This Is A Continuation Of My Last Post, Where Anon Asked About Whether Kikyo And Silva Would Ever Share

I want giggly cuddly sex with tadashi 🥺 where there’s no power dynamic just us two having a good time and wanting to make the other feel good :((

I combined these two little ditties into a fic!!! I hope you don’t mind!!!

CW: established relationship, praise, sex, fluff/smut. 

yamaguchi x reader 

(reader has a vagina- no pronouns or gendered language used)

first time

It's one of the pitfalls of a new relationship; everything the other person does is endearing. 

"I'm just saying, it's weird that the fourth movie is so good!" Yamaguchi digs his hand into the bowl on your lap, picking through the entire bowl to scrape at the popcorn kernels. He tosses the bits into his mouth and chews thoughtfully, cracking through each kernel loudly, before pausing to suck the excess salt off of his fingers. 

God, if anyone else did that, you'd probably be disgusted, or at the very least annoyed, but there's something about Yamaguchi that makes it unbearably endearing. Maybe it's the little shoulder dance he does every time he takes a bite. Maybe it's the way your heart skips a beat when his tongue swipes over his knuckle, catching a bit butter. "Name another series that has a good fourth movie. You can't. Scream 4 is one of a kind." 

He does it again, crunching through the kernels happily, tongue peeking out once again to wipe across his fingertips.

God, you wished he would lick you like that. 

"Tadashi, you're gonna break a tooth." you chide, even as you sink further into his lap. There was plenty of space on the couch, but you had somehow migrated to his lap sometime during the previous movie. The arm around your shoulder tightens, pulling you into a kiss on the cheek. It's greasy with butter residue, but somehow it still makes your heart flutter. 

Fuck. Only 3 months into the relationship and you were wrapped around his finger, watching movies that you didn’t have any interest in. Any little annoyance was forgotten as soon as he flashed you that freckled smile. Every little nuance you discovered made you fall deeper into .... like.

Not love. Like. You weren't ready to admit to the 'love' word quite yet, but it was getting closer. You had been 'in like' with Yamaguchi since shortly after he moved into the cubicle next to yours.  Maybe it had been the way he always remembered to grab you an extra sugar packet for your coffee, or the way he laughed at whatever podcast he was listening to that day, or the way he silently procrastinated at the end of the day so you could walk to bus together: whatever it was that won you over didn’t matter, what did matter was that Yamaguchi made you feel happier than anyone else.  It felt natural to be with him, to be held by him, to be ‘liked’ by him.

...Your only complaint was the pacing. One of the best and worst things about the two of you was that you were both polite, constantly dancing around unsaid boundaries, trying overly hard to respect each other, avoiding any situation that could possibly make the other one uncomfortable. Which meant your physical relationship was nothing more than the occasional kiss.

Honestly, you were beginning to think he didn't want to. His hands never wandered, his texts never turned dirty, and you certainly never initiated anything. It felt like there was never an opportunity to start anything; even now, sitting on his lap while wearing a sweatshirt he had left at your apartment weeks ago, it felt wrong to interrupt a wholesome moment.

Not that you didn't want to. God. You wanted to.

"You know,  I don't think anyone's ever worn my hoodie before." he comments, eyes never leaving the television. He’s enthralled with this stupid movie, even though he had seen it 'dozens of times.'

"Really? I’ve been wearing it as a shirt. " you grab at the fabric, "Do you want me to take it off? "

"Yeah, sure." he responds blankly, attention still glued to the movie. Then, he seemingly realizes what he said, face immediately erupting into a furious blush. He's quick to separate for you, almost spilling the entire bowl on the ground. You mirror him, unsure if you should laugh at his panic or cringe. "No! Do not take your shirt off! I do not want that!" 

"Tadashi. Calm down." You laugh, even as disappointment settles in the back of your throat. Does... does he really not want to see you undressed? Is this why you guys having had sex yet? Did he just see you as a friend? For his comfort and not your own, you inch farther away, back against the opposite arm as him. "It's fine, I get it."

"No, I-" he takes a moment to settle himself, "You look phenomenal with my hoodie on, I just, I don't want you to take your shirt off unless you want to, because it’s totally something I want. I think about it-" he pauses mid sentence, ears burning so red that his freckles seem to disappear, " I mean, if- I'm not like that- if you're not ready- that's not why I invited you over. I'm not expecting anything." 

He gives a nervous chuckle, widening the distance between the two of you more. You let his words sit, only the sound of the movie in the air. 

"So." you begin slowly. "You think about me without a shirt on?"

“I mean, of course.” He is acutely aware of the edge of the couch, his body teetering at the brink, but he bares it. "Can I tell you something? You can't laugh at me. Or think I'm a pervert." 

"I can't promise that. Are you, like.... sniffing my underwear or something?" you joke, a grin sneaking across your face.

He snorts and shakes his head almost violently. 

"Okay, no! Now the real thing doesn't sound as pervy." he adjusts only slightly, his shoulders unbunching themselves. Most of the tension in the air has melted away. That's what was so great about Yamaguchi; even when things turned awkward, they quickly returned to normal. "Do you remember that time Yakki split that water all over you?"

You roll your eyes at the memory. "Of course."

"And you had that little white blouse on?" he swallows, "My productivity at work dropped about 50% that day. It was so bad that the boss scolded me." 

"Yeah, because you were too busy worrying about me catching a cold!" you say, "You even gave me your jacket!" 

"No, I gave you my jacket because your shirt was see-through.” he admits, “My productivity dropped because all I could think about was how I wanted to take you and that little see-through shirt into the storage closet."  

Oh God. This is it. This is the opportunity. 

You lean forward with a tilt of your head, the gapping neck of the shirt falling forward past your collarbone. His eyes are glued to the neckline, tracing over the hint of skin, silently begging for more. You tuck your knees up under you and begin to crawl, only half convinced that this is sexy.  The closer you get, the more he can see down your shirt. His breath hitches slightly at the sight, but he doesn't dare to look away.

"Oh? What were you thinking about doing to me in that storage closet?" Yamaguchi lets his legs fall apart and, hesitantly, you place a hand between his knees, fingertips grazing the grey cotton of his sweatpants. The band of his bright red underwear peeks out from under his shirt and, without thinking, you trace over it with a pad of your finger. At the touch, he leans forward, lips tickling the shell of your ear as he speaks. Your heart is thrumming in your eardrum, so hard you can barely hear what he's saying. 

"First, I would have ripped that wet little shirt off, button by button." he chuckles, reaching to tuck a tendril of hair behind your ear. Your pussy clenches at the low rumble of his voice, so hard you feel like your stomach is cramping. "Then, I-"

A scream cuts through the room. The both of you jump forward into each other, knocking your skull against his jaw. Almost in unison, you both reel back: you clutching your ear, him clutching his lip.  The bowl spills across your laps, scattering popcorn all over the couch and floor as you both frantically search for the source of the noise. The dramatic music of the movie drums through you as some damsel in distress is running across the screen, screaming for help.

One beat. Two beats. 

Then, you laugh. It's one from the belly, that makes your gut ache from effort. You're trying to reach for Yamaguchi, make sure he's okay, but your eyes are watering, and your whole body shaking.  He's giggling too, still covering his lip. 

"The movie scared me!" you explain through tears. He nods in agreement, gesturing to the mess across his lap, including a huge butter stain across his crotch. It's not a funny moment, not when both of you are aching, but an intangible something has you both snorting and sobbing through giggles. The moment is way too long, way past the point of any humor, but Yamaguchi's snickering feeds into yours. 

Finally,  Yamaguchi manages to collect himself, scrunching his lips into a straight line. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards and you dissolve into giggles once again.

"I want to fuck you so bad right now." he breathes. His directness surprises you. "But not on top of the popcorn." 

You pull a deep breath, trying to center yourself. "We could move?"

"My roommate is going to kill me when he comes home to this mess." he says, but he stands anyway. You follow and his hand finds the small of your back, pulling you into him softly. He presses a kiss against your lips, warm and gentle, and then pulls back with a grimace. 

"I think you bruised me.” he touches his lower lip gingerly, as if testing it. 

“I’m sorry, we don’t-” he silences you with another kiss and now you can feel the swollen corner of his mouth, gritted slightly with salt. He clutches on to your top as he steps backwards, dragging you along with him so the kiss doesn’t break. Each step is rocky and unsure (you barely miss colliding into the wall) but you stay embraced, your hands clutching into his dark locks, partially to keep your balance as blindly follow. His hands trace up under your shirt, thumbs digging into the soft of your hips, pulling you flush against him, forcing you deeper and deeper into him until-

“Oh, shit.” he breaks away suddenly, pushing you back slightly. “I- my room- I need you to stay here.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“My room’s a mess, I really didn’t expect that you would- that we-” he shakes his head. “Gimme 30 seconds- please. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

You don’t object as he scuttles away, clicking the door firmly closed behind him. You can hear the muffled sounds of drawers slamming and objects being tossed about as you wait. It feels like you have been standing there, starting at the generic art hanging in the hall, for ages. It’s much longer than 30 seconds, but not quite the eternity it feels like.

The door creaks open and your favorite freckled face peeks out.  “Hi.” 

“Hi.” you repeat. Somehow, every amount of tension had returned in the scant amount of time you had been apart. Both of you knew what you wanted to do, but, the knowledge seemed heavy. It was an explored territory, sleeping with someone new. No matter what your past relationships were, each new experience with a new person (especially a new person you CARE about) brought its own pitfalls and challenges. It seems so serious, so scary, until you tear your eyes away from the floor and actually look your boyfriend in the eyes.

"Did you just brush your teeth?" you reach out and brush a little bit of white foam from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. He leans into your palm with a smile.

"I didn't want to taste like popcorn." he says and you can't help but laugh as he leads you into the room. It’s his brand of organized chaos; there’s clothes peeking out from the closet, miscellaneous knick knacks on the nightstand (including a still foamy toothbrush) and half hung posters across the walls. . You break away to sit on the bed, tracing over the pattern of the bedspread. 

“I like this.” you comment, “Very nice.” 

He nods, frozen in the doorway. Slowly, he reaches up to the lightswitch and flicks the light off. The darkness feels heavy with anticipation and worry as he pads around to the other side of the bed. He feels it too, you decide, as you watch his adam’s apple bob in the low light, this insane mixture of pressure and excitement.

For Yamaguchi, it’s the thoughts that usually plague his mind at night that grate away his confidence. The dreams of your skin between his fingers, your taste on his lips, are so close to reality, but he can't bring himself to make the first move. Even in the low light, he can see the curve of your waist, slowly contracting with every exhale. His own breathing matches your pace and, for some odd reason, that realization makes his chest burn with longing.

"I'm not expecting anything. If you don't want to." he reiterates as he lies down. How pathetic, he thinks. He really wasn't expecting anything, but, god, was he thinking about it. He'd been thinking about it since the first time he had seen you from across the If he could just reach out, just grab your collar and pull you to him, he could finally-

"Tadashi." his skin jumps at the sound of your voice and the sound of you shuffling, laying across the mattress. It's enough to knock him out of his thoughts and back into reality. He swallows back the tightness in his throat as he inches closer to you, his knees brushing against yours. He feels the gravity of the mattress shift as you shuffle closer and closer, until you're within inches of him.  You're almost face to face now, close enough that he can feel the way your breathing picks up as his hand finds your shoulder. You hum at the contact; he's warm. Even through the thick cotton, his skin is unusually hot against you. 

"You're like a little space heater." you whisper. Yamaguchi blinks, thinking, before his lips peel into a smile.

"Is that a good thing?" He doesn't wait for an answer.  He squeezes gently and you let him pull you forward, nose pressed against nose, hip against hip. His own shoulders shake with a silent laugh and you can't help but join him. It's something about the novelty of the situation, the joy in doing something new, breaking an unspoken boundary, that makes you laugh. You both dissolve into giggles, shifting closer and closer until you're laughing in each other's arms, fully pressed against each other. Even through your sweatpants you can feel the suggestion of his cock pressed against you, heavy against his thigh.

" ’Dashi." you whisper into the thin space between you. 

"I- Yeah?" he lets out a shaking breath. You take his hand and guide it to your chest, his fingers immediately cupping the flesh, massaging the flesh with a surprisingly steady touch. The way he sucks in air, fast, surprised, and hungry, sends heat pooling to your core.

"There's no popcorn here." you joke, "If you wanna fuck me." 

It's enough to break through his anxiety and he's against you again, this time with no laughter to keep your lips apart. His mouth finds yours, hungrily catching your lower lip between his teeth, tugging it ever so slowly. The sharpness makes you gasp and he uses the opportunity to kiss you deeper, tongue against yours. He tastes like his brand of toothpaste- soft and sweet mint. It's unexpectedly hungry, unexpectedly rough. 

The kiss doesn't break as he rolls over on to you, pressing your back into the down of his bed. His heart is already racing, battering against his ribs, as he continues tugging and teasing your breast, but he can't find it in himself to slow down. His free hand pushes up the hem of your shirt (his hoodie) to expose your chest. The kiss ends as he pulls away, forcing the short in-between your teeth, holding it up to give him free reign of your body. His head dips to join his hand, breath hot against your nipple. The cloth muffles your moan, but not enough to hide it from your lover.

He pauses, mouth open and tongue lulled out of his mouth, gazing up at you through his eyelashes. "Is this okay?" he's not touching you, but you can feel the low vibrations of his whisper against your skin.

"Yes, please." you whine through the sweatshirt, wrapping your hands into his hair. "Please, Please."

His tongue traces over your nipple delicately before he pulls back,  just far enough to watch it pebble under his touch.  He returns to work, clamping down and sucking, leaving the dull pain of a blossoming bruise behind. Your hips rut up into nothing, looking for any sort of friction.

He continues like this, leaving scattered marks across your skin as he worships you. Yamaguchi seems so content, just learning the scape of your body, but the building tension in your core is wearing thin.

Trailing touches down his body, you slipped your hands under the band of his sweatpants, gripping him through his boxers. Yamaguchi breaks, resting his forehead against your collar bone with a swallowed groan, as your fingers trace around the crown of his cock. Unwilling, he bucks into your light touch, dragging his length through your grasp. You tighten your fingers as he continues fucking himself against your palm, his own hands drifting to grasp your hips, pushing down your shorts just a fingers-length. Finger pads traced against the newly exposed skin, dipping lower and lower until tracing over the lace of your underwear.

"Wow." he breathes, lifting his head up to press a kiss against your chin. "Lift your hips for me, beautiful." 

You comply, letting him peel off your shorts and underwear in one pull. The cool night air made you shiver, but his warm hands soon returned to explore the newly exposed skin. 

"Oh, you're so..." his hand dips in between your legs, dragging a digit through your folds. The sound of your slick against his fingers makes his cock pulse in your grasp. He leaves his thought unfinished as he starts circling your clit with a steady touch. The pressure sends you keening, hips rolling into his touch eagerly, but he remains steady, patient.

He's building you up embarrassingly fast, leaving you sweaty and panting under his touch. Just as your legs start shaking, your body right on the brink, he withdraws. His tongue darts out to wipe away your fluids from his hand and he groans at the taste, eyes fluttering. 

"I'm sorry, beautiful. You can't  cum until I'm inside you." he whispers, sitting up to peel off his shirt. Clusters of freckles dapple his shoulders and it's all you can watch as he scrambles away to the nightstand drawer.  He returns a moment later, eager tearing through the tin foil packet with his teeth.

"Tadashi! Be careful!" you scold as you throw the blankets aside.

"It's not ripped!" he says, grabbing the bunched up shorts from the crook of your knee and tugging it completely off, dragging you a couple inches down the mattress with them. He tosses them aside as he pulls off his own; even though you just had your hand around it, the sight of his cock makes you anxious. It's thick, much thicker than you anticipated, and around leaking, a bead of precum catching at little light in the room.

As he begins rolling the condom on, you peel off your top and Yamaguchi's mouth falls open, eyes darting around the entirety of your body.

"Holy. You-" he sighs happily. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen." He surges forward, pressing you down into the mattress once again. His mouth is against yours, swallowing your whines. His hands are at the small of you back again. but now it's about but pure. He's forcefully angling your hips back and forth against his cock, dragging your clit against his spongy head and spreading your wetness against the plastic film. 

"I can't believe I get to fuck you." he says in between kisses. Yamaguchi continues to fuck your folds, his calm pace finally losing it's rhythm. "I can't believe I get to play with this perfect pussy. Can't wait to see you cum around my cock." With a trembling hand, he reaches down and presses his tip against your entrance, hesitating before sinking just the head inside you. The pop of his cockhead entering your cunt makes both of you gasp in unison- and another wave of giggles over takes the both of you.  As he dips down onto his elbows, eyes screwed shut, he doesn't make a move for a long moment, the only sound in the room is his steady breathing.

"I'm sorry, I'm just-." he presses a kiss against your neck, another laugh bubbling up, "You just- ah, you're so pretty. I can't believe this is real." 

Your hand catches his jaw, pulling his face up into yours. Your thumb traces over his cheek, tracing over the subtle dimpling of his pock marks. The freckles scattered across his cheeks, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes as he smiles- he's the beautiful one here. At your touch, he pushes further into you, steadily feeding your tight whole inch by inch, watching the way your mouth gapes and twists at the pressure. Once he's fully seated in you, he pauses, watching your chest move with each breath. 

"Dashi," you whine, hooking your ankles together around his waist, "You're so thick." 

"I know, you're doing such a good job." he presses a kiss against your forehead as he begins rolling his hips against you. Each thrust is rough, your hips angled up for him to sink his full length into you. "Keep being good for me, baby." 

With an unexpected strength, he tugs you closer, lifting your hips off the bed. Each stroke is steady, pumping his entire length in and out of you at a tantalizingly slow pace. His name falls out of your mouth like a prayer, begging for more, but he doesn’t oblige. It stays sinfully slow, building you up in a controlled burn. Each kiss, highlighted by the mingling of your hot breaths, is further raking the coals. 

“Is my pretty baby gonna cum for me? Look how great you’re taking me.” he groans.  He’s praising you blindly now, neither of you sure of exactly what he’s saying, all of his attention focused on grinding into you.

Your back arches further, and you’re seeing stars as he fucks you just right. You can barely keep your vision focused on him, those grey eyes clouded with concentration Your orgasm knocks the breath out of your lungs and you come undone with a strangled laugh, fisting the sheets desperately. The way you clench down around him makes his hips finally stutter, a hiss escaping his gritted teeth. Your chest is filled with a flurry of emotions as you sling your arms around his shoulders, unable to wipe away the goofy grin in your face. 

A few more snaps of his hips has him melting into you as he cums. He tucks his head under your jaw with a hum, dropping you on to the mattress. His hands find their way back to your chest, giving you a final squeeze.

"Fuck." he whispers into the soft of your neck as he withdraws. He's quick to peel off the condom and tie to off, discarding it off the side of the bed. Yamaguchi rolls onto his back, holding his arms open expectantly. "You're so hot when you laugh, you know that?" 

Curling into his arms, finding some sort of gross comfort in his sweaty warmth, you can't help but suppress another giggle.

"Hey, be careful. Keep laughing and we'll have to do that again." he grips your jaw, tilting your face towards him to capture you in a kiss. "Don't test me; I'll fuck you so hard you'll need a standing desk on Monday."

"Oh yeah?" you tease, your hand tracing down his chest, connecting his freckles. "Prove it."

"Oh, I will, come here-"

The distant sound of a door slamming catches your attention. "Yamaguchi, what the fuck?" a familiar voice echoes through the apartment. 

Yamaguchi shoots up, frantically searching for his pants in the sheets. "Fuck, I forgot about the popcorn!"

Moving Up

mafiaAU! Shalnark

Warnings: arson, mentions of torture, mentions of death, Shalnark being a creep

Word count: 4.2k

You had to call him eventually.

As you looked over the charred and foamy pile of what had once been store product, you could only put off the inevitable for so long. Arson was serious, to say the least, and you were told that if anything like this happened, you needed to call him so that he could decide where you went from there.

So why were you stalling? Probably because with a lot of floor cleaner, trash bags and a lot of hard work, you could clean up the mess without anyone even knowing what had happened. Sure, it would take all day and would only cost the store money, but it wasn’t like you would be making anything today with the burnt pile that currently sat in the middle of the floor.

But the first big issue with that plan was that your boss had told you to make the call. He had been the one to discover the fire and subsequently put it out, and after doing that he made you come in on your day off, gave you a run-down of what had happened and then gave you the order to call the troupe. Trying to get out of doing that would just cause him to give you grief for it later.

And the second thing was that the Phantom Troupe always inevitably found out any secrets anyone tried to hide from them. They had lackeys all over the city and a reliable information network that traveled fast. It wouldn’t surprise you if one of their underlings was aware of the fire and that word had already reached the ears of the man you were supposed to call. That would leave you in an awkward position of trying to come up with an excuse as to why it had taken you so long to contact him.

How long had it been, anyway?

You glanced over to the clock.

….. It’d been over an hour. Somehow you’d wasted an entire hour pushing off the inevitable.

Ah, fuck.

Keep reading

It’s Graduation, Isn’t It?

Yan Gojo Satoru x F Reader.

Warnings: Gojo Satoru, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, weird roundabout guilt tripping and emotional manipulation. Word count: 5.5k.

It’s a shame the sun sets in the west. 

The celestial body is indifferent to your plight, its energy refined and unrelenting. Its golden beams chase after the dark fabric of your uniform as if sucked in by a black hole. You’ve done what you can to withstand the heat's attack — tying your hair up, opening rickety windows, downing enough water to last a lifetime — but sweat still stubbornly glistens along your temple. 

Worse than the sun and its heat, however, is the other heavenly body present in this stuffy room. An individual with abilities so far beyond your comprehension, he’s earned the privilege and burden of calling himself the strongest. Those two words are the closest anyone could come to accurately describing the immeasurable scope of his strength. What does the most honored one do in this four-dimensional playground the rest of you carbon-spaced species have to occupy? How does someone who can see infinite realities burn his free time? 

Does he tilt the Earth off its axis for curiosity’s sake? Create a vacuum that swallows the atmosphere’s nitrogen, oxygen, and argon? Beckon the moon closer to turn the ocean’s reign of 71% to 100%? 

No, Gojo Satoru does none of these things because he’s busy. Busy lazing around on a desk you just cleaned (and will have to clean again, the dirt wedged into his soles taunt), sucking obnoxiously loud on a sweet treat. 

You point your broom handle at him. 

“Hey, you.” 

Gojo plops the cherry-flavored lollipop from his mouth and points to himself, faking incredulity. “Me?” 

“Have you ever heard of the phrase, ‘many hands make light work?’” 

“I have now, sensei.” 

Content, he resumes savoring his lollipop. You ignore his jab at the occupation you don’t hold yet, but have both set your sights on. 

“Do you find anything about it convicting? Doesn’t it make you want to, y’know, pitch in?”

“Nope,” he replies, popping the ‘p.’ The single-file lines of kindergarteners whose bright yellow hats remind you of ducklings dutifully following their mother have better manners. By a lot. 

You roll your eyes. It wasn’t like you were expecting anything from him, but you thought he’d be more creative with his excuse. You’d just barely begun cleaning this classroom when Gojo invited himself in as a (not) silent spectator. If you ever wanted to get out of here and enjoy your Friday evening, you knew ignoring him would be the best option. The only option. That strategy is easier said than done. Ignoring someone like him is like defying gravity. You think you can after the leap is made, but with every tumble back down to the ground, you’re reminded not everyone gets to ignore the laws of physics. 

Gojo shifts until he’s sitting criss-cross. “Why are you doing this, anyway? Isn’t Shoko s’posed to have cleaning duty?” 

He has some audacity sounding exasperated, as if you’ve chained him down until your task is finished. The supposed prison doors are wide open. He could waltz out at any point, unimpeded. Instead of doing something that makes sense, he’s chosen to needle you for attention. It wouldn’t be a first. At least he isn’t levitating the cleaning supplies like last time…

Regardless, you’ll miss the chaos that always nips at Gojo’s heels. A pang tugs at your heart. You snip the ligature in two. 

“She asked to switch out as a favor.” 

“A favor, huh?” Gojo hums, tasting your words as much as the artificial cherry on his extra red tongue. “I keep telling you, one of these days, someone’s gonna come along and take advantage of you. You’re too nice.” 

“Hah. Only you could turn a compliment into an insult.” 

“And only you could turn an insult into a compliment,” he replies, grinning. You return his dumb smile, which feeds his. “Seriously, though. I sometimes wonder if your blood is made of sugar, because—” 

“—You’re way too sweet.” 

“—You’re way too sweet.”

Your voices overlap in a dissonant harmony, your tone far flatter than his. 

There’s a beat of silence. 

And then you both burst into fits of laughter. Gojo appears sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck until your laughter dies down. It’s an unusual look for him. A healthy dose of humility would do him some good. What a shame his immune system will defeat this foreign invader before his system can absorb it. 

“That obvious?” 

“That obvious,” you reaffirm, still wearing the smile he gave you. 

“How reassuring. If you can mimic my thought process, you can’t be sugar, spice, and everything nice.” 

You lean your weight on the broom that’s lost its traditional purpose. “What could you possibly need reassurance about?” 

Rather than responding verbally, Gojo keeps his attention on you, dipping his head just enough for his sunglasses to slide down his nose. You tug your mask off and set it aside. You were almost finished cleaning and this conversation is proving more interesting, anyway. 

Gojo dips his head slightly. His circular sunglasses slide down his nose, revealing the two celestial bodies that inhabit his eye sockets. His long eyelashes flutter with every blink, reminiscent of winter’s first snowfall. As always, his silence is difficult to understand when you’re so used to never hearing it. He accounts for this by giving you extra time to think about what he’s communicating. How considerate. 

Does that mean…? 

You. He’s looking at you. 

Frowning comes easily.

“Is this your way of saying I’m an incapable sorcerer?” 

Fourteen-year-old Gojo would’ve said yes before you finished the question. Seventeen-year-old Gojo might if you catch him on a bad day, but those never seem to happen when he has you to be around. 

“You’re at the level you should be.” 

This is the closest thing you can receive to a compliment from the almighty Gojo Satoru, although ‘compliment’ tests the dictionary definition. 

‘Slightly-above-average-acknowledgment’ fits better. To most, a third-year such as yourself obtaining the rank of Grade Two is highly commendable. Most finish their time at Tokyo Jujutsu High at Grade Three if they’re still alive. But, compared to Gojo (everyone compares themselves to him, no matter what they claim), you might as well be sitting at the kiddie table. The four dimensions you can’t go beyond, the same four dimensions that serve as his starting gun. 

You can’t bother feeling offended. You’re not fourteen anymore yourself. 

“What did you mean, then?” You ask, your tone holding no acidity. 

“Exactly what I said — that someone’s going to come along and take advantage of you,” Gojo fixes his sunglasses back into place. You no longer see his eyes but you feel them. “You’ve never been good at spotting a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Or a wolf in wolf’s clothing, for that matter.” 

“Wh— that addendum doesn’t even make sense!” 

“It is for those capable of abstract thought.”

The deadpan delivery of such a pompous line, even by his standards, earns more laughter. He grins at the delight he’s caused, the apples of his cheeks prominent.

“Okay, okay, let me run this through my Gojo translator. Is this your weird, borderline rude way of expressing concern for me?” 

“Only borderline? Oh no, I must be losing my touch,” he gasps, his hand flying to his chest. “Let’s kick the rudeness up a notch. Alright, you’re—” 

You wildly wave your hands. “Cut, cut! We can leave it at the abridged version!”

He bites down on his lollipop. His patience to savor its taste must’ve dried up. You listen to his molars crunch his treat into pieces, which he soon swallows. You don’t doubt there’ll be plenty more where that came from. His rosy lips become rosier when his tongue runs over them. 

“See what I mean? That should’ve been your cue to lay into me.” 

He’d need to do far worse than that if provoking such a reaction is his wish. 

“One, if I laid into you every time you said something tactless, I’d die from asphyxiation. And two, you’re not making a fair comparison. Of course I have more grace for you than some rando.” 

Gojo looks like a man who’d just won the lottery. “Oh? Why’s that? I’m just that special to you, an exception has to be made?”

“There could be research studies conducted on your ego,” you murmur, shaking your head. You know he’s acting, but he could be a little less convincing. “I’m this way for all my friends, which you managed to weasel your way into being. Of course this extends to you.” 

He clutches at his chest and sputters as if he’d gotten shot. “Just… a f-friend…?” 

To give his acting further credence, he stumbles back. The momentum pushes him off the desk’s edge. Your eyes widen as his body falls back. The broom topples to the floor as you lurch forward, wanting to break his fall. When you get to where he should be, there’s no sign of him. Not even a stray hair. Blinking, you’re about to call out for him when a presence manifests behind you. One that could bend the Earth, inhale its air, and conquer its moon. 

You pivot out of instinct and launch a high kick at the unknown force. 

Your attack doesn’t land, it suspends midair. In the second it takes for you to comprehend what just happened, the ‘unknown force’ throws his head back and guffaws. You lower your leg from infinity’s repulsion. Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest and glare up at him. While he laughs at your expense, you consider the impenetrable barrier that protects him from any unwanted contact. 

For some reason, you once asked Shoko what would’ve happened if Gojo wasn’t on your side. 

“We’d all be dead,” was her nonchalant answer. “It wouldn’t even be a fight.” 

You didn’t shiver then and you don’t shiver now. That what-if is useless, an inert product of the three pounds of gray matter in between your ears. Speculation lives so it can die. You’ve buried this one and see no reason for its exhumation. 

Gojo stuffs his hands into his pocket and bends down to your level. 

“Uh oh, that look means I’m in trouble,” Gojo says, not sounding bothered by the prospect in the slightest. “What’re you thinking? Dinner on me? We should hit Nakamise-dori before the 9-5 crowd lets out.” 

Tempting as that prospect is, you must stay strong. He messed with you, so you’ll mess with him. It’s for balance and all that. This definitely isn’t born from pettiness, no, you’re not fourteen! You’re seventeen. Which might be worse, because you’re running out of years to use your age as an excuse. Or did you run out already…?

“And what if I said I wasn’t thinking about you? You’re not the center of the universe, y’know.” 

“I kinda am, though.” 

(He’s got a point. He kinda is). 

“Right, right. Well, I’m sure the universe’s center would prefer to eat alone, rather than with this insignificant pebble.” 

You’re plenty capable of carrying out your own melodramatics. This classroom has served as his amphitheater long enough, he deserves to be the chorus now. You go to and fro, collecting cleaning implements and putting them in their proper place. The window cleaner suspiciously evades your grasp until you shoot Gojo a non-threatening glare. He snickers and releases his infinity. Finally finished, you head out of the classroom, not sparing him a glance as you brush his shoulder. Interestingly, this contact is allowed. His innate technique relaxes just long enough for your own theatrics to play out. 

Gojo wastes no time in chasing after you. His long legs close the paltry distance with little effort. 

He pokes your cheek. “C’mon, at least give yourself some credit! You’re more than an itty bitty pebble.” 

You make the mistake of turning to face him. His boyish grin immediately gives him away. 

You mistake the poison ivy in his hands for an olive branch. His boyish grin gives the secret away, but it’s too late, he’s already all your eyes can register. 

“A rock would be more fitting.” 

He looks far too proud of that line. You’d rate it a 6/10 at the most. 

You hasten your pace, navigating the school’s engawa with practiced ease. Gojo falls into step almost immediately, his persistence infinite. He whines your name, prolonging the last syllable. He must recognize that you’re heading back to the dorms. 

It’d be impossible to count all the times you’ve walked this specific path over the past four years. Not everyone who once accompanied you is still here to do so. The fleeting thought brings the scent of antiseptic, the hum of air conditioners, the cold chill rivaled only by the dead bodies it held. 

After graduation, you’ll leave many things behind. The morgue won’t be one of them. Not in this line of work. 

You remember the confusion you felt upon learning two of your underclassmen were sent on a mission, only for one to return. Once the initial shock wore off, you rushed to where the body was kept. You couldn’t protect Haibara, but you could still console Nanami. In the end, this proved to be too great a self-imposed burden. Nanami’s composure eclipsed yours.

(Sterile lights overhead flickered, reflected on an edifice of cold lockers. 

“Nanamin,” you croaked, your voice hoarse. You pointed toward the silvery storage. Rows upon rows, mostly empty, for now. “Why are there so many?” 

It was quiet, save for the cooling system’s thrum. You wondered if he hadn’t heard you. Began to hope that was the case, once you recalled you were supposed to be here for him, not the other way around. 

Eventually, he spoke your last name. 

“I respectfully disagree,” he said. “Truthfully… it might not be enough.”)

Sweat and tears were shed on this campus. If you put them on a scale, which side would outweigh the other? 

You shake your head like that’d erase these thoughts.

It won’t be much longer. Morgues won’t leave your life, but this particular one can. 

Gojo whistles a song that’s been topping the Oricon Singles Chart recently. You’re grateful for the distraction his questionable rendition brings. It pulls you out of your stormy thoughts, and reminds you that the sun will set and rise another day. 

“Are you really abandoning me on a nice evening like this?” He probes, as if he’d ever let you. He isn’t above throwing objects at your window to lure you out. You could be meditating, studying, or listening to music through the cheap pair of headphones you bought from the convenience store on your iPod; he wouldn’t let up. 

Shoko once offered you 2,000 yen to stop ignoring him after a miserable wasabi and toothpaste switcheroo prank. Utahime upped the bid to 3,000 yen on the side of prolonging his torment. Gojo overheard the bidding through a cracked window. He promised 20,000 yen on top of Shoko’s proposal. 

In the end, you came out without taking anyone’s money. Watching Pride and Prejudice during your weekly movie night was his punishment. 

(“This might actually be what does me in,” Gojo complained. “Not all the assassination attempts, or that Zenin reject. Wear something skimpy to my funeral or I’ll haunt you.” 

You whisper-yell, “This is important to the plot!” 

He obeyed for three minutes before pestering you again. 

“This the type of guy you go for?” He asked, jutting his thumb toward Mr. Darcy on the screen. “Rich and emotionally stunted? Cause if so, have I got some good news for—” 

You pressed your pointer finger to his lips. For someone who loves blabbering on, he looks terribly pleased about you shushing him. He must’ve relaxed his infinity to give you the chance. 

“What I like about him most is how taciturn he is.” 

This quieted Gojo for five minutes before his pestering began anew.)

“I want to at least get changed,” you explain. 

“Oh, you’re getting all dressed up, just for me?” 

“Pfft, no way. I just feel sweaty and gross from cleaning in that inferno,” you roll your shoulder, lamenting at the aches it’ll bring tomorrow. “I’m gonna miss that one yakisoba stand when I’m home. I’ve got to freeload yummy meals off you while I still can.” 

“Say ‘pretty please, Toru,’ when you’re back and you’re more than welcome to keep freeloading, stingy woman.” 

You laugh at the high-pitched inflection he uses to imitate your voice. You’ll miss this, you’ll really miss this. You’ll miss Gojo. You’ll miss painting Utahime’s nails while she vents about him. You’ll miss Shoko chastising you for not eating breakfast and you chastising her for not eating dinner. You’ll miss naming Suguru’s collection of curses after Pokémon. You’ll miss offering to tutor Nanami in subjects he’s better than you at just to see his reaction. 

In the end, even all of that can’t compare to how much you’ve missed home. 

“Absolutely not. My parents are planning to visit when I do, I can’t risk having you embarrass me in front of them.” 

It is said that when Gojo Satoru was born, the balance of the world shifted. 

You’ve never been fully able to conceptualize what that means — how it’d feel for the universe to hold its breath in anticipation over a birth. 

This current in the air, the inexplicable thundering of your heart, and churning of your stomach… 

… Was that moment anything like this? 

You no longer hear Gojo’s footsteps on the wooden floorboards. You turn around, noting how he’s firmly planted himself in place. The glint of his sunglasses prevents you from seeing his eyes. You give him a few moments before breaking the unusual silence. 

“Toru? What’s wrong?” 

“Just a moment ago…” he trails off, evidently deep in thought, “You said ‘visit.’”

“I did.” 

“Didn’t you tell me way back you want to become a teacher?” 

The ebb and flow of his cursed energy is odd. You’re used to its enviable composure, never fluctuating beyond its baseline. He effortlessly maintains it better than those who have dedicated their entire lives to the art. This abnormality lasts about a millisecond before smoothing itself over. Any fluctuation from an unfathomable generator of cursed energy like Gojo can’t go undetected. It’s like a soft wind picking up to 200 mph. 

Your current stance is one you’d take upon coming face to face with a curse above your capabilities, a subconscious call from your body. If Gojo notices, he doesn’t point it out. You relax your muscles. 

“I do. Back in my country, we don’t have any formal educational institutions for jujutsu like there are here. Forming an organized response to curses and other threats is real messy. I want to apply what I learned here back home.” 

Gojo… he never asked for specifics on your plans after graduation. This realization injects guilt into your veins. You just thought he knew. You mentioned it to your classmates who asked. Gojo never asked. He just assumed, the same way you had.

Internally panicking, you continue, “I’ll visit, too. A-And we can stay in touch. We have our phones, emails… we won’t fall out of contact. I promise.” 

It’s as if you’ve been thrust into a trial with a life sentence on the line.

A gentle breeze passes through, rustling the canopy overhead. Flecks of austere and amber peek through the branch’s interstices. They dance like a flame’s dying embers. Gojo is silent. There’ve been very few instances you’ve seen him this way. Uncertain, hollow. The latest is after the failed assimilation of the Star Plasma Vessel, Riko Amanai, almost a year prior. 

“Toru, I’m so sorry, I thought— I thought you knew,” you murmur, taking a step forward. “Let’s—” 

“Would you reconsider?” Gojo interrupts. He hasn’t done that to you since you first met. 

You wet your lips. “I mean… this has been my intention all along. I want to protect where my family lives, train other sorcerers up… I can’t just let that go.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck stand. You can feel it, the scrutiny of his Six Eyes. How he’s picking you apart on a molecular level. The dilation of your pupils, how electrical signals encourage your heart to pump faster, and the subsequent increase of blood flow throughout your cardiovascular system. 

Anxiety wraps its thorny appendages around your person. You should’ve made it clearer, made sure there wasn’t any room for interpretation. 

“The higher-ups are finicky about anything far from their purview. They won’t approve of you teaching.” 

His words come out as cool as the ice his eyes resemble. They are calculated, unfeeling, slicing straight to the bone. Frostbite’s a horrible death, since you feel parts of yourself die before you’re granted the same privilege. 

“I’d follow any regulations they want. It doesn’t even need to be a huge thing, I’d be okay with just pointing potential sorcerers here. There couldn’t be anything wrong with that.” 

You’re trying to grasp his angle here. It’s one thing to voice his concerns, but he’s erring on belittling you. You won’t accept that. Not when it comes to this, the raison d'être that pushed you to overcome impossible odds. Boarding a flight with a one-way ticket to Tokyo by yourself at fourteen, standing in your classmate’s shadow, fighting tooth and nail for your grade. 

You get him being hurt by this revelation, but is that all this is? There’s an unidentifiable variable here.

Still, you want to keep things civil. This is Gojo, one of your closest friends. Someone who actively laughs in the face of authority, uses your head as an armrest and spams your phone at three in the morning because he’s bored. There’s nothing to feel threatened by here. 

Gojo gazes down at you through his eyelashes. “What if a special grade shows up under your watch? You gonna run at it and get yourself killed?” 

The kindling inside you threatens to combust from the oil he just poured. You subdue it as best as you can. 

This is Gojo, this is Gojo, this is Gojo…

“I’d follow proper procedure and report it back here,” you reply, trying to match his aloof tone. Yours isn’t as nearly as convincing, since unlike him, you’re acting. 

He closes the remaining distance, standing tall and imposing before you. 

“And in the meantime? You’ll just sit pretty, twiddle your thumbs, wait for help to arrive?”

Stab, stab, stab. 

Each word expands a wound that can’t be sutured shut. 

“Gojo, what’s gotten into you? Is it that difficult to respect my decision?” 

“If it’s a stupid decision, then yeah. Hard to respect that.”

Your heart plummets. So does your view of him. 

Stunned into silence, you fail to notice how close he’s gotten. You take a step back. He takes a step forward. The process repeats itself until your back hits the shoji behind you, halting your retreat. You could very easily rip through it and run further, yet, what good would it do? What would it solve? 

In the distance, you hear the distinct thump of a shishi-odoshi.

Gojo sighs. It’s a heavy sound, unbefitting of someone his age. The following silence is just as heavy. You can’t tell if it’s a stream you hear rushing in the distance or if it’s your blood. He removes his sunglasses, folds them, and tucks them away. His eyes are beautiful. They are the cosmos, infinite and chaotic. More than that, they’re elusive. Infinity means you can’t determine the start and end. The beginning and end are concepts concocted by humanity, in its hubris to place parameters on an unknowable universe. Parameters are nice. You can work with parameters. 

Consider the sun. It’d take 1.3 million Earths to fill the star closest to you. That’s a high number, seven digits, but a million can be understood. The Earth is a touchstone in that way. The universe doesn’t stop at your solar system, though. It goes and goes, stretches and stretches. Gojo Satoru’s familiar with that stretch, you are not. 

How many of you would it take to match his strength? 1.3 million? What can possibly serve as a touchstone?

How do you measure the immeasurable? 

“We’d be dead,” you remember a voice saying. “It wouldn’t even be a fight.”

You shiver.

Gojo bends down to your level, but not quite. He cages you in — one arm stretches out and settles on the shoji’s thin sheet beside your head. Thanks to his infinity, he can ‘lean’ against the frail partition without ripping into it. Intrinsically, he knows the limits of things. How much he can push and pull before they collapse. 

He knows your limits too. He knows them very well. 

Or maybe he doesn’t, because he parts his lips to speak again. 

“How you fear and love look so alike,” he says, plainly, like it’s a normal observation. “I can see it. The surge of neurotransmitters and hormones, everything is illuminated. On display for me to interpret. For example, when I do this…” 

His large hands wrap around your neck. He applies the slightest pressure, enough for you to register it, enough for your breath to catch in your throat. His pupils dilate from the show your body’s various systems give him. 

“Your sympathetic nervous system just glows. You must feel it. The heightened respiration, heart rate, that primal instinct to flee, fight, or freeze. Y’know when your flight’s about to land at night? How the city lights look as you descend? It’s similar.”

Gojo’s breathing picks up. At least he can breathe. You still can’t bring yourself to. 

“Then, if I do this,” he murmurs, his hands cupping your face and eyelids low, “Your hormones go crazy. Everything lights up.” 

His lips brush against yours as he speaks. 

“So crazy, in fact, I can’t tell which of the two you feel more right now.” 

He kisses you. 

It’s sweet in flavor alone — you get a taste of the artificial cherry he enjoyed earlier. Apparently, he enjoys you more, because he takes the time to savor your taste, instead of crunching you down to your basic elements. The shock, confusion, revulsion, fury, and hurt, so much hurt, pierces through you like a gunshot. You swaddle yourself in cursed energy. Unleash it, let it scald him like liquid flame. 

His burns hotter. Like the sun, like the largest known star. His cursed energy, his strength, it doesn’t eclipse yours, it transcends. Forget 1.3 million. That number is a joke. A gnat he could swat aside. 

You splay your fingers against his chest and push. He detaches himself from you, not putting up the slightest resistance. 

The way he looks at you is animalistic. Unquantifiable. You start to think you might understand him, only for a new facet to reveal itself, as crucial as what came before and what will come after. Lust. Yearning. Pleading. Demanding. And hurt, its tint overlays every new dimension. Hurt that you made him care. Hurt that you want to leave. Hurt at how he plans to make you stay.

Gojo Satoru didn’t ask for your plans after graduation because he didn’t want to ask. You didn’t tell him your plans for after you graduate because you didn’t want to tell him. 

This is Gojo, this isn’t Gojo, this was always Gojo…

Where there’s infinity there’s paradox. 

“If you felt this way about me…”

You make a point of saying ‘this way’ instead of ‘love,’ because love is only supposed to hurt up to a point. That’s what you believe. No one would willingly endure it otherwise. 

 “...Why didn’t you say so sooner?” 

“... Why didn’t I say so sooner, right?” 

Your voices overlap, although Gojo deviates slightly from the script. 

He runs his hand through his tousled hair and laughs. It sounds forced. 

“Didn’t I, though?” He asks, his grin crooked. “Who do I spend every waking moment beside? Watch movies with, no matter how shitty? Hey, no need to answer this pop quiz, I already gave you all the answers.” 

His long and lithe finger presses against your trembling lips, shushing your protest. 

“Maybe it isn’t fear and love so much as a fear of loving me.” 

This speculation makes you wince. 

“I get that, baby, I do. I have a bad personality. One of the worst, really. And you? There are some bad elements. Like your penchant for wanting to be loved, so long as it’s quiet and unobtrusive. You’re a naughty girl in your own right. But, bad elements aren’t the whole of you. That pesky niceness overrules everything else. Hence my earlier conundrum.” 

Ah, yes, the wolf in wolf’s clothing. He couldn’t have made it any more obvious if he tried. Maybe this is your appeal to him. You give the benefit of the doubt at the cost of yourself. He’ll happily accept every ounce you empty from your coffers, because he knows if he doesn’t lap up your self-destruction, somebody else will. His ego can’t accept that. The implications are too damning. If this is your nature — which he’s proven it is — then that ‘somebody’ could be out there. Waiting for their fill. 

Gojo just lucked out because he struck first. He sunk his teeth into you before anyone else could have a taste. 

You’re way too sweet, after all. Sweet is his favorite flavor, but it’s a popular flavor, which incurs some risk. 

He could apologize right now and you’d want to forgive him. Those are your dimensions, your start and end. He won’t apologize, though, because infinity can’t have parameters like you do. Not beyond the consonants and vowels that make it a word. He’ll let you feel its mass and weight, but he won’t let you understand. 

“Satoru,” you speak in a soft voice. His eyes shine brilliantly, like splintering glaciers reflecting the sun. How they fall to your tingling lips and linger there isn’t lost on you. “I don’t want— we can’t part on these terms.” 

“Rest assured then, because we aren’t parting.” 

“That isn’t your call! You’re right, okay? I wanted all the loose ends to neatly tie themselves up so I’d feel better about going home. That was wrong of me, so I get why you’re upset and acting all— whatever it is you’re doing.” 

“If you’re worried about your family, they could always move here,” Gojo suggests. “Hell, it doesn’t just have to be mom and dad, you can bring everyone on over. Second and third cousins too. I’d take care of everything.” 

Deep down, on a microscopic level, you know this is the closest thing to compromise you’ll get from him. 

He keeps going upon noting your uneasy silence. 

“It’s not like I want you to be a miserable hikikomori. There’s plenty here for you, just give it some thought. Like little Megumi, for instance. He’s taken a shine to you. I can teach him, yeah, but you’re by far a better influence for the non-jujutsu side of things. And this school!” 

Gojo motions to your surroundings. “You’d still get to teach, train, whatever you want. And when we help bring up the next generation of jujutsu sorcerers — that will be how change comes about. Everything you need is right here.”

“... Because you’re here?” You tentatively ask.

“I was gonna leave that unsaid, but yeah, that’s a major selling point.”

Gojo’s grin loses its sharpness and relaxes into a closed-mouth smile. Your heart feels like it’s being drawn and quartered. Various influences tug on the organ, refusing to give you up, even if it causes agony in your chest cavity. Amazingly enough, you want to plant yourself in the poor soil he’s spreading. Seeds of forgiveness long to be sown. That angelic-looking demon who conquered your lips and chilled you to your core could be a doppelgänger. 

Logically, you know that isn’t the case. Mr. Hyde is still Dr. Jekyll at the end of the day. However, what does logic leave you with? The knowledge that your closest companion can and will sculpt your future if what you create isn’t to his liking? That makes the hurt worse. The agony too personal. You can only take so much. 

“I’ll… reconsider my plans,” you mumble. 

He wraps an arm around your slumped shoulders. “That’s my girl. I knew we could work this out. A little communication goes a long way.” 

There are an infinite amount of ways you could respond to that belittling statement. You could utilize your cursed technique and see how far it’d get you. You could scream, collapse, cry, beg, or condemn. This merry-go-round of options spins and spins. He can see it too. He’ll let you take the lead this once. Any path you tread, he’ll adapt to. 

The universe holds its breath, as does the world’s strongest sorcerer. 

“Does your budget allow for a trip to the dango after dinner?” You ask, wearing a smile that doesn’t feel right just yet. 

Gojo, on the other hand, has no difficulty returning it. 

“Only if I get to feed it to you.” 

A heavenly body such as his has what it takes to bring passing asteroids into orbit.

Breaking free isn't just difficult.

It's impossible.

Enji Todoroki General Yandere Profile

Yandere! Enji Todoroki x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, power imbalances, financial trapping, mentions of physical/domestic abuse, mentions of non-con, sexist undertones, Enji wants you to be his cute little housewife, mentions of breeding/pregnancy, a few mentions of making sure you eat enough/food, Enji is patronizing whoo boy, he makes you share a toothbrush and yes he's weird about it, this is set in a divergent timeline where Enji and Rei are formally divorced and his relationship with his family is loose and not super tight, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Kind

Enji is, simply, harsh.

His quirk, his mannerisms, his attitude, his everything, really, is a bit rough around the edges, forming a man with only enough self control to get what he wants. He’s lived his whole life bitterly, constantly jealous, constantly wanting, willing to throw everything away in order to achieve his goals.

And once everything starts caving in around him, his family and career both taking unexpected turns, Enji finds himself so, so painfully alone. He doesn’t pretend to delude himself into thinking he’s not deserving of his fate, but this places him into a position where he shoulders the guilt while desperately trying to find any outlet to forget it.

And this is where a darling who is kind comes into play – he needs someone who won’t judge him for his past. He needs someone who doesn’t treat him like scum, who is still polite and empathetic to him and his emotions. A darling who is able to consistently praise him will have him smitten quickly, growing emotionally dependent on hearing their sweet words in order to function, in order to not let the depression and stress get the better of him.

And even once his obsession has formed and he’s deep in the depth of his infatuation, a darling who is just too kind to kick him to the curbside is absolutely essential for him – they must be doting and caring, helping rebuild his shattered confidence and psyche, and with every compliment they dish out, Enji vows that he’ll return the sentiment tenfold, in his own way of course.

(This means buying his darling millions of yen worth of their favorite things, all kinds of wonderful gifts that he hopes will sway them in his favor, that will get them drooling over him and all that he can provide for them.)

Hardworking

Although he’s in a mental state that leaves him much more susceptible to finding a partner once he divorces Rei, Enji is still a picky man. He won’t fall for just anyone – no, they must fit his standard, be acceptable and meet the rather long and detailed checklist he has for those he considers as potential romantic partners.

And near the top of this list is determination. He’s a man motivated by his own goals and is willing to stop at nothing to achieve them – and so, a darling that can at least somewhat match this aspect of his personality is critical.

He has no patience for a darling that gives up easily; he wants someone that’s willing to put in the effort to see it pay off, someone who understands the concept of self-discipline and holding yourself to certain moral standards.

He finds it wildly attractive when someone has strong character, and his interest would immediately be piqued with a darling who brings an attitude of perseverance and hard work into every aspect of their life, be it work, their hobbies, their relationship, and everything in between.

He wants someone who is perhaps not quite as stubborn as him, but is still serious in their goals.

(He hopes that one day, making him happy and pleasing him will be one of these goals – just as pleasing his darling is one of his own. And he’s more than happyto please them in whatever way they so desire. More than happy.)

Motherly

Because he views his darling as the perfect wife, his darling absolutely must possess at least somewhat of a motherly air about them. He likes the idea of having a nurturing partner, if only because he finds it endearing when they care for others.

As a hero he shares this sentiment, and although it may sometimes be overshadowed by his need to become the best, deep down inside he does very much wish to help others – his methodology is just a little more violent, a little more overt.

His darling, by contrast, should prefer a methodology that’s much gentler, something that focuses more on making others feel safe and heard and cared for.

Besides, Enji very much desires to have children with his darling; to build a second family, one that he’ll care for and nourish much better than his first. And so, if his darling is to be a good mother, they must embody these traits.

Besides, although he doesn’t fall for his darling because of his fantasies of making them a mother, once the feelings are formed these daydreams only further his feelings, deepening his obsession because oh, he’d give absolutely anything to see them pregnant with his child, carrying his seed, creating something that symbolizes the love and dedication between them.

And so, his darling needs to be someone who naturally takes care of others – and in return, Enji will take care of them. Just how it should be.

Pushover

This trait is a bit less crucial compared to the others, but it’s still most definitely a positive from Enji’s perspective.

Of course he likes a darling who has strong opinions and stands up for them, but he loves a darling that will let him guide them through any hard decisions, or really any decisions at all.

Although he’s not as outright controlling with his darling, he still very much feels that he wears the pants in the ‘relationship’, and thus he is the one calling the shots.

A darling who is happy to let him take over their life like this is a massive help to him – he doesn’t have to fight for control, nor does he have to argue with them about why certain decisions really should be made by him as the more dominant partner, as the one who knows more about the world, as the man. It’s an outdated view and it’s one that he doesn’t really want to admit out loud, but he enjoys the idea of a partner who will revere him and allow him full control.

He wants to be loved and cherished, and in return for a love like this, he’ll do his best to provide for and take care of his darling in every way he possibly can – so really, if his darling knows what’s best for them, they’ll step back and let him make all the tough decisions.

They’ll nod and smile and agree with whatever he chooses, pressing a kiss against his cheek and telling him how much they trust him, how they know he’d never hurt them, how he only wants what’s best for them.

Just the thought makes something warm swell in his stomach, the level of trust making him feel wanted, needed, a concept so foreign that it almost feels wrong. But oh, how he likes it.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Controlling

But in a very, very strange way – a lot of what fuels Enji’s obsession is this desperate, innate need to right his wrongs. He’s very, very aware of how thoroughly he ruined his family, how horribly he treated Rei, how he was a poor excuse of a father and husband, and he sees his love with you as almost being his second try. With you, he can do all the things he should have done with Rei and his children – he should have been sweet and loving, a present father that cared about each of his children equally. He should have been a doting husband, spoiling his wife and making her feel loved and desired.

But he didn’t, and although Rei has long since divorced him, Enji finds himself feeling lonely, incomplete, restless to try again, to properly provide for a sweet little thing he can call his own. And this is where you come in – and from the moment he realizes his feelings for you are more than a simple attraction, he dives in head-first.

He decides he'll approach everything with you in a way as opposite from his previous marriage as possible – he's all grand, romantic gestures, always showing up with a bouquet of flowers in hand and just the slightest pink tint on his scarred cheeks.

The grand, romantic gestures are, of course, merely things he’s seen in rom-coms; the women always look happy when the love interest swoops in with flowers and gifts and pretty clothing, the beaming smile and large hug the man gets as a reward seeming very, very appealing to Enji, despite his rigid exterior.

(Just the thought of you hugging him has his heart racing – it’s something so intimate, so entirely new that it makes every nerve in his body stand on edge, a shiver running up his spine as he imagines the way your body would feel pressed against his, how you’d sigh and sink further against him, how you’d squeeze him and god, the view he’d get when he looks down to see your body pressed so tightly against him that not even a breath of air could separate you -)

He’s scouring through women’s magazines, burying his nose in the glossy pages and searching for ideas and clues as to what women enjoy as courting gifts.

(He has to scoff under his breath every time he sees a new dieting tip or regiment, internally frowning and worrying that you’re seeing these ads and potentially obsessing over your weight. The last thing he’d want is for you to be unhappy with your body – certainly not when he’s so very happy with it. Not to mention the nutritionally heinous foods the magazine recommends – he’d sooner have you eat raw paper than follow this ludicrous advice.)

He’s even caving and very, very awkwardly asking his female sidekicks and employees at his agency about their tips on how to seduce a woman. He struggles to make eye contact with them when he asks, his imposing figure almost reminding them of a shy, nervous teenage boy with the way he’s so earnest about his question, his eyes lighting up when they mention an idea he hasn’t tried yet, pressing them for details and specifics and you must tell me what to say to her – how does one follow up gifting a puppy?

It would be sweet, really, how devoted he is to making sure that you’re absolutely spoiled, that you get a whole variety of lavish gifts designed to sweep you off your feet. It would be wonderful, really, except that Enji has never understood the concept of being too much – which is how everything will start to feel very, very early on in this process.

 It was nice at first to receive a fresh bouquet of roses every morning at your desk with a handwritten card attached. (Written in impeccable handwriting, the cursive letters looping and elegant as they spell out short, simple, sweet messages signed with a capital E at the bottom, reading please make sure to eat enough today and that skirt looks lovely on you.)

 It was nice at first, but after the second week of daily bouquets and even a few finding their way to the doorstep of your apartment, the sight of the pretty red flowers makes a sinking feeling swirl in your gut.

(Enji notices this, dismayed and frustrated by your lack of a positive response, and decides to double down and just gift you bigger flowers, because maybe your lack of joy at receiving the bouquets is because they aren’t big enough, aren’t grandiose enough, aren’t good enough.)

It was nice to get the cute, small stuffed bunny on your desk one morning, and you’d even grown so fond of the little thing that you perched it on the edge of your desk, assuming it was a one-time gift. But it wasn’t – the stuffed animals kept coming, getting bigger and more detailed and much, much more expensive, you’re sure.

(Enji is careful to remove each and every price tag on every gift he sends you, simply because he doesn’t want you to feel that you owe him financially, nor does he want you to be swayed into accepting him as your partner by mere economic standing – that’s an asset that you’ll come to know, of course, but he’d rather lure you in via more traditional ways. It doesn’t exactly stay secret, though, because once the necklace with a delicate array of at least five diamonds in it arrives at your front door, your secret admirer’s wealth becomes very, very difficult to hide.)

He’s gifting you jewelry with more precious jewels and gold and silver than you could possibly wear, and outfitting your closet with all kinds of dresses and skirts out of materials and cuts you could never hope to afford for yourself.

(And, of course, they’re all tailored to fit you perfectly – how Enji managed to get your exact sizes is still a question that haunts you, one that makes you scared to upon the nicely wrapped boxes that you find in excess outside your front door.)

It’s all just too damn much – Enji is suffocating with his attempts to woo you, his every gift and gesture leaving you feeling uncomfortable. What he’s trying to do is very, very obvious – and it feels wrong. He’s the number one hero, a busy man with much more important things to be doing – so why is he going after you? And why with such ferocity?

His forwardness will scare you off, driving you to avoid him and grow suspicious of his motives, and Enji does not like this development. This wasn’t supposed to happen – you’re supposed to want him, to be seduced by all of his efforts, to be swept off your feet and swooned by his gifts and words (delivered with the grace of a garbage truck, of course, but the sentiment is there – even if looking at your pretty face distracts him, all the words leaving his head and making him stand there gaping like a fool).

 Enji doesn’t like it, and so he presses harder, stepping up the frequency and volume of his gifts, only effectively pushing you further and further away from him as you grow more uneased and unsettled. And if you were to confront him about it?

Well, this is where his controlling tendencies come into play – denying who he naturally is can only last for so long, and despite being a man with superb self-restraint, the moment that Enji feels you’re slipping from his fingers he’s morphing back into the man that commands your every move.

Suddenly he’s no longer presenting you with the newest shampoo you’ve been talking about (it’s salon grade, the best stuff out there, and much too expensive, but not for Enji – nothing is too expensive for him when it’s for you) but rather letting this expression wash over his face, one that you’ve never seen before.

It’s cold, remarkably so; his lips are pressed tightly together, his brows perfectly straight, those eyes lifeless as he tells you to stop fighting, go inside and change into the green dress I gave you last week. We’re going for dinner, and you’ll order the house salad and a slice of chocolate cake for dessert. Do you understand me?

 It’s weird and unexpected and scary, and it’ll have you immediately stuttering out a yes and scurrying inside, too frightened to disobey. And really, while Enji winces every time he does this, eventually he finds himself trying to justify it as simply ensuring your relationship will last.

Obviously it’s not good that he has to force you into these small, minor, inconsequential things (like going on a date with him or letting him accompany you home afterwards), but this is different from with Rei – you want this, right? You’re just too shy to tell him how flattered you are about all the attention he’s giving you.

You’re just playing coy, acting on your age-old feminine instincts to make men chase after you, to be demure and make your partner work for your affection and love. And eventually, Enji will convince himself that this is different, he’s wooing you and getting you into a relationship with him willingly – you want him.

You practically love him already – things are going well. They’re successful.

They have to be.

And so, while Enji doesn’t mean to be controlling, the end results is that although he plays the nice guy that spoils you and gives you anything your heart desires, at the end of the day he is the one in charge, and he is the one dictating your relationship.

And really, what can you do to stop him? He’s strong, both physically and with the general population – one word from him and you’d be hunted for like a madman, ostracized from the community, brought back to him like a pup to its owner.

You belong with him, and it’s his job to make you see that – even if you want to remain blind.

Possessive

Enji Todoroki doesn’t share. Once he decides that he wants you, you become unequivocally his.

Sure, he wants to do things a bit differently with you and get you to harbor more loving feelings towards him, but from the moment his infatuation forms you don’t really have a choice in the matter.

 You can pretend like you do, if it makes you feel better (and it will, because at least you can pretend that you have even an ounce of control in the relationship, that you aren’t just some adorable little thing he’s decided he wants hanging off his arm and warming his bed), but at the end of the day you’re subject to Enji’s whims.

And although Enji lets you harbor this fantasy of your relationship being truly consensual, the moment something occurs that threatens it, his true colors are shown. Namely, when he thinks your attention is veering away from him, his jealousy and anger become difficult to keep in check, his quirk acting up and letting off small sparks and flames all along his body. His fists clench and his jaw tightens when he sees another man around you, and although he tries to rationalize that the man likely doesn’t want anything to do with you, just simply being in your presence is enough to make Enji suspicious.

Even if the man isn’t talking to you or acknowledging you in any way, he’s anxious – he’s scared that something about this man will attract you, that you’ll somehow find him better than Enji.

Maybe the man is friendlier – Enji’s aware that he isn’t exactly the most approachable person on the planet.

Maybe he's funnier – Enji knows he can’t crack a joke to save his life.

Maybe he’s a better conversationalist – less formalities and awkwardness, able to get you laughing so hard you snort.

It makes Enji’s skin crawl, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s fisting his hands, and before long he will intervene. He’ll grab you as gently as he can on the elbow, guiding you carefully but quickly away to the other side of the room and physically maneuvering so that his body is blocking your sight of the man – and more importantly, blocking his sight of you.

He’ll try to talk with you, trying to distract you and get your mind off of the other man, all in an effort to get your attention back on him. He’s reminding you that you have him, that you don’t need some other man, that you already have one who’s capable of providing for you and caring for you as you deserve.

Frankly, he discovers just how deeply his feelings for you run in a situation where jealousy gets the best of him – you’d been approached at a small gathering by a man from another agency who was clearly hitting on you. He was leaning in close, smiling with a smarmy smirk and nursing on his cocktail like a lifeline.

Enji had noticed the two of you out of the corner of his eye, and immediately he’d gone stiff. He couldn’t stop staring at the way the man kept getting gradually closer to you, how he kept leaning in further, how his hand slid from his pocket to your shoulder, then your arm, down to your hand and oh, oh god, it looks like he’s bringing it down to your waist –

Enji had been by your side in mere moments, his gaze card and harsh as he’d stepped in front of you, making some poorly toned excuse about needing to speak with you for a moment, before unceremoniously dragging you away from the stupefied man.

From that day, Enji absolutely refuses to allow anyone close to you. And really, can he be blamed? After all, he fell for you, so why wouldn’t anyone else? You’re beautiful and caring, smart and dignified, and if he can see your potential as a lovely, perfect little wife, surely others can too.

And so, Enji ramps up his controlling tendencies the more he’s presented with situations where the green-eyed monster accompanies him. And this control takes its main form through financials – that is, while Enji originally didn’t want to attract you to him via his material wealth, he decides it’s a necessary evil in order to have you staying by his side only.

He starts ‘forgetting’ to peel off the price tags of the gifts he gives you, pretending not to notice how your eyes practically bug out of your head when you unbox the pink pendant he’d bought for you.

He starts inviting you out for lunches and dinners more often, ordering for you and choosing the most expensive items off the menu despite your numerous pleas that you’ll opt for something – anything – cheaper.

(It’s frustrating, too, because as angry as you want to be at him for ordering for you, he always chooses something you end up liking – of course it’s because he’s done extensive research and stalking, finding out your favorite foods and what flavors you dislike, but it all seems like one large, awfully strange coincidence to you.)

Exerting financial control over you keeps you complacent, because the guilt you’ll feel at how much money he’s sinking into you will have you following his every word, even if it his commands are a little strange and off-putting – like spending less time with any male friends (or really any friends for that matter) or slipping the small photograph of him into your purse (it’s weird and you do so hesitantly, making sure the polaroid is at the bottom of the bag – and trying to ignore the way his muscles are oh-so fucking defined in the tight black shirt he’s sporting in the photograph).

It’s all just a big ploy to keep you from running off with some other man – but really, if you somehow did manage to do that, Enji won’t be particularly merciful. He will be cornering the man as he leaves your apartment and he will be holding him by the neck against the cold concrete wall, threatening him to leave you alone or experience the rather unpleasant sensation of burning alive.

It’s not particularly heroic, but Enji doesn’t care – he can’t, not when the threat of you leaving him for another man is very much present and real. It’s too scary, too much for him to handle – it would mean you rejecting him, his second fuck-up in love, and the loss of someone who fits absolutely every one of his desires in a woman.

You’re too perfect for him to lose – so instead, he’ll own you.

Dependent

He will never admit it, but there’s this part of Enji that grows stronger day by day, every time he sees your face, that tells him in the most raw, real way that he absolutely needs you.

He’s essentially lost what he had of his family, and with the sharp uptake in responsibility as the new number one hero, the new symbol of modern peace, Enji finds himself turning to you in his time of need, in his more vulnerable moments.

Because really, though his exterior is tough and jaded, he’s only human – he too needs someone to love, someone to hold and latch onto, and latch he does. You’re his, and he expects you to understand that even if he doesn’t verbalize it.

He cherishes your very existence, each and every thing you do, finding you to be remarkably weak yet remarkably endearing, your inability to defend yourself simultaneously adorable and frustrating. He needs you to realize that you’re his everything; his whole reason for living now, even if he doesn’t give you many clues into this.

He isn’t the best at expressing his emotions, and although the love and desperation he feels for you is constantly overwhelming him, overflowing from his chest and making him dizzy, he doesn’t articulate just how deeply these feelings run.

Of course he’ll tell you how you’re beautiful, or that you’re my responsibility to protect, but he’ll also say significantly less romantic things like how you belong to him, how he's never letting you out that front door, how he’ll never let those disgusting, filthy villains touch something as perfect as you.

He thinks it’s sweet and exactly what you want to hear, but it’s not – it’s scary and strange and weird, but these are your biggest clues as to his dependence on you.He won’t tell you, but his expectations for you are honestly monumentally high; he wants you to be his perfect little wife, everything that Rei wasn’t, and this includes giving you every ounce of his love.

He wants you to be diligently cooking him hearty meals, keeping the house tidy and clean for the two of you, to be massaging his shoulders while he relaxes from a stressful day at work. (Hell, he even wants you to wear cute little aprons, collars with his name stitched onto them, those maternity/breast feeding bras before you’re even pregnant…)

He wants a domestic fantasy with you, and this extends to other, more vulnerable things as well. He expects you to embrace him as he walks through the door everyday returning home, to give him a light peck on the cheek and ask about his day, to let him hug you from behind and kiss your neck as you slave away over the stove.

He never really got the chance to do such loving things with Rei (not that he particularly wanted to), and as a result he honestly feels like he’s having to make up time, that he needs to be taking every single ounce of affection and love you can possibly give him, and he’ll feel no guilt at all.

He won’t outright ask you to cuddle him, but when he sits on the large, overstuffed leather couch and stares at you expectantly, you’ll quickly learn to run over to him and snuggle up into his side, to bury your face into his chest and wrap your arms and legs around him even if his body heat cooks you alive.

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to give him those fluttery, soft morning kisses he’s seen all the time in terrible corny rom-coms he religiously watched for inspiration while trying to court you, but the moment you smile sleepily at him and press a kiss against his lips while you holds you close in the morning glow?

God, it’s in those moments that he wants to give you absolutely everything he has – every part of his body, soul and heart, every single cent he owns, every piece of fame and fortune he’s ever amassed.

Enji just wants to please you, and although he comes off as an odd mix of demanding yet generous, terrifying yet strangely awkward, inside his heart is hammering against his ribcage every time you so much as smile at him, every time you so much as look at him. In the hazy afterglow of a round of passionate morning sex (in which you’ve realized that fighting will get you nowhere – it’ll only earn you an Enji that’s more frantic and desperate to get you moaning and crying out his name), when he latches onto your smaller, exhausted and sweaty body, pressing you as tightly against him as possible, sometimes his demeanor will crack.

He’ll lean down to deeply inhale the scent of your hair, to watch the way your chest rises and falls, and he’ll whisper in the softest of voices that he loves you, you’re the light of his world. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you, but Enji is hellbent on never finding out – after all, there is no chance of escape with him, and he’s sure you’ll learn your place soon.

After all, pretty, submissive girls like you always do.

DEALING WITH RIVALS: 

Enji is, regrettably, terrible at hiding his jealousy.

He’s always been in a constant state of envy, whether it was vying for the top spot in the heroing world against All Might, desiring the perfect offspring in order to have the Todoroki name and himself live on, and countless other examples. He’s prideful and so fucking jealous of everyone around him, and this is only heightened when it comes to you – his possessiveness over you is nothing to sneeze at, and the minute he feels that your attention is threatened, that you could possibly be yearning for another?

He’s wasting no time stepping in, mercilessly shutting down each and every opportunity you could possibly have of being with anyone other than himself.

As much as he’s loathe to admit it, his jealousy and possessiveness stems from a place of insecurity; he’s aware that he’s by no means the perfect partner, and he rationally knows that you could do much, much better than him.

And so, as a sort of panic-induced response, Enji decides that you simply aren’t allowed to interact with any other men – this way, you aren’t presented with the opportunity to even let the feelings form. And he’s diligent with this theory, too – he’s always standing near you, acting as your shadow with watchful, hawk-like eyes trained on your figure.

He’s never been the best at reading people, but he’s able to tell from miles away when someone approaches you with intentions that are less than innocent, and immediately his lips are thinning, his brows furrowing, his entire body temperature raising by five degrees because you’re his, and this piece of scum disguised as a man obviously doesn’t realize this.

He’s your guardian angel in many ways (though really, he takes the guardian portion much too far – even men who have no romantic intentions with you are viewed as potential threats, shooed away with a vengeance that will make them too afraid to even think about you without imagining themselves engulfed in flames), though at times it will make you feel more than a little patronized.

It’s as if he doesn’t trust you – you don’t really have a relationship, at least in your eyes, but you know the number one hero wants something more than friendship with you. And so, you do your best to avoid evoking his anger and wrath by not romantically involving yourself with another man – and yet that’s not enough for Enji.

It can’t be, simply because as pretty and sweet and smart as you may be, Enji will always know better. It’s a controlling tendency and a mildly sexist view, but he thinks of you as his doting, loving housewife-to-be, and it’s the man’s job to make these sorts of decisions.

You’re just too sweet and outgoing for your own good – you’ll get mixed up in all sorts of trouble if you’re not careful, and lucky little you has someone like Enji to watch out for you and make sure your pretty head has nothing to worry about. And so, Enji sticks to you like glue, warding off potential suitors with grueling stares and a presence and reputation too strong to ignore.

Enji’s day had been long, and one of those days that made him seriously question his abilities as a hero. A villain had managed to trick him, and although Enji had of course eventually arrested the perpetrator, his deception had led to a lot of wasted time and more damage to surrounding buildings than was acceptable.

His head was pounding, his body still feeling overly hot from all of the fighting, and though not normal, he’d decided he was done for the day and left the rest of the agency’s calls to his sidekicks. Leaving early had felt almost freeing in a way, the world looking a bit different with all this extra time – walking down the sidewalk, Enji scanned the windows of each shop he passed.

As per usual, you’d been on his mind all day – flashes of your face sitting just behind his eyelids, your name just a hair away on his tongue, the feeling of your phantom touch sending shivers down his spine. It was irritating, distracting, heavenly, and with each window he passed, he kept an eye out for anything you might like.

He’d gotten you a pretty tea cup set yesterday, and although you’d been hesitant and visibly uncomfortable at receiving such a gift (the set was very, very obviously expensive, the marbled china too perfect and pristine to have costed anything less than a year’s worth of your salary), Enji was eager to gift you something that would be received better today.

Streets passed by, nothing quite suiting his vision for what you deserved – he’d need something more subtle today, something simple and sweet and something he knows you like – The confectionary is small, with swirling black letters over a baby pink banner spelling out the name of the store. The windows are lined with all sorts of chocolates and candies, all wrapped up in pretty, ornate packaging that makes Enji immediately pick up his pace, practically storming into the small shop.

It smells like vanilla and sugar as the door shuts behind him, and although it makes him wince, he knows you’d love it. Shelves nearly as tall as him line the shop in narrow rows, displaying all sorts of sweets that he’s never heard of before – caramels, gumdrops, chocolates, lollipops, anything and everything under the sun.

He’s only been in the store for roughly five minutes, staring at a collection of truffles with furrowed brows and a downward curl of his lip when he hears a small laugh over the gentle, happy classical music playing quietly over the speakers. Immediately he’s perking up – the laugh sounds familiar; the lilt of it, the tonality, the soft intake of breath right after it stops.

His lips part, eyes going wide, and before he can even really control himself he’s rushing towards the source of the noise, his entire face growing warm when he sees you – you’re at the register, a few candies sitting on the wooden slab, your purse in hand as you fish for presumably your wallet.

You look gorgeous today – you’re wearing a shirt he’s never seen before and your favorite pair of jeans (the ones that make your ass look so, so very perfect – perfect to squeeze at, to grope and touch and smack and press himself against…), and although he’s briefly disappointed that you aren’t wearing an item of clothing that he’d gifted you, he notices the clerk all too soon.

The clerk – Hyoshi, his nametag says – is smiling at you. He’s all teeth, a grin that makes the hairs on the back of Enji’s neck stand up, his nostrils flaring because you’d been laughing, and it must be this man’s doing. This man, who’s visibly weak even under the ridiculous confectionary uniform he’s sporting – arms that couldn’t hope to lift even a fraction of what Enji can, a chest that isn’t ruggedly defined like the hero’s, and a stature that’s frankly pathetic compared to the frame of the redheaded man behind you.

Enji’s angry, and as the man opens his mouth to presumably say something else (potentially something that’ll make you laugh again), his words die on his tongue as he glances behind you to see the behemoth of a man who’s quite literally acting as your shadow.

His eyes widen and immediately he’s stuttering out a w-welcome in, Endeavor! At that, your shoulders go stiff, your mouth parting into an adorable little ‘o’ that Enji can practically see in his head, and you slowly turn around.

Oh, hello Endeavor, aren’t you normally on patrol right now?

Enji’s jaw works, and although a small part of him is pleasantly surprised that you’d remembered his patrol shift, your words only serve to further frustrate him. You knew it was his time on the clock – and yet, you’d still ventured out into the heart of downtown, completely on your own, defenseless except for the measly, very sad pepper spray you keep in that worn purse of yours – both of which he keeps pleading with you to let him replace.

(He’ll get you new pepper spray and a taser and a pocketknife, just because he knows how dangerous these streets can be, and with your pretty face and your pretty body he’s sure villains would be lining out the door to get a taste of you. And of course, the new bag – he’s bought you plenty, in a wide variety of styles and colors, each gift getting more and more desperate to be the one you finally deem as being good enough to use, but alas.)

Enji doesn’t even bother with a greeting, instead stepping up to the counter, slamming down his credit card and stepping in front of you. I’ll be paying for her sweets. His voice is cold, firm, and sends the clerk into a scurry to process the transaction, meanwhile you’re staring in mild shock from behind the hero.

Of course you’re not surprised – how can you be, when he insists on spoiling you in every possible way? And yet the raw animosity he’s radiating right now can’t be ignored – you get the feeling as if you’re somehow in trouble, though you can’t figure out what for. As soon as the card reader beeps, Enji’s scooping up the card and your sweets, his thick fingers wrapping around your wrist just barely too tightly and marching out the door, telling the clerk over his shoulder to keep the receipt.

It takes every bone in his body to not turn back around and swing at the man behind the counter, his eyes shutting tightly in concentration as he tells himself that it’s not worth it, the media will find out, your reputation will be damaged. But as his eyes peel open and he realizes the way you’re squirming in his grip, he only sighs and releases you, those teal eyes of his appraising you with a frown.

You’re feeling guilty again, unsure of yourself as you gently rub your wrist, and for a moment Enji feels regret – did he hurt you? He hadn’t meant to, he’d just been angry and it was already hard enough to not harm the man who’d made you laugh, and surely you’d understand that he didn’t mean to –

You break the silence before he can voice his concerns, clearing your throat and thanking him in a meek voice. Enji merely nods, a small grunt your only response as he begins walking again, your sweets – and your purse – firmly in his hands, just so that you won’t have to carry them.

When you don’t immediately follow him, Enji pauses, looking back over his shoulder with a brow cocked.

What? Follow me – we have dinner reservations this evening, at that new seafood restaurant by the harbor. Fuyumi tells me it’s quite good; order the crab legs and the caviar.

There’s no room for disagreement in his tone, and for a moment you just blankly gape at him, the situation too strange for you to really process.

But all too soon his eyes are narrowing, and you’re practically tripping over your feet to follow him, keeping your gaze cast downwards as Enji’s hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you even though there’s not a civilian in sight on the desolated sidewalk he leads you down.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Honestly, Enji is complicated as a yandere; there’s a part of him that knows that there are aspects of his relationship with you that mirror that of his previous marriage. He knows that although you may not be treated as terribly (and that you have more purpose to him than simply an incubator), you’re still trapped, essentially a slave to his will.

And yet, as time passes and his dependence on you grows stronger, he can’t help but justify his actions, deciding that yes, you may be stuck with him, but at least he spoils you rotten with your favorite foods, expensive clothing and jewels, an unlimited supply for each and every hobby you may have. He may have you trapped between a rock and a hard place in terms of leaving him, but at least he genuinely loves you - he aches to spend time with you, to hold you in his arms, to feel your heartbeat against his ear, your lips against his, your body writhing below his.

He’s convinced himself that this time is different, that you’re different, and as such he eventually decides that it’s really in both your best interests to just relocate you, to get you officially by his side. It’s really paranoia that drives this decision – he’s a working hero and a man with many, many enemies, and so it’s really the only option that keeps you safe.

Stealing you away into his private home – he’s the sole inhabitant, aside from a cleaner or two, since moving out of the Todoroki household – is the best option for a multitude of different reasons. You’re safer this way – the state-of-the-art security systems he’s installed around the estate are the best money can pay for, able to detect intruders and any suspicious activity in the blink of an eye. Enemies don’t have much of a chance of getting inside, and even if they had managed to, Enji will be right there to burn them to a crisp for even daring to get close to his beloved.

And even aside from outside threats, keeping you trapped at home will allow him to keep an eye on you and make sure that you don’t accidentally hurt yourself – you’re ridiculously clumsy to him, your every action having him hold his breath slightly in anticipation, in fear that you’ll somehow trip or fall or bruise your pretty skin. Plus, this way he’ll know that you’re eating healthily and in the right quantities, that you’re getting proper exercise, that you’re relaxing as you should, that you’re spending adequate amounts of time in the interior courtyard he’d prepared in preparation for you.

(It’s beautiful, as loathe as you are to admit it – all kinds of flowers bloom along the walkways, bamboo and tall grasses and trees growing in neat lines and providing shade for the flowerbeds on hot summer days. There’s even a small stream flowing through it, the gentle trickling noise almost enough to cancel out the painful silence that exists between you and Enji when he decides to join you for your scheduled garden time in the afternoons – uninvited, as always, and yet still unable to sense how desperately you wish you’d get these times alone to yourself.)

Aside from your safety, keeping you in his home helps feeds into his domestic fantasies of the two of you – you’re so very precious to him, and from nearly the beginning of his obsession with you, he’s always viewed you as the perfect wife – specifically, the perfect housewife.

He’s a traditional man, believing in traditional gender roles, and although he doesn’t view you as being less-than based upon your status as a woman, he does expect certain things from you. He’s the breadwinner, the strong, capable one who provides you with a roof over your head, food, and any gift under the sun the moment you make even the slightest inclination of wanting it.

And in return, you’re to be his caring, nurturing wife – the one who keeps the house neat and tidy, a room dedicated to only cleaning supplies that you get always stay stocked and ready for you, should you become inspired and wish to fulfill this domestic fantasy of his. The cleaning products are all diluted down to a level that wouldn’t be dangerous if you were to ingest them – you’d get sick, surely, but it’s nothing a home-trip from a doctor who’s been sworn to secrecy can’t handle.

There’s also, unfortunately, a drawer within the room that a particularly bored you had one day opened only to immediately slam it shut. Dozens of cleaning outfits sat neatly folded in the drawer, the black and white getups looking much too tight and much too short. A few weeks later you’d returned to the drawer, bored out of your mind while Enji was away at work, peeling one out with careful and trembling fingers. And of course, to no one’s surprise, the outfit fit like a fucking glove – hugging your curves and accentuating them, the skirt full and flouncy and very easy to flip up, the bustline practically choking your breasts with how tightly the black cotton pressed them together. You’d changed out of it shortly after, the rather disturbing and shameful fleeting question of whether this was the type of thing Enji liked making you too disgusted, guilty, and bashful to really consider.

In his idealized domestic world, you’d cook for him, too, but it takes a very long time for him to trust you enough to not purposefully burn or cut yourself in the kitchen. He has daydreams about coming home from a hectic work day to see you standing over the stove in a cute apron, humming some song and lighting up when you hear the door open and close, his announcement of being home making you practically bounce on your heels.

He wants to have you cook for him, to see you slave in the kitchen putting every ounce of your concentration and time into making him a meal you know he’ll enjoy, but that fantasy has to wait for the time being – just until he thinks you’ve finally lost that rebellious streak of yours, just until you finally come to realize that you belong by Enji’s side.

And so, in the meantime he’ll have you make him small things that hold little potential for you to hurt yourself with – simple sandwiches with pre-sliced ingredients, so that you won’t cut yourself chopping tomatoes or slicing bread. He'll have you prepare a sandwich for him and one for yourself, too, ordering you to sit down at the dining table with him and share a meal – though the conversation is hard to come by, and each attempt he makes at starting it is only met with single word answers from you.

(Another domestic fantasy he harbors but would never tell you about is to have you sitting with him at the table, looking at him with those pretty eyes and your voice dropping to a sultry volume, your chopsticks bringing the food you diligently and loving prepared for him up to his lips, your tone teasing as you tell him to open wide! He’d keep eye contact the whole time he chews, never once breaking it as he tells you in that low, gruff voice of his that it’s perfectly done, the seasoning is impeccable. He wants you to be bashful, to smile and hide it with your hand, your lashes fluttering as you glance at him then back to the food again, too shy to say much but your body language showing just how much his praise effects you, just how good it feels to be the center of his attention, the apple of his eye, his absolute everything.)

He wants you to be his sweet housewife, and although he won’t force you into any of the work, it’s extremely obvious what he wants of you – he’s always telling you about when you get adjusted, how you’ll be more open to fulfilling your role.

When you’re more adjusted, you’ll be happy to iron his clothes; perhaps you’ll spritz a bit of the perfume he buys you onto his shirts, just as a reminder of you during his long days.

(As if he needs a reminder – certainly not, when you’re on his mind nearly every minute of the day.)

When you’re more adjusted, you’ll be pleased to see the positive pregnancy test in your trembling hands, your voice riddled with joy as you announce the good news to him, watching him drop the phone and keys in his hand and instead hoist you into the air, spinning you with a grin on his face so bright it nearly blinds you, concluded with a passionate kiss and a few tears on his cheeks because he just can’t fucking wait to have you as the mother of his child.

It’s all this talk of ‘when this’ and ‘when that’, but the strange thing about Enji as a captor is that he’s incredibly patient with seeing these fantasies come to fruition – sure, he may be forcing you into being a housewife just as he did with Rei, but this is different – you get a choice about some of it, unlike her. You don’t have to do the dishes, but you can if you’d like. You don’t have to bear his children, but you can if you’d like.

(And frankly, it’ll be hard not to – once your need for human contact and your strange, mixed feelings for him grow, you’ll eventually give into his requests for intimacy, and once the floodgates are open, you will end up pregnant from the sheer frequency and volume at which he pumps you full of his cum.)

All that being said, life as Enji’s captive will honestly not be too terrible – he’s still following you around the house like a shadow, but he’ll let you sleep in your own bed at the start, let you have your own bedroom and bathroom, and he won’t even force you into spending time with him at the beginning.

Because really, as tortuous and painful as keeping you away from him is, he repeats the mantra over and over in his head that eventually it’ll be worth it – eventually you’ll see things his way, and eventually you’ll come to see just how deeply his feelings for you run. You’ll realize that he’s only ever loved you, that he cares for you more than any other man possibly could, that he only has your best interests at heart – that’s why he always swung by your apartment at the end of his patrols, peering in at you through your windows, just to make sure you were safe and sound.

That’s why he kidnapped you, to ensure your safety and keep you in the arms of the only man truly capable of providing for you, just as you deserve.

That’s why he’ll never let you escape him, no matter how you beg and plead for your freedom – you don’t understand the outside world like he does. You think you do, but each villain he arrests is a nail in the coffin of your freedom – you have no fucking clue how dangerous the world is, and Enji isn’t hesitant to remind you of this.

You’re unhappy with him? Well, your options are here, in his warm house where he’s willing to give you every ounce of his attention, love, and touch, or out in the big, scary world where women like you are easy targets for men who love destroying easy targets.

So really, you’re in the best hands with Enji – he knows how to take care of you, and he’ll spoil you with every possible treasure you could want. What’s not to be happy about?

PUNISHMENTS:

As a general rule, Enji doesn’t ‘do’ punishments. Because he views his relationship with you as his second try at finding a companion, there is no part of him that actively desires to hurt you. He loves you, in some sick, twisted way that’s much too obsessive and desperate to ever be considered healthy, but it’s still love nonetheless.

And as such, Enji does genuinely want your relationship to be as wholesome and sweet as possible; he wants you to want him, to actively choose to spend your time with him, to want to be in his presence every moment of every day. He wants everything to be as perfect as possible – the idealized life, a life where he’s the number one hero coming home to his lovely wife who cherishes him and he cherishes in return.

And so, when you do something that doesn’t quite line up with this fantasy, Enji is understandably upset. Why can’t you just accept that this is your reality now? Why do you insist on fighting him, even when you know you won’t win? How could you?

He’s Enji Todoroki, Endeavor the Flame Hero, and you’re just you. You’re pretty, of course, and smart and sweet and caring, but you’re still just you. There’s nothing you can do against someone like him – which is why Enji is able to excuse your poor behavior most of the time.

He understands; it’s difficult to accept that you’re weak and powerless, and he understands that when you lash out and act out, you’re just expressing frustration and fear at being taken care of so wholly and completely by someone so much stronger than you. It must be scary, after all – Enji can be so intimidating and he knows it, so he’ll try his absolute best to calm down anytime his anger starts to flare.

The last thing he wants to do is harm you, and he wants everything in your relationship to be as different as possible from that with Rei – and hurting you in any way would too closely resemble his previous marriage, ruining the beautiful illusion he can live under with you.

And so, most of the time Enji is able to grit his teeth and shut his eyes, letting the anger subside by telling himself about all the wonderful things about you – things that always get him feeling calmer, that make the buzzing sensation in his head and the suffocating feeling of anger dissipate. Nine times out of ten, he’s able to calm himself down this way – and if that’s not enough, normally exiting the room and getting a breath of fresh air is enough. He’ll tell himself that he absolutely cannot fall into the same habits he did with Rei – you’re different, you’re special, and he’ll calm himself down as often as he needs to in order to avoid being seen by you as the big, scary man who will hurt you if you disobey him.

Thus, getting Enji angry enough to the point where he can’t simply calm himself down is actually quite difficult – generally, this involves you hurting yourself. Most other things he can twist into seeming not so bad, rather just being you not having adjusted to life as his woman quite yet. He can write off your escape attempts as you still clinging to this ludicrous sense of independence you seem so hellbent on keeping.

Attempts to harm him can be discarded as your misplaced sense of anger at your situation, because although in your heart of hearts he’s sure you’re happy to be in your natural familial setting (as the wife of a strong, capable man of course), you’ve confused yourself by trying to reject something that’s just so right.

Of course these events don’t make him happy, but they’re able to be disregarded – but when your blood is drawn by your own accord, even Enji can’t pretend this is something else. This is you purposefully trying to injure yourself, purposefully trying to show him that you aren’t happy, that you don’t want this – an idea that makes him panic, that sends his fists clenching, that gets him pacing and his mind racing as he tries to figure out how to set you straight without harming you. And so, Enji eventually decides that after he cleans up your injury, rather than simply hitting you

and physically showing you that he won’t stand for this sort of misbehavior, he has to be more restrictive with you. He won’t be so lenient for the days following your bad behavior – you won’t be so spoiled, your rights won’t be so freely handed to you.

You must understand that Enji is charge, and that he’s being generous and loving and kind by allowing you such free reign around your shared home. Really, he doesn’t need to be so generous – and he’ll teach you that an angry Enji is much, much worse than the normal doting, lovesick Enji you’re used to.

Enji is frozen as he opens the front door. He’d come home a bit early from running some errands, the groceries in his hand dropping onto the hardwood floors below him. His jaw is dropped a bit, the sight of your bright red blood staining your forearm making a wave of sickness wash over him.

Who did this?

Who could’ve hurt you like this? There’d been no security alerts while he was gone, and there was absolutely no way that you’d left the interior of this house in the two hours he was gone. In the next breath he’s rushing forward into the kitchen, by your side before you can even blink, paying no mind to the way you gasp and stumble away from him, as if you’re afraid of him.

It makes Enji’s chest ache, but the sight of your blood is too distracting for him to focus on the uncomfortable ache. Instead, he’s thrusting your arm under the kitchen sink, the lukewarm water making you wince ever so slightly as it runs over the wound.

Enji’s brows furrow as he examines your arm; the cuts are long, zigzagging in every direction in a way that looks strange, not like any normal attack pattern he’s seen before. This doesn’t look natural, either – not like a regular scratch, not like you just slipped and fell and had unfortunate luck. No, this looks like something else entirely – like something purposeful, like their appearance marring your pretty skin isn’t accidental in the least. It’s only then that Enji sees the glinting silver fork out of the corner of his eye, sitting on the edge of the counter with a bit of red staining the ends.

Immediately his body is freezing, his grip on your arm squeezing tighter as the gears turn in his mind. You must have…

His jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth, those blue eyes of his slanting over to look at you with such intensity and anger that you physically shrink in on yourself. His grip is too firm for you to pull your arm back, Enji absolutely unwilling to let you run away from this.

Did you do this to yourself?

His voice is surprisingly even, given the look on his face, and immediately you’re shaking your head, your entirely body paralyzed with fear. You’ve never seen Enji look this scary before – or at least not towards you.

Your answer only serves to further anger him, it seems, because soon he’s literally snarling, his face twisted up into this ugly look of  rage that’s only heightened by the scar across his eye.

Don’t lie to me, I will always be able to tell when you’re untruthful with me. He pauses, taking a deep breath, his voice just the slightest bit unsteady. Did you do this to yourself?

This time you nod yes, tears prickling at your eyes and starting to spill down your cheeks, and at the sound Enji makes, they only flow faster. He looks like he’s in more pain than you are – his face is red, and a few flames lick up around his shoulders. The heat washes over you, and soon the begs are slipping off your tongue before you can help yourself.

Enji pays you no mind, every ounce of his self-control going towards not slapping you in the face for your blatant stupidity. Soon he’s letting go of your hand, stomping towards the small first aid kit he keeps in the kitchen, entirely silent as he carefully wraps your arm in bandages, not paying your rambling any attention or mind.

As soon as you’re securely bandaged, he leaves the room and you hear the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut reverberating throughout the house.

The rest of the night passes in a blur, with you somehow getting from the floor of the kitchen where you’d laid down and eventually fallen asleep all the way to your bed, with the blankets carefully slotted over your body.

Nothing seems to be amiss the next morning, your footsteps cautious as you approach the bathroom, your brows shooting up when you notice that the counter is completely bare – your toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash are all missing, as are all the expensive lotions and facial scrubs Enji normally keeps in piles for your convenience.

The kitchen is empty, too, you notice – the silverware drawer is completely empty, and there are no cups or mugs of any sort in any of the cupboards. It’s unnerving, and immediately you’re getting goosebumps all over your body, the air feeling prickly and cold, as if there’s something lurking that you don’t know about. Biting your lip, you make your way to the table, gingerly sitting down and trying not to jostle the bandages too much – the bandages that had been changed, you distantly notice.

A few minutes later, Enji joins you in the kitchen, his expression not exactly jovial, but not particularly hostile. He greets you as he normally does, before placing the mug you now notice is in his hand under sink. The sound of rushing water gets your mouth watering, not having realized how thirsty you were until this moment.

Wide eyes watch him turn towards you, making his way to your seated figure with slow, heavy steps that get your heart thudding in his chest. He stops right next to you, before telling you to open your mouth. Hesitantly, you do as he says, jerking slightly when his fingertips – always unnaturally warm – cup your chip and bring the cup up to your lips, the water cold as you’re forced to drink it.

Enji watches with neutral eyes, though you see the corner of his lip curl up slightly as you drink the entire glass, the pacing of the water flow nearly too much and nearly choking you. Soon it’s gone, and Enji uses his thumb to wipe at the corner of your lips.

Since yesterday’s little spectacle has shown me that you can’t be trusted with basic household supplies, let me know if you require another drink, if you’d like to brush your teeth, or if you’d like to wash your hair. You obviously can’t do it alone, so I will be joining you. Now, go lay down on the couch. I need to change your wrappings again.

You’re dumbfounded, watching him keep the mug in his grasp as he heads towards the living room. And though the threat seems too extreme, Enji means it – you only last a few hours before you reluctantly ask for another drink, your throat too dry and sore to go without it.

And that night, when you shamefully ask him for your toothbrush, you’re not particularly pleased to find out that he’ll be the one brushing your teeth, using his very own toothbrush to get the job done, just to make sure you don’t even think about trying to choke yourself with the brush.

(And when you finally have to shower, well, Enji’s face turns bright red when you ask, rushing to his feet much too quickly, grasping your hand and practically pulling you to the bathroom before applying all sorts of soaps and scents to the bath he draws for you. His breath is hitched as he turns around so you can change in privacy, but don’t be surprised to see him sneaking glances at your bare body beneath the water’s bubbly surface. Don’t be surprised when later that night you hear a suspiciously rhythmic thumping sound and muffled groans through the wall that  your bedrooms share, the faintest wet, squelching noise accompanying them.)

And, roughly a week later when you wake up to the cups and mugs back in the cupboard and your shampoo back in the shower, you’ll decide against hurting yourself anytime soon. It’s not worth it – not if that’s how you’ll be treated; forced to ask permission for your basic needs.

And Enji couldn’t be more pleased – now you’ll think twice about using that fork again, or anything else for that matter.

(And he can still force you into using his toothbrush – under the guise of furthering your bond and intimacy, of course. And because he’ll use it after you, savoring the feeling of the bristles against his tongue like some sort of drug.)

OVERALL DANGER:

 7/10

Enji isn’t necessarily dangerous, but rather inevitable.

He’s a determined man, driven by motivation for his goals, no matter the methods he uses to get there. And once he sets his sights on you, deciding that he wants you, that he loves you, you’re certainly no different – he will have you, and there’s not a single thing you can do about it. He’s a force to be reckoned with, and really, what sway do you have?

He’s a professional hero, known in the public sphere responsible for saving more lives than you could ever hope to, and who are you? You’re just a pretty face, a woman who happened to have the exact set of traits and physical appearance that Enji finds desirable – you have no real way to combat him, and who would believe you, anyway? Enji is the new symbol of peace – as far as the Commission is concerned, he can have whatever the hell he wants, and if that one thing is some civilian, then you can kiss your freedom goodbye.

But really, all things considered, Enji isn’t too terrible – he’s trying desperately to right his wrongs, to love you in a way that prioritizes your happiness and is just better, and although you’re certainly not happy being trapped by his side, he can at least pretend like this is better.

He wants you to be his pretty little thing, to be his housewife and treat him like your devoted, loving husband. He wants you to greet him with a kiss on the lips when he comes home from work, helping him out of his jacket and asking about his day, then lead him into the clean kitchen where you’ve got dinner waiting for him, then join him in the shower and then the bed, letting his hands wander to where they please, then fall asleep on his chest, letting him feel like he’s protecting you even in his sleep.

Is that really so much to ask for? Enji thinks not – besides, isn’t that the dream for you?

All you have to do is let him take care of you, to spoil you with flowers and chocolates and jewelry and all sorts of things that make women swoon. You’ll be spoiled rotten, treated like a goddess, and all you have to do is let Enji make all the decisions for you, to let him take control of your life and your future – it’s better this way, he promises.

This way, you’ll be properly cared for, kept safe and secure and comfortable by his side. You may not see it yet, but Enji is sure this is really what you want – you’ll come around eventually, he’s sure of it.

And if you don’t? Well, at least he’s not a monster, right?

hi💕 i would like to request doyoung and jaehyuk as boyfriends

TREASURE - Doyoung & Jaehyuk As Your Boyfriends

Jaehyuk

he’s a chatterbox ong

like you just gotta get him to start going

bc he’s gnna be a little shy at the beginning of your relationship

i think if u act shy he’s gnna act shy

so u gotta sorta take control in the beginning uk

but he’s shy for a good reason

he’s thinking things

like ‘omg they’ve really decided to date me’ typa beat

but once he starts talking

he won’t stop

but i think he’s a chatterbox in moderation?

he’s obvi gnna let you talk as well

he’s gnna need you to talk for him to keep talking

or else he’ll feel bad and think ur uninterested and one sided or he’s talking over u :(

i think he’d be very gentleman like

(not saying none of the boys aren’t but)

like he’ll ALWAYS open doors for you

open car doors for you

let you enter places first

walk on the ‘road’ side of the sidewalk ??? (letting u walk on the inside)

give you his jacket when ur cold

always carry extra tissues or carry another set of gloves

just in case u get cold !!

UWU

little things like that he’ll just do

i think he’ll buy you small gifts

that genuinely remind him of you

like a pretty hair clip or a charm

couple items !!

like a phone charm cute stuff like that

they’re very subtle things

also if y’all choose to have a movie night or if u just invite him to urs

he’s always gnna bring ur fav snacks

and u won’t even have to tell him what it is!!!

mans is observant istg!

like he’ll just see you eating it often and will make a mental note to bring it next time he visits

or if he sees you staring at something when y’all are shopping for a tad bit longerrrrr than usual

he’s gnna buy it

he may not show it that he notices

but he does

7374828/10 best bf

Doyoung

y’all would also be a lowkey couple

but also not so lowkey

y’all would have a couple finsta

with just VVVVV close friends and family

like VVVVV close

immediate friends and family

and y’all would post all your outings and dates on there

some of y’alls friends are DISGUSTED by the cuteness

but some also uwu

u guys would have lots of picnics as dates

gut feeling

just y’all get that quality time 👉👈

also picnics are cute asf

and worthy of the finsta

so yuhhhh

y’all have such a ‘cozy’ fashion sense

like big sweaters n cardigans

baggy pants

HE GIVES YOU HIS SWEATERS I KNOW IT

but he’s lowkey about it

like if he visits urs

he’ll just leave it ‘by accident’

and he’ll just never ever mention it whatsoever

but he’ll be thinking about it 24/7

wondering why he hasn’t seen you wearing it yet!

UNTIL he sees you wearing it

and he’ll be annoying

and tease u

‘u just couldn’t get enough of me’ typa beat

anyways he WOULD CUDDLE

i think he likes to swap

he likes being both big spoon and little spoon

gut feeling uk

he likes to be the small spoon more 🥺

he just feels very safe in your arms ;)

buys u cute gifts

like plushies

and cute ass keychains

YALL WOULD MAKE JEWELLERY TOEGTHER

like beaded bracelets 🥺🥺

UWUWUWUWUWU

yes, some of ur dates consist of pure silence and just the sounds of beads clattering against each other

anyways he’s so babie i cri

1000000/10 ;)

idgaf this is a politics free zone let me read my fics in peace ffs

Bath Time

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

A/N: Second Giveaway commission done for @belpomme​! Thanks for requesting some more Osamu, I am so glad you liked my HQ scenarios before and they made you come up with this!

Characters: Yandere!Miya Osamu x Fem!Reader Warnings: Yandere, General nakedness, A lot of touching, Implied non-con actions, Being washed, Implied kidnapping, Implied torture in the past, this is as wholesome as it can get tbh (that’s a lie) Words: 3090

Not even a hint of hesitation seemed to cross Osamu’s mind as he freed himself of his shirt. A long sigh escaped him as he pulled it over his head, having worn it all day up to now, the fabric clinging to him through his workday. He seemed more than content to stow it away in the laundry basket before he walked up to the bathtub, turning the handles to fill it up with water. 

“Hm?” Curiously, Osamu looked back at you, still standing right behind the door, clinging to your own clothes as if your life depended on it. Was it weird that even after all the time and everything that happened, you were still troubled by the idea of undressing in front of either of the brother? Were you the weird one, or was it still them? 

“Go on, I’ll wash your back,” Osamu mumbled before turning back to the bath, making sure it was at the right temperature as it filled slowly. They saw you naked often enough, and vice versa. Yet, as you picked away at the seams of your shirt, you felt the heat rush over you in embarrassment, turning your back to the man you lived with to hide as best as possible. Even so, you felt his eyes in your back as you finally started to peel off the clothes - the last bit of armor you had against the two sly foxes - that had covered you all day.

You made sure to put them away properly in the laundry basket as well, laziness not being something you could score with when you were with Osamu. At least at your shared bathtime, it was better not to get on his nerves. Not when he was in charge of you and your cleanliness. Osamu shuffled behind you as he made the preparations, the little plastic stool clanking as he set it down on the tiled floor before he proceeded to undress more, pants and underwear flying by you into the basket while you still hesitated to remove your own. 

“Have a seat,” he instructed, growing impatient judging by the sound of his voice, and you sighed inwardly before discarding the last bits of fabric and tiptoed over to the stool. This wasn’t an uncommon procedure where you from, Japan having a very thorough bath routine. Still, it was different if you did it with your family in the past or with a lover, none of those titles belonging to either of the twins. 

Covering your chest with your arms and squeezing together your legs was the best you could do to hide yourself, hoping that you’d be spared Osamu’s touches. He could be surprisingly indifferent about you, though that only made your situation much worse. You knew he was perfectly fine seeing you as a woman and the object of his desire, but with an iron resolution, he adored playing the great caretaker just as much. It was partly Atsumu to blame for that, since the latter loved just messing around and never lifting a finger if not for his own gain, thus leaving Osamu with making a lot of decisions and doing the necessities around you and the apartment. 

But technically speaking, you could bathe alone.

Osamu chose to spend time with you like this.

This was his way of having you all to himself for a while. To relax and slow down after an exhausting day, but it didn’t stop it from being so humiliating. It was as if Osamu pretended you needed his assistance. Much like when he still fed you - preferable from his spoon - instead of letting you eat alone, he basked in the feeling of taking care of you. Of providing for you and doing everything he could to have you rely on him. You felt humiliated and degraded. Infantilized at its best and worse, and yet, even if you asked him not to, he wouldn’t listen for even a second. Osamu knew himself as the one providing, and he claimed his right to do as he wished in exchange. In his opinion, it was selfish for you to ask anything that would go against his wishes, and as he liked to say: “There’s no I in us.”

Yet, he still got mad about Atsumu stealing his pudding. What a joke.

Keep reading

Gradual

A very long Vampire! Razor x reader I’ve been working on a while! Bottom Shelf part two will come soon this was just easier to finish up. I know there’s no title and the layout might be a bit wonky, but I’m posting from mobile and its late so I’ll fix it all tomorrow. I’m pretty proud of it so I hope you all enjoy reading this :D

Warnings: vampires, descriptions of injuries, explicit violence toward reader, explicit murder, smut (consensual), implied animal death, possessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, mentions of a mother figure, yandere

I

“…Is that a babyphone?”

“Yes.” Razor shrugged. “It gets the job done.” 

“I guess?” You fell back into the mountain of pillows and blankets, laughing to yourself at the absurdity of it all. The chains clanked as you spread your arms as wide as possible, trying to stretch. The cuffs around your ankles and wrists feel too tight, but Razor ensured you they’d need to be. “Well. I’ll be in touch. You’ll hear from me when I need a bottle.”

“The fact that you’re still making jokes is a good sign. Keep that attitude up.”

Slowly, you sat back up, gathering your thoughts.

“Is it that bad?” Your hand slowly traced the scarring on your arm, the scabs of blood still remaining the only leftovers of what had been a bloody and deep bite. You’d already been near inconsolable when he’d bitten you, and he’d acted like it was no big deal, so to see even Razor tread lightly was making you nervous as all hell. “You never appreciate when I’m trying to be funny.”

“That’s not true. You just have a very… particular brand of humor.” 

“You’re dodging the question.”

“Yes. I guess I am.” He nodded. “Well, I’ll be off. Call me if somethings wrong and I’ll be right back.” 

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Creature

This is, of course, for this one special anon ♥ Jokes aside, always remember guys to not read stuff that isn’t appealing to you instead of regretting it later (;

Fandom: Original Content Pairings: Yandere!Hephaestus x GN!Darling!Reader  (However, I did decide on calling them Priestess in this work, though nothing else as indication) Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Planning to set the reader up for sex, Dub-Con, Monster Fucking, Implied Cuckolding, various innuendos, Getting flashed), Forced Relationship, Power Imbalance, Possessiveness, Jealousy, Mention of insecurities and anger issues

Prompt: @sintember Free Day Friday: Creature - Monsters, beasts, cryptids galore. We can’t let those humans think they run the show.

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“So… how do you like him?”

Hephaestus’s hands fell to your shoulders. Large thumbs resting against the back of your neck while his fingers wrapped around your throat, sliding under the golden necklaces he crafted for you. Once again, he let you feel his subtle superiority over you as he leaned against you ever so slightly, pushing you down. Putting you into your lowly, human place by his side. It was just his illusive way of exerting his power over you, but you were so used to it that you didn’t try to stand up straight and push back against him. To stay in favor was the goal when it came to the gods, even with someone as kind and forgiving as Hephaestus was. Being defiant towards him would result in him pinning you down on the ashen floor of his forge until you swore your devotion to him, and later remark how dirty you looked and how it was unfitting of your position.

So, instead, you kept your eyes pinned on the monstrosity before you. You wanted to give it the benefit of the doubt, that looks were deceiving, and you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but you had no other words to describe it. It was a creature formed after a man but clearly nowhere near human. And after being with Hephaestus for what must be years on earth now, you knew this was a golem rather than a living, breathing being. It was also, very clearly, not his first try, which unnerved you more. This had been a planned and practiced endeavor, and you weren’t sure how to properly accept such a gift from your benefactor.

You could have had it worse with the god whose eyes you caught. Had it been anyone else but Hephaestus, well… You saw what they did to the other humans; the shameful displays and broken minds. Being a priestess to the god of blacksmiths and various other crafty skills, your worst experience was the nude modeling for his creations in front of other beings interested in his doings. Otherwise, you were a glorified house warmer, just making sure to wipe the floor after Hephaestus came home, dragging ashes after him, and helping him wash and relax after another day of working. You’d also serve him as his personal outlet for various rants and reassure the big, mighty smith when his thoughts turned angry and insecure. In return, you were spared the same awful life that your fellow humans on Olympus had, which you were endlessly grateful for. You could spend your days resting and honing your own skills when he wasn’t at home, Hephaestus never telling you what to do or constantly attend him. The only times you really left his lofty home were the occasional times you two had to go to an outing of the gods or when he asked you to come and fetch a new gift he had made for you from his forge yourself.

But you weren’t sure you wanted that.

“He’ll help you at home,” Hephaestus explained proudly, moving around you and patting the back of the golem who stood closer to the god’s height than yours. He was shimmering, silver iron, a piece of art so delicately crafted that he moved soundlessly despite his massiveness. With toned muscles chiseled into his body, he almost looked as handsome as Apollo. However, when Hephaestus beckoned you closer, the golem holding his hand out to you, you felt the freezing cold of metal against your fingertips, smooth like stone in the ocean.

The hairs carved onto his head didn’t move as he cocked his head at you, probably wondering why you were so warm in comparison. It just was unnatural not seeing the strands move. But his eyes were no better, soulless gems hammered into his head, lips carved into an eternal, gentle smile. He was unnerving, but how could you possibly deny such kindness from your god? Even if it wasn’t the blessing of being allowed to return to the human realm, refusing the golem he had crafted to assist you for the small chores you had to do every day, might shatter what little respect Hephaestus had for his human. You didn’t want to think about the things he would be capable of doing once you lost his favor.

Hephaestus might have been nicer than other gods, but you weren’t an idiot trusting in just the gentle attitude he showed towards you until now. He, too, had his fair share of misdeeds and anger issues, and you knew the crooked ways he looked at you when he thought you didn’t notice, his gaze burning on your skin. You weren’t the only one to notice, either. Whenever you two met Aphrodite (much to the chagrin of both gods), she’d give you one of these burning looks as well. Hephaestus at least looked at you with something akin to serenity and delight, but hers was a look so full of pity it was barely endurable. And that while she had countless of mindless humans flocking around her that you felt were much more to be pitied than you.

But who were you to judge immortals and their ways? A lot of what you learned about them in the mortal realm hadn’t exactly turned out to be wrong, but they were definitely different from how you expected them to be. All you could do was hold out your hand as politely as possible, watching in a mix of fear and surprise as the golem bent to kiss the back of it, cold lips lingering reverently against your skin. Your face snapped to Hephaestus as you wanted to make sure it would not upset him, but he looked at his creation in a mix of pride and adoration. As if it was his child.

“T-Thank you…” you stuttered, getting very mixed signals here.

Hephaestus didn’t like you around the other humans or gods. He didn’t want you to participate in games or even to wait on him, hand and foot. He mostly kept you by his side when he could, not allowing anyone closer to you than he was. Even if this was just a golem, you thought he’d hate seeing any kind of contact between you two aside from a quick handshake as you tried to offer.

“You like him then?” Hephaestus asked, finally looking back at your flustered, anxious form, and you nicked, again polite rather than genuine.

“That’s good,” he sighed, and you almost felt like he was deeply relieved, though you didn’t know what was bothering him so, despite you being closer to him than even his family. “You tend to be alone while I work here, so he’s in charge of keeping you company and protecting you.”

Feeling like this was genuinely meant as just another kind gesture from him, you smiled for the first time, slowly nodding in understanding. “Thank you for considering me,” you told Hephaestus, and he smiled back. He looked almost boyish in the way his eyes sparkled and the happiness of his achievement spread over his face. He seemed very pleased with his creation and bringing you joy through it. You usually weren’t as happy about his other gifts, too many necklaces and rings stored away in your closet already. It had become increasingly hard to feign surprise and adoration for every piece of jewelry he made for you. So even though it still felt weird to lay your eyes on the creature, you actually felt Hephaestus’s concern for you as you looked at it, albeit unnecessary since you rarely left his house without him and could maintain it just fine.

“I’m very relieved,” he confirmed your suspicion, dragging a large hand over the golem’s head in a bizarre form of a pet. “There’ve been things I couldn’t do for you yet, so I wanted you to have a companion who’d be able to satisfy your every need.”

Taken aback by the statement, you looked up at Hephaestus, furrowing your brows as you tried to think of what he could mean. Unable to figure it out on your own, you looked back at the golem who, despite his expression being chiseled into his face, seemed a bit mischievous now. Even Hephaestus let out a small chuckle, seeing your surprised confusion, before gesturing at his creation, the golem reaching for the knot holding the expensive-looking fabric he wore in place.

In a swift movement, the garment fell to the floor, and you released a startled gasp, shielding your eyes with your hands and turning around. “What do you think?” Hephaestus asked, pride vibrating in his laugh. “A perfect replica of mine, wouldn’t you say?”

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