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snowdropluck204 · 1 day

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A Date With Death - Spencer Reid x Unsub Fem! Reader

Hi my lovelies! After a lot of people seemed interested in this story, namely a few that commented who I am tagging below! If anyone wants to be tagged in these chapters from now on, let me know! I am going to try and plan this out okay, I'll post a separate post with the release dates of the chapters! With that! Enjoy!

Also, I'm a Brit writing about America... Specifically Colorado! So if there is anyone from there that would be willing to help me, please do!

Tag List: @vexis-world @inexplicableeee @flowercrownsandtrauma

TW: Murder, gore, blood, vomit, mentions of rapists, pedophiles, abuse, y/n being mistaken for male.

Spencer pov

The BAU hadn't had a case like this for a while...

This case had gotten media attention across the country, further even. All because this unsub was doing things that many a soul had thought about, hell even acted upon, the difference between their unsub and the average person, is that he was getting away with it.

For the last month, bodies had been cropping up all over Denver, Colorado, all with the same MO. People, both men and women, had been found dead in different locations, the only things that the victims had in common were the ways they were killed and that they were all once convicted of a crime. These crimes have ranged from rape, domestic abuse, paedophilia and stalking, but each of the victims had been killed using three consecutive methods.

As the car arrived at the scene of the crime, the body being found outside his own home, I wasn't massively shocked to see the crowd of media representatives surrounding the scene, I was a little perturbed to see a separate crowd of protesters.

"How many of them are there?" I asked confused, "God the street is crawling with them!" Morgan nodded from beside me, as we both stepped out of the car. Hotch grumbled under his breath, "Clearly the local cops didn't secure the area very well." The reporters seemed to have noticed us, we weren't exactly inconspicuous in our suits and sunglasses, but we still flashed the badge, asking them to move as politely as we could.

Immediately we were swarmed, questions being fired at us left and right, "Do you have any idea who was behind this killing?" "What is being done to keep this community safe?" "Why has it taken this long for the FBI to become involved?"

We tried to answer as many as we could without giving away too much of the investigation, including how little had been discovered so far. The police here had no leads, so we were working off of very little, and, until we had analysed the crime scene, we had no working profile of the unsub to make up a suspect list. This was square one...

Morgan walked over to the protesters, myself following close behind, they were all carrying banners or picket signs, they each read various forms of propaganda, 'He's Saving Lives', 'Let Him Live', 'Grim Will Save US.' I tilted my head as we walked closer to the crowd. Derek very clearly hadn't assessed the situation as strongly...

"Don't you worry folks, we'll have this guy behind bars soon!" He called out, trying to get the group to leave peacefully, only to get angry faces and practically being spat at.

"Why? He's doing what our government is too scared to do now! I say let him go!" A woman cried, beginning a chant of, 'Let Him Go.' The chanting became louder, Hotch began seeming more nervous as they advanced. He turned to shout over his shoulder at the local police.

"Can you hold them back please?" At the authority in his voice, the cops quickly rushed to attention, herding Morgan and myself into the front yard. The crime scene.

The body had been placed, almost gently, into the flowerbed in the front yard, some of the blood that decorated his body had even been mopped up. "Do we have an ID on the victim yet?" I asked Hotch, receiving a negative, apparently the neighbours knew of the victim, knew that he lived here, but rarely spoke to him and didn't know his name, so I crouched down to see what we were working with.

This victim's demise, also followed the same MO of the last seven victims the unsub had killed. Each of the victims before this one, had been killed with three separate methods, asphyxiation, the throat was slit and then the victim was garroted. "Reid." Hotch asked from behind me, I turned to look at him, showing him he had my attention, "What have we got?"

I looked back to the body, fiddling with the gloves on my hands, "The victim seems to have been killed in the same methods of the unsub's MO, it's called the threefold death, it's a religious method of killing going as far back as Druid-Irish folklore. The threefold death obviously entailed a person being killed three separate times, in this case, asphyxiation, a form of stabbing and then a mixture of the two... It was said that this method of death was saved and used as a punishment for those who didn't deserve to die only once..." I told them, trying to be as concise as possible.

Hotch nodded, whilst Morgan began taking a closer look at the garrote around the man's neck. Each of the previous victims had been convicted of a crime, violent and sometimes sexual in nature. Each of the garrotes used seemed to be personalised, a single word scratched roughly into the wooden handle of them, this garrote in particular had the word, 'ABUSER' carved into the grain of the wood.

Morgan pulled out his phone, pressing it to his ear, "Babygirl, newest victim apparently has a history of abuse or domestic violence, can you work your magic?"

I focused back on the body.

Like all the previous victims, the body was as clean as the unsub could get it, he seemed to have cleaned up any blood that pooled on the skin, before laying them to rest, in an almost respectful manner. Laid flat on their backs, hands and arms crossed over their torso, with a single white lily laced delicately between their fingers. The only thing that didn't seem as respectful, was the plastic bag tired around their face, using the same garrote that was used to kill them. I decided to speak up my thoughts to Hotch.

"The unsub almost seems to have feelings of remorse, the funeral like way of displaying the bodies is another part of his signature, strange for what we would assume is just a spree killer, it's more likely that he was targeting these people, or that there was an extreme trigger involved.

"The white lily represents the transience of life and the emotions of grief and mourning, also strange for your average serial killer. There is the possibility that the unsub knew his victims before he killed them... That could prove that he has anti-social personality disorder, he's trying to replicate an emotion he has seen around death, like copying the process of mourning at a funeral." I finished, even I felt confused...

Hotch nodded along, before the three of us walked over to the front door of the victim's home, judging by the track marks through the blood, the victim was murdered in the home and dragged out to the garden. "The unsub must have been surveying the house and the neighbours, because most of them work nights or have late night activities, the victim was found outside his home at around one in the morning. Somehow, the unsub made his way into the home, killed this guy using three separate methods and dragged the body out of the home and positioned it the way he wanted in a small window of about three hours." I told the room.

Hotch nodded, following the trail of blood around the house, leading to a chair in the middle of the kitchen, the kitchen tile had a clear tarp laid over it, the chair on top, both were coated in a thick layer of dried blood, the knife used to slit his throat wasn't at the scene, so the unsub still had it...

(y/n) pov

The sting in my throat and eyes was horrid as I retched into the toilet bowl, the tears running down my face were falling hot and fast. Eventually, the vomiting stopped, I took a deep breath, now that I could, I flushed the toilet and shuddered.

I stood up, my legs shaking, almost buckling underneath me, I stumbled my way to the sink, looking up I saw myself in the mirror, the blood spattered across my face, my arms, my hands. My eyes were different to how they used to be, they were clouded by this grief, this agony I didn't know how to get rid of anymore. The colour was faded, the whites were blemished with deep red veins and my pupils were so dilated, so scared. Memories of the night flashed behind my eyes.

I was walking slowly, stalking forward, making my way to the front door of the house. I'd been watching the house for the last few weeks, he was a monster. Beat his previous wives, now he was alone. Beat his children, now he wasn't allowed to see them. The bastard was too scary for those poor women and children to keep charging him with the abuse, so now he was a free man...

Once I got to the door, I smiled seeing the electronic lock, I pressed a small device to the side of the lock, hearing a small buzz before the door clacked open. Taking my time, both so as not to alert my target and also partially dreading what I was about to do, I pushed open the front door, sneaking through the hallways, until I found the kitchen. The pig was drunk, he hadn't been home longer than half an hour, and he was almost passed out wasted, beer bottles lying around where he was sat on the couch, staring listlessly at the television.

I wobbled over to the shower, flinging back the curtain, my head reeling, I waddled carefully in, trying not to slip. I turned the shower head on, full blast, almost blistering hot, and began to scrub at my skin as hard as I possibly could. The water ran off of me in dark red waves, before they faded to pink and then clear. Once all the bloody water was sucked down the drain, I finally began to relax, which was a mistake.

I slunk up to the guy, leaning behind him before pulling out a plastic bag, the crunching sound of the bag alerted him. He turned and met my face, hidden by a mask, a cheap, crappy masquerade mask, a candy skull, hiding my face. A flash of realisation on James' face made me fear he had recognised me, instead, he began to stutter. "You're h-him, aren't you? The k-killer, t-the Reaper?" He whimpered. Coward. I leapt forward, wrapping the bag around his face and pulling.

I curled myself into the corner of the shower floor, the hot water making me more dizzy and in a deeper haze as tears filled my eyes.

"Please..." He kept begging, pleaded with me to spare his life as he tried to rock himself back and forth in the chair he was now tied to, "I'm sorry! I haven't gone near my family since the restraining order!" He shrieked, the most pathetic sounding noise. I almost spat at him, "Then your a liar as well as a beater." I growled, once he heard my voice, he realised that I wasn't the guy everyone was thinking of. "You're a pathetic excuse of human life, weak. You target the people who you're supposed to care for, children, your own wife." I snarled, stalking forward with a small, but extremely sharp, hunting knife.

The blood went everywhere, the walls, David James' face and clothes, the floor, me. The smell was metallic and bitter, it made me feel vile, hideous, tainted.

He was gasping, struggling for breath as I wrapped the bag around his face again, pulled out the garrote, bound the bag taut around his neck and began twisting, the wire digging painfully into the deep gash already across his neck. Eventually, he stopped struggling, stopped breathing. I let go of the garrote, the handle provoking me with my own handwriting, PAEDOPHILE. Taunting both David James, the beater and myself. (y/n) (l/n), the reaper.

I placed him in his car, and drove the short while down to the cemetery, I huffed as I pulled James' body out of the trunk, dropping him rather unceremoniously outside the gates, in a patch of half dead grass. I closed his eyes through the plastic bag, crossed his arms over his chest, and threaded a single white lily through his hands. After I had finished, I stood slowly, bowing my head, a moment of silence for the deceased, however undeserved it may be.

I left the shower, the water still dripping off of my body quickly becoming cold. I knew there would be little to no physical evidence that I was at the scene. I shuddered once again, the shiver continuing down my body. I quickly got changed and curled up in my bed, trying to remember who I was doing all of this for...

Spencer pov

After examining the crime scene, we all went back to the station, Garcia's face appearing on the laptop screen as we began to review the case, what we knew so far. Gideon was writing on the whiteboard, pictures of the victims taped to the surface, annotations lining them. Elle was pacing the room, fiddling with a pen as she asked about the scene and, in turn, the unsub.

"The protesters outside, they sounded like they were supporting him, how popular is this unsub?" She asked, Garcia quickly typing up on her computer, finding the information in quick keystrokes.

"Oh, he's huge, most of Denver population believe that he's saving their children and friends, he's only killing off people who were convicted of a crime, there's never any witnesses, never any tips called in. These people believe that the government was wrong to get rid of capital punishment in Colorado, that these people deserved it.

"A lot of people also think that the unsub deserves the death penalty too, but that he's some sort of public figure, he knew the risks and the punishment, but took out those who were a risk to their society. The unsub has a lot of names, The Grim Reaper, Charon, The Wraith, lot of mythological connotations..."

I sat, stuck, staring at the whiteboard. "What's going on in that big, beefy brain?" I heard Garcia ask, I finally looked up at the team, all looking at me worried. I felt my brow furrow further as I stood and walked quickly, over to the board. There were seven victims up on the board, the ones we had found, who knew if there were more. Now there was an eighth.

"None of this makes sense." I murmured, "All of the evidence contradicts itself, we can't make a linear profile of the unsub..." I trailed my hands along the pictures, "The unsub should be someone who shows little to know emotion, but he sets his victims to rest in a nice place, with flowers, almost mourns them. He gruesomely murders his victims with an ancient religious process, only to have no showing of any other religious motif or ritualistic killing.

"They clearly have been watching their victims, their neighbours, their homes, but there is no physical evidence of that! The places the victims are left were proved by relatives to be special to them, so the unsub leaving the bodies there shows some sentiment and that, somehow, the unsub knew them but none of the victims had ever met each other and have no social circles in common with one another!"

I had never felt so frustrated and confused. Hotch patted me on the shoulder as I sat down again, running a hand through my hair. He began a pep talk that always begins the investigation, "True remorse from the unsub might only be capable if they were compelled to commit the killing for reasons unknown to even them, or he's being forced to..."

#cute #love #fanfiction #romance #x reader #comfort #open requests #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #x fem!reader

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andi-kook · 1 day

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HOPELESSLY CAPTIVATED (01) ✦ Jungkook

SUMMARY: A series of drabbles featuring you, a twenty-five year-old high school Literature teacher living on the same floor as Jeon Jungkook, a thirty-one year-old single dad and filmmaker living with his eleven-year-old daughter Yuki, and your encounters that leads the both of you to be hopelessly captivated with each other. Based on Niki’s Take A Chance With Me.

DRABBLE 01: A panicked Jeon Jungkook knocks on your door for help.

PAIRING: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

GENRE: Angst, Fluff, Slice of Life, Single Dad AU, Age Gap AU

WARNINGS: Suitable for all ages. No specific warnings for this drabble. Dad!Jungkook, maybe? Oh, and talks of menstrual period and allusion to complicated family relationships. Not proofread!

WORD COUNT: 1.7K

Your peaceful Sunday afternoon consisting of catching up on the episodes of your comfort series while eating your comfort food with a bottle of cola on the side is interrupted by a set of knocks on your door. Your eyebrows meet in confusion, not expecting anyone to come over nor did you have any deliveries. And even if you are expecting someone, they would have to use the intercom before the security lets them in. So, while you’re walking down to answer the door, you can only deduce that whoever is knocking on your door must be a neighbor. Your theory is proven correct when you open the door, and you see Jeon Jungkook – or should you say Mr. Jeon Jungkook – standing on the other side with an apologetic smile plastered on his lips and his eyes wide and panicked.

“Y/N, hi, I’m so sorry for bothering you. I just really need your help,” Jungkook states immediately, rubbing his palms against his loose black pants.

“It’s okay, Mr. Jeon. What is it?” You ask politely, placing your hand on the door.

“It’s Yuki. She’s-She’s calling for you. I think she’s gotten her period and is terrified,” Jungkook explains, biting his lower lip as his chest rises and falls heavily. He’s clearly concerned and worried.

You perk up, recognizing the seriousness of the situation. “Okay. Yeah, that can be terrifying. I have some pads she can use – they serve the same purpose regardless of age, don’t worry. I’ll just grab them and meet you at your apartment?”

A look of relief washes over his face. “Thank you, Y/N, seriously. This means a lot.”

“It’s no problem, Mr. Jeon,” You reply.

You make your way to your room and grab the unopened napkin from your shelf before making your way to the Jeons’ apartment three units across from yours. You knock, as a sign of respect, and Jungkook immediately answers the door and leads you to the bathroom. Your apartment’s floorplan is slightly different, you notice. His is clearly more spacious than your studio-type.

“She doesn’t want me anywhere near her, but if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know. I’ll be right down the hall,” Jungkook tells you softly to which you nod.

You wait until Jungkook is at the end of the hall before you softly knock on the door. “Yuki? Hi, it’s Y/N from Apartment 609. Your dad says you called for me. Is everything okay?”

You hear sniffing on the other side and your heart breaks just a little. Children crying are always a weakness of yours. “Y-Y/N? Is that really you?”

“Yes, Yuki, it’s really me. Can you tell me if you’re okay?”

“No, I’m not,” Yuki replies honestly. “I-I don’t know what to do!” She begins to cry again.

From your peripheral vision, you see Jungkook about to walk but you put up your hand to stop him, shaking your head. “It’s okay, Yuki. I was like that too when I first got my period. I was clueless on what to do.”

“I-I’m scared.”

You nod even though she doesn’t see you. “It’s alright to be scared of something you haven’t experienced or seen before, Yuki. If you let me, I can help you be a little less scared of it.”

It’s quiet for a moment then you hear the soft click of the door unlocking. The door opens slightly, and you take this as a sign to slip inside, seeing the dark-haired eleven-year-old sitting on the toilet with her face buried in her hands. When she hears you close the door, she looks up at you, eyes red and swollen, cheeks stained with tears. Her shiny black hair is all over her face and she’s still wearing her matching blue pajamas with little various kinds of shark printed on them.

You smile as you lower yourself in front of her to meet her eye-level, placing the napkin on the sink. “Hi, Yuki.”

She sniffs but politely returns the greeting. “Hello Y/N.”

“It’s scary, isn’t it? Waking up and seeing all this blood?” You ask and she nods. You hum. “Has your teacher or parents talked to you about getting your menstruation during puberty?”

“Yeah, my Science teacher, Ms. Cho, gave a lecture about it last semester,” Yuki answers, eyes similar to that of her father’s lowering as she fiddles with her fingers. “Mom and dad never really did.”

You nod in understanding. “I see. I learned about it through my teacher too.”

Her eyes shoot up to meet yours again, wide and filled with validation. Your heart breaks again. “Really?”

“Yeah. My mom passed away when I was young, so she never got the chance to teach me about periods and napkins and all that stuff. My dad – he was working so he wasn’t able to teach me about it too.”

It’s a watered-down version of your childhood, but you’re not about to trauma dump to an eleven-year-old.

“Can we clean you up? I’ll teach you everything I know about dealing with this every month,” You say, sucking your teeth. Yuki nods. “Okay. Do you wanna take a shower so you can get cleaned up? I’ll be outside with your clothes and towel once you’re finished.”

“Okay. Thank you, Y/N.”

“No problem, Yuki. I’m glad to be of help.”

You leave the bathroom to give Yuki privacy and spot her father leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. When he hears the door close, his head shoots up at your direction.

“Everything is fine, Mr. Jeon. She just got shaken up, but she’s already taking a shower. Can you prepare her clothes and her towel?” You ask, placing your hands on your hips.

“Yeah, her room is the one on your right,” Jungkook says as he points at it. “You can come inside if you want.”

So you do, looking at the ocean-themed room from the blue walls, the shark-printed bed sheets, whale-printed curtains, the sphere lamp covered in different marine animal stickers.

“She’s currently in her marine phase though it’s gotten a bit longer than I anticipated so maybe it’s not a phase after all,” Jungkook shares as he grabs clothes from his daughter’s cabinet then takes the towel hanging on it.

You nod, completely getting it. “I’ve had my phases too. Some I never really grew out of.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Jungkook asks, sending you a smile.

You can’t help but return it, albeit a teasing one. “It’s a secret, Mr. Jeon.”

He laughs a little, nodding as he grabs a pair of clean underwear from Yuki’s drawer. “Alright. I respect that.”

Once Yuki finished showering, you hand her the towel to dry and cover herself before you enter and tell her some tips on how to handle her menstruation, demonstrating how napkins work and telling her when to change it so she won’t get any sort of rashes. You also tell her about cravings and mood swings. Once she’s all done, you and Yuki step out of the bathroom, her hiding behind you and only peeking through your arm to look at her father who has lowered himself on the door, an encouraging smile on his face.

“Go on, Yuki. There is nothing to be ashamed of towards your dad,” You tell her gently. “But if you’re not ready, it’s okay too. I’m sure your dad will understand.”

Yuki contemplates before ultimately deciding on running towards her father who greets her with his arm wide open. You watch as Jungkook embraces Yuki warmly, eyes closing and pressing kisses on her cheek. Yuki buries her face on the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m not mad. I understand. I’m just happy you’re okay now,” Jungkook soothes, rubbing Yuki’s back in circles.

At that moment, you feel a tug in your heart. You’ve never really looked at Jeon Jungkook before – your paths didn’t really cross despite living on the same floor. You would only get a chance to talk to Yuki when the two of you would be walking up the hill to your apartment building after school ended. Maybe it was because you were a homebody who spent your free time in the comfort of your home. But now that you had gotten the chance to really see him – you couldn’t deny that he was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen.

You quickly shut down this thought. He’s a married man for crying out loud – it’s not right for you to be thinking about him in any way.

“Did you say thank you to Y/N?” Jungkook asks Yuki.

“She already did, and really, it’s not a problem. Glad I could be of help,” You say with a smile. “Anyway, I guess I’ll be on my way. I still have some papers to grade.”

“I’ll walk you back,” Jungkook offers.

You shake your head. “No, it’s okay, Mr. Jeon.”

“No, please, let me. It’s the least I can do for your help, for now, at least,” He insists. “I prepared your favorite snack in the kitchen, Yuki. I’ll just walk Y/N back to her apartment then I’ll join you, okay?” He tells his daughter, kissing the top of her head.

“Yes dad,” Yuki answers with a nod.

She gives you a hug on your way out.

“There’s really no need for you to walk me back, Mr. Jeon,” You say as you scratch the top of your head awkwardly.

“We are walking now so too late,” He quips, a lopsided smile forming on his lips. You only now see his piercing. Damn. “I’m serious though. This won’t just be the last thank you you’ll receive from me. You helped us out so much. You deserve better than a walk.”

“It’s really okay. I’m just happy that Yuki is fine,” You say as you reach your apartment. “Here I am. Thank you for walking me back, Mr. Jeon.”

“Thank you for everything, Y/N. If there is anything you need – anything – I’m just at 613, okay? Please don’t hesitate to knock on our door.”

You smile, nodding. “See you around, Mr. Jeon.”

“See you, Y/N, and if you’re comfortable with it, please just call me Jungkook.”

“Okay,” You say. “See you around, Jungkook.”

His smile widens – or at least in your mind it does. “Great. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Y/N.”

When you walk back inside your apartment, you press your back against the door, heart beating faster than normal. Why do you get the feeling that you’ll be seeing more of the Jeons? And why does it make your heart race?

ANDI: I need this while working on something as dark as Dead Kids so I won’t be too burnt out when writing it. I hope you guys liked it and let me know what you think! 🦉

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zhonglism · 15 hours

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EIGHTEEN THOUSAND KILOMETRES

— oikawa tōru x f! reader

syn: your high school lover suddenly breaks up with you to chase his career in another continent. ten years later, you unexpectedly bump into him, and feelings that were once buried with time resurface once again but you know better than to let it consume you.

18+ MDNI; timeskip!oikawa, angst, hurt/no comfort (gets a bit better towards the end, trust), light smut, implied sex, brief mention of oral (f receiving), not-so-happy ending (sorry lol), iwaizumi being a good friend. divider: cafekitsune.

word count: 4.9k

notes: sorry i suck at writing the synopsis lmaoo pls trust me on this one. i may or may not have cried while writing this aaaaa i live for oikawa angst sm. feedback is more than welcome!

A few hours.

It took 18-year-old Tōru Oikawa a few hours to intricately gather his thoughts and tell you his plans regarding his future. His future. You always took that with a grain of salt because deep down there’s an impending fear that you weren’t always going to be a part of that, especially with how passionate Tōru was with volleyball—you just didn’t think it would come this soon.

Standing at the doorway to your boyfriend’s room, your clouded gaze followed each hesitant step taken as he quietly packed his clothes. Back and forth, back and forth, Tōru grabbed a handful of clothes from his closet and tossed it into an opened suitcase that lay on the floor. The tension in the room grew heavy with each passing second as his suitcase became evidently packed; your solemn gaze locked on his figure, his back remained facing you.

The silence was deafening, your neck burned with a searing blaze, all the things you wanted to scream at him were stuck in your throat. You’ve been standing on the same spot for more than half an hour now, you couldn’t feel the soles of your feet at all but that didn’t compare to the unbearable pain that weaved its way into your heart. Occasional sniffles and sighs escaped you both but nothing more, no one dared to address the elephant in the room right now. That in less than a day, Tōru was going to be eighteen thousand kilometres away from you. For good.

”We can make it work. .” A shaky sigh left your lips, voice hoarse despite not having the heart to yell and argue with him. Tōru gripped the fabrics in his hand, nails digging into the softness of the textiles, he mirrored your sigh and finally faced you. Eyes slightly red from holding his tears back, Tōru’s brows furrowed, “We’re going to be in two different continents. The time zone would be too much of a difference.”

You don’t have to remind me.

Biting your tongue in frustration, you stared at him. His eyes, his nose, his lips, anything and everything that would help you sear his appearance in your mind. “So you’re just going to let all this go? As easy as that?” Nothing in this is easy for me. For the first time in a few hours, Tōru inched closer to your unmoving figure. He’s been keeping a clear distance as if holding you tight against him would cause you to disappear in a flash despite his heart practically aching to be near you at this very moment.

It took all of Tōru’s willpower not to wrap his arms around you, and whisper into your ear over and over again how much he loves you; how scared he was that in less than a day, you weren’t going to be by his side anymore. He was a coward. He knew that doing so would only worsen the situation at hand.

“You and I have futures to pursue, you of all people should know that.” The wooden frame of his bed creaked as he plopped down with another sigh. “B-but you don’t have to end our relationship like this . . ! Maybe I can go to Argentina with you and—” Your boyfriend waved a dismissive hand and let out an empty chuckle, “Don’t be so irrational.” “You’re the irrational one here, Oikawa!” You raised your voice at him, tone trembling with anger and fear as your nails painfully dug into the plushness of your palms.

Your chest rapidly rose and fell with each heavy breath taken, unshed tears threatening to fall from your eyes. Why did he have to do this? Ever since entering a relationship with Tōru, you’ve always known that you only came second to volleyball but you didn’t know it’d hurt this much. Despite having no intentions of holding him back from the future he has worked hard to carve, you couldn’t help but become a little selfish on your end. Why did Tōru have the need to feel that breaking up with you was the best solution?

As mentioned earlier, you’d do anything and everything to make it work. You were hoping. Hoping that your boyfriend would at least reconsider breaking off the relationship but knowing him, once he had set his mind straight, there was no turning back.

“Do you not love me anymore?” You whispered into the silent room. Tōru looked away as he caught a glimpse of your deflated expression, shutting his eyes as he tried not to think of that specific expression in his mind. All he could muster was a weak rebuttal but he dared not to explain further, even if he wanted, he couldn’t bring himself to. Not when the situation was already taking a toll on both of you. He spoke again, voice threatening to waver,

“Will you come see me off tomorrow?”

You didn’t go despite Iwaizumi’s pleas to see Tōru off with him. You couldn’t. The least you could give yourself right now was space, and seeing your boyfriend off to another country would do more harm than good, especially knowing that he wasn’t yours anymore nor you were his. It took Iwaizumi more than thirty texts to finally give up, it was a rare occurrence as it wasn’t in your friend’s nature to be persistent like that.

You’re thankful that he cares for you a lot because for the first few weeks without Tōru’s presence, both of you confided in each other. There were occurrences where you had to turn down his requests on joining him for a weekly video call with Tōru who still had a hard time settling down in a foreign country; in your mind, you had no business communicating with your ex-boyfriend anymore—he broke off the relationship and that was that.

Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. As you moved on with life and focused on your career ahead, naturally, you found yourself burying the painful past behind. Not to mention how you deleted Tōru’s number—after painfully reminiscing old texts with him—and blocked him from all your social media accounts. It’s been ten years now and Oikawa was the least of your concern, he was just a person from the past that you’re thankful to have met.

After all, if it wasn’t for what he did, you wouldn’t have learned to grow as an individual and truly seek what you wanted. During the course of your relationship with Oikawa, you were more than content supporting him in his volleyball career, standing at the sidelines and cheering him on but you didn’t know what you wanted for yourself then, and maybe Oikawa saw that earlier on. That breaking up was a way for you to flourish as your own person, not someone who stood amongst the crowd.

It was a peaceful weekend afternoon, passing time at the local convenience store to buy whatever snack you felt like eating before heading home to retire for the day and possibly binge a series you’ve been meaning to watch. Walking down the bread aisle, you caught a glimpse of a very familiar sight. Milk bread. Chuckling, you found yourself reminiscing about the old high school days where you and Oikawa would stop by to buy a pack of milk bread whenever he ran out. You haven’t eaten one since the day he left you.

It wouldn’t hurt to try one now, you thought to yourself. Reaching for the closest pack, another hand suddenly reached out to the one you had set your eyes onto. Both yours and the stranger’s arms retracted back in embarrassment, “S-sorry! You can go ahead and grab it.” You profusely apologised, not noticing the expression the stranger wore. Upon their silence, you drew your attention to the man standing beside you and blinked twice.

It seemed like the only option when the stranger before you was not just any shopper, it was none other than Tōru Oikawa. If you were to tell your 18-year-old self that ten years later, you’d be face to face with your ex-boyfriend, you wouldn’t have believed it. Everything felt strange—from the way the ambience of the store faded into white nothingness, to the way Oikawa felt painfully familiar yet different; he wore the same genuine shock plastered on your face—eyes wide, brows sky high, and lips slightly parted. You wondered if his ears were ringing too or if his heart threatened to leap from his chest. Oikawa was the first to break his trance, searching his mind high and low to find something, anything to say to you.

He was speaking yet nothing was heard on your end, only your own storm of thoughts. All you could muster was to really take him in. His hazel eyes shone beneath the harsh ivory lights of the store—everything about him was the same but unfamiliar; his hair was styled the same way ten years ago but a little shorter, his evident athletic build, his sun kissed skin, his aura. It was your turn to finally return to reality as Oikawa warily waved a slender hand inches from your face, “O-Oikawa. . ?” was all you could come up with, tone airy yet just above a whisper for him to hear. Oikawa greeted your unreadable expression with a familiar warm smile as if the two of you were ten years back in time, hearts beating for one another.

“It’s been a while, huh?” He hummed.

Everything was a blur—from the painfully awkward start of the conversation, to brazenly inviting him back to your apartment to prolong the spontaneous catch up. You were surprised because you both managed to flow into a smooth conversation where no one had to think of anything and everything just to keep the impending silence away. It was weird, you’ve always imagined that seeing Oikawa once again would reel you back in the most unpleasant way; the deepest memories you’ve sworn to reject resurfacing.

But the whole situation before you was a damn far cry from the scenarios in your mind—Oikawa had no hesitations telling you about his life for the past ten years, even going out of his way to inform you of his favourite local meals back in Argentina and how he applied for his citizenship, so you did the same thing. It was like being a teenager all over again, gushing to one another about your interests, and whatever else there was to talk about. You caught a glint in Oikawa’s hazel eyes as he spoke endlessly, almost as if he had been waiting ten whole years just to tell you everything that’s been going on in his life, like he knew the two of you were bound to meet again one way or another.

A solemn smile made its way to his face, the atmosphere in your apartment shifting with it. You held a breath, heart violently pounding against your chest possibly knowing where the conversation was going. “You were the only one I wanted to see, you know? Before I. .” Oikawa trailed off, looking down at his fingers. You nodded, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

It pained you to even imagine it: 18-year-old Tōru Oikawa restlessly scanning the bustling airport for your familiar figure, eyes darting between the ocean of people coming in and out of the terminal, heart sinking down to his stomach as each second passed without your presence. Despite the countless times Iwaizumi reminded him you weren’t coming, he waited. Oikawa waited and waited until he needed to proceed to the airport security, each heavy step further into the airport, he’d hoped you’d call out his name and give him one last hug before he left for Argentina but you never came. That night, Oikawa realised he’d left a piece of his heart back home.

”I’m sorry. .” Was all you could muster. In your defence, he wasn’t the only one hurting—you were torn between saving what’s left of your broken heart and giving in to your desires. Of course, you picked the former. That time, it seemed like the best idea, though, you’d be lying to yourself if you said there weren’t restless nights where you wish you’d gone to see Oikawa off. It plagued you for as long as your cruel mind wanted, scenarios of what could have been a proper goodbye seared into your brain—a one last hug before letting Oikawa chase his dreams, uncertain when you’d be able to see him again.

Oikawa let out a sigh, a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, “I missed you.” He took a small sip of his drink, letting the sweet taste linger on his tongue before nervously swallowing. It took all his willpower to avoid your gaze, staring at the ivory walls ahead, hoping you’d say something sooner or later instead of letting the small confession awkwardly linger in the air. You chuckled, a humourless one,

“You know, I’d be more upset if you didn’t.”

The man whipped his head to your direction, meeting that meaningful gaze of yours; he looked like a deer caught in the headlights—eyes wide and lips slightly parted. For the first time in a while, Tōru Oikawa felt his heart race; it wasn’t like any other, not like the adrenaline rush that took over his body before a match, not like the nervousness he felt when he boarded the plane to Argentina for the first time. It was unique. Uniquely yours. Only you made him feel this way. In the blink of an eye, Oikawa felt like he was pulled back in time, a teenager all over again, brimming with such emotions. If it weren’t for his quick senses, he wouldn’t have noticed the way your gaze subtly shifted downwards—to his lips—and then back up to his eyes.

Have you been on edge all this time, too? Filled with overwhelming emotions? He thought. Yes, it’s been ten long years but that doesn’t mean his heart did not beat for you anymore; it doesn’t mean that he has stopped thinking about you; it doesn’t mean that he did not want to kiss you the moment he laid his eyes on you back at the convenience store. Surely, you didn’t feel the same, right? But then again, it’s been a decade and Oikawa’s feelings remained indifferent to when he left.

A brush gentle fingers against your cheek caused your eyes to instinctively close, knowing fully well what was about to happen next. A single click from the white clock that hung on your wall. A second. And then Oikawa’s lips were on yours. The kiss was anything but foreign—sure, it felt stiff at first, suddenly not knowing how to match your lips with his but it has been ten years. The kiss was meek but after a heartbeat, you and Oikawa moved in complete unison, falling into that specific pattern you both knew—how he moved his lips, how he let out gasps in between, how he eagerly prodded his tongue. Your head spun, hands exploring Oikawa’s built torso while his own focused on your head, tugging at the strands and gently rubbing your nape.

The atmosphere shifted with the newly found desire, small moans and gasps filled the walls of your apartment as Oikawa kissed you with hunger—as if he was a starved man. He didn’t hesitate to explore you with his tongue, groaning into your mouth before pulling away to take a breather—chests heaving as you both gasped for air, faces mere centimetres from each other, hot breaths intertwining. He looked at you with hooded eyes, gaze filled with carnal desire as he gave your swollen lips a small peck. “I want you so bad . .” Oikawa breathed out, eyes tracing every dip and curve of your features.

Cupping his crimson red cheeks, you gave him a small smile, “I’m all yours.” Always have been and always will be, you wanted to add but already you had an idea Oikawa knew that more than anyone else.

The short journey from the living room to your bedroom was a blur—it was messy, eager hands exploring each other’s body, hungry lips inseparable from one another, articles of clothing swiftly discarded along the path to your bedroom. Lying atop the sheets, your eyes wandered along Oikawa’s bare sun kissed torso—his physique was much bigger than you last remembered, muscles flexing with every movement that had you painfully clenching around nothing.

He stood at the foot of the bed, chestnut hair tousled from the work of your fingers, bare chest heaving from the kiss, and fingers working at the zip of his pants. You took the time to really drink him in—the entirety of him; reality settling on you how much he had grown as a man. Oikawa was no longer that naïve 18-year-old who swallowed all his fears and insecurities with a flirtatious façade.

He eagerly pulled down the remaining clothes he had on, swiftly crawling up the bed towards you, not giving any time to revel at the sight of his bare cock before kissing you again, his fingers intertwining with your own.

It felt surreal, from the way the heat of Oikawa’s naked body felt against your own to the way his kisses explored parts of you that he’s never seen before. He took his time, admiring every inch of your bare body, not hesitating to blurt out praises that came to his mind first thing. “You’re beautiful.” Oikawa whispers against the warmth of your skin followed by an open-mouthed kiss.

He held you gently, caressing and massaging every bit of skin he could get his hands on. He knew better than to rush such an intimate moment with you, especially when he’s been fantasizing about this for the past decade—fantasizing about how your skin would feel beneath his searing touch; how you’d sound when he stimulates the most sensitive parts of your body, how you’d look when pleasure is all you can think about. It drove him absolutely impatient but for you, he’s willing to slow down if it meant he could savour these moments with you—Oikawa has patiently waited for ten years, full of uncertainty. What more was a few minutes to bask in your beauty?

Attentive as ever, he scanned your face for any sign of discomfort, focusing on the way you moaned and scrunched your face in pleasure as he tasted you. God, you tasted like pure heaven—divine. Oikawa could get lost between your legs forever, everything about you drove him crazy. Not to mention how your scent had him completely whipped.

The night continued on like this, Oikawa eagerly exploring your body, pleasuring you in ways you didn’t know even existed—it was almost like he had a list of things at the back of his mind, neatly tucked away for when this specific moment comes. There was never a moment of uncertainty, his body swiftly moving into the next act, bringing you with him. Despite your own pleas to return the pleasure, Oikawa refused, even as his cock leaked with pre-cum, begging to be touched by you. He didn’t have to do all the work but he did, only because he wanted to. He wanted to show you how much his body yearned and desired to be close to yours; ten years was no easy wait. Sure, Oikawa had a fair share of mere hookups with other women but they weren’t you. They will never be you.

As the moon shone amongst the ebony skies, moonlight seeped through the window, casting a faint ethereal glow upon your sweat-coated bodies—skin shining like the stars above. You held onto Oikawa’s shoulders for dear life, ribbons of moans and curses tumbled past your lips and into the thick air of the room, travelling to the ceiling above.

He moved with fervour, hips relentlessly driving into your own as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Back and forth, back and forth, the steady rhythm of Oikawa’s hips, jolting your body along each forceful thrust. It was heaven on earth, naked bodies tangled amongst the ivory sheets as you lost yourselves in each other, one thing in mind. You both cared about nothing at this point, not even the fact that he still had to go back home—to Argentina; not even the fact that your hearts beat as one, interlacing with one another as buried feelings blossomed out in the open—the unsaid, the desire, everything came beautifully crashing down upon the two of you, unsure about what the future holds. That was a conversation for tomorrow, anyway.

Amidst the overwhelming pleasure, the creaking of the bed, and the lewd moans that filled your room, Oikawa found your hand once again, interlacing his damp fingers with yours. He gave it a small squeeze, moaning right into your ear before slipping out a confession, “I love you so much.” It caught you off guard, eyes fluttering open, returning his lustful gaze. “I—” “It’s okay. .” Oikawa cut you off, steadying his breath. He knew exactly what you’d say—that you love him, too—but somehow hearing those words from you after all these years was even more painful than rejecting him because at the end of the day he had to go home.

The night carried on with more and more pleasure, each orgasm becoming more intense than the previous, the movements of your bodies showed signs of exhaustion but none dared to stop—as if stopping was somewhat going to take one away from the other. You’ve never felt anything like this before, waves of pleasure rolling out and crashing into you repeatedly; all you could really do was hold Oikawa tightly, whispering sweet nothings against his neck. God, you could only wish for this to last forever.

As the morning rolled around, the sun shone brightly through your window, slowly burning your skin the longer you stayed in one position. Groaning, you stretched your naked body, muscles painfully crying out from overuse. Normally, you would have cared about it but the spot beside you was cold and empty, no sign of Oikawa. The realisation hit you, heart sinking to the depths of your stomach. Did he leave already? And not even saying goodbye? The loud sound coming from the kitchen pulled you out of the storm of unpleasant thoughts. Ignoring the weakness of your legs, you did your best to slip into a fresh pair of underwear before grabbing Oikawa’s shirt that lay at the entrance of your room to head to the kitchen.

You sucked in a breath. There he stood, only wearing pants from last night while navigating through the small space of your kitchen. He hummed a familiar tune, the saccharine sound of his voice mixing with the sizzling of the eggs he cooked. “Oikawa.” The man before you turned at the sound of your voice, pleasantly shocked, “Good morning, sleepyhead.” He greeted in a singsong voice. You would’ve called him ‘cute’ if it weren’t for the evident lovebites, hues of dark purple and red peppering his torso—it immediately reminded you of last night, cheeks heating up at the lewd memories. “Take a seat. This is done.” Oikawa skilfully plated the eggs, grabbing the freshly toasted bread before heading to the table where you now sat. It was weird yet nice to see him so domestic, something you never really experienced back then.

“Thank you.” You look up at him, a faint smile dancing upon your lips. Oikawa shook his head, “It’s nothing. Just a simple breakfast.” You weren’t talking about the breakfast, though, and he knew that as well but dared not to bring it up. It was bittersweet, really, how the two of you acted right now felt so right but so wrong at the same time—you both acted like a normal couple during a normal morning, as if there wasn’t a return ticket neatly tucked inside Oikawa’s passport that weighed his heart heavy with each passing second in your presence.

Thank you for showing me what could have been.

That was what you meant earlier. Getting the pleasure to look into the life of what could have been with Tōru Oikawa wasn’t much but it put your yearning heart at ease—that in another life, he’d be cooking eggs for you again without having to think about flying back home; that in another life, you ended up together. Maybe if you were still eighteen, you would have cried, screamed at him for getting your hopes up, for leaving you once again, for breaking your heart a second time, you weren’t a teenager anymore but that didn’t mean you were immune to seeing him leave you again—you just got older, and became better at swallowing unwanted emotions.

That’s right. You weren’t a teenager anymore. “You’re leaving tomorrow.” You bit the inside of your cheek, addressing the elephant in the room; you swore Oikawa flinched a little at your straightforwardness. It wasn’t pretty to hear but it also wasn’t a lie. He took a small bite, carefully swallowing the piece before meeting your gaze, “Yeah, Iwa is dropping me off at the airport in the afternoon. .” His sentence lingered in the air, it didn’t dissipate, it stayed there waiting to be finished. You remained silent despite having an idea of what was to come next, you wanted him to say it, just like he did ten years ago. Oikawa nervously cleared his throat,

“Will you come see me off tomorrow?”

Much to Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s surprise, you came to see the former off—a little breathless from jogging around the terminal but at least you were in one piece. You didn’t notice the way Iwaizumi’s eyes widened at the love bites on your neck matching his best friend’s one; he was well aware of what happened between you and Oikawa the other day but just didn’t expect the intensity of it, especially with the situation now, nonetheless, he remained silent. Iwaizumi figured he’d talk to you about it later.

Everything slowed down as Oikawa set his hazel eyes on you—the bustling of the airport, the time displayed on the large digital clock, his racing heart. What he felt right now was a far cry from that day when he left for the first time; ten years ago, everything felt like it was slipping past his fingers. Oikawa remembers pacing back and forth just outside the men’s toilet, Iwaizumi’s attempts to calm him down fell deaf on his ears—all the former could hear was the uncomfortable beat of his heart, and the buzz around him. He tried his best to calm down, he really did but to no avail because at the back of his mind, you were the remedy. If Oikawa told his 18-year-old self that he wouldn’t have to stress so much about flying back to Argentina anymore, his younger self would most likely not believe him—having permanently associated the airport with the dreadful feeling of missing something. Missing someone.

Ten years later, he knows not to worry anymore. “Tōru.” You called out, giving Iwaizumi a quick wave before walking towards the taller man. “You came.” He replied, breathless, not knowing whether to scream at the fact that you came to see him off or called him by his first name. Oh, how Oikawa endlessly prayed to the universe for the day his name rolls off your tongue once again. It was sweet—meant to be voiced by you and only you. The three of you exchanged casual conversation like it was back in high school all over again—small banters here and there between the two men, a little teasing on the side, and most importantly, the unsaid thoughts.

You didn’t want this to end, you didn’t want to let him go but you knew better. Oikawa gave his best friend a firm hug and turned to you, arms spread wide, a sad smile etched on his face. “I’ll miss you so so much.” You let out a sigh, inhaling his scent for one last time as he tightened his hold around you. Oikawa rested his chin on the crown of your head, a light chuckle escaping his lips, “I’d be more upset if you didn’t.” He pulled away, cupping your face and resting his forehead against your own,

“I love you so much. You know that, right?” “I love you too, Tōru.”

Who knew that ten years later you’d be watching the back of your ex lover’s figure walk away from you as he leaves the country—it was silly how the universe worked but you never once doubted it. Despite how cruel it was, you’d already come to terms with it; finally letting go of Tōru Oikawa. You both had different paths in life to pursue, and that was that. It just wasn’t meant to be.

Iwaizumi gave you a friendly pat on the back, noticing the way tears quickly formed as Oikawa faced the other way. Yes, you were older now, more mature but that meant nothing as the love of your life walked away from you once again. You didn’t want to admit it back then but ever since Oikawa left for Argentina, he had taken a piece of your heart with him. And maybe you’ll just have to live with the fact that your heart will stay incomplete—a piece of it remaining eighteen thousand kilometres away from you.

#zhonglism ༄#oikawa tooru #haikyuu #oikawa angst #oikawa smut #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa x y/n #haikyuu angst #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #smut #mdni

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piracytheorist · 1 day

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What's your thoughts on the episode where that fake waiter 'poisoned' Yor, and Anya intimidated him into supposedly leaving the crime life? The stuff he thought and whatnot, as well as Anya in that scene? I'm so curious as to your thoughts

I think that Anya, honestly, has the time of her life making her fantasies come true and saving the world.

All kids dream of being superheroes and doing cool stuff. Courtesy of her mind-reading powers and girlbossing a spy and an assassin into adopting her, Anya can actually act on that stuff and go up against bad guys and overthrow plans for war, and I think, to her advantage, she's a little too young to understand the gravity of her situation. She stops a bomb, saves her father and many many innocent civilians, practically putting an end to an effort to reignite a war that ended before she was even born... and then she goes back home with a bright smile like "Hero Anya has saved the day!"

And I think something similar happened in this scene. She faced a professional criminal, created a bomb that he was going to create, even put her signature on it by adding peanuts, actually hurt him, and then warned him with knowledge of his personal life. And all without breaking a sweat.

Honestly, the sight of a terrorist kid who knows all your secrets and works for the assassin you were just trying to kill sounds like enough of a terrifying concept, enough to turn you away from a life of even professional crime. I mean, the guy already was thinking of giving up on that life, for the sake of his girlfriend and believing that it was a miracle he'd survived the Thorn Princess' massacre. It was just the immediate sight of her in his cover job that made him think it was his fallen comrades asking him for revenge. And he tries that with a poison, Yor shakes it off because she's a tank, and he goes for a last ditch effort with the bomb, but then a fucking kid creates that same bomb before him and lets him take the blast. And then tells him about his own secrets. He realizes he's out of his depth, he's being given a second (third?) chance, and decides the life of a criminal is over for him.

Honestly, I think it's fucking hilarious. Spy x Family manages to have an excellent amount of unhinged humor that somehow makes sense. Anya wasn't playing around. She literally made a bomb and exposed the man's secrets. It was enough to scare him off any attempt at continuing this life or his effort for revenge. And as weird as it is, it actually sounds pretty reasonable. Again, I'm not sure Anya grasps the full weight of her actions - she probably thinks that she scared him off because she was Cool™ and all that, when in fact it was because it's pretty scary to have a child bomb you and expose your secrets - but in a story with spies and assassins, I don't find it all that weird. It just adds to the unhinged humor of it all.

Cause yeah, despite how unhinged it all is, Spy x Family somehow touches reality in a very... "secure" way. I don't know if that's the right word to use, lol. It's just that even when characters have extreme reactions, it's always on something you can understand and maybe even sympathize with. Even when we're dealing with criminals such as that guy, it's always focused on humanity and a deep understanding of reality... but also in a very malleable way. Like, who would have thought this was the way to discourage the way from a life of crime forever? Tatsuya Endo, that's who.

(Anime only fan here, don't spoil me for the manga)

#ask and ye shall receive #Anonymous #Spy x Family #sxf meta #Anya Forger

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delicious-in-imagines · 1 day

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Hello King! I hope you're having a good day! Can I request a headcanon or oneshot of Kabru (and/or Laios) with YN scared of loud sudden noises?

If this isn't of you interest just ignore n.n Thanks!

Comin' right up - and you can have both! Hopefully this is what you had in mind, if not, feel free to send another ask!

Kabru of Utaya

After initially joining Kabru's group, he begins to pick up on your discomfort when loud noises arise. Initially he thought it might be a fear of monsters, or even of people just yelling, until he realizes that it's just all loud noises.

Whenever some of the members start raising hell, he's quick to try and diffuse and redirect them to calm things down. It's not always successful, but if things really do start to get heated, he'll make sure to make some way to get you out of earshot until it's over.

When it comes to monsters in the dungeon, if he's seen them or heard of them before, he'll try and warn you to prepare you for the encounter. In this case, it's a lot more difficult to try and get you away from the situation or try to cut off the sound before it starts to get to you.

After these moments, when the rest of the group is more concerned with eating or celebrating, he'll come over to you and gently ask if you'd like to talk about it. He's willing to lend an ear, wanting to get a better picture of the scenario and how he might be able to help you.

Not only does he want to understand - but he does truly want to help. He cares about your problems, and your comfort is one of his top priorities.

Laios Touden

Our boy is naturally pretty loud and energetic, so it's going to take some time for him to figure out that he might be part of the problem. It'll take Marcille or one of the others putting it plainly to him, or you bringing it up for everything to sort of click.

Afterwards, he'll try his hardest to talk gentler to or around you, reigning in his excitement. Whenever he just can't help himself, he'll pause to tell you to cover/plug your ears, or to take care of something for a minute for him to go on a little eager tyrade.

If you're traveling in an area of the dungeon that might have monsters or terrain that makes loud noises, he'll warn you before hand, and give you some tips to help combat the noises.

Next time you run to the surface, or to the market on the first floor, he'll make sure to purchase something for you to help dampen the sound. He knows how loud things can be overwhelming, and wants to help prepare you and to keep you comfortable while travelling.

While he isn't going to pick up on that there may be a cause to your issues with loud sounds, that doesn't mean that he won't listen - quite the opposite! He'll eagerly listen, and try to help come up with some solution.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi reader #delicious in dungeon reader #x reader #headcanons #hcs #dungeon meshi headcanons #delicious in dungeon headcanons #kabru of utaya #laios touden

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cerise-on-top · 3 days

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Hi!

I noticed you did a Tall!Husband with the Task Force, could I ask for the same prompt with Nikolai, Farah, Alejandro, and Rudy, if you haven't already?

Thanks you! /nf

Hey there! Here you go!

Alejandro, Rodolfo, Farah and Nikolai with a Very Tall Husband

Alejandro: He takes you being this tall in stride. Sure, he would have preferred being the bigger guy among the both of you, but he won’t actively go out of his way to be butthurt about it. That just means he’s finally found someone who can wrap himself around him, and for that he’s grateful. You make for a nice cuddle buddy. Alejandro is quite the cuddler in general, so he’ll often just walk up to you just to cuddle you. He’s not above asking you to get something from a high shelf either, always rewarding you with a kiss to your cheek as well. Overall, there’ll be lots of cuddles, even if he sometimes might try to climb you as well. It’s his way of showing off just how strong he is. However, he will call you things such as “skyscraper”, but he loves it as much as he loves you. You’re just such a sweetheart. Alejandro will invite you to just about anything he does, as long as it’s not related to his job. He’s well aware that you’re super intimidating and scary to everyone else, but all he can see is his lover with the biggest heart imaginable. If you scare Rodolfo too much, though, then he’ll ask you to tone it down by quite a bit. Rodolfo has done nothing wrong, plus the two of them are very close. Ideally, you and Rodolfo would also get along well with each other. But other than that? Alejandro doesn’t really mind you being this scary. It just means that people feel less inclined to walk up to the both of you and bother you while you’re out on a date. He feels a bit torn on PDA, though. Trust me when I say he wants to give you hugs and kisses in public so everyone knows you’re his, but he holds back a bit since he doesn’t wanna endanger you. Secretly dreams of dipping you under the moonlight and giving you a big old kiss. While he can get very heated himself in the right situation, he’s a real sweetheart towards you as well, so the both of you would fit very well with each other.

Rodolfo: On the one hand, he’s not happy at all with you being such a giant. On the other hand he loves it. He wanted to be the taller guy among the two of you so he can make you feel protected. At least that’s what he’ll sometimes say to you, feigning hurt. In reality he’s going wild on the inside because his lovely husband can wrap himself entirely around him and give him the best hugs imaginable. Rodolfo gets to feel calm and at ease whenever you do that. Although he normally wouldn’t be as willing to do such a thing, he’d also have an easier time walking up to you and asking you for some cuddles. Especially with him being the one to be held. It’s a huge thing for him, but you’re a guy, his husband, so it should be quite alright. Is also a lot more affectionate with you in private than he normally would be. Lots of kisses, rubbing your noses together, pressing your foreheads together, all that stuff. He actually quite likes you being this scary towards other people, that just means he doesn’t have to deal with as many people when going out, so he likely will take you with him as much as possible. Scare everyone all you want, aside from Alejandro. That’s his best friend, you really shouldn’t be scaring that guy. Not that you properly could anyway, but still. If anything, you should be getting along with him so that the three of you can hang out together more often. Everyone else is fair game, though. One thing you can definitely count on is that he’ll, without using any words, ask you to run your fingers through his hair. All Rodolfo wants is to lie on his husband, have him run his fingers through his hair, and then fall asleep. He’s such a sucker for being on the receiving end of physical affection, and lucky for him, you’re willing to give it to him. If you want to talk to him while he’s falling asleep, then you may. Your voice calms him down greatly and lulls him to sleep. In order to show his gratitude, he’ll learn how to become the best cook out there. You will be well fed under your shared roof.

Farah: She’s of average height for a woman, so roughly 1,65m. You being taller than 2,10m is quite the height difference between the both of you. However, that doesn’t stop her from sassing you out of love from time to time. She’s not intimidated by you at all. She doesn’t really care about you being this tall, but sometimes she thinks about going to the sea with you and just messing around in the water together. You’re such a sweetheart, surely you’d be on board for such a thing. She could always just ask you to lean down for a kiss, but that would be boring. She climbs you like a tree and kisses you then as she holds onto you. Farah needs to show off just how strong she is, to everyone around you too. Not that anyone would ever doubt her strength, she’s the commander, after all, but it’s the thought that counts. Because of your height difference, she loves just walking up to you and giving you a big hug. Either from the front or behind is fine by her. If she’s hugging you from behind then that means she’s asserting dominance. You may be the taller one out of the both of you, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be the dominant one. You being this scary sometimes bothers her, though, especially when children are around. The adults likely can handle themselves, especially once she tells them that you’re, for the most part, not going to hurt them. But children will start crying upon seeing you, so she asks you to tone it down around them. She knows you wouldn’t hurt anyone, but still. You can be as scary as you want to be, as long as you don’t hurt anyone. You don’t need to glare daggers at everyone, though, since no one is going to take her from you. Farah’s loyal like that. Something that Farah would have definitely loved to do with you would be to have you lie on top of her, with her running her hands over your back and telling you how much she loves you. Unfortunately, you’d likely crush her. That doesn’t mean she won’t hold you close while standing, though. Again, she needs to assert her dominance in some way. You being such a sweetheart towards her really motivates her to keep fighting the good fight, though. She wants to fight for a future in which the both of you can live together in a nice home without the fear of war. A future in which the both of you can just go out and look at the scenery as the sun rises. Either way, that future isn’t as far away as it used to be.

Nikolai: He’s a very tall lad himself, standing proud at 1,98m. However, the first time he saw you, someone even taller than him, he had to chuckle a bit. It was a rarity for someone to be much taller than him, but he doesn’t mind. Nikolai isn’t sensitive. Nothing can stop him from proving himself to you, though, and picking you up. He does it with quite ease too since he’s such a strong lad. If you’re quite the cuddler, then so is he. He’s a chameleon in that regard, he can be whatever you want or need him to be. Either way, he’ll still mostly have you lying on top of him. Although he could go either way, it’s still a pride thing for him. Having someone as tall as you be vulnerable with him, lying on top of him while not fighting him at all, it feeds his ego. Yes, he’s strong. You better know that as well. Besides, he’s pretty sure he can make you feel protected like this as well. Won’t fight you if you want to hold him for once, though. He just loves having his husband in his arms as well, holding him close and giving him a few kisses to the crown of his head. He doesn’t mind you being this scary towards other people. It just shows you that you really don’t want anyone but him, so to some degree it’s even very sweet to him. You can scare anyone you want, aside from the important people. He also likes it because that means less people will come up to him and ask him stuff. He likes being left alone with you quite a lot. Besides, as long as you don’t scare people like Price or Laswell, not that you could anyway, they’re both tough cookies, you’re all good. Anyone else isn’t as important anyway. Because you’re such a sweetheart towards him, he’ll often take you just about anywhere. To his little home in Siberia, to St. Petersburg, anywhere he knows you won’t be in too much danger. Showing you around Russia is one of his favorite things to do. He’s a patriot, so he loves combining his love for his country with his love for you. You’ll get to see a lot of places that way.

#cod #cod x reader #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra #rodolfo parra x reader #farah karim #farah karim x reader #cod nikolai #nikolai x reader

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holydayaria · 2 hours

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Bedeviling

Nobunaga x Reader

Synopsis: Nobunaga wants a bite, you want to be left alone.

Warnings: yandere, vampire nobunaga, nobunaga in general, fem reader that’s afraid of blood, blood

8200~ words… kind of proofread for once

You wake up with a jolt, covered in sweat and your heart racing. Eyes wide, you sit upright. You can see the bedroom you’ve slowly become familiar with; thanks to the nightlight plugged into the wall. Taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself down, the faint whir of the ceiling fan and cicadas outside serve as your distraction from the nightmare you woke up from. You check your neck and your collarbones, but you don’t feel any bites or scratches. It really was just a nightmare. You hope, foolishly, even, that Nobunaga isn’t awake. That he’s for some reason decided to fall asleep tonight. A familiar but unwelcome hand creeps onto your shoulders, trying and failing to be comforting.

“Do you want some water?”

You look over, and he’s up as if he never fell asleep in the first place. There’s a glass of water on the nightstand, on his side of the bed. Any ice that was in it has melted now, but the drink is most likely still cool. “No, I’m fine.” You say warily. He’s never drugged you before, but you wouldn’t entirely put it past him to have put something into your drink. Something with the intention of “helping you sleep better”. Nobunaga ignores you, taking the glass of water and placing it in your hands. You take a moment, sighing to yourself and reluctantly taking a sip before he begins insisting.

The water tastes fine.

It’s been about three weeks since the nightmares started. Three weeks, since this, (you’re not sure if you even want to call him a man), thing, tore you from what little you had going for yourself, and decided that for the time being, you were his new blood bag. In that time, though, he’s sparsely drunk from you. At least, not from your neck. Nobunaga’s invasion of your privacy hadn’t been limited to just your blood, there were a few scabs on your legs from when he insisted upon helping you shave. It was bad enough without him apologizing while trying to lick up what he could in the same breath.

You continue running your hand along your neckline and shoulders, feeling for anything out of place. Any developing scab or any broken skin, even the faintest bit of saliva would be enough to shatter the incredibly flimsy trust you had in him. Nobunaga takes notice, even as you try and fail to be discreet about your worries. He takes your hand in his, but all you can think about is him deciding to gnaw on your wrist. “I didn’t do anything while you were asleep,” Nobunaga says, intertwining your fingers with his. It doesn’t bring you much comfort, but you haven’t found any evidence suggesting otherwise. You don’t say anything for a few seconds, so Nobunaga takes it that you’ve accepted his answer.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“Whatever you were dreaming about.”

He says it so earnestly as if it really matters to him if your nightmares scared you. You read once that an animal’s meat will be of lower quality if it’s subjected to high stress situations or abuse. You chalk his concern up to that, pushing out any idea that he cares about you past what's in your veins. If he does, it’s certainly not because he sees you as an equal companion. You look at him, and though he seems to have been awake all night, he doesn’t look any more tired than usual. “I don’t want to talk about it.” You mumble. Nobunaga continues holding your hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Are you sure?” “Mhmm.”

He doesn’t pry more than that, taking a few extra seconds to stare at your face. “Go back to sleep then, I’ll stay with you.” He murmurs, taking the glass from you and setting it back on the nightstand while you try to settle back into bed. You lay on your stomach, one side of your face pressed into the pillow, eyes staring right at the wall the bed is aligned against. Nobunaga shifts a few inches closer to you, and you choose to sleep in a different position when you feel him rubbing circles on your back. Nobunaga in response, moves his hand to caress your upper arm.

Much to your internal dismay, his touch does get your mind off of your nightmare. When Nobunaga is being quiet, you can imagine his hand as someone else's comforting gesture. He pauses briefly to adjust the blanket, pulling it back over your shoulders. You keep your eyes closed and hope Nobunaga doesn’t say anything for the rest of the night, managing to fall asleep under his careful ministrations.

You wake up that morning to the sound of rain, muffled pitter-patters outside. You can’t see what the weather looks like, but you imagine that it’s cloudy. Nobunaga’s already out of bed, slipping on a brown leather jacket over some already casual clothing. You sit up in bed, only wearing one of his shirts. The lights are still off, the night light burning hot from how long it’s been plugged in. You rub some of the sleep from your eye, not giving any verbal indication that you've woken up. Knowing him, though, you’re sure he’s already sensed it.

Nobunaga looks human to you, from here. He never looked like anything else, but something about watching him adjust the way his jacket sits on his shoulders and how he ties his long hair back, it makes it hard to see him as a blood-sucking creature of the night. Who knew monsters could look so normal? You wonder if anyone outside this cabin knew that he liked to kill people and drain them of what they were worth in his spare time. Staring at the clock on the bedside table, you’re surprised that it’s well into the afternoon; 1:04 PM.

“Are you going somewhere?” You finally ask, and Nobunaga turns his attention from the mirror on the inside of the closet door to you. Before he can respond, there’s a loud clap of thunder, which makes you flinch. Nobunaga chuckles at your reaction, walking back over to the bed to pet the top of your head. You make an effort to not recoil at his touch. “The rain is supposed to stop soon, but it’s going to be cloudy all day. I thought I’d go and get some errands done.” He says, his eyes trailing from your own to your collarbones, down to your wrists, then back to meet your gaze.

“I’ll be back soon, just stay here.” Soon most likely meant a few hours, which was a much-needed break for you. Still, whenever he left the house, that ill feeling of him never coming back would creep up on you. You didn’t want to be near him if you could help it, but the prospect of being left to starve in a house that you physically can’t get out of seems like an equally painful death. Nobunaga waits for you to say something, any verbal indication that you heard what he just said. “Okay.” You choke out, and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

Nobunaga leaves shortly after, reminding you about food being in the refrigerator if you get hungry. You don’t see him off, staying in bed until you hear that front door open, close and lock. Even when he’s gone, you don’t feel much at ease. You’re alone, your only company until Nobunaga gets back are the few bugs hiding under the floorboards and within the walls. You notice a spider on the ceiling, your heart catching in your throat. It skitters up and inside of the vent.

Maybe you can ask Nobunaga to kill it if it ever comes back outside.

All of the windows are boarded up, both on the inside and out. Wood panels on wood panels, keeping the sun out, and you in. The majority of the lights didn’t work when he first dragged you here, evidently he didn’t think they needed to. After a few days, Nobunaga got around to changing the lightbulbs and ensuring some of the rooms had lighting. The bedroom, bathroom, and a lamp in the living room had working lights.

Most days, though, the light in the bedroom wouldn’t be turned on unless Nobunaga did it himself. You didn’t have the energy to even do that most of the time, your current light source being the rabbit night light. It was strong enough to illuminate the whole room (which was a bit cramped anyway). Nobunaga had gotten it for you when you tripped over some of his junk on the floor trying to get out of bed. He’d decided to clean up a bit more after that, only after he pulled you back under the covers.

You just didn’t want to get out of bed today. You weren’t sick, Nobunaga had drained you of around two pints of blood when he first ripped into your neck, but by the first week you’d mostly recovered. You weren’t too hungry or thirsty; Nobunaga was giving you a strange amount of accommodation, making sure you were well-fed most of the time. Though, now that you think about it, a person who's hungry and isn’t getting the right amount of vitamins doesn’t have the best-tasting blood. It feels as though any act of courtesy given to you is ultimately self-serving.

His apparent need to constantly have you around him and give him your attention didn’t exactly fit into your theory that you were just a walking meal, but, maybe he was lonely. You’re not sure if you prefer that line of thinking, but it’s certainly a more optimistic one. That was just wishful thinking, though. It was equally likely that he was doing all of this as a strange sort of torment. It didn’t make complete sense, but you couldn’t wrap your head around anything Nobunaga did.

Perhaps it wasn’t so bad. It’s awful, really awful, but… he hasn’t killed you yet? He isn’t unreasonably violent; he hasn’t starved you or gone out of his way to torment you (yet). Plus, you had free roam of the house when Nobunaga was gone. You can’t stay here; you aren’t that far gone. It couldn’t hurt to wait for the right chance to make a break for it and save yourself, rather than jumping at any perceived opportunity.

Even so, if you stay here too long, you might end up just like him. It’s not like you could pry the wooden panels off and jump through the window, even if now Nobunaga wasn’t here to stop you. Not again. You ended up getting splinters on your fingers the first time you tried, and Nobunaga took it upon himself to painstakingly pick them all out.

He chided you for it, but he wasn’t as angry as you thought he would have been. Having the man suck on your fingers, trying to get whatever blood he could from the micro-tears in your skin, was punishment enough. Even when you had gotten one panel off, left sweaty and out of breath with cramped hands, there was another beneath it. Part of you wonders if there even are windows left, or if he knocked out the glass completely and filled the gaps with even more wood and whatever else material he could find.

There was no phone line, and if Nobunaga had a cellular phone, you’ve never seen it. Sometimes, when he would send you to bed while he stayed up later in the night, you swore you could hear him talking to someone else in the living room. You had to strain your ear to pick anything out of the conversation, pressing yourself against the bedroom door and trying to be as quiet as possible. It was hard to tell if he really was talking to someone, and if they were in the house, or if it was someone on a phone call. Maybe you’d ask him about it one day, but even if he did have a phone, would calling anyone help?

It’s not like your situation was completely unbelievable, there’s no way you could be written off as a liar. As long as you leave out the part about him killing your peers by biting them like a sick animal, and holding you down just to leave bite marks and ugly bruises on your neck and chest, then you should, in theory, be believed. What if the authorities couldn’t find you, though? You didn’t know the address of this house, you couldn’t even describe any surrounding landmarks, or even what the color of the front door was.

Your nerves start to get the better of you, and you shuffle out of bed, the cold wooden floors unfriendly to your feet. Already wearing one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants that didn’t fit right was too intimate for you, you weren’t going to wear his socks either. You leave the bedroom, moving into the living room to turn on the lamp. The few nightlights plugged into the outlets in the hallway made up for the lack of working lightbulbs. Maybe people were already looking for you, or maybe they found your blood splattered around along with some of your hair, and are only focused on finding a body.

You start to feel nauseous, but you can’t stop thinking about it. If you knew where the television remote was, you’d be watching the news right now. Looking for any segment about you or your friends, searching for something to prove to yourself that you weren’t being written off. Nobunaga hasn’t kept any newspapers, nor has he ever brought up your mauled friends or your disappearance to you. You can’t manage to sit still, mind once again stuck on answers you won’t have in the foreseeable future. There isn’t anything you can do about it right now, other than try to think of something else.

Slinking into the kitchen, you open up the refrigerator to see if there’s anything to eat. Nobunaga said there’d be food, and you’d rather stress eat than sit in front of a television you can’t turn on. You try to ignore the blood bags, you don’t want to speculate where he got them from. Maybe he had a friend who dropped them off for him, or maybe he stole from a doctor's office. The only other things in the fridge are a jar of pickles, a six-can pack of beer (and not even the nice kind), and some eggs. There was also a half-empty carton of blueberries, and some vegetable chips that were stored in the fridge for some reason. The loaf of bread left out on the table has mold.

You settle on the blueberries, idly eating two or three at a time. They’re mushy and tart, and hardly fill you up. You get through half of the carton before finally deciding that their taste is too much for you to look past. A familiar dry sting returns to your eyes, you’re terribly aware of your own tiredness. Your eyelids feel heavy again, and you can’t say with any confidence that you slept well last night. There isn’t anything for you to do now, not when the backdoor in the kitchen has been boarded up as well and had an out-of-place end table shoved in front of it.

You can’t get out of any of the doors, you can’t get out through the window, you barely have anything to eat. The television can’t even be turned on to pass the time, and there aren’t any books to pass your time with. Out of circumstance, (and in hopes that it’ll clear your head), you trudge on back to the bedroom, passing the door to a room that won’t open. God knows what’s in there, maybe it’s boarded up from the other side with more wood. Slipping back into bed, you try to catch up on your sleep debt. All you can hope for is that you don’t have another nightmare.

You wake up to the sound of the front door opening, and multiple locks being put back into place. You can hear Nobunaga shuffling around faintly in another part of the house, eventually coming into the bedroom and opening the door. You’re almost instantly alert, brought out of your nap by his presence. Glancing at the bedside clock, you see that you’ve only managed to get around 40 minutes' worth of sleep. Despite that, you don’t feel so groggy. “You’re still in bed?” Nobunaga steps into the room, moving the blankets off of you. “Have you eaten anything?”

“Yeah.” You mumble, sitting up to get out of bed. Nobunaga looks like he doesn’t entirely believe you, but he doesn’t argue with you about it. “Come help me with the bags.”

The bags were a mix of groceries and hardware, placed onto the kitchen counter. Most of it was stuff you assumed was to fix the lighting in other parts of the house. You hope that Nobunaga will also fix the shower so that the hot water lasts for more than five minutes. You don’t want to bug him about it again, though. While you stand at the kitchen counter, mindlessly taking items out of the bags, Nobunaga comes up behind you, caging you between him and the counter.

His head dips low to sniff at your neck, causing you to flinch. “What are you doing?” You squirm at the feeling of his facial hair brushing up against you. “I’m not doing anything. Don’t move so much.” He reprimands lightly, breathing in your scent. You wait for him to be done, his arms wrapped around your torso. His fingers, long and calloused, hitch up the hem of your shirt and feel along your bare skin. His Adam’s Apple bobs as his fingers traipse your torso. You hold back a wince, shutting your eyes and trying not to think about whatever he’s about to do. It makes you feel even more anxious when you can’t see what he’s doing, but you can’t bear to look right now. Your muscles tense and you freeze up at the feeling of his arms tightening around your waist.

He presses himself even closer against you, your back right up against his chest. Nobunaga’s considering this great progress, he’s gotten so close without you screaming. He can just about hear your heartbeat, fast and loud. Maybe you weren’t used to getting attention like this from other men, that was a thought he’d like to entertain. He breathes in the smell of your sweat and your fear, which he chooses to attribute to you being shy. You bite on the inside of your cheek so as to not scream when you feel his chapped lips brush up against the side of your neck and the shell of your ear.

It feels like he’s being intentionally cruel, holding you hostage under the guise of playing house. Does he enjoy dragging it out like this? Trying to lull you into a false sense of safety before sinking his fangs into you? You wait tentatively for the sharp bite to come, for Nobunaga’s hold on you to tighten to the extent that your lungs can’t expand with any more air. Your palms begin to sweat even more, and it feels like your legs could give out from under you at any second. You curse yourself for getting complacent, you should have looked for something to pry those wooden boards off while Nobunaga was gone. You’re going to die because you had a lick of Stockholm syndrome earlier in the day.

Suddenly, he backs off. He’s still pressed up behind you, arms loosely wrapped around your waist, but he isn’t pressing his nose into your collarbone area anymore. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.” Nobunaga points out, and he’s right. You finally open your eyes, not feeling his breath against your skin anymore. Your whole body is trembling, and your eyes prick with tears from how hard you’ve kept them shut. Nobunaga doesn’t connect the dots between him and yourself, continuing to look at you with concern and worry, and every expression other than guilt. “Go sit on the couch, you don’t look well. I’ll bring you something to eat.” Your shaky legs barely take you back into the living room without failing on you.

You sit on the couch, still skittish from what you thought was about to be another feeding session. Wiping the sweat off your brow, you take some deep breaths to calm yourself down, brushing off the germs on your shoulder and neck where Nobunaga was getting far too close and personal. You listen to the man sorting out the groceries, opening up a few cabinets and the refrigerator. He comes back around to the living room, holding a box of takeout food and the television remote you were looking for earlier. Nobunaga sits next to you, turning on the T.V and placing the takeout box on the coffee table briefly.

He positions you the way he wants you, with your legs strewn across his lap. You lean your head against the couch, not wanting to be touching him so much. He leans forward to get the takeout box off the coffee table, settling it over your lap. You keep your legs still, not wanting to spill the food while he forces you to share with him. He doesn’t seem particularly hungry but chooses to take a few bites of the takeout just so that his saliva will be on the fork when he feeds you. You try not to think about it and instead focus on the texture of the food, ignoring his staring.

Your heart rate slows back down to a rate that’s only slightly quicker than your normal one. You have a million questions on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t have the nerve to ask any of them. You find yourself unable to open that can of worms, though you know you’ll have to ask one day. Sooner than later, too. You get lost in thought, tuning out the generic comedy playing on the television and not registering the fork-full of food that’s been right in your face for the last fifteen or so seconds.

“What? You aren’t hungry anymore?” Nobunaga asks, trying to give you that last bite of food. “Uh- no, I’m not.” You mutter, looking away from the fork and the piece of chicken on it. “Are you sure?” He prods. You might be inclined to eat a bit more, but you want to end this strange spoon-feeding (fork feeding?) as soon as possible. “I’m sure.” You focus on the television screen as Nobunaga takes that bite for himself, trying not to think about the shared saliva between you two, lest your throat lurches, and you feel like vomiting. He leaves briefly, putting the takeout box in the fridge and coming back with a can of beer.

You're afforded the chance to put your legs in a more comfortable position, your feet planted on the floor where they belong and not anywhere near Nobunaga. He sits down right next to you, not giving you any personal space as his arm wraps around your shoulders, forcing you again to be close to him. This time, his focus is also on the television screen as he sips some of his beer. You’re not sure what his alcohol tolerance is, but regardless you don’t think you’d feel safe with a drunk Nobunaga. You can barely stand to be around a sober one. Then again, the last thing you’re going to do is tell him what he can and can’t do in his own house.

You both stay like that for a long while, you tucked into his side while he watches a show that just barely has his (and yours) attention. So long as you don’t move away from him, Nobunaga is content to stay like that for the time being. The television plays a movie you aren’t familiar with, something that never did too well at the cinema and was left to air on a channel most people don’t tune into. You want to ask Nobunaga to change the channel, maybe change it to the local news. Maybe then you’d at least get some insight on where this shithole of a house is.

A paranoid, fearful voice in the back of your head wonders if he’d rip your tongue out for talking to him. The most sadistic thing Nobunaga has done thus far (aside from the first time he nearly put you on death's door, drinking your blood and sinking his fangs so deep into you that it’d hurt him to ever let go), was all the times he forced you to share a bed with him. Despite all of his pervasiveness and lack of boundaries or personal space, Nobunaga seems to have gotten it in his head that he’s doing the right thing on some level. Granted, his idea of “the right thing” is vastly different from yours.

Nobunaga lowers the volume on the television, and speaks up rather abruptly after the long silence. “Give me your hand.” Those words alone cause you to tense up. Nobunaga tries to appear disarming, gently taking your hand in his calloused one. He doesn’t do anything, not yet, internally a bit bothered that you’re still so on edge around him. “This is going to hurt a little, okay?” Nobunaga brings your hand to his mouth, now holding it a bit firmer as he gets the finger he wants in his grasp. “Wait, what’s going to hurt? Hey—“

With no warning, he bites down on your index finger, his fangs breaking the skin. It isn’t a hard bite, but it hurts and you can feel blood pooling in dots at the site. You yelp, trying to pull your hand away. “Shhh, it’s just a little cut,” Nobunaga says dismissively. He keeps a firm grip on your hand, guiding it to the opening of his beer can. He nurses the blood out of your finger, scraping it painfully against the edge of the metal opening. You wince and clench your jaw at the sensation, your free hand gripping the armrest of the couch as he squeezes your blood out. When he’s satisfied with the mixture of blood and alcohol, he lets your hand go to lightly swish the can around, stirring the contents.

You watch him drink his beer, the color once again drained from your face. You wrap your bleeding finger with the hem of your shirt, taking in deep breaths. What the hell was his problem? Nobunaga sets the beer can on the coffee table, turning his attention back to you and your finger. “It was just a little poke.” He says, moderately surprised that it got such a fright out of you. If Nobunaga had bitten through your finger, then he’d understand, but he’d been careful to not go too deeply. “Let me see it again.”

At his behest, you let him see your finger again. He doesn’t bite it, instead examining the cut he made. His gaze then flits back to you, still wide-eyed and tense. With just a bit of pressure, the bleeding was nearly over. “Do you want me to get you a bandaid?” Nobunaga asks in a manner that is half teasing and half serious. You manage to choke out a weak “yeah”, so he moves your legs off of him to go find you one.

Luckily, he hadn’t thrown out the old med kit in the closet. It was something the previous owners kept, one of the things Nobunaga hadn’t bothered to toss out after killing them. Most of their belongings were still in that closet, left untouched. Nobunaga makes a mental note to search through the closet later for anything you might want. He comes back to the living room with a singular band-aid, gingerly applying it to your injured finger. “There you go. Is that better?” He asks tenderly. You grit your teeth, restraining yourself from calling him disgusting. It never bothered him before, it wouldn’t bother him now. “Mhm.” You hum, looking at your finger instead of him.

“You should go to bed, I’ll join you in a little bit.” It wasn’t a suggestion, more like a command. You get up and begrudgingly let him lead you into the bedroom, while he’s still in a good mood. He stands in the doorway once you’re back in the bedroom. He doesn’t leave yet, idling around for a few more minutes, as if trying to will you into asking him for something. “Are you going to be alright on your own?” Nobunaga asks, eyeing you over. “I don’t mind helping you change-” “I’m fine.”

You cut him off, on the verge of shoving him out of the doorway yourself and shutting the door. Nobunaga doesn't take offense to you being short with him, either because he felt bad for scaring you earlier (unlikely) or because he just can’t comprehend that you truly dislike him. “I’ll come check on you later.” He says, brushing off your attitude and leaving you alone for the time being. He closes the door on his way out, affording you some much-needed privacy.

There’s a plastic shopping bag in the corner, it’s been there for about a week now. Nobunaga supposedly bought you some clothes so you wouldn’t have to keep wearing his, but you hadn’t touched it yet. He hadn’t made a fuss over it, only commenting that he didn’t mind that you liked his shirts so much. It made you feel sick, this was entirely a lose-lose situation. You didn’t want to accept any of his gifts, and you didn’t want to entertain the idea of staying with him long-term, but the alternative was giving him the wrong idea.

You decide to open up the bag, tearing the plastic apart rather than untying the knot. It’s a few articles of clothing, enough for you to rotate between in a week; if you wore some of them for a day longer than you’d like. The clothes are nothing flashy, they all still have the tags on them. You notice a pattern with the tops and the one nightgown he got you: they all have spaghetti straps and show off the neckline generously. Aside from the visible necklines and one of the pajama bottoms being far too short for your liking, they weren’t too showy or revealing. For the most part, they didn’t reveal any cleavage.

You settle on a plain camisole top and some pajama pants with a pattern on them. You don’t respect Nobunaga enough to put his clothes anywhere other than the floor, so that's where you leave them. The door to the bedroom is locked from the outside, and although you’d rather not go to bed without at least washing up, you’re happy to keep Nobunaga’s attention off of you for as long as possible. You step into bed, shuffling under the covers. The sheets smell like him, there's a strand or three of dark hair left on the pillow he sleeps on. Even in his absence, you don’t get any real peace.

This near-constant flip-flopping on where you stand with Nobunaga has made your head hurt. The second you think your situation is even the slightest bit bearable, Nobunaga does something to put you back on edge and into full survival mode. You toss and turn for nearly an hour in bed before finally managing to drift off in a comfortable position.

You’re awoken about two hours later by Nobunaga, climbing on top of you in bed. He’s lightly shaking you awake, but his heavy breathing wakes you up first. You groan, opening your eyes to see a man who is too excited about whatever is going on. “Are you awake?” He asks. “Y-yeah.” You mumble warily, and Nobunaga smiles. “That’s good, I didn’t want to bother you if you were asleep.” You become somewhat more alert at that, unable to sit up with Nobunaga pinning you down. The dark circles under his eyes seem to be slightly more pronounced than usual.

“You’re wearing the clothes I got you.” He points out with both pride and appreciation. You blink, slightly annoyed that all he woke you up for was to praise you for such a small thing. You wish he wouldn’t mention it, but of course he does. “Yeah,” It’s become your go-to answer for anything now whenever you don’t know what to say to the man. “That’s good.” He looks away for a bit, then back at you. He’s easy enough to read on a surface level, you can tell there’s something on his mind. Bad things tend to happen in such cases. He remains on top of you, uncomfortably close. His face is just a few inches away from yours.

“You know how I bit your finger earlier?”

“Yeah.” It was just a few hours ago, you’re not sure how you could forget.

“I’m going to do that again, okay? It’s just a little bit of blood”

“What?” Your eyes widen a tad and you put your hands on his shoulders, trying to push him back. “It’s just a small bite on your neck, you won’t even feel it.” He keeps talking, each word worse than the last. “Get off of me.” He doesn’t even pretend to listen to you, staring right at the side of your neck. Nobunaga keeps talking, more to himself than you, ignoring your attempts at getting his attention or your panicked state. He leans down to press kisses along your jawline, and the repugnance and knowledge of what’s about to happen is enough to make your heart nearly stop. In what feels like a last resort, you grab a fistful of his hair and pull on it harshly. “Nobunaga!”

“Ow- What?” He snaps, finally moving away from your neck and looking you in the eye. “What’s wrong?” “I don’t want to do this.” You say hastily, not knowing how much weight your words have for him (if any). Nobunaga blinks, looking down at you. If he understands your fears, he certainly doesn’t think they’re wholly reasonable. “Are you scared?” He asks, like he’s teasing you for it. “Yes.” You don’t see the humor in it like he does, there’s no way he expected you’d be on board with being sucked dry.

“It’ll just be a little prick.” He says. It’s something you’ve heard plenty of times from nurses; but those nurses were holding one butterfly needle, not four canine teeth, and a disgusting tongue to lap at the wound. “You’re gonna drink my blood.” You mumble out, verbally realizing what he’s planning. Nobunaga nods slowly. “How much?” “Mm… half of a cup?” You don’t believe him. “It’s not going to kill you, you’re just going to feel tired after. Then you can go right back to sleep.” Nobunaga continues, trying to placate you. “Just lay still.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before going back to kissing your jaw and your neck.

You stiffen up again, taking in shaky breaths while he prepares you for a feeding session. If he wasn’t so engrossed in this facade of intimacy, he might have noticed that this makes you all the more uncomfortable. He continues to lay on top of you, pinning you down to the bed while he licks and sucks on your neck and shoulder. “Come on, just relax, please,” He implores you, and if you hadn’t seen him take what he wants without hesitation previously, you might have the confidence to deny him more firmly.

“It’ll only hurt for a few minutes, and then it’ll be over, I promise,” Nobunaga murmurs into your ear, sending waves of discomfort and fear down your spine. His breath fans against your neck, smelling like alcohol and whatever was left of that takeout food. Your skin crawls and goosebumps begin to form. “I’m not going to take a lot.” You bite down on your tongue, squirming and trying to angle your neck away from his mouth, to no avail.

His hand rests on your chest, vaguely where your heart is. He can feel your blood rushing in your arteries, and he can feel the rapid beating of your heart in your neck. You haven’t responded yet, but your hesitation and nervousness are almost too obvious for him to ignore. Your brows knit together, fingers balling into a loosely formed fist. “I don’t want you to take any at all.” Your attempt at sounding assertive fails when your voice wavers. Nobunaga smiles sheepishly at that, trying to play this carefully. He has just enough inhibition to not gorge on you as if you were a piece of meat. He doesn’t want to scare you into trying to run away again, undoing the progress he’s made.

Nobunaga knows he can stop, that he probably should stop, but you’d never get used to it if he did. It was like ripping a bandaid off, it would have to be done eventually. Sure, you didn’t like being sucked on now, but Nobunaga is confident that he can teach you to enjoy it, even if it takes a few sessions. As far as he’s concerned, you two are well on your way to becoming a happy couple, after all. You just need a bit longer to settle in.

“I won’t bite into anything important if that’s what you’re worried about. You don’t have to be scared.” He repeats, though he hasn’t made much progress in placating you. You run out of any excuses to give him; in his mind, Nobunaga’s already refuted them all. He presses a few more kisses to your skin, hoping that a gentle presentation will calm you down enough to let him get what he wants.

To his annoyance, you’re steadfast in your decision, trying to push him off of you. The first time he’d done it, you weren’t given any preparation or warning. Now that he was trying to be more accommodating, it somehow made it worse. It felt like an impending doom, part of you wants to tell him to just shut up and get it over with. You hold onto the chance that he’ll back off and get his fill from somewhere else if you persist, though. For a second, you think you've won this game of tug-of-war. Nobunaga reluctantly moves away from you, looking you in the eye. “I’ll be right back.”

He sneaks one last kiss on your cheek before getting off of you and leaving the room. You sit upright, wiping his saliva off of your neck and shoulder with the edge of the blanket. Your ears and the back of your neck are burning hot. His words replay in your head as you rub the last remnant of sleep from your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do was cling to his promises as any hope for your situation, but it was all you had. You try to brace yourself for whatever happens, wanting to be optimistic. It’s like he said, losing a half cup of blood wouldn’t kill you.

Nobubaga returns shortly with a knife in hand. You bristle up instantly, eyes widening. “What’s that for?!” You say, shrill and with your heart rate spiking. The words you want to say; that you’ll let him bite you, that the knife isn’t needed, that he doesn’t need to cut you, it doesn’t come out. “Calm down.” Nobunaga says somewhat dismissively, coming to sit back down next to you on the bed.

“Here, look.” So you do, and Nobunaga holds the knife in one hand, angling it at the other. He cuts his palm open, and you flinch. He has no visible reaction, only simpering at the look in your eye. “It’s alright, it doesn’t hurt.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes. You weren’t worried about his wellbeing.

When he’s done, Nobunaga places the knife on the bed almost carelessly, though still out of reach for you. It does put you at ease that he isn’t holding a sharp object anymore, at least he isn’t pointing it at you. He pulls you closer, having you sit thigh to thigh with him. The arm closest to you wraps around your shoulders to keep you in place, meanwhile, his cut hand is brought to your mouth.

You look up at him quizzically. “It’ll make you feel better about this, trust me. It doesn’t taste bad.” Your mouth opens to say something, but you’re in too much shock over what he’s insinuating to respond. “You’re crazy.” You shudder, trying to push his hand away. There’s no way he’s serious about this. Nobunaga doesn’t concede, though, only looking at you as if you were a confused animal. “Just give it a try.”

You can’t block out the smell of blood, the most you can do is not look at it for longer than necessary. Your hands tremble and you cling to the hem of your shirt. Surely it would just be one lick, one swipe of the tongue. Then you could swallow your own spit to get the taste off your tongue. Nobunaga looks at you expectantly and with an amount of anticipation that heightens your unease. “I don’t want to.” Your voice regrettably wavers in your attempt to sound firm.

“You’re making this harder than it has to be. I cut my hand just for you.” He sighs. I never asked you to do that, you think to yourself. “I’m trying to do things the nice way.” “What’s the other way?” You ask out of curiosity and to stall. “Well, I could hold you down and take what I want. It wouldn’t be so difficult.” He hums, drinking in your expression. “Maybe you’ll like it.” You would have scoffed at that if you weren’t so disturbed by the situation.

To avoid potentially aggravating him, you do what he says. You feel insane, licking at the skin of his hand. It tastes like salt, and the blood is even saltier. Metallic, like you’re putting a melted coin in your mouth. You try not to gag, shutting your eyes and pretending that you’re just licking expired caramel. That only makes it worse. Nobunaga breathes heavily when you lap at the cut on his hand, making you all the more reluctant to play along.

“There you go. See, it isn’t so bad.” He croons, unaware of your growing urge to vomit. “Does it taste good?” He asks, and you can’t even look at him when he finally pulls away. What must have been about twenty seconds felt like an eternity. “No.” You gasp, wanting to get the taste out of your mouth. You swallow down the bile rising in your throat, feeling thoroughly disgusted with both yourself and him. Nobunaga laughs, wiping off the small amount of blood staining your mouth with his thumb.

There’s a brief pause as Nobunaga lets you collect yourself. He admires your spit on his hand for a few seconds before turning his attention back to you. “Lie down, it won’t take long.” He says, lightly pushing you back down onto the mattress, and having you lie on your back. You must have looked even more terrified than you realized. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” That phrase sends a new wave of disgust up your spine. Nobunaga shifts to be right on top of you, a few strands of his dark hair falling on your face. His head once again lowers and his mouth aligns with your neck.

His teeth hardly graze your skin and yet you’re already writhing and biting back any whimpers. When his hand comes to hold your neck in place, you squirm at that as well. He pauses, thinking it merciful to give you one last minute to collect yourself. “Try to relax.” Nobunaga grumbles, his patience thinning. He’s salivating just from being so close, yet you continually find ways to deny him, even if it’s unintentional.

“Do we have to do this?” You ask weakly in a last-ditch effort to wiggle your way out of this. Nobunaga’s eyes soften slightly, still trained on your neck. He takes a moment to speak, hands firmly holding you by your upper arms. “If you can be good and let me do this, then I’ll make it up to you once it’s over.”

He doesn’t give you another second to prepare yourself before he sinks his teeth into you. His bite deepens and you gasp in shock, pain, and disgust. The weight of his body and the pain in the side of your neck rendered you to his mercy. All you can think about is him not holding to his word, on accident or otherwise. Taking too much blood and leaving you to bleed out in this room; away from all of your family and your friends. Then he’d probably eat what was left of you.

You struggle to keep down any pained groans, biting the inside of your cheek to suppress any noises. Nobunaga mumbles something you don’t quite catch as you’re actively trying to tune every bit of this out. One of his hands brushes up against your clothed breast, groping it in a way that Nobunaga thinks is discrete. Your hand goes to smack his away, with whatever strength you can muster. Nobunaga responds by taking your hand and holding it, letting you squeeze it and dig your nails into his hand to get through the pain.

Your other hand finds itself once again tangled in Nobunaga’s hair, inky and long. You hold it tightly in your fist while you try not to cry at the feeling of his tongue prodding at the bite marks in your flesh. When you pull his hair, he moans. “There you go, that’s right, baby.” You cringe, quickly moving your hand out of his hair and onto the bedsheets instead, clinging onto the fabric till your knuckles turn white. Nobunaga continues to siphon the blood out of you, relishing in the sounds of your mewling and whimpering. To him, it seemed like you were liking this a little more than you were letting on.

When he’s done, when he looks up and sees your face drained of its color and your eyes watery, Nobunaga pulls away from your neck. Licking up the last bit of blood on his chapped lips, he haphazardly presses one of the blankets on the bed to your wound, shushing you in between peppered kisses on your cheek. In doing so, he’s smeared your blood all over your face. “Stop crying, I’m done.” He coos, gently squishing your face in his hand and pecking you on the lips.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been crying, not until he’d pointed it out. Tear stains run down the sides of your face, staining your skin alongside your blood. Nobunaga licks at the side of your neck, taking in one last deep whiff of your blood and sweat mixed together. He seems just as breathless as you are. There’s a distinct ringing in your ears as your vision continues to blur with tears that Nobunaga wipes away. Blood is caught in his facial hair, though he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You did good,” He murmurs, taking in uneven breaths. “It’s over, I promise.” You aren’t given a second to respond before Nobunaga’s got his tongue back on you, this time writhing its way into your mouth as he drags you into a make-out session. You let him, trying to enjoy the feeling, as sloppy and unarousing as it was. You try not to think about how much you want to vomit from the taste of your own blood in your mouth. You’ve felt more nauseous in these past hours than you probably have in your entire life.

The only upside to your predicament is that the worst is over with. You try to focus on that instead of the pain in your neck or the stiff boner in Nobunaga’s pants that you can feel pressed against you. You try not to think about his hand once again creeping towards your chest, this time having slipped underneath your shirt. You don’t have the strength to tell him off for it, you barely have the energy to keep your eyes open. Nobunaga keeps the blanket pressed against your neck until he gains a moment of clarity and gets off of you.

He moves back his hair across his shoulders, pushing aside the strands that fell across his face. “I’ll be right back, ‘m going to get you cleaned up.” He breathes, leaving the bedroom to get that med kit and some rubbing alcohol if there was any. You don’t respond, laying limply in bed. You close your eyes for a few seconds, goosebumps covering your skin. Nobunaga was right, you didn’t die from the blood he took. It was awful, not made better by how perverted he was making it, but it wasn’t unbearable.

You don’t want to think about how this may become routine for you, or how he might take more blood next time. All you want to think about is that it’s over tonight, he promised that it would be over. At least you’d be able to go back to sleep soon.

#aka the ultimate self insert fic for me #Yandere nobunaga #yandere nobunaga x reader #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #_hxh #_nobunaga #yandere nobunaga hazama x reader #nobunaga x reader

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