hey there!!! i saw your post abt looking for inspiration and wanted to say that i've loved what i've read of your work so far! i would love to see more saiki k related works, as the genre has died a bit in popularity on tumblr lol. maybe something with a domestic focus, like a marriage scenario or headcanons of your choice!
Hii! I'm so sorry for the delay in my response but ahhhh!! Thank you so so much for requesting a Saiki k Insert because I love him incredibly so <3.
I hope you enjoy this work and it's what you'd pictured. I was having fun with the concept of Saiki being married and domestic with his partner. Embedding his canon personality traits into something mundane.
Thank you so much again, it really means a lot!
You’ve been married to Saiki for about half a year now, and what an absolutely glorious six months it has been. Actually… not really glorious, more comforting. It’s coming back home to gentle and patient love. But you decide to confront him about something that’s been pricking at you for a while. Oh no! Fluff. Just pure domestic life and fluff.
Music resonates through the speakers as you bob your head, singing along while pouring coffee into two cups methodically. You smile down at his designated cup, a gift you’d gotten to commemorate his novel surpassing 100,000 copies. The smile grows more Cheshire-like as you reminisce about the moment you gave it to him.
How you couldn’t manage to speak through relentless giggles and breathless words, tears forming in your eyes, handing over the mug with the words,
“Editor? I hardly know her”, embossed on it.
And he delivers the most deadpan expression you’ve ever seen (even worse than the look when you ask him if he likes you three times a week). You notice the vacant gaze, his soul ascending his body (and NOT with astral projection).
You also notice how he refuses to drink coffee from anything else.
A chuckle escapes your lips as you place the cups on the coffee table, just as the door creaks open and your husband walks in. You’re tugged towards him, like a puppet on a string, as you whisper, “Welcome home, my love”, rising on your toes to kiss him softly.
Like the puppeteer he is, he instinctively kisses you back; too languid to be intentional, you observe as he pulls away to take off his jacket, putting on his germanium ring waiting on the cabinet. It was a present you’d purchased on your second anniversary, providing him an option to put it on around you in case he wanted additional peace and tranquility.
Not that he didn’t find solace in the steady warmth of your presence, a point he’d made when refusing the ring in the first place. But you wanted him to have that choice in the first place.
And based on the subtle tan line on his index finger, he’d acquiesced.
Now, every time he got home from work, he’d kiss you (if you arrived earlier), he’d slip on the ring, and go about his routine. Just you squeezed into every morsel of his mundane.
“How was work?”, you murmur, taking his bag from him.
“Long”.
Blunt.
Meaning he needs time to decompress.
You nod, placing his case in its spot and heading over to the couch to sip on your coffee. Meanwhile, he walks over to the bedroom to shed his clothes. Inconspicuously, without making much conversation.
Years of knowing Kusuo, and years of memorizing every subtle trait of his, you’ve come to accept his reserved nature, especially when he’s exhausted and overstimulated from a long day. It’s an attribute you’ve embraced; sometimes you need some time to yourself as well.
But do not get your man wrong.
In your quiet adjustment to his needs, he’s molded his own habits to meet yours.
An equal partnership, you might’ve read somewhere.
Speaking of which, he returns to the couch, maneuvering your feet to rest on his lap while he indulges in his drink. You do the same, catching up on a book he’d recommended whilst his hand rests on your ankle.
Silence envelops the apartment as you melt into the routine you’d crafted, gulping each other’s presence in quiet, small doses.
You’re done with three chapters when he feels regulated enough to speak, telepathically, of course.
“How was your day?”
“Long as well. I had a bunch of meetings plus that presentation I talked about.”, you respond, dog-earing the page and setting it down on the table. As much as you welcome the respite, nothing beats catching up with your beloved husband.
He hums, a soft sound that reverberates through the stillness of your house, “You texted that it went well.”
“It did”, you murmur, getting up from the couch to pick up the cups, “I was anxious for no reason”. Without even glancing back at him, you quickly add, “Don’t say I told you so”.
“But I did”.
“But I did”, you mock.
“Real mature, sweetheart”.
“Don’t use that against me”.
A snort escapes his lips just as a smile grows on yours, “Didn’t realize calling you what you are was a crime”.
“It is, and you’re using it to your advantage”.
“Is that right?”
“Mhmm, don’t try to get away from that, Kusuo. I see through you”.
He shakes his head, taking your book to place a bookmark instead; although he’s accepted your quirks, he doesn’t have to comply with them.
You, on the other hand, whilst loading the dishwasher, decide it’s the perfect time to hatch your plan.
Recently, you’ve caught on to a trait of his; something you’d been privy to when you were dating but didn’t realize it needed to be addressed now - six months into your marriage.
But… no time other than the present.
“Also, I told you, right? I met up with a few friends after work”, forcing your voice to be cavalier.
“Yeah, how did that go?”
“It was good. We caught up on a lot of gossip, which is just… the best! Sakura, Aki, and Megumi came”.
“Wasn’t Himari also a part of this?”
You turn around, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I knew it! You followed me, didn’t you?”.
He’s taken aback just for a second before his stoic mask emerges, “What are you talking about?”.
From an outsider’s perspective, your actions could be perceived as an orchestrated overreaction. However, with the way his fingers tap against his thigh, you know you’ve caught him.
He’s embarrassed.
“I’m not mad, Kusuo. You know that”.
“What would you have to be mad about?”
You sigh, walking back over to the living room, “I’m serious. I was being dramatic. I don’t mind if you stalk me or whatever. If I did, we wouldn’t have continued to date, you know?”.
His fingers clench into fists, “Don’t… talk like that”.
Padded footsteps resound as you stop in front of him, running your fingers through his hair, “M’sorry. Didn’t mean it like that”.
His head sits heavy against your palm as he leans into it, eyes shut under your placating tone.
“I just meant… I know that you like to know what I’m doing, what your friends are up to. Just to keep an eye on us. I’m more than okay with it”.
“I know”.
“So you should know that I wasn’t blaming you or anything”.
He’s silent, a different form of his status quo - you’ve hit the problem dead on.
“I’m serious. I was just being dramatic and pulling your leg. I don’t care if you wanna stalk me”.
He looks up at you, gaze impassive (his head tilted to your hand but ignore that), “It’s not stalking”.
“It kinda is”.
“It’s not, by Dictionary standards-”
“Alright, alright. It’s not stalking. You were just… in my vicinity for some unbeknownst reasons”.
“Better”, he murmurs, closing his eyes once more, triumphant in his victory in etymology.
“Speaking of reasons, why do you do it in the first place?”
He doesn’t deem it a response that you take in stride, “I mean, I just don’t want you to feel like you have to follow me or be around me because you don’t trust me or some shit”.
“What?”
“What?”, you echo, looking down at him with a confused frown on your brow.
“You think I do that because I don’t trust you?”
You murmur, flustered, “Well... not in those words exactly… I’m just spitballing here”.
“That’s a stupid guess”.
“Hey!”.
“How could I not trust you? You’re my wife”, his voice firm in your mind, sending shivers down your spine as a goofy grin forms on your lips.
“You’re smiling while we’re talking about the lack of faith in the foundation of our union?”
“That’s on you, big guy. You can’t use the w-word and not expect that reaction”.
He shakes his head, the sigh leaving his lips as dramatic and exasperated as you.
“But really”, you say, cupping his face and angling his head up to catch his gaze, “Why do you do it then?”
Lavender eyes stay steadfast on you, tracking every expression long enough to feel evasive before they pull away to focus on the toaster instead.
“Kusuo... You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to”.
“I do it… because I like knowing what’s happening with you. If you’re safe. If you’re having fun. I… like being around you”.
His words permeate the air and every inch of your cells, stilling all of your senses, causing your heartbeat to punctuate the intensity of the tranquility. Your cheeks hurt from the Cheshire grin weaving a place into your lips (possibly making a home for itself).
“You look insane”.
“You can’t blame me!”, you exclaim, shifting to straddle his lap, “My hot, sexy husband just revealed he wants to be around me all the time”.
“You said hot and sexy”, he murmurs telepathically, leaning back against the couch, hands retreating to their sheaths (your waist).
“I know”, you nod solemnly.
“You’re actually insane”.
“So are you, baby boy~ S’why you married me”.
“I’m a psychic with unimaginable abilities - I’m insane by nature”.
“Mhmm and you’re sooo in love with me”.
He responds with a sigh, resting his head on your shoulder, resigning to your antics - your standard interactions. Your laugh rings against his earlobe, arms crushing him into you, and you pretend not to point out the quirk of his lips you feel on your neck.
Just yet.
