though you still don’t really know a thing about Donaka Mark other than he is wealthy and ridiculously good looking, you are happy for him.

You set down the tray without making a sound, and he smirks at you as you bow your head, making to flee once more. “Sit down,” he orders, in the guise of a polite invitation. You recognize it immediately for what it is.

“Sir…”

You don’t know why the thought of staying with him twists you up in knots inside. Perhaps simply because you want to, even while knowing it is not your place to do so.

“Sit,” he says again, and with a sigh you do as you’re told, perching on the edge of the chair. It’s incredibly peaceful, in this place. The sound of the fountain tinkling beside you, the salt-tinged breeze coming off the water beyond…for a moment, you close your eyes, perhaps because you can feel his gaze boring into you. You’re not entirely sure what’s happening between the two of you, but that little instinct deep inside that is rarely wrong–and you rarely listen to…is sounding the alarm.

“This teapot is two-hundred years old,” he tells you, pouring a cup. Your eyes go a little wide, as you think about the heritage you’d unwittingly carted across the house in your two little hands. It must be very valuable. “It makes an exceptional cup of dark oolong.”

As he sets the cup in front of you, as well as the little dish of dried fruit and nuts, you know you resemble one of those open-mouthed carp in the pond in your surprise. “Another auction-house conquest?” you dare ask.

“Something like that. It was not cheap.”

Your lips twist as you attempt to keep your wry comments to yourself. As usual–you fail. “Do me a favor and don’t tell me what you paid for it, if I have to carry it back to the kitchen.”

He chuckles quietly at that. “You think it was a waste of money?”

“No, there are definitely worse things to waste your money on.”

You realize a beat later that your comment sounded far more specific than you meant it to, your personal prejudices making their way out the cracks of your armor.

Lucky you, he seems amused by this, though you can’t help but wonder if it’s a trap when he asks, “Oh? Like what?”

“I didn’t mean you specifically…”

The flash of his smile is like a baring of teeth; you are equally mesmerized as you are mortified. Is this what the little deer feels, a moment before it is snatched up in the jaws of the tiger?

“Yes you did. Come on, tell me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Playing hard to get as usual. Is it my art collection?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

“My beautiful house?”

“No,” you reply again in earnest.

“My clothes?”

No, you rather like those too. You simply shake your head, wishing, as usual, that you could run away, or turn back time, and shut your fat fucking mouth.

“Hmm. What’s left? Ah, it’s my cars.”

You are practically writhing in your seat, as he hits this nail on the head.

“Absolutely none of my business, sir.”

“Of course it’s not, but where’s the fun in that?”

You sense the fun in this for him is making you sweat.

“So go on? What’s wrong with them? Lamborghini not to your taste?”

You take a sip of tea, closing your eyes momentarily to appreciate the flavor. It really was wonderful, bitter yet somehow silky on the back of the tongue. Enjoy it now, you think–he’s going to fire you in five seconds.

“Well. If they make you spend that much…” you deadpan, “You’d think they’d at least have the decency not to make them so ugly.”

For a moment you think you are dead–not fired, but soon to be murdered–until a bark of laughter escapes this usually so-severe man, the flash of his white teeth startling in the sunlight. “I’ll be sure to tell them you said so,” he retorts, saluting you with his cup of tea, before taking a sip. “Though you might feel differently, if you’d let me give you a ride.”

You freeze for a moment while reaching for a peanut. He meant in his car you deranged dumpster fire of a woman.

“I’m sure…its performance is bar none,” you answer diplomatically. You see his smirk out the corner of your eye, and you feel your ears burning.

“So tell me, my little housekeeper with all the big opinions. If you had my money, what would you spend it on?”

His money? As usual, you can’t tell if he is baiting you with the subtle choice of his words. You sigh, taking a piece of dried fruit. You think for a few moments, though it doesn’t take long.

“Honestly? The same thing I’m doing now.”

He chuckles at this. “You like cleaning my house that much?”

“It’s not bad.” Despite the probable ulcer developing from living in proximity to this tempting man. “But when my work visa expires in six months, I’m going to travel again.”

Donaka’s expression sharpens immediately at hearing this, his brows pulling in a frown. “You’re leaving us so soon?”

“I…told your assistant, in the interview. It wasn’t a secret.”

Donaka still glowers at you, and you can’t help but feel like you did something wrong. But he wrangles his emotions, whatever they may be, into a neutral expression. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You are obviously overqualified for this position.”

“I am educated, but I don’t really feel like that qualifies me for much of anything.”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, and you sense he is still annoyed with you. “What about your writing?”

You shrug, even while it feels like a knife delivered to your chest. “It’s never come to anything.”

“How hard did you try?”

You trace the rim of your little tea cup, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.

“Enough to break my heart one more time than I could take,” you admit, suddenly feeling raw under his piercing gaze. Rejection is wearing. So is pouring your soul into something that only amounts to very little when you were foolish enough to hope. You’ve never managed to turn anything you enjoy into a money making endeavor. It always makes you feel like you’re dying inside.

Donaka, however, seems less than sympathetic. “You shouldn’t give up.”

You shrug, ready to change the subject. It’s not like you’ve stopped writing. You’re just not writing anything that can ever see the light of day. “I will take that under advisement.”

He narrows his eyes, like he doesn’t believe you’re taking him seriously. “You know what your problem is?”

“Would you like a list?”

“Very funny. But I think you’ve never truly been afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Exactly. I can tell. I think you’re intelligent, and maybe you’re tough, but you’ve never been to the edge of survival. There’s something about your contempt for the display of wealth that makes me think you come from it. You’re content with mediocrity because you know if you have to, you can always run home to mommy and daddy. You have a safety net that keeps you lazy.”

You blink at that. It’s maybe half true, though you would rather eat roadkill than go home to your father with your hand out. “I’m not…lazy.”

“Of course you are. You’re certainly not realizing your fullest potential.”

This hurts way more than it should. Maybe…because he’s not wrong. This man has an edge of danger to him–it wouldn’t surprise you at all, to learn he’s a self-made millionaire. Maybe he had a rough childhood, and climbed over anyone he had to, to get where he is. Good for him. You wonder vaguely who he’s hurt along his journey to the top. Deep down, you know men don’t get where Donaka Mark is without someone paying a price.

“Maybe not. But not everyone wins the big jackpot in life. I’m content with where I am now.”

“For now? And where will you go from here?”

“India, I think.”

“Why?”

“There are still things I want to see.”

“Why?”

“Why not? Because I want to. Because I can. Why do anything in this pointless existence?” You are careful not to raise your voice to him, though your heart gallops in your chest like you are having an argument. The yawning void of your old friend nihilism opens up before you, a black hole you know well but haven’t had to contend with for a while.

His lips curl for you, though it is not a nice smile. “You lack a sense of purpose.”

He’s not wrong, though you don’t think he understands you as well as he thinks. You find the endless march of humanity perpetuating itself tiresome and destructive. You find the rat race pursuit of wealth for the sake of winning a pissing contest exhausting. The hypocrisy of religion has never appealed to you. On the whole, you find homo sapiens to be a sad and ridiculous species with a few bright spots, but unfortunately you are one, you’re stuck here, and you have to find something to do with your time until you check out.

Usually you’re content in your own little world, trying not to harm anyone…but he flips this switch for you in two seconds flat, and you find yourself clenching your jaw as the weight of it crushes you down. You have to admit this was not how you expected this day to go. Silly you, for thinking you could just sit down with a book for ten minutes unbothered.

He pours himself another cup of tea, pretending that he doesn’t notice you’re stewing in an existential crisis while sitting across from him. “I could change that for you, you know.”

Confused and unsettled, which is probably exactly what he intended to do to you, you shift in your chair. Is he propositioning you? Or is he talking about something else entirely? You feel like a low-level current is running through your bone marrow, slowly cooking you from the inside.

You’re not sure if he’s asking you to be his mistress–or to join a cult. Maybe it would be nearly one and the same.

From the flashing look in his eyes, you don’t think he expected you to laugh at him. It’s the only way you can get up the courage to say this to his face: “Respectfully…no one says that unless they’re trying to evangelize you into something, Mr. Mark.”

His lips dance as he smirks at you. “But you are above manipulation, Miss y/n?”

“Probably not,” you admit, suddenly nervous all over again about where this is heading. Why does every conversation you have with this man have to feel like a fucking chess game? “Though I like to think…I am somewhat aware, at least.”

“Being aware of manipulation is not the same as being immune to it, believe me.” Again he smiles wide enough to flash teeth, and you can tell he is truly enjoying himself now. “Can you really say that wealth doesn’t interest you? I don’t buy it.”

“The ostentatious display of wealth doesn’t interest me,” you grumble, flashing back to the hellish court-ordered summers you once spent at your father’s tasteless mansion with your insufferable half-siblings always crowing about their latest couture conquests.

“Ah. That’s why you hate the Lambo.”

“No, I really do think it’s ugly.” It maybe feels too good to tell him so, after he was so brutally honest to you. However, you can tell immediately that you fail to hit your mark. He lifts his eyebrows, seemingly amused by your agitation, his dark eyes shining.

You look at him sitting across from you in the dappled afternoon light; why does this man have the right to look so beautiful, while he’s being so mean?

“You know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” you grouse. You really would rather be scrubbing a toilet right now.

“I think if you had real money, you would do the exact same thing I do; use it to acquire things that please you. You’re no different from me, or anyone else.”

What is it about this man, that makes you feel like you’re being slowly electrocuted? You dare to meet his gaze, finding his dark eyes veritably dancing with enjoyment for making you squirm. You cannot help but wonder if he counts you as one of those things.

Maybe Donaka Mark thinks you’re an underachiever, but you reckon this man might be surprised by your stubborn streak. No matter your fascination with him…you need to cut him from your heart, because you’re more certain than ever that he would be the death of you. You do not possess a thick enough skin to tangle with a man like this on a regular basis.

“That might be true,” you answer, looking back down at your teacup. “But at least I’m not a bully.”

“Have I hurt your feelings, y/n?”

He fucking knows he has, and you would give anything to be able to quit the table right then. You consider dropping his precious teapot on the way back to the kitchen; but think better of it, and not just because you suspect he might string you up by your thumbs. It would be a tragic loss of art.

“May I go, Mr. Mark?”

“Not until you answer my question.”

“Yes, you hurt my feelings. Now may I go?”

“No. How did I offend you? By speaking the truth?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” you answer with a sigh, looking out at the glittering water beyond.

“Well?”

You make a plaintive sound, wishing the ground would just swallow you up whole, rather than having to admit the truth out loud to this man. But he waits patiently, and you just know there will be no escape for you, until you give this man the answer he wants.

“I thought…you liked me,” you answer quietly. “But never fear, I am disabused of that foolish notion, sir. Now may I go?”

“I do like you. Haven’t you been listening?” He sounds genuinely puzzled.

You laugh at that, and it sounds pathetic even to you.

Now, at last, he seems as frustrated with you as you are with him. “Fine. Go back to work, y/n.” He makes a shooing gesture with his fingers, and you have never been so grateful to be dismissed in your life.

You hope this little interlude will convince him to just leave you alone.

“Thank you, sir,” you say with a cloying deference, and you hear him growl behind you as you scurry away. It sends an agonizing thrill jetting down your spine, and it’s all you can do not to run.

Little do you know, you haven’t scared him off by half. You just threw down a gauntlet.

#donaka mark #donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #donaka mark x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #dark romance #plz be warned #let the games begin...#in which the author just realized she's writing a bully romance #huh who knew 😆

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