#I just. I don't think he deserves to be a monster though. this is so cruel and rude... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 4 months ago

Note

Soo, for the event: "Please leave him, I know I'm not perfect but for you i'll try, I promise i'll try"

Or something like that

~1k words. (They're idiots in love)

You knew Jason Todd would never be yours. Knew it when you were barely a teenager and just entering high school. Knew it when he miraculously returned from the dead. Knew it when he made a name for himself as a hero.

It wasn’t just the fact he was consistently voted one of the most attractive vigilantes in the Gotham Gazettes annual popularity contest. No, it was the fact that Jason Todd belongs among legends and myths, and you? You were none of those things.

You weren’t delusional to believe yourself worthy of him, not when he walked with gods and monsters and always seemed to come out on top. So, you buried your feelings, buried them so deep that no one batted an eye when you started dating.

Your relationships never seemed to last long, though, not when they always seemed to have a problem with your best friend being a guy, and then a bigger problem with said best friend being your roommate.

But your most recent boyfriend has managed to last longer than any of your previous relationships. You thought it was a good sign, that maybe you could move on from your age-old crush.

Your heart had other plans. It didn't help that your boyfriend didn't seem to exactly care about you either. He seemed more interested in his video games, and in dragging you along to whatever parties his friends are throwing.

It was obvious, to everyone really, he was using you as some kind of arm candy. You figured it was only fair, you were using him too, even if he didn't know.

Your friends were at least nice about it, even as you brushed off their concerns that you deserved better. Jason, though? He couldn't seem to let it go.

It was almost an everyday conversation for the past week. He'd never been so opposed to any of the people you’ve dated before, but he's treating your boyfriend like he has a personal vendetta.

Sharp glares whenever he picks you up, biting remarks to have you home safe. Those you could deal with, but the near lectures? The insistence that your boyfriend is the wrong guy for you? It's aggravating. You know your boyfriend is wrong, but you can't exactly have what you want.

“He won't make you happy,” Jason grumbles, face furrowed as you sit down on the couch.

“I'm not marrying the guy,” You huff, making a face right back at him. You've been having the same back and forth for days, and you really can't figure out why. Sure, your boyfriend sucks, but he's not hurting you.

Jason looks at you like he's affronted that the idea of marriage is even on your mind, “He's a bum.”

“He's– okay, but he brought me those goldfish,” you protest, gesturing towards the kitchen as if to prove your point.

He cocks his head at you, tone clearly unimpressed, “The ones in the snack bag? Doll, I think they were his leftovers.”

You wince a little, unable to deny his claim as you try to find any good in your relationship, “He texts me goodnight.”

“So do half your friends. And me. I say goodnight to you,” he points out, put out by your instance to defend your boyfriend.

“That's different,” you mumble, dropping your gaze. You find it kind of embarrassing, the way you're still searching for his approval even if you don't particularly care for your current relationship.

“Not really,” he sighs out, and carefully sinks to his knees in front of you to grab your hand. It snaps your attention back to his face. “Look,” he starts slowly, “I just want you to have the best, and he's– he's only gonna make you miserable, sweetheart.”

“What does it matter? Nothing changes if I'm with him or if I'm not,” You grumble, trying not to focus on the way his warmth seeps into your skin.

He looks increasingly conflicted at your words, squeezing your hand as he speaks, “I could treat you better. The way you should be treated.”

Your breath hitches. That's– there's no way. It has to be some kind of joke. He's pitying you, maybe. Or it's some sort of twisted sense of responsibility towards you.

But he keeps talking, voice low like he’s trying not to send you running, “Please leave him, I know I'm not perfect, but for you I'll try, I promise I'll try."

“What are you saying,” You ask weakly, unable to face the possibility that he means any of it.

He meets your gaze, firm and resolute. He sets his jaw like he's working up the courage to spill all his secrets, “I'm saying that I would make you happy. I don't know if it would be great, I don't even know if it would even be good, but I would make sure you were happy. I– you mean the world to me.”

He breathes out your name, raises your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles, “I want you to be happy.”

You think you might be dreaming. Never in your wildest fantasies did you ever consider Jason Todd would be willing to tie himself to you. But there's no waver in his face, no lie in his eyes.

“Just think about it, sweetheart. We're already– you're already the most important person to me. Taking another step together wouldn't be so scary, right” he prompts gently, and you can only dumbly nod in response.

The smile that spreads across his face is intoxicating, and it almost has you agreeing to the whole idea immediately.

“Good, good,” he murmurs, standing up and sending you another wide grin. His voice grows more confident as awe fills your face, “You think on it tonight, doll, break up with him tomorrow, and tomorrow night? I'll take you on a date. A real date. Something you'll like.”

He sounds excited, even eager at the thought, and he leans down to kiss the top of your head. It's hardly the first time he's done it, but it feels different this time, special. “Just think on it,” he tells you, smile easy and inviting.

He leaves you on the couch to think about it. It doesn't take long for you to decide. After all, your boyfriend will understand, you've never been good at saying no to Jason Todd.

#jason todd x reader #raes 900 follower event

725 notes · View notes

vyainide · 3 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ monster trio & kissing

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤmonkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, sanji vinsmoke

tag(s)&warning(s). drabbles, gn! reader, sfw, fluff?, what constitutes as fluff idk girl, established relationship w/ zoro and sanji, luffy is a secret third thing i guess?, stray 'kms' threat in sanji's part

from vyon. big up to alex turner and no. 1 party anthem; luffy's is marginally longer because he's my most specialiest boy and he deserves special treatment and i struggled way too hard with characterising sanji in a relationship aside from all the embarrassing simping stuff, he's just amazingly pathetic, i don't wna talk about it, the main star here is luffy

like a lot of other things, kissing comes easy to luffy. though he's never had any couples around him as he grew up, he's been on enough adventures to catch a number of couples share a few quick pecks here and there. sabo's once mentioned kissing as well— a sort of distant memory that comes back when your lips first land on his cheek on your supposed first date. it might be sabo's fault, or his parents, that luffy believes kissing to be bleugh before he's tried it. though in sabo's defence, there wasn't a child in the world that would want to see their parents kissing. still, it isn't as bad as sabo made it out to be, luffy thinks as his wide–eyed gaze follows you back onto the sunny. there's something in the shape of your lips sunburnt onto his cheek, crisp just underneath the scar he'd gotten as a child.

the old scar is a smudge between a burning hypersensitivity and a cold unfeeling stretch of skin; your lips brush against the scar and it tingles itself into simultaneous death and rebirth. burning, melting— luffy presses a hand against his cheek and feels full. then his lips pull into a grin and the burn of your lips spreads out, pushing through every fold of skin as his hand reaches out for the sunny and he flings himself into the air, allowing the feeling to crawl through sinew.

luffy is no stranger to touching— he does it in painstaking excess, but there's a childhood teaching in him that kissing is not the same as touching. he stares at nami for a while, wondering if the instinct to feel her is the same as it is for you; she gets annoyed by his unwavering stare and swats at his head. he decides it's a no.

kissing is meant to be con... consumption? conservative— constellation? no, it's one of those 'c' words that he doesn't really remember, but he knows that he's supposed to ask you if you want him to kiss you. he doesn't understand the idea of waiting for permission but he'd really hate it if you were grossed out, like ace once told him would happen if kissing happened unconventionally(?) (that's not right he thinks), so he asks you one day.

as simple as he gets, luffy comes up to you and asks. "do you want me to kiss you?"

you splutter in shock and you hear movements on the deck still. luffy thinks he'd maybe forgotten something that the people in foosa village taught him but he waits for you to answer anyways. it doesn't come because sanji is aiming a kick at his head and shouting at him about the delicate intricacies of romance and courting. through all the dizzying flips of colour as he jumped away from sanji's attack, a kaleidoscope of the things he loves the most (the sea, his ship, his crew) in his eyes, he sees the hesitant embarrassment that colours your cheeks in. the burn that you've placed in him sparking up a fuse between the two of you at the slip of his tongue against gums and he laughs, swinging away and crash landing on whatever usopp was building out of sticks.

you return to him at a more private time, slip up next to him wordlessly— he doesn't say anything so you fear that he'd forgotten.

"do you still mean it?" your shoulder knocks against his.

"mean what?"

you turn to look at him, your eyes flickering down. "when you asked if i wanted you to kiss me."

that gets his attention, his head turns to you with a flexibility only he has— his eyes blinking at you carefully. "i did, did you make up your mind?" his lips pulled up into a grin, "you want me to kiss you now?"

you wish he had a less abrasive way of asking, but the answer is the same regardless. you nod and luffy takes.

you're not sure what you're expecting at this point. you know how luffy is about psychical touch, he's no stranger to it— everything he's ever known, he's ran his hands over. the amount of times you've been knocked down to his reckless habit of flinging himself into your back, you expect the same thing here.

luffy inspects you for a moment, the corners of his lips pulling down before twitching into a pout, "it's not gonna hurt, silly, why'd you look like that?" he shifts his body to face yours, his knees knocking against yours as he pushes his face closer.

then, his lips stretch outwards— his damn devil fruit— and it's so comical how his puckered lips pulled towards you to press gently against your cheek that you're laughing when it snaps back into place. luffy laughs along with you for a moment. a gooey comfort strained inside of you, your hands pressed against his cheeks— you find a simple joy in pulling his face, and then you find a better joy in leaning yourself closer to press your lips against his.

you're giving so luffy takes. he shifts onto his knees for better leverage to lean into you— the movements are stiff and careless. he's less kissing you and more just pushing his face into yours but you can feel the strain of his smile against your lips so no matter. being luffy, he pushes and he pushes greedily until your hands move from his face to the deck to keep yourself from falling.

it's so stupid how, even though this sucks, you want to make an occupation of kissing him.

it becomes a habit for him to kiss you no matter how far away you are by taking advantage of his devil fruit. eventually, he does get better; you realise why after a pointed comment from robin that hints to the fact that he'd asked her for kissing tips.

zoro is all lingering touch, heated spaces, and fizzling affection. it's not often that he gives you the pleasure of being skin close with him— not that you mind. he's eye candy enough, grunting and sweating in a handstand with barbells methodically placed on his feet and boxes of miscellaneous supplies for added weight. he's never been the type to need the world in his life; everything he's done has always been to prove a sick something to himself, to his strength.

his devotion is similar. there's no place for prying eyes in your relationship when there's you, the fulfilling adoration, and zoro. sometimes, there is also his swords and other times, there is an overwhelming luffy (who knows no boundaries).

he's always more forgiving with you, but he draws the line at excessive pda and you respect that boundary. fleeting contact has never been zoro's strong suit, he's an all or nothing soldier so when it comes to kissing, he likes the ready privacy that allows him to indulge. so he ignores the pointed staring, how you've made yourself comfortable on the benches in the crow's nest; your body sprawled out following the curve of the seats as your face turns red from how you have your head hanging off the cushioned planks.

he grunted, turning his head back down to the floor before he loses his balance.

you start counting, "one, two, three." he's well past those measly numbers but he lets you do as you please. "four, five, one, three, sixty–five, twelve, two, negative five, twenty, fourteen, nine—"

he folds his legs down against his chest, letting the weights fall to the floor with a thud. "alright," he straightened up, "you've made your point." an unimpressed look crosses his face.

your lips curled up into a grin and then you pull yourself up, throwing his towel at him. he takes the hit to the face and presses his hand over the fabric to wipe away the sweat and falls next to you, sliding his body down for his head to lay on your thigh.

"ewwww," your face scrunched up, "you're sticking to me." his hair is clinging to his forehead, interrupted strokes of green paint against his temple.

"shut it."

a laugh is quiet on your lips as zoro falls into the comfort of the moment, his eye closing. you trace over his face and then you crane yourself down, ignoring the ache in your spine and neck, your lips fall onto his forehead, "one." you counted. then onto the space between his furrowed brows, "two," his nose, "three". over his eye, "four." you pull back just in time to feel his lashes scratch over your lips.

a heavy judgement in his eye, stern and serious— he curls an arm up to press against your nape and pulls you down. there's a weight that's tethering you to the moment in the curves of his arm and a light–headedness that makes the stillness burst at the seams as zoro ignites everything alive. it's a slow and careful thing, how his head rises to meets yours and then how it tilts so he can slide his lips onto yours.

his arm drags across your neck until you feel moisture in the contour of his calloused hand, fingers pushes into your hair as zoro leans back from your lips, humming. "five." he says, a whisper of a smirk on his lips. a flicker of tender violence in how he fists your hair at its base and pulls your head back to give himself access to your neck. all or nothing, you're reminded, he drags this kind of simple affection into long, several moments.

he continues counting, picking up where you left off until you both hear luffy calling for zoro to help him fish and your relationship mellows back down, protected in loud secrecy.

there's always a strange line to tread when it comes to sharing intimacy with sanji. he's the quickest to melt when it's passing pecks, a second touch of your chapped lips against his cheek.

it depends on the atmosphere of the moment. just as quick as you can puppeteer him to pliant stuttering, sanji is more than capable of wearing you down to your barest core with his appreciative methodical gestures.

what everyone else is most familiar with are the fast moments of sanji softening when you offhandedly touch him. a simple smile on your lips as he gracefully sets your plate down in front of you, ease in the way your head turns to face him and you give his cheek a grateful peck, a quick kiss against his lips when you're splitting ways upon docking on a new island. it's enough of a spectacle that luffy makes the same laughing racket when you kiss sanji casually to see him twirl with new founded energy and hearts in his eyes; that zoro has a trademarked insult ready on his lips whenever it happens; that nami owns a jar that sanji has to put money into whenever he starts his weird dance.

it's almost easy to forget how sanji reciprocates. love has always been a second language to him— it's burrowed in his every unhurried moment when cooking, it's a burn that drove an abscess in him when he was younger, it's straightened postures and the clean lines of his stature for every perverted thought that plagues him. his every move carries an echo, a drumming confession that rings i love you, i love you, i love you until the words are bleeding raw into each other and you feel undeserving in his passion that stinks of cigarette smoke.

the disturbance of the lit end against a clear canvas of blue skies, his arms folded over the handrails of the sunny, the strokes of grey smoke that taints the pristine clouds that rest languidly; a rigid lock on his features until you're brought to his attention with your shoes clicking against the deck. his face shifts into something more delicate— full of feeling that's different from his usual excitable manner.

"bad for you," you begin with a light–hearted scold, plucking the cigarette away from his lips. he turns to you, his back against the handrails.

his restless hands search for touch and find an answering comfort on your skin, turning up and down over the shape of your hips until his thumbs dig into the waistband of your bottoms. "don't," he pleads, "you know it kills me when you're disappointed."

your lips turn upwards, "should i cry?"

"please." his voice wavers between a weak warning and aching desperation as his head falls onto your shoulder, pulling you closer.

the smell of smoke is cauterised into his skin— you don't mind it and you don't mind him smoking, but you think it's funny to act like you do if it has sanji like this. his hair scratches against your skin, tickling an itch he'd placed in you long ago and you thread your straying hand into the strands as his fingers press demandingly into your hips. following your motion, sanji turns his head to look up at you.

a furrow in his brows and a plea in his eyes.

"you know i'm teasing," you lean down, pressing a kiss against his lips as an attempt to appease him, "but you know i'll have to kill myself if chopper comes and redirects his disappointment at me again." you sigh, weary at just the topic. "i mean seriously, he looks at me like i'm the one shoving cigarettes into your mouth and forcing you to inhale."

sanji tries to focus on your words but your lips have left him cold when you pull away; suddenly, being skin to skin isn't enough and he's trying to placate the greed that is curdling inside of him. it works for the better half of a second, his thumbs pull out of your waistband and his arms wrapped around you, one around your waist and the other dressed against your back.

he ducks his head down and settles his craving.

sanji is gentle all around, careful to make even his affections palatable. he starts slow, testing waters that he's skinny dipped in previously and when he finds no rejection, he moves in deeper. he's a lifelong hunger that can never hope to be satiated when close to you, unwavering in a promise that has wedding bells ringing deep in your bones.

there's a new memory of a life he wishes for you, brought to life and fed by the taste of you. for now, he has to pull away as the ship rocks into a tempestuous sea and panicked feet disrupt the echo of the bells. nami starts to shout orders. he pulls away. his heart stutters in time with the unpredictable storm. sanji trips over his feet on his way to pull up the sails and he starts twirling when it makes you laugh.

585 notes · View notes

ponderingmoonlight · 6 months ago

Note

Hiiiii!!! I hope you have the greatest time at your vacation! I was wondering if I could request about Sukuna x Reader where the reader is sweet and kind towards everyone, including him. He thought she would be afraid of him and confuses him all day until he confronts her as he confesses his feelings to Reader.

You know I had to write my bbys request right away 🫶🤍 I hope you like it!

Sweet Affection

Pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: Until he met you, Sukuna never believed in something as worthless as love and affection. But when you treated him like no one ever did before, when you showed him what affection might look like, he tumbles...

Warnings: this is just pure fluff y'all, reader is a sunny sweetheart so of that's not for you don't read, Sukuna melts like butter in her hands hehe

What do we think about adding a real "name" for a one shot instead of a brief description? Let me know 👀🤍

The air is thick with tension as you step into the room. The oppressive aura of none other than Ryomen Sukuna would send most people running, but instead of allowing fear or negativity to take over, you walk in with the same gentle smile you usually wear. After all, it’s this smile that has kept you safe so far, that kept you from losing your mind to darkness - even when standing in front of the king of curses himself.

Sukuna eyes you with a mix of dislike and curiosity. He’s not used to someone like you, someone who isn’t trembling in his presence or desperately trying to escape his control. No, you approach him calmly while offering him a cup of tea as if he were just another regular person.

A cup of tea. Is he dreaming? What the hell are you thinking?

“Here, I made this for you,” you say softly, placing the cup in front of him.

Your voice is just as warm and soothing as your appearance, completely throwing him off. He’s used to the screams, the fear, the devotion that his very name commands. But you… you’re different.

You don’t even tremble, not the tiniest bit while placing the cup in front of him. And then you sit down opposite of him as if it was nothing, as if he couldn’t kill you with one minor movement of his pinky finger.

He doesn’t take the tea, just stares at it with narrowed eyes for a brief moment.

“What’s your game?” he finally growls, his deep voice reverberating through the room.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

You blink, tilting your head slightly as if the question puzzles you.

“Why would I be afraid of you? You haven’t given me a reason to be.”

Sukuna’s fingers twitch, the sharp claws extending slightly as if to remind you of exactly who he is.

“I’m a monster. These people are trying to hold me hostage. Your people,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

“I’ve killed more humans than you can imagine. I could kill you right now if I wanted to.”

“And yet, you haven’t. Even though I’m here to make sure you don’t escape,” you reply simply, your eyes meeting his without a trace of fear.

“You could have done it a thousand times by now, but you didn’t. That tells me there’s more to you than just the monster everyone else sees or that you pretend to be.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. Your words unsettle him, digging into parts of him he thought were long buried. He’s silent for a long moment, just watching you as you take a sip out of your own cup, eyes darting around the room in visible comfort.

“Why are you so kind? Why do you act like this?” he asks suddenly, his voice quieter this time, almost as if he’s asking himself more than you.

You smile softly, a small, genuine smile that somehow manages to light up the room despite the dark presence looming within it.

“I believe everyone deserves kindness,” you say, your eyes sincere.

“Even you, Sukuna. Or maybe especially you.”

His heart lurches in his chest, a foreign sensation he hasn’t felt in centuries. It irritates him how easily you disarm him, how your sweet nature pierces through the layers of hatred and darkness that have consumed him for so long. It baffles him, makes him feel things he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in so long.

But what angers him the most is the realization that he cares about your opinion of him. That suddenly, he doesn’t want you to see him as a monster. Not you with that glowy hair and remarkable eyes. Not you, who is the first one who actually dares to sit opposite of him, who doesn’t seem afraid of him the slightest. What do you see in him while looking up through your doe eyes and long lashes? What lingers through your mind while smiling at him oh so gently? You simply sit there, take a sip of tea from time to time and smile.

“You know I won’t stay here forever. It’s way too easy for me to escape”, he finally blurts out.

“I know you will. But until you do, I will enjoy my time drinking tea with you.”

He furrows his eyebrows, mind racing back and forth. What nonsense are you talking?

“I’m not that Itadori brat, foolish human.”

“I am very aware of that”, you reply simply.

This goes too far already, he can’t waste another precious minute sitting opposite of you while drinking tea when this might be the last change in a long time for him to take over that brat’s body. With a swift motion he stands up.

Sukuna allows himself one last glance at your soft features, the way you hold your cup so delicately. Then he’s gone.

Months pass with this strange tension lingering between you. Those past weeks, he finds himself over and over at your doorstep. Out of habit, he grabs every chance he gets out of trance to see you again.

You? You continue to treat him with the same kindness, offering him food, asking him about his day, even making casual conversation as if he were any other person.

And Sukuna… he finds himself wanting to respond, wanting to let down his guard, if only for a brief moment.

It’s maddening. He spends the entire time brooding, his thoughts swirling with questions he can’t answer. Why does he care? Why does your smile make his chest tighten? Why does he want to see it directed at him more and more? What is this urge to feel you close without the need to kill you? You, a jujutsu sorcerer from that cursed school, nothing but a weak human.

What is so special about you?

As night falls and he finds himself sitting on your couch again, he finally reaches his breaking point. You’re in the kitchen, humming softly to yourself as you prepare dinner, when he storms in, his presence like a thundercloud rolling through the room.

“Why?” he demands, his voice rough and almost desperate.

“Why are you like this with me? Why do you act like I’m not the monster I am?”

You turn to face him, your expression softening as you see the turmoil in his eyes. You take a step closer, and to his surprise, he doesn’t instinctively move back.

“Because I see more in you,” you say quietly.

“I see someone who’s been hurt, someone who’s lost so much that he’s forgotten how to be anything but cruel. But that doesn’t mean that’s all you are, Sukuna.”

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut. No one has ever spoken to him like this, ever seen him like this. And before he can stop himself, the truth comes tumbling out.

“I care about you,” he admits, the words rough and jagged like they’re being ripped from his very soul.

“And I hate it. I hate that you make me feel this way.”

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then a soft smile tugs at your lips.

“It’s okay to care, Sukuna. It doesn’t make you weak. It just makes you human.”

Human.

He stares at you, his mind racing. Those countless words of nonsense leaving your mouth, that stupid smile that never wipes off your face, your kindness. Are you actually that dumb? But all he can focus on is how close you are, how your presence soothes the chaos in his mind. Without thinking, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

“You’re a fool. A foolish, kind-hearted human…” he murmurs, but there’s no heat in his words, only a strange, unfamiliar tenderness.

Before he can say anything more, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips against his in a gentle kiss. Soft and tentative, but it’s enough to make his heart stutter in his chest.

A firework seems to explode between both of you when he wraps his arms around your waist. Longingly, full of passion. You never allowed yourself to imagine this moment. Not when all you wanted to do was to support him, to show him that he doesn’t have to act the way he does. But this? This is more than you ever dreamed of.

Truth is, you fell for this man. Despite the stinging fact that he’s the complete opposite of you, despite all the horrible things he’s done. You can’t help but look up at him with nothing but affection glimmering in your eyes, with nothing but pure love filling your heart.

When you pull back, your eyes meet his, and for the first time in centuries, Sukuna feels something other than hatred and rage. He feels warmth. He feels… love.

And it terrifies him. Fuck, he isn’t supposed to feel this way. That feeling he always made fun of, rising up his chest because a random girl smiled at him?

But as he looks into your eyes, he realizes that maybe, just maybe, it’s worth it. Maybe it’s more than that, something worth exploring.

“I’ll destroy you,” he whispers, though the threat feels empty even to him.

You smile, leaning into his touch.

“I’ll take my chances.”

For the first time in his long, twisted existence, Sukuna doesn’t know what the future holds. But with you by his side, he thinks he might just be okay with that.

Tags:

@arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld

@hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut

@mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0

@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife

@coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain

@risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

@sugu-love @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world

@oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @kentocalls @cheesemachine44

@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa

752 notes · View notes

dyaz-stories · 1 year ago

Text

your imprint's on my soul || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

summary: When Hyun-Su's monster shows up at your door, he teases you and implies that Hyun-Su wants more with you than what you've shared before so, when Hyun-Su wakes up, you decide to act on that.

word count: 4.1k

warnings & tags: canon-typical angst, fluff, smut, explicit consent, dry-humping, thigh-riding if you squint, handjob (male receiving), they're both virgins and are both painfully awkward, this is very soft tbh

first one-shot · previous one-shot

This one-shot can be read independently as there is nothing intense plot-wise that requires having read the other parts, but I do recommend reading them for context.

A/N: sooo, we've reached the first smutty installment for this series, though this feels so tame and so soft I don't even know if it deserves that name. It's what felt right to me for the development of their relationship and what I think makes sense for their characters! I hope you'll enjoy it!

Hyun-Su always knocks. It doesn’t matter that you’ve told him he didn’t have to anymore, doesn’t matter that you’ve offered to give him a key. He still knocks, a soft rap against your door that you’ve learned to recognize from anywhere you are in the house — it’s probably the first time ever that you are truly thankful for the terrible soundproofing in there. When Hyun-Su isn’t there, you spend your time waiting to hear it again, whether consciously or not.

So when you hear something brutally hitting your door, the sound echoing through your silent house, it doesn’t cross your mind that it could be him.

You stumble through the house to grab your bat, heart beating so fast it’s threatening to fall out of your chest. Whether it’s a monster or a desperate survivor trying to get in, you need to be ready to defend yourself.

You’re slowly approaching the door when whoever — or whatever — is outside hits the door twice more.

“C’mon now, I haven’t got all day.”

You still. You recognize the voice instantly, of course you do, but what you don’t recognize is the tone, or even how loud it is, for that matter.

“Hyun-Su?” you call out quietly.

It’s not the smartest decision, because if it’s not him, it lets whatever’s out there know you’re here, but you can’t see yourself leaving him outside.

“You could say that,” the voice answers, and it’s still obviously Hyun-Su, and it’s still wrong, somehow.

But, after a couple seconds of further hesitation, you decide to open the door anyway. You’ve heard it before, that tone, you think, even if it’s blurry now. Plus, you cannot bear the thought of letting Hyun-Su out there, if it really is him. You tighten your hold on your bat, and carefully open the door.

The second you do, Hyun-Su walks in like he owns the place. It is so unlike him that you get ready to swing, but he spots you and grabs it from your hand easily, using his pull on it to get you closer to him, his other hand coming to your waist to stabilize you with a gentleness that contrasts with the abruptness of his movement. Once he does, he shoots you a grin that makes you knees weak, and, as his blue eyes stare straight into yours, you finally understand what is going on.

“All that for me?” he asks, glancing at the bat.

You don’t bother to answer him. You remember too well the state he was in last time you saw this— well— version of him, and your eyes run over his body, followed by your hands, checking for injuries. But while his sweater is in worst shape than usual, and you find blood that you think is fresh on there, his skin is intact under your fingers.

When you look into his eyes again, you find him staring at you, amused.

“You can keep going,” he teases. Your face starts burning and you take a step back, embarrassed, but he follows right after you, eyes devouring you. “Come on, you know you want to. Why not just give in?”

Your back hits the wall, and he leans closer, like a cat playing with a mouse. The difference is, though your heart is hammering in your chest, you don’t feel that scared. Nervous, sure, but there is no actual threat to his tone, or even to his attitude.

“I’m not— I’m not doing anything Hyun-Su wouldn’t want,” you answer, and you somehow find it in yourself to lift your chin defiantly as you do.

Meeting this version of Hyun-Su’s eyes sends a rush of heat through you once again. Beneath the amusement, there is so much more. Fascination. Adoration, even.

He lets out a brief laugh at your words.

“Please,” he practically purrs, “you can’t think that he doesn’t want this.” You stare at him, and his grin widens. “Maybe you should ask him, then.” He leans closer to you, mouth so close to your ear you can feel his breath tickling your cheek. “Ask him what he thinks about when he’s alone at night.” Your cheeks are on fire. “Ask him what he thinks about when you’re lying in bed next to him.” Your breath catches in your throat. “Ask him what he thinks of doing to you.”

He laughs again, and Lord, you don’t know how your legs haven’t given up underneath you yet.

“Come back to me if he still doesn’t have the guts to do anything,” he whispers in your ear. “For now, I think we’ll take a nap.”

That’s all the warning you get before he collapses into you and you can do nothing but slide down to the floor, holding Hyun-Su’s now unconscious body in your arms. You curse the monstrous part of him under your breath, but you know, deep down, that it’s less about that and more about the fact that he’s leaving you with your whole body practically vibrating with feelings and desires you’ve been having more and more as of late.

Your relationship with Hyun-Su is good. It’s great. It makes you happy, so much happier than you thought would ever be possible after the world ended.

But you’d be lying if you said there hasn’t been a— yearning, a longing for more. Something you haven’t put precise words on, something that is almost fully new to you, because though you had fooled around with the boyfriend you briefly had at the beginning of college, the two of you had never gotten really far. You suspect it’s even more foreign to Hyun-Su.

You do know you have an effect on him, you’re not blind. You know how he can get when he loses himself in you, when he finally lets go of all the weight he carries on his shoulders. You, however, also know how embarrassed he gets when his body reacts to you in ways he can’t fully control. You’re just not sure he’s ready for taking the relationship further and, if you’re being honest, the fear of rejection has kept you from bringing up the subject.

Except that after this conversation, the monster’s words are swirling in your mind, and you can no longer pretend that the desire that makes your pulse quicken isn’t there.

Now’s not the time for that, though. You do your best to carry Hyun-Su to the couch, something you doubt you could have done before the Apocalypse forced you to put on some muscle, cover him with a blanket, just in case, because his sweater is starting to have more holes than fabric, and sit by his side so his head rests on your lap. All that’s left to do now, is to wait for him to wake up.

It’s fine, though.

You’re used to waiting for him.

Hyun-Su opens his eyes, and at first, he just feels warm and good and safe. For once in his life, nothing hurts. Your hand’s in his hair, fingers brushing against his scalp pleasantly every now and then and—

And he doesn’t remember coming to your place or seeing you.

He jumps up, eyes surveying the apartment, which looks the same it always does, then you when he turns around. All he sees there is mild confusion.

“Did you have a bad dream?” you ask.

“Did you see him?” he asks in reply.

You frown for a second, before understanding passes on your face, and Hyun-Su feels the blood draining from his face.

Last time, the monster had been with you for a couple minutes, at most. This time…

He hadn’t thought he would come here. He’d been far away, when the group of humans had gotten attacked. Intervening had been the right thing to do, he’d thought — until he’d started getting shot at. The words they’d hurled at him, he’d all heard before, during a time of his life he wished he could forget. With his attention split between the monsters still trying to get past him on one side, and the arrows and bullets coming from the other side, the monster had managed to take over.

And maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t fought it as hard as he should have.

He had never thought you’d get caught in the crossfire.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Are you— Are you—”

Hurt. Angry. Disgusted.

“I’m fine,” you answer him. You don’t hesitate to reach out to gently touch his face, and your smile is so sincere it’s almost blinding. “Nothing happened.”

He leans into your touch, unable to stop himself, and though he still feels the need to protest, it gets easier to believe you each time you reassure him you don’t despise him.

“It didn’t do anything to you?” he asks, voice low and quiet.

You shake your head, but he can’t miss the way you glance away briefly, avoiding his eyes at first.

“He didn’t hurt me,” you tell him, and he can tell it’s true, but—

“What did it do?” There’s urgency in his voice, panic even. He grabs your arms to look into your eyes, the window to the soul, they say, but he cannot read into you, no matter how much he searches.

“Nothing,” you say, but again, he can tell that there’s more to it, and he doesn’t let go, until you cave in. “He just said something.”

“What did he say?” Hyun-Su presses on. Fear is invading his every bone, wrapping its vines around his heart and squeezing it.

“Nothing important,” you insist, but it only makes him more desperate, because if you don’t want to tell him, it must be something bad, must be something deep and dark and twisted, must be something that could make you hate him. When he doesn’t let up, you sigh. “He just said to ask you something.”

Hyun-Su’s mind goes quiet.

“Ask me what?”

His mouth is dry, his lips move painfully.

“Just— He said, I should ask you what you want to— to do to me.”

It’s like a bomb just went off.

Hyun-Su lets go of you. It feels as if his whole face is burning. Shame and embarrassment overtake him, and suddenly he can’t look at you anymore, just wants to run out the door, but his body is refusing to move. He’s stuck in place like a rabbit in headlights.

“I’m sorry,” he says automatically, whipping his head in the other direction, since that all he can do.

“So, you, um, you… are thinking about it?” you ask, your voice piercing straight through his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“No, no, I’m, uh—”

You grab his hand, scooting closer to him on the couch, until your knees touch his. And it grounds him. Slowly, reason starts to creep back up from under all the thoughts, and he hears the eagerness in your question.

“J-just so we’re on the same page,” you say, as he slowly turns his head to look at you once more, “you’re thinking about… having sex. With me.”

It’s precious, how you lower your voice to say ‘sex’, and then frown in annoyance at yourself. Hyun-Su still wants to tear his hand from yours, run away before you can tell him how much of a freak, of a monster you think he is. But he can’t.

He thinks he’d rather you rip his heart out, as long as you do it with your bare hands, than to live without your touch ever again.

Slowly, he nods. His face and ears are tingling, and he’s sure he’s bright red by now.

“I shouldn’t,” he mumbles. You’ve given him so much already. So much he hadn’t dared to hope for in years. He shouldn’t ask for even more. He doesn’t deserve more.

But your hands tighten around his. Your mouth opens, closes, your tongue comes out to wet your lips as you hesitate and fidget nervously.

“No, you, uh, you should,” you stutter before catching yourself, closing your eyes like you don’t want to see what’s in front of you before you take a leap of faith. “I mean— I think about it. About you.”

A light buzz starts again in his ears.

“I didn’t know,” you keep mumbling. “I mean, I wasn’t sure that you—” Your gaze goes from his hand to the floor, everywhere so you don’t have to look at him. “That you wanted me. So I’m— It’s, uh, it’s good to know.”

“I want you,” Hyun-Su blurts out without thinking, and of course then you look at him, with wide, pretty eyes, and if he wasn’t blushing before, he sure is now. His face could burst into flames any second. “I hate that I can’t—” His eyes fall on your legs, with the dress you’re wearing riding up on your thighs. “—touch you.” If he wasn’t so scared, if he was braver… “I just…” A whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you say patiently. “I trust you.”

“But I don’t,” he mumbles, looking down at the floor. “You’re so— fragile. If I lost control for a second…”

He sees you hesitate. He expects you to tell him, again, that he wouldn’t lose control, maybe that the monster inside him wouldn’t hurt you. Thing is, you might be right, but it doesn’t matter how unlikely it is. That’s not a risk he can take.

“Okay,” you say instead. “Okay. But what if— what if I was the one touching you?”

He almost wishes you hadn’t said it, with how badly he immediately wants it.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says. His throat is dry. His whole body is aching for you.

“And if I want to?” You tilt your head, all pretty, and oh, how can he deny you anything?

“Please,” he whispers.

Your lips part and your breath seems to stutter, before you lean in and kiss him, and it’s like he’s finally come home. It starts off soft, slow, no different from any kiss the two of you have shared in the past weeks. Your hand comes up to cup his face, thumb stroking his cheek.

Hyun-Su melts. He parts his lips to welcome in your tongue, lets you take the lead and set the pace for the kiss without thinking about it twice.

Then he feels you move. It’s barely there at first, your hand that’s not on his face coming to rest on his shoulder, and all that is known territory. Even if your fingers actually touch his skin there, because of the numerous holes in his clothing, he can handle that.

His eyes snap open again, though, when you move your leg over his so you can come sit in his lap, straddling him. You notice immediately.

“Is that okay? We can stop—”

“No, I—”

He doesn’t want you to stop. He wants more with you, so bad, and though he would never say it out loud, he’s desperate for you to show him that you’re not disgusted in him. Every time you kiss him, every time you touch him, every time you take his hand and lead him in bed with you, he comes closer to truly believing it.

But, ah, with this last conversation, even if it’s not the first time he’s had you in his lap, he feels— heated. He can feel himself growing hard, and he’s still embarrassed at the thought that you can feel him. Despite what he said, his hands are on your waist, holding tight. He doesn’t remember if he chose to do that.

After all, his desire for you aligns with what the monster wants so closely that he’s— scared. He’s so scared of losing control. But you’re looking at him so lovingly, and he wants you so bad… Can he be selfish? Just this once?

“Don’t stop,” he almost begs, and seeing how eagerly you nod in reply is like an explosion of warmth in his chest.

Your lips crash against his again, harder, with more purpose. Your fingers card through his hair, and the feeling of your light pull on them goes straight to his core, more enjoyable than he thinks it should be, though he’s in no position to linger on it, not when the next thing you do is to experimentally roll your hips on top of him.

From your perspective, it’s a clumsy movement, one you’re unsure of. From his, it’s a rush of pure pleasure when you rub against his hard cock, one that makes him openly moan, his mouth falling open enough that he breaks the kiss. The second he realizes what kind of noise came out of him, he raises his hand to cover his mouth, cheeks turning crimson.

He’s not daring to look at you, not at first anyway, until he feels your lips brushing against his fingers, pressing soft kisses against his hand.

“Still good?” you ask.

And he is, but he’s not trusting his voice all that much for now, so he just nods. A smile dances on your lips as you kiss down his jaw.

“Also,” you add, “I’m not— I don’t have much— experience, in all, uh, that. So you should— you should let me know. What feels good. What doesn’t.”

“That felt good,” he admits quietly, and your smile turns into a grin against his skin.

“I could tell.”

What you don’t say is how hot you found both the sound and the thought that you could affect him like that, how badly you want to press your legs together so you can alleviate the ache you’re feeling down there, how you’re worried you actually want him even more than he wants you.

Instead of saying all that — it would make you feel so naked and so vulnerable, and disarm you completely, which doesn’t seem like a good idea for now —, you start trailing your kisses down his neck. There’s one spot there that makes him whimper, more discreetly than before, but you latch onto it all the same, tongue coming out to flick against the skin, pulling on it softly between your teeth. He writhes and whines under you, and when his cock rubs against you just right, you gasp against him.

You’re delighted to see reddish skin when you pull away. He’ll heal, and there will be no trace of it by morning, but there’s something satisfying about it — and the glassy look he gives you, lips swollen and parted, hair a mess on the back of the couch, with that proud mark right above his collarbone… is purely sinful.

Your fingers hook in his hoodie.

“Can I?” you ask.

He’d go to the moon and back for you.

He nods.

You pull it over his head, struggle a little when it gets caught in his hair, then manage to pull him free and kiss him again with a giggle. It’s sweet. You’re still wearing your dress, but it’s the first time he feels your hands directly on his skin all the same, and even if his body’s burning up, your touch sets him ablaze.

You explore his body with hungry eyes and hands, follow the shape of his pectorals, then move down to his abs. You trace the muscles, slowly, and as you move down, closer to his crotch, he can no longer suppress a shiver. You still for a second, and he watches you with wide eyes, waiting for you to keep moving, so badly wanting you to keep going. Finally, your fingers brush against the button of his jeans. Silently, meeting his eyes, you ask for his permission. He swallows, nods again.

He’s nervous, almost painfully so, but he notices that your fingers are shaking as you have to try three times to get it open, and it reassures him, in some ways. It reminds him that, for all the issues he has, this is new for the both of you. There are no expectations to meet, just the two of you discovering, together, what works for you.

Once the button isn’t in the way, you, very carefully, move your hand under his jeans, but over his boxers. The second he feels your hand hesitantly closing over his cock, even through the fabric, he throws his head back, trying his best not to moan again and only half-succeeding.

You watch his reactions closely as you keep touching him, slipping your hand under the boxers after a few seconds. This time he does moan, a high-pitched noise that you take to mean you’re doing something right — even if you have no idea what you’re doing. How tight should your grip be? How fast should you move? Should you be saying something? Should he be saying something?

His cock is rock hard between your fingers, harder than you’d have expected; larger, too. It seems to have been that way for a while, maybe since you’ve started kissing, based on how wet with precum it is. You tighten your grip around it a little, then slide your hand down, slowly, down to the base. He moans again, and you feel him twitch between your fingers.

“Um,” you mumble, “I, uh, I don’t really know— is that�� is there anything I should—”

Hyun-Su’s looks up at you, flushed and panting. One of his hands comes to your thigh, and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. You don’t think he even notices though. You’re dripping wet yourself, but for now you just want to make him feel good. If things go well, if he stays open to this sort of things, there’ll be plenty of time to deal with that… later. At the moment, all you want is to show him that pleasure doesn’t have to lead to anything negative.

“J-just, keep going,” he mumbles. “You can, ah, you can go a little faster, if you…”

The rest of his words gets lost in the next moan as you follow his advice, moving your hand up and down his cock, the wetness helping the movement. Despite yourself, you rock your hips against his leg, the pressure of it between your legs feeling so delicious, you can’t deny it to yourself at the moment.

Under you, Hyun-Su is lost in pleasure. Your rhythm is hesitant, you’re not holding him quite as tight as he’d like, but oh, your hand is soft and gentle, and it still feels so much better than his own. The fact that you’re all pressed against him, your breath against his neck, your scent filling him, it’s all much more than what he had imagined — because, yes, in shameful moments, he’d pictured this kind of scenes, but they had never felt as good, pleasure running through his veins and flooding his body.

Any time he indulged in them, though, he came faster than usual, and now, with the real thing, he realizes too late how quickly he is approaching his climax.

“Wait,” he hears himself mumble, “I’ll—”

But he’s already coming, and the strength of the orgasm leaves him breathless as he humps against your hand, trying to make it last longer.

“Oh,” is all you comment, and even through the haze, embarrassment spreads through him as he realizes that there’s cum on your hand and on his stomach. At least he cannot turn any redder now.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “sorry, I—”

“No, I— I thought that was pretty hot, actually,” you say, giving him a smile, and thank fuck you’ve taken his hand off him, because he wouldn’t want to have to explain why that’s making him twitch again. “I’ll just— you probably want to get cleaned up.”

“I’m— Yeah, but—” He glances down at your body. He felt you rocking against him earlier, even if he wasn’t exactly in the right mind to say something about it. “Don’t you— Don’t you want to, uh…”

“Ah, I’m fine, I just— I just wanted to make you feel good for now.”

And just as he thought his heart rate might go back to normal at some point, there it is, spiking again.

“We can do that— some other time. If you’d like to.”

There is nothing he wouldn’t give to you.

“I would. I would like that.”

Your smile is a promise for more, your kiss is sweet, and for the first time in forever, Hyun-Su forgets about the monster.

He’s in your arms, and it’s all that matters.

i’ve been trying to figure out what to put here. i already feel like i’m kinda begging for comment on my posts, which i don’t like doing, but i figured i’d try to explain at least once what i’ve been feeling lately — plus i'm starting a new job on Monday and i don't know how much time i'll have to write after that. truth is, the lack of interactions i’ve been getting on here, on these stories, has been kind of depressing to me. i know people are reading them, considering the amount of notes, and it’s hard not to question whether it’s my writing that’s not good enough to make people want to leave a comment, or if it's just how fandom is now and in that case it just might not be for me anymore. i mean, i write for myself first, but i post because i want to share with others, i want to see their reactions, know how my writing makes them feel… and lately it just feels like i’m screaming in the void and nothing else. it’s been hard to stay motivated honestly. so, yeah. you don’t have to leave a comment, especially if you didn’t like it, i get it, i’m not trying to guilt-trip you. i just. feel the need to explain this at least once, in case it changes someone’s mind, and if it doesn't, i'll know i tried. if you've ever commented, reblogged with tags, sent an ask, know that i'm so thankful for you and you truly keep me going.

next one-shot

#sweet home #hyun su #cha hyun su #sweet home x reader #cha hyun su x reader #hyun su x reader #sweet home netflix #sweet home season 2 #sweet home 2 #cha hyunsoo #cha hyunsoo x reader #hyunsoo x reader #sweet home smut #cha hyun su smut #hyun su smut #sweet home imagine #sweet home fanfic #my writing

2K notes · View notes

yuri-is-online · 5 months ago

Note

I'm curious about the first years' reaction to why can't I be your spouse.

I think it'd be hilarious

part one/part 2

A ha yes, hilarious. I am so sorry.

"Why couldn't I be your spouse?"

Ace is struck mute. The blush starts at the tips of his ears, spreads across his face, and down across his neck. Because you don't want him. That's the reason right? He's your best friend. You're his. That's your dynamic. It keeps you both safe from any complications or unnecessary feelings but god if you're just going to look up at him and bat your eyes trying to hold back tears at the thought of not being his? "Jeez, we're still in school you know? Ask again later." You won't get a chance to do that, Ace wants to be the one to ask. You deserve that much from him with how much he teases you, or so he says.

There are two ways I can see this question going with Deuce. He's oblivious to the nature of his own feelings: "Because you are meant to get married to someone you love?" He's overwhelmed with distress when you start to cry at his words, but he doesn't understand the source of the pain. Love is a heavy word, and sure he does love you, your best buds! But marriage is extremely serious and sure he's had dreams about you guys living together and stuff like that but he's sure that's just a friendship thing. Not that he ever dreams about doing that with Ace...

If he does know he's in love with you that little question will make Deuce start panicking because of how expensive weddings are. He will be very happy for you to be his spouse, just give him some time please <3

"Because you're not staying." Jack has accepted you are the one he's been waiting for, but he's never verbalized it until now. He's a bit disappointed if he's honest, not with who you are but with the circumstances under which you've met. He modeled his dreams of what his spouse would be like off of his parents and grandparents, he would love you and you would love him. You would be together forever and build a little life together. But you are from a different world and will have to go home some day, he doesn't get to keep you and he doesn't have the option of getting over you. His only option is to deny that he wants you as his spouse until his soul prevents him from doing it anymore, no matter how happy hearing you ask to be his make him feel.

Epel is happy to hear you say that, but it's a bittersweet happiness. Epel wants you to be saying that because you think he's cool. Because you think of him as a manly man who you can rely on to provide for you and keep you safe from all of the monsters you've faced so far. But he knows you pretty well at this point, he doesn't think that you rely on him because you think he's cool. Maybe that's a goods thing though, you've never been judgemental of who he is even if the words you use to describe him aren't the exact ones he wants just yet. That doesn't mean "spouse" isn't how he wants to describe you, and he's not shy of letting you know that. Just this once.

Sebek doesn't answer at first. He doesn't yell either, nor does there appear to be a gathering storm on his face. He looks despondent, not the look you would want on the face of someone when you start talking about getting married. "Because I have treated you in a truly abominable manner most unfitting of my rank based on a prejudiced view of your character." Anyone who looks at him can see that he's in love, that he has no objection to you being his spouse. But he can't have that, he's unworthy. Not that you wants you to take this personally, he is used to being inadequate. Just let him savor the happiness he felt from hearing you say you wanted to be his in the first place. It is more than he deserves for how cruel he has been to you.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace trapolla x reader #deuce spade x reader #jack howl x reader #epel felmier x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader

596 notes · View notes

jambalaya-enthusiast · 3 months ago

Note

Pleaseeeee I crave Jimmy x Curly's wife!reader let that envious bastard take what he believes he rightfully deserves, maybe even right in front of Curly as some kind of fucked up power play :)

Tainted.

WARNING: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT/RAPE/JIMMY BEING A MONSTER.

Please read at your own discretion,i might've went overboard,but this was my first attempt.

ever since the day that he laid his eyes upon you,he knew that he just had to make you his,no questions asked.

on that fateful day,when Curly decided to introduce you to his bestfriend,you immediately picked up an odd vibe from him...you didn't like how intensely he maintained eye contact with you whenever you were talking.. nothing wrong with being attentive,but it just felt as though he was staring right into your soul with those piercing brown eyes of his.

you didn't like how it started off as little thing,just the slight touch of hand,which you ruled off as accidents,because he was quick to apologise.

but then,the incessant attention started...it started off small...minor things,such as following you on every social media platform that you had. him being the first person to like all of your posts, commenting innocent little things...you still decided to think nothing of it as you thought that jimmy was simply just some guy without a social filter.

Oh how fucking wrong you were.

It didn't make sense how he wanted to move into you and your boyfriend's apartment because he got kicked out of his,it didn't make sense how curly...just let him...

You tried your best to explain to your innocent boyfriend that you didn't like this sudden turn of events,and the lack of privacy,since jimmy practically didn't let you have any alone time with curly. It's almost as if he just didn't know when to stop lurking.

Despite all,you still decided to trust your boyfriend's judgement.

Then,it finally happened. You awoke one night to sudden movements in your bedroom,you tossed to the side to find the bed empty...your boyfriend was missing, groggily you reached for your phone on the nightstand next to your bed, twitching your eyes you turned your phone on,with the silent humming of the AC in the background,accompanied by the sound of you breathing.

2:47 AM

Curly Bear 🐻❤️ : babe,sorry I didn't want to wake you up. y'know how pretty you look when you sleep haha, didn't wanna ruin it. The company called,they said there were some urgent paperwork that needed to be dealt with at the earliest. I had no choice but to leave sweet pea, don't worry I'll be back in no time. Love you.

You smiled at your phone,you were about to doze right off when you realised something......something felt..off. it was almost like a primal instinct kicking in,you felt the classic feeling that they talk about in horror stories ... You felt as if you were being watched. the feeling was so intense that you could practically feel the bile raising against your throat.

You gathered every ounce of courage that you had in you,and turned on your phone's flashlight.

there it was. there he was.

you felt as if you were gonna die.

there was jimmy,standing at the foot of your bed like a goddamn statue.

"Jimmy....?".

you wanted to yell out,but what came out was only a faint whisper.

Then suddenly as if the world had just stopped he pounced onto you like a fucking animal,you attempted to scream,but we was quick to place his hand on your mouth, conveniently stopping any noise from coming out.

'I had been waiting for this for so...so fucking long'.

you could practically see the craze in his eyes,those weren't the eyes of a human being..no no no...those eyes could only be compared to those of a deranged wild beast.

then out of no where,your clothes were suddenly ripped off of you,you could feel the cold air of the room pierce your skin painfully as you struggled to move or even breathe,his hand was also covering your nose. You whined,did everything in your power to stop him from doing what he was going to. But it was already too late.

without a single warning,you felt him push into you so hard, without any protection,no nothing. It hurt so fucking bad,you wanted to scream,to yell,to cry,but you could only just helplessly watch what that man whom your partner considered his 'best friend' was doing to you,he thrusted in and out of you as you were a ragdoll.

Jimmy then temporarily removed his hand from your mouth only to replace it with his own,he roughly smashed his lips onto yours,you could taste cigarettes, liquor and a hint of those mint jellies which he for some reason had a weird obsession with. his tongue travelled every corner of your mouth,while tears flowed through your eyes like a goddamn waterfall.

with his final thrusts,you could feel that he was coming to his peak,and with a final thrust,you felt the inside of your stomach get filled with something warm..you felt fuzzy, almost dumb,your face was covered with drool and your hair all scattered.

with all of it over and one,he suddenly placed a kiss on your forehead,and whispered,

"if you tell curly any of this,I'll make sure to do this in front of him the next time".

and with that he returned to his own room,as if nothing had happened,as if your entire life wasn't just turned upside down. as if he didn't just shatter a person into something they would never recover from.

#this is lowkey so fucking bad #this was my first attempt at an actual fic pls forgive errors #mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing jimmy #jimmy x reader #jimmy mouthwashing #mouthwashing #dead dove fic #dark content l

346 notes · View notes

chevroletdean · 23 days ago

Text

Tennessee Whiskey & Strawberry Wine

PAIRING: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader GENRE: Angst & Fluff TO NOTE/WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, swearing, Dean is really pathetic in this one, past established relationship, mentions of arguments/breakups, (mutual) pining, suggestive innuendos but nothing explicit, second chances? WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: It's been months since you broke up with Dean and he's never been able to fully move on. It's when you run into him again that you realize... maybe, just maybe, neither have you. A/N: This is for @rubyvhs' 500 celebration! I got the song 'Tennessee Whiskey' by Austin Giorgio and if that song doesn't scream Dean Winchester, then I don't know. It was a no-brainer to me. Congratulations again, Laila, on 500 well deserved followers!! CREDIT/LINKS: Lace divider, reblog divider, header images edited by me, Dean gif

“I know I ordered a strong whiskey, but I didn’t expect you to make me this weak.”

He remembers you giggling at that cheesy line, the sound still clear as a bell and as angelic as one too. Even today, months after watching you walk away, he can picture the way you rolled your eyes and smiled at him. Bright and joyful.

A stark contrast to the otherwise dull and cruel reality bestowed upon you and him.

Not that you never got along. Quite the opposite, actually.

You and Dean had clicked immediately after meeting for the first time, especially after learning how much you had in common. Then, after working on several cases together, one thing lead to another and at some point you two had become inseparable.

The infamous duo. The ‘it couple’ among hunters. With just as much of a tragic ending as any actual celebrity’s scandalous love story too, sadly.

For your similarities were two sides of the same coin — a common ground for the two of you to understand and to relate to each other, yes. But also a bottomless pit of stubbornness and reason for anger.

So much anger. Endless arguing, with neither of you letting up and both of you doubling down.

Dean always loved your temper, your passion — he still does. But when two hotheads collide, an explosion is bound to happen. You were doomed from the start.

As capable as both of you were when it came to hunting, fighting the ugly monsters between yourselves was a losing battle.

You guys only knew how to exorcise the demons outside your relationship. The two of you could lift any curse except your constant fighting. And now, Dean is left chasing those memories of you like he would a ghost. Not to put it to rest, but to let it haunt his broken heart.

Despite Dean’s apprehension, Sam has insisted on taking a case in Nashville. Everything here reminds Dean of you, not least the very same bar where he first met you.

Love at first sight is something so cliché and Dean Winchester doesn’t do romance. Or rather, he didn’t. Not before getting to know you. In many ways, that fateful evening had changed his life. Had changed him.

Part of him wonders if it’s ever possible again, preferably with you. But he knows such thinking is wishful. Or maybe anxiety inducing. Probably a little bit of both.

Although he’s well aware that (a) the chances of actually running into you here are pretty low, and (b) he doesn’t even know if he could actually take seeing you again, Dean finds himself at the bar’s counter, where he orders an overpriced shot of Tennessee Whiskey and listens to the bartender’s overenthusiastic lecture of said local specialty.

She’s a pretty girl, working her charms on any potentially generous patron. Without a doubt she’s able to sweet-talk multiple customers into a huge tip. And fuck it, even Dean indulges and orders a second shot, followed by a third.

Though he swears, sip by sip, the whiskey began to taste like you.

His time here turns into a vicious cycle of nostalgia, wanting to forget, and being forced to remember all over again.

The liquid burns in his throat and it blurs his vision. For a second he thinks he could pretend the girl serving him his fourth drink was you. In his mind her hair changes its color to yours, but when he realizes he’s not able to get your voice right, he’s giving up.

What a horrible idea to come to this bar of all places to forget about you. What a laughable idea to hope he might see you again. Pathetic, even. Both of it. All of it. All of him.

No matter how cute — and under different circumstances, he might’ve hit on her in more serious fashion — she’s not you. She never could be, nobody can. And maybe she doesn’t have to be.

“You know, sweetheart,” he trails off, committed to erasing you from his memory tonight.

The woman giggles and it sounds so wrong in his ears. Her cheeks warm up but the pink shade doesn’t look right to him.

“I know I ordered a strong whiskey,” Dean grins, albeit the curl of his lips is lopsided and the words feel wrong in his mouth. “But I didn’t expect—”

It’s all too different from when he’d say these words to you. Not to mention how unfair it feels towards the girl, to you, even to himself to recycle that cheap tactic.

He doesn’t get to finish his act anyway. Not when the scent of sweet vanilla and strawberries wafts through the air and swallows his attention whole. He interrupts himself midsentence, heart threatening to leap into his throat and blocking any and every further word.

He’d recognize the perfume anywhere. Or the electricity that crackles dangerously within the small space between his arm and that of the new patron. His green eyes barely dare to glance to the source of the dizzying aura.

At last, they settle on the stool next to his. Where you’re making yourself comfortable, nonchalantly combing your fingers through your hair — it’s gotten longer since he’s last seen you — and smiling at the waitress.

“What he was trying to say,” you speak and your voice makes his heart burst on the spot, “is to add another one to his tab. Along with one glass of wine, please. Red.”

Dean must’ve been staring and gaping at you like an idiot, mouth still open in shock and eyes just as wide, because you give him a brief one-over and giggle softly. That godforsaken giggle that makes every fiber of him buzz with warmth.

“Hey, Dean,” you smile and even though it’s a little tense, awkward even, you pull it off with such ease. “I gotta say, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

How you can just start up a conversation with him baffles him. Then again, you always had the ability to make things seem so easy.

He’s still busy trying to process that you’re here, right next to him. Too busy to realize he’s looking like a complete idiot — already tipsy, caught red handed, and unable to come up with a proper response.

“What brings you to Nashville, Dean?”

Where he can’t get out a single word, you keep talking to him as if nothing happened. As if you didn’t walk out that door all those months ago. You avert your gaze from him and glance over to the waitress that’s tending to your order.

If he didn’t know it any better, he’d say there’s a spark of jealousy dimming the familiar spark in your eyes.

You lower your voice. Hell, you lean closer to him and your elbow touches his and since he can’t freeze anymore than already, he thinks he might turn into stone and marble instead. Your smirk is subtle but mischievious while you whisper to him: “Looking for love?”

Dean’s pretty sure that he’s already found it.

“Sammy and I are workin’ on a case nearby,” he finally manages to explain, after clearing his throat. He picks up his empty glass, deft fingers toying with its rim.

You purse your lips, then you press them together into a thin line, before releasing the plump of it with the faintest pop. You’re trying to kill him, you have to be.

“Didn’t know you were around here still,” he mumbles and prays you don’t notice the tremble in his voice — or, if you do, that you’ll attribute it to the abundance of whiskeys he’s had.

“I never left,” you reply swiftly.

He can’t help but cringe. Because you have. You have left it all behind.

The bartender returns with another shot of whiskey and a glass of wine. She blinks between you and Dean for a second, before reluctantly turning her back on you two. Dean knows his chances with her are blown, but that’s not what he’s bitter about.

He’s bitter about you. About you waltzing in and stomping on his ripped out heart.

“Sorry,” you sigh with a pout, “I ruined your game.”

Without a word, Dean sets his empty glass down onto the counter.

“It’s just… well, I saw you sitting here and thought I should say hi,” you continue.

He picks up the new glass, still not responding.

“It’s been a while, I thought we could catch up and—”

Dean finally looks up, straight towards you with an expression that’s difficult to read, but apparently enough to shut you up. Apparently he’s not happy seeing you. Or maybe he is, he honestly doesn’t know himself.

“What kind of reunion were you hoping for, sugar?”

Your eyes widen at his question, even more so at the use of that petname. An endearment you haven’t heard him say to you in so long. It used to be such a casualty, something you’ve always taken for granted, that you’re shocked you forgot its effect.

“I don’t know,” you admit meekly. “I honestly didn’t think we’d ever get one, you know?”

Dean thinks over your answer for a moment. Realistically speaking, he didn’t think so either. However, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t played out the possibility in his mind more times than he can count.

All that preparation for such an unlikely scenario got him nowhere in the end. He always thought he’d know exactly what to tell you when he’d see you again. But all those speeches and words feel useless now.

He raises his glass in your direction.

“Here’s to surprises, then,” Dean shrugs, the upwards twitch in the corner of his mouth belied by the strain of his jaw.

If you notice his tension, you do not comment on it. Instead, you reciprocate his gesture, your glass clinking gently against his.

Of course you notice. Of course he knows you do.

Just like he knows how aware you are of his eyes mimicking your wine.

The sweet liquid sticks to your lips just like his gaze does. As he watches the red stain your skin and tongue, he wishes he could do the same — leave traces of himself on you so he'll be with you forever, feel the warmth and the plush of you against him one more time.

What Dean doesn’t know is why you have to torture him like this.

It’s no longer his place to desire any of this, any of you. But how can he not crave your sweet taste?

Yet he’s forced to settle for the smooth burn of his drink, which might be honey in color, but can’t compare to the sweetness of your essence.

Fucking hell, he needs to snap out of it.

“You really tried using that line on her, huh?” Your voice is barely audible, but with the world zeroed in on just you two, he cannot possibly miss your quiet utterance.

For a moment he thinks the alcohol is getting to him at last, dulling his senses once and for all — because there’s no way you’re actually bothered by this, is there? Yet you sit there, shoulders slightly slumped, eyes cast down as you stare into the crimson in front of you.

“What?”

You blink up at him, then at your glass again. “The whole strong whiskey thing. You know— nevermind, it’s whatever. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

While Dean’s definitely tipsy enough for the world around him to move a beat slower than usual, he picks up on your intention to leave faster than you can turn around. You hop off your chair and mumble a half-assed “Good night, Dean” and the déjà-vu hits him like a truck.

Another unsatisfying farewell.

Another missed chance.

He can’t bear to watch you leave again.

Instinctively, Dean’s hand reaches for yours. His last self-restraint stops him from grabbing you roughly. Instead, his fingers are ghosting around your wrist, not even touching, just lingering.

“Hold up,” he mutters lamely, to at least say something. Anything. “At least finish your wine, hm? You put it on my tab, after all.”

You do not hide the surprise in your eyes, clearly shocked that he’d want your company after everything you’ve made him go through. You look at him as though you’re asking if he’s sure about this.

“Dean, I—”

“Please.”

You bite your lower lip and reluctantly slip back into your original position. You hold onto the stem of your glass again, though you do not take a sip. It’s almost as if you’re afraid this will all end too soon, if you finish your drink.

“Guess it was sorta like a spell,” Dean hums.

His demeanor is more relaxed right away. The second he’s sure you’ll stay for a bit longer, the crease between his brows disappears and his voice is more steady. As steady as it can be with the liquor adding a natural rasp to his throat.

“A spell?” You echo, wide doe eyes looking at him with wonder.

“Technically, I never said it without you around,” he quips, “If I knew that’s how to summon you, I would’ve tried it much sooner.”

You pause, then you snort. He’s unbelievable, always turning his words into a playful flirtation, always trying to smooth-talk you into a giggle. Successfully so.

Dean drinks in the sound and sight of your joy, comitting it to his memory. Just in case he won’t get the luxury of repeating it.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” you chuckle.

“Maybe not,” he smiles weakly.

Definitely not.

In fact, he’s so caught up in your guys’ past that you could probably ridicule him for it. It’s pathetic, honestly, how he hasn’t been able to move on. Searching for a glimpse of what used to be in the bottom of a bottle, in same old places such as this one, only to distract himself and pretend anything can come close.

Dean’s quick to order another round of drinks for both of you.

Not long after, another round follows.

The drinks keep flowing. As does the conversation, surprisingly. It’s comforting, being able to talk to you after all this time. You don’t reminisce old days, you treat him like he’s not a wreck.

The alcohol loosens your tongues, though he’s ahead of you by far.

In the end, you shake your head towards the bartender and mumble something about how Dean’s had enough. His brows furrow together in protest, but he can’t bring himself to complain. Not when your hands, delicate against his shoulder, urge him to stand up.

Dean only staggers slightly and fishes for his wallet, before he pays for the drinks, but he does subconsciously lean against your supporting touch. The leather of his jacket crinkles under your fingertips as you struggle to hold him upright.

“Alright, cowboy,” you sigh and loop your arm around his back instead. His ends up around your shoulder and he can’t help but notice how natural the proximity feels. Like your bodies were molded for each other.

“I can walk b’myself, sweetheart,” he huffs, drawing another of those addictive chuckles from you.

“You’re gonna tell me you’ll drive like this, too?” Your voice isn’t condescending, but he doesn’t miss the half-scolding, half-teasing edge within. “Where’re Sam and you staying at?”

His eyes narrow and you can see the wheels turning behind his glassy eyes.

He doesn’t remember the name of the motel, does he?

You contemplate on whether or not you should call his brother, but something’s telling you Dean won’t be able to stay awake until Sam’s able to pick him up. He’s already babbling unintelligble nonsense, his weight heavier and heavier on you as his form slumps.

“Okay, big boy, let’s just find you a place to crash,” you suggest, but Dean’s only response is a hum that you can neither identify as approving nor protesting.

You gently pat his back and attempt to nudge him into a more upwards stance. He remains clinging to you like velcro, but removes some of that crushing weight from your shoulder.

“Y’know,” he slurs, “I was hopin’ t’see y’again, but I was also so fuckin’ scared.”

Your cheeks warm at his drunk confession, but you don’t interrupt him. His steps are uncoordinated, but with your guidance, the two of you arrive at your place.

“Been missin’ you,” he mumbles and sighs, “’nd you’re still the only one makin’ me weak.”

“Pretty sure it’s actually the strong whiskey this time,” you laugh in response.

You lead him inside your apartment, where he immediately falls onto the couch. You would’ve offered him the guest room, but Dean’s already sinking into the cushions, eyes closed.

“Honey, nothin’, not even Tennessee Whiskey, can give me whiplash like you can,” Dean insists drowsily.

Words he’ll without a doubt regret, if he can remember them tomorrow.

Your heart flips thanks to his words, but you can’t help feeling like you don’t deserve them. Not after you’ve broken up with him in such cruel fashion, your last heated argument having caused you to walk away back then.

A decision you’ll always regret, one you can never forget — no matter the amount of whiskey or strawberry wine.

With a small sigh, you prepare a glass of water for him in the kitchen.

By the time you’re placing it, along with some painkillers, on the coffee table, Dean’s already fast asleep. At least that’s what the soft, but deep exhales, which border on snoring, make you believe. However, your assumption is proven wrong when you drape a blanket over him, only to find yourself pulled down by strong arms.

Dean’s hands glue themselves to the small of your back, holding you tightly against him.

In his half-asleep state, he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling the familiar scent of you — sweeter than Strawberry Wine. His lips brush against your collarbone, tracing the warmth of your skin — smoother than Tennessee Whiskey.

Dean Winchester Taglist:

@ladysparkles78 @ariasong11 @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126

@zepskies @calibootsgirl @hot-and-confused @spookyfunhottub @berryblues46

@midnight--raine @emmy21842 @whichwitchwanda @foxyjwls007 @emma1998sblog

@lyarr24 @charliesangel67 @spn-reader @whump-loverz @cassieriddle713

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @mccartneyqp

Put a green heart 💚 in the comments to be added to the Dean x Reader taglist. Please note: Ageless blogs/minors will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts!

#laila’s 500 celebration #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #supernatural x you #spn x you #dean x reader #dean x you #spnsc #dean sc #dean angst #dean fluff #spnfluff #spnangst #chevroletdean writes

249 notes · View notes

mad-hunts · 4 months ago

Note

How many shots would it take for you to sleep with @twcfaces ?

at the time that barton was asking this question, both him and matilda were about to enjoy some popcorn as a snack — you know, because it's delicious — but after hearing the last word? he stopped what he was doing. and coincidentally enough, so did matilda because she was about to grab some popcorn. but she heard all about what he'd told as well as tried to do to barton. which was almost kill him.

but anyways (LOL), you could practically feel the judgment coming from the both of them even though they weren't saying a thing: the best way to describe the stare they were giving the anonymous person who asked the question is that it was kind of like the, 'really? right in front of my salad?' glare, except if they were just exasperated instead of angry.

a few beats of tense silence passed, then before barton turned to matilda and was about to speak to her. though, it seemed she had guessed what her father was about to say already and left the room. that way, he could 'deal' with this anonymous person. barton cleared his throat then and faked a smile towards them, ❝ ahh — you know, i really didn't want to have to do this, anon. but you've forced my hand now... and i was trying to quit too, ❞ an overexaggerated sigh left his lips as he pulled a cigarette out of a pack he pulled out of the most random place ever (in a compartment in the cabinets that were too high for him, which he'd put there on purpose so he couldn't reach them easily. though he was lying about quitting so don't feel bad about that anon JSJSJ LOL)

barton stepped out onto his porch then and lit it, looking a bit like this sullen cat as he appeared to have lost all of the will to live. but he was really just being overdramatic.

❝ alright, who sent this in, hmm?! are you purposely trying to make me throw up in my mouth a little? because if so, then you succeeded, ❞ barton rose his voice but not enough to be considered yelling after saying this. a shiver ran down his spine just thinking about it. i mean, it wasn't that harvey and two-face weren't attractive in a general sense, but he literally told barton that maybe jim should've 'finished the job' whenever his father was killed by killing HIM too, and he also tried to shoot him (though he did technically provoke him, that was besides the point in his mind)!!

❝ i honestly can't believe that someone would ask this. i mean, part of me actually can, but you know what i mean. i'm not attracted to him at all, so i'm afraid i would have to take like... however many shots i need to not just get drunk BUT black-out drunk. like, i wouldn't remember anything of what happened between us, kind of black-out drunk, ❞ an incredulous laugh left his mouth while he put down the bowl of popcorn he was carrying.

barton narrowed his eyes at the other in suspicion before doing the ' i'm watching you ' motion with his fingers. ❝ alright, so i can't pretend to know why you saw it fit to put me through the terrible ordeal that is imagining me being with them, but just so you know; once i find out who you are... because i WILL find out, i'd watch your back. if this is the man himself though? i've got a special thing for you, and it's this star. ❞

#OF MONSTERS AND MEN: musings.#ooc post.#AHHH i swear i don't mean any ill will towards you anon!! barton is just a big Meaniehead and doesn't like harvey / two's at all -#even though he honestly kinddd of deserves to be held accountable for his actions OFC but since he never matured emotionally...#well at least completely he often blames things on other people or things but you didn't hear that from me 🤧 LOLLL #and also no cats actually smoked a cigarette during the making of this page so don't worry about that y'all. it's just a funny meme i found #hahah BUT it's the way that i made a whole new hair filter to put on characters just for this in regards to matilda for me JSJSJ #and also just pretend that the hair is a lighter blonde (i honestly just couldn't find any good pictures with her FC to crop the hair out o #that were completely blonde so... yeah) and OFC no hate towards twcfaces as well as i think they are lovely and you should-#absolutelyyy check out their harvey / two's account if you haven't already. barton's just got some serious beef with them BC of what i said #and also because he's a serial killer meaniehead who literally STOLE one of jim's kidneys but of course this man would omit that info-#from this because if barton is one thing... it's an unreliable narrator 💀 but yeahhh i hope y'all liked the pictures in here as well as-#the star because the instant i saw it i was like 'this. THIS is the one' because it's just such a goofy insult that barton would use it LMA #tw: mentions of murder

4 notes · View notes

alastorss · 6 months ago

Text

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor does not have a heart.

You think that most Sinners do. A form of punishment by the divine—to suffer every squeeze of pain and loneliness; to have that wretched thing in your chest just to feel human when you are far from.

Sinners deserved to have a heart more than the winners, if only to bring the ache that comes with it.

But Alastor, he has no heart.

You’ve been told that the place where he should ache and hurt the most is missing. Incinerated before he ever materialized in Hell. Lost to fire.

He was a heinous monster when alive—most think he didn’t even have one when he was human.

He didn’t know the feeling of it plummeting from your chest to the pit of your stomach, or the way it could get caught in your throat. He was a demon through and through. He would never understand what it meant to be human.

You believed it despite wanting to see the best in him.

Alastor was your friend. One of your first after manifesting in Hell. You’d like to think that he trusted you a little more than the others in his life—that you were as special to him as he was to you.

However, you could never look past the ways he took care of his shady business. How he drenched himself in blood as if it were the only cure for his everlasting boredom. You especially could not stomach the way he dismissed his other supposed “friends”.

He kept you around, but for how much longer? You would never know.

Still, you allowed yourself to be strung along by his enchanting personality. You loved him the way the moon loves the sea—yearning, wanting. But he is beaming in the sky and you are at the bottom of the ocean.

You would never know what it was like to own souls, or drink whiskey until it burned, or smile forever. The same way he would never know a heart.

That was the wall you wordlessly put up between you and him.

And he never mentioned it, never wondered why you would stand a foot away when usually you were all over your friends. You suppose that he didn’t have the same ache in his chest.

Alastor is heartless. That much, you thought you knew.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Jealousy is a petty, ugly emotion.

To think that he even has the capacity to feel it makes Alastor’s skin crawl. He thought that he had abandoned such worthless feelings long ago.

Yet here he is, watching with envy bubbling in his stomach while you drape your arms around Angel’s neck, laughing at some horribly obscene joke he cracked. You were always like this—hands never to yourself when you wanted to show your love for others.

But for him, you were reserved—hands behind your back, standing an arms length away whenever you chatted.

At first he appreciated how hands-off you were when everyone else was usually so touchy. He never had to worry that you were going to be breathing down his neck or irritating him while he tried to read his morning paper.

Now, though, it irks him.

Not only because you and him have become quite close, sharing late night conversations and admiring the dark, red sky of Hell together on more than one occasion. That alone would have been enough to allow you the special privilege of clinging to him. But he’s also grown a soft spot for you—embarrassingly soft, and now he’s stuck pouting like an toddler not getting what he wants.

Attention. Attention that says you care about him the way you do everyone else.

Alastor knows his first course of action should not be confrontation. That he shouldn't be cornering you with such a pouty, dramatic expression on his face like a child who just got told to put the toy back on the shelf.

But he can't help it when it comes to you. All inhibition is thrown to the wind.

"You're avoiding me," he accuses, static buzzing in his throat.

You raise a brow, back pressed to the bookshelf behind you. "I'm not," you tell him for what must be the fifth time.

"You are!" He narrows his eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you press, slightly irritated by his sudden attack. What is he going on about?

You think back, wondering if you'd been unintentionally ignoring the demon in any way. It's been business as usual, as far as you can remember.

"Are you really this oblivious?" He tilts his head, ears flopping to the side. "You are unbelievable, cher."

You squeak in surprise when he gathers your hand into his, soft skin raked gently by his claws. He's careful not to hurt you as he maneuvers you around.

He presses your palm firm to his chest where his heart should be. And instead of the hollow emptiness you expect, you find the chorus of his heartbeat.

It sings slow and steady, pulsing faintly beneath the pads of your fingers. You don't even realize that you've been holding your breath, as if just that minute action would cause him to draw away.

Alastor's fingers curl a little tighter around your palm and you finally suck in a sharp breath of air. A small smile settles on your face, cheeks growing warm from the contact.

"It... It's—"

"A heartbeat," he tells you, reaching down to pull your other hand to his throat. You feel the rhythm at his pulse point, the tandem beats filling you with ease.

All this time you had believed that Alastor was heartless. That he did not have the capacity to hold other people dear.

You blink at him, dumbfounded. When did he open up his heart to you?

He sighs indignantly, leaning down toward you with a strange look on his face. As he does, the pace beneath your fingers increases, pounding faster than your own.

Alastor stays there for a moment, staring at you stubbornly with his smile curled into something more exasperated. You can't decipher what kind of conflict is dripping from every part of his expression, instead too focused on trying to keep your breath.

The drumming beat coursing from his body through yours rips away from you, leaving your hands dangling in the air. He brushes off his coat, unable to meet your eyes anymore.

"Do you understand now?"

You're not entirely sure you do—if you ever can, but you nod anyway.

He coughs, his usual demeanour quickly slipping into something unprecedented. Is he... flustered?

"Very good," he says, more to himself than to you. You don't miss the way his ears flatten above his head. "Then I expect the same treatment as everybody else."

You pull your hands back to yourself as he stalks off, muttering to himself.

They're impossibly warm.

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 @dilemmaiscool @concentratedconcrete @squiword7 @clarakainda @heartfeltcherie @cedarrthefluffylee @alastorthirsty @queermaxwooo @readergirlstuff @alastor-simp @jyoongim @rosie-irisa2010

hey guys do u still remember me hahhagh.....

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin x reader #alastor fic #alastor headcanons #alastor x you #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x you #faye's thoughts — ☁

626 notes · View notes

phossiii · 23 days ago

Text

｡𖦹°‧⭑ monsters: chapter nine

synopsis: phosphorus proposes an arrangement for when you both get back to belle reve. and then you both get busy in the royal broom closet.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, violence, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, you both obviously do it

"This should help," you warned from your spot on the floor, igniting your hand with hellflame. "I don't know how resistant your powers make you to fire, but either way it might sting a bit."

As you paused a moment, Phosphorus took a few breaths, gathering himself before slowly moving his hand away from his gash, allowing you to carefully grab his arm and hold it in front of you.

Once you were sure he was ready, you pressed a flaming palm against his wound, forcing a loud, painful groan to rip from his throat.

"Jesus fucking Christ, (y/n)!"

"I know, I know. But it's gonna hurt even more if you keep squirming like that..."

Angry, his gaze turned to Weasel, who sat across the hallway with a few thankful guards, happily accepting their scratches and head-pats of gratitude.

"Un-fucking-believable," he scoffed, under his breath. "He gets the fish girl killed, tears apart my arm, and somehow he's the freaking hero?!"

"You want the knights to pet you, Phosphorus?" the Bride turned to him, sharply, annoyed.

"Well... yes," he responded, simply. "If there hands didn't burn off? Maybe. You know what it's like not being touched for fifteen years?"

Hearing the slight pain in his voice, your heart couldn't help but tug.

That night you two spent together... was that the first time in fifteen years that he'd touched a woman?

Although the thought was innately disheartening, you couldn't help the faint swell of pride and possessiveness that awoke in your veins.

As far as you knew, you were the only woman in the world he could be with without horribly maiming her in some way.

The only one he could kiss.

The only one he could hold.

The only one he could feel.

That fact brought you more satisfaction than you cared to admit.

It was selfish... it was sadistic... but was such a goddamn relief.

"Yes... I do."

And with that, the Bride stood from her seat, starting off toward the hallway.

"Where are you going?" Phosphorus asked, raising a brow.

"I'll be back," she answered, darkly, before turning the corner.

"There," you sighed, extinguishing your flame and removing your palm to reveal his arm, now healed. "Good as new."

Phosphorus huffed in amusement, surprised, as he flexed his hand, the pain completely gone along with any sign of the wound ever being there.

"That's a neat trick you got there," he commended, genuinely. "Can't even tell where it was."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it. That's your only freebie," you joked, halfheartedly. "Next time'll cost you."

"Oh, yeah?" he cocked a brow, his pointer and his thumb hooking on your chin and pulling you closer, until your mouth was just a hair away from his. "How much?"

"Alex..." you warned, eyes flicking toward the guards, who, luckily, were still fawning over Weasel. "Not here."

"Don't you think I deserve a little reward for my chivalry? I protected your body when you went all catatonic."

"You sat next to me while I was asleep. I'd hardly call that chivalry."

"I put a couple leaves under your head as a pillow."

"My fist has a direct route to your dick at this angle. You wanna keep talking or do what I asked?"

With an annoyed groan, he dropped your chin, leaning back in his seat and allowing you to stand up.

But before you could even rise to your full height, he shot up from his seat, tossing you over his shoulder and starting off down the hall in one fluid motion.

"What the—?! Alex! Put me down! What the fuck are you doing?!" you exclaimed, face burning with embarrassment.

"You said not here. So we're going somewhere private."

Turning the corner, he came up on a broom closet and immediately yanked it open, tossing you in before joining you and shutting the door behind himself.

Though... not all the way.

"Who the fuck do you think you a—?!"

Quickly, Phosphorus's hand clasped over your mouth, forcing you to pipe down.

"For once in your life, shut that pretty, little mouth and listen."

His tone lit up your body like a live-wire, reminding you so vividly of the events of that night.

God, did you have a thing for bossy men?

He paused for a moment, waiting for some sort of retort; but when he realized you weren't going to say anything, he smirked, his hand slowly dropping from your face.

"Good girl," he nodded, smoothly, his hand coming to rest on the wall behind you. "Now, there are some things we have to discuss before we're shipped off back to Bell Reve."

Intrigued, you remained quiet, swallowing thickly at his close proximity, the heat of his radiation rolling over you in waves within the confined space.

"I don't know what this is, and, frankly, I don't care to figure it out," Phosphorus started, plainly, his eyes trailing up and down your body with a look of carnal need. "But I like it... and I like you. So I propose a deal."

You raised a brow, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Go on..."

"You become mine," he stated. "My girl, my gal, my woman, I don't give a shit what you wanna call it. But you're mine. And I get to touch you and hold you and kiss you whenever I like... in exchange for mind-blowing sex."

...

You almost laughed in his face.

"Yours?" you scoffed, amused. "What on earth gave you the insinuation that I'd ever want to be yours?"

"Don't play dumb, doll face. I've seen the way you look at me."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"Like you wanna eat me."

"More like strangle you."

"If that's what gets you off..."

"My God, you're really serious about this."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"What do you gain from me being your prison girlfriend?"

"Not prison girlfriend. You'd still be mine when we're on missions."

"This is insane."

"Is it that hard to believe I enjoy your company?" Phosphorus asked, stepping closer, forcing your back to press against the wall as his hand slid down your side, resting on your hip. "Among... other things?"

"Alex..." you warned once again, suddenly breathless.

"How about I give you a trial run?"

"Wha—oh!"

His hands gripped your ass cheeks, allowing him to hoist you up and further press you into the wall.

His lips were on yours in an instant, kissing you impatiently as he groaned into your mouth, already overwhelmed by how good you felt in his grasp.

"Alex—"

"These are gone," he whispered, using his powers to burn the button off your pants.

You'd survived the past week or so without intimacy perfectly fine—save for a few urges or intrusive thoughts— but hearing the want, hearing the need, in Phosphorus's voice reminded you why you had sex with him in the first place.

Your eyes rolled back as he started panting in your ear, yanking off your shorts and tucking your panties in his pocket before carefully sliding his two fingers into your mouth.

"Suck."

And to his severe arousal, you complied, staring directly into his eyes as you made a show out of dragging your tongue over his irradiated middle finger.

'Fucking Christ...'

If only he had enough patience to have those pretty lips around his cock...

Before he could get too distracted, he quickly pulled them out and plunged them inside your wet cunt, attaching his lips to your neck in the meanwhile.

"A-Alex..." you moaned, allowing your eyes to fall shut and your leg to wrap around him, his free hand holding up your thigh to keep you steady.

Through your pleasure, you tried to tell him to shut the door completely, as anyone walking by could've easily heard you both fooling around in the closet.

But you were already fucked out.

And even if he could understand you, you were sure he didn't care.

It wasn't long before that familiar coil in your stomach began to tighten, effortlessly reminding your body of what it had forgot to miss.

"M'cummin'!"

"Cum for me."

That husky tone was all it took for you to make a mess on his fingers.

But he knew he didn't have time to bask.

The Bride would be back any moment, and when she was, you both would have to join her on that damned plane back to prison.

Not wasting any time, he quickly sucked your juices off his fingers before sending his free hand to undo his belt, allowing him to tug his cock free from the confines of his pants.

As he began to shift you into position, you tightly gripped his shoulders, letting out a more quiet moan at his obvious display of strength.

'Jesus Christ, how much time does he spend in the yard?'

Phosphorus tugged your top down, freeing your breasts for his kissing and biting pleasure.

God, how he missed your tits.

"Alex... fuck," you whined as he felt his cock glide its way in, making you clench with anticipation.

He still held you by your ass, and you still wrapped your arms around his neck as he proceeded to drive into you at a manic pace.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..." Phosphorus panted and cursed with each pump, only forcing you to moan louder.

Your nails dragged harshly against his back, your tail squirming with pleasure, the pads of your fingertips burning hotter and hotter with each passing second.

If he was in his right mind, he would've realized that you were actually hurting him quite a bit, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

All he needed was to be as close to and as deep inside of you as physically possible.

"Fuck, Alex!" you gasped when he hit a particular spongy spot in your core, your grip tightening around the nape of his neck. "Right there! God, right there!"

Anybody remotely nearby could hear you both by the bottles of cleaning supplies falling, the few books crashing down, and the exchange of heavy breathing and cursing.

Hell, it was miracle you two hadn't been caught.

Your eyes screwed shut once again, every cell in your body feeling as if it was going to burst at any moment.

"Cum with me, okay?" Phosphorus sounded as if he was pleading, possibly even begging. "Cum with me."

You neck was wet with his saliva and littered with hickeys, which would no doubt raise suspicion.

But—as is the common theme with the skeleton—he didn't care.

All he wanted to do... was feel you.

He needed to feel you.

"Cummin', Alex!"

"Good girl—ah—good... fucking girl!"

Phosphorus slammed his last thrust in you with a flourish, the two of you reaching your climax at the exact same time.

In a bout of ferality, you sank your teeth into his neck, the man letting out a hungered groan at the feeling of your fangs digging into his skin.

The two of you rode out your highs together smoothly, soft pants and curses echoing through the small space as Phosphorus lazily thrusted into you, before finally pulling out.

Carefully, he placed you back down on the ground, quickly tucking his dick back in his pants before meeting your gaze.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment.

A long, silent moment... before you were on each other once again.

Only this time, it was more intimate.

As you threw your arms around his neck, he pulled you in by your waist, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek as your lips met each other's once again in a breath-stealing kiss.

But, rather than filled with ferocity and need, it was surprisingly tender.

Within it, everything seemed to fade away.

The castle.

The commandos.

Your impending incarceration.

The whole world seemed to disappear, leaving you two alone with nothing but uncertainty and an indescribable feeling.

All in the middle of a broom closet.

When you two pulled apart, your eyes scanned over his face, a small smile cracking onto your lips as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"You sold me," you panted, convinced.

"Had no doubt I would," he grinned, cockily. "If I'm being honest, I think I have a magic dick."

"Of course you do."

With a roll of your eyes, you turned around, the two of you quickly dressing yourselves before exiting the disheveled closet and re-entering the foyer.

At the exact same time as the Bride.

"Let's go," she ordered, power-walking toward the exit. "Best make it fast."

The Weasel quickly shot up from his seat, joining the four of you on your way out.

Though... not without exchanging a few glares with Phosphorus.

"Take it easy, you two," you warned, shifting to walk in between them, as to prevent any further turmoil.

"I need to ask you some questions before you g—"

The Bride quickly grabbed the older man by his face, slamming him into the ground and out of the way before stepping over his body, the rest of you doing the same.

When you all reached the outside, and began walking toward the sunset, the Bride couldn't help but let a few tears slip at the lost of her close friend, Nina.

Moving closer, you rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she was quick to wipe the tears away.

"Y'know..." she started, cracking a halfhearted grin as her eyes flicked over your hair and neck. "You and Jack Skellington have really got to learn to keep it in your pants."

Your face burned with embarrassment, you hands quickly snapping up to fix your hair and cover your hickeys.

"Kinda hard with this piece of ass," Phosphorus chuckled, unabashedly, as he smacked your ass. "Right, babe?"

"Please... stop talking."

#creature commandos #creature commandos x reader #dc #dc x reader #dcu x reader #doctor phosphorus #doctor phosphorus x reader #dcu #dr phosphorus x reader #dr phosphorus

243 notes · View notes

megaderping · 10 months ago

Text

I feel like when people compare Akechi to Light Yagami, they fundamentally misunderstand his character. Their similarities really end at their designs, and Light is the kind of person Akechi would despise. Light Yagami lives a pretty privileged life at the start of Death Note. He has a stable home, with two parents and a sister who care about him. He's a successful student. There isn't really inherent tragedy to his life. The whole reason he starts using the Death Note is a mix of curiosity and a jaded worldview, and when it works it empowers him, very quickly goes to his head, as he believes he is one who can be a god of a "new world" once the shock of his initial kills wears off. While his first kill was to help someone, that altruism didn't last. He is in charge of his choices, while Ryuk mostly vibes and maybe eggs him on a little. Fundamentally, Light has something Akechi lacks: agency, and a comfortable life he took for granted. Meanwhile, Akechi is someone who lived on the bottom rung of Japanese society. His very existence is shameful there, between his mother being a sex worker, his status as an illegitimate/"throw away" child, and his mother's suicide. Years languishing in a foster system that is notoriously inhumane, in a country where 90% of the adoptions are grown men for inheritance and patriarchal reasons, while very few children in the system find permanent homes. When Akechi awakens his power, he approaches Shido not because he wants to kill people but for a stupid revenge plan cooked up by a traumatized child who's been nudged along by a malevolent god. He wants to build Shido up so that at the height of his power, he can expose him for the monster he really is, while another part of him genuinely wants to be useful to Shido, as Cogkechi later calls out. His feelings are a mess of contradictions, and so it's no surprise that Shido was able to mold him into his assassin at only 15 years old. It's also worth noting that Akechi only approaches Shido with his ability to cause psychotic breakdowns. Shido is the one who teaches and instructs him to do shutdowns. He's still complicit, very sunk cost with his revenge plan, but as I spoke of here, even if he wanted to quit, he couldn't alone. Shido's cleaner and control of the law and ability to effortlessly turn him in would render the Metaverse his only safe haven. I think people look at 11/20 Akechi and Akechi in the early parts of the engine room and assume that's just his "true self," when in reality it's another mask. Royal makes it very clear because in Rank 7, he outright warns Joker of what's to come via a pool metaphor and offers an out (though he's MUCH happier if you don't take it/stick to your principles), and in Rank 8, he goes on that big "I hate you" speech... while Sunset Bridge is playing. Y'know, the song that plays at the end of most confidants to reaffirm bonds. So when he smiles as he shoots what he assumes to be Joker, that doesn't mean he's genuinely happy. More likely, he's an emotional clusterfuck, given he also is disoriented enough to namedrop "Shido-san" over the phone, and in the subsequent meeting with Shido, tells him not to kill the Phantom Thieves and that Morgana is "just a cat." Yes, he says they'll make them fear for the rest of their lives, but remember, he's talking to Shido. The things he says are likely all incredibly calculated to sound appealing to Shido. And when you consider that he planned to utterly destroy Shido's reputation after the election, the "delay" makes even more sense.

Later, Akechi goes on about how the people he induced shutdowns on were deserving of their fates, but I don't think he believes it so much as it's the only way he could convince himself that it was worth it, and given how much society failed him, and given how many of the people he targeted were likely rivals/competitors or rich fucks, I think he'd be less inclined to assume good faith. Kunikazu Okumura was not an innocent little victim, after all. He was one of the people who requested breakdowns and shutdowns the most. I think Akechi enjoyed killing him not because of how it'd hurt Haru, but because of catharsis. Because Okumura is just as monstrous as Shido, so why should he feel remorse? However, I don't believe he feels the same about Wakaba, as when he discusses her with Shido, he mentions how her fate was because she refused to willingly work for him. It's another justification, but I personally think Wakaba's death was the most painful for him because he was effectively making Futaba just like him. That's why I think his reaction to Sae threatening Sojiro's custody was genuine. Anyway, evil grinning Akechi is just another mask, as I said. Keep in mind, this is someone who laments not meeting Joker years ago, someone who Morgana outright points out is lying about his hatred. And that's the thing. Light Yagami, while a really fascinating character, is not someone who had all this childhood suffering or lack of agency. He does not regret his actions in the slightest and goes down due to his own hubris in both the anime and the manga. While you can argue that Ryuk set him up by dropping the Death Note, Light was the one who picked it up and chose to use it. Any nudging from Ryuk didn't coerce Light into doing it because Light seized the opportunity. No, if Light Yagami is like anyone in Persona 5, it's Masayoshi Shido, not Goro Akechi. Both believe they are god/god's chosen, that they are the ones who will reshape the world to their ideals, and to be frank, both use and abuse women to serve their own purposes. Goro Akechi goes down sacrificing himself for the Thieves and pleading with them to stop his father and again in Maruki's reality when he refuses to let Joker accept a gilded prison of a world for his sake when he knows better than anyone what it's like to have no true freedom. If you max his confidant, you see him in the postcredits, leaving his survival entirely possible, and I think it works because at the end of the day, Akechi was meant to be a victim and a foil. Light is a villain protagonist and a cautionary tale. Though its his POV we follow, he isn't someone we're meant to root for, but I definitely don't think enjoying the character is a bad thing at all. He's really interesting! I just think that a lot of the Akechi and Light comparisons are surface level at best.

#goro akechi #persona 5 #p5r spoilers #character analysis #long post #death note spoilers

970 notes · View notes