#yandere shinsou x reader smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

springsmile · 1 year

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over my shoulder || 01

18+ | h. shinso x f. reader

series masterlist

warnings: non-con, smut, pre-established trauma (r*pe), extreme anxiety/paranoia, victim blaming/shaming, abuse of prescriptions, self harm, suicidal ideation, disassociation, negativity around hospitalization, violent intrusive thoughts, kidnapping, murder, specific reader characterizations, manipulation, anorexia/bulimia allusions

** reader’s quirk is enhanced senses. upon activation, emotions and sensations are pretty much exacerbated. reader never learns how to channel or control it to its full potential, only to turn it on and off.

you would not walk out that door without a sense of pride toward your makeup application. you could decisively say the wings of your eyeliner were not up to par. if you paused now, the only thoughts your mind would be able to conjure would be ones of how one wing is pointing downward, the other seemingly kissing your brow, one bulky, and the other thin.

you’re late. so, so late. you know you won’t get in trouble, per se, but your pay would dip under what you’d estimated for the week, which was irritating in itself. you tell yourself it’s worth sparing yourself a smidge of the humiliation that accompanies leaving the walls of your apartment.

like every other day, it takes the realization that you have 10 minutes to get to your job that requires a 25 minute commute to narrow your eyes at the mirror on your desk, reflecting some unsightly black smudges framing your plain eyes. you had to admit that it was better than nothing, but nothing was just that— nothing. without the black you were disgusting, but with it… you guess that made you… palatable? nothing worth coveting, yet also not a sight which averted gazes. perfect for you.

beside you, your phone vibrates, and you feel the reverberations through the desk intensely. you jolt, silently cursing yourself and imagine a broken dam, water pouring from each crack and cranny. then, you imagine it all sealed up, halting the circulation… now, the lack thereof. that’s how you shut your quirk off; you’ve returned to your regular state of a hammering heart and sweaty palms.

your apartment complex is exactly what someone would envision upon estimating to them your pathetic salary. you worked at a bookstore, after all. it wasn’t exactly like you were some front-line worker, providing a necessary labor. you couldn’t complain. it was livable, nothing to sneeze at.

it’s cement—cold granite. the railings were once painted black and peeling, and your door had gaping orifices where its wooden fragments once laid. the apartment itself was dinky. you cleaned it consistently and decorated with a modest charm, but the odor of dampness was lingering in every corner. the complex was borderline ancient, built before the invention of the elevator, but it was at least a place you could pleasantly call home. ‘bad neighborhoods’ were hardly ever indicative of the tenants who lived inside the units.

you walk to work, having been fortunate enough to lease somewhere close enough to a place you liked working at. the other jobs were nothing short of disarray— inadequate managers hiring you on the spot during interviews out of desperation, and a disorienting lack of organization. needless to say, you were content at the bookstore.

currently, you’re conjuring scenarios that do nothing to soothe the thrumming of your heart, slamming against the cream cable sweater you’d thrown on in a haste to cover the largest of your insecurities—the vision of a car skidding off the street and plowing into your form, leaving fragments of your brain matter splattered into the pavement. next, you think of the thinnest, fresher piece of paper slicing your eye in two. now, you’re cringing. it’s replying in your mind over and over again. you swallow a wad of glue in your throat, eyes raking in your surroundings for a distraction.

a stray cat. it trills softly at you. you somehow manage a smile, and glance at your phone before deciding you could briefly pet the kitty.

its fur is a pure black, the kind that enveloped your eyes with a stark intensity when you shut the curtains, turned off the tv, and closed your bedroom door with the lights off. you’d always forget to turn on your fairy lights. it would making your eyes hum, an invisible pressure pushing downward, but it was pleasantly dissimilar this time.

its eyes are a gem-like amber, and they glisten in the waxing morning sun. you liked the shape of its pupils. almost a rhombus, softened at the edges, wide and dilated. you assumed it was happy, and that made you a little happy too.

you eventually pass a group of teenage girls, and you inadvertently shrink into yourself, chest seized with panic as they pass. you could’ve sworn they threw you a glance, eyes maliciously narrowed. your mouth goes dry when they crane their necks back and let out a shallow laugh.

you glance down at yourself once they’re out of your peripherals. your opaque tights were suddenly friction against your legs. itchy. you can’t even be upset at your fleeting elation.

with shaky fingers pinching the fabric, hoping for some surface-level relief, you realize you’ve reached the store. you pull on the dangling pieces of your backpack straps—the ones that tighten—and exhale as the padding presses to your armpits. tight and secure.

“morning, (y/n)!” you co-worker flashes you a radiant grin from behind the register, before you can will your lips to curve and feel that uncomfortable stretch in your cheeks, she’s back to bagging a customer’s purchases.

you sigh, locating one of the empty computers to punch your numbers in on.

“excuse me.” someone coughed at you. you raise your eyes ever so slightly, but zero in on the space beneath their eyes and though above the apples of your cheeks. they’re very tanned, and their skin is dry and rough.

“i need help finding a book, it’s called—“

“i’m sorry,” you interject timidly, interlocking your fingers with tight, white knuckles. it’s the only way you knew how to steady your composure. “i’m not clocked in yet, and i need to put my things away. i can grab someone to help you right now, though?”

he stares at you indignantly, with a pompous upward tilt of his chin. he’s looking down at you from his nose. your stomach does a 360 flip, and you’re bloating. absolutely sick.

“you work here, don’t you? you’re supposed to help a paying patron when they ask you for help.” he continues in disdain. you think of several quips, witty remarks that could maybe patch up your dignity that this man was so indelicately chipping away at. “i guess i can’t expect much from people like you. always so lazy. i see you all hanging around, talking. tch, whatever. thanks for nothing.”

he whips around and saunters away. you blink. the exchange hadn’t been fully registered and processed in your brain.

you know with utmost certainty that you’d soon be rendered to a hunched over, teary heap in the break room. and although the cancellation of your quirk hindered all emotions for an unspecified length of time, you could feel the onslaught of twinges racking your heart. and then, you find yourself trudging to break room in lethargy. you had nightmares again last night, having been jolted awake by your own tremors and cold beaded sweat dotting every conceivable part of your body. you’d had to shower. showering wasn’t fun for you.

you tried to relish in the knowledge that your lunch break was within the next two hours! whoopie! you wouldn’t let yourself eat, though. hoisting your achy feet onto those rigid metal chairs would be revitalizing enough.

when you find yourself on the sales floor again, you start for the customer service desk. as you had observed that there’s someone patiently waiting there, their fingers idly drumming on the worn wood. you half smile. maybe they wouldn’t give you an earful of all of their inconveniences that didn’t pertain to you. that’d be nice.

“hi! sorry to keep you waiting.” you flash your well practiced ‘how can i help you today, valued customer?’ smile.

it’s another man, and you instinctively lower your gaze to that spot on his face that quells the exacerbating effects of your quirk. if you’d been taking in the whole of his countenance, perhaps you would have noted the abrupt shift in his eyes, insisted that a manager was calling you on your earpiece. you’d seen that look a lot. and when you did catch sight of it, it reminded you of high school, and that alone was enough to make you bail out— potentially, clock out early.

“hi, i was just looking for books on renting trucks? i’m looking to make a business out if it.” he smiles crookedly.

you pause, lips pressed in a tight, thin line. renting trucks? how the fuck were you supposed to search for a book like that?

“i’ll try, but no promises.” you swallowed, fingers licking the key caps hastily. you wanted to close this exchange as quickly as you could. then you could busy yourself with a task that didn’t require your deteriorating social skills.

“it’s weird, i know.” he chuckled. it felt pernicious in nature to you, and you certainly didn’t appreciate his attempt to revive the conversation. your palms were growing balmier by the second.

“nah, not weird. i’m just not sure how to search for it on here.” you half-lied, furrowing your brows at the search results. there were a myriad of titles relating to trucks, but you couldn’t conceive why someone would write a how-to on renting them to people, let alone why this man would want to reference one, instead of an article online. needless to say, you were having trouble schooling your expression. if that face you spent hours on contorting to perfection in the mirror were to falter, everything would be shot straight to hell. you couldn’t handle a nasty disagreement breaking out at the unbridled twitch of your eye.

“ah, i get’cha. let me see.” and without leaving any room for dissent, or breathing, he’s leant over the counter. very much invading your personal space, and very much violating company policy.

your mouth quivers at the corners, attempting to form phantoms of phrases you should’ve had the spine to utter. the poignance of his cologne has long invaded your nose, a more mature scent, one reserved for a man of his age. perhaps three times that of yours. get away get away get away.

he straightens, offering you a complacent yellowed grin. “i don’t really get that program you use, but i’m guessing you don’t got what i’m looking for?”

“correct, sorry about that.” you tell him stiffly. you swear his breath was sticky, humid, and clinging to the skin of your neck. you suppress a shiver.

“no problem, darlin’. i was just lookin’ for a side hustle, ‘cause i work in law enforcement and i wanted to hop onto that business owner bandwagon.” he’s not rambling, he’s not making small talk—he wants your attention. he wants you to engage, and he wants you to be interested. this is all sickeningly apparent to you as you fumble to select your next words. you know you’d have to humor him only slightly; blatant indifference could be interpreted as aggression and get you a strike. you didn’t need any more of those.

“oh, that’s pretty cool. my dad works in law enforcement.” you reply softly, praying that your inauthentic interest would be apparent to him. though, men are either willingly or inherently stupid, you learned. the gentleman before you was no exception.

“aw, yeah? what city?”

fuck fuck fuck fuck!

you’re left scrambling, mouth gaping, dry and full of sand. you feel every artery in your body painfully pulsate and flush against your skin, pleading to be torn free and relieved, and remind you that you’re alive and you feel like you’re gonna die. you don’t even know if you have the capacity to deactivate your quirk right now—you felt like you deserved this; you practically instigated the conversation—stupid!

it doesn’t occur to you to lie—yet another vulgar display of your absentmindedness. you tell him the truth, and to add further insult to injury, you’re unable to distract yourself from his slippery gaze. they held little regard, and revealed each deplorable thought with the blink of his eye. it was dehumanizing. the way his cheeks were carved into this smile that failed to accentuate his duchenne markers. your next move is a grave error, one that, if your head was in its right place, you wouldn’t have contemplated. looking into his eyes—the skin is flat, his eyes are visible, unobstructed and—you know that much. he’s not really smiling.

“i’m sorry, i can’t stop looking at you. you’re so beautiful.”

twitching uselessly at your sides, your hands come to fist your sweater, now damp from the slickness encasing your hands. the wool catches your sweat and sucks it in. much like the breaths slipping in and out of your aching lungs. the balmy air clings to the walls, perhaps as terrified as you were, before being ripped from their sanctuary and nakedly thrust into the open.

“thank you.” you gushed? you attempted to. the keyboard before you was littered with varying puddles of sweat. you didn’t appreciate the dampened wool prickling your torso. it felt like tv static, the feeling when you’d hover your fingertips in front of, and this inconceivable force would kiss and lick your skin. you’re privy to each and every sensation that your being can house, the overload was almost too much, you’d had to search deeply within yourself and pull out what you could.

“here, take down my number.” he’s offering, that smile never leaves his lips nor meets his eyes, but you could center yourself again. it’s okay. he’s sweating exorbitantly, unabashedly clinging to his armpits. you would laugh in a normal circumstance.

stiffly, you reach for a sticky note and a pen. you’re pushing both toward him with your index finger, deliberately dodging the potential of contact—he’s grasping your hand tightly. you gasp and there’s bile searing your esophagus.

“it’s nice to meet you…” he references your name tag with a brisk glance as though his eyes hadn’t been raking in your entire figure for the duration of your exchange. “(y/n). your name is also beautiful.”

you’re only able to smile and nod.

“it’ll break my heart if you don’t text me, you know?” he chuckles lightly, but his tone is anything but. he anticipates your compliance, he thinks he’s subdued you into contacting him, or perhaps he’s genuinely convinced that he somehow charmed you into pursuing a relationship with him. he’s wrong.

as soon as his dubious eyes leave your vicinity, you take the sticky note into your hand, and with what remains of your strength, squeeze it. the edges are sharpened at the pressure, like thorny rose stems. they press into the joints of your fingers, but you don’t mind. by the time it’s released from your grasp, it’s like paper-mache.

lunch had trudged into your hour slot like an unyielding horse, unwittingly dragged along. your elation is muted, but palpable. it’s not like you were going to use it for its established purpose, anyway. you’d nap in the break room, preparing to flip-flop from position to position in those awful metal chairs, terrified that you’d reclined too deeply and slump onto the floor.

you can never sleep though. not really. it’s this hellish limbo. a plane where it could be argued that you were conscious, or that you were asleep. the sibling of sleep paralysis.

without a single breath between the back of your eyelids and the sudden shrill blaring, your nerves are electrified. and your body, with some newfound cognizance, snaps you upright. eyes blearily darting to and fro for danger, or the subject of your overstimulation, you find nothing but the alarm on your phone. the force of its vibrations have it circling with intense shutters. you hit stop.

your phone jerks to life again, screen flashing your generic wallpaper at you. there’s a notification lingering below the time display, a segment from some big shot newspaper. beneath the headline is some excruciatingly pretentious action shot of a hero; one with indigo tresses that were suspended in the hair, and bandages like tentacles unfurling from around his neck. the headline reads:

Villainous Quirk Saves the Day! 20 Lives Saved With a Single Word.

you can’t say your interest was piqued.

another day, another victim.

you hate leaving from the back exit. while it was designated for employees, some exclusive perk you should be immeasurably grateful for, it wasn’t afforded the same glare from the floodlights the adjacent parking lot was. comparatively, it was doused with light.

you’re one of the last to leave, the manager on duty singled you out and made you count the money in the registers. you’re horrible at keeping track at the tens and twenties, and not to mention your unwavering uneasiness. you hadn’t recovered from that unseemly encounter.

you’ve snugly positioned the various keys slid onto the ring between your fingers. they’re like claws—extracted kitty claws—and you’re prepared to drive it into some sicko’s chest at a moment’s notice.

ensuring the receiving room door had softly clicked shut behind you, you started off into the direction your quaint apartment complex resided. it takes less than a second for the hair on your arms and neck to flare up, and it’s even sooner your skin is forcibly aware of the sinister warmth of a hand—irrefutably larger than your own—locked onto your shoulder.

your instinct is to look over your shoulder. you suppress it, and instead tighten the grip on your the makeshift weapon, jutting out with an unparalleled menace.

you whirl around and swing, right for his sternum. you make contact, but its not hard enough. you’re not sure if it was the velocity that fell short, or if it was the puny strength that accompanied the strike that sealed your blunder. either way, he’s far from incapacitated. in fact, he’s enraged. you can feel the corona of his fury, it’s radiant and extending.

“i know that you had a long day, babe, but you couldn’t sneak a text in at all?”

his own clip is hard enough. it’s aimed straight at your gut, and it makes contact with more than the surface of your stomach. you think your intestines may have just been introduced to your kidneys. you splutter around that familiar acid.

you’re unable to cradle your belly as you’re plunged into another agonizing sensation. the uneven bricks—some ugly, stupid stylistic design—are cutting into the skin on your back.

“we can make this easy, or hard. i’m good either way, so the choice is yours, sweetheart.” this smile, wicked and conscienceless, begins in his eyes instead. they were more terrifying than the split of his lips. his hands, callous and aged, descend down your sides, pushing your panties and waistband of your jeans aside so he can clutch your bare hips. this terror, this terror you know all to well, the one that seized you when you awake from the most heinous dream, the same one almost every night when you’re transported back to high school, back to the shaming and the touching and the crying and—

this.

“please don’t do this.” you mutter, now your tongue is immobile. limp and numb in your mouth. some thick, wet deadweight that pulls you down to the soles of your feet. you wish your punch had been that heavy.

“man, i thought you’d be wrigglin’ by now. looks like you want it just as bad. i didn’t take you for a needy slut, (y/n).”

you flinch, flitting images and snippets of sound rush before you and climb into your muscles; ensuring your helplessness. you were very well-acquainted with that term.

you think it might hurt less, this time, if you pretend you’re not there. shallow-gazed, the darkness of the night blanketing the sky and presenting a comfortingly warm veil over your eyes. chin craning up, pointing to the north star.

he makes quick work of your jeans, they’re crunching around your ankles, as denim and fluid motion do not coincide. you fucking hate it. it’s almost as scratchy as the voices screaming at you from within the steel walls of your head, flailing and slamming on all sides, begging you to cry for help, begging you to turn your quirk back on, so maybe you’ll feel something, some terror, and leap into action. it’s growing weaker by the second, and you’re clamping your thighs shut as he growls a curse at you.

“what do we have here?” a voice from the dark muses. you might even say it held a semblance of amusement. ah, yet another sick fuck to partake in your humiliation.

“fuck off man, we’re just having some fun. we ain’t hurting anybody, isn’t that right, baby?”

the silence spoke for itself, you guess.

the anonymous gentleman, evading your line of sight, effortlessly conquers your assailant. you expect some cringey catchphrase, a declaration of victory or defeat, maybe some name calling, but you can’t hear anything but the boiling hot blood circling your ears.

you don’t need to see him to know from the shuddering groans and shallow gasps of air and pleading and promises of atonement (never directed at you) that tear from his mouth, that your savior was well-versed in combat. you don’t even try to conceal your chuckle, one that ascends your throat wryly and produces some stinging pain. a hero.

“walk down to the police station, and confess.” these words were unlike the ones he posed in his prior inquiry. the contrast, though, couldn’t be placed. the man who nearly became the brand new subject of your nightmares, heeds. face blank, eyes stoney and vacant. there’s no resistance, no more pleading or crying. it reminded you of the instantaneous numbness that sweetly enveloped you when you patched up that dam in your mind. then he’s languidly walking in opposite direction. it’s unsurprising that he knows the route.

now, you’re the object of the hero’s attention. and to your dismay, you quickly discern that he’s the hero with the villainous quirk. the very same that backhandedly glorified him in the article.

“that’s rude.” you mumble.

his staring persists, a muted violet with hollow pupils. you’d always heard that the eyes were the gateway to the soul, but upon your unwitting contact, you were compelled to judge that he was soulless.

the observation was brief enough to settle that the movement couldn’t have been misconstrued for eye contact.

“w-what?” you blurt, eyes cast at the asphalt in shame. you often took solace in the fleetingness of passerby gazes—even that of people your age. regrettably, you could feel the judgement, the assessment, and the heat of his prodding eyes.

“nothing. i was just thinking about how you never screamed once. i never heard you ask for help.” he reveals with an unabashed curiosity seeping into his tone. yet, the sentiment was lost on his eyes.

yeah, well, years of guilt and torment will do that to ya.

“i… didn’t think anyone would come to help.” you admitted quietly, your hand is wrapped around your forearm so tightly, you were beginning to lose feeling. at some point, your quirk had activated inadvertently. the static-y tingles envelope the skin.

“really. how come?”

the shift in his tone was… nothing of note. so slight, so easy to miss, but perceivable, nonetheless, if you willed yourself to observe it. the effort was not something that came naturally to you. most people were none the wiser, and you were no exception. as far as your ears had gathered, he was speaking plainly.

“i don’t expect anyone to act selflessly. not even heroes. no one’s ever helped me when things like… this happen.” things you’d never bothered sharing with anyone were unfiltered as they left your tongue, and you’re flummoxed. where went your restraint and trepidation?

your eyes are still cemented to the floor. and the hero, though intrigued, was growing tired of your hesitance.

“you could look me in the eyes when you thank me, at least.”

your breath escapes you at his unexpected audacious tone. but you know you’re in no position to chastise someone, as unsolicited as it was, who did in fact come to your rescue.

the air staggers in your trachea, slinking upside and downside the membrane as your eyes reorient themselves. they’d been fixed on the asphalt. your mary janes. and the intentional design of the boots strapped to his feet. the light above your ankles was disconcerting—having attrited the cordiality you found in what wasn’t another person.

unwittingly, bound to fulfill what was the edict of gratitude and respect in society, you lift your head, your sight following closely behind.

upon contact, your own vision sways, and you don’t know if the fault lay in the fatigue militating your uprightness, or the interference of cohesion in your head.

all at once, his voice becomes softer, and his face contorts from that laidback, complacent grin and relaxes entirely. almost tranquil. you’re not sure about his eyes though. for all your lack of skill in all areas concerning social reciprocity, you were excellent at avoidance. you could spent a very comfortably and fulfilled lifetime without staring anyone in the eye.

you weren’t sure if you could hold it together if you saw pity swirling around those murky irises.

“that was a joke. a bad one.” he says, it’s an apology without the proper structure. you’d take it. you didn’t know him, and you were set on having it remain that way. you’re hoping you become another faceless civilian in the cloud of enthusiastic praises, extensions of gratitude, love admissions, and just unremarkable people. you hope you’re another random headstone in a cemetery that people pass and never consider the bones beneath the soil, what they were composed of. you want to stop this charade of the assessment of your well-being, one supposedly conducted out of compassion, and go home and scrub your skin raw.

“you can skip the pleasantries. i don’t need any services. i’m going home. thanks for your help.” you say quickly, and when you leant over to scoop the contents of your purse into your hands, you found that the hero had beaten you to the punch.

“i’m shinso hitoshi.” he says as amicably as he can muster. the artificiality isn’t difficult to see through. he offers you your purse, palm outstretched where the strap laid loosely. you watch the mole under his eye as you regard him.

the data is before your eyes, yet you couldn’t construe it one way or another.

the metal toes of his boots point at you, and his eyes flit across the features of your face, mapping the expanse— it’s absolutely unnerving.

you couldn’t read his body language, gauge his facial expression, or even bear to allow the intermingling of your gazes.

“it’s nice to meet you, i’m (y/n).” you weren’t going to disclose any obvious identifiers, leaving you susceptible to a breach of privacy. your last name wasn’t necessary in this introduction— one you prayed would soon reach its conclusion.

he breathes a chuckle; your disinterest is painstakingly apparent, comically so.

“well… (y/n), i really insist; let me take you home. walk you. what just happened was… a lot. i’d bet you’d feel safer if—“

“you’d lose.” you snipped quickly. “i’ll go now. thank you again, sir.”

you now your head, intentionally at a higher decline, avoiding that pain in your lower neck that’s reserved for only the utmost respect. you spin on your heel, and you’re blinking back the fiery pain in your eyes.

you swore to whatever god that refused to heed any of your pleas that your back was scorched from a pair of eyes. but when you looked over your shoulder, the only sight that greeted you was that of flickering floodlights.

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the-wisteria-house · 10 months

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Requests and Rules

I will currently take requests for Demon Slayer and My Hero Academica for the following characters. (If you're not sure about a request, you can still submit it, and I'll get back to you :) )

MHA

Shoto Aizawa

Oboro Shirakumo (loud cloud)

Keigo Takami (Hawks)

Toshinori Yagi (Allmight)

Shoto Todoroki

Katsuki Bakugo

Izuku Midoriya

Hitoshi Shinsou

Mirai Sasaki (Sir Night Eye)

Miro Togata (lemillion)

Rody Soul

Tenya Iida

Tensei Iida

(If there is someone you want that is not listed, you can still send a request, and I'll see)

Demonslayer

Giyuu Tomioka

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Genya Shinazugawa

Kyojuro Rengoku

Shinjuro Rengoku

Tanjiro Kamado

Inosuka Hashibira

Sabito

( If you want a character not listed, feel free to still send a request)

Please Note: I will do past ships with characters listed and not listed, for example: Past Tengen x Reader with Present Rengoku x reader.

I will also do none romantic ships with people listed and not listed.

Rules/ Things I won't write

Yander

It's fine if you like that stuff, but I just can't write it well. Now, that's not to say i won't do a, for example: character x (y/n) where (y/n) has a stalker and is saved by the Character of your choice.

Incest

This is self-explanatory.

Smut

I'm not good at writing explicit scenes. I'll write spicy scenes that fade to black and imply that something occurred, but not smut.

Polyamory/ Polygamy

I myself am not Poly and feel I would not be able to properly write such fics. So, no Rengoku x Tengen x Y/N. But I will do love triangles like were (y/n) has to choose one or the other.

Male (y/n)

I'm not a male, so I don't think I'd be all that good a writing (y/n) as one since I don't know the male experience. (Sorry to all my guys out there, but I mostly write in second person, so you can imagine (y/n) as a male)

OC's

I won't do OCs, but an exception is for example would be: Endeavor, and (Y/n) were together as teens, and (Y/n) got pregnant, and he left her, now he's trying to make things right with his son.

(Y/N) is still in the story, but the main focus is her son and his relationship with Endeavor, and (Y/n) and him are in no way getting back together.

Please try to be specific and give me a lot of details.

Example request:

Tanjiro x (Y/n) where (y/n) is Rengoku's younger sister (not a demon slayer), and they meet after Rengoku died on the train. They end up connecting and becoming pin pals, and over time, fall in love.

Tanjiro comes to visit her and Senjuro, and Shinjuro (who is now sober) pulls him aside and tells him to stop waiting on asking (y/n) out because if he doesn't, he'll regret it. He heads Shinjuro's advice and asks (y/n) out.

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luxury-leeches · 2 years

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Making this the official “Whats next, Critters?!” List thingie idk what to call this but HERE WE GO BABYYYYYY!

Essentially, check here for any/all up coming headcanons, drabbles, one-shots, etc! (Read the dates as - day/ and month)

What’s up next:

Sleepy Alucard - Hellsing - 30/9

General demon slayer x reader relationship headcanons - Demon Slayer - 30/9

Alucard reacting to his baby calling him daddy (ALSO OVERDUE WTF ME) - Hellsing - 30/9

Vlad! Smut - Hellsing - 30/9

Dad!Alucard going into heat (WTF) - Hellsing - 30/9

Sero, Izuku, and Shinsou w/ s/o texting they wanna give em the Gluck Gluck 3000 - BNHA - 30/9

Alucard w/ stressed out s/o (overdue honestly) - Hellsing - 1/10

Mafia!Alucard general headcanons - Hellsing - 1/10

Bnha boys and how good they are at bjs - BNHA - 1/10

Possessive Alucard (SO OVER DUE OMG) - Castelvania - 1/10

Ciel, Alois, and Ash as yanderes (SUUUUUUUPER FUCKING OLD Y’ALL I FORGOT ABOUT SO MANY OF THESE DAMN IM SO FUCKING SORRY) - Black Butler - 1/10

Yandere!Alucard as a yandere for maid!reader (wtf how did i forget this) - Hellsing - 2/10

Yandere!Alucard w/ super weird reader (Read - very descriptive reader one shot, don’t judge the asker ok?) - Hellsing - 2/10

Dad!Alucard w/ pup who crawls on the walls/ceiling + bottle feeding - Hellsing - 2/10

Multi-Characters helping reader study (My fav characters picked hehehehehe) - Misc. - 3/10

Dracula w/ pregnant s/o hosting a baby shower - Castelvania - 3/10

Poly! Dracula + Alucard w/ reader, just general snippets y’all - Castelvania meets Hellsing - 3/10

Sebastian w/ s/o who has narcolepsy - Black Butler - 4/10

#CrittersSpeaks #Important

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red-writes · 3 years

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yandere x chubby! reader

characters: Izuku, Todoroki, Shinso, Shigaraki, Mirio, Tamaki.

summary: you're feeling a little down about the way you look and he shows you just how much he adores your body <3

content contains: yandere behavior (briefly mentioned), multiple creampies, body worship, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), un-protected sex, thigh-fucking, riding.

Red’s note: hey so, I've been v eager to re-upload this post along with a few other yan x chubby reader posts from red-writes, if you've read the original a lot things might be different but I hope you'll love it just as much as you did before <3

⟶Izuku

Izuku is the kind of yandere that is truly beyond delusion, in his mind he can solve any problem you're having through an orgasm, he doesn't believe that you're insecure he just thinks that he's not giving you enough love and affection.

“Count with me pretty girl, I know you can do it come on” he encourages in that ridiculously sweet voice of his, his fingers assaulted your poor clit with a slap making your body jolt off the bed. He wiggled his fingers around inside of you and he watches you grab at the sweat soaked sheets.

“t-..en..” you whimper, voice barely above a whisper, your lower half was numb, body aching in desperate need for a break but he didn't stop, instead he leaned down and brushed back long green and black locs from his face as his tongue lapped at your clit. Your throat was hoarse as another throaty moan was ripped from it. Your hands desperately swatted at his face, desperate to push him away, you couldn't possibly cum anymore it was impossible.

“no ‘zuku..can’t” your hips were contradicting your statement, they unlike you, were raising off the bed eager to cum once more by his mouth.

“I know you can gorgeous, I know you can” he heartens and you're shaking your head side to side, waving your non-verbal white flag. His lips simply wrap around your engorged bud, the pleasure hit you instantly and forced your head back against the pillows as he squeezed your plush thigh, preventing you from moving away from him. Your fingers laced themselves in his shoulder-length under cut and you pulled on the strands of his hair as you came with a shout, throat sore and hurting from overuse. He let go of your clit with a pop before looking up at you expectantly.

“e-eleven..”

“That's my girl.”

⟶Todoroki

Shoto’s biggest problem is that he isn't good at communicating, you would probably feel a lot better about yourself if he expressed to you that he truly did love the way you looked, but words have never been his forte, he’ll just show you through how many times he make you cum in under an hour (spoiler alert: its a lot)

“Sho! I..told you it was okay...I forgive you so please stop..” your attempts to plead with him are futile, his tongue works endlessly against your folds, his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he holds you still. He lets up for one second, dissimilar eyes looking up at you half-lidded and lustful.

“I want to do this, I want you to know how badly I want you..” he whispers, breathe hitting your bare cunt making you shiver. You give him a shaky nod and he digs back in. The way he devours your cunt is almost romantic, he places soft kisses along your labia and swirls his tongue gently around your throbbing clit. You pushed his red and white hair from his eyes and your hips rose off the bed and into his mouth. His eyes locked onto yours and not a moment too soon, your back was arching off the bed as your hips began humping his mouth as you rode out your orgasm. Your eyes caught his again and you could feel warmth gathering in your face.

“What's with all the staring...?”

“You're just so beautiful”

⟶Shinsou

He’s definitely the type of yandere that believes that you're fine no matter what because you're with him and this leads to him neglecting your mental health a lot and he doesn't see the error of his ways, if you're acting fussy he’ll assume it’s because you're sexually frustrated and not because you feel unattractive but good news: he’s prone to being very affectionate in bed

“You seriously are just a brat, you know that?” His voice low as he whispered his words into your ear. His hands you squeezed your waist and his thumbs gently brushed over the flesh there as his cock slowly pushed inside of you. You let out a shaky whimper, cursing yourself for even granting him the knowledge that you felt good from his stupid dick. His hands roamed across the expanse of your body, dipping and tracing every stretch mark and roll there was.

“If it wasn't for this perfect fuckin’ body of yours I would've gotten rid of you long ago” his voice is soft and you can't help the way your heart melts at the word perfect. You hate him, he's the annoyingly tired looking bastard who took you away from anyone you've ever loved and the job you worked so hard to get, he doesn't give out I love yous easily and he sometimes forgets to put the toilet seat down but...

You wrap your arms around his neck and gently pull him down into a kiss which he reciprocates happily, “I love you” he mumbles against your lips and he's leaning down for another kiss and this time you're the one eagerly accepting.

⟶Shigaraki

Bruh. He has no clue how to handle negative emotions, there are no thoughtful conversations no reassurance or anything like that, when he's sad, angry or upset he jerks off and he feels better so shouldn't the same thing work for you? The (good) thing is, he truly does love your body and it shows in the way he makes love.

“Ngh~ your cunt surely knows how to milk a cock, doesn't it?” he teased as his cock twitches inside of you, you moan breathlessly at the feeling of warmth filling you for the third time in a row. You squirm in his lap and he buries he face in your neck and his hips begin thrusting shallowly, only the head of his cock is inside of you right now, his dick is raw and overstimulated but he doesn't stop his movements, he was on a mission tonight.

“Shiggy..let's take a break” you suggest, you've been stuck in the same position for hours, your body was beginning to ache in soreness. He began chuckling against the side of your neck and in one fierce thrust his cock was buried inside of you which forced a moan out of both you in tandem. His cock nuzzled against your cervix and you tossed your head back against his shoulder as he licked a stripe up the newly exposed skin of your neck, erupting a shiver throughout your body.

“I’m only doing what you asked me to, making you feel wanted, am I not?” he says and his hands begin groping at the meat of your tummy, caressing the flesh tenderly.

“I’m showing you how much I adore you, so shut up already.”

⟶Mirio

Mirio is probably the only yandere that understands how to deal with your emotions in a healthy way, definitely has a conversation with you first then makes your favorite meal, runs you a nice bath etc..then he makes you cum until you can't have those mean negative thoughts anymore <3

“You look so pretty right now, you know that?” Mirio chirps happily in your ear, you can't focus on what he's saying, the only thing you can pay attention to is the hand squeezing at the fat of your tummy as Mirio’s cock slides easily between your thighs. Your legs tremble underneath you every time the head of his cock rubs against your chubby clit. The man's other hands holds your chin up so you could see your bodies reflected onto the mirror. Your eyes immediately shut, too embarrassed to look at yourself in such a state.

“Ah ah ahh, eyes open pretty girl, want you to see how good you look, how turned on you make me” Mirio says, his voice gentle as your eyes begin to flutter open. Above you, the tall man's face looked completely fucked out. Denim blue eyes half lidded, mouth slightly agape as small grunts and groans of your name were released ever so often. You whined as you felt the head of his cock nudge your entrance, with one smooth thrust he was seated inside of you, your fell forward, legs finally giving out. He wrapped his arms around your torso to hold you up.

“Mirio-..noo I’ve already cum so please...” you beg

“We're just gettin’ started doll, don't want you feeling this way ‘bout yourself ever again.”

⟶Tamaki

I love him sm Tamaki is such a service top, even though there is a clear and obvious power difference between the two of you (him being the stronger one, he is a pro hero after all), he just wants to make you feel good and loved and safe and if you tell him that you'll feel better about yourself if you rode his dick suddenly, he's become a chair, he’ll let you use his dick as much as you want, truthfully he's just happy that you love him.

Tamaki’s hands struggle to grab at the sheets underneath him as your ass plops down onto his lap. His mouth hangs open in a silent cry, the feeling of your cunt gripping him was making the hero slowly lose his mind with every slap of skin against skin. His hands rested on the fat of your ass and kneaded the meat before his own hips rose off the bed in a selfish attempt to keep the momentum that you had created going.

“Tama, my legs hurt..” you complain and he's quick to turn you around and he wraps his arms around you as he slowly begins thrusting up, you gasp softly as his cock pushes up against your sweet spot.

“Feels good..” you mumble against his chest and he grabs at the fat of your ass and massages it. Tamaki's fingers up a little draw small circles onto the stretch marks on your lower back and ass.

“You're amazing..so pretty, my perfect angel” he says, kissing your neck before burying his face in it.

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pudimsuki · 3 years

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Hitoshi Shinsou + Apartment + Yandere SFW ? like I just love your stories and wanted to request this ^-^

Yandere! Hitoshi Shinsou x reader

Hi, love ❤ I'm sorry for taking so long, I was dealing with some things lately, BUT here I am :))) Hope you like this one, even though it's kinda short!

Also, thank you for the kind words ❤

You couldn’t take it anymore. You swore to yourself that this time, this time, you wouldn’t answer him. But you couldn’t. After a whole two weeks of complete silence with you refusing to exchange a single world with him, you finally break it.

Him. Your captor. The man who states his love for you. His sick, twisted and morbid love.

You remember vividly the day you met. He was alone at a bar, eyes glued on a glass of some clear liquid, and you thought ー Oh, silly you ー, you thought he looked sad, sitting there by himself. Well, it wasn’t like you have company either, but if you could reset something in your life, it would be the moment you stepped in and asked him if he wanted to have a drink with you.

“C’mon kitty. Talk to me.”

You close your eyes, hoping to make it easy for you not to answer. Your tongue tingles with the need to say a word. Just one word. It wouldn’t be that bad, right?

“Ok. What about this” The purple haired man started, raising two noodle packages. “I’m not feeding you until you answer me which one you want.”

He was gonna make you starve now?

You took a deep breath.

“I’m waiting, love. Which one do you want?”

Then you snapped, staring at him with fire in your orbits. “I want you to fuck off you creep!”

In a mere second, it was done. All your effort, all your self control deep in the trash now. You felt your limbs relax, getting out of your control. Your eyes glazed over.

Shinsou approached you, smiling. “Now it wasn’t that hard. Was it?”

You wanted to scream, tell him how much you hate him, how he should be alone and miserable and never loved. But no, you couldn’t do anything. Not now when he got his claws buried deep into your mind.

“So, here's what we’re gonna do.” He touched your cheek, stroking the soft skin. “We’re gonna sit and eat this like a normal couple and then we’re gonna go to bed and cuddle for the night. I know you love it. Now, nod if you understand.”

So you did, automatically.

“Good girl.”

The hour you spent in the kitchen didn’t last long enough. Soon, you find yourself being guided to the bedroom, the one he so fondly said was shared by you since now you were a “loving couple”.

That's what he always does. Shinsou seems to live in a make-believe life in which the two of you love each other deeply. You couldn't tell if he has any inkling of how sick he is or if he really believes in your “relationship”. Not that it matters, actually.

“Come here, kitten. Sit on my lap”. He said, already on the bed.

You did it, of course. Not that you had a choice, your body not under your control anymore. That was the worst part of it all. He stole everything from you: Your family, your friends, your life, your movements, your will.

You felt tears prick at your eyes as he adjusted you on his legs. You could feel the hardening in his pants. Of course he enjoyed it.

“Kiss me.”

“Say you love me.”

“Hug me back. Tighter.”

“Smile for me, love.”

Please, stop. You wanna say. Just stop.

But you couldn’t. You never had a chance, anyway.

His demands continued for an interminable hour until he decided it was time to rest. That night, you slept with a smile on your face. A smile that he orders you to give him before sleep. But not even him could control the single tear running from your eye.

I know this ruins all the mood, but now I can’t stop singing the line “A single teardrop falling from your eye” from The Weeknd and Ariana Grande’s song (Save your tears).

Yeah, sorry.

Thank you for reading and for the support!

Angie ❤

[any comments will be answered with my main account: @angie-1306 ]

#300 followers event #hitoshi shinso x reader #hitoshi shinso #shinsou x reader #yandere shinso hitoshi #yandere bnha #yandere shinsou #yandere shinso x reader #yandere shinsou x reader smut

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peachesandmilktea · 3 years

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“I probably won’t write it unless someone requests it but IMAGINE him fucking you while the two of you are watching your friends die through the game’s cameras djdbkdnd just the *angst* and *filth* of it all hehe”

BESTIE IM REQUESTING IT

Squid Game AU - Masked!Shinso x Player!Reader

Part 1.

Squid Game AU Masterlist.

TW: Noncon Smut, Yandere, Shinso is Mean, This is Filthy, Mention of Violence and Murder (in the context of the games).

They’re all insects to him, you know. Miserable beings that he can crush under the sole of his boot, only existing so that they can entertain him a bit.

And that’s exactly what you are, too.

Or just a bit more than that, maybe. His Kitten, his pet, his fucktoy. The one he uses when he wants to have some fun or blow out some steam. The one he likes to play with, abuse mercilessly and yet still kiss with uncharacteristic gentleness whenever he’s done.

It doesn’t help that he’s so pretty, his features so elegant they seem carved by the most skillful artist. It doesn’t help that having seen his face means that your fate is sealed and that you’ll either die or be his forever.

It doesn’t help that sometimes, you want to give in.

“So, Kitten. Aren’t you glad you’re mine now?”

He asks while your friends are fighting for their lives in a too-violent tug of war game. Blood coats the floor in the playroom you’re watching through the television screen, just like blood would coat his hands, too, if he hadn’t washed them so carefully before curling his fingers around your throat.

Another mark of ownership, like the collar he likes to keep around your neck whenever he doesn’t feel like replacing it by his cruel, murderous hands.

One of your tears falls on his wrist, and he scoffs.

“Hey, don’t cry. It only makes me want to kill even more of them.”

Maybe you wouldn’t cry if you weren’t seated in the lap of the man who stole your life away to make you his pet, maybe you wouldn’t cry if he didn’t keep killing and killing and killing every person you’ve got to know in this god-forsaken game, and maybe you wouldn’t cry if you couldn’t feel his cock twitching inside you at every death you witness on the screen.

They’re all insects to him, you know. Miserable beings that he can crush under the sole of his boot, only existing so that they can entertain him a bit.

That’s exactly what you are, too.

It doesn’t help that sometimes, you want to give in.

He leaves a soft kiss on the back of your neck, his warm breath tickling the skin of your collarbone until shivers are running down your spine, icy and hot at the same time.

“Oh, isn’t that the girl who lent you her lighter for that game you cheated at?”

His lean fingers are on your chin, raising it until you’re forced to look at the screen.

“She snitched on you, you know. Right after using it herself.”

Even more tears pool in your eyes, making everything look blurry. He must feel the unspoken question lingering on your lips, because he scoffs, a pretty, low sound.

“I didn’t take her because I only wanted you. And, isn’t it more fun to see her die this way?”

He makes you yelp with a violent stroke of his hips, tearing through your walls as he settles even deeper inside you. His voice sounds almost amused as he murmurs, right in your ear:

“She’ll lose. I had her placed on the slippery side. Let’s watch her fall together.”

This is more than you can handle.

“N-no, I don’t want to, please.”

He laughs, a cruel, mean, evil laugh while his fingers snake around your throat once again, bending you down in front of the tall screens just so that he can force you to watch her demise while ravishing you as he wishes.

“Watch,” he orders, firm and merciless. “I’ll kill more of them if you don’t.”

And so you keep your eyes open as he fucks into you rough and hard, and you watch her fall and fall and fall, Shinso’s fingers stroking you just skillfully enough to make you come undone around him when she breaks her neck on the ground below.

That’s enough to make him topple over the edge of his own orgasm, and he comes with a groan, painting your walls white.

A soft sight. A gentle stroke of his fingers on your shivering arm. You can feel him smile against the back of your neck when he kisses the clammy skin there, once, then twice.

“There’s my sweet little Kitten. That wasn’t so hard now, was it? She got what she deserved. I always knew she’d bring you nothing but trouble, and look where she got you.”

He pulls you to him, and you’re back in his lap, cradled in his warm, strong embrace.

“After all, why do you think I slipped that lighter in her pocket in the first place?”

-----

Join my taglist?

I initially started this one with the intention to put Deku into the mix in the end (in relation to this request I got: masked shinso holding player reader's legs open for masked deku) but it got too long so Deku will be there in the next part hehe. If you have any kinks you want me to use with them just tell me!!

And also please tell me if you liked it ❤

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