#[ god he's so full of himself he deserves it ]

[ultravi0lence14]

Change Of Heart

dean winchester x angel!reader

2.2k | angst, hurt/comfort, szn 9

summary: dean is still a complete ass, but a late night conversation has you realizing the cruel facade the older winchester puts on may just be there to cover his sweet and tender soul.

WHEN ANGEL FALLS IN LOVE

humanity truly was a fickle concept, and you started to understand that as time went on. after you and dean came back from your shopping trip, you were assumedly happier. your room was eccentric, exactly how you wanted it. there had been a white vintage dresser in your room when you woke up a day later, dean telling you that if you wanted a place for that mountain of clothes, than you’d need a place to put it.

your walls were less drab, now having pops of colour and exuberant paintings that lifted your spirits. the furniture was ugly, and the wall colour still looked like mud, but the extra pop of colour did help exponentially.

though something still felt off. you were learning more about humanity, and sam was as he usually is. but things with dean seemed to have shifted from weird to weirder.

he went from being snippy when you talked to him — closed off walls that had slight cracks in them, to completely boarding you off. he blatantly ignored you, the last full conversation you two had being when he bought you the dresser.

you’d come into the room he was in, it didn’t matter what he was doing, or how important, he’d just up and leave. you tried to talk to him as you did on your car ride, he’d give you vague, one word responses or just shake his head for yes or no.

it was disheartening, and really confusing. what had you done in this short period of time that made him change up so fast?

the night was young, a fresh 1am gracing your eyes as you looked at your alarm clock. you were watching a movie, and as time dwindled past, your stomach rumbled in remembrance that you hadn’t eaten in a while.

with a huff, you shut your computer softly and made your way to the kitchen. the bunker’s air was cold on your exposed skin. a small, tight fitted t shirt with a picture of a cat and stripped underwear were all you wore. you didn’t expect anyone to be awake, for sam was usually asleep by ten and dean was avoiding you like the plague. a quick trip wouldn’t hurt, and you’d be in and out in seconds

god, how you wished you weren’t so blindingly oblivious sometimes

instead of worrying about what sam or dean would be doing, you would’ve heard no music from dean’s room, which usually cut out by at least 2 in the morning. it didn’t make it better you had headphones on, and if you weren’t so in your head you would’ve noticed dean sitting at the kitchen table.

your head was down, twirling your hair between your fingers as you maneuvered through the kitchen. not realizing the forrest green eyes stuck on your frame.

dean felt his mouth dry up, hands tightly clasping the fork he held that had recently delved into the crevices of an apple pie. you were going to be the fucking death of him. in that tight little shirt, in those tiny ass panties. this is the reason why he started ignoring you. you were so enchanting, a beacon of light that pulsed dean’s name. he wanted you so bad his heart hurt, yet he knew he couldn’t have you.

he was a bad man, not deserving of the divinity that rolled off of you like waves. that road trip was a turning point, and he realized that his hatred was to hide what he honestly felt.

you were sweet, and too kind for dean’s coal black heart. he could see it from the start, you grace and beauty still evident even after you fell. you were everything that dean longed for, but would never allow himself to have.

that’s why he made you think he hated you, why he ignored you. but now, with the fridge light bathing your figure and lighting you up like a wishing star, dean wanted to be selfish, he wanted to push his worries away for once and indulge in the sweetest fruits.

with a clatter of his fork, dean stood up from the table and walked over to you slowly. you still couldn’t hear him, your headphones blocking out any noise beyond your music, but that’s what dean needed. he needed that moment of clarity before he fully went under.

coming up behind you, his breath tickled down your neck, making your shoulders tense as you slowly paused your music. taking your headphones off and putting them on the counter, you turned around slowly and slightly jumped as dean stared down at you through his hooded eyes.

“jeez dean,” you breathed, hand resting against your chest as you caught your breath. “don’t sneak up on a girl like that, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

he didn’t say a word, just staring down at you as his fists clenched by his sides. you didn’t know what to think, this was the first time dean had even looked at you in days, and his back and forth attitude was starting to confuse you.

sighing, you crossed your arms against your chest, looking up at dean with a stoic expression on your face. you were still an angel after all, and no one taught you about how somethings should be left unsaid.

“what is wrong with you?” the question rolled off of your tongue like poison ivy straight to dean’s heart, making him jerk back a little and widen his eyes. his mouth opened, like he wanted to say something; question you, ask what you meant, you didn’t care. you just put your hand up to halt his words.

“don’t even start,” you bit out, anger you didn’t even know you held slipping through your lips. “you think you can just ignore me for days and then come up to me and stare like a petulant child? i might be an angel who’s new to the world, but i’m not fucking stupid dean.”

your words had him reeling. you never swore — or he’s never heard you. the words coming from your lips were so firm, so assured, that dean couldn’t help a swell of pride flourish in his chest. you were growing stronger, and he couldn’t be more proud of his girl.

well, you would be his girl if he grew a pair of balls.

dean didn’t realize that he’d just been staring at you, lost in his own mind that he didn’t even respond. he finally snapped out of his stupor when you scoffed, turning around and grabbing your headphones before moving to leave the kitchen. “unbelievable. i’m done trying to crack you dean. if you don’t want to even try and care, i’ll just leave you alone for good-“

your words were cut short as dean gripped onto your upper arm, spinning you around and into his chest. his movements shocked you to the point of dropping your headphones, the only noise being the device clattering on the ground and your wracked breathing.

he was so close, so close you could see all the imperfections on his face. his scattered freckles that looked like fairy dust, the stubble that grazed his jaw and how it added to his handsome charm; everything was so overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but grip onto his shoulders as you stared up at him through your lashes.

dean didn’t know why he did it, but he knew it was what needed to be done. he was sick of hiding, and having you this close made him realize how bad he craved you.

the puffs of air from your pretty lips hitting his face, the scent of vanilla and cherries hitting his senses. your hands gripping his shoulders had his palms itching to touch you, shaking as they reached out and gripped your hips.

his batted breath mixed with yours, one hand leaving your waist to delicately dance across your cheek. “please don’t leave,” his voice was filled with vulnerability, slight edges of urgency twisted into it’s roots. “just - give me one second to explain. please, sweet angel.”

sweet angel. the nickname made you gulp, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you just stared up at him expectantly. you waited for him to speak, watching as he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. your hands on his shoulders squeezed lightly, a small sign of comfort that dean easily caught onto.

when dean re-opened his eyes, you swore you could see his walls crumbling down as he looked at you. his blockades to the real man — which made up his soul, peaking through for the first time. “i’m not good at these kind of things. i’m a killer, a ruthless, self indulgent man who doesn’t deserve your love.”

the words coming from his mouth hit you in the gut, wrenching a deep hole into your middle. dean truly felt that about himself, and it hurt your soul that he couldn’t see how much of a good person he was.

yeah, he was a dick, you could say that much, but he also cared. you saw how he loved and protected sam, how he would put his life on the line for his little brother. you watched him protect people from the creatures of the night, soft words leaving his lips as he consoled frightened victims. whatever dean had tried to show you in the past couple of weeks wasn’t truly him, and you were now determined to show him that.

your one hand lifted to his cheek, watching as his hand on your face fell down and rested on your neck above your pulse point, almost like he was trying to tell himself you were actually real. “you are none of those things dean winchester,” your words were soft, a reassurance that only left dean shaking his head.

“no, don’t do that. please listen to me.” you gripped his face in your hands now, pulling it down so it rested on your forehead. “you are a good man. you kill to rid the world of evil, and that’s the best thing you possibly could do.”

he just looked down at you, a sorrowful look on his face as his eyes showed the way he didn’t believe your words. “i can’t give you what you need, angel.” his words left you shocked, a testament to dean’s confession as he held onto you tighter. “i’m not capable of love, and you deserve a whole fucking ocean of it. you are the true definition of beauty, and you need someone who can give you that and more.”

tears leaked from your eyes, leaning further into dean as he gave silly reasons on why he didn’t deserve you. “dean-“ you breathed, voice shaky as a lump lodged in your throat. all he did was shake his head against yours, bringing his hand up to brush your tears away.

“no tears, please my darling girl. i don’t deserve them.” he tried to pull away, but you held him tighter, not allowing him to let go. “no!” you sobbed, eyes leaking proof of your sorrow. “this isn’t fair! you can’t do this. i didn’t even know how you felt twenty minutes ago. hell, i didn’t even know how i felt twenty minutes ago. i thought you hated me for gods sake. please just give me time to think dean, i deserve that much.”

dean all but whimpers, a sigh that sounds too heartbroken for your now fragile ears. “baby, please. just let me save you, i don’t want to burden you with my issues. you deserve security, a fairytale love you only read in books. i can’t give you that.”

“cut the shit winchester.” you snap, shocking the man in front of you. “this is my life too, remember? what i need isn’t for you to decide. so please, give me a day. and i promise, i’ll decide if i want you to ruin me or not.”

all dean did was shake his head, hugging you to him like he could meld your bodies together. “you don’t want that, pretty girl.”

“if it came from you, i’d allow you to ruin me in anyway possible, so the only aspect of love i see is your heart beating for me.” the words were a little toxic, even you as an angel could see that, but dean was so in his head, you needed to show him that he was capable of love. he was made to love someone, to cherish them and show them how beautiful his soul was. you just hoped he’d let that person be you.

leaving a lingering kiss on his forehead, you separated from the sorrowed man, watching as he reached out for you like you were drifting away in the ether.

picking up your headphones, you moved to walk out of the kitchen. briefly turning around, you stared and watched as dean looked at you longingly, waiting for you to say something. anything. “my room. tomorrow. 12am. i’ll be there with my verdict. but trust me dean winchester, you are capable of a love worth writing about.”

the words lingered as you left, tears slowly falling down your cheeks as you thought of the man who was broken in more ways than you could count. a boy who was deprived of love and believed he didn’t deserve. but you swore, you’d show him. you’d let dean winchester realize how much of a lover he was.

TAGS: @floralscented @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @honeyryewhiskey @haunteres @starzify @fallbhind @foolinthera1n @rubyvhs @jasvtsc @vaiieydoii @taurus0queenie33 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @angel-inspiredblog @galacticalllcafffeine @pascal-rascal424 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @fayeisuppose @geisterfvhrer @bluemerakis @si1ver06 @drqstqr @wh0s-ra3 @supernatural-bangtanboys @whump-loverz @mostlymarvelgirl @d3anwinchesterswife @youdontknowe @oceanolokys

*the shirt she’s wearing is in the pinterest board. . . go check it out🤭

[ethereal555]

FUCK BOY PT.1

player!jude x stonerblackfem!reader

You laugh, not quite believing your ears, “What?'

'Please don't make me say it again. Honestly baby, I'll never forgive myself'.

You fixate on him. The man you loved, gave your body to and had the lowest of lows with has done the one thing he promised never to do.

He betrayed you.

You get off of the couch, as if it’d become hot lava. You feel your blood vigorously pumping through your veins, heating up your cheeks and ears. Like church bells had just gone off, your ears were ringing.

“Get out my flat - now” you forced out shakily, you felt as if your throat was closing in. Your chest raising rapidly.

He blinks, as if I was speaking a foregin language.

'No, sit down' he pleads reaching for my hand. You swat his hand off of you, taking a huge step away from him.

“Jude please, I don’t want you to touch me. How dare you think you can even come into my home right after disrepecting me? Do you think I'm a joke?” you pant

'I'm not going to even ask you why you did it? She's clearly who you wanted all along. The world's right; you only got with a black girl to make your Mum feel better. I swear I should have listenied when they called you a man!fucking!whore”.

'I've wasted my time with you, time I'll never get back'! I realise in hysterics. You feel like someone has hit a wong in your ear, its an intense feeling you feel in your head. You cover your ears to silence your thoughts that were going off on autopilot.

You pace around going on a tangent, finding all the offesive words in the dictiionary to throw at him. You search to find any small inanimate objects to throw at him, a way to inflict the hurt you felt emotionally onto him.

'Yeah, Yeah,ok' he bitterly chuckled trying to play off as unfazed, as if all the lethal words you spat had fallen upon deaf ears. His jaw was tense, it was taking everything for him not to shut you up himself, but he knew how genuinely wrong he was in this situation and how much he deserved the names so he decided against taking any action. This time.

You scower the kitchen trying to find any items that were bought for you by him. You take the Gucci scarf off of your kitchen highchair, lobbing it at him. He sat there, with the nerve to have a scowl of his face 'Take it' you yelled as you threw the cloth. 'I don't want anything of yours, you're disgusting'.

It landed on his face, and he, in an act of self -discipline didn't react, folded it up placing next to him on your couch, licking his lips. I must admit it must've taken a lot for him to not retaliate, the Jude last year was another story.

'This too’', you removed the burgundy coloured Van Cleef bracelet he had gifted you for your birthday back in May, aiming it for his face. The athletic boy, with instincts like a cat, caught this too, placing it untop of the scarf next to him. His left leg was shaking with irritation. A scowl on his face. His teeth tucked into his plump bottom lip as he sat back cross armed on the couch, pissed.

“You're not fucking intimidating me, not in my own house. Good try. GET the fuck OUT JUDE!”

I was seeing red, because he wasn't listening to me. My nose and eyes running like a water fountain. I looked a hot mess. I wipe my face with the back of my hands. Embarrassed.

To my advantage, I find my tedbaker slippers on the floor near the door. I laugh at myself picking it up with full intention to throw it -

He stand ups “Don’t you fucking dare, I swear to God Tiana act like you have some fucking sense”.

'I will do whatever the fuck I want to you. You’re not welcome here anymore, I dont want you in my house anymore. Listen to me Jude, for once... leave' I cry, shaking. “I’ve told you to leave and you’re still here”

“I can’t, I can't leave you. Why dont you listen to me for once, just once, I can explain” he fought shouting over her cries.

'Why dont you understand' i hiccup, 'i cant, i physically cant sit here, whilst you, a fucking vile the vilest man ive ever met, wants to speak, to me and justify him sleeping with someone he's lied to me about for 8 FUCKING MONTHS'

' A bitch that racially abused me, and you fucking too? You are not worth anymore of my time. Like, really Jude? Are you that fucking desperate for pussy? Are you that desperate to hurt me? For fucks sake, if you really needed to fuck someone, at least fuck someone that resemebles the woman you claim to love 'more than football' she looks nothing like me Jude' you drag..

'It didn't happen rec-' he started

You felt the waterworks again but you didnt want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. It was the fact he wasn't understanding that him explaining the details was causing you to have to envision him with another woman. Having had enough of this row, you turn around immediately going to your cabinet to get your pre rolled blunt.

'I wasn't in the right mind, I have no excuse, it was a genuine mistake. Baby, please..' he argued.

You turn on your stove, shoving your blunt into it, to light it. You sit on your counter once it finally draws and you inhale deeply, making sure to cough so it hit you harder, Cali. You weren’t in the right mental headspace to deal with this sober.

“You hear me Ti?” he begged

It was like pathetic fallacy, a dark day for you emotionally and the only things illuminating the house were the many Central London streetlights outside your grand glass windows as well as your purple led's shining from your room upstairs.

'You can check my phone, my social media DM’s, theres not one trace of a woman Tianna, because I've decided all I need you. You don't understand I cant do it without you- this thing called life, no. Hell i cant even go a day without thinking about you and the life we could have’ he confesses clapsing at his heart.

Then there's a deafening silence.

You transfix on him fresh tears still imprinted on your cheeks, as you inhale, one toke after another after another. You both hold each other’s eye contact for a split second, before you withdraw focusing on your blunt.

The boy you loved most in the world, now turned traitor, sat across from you looking helpless. The only things that can be heard in the flat were both your infrequent sniffles, your sharp inhales and distant modes of transport outside.

Emptiness.

He rubs his eyes, typical, always seeming to cry when you cried, excusing it as something he couldnt help because he loved you so much. Well if only he thought of that before he decided to fuck the bimbo.

You snigger, you’re eyes low, the weed has you feeling like you’re floating.

“Jayy” You drag, your head and body feeling extremely light

“Yeah, yes” he answers quick, attentive

“You know, it’s a true shame, for Denise. I just wonder, like, if only she knew what an absolute bitch she would have raised before having you, would she have had an a-' you giggle

' Don't finish that sentence or we'll have a problem' he growls shooting up, charging towards me.

'Get up off the counter now, Tiana. Have you lost your fucking mind?' he spat. His natural doe - shaped eyes enlarged with anger, this dark brows furrowed.

You look at him, your giggles disentergrating into the air just like your weed smoke, daring him to do what he's been doing indirecting for the past 8 months.

'Fucking dare do what, what are you going to do about it? Hm, Jude? I’m going to continue to make you feel like shit until you leave because I’ve asked you to LEAVE MY HOUSE and you're still here, so take the insult”. You take another puff of your blunt, feeling the anger rising again.

Granted, the blunt was probably making you say things you shouldn't, he deserved it.

“I could’ve hurt you, so so badly” he lets out his jaw clenched.

'I beg your pardon?, you fucking idiot what do you think I'm -“

'Shut up and let me talk, i could have kept it silent and have the whole world find out at the same time as you, but i didnt. i've flown here on Chrismas to tell you. To be here I’ve sacrificed spending time with my brother and my parents. I've literally put your feelings and wellbeing first before my families,before mine but you're too bloody dense to be objective and see things from another person's perspective'.

You drop your blunt on the counter, hopping off of it. At the same time, not caring if you blew the rest out in his face, although you knew he hated the smell.

'I don’t give a fuck about how it all unravels, or who's feeling you are putting first over others. You got your self here in the first place, you wouldnt be in this predicament if you had some sense about you; and stayed loyal to what we have built. And shit, even if you genuinely needed to fuck a girl, do better next time and fuck a woman who wont go round running your business, dumb boy. But you're too thick and pussy hungry to realise that' she seethed pushing at his chest with every last world.

'Jude, we are sooooooo done' you ridicule 'i cant actually emphasise it enough'

'We're not, technically can't be. Tiana, we havent been together since March, which is another reason I dont know why you're so angry'

You sneer, clenching your fists as your sides. Your nostrils flared, you decided against screaming or shouting; you didn't have the energy. So using up all the mature strength you could muster, you leave to go to your room. Genuine rage and shock slapped onto your facial features. You barge past him walking at high speed until he grips your wrist pulling you back to stand infront of him.

'Don't walk away from me when I''m speaking to you.' you snatch out of his harsh grasp.

You push at his chest, 'I've told you stop touching me, Jude. I'm walking away because this conversation can't be had with a 2 year old.'

'And who's the two year old?, I havent been the one throwing a fucking tantrum this whole time and gettting high thinking it’s cool, whilst an adult has been trying to have a mature conversation with you! He spits.

'A tantrum ? I have everyright to be fuming. You’re so lucky I'm high right now you should thank God because, if I was sober you know exactly what would happen' you threaten.

'Yeah I do know, because that’s the type of person you are. You’re so quick to dehumanise people',

“And rightfully so for you at least.. so... where do we go from here? Nowhere, bye. Shut the door after you'.

You push yourself off of the kitchen counter, that you were reluctantly leaning on.

'Stop fucking walking away from me. Tiana. We’re not finished. Act your fucking age', he exclaimed trapping you between himself and the counter, leaving no room for you too escape. Both his arms, decorated in bulging green veins, clenched either side of you.

He gets in my face as if you make it clear to me ‘I’m going to ask you again ok.. Why are you so fucking angry?'

'BECAUSE YOU'RE STILL FUCKING ME JUDE ME !!! WHAT DONT YOU UNDERSTAND!! you rage in this face.

You feel you're eyes watering again so you break out from his constraint and turn around to go a relight your blunt before taking another 3 tokes.

“What type of question is that-have you no emotional intelligence or sympathy?” you exhale

'Because you fly me out to Madrid to fuck and hang out. You choose to spend time with me when instead you could be with your family or friends. You come over here during you're off season to fuck me, kiss me, cuddle me, give me presents, bags and jewellery. You eat my ass, we've been fucking on my period for Gods sake - all these things have happened whilst we've been broken up. so dont - please dont try to play it like we're just sneaky links, sneaky links dont have history , sneaky links are not ex's'

'For Jobe’s birthday you flew me out, for Mark’s and Denise’s birthday you flew me out to celebrate with you and them. When you went to go check on your grandma I was there, all of this happened when we were broken up. Doesn’t this sound particularly “together” to you ?

'I explicitly rememeber telling you that if this was truly over than the fucking, and seeing each others family and all that had to stop, and then what did you do, you came to London the very next month and stayed 3 nights.'

'So excuse me for feeling cheated on, Jude’ you pant, out of breathe, you take some tissue roll from your counter top, wiping your eyes. Saying all of this makes you feel dumb, and taken advantage off.

He only looks at you, with regret, sympathy. Stillness befriended him. He turns around going to sit down.

“I wish you and Laura the best in the future.”

Jude sits down on your black fur rug, playing with his fingers, something he never did unless we was uncomfortable. His plump lips parted looking at the ground.

He clears his throat, his eyes glazed over. His tone was soft, you'd given a different persepctive he was to blind to have seen

'Love, I've tried to explain to you that there was no emotional connection there with Laura, she was something easy, she was something i used, as horrible as it sounds, to distract myself from the fact that i felt like i might lose you, the love of my life. But now that, well, we were back on track I feel the need to tell you because i don’t want anything in the way of our relationship progression. I - can assure all the while we have been sleeping with other, i swear i havent so much as touched another girl, this happened in early April before we started messing around again. When you gave me the expression it was really done. I needed to tell you about it today, because she’s been threatening to tell people and news outlets. And if she did that-“ he paused swallowing the lump in his throat.

'It would kill me Ti, you have to believe me, i don’t want to do this thing called life without, i'd rather die' he swears.

You stand there watching him, your blunt was now finished and to be honest you were so high, not even his most compassionate love poem would sober you up.

You start to clap, obnoxiously 'Weooooo, and the Oscar goes to Jude Belligoallll, wooooo', you fall into a fit of laughter.

He wasn’t amused. Not one bit. He looks directly at you, his widened eyes connecting with your red hazy ones.

You walk over to sit down infront of him on the floor. He listens attentively.

'Ok that was mean, sorry' you giggle

'Jude you can't hurt me and then apologize expecting everything to be better again, we need to - ' you hesistate trying to find the right words.

'To, level the score, surely. You play football baby, you know how it goes. We need to draw, right now its 1-0 to you. When I score, then its over right because then it'll be 1-1', you advise.

'Between me and you' I lean in closer, he stares following my lips.

'I like the look of Levi', you draw back, you lick your lips. The cotton mouth getting to you.

'I need water Jude, and you look like you've just seen a ghost. So I'll make that two waters, since you're not going to leave anytime soon right?'.

He snickers,a frown on his face when he grabs my jaw, tight.

'You're not going to do such a thing, not to me'

'So what? you can do it but I can't, boy please' you tut trying to leave from his grip.

'Sleep with him or any man for that matter and I swear I'll make you miserable' he swears

Your mouth drops, the audacity you think mentally

'Jude you're insane, clinically -'

' I mean just think of all the friends you've lost, because they were trying to fuck me, all those friends you've had to cut off are at my beck and call you know that right'

'You wouldnt dare' you snatch out of his grip on your jaw. You felt dizzy moving your head too fast, and the cali was only intensifiying both feeling of heartbreak and dizziness.

'I actually hate you Jude, oh my God, why would you say that?" you softly cried. It was such as slap in your face, espeically because those women he was mentioning were childhood bestfriends that it had taken you ages to get over, still to this day.

You stumble up, stomping into your room, slamming the door shut.

'What, are your feelings hurt baby?" he shouts after me, mockingly. His voice following me up the stairs.

---

part 2 may have smut

this was requested, a toxic jude. this page is for my girls that have been through many toxic relationships. im here to heal you LMAOO

[somereaderinblue]

LMK God Games

Did somebody say LMK x Epic the Musical??? I had to post this after seeing these amazing YT animatics which I highly rec. Anyways, enjoy some LMK Nezha content!

[NEZHA]

Father, general, rarely do I ask for favors

Now I humbly, beseech you to spare some mercy

For a dear friend who’s a prisoner far from home

Sun Wukong.

[LI JING]

Divine intervention, is that what you seek?

To untie apprehensions that were placed on that beast?

You may upset the balance for an ape full of shame

But if he's worth the risk of such loud dissent

Let us make it a test.

Convince each of them that he deserves to be released, and I'll release him.

[NEZHA]

Who's them?

[LI JING]

Nüwa! Lao Tzu!

Guanyin! Ao Guang!

Chang’e! Or Me.

What do you say?

[NÜWA]

Great.

[LAO TZU]

Very well.

[GUANYIN]

Agreed.

[AO GUANG]

Hmph.

[CHANG’E]

Groovy!

[NEZHA]

Bring it.

[NÜWA]

You know well I'm a fan of nature’s all

So with so many creatures gone

Has Wukong no heart at all?

[NEZHA]

Their intentions meant him harm

He had companions under his charge

It was a hard choice to make

To live another day and prevail despite the stakes!

[NÜWA]

Fair point, release him.

[LAO TZU]

Trust is not real without care

Why should we offer him a hand?

He turned his back on all his friends.

[NEZHA]

Did you forget they failed to listen?

He was betrayed and then imprisoned

But if you make the right decision 

He can still build a future with those he misses.

[LAO TZU]

Fine, release him.

[GUANYIN]

Though he is strong and mighty, your friend Wukong

Has a callous heart, disregards others for himself.

[NEZHA]

He was busy fighting-

[GUANYIN]

More like busy spiting the deities

It is only fair he faces comeuppance for his crimes.

[NEZHA]

Wait! Please reconsider this….

[AO GUANG]

Really Nezha? These old tricks?

[NEZHA]

Ao Guang!

[AO GUANG]

What kind of so-called warrior just uses his power

Uncaring of those in the crossfire?

He didn’t even spare his brothers

Turned to fodder to sate her

Traded all their lives to demons of bone

Untrustworthy, obtuse, upfront

Pathetic and weak like his son!

[NEZHA]

Hold your tongue now! His son's my friend!

And when were second chances something we can’t spare?

You want redemption? Then set him free

To get back to his homestead for atonement, you’ll all see!

[GUANYIN & AO GUANG]

Very well, release him.

[CHANG’E]

Hey bestie~

So many legends, so many tales

Give me one good reason why yours should prevail!

[NEZHA]

He's got some nice golden vision!

[CHANG’E]

Try harder.

[NEZHA]

He wields a mighty staff!

[CHANG’E]

You can do better than that!

[NEZHA]

He's kind of funny?

[CHANG’E]

Eh…

[NEZHA]

Never once does he stop loving his mate.

[CHANG’E]

Release him!

[NEZHA]

I’ve done your test and passed! Release him.

[LI JING]

You dare to defy me? To not know your place?

No one beats me, no one brings heaven shame!

Power, madness, balance, justice

I must show you right from wrong

To cease this tantrum once and for all!

.

.

.

[GUANYIN]

Is he dead?

.

.

.

.

An entire lifetime unfolds between Nezha’s heartbeats.

Sun Wukong’s life.

As a troublemaker, a warrior, a king……

Then a husband, a father.

How lovely the day had been, the memory as sweet as the peaches and plums they had gorged on.

And then-

“YOU’RE ALONE!”

The words erode him from within like rot through fruit. He’s not alone, he has powers mortals could only dream of having a speck of, he has his father, brothers and duties-

He has Wukong’s friendship. Or well, he had it. 

Nezha blinks and suddenly he sees Xiaotian, MK, Wukong and Macaque’s son, their legacy, the star to their sun and moon, Nezha’s-

“-friend, I couldn’t ask for more!”

Wukong was wrong.

He knows what he’s fighting for now.

.

.

.

.

Through the blinding glow of Li Jing’s attack, a flurry of pink lotus petals explodes in retaliation.

Gritting his teeth, Nezha’s arms trembled under his shield. He takes one step forward, then another, and another-

His shield shatters, he takes two steps back. He barely raises his spear in time to block his father’s next blow. The shaft of his weapon is molten lava in his palms. 

He loses his spear first. Then most of his armor, then his wheels, ah he hasn’t walked in a while, with how shaky his legs are he’s surprised he’s still upright-

Then he’s not. His father’s wrath rumbles in warning. What was one more act of defiance?

And so Nezha, Third Lotus Prince, crawls up those final steps and uses the last of his strength to grab the Pagoda-Wielding General’s fluttering cape.

.

.

.

.

[NEZHA]

Let him go….please

Let him go…..

[mishaglass]

Face riding

so I've been kind of thinking of how some characters from call of duty would help the female reader out when riding their face for the first time. Or maybe not helping.

I'm going to go with Simon is very impatient, and wants you to sit your full fucking weight on his face. And if you're like hovering, he will literally smack your ass so fucking hard and tell you to hold on to the bed railing while he forces you down on him.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, I want to say Kyle would be one of the more gentler ones too. Stroking your hips, cooing at you, calling you all types of pet names, gentle licking to get you more comfortable with the feeling, and then totally praising you like the God you are when you finally sit down on his face.

I also have a weird thought, that Simon is one of those assholes that doesn't actually clip his nails. I don't know, I don't see him as one of those guys that prepares himself for sex. He just literally tries to shove two fucking fingers in that look like Edward scissorhands.

I also think that John and Konig would definitely walk the reader through it, helping her hump their face with her clit right in their mouth as they suckle down on it really hard, with one of their nice plump fingers slowly inching towards her cunt, slowly pushing in and it definitely arching it in just a sweet delicious way to where she can get dual stimulation. And because they were so gentle, and so precise they got a nice reward finding out that the reader is squirter. Her sweet gasping and moaning, paired up with the stuttering of her hips as she approaches her orgasm and starts literally squirting down their face.

Because nice gentleman deserves squirters that's why.

[the-far-bright-center]

Indeed. Do these people think Anakin is just gallivanting around the galaxy living his best life? Instead of, you know, BURNING to DEATH and then being forcibly resurrected and put into an abomination of a torture device for 20+ years??

Anakin's entire story is replete with narrative consequences. He commits murders and then loses the offending limbs. He Force chokes Padme and then loses the ability to breathe on his own for the rest of his torturous physical existence. He falls into spiritual darkness and quite literally burns in 'hell'. He turns to the Dark Side to save the ones he cares about most, and then has to linger on with the torment of losing them anyway and the belief that it was all his fault.

In my understanding, Anakin is a demi-god, created specifically to suffer and ultimately sacrifice himself in order to bring Balance to the Force. Since the Prequels are a tragedy, it happens via the 'darkest timeline'. He commits ill deeds, and he absolutely suffers for it. That's the whole point of his story.

He's also undeniably a victim of the most evil being in the galaxy. He is captured and enslaved by the Devil for half his life until he's finally, finally freed through the only power that could free him: personal connection, compassion, unconditional love. This is a tragedy+fairytale about a fall and a redemption. The entire point is that love breaks the cycle and sets Anakin and the galaxy free.

It would be nice if the SW fandom could remember that this is a mythic story with spiritual themes. Why are people expecting it to conform to real life concepts of punitive justice?? Have they ever heard of this pesky lil thing called 'storytelling'?? We as the audience aren't supposed to root for 'Vader' to never find redemption. Like, wtf kind of idea even is that? The redemption isn't even about whether he 'deserves' it or not. It's about the fact that the galaxy NEEDS him to be free because he is an avatar OF the galaxy. If Anakin remains enslaved then the galaxy is never free of its chains either!!! Imo, that's the whole purpose of his role as the Chosen One, to be this larger-than-life, cosmic figure even as his character experiences the full spectrum of human emotion. To fulfill his divinity by reclaiming his humanity. For me, it’s so much more interesting and meaningful to embrace the transcendent aspects of this space-opera instead of viewing it solely through the lens of our own world.

'anakin faces consequences' I'm pretty sure anakin faces consequences in canon

you may have missed it, but anakin loses everything that ever mattered to him when he fell to the dark side

it's a small part of the plot

[beetlethebug]

consider,,,a lucanis who is in love with emmrich, a spite who is in love with rook, a rook in love with emmrich, and emmrich who is in love with all three but wants lucanis, spite, and rook to get together because he feels he is not the type of man any of them deserve...

bonus points for spite being the one to realize just what sort of love quadrilateral is going on and is the one to get them all together.

[lizard-tail]

Gojo Satoru’s attempt to change the Jujutsu society was sadly always doomed to fail

Now, first lets get some things out of the way:

Gojo, after Nanami, is one of the best supporting adults for the students. He helps them and protects them during missions, is in general a good mentor that gives them helpful advice, and wants them to fare better than himself and his contemporaries.

I do not criticise Gojo’s attempts to change the Jujutsu society. It needs an absolute overhaul and he does it to make the lives of children better.

His strategy of change through teaching is very commendable and absolutely  needed overall, just so the children can have a functioning adult support system.

But all of that does not change the fact that it was overall always doomed to fail, as it was barely holding the unforgiving nature of the Jujutsu society in check.

Jujutsu Society

The Jujutsu society itself seems to see themselves above non-sorcerers and their laws. I mean they are all normal residents of normal, democratic, modern Japan, right? But they absolutely do not care about Japan’s laws in the slightest. They can and do execute whoever they want, are beyond the judicial system and have child soldiers. And that’s just the absolute major laws of non-sorcerers they ignore. At the same time, it seems they see it as absolutely normal to just exist in Jujutsu society, and recruit every child with a Curse Technique to their fight, as if they all inherently must do it.

Gojo and his place in the system

Gojo, maybe more than anyone else, was the ultimate product of the Jujutsu society. He was at the same time treated like 1) an idolized sign of strength with powers of a demi-god as “The Strongest”, while also 2) the greatest sacrificial lamb raised up for the slaughter as “The Strongest”. It’s a paradoxical position, but a position utterly entrenched in the system. And not only in the system but in Jujutsu existence overall, because his birth changed the balance.

No other character is so integral interwoven into Jujutsu itself and its resulting system as he is. They way the society is now (curse users hiding, more stronger curses…) is because of Gojo, and Gojo is a product of the society (held up as the strongest, him stemming the whole society on his back…). He was raised in it, lived in it, it’s the only society he experienced. So many negative aspects of the Jujutsu society are so normalized for him, he doesn’t even pay it any mind. Because IMO for Gojo those are not aspects of a society that can be changed, but are facts of life.

Normalized endorsement?

Because lets be real: Gojo wants to change the life of the students for the better. That they are not so isolated as he was. That they don’t lose their innocence so soon. All very great things. But he does NOT question the existence of child soldiers!  

Child soldiers and being a child soldier is so normalized for Gojo, that he does not acknowledge/mention the fact that joining a Jujutsu High School and becoming official Jujutsu sorcerers is, by default the loss of their innocence, because they become child soldiers.

(Yes, I know it’s a shounen manga and of course teenagers are the protagonists/heroes, but that’s just a lame and too easy excuse. Especially because JJK plays, deconstructs and subverts a lot of normal shounen tropes at the moment by giving a horrifying insight what it means to be a child soldier. Don’t bring up the horror of child soldiers and then don’t commit)

Gojo himself, despite his good intentions and good actions, often still falls back onto the methods and the system of the Jujutsu society by not really monitoring their missions despite info that it’s not going as planned (Megumi and Sukuna’s finger), sending his students into danger to unlock Yuta’s potential, and most of all, still training children to be child soldiers. Being a child soldier is so ingrained in himself and his surroundings that despite his overall positive actions to better their lives as child soldiers, he does not mention making meaningful changes to lessen their existence as child soldiers.

Lessening the Burden

Because there are changes that the Jujutsu society overall could arrange that would lessen their burden as child soldiers:

Not letting them be unsupervised on missions without an experienced adult sorcerer

Age restriction for the different sorcerer classes despite their innate power and abilities

Only allowing a certain number of missions per month/week

Of course, now there will be people saying that they have to little sorcerers for that, and they need them otherwise more people will die. And yes. There would be most likely more people that die by curses. But at the same time it’s possible that better adjusted sorcerers who were better protected and supported as children have a better rate of survival leading to more sorcerers and saved lives (that would need an impossible case study).

And also: people die. That sounds harsh, but it is true. I mean we all know the articles and studies about world hunger in some countries, and food waste in industrial countries. Horrible working conditions for fast fashion or getting resources. How man-made climate change effects will lead to massive changes and most likely a lot of death and so on. Just massive, horrible failures of systems and societies that take deaths and pain into account. And in contrast to the real-world issues, the Jujutsu sorcerers are not responsible for curses and the subsequent deaths of people. Especially not the children that have a right to be protected.

Now again, that’s not the fault of Gojo at all. But it noticeable that he does not question the existence of child soldiers and does not attempt to make systematic changes. Instead, he focuses on individuals to leave a lasting impression on them.

The issue of class and hierarchy

The power of the Jujutsu society lies in the higher ups made up from very old, established clans and family lines. Gojo’s rank as clan head means he has also a lot of political power. He is basically empowered two times over. So he can throw a lot of power and influence around and force a lot of things his way (eg. Protecting Yuta and Yuuji from execution, taking Megumi from the Zennin…). But as with his sorcerer powers, he is mostly isolated from the others around him regarding his political powers. Noone else close to him has as much political influence as he does, in many ways it’s the opposite as his closest allies and students are despised by the higher ups.

Yuta and Yuuji were to be executed, Inumaki is from a clan that’s despised and hunted down, Hakari was suspended, Maki is hated by her clan, Panda is an abomination, Nobara is from the country. Megumi had greatest chance of getting political power, but was basically booted out as soon as possible by the established clan. The adults also wield barely any influence. Nanami and Shoko are high ranking sorcerers but have nothing to do with politics and the system and rather keep out of the way. Yaga has the political power but was regarded as a dangerous and killed off as soon as possible. Tokyo Jujutsu High is basically a ragtag group of unwanted sorcerers. As soon as Gojo was out of the way the Jujutsu society at large did their best to boot everyone around him into insignificant positions and the edges of the Jujutsu society, having no influence on the wider scale of it.

It's a contrast to Kyoto High, especially in the beginning (before Gojo was sealed and everything got complete chaotic). Gakuganji is a very trusted and influential sorcerer, all the students at the Goodwill Event were trusted to execute their kill orders, the clan members are maybe not valued by the clans (and treated like shit) but they were accepted by them as long as they did not step a foot out of line. They are overall political and social better positioned in the Jujutsu society.

And that matters a lot. Because long-lasting reformation of a societal system through teaching can only really happen if you have continued access to the society and can inform and influence a major group of that system. As it was everything rested on Gojo and Gojo alone. We don’t know the exact numbers, but overall the Jujutsu society while seemingly small is a lot larger than the small group of students we follow. Larger in number than the individual students Gojo teaches and influences. Even if all of his students would hold on to his teachings and teach others as well in the future, it would need decades to permeate the Jujutsu society and meaningful change it in ways that would not be easily changed back. And because a lot of it hinges on the continued presence and power of Gojo, it was sadly always a very shaky house of cards. Or like the meme showed, a flex tape trying to hold back water.

Conclusion: Gojo Satoru did make meaningful and needed changes especially for the life of individuals and showed aspects of the Jujutsu society that need to be overhauled. But it was never enough for long-lasting, permanent change as it did nothing to the inherent brokenness of the Jujutsu society and its use of child soldiers and its hierarchy of classism. Without breaking those things all of his efforts were generally doomed to fail. (I guess everything post-Shibuya achieved something at least)

[florxdexcerezos]

@amomentxofhappiness wanted a bite of this man too

It had been a long day of doing....nothing. He ate, mused, breakfasted. He was a man of leisure. Blessed enough to be able to pursue his wants and not his duties, Olivier took advantage of every moment. Clothes were for the socially confined. His body was one to be looked at, adored, immortalised in the finest oil paints one could buy. People deserved to observe the view so why bother with billowing shirts that bared so little? Pitiful pieces of fabric.

He was in the middle of painting when there was a knock on the door to his apartment. Setting down his palette, he stepped over the sheet and other various supplies before answering. He poked his head around the door and broke into a grin before opening the door wider to reveal his paint splattered chest.

"Hello, Teddy~ Looking for me?"

[brklynbxby]

Milo’s gaze lingered on Daphne, though he tried not to let it. She was a storm he couldn’t tear himself away from, all lightning eyes and raw emotion barely contained beneath the surface. The bar was a cacophony of voices, laughter, and clinking glassware, but she cut through the chaos like a blade, her presence impossible to ignore. It was like this every time—she drew him in without effort, even when he’d tried so hard to keep his distance. He watched her down the tequila, the sharp inhale she took afterward stirring something deep inside him. He’d always hated the sting of it but loved the burn, like it proved he was alive. The way her lips pressed together, her head tilting slightly as she recovered, was a moment so ordinary yet achingly endearing. And Milo hated how it still made his chest tighten.

Her words—I’m happy to see you—hung in the air between them. Happy? Was she? And God, how he wished he could say the same without hesitation. But the truth was, he’d spent weeks trying to forget her. He’d gone through every memory, every laugh, every moment he’d been let into the parts of her no one else got to see. He’d told himself over and over that it was better this way—clean breaks hurt less, didn’t they? Yet here she was.

His voice felt stuck in his throat, but he forced it out anyway, rougher than he intended. “Yeah… me too.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. Seeing her was like sunlight after weeks of rain, warm and familiar, but it also reminded him how cold he’d been without her.

Milo reached for his own drink, the glass cool against his fingertips, and threw the drink back down his throat. “Grant treating you alright?” The words came out sharper than he intended, and he regretted them the moment they hit the air. He hated himself for caring, for letting her see how much her being with someone else had gutted him. But he had to ask. It was his own kind of torture, needing to know even when the answer would only hurt more. “You deserve to be happy, Daph,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, softer. It wasn’t the words he wanted to say—not even close—but it was all he could manage. Because no matter how much he wanted to reach for her, to close the space between them and take her hand like he used to, there was a chasm he wasn’t sure he could cross anymore. She deserved to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him, “truly.”

daphne had always loved the way she looked through his eyes - eyes that always felt like home. now though, she can't imagine that he's too fond of what he sees. she's in a room packed full of people, minutes ago lost in a sea of them feeling utterly alone, until he'd saved her. he was always saving her. the day that she discovered that he'd blocked her had been devastating, one that she could never forget. she'd dodged him for weeks after that night, battling a war inside of her head over telling him just how much she loved him or shutting him out completely. the words were on the tip of her tongue, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to say them. she had been so afraid of losing him, and now it felt like there was an ocean of space between them.

she resisted the urge to laugh, not surprised that milo had caught onto her lie right away. she couldn't help the warmth that it brought her, that despite whats happened, he still knew her. "fine, i've been fine." that was more like it, life was fine without milo. but it wasn't as vibrant, or as warm or fun. she'd tell herself the feeling would pass, that she'd forget the feeling of his lips on hers, how she'd never felt as complete with his body pressed to hers. that not once has grant, her boyfriend, ever lit her up inside like milo did. "just the usual. work and stuff."

she nodded as he spoke, hanging onto every word, scared it may be the last. a part of her was relieved that things with him were the same, that maybe he hadn't found someone to replace her... to do everything they used to do together. the thought was too much for her to bare, turning around to the shot sitting on the bar, blonde not thinking twice before picking it up and downing it's contents. the sting of tequila distracted her for a moment, wincing at the burn before the feeling subsided. "i-i'm happy to see you." words escape her lips before she can stop herself, not sure if he'd feel the same but if this was her one chance at least she could be honest now.

[razberrypuck]

saw a few clips from quackity's stream today and oh my god qquackity what did they DO to you. how badly did they treat you.

[m00ngbin]

I need my hair to dry so I can go to bed and not wake up with one half looking like i ran a flat iron over it 400 times on max heat and the other side being curly in ways that shouldn't be possible

[hauntingblue]

21st century "et tu, brute" moment

[theartinmyheart]

.

[chuluoyi]

✎ a birthday to remember

- gojo satoru x reader

what is the so-called grand surprise does your husband prepare for your birthday?

genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—massive fluff, comfort, pregnant!reader, (cough) pregnant sex

note: hi peeps it's been ages since i last wrote gojo :') and love entries on that matter *sobs* but here it is... my birthday has passed too but here's to any of you whose birthday is near!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

“Sensei— happy birthday!”

This year, your birthday happened to fall on a workday.

If it were up to you, you would have taken the day off. However, Satoru had been assigned to Osaka and wouldn’t be returning until weekend, so taking leave and staying at home would most likely make you feel lonely.

Not only that, with you entering the fifth month of pregnancy, you figured it was better to stay active. And by the end of the day—you didn’t regret coming in at all. The students were all so sweet, they even chimed in to get you a pretty maternity dress to wear. You couldn’t wait to tell Satoru about them tonight.

You skipped happily toward the parking lot, but right when you turned the corner, suddenly—

“Wifeeeey!”

“Oh my god!”

You let out a loud gasp and took a step back, taking in the view. A sea of colorful balloons, with a man in suit standing right in the middle of it—

Your husband. In flesh. You blinked once, twice— thrice.

“Satoru...?”

He poked his head out of the string of balloons, a beaming, million-dollar grin lit up his face at the sight of your shocked expression. “Wifeeey! Happy birthdaaaaay!”

Before you could even process his sudden appearance, he had you in a chokehold, engulfing you in a bear hug and nuzzling his face against yours with childlike enthusiasm, the faint scent of his cologne filling your senses.

“What are you doing here?!” you half-shrieked, the surprise spilling from your voice.

He pulled back, frowning dramatically. “Ehhh? You don’t want me to be back?”

“Yes—”

His eyes widened as if you’d just committed the gravest betrayal. “You big meanie!”

“No,” you quickly retracted, trying to hold back your own smile at how comically dejected he was. “I mean… aren’t you supposed to be back on Sunday?”

“Heh heh, nope! I lied~” Satoru chirped, his grin returning in full force. “It’s my wifey’s birthday—how could I not come back for you?”

In that moment, your heart fluttered. He was probably saying it for no reason, but the fact that he really did fly back from Osaka just to meet you for your birthday meant a lot to you.

His big, warm hand then gently caressed your visible baby bump, his grin widening when he got a kick. “Ah, right… Hello to you too, baby! Did I startle you too? Sorry~”

You rolled your eyes, retorting, “He is terrified.”

Satoru leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper directed at your belly. “Don’t worry, baby. Papa’s here now, and he’s got balloons. That makes everything better, right?”

“...how long have you been standing here with these balloons?”

“Hmmm, not long. About an hour, maybe?”

“You shithead—why didn’t you just come inside?”

Satoru’s gasp of mock offense made you laugh despite yourself. “And ruin the surprise? My wifey deserves the full dramatic effect!”

Being Gojo Satoru’s wife certainly came with its fair share of patience-testing episodes, and sometimes you wanted to return him to Yaga for additional lessons of discipline.

But it was candid, over-the-top acts like this that reminded you just how lucky you were to have him.

Satoru brought you to a high-end restaurant for your birthday dinner before the two of you finally returned home.

And the moment you opened the door, you were greeted by countless balloons floating on the ceiling and the ground, the fairy lights illuminating the room in a cozy glow.

You were taken aback, mesmerized by the sight. “When did you even have the time to decorate the house?”

He grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “I have many little helpers—”

“Don't tell me it's Ichiji and Nanami? Satoru, you—!”

“I promised Nanami I wouldn’t make him blow up balloons! Though I might have heard him grumble something about being above this…”

"You're unbelievable..." You let out a resigned sigh, yet still smiling as you stepped further into the living room, now bathed in the soft, golden glow.

Satoru observed you with a quiet smile. His pretty wife, and the small life within you. He adored you the most out of everyone else in this twisted world.

Click! Click!

"Huh?" You turned to him when you heard the distinct sound of a camera shutter.

Satoru was holding his phone, an amused glint in his eyes. “Just capturing the moment, you know. You, the lights, and baby. It's perfect.”

You giggled. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

He shrugged, that signature grin returning. “What can I say? You’re beautiful.”

Later, you'd find out that one of the photos would be his lock screen from now on. It would be the first thing he saw every time he unlocked his phone.

Satoru brought out the box he had prepared, handing it to you with a sly grin. “Look, sweets, before we go to bed, I have one more gift for you—and you have to wear it now.”

You arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, as you took the box from his hands. The moment you opened it and pulled out the contents, you froze.

“—?! Satoru!”

A scarlet lingerie set. The bra features intricate lace trim along the edges, and the matching panties are equally bold, with a sheer lace overlay. Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at Satoru, who was watching you with an winning grin, clearly pleased with his choice.

“What?” he challenged. “They'll suit you, c'mon.”

“You're absolutely shameless.”

“But you love me anyway~”

You let out a defeated sigh, glancing up at him, already realizing there was no way out of this now.

“You’re lucky I’ve hit my head somewhere and married you.”

. . .

He was right. It fit you perfectly.

The moment you got out of the bathroom, Satoru could feel himself getting hard already. You looked like a vision, the deep red seemed to highlight your every curve, turning you into an effortless seductress.

And not only that, you were adorable too— fiddling with your fingers and touching your rounded belly, barely hiding how self-conscious you were.

"Don't just stare at me..." you mumbled, glaring at him.

He reached out, gently brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch tender despite the fire in his eyes. “You’re making it hard to look away, you know.”

His hands then trailed down, skimming the sides of your body, each touch lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. It was almost as if he was unraveling you, piece by piece, and you weren’t sure whether to pull away or pull him closer.

And wait... was it just you or were the space between your legs indeed getting hotter and wetter?

As if reading your mind, suddenly two of his fingers touched your barely clad pussy, and you gasped. That's right— there is indeed a hole in this freaking lingerie!

"Are... we...?" you swallowed, your gaze meeting his.

"Can I?" he asked back, voice husky. His crystal clear eyes burning with lust as he assessed you— from your eyes, lips, and then the inviting sight of your cleavage.

Did you want this?

Of course you were. Your birthday was still far from over, and you missed him too.

In response, you pushed his already hovering fingers inside you, making you hold your breath. From that point on, Satoru knew what you wanted.

Without another word, he rubbed soft circles around your clit, and you let out an unabashed moan at the contact, clinging to his shoulders for support. "Ahh..."

He teased you for a while, before slowly entering his fingers into your throbbing folds, and you were close to collapsing if it weren't for his secure hold over you.

"You're so, so damn naughty..." he whispered lowly in your ear. It was taking everything he had not to lose it right then and there. He wanted you to be as comfortable as possible, but the sight of your writhing face and that baby bump was damn distracting and ignited the beast inside him.

He made you pregnant already, but there was just this primal desire— wanting to mark you more...

His fingers slowly pumped in and out of you, dragging them deep but just not deep enough—

"Please..." you scratched his back unwittingly, frustrated at his shirt that got in the way. "I-I... want... you..."

How sweet. Satoru relished in your titillating breaths and chuckled, vigorously continuing his dirty ministrations.

"Say it louder," he growled in your ears. "Can't hear you."

The bastard. You yanked his hair and made him catch your teary gaze. "I... want you..."

Sinful desire flared to life at your words. "Your wish is my command, missus."

Satoru suddenly pulled out his fingers—ignoring the whine you accidentally let out for being empty all of a sudden—and admired the sheen, sticky whiteness on them.

"I barely did anything and you're this wet already," he snorted, tasting it. "They're right about the pregnancy hormones."

He placed his hand on your waist, pressing a kiss on the firm skin of your belly, before undoing his belt and trousers and pulling out his hardened member.

The sight made you actually gulp, especially when he pumped it. He pulled you to his lap and guided his pride to your sopping entrance. The moment he inserted himself, he let out a groan of relief, while you arched your back and hissed, "Ngh!"

Satoru captured your lips, his hand pressing against your aching spine. He pulled you closer, urging you to take him completely.

"Ahh— ugh... mrgh!" you sighed against his neck as soon as you did, trying to even your breath. This was something you had done so many times before, but why was this time felt like an awakening of some sorts?

"Most beautiful," he breathed in your ear wickedly. "Don't worry, leave everything to me."

He rocked his hips against yours, one hand on your back and the other gripping your thigh. With each salacious thrust, you mewled and he panted, keeping you steady all the while.

He could feel your baby bump rubbing against as his toned abs, going along with the rhythm. Satoru grinned proudly, noticing how much it had grown over the past few months. The baby must be healthy in there, huh?

The relief somehow spurred him into pick up his pace, thrusting you more deeply than before. You almost squealed.

"You know what?" he grunted, mind hazed. He didn't really realize what he was saying to you, to be honest. "You're the prettiest when you're like this— round and full, with my kid."

You only caught the lewdness in his words, but you weren't able to ponder about it as he suddenly buried his face into your supple breasts.

"Look at them, getting bigger too— these days..." He sucked on the sensitive skin and you gasped in pleasure, crying out afterwards when he fondled them with both hands.

Your senses were overly heightened and you knew you wouldn't last long. Satoru too knew he was nearing his orgasm as he tore your new bra and sucked on the mound, furthering your never-ending moans, causing your eyes to roll back as the blinding pleasure overtook you— pushing you to cum right then and there.

In the next second, he pushed you into him impossibly deeper, and his hot release gushed inside your womb. You writhed at the sudden fullness, before getting limp and collapsed into him, not even realizing that you had squirted all over his lap and dress shirt.

Your husband glanced at you, in disbelief himself at the messy scene, but utterly satisfied as his bright eyes twinkled. "Heh..."

You were awoken at three in the morning, and the first thing you noticed was that you were in Satoru's warm embrace.

His arms were wrapped around you securely, holding you close as if he were protecting you even in his sleep. You must have passed out afterwards, as all you recalled was the numbing exhaustion.

Yet you knew for certain that Satoru had cleaned you up, dressed you in your pajamas, and even placed a heat pad on your hips to soothe you.

(He remembered the one time you woke up with cramps right after a raunchy night before)

Your husband was a cheeky shit, but for you, he was willing to go extra miles. It was an overlooked fact sometimes due to how unserious he was, but each time he did and you were reminded of it, your heart always soared.

Looking up, you found his peaceful sleeping face, and not for the first time, you couldn’t help but marvel at how truly handsome he was. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you gently caressed his face.

"Hmm...?" he frowned adorably, and you almost giggled. But when he cracked his eyes open, you almost regretted it—oh yes, he is a light sleeper.

"Sweets...? Can't sleep...?" He turned to you, voice thick with sleepiness. "Anything wrong?"

"No, I'm just watching you." You smiled, poking his cheek. "Go back to sleep."

"Really? Nothing's amiss?" His hand gently slid to your belly, giving it a reassuring rub. "You have to tell me if anything’s not right..."

"Hush, I'm fine."

After making sure you were indeed fine, Satoru tightened his arms over you and pressed his eyes shut. You wrapped your arms around his back in response, feeling his steady warmth. Right in this moment, you were overwhelmed with this gentle, soft feeling— love, the kind he gave you so freely and candidly.

Your birthday had passed, but if there was one wish only he could fulfill, surely you could still ask him, right?

"Satoru..." you muttered, feeling the cool breeze of the air conditioner lulling you back to sleep. "Will you stay with me... forever?"

A smile curled on his lips at your question, his eyes still closed. "Silly girl, it's your bedtime, so why ask that?"

You thought he wouldn't answer it as he didn't say anything more. But right before you drift into deep sleep, he pressed a sweet kiss to the crown of your head, giving you his promise— one that felt truer than anything else he had said to you before.

"I will... so you must stay with me too, got it?"

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

A thousand times yes! This gave me so much to think about. Specifically, your point about how his name represents his old self/identity is very interesting to me, given what we see from him with Cosette towards the end of the novel.

I find it striking that Valjean tells Cosette to refer to him as "Monsieur Jean," out of all things. It makes sense that, because of his conversation with Marius and their belief that he must be cut out of Cosette's life, he wouldn't allow her to call him "Father." And, even though he literally has a full, sobbing breakdown in front of Marius when it seems like Cosette will find out about his past (the only time we see him cry in front of someone else, I'm pretty sure?), he doesn't go by Fauchelevent to her. Cosette likely would've found that less unusual, since we see her refer to him as "my father Fauchelevent" quite naturally, and it would make sense that Valjean would want to minimize her suspicions. But his great denied desire, as he expresses to Marius, is to be a part of a family; that's exactly what he felt he couldn't do as Fauchelevent. Keeping that name would mean he would always be worried that "the mask would suddenly be torn away," and he would be driven out as a monster. He wants to be accepted and loved for who he truly is, and while this isn't by any means complete honesty, in confessing to Marius and dropping the alias with Cosette, maybe he feels a little closer to what he's longed for.

There's also the social and metatextual significance of having Cosette call him "Monsieur Jean." First, in dropping his alias (which supplied Cosette's maiden name), he further severs any perceptible social tie between the two of them. "Jean," as you mentioned above, is a homonym of gens, which is fitting, since JVJ views himself as having become "just another person" to Cosette. And yet, calling him by his first name indicates some level of familiarity; social norms at the time meant that formal address used the last name. "Monsieur Jean" is oddly straddling the line between distant and personal (as Valjean himself is attempting to do).

Maybe most interesting of all is that, as many have noticed, Hugo almost exclusively refers to JVJ by his full name, Jean Valjean. This is one of the only instances in which the last name is dropped, which is part of why it stood out so much on my readthrough. It feels noticably more intimate, but also incomplete. And I think it ties into what (as you mentioned above) his last name means: "voilà Jean/gens": "behold the man." He's not ready for Cosette to know the full truth about who he is, so narratively, it's fitting that the withheld last name (which would allow her to learn about his past) is one which itself references a full and raw perception. It was first used of the suffering Christ, naked and humiliated and condemned and innocent; Valjean, in his fear and self-loathing, does not allow that revelation of himself.

Les Mis Hidden Name Meanings: Jean Valjean

Every Les Mis character’s name is either a pun or has some deep symbolic meaning– or both at once! Jean Valjean’s name has a ton of layers so let’s dive in.

When we’re first introduced to him, Hugo tells us that his name is quote “a contraction of voilà Jean, or “here is Jean.”” We’re told that he was named after his father, and that his family name probably began as a nickname.

The word “Jean” in french sounds like the word ���gens,” which means “people.” So his last name is a pun meant to make you think “viola les gens”/ “here are people.”

The most obvious layer to his name is that Jean Valjean is basically John Doe. He is the anonymous Everyman. His sister’s name is Jeanne, so she’s basically Jane Doe. They aren’t special or exceptional or unusual; they’re just behold! The regular people.

In fact his name is so common-sounding that it's a plot point. Champmathieu, the man who is mistaken for Jean Valjean, has a name that the police connect with his. Javert theorizes that "Champ" is a version of "Jean" in a specific accent, while Mathieu was actually Jean Valjean's sister's maiden name. ("Champ" is also the French word for "field.") The fact that Jean Valjean is a peasant everyman makes it easy for others in his position to be conflated with him.

But the other layer is that this is all an elaborate pun biblical reference!

When Pontius Pilate presents a bound Jesus Christ to the crowd before his crucifixion, he says the words “ecce homo” or “Here is the man!”/”behold the man!”

“Voila Jean” or “here is Jean!”/”behold Jean!” is meant to be a reference to that.

During his death scene Jean Voila-Jean even references the “Ecce homo” line explicitly, gesturing at a crucifix and saying:

“Voilà le grand martyr.”

Which Isabel Hapgood translates as “behold the great martyr.”

At another point in the same scene Marius says to Cosette:

“He has sacrificed himself. Viola l’Homme. Behold the man.”

But more references to that biblical moment appear throughout the novel; Jean Valjean is associated with it constantly, all the time. It’s one of his defining biblical allusions. He’ll be trying to live anonymously, or under an alias– and then suddenly his true name and criminal past will be revealed, he’ll be revealed to be ‘the man,’ and some great horrible act of martyrdom will follow.

Sometimes Jean Valjean is the one revealing his own identity, but sometimes Inspector Javert is put into the role of Pontius Pilate. Javert himself explicitly makes that comparison– Jean Valjean as Jesus, Javert as Pontius Pilate– when he’s contemplating suicide.

And this ties into one of the largest differences between the book and the stage musical.

In the musical, “prisoner 24601” is the name that represents Jean Valjean’s dehumanization–while “Jean Valjean” is the name he uses while standing up for his own humanity. He will be called 24601, and proudly declare that “my name is Jean Valjean” to assert he’s still a person.

And while this is a great storytelling choice, it’s almost the opposite of how the name “Jean Valjean” is handled in the book.

Because in the book…. Jean Valjean IS the name that dehumanizes him. Jean Valjean is the name that he’s running from. The name that Javert uses when he’s insulting him, the name that bigots use when they’re threatening him, the name that ignorant people use when they’re mocking him – it’s not 24601, it’s Jean Valjean.

And there’s a special kind of agony to that.

The name that is being used to torture, humiliate, and dehumanize him isn’t 24601– it’s his name.

He thinks of it as a “fatal name,” as a punishment. Living under that name is living in hell. When Jean Valjean is living under one of his aliases, concealing his identity, he thinks:

That which he had always feared most of all in his hours of self-communion, during his sleepless nights, was to ever hear that name {jean Valjean] pronounced; he had said to himself, that that would be the end of all things for him; that on the day when that name made its reappearance it would cause his new life to vanish from about him, and—who knows?—perhaps even his new soul from within him.

It’s no wonder that he ends up internalizing the way society views him, and developing so much fear and hatred of himself. He’s grown to see his name as just….well, ecce homo, behold the man. His name is just the two words people say before they violently punish him.

Names and namelessness are a major theme in Les Mis, and he’s the character who has the most complex relationship with his own names. He has a legal name, but it’s used to torture him, and he has a series of false names he uses to escape torture.

If I were to describe Jean Valjean– one of the most complex characters in all of literature, in one word, that word would be “grief.”

The criminal justice system takes everything from him, including things he wasn’t aware he was able to lose. His name, the last connection he had to his family and his old identity, gets warped into this thing needs to view with fear and horror. The thing society despises isn’t 24601, isn’t a number they’ve placed on him – the thing they despise is Jean Valjean, some intrinsic inherent part of himself. He isn’t hated for what he did, he’s hated for what he is, and that is something he can never escape.

{But speaking of complexity we’ve actually barely scratched the surface of how Jean Valjean reacts to names, because he spends most of the novel living under a series of nicknames aliases. And guess what! Each of these names also has some elaborate symbolic meaning! If you’re interested in more posts covering his different aliases, feel free to leave a comment in the replies!}

[thanks for reading! For more in-depth analysis, check out the @lesmisletters readalong or join our discord server!]

[lokisgoodgirl]

Like a Queen [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Just a dirty, praise-filled railing. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Loki x Female Reader. Mirrors. Language. Established relationship. Smut. (w/c 1.2k)

"Urgh, gods..." Loki slurs as his head falls back.

A year. It's been a year. But every time you see that face lost in the pleasure only you can give it's like the first time. In the mirror at the foot of the bed, the hard angles of Loki's jawline set like an anvil. He tips his chin to the ceiling and sinks so deep, so slow, it's like he never wants it to end.

Your best lingerie clings to damp skin, the modest slit in your crotchless panties tugging against Loki's thick cock. Slow, liquid thrusts slip against your walls and slurp when he circles his hips; hands guiding your ass against him. He teases himself at the entrance while you moan his name before easing back in with a groan.

"What did I do..." he breathes as his sex-drunk face falls forward and he meets your eyes in the mirror. "What did I do to deserve this sweet, perfect cunt?"

You clench your fingers against the bedsheets, swaying on all-fours. Loki slips his cock from your pussy and slides it against your throbbing clit, still swollen and humming from the worship of his mouth.

He watches with dark fascination as you start to squirm at the halt of his movements, knuckles whitening. “Well?” he asks again with playful menace.

"I'm just made for you I guess," you sigh as his large palm skates down the ridges of your spine, settling at the base. There’s no getting any sense out of you at times like this; he should know that by now. And he does.

"You are,” he growls approvingly, rubbing the curve of your ass. “Made to take me like a Queen. Made to take my cock like a Queen; made to fuck me like a Queen.” Queen.

The word sends a thrill down your spine that blossoms new fire in your pussy and you clench tighter around the tip of his cock. Loki pushes back in just when you’re tightest. “Norns,” he gasps, half-lidded eyes smouldering down from his station.

There’s something about when he fucks you from behind that’s utterly primal. Like he’s mating you. Like you’re a bitch in heat and he’s powerless to resist the scent he craves; the urge beating through him like the drums of war.

He’s not a god in moments like this. He’s just a man that wants to shake you up and fuck you out and love you harder with every filthy, curse-laden groan from his throat. “Talk to me,” you plead as you sit back against him, inhaling the fresh sweat clinging to his hair, his cock never leaving the grip of your cunt. Where he belongs. Your fingers skate up his cheek. His heartbeat thumps between your shoulder-blades, the flat planes of his chest and stomach pressed tight to your back. Your thighs spread as he readjusts on the mattress, guiding you down to the root of him with a rumble of pleasure. Loki moves hair from one side of your neck, placing a messy kiss on the curve and pulling the flimsy strap of your lingerie between his teeth. It stings your heated skin with a tight thwack.

“You love when I talk,” he goads low and filthy in your ear. “You love when I talk, and you love when I fuck.” “Only me,” you whine. Loki chuckles darkly. “Only you, my Queen.” His thrusts make your body rise and you lose yourself in the fullness of your walls fluttering to the rhythmic lilt of his hips. Loki’s hands massage your breasts, palming upwards, pinching your pebbled nipples as he does it. “No one,” he groans as you reach between your legs and graze his balls, “no one has ever carnally eviscerated me like you can.” They tighten beneath your gentle touch, drawing lazily against the velvet skin.

“When I fuck you… all realms cease to be,' he chokes, 'Only b-burning worlds and…f-fuck, erupting galaxies when I…”

He jolts against your ass, a hiss searing between his teeth. “When I see you trussed up for me like a gift,” he pants, tugging at the flimsy lace cupping your breasts, “when I feel your pussy grip me like wax on a finger.” A wet groan erupts from your mouth into his and Loki’s fingers move to your clit, rubbing slow, wet circles just the way you like it. His kiss is hungry and dark and dangerously loving. He still tastes like your cum. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he mutters as climax tightens in your belly, tensing your thighs, “is your face when you come undone for me.” You whimper, the hand wrapped around his neck clutching at long waves of his sex-damp hair. “Yes, my beautiful queen,” he praises, unable to keep the tremble of impending orgasm from his voice as his thrusts become heavy. “Take me, use me; use my cock like no other in the nine realms can. Give me what I need.” “Not yet,” you beg and he smiles against your cheek. The mirror shows what the two of you are: sweaty and unbearably perfect together. He’s huge behind you; a colossus of muscle and lean lines and luminous skin. His dark hair hangs against your shoulders, his exquisite profile nuzzling into your neck. The god of mischief works one expert hand between your legs, the other grasping against your chest like you might vanish as his powerful thighs pump slowly beneath you. Obsessed. He’s obsessed. Another threat of orgasm rises in your centre. Loki groans loudly and his shoulders tense as you clench, feeling the thick vein running down his length throb. “I think you may take me a little too well,” he chokes as your grip on his hair tightens.

A series of feral grunts burst from Loki’s throat at the smallest increase of speed against his cock. He's ready to burst. Wetness coats the inside of your thighs, his knuckles, his mouth, your fingers. You cover the hand working against your clit, feeling his fingers while they lightly strum you over the edge. He knows your body like it's his own. “Loki,” you moan like a whore, head falling back to his shoulder.   “I’m yours,” he whispers, breath catching. The hand cupping your chest flies to your stomach and he pulls you closer with a stuttering gasp. The flat of his abdomen curls to your back: sweat sticking, curses thundering, stars bursting in front of your eyes. He erupts with a long, guttural groan that shakes the bed. The swell of his cum is immediate; squeezing against the tight throb of his mighty cock and the final, fluttering spasms of your cunt. You see it glistening in the mirror, dripping down the thick root still buried inside you and pearling at the curve of his balls. Loki’s mouth fastens to your cheek like he’s trying to eat you - and maybe he is. His pants are hot against the skin as he slides down your face, top lip dragging before his forehead comes to rest. “What did I do to deserve…?” he pants quietly as he feathers weak kisses along the angle of your jaw. You silence the impending question with a kiss, pulling him closer. “I’m your Queen,” you say with utterly feigned humility. Loki bites his lip, glancing to the mirror. His eyes drop to the sight of him still sheathed deep in your pussy, a thick spindle of cum dangling to the mattress. “You are,” he whispers lovingly in your ear, eyes nailed to yours in the reflection. "Always."

♥️x